Country western singer Robert Earl Keen penned a funny song a few years back called “It’s The Little Things.” Short and not at all sweet, but not mean spirited (he rarely performs it love without laughing), his lament is over the everyday minutiae of married life:
It's the way you stroke my hair while I am sleepin'
It's the way you tell me things I don't know
It's the way you remember I came home late for dinner
Eleven months and fourteen days ago
CHORUS
It's the little things - the little bitty things
Like the way that you remind me I've been growin soft
It's the little things- the itty bitty things
It's the little things…That piss me off
I was thinking about the little things the other day, as I relayed to a friend an experience that I had at Disney many years back. We’d decided to grab some hot dogs for lunch at Casey’s Corner, and, as Kyle was (thankfully) never a soda drinker, I jogged across the street to the ice cream parlor to get him a bottle of water to drink with his lunch. There couldn’t have been a dozen people in the establishment; maybe three cast members working behind the counter, and just a few people were in front of me in line. With no small amount of fanfare, a man came into the parlor, dressed in what looked like a suit a man might have worn at the turn of the century – pinstripes, tall hat, and spats – “MAYOR” was emblazoned across his chest on a sash. He fanned himself dramatically with his top hat, and, in a loud voice, said, to no one in particular, “I was told it was free ice cream cone day!” Without even glancing up, two of the cast members who were scooping ice cream answered him, dully, in unison: “Yesterday.” He snapped his fingers, in a dramatic “darn it!” gesture, replaced his hat, turned, and left the ice cream parlor. The whole scene was played out for just a handful of us, but for that brief moment, we were transported to a time and a place where the puffed up mayor might really be walking around; where an ice cream parlor might actually even offer a free cone. It was one of those little details that no one does better than Disney, and that people like me, who love Disney, never forget.
Thanks in no small part to our Florida pastor, Michael O’ Flaherty, I always reflect on the little things when I hear the story of Jesus’ transfiguration. I realize that sounds odd; it’s probably one of the most “dramatic” events recorded in the Bible. Imagine hiking up a mountain with your teacher, watching as he’s suddenly he’s transformed before your eyes, then hearing the voice of God say how pleased He is with His son! No wonder the apostles were astounded! Father O’Flaherty read the story during Lent one year, as is the church’s custom, and then suggested that, rather than looking for God in the big, dramatic, mountain-top moments, we might start to seek Him in the valleys - the every day, the ordinary.
Have we become so blasé and sophisticated that we need a thunderbolt to experience God? Do we miss Him completely in our encounters with sweet babies, our deep conversations with great friends, in our emotional response to great music, art, or literature? Are we so preoccupied with our constant pursuit of happiness, or absorbed in our own problems and our phone apps that we never have or make the time to seek Him? It makes me sad that so many people think of God for an hour a week in a building they call church; sadder still that many who consider themselves devout Christians fail to recognize Christ in one another.
Conversely, do we need to travel to Calcutta and minister to the poor, lay hands on the sick in Jesus’ name, and spend seventeen hours in daily prayer to be of use to God? Certainly there are people anointed and called for great deeds in the service and ministry. But what about the rest of us poor schlubs, who have a hard enough time just coping with the everyday battle of spiritual versus secular; whose coping skills are suffering and whose only solace at the end of many days is a glass of wine?? Is there hope for us? (Talk about dramatic!!) And now we come full circle; back to the little things. Each day presents us with an opportunity to let God shine in us and through is, in a myriad of little ways.
This is not a new concept. Consider the words of the “little flower,” St. Terese of Lisieux:
“Great deeds are forbidden me. The only way I can prove my love is by scattering flowers and these flowers are every little sacrifice, every glance and word, and the doing of the least actions for love."
A saint can prove to be a wonderful example, and Terese saw the little things as a way of manifesting God’s love. She cleaned the chapel and prepared it for mass. She wrote plays for the community. She sought holiness in the ordinary, and saw herself as a perpetual child, eager to please her Father. But most notably - she did it with a good attitude. Our modern, egocentric culture might see this philosophy as weak, as allowing ourselves to be doormats for others. On the contrary, Terese saw the spiritual “giants” she so greatly admired as great trees reaching up to heaven – and recognized herself as the little flower at the foot of the trees – reaching up with tiny hands to receive the same life nurturing love and sunshine – in exactly the same measure.
We’re all capable of little things: a kind word to a stranger, a ride for a friend, a card in the mail for a sick relative, a call to a family member who crosses our minds. Every day presents us with new opportunities; little moments in which we can manifest God’s love for us, and, in doing so, experience Him. They may not be broadcast to millions; in fact, most of them will be seen only by a few. But they are important, and they make a lasting impression.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Whatever You Do
WHATEVER YOU DO…
My family and I were fortunate enough to snag the last few seats on the Friendship boat from Disney’s Hollywood Studios back to our hotel, the Yacht Club. We were exhausted in a good way; the way one generally feels after a day and evening at a theme park – sore, spent, content. As the lights inside the craft dimmed and we sailed toward the Boardwalk area, my son chuckled and pointed: “Look, we ought to take a picture of that and send it to Alex.” The Boardwalk hotel and the arcade area are decorated with hundreds of tiny lights, the kind you’d find at a real seaside resort, and on this night, one of them, the largest, proclaimed…”AL.” The lights on the rest of the “Boardwalk” sign had burned out. The following evening, as we walked from our hotel to Epcot, I glanced across the lake to the Boardwalk area, and what I suspected was exactly what I saw: they had replaced the lights, and “BOARDWALK” now beckoned.
While it might be easy to imagine that little light fairies, friends of Tinkerbell perhaps, flit around the Disney grounds at night and replace missing bulbs, the simple truth is this: not much gets past the folks at Disney. It’s unusual to see a burned out light on a sign, an empty plate at a restaurant, or pieces of trash on Main Street linger for long. Yes, there are cast members whose job it is to fix up or clear up or pick up after us, but there is a deeper principle at work here; the principle of excellence. By keeping Walt Disney World pristine and ship shape, an image of perfection is both created and upheld. Disney is often criticized for its attempt to create an alternate universe, “the happiest place on earth,” if you will. It appears that there was some point in history (that I clearly missed) in which it became un-cool, dysfunctional, or even wrong to aim for excellence.
External excellence was the first to go. Remember when men wore smart suits to work, and women saved their jeans and holey shirts for cleaning days? When people dressed up to go to church? Granted, it seems silly to imagine a woman dusting furniture with Pledge in her lemon chiffon dress (a commercial I grew up watching), but isn’t it equally silly to see young men out in public with their underwear hanging out of their pants? Is it really too much to hope for that we show up for work, for school, for a run to the grocery store…clean and well groomed? I remember visiting colleges with my son and seeing a dozen or so kids scattered in the dining hall in their pajamas. Really? They couldn’t bother getting dressed?
Excellence in the workplace used to be admired and modeled. We grew up in awe of the self made millionaires, the mavericks who started with an idea and created an empire. Now they are reviled, particularly in the media, where they’re portrayed as selfish sharks whose lives revolve around themselves and their fortunes. In school, we respected achievers, those who made straight As and got gold stars for good conduct (yes, it was rewarded). Now we’re careful not to put too much emphasis on outcome; grades, after all, make kids feel bad, and respect for the teacher…that’s so 50s. A man who works hard to provide for his family and tries to advance at work is now a “type A,” and a woman who keeps a pristine home and makes gourmet family meals (OK I confess, this one is me) is “O.C.D.” or worse – “anal retentive.”
Excellence in relationships takes work, and we don’t have time for that kind of work. It’s easier to send a text than to speak to a human, to shoot off an e mail rather than to sit down and have a face to face chat. We are too tired and too overscheduled to keep in touch with our friends and our families, and too stressed and pressed for time to spend time with our spouses. Technology has encroached on everything from our family dinners to our family vacations. I shake my head in sadness when I see mother, father, and kids sitting around a table at a beachside bistro…each texting on his or her cell phone. Sacrifice is an outdated principle; rather, it’s “What can you do for me? “ -- “What have you done for me lately?” and “You were supposed to make me happy! “
Excellence is not out of our grasp. It can be as simple as a pat on the back to the child whose team lost the game, a note (OK, I surrender, an e mail!) to our spouse just to say I’m thinking about you, a smile directed to the hapless stranger in the grocery line. Excellence is about showing up, doing what you said you were going to do, and doing it to the best of your ability, even when you don’t see an immediate reward, and even more importantly, when you don’t feel like it. Excellence is more than mediocrity. It takes pride in its appearance – it sets a standard and then sticks to it. It changes the little light bulbs that are used to create great big signs.
In his letter to the Colossians, St. Paul writes: Whatever you do, do from the heart, as for the Lord and not for others. What better motivation do we need in our pursuit of excellence - at work, at school, at home, and in the world? How much more effort would we be willing to exert in our relationships, our jobs, and our daily lives, if we dared to dedicate our “doing” to the source of all excellence - the One who created us?
My family and I were fortunate enough to snag the last few seats on the Friendship boat from Disney’s Hollywood Studios back to our hotel, the Yacht Club. We were exhausted in a good way; the way one generally feels after a day and evening at a theme park – sore, spent, content. As the lights inside the craft dimmed and we sailed toward the Boardwalk area, my son chuckled and pointed: “Look, we ought to take a picture of that and send it to Alex.” The Boardwalk hotel and the arcade area are decorated with hundreds of tiny lights, the kind you’d find at a real seaside resort, and on this night, one of them, the largest, proclaimed…”AL.” The lights on the rest of the “Boardwalk” sign had burned out. The following evening, as we walked from our hotel to Epcot, I glanced across the lake to the Boardwalk area, and what I suspected was exactly what I saw: they had replaced the lights, and “BOARDWALK” now beckoned.
While it might be easy to imagine that little light fairies, friends of Tinkerbell perhaps, flit around the Disney grounds at night and replace missing bulbs, the simple truth is this: not much gets past the folks at Disney. It’s unusual to see a burned out light on a sign, an empty plate at a restaurant, or pieces of trash on Main Street linger for long. Yes, there are cast members whose job it is to fix up or clear up or pick up after us, but there is a deeper principle at work here; the principle of excellence. By keeping Walt Disney World pristine and ship shape, an image of perfection is both created and upheld. Disney is often criticized for its attempt to create an alternate universe, “the happiest place on earth,” if you will. It appears that there was some point in history (that I clearly missed) in which it became un-cool, dysfunctional, or even wrong to aim for excellence.
External excellence was the first to go. Remember when men wore smart suits to work, and women saved their jeans and holey shirts for cleaning days? When people dressed up to go to church? Granted, it seems silly to imagine a woman dusting furniture with Pledge in her lemon chiffon dress (a commercial I grew up watching), but isn’t it equally silly to see young men out in public with their underwear hanging out of their pants? Is it really too much to hope for that we show up for work, for school, for a run to the grocery store…clean and well groomed? I remember visiting colleges with my son and seeing a dozen or so kids scattered in the dining hall in their pajamas. Really? They couldn’t bother getting dressed?
Excellence in the workplace used to be admired and modeled. We grew up in awe of the self made millionaires, the mavericks who started with an idea and created an empire. Now they are reviled, particularly in the media, where they’re portrayed as selfish sharks whose lives revolve around themselves and their fortunes. In school, we respected achievers, those who made straight As and got gold stars for good conduct (yes, it was rewarded). Now we’re careful not to put too much emphasis on outcome; grades, after all, make kids feel bad, and respect for the teacher…that’s so 50s. A man who works hard to provide for his family and tries to advance at work is now a “type A,” and a woman who keeps a pristine home and makes gourmet family meals (OK I confess, this one is me) is “O.C.D.” or worse – “anal retentive.”
Excellence in relationships takes work, and we don’t have time for that kind of work. It’s easier to send a text than to speak to a human, to shoot off an e mail rather than to sit down and have a face to face chat. We are too tired and too overscheduled to keep in touch with our friends and our families, and too stressed and pressed for time to spend time with our spouses. Technology has encroached on everything from our family dinners to our family vacations. I shake my head in sadness when I see mother, father, and kids sitting around a table at a beachside bistro…each texting on his or her cell phone. Sacrifice is an outdated principle; rather, it’s “What can you do for me? “ -- “What have you done for me lately?” and “You were supposed to make me happy! “
Excellence is not out of our grasp. It can be as simple as a pat on the back to the child whose team lost the game, a note (OK, I surrender, an e mail!) to our spouse just to say I’m thinking about you, a smile directed to the hapless stranger in the grocery line. Excellence is about showing up, doing what you said you were going to do, and doing it to the best of your ability, even when you don’t see an immediate reward, and even more importantly, when you don’t feel like it. Excellence is more than mediocrity. It takes pride in its appearance – it sets a standard and then sticks to it. It changes the little light bulbs that are used to create great big signs.
In his letter to the Colossians, St. Paul writes: Whatever you do, do from the heart, as for the Lord and not for others. What better motivation do we need in our pursuit of excellence - at work, at school, at home, and in the world? How much more effort would we be willing to exert in our relationships, our jobs, and our daily lives, if we dared to dedicate our “doing” to the source of all excellence - the One who created us?
Saturday Toy
Saturday Toy
My mom’s cousin, A.J., is an only child. As he was growing up, his doting father, in the midst of his weekend errands, would occasionally buy A.J. a gift. Not for any specific reason, like a birthday or Christmas, but just because he loved his son and wanted to demonstrate this love with a physical symbol. This practice happened with such frequency that, on the occasion in which A.J.’s father returned from town empty handed one weekend, little A.J. asked, “Where is my Saturday toy?” The phrase was quickly adopted by my family, and used to indicate a little (or not so little) something you buy for someone just because you love them.
I think of this story now and again; how so many of us never quite outgrow the “What have you done for me lately?” mentality of our childhood. This especially seems to pertain to our relationship with God. Too often we focus on what we’re lacking rather than our blessings. Our prayer life becomes God’s to-do list, and we’re all too eager to dismiss him when we don’t get our way. Conversely, we can get so caught up in the what-can-I-do-for-God mentality (which so often leads directly into I-can-never-do-enough) that we feel defeated even before we start. It seems to me that, just as the best way to know a person is to spend time with them, the best way to know God is to spend time with Him. And the best way to know God is to study His word.
I’m both amused and saddened by people who are intimidated by the Bible. They’ll say that it’s too difficult to understand, that it’s outdated and irrelevant in today’s world. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Bible is, in fact, populated with deeply flawed – and thus relatable – characters, with many of the same issues and struggles we face in modern times. In my personal experience, I’m continuously amazed at the number of times I hear a sermon, read a passage, or listen to a lesson that pertains directly to a problem I’m experiencing at that very moment. The scriptures even have a phrase for this phenomenon– a word in due season. The Bible not only reinforces my belief that the word of God applies to our contemporary lives (maybe now more than ever!) but also that it was written and handed down for us as the the ultimate instruction book of life. My friend’s young son recently recounted how the holy book was described for him -- “Basic Information Before Leaving Earth.”
Kirk Franklin’s song, “Looking for You” refers to the Bible as a love letter. In even the most rudimentary glance, we learn that the apostle John refers to Christ Himself as The Word. Therefore, I like to think of the Bible as God incarnate; centuries of holy wisdom passed on to each generation, not just for God’s own glorification but for our edification, our encouragement, our discipline. It is a life map of sorts, with which to chart our journey and refer to when we are lost, given to us not because we deserve it, but just because God loves us. Our Saturday toy from our heavenly Father.
My mom’s cousin, A.J., is an only child. As he was growing up, his doting father, in the midst of his weekend errands, would occasionally buy A.J. a gift. Not for any specific reason, like a birthday or Christmas, but just because he loved his son and wanted to demonstrate this love with a physical symbol. This practice happened with such frequency that, on the occasion in which A.J.’s father returned from town empty handed one weekend, little A.J. asked, “Where is my Saturday toy?” The phrase was quickly adopted by my family, and used to indicate a little (or not so little) something you buy for someone just because you love them.
I think of this story now and again; how so many of us never quite outgrow the “What have you done for me lately?” mentality of our childhood. This especially seems to pertain to our relationship with God. Too often we focus on what we’re lacking rather than our blessings. Our prayer life becomes God’s to-do list, and we’re all too eager to dismiss him when we don’t get our way. Conversely, we can get so caught up in the what-can-I-do-for-God mentality (which so often leads directly into I-can-never-do-enough) that we feel defeated even before we start. It seems to me that, just as the best way to know a person is to spend time with them, the best way to know God is to spend time with Him. And the best way to know God is to study His word.
I’m both amused and saddened by people who are intimidated by the Bible. They’ll say that it’s too difficult to understand, that it’s outdated and irrelevant in today’s world. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Bible is, in fact, populated with deeply flawed – and thus relatable – characters, with many of the same issues and struggles we face in modern times. In my personal experience, I’m continuously amazed at the number of times I hear a sermon, read a passage, or listen to a lesson that pertains directly to a problem I’m experiencing at that very moment. The scriptures even have a phrase for this phenomenon– a word in due season. The Bible not only reinforces my belief that the word of God applies to our contemporary lives (maybe now more than ever!) but also that it was written and handed down for us as the the ultimate instruction book of life. My friend’s young son recently recounted how the holy book was described for him -- “Basic Information Before Leaving Earth.”
Kirk Franklin’s song, “Looking for You” refers to the Bible as a love letter. In even the most rudimentary glance, we learn that the apostle John refers to Christ Himself as The Word. Therefore, I like to think of the Bible as God incarnate; centuries of holy wisdom passed on to each generation, not just for God’s own glorification but for our edification, our encouragement, our discipline. It is a life map of sorts, with which to chart our journey and refer to when we are lost, given to us not because we deserve it, but just because God loves us. Our Saturday toy from our heavenly Father.
A Great Effect - 2007
One of my favorite attractions at Disney's Hollywood Studios, "Muppet Vision 3D," is, as the name implies, a silly three dimensional short film featuring not only the beloved Muppets but also a cartoon character called Waldo, "the spirit of 3D." He's chubby and blue and looks a little like a penguin. At one point in the film, Waldo appears to fly off the screen - he hovers directly in front of you then quips, "Isn't this a great effect? Everyone thinks I'm talking to them, but I'm only talking to YOU!" I can't help marveling at the effect, and the gifted Disney imagineers who created it, each time I see the film.
I thought of Waldo yesterday when I attended "A Day With Beth Moore," a conference in Washington, DC, to kick off their "Women of Faith" weekend. Beth is a Bible teacher from Houston who I found "accidentally" on TV a few months ago. I'd spent the morning unsuccessfully fighting anxiety - not in a crowded elevator or boxed in on an airplane, but in the comfort and safety of my own home. In desperation, I flicked on the television and began surfing, hoping to find Joyce Meyer or Joel Osteen and a word from God I could cling to. Instead I found Beth Moore, telling a group of women about her experience "in the pit." They all thought she was talking to them, but she was really talking to me. I managed to climb out of the pit long enough to listen, and when the show was over, I did what any self-respecting, anxiety ridden, desperate housewife would do: I Googled her. The internet led me to Beth's online Bible study, "Believing God," which in turn led me to her second study, "Living Beyond Yourself." I also learned through her website that she would be in DC, and I made plans to attend.
As someone who loves to travel but hates the process, I had serious butterflies as I planned taking the train into Washington, getting a cab to the Verizon center, and attending the conference alone. Although I'd allowed myself 45 minutes to accomplish all of the above, when I finally arrived, I was half sick with excitement as I made my way through the throng. The lower section seats were occupied and I was instructed to take the escalators to the upper seats. Higher up than what was comfortable for me, alone in what appeared to be a sea of women in groups or pairs, I managed to snag an aisle seat, but I was still fighting the sense of suffocation that sometimes accompanies my being in a crowd.
Beth's friend and musician Travis Cottrell came out to greet us, and got everyone on their feet to worship in song. This is when I started to cry. I spent the next few songs mouthing the words and attempting to get a grip. It's very difficult for me to sing hymns; I become overwhelmed by the lyrics and affected by the music and all I can do is blubber. It happens to me in church on a regular basis, and yesterday was no exception; in fact, it was worse. Eleven thousand women were praising God in song. I felt overwhelmed.
By the time Beth reached the stage, I was nonchalantly touching my carotid artery to determine if this was indeed a heart attack, plotting the route to the restroom for when I inevitably threw up, and cursing myself for not staying home. People like me have no business in crowds! People like me should do Bible Studies on the computer!
She began talking rapidly right out of the gate. She apologized for being a woman who had issues with anxiety, wondered aloud why God had chosen a woman so anxiety prone to be a public speaker, and then joked about how she'd try to stand back if she actually got sick. She got down on her knees and prayed before starting the formal lesson. She thanked God for "healing my broken mind." She repeated this - "My broken mind. But I dressed it SO well." By then I was sobbing. Eleven thousand women. But she was only talking to me.
She spoke for the next few hours, and I furiously took notes, though I knew they'd never do her justice. For every time that I laughed out loud - and there were many! - I was drawn into utter silence by some universal, profound truth. She instructed me to write down "I have a ministry," recounting how when someone first suggested this to her, she's thought "a what?" as she had always assumed her ministry was "accessorizing." (Mine was "planning Disney trips," until I reached my forties, when it was joined by "crying at the drop of a hat.”) I went on to record in my notebook that, in Christ, I was competent enough for my ministry, that showing God off was the purpose of my ministry, that I had to learn how to hold on to my heart in my ministry, and that, most importantly, my ministry was in my authenticity.
Beth weaved her way through the Old and New Testaments, showing me not only just how beautifully and perfectly connected they are, but how they related to me personally - my life, my seasons, and my struggles. She spoke of Moses, and how, after his encounter with God, his face shone so that it scared the Israelites and he took to wearing a veil over his face when in their company, removing it only when he spoke with the Lord. She reminded me of the times I veiled my own face, hiding my Christianity on one hand, and my carnality on the other, and how much more effective I'd be in my ministry if I just showed up to it as is, without the veil. She reminded me of the times I cried out to God for help, and when relief came, went about my business. Afflictions, she noted, shouldn't just be diffused but should be used, to the glory of God. In my mind's eye I was recalling the small quiet moments where I sensed His presence, and how those moments seemed to be multiplying. I recounted the number of broken, imperfect souls God chose to use; happy to be in their company and eager to join them in ministry.
Near the end of the lesson, Beth cited 2 Corinthians 3:18: All of us, gazing with unveiled face on the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, as from the Lord who is the Spirit. She suggested that being transformed from glory to glory was living in such a way that the veil separating me and God is removed, one thin layer at a time, until I see Him more and more, and He is revealed not just to me but through me.
On the train home, I re-read my notes, and marveled at how this beautiful funny woman was able to take a phrase written thousands of years ago and make it relevant to me at that very moment in time. And how, by doing that, she was able to turn God from some unseen, mysterious entity to a very real, palpable and powerful force in my life. The more I learn, the more real He becomes. The "veil" gets thinner and thinner.
It's a great effect.
I thought of Waldo yesterday when I attended "A Day With Beth Moore," a conference in Washington, DC, to kick off their "Women of Faith" weekend. Beth is a Bible teacher from Houston who I found "accidentally" on TV a few months ago. I'd spent the morning unsuccessfully fighting anxiety - not in a crowded elevator or boxed in on an airplane, but in the comfort and safety of my own home. In desperation, I flicked on the television and began surfing, hoping to find Joyce Meyer or Joel Osteen and a word from God I could cling to. Instead I found Beth Moore, telling a group of women about her experience "in the pit." They all thought she was talking to them, but she was really talking to me. I managed to climb out of the pit long enough to listen, and when the show was over, I did what any self-respecting, anxiety ridden, desperate housewife would do: I Googled her. The internet led me to Beth's online Bible study, "Believing God," which in turn led me to her second study, "Living Beyond Yourself." I also learned through her website that she would be in DC, and I made plans to attend.
As someone who loves to travel but hates the process, I had serious butterflies as I planned taking the train into Washington, getting a cab to the Verizon center, and attending the conference alone. Although I'd allowed myself 45 minutes to accomplish all of the above, when I finally arrived, I was half sick with excitement as I made my way through the throng. The lower section seats were occupied and I was instructed to take the escalators to the upper seats. Higher up than what was comfortable for me, alone in what appeared to be a sea of women in groups or pairs, I managed to snag an aisle seat, but I was still fighting the sense of suffocation that sometimes accompanies my being in a crowd.
Beth's friend and musician Travis Cottrell came out to greet us, and got everyone on their feet to worship in song. This is when I started to cry. I spent the next few songs mouthing the words and attempting to get a grip. It's very difficult for me to sing hymns; I become overwhelmed by the lyrics and affected by the music and all I can do is blubber. It happens to me in church on a regular basis, and yesterday was no exception; in fact, it was worse. Eleven thousand women were praising God in song. I felt overwhelmed.
By the time Beth reached the stage, I was nonchalantly touching my carotid artery to determine if this was indeed a heart attack, plotting the route to the restroom for when I inevitably threw up, and cursing myself for not staying home. People like me have no business in crowds! People like me should do Bible Studies on the computer!
She began talking rapidly right out of the gate. She apologized for being a woman who had issues with anxiety, wondered aloud why God had chosen a woman so anxiety prone to be a public speaker, and then joked about how she'd try to stand back if she actually got sick. She got down on her knees and prayed before starting the formal lesson. She thanked God for "healing my broken mind." She repeated this - "My broken mind. But I dressed it SO well." By then I was sobbing. Eleven thousand women. But she was only talking to me.
She spoke for the next few hours, and I furiously took notes, though I knew they'd never do her justice. For every time that I laughed out loud - and there were many! - I was drawn into utter silence by some universal, profound truth. She instructed me to write down "I have a ministry," recounting how when someone first suggested this to her, she's thought "a what?" as she had always assumed her ministry was "accessorizing." (Mine was "planning Disney trips," until I reached my forties, when it was joined by "crying at the drop of a hat.”) I went on to record in my notebook that, in Christ, I was competent enough for my ministry, that showing God off was the purpose of my ministry, that I had to learn how to hold on to my heart in my ministry, and that, most importantly, my ministry was in my authenticity.
Beth weaved her way through the Old and New Testaments, showing me not only just how beautifully and perfectly connected they are, but how they related to me personally - my life, my seasons, and my struggles. She spoke of Moses, and how, after his encounter with God, his face shone so that it scared the Israelites and he took to wearing a veil over his face when in their company, removing it only when he spoke with the Lord. She reminded me of the times I veiled my own face, hiding my Christianity on one hand, and my carnality on the other, and how much more effective I'd be in my ministry if I just showed up to it as is, without the veil. She reminded me of the times I cried out to God for help, and when relief came, went about my business. Afflictions, she noted, shouldn't just be diffused but should be used, to the glory of God. In my mind's eye I was recalling the small quiet moments where I sensed His presence, and how those moments seemed to be multiplying. I recounted the number of broken, imperfect souls God chose to use; happy to be in their company and eager to join them in ministry.
Near the end of the lesson, Beth cited 2 Corinthians 3:18: All of us, gazing with unveiled face on the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, as from the Lord who is the Spirit. She suggested that being transformed from glory to glory was living in such a way that the veil separating me and God is removed, one thin layer at a time, until I see Him more and more, and He is revealed not just to me but through me.
On the train home, I re-read my notes, and marveled at how this beautiful funny woman was able to take a phrase written thousands of years ago and make it relevant to me at that very moment in time. And how, by doing that, she was able to turn God from some unseen, mysterious entity to a very real, palpable and powerful force in my life. The more I learn, the more real He becomes. The "veil" gets thinner and thinner.
It's a great effect.
It Matters (7-08)
It Matters
One of the brilliantly written scenes in “The Silence of the Lambs” involves a brief confrontation between FBI agent Clarice Starling and her supervisor, Jack Crawford. In an earlier scene, Crawford, in an attempt to cut a local sheriff away from the herd of other police officers, suggests that the men not talk in front of a woman – the sole woman in question being Clarice. Later, Crawford senses her aggravation and tries to explain that the comment was all for show; that it meant nothing. In a gentle reprimand, Clarice reminds her boss, “It matters…they look at you to see how to act…It matters.”
Many of us who call ourselves Christians sometimes forget that it matters. I’m reminded of a joke Joyce Meyer tells about a woman who, after honking and screaming and offering obscene gestures at the car in front of her, is hauled off to jail. Later, when she is released, the police officer explains, “I saw the Jesus bumper sticker, the Christian fish, and the cross on your rearview mirror…and figured you had stolen the car.”
Perhaps now more than ever, people are looking at us; not necessarily to see how to act, but to see how we act. They’re seeking any excuse to say, “See those Christians, they’re all holy and pious at church, but they act totally rude to the guy at the deli counter!” Or “I love how Suzy says she’s a Christian in one breath, and says that all _______ (gays, abortion doctors, Muslims) deserve to die in the next.”
It matters. Whether we realize it or not, Christianity comes with a responsibility beyond sitting in a pew for an hour one day a week. This responsibility goes beyond doing our best not to sin, and repenting when we do. Beyond being loving and forgiving – to EVERYONE – though that in itself can be a tall order. Rather, it is in our day to day actions and interactions with other people that our faith is personified.
When I attended elementary school, I lived in the neighborhood and thus walked to and from school every day (uphill, both ways, haha). On the occasions when it was bitterly cold or pouring rain or both, my mother would offer to drive me to school on her way to work. Invariably, we would pass my neighbor Chris walking to school – head down, fifth grade sulk-frown mastered. My mother would pull the car over and wait for Chris to get in. Invariably she would chime “Good morning!” at Chris – and invariably, he would say absolutely nothing in reply. I’m sure that at the time I felt embarrassed for my mother. Why did she say that every single time, knowing that he was never, ever going to say good morning or anything else to her? And why did she have to say it so happily? Now, when I reflect on this two second life moment in my childhood, I’m filled with love and admiration for my mother, who was going to repeatedly greet someone properly regardless of how he reacted. I’m reminded of this little scene every time I leave my house. Regardless of my mood, my bad hair day, my aching back…when I step out into the secular world, I am, as we used to say in theater class, “on.” People – my neighbors, my husband, my son, complete strangers, may not be looking at me to see how to act, but they may well be noticing how I act.
Is it really so hard to say good morning? To offer a compassionate smile to the harried woman at the grocery, the disheveled co-worker at the office, the mailman? As He was dying on the cross, it occurred to Christ to forgive those who had put him there. Can we, then, really not be bothered to offer simple courtesy/respect/fellowship/help to those around us, even in the smallest ways – irrespective of whether they “deserve it,” whether they answer back, whether we feel like it? We have more influence than we think. People are desperate for role models, and, in spite of what the media are trying to sell us, they are usually not looking to TV actors, talk show hosts, and rock stars. They’re looking at US. What are we showing them?
It matters.
One of the brilliantly written scenes in “The Silence of the Lambs” involves a brief confrontation between FBI agent Clarice Starling and her supervisor, Jack Crawford. In an earlier scene, Crawford, in an attempt to cut a local sheriff away from the herd of other police officers, suggests that the men not talk in front of a woman – the sole woman in question being Clarice. Later, Crawford senses her aggravation and tries to explain that the comment was all for show; that it meant nothing. In a gentle reprimand, Clarice reminds her boss, “It matters…they look at you to see how to act…It matters.”
Many of us who call ourselves Christians sometimes forget that it matters. I’m reminded of a joke Joyce Meyer tells about a woman who, after honking and screaming and offering obscene gestures at the car in front of her, is hauled off to jail. Later, when she is released, the police officer explains, “I saw the Jesus bumper sticker, the Christian fish, and the cross on your rearview mirror…and figured you had stolen the car.”
Perhaps now more than ever, people are looking at us; not necessarily to see how to act, but to see how we act. They’re seeking any excuse to say, “See those Christians, they’re all holy and pious at church, but they act totally rude to the guy at the deli counter!” Or “I love how Suzy says she’s a Christian in one breath, and says that all _______ (gays, abortion doctors, Muslims) deserve to die in the next.”
It matters. Whether we realize it or not, Christianity comes with a responsibility beyond sitting in a pew for an hour one day a week. This responsibility goes beyond doing our best not to sin, and repenting when we do. Beyond being loving and forgiving – to EVERYONE – though that in itself can be a tall order. Rather, it is in our day to day actions and interactions with other people that our faith is personified.
When I attended elementary school, I lived in the neighborhood and thus walked to and from school every day (uphill, both ways, haha). On the occasions when it was bitterly cold or pouring rain or both, my mother would offer to drive me to school on her way to work. Invariably, we would pass my neighbor Chris walking to school – head down, fifth grade sulk-frown mastered. My mother would pull the car over and wait for Chris to get in. Invariably she would chime “Good morning!” at Chris – and invariably, he would say absolutely nothing in reply. I’m sure that at the time I felt embarrassed for my mother. Why did she say that every single time, knowing that he was never, ever going to say good morning or anything else to her? And why did she have to say it so happily? Now, when I reflect on this two second life moment in my childhood, I’m filled with love and admiration for my mother, who was going to repeatedly greet someone properly regardless of how he reacted. I’m reminded of this little scene every time I leave my house. Regardless of my mood, my bad hair day, my aching back…when I step out into the secular world, I am, as we used to say in theater class, “on.” People – my neighbors, my husband, my son, complete strangers, may not be looking at me to see how to act, but they may well be noticing how I act.
Is it really so hard to say good morning? To offer a compassionate smile to the harried woman at the grocery, the disheveled co-worker at the office, the mailman? As He was dying on the cross, it occurred to Christ to forgive those who had put him there. Can we, then, really not be bothered to offer simple courtesy/respect/fellowship/help to those around us, even in the smallest ways – irrespective of whether they “deserve it,” whether they answer back, whether we feel like it? We have more influence than we think. People are desperate for role models, and, in spite of what the media are trying to sell us, they are usually not looking to TV actors, talk show hosts, and rock stars. They’re looking at US. What are we showing them?
It matters.
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