No Time to be Sad

“Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.”- Jesus in Matthew 5:4 This is the age of superficiality. It is the age of skimming the surface of our lives without the notice of what is below the waterline.We are busy. We live fast and we are over-extended. There is so much going on above the waterline, how will we ever find the time to explore what is below the waterline? Just how does one stop and allow sadness to undo us when we are spinning all the plates of life, money, work and stress?Busy people send text messages when someone dies. There is no time to bake a pie. There is no time to give the hug that says more than words can ever communicate. We “Like” something on social media when we what we really want to say is that we don’t like it at all that you may be in a coma in the hospital and near your last breath. But a “like” or a text seems to do.[tweetthis]We do not mourn. We do not lament. We do not grieve. We have forgotten how to allow our sad hearts to bubble up to our overly made up external appearances.[/tweetthis] In Jewish culture, when someone died, people dressed in black for a whole year. That seems so endless—perhaps even ridiculous. We have parties and cookouts to attend. We have things to do; people to see and places to go.Yet in the midst of all of this living we try to do, Jesus turns the world upside down when he says, something very good will come from mourning that will in fact, bless you. I have to admit that sometimes, many of the teachings of Jesus seem like he is speaking in a foreign language—like Chinese. It seems so way out to say that there is a blessing that will come when we take the time to mourn. Is it Chinese?[tweetthis]When we take the time to allow our sad hearts to catch up with our breathless lifestyle we soon see that we are addicted to pleasure.[/tweetthis] Ours is the age is numbing pain, not entering it. Yet, Jesus calls us to not only enter pain but to realize that when we enter pain—either our own or someone else’s that a sheer, unadulterated comforted will be ours. Jesus is calling us to enter pain, not try to go around it and more, he says, by entering pain, we assuage it—or God does.There is no escaping suffering. Sooner or later it is going to bite us all on the butt and drop us to our knees. When we mourn this; when we slow down and recognize that suffering is one of the great ties that bind us all together as humans, then we stand on level ground. There are no hierarchy’s in pain. We all stand low; kneel low and beg low, don’t we?This past year, my own family has been baptized in the cesspool of pain. The death of a child—our grandson broke us. Some people texted us. All the texts made us more sad. Can I just tell you that texting or the use of social media is probably not the best form of entering someone’s pain. When my father died, someone who I thought knew better sent a text while I was putting my suit on to take my father’s body to the grave. Rather than be comforted, I was outraged. His text broke the frozen grief in my heart. I wanted to text back, “I don’t need your text. I need you!” But like so many times, I swallowed that grief only to see if morph into a distancing and emotional estrangement today—years later.Mourning is something even the church does not know how to do anymore. In our mega-ness, funerals are now happening in side rooms or no room at all. They are relegated to businesses that make a lot of money when we are most vulnerable. Some churches are so concerned with the lost, they have forgotten those who are lost in their grief.  For many, the state of the church is worthy of mourning and lamenting.This saddens me and sickens me. I mourn about our society. I mourn about so much that seems to be happening so quickly in our country. [tweetthis]I mourn that we seem to have lost our way and I am wondering---if not mourning-- that we may never find our way again and like Rome, perish and soon. I mourn that.[/tweetthis]I mourn that so many of the folks I know are now the unchurched—a label once thought only reserved for those who never went to church. Now, I am seeing more don’t then do. I mourn that.I mourn over a lion that was killed this week. I mourn over hearing the words of a Medical doctor employed by Planned Parenthood choosing to use the words, “crush” when it comes to the skill that is now implemented in an abortion. I mourn that.I mourn that my own children cannot live in the same community and have Sunday dinner’s together. I mourn that often we live in different countries, not counties. For me, I mourn that we cannot get together enough. We never will. Times have changed. We will not be there for the birth’s of our cousins; not be able to celebrate anniversaries; not able to light candles or eat sliced, ruby red watermelon on the 4^th of July. I mourn that.I mourn that my wife at 60 is having to work through the childhood issues of being raised in a Boarding School in Africa—that childhood issues become adult issues. I mourn that.I mourn that at my age I have found no way to slow time down. I only am a witness now of it's speed. I mourn this deeply. And with this mourning comes the realization that for me, one day soon, time will itself stop and I will pass like every other mortal life passes from this earth. I mourn this because I have loved my life.I mourn that I can’t call my Mom and ask her about what Dr. Oz (her favorite show) said on his TV show every day. She died. I miss her still. I mourn that. I don't know what Dr. Oz says anymore about anything. Does he ever tell us how healthy it is to mourn?There are so many things to mourn if we stop and and enter whatever it is that is happening---there is a deeper perspective. And this deeper perspective makes us love life, nourish life and protect life with every fiber in our body and soul.  When we get things "out" something else comes "in" and this is what Jesus and all the Biblical writers called--peace.  To get things out is to mourn whether it is the giving out of a tear, a groan, a sigh or a blog.I have never found any better words than these to help us understand the power of mourning:  [tweetthis]When life is heavy and hard to take, Go off by yourself, Enter the silence. Bow in prayer. Don’t ask questions; Wait for hope to appear. Don’t’ run from trouble. Take it full-face. The “worst” is never the worst. Lamentations 3:28-30[/tweetthis] (I have been living in the Beatitudes of Jesus for a year and am just now blogging about the insights, gold and comfort I am finding in them.)

The Wild and Peaceful Landscapes of Stillness

During Sabbatical I had some amazing adventures in experiencing the difference between the stillness I thought I knew about and had studying about and the stillness that patiently lead me to wild and peaceful landscapes within me that I had never seen or even knew existed.There is nothing like being surrounded in stillness by an endless deep ocean and a crisp blue sky that seems to stretch to eternity. I sat still; I stood still, even holding my breath so as not to miss the glory of such a sight. Creation of the Creator unfolding right in from of me and I became a silent witness. What a privilege. I was honored and to this day I hold the honor in my heart.To encounter the Creator at his work while wrapped in stillness is to not remain the same. Stillness gave me the deep awareness that while being a silent witness, being actually present with God in a glorious display of nature right before my eyes, he too was present with me in the landscape of the dark, rugged crevices of piercing grief and suffering . In stillness I experienced my presence with God in beauty and his presence with me in brokenness. We were together and it was good. Nothing fixed or figured out. Nothing healed and made brand new.Stillness gave me an experience with Companionship and Compassion and Comfort. I wasn’t alone with my isolating fears and blinding tears. Stillness ushered me into that mysterious peace that had nothing to do with understanding anything. Stillness granted me the reality of Divine Presence. Stillness let me know God in the midst of what seems to be a godless situation. Stillness made an inviting space for me to know and listen to God say, “Be still and know me”. And I did.Stillness gave me space to listen to the unexpressed voice crying out from my desolate wilderness. This is what I heard:A Prayer for Tommy*Holy, precious, purest angel face,God, please kiss him with your tender grace.Double chinButton nosePerfect little fingersSweetest tiny toes.Holy is this momentLove and sorrow flowsHearts that ache to hold himAre held by One who knows.Tommy Jacob Smith, my fourth grandchild: born March 5,2015—died, March 5, 2015

Our Sabbatical Journey Towards Poverty

During the first four weeks of our sabbatical—I think all that happened in me was a slow coming off the drug of work; the stimulus of my adrenalin and a steady withdrawal from being available. My brain was too tired; too vacant to read anything at all. I spent hours staring at the waves from a barrier island off the coast of North Carolina where we hunkered down. There I read the waves—not books. I couldn’t read words, listen to sermons or podcasts. It was too much…just way too much information coming at me. I had to stop and learn to listen and hear in a new way. Silence said more to me than at any other time in my life.But as I documented in my journal, I finally wanted to read in week three. And what I wanted to read was the Scripture. I needed ancient words to stick in my soul.Modern words can be so shallow sometimes. So I began to read Exodus—a fitting book because here I read about being in the wilderness and I found myself in one after so many long years of work. I skipped to Acts where I read about the movement of Jesus taking root in the heart and lives of the new found followers of Jesus. I found myself wanting what they wanted. I needed what they needed. I longed for the same things as many of the people found in that book: healing, purpose, companionship, forgiveness. The list goes on.Then, I landed upon the Beatitudes of Jesus—those short, life altering statements which throw a rod into the spokes of our fast moving life. They made me stop. They altered the trajectory of my life. The dismantled my programs for happiness. They undid me. Day after day, I read them, sat with them and marinated in them. They de-stabilized my efforts to be happy. They offered to me a whole new way of looking at life. And I suppose I was ready to breathe these paradigm shifting and life altering statements deep within me.The first one talks about being “Poor in Spirit” and the blessing that comes to us in such times of poverty. Yes, I was found in my own spiritual, emotional, mental and relational poverty. I had to lay down my efforts of knowing how God works. I was empty for explanation of any sorts to myself, to Gwen, to my family. I was needy—a beggar of sorts. Desperate for someone to give me my daily bread because all the bread I was making wasn’t satisfying my soul. To become poor is to become dependent on the care of others--like a beggar. A truly poor person becomes open to the receptivity of others--the generosity of a crumb--even a small token of love has a way of filling a poor person's heart and soul.I was helped here in becoming poor by the death of our fourth grandson. Losing something that you thought was so important has a way of bringing us to our knees. This happened to me. I felt bankrupt of feelings and wallowed in sorrow for our loss. I couldn’t not find words—even though I love words and use words and teach words and write words. I was wordless and still am in some respect. I feel poor in my ability to say what has happened in me.I got to see Tommy fifteen minutes after his birth. I held him. Gwen was able to be in the delivery room and witness his birth and passing into Heaven. When I went in, his body was already changing from pink to blue. As his body became blue, my soul became more blue. I held him and in a way, he held me. The picture you see is Tommy holding me—my finger—my soul. As this happened, I was saying “Hello, Tommy—welcome to this world. Good bye, Tommy, I will see you soon in Heaven.” It was way to brief; way to short; way to hard.What made my poverty even more of a loss for me to experience is that so many of my friends seemed to have remained quiet. I still don’t really know why that is. Maybe I have not understood the quietness of friendship yet. Perhaps, they assumed we would be surrounded. We were not. Perhaps ,they were afraid of saying the wrong thing. Perhaps, I live with illusions about what community looks like, feels like and tastes like. I also know that we are loved but in such a time as this for us, the quiet became so very loud and seemed to only reinforce our aloneness even more. We are so very grateful for the acts of love we did receive. They truly did assuage our soul. But let me just say it here: plain and simple. Nothing replaces the incarnational love of God in such a time as someone's flesh--someone's hug; someone's embrace. Nothing replaces that. It was for us, the loneliest time of our three scores of walking this planet and I never want to feel that sense of aloneness again in my life. Never. In this time, I read an article by the New York times columnist, David Brooks who hit the nail on the head in his most excellence piece, "The Art of Presence." Please do go back and read his true words. His words should become required reading for anyone who thinks of themselves as a caring, loving person.In the end, our sons and daughters rallied around us and in them and through them we found a solace we so, so needed and wanted. Grief is the robber of all joy and our grief was doubled in that Tommy's death was OUR grandson, not just any child; not just a statistic of chromosomes gone bad; not just another baby. Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone leaving to become dust is such a loss. It is heartbreaking for any 26 year old couple to lose a child and enter into the death of innocence.It was not just Tommy's death. It was witnessing the utter devastation of our last born son and his beautiful wife. In many ways, this grief was, for us, harder than Tommy's death because in a way, our son and daughter both died that day---or a big part of them did. Our grief was doubled by this realization too!Grief and poverty---becoming poor in spirit became the key to unlock both of the hearts of Gwen and myself. Grief and poverty of soul forced us in ways, we did not even know we could, rely on the One who is Comfort indeed. And what we found is this: God's comfort really is real. God's love really is enough. My poverty leads to God's riches. Yet, we would not have chosen this key to unlock our frozen hearts. But through our grandson’s death and walking with our son and daughter in law, we were taken to the greatest season of neediness that we have ever experienced in our lives. We became raw. We became desperate. We became poor. And this poverty has now ushered us into such richness that we will try to explain in upcoming posts."Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." Jesus in Matthew 5: 3"Your blessed when you are at the end of your rope. With less of you, there is more of God and his rule." Jesus in Matthew 5:3, Message