Thoughts on Women and Men who "Get" Relationship

Processing lots of thoughts these days...and entered the discussion over at Jesus Creed today.  Scot wonders why studies consistently show that women are more religious than men, and I responded this way:

Perhaps it is that women believe that God both hears and understands them and values them enough to offer intimate relationship and personal empowering by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.

They might also believe Paul (following Jesus) when he talks about how men are to behave:  laying down their lives for their wives, as Christ did for the church.  This is something that engenders hope where there is frequently despair and oppression.

There are men who want to view Jesus through a power/command paradigm, and so are drawn to religion.  There are also some who get the servant nature of God, and are drawn to relationship.

But it is really true that woman "get" relationship more readily than men ... and so resonate with a God who is so devoted to relationship as to embody frail humanity in order to live among us.

Men who value being loved unconditionally while being drawn to Jesus as the example of being fully human are, in my experience, the ones who embrace and encourage the sisters to fully engage in the life that God offers us in Jesus.

Dying to self is not for wimps.  Neither is giving birth and raising children.  Marriage is the first relationship where God asks us to die to self.  Parenting is the next step.  God is the perfect model for both relationships -- walking the talk in earth in the body of Jesus.

Taking things one moment at a time -- trying to live in kairos time with Papa, knowing that this is the only way I'll survive chronos time with those around me.

Be blessed....

Oh, and while I'm at it, stay tuned for the release of Wiki2.  I am excited to finally see it.  What I've been hearing sounds awesome.

Abi and The Great Sadness

I have recently gone back to read The Shack a second time -- two years after my friend, Annette, loaned me her copy and said that I must read it.  This time I was reading my own copy (a hardcover), so that I could make notes as I read.  This time I was also in a very different place -- physically, emotionally, spiritually ... but not geographically.   ;^)

As I read I realized that I was in the midst of my own version of The Great Sadness -- that place Paul Young describes as where our heart is so broken by pain and grief that the resulting pool of secrets feed a shame that allows those around us to unwittingly help us build something he has called The Shack.

What is The Shack?  Paul says it is a metaphor for being stuck by The Great Sadness ... the facade we build to hide our pain and secrets and shame from those around us -- those who think they know us.  Sometimes -- especially? -- it is built to hide us from seeing ourselves and from recognizing our warped ideas of God.  

But what Paul Young does in his book is to ask us to consider the "what if" involved were God to invite us to hike back out to the wilderness where The Shack is hidden -- run down and desolate and frightening.  If we will accept this invitation, we will see that Paul has provided another metaphor for the loving Papa who (with the help of Jesus, Sarayu and Sophia) helps us dismantle The Shack in order to finally heal our broken heart and mend our relationships -- with God and with others ... and especially with ourselves.

The challenge, of course, is that Paul puts into one weekend for Mack what took him 11 years of hard, hard work.  There is no "magic wand" -- it seems very much like Eustace having to be un-dragoned by Aslan in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  We scratch and scratch and are successful in shedding a few thin layers of dragon skin.  But we cannot dig deep enough on our own to free ourselves from the result of "thinking dragonish thoughts".  It takes Aslan's powerful and sharp claws to sink into that thick, knobby dragon skin and peel it away and release our true selves from bondage.

Little did I realize over two years ago, when I first thought of the Purple Martyrdom, that it would include hues this dark -- almost black.  God's amazing grace only tells us what we need to know when we need to know it, eh?  The reality is that even as I fear I have let go of that knot at the end of my rope ... I find I have always been safe in the strong hands of the Love that will not let me go.

It really is, as Lewis perceived, a severe mercy.  As severe as the death of the life I knew ... yet as merciful as the Love that promises to bring me back to True Life.   Perhaps it is not unlike Ramandu (the burned-out "star at rest" from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader) who was brought one fire-berry from the valleys in the sun each day.  And each fire-berry takes away some of his age ... until he is again as young as a newborn child.  Then ... he will rise again to take his place and once more tread the great dance....

I do not know how Papa will accomplish this task.  I am often wide-eyed and somewhat pale as I feel Aslan's long and sharp claws dig in and do their work.  Sometimes my heart shudders as I feel the scales being pulled -- firmly yet gently.  But I choose to believe that this is a work of Love ... and that I am safe in the hands of the Great Physician.  The Master Craftsman.  The Good Shepherd.  The Lion who is The Lamb ... that was slain before the foundations of the world were laid ... because He has always been especially fond of me.

In the hope of embracing Abundant Life, I surrender my grasping perception of life.  I trade life-affirming and spontaneous expectancy for death-inducing and stifling expectation ... and childlike and trusting response for controlling and legalistic responsibility.  It may not be neat and pretty from an earthly, human perspective ... but I hear that it is full of glorious fractals where Sarayu is at work in a wildly unconventional garden known as Peggy's Patch -- watering with the precious tear drops that She collects in a little bottle....

Be blessed....

Relaxing into the Dance....

Well, it just might be that the long-anticipated blogging about perichoresis is about to begin.

It started yesterday, with Don Miller's "What If?" challenge (by the way, I don't know what's up with Don's blog showing up as being suspended, but I hope it gets figured out soon). 

I spent some time processing Don's challenge and posted this reply yesterday.  It was striking to me that I would process all the scads of things that I would like to do for others ... and the thought about water just popped into my head.  I didn't see it coming ... Sarayu just popped that one in there to see if I was paying attention.  Since I type pretty fast, it got out of my thoughts on through my fingers before I had time to discard it.  Good one, Papa!

Here's the deal:  I have sensed for a while that my body is finally going to come out of this Decade of Decay and regain some significant vitality ... that is, before The Fall (no, not that one ... the one when I fell on the way to the mailbox and almost bought the proverbial farm).   While it did a good bit of physical damage to face and hands and knees, the worst of it has turned out to be a whopper of a concussion.  A year later, I'm still not 100% recovered. 

It has been quite a year ... one in which I began to journal in earnest.

Using a pen and paper, even.

And I'm still at it ... just got a new journal the other day (even found a purple one!)

Part of the concussion-processing has been a different kind of depression ... and that's a whole different story we're not going to talk about today ... through which Papa has been peeling back layers of stuff.  Stuff like disappointment and discouragement and isolation and loneliness and abandonment and guilt.  Stuff that has been hanging around for just about my whole life.  This, against the backdrop of processing Wayne Jacobsen's book, "He Loves Me" -- and trying to understand what it means to relax into Papa's love.

So here's the deal:  relaxing into Papa's love means living in expectancy rather than expectations.  To do that means to trust Papa's love for me and give up trying to earn it.  (It especially means giving up trying to earn the love and respect of others.  Yet another story for another time.  Get it straight with Papa first, or everything else is a no-go.)  Relaxing means recognizing that expectations are the doormat in front of the house of guilt and shame we have all built in order to survive in our harsh realities.  Paul Young has called this house The Shack.  We all have one.  No really.  Believe it.

Some of us have to get whacked on the side of the head (literally) to shift paradigms and let go of expectations.  (Please, don't be this stubborn ... unless that's the only way.  In which case, keep the Arnica, a cold compress and butterfly bandages handy.  And receive my heart-felt condolences.)

Anyway....

I have been stuck in my Shack and at a loss as to how to get out.  Looking back it reminds me of that scene in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone when Harry and Hermione and Ron are being strangled by a huge, root-like plant ... the more you struggle, the tighter it gets.  Hermione remembers from Herbology studies that the only way to get it to let you go is to relax.

This is where Don's post today comes in.  It is called "How I learned to like exercise..." -- which I have linked, but since the blog is not working, I'm going to repost it here (hope that's okay with you, Don!):

The first time I joined a gym the trainer worked me out until I nearly died. She put me on a machine and had me lift the weights in sets of ten, decreasing the weights each time, doing as many sets as it would take until I literally couldn’t lift an empty bar. She wanted me to know what a workout felt like, and wanted to make sure the initial work out was as hard as it could be, so I’d have something to compare my subsequent workouts to. I think she hated men. The result was that I could hardly get out of bed the next morning, or the morning after that, and I hated the gym. I associated the gym with pain and emasculation. And even when I went to the gym, unless I nearly killed myself, I felt like I hadn’t worked out at all. After a year or so, I just quit going.
Years later, though, I met a personal trainer at a coffee shop. He was hoping to write a book and I struck up a deal with him. I told him I’d give him some pointers on writing if he’d reintroduce me to the gym. He agreed, and I definitely got more out of the deal than he did. My trainers name was Dave, and he was great.
For our first workout, I showed up and he gave me a tour that stopped at the exercise bikes. We got on bikes next to each other and I started to pedal hard, trying to impress him. He quickly told me to slow down, to get my heart rate up to a level where I had to open my mouth to breathe, but could still talk. I did so, and it was pretty easy. We rode for about twenty minutes and then he told me to stop. I assumed we were going to move on to the real workout, but he said we were done. He told me to go home, that I’d done a good workout. I stood there shocked, nearly feeling ripped off. After all, I’d given him valuable information about writing, like the fact that books are often broken up into chapters.
Dave explained to me, though, that if I showed up at the gym and got my heart rate up for twenty minutes, I’d worked out. He said I needed to do that every day, and if I did, I had nothing to feel guilty about. He then told me to come back the next day, and we’d do the same workout, only increase it a little bit. The next day we rode for twenty minutes and he congratulated me on working out two days in a row. Then he asked if I wanted to do anything extra. I did, of course, so we ended up doing a mildly difficult workout with weights. Within a month, Dave was working me out so hard I once had to stop him and ask if I could go out in the alley behind the gym to throw up. And no kidding, he moved the rest of the workout into the alley so I wouldn’t throw up on his floor. But he kept working me out, always reminding me that what we were doing was extra, that I’d already finished my workout.
That was three or four years ago. These days, I almost never exercise for under an hour, and I exercise at least every other day, if not more often, depending on whether or not I am traveling. I love going for long walks or hikes or bike rides. What changed? All guilt went away. Before, I’d nearly kill myself and feel guilty for not doing enough. But now, I feel like anything over twenty minutes is extra. Before there was negative association with exercise, now there is positive association with exercise.
The same technique can be used with all sorts of areas in our lives where we are defeating ourselves. The question is, what constitutes a satisfactory job? What do we really need to do to be a good father, a good employee, a good wife, a good teacher. If we do that, we’ve done a good job, and anything else is extra. What you’ll find is you’ll do a whole lot extra, and feel great about it.
Any other tips on learning to like exercise? Or learning to do the things you don’t want to do?

Here's what clicked for me:  I have been trying to get to the "anything else is extra" stuff without getting the basic 20 minutes in.  You can only get the extra through the basic.  This is fairly simple, you think it would be easy ... but because something is simple does not mean that it is easy.  Not when you're stuck in The Shack.  Not when you have never really been good at taking care of yourself.  But when you have a husband and three growing boys and have spent 10 years in physical brokenness, everything gets broken.  And I do mean everything.  There is so much to do that it is just overwhelming to begin.  Wayne helped me learn to start by relaxing ... and I've been working hard at learning about relaxing for the past year.  Whew!  I had to learn the hard way (is there any other way?) that if I am not well, I cannot help my family be well.  (And that applies to spiritual family as well as physical family!)

Why is this so hard to get?  It this just a female thing?  I don't think so ... I think different folks just manifest the same struggle in different ways.

So, after doing great with my water drinking yesterday, I got up and did all the right stuff again today.  And after reading Don's post, I decided to go to the garage and lug the recumbent stationary bike out into the driveway and spend 20 minutes processing this with Papa while getting my Vitamin D fix for the day.

Not worrying what the neighbors driving by thought about the crazy woman talking and crying and cycling, I forged ahead.  After about 10 minutes, my legs began to tire (part of my problem is too many years of varying levels of muscle atrophy -- yet another story not going to be told).  But instead of stopping (or worse, continuing on and courting injury to already broken-down systems), I just dialed the tension on flywheel down to where I could keep the same pace without fatiguing the muscles.

I must have stopped every five minutes and dialed the tension down.  But here's what happened:  it suddenly dawned on me that it was perfectly okay to do that.  No guilt necessary.  There is no "exercise police" out there checking my work (or, more importantly, giving me a failing grade).

And while I was feeling the sun on my face, I decided to take off my glasses and just close my eyes and talk with Papa about what I've been learning in this ... when something else clicked:  it was like I was riding tandem with Jesus.  My job is to get on the bike and pedal.  I don't steer.  I don't pick the route.  I just get on and go wherever he's going.  Years ago I wrote about prayer as learning to walk with God, and I included that in my "Getting In Shape" segment of each day in my 40 Days of cHesed series on this blog -- and the idea of the tandem bike struck me, having ridden a tandem bike with Robert in the early years of our marriage.

Well ... long rambling story short:  the only way out of this Shack of mine is to let Papa dismantle it.  And the only way to get my broken down body back into shape is to start taking care of it at a pace that is appropriate for me.


Water first and foremost -- how many years have I been preaching about the myriad complications and symptoms of dehydration?  Duh....

And when the sun is shining, I'm gonna drag out my bike and ride for at least 20 minutes and see if I can't knock out this Vitamin D deficiency I've got going on, too.  Heck, even if the sun is hiding, I can dress warmly and pedal away in the garage!

What was that?

What happened to perichoresis, you say? 

Well, I've heard it's a Dance -- one in which I have to relax and follow Jesus' lead.  (Listen to Wayne talk about What do I do to live loved? at the bottom of the page -- the dance story is near the end, but the whole talk is worth hearing!)  And when I stiffen up, it means I'm trying to lead -- and boy that's tiring ... and fruitless.  So when I start cramping up, I dial my resistance down until I can relax into his love ... and away we go!

I'm sure that I will be processing the implications of this for quite some time.   But I'm going to keep my focus on the basics and let Sarayu take care of the extras.

Time for a water break!  ;^)

Abi

Abi's Entry to Don's "What if" Challenge

I've had Donald Miller's blog in my Google Reader for a while now.  I have a great appreciation for what he has to say -- and how he says it -- even though I have not read any of his books.  (I am confident he won't take that personally because, well, he doesn't  know me and probably will never see this post ... and will forgive this poor abbess who doesn't have the time to read as she would like.)

The other day he had an amazing post up about acting on our "what if" scenarios ... and followed it up today with a challenge.  A challenge which I am taking.  Here.  In this post.

Well, at least I'm starting.  Now.

His point is this:  what if we actually starting acting on some of our "what if" thoughts and dreams.  Not the ones we cannot control ... like, what if I had a billion dollars.  No, more like what if I did not lose my temper with any of my children today.  That would be a good one, by the way.

The deal with the challenge is to make a list of, say, five "what if" ... and then pick just one and do it for a week ... just to see what would happen.

So, since this is a blog of the Abbess of the Purple Martyrdom, I am going to suggest five "what ifs" that have to do with some of the purple things in my life over which I might be able to assert some control.  Things that I could choose to do that would address issues of weakness, both physical and spiritual.  Things which have no answer but "my grace is sufficient for you for my power is made perfect in weakness."  Or perhaps "when I am weak, then I am strong."

1. What if I accepted this season as a time in the desert, when outside distractions are removed so I can hear Papa's voice more clearly?
2. What if I actually spent 45 minutes of each hour the boys are at school doing whatever I want to do (or not do, as it were) ... and the last 15 minutes doing what I've been too depressed to start?
3. What if I actually spent the first 15 minutes of each hour the boys are at school doing what I've been too depressed to start ... and see if I start to lose track of time while Jesus dances me through my day.
4. What if I trusted Papa's cHesed for me ... and chose to act with deliberate affection, unmerited favor and out of duty mutually owed to whoever Papa puts in my path.
5. What if I stopped mourning the feelings of loneliness and isolation and let Papa's love fill up a part of my tank no human can fill.

Hmmm ... how about a little tighter focus?

1. What if I choose to do only what I see Papa doing, joining his work, in my own heart?
2. What if I choose to say only what I hear Papa saying to me, in my own heart?
3. What if I choose to secretly do one special thing out of love for my husband and each of my children each day?
4. What if I choose to care for myself more intentionally, even thought my body is 10 years into various levels of atrophy and won't turn around on a dime?
5. What is I choose to hold only thoughts and intentions of love and grace and mercy in my heart toward those who come across my path?

I don't know ... what about one more try....

1. What if I spoke with a cheery tone?
2. What if I looked at others with a smile (and no wrinkle between my eyebrows)?
3. What if I listened fully to my children?
4. What if I relaxed and trusted Papa's love for me?
5. What if I actually got fully hydrated again?

It's getting closer, I think.

Okay ... I know this might seem weird (but you are dealing with an AbiSomeone now!), but I am going to go with hydration.  I'm going to give my body the water it needs ... and trust that the Living Water will do its work in my spirit.

There ... I've said it.  I don't drink enough water and I'm going to change that this week.

When you take a drink of water, will you pray for me ... a prompt to take a drink, too?

...and consider taking this challenge yourself!

Abi

The Virtual Abbess and the iMonk....

Like thousands of others, I did not know Michael Spencer IRL -- I knew him mostly as the Internet Monk, or iMonk.  His rapid journey through the valley of the shadow of death these past four months has found me looking in at his blog more often than I have before.  I have not been disappointed.  If you haven't read what's been up over there during the past few days, please get a box of tissues (or an old cloth diaper, my favorite) and spend a couple of hours reading.  Really.

I am not sure what would bring me to blog about what's happening in my journey over the past year, but the loss of the iMonk just might do it.  We'll see.  So much about so many things that have been quietly filling up spaces in my heart and mind might be ready to be shared.  Or not. Yet.

In God's good time, eh?

In the meantime I join those who struggle with the paradox of sorrow and joy that accompanies the death of one of the saints (what I call the Christian Hasidim).  As C.S. Lewis said (and I so often quote):  we have been granted a severe mercy -- as severe as death and as merciful as love.

Rest in peace, iMonk ... and may Sarayu and Sophia wrap his wife and family and friends in the shawl of the peace that passes understanding.

Abi

Two Sides of a Coin

One of the problems with dualism is that it has a tendency to separate one side of a coin from the other side. It is convenient to do this because we generally cannot see both sides of the coin at the same time, so we focus on one side as if it stands alone, when it is but another expression of the other side.

There is only one coin … with a duality of sides. Its two sides contain different information about the coin as well as different aspects of it, but there is only one coin … one coin with two sides that cannot be separated without destroying the coin.

It doesn’t take much pondering to see how this comes into play. Let’s take a look at just three.

1. The Image of God has been created male and female. Together they are the God’s image. Just the man alone is insufficient (which God made abundantly clear with Adam and Eve). So when one side of the image is valued differently than the other, it is because this duality is out of balance. There is no explaining that they are meant to be of different value or usefulness without damaging the reality of the Image of God. Yes, they look different … but they must be yoked together in order for God’s true image to be seen. Inconvenient for some, yes, but still true. God is a community – the Three in One. Humans, to reflect that image, must also dwell in community – as male and female and with God. It is a mystery that must be embraced.

2. cHesed, a foundational Hebrew concept for understanding God’s idea of relationship, has two components: covenant-making and covenant-keeping. God does not have one without the other. God makes covenant, which means that God keeps covenant. This is core to God’s identity. He is the covenant-making and covenant-keeping God. Everything depends on this reality being rightly perceived. So, cHesed means, basically, BEING in covenant and DOING what the covenant obligates you to do. Being in covenant means that you follow through with your commitments so that your covenant partner does not suffer because of your unfaithfulness. You can’t be in covenant unless you do the terms of the covenant.

3. Doing the terms of the Covenant, being obedient to the will of God, requires faith and works. You cannot obey without faith, because if you do not have faith, you cannot believe in God or what God asks you to do. You cannot obey without works, because, well, being obedient is something that you are as shown by what you do. James said it clearly: faith without works is dead. And what has God asked us to do? The will of God has been summarized as this: loving God and loving others. (See # 1 and #2 above.)

The unity of the Body is most powerfully and winsomely seen when the Image of God is clearly reflected by right relationships between men and women who are in right relationship with Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Right relationship, as understood by the Hebrew concept of cHesed, is realized when men and women, by the power of the Holy Spirit, accept God’s invitation to join the New Covenant in Jesus Christ … and then undertake the journey of transformation to be like Christ as faithful covenant-keepers with each other. It is a mysterious, paradoxical process, different for each of us, that will continue our entire lives.

Embrace both the journey and the companions God sends; no one can do it alone.

Moses and Plato are coming up next….

Confusing Blessing with Approval

Whew!

The Abbess was saved from rambling on in the comments over at Jesus Creed (in these threads) by taking the time to compose her thoughts in Word first. So, they are here for you to read, with a link left over at Scot’s blog….

Many years ago I heard a fascinating sermon on TBN that took them to task.  I will never forget it, even though I have forgotten the name of the brave brother who delivered the message.  The bottom line was this:  do not confuse God’s apparent blessing with his approval of your methods.

Scot, I believe this is the core issue surrounding this difficult circumstance:  There are those who believe that the religious institution that we call church IS the very Body of Christ, rather than that the body of Christ is made up of those who name Christ as Lord.  I think it is an important distinction.

Certainly the God who sent first his Son and then his Spirit to birth the church, who is the master of taking whatever is available and creating amazing masterpieces, can and does (and will continue to) do amazing things through those who will offer themselves up to his will and seek to be obedient servants.  Not an issue.  Cracked pots with light streaming and all….

The issue is with humans (those very cracked Eikons) want to pick and choose and label the work of God in ways that exclude other expressions that God apparently has also inspired and blessed.  It is not an either / or situation.  It is more than a both / and situation.  It is an expression of the amazing diversity that is the reality of the Kingdom of God:  those persons and situations where the rule of God is found.

The way in which this is manifest will be different in different contexts.  It always has been and always will be.  There is, in each manifestation, a bit of that Kingdom-of-God-light streaming out through the cracked pots.  When one pot (or group of pots) tries to exclude other pots, or suggest that they are not letting God’s “true” light shine through their cracks, it is so very sad.  As if God is not capable of blessing any pot offered up to him….

As in other conversations that have been raging through the internet of late, there is a significant difference between criticism and critique.  One seeks to tear down and the other seeks to build up.  It is a matter of intention.

I do love the Church, the Bride of Christ, to which I have actively chosen to belong for the past 44 years.  But I have, in the last 8 years, come to experience something that reminds me of Jacob’s dilemma:  the bait and switch.  After working for seven years to earn Rachel as his wife, he finds that under the veils he has been tricked into marrying her older sister, Leah.  His love for Rachel is so strong that he works another seven years for her.  Yet, even in the midst of this amazing trick, pulled on an infamous trickster, God was neither absent nor thwarted nor tainted in planting the seeds of his love and grace and mercy in their midst.

Many want to say that God planned each piece of this long trail of deception in order to bring Israel into being.  I cordially disagree.  And you are welcome to cordially disagree with me.  When we do this, we offer up critique in order to try to better understand the mystery that is the will of God.  When we choose not to be cordial, we can fall into criticism … cracked Eikons and all.

The Bride is not ours to have and to hold.  We are the Bride of Jesus.  He is the one who makes us holy, by being both the source and the sustainer of our being and our mysterious relationship.  We are to accept his outrageous love and amazing grace and sometimes severe mercy and to connect with and support those parts of his body with whom we find ourselves associated.

There are some, however, who want to put the wedding veil on Leah (or Hagar, before her) as a way to not offend custom.  God, however, does not find himself bound by human customs.  He uses or transcends customs according to his wisdom as means to advance his will.

I have come to believe that what many call the Institutional Church has too often embraced religion at the expense of relationship. Seeing power as something to be grasped and wielded rather than influence to be recognized and spent on behalf of the least of these. When we offer this version of the Bride as part of the Good News, it can sometimes turn out to be a Leah under the veil.  Then we have to work very hard to get to Rachel – that with which we were initially smitten.

Those who toil through are rewarded with partial bliss.  They are finally with Rachel, the beloved … but they find they have continued obligations to Leah, whom they have come to despise.    To take this chapter out of Israel’s history and suggest that is it our Father’s intention for his Son and Bride -- that it bears his stamp of approval – is too much for me.

In the end, all who are married find that the reality is very different from the expectation.  This most intimate of relationships is also the most challenging … and, if given due respect and attention, it is the most rewarding.  When looking at each other through the eyes of love, the reality is not what is seen on the surface, but what has been nurtured over time.

There is not one experience of being The Bride that fits all.  Christ has been known to come where two or three are gathered and do amazing things in their midst.  He has also been known, through the ages, for being in the midst of many other expressions of his Bride.

Do not confuse the presence and blessing of Christ with his stamp of approval on the methods at work in that manifestation of his Bride.

Marriage is truly a mystery.  The marriage of Christ and the Church is no less a mystery.

The Good News in Jesus transcends culture and transforms culture and indwells culture.  Please don’t make judgments concerning the many marvelous and miraculous ways that Christ does this.  See him in the big churches, within the deep and beautiful traditions of the Orthodox and Catholic and Protestant expressions of devotion.  See him in the movement that transformed culture among the Celtic faithful.  See him in the millions of underground clusters of believers who live the dream in the midst of a nightmare.  See him in the hearts and dreams of those who resonate with missional or neo-monastic or unorthodox spaces and expressions of devotion.  Open your eyes and ears and you will see the Spirit at work in the most unlikely of places.

Please, answer the call of the Spirit to join in The Dance around you.

Rejoice and give thanks for the love that never gives up and that pursues cracked pots.  Be grateful that the Spirit pours out that love according to the strength of the pot to contain it – some fast and overflowing, others gently and measured.

But never, ever believe that splashing mud on or hurling insults at or ridiculing the appearance of Christ’s precious Bride is ever a method that bears the Father’s stamp of approval.  Watch, however, for what happens when these things occur.

·       He will pick up his towel and basin with which to wash off the mud – reaching out to cleanse both the muddy boot and the soiled garment … if we, like Peter, will submit to being cleansed.

·       He will give his incomprehensible peace to heal and guard the hearts and minds of those who have been injured with words used poorly … while looking into the hearts and minds of the heartless and thoughtless and asking the hard question:  Do you love me?  If we, like Peter will submit to being restored.

·       He will take the downcast face in his hands and look deeply into the shamed eyes and, his own eyes sparkling with tears of both love and grief, and say, “You are absolutely exquisite!” – while challenging the perceptions to be transcended:  Do not call unclean what I have called clean.  If we, like Peter, will believe that Christ is not concerned with outward appearances.

Critique, if you must.  But be sure to have the Spirit remove the plank from your eyes before you presume to remove the speck from the eyes of a brother or sister.  What hurts one member of the Body should be felt by all the members of the Body.

Oh, and one more thing.

Please, please, do RELAX a bit and have a sense of humor about it, won’t you?  It’s a dance, for heaven’s sake…we all look a smidge ridiculous now and then next to our glorious Bridegroom!