Joy Found in Christmas Grieving....

It was a cold rainy day off yesterday so I couldn’t do my laundry or go out like I had planned (I like to do as the Dominicans do, it gives me an excuse to be lazy). So I snuggled up in my comfy little corner next to the Christmas tree to the only chapter book I have fully revisited more than a couple times in my life; A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. I suppose I revisit it because every year brings new experiences that give new light to my understanding and reading of the book. This time I marveled at the ease I now have in reading C.S. Lewis. When I first handled the book I knew I held a treasure. I knew it would be a book I carry with me, but I also knew I didn’t fully understand the eloquent articulations of the sophisticated scholar; Clive Staples (two fingers to the nose to convey snobbery). The first time I pressed the pages I thought I knew and fully understood grief without understanding C.S.Lewis. Today however, I know and understand just how much I didn’t know. I guess you could say, I now know how stupid I was and still am.

 Today I read knowing how much more I have yet to glean from this book and from life. I find myself crying far more as I read it now than I did before and I wonder what I have yet to learn and how many more tears the book will bring with years to come. Call it empathy, sympathy or just feeling sorry for myself, call it what you like but I have found that there is a wealth of knowledge to learn in grief. Like a fine wine of balanced dryness, and sweetness, grief is a test by which we know the joys now gone and it intensifies the sorrows felt. We better understand the sweetness in the dryness and the dryness with the sweetness. 

We look at the small mundane things of the world that once held no meaning at all. In our grief we find meaning. We look at something as simple as an evergreen that we have seen a million times before but this time we see it. We attach our grief to the object in a way as to seek after and grasp what once was. We see it as something to be understood in grief. For example; every other time your eyes rested upon that evergreen it was just a prop in your world, but now you look at it and remember that the last time you saw it was with a blissful ignorance without the grief laden eyes that now look upon the same evergreen. That evergreen can then also become a symbol of hope. The hope is that sweetness once experienced will find it’s way back into those things. 

Before grief the evergreen was a prop, in grief it is a painful reminder of what once was, in moving beyond the full blow of grief we can never fully return to it being just a prop again. There is however, a beauty in the fact that once it just was, and now it takes on new meaning. We can now look at the evergreen and look to where we had once been and know that even when grief, sorrow and suffering changes our world, it gives new meaning. We can look at the evergreen and know joy where there was once nothing, all because we have walked through the dark shadow of grief. The morning comes and the light shines and the people walking in darkness have seen a great light! How darkened and meaningless all the props in our world would be if we did not know the pain and suffering once endured by our Savior. He gives new breath, new life in walking our road of tears. He comes to us in human flesh and shows us what it means to live a life of faithfulness. Now the evergreen is not just a prop, it becomes a cross, and later becomes a symbol of hope. 

This life is not just a crescendo of beautiful things only made ugly by grief but perhaps a crescendo of things made beautiful by grief. Bread and wine become a tearful reminder of a final passover meal and progress their way into a celebratory meal where forgiveness is given and God is present. Two intersecting pieces of wood break the heart and carry the remembrance of a dark Friday. From the empty cross stained with blood new life is given. A feeding box for animals was once just that, until a young woman made it into something that could make for a bit of a bed on a night when she had no other choice than to just make do. She gave birth with blood sweat and tears; no different than any other natural birth. I imagine she held her child and remembered the day she received the news that would cause ridicule, mocking, and chastisement, not just for her, but for the child she carried. I imagine she held her first born son and cried the tears of a young mother until fatigue overwhelmed her. I imagine she held the words of the angel and looked upon her son maybe a bit overwhelmed in the normality of the birth. A child brought forth in pain to carry the sins of the world as a man and redeem it from sin and death. It is in his suffering that we find the mundane things of this world to hold beautiful reminders of pain once suffered for us. It is by him that something as cold and normal as rock might communicate once of death, suffering, loss, and pain later to be shattered by His resurrection and His life. I pray that props may be appreciated in your life without experience of great grief this Christmas. I pray that if you are reminded of loved ones lost in the mundane objects of your life, that you may also remember the joy the loved one held in your life. Most of all I pray that everyone would know the exceeding beauty and pleasure of a Savior who comes to us as our Emmanuel and who gives new meaning to the mundane in the midst of grief. Merry Christmas everyone, and God Bless!!!

Joy Found in Christmas Grieving....

It was a cold rainy day off yesterday so I couldn’t do my laundry or go out like I had planned (I like to do as the Dominicans do, it gives me an excuse to be lazy). So I snuggled up in my comfy little corner next to the Christmas tree to the only chapter book I have fully revisited more than a couple times in my life; A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. I suppose I revisit it because every year brings new experiences that give new light to my understanding and reading of the book. This time I marveled at the ease I now have in reading C.S. Lewis. When I first handled the book I knew I held a treasure. I knew it would be a book I carry with me, but I also knew I didn’t fully understand the eloquent articulations of the sophisticated scholar; Clive Staples (two fingers to the nose to convey snobbery). The first time I pressed the pages I thought I knew and fully understood grief without understanding C.S.Lewis. Today however, I know and understand just how much I didn’t know. I guess you could say, I now know how stupid I was and still am.

 Today I read knowing how much more I have yet to glean from this book and from life. I find myself crying far more as I read it now than I did before and I wonder what I have yet to learn and how many more tears the book will bring with years to come. Call it empathy, sympathy or just feeling sorry for myself, call it what you like but I have found that there is a wealth of knowledge to learn in grief. Like a fine wine of balanced dryness, and sweetness, grief is a test by which we know the joys now gone and it intensifies the sorrows felt. We better understand the sweetness in the dryness and the dryness with the sweetness. 

We look at the small mundane things of the world that once held no meaning at all. In our grief we find meaning. We look at something as simple as an evergreen that we have seen a million times before but this time we see it. We attach our grief to the object in a way as to seek after and grasp what once was. We see it as something to be understood in grief. For example; every other time your eyes rested upon that evergreen it was just a prop in your world, but now you look at it and remember that the last time you saw it was with a blissful ignorance without the grief laden eyes that now look upon the same evergreen. That evergreen can then also become a symbol of hope. The hope is that sweetness once experienced will find it’s way back into those things. 

Before grief the evergreen was a prop, in grief it is a painful reminder of what once was, in moving beyond the full blow of grief we can never fully return to it being just a prop again. There is however, a beauty in the fact that once it just was, and now it takes on new meaning. We can now look at the evergreen and look to where we had once been and know that even when grief, sorrow and suffering changes our world, it gives new meaning. We can look at the evergreen and know joy where there was once nothing, all because we have walked through the dark shadow of grief. The morning comes and the light shines and the people walking in darkness have seen a great light! How darkened and meaningless all the props in our world would be if we did not know the pain and suffering once endured by our Savior. He gives new breath, new life in walking our road of tears. He comes to us in human flesh and shows us what it means to live a life of faithfulness. Now the evergreen is not just a prop, it becomes a cross, and later becomes a symbol of hope. 

This life is not just a crescendo of beautiful things only made ugly by grief but perhaps a crescendo of things made beautiful by grief. Bread and wine become a tearful reminder of a final passover meal and progress their way into a celebratory meal where forgiveness is given and God is present. Two intersecting pieces of wood break the heart and carry the remembrance of a dark Friday. From the empty cross stained with blood new life is given. A feeding box for animals was once just that, until a young woman made it into something that could make for a bit of a bed on a night when she had no other choice than to just make do. She gave birth with blood sweat and tears; no different than any other natural birth. I imagine she held her child and remembered the day she received the news that would cause ridicule, mocking, and chastisement, not just for her, but for the child she carried. I imagine she held her first born son and cried the tears of a young mother until fatigue overwhelmed her. I imagine she held the words of the angel and looked upon her son maybe a bit overwhelmed in the normality of the birth. A child brought forth in pain to carry the sins of the world as a man and redeem it from sin and death. It is in his suffering that we find the mundane things of this world to hold beautiful reminders of pain once suffered for us. It is by him that something as cold and normal as rock might communicate once of death, suffering, loss, and pain later to be shattered by His resurrection and His life. I pray that props may be appreciated in your life without experience of great grief this Christmas. I pray that if you are reminded of loved ones lost in the mundane objects of your life, that you may also remember the joy the loved one held in your life. Most of all I pray that everyone would know the exceeding beauty and pleasure of a Savior who comes to us as our Emmanuel and who gives new meaning to the mundane in the midst of grief. Merry Christmas everyone, and God Bless!!!

A Great "Glory Cloud" of Witnesses

Today is one of my favorite festivals in the church year. While my fellow strong hearted Lutheran friends nurse their reformation hangovers, I woke early in the morning to meditate on this special day (I thank you Lord that I am not like those other sinners!). I had many thoughts running through my mind. Writing them out always helps me piece them together. 

First off; this day reminded me of the hope that I have (I bet you think you know where I am going with this). My hope is that one year from now I find myself at the end of a pilgrimage that finds it’s completion at the feet of a statue of Saint James (Not where you thought I was going with that?). It would be a pilgrimage to reflect on and praise God for His strong hand in my life and not to find Him, or sanctify myself. That is looking to the future with a whole year to go and many miles before I am able to know that day. 

Second; I had one of those dreams again last night. I think I blogged about that reoccurring dream once before, It was a dream about my Grandmother who died some years ago. That dream reminded me of a scene from a t.v. show I recently saw. It was a scene where a mother is weeping over the loss of her son and she talks about how every day is like waking up to a bad dream and you have to “continue being a mother even though you don’t get to have a child anymore.” Granted; the pain of loosing a child is very different from loosing a grandparent or even a parent, nonetheless there is still a pain. Having been raised as a pastors daughter, our family saw a-lot of parents grieving the loss of a child. One thing I remember my parents often saying in response to the loss was; “Parents are never supposed to burry their children, it goes against a natural order” 

Finally; the other day I attended a deaconess class within the home of one of our members. It was a a home in the inner city “barrio.” It is one of the oldest “hoods” in the city, and not in a nostalgic, endearing sort of way. We are holding classes with a woman who lives with her mother. She moved in with her this past year shortly after her sister died. We visited this family as the sister/daughter/aunt was dying. The mother; bearing the marks of age and experience having lived in this old part of the city for many years expressed anticipated grief in saying; “death has visited my house and taken one of my children before, and here it is again.”

 As I sat next to this woman during the class I studied her.  Her skin is well aged and I remember being overwhelmed at the beauty this held for me. Most days I have a difficult time looking at and appreciating my well rounded curves and here I was marveling and admiring her many tiny wrinkles. I looked at her face and studied all that she was. I remember reading somewhere that as you get older your speech becomes more simple. It is an ironic notion for me that we work hard to accomplish, build up, and achieve goals only to speak more plainly and perhaps not at all about those early strivings. So as I studied this woman, I tried to fill in the gaps of unspoken words, filling in every line of her face with some imagined story. I looked out the door at the busy street and wondered how many times she must have looked out that same door, and how much has changed since the first day she moved into her house. I wondered how much more violent the streets outside might have been fifty years ago. I wondered if she swept the floor with one arm while holding a baby on her hip with the other arm. Or, maybe she just let the kids play on the floor while she tended the fire in the kitchen. I wondered how many tears she cried and what sort of events in her life made those wrinkles.

I couldn’t fill in those lines, I could only admire them. I remember how I did the same with my grandmother. I remember looking on her face, squinting my eyes and trying to see if I could blur my vision enough to blur out the lines of her aging. I would get a glimpse and then would open my eyes all the way and would think, “this is better.” Not natural, and not normal, but better. She is closer to resting with all her lines. Take the lines away and you take away a clinging to Christ, a story of her pilgrimage of drawing near to Christ as He drew near to her. It is not within a natural order that we should burry anyone, but those lines, those tears, those pains, those nightmarish reminders of what we once were and are no longer are also beautiful reminders of what we shall become. We don’t have to look any further than the cross to fully understand that the marks of sin, the burden of the cross, the pains of the flogging bring about our redemption. Not our pilgrimage, but the pilgrimage of Christ himself. He took up the cross and although he did not have the lines of age, he endured the stripes of or sin in youth. He endured abuse, affliction and death so that we might know the promise of eternal life and redemption. The beauty of those lines, and those marks, though reflecting a life in a world of sin also remind us of a God who promises to make all things new. So on this festival day, I praise God for that promise, that even in the midst of waking and remembering that I don’t get to have my grandmother with me, I hold the promise that the One who made us both unites us in His body and blood and one day I shall wake to behold His face and not another! One day, my pilgrimage will find it’s end at the feet of my Savior, bearing the marks of his suffering for my redemption. There, he will fill my lines of age not with imagined stories but with the story of His suffering and death, and I shall be made new.   

Exodus 13:21

And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of cloud to lead the way, and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so as to go by day and night.

Hebrews 12:1

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,

Revelation 1:7

Behold, He is coming with clouds, and every eye will see Him, even they who pierced Him. And all the tribes of the earth will mourn because of Him. Even so, Amen.

Let your "What if..." become "What now..."

Can I just say... it really pains me when I get on facebook and see all the changes that are happening to those I love and to not even be able to be present for them. So many of my friends have gotten married and now I message them under new names without having had the pleasure of presence at their wedding or meeting their significant other. So many of my friends have had children and I watch them grow through their postings on facebook. All this observing from afar leaves me sulking with a pain of “what if this is just going to be what my life looks like?” “What if I am forever stuck on the other side of this computer as a means of connecting with others and this is my only way of knowing the lives of my friends?” “What if my photos on facebook never expand beyond just me and the places I have been?” “What if the only connections I make with people are the fleeting meetings and friendings of facebook?”

There is a dull pain that I know everyone has felt at one point or another. It is an aching pain that allows you to go about your day and pretend like it isn’t there. It is a pain carried on the person, haunting them not with what is, but with what might be. The more we open ourselves up to loving others the more we know this pain. The dull pain is self inflicted with all the “what if’s” of this world. “What if I never get into the school I want?” “What if I am alone all my life” “What if I am left alone long before I am ready to be alone” “What if the image of my life that I hold so close slips out from underneath me?” “What if they die?” “What if I die?” “What if that was my fault?” “What if I do?” What if I don’t” These questions are a way of tempering the soul from having to experience the full blow of the outcome of the question itself. In other words; I often feel like I cling to these questions as a way to guard myself from feeling the full pain. A dull pain always present eases me into what could potentially be a BIG HUGE PAIN! The truth is, it gets exhausting and it blocks my view from all those things in this world that do offer peace and pleasure. 

It is interesting to think that our biggest fears in this life are carried like bags. We keep the bags with us just in case our fears do come true. At least then we have the bags to pick up the pieces and move forward. The problem is that the bags bind up our hands and keep us from being able to grasp onto Christ.  I find myself asking too often “What if...” and not “What now?” My fear of the future keeps me from enjoying the present. Christ has taken the biggest pain, every problem, and offers the answer to every one of our questions of “What if?”. “What now” is that I am baptized. “What now” is Christ with me. “What now” is Christ always with me, even if the “What if” becomes a reality. Christ on the cross doesn’t save me from the potential of big huge pains in the future but he saves me from an eternity of dull pain. In other words, life is temporal and too short to worry about “What if.” Each day I need His grace to remember that today will be what it will be, and no matter what comes, so does Christ.

Matthew 6:31-34

³¹ “Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ ³² For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. ³³ But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.

Just another boring old baptism......

I went to a church service where there happened to also be a baptism. I didn’t think too much of it because really, church and baptisms in my mind go hand in hand. It was for a baby; didn’t think too much about that either. It was in Spanish, I had to think a little bit more with that one in order to understand. The elements however were the same; there was water and the word. It was the same old baptism ritual that I am used to seeing in every church I have ever been in before; put a little water on the babies head and say a few words and bang! You have been “baptized!” Done! 

This time though it was different. Everything stayed the same, but I saw something new and amazingly exciting. As soon as the pastor began to pour water on the baby and say the words, there was a huge rush towards the font. Kids came running up curious about what was going on, adults gathered round to get a better picture. There was a huge movement toward the font. A HUGE movement! This was something new for me. It was in that moment that I became a little misty because I realized that this is always what a baptism should be. A desperate rush to the font where we are made new. A daily returning to that place where by the grace of God, the old Adam is drowned. That place of grace and mercy ever flowing until that day when we die and our baptism is complete. I marveled at how these kids and parents had it right. They didn’t know any great theology. They just wanted to see. They wanted to be a part of it, not just get it over with.

That night as I drove home I thought about it all as I watched the sky fire up with brilliant colors of red, orange, purple, and blue. It took me a minute to realize what I was looking at and to think, “Wow! What a sky! What a God.” I even caught myself whispering those words to myself. No night sky is like another, and yet we tire so easily of them. We have made mundane that which God never tires of to do for us. At the heart of all my awe and amazement is a BIG God who transcends our pitiful need for emotion and never tires of doing what we label old or normal, he does them over and over again for us! He paints the sky with fire, he comes down in water and word and brings forth new life. He draws people to him to come and see and wonder what this thing that has happened is. He makes all things new! We can make what is new old, but He never tires of loving us, and so he never stops making new. 

I know I have used this quote before but I love it and it addresses what is quite possibly the greatest problem in the American Church; boredom. G.K. Chesterton says this in his book “Orthodoxy,” he says; “But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun.; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic monotony that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never gotten tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” 

Thank God that he never tires because we would be lost and without hope if he allowed himself to feel even an ounce of boredom or tiredness. Perhaps it isn’t even so much that he enjoys doing it, but perhaps, maybe, just maybe, he does it because he enjoys when we enjoy it. He hangs the sun every morning without applause or great fanfare but perhaps every so often he delights to find someone driving along who catches themselves in the midst of something that could only have been created by a creator and they marvel at it. He opens the font and pours forth radiant blessing not because he has to but because he wants to, because he loves us, because he wants to make all things new for us.  

Revelation 21:4-6

New King James Version (NKJV)

4 And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”

5 Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me,[a] “Write, for these words are true and faithful.”

6 And He said to me, “It is done![b] I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give of the fountain of the water of life freely to him who thirsts.

Word to the wise...

So today I got to talk to the deacons and deaconesses about visitations. I love this by the way. So I was trying to show them how they might apply a portals of prayer (we have them in Spanish) to many different situations even though the devotion for the day only speaks of one issue. I didn’t get far because we got to talking about something else. I tried to ask them how they would apply the devotion to someone who has just found out that they are going to die. They amazed me... “Oh we don’t talk about death when someone is dying” So my next question was; “Well... why not?” “we want to build up their self esteem” then I said; “So you just say something like, ‘oh don’t worry! You will be all better soon!’?” To which they said; “Oh yes it is better not to talk about death even if you know they are going to die” I had no idea!!!!! Here I was thinking that these people are so healthy in their social relationships and have such a healthy perspective on death, but what I wasn't seeing was that they just weren’t talking about it. 

So today, we talked. We talked about clothing yourself in scripture and going to battle with the word of God. We talked about fearlessly entering into a house of death with the word of life. At the heart of what my class was saying was fear. Not that they feared their own death but they feared how people may receive the Gospel. It has always fascinated me how we delicately cradle the dying and ease them into the grave when we should be taking up the sword of righteousness and fighting off any fears, doubts, or misconceived ideas they may have. We will die, we don’t need to delicately walk around that. Jesus died, we cannot walk so delicately with that. With Christ’s death and triumphant victory over sin, death, and the devil we may fearlessly march forward into battle holding the cross of Christ saying, “this is not the end. My Lord does not remain silent in death therefor while I am with the living, I shall proclaim all the more loudly that my Savior lives and because he lives I too shall live.” This is a message I hope and pray may begin to permeate the lives of those who are learning in the church here in the D.R.. I pray this message banishes what has been accepted as socially normal and allows them to speak the resurrection in the face of death and not words of false hope.

Job 19:25-26

New King James Version (NKJV)

25 

For I know that my Redeemer lives,
And He shall stand at last on the earth;

26 

And after my skin is destroyed, this I know,
That in my flesh I shall see God

Betrayed by a kiss:

I think too much, I know, it is dangerous and I can’t help it. What is worse is that sometimes, (a LOT of the time) I say what I am thinking. This is one of those times, so hold on for a ride on my articulated mind. With little to no sleep last night, and time alone to think on a walk in town, some thoughts slipped into my head that seemed crazy, even to me. These last few weeks have been a roller coaster ride, much like my mind. Today during my walk, like a piece to a strange puzzle, the betrayal of Jesus by Judas popped into my mind. I thought about that kiss and what that meant apart from and within the context of which it was received. Although, that wasn’t as crazy as the next thought I had (If you make it past this point you need to commit to staying with me to the end). The next thought I had was “I have been betrayed by God with a kiss.” Wait a minute! Heresy! Blasphemy! Just darn right crazy talk! God does not betray his children, let alone with a kiss. Or does he?

I would propose that we are all enemies of God and at the same time dearly loved children (It says that in the Bible- Isaiah 64:6 and 1 John 3:1-3). I would also propose that we are baptized into Christ’s death and are buried with Him (Paul said that somewhere- Romans 6:3-5). There is a part of being betrayed with a kiss that is both law and gospel. Being drawn in with such an act of love by God himself requires an equal violent act of killing since that which is Holy can have no part in that which is sinful. How does a Holy and righteous God draw in a sinful human being; He betrays that sinful man and by covering him with another death; his righteous and Holy son. It is a betrayal of that sinful man that is an enemy of and at war with God, and a calling forth of that saintly person whom God has made and is making us to be in Christ. Only God could take such righteous judgement and use it to totally chastise and draw in simultaneously. 

The ironic thing is that the physical kiss doesn’t always come from God, but from His people. A kiss where the sinner and saint (Simul justus et peccator) remain but the betrayal convicts us and attempts to arrest that sinful part and selfish desire within us.  A member of the church requested to have a house blessing yesterday. These particular members had been living in another home for a month in order to convert their tin walls into cement. They didn’t have much, but they were so thankful. There was also special seating for this blessing of which I was asked to take a seat. I can’t even begin to express how amazingly honored I felt to be asked to sit at the front of the house like that. I had done nothing to deserve it and the reception they gave for me, the love, the attention, the hugs, and yes, even the kisses reminded me of that denial to self. It reminded me, as that individualistic person who wants to cling to her individual time, space and identity, that person has no place in this world (that being the D.R.). This world, where people open what meager dwellings they have and share everything without hinderance. This world, where people leave their front doors open and a seat ready for hospitality. It is a whole new world for me here, just as Bethlehem was a whole new world for Christ. The only difference is, He entered in to show what it means to deny yourself, take up your cross, and share in the suffering and rejoicing of others. I myself am entering into learning from these people on a daily basis what it means to be betrayed by a kiss in all divine love and sacrifice and to daily put to death that person who has no part with a Holy God.     
ROMANS 6:1-4
What shall we say then? Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound? Certainly not! How shall we who died to sin live any longer in it? Or do you not know that as many of us as were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? Therefore we were buried with Him through baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life. 

Fighting for words:

I have been wrestling with what I might say for all my faithful followers, and financial supporters as evidence of my work on the mission field in the Dominican Republic. I could offer a few lines of Spanish but that would just be showing off and pointless. When I thought about everything I could say it all sounded the same as before; “Well... I don’t feel like much, but I know God has made me much” or “Well.... I haven’t done much, but I know God will continue to work in and through me.” and “So.... I am struggling but I know God is my strength.” It doesn’t make any of what I have said less true or less important. Perhaps it makes it a tired message, rerun, and over used, but then again maybe not. I have been wrestling for a few weeks now on what to say and just when I thought I had something I would think, “Nope! I’ve said that before” or “Now this is just getting to be too forced and has no meaningful substance” Then it hit me; maybe that is the point. A forced message and a repeated message given in truth makes it no less true or less needed. I am reminded of a great quote by G.K.Chesterton in his book “Orthodoxy” when he states;

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”

While I may be tired and doubting those words of truth that God offers me in his word, He keeps telling me, “read it again, say it again, repeat it even when you don’t ‘feel’ it because soon you will know, and soon my promises will be so engrained in your being that they will speak louder than your doubting and fatigue.” So, He sings over me when I am too tired to sing, His promises are new every morning and His mercy never fails. I am like a tree planted by streams of water which yields its fruit in due season and whose leaf does not wither. Say it again, do it again, read it again and again... 

Habakkuk 3:17-19

Though the fig tree may not blossom,

Nor fruit be on the vines;

Though the labor of the olive may fail,

And the fields yield no food;

Though the flock may be cut off from the fold,

And there be no herd in the stalls—

Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,

I will joy in the God of my salvation.

The Lord God[c] is my strength;

He will make my feet like deer’s feet,

And He will make me walk on my high hills.

I run...but I fall down again....

April was a great month for me! I had a wonderful month of success. I started to help teach classes for deacons and deaconesses. I got to have a special Bible class with a few struggling students in the school. I got to help a little at the construction site for the new group home. I ran a 10K, and joined a gym. April was a month for me where I started to feel like I had some footing beneath me. The ironic thing is whenever I begin to feel sure of myself and think “Now I’m running on the track” I am humbled and reminded that no matter how perfect I make my life, it is nothing compared to what He makes it. 

One year ago today I began the hopeful journey of being a missionary in the D.R.. Today, I sit on the other side of that process envying my fellow brothers and sisters that are beginning their own joyfully exciting journeys of serving our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ beginning with a call process that renders them subject to the process itself. There was a joy I carried with me when I thought I was conducting my own orchestra only to be shattered when my own strength faltered. When I stepped back, or was nocked down, I realized that the only One to take up the stand and conduct is the very One who divinely orchestrated all of creation and called the earth into being. The only One who can sustain my decrescendos, and drawn out lulls in life is the conductor with bigger arms than my own. He has given me all that I need to support this body and life and still takes care of me. 

Why is it that I always fall into the trap of thinking it is I who needs to serve Him, when He is the one granting the strength and sustenance to carry on? All too often my joy for the service constitutes my own strength and ability to carry out my day to day living. Yet it is God who makes me fit to serve Him. What is more is that it is God who strengthens me when I do not feel fit to serve. Christ on the cross is the only work I need for the day. Christ covering me in baptismal robes of regalia is my strength for days when I don’t think I measure up, because alone I don’t. With Christ before me, he holds my arms up for battle and places his own upon a cross to win the greatest battle of all. My greatest crescendo is Christ when I run, and Christ when I fall down again. He is the reason for my success and my aid for when I fall. My joy then is found in a Savior who makes me fit not only for His kingdom, but fit for the service of the kingdom. Finally, joy comes in knowing when I am weak, and all too human, God invests in making me whole and better for knowing and serving Him.   

Exodus 15:2 

The Lord is my strength and song,
And He has become my salvation;
He is my God, and I will praise Him;
My father’s God, and I will exalt Him.

Birthday Cake?

Philippians 1:3-4

I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine making request for you all with joy,

To all whom offered there greetings of birth: 

Okay I know that is a weird way of saying that, but this is for you: To all of you because there are too many of you! (which is a huge blessing!!!!) It is so amazing to know I am not forgotten, and I am loved. Even if you just saw the little notice up in the right hand corner that “Kate Ziegler has a birthday today!” on facebook and you took the time to simply put, “Happy Birthday!!!!” THANK YOU!!!! You are a friend for a reason and it may seem simple to you to type those simple words, but as I scan my profile and look at all of you who posted, not one of you went unnoticed. You remembered me (even if it was prompted by facebook) and you took the time (that is something I am not always good at). As I looked at your simple words I thought about you, which changed the words and made them more complex. I thought of what impact you have had on my life, and how you became to be my friend on facebook. Whether it was meeting you in grade school, culinary arts school, CUNE, Seminary, Through Church, in China or in Europe last year, you hold a place in my memory and the shaping of who I am this year and for years to come. I thank God that he not only calls us to Him in baptism but to community too! 

After the whole Birthday chaos had settled down, I had some time to call my mother and father and talk with them a bit. I was sad because I missed them. I realized that sometimes birthdays are just difficult because you are made aware of the reality of another year. The woman who carried me for nine months, changed my diaper for probably three years and made my birthday cake for about 25 years was only connected to me by a phone call (which I know is more than what some others have). It seems difficult to separate my special day of birth from the woman who labored to bring me into this world, and the two who labored to send me out into the world (a.k.a. The Parents). I thought about how from the moment I was born I have experienced a series of separations. First they cut my cord; separating me from my direct line to my mother, then I began to grow up and realized that friends were way cooler than my parents. Then, I moved away and realized that I needed my parents but what I had were friends. When I started loosing my friends I began to realize how friends too can be taken for granted and how life is short. One day I know I will loose both my parents and I know I will have dear friends to lean on. I will have close friends that God has given to me to run to, and what is more important is that I have Christ who underwent the ultimate separation for us.

I’m so thankful for the friends I have, the friends I have lost, and the friends I have yet to make. I pray that God would keep me ever mindful of the reason they cut that cord when I was a baby, and the reason I had to leave the house of my mother and father. I am connected to my parents in a much deeper sense than just a call on the phone, and with many of you I hold that same connection. This birthday I remember the gift of friends with their own unique stories and walks of life who come from all different parts of the world. Friends I would not have made had my parents not allowed me to venture beyond what they knew to be safe and what they understood. Friends who taught me words like "totes" "could do" and "dunzo."  Friends who make me feel loved, friends who impress upon me the importance of faith, and friends who impact my life in such a way that allows me to carry them with me, even when they are gone.   

I thank God for you all and your words. I thank God that he has made you to be who you are, and that he is making me who I am to be, influenced by the graces of His good people. Seriously!!!!! You have no idea how precious your words were to me (because they came from YOU!!!!!) Thank you!

Love Katie 

Ecclesiastes 4:9-11

The Value of a Friend

Two are better than one,

Because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion.

But woe to him who is alone when he falls,

For he has no one to help him up.

The Road is Long...

Luke 24:30-35

Now it came to pass, as He sat at the table with them, that He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they knew Him; and He vanished from their sight.

And they said to one another, “Did not our heart burn within us while He talked with us on the road, and while He opened the Scriptures to us?” So they rose up that very hour and returned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven and those who were with them gathered together, saying, “The Lord is risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon!” And they told about the things that had happened on the road, and how He was known to them in the breaking of bread.

I was walking down the beach the other day with a friend lamenting the fact that eating and drinking is such a huge part of communal activity here that it makes it difficult to maintain any kind of diet apart from rice, beans, and juice. Most people commune over food and find the feasting to be an intimate activity of sharing in nourishment of the body. I learned in my culinary education that dining is an activity that brings people together and is better enjoyed in the company of others. This reflection on dining made me think of other communal activities that we practice and I recalled one even more intimate, that being walking. I had been processing this thought for a bit and it was solidified as I recently watched a movie called “The Way.” It is a movie about a man who takes a pilgrimage on "El Camino de Santiago." It reminded me of the walks I have been on and walks I hope to go on. I recalled walks with my mother all through high school, I recall many “Concordia walks” in Seward, and walks around the Fort Wayne Seminary campus with friends. I remember distinctly a ten mile journey from Deal to Dover, and walking around the train station in Germany passing the night away to catch the bus in the morning. There were too many walks in Cambridge to count, and many walks about in other parts of Europe. Those are precious journeys I treasure and wish I could easily return to. The point is, I’m afraid that in the past I have not recognized the journey to be of equal importance to feasting. The journey often ends with a feast to recall and rejoice in the journey. After long walks and good conversation, the meal became more than just an intimate sharing of food. It was a working together to create and bring forth food that represented the efforts of our journey and now would be used to the nourishment of our bodies. 

The Road to Emmaus was a lot like this. It was a journey of tears, wonder, confusion, discussion and maybe even fear. The disciples walked seven miles trying to make sense of everything that had happened and would happen with the present knowledge or wonder of Christ’s resurrection. They even took on one who they thought was a fellow pilgrim to walk with them to the nearest lodging for the night. They took a walk in the early part of the evening as the sun began to go down. What they had at the end was not a feast but perhaps more so a vision of the feast to come. They had meager offerings of just bread, or perhaps that was the only thing that needed to be mentioned in the text. What happened was the bread sustained them for a seven mile run. The bread opened their eyes, their hearts burnt within them and they knew more than they knew before. Their walking turned to running, their fear setting like the sun turned to a light that fearlessly carried them on a nightly journey. The journey became necessary driven by purpose and the road became shorter. They knew the joy of their Savior alive, whole and well through the breaking of the bread. It doesn’t take much bread and wine to have table fellowship, but it does take a bit more to understand what makes that fellowship so important. It takes walking with our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ and sharing in their sorrows and woes to the point of becoming one through an intimate sharing of a meal. The meager offerings of bread and wine are so much more when we know what is being offered. The meal becomes a feast and we run to the table together with the understanding of where we are all coming from and that we all become one in the journey through the eating and drinking of Christ’s body and blood. Even today, God meets us and walks with us on the way, providing all we need along the way. 

Happy Easter everybody, and I pray that you know God's presence and the presence of those he has placed in your life along the way. I remember you all as I go to the table of our Lord and feast on his body and blood.    

Alleluia's in Lent

Today I attended my first funeral in the D.R. It was emotionally more exhausting than visiting the children in some of the orphanages here. At the grave yard the workers rushed about to break open old vaults, prepare them, and seal them. There is a certain sense of finality in the D.R. funeral as opposed to the American funeral. The funeral home is kept very cold to preserve the body which has not been embalmed, and there is no patch of grass over the grave to remind people of renewed life in death. Rather, there is the stark reminder that this body is going to rot within a hot box of cement outside with several other bodies in rented cement vaults closely inlaid with a wall. They are buried much like they live; very close together. After the body is placed in the wall everyone stands around and watches as the worker, who is hot sweaty and wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He seals the vault with two cement blocks and wet cement for the sealant. 

Without the Easter message, this whole ritual communicates that this body is confined to this cell. This body is one quick job for a man that will do the same for twenty other cells today. This body, once the vessel for a life now is no different from any other earthly thing that will rot, decay, and pass away. With the Easter message however we know a different reality. This is the body of a dearly loved child of God. This child has been freed from the bonds of sin on this earth. This child is no longer confined to their flesh and while the seal is being placed upon the vault that holds their body, Christ had burst forth by placing his own seal upon this child though baptism.

What faced us today was a cell sealed with cement, but what we know is this; the very God who formed us has claimed us and already broken the cement. He is stronger than any substance man uses to block out the stench of sin and rotting flesh. This substance cannot hold back the promise and power of Christ’s presence at the grave and the uniting at the font and table. I love that the funeral is one of the exceptions to say "Alleluia" during Lent. I praise God as the words to this beautiful hymn ring in my ear even in the midst of this Lenten season: 

Now let the vault of Heavn resound
In praise of love that doth abound,
“Christ hath triumphed, alleluia!”
Sing, choirs of angels, loud and clear,
Repeat their song of glory here,
“Christ hath triumphed, Christ hath triumphed!”
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. (LSB 465)

2 Cor. 15:55-57  O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting? The sting of death is sin; and the power of sin is the law: but thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Lessons from Tias...

It amazes me how much children teach us. This morning I was asked to watch the kids (I now live with the same family who cared for me while I had dengue). It was only for a few minutes before I was relieved by a woman from the church that comes to help out in the house two times a week. I snuggled with the two children on the couch while we watched some cartoon. The girl is four and the boy is two. They are close to the ages of my nephews back home but very different in personality. The little boy is quite the snuggler, which I soak up as my youngest nephew arches his back and runs away screaming for his “Nana” any time I try to hold him. Snuggling was cut short as my relief came shortly after we had settled on the couch. My mind quickly went to how I could best be productive in the office today beginning with getting dressed in a fresh pair of comfy clothes. 

When I emerged to the sitting room where the kids were the youngest little boy was crying because he had hit his head. I was just getting ready to walk out the door with all confidence that this was nothing the helper hadn’t seen or dealt with before, but what happened next pulled me out of my focus for the day. The little boy came to me, hugged me, and said, “hold me?” He weakened my already weak heart and I picked him up and just sat for a bit longer thinking, “Work can wait, this is just too precious.”

I sat a bit longer with the kids, until the cartoon was done. They got a few books and we started to look at them. The older sister took one of the books the younger brother was looking at and he then became distraught. I could tell he wasn’t going to give it up so I asked (for my own sanity) if the older sister could give the book back. Trying to console a two year old and battle an all knowing four year old, I looked down and noticed that in his distress, the youngest was throwing up his breakfast over himself, myself and finally down onto the couch. Covered in throw-up, I tried to rush him to the bathroom, attempting to be extra careful not to get extra throw up on me. 

When the adrenaline and concern for my fresh new pair of comfy clothes wore off, I noticed that the little boy was crying and saying “a bath? a bath? clean? a bath?” I picked him up and held him, and he held even tighter onto me. I wanted to cry with him and I asked him; “Is that what you want? You want a bath?” How quick I was to get this filthy child away from me while he was covered in sick, yet all he wanted was someone to hold him. Before that I was quick to forget my work before me to snuggle with a sweet little two year old. Before that I was quick to walk away from the same child to set my mind on “higher things.” It made me realize how much all of God’s children are like this little boy. At what point do we lay aside what is ultimately unimportant to tend to the needs of God’s people. 

It is easy to care for others when it is convenient, but what do we do when sickness looks like it could rub off, or get on us too? Christ unabashedly entered into our infirmities, and swam in a world full of sickness so that we could bathe in his righteousness and put on a clean white robe in holy baptism. Christ was not afraid of getting sick on himself for us. He took all our infirmities upon himself. Tias showed me a glimpse of what the Savior’s love looks like out poured on his people. It looks a lot like what Christ did for us; working on the sabbath, becoming unclean, uncomfortable, and unconcerned for those things that pale in comparison to the wellbeing and love of a child. A communication I am sure a mother displays better than I did this morning. I wish I had been less concerned for my clothes and the sweet smell of perfume in my nose. It was however when that sweet little child flung his arms around me and rested his head upon my shoulder with tears in his eyes that I wore his sick on my clothes like a badge of honor, as if to say “Look what sick I was able to catch” I wanted to show off the sick like it meant something, but wearing it doesn’t make it go away. I needed to wash it. Ironically that is something his mother is now doing for me. In the end, we can’t be the ones to take the sickness, but we can be unafraid of it knowing where to go to become clean. We may not be able to heal, but we can always point to the healer; Christ.

Isaiah 53:3-5

New King James Version (NKJV)

3 

He is despised and rejected by men,
A Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.
And we hid, as it were, our faces from Him;
He was despised, and we did not esteem Him.

4 

Surely He has borne our griefs
And carried our sorrows;
Yet we esteemed Him stricken,
Smitten by God, and afflicted.

5 

But He was wounded for our transgressions,
He was bruised for our iniquities;
The chastisement for our peace was upon Him,
And by His stripes we are healed.