Many years ago, a friend shared the following quote with me.  I cannot say how many times it has brought me courage and comfort. 

I have failed.  I am failing.  I will fail.

Jesus never fails.

Today has been a hard day.  For five days I’ve been couped up inside my house with three young children, each one taking turns getting flu-like symptoms and becoming whiney and needy and grumpy.  I am out of patience.  Completely out.  Also, I found out last week that my brother, who was being evaluated for placement on a heart transplant list, has colon cancer.  My heart has been aching almost constantly, along with the daily grinding demands of life.   If there had been a surplus of patience and compassion for the needs in my household, (which there was not) the well has run dry by now.   Let me tell you, I am failing a lot.  I am failing to be kind and patient.  I am failing to be the mom I wish I could be.  The wife who is loving and supportive. 

And this truth reminds me that, well, of course I am.  That it is no big surprise.  The surprise is in the goodness and love of the Father who made me and knows my weakness and who will never leave me or fail me.  Never.  Even when I am plagued by guilt and wishes that I could do better.  Even when I feel weary and numb.  Even when I want to give up or give in or give out.  He never will fail me.  Never.  And that gives me pause for a deep breath and a sigh of comfort.  I had a bad day.  A really bad one.  My kids will tell you.  But Jesus never fails.  He never fails to love me.  Never fails to forgive me.  Never fails to keep loving me and giving me his righteousness in place of my filthiness.  Now that’s some good news!

I accidentally came across this book in the library while looking at the World War II fiction.  I love Madeline L’Engle, so I picked it up.  I’m so glad I did.  The book is a beautiful story about a family and how they learned, really learned. the mercy of God.  L’Engle has filled the book with amazing quotes and scientific facts, through her characters.  It is a heart-warming story of love, friendship, growing through pain, and learning to embrace the mercy of God and give it to others.  The title comes from a quote within the book by William Langland,  “But all the wickedness in the world  which man may do or think is no more to the mercy of God than a live coal dropped in the sea.”  It’s a good read if you need something that is easy to read and at the same time uplifting.

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.

Love is the person of the resurrection, scooping  up the dust and chanting, “Live!”

Emily Dickenson

The painting above was done by Eugene Burnand in 1898.  I’ll never forget seeing the original on the bottom floor of the Muse Dorsey in Paris, France.  It startled me and thrilled me.  I had never seen it nor heard of it before.  I stood for a long time gazing at it.  The emotion in the eyes of Peter, the hope in the posture of John, the look of having just seen a ghost in both their eyes.  Could it be true?  Dare we hope?  The tomb was empty - we saw it with our own eyes.  The tomb is empty.  Hallelujah.  We rejoice today.

Friendship is a sheltering tree.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

(The picturer is entitled Serengeti by Lorne Resnick, and can be found at Allposters.)

Again, I’ve been reading Bread and Wine Readings for Lent and Easter, and yesterday I came across a disturbing, yet important bit of work called “The Cross and the Cellar” by Morton T. Kelsey.  Here is a portion:

Each of us has underneath our ordinary personality, which we show to the public, a cellar in which we hide the refuse and rubbish, which we would rather not see ourselves or let others see.  And below that is a deeper hold in which there are dragons and demons, a truly hellish place, full of violence and hatred and viciousness. . . In the cross, this level of our being has thrust itself up out of its deepest underground cellar so that we humans may see what is in all of us and take heed. . . This destructiveness within us can seldom be transformed until we squarely face it in ourselves.  This confrontation often leads us into the pit.

The quote makes me think of the scene from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowhip of the  Ring, in which Gandalf  battles the great underworld demon Balrog for his friends, shouting with authority, “You shall not pass.”  And then he is swept unknowingly into a battle for his life in the underground world of darkness, evil, and fiery demons.  Watch the clip:

The cool thing is knowing that this is what Jesus has done for us.  Though we will continue to fight many battles with demons within and without ourselves in this world, the battle of deepest and fiercest darkness has been fought.  And won.  If it had been up to us, if I were left to face these demons within my heart alone, all would have been despair.  But we have a Savior.  A real one.  And I am so very glad.

I’ve been pondering a few readings from Bread and Wine - Readings for Lent and Easter, and I came across this portion of St. Augustine’s Confessions:

The Maker of man was made man, that the Ruler of the stars might suck at the breast; that the Bread might be hungered; the Fountain, thirst; the Light, sleep; the Way, be wearied by the journey; the Truth, be accused by false witnesses; the Judges of the living and the dead, be judged by a mortal judge; the Chastener, be chastised with whips; the Vine, be crowned with thorns; the Foundation, be hung upon the tree; Strength, be made weak; Health, be wounded; life, die.  To suffer these and suchlike things, undeserved things, that he might free the undeserving, for neither did He deserve any evil, who for our sakes endured so many evils, nor were we deserving of anything good, we who through Him received such good.

This is more of what I love to call the “upside down gospel.”  Life, even the spiritual life, is not as it often seems.  It is through paradox that we find truth.  We fail, and we find that success is a gift for losers who know they need it.  We hate, and forgiveness melts our hearts into love.  We try to be strong until we are so weak that we realize it is his strength we need and that it is only found when ours is gone.   We’re astonished by our wickedness, and even more stunned by the One who knew all along and gave us his goodness. 

Good stuff, this upside down gospel.  It means it is not up to me.  It has already been done.  And to quote my man, Bono, on his new album (Did you think I could pass up an opportunity to do so?),  “It’s not if I believe in love, but if Love believes in me.”  Take some time to think of these things as the season of Jesus’ suffering and death approaches.

(Above picture compliments of St. David’s Church, Houston.)

This is what my four year old Mollie said to me this morning on the way to her school.  I laughed, ”You’re right, Mollie.  I do not look beautiful.”   Gotta love the honesty of kids.  No make up and not enough sleep, I guess. Hmmm, maybe I need a spa day.  (Yeah, like that’s going to happen anytime in the next 15 years.)  Oh well, beauty is just black-eye deep, right?

This was on the sign of a local Baptist church earlier this week.  You know, I usually hate those signs.  The messages on them usually make me roll my eyes, cringe, or want to get into an argument.  But this one made my heart say “yes” and “aaah.”  The first response was because I know it is true.  I am to forgive because of how much I’ve been forgiven.  The second response was a reminder deep within of just how much I have been forgiven.  Aaaaah.  Thank you, Jesus.

“When I have no eyes for the small signs of God’s presence - the smile of a baby, the carefree play of children, the words of encouragement and gestures of love offered by friends - I will always remain tempted to despair.  The small child of Bethlehem, the unknown man of Nazareth, the rejected preacher, the naked man on the cross, he asks for my full attention.  The work of our salvation takes place in the midst of a world that continues to shout, scream, and overwhelm us with its claims and promises.”

From Advent and Christmas Wisdom from Henri J.M. Nouwen