Sharing the bread and wine

I have been attending  Crossroads Presbyterian Church for the past several weeks. It has been nice to begin putting down roots there (however tentative I’ve been in doing so), meeting people and getting involved with a small group; it is also nice to enjoy the all-too-comfortable movie theater seats each Sunday morning (I’ve been going to the church’s newly planted site and they meet at a local AMC theater).

I have really appreciated being back in a church that celebrates communion each Sunday, and I especially love the way Crossroads “does” communion. We pass the bread (a loaf from BreadCo - known outside of St. Louis as Panera – of course) and the wine (or grape juice, if you take a cup from the outer ring of the tray) down the rows. As we do, we are encouraged to tell each other what we are sharing. So this morning, as I took the loaf in my hands, I heard Rebecca tell me, “This is the body of Christ broken for you.” I tore off a piece, handed the loaf to my friend Rick, and said the same thing.

It is grace to be reminded. It is a privilege to remind someone else.

As I turned to Rick this morning, first to share the bread and then to share the cup-filled tray, I wanted to press pause on the progress of the service. I wanted to get up out of my chair, grab my friend’s shoulder, look him in the eyes, and say with awe and jubilation, “This bread means Christ’s body was broken for you. For YOU Rick. Jesus was broken and beaten for YOU! Remember that. Be thankful. Know how much you are loved. This is an amazing thing!”

Of course, the service continued on. The bread and later the wine and my more subdued words passed between us quickly. But the joy of saying those words remained.

And so I wonder…

How would my interactions with people be different if I always had a loaf of bread or a cup of wine to offer them? I don’t say this to cheapen the weight of the eucharist, nor to put the weight of salvation on it. Rather, I am talking about the precious moment that happens when I look someone in the eye and tell them that Jesus was broken and bled for them. What if that moment happened in every interaction I have, whether in talking to the barista at S’bucks or my roommate or that person who drives me crazy or my mom or… Walking into each of those conversations with a loaf of bread in my hand would remind me of the grace I have received, and it would afford me the privilege and responsibility to share that same grace with them.

Lord, let me remember your grace, and be so mindful of it - with or without a loaf of bread in my hand — that I can’t help but remind others of it as well through my words, attitude, and actions. Amen.

 

Becoming real

In his lovely British accent, my counseling professor read the following passage from Margery Williams’ classic story The Velveteen Rabbit today. It was so beautiful, and it had been such a long time since I’d been reminded of the story, I thought I’d post it here for your enjoyment.

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

 ”Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

 

Remember what is true

I know I am loved by the King, and it makes my heart want to sing!

These words from the song, “How Can I Keep From Singing” have been ringing in my head for the past several days. Everywhere I turn, it seems I see evidence of this love.

I KNOW I am loved by the King. and He has graciously surrounded me with people who reflect that truth to me each and every day.

In spite of that, loneliness still creeps in sometimes. I start to listen to the lies: that I am not enough on my own. That God is not enough for me. The ache of singleness becomes a squeaky wheel that drowns out the melodic promises of Christ.

But His body was broken and his blood shed for my loneliness. For the pain that is human and the despairing pain that is sinful.

So today I must preach the Gospel to myself; I must remind myself of what I know to be true. I must remember the Lord’s faithfulness.

I know I am loved by the King.

This is my body, broken for YOU, Jenilyn. Remember me as you eat it.

This is my blood, shed for YOU, Jenilyn. Remember me as you drink it.

As a way to quiet my heart, repeat the truth, and remember His faithfulness, I spent some time this afternoon revisiting and typing up the psalms I’ve written since arriving at Covenant. You’re welcome to take a peek at the Psalms page up top if you’d like a glimpse.

I have no doubt that God will be faithful to bring about the kind of peace I write about in the last two psalms there.

Again one having the appearance of a man touched me and strengthened me. And he said, ‘O man greatly loved, fear not, peace be with you; be strong and of good courage.’ And as he spoke to me, I was strengthened… (Daniel 10:18-19)

 

 

 

Goals (not the soccer or hockey variety)

Confession: if left to my own devices, I am painfully undisciplined and desperately lacking in self-control.

Case in point: five or six weeks ago, I typed up a page-and-a-half of goals for this season of my life. I proceeded to save the document on my desktop, then leave it there without opening it again or sharing it with anyone else until my good friend Kate came to town this weekend. As we sat down at the coffee shop to talk through these goals, there were several about which I had completely forgotten — a few I couldn’t even remember why I had written. Kate helped me to refine my goals, pointed out a major theme among them (it’s all about owning my time), and to prioritize tackling this massive list of aspirations.

Now comes the hard part: since someone else knows about these goals — someone who knows me well and is not afraid to push me — I actually have to work towards them. That requires effort that on most days I would rather not put forth. But I know in my heart that if I want to be living fully, if I want to live intentionally, if I want to completely offer back to the Lord the gifts he has given me, I must pursue these goals and uphold these commitments. I have not been called to be a bump on a log, nor to pursue mediocrity, nor to simply do what it takes to maintain.

At YouthWorks, goal-setting is part of the DNA of the organization. In fact, that was true of my experience there long before anyone heard the acronym SMART (goals should be specific, measureable, attainable, relevant, and timely) thanks to Coach Benj. But I have come to realize that not everyone sets goals. Not everyone sees the value in it. Not everyone has someone in their life who’s encouraging them to do so and who will hold them accountable. This discovery has forced me to really stop and think about why I value setting goals (even though it is hard and I sometimes hate the effort it takes to work on them).

Pursuing goals requires the kind of sacrificial commitment that refines us and helps us to know God better. 

I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. (Romans 12:1-2)

Pursuing goals keeps us moving forward.

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:12-14)

Pursuing goals requires and increases our dependence on Spirit-enabled self-control and discipline.

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified. (1 Corinthians 9:24-27)

I think goals have other benefits as well. They can help us prioritize our time and keep us focused. When set and worked towards, they help us to grow physically, mentally, and spiritually. They bring us into community when others are holding us accountable towards are goals. When goals are met, they give us something to celebrate too, and that is always a good thing!

Lord, please grant discernment and wisdom in setting goals and making commitments for this season. Prohibit me from striving for anything that will not ultimately bring me closer to You. Let me use my time and gifts intentionally, balancing my responsibilities with the the activities and relationships that bring me life and joy. Give me the strength, discipline, tenacity, and courage needed to strive to meet the goals I’ve set. Grant me grace when I fall short, and the desire and hope needed to try again. Amen.

 

 

 

I can’t do this alone

With each day that passes, it becomes more apparent to me that seminary is and will continue to be a unique season in my life, and in the lives of those who walk this journey with me here. It will be a season largely devoted to academic studies, of course, but it will more importantly be a season of preparation for ministry: cultivating relationships with people who will teach me important lessons, some of whom will hopefully be lifelong friends and partners in ministry; learning how to balance the obligations of school with our calling to love those around us; striving to rest in and maintain an intimate relationship with Christ even while being immersed in his Word and work. This will be a season of much personal growth and reflection – perhaps more than I’d really like at times.

It is also becoming increasingly apparent that this season of my life will necessarily be lived in community with others. I need people to help me study Greek. I need to bounce ideas for papers off of others. I need a listening ear when the verbal processor in me is on a rampage. I need people who will push me to be honest. I need people who will feed me a meal – providing not only free food and extra time but nourishing fellowship as well. I need people with whom I can laugh. I need people to pray for me – A LOT of people to pray for me; this can be a precarious time, and I need prayers for faith and protection and understanding and so much grace.

I need these things not only from those in my immediate circle here at seminary — I need them from all of my friends and my family, who are part of the greater community with whom I will walk through this season and the rest of my life.

I’ve known a lot of seminary students over my lifetime, but until now I never understood the uniqueness, the beauty, the challenges they might be experiencing. I wonder if this might be true for you as well. I’ve also never considered the importance of supporting and encouraging seminary students — indeed, I now begin to see that in some ways (though not all) doing so is as important as encouraging those who are missionaries or doing some other form of full-time ministry. This is not to say that we as seminary students are awesome people to be honored on pedestals, nor is it to say that seminary always involves the same kind of sacrifice that full-time ministry does. Rather, it is to say that we seminarians are needy people.

If you’d be interested in some ways you can love a “needy” seminarian (I write that with a smile), click on the tab above that says “Love a Seminarian“.

 

Sips from the Hydrant

I’ve heard seminary compared to trying to drink from a fire hydrant: there is so much rushing at you at once, you can’t possibly consume it all. (I also like to think of seminary as Old Country Buffet — so much food, so little time, but we’ll stick with the fire hydrant metaphor for now.)

Unfortunately I don’t have the brain power to devote to crafting an original post today. I have a personal testimony paper and a paper on various views of Biblical inerrancy due on Wednesday, and a massive Greek exam on Thursday, so my energies will largely be devoted to those endeavors in the next few days.

However, this Sabbath discipline of blogging has become vital to me, so I am taking a little time to pause and look back at some of what has rushed at and poured over me this week. I have drunk as deeply as possible, and yet I am eager for more! I offer you a few sips from the deluge that is the fire hydrant of seminary: classes, readings, chapel, conversations, and moments of life:

I’ve spent a lot of time this weekend with the work of Lesslie Newbigin, the late Episcopal bishop who is the subject of our Covenant  Theology mid-term paper on the discussion of Biblical inerrancy. This line from his book Proper Confidence is particularly convicting:

It is less important to ask a Christian what he or she believes about the Bible than it is to inquire what he or she does with it.

In the midst of a conversation about seminary and life, a friend said,

We need to learn to look at the past without blinking. To see it for what it is and not try to escape it.

From the book Creation Regained by Albert Wolters – reading for my Covenant Theology class:

It is quite striking that virtually all of the basic words describing salvation in the Bible imply a RETURN to an originally good state or situation.

In the name of Christ, distortion must be opposed EVERYWHERE — in the kitchen and the bedroom, in city councils and corporate boardrooms, on the stage and on the air, in the classroom and in the workshop. Everywhere creation calls for an honoring of God’s standards. Everywhere humanity’s sinfulness disrupts and deforms. Everywhere Christ’s victory is pregnant with the defeat of sin and the recovery of creation.

From the book Transforming Grace by Jerry Bridges, read for my Spiritual & Ministry Formation Class:

Grace stands in direct opposition to any supposed worthiness on our part. To say it another way: Grace and works are mutually exclusive [...] To the extent you are clinging to any vestiges of self-righteousness or are putting any confidence in your own spiritual attainments, to that degree you are not living by the grace of God in your life.

A quotation from Francis Schaeffer shared during a Spiritual & Ministry Formation lecture, the content of which basically melted my face off (it was that life-changing!):

It is the infinite value of the finished work of Christ upon the cross PLUS NOTHING [emphasis mine] that is the sole basis for the removal of our guilt and bestowal of the same level of worthiness as is possessed by Christ.

You should probably read that one again. Then think about these words from Paul:

For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God (2 Corinthians 5:21).

The great Charles Spurgeon, as referenced in Tuesday’s chapel talk, continues on this theme:

Stand ye at the foot of Calvary, and let the groans of Christ piece your heart; behold his head crowned with thorns; see ye his hands and his feet streaming like fountains of blood… We think little of ourselves, when we value ourselves at any thing less than the price which Jesus paid…

Words written by Martin Luther in 1523, turned into the hymn “From Depths of Woe,” set to music by Indelible Grace and sung during our Day of Prayer on Tuesday:

Therefore my trust is in the Lord and not in mine own merit

On Him my soul shall rest! His word upholds my fainting spirit.

His promised mercy is my fort, my comfort and my sweet support;

I wait for it with patience…

 

Though great our sins and sore our woes, His grace much more aboundeth!

His helping love no limit knows, our utmost need it soundeth.

Our Shepherd good and true is He, Who will at last His Israel free

From all their sin and sorrow.

And there are so many moments and lessons over the course of a week that go far beyond summation in pithy quotations. It’s the deluge of grace that comes when one neighbor is helping me learn Greek while another is making me dinner, when playful dogs bring laughter and relaxation, when children fight over space on my lap and remind me of what it was actually made for, when I find myself watching “VeggieTales” with a 4-year-old Batman and a 6-year-old who is learning Latin, when new friends pile onto the couch to eat tater tots and laugh, when God keeps on providing, when we sing “Wade in the Water” during a special lecture series (on power and the creation and cultivation of culture — check out Andy Crouch and his book Culture Making) and something in my soul is brought back to life, when the sun comes out after days of rain.

These are merely sips. I hope you have found one or two of them refreshing and thought-provoking. If you have, I’d love to hear about it – feel free to leave a comment!

 

This little girl needs grace

9.25.9

A little girl crawled up on your lap

Sweet-smelling, with a ponytail,

    cute clothes, toothy grin

She asked you to be her friend

You agreed

She hugged your neck

    and ran off to play

 

But you saw a different girl

Filthy, dirty, broken

Full of sin and betrayal

Yet you agreed

You held her tight

   and washed her clean

 

Now you see a different girl

Clothed in white, pure,

Forgiven and beloved

Your joy, your delight, your bride

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The above is the psalm I wrote last week after a conversation in which a friend retold the holy drama found in Ezekiel 16. The title of this passage in my Bible is “The LORD’s Faithless Bride,” and the story is devastatingly beautiful, especially when we realize that it is about us. Ezekiel tells the story of an unloved and unwanted child, rescued and restored to life and health by the Lord himself. In due time, he marries and purifies this young woman. His bride proceeds to betray him in the most ugly ways possible, prostituting herself and even offering her body for free. Yet the chapter concludes with a passage entitled, “The LORD’s Everlasting Covenant,” and indeed the Lord remembers and renews his covenant with his adulteress bride.

 

And this is our story. Each and every day. This is my story.

 

The Lord loves me and gives me life. And yet I sin, betraying Him, chasing after other lovers, seeking my identity outside of Him, worshipping the idols of selfishness and convenience and pride and fear and safety. And still… still… still… He keeps his promises. He offers forgiveness. He washes me clean. Loves me. Claims me as His own. I cannot comprehend such grace or the depth of that love.

 

I have just begun to recognize that the “innocent” 4-year-old Jenilyn who asked Jesus into her heart was, in God’s eyes, the same pitiful little one He rescued in the Ezekiel 16 story. This is reflected elsewhere in Scripture: David wrote that he was “brought forth in iniquity” (Psalm 51:5) and we know that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23).

 

But the good news is this: God saw that little girl, saw all the sins she would commit, saw all the pain she would cause Him, and loved and accepted her anyways. Paul says it well here:

 

But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ–by grace you have been saved– and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.  (Eph 2:4-9)

 

Lately I’ve been trying to let the news of this grace sink in. We’re reading a book called Transforming Grace by Jerry Bridges for my class on Spiritual & Ministry Formation. Bridges writes about John Newton, who committed grievous sins as a slave-trader, but after becoming a follower of Christ wrote several hymns, among them “Amazing Grace”. Bridges writes,

the person who grew up in a godly Christian family, who trusted Christ at an early age, and who never indulged in any so-called ‘gross’ sins should be just as amazed at the grace of God as was John Newton (36).

 

I am that person. But I so often fail to be that amazed. I act like I don’t need grace, like I haven’t been transformed; in turn, I offer limited grace to others, I get stuck trying to perform or earn God’s approval, and I keep my beautiful Savior at arm’s length.

 

The other night I listened to Chris Tomlin’s version of “Amazing Grace” on repeat for a while and simply meditated on these things, letting this grace pour over me like the autumn downpours we’ve had this week. I can’t possibly absorb it all, but I will open my hands, open my heart, and try. This may take a while. 

 

 

Telling tears

Even as time moves on and my days of working in the YouthWorks Southeast Region grow more distant, the time I spent building relationships in New Orleans, learning that community and its stories, and seeing God’s faithfulness poured out there continues to stay on my mind and heart. I would go so far as to say that New Orleans is part of who I am — part of my very soul. A number of people I met in my work there remain icons of faith in my mind; I am fortunate to count a few of them as very good friends.

Given this history, reading this article in the New Orleans Times-Picayune today touched me deeply. A church that has not ceased to love and serve its community since the day Katrina hit is saying goodbye to its shepherd. He needs to rest; indeed, Katrina still haunts many people in New Orleans body and soul, and it is time for some healing. He will eventually head back to the African mission field, Lord willing, and continue to be a good and faithful servant.

I cried, sobbed actually, as I read this article. I cried for this incredible saint who is so tired. I cried for the congregation that is surely not ready to let him go. I cried for those who will carry on without him and who bear the responsibility of determining the next steps.

I recognize that my tears came from an even deeper place than that, though. Tears of conviction — we put our leaders on pedestals, forgetting how much they are giving and that they are often running on empty. Tears of grief — the end of an era for this community, one to which I have felt a deep (albeit distant) kinship over these years. Tears of anger — our own sin, the devil’s schemes, and the brokenness of the world make endurance in ministry so difficult. Tears of sadness — losing a shepherd, for whatever reason, is deeply painful both on an individual and congregational level.

These tears revealed something to me: this is why I am here.

I have come to seminary because I love the bride of Christ. Because I ache for the Church. Because I desperately long to encourage and support its leaders and its people. And I believe that being here will help me do that better.

  

 

Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy… and without blemish. (Eph 5:25-27)

 

 

Oh Lord, would you continue to let my heart break with yours? Increase my love for you and in turn for your beloved Church. Thank you for tears that reveal purpose. Show me how you would turn them into tears of action.

 

Look around!

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it.”

The words of Ferris Bueller are immortal and profound as far as I’m concerned. I’m pretty sure that my 3-year-old neighbor must have been talking to Ferris, for she shared a similar insight with me this week.

On Friday, I was downstairs hanging out with the neighbor kids and discussing all manner of things. I have come to walk into conversations with these kids expecting to be amused, instructed, humbled, and unconditionally loved (what a blessing!). Out of nowhere, little Hannah said, “It’s autumn. The leaves are changing and starting to fall. That means fall is here.”

“Really?” I asked, with genuine incredulity. Surely fall could not be here.

She responded by inviting me to join her by the window, pointing at the trees and the brown leaves just starting to adorn the ground, and repeated what she had said: “The leaves are changing and falling. Fall is coming.”

I hadn’t noticed. But it’s true. When you’re three, you notice such things. When you’re 27, you get distracted because life is moving so fast. But when I stop and look around, see the world through Hannah’s eyes, I notice things: leaves are starting to change. The air is getting a bit cooler. Soon the calendar will tell us it is October.

I’m glad Hannah told me. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it.

 

Telling stories

Another Sunday has come, and I continue to wonder how my weeks disappear so quickly. Life here reminds me a bit of a YouthWorks summer: days are packed full, and when sleep finally comes at night there’s always the feeling of something being left un-done. When another week is over, you wonder where it went, but simultaneously feel like you lived a lifetime in seven days. I take more showers and have a more varied wardrobe here than I did during any YouthWorks summer, but the intensity of life and growth is familiar and strangely comforting.

I just re-read my post from last Sunday, and tears came to my eyes as I did. I almost want to tell you to just read it again along with me… but I think that would be a cop-out on my part. To say that my heart has nothing new to say this week would be a lie.

There have been some simple yet amazing joys in the past week: Greek started to make sense (thanks to paradigms taking over the walls of my apartment). I took an all-too-brief study break to swing on the swings with some friends in the sunshine. I held a baby. I baked cookies. I pushed a three-year-old on the swings until she asked to get off so she could dance with me. Our dining room table was filled to capacity (and then some) for at least three meals. Our neighbors cooked brunch for us (thanks guys!). We held hands around the table as we thanked God for his gifts to us and for this newfound family. An unexpected check for $10 showed up in the mail. I stayed up too late talking to my roommate.

Through these joys, the hours of studying, the conversations, and the rare quiet moments, part of the soundtrack of my week has been the song, “Sing His Love” by Caedmon’s Call, particularly this stanza:

God’s compassion is my story

It is my boasting all the day

Mercy free and never failing

Moves my will, directs my way

Another of my joys of late has been hearing people’s stories and reflecting on my own, all in light of the bigger story God has been telling since the dawn of time. As I mentioned last week, seminary has proved to be a humbling place for many of us. But as we are humbled, God is magnified. And as we tell our stories to one another, even as more of the pieces of our own stories begin to fall into place, we see more and more of His creativity, His faithfulness, His compassion. There is no better author, and I believe that He is praised when we recite his works aloud.

For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong: God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, whom God made our wisdom and our righteousness and santification and redemption. Therefore, as it is written, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.”                                    I Corinthians 1:26-31

When was the last time that you told part or all of the story of God’s compassion in your life? When was the last time that you owned up to your own foolishness in order to boast in God’s wisdom? When was the last time you sat down to listen to someone else’s story, noticing the theme of God’s redemption in their tale? If it’s been a while, I’d encourage to you do those things soon. There is life and freedom and joy in doing so;  I hope you’ll agree!