This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.
The mythologist Joseph Campbell described the quest as the hero’s journey out from the ordinary to a place of adventure with the hope of magical rewards. It sounds fabulous. Until it’s not.
I’m currently on a quest for a personal retreat day. It’s not nearly so heroic as what Capbell described. Magical rewards? No, I just want to find a place where I can spend the day away with Jesus for prayer and journaling. A place without ping pong. Ping pong? [Read more…]
Racism between and within racial ethnic groups exists everywhere. It exists in our small town of 7,000 on the plains of eastern Colorado.
What we do not experience, however, is racism in its most extreme expressions. The redlining, brutality, and systematic dehumanization we witness in some cities simply hasn’t happened here in anyone’s memory. Our Anglo and Hispanic kids grow up together. There’s some social segregation as they grow older, but friends remain friends for lifetimes. We have a very small African American community whom we know personally and love dearly.
I’m not trying to paint our community as perfect. It is not. Skin color gives advantages to some over others. Racial insult is real, and the achievement gap persists. We have work to do. Nevertheless, I lived in St. Louis for eleven years and owned a home in Ferguson–yes, THE Ferguson where Michael Brown was shot by Darren Wilson. I feel qualified to say that the reality here in our small town is simply not the same. In fact, an African American man who moved to our community several years ago told me plainly how much he appreciates living here where he can just be known for himself and not only as a stereotyped black man. [Read more…]
This past Sunday morning, I spent time binge-watching church. Yep, church. Not The Trials of Gabriel Fernandez or Love is Blind (never!). I binge watched church. I’d already recorded our service here in La Junta, after all, and here was my chance to see a bunch of my colleagues in action.
I loved it. All the music, all the voices, all the styles. I watched worship happening in Texas, and Pennsylvania, and here in Colorado (twice). There was lots of talk of faith over fear, given the COVID-19 situation. There was a little bit of fumbling. I mean, really, who’s comfortable leading worship in front of an empty sanctuary? One preacher showed pictures of his recent mission trip. Another clearly hadn’t planned to preach and simply offered his thoughts on God’s goodness. Another preached on Nathaniel (brilliant!) and another on…I can’t actually remember what scripture the last one preached on. I was getting a little foggy by then.
Whatever the singers sang, whatever the preachers preached, I heard one thing over and over: God sees us. In different ways, at different times, the statement was there in all four services, and it struck me as incredibly moving.
Here’s my hunch:
I know God loves me. I know God is in control.
God seeing me, though, means I’m known. My fears, my doubts, my panic, my misgiving, my anger, my distrust. All of it is known by this God who continues to love me and heal me anyway.
Our particular community is far enough removed (for now) from the pandemic to be conflicted. What do we do? Anything? How soon? Why? I’ve heard everything from, “It’s a hoax,” to “We’ve got to close up everything for two months.” We’ll have more clarity as the days pass, but, for now, I’m comforted that God sees all of us in our confusion, and He’ll prepare us for whatever comes.
