Author Archives: hummingbird

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ Aging & Keeping Covenant

“When 900 years old you reach, look as good you will not!”
-Yoda, “The Empire Strikes Back”

For followers of Jesus Christ, aging comes as a season of compelling and vital new purpose.

Just what if there is extraordinary promise hidden in the age of doctors’ appointments, retirement, loss of loved ones and colleagues as well as physical challenges? What if aging doesn’t make you disposable, but rather indispensible? What if you ask Father, Son and Holy Spirit to sweep away the voices that call into question your relevance, your purpose and your gifts? What if you asked for grace to believe that God has a purpose for you, here, now?

There is great power in aging. The body may feel feeble; the soul may feel sapped of strength; but the accumulation of years is an extraordinary gift that can produce unimaginable impact – if wielded well. People often miss the power of their own age.

Sometimes we do not prepare ourselves for aging; we are uncomfortable, perhaps, thinking about the unknown, or fearing it. We fear a picture of aging that we paint for ourselves in which we look unrecognizable in the mirror, face an obsolete existence and are marginalized from the “real action” of living. But that great inspirer of John Wesley, Bishop Jeremy Taylor, counsels us: “let us prepare our minds against changes, always expecting them, that we be not surprised when they come.” Curiously, this excellent advice comes in the middle of his discussion on contentedness.

Let’s look at some lives that found profound purpose when they had reached profound age. These simple people found keeping covenant as an indispensable aspect of aging with purpose, on purpose. What priceless value there is in keeping covenant!

If you have a moment, read Genesis 17. Have you ever noticed that other than a general sketch of his extended family, where they settled, and whom he married, we do not get any stories of Abraham’s childhood or young adult years? Of all the great stories and colorful experiences that the book of Genesis tells us about Abraham, all that action picks up when he moves away in response to God’s promise at the age of 75.

God invites Abram into covenant by promising descendents – descendents that would outnumber the stars. This nation would inherit land; they would be blessed, and be a blessing, if they, too, chose to keep covenant with God; and from this nation would sprout the Messiah.

But for now, Abram is old, and he and Sarai have no children or grandchildren.

God establishes a covenant, full to the brim with promises, marks it by giving Abram and Sarai new names to reflect the coming reality of these promises, and commands Abraham to keep the covenant. Keeping the covenant, of course, doesn’t mean to avoid losing it, as you keep a receipt in your wallet. Keeping covenant is illustrated by the newly-reformed Ebenezer Scrooge’s promise to “keep Christmas” – to preserve, to maintain, to fulfill, to be faithful to.

Happily, we can skim ahead and see that Sarah gives birth to Isaac. Abraham did not get to skim ahead. Abraham kept covenant by acting on faith in a reality that was not yet: painfully so! He circumcised all the men of his household; he himself was circumcised before Sarah ever felt the fluttering of a baby in her womb; before he held his newborn son in his arms. He believed God’s promise that there was yet purpose in his age, and he acted on faith in God before he ever witnessed the screaming infant-proof.

This covenant between God and Abraham was vital, not just for Abraham’s self-interest in his desire to have a child, to have grandkids; this covenant was for the redemption of the world. And every generation had to decide for itself whether it would keep covenant with God, and we read those stories over and over again in the Old Testament.

How are you like Abraham? How are you like Sarah?

Keeping covenant may sometimes look a lot like Richard Foster’s A Celebration of Discipline: fulfilling and maintaining the practices of our faith in life together. But keeping covenant has a richer dimension when it’s in the context of seasoned age, in the same way that marriage has a richer dimension at a 50th wedding anniversary. By the time you are “aged,” your faith has weathered many years; and because of the accumulated experiences of a lifetime, or the challenging experiences associated with aging itself, you may find your faith tired, or tested, or perhaps a bit brittle and cynical.

That is why, above and beyond the practice of personal faith, keeping covenant matters so much as you age: because there is the temptation not to. And your faithful keeping of the covenant, even through years of struggle, or deep loss, or physical pain, does not go unnoticed.

And now let’s look at a lesser-known pair of aged covenant-keepers: Lois and Eunice, found in 2 Timothy 1:3-7.

Paul’s words at the beginning of his letter to the young pastor Timothy are fascinating: “I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you.” While the writer of Hebrews reminds us that “we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses,” Paul reminds Timothy of the covenant keepers in his own immediate family tree – Grandma Lois and Mama Eunice. Keeping faith – the kind that was “accounted” to Abraham for righteousness; the kind that inspired the hall of faith in Hebrews 11; keeping this covenant with God by faith made a difference in Timothy’s life. Because of those women Paul called out by name, Timothy witnessed the faith of covenant-keepers. And when Timothy decided also to keep faith, he ministered to bodies of believers in the early church. And to encourage him in ministry, Paul wrote to him, and we have these letters to inspire, guide and encourage our own faith today. That’s right: Grandma Lois’ faithfulness in keeping covenant got a shout-out in the Bible.

Your children, your children’s children, or your nieces and nephews – they witness the ways you keep covenant with God and with the church.

There is a kind woman named Eleanor who lives in the Midwest. She quietly keeps covenant – living a life infused with prayer and a gentle love of Scripture. And when she was in her 70’s, she decided to become a youth group sponsor. That’s right! She stayed up with the youth at all-night lock-ins. She went spelunking in caves with them on their camping trip. Instead of being with the adults during Wednesday night services, she sat and met with the youth group, occasionally offering comment or reflection. Her life uncovered one of the secrets of aging with purpose: keeping covenant. And in a time in which technology moves at lightning pace, the church is called to practice counter-cultural values of celebrating the value of ordinary, everyday covenant keepers, especially those seasoned with age.

So how can you renew your vision of yourself as a valued, valuable covenant-keeper?

Let’s consider engaging in what may seem a rather surprising suggestion. In order to refresh and renew your sense of purpose in aging; in order to reflect on your own role as a covenant keeper, and the value of simply not giving up; in order to embrace God’s covenant with you; in order to remind yourself regularly of God’s promises – what if you celebrated Holy Communion weekly?

It is in the ritual of the Lord’s Supper, after all, that God’s offer of covenant through Jesus Christ is acted out, regularly receiving the promise of the new covenant: “In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you’” (Luke 22:20). As Bishop Jeremy Taylor described long ago: “it is sufficient to thee that Christ shall be present to thy soul as an instrument of grace, as a pledge of the resurrection, as the earnest [guarantee] of glory and immortality, and a means of many blessings, even all such as are necessary for thee, and are in order to thy salvation.”

And remember this wisdom that Taylor wrote and Wesley read: “for that life is not best which is longest: and when they are descended into the grave it shall not be inquired how long they have lived, but how well.”

May you keep the covenant well.

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ Stolen: How Much Do You Own?

How much do you own?

If you’re well-established (in whatever cultural context you find yourself), you likely have a general idea of your net worth: the sum total of assets in your possession. If you’re a Sophomore in college, you’d likely have to tally for a while: student debt vs. the worth of a ten-year-old Buick and a dorm room full of discount duvets and electronics a few generations old. And when it comes to the big picture of life, how much do you own?

The philosophical context of your ambient culture likely forms your ideas on this: can anyone own land? As The Gods Must Be Crazy portrayed, can anyone own individual possessions?

Ownership is a fascinating concept, if a regularly disputed one in court.

And it’s a concept that has weighed heavily on my mind ever since my personal dwelling was broken into recently (yes, we had an alarm system installed – after the fact…). Because after the initial pit in your stomach lessens, after you realize that a stranger has seen your child’s bedroom, after you burn with outrage or disgust when you discover someone has rifled through your refrigerator, your brain slowly cranks back into action.

Do you remember the first time you stole? I do.

I was a child and my grandmother had a beautiful key, an old-fashioned key, a key with curves that reflected the light from her lace-curtained window and I loved her but I wanted it.

I asked. She said no. She might need it to unlock the beautiful antique cabinet.

We were getting ready to leave in the winter chill and the front room was empty from the bustle of loading the car and my puffy lavender coat had two empty pockets. The key came home with me – unknown to anyone. It was my secret. I felt proud of my daring last-minute heist. And then it began to burn and wouldn’t stop burning – not my clammy fingers, or my polyester-lined pocket, but deep in my mind.

And after our trip home, as I felt it down in my winter coat pocket while we walked into a local store, a cold clink rang across the floor. I had dropped it. My mother heard and turned. She picked it up and gave it to an employee while I stood mute while they talked about where it might possibly have come from.

Disaster had fallen.

Eventually, after staring at a paperback that stared up at me from a household end table (with cover art featuring – yes, really – an antique key), I broke down crying, confessing my breach of One Of The Actual Commandments, feeling horror in my chest as Mom said gently that we needed to call Grandma and that I would have to tell her what happened.

Do you remember the first time you stole?

It’s not likely we’ll ever get back the things that were taken – especially those intangibles like “peace of mind.” And it’s the intangibles that really stir ire. Things are just things (maddening at first, yes, but in the end moths and rust doth corrupt and thieves break in and…well, apparently, they steal).

But what I can’t get back is the blissful pre-break-in peace of never having had my home violated. There are many clichés about lost innocence, like before and after the assassination of JFK, or before and after 9/11.

Are those instances just a bite-sized serving of the tragedy of Paradise Lost? Theologians – with greater and lesser success, perhaps – have analyzed the fall of Adam and Eve ad infinitum. Pride, they say, drove the great sin that shattered paradise. Or woman’s frailty (thankfully that theory has fallen out of grace, itself). Or disbelief and lack of faith that God had their best interest at heart.

There’s a simple truth, however, that the average preschooler is capable of comprehending: Eve and Adam both took something that didn’t belong to them. As simple as that. They behaved as if they were lord of the manner (so to speak), deserving everything there, entitled, even.

What a different attitude than the beautiful old priest in Les Miserábles who (portrayed so well in the 1998 film version) confronts the story’s infamous thief with generosity when he demands to know why the thief didn’t take other items – since he could have had them too. And he pushes his treasures into the thief’s hands, forcing him to receive them, and after the baffled policeman leaves, states that now he has purchased the thief’s life – redeemed it, in fact…

And the thief, hanging next to Jesus as they slowly die in front of strangers, hears the words, “today, you will be with me in Paradise.”

It’s been years since I stole the curved, shiny antique key of such beauty.

I probably have stolen much more recently than that.

Stolen a moment of someone else’s praise by upstaging them.

Stolen someone’s joy by complaining about something trivial.

Stolen moments from my Maker by insisting that my leisure trumped time in prayer.

Holy God, this whole world is your gift, and we do not own any of it.
We are not entitled to it. We can only receive it with gratitude and humility, and give it away again freely and without regret.
Help us to realize we don’t need to try to take what is given to us in love.
And Lord – have mercy on us thieves…

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ Truth, Beauty & Tragedy: How to Be Happy

“Jack, take your hands off of your ears.

“But I don’t want to hear what you are saying!”

This is what shoppers strolling down store aisles could overhear recently. Alas, the four year old had acted up; alas, Mama had to intervene with a reminder of behavior expectations. But the child had realized that with hearing comes accountability. If I can’t hear you, you can’t hold me responsible.

And the hands clamped tightly over the ears.

I get the instinct.

I haven’t been swiping an imaginary monster along grocery store shelves knocking products out of place, but I’ve certainly wanted to power down communications coming at me fast and unrelenting. There are days when I feel I can’t take hearing about another iota of tragedy. Once while I was breathing through the nauseating misery of a panic attack a loved one asked what was wrong.

“The Holocaust,” I said.

I meant it.

An image had planted in my mind from a fragment of an Oprah show seen years before featuring a tour of the World War II horror, Auschwitz – the shoes…the piles and piles of shoes, so human, creased on top where a foot had bent – and one tiny little red pair…

I retched.

I get the instinct to clamp my hands tightly over my ear, to turn my grimacing face away. Even as a news junkie (especially as a news junkie?) sometimes I have to limit how closely I follow unfolding events.

I can probably affect something as intimate as your blood pressure level right now.

ISIS

Ebola

Russia and the Ukraine

Syria

Ferguson

Scandal, addiction, bankruptcy, cancer

“But I don’t want to hear what you are saying!”

  I know, dear friend. I know you don’t. And there’s good news in the world, too, after all –

The ice bucket challenge

Donation of a kidney

Adoption

Rain after a drought

Unlikely reconciliation

Here’s the twist: the second list may lower your blood pressure or make you smile, but it won’t ultimately make you happy without the first list. I’m not advocating the tired “you need evil to appreciate the good” theology – there’s no such thing as a “felix culpa”, a happy crime that’s blessed because you appreciate the good more.

No, you need the first list in order to be truly happy because we humans can only be happy when we face the reality of evil. We can’t be happy without the truth. Despite being surrounded by the truth of ugly facts – genocide or beheadings or crowded refugee camps or grotesquely contagious diseases – we have the inner impulse to reach also for the truth of reality, of existence, the Truth that transcends current events, that tunes the music of the spheres and absorbs everything into the unity that is Triune love.

To avoid the truth – whether of current events or the transcendent reality – is to construct a scaffolding of denial constantly in need of repair and maintenance. If you live attempting to ignore the retch-inducing evil of this world, you will consign yourself to living constantly in fear – more fear, in fact, than what comes from facing current events or theological questions or past experiences or worries for the future.

“But I don’t want to hear…”

Sometimes the well-worn, familiar refrain says it best, as Pastor Martin Niemöller so famously wrote and spoke:

    In Germany, they came first for the Communists,
    And I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist;
    And then they came for the trade unionists,
    And I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist;
    And then they came for the Jews, And I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew;
    And then they came for me . . . And by that time there was no one left to speak up.

There is a deep, gnawing dread when we deny the truth that stalks us, insisting to us that we untie the blindfold. But if I can’t take hearing about the facts of the world I live in, how will I pray for its transformation? If I seek out mind-numbing busyness, how will the Holy Spirit show me where to serve? And if I hear the facts only so that I can attempt to add them to my pile of pieces as I attempt to solve the puzzle of the Apocalypse and how things will ultimately end, then I am not living beautifully – I am living miserly, attempting to guess tomorrow’s weather so that I can gain from the forecast, regardless of who is suffering today. This day. Right now.

Denial never brings happiness – neither does distance, or distraction. We are a global neighborhood now. And while it’s tempting to mistake cynicism for wisdom, Christians are called to be the least cynical people on earth; not the most naïve, or the most chipper, or the cheeriest – simply the least cynical, because we dare to look into the abyss of the evil in our world or the evil in our own hearts and we still dare to say that that evil is not the last word.

God is the Creator and all Christians are artists – not called to paint over ugliness but rather to be a means of its melting and molding into something beautiful. “See, I am making all things new” is the context into which we must submit the 24-hour news cycle. And we have this example set in front of us: Jesus Christ, whose beautiful actions in the midst of ongoing suffering and evil lived the Truth of beautiful reality into the facts of the day around him.

Bear witness to atrocity. Weep with the suffering. Then choose actions of beauty, grace and redemption. Christ lived a life that turned “but I don’t want to hear…” into “tell me your story…” so that you and I can uncover the story of redemption on the mural of our world.

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ When Leaders Need to Be Led

It took a while to realize what I was missing.

It does sometimes.

It took sitting in a pew to allow the revelation to dawn on me.

Everyone needs to be led sometimes: especially leaders.

I loved pronouncing the opening line of the call to worship; I loved welcoming the faithful and the not-so-faithful to the communion table; I loved uttering “our Father” and hearing voices join mine. Pastoring my first church, and especially engaging with the flock in communal worship, was a joy.

After a couple of years in ministerial service, I found another distinct joy: sitting in a pew on a rare Sunday away, hearing someone else preach, and being led in worship by someone else.

Most “healthy clergy” initiatives focus on things like physical health (which is good) or individual spiritual development (also good) or even clergy fellowship group participation (another good).

But what about the value of sitting in a pew, receiving communal worship? We all need to be led, to be part of a group of listeners even for an hour. Recently, I read an interesting question posed by a well-known leader: “pastors, do you have a safe house?” The point in question related to time away in a physical space with people with whom you are free to be vulnerable.

Let’s put a twist on it: pastors, do you have a sanctuary? Not the worship space of the church where you serve. Do you have a sanctuary? A place where you can claim safety, peace, anonymity, protection and worship? Maybe as a pastor what you most need is to sneak away to an Episcopalian midweek Eucharist service. Surely “sanctuary” is something clergy members need more often than their yearly vacation. One Protestant pastor I know still cites time he spent at a Catholic monastery as profoundly formative in his vocational journey.

I found sanctuary in Doxa Soma – Christian practice of meditation, prayer, stretching and strengthening through which I can be led (through the marvels of the internet) via live video stream. To have Psalms read to me (which somehow feels so different than opening my own Bible to read a Psalm myself), to be led in prayer and meditation, to be guided through the movements – what blessed relief. I can turn off the responsibility switch in my brain and simply follow and receive. And what an important role to inhabit for a while: that of learner, of follower, of recipient.

North American leaders – in business as in ministry – like to be motivated or inspired or challenged. We want keynote speakers that will give us a half-time speech that will send us to the end zone. But all of those responses still allow – or curse – leaders to feel in control.

The image of Christ here is compelling: fully God, fully human, allowing himself to be baptized – the Divine, being dunked. Over and over again, we hear from the Gospel writers that Jesus went off to a quiet place to pray. If Jesus needed sanctuary, how much more do I?

Lord, we are so much like Simon Peter sometimes – eager, enthusiastic, ready to march ahead or leap into action. And just as he learned, teach us also the value of the truth that even leaders – especially leaders – need to be led…

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ Why I Love Being Wesleyan

Jedi John Wesley: the statue at Asbury Theological Seminary
Jedi John Wesley: the statue at Asbury Theological Seminary

 

When I first arrived at seminary, I was astonished at the number of Wesleyans I met. Wesleyans everywhere! Having grown up in the small but active Wesleyan denomination, I was gratified to see it represented so fully.

Then, about a week into the semester, I began to realize something – all the Wesleyans I was meeting were Wesleyan, not Wesleyan. They were Wesleyan in their theology (as opposed to Catholic or Calvinist), not Wesleyan in their denominational affiliation. A good many of them were denominationally United Methodist.

I was a little dismayed – so the Wesleyan church had perhaps fewer student representatives than I first thought – but I was also relieved in a vague, undefined sense: there was a much bigger Wesleyan community out there than I had realized; full, robust Wesleyan theology was flourishing in a variety of soils.

I’m proud that I grew up in the Wesleyan church, a denomination that laid the groundwork of my fledgling faith as a child. I’m also proud to continue as a member of the Wesleyan movement through my service in the United Methodist Church, a denomination with a rich heritage that I hope will help steer it through its current identity crisis.

So why do I love being Wesleyan, in its fullest sense?

I love being Wesleyan because I wholeheartedly believe that theology matters, and that Wesleyan theology is good theology. Despite being a child of the age of ecumenism – and despite having a strong ecumenical bent – I am deliberately, thoughtfully Wesleyan. Church, we have some amazing resources as participants in the Wesleyan movement. For Wesleyans, the Bible matters, becoming more and more like Jesus Christ matters, the freedom to exercise the will matters, the means of grace matter, and people matter, from the least and the last to the prominent and powerful: it is full-orbed, Spirit-driven engagement with the Word of God and the world, soup and Scripture, Ebola medication and intercessory prayer.

I love being Wesleyan because there was something about John Wesley that constantly put things in perspective: he was someone who knew how to elicit a response. Do you want to grow in your spiritual life? Excellent – he would plug you into a well-organized community – with community expectations. There was a constant “choose this day who you will serve” hanging in the background; early Methodists were people who responded to the call to go deep or go home. There weren’t gimmicks, or appeals marketed to egos, only a call to be genuinely, really committed to this lifestyle. That confrontational call to action in all its pared down, extremely difficult simplicity appeals to my Scottish side (after all, you couldn’t be halfheartedly alongside William Wallace!).

And I love being Wesleyan because Wesleyans are creative people: amid the things that stay the same, all times everywhere, we Wesleyans have elbowroom to ask, “how might the Gospel of Jesus Christ look in this setting? How can we effectively serve the marginalized and learn from them? How do the arts communicate grace?” and on, and on. Within the liturgical calendar, within the rhythms of celebrating communion and reading through the Word of God, within these timeless frameworks is an extraordinarily fertile ground for creative appropriations of our Wesleyan heritage.

So here’s to being Wesleyan – a movement that has stretched across the centuries to you, here, now – and that will, by the grace of God, continue to spill over into the centuries ahead.

Kimberly Reisman ~ From One Degree of Glory

My sister, Kerry Peeples, is an artist. She’s one of those “can do pretty much anything kind of artists,” but her main love is painting. Over the years our family has been blessed to come in contact with many interesting and talented people. One of those is Chris Tomlin. A while back, Chris commissioned Kerry to do a painting for him. He wanted something that would embody gratitude and would honor all the people who had helped him along the way.

In response to his request, Kerry painted Reflections. It’s beautiful; but what makes it even more wonderful is the artist statement she wrote to accompany it. She chose 2 Corinthians 3:18 as her inspiration.

And we all with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being changed into his likeness, from one degree of glory to the next; for this comes from the Spirit who is the Lord.

I always thought I was the writer, but as I said, Kerry’s one of those can do pretty much anything kind of artists. Here is how she described the painting:

The painting Reflections, celebrates the awesome process of changing into who we are and whose we are, God’s children, made in his image. God finds such delight in this process, especially when we reflect and acknowledge his grace within the journey. The painting is composed of several elements or reflections, which together create a visual “thank you” to God. Commissioned by Chris Tomlin, Reflections not only serves as a vehicle to look back with gratitude, but also a gift to honor those who helped Chris along the way.

Encaustic is an old form of painting in which the artist uses hot wax mixed with varnish and pigment. The artist must work layer upon layer; painting, then applying heat to make sure each layer marries the previous layer. One of the beauties of encaustic is that the transparency of the wax enables the viewer to see a history of marks and strokes. The finished image is often visibly dependent on what went before. Isn’t life like that?

“With unveiled face…from one degree of glory to the next…”

Like the butterfly emerging from its cocoon, our veil is being lifted and we are becoming more and more the way we were made. The painting Reflections does just that. It reflects bits of glory in Chris Tomlin’s life. The constancy of family, friends and God, the Holy Spirit who does arrive, and the gift of music, leadership and praise; all these are elements of glory, degrees of change.

Life is like that. We are always indebted to the past, even as we are creating a new and beautiful future. And we are becoming more and more the way we were made, as God moves us from one degree of glory to the next.

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so that we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. Ephesians 2:10

 

 

This post originally appeared on KimberlyReisman.com ~ used with permission

Kimberly Reisman ~ The Next Step

Since 2005, I’ve been working to empower people to take the next step on their journey of faith – for some people that’s been a first step, for others it’s been the next of many. Now, it seems, I will be taking my own next step, and as a result, so will Wesleyan Accent. Beginning September 1, I will take the reins of leadership at World Methodist Evangelism as Executive Director. It’s a challenging opportunity; yet I’m extremely excited. Many of you already know about this news, but if you are unfamiliar with WME, you can read the official press release here.

One of the implications of this upcoming change is that I will no longer be able to oversee Wesleyan Accent. I’ll continue to blog – you can check out my newly redesigned site at KimberlyReisman.com. Seedbed has graciously come alongside me in creating the site and I hope you’ll continue to follow me there. You’ll also still be able to follow me on Twitter (@KimsNextStep) and on Facebook.

Elizabeth Glass Turner
Elizabeth Glass Turner

The work of Wesleyan Accent will continue uninterrupted. One of our regular contributors, Elizabeth Glass Turner, will begin in my stead in a few short weeks. Elizabeth has been writing for Wesleyan Accent since our launch last year. She has an MA in Theological Studies and recently wrote an essay that appeared in the volume, The Philosophy of Sherlock Holmes. Elizabeth has also written for Good News magazine, Asbury Theological Seminary, Cengage Learning, Lynne Marian: Strategic Communications, Demand Media as well as a variety of other websites. I have enjoyed working with Elizabeth and have found her to have a keen mind and sensitive spirit – traits that have been reflected in her many posts and which will serve both her and Wesleyan Accent well. I’m confident Wesleyan Accent is in good hands.

Thank you to all who have come along side me and Wesleyan Accent during this inaugural year. I never could have imagined how many wonderful people God would place in my path and I’m confident God can be counted on to continue providing excitement and surprises. I pray that as we continue to follow Jesus in the company of the Wesleys, our witness will be strengthened, our faith enriched and God’s kingdom experienced as never before.

Kimberly Reisman ~ Holding Yourself in Readiness

I’m not an athlete. People who know me would confirm that readily and likely with eye rolling agreement. But I love athletics. I enjoy watching physically talented people who passionately commit themselves to their sport. I admire their dedication to training, to doing whatever is necessary to be the best.

There’s a training exercise in tennis that I find especially intriguing – not just because I can’t play tennis to save my life, but because of the larger meaning that it provides me as I seek to follow Jesus. This training exercise focuses on readiness. Players face the coach and run in place on the balls of their feet. They watch for the coach’s signal to move to either left or right, up or back. Until the coach gives the sign, the athletes hold in readiness. That’s a crucial skill, to be able to hold yourself in readiness. There’s a big difference between being on the balls of your feet and sitting back on your heels – it can mean the difference between points won or lost.

It’s not easy to hold yourself in readiness. You have to be alert, your entire body engaged and prepared to move. You have to be focused, intent on watching for the necessary sign. You have to be willing to act, following the signal the moment it arrives.

All this is true for tennis players, and it’s also true for followers of Jesus. We have to train ourselves in readiness. We have to cultivate a heart that holds itself in readiness. We need to be alert, engaged with our entire beings – not just our heads, not just our hearts – our whole selves, held in readiness.

It’s a matter of focus. You can’t be facing inward and be ready – you’ve got to be facing outward. You can’t be worried about your own desires and preferences and be ready – you’ve got to be concerned with what’s going on beyond yourself.

The ability to hold yourself in readiness. Important in tennis. Crucial in following Jesus.

A church volunteer I encountered recently described himself as ‘that donkey tied to a tree in Jerusalem, just waiting for Lord to have need of him.’ That guy knows how to hold himself in readiness.

Jesus closed his parable of the ten bridesmaids with this reminder: “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.” (Matthew 25:13). This isn’t just instruction for the end of our life, it’s instruction for the whole of our life. We are to live our lives on the balls of our feet, holding ourselves in readiness.

How do you hold yourself in readiness? What new experiences have you encountered because you were ready? What have you missed because you weren’t?

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ The Vast Sufferer

 

To die, to sleep—
no more—and by a sleep to say we end
the heartache and the thousand natural shocks
that flesh is heir to—’tis a consummation
devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub,
for in that sleep of death what dreams may come
when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
must give us pause. There’s the respect
that makes calamity of so long life.

– Hamlet, Act 3 Scene 1

How can you end suffering? The kind of suffering that Shakespeare called “the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to”? Perhaps no one in recent times better captures Hamlet’s suffering than actor David Tennant who, alongside Sir Patrick Stewart, crushed new pain out of a stiffly familiar role.

Shakespeare treats us to a glimpse of Hamlet’s inner musings: he suffers tremendously from the actions of others; and this suffering brings an existential weariness that lures him to consider how blissful an eternal sleep could be. Unless…

Unless death could not offer peaceful sleep; unless an afterlife existed in which untold new suffering might have to be endured for one who took it upon himself to end his own suffering. There it was: humans endure deep suffering when the thought of an unknown afterlife gives them pause. And so the question could not simply remain “to be or not to be” – no such luck for Hamlet. Rather, “to be, or to be I know not what.” Tragedy at its sharpest: there is no sure and certain way out.

Do you suffer? Not the set of first-world problems so many face – the caterer for an event proving to be a disaster, or a high-tech labor-saving appliance failing to work properly. No, do you suffer? Suffering can exist in upper-middle class subdivisions as easily as it can in the slums of Calcutta, as Mother Teresa so aptly pointed out: there are different kinds of poverty, and wealthy people may yet experience a poverty of love. So Hamlet discovered: a young man of privilege and wealth who grieves both the loss of a father and the instability of a mother who remarries too quickly – and who remarries her dead husband’s brother. Not only does Hamlet wrestle with these circumstances: it is revealed that his father did not die a natural death. And he knows who killed him…

What a modern sounding story: the self-centeredness of elders destroying the hope, stability and dreams of the young. Hamlet’s world crashes down; the formerly high-spirited young man sinks into a deep depression that even his girlfriend can’t rescue him from.

Do you suffer? Trendy psychobabble can cover suffering in a multitude of ways, as George Carlin pointed out when he criticized the use of the phrase “post-traumatic stress disorder,” preferring the vivid old-fashioned word “shellshock” – even running it through your mouth creates a noise of hissing crash. The Western world prefers a sanitized suffering: suffering that is embalmed, placed under flattering lights and smeared with lipstick. Sanitized suffering that is covered with fake green plastic grass at a graveside, that waits for the crowd of mourners to depart before lowering the casket into the ground.

Hamlet refused to let his suffering to be sanitized, because he refused to let the evil that caused it to be sanitized.

Do you attempt to window-dress evil? To window-dress your own suffering?

If you don’t face your own suffering, how will you ever find rest? Real, true rest for the mind and spirit?

To face your own suffering is to come uncomfortably close to Christ in Gethsemene: does the idea of Christ, the suffering servant, comfort or trouble you? The fully divine, fully human being sweating drops of blood from anguish…

Rest will not come from appealing to “God”: “God,” that one mysterious being who motivates us when we need a pick-me-up through a smiling televangelist. But some rest may come from Father, from Son and from Holy Spirit.

Rest may come from the first person of the Trinity, the one that parents, that proclaims “let there be…”, the one from whom the Word proceeds. We may find comfort in seeking protection and safety from the birther of the universe, the one who is on the lookout for the return of the prodigal child.

Rest may come from the second person of the Trinity, the Word Made Flesh, the suffering servant. We may find refuge by placing ourselves alongside the weeping Jesus, before Lazarus’ tomb is opened, or in a moonlit garden where Jesus wrestles alone in tortuous prayer, or in the stations of the cross, where a suffering servant stumbles towards execution.

Rest may come from the third person of the Trinity, the fathomless Holy Spirit who moves and darts this way and that beyond our comprehension. We may find rest as we cease our efforts and allow the Holy Spirit to intercede for us with groans that cannot be uttered, or as we simply relax in the company of the Comforter, the Spirit of adoption.

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us…

What dreams may come? Dreams may come that give us pause; there is much in the Book of Revelation to give anyone pause. But we may also dream of glory: a glory that revels in justice, that infuses new life, that reanimates dead hopes.

Come to me, all that are weary and heavy-laden –

and I will give you rest…

and end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks

that flesh is heir to…

 

Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

 

Kimberly Reisman ~ Clay Footed, Spirit-Filled: Transition

These are days of major transition for me. When the fall arrives I will assume the position of World Director of World Methodist Evangelism. In conversation with numerous people I’ve mentioned the huge shoes I’ll be filling in following Dr. Eddie Fox in this position. For 25 years Eddie has been a Spirit-filled, visionary leader. He’s got huge shoes!

The whole image of filling someone’s shoes got me thinking about my feet; not just about my feet in general – it was about my clay feet. I’m all too aware that I’ve got them. But thankfully, some of my most powerful spiritual experiences have come when I’ve recognized that fact rather than denied it. So as I prepare for this new phase of ministry, I’m counting on the possibility that each of us can be both clay footed and Spirit-filled. I’m counting on the possibility that despite our inadequacies and mistakes, God’s grace prevails. Thankfully my hope is consistent with Scripture. Moses stuttered; Peter was a doofus; and Paul was a hard-core persecutor.

I’m counting on all this because one of the truths of the gospel is that God’s grace prevails not because of us but despite us. We carry the treasure of God’s grace in a clay jar so that it can be clear that its power comes not from us but from God. In this time of transition, I believe one of the most important things I can remember is that I am only an errand runner for the Spirit. After all, for me, this faith thing started when I recognized God saying, “Light up the darkness!” and my life filled up with light as I saw and understood God in the face of Christ, all bright and beautiful. So if people only look at me, they might well miss the brightness.

I know I’m not the only one with clay feet. We’ve all got them – even our most beloved leaders and mentors. We can’t afford to forget that fact. If we do, we risk becoming like the older brother who refused to join the party when his wayward younger brother returned home. We risk becoming self-satisfied and self-righteous – our brothers and sisters may be lost and in need of finding, but we certainly aren’t. We’re enlightened, open-minded; we never left home in the first place. That kind of self-certainty doesn’t tend to lead to being Spirit-filled. Something tells me that as long as the older brother refused to experience the party, he was going to miss out on experiencing the Spirit as well.

It’s not only about overlooking our clay feet. It’s just as dangerous to keep them covered, working our butts off to make sure no one notices. When we do that we become so intent on keeping up appearances and making sure our outsides are presentable that we miss out on the transformative power of the Spirit on our insides.

Scripture says that we’re the unadorned clay pots into which God has poured God’s precious message. That means that clay feet or no, in every ministry transition God generously lets us in on what God’s doing in the world. So if we’ve all got clay feet then a first step toward being Spirit-filled is to take honest stock of them. Maybe that first step is realizing how clumsy our clay feet really are; how much pain they can inflict when used to step on, bump into or stomp on others. Maybe if we’re truly to be the unadorned clay pots into which God has poured God’s grace, we need to be exceedingly cautious about how we tread in the lives of others.

Earlier this year I traveled to Nigeria to speak to a group of 20,000+ women over the course of four days. Many of these women had to walk a full day just to get there. It was a transformative, Spirit-filled time. Last week I had lunch with a woman who had gotten my name from her pastor. After googling me, she wanted to “pick my brain” about ministry and life. Another Spirit-filled time.

These kinds of moments have come and gone in my ministry, and more are sure to unfold with this transition; as they do, I need to continually ask myself, how am I treading? Lightly? With grace? Out in the open? Is it about me? Or am I the errand runner for the Spirit I need to be? Sadly for me, as my ministry moves forward, people are destined to discover my clay feet – if they haven’t already. I can only pray that others won’t miss the brightness because they are looking only at me.