I loved, loved, loved being part of a “reformed” church and learning the catechism.  For me this was new, though I did grow up being “catechized” but not with the rich Westminister Catechism.  Even now, though I might enjoy reading through the questions and answers, I only really remember and think about the first few, and these are the children’s version, which suits me fine.

Who made you?

God made me.

What else did God make?

God made all things.

Why did God make you and all things?

God made me and all things for his glory.

How can you glorify God?

By loving him and doing what he commands.

Okay, I’ll be honest.  This is where it gets fuzzy for me.  I glorify God by loving him and doing what he commands.  This is obviously a Biblical truth.  It is also an underlying truth Biblically that I cannot  “love him and do what he commands.”  No matter how hard I try, no matter what resolutions I make or how many sermons I hear or worship songs I sing to try to pump me up, I simply cannot do it.  This is the part of the gospel we most often miss, and it is a huge loss to try to live the Christian life without it.

I can’t be good.  And the really wacky thing is that the more I think I am good and the more I try to make myself good, the less I really am glorifying God.  Huh?  Say what?  It is NOT my goodness that glorifies God. Let me say that again.  It is not my goodness that glorifies God.  It aint. 

Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor but the sick.”  It is the sick among us, the “not good” ones, who know we need a doctor.  And it is this need that is critical in glorifying God.

How do I glorify God?  By getting my wings broken one too many times and realizing I can’t fly without him.  By falling flat on my face until I stop trying life on my on terms, even if those terms were a very religious life.  By being bruised so much by a life that hurts so that I finally listen and believe when he says he loves me, just because.  These things glorify God.

How can I make such a shocking claim?  How can my failures, my lack, my need glorify God?  It really is a strange idea to our preconditioned ears and minds.  But what does it mean to “glorify” anyway?  It means to make big or to honor or to make shine.  Well, how exactly does our trying to be good glorify God’s goodness?  It can be (and often is) argued that we are supposed to try to reflect the goodness of God by our actions.  As a skilledcounselor (ahem) would ask, “How’s that working for you?”  I would argue that when we do this, we often delude ourselves into believing we are good in and of ourselves and we get the glory for it.  Not much lifting up or making big of God in that, is there?  I would also argue that this kind of living isn’t often very attractive to others, because it seems unattainable. 

On the other hand, when I fail, when I am weak, when I can’t love, can’t see, can’t understand, can’t even believe, in other words, when I need God, he is glorified.  He becomes bigger in my life, not bigger than he already is.  That is impossible.  But he is bigger in my life.  He can be seen a little brighter in my darkness.  I have been so freed up by this truth that I just want to shout it from the mountain tops!

But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.  He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things - and the things that are not - to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him.  1 Cor. 1:27-29

We glorify God most when we need him.  When we have nothing to boast of before him.  That way he looks good, not me.  He is strong, not me.  He is wise, not me.  He alone is God.

 Listen to this beautiful song by David Ruis entitled “Sweet Mercies.”  It says it all.

People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle.  But I think the real miracle is. . . to walk the earth.  Thich Nhat Hanh

Have you been to a Christian bookstore lately?  Can’t even make myself go in there very often.  The books for children are the worst.  We sometimes receive Christian books as gifts for our children that we can’t even read to them because the truths are entirely removed from real life.   It makes me imagine God donned with hospital gloves, scrubs, hat and mask. Sometimes it seems Christianity has been reduced to “how to make life work” or “how to be a good girl and boy.”  Let me tell you, this is not the stuff of the Bible.  God is not sterile.  Holy, yes.  Sterile and far removed from our “germs” of messiness, failings, need, hurts, and questions - no way. 

Think about the Genesis account of creation.  He spoke and there was light.  He also spoke the water and land, stars and moon, plants and animals into existence.  Then, when he made human beings in his own image, he used the dust of the ground.  Now why did he do that?  The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life. . .  The method of creating the first woman is even more bizarre.  He put the man to sleep and basically performed the first surgery.  He took out one of his ribs, a messy affair, and closed the man back up, then made a woman out of the rib.  Dirty, bloody affairs, this creation stuff.

I picture God bending down to the dusty ground, possibly spitting in the dirt or forming mud with some water, then artfully and slowly sculpting the image of the first man with the muddy clay.  There is simply no way it happened without his getting dirty and having a good time doing it!  Then, when he is satisfied with his work, he bends again, and with his own mouth, breathes life into the form. 

The ramifications of this idea are enormous.  God was not afraid to get dirty even in his creation of mankind.  How can we believe he is afraid of getting dirty when he deals with us as his dear friends?  He is willing to be involved in the grit and grime of our lives.  He is okay with our inviting him into the unfinished and messy places of our souls.  Not only this, but he calls us to follow suit by allowing others into those places and having lives that are involved with ”messy” people.   We dare not try to escape doing this.

One of the reasons that “Christianity” as an idea has lost its potency in this country is because of this perception that God is sterile.  When we turn Christianity into something that is do-able by keeping a list of rules, we tell the world God is sterile.  When we stay within the confines of the four walls of our churches for fear of being “corrupted” by the culture, we tell the world God is sterile.  When we are more interested in the behavior of our children than of the state of their hearts, we tell our children God is sterile.  When we do not open ourselves up to those around us as fellow human beings, we tell them God is sterile.  When we stop ourselves from facing the inner angst of our own souls, we tell ourselves God is sterile.

And how do we relate to a sterile God?  Only with our gloves on. 

How powerful is this kind of Christianity?  How enjoyable is it to you?  How attractive is it to those who do not believe?  Not very.  

But the good news is that God is not in the least bit afraid of our humanity.  He is not worried about getting into the mess of our lives.  He is big enough to handle our doubts and fears and angry questions.  He is good enough to enter into our hurts and failings.  He is amazingly whole and complete enough to remain all-God even as he comes into our fallen world and lives.  He is absolutely not sterile. He does not wear rubber gloves in his interactions with us.  Let’s take ours off too.

Today is Palm Sunday, the beginning of the week we remember Jesus’ passionate suffering, and I have been thinking more about this special time of year.  I love spring with its flowers, new leaves budding, baby animals being born everywhere, and fresh beginnings of new life where death has reigned supreme for the dreary months of winter.  Yesterday we took the kids to Spring Farm Days at an old farmstead, where we saw baby bunnies, chicks, a piglet, and kid goat, even a docile black sheep being shorn for its summer wardrobe.  Oh, it felt good to see the poor thing lose the big bulky coat of thick, black wool that had served her so well through the bleak chilly months and that now served only to catch hay and aggravate her with its bulky heat.  New starts is one thing that spring means.  Time to shed the old and begin the new.

So often it is human nature to want to cling to the old, to want to remain in our rigid ways and cling to what is familiar.  But springtime and Easter arrive to remind us that this is not the way we are called to journey, that we can muster the courage to change, to risk new directions in love, in relationships, and in calling.  Just a few months ago, my husband and I were talking about a decision whether or not to move out of town a bit and build a house in the country near my parent’s farm.  We have since decided to take this step, but for me, it was a bit of a stretch.  Who enjoys change?  I wanted to dig my heels in and refuse to move.  I’m settled here in my routine.  My kids have neighborhood friends with whom they play regularly.  I have a good buddy next door.  I don’t want to pack up everything and move.  But life calls us to move out of the familiar and have the courage to risk change.  There are new adventures to be had, new friends to make, dreams to awaken.  Easter reminds us of this truth.

Easter is at once shockingly grotesque and sorrowful and yet gloriously hopeful and celebratorial.  Dorothy Sayers, the contemporary of C.S. Lewis, once said,  “To make of his story something that could neither startle, nor shock, nor terrify, nor excite, nor inspire a living soul is to crucify the Son of God afresh.”  This is a time of year to awaken from our slumber and face the central truth of life, that there is a God who lives, there is a God who takes the broken places in the world, in our lives, and grows beauty in those places.  There is a God who loves humanity so tenderly, so powerfully, that he walked alone down the path toward his own brutal death to buy them back from evil, to make them his own people again.

This paradox is especially vibrant during the springtime.  The ground has been hard and unbearing.  The trees have lain naked in the winter winds.  The sun’s light has been scarce.  Weary, bleary days have gone on and on until it seems they will be endless.  Then quietly, almost out of nowhere, spring begins to take us by surprise.  Baby green leaflets burst forth from the trees all around.  Bird chirp their hearts out, announcing that winter is almost over.  Redbuds and dogwoods bloom, subtle in their glory, all the while singing of the truth of God’s glorious reign over death and gloom.

My life has lately been a barren place.  I do not particulary feel joy or fruitfulness, at all.  I grow weary of the monotous calling of my life as a mother of young children, repeating the same tasks over daily.  My heart aches for rest and for fruit to grow from all this planting, all this tending to the garden.  I see a good deal  of sorrow around me, in my own family, and in the situations in the world at large.  I am tempted to lose hope; sometimes I do.  But spring arrives, and Easter with it, to shout to my hurting and weary heart, that God delights in surprising us with flowers that grow from death, with new life jumping out of apparent emptiness and barren places.

Jesus’ followers didn’t get it.  He tried to tell them he was going to die, that there was no other way, but they could not hear him.  They refused to listen.  They had another plan, another dream, that did not include such horrific sadness, loss, and hurt.  And yet, he walked the path his Father gave him to walk.  And their lack of knowing and understanding his plan, did nothing to hinder his fulfilling that plan.  He still triumphantly rode into Jerusalem, faithfully offered the last meal to his friends, agonizingly submitted to his Father’s plan in the garden, and resolutely walked the bloody path to Calvary. 

Holy Week took his friends by surprise.  They did not know the climax would be his death.  How could this be God’s plan for Messiah?  For a time, they were left with grief and utter disillusionment.  Then Sunday morning came to shock all their senses into hope of a whole new plan.  For now, let us walk through this week remembering the events of that precious time.  Maybe we will find new hope for our own journey, maybe spring will awaken new life in the wintry soil of our hearts.  This is my prayer for me and for you.

Yesterday I took my girls to our church to learn a song they will sing with the other children this morning in worship.  The song goes like this:

Ho-ho-ho-hosanna in the hightest!  Ho-ho-ho-hosanna, He’s the brightest!  Ho-ho-ho-hosanna the children sing, Ho-o-sanna to our KING!  Hosanna today, the little children praise, The son of David rides, wave palm branches high!  To Him blessings we shout!  He’s told us all about, God’s love for all men, how he forgives sin.  See Jesus riding near, sing hosanna clear.  Ho-ho-ho-hosanna the children sing, ho-o-sanna to our King!

It is a joyful thing to watch and hear the children sing these words.  It got me thinking about the children who were there on that Sunday about A.D. 37 when Jesus rode the donkey into Jerusalem and the people shouted and waved palm branches in praise of him.  Some of those dear children had met Jesus.  He had laughed with them, probably telling their version of knock knock jokes.  He had held them as babies and toddlers.  He had wiped a teary blubbery face.  He had tickled and chased them.  He had given them a strong embrace and a smile that said, “Get up, you can do it.” 

There was a girl there he had awakened from death, a child he had given back the ability to run.  These children had seen him, heard him, hugged him.  And I bet they were full of sheer joy as he rode into Jerusalem triumphantly on Passover Week.  I can just hear them shouting “Jesus, Jesus, look at me!”  I can just imagine them sqealing with delight that he has come.  I can see them running down the road to get their friends and family to come see.

Do you hear them today?  Are you with them as they shout, “Hosannah! (salvation)?”  He came on a donkey, fulfilling a prophecy from Zechariah 9:9  “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion!  Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem!  See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt the foal of a donkey.”  And they shouted their hearts out, “Salvation, salvation!!  He is here! He is here!”  My heart is so happy he has come and brought salvation to me.

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness. . . so what exactly is kindness?  We hear a lot of talk about kindness these days.  I was watching American Idol last week, and one of the contestants and Paula Abdul were discussing how they believe there is a shift toward kindness going on in the universe.  (What?!)  For years now, it has been popular to think about “practicing random acts of kindness.”

And yet there is a kindness in the heart of God that goes beyond wishful thinking and simple efforts to do nice stuff, as great as these ideas might be.  There is a kindness in the heart of God that startles his long lost creation.  We expect him to be distant.  We expect him to be mad.  We expect a lecture of how much better we should be doing and all the vices we need to overcome.  And he comes in kindness.  After all, he is not interested primarily in our behavior.  No, he won’t settle for that surface stuff.  He wants our hearts.  And he wins them with kindness.

It is his kindness that leads us to repentance.

Think of the woman caught in the act of adultery.  The act.  Caught.  Makes your heart pound thinking about it.  (By the way, the religious leaders of Jesus’ day who wanted to stone her were beyond hypocritical - it takes two to tango, but apparently it was okay for the man to be participating in such an act of betrayal because they sure didn’t do anything to him.)  But as this woman was caught, shame pulsating through her body, her accusers dragging her into the public square, Jesus walked onto the scene.  They wanted to know what this “teacher” would say, what he would do.  “Doesn’t the law say the adultress is to be stoned, Jesus, huh?”

He bent and scribbled in the dirt.  Jesus doodled with a stick or his finger in the dirt.  A pause in the drama.   Now, picture this, the crowd was ready for a good show.  It could get boring in those small dusty towns.  No violent movies to entertain.  No internet pornography.  No fast-paced lives.  This was as good as it got.  They were primed and ready to watch, and engage in, a bloody, gory show.  The death of an adulteress.

Then, after the pause, when they were sufficiently filled with quietness, curiosity, and wonder, he stood and spoke.  And what he said surprised everyone.  “Sure, go ahead and stone her, but let the person who has never sinned throw the first stone.”

Kindness.  Stunning kindness.  Kindness to the accusers.  Kindness to the adulteress.

The word in the Greek, chrestotes, means goodness of heart.   It is God’s goodness of heart that leads us to repentance.  And repent they did.  They each slowly, one by one, dropped their stones and walked away.  His goodness of heart melted their angry, proud, self-righteous hearts.  It also saved the life of the woman.  And I bet she loved Jesus a lot after that brief encounter. 

What does it mean to repent anyway?  I’ve heard a plethora of sermons about how repentance means to stop certain behaviors and begin “doing right.”  But I don’t buy it, although that may sometimes be a fruit of repentance.  To repent simply means to come back to God.  Over and over and over.  And that is as simple as it gets.  His kindness, his goodness of heart, makes us want to come back to him.  Even as we are caught in the act of adultery.  Or anger.  Or pride.  Or with our hand in the cookie jar.  We do not have to get cleaned up first.  We can’t.  We just come as we are.  And his kindness, his goodness of heart, his wholesomeness, makes us want to come.  Yearn to come.  Need to come.

And I just bet it will make us want to be kind to others.  This is the fruit of His Spirit within us.

Well, so far we’ve looked at love, joy, peace, and now it’s time for patience.  That is one of those qualities people want everyone else to have but it is not so fun to try to grow some for yourself.  I hear myself say several times each day to my kids as they repeatedly call my name,  “Could you just be patient a second?!”  But it isn’t so simple to be the one practicing patience at a traffic jam, a long grocery store line, or when you’re in a heated “discussion” with a loved one.  Now is it?

The word for patience used in Galatians 5:22 can be translated forebearance or longsuffering.  And longsuffering is just that, suffering a long time.  The word comes from another root that means far or long.  The idea is to go a long time or long distance.  The other New Testament word for patience as found in Romans 5:3 means “an abiding under.”  It has the idea of cheerful or hopeful endurance or constancy, and it comes from a word which means to stay under, to remain.  Put the words together and you have the idea of remaining under for a long time.  Hmmm.

I’ve pretty much always thought about patience as simply waiting and doing so without getting too ruffled or whiney.  And while that is the way the word is often used in our English language, the meaning seems much richer in these Greek words.  The idea is that the Spirit of God produces within us as he dwells there, the ability to “stay” to remain under difficult circumstances and to keep a cheerful or hopeful countenance.  This is no mere outer conformance to difficult circumstances or the ability to put on a happy face or “suck it up” some more.  It is much deeper and more arduous than that.  It is impossible without the indwelling Spirit.

And it is not without groaning.  It is not a quick fix or a magic wand.  God isn’t into those things if you haven’t noticed, though we often demand just that.  No, it is learning to embrace this truth from Romans:  We ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. . .the Spirit Himself  intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.

It is worshipping the One who has been and continues to be patient and suffers long with his Creation and his redeemed ones.  He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. 

So often in Christian teaching, the emphasis becomes on what we need to do, rather than on God’s amazing work even when we can’t do anymore, or don’t want to, or are just plain weary.  A while back, I was deeply encouraged when thinking about Psalm 40.  It was a painful trial for our family, and when I thought of how I should handle it or what needed to be done next, I just couldn’t.  Have you been there?  Where you are just “done”?  Such a painful place to be, but really a good one.  Well, I found a curious encouragement from the words of the psalm.  I waited.  Then God inclined his ear and lifted me out of the slimy pit.  I could wait.  I could stay.  But I could do nothing more.  And God would do the rest.  Listen to U2’s famous rendition of this psalm.  It says it beautifully.

Okay, I admit that when I started thinking about this fruit of the Spirit, I expected to learn more about that “peaceful easy feeling” kind of peace.  As I studied, I was a bit surprised to find something remarkably different.  The kind of peace that the Spirit grows in our lives is a relational peace.  The Greek word is “eirene”, and it means to be or act peaceful.  Other ways of saying this is to be at peace, live in peace, or live peaceably.  The word comes from a root word “eiro”  which means to join.  So, the peace the Spirit brings is a peace of being joined together with God and others. 

Think about this with me.  Isn’t that the core of most of our problems?  That we are separated from God and others?  Isn’t that the horrific damage sin has caused every member of the human race?  That we no longer are joined together easily with God and those we love.  The fruit of the Spirit is peace.  What the Spirit likes to do is to join together that which sin has separated.  In our flesh we are at war with God and others.  We fight to stay alive and to take care of ourselves.  We look out for ourselves, even at dire cost to our relationships. 

Then throw in the mix that we are all looking for personal peace, that peaceful, easy feeling kind of peace I mentioned before.  But we want it without having to need God to provide it.  So, sin has destroyed our relationships by tearing us apart from those we want to love.  And on top of this, we are all seeking peace or rest in our lives, without having to trust God to bring it. 

Let me illustrate.  First of all, sin has separated what God wants to join.  Think about the divorce rate in our country.  And it isn’t any better within the church than it is outside.  Look at your kids, or your friends’ kids, or my kids.  No matter how much they love each other, there is always the lack of peace, eiro peace, in their relationships.  Just today, on the way home from grandmom’s house, my girls, who are the best of friends, began arguing about something unimportant.  The argument escalated into yelling and screaming and even throwing a boot at the other sister.  Sometimes it is hitting, pinching, pulling hair, or saying really mean words.  Then the peace is gone.  The smallest thing can cause separation.  Even in our best relationships.

Here’s a recent example from my life.  Last week I was supposed to join some friends for dinner, and at the very minute I was walking out the door, things fell apart at my house, with my tired kids.  And I mean really fell apart.  I was not able to go out with my girlfriends, and when I called to tell one of them about it, I accidentally took out my frustrations from my hard night on my friend.  Thankfully, she is a true friend, and we have made peace, but this just shows how easily separation happens.

Now, about that personal peace we are all fighting for.  What form does it take in your life?  “I don’t get a moment’s rest from all of this laundry and all of the demands.  Moma this.  Mama that.”   “I just staightened up the living room, and you kids come in with your jackets and shoes and snacks and destoy it in minutes.”  “I’m trying to catch the news.  Don’t bother me now.”  “What is for supper?”  “If only. . . . if only I had more money, more friends, more time, a bigger house, a different job, better friends.  If only. . .  if only he would change, if only she would do what I want her to.“  The list goes on and on, and it can be different for each of us.  But the core is the same.  We want peace, damnit.  We want peace, and we do not believe God is doing a very good job of providing it for us.

So, how does the Spirt of Christ step into the messy places of our lives, the real places where we really live, and bring peace?  The peace that joins us back to him and to others?  First of all, it is by believing that Jesus has made our peace with God.  It is finished.   We no longer have to strive. 

The corresponding word in Hebrew for peace is “shalom,”  which has the connotation of wholeness and fullness, or having been made perfect.  When we believe the gospel, we begin to grasp that Jesus has made us whole.  We no longer have to strive to make ourselves complete or worthy of love and acceptance.  This peace with God gives us peace with ourselves.  It also can grow into true peace with others.

The Bible says it like this:  Isaiah 32:17  The fruit of righteousness will be peace; the effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever.  This righteousness is God’s, not our own.  When we begin to believe that we have the righteousness of Christ imputed to us, that we have his goodness and he took our sin on himself (2 Cor. 5:21), this knowledge will bear the fruit of peace in our lives.  It will join us together with God and others and bring a quietness to our hearts that speaks rest to a restless world. 

And once again,  this does not always feel peaceful.  It can be a long, messy process.  Sometimes it requires real struggle to believe and real struggle in our relationships to come to peace.  But here is our hope:  The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet.  Romans 16:20

Peace to you this Christmas season.

When I think about the word “joy”, I find myself a bit ambivalent.  On the one hand, I love joy!  I love thinking about my experiences of deep, uncensored joy.  But on the other, there is a nagging sense in which I’m thinking,  “Do I really have much joy on a daily basis?”  And at darker moments, I’m even tempted to throw in the towel because I wonder what my problem is, because I struggle on the edge of a chasm of blue funk, and when one of life’s storms blows, there is the threat of being swept over the edge.  At these moments, I feel like the promise of joy mocks me.

Last summer, when we redid our home, I was in one of those latter places.  As I shopped Hobby Lobby for accent pieces, a wooden cut-out sign with the word “joy” caught my eye.  I stubbornly refused to buy it, because inside I was thinking, “Ya gotta be kidding.  Joy?!  I need a sign that says “Survival.”  As the days and weeks passed, the thought of that little black sign continued to nag me.  I finally gave in and bought the pestering thing, realizing that it would be a sign of simple faith, a sort of reminder to myself of the gospel, that God gives joy to the undeserving, like me.

A few weeks ago, my friends and I were talking about joy as one of the fruits of the Holy Spirit.  As I pondered and studied the word, I found an interesting verse:  1 Chronicles 16:27-27 says, “For all the gods of the nations are idols, but the Lord made the heavens.  Splendor and majesty are before him; strength and joy in his dwelling place.”  At first nothing struck me as all that profound about the verse, but as I continued to think about it, the image that strength and joy are in God’s dwelling place began to chip away at my hard reserves.  The place where God resides is inhabited by joy and strength.  Then as I continued to ponder. . wait a minute. . . where does God reside these days?  Thanks to the finished work of Christ and thanks to the incomparible gift of his Spirit, he lives in those of us who place our trust in him.  So, that makes me his dwelling place.  So, strength and joy are in me, whether I feel like it at any given moment or not.  

This reminds me of Nehemiah 8:10 , in which Nehemiah declared, “Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”  Until I looked back at that familiar verse, I did not realize the story in which it is spoken.  After the rebuilding of the wall of Jerusalem was completed following the exile of many of its citizens, Ezra opened the book of the Law and began to read.  As he read, the people began to weep.  I imagine the sorrow they felt, after their long exile and suffering the loss of family and friends and the destruction of their beloved city and homes.  I also imagine the sorrow they felt as they heard the words of the Lord and realized how far they had strayed from his commands.  But instead of telling them that they should weep, because after all, they deserved it, Nehemiah rather told them that it was not a time for mourning but a time for celebration.  He told them to go get choice food and sweet drinks, enough to share with everyone, and come have a PARTY.    You are forgiven.  The joy of the Lord is your strength.

And after all, this makes perfect sense.  When I look up the word “Joy” in my Greek dictionary, I find that it shares a common root word with the word “Grace.”  The Greek word for joy is “chara”, meaning joy or delight.  The Greek word for grace is “charis”, meaning bestows delight.  Joy is a grace.  It is one of those gifts that only the Supernatural can give.  It is the fruit of being delighted in.  I am an object of God’s grace, therefore I am an object of his delight.  Therefore, I can delight.  In life.  In Him.  In others.

The joy of the Lord is your strength.  Maybe this isn’t always a bubbly, overpowering sensation of happiness, though sometimes it is.  Maybe this doesn’t mean I have to always feel  joyful, though thankfully sometimes I do.  Maybe it means I don’t have to muster the strength to pretend I’m thankful or happy when I’m not, that I don’t have to  practice the “try harder gospel” to find joy.  Maybe, just maybe, this is a stronger undercurrent of God’s grace toward me, that sustains and upholds me through all that life brings.  Psalm 84:5-7 says it this way, “Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.  As they pass through the Valley of Baca (bitterness), they make it a place of springs;  the autumn rains also cover it with pools.  They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion.”

Hallelujah!  The joy of the Lord is my strength.  How about you?

Okay, I’ve been a really lame blogger here lately, with no promise of reform to come.  Our family has been spending time at a quiet beach for a couple of weeks, and while I had visions of more time studying and writing, the opposite has been true.  I’ve become extremely relaxed while realizing how completely depleted I had become.  So anyway, on with the post I began writing weeks ago.

The fruit of the Spirit is love. . . .  the greatest commandment is this. . . love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your mind, with all your soul, with all your strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.  The entire law is summed up in love.

But.  Who can fulfill this law?  Who can love God with all his heart and mind and soul and strength, all the time?  Who can even come close to loving others as much as they love themselves?

Check out 1 Cor. 13 a different way:

God is patient, God is kind.  God does not envy, God does not boast, God is not proud.  God is not rude, God is not self-seeking, God is not easily angered, God keeps no record of wrongs.  God does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.  God always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  God never fails.

On the other hand, I am not patient,  I am not kind.  I envy, I boast.  I am proud.  I am rude.  I am self-seeking and easily-angered.  I keep a record of wrongs.  etc.

And yet, I am loved.  By this wild and wonderful God who is full of mercy and love.  Who gives freely of his fruit to me.  The least of these.  His fruit is love.  For me and for others through me.  

Who can fulfill the law of love?  Not one of us!  But God already has.  I am so glad.

Some friends of mine and I have been looking at the fruit of the Spirit and how God works this fruit in us through the process of struggle and need and learning to depend on God and his love toward and in us.  I’ve somehow had this a bit mixed up most of my life, thinking of the fruit of the Spirit as a list of things I need to strive toward and do and become, rather than a way God displays himself in my weakness.

It has been refreshing to think through each of these characteristics as an aspect of God and how he displays these truths about himself in my life, to me.  In my need.

Listen to what Brennan Manning says in The Ragamuffin Gospel:

Every Christian generation tries to dim the blinding brightness of its meaning because the gospel seems too good to be true.  Jesus says the kingdom of His Father is not a subdivision for the self-righteous nor for those who feel they possess the state secret of salvation.  The kingdom is not an exclusive, well-trimmed suburb with snobbish rules about who can live there.  No, it is for a larger, homelier, less self-conscious caste of people who understand they are sinners because they have experienced the yaw and pitch of moral struggle.   These are the sinner-guests invited by Jesus to closeness with Him around the banquet table.  It remains a startling story to those who never understand that the men and women, who are truly filled with light are those who have gazed deeply into the darkness of their imperfect existence.  Perhaps it was after meditating on this passage that Morton Kelsey wrote,  “The church is not a museum for saints but a hospital for sinners.”

Interestingly, this past Sunday as our family was getting into the car from being at the worship service at our church, my son had a pretty major meltdown.  As he was struggling, crying, and exploding, my middle daughter said under her breath, “And we were just in church.”  Since I had overheard her, I couldn’t resist telling her that church was for people who really needed Jesus, people like me.  She proceeded to tell me that she doesn’t need Jesus all that much.  Then my younger daughter joined the conversation,  “I don’t need Jesus all the time.”  Boy, how revealing.   And what an honest expression of where we live most of the time.  Like we can make it on our own.  Like we aren’t quite as needy as we truly are.

Join me as I take a rambling look at the way God shows his love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, meekness, and self control through sinners like me, who need, desperately, a real Doctor.