Will the Lord take you in?

One year ago yesterday, my mom took a fall from which she never recovered. She didn't break any bones, but the weakened state that she was in at the time, combined with the infection that caused her to faint, was more than she could overcome. After about six weeks, first in the hospital and then in nursing care, we brought her home to die. She left this life on February 22, 2016, at the age of 85.

I was thinking about all this yesterday, and about her, and I reshared this blog post from February 13. I think at the time I wrote it I knew deep down that she wasn't going to get better, but I wasn't quite ready to face it. I was still hoping and praying for a turnaround. It never came.

My mom died with saving faith in Jesus Christ. I had thought she was baptized as a child but in going through her things I found a certificate of both adult baptism and confirmation in the Episcopal church. She also had me baptized in the Episcopal church, but for the first 10 years of my life we didn't attend regularly. Then when I was in sixth grade we moved, and a friend of mine invited us to her church. I asked if we could go, and we did, whereby my mom discovered Roman Catholicism. It was a turning point for her. She became Catholic and so did I. From that time on we were in worship every week. I give thanks for that friend and that church, which changed the course of my mom's life as well as mine.

As I reflect on it, I think that one reason Catholicism spoke to my mom so strongly was that it offered a sense of stability that had always been missing for her. She was an only child whose parents left her to be cared for by relatives. In a life marked by abandonment and insecurity, the ancient Church presented her the opportunity to feel connected to something unchanging and bigger than herself. The liturgy, ritual, majesty and history afforded her a kind of security she had never known. Finally, she felt like she had a family. 

At the same time, though, she heard from the Catholic church that if she just tried a little harder and did a little more she could "work out" her salvation. She looked at the suffering of this life as something that got her a step closer to God, proving her worth. On more than one occasion I talked to her about the gospel as I had come to understand it as a Lutheran--something completely free and unearned, total gift. But it seemed almost impossible for her to conceive of. I wish that before she died she could have somehow found the comfort of knowing that although there was no way she could ever be good enough, she was nevertheless saved by grace through faith because Christ did it all for her.

I spent a good deal of time during my mom's last days singing, praying and reading the Bible to her, particularly the psalms. A recurrent one was Psalm 27, linked above. In her Bible it was one she had marked, bracketing off verse 10: "For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in." I decided to have Psalm 27 sung at her funeral and to include verse 10 on her burial marker. The marker was ordered in August but still has not arrived. Hopefully, soon.

My mom did not fully understand the gift of grace, but neither do any of us. Thanks be to God we don't need perfect understanding to get into heaven. We just need faith in Christ, however imperfect and weak that faith is. I know my mom had that and that when she departed this life she was immediately welcomed into the presence of her Savior. What a joy to know she doesn't have to try, doubt or wonder anymore! She is "in"--not because of how much she loved God, but because of how much He loved her. May all of us as God's children cling to that certain hope.  

Jerry

This is my brother. His name is Jerry. He died yesterday at the age of 66.

Quick background: my father was a widower with four children. My mother was divorced with six. They married when Jerry, my father's youngest, was 14. I was born when he was 15. I don't have memories of living in the same house with him, but I do have memories of spending time with him. He loved to go fishing and would take me with him sometimes. I would hand him worms to bait the hook. When he got married he would let me come to the apartment complex where he and his wife lived and stay the night and swim in his pool. When I got a little older I babysat his daughter, my niece, sometimes.

I have several vivid memories of Jerry helping me when I was little. Once when I was swimming in his pool I panicked in the deep water. Before I even started to go under, he was there, pulling me out. Another time something started biting me inside my pants leg. Jerry was the first to hear my screams and come and help me get the pants off so as not to get more stings from the scorpion that had apparently crawled inside.

I remember Jerry's smile and his hearty laugh. He was mischievous and playful and loved to play horseshoes.

Like my dad, Jerry was a smoker and drinker. He contracted lung cancer a few years ago and underwent treatment and surgery that stemmed the cancer's progress. Last month his daughter let me know that he was going to see the doctor due to a return of symptoms. Last week he went in for a biopsy but a few days later had to be admitted to the hospital due to fluid on his bad lung. In rapid succession he was put on a ventilator and went into sepsis before dying yesterday.

My family is a patchwork. I am the only "ours" of a "his, mine and ours" family. To some extent my dad's children seemed more like aunts and uncles to me than siblings. On my mom's "side" the youngest was 7 when I was born, so I spent a good chunk of my childhood living like an only child. Once I grew up, got married and moved to another state, and my dad died, it became harder to maintain a connection with all the pieces of my family, and there have been long stretches where we haven't kept in close contact. I haven't been a very good thread to try to hold this family quilt together.

My brother Jerry is the second of my siblings to die. My father's oldest son died three years ago. I wish I had called Jerry when I first got word that he was not feeling well. I thought there was more time. There wasn't.

I have been looking through old pictures to try to find a picture of me and Jerry together. I haven't found one yet. I will keep looking.

Jerry wasn't a churchgoer but I take comfort in the knowledge that he was baptized into Jesus Christ when he was a child. I pray he was able to cling to that faith at the last. I love you, Jerry. Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.

The Peace that Passes Understanding

There was much comfort to be had in this morning's service. One of our amazingly gifted musicians sang an exquisite setting of Psalm 121 by Lee Dengler.



"I Will Lift Up My Eyes" (Psalm 121) from Cheryl on Vimeo.


Later for the Voluntary she sang my husband's arrangement of LSB 846.

"Your Hand, O Lord, in Days of Old" (Lutheran Service Book 846) from Cheryl on Vimeo.

I could hardly get through one phrase of "Gracious God, You Send Great Blessings" during communion. I was reminded whence our joy comes by the closing hymn, "In Thee is Gladness."

And in Mark's Gospel, there was this: "Do not fear, only believe."

Amen.

The Human Condition

Last night as I tucked Evan into bed he told me, "Mom, there's something about my life I don't like."

Of course I wanted to know what he was talking about. "Really, Evan? What?"

"Well, it seems like every day I either hurt myself or something bad happens."

Sigh. I know, honey. It's all right there in Genesis 3. Thank God that wasn't the end of the story. Revelation 21:4, we're counting on you. Come, Lord Jesus.

Enough

From Today's Treasury of Daily Prayer, the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer:

It is not we who build. [Christ] builds the church. No man builds the church but Christ alone. Whoever is minded to build the church is surely well on the way to destroying it; for he will build a temple to idols without wishing or knowing it. We must confess--he builds. We must proclaim--he builds. We must pray to him--that he may build.

We do not know his plan. We cannot see whether he is building or pulling down. It may be that the times which by human standards are times of collapse are for him the great times of construction. It may be that the times which from a human point of view are great times for the church are times when it is pulled down.

It is a great comfort which Christ gives to his church: you confess, preach, bear witness to me and I alone will build where it pleases me. Do not meddle in what is my province. Do what is given to you to do well and you have done enough. But do it well. Pay no heed to views and opinions. Don't ask for judgments. Don't always be calculating what will happen. Don't always be on the lookout for another refuge! Church, stay a church! But church, confess, confess, confess! Christ alone is your Lord; from his grace alone can you live as you are. Christ builds.

I know these words are concerned with building the church. And indeed, they are a good reminder to those who look to the visible and tangible aspects of a church--the fancy building or top notch staff or great programs or perfect practice--as evidence of the church's health and strength. But I think these words about the church can be applied equally to the individual in his everyday life. If you are anything like me, you could benefit from reading this passage on a daily basis. For if you are anything like me, you love nothing better than to think you are in control. You spend endless hours calculating, planning, and trying to ensure things work out as you think they ought. Yet what so often happens is that the thing you have worked so hard to build crumbles before your eyes, and all those opinions and judgments and calculations come to naught. The comforting reminder here is that even when that happens, God is in charge. He is always building. When we think things are at their most hopeless, that is when He is hardest at work, drawing up the blueprint for His next work of art. And conversely, when we think we have produced something that is untouchable, we find that its shiny exterior belies the rot within. My prayer for myself this day, and for you, dear reader, is that even in the face of the constant and unrelenting setbacks of this life, we might take encouragement from the blessing of vocation: "Do what is given to you to do well and you have done enough." I am enough and you are enough because we are in Christ, and Christ is always enough. So take heart and rest, and let Him build.

"Trust Not in Rulers . . . "

. . . or fathers or mothers or friends or family or jobs or employers or paychecks or inheritances or churches or pastors or health or pets or intelligence or education or accomplishments or charm or talent or strength or youth or beauty or skill or possessions or status or reputation or house or country or world.

But I know--you will. And so will I. And as always, our Heavenly Father, He Who does not forsake, the only One worthy of our unmitigated trust, will step in to pick up the broken pieces of whatever idolatrous piggy bank we have placed our hope in this time. And then He will not merely glue it back together but instead replace it with one that is so full of His eternal treasure that we can't even get a good rattle out of it, and that is likewise so impervious to breakage that repeated droppings will not compromise it. Even more amazing, no matter how many times we open up the bottom and pull out some of the contents, it is always full the next time we come back for more, because He continually supplies it with Himself.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy. May I have some Word and Sacrament, please?

Hope

This is exactly what I needed to read today. I commend it to you as well. Thank you, Reb. Mary of CSPP. Full post here.

"I Will Hope"

What do you do when all the crises—health, family, church—crash in at once? When you try to squash the sadness and the lostness into a corner of your throat because you feel like there’s no point in talk--treading over and over the same ground, when there are no new solutions in sight? When it gets to the point that you dread going to bed because there’s no peace in sleep, only—at best—a temporary oblivion overlaid with the crushing burden of having to get up in the morning and face everything all over again?

More’s the victory for the enemy, if he can get us to dread the bright dawn, to believe that its fresh rays can never illumine dark Hopeless. Recognize this attack for what it is, and remember: What do I know, even when I do not feel it? The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

No, everything may not look brighter in the morning, but “The LORD is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in Him." It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.

So eager am I to depart Hopeless that I forget: It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth.

So eager am I to deaden the pain, to protect myself from the anguish of Hopeless, that I forget: what is such self-protection, after all, but the hardening of my heart against the only One can rescue me, who even now is at work in my life? For the Lord will not cast off forever, but, though he cause grief—though He cause grief!—he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love.

The enemy hisses that Hopeless is Reality. That dawn brings only drear. That hardening your heart against hope is your only protection, so shove your feelings back down your gut, because numb is the best you can hope for.

Hearken to a different voice: Today, as you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion. Oh! How many rebellions have there been, in this foolish little shriveled-raisin heart of mine! Thrice in short span, the writer to the Hebrews echoes this exhortation, “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.” Today, today, today—this very moment! Thrice-repudiated is the insidious accusation of never and too little and too late. Even amid the darkness, this is the moment of grace—of the shockingly free grace whose dreadfully priceless purchase makes all the difference, now and forevermore, between Hard and Hopeless.

Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

Though he slay me with blessings beyond what I can bear, I will hope in Him.

Proverbs 31 Women, Revisited

Last year at about this time I wrote a blog post called "A Proverbs 31 Woman." Here it is.

Recently on Facebook that post received renewed attention. It was discussed by someone who blocked me from the discussion and who further refused to allow a link to the post to be included on the thread. That same person alluded to my post on his blog here. I am the writer who is said to have "virtually laugh[ed] off Proverbs 31 . . . saying that text does not really apply to individuals but is really about Christ and the Church."

Since I could not participate in the discussion on Facebook and since I am not allowed to comment on the above writer's blog (or at least have been rejected enough times in the past that I no longer wish to try), I must defend myself here. Please notice that the author quoted above says that I "virtually" laughed off Proverbs 31. That is an interesting qualifier, providing the writer an out. But the truth is that while yes, there was humor in the post, it was self-deprecating humor, laughing at myself. I do not laugh at God's Word. I am a poor, miserable sinner and I neglect it and daily fail to follow it perfectly. But it is my only hope in this world. So I take seriously this accusation and hereby refute it. "I am not ashamed of the Gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes." (Romans 1:16)

The blogger includes me in a group of examples of what he says illustrate an "aversion to sanctification caused by phobic allergic reaction to any talk about good works." I fail to see how my blog post illustrates that phenomenon. The point of the blog post was not to discount good works. As I have been catechized by several dear, faithful Lutheran pastors over the past 25 years, I believe that good works flow from the new man (or woman) in Christ. I am called to keep God's Law perfectly, but because I was dead in my sin and unable to do so God sent His Son to live the perfect life for me and then to go to the cross to pay the price for my sins. I look to Christ Crucified and see that my sin put Him there, and I am devastated, crushed by guilt. But then my Saviour extends to me forgiveness and the gift of faith, and as His love is poured into me it flows right back out again in the form of good works--not of my doing, but of His. "I can do all things through Him Who strengthens me." (Philippians 4:13)

Regarding the charge that I claimed the passage did not apply to individuals: that is nowhere stated. To state that I see one thing (a picture of Christ and His church) in the blog post is not to discount other things that may be there. In fact, as I go line by line through the passage, showing how I fail to measure up, what am I doing if not applying it to myself? Am I not an individual?

A year has passed since I wrote that post and if I were to write it today I would probably change one thing. I concluded in the post that Proverbs 31 is gospel. But as illustrated by the examples of all the ways I do not succeed at being a Proverbs 31 woman, it is also law. So I should have said it is both. And isn't that pretty much the case with all of God's Word? It kills us with Law and then brings us back to life with Gospel. And in our new life in Christ, we go forth in joy, sharing His love by proclaiming what He has done and gladly serving those He places before us.

As I wrote last year, I sometimes hear women, Christian friends of mine, despairing of their ability to be Proverbs 31 women. They want to be, but they are beaten down by their sin and overwhelmed by life and they are tired, so very tired. The purpose of the blog post was nothing else but to encourage those dear ladies, to tell them that far from being discouraged by the passage they should find comfort in it because while they might not feel like Proverbs 31 women, they are. In Christ they are! And what else would they want to be? They are clothed in the spotless robe of Christ, adorned by the beautiful jewels of His righteousness, equipped to do excellently while their works praise them in the gates.

The Faith of a Child

Today at church I was visiting with a friend whose 87-year-old mother has been in the hospital. I asked my friend about his mother's condition and we talked for a little while as he filled me in on her health situation: pneumonia, erratic blood pressure, and degenerative heart disease. Evan, my 7-year-old, waited while we talked, but as we were wrapping up the conversation and my friend was starting to walk away it became clear that Evan had something he wanted to say.

"Mommy, Mommy!"

"Yes, Evan?"

"Does Mr. C_____ know about Honey-Nut Cheerios?"

"Um, I don't know, Evan. What about them?"

"They reduce the risk of heart disease!"

Wow. Evan hadn't just been waiting; he had been listening. My friend smiled at Evan, who was brimming with excitement to have this news to share (he knows the gentleman in question pretty well).

"Why, thank you, Evan! That is great to know!"

As my friend walked away, Evan smiled at me happily and said, "Maybe Mr. C_____'s mother will get better now!"

Sigh. If only it were so simple. And yet, when it comes to the thing that most ails us, it is. Honey-Nut Cheerios may not cure heart disease, but Jesus does cure sin. And we who are fed by Him have the great blessing of being able to share that Good News with others. May we do so with the faith and enthusiasm of a child, unquestioningly trusting in God's Word as a little boy trusts the label on his box of cereal.

Pass the Cheerios, please.

A God of Life

I'm turning my Facebook status this morning into a blog post.

Last night Evan, my 7-year-old, asked me one of those questions that makes ME feel like a 7-year-old: "Why didn't God kill the snake before it could tempt Adam & Eve?"

I fumbled around a bit with this and that, telling Evan that in His death on the cross Jesus did conquer the devil, but finally summarized with the standard "There are things we don't fully understand now that we will understand some day when we get to heaven."

This morning I shared Evan's question with my husband, who responded: "Well, God doesn't kill US before WE can sin, does He? The devil kills his enemies; the Lord kills Himself to save His enemies, reconciling the world to Himself."

See why I love this man?

Love, Thus

I love it when the study of language leads to an increase of understanding.

The Gospel reading for today includes that most famous passage of John 3:16: "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life." The Office Hymn is Lutheran Service Book 571, "God Loved the World So That He Gave." Here's the first stanza:

God loved the world so that He gave
His only Son the lost to save,
That all who would in Him believe
Should everlasting life receive.

Note that both the reading and the hymn use the word "so." Now, I think when most people think of the word "so" we think of it as an intensifier--a type of adverb that emphasizes the degree or strength of another word. Some examples of intensifiers are "very," "extremely," "quite," "really," "hardly," and "so." Grammar handbooks generally condemn intensifiers as wasted breath and space, but that doesn't stop most of us from using them, and "so" is one of our favorites: "I'm so hungry . . . ." "She's so beautiful . . . ." "He's so smart . . . ." "That is so frustrating . . . ." "I love you so much!" So in John 3:16 and in the hymn above we may similarly interpret that "so" as a simple intensifier: "God loved the world how much? SO much."

But that's not what either the text or the hymn is saying. Because there's another use of the word "so," actually a more historical one. "So" means "thus," which means "in this or that manner or way." It's not that God loved the world so much; it's that He loved the world thus--in this manner--by giving His only begotten Son. It's not merely that His love made Him do this thing; it's that He loved us BY doing this thing. The giving of His Son is not just an expression of His love; it IS the love.

Not that my opinion matters. But I can't help wondering if a better translation of John 3:16 wouldn't be something like this:

"For this is the way God loved the world: He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life."

HT for this blog post to my husband, whose sidebar note on the hymn in our bulletin started me to thinking.

Christmas in August

Hey, you. Yeah, you with the computer and to-do list a mile long. Stop what you're doing and listen to this. It's a video of the attendees at this weekend's Doxology retreat in Schuyler, Nebraska, singing Lutheran Service Book 384, "Of the Father's Love Begotten." Yes, I know. It's a Christmas hymn, and here we are with almost a month left of summer. But the message of this hymn--one of my all-time favorites--knows no season. So give yourself a 4-minute breather and hear of the love of the Father for you, His precious child. (By the way, that's my hubby singing the first stanza and providing piano accompaniment throughout. Notice what happens in the piano on the final, doxological stanza. It's as if the piano breaks out into its own, spontaneous song, leaving the singers to carry the melody on their own. I think they do a pretty good job of it, don't you?)

He's Going

In September my husband will depart for a 10-day teaching and recording trip to Brazzaville, Republic of the Congo (not to be confused with Democratic Republic of the Congo), to promote the new French version of the Lutheran Service Book. This hymnal, Liturgies et cantiques lutheriens, will be the first thoroughly Lutheran worship book to be used by the churches there. It has already been introduced in parts of Togo (see Kantor Jonathan Mueller in action here) to a great reception. My husband will be traveling with Rev. James May of Lutherans in Africa and will be training local pastors in the liturgy and making recordings that can be used in local congregations for teaching purposes. He is especially suited to this work not only because of his musical skill but also because of his proficiency in the French language and his appreciation for African music.

Much financial support is needed for this project. Travel alone for Rev. May from Nairobi and for my husband from Chicago will cost thousands of dollars. They will also be purchasing and shipping/carrying hymnals to the churches in Congo, Togo, Burkina Faso, Cameroon, and Cote D'Ivoire. And of course, there will be expenses incurred on the ground for room, board, local transportation and daily needs.

My husband has already started the process of preparing for travel to Africa. There is still much to be done and I will be keeping you posted and asking for your prayers as the trip nears. In the meantime, if you would like to make a donation in support of this trip, you may send it to Bethany Lutheran Church, 1550 Modaff Rd., Naperville, IL 60565, and label it "Send the Cantor to Congo!"

Children's Cantata

Last month our church offered a one-week music camp for children. The bulk of the camp was spent preparing a cantata based on the appointed Gospel for the Sunday after the camp. The cantata was composed by my husband after registration for the camp was closed, so he knew the number of participants and their ages, talents, and abilities, and composed accordingly (kind of like J. S. Bach himself used to do on a weekly basis!). The video below, of the first movement of the cantata, shows the result. The only adults involved in this performance were my husband, conducting, and his associate cantor, playing piano. All other instrumental and vocal parts were taken by children from approximately age 8 to age 14. The camp ran Monday-Friday from 9-11:45 daily.

Amazing what children can accomplish when you give them the chance and the tools to do so, isn't it?

Over the next few days, I will post the entire cantata, but I have to do it in parts because I am limited on how much video I can upload at a time to Vimeo (I have the free, basic account).

Enjoy! (The text of the chorus is below the video.)

"The Cost of Following Jesus" - Luke 9:51-62 - I. Chorus from Cheryl on Vimeo.

I. Chorus

All for Christ I have forsaken And have taken up my cross.
Worldly joy, its fame and fortune Now I count as worthless dross.

Who is sweeter than Christ Jesus? No good thing in Him I lack!
Hand to plow, at peace I follow Where He leads me . . . why look back?

Gone the past, unknown the future; Grace supplies my daily breath;
Strong in Christ through death's dark valley, Firm and faithful unto death.

Spring Break Checklist

At the end of last week I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish over spring break. (As homeschoolers, we don't have a spring break per sé, but I have a break from my school and community accompanying, and my husband has a break from his teaching responsibilities. We are not taking a break from homeschooling this week, having taken lots of other breaks as needed over the course of the year!)

So back to the list. Seeing as how we're halfway through the week, it seems a good time to review my progress.

Tasks completed or partially completed:

Catch up on grading/looking at children's schoolwork - almost done
Take myself for an appointment with a gastrointestinal specialist - scheduled for tomorrow
Eye appointments for me and Caitlin - done
Practice driving with Trevor (slight progress: one practice session has been done with Dad)
Take Caitlin shopping for clothing - partially done - Easter/Confirmation outfit is purchased, but she still needs some summer things
Take Evan shopping for shoes - done
Change out antivirus program on computers (we get free antivirus coverage from Comcast and they are changing from McAfee to Norton) - one computer done, one to go
Take van for an oil change--scheduled for tomorrow
Engage in some cultural literacy: watch The Sound of Music with the teenagers

Not yet completed:

Send broken coffeemaker for warranty service (I wouldn't bother except for the fact that this is a Cadillac coffeemaker that is less than a year old)
Take cable box that we are no longer using to turn in at Comcast office
Call for warranty service on new fridge (icemaker not working properly)
Decide on and implement a back-up system for all computers
Load new operating system onto computers (can't wait to replace Vista!)
Send husband's broken laptop out for repair
Write some long overdue thank you notes
Make some significant progress on the taxes
Deep clean the master bedroom
Take older son to the bank to take care of some money matters
Stop by the T-Mobile store to get help with some issues I am having with my cell phone

I got a slow start on my checklist, having spent the weekend nursing a virus. But hey, it's better than I thought! The lists are almost equal. I guess I've accomplished a bit more than I realized. Now, though, we are moving from largely unscheduled days to having something to do every night: "mega" choir rehearsal tonight, followed by Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil, and Easter services for the next four days. Don't get me wrong: I love, love, love Holy Week. I love the order and purpose that the liturgy brings to each day and to the week as a whole. But I must realistically acknowledge that at this point each day's priority moves from checking things off the list to participating in the celebration of the Passion and Resurrection of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. If I am able to fit a few chores in around the ages, great--but that will not be the most important thing. And amazingly enough, that is not a source of stress but a source of peace, reminding me that my little checklist is fleeting, but Christ's is forever. There will always be things on my temporal to-do list, because as soon as one thing is crossed off another comes to take its place. But the eternal list--the one with that little detail about paying for my sins--was wiped clean 2000 years ago on the Cross, never to be replaced by anything else.

May we each see, in the empty tomb, a blank piece of paper upon which we need never write another thing, because Christ has done it all.

Light

This month in our family devotions we are using a French Advent calendar that was given to us by a friend. Each day includes a Bible verse as well as a meditation on that verse. Since we are studying French in our home school, it is nice to be able to do "double duty" with our devotions, learning some Bible verses in French as we hear God's word!

Yesterday's verse is of special comfort to those for whom the dark and cold months of winter can be particularly emotionally trying. I bet that even if you don't know French you may be able to figure out the general message:

"La nuit est bientot finie." - (There should be a circumflex over that "o" but I don't know how to make it.) - Romans 13:12a

Although we are just now entering winter and there are many long, cold and dark days yet to come before the promise of springtime relief (especially for those of us in certain parts of the country), we can take comfort in the truth that the light of Christ is eternal! For "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. . . . In Him was life, and the life was the light of men." That Word came down to earth, "became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory" and we now prepare once again to welcome that glory in the celebration of Nativity of our Lord. Although we surely live in dark and latter days here on earth, we can hold fast to the certainty that there is a "light [that] shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (Quoted from John 1:1ff)

"La nuit est bientot finie."-- "The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light." - Romans 13:12

Getting Out of the Box

One of the more enjoyable aspects of our family's homeschooling routine is the family "readaloud"--a book that I select for its literary, cultural, or historical value and then spend time reading to and discussing with my children. Whereas in some families the practice of reading together wanes as the children learn to read on their own, we are similar to many other homeschooling families I know in that we have continued reading together even as our oldest children have become teenagers. Lately, though, I must admit that we have been struggling more and more to find time for this most cherished activity. It seems that in the face of overloaded schedules and tired minds and bodies, the readaloud, with its more abstract benefits, has often been neglected in favor of more obviously necessary pursuits such as math lessons and piano practicing. So for months now we have been on the same book--Marjorie Rawlings' The Yearling--trying to finish it not for lack of interest but for lack of time. And now with two chapters remaining (of 33 total--it's a long book!), I think I can finally say the end is in sight.

For anyone who is not familiar with the story, it relates one year in the life of a farming family in the backwoods of Florida during the early 20th century. The main character is Jody Baxter, a 12-year-old boy who turns an orphaned fawn into a pet. As the fawn--named Flag--grows, it begins to threaten the Baxters' crops, and in spite of the family's efforts to thwart its mischief it repeatedly causes damage to the young plants that are to provide the Baxters' sustenance and livelihood in the coming year. Jody, faced with telling his father that Flag has destroyed the young corn shoots that were just beginning to break through the soil, finds himself panicking because he knows that the family is running out of options for dealing with this problem. Yet he knows he has no choice but to go to his father with the bad news. As I read this passage to my children a few days ago, these words resonated with me in a way I didn't expect:

Jody was frightened. He dawdled about the field, hoping to have a miracle happen and the corn appear again when his back was turned. Perhaps he was having a nightmare in which Flag had eaten the corn crop, and when he awakened he would go out and find it growing, green and tender. He pushed a stick into one arm to make sure. The dull misery he felt was that of a bad dream, but the pain in his arm was as real as the destruction of the corn. He dragged back to the house with slow and heavy feet. He sat down in the kitchen and did not go to his father. Penny called him. He went to the bedroom.

"Well, boy? How's the crops?"

"The cotton's up. Hit looks like okry, don't it?" His enthusiasm was spurious. "The cow-peas is breakin' the ground."

He spread the toes of his bare feet and wriggled them. He was absorbed in them, as though they had developed an interesting new function.

"And the corn, Jody?"

His heart beat as fast as a humming-bird's wings. He swallowed and took the plunge.

"Somethin's et off most of it."

So--to the point of this post. A few weeks ago I became convicted of the need to see my pastor for personal confession & absolution. I take part in corporate confession every week as part of the liturgy, but due to certain circumstances in my own life of late I have found myself desperately needing to hear those words of absolution spoken not just to the assembly but personally to me. Having been confirmed Roman Catholic, I went to confession years ago as a teenager, but since joining the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod in my young adulthood have not found individual confession encouraged to the same degree, although that is changing in some congregations (and I should clarify that in the Catholic church it is not merely encouraged but required at certain times in the believer's life).

So having made the decision to see my pastor and having called him to set up an appointment, I found myself having to wait for several days due to our conflicting schedules. And oh, the waiting--it was awful. I was desperate to go to confession--to speak to my pastor the truth of my sin--and yet I was dreading it. Could I really say those words out loud? And what was he--not just my pastor, but my friend--going to think of me? I felt just like Jody in the above excerpt from The Yearling, looking for ways to avoid the inevitable, hoping it was all just a dream, heart beating "fast as a humming-bird's wings."

But sin is very real, as are the deadly consequences it has on one's life and soul. And it was eating away at me in the same way Jody's fawn was eating away at those corn plants. And similar to Jody's father calling him to report on the plants, my Father had been calling me, and calling me, and calling me again, and finally I went to Him in the person of my pastor, took a big deep breath, and laid it all out there:

"I, a poor sinner, plead gulty before God of all sins.
I have lived as if God did not matter and as if I mattered most.
My Lord's name I have not honored as I should; my worship and prayers have faltered.
I have not let His love have its way with me, and so my love for others has failed.
There are those whom I have hurt, and those whom I have failed to help.
My thoughts and desires have been soiled with sin." (Lutheran Service Book, p. 292)

And Pastor's words came back to me, as he placed his hand on my head:

"In the stead and by the command of my Lord Jesus Christ I forgive you all your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."

And suddenly it was clear that it mattered not what Pastor thought of me but only what my Lord thought of me, and He had known all along--and still knows--my sinful condition and yet for the sake of His Son and my Saviour had forgiven me all those sins and made me new in Christ.

In The Yearling, after Jody informs his father of Flag's devastating action, Mr. and Mrs. Baxter confer to decide what to do. Mrs. Baxter has long been "down" on Flag and Jody fears this most recent event might be the last straw. But when his parents call him to share their verdict, it turns out that Mr. Baxter--full of sympathy and compassion for his son--has prevailed upon his wife and talked her into trying one more time to manage the misbehaving fawn. A reprieve is granted: Jody will be allowed to attempt the building of a fence to keep Flag away from the vulnerable plants. At this news, Jody feels as though he has gotten his very life back:

It seemed to Jody that he had been shut up in a small black box and now the lid was off, and the sun and light and air came in across him, and he was free.

I can think of no better words to describe the way I felt after hearing my pastor's granting of my Lord's absolution. It was indeed like being let out of a tiny, suffocating black box--a tomb of condemnation--and finding myself once again able to live and breathe again.

As I mentioned earlier, I was confirmed in the Roman Catholic church and so have some memory of personal confession and absolution. But as a Catholic the experience was somewhat different: once the penitent has confessed, he or she is instructed to perform some sort of "penance"--perhaps an act of prayer, fasting, or good works--to demonstrate his remorse and make up for the harm that his sin has done. Now, I don't mean to argue against any of these things--they each have value, and prayer in particular seems to me a natural outgrowth of true repentance. But to have a priest prescribe that I say three "Our Father's" or two "Hail Mary's" or that I engage in some specific act to make up for my sin seems to me to fly in the face of true forgiveness, which is granted without any strings attached. For if the penitent is truly sorry, the joy and gratitude that are experienced upon receiving absolution will doubtless lead to prayers of thanksgiving and acts of Gospel joy.

If you are finding yourself weighed down by sin, I encourage you this Lenten season to see a pastor, preferably a confessional Lutheran one with a Biblical understanding of Law and Gospel, and relieve yourself of that burden. Then find yourself a Lutheran Service Book, turn to hymn #611, and sing or speak these words, not as an act of penance but as a celebration of the absolution that has just been granted you by your Father and of the reconciliation you now have with Him--a reconciliation that was obtained not by any work of yours but rather once and for all by Jesus on the cross:

Oh, the height of Jesus' love,

Higher than the heav'ns above,

Deeper than the depths of sea,

Lasting as eternity!

Love that found me--wondrous thought!

Found me when I sought Him not.

(Stanza 2, "Chief of Sinners Though I Be")

Happy New Year!

Our New Year's Eve celebration was fairly low key. We attended worship at 5:00 p.m. and then came home for a supper of broiled salmon, glazed carrots and salad, with apple-cranberry pie for dessert (yes, I know, we seem to be eating rather well these days . . . but hey, if you can't splurge at Christmastime, when can you?). Then we settled in for a fun family movie: Cats & Dogs. (This movie especially resonates with us as beagle owners since in it dogs are the "good guys" and the hero is a beagle.) After the movie the old folks (uh, that would be my husband and I) turned in, and the younger set stayed up a while longer, but I have it on good authority that only one member of the family actually stayed awake to welcome in the new year (and that was not so much by design as the result of her current writing project).

Attendance at worship was down somewhat from the last few years, perhaps due to the snowstorm that blew in during the day, but it is discouraging nonetheless that the majority of our congregation did not choose to "ring" in the new year with Word and Sacrament, especially since the service time is early enough to avoid conflicts with later social engagements. There was a time--certainly when I was younger--that I would have looked at worship on New Year's Eve as something "good" to do before moving on to the main event of the evening. But now it seems to me an utter "no-brainer" that the best place to be on New Year's Eve is in my Father's house, receiving the gifts that He so freely and graciously gives to His own. What better way to mark the end of one year and the beginning of the next than to fix my eyes upon the One who is both the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end, the author and perfector of my very life and faith?

Speaking of beginnings and endings. one of the things that particularly struck me about my pastor's New Year's Eve sermon concerned the common view of time. As products of Western culture, we tend to see it linearly, in terms of past, present and future, and we also imagine it as something that is constantly, inexorably moving ahead. Thus, at this time of year we like to spend time looking both backward (as in all those end-of-year retrospectives) and forward (plans and task lists and New Year's resolutions). And that is all fine. But as Pastor pointed out, Christians also realize that God's time is not linear, but spiral in nature, as everything both past and future points to the one event that forever and irrevocably changed the course of human history: the incarnation, life and death of Jesus Christ. Whereas the created world certainly had a beginning and will someday have its end, Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, is eternal as His Father is eternal, and as we rest in Him there is ultimately neither past nor future because we His children are a part of His eternal plan.

The epistle reading for New Year's Eve is one of my absolute favorites, on my short list of passages for which I can actually cite chapter and verse, and one of those that takes my breath away with its pure Gospel message (the emphasis is mine):

"If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all--how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? . . . Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? . . . No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:31ff)

Happy New Year.

Happily Ever After?

While doing some driving yesterday I stumbled upon a live radio broadcast of Oprah Winfrey's speech endorsing Barack Obama at a campaign rally in Iowa. During the approximately 10-minute period of time that I listened, there was one statement of Ms. Winfrey's that started alarm bells ringing in my ears. I'm not sure if I have the quotation exactly right, but the "gist" of what she said was this: "Human beings were put on this earth to evolve." In the context of a political speech, her point was of course to hold up Obama as a candidate who can help us to do that--who by virtue of his leadership and character and philosophy will enable the American people (and by extension their country and their world) to become the enlightened and perfected individuals we all know they were meant to be. And then there will be peace on earth and an end to poverty and we'll all live happily ever after.

The same hope is apparent in a "Christmas" song that has become popular in recent years (I guess it's popular, because I continually hear it on the radio, sung by everyone from Kelly Clarkson to Barbra Streisand to Natalie Cole): "My Grown-Up Christmas Wish." Have you heard it? Here's the opening verse and refrain:

Do you remember me

I sat upon your knee

I wrote to you

With childhood fantasies

Well, I'm all grown up now

And still need help somehow

I'm not a child

But my heart still can dream

So here's my lifelong wish

My grown up christmas list

Not for myself

But for a world in need

No more lives torn apart

That wars would never

And time would heal all hearts

And everyone would have a friend

And right would always win

And love would never end

This is my grown up Christmas list.

It's no wonder this song is so popular. Not only does it feature the lush pop diva ballad style--complete with a modulation into a fortissimo repetition of the refrain that shows off the singer's prodigious pipes--but it also reflects the philosophy that dominates our collective American mindset these days and was the foundation of Winfrey's speech: that if we just put our minds to it and follow the Golden Rule (and in the case of most politicians, spend enough money) we can create a perfect (or near-perfect) society on earth.

Yet as a conservative Christian and confessional Lutheran, I know another truth: this world is doomed, and there's nothing we can do about it. In the words of a friend of my husband, "It's all gonna burn." That doesn't mean that we shouldn't love and care for one another and try to make the best of our time in this earthly realm--that's what our Lord would have us do. But to labor under the assumption that we can by our efforts stamp out the effects of original sin is to sentence ourselves to despair. There is one line in the lyric above that I find particularly tragic: "That time would heal all hearts." In the face of my daily trials I am sustained by the knowledge that my heart is already healed by the death and resurrection of my Saviour. I can't imagine the sadness of a heart that is waiting to be healed by the passing of time.

It vexes me that the average American--whether or not he or she agrees with Winfrey's politics--would likely listen to her speech yesterday and accept its premise that the point of our existence is to make ourselves and our world better. In the world of argument, faulty premises logically lead to faulty conclusions. The premise upon which I stand is the truth of my sin and my need for a Saviour, and I know that if I cling to that premise the conclusion will take care of itself.

The Christmas Spirit

My friend Elizabeth (a.k.a. "Muddy Boots") has a thoughtful post about what is commonly referred to as the "Christmas spirit." She writes about the challenges her family was facing at this time last year and the resulting impact on her outlook, making it difficult for her to embrace all the "holiday" festivities.

I know what she means. A few weeks ago I asked my husband in complete seriousness if we might forego decorating this year because the thought of it filled me not with anticipation but with dread. It's not that I was feeling particularly negative or down at the time (although I have had my share of that in recent months) but that in my exhaustion (resulting from one of the more difficult years we have had in some time) I just couldn't "wrap my mind around" all that "needed" to be done. And the more I thought about it the more I truly believed I might be better able to reflect upon and prepare for the Nativity of our Lord if I just didn't have so darn much to do.

I think I caught my husband somewhat off guard with my question because I have always been one to desire the full Christmas "experience": the cards, the decorations, the food and the gift-giving. When I was younger that's what I thought Christmas was mostly about because in my experience the outward observance of Christmas was all the Christmas there was. But having in my adulthood come to a fuller understanding of the Gospel, I now understand (like the "Whos down in Who-ville") that Christmas comes with or without all the trappings and that in fact the "to-do" list can distract us from the heart of the celebration. The irony is that in my willingness to consider a Christmas without decorations, the decorations became not something I have to do but something I want to do.

So we will go out next week to chop down a tree, and we will bring it home and decorate it, and I will be glad we did. But I may not open every Christmas box that is stored away in our garage, unpacking decorations and trying to find places for them all just because we have them. And our holiday correspondence may be an Epiphany rather than a Christmas letter. And as much as I would like that letter to include a family photo, our dear ones just may have to keep "Christmas 2006" on the refrigerator for one more year. Because I think I have finally realized that if our Christmas celebration becomes law-driven ("I just have to get this done") it ceases focusing on Christ and ends up being all about us. And then we truly do miss the point.

So this year I'm letting myself off the hook and leaving Christmas up to Christ. Regardless of what I do, He will come, and when He does, that will be Christmas.