Experiencing the Extra-Ordinary

My days are mostly ordinary. They’re filled with work, meetings, errands, friends and family. I tend to pray that I will meet God in the mundane-ness of the everyday, but honestly my expectation of what that means is pretty low. But I was reading again the story of Jesus’ encounter with the deaf man in the region of Tyre and Sidon (Mark 7:31-37). Surely, this man woke up with no thought that anything different was about to occur in his life. He began the day in his usual way, until his friends arrived and hurried him off to meet Jesus. I wonder if he even knew what was going on. Were his friends able to convey to him that there was a healer in the area, or did they just convince him to go along with them? I imagine that he didn’t fully comprehend what was happening, because of the way that Mark tells us that Jesus “took him aside, away from the crowd” and because of the way that Jesus healed him. We know that the power to heal emanated from Jesus to such as extent that he could speak healing (the Roman centurion’s paralyzed servant) or bring a cure with the merest touch (as in the case of the hemorrhaging woman), but for this man, who couldn’t hear, Jesus sticks his fingers in his ears, spits and touches his tongue. Why the rigmarole, I’ve often wondered? But now it seems a gentle and gracious way to give this man some idea of what is about to happen – namely that the Kingdom of God has broken out and swept around this man and his life will be changed forever. Mark tells us that the “people were overwhelmed with amazement” that this deaf-mute man could suddenly hear and speak plainly. I wish Mark had told us what he said! But the reminder to me is that if we are alive to the Kingdom of God, no day is truly ordinary. Extraordinary things are possible. Swirling all around us, ready to break out, is the power of God to change lives, heal the wounded, and overwhelm us with amazement.

Attending to the Ordinary

Here is a beautiful poem that captures the ability to see the miraculous in the everyday, ordinariness of our lives, by the poet (and my dear friend) Jenny Jiang. She will be one of the presenters at our upcoming mini-conference on August 22nd called Intersections: A dialogue on art and faith. To find out more about the conference, visit the church website (link on the right).

Psalm 66:16

How will I tell of all your works? This afternoon
I walked on a path. First I heard the snap of green
walnuts raining around me and then I looked
for the squirrel scrambling across the long arms of a tree.
My telling is the shreds of white nutmeat
on the dark bone of shell.
The littered mess I leave beneath me.
What can I say but I’ve eaten again.
The sun has held the earth, the earth the tree,
the tree again this fruit and I have ripped it
and eaten and sent pieces to ping
the littered music of almost
the only hallelujah I know
ringing on the path beneath me.

(Previously published in Poetry Now, January, 2009. Used by permission of the author)

Ordinary Thoughts

According to the church calendar, we are in the midst of Ordinary Time. You can see the swath of green fabric on the communion table, which is a subtle reminder to us of this. Stretching from Pentecost Sunday to the first week of Advent, this is the longest time slot on the religious calendar. I think of Ordinary Time as, well, ordinary. Technically, Ordinary Time gets its name from the word “ordinal”, meaning numbered or counted time. But, still, I think that it does have a kind of everydayness about it.

In Ordinary Time, we look for God in the regular cycle of our lives. The daily rituals of washing the dishes, going to the park, commuting to work, pulling weeds, writing reports, all of these are activities that can be holy when we look for God’s presence with us. I went on a Silence & Solitude retreat last weekend and was given a cup full of things to meditate on: a delicate Japanese maple leaf, a spicily fragrant gardenia, a sliver of bell pepper, a frond segment from a fern. These were among the thirty or so items in my cup. For over an hour, I looked at the details of every item, tasting, feeling, examining and marveling at God’s good and varied creation. The time spent just looking at the miraculous in things that I see every day was wonderful and I highly recommend that you go right outside and pick a leaf off of every bush and flower and tree that you see and then compare them in all their variety and uniqueness. It will be ordinary time well spent!

I’m currently reading a book by Wendy Wright called The Time Between: Cycles and Rhythms in Ordinary Time, and I came across this paragraph that seems to fit so nicely with both my retreat experience and our emphasis on the arts this month:

What Monet saw he gave to the world. He saw the infinite beauty of the most ordinary of things – a water-lily pond. He saw the dynamism and variability in objects that many of us would regard as generic: lilies and water. But Monet saw that each lily in each season at each time of day was an irrepeatable astonishment. In the particular, in the concrete, in the finite, infinite wonder is beheld.

I will claim this, knowing it is merely an analogy: what Monet saw when he gazed on his water lilies, God must see when beholding creation. Irrepeatable astonishment. Infinity coded in a single leaf. Eternity uttered in the late hour of a summer’s afternoon. Beloved.

Wishing you the joy of ordinary, everyday miracles.

Sursum Corda

Walking across the Crest Theatre lobby last week, I was suddenly aware of feeling light-hearted. The hour and a half of poetry and talk about music, writing, and the historical roots of former Poet Laureate Rita Dove’s newest book had caused something to shift in me. The tensions and cares of the day had eased in the presence of something beautiful, and the words that sprang into my mind as I headed for the door were Sursum Corda.

The Sursum Corda is that very beginning part of our celebration of Communion. It is where the pastor and the congregation say and respond:

The Lord is with you.
And also with you.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them up to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right to give him thanks and praise.

Somehow, just saying these words together really does the work of lifting my heart. I love that the ancient church started their celebration of the Eucharist in this way, and I’m glad we’ve adopted it. It reminds us immediately that what we are about to celebrate is the very real presence and work of God in our lives. And we give thanks and our hearts are lifted, because in spite of anything else going on, this is a beautiful and good truth.

Growing up in the church, I somehow got the wrong impression about the Lord’s Supper. I thought it was a time for sober reflection, repentance, and generally feeling bad about the big gap between Christ’s example and my pitiful attempts to follow him. I was down-hearted usually. I wish I had been reminded then, right at the start, that while those things are not wrong, the first impulse has to be a lifting of the heart, a giving of thanks and praise for what Christ has done and continues to do.

Jesus was a genius at the use of symbols. He used simple everyday things to convey deep mysteries to his listeners (and to us): sheep and shepherds, coins, lamps, and seeds. But the most basic of all things, bread and wine, he turned into this marvelous symbol of his presence and his action in our lives. As we meet Him in this celebration, it is right that the pastor tells us to “lift up your hearts” (the English translation of “sursum corda”).

Many things can lift our hearts: beauty, an act of kindness, a word aptly spoken, a good friend, and all of these earthly things are just glimmers of the Love that we celebrate when we take Communion. I hope the next time we say these words together something shifts within you as well and you receive the bread and cup in joy and thanksgiving.

What Wondrous Love

I have been thinking this week how helpful the church has been at walking me into the story of Holy Week and Easter. From Palm Sunday to Maundy Thursday and today’s Good Friday service, I have been able to engage with this amazing and great action of God on our behalf. It would be easy to miss Easter without this help. Unlike Advent and Christmas which have been so embraced by the secular world, at least in its symbols and music, Easter still remains somewhat hidden. Sure, there is a display in many retail stores of lime green plastic grass and milk chocolate bunnies, but we are not inundated with the sights and sounds of this holy time. I am actually glad for this. The Hosannas, the songs about the cross and Christ’s passion and the joyous music of the resurrection spring on us at just the right moment and lead us into sacred space. We do not become weary of these songs, unlike the Christmas carols that start up long before Advent has actually begun. By Christmas Eve, I am usually heartily sick of hearing them, to tell you the truth. I would love, just once, to hear “Silent Night” for the first time on Christmas Eve. But this is probably not to be unless I move somewhere far, far away from our consumer-based society. So I will just give thanks that the meaning of Easter has remained intact and requires some effort on our part. We have to attend the services, or at least make space in our lives to attend to the events as they unfolded so long ago. We have to make an effort to join together with other believers to say “Hallelujah!” once again and to be reminded that God has indeed begun the process of redeeming all things to himself. What a mystery! What a wondrous thing!

As I drove around town, stopping at the post office, the grocery store, the local chocolate place (okay, see the blog below), I had the old American Folk Song “What Wondrous Love Is This” running through my mind. How good and peaceful and thankful that made me feel. The words are simple, but they say what is in my heart today:

What Wondrous Love Is This
By: American Folk Hymn

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this
That caused the Lord of bliss
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul!

When I was sinking down, sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down
Beneath God’s righteous frown,
Christ laid aside His crown for my soul, for my soul,
Christ laid aside His crown for my soul.

To God and to the Lamb I will sing, I will sing;
To God and to the Lamb I will sing;
To God and to the Lamb,
Who is the great I AM,
While millions join the theme, I will sing, I will sing,
While millions join the theme, I will sing.

And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing on, I’ll sing on;
And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing on.
And when from death I’m free I’ll sing His love for me,
And through eternity I’ll sing on, I’ll sing on,
And through eternity I’ll sing on.

The Lighter Side of Lent

The forty days of Lent can sometimes feel a bit heavy and dark. With its focus on prayer, reflection, and sacrifice it is not traditionally a time of joy and laughter – that comes at Easter. But this year, for the first time, I decided to give up a food item and my eyes have been opened to what I call “Lenten Loopholes”. Over the last five or six years I have given up a variety of things and attitudes that I felt were keeping me from enjoying God and becoming who I want and need to be. But somehow I just never got on the food fast bandwagon. But now I know how cunning and inventive food fasters are!

On the way home from the Ash Wednesday service, Ben said “Let’s give up chocolate for Lent.” Now the main reason I have never really embraced this voluntary giving up of a food that I love is that Valentine’s Day and my birthday, as well as the lesser-holidays of my Dad’s birthday and my daughter-in-law’s birthday, all fall within this timeframe. I mentioned this to Ben. He quickly pointed out that my birthday fell on a Sunday this year, and so I would be exempt from the fast on that day (this is a loophole to some Lent observers and a lifeline for others – traditionally Sunday is not a day to mourn and fast because it is the day of Christ’s resurrection and so is always a mini-Easter). I agreed, with pretty much no enthusiasm, to stand in solidarity with him on the chocolate-free Lent.

Thursday afternoon (yes! the very next day) Ben called to ask if “cocoa powder counted as chocolate.” Well, of course! I said. He had ordered a tiramisu with his lunch and it came dusted with cocoa powder. I then listened to a lengthy explanation of how chocolate is made with cocoa butter as well as the cocoa powder and that it “didn’t count” as chocolate if it didn’t have cocoa butter in it. I was skeptical until Friday (yes! the very next day) when I ordered a peanut butter crème brulee and there was cocoa powder (not much!) on the top. I was converted to Ben’s way of thinking. It certainly didn’t seem like chocolate to me, either.


After that I have heard from all sorts of people who have a similar “out”, and I have to say that many of them center around dessert. One friend’s dad doesn’t count it as dessert if it is served WITH the meal. If you don’t leave the table or get a new fork it is not a separate thing called “dessert”. Another friend solemnly told me that she had given up dessert for Lent, but “I eat a pop-tart every night and that helps me not regret it so much”. Now to me, anything you eat that’s sweet counts as a dessert. But not my crafty friends. My daughter’s best friend gave up peanut butter this year, but ordered the peanut butter cheesecake at the Cheesecake Factory. Her thinking was that “wasn’t what I meant when I gave up peanut butter.”

Some people have much broader categories. In addition to the Sunday out, they don’t count birthdays, holidays, days that start with “T” because Lent ends with a “t”, and times when their craving is just so distracting that they would be sad without giving in – and really, why would God want them to be miserable? I pretty much used this myself while on vacation. My cappuccino cheesecake came with a dollop of whipped cream and some chocolate sprinkles on the top. I took a “might as well join ‘em” attitude and said, “Well it’s Thursday” and dug in (thanks, Pastor Kent).

Thanks to all of you who have helped me see this lighter side of Lent. Now I am intrigued and collecting these “outs”, so please post your own exceptions and help me to laugh out the days until I can eat some “real” chocolate on Easter Sunday!

The Journey of Lent

Today marks the beginning of Lent, which is the 40 days (excluding Sundays) before Easter. Lent has been a part of the church calendar since about the 4th century. In the ancient church, new believers were baptized and welcomed into the church on Easter Eve and those who had wandered away from God were brought back into the community at that time as well. The forty days represented a time of preparation for those entering the church and for those receiving them. This season remembers the time that Jesus spent in the desert, fasting and praying and gaining spiritual strength before the start of his life of ministry. So too, for us it is a symbolic journey into the desert to prepare to receive once again the glory of the resurrection and all that God has done for us. It is common during Lent to focus on prayer, reflection, fasting and charity. As someone who did not grow up observing Lent, it has taken me some time to come to realize that it is not a time of guilt or heaviness. Instead the reality is that we have an opportunity to see our over-filled hands and to lay something down that may keep us from fully grasping the life God has for us. So if you desire to fast in some way during this season, look at the things (or attitudes) that keep you from loving God fully and being formed in his likeness. Perhaps it is busyness, noise, technology, entertainment, food, or money. Maybe it is something not at all bad, but giving it up will remind you to draw close to God. The journey into the desert is to let go of that thing for an hour or a day or even the full forty days and spend the time with God. Again, we don’t only lay something down as a sacrifice, but we pick something up that will draw us into the heart of God: prayer, giving our time or money to benefit the poor, meditating on the will of God for our lives. If this is all new to you, start simply. Maybe give up that daily Starbucks and donate the money you save to a charity or ministry that serves the marginalized in our society. Each morning you can reflect on God’s heart for these people and pray for the ability to see and love them as God does. Maybe it will involve turning off the radio on the way to work to make space to pray about your day and the people you pass. There are as many ways to participate in Lent as there are people. Experiment. Look for the joy that is hidden in the sacrifice. Open your hands to God.