by Liz | May 19, 2008 | main
Today’s gospel was a story I had almost forgotten from Mark – Jesus comes down from the mountain with Peter, James and John and comes across a crowd. A man in the crowd has brought his son who has been possessed by a “mute demon” since childhood. The other disciples had failed to cast out the demon and the father says “…if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.†I can just see Jesus’ frustration in his response of “‘If you can!’ Everything is possible to one who has faith.â€
Then the boy’s father cried out, “I do believe, help my unbelief!†Jesus casts out the demon. The boy goes limp and folks start to say “He’s dead!” Then Jesus reaches out and helps him up and he’s fine. When asked by the disciples why they couldn’t cast out the demon he replies “This kind can only come out through prayer.”
I’ve been walking through this story all day. How many times have I felt like the father – “I do believe, help my unbelief!” I’m sure I believe… I think I’m sure I believe. Help me believe!
But the boy is the one that I seem to have entered into. The description of the spirit causing the boy to try to kill himself. Being trapped with this spirit hanging around. Maybe it just seemed that death was better than living with that blasted spirit. I’ve been to a place where I could at least understand that dying didn’t seem like the worst possibility. Fortunately, I was led to understand that it wasn’t me that I wanted to kill, but there were parts of my life that had to die or be cast out if I were to live. And, when these demons were cast out, I was empty. Something it was dead – not me, but maybe some things that showed on the outside.
And then Jesus took him by the hand and helped him up. I’m not sure I’ve felt that touch that graphically. I do remember sitting in a confessional, not even knowing what to confess, but just saying that I needed to move to a different place, to be more open to life. I felt dead inside. I could only see one other person in the room, but I knew that there was a third person in the room. I’m sure of it. Inside of 30 minutes, so much of my life seemed to go topsy-turvy and I made a hard left turn. As the demons began to flee, I surely need a hand to reach out and help me up. It’s been a long and winding road, but I really believe that Jesus took me by the hand, helped me up and set me on my way.
Afterward, in private, the disciples wanted to know why they couldn’t cast out the spirit. If it’s true that this kind can only come out through prayer – then I must also believe that the night when Jesus sat in the room with us, it must have been the result of prayer. Not only my prayer, but surely others had been praying as well.
It’s a scary prayer to ask for God to widen the parameters, to step in and heal, to bring life to the fullest. It’s also good to be able to say “I believe, help my unbelief!” I still have to repeat the sequence from time to time, but slowly I begin to trust and allow myself to be helped up.
by Liz | May 18, 2008 | main
This morning’s second reading reminds me of the past week:
Brothers and sisters, rejoice.
Mend your ways, encourage one another,
agree with one another, live in peace,
and the God of love and peace will be with you.
Greet one another with a holy kiss.
It seems that I was called to be encouragement this week. I was called to step outside my own little world, which is often difficult for me to make myself do. I have a fantastic interior landscape and often forget to come out and actually act on what I think and feel and know. But this past week I actually picked up the cell phone and called my friends. I shared with them, I listened, I offered prayers. And, they returned the favor. The Spirit moved all over this land.
This is Trinity Sunday. I remember struggling with the Trinity when I was in class to “join the church” as a young teen. “Joining the church” would be Presbyterian of the 1960’s for Confirmation, as best I can tell. One went through classes and then became a member who could go to communion. In my case, as I was not baptized as an infant I was also baptized as a part of the process.
Even then, I wrestled with a lot of the theological concepts presented to us. I remember the teacher using the image of 3 candles placed so that they burned with one flame. Not such a bad image for the Trinity. My understanding has changed from those 3 candles to one much more alive and personal: The Trinity is God as community. That is a much more personal and alive understanding to me. I can see glimpses of that Trinity in action when I have coffee with my group sisters on Wednesday morning, or when I call my friend down in Monroe County and we share. The Spirit is both the driving force and the resulting force of those communal interactions — the result of communication with each other.
It seems to me that as I journey, if I listen, I find the life and love behind those abstract ideas I was taught as a child. They were rather impersonal then, but over the journey, they have taken on form and life.
As an 8th grader (not long after I joined the church), I had a couple as Sunday School teachers, who had an impact on me that they will probably never know. It was the first time I had a sense of Sunday School teachers who were teaching from the heart, teaching from a deep, personal belief, teaching from a place of faith. I’m not saying that other’s weren’t, but I didn’t pick up on it if it was there. I knew that they were different somehow and that this faith was somehow more real in them than I had even been aware of. I can’t explain how in words, but somehow God was able to get through to me, just a little bit by their example. The Spirit was at work, calling to me, and for a moment, I could hear Her and try to follow a couple of steps.
And, somehow, that is a glimpse of the Trinity.
by Liz | May 15, 2008 | main
After feeling so overwhelmed yesterday, I found myself praying for my friends… and talking with them on the phone. They actually know each other. And by the end of the day, friend A was using me to pass the message that she would be praying for friend B and vice versa. It’s kind of wonderful to watch each one pull herself out of her world and take the time to pray for the other.
I sometimes forget that I am a part of this community that shares its joy and it pain. In that sharing we are joined in one body. On Sunday we sang “We are many parts, we are all one body, and gifts we have, we are given to share…” My friends reminded me of that. When one part is in pain, the whole body hurts. And when we laugh, all parts feel better.
So – I’m better. Yesterday was a day to treat my own wounds and at the same time try to help heal the wounds of others. It’s amazing to watch.
by Liz | May 14, 2008 | main
It seems that life is so very rugged for many of my friends right now. A couple of them are involved in situations where there are legal issues to be settled before they can get proper medical treatment. There are health issues that are cause for concern. If I focus on this alone, I find myself in one of two spots – totally discouraged or feeling guilty that I’m only dealing with some hurt feelings and shouldn’t I be really grateful?
It is generally a bad idea to compare myself, and my situation, with someone else. There will always be those who seem to have a heavier burden to shoulder right now, and those who seem to be flying high. In reality, I don’t know what is going on inside any of them. To feel guilty is to make light of how I feel ( they might be small problems or joys, but they are MINE). To be jealous of someone else’s good fortune is also to make light of my own life ( they might be small joys, but they are MINE.)
I seek to bring myself back around to looking in the mirror of God’s love, where I am where I am supposed to be right now. The mirror that reflects the truth about myself, how loved I am and the reality of life. In this mirror I can see clearly. I can see what can be. I can be in proper perspective.
I can accept that for me, the issues I deal with are real and worthy of consideration. If I dismiss my feelings too quickly or don’t give the attention they need, they will awaken me at 3 am, night after night (thanks owed to F. Scott Fitzgerald in “The Crack-Up” for that imagery), and make themselves into horrible monsters — well out of proportion to reality. Better to deal with them now, and put them to rest so I can openly and sincerely offer prayers and my support for my friends in need. I can cry with them or just listen without guilt or gloating.
At least that’s my plan.
by Liz | May 12, 2008 | main
Several years ago I was helped along by a someone who carefully explained that in order to forgive, you must not forget – you must remember. I wonder why I should have a flare up of remembering on Pentecost… oh, yeah, it was Mother’s Day.
I finally, after nearly years am allowing myself to admit to how much something hurt. And realizing that it still hurts. And admitting that my response was to want to cause hurt in return. And realizing that it’s a recurring hurt. And I’m tired of it. To get beyond, I’ve been trying to sit with it and decide to change my response. Not as easy as I thought.
I sit with the hurt. I invite Jesus to sit with me. I ask for the grace to not bury it but pull it out into the light. This is a matter that I shoved aside because it seemed so petty to dwell on. I buried it. And now it rears its ugly little (well, not so little anymore) head and hisses at me. I think of my misuse of a good commandment: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I took that commandment, and I said: “OK – so this is how you respond to me. That must be how you want to be treated.” Not so good, it turns out. It seems better to do something positive — to do what I would have wanted done for me. To do something for another person that I would want them to do for me.
I’m not finished yet. I can see that I’m going to have to go and sit with Jesus and go over it a few more times before I can let go. Until I can remember without the acid rising. Until I can treat the other with love. Until I forgive.
This has been quite a journey to get to the place where I can actually pull these things out, sit with them and decide to forgive. It seems that first I had to accept not only that I hurt, but also that I returned the hurt. I have to let some of the shell break away and quite trying so hard to protect myself. Admit that there are a lot of chinks in the armor, and that the armor needs to be removed. And accept that I am safe in the Lord — and that I am loved.
I suspect that this doesn’t make a lot of sense to anyone reading it. But, it certainly makes sense to me. This is a personal Pentecost: The Spirit comes and I hear the Gospel proclaimed in words that I understand.
Come Spirit, Come!
