A Helpful Haunting

Dear Faith Family,

Are there any verses in the Bible that haunt you? You know a verse or passage that, while not always in direct focus, is hovering around somewhere in your mind? You can sense its presence, and every once in a while, it pops out as a warning (or perhaps an encouragement)? Well, there is a proverb that has haunted me for as long as I can remember,

"There is a way that seems right to a man,
but its end is the ways of death."
(Proverbs 14:12, 16:25)

Often, while reading, watching, listening, or amid an internal dialogue, the apparition appears like a lemure, startling me to attentiveness.  With the proverb echoing in mind, I take deeper (and more prayerful) consideration of what I am doing and thinking.

Oddly enough, the proverbial visitant makes its appearance in the most mundane, acceptable, and seemingly harmless contexts.  In other words, when I least expect it!

There is a reason for this peculiar materializing, I believe. You see, my tendency, like most of us, is not to do things that I know to be antithetical to the way of Jesus.  Oh, I certainly have moments, like all of us, where I want to give into my flesh. But, in those contexts, I know that what I desire is not what is good and true and beautiful. Generally, and predominately, I, like most of us, long to live life in-step with God, moving with the flow of the Spirit in God's continuing story.

But here is the thing, my good intentions can be manipulated and used to reduce life, rather than make it abundant. This is most especially true in life areas that appear neutral or harmless by societal standards, yet shape our understanding of the world and our place within it most significantly. Here is how Georges Bernanos describes our tendency via his young cleric in The Diary of a Country Priest,

"Sometimes I think of [the ways of death] as trying to get a hold of the mind of God, and not merely hating it without understanding, but understanding it the wrong way round; thus unknowingly struggling against the current of life, instead of swimming with it; wearing [ourselves] out in absurd, terrifying attempts to reconstruct in the opposite direction, the whole work of the Creator."

My haunting proverb is, I believe, a gift of the Holy Ghost. The Helper and Spirit of Truth, keeping me from unwittingly wearing myself out by going against His flow. And so, my prayer for you is two-fold. First, if you have a haunting verse, that you would recognize and treasure its periodic stirrings. And second, that my proverbial phantom would take up residence in you too!

Love you faith family! God bless. 

Talking It Out

Dear Faith Family,

On Sunday, we began to answer the question: How do we recognize God's voice? Like most questions in our faith, the answer is not a formula but rather familiarity. The kind of familiarity that stems from and fosters an intimate relationship.

Dallas Willard contends that the only way for you and me to learn to recognize our heavenly Father's voice with confidence and clarity is through experience. Through you and me, learning to distinguish the voice of God with others.

There is one Good Shepherd, and we are--each of us--a part of his one flock (see Jn. 10:1-16). Some in the flock have been following the Good Shepherd's voice for a while longer than others. They recognize the distinct characteristics of his voice in contrast to the other voices and noises that fill the ears. And so, they can help us other sheep distinguish the Good Shepherd's voice as well.

What does that mean for you and me, and our faith family? Well, three things:

• First, that each of us should be actively listening to for the Good Shepherd's voice. Some of us do this regularly, normally, almost instinctively (like well-cared-for sheep!). Others are new to the flock and need some help knowing which voice is the one to listen to. And still, others are perhaps too content with letting someone else listen for us. Whatever way you'd describe yourself, the rhythmic practice of Lectio Divina is meant to help become and remain familiar with the Good Shepherd's voice.

• Second, for those who are more familiar with the distinctive characteristics of God's voice, we should be actively helping our fellow sheep recognize his voice. While it is true and good that those who regularly and normatively talk to God usually don't talk a lot about their talking, we need to recognize our responsibility in the flock. We need to be more vulnerable in our meekness, willing to share about our conversations with God for the sake of others.

• Lastly, for those less familiar or confident in distinguishing God's voice from the many other voices filling our ears, we should be actively asking the more familiar to listen to us. We need to be willing to share what the voices we are hearing sound like and our saying with those who can help us discern their source. Unless we are willing to talk it out with others, we'll struggle to grow in the natural process of learning to recognize the voice of the Good Shepherd.

If Hearing God is going to be normative, we need to be active listeners and talkers. Sharing with humility and courage what we know and experience regarding the voice of God. So this week, and the next, and the next; commit to making a habit of talking about your listening with those in your Gospel Community, in your DNA Group*, or brothers and sisters outside of our faith family. And in doing so, let us build one another up to "the unity of faith and the knowledge of the Son of God, to full-grown humanity," and the glory of our Father.

Love you faith family. God bless.


*If you are interested in learning more about DNA Groups, let me know. 

Knowing Isn't Believing

Dear Faith Family,

Knowing and believing are not synonymous, though it is a common mistake to consider them so. You see, knowing is a head thing, an acknowledgment, with varying degrees of conviction and certainty that something is true.  But believing is a heart thing, an acquiescing to the power of what is true. 

In regards to our faith, we can know many things that are true about God, about how God works in the world and what he is up to, and about what God says is true about us and how we can live in this world too. We might even have unwavering convictions that what we know is inarguably true, and yet, we struggle to believe. That is, we struggle to live as if what we know is powerful enough to make a difference.

This necessity of moving from knowledge to belief is why even those of us who know with all certainty God's goodness, graciousness, greatness, and glory can, nevertheless, be wracked with anxiousness, shortsighted, and overcome by grief and despair. What we know stays in our minds and struggles to make its way to the core of our being. Perhaps that is why it is said that that the greatest distance a person can travel is the eighteen or so inches from their head to their heart. 

Helping what we know to become what we believe has been a consistent task of God's people for millennia. Fortunately for you and me, what our faith family has discovered about this journey from knowing to believing turns out to be quite simple--though never quick!

The late Henri Nouwen describes the descending movement of faith from head to heart, perhaps better than anyone. And he does so in a way that helps you and me cultivate a life of believing what we know. Here is what Nouwen says,

"How do we concretely move from head to heart? When I lie in my bed, not able to fall asleep because of my many words and worries; when I am preoccupied with all the things that I must do or that can go wrong; when I can't take my mind off my concern for a needy or dying friend--what am I supposed to do? Pray? Fine, but how do I do this? 

One simple way is by slowly repeating a particular prayer with as much attentiveness as possible. Focused prayer, first in the mind and then repeated in the heart, becomes easier the more you practice.

When you know ['the Lord's Prayer,' or the 'Shema'] by heart, you have something to start with. Just begin praying those prayers repeatedly. You might like to learn by heart the Twenty-third Psalm ('The Lord is my shepherd...)' or Paul's word's about love to the Corinthians or the Prayer of St. Francis* ('Lord, make me an instrument of your peace...').

As you lie in bed, drive your car, wait for the bus, or walk your dog, you can slowly let the words of one of these prayers go through your mind down to your heart by trying to listen with your whole being to what you are repeating. You may be distracted by your worries, but if you keep going back to the words of the prayer,  you will gradually discover that your worries become less obsessive, your attention becomes more focused, and you really start to enjoy praying. As the prayer descends from your mind into the center of your being [i.e., your heart], you will discover [the truth's] healing power."

My suggestion, commit to memory one or more of these prayers. Then, when you feel the damn between the head and heart being built up by anxiousness, doubt, or busyness, follow Nouwen's counsel and slowly repeat the prayer with as much attentiveness as possible. I believe in doing so, you'll discover the power of what is true, and the truth shall set you free.

Love you. God bless. 

*The Prayer of St. Francis

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy;  

O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand;
To be loved as to love.  

For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.  

Imprisoned by Hope

Dear Faith Family,

Being optimistic and living in hope is not the same thing.  

I know perpetually cheerful people and others who have never met an issue that could not be turned into something positive. Do you know anyone like that? For some of these fine folks, their sunny disposition and superficial optimism are defense mechanisms or simple naivete, but not for all of them. Some have the gift of brightsidedness that is needed in a world maligned with darkness, especially when the Spirit employs their gift in moments of "mourning with those who mourn and rejoicing with those who rejoice." But for those of us who lack such a gift and who desire not to shield ourselves from the world as it is, how are we to live? 

It doesn't take a long look around to lose optimism for our country and culture. Old sins continue to oppress and divide. New sins make everyone with a phone, judge, jury, and cancelor. We've politicized a pandemic and have lost the ability for civil discourse, not to mention listening with empathy. What exactly do we have to be optimistic about?

We are not the first to recognize the brokenness of our current state and loose optimism for its future. In a 1997 Frontline interview, Harvard professor, Dr. Cornel West was asked if he had any optimism about our nation's trajectory. His reply is honest and compelling,

"I am not optimistic, but I've never been optimistic about humankind or America. The evidence never looks good in terms of forces for good actually becoming prominent. But, I am a prisoner of hope, and that's very different. I believe that we do have signs of hope, and that the evidence is underdetermined. We have to make a leap of faith beyond the evidence and try to energize one another so we can accent the best in one another. But that is what being a prisoner of hope is all about."

I think Dr. West describes well the power of biblical hope. A hope that does not dismiss the weight of the world. A hope that does not deny the evidence and effects of dysfunction. And yet, a hope that sees beyond the evidence, peering through it and emphasizing what is too easily overlooked: God's image and perseverance.

Imprisoned by such hope, we cannot help but see with sobriety and live with steadfastness. Neither being superficially optimistic nor without the confidence to continue. 

There is often little evidence to encourage optimism for this or any age. Good thing hope does not require us to be optimistic. So faith family, may we be prisoners of hope, "And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up." (Gal. 6:9)

Love you. God bless.

There Is Always a Response

Dear Faith Family,

On Sunday, we looked at the final two ways God addresses us personally: through union with the human voice and spirit. While less dramatic than the other ways God speaks, union with distinct human voices and our inner thoughts and attendant feelings are certainly more intimate and often.

The intimacy and normalcy have a purpose, to help us mature into the kinds of persons God desires us to be. While the spectacular addresses have their place and benefits, it is these ordinary forms that cultivate minds, and hearts, and wills that freely and fully involve us in the love and work of God as "colaborers and friends."

One area in which we can see the deepening benefits of God's addressing us through union with the human voice and spirit is our prayer life.

Now, we know that God will not always give us what we want or what we ask for, but he will always answer our prayers. Do you believe that?  God will always respond to us in some way, for that is the nature of a conversational relationship.  

But wait. You might be thinking, "Can't we all give accounts of requests to God that we never "heard" anything in response? Certainly, he didn't give us what we asked. So are you saying that silence sometimes is the answer?" No, I am not! I am actually saying the opposite.

The issue many of us face in "unanswered" prayer or seeming silence, is that we are not listening to intimate and often forms of God's addressing. We are looking and listening for the spectacular or abnormal. Perhaps even looking only to outward signs--like the thing asked being done--and no voiced response at all.  

But when we learn to recognize His voice in union with the human voice and human spirit--his most intimate and regular means of addressing us--we'll discover that God does indeed reveal to those he loves his intentions (1 Cor. 2:9-16); including the denied requests.

We see this in the apostle Paul's story. Inflicted with "thorn in the flesh," he begged God to remove it, multiple times (2 Cor. 12:7-8). Yet God did not oblige Paul's request, but God did not keep silent. Instead, Paul says, "His [God's] answer was: 'My grace is all you need; power is most fully seen in weakness.'" (2 Cor. 12:9).

God spoke to Paul, even in His denying of Paul's desire. In the same way that we would not give our children the silent treatment if they were earnestly asking us for something, even if we didn't think it best for them, so too God will not leave his beloved children just hanging.  He is not, as one author noted, "impassive towards us, like an unresponsive pagan idol."

So, this week, as a way to practice, consider those things you have been praying to which you have received only silence or seeming denial so far. Then ask our Father,  "Why the delay or denial? "

Pay attention to the thoughts that come into your mind, especially the ones that won't just float by or keep returning. Maybe its a passage of scripture, a past conversation, an idea of God,  a truth about his kingdom, or something more specific to you. Whatever they are, write them down.

It may take a few times asking before you'll be in place to hear God's response. But, don't worry, it took Paul at least three times, so you're in good company! Stick with it, and remember Jesus' words about the propensity of our Father in heaven to answer,

"Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be open to you."
(Matt. 7:7)

Love you! God bless. 

What Is Plugging Your Ears?

Dear Faith Family,

I know a not-to-be-named acquaintance whose spouse snores. I am sure many spouses snore, but in this particular case, the nightly noises cause more than brief wakings and fail elimination with elbow nudges.  So, to sleep in the shared space of the spouse and remain somewhat aware of the surroundings, this acquaintance uses earplugs. These are not noise eliminating, sound-proof bubble creating headphones. They are the malleable foam kind that fit and figure themselves to the ear's canal, muffling sounds, muting the intensity and consistency of the noise. Sounds hit the ear like a "far off" noise or background chatter rather than a face-to-face conversation...or a freight train!

While earplugs help my acquaintance sleep and aid the acquaintance's marital relationship,  earplugs are not as helpful when employed in relationship with our heavenly Father. Oh sure, they'll help us sleep, but muting the intensity and consistency of His voice is the reason for our difficulties and complaints in Hearing God.

To be sure, many of us are guilty of using earplugs without even being aware of it. Some of the earplugs are products of our environment and education. We have chatted about a few of these:

• our misguided understandings of who God is and what he intends for us,  

• our mistaken ideas about how God speaks, and

• being unaccustomed to God's verbal vibrations (like Samuel). 

Nevertheless, some of the voice filtering material in our heart's ears is indeed of our own making, such as a  lack of shared focus, which we discussed a couple of weeks ago. But there are two additional earplugs that cause God's voice to seem "far off" or indistinguishable chatter. They are:

• being unready to put his word to use, and

• self-employment.

Being unready to put God's word to use has nothing to do with skills or effort. Instead, it has to do with our devotion. Devotion is an old word, I know, but it remains the best descriptor. As a devotee, my attitudes and actions revolve around the will of the one to whom I show fidelity. That's why Jesus taught us to pray, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done" (Matt. 6:10).  

If I am honest, there are times when my devotion is splintered, and there is little regard for what "Thy's will" is. What He desires is so far from mind and heart that if I were to hear him speak, I wouldn't know what to do with it. For, as Dallas Willard reminds us when God speaks, "it is to accomplish his good purposes in our lives." My lack of devotion to his glory and allegiance to his kingdom, muffle the continual guidance daily sounding.

While being unready to put God's word for me to use can be (at times) a passive plugging, the final earplug is undoubtedly not. The earplug of self-employment requires some honest examination for us Jesus followers. Many of us, myself included, pray Jesus' prayer for God's kingdom to come and his will to be done on earth as it is in heaven as a general desire but not as participants. We have no problem asking for the provisions that follow in Matthew 6:11-13, but at the end of the day, we are self-employed receipts of governmental grace rather than kingdom collaborators. Dallas Willard puts it this way,

"perhaps we [have trouble hearing God] because we know we fully intend to run our lives on our own and have never seriously considered anything else. The voice of God would therefore be an unwelcome intrusion into our plans." 

If hearing God is going to be a willing, conscious companionship, we'll have to recognize and remove those earplugs that muffle his voice. Earplugs we are all guilty of using from time to time.

So I want to invite you this week, and throughout this series, to repent with me. Consider these common, malleable, earplugs, and then ask our Father who formed us and knows us and who desires us to have ears that hear without obstruction, to  

"Search me, loving Father, and know my heart! See for yourself what's clogging my ears; then guide me with unsuppressed volume." 
(Psalm 139:24, a bit adapted!)

Confessing what earplugs we use allows us to unstop our ears, and experience the clarity and intensity of a voice that is face-to-face. May we bear much fruit in keeping with repentance.

Love you. God bless.

Something Is Different

Dear Faith Family,

Just under two months ago, an already unsettled world began to be turned upside down, at least for me. While the evil that took George Floyd's life has been a constant force operating within our country's history (and the history of the world), and while the outpouring of pain and anger and call for justice has been just as constant, there was something different this time. Something was compelling me to listen. 

Perhaps the lack of news due to the pandemic lockdown made the sadness, hurt, and injustice an inescapable reality. Maybe the free time kept the wounded and the wanting on the streets giving voice to what has been avoided by many of us. Both are undoubtedly true. Yet, what made this time different for me was the invitation from friends to consider the moment with them.

The first, a request from three friends in our faith family to listen to their hearts. In the semi-cool shade of my front yard (really it was not cool at all!), these three women shared what our Father has been speaking to them regarding His heart for racial justice. Together we considered how He might be guiding and working in others--including myself--at that moment, and what we could do in response. They invited me to listen. To listen to the Lord in and through them, and to listen for myself to our Father revealing His heart and my responsibility.

The second, a bid from a friend, who is a black pastor, to listen to his hurt and let him listen to my heart. At a slightly sheltered picnic table soon to be drenched in sweat, this man shared with me the full range of emotions that he had been speaking to our Father. He also asked me how I was feeling and what I was thinking about this moment. Together we considered how our Father might be guiding and working in us and what we could do in response. He invited me to listen. To listen to the Lord through his pain and to listen to our Father in my thoughts and feelings. My friend also asked me to listen to the Spirit by learning with him the history of his anguish and my responsibility.

The months since these invitations have been a lot of listening and learning, at least for me. Listening to friends and historians, pastors and protestors, theologians and sociologists, the hurt and the healing, and the Hurting Healer. While I have much left to hear, what I have heard so far is already changing me. Things and people look, sound, and feel different. 

This time is different because I was invited by friends to consider the moment with them. To listen to their hearts. To listen to my own. And, to listen with them to the Spirit who "will convict the world," including me, "concerning sin and righteousness and judgment" (Jn. 16:8).  And so I want to invite you too to consider the moment and to listen as well.

Specifically, I am inviting you to listen: 

WITH US | Join with those in your faith family who are considering our Father's heart and our responsibility at this moment. All you need to do is click here to join the conversation. 

TO DR. KING | In April of 1963, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. penned the letter linked here from the Birmingham jail in response to public words from faith leaders. So I listen to men who, like me, possessed both empathy and ignorance. And, like me, were functionally blind and hard of hearing. And I listen to Dr. King's words which are concise and clear. Words written with unwavering conviction and Christ-like concern that something would be different this time. 

May our considering this moment, and our past, give us "an ear," to "hear what the Spirit says to," our faith family. 

So Be It

Dear Faith Family,

One of the most common words in our "church speak" is a word uttered primarily out of habit. It is a word that passes out of our thoughts as quickly as it passes over our lips. The word is amen.

Routinely, amen follows words used to praise God, to beseech God, to acknowledge God, in other words: prayer. For millennia now, God's people have uttered this two-syllable affirmation of the certainty of prayer as an act of faith.

In more recent history, amen rings with the declaration "so be it," or "it is so." When we say amen, we validate the words which precede it--the words that speak of God's goodness, God's power, God's justice, and God's presence--as true and truly received. When we say amen, we declare, "Yes, God is worthy, God is mighty, God is here," so be it...it is so.

Amen is meant to ground us in the confidence of the One to whom we pray so that we might pray with certainty and without wavering. But can I be honest? Many prayers of mine end in amen but lack the conviction of the "verily" spoken.   

I wish it were not the case that my amens are often habitual rather than faith-full. I imagine I am not alone in this aspiration. So as a way of mutual encouragement, I leave you with these words of confession and hope on which to meditate and make your own.

Malcolm Guite | Amen 

When will I ever learn to say Amen, 
Really assent at last to anything? 
For now my hesitations always bring 
Some reservation in their trail, and then 
Each reservation brings new hesitations; 
All my intended amens just collapse
In an evasive mumble: well, perhaps, 
Let me consider all the implications...

But you can read my heart, I hear you say: 
For once be present to me, I am here, 
Breathe in the perfect love that casts out fear
Open your heart and let your yea be yea. 
Oh, bring me to that brink, that moment when
I see your full-eyed love and say Amen. 

Love you. God bless. 

A Not So New Practice

Dear Faith Family,

On Sunday, we turned our attention to the source and means of experiencing our God gifted free life: a conversational companionship with Him and His family.  Our focus on Sunday was on unclogging our hearts to open our ears, preparing us to focus over the coming weeks on developing competency and confidence in the all-important skill of shared life with God: Hearing God.

While we will discover and discuss the multifaceted nature of God's speaking to us, there is one particular practice our faith family for over millennia has used to mature in assuming and discerning God's communing with we, his children. The practice is called Lectio Divina, literally translated "divine reading."

Lectio (as we'll refer to it), is a framework, guide, or structure used to help us in our often distracted lives and noisy minds, to dialogue with our Father through His word. In Lectio, we assume that God has spoken in the words written and that those words help us recognize His voice today. When incorporated into our regular rhythms, Lectio grounds our hearing in something sure (scripture) and helps tune our ears to be attentive to the living and active voice, which is the foundation of our conversational companionship throughout our everyday routines.

In regards to the practice itself, Lectio has four "movements": Read, Reflect, Respond, Rest. Each step guiding us deeper into dialogue with our Father through the scripture and Christ, who is in us via His Spirit. While Lectio can be applied to almost any passage of scripture, psalm, or story, it is best used in familiar or easily understandable texts or ones in which we have a bit of context. The purpose of the practice is dialogue through meditation and contemplation, so having to do a lot of research kind of defeats the point.

Lectio is not a new practice for our faith family. We've often used it in our Gatherings and have put together several guides for the practice. For instance, last summer, while in the books of Ezekiel & John, we used Lectio to help us engage with God through Jesus' seven "I AM" statements. These would be an excellent place to start to (re)introduce you to the practice.

CLICK HERE FOR ‘I AM’ LECTIO GUIDES

These guides will most likely migrate over the current series resource page in the coming days, along with additional guides to help us mature in our competency and confidence in Hearing God, especially amid the disorientation of our current moment.

One last word on Lectio. The assumption of those in our faith history who developed this practice was that it would be the starting and balancing practice for knowing God and His word. Lectio was the beginning practice for individuals (within the community, of course) in the study of scripture. It was also incorporated into the regular rhythms of the more "mature" to help ensure that studying God did not replace communicating with God. In other words, it is a practice for all of us, no matter how much (or little) we know or how new (or learned) we are in following Jesus.

Praying that you have the humility and courage to enter into an ongoing conversation with our Father. If you have any questions or need any help along the way, please don't hesitate to ask. 

Love you all. God bless. 

A Fresh Image

Dear Faith Family,

This past Sunday, our journey towards learning to live freely and lightly through Galatians came to an end. In his farewell remarks, the apostle Paul drew our attention once more to the image that captivated and compelled his vision of the free life. A historical event and transformative symbol by which Paul viewed himself and the everyday world he inhabited: "the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world." (6:14). 

The cross as the symbol of our faith is nothing new to you and me. I know that today crosses decorate the walls of many of our homes. I know that today crosses are worn around many of our necks and tattooed on many of our bodies. If anything, we might be too familiar with the cross. But what if, like for myself, the image of the cross cultivates very little dissonance in the way I see myself and the world I inhabit? What if it no longer carries its original weight and appall as an instrument of death and unavoidable consequence of systems and states governed by human wit and wisdom?  Well, when that happens, we need to see the cross afresh, which is my hope for today's letter. 

We know that "God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life" (John 3:16). And that is why we cherish the cross, the "giving" of the Son for us. But did you know that Jesus' declaration directly preceding this famous verse helps us understand how the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ helps us see our daily steps in the world which God loves? Here is what Jesus said in John 3:14-15,
 

"In the same way that Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert so people could have something to see and then believe, it is necessary for the Son of Man to be lifted up--and everyone who looks up to him, trusting and expectant, will gain a real-life, eternal life."  

Jesus is referencing a story of the wilderness wanderings of Israel from Numbers 21:4-9. The people of God find themselves between deliverance from enslavement and freedom in the fullness of the promised land. And the in-between is hard on God's people! It is a physically, emotionally, and spiritually challange maturing along their journey, as what they thought they knew of themselves, of the world, and of God is being stripped away as they learn to trust God's presence and provision. They complain a lot. They quarrel amongst themselves, a lot. They fight against other peoples and forces, a lot. They grumble, moan, and grow impatient with God's way in and for them. Sound familiar to anything you've experienced?

Anyway, at the climax of their fatigue, they venomously speak out against God's act of salvation, calling it worthless and for not. It is here that "fiery serpents" are sent among the people, and many of them die. A rather traumatic scene, don't you think? Seeing friends and family attacked by snakes and dying, as God's presence and provision is removed--since it was worthless after all.

Quickly the people take back their words, recognize the sin in wanting something other than the Lord and his way, and plead for his mercy to "take away the serpents from us." It's here that God does something not merely merciful but formative. Something not only to remove the forever consequence of their sin but to give the people an image to look at every time the reality of living in a world of sin bits them.

Carlos Ruiz, a pastor in Chicago, describes the scene and its implication this way, "After [the people of God] repented for their sin and asked for help to Moses, it would have made sense for God to remove the serpents right away in order to heal them. However, God did not do that. On the contrary, God asked Moses to build an icon of the very creature that was causing them to die, a serpent of bronze. Whenever they would look at the serpent of bronze, they would be healed and live...an odd way of being saved. It is odd and scary because they realized that if they looked at the traumatic icon, instead of running away from it [or becoming too comfortable with it], they would live."

The people in Numbers did not stop getting bit by the manifestations of sin, but they did have something to look at when they felt the sting, something to look at that would allow them to live despite the bite of sin. Ironically, the image was the very thing that bit them. The serpent in bronze was a visual manifestation of their discontent with God's presence and provision; in other words, his way to the good life. They were not given an image of a better life to look at to live, but rather the visual reality of the worst in this world.

In the same way that Israel in the wilderness was meant to look at an image, not of another world but the reality of this one to "live," so too are we to look to the cross as an image of reality as it is so that we might "gain a real-life." For, when we look at the image of the cross, we see two things. We see the real-life outworking of life on our own--and thus the same limitations and consequences of those we share this world with. And, we see God, amid things as they are, giving real-life, taking away death, limiting the consequences of our sin--and the sin of others.

Think about that for a moment--maybe for the rest of your life(!)--but at least for a moment right now. When the difficulty of living between deliverance and future promise begins to bite, when suffering the venom of others and even spewing our own, we can look to "the Son of Man lifted up" like "the serpent in the wilderness," admitting the reality in which we live and the mercy and grace of a new life gifted.

Just think, instead of quarreling, complaining, and all those other "works of the flesh" Paul says leads to "biting and devouring," when we see the manifestation of sin in our lives and experience it through others, what if we looked up to "the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ"?  What might life look like--how might we see our next steps--through that line of sight?

Love you my friends. May what our Lord Jesus Christ gives freely, be deeply and personally yours. God bless. 

A Weighty Week

Dear Faith Family, 

The last few weeks have felt weighty. There has been a heaviness all about us in our city, society, and culture. And, there has been a heaviness within our faith family amind the various trials and troubles, opportunities, and responsibilities of our individual stories. And while we tend to bemoan the heaviness, shake off the weight, and ignore the burden that would drag us down, there is something else happening under the weight if we will let it. The weight I, and most of you, am feeling is not a sinking weight, pulling us down into despair or apathy, but rather a weight that draws us deeper into the heart of God.

What we will discover under the weight--that is if we aren't blinded by complaint, busied by solutions, or distracted by addictions--is the heart and healing of our heavenly Father. Or, as Psalm 34:18 puts it, 

"If your heart is broken, you'll find God right there; 
if you're kicked in the gut, he'll help you catch your breath." 

When we follow Jesus, we follow him into the depths of real life. All the muck, all the mundanity, all the fragility, all the physicality, the money, the emotions, the relationships, etc. And in those depths, we discover things that are awful and painful, and we discover something that transcends it all: the compassionate heart of a Father, and the healing Spirit of a Savior. 

May we let the weight draw us into the depths from which new creation arise. God bless.

A Unique Gift

Dear Faith Family, 

Do you have an idea, image, or phrase from Scripture that you find yourself circling back to more for its obscurity than its clarity? You know, a saying or story that sticks out because it's brief and a bit odd, though you are sure there is more to it than meets the eye? And, every once a while, something you are reading, watching, or thinking about reminds you of that little enigma, and you find yourself pondering it again--even if only for a moment or two?

Well,  I found myself pondering once more Jesus' promise to give those who hold fast to faith in Him, the enigmatic "white stone, with a new name," from Revelation 2:17 the other day. The curious nature of this pocket-sized gift is that "no one knows [the name on the stone] except the one who receives it."  How mysterious & kind-of-exciting, don't you think?! 

Now, we've been learning the last few months through Galatians that we find ourselves under a steady barrage of marketed spiritual insights trying to get us to buy security, competency, and control in our life with God. Many of these insights seem plausible, some sincere, but all are relatively common due to their human-crafting. But here, in "the white stone, with a new name," Jesus offers us something truly unique, something we cannot buy nor which anyone could possibly say they know for us, a personal gift unwrapped through enduring faith. 

So what is this gift? Not specifically, of course, but descriptively? What is this unique, God-inscribed rock?

Well, I think George MacDonald describes the gift for those who hold fast to the name of Jesus amid the persistent opportunities to buy something else, best. And he does so in a manner that encourages you and me to persevere in our freedom so that we might unwrap and display what God has given! 

"The giving of the white stone with a new name is the communication of what God thinks about the man to the man. It is the divine judgment, the solemn holy doom of the righteous person, the 'Come, thou blessed,' spoken to the individual...

The true name is one which expresses the character, the nature, the meaning of the person who bears it. It is the woman's own symbol--her soul's picture in a word--the sign which belongs to her and to no one else. Who can give a man this, his own name? God alone. For no one but God sees what the man is, what the woman is...

God's name for a man must be the expression of God's own idea of the man, the being God had in His thought when he began to make the child, and whom God kept in His thought through the long process of creation that went to realize the idea. To tell the name is to seal the success--to say 'In thee also I am well pleased.' 

...each woman has her individual relation to God, but each woman [also] has here peculiar relation to God. She is to God a peculiar being, made after her own fashion, and that of no one else. Hence she can worship God as no woman else can worship Him. 

For each, God has a different response. With every man Jesus has a secret--the secret of a new name. In every man there is a loneliness, an inner chamber of peculiar life into which God only can enter. 

There is a chamber also (O God, humble and accept my speech)--a chamber in God Himself, into which none can enter but the one, the individual, the peculiar man or woman--out of which chamber that person has to bring revelation and strength for his or her brothers and sisters. This is that for which they were made--to reveal the secret things fo the Father." 

Praying this little enigma makes its way into your mind, heart, and life of faith this week--and circles back often! Love you. God bless. 

How I Talk To God

Dear Faith Family, 

We speak a lot of the "ordinariness" of our faith, by which we mean that even the most routine, often unnoticed aspect of our day can be an interaction with God who is here, sharing his life with us. From "interruptions and mental preoccupations that sometimes clutter our days," to planned moments, to-do lists, and daily commutes (when still did that!), there can be an open exchange with God who spoke first and gifted us his Spirit to cry 'Abba! Father!' 

What makes the ordinary an interaction with God, the mechanism of "can be," is prayer: the open exchange we have with God who is here. George Herbert called this exchange 'Heaven in ordinarie,' the blessed in the noticed specifics of routine.

Maybe the idea of praying as you go, 'without ceasing,' seems more of an ideal than actually achievable, or maybe prayer is too defined, reduced to a formal action rather than a passing awareness. If that is you, as it is me at times, I want to offer you a simple, practical poem on the conversational nature of prayer that undergirds our ordinary faith. A poem that we can all identify with, and because of that, a poem that I hope will encourage you too to write down and remember those moments in recent past, today, this week, when the everyday was "opened to the eternal."

HOW I TALK TO GOD | Kelly Belmonte

Coffee in one hand
leaning in to share, listen:
How I talk to God.

'Momma, you're special.'
Three-year-old touches my cheek.
How God talks to me. 

While driving I make
lists: done, do, hope, love, hate, try.
How I talk to God. 

Above the highway
hawk: high, alone, free, focused.
How God talks to me. 

Rash, impetuous
chatter, followed by silence;
How I talk to God. 

First, second, third, fourth
chance to hear, then another:
How God talks to me. 

Fetal position
under flannel sheets, weeping
How I talk to God.

Moonlight on pillow
tending to my open wounds
How God talks to me.

Pulling from my heap
of words, the ones that mean yes:
How I talk to God.

Infinite connects
with finite, without words:
How God talks to me. 

Just Breathe

Dear Faith Family, 

When we began our journey into Galatians, I said that Paul's letter was first and foremost a response to the gospel, to the good news that God is here and sharing his life with us. For Paul, the cross of Jesus was the focal point of this good news, the moment in history when the story of salvation converged with his own story,

"I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me." (2:20a)

"far be it from me to boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world." (6:14)

We are free because "the Lord Jesus Chrsit...gave himself for our sins to deliver us from the present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father." (1:4)  Paul won't let us get too far from this cosmos shifting event in his little letter. Every few sentences, it seems, there is yet another reminder of the means and manner of our free lives. While immersed in Galatians, it is nearly impossible to wander too far from the denouement of salvation history. Yet, the death and resurrection of Jesus as my own is rather too easily submerged under the routines and rigors of daily existence.

So, what can I do to be filled with "a spirit of wisdom and of revelation in [such] knowledge of [Jesus]"? Well, breathe.

Malcolm Guite reminds us of our faith family's old and cherished practice of letting the most natural and necessary physical process for living, reinvigorate our living faith:

"Contained in the pattern of our breathing is the whole story of our salvation. For a Christian in prayer, the very act of breathing can become a return to our birth: receiving of original life from the breath of God, as we breathe in with Adam in the garden of our beginnings; an offering of all that needs letting go and redeeming as we breathe out with Christ on the cross; a glad acceptance of new life in the Holy Spirit as we breathe in again receiving our life and commission afresh from the risen Lord." 

Breathe in--breathe out--breathe in again, and the story of salvation converges with our own. A process that can be repeated without preparation, wherever we find ourselves, and as often as needed to live.

Might we breathe in the good news today, and tomorrow, and as long as there is breath in our lungs, finding that "the life we live now in the flesh we live by faith in the Son of God, who loved us and gave himself for us." (2:20b)

A Mother's Wisdom

Dear Faith Family, 

For those that might have forgotten (us dads and sons!), Mother's Day is this coming Sunday. So, in honor of this special day, I thought it appropriate timing to share with you words of wisdom from one mother to her son,

"Let this be a mother's gift; find yourself a faith, it helps. No, not helps. It is everything." 

Deedra and I have been watching the latest season of The Crown during the quarantine. It is a fictional, loosely historical account of various moments in the British royal family. If you didn't know, we have Anglophile tendencies! Anyway, one fo the episodes this season focused on the Duke of Edinburgh--Prince Philp, the Queen's husband--and his princess turned nun mother. Princess Alice is her official title. Having suffered from the best treatments of modern-psychology and survived the worst disintegrations of societal expectations and political unrest, she became a nun in the Greek Orthodox Church. Her personal traumas distanced her son from her for most of his life, but at the end of her life, they find themselves unintentionally reunited. In a long-overdue inquiry, she asks Prince Philip, "How is your faith?" The duke's reply is diffident, implying that faith is not a critical component in his life. To this, Princess Alice speaks the wisdom quoted above.

While this exchange between this mother and her son may or may not have happened as described, the powerful truth of the statement is undiminished. Faith is more than a help, a supplement to aid in our survival; it is as vital to life as air. Paul has been speaking the same words to you and me in chapters 2-3 of Galatians, "find yourself a faith in Jesus crucified," Paul would say to his family in Christ, "it helps. No, not helps. It is everything. The life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me." 

The trust that God is here and shares his life with us is everything: the foundation on which we can endure the storms and rudder by which we navigate the seas of life. A few episodes later, Prince Philip discovers the truth of his mother's wisdom as the things he holds on to for stability and direction prove frail. Might we too heed the words of a mother to her child, and find a faith to hold us fast.

Love you faith family. God bless.  

A Second Shot

Dear Faith Family, 

Have you ever felt like you missed? Missed the opportunity to say something to a friend or family member which would have made a difference? Missed nailing that presentation at work? Missed out on saying clearly and simply what was on your heart?

Sunday’s sermon felt like a miss for me. Now before those of you in kindness and pitty email me to say it hit somewhere on the board, misses are a part of life, so I am not overly upset. Like anyone, I would prefer not to miss, but misses are not the end of the world. So thank you in advance for your compassion, but no need to console!

Nevertheless, this week’s note is an effort to say more plainly what I had hoped to say on Sunday: because of the cross, we are meant to view the world through faith, not sin—because of the cross of Christ.

Sin shrinks our view of ourselves, one another, and God by creating distance. The more mired we are in sin, the further divided we are from the fullness of life in “righteous” or whole relationships.  Ironically, our well-intentioned and religiously approved attempts to overcome sin only perpetuate the ever-widening gap, tearing apart and distorting details. Yet, when the image of Jesus Christ dying and dead upon the cross (the story we looked at in Matthew 27:45-54) sinks deep into our consciousness, becoming the lens by which we view our everyday world, our vision expands—the depth and details of life become vivid. We see ourselves and one another and even God, not through the blurring fractals of sin but with the clarity of faith in the moment of most powerful grace.

Malcolm Guite says contends that,  

“One key to the mystery of the Gospels is the truth that everything that happened ‘out there and back then’ also happens ‘in here and right now.’ Christ is the second Adam [I Cor. 15:21-22], the second human being in whom we are all gathered up [Heb. 2:14-18]. What he does for us, he also does in us. Just as hidden in us somewhere is the Eden we once inhabited and have lost, so also somewhere in us is Golgatha.”[1]

 
We were both born for more than the world as it is, and at the same time, born into the world as it is. We cannot escape the midden that humanity produces nor the polluted heart. No matter how desperate we are to wash off the refuse, we are soiled at the cellular level. But what is both surprising and powerful at the moment of Jesus dying and dead upon the cross, is that he met us in the filth, the worst gunge of society’s oppression and the worst grime of our hearts’ rebellion; so that we might be made clean. “For our sake he made him to be sin, who knew no sin, so that we might become the righteousness [the pure, the holy] of God.” (II Cor. 5:21) Counted righteous, made clean, because we have been crucified with Christ, and live today by faith that what was polluted has been purified.

To live freely and lightly, unbound by the shrinking nature of sin, we must let the image and story of Jesus’ end be our beginning and future. The trash heap of Golgatha is the place where the world started anew—the curtain forever removed and the sleeping saints alive again. We must, as the poet, John Heath-Stubbs[2] describes, cry out as “first Adams,” ‘Create me.’ and hear the second Adam upon the cross,  
            

From lips cracked with thirst, the voice
              That sounded once over the billows of chaos
              When the royal banners advanced,
              [reply] through the smother of dark:
              ‘All is accomplished, all is made new, and look –
              All things, once more, are good.’

When this story seeps its way into our bones and the depths of our souls, when this image becomes the lens through which we view the world—God, neighbor, ourselves—then the world is opened to us, becoming the “land of the living,” rather than the garbage heap of the dying or the survival of the purest. And then, as we prayed on Sunday, we can, together, “cross our broken land/And make each other bridges back to heaven.”

Love you, faith family. God bless! 

A Snacking Problem

Dear Faith Family, 

I don't know about you, but I find myself snacking more in these days of confinement than I usually do. Now, I am a snacker even when not restricted, which is one reason I patronize certain coffee shops to help me avoid the temptations awaiting in my pantry and fridge. But in these days of sheltering, working, and doing everything else at home, the trips to the kitchen (which is just a few steps to my right as I type) are, well...frequent!

While modest snacking is acceptable, and perhaps even beneficial, the truth is that the more I snack, popping into the kitchen for an apple here and a piece of chocolate there and there and there again (!), the less inclined I am to desire, enjoy, or benefit from the filling and more nutritious meals Deedra provides for our family.  In an extended period of indulging in this habit,  my body, mind, and soul feel undernourished and a bit sluggish. Do you know what I mean?  

Well, here is the thing I have noticed: my prayer life is reflecting my dietary habits, and sharing the unfortunate ramifications as well. I am "snacking" more in my conversations with our Father, popping off a little prayer for something here, asking him for favor or relief there, speaking at him more than speaking with him, and finding that I am less inclined to desire, enjoy, or benefit from the filling and nutritious banquet laid out before me by Jesus. Do you know what I mean? 

"...the Church's banquet," that's how George Herbert described prayer. Not an insalubrious snack, but a smorgasbord so abundant that one leaves unsatisfied only by choosing to snack or diet rather than dine. Maybe the confinement with its lack of solitude and rarity of quiet and abundance of distractions has exacerbated my 'snacklet' prayers, or maybe there is something deeper (or perhaps even a shallowness) that keeps me stepping to the pantry for something to snatch for momentary satisfaction? Regardless, what I want--no, what I need--is to moderate my snacking, not by praying "more" but rather engaging in prayer like it is indeed a banquet. Intentionally setting my mind and heart on the reality that answering God, conversing with him, listening to him, is an abundance rather than a quick bite. 

I know it sounds a little silly, perhaps even oversimplified, to suggest that the solution is a change of perspective. Still, our scriptures seem to be pretty adamant that it is our perspectives that keep us from experiencing the full benefits of what we have been given in Jesus (see Lk. 19:11-27). So, to help myself...and you if you need it(!)...pray while under our curtailment, I want to encourage some meditation on prayer being our banquet. To aid our imagination, I offer you another believer's (Malcome Guite) mediation on "The Church's Banquet":

Not some strict modicum, exact allowance,
Precise prescription, rigid regimen,
But beauty and gratuitous abundance,
Capacious grace, beyond comparison.
Not something hasty, always snatched alone;
Junkets of junk food, fueling our dis-ease,
Not little snacklets eaten on the run,
But peace and plenty, taken at our ease.
Not to be worked for, not another task,
But love that's lavished on us, full and free,
Course after course of hospitality,
And rich wine flowing from an unstopped flask.
He paid the price before we reached the inn,
And all he asks of us is to begin.

Think long on this reflection. And know that I will be praying that your prayers, and mine, might be feasts in these days of restriction! Love you, God bless! 

Where Does Our Help Come From?

Dear Faith Family, 

We humans have a habit of projecting our feelings onto our environment, "so that the outward becomes expressive of the inward." And, there are also times when the outward circumstances of existence cast a mirrored image of our inward journey, conditions that strip away our securities, widdle down our strength, and overwhelm us like a dense forest in "the valley of deep darkness."

The realities of our moment--those uncertainties of what tomorrow brings, the loss of connection, finances, experiences, health, opportunities, and the clarity of our lack of control--have left many of us feeling as though we have been tossed overboard from a sinking ship into a tempest wrecked sea struggling to keep from falling beneath the waves. I am not trying to be dramatic. I have prayed with many these last few weeks who, because of these outward circumstances, have come to their end, "the shadow of death," cast over the things they depend upon for life.

I have been thinking about this a lot, especially in light of all that we commemorated and celebrated this past weekend. Remembering Jesus' experience of sinking beneath the physical and relational agony until it took his life, his outward circumstances mirroring his inward anguish helps us in our similar moments. His suffering means that no matter whether we project our internal spiral onto outer circumstances or are drug down into internal affliction through outward events, there is one who has gone down before us, who has sunk further than we will have to fall.

It is the "loyalty and solidarity" of our Good Shepherd that comforts us as we descend into the valleys that must be traversed towards our "surely" ascents (Ps. 23), and it is Jesus' going further than we will ever have to which compelled me to write this for us: 

When falling we look for a rope from above
to catch us as we sink;
but what if help is underneath?
What if rescue were to come
from descending
into the arms of sightly defeat.

There is one who sank further.
He plummeted so that we would know,
He plunged further than we will ever go.

He descended upon the devil's gate,
freeing them from their hinges. 
He descended so that our fate, 
is to rise with his ascending. 
'And though you cannot see, or speak, or breath,
the everlasting arms are underneath.'

Praying that you would find comfort in your falling, as you discover that help grips you from underneath. Love you. God bless.  

Pitiful Prayers

Dear Faith Family, 

I shared this with my Gospel Community earlier this week and thought it might encourage others as well. Now, halfway through another week continuing to hope for an end to our troubles, our inconveniences, and our wavering moods with little end in sight, we might find that our prayers are more pitiful than powerful. Maybe you can identify, as I can, with the psalmist in Psalm 77, whose prayer starts as a pity-party directed towards God, and a dramatic one at that! 
 

I yell out to my God, I yell with all my might, 
I yell at the top of my lungs. He listens.  I found myself in trouble and went looking for my Lord; 
my life was an open wound that wouldn't heal. 
When friends said, 'Everything will turn out all right,' 
I didn't believe a word they said. 
I remember God--and shake my head. 
I bow my head--then wring my hands. 
I'm awake all night--not a wink of sleep; 
I can't even say what's bothering me. 
I go over the days one by one, 
I ponder the years gone by. 
I strum my lute all through the night, 
wondering how to get my life together.  Will the Lord walk off and leave us for good? 
Will he ever smile again? 
Is his love worn threadbare? 
Has his salvation promise burned out? 
Has God forgotten his manners? 
Has he angrily stalked off and left us? 
'Just my luck,' I said, 'The High God goes out of business 
just the moment I need him.' 

The last line is my favorite! I have thought those words, though hardly had the courage to pray them! Have your prayers sounded like any or all of the psalmist's? Or maybe your feelings and thoughts, whether you prayed them or not?  

Well, if you are like me, you probably feel bad about praying such things. You don't like self-pity and think it is both useless and even wrong to dwell in this crippling, distorting activity. And you'd be right. Self-pity is a dead-end, and yet our psalms don't forbid self-pity, at least in the presence of our Father. 

Reread the second line, "I yell at the top of my lungs. He listens." The psalmist's pity-party is directed in the right direction; it's directed towards God, who is listening. And you know what happens to the psalmist, and what happens more often than not in my own prayed pity-parties, the prayer ends far from where it started. Here is the rest of Psalm 77, 
 

Once again I'll go over what God has done, 
lay out on the table the ancient wonders; 
I'll ponder all the things you've accomplished, 
and give a long, loving look at your acts.  O God! Your way is holy! 
No god is great like God! 
You're the God who makes things happen; 
you showed everyone what you can do--
You pulled your people out of the worst kind of trouble, 
rescued the children of Jacob and Joseph.  Ocean saw you in action, God, 
saw you and trembled with fear; 
Deep Ocean was scared to death. 
Clouds belched buckets of rain, Sky exploded with thunder, your arrows flashing this way and that. 
From Whirlwind came your thundering voice, 
Lighting exposed the world, 
Earth reeled and rocked. 
You strode right through Ocean, 
walked straight through roaring Ocean, 
but nobody saw your footprints, saw you come and go. You led your people like a flock of sheep, 
by the hand of Moses and Aaron. 

Something happened to the psalmist in the middle of his pity-party with God; his focused changed. But the amazing thing to me, the thing that keeps me praying through my self-pity, is that there is nothing other than the listening God's presence that seemed to reorient the psalmist. He didn't will his change of attitude. He didn't argue himself into a different focus. He didn't even respond to a self or Spirit rebuke. The prayer simply turns on a dime. One minute he is wallowing in his self-pity (vs.10), and the next (vs. 11) he is worshiping. There is nothing to account for such a change but that his prayer was truly prayer: a response to the living, intimate God who listens. 

Eugene Peterson once said, "Any place is the right place to begin to pray. But we mustn't be afraid of ending up someplace quite different from where we start." So, my encouragement for us this week is to keep praying. And, if your prayer starts like Psalm 77, keep praying to our Father who listens, until your prayer turns too. 

A Gift For This Moment

Dear Faith Family, 

I pray that you are well in body, mind, and soul as you read this note. I have been praying for each of you even more and with greater desperation than usual these last few weeks.  I guess that is one blessing amid the uncertainties of this moment; it compels us to pray like we need it.

One of the things I have begun praying for you as we prepare for at least another month of distancing is that you would press through the mourning of what is lost and into the resolve needed to live well.

I do not mean that you should not mourn, though I would encourage you not to moan. There is real loss in all of this. What I am praying for you and us, however, is that we would not remain in mourning, withdrawn into our feelings of loss and fear, but would accept the reality of this moment and embrace God's gift to us.

Perhaps the apostle Paul's dearest companion, Timothy, was a man whose faith Paul knew to be sincere and grounded. Nevertheless, Timothy found himself with difficulty living up to his faith.  And so, Paul writes him saying, 
 

"For this reason, I [Paul] remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you...for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and sound mind."
(2 Timothy 1:6-7) 

It is normal to grieve and worry, and it is human to complain and fret, but we have something in us, given us, that allows us to continue through the trial, ready for whatever is needed of us. My prayer for you, for us, and myself is that we would "fan into flame," not "hide under a basket," this God gift, a spirit with the power to persevere and overcome,  able to love as we have been loved, and do so with steadiness often absent in times like this.

The headmaster of our twin's school emailed the parents a trending quote on social media, though I wouldn't know (ha!). The exchange is between two of the primary characters of Tolkien's Lord of The Rings, and is certainly appropriate to our prayer. Even if you haven't read the books, you'll recognize the line from the first movie. 
 

'I wish it need not have happened in my time,' said Frodo. 'So do I,' said Gandalf, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'  

None of us are glad to be in the time we are in right now, but that is not for us to decide. It has been decided for us (Acts 17:26). What we are able and free to determine is how we will live during our allotted day, in a spirit of fear or radiating  with "the good deposit entrusted to you."