Beauty and Affliction

"But two things pierce the human soul," wrote Simone Weil, "beauty and affliction."

Sweet friends at Anna's

The words of the Christian mystic ring especially true in Nassau, where we experience such humbling beauty and such immense pain--all in concentrated time and space. Our hearts are pricked, and we are not the same again.

Having just returned from the second annual April edition of the Nassau trip, my heart is full and also achy this morning. It gets harder to leave that place each time. And although I'm so proud of our little team and what we accomplished in only three full days on the worksite, the time flew by too quickly. I find myself wishing that today could be another day for piggyback rides and plaiting hair and sharing our peanut butter.

All of life to me is generally a bold and joy-filled adventure, with the difficult stuff inspiring as much wonder as the fun. But there's something about returning from Nassau that makes the breakneck pace of my cushy Connecticut life feel a little numb--and after this trip especially, in which the company was so sweet, the work so satisfying, and the experiences so rich with meaning.

The best little team--what a privilege to serve alongside these three!
(Photo creds to our dear friend Mindy Seeley at the ALC.)

The Project
It was a joyful encounter with God this past week to watch my three teammates create.  In their own unique ways, they are each desperately creative: Kim with her big ideas and her paint, Steve with his words (which I know are always taking shape in his head, even when he's not putting pen to paper), and Jon from behind the lens of his camera.

In a place that is characterized by rubble and trash, I am inspired by the way God has been inviting us to image forth His creative presence: first with Will's garden project last year, and now with Kim's project to invite the kids to help paint the classrooms at Carmichael Church.  As our relationships in the Carmichael neighborhood continue to blossom and flourish through the years, I pray that these creative marks left on their places will shape and empower the community.  Love creates, and creativity inspires courage.  Such is our ongoing calling in Nassau, I'm learning.

My girl Kiddi washing up.

Watching excited Haitian kids sponge paint flowers on the walls of their now canary-yellow Sunday school classroom, so giddy to participate in this work, to leave their imprint on a building where the entire community gathers, my heart could have burst.  We say with God that it is good (Genesis 1:24).

The All-Saints Visit
There were so many sweet moments with the team this past week, but one I will never forget is our brief visit to the All Saints Camp. I had not been back since Ms. Moxey's passing more than a year ago. I avoided a visit last April, and was ashamed at my relief when it wasn't feasible for me to go with the students this past July. It felt scary and hard to return to this place that I love, having lost our matriarch.

But as I prepared for last week's trip, I had the feeling that maybe it was time. And how appropriately timed with Easter because Ms. Moxey lived the resurrection life more fully than anyone I have ever known. True to her nickname, which means "force of character or determination," her contagious joy, reckless love for others, and inexplicable courage displayed the presence of God with her. Tim Keller writes, "The difference between knowing Christ and knowing the power of his resurrection is the difference between knowing a person and resembling a person." Ms. Moxey not only knew but closely resembled Jesus.  And as Keller goes on to say, "Death actually moves this process on to perfection." Standing at her memorial, thinking of her influence and the power of Christ in her, a flood of emotion washed over my aching heart.

I'm forever grateful to these three compassionate souls for their grace in going with me on that first dreaded pilgrimage back, and for giving me a few tearful moments to revel in the tension of pain and beauty, the longing for Ms. Moxey in this life and the joy at knowing she is with our Lord forever. Thank you, friends!

The Sunrise
Earlier that same morning we had one of the most transcendent experiences I can remember, a stolen sunrise on Cabbage Beach that sums up the trip for me. We awoke at 5:00 a.m., eager to make the most of our last few hours on the island and jealous for one last glimpse of sun and sea. In the foggy stillness of those last minutes before first light, we made our way ungraciously to Paradise Island, racing the clock to find the perfect spot.

Cloud cover made the sunrise slow in coming. So after Jon shot the first blushed hues, we all got in the water to watch the rays unfurl their magic.

Just thinking about it still takes my breath away: The peaceful calm of the deserted beach. The perfect chill of the water and the subtle fierceness of its enveloping waves. The clouds becoming pinker and more saturated with each untainted moment. The quiet conversation about Jesus and life and beauty. And finally, the magnificent tangerine sun coming up giant and full, so compelling we couldn't take our eyes away. It was all so beautiful, it made my heart hurt.

With calm, easy strokes, our two bold swimmers made their way back to the beach to snap some photos and then out to us again in the water, laughing and carefree.  As I watched Kim and Stephen swim in the glow of that sparkling light, I couldn't help but think of the limitless possibility their young lives hold. Their college choices may still be uncertain--but they will change the world, those two. Kim with her diligence and organization and her ability to make plans come together so effortlessly. And Stephen, like his namesake the martyr, with his inspiring words and boldness to speak about God's goodness.  I'm so proud of them and so thankful for the ways in which their hearts have been pierced for the things of God: His creation, His people, His beauty, His participation in suffering.

Fortunately for us, and for our Haitian friends with all their suffering and all their joy, the sunrise reminds us: "His mercies are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness!" (Lamentations 3:23).

We do not want merely to see beauty... we want something else which can hardly be put into words- to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. 
- C.S. Lewis

Our good friend and member of the ALC family, Kevin, was a godsend to us! He also painted the dove on the wall.

So close, so far away

This week marks the first time I've vacationed with my family in the Caymans since I began visiting the Caribbean for a different reason three years ago: to spend time in the little Haitian village on Carmichael Road. Since that time, I have made five trips and it has become a place as dear to me as these beloved islands I've been visiting my whole life. I've needed this time away for rest and respite and reflection after a daunting season of ministry and study. But I have been missing Carmichael especially this week.

When I first started going to Nassau, telling the kids, "We love you; see you in a year" seemed a little flat, but it was all I had and so in my quivering heart, I let it be enough. I shrank back from the overwhelming need because there wasn't space in my heart yet, space carved out by the years and the gut-wrenching stories and the deepening of friendships, for anything more. But as the trips and the years have gone by those words taste sickening coming out of my mouth. They are bile on a hot Bahamian day. I can no longer say them.

"See you next year...."

When I'll bring you a few measly snack crackers and teach you a Bible story.

When I'll come knock on your door to play for a few hours, carry you on my shoulders.

How insufficient in the face of death and rape and hunger and deportations that rip apart families.

How insufficient when my big brother, Jesus, left his perfect Home to drag me out of my brokenness. When he came to our impoverished neighborhood and paid the debt to give me a new inheritance.

How can I claim him and do nothing in the face of the brokenness I see in the little Haitian slum in Nassau?

No, these friends have become too dear only to say "See you next year."  Now I know their names, one by one. I have listened to their stories. I have been asked to take them home with me. I have seen their hell, and it demands a more valiant response. I may be small, but I have power and wealth beyond what they can dream. And I walk with a Big God.

My God says that He is near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18). That He rescues the oppressed (Psalm 103:6).

When I used to read these verses in Scripture, I don't think I understood. Not really, not in any way that mattered. I never lost sleep over whether my little friends had enough to eat, or wondering if the Bahamian government had made them orphans.

But as my heart has been enlarged little by little through their suffering, I think I am finally beginning to see. Jesus knows firsthand what it feels like to be broken, oppressed. He has absorbed the smack of cursing words spoken to a foreigner; he knows how it smarts to be rejected and despised.  He has borne for us the sting of death, has become an orphan on our behalf.

It's a profound mystery that they know Him in a way foreign to me--I with all my theology and books and lofty ideas. I am spiritually obese, feasting on the rich things of God with all too little action. He nourishes them day by day in a way they probably do not understand, but they expend every ounce, every droplet of His nearness for their survival in a harsh world. As they share their food with one another, take care of the little babies, dream of a better future, they display His nearness.

So how can I be near to Him without drawing near to these little ones He holds so dear?  These precious gems with whom he willingly identified? His Word is clear: to be made like him I must become like the least.

That directive seems hazy in a twenty-first century world, especially one in which I have such tremendous resources. How obscure that Jesus would invite me to make myself small! As I write this, I am enjoying the little luxuries of diving and rest and fish tacos and rum punch on an island not so very far from Nassau.  These are good gifts from God to rejuvenate a weary soul, not to be disdained or ashamed of. But when I let them cloud my vision and cheer my heart to the point there is no room for the suffering of the poor, I have taken giant steps away from Jesus.

she who has received grace

Today has been an ungracious sort of day.

I was late for a volunteer recruitment meeting. I struggled, aggravated, through my Hebrew studies as a bewildered mama tried unsuccessfully to control her screaming toddler. I very aggressively slammed a shopping cart into the corral in frustration that the grocery store customer before me felt too hurried to put it back. I had a little temper tantrum in the car as my commute to a friend's house was doubled in the crazy holiday traffic. I ranted to my family on the phone about some unwelcome news I received this week. Despite a lovely brunch with friends this afternoon, I headed home annoyed that there was more work to be done for church tomorrow.

Chalk it up to the shortest day of the year and the winter blues, but I did not feel Christmasy. And I certainly didn't feel full of grace.

The past year has been like that. I have wanted to be brave and beautiful in the midst of little challenges and more looming adversity. But I haven't handled each trial with the sort of poise I would have hoped. Instead it has all felt pretty clumsy.

I hate these sorts of days because gracious is what I want most of all to be.  That and gutsy.  But the grace usually feels harder to come by than the guts.

I was feeling frustrated with myself when I read the loveliest words in the Gordon-Conwell Advent Devotional, day 20, written by early Christian history professor Dr. Donald Fairbairn:

When the angel Gabriel greets Mary, he uses an expression that has proven difficult to translate. The Latin Vulgate renders it with the equivalent of, "O one who is full of grace." The King James renders it, "Thou that art highly favored." And the ESV has, "O favored one." The Greek expression is a single word, a passive form of the verb for "to grace." Perhaps the most precise way to render it in English would be "O you who have received grace." Gabriel is not talking about Mary as a source of grace, but as a recipient of grace. 

The Vulgate's translation feels darn near impossible to live up to, and I bet Mary would agree. Maybe her temperament was a bit less fiery than mine, but I'll bet she had some ungracious days, too. {{She was human, after all.}} But Mary had received grace--literally, had been graced--in the most precious, Incarnate way.

Dr. Fairbairn continues: 

As for what this grace consists of, the next phrase holds the key: "the Lord is with you." At heart, grace is not God's giving us just any kind of favor; it is his giving us his very presence. 

God with us--grace for my unloveliest, pitch-a-fit sort of days. Unmerited favor in the here-with-us presence of God. The Word become flesh for us, giving us access to the Father, making us sons and daughters.

I am not always {read: hardly ever} full of grace. But tonight I am most thankful for the grace received through the Incarnation, God's strength in my weakness.

How Christmas Myth Prepares Us for Advent Truth

We're already more than a week into Advent and I've barely begun the daily Scriptures, much less posted them for friends to download. {they're included at the bottom of this post!} I have to confess that I'm a little sad my Christmas decorations are all neatly packed away in storage. I think their absence this year has made me feel less Christmasy, so I've finally decided that I must get at least a tabletop tree to adorn "the Shire" (my room at the Dorsch Casa, affectionately named because it has a short, hobbit-hole door that opens into a large, high-ceilinged space with lots of glorious light--it reminds us all of a hobbit hole!).

Tonight I'm shamelessly re-blogging a post I wrote for my Church since the Reformation class in response to a forum question about whether or not Christians should observe the secular traditions associated with Christmas.  I hope it inspires you to read not only the Advent Scriptures this month, but also some fancy that will help you to believe in the seemingly too-wonderful story of God in the manger.

My family has always celebrated Christmas with a lot of intensity and sparkle. In an almost Narnian way, the fanciful traditions of Santa Claus were mingled with the nativity, which I understood from an early age to be the true meaning of Christmas. While I have heard many of my gospel-minded friends express concern about confusing their kids with notions of the jolly old elf sliding down their chimney, these two aspects of my family's Christmases never seemed to me to conflict.

I remember one special Christmas Eve when Santa Claus made a visit to my grandparents' living room.  I was about five and desperately enthralled with the magic of it all, although my older cousins recognized the man in the red suit as a man from their church. Being the youngest, I anxiously awaited my turn as Santa addressed the cousins one by one, giving us each a gift and whispering a secret in our ears. Finally, Santa presented me with my gift, and then, pulling me close whispered, "You know that Jesus is the real reason for Christmas."  In a strange way, it was one if the holiest moments of my life, when I sensed that all I had heard about Jesus was true.  Thus began an even deeper faith in Santa {{he was a Christian! Somehow I had sensed it all along!}} and in the Jesus we both shared.  Believing in Santa helped me to believe in Jesus. And when I stopped believing in Santa, I kept right on believing in his God.

I recently read a Wall Street Journal article from 2008 in which a Christian father explains why he encourages his kids to believe in Santa. He writes: "This sheds light on a seeming paradox in St. Paul's letter to Roman Christians: "For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made. . . ." How does one see "invisible attributes"? Only people raised on fairy tales can make sense of that. It belongs in a terrain where magic glasses can illumine what was heretofore hidden, where rabbit holes open into wonderlands."  

I dearly love this idea that myth prepares our hearts for Truth, and never sense it so profoundly as at Christmastime.

I must say that I am disturbed by moralistic interpretations of Santa Claus, such as the Elf on the Shelf tradition (although the lighted-hearted Facebook pictures of his mischievous escapades are hilarious) that conflict with a gospel of grace. But that was not the Santa I knew growing up--thanks, I suppose, to the fact that my parents didn't rely on his pending visit as a way to make me behave.  I agree with others who have commented that we need to resist the secularization of Christmas, including the accompanying, all-too-prevalent materialism. However I think there is a way to hold the mystery of the Incarnation in tension with the fairy tails--and traditions--that help us to believe it.   

 As Sally Lloyd-Jones retells the meeting of Mary and the angel Gabriel in her beloved Jesus Storybook Bible, "So Mary trusted God more than what her eyes could see. And she believed." 

Advent Scriptures 2013: Daily Readings to Anticipate Christmas

standing on his shoulders

One summer night at Greenwoods a former youth intern, now a good friend, envisioned leadership for me using John Maxwell's image of a leader allowing others to stand on her shoulders.  A leader, my friend shared, is someone who recognizes the gifts and abilities of others and empowers those people to go further than he could.

{{I'm not much for books about leadership--save the one course I took in Richmond's Jepson School of Leadership Studies--so I love when other people read this stuff and give me the CliffsNotes recap.}}

As I thought about how desperately I want to be that kind of leader, I recalled hearing Sandra McCracken relate the heart-wrenching story on which her chilling song "Age After Age" is based.  It was the night of the Live Under Lights and Wires release party in Nashville, a magical night at a hip East Nashville venue where Sandra and Derek played the songs and shared the stories of her then-current album.  I wept right there at the party when she told the tale of two young brothers who were swept up in quicksand in the Mississippi River.  When they pulled the younger one out of the sand alive, they found that he was standing on the shoulders of his older brother.

On the edge of the river, the mighty Mississippi
Two boys spent their summers on the banks of the levy
When the waters burst and broke the dam
they were swallowed in a wave of sand
they pulled the younger one out by the hand
from standing on his brother's shoulders.

One nation under God, young and proud she stumbled
With a trail of tears left by those who were outnumbered
She said, "This land is your land, this land is mine, unless you are an Indian"
But a higher ground we have tried to find"
standing on their shoulders.

Age after age
of heroes and soldiers
it gives me sight and makes me brave,
standing on their shoulders

  One man in the shadow of the white-washed cathedrals
He tried to pull the system through the eye of the needle
To his conscience bound he would not recant for the freedom of the Saints
And truth is truth is truth
and we are standing on his shoulders

To the ones left behind who are picking up the pieces
of planes, bombs, and buildings of innocence and evil
'Cause when the news and noise and flowers die,
and you still wake up alone
There is a God who knows every tear you cry
and this world is on his shoulders

In the last year and a half as my role at Walnut Hill has evolved, I have reflected on this image often.  I am not naturally good at delegation.  I struggle to prioritize.  Like generations of Kingstons before me, I hold tightly to my responsibilities, thinking it's easier to do them myself than to give them away.  I have been begging God to help me let go, to delegate, to empower those around me.

I am a young church leader with a lot to learn.  But there is one thing I know, and it's that the church will not grow until we shepherds of the flock follow Jesus into this work of empowering others.  We are after all, standing on his shoulders.

...And the government will be upon his shoulders {Isaiah 9:6}

 ...And the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him {Isaiah 53:5}

How parenting your teenager is a lot like riding a horse

I think a lot about parenting when I'm riding my thoroughbred Aiden Magee.

Lately I've been finding myself getting aggravated with Aiden for making me work so hard at moving him forward.  I'm exhausted after our warm-up alone, having used all my strength just to get him going at an acceptable pace.  In reality, if I were more consistent, he would be too.

Sound familiar?!

A good analogy came to me this week as I was preparing to teach a parenting class for some moms in our morning women's ministry at church.  The youth team is leading this class on the book For Parents Only: Getting Inside The Head of Your Kid, and my first week to teach was on a chapter about how middle and high school students want freedom more than nearly anything else.   

I had a blast hanging out with a room full of very insightful moms, some with small children and others with kids in our ministry.  Here's what I shared with them:

If you're pulling back on the reins with everything you've got, you're already out of control.

When you ride a horse, you need to use your whole body to halt him.  Your legs around his girth keep his legs engaged as you prepare to stop.  Your gluts and abs contract to help you sit squarely in the saddle to signal the halt.  And your hands squeezing the reins ever so slightly reinforce your other aids.  Pulling back on the bit alone will only get you into a tug-of-war--one that a twelve-hundred pound animal will win every time!

Just the same, your teenager will most likely win a tug-of-war with you.  

It's not that he weighs more {well, maybe he does at this point...} or that she can actually outsmart you.  But kids in their middle and high school years want freedom so badly, they will do nearly anything to get it. "Freedom is like cocaine to a teenager," our authors from the parenting book have observed.  If you tug back, it starts a vicious cycle of desperation. 

When you want to put a horse "on the bit" as we say, coaxing him into a lovely frame, similar rules to the principles about halting apply.  You use your seat and your legs to keep the horse moving forward, pushing from his hind end to engage his entire body.  You keep a firm contact with his mouth via the outside rein, giving a half-halt, or a light tug, every now and then.  And with the inside rein, you give.  A death grip on his mouth has the opposite effect of what you're after, causing the horse to stretch out his neck in resistance rather than softening it in sunmission.

A trainer recently instructed me to stop everything I'm doing with my hands every so often for three short strides.  This seems counter-intuitive, but it's the only way Aiden will ever have a chance to put into effect what I'm trying to show him.  If my hands are always there applying pressure on his mouth, he never gets the opportunity to figure things out for himself.

Sometimes when I take the pressure away, he'll fall apart and we'll have to go back to square one.  Other times, he'll keep the bend we've been working to achieve, and it's magic.  Those are the moments you live for in riding.

{{So too, I have observed, in parenting.}}

How will your middle or high school student ever have a chance to put into practice all you've taught her if you never allow her the freedom to test her wings?  When you take away the pressure for a moment or two, she may very well fall apart.  But this is an opportunity for you to help her regroup, process what she could do differently, and for you to impart more valuable training that she'll need later on, once she's flown the coup. 

But those moments when you give a little and and she softens?  Those moments when she soars in the freedom you've allowed her?  Those will be the moments when you know she'll be okay someday, out there in the wide world,  

moments when you sit up, relax, and enjoy the ride.

On the High Holy Days, Hebrew Liturgy, and Studying for the Competency Exam

If Greek is math, Hebrew is poetry.

Greek is logical, systematic, and linear.  I am therefore a sub-par Greek student.

Fluid and full of nuance, Hebrew connects us to ancient roots and calls us to worship.  I am remembering how much I love Hebrew.

I took my final exam for first semester Greek last week and immediately dusted off my Hebrew books to begin studying for the competency exam in January.  Maybe it wasn't the best planning to try to relearn two semesters of Hebrew in four months while working full time and taking three other classes at Conwell.  But as my dad likes to say, I do nothing easy.

In perfect timing, as I was just beginning to review the Hebrew alphabet after a four-year hiatus, my former student Abby, now a college girl in New York, contacted me about the observation of the High Holy days and Messianic Judaism.

"Didn't you use to go to a Messianic synagogue and how can we celebrate Yom Kippur?" she wanted to know.  So off we went to West Haven last Saturday morning to sing the liturgies and proclaim with Jewish believers that Jesus has indeed made the final atonement for our sin.

Singing in Hebrew, I learned during my college-girl days in Richmond, is the best way to learn the language.  Slowly as we recited the blessings from Yom Kippur siddur (prayer book), I found the old words and rhythms coming back to me.

Blessed are You, L-rd our G‑d and G‑d of our fathers, G‑d of Abraham, G‑d of Isaac and G‑d of Jacob, the great, mighty and awesome G‑d, exalted G‑d, who bestows bountiful kindness, who creates all things, who remembers the piety of the Patriarchs, and who, in love, brings a redeemer to their children's children, for the sake of His Name.

The Hebrew prayers are always reminding us of this God who promises a Redeemer, and in Messianic worship we rejoice that he has come in the Person of Jesus. 

Appropriately, it is the writer of the Book of Hebrews who tells us about this connection between the Jewish observance of Yom Kippur and our great once-and-for-all Redeemer:

But only the high priest entered the inner room, and that only once a year, and never without blood, which he offered for himself and for the sins the people had committed in ignorance...But when Christ came as high priest of the good things that are now already here, he went through the greater and more perfect tabernacle that is not made with human hands, that is to say, is not a part of this creation. He did not enter by means of the blood of goats and calves; but he entered the Most Holy Place once for all by his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption. (Hebrews 9:7, 11-12).

Reciting the blessings and praises of the holiest days in the Jewish calendar calls our attention to the reality of a risen Savior, who has "done away with sin by the sacrifice of himself" (Hebrews 9:26).

As I do, I am thankful for this poetic native tongue of the people of God, preserved for us that we might praise Him more.