the alley

Lent began this year 

on the second day 

after the second severe storm 

just as we ran out of places 

to pile the snow in the alley— 

the weight straining 

the neighbor’s six-foot fence 

as we scrambled 

to make the most 

of each property line— 

when the garbage truck 

got stuck with the dumpster 

and we made peace with deep ruts 

of ice and dirty slush 

and spinning wheels and 

desperate prayers from 

disparate souls at night, 

hoping for a break from 

the cold and a clearing 

in the one lane track 

for the two-way traffic. 

Thus, Lent lengthens 

the human spirit, the hidden 

alley where God’s grace 

sees the heart through 

a life of mere fits and starts. 

…………….. 

the alley 

by troy cady

Ashes to Ashes?

Photo by Ahna Ziegler on Unsplash

Ashes to Ashes?

reflections on Ash Wednesday, Lent and Easter

by Troy Cady

Many people observed Ash Wednesday two days ago. In the annual custom, the worshipper is marked with the pattern of the cross by the imposition of ashes on their forehead or hand. The ritual is often accompanied with a saying that briefly reminds the worshipper of its significance: “Remember that you are but dust and to dust you shall return.”

It’s a potent expression because it conveys so much in such a dense form.

Dust and Remembrance

First, “Remember.” The expression begins by grounding us in our beginning. It reminds the worshipper of that great origin story in Scripture that has survived the test of time where it is written that God formed human beings from the dust of the earth. In Hebrew, the word for “earth” or “ground” is adamah, so the first human being is named Adam, which means “from the ground” or “of the earth.”

It is a name of contingency: human life is dependent not only on God, but we depend quite literally on the earth itself. We live off the land. As much as we would like to think we are the lords of creation, the earth laughs at such a notion and just carries on with her work of sustaining us, anyway.

And even this life which has been given to us by the earth is limited, like all natural phenomena. Life renews, but it is not immortal. All life dies, even as we hope that, somehow, the finality of death can be cheated, skirted or extended indefinitely.

The hope of immortality runs across the board in our collective human consciousness. No matter what religious background you have, everyone holds some type of idea about how each life even after death will factor into the ongoing cycle of all life.

Even those with no particular religious affiliation exhibit a measure of hope in immortality. After all, I have never met anyone who did not want to “live on” in the memories of loved ones. And many take comfort in the fact that, when we die, we simply become part of the soil, nourishing the very ground of all being.

In any case, the story of our origin in the Bible runs so deeply in us it even suggests to us the very hopes of our destiny. Thus, the custom of receiving ashes every year is more than a remembrance of our past.

The Dust That is Present

The custom is also an acknowledgement of our present condition:

“Remember that you are but dust…”

Truly, there is no time like the present to remember your frailty, no matter how old you are. Ash Wednesday thus kicks off a season of noticing the tremendous gap that exists between our primordial longing for abundant life and the reality that death is a disease which has penetrated humanity to the very core of our being. So, remembering that we are dust in the present is an act of confession. When we remember that death is a present reality, we admit that our hearts provide harbor for the suicide of self-hatred and the homicide of condemnation towards our own neighbors, our own fellow humans.

It is the astounding depth of this reality that causes the person who observes Lent to spend an entire 40-day period in the practice of lament. It is truly a practice of being present to and honoring the innumerable causes of our deep mourning.

Lament is not a popular practice; we prefer to be happy. In a culture where we are quick to tell others to “get over it already” when they have physically lost a loved one, it feels practically impossible to spend an entire forty days (every year!) lamenting the many ways we are killing ourselves and one another. We feel that, if we are going to lament, let’s not wallow in it; let’s get on with the work of fixing it, already. At least, that’s how most of us feel about it. And I freely admit: I’m in that company.

Lent slows us down to really notice the depth of our need. When we are too quick to move beyond noticing the need, we tend to propose solutions that don’t really meet the need. Haste does not provide adequate conditions for meaningful reflection. We have to go slow.

In a world where trending stories turn on a pinhead, we have been trained that if we do not act quickly and decisively, we will be left in the dust. But the fact is: it is our acts of haste that are leaving us in the dust.

I confess that even as I write this morning, I felt prompted to just share with you what I am lamenting of late—but then I hesitated because I didn’t want to come across as a doom and gloom kind of person.

But there is a gift we can give to ourselves and others when we can just face our own frailty without feeling the need to fix it right away. The first step to all personal and interpersonal recovery is to just admit you need help and to conduct a fearless moral inventory. Putting it right can come later (and should come later) but if we do not rightly understand the problem, any solution we devise will miss the mark—and, perhaps, create even bigger problems.

So, before I move on to writing about “dust and the future”, I want to pause to simply share with you my “laments of the present” that I notice from both within and without.

I lament the polarization that’s tearing us apart.

I lament my own lack of faith.

I lament the many ways we devalue life, any life. I lament my part in this.

I lament the way we’ve wounded and exploited the earth. I lament my part in this.

I lament hurry.

I lament pride and greed.

I lament deception.

I lament our inability to be able to trust what we read in the news.

I lament the confusion that seems to grip us.

I lament that there are so many lonely people in this world.

I lament that many people go hungry more often than they are filled and satisfied.

I lament that there are too many people who do not have a safe place to live.

I lament violence and war.

I lament the manufacture of instruments for the sole purpose of destruction.

I lament how we have laid claim to things that do not belong to us.

I lament that we need locks and keys and codes to protect what is dear to us.

I lament that many women and children have been gravely mistreated.

I lament defensiveness.

I lament insularity.

I lament hypocrisy.

I lament arrogance.

I lament manipulation.

I lament stubbornness and harshness.

I lament envy.

I lament profanity and verbal epithets that corrupt the beauty of language.

I lament delighting in the misfortune of my enemies.

I lament the harboring of stereotypes.

I lament unforgiveness and interpersonal division.

I lament shame.

I lament my own feelings of inadequacy.

I lament that I worry more than I trust and pray.

I lament the anger that too often has its way in me.

I lament my own thoughtlessness and selfishness.

I lament infidelity.

I lament injustice.

I lament the way self-protection keeps us from living in freedom.

I lament that children today are being made to work more and play less.

I lament the helpless feelings that cripple us when contemplating a better world.

God, hear my cry.

Receive this lament as my prayer and

Lord, have mercy.

Amen.

The Future of Dust

Just as the Ash Wednesday ritual reminds us of our past and our present, so it points us to our future:

“…to dust you shall return.”

It doesn’t give us much comfort, does it? Nevertheless, it is a reminder of our destiny. And, as such, the saying conceals a deeper hope, I feel. Here’s a story about why I suggest that.

Last Sunday, I had the privilege of teaching a small group of teenagers and the topic was the notion of “resurrection.” So, I took them to a cemetery. Creepy, right? :-)  (It is ever so fun to mess with young minds, isn’t it?! Just kidding…)

Though it was a little strange for some of them, I took them to the cemetery because I wanted them to be able to put the topic of resurrection in a larger context. Before resurrection comes death. It sounds tautological, but it’s true: only that which dies can come back to life.

It’s an important principle partly because it helps us pay proper respect to the inescapable reality of death. So, as we arrived at the cemetery, I formed the group into two teams and gave them tasks to complete. The hope was that, by going about these tasks, they would reflect on life, death and the after-life without being too weirded out about it all.

One of the tasks involved noting the youngest and oldest people they could find. As we went, the youngest person we found was just one year old and the oldest person was ninety-eight. Of course, along the way, we noticed a large variety of ages.

Some people lost their lives in a tragic accident in 1915 known as the Eastman Disaster, where a large ship capsized at port in Lake Michigan. One gravestone memorialized a mother and her three daughters (who were only teenagers when they died).

Another gravestone indicated someone who had died when they were only twenty-six. Others had various ages such as fifty-six, seventy-one, and forty-two.

It was fascinating talking with the students afterwards about this experience because they started thinking about their own lives. I asked one of the students: “How old are you right now?”

They said, “Seventeen.”

We talked about the people who died in the Eastman Disaster and someone noted that one of the three daughters was only eighteen when she died.

So, I asked the group: “If you knew you only had one year left to live, how would you live it?” We discussed that for a while, and then turned to the topic at-hand: resurrection.

Now, by this point in their lives, all of these students were familiar with the story of Jesus dying and rising from the dead because they have been raised as regular church-goers.

But as we came to the topic at-hand I asked them, “Do you think that really happened? I mean…come on: it seems more likely that it was just a myth, right?”

I asked them, “What would you have done if, while we were looking around the cemetery earlier, one of those mausoleum doors opened up and the dead person walked out of it, alive?”

That question elicited some rather…imaginative responses, ahem.

As we talked about the Bible’s claim that the resurrection really happened, I asked what they thought it was like. I asked, “Do you think that what the disciples saw was a ghost, like a spirit…or did he really have a body?”

And we read parts of the text that indicated Jesus did, indeed, have a body. I asked, “I wonder what kind of body it was? Was it the same body as he had before?”

That was a hard one to answer with any degree of confidence because in one part of the story Jesus showed Thomas his wounds but in another part of the story two disciples walk all the way to another town with Jesus and they don’t recognize him until they are sitting down to have a meal together at the end of their journey. He must have somehow been the same, but different, the students concluded.

So, we looked at a text in I Corinthians where the apostle Paul explains that we will have bodies in the future resurrection. But, he notes, our resurrection bodies will be different than the bodies we have now. In any case, they found it fascinating that, in heaven, we won’t just be bodiless entities floating around like ghosts.

"What sort of world could that be?" we wondered.

The Hope of Ashes: What Sort of World Could This Be?

This is why the cycle of Lent and Easter has endured for centuries now. Ultimately, it is a cycle of hope, for whenever we are reminded that we will return to dust, we are also reminded that God has a way of turning our ashes into something beautiful and enduring. It is a testament solely to the goodness of God, ultimately, for there is nothing we can do to make it happen. It is a surprising gift that comes out of the deepest darkness.

            The ashes of Lent, thus, conceal a secret hope. Even as we confess our frailty, we confess the ultimacy of new life. And we remember this life we live now could end at any moment. We don’t know. All we know is “to dust you shall return.” So, in the spirit of hope, we look to the future and make it present for today. It is this future that gives us hope to carry on.

            Admittedly, hope sometimes feels strange to me. It is awareness of this future hope that makes our lament in the present that much deeper. But it is also this future hope that enables us to bear our present lament. Without this hope, the lament I shared earlier would be downright unbearable to me. Without this hope, it would only be a matter of time when I would just want to die.

            That is why I believe the unbelievable story of Jesus dying and rising again, springing from dust, returning to it…but, ultimately, rising above it. It is the one thing that gives me hope to carry on.

So, my prayer for you this season is that you will know the secret hope that comes with knowing we are imperfect and finite. This is a secret hope because whenever we confess as much, our gracious ever-living God is working to renew us daily for an eternity that is so expansive we can already taste it, see it, hear it and touch it…right here and right now.

            Amen.

the foot-washing king

“I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.” -Jesus (John 13:15)

Earlier that week the people cried out for Jesus to become their king. How easy it would have been for Jesus to seize the throne! Absolute authority was his for the taking.

To be sure, many wanted him dead. A plot to take his life had already been devised by the time Jesus sat down to have his last supper.

It was the season of Passover and Jesus’s last supper with his friends was a Passover meal. Before enjoying the meal together, they needed to wash up.

The friends of Jesus wondered when the time would come for them to ascend to power. When would the hour of greatness emerge, a new dawning of hope and deliverance? Jesus was the One they had been waiting for. The time was pregnant, the Moment at-hand.

But Jesus had another surprise in store for them. The king washed their feet.

What a backwards sort of kingdom this king was creating! The drama of the week was predicated on a great power struggle. Even as those in power felt their power threatened by the clamor of the crowd for a new king, Jesus responds not by laying hold of power but by relinquishing it. The very power struggle that would keep the plot moving forward is disrupted when the new king refuses to play their games.

He washed their feet.

The new kingdom is a foot-washing place, a kneeling place, a humble place. The new king leads by serving. The new king is the lowest servant.

The new king knows his feet will be the feet of his friends, so the new king puts his hands to work washing feet. These feet are ready now for exodus. They have passed through the water and they are prepared for a new set of commandments.

Jesus has just one commandment to give. It sounds old but Jesus adds a new part to it: “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” (John 13:34)

The Hebrews were familiar with chiasmus; it’s the structure of leaving a place, arriving at a center point, and returning to where you began. Jesus’ new command has the structure of chiasmus. It begins and ends with a command they already know: “Love one another.”

But in the center of the new command was something they were still coming to know: “As I have loved you…”

That center part was new to them. Even though they had spent the past three years with Jesus, his friends still did not know the full extent of his love for them. They had no idea he was about to give up his very life for them, so he gave them a sign: he washed their feet.  

Jesus’s new command is the only command they would need because their feet would become the work of his hands and their hands would carry on his work of washing many feet.

The friends of Jesus now have but one vocation: foot-washing. Jesus says so: “I have set you an example, that you should do as I have done for you.”

A disciple’s job is not to posture for high position, as those in power often suppose. A disciple’s job is to take the lowest position, the kneeling position, the place of humility. The friend of Jesus is the servant to others. The world will know we are followers of Jesus by how we serve.

May we do as Jesus has done for us. May we be found at the intersection of loving one another, the crossing where Jesus reminds us of his love for us.

It is Maundy Thursday, the day of the last supper, and we have a new command. Having been freed, having passed through the water, let us walk in the light of his new command.

Amen.

all of us have need

Lord, when you were cast down you lifted us up. 

Cast me down with you, Lord. 

Unless a grain of seed fall to the ground and die, it remains fruitless. God is the great sower. If he would have you cast down, it is only because he would produce beauty in you.

It is not that beauty comes in spite of ashes; it is that beauty cannot come without ashes.

This is an unpopular message, but he is not asking us to do anything that he has not done himself. Nothing that clings to its own life can ever be resurrected for it never dies to itself. Only that which dies can be raised to life again.

If we have no sorrow for sin, we have no comfort either, for consolation is predicated on the need to be consoled.

Mourn for your need today. It is not a question of whether you have need; all of us have need. It is a question of whether you know your need.

What is your need? Of course, we all need forgiveness, but of what particularly do you need to be forgiven? At the very moment you confess your specific need, the sower casts a pregnant seed into the fertile soil of your heart. Beauty will rise from the ashen ground. You are forgiven and a new day can begin. He will water your tilled heart now with tenderness, with care. There is no more precious prayer you can make than to say to him “Cast me down, Lord” for, with God, to be cast down is to be raised up. And this is his heart’s desire for you: to raise you up.

I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, 

it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. 

John 12:24

find God by the way of desire

“Let me seek you by desiring you, and desire you by seeking you; let me find you by loving you, and love you in finding you.” -Anselm

I would leave you with this: his way is a way of the heart. His desires for you go far beyond any logic he has. Because he desires you, his eye is always fixed on you. It may be more accurate for us to say “He sees us” than “He seeks us”; in a sense, he needn’t seek us since he is already with us. If he seeks us, he simply seeks our seeking him, which is to say he desires that we would desire him.

We do not find God any other way than by the way of desire. If you have no desire to find God you will not find him. If you do, you will. It really is that simple. We needn’t add books nor magazine subscriptions to the equation.

We have been returning to this theme over and over again, but that is only because we have yet to really learn to rest in it: there is only God and his love for us. That is all that matters. Therefore, we can only find him by loving him and once we find him all he wants us to do is go on loving him.

We want to add to that because it somehow seems more exciting to us, but what is more boring: talking about how to love God or just loving God?

Just love God; he just loves you. Just give him your heart; he has given you his. I risk boring you with the simplicity of this because I want to risk the chance that you’ll actually lay hold of the offer. You don’t need to complicate this further.

Either way, we needn’t worry, because tomorrow we’ll remember he defeated death. This means he’ll go on loving you, whether you love him or not. And that is never boring.

God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. -Romans 5:8

light, redemption and purity

In my darkness, I ask for light; in my sins, redemption; impure, I ask for purity.

Sin creates utter darkness. Jesus is the light. He can lighten your darkness. Here’s how…

When we sinned, we sold ourselves to the devil. But Jesus defeated the devil. He bought us back; he redeemed us. Jesus is the only one I know who buys back what was his in the first place. Either way, since he bought us, we are his; we belong to him. Technically, this makes us his slaves. Fortunately, we have a good Master; he’s the kind of Master that sets us free and calls us friends and family and Bride. With Jesus, the situation just gets better and better.

Now he would purify his Bride. Purity is restored dignity. Where once we were harlots, he now regards us as chaste. Where once we were scoundrels, he now regards us as honest. Where once we were ashamed, he now lifts our head so we can lock eyes with God-who-is-Love. There is only love there, love which brings hope, new hope. This hope is hope for a new life, a liberated life. It is the dawn of a new day. This new hope holds promise for many, many more new days, an eternity of new days. The night has passed and a sun is eternally rising. This is a new life, because it is a life in which you will become closer and closer to One who is your friend, your guide, your teacher, your Physician, your spouse, your brother and your sister. With such a companion, purity becomes a new possibility. It is found in no other place than in close relation to your abiding Lord. Should you try to produce this purity on your own, you would fail. But, don’t worry: when you do, he will be there forgiving, playing the part of defender, putting the devil in his place and dignifying the blush and scandal within. With Him there will never be anything but fresh hope.

Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. -Ephesians 5:25-27

God's merit

Lord, I ask you to hear me by your own merits rather than by mine.

Our greatest creations still fall far short of God’s galaxies. God is so much greater than we are. It is good for our souls to remember that.

If our greatest act demonstrates the ability to conceive life, let us not forget that God created the first life and we have only inherited the ability to multiply what he gave us in the first place. And let’s not forget that we did not create spirit and soul. Those are God’s; the “breath of life” came from his chest and mouth, not ours. We’re simply handing off what he gave.

His merits are so much greater than ours. There is no other way; if we say we “come to God” in prayer it is only because he came to us first in humility. God’s humility is therefore his greatness; his mercy is his merit.

We are the ones who need mercy. He is the one who grants it. Trouble comes our way when we get those two simple truths mixed around.

Let us also meditate today on forgiveness again: we did not deserve it. (Is there any such thing as “deserved” forgiveness, anyway? Yet, we somehow feel entitled to that, even). God forgives not because we’re so great; he forgives because he’s so great. In fact, his forgiveness delays our death. Let’s not forget that. Because of his limitless forgiveness we are alive now and tonight you will be able to step outside and see the stars, yet another reminder of his indescribable merit and our unending need.

Whoever is wise, let him heed these things and consider the great love of the Lord. -Psalm 107:43

imparted innocence

Warm your children, give life to your dead man, justify your sinner.

Everyone begins as a child. This is a good beginning. It is also a fine ending. The grandmother that chooses play is more glorious than a child that plays by instinct—and if adults can learn to play by instinct, that is even more glorious still. Holiness can be a romp.

The child that knows she needs her Father is wise. She has fallen in the river. She is cold and wet. But her Father is there. She can limp to him with cuts from the rocks. He will wrap her in a warm blanket (and his arms) and hold her by the fire until she is warm. She will sit with him awhile and then she will be able to get up to play again. She may still even be bruised, but she will be able to play. Children don’t wait for complete healing before they are able to enjoy life again.

To lose childhood is to die. If one doesn’t die physically, there is a kind of death that accompanies all lost innocence. But God is able to help you believe again. The cynicism you thought sure enlightened you only deceived you. Grace is more real than evil. Forgiveness is able to restore the hopes of youth.

Evil seems more real to us than grace because the Prosecutor likes to push guilt back in our face. On the one hand, he does have a case: either we have done evil or we have had it done to us. In either case, God is the one that declares us innocent (even though we all know we’re not) because the Son paid the penalty of death on our behalf. This new imparted innocence feels warm, like the blanket and the Father or Mother of our childhood. Forgiveness is enough to restore hope and trust that, yes, we can play again and we can even fall down again. He will never stop loving us, he will never stop raising the dead, and he will never stop declaring us innocent.

I am the resurrection and the life. -John 11:25

kindle love

Kindle love in my darkness and make me glow.

Love is sufficient to light up a room. Words are not necessary; just the presence of a soft heart. Even infants have the capacity to love. They cannot be anything other than unconditional lovers, therefore they may be the purest lovers. They will take any amount of love that comes to them in any form, without complaint. Maybe this is why most rooms brighten when a new baby enters, carried by her mother or father. I have seen even the hardest hearts soften when faced with a guileless child.

We needn’t glow to the extent of lighting an entire valley; even one small birthday candle stirs cheer in the largest of families. We needn’t shine to provide even enough light for study, unless the object of your study be the face of your Lover. Books are not needed here. Indeed, they may be a distraction. It is possible for a book to hinder the path of love, even this book you've been reading these past weeks. A tea light is enough to form a circle of light that is just the right size for two. It is enough to assure you that you are not alone, that there will always be Another right by your side. You can light the candle anywhere and you will always discover him. The candle is love, just love, nothing more.

When the candle is unlit, God is still there—we just don’t know it.

Light the candle of love, or ask him to light it for you, if you feel unable. Perhaps you can’t see the unlit candle in the dark; no matter, even the darkness is as light to God. He is able to light it. So, even if you can’t see him, just ask him to do it, in faith. He will do it.

When he lights that candle, you will see it is enough. Nothing more is needed and anything added is a distraction. Just rest and be with him now.

Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. -Psalm 139:12

rage is defused by crucifixion

I raged furiously that you might perish, but you prayed fervently that I might not perish.

Entitlement breeds anger. Judas believed in Jesus—the wrong Jesus, the Jesus of entitlement. Judas’ flaw was that he believed in the wrong Jesus too much. We tend to fashion Jesus in our own image. We feel entitled to this Jesus. If he surprises us in any way, we become indignant.

But remember, the very ones who shouted “Hosanna!” on Sunday were shouting “Crucify!” on Friday. Why this turn-about? Entitlement. They were not so much upset about who Jesus was; they were upset about who he wasn’t. If anything they wanted him to do more, to be more. They felt entitled to a Messiah on their terms. So, they raged because Jesus hit too close to home. He touched on their hearts. He touches ours as well.

“He calls for a change of heart?! How dare he?! I deserve better than to be treated like that!” But all he asks is for us to become like little children again. The most harmless request is often the most threatening.

You will notice Jesus did not fight fire with fire. Entitlement is not set right by defending one’s rights; it is rectified by laying down one’s rights. So, Jesus prayed. In praying, he laid down his rights. By rights, he could have called 10,000 angels to rush to his defense. He did not cash in. Rage is defused by crucifixion; hatred can only be extinguished by selflessness. Beauty is never produced by “should”. The open hand is more beautiful than the clenched fist, clinging to entitlement and throwing punches at the God of grace. He is big enough to take it. He is perpetually opening his hands, his arms to welcome us back. Why do we want more? What more is there?

When they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him, along with the criminals. Jesus said, “Father, forgive them.” -Luke 23:33-34

distress and peril

Lord, I pray to you in peril because of my distress and in distress because of my peril.

I often lose track of myself. Sometimes, I forget: “How did I get myself in this situation?” When I try to recall what happened, I sense I am refashioning the narrative. I assure myself that I am not rewriting history, but deep inside I know the game I’m playing.

Hear the gospel: Grace Is The Story.

Sometimes, we become distressed because of something we did. Sometimes, we become distressed because of something that was done to us. In either case, God knows your distress; he sees that we are in danger and it doesn’t matter to him if we got ourselves there or if someone else got us there. Either way, he sees. We don’t need to sort it all out. We don’t need to rewrite the story.

We can’t rewrite the story anyway because Grace Is The Story and it is His Story. Because he never changes, he will never change His Story. Grace shall be his eternal theme.

Because it is His theme, it is our theme. Stop trying to keep track of who, what, when, where and why. What does it matter, anyway? In the fire of his grace, all incidentals are burned up. There is only one Event. It is the moment of God’s grace and it is an eternally present moment.

Forgive or be forgiven. Which is it? If the latter, receive it. If the former, let it go. You don’t need to keep track anymore. Just let it go and know that God’s love is enough. Now: you’re saved from peril that leads to distress and distress that leads to peril. There is only God and his grace. Rejoice.

When I said, "My foot is slipping," your love, O LORD, supported me. -Psalm 94:18

sweetness and goodness

Lord, you are good with sweetness and sweet with goodness. I worship you.

Taste and see that the Lord is good.

The authentic Christ-follower should not behave as though they just sucked a green lemon dry. God’s goodness is sweet, not sour.

There is a gladness that accompanies the experience of Christ’s grace. The brightest eyes I have ever seen were gladdened by the freedom of forgiveness and the glory of grace. They can become your eyes, too.

I once knew a man who was large in both body and soul. He was a good man and he was joyful. Perhaps he was joyful because he was good—and he was good because he was joyful.

This is a way of the heart. It is not about list-keeping and back-whipping. Compelled obedience embitters if it is not compelled by love and love alone.

We have returned to that old theme, haven’t we? Be loved. You may as well let yourself be loved for you are beloved. Just acknowledge what is real. God’s love for you is enough to feed your soul and fuel your sanctity.

God is good because he is sweet; and he is sweet because he is good. Don’t doubt this. Just receive it.

Taste and see that the Lord is good. -Psalm 34:8

God's worth is our worth

Grant to me, Lord, that I may be made worthy out of my unworthiness.

There is nothing of greater worth than God’s love. Everything that has been made sprang from his love; therefore, God’s love is the primordial good. God is love. Nothing is greater than God; therefore, nothing is greater than God’s love.

We do not deserve God’s love. He gave it to us freely in the first place, not because of anything we did, but just because he loved us. In fact, you were conceived because of God’s love. He wanted you “to be.” You could no sooner have effected your own conception than a cobbler could create a foot. You are alive because of God because of love.

He also gave us love when we handed it back to him. Now, this we surely did not deserve! Why do we think we need to become worthy to receive God’s love when God’s love is the very thing that makes us worthy? We are like toddlers trying to learn quantum physics. Just be loved.

To say that God loves us eternally is to make a statement of ultimate worth; to say that we hand him back his love is to make a statement concerning our attempts to “unworth” his worth. To hand him back his love is, therefore, to make us “unworthers” (or, unworthy).

No matter, he keeps loving us and his worth is greater than our unworth. It’s a losing battle we fight. God’s love will always be victorious.

Let yourself be loved by God for there is nothing greater than God’s love. It makes life worth living. It is your intrinsic worth. It is all you have and all there is. Anything else is a negation. You could not be loved any more than you are right now. Be loved and have courage.

God has chosen to make known his glorious riches: Christ in you, the hope of glory. -Colossians 1:27

a soft heart

Shatter my hardness, shine on my darkness.

Do not harden your heart. God has witnessed our many attempts and failures and he has not hardened his heart. The God of hope still places his hope in us; place your hope in him.

God is not cynical and doubting. Even though we crucify him in unbelief he does not relent believing that we will believe.

Christ-likeness may require nothing more than a simple, soft heart.

The hardened heart is a closed heart. A closed heart is a dark heart. Open your heart to his love. You will see the light. Your heart will then be filled with the light of hope. This is glory.

Children are glorious for this very reason. They are open; they have not yet learned to doubt; they are not cynical and skeptical. Hope is their medium. Become like a little child. Simple teachability is its own glory.

You already know how to open your heart. This does not need to be taught to you. Indeed, it cannot be taught. Some things can only be learned by doing them yourself. Soften your heart; God can be trusted.

Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts. -Hebrews 4:7

if God puts a desire in you

Perfect what you have begun, and grant me what you have made me long for.

Now and again God stirs your spirit. He plants a seed in the soil of your soul. It is a seed of promise. It may take long to germinate and bear fruit, but it promises to produce something beautiful in its own time.

We have grown accustomed to acquiring things we want instantly. Most everything can be purchased nowadays via the internet. It is tragic that both minute and great desires can be satiated within minutes. We also translate instant gratification to other arenas. When my wife and I wanted to have children, I expected we’d conceive right off. We didn’t. We had to wait for it and this was troubling. We don’t like waiting, especially when we know that what we’re waiting for is good.

Often, God uses a speaker or a song to stir up a desire he wants us to have. Sometimes this also happens when we see a film or read a certain book. Naturally, we want what God made us to desire. And we want it now. But some things can’t come to us now. We have to wait for them in hope and patience. We can only do this as we wait immersed in unconditional love, knowing that we are destined for something more but God loves us just the same until we acquire that for which we are destined.

If God puts a desire in you, he is able to perfect it. And he will, in time.

Perhaps God’s desire for you is just to learn to wait, just wait and trust. In trusting, you find him. This is precisely what he wants to give you. He knows what he’s doing.

He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion. -Philippians 1:6

learning to be the loved one

Lord, grant me the love that pierces the heart; tears that are humble; desire for the homeland of heaven.

We are more afraid of being loved than of learning to love. Being the loved one puts one in a position of vulnerability. Offering love is often viewed as a posture of fullness and strength. It means one has something to give to another. We often think that giving is more powerful than receiving, but the truth is “giving” can easily stem from or become a position of control.

It takes a stronger person to be a receiver, to admit you need to receive. The love that pierces the heart is the love that is keenly undeserved for it is prefaced by our rebellion or apathy and it is often followed by our attempt to improve it somehow by being more competent (as if perfect love could ever be perfected more).

To be the truly loved one is to admit apathy, rebellion and incompetence. This is why we are more afraid of being loved than of learning to love. This is why God’s love pierces our heart, perfecting our failures. This is humbling.

“Let us try to be competent at loving others now. Let us do many good things for others,” we then say. Try this for awhile and you will see how your attempts to love others begin nobly, but in time they become more self-centered than you would care to admit. I often find myself doing good for others because I want them to think well of me. Notice—I do not do good for the sake of the other, I do it for my own sake. These acts of “love” are not truly love, for they are self-seeking. When we see this, we come full circle to learning to be the loved one all over again. This is when it is appropriate to weep in humility. This also stirs up desire for our true homeland where our impulse to love will flow naturally from our need to be loved. God’s love is your true homeland.

Jesus said, “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love.” -John 15:9

Jesus knows who you are and what you want

Lord, I am like Mary Magdalene: you know who I am and what I want.

She did not know who he was but he knew who she was and that was all that mattered.

We do not know who he is but he knows who we are and that is all that matters.

We cannot see him; this matters little, because he sees us.

We do not love him as we should; still, he loves us. We have no right to his love, but there it is.

Left to ourselves, we have no desire for him, but out of his good grace he has placed desire for him within us. We have become confused, however; we spend the better part of our days directing the desire he gave us for himself towards other affections.

We do not know what we want; no matter, Jesus knows what we want and that is all that matters. He is able to redirect our affections towards him if we will but still ourselves and know that he is God. You do not need to do much; just be still.

In your weeping, listen. Just stop and listen. Like Mary, you will hear him speak your name. He knows your name. He is your Father; how could he forget your name?

He knows who you are; he knows what you want.

Today, tell him who you are; tell him what you want. You can be long or short about it. In either case, when you are finished, just be silent and listen. You have a few minutes to listen. If you listen, you will hear it: he will remind you who you are. He will remind you that you are simply The One He Loves. And he will remind you what you want. He will remind you that the real object of your desire is him, just him, for he never, ever fails. Lay your fears to rest now, child.

Jesus said to Mary, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?” Then he said to her, “Mary.” -John 20:15-16

foolish love and hope

Lord, I am like Mary Magdalene: accept my foolish gift according to your extravagant love; show yourself when I have no hope of seeing you.

Mary wasted a lot of perfume that could have been sold to help the poor. How could this possibly be loving?

We all do foolish things, even in love. Love seems to have a wisdom of foolishness, does it not? Maybe love is only made truly love when we’re willing to be foolish for it.

Either way, let’s suppose we do things that are intrinsically foolish. No matter: Jesus’ love transforms our foolish acts into foolish acts sprung from love. His unconditional acceptance of whatever we bring encourages us to bring him more. There is no “must-be-good-enough” with Jesus. This leads to even bolder foolishness. This is just fine with Jesus. Pretty soon you get to a point where others just shake their heads at the impropriety of grace-without-compunction, nor restraint. What a dangerous concept grace is—it can make fools of us, if we let it. Pray it does.

Mary thought Jesus was gone for good. Just when all hope was gone, he shows up.

Has it been a long time since you’ve “seen” Jesus? You miss his voice. You miss his friendship. You miss his teachings—how much you learned from him! Maybe he was never here. Maybe you only imagined he was alive.

He is alive. Nothing you think changes that; you just don’t know it yet. But, he’s right there, disguised as a gardener. It won’t be long before he speaks your name and then you’ll know. Hang on. Get ready for the surprise of your life. Until then, it’s okay to cry. You were made to be his friend. When he tarries, hope toughens. Who can understand why grace behaves this way?

“She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body.” —Mark 14:8

“Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?” —John 20:15

defender and friend

Lord, I am like Mary Magdalene: defend me when the proud Pharisee is indignant; meet with me when the world would have me work for your company.

Mary had clearly sinned: she committed adultery. The Pharisees fixated on how she should be punished. She must learn her lesson.

You have clearly sinned, too. Yes, you are not perfect. Others around you know this, too. Your sin is no secret and some of them are concerned with how you should be punished. “We must show people the right way to live. We must take sinning seriously.” They think this with good reason. So, they think they know how to teach you a lesson, to put you right.

Jesus knows how to put you right. It’s a better way than the way of the Pharisees. It’s a way called forgiveness. Suddenly, forgiveness fills your life with new possibilities. You have a second chance. There is hope. You’re free now and he’ll defend you even though it doesn’t seem right or fair to others. Hide in the shadow of his defense. His shadow is grace.

Mary sat at Jesus’ feet while her sister worked. The sister was frustrated with Mary.

There are those who think you don’t do enough for Jesus. The way you relate to God seems too easy to them. They’re concerned you’re getting off scott-free. By their estimation you talk too much about grace. There is always a “yes, but” when the topic comes up. “Yes, but we do play a part,” they insist. They say this because they are worried you will get carried away with grace. It doesn’t seem right or fair to them.

Pay them no mind: just get carried away with Jesus because he wants to carry you away with grace. And that will be enough, the only needful thing. Jesus is listening.

“Neither do I condemn you.” —John 8:11

“Only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better.” —Luke 10:42

misery and mercy

Lord, do not withhold true mercy where you know there is true misery.

We are at God’s mercy more than we would care to admit and more than we realize. We don’t know that we don’t know. This may be our biggest problem. But, never mind, the extent of God’s mercy is not contingent on our awareness of it. Thank God.

Still, it is good for us to meditate on it and at least try to understand its vast dimensions. Of course, we will never be able to comprehend his mercy entirely because his mercy is infinite and we are only finite. Bullfrogs could no sooner design a high speed train than we could understand God’s mercy.

Perhaps we don’t meditate very often on the extent of God’s mercy because we don’t want to think about the extent of our own misery. Our misery is also beyond our comprehension, though it is less extensive than God’s mercy. That is all we need to know: just that his mercy is greater than our misery.

Still, it is good for us to consider just how deep our misery reaches. There are two chief types of misery: the kind that comes from sinning, and the kind that comes from being sinned against. Either kind provide apt occasion for grief. If we don’t lament this state, then something is truly wrong and we have even more reason to be miserable.

But, never mind, the extent of his mercy is not contingent on our awareness of it. Thank God. Still, it is good for us to meditate on it. We’ve heard this before, I’m sure.

I pray that you may have power to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge. -Ephesians 3:18-19