New Insights Into Old Words, Stanza 3

On a couple of occasions, now, I’ve written about this same topic.  We have so many words and phrases we don’t use anymore, and we continue to use countless others that have lost their original meaning.  For instance, does anybody ever encounter (or even remember how to use) a pay phone?  What about a cassette tape?  If you use one of those, you’ll surely have to rewind at some point.  And why do we still tell the kids to roll up the windows in the car?  If we’re not careful, we’ll sound like a broken record.  But don't touch that dial, I’m not running out of steam just yet!  When was the last time you experienced a Kodak moment? On the flip side, sometimes you’re just not up to having your picture taken because you feel like you’ve been through the wringer.

The context for each of my previous articles was the arrival of a new grandchild, and the arrival of our newest, Grace Elaine, prompted this one.  Just as each grandchild is unique, so, too, were the circumstances surrounding each child’s arrival.  Our first grandchild was adopted from a birth mother dealing with some very difficult and dangerous addiction issues. I found that the word redeemed described his situation quite well.  Our next grandchild, also adopted, came from a different situation.  His birth mother simply recognized she couldn’t provide all her baby would need.  In a very real sense, the birth mother bequeathed him to his new family. 

To bestow means to give or present
something of value or honor

Grace’s arrival called to my mind another word we rarely use any more, the word bestow.  To bestow means to give or present something, often something of value or honor.  Like her cousins before her, Grace is an incredibly precious honor deeply loved and cherished by her family.  During a recent visit with Grace and her parents, I had the chance to hear our son-in-law recall all the wonderful changes they’d experienced over the last couple of years.  Unlike her sisters, our oldest daughter didn’t marry right out of college.  In fact, she didn’t even meet her husband until she was into her 30’s.  But once they met, things moved rather swiftly.  In the span of just over 30 months, they went from meeting to dating to engagement to marriage to pregnancy to Grace’s arrival.  So, by the time we all caught our breath, it felt a very much as if Grace had simply, and almost suddenly, been bestowed on us.  The honor and responsibility that come with such a gift are still sinking in.

My prayer for Grace is that she will live into her name

Each of our grandchildren is a gift I treasure deeply.  In fact, I believe every child, every life, is a gift from God.  The timing and circumstances of Grace’s birth, though, made her arrival special in its own way.  Of course, her very name speaks to an even greater gift – God’s gift of grace to all who will receive it.  My prayer for Grace is that she will live into her name and will know God’s abundant grace in her own life, even as she shares it extravagantly with those around her.  What greater gift could God bestow to Grace than His grace?

Redeemed, bequeathed, and bestowed.  Oliver, Coehn, and Grace.  What precious gifts, one and all.

To God be the glory!

#bestowed #bequeathed #redeemed #grandchild #grace #old words

"Spiritual, but not religious" or "Religious, but not spiritual"

One of the questions we ask a patient upon admission to the hospital is whether they have a religious preference or affiliation. Like blood type and countless other pieces of information, this knowledge helps inform our care and enables us to provide the most effective treatment (physical and spiritual) possible. Interestingly, on both the national and local levels, the fastest-growing category of religious affiliation is, “Spiritual but not religious.” Now, the precise meaning of that phrase leaves a lot of room for interpretation, so it’s important for us to get to know a patient well enough to understand just what he/she means by it.

Some fall into the category researcher and author George Barna labels, “Love Jesus, but not the church.” This group would include those who have some sort of religious affiliation (presumably Christian, in this case) but don’t enjoy participating in a local congregation. For others, though, the phrase “Spiritual but not religious” (SBNR) conveys a loosely defined tendency toward “spiritual” things without any formal religious affiliation. Even some atheists and agnostics identify with this description.

Whatever their particular circumstance, the number of people identifying as SBNR continues to increase significantly. In fact, according to a 2017 study conducted by the Pew Research Center, nearly one in five Americans now identifies as SBNR. While that percentage might not be quite so high here in the Bible Belt, it has, no doubt, increased significantly over the last decade or two. The growth of this group has been so dramatic that pastor/blogger Craig Leukens wryly describes it as a “once-hip-but-now-it’s-too-popular-to-be-truly-hip” trend.

Outside the Bible Belt, a lack of religious or spiritual inclination carries no negative connotation whatsoever. However, the cultural faith that still predominates here (i.e. religious engagement driven by cultural expectation rather than genuine faith) apportions a pointed measure of guilt and shame to those who claim no religious, or even spiritual, alignment. In fact, I believe the implied condemnation is so strong it has driven many to take a stance I would describe as, “Religious but not spiritual.”

the cultural faith that still predominates here

apportions a pointed measure of guilt and shame

Like the SBNR, the “Religious but not spiritual” category can be divided into more than one group. Author Elizbeth Scalia (no relation to the late Supreme Court Justice, by the way) contends that many engage in religion-shaped behaviors “as they observe their special rites and rituals, identify new sins, and assign penances,” all without any affiliation with an organized religious group. She suggests they “know nothing of mercy and too much of rage.” John Stonestreet suggests we consider the so-called “’social justice warriors’ who patrol the internet seeking heretics and sinners to punish . . . They know little about wonder, mystery, and gratitude—which is at the heart of true spirituality.”

In the Bible Belt, anyway, I more often see a different side of the “Religious but not spiritual” bloc. This segment claims a strong affiliation with an established religious group and generally has a somewhat consistent record of attendance and participation. Significantly, though, those in this group, like others in the “Religious but not spiritual” category, seem to display little of the “wonder, mystery, and gratitude” referenced by Stonestreet. Frequently, this group also matches Scalia’s description, seeming to “know nothing of mercy and too much of rage.” Sadly, if I’m totally honest, I too often find myself in this category.

I was raised in church from childhood. In fact, I can’t remember ever not being a regular church-goer. I’m an ordained minister and chaplain, and I’m also a flawed human being. I find it easier to be religious than to be truly spiritual. Much easier. Allowing God’s Spirit to direct my thoughts and actions doesn’t come naturally, and it doesn’t come easily. And that’s one of the paradoxes of genuine spirituality – It’s not until I honestly confess I’m not capable that I can fully rely on God’s Spirit in me.

I find it easier to be religious than to be truly spiritual. Much easier.

My desire is to be both spiritual and religious. I’m convinced genuine religion strengthens my spirituality. Sadly, too much of what passes for religion in our culture isn’t genuine or spiritual, not by biblical standards, anyway. James 1:27 tells us, “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” My prayer is that I would be found faithful in practicing religion that “God our Father accepts as pure and faultless,” religion stemming from a profoundly spiritual relationship with God. 

What about you? Are you “Spiritual but not religious?” “Religious but not spiritual?” Maybe something else altogether? It’s an important question for each of us to consider.

Remembrance

For some reason (some might call it chance, but I believe it to be far more directed than that), my thoughts have been drawn to this year’s anniversary of the 1995 bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City.  I felt led to pen a prayer that spoke to the significance of the event, both then and now.  It wasn’t until after I’d written it, though, that I recognized the confluence of this year’s anniversary with Good Friday, the day on which Christ Jesus was crucified.

As I thought about the combination of events, I reread my prayer and was struck by how its themes were equally fitting for Good Friday.  Both events mark tragic and horrific events.  In both cases, innocent lives were taken by evil.  And in both situations, God’s love and power triumphed over that evil – more visibly on the Sunday after Good Friday, perhaps, but with equal certainty following the Oklahoma City bombing.

Then it occurred to me that the hope and conviction arising from the tragedy of the bombing were possible only because of the resurrection – the ultimate demonstration of God’s power over death and destruction.  Without that, how could we find hope in the rubble?  Without it, in what could we place our faith?  In the absence of God’s victory, there would be no possibility of renewal, of growth, of life.

But He IS victorious!  “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (I Cor. 15:55)  That victory, HIS victory, offers hope where there is none.  Without ever ignoring the pain and sorrow, the suffering and sacrifice, it affords peace even in the horror of murder and destruction, both on Golgotha and in Oklahoma City. 

May this year’s remembrance – of both Christ’s crucifixion and the bombing – remind each of us of God’s ultimate power over evil and death.  May the sorrow and tragedy serve to remind us that there is more, so much more, yet to come.

A Prayer of Remembrance
On the 24th Anniversary of the Bombing of Oklahoma City’s Murrah Federal Building

Lord, we pause this morning to remember those lost on this day so many years ago.  We remember those, too, who were injured, whether in body, in spirit, or both.  

But, Lord, as we remember, may we respond, not in fear, but in faith.  Not simply in horror, but with hope.  Hope that reminds us that no matter how hard, how tragic, or how overwhelming our days may be, there is another day coming – A day in which You will wipe away all tears and evil will be banished forever. 

So, Lord, we remember the events of April 19, 1995.  But keep us mindful, as well, of Your promise still to be fulfilled.  In it may we find the strength for this, and each, day ahead. 

In the overcoming name of Jesus Christ, we pray. 

Amen.

Loosening My Grip

Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s human nature, but I’ve noticed a real tendency in myself to hold onto the things I like.  Whether it be people, situations, circumstances, things, whatever, if I like it, I don’t want to let it go, sometimes to a fault.

Now, there are some things that are worth holding onto, things I ought to hold onto.  I think of my faith, my marriage, my family and friends.  These are important, even foundational, to who I am and who I want to become.  How healthy is it, though, to cling tightly to these simply because of what I gain from them or how they make me feel?  Can I cling too tightly, or for the wrong reasons, to the right things? Do I need to reconsider not only what, but how I hold, those things I deem important?

Lord willing, my wife and I will celebrate 40 years of marriage this summer, and we dated for five-and-a-half years before that.  We truly were just kids when we met, 15 and 16 years old (though wisdom dictates I don’t tell you who was which).  Over the years, we’ve encountered our share of circumstances and events that have caused us to hold tightly to one another.

Can I cling too tightly, or for the wrong reasons,

to the right things?

Early in our relationship, our youth pastor shared an illustration that spoke deeply to us.  He took a pencil in hand and began to write.  As he wrote, he challenged me to grab the pencil out of his hand.  It came right out.  I returned the pencil to him, and he began to write again.  On his cue, I tried to take it back.  This time, though, he held it so tightly I couldn’t pull it loose.  He won…or did he?  What I hadn’t realized was that he also held it so tightly he could barely write with it.  He held it so tightly that he wasn’t able to use it for its intended purpose. The challenge for us was to consider whether or not our burgeoning relationship, focusing so tightly on one another, was keeping us from being/doing that to which God was calling each of us.

Is it possible to cling so tightly to the things I know and love that I squeeze the meaning or the purpose out of them?  That I squeeze the life out of them?  As we considered our youth pastor’s challenge, we became convinced that God was calling us to commit our lives both to Him and to one another.  The clear lesson, however, was that we could never allow ourselves to be so consumed with one another that we neglected those God put around us. 

Is my relationship with God ultimately about me

or about the person and nature of God?

So, is it possible to hold too tightly or for the wrong reasons?  I believe it is.  If my wife and I had tried to cling to that high school relationship we so enjoyed back then, we wouldn’t know and love the people we’ve become so many years later.  And my faith in God?  While God hasn’t changed, my understanding of God has changed immeasurably as I’ve allowed him to change me.  Had I held rigidly only to what I knew early on, I wouldn’t be who I am today.  And when it comes down to it, is my relationship with God ultimately about me or about the person and nature of God?

My wife and I were recently challenged to let go of a congregation and a small-group we’d been part of for several years.  God was leading us to accept a leadership role at another church, and, as much as we wanted to do that, we didn’t want to let go of what we knew and loved.  Our church and our small-group had been incredible blessings through some very trying circumstances. 

As we followed our understanding of God’s call, though, we were reminded of that illustration from our youth pastor.  If we chose to hold tightly to what we knew, what we had, what we loved, how much might we miss?  As teens, it was by loosening the grip on our relationship with each other that we experienced the fullness of our relationship today.  If we held too tightly to our small-group and our church, what might we miss by failing to step out into the future God has laid-out ahead of us?  

As I reflect on all of this, I have to wonder if there are other things in my life I hold too tightly.  What about you?  Are there things in your life you hold too tightly or for the wrong reasons? 

Maybe it’s you.  Maybe it’s me.  Maybe it’s all of us.

"How Can I Help?"

I don’t often watch brand-new television shows. Too often, my tastes apparently don’t match the general public’s, and a new show I’ve come to enjoy gets cancelled after just one season.

Maybe I just caved-in to all the advertising, or maybe the show’s setting (health care) caught my attention, but my wife and I began watching a new show (NEW AMSTERDAM) that premiered last fall. In the show’s initial episode, the lead character asked the same question on multiple occasions in a variety of settings. That question – “How can I help?” – got me to thinking.

More often than not, I tend to ask, “Is there something I can do?” To ask how I can help, though, implies at least a couple of things – 

1) There is, in fact, something I can do to help, and

 2) I’m willing to do whatever it is that would help.

“How can I help?” seems to connote a bigger, more generous commitment
on my part.

They saw how great his suffering was...

Sometimes, many times, the most effective thing I can do is to simply be there. I don't need to speak, I don't need to do, I simply need to be present. In the Old Testament book of Job, after Job lost virtually everything he had, we read that three of his friends traveled to be with him in his grief. Upon their arrival, they simply sat with him in silence, because they saw how great his suffering was.

This world bears frequent witness to horrific fear, violence, and suffering. The mass murder of peaceful worshippers in New Zealand this week is simply the most recent example. It seems every week, sometimes every day, we hear new stories of hatred and violence being angrily inflicted on others. The frequency and scale seem ever increasing, yet it is precisely in the midst of such chaos that we must ask ourselves, “How can I help?”

I suggest we begin by taking our cue from Job’s friends, those who sat with him in silence. We are far too quick to share our thoughts, our opinions, on causes or solutions. There will be ample time, and, sadly, far too many opportunities, to consider them. However, to start with strident, angry, or condescending accusations serves only to diminish the significance of the losses themselves.

It is precisely in the midst of such chaos that we must 

ask ourselves, "How can I help?"

The Jewish tradition of “sitting shiva” is a structured and intentional act of mourning a loss, typically lasting seven days. Like Job’s friends, I’d suggest we spend the first stage of our mourning in silence, refraining from hurling accusations, prescribing remedies, or casting blame. Then, let’s begin the next step, not by shouting, but by listening – to one another, to those more deeply affected, to God – as we work to move forward together.

Working together is the only realistic possibility we have of addressing the issues at work in these situations. There is hatred and darkness on every side of the political, cultural, and moral spectrums, and as Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. reminded us so eloquently, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

So, “How can I help?” First, with my silence. Then, by listening quietly. Finally, and only when appropriate, through offering and accepting opportunities to come together in the light and love of God’s truth until, one day, there is no room left for the hatred and anger that drive so much of life today.

We can help.  We must help.  It is our calling.

It's Different When It's MY Mom

For most of us, there are things in life we look forward to, things we aim for or aspire to.  The list may include finishing school, a particular job, special relationships, wealth, success, or any number of things.  There are other things, though, that come our way whether we seek them or not.

I recently spent the better part of two weeks helping pack, load, and move my mom from her own home to my sister’s house nearly six hours away.  My mom is 81, and she is dealing with some pretty significant memory issues.  Gratefully, this move was something she supported, and she embraced it completely.  Nonetheless, it was hard, for all of us.

Over 35 years ago, Mom and Dad moved back to the small town where she was born.  It was also the place where they met and married.  At the time, there was still a lot of family (from both sides) nearby.  In fact, one of the reasons they cited for returning was to help take care of aging family members.

"There are other things...that come our way

whether we seek them or not"

Jump forward to 2018, though, and those relatives are almost all gone.  Dad’s been gone for 10 years this December, and Mom is past the age many of those “aging relatives” were when she and Dad moved back there so long ago.  Time marches on.

So, like countless others before us, we gathered, officially, to pack and load and move Mom.  But we also gathered to bid farewell to a part of our lives – both hers and ours – that is now over.  Officially, finally, and completely over. 

Mom is no longer the family leader she’s been.  While it’s been on the horizon for a while now, it’s suddenly become very clear that Mom is dependent, very dependent, on those of us who come behind her.  It’s hard to watch someone who’s been so strong lose her ability to be independent.  The process will certainly place demands on my sisters and I, though the biggest weight will clearly fall on my sister with whom Mom now lives.  But it’s more than just that.  

I’ve suddenly been reminded that I’m nearer the top of the family tree than I’d been willing to admit, certainly higher than I’d ever aspired to be.  It’s sobering to realize that what was once so nurturing and supportive and embracing is no more. For me, moving my mom out of her own home is a lot like placing that final period at the end of a sentence. That which preceded it is done.

While I know there are thousands of other families dealing with similar circumstances, it feels lonely.  It feels sad.  It’s gone from abstract to very, very personal.  I’ve talked with, prayed with, and counseled plenty of friends and colleagues in similar situations, but it’s different when it’s my mom.

"I can't effectively care for them

if I don't know something about them"

And that realization has reminded me of something I, too often, forget.  For those involved in caring for others (and aren’t we all to some degree), it’s easy to see those we serve as ”customers” or “cases” or “patients” rather than as people.  It’s easier to group others by what they require of us than it is to recognize the unique circumstances and needs of each individual. 

Every person I meet experiences circumstances that are unique to them.  No matter how similar their situation may appear to someone else’s, it is unique and personal to them alone.  Whether it be a personal crisis, a health concern, a family transition, or something else altogether, I can’t truly understand or respond to another’s needs without investing the time and energy to learn something about them as a person.  I can’t effectively care for them if I don’t know something about them. 

As I continue to adjust to Mom’s new circumstances and to changing family roles, I am grateful for the support of so many.  My immediate and extended families, friends, and colleagues all continue to pull together to help us care for Mom and to support one another.  That means the world to me, and that’s the kind of care I hope to share, at least in some small way, with everyone else I meet along the way.  Because, for all of us, “It’s different when it’s my mom.”