Mary Magdalene stayed by the tomb. Lingered in the wake of death. And in her waiting she was rewarded… Until Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet returned to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” John 20:17
***
When I was in the first grade, I entered a kite flying contest. My father helped me handcraft my kite from scrap wood, glue and newsprint. The big day arrived warm and blustery, and he helped me tie on a long tail of rags in preparation for the Midwestern gusts.
The kite leapt in the wind as my six year old hands held tightly to the red handles around which spun the spool of string. I can still feel it turning in my hand, unreeling fast.
“Give it more string,” Dad encouraged.
I smiled watching it rise higher and higher, dipping and diving, floating on the wind. Suddenly, oh so suddenly, the string pulled free. My end of the string had not been securely fastened to the handle. I watched through tears as my treasured kite flew up and up into the clouds.
This childhood memory helps when I imagine how a surprised and overjoyed Mary must have felt when she recognized her beloved teacher standing before her. And how she must have longed to throw her arms around him and to feel his around her. To hold tightly and promise never to let go.
But Jesus said, “Do not hold onto me! I have not yet gone to the Father.”
Surely it must have been through tears that she let her earthly Teacher go so she might welcome the Savior and then go and tell this good news.
Risen Lord, thank you for the stories you were telling us, even as children, that remind us of your promise to be with us always. Thank you for your strong arms that hold us and never let us go.
I thought I was just too early for Master swim when all I saw were four bright orange rescue rings floating on the surface of the pool. It turned out the absence of lane markers was on purpose. Today’s workout would be free-form. “Choose a direction and swim outside the rings. Pull a few, kick a few, swim a few, whatever you feel like.”
Today we were doing the pool imitation of an “open water swim.”
Actual open water events are pretty much free-for-alls, with every swimmer fending for him or herself. There’s climbing and clawing and a sprint to the front in order to avoid the same. And if the dark, choppy water doesn’t provide ample challenge, there’s the matter of keeping your bearings… and contending with cramps, hypothermia, injury or exhaustion. Of course, for those swimmers who cannot continue, rescue boats are close at hand.
None of this happened at the neighborhood swimming pool today.
At least not to me. Because, after jumping in, swimming a few strokes, looking up every two or three to be sure I wasn’t gonna clobber another swimmer, then taking extra irregular breaths to gauge my bearings per the buoys, then preferentially stroking with right arm to navigate the turning radius, I completed one lap and climbed out.
“This just isn’t my thing,” I apologized to the guy who set up the course. “I come here more for the Zen.”
But what I really meant was, “This is totally nuts!” There’s no way I voluntarily subject myself to an hour of dizzily circling the pool while hyperventilating in fear of ramming somebody. All that just because nobody set up the lane lines…
One of the guys called to me as I was leaving, “What’s the matter? Don’t like the waves?”
Nope. It wasn’t the waves. Effort I am okay with. It was the tight turns and uncertainty I objected to. It felt… debilitating.
Wow. As soon as I named the feeling, it all made sense. This open-water swim felt like the year and a half we’ve been living. Our orange buoys — pandemic, climate change, injustice and cultural division — have set us a-spin. They’ve changed all our rules. Boundaries we thought were fixed have now moved. Truth may not be true. Our friend may not be our friend. The system we thought was fair, isn’t. Temperatures trending upward may not be temporary.
What we thought was unchangeable isn’t; the world can change in a minute.
Life right now feels like an open water swim, and even if you’re a good swimmer, it’s disconcerting and dizzying. Our opportunities for collective Zen have gone missing.
I need to inject more of my life with stuff like organized Master Swim. I need lane lines, a planned workout, the right equipment, a clean, well-kept space and some hearty companions. Because in that space, even and especially after supplying maximum effort, I find peace — the peace that settles my mind and clears my head, the peace that trains my heart and uplifts my soul.
How I am longing for structure, discipline, order and clear expectations where I can be free to supply my effort, my skills and my talents to contribute to my world as it is and make it better. To find a bit of good news and amplify it. To uncover a good idea and inspire a group to pursue it. To lift up the work of others who are on track toward something great. And to lend a hand where I can.
Because this head-spinning time needs a-righting. And getting out of the pool isn’t an option.
“I’m proud of him for standing up to that ref! That was a terrible call,” the man said as lifted his soccer chair, slamming the two arms together. Shaking his head and muttering to those around him, or perhaps mostly to himself, he added, “I’m really proud of him for standing up for himself. He has the right to do that.”
I overhear this as I wait to take my place on the sidelines to watch the next game. My 12-year-old daughter’s team is about to take the field. There still is a buzz in the air. No handshakes being offered or good-game wishes. Officials are conferring and consulting with one another. The previous game must have ended badly.
I’ve seen this happen before leaving angry team parents red in the face from yelling about the call that “cost them the game.” They swear under their breath and disparage the ref, the play, the other team, the other coach, the outcome. Sometimes this escalates into a shouting match on the sidelines with opposing parents lobbing epithets and even threats at each other. Occasionally, things even get physical.
But in this moment is different and I’m stunned. Never before have I heard a parent uttering glowing praise for their kid who was just issued a red card for dissent toward a referee.
Dissent is a red-cardable offense according the rules of soccer, which are officially called the “Laws” of soccer. It is one of just a few transgressions considered so egregious that the penalty is ejection from the game. The player cannot be replaced, and their team must complete the game with one less player, known as playing “one man down.”
Outright red cards are quite rare in youth games in my experience. Typically, they are shown when a player is engaged in such persistent fouling that they have been called twice for yellow card offenses. ( 2 yellows is an automatic red) Regular fouls, punishable by a yellow card and a free-kick for the opposing team, happen fairly regularly. They are run-of the mill transgressions: shoving, tripping, illegal tackling, handling the ball (other than the goal keeper), obstruction, reckless play. Generally, they occur because kids are just a bit overly enthusiastic or perhaps a bit too aggressive, and even then, the player is usually warned before they’re booked with a yellow. Persistent misbehavior earns a red.
Apparently, this kid persisted.
His proud papa has me thinking about why we need referees. I confess that, in my capacity as player, coach and parent, I have sometimes disagreed with a referee and occasionally said so. Loud enough for that referee to hear. But I hope I have not done so in a way that has disparaged that person and certainly not with the intention of overriding or negating the established laws of the game or the ones pledged to uphold them.
The game needs a ref: in fact it must have one. If two teams are going to compete fully and at their best, we need someone who knows the rules and will administer them fairly, in an unbiased fashion, equally toward each side. It’s a tough job. Refs get paid to do it, but not much. The good ones see it as a chance to teach the players how to compete well according to the rules. They cannot tolerate dissent. If they do, things quickly devolve.
Sides resort to whatever tactics work and if enough is at stake they play with complete impunity.
Downward this spirals.
Anything to win.
Morality and ethicality out the window.
"Out on you! Our ball!"
Too late.
Catch up, loser.
I'm only cheating if I get caught
I'm only lying if they can prove it
And even then, if I can talk my way out of it, I'm a celebrity.
Yes, without rules and someone upholding them, things usually get ugly.
True, sometimes the ref misses a call. Sometimes they don’t see the foul, or they let things go, or they may even seem to be leaning in favor of one side over the other. They are, after all, fallible. But we cede authority to them because we need to for the sake of the game. Once we don’t, we’re lost and all is lost. We may as well not even play because in the game played without regard for rules, the one most willing to break them is the winner. In effect, the worst team always wins.
Today, in the aftermath of the storming of the US Capitol Building by individuals in complete disregard for the rule of law in our country, I am wondering about manmade law and its place in our lives. About the boundaries and regulations law-abiding citizens agree to observe. About the authority under which we place ourselves for the sake of security, community and the common good.
What’s clear is this: left to our own devices, we are not that good. We need a referee.
And for this we may need to go back to the basics. Back to the decrees and laws declared at the first, when Moses was appointed referee. Back to thou-shalt-not…
have other gods
bow in allegiance to idols
use God’s name in vain
murder
steal
give false testimony about your neighbor (lie)
or covet what belongs to your neighbor.
And thou shall:
observe the Sabbath and
honor your mother and father.
Today, this years-ago boy and his showering of praise for his red-carded dissent has come back to mind. Probably 12-13 then, that would put him in his late 20’s now. Just about the age of many we saw ravage the halls of our Congress yesterday. I wonder if that boy has grown into a young man that father is still proud of.
Dear Lord,
Today, I pray for our country.
For this Republic and the bold experiment it represents.
Thank you for our founders and their foresight,
for the rule of law and for those who uphold it.
Protect them and bear them up on your powerful wings.
Today, I pray for our country.
I lift up to you those who have lost their way.
Those who have forgotten the thou-shalt-nots,
those who never learned them and especially
those who have lost their fear of them.
Today, I pray for our country.
Help us to renew our commitment to each other as we rededicate ourselves to You.
Cleanse from us anything that would hinder your work in our lives.
Help us to trust so we can obey with willing hearts and clear minds.
Amen
Tip-toeing along the forested trail with an early morning group of birders, I marveled at a ray of sun peeking through the canopy and illuminating the brush below. Binoculars at the ready, our small band had stopped to look and listen for the sounds of the small creatures around us. I became instantly aware of my own smallness in the midst of the magnificence of the natural world. There was only silence, but in that silence, I heard this:
You are of inestimable value, but you must diminish in self-importance.
I have to admit, this struck an immediate chord. Even among this little troupe I felt the need to be knowledgeable and capable; thus to demonstrate my value, I suppose. This became particularly and painfully evident to me among these experienced birders who knew much and didn’t feel the need to defend or withhold what they knew. They spotted and identified, not for show, but in order to point it out so that others could see it and learn to recognize it, too.
Bird identification, I have found, is quite a difficult skill. But it is one that can be learned over many hours of practice with a helpful mentor or teacher and a good bird book or two. The fact that you took an ornithology class with Dr. Byrd many years ago at William and Mary is nice but simply has no standing.
Still, in this moment of self-realization, I am also utterly assured of my inestimable value. Can I tell you I teared up a bit at this? It was okay to be less than; in fact, it would be necessary in order to claim my full value.
Shifting gears, here, but stick with me….
Upholding this new perspective on my return from the birding expedition, I felt inclined (nothing to lose!) to email the nationally known cookware retailer from whom I had purchased an expensive Christmas gift but which turned out to have a defective mechanism. We had only now (in May) had the opportunity to try it out and I no longer had the sales receipt, but I felt sure that upon hearing from a valued customer that this expensive item was defective they would surely make it right.
Well, a dozen emails later, including those with photos attached (per their request), the credit card statement indicating the date of sale, purchase price and the sales transaction number (also, requested), they ultimately and summarily declined to replace, repair or credit me for the item. Without a receipt, “they could not help me.” Their final word:
“I wanted to reach back out to you after I was advised by a member of Leadership on your situation. Regretfully, as was relayed to you previously, without proof of purchase we are unable to issue a replacement or a refund. I apologize for any disappointment this may cause. This may not be the answer you were hoping for, but I trust you understand that your request far exceeds our guarantee and return window. Thank you and please feel free to contact us with any other questions. ~Warm regards, Heather M., Customer Service
Warm regards, eh? But yes, I was asking them to forgo their usual policy in a gratuitous act of kindness and generosity they were not prepared to offer. I did now own $145.00 worth of beautifully hand-crafted Italian wood salt and pepper shakers that are completely useless. They made it clear that I have no right to ask for special exceptions; I am not that important.
And fortunately, having just embraced both my inestimable value and my need to diminish in self-importance, I was able (barely) to quench my desire to shoot back an email to this customer service representative threatening never to shop at this store again and to tell my friends the same and to post this on FB and twitter and perhaps contact the Better Business Bureau. As you can see, my dark, self-important side gave it a good run.
The truth is: the store was within their rights to deny my request. The bigger truth is: doing what you have the right to do isn’t always the right thing to do.
The newly humbled me did send a conciliatory email reply, thanking Heather M for looking into this for me and assuring her that next time I would try out my purchase right away and be sure not to misplace the receipt. Killing them with kindness didn’t get me a refund either.
But whoa, this interchange sure offered me an up-close look at my relationship with my own self-importance (aka pride) and how it can control me. I am not so important that I can make demands or expect special consideration. My ability to spend does not earn me extra attention. My status does not earn me exemption from the rules or excuse me from honoring the stated policy.
And while we’re at it, the One who established my value seemed to say, you are not too important to clean toilets or change diapers. Nor to do the dishes and take out the trash. Nor to teach special needs children, nor university students nor be President. Your value is, and must by rights be, separate from all these things. My sole responsibility in all circumstances is to do my part. My opportunity: to live the life I’m capable of. My calling: to do it all without drawing attention to myself. God is good with that.
When I am keenly aware of my inestimable value which cannot be diminished by any earthly thing, I don’t waste time buffing up my importance or defending it to others. I am nothing and that’s the starting point for everything.
Now I have a pair of useless salt and pepper shakers as a daily reminder. Maybe I’ll take them apart and see if I can get them to work right. Got nothing to lose.
Now he told a parable to those who were invited, when he noticed how they chose the places of honor, saying to them, “When you are invited by someone to a wedding feast, do not sit down in a place of honor, lest someone more distinguished than you be invited by him, and he who invited you both will come and say to you, ‘Give your place to this person,’ and then you will begin with shame to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit in the lowest place, so that when your host comes he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at table with you. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”
I’ve never been much of a flutter-kicker. More of an arm-stroker. But when the masters swim workout calls for 100m freestyle kick, well, you kick. And it feels like an eternity to the other end.
Some people seem to have the gift of flutter-kicking, propelling themselves along like a speed boat powered by an outboard motor. Me? I’m more of a putterer. Not for want of effort, mind you. I’ll churn up a wake like nobody’s business and go NOWHERE!
Which is a bit embarrassing, especially if the people who share your lane are either piling up behind you or catching you up and tugging on your feet so they can pass.
Fortunately, today I had my very own lane. So when the workout called for a 100 meter kick, I aimed my kick-board dutifully toward the opposite end of the pool and set off with a mighty push from the wall. Momentum is underrated when you’ve an entire pool ahead of you and a kick like mine.
Now, I’d like to say that today I surprised myself with my torpedo-like speed, but I did not. No, I was much more like the Little Engine That Could. In fact, at times it was only the changing colors on the lane rope that convinced me I was moving at all.
Four navy, three black. Four navy, three black. Four, three. Four. Three.
Isn’t that how days feel sometimes? Like we’re kicking and kicking and going nowhere? Funny how something as simple as a friendly lane rope — which really is going nowhere — can reassure us that we’re actually making forward progress. And that, in the end, is all we really need to know.
….kick on, my friends. Before we know it, we’ll be there.
Its senses offer awareness. Its movements exercise connectedness.
Its behavior shows what it is thinking. Its responsiveness proves its attention. Its spontaneity, a display of flexibility. Its skill, evidence of its teaching.
Its performance shows that it has practiced. Its coordination calls on its balance. Its competence demonstrates its consistency. Its record shows its preparation.
A body grows when it is nourished, Its fragrant fruit is sweet success. The body diminishes when undernourished, love withheld steals vital stores.
Separate from each other, the body’s design amounts to nothing. Helpless to sense, Hopeless to move, Confused in thought, Distracted in direction,
Paralyzed in place or…Listless…Wandering…..Lost.
A body performs magnificently, when we treat it as it asks. If we listen as it speaks. The body doesn’t lie.
What is your body meant to do with its one chance?
How does it respond when you’re not looking?
What does it say when you’re not thinking?
Where does it go when there are no directions?
Whom does it follow when the teacher leaves the room?
How does it work when no one is watching?
The body is our good gift, meant for the work of one lifetime; begun in us, created and still creating through us.
Winning. Competition. Trophies. Prizes. Those things all held real sway for me as a young athlete. I wanted them. And, many times, I got what I wanted. I was successful, often a winner. Much celebrated and complemented. When I became a Christian I came to see myself on the winner’s podium, and I didn’t necessarily like what I saw. I didn’t like:
the elevation
the view
the way people were looking at me.
But most of all I didn’t like the pride I took in myself or the temptation to hold myself in high regard. So I “graciously” stepped down to “help others less fortunate.” Now here was something that wouldn’t be a temptation, right? No podium. No trophy. No prizes. No striving.
Problem was…there was still this matter of running the race. The race for the prize, that being the heavenly call.
Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.Let those of us then who are mature be of the same mind; and if you think differently about anything, this too God will reveal to you. Philippians 3:13-15
God has designs on my life. He has designed me for this race. Not to meander along the way. My husband, ironically not a professing Christian or a student of the Bible, told me last night, “Your goal is to keep your eyes on the prize.” He meant, don’t let distractions stop you. Don’t interrupt your race to correct the folks who are misbehaving, the people who trip you up. Don’t stumble over the stuff that isn’t worth stopping for. Keep your eyes on your objective. Eyes forward.
Funny, because this put competing in a whole new light. It was okay to push ahead as hard as I could, as long as I kept my eye clearly on my goal, the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus. Jesus would not justify “all means” to get to Himself, but my stopping to tidy up around every turn, to make sure that everyone who interrupts my progress is set straight, is not my calling. They are running their own races. I have been dallying in mine and this is not of God.
Along the course of every road race there are many, many intersections. I am pledged to look both ways before crossing, perhaps lend a hand at one or grab a cup of water at another, but the main thing is the race.
Let my eyes not stray and my will not waver from His course and His will which, for me, is the race set before me. This kind of freedom is the only way I can run the race of my life.
My name is Wendy and I am a procrastinator. Okay. There. I said it.
Now I can analyze why I do this…but I won’t. Because that’s where I have been for years and years. Trying to figure out why I just don’t get to doing so many things that I really WANT to do. Good things. Valuable things. Smart things. I say it’s God’s big joke. I have a business called Fit2Finish and I don’t finish anything. People laugh when I say this, but it’s really not funny.
What is funny is our tendency to “go into” as a business or career or volunteer service solving the problem we have (our problem) for other people. That is, we become financial planners because we grew up in a family that failed for lack of financial planning. We become experts in child rearing so others won’t fail as we did at disciplining our children. We become fitness professionals so others won’t grow up fat like we did.
Isn’t it interesting how our shortcomings impel us? But I wonder if they allow us to feel better about ourselves without addressing our own issues. Without starting at the beginning and admitting we have a problem.
So, today I have been illuminated by the behavior of several friends. One who says she wants to help me with a project, tells me its a great idea, says “let’s meet” but then doesn’t get back to me. Or when I email, she says “after company leaves” or “after the weekend away that’s planned.” ‘After’ just keeps getting further and further away.
Another friend wants to help me with a project. She doesn’t tell me it’s a great idea but she cc’s me on emails inquiring about applying it, acting on it, finding space for it. When I reply she gets right back to me with a response. She offers to put me up at her place if I want to travel to follow up on a contact I’ve made with someone who lives in her town. She is clearing a path for my project.
Honestly, both of these friends are driven by fear. The second one knows it and has let it empower her. The first one doesn’t and has let it take charge of her. In fact, she is filling her schedule with things that make her feel active which “explain” why she can’t get to the other. Fear is sly. It hides itself well.
I have been friend #1 to myself for so long. I will get to the good that needs doing after these…after that…when things settle down…when there is more time… the truth is, when you wait until ‘after that’ to get started, the time does not present itself. Time is not like that. If there’s no time now, there won’t be time then.
So I thank both of these friends. In the ‘right now’ I must seek just to move things forward. Set a course and commit to walking it, at whatever pace life allows today. I don’t know what tomorrow may bring. But whoever comes after me will be better off if I have done my part today.
Time and I used to be friends. I had plenty. Life was good. Then I grew up and life started making demands. That’s when time and I became enemies. Jesus says, “pray for your enemies.”
It’s really tough to pray for something as intangible as time, so I personified it. I imagined it as a kind of Alice-in-Wonderland, rabbit with a pocket watch, type person. Then it didn’t look so much like an enemy. I looked more like the enemy. What was opposing me was not time itself, but how I was spending it. And that’s the thing, resources that are scarce demand our attention and careful management. At church we call this stewardship.
Oddly enough, a few places where I might have spent my time have not materialized this fall. After I got over lamenting my “regular” activities I realized I was left with some extra time to spend. But, recognizing it’s preciousness, I admit I have become a bit stingy. At church we call this discernment.
Still, with my handful of time, I investigated the PALS information table after services yesterday. That’s the Floris partnership that matches up an adult mentor with a child at Hutchison Elementary for a once a week lunch date. I tried to be unobtrusive as I scanned the handouts on the table, but Jake McGlothin, our director of Serve ministries, caught me. I mentioned that I had some extra time this fall. Now don’t tell Jake that you have extra time. Because he is very happy to say,”Oh, you can give more than an hour? We can sign you up for a whole morning if you’d like.” I love Jake; he has an incredible heart for what he does and the people he serves.
But I recognize that I have a time temptation problem. When I hear of a need or get word of something I can do, I tend to jump at the chance. I’m in recovery, though. I’m taking it to prayer. Praying for my relationship with my (former) enemy, time, and my current enemy, my time expenditure.
Somehow, when I bring stuff to God, even my enemies look different. Oh, I can’t say He banished my enemy with a backhand. No, He is more gracious than that. He sends me small ways to address my enemies. Like a watch – that tells the time, complete with alarm, stopwatch and illumination features, but also a chime – which I accidentally activated when I was setting the alarm. It makes a precocious little “ding” on the hour. Not loud. Not intrusive. But audible, when I’m paying attention. I kind of like it. It sounds very much like a still, small voice to me.
And that’s how God has me addressing my enemy, just by paying attention. He’s shown me my complacency – in figuring I had all the time in the world. He’s shown me my value – assuring me that it does matter to Him how I spend my time. So much so that He sends me a prompt every hour.
Just a reminder, and I have come to welcome it. A quick check to see if what I am doing deserves the time I am spending on it. (Oh, there it is…time to go.)
