Relearning He Rejoices

I love it when God re-reveals things (because let's face it, I keep relearning the same things over and over again all the time). When a concept shows up more than three times in the same week, I know he's got his hammer out and is chiseling away again. This week it was his laughter, his joy in expression, as seen in the Father of the Prodigal, in the God of Zephaniah, and in the Psalms. I've been reminded that I'm a work in progress and he is pleased with that. Please remember that also rings true of this poem below. Thanks for allowing me to be real here.

Delight

Zephaniah 3:15-17

To slink into his throne room

dirty,

polluted,

stained anew.

Age-old, repetitive sin – once again.

Mask of remorse over heart of fear.

Not a fear he’ll be shocked;

He knows me too intimately.

Not a fear he’ll be angry;

His patience knows no bounds.

Not a fear he won’t love;

His arms envelop me even now.

Not a fear he won’t forgive;

He’s proven himself too faithful.

A fear that with each return,

Each of my requests for

forgiveness,

love,

patience,

Is an exchange for his pleasure.

Dreading his disappointment

(Because I know how I respond

to my kids,

to my debtors,

to my friends.)

Fearing his joy toward me will wane.

Not realizing each moment of grace,

Every chance for forgiveness,

Is reason for rejoicing.

Me. Daughter of the King.

The Lord is in your midst;

you shall never again fear.

The prophets promise loud singing,

a God whisking away sin. Every time.

I twirl in his arms to catch his smile.

His song puts my fear to rest.

Thoughts on an Abbey

I stand looking through an opaque glass at the only remnant of the nave that once vaulted the entire length of 187 meters. Some of it has been reconstructed, with holes left in the wall so that we fanatical tourists who were willing to dole out 9 Euros can see the original, half-wasted pillar underneath. I want to reach out and touch it. Simply by virture of being 1,000 years old, it is stunningly beautiful, never mind the missing chunks or the fact that it would fall over if unsupported. I imagine the monks from the abbey next door who filed past this particular pillar on their way through the Galilee transcript into the biggest church the world knew at the time. Perhaps one monk’s hood brushed this exact spot my fingers now trace. The few stones that remain have seen all the ranks, from popes and kings down to vagabond pilgrims with nothing to their name, all united in a desire to do what pleased the heavenly Father.

Of course that thought sobers me. I know all too well how enormous cathedrals such as this one came into existence. The scene unfolds in my mind’s eye clearly: how a passerby is cajoled into buying an indulgence to lessen his sins (false) or shorten his time in purgatory (not true) and with his sacrifice help protect the relics of St. Peter and St. Paul (wrong) by building a huge church worthy of their names. Guilt built this monument, and the abbots who presided over the services knew full well that pilgrims came to gawk at their accomplishments much more than the Lord. Of course, they themselves had their sights set on bigger prizes: Rome itself, as is evidenced by the number of Cluniac monks who achieved just that. And Jesus? He was relegated to a seat at the top of the door, preferably the stone version so that he would be immobile to interfere too much with human plans.

Still, this was a house of God, and I’m moved. Surely among all the monks and visitors to these hallowed halls, there was at least one whose gaze was drawn heavenward. One believer who stared at the Bible stories etched in glass and felt the Spirit inside him confirm that this was indeed truth. One individual who truly worshiped the Lord our God right here, perhaps leaning against this very pillar I want so badly to set free from its confining walls.

And I’m angry and mournful all over again. It’s so senseless that this was all destroyed on purpose. Razed to the ground by men who considered themselves enlightened and beyond the crutch of needing a God who was of stone and therefore didn’t care. Colored stained glass and capitals atop columns were crushed, ground up, and thrown into the nearby river or rebuilt into farm homes. Special care was taken with the destruction of the front doors lintel: the Evangelists survived in fragments, but the part that held Jesus was completely wiped out. Cobblestones and homes were erected right on top of the altar, and the Cluny cathedral passed from sight into memory and – for a time – into legend.

From my pillar in the nave, I move through a gorgeous reconstructed door into a small chapel that survived the worst of the rage, though it was entirely gutted of all marble statues and decorations. I can make out one lone name still etched into the wall – St. Andrew’s – surrounded by eleven blanks spots. How would it feel to be erased from history, to have people pretend you never existed? That was the attempt, to say Christ was more fiction than fact.

That’s when a song, new to me, drifts back into my mind.

If they shut down the churches, where would you go?

If they melted all the stained glass windows, replaced every sanctuary with a condo, where would you go? If they burned every Bible, what would you know? If they tore your marked-up pages, how would you grow? We are a cathedral made of people in a kingdom that the eye can’t see. When they hate you for the things you know are true, they can tear down this temple, but they can’t touch you. 

(Excerpts from “Cathedral Made of People” by Downhere)

Andrew is more than a name left on a defaced wall of a tiny, forlorn chapel; he’s a stained glass window in the house of God. Peter was more than a made-up pile of bones that supposedly required people to donate large amounts of money; he’s a pillar in the temple Christ built, just as he himself told us. “Living Stones” he called us. Even I have a role to play. I can be like this door, ushering people in to the places where they can meet with my Savior. I don’t have to mourn the loss of Jesus’ face on the Cluny façade, for he is carving himself into each of us as we walk the cobblestone streets and seek to be his hands and feet in a tangible way.

The historian in me is still upset that I’m surveying ruins when it so easily could’ve been the 12^th century colossal masterpiece that it was. But the emotion of gratefulness swells stronger. No human plan could wipe out the truth in Cluny. Not this time. Not ever.

Coolest door ever!

Fall Party 2012

I just rediscovered pictures of my rockin' students at Fall Party. Check them out:

 SC arm wrestles the Hulk, Mr. R.

 Blind racing: Superman versus another Hulk

 The cast of Tintin - love these 6th graders!

 Batman jumps in to scare me!

AD and KG as Incredible family girls

The Girls are Back!

I crawled up to the back of the school amid dozens of dorm vans and parents' cars loaded to the brim with high school and middle school students. Realizing it would be impossible to find a place to park, I meandered my way over to the gravel lot, and parked illegally next to a trailer. It was the first Wednesday of Small Groups, and the sound of squealing and excitement could be heard the instant I opened my car door. As I rounded the corner of the building, a group of girls caught sight of me, and the next thing I knew, a flash of color was coming at me as two of my girls launched themselves into my arms. And wow, did it feel good to see them again.

My co-leader and I have the privilege of walking through this Sophomore year with the same 5 girls as last: HR with her innocent questions and sensitive heart, CB whose quiet quirky sense of humor and artistic eye impress us every week, PM with her bubbliness and genuine desire to grow more like Christ, HH whose heart bleeds for the world and who longs to feel Christ's affection for her, and EE who - with her mothering capabilities - rounds out the group and pulls truth out of the depths of our hearts. What can I say? I simply love these girls!

The photos below are from last week when I was able to pass along some gifts that my supporting church (Treasure Valley Baptist Church of Oregon) sent with me this summer. To say that they were thrilled is an understatement. Thanks TVBC!

Fall is here!

And the most vivid evidence that Fall is indeed here is less in the colors and more in the fact that Fall Party happened! The theme this year was Comics, and the M.S. staff pulled together to bring Disney to life. Sadly, Mickey couldn't make it, but we did have Minnie, Goofy, Donald & Daisy, Scrooge McDuck, and the three boys - Huey, Dewey, and Louie. I was Dewey. I think we had more fun creating the costumes and parading around downtown in yellow tights than at the actual party! :-)

Of course, there is other proof that my favorite time of the year is here: flowers, grapes from my neighbor, pumpkin, carrots, and salad from the Farmer's Market. I'd blog more, but I need to get outside for a walk. I love Fall!!!

Finishing the race

Courtesy of kidsrunningwild.net

Last year when I ran the 7k in Basel, I really got hooked on running. It's not that I enjoy running all that much. I have two heroic friends who share about the meaningful prayers they have when the run and the joy they feel in the process, the joy they know God feels. I just don't. I've tried. I don't. However, I have discovered that I love love love races! I'm not sure why, but the atmosphere and the crowds and knowing exactly how much ground I covered in how much time and the t-shirt and especially the camaraderie - that's something I can run for.

And there is something to be said for the accomplishment, for a race finished. Hebrews 12:1-2 has been a recurring verse at the Middle School so far this year, highlighting the various aspects of running the race set before us (God's design, not ours) and running it well. It's about getting rid of the things that entangle, about focusing on the finish line where Christ stands, about allowing the crowd of witnesses to be your "cheering squad" as I called it for the Middle Schoolers.

After the 7k last September and watching several friends complete the half-marathon, I secretly added the half-marathon (21k) to my own bucket list. I didn't dream it would ever come so soon, but last Sunday, I was able to cross it off. I owe a lot of gratitude to Jill Musick for her patience and encouragement along the way. My goal was to finish without stopping in hopefully under 2 1/2 hours. Her goal was to help me make my goal. Isn't that what the body of Christ should be doing for each other as we all run the race before us? I also owe a lot to the crowd of ~10 BFA friends who made signs and screamed and cheered and hollered and annoyed all the stoic Swiss onlookers to make sure we finished well. Talk about a crowd of witnesses!

Rounding the last corner (Jill on far left)

the three half-marathoners

with Rachel and our medals
(Photos courtesy of Rachel)

It felt amazing to finish, and praise be to God, I finished in under 2 1/2 hours, just nine minutes before the first marathoner (and yes, we started at the same time...). I had a great time celebrating afterwards with water and medals and friends, but rest assured: the full marathon has not made its way onto my bucket list. I think I'll be content from here on out with 10k's. :-)

Geocentric Geography

This is too good not to share. It comes from my Geography 7 class, and my first thought was one of irony: In History, I'm trying to take the kids back to the Middle Ages; in Geography, I'm trying to get them out.