Bread and Wine Reading: "Jesus Gives All", Henri Nouwen
Scripture Reading: John 13: 1-7, 31b-35
Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”…“Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
Henri Nouwen makes the claim that Jesus’ two acts of washing the feet of the disciples and offering his body and blood as food and drink belong together. Nouwen contends that together they make up of the fullness of God’s love. We’ve heard it before: Love God with your whole being, offering everything that you are and you’re your neighbor as yourself. They cannot be separated. Nouwen says that “Jesus calls us to continue his mission of revealing the perfect love of God in this world. He calls us to total self-giving. He does not want us to keep anything for ourselves. Rather, he wants our love to be as full, as radical, and as complete as his own.”
The loving God part is something that, intellectually, we understand. We’re supposed to love the one who created us. But what does that mean? If God loves us, why does God want us to surrender those things that are important to us? Why does God want us to give up everything that we have, everything that makes us who we are? The reason…is that God wants us to be who we were created to be. And part of who were created to be is a creature who gives of oneself radically, completely, just as Christ did.
But this washing feet thing…what is that about? Feet are personal; feet are intimate; touching someone’s feet is an act of love, isn’t it? Exactly. The first time that I participated in a symbolic footwashing on Maundy Thursday, I was reticent. Would this be uncomfortable? But kneeling down, taking someone’s feet in my hands, pouring water, and gently caressing them was nothing like I expected. I felt in those feet where they had been; I felt in those feet the lines of the paths they had walked; I felt in those feet the pain and the joys that they had experienced in their lives.
There is an alternative medicine form called reflexology that has been around for as long as 5,000 years. It’s claim is that the foot carries patterns of what the rest of the body feels, what the rest of the body experiences. I don’t really embrace it, although it’s interesting. I will tell you, though, that it may not be that far off. Our feet connect us to others. They touch the earth; they carry us; they lead us into new experiences. Our feet are the first to feel cold, the first to feel the warmth of the earth, the first to step into a hot bath, the first to brave the chill of cold water. They are the first off the step in the morning. And they are the first that carry us to our next point on our journey. Maybe this is what Jesus knew—that by washing the feet of those whom he served, he was cleansing the world that was connected to them and setting them on their path.
I guess after he finished washing their feet, they finished the meal. They ate the bread; they drank the wine. Essentially, Jesus cleansed the world and then gave of himself as sustenance. We are called to be self-giving, to give all that there is of us to God and to others. And when we are emptied of all that we think we are, Jesus says, “Take, eat…fill yourself…eat and drink all the sustenance that you need…in remembrance of me.
Discussion Questions:
1.) What does it mean for you to love God with your whole being?
2.) What are those things that you might have to surrender to become who God intends you to be?
3.) Look at your own feet. Where have they been? Where are they going? Imagine the Christ washing your feet. What does that mean?
So go forth toward the Cross…Do this in remembrance of me!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Showing posts with label Surrender. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Surrender. Show all posts
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Thirsting
Bread and Wine Reading: "Thirsting", Alexander Stuart Baillie
Scripture Reading: John 12: 24-33
Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor. “Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.” The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.” Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.
Thirsting is a normal part of our human experience. It describes a profound human need. But when we become convinced that our desires are our needs, perhaps we are then thirsting for the wrong things. It is no less destructive than drinking saltwater. No matter how much you drink, your thirst will not be quenched. Alexander Baillie says that “there are those who thirst for everything save righteousness. Their lives are so engrossed and encompassed within the limits of their world of time-space that they forget that there might be some other relations to life. Such crass limitations make life little and cramped. But shutting out the Eternal, they lose all that is truly worthwhile. They forget that life abundant is not to be found within their little cosmos of human desires.”
We are all guilty of this—of narrowing that for which we thirst to things that we ourselves can obtain. Baillie cites the human thirst for wealth, for pleasure, or for a certain level in life, a certain rank or station. But in the depth of our souls, in that deepest God-image place that resides in us all, is an incredible thirst for the Divine. As St. Augustine said, “Thou hast made us for Thyself, and we cannot find rest until we find it in Thee.” Only God can quench our thirst for the Divine.
In the Scripture passage, Jesus promised that as he was lifted up, as he was carried away from the hopelessness and despair of this world, he would draw all people to himself. All would have their thirst quenched by the Divine. But in order to be lifted up, the self that one has created must die away. No longer can there be an attachment to this world—to wealth, to pleasure, to the place that one has obtained for oneself in life. Those are meaningless. But God through Christ offers a life that will always quench our thirst—a life with the Divine forever walking with us, a life for which our true self thirsts.
Baillie says that “one needs to keep on thirsting because life grows and enlarges. It has no end; it goes on and on; it becomes more beautiful…[One] cannot be satisfied until [one] attains unto the stature of Jesus, unto a perfect [human], and ever thirsts for God.” We all thirst for God in our deepest being. But it is only when we become fully human, the image in which we were made, with the mind of the Christ, that we will know that God created us to thirst for nothing but God. It is that thirst for the Divine that glorifies God’s name.
Discussion Questions:
1.) What image of thirst is present in your own life?
2.) To what worldly things are there attachments in your life?
3.) How would you describe that deep thirst for God?
So go forth toward the Cross with a thirst for God!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Scripture Reading: John 12: 24-33
Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor. “Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.” The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.” Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.
Thirsting is a normal part of our human experience. It describes a profound human need. But when we become convinced that our desires are our needs, perhaps we are then thirsting for the wrong things. It is no less destructive than drinking saltwater. No matter how much you drink, your thirst will not be quenched. Alexander Baillie says that “there are those who thirst for everything save righteousness. Their lives are so engrossed and encompassed within the limits of their world of time-space that they forget that there might be some other relations to life. Such crass limitations make life little and cramped. But shutting out the Eternal, they lose all that is truly worthwhile. They forget that life abundant is not to be found within their little cosmos of human desires.”
We are all guilty of this—of narrowing that for which we thirst to things that we ourselves can obtain. Baillie cites the human thirst for wealth, for pleasure, or for a certain level in life, a certain rank or station. But in the depth of our souls, in that deepest God-image place that resides in us all, is an incredible thirst for the Divine. As St. Augustine said, “Thou hast made us for Thyself, and we cannot find rest until we find it in Thee.” Only God can quench our thirst for the Divine.
In the Scripture passage, Jesus promised that as he was lifted up, as he was carried away from the hopelessness and despair of this world, he would draw all people to himself. All would have their thirst quenched by the Divine. But in order to be lifted up, the self that one has created must die away. No longer can there be an attachment to this world—to wealth, to pleasure, to the place that one has obtained for oneself in life. Those are meaningless. But God through Christ offers a life that will always quench our thirst—a life with the Divine forever walking with us, a life for which our true self thirsts.
Baillie says that “one needs to keep on thirsting because life grows and enlarges. It has no end; it goes on and on; it becomes more beautiful…[One] cannot be satisfied until [one] attains unto the stature of Jesus, unto a perfect [human], and ever thirsts for God.” We all thirst for God in our deepest being. But it is only when we become fully human, the image in which we were made, with the mind of the Christ, that we will know that God created us to thirst for nothing but God. It is that thirst for the Divine that glorifies God’s name.
Discussion Questions:
1.) What image of thirst is present in your own life?
2.) To what worldly things are there attachments in your life?
3.) How would you describe that deep thirst for God?
So go forth toward the Cross with a thirst for God!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Naked Pride
Bread and Wine Reading: "Naked Pride", John Stott
Scripture Reading: Romans 8: 35-39
Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, ‘For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.’ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
We Americans don’t really do well with nakedness—either literally or figuratively. Perhaps it is our Puritan influence that sees the flesh as at least something less than good and at the most downright naughty. But I think, more than that, it is that we are taught to “put on a good face”, to “not air our dirty laundry” and to “act like that that we want to be”. And then we are shocked and even a little taken aback when someone is “real” and genuine. Why can’t we be real?
John Stott begins his essay by claiming that “the essence of sin is [humanity] substituting [the human self] for God, while the essence of salvation is God substituting [Godself] for [humanity].” This is a powerful statement. Why can’t we be real? Why do we think that we have to be someone we’re not? Why do we aspire to be God? We will never be God; God is God.
We 21st century Protestants do not do well with confessions. Excuses are really much more our norm—“I’m only human”, “I was just trying to…”, “The devil made me do it.”---PLEASE! Why can’t we just admit that we messed up? But instead we try our best to cover it up with finery and frills, thinking that we can hide it from others, from God, and even from ourselves. But, as Stott says, “As we stand before the cross, we begin to gain a clear view both of God and of ourselves, especially in relation to each other…But we cannot escape the embarrassment of standing stark naked before God...We have to acknowledge our nakedness, see the divine substitute wearing our filthy rags instead of us, and allow [God] to clothe us with [God’s] own righteousness.”
We know those things that separate us from Christ—hardship, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, peril, sword. We bask in the knowledge that God will save us from these in God’s time. But God doesn’t really use magic potions or save us because we are good. We are saved by grace. We are saved by our turning to God, by our surrendering our lives so that God can pick us up, set us on our feet, and coax us forward toward that perfect oneness with God. But surrendering is about acknowledging our need for God. It is about admitting hardship and distress, persecution and peril; it is about hungering for God even in the face of famine; it is about putting down the sword; it is about revealing our nakedness, showing our deepest needs, and working to bare everything that we pretend to be. It is about finally being real and letting God clothe us in righteousness. Think about it. A doctor will not dress a wound by merely covering an old bandage; our wounds must be exposed and redressed by the covering of God’s grace.
Discussion Questions:
1.) What aspects of your own life to you cover or shield from others?
2.) What are those things that you need to expose to God and to yourself?
3.) What is something that you pretend is OK that you need to surrender before God?
So go forth toward the Cross, and bare yourself before God!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Scripture Reading: Romans 8: 35-39
Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, ‘For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.’ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
We Americans don’t really do well with nakedness—either literally or figuratively. Perhaps it is our Puritan influence that sees the flesh as at least something less than good and at the most downright naughty. But I think, more than that, it is that we are taught to “put on a good face”, to “not air our dirty laundry” and to “act like that that we want to be”. And then we are shocked and even a little taken aback when someone is “real” and genuine. Why can’t we be real?
John Stott begins his essay by claiming that “the essence of sin is [humanity] substituting [the human self] for God, while the essence of salvation is God substituting [Godself] for [humanity].” This is a powerful statement. Why can’t we be real? Why do we think that we have to be someone we’re not? Why do we aspire to be God? We will never be God; God is God.
We 21st century Protestants do not do well with confessions. Excuses are really much more our norm—“I’m only human”, “I was just trying to…”, “The devil made me do it.”---PLEASE! Why can’t we just admit that we messed up? But instead we try our best to cover it up with finery and frills, thinking that we can hide it from others, from God, and even from ourselves. But, as Stott says, “As we stand before the cross, we begin to gain a clear view both of God and of ourselves, especially in relation to each other…But we cannot escape the embarrassment of standing stark naked before God...We have to acknowledge our nakedness, see the divine substitute wearing our filthy rags instead of us, and allow [God] to clothe us with [God’s] own righteousness.”
We know those things that separate us from Christ—hardship, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, peril, sword. We bask in the knowledge that God will save us from these in God’s time. But God doesn’t really use magic potions or save us because we are good. We are saved by grace. We are saved by our turning to God, by our surrendering our lives so that God can pick us up, set us on our feet, and coax us forward toward that perfect oneness with God. But surrendering is about acknowledging our need for God. It is about admitting hardship and distress, persecution and peril; it is about hungering for God even in the face of famine; it is about putting down the sword; it is about revealing our nakedness, showing our deepest needs, and working to bare everything that we pretend to be. It is about finally being real and letting God clothe us in righteousness. Think about it. A doctor will not dress a wound by merely covering an old bandage; our wounds must be exposed and redressed by the covering of God’s grace.
Discussion Questions:
1.) What aspects of your own life to you cover or shield from others?
2.) What are those things that you need to expose to God and to yourself?
3.) What is something that you pretend is OK that you need to surrender before God?
So go forth toward the Cross, and bare yourself before God!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Monday, March 18, 2013
The Father's Hands
Bread and Wine Reading: "The Father’s Hands", George Macdonald
Scripture Reading: Luke 23: 44-46
It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.’ Having said this, he breathed his last.
This is the final act. The curtain descends. Jesus has openly and willingly surrendered himself and his life to God. It is easy for us to look to the hero Jesus and this act of selfless surrender. But George Macdonald reminds us that “every highest human act is just a giving back to God of that which [God] first gave to us…Every act of worship is a holding up to God of what God has made us.”
From that standpoint, Macdonald contends that this final act of Jesus, this submission of his life to God, was not just the commending of his spirit at the close of his life, but a summation of everything that he had done in his life. The sacrifice had been being given all along, from that first night in the grotto, through years of rejection, years of sacrifice, until this moment. It was not, then, a final act; it was Jesus’ last prayer. That is what we are called to do—not merely submit in that moment of earthly death, but submit our whole lives, our whole being to God. And what is it that stands in the way of our doing that? Is it selfishness? It is the misconception that our lives are ours to control? Is it fear?
In Thank God It’s Friday, Bishop William Willimon claims that “to have one’s life grabbed, commandeered by a living god, that’s a fearful thing.” After all, those dead gods with which we surround our lives are easier to control! But, he says, “It’s a fearful thing to commend our spirits to God because well, who knows what God will do with our lives?” That is the crux—submitting one’s life to God means that one gives up control, gives up the “plan” that one has laid out for his or her life. Submitting one’s life to God means that one’s life ends. And that is indeed a scary thing. That is what Jesus did. It was finished. His life as he knew it was over. God had other plans. And in the wee hours of the morning just a few days later, God unveiled the New Creation. It was clear: Submitting to God, dying in Christ, means nothing less than life.
And yet we still try to control our lives, try to hold out for the piece of ourselves that we just don’t want to let go. “Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord to thee. But, dear God, if it’s all the same to you, could you leave my ___________ alone?” (I’m thinking that each of us can fill in the blank!) That’s what we want. We want to know that there’s a living God in our lives, but we want God to leave us alone. That’s not the way it works. “Into your hands I commend my spirit”—all of it, the whole thing. And in the wee hours of the morning just a few days later, God will unveil the New Creation. Submitting to God, dying in Christ, means nothing less than life. So, let go already! Your life is waiting!
Discussion Questions:
1.) What does that change about worship to think of it as a “holding up to God of what God has made us”?
2.) What does that mean to you to say that Christ’s submission to God at his death was a summation of his life?
3.) To what things in your life do you still hold on? What stands in the way of surrendering and committing your total self to God?
So go forth toward the Cross, and commend your spirit to God!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Scripture Reading: Luke 23: 44-46
It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.’ Having said this, he breathed his last.
This is the final act. The curtain descends. Jesus has openly and willingly surrendered himself and his life to God. It is easy for us to look to the hero Jesus and this act of selfless surrender. But George Macdonald reminds us that “every highest human act is just a giving back to God of that which [God] first gave to us…Every act of worship is a holding up to God of what God has made us.”
From that standpoint, Macdonald contends that this final act of Jesus, this submission of his life to God, was not just the commending of his spirit at the close of his life, but a summation of everything that he had done in his life. The sacrifice had been being given all along, from that first night in the grotto, through years of rejection, years of sacrifice, until this moment. It was not, then, a final act; it was Jesus’ last prayer. That is what we are called to do—not merely submit in that moment of earthly death, but submit our whole lives, our whole being to God. And what is it that stands in the way of our doing that? Is it selfishness? It is the misconception that our lives are ours to control? Is it fear?
In Thank God It’s Friday, Bishop William Willimon claims that “to have one’s life grabbed, commandeered by a living god, that’s a fearful thing.” After all, those dead gods with which we surround our lives are easier to control! But, he says, “It’s a fearful thing to commend our spirits to God because well, who knows what God will do with our lives?” That is the crux—submitting one’s life to God means that one gives up control, gives up the “plan” that one has laid out for his or her life. Submitting one’s life to God means that one’s life ends. And that is indeed a scary thing. That is what Jesus did. It was finished. His life as he knew it was over. God had other plans. And in the wee hours of the morning just a few days later, God unveiled the New Creation. It was clear: Submitting to God, dying in Christ, means nothing less than life.
And yet we still try to control our lives, try to hold out for the piece of ourselves that we just don’t want to let go. “Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord to thee. But, dear God, if it’s all the same to you, could you leave my ___________ alone?” (I’m thinking that each of us can fill in the blank!) That’s what we want. We want to know that there’s a living God in our lives, but we want God to leave us alone. That’s not the way it works. “Into your hands I commend my spirit”—all of it, the whole thing. And in the wee hours of the morning just a few days later, God will unveil the New Creation. Submitting to God, dying in Christ, means nothing less than life. So, let go already! Your life is waiting!
Discussion Questions:
1.) What does that change about worship to think of it as a “holding up to God of what God has made us”?
2.) What does that mean to you to say that Christ’s submission to God at his death was a summation of his life?
3.) To what things in your life do you still hold on? What stands in the way of surrendering and committing your total self to God?
So go forth toward the Cross, and commend your spirit to God!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Friday, March 1, 2013
The Divine Scandal
Bread and Wine Reading: "The Divine Scandal", Emil Brunner
Scripture Reading: 1 Corinthians 1: 21-25
For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.
We live to climb—climbing the corporate ladder, climbing to the top, climbing the ladder of success, climbing every mountain, climbing toward God. We often measure our achievement and success not by whether we are happy or satisfied or even comfortable but by where we stand on the ladder relative to everyone else. The wisdom of the world tells us that that is the point of life and the wisdom of many of our theological understandings tells us that that is the point of faith—to climb, to end “up” in heaven, to ascend to God, to raise ourselves up above the mire of our humanity.
But the truth is that the Christian story is, as Paul said, a foolish one when told through the wisdom of the world. It is foolish because it is not one of climbing, of ascent, but rather one of descent. As Emil Brunner says, “in the Bible it is not we who find a way to God; it is God who comes to us.” That is the whole message of the Cross. We cannot save ourselves. We cannot climb or earn or even talk our way into heaven or into oneness with God or whatever that image holds for you. We cannot talk God into loving us for the simple reason that God already does. And God’s love is such that we are never left alone. When we are at the lowest rung of our human condition, God descends to us.
The traditional version of the Apostles’ Creed says that Jesus descended into hell. Most of the times we take that part out, worried that it might offend someone or that they might misunderstand. After all, what sense does it make for this God of our ascent to be in hell? That really would be the epitome of divine scandals. Our God is the God of heaven and earth. “But God,” as Brunner says, in [God’s] mercy shows us a different way. ‘You cannot come up to me, so I will come down to you.’ And God descends to us human beings.” But God does not merely come and touch the peak of our existence like some sort of teasing deity hoping we will grab hold. God goes farther than we dare to go, down into the bowels of our existence, descending into hell, entering our lives at the lowest possible point, hanging on the cross, then picking us up, and carrying us higher than we thought existed. And all for one reason: to bring us home, to bring us back to God. As Brunner said, “[God] has taken this upon [Godself] so that we may become free of it.”
It truly is a “Divine Scandal”. In fact, it is so in opposition to the world’s wisdom that we scarce can take it in. And so God waits patiently for us to surrender control that we might be carried to that place to which we cannot raise ourselves.
Discussion Questions:
1.) What does that mean for you to say that the Christian story is one of descent?
2.) Are you uncomfortable with the whole notion of Jesus descending into hell? Why or why not?
3.) Why do we struggle so much with God raising us? Why do we think that we must earn it or achieve it? Why do we need to climb?
So go forth with God, who carries you higher than you would ever dare to go!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Scripture Reading: 1 Corinthians 1: 21-25
For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.
We live to climb—climbing the corporate ladder, climbing to the top, climbing the ladder of success, climbing every mountain, climbing toward God. We often measure our achievement and success not by whether we are happy or satisfied or even comfortable but by where we stand on the ladder relative to everyone else. The wisdom of the world tells us that that is the point of life and the wisdom of many of our theological understandings tells us that that is the point of faith—to climb, to end “up” in heaven, to ascend to God, to raise ourselves up above the mire of our humanity.
But the truth is that the Christian story is, as Paul said, a foolish one when told through the wisdom of the world. It is foolish because it is not one of climbing, of ascent, but rather one of descent. As Emil Brunner says, “in the Bible it is not we who find a way to God; it is God who comes to us.” That is the whole message of the Cross. We cannot save ourselves. We cannot climb or earn or even talk our way into heaven or into oneness with God or whatever that image holds for you. We cannot talk God into loving us for the simple reason that God already does. And God’s love is such that we are never left alone. When we are at the lowest rung of our human condition, God descends to us.
The traditional version of the Apostles’ Creed says that Jesus descended into hell. Most of the times we take that part out, worried that it might offend someone or that they might misunderstand. After all, what sense does it make for this God of our ascent to be in hell? That really would be the epitome of divine scandals. Our God is the God of heaven and earth. “But God,” as Brunner says, in [God’s] mercy shows us a different way. ‘You cannot come up to me, so I will come down to you.’ And God descends to us human beings.” But God does not merely come and touch the peak of our existence like some sort of teasing deity hoping we will grab hold. God goes farther than we dare to go, down into the bowels of our existence, descending into hell, entering our lives at the lowest possible point, hanging on the cross, then picking us up, and carrying us higher than we thought existed. And all for one reason: to bring us home, to bring us back to God. As Brunner said, “[God] has taken this upon [Godself] so that we may become free of it.”
It truly is a “Divine Scandal”. In fact, it is so in opposition to the world’s wisdom that we scarce can take it in. And so God waits patiently for us to surrender control that we might be carried to that place to which we cannot raise ourselves.
Discussion Questions:
1.) What does that mean for you to say that the Christian story is one of descent?
2.) Are you uncomfortable with the whole notion of Jesus descending into hell? Why or why not?
3.) Why do we struggle so much with God raising us? Why do we think that we must earn it or achieve it? Why do we need to climb?
So go forth with God, who carries you higher than you would ever dare to go!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Thursday, February 21, 2013
The Relinquished Life
Bread and Wine Reading: "The Relinquished Life", Oswald Chambers
Scripture Reading: Galatians 2: 19-21
For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God; for if justification comes through the law, then Christ died for nothing.
Oswald Chambers asserts that “there will have to be the relinquishing of my claim to my right to myself in every phase…to be identified with the death of Jesus Christ.” That is certainly hard for most of us to swallow. We who have spent so much of our lives “finding ourselves” and standing up for ourselves are now asked to give up any claim to who that self is. What exactly does that mean? The words to the Galatians essentially say the same thing. If we truly live in Christ, it means that we also die in Christ. It means that our own selves—the self that we have imagined into being, the self that we have worked so hard to protect, the self that we have tried so desperately to insert into our lives—must be relinquished. It must, indeed, die.
Chambers uses the word “co-crucifixion” to describe this dying of our self that we might be raised in Christ. I’ve never really used that term. I’ve used the word “co-creator”, implying that by entering Christ we become part of God’s ongoing act of Creation, that we become part of bringing the Kingdom of God into the fullness of being. But I supposed that the term “co-crucifixion” goes along with that. I mean, how can we become part of God’s Creation, how can we become part of Christ’s Resurrection into New Life without also being part of the Crucifixion? Much as we would like to try to separate the Crucifixion and the Resurrection, much as we would like to relegate one to darkness and one to Light, it cannot be done. It is all part of God’s ongoing act of Creation. It is part of God recreating us into who we are made to be, into one made in God’s image.
And, in the example of Christ, we must die, we must relinquish our own self that Christ may rise in us. Chambers maintains that “it is not just a question of giving up sin, but of giving up [our] own natural independence and self-assertiveness.” As he contends, even the good in us must die, must be relinquished, that we might enter God’s best. He reminds us that “it is going to cost the natural in you everything, not something…Beware of refusing to go to the funeral of your won independence.”
Discussion Questions:
1.) What does “relinquishing the claim of the right to yourself” mean for you?
2.) What does it mean for you to become part of this “co-crucifixion”?
3.) In what ways does this change your Lenten focus?
So go forth and relinquish yourself that you might be raised in Christ!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Scripture Reading: Galatians 2: 19-21
For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God; for if justification comes through the law, then Christ died for nothing.
Oswald Chambers asserts that “there will have to be the relinquishing of my claim to my right to myself in every phase…to be identified with the death of Jesus Christ.” That is certainly hard for most of us to swallow. We who have spent so much of our lives “finding ourselves” and standing up for ourselves are now asked to give up any claim to who that self is. What exactly does that mean? The words to the Galatians essentially say the same thing. If we truly live in Christ, it means that we also die in Christ. It means that our own selves—the self that we have imagined into being, the self that we have worked so hard to protect, the self that we have tried so desperately to insert into our lives—must be relinquished. It must, indeed, die.
Chambers uses the word “co-crucifixion” to describe this dying of our self that we might be raised in Christ. I’ve never really used that term. I’ve used the word “co-creator”, implying that by entering Christ we become part of God’s ongoing act of Creation, that we become part of bringing the Kingdom of God into the fullness of being. But I supposed that the term “co-crucifixion” goes along with that. I mean, how can we become part of God’s Creation, how can we become part of Christ’s Resurrection into New Life without also being part of the Crucifixion? Much as we would like to try to separate the Crucifixion and the Resurrection, much as we would like to relegate one to darkness and one to Light, it cannot be done. It is all part of God’s ongoing act of Creation. It is part of God recreating us into who we are made to be, into one made in God’s image.
And, in the example of Christ, we must die, we must relinquish our own self that Christ may rise in us. Chambers maintains that “it is not just a question of giving up sin, but of giving up [our] own natural independence and self-assertiveness.” As he contends, even the good in us must die, must be relinquished, that we might enter God’s best. He reminds us that “it is going to cost the natural in you everything, not something…Beware of refusing to go to the funeral of your won independence.”
Discussion Questions:
1.) What does “relinquishing the claim of the right to yourself” mean for you?
2.) What does it mean for you to become part of this “co-crucifixion”?
3.) In what ways does this change your Lenten focus?
So go forth and relinquish yourself that you might be raised in Christ!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Surrender Is Everything
Bread and Wine Reading: "Surrender is Everything", by Jean-Pierre de Caussade
Scripture Reading: Hebrew 5: 7-9
In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered; and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.
“Surrender”…the whole notion is uncomfortable for us. Literally, it means to give up one’s self, to resign or yield to another. It could even mean to suffer. That is against our grain. That doesn’t fit in with our dreams of pursuing security and success. That doesn’t reconcile with a society driven by competition and power and “getting ahead”. Surrender…doesn’t that mean to lose control? What will happen then?
De Caussade wrote that “what God requires of the soul is the essence of self-surrender…[and] what the soul desires to do is done as in the sight of God.” The 18th century mystic understood that one’s physical being and one’s spiritual being, indeed one’s body and one’s soul, could not be separated. The two were interminably intertwined and, then, the essence and status of one affected the other directly.
So what does that mean? We sing the old song “I Surrender All” with all of the harmonic gesture we can muster. And we truly do want to surrender to God—as long as we can hold on to the grain of our own individualism, to that which we think makes us who we are. But de Caussade is claiming that it is our soul that truly makes us who we are and that in order to be whole, our soul desires God with all of its being. So, in all truth, that must mean that most of us live our lives with a certain dissonance between our physical and spiritual being. We want to be with God. We love God. We need God. But total surrender? But that is what our soul desires and in order for there to be that harmony in our lives, our physical beings must follow suit.
Lent teaches us that. This season of emptying, of fasting, of stripping away those things that separate us from God, this season of turning around is the season that teaches us how to finally listen to our soul. It is the season that teaches us that surrendering to God is not out of weakness or last resignation, but out of desire for God and the realization that it is there that we belong. In an article entitled “Moving From Solitude to Community to Ministry”, Henri Nouwen tells the story of a river:
The little river said, "I can become a big river." It worked hard, but there was a big rock. The river said, "I'm going to get around this rock." The little river pushed and pushed, and since it had a lot of strength, it got itself around the rock. Soon the river faced a big wall, and the river kept pushing this wall. Eventually, the river made a canyon and carved a way through. The growing river said, "I can do it. I can push it. I am not going to let down for anything." Then there was an enormous forest. The river said, "I'll go ahead anyway and just force these trees down." And the river did. The river, now powerful, stood on the edge of an enormous desert with the sun beating down. The river said, "I'm going to go through this desert." But the hot sand soon began to soak up the whole river. The river said, "Oh, no. I'm going to do it. I'm going to get myself through this desert." But the river soon had drained into the sand until it was only a small mud pool. Then the river heard a voice from above: "Just surrender. Let me lift you up. Let me take over." The river said, "Here I am." The sun then lifted up the river and made the river into a huge cloud. He carried the river right over the desert and let the cloud rain down and made the fields far away fruitful and rich.
There is a moment in our life when we stand before the desert and want to do it ourselves. But there is the voice that comes, "Let go. Surrender. I will make you fruitful. Yes, trust me. Give yourself to me."
Discussion Questions:
1.) What does the term “surrender” mean for you?
2.) What is difficult about the idea of surrendering to you? What images does that amass?
3.) What stands in the way of your absolutely surrendering to God?
So go forth and listen to what your soul most desires!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
Scripture Reading: Hebrew 5: 7-9
In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered; and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.
“Surrender”…the whole notion is uncomfortable for us. Literally, it means to give up one’s self, to resign or yield to another. It could even mean to suffer. That is against our grain. That doesn’t fit in with our dreams of pursuing security and success. That doesn’t reconcile with a society driven by competition and power and “getting ahead”. Surrender…doesn’t that mean to lose control? What will happen then?
De Caussade wrote that “what God requires of the soul is the essence of self-surrender…[and] what the soul desires to do is done as in the sight of God.” The 18th century mystic understood that one’s physical being and one’s spiritual being, indeed one’s body and one’s soul, could not be separated. The two were interminably intertwined and, then, the essence and status of one affected the other directly.
So what does that mean? We sing the old song “I Surrender All” with all of the harmonic gesture we can muster. And we truly do want to surrender to God—as long as we can hold on to the grain of our own individualism, to that which we think makes us who we are. But de Caussade is claiming that it is our soul that truly makes us who we are and that in order to be whole, our soul desires God with all of its being. So, in all truth, that must mean that most of us live our lives with a certain dissonance between our physical and spiritual being. We want to be with God. We love God. We need God. But total surrender? But that is what our soul desires and in order for there to be that harmony in our lives, our physical beings must follow suit.
Lent teaches us that. This season of emptying, of fasting, of stripping away those things that separate us from God, this season of turning around is the season that teaches us how to finally listen to our soul. It is the season that teaches us that surrendering to God is not out of weakness or last resignation, but out of desire for God and the realization that it is there that we belong. In an article entitled “Moving From Solitude to Community to Ministry”, Henri Nouwen tells the story of a river:
The little river said, "I can become a big river." It worked hard, but there was a big rock. The river said, "I'm going to get around this rock." The little river pushed and pushed, and since it had a lot of strength, it got itself around the rock. Soon the river faced a big wall, and the river kept pushing this wall. Eventually, the river made a canyon and carved a way through. The growing river said, "I can do it. I can push it. I am not going to let down for anything." Then there was an enormous forest. The river said, "I'll go ahead anyway and just force these trees down." And the river did. The river, now powerful, stood on the edge of an enormous desert with the sun beating down. The river said, "I'm going to go through this desert." But the hot sand soon began to soak up the whole river. The river said, "Oh, no. I'm going to do it. I'm going to get myself through this desert." But the river soon had drained into the sand until it was only a small mud pool. Then the river heard a voice from above: "Just surrender. Let me lift you up. Let me take over." The river said, "Here I am." The sun then lifted up the river and made the river into a huge cloud. He carried the river right over the desert and let the cloud rain down and made the fields far away fruitful and rich.
There is a moment in our life when we stand before the desert and want to do it ourselves. But there is the voice that comes, "Let go. Surrender. I will make you fruitful. Yes, trust me. Give yourself to me."
Discussion Questions:
1.) What does the term “surrender” mean for you?
2.) What is difficult about the idea of surrendering to you? What images does that amass?
3.) What stands in the way of your absolutely surrendering to God?
So go forth and listen to what your soul most desires!
Grace and Peace,
Shelli
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