The Margins

My favorite “get hit by a taxi together in Chicago” friend, Rebecca, just tagged me to participate in a meme that John Smulo has started. I don’t always get around to doing these when tagged, but for Rebecca, who so gently and graciously prayed for me in the back of the ambulance that night, I will!

1. Apologize for three things that Christians have often got wrong. Your apologies should be directed towards those who don’t view themselves as part of the Christian community. Alternatively, apologize for things you personally have done wrong towards those outside of the church.
2. Post a comment at the originating post so others can keep track of the apologies.
3. Tag five people to participate in the meme.
4. If desired, send an email with the link to your blog post at the Christians Confess site, giving permission for your apologies to be added to the website.

Well, here goes…

1. I am sorry that I have been unwilling to disregard reputation the way Jesus, who did not chafe under being called a glutton and drunkard, so clearly did.

2. I am sorry that I have held tightly to what I have and refused to give materially to the needy and the stranger.

3. I am sorry that I have sought to “protect” my holiness through exclusion and separation.

And I tag…any of you who read here and would like to add your own!

Rarely do I find myself speechless here, and it is with ease that I write my (usually) daily posts. Today, however, I am simply too overwhelmed to speak, and if I even try to type the tears flow. They are tears of immense gratitude for a gift undeserved; they are tears of awe over a God who hears the cries of his children; they are tears of knowing that the words of a song I loved to sing as a child are true:

“Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.”

This past weekend, I was thrilled to receive a bulky envelope from a good friend up north. Inside were two smaller envelopes: one held a stack of Kroger grocery store gift cards in varied amounts, and the other held a single gift card with a note and scripture verse attached. These were sent to us by a friend who has made a commitment to decrease her own family’s food budget a bit for the sake of freeing up some money to share with a family in need in my neighborhood.

In addition to their regular gift, this month they had also creatively enlisted the help and generosity of their family and friends. As they celebrated their son’s first birthday this past week, they invited people to give a grocery gift card in his honor instead of the usual stuffed animal, new outfit or toy. Thus, the generous stack of gift cards I now have sitting before me, ready to be used to help those in need we encounter among us.

I love it when we can see people creatively, tangibly expressing their love and submission to Christ in ways like this. I thank God for my friend, and for the testimony her son is witnessing in his earliest years about what it means to love and serve God.

In the churches that I have been to, we sing well, the Bible is read, and Jesus is referenced, and we pray. And then there is the sermon, which is well crafted, and is creative and effectively presented. This message calls me to do something, to behave in way that is better than my current pattern. It is a morality call. Ethical and beneficial. I have been called to a better husband and father, to be a better Christian by reading my Bible, to be more caring toward my neighbor. All biblical themes, and all correct. But we didn’t need God to do this. He could have been far away and we would not have noticed.

Now understand that I am not pointing fingers at the churches I have been to, I am wondering if we are any different at my church? Do we in worship pull the curtain back and show those who are there that Yahweh is present and active in our midst…We are not called to be moral, we are called to be holy…

From Kent Anderson

Yesterday Doug and I went to our OB, and I was really hoping that she would tell us that my bed-rest restriction was over and I could resume some level of activity. That was not the news we received. Instead, we came home with two more weeks, minimum, of continued bed-rest prescribed. We also asked her to clarify what exactly she meant by bed-rest. I think I had held some amount of disbelief that they actually expected me to just lie down all day, and Doug and I had had a few disputes over this issue: “You did what?” he would say as I would be reviewing parts of the day with him. I told him that I actually thought I was doing a really good job and that, if he were to poll women on bed-rest, I would likely be in the top ten percent in terms of limiting my activity. His response? “It’s not democratic, Erika. The only question you should be asking is: can I do this while lying in the bed.”

Doctor Hill clarified for us: “You can get up to use the bathroom and shower once a day.” It would seem the husband was right on this one. Doctor Hill was very kind and empathetic about the whole thing. I knew that both of her two kids had been born prematurely, and she told us that during her second pregnancy she had been on bed-rest for ten weeks. She acknowledged how hard it is to do, especially with small children at home. Her oldest was two when she was on extended bed-rest and I asked her: “How did you do it?!?!?” “Well,” she replied, “I have a live-in nanny.” Of course you do, I thought to myself. THAT’S how people do this.

When I got back home, I settled in to write yet another email to our friends updating everyone about the doctor’s visit and the extended bed-rest. I felt weary as I opened up the computer screen and started typing. How will we do another week of this, let alone two??? When I clicked send and whispered a prayer, I realized that actually I am not so unlike Dr. Hill after all. You see, we have thirty live-in nannies (and housekeepers and cooks). They’re just never all here at the same time.

I thought back to the last two weeks and the truly precious memories I carry with me of this time: Elena and Mercy in a constant cycle of rotating tutus and Cinderella dolls; Isaiah’s love affair with our dustbuster; Mercy asking when “Tina Ballerina” is coming over; Grace having to deal with Aaron’s five-alarm poop; Elliot swimming around our living room floor like a shark with Aaron imitating his every move; Anna slipping me early afternoon Diet Cokes; Aaron lighting up whenever Jarrod would come into the room; Richard teaching Mercy how to do headstands, Billy and Sarah scrubbing our bathroom at 9 o’clock at night after long days at work, and the list goes on.

Early on in the two weeks, I was feeling badly for how this whole thing was affecting Mercy and Aaron. The chaos of people coming in and out at every hour certainly had an impact on both of them, which was of course compounded by the fact that Mommy wasn’t picking them up or taking them to the park or giving them their baths. And as much as I could read books and talk with them and “be the prince” from my perch on the couch, life was clearly not the same. Not to mention Mercy’s absorption of the fear and stress associated with Mommy going to the hospital and being gone for a couple of days. The other day I used the phrase: “If that happens I am going to die”, meaning I will be really amused, and Mercy stopped what she was doing immediately and looked at me with giant eyes: “You’re going to die, Mommy?”

So I have rightfully been concerned for how both kids are handling all of this, and of course feeling guilty for not being able to be everything that they need right now. Last night, sitting at the dinner table enjoying some yummy Italian food brought over by good friends, Mercy gave me some perspective. We were sitting there, the four of us, and Jarrod was waiting in the living room for Grace to come and pick him up, when Doug offered him some of the pizza we were eating. Jarrod politely declined at first but finally gave in when we insisted (anyone who keeps up with the Baron for an hour AT THE LEAST deserves a slice of pizza), so he pulled up a chair and started eating with us. Mercy looked at me with a big grin on her face and announced that we were all together as a family at the table: “A mommy, a daddy, a Mercy, and an Aaron.” “And a Jarrod!” I added. She nodded and returned happily to her spaghetti and meatballs.

A few minutes later, a car beeped in the driveway and Jarrod jumped up to leave. As he moved toward the door, Mercy looked at me with her brow suddenly furrowed, and said sadly: “Now we aren’t a whole family anymore.” And I realized that, as hard as the last two weeks have been in many ways, and as hard as the next two weeks might feel, I like what Mercy and Aaron are learning about family right now. And I wouldn’t trade our thirty live-in nannies for the world!

When Doug and I got married, my pastor made some reference in our wedding ceremony to Doug as someone “who never met an argument he didn’t like” or something to that effect. It is looking as if Aaron might be heading down a similar path…

A while ago, I made the decision that the word “butt” would not be used by our kids quite yet. As Mercy will be quick to tell you: “We don’t say ‘butt’. We say ‘bottom.’” It is usually Doug or me who slips and uses the forbidden word, and Mercy is quite rigorous in pointing out our mistake. She will even go so far as to try to get us to use bottom in place of but, as in: “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is bottom a dream.” While at first a little amusing, this quickly became tiresome and we have since taught her about the difference between the two kinds of butts/buts.

It was sometime on our recent road trip when someone said “butt” in the van and Mercy quickly jumped in with her “we don’t sat butt, we say bottom” response. At which point, Aaron turned toward her in his carseat and with this devilish grin said as loudly as he could: “BUTT!” This totally irked Mercy, and with a stern look she corrected him: “BOTTOM.” This only encouraged the Baron, and with a giant grin he shouted: “BUTT!” raising Mercy’s indignation even further: “BOTTOM!” This went on for some time, with Aaron totally amused with himself and at his sister’s angst, and Mercy growing increasingly exasperated. Probably a fairly insightful glimpse into our future…

So the other night, Doug grilled burgers on our little front porch, and we all sat outside enjoying the coolness of early evening. Skateboards are all the rage in our neighborhood right now (which still kind of amuses me for some reason), and every time a skateboarder would come whizzing down the street, I would look at Aaron and say: “Skateboard!” And every time he would look right at me and shout: “Sailboat!” One of his favorite books is a book full of pictures of “things that go” and there is a skateboard and a sailboat in that book. I figured that he was honestly confusing two words that have some similarity (for a one year old), so each time he said sailboat I would correct him: “Skateboard”, I would repeat. To which he would reply with his signature grin: “Sailboat!”

Today, we were sitting on the couch with the windows open, and I heard a skateboard coming down our street. One of Aaron’s favorite things to do is talk about all the noises he hears outside (sirens, trucks, airplanes, etc.), so I turned to him and said, excitedly: “SAILBOAT!” He looked at me and I swear he smirked as he shouted: “SKATEBOARD!”

And like his Dad, he is just so darn cute that all I can do is laugh.

“The First Testament does not assume that human beings in general, or the people of God in particular, know by intuition how to worship, or that they bring to God the best they can devise or the expressions that form in their own hearts. God lays down what counts as proper worship.”

(From John Goldingay’s Israel’s Gospel)

Being married to Doug has caused me to examine questions about worship that I honestly think could have gone unasked in my life experience and leadership for a very long time. More than any Fuller class, my husband has been my teacher in this area of life with God. Reading this quotation last night from John Goldingay reminded me again how for so many of us, we let worship be this thing that is determined by how we feel in a given moment. It is of little surprise, then, that what we call our corporate worship is one of the first places we can see ourselves and our culture reflected more than God himself.

I am ever haunted by certain passages that talk about what makes our worship, our offerings and sacrifices, abominations in the eyes of God. And I am well aware, too, of how far what we do when we gather can move from the hallmarks of “true worship” as determined by how widows and orphans are treated in our midst. I peruse church job listings sometimes, and even the language we use when we describe “worship pastor” positions is remarkable considering the things scripture actually tells us about what we are to do together.

As I find myself once again in a position of requiring a lot of help from a lot of different people, I was struck by something the other day. I realized that, when tragedy or hardship strikes, there are those you assume will be the first to be by your side; those who will most quickly offer their help; those who will hurry to be by your side, to pray with you, to care for you, etc. My experience is that yes, indeed many of the people I would most expect to reach out to us do, and sacrifice much along the way. But my experience is also that I am always surprised by those who simply do not respond; those who keep their distance and never come by or who, no matter what the need, never choose to sign up to help.

The flip side of that is that there are always those individuals who completely surprise me by the level of servanthood they extend to us. People who do not know us very well; people whose lives seem already so full and complicated; people with less resources then we have. It is often these folks who show up, sign up, and give so generously as to leave me speechless.

It is a good reminder to me as a church leader that too often the same group of folk get asked to do and lead everything. Meanwhile, that person you least expect sits idly by, waiting for those same invitations to give radically and serve boldly. But because there is that group of people everyone expects to do and lead everything, they never get asked. In my own congregation, I wonder: who are the preachers, worship leaders, administrative leaders, bible teachers who are not exploring their giftedness or calling in these areas simply because someone else is always assumed to be the one to do those things?

In fact, one of the reasons the Evangelical Covenant denomination cites for why churches should plant churches is that by sending a group of leaders out to form a new congregation in a new community, leadership within the existing body is opened up to people who otherwise may never have had the chance to serve. And typically, churches that plant churches by releasing “talented” and “capable” members to leave, grow and thrive while churches that hold tightly to their gifted leaders can very often plateau. My experience has shown this to be true.

As I read emails and take calls from those who are giving themselves to helping us right now, I am reminded that God gifts the ENTIRE body, for the sake of the body, giving what is needed for edification and growth. We need to be careful not to insert too much of our own judgments into that process, as we inevitably will get it wrong sometimes and miss out on the amazing gifts that God has intentionally given to even the most unlikely members.

“The exodus does not take Israel from serfdom to the freedom of independence but from service of one lord to service of another…The way Exodus talks of freedom—or rather, fails to do so—confronts Western preoccupation with freedom. Freedom in Scripture is the freedom to serve Yhwh.”

From John Goldingay’s Old Testament Theology Volume One (Via Scot McKnight)

There are few things I can do right now with my kids that are doctor-approved. One thing I have taken to doing is lying down in Mercy’s bed with her when it is time for her afternoon nap. Clearly a bed-rest approved activity!

Yesterday I cuddled up with her in her bed with all the necessary tools: her blanket, her drink, her book (Frog and Toad Are Friends), and a stuffed animal. Actually, I grabbed two stuffed animals, one for her and one for myself. I picked two little stuffed dinosaurs that her Grandma Peggy had sent her a while back. I gave her one and I kept the other to cuddle with. My strategy in helping Mercy fall asleep when I am with her in the bed is to pretend to fall asleep myself. So after a bit of talking, I told her it was time to go to sleep, and I cuddled up close with my little dinosaur, closed my eyes, and started breathing deeply.

She waited a few minutes, and as soon as my fake sleeping appeared convincing enough, she began, with surgical precision, to slowly extract the dinosaur that I was cuddling up under my chin. She worked cautiously, with impressive stealth, gently easing the captive animal out from beneath my face and through my hands. As soon as she had freed him, she very quickly, and with equal care, slipped her dinosaur into the vacancy. I tried SO HARD not to smile throughout. The procedure lasted a matter of minutes–my daughter is capable of great demonstrations of patience, I am learning–and I was literally biting the insides of my cheeks the entire time. Once she had her desired companion, she cuddled up with him and turned on her side to go to sleep.