Author: lauracrosby (Page 38 of 45)

To my Friends wounded by the Church

March 28, 2012 /

Dear Friends wounded by the Church,

As I write this, each of your faces come to mind and tears fill my eyes.  For you.

And for me.  Because I am one of you.

Maybe it’s because I am that you’ve felt safe to share your pain with me.

You’ve experienced exclusion,

poorly handled conflict,

shaming,

power struggles,

dishonesty,

truth-telling with out grace or hope of redemption

from a church you’ve loved.

From a church I’m sure would say is trying to do its best.

But I think of the particular circumstances each of you have endured at the hands of people who say they love Jesus, and mostly I just can’t believe it and I want to rail at the injustice and shake “someone” and make it right, and undo the pain.  But instead, maybe I could tell you a story.

Last summer when I was on a bike ride through my neighborhood on a beautiful warm breezy day, my shoelace got tangled in the gears of my bike. I swerved and was stuck and took a wicked bad fall, gashing my knee gruesomely and dripping blood everywhere leaving quite a trail of evidence for the CSI folks should they choose to investigate.  It felt scary and unexpected and I felt out-of-control.

To add to my humiliation, a bunch of my friends, men, women, and children, were out in their front yard and witnessed the whole awkward debacle.  And I couldn’t even get up because my shoelace was still tightly tethering me to my gears.  The whole group of them ran over to me all concerned, and one of them ran back to get a wet towel and a super-hero bandaid which was so sweet.

For days and weeks and months, that wound was tender and though it scabbed over, it got easily bumped and would start bleeding all over again.  I’d experience set-backs in the healing process and I learned to not be around the people who would carelessly stumble into me and my fragile wound.  Instead, for awhile, I needed to choose gentle friends and counselors who loved me and would be patient with my ugly scab and listen to the story of how it happened.

It was some of those same people who, as I began to heal, were able to help me ask about my choices in the situation, and where God was, and what He might be teaching me.  In the process I realized that my fists were clenched a lot – clenched in determination to fix things quickly.  And they helped me to unclench my hands and patiently trust Jesus to do His work.

I believe we get better if we want to.  But today, I still have a very noticeable scar that will probably never disappear.   This scar is my reminder to be careful, wear my helmet, and try to be gentle with other riders.  Oh, and tie my shoes more tightly.

The other day, a friend who’s recently been hurt and disillusioned by the church said, “I don’t see how you have hope and why you keep showing up.”  The church does, often, make me sad, but it’s not the church I trust in.  It’s Jesus.

To my many friends who, like me, have been wounded by the church I would say don’t give up on Her.  Because Jesus hasn’t given up on Her.  Or you.  Or me.  And we are the church.

Speak the truth.  Be gentle.  Look for Jesus.  Admit your own brokenness.  Forgive.  But don’t give up.

For whatever reason, Jesus has said the Church is His Plan A for loving the world.

Ahh but we’re a messed up bunch, aren’t we all?  So it’s a good thing that included in Plan A is  the cross and forgiveness for all of us.

Have you been wounded by the church?  What has God used to help you heal?

A Letter of Apology

March 26, 2012 /

Dear World,

I want to apologize for my husband’s insensitivity.

Ok, and mine too.

But first his.

When we traveled recently to Palestine my goal was just to keep my head down, my mouth closed, and not cause an international incident.  As it turns out, maybe that should have been John’s goal.

One day as we were preparing to go out and about, wanting to make new friends in this foreign culture, we received a little shoe lecture from our friend, Brian Duss, who works with World Vision in Bethlehem.

He told us that in the Arab culture the bottom of your foot, or shoe is considered unclean and to cross your legs so that the sole of your shoe is exposed is a serious no-no.

Remember the guy who threw his shoe at President Bush a few years ago?  That was the worst insult he could hurl (literally and figuratively).  Anyway, we were warned NOT to cross our legs when we were with our Middle Eastern hosts.

The shoe lecture apparently didn’t hit home with John.  As a result he may have set US/Palestinian relations back a decade.

The night of the shoe talk, a friend of ours graciously took us to visit a Muslim family in Ida refugee camp in Bethlehem.  As we were enjoying the Turkish coffee they offered, the wife and their baby were sitting next to John.  John immediately crossed his leg and started “playing” with the baby, nudging her with his foot!

No, no, NO!

I, being the good wife I am, gave him “the LOOK”.  But he glared right back at me and continued!

I put my hand firmly on his leg and he glared at me again, like “What are you doing woman!??  I’m making friends with the baby!  I’m building a cross-cultural relationship!”

Desperate, I considered saying,  “Ixnay on the oeshay”, but these people speak at least 5 languages and I figured one of them was bound to be Pig Latin so that was out.

After at least 20 minutes of this John finally uncrossed his legs and I gripped his thigh like in a vice.  Gradually a look of awareness crossed his face and he behaved til we left, thankful for the patience, grace and understanding of our hosts who didn’t kick us out of their house in disgust.

So, I apologize to the Arab world for John.  And while I’m at it, I apologize for that time last year when he asked our waitress when she was due and she wasn’t pregnant.

But, world, I also apologize for me.

I was pretty relentless giving John a hard time about this international insensitivity, but there have been so many times when I’ve been clueless too...

  • Giving Maggie “spiritual advice” when she’s having a bad day and just needs a listening ear and someone to say “I’m so sorry.”
  • Talking about the delight of our daughters’ accomplishments with someone whose kids are struggling, or with someone who hasn’t been able to have kids…
  • Sharing about the joy my husband brings me with someone who longs to be married and isn’t…

I know you understand, world.  Sometimes, we’re all just thoughtless and make mistakes and we all need to smear a lot of grace around like frosting on a cake that came out a little lumpy.

Many times it isn’t even that we’re so self-absorbed…we’re just not other-aware enough.  Like when Hillary Swank accidentally went to the birthday party of that Chechen warlord.  Oops.

But still, I want to apologize.

Today, when I walk into a room I’m going to try to take the time to stop and see the individuals as beloved children of Jesus.

Today I’m going to try to take Paul’s advice more to heart and “Consider others as more important” than myself.

Today I’m going to see if can I make the other the most important person in the conversation.

And today I’m going to slather grace around when others may be insensitive to me, because, well, we’ve all been there.

Sincerely,

Shoe Boy and Clueless Girl

Have there been times when you’ve been made aware of your own insensitivity?  What have you learned?

Snow Days and Sabbath

March 23, 2012 /

I wrote Wednesday that we’re back home from a long trip that was intense…full of new information, new relationships, hard stuff and steep learning curves.  I feel like I should be full of energy and productivity, catching up on all that I missed while we were out of the country.  But I’ve got nothing.  The truth is, that with travel our spiritual and physical rhythms of health got all out of whack and what I feel like God is saying to me is “Sabbath”.  So on this “Spirit Stretch Friday” I thought I’d repost some thoughts on Sabbath from February 2011 when Minnesota was having a more typical winter than we did this year.

This past week as the mega snowstorm swept across the country it was fun to read all the Facebook posts from people delighted with “snow days” – school, work, activities all cancelled. People were giddy about the gift to having to stay home and do nothing but curl up with cocoa and a good book…the treat of being forced to rest from normal activity.

I remember hearing someone say once that God wants to give us a “snow day” every week with Sabbath.  Why do we resist?  Why do we seem so addicted to “doing”… to being recognized for what we accomplish?  Is it born out of a fear that being God’s beloved child isn’t enough?

I love what Mark Buchanan writes in The Rest of God…

“…God, knowing both our need and our folly, took the lead.  He set the example.  Like a parent who coaxes a cranky toddler to lie down for an afternoon nap by lying down beside her, God woos us into rest by resting.

‘For in six days the Lord the heavens and the earth and the sea, and all that is in them, but He rested on the 7th day.  Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.’

God commands that we imitate Him in order to discover again that we’re not Him and that we need Him.”

He’s right.  When I do Sabbath, I’m reminded of 2 things:

  1. I’m not God and the world won’t stop spinning if I’m unplugged (how sad is THAT – needing to be reminded- but I’m guessing I’m not alone). God’s got the God thing covered and doesn’t need me.
  2. I’m not defined by my roles, or titles, or responsibilities. I am a beloved child of God and that’s enough.

Observing Sabbath, I also notice I’m able to be more fully present.  My Sabbath heart is better able to pay attention to God and others.

Mark Buchanan writes that when we don’t Sabbath we’re in danger of letting ourselves be “consumed by the things that feed the ego but starve the soul.”

Eugene Peterson defines Sabbath as “shutting up and shutting down”.

What about you?  Are you intentional about observing a Sabbath?  What does it look like for you?

Un-burn

March 21, 2012 /

We’re back home from a long trip that was intense…full of new information, new relationships, hard stuff and steep learning curves.  I feel like I should be full of energy and productivity, catching up on all that I missed while we were out of the country.  But I’ve got nothing.  The truth is, that with travel our spiritual and physical rhythms of health got all out of whack and what I feel like God is saying to me is “Sabbath”.  So I hope you’ll be ok with me re-posting some thoughts from February 2011.

My husband, John has been leading our church and our denomination through some controversial waters lately, making it seem some days like he’s Jason Bourne running the gauntlet with a lot of people shooting at him. One person threatened him and called him a terrorist… A tad scary. I asked if there wasn’t “someone” we should report that to. As our friend Sharon says, “Words matter.”

A couple months ago John met with a good friend of ours for coffee.

This should have been a good thing. It was with someone we love and respect.

But when he came home he was …dejected I guess is the word for it. Because this appointment was an attempt to start rebuilding a relationship that has been damaged by gossip. Gossip that was totally unfounded. And as much as John could deny this slander, the damage had been done. He was frustrated and tired and sad.

He and I have been overwhelmed and discouraged at different times experiencing the destructive power of the tongue.

In the Bible James says the tongue can destroy like a forest fire. How do you “un-burn” a forest after a fire?

We just can’t totally undo the damage of words. It seems there’s always a lingering wound, a seed of doubt, a bit of suspicion. I think about how long it takes a charred forest to experience re-growth and I grieve the damage that will take so long to repair. You just have to carefully protect and nurture the new life that starts to grow out of the ashes and pray no one sets another fire.

Why do we seem to want to expect the worst of others, especially leaders?  To make us feel better about ourselves?

How delighted must Satan be when our gossip destroys the unity that Jesus called the Church to model?

This is an example from our life, but it’s not about “us”. It’s about all of us…it’s about the Body of Christ and our posture towards each other.

As someone who has both sinned in this way, and experienced the terrible fall-out from others who have, I want to renew my commitment to honest, direct conversations and words that build up.

I feel like I should have Proverbs 10:19 tatooed on my hand: “Where words are many sin is not absent.”

What’s your experience with gossip?  Have you been wounded by it?  Do you struggle yourself?

Sheep and the most Important Word

March 19, 2012 /

My family says I’m sheep-obsessed.

I’ve always been a sheep girl.  I love the image of God as our shepherd in the Bible – patiently, gently taking care of us clumsy, clueless, grace-dependent, but usually well-meaning lumpy messes.

My family gives me a hard time because I’ve been known to chase sheep on several continents trying to get a good picture of, say “British sheep” as opposed to “Guatemalan sheep”.  Last week outside Bethlehem I got this picture of what I called “Christmas sheep”.

Although the land is all built up with Israeli settlements, as I looked over the hills surrounding Bethlehem, it was easy to picture THE real shepherds two thousand years ago on Christmas eve in the quiet night, looking up at the same stars that blanket us today.

It made me think of a sermon I heard years ago on the Twenty-third Psalm.  It really stuck with me, which is the mark of a good sermon, isn’t it?

Actually it was only on the first 5 words of the Psalm.  The speaker, Max Lucado challenged listeners to choose which one of these words was their favorite…which was most important to them.

The (not “Some”, not “A”, not “one of many” )

Lord (The word used here is a verb – ACTIVE!  The same word for Lord used with Moses – I AM)

is (present tense, not just “was” or “will be”)

my (personal!! not just “David’s” or “Paul’s” or “Billy Graham’s”)

shepherd (present, caring, and responsible for sheep 24/7.  Sheep are totally dependent)

So, this morning, jet-lagged and just home from a long, intense trip, I’m thankful for a Shepherd-God who gently carries me.

What’s the most important word for you?

Which word would you choose as your favorite today?

How to Run with the Unforced Rhythm of Grace

March 16, 2012 /

When I started this blog we instituted “Spirit Stretch Fridays” (thanks to daughter Maggie) with the idea that the post on Fridays would be about potential spiritual practices.  Thinking outside the box a bit.  I usually imagine most people are way down the road on this, but last fall I helped facilitate an online class for people in ministry called Soul Care.  At the end we took a poll and asked, “Before this class, did you regularly incorporate spiritual practices into your everyday life?”  Only 20% responded “Yes”.  And that was people in the ministry!  All that to say that recently I was asked to write an article on this topic for our church magazine and thought maybe it was worth posting here too. Sorry it’s a bit longer than usual.  

Our daughter Katy has been training to run a half-marathon.  This should really be illegal in our family because although we’re athletic, we don’t run.  It’s kind of been a rule of family solidarity.  She’s totally breaking it.

The biggest part of me is feeling proud and impressed, but a small corner of me also feels more inadequate than ever.  This is something I just don’t think I can do.  I’m not a RUNNER.  Or even a runner.

But Katy wasn’t either.  Til one day she tied up her shoes and put one foot in front of the other.  For two blocks.  And then a mile.  And then three….and then 13.1 miles.

And in the process she’s learned that to be a runner, you have to run.  You have to make it a part of your everyday life.

She learned that there are benefits to running by yourself, but it’s also helpful to have the company and accountability of others, so a couple of days a week she runs with a group of friends who are training for the same race and they tell each other their goals, and their successes and complain about sore muscles.  And that helps.

She’s found routes she really liked to run, and times of the day that were better than others.  And that helps too.

If, five months ago, someone had shown up on Katy’s doorstep and told her they had signed her up to run a marathon, she would have said “You’re crazy.”  She couldn’t achieve that by just trying.  She had to go into training.  No one drifts into becoming a marathoner.

And no one just drifts into spiritual maturity.  Enter the integrated life of training with Jesus.  Enter spiritual practices.

Twenty years ago I was a Christian.  I had a “quiet time” set aside during the day to pray and read my Bible, but that was about it.  Nice and neat and compartmentalized.         Boom. Done.

But then I read John Ortberg’s book The Life You’ve Always Wanted and a whole new way of viewing my relationship with Jesus opened up to me.  Like someone discovering a runner’s high, I found that as I thought outside the box and integrated training practices into my everyday life, my relationship with Jesus deepened.

And everything “counted”.  Even little things made a difference.  Not just the dramatic “burning bush” experiences, and not just the half hour set aside for devotions, and not just the times I seemed to get it “right” for a second or two.  Every moment of the day became a chance to live more of the “with Jesus” life.

An ongoing conversation with God, or praying for strangers I encounter through the day seems to grow compassion a smidge in my selfish soul and make me aware of grace.

Journaling or looking back over my day, noticing the times when I turned towards and when I turned away from God is a spiritual habit that’s like looking in a mirror and noticing my hair needs combing or I have a smudge of mascara that needs a little cleanup.

And purposely getting in the longest line or slowest lane is a spiritual practice that I’m still hoping is forming patience in my hurried heart.

I pray that engaging in secret acts of service helps me let go of my need for approval from anyone other than God.

Celebration.  Rest.  Silence.  A life lived more like Jesus.  Step by tiny step.  I stumble a lot.

I am not a  natural runner.  And I’m not setting any speed records.  And my gait is a little awkward.  There are “ugly run” days.  But the race of faith is a marathon and I want to cross the finish line finally with the “unforced rhythm of grace.”  And that’s only going to happen if I tie my shoes and put one foot in front of the other today.

What’s your training experience been like?

The Secret to being a Missionary Like Paul

March 13, 2012 /

I’m sitting in an apartment in Amman Jordan at 11:00 at night, a stuffed-up-sneezy-coughy-achy-in-my-chest-I-want-to-be-home-cranky-pants.  I’m on information overload, and if it’s possible for an extrovert, I’m peopled out.  I can’t take one more new foreign name or story or one more explanation of why this people group hates that people group.  I am feeling like the worst missionary ever.

And I’m wondering…did Paul ever feel like this?

Of course he did! (And he didn’t have running water.  Not to mention a few stonings and a shipwreck or two)

I’m thinking if Paul was in my place he would be reminding himself of what he wrote to the Philippians.  “…whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things.”

And if he was me, one of the people who would come to mind would be Daoud, a Palestinian Christian whose family has owned the land on top of this hill for generations.

Fortunately he has the deeds to prove it. Israelis have taken the land on all the hills surrounding him and have made five settlements there, doing everything they can to squeeze him out.  Pulling up his olive trees, putting boulders across his road…

And I’m sure Daoud struggles with the injustice, but instead of asking “Why?” he asks “How?”

How would Jesus have me respond?

And this is his answer.

They refuse to be enemies.  They will welcome anyone.  They will abide by the law.  They will pray for peace.

Whatever is admirable, excellent, or praiseworthy…think about these things.

Drawing lines…and crossing them

March 12, 2012 /

When I was growing up we took a cross-country family vacation every year.  Mom and Dad in the front seat with Mom in charge of snacks and Dad in charge of car games.  Like Alphabet and Twenty Questions.

In the back seat were me and my two brothers, Cris and David and we were in charge of…Well, let’s just say we were in charge of surviving the road trip without killing each other.  We were kids, so to that end we would draw imaginary lines across which the sibling sitting next to us couldn’t cross.  With a toe or an elbow or a pinky.  We each had our own 3’x3′ “kingdom”.  Only kids would do that, right?

Not so much.

We’re still traveling in the Middle East and a theme seems to be line drawing.

Thursday night, John and I had Turkish coffee with a Muslim refugee family who have been living since 1948 in the U.N. refugee camp next to our hotel.  Their home looks much like a simple apartment except for the fact that they still have the key to the home they had to flee.  After coffee the father walked us through the darkened streets, showing us the different places where friends and family had been killed, one shot by a sniper shooting from the roof of the hotel where we were staying just a block away.  A line has been drawn between refugees and Israeli settlers.

Saturday night we celebrated a Shabbat service with a Jewish community to welcome in the Sabbath.  The women had to sit separate from the men, a line and a partition down the middle of the worship space.  On the other side the men recited prayers and danced and sang while we women felt a bit like marginalized on-lookers.  A line between men and women.

Yesterday morning we visited the Old City of Jerusalem, again divided by lines – the Muslim Quarter, the Jewish Quarter, the Armenian Quarter, the Christian Quarter.

And within the old city there’s the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, commemorating where Jesus  was crucified.  It too is divided and certain religions can only worship at certain times.  There were so many crowds of people, shoulder to shoulder, shuffling along, jostling for a place to get close to a “holy site”.  And I kept thinking of Isaiah 53:6 – “We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us to his own way…”

But then after all these lines, there was Nadia, who we met after driving to the border of Jordan.  A border with six distinct lines, each with a different requirement we had to fulfill before we could move to the next one.  I half expected them to say “Now do the Hokey Pokey and turn yourself around, cuz that’s what it’s all about!!”, but these guys definitely weren’t playing games when a guard raised his gun to John who tried to walk where he shouldn’t.

Nadia is a Muslim Israeli from Nazareth who spends one whole day every week traveling and crossing the border so she can attend school the following day in Jordan, working towards her doctorate.  She crossed every line – religious, cultural, language, and nationality to reach out to us and gently guide us through each step of the crossing, including paying for the cab we were required to take the last 100 yards.

Nadia got me to thinking about the lines we drew as kids and those we draw as adults.  Or just miss seeing.  Invisible lines I may be neglecting to cross, even out of apathy.

Am I actively watching with Jesus, for the foreigner, or the outcast so that I can cross lines like He did instead of drawing them?  What about you?

Love Wins

March 10, 2012 /

I’ve already admitted what an idiot I am when it comes to having any concept of the problems in the Middle East and honestly, if I read the words “Middle East” in a blog post a month ago my eyes would probably have glazed over with boredom and I would have moved on to something more interesting…like Downton Abbey or Anne Lammott’s new book.  But in talking to some of the folks traveling with me, I’m relieved to discover I wouldn’t have been the only one.

There are so many basics that I (and many others) just did not comprehend.  I needed a coach to say “This is a football.”  You know… get that simple.  So maybe you’re like me a month ago and you’ve already stopped reading, but in case you haven’t, I want to tell you one thing.

There are walls everywhere here, separating Jews from Palestinians…people who say they love God.

I’d love to tell some stories of people who have been impacted by the walls, but today, I thought I’d just share some pictures and let them tell the stories.

And then, this is what I read this morning…

“For He Himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility, by abolishing in His flesh the law with its commandments and regulations.  His purpose was to create in Himself one new man out of the two, thus making peace and in His one body to reconcile both of them to God through the cross by which He put to death their hostility.  He came and preached peace to you who are far away and peace to those who were near.  For through Him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit.” Ephesians 3:14-18

Why Christ is at the Checkpoint

March 8, 2012 /

As I write this I’m sitting in Bethlehem, as in “Oh little town of…” in Palestine.

My husband John and I are here for a conference called Christ at the Checkpoint, a gathering of Palestinian and Israeli Christians trying to pursue peace.

Confession:  I am an idiot when it comes to the politics of the Middle East.  I’m just trying to keep my head down, my ears open, and my mouth closed.  I want to learn all I can and I figure it will be a win if I don’t inadvertently cause an international crisis.

There are people from all over the world here.

In our devotional time yesterday the speaker asked us to turn to the person next to us and guess how many churches are represented.  I guessed 50.

The answer?  One.

And one of the most powerful experiences for me?  Singing How Great Thou Art.

In English.  In Arabic.  In harmony.  Simultaneously.

It’s one thing to sing together.

But here in Israel it’s something very different to actually live together in a place where there is deep pain and misunderstanding and anger and injustice between Palestinians and Israelis.

Both literally and figuratively this is represented by walls and checkpoints separating people who say they love God.

Let me tell you about a new friend I met the other day.  Charlie and his wife have two children, and are expecting their third child next month.  You would think that would be a great thing.  And it is!

But…  It’s also complicated, and very hard for me to understand.

You see Charlie is a Palestinian Christian living with his family in Bethlehem.  So that his child can have the privilege of Israeli citizenship, Charlie’s wife needs to deliver their baby in Jerusalem, just a few miles away.  But for that to happen, Charlie and his wife will have to wait at the checkpoint at the wall that separates  Bethlehem from Jerusalem.  Separates Palestinians from Israelis. Jews and Christians and Muslims, separated by one of many walls and checkpoints dividing the land.

The guards at the wall have been known to keep women who are in labor waiting until they deliver their baby at the checkpoint (some stillborn with out a doctor).  Because they can.  They are the ones with power at this point in history and they can.

Hurting people hurt people as they say.  Those who have been the most oppressed are often the worst oppressors.

And I keep thinking of my friend Sherrie, whose baby shower I went to the day before I flew here.  Sherrie, who is due at the same time as my new friend, will zip down the Crosstown with her husband to Southdale Hospital in about 10 minutes.

No walls.  No checkpoints.  No guns. 

Two pregnant women in different worlds.  This is a very small example of a huge reality of walls and division.

In this different world, Palestinians who have to go to work in Jerusalem line up every morning at many checkpoints, sometimes coming as early as 3 a.m. to wait for hours, and hours, enduring humiliation, treated as second-class citizens.  Trying to get to work to support their families.  It’s not fair.  But then nothing much seems fair for anyone here.

Here’s what my small brain can take in:

It’s about us’s and them’s.  Power and weakness.  Gain and loss.  History and violence and land.

The Palestinians have been mistreated by the Israelis.

The Jews have been mistreated by the Arabs.

Muslims, Christians, and Jews have ALL behaved badly.

At the end of the devotional study the other morning, John Ortberg made this observation:  Jesus’ categories weren’t “us” vs. “them”.  They were “holy” vs. “sinful” and we’re all sinful so He “crossed over” to our side to save us.  All of us.

And as true as that is, it’s still not nice or neat or in any way “easy.”  I really don’t understand so much of this.  And even those who do understand a little more than me recognize this is a God-sized problem.

When I asked Charlie if his NGO had hired any Israeli Christians his face registered pain and he said, “No, not yet.  But someday.”  Christians working through pain towards reconciliation…a God-sized problem.

Shane Claiborne had a great line in his talk the other day:  When injustice has a name, it comes with responsibility.  Now you know Charlie’s name.

Will you please pray with me for God’s peace in this place and in all the places where you are experiencing walls of division and injustice?

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