I had never seen a movie about the Civil Rights Movement in which the main character wasn't white.
Why does it always have to be about the white person? To hell with all that, give others a chance to speak.
I had never seen the videos of what happened in Birmingham and Selma and all over back in those days. I had seen pictures but not the videos.
Of how they were sprayed with powerful water hoses, how the dogs went after them like rank meat, how people poured ketchup on their faces and spit on them and jeered at them while they sat at that restaurant counter. They looked mighty close to Jesus at the time of His Crucifixion.
Why the hate? Why the blamin' the hate on God's Holy Scriptures? Why the violence? What the hell is wrong with you, where is your humanity?
Where is your humanity.
Somehow you lost it, and you try to take it from someone else too because the fact that somehow they still got it after all they been through makes you scared. Like they stronger than you. Like they got somethin' you ain't got. And you can't stand that.
And so you lie and scream and spit and throw and punch and set on fire and abuse the very people God done laid God's own hands on.
What the hell is wrong with you.
We ashamed. We ashamed of our past, and we would rather pretend it never happened. And we hide behind excuses like, "I've heard it a million times" and "That was a long time ago" and shit like that.
But you know what? You don't let us forget the cross, where our Savior died. You don't let us forget what happened to Him, and you want us to forget about the people who looked just like Him, laying down their dignity and their very own lives for the sake of someone else? For the sake of someone they don't know? For the sakes of those not even born yet?
Naw, I ain't gon forget. Because as soon as I forget, I lose my humanity. Just like those people did. Just like they forgot who they were and who the people were standing before them. That's right, the PEOPLE. Because we all human beings. We all matter and are important, just as equally as anyone else, and God's got dreams for all of us.
May we press forward to make God's dreams for us come true. We ain't got no right not to. We was bought at a price, and I ain't gonna go a'wastin that sacrifice, no no. I ain't gonna go a'wastin my Lord's sacrifice for me.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
My Intentions
Dear Readers (the thousands of you),
I have this condition in which I think mostly in words. It's called being a Thinker. I'm pretty ok with it, like it actually. But it means that thoughts come to me at random times, and often I do not have a way to write them down.
That's when my handy dandy iPhone comes in. Sometimes.
Anyway, I have lots of random thoughts in my Notes that I will be posting shortly. So don't be alarmed by the randomness or frequency (because you are used to a very low frequency rate).
Ok, enjoy.
Happy Saturday!
Peace,
Michelle
I have this condition in which I think mostly in words. It's called being a Thinker. I'm pretty ok with it, like it actually. But it means that thoughts come to me at random times, and often I do not have a way to write them down.
That's when my handy dandy iPhone comes in. Sometimes.
Anyway, I have lots of random thoughts in my Notes that I will be posting shortly. So don't be alarmed by the randomness or frequency (because you are used to a very low frequency rate).
Ok, enjoy.
Happy Saturday!
Peace,
Michelle
Sunday, January 12, 2014
The Sacredness of Staying Home
I grew up with the expectation that Sunday is church day. Unless I was sick or out of town (and even then I must have been out of reaching distance of any Southern Baptist Church), I was expected to be in church. This expectation set for me an internal clock that always got me rolling out of bed on Sundays, despite the knowledge that I would inevitably be late. But this Sunday morning, I decided to do things a little bit differently.
I say that as though I have never missed church on a Sunday; that would be false. I went through a time in college (don't tell my mother) in which I hated church. I hated the organization of it, the hierarchy, the country-club feeling, the terrible music and awful analogies, all of it. And so I stopped going. Until I got involved in a charismatic church that helped me believe in church again, and until I later fell in love with a Baptist church and their children's ministry that led me to believe in Baptists again. It's been quite the journey.
Recently, I moved to a new city, and I have found myself on Sunday mornings among the company of some really great Presbyterians (USA). It is a church made up of pseudo-Presbyterians; in reality, we all come from different denominational backgrounds, which makes for interesting conversation when talking about faith traditions. But it is always respectful and very beneficial.
I wound up at the Presbyterian church because a friend and I used their parking lot to access our favorite walking trail at a preferred entrance; we had no interest in the church itself. I am still not sure what brought me to visit it one Sunday, other than that I had waited until the last minute to decide where I would attend, that it was five minutes from home, and that the service started late in the morning.
What kept me coming back to the Presbyterian church was the liturgy. Having grown up in the Baptist tradition, I was not exposed to the word liturgy, much less the tradition of it, until college, and even then I didn't know how to appreciate it.
In my short time with this church, I have come to thoroughly appreciate the liturgy, even long for it throughout the week. I love to feast upon every thoughtful word, allowing it to stretch and challenge me, to lead me down new paths, and to leave me changed from the inside out. It's why I get up at 8 every Sunday morning; no kidding.
But this Sunday (today) I didn't go, and the reason is simple: I was tired. I, along with two fellow interns, moved to a new house two days ago, so yesterday was spent cleaning and running errands in an attempt to make the new place feel like home. I was very much behaving like a Martha, and I loved every minute of it. But today I needed to be a Mary.
When I awoke (definitely later than 8:00) this morning, I felt very guilty for not going to church. I knew the Presbyterians would notice I wasn't there, though I knew there would be no judgment (at least I assumed there wouldn't). I tried to work through my guilt by telling myself clichés that never work for anyone, until finally I just accepted the fact that I was tired. And that was ok.
As I sat, slowly eating my breakfast this morning, as opposed to the usual daily rush of gathering the day's first meal while rushing out the door, I came to think that maybe there is a sacredness in just staying home on a Sunday.
The story of Mary and Martha somehow constantly creeps into my life from various sources and at unexpected times, perhaps because I never learn the lesson well. Or maybe there are just so many facets from which to see it that one look is hardly enough to catch them all.
I have heard far too many well-meaning people discount Martha. Give her a break; the woman gets things done! And she is dang good at hospitality! She patiently works and slaves away at preparing a way for the Lord in her home while her sister just sits on the couch watching football with Jesus, and she is kind of over it. So the pressure builds up until she finally vents her frustration to Jesus. And gee whiz, the punk answers her by saying that Mary has chosen the more important things.
The nerve! I think I would have said to Jesus, "Ok, fine, then I will sit on the couch and we will have no dinner, and eventually the bills will never get paid because I am the one who sends the payment off in the mail, so we will have no electricity either, and oh, guess who picked out that TV at the store that you are watching?!" And on and on my frustration would go.
Unless maybe Jesus is right. Maybe His presence beckons us to come and just be and to let the work wait for just a few moments. He knows it needs to get done, but He also knows that our souls need rest and the presence of the Prince of Peace.
And maybe the example is not so literal; maybe it's just an example that the people of his day could connect with to help them see that precious time spent with their Lord, who would not be physically among them forever, was valuable and could offer something to their souls' wellbeing that getting things done could not.
It was in Martha's very nature to take care of people. The Lord calls us to that, too. And that is ok. Very ok. But maybe, while the souls of those of whom she was taking care were resting, her own soul needed rest too.
In our grandiose efforts to take care of the family of God by always keeping our tradition of gathering together on Sunday, which inevitably leads the faithful to be frustrated with those who have other things in mind for that day, what if we allowed ourselves, only every once in a while, to take a Mary stance, a stance of sitting with the Lord alone rather than worrying with the details of making Him happy? And what if we allowed our clergy to do the same?
Barbara Brown Taylor, in her wonderful book Leaving Church, writes in reflection of her time as a clergywoman, "There were days when I was as full as a harvest moon and others when not so much as a sliver appeared in the sky. My soul's health depended on the regular cycle of these phases. I needed the dark nights that gave the stars their full brilliance as much as I needed the nights when the moon shone so brightly that I could make shadow puppets with my hands. The problem with the [clerical] collar was that it did not allow for such variations. It advertised the steady circle of light, not the cycles, so that it sometimes scorched my neck."
Our clergy need vacations from the demands of church. We should give it to them. But sometimes we need vacations too. Sometimes we must disengage in order to reengage. In order to hear the voice of our Lord more clearly. In order to become more fully ourselves rather than someone else's expectations of what we should be. In order to live.
I can't wait to return to the Presbyterian church next week to chew on some more powerful words from the Lord in the powerful liturgy. In the meantime, happy resting day.
I say that as though I have never missed church on a Sunday; that would be false. I went through a time in college (don't tell my mother) in which I hated church. I hated the organization of it, the hierarchy, the country-club feeling, the terrible music and awful analogies, all of it. And so I stopped going. Until I got involved in a charismatic church that helped me believe in church again, and until I later fell in love with a Baptist church and their children's ministry that led me to believe in Baptists again. It's been quite the journey.
Recently, I moved to a new city, and I have found myself on Sunday mornings among the company of some really great Presbyterians (USA). It is a church made up of pseudo-Presbyterians; in reality, we all come from different denominational backgrounds, which makes for interesting conversation when talking about faith traditions. But it is always respectful and very beneficial.
I wound up at the Presbyterian church because a friend and I used their parking lot to access our favorite walking trail at a preferred entrance; we had no interest in the church itself. I am still not sure what brought me to visit it one Sunday, other than that I had waited until the last minute to decide where I would attend, that it was five minutes from home, and that the service started late in the morning.
What kept me coming back to the Presbyterian church was the liturgy. Having grown up in the Baptist tradition, I was not exposed to the word liturgy, much less the tradition of it, until college, and even then I didn't know how to appreciate it.
In my short time with this church, I have come to thoroughly appreciate the liturgy, even long for it throughout the week. I love to feast upon every thoughtful word, allowing it to stretch and challenge me, to lead me down new paths, and to leave me changed from the inside out. It's why I get up at 8 every Sunday morning; no kidding.
But this Sunday (today) I didn't go, and the reason is simple: I was tired. I, along with two fellow interns, moved to a new house two days ago, so yesterday was spent cleaning and running errands in an attempt to make the new place feel like home. I was very much behaving like a Martha, and I loved every minute of it. But today I needed to be a Mary.
When I awoke (definitely later than 8:00) this morning, I felt very guilty for not going to church. I knew the Presbyterians would notice I wasn't there, though I knew there would be no judgment (at least I assumed there wouldn't). I tried to work through my guilt by telling myself clichés that never work for anyone, until finally I just accepted the fact that I was tired. And that was ok.
As I sat, slowly eating my breakfast this morning, as opposed to the usual daily rush of gathering the day's first meal while rushing out the door, I came to think that maybe there is a sacredness in just staying home on a Sunday.
The story of Mary and Martha somehow constantly creeps into my life from various sources and at unexpected times, perhaps because I never learn the lesson well. Or maybe there are just so many facets from which to see it that one look is hardly enough to catch them all.
I have heard far too many well-meaning people discount Martha. Give her a break; the woman gets things done! And she is dang good at hospitality! She patiently works and slaves away at preparing a way for the Lord in her home while her sister just sits on the couch watching football with Jesus, and she is kind of over it. So the pressure builds up until she finally vents her frustration to Jesus. And gee whiz, the punk answers her by saying that Mary has chosen the more important things.
The nerve! I think I would have said to Jesus, "Ok, fine, then I will sit on the couch and we will have no dinner, and eventually the bills will never get paid because I am the one who sends the payment off in the mail, so we will have no electricity either, and oh, guess who picked out that TV at the store that you are watching?!" And on and on my frustration would go.
Unless maybe Jesus is right. Maybe His presence beckons us to come and just be and to let the work wait for just a few moments. He knows it needs to get done, but He also knows that our souls need rest and the presence of the Prince of Peace.
And maybe the example is not so literal; maybe it's just an example that the people of his day could connect with to help them see that precious time spent with their Lord, who would not be physically among them forever, was valuable and could offer something to their souls' wellbeing that getting things done could not.
It was in Martha's very nature to take care of people. The Lord calls us to that, too. And that is ok. Very ok. But maybe, while the souls of those of whom she was taking care were resting, her own soul needed rest too.
In our grandiose efforts to take care of the family of God by always keeping our tradition of gathering together on Sunday, which inevitably leads the faithful to be frustrated with those who have other things in mind for that day, what if we allowed ourselves, only every once in a while, to take a Mary stance, a stance of sitting with the Lord alone rather than worrying with the details of making Him happy? And what if we allowed our clergy to do the same?
Barbara Brown Taylor, in her wonderful book Leaving Church, writes in reflection of her time as a clergywoman, "There were days when I was as full as a harvest moon and others when not so much as a sliver appeared in the sky. My soul's health depended on the regular cycle of these phases. I needed the dark nights that gave the stars their full brilliance as much as I needed the nights when the moon shone so brightly that I could make shadow puppets with my hands. The problem with the [clerical] collar was that it did not allow for such variations. It advertised the steady circle of light, not the cycles, so that it sometimes scorched my neck."
Our clergy need vacations from the demands of church. We should give it to them. But sometimes we need vacations too. Sometimes we must disengage in order to reengage. In order to hear the voice of our Lord more clearly. In order to become more fully ourselves rather than someone else's expectations of what we should be. In order to live.
I can't wait to return to the Presbyterian church next week to chew on some more powerful words from the Lord in the powerful liturgy. In the meantime, happy resting day.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Reflections on Holy Week
On this holy Sabbath, I take time
to silence myself and reflect on this Holy Week. It has meant a great deal to me,
for many reasons. Different aspects that have been prominent of the week and of
the special observances in which I have participated with my fellow brothers
and sisters, have all come together to be weaved into a beautiful tapestry of
Holy Week beauty. Below you will find what this Holy Week has meant to me.
It has meant Simplicity. For
Lent, I gave up the need to overproduce and the need to please everyone. Though
these two go hand-in-hand, the need to overproduce took center stage in my
mind, perhaps and hopefully because the Holy Spirit put it there. Giving up
this need has been quite the challenge, and I must admit that I have failed
miserably at it, though not without much growth. The Lenten Offering, as I like
to call it, has developed in me a need and desire for simplicity. It drives me
to seek and hopefully to find what it means to live life more simply. All that
I have learned thus far is in itself an entire blog post, or perhaps a few, so
more on that topic later.
Holy Week has meant shadows. I
expected at the beginning of the week, as I knew and expected there to be a
time of retreat into the shadows, for this to mean a time of emotional sadness
and perhaps a touch of depression. Don’t know why I expected this to happen for
only a day or two, but I think I subconsciously did. What I found, however, was
that the light of Christ has shown so brightly upon me this week that I have
found it difficult and even impossible to retreat into the shadows of
depression. Instead, a retreat to the shadows has more meant to confess that
Jesus indeed did suffer, and in this way he connected on an entirely new level
with humanity. To believe in a Jesus who did not suffer is to believe in a God
who would not really stoop to the lowest place, for that would be too far,
unreachable, and quite the nuisance. More on that in a moment.
It has been reflective. This
year, for the first time in a long time, Holy Week has not been a surface-level
theology that is simply a dead story from a bajillion years ago; it has not
been simply repeating what has been said a thousand times. I.E., it has not
been Jesus on a felt board. It has had meaning, reflective meaning, deep
meaning, that has penetrated my soul and disturbed me there. It has crept deep
inside of me, to the depths of my being, grasped me there, rattled my world,
and has changed me forever. It has been quite the spiritual experience.
This Holy Week has meant community.
I have spent a great deal of time this week with the people in my church, and
even a small amount of time with people of multiple denominations, which was
pretty awesome. Since I joined my church choir recently, I have been a part of
a good deal of the services for which my church has gathered together. And I
have loved it. Every moment of it. I went through a long phase during college
in which I hated church. I hated everything about it; the building, the people
who always wore really nice clothes and drove fancy cars, the stale songs and
stories, all of it. And for the first time literally in years, I have begun to
fall in love once again with the local church. Working with the children and
adult choir members of a church have a way of doing that to you. Community has
been lived out and felt this week.
It has meant listening and
following God’s guidance. I can’t spill all my guts here, but the week has
meant change. Hard change, change that means sacrifice. But the gains and
rewards are worth it. Thanks be to God.
It has meant submitting my will
to that of my Perfect Father and Mother God. It has meant me saying, “Not my
will, but Thine be done.”
It has gotten me asking, “Who is
my ruler?” Woven into the tapestry with the same color thread as simplicity,
this question cuts deep. Will I allow certain things, even good things, to be
my master, thereby forfeiting my soul, or will I lose my soul for the sake of
finding it?
It has meant confessing the
suffering of Jesus. Much like Peter, who said, “Never, Lord!” when Jesus told the
disciples of His death, I find myself thinking, “Never, Lord! You could never
suffer for me! It’s not worth it!” And the Lord says, “Get behind me, Satan.
You do not have in mind the work of my Father” (found in Matthew 16:21-28, my
rephrasing). This week during an ecumenical Good Friday service in the larger
city community, my church’s Missions Minister spoke about Jesus’ thirst. The
two-word sentence found in John 19:28, is a beautiful break in John’s portrait
of Jesus as the Divine. After a lifetime of divinity, John gives us the picture
of Jesus’ brush with humanity. He thirsts. Indeed, our fully-God-fully-human
Savior, thirsts as He dies. For us.
It has meant rest, quiet,
stillness. A difficult discipline for a Martha such as I. Also woven with the
same color as simplicity, it has been brought right before my face that I have
a problem with the discipline of rest. I am terrible at it. I would rather run
around the block ten times before allowing myself to rest, even for a moment
(and I hate running). It is against my very nature to rest and be quiet and
still. And yet how necessary it is in bringing about the things of God.
My Holy Week has brought me to a
new idea, which I like to call Post-Holy Week. Like Lent, for me it will be the
giving up of something, in order to gain the world and my soul. I am giving up
my need to be Martha. I am giving up my need to be Super Woman and never rest. I
don’t think it is bad to be Martha; I just think I need to balance it out with
some Mary time. I’ll let you know how that goes. For now, below you will find
my Holy Week Prayer.
Blessings to all, and Happy
Easter!
Holy Week Prayer
God of Day and God of Darkness,
Bring my eyes before Your throne.
Let the noise and clamor cease;
Be still, oh my soul.
Find rest, my soul, in Christ
alone.
Rest in His power, in quietness
and trust.
May simplicity find its way into my
life once more,
May You do through it that for
which it is intended.
Make me more like You,
Oh God of Day and God of
Darkness.
Meet me, O loving Christ, in the
shadows of your death;
Enshroud me with the quiet darkness,
the heaviness of the weight of the world.
Once the work there is done,
Once my heart has known darkness
long enough,
Bring me forth to glorious day,
May my life flower and blossom to
glorious beauty.
That all the earth may know Your
Name and Your Salvation,
Oh God of Day and God of Darkness.
Amen.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Now Enter We Into Holy Week
I celebrated the beginning of Holy Week yesterday with the children in my church as I led them in singing, dancing, and moving before the Lord with all their might, as we attempted to teach and learn with them through the story of Jesus' triumphal entry that praise can and should be with our entire bodies and our entire being. An important thing, praise.
My prayer this Holy Week is simple: "Spirit of the Living God, lead me to where You are."
I recently joined my church adult choir. After spending my freshman year of college as a music major, I swore off sheet music for a few years. Now it is finding its way back into my soul. On Good Friday this week, my church choir and I will sing a little diddy called "Song of the Shadows." A beautiful arrangement of great pieces, the emphasis is allowing the Spirit to draw us into the shadows of Holy Week and there to learn what can only be learned in that dark and difficult place. So it should be real fun and chipper.
As I am walking through this beginning of Holy Week, I am seeking to be more attuned to the Spirit than I try on a day-to-day basis. You know, gotta get my holy fix. But I really want this year to be special.
After joining my friend on our "Jellybean Tour" of seminaries this past week, I realized how little I have sought rest in the last few weeks. I finally crashed after the tour and - get this - SLEPT. Haven't done that in forever. And I rested. That parable I keep bringing up of Mary and Martha? Yeah, still running around like Martha.
I got my big full-length keyboard out of storage in my basement recently and hooked it up tonight for the first time in months to play. I sat down with my Upper Room Worshipbook. A really fabulous work of art.
I was brought to the song "God of Day and God of Darkness," which is followed on the next page by an alternate set of lyrics, entitled "Come Away from Rush and Hurry." Wow, how the Spirit works.
The first stanza of the "Come Away" reading says this [the tune is "Come All Christians, Be Committed"], "Come away from rush and hurry to the stillness of God's peace; from our vain ambition's worry, come to Christ and find release. Come away from noise and clamor, life's demands and frenzied pace; come to join the people gathered here to seek and find God's face."
This Holy Week, take the time to be holy. I'm not just quoting an old song; I'm serious. Take time to step away from everything and find your Lord weeping for you in the shadows. Find the Spirit there, who lifts up the Sacrifice and gives him strength to press forward. Hear the silence. Hear the pain. Hear the agony. Let the need to constantly be happy and always in good light fade away as the darkness surrounds you.
Therein find your God. Therein find your salvation.
Blessings to you this Holy Week,
Michelle
My prayer this Holy Week is simple: "Spirit of the Living God, lead me to where You are."
I recently joined my church adult choir. After spending my freshman year of college as a music major, I swore off sheet music for a few years. Now it is finding its way back into my soul. On Good Friday this week, my church choir and I will sing a little diddy called "Song of the Shadows." A beautiful arrangement of great pieces, the emphasis is allowing the Spirit to draw us into the shadows of Holy Week and there to learn what can only be learned in that dark and difficult place. So it should be real fun and chipper.
As I am walking through this beginning of Holy Week, I am seeking to be more attuned to the Spirit than I try on a day-to-day basis. You know, gotta get my holy fix. But I really want this year to be special.
After joining my friend on our "Jellybean Tour" of seminaries this past week, I realized how little I have sought rest in the last few weeks. I finally crashed after the tour and - get this - SLEPT. Haven't done that in forever. And I rested. That parable I keep bringing up of Mary and Martha? Yeah, still running around like Martha.
I got my big full-length keyboard out of storage in my basement recently and hooked it up tonight for the first time in months to play. I sat down with my Upper Room Worshipbook. A really fabulous work of art.
I was brought to the song "God of Day and God of Darkness," which is followed on the next page by an alternate set of lyrics, entitled "Come Away from Rush and Hurry." Wow, how the Spirit works.
The first stanza of the "Come Away" reading says this [the tune is "Come All Christians, Be Committed"], "Come away from rush and hurry to the stillness of God's peace; from our vain ambition's worry, come to Christ and find release. Come away from noise and clamor, life's demands and frenzied pace; come to join the people gathered here to seek and find God's face."
This Holy Week, take the time to be holy. I'm not just quoting an old song; I'm serious. Take time to step away from everything and find your Lord weeping for you in the shadows. Find the Spirit there, who lifts up the Sacrifice and gives him strength to press forward. Hear the silence. Hear the pain. Hear the agony. Let the need to constantly be happy and always in good light fade away as the darkness surrounds you.
Therein find your God. Therein find your salvation.
Blessings to you this Holy Week,
Michelle
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Today's Playlist
Today's playlist for thinking about our words:
Wonderful Words of Life
Ancient Words
Closer (Charlie Hall)
Any others?
Wonderful Words of Life
Ancient Words
Closer (Charlie Hall)
Any others?
Friday, March 8, 2013
The Power of Words
I have been realizing lately how important words are. We are a society of cheap words. If we could count all the words we see and hear in a day (not only the ones we perceive), we....well, I don't have anything snazzy to say. But it would be an incredible number.
Proverbs 18:21 in The Message translation says, "Words kill, words give life; they’re either poison or fruit—you choose."
Wow.
When I was a kid I was invited to a birthday slumber party for a girl who was in my class at school. We were acquaintances, as much as first graders can be, but not the best of friends. We played together on the playground and got along well, so I thought.
While at the party, we were all sitting around her kitchen table eating and hanging out, and the birthday girl was sitting to my left. At one point, she turned to me and said, "You're so stupid. I shouldn't have invited you."
I remember to this day how those words made me feel. Things kind of stopped for a minute in my mind as I internalized the strong words spoken against me. I had no response to her. They were typical words of my childhood. It's a hard knock life for the kid who always gets made fun of! Until that kid grows up to be a strong woman who changes the world. Just sayin.
Those words, those two little sentences, had the power to vacuum all the fun out of the rest of the party for me. And all of the life.
Our words hold power.
Remember the woman caught in adultery? John 8:1-11. She was caught, discovered, guilty. And she was used as a tool to frame a man. The religious leaders bringing her before Jesus were not bringing her there for her own good; not for her cleansing, not for her forgiveness, not for a sacrifice to be made on her behalf. They brought her there so that they could accuse Jesus.
Jesus, after writing in the sand, responds to them, "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her" (v. 7b, NRSV). They showly turn and walk away one by one, dropping their stones. I can imagine the stones piling up into a powerful altar on which Jesus reveals his love for the woman and for broken humanity.
Scripture says, "Jesus straightened up and said to her, 'Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?' She said, 'No one, sir.' And Jesus said, 'Neither do I condemn you'" (v. 10-11, NRSV).
Sometimes I think we need to spend less time allowing words to fly from our mouths and more time writing in the sand.
A song from my middle school years says, "Oh the power of your words are filled with grace and mercy, let them fall on my ears and break my stony heart. Come in close...come in close and speak. God, come in close...come closer to me" (Charlie Hall, "Closer").
May we be people who write in the sand. May we be people who weigh our words and choose them wisely, knowing that our days are numbered. May we be people who speak life and not death. May our words heal and not wound.
May we be speakers of life.
To all the beautiful women of the world, Happy International Women's Day! You are beautiful, and your life matters.
Blessings,
Michelle
Proverbs 18:21 in The Message translation says, "Words kill, words give life; they’re either poison or fruit—you choose."
Wow.
When I was a kid I was invited to a birthday slumber party for a girl who was in my class at school. We were acquaintances, as much as first graders can be, but not the best of friends. We played together on the playground and got along well, so I thought.
While at the party, we were all sitting around her kitchen table eating and hanging out, and the birthday girl was sitting to my left. At one point, she turned to me and said, "You're so stupid. I shouldn't have invited you."
I remember to this day how those words made me feel. Things kind of stopped for a minute in my mind as I internalized the strong words spoken against me. I had no response to her. They were typical words of my childhood. It's a hard knock life for the kid who always gets made fun of! Until that kid grows up to be a strong woman who changes the world. Just sayin.
Those words, those two little sentences, had the power to vacuum all the fun out of the rest of the party for me. And all of the life.
Our words hold power.
Remember the woman caught in adultery? John 8:1-11. She was caught, discovered, guilty. And she was used as a tool to frame a man. The religious leaders bringing her before Jesus were not bringing her there for her own good; not for her cleansing, not for her forgiveness, not for a sacrifice to be made on her behalf. They brought her there so that they could accuse Jesus.
Jesus, after writing in the sand, responds to them, "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her" (v. 7b, NRSV). They showly turn and walk away one by one, dropping their stones. I can imagine the stones piling up into a powerful altar on which Jesus reveals his love for the woman and for broken humanity.
Scripture says, "Jesus straightened up and said to her, 'Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?' She said, 'No one, sir.' And Jesus said, 'Neither do I condemn you'" (v. 10-11, NRSV).
Sometimes I think we need to spend less time allowing words to fly from our mouths and more time writing in the sand.
A song from my middle school years says, "Oh the power of your words are filled with grace and mercy, let them fall on my ears and break my stony heart. Come in close...come in close and speak. God, come in close...come closer to me" (Charlie Hall, "Closer").
May we be people who write in the sand. May we be people who weigh our words and choose them wisely, knowing that our days are numbered. May we be people who speak life and not death. May our words heal and not wound.
May we be speakers of life.
To all the beautiful women of the world, Happy International Women's Day! You are beautiful, and your life matters.
Blessings,
Michelle
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