Papa Can You Hear Me?

Do you ever have that dream where you're trying to yell or scream at someone to get their attention because they or you were in danger? Your mouth is forming the words but they came out as a whisper or a hoarse cry? No matter how much air you put into your lungs, it doesn't get above a soft voice and the target doesn't hear and usually walks away...

I've had such dreams many times and the worse part is it also seems to happen to me in reality. Only, the person I am trying to project my cry to is the one person I was taught that I should rely on, that I can trust, that knows all the desires and secrets of my heart. I cry out, beg, plead, and supplicate into a silent darkness and that cry seems to go unheard and unanswered and I can't help but wonder why. All my life, I have read the Psalms of David, the story of Job, the desperate prayer of Hannah, and so many other instances in the Bible where the created proffered cries from the darkness for their Creator to deliver them from trial or to grant their deepest desire or need. Even Paul received an answer to his supplication, even though the reply was not in his favor (2 Corinthians 12:7-10). However, I've been praying for months to no avail and not for the first time in my life, I am wondering if God can hear me or if He was listening in the first place.

It's not that I'm flirting with Atheism or that I'm going to proclaim there is no God. But what do you do in the face of indifference? What do you do when you are slammed with one calamity and heartbreak after another?

I know people are fond of quoting The Princess Bride when Wesley says to Buttercup "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something..." As a Stoic, there is an appeal to accepting what is and moving along. It was my coping mechanism for years until even I couldn't handle it. Humans were not designed to stand chronic crisis and emotional pain.

Even C.S. Lewis knew that. In his book The Screwtape Letters, the fictional daemon Screwtape wrote letters to his nephew, a junior "tempter" by the name of Wormwood. In one letter, Screwtape spoke on the subject of perpetual human suffering and the effects of enduring such phenomenon:

"You see, it is so hard for these creatures to persevere. The routine of adversity, the quiet despair (hardly felt as pain) of ever overcoming the chronic temptations with which we have again and again defeated them, the drabness which we create in their lives and the inarticulate resentment with which we teach them to respond to it- all this provides admirable opportunities of wearing out a soul by attrition." 

~The Screwtape Letters, pg. 155

Attrition is the action or process of gradually reducing the strength or effectiveness of someone or something through sustained attack or pressure. Erosion. Just like a crumbling rock on the edge of the sea or the bank of a river, that thins with every glacier melt in the spring, I have felt my strength drain with perpetual and relentless disappointment, adversity, and heartbreak. I've always prided myself on my determination to pull myself up by my bootstraps and carry on, but the past year especially it become so hard and now it feels impossible. As I've written before, this isn't my first brush with the "Dark Night of the Soul" but this one has been the hardest. Perhaps I never fully recovered from the last one. It was dovetailed by so many small difficulties. My graduation was a triumph but it was a triumph that was achieved by the skin of my teeth. Since then I've been screened for three different cancers, endured painful lab tests, and have been feverishly trying to get a job. While I felt some discouragement, I was still reasonably well in spirit. 

In August, I was invited to present my "Disability in the Church" presentation at a local church. This was both an honor and something that excited me. If the presentation were a success, it could lead to invitations elsewhere and give me opportunities to discuss a topic that was so near and dear to me. I got to spend 10 lovely days with my Dad in Medford where we got to spend real time together, something we hadn't done since Christmas. When I came home, I was feeling a little under the weather but also refreshed, hopeful, and happy. I was ready to prepare my presentation and I found out I had been nominated to be voted for a committee in the Episcopal Diocese of Oregon. If I won the vote, I would be able to serve my church on a Diocese level and try to make a difference. Then I found out I had bronchitis which explained why I had such a bad cough since the beginning of September. A week later, I ended up the hospital and found out that I had developed pneumonia. I was put in a brief quarantine with high fever but tried to keep my good humor. When my fever broke a few days later, I felt hopeful that I would be recovered by the coming weekend when I would make my presentation. I even felt well enough to wash my bedding and clothing. The next day, I walked into my doctor's appointment optimistically thinking I'd be assured I was finally on the mend. Instead, I found out that I was to be tested for pertussis or Whooping Cough. I was put back into quarantine until the results were in and found out two days later that it was positive. I had to contact the inviting church to inform them of my situation and asked for a postponement, only to find out that they could only cancel because of the way their adult forums were designed. A few minutes later, it was brought to my attention that given the long recovery before me that it was not a good time for me to take on the demands of a Diocese board position. Seeing the wisdom in this, I withdrew my acceptance of the nomination. For the first time in a handful of months, I felt completely defeated and could only pray that the next week would be better. The following weekend proved to be anything but... on Saturday I was informed that my beloved adopted grandfather passed away a week previously and before I could call him and try to foster reconciliation. It was a hard blow and broke my heart. Just as I was trying to breathe, only 48 hours later, I lost a most beloved friend and support and it broke me. Even today, I found out there was a third loss- a professor that I had for so many classes the past four years. 

I have had times in my life where I had a high concentration of bad news and adversity. They were hard but I had always managed to keep my head above water. This time, however, wave upon wave came crashing on my head until I sank to the bottom where I've been since. I'm stuck in the overwhelming current of constant trial and this time, I don't care if I never resurface. I'm tired of feeling broken, defeated, and helpless. I'm tired of struggling against perpetual obstacles and cruxes only to achieve little. When you have quite a few people share with you that when they are tempted to wallow in self-pity they think of me and realize someone has it worse than they do, it speaks volumes to me just how painful my life is. When people use you as the measuring stick when it comes to their own sufferings, that's a clue to just how messed up your life is.

I'm at a point in my life where I can't cope anymore.  While I go through the motions, life has no value or interest for me. Every day, at least once, I curl up in the fetal position pressing my chest as I feel the physical pain in my heart and I shed bitter tears. I force myself to eat once per day otherwise I wouldn't eat at all because I have no appetite. I sleep little or I stare at the ceiling all night until it's time to get up. I go to bed each night with a prayer that I won't wake up, that the pain will end. But like so many other prayers, God does not answer. I came to the awful realization that God has completely abandoned me and that He doesn't care.

This is an alarming thing to realize especially given how called I felt to Ministry. I've preached the word of God to others, I try to minister and be a Christ-like influence to the people I live with and anyone who comes to ECM. I'm even trying to join a religious order and I can't even say with confidence that I am a child of God, that He loves me, and that He is in all of this. If anything, it feels like I'm in the clutches of the Devil and no one is coming to save me. Out of the depths, I cry out to God but no one hears. He doesn't seem to hear...

c-ya.

ke7ejx.

Celebrating Mother

"She said yes for tomorrow, yes to the sorrow 

Yes to the Almighty because she believed. 

She said yes to be holy, yes to give fully; 

Yes to the honor she would one day receive."  

~Andrew T. Miller, "The Birth of Christ"

The Annunciation Sandro Botticelli

On the fifteenth of August, many Christians celebrate the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. Tradition declares that upon her death, her soul and her earthly body were received into heaven similar to Elijah from the Old Testament. It's a time of reverent remembrance and honor for Mary. It's also a time of celebration for my parish who took on her blessed name. 

As Protestants, many of us shy away from the idea of honoring the Blessed Mother and dismiss the idea as idol worship or pre-Reformation superstition. However, I can't help but wonder if we are missing the boat here. Even scripture indicates that Mary was extraordinary and her faith, courage, and obedience are legendary. 

In Luke's Gospel, we are introduced to what is known as "The Annunciation (or announcement) of Christ" where the Angel Gabriel comes before a young girl named Mary. Now, over the centuries due to artistic license and imagination, many tend to think of angels as the cute infant cherubs that one sees in a lot of Renaissance art and in different palaces. If this is what you imagine, please allow me your eyes. Biblically speaking, the appearance of an angel was neither adorable nor a sign of safety. Throughout the Old Testament, Angels appeared in flame with sword in hand and a close encounter with said celestial being could be fatal. C.S. Lewis once wrote that "I believe no angel ever appears in Scripture without exciting terror; they always have to begin by saying "Fear not" (March 4, 1953 letter)". I know that if an Angel were to pop into my living room right now I would probably do three things: 1) scream 3) faint and the before I faint 2) do something that for the sake of modesty I will not express. Point being, I'd be racked with terror and wondering if I was about to come face-to-face with my Maker. Mary who would have known this must have been paralyzed with terror. Seeing her fear, Gabriel soothes her saying, " Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God (Luke 1:30 NRSV)".  

Then he proceeds to tell her that she will become pregnant and carry a son. Naturally, Mary was both puzzled and horrified. She makes it clear when she asks Gabriel how that can happen when she herself has never been with a man. I feel for her there because I know that if I came home as a teenager and told my parents I was knocked up and that it was done without intercourse my parents would scoff, denounce me as a liar, and demand to know who the father is not to mention any other consequence that would arise. For Mary, to be pregnant as a maid would have had far worse consequences than being grounded or treated with scorn by her parents. In Hellenistic Judea, if Mary came out as being pregnant and God hadn't provided her with a righteous man of God, Joseph could have handed her over to authorities who would have dragged her into the town square where Mary would have been stoned to death for dishonoring Joseph. Even worse, Mary would have had to experience the trauma of knowing that the first stone would have been thrown by her betrothed. Joseph had even made the decision to "divorce her quietly as to not expose her to public disgrace (Matt 1:19 NRSV)". However, despite the life-threatening dangers, this 14-16-year-old girl said yes to the danger, the sorrows, and heartbreaks that would come. She said, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word (Luke 1:38 NRSV)". 

To me, the faith and obedience shown in those few verses is breathtaking. She had to endure the trauma of childbirth in a stable, not a hospital, had to endure the pains of rejection from Jesus, raising a son who would eventually be sacrificed, and even stood at the cross as her precious son breathed his last breath. She may have been a "supporting character" but her influence ran deep. Jesus' first public miracle occurred at a wedding in Cana (John 2) because Mary asked him to replace the wine that had been depleted. Jesus obeyed though with some protest and turned many jugs of water into the finest wine. This speaks volumes to me of how much he respected and loved his mother. 

This past Wednesday on August 15th, I went to the morning mass and listened to an amazing sermon given by my rector. At one point, he slipped up saying this was a time to celebrate Mother when he meant Mary. However, like many Freudian slips, I think there was a great deal of truth in what Fr. Bingham originally said. This is indeed a time to celebrate Mother. Because Mother is a title of honor, virtue, and one of the greatest callings that can come from God. I know this because anytime I look at an image or statue of the Blessed Virgin, I see the face of my own mother. I wasn't conceived through Immaculate Conception, but my mother carried me for months, went through the agony of bringing me into this world, and then raised me to adulthood. I was her first and with shame, I confess that I don't always honor her as I should, as she deserves. My mother is no less holy to me than she who carried our Savior into this world. God willing, she will not have to witness my death, but she has witnessed the pains I experience through failure, illnesses, and other heartbreaks in life. She has seen my smiles as well as my tears. She said yes to carrying another life and that is amazing. Even as an adult, she influences me. At a recent job interview, I was asked about my work model. In answer, I spoke of my mother and her work ethic. How she has worked at the same company for over 20 years and made herself indispensable through hard work and reliability. I concluded by saying I wanted my work model to echo hers. 

One of my favorite prayers in the Book of Common Prayer is one that I read every evening as I complete my evening devotions. Some know it as Mary's Canticle, others as the Magnificat. It is taken from Luke 1:46-55. It is a song of praise given by Mary after her visit with her cousin Elizabeth who is also carrying a miracle: 

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord.

My spirit rejoices in God, my Savior.

For He has looked with favor on His lowly servant.

From this day all generations will call me blessed.

He has mercy on those who fear Him in every generation.

He has shown the strength of His arm

And has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones

And has lifted up the lowly.

He has filled the hungry with good things

And the rich He has sent away empty.

He has come to the help of His servant Israel

For He has remembered His promise of mercy.

The promise He made to our fathers,

To Abraham, and His children forever.

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord

My spirit rejoices in God, my Savior.

For He has looked with favor on His lowly servant.

From this day all generations will call me blessed.

The Almighty has done great things for me

And Holy is His Name. 

Perhaps this is due to my Catholic background but I really do believe that Mary should be remembered and honored. She is important to our story as a mother of Christ but also a mother to future generations. I realize that the term "Marian Devotion" is a buzzword that puts many Protestants on edge but I argue that honoring her and remembering the role she plays is a far cry from worshipping her. I don't actively pray to her but I find comfort in praying the rosary especially when I'm in excruciating pain. I carry my rosary and other prayer beads with me and it brings comfort to feel the cool beads and metal between my fingers. It's almost like laying my head in my mother's lap when life is so hard. Because she is a mother to me, in fact, she's a mother to all who proclaim faith in her Son. In Fr. Bingham's sermon, he spoke of her experience standing at the foot of the Cross and Jesus making arrangements for her even on the edge of death. We all have heard of the "Beloved Disciple", the individual who stayed steady and faithful. The individual to whom Jesus gestured to saying to Mary, "Woman, here is your son (John 19:26 NRSV)". Then he spoke to the individual saying, "Here is your mother (John 19:27 NRSV)". Fr. Bingham discussed that while there are theories concerning the identity of the individual, one theory is that the individual isn't one of the Disciples or even a 1st-century bystander. The Beloved Disciple and child of the Blessed Mother is us. When he said that, I had goosebumps and the hairs on my neck stood up. The Beloved Disciple is you, me, and all others who rest on Christ's breast and take in his mother. Mary is our mother and is full of tenderness, love, compassion for all of God's children. 

Let us celebrate Mary, the Blessed Virgin, the Mother of God. Let us celebrate Mother. 

ke7ejx. 

Matthew 26- Not What I Want But What You Want

Eugene Masonic Cemetery 

If I had to break down one of the hardest principles of faith to a handful of words it’s this: “Not what I want but what you want (verse 39)” or in other contemporary translations, “Not my will but your will be done”.

It’s so hard, isn’t it? The ability to go, “okay, Lord. I don’t want to do it, I’m not going to enjoy doing it, but I know it’s what you want so I’m going to do it”. I don’t know about you, but I’m the sort of person who only feels comfortable and relaxed if I’m the one holding the reins in my own life and situations. The idea of handing over the control to someone else, including God, is among the hardest things for me to do.

Yet, this is exactly what our Savior did. It is no accident that he went to the Garden of Gethsemane which translates as “olive press”. When pressing olives for their oil, the olives would be put in an olive press, where the olive would be crushed into a paste and spread across discs before reentering the press to be crushed again, thus surrendering its oil. In this case, Jesus was the olive.

Matthew 26 began with Jesus’ memorial service- he was anointed with an expensive ointment that was usually reserved for anointing a body before it is buried. He broke bread with his closest friends in Passover while using the bread and wine to illustrate a new covenant between God and mankind. “Take, eat” was His command as he broke the unleavened bread, “This is my body”. He then gave thanks and took the cup of wine. “Drink from it” was his second command, “This is my blood of the covenant which is poured out for man for the forgiveness for sins”. It might interest you to know that the Greek word for thanks is εὐχαριστία or Eucharist. That is why some churches, including my own, refer to Communion as the Eucharist. When we take the bread and the wine, we are doing this in remembrance, in memorial of what would soon be the broken and bloody sacrifice of Christ for our sins.

Jesus knew that He was going to die and that it wasn’t going to be a pretty or peaceful death. As He walked with his disciples to the edge of the garden, He became agitated and filled with deep sorrow. He threw himself to the ground as He reached for His father in an abyss of deep emotional, spiritual, and even physical agony. God was putting Him into a press to begin the process of yielding our salvation. In fervent prayer, Jesus asked to be spared what would have been a terrifying process. The first time He prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want” and the second time He prayed, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done”. We are not talking about a whimsical prayer where we ask for deliverance from an exam or even a snow day so we can sleep in, but a prayer for mercy and reprieve from a future of excruciating pain and a terrible death. And this wasn’t just anyone praying, it was God’s own son, who God anointed in the River Jordan and God didn’t answer His prayer.

In his essay, The Efficiency of Prayer, C.S. Lewis pointed out that” There are, no doubt, passages in the New Testament which may seem at first sight to promise an invariable granting of our prayers. But that cannot be what they really mean. For in the very heart of the story we meet a glaring instance to the contrary. In Gethsemane the holiest of all petitioners prayed three times that a certain cup might pass from Him. It did not. After that the idea that prayer is recommended to us as a sort of infallible gimmick may be dismissed.”

While God’s refusal to Jesus’ prayer is extraordinary, Jesus’ acceptance and submission was even more so. When He said, “yet not what I want, but what you want”, He was telling His Father that He would fulfill God’s will in absolute obedience. How many of us could pull off that kind of submission? How many of us could raise our hand and say, “Okay Lord, I will do exactly as you say and exactly how you want it!”?

Following this perfect act of submission, Jesus roused his sleeping friends because it was time to meet what awaited Him. Then a second profound and uncanny coincidence occurred. John 18:1 tells us that when Jesus walked to the second part of the garden where Judas and the soldiers were waiting for him, that Jesus went through the Valley of Kidron.

This is significant for a couple of reasons. First, according to the Talmud, the blood of the animals slaughtered in the Temple, and other refuse (probably the impurities from the city), were to be carried through a sewer into the lower Kidron and thence sold as manure to gardeners (2 Chronicles 29-31). Secondly, it was a place of death, a cemetery. Many tombs were located along the walls and paths of Kidron. As He walked, Jesus would have seen those graves. He would have been thinking of the role He was about to play. The Passover lamb, whose blood would be shed and sacrificed for the sinful excrement of man. He was walking over the last efficacious blood of sacrifices and seeing the filth of humanity on his way to become the final blood sacrifice and to remove the filth of humanity.

This Sunday begins Holy Week, starting with Palm Sunday which commemorates Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem which leads to Maundy Thursday which commemorates Jesus’ agony and total submission in Gethsemane before He experienced the agony of Good Friday when He took the sins of the past, present, and future and died for them; and finally, the glory and joy of Easter Sunday when He defeated death and rose again. David Guzik said, “Jesus did not die as a martyr. Jesus went to his death knowing that it was his Father’s will that he face death completely alone as the sacrificial, wrath-averting Passover Lamb. As his death was unique, so also his anguish; and our best response to it is hushed worship.”

Some of you might be wondering how one would go about celebrating these sacred events. Do it with thanks, with reverent and joyful praise. Acknowledge the sacrifice of the sacrificial Lamb of God. Eat the bread and drink the wine of God and remember He who took on the sins of the world with love and gratitude in your hearts. Blessed Easter to you all.

Matthew 11- Talking the Talk and Walking the Walk

When I was growing up, my mother was my teacher of Christian ethics. She would quote the same proverb over and over: “If you’re going to talk the talk, you had better walk the walk”. She usually reserved it for the occasions when I wasn’t acting in a Christ-like manner. It goes in fellowship with “practice what you preach” or “talk is cheap” or even “actions speak louder than words”. They all come with the same message: check your hypocrisy. My mother was telling me that if I’m going to wear a cross around my neck, carry a Bible, and proclaim myself as a Christian, I had better act like it.

If we’re going to talk the talk of a Christian, we need to walk with Christ and we better be acting like Him because actions do indeed come in louder and clearer than any WWJD bracelet (or the prayer beads I carry in my pocket) or passive word that flows from our mouths. “How do we do that?”, you may ask. Well, thankfully in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus gave us an unmistakably clear answer.
Verse 28 begins with an invitation: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest (NRSV)”. Chuck Smith called this a “wonderful invitation”.  Jesus is pulling up a chair, so we can sit down with Him and have a chat. He wants to hear from us, He wants us to unload all our baggage, not for our own sake or to pet our bruised and damaged egos, because once we are able to let go of our baggage, we will be open to His assistance.

This baggage can be so many things in our lives. We struggle with all sorts of things. Some of us lie, some of us steal, some of us struggle with sexual sins, many of us struggle with bitterness, and I struggle with doubt and self-loathing on a daily basis. Yes, I’m preaching to myself as well as you. Additionally, Christ wasn’t just talking to the followers of John the Baptist or other Hellenistic people. His messages are still applicable and are the “same yesterday and today and forever (Hebrews 13:8 NRSV)”. Which means, you, me, and we need to lend an ear to what He’s trying to say to us. He’s trying to tell us that what we struggle with is not so different from what John, His disciples, and countless other people mentioned in the Gospels dealt with in their lives? Don’t believe me? Thumb through the stories and count how many of those people who share something in common with you.
First comes the invitation. Jesus just welcomed us to His table and listened to us pour out our hearts. He might have even nodded in understanding, hummed in sympathy, or placed a hand on our shoulder while we unloaded. Now, as we take a deep breath to steady ourselves, He’s getting ready to give a prescription to help us overcome the things we struggle with.

In Verse 29, He gives us a direct order: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle, and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls (NRSV)”. Wait…what? We just went from an offer of rest and repose to a command of action from which we will find rest? This may sound paradoxical, but it really does make sense. If we are going to proclaim Jesus Christ as our King, we must submit ourselves to Him completely. We must submit ourselves to God’s service and learn what His Son will teach us. This isn’t an idle path to walk as much as we might want it to be. C. H. Spurgeon pointed out to his congregation that “Every active Christian will tell you he is never happier than when he has much to do; and, on the whole, if he communes with Jesus, never more at rest than when he has least leisure. Look not for your rest in the mere enjoyments and excitements of religion but find your rest in wearing a yoke which you love, and which, for that reason, is easy to your neck.” The rest Christ is promising us is the release from all that baggage we just unloaded at Jesus’ doorstep.

By submitting ourselves to the yoke of Christ, we are allowing ourselves to be open to His teachings and He just said that He will be a gentle and humble teacher. Spurgeon also said, “The rest before us is rest through learning. Does a friend say, "I do not see how I am ever to get rest in working, and rest in suffering?" My dear brother, you never will except you go to school, and you must go to school to Christ.” This means that we must lay aside all the things that prevent our finding that rest, including our past prejudices, self-pity, and preconceived notions of what our lives should be. Because our ways really are not God’s ways or Christ’s ways. Our timing may be good or bad timing, but God’s timing is always perfect. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather rely on God’s perfection that my own imperfection.

This is the promise that Jesus closes out with, He said in verse 30, “For my yoke is easy and my burden is light (NRSV)”. Coming from the Savior who would later hang on a cross for the sins of the world, this may seem like a rather extraordinary statement for Him to make. However, His burden wasn’t light because He was taking the easy path and living for Himself. No. Jesus’ burden was light because He wanted to please His Father. He lived to please His Father. When we live to please our eternal Father, when we live like the Savior of whom we proclaim, it is an easier burden. We see it time and time again from the Word and in our own lives that when we live to please ourselves, the burden of the carnal desires is much heavier and spoiler alert, it makes us miserable.

We live in a time and place where we are encouraged to please ourselves and mocked or in some parts of the world persecuted when we choose to follow Christ. In our lives, in our current day and age, we are beset by division, dissent, difficulty. In all these the many movements by which we are surrounded, the many efforts we make in our lives, we make in the attempt to rest. Christ comes to us offering us this rest. He promises that he can provide rest from the things that make us heavy laden. On the one hand, if we want the rest, we must actually come to him, we cannot delude ourselves by thinking we can provide our own rest with our own power. We must not believe that our own resources be factors that we see at work currently in the exterior world or our interior world has the power to grant our rest. Only in coming unto Christ and trusting in him, can this rest be gained. He, himself, is our promised rest. And yet, when he offers us his rest, he describes likewise, as a yoke, as a burden, as a learning. We cannot merely speak or think ourselves into this rest. Restful abiding in Christ is the same as walking with Christ. It cannot merely be “talking the talk” and not “walking the walk”

So. Wear the bracelet, by all means. Carry the prayer beads. Wear your “I love Jesus” t-shirts. Post those Bible verses on Facebook and talk about how much you love God. It won’t hurt anyone, and I pray that it brings those you interact with to Christ. All I ask that you remember is this: if you do all those things but you don’t act out the beliefs you claim to hold dear. It will drown out all the messages that you hope to send because it will be accurately interpreted as mere lip service. It will drive people from Christ when they need Him the most. Talk the talk, but if you do, please for the love of God, walk the walk.

Matthew 9- the Prescription for Healing

Imagine with me a man. Now, this man would look weird, even in Eugene. Not only because of his appearance but also the vibes that radiate from him. Imagine that he was so weird that the Eugenians kicked him out and forced him to float across the Willamette to Springfield. Hard to believe, right? But it did happen once to a man only it happened many centuries ago in Capernaum-the Eugene of Judea. After healing a Gadarene of demons by sending those demons into a herd of pigs who drowned themselves in the nearby river, he was told to pack his bags and leave. Hardly a sadist who would force himself to be where he wasn’t wanted, the man got into a boat and sailed home to Galilee. Sound familiar yet? Not only did the Springtuckian come home, he left something amazing in his wake.

This man was none other than Jesus Christ, himself. He walked where He walked in His boyhood days and hung out in His own neighborhood. People followed him wherever he went and under the disapproving eye of the local ministers who thought Jesus was way too weird to be one of the faithful sons of Israel. That didn’t stop others from wanting to meet Jesus and bring with them their struggles to lay at his feet.

There were two people who did this literally. The first was a group of men who picked up a friend of theirs who was a paralytic, bed and all and carried him kicking and screaming to the one man who could possibly heal him. Jesus looked at the paralytic who radiated doubt, anger, and even humiliation at his crippled state with pity and compassion. He told the paralytic that his sins were forgiven, that he was loved and then told him to pick up his bed and walk home. Imagine the bewilderment of the man who received this order and the amount of risk he put into obeying knowing that there was a chance it wouldn’t even work. Imagine his wonder and joy when he took his first steps to realize that the impossible became possible with each step as he walked, perhaps even ran or skipped home.

Another such case came in the form of a lonely woman who was shunned because she had an unknown disease that caused her to bleed incessantly making her unclean through no fault of her own. Imagine the desperation that woman must have felt because she had no insurance to help her and she put her last denarius into seeing many doctors who all told her that she couldn’t be cured. Desperate enough to have the crazy thought “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well (verse 21)”. Prostrated on the ground, she reached out so her fingertips could brush his hem. A touch so soft and as gentle as the flick of a butterfly’s wing that no one would have known. But Jesus felt it to His core and as the power left His body, her own body renewed, and a hopeless situation dawned into a situation of joy.

Not only did Jesus perform this miraculous healing, he explained why. To the woman, He said, “ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέν σε”, “your faith has made you whole (verse 22)”. With the friends of the paralytic, the text says “καὶ ἰδὼν ὁ Ἰησοῦς τὴν πίστιν”, “and when Jesus saw their faith”. Faith. Faith. Their faith, your faith, his faith, her faith. If Matthew 9 is about healing the underlined prescription is faith.

Now, some of you may be wondering why the heck I of all people would be talking about healing. If you are, I have to say that you’re not alone in that wondering. I have to say, in the spirit of confession and in repentance, that I did not approach this topic correctly. When I opened to Matthew 9 and the first story I read was the paralytic, I laughed hard. A cripple preaching on Christ healing infirmity? I trust that you can appreciate the irony of such a thing and I felt completely unqualified to preach on healing. I sought out the advice of a friend who had preached for many decades and he told me to go read some Paul-particularly 2 Corinthians 12:1-9.

Three times, Paul asked God to relieve him of his pain and torment. God refused and said it was for Paul’s benefit- “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness (verse 9)”. Instead of getting ticked, these words changed Paul’s outlook on his trials and instead of despair, he boasted all the louder in God’s praise because for Christ Paul was willing to endure any calamity for when he is weak, he is made strong.

So, what do we do when we beg God for deliverance from trial or illness and He doesn’t remove the bitter cup? Calvary Chapel Pastor Chuck Smith said, “many times, it takes a greater faith to not be healed than it does to be healed.” I’m not going to put God in a box, but I understand that there’s a good chance that my healing won’t take place until after my Master calls me home and I’ll be honest and say I don’t know why. But healing comes in many forms. Jesus didn’t just heal physical ailments, He also the skillful physician of both body and soul. Healing starts with faith, whether it is our faith like the woman who dared to reach her hand out to Christ, or the faith of others like the friends of the paralyzed man who carried him despite his protestations. Both stories had this in common: their faith was strong, humble and active. Through this faith, we see the remarkable instances of the power and pity of the Great Physician whose miracles were not primarily calculated for the crowd effect. Instead they were primarily done to minister to the humble needs of humble people.

When we reach out to Christ, we need to be humble. We need to have faith that He can heal us, but we also need to have faith if it is God’s will that we endure.

Awaken, Heal, Mend, Focus, Renew, and Believe in 2018

"The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

~Philippians 4:7 NRSV

One of the reasons Advent is one of my favorite parts of the Liturgical calendar isn't just because it's a time of preparation for the birth of the Prince of Peace. It's also a time for reflection on the nearly finished year and what to hope for in the future. 

This has been a tremendously hard year for me. I've dealt with a car accident, struggles in school, shaken faith, damaged mental health, and worsening physical health. I've lost friends, I've had my heart shattered and re-shattered. However, in these difficult times, I've also been incredibly blessed with good friends, supportive mentors, and little reminders here and there that God has put people and situations in my life to help me through the trials in my path. 

2017 has been hard for so many and many are praying for a better year in 2018 as am I. We living in a divided country where brother has turned on brother over politics, social awareness, worldviews, and other important issues. We live in a broken world that has been tested with natural disasters, wars and the rumors of wars, and human suffering in so many ways. We live in uncertain times and sometimes the future feels bleak. There are so much anger and hatred that fills our streets, Facebook, conversation in the classroom, and over our dinner tables. There are times where I look up to the dark sky and ask God why the world is the way it is and why we act the way we do. During that prayer, I felt His impression on my heart that said: "What do you think needs to happen for those things to change?"

This took in late November and Advent was just around the corner. My church released an image of a list of words for Advent with every day being assigned one word to reflect on all day. The more I looked at the list and read each word, the more I noticed that certain words were jumping out at me. Words that I needed to spend more time reflecting and seeing that those words were lacking in myself and that I think is lacking in the world today. My hope for 2018 is that believers and non-believers alike may reflect on, embrace and apply such words as we work to improve not only our own circumstances and the global circumstances. All of the words on the list are wonderful but the words that convicted and edified me: Awaken, Heal, Mend, Focus, Renew, and Believe. This is my hope for 2018...

My hope is that we will awaken. We will awaken to our purposes, we will awaken to the plight of others beyond this time when we think of each other as "fellow travelers to the grave and not creatures bound for other journeys (A Christmas Carol)". My hope is that our love for each other will awaken even during these troubling times. If we awaken for others and a desire to serve others regardless of sectarian differences, the world may be all the better for it. To quote the Psalmist David, "Awake, my soul! Awake, O harp and lyre! I will awaken the dawn  (Psalm 108:2)". 

In a time of pain, fear, and heartbreak, my hope is that we will find a way to heal. So many of us have been wounded physically, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally by our lives' circumstances and by others, often people we thought we could trust. Even though some of the wounds become scars or callouses, we often haven't healed from them but have become numbed. This is one of my weaknesses. I've allowed callouses to develop but I never took the time to face my traumas, to deal with the pain. I only ever tried to take it on the chin and soldier on. One of the hardest lessons I learned this year is that I can't keep burying the pain, one day I must have the courage to face it and trust God to heal me. My hope is that I will trust God's promise to His children: "I am going to bring it recovery and healing; I will heal them and reveal to them an abundance of prosperity and security (Jeremiah 33:6)".

 As we heal from all the wounds we have gained from a variety of circumstances, my hope is that we will reach out to those who we have hurt and help mend their broken hearts. I know I have a few people that I have hurt and need to make amends. In the past two years we as a nation have ripped each other apart over differences in political platforms: Trump Supporters vs Hillary Supporters, Conservatives vs Liberals, Religious vs Atheists, Pro-Life vs Pro-Choice, etc. Facebook has become a war zone where we tap a few keys and submit hateful and hurtful comments towards people we disagree with, often using words that we wouldn't dream of saying to the individual in person. I've had it happen to me and to my deep shame, I have done it to others. Friendships have ended over such disagreements and words have been used that can never be taken back. My hope is that we may remember even during heated moments that we are brothers and sisters that love each other and would do anything for each other. At the end of the day, all we have is each other and I for one will do my best to never let a difference of opinion or belief make me forget that. After all, we were created by a God who has forgiven us for a multitude of sins: "He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins (Colossians 1:13-14)". 

Whether it is relationships, friendships, self, health, academic goals, faith, or New Year resolutions, my hope is that we focus. Focus on ourselves to stay healthy, self-aware so we can grow, feel the glow of achieving a goal. Focus on our friends and family so that we can support them, love them, help them through life's sorrows and celebrate their joys. I hope that instead of dwelling on the past, I might find the energy to focus on the future. In May, I'll be achieving a goal I've been working towards for nearly 10 years- a Bachelor of Arts in History and Christian Ministry. I hope that I'll make an extra effort to focus on keeping myself healthy instead of constantly pushing and punishing myself. I hope to focus on God so that I might have a better relationship with my Master and loving Creator. Paul advised us in Philippians: "Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but I focus on this one thing: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus (Philippians 3:13-14)". 

Many of us are familiar with the metaphor of the phoenix rising from the ashes. Transcendence, resurrection, and complete recovery from the ashes of adversity. To rise from the ashes is to renew after a blow whether it is physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual. As we heal from any of our wounds, make amends, focus on what is important, my hope is that we will renew ourselves in the achievement. My hope is that we will renew ourselves, our relationship with each other and with God. As the ashes of 2017 fall around us, may 2018 see us rising from those ashes for a renewal of life. As I enter 2018 I pray: "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me (Psalm 51:10)". 

In a world full of anger, doubt, and despair it is so easy to lose faith to lose hope. My hope is that we will overcome the darkness and simply believe. Believe that even in these dark times, there is a power that knows what will happen and is in control. I hope that we can learn to believe in ourselves, our neighbors, even those whom we don't agree with. By believing that things can and will get better, we aren't sticking our heads in the sand and living in denial. One thing that the history of our species proves time and time again is even during dark and dangerous times, there is a new dawn full of hope and light. We are a species of endurance and sometimes I think we let life and world events deprive us of our "grit". If so, we can regain our courage and our ability to endure but we must first believe that it can be done and that those who support us have our backs. I believe in God. I believe in His only begotten son Jesus Christ and that Christ has saved me from eternal death by dying on the cross for all of us and taking our sins upon Him when he had no sin. I honestly don't know if I'd even be alive today without that knowledge. In times of trouble, I take solace from Paul's words to the Romans: "For one believes with the heart and so is justified, and one confesses with the mouth and so is saved.The scripture says, “No one who believes in him will be put to shame (Romans 10:10-11)”. 

I've never been one for resolutions, but one thing Advent taught me was that there are worthwhile resolutions that have nothing to do with my weight, my income, or my worldly goods. As I hope for all of us to awaken, heal, mend, focus, renew, and believe... I also want to make these words my resolution for 2018 so that a year from now not only will I be able to reflect and say that I have not only improved my lot and perspective but that I was able to help others in their journey. To all of my friends and family-please take with you my love and prayers for a blessed year. To all of my fellow travelers to the grave, please take my good wishes and hopes as you enter this new year. Happy New Year 2018 and as my favorite Irish song concludes:

 "Good night and joy be to you all!"

c-ya 

ke7ejx. 

The Dark Night of the Soul

"Out of the depths, I cry to you, O Lord."

~Psalm 130:1 NRSV

Ash Wednesday 2017

 When St. John of the Cross spoke of the dark night of the soul, I wonder if he had any idea of just how true the concept would ring for believers of future generations. A Christian's spiritual desolation full of melancholia, doubt, and a feeling of separation from God. It is a soul-rending time, a dark time, and a moment where one's faith is put to the ultimate test. I know this because I've experienced it and have so the past few months.

In all honesty, I had never planned to talk about this. I'm a very private person and as an aspirant in the Episcopal Church (meaning, someone who plans to be a deacon or in my case- a priest); the idea of putting a voice to it seemed like a risk that could cost me in the taking. When I started getting the inkling that I should do so, I thought I had lost my mind. However, the more I resisted, the more the hints grew stronger and constant until I'm sitting here with a cup of tea to fortify my nerves and my fingers on the keyboard. If I really want to be honest: I'm terrified.

I would like to apologize in advance for the rawness that will show up in this post. I'll be talking about some hard things and while my language may be a bit harsher, I won't be completely offensive in my word choice.

I'm not going to lie: 2017 has been a very bad year for me. It has been a never-ending, relentless shit storm that has delivered one punishing blow after the other. In fact, during my last week of the semester, my Trauma professor referenced such occasions by what the French refer to as coup sur coup or blow-by-blow. On the second day of the new year, I was in a minor car accident that had me in severe pain for several days. I suppose I should have taken that as an omen, but I have never been very superstitious.

Between that and a lost battle with the Winter Queen, I ended missing the first week of classes which could be disastrous as I was taking all upper-division courses. And it did indeed have consequences. I was terribly behind in my work plus with the additional pain, my concentration was virtually nil. Eventually, things got so bad that I had to entertain the notion of a medical withdrawal or even just dropping out. I started missing a ton of class and when I could go to class or work, I often had to leave early or step out because my body was in too much pain. It got to the point where even a couple of professors wondered if they were being negligent and unethical in letting me try to continue. Unfortunately, I didn't have a choice but to continue because if I don't graduate in May 2018, I will be without financial aid and have no way of paying 40k+ for another year. Translation: I'll be several thousand in debt with no degrees. I had to take Incompletes in all of my classes, withdraw from one which put a second 'W' on my transcript and had to request at least one extension on all of my Incompletes thus far.

This was compounded by the fact that I was getting even sicker and under constant stress from my classes and a series of untreated trauma that chose the worst time to raise its ugly head. Combining all of that, plus some issues in my private life and I was brought first to my knees and then to my face.

One thing I've been praised for many times has been my ability to pick myself off the floor, dust off my knees and continue down my path. A portrait of strength and courage, I suppose. I have survived the continual loss of my health- three devastating diagnoses, constant pain, and my continual reliance on mobility aids. I have endured humiliation, the occasional depression, and personal failures. All of these things I survived by taking the Stoic approach to taking things on the chin and moving forward. But this time was different, it was so different. I had been thrown prostrate to the ground and no longer had the strength to get on my feet again. I began to withdraw from people and sequestering myself. I stopped interacting beyond what was necessary for classes and work. My sleep patterns became worse and my appetite was gone. Some of those cheery Facebook posts? Yeah, that was to keep people from being concerned and to leave me alone. I fell into deep despair and it finally came to a head in April.

On the night of April 8th around 10 o'clock, I was a wreck. I paced around my apartment in tears. I was unable to think straight, in high amounts of pain, and I couldn't endure another minute. At the moment, I knew what I wanted more than anything was for the suffering to end and to me, there was only one avenue for it and it involved my death. I didn't know at the time but there are two stages of suicide: Ideation (the imagining or planning) and Crisis (the attempt or successful death). I can't remember everything I was thinking that night- only that my head was foggy and that I felt a relative calm as I reached for my planned method. 5 tablets of Vicodin, 5 tablets of Flexiril, 3 tablets of Amitriptyline, and 3 tablets of Valium. Essentially, enough medication, at least in my mind, to put me to sleep and with any luck stop my heart. Now, I am aware that planned overdoses are far from foolproof and could lead to worse consequences including a slow and painful death. As I held the pills in my hand, I looked out my window and considered how I wanted to do it. Because of my isolating myself for several weeks, I knew it could be days before my absence would be noticed and probably not before the smell hit. I considered taking the pills in my apartment and walking the short distance to the river so no one from NCU would find my body. And then for some reason, I can't explain, I had the sensation like I had been jerked out of sleep. My mind instantly cleared and I stared at my pill filled hand in horror. I threw them onto my desk and sobbed uncontrollably as I realized fully what I had nearly done. I sent a message to a trusted mentor to let her know that I was in crisis and would be turning myself into the hospital. Because my energy was instantly drained, I decided to rest and go in the morning if I still felt it necessary. Throughout the night I could hear a voice in my head repeating the same words over and over; "ugly...pathetic...weak...unloved...forgotten... abandoned...forsaken...damned." The next morning, instead of going to my church's Palm Sunday Mass, I checked myself into the suicide ward at the E.R. where they nearly institutionalized me but chose not to because they were worried it would make things worse. I went home and rested.

While, I took steps to put safety precautions in place (handed over my medications to a trusted friend, created a safety plan and such), I had to deal with the aftermath of my choice. Growing up, I was taught that suicide is a stupid, selfish, chicken-shit long-term solution to a usually short-term problem. Not to mention, that it is an unforgivable sin in eyes of God.  I felt deep shame for my weakness along with anger and self-loathing. This intensified a couple of days after my hospitalization when I opened the local newspaper and read a heart-rending article. That very same night, there had been another woman in my situation who was 18-a full ten years my junior who was attending her Freshman year at the University of Oregon with her sister. Both of us had stood at the edge of the abyss. I woke up and she didn't. I felt sick when I read about her suicide and seeing how young she was. This was a girl whose life had barely started, she had her life ahead of her and who knows what potential she could have had. A few weeks ago, I was discussing this with a friend and he asked me how it had made me feel. In all honesty, I felt guilty because I survived and she didn't. I also felt anger towards God because I can't understand why He pulled me back instead of her.

Maundy Thursday 2017

After everything that happened, I reached out to my rector at St. Mary's and told him everything. After briefly discussing the theology surrounding suicide and my being spiritually dead, he asked to meet with me after Holy Week but encouraged me to participate in the events of the week including the meditation of the Stations of the Cross that took place later that day and taking an hour prayer shift at the Vigil at the Altar of Repose on Maundy Thursday. I took the 1-2 A.M. shift and sat on the floor in front of the first pew in the chapel. One thing that stood out to me was that to my left was the sanctuary which was pitch black. It was so dark that I couldn't see the main altar. But directly in front of me was the chapel altar bright in white and candlelight. I had a slight epiphany that while spiritually I was as dark as the sanctuary the hope was I would eventually find myself back in the light. I went home and had my own personal practice for Good Friday, Holy Saturday and went to Easter Mass on Sunday. While I had a good day with a friend after Mass, I felt dismayed by the fact that while I threw myself into Holy Week like I've always done, perhaps even with a bit more fervor, I felt spiritually hollow and numb.

I went to my first meeting with my rector, we discussed Holy Week and my feelings on the matter. He helped me see two important things: a) by trying to be selfless and not burden people with my problems, I was actually being selfish and b) I was afraid of being angry at God. I felt convicted on both counts because he was right. I chose to harm myself by isolating myself and suppressing some very raw feelings I had for my Creator. I did feel angry and dare say I have for quite some time because for the past few years especially, I have experienced setback after setback, crisis after crisis, and all of this with little or no let up. I might as well have stood by an open door saying "Next disaster, this way please."

But I chose to swallow my anger because it felt self-important and selfish because there are people out there that have it worse than I ever will. That anger finally came out about four weeks ago. One of the things I struggled with the most was the fact that I had all of these chronic illnesses but couldn't get access to proper medications, therapies, and treatments. I finally changed Primary Care Physicians and got a list of Pain Specialists that were listed by my insurance. I made call after call only to find out that only one accepted my insurance and he had filled his quota. I begged to be put on a waiting list at the very least only to find out that he was actually planning to remove himself from the list and let go his OHP patients. This meant that because of the nature of my insurance, I had no hope of getting any sort of treatment for my illnesses when a couple of them have the potential of being fatal. I felt my phone slip out of my hand and softly land on my desk. The book I held in other my hand wasn't so lucky. In a burst of rage I threw that book across the room so hard it made a loud noise as it bounced off the wall and hit the floor. I spun to the wall behind and slammed my hand against it bruising my hand before I sank to my knees. Then I started to scream at God. While I didn't follow the advice Job's wife gave him, I screamed and shook my fist nonetheless. I told him I was tired of living, tired of suffering with no reprieve and no mercy and enduring under His indifference. I told Him if all He was going to do is torture me that He should just kill me and be done with it. I then sobbed uncontrollably for the better part of three hours.

Fr. Bingham lit a votive candle for me.

A few months ago, a good friend told me that he found that emotional pain is infinitely far worse than physical pain. This incredibly difficult and dark season of my life has proven just that. It has been said that it's when we've been broken that we're closer to God and it just didn't feel so for me. If anything it gave me a glimpse of Jesus hanging on the cross and feeling the absence of God which made him cry out in Hebrew "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? (Matthew 27:46 NRSV)". It made me feel like I was in Hell, after all that is the literal definition of Hell- the separation between God and His creation. I feel like there is a thick wall of glass between Him and myself. I try to break through but only hurt myself further. I have spent countless hours on my knees in supplication for forgiveness, mercy, and relief... only to feel bereavement. There have been times in my life especially this year where I have wondered if I have been damned-both in this life and the next. I have and do feel like I've been forsaken and it's not an easy feeling to dislodge.

This summer, I've really tried to focus on allowing myself the option of having these feelings. It got to the point where I could no longer pray, read scripture, and going to church to take the Eucharist was hard because between my feelings and my being suicidal I felt wholly unclean. My rector lent me a prayer book and some prayer beads which I use every day. I've been reading the Psalms, Lamentations, and Job to remind myself that it is actually okay to be angry and to ask why. While, I've been mostly focusing on finishing those previously mentioned Incompletes, I've also been trying to take time for self-care by doing things I used to enjoy and trying to not spend as much time in isolation. Still working on both but I really do make an effort.

I'm very sorry for such a dark post. As I've said, I have no idea why I'm putting all of this out there for public scrutiny. Perhaps as Anne Lammot said; the lesson of Easter is that "even if you bury the truth it will always come up again". I have buried the truth in the past and donned a mask but the time has come for the mask to fall and the truth to come up. I wish I could say this has a happy ending that I'm feeling much better and that my walk with God is even closer. Alas, I'm still in the thick of it. I still struggle to get through one more day and sometimes even one more minute. While I'm not feeling particularly suicidal and haven't for quite some time, I'm still in darkness. I'm still heavily depressed and occasionally I still shake my little fist at God. Despite the pain and anguish, I still hold onto my faith. I haven't lost my faith but it has been through the ringer for sure. I try to find a few happy moments every day, little ways that I'm blessed on that day which has helped. I believe in time that I will find relief from my anguish and that I'll find myself back in the pure light, but until then all I can do is try to endure my suffering and wait. It truly has been a long and dark night.

c-ya

ke7ejx.