Advent Redux

I've spent much of this week thinking about Advent---as I've brainstormed some ideas for an upcoming Advent service at my church. I had it in my head--and in fact had it partly written on paper--to write a piece on Advent. But every time I thought of GFL and Advent, my mind went back to a post written by Bonnie McMaken last year.

It was so good---and so in line with what's been on my mind. So, instead of re-inventing the wheel, so to speak, I thought I'd go ahead and link you back to her great post.

Here it is: "Merry Advent." Enjoy.

Jesus in the World of Worthless Daughters

“Thank you, Mother, for raising a worthless daughter.”

These words , part of a lament of a bride going to meet her husband for the first time, summed up the experience of women in China in the 1800’s, according to Snow Flower and the Secret Fan. In this book Lisa See brings to light the reality of life for a female in that society: No value, no rights, raised for a husband’s family, enduring the years of footbinding torture and subsequent crippling, totally dependent on the desires of her parents/brothers/husband/mother-in-law. She had no purpose—except to bear a son—and no hope.

These words, sadly, have been echoed across countless generations and cultures. In many places a woman has a place in life only if she becomes the mother of a son. In some African nations female genital cutting is still practiced, creating unimagined agony for preteen girls and sentencing them to a lifetime of pain. In Southeast Asia and many other places children are sold—often by their poverty-stricken parents—as sex slaves.

In Half the Sky, Pulitzer Prize winning authors Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn horrify us with statistics like this:

“Thirty-nine thousand baby girls die annually in China because parents don’t give them the same medical care and attention that boys receive.”

“In India, a ‘bride burning’—to punish a woman for an inadequate dowry or to eliminate her so a man can remarry—takes place approximately once every two hours.”

They go on to talk of kerosene dousing and acid burning, of 2 million girls disappearing every year because of gender discrimination. One journal stated, “Women are not dying because of untreatable diseases. They are dying because societies have yet to make the decision that their lives are worth saving.”

This is not new. It didn’t begin 200 years ago in China. It has gone on for centuries: Mothers raise “worthless daughters.” When I hear, see, think about such things, I can barely contain my emotions. Horror, anger, frustration, indignation. How can this be? How can it continue? We must do something!
Someone has done something. One person has made a difference. His name is Jesus. Wherever the message of Jesus has been received, the status of woman has been raised. In the film Magdalena, a telling of the story of Jesus by Mary Magdalene, I was overwhelmed by the tenderness with which Jesus addressed women—in a culture where a man would not even acknowledge a woman.

Yet even in those lands where Jesus has gone, where things are not as bad as they once were, many women still believe they are worthless, or at least worth less. Even today, women struggle to grasp their value. To understand that God has a given them a high calling.

Jesus calls women many things, but never worthless. He calls each one: Desired. Treasured. His joy. A reflection of him. An ezer—strong warrior helper. For a purpose. To be His partner in building His kingdom. He assures us the Father had grand intentions in creating women.
So why do so many women still suffer physically and emotionally, marginalized and meaningless, not experiencing those good purposes for which God created them?

I find my heart crying, Who will do something? The Lord has clearly responded: You are doing something—the most important something. You and many sisters are introducing women to that one who values and treasures them, who made them with tender love and powerful intentions and high calling. When they know Jesus, they can begin to discover that they are not worthless.

And some among us are/will be the ones who will take up the cry: We must do something. We must raise our voices, get involved, right wrongs, alleviate suffering. We must work to set our sisters free, from slavery, from poverty, from torture, from abuse, from worthlessness.

Together, we and they will discover that we are of indescribable worth.

(A starting place could be to read Half the Sky, which is filled with many disturbing stories of atrocities and wrongs, but also tells of hopeful solutions and actions that can turn things around.)

Leaning into Thanksgiving Clichés

Thanksgiving: that time of year when dreams of stuffing, jello molds, and bean casseroles reign supreme. The season for finding a circle of people with whom to give a toast, say a prayer and give abundant thanks. Momenta to reminisce and recall God’s provision, even in hardship. A holiday filled with good practices for us frantic Americans.

And while I honor these traditions and believe the sentiment behind this holiday is so very close to the heartbeat of God, I will confess to getting more than a little bit bored by all the chatter about giving thanks this time of year.

I suspect I am not alone.

There are only so many times one can see the same greeting card and hear the same clichés poured out everywhere from the mall to church. “We have so much to be thankful for.” “Let us give thanks.” “I’m so thankful for (fill in the blank).”

All good reminders, but like speed limit signs, when you see them all the time you start to just zip past them.

To remind myself of God’s abundant provision, and in an attempt to jolt myself out of my bored self-indulgence—and to prepare for a sermon I’m giving Thanksgiving morning—began reading Luke chapter 17 last week. Here we find the story of 10 men with leprosy who Jesus decided to heal. They did not necessarily deserve his healing touch. Nowhere in this story do we get a sense that they had great faith or wisdom that begged for this miracle.

Nope. Jesus just did his thing, he healed out of the love and abundance in his own heart. Not because they were deserving, just, or particularly charming. He healed because it was his desire to do so.

And as human nature would have it, nine of these men walked away with their gift of healing and did not look back. Only one had a heart that spun around and said, “Thank you!” To which Jesus gave an even greater gift: the affirmation of his faith.

Most people come to this story and brush off the other nine just as they brushed off Jesus. Most people will look at the 10th man (and rightfully so) and lift him up as an example, as the image of a proper posture toward God. Which he is.

But I want to pause and take a look at the other nine. If my shot at statistics is right, this story reads a little bit like this: 90 percent of the people who receive from God may (or may not) ever look back over their shoulder to say “thank you.” I dare say, if I were one of those 10 men, I’d likely land among the 9 walking away.

As I wrestle with my tired, over-stimulated, over-indulged little heart this season I cannot help but wonder if life today is all that different? On the one hand, I have a committed faith in Jesus Christ. I love my God, am dedicated to my faith, and believe that following Jesus makes all the difference in this world. I am thankful for my salvation and believe, at some level, that I would do anything for this faith.

Yet, on the other hand I breeze through this season of thanksgiving like every other holiday on the calendar. I quickly walk away. There are gifts to buy, parties to throw, a turkey to cook.

Sure, I may linger a little longer with my children this time of year, praising God for their little, fervent, giggle filled lives. But cultural ADD or some other consumer coma eventually sweeps over me and I am over it. I am suddenly bored with pilgrims and ready to move on to the next event. Christmas (or for many, the 4 a.m. door-busters that next day).

What is it about our culture, our luscious lives, that can crash so quickly through a holiday like Thanksgiving? What is it that, if we are honest, makes many of us more like the nine who walked away rather than the one who stayed to give thanks. More inclined to look toward what we still lack rather than what we already have. And, how do we tweak our lives during this season to find our faith affirmed like that one leper’s?

Maybe we begin by leaning fully into the clichés this month. Remembering “the reason for the season.” Repeating those oft repeated prayers. And allowing our souls to baste in the simplest of moments, to pause from the preparations, and to find ourselves thankful at the feet of Jesus for every nanosecond of life and breath and love we’ve been given to live. And then he might say to us “Rise and go; your faith has made you well” (17:19).

Re-Thinking Conflict

“If you had a whole day free what would you do?”

The question came to me in a small group setting, and the answer came immediately to mind: “I’d go somewhere beautiful to sit and think.” You see, I’m addicted to thinking.

Though I can’t go somewhere beautiful for the day right now I have been thinking. Thinking about conflict. I’ve googled for the definition, for quotes, and for concepts. I’ve asked people what comes to mind when they hear the term and interestingly enough there are a lot of different answers.

One insight recently came when I noticed the words combined with conflict like “manage,” “avoid,” “quickly resolve.” I bring this up because all writers and readers know that conflict is essential to the plot when you talk about story. Without conflict there’s no plot, no movement, and nothing interesting in the story.

But I don’t typically think that way about the story of my life or the plotline of my leadership. I’ve tended to spend large amounts of energy managing, avoiding, and quickly getting rid of conflict.

http://www.synergytoday.orgSo here’s my recent thought, “Would it serve me better to think of “conflict” as essential if not “holy ground”? That’d be a twist.

As a leader my default mode is to think the plot of the “story” for my team or me is accomplishing the task at hand. Though we all have goals to meet I am starting to massage the idea that the conflict I engage—whether internally or externally, positive or negative—may be more important in shaping the kingdom of God within me than most of my efforts to shape the kingdom of God outside of me.

I’m not alone in my thoughts, as I read this week a quote from Donald Miller about stories that resonate: “Without the conflict the character can’t change. The conflict drives the story because it drives transformation. “

There you have it; conflict is the “holy ground” of transformation. The very thing I avoid will actually take me to the very thing I long for. I’ve got an unending ache for those I know and our world at large to experience transformation. Myself included. In order to get there I think my first step is to re-think how God uses conflict in the story to shape our souls.
To do that I’m heading to the upcoming Synergy2010 conference: “Conflict in the Story: The Shaping Of A Leader’s Soul.”

It’s a weekend where the speakers, Carolyn Custis James, Michelle Lloyd-Paige, and Scott McKnight, along with many workshop presenters will explore this theme in ways that will help my team and me understand ourselves as leaders along with the task at hand.

Consider joining me if you looking to re-think conflict.

Cannibals in Christendom

I come from a long line of cannibals. My ancestors loved to chew up (and sometimes spit out) people. Mine was a particularly heinous group that made no distinction between “them” and “us.” Members of our own family were just as likely to fall victim as were others. Imagine the tensions that arose when we gathered—each one wondering who might be served up next.

In their defense, my family lived in darkness. Then, the frigid winter I turned 10, one brilliant, fiery flame warmed within me the hope of a different way of living—of turning away from snarling, biting, and chewing to embracing others. I became like Edward Cullen of Twilight fame, recognizing my evil heritage, engaged in a struggle with the nature of my flesh.

Unfortunately, the flame was quenched that had begun to glow within me. With no one to add the kindling of truth to the sputtering spark within, the ember grew cold. Broken bonds, wicked words, and shattered souls littered the path of my life, until one day it all became more than I could bear alone. Tired and out of fight, I found myself knocking on the door of Christendom. Surely I would find refuge there!

I re-entered the kingdom scarred and bleeding, hoping to find healing for my wounds. And I did find some who bathed my bite marks and bound up my wounds. I also found others—others like myself. I found out there are cannibals in Christendom. Hard-headed, wounded creatures like me who had yet to lose their bloodlust.

You know who we are—though you might not recognize us on sight. We are the sweetly smiling sisters who bite your back when you turn away, the nosy Nancys who come sniffing around for the scent of some juicy morsel to share. We are the ones who listen to your heart only to chew it up and vomit it out amid groans of gossip. Yes, there are cannibals in Christendom, in our ministries, in our church offices.

You may not believe me. I implore you; take a look at Galatians 5:15. God warns that if we keep on biting and devouring each other…we will destroy each other. In this same chapter, God tells us that cannibalism is a desire of the sinful nature – the nature that is only subdued by the refining flames of the Spirit.

So, what can be done? First, look in the mirror before you look around you. Does a cannibal stare back at you? Like Edward Cullen, we have to recognize and understand the nature of our flesh. Only in strengthening ourselves can we hope to help others.

Strength to resist our natural appetites comes through satisfying our hunger at another source. The Bible tells us to taste and see that the LORD is good (Psalm 34:8a). Devouring the truths of the Word throws kindling on the smoldering flame of the Spirit, igniting new passion—a new hunger and thirst for righteousness. If properly tended by meditation and prayer, our appetite for what is good grows and the cannibal within is subdued. Now, we are ready to help others struggling with their natural appetites.

Look around you? Do you recognize other cannibals in your midst? What have we learned in our own struggles? We’ve learned the nature that we feed is the nature that grows strong. If we are honest with ourselves, we understand that although our inner-cannibal is subdued, without vigilance, we could easily fall into old habits. A little snacking on this one, a little taste of that one, and before we know it—we’ve unleashed the cannibal within. While we are called to help our brothers and sisters caught in sin, we are also cautioned to be alert to temptation (Gal. 6:1).

We can take our cue from Edward Cullen. His natural appetite to bite Bella was subdued by his love for her. He turned his energies to protecting her. The next time a fellow cannibal offers up a juicy morsel, let’s remember to love—because God first loved us (I John 4:19). In love, we refuse to bite. We turn away evil with good. We lift up truth, and with hearts ablaze with love, we light the way.

Grounded

“It doesn’t matter what happens next, it’s not going to bother me.”

I confidently exercised my faith aloud to the disbelieving passenger next to me. He snorted, as though he understood something I didn’t.

“We’ll see about that.”

My husband and I’d been up since three in the morning to catch three different planes which would eventually land us back into the arms of our three waiting children. And they’d been waiting more than a couple of weeks for our return from the mission field.

But as God had arranged it, our second flight was delayed at take-off—delayed by more than an hour—and the likelihood of us making our last connection had nothing to do with the concept of being “likely” at all.

Despite the groans and sighs coming from the surrounding seats—including the one just next to me—I was determined to stay faithful. I would not to be shaken by the situation. I knew that this was out of my control. And what’s out of my control is squarely in the control of the One I trust most. So I grinned a secret grin, trusting that God had my day mapped out.

I reflected how, over the past several months of ministry and service, God had really been teaching me about listening, exercising faith, and walking in obedience. In fact, I was delighted to be tested in such a way. And despite the fact we hadn’t physically departed, felt a sense of spiritual “arrival.” I relished the sense that maybe, just maybe, I was getting the hang of this faith-thing.

After more than an hour, our plane finally found its way into the sky, and we were soon settling into the next airport. Despite our late arrival, I knew God would work everything out accordingly, and that my faith would shine as a stellar beacon in the dark and disbelieving mind of my spouse.

Getting off the plane, we were directed to the service desk. And while we were waiting I could hear the attendants helping the customers in front of us…helping them find hotels for the evening and new flights in the morning. But that just wasn’t the help I was looking for. So while I waited, I started praying my big-faith prayers.

God, make a way that only you can make. God, do a miracle right here! God, show up big-time; I’m waiting!
I shut my eyes while I prayed, and I didn’t care who watched. I was mustering faith; I was scraping it from deep within. But it wasn’t that far of a reach; my faith was shallow. And where it ended, I hit into something else hidden just below: some ugly pride. Dressed in my faith-filled prayers, thoughts like these were swirling around: let my faith-talk be justified here. Let me have the satisfaction of knowing I was right, that you’d work everything out the way I thought you would. Please don’t embarrass me in front of my husband!

But he didn’t need to embarrass me; I can do that myself. At the service desk, my calm exterior greeted the attendant. Her calm exterior met mine as she explained our situation in words I didn’t want to hear. My less-than-dainty anger met her still calm exterior. These were followed by a flood of tears—all of which landed on her still…calm…exterior. No matter what I said, or did, I was going no where. I was being…grounded.

I had heard Jennifer Rothschild say this just a few days before: Faith grounds you. So when you get that feeling—-that “I’m flying so high” kind of attitude—you can bet you’re headed for a grounding.

And there I was. Grounded. Embarrassed. Confused.

I don’t know how she remained so calm. Or better—how Steve did. He’d agreed to let me do the talking (and yelling and crying), probably to reassure me that, indeed, I’d tried everything. When it was over, I kept over looking at him; I searched his face. Searched for something smug; a belittling glint in the eye. But it wasn’t to be found. He let me be myself, and when I’d barked and cried out the last of my frustrations, he took my hand and headed to our hotel. He even bought me dinner.

Days later, I still searched for the meaning of it all. Why did God keep us from our kids another day? Why this end to a great trip? Why did everything start so smooth end so rough? Maybe there was some danger God was preventing. That’s it! Maybe some catastrophic, life-threatening barrier stood in the way, and God redirected us around it. And someday, when I get to heaven, I’ll understand God’s detour that day.

Or maybe I don’t have to wait that long.

How does your faith “ground” you? How does it keep you from thinking more highly of yourself than you ought to? And how does it keep you focused on God in the midst of your circumstances?

Confessions of a Money Changer

While visiting a very close friend, I agreed to help with her church’s women’s ministry event. I expected to prepare hospitality tables, fill vases with flowers and serve coffee and muffins. It’s what we often do in women’s ministry.

Instead, I was directed to the makeshift market that had been set up in the lobby. Eight-foot long, cloth-covered tables were fashioned into a large rectangle. The speaker’s collection of books, teachings, recordings and—most surprisingly—jewelry covered every inch of the tables. Eight volunteers, myself included, would sell the speaker’s wares after her talk.

The speaker shared her incredible testimony in a two-hour service. Her story was heartbreaking; she had endured abuse, depression, cancer and the loss of a child. She led us through worship and gave an altar call. Over 50 women made their way to the front and stood—with raised hands and tear-stained faces—for a half hour as she encouraged them and prayed over them.

By all appearances, it was a holy night. But despite the sacred nature of the service, the ladies poured out of the auditorium and immediately began to exercise the spiritual gift of shopping. The seven volunteers and I were absolutely slammed (and I think stunned) by the crowd.

Jewelry was the hottest seller. Cross necklaces made of multi-colored rhinestones filled one table while scripture bracelets were grouped together on another. Pins exclaiming “DADDY’S DAUGHTER” in fake diamonds were tied with gold ribbon to some of the speaker’s books.

“Oh look, it’s a fruits of the spirit bracelet!” a customer said, as she held up a silver bracelet with charms that read “love,” “joy,” “peace,” etc., dangling from the chain.

“Do you have anything in gold?” a customer asked me. “Um … let me check,” I said, as I reluctantly sorted through boxes.

I am an energetic woman who completes every task with enthusiasm, but I found myself going through the motions in a dream-like state. Something bizarre was happening before my eyes, but it appeared that I was the only one who was noticing. It was a Twilight Zone moment.

“How does this look?” a woman asked her friend as she held a gaudy three-inch cross to her neck. She was a thin, serious-looking woman in her 60s—the kind of woman who looked like she listened to NPR—so I kept searching her face for traces of a joke. She was serious.

“Ooohh, pretty,” her friend answered.
The NPR-looking woman bought the cross and wore it smiling out of the building.

There was a sign that advertised a free “Jesus is coming” bag with every $50 purchase. A very plain woman walked up to the table with her two teenage daughters and spent enough money on jewelry to earn her two “Jesus is coming” bags.

This broke my heart. It was obvious that she had very little money and, since she wore neither makeup nor earrings, jewelry hardly seemed a priority. A bedazzled cross on her neck would look as gaudy as an “I LOVE JESUS” pin on Mother Theresa. The woman was beautiful just the way she was.

When the crowds dwindled, the speaker breezed into the lobby. “Thank you for all your help, ladies,” she said. “Oh, and don’t forget to take a piece of jewelry and a book for yourselves. My treat. I highly recommend my newest book …”

But I just smiled weakly and looked away. As fellow workers carefully chose their gifts, I found myself nervously glancing at the door instead. I half expected Jesus to appear at any moment with a corded whip in his hands, yelling, “Get these out of here! How dare you turn my Father’s house into a market!” After all, he’s been known to do things like that.

I wondered if he would overturn our tables as he did in the temple courts. It would have created quite a mess. (Unlike the Bible story, however, coins would not have gone flying. Most of the transactions were made with Visa and MasterCard.)

The memory of this night turns my stomach and stabs at my soul. How did we get to this strange place in the American church? Why do we pin rhinestone JESUS baubles to our breasts, but fail to be Jesus to those who silently cry out to us? Why would we spend enough money to tote around a “Jesus is coming” bag, but repeatedly fail to find the resources to make sure our hungry are fed?

It took the volunteers and me a long time to repack all the unsold paraphernalia in cardboard and bubble wrap. I looked at the army of boxes piled at our feet knowing that tomorrow they would be shipped by UPS to the next market. (Uh, I mean church.)

Jesus never did appear in the lobby of the church that night. In retrospect, I can’t help but wonder if he showed up at all.

Putting Complainers to Work

I am a firm believer in open-book management—the practice of openly communicating financial details broadly across organizations. When I took over an intact department, I sought help in establishing a good approach to open-book management from a good friend and expert in the topic, Chuck Kremer. Chuck recommended an approach for sharing success stories, setting goals, and tracking actions along with in-depth review of the financial statements. These steps consumed nearly an hour a month—taking over the agenda for one of our weekly meetings. But I was dedicated to the approach and was seeing many benefits.

About six months into the process, I sought feedback and was surprised at what I heard. Although they saw value in the process, several people expressed it took too long and involved too many steps. When I took a poll, others agreed. So I asked those most vocal to take on a project to improve the process. I gave the team a few boundaries and sent them off. The results were wonderful. The process was streamlined and allowed for other topics during those staff meetings. Also, the team had gathered broad input across the department, so everyone was committed to the new process, and we gained even more benefits.

The situation reminded me of this passage. Early in the building of the Christian church, shortly after Jesus’ resurrection and ascension, the people also had a complaint:

Now in those days, when the number of the disciples was multiplying, there arose a murmuring against the Hebrews by the Hellenists, because their widows were neglected in the daily distribution. Then the twelve summoned the multitude of the disciples and said, “It is not desirable that we should leave the word of God and serve tables. Therefore, brethren, seek out from among you seven men of good reputation, full of the Holy Spirit and wisdom, whom we may appoint over this business; but we will give ourselves continually to prayer and to the ministry of the word.” And the saying pleased the whole multitude. And they chose Stephen, a man full of faith and the Holy Spirit, and Philip, Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolas, a proselyte from Antioch, whom they set before the apostles; and when they had prayed, they laid hands on them.
—Acts 6:1–6

The leaders properly resisted the trap of jumping in to address the problem or direct the details of the answer. Instead, they identified a plan and delegated the execution details to the people with the complaint. Notice the leaders established boundaries for the proper answer, which in this case was the characteristics of the candidates for the job. The leaders were also involved in approving the selections made, which is another form of boundary. This answer resolved the problem quickly, and even the people with the complaint were pleased.

Turns out, involvement and delegation are wonderful techniques for addressing complaints. You may be amazed at how well—and how fast—they work in ministry!

Interested in giving it a go? Here’s what I suggest:

-Ask questions to further your understanding of the complaint.

-Resist the urge to become defensive if the complaint involves you or any of your previous decisions.

-Determine how you can assign the issue to others—especially the people who have raised the complaint.

-Remember it is vital to identify appropriate boundaries and requirements for the final solution: the criteria by which you will accept the solution offered.

-Review and approve the final decision

How might this process help you deal with complaining staff or volunteers?