vitalwholeness

At one of our recent evening CORE worship gatherings several story tellers wove a narrative of God’s provision. The following is from Tessi Muskrat, with her kind permission:

The provision of God—His promise to meet all of our needs—has always been a pretty big deal for me. Maybe that’s because I was barely in High School when He DID it.

I was a month shy of my 15^th Birthday when our house burned to the ground. The uninsured home of a family of 7, lost by our neighbor’s carelessness, and I found myself in a grey Red Cross sweat suit, clutching a plastic bag of toiletries (and a deck of cards) and crowded into a hotel room so small that I couldn’t help but hear my father crying his devastation away in the dark.

There’s nothing like having absolutely nothing to throw you at the feet of God. I remember vividly, laying on a cot in the dark that night, listening to my father cry (a sound I’d only heard once before) and praying. “God…you’re gonna have to do something…like you said you would…because we’ve got nothing.”

He did. Within 2 weeks, we had to make radio announcements asking people to stop donating clothes and household items—it would take us weeks to go through what had been collected so far. People from France to Washington State gave to what would be our bank’s largest benevolent fund ever, and offers from friends and family for lodging (we were gifted a free condo for 6 months) and food were more than we could count.

Even more than that, though, God was present in the little things. The woman at church who gave my barefoot sister the shoes off her feet, the morning after the fire. The fact that my one souvenir from the only trip I’d ever taken was the only thing of mine to survive the fire. The no longer in production dolls that we girls loved, which an acquaintance found in her mother’s attic and sent us, still in the box. The family who took up re-filling our library as their personal mission and sent us boxes of books (from a very long list we’d sent them) for years after the fire. The donation (six months after the fire) of exactly the amount of money we’d just spent on buying a trailer home.

That November, we made a book of Thanksgiving, filling pages with drawings and remembrances of God’s provision, lest we forget. I still have it on my bookshelf.

And yet, I find that I do forget. Or maybe I feel unsure about God’s willingness to provide for my needs if they’re needs I’ve created and shouldn’t have. Does He have to help me pay off my credit cards? Does He have to pay for student loans that might have been taken carelessly in the first place? Does He have to provide work when maybe we should be satisfied with the job we already had? I think I have a new understanding of the faithfulness that’s required on my part, for the provision on His.

Except, the moment I start thinking that—start falling into the idea that God does what He promises only if I do what I’m supposed to first (where does that idea still come from, anyway??)—He surprises me with a provision that I never saw coming. Or that I never would have recognized without His help.

Who knew that the experience of watching my parents’ marriage fall apart would be God’s provision? Not that He gave me the dissolution of my family—I don’t mean that—only…He is the One who allows me to see Him in it. He provides me with the ability to know that I’ve worked years to learn to communicate, to love selflessly, to seek God before myself, to recognize warning signs in relationships and be willing to work for resolution before they fester—all because I never want to live what my parents did. He’s shown me His ability to provide the Spiritual Fathers I have needed—each in their own place and their own time—to teach me what I needed to learn through the fire, the divorce, the crumbling of my church, my own redefining of faith.

Sometimes I still get all mixed up thinking I need to do before He will provide. Sometimes I still need to whine to one of my Spiritual Fathers and let them point me toward recognition of the providing presence of God in my life. Because—really—it always comes before I do anything.

God built the supportive community my family needed in order to survive the fire.

He gave me the connections I would need to meet the men who have guided me though my spiritual journey.

He allowed me to struggle with sin, so that I would know how to speak into the lives of those who struggle.

He threw me into situations for which I was completely unprepared (what do you do when a teenager shows up at your door in the middle of the night, bleeding from self-inflicted cuts??) so I would remember my need for Him.

And, time and time and time again, He teaches me—through experience or reading or scripture—exactly what I’m going to need in a month, or two, or six to speak what’s needed to one of the teens I share life with.

God still provides for me. I can always pay my bills, even when I make stupid choices with my resources. He will still provide next week, and next month, and the month after, when my new husband may still be looking for a job and I no longer have my roommate’s half to pay bills with.

But even more than that, He has already provided. When one of my kids asks a question I don’t think I can answer, words will come out of my mouth that are what they need to hear. When I’m tired and I don’t think I can give any more, my husband will step in with exactly the words that they need. The thing I read last week will be exactly what I need tomorrow. The friend I just made will be the one with the experience that I need to learn from. I don’t have to do, before He provides.

The trick is—will I remember to look with open heart and dedicated mind? Will I recognize the provisions He’s prepared? Or will I be so distracted with trying to do the right thing so that God will be willing to provide for my needs that I totally miss the provision that’s already there waiting?

That’s the diagnosis Kathy just received. After two weeks of testing the results finally came back. During the next seven days the goal is to narrow the offending cancer to its particular source and type. Then an appropriate treatment course may be selected.

It has been an anxious time for Kathy, for our family, and we wanted to give you a little update. When we know more we will try to keep you posted.

In the meantime we are focusing on healing prayer/meditation, right thinking, trusting God, and giving attention to the many avenues of health and support that are so very important. Thanks in advance for your love and care. It means so much in times such as these.

Hope abiding,

Tim

Over the rooftop the sun peeks
winking at the day
I am but the most recent benefactor
of solar attentions
the turning earth
providing one lover after another

Like so many other times of vacation, we decided to worship at another church in our community. We’ve already done the big-box rock around the clock churches were the beautiful people hang out. We have filed into the pews of some of the big traditional churches in town. Today we wanted to worship in an ordinary congregation in an ordinary building with ordinary people. And we got exactly what we were looking for.

This was a congregation where you couldn’t be anonymous if you wanted to. Go to the big box churches for that and settle down into your theater seat among the crowd. In this ordinary congregation they drafted some little kid to light the candles and average people led the music and worship in a respectable way. The pastor gave a solid sermon. None of it was going to set the world on fire. But there was an unmistakable sense of Christian family. People seemed to know why they were there. And we did, too. It was about worshiping God and how we should be Christians in the world. Mission accomplished.

I think that some day in the not-to-distant future average congregations are going to make a come back. In time, maybe now, maybe later, people are going to catch the drift that there is a difference between a Christian entertainment event and a congregation of real people to worship, serve together and love each other on the way to loving God. Like Cheers, it’s some place where everybody knows your name.

It’s going to happen, I predict, and average congregations should get ready. All they really have to do is welcome people with love and then be about being who they are. People will find them and where they fit. But I’m certain that the more depersonalized the world gets, the more we are consumed by entertainment culture, the more important this will become. And, in the end, people are just going to want their spiritual home to be that, a home, where we are baptized, share the table, learn about God, hug our babies and comfort the grieving. We’ll eat together and try our best to shed some light of the kingdom.

And, just saying, every time I worship on vacation I sense a little more about how “the other half” lives on Sunday morning. The other half would be those who are not ministers or not overly committed lay leaders who are rushing around. I got up, greeted the Sabbath, had my coffee and did my devotional reading. I entered church at a leisurely stroll. We sat and talked and worshiped and had a bite afterwards.

As enjoyable as that was I would call it something like “church lite.” Perhaps that’s just a comparison with my normal. But I think it’s more. I think my experience as a vacation guest is roughly analogous to the regular experience of many, many church folk. And what is that? Pretty minimal, not much expected, fairly non-participatory. I showed up so you could say I was belonging in some manner. But my commitment, my participation was minimal. Actually, it made me hungry for more than lunch. It made me hungry for community, for growing. And if I were one of the lay persons, not the obligated clergy, I would want to get more involved, to feel a part of the family, to find out how my participation matters.

By the way, if you are just doing “church lite” as I just did, why in the world would you complain about coming to worship once a week? I mean, that’s about the lowest commitment level imaginable. A whole hour for God. Wow. Careful, don’t overdo it.

And … three more on the stack for this summer’s reading:

Psychological Biblical Criticism by Andrew Kille. Using the insights of psychology is not a new enterprise in Biblical studies, but Kille starts to make it into its own genre.

A Heart Afire is Zalman Schachter-Shalomi’s classic collection of stories from the early Hasidic masters. Familiar names like the Ba’al Shem Tov are scattered across its pages.

Speaking of the Ba’al Shem Tov, Menachem Kallus has gathered together guidance for the contemplative life from the Ba’al Shem and his circle in his Pillar of Prayer.

So much to read, so little time!

Many people have a summer reading list and it is populated by all manner of genres. There is the flop-eared beach novel, a technical tome, a work from the NY Times best seller list, or a selection just reviewed on the radio program. For me, the direction of my reading changes from year to year. I might be interested in asome particular scholarly slant, an area I want to understand more deeply. Recommendations are good, especially from people I think might have similar interests. When some people I know say, “You’ve got to read this,” I generally do. At least I skim the interesting ones passed my way. And of course my reading cues on my own fascinations of the moment.

So the Summer 2012 list goes something like this:

11/22/63 by Stephen King. I’m almost through it. It came highly recommended by a friend.

Idylls of the King by Alfred Lord Tennyson. This is an oldie but goodie. The extended saga poem tells the Arthur legend. I caught a snippet of the last quatrain and wanted to read the whole thing. I’m in the first chapter.

Two books come out of the mystical Jewish tradition:

All Breathing Life is by Zalman Schachter-Shalomi and is a reflective piece on poetry and prayer.

The Poetry of the Kabbalah by Peter Cole is more of an analytical approach to the poetic structure of the most esoteric of the Jewish mystical writings.

What Money Can’t Buy is Michael Sandel’s moral analysis of markets. The Harvard professor of government pushes on the limits of any economic system.

A Short History of Nearly Everything is Bill Bryson’s tour of the universe which explores everything from the cosmos, earth, new science, environmental perils and our human destiny. It’s ten years old now; call me tardy.

Happy reading, fellow book worms, adventurists, escapists. It’s all good.

Yesterday I enjoyed a genealogical excursion with a friend. We traveled to family stomping grounds where history was stored. And part of that was residing in a particular cemetery.

One of the challenges of rural cemeteries is the lack of clear records. In the major operations in the city you generally find charts and grids showing burials. It is relatively easy to do a search of who is buried where. Not in the country. In those graveyards – community or family plots – it is more a matter of tradition. The knowledge is passed down from person to person, often in oral tradition.

So it was as we searched for one of the family members of my friend. Records were not to be found. The only answer was walking the grounds, moving from stone to stone, many of which had been polished smooth by the sandpaper of time, erasing the names and dates once carved into them.

After an hour of wandering and looking we were preparing to depart, mission unaccomplished. But just then a pick up truck pulled up and a man in a feed cap got out. “You look like you’re looking for somebody.” We were. His name was Jimmy and he mowed the cemetery.

“Yes,” my friend said, “we’re looking for Kirkpatrick. We understand they are buried here but can’t find them.”

“Oh, yeah, I know right where they are.” He walked us right to the stone and pointed. “Here you are.”

Sure enough, it was. The cameras came out and we celebrated. But how did Jimmy remember?

“You know, one time a delivery truck came through town with Kirkpatrick on the side, and I wondered where they were from. And so every time I mowed around this stone I wondered if they were somehow kin, those buried here and the company on the truck.”

And that’s how the man who stopped because people looked like they were looking led us exactly to the spot, because he remembered a delivery truck that reminded him of a grave the mower buzzed by.

That’s how it works, of course. There are the billion connections buzzing around us like lawn mowers in summer. And the present and the past are one, right along with the strangers passing by and, yes, passing away.

No, it’s not a sports conference. It’s a condensed list – of the ways one harms the relationship with God or with neighbor.

The one that comes to mind today is found in a recent court case. Ryan Ferguson was falsely accused by Charles Erickson of the murder of a Columbia Tribune editor in 2005. The newspaper custodian joined the fray with false testimony.

This sent Ferguson to prison for a crime he did not commit. This April, both Erickson and the custodian changed their tune. They admitted they were lying. Ferguson was vindicated.

The commandment, of course, is to not bear false witness against your neighbor. Why? Because your self-interested lies harm the innocent. It happens all the time, of course, a repeating drama. Which is why it’s in the Big Ten.

It’s that important.