Sunday, October 19, 2014

As you are not as you should be


"Come now,
wounded, frightened,
angry, lonely, empty
and I'll meet you
where you live. 

And I'll love you
as you are,
not as you should be,
because you're never
going to be
as you should be.

And that is.
The compassion of Jesus.
Who says.
'Don't ever be so silly
as to compare your thin,
pallid, wavering,
moody depending on
smooth circumstances
human compassion
with mine,
for I am God,
as well as man.'

When you read
in the Gospels
that Jesus was moved
by compassion,
it is saying that

His gut was wrenched,

His heart torn open,

and the most vulnerable part
of his being laid bare.

The ground of all being shook,
the source of all life trembled,
the heart of all love burst open,
and the unfathomable depths
of the relentless tenderness
was laid bare.

This is the Jesus of the Gospels.
Loving you.
Without caution, regret,
boundary limit.
No matter what's gone down,
He can't stop loving you."

~Brennan Manning

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Because too often I forget



Filling my empty with His full.
And giving grace where there is lack.
Showing up with exquisite kindness.
And whispering His love in the wind.

And I stand on tiptoe.
Trying to see.

His Presence.

And what I do see.

Mist covering a field at dawn.
The moon full and white.
Catching my breathe; ethereal stillness.
A holy moment. Stumbled upon.
In the early nearly dark.

Sea and sky having no end.
The stretching of blue in all directions.
Diamonds glittering.  Seagulls screeching.
Senses filled on the gentle breeze.
Early autumn on the vineyard.

Painted sky at sunset.
Brush strokes all over the horizon.
Back and forth.  Capricious tinting.
Reflection of stunning in the glass.
For just minutes.  Fleeting.

And not really having to stand.
On tiptoe.

To see.  This glory.

Moons full over shrouded fields.
Autumn leaves dancing on roads.
Gold-rimmed sunsets shouting glory.
Geese overhead.  Crickets singing.
Pumpkins filling full the fields.
And the sea and the sky endless blue.

He.  Writing.

Above the din of broken and fear.

His Presence.

Too often.

I forget.

Friday, October 3, 2014

What it's not

Not just pretty pictures.  Grace.
Or happy moments.


What we call beautiful.

Is really
that indescribable something

of which for a moment
become the messengers.


Suggests CS Lewis.

To something beyond what transfixes. 

Beauty smiles.
But grace transforms.

And it is not about pretty pictures.
And words on a page.

It is about the twenty-four/seven living.
In this fallen world we call home.
The ugly stuff and the breaking stuff.

There is not a scholar anywhere.
In any field.
Who, being honest.
Cannot help but say
there is something seriously broken.
This life.

And the messengers pointing.

To the stuff beyond a church building.

God redeeming.

In the reality of this hurting world.
The fleeing of genocide. Rwanda.
And the life lived in orphanages.
And the hungry in slums.  All over.
Crying out for help. 

And here in this country.
The same because.
Brokenness written all over our lives.
And we live desperate.

Sometimes for food. 
Or shelter.  Or Safety.
And sometimes for love. 
And acceptance.

And here's where grace comes in.

It is available.
In this broken place.
Full of beauty fleeting.  Pointing.

To Redeemer God.

And relationship with Him.
When and where.
He covers our broken with Himself.
And fills our lives with HIs love.

And in receiving.

Offering to others.

This grace.

Choosing to help.
And to love and forgive.
Hard stuff.
When we would rather not look.
Or see.  Or give grace.
Inconvenient often.

And to those around the world.
Suffering so greatly.
Not leaving it to others.

It's not about a church building.
Or a pretty picture.
Or words on a page.