“The people who love the least
need love the most.” (Posted outside a church)
I’ve had a running discussion with this sign.
It offers a dose of wisdom about human behavior. As you know there is often more about us than meets the surface. For example, two children are misbehaving in public. The common assumption is their parents need tutoring in adequate discipline. However, in the case of these children, their behavior stems from a wrenching loss; just the day before their mother was buried. These children are acting out their grief appropriate to their development.
“Loving the least” could be printed on our hearts. It’s likely our hearts have a sorter: some people we love easily; others we tried loving and couldn’t. When it comes to the Christian faith those we find hard/difficult/impossible to love, these are the ones who stretch us. Through difficult/hard to love people we are given the opportunity to test the meaning of our beliefs. We may come up short time and time again. Nevertheless, the place in life where we most need God in Christ is when we encounter the natural limits of our love. We put a fence around our heart; Christ wants us to climb over it. The people you find hardest to love are the ones who need love the most.
Right there in the Bible is a hard to love person. He deserted Jesus. Faced with the harder love, a love that would cost, he went into self-preservation mode, built a fence of denial around his heart. When Jesus needed him most, he vanished. What he needed was a long and deep time for confession. When Jesus, the resurrected Jesus, met this deserter, there were no long lectures about what you learned when the cock crowed. There was just Jesus asking that timeless question, “Do You Love Me?” Peter said yes. Jesus said, “Feed My Sheep!”(John 21)
I don’t think Jesus had in mind the sheep we will naturally love. Let us seek to live the resurrection of Jesus in the hard places—with people who love the least.
Cyber Schluppe
I was never any good at dog obedience training. My track record is 0-6. Failing at dog training as a teenager foretold the future. My mother and I decided to raise a German Shepherd. How come our dog Lady didn’t behave like Rin Tin Tin? After Lady knocked over and broke a precious vase, she was confined to an outside pen. When a four foot fence wouldn’t contain her we added four more feet. Lady jumped over the first fence and climbed over the second. Neighbors knew our phone number by heart. After our once patient neighbors could no longer handle nights made sleepless from Lady’s incessant barking, we gave her to the Asheville Police Department.
Lady needed to get out of our jail. I failed with three other dogs after that. We survived each other largely due to their temperaments.
We never had a Labrador or a Golden Retriever. Based on observation, these were the dogs even I could train. Our late, beloved neighbor Jim DeLong trained a golden named Trapper; this four legged creature once lead a Children’s Visit at worship. When Jim and a young Trapper walked around the block Trapper wore the leash. As an adult dog Trapper strode next to his master gripping the leash in his teeth. He didn’t need to be restrained. A darting rabbit or squirrel would not send Trapper in pursuit. This canine willingly walked beside his master. The leash was just a connection point between master and dog.
I tell you it was a beautiful thing to witness. This dog preferred to please its master. He wanted to follow his every stride.
Here’s how Martin Luther defined Christian Freedom: “A Christian is perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.” (Treatise on Christian Liberty)
What a rich understanding of our place in the world. We know we don’t have to walk beneath another; we choose that path. There may be nothing worse than a collar forcing you into submission. Constraint does not beget willing service. There may be nothing more beautiful than a servant who in freedom grips the leash in his/her mouth.
Seeking that kind of freedom,
Cyber Schluppe
One of my laments this time of year is that college basketball is over. Not everybody shares such sorrow. People who grew up around here are prone to say, “I was weaned on ACC basketball.” I’m one of them. Give us an opportunity to wax poetic about a specific player or a particular team and you may need to check your watch. A non-basketball loving friend of mine said one time after I’d gone into a long soliloquy, “Can I have ten minutes of my life back?
I actually think my non-basketball loving friends should reconsider. If they don’t want to see the game, come for half-time. I’ve grown to enjoy the half-time show. It used to consist of congratulating people or recognizing dignitaries or silly students trying to imitate the Blues Brothers. That still happens. Lately however, competitions for children occupy half-time. One I particularly enjoy has two youngsters dressing in basketball uniforms, then running/dribbling down the court and shooting a layup. Here’s the catch—the uniforms, the basketball shoes are adult size. If the children don’t trip on the oversized shoes, the basketball shorts fall to their knees. In order to hold up the shorts, these children must dribble with one hand. But since the jersey is too large, they struggle to dribble at all as their hand is swallowed up in the shirt.
It’s a good thing children don’t have far to fall! I’ve actually kept count—one youngster went down five times on the way to the basket. Ouch! Eventually, someone manages in spite of the outfit to come close to the basket and attempt a shot. Eventually, one of the two makes a basket and the entertainment concludes.
Here’s what I liked most: both students receive a gift. Second place receives the same gift as first.
When the Apostle Paul spoke about his life goal, it was to put on the resurrection of Jesus. This is what he strived for. (“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection…” Philippians 3: 10) I don’t suppose with this goal Paul had in mind wearing clothes ten sizes too big. Nonetheless, such clothing is a rich image for the resurrection. We who want to shrink down the resurrection of Jesus to our size could find ourselves swallowed up in the enormity of life so enlarged, so full, so beyond our imagining.
Children dressing in adult clothing struggle mightily. Could the gift of Jesus’ resurrection be just such an awkward fit? Our life is about learning to fit into the fullness of Christ.
It’s half-time and you are given resurrection clothes!
Cyber Schluppe
This time of year we are granted a special treat—birds are singing. The morning is arrayed in sound—chirping, calling, crackling—as an aerial symphony fills the sky. Likewise at dusk you needn’t switch on the Ipod to enjoy a good tune, just sit outside to absorb a free concert. Talk about surround sound!
Barbara Crocker in the playful poem Sanctus considers the gravity of listening to birds. She posits in the ordinary sounds of the goldfinch, the wood thrush, the mourning dove the presence of more. These gifts from the sky become windows into the holy. Even the title Sanctus(Holy) turns us to reconsider what we hear:
A goldfinch, bright as a grace note, has landed
on a branch across the creek that mutters
and murmurs to itself as it rushes on, always
in a hurry. The ee oh lay of a wood thrush echoes
from deep in the forest, someplace green. In paintings,
the Holy Ghost usually takes the form of a stylized
dove, its whiteness a blaze of purity. But what if
it’s really a mourning dove, ordinary as daylight
in its old coat, nothing you’d ever notice.
When he rises from the creek and the light flares
behind, his tail is edged in white scallops,
shining. And when he opens his beak,
isn’t he calling your name,
sweet and low, You, you, you?
Sometimes we have our feet too firmly planted on the ground. What is….is just what is. “That’s just a bird chirping, nothing more,” we find ourselves demanding. The poet may not jolt us out of this ‘flat footedness.” But she is trying: a mourning dove as ordinary as daylight calling out to you, bearing the voice of the Holy Ghost.
I’ll tip my hat to the poet and the deep sense of life she witnesses. She’s not far from the empty tomb or the dry life suddenly restored or the myriad of people no longer imprisoned by sameness.
Do you hear the birds calling your name?
Our church has a very large Lost and Found. Above one of our Narthex coat racks sits a collection of unclaimed possessions. Not everything gathered there is like a penny on the pavement. I’d gladly take home a beautiful sweater laying there if I thought the proper time elapsed. You do wonder if the rightful owner ever missed this garment.
I once left a prized winter jacket in a restaurant and upon noting its absence I dropped everything and returned there. None of the employees were too concerned. Their Lost and Found didn’t contain my jacket.
Value. Is it always in the eye of the beholder? Or is there anything of intrinsic worth? Over the last several years we’ve become accustomed to fluctuating values. One day the market soars in value. A few days later it’s in the dustbin.
A small child can be instructive here. Watch a tot open a present. They may find more joy (value) playing with the box than with the contents. They aren’t impressed by what you paid.
I still regret leaving my prized jacket. I hope whoever has it now appreciates its value. I want it back because someone I dearly love gave it to me. That jacket is just a piece of cloth sold off the rack. No it isn’t. That jacket is more than a transaction. It represents a greater value. It’s intrinsic worth is nothing compared to what it meant to this beholder.
One of Easter’s claims is the undying value God gives to life. It’s not just a footnote. The resurrection of our Lord Jesus breaks the strangle hold of death. We speak often of this new beginning as victory. We speak of the power of God’s love—a love that prevails. We speak of the hope that resides for those entombed. We do well to also speak of something very simple, something almost unnoticed…. how do we put a value on the immeasurable love and faithfulness of God?
Happy Easter!!
Cyber Schluppe
What comes to mind when you read these phrases?
“Keep your eyes on the prize.”
“Without a vision, the people will perish.”
“If you aim for nothing, you will get there.”
They all come from different sources, yet each statement is about a sense of mission.
We do well to learn about the lives of those who keep their eyes on the prize. Their lives are instructive for the way they held to a vision. How in their time and place they aimed for something, something larger than themselves.
One who stands out in recent time was Nelson Mandela. Convicted for his leadership of the ANC (African National Congress), Mandela spent 27 years incarcerated as a political prisoner. He defended his organizations willingness to use violence. Mandela steadfastly maintained that the South African government was enforcing a violent separation of the races. This committed leader was given many opportunities to leave prison if he would compromise on the vision of a non-racial democratic South Africa. He held to his vision. When accused of being communist or of punishing whites in a majority ruled South Africa, Mandela continued to point to the Freedom Charter, a document that provided a vision for a free, non-racial South Africa. That document contained the essence of why prison mattered more than a partial, compromised freedom. Mandela stuck to it.
Holy Week is about the vision of God. We aren’t left with any doubts about God’s purposes. Jesus’ cross holds no secrets. And he goes to it willingly. His agony there is hard to fathom. Jesus’ very disciples want him to take a different path—they want greatness, a seat at his right hand. He doesn’t waiver from the cross. An innocent man suffers in love for this world.
There is a story about the author of the fourth Gospel where he is asked “What is the heart of God?” John answers, “Its love.” “That’s all?” “Yes,” John relies, “that’s who God is.”
A love willing to go all the way to death.
Cyber Schluppe
I was once accused of robbing a Walmart. Well, that’s an exaggeration. I was walking toward the store from my car when suddenly people flooded out of Walmart pointing and shouting, “They are over there!! There they go!!” I looked where they were pointing and saw two men on foot running toward the Glenwood Avenue Chick-Fil-a. Here’s where I come in. A Raleigh police cruiser came next to the two men (the robbers) and they, instead of sticking their hands up, point the officers to me! The police accepted their word and came speeding across the parking lot….after me!!
“Officers,” I shouted, “turn around! Those two men are the ones who robbed Walmart!” And they high tailed it after the real robbers.
I admit to being dumbfounded by those robbers. Who in their right mind would steal a large package—I think it was a TV—in broad daylight, in a large parking lot, flee on foot and expect to get away? Apparently, running away was not their intended plan. They had a getaway car. Only problem is when it was most needed that car failed to start!
A true Lenten experience won’t let us say “I’m innocent. The real problem is over there, running away.”
What can sting with these 40 days is the freight of complicity. What holds us is the firm recognition that every getaway car gets us nowhere. We participate. The opening salvo from our mouths as Lent begins: “We have not loved you with our whole heart, and mind, and strength. We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We have not forgiven others as we have been forgiven.” That’s Lent….recognizing again our carrying off a package…and the burden it brings…what it exposes.
The older I’ve gotten, the more I want of Lent. To welcome Lent is not to wallow in self-hatred. To live a good Lent is not to be dour and despairing. To embrace this season with passion is not about full time remorse. Rather it’s more about staying alive, about receiving and recognizing grace, about openness to the ongoing promise of Christ amidst the tragic realities of life.
Lord, have mercy.
Cyber Schluppe
Own any books autographed by the author?
Last year some of our Pilgrimage to Palestine team brought along their copy of Mitri Raheb’s Bethlehem Besieged which he autographed right there in Christmas Lutheran Church. Perhaps not as valuable as an artist signed limited edition print; nevertheless, any autographed book is a keep sake. The few signed volumes in my possession are ones I treasure.
This makes me wonder about a book I recently purchased. It’s an autographed book of poetry inscribed to a person named Leslie. It reads: “For Leslie, amazing friend, amazing writer—wishing you more of all good things in your life, and I’m sure looking forward to your next book.” Here’s a clue to how well the author may have known Leslie—the author only signed her first name. It’d be one thing if this book had been passed along to me by Leslie. It wasn’t. I purchased it as a used book on Amazon.
Surely Leslie didn’t know this book was personally inscribed. How else could she let it out of her hands? Someone gives you their work, the toil of their soul, and you turn around and sell it across the internet? That’s akin to seeing a coveted family heirloom on EBay. Even the best spin on Leslie’s selling this signed book doesn’t spin…some ‘amazing friend.’
There is an autograph on each of us. It’s indelible. We may not see it. Written in the form of a cross on our foreheads is the very signature of God in Christ Jesus. It communicates whose we are. It seals our identity. It’s the one sure gift that will not subside. You can’t erase it. You can’t sell it used on the internet. It’s God’s handiwork….forever.
There’s a phrase that bears repeating: you are a masterpiece of God, his handiwork. Just look into the waters of baptism. There reflected in your face is the immeasurable love of God in Christ.
Cyber Schluppe
Barbara Crocker is a Pennsylvania poet. She is Lutheran. Upon learning that Crocker is the mother of an autistic child I wanted to read some of her verse. Here’s a poem entitled Firstborn which Crocker wrote at a poetry workshop several years after the birth of her son. Notice the use of circle imaginary.
The sun came up, as it always does,
the next morning, its pale gold yolk
bleeding in the white room.
I remember how cold I was,
and how young, so thin,
my wedding ring rattled
on my finger. How the tea
the nurse brought
broke into waves on the rim
of the cup, spilled over
in the saucer; how nothing
could contain my tears.
Three days later, I left
in a wheelchair,
with nothing in my arms.
The center of this gold ring
is a zero. The horizon,
where the sun broke through,
is no longer a straight line,
but a circle. It all comes back
to you.
Firstborn expresses something of Crocker’s memory of going home from the hospital without her newborn son. She left ‘in a wheelchair, with nothing in my arms.’ This poem draws you into another person’s grief…and can open us to our own. ‘It all comes back to you’ are windows into every heart.
What does it mean to be human? Many and varied are the definitions. One that poets hold before us is our vulnerability. An open heart is a gateway to God!
Cyber Schluppe
Churches should have balconies. Ours doesn’t and that’s a problem. Balconies are a way for certain people to be present and not be too present. Youth have opportunity to be there, but not be there. A balcony becomes a good way to distance yourself from the older set.
To this day I remember my first passage up the stairs to the church balcony. I had arrived. It was 9th grade. The older kids welcomed me, initiating me into the ways of balcony behavior—act like you were engaged; stand for the hymns; pass notes discreetly; no nodding off during the sermon; no spit wads thrown downstairs. Continuing to live there was dependent on abiding by these critical rules. No one wanted the pastor during the sermon to stop, look your way and call you out. Such a public shaming meant certain banishment to the main floor. At all costs this was to be avoided.
Once in the balcony—always in the balcony. Ask anyone at that stage of life which was more important, “Where you sat or what you heard?” and balcony seating was most critical. Though unstated this trip up 13 stairs was a more longed for life passage than confirmation.
Nelson Mandela in his autobiography Long Walk to Freedom recounts the tribal custom of transitioning to adulthood. In his community the boundaries for coming of age were crystal clear. Complete the tribal rites of passage and you were no longer a child. You knew it and so did everyone else.
In our culture, those adult rites of passage aren’t so evident. That’s why we need balconies. They are grace space. No one over age 20 should be allowed up there; no one under age 13 admitted. There youth are granted a safe space to have one foot in the door and one foot outside. There you tacitly tell these ‘in between’ folks, we want you here even at a time when they aren’t so sure about being here. There they just may catch a glimpse of a future worth living, a calling that Jesus offers.
We don’t have a balcony. Since we don’t, why don’t you become a balcony? You the one who provides needed grace space.
Cyber Schluppe
Here’s a fragment from Carl Sandburg’s poem Wilderness:
“There is a wolf in me…fangs pointed for tearing gashes….a red tongue for raw meat….and the hot lapping of blood…
There is a baboon in me…clambering-clawed…dog-faced…yawping a galoot’s hunger…hairy under the armpits….
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird…and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want….and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone…
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart.”
I don’t think Sandburg was Lutheran, but he could have been. His poem voices a key Lutheran sense of the human—we are divided, we are both sinner and saint. We live with the animals inside; to admit so is not to give them unbridled reign. Even so, they will not go away.
The Apostle Paul was famous for his lists of saintly living. Writing about the baptized life Paul in Colossians declares “clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience.” (3:12) Hold up these virtues as a mirror for your life and you’ll likely not measure up. Paul demanded we clothe ourselves in these virtues; however, we will never fully embody them. They are unfinished life. In me is the untamed baboon!
Malcolm Gladwell suggested that to master any life work you must put in your 10,000 hours. The Paul McCartneys, the Bill Gates, they devoted themselves to their life projects over the long haul. Without their disciplined efforts we may have never heard the great song Yesterday or typed a word document.
That’s great. Some things we can measure. When it comes to the taming of the lurking baboon, we will need to turn for help outside our 10,000 hours.
Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.
At our annual congregational meeting back in December we were asked during the course of dinner to name barriers to engagement in our mission. I happened to be seated next to four middle school youth. I eagerly awaited their insights. What would these youth say prevented persons from being immersed in our life in Christ?
These youth without hesitation declared two factors: people had better things to do; it wasn’t cool to go to church. When I inquired about their answer these youth focused on being cool. Whatever their understanding of coolness, it was likely outside of church. “Are you cool?” I inquired. To a person they loudly affirmed their coolness.
Whew! And they were in church, at a meeting no less.
We know coolness has a way of cooling off. Justin Beaver and Taylor Swift are likely now seen as cool. Next year they could register zero on the coolness meter.
When I was in college I accidently tested my coolness. I purchased a new pair of ‘unstylish’ shoes. In that day to be cool meant wearing desert boots or sandals. My new shoes were apparently reserved for people over 60. Get this—those shoes received more comment than any other clothing I’ve ever worn…negative comment.
It’s a good thing that church isn’t cool. If we blow with the winds of the day, we’ll likely never stop turning. Marry yourself to the latest trends and you’ll be widowed soon.
Is there a slogan in all this? Something we could present for all who pass by our church? How about this from Flannery O’Connor: ‘The truth will make you odd!’
Cyber Schluppe
It’s common for sports players and coaches to cover their mouths when speaking. I’ve noticed it among baseball players. If the pitcher on the mound is in conversation with another player or a coach, that pitcher places his glove over his mouth. The same with football coaches on the sidelines—they, while talking into their head gear, will place a barrier in front of their mouths. What they have to say is privileged. And evidently what they have to say could, if detected by the opponent, give an undue advantage. So cover your mouth.
Do we Christians have any privileged information? Is there something we don’t want overheard? Would it matter to us if our greatest, best ever ministry idea showed up in another faith community?
Years ago word of a pastor’s sermon got around such that other clergy asked for a copy. Come to find out this pastor’s sermon ended up published. That’s great, except it was published under someone else’s name! Plagiarism. Was he bothered that another pastor took credit for his work? Sure. But then he said, “The good news is that other people received that message.”
In the movie The Way four strangers end up walking a pilgrimage in Spain and parts of France known as the Camino de Santiago(The Way of St. James). One of them played by Martin Sheen doesn’t want anyone to know about him. He has placed a glove over his whole life even though he’s on a shared spiritual pilgrimage. Those who walk with this wounded man allow him the space to be. They find out he’s in great grief over the unexpected death of his son. In the course of being with others he’s allowed the space to heal. It’s beautiful!
We have no right to force ourselves into other’s lives; we have every right to disclose our love for them. People may let down their guard.
Such connection is so very holy.
Cyber Schluppe
These days Almost Pastor Grover hangs upside down in my office closet. (For the uninitiated Almost Pastor Grover is a small, fuzzy puppet, whose 25 years in seminary render him ‘almost.’) On certain weekdays just before pre-school Almost Pastor Grover receives a visit from a little fellow named Evan. Evan waits by the closet door expectantly. When that door opens the glow on Evan’s face is full. He is radiant. If you could bottle up that look, pull it out when you need it, life would be so peaceful.
We can’t find peace in a bottle. And yet, to know peace, is to yearn for more of it. We are made for just such desire, a holy longing. For example, those times when you are safely and securely present to loved ones these can become the ‘I want to stay here moments.’ Norman Rockwell puts them on canvas. We want to put them in our smart phone calendar. When the holidays work for us emotionally, it’s little wonder the after holiday blues snatch us by the heart. Why can’t all our days be framed in such peace? Let’s hang upside down.
Peace, so elusive.
When our spiritual ancestors were banished from the community of peace, Eden, they lived very aware of what they’d lost. Made for Eden but living just east of it. Caught between what is and what ought to be. The raw data of our lives—an almost peace; the real yearning of our lives—lasting peace, what ought to be.
The Gospel News is that Eden has been born among us. The very delight of God, Jesus, comes to offer Himself. Peace. Like Grover, we are almost. Our peace is tentative. Two steps forward, one step back. So what? Jesus comes without reserve to be our peace. He comes all the way to us. He gives peace where it’s absent. He plants His peace precisely where we believe it won’t stay…in us. As the scripture says, ‘The peace of God that surpasses all human understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.’ (Philippians 4:7)
It’s enough to make you want to hang upside down.
Peace be with you!
Cyber Schluppe
Two words stand tall. These two words capture so much that is unsaid; they evoke among the best things ever said. They carry tremendous freight. Yet, we hardly notice them. Those two words are grace and peace.
You often hear them from the mouth of clergy: “Grace and peace to you from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ.” (A sign that the preaching is about to commence.) Grace and peace are the fullness of God’s gifts. To receive grace, to encounter peace is to dwell in God’s riches.
What is grace? It is the very heart of God’s love. It’s who God is. Not something our Lord doles out—a little grace here, a bit over there. Not something God withholds. God is gracious and merciful.
Let this description of grace wash over you:
“Grace’s empowerment is present in all true healing and in any movement
toward wholeness and love and freedom. It is present in every physical and psychological healing, in social and political reconciliation, in cultural and scientific breakthroughs, in deliverance from evil. It is present where love really grows….God’s grace is present intimately within us, inviting and empowering us toward more free and full exercise of our will and responsibility.” Gerald May, Addiction and Grace
Unpack that! Grace present in the fight to end malaria. Grace present in the Arab Spring. Grace present in justice for children abused. Grace present in that broken arm reset. Grace present in the voting rights act. Grace present in a teenager’s resilience against the bully. Grace present in the voice of “I’m sorry.” Grace present inside you pushing you to become more alive and available.
It’s winter. It’s cold. Nope. Never cold. We live graced! It’s enough to make you want to set aside every coldness in your heart.
Grace to you!
Cyber Schluppe
Many summers ago my wife Sally and I ran a week long program at Agape Camp where NC Lutheran youth gathered with adults with developmental delays from Murdoch Center, near Butner, NC. Seeking relief from the August heat each afternoon we swam in the camp pond. (This was before Agape had a swimming pool.)
One of our guests from Murdoch was a young man named Brisker. As I recall Brisker hadn’t spoken while attending camp. On this particular day, Brisker started walking on the dock toward the deep water. When the dock ended, Brisker just kept on walking. He immediately sank beneath the pond’s surface. Several of our youth went after Brisker and brought him to safety.
When he gathered himself, Brisker finally spoke, “That’s cold!”
Immediately many of us dove head first into that section of the pond. We all hoped that Brisker spoke the truth. He did! Thanks to Brisker we were surrounded with cool refreshing water!
That was some 32 years ago. I don’t recall anything else said at that camp– just those two, well timed words from Brisker. They stuck. When you’ve been hungry for someone to speak and they finally do, their words resonate. They have staying quality.
Our words are to have efficacy. They can cause others to dive in. I once heard a man give testimony to the importance of gleaning crops. He was convincing. His whole self was comported into those words. When he was done speaking all I wanted to do was glean.
Amidst the cacophony of gibbering, of incessant breaking news breeding noise, there is the plaintive, thoughtful gift of a well timed word.
Try it!
Cyber Schluppe
In the Ackland Art Museum at UNC-Chapel Hill a clay frog sits in a display case. Yes, a frog! It couldn’t be more than a ½ inch. To see it you almost need a magnifying glass. Observing its simple lines requires leaning way over. This tiny green frog looks like it could fit on any charm bracelet. Next to the display case the estimated age of this diminutive creature is identified: 2500-2000 BCE (Before the Common Era).
Sitting there before you is a 4,500 year old frog. What mystifies me is how this little creature managed to make it intact for that long. It never got knocked off the night stand in ancient Egypt? Wasn’t swept up with the litter on a sandy floor? Never dropped overboard while fishing in the Nile?
Unfortunately, this frog comes without any story revealing the passage of 4,500 years into a display at an American University Museum! There it is sitting virtually unnoticed on a museum shelf.
One of the great spiritual plagues of our day is loneliness. Maybe plague is too anemic a word. Loneliness could be the hidden scourge of our day….so pervasive we don’t even notice it. Years ago someone wrote about our culture as ‘the lonely crowd.’ Recently one observer of our society described us as ‘bowling alone.’ Whatever the descriptor, we are accustomed to traveling down a lonesome highway. My first encounter with a large city as a young adult covered me in loneliness: nobody knew me there; nobody cared to know me there! I felt about the size of that museum frog.
Listen. One of the best ways to break the silence of loneliness is training in the art of listening. Such training is offered by Stephen Ministry. This intentional Christian care giving ministry helps us learn and re-learn availability to another person, to seek to understand them, to know them without judgment. This is our day’s greatest need. Tweeting and texting have increased; listening has dissipated. When we break through the deafening silence to connect with another we tap into the stream of God’s intention. When such connection occurs, it’s akin to heaven. For the one who knows us as we are, yearns for us to live intimately, in communion. God doesn’t want us walking like Adam alone in the garden.
For someone to receive anything you have to utter and not reject you….it’s an avenue to renewed life. It starts with the simple, prayerful desire to notice and honor this other.
Frogs can be preserved in display cases. Children made in God’s image are preserved through community.
Cyber Schluppe
Peter Lovenheim was shocked to learn of the death of his suburban New York neighbors, whose death was avoidable. A mother of two was shot and killed by her husband, who then shot himself. The husband had been mentally imbalanced. On the night this man shot his wife, she had spent the whole day calling her best friend, who lived 20 minutes away, leaving plenty of messages to ask if she and her children could stay over. The best friend never got the message. The woman went home.
“Why hadn’t the woman gone to her neighbors? Why hadn’t she knocked on the door of a nearby neighbor and said, “I don’t feel safe”? Why had she called one friend over and over again, but not called on the help closest at hand, a neighbor?” (The Christian Century, August 9, 2011)
Troubled by these questions Lovenheim could only observe that suburban living creates isolation. He wanted to swim against this tide of anonymity. What Lovenheim did was ask his neighbors, one at a time, if he could sleep over. Many refused; many didn’t. Lovenheim learned that inside those fine homes was the full range of human need—couples contemplating divorce, a single mother with terminal cancer, a retiree suffering from loneliness.
He got to know his neighbors. In a book about this experience (In The Neighborhood: The Search for Community on a American Street, One Sleepover at a Time) Lovenheim raises a profound question: Could we, in the busyness of our lives, be missing out on the very people that God intends for us to meet?
“Love your neighbor as you love yourself,” declared Jesus.
There’s a group of people we will love with very little effort—our family and friends. But we are told to do something harder—love our neighbors.
Are the people on your street, your condo, your apartment the ones you are intended to neighbor?
Cyber Schluppe
“Wag more; bark less.”
It’s a great slogan. It’s an empty slogan unless you have someone to wag at. Wagging involves recognizing that person whom you are glad to see. Watch how a dog wags—a 90 mile an hour tail, a mid section swaying to and fro, jumping and panting. Often the whole body is involved except for raised hairs on the back. When hairs are raised on a dog a bark, not a wag, is forthcoming.
Who gets the wag? Now days someone on the screen gets the wag: Justin, Scottie, Phillip and Kate, Lady Gaga to name a few. People magazine remains popular because it helps us peer into the lives of those in Tinsel Town or Wall Street. Social conversations sputter around the characters in beloved TV programs. I’ve been hooked to a TV series before. Watching my favorite character navigate the next crisis got me wagging.
These are not real relationships.
One Lent a man gave up TV. For six weeks he abstained from his favorite programs. When Easter arrived he made two significant discoveries:
1. he realized he knew more about the people on TV than the people with whom he lived;
2. he wanted to correct that hole in his life.
He was beginning to wag in the right direction!
It is the season for wagging. Our Lord Jesus so desiring to know us and be known by us plops down in our midst. It is his singular mission, to be in relationship with us, drawing us to the life that is life. Seeing you, seeing me puts him in a wag.
The more we live in communion with Jesus, the more we live in communion with others, wagging all the way.
Cyber Schluppe