“Joy Is Measurable” by Funkybug. Used with permission
By Esther Hizsa
“I’ve told you these things for a purpose: that my joy might be your joy, and your joy wholly mature. This is my command: Love one another the way I loved you.” John 15:11 (The Message)
The seven-year-old downed his third tiny glass of grape juice and licked the last drop from the bottom, oblivious of the perfect purple ring around his lips. Perhaps it was his eager grin as he went for the fourth glass that prompted three women to spring into action. The older woman, horrified with what the boy was doing, let out a mild shriek and reached out to stop him as his mother stepped between innocence and offence. She knelt down and spoke kindly to her son. Meanwhile, the third woman, who saw the incident unfold, turned her attention to her elder and moved into her line of sight.
“Millie,” she said, smiling. “It’s okay. It’s o-kay. I know how you feel. The communion elements are sacred, but to him, they are just little glasses of grape juice.”
Within minutes Millie was calm again, the mother relieved, the boy unaware a crime had been committed, and my friend, who interceded, was satisfied.
When she told me what happened, I could easily imagine it all taking place–especially since the boy was my grandson, Hadrian, and his mother, my daughter, Heidi.
As I thought about the incident, I saw how each player reflected God’s character. I loved my grandson’s delight in finding wonderful gifts laid out for him. Like a mother hen with her chicks, my daughter protected her son from wrath and, like Jesus, she got down on his level to enlarge his understanding. The older woman was passionate to preserve the sacredness of the Lord’s Supper, which had been given at great cost. Meanwhile, the peacemaker saw the pure intentions in all three hearts and, like the Spirit, brought reconciliation to her community.
At first, what stood out for me in this story was the way Heidi was with Hadrian. I love how God comes between me and the critical voices and protects my child-like desire to savor every drop of life.
But later, I saw myself in Millie. It’s humbling to think that God has had to intervene between me and the recipients of my criticism. Yet, I also see God smiling at me the way my friend smiled at Millie, inviting me to be gentle with myself.
As you envision this story with God, I wonder what you see.
Photo by Ana Lisa De Jong
‘Each morning I will look to you in heaven, and lay my requests before you, praying earnestly.’
Psalm 5:3
I LOOK FOR YOU
I look for you.
I look for you without realising it.
It is always you that I seek.
As I look for you in all whom I love, all whom I meet.
And as another day draws to an end,
where I have gone misunderstood, where I have felt neglect.
I become aware that it is only you,
no-one else, in whose love I can be truly complete.
That without you, like half a heart,
or an empty vessel, I only know a lonely ache.
For there’s only one, only one that exists
whose love I can rest in – replete.
So I look for you.
And never find you, or at least only in part.
Each person I meet, imperfect yet
reflecting a portion of your perfect heart.
But they can’t fulfil.
They never will – they were never made to.
All I can do is try and grasp
in others, what you mean for me – for us.
‘Relationship’ – with the only one
who knows each ebb and flow of my heart.
Who will ever perceive my deepest self;
what brings us together, what keeps us apart.
So I look for you.
And I finally find you, but only when I have given up.
When I am ready to lay myself down, appreciate others as they are;
quietened by your love.
This side of heaven, between the trees
there will only ever be discontent, and unfulfilled dreams.
If we try to do it all alone,
without your love to fulfil our deepest needs.
Your love that makes up for a multitude;
that mends what is broken, fills the gaps.
That transforms our half hearts into whole;
completes us, and provides all that we lack.
I look for you.
And I find you, when I am willing to see.
That everyone is a part of the whole, including me.
That I need everyone, but no ‘one’ too –
for in the end – its only You.
Photo by Joy Lenton
By Joy Lenton
World news rocks our equilibrium on a daily basis. Most of us suffer from overload of information. Hot on its heels can come compassion fatigue.
Because who can keep paying attention when we receive such saturation?
Overexposure often leaves us numb. We can so easily become overwhelmed, making feelings flatten and interest wane.
But if we pause and reflect, we are reminded of being Christ’s ambassadors in a needy world – His grace givers, light bearers and Truth sharers.
God’s heart never stops aching for wounded humanity.
His love encompasses the whole world.
His grace provides hope in every hurting place.
We live with one foot in the world and the other in God’s kingdom.
We are torn and made tender when we survey life as Jesus does.
We live with the birth pangs of a world crying for release and an earth aching to be renewed in the fullness of the kingdom-to-come.
We wonder how to live well without drowning under a world’s pain. As we ponder and pray and seek God’s wisdom, we discover just what our individual contribution might be.
Then we can help one another to see we are not as alone as we may feel.
Hungering to help
I hunger to be a voice for the voiceless
dispossessed, cast aside and marginalised
refugees, orphans and widows who long
to find safe resting place, a home
For the weary, wounded and weak
and all who bear deep hurt and pain
who live in shadowlands of shame
Those who are guilt-ridden, captive
bound to a past they have ached
for so long to break free from
I hunger for the hungry to be fed
for this land to be led by righteousness
for justice to rule and reign
so all can breathe freely again
Those who are thirsty to be filled
from a fountain’s never-ending stream
For people of any age to still dare
to believe and follow their dream
I hunger for the sick to find solace
freedom from all that ails them
as they sit with illness, distress
I long to have an open, caring heart
that is tender, rich in compassion
and mercy, one that won’t stand apart
from those who suffer and are in need
I yearn to live as Jesus-with-skin-on
for those who have never known Him
who ache to be shown His love and
need to see how His mercy and grace
embrace and offer us all an open door
©JoyLenton2016
Dear Lord of Light and Life,
It can feel so overwhelming when we view a world dark with great need. Please show us how we can be salt and light for You in the midst of such pain and distress.
We may not all be able to help physically or financially in times of crisis, but we could be present if possible, provide support, a listening ear, friendship and prayer.
Show us how to offer love, grace and mercy to others, especially those within our sphere of influence. Help us to live well as Your ambassadors here.
May we be given wisdom and discernment about the means of ministry at our disposal and the strength to carry it out.
Borders Road by DTL (Morguefile)
By Rowan Wyatt
Writing a poem about life’s journey can be problematic. After all, for some of us it’s been a long hard and painful slog, for others it’s been a joyful meandering, carefree and full of sunshine, for others still it is only just beginning. But we all share one thing, we are all on a journey and for most of us it will take a very long time.
The Lent period is a good opportunity to take stock of things, look at the route you are taking and if the road ahead branches or if you think you are on the wrong road, ask for help. It may come from an unexpected source Luke 10: 25-37 or a direct answer to prayer showing the road in glowing neon signs exactly when and where you needed it. Just ask, look and trust.
Recently I have become filled with the idea of a walking pilgrimage, maybe the Camino de Santiago, and after praying about it I felt impressed with the words ‘Solvitur ambulando’ which I found is translated as ‘it is solved by walking’. It was then this poem came back into mind, from my last book The Chase and other poems and as I re-read the words, the poem and the prayer made far more sense and I began to see exactly which road I was on. The way ahead is hard right now but I know soon my blistered broken feet will dance on lush green dew sparkling grass.
The Road R.R Wyatt
My feet hurt,
The soles are cracked and bleeding,
Stuck with thorns and broken glass,
And the path ahead looks worse.
The sky o’head is dark
Heavy, black and ponderous,
A pendulum in a grandfather clock
Waiting to strike the rain.
Rest my weary feet,
Sit by the side of the road,
In the dark and rain, surrounded on each side
By wolves, wearing wool, leering.
I am lost, floundering,
I am on the wrong road, and I suffer,
Trudging on through molasses and tar
Slowly getting nowhere, lost.
There is another path,
I have heard it said. The road gleams,
Paved in marble, smooth and cool on the feet,
Sun and blue sky overhead.
A clear route,
Straight and logical, with signs
But I can’t find it, know not where to look,
I need a guide but there’s no one here.
I could call for help,
But would I be heard, would my
Bloodied feet cause laughter and scorn or shame,
My rags a tattered state to be seen.
Fear of judgement,
And condemnation keep me on my path
Of bones, dust, pain and tears,
Till weariness fills me, and I feel a hand on my shoulder.
A guide, smiling,
Washes and binds my broken feet,
And clothes me in his robe and taking my hand,
Shows me the road.
© Rowan Robert Wyatt 2015
Over this last week, this prayer formed in my mind. Our theme for this next week of Lent is THANKFULNESS and JOY and I find that nothing gives me more joy, or makes more thankfulness well up within me, than the breath that draws life into my body. It is not just a reminder of the sustaining presence of God, but the very essence of our Creator who breathed our world into being.
I love to sit quietly breathing in and out, imagining the essence of God filling my heart and my soul. I am very aware that it is only God’s breath that sustains my life, at the same time filling me with all I need to accomplish what God calls me to do. Not surprisingly this contemplation often inspires me to write new breath prayers.
The joy of my own freedom to breathe becomes even more special as I contemplate those for whom breath does come easily. One friend in New Zealand is struggling to breathe as her breast cancer metastasizes to her lungs. Another friend in South Africa is intubated in ICU because of an infection that has spread throughout his body. And around the world I am very aware of those who struggle to breathe because of pollution, disease and allergies.
To find deep joy in breathing I must be relaxed. When I am busy or anxious, I take my breathing for granted and fail to appreciate the wonder of my God present in every breath. Giving up busyness can provide time for appreciation of God’s beautiful world and of the breath that created it.
What Is Your Response?
Sit quietly for a few moments taking note of your own breathing. As you breathe in imagine God’s essence filling you. Now breathe out and see that essence flowing out into God’s broken world. What makes you aware of God as you breathe? What separates you from a sense of God’s presence?
Take some time to watch the video below of a breathing exercise I often conduct at seminars. Or check out this post and read through the breathing prayers incorporated in it. What response is God asking of you?
Art by Keren Dibbens-Wyatt
International Women’s Day: Forging a Positive Sisterhood.
Today we celebrate the achievements of women everywhere, drawing out the amazing stories that have often been written out of history, and we also use the opportunity to talk about why we are still fighting for parity for one half of the world’s population.
Every year a few of my male friends trot out the same objection about this day. “Where’s our day?”, they ask, jokingly. Some of my female friends say we live in a post-feminist world and this kind of thing is unnecessary. Some of those same friends worship quite happily in churches where the women are not allowed to preach or minister, simply because of their gender, and don’t see the irony.
I sincerely hope we never have need of an International Men’s Day, because I don’t want men to ever be subjected to the cruel oppression women and girls still suffer. I sincerely hope International Women’s Day becomes solely about the celebration of women and not about our struggles across the globe. We can kid ourselves and distance our compassion, believing that the problems are only “over there” or in the so-called “developing” world, but this would be to turn a blind eye to the fact that one in three western women experience a sexual assault in their lives, and that inequality and disrespect are rife right under our noses. I constantly wonder that the stench doesn’t make our eyes water. I feel so strongly about the injustice of it all that a few years ago I decided to write a book about it.
Because until things improve, we need to keep forging a way forward into a real and lasting equality, where we recognise our own worth, the worth of our sisters and the work we do (both paid and unpaid) as well as that of our brothers and most fundamentally the humanity of us all. As renowned international speaker, writer and Benedictine nun Joan Chittister once clarified, the real question turning at the heart of feminism is whether we really believe women are in fact, human beings. If we are, we all need to fight against the casual sexualisation of women and girls in the media, the horrendous practices of FGM, child marriage, honour killings, sex slavery, selective abortion and exposure, and to work to narrow the enormous divide between the rights men enjoy and those of their female counterparts the world over.
We need to do this by challenging the wrong-doing, but also by living the truth, creating a positive sisterhood that shows our gentle strength and does not corset our God-given abilities, gifts and ministries. We need to do this together, as a body of women who value ourselves and one another.
We must set aside the temptation to compete and compare, to gossip and to judge, and instead encourage and uphold one another, recognising the beauty in each of our souls; inviting men as we do so into that respectful, agape-centred attitude, so that in unity we create a positive fellowship of believers.
Many people still believe that the social mores of first century Greece and Rome are to be adhered to, reading a literal, unbending harshness into St Paul’s epistles that has been fossilized under layers of patriarchal sediment. And we pass this on as wisdom whilst happily dismissing any scripture that appears to condone or accept slavery. Because that is obviously wrong and may be read with historical context in place and brains in gear. Thankfully there is a great deal of biblical scholarship, I hope my own included, that takes this selective power-base to task.
For in Christ there is “no male or female” and counter-cultural submission is work for every believer to do, as a careful reading of Ephesians makes clear. Such work belongs to the Kingdom of heaven, working like yeast to restore the Edenic ideal that God first set in place, male and female recognising in one another the ultimate helpmeet. Because it is only together, and only as equals, that the human race will heal and thrive, when we are all free to pursue our wholeness and our callings. As a race, and also as a church, we suppress the female at our peril. Anything but total equilibrium between genders frustrates us and has us working essentially as though we had one hand behind our back. Let us embrace parity finally as souls equally dear and capable in the Lord, and consequently in his church.
©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
To read more about Christian feminism, and how Scripture works for and not against it, see Keren’s book, Positive Sisterhood: Restoring the Integrity and Purpose of Christian Women, available on Amazon and Lulu.
Joshua Tree by Lynn Domina
By Lynn Domina
I’ve been thinking lately about Jesus’ experience in the desert. You know the story—as he prepared for his years of ministry, Jesus entered the desert to fast and pray. Toward the end of his forty days when, Matthew says, he was “famished,” Satan arrived to tempt, even taunt, him. Jesus outwitted Satan, refusing to surrender to his offers. Satan departed, we’re told, for a time. In Luke’s version of this story, Jesus left the desert “filled with the power of the Spirit.”
It’s interesting to me that Satan waited to appear until Jesus was so hungry. I’ve never fasted for long, but I’m told by people who have that your hunger does disappear for a while, and then it returns. I imagine what Jesus felt at that moment, trying to pray, thinking about roasted lamb, trying to pray, thinking about tabbouleh, grape leaves, grilled fish. And then Satan appears, offering power and wealth and food. But instead of changing stones into bread, Jesus, though he may acknowledge his hunger, also recognizes what fills him—the Spirit of God. He’s hungry, and he’s full.
During Lent, one of our Christian traditions is to empty ourselves so that we too may understand how we are filled with the love of God. We fast; we give up pleasurable foods—meat, chocolate, other sweets. In our modern era, many of us fast from behaviors that keep us from God—gossip, profanity, aggression. (I once tried to give up impatience for Lent, but I failed daily, often before I even got out of bed.) I resist certain foods or my own character flaws, but when I feel ravenous, my head throbbing, my hands shaking with hunger, I have to ask what I’m hungry for. Those times, I’m likely to say, “Anything. Give me anything.” If Satan appeared to me then, would I recognize him for who he is, or would I just grab whatever he held out to me? I can imagine filling myself with warm fresh bread before I understood what price I’d pay.
There’s another story in the Bible when someone does almost exactly that. One day Esau was also “famished,” and he met up with his brother Jacob, who was cooking lentil stew. The sibling rivalry between these two was nearly as profound as that between Cain and Abel. Jacob was willing to share his stew with Esau, but only in exchange for Esau’s birthright. So Esau traded the mark of who he was—the narrator says he “despised” his lineage—to alleviate a temporary discomfort. In a culture organized around family relationships, the price of Esau’s bowl of stew was pretty steep.
As we proceed through Lent, I want to think not only about what I’m hungry for, but also about what price I’d pay to satisfy that hunger. If all I’m hungry for is my daily bread, I sure hope I won’t exchange my birthright as a child of God, fully beloved by God, for a little round loaf. But if I’m hungry for justice, for inclusivity, for peace, I hope I will be willing to exchange every variety of literal bread, every fruit and vegetable, every ounce of beef or pork or fish.
In thinking about hunger, in reading the Bible, in considering the value of Lent year by year by year, I have realized that I will always be hungry. Which of my hungers is most devastating? And which emptiness will nourish me spiritually? I pray that my hunger will lead me to recognize my relationships, not only with my immediate family members who are actually cooking a lentil stew tonight, but with every person who hungers. Let me recognize the child who hasn’t eaten breakfast, the refugee whose foodsack is empty, the suburbanite whose soul is parched.
As Christians, we are not called to define ourselves only through our family or only according to our ethnicity. Although we are heirs of Jacob and Esau, we are not called to mimic them. We are called to reach out in relationship to everyone who hungers, to all who thirst. We are called to understand that our birthright is limitless, for we are also heirs of Jesus who knew what it meant to be filled.
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