Shame-less

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“If we can share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can’t survive.”
― Brené Brown

Shame. Shame on you. That’s a shame. What a shameful thing to do. You shameless hussy!

Shame has power. Shame doesn’t  just say, “You did something wrong.” Shame says, “You are something wrong.” Shame asks, “What would people think if they knew…?” Shame says, “You are not worthy.”

We can hide it, we can excuse it, we can justify it, we can take pride in it or we can use its perverse power to judge others.

Most of us hide our shameful stuff away. We close and lock the bathroom door on more than our bad smells and unmentionable bits. We lock doors to keep our weaknesses, our temptations, our messes, our doubts, our hateful side out of sight. Shame holds us prisoner in the bathroom, in the closet, in the basement, behind anonymous accounts, inside less-shameful-than-thou good-works forts.

Some people fling open those doors, declaring they have no shame because sin, like bodily functions, is a normal, unavoidable part of life. Sometimes they re-define sin. Like the fallen woman in Proverbs they eat forbidden fruit, wipe their mouths and say, “I have done no wrong.”

Some people, understanding that dealing with shame requires the act of bringing it into the light, expose it to people who have little empathy, confessing in meetings full of other shame-based folk ready to foist their own shame onto the sacrificial confessee. Thus they punish themselves and try to cure the problem of shame with more shame.

Opening up to even one other person is taking a risk. It is a courageous act. How many of us have trusted someone with our shame story and later felt betrayed? It’s the theme of thousands of novels. That’s why we sometimes pay professionals to keep our secrets, and hope their pride in reputation will give us another layer of protection.

There are people who will sympathize (“Yes. I’ve done the same things.”)  but precious few who can empathize (“Yes. I feel your pain even though I have not done the same thing.”). Jesus Christ is one who empathizes. He has compassion. He knows what temptation feels like and can understand our weaknesses, but not as a sympathizer who needs to justify or dismiss it because he is also guilty. He did not give in. Instead he bore our shame willingly, accepting shameful death on a shameful cross in collaboration with the ultimate symbol of societal rejection – execution, because he didn’t come to heap on the condemnation our shame says we deserve. He did it because he loves us and wants to free us from shame.

It’s wonderful to find that rare safe person who will respond with empathy and understanding to our shame, but there is One who is guaranteed to understand — and He not only takes it away, He changes who we are. The old shameful part dies and is buried with Him. We are raised a new creation, one that knows where grace and mercy sit. We can boldly approach God.

 So then, since we have a great High Priest who has entered heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to what we believe.  This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he did not sin.  So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most. (Hebrews 4:14 – 16)

A Gift of Chard

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“The discipline of gratitude is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.”

– Henri Nouwen

What Were We Thinking?

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We are doing renovations to the lower level of our house. “Renovations,” I have learned, is builder-speak for “Prepare for nasty surprises.”

In the process of tearing walls down and throwing stuff out we discovered we have been harbouring things we knew not of: beetles in the insulation, an axe in the ceiling — and this wallpaper. It was hiding behind the wainscoting in the hallway.

Seriously? Psychedelic orange and gold swastikas? Someone spent money on rolls of this and then went to the effort of pasting it to the walls? What were they thinking?

Here’s the thing: they were probably thinking this design fit with the concept of fashionable home decorations of the day. (I’m guessing late 70’s. What do you think?) The truth is, that even though we lived in another city at the time I may have applied some burnished orange and harvest gold and avocado green striped paper in our old kitchen myself. Just adding some “pop” to a feature wall, you know. (No wonder our adult kids all head for “neutrals.” They grew up with enough “popping colours” in their lives to require a greige sedation treatment program for years.)

But hey, it was trendy. Everyone was sticking those colours up. They matched the new fridge and stove – and bathtub.

I’m old enough now that I watch fashion trends with amusement. I’ve seen the demise and return of shapes and colours and lengths so many times I figured I would just hang on to my bell-bottom jeans to see if the trend swings by again like a 20-year comet. But my family and friends were helping me purge this week and they wouldn’t hear of it. (How can you deprive a lady of a certain age of the hope that the next time the bell-bottom comet shoots across her horizon her backside will have shrunk to 1970 proportions?)

“Ain’t gonna happen, Mom,” said one of them, stuffing frayed denim into a green plastic bag full of other formerly precious stuff. “Get over it.”

The hard part of purging is realizing how much I wanted that stuff and how much it cost me back in the day when a secretary made $1.98 an hour. That wallpaper felt like a necessity. Now I see young people going into debt to buy granite counter-tops and stainless steel appliances that are going to be a pain to remove when they become “dated.” And they will become dated. The industry depends on us despising the things it once insisted we absolutely loved. We believed and strove to attain. Five years later we were ready for fashion divorce court with a new trendy item in the wings attracting our covetous attention.

Fashion is fickle. But it’s a good example of the power of propaganda to sway the minds of whole swaths of people.

I began to think about trendiness in the way society thinks and how some ideas appear to be as bright and fun and full of potential as psychedelic orange and gold swastika wallpaper. Some ideas appear to be solid and wise in terms of long-term planning, like a one-child policy (with forced abortions) in an over-crowded country. But what happens when parents still value boys over girls? Now, for this generation coming into adulthood in a China with millions of missing women, there is no girl for every boy, nor are there siblings or cousins or aunts or uncles to practise social skills on. Who knows how this is going to play out?

How does a society reach a point where killing or harassing people of a certain gender or race or ethnic group, or age, or philosophy, or religion, or lifestyle (declaring them “non-persons” and thus undeserving of honour) seems like a good idea? I’ve watched some of the Facebook lynch mobs go after people with different ideas lately. These people don’t show mere disgust for taste in wallpaper. They want to hurt folks who think differently.

No one is free from the effects of the trendy-thought terrorism of propaganda. Your wallpaper is now ugly. Get rid of it. Those people are not acceptable. Get rid of them.

Without the solid foundation of “in God we trust” morals are determined by the whims of whoever holds power at the moment. At various times in history a lot of people have been considered to be of too little value to legally protect, First Nations people, African slaves,  women, people descended from nationalities with whom the country is at war, prisoners, members of religious groups, members of a former ruling class, viable humans in the womb…

I wonder, if in twenty years time, when the consequences of riding the wrecking ball pendulum of trendy fashionable ideas that persecute others play out, if we will suddenly open our eyes and say, “What were we thinking?”

I bet there will be tears. A lot of tears.

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Not My Problem? When Fire Season Doesn’t Recognize Borders

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Say what you will about fire season. It makes for some amazing sunsets. This was the view from my house last night.

It also makes for burning eyes, sore throats, and wheezing from the poor air quality – not to mention the inconveniences of evacuation, closed highways and the expenses of firefighting and outright loss of life and property.

Our valley is filled with smoke. There was a minor fire nearby, which I believe is now under control. Most of this smoke is not “ours.”  What I mean by that is that most of the smoke is from fires burning across the border in Washington and Idaho states. British Columbia is experiencing more fires than usual, but the prevailing winds here in the East Kootenays are from the southwest, which means we are choking on smoke from the country to the south.

I learned something the other day. I saw an article on “The Big Burn,” a massive forest fire in 1910 that burned from Missoula, Montana, through Idaho and into eastern Washington in merely three days. This was in the early days of the US forestry service and they had only a few men with shovels and pickaxes to fight it.

I googled it and according to the maps provided, the fires must have held great respect for Canada’s crown land because the red patches indicating affected areas stopped right at the border in a perfectly straight line. (They looked just like the weather maps on American news reports that seem to imply that weather systems also stop at the border.)

You know I’m being facetious. These boundaries are entirely artificial as far as nature is concerned. “The Big Burn” did include southern British Columbia. The terrible fires in Okanagan county in Washington (which have put an entire county on evacuation alert) have spilled over the border near Osoyoos in Canada and shut down two highways. While we were on a day trip to Idaho last week we saw a fire starting on a mountain near Porthill. It’s threatening the folks on both sides of the line now. Both have received evacuation alerts. I’m sure Canadian cigarette-instigated fires have slipped south over the line as well.

It struck me this morning how often we dismiss something as “not my problem” until it directly affects us. Sure, we all suffer from compassion overload and outrage exhaustion sometimes. We also need to respect boundaries when it comes to being responsible for taking action to solve a problem, but there is really no choice in this big old world that has consequences for one person alone.

Some people say, “This is MY choice. It doesn’t affect anyone but me.” But you know, it does. The connection is not always obvious, but it will show up and drift across boundaries eventually. Unhealthy habits, “just business” practices that exploit the poor and pollute the environment, religious power-grabbing ploys that exploit the trusting and pollute the spiritual environment, political commercials that dishonour other candidates, the destruction of a human life in the womb, even the decision to turn left to buy beer or right to buy tomatoes – many choices are unaffected by borders and will spill over into the lives of others somewhere, someday.

I think that’s what Jesus meant when he talked about being aware of the yeast of the Pharisees and the yeast of Herod. It was a metaphor for the way an attitude or idea can permeate an entire society. We have accepted an attitude that our own personal peace and our own personal prosperity are more valuable than other people’s and they can somehow be protected by artificial boundaries. This attitude has permeated our culture. We need good personal boundaries, (good fences make good neighbours) but we also need to recognize our connections and that we have an influence on our brother’s and sister’s well – fare.

I apologize to the people south of the border who have been suffering from a terrible fire season. I’m sorry I never took note until the smoke bothered me. I believe in the power of prayer and I will also appeal for you. If you are reading this from another part of the world, please join me.

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The Eternal is the source of my strength and the shield that guards me. When I learn to rest and truly trust Him, He sends His help. This is why my heart is singing! I open my mouth to praise Him, and thankfulness rises as song….

(Psalm 28:7 The Voice)

But What Will People Think?

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Sensitive people are often keenly aware of the feelings of others. Too keenly, sometimes.

For many of us the first question that comes to mind when faced with a decision is, “What will people think?”

I read a lot of opinions. You probably do too. Sometimes I feel intimidated by the fashion ranters and political pundits and scientific prognosticators and religious worriers and outrage-of-the-day promoters.

I used to spend lot of time trying to create a persona that would be acceptable to people in the various communities I was involved in — or at least tried to avoid their ire. But one day I realized I was letting people who I did not particularly admire set my standards.

Then I asked myself, Seriously? Do you want to be like this person? Is this someone whose life illustrates who Jesus called you to be? Then why does their approval mean so much?

There are some people I do admire. I would like to be like them. One  of their main characteristics is that they look to Jesus Christ as their model and allow him to be the author and finisher of their faith.

What will people think? What does it matter? Some people will be irritated or critical no matter what you do. They don’t even like themselves let alone anyone else.

I’m not there yet – not by a long-shot – but I hope, that when all is said and done they will think, there goes someone who knows the Creator of the Universe, the God of love. You can tell. 

For the Lord Will Be Your Everlasting Light

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The sun shall be no more
your light by day,
nor for brightness shall the moon
give you light;
but the Lord will be your everlasting light,
and your God will be your glory.

Your sun shall no more go down,
nor your moon withdraw itself;
for the Lord will be your everlasting light,
and your days of mourning shall be ended.

(Isaiah 60:18, 20 ESV)

I often hear people say, “I’ll be happy when this is over.”  Then the next thing happens. They are not happy yet.

Jesus is our light in the darkness now. Our everlasting life is not dependent on physical circumstances.

There is a hope that only the light of eternity can illuminate.

There is a joy in seeing the glory of the Lord even when the sun and moon withdraw.

Donkey Tales

 

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My grandchildren are visiting and we decided to do “home church” on Sunday. They remembered doing that last time they were here because somebody had something potentially infectious that was not wise to share at Sunday School. They thought the experience was worth repeating.

It’s interesting to observe what little kids consider essential to a church experience. According to the eldest, one must, apparently, have decorations on the wall, a theme, a sign on the door posting expectations re: starting and finishing times, music, snacks, crafts, and story time. They loved being in charge of “church time” (although one was clearly more in charge than the others.)

We had a great time, especially after I gave the only boy real drum sticks and a real drum and the girls my box of craft materials. If only Michelangelo had construction paper, toothpicks, butterfly stickers  and tape. Who knows what he could have accomplished.

The kids chose the stories. They asked me to read as they dramatized: King Saul going pee in the cave and sneaky David cutting his robe, David (with rolled up sock stones and uncle’s old plastic slingshot found in the bottom of the toy box) and Goliath (holding a badminton racquet and pot lid shield and standing on a chair with Mommy’s long skirt covering the legs), and The Talking Donkey with a blanket saddle.

Silly me, I failed to notice the escalating violence in these scenarios until the final re-enactment needed to be cut short by a bribe of watermelon and granola bars. Balaam had the donkey in a strangle hold while the menacing angel of the Lord wound up for a good smiting from the top of the sofa back with the re-purposed badminton racquet sword. Good will was restored with juice box communion and then church was dismissed.

 

For some reason seeing the wrestling match in the middle of our home church reminded me of a few unexpected agents of grace in my life that have frustrated me. I think I may have attacked and tried to wrestle messenger donkeys to the ground myself when I didn’t recognize their purpose.

In the story the prophet Balaam hears the Lord accurately but imposes his own agenda. He misses the fact that a big old angel bringing the message of “No! Not this way” is terrifying the wits out of his mount. The donkey collapses under him, then smashes his foot against a wall. When an upset and hurting Balaam starts beating the animal, it supernaturally starts talking saying, essentially, “Sheesh! You really don’t get it, do you?”

I wonder if sometimes when the Lord speaks dramatically to people through crazy, unusual, dramatic, out-of-the-ordinary manifestations it’s not necessarily a compliment or sign of how super-spiritual they are. Maybe it’s not so much an experience to be bragged about as much as  Sheesh! What-does-it-take-to-get-your-attention moment?

Anyway the prophet and donkey who were thrashing it out on my living room floor reminded me of something I read years ago about anxiety attacks and depression and stress-related illnesses and really annoying relationship problems being agents of grace. We are traveling down the road expecting our plans to go smoothly when the things or people we rely on fail us.They collapse under us, or ram us into a wall, or yell Sheesh!  loud enough to scare the wits out of us. The usual reaction is to become frustrated and fight rather than listen to the message – at least mine is.  (Balaam was so defensive he barely noticed it was a bloomin’ donkey talking to him.)

By the time a dramatic attention-grabber shows up we have probably been ignoring the Lord or justifying doing thing our own way for quite a while. It’s the goodness of God that sets up circumstances that get our attention. It’s as if he is saying, “Stop! Yes, you have a gift. Every body in the family gets at least one. No, you may not use it in a way that will hurt others.”

A good tool is one that performs its job well. A knife that can slice through fresh hot bread without squashing it is a good knife. A knife sticking out of a friend’s back — not so much.

Here’s the thing about using the gifts (tools) that Father God gives us: they come with instructions on their safe use. The most essential instructions are found in 1 Corinthians 13 right in the middle of the discussion on the gifts. Without love it’s all a gong show.

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing…. 

Love never fails.

Without love, “church” is in danger of turning into a chaotic pile-up on the living room floor.

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Clothed with Joy

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You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing.
You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy,

that I might sing praises to you and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!
(Psalms 30:11,12)