Category: Faith

We have become increasingly aware that the poor are the hope of humanity, for we will be judged by how we have treated the poor. We will have to face this reality when we are summoned before the throne of God. ~Mother Teresa

As many have observed, Mother Teresa was a person widely admired, but seldom imitated.

That the poor are the “hope of humanity” hardly fits with the prevailing view. Most of us spend our efforts trying to distance ourselves from poverty in every way possible.

I think I know why.

In Western culture, identity is closely tied to productivity. What do you do? What grade did you get? Where do you work? How much do you make? How many attend your church? How often is your name google-searched?

The predator of performance haunts at every turn.

Even in our leisure we can’t let down our guard. What was your score? How far did you hike? How much did you buy?

Contempt, or at least discomfort with the very poor, the dependent, or those who by choice or disability are never “employed” grips our collective heart. What exactly do they add to the world, what do they do to create their own worth?

Identity Crisis

I freeze when the inevitable question comes: “Tell me about yourself.” I know my height, age, or where I was born are not enough. My profile must be well crafted to set me apart. Accomplishments, abilities, public recognition–the real question being, “where do you fit on the spectrum of importance?”

Like others with fuzzy credentials my answers seem awkward to my ear. “Mainly what I have done is write and teach Bible Studies.” In reply I get a puzzled look, “Then why haven’t I heard of you?”

Something Worth Pondering

• The creation stories of Israel’s pagan neighbors depict the gods creating human beings so we will do their work for them.
• The creation stories in Genesis portray God doing the work and creating human beings to enjoy and find our identity in him.

Maybe this is why we need the poor–to remind us that the production-driven sweat of the brow was not the original intent.

Are you tempted to find your identity, your worth in what you do or what you produce?

photo credit: http://flic.kr/p/58tMF1

Change always comes bearing gifts. ~Price Pritchett

Change

Change. Transiton. A shift, a bend, a scent on the wind. A twist in the plot, the way-it-has-been makes way for the unknown-that-will-be.

Days feel slippery. A school year begins, a move is made, the pace quickens as the air cools. And often we feel pushed. Christmas supplies crowd  pumpkin decor, while sunscreen and sand-pails pose, self-conscious, on the half-price shelf.

What is this relentless tug that refuses to let us stay in the present, to enjoy where we are?

Change. Is it curse or blessing, enemy or friend?

Susan Reed, a gifted photographer with an eye for nature’s enigma, gave me the photograph above and penciled one word on the back: Change.

A Spiritual Practice: Visio Divina

The image invites us to linger. Long before the printed word, God used the visible to speak, to draw humans to himself. A rainbow, a burning bush, a pillar of cloud and fire, a valley of dry bones. He invites us again today, through the ancient practice of Visio Divina–spiritual seeing.

Spend some quiet moments studying the photograph and ponder these questions:

• As you look at the picture, what are you reminded of?
• What feelings does it evoke?
• What metaphors for your life do you notice?
• What needs to die in your life so that new life can emerge?
• What could God do if you were willing stand leaf-less and bare before him?

Feel free to share with us what you discovered in a comment below.

Now hear these words of assurance:

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.  James 1:17

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 Image ©2012 Susan Reed

O Lord, you have made us very small, and we bring our years to an end like a tale that is told; help us to remember that beyond our brief day is the eternity of your love. ~Reinhold Niebuhr

The year I decided to let God make me real, my daughter was born. Staring into her tiny face, I saw myself from God’s point of view–dependent, demanding, loved beyond belief.

And amusing. For so long I thought changing my own diapers and rummaging through the fridge, needing help from no one, was what he preferred. How often did he roll his eyes?

But now I understand. Like a helpless newborn, what else can I do to survive but to wail? And who can blame me if I greedily cling to the one who responds without fail, whose warmth and nourishing presence are my world, my hope?

Can you leave your grown-up presumption behind long enough to hear his lullaby?

God’s Lullaby

Come needy.

Leave your competence, your stoic self-sufficiency, your fear of being a bother or appearing less than perfect. Come as an infant, wrinkle-faced and red-rashed. Come hungry, come irritated and frustrated with life beyond your control.

Lay in my arms and look into my eyes. I know what you feel. I know what you battle, and I know what battles you.

I entered your world empty, a helpless, dependent child. I left it in pain, a broken failure in the eyes of most. I’ve lived what it means to be human.

I’ve tasted the baffling stew–wonder and confusion, beauty and blemish, triumph and disappointment, I’ve drunk deeply of both sorrow and joy. I too was tempted to reject my humanity–become beast or idol. To wallow in brute pleasure or usurp the Father’s rule.

I know what you know, but I know more. My vision fills with meanings you cannot see.

1. Little things you miss:

• the sun-slanted pattern across the floor,   
• the rain-scented breeze through your open window,
• an unexpected kindness– 

reminders delivered every moment by me, “I am here.”

2. Big things you fear: 

Events and movements so big and grand, in this life you can only see their shadow.  Those shadows threaten, and you turn from me to stumble off on your own.

And every day I sing, “Come needy. I’m the One who can make it right.”

Have you heard God’s lullaby?

 

 

 

God calls us, as He did Adam, to come out of hiding. No amount of spiritual makeup can render us more presentable to Him. ~Brennan Manning

I am an impostor.

I know exactly where on that dusk-blurred trail I admitted it. For years I had struggled to become a more acceptable, lovable version of myself and now it was clear–I had failed. Shaken by a mixture of despair and unexpected light-heartedness, I raised my arms in surrender. The jig was up–my false self took a fatal blow.

Why had it lived at all?

At some point I must have decided that my real self,  with her endless questions, doubts, struggles, incompetence and imperfection was as discouraging to God as she was to me. Over time, my version of a relationship with God, and with anyone, became, “stop being needy, only approach God and others when life is beautifully arranged.” Those moments seldom came.

Getting Real

Later I underlined most of Brennan Manning’s Abba’s Child, penciling comments in the margins–“yes, this was me!” The book gave me words to understand the image-management, approval-seeking, masks I wore–as do we all–to cope in a world hostile to authenticity.

Brennan Manning’s promise, in a letter written to his own impostor self and, unknowingly, to me: In the reconciling presence of the risen Christ, you will learn “to live by grace and not by performance.”

Holy High-Maintenance

The Psalms, awash with God-approved greedy need, used to shock me. Now they are my well-thumbed delight. I open to Psalm 143 and marvel at David’s two-fisted grip on God’s collar:

• Listen to me
• Remind me
• Empty me
• Answer me
• Reassure me
• Show me
• Rescue me
• Teach me
• Lead me
• Preserve me

The psalmist presumes you come to God troubled, doubting, empty, impatient, worried, confused, at your wit’s end, ignorant, incapable and friendless. God expects to find you in your unvarnished, hapless, human condition. Because you are not God, and where else can you turn?

And when you bring the messed-up, flea-market-reject parts of your real self to God, what can you expect in return?

Unfailing love.

Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Psalm 143:8

What masks do you wear? Do you dare come to God as the real you?