More life
Holy Saturday has always been a strange day for me. I do what I can to live in the shadow of Good Friday's cross without flipping the page to Easter a day early. I realize how impossible it is to adequately describe how I try to live on this liminal day.

I sat in the sanctuary last night with my five year old sleeping in my arms and my seven year old sandwiched between his mother and me. Nearly all the candles had been extinguished as the story marched closer and closer toward death. I looked down to meet the eyes of my seven year old who whispered, "but he doesn't stay dead, right? He comes back alive...doesn't he..."

It wasn't that he hadn't heard the Easter story. I would guess that he could tell one or some combination of the four accounts about how God raised Jesus Christ from the dead. I don't know for sure, but I think he was struggling with his own ability to live with the pain of the cross without speeding past it on his way to the empty tomb. "...on Easter...he comes back?" Though I knew I couldn't explain it right then, and I'm not even sure I could with more time, I said, "not yet, not yet."

He furrowed his brow, nodded and turned back toward the darkening story tellers.

Life and death. Death and life. We are dying while we live, yet we can choose to live while we die. We can try to explain it. We can deny one and cling to the other. But I find this life is one paradox after another. After these 40 days, have you found a satisfactory way to explain the nature of a paradox in your life? Do you think a paradox will go away if you can just erase one side of it?

Life and it's paradoxical companion, death, may be complicated and even painful at times, but together they do indeed offer far 'more than any illusion.'

As we prepare to step out of this Lenten wilderness, I'm grateful: for my journey, for Parker's words, for the mysterious nature of paradox and especially for your company.

If this has been a meaningful journey for you, I'd love to hear from you. I'm not planning another daily blog any time soon, but I don't think I can stop cold turkey. If you'd like to keep up with the next blog, you can check back here or send me an email and I'll be sure to let you know the address of the next one. Hopefully, that one will be a little more user friendly and easier to leave comments.

May this poem by Jane Kenyon be a gift to you on this Holy Saturday.

Otherwise

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

Day 39

Acceptable levels of death

I never read that the 40-Day Journey was designed as a Lenten devotion. So, I don't know if the editor was aware or perhaps even intended today's reading to occur on Good Friday. If not, the tragic irony of it is not lost on me.

I've spent the last three days, with a dear friend and pastor from Chicago. During the years I worked as an administrator in the seminary there, Martin was our pastor at Irving Park United Methodist Church. Though it was a small struggling church in one of the many urban neighborhoods, we went to Irving Park because the church housed the Reconciling Ministries Network and Pastor Martin lived and preached a life of personal holiness and social justice.

Among stories Martin shared with us this week about his days with Dr. King and his work in the civil rights movement in Chicago, two are keeping me company this Good Friday. The first was something he'd been told by those closest to Dr. King.

On the night before his death, Dr. King was with his 'senior staff' struggling with what his next steps should be for the movement. They'd all been on a long flight, they'd been working hard, things were incredibly stressful. As Dr. King considered the options, including a fast for justice, he found most of them had fallen asleep.

Our friend told us this story after last night's Maundy Thursday service, where we commemorated Jesus' time of prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. "What's must I do next?" Dr. King seemed to wonder the night before he was killed. His friends overwhelmed with the weight of it all and were overcome by sleep. Is this the way with those who are willing to absorb the violence of the world without retaliating?

The second story was one our friend lived with Dr. King. They'd been protesting by singing and marching for housing justice at a park in an all-white neighborhood. They were soon surrounded by crowds of angry homeowners who shouted at them, "calling us all kinds of horrible things."

My children listened earnestly as he said, "then they began throwing rocks and bricks. The police who were not usually on our side surrounded us, making a big circle around us to protect us. They tried to move us out of danger as quickly as they could. Dr. King was hit in the head by a piece of a brick," he said forming a circle with his finger and thumb to show that it was not as large as they might have thought. "He wasn't hurt very badly."

"I got hit in the leg by a piece of concrete. It didn't hurt me too much, but it surprised me when it stung my leg. I picked it up. I kept it for a long time, but eventually got rid of it."

For my children's benefit, I asked him why they didn't fight back. "Why didn't you shout back and throw the rocks back at them?"

Pastor Martin took great care in explaining how they believed like Jesus that the only way to get rid of violence is to take it into your body, to pray for those who are hating you even while they are hurting you. "It wasn't easy, but that's what we believed. And that's what we did. We kept singing and praying for those people even while the police led us out of the park."

Whether the dehumanizing effects of racism, environmental destruction or physical violence inflicted on any individual, what is an "acceptable level of death?" I don't know if we can know that until we are faced with how much of the world's violence we are willing to absorb without retaliating.

On this Good Friday, as we bear witness to the redemptive suffering of Jesus Christ, may God give us the courage and faith to absorb our own share of the world's violence, as we strive to give only love in return.

Day 38

I can see clearly now

I agree with Parker that when it comes to death, "we may become driven by fear, obsessed with protecting and preserving what we have, which is a sure way of losing it." I realize it may sound like he's suggesting that living with the hope of life on the horizon is a way of ignoring or denying the reality of death. However, having read more of Parker's writings, I think he would suggest that we should live fully aware that death lies between us and the horizon that holds the hope of life. As we look toward that horizon of life, we should not deny seeing death, neither should we focus our eyes on it as if it were the horizon.

I believe it is equally dangerous to try to see the horizon without seeing death, as if we could hold up our hand to block death from our sight. Instead, I believe living with death clearly in sight can free us from the illusion that we have all the time in the world: to do something meaningful, to do what we're supposed to do or to do something besides entertain ourselves.

There are many stories in many faith traditions about holy men and women who spoke in loving and familiar terms about death. I recall one such story that I think was about St. Francis who lived with the awareness that 'Sister Death' was always walking at his left side.

Though some think it morbid or depressing to keep death daily in our sights, when I am able to do so, I find I am more aware and grateful for this moment, the people and creatures around me and the very gift of life.

To be sure, we will all come face to face with death, why not befriend it now, that you may not live in fear of it. Death is not the worst thing that can happen to us; far worse, is to let our fear of death keep us from living a full life today. It is one of the saddest tragedies to hear someone at the end of life declare their regrets about not having lived the life they wanted to live.

May death be fully in view today, as you look toward God's horizon of eternal life, and may it free you to live the abundant life God desires for you.

Day 37

A pastor walks into a restaurant carrying a penguine...

Most of my earliest childhood memories involve being with others. In the fond memories, I can picture people laughing and smiling. Growing up with television as one of my constant companions (not something I condone in my own children,) I watched with interest as my parents and others would laugh and get such delight from Lily Tomlin, Rich Little, the Smothers' Brothers, and others. Though most of the humor soared over my head, I would get caught up in the contagious nature of laughter.

It was probably sometime during those early primary grades that I began 'entertaining' those around me. I copied Rich Little's impersonations, which resulted in my impersonation of an impersonation of John Wayne, James Cagney, Kathrine Hepburn or Richard Nixon. Like most copies of a copy, the result was probably a 'grainy and blurred' version of the original, but it seemed to have the desired effect: people laughed.

I have one clear memory 'holding court' while surrounded by my older cousins. Standing on a coffee table (again, I don't condone this,) I danced and sang along with the UK band, The Sweet, as the 45 of "Little Willy, Willy won't go home." Again, I'm sure I didn't understand the lyrics at the time, but I still remember the line 'dancing, glancing Willy drives them silly with his star shoe shimmy shuffle.'

For me the gift is not so much the 'entertainer' in me, as it is the love of people's laughter. Nowadays, I may be just as likely to laugh along with others, but I often find myself paying attention to the uniqueness of somebody's laughter: the sound and tone of it, the occasional abandon seen on their faces, the willingness to lose control to the point of sore facial muscles...

As I wrote yesterday, it's my hope and belief that laughter must be one of God's favorite sounds. Then again, it could just be one of mine.

May you know your gifts and may you master them in a way that delights God and others.

Day 36

Well...I think I'm good at...hmmm...well...

Naming our 'native gifts' out loud is risky as well. Doing so, we risk being humiliated by those who would openly disagree with us; others who might disagree less openly, but privately ridicule us to others; and still others who might dismiss us for as arrogant or at least lacking appropriate humility. Here again, the gift of solitude lets us see our gifts despite all voices to the contrary.

Even as I name those voices, I struggle to ignore them: "Should I take the risk to name my gifts?" "Are those really my gifts or am I just kidding myself?" "It really does sound self-promoting to say that, doesn't it?"

Perhaps even this is one of my gifts: naming my fears publicly, then stepping out into them anyway.

Those niggling voices whisper that humor is just one of the many tools I've developed to cope with life - a result of pathology rather than a gift. Shushing them with a glare, I still claim it as a gift, hoping it's true that laughter and silence are two of God's favorite sounds.

What gifts has God given you? Go ahead. Ignore those voices. Say it out loud.

Day 35 (on the actual day, if you're keeping track)

Ready...Fire...Aim

In seminary, one of my supervised ministry placements (i.e. internship) was at a boys and girls club located in one of Atlanta's public housing complexes. Based on an action/reflection model of learning, students worked ten hours a week in a ministry setting and then shared their self-reflections each week with a group of peers, which was led by a faculty member and a site supervisor.

After several weeks working with some very funny and energetic youth, I wrote a reflection paper in which I shared feelings of confusion and guilt. I was concerned about the feelings I had when I worked with these young people. I had been born into a family, race and class that gave me a privileged status that I had done little to nothing to earn. Driving in to the housing project, I wondered if I was doing this to make myself feel better or if deep down I thought of myself as some Lone Ranger coming to 'help' or 'save' these poor kids. It probably didn't help that the new/used car my parents had picked out and bought for me happened to be white.

Sharing my reflections with my group, I labored over my feelings and speculated about my motives. When I finished, my professor,who happened to be African American looked at me and said, "I don't care why you're doing it or what your motives are. I don't care why you go there, and I'm guessing those kids don't either. What matters right now is that you're going. If you wait around to have pure motives and all the right feelings, you might never do a thing. Just keep going; keep being there with those kids; and keep feeling whatever it is you happen to feel. Maybe the right motives will show up and maybe they won't, but I believe God will use you to make a difference in those kids' lives, and God will use them to make a difference in yours."

Thank God for that professor, and thank God for those kids. I believe God used both to teach me about Christian discipleship.

Have you ever started something for the wrong reasons that God may have used for good?

Day 34 (a day or two late)

Heart Ownership

What do pastors and flight attendants have in common? More than I would have guessed. Both walk down aisles of the people they serve; on occasion both are called up to help people with their 'baggage; both are expected to remain calm and helpful during emergencies; and both stand at the exit and say "goodbye" as people leave. However, none of these were the focus of an article that started me thinking about the similarities.

The article by Barbara Brown Taylor considered how both pastors and flight attendants both work in 'jobs' involving more 'emotional labor' than either physical or mental work, though not completely devoid of them.

Summarizing a book called The Managed Heart by Arlie Russell Hochschild, Taylor explained that:

Hochschild described "emotional labor," as work that requires the production of certain feelings in the worker, whose job entails the production of feelings in others. Focusing on flight attendants and bill collectors, among others, Hochschild interviewed scores of people whose livelihoods depend on the careful management of their feelings. Her particular interest is what happens to people's hearts when they agree to do emotional labor for pay...

The one instruction [flight attendants] receive over and over again is to smile--and beyond that, to smile as if they mean it. Customers can detect strained or forced smiles, their trainers tell them, and this may diminish their enjoyment of the flight...

This emotional labor must not show, however. If the flight attendant feels tired or irritable, this must be disguised. If a passenger turns hostile, the flight attendant is taught to reconceive that person as a fearful flyer or as a little child--anything that will help the attendant overlook the rude behavior and relate sympathetically to the passenger...

Hochschild found that most flight attendants cope by learning a form of "deep acting" that helps them produce the desired feelings in themselves. They learn other strategies for repressing negative feelings so that they do not erupt on the job. After a while, many say they have a hard time recovering their true feelings once their shifts are over. They begin to lose track of when they are acting and when they are not. Eventually they become aware that the hidden cost of managing their emotions for pay is the impoverishment of their emotional lives. They have sold their hearts, and do not know how to buy them back.

Flight attendants are not the only people who do this, of course. Hochschild estimates that one-third of American workers have jobs that demand some form of emotional labor. From the sales associate who is trained to make a good first impression to the physician who is coached on bedside manner, many of us learn how to manage our hearts in the workplace...

Taylor was struck by how similar this 'managing of the heart' is to what's expected of clergy. Few people would ever say they'd rather have their pastor hide their real feelings, but as she pointed out, people don't want an "edgy pastor anymore than they want a surly waiter."

While we may all be asked, expected or even willing to 'manage our hearts,' we should remember that they are indeed ours to manage or not. If we 'overmanage' them, if we teach them to lie so much that we do not recognize their truth, if we let them 'be dictated by other people or an impersonal culture,' then it will take a great deal of solitude to recognize and reclaim them.

In addition to the solitude that Parker suggests in today's reading, Barbara Brown Taylor offers this wisdom to her clergy colleagues (though I think it's appropriate for everyone):

One way to safeguard them, I believe, is to separate the gift of our feelings from our salaries. As a good friend once reminded me, people can pay us to proofread the bulletin, watch the budget, attend committee meetings and deal with denominational bureaucracy, but they cannot pay us to love them.

That, it turns out is something we can choose to do or not. Smiling or not, that's just not something most of us can manage to fake for long, regardless of our job description.

Whether you choose to share your answers on the blog or not, I wonder:
In what currencies do others use to pay you to 'manage your heart?'
In what ways, do you let others 'own your heart?'

Day 33

"You may already be a winner!"
Marketing and magicians have at least one thing in common. They are successful only if they create an illusion that the majority of people can believe.

We are bombarded with new illusions everyday: "buy this and be successful, happy, attractive, secure, healthy..." "There's never been a better time to buy!" "...will save you hours in the kitchen." "If elected, I'll save the planet from certain doom!" (Ok, I made that last one up.)

Dis-illusioned long ago, few of us are willing to fall for outrageous claims, come-ons and 'it's too good to be true.' Still, we are often easy targets for those who can appeal to our baser instincts of fear and greed.

I'm not sure what all those folks would do if our nation's citizenry all became dis-illusioned at the same time. Then again, maybe that's part of what's been happening these past few months. After being sold a truckload of illusions, more and more people seem to be saying, "I'm just not buying it." I'm just hoping it doesn't become the next 'reality' TV show.

May God give us the strength to bear the shattering of our illusions and the courage to live reality instead of watching it.

Day 32

The gift of disillusionment
The most comical illusion I have, the one that can actually make me laugh out loud says, "if you're going to waste your time shattering illusions during times of contemplation, then I'm going to have nothing to do with you!"

Unrelenting, for me is the illusion that says, "Go ahead, you deserve it (it = my latest 'craving'.) Compare yourself to others. They still have more than you." Of course, the key is to always compare 'up,' never 'down.'

One of the most common illusion I've seen at work in churches is "if we don't do _______________ (fill in the blank), we'll shrink and die." The illusion is that we could know what will happen and that it will always end in the worst case scenario. Then there's the notion that keeping the institution alive is the same as being the body of Christ in the world.

If you're willing to share:
What illusions are your greatest struggles?

What illusions (destructive or not) seem to have the most support and power in the church?

By the grace of God, may we all become dis-illusioned and empowered to confront reality face-to-face.

Day 31

For years, I thought the only creative part of my 'paid work' involved writing and preaching sermons. I put so much energy into my efforts to imagine, craft, edit, prepare and deliver the sermon. Thinking that the amount and quality of my work up to, and on Sunday morning would determine the outcome in people's lives.

I was 33% correct (if that.) I had not accounted for the creativity, imagination and effort of the listener on Sunday morning. Neither had I considered what they would do the rest of the week (or the rest of their lives) with what they'd heard.

I now know that the third Person at work in the equation was/is the one whose creativity cannot be measured in hours our words. It is the mysterious work of the Spirit, the breath of God that carries the words of my mouth to the ears of the hearers. This same Spirit is the one who breathes on the embers within our souls until they are an impassioned blaze.

As I reflect on my 'paid work' now, I believe I am one of the partners in the co-creative work of ministry. Preaching is just one of the activities where I am invited to bring my creativity. There are others that have emerged over time: one I refer to as being the spiritual leader of spiritual leaders. A third may seem a less likely place for creativity: the often wordless times of sitting with those in pain, greif or waiting for death.

I know a little more now about the creativity of my work and my vocation. If such knowledge comes with age, I may have it figured out in another 30 years.

May we each trust ourselves enough to share our creativity where we are, and may we have the patience and humility to let the Spirit of God inspire us to even greater creativity in the future.