Green Volunteers

Green volunteers.

A shoot shall come out from the stock of Jesse and a branch shall grow out of his roots. —Isaiah 11:1

The fuchsia sitting in my kitchen reminded me of this verse from Isaiah that we frequently hear read during Advent.  On Mother’s Day 2020, I bought home a flourishing hanging basket for Laurie.  You know, they grow them in a greenhouse and get them looking perfect when you buy them.  And then it tends to go downhill from there.  It made a beautiful display on our front porch during the early summer.  However, as often happens as the dog days of summer progress, the intense heat took a toll on the partial shade loving plant.  (Confession: We may have forgotten to water it at times, which didn’t help.)  By fall, I thought the plant was pretty much dead but...  

 

Apparently, a remnant survived.   The picture on the right was taken on November 14.  Yes, a fuchsia was blooming in November!  How 2020 of it.  How warm our world is becoming!

 

I am a fan of Carrie Newcomer.  One of my favorite songs of hers is “You Can Do This Hard Thing.”  You may have seen a video of people singing this song with her that circulated back around Easter.   Here is the chorus:

 

You can do this hard thing.

You can do this hard thing.

It’s not easy I know, but I believe that it’s so.

You can do this hard thing.

 

We certainly had to do some “hard things” during 2020 haven’t we?  For more than nine months, a pandemic has had the world in its grips, and though promise of a vaccine seems to be shining some Advent light into the darkness, we still don’t know exactly when life will return to any semblance of “normal”.  Even when that day comes, we know life will never be exactly the same as it was before COVID, and the fear of the unknown is always a hard thing for us humans.  The pandemic has thrown our nation into the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression, which is certainly a source of hardship and anxiety for many.  If that’s not enough we’ve had our nation’s original sin of systemic racism thrust to the forefront of our consciousness this year—and that’s a hard conversation for all of us.  Add to all that an existential climate crisis that has seemingly become impossible to deny (although some still do).  This hard thing is beyond any one person’s (or nation’s or religion’s)  ability to adequately respond.  Yeah, I’d say it’s been a hard year!

 

I guess we’d like to know that things will get easier in 2021.  Certainly, we pray that will be so.  But we don’t get a guarantee about that, do we?  Life on this Third Rock from the Sun can be mighty hard, there’s just no sugarcoating that reality some days.  Where do we look for hope?

 

Perhaps creation hints at an answer?  My favorite verse from “You Can Do This Hard Thing” is the last one:

Here we stand breathless and pressed in hard times.

Hearts hung like laundry on backyard clothes lines.

Impossible just takes a little more time.

From the muddy ground comes a green volunteer. 

In a place we thought barren, new life appears.

Morning will come whistling some comforting tune.  For you...

Back to my fuchsia.  Since it still had a bloom and was in a basket, I decided I would try and preserve it.   Before the first killing frost, I bought plant inside to see if I could bring it through the winter.  The transition from outside was a bit harsh.  I made the mistake of sitting it in our doorway for a day or so.  The plant quickly dried out in the darker, climate- controlled environment of our home.  It lost some of the few meager shoots it had left.  The cat may have contributed to the carnage; I think she ate one of the blooms.  I once again thought the plant might be done.  But I picked it up, carefully watered it, and placed it in a sunny spot in our kitchen.  I’ve kept watering it every few days.

 

The picture on the left was taken today.  A green volunteer!  A branch growing out of roots!   And maybe, just maybe, a new flower bud?  It’s an annual, so I have no idea if I can bring it back to flourishing, but it does appear to be growing, so I’m curious to see what happens. 

 

I remember a line from the movie Jurassic Park:  “Life finds a way.”  Nature bears witness to this.  Think about areas ravaged by volcanic eruptions or forest fires.  Life comes back in abundance afterwards.  In fact, the ash can provide nutrients for new life.  Eventually, life wins.

 

In the movie, those dinosaur embryos were all supposed to be one sex—but somehow life found a way to replicate. The dinosaurs began to reproduce in the wild and the natural order of the world was thrown out of balance.  Humans were no longer alone at the top of the chain of being.  I don’t know if this really could happen, but when we witness how tenacious nature is, we might not be too quick in our human arrogance to say what is “impossible.”

 

Let’s not forget that our Creator reigns over all creation.  God made the rules and though God usually doesn’t, it seems occasionally God may choose to alter them.  Regardless of whether it be through supernatural or natural means, God routinely does hard things—even things that from our perspective seem “impossible. “ 

 

This is the wisdom the Angel Gabriel imparts to Mary (and to us) during the Annunciation (Luke 1:26-38).  When Gabriel tells Mary that she is to give birth to the Son of God, she quite naturally wonders: How can this be—Luke 1:34.  He explains to Mary that God’s Spirit will come upon her and ends by saying: For nothing is impossible for God—Luke 1:37.  

 

Mary: One of God's Green Volunteers

We can see the theme of God doing the seemingly impossible for Mary and for her people, Israel, running throughout the Magnificat (Luke 1:46–55).  This is a song Mary sings a few months after learning she is pregnant, while she was staying with her relative Elizabeth, who is pregnant with John the Baptist—her own miracle baby (Luke 1:5–24).

 

Mary is viewed as theotokos; she is the “the God-bearer.”  To borrow from our plant analogy, she is a Green Volunteer.  Think of the double meaning here; we use green to refer to someone young, untested, unproven.  That sure describes Mary! In a time and place devoid of God’s active presence, God chooses Mary to be the conduit of a New Day.  But that day won’t come without pain.  Birth is always painful.  Nevertheless, Mary is willing to do the hard thing that God calls her to do as a young, unmarried, Jewish woman.  Her response is: I am the Lord’s servant.  Let it be as God says—Luke 1:38.  She co-labors with God to birth the impossible.  (Although I think the physical labor pain was uniquely Mary’s.)

 

While some debate the factuality of Luke’s account of Jesus’s birth, it’s hard to argue the actuality of the story of Mary (and Joseph).  Mary serves as an Advent archetype for us.  While we are not called to literally give birth to Jesus,  Mary’s example reminds us that we are—each one of us—God-bearers.  Christ dwells within each of us and is “birthed” through each of us in a unique way.  

 

God will call us to do hard things at times.  How will we respond?  Will we open ourselves to the “birthing” as Mary did—even when it seems impossible?  

 

During this Advent season, I pray our eyes will be opened to see those unexpected green volunteers, those shoots coming out from the root like on my tender fuchsia plant.  May we, like Mary, become Green Volunteers ourselves.  God has turned to many other Green Volunteers throughout history to accomplish God’s purposes.  May these examples from Scripture and from nature remind us that much like creation—God our Creator always finds a way—and often, that way is through us. 

Learning from the "The Original Storyteller"

Before I tell you about this story, I must first tell you the story of how I came to discover it.  I suppose you’d say it was somewhat “random”—although I’ve learned what seems random from my perspective is orderly from God’s perspective.  I am currently training to be a Global Ministries EarthKeeper through the United Methodist Church. One requirement of our training is to do a project.  Since writing and storytelling is my passion, my idea is to create a compendium of EarthKeeper stories, or maybe even a devotional using some material from my blog.  We were asked to identify scriptures related to our project.  I conducted an online search for on “storytelling in the Bible.”  I found a link  to a podcast on “What the Bible Teaches About Storytelling”. There’s a Topic Timeline at the URL that provides a handy summary of the content of the ~50-minute podcast. 

During the podcast the hosts (Dave Adamson and Ashley Bohinc) interviewed Robert Carnes (interview begins at 19:50), who talked about what makes story powerful.  He has written a book called The Original Storyteller: Become a Better Storyteller in 30 Days.  Carne’s described himself as passionate writer and storytelling, so that got my attention.  I decided to purchase his book, the summary motif of which is that we can learn a lot about becoming a better storyteller by studying the work of the Original Storyteller—God.  Think about the stories we love.  Why do we find them so compelling?   Carnes argues it is because they borrow their pattern from God’s Story as recorded in the Bible.  While I may not agree with everything that he states (e.g., that the sole purpose of the Old Testament was to point to the arrival of the protagonist of God’s Story—Jesus) I think his overall presentation was solid.  

 

The Original Storyteller—God

Presented in the form of a 30-day devotional, each entry covers a Big Idea—a particular aspect of storytelling. There are Scripture(s), a Devotional Reading, and a Prayer related to that idea.  But that’s not all; each day also provides an Action—a suggestion for how to practice the idea that has been presented.  As I often do with a devotional, I read through the whole book just to get the big picture in my mind.  This isn’t the first time that I’ve learned about the elements of storytelling, but I do think Carnes did a good job presenting this material in the context of God’s Story and also citing storytelling excerpts from a wide array of tales—from Harry Potter to Star Wars, from Hoosiers to Slaughterhouse 5.  I look forward to spending more time with this book and I’m glad to have it as a reference as I write my own stories.  

If you are interested in getting a high-level overview of the elements of story and the craft of storytelling and how these elements play out in the Bible and other literary works, I would highly recommend this book.

 

Carnes provides “Twitter-length” summaries of the 30 Big Ideas covered in his book (pp. 129–130).  I have shared them here.  I think this is a good summary of story elements. 

 

1.    A story’s beginning sets the tone for everything that’s about to happen.

2.     Storytelling is part of our DNA; we were modeled after the Original Storyteller—God. 

3.     Words are the basic building blocks of every story.

4.     Narratives connect the elements of storytelling together into a recognizable pattern.

5.     A protagonist gives personality and focus to your story.

6.     Effective supporting characters complement and amplify the actions of the protagonist.

7.     Antagonists stand in the way of the protagonist, driving conflict in the story.

8.     Development with a story’s characters give them depth and authenticity.

9.     Every story begins and ends within the framework of conflict.

10.  Actions are the result of characters responding to conflict.

11.  Conversations build relationships between characters and give a story credibility. 

12.  Every person and every story has a unique perspective.

13.  A storyteller’s voice is their own unique identity and ability to craft a story.

14.  Setting establishes a story’s context of both time and place.

15.  A motif summarizes a story’s main themes and ideas.

16.  A character’s backstory explains the motivation for their actions.

17.  Foreshadowing builds anticipation for the story’s coming action.

18.  A plot twist relies on surprise to increase the impact of a story’s climax.

19.  An author has authority over a story, just as God has authority over creation.

20.  Know your audience because who you’re speaking to impacts what you say.

21.  The more you build up to a story’s climax, the greater the potential payoff.

22.  The best stories are those that elicit great emotion.

23.  Suspension of disbelief lets the audience to put aside their doubts and enter into a story.

24.  Epistolaries are more personal stories written in the form of letters.

25.  Universal truths make a story relevant well beyond its original time and place.

26.  Storytellers use imagery to pain a mental picture in the mind of the audience.

27.  Symbolism transforms ordinary objects into the embodiment of complex concepts.

28.  Many stories of heroes and adventure follow a similar basic template called The Hero’s Journey.

29.  Poetic justice happens when characters get what they deserve.

30.  A story ends when the primary conflict comes to a resolution. 

 

I am struck by how often stories are mentioned in the reading material for my EarthKeeper training.   This reminds me of how integral stories are to the Bible—and to life.  Think about it; every new day is like a new chapter in the Story of Me.  We are the protagonist of our tale.  We come into conflict with antagonists and encounter plot twists along the way.  If we are fortunate, we gather around us a band of loyal supporting characters who help us on our journey. As people of faith, we trust God to use conflict to deepen our character and ultimately bring our story to a good, and just resolution. 

 

God has hard-wired us as human beings to tell stories.  Studies have shown stories are the most effective way to communicate information.  We may forget facts but stories stick with us.   This is why it’s so important to know our story, to discern how our story interacts with other people’s story—and ultimately, how all our stories weave together into God’s Story.  No matter who we are, or where we find ourselves in life,  we all have important stories to tell, and our universal calling is to learn how to communicate them effectively. So, these Big Ideas Carnes listed are good things to keep in mind, not just for EarthKeepers, but for everyone.  

Exploring the "Shadow-Side" of Joy

  Two weeks ago,  our Sunday evening online Fellowship at Five group at Good Shepherd UMC had a discussion about joy.  I thought it fitting that we give equal time to discuss its “shadow-side.”  Hence this devotional, which I shared in our group and also offer here… 

I remember when our daughter Hope passed away in 2008.  It was such a Great Sadness for me.  People didn’t know what to say.  Can you blame them?  A two-day infant had just passed away; that’s not supposed to happen!  What can you possibly say?

 

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop them from trying!  The result was some terribly awkward moments.  Here’s a sampling of what was said (and what I thought in response):

•   “Everything happens for a reason.”  Oh, it does, huh?  So, then you tell me why my infant passed from life support to life eternal two days after birth?  

•   “Well, I guess God needed another angel.”  Really?!  I don’t even know where to begin…

•   “Well, at least you have Rebecca.”  Oh, you did not go there, did you?   As if my surviving daughter is God’s “consolation prize” for taking my other daughter.  I think not.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Paul says that we should rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn (Romans 12:15). While we certainly need to find joy in the midst of this prolonged time of crisis, in this season where there has been so much loss, we also need to find ways to acknowledge our sadness and grief—and that of others as well. 

 

I don’t know about you, but I find it much easier to celebrate with someone than to suffer alongside them.  If someone is hurting, we want to help; we want to fix; we want to say something—anything—to make things better.  But for whom?  When we offer platitudes such as the ones offered to Laurie and me after we lost a child, are we acting like Job’s comforters?  Are our “windy words” evidence of us trying too hard to come with explanations for things that frankly will have no logical explanation this side of eternity?  Would not it sometimes be more authentic to say nothing and simply offer our presence?

 

The characters Sadness and Joy from Inside Out. 

The truth is, joy and sadness are two sides of the same coin.  It’s hard to experience one if we don’t open ourselves to the other.  (Sometimes we deaden ourselves so we don’t fully experience either.) We may start out life as children focused primarily on joy, and keeping sadness tucked away.  (I’m well aware it’s not the case for ALL children; it wasn’t really the case in my house.) As the Disney movie Inside Out creatively illustrated,  we tend to keep these two seemingly conflicting emotions socially distanced as children, but as we mature, we find that life doesn’t always cooperate with those efforts. In fact, sometimes the veil between joy and sadness becomes perilously thin and we experience both simultaneously.  That’s what it felt like for me when my twins were born.  We had Rebecca, who was a thriving infant, while Hope was being kept alive by tubes in the NICU.  To be honest, I felt like God was playing cruel games with our emotions. 

 

While sadness and sorrow can certainly be experienced in isolation many Biblical passages expressing grief and sorrow were written to be shared with the community. 

These public expressions of sadness are called lamentation; and we find them all throughout the Bible  In fact, there’s an entire book called Lamentations—probably written by Jeremiah (discussed below.)  There are 50 Psalms of Lament scattered throughout the Psalter.  The Hebrew Prophets likewise frequently cry out to God and/or to others.  Both the Psalmist and the Prophets speak honest truths about life—including joy, sadness, and the full range of human emotion.

 

Perhaps no Prophetic voice laments louder than the “Weeping Prophet,” Jeremiah, who once exclaimed: “Why is my pain continuous, my wound incurable…?” (Jeremiah 15:18).  In this context,  Jeremiah was expressing the pain he felt as he tried to be faithful to God’s calling in his life.  He had to deliver a hard message to God’s people—and it was not a popular one. It is a reminder to us that the cost of discipleship is often more than a metaphor; over time we can wear down physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  

 

The poster child for grief and sadness in the Bible is a mystery man from Uz.  We’re not sure exactly when Job lived; there’s even debate if he’s a real person.  Whoever he is, when we meet Job in the Bible, to paraphrase a song lyric, “it hasn’t been his week, his month, or even his year.”  He has lost everything that he loves—and I mean EVERYTHING!   Job doesn’t hold back his feelings of grief over what he has experienced, when he says: “Why did I not perish at birth, come forth from the womb and expire?” (Job 3:11).  The story plays out over 39 more chapters as Job wrestles with his question including many chapters of “windy-worded” attempts at answers from several of his closest friends.  And even when God finally does speak to Job out of a whirlwind (Job 38:1),  God never really answers Job’s initial question.  On the contrary,  God asks Job a series of deeper, penetrating questions that Job of course cannot answer (Job 38–40).  This exchange suggests to me that many of life’s why questions are meant to remain a mystery to us and to teach us to become more  comfortable living in the whirlwind of unknowing and trusting God—who does know the answers—to show us the way through the storm.

 

Even in the New Testament, sadness and joy seem to comingle. Jesus himself wept when he learned that his friend Lazarus had died.  Likewise, in the Garden of Gethsemane, as he faced his impending arrest and crucifixion Luke says Jesus wept tears of blood.  It was a moment when, in the words of When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, “sorrow and love flowed mingled down.” Peter likewise wept bitterly when he realized his betrayal of Jesus—and likely when he was restored too.  Paul speaks of shedding tears for those under his care. 

 

Scripture’s witness is clear and consistent: There is no shame in being sad, in feeling blue—in being authentically you—before God.  

That’s important to remember right now, when we feel such a mix of emotions as we respond to the current pandemic and other comingling crises in our world.  Over and over again we are reminded: Wherever we find ourselves—and however we feel—God is with us. 

 

FOR REFLECTION/DISCUSSION

 

•   Do you agree that joy and sadness are opposing sides of the same coin?

•   Can you think of a time in your life when you experienced them close together?

•   Have you ever experienced the well-meaning “windy words” of others that I describe?

•   If you were to write your own Psalm of Lament right now, what would it say?  

•   How can we express our lament in our various community groups:  e.g., family, neighborhood, church, nation, world?                                                                                                                           

In the Eye of the Storm

If you pay attention to weather like I do, you’ve probably noticed that we’ve had an extremely active hurricane season in the Atlantic this year.  Every year the National Hurricane Center (NHC) puts out a list of 21 names for the Atlantic basin; they skip Q, U, X, Y, and Z. (There are similar lists for other areas; you can easily look them up if you’re interested.)  Since 1953, female names have been used for hurricanes.  In 1979, the NHC began using an alternating list of male and female names.  Most years, 21 names are more than sufficient in the Atlantic.  

But 2020!  I’d think we’d all agree that this year has been anything but normal.  So, why not add a hyperactive hurricane season?!  On September 18, we exhausted the list of 2020 Atlantic hurricane names when Tropical Storm Wilfred formed—over two months before Hurricane Season ends.  The National Hurricane Center does have a contingency plan for when we have more than 21 storms in a season; we move to the Greek Alphabet for names.  We’re  now up to Tropical Storm Beta—and it’s only September 23!  We may well break the record set in 2005 (the only other year we’ve had to “Go Greek” in modern history) before all is said and done. (You may remember 2005 was a rough year; it featured Hurricanes Katrina, Rita, and Wilma, all of which significantly impacted the U.S.; we got as far as Zeta, the sixth Greek letter, that year.)

All these storms spinning in the Atlantic this year got me to thinking of all the things swirling in my life right now and how, like a hurricane’s storm surge, they can “sweep me out to sea” if I’m not careful.   

This led me to start sketching a picture in my journal which I’ve shown here. I am not a great artist so perhaps a little interpretation helps.  The sketch is based on the symbol meteorologists use to represent hurricanes, with bands radiating from the center of the storm.  On each of the bands,  I listed some cloud of concern for me right now.  You can see my job (GST/NASA), my wife, my children, and also broader societal concerns like the election, climate change, and of course COVID-19.  You can also see some of my ministry pursuits like writing, being a Certified Lay Servant, and my interest in possibly becoming an Earthkeeper.  In the center of it all I put Jesus and me. 

As often happens when I pray or journal, songs will come to mind.  One of my favorite songs is called, “Be the Centre,” by Michael Frye  The simple lyrics ask Jesus to be our source, our light, our hope, our song, our vision, our path, our guide, the wind in our sails, and the fire in our heart.  But what I most like is the image of me being safe in the center with Jesus 

I don’t just want Jesus to just be another thing swirling in the storms of my life, I want Jesus to be the calm center of my life.  

To say it another way, I want Jesus to be “In the Eye of the Storm” with me (which is another song, by Ryan Stevenson, that came to me during my prayer time).  Those who fly into the most intense hurricanes report that they often encounter the fiercest winds and rain in the eyewall, but then, abruptly the skies clear as they enter the eye, and they experience an eerie peace—a calm center—a temporary reprieve from the maelstrom swirling around them.  

Later in the week, I came across a quote in a post from a Richard Rohr devotional that resonated with this idea of finding God in the center of all things—even in the midst of circumstances we’d never willingly choose ourselves.  Rohr quotes a young Jewish woman who he says, “suffered much more injustice in the concentration camp than we are suffering now.”  She wrote these words while she was imprisoned: 

There is a really deep well inside me. And in it dwells God. Sometimes I am there, too … And that is all we can manage these days and also all that really matters: that we safeguard that little piece of You, God, in ourselves.

—Etty Hillesum, Westerbork transit camp

Rohr goes on to say that, “Somehow our occupation and vocation as believers in [the current sad time must be to first restore the Divine Center by holding it and fully occupying it ourselves.  If contemplation means anything, it means that we can “safeguard that little piece of You, God,” as Hillesum describes it. What other power do we have now? All else is tearing us apart, inside and out, no matter who wins the election or who is on the Supreme Court. We cannot abide in such a place for any length of time or it will become our prison.”

I think what Rohr says here is simple yet profound. If we can firmly anchor ourselves in the eye of the storm with Jesus, he will teach us to recognize and “safeguard that little piece of You, God,” in ourselves.  When we begin to see the Divine Image more clearly in ourselves, it becomes easier to extend that benevolent vision to every other person and creature on this planet.  As we do that,  we learn what Dallas Willard meant when he said: “This world is a perfectly safe place to be”—and that this is true no matter how many hurricanes come our way. 

FOR REFLECTION

·      I showed a sketch of Hurricane Me.  What does Hurricane You look like?  What or who are your clouds of concern at the moment?  Maybe you would want to take time to draw Hurricane You and see what comes to mind?  It was a helpful exercise for me. 

·      What’s your eyewall?  What are the fiercest storm(s) you face right now? Do you feel that God is with you in the eyewall guiding you toward the eye?

·      Where is your eye—your calm center?  Where do you go to connect with God?  Is it a physical place, a state of mind—or both?  

·      If you don’t have an eye or can’t see it now, what can you do to establish or find your eye?

The Spiritual Discipline of Discomfort

 For thus says the Lord: Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfil to you my promise and bring you back to this place. For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope—Jeremiah 29:10–11.

 

I have sleep apnea; I have a CPAP machine on my nightstand that I should use more regularly than I do.  So, why don’t I do it?  Well, I never can seem to get the seal just right, and so it drives me crazy to hear myself breathing inside the mask.  Or, I don’t remember to put it on before I fall asleep at night.  (For those who’ve never had to use a CPAP, you really do have to be ready to be completely still before you put it on.)  Even on the nights I do put it on, I usually wake up after three or four hours thirsty or having to go to the bathroom—and they say you really need more time than that for the treatment to be effective. 

 

While these are all valid-sounding reasons for not wearing a mask, in the end they are excuses.   If I’m honest they all come down to one answer: I don’t want to be uncomfortable.   It seems I’d rather risk my health (and subject family to snoring and worrisome erratic breathing) than wear the mask.  When I put it on paper it seems obvious!  My decision is fairly self-centered.; my personal comfort trumps all other concerns. 

 

Who was that masked man?!

Wearing a mask.  Now there’s a topic that we’re all familiar with right now, thanks to the ongoing pandemic.  COVID-19 spreads primarily by aerosol transmission and solid science tells us one of the best means of protecting ourselves from it is to wear a mask.  Nevertheless, some of us still resist wearing them.  It isn’t so much that it protects you (although it does); it’s more that it protects the other.  Like me not using my CPAP,  those that choose not to wear masks do so for a variety of reasons they consider valid—e.g., they can’t breathe when they wear them, they don’t want to live in fear, they have the right to do as they please, they believe COVID-19 is not real and/or is politically motivated.   Ah, we human beings get so creative when it comes to coming up with excuses, but in the end, they all come back to the same root: I don’t want to be uncomfortable.  That is to say, we choose to put our personal concerns ahead of concerns for the common good of all. 

 

Of course, since our institutions are made up of individuals we shouldn’t be surprised when we find the same reluctance to be uncomfortable at work in our Churches.  At a recent webinar, the Rev. Emily Kegler said: “The white American Church is unwilling to be uncomfortable.”   She argues that our “discomfort with discomfort” has made the Church buy into constructs designed to make us feel comfortable.  She includes viewing whiteness as superior and maleness as the default gender, and our infatuation with American consumerism, as examples.  She argues we become protective of (dare I say, we worship) these constructs (or idols).  When we do that, we’re constantly in damage control mode, trying to protect the sanctity of the structures we’ve created to make us comfortable.  It’s hard to embrace others—and to embrace Jesus—when we’re so busy protecting our personal comfort.

 

Although I think she’s spot-on, I admit these are hard words to hear. Kegler’s statement challenges me as a white male.  She speaks like a prophet, and I don’t know too many prophets that are warmly embraced by their audience.  When I hear it, my knee-jerk reaction is to begin making excuses—to protect my comfort. 

 

But Kegler argues that our challenge is to find ways to embrace discomfort, not just once in a while, but on a regular basis.  

 

Discomfort needs to become a regular spiritual practice.

 

After hearing this, if we are open, we might be inclined to ask: In what ways am I willing to be uncomfortable?  While that’s a good starting point, we need to go further.  Left to our own devices, we will tend to limit our discomfort to “small doses” that we can tolerate.  Therefore, says Kegler, the real question we should ask is: Where does God’s world call me to be uncomfortable?

 

The post-COVID-19 world has forced us into uncharted territory.  It’s now clear this isn’t just a temporary inconvenience.  We’re in this for the long-haul.  Although we pray there will be a day soon when there is an effective vaccine and the spread of COVID-19 is controlled, I don’t think we’re ever going back to exactly the way things were BP—before the pandemic.  The world has changed, and so must we—both as individuals and institutions, such as churches.  We can’t go back to the way things were; we can only live in the present moment and move forward into whatever the future holds, knowing that God promises it will be good—Jeremiah 29:11.  

 

In the meantime, just as was true when Jeremiah wrote the verses above, discomfort is already here—and there’s much more to come.  So, perhaps instead of avoiding it, it’s high time we learn to embrace it, and even to thrive in the midst of it.  It’s not like we have a choice at the moment.

 

FOR REFLECTION: What is the discomfort you’ve been avoiding and how does God call you to embrace it?