Justice hurts

August 14, 2017

Jesus walked on water. 

That was the Gospel reading for Sunday.

We skipped church this week,so I asked Waylon what he preached on, and he spoke such incredible truth to me. He talked about storms being the a presentation of chaos in the Old Testament. For farmers and fishermen, it make sense. Chaos is a great word for the devastation that nature can afflict on an agriculture system. 

Jesus walking on water, wasn’t just a neat trick, though if I was Jesus I would use it at parties. 

Jesus walking on water is a representatoin of His role in creation as the healing and restorer. Jesus is restoring creation to order in this particular narrative. 

Peter sees Jesus, and he wants to participate in the restoration. We get to assume that Peter had a moment of understanding, that he steps out on the water to seek restoration. To seek healing. 

We have all had these experiences at times. 

A moment of pure clarity,  a moment of awe, a moment when our chest seems to lift, our hearts seem to ache, our flesh prickles. 

The church has tried to argue, to shame, to impose our view of life upon the culture we live in, and maybe, just maybe, we, as the church, are called to show culture how to walk on water. With the guidance of the Spirit, maybe we are called to show the world that we are broken, and that we are called to be a place of healing. We saw a glimpse of this healing during Jesus’ life. 

A life including, supporting, and allowing for men, women, and children, to be healed. 

A life that was immersed in love.

 A life that is not about us versus them, but a life  that is about us for them.(thanks gungor)

This week we saw a great example of a storm, a storm that encompassed chaos. A storm of confusion, pain, and death. A storm shattered by sin and brokenness. 

We cannot be patriots and Christians, we cannot be Americans and Christians, we cannot be anything but Christians, because being a Christians means we are called to walk on water, to encompass healing, to open our arms, to be uncomfortable. 

Christ represents Justice, a justice that hurts because it’s a justice that makes everything right. A justice that does not involve redemptive violence, a justice that does not involve chaos, a justice that does not involve winning. 

Christ’s justice is driven by and for love. A justice that breathes into the broken, the hurting, the lost, the hateful, the misunderstood, and the bigoted. A justice that involves all and leaves no one. 

Pray for justice in your life, but know that the Spirit will most likely lead you to step out on the water of restoration, of healing. 

Because when our brother is not free, we are not free, and that includes our brothers who are imprisoned by hatred,


Moving is hard.

August 7, 2017

No matter how much you prepare for the transition, how well you pack, how many meals you plan, moving is still hard. Throw four kids under six into the mix and there are days that feel impossible. Especially when you want your kids to have the ability to process your move. So, for weeks we had a continuous conversation about who we miss from Quincy, and for weeks my three year old has slept in bed with us, and for weeks we all basically have lived in the same room, even though our rectory is quite large. 
Creating a new home is hard.

All I have wanted to do is get in bed, and let the weeks pass into months. I don’t want to have to feel all the feelings that come along with a big move. I certainly don’t want to talk about all those feelings with my kids. It’s too hard and I too exhausting. 
But I also don’t want to raise my kids to avoid or numb their painful emotions, and so we talk about our old house, and our old friends, and we snuggle, and I try to be as vulnerable to them, as they are to me. 
We have moved four times in six years. In those six years I have had four kids, and three jobs, and Waylon has finished his Masters, completed a curate program, and become a Vicar at a church. I don’t write all that to sound impressive, but to remind myself that there is a reason for the exhaustion that seems to be the back ground of my life right now. I also write that out to remind myself that we have collected kingdom friends and seen glimpses of heaven along the way. From a pair of needed snow boots that were left on our porch in Wisconsin, to friends that become family when I went into labor with the twins and came to watch our older kids, to a five bedroom house that is big enough for this family of six. It would be so easy to feel the hardships of the last 9 years, when we started our ministry, instead of seeing the dance that we have participated in with the Holy Spirit. 
When Waylon and I met, we dreamt about our future life together. We would sit and talk about the dinners we would have, and the yearning to cultivate a safe place for clergy in ministry. Little did we know that we had to enter into a place of healing ourselves, so that we could see and understand what that would look like for others. 
Because that is what I truly believe the whole point of the church is, to be the healing place for the broken. 
A place, a community, a life,

tied so closely to the Trinity 

that it breathes wholeness. 

In the midst of a world of chaos, death, and the bandaids of instant gratification we are called to be a refuge for the broken. The men, women, and children who have lost their lives to the world and are seeking their truest identities. People who are longing to have a place to take off the facade of wholeness and to embrace a journey of healing to get to wholeness. 
For that is what the purpose of the church, to be a hospital, a rehabilitation, and a catalyst for the healing love of Christ. A love that brings us into our whole humanity. 
Our churches are called to cultivate a space that allows us to feel all of our emotions, to process those emotions together and to allow our minds and hearts to be captivated by Christ. For how can our minds be renewed by Christ if we the church is not a refuge for our minds first. How can we love our Lord with all of ourselves, if the church does not teach how to accept love for ourselves? 
If the church cannot be a refuge for our whole selves, a safe place for our brokenness, and a place of rest for our bodies, than what is the Church? 
I long to create health, well adjusted kids, and that means sitting with them in pain, and feeling all our feelings together. It means not only tolerating questions, but encouraging questions, even when I am tired. It means taking the time to play outside and to use our bodies well. 
It means cultivating a home that is safe, for not only my kids, but for any child that walks through our door.
And shouldn’t the church be a home just like that as well?