God – Page 10

Good Friday and the Ache in Our Soul: How Jesus Meets Us

April 2, 2015 by Ann 2 Comments

This is an adaptation of a post I wrote last year; I still feel this ache at Easter this year…

It seems that I tend to travel a lot during the Spring; this year has been no different, with a trip to what will soon become our new home city, a short trip to the Redbud Writer’s Retreat, and a trip down to Dallas this past weekend for a conference. And so, this past weekend was the third weekend in a month that I was away from home—something very odd for me. Michael and I love traveling, but I am a homebody at heart, and I love having consistency in my life. Yet one of the sweetest things about traveling, for this homebody, is the longing that develops in me when I am away from home. There is a familiar ache that bubbles up, whether I am in Wisconsin, Colorado, or England—the ache for a place where I know the corners of the rooms, the ache for a place where the walls and bed and blankets are familiar, loved, home.

And that feeling knocks on my heart at unexpected moments: when we were in Grand Rapids this past year, for example, my mother drove us past her childhood home, her elementary school, and her family’s church. My grandpa was a Methodist minister, and so she moved several times as a child, but it was in this city that she started going to school, and her memories of Grand Rapids are vivid. I loved seeing bits of her life through these buildings—the house where she lived, the steps she climbed on her first day of kindergarten, the steeple of the church where my grandfather preached. And although those places were not mine, I felt that old ache flutter again.

C.S. Lewis has written about this ache. In “The Weight of Glory,” he writes,

These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.

“News from a country we have never yet visited.”

Home.

Easter, which we are looking toward, is about many things. But in one sense, it is about home. It is about Jesus making a way for us to be able to enter the Home that we were created for. It is that “country” we keep hearing news from—that ache that bubbles up, that longing that draws us to beauty and goodness and light. The ache for wholeness, and freedom, and perfection—the ache for heaven.

Jesus is the only one who could become the doorway for us to that Home. His body, broken and torn, became the doorway that allows us to enter in and walk into right relationship with God. And through the doorframe of that empty tomb–his resurrection–we get to enter into that home with him, forever. He crossed the threshold from death to life and held the door open for us, too.

Christ's body, broken and torn, became the doorway that allows us to enter into right relationship with God. Share on X

Home. It is what we long for, ache for, desire. In these days of Holy Week leading up to Easter, we can remember afresh that because of the great cost Christ paid for us on the cross, and because of the great miracle of his resurrection, we have an answer to all of the aching and longing that we find in our own hearts.

We can remember that we have found our truest home—in Him.

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Filed Under: God, Life, Truth-Telling Tagged With: ache in my heart, ache in my soul, Christianity, Easter, faith, Good Friday, heart tired, Jesus, Lent, longing for home, soul tired, what does Easter mean, What does Good Friday mean, What does Lent mean

When Pruning Feels Like Dying

March 26, 2015 by Ann 3 Comments

I started class today with a writing prompt for my students: How have you changed since the beginning of this school year? Do you like who you are becoming? Why or why not?

It’s a vulnerable question, maybe one I shouldn’t ask after only three class sessions together. But we only have seven weeks here, in this sacred space of a classroom, and I want our time together to point to Truth. I want our minutes talking about writing and words to be bubbling out of some place deeper than my own expertise and training. I don’t want to be the center of the classroom. I want Jesus to be.

And so I ask hard questions.

And they respond.

Two students raised their hands to read their responses aloud today; one of the students mentioned that she was living on the vine but felt the pruning work that was being done on her life.

She was referencing John 15; it’s Jesus, here, saying these words:
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you.Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me.I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.”

In tree language, pruning is the act of cutting off some of the branches for the benefit of the rest of the tree. Often, it is the dying branches that are pruned, or the diseased branches. They are pruned–cut off–so that new growth can occur.

And here is the startling realization: Jesus told his friends the truth–that those closest to him, those walking with him and bearing great spiritual fruit for the Kingdom? They are the ones who get pruned. It feels so backwards; those walking with Jesus are the ones who get things cut off, tossed aside?

Yes. Because cutting away the old is often the only way for new, healthy growth to occur.

I thanked my student her for her honesty. And what came tumbling out of me there, in front of the class, was this:

“Sometimes it feels like the pruning will kill us, doesn’t it?”

The student nodded. Others nodded with her.

This pruning–those places where God starts cutting away the things we don’t want to let go of, the things we feel like we need–it can be so hard. So heart-wrenching. So painful. It can feel like what is being taken away is more than we can bear, is more than we want to bear.

I think of this season in my own life; the ways that old things are being cut away in order to make way for the new. We are moving to a new town; my sense of security and home in our current city is being cut away. We are leaving our jobs; my sense of identity in what I do is being cut away. My husband will be a full-time student; our consistent income is being cut away. And there are moments, days, even, where I don’t want to do this. I want to walk with Jesus more than anything, but leaving everything we have and everything we know–the cost feels so very, very high. It feels like dying to so much of what I love and what I want.

But good tree pruners, I’ve learned, know that the tree can’t handle much pruning at a time. Little by little, with time in between to heal–that’s how a tree is pruned well. And I am sure of this, that God is a good pruner. He is love itself. He knows just what we need and he also can see the good that is coming from our pruning, even if we can’t.

And I spoke to my class. It feels like the pruning will kill us sometimes, but there’s better news: “We won’t be killed by it. Because there has already been One who was killed on our behalf.”

Jesus, the Vine we are to stay connected to–He is the One who took our ultimate death. He did that so that the smaller things we die to here on this earth–things that are truly painful, that truly cost us much–He died so that our pain here won’t end in pain. His resurrection leads us to real life, abundant life, eternal life. And His presence with us gives us the strength to walk through this current pain knowing that it won’t kill us; He has already been killed for us.

He died so that our pain here won't end in pain. Share on X

There are days when the pruning feels like too much. I know it, too. But as we walk toward this Easter, let us remember: death has been defeated, the grave overcome with life. In these days that can feel so difficult, we will not be undone. Christ is with us, Christ is for us. His death paid for ours. Though we are being pruned, we are not being killed. We are being offered the truest life–life found in Christ, life that never ends.

Filed Under: About, God, Life, Ministry Tagged With: abiding in Christ, Christianity, does God love me, faith, how to know God, I am the vine you are the branches, I feel like I'm dying, Jesus, John 15, life is hard, losing everything, prune, pruning, vine, when it feels impossible, when it feels like I'm dying

How Lent Reveals the Gospel in Beautiful, Powerful Ways

March 18, 2015 by Ann Leave a Comment

During my early years, I grew up in a church that wound its way through the months by following the liturgical church calendar. We had different-colored banners up in every season of the year, based on what was being observed in the cycle of the church. The ministers wore stoles over their robes–long pieces of fabric in vibrant hues–that matched the banners and proclaimed the season that the church was in.

When my husband and I attended an Anglican church for a couple of years, the colors, banners, and robes took on a new significance for me. These practical reminders taught me, spiritually, how to live into time as a Christian. As a student and now as a professor, my life tends to be built around the academic calendar of semesters and summers. At that church, I learned a new way of relating to time through color.

I have been thinking about this because the Church universal is now in the season of Lent–the period of time between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday that is meant to draw our hearts and minds into somber reflection. It is a season of spiritual preparation and repentance as we consider the cost that Christ paid for our sin, and Lent is a season of spiritual preparation and repentance as we consider the cost that Christ paid for our sin. Share on Xas we anticipate Holy Week–the week leading up to Easter.

Unlike the blazing red of Pentecost, or even the lively green of “ordinary time,” Lenten Sundays are full of the rich purple of royalty. The color reminds us, the people of God, that the King is making his way to victory, even though the victory initially looks like defeat. It reminds us of the royalty of Jesus even as he humbles himself all the way to death on a cross.

But then comes Holy Week, and with it comes a dramatic shift in hue. Although colors differ from church to church, in my memory Palm Sunday is red, looking ahead to the blood that Christ will offer on our behalf. Maundy Thursday, the night both of communion and betrayal, is white, a simple color for a somber day. But in the late hours of Maundy Thursday, the altar, cross, and banners are stripped bare of even this white fabric, leaving the symbols of faith as naked as Christ became.

Good Friday is sheathed in black. The color of mourning, the color of death. In my town, on this singular day of the year, a prominent church in the area unfurls three huge, black panels between the columns of their church entrance. They flap all day as a reminder that death is near–and that death must come before life.

In Christ, death is turned to life; mourning is turned to joyful celebration. Share on X

Easter, in color as well as in truth, turns everything on its head. In Christ, death is turned to life; mourning is turned to joyful celebration. Resurrection–the reversal of the normal order–occurs. White is the color of the day, a reminder that he who first appeared plain–a Jewish man who was betrayed and killed–is actually more than a man. This simple hue is also, wonderfully, a reminder that white is actually the confluence of all color, and that in the resurrection, Christ has renewed all things. Nothing is outside of his healing, restorative resurrection.

Although I am no longer part of a liturgical congregation, I find myself drawn to the richness of the tradition, and to the power that simple things like colors have to tell us about the Gospel and about how we fit into the larger story of the Church. I may not see the banners and the robes on a weekly basis, but I try to remember the significance as I walk through the Lenten season.

In these days leading up to Easter, I want to more fully ponder the royalty of Jesus, this one who left his heavenly throne for an earthly cross. I want to remember the simplicity of this god-man who was stripped bare and bled. I want to take time to mourn the true death that he died, and then to anticipate the upending power of the resurrection and the newness that he brought to all life.

I want to color inside the lines of the Gospel story this Lenten season, by letting the Gospel seep its color into me.

Filed Under: God, Ministry, Truth-Telling Tagged With: Black Friday, Christianity, colors at church, Easter, faith, Good Friday, Gospel, Jesus, Lent, lenten colors, Lenten season, what do colors mean, why is Good Friday black

The Gift of a Good Fight

March 13, 2015 by Ann Leave a Comment

If you know me, I don’t love conflict. But I have grown to appreciate the necessity of fighting–how it can lead to deeper intimacy in friendships, in family relationships, in marriage. My newest piece is up at Today’s Christian Woman, about this very thing.

I was out of town when I received a voice message from my friend Gwen. I’d been at a conference all day and couldn’t be reached, so I sat in the hallway and listened to her words. She was hurt, she mentioned, by something I’d said earlier in the week, and she wanted to know my intentions behind it. Had she misunderstood me?

I sighed.

I dislike conflict—especially conflict with people I love. Three or four years ago, words like this from a friend could have sent me into a tailspin. I would have felt anxious and unsure about our relationship, questioning her love for me and our friendship’s footing.

But this time, I was sighing because she was right. I was sighing because I knew that I needed to apologize. I was sighing because, honestly, I was tired of being a sinner. I was tired of hurting the people I love the most.

I connected with Gwen, explained my intentions, and repented for where I had sinned. She was more than gracious. She was loving, and she forgave me. And I wasn’t worried about where we stood; I knew our friendship was solid.

For someone who used to avoid any form of argument as much as possible, I felt oddly buoyed by the realization that I was, in fact, getting better at this conflict thing.

The Grace of a Fighting Friend

Gwen is nothing if not honest. When we became friends, it quickly became apparent to me that she never shied away from conflict.

When our friendship grew closer, I learned she also wasn’t afraid of a fight. In fact, she welcomed it. She was never bullheaded or self-righteous, but if there was something between us that didn’t feel healthy to her, she brought it up. I initially had a difficult time reconciling Gwen’s welcoming attitude toward conflict with friendship. The two seemed to be at odds.

But Gwen’s friendship has been a grace in my life. I’ve learned that conflict, handled well, leads to intimacy. And the inverse is also true; intimacy can’t exist honestly without conflict.

What Holds Us Back from Conflict

I wish conflict didn’t exist. My preference is that relationships could roll along without any fights, arguments, or disagreements. But if we get up every morning and actually interact with other humans, we know that conflict—or at least the possibility for conflict—is everywhere.

Read the rest of the article here, at Today’s Christian Woman!

Filed Under: Friendship, God, Life Tagged With: Christian, Christianity, faith, fighting, fighting fair, friendship, gift of a good fight, good fighting, how to fight fair, how to fight well, Jesus, marriage fighting

Squeezed for Time and Resting in God

March 10, 2015 by Ann 1 Comment

When you’re juggling a lot of roles–wife, employee, mom, student, friend, sister–or any other number of roles–it can feel like there’s no margin in our lives. We feel tired, exhausted, maybe even worn-down. And in that mental state, it can seem harder and harder to believe that there’s some sort of dim light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I have days where it feels like my season will never change–that I’ll always feel tired, or that I’ll always be pressed for time.

And you know what I’m having to come to terms with? That might actually be the case. From now until I die, I might always feel hard-pressed, squeezed, even, for time. In his book, The Sacred Journey, Frederick Buechner writes about how children are the ones who live “below time;” they do not experience time in the same way as adults do because they do not yet have a sense of its earthly finiteness, nor do they carry the responsibilities that we do once we grow up. At some point, though, all of us open the door unto time and find ourselves living within the reality of limited days. Most of us are always a bit wistful for the days of carefree timelessness. But we cannot go back.

And so, yes I have lost that sense of timelessness, of freedom away from the clock. I have roles and responsibilities that will forever keep me from being free of the constraints of time. But I would not trade those good things for unhindered freedom. Every thing that truly matters requires tethering, especially love.

Every thing that truly matters requires tethering, especially love. Share on X

And so I am tethered to these roles and responsibilities, and sometimes I feel like I might break under the weight of them. But then I find that I am able to bend a bit more, and I find that I’m living in the grace of Christ, who does not break those who are already bending. He upholds us. He strengthens us. He fights on our behalf.

So, then, how can I live peacefully when time always feels thin? Well, in the midst of unending demands and requirements on our time, it is important–even necessary–to give ourselves time to rest. I’ve already written about why I believe the Sabbath is so central to our rhythms of weekly life, but on the smaller scale of day-to-day life, how can we rest? How can we allow ourselves to take short breaks in the midst of our days so that we don’t break under the weight of our responsibilities?

There are many ways to do this, but here are five of my favorite, simple ways to rest daily:

1. Connecting with Christ. This is so important for me–I’ve written more about it here, but the fact is that unless I’m staying close to Jesus, everything else feels overwhelming and stressful. Half an hour with him in the morning shifts my mindset toward His priorities and gives me the grace I need to do all that I’m called to do. This can look different for all of us, but my time with God in the morning includes reading the Word, praying, and journaling.

2. Choosing Gratitude. It’s amazing how quickly thankfulness can change my attitude and my perspective. If I can make the choice to say–out loud–three things that I’m thankful for, I’m usually humbled to bits–in the best sense. I have been given so much, and God is with me through it all.

3. A long(ish) shower. I’m not joking. When you can close (and lock!) the door, a shower offers a little time to let my brain rest, let my body rest, and let my senses rest. If you have time for a long soak, even better!

4. Five minutes in silence. Put down the phone, the remote, the headphones. Sit, quietly, and try to let all of the tension seep out of your body. Ask God for a fresh dose of His peace in your heart, mind, and bones.

5. A hot drink in the wintertime, a cold drink in the summertime. The sensory power of being refreshed or warmed is something that often brings me a few moments of pleasure, gratefulness, and peace–if I attend to my senses and allow myself to slow down.

Even in the busy days that most of us find ourselves in, there is grace from Christ to live peacefully. Small steps like these can help us slow down and be present in the life that we are living–they can even help us meet God in the midst of the busyness.

Filed Under: God, Life, Marriage, Motherhood Tagged With: burn out, burnout, busy, Christianity, daily ways to rest, daily ways to rest so we don't burn out, faith, God rested, hope, How do I rest, how to not burn out, Jesus, life, refreshment, too busy, ways to rest

The Greatness of Smallness

March 2, 2015 by Ann 7 Comments

Most of my life, I’ve felt a tug toward greatness. You know–that feeling that burns deep and can push us wide? Deep because we know that we were created to do important, meaningful, gorgeous things in the world. Wide because we look around us at all that we aren’t doing and see people who seem great in our eyes–people who carry great influence, great ideas, great power.

And that feeling in me, that yearning for greatness–that ache can make me feel very small.

Small because I don’t have great influence.

Small because I don’t often think my ideas are great.

Small because what power I do have doesn’t come out on great, big stages.

And sometimes that smallness feels very shameful to me, as if I should be doing something bigger and greater and more important with my life. I look around and I see a messy house and words typed on pages and I see papers to grade and I think: what if I’ve missed it? What if I’m never great in the way I long to be?

And then what rises up in me is the desire to do it on my own: to try to push my way into greatness. If I can work harder, think deeper, be better—then, perhaps, greatness will fall upon me like a cape. If I just keep driving my way forward, maybe I can make this happen. Perhaps I can be the key that unlocks that elusive door into the greatness that I desire.

And this is why, friends, I can often feel so tired. And discouraged. Because it doesn’t matter how hard I push, that door to my perceived vision of greatness won’t budge. I can’t fling that door open. I can’t even crack it open. All of my efforts are failures.

And as I was praying yesterday, asking God to crack open something in my heart and not just my circumstances, I heard Him speak: Live small to be great. And I was reminded of those unexpected words from Jesus in Matthew 23, words that slay me and humble me.

Live small to be great. Share on X

But first, some background: Here, in Matthew 23, Jesus is talking with his disciples and with the crowds, and he is cautioning them–cautioning them from living the way their religious leaders live. These leaders, the Pharisees, they’re walking shams. They love to get noticed in a crowd, Jesus says–they love the best seats in the house and the honor that comes with being a leader. They look spiritual and they soak up attention like sponges.

They wield great influence.

They say they have great ideas.

They love having great power.

But they’re liars. They refuse to practice what they preach, and their influence and ideas actually tie up the souls of their listeners with heavy burdens. They have power, yes. But rather than setting people free, they’re making spiritual slaves through their hypocrisy.

“They do all their deeds to be seen by others,” Jesus cautions. There is nothing in them that really wants to serve others. They just want attention.

And now they’ve gotten it. The King of the Universe is paying attention, that King padding around in calloused flesh, and the attention they draw is damning. Their lives are all about themselves, when they should be pointing people to God.

And these are the words that slay and humble me, the words that upend me. It’s Jesus himself speaking to his followers, to the Pharisees, to me:

“The greatest among you shall be your servant. Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

I am slain, my heart cut open by the knife of scripture, and I see, again, that I have not been seeing at all. That the greatness I am scrolling through on social media and envying and wanting is not greatness, but a sham. It is not that these people I follow are shams, but that my perception of true greatness if skewed. I look at my fellow humans and I see their influence, their ideas, and their power, and I want what they have.

And that is what cuts; what I really need–what my soul actually wants–is God. For ultimately, there is no power apart from him, no influence apart from him, no idea apart from him. Standing in front of the God of the Heavens, the Maker and Creator of all, we are, each one of us, minutely small. There is only one who is great, and He–Christ Jesus–became the servant of all. Unlike the Pharisees, he did practice what he preached. He took the lowest road, the humblest form, the surest pain–all because He is truly great, and that greatness led him to the deepest humility. It led Jesus to becoming the smallest of all things: human. One of us.

The swirling power of the ages, bound up in a baby’s fist. The influence greater than all kings of the earth, unfolded in the cry of a child. The ideas of time and space and all wisdom and knowledge, solidified into the flesh of a human. A small, humble, needy child. The Christ child. Jesus.

It’s backwards.

And it’s perfectly right.

Greatness is smallness, servanthood, humility.

It is not power, ideas, and influence.

Greatness is smallness, servanthood, humility. Share on X

I can serve the ones who live in the messy house in front of me. I can humble myself on the page with my words. I can make myself small in front of my students so that Christ can be big in their eyes. And with God’s grace, I will.

And then, worked out over the course of a small life, I can be great before the only One who truly matters. Lord, help me. I want to be truly great.

Filed Under: About, God, Life, Ministry, Truth-Telling Tagged With: Christinity, faith, God, greatness, how can I be great, Jesus, life with God, living on purpose, smallness, true greatness, what does greatness mean