I find liver spots slightly erotic

I took off the second Sunday of Easter...as many, many pastors do.  And...I didn't worship in a church building (I don't know if many, many pastors 'skip' church on their Sunday off).  I spent the morning running on the bike path - worshipping in my own quiet way, under the cathedral known as the 'outdoors'.

I returned from my run about 11:00am, checked my phone, and saw a text from my music director.  Worship had only started a half hour before, so I immediately read it, just in case there was a problem.  The time stamp on the text placed it being sent about mid-sermon.

The text read: "I find liver spots slightly erotic."

Puzzled, I read it again.  For a very brief moment I considered not immediately responding, but I was so confused.

My text back to my Music Director was, "?Wow...um?  Explain, but not now.  It's the middle of the sermon and I am NOT there...can I get an alleluia?!"

Let me say, my Music Director is very 'proper'.  I did not expect him to text me back, especially in the middle of worship!  But he does...text me back in the middle of the sermon.

His text back says, "Direct quote from sermon opening.  I laughed a little too hard again."

I stopped texting him...he was supposed to be worshipping after all.  But...really?  "I find liver spots slightly erotic...".  As I told someone later, I can never top an opening like that...

I've laughed a lot about it.  But here's what I've been thinking about [when I can stop giggling] - I was actually OK with someone texting during worship.

Yes.  You read that right.  A pastor.  Ok with.  Someone.  Texting.  During.  GASP!   Worship.

Now, I would not be ok with someone texting their McDonald's order, or what they did last night, or how cute the boy in the pew in front of them happens to be, but I am ok with people communicating parts of worship with others.

I mean, what if sermons were so engaging and enticing that we couldn't help but share them with others?  What if our liturgy moved us so much that we wanted to text, "Kyrie Eleison"?  What if our music caused our hearts to sing with such desperation and sweetness that we texted, "Be thou my vision," to our friend who doesn't know what to make of this guy named Jesus?

The fact of the matter is we're gonna tweet and text; we're gonna Facebook and blog, so it may as well be about Jesus.  It would be an interesting experiment in sharing the good news if we said to our congregations, "Hey, everyone, keep your phones out today.  Put them on vibrate.  Text or tweet parts of this worship service and see what type of response you get back."

And then...don't leave it at that.  Then - let's talk about them.  Talk about what we learn and what we share.  Talk about what moves us and what leaves us feeling cold.

So, back to the liver spots.

I wasn't there, but believe me, I've heard from many people about the sermon - ALL good things.  My supply pastor is retired, so he made a joke about the only people that end up preaching the Sunday after Easter are new seminarians and retired pastors who 'find liver spots slightly erotic'.

But....I've thought about that statement from knowing what the text was and not hearing the sermon.  The story for the day, by the way, was 'Thomas".  So, I was thinking about how we all feel compelled to reach out and touch that which is like us, yet foreign to us.

Jesus is that way.  Jesus - fully human - like us.  Jesus - fully divine - unlike us.

Liver spots.
Texts.
Worship.
What a bunch of unlikely things to be matched in the proclamation of the risen Christ.  God's sorta that way, don't you think?  Catching us off guard, so we can do nothing but say, "Wow.  What?  How?"

God is Good

About a week before Lent began I sat in my therapist's office* and said, "I think I am having a spiritual crisis.  God feels so far away."

I proceeded to tell her that the problem was, "Nothing is wrong.  Everything is just...ok.  It's just my faith life..."

We have an interesting relationship when it comes to spirituality.  She responded, "You know this isn't my area of expertise - it's yours.  But maybe the fact that you can even talk about there being a crisis and having hope that it will get better is a manner of 'faith' itself."

She's Jewish....but what a Lutheran response.  Faith is a gift.

The reason I tell you all this is because a week ago, I sat in her office again and wept.  Downright wept over the beauty of worship and over the closeness of God.

I wept for myself and my church.  I wept for the pain and beauty of faith.  I wept for the ways I let Jesus down and perseverance.  I wept for darkness and light.

By now you  may be wondering what happened?

We built carpets.

Let me explain.  

In Guatemala there's a tradition of crafting carpets ['alfombra' is the spanish word used to describe these] from the villages to the main city of Antigua during Lent.  Residents of the villages, families, churches all gather together and lay carpets down on the streets.  The carpets are made specifically to be walked on by processional parades carrying Jesus, Mary, and the cross.  

Now before you get the image in your mind of  them 'rolling out the red carpet,' let me explain that they make these carpets out colored sawdust, and flowers, and vegetables.  Every piece of the carpet is made from some type of organic product.

We gathered flowers which were donate to us by Trader Joe's, someone dyed 40 lbs of sawdust, and we made stencils and frames, and we got down on our knees a made a path for Christ to walk.
Images and designs covered our sanctuary floor.
The beauty of the whole things was overwhelming to me.

I felt as if Jesus would've been honored to walk on the carpets.
I felt as if my hands had been in the exact place where Jesus' feet were to walk.
And I hadn't felt that close to God in a very long time.

And so I wept.
In some ways I didn't want worship to end on Palm Sunday.  I wanted to stay in that place for a very long time.

Now, here's the thing....I started off by saying I felt so far away from God, yet everything was ok.  It was.  There was nothing wrong.  And that was the problem.

I've had these brushes with the Divine before - these moments where I felt so intimately connected with God that nothing could shake my faith.  But, many - maybe all - of my powerful encounters had been during tragic and painful times in my life.

In some ways, I clung so tightly to the idea that God is near to the broken-hearted that I had begun to only see God in pain.

Palm Sunday was just so 'good'.  That's what I kept saying over and over to anyone that would listen - "It was so good."  It was so good to know God in life.

It is distinctly possible, at the age of 38, that this Lent I may have had my first truly deep spiritual encounter with God through something that did not involve pain.  I think that's why I wept.  I think it's why when I start talking about it now, Easter came for me a week early this year.

God is good....not just good, but of goodness.  I think I had forgotten that part someplace along the way. Maybe we sometimes cling to heartache to feel closer to God...or maybe I'm the only who's ever done this, although I doubt it.

God was raised, for me, not from the grave, but from life.  And as theologically heretical as it sounds...I think that it's as true as being raised from the dead.

And I am reminded as I write this that the promise of God is, "It is very good."





*Yes, I see a therapist almost every week.  And I hardly ever talk about it, but I do here today, because for anyone who's ever been ashamed or afraid to find someone to talk to, I want you to know that it's the best thing I ever did for myself and it has been part of the way that Jesus has resurrected me.

If Heaven wasn't so far away

For five Sundays in Lent my congregation and I explored Heaven and Hell... and most of what I focused on was the fact that Heaven is often much closer than we realize.

Our topics focused on these truths:
~Being 'good enough' is not what Heaven is about...because none of us can ever possibly be good enough.
~Heaven and Hell are often found in shared experiences.
~God's judgment is merciful, despite the fact it is hard for us to be merciful.
~Jesus takes up residence in us, which makes us all little rooms of heaven here on earth.
~God's home is made among humans - not separate from humans..not in some far off place.

About three weeks into this series I heard a song on the radio called, "If Heaven Wasn't So Far Away," by Justin Moore.

"You've got to be kidding me, " I said to Carter (my 13 1/2 year old son).
"What?" he asks.
"This song...I've just spent weeks telling people this isn't true.  He's got a way better fan base than I do, " I respond.
"Yeah, too bad," he says...with very little sympathy for me.
"I'm going to write a letter to him and tell him this is just not helpful and it isn't even what Heaven is all about," I say back to him with a lot of 'grrr...' in my voice.
"I'm sure that will work, Mom.  He's making money; you're a pastor," he says with a fair amount of sarcasm.
"Well, I still may do it just because..., " I say.

At this point he sort-of looks at me like I've lost my mind, although he's 13, he always looks at me like I've lost my mind or he's embarrassed I'm still breathing.

So, I wrote a letter, but I can't quite figure out how to contact him via his website, so...this will probably do the trick.  Below is my letter - not because I think it will change anything, but because words do matter.  What we say influences how we think and I believe that in the discussion of our faith rests something very, very divine and lovely and for that, I am willing to write letters, talk to strangers, and go places I never dreamed I'd go.

I couldn't have rested or felt as if I was being faithful had I not written this letter.  And - I should also say - I love country music and I think the song has a lovely tune, I just think it is theologically insufficient.  Give it a listen and give my letter a read and hold them in tension...they are both dim truths and incomplete pictures.


"Dear Justin,
I am writing regarding your latest single "If Heaven Wasn't So Far Away".  It pulls at my heartstrings and I think the harmonies are enticing, however I felt compelled to write to you regarding the lyrics.

I am a Lutheran pastor who has just completed a sermon series on Heaven and Hell.  This sermon series was implemented because so many feel as if heaven is some far off place, which cannot be experienced today.  Additionally, many of us believe Heaven is just a place to get to someday in the future.  This, from a Biblical perspective, is not true.  Heaven, as Jesus teaches, is about all that is good and lovely and right coming to live here on earth.

So, for example, in your song, you sing about taking kids to see their grandpa if only heaven weren't so far away.  The idea behind this seems to be that the only way the kids could 'know' grandpa is to physically be present with him.  This, in my opinion, is not true.  Children and adults know many things through love and story, pictures and memory.

It is true that the song recalls memory and all those good times, but the recurring refrain of, "If heaven wasn't so far away," diminishes the power of lingering memory and that love continues in the here and now, even after death.

While I know this isn't possible, if I were to re-title your song, I would call it something like, "Heaven isn't so far away" or "Heaven lives in a Fruit Stand."  Because Heaven is always as near as our heartbeat.

A man named Jesus hung on a cross with two criminals and at one point one says to Jesus, "Forgive them [those who are crucifying Jesus] for they know not what they do."  And Jesus says, "You'll be with me in paradise.

Heaven is the 'with me' part...not the dead part.  That's what I so much want people to hear.  Heaven is not far away, because Jesus is not far away.

As I close, I want to also thank you for singing and writing about good, close, loving relationships.  That is important in a world where we often hear about fractured relationships.

Sincerely,
Christine Stephan

Eating Chocolate for Lent

I once had a professor who, as he was talking about spiritual disciplines, shared a 'discipline' of his wife.  His wife often wore dangly earrings...and all during Lent she gave up wearing earrings.

I remember thinking, "This is the most ridiculous' sacrifice I have ever heard of.  I mean, there's hardly anything hard about giving up wearing earrings".  My pious theology got in my way.

But he went on to say that since she wore these swingy, chandelier - type earrings, she played with them.  When she was bored she would touch her ear, when she was nervous she would touch her ear..probably every time she tucked her hair behind her ear, she felt those earrings.

So, for her, not wearing them during Lent was an amazingly conscious experience.

He then said, that every time she would go to touch her ear and found that her earring wasn't there, she would remember...

to pray
to focus
to sacrifice
to serve.

She remembered God.

As Lent began, I told my Office Administrator this story.  And then forgot I had told it to her.

On Ash Wednesday I said, "I'm not giving up anything for Lent...it never works for me."  Of course - all about me, huh?  But then I said half-jokingly, "Maybe I'll give up chocolate."

She looked at me with wide-eyes and said, "Oh no, you can't give up chocolate.  I have an idea."

Now, let me tell you that she has a coffee mug that sits on her desk which is regularly filled with dark chocolate Hershey kisses.  I probably eat 5 of them a day... and give her a hard time about feeding my sweet-tooth.

On Ash Wednesday we were all out of chocolate...I know, because in the morning I went to grab a kiss and there were none.

But, later in the day, I went back into her office and the mug was full of chocolate kisses.  But on the kisses was taped a little prayer:
"Pray for Carter and his confirmation class."
"Pray for Lucille."
"Pray for the children who receive blankets from Blanket Buddies."
"Pray for Epiphany."

There were numerous little intercessory prayers.  I picked up a kiss, unwrapped it and let it melt in my mouth as I read the prayer.

Having the chocolate melt in my mouth while reading the prayer and thinking about what those words said, slowed me down...connected me with God...helped me remember others.

So, I'm eating chocolate for Lent.
And, truth be told, I am eating less chocolate, because it takes much longer to read and pray and think as you eat a piece of chocolate.

It's true that it is really hard for us to 'give up' something for Lent and that we are called to a life of sacrifice as we follow Jesus.  However, our salvation is not based upon our ability to sacrifice, whether it be chocolate or our very lives.  It's only grounded in God's grace, which sometimes happens to rest on us slowly and sweetly...like a kiss from Heaven.

I am....

I have a tank top that has ingeniously sewn into the hem: "I am a runner because I run" and every once in awhile when I contemplate slipping into a life of less physical dedication, I realize that would mean not identifying myself as a 'runner'.  I'm the kind of person who's not going to wear that tank top (and it's such a great color) if it's not true.  I know it's silly...

But that tank top hem holds a lot of truth.  I am only a runner...because I run.  And, it's part of who I am.  To not run, would be to let go of part of my identity.

I am not a swimmer.  I never have been and I do not long to be.  I know swimmers.  I admire them, but that discipline doesn't 'click' with me.

However, I have  been thinking about this identity piece and how it is tied to things.  I think it's also possible to tie our identity to unhealthy things.  Running is probably not an unhealthy identity marker, at least not for me.  But you know what?  I also hold as part of my 'identity' that fact that I drink copious amounts of Diet Mountain Dew.

Really.  Ask anyone who knows me well...and to not see me with a soda can would be....well, strange.  Sometimes I think about trying to give up my soda habit, but when I really get down to seriously thinking about removing it entirely from my life, I have to face the truth that it would mean a change in my self-understanding.  And, if I'm nothing else, I'm certainly the 'Mountain Dew girl'.  Heck, that would mean other people would view me differently too.

In essence, giving up my soda addiction means that part of me has to die.  I'm not so sure I can do that.

So, I've been thinking about these identity markers: running and soda (yes, I know those hardly make sense in the same sentence)...about how they are these outside agents which define parts of my life.  They only are markers because I participate in them.  Right?

I am a runner because I run.
I am a soda-aholic because I drink too much soda.
I am a mom because I play and care for and love my three children.
I am vegetarian because I don't eat meat products.

Good and bad identity markers.  In which I do something so that I am something.
But here's the clincher.

I am a Christian.  Why?
Because I did something?  No.

At least this is what my theology tells me.  Being able to be a Christian has very little to do with anything I've done.  It has everything to do with what Jesus has done and is doing.

And - I believe that.

And - it's not enough.

Because our identities as children of God should do something....shouldn't they.

I'm thinking about Jesus.  His identity wasn't as a Jew, obviously wrapped up in being a Christian, but in being the Son of God.  And essentially Jesus spent his life doing Heaven.

In some ways (and hopefully t his doesn't sound heretical) his identity was more Heaven come to Earth than Sonship.  It may just be semantics though.

I'm wondering what it might be like to claim part of my identity as Heaven.  Since so much of me is probably more Hellish...something would again have to die.  And, as I said...I'm not sure I can do that.

I'm better at killing Jesus than letting Jesus take over my life.
I'm sorry, but I am.

And...I'm a Christian.  I want to have the where-with-all or gumption or whatever word you might choose to be better at being a Christian....but truth be told, for some reason I have no qualms about wearing a cross necklace and simultaneously 'fail' at being a Christian.

Here's the thing...I actually think I can do that because I know there's nothing I've done to deserve this part of my identity.  It's the whole conferred upon me piece - the whole act of God in the cleansing waters of Baptism, marked my the Holy Spirit for eternity piece.

I get to claim that as part of who I am regardless of how 'good' I am at doing it.

I recently read someplace that the 'entrance exam for Christianity is admitting you're a failure'.  I've got that down.

But it's not just that...right?  It's admitting it AND allowing God to do something with that.

I am a mom.
I am a runner
I am a soda-alholic.
I am a sinner.
I am a saint.
I am a failure.
I am a success.
I am a child of God.

Getting Inked

After a few requests for the 'written version' - proclaimed at Epiphany Lutheran Church in Burtonsville, MD on February 27, 2011 - the 8th Sunday after the Epiphany.

Some of you may remember when I first came here, I was asked to answer one of those  get-to-know-you questionnaires...you know, answer questions like:

Favorite word: onomatopoeia 

Favorite sound: windchimes my parent’s gave me

What do you do when you are bored: run or read

And then, one of them was, “How many tattoos do you have?”  Uh, 3.  Really.

I remember Sara Hart saying to me, “You know, you don’t have to answer that question if you don’t want to.”  I have no idea what she was thinking, but it may have been something like, “Oh boy.  What have we gotten ourselves into?” 

I mean, not one or two tattoos, but three?  Yes, 3.  I’m going to tell you a bit about them.

I have a poison dart frog tattoo.  I got it in college...to express this idea that no matter our size, we are all beautiful and strong creations.  Given the fact that I’m 5’1” - I was making a statement about myself.

I have a cross on my back with the words “Light of the world” under it in Greek... I am literally ‘marked’ with the cross of Christ.

And finally, circling my ankle, I have the word “Ruah” in Hebrew, which means spirit, wind, or breath.  We all have different ways of making sense of God, and for me understanding God as spirit, as movement, as force is so very compelling.  I like that it’s on my ankle; I sort-of think of it as God’s spirit guiding my feet and walking my paths with me.

Sometimes I hear people say, “If you’re going to get a tattoo, you better be sure you want it for the rest of your life.”  

True enough.  You are ‘marked’...visibly and permanently.  But, what I always tell people when they ask me if I’ve ever regretted getting tattooed is, “No, because I know why I got them.”  In my opinion, a ‘genuine’ tattoo tells a story, if it doesn’t, then it’s just decoration.  

Often when you ask someone about their tattoo, they’ll invite you into a moment of their life....some sort-of pain or passion or love that you just wouldn’t have known about if the tattoo hadn’t been there to ‘say’ it. 

Like my dart frog...it says that...I’m tiny and at times I hated that about myself and I’ve struggled to know that I am strong and ok just the way I am... but with a lot of help and God, I finally figured it out and it’s made all the difference in my life. 

Now, I am not up here advocating that we should move worship today over to “Inkers” or “Great Southern Tattoos”, but..

As I read the words from God to us, “See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands...” I can’t help but ponder this tattoo imagery.  That we are God’s living tattoos - inscribed upon the hands of God. 

Today for the most part, if we’re going to get a tattoo, we choose to do so.  God chose too...but back then...back when Isaiah was a prophet, the only people who were tattooed were servants and slaves.  Not teachers, not students, not home owners or renters, not pastors or lawyers, not engineers or retirees.  

Just slaves and servants. 

So, it’s stunningly amazing that God, GOD - turns the tables and says, “I’m going to become your servant!  I belong to you and to prove it, your name is tattooed onto my hands.  I cannot go anywhere without remembering you.”  

Since I’ve had a few tattoos carved onto my body, I can’t help but wonder: 

“Was it, is it painful for God...inscribing us into his very self?”  

Because I bet it was, I bet it is...

It’s the nature of making yourself that vulnerable.  Jesus has got nail holes and sword holes and thorn pricks and whip marks all over him because he is absolutely determined to let all of us know that he has our names written into his very flesh.

And that grieves my heart a bit to know that in our being made whole God had to give up so much. 

I also wonder, “Did God know...know how very permanent it would be?” 

  I’m sure.  And I’m confident that God would have it no other way.  Because it seems to me that every time a child is born, and another named is etched on God’s hands, God doesn’t remember the pain.  God sees the creation and wouldn’t change that for anything...just so that child’s name, just so your name, can be on God’s hands.

 And I also wonder, “Does God like his tattoo?”

I know God loves his tattoos, because they are an expression of God’s very self.  We are an extension of God....

God knows why he got tattooed:

We are an expression of who God is and what God is about. 

We cannot be wiped away or forgotten.

We matter a lot to this God who loves us

Even when we think we are forgotten, even when we cry as Zion does, “The Lord has forgotten me!”  The LORD hasn’t.

That’s the promise God makes.  “Never.  Ever....will I forget...you.”

It’s we who forget.  As I was thinking about this, how sometimes we forget, or question who we are, or what we are about, I remembered that in Jeremiah and Isaiah and Deuteronomy and Exodus and Hebrews...throughout the Bible, God also promises to tattoo us.  Really.  

God says, “I will write it on their hearts, and I will be their God and they will be my people.”

So....whether you like it or not, you’ve got a tattoo... right on your heart.  

While it may sometimes be really, really hard to believe, we never are really alone.  Not in life’s prisons or dungeons or any of the ways we exile ourselves.  

“See, I have engraved you on my palms.”

He remembers us.  Thanks be to God.

From there...to here

Ugh.  It's 5am - time to get up.  The truth is, I've been awake since about 4:40 - my body automatically wakes me up.  Since that ungodly hour I've been having a little internal debate with myself.  It goes something like this:

"I really want to sleep.  Yes, but you have to get up in an hour and a half anyway."

"One more hour would feel so nice.  Yes, but you're already awake."

"Maybe later...  Who are you kidding?  You aren't going to do it later."

"I'll make up the miles later on in the week.  Really?  Your week's going to get easier?"

"I really want to sleep - still.  You'll be mad at yourself if you don't get up."

BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!

Fine.  Up.  Throw a t-shirt on.  Smooth my socks on, straightening the tongue of my shoes.  Strap my ipod on my arm...down I go.

Why?  Why am I getting up to run 12 miles at 5 o'clock in the morning?  It's ridiculous. 

For the first 2 miles all I can think about is going back to sleep, but as I make my way through the first 15 minutes, I begin to realize that I'm relaxed.

My thoughts are clear.

The sunrise is lovely.

Music is loud.

I am strong...

and happy...

and sad...

and excited...

and scared...

and....

The list could go on.  These early hours are when I most connect with myself, which means it's when I most connect with God.  

I used to get up early to stay competitive; to maintain my 'girlish' figure; to eat chocolate.  None of that is true anymore...at least not now, not as the mother of three boys who is not nearly as competitive or young as I once was (although I still eat the chocolate - dark Dove chocolate, if available).

Last week, while doing some reading, I came across a piece in Deuteronomy (30: 4), which said, "Even if you are exiled to the ends of the world, from there the LORD your God will gather you, and from there he will bring you back."

That's what I need - every morning.  I need God to bring me back from all the places I exile myself.  Mostly, and I would say this is true for just about everyone, I exile myself from myself.  

Somehow, I decide that there's something wrong with me.  I know this isn't true - intellectually.  Just like you know it isn't true - intellectually.  But - I get beat down....exiled sometimes.

And in the wee morning hours, with cotton candy pink clouds peaking over the trees, and sweat dripping down my back...God gathers me and brings me home - to myself and Godself.

Guess, I'll keep getting up at 5am....now if I could just go back to sleep after the run.  Guess not though, because by mile 3, I'm in God's hands.

So, how about you?  What gets you up early (or keeps you up late), just because it's your place to be with our God?