http://peregrinatijourney.blogspot.com/

“Yes, and I will rejoice, for I know that through your prayers and the help of the Spirit of Jesus Christ this will turn out for my deliverance, as it is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be at all ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death…Only let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ….”
- Philippians 1:18b-20, 27 (ESV)

Last night’s Scripture reading reinforced what I knew in my heart I needed to do. This is my last Waymark’s posting. I have yet to figure out how to do this thing without finding the work degenerating into distasteful narcissism that is unbecoming to my Lord. So I’ve decided once and for all to pull the plug. Specific writing projects await my recovery: a guide to one-on-one discipleship, a biblical study with the working title of “The Waiting” and a fictional story of redemption whose Pentecostal heroine finds renewed faith with the Cherokee nation. Now that will be a yarn worth the tellin’ (and it’s not going to be one of those cheesy, poorly written novels found in the Christian bookstores; I’m going mainstream. There I go again, stepping on toes. See what I mean?).

My private challenges will continue to find their way between leather and hand-torn pages. Future attempts at blogging will only take form as specific projects which will not be personal beyond any lessons found there. If and when the time comes, I will provide the necessary links both here and on my facebook wall.

Be well, my readers. Thank you for enjoying the ride with me. May all grace and peace abound to you, one and all.

Punk Monk

I wrote today’s post on scrap paper when I awoke at 4:30 but am now in too much pain to bang out.

I will leave you with this much in what is becoming my mantra:

“God wastes nothing.”
- Teresa Davis

I wonder if Job was plagued by the Varicella-Zoster virus. For those of you who have suffered with shingles, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I first heard about the disease through the cases experienced by older relatives who have since passed the baton on to me. Never in my wildest dreams did I realize the severity of the illness with the silly minimalistic-sounding name.

The Varicella-Zoster virus is the cause of our very common childhood disease that seems more than a nuisance than anything: chicken pox. Once stricken, we are never free from the virus which lays dormant in the roots of our nerves, waiting for the ‘opportune time’ to strike once more, usually in older adults who suffer from weakened immune systems or who have experienced periods of stress. Ahem…

A week ago I experienced a drenching, sickening sweat, nerve pain behind my eye and in my teeth. Two days later the characteristic lesions began to develop on the right side of my face and scalp accompanied by an intense throbbing pain. I pulled up Web MD with a hunch I had and sure enough, it was confirmed by the nurse practitioner the following morning.

In her less than tactful bedside manner, I was told I had come down with the worse case scenario, the virus having traveled the length of the ocular nerve that travels to the eye. I could lose my vision. The recovery process would be long and consist of two stages. I would be contagious until the lesions scabbed over completely, meaning that I could spread chicken pox to all those who have not had the illness. This would take approximately three weeks. Part two would take much longer, for the scabbing does not mean healing, just a lack of contagion. It would take anywhere from 3 months to a year to never for the pain to go away. Do you think I needed to hear that right then? So I was sent on my way, stat, to whatever ophthalmologist would have me on the 4th of July weekend, with a boatload of prescriptions “that are only the best we can do, after all, this is a virus.” Stupid woman.

The ophthalmologist found no lesions in the eye and instructed me as to what to look for in determining the warning signs of eye complications.

Week one is now behind me, one filled with intense pain, my right eye swollen shut, ugly red lesions marring my appearance, sleepless nights spent on the old brown sofa with Skylar by my side (What would we do without the love of a dog?), days spent mostly in a stupor caused by the nerve-blocker prescribed in the hopes of preventing long-term damage. I refused the narcotic for pain in fear of going down a path of addiction enjoyed by my favorite eccentric television doc. I haven’t been able to read until yesterday. Just picking up the Scriptures has been overwhelming. I scribble daily in the journal bought especially for this time by my team leader. Bless you, and bless you, and bless you. I’ll make an attempt at the podcast later today; Abba please…

This is so hard to write. I’m finding myself having to go back to correct every other word. But in order to process this time properly, I’ve got to get this out, for my adversary is tormenting not only my body but my mind.

The hardest thing about this time is the isolation. Family refuses to see me, choosing to disbelieve the information that the medical community provides. In a way, I can’t blame them. My grandson, whom I haven’t seen since Mother’s Day, is exiled from my arms. I am missing so much of his rapid growing up. (Insert Punk Monk’s favorite expletive here.) My beloved people of Renovatus are an arm’s length too far away. I just recently shared with a friend that I’m fine as long as I can be with my people. Isolation is the war zone.

It’s interesting to see how human nature handles the suffering of another. Bottom line, we fear it for ourselves, so we avoid it, poo-poo it. A well-wisher said she was sorry but at least it wasn’t cancer. It isn’t cancer, but it is my suffering for the present time. It is very real to God and very real to me. Whatever the affliction, be it physical, emotional, spiritual, it doesn’t have to be a stage four malignancy to be validated.

To be continued tomorrow with the spiritual perspective. There is the other side of this thing where God’s future awaits.

“Still round the corner there may wait
a new road or a secret gate
and though I oft have passed them by
a day will come at last when I
shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.”

- J. R. R. Tolkien

“…courage requires knowing your identity as God’s beloved.”

- Jonathan Martin

“A common way to misunderstand prophecy, and especially the prophecy of the Revelation, is to suppose that it means prediction. But that is not the biblical use of the word. Prophets are not fortune tellers. The prophet is the person who declares, “Thus says the Lord.” He speaks what God is speaking. He brings God’s word into the immediate world of the present, insisting that it be heard here and now. The prophet says that God is speaking now, not yesterday; God is speaking now, not tomorrow. It is not a past word that can be analyzed and then walked away from. It is not a future word that can be fantasized into escapist diversion. It is personal address now: “for the time is near” (Rev. 1:3, 22:10). “Near” means “at hand.” Not far off in the future but immediately before us; only our unbelief, or ignorance, or timid hesitancy separates us from it. Jesus also announced the immediacy of the prophetic word when he preached “the kingdom of God is at hand” (Mark 1:15). St. John’s “near” and Jesus’ “at hand” are the same root word (eggus/eggizein). The prophetic word eliminates the distance between God’s speaking and hearing. If we make the prophetic word a predictive word we are procrastinating, putting distance between ourselves and the application of the word, putting off dealing with it until some future date. The revelation of “what must soon take place” (Rev. 1:1) means precisely, soon – as soon as hearts are responsive and ears receptive and eyes perceptive. It is all before us: God’s salvation is complete, ready to be received. “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any one hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me” (Rev. 3:20). The one who stands at the door is he who gathers past and future into an eternal, immediate now, “he who is and who was and who is to come” (Rev. 1:4, 8).

There are, to be sure, references to the past and implications for the future, but the predominant emphasis of the prophetic word is on the now. There are predictive elements in some prophecy (and some in Revelation), but they are always in service to a present message. The Bible warns against a neurotic interest in the future and escapist fantasy into the future. It forbids trafficking with persons who make predictions (Deut. 18:14-15). All that is very clear and well-known, yet there are persons who persist in making an exception to the last book of the Bible and read it as if it were all prediction. The Revelation, though, is not an exception to the biblical rule but an emphasis of it: God speaks to us, now. In the Revelation we are immersed not in prediction, but eschatology: an awareness that the future is breaking in upon us. Eschatology involves the belief that the resurrection appearances of Christ are not complete. This belief permeating the Revelation makes life good, for when we are expecting a resurrection appearance we can accept our whole present and find joy not only in its joy but also in its sorrow, happiness not only in its happiness but also in its pain. We travel on through either happiness or pain because in the promises of God we see possibilities for the transient, the dying, and the dead. “By means of the eschatological dimension we look to the future not as mere repetition and confirmation of the present, but as the goal of the events that are now taking place. This gives meaning to the journey and its distresses; and today’s decision to trust in the call of God is a decision pregnant with future.” (Moltmann, Hope)”

- from Reversed Thunder, by Eugene Peterson

God of Thy goodness, give me Thyself;
for Thou art enough to me,
and I can ask nothing that is less
that can be full honor to Thee.
And if I ask anything that is less,
ever shall I be in want,
for only in Thee have I all.

- Julian of Norwich

Yesterday I received this most beautiful and amazing gift which took my breath away at its unveiling. My dear friend, Melody Hogan, graphic designer and worship artist extraordinaire, was commissioned by my husband to create something very special for my birthday. I left the design up to God, desiring to hear his voice coming through her hands. Tears were brought to my eyes as she explained its intricate meanings. She calls it my destiny painting. Is this prophetic, or what?

To check out Melody’s wonderful handiwork, you can access her personal website and 100 Days, 100 Paintings listed in the links section of this blog.

Out came the scratch pad to receive another download in my waking hours this morning, a Biblical study on a particular topic that I’m quite expert in: waiting, having spent most of my days as a follower of Jesus Christ in this mode of living.

As a brand new born-again believer, recent bride and first-time mother some twenty-nine years ago, I could not begin to imagine the life of waiting that would begin when I shared with my husband of two years the encounter I had experienced with the living Lord. My announcement was met with scorn and rejection, inaugurating this life of waiting which finally met its consummation some eighteen years down the road as Jesus proved himself irresistible to the most stubborn of men. It was a most difficult time of life as I walked the path of the unequally yoked fraught with loneliness, worry, and heartache, not knowing if this wilderness journey would ever end or if my dearly beloved would forever be consigned to a place of judgment. At my first church home, I received a word through a dear grandmother in the Lord who had taken me under her wing which spoke of the certainty of Mike’s future salvation. Those words proved to be a lifeline of hope against all odds which shouted in opposition to the possibility. My two-year old son and I would find refuge and solace in the embrace of the body of believers who struggled to keep their small country church alive after a vicious split. Mikey would run down the center aisle each Sunday morning to be picked up and placed next to Aunt Hazel on the front pew while I sat alone, fighting the tears that came with the profound aloneness. I know what it is to wait.

A life derailed by misguided Christ-followers has catapulted me from place to place over the past few years into my present waiting hours. I have come to realize that most of life, whether you are a Christian or not, is about the waiting and not the enjoyment of the fruits thereof which more often than not comprise the smallest increments of time in our short lives and the living out of these lives is learning how to live in the waiting.

What is it that we wait for? The fulfllment of a dream, a better time in life, the healing of some sickness, the conception of a child, financial rescue, the hope of friendship? Ultimately, are we not all waiting for the same thing, the revelation of the sons of God at the coming of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ while the rest is all distraction? For He alone is waiting’s ultimate purpose and reward. We may not realize it on the surface, but our souls know.

An outline has been given. A second project in as many days is set in motion. Abba, renew within me the drive, the determination, the trust in you as I undertake the handling of these timely gifts, the answer to my many prayers and waiting hours, that they might be given in turn to your people. The empty hours have met their match in time’s Author.

My eyes flew open at six this morning. I ran for the scratch pad that I keep in the kitchen drawer that is used more often than not for these from out of nowhere Holy Ghost downloads. It stopped two and a half hours later, a timely word and life plan for one of my young mentorees and yet something so much more: a group study, a seminar, or that elusive book that relentlessly teases me with possibility, a direction, the re-birth of a life.

I have been struggling with the wise use of my time during this in-between time. Hope deferred does make the heart grow sick. Depression and a giving in are always lurking. Idle hours are the bane of my existence and draw me into temptations of worthlessness, the flesh desiring to be filled with anything that is given permission.

I worship; I pray; I study; I contemplate; I serve; I read until I think I’ll go blind; I shop too much; I facebook; I blog; I watch television; I feel sorry for myself; I isolate; I gripe; I waste; I…

And Abba points out that the time has been granted to be filled, but with what? He has been gracious with reassurances over weeks past which call out to a faith that yearns for the steadfastness of Father Abraham’s.

Part of yesterday was spent ruminating over the loss of creativity from disuse, life’s spark wasting away to a mere flicker. And then this unexpected morning. Blueprints given for a lifetime’s work that go far beyond the desires of the subconscious mind.

Tomorrow the writing begins.

This is not a retraction, but a clarification of the posting from a few days ago entitled ‘Breaking Silence’.

I am not a prophet of God nor do I pretend to foretell the future. I make no claim as to the reception of extra-biblical words from the Lord. I spoke of myself as being a prophet in a metaphorical sense. I understand the seriousness of making claim to such a gifitng. I have been personally wounded by those who dared to don a false mantle which took advantage of those under their influence and whose motivation was self-glorification. What I am is a purveyor of God’s truth as revealed in the Scriptures.

I also did not mean to assert that I am not accountable for my words, having placed myself under the God-ordained authority figures in my life. I welcome any and all correction.

What I was referring to is in reference to those who do not think it prudent that I share my personal triumphs and struggles, lest they be misunderstood.

Let me tell you a little bit of my motivations in sharing. I do not believe, though I could be self-deceived, that they stem from a narcissist need to put myself out there to gain the attention of the world. First and foremost, I am a teacher and find the use of personal illustration to be an effective means of instruction. People need to connect to what is real. Pithy sayings and pretty pictures do not possess the power to instill the desire for authentic life change (though they do lay the groundwork for the receiving of the truth). Only the power of the Holy Spirit through the presentation of His Truth can do this. Personal identification with one who teaches provides validation and hope for the student who discovers that they are not alone in their struggles. This is the censorship that I will not succumb to. This is the call I will not deny.

Social media is a funny thing. It has plenty of critics of which I have been one, seeing how it saps time and strength away from face-to-face relationships and ministry. But at the same time I am coming to appreciate how it has become a means of fighting for community that modern culture has all but robbed us of. Those of you who choose to follow Waymarks are a part of a far-flung community brought together for whatever purpose God has for us here. I do not take this blog lightly and understand the tremendous responsibility that comes with each and every post. I can only hope to faithfully follow in Etty Hillesum’s footsteps by providing a forum that contributes to God’s believability in the midst of our own personal struggles on this faith journey that we share together. May God bless you all, my friends.

“Imprisoned in the transit camp at Westerbork, before being shipped off to Auschwitz where she was to die in the gas chambers in November 1943, at the age of twenty-nine, Etty Hillesum wrote, ‘there must be someone to live through it all and bear witness to the fact that God lived, even in these times. And why should I not be that witness?’ In a letter to a friend from Westerbork, she described her life as having become ‘an uninterrupted dialogue with You, oh God’, and she could write of sensing her vocation in the camp as being ‘not…simply to proclaim You, God, to commend You to the heart of others. One must also clear the path toward You in them’. It is plain that she saw her belief as a matter of deciding to occupy a certain place in the world, a place where others could somehow connect with God through her – and this not in any self-congratulatory spirit or with any sense of being exceptionally holy or virtuous, but simply because she had agreed to take responsibility for God’s believability.”

- from Tokens of Trust, by Rowan Williams

http://renovatuscommunity.com/pages/page.asp?page_id=125489&programId=92672

“The CELL
is not something YOU do -
it’s something IT does TO you
that makes the difference.
It’s a death,
a willingness to be unknown.”

- Rule 20 of the Northumbria Community

Quiet times. Not much going on in the grand scheme of things unless you are wise enough to look with eyes that dare to gaze upon the unseen. These are the days of black loam fingernails that dig deep. God-led texts fill my waking moments:

Tokens of Trust, by Rowan Williams.
Creating a Life with God, by Daniel Wolpert.
Celtic Daily Prayer.
The Book of Revelation.
The Upper Room Disciplines.

Anglican prayer beads wrapping once strong fingers that are now weakened by wear-and-tear. Watering in a well-tended garden in preparation for Carolina heat. Making clothes clean. Prayers for a mother’s sudden deafness. Birdsong on the screened-porch. Coffee.

The still small voice shouted quickly during yesterday’s contemplation: Yes, and yes, and yes regarding the Words distilled through the mind and heart and voice of our fine young preacher-man. A message of hope the likes of which never quite raised the hair on the nape of the neck in such a way before. Yes, and yes.

I realize I have been living through days, not of resignation, but of a quiet hopelessness where no thought invades consciousness. Instead of surrendering to faith, I have given in to ‘this is all there is’. Beaten down, once. Beaten down, twice. Beaten down and beaten down and beaten down.

Yes.

This accounting of my own personal waymarks has been stiffled by those who have grown uncomfortable with the authenticity that I was born with. I have allowed the disapproval of others to murder my words. If I cannot speak, I am rendered useless as to who I am. I can’t live like this, no longer caring what Anyman thinks but only my Creator. I am a prophet whose words cannot be silenced. We would have no Scriptures without the brave souls who dared to communicate the Author’s heart and mind. What if Isaiah, Jeremiah, or Paul all harkened to caution’s voice: Be quiet; be careful; don’t offend; cover-up; swallow your heart-cry? And then choke, choke on that which you were never meant to hold back. But then again, a price was paid for audacious words: being sawn in two, imprisonment, profound loneliness and ridicule, losing one’s head, literally. Would I be willing to pay the price of Words?

Words of caution and fear do not come from the God that I know.
And my passion awaits the resurrection from the dead.
Yes.

Make it your own.

Thank you, Pastor.

A herd of approximately a dozen deer (Don’t know the official count. I have seen only ten at any given time, the tip of an iceberg, mostly does, bucks being more aloof.) lives in the forest that borders the creek which flows behind our house. Their diet includes the corn that I put out for them everyday. They take their breakfast cue from the sound of the garage door opening in the morning. As I round the corner of the house I call out to those who wait from the treeline below: “Where’s my girls?” The neighbors must think I’m off my rocker; I liken myself to a kindred spirit of Francis of Assisi. They receive their rations and their scoldings for taking the fruits of my hard labor and making them dessert.

One morning a couple of weeks ago, I took Skylar out for his first walk of the day and as we made our way back up the driveway, I was startled by the sight of the herd’s youngest, one of which did not run, but with the flick of a tail took brave steps forward. He knows me, I thought to myself. I thanked Abba for the privilege of this great blessing.

He approachs me almost every morning now, his tawny head adorned with his first antlers wrapped in velvet. He takes a few steps away as I pour out the goodness that will soon fill his and his sister’s bellies and scampers back quickly as soon as my back is turned. Yesterday I stopped and spoke with him as he ate, large liquid eyes taking me in from less than ten feet away. I have named him Braveheart. In the days to come I am hoping for him to feel comfortable enough to accept the camera, an outstretched hand, the blessing of the Creator.

“Ignorance of Scripture is ignorance of Christ.”
- Jerome

“…And there was an Ethiopian, a eunuch, a court official of Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, who was in charge of all her treasure. He had come to Jerusalem to worship and was returning, seated in his chariot, and he was reading the prophet Isaiah. And the Spirit said to Philip, “Go over and join his chariot.” So Philip ran to him and heard him reading Isaiah the prophet and asked, “Do you understand what you are reading?” And he said, “How can I, unless someone guides me?”"
- Acts 8:27-31 (ESV)

“And he gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the shepherds and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of the ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.”
- Ephesians 4:11-16 (ESV)

I’ve laid it on the altar and lifted the knife a thousand times; each time my hand has been staid.

The call will not die.
O sweet joy,
the call will not die.

What (wo)man has derailed will live once more,
this, another birth-day.
Thus saith the Lord.

“Then I said, “Ah, Lord God! Behold, I do not know how to speak, for I am only a youth.” But the Lord said to me, “Do not say, ‘I am only a youth’; for to all to whom I send you, you shall go, and whatever I command you, you shall speak. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, declares the Lord.”
Then the Lord put out his hand and touched my mouth. And the Lord said to me, “Behold, I have put my words in your mouth.”"
- Jeremiah 1:6-9 (ESV)

I came across this Scripture passage in my devotional time this morning and mused on how the reverse can be applied to so many of us who are hitting our latter years in the midst of a youth-obsessed culture. I noticed when I decided to let my hair go gray that I became increasingly invisible. I made this cosmetic move as a statement to myself and those around me that I am comfortable in my own skin at long last and as my authentic self, to no longer pretend that my peer group hasn’t changed. I have never fit in with my own and have always felt most comfortable with those of the next generation, detesting the arrogance perceived by some as earned by right which looks down its collective noses on the young. I champion the Timothys in our midst.

At the same time, I am beginning to feel the sting of being put out to pasture, as if my 55 years have relegated me to the position of no longer having anything to say, that my time has come and gone. Move over, Grammy, it’s our time now.

The cultural shift that favors the young in this manner is unbiblical. Wisdom only comes from having survived one’s personal mistakes and the onslaught of the years lived on a planet where sin wreaks havoc in a million different ways everyday. A few have turned to me, seeking a spiritual mother which allows me to live out the Titus 2 mandate. But for the most part, I feel as if I am merely a shadow, a wisp that others looked through as they pass by on their way to bigger and better things.

I was challenged by one of my pastor’s messages to pray for the courage to live a life of obedient obscurity. While it has its rewards and is most suited to this contemplative lifestyle that I have voluntarily adopted, I did not realize the painful price that must be paid in answer to that prayer as one dies daily to oneself. (Funny, how last week I caught the philosophy of the world-system with its pants down as I watched a popular talk show where it was declared how as human beings we die a little bit everyday when we are forced to live lives counter to our own personal dreams. I call this a lie from the pit of hell and the Way of the Cross.)

Yet despite all this, I serve an Abba who rises far above society’s mores, who gives the reassurance that I am not to look upon myself as only a middle-aged, post-menopausal, washed-up old woman with nothing to say, but to speak the words that he gives to declare to those who would hear, to those whom he has chosen to be my audience, to not fear this time and station in life, for he is with me, culture be damned. These ARE the best years of my life, and Caleb is still my hero.

“Where is my Lord?
They have taken Him away.
All I see is a tomb, a place that is empty.
And just when I need Him,
and long for His voice,
even His body would not wait for my tears.

Shut away in a box, He has conquered their coffin.
Shut away in a book, He fulfils, Living Word.
Shut away in our concepts, He shatters such shackles.
No prison can hold Him; no tomb thwart the miracle.
His life is our liberty; His love changed my life.
No dying can rob me of what He has given:
once blind, now I see.
Hallelujah! His promise:
‘In the day when the hearts of men
fail them for fear,
then look up, little flock,
your redemption draws near.’

Let all creation
give thanks to the Risen Lord.
Give thanks to the Risen Lord!

Filled with His praises
give thanks to the Risen Lord.
Give thanks to the Risen Lord!

He is our Shepherd, and we are His sheep.
Give thanks to the Risen Lord.
Give thanks to the Risen Lord!

Stepping out boldly, we claim resurrection.
Give thanks to the Risen Lord.
Give thanks to the Risen Lord!”

- from The Stations of the Cross, Celtic Daily Prayer

Her hands wash away sin’s price poured out
and gently wipe sweet perfume on flesh
once soft and fresh and new,
as if he could still feel the tenderness
of one who held his life
delivered on the wings of
an angel’s promise…

The babe once wrapped in swaddling cloth
is held and rocked and kissed while
held secure by wrappings for
another Day…

The old prophet in the temple
bespoke the sacrifice of her own little lamb
that now becomes the world’s possession.

He told her so,
he told her so,
her soul is pierced…

and she lets him go.

- K. Rubbo

“Laid in a borrowed tomb, awaiting the sign of Jonah
- the only sign that would be given to His generation
- that after three days and nights in the womb of the earth,
the belly of the fish, the grave and hell,
He wold come forth to do His Father’s will
- Jesus the humble Son of God, the exultant Son of Man,
the eternal contradiction, the Blessed One.
The end is not yet. Weeping endures for a night,
but joy comes in the morning.
The good news -’He is risen’ -
will burst upon the Son-rise.

Therefore with joy shall we draw water
out of the wells of salvation.

When all is dark,
and Hope is buried,
it is hard to trust His words
that promised, before the pain:
He died that I might live.
He died that I might live.

In His death is my birth.
He died that I might live.
He died that I might live.

In His life is my life.
He died that I might live.
He died that I might live.

My Jesus! He died that I might live.
He died that I might live.”

- from The Stations of the Cross, Celtic Daily Prayer

“Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
save in the death of Christ my God.
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood:
It was for me.
It was for me.”

- from The Stations of the Cross, Celtic Daily Prayer

“When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his garments and divided them into four parts, one part for each soldier; also his tunic. But the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from top to bottom, so they said to one another, “Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see whose it shall be.” This was to fulfill the Scripture which says,

“They divided my garments among them,
and for my clothing they cast lots.”

So the soldiers did these things, but standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son!” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her to his home.”
- John 19:23-27 (ESV)

“And now these three remain, faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
- 1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV)

Jesus was stripped of all, but left with love.

It is the process that he has been taking me through these past weeks and months, my living through a paradox of pain and sublime sweetness as the affections of the world are being stripped away, one piece at a time.

Last night at our church’s Maundy Thursday service, I could not help but dwell on my love for this people and their love for me. It hit with a force that took my breath away when Donna grabbed my hand between hers and kissed it as I walked past her in returning to my seat after partaking of the Body and the Blood.

If all I am left with is love, then that is enough.

“Lord, You embraced and shouldered Your cross,
but Your body was weak.
Your Body still is weak:
Your people shrink from the weight of suffering.
In our weakness, Lord, let us pray:
Your will be done
Your will be done.

Jesus, You were first a carpenter:
build us into what You desire,
and secure every joint tightly,
that we may hold together.
Plane the rough surfaces of our relationships.
We are Your workmanship -
Your will be done.
Your will be done.

Jesus, You said ‘YES’ to the Father’s will;
and only Your body hesitated.
May we, Your Body, no longer hesitate,
but follow You in obedience, saying:
Your will be done.
Your will be done.”

-from The Stations of the Cross, Celtic Daily Prayer

“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 reverant 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, having been designated by God a high priest according to the order of Melchizedek.”
- Hebrews 5:7-10

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary or lose heart.”
- Hebrews 12:1-3

Respite in The Upper Room.

A conversation:
What does one do with all this loss?
“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” Romans 8:18.
How much blood can you squeeze out of a stone?
“And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you…” Ezekiel 36:26-27a

Our feet bathed with humility,
His in love perfumed, love sacrificed, love that awaits The Day.

I come to the Table bereft until she grabs and kisses my hand as I walk by.
I am loved in this place.
The Master is here.

Two pillars, buried side-by-side
deep within the earth,
await their own resurrection morn’.
(Do you gaze at us from behind and know of our Gethsemane?)

O precious, is the flow,
nothing but the blood,
nothing but the blood,
nothing but His beauty.

John 17 fulfilled,
at least on this night.

“Like an early bloom before last frost,
like impatient rain from still-blue sky,
so too, O God,
it is hard to wait for you.
I am too hurried to let dawn break,
to let shadows fall,
to let courage root
in the soil of my soul.
But I need to learn to let dawn be dawn
and dusk be dusk,
to let you alone be God,
the God of my life.
Amen”
- from The Awkward Season, by Pamela C. Hawkins

At midnight of this day, I was led by God through my devotional to Psalm 23:1-4, which, like an old friend can become too familiar and whose presence we often take for granted.

And there it was: “He makes me lie down in green pastures…” v.2 (ESV)

I laughed out loud.

Lately I’ve been experiencing a discontent regarding the present course of my life; the dreary weather has been compounding this emotional nuisance. Afterall, what weight do my ‘problems’ hold in the face of the legitimate sufferings of humankind? Rather petty as seen in comparison to tsunamis, earthquakes, nuclear meltdown, genocide, poverty, and disease. I am the victim of a self-obsessed society which chokes the life out of the heroism of the ordinary.

I am in my office that sits tucked under the eaves of our rooftop, gazing down upon a stand of mist-enshrouded pines and maples, seated at my grandmother’s dining room table that serves as my desk. The by-products of a life-time of ministry sits next to me, words that once challenged lives now lying encased in plastic.

Impatience. Boredom. Self-pity. Ugliness.

I am not in the midst of a wilderness experience. I am no longer in exile, thank the good Lord. But my inquiry was answered the other night regarding my present state of being. This season can be characterized by one word: testing.

The enemy throws up familiar brands of discouragement through cunning and deceit that I might give into the temptation to despair, to surrender to a false sense of hopelessness. Abba so graciously brought me once more to 1 Corinthians 10:13 as a swift kick to this present state of melancholy. It’s up to me to take the way out. It’s right in front of my face. The mental shift.

I cannot say that I am not living a good life. Many storm-filled seasons have been successfully negotiated with the Lord’s help. But yet, but yet…

I’ve been finding myself returning to larger than life stories, particularly Tolkien’s world, where my thirst for the heroic is quenched. The enormous popularity of these tales together with common themes found in our various forms of entertainment feed a hunger that I believe has been breathed by God into his image-bearers, a spirit that longs for the heroic, to know that one’s brief life makes a difference, one way or another. Fully engaged followers of Christ participate in the ultimate adventure of saving the soul’s of men and women.

My thirst for the heroic does not originate from a heart that seeks personal attention, glory, or proof of self-worth, for God knows, he has been quite thorough in beating the ego out of me. But I speak not only for myself but for a host of many who possess an honest-to-goodness hunger to do great good.

The place where we all get into trouble is in this: Despair comes into our lives as we view them from the perspective that what we do everyday is unimportant in the grand scheme of things. What could be so noble and heroic in making my husband a home-made spaghetti sauce this afternoon? But seen through a heraldric lens, this simple act provides strength, comfort, and nourishment to one who so tireously furthers the Kingdom through his own acts of heroism each week in the parking lots of our church. Today I prayed for a new friend’s budding ministry that seeks to renovate the lives of survivors of sexual abuse. An hour-long conversation with my 82-year-old mother about anything and everything to help calm her during this frightening autumn of life. Telling a lonely friend on facebook that I love her. Not as glamorous as standing behind a pulpit but no small stuff in God’s economy. Why should it be so in mine, heaven help me?

I heard God speaking loud and clear during a television message yesterday that spoke of his strategically placing us right where we are. It reminded me of what I recently told a friend regarding all that God requires of us, which, bottom line, is for us to take care of and love each other well. If we did just that we would revolutionize the world in which we live.

The sword I must wield is in the great battle of the-one-on-one. The war is on. I have been chosen to make a difference in the place where I now stand. Justice must be done for those who are different, for those who are unlovely, for those whom life has wounded, for my fellow liars, dreamers, and misfits. It’s what I’ve always done and what I will continue to do. Give me the grace, loving Abba, to see it, and do it, everyday.

Darkness and rapturous light
emanate from the same hand
entrapped by a flesh
that weeps with pus and sores.

Our faces lean in,
lightly touching where
our souls lay enwrapped by
skin and bone,
your heaven-sent words returning
with the Lord’s redundancy
while a hand lightly touches
an Adam-twisted spine
with His weightiness.

All lies redeemed on earth
as it is,
as it is,
as it is,
in a heaven not willing
to be waited for.

“I shan’t call it the end, till we’ve cleared up the mess.” – Samwise

Eucatastrophe is a neologism coined by Tolkien from Greek ευ- “good” and καταστροφή “destruction”.

“I coined the word ‘eucatastrophe’: the sudden happy turn in a story which pierces you with a joy that brings tears (which I argued it is the highest function of fairy-stories to produce). And I was there led to the view that it produces its peculiar effect because it is a sudden glimpse of Truth, your whole nature chained in material cause and effect, the chain of death, feels a sudden relief as if a major limb out of joint had suddenly snapped back. It perceives – if the story has literary ‘truth’ on the second plane (….) – that this is indeed how things really do work in the Great World for which our nature is made. And I concluded by saying that the Resurrection was the greatest ‘eucatastrophe’ possible in the greatest Fairy Story – and produces that essential emotion: Christian joy which produces tears because it is qualitatively so like sorrow, because it comes from those places where Joy and Sorrow are at one, reconciled, as selfishness and altruism are lost in Love.”
– Letter 89 from The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien

Eucatastrophe is where the Living God breaks into the present when all seems lost and at its darkest hour. It is the sure Hope for which I live. The story is not ended; it is coming.

“But as Aragorn came to the booth where he was to lodge with Legolas and Gimli, and his companions had gone in, there came the Lady Eowyn after him and called to him. He turned and saw her as a glimmer in the night, for she was clad in white; but her eyes were on fire….she laid her hand on his arm. ‘You are a stern lord and resolute,’ she said, ‘and thus do men win renown.’ She paused. ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘if you must go, then let me ride in your following. For I am weary of skulking in the hills, and wish to face peril and battle.’
‘Your duty is with your people,’ he answered.
‘Too often have I heard of duty,’ she cried. ‘But am I not of the House of Eorl, a shieldmaiden and not a dry-nurse? I have waited on faltering feet long enough. Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life as I will?’
‘Few may do that with honour,’ he answered. ‘But as for you, lady: did you not accept the charge to govern the people until their lord’s return? If you had not been chosen, then some marshal or captain would have been set in the same place, and he could not ride away from his charge, were he weary of it or no.’
‘Shall I always be chosen?’ she said bitterly. ‘Shall I always be left behind when the Riders depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find food and beds when they return?’
‘A time may come soon,’ said he, ‘when none will return. Then there will be need of valour without renown, for none shall remember the deeds that are done in the last defence of your homes. Yet the deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.’
And she answered: ‘All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.’
‘What do you fear, lady?’ he asked.
‘A cage,’ she said. ‘To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.’”

- from The Return of the King, by J.R.R. Tolkien

The longing to wield the Spirit’s sword will always be with me as long as there is breathe left in my body. It is who God made me to be. I must not…I will not, despair.

A quiet season.
Exile is over.
I’ve quietly slipped my feet into the Jordan whose waters pose no barrier to what has been promised. The land has not been won as of yet. In the midst of my journeyings, I had almost forgotten who I am but have been lovingly reminded of my true identity, who I am in him, and who I was made to be.

This set aside time is all about experiencing what it is to be hidden in the hollow of a loving Father’s hand. Here I am fed by the stuff of ravens.

A Scripture has been given that haunts my every moment, the Lord Christ being revealed in all his heavenly splendor to John the Beloved who directly receives the vision while in exile on the island of Patmos:

“…I turned round to see who had spoken to me, and when I turned I saw seven golden lamp-stands and surrounded by them, a figure like a Son of Man, dressed in a long robe tied at the waist with a golden girdle. His head and his hair were as white as white wool or as snow, his eyes like a burning flame, his feet like burnished bronze when it has been refined in a furnace, and his voice like the sound of the ocean. In his right hand he was holding seven stars, out of his mouth came a sharp sword, double-edged, and his face was like the sun shining with all its force. When I saw him, I fell in a dead faint at his feet, but he touched me with his right hand and said, ‘Do not be afraid; it is I…’”
- Revelation 1:12-17 (JB)

He touched him.
Familiar words once heard on a storm-tossed sea.
I am overwhelmed by this display of loving condescension in the midst of glory revealed.

During the night watches as I enter into moments of centered prayer, I hear the voice and feel the soft caress of the Master’s hand on my heart where fear dares not enter in…as long as I remain. Yes, it is all about the abiding.

“Envy is misshapen.
Its bear paws tear up everything.
Its wooden feet walk dead paths.
It brings only evil to man.
Love, however, is the greatest power
given by God.”

- from the motion picture, The Vision: From the Life of Hildegard Von Bingen

O God, who makes all things new,
new stars, new dust, new life;
take my heart,
every hardened edge and measured beat,
and create something new in me.
I need your newness, God,
the rough parts of me made smooth;
the stagnant, stirred;
the stuck, freed;
the unkind, forgiven.
And then, by the power of your Spirit,
I need to be turned toward love again.
Amen.

O Christ, our Alpha and Omega;
O Christ, our beginning and end.
Help me to see where something new is needed,
longed for,
breaking through.
Help me become an instrument,
a lever,
a voice for
what is hoped for but has not yet come to be.
Amen.

- from The Awkward Season, by Pamela C. Hawkins

It’s empty in the valley of your heart
The sun it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears and all the faults you left behind.

The harvest left no food for you to eat
You cannibal, you meat-eater you see
But I have seen the same I know the shame in your defeat

But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

‘Cause I have other things to fill my time
You take what is yours and I’ll take mine
Now let me at the truth which will refresh my broken mind

So tie me to a post and block my ears
I can see widows and orphans through my tears
And know my call despite my faults and despite my growing fears

But I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence when you know the maker’s hand

So make your siren’s call
And sing all you want
I will not hear what you have to say

‘Cause I need freedom now
And I need to know how
To live my life as it’s meant to be
And I will hold on hope
And I won’t let you choke
On the noose around your neck
And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

Sheathe your sword, warrior.
Climb into the chair set before Me
and drink in the waters of life
to full measure.

More to follow…

As a young Catholic, Lent meant ashes on your forehead, putting daily pennies in a lenten box, and the ultimate sacrifice of giving up chocolate and eating meat on Friday. Not much was taught about the whys of all these things; it was just something that you did. Tradition.

After coming to faith in Christ some twenty-nine years ago, I forsook the faith and traditions of my fathers and mothers and exchanged these deep cultural expressions for a form of evangelical Christianity that depends solely on the Word of God. Rituals, liturgy, and rote prayers were considered anathema. Over the years, God has graciously brought me full circle as I’ve sought a more authentic spirituality. Scripture remains the preeminent expression of my faith but I have come to recognize how, trapped in flesh, human beings are benefited by physical expressions of faith that if properly observed, pierce the interior of the soul, bringing us closer to the heart of our loving Abba, not because we have to, not for seeking after personal worth or earning divine approval, but because of our need for something tangible that makes our experience of Him all the more real.

Beginning March 9, I will be observing the Lenten season for the first time in almost forty years through the enjoyment of a couple of books which I can’t wait to crack open together with a crisp new journal: The Awkward Season, by Pamela Hawkins, and Forty Days to a Closer Walk with God, by J. David Muyskens, in preparation for an Easter-time that I’m hoping will blow all those from previous years out of the water. This Punk Monk is looking forward to the infusion of some overdue Resurrection Power.

“What does God want me to bring to this body?”
- Sarah DeShields

“I dreamed I saw my name in lights
and spoke Your word for all to hear.
I dreamed my name was recognized
by people far and people near.
But I have come to understand
like David long ago,
that humble service in Your house
is still the greatest dream a heart can hold.
Oh let me be a servant,
a keeper of the door.
My heart is only longing
to see for evermore
the glory of Your presence,
the dwelling of the Lord.
Oh let me be a servant
a keeper of the door.”
-Twila Paris

“The most tremendous thing in the world is for people to find that door – the door to God. The most important thing anyone can do is to take hold of one of those blind, groping hands, and put it on the latch – the latch that only clicks and opens to that person’s touch. People can die outside that door, as starving beggars die on cold nights in cruel cities in the dead of winter – die for want of what is within their grasp. Others live, on the other side of it – live because they have found it, and open it, and walk in, and find Him…So I stand by the door.”
- by Samuel Moor Shoemaker, from Celtic Daily Prayer

The most special thing about my ministry at 24-7 was participating in the practice of providing radical hospitality, preparing the Sacred for those who would enter in each day in order to have a first-hand encounter with God, whether it be through the making of coffee, the disinfecting of a toilet, tidying up a prayer station, or being that divine go-between through a greeting shared, a kind word, a listening ear, a prayer offered.

Now I get to do it all over again for the Body that is mine as we break ground with a different community of people who stand waiting at the door. I am a woman of, and from the future…

My feelings of foreboding have not been unfounded. Yesterday I begged my young charge to not go to the house exorcism that she had been invited to. She is steeped in a deep confusion regarding the things of faith, having been exposed to a maelstrom of false doctrine.

“How do I know what is true? What, can I believe in, after seeing all this?”

The Light which is from above brings life and liberty; it doesn’t screw with your head, is what I wanted to say. I held my peace, continuing to rely on the Spirit’s leading in this salvation journey. He has been about the business of delicately untangling the briars that have complicated that which is oh, so simple.

Abba made His appeal to her, a place having been provided, where she can find truth, community, and safety. It…He, waits for her.

Please be in prayer for us, my dear readers.

For this cause I bow my knees unto the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, that he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man; that Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints, what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God. Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, unto him be glory in the Church by Christ Jesus, throughout all ages, world without end. Amen.
- Ephesians 3:14-21 (KJV)

“That ye, being rooted and grounded in love -
Here is a double metaphor; one taken from agriculture, the other from architecture. As trees, they are to be rooted in love – this is the soil in which their souls are to grow; into the infinite love of God their souls by faith are to strike their roots, and from this love derive all that nourishment which is essential for their full growth, till they have the mind in them that was in Jesus, or, as it is afterwards said, till they are filled with all the fulness of God. As a building, their foundation is to be laid in this love. God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, etc…Here is the ground on which alone the soul, and all its hopes and expectations, can be safely founded. This is a foundation that cannot be shaken; and it is from this alone that the doctrine of redemption flows to man, and from this alone has the soul its form and comeliness. In this, as its proper soil, it grows. On this, as its only foundation, it rests.”

- Clarke’s Commentary

Psalm 131 (The Message)

A Pilgrim Song
1God, I’m not trying to rule the roost, I don’t want to be king of the mountain.
I haven’t meddled where I have no business
or fantasized grandiose plans.
2 I’ve kept my feet on the ground,
I’ve cultivated a quiet heart.
Like a baby content in its mother’s arms,
my soul is a baby content.
3 Wait, Israel, for God. Wait with hope.
Hope now; hope always!

“Once again our Scripture passage calls to mind a mother’s love and support for a child. The parent serves as a calming influence. For those who waken to a mundane existence, the psalmist goes on to reflect briefly on a life in which some parts were unfulfilled. His eyes are not raised too high, and leaves the great and marvelous alone. His heart is not lifted up. The psalmist comes humbly before God, aware of his personal limitations – no inflated ego here.

When we, like the psalmist, seek after God’s heart rather than the gratification of our own heart, we decrease and God increases within us. As much as our heart illuminates our passion and desires, it can also lead us down a path of deception and pride. When our heart loses a battle of love or when a passion is dissolved, our defense mechanisms accelerate; slowly our heart is subject to dangerous pride and overconfidence. The place of God’s residency becomes inhabited by self-centered kudos. Entitlement lurks just around the corner from self-centeredness, all too often propelling us into a state of self-advocacy, selfishness, and justification. Give an inch to pride and expect it to take a million miles. Allowing pride and entitlement to dictate our actions and relationships blocks the unconditional love God offers to others through us.

God’s power comes wrapped in paradox; simple, yet deep enough to sustain the width and depth of the universe. Our feeble attempt to understand God fully may elicit self-dependency rather than spiritual revelation. As we come to trust and rest in God’s promise of perfect love, we will find our soul calmed and quieted.”

- from Disciplines, A Book of Daily Devotions 2011, by The Upper Room

1 Peter 5:1-11 (Amplified Bible)

” 1I WARN and counsel the elders among you (the pastors and spiritual guides of the church) as a fellow elder and as an eyewitness [called to testify] of the sufferings of Christ, as well as a sharer in the glory (the honor and splendor) that is to be revealed (disclosed, unfolded):

2Tend (nurture, guard, guide, and fold) the flock of God that is [your responsibility], not by coercion or constraint, but willingly; not dishonorably motivated by the advantages and profits [belonging to the office], but eagerly and cheerfully;

3Not domineering [as arrogant, dictatorial, and overbearing persons] over those in your charge, but being examples (patterns and models of Christian living) to the flock (the congregation).

4And [then] when the Chief Shepherd is revealed, you will win the [a]conqueror’s crown of glory.

5Likewise, you who are younger and of lesser rank, be subject to the elders (the ministers and spiritual guides of the church)–[giving them due respect and yielding to their counsel]. Clothe (apron) yourselves, all of you, with humility [as the garb of a servant, [b]so that its covering cannot possibly be stripped from you, with freedom from pride and arrogance] toward one another. For God sets Himself against the proud (the insolent, the overbearing, the disdainful, the presumptuous, the boastful)–[and He opposes, frustrates, and defeats them], but gives grace (favor, blessing) to the humble.(A)

6Therefore humble yourselves [demote, lower yourselves in your own estimation] under the mighty hand of God, that in due time He may exalt you,

7Casting the [c]whole of your care [all your anxieties, all your worries, all your concerns, [d]once and for all] on Him, for He cares for you affectionately and cares about you [e]watchfully.(B)

8Be well balanced (temperate, sober of mind), be vigilant and cautious at all times; for that enemy of yours, the devil, roams around like a lion roaring [[f]in fierce hunger], seeking someone to seize upon and devour.

9Withstand him; be firm in faith [against his onset--rooted, established, strong, immovable, and determined], knowing that the same ([g]identical) sufferings are appointed to your brotherhood (the whole body of Christians) throughout the world.

10And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace [Who imparts all blessing and favor], Who has called you to His [own] eternal glory in Christ Jesus, will Himself complete and make you what you ought to be, establish and ground you securely, and strengthen, and settle you.

11To Him be the dominion (power, authority, rule) forever and ever. Amen (so be it).”

A sense of foreboding…

Abba, shelter the little flock that has been entrusted to my care.

“Salvation is free….but discipleship will cost you your life.”
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer

The very nature of a vacuum is to be filled. Vacant space left by the elimination of the by-products of deception cries out. The flesh desires for this cavernous thing to be filled with anything and everything but that which is of the utmost necessity, that being Christ Himself, making this monastic call an arduous one. Ground is being cleared by the Triune God so that He alone may fill my soul’s inner chambers.

There is a romanticized version of monasticism making the rounds in these early years of the 21st century, an invention that the desert abbas and ammas would find alien to their own intended experience, for within its practice is missing the one necessary ingredient: the desert itself, a solitude, a felt aloneness, even present in the midst of a crowded room. I have been witness to this bastardized version that gives birth to its own brand of Pharisee, The Holy Clique, which forgets the very purpose behind the call: loving God to the exclusion of all else; loving others for love’s sake in the name of Christ Jesus, our Lord.

To choose The Filling allows us to discern where the traps have been set amidst the underbrush; to reject it is to make oneself vulnerable to the deceptions that are set in place to distract, discourage, and ultimately destroy by keeping us from that which alone brings life.