I really needed the laugh this brought when a coworker played it for me this afternoon.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
To Let the Word Become Flesh - Henri Nouwen
Another good thought from Henri Nouwen
To Let the Word Become Flesh
Spiritual reading is food for our souls. As we slowly let the words of the Bible or any spiritual book enter into our minds and descend into our hearts, we become different people. The Word gradually becomes flesh in us and thus transforms our whole beings. Thus spiritual reading is a continuing incarnation of the divine Word within us. In and through Jesus, the Christ, God became flesh long ago. In and through our reading of God's Word and our reflection on it, God becomes flesh in us now and thus makes us into living Christs for today.
Let's keep reading God's Word with love and great reverence.
To Let the Word Become Flesh
Spiritual reading is food for our souls. As we slowly let the words of the Bible or any spiritual book enter into our minds and descend into our hearts, we become different people. The Word gradually becomes flesh in us and thus transforms our whole beings. Thus spiritual reading is a continuing incarnation of the divine Word within us. In and through Jesus, the Christ, God became flesh long ago. In and through our reading of God's Word and our reflection on it, God becomes flesh in us now and thus makes us into living Christs for today.
Let's keep reading God's Word with love and great reverence.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Weeping and Longing
These days it seems I spend a lot of time weeping. I don't think I've occupied this sort of emotional space since the last year that I suffered from depression, when the desperation and longing to be set free was growing on a daily basis. When hope for that freedom seemed to diminish on an equally daily basis, in direct proportion to the growth of my longing for it. The further away the hope of release seemed, the more desperately I seemed to long for it.
I'm in that space again.
Let me be quick to say that I am not, in fact, depressed. But to an unschooled observer, my life these days must closely resemble what it looked like three years ago, as I longed to be freed from the darkness, that, over the course of seven years, had so consumed my life.
My nose piercing aches these days. While it certainly wasn't my intention five months ago, when I paid a stranger to put his finger in my nostril, drive a needle through the nostril, and fill the hole created by that needle with a jewel, it would seem that I paid to have a spiritual barometer of sorts punched directly into my face. It would seem that by making the decision, on the second anniversary of my healing from depression, to mark my freedom on my body in a visible way, I created a sort of measuring stick for that freedom. And so, in the moments when I feel most bound, in the moments when I am most keenly aware of my desperate need to be set free, my nose piercing aches, or even becomes infected.
And I spend a lot of time in tears, or close to tears, or just recovering from the most recent bout of tears. Last night a friend described new found freedoms in her life to me, and I wept. With joy that she has found that for which she has longed and wrestled. And with longing of my own, asking the Lord when my turn will come.
I long for release. For freedom from the graveclothes that bind. For life. To feel light and warmth on my face once again. And I find myself, in the midst of that longing, in the midst of begging the Lord for that freedom, asking for eyes that see, ears that hear, and a heart that understands, that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of sharing in His suffering, and the joy that His redemption brings.
I'm in that space again.
Let me be quick to say that I am not, in fact, depressed. But to an unschooled observer, my life these days must closely resemble what it looked like three years ago, as I longed to be freed from the darkness, that, over the course of seven years, had so consumed my life.
My nose piercing aches these days. While it certainly wasn't my intention five months ago, when I paid a stranger to put his finger in my nostril, drive a needle through the nostril, and fill the hole created by that needle with a jewel, it would seem that I paid to have a spiritual barometer of sorts punched directly into my face. It would seem that by making the decision, on the second anniversary of my healing from depression, to mark my freedom on my body in a visible way, I created a sort of measuring stick for that freedom. And so, in the moments when I feel most bound, in the moments when I am most keenly aware of my desperate need to be set free, my nose piercing aches, or even becomes infected.
And I spend a lot of time in tears, or close to tears, or just recovering from the most recent bout of tears. Last night a friend described new found freedoms in her life to me, and I wept. With joy that she has found that for which she has longed and wrestled. And with longing of my own, asking the Lord when my turn will come.
I long for release. For freedom from the graveclothes that bind. For life. To feel light and warmth on my face once again. And I find myself, in the midst of that longing, in the midst of begging the Lord for that freedom, asking for eyes that see, ears that hear, and a heart that understands, that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of sharing in His suffering, and the joy that His redemption brings.
Authority, Compassion, Shepherding, and Spiritual Reading
More good thoughts that have arrived over the last several days in my inbox from the Henri Nouwen society...
Authority and Obedience
Authority and obedience can never be divided, with some people having all the authority while others only have to obey. This separation causes authoritarian behaviour on the one side and doormat behaviour on the other. It perverts authority as well as obedience. A person with great authority who has nobody to be obedient to is in great spiritual danger. A very obedient person who has no authority over anyone is equally in danger.
Jesus spoke with great authority, but his whole life was complete obedience to his Father, and Jesus, who said to his Father, "Let it be as you, not I, would have it" (Matthew 26:39), has been given all authority in heaven and on earth (see Matthew 28:18). Let us ask ourselves: Do we live our authority in obedience and do we live our obedience with authority?
The Authority of Compassion
Mostly we think of people with great authority as higher up, far away, hard to reach. But spiritual authority comes from compassion and emerges from deep inner solidarity with those who are "subject" to authority. The one who is fully like us, who deeply understands our joys and pains or hopes and desires, and who is willing and able to walk with us, that is the one to whom we gladly give authority and whose "subjects" we are willing to be.
It is the compassionate authority that empowers, encourages, calls forth hidden gifts, and enables great things to happen. True spiritual authorities are located in the point of an upside-down triangle, supporting and holding into the light everyone they offer their leadership to.
The Shepherd and the Sheep
Spiritual leadership is the leadership of the Good Shepherd. As Jesus says, good shepherds know their sheep, and their sheep know them (see John 10:14). There must be a true mutuality between shepherds and their sheep. Good leaders know their own, and their own know them. Between them is mutual trust, mutual openness, mutual care, and mutual love. To follow our leaders we cannot be afraid of them, and to lead our followers we need their encouragement and support.
Jesus calls himself the Good Shepherd to show the great intimacy that must exist between leaders and those entrusted to them. Without such intimacy, leadership easily becomes oppressive.
Laying Down Your Life for Your Friends
Good Shepherds are willing to lay down their lives for their sheep (see John 10:11). As spiritual leaders walking in the footsteps of Jesus, we are called to lay down our lives for our people. This laying down might in special circumstances mean dying for others. But it means first of all making our own lives - our sorrows and joys, our despair and hope, our loneliness and experience of intimacy - available to others as sources of new life.
One of the greatest gifts we can give others is ourselves. We offer consolation and comfort, especially in moments of crisis, when we say: "Do not be afraid, I know what you are living and I am living it with you. You are not alone." Thus we become Christ-like shepherds.
Reading Spiritually About Spiritual Things
Reading often means gathering information, acquiring new insight and knowledge, and mastering a new field. It can lead us to degrees, diplomas, and certificates. Spiritual reading, however, is different. It means not simply reading about spiritual things but also reading about spiritual things in a spiritual way. That requires a willingness not just to read but to be read, not just to master but to be mastered by words. As long as we read the Bible or a spiritual book simply to acquire knowledge, our reading does not help us in our spiritual lives. We can become very knowledgeable about spiritual matters without becoming truly spiritual people.
As we read spiritually about spiritual things, we open our hearts to God's voice. Sometimes we must be willing to put down the book we are reading and just listen to what God is saying to us through its words.
Authority and Obedience
Authority and obedience can never be divided, with some people having all the authority while others only have to obey. This separation causes authoritarian behaviour on the one side and doormat behaviour on the other. It perverts authority as well as obedience. A person with great authority who has nobody to be obedient to is in great spiritual danger. A very obedient person who has no authority over anyone is equally in danger.
Jesus spoke with great authority, but his whole life was complete obedience to his Father, and Jesus, who said to his Father, "Let it be as you, not I, would have it" (Matthew 26:39), has been given all authority in heaven and on earth (see Matthew 28:18). Let us ask ourselves: Do we live our authority in obedience and do we live our obedience with authority?
The Authority of Compassion
Mostly we think of people with great authority as higher up, far away, hard to reach. But spiritual authority comes from compassion and emerges from deep inner solidarity with those who are "subject" to authority. The one who is fully like us, who deeply understands our joys and pains or hopes and desires, and who is willing and able to walk with us, that is the one to whom we gladly give authority and whose "subjects" we are willing to be.
It is the compassionate authority that empowers, encourages, calls forth hidden gifts, and enables great things to happen. True spiritual authorities are located in the point of an upside-down triangle, supporting and holding into the light everyone they offer their leadership to.
The Shepherd and the Sheep
Spiritual leadership is the leadership of the Good Shepherd. As Jesus says, good shepherds know their sheep, and their sheep know them (see John 10:14). There must be a true mutuality between shepherds and their sheep. Good leaders know their own, and their own know them. Between them is mutual trust, mutual openness, mutual care, and mutual love. To follow our leaders we cannot be afraid of them, and to lead our followers we need their encouragement and support.
Jesus calls himself the Good Shepherd to show the great intimacy that must exist between leaders and those entrusted to them. Without such intimacy, leadership easily becomes oppressive.
Laying Down Your Life for Your Friends
Good Shepherds are willing to lay down their lives for their sheep (see John 10:11). As spiritual leaders walking in the footsteps of Jesus, we are called to lay down our lives for our people. This laying down might in special circumstances mean dying for others. But it means first of all making our own lives - our sorrows and joys, our despair and hope, our loneliness and experience of intimacy - available to others as sources of new life.
One of the greatest gifts we can give others is ourselves. We offer consolation and comfort, especially in moments of crisis, when we say: "Do not be afraid, I know what you are living and I am living it with you. You are not alone." Thus we become Christ-like shepherds.
Reading Spiritually About Spiritual Things
Reading often means gathering information, acquiring new insight and knowledge, and mastering a new field. It can lead us to degrees, diplomas, and certificates. Spiritual reading, however, is different. It means not simply reading about spiritual things but also reading about spiritual things in a spiritual way. That requires a willingness not just to read but to be read, not just to master but to be mastered by words. As long as we read the Bible or a spiritual book simply to acquire knowledge, our reading does not help us in our spiritual lives. We can become very knowledgeable about spiritual matters without becoming truly spiritual people.
As we read spiritually about spiritual things, we open our hearts to God's voice. Sometimes we must be willing to put down the book we are reading and just listen to what God is saying to us through its words.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Leaning In
Some thoughts from an email to a friend, and my journal, describing the experience of last evening:
I'd felt strongly all day that I really needed to make the effort to go to Centre Street tonight, to hear my brother’s choir, and for worship and whatever... almost didn't... after church this morning I slept for much of the afternoon on the couch, in and out of consciousness... so exhausted... but decided to go.
glad I did. I needed to be in that space. to be alone. to be someplace anonymous and let the music simply wash over me. to enter into worship (not completely freely but to at least enter in with my heart and begin to hear Jesus a little)... I needed to hear the sermon that the interim president of the college preached. I needed several pieces of my day to come together and make sense just a little. And I needed to talk with T. driving home, and have him "see" me in the midst of the messy and painful space I've been occupying these last months, and particularly this last week.
The sermon was from Acts 16 - where Paul and Silas are directed in a dream to go to Macedonia, and they land in Philippi, and then Paul casts the demon from the servant girl, and lands them ultimately in court, and then beaten and jailed. The challenge the speaker gave was to recognize these "interruptions" as things to lean into. God sent them to Macedonia through a dream. They went in obedience, and then they landed in jail. And in the midst of that, a jailer, his family, and many others were saved.
The speaker quoted someone (I missed the name) who said something like the following, "our spiritual life is always a frontier and we who live it must accept and rejoice that it remains untamed." Ouch. Not so much a fan of the untamed lately.
Anyway, came home and talked with Jesus for quite a while, and did some journalling... wrote the following:
I needed to hear the sermon tonight. I needed the reminder of the sudden change of direction that landed Paul and Silas in jail after they heard from the Lord so clearly to go to Macedonia, and after they did what would have seemed to be a good thing by casting the demon out of the girl. I needed the reminder to "lean into" the "frontier" experiences.
My tendency has been a bit to resent the havoc that has been wreaked in my life, and in so many relationships, by certain events in this season, despite the fact that I knew so clearly from the Lord that He'd directed me to be a part of them. It has been hard to trust the Lord to work things of beauty out of the midst of this experience. I have fought against the experience instead of leaning into it. I am being reminded on a regular basis at the moment of how truly bad I am at trust and surrender.
It's what Jesus was saying to me so incessantly in Jasper last weekend too, "My word does not return empty. Trust me. Rest in me. I sent you out and I will honor your obedience."
I can't see past this, or through it.
I taught a Sunday school lesson this morning on Judas' betrayal and Peter's denial. I am not a person who trusts easily, and it was a huge challenge to trust and be obedient to what the Lord was asking of me and I've felt a sense of betrayal as things have been so very difficult. At the same time, I've been guilty of a denial of Christ. Of denying my commitment to trust Him. Of denying that He will work in the ugly spaces - that He will give beauty for ashes, that His word will prosper, and won't return empty.
I was just looking a bit further in the Paul and Silas story that was preached tonight, and this line caught my attention, "Even at that hour of the night, the jailer cared for them and washed their wounds..." There is something hopeful to me in that. There is something hopeful in the idea that the man who imprisoned and was responsible for beating them had his heart so changed that he "cared for them and washed their wounds."
I started this morning sitting in a service at Hope for Life, and reflecting on the lines to the old hymn, "Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus" that go, "Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in his wonderful face..." I was thinking about seeing Jesus in a powerful dream last fall, and being unable/unwilling to look Him in the eyes.
Eye contact is not something I do lightly. It is always carefully considered, and I only meet the eyes of those whom I trust deeply for more than a moment. I hide my eyes quite deliberately, because to allow others to see into them makes me feel vulnerable and afraid.
I couldn't meet His eyes. But I want to.
I've sat here, confessing my denial, my lack of trust, and asking to start again. To enter His presence and show Him my eyes, even as filled with pain and tears as they've been lately. I want to meet His eyes, because I think that He is offering me comfort and healing there. A promise I can trust in the midst of my pain and confusion. Beauty for ashes. That his word will prosper and not return empty. That He really will hold me. That He really does love me. That I truly do belong to Him. That my heart, my life is safe in His hands. That in His presence there is freedom and healing and all my fears really are washed away.
I'd felt strongly all day that I really needed to make the effort to go to Centre Street tonight, to hear my brother’s choir, and for worship and whatever... almost didn't... after church this morning I slept for much of the afternoon on the couch, in and out of consciousness... so exhausted... but decided to go.
glad I did. I needed to be in that space. to be alone. to be someplace anonymous and let the music simply wash over me. to enter into worship (not completely freely but to at least enter in with my heart and begin to hear Jesus a little)... I needed to hear the sermon that the interim president of the college preached. I needed several pieces of my day to come together and make sense just a little. And I needed to talk with T. driving home, and have him "see" me in the midst of the messy and painful space I've been occupying these last months, and particularly this last week.
The sermon was from Acts 16 - where Paul and Silas are directed in a dream to go to Macedonia, and they land in Philippi, and then Paul casts the demon from the servant girl, and lands them ultimately in court, and then beaten and jailed. The challenge the speaker gave was to recognize these "interruptions" as things to lean into. God sent them to Macedonia through a dream. They went in obedience, and then they landed in jail. And in the midst of that, a jailer, his family, and many others were saved.
The speaker quoted someone (I missed the name) who said something like the following, "our spiritual life is always a frontier and we who live it must accept and rejoice that it remains untamed." Ouch. Not so much a fan of the untamed lately.
Anyway, came home and talked with Jesus for quite a while, and did some journalling... wrote the following:
I needed to hear the sermon tonight. I needed the reminder of the sudden change of direction that landed Paul and Silas in jail after they heard from the Lord so clearly to go to Macedonia, and after they did what would have seemed to be a good thing by casting the demon out of the girl. I needed the reminder to "lean into" the "frontier" experiences.
My tendency has been a bit to resent the havoc that has been wreaked in my life, and in so many relationships, by certain events in this season, despite the fact that I knew so clearly from the Lord that He'd directed me to be a part of them. It has been hard to trust the Lord to work things of beauty out of the midst of this experience. I have fought against the experience instead of leaning into it. I am being reminded on a regular basis at the moment of how truly bad I am at trust and surrender.
It's what Jesus was saying to me so incessantly in Jasper last weekend too, "My word does not return empty. Trust me. Rest in me. I sent you out and I will honor your obedience."
I can't see past this, or through it.
I taught a Sunday school lesson this morning on Judas' betrayal and Peter's denial. I am not a person who trusts easily, and it was a huge challenge to trust and be obedient to what the Lord was asking of me and I've felt a sense of betrayal as things have been so very difficult. At the same time, I've been guilty of a denial of Christ. Of denying my commitment to trust Him. Of denying that He will work in the ugly spaces - that He will give beauty for ashes, that His word will prosper, and won't return empty.
I was just looking a bit further in the Paul and Silas story that was preached tonight, and this line caught my attention, "Even at that hour of the night, the jailer cared for them and washed their wounds..." There is something hopeful to me in that. There is something hopeful in the idea that the man who imprisoned and was responsible for beating them had his heart so changed that he "cared for them and washed their wounds."
I started this morning sitting in a service at Hope for Life, and reflecting on the lines to the old hymn, "Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus" that go, "Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in his wonderful face..." I was thinking about seeing Jesus in a powerful dream last fall, and being unable/unwilling to look Him in the eyes.
Eye contact is not something I do lightly. It is always carefully considered, and I only meet the eyes of those whom I trust deeply for more than a moment. I hide my eyes quite deliberately, because to allow others to see into them makes me feel vulnerable and afraid.
I couldn't meet His eyes. But I want to.
I've sat here, confessing my denial, my lack of trust, and asking to start again. To enter His presence and show Him my eyes, even as filled with pain and tears as they've been lately. I want to meet His eyes, because I think that He is offering me comfort and healing there. A promise I can trust in the midst of my pain and confusion. Beauty for ashes. That his word will prosper and not return empty. That He really will hold me. That He really does love me. That I truly do belong to Him. That my heart, my life is safe in His hands. That in His presence there is freedom and healing and all my fears really are washed away.
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