Benediction

On Mission with Gifts and Fruit

We’ve been talking about the Holy Spirit lately at Lakeside Church. The series is titled God 3.0 and you can listen to it on Lakeside’s website or on the mobile app. I’m currently writing about some of the things we’ve been talking about and some of the things we aren’t getting to.

Jesus told his disciples that when the Spirit came, he would glorify Jesus. That’s not a completely helpful translation these days, because we don’t commonly talk about glorifying anything. To glorify means to make something visible, to reveal someone’s character, or to acknowledge someone’s significance. The Holy Spirit came to do this for Jesus. More simply, the Spirit is on a mission to make Jesus visible to the world.

And the remarkable thing is: the Holy Spirit invites us into this mission! We become partners with the Spirit in making Jesus clear and visible to our friends and neighbors.

One way the Spirit prepares us for this mission is by giving us gifts (1 Corinthians 12-14). Every follower of Jesus receives gifts through which he or she can show him off. Some people receive the gift of prophecy, of speaking for God. Others receive the gift of speaking in languages they don’t know. Others have gifts of healing or mercy or helping or administration or generosity, among others. So you can see, these are beautiful, life-giving things.

In fact, another name for them is graces. We usually think of grace as an undeserved favor or blessing. Well, that’s what these gifts are—they are graces that we do not deserve, but they allow us to bless others so that they see can Jesus. What a great gift! Graces. I have been graced with some specific ways to honor and point to Jesus. If you are a follower of Jesus, so have you.

What you might find shocking is that these “graces” aren’t always handled with grace. The gifts of the Spirit are not a foolproof way to glorify Jesus. In fact, that’s what happened in the Bible where we read about the gifts. Paul wrote three entire chapters of scripture to the Corinthians so they could learn how to use their gifts in a way that would help, not hurt, the mission of the Spirit. The Christians in Corinth were so proud of their God-given graces that they began boasting about how cool their gifts were. People got jealous and selfish and very much not like Jesus. How ironic that the gifts given to glorify Jesus can be used in ways that dishonor him.

And that’s why Paul spent one whole chapter saying, “Here is a better way.” That chapter is 1 Corinthians 13. It is often referred to as the Love Chapter. We hear it most often at weddings, but it was not written to add poetic punch to a wedding. It was written because Christians were getting sideways with their gifts and their mission. So Paul said, You know, people will see Jesus better if we just learn to love one another. And then he described love. Beautifully. Poetically. Compellingly.

I love 1 Corinthians 13. But sometimes it gets lifted out of its context in the middle of spiritual gifts. It gets lost. And we forget what Paul is trying to say.

It seems that Paul recognized that possibility. So he wrote a summary of the Love Chapter in two brief verses in Galatians. It is also a well-known passage of scripture. But we don’t usually connect it to 1 Corinthians 13. It is Galatians 5:22-23. Here it is:

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, meekness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.

The fruit of the Spirit is a bullet-point summary of the Love Chapter. Paul describes for us not just the gifts or graces of the Spirit, but the fruit of the Spirit too.

Here’s the point of the Love Chapter, and of the fruit of the Spirit. The gifts of the Spirit, expressed without the fruit of the Spirit, will disintegrate the church. The church in Corinth was a mess. People forgot to check their egos at the door of the church. They brought all of their pride and self-centeredness right into their use of the gifts. But without love, or without the fruit of the Spirit, the gifts of the Spirit were actually harmful to the church.

So walk with the Spirit, Paul would say. Live with him. Let your roots go deep into the soil of his life and love. And let the fruit of the Spirit grow within you. Then use your gifts, whatever graces God has given you, to let people know about Jesus through you.

The Spirit of God Was Humming

This past weekend at Lakeside Church, we began a new series called God 3.0. We’re talking about the Holy Spirit. We’re talking about how the Spirit lives in our lives and in our world today.

I want to include some thoughts in the blog that I wasn’t able to address in the weekend message. Here’s one that is interesting to me:

We learned this weekend that God was present at creation, not just in the person of the Father, but also of the Son and the Spirit. Genesis 1 tells us:

• In the beginning God created. This is God the Father.
• And God said, “Let there be light.” This is God the Son, a.k.a. The Word.
• And the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. This is God the Spirit.

In a class I once took with Leonard Sweet, he pointed out that the term “hover” can mean to tremble or flutter. It can refer to a vibration. He wondered if this vibration made a sound, like humming.

Was there music at the creation?

Sometimes I wonder about the artistic elements of life:

• The things that inspire us.
• The things that drive our worship.
• The things that elicit a response of awe, wonder, pleasure, joy, and thoughtfulness.

I believe they were present at creation. Light was the first thing God created. But if the Spirit was humming, then sound was present even before that. Light and sound are our two most basic expressions of art.

Light brought color and shadow. When God called for light, he was calling for blues and reds, yellows, greens, purples and browns. He brought out a pallet that painters would use forever after. The beginnings of human creativity were expressed in the call for light.

And shadow? We often think of shadows as darkness. In that vein darkness could not have been in the creation before the Rebellion of Adam and Eve. We think of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. But shadows are not evil. They give texture. They present depth. They are part of art. A painter without shadows could never become a Rembrandt. 

And what about that humming sound? The Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. The water—which amplifies sound—may have carried the noise around the aquatic globe. And what if it wasn’t just noise, but the beginning of music? In its least inspiring definition, music is the skillful arrangement of selected vibrations. Or how about this from dictionary.com: any sweet, pleasing or harmonious sounds. As an example dictionary.com gives “the music of the waves.”

Sometimes I don’t know what to do with the inspiring parts of this world. I can get bogged down in the theology of sin. Everything has to do with broken laws and the need for redemption. But what do I do with music that inspires me? How do I relate to a painting that moves my soul? Can’t it be just a reflection of creation? Can’t it be a reminder that the God who made the world loves the world and gave it gifts to enjoy and inspire?

I find it interesting that when King Saul was struggling with a dark spirit, he called in David to play the harp for him. Music soothed his spirit. Another time music moved him to prophesy for God. Music brought a connection with God’s Spirit. Is that ultimately because God’s Spirit hums? His songs work their way into our heart and inspire us. They draw us toward him.

This morning I used a song to initiate my worship of God. It has moved me forward and lifted me up all morning.

No wonder I love The Sound of Music.

Myths We Love to Believe (Part Two)

I have a closet door that is supposed to slide. It doesn’t. Somehow it got stuck. It’s a floor-to-ceiling mirrored door. I’d like it to work, but it’s a repair job I can’t tackle myself. Eventually—maybe—I’ll call someone in to repair it. Meanwhile, I just use the other door.

Sometimes in the Christian culture, ideas get stuck. They’re supposed to work one way, but they don’t. They got off the track at some point, but nobody fixed it. So we live with an idea that is not working, and may not even be right.

This past weekend at Lakeside Church (as part of a series called Myths We Love to Believe) we talked about the Myth that women are supposed to submit to men. More specifically the myth says wives are to submit to their husbands. Now, before you go all Internet crazy on me, Yes, I know the Bible does say this. It says it precisely. Twice. Nope, make that four times. Very clearly wives are called by God to submit to their husbands.

However, few lies are complete lies. Few myths are completely void of truth. When Satan wants to slip us a myth about God and how we relate to him, he usually slides it into a sleeve of truth. That way it looks good on the outside. If the inside is not quite accurate, well, he figures many people won’t notice.

The female submission story is one of those kinds of myths. When we actually look at Ephesians 5:21-6:9, the centerpiece passage that teaches submission, we learn a fuller story. Ephesians 5:21 sets the stage. Paul writes, “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.” The principle Paul is teaching is called Mutual Submission.

Perhaps a breakdown of the literary passage will help. Ephesians 5:21-6:9 is one unit of literature. It is an application-oriented follow-up to Ephesians 5:15-20, where Paul invites the Christians to understand God’s will and be filled with God’s Spirit. One application of being filled with God’s Spirit is to submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. This is a universal Christian responsibility. Followers of Jesus are to submit, or place themselves under, one another. It is mutual submission. It is always mutually beneficial.

The surprise is that it plays out in some unexpected relationships. Three pairings of people follow the general principle: wives and husbands; children and fathers (or parents); and slaves and masters. Each one is a pairing of people who are called to submit to one another.

It is easy to see how slaves are expected to submit to masters—assuming that the institution of slavery were legal, as it was in Paul’s generation. Likewise, children should submit to or place themselves under their parents. Otherwise what is the Fifth Commandment about? But it is nearly impossible to figure out how a master should submit to a slave. Yet Paul tells the masters: “Treat your slaves in the same way.” We ask, the same way as what? Paul says, “Treat them in the same way Christian slaves are to treat their masters: with respect and fear and sincerity of heart.” That is a picture of mutual submission.

Fathers are also expected to submit to their children. This does not mean the father bows down to his kids. Paul says fathers should not exasperate their children—should not make them beside themselves with anger. Rather fathers are to bring up their children in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. Fathers are to place themselves under their children to lift them up, to help them successfully live as followers of Jesus.

With that background, consider the first pairing Paul lists: husbands and wives. Because wives come first on the list, and because they get some specific instructions on submission, we often focus on the responsibility of the wife to submit. But that is the myth. In Paul’s words, husbands and wives, just like children and parents and slaves and masters, are to place themselves under one another. This is done for the purpose of lifting one another up, supporting one another, blessing one another.

And here’s where my sticky door theory comes into the conversation. Often, when we men come to this passage we get stuck. We slide right past the idea that submission, according to 5:21, is mutual among Christians of both genders. We get stuck on verse 23: “For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior.” From that flows the idea of headship and power and spiritual leadership.

For years the evangelical church has been stuck on the idea that a man is to be the spiritual leader of his wife. It is a noble concept. It was promoted years ago by the speakers at Promise Keepers events. It is inspiring and aspirational and sometimes completely legitimate (when a man is qualified and prepared to be a spiritual leader of his wife). But it is not what Paul is teaching in Ephesians 5 or any other passage about heads.

Under the banner of submission Paul gives the husband and the wife each one verb to describe what submission looks like for them. For the wife the word is found in Ephesians 5:33. The wife is called to respect her husband. That is what submission looks like for a wife toward her husband.

The husband’s marching orders are found in 5:25. Paul says, “Husbands, love your wives.” That is the only verbal imperative Paul gives. Love. Not lead. What did Jesus do for the church? He loved her! He gave himself up for her. He raised her up by standing under her. He washed and cleansed and cared for her. He smoothed out wrinkles and made her beautiful. Because he loved her. It is what a head does for a body.

We need this door to get unstuck. We have women pausing in their spiritual development because they are waiting for their husband to lead. We have men who feel guilty and inept because they believe they are supposed to lead, but they know their wife is far ahead of them spiritually. They could never catch up enough to lead her. So they stop trying and feel shame because of it.

I wish I could get this piece of the Christian culture unstuck. Many marriages could be so much more beautiful if men were freed up to love their wives without worrying about leading them. Just love them. Sacrifice for them. Lift them up by standing under them. Bless them. Serve them. They would probably get a beautiful bride in return. That’s what Jesus is hoping for. 

Myths We Love to Believe

In Genesis 1:26 the Bible quotes God. He says, “Let us make mankind in our image...” Whatever that means—and there has been much debate—it does not mean that God is like humans. It means humans are somehow like God. Yet we humans constantly create gods in our own image.

The Greeks were masters of this. Zeus was a powerful god who looked like a really strong, though old, man. Athena was the goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration, civilization, just warfare, mathematics, strength, the arts and crafts and skill. She was created in the image of the ideal woman. Sort of the Proverbs 31 version of a goddess.

Michelangelo picked up the theme in the Sistine Chapel. God and Adam share the same panel in the middle of the ceiling. They look the same; only God looks a lot older.

Our superheroes today are very much like the Greek gods. Superman would not be super if he wasn’t both strong and handsome. Wonder Woman has to be both thin and busty, both powerful and drop-dead gorgeous.

And every superhero, like the Greek gods of old, has a built-in weakness. Just like us. The gods have been created in our image.

When this happens, the sacred stories about the gods become like our stories too. The gods strive to do good, but they are weak. They stumble. They fall. They fail. The gods make a mess of things. Superheroes make a lot of messes too. You don’t want to be in New York City or Gotham when the Avengers are going through a rough patch. Of course, they eventually get cleaned up at the end of the movie, but that’s just hopeful storytelling. We want the story of gods made in our image to end well.

Sacred stories come with sacred sayings. What is more super, and more American, than fighting for truth, justice and the American Way? Or God helps those who help themselves? Oh wait, that one’s in the Bible, isn’t it? Or is it?

The problem with some of our sacred sayings is that they are not in the Bible. They have become myths we love to believe. Myths like: women are supposed to submit to men. Or: the husband is the head of the household. Or: God won’t give me more than I can handle.

The myths of the world are not necessarily the truth of the scripture. Jesus was very clear: the truth will set you free. It is crucial for followers of Jesus to know the truth, and to know truth from error. Sometimes the error is just flat wrong: If you love God, you will be rich. (That’s an easy one to spot. It is not necessarily an easy one to avoid.) But most often bits of truth are mixed in with the myths. Those are the insidious ones. Those are the ones we need to carefully understand and reject.

How do we know if the sacred sayings we love to believe are biblical or if they are just religious myths masquerading as truth? The only way to know is to be thoroughly immersed in the scriptures. It’s why Paul told Timothy to “Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth.”

Otherwise we are just making gods in our image.

_____

This weekend at Lakeside Church we are launching a new five-part series called “Myths We Love to Believe.” The first myth this weekend, in honor of Mothers Day, is “God wants women to submit to men.” Ladies, you’ll love it. Men, I think you will too.

Lakeside Church gathers at 5:00 and 6:30 p.m. on Saturdays and 9:00 and 10:45 a.m. on Sundays. 745 Oak Avenue Parkway, Folsom, CA 95630

The Lord Bless You

At the close of the weekend worship gatherings at Lakeside Church I sometimes deliver magic words:

            The Lord bless you and keep you;

            The Lord make his face to shine upon you

                        And be gracious unto you;

            The Lord lift up his countenance upon you

                        And give you his peace.

OK, they’re not magic—not in some hocus-pocus way. But I watch them do magic things. I watch them bring tears to people’s eyes. I watch when people receive them as if they really were receiving a blessing.

And that’s what makes them magic: they really are a blessing.

Jesus said people would be blessed for certain things in this life. Those who are poor in spirit would be blessed. Those who mourned would be blessed. So would the meek, and the hungry for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart and the peacemakers. Blessed.

The word Jesus used is the Greek word makarios. When we say it means blessed, it doesn’t help much because we don’t know what blessing really means in this postmodern world. But the word simply means happy. Someone who is blessed is happy.

When I watch the faces of the people who receive this end-of-the-service blessing, what I see is happiness. To receive that blessing makes them happy—in a really good way.

I think for some people they happily receive this blessing because they heard it growing up. The happiness comes from returning to the faith-filled days of childhood. That is a great reason to be happy, to feel blessed.

 For other people the happiness comes because they hear the words and receive them, welcome them, as a literal blessing from God. The words came from God in the first place. In Numbers 6:22-27 God told Moses to tell Aaron and his sons (Israel’s priests) to use these words when they wanted to bless people. He said that when the priests did this they would be putting God’s name on the Israelites and God would indeed bless them.

Every time I use this blessing—it’s a benediction really—I am putting God’s name on his people. When they get that, they know his blessing is coming.

I wonder what would happen if we lived in God’s blessing, if we lived with God’s benediction on our lives? What would be different if we knew we carried God’s name with us? Would we live differently? Would we think about ourselves differently?

Oh wait, don’t people who follow Jesus carry the name of Christ with them? God has given us his blessing in the person of his Son. When we live by faith in him, we carry God’s name every day.

It may not be magic. But it comes with life-giving power.

Donald Sterling and Me

The Sports World spun off its axis this weekend. Donald Sterling, it learned, is a racist. Sterling is the owner of the Los Angeles Clippers basketball team. The public story says he didn’t want his girlfriend associating with African-Americans. He especially didn’t want her bringing them to his arena to watch his team’s games.

Disclaimer Number One: I don’t know Donald Sterling and I don’t know if he is a racist. The recording released by TMZ is alleged to contain the voice of Donald Sterling. As of this moment, it has not been confirmed.

Disclaimer Number Two: We live in a country where someone is supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. I guess that doesn’t apply to billionaire racist team owners, but I would certainly want that gift in my life.

Now, beyond the disclaimers, here are the things that are challenging me on this topic. First, racism is ugly wherever it rears it multi-colored head. My primary concern is not that it shows up in Mr. Sterling’s life, but in mine. I am certain that I judge people based on race. I try not to, but I know I do.

I have a friend who refuses to describe people by their skin color (or other features of ethnicity). When pointing out to his daughter someone who could quickly and easily be identified as black (or Asian or Hispanic), he says, “That guy with the red shirt on.” When he first told me that, I didn’t get it. I asked him, “Why don’t you just say, ‘The black guy over there’?” He said he was trying to see the world differently, to approach people differently. He didn’t want judgments to fall based on ethnicity. He was teaching his daughter to do the same. I’ve learned a lot from this friend.

(Last night Donna and I watched 42, the film about Jackie Robinson. When Red Barber, the radio announcer for the Brooklyn Dodgers, described Robinson’s first at-bat in the major leagues, he said, “He’s definitely a brunette.” Red Barber must have learned from my friend too.)

That leads me to the second challenge on this topic for me: hypocrisy. If Donald Sterling’s is the voice in this TMZ recording, his problem goes beyond racism. He is a hypocrite. Sterling owns a team that is comprised primarily of African-American players—twelve out of 14 on the roster, in fact. Sterling hired Doc Rivers, who is African-American, to be the head coach of his team. Over 70 percent of the players in the NBA, the league in which Sterling’s team plays, are African-American. Yet he doesn’t want his girlfriend to bring African-Americans to his team’s games. He doesn’t want to associate with African-Americans—unless he can use them to win a championship. That is appalling.

And that’s where this gets most difficult for me. “Hypocrite” is one of the most common words used to describe followers of Jesus. Christians typically claim the high ground in moral and ethical affairs. We claim to be above the herd. But the world looks at our behavior and our biases and decides we don’t fly as high as we like to assume. 

We have blind spots. I think it is best to admit it.

One of the blind spots is about race. This blind spot stretches back to the biblical era, where racism had been institutionalized. The Jews of the first century were racists. They felt a God-given right to be racists because God had chosen them. That got into their heads. “We are the Chosen People. We are better than everybody else.” In reality, God didn’t choose the Jews because they were superior. He chose them because they were fragile. Yet the Jews began to see themselves as the Chosen Ones, above the rest, special.

This attitude carried into the New Testament era and into the early followers of Jesus. Jesus told his followers about a man who had been severely beaten, robbed and left wounded on the highway. Two of the best of the Chosen People saw the man and passed by on the other side of the road. But another man came along and helped the wounded traveler. This third man was a Samaritan. (Read the story in Luke 10.) We know him today as the Good Samaritan. He got this name because everyone was shocked that Jesus would use a Samaritan as the hero for his story. They couldn’t imagine a Samaritan being good. Samaritans were half-bloods, outsiders, people to be avoided at all costs because of their ethnicity.

When Jesus had ascended and the church was growing, the apostle Peter landed in some ethnically charged situations. Once he found himself invited to dinner by Italians. It took a special revelation from God to get Peter to agree to the invitation. (Read the story in Acts 10.) Another time, after Gentiles (read: ethnic outsiders) had been welcomed into the fledgling church, Peter ran into conflict with Paul because he had engaged in some hypocritical racism. (Read the story in Galatians 2.)

Racism is not new to the church. Neither is hypocrisy. In my life I want to avoid both. But I can’t just avoid them. The lawyer who instigated Jesus’ telling of the Samaritan story was looking for loopholes, ways to get around loving his neighbor. Jesus told him to stop trying to avoid people. Rather, he said, look for ways to engage people, to love them, to be a neighbor to them by serving them.

I can’t help Donald Sterling love his neighbor. But his plight reminds me that Jesus called me to love mine.

The House-Builder

Sometimes a bit of scripture gets lodged in my brain. I can’t get it out. After a while I begin to wonder if the Lord wants me to get it out. Or if he just wants it to stay put, gnawing at the inside of my head until it travels down to my heart.

Psalm 127 has been like that lately.

            Unless the Lord builds the house,

            They labor in vain who build it.

            Unless the Lord watches over the city,

            The watchmen stand guard in vain.

            In vain you rise up early

                and stay up late,

                toiling for food to eat—

            for he gives to his beloved sleep.

 Psalm 127 is a Song of Ascent. It is part of a group of songs recorded in Psalm 120-134. Tradition says that when the Jews were climbing the steps to the temple of God, they paused on each step to sing one of these psalms. The Songs of Ascent are musicals of faith. They made climbing the steps to the temple a journey of faith.

I’m a builder of sorts. I’m not the kind of builder who knows his way around blueprints. I’m not very good with a saw either. Or with a hammer, nails, a level, or many other tools for that matter. (I’m decent with a roll of duct tape.)

Although I’m not that good with the construction itself, I like to build things. My wife and I have owned two houses. We added on to them both. What’s present needs to be remodeled. What’s not present can be imagined and built. I love that.

I’ve done the same with the church. I got to build Lakeside Church. From the ground floor, from the bottom up. I didn’t do much of the physical construction—if you’re a Lakesider, you can be grateful. But I got to be involved in a lot of the spiritual construction. That has been a huge privilege.

And yet, unless the Lord builds the house...

My two daughters are starting to build marriages this year. One crossed the threshold in February. The other’s turn is coming in July. I’m happy for them and eager for them to thrive in those marriages. But I hope they (and their new husbands) know, unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it.

Psalm 127 is relevant for every area of my life. It’s time to build a budget? Unless the Lord builds the house...

It’s time to lead a ministry team? Unless the Lord builds the house...

You are launching a new career? Or remodeling a long-term one? Unless the Lord builds the house...

We are often so busy making, building and launching things. In all these activities I want to ask: Am I letting the Lord build it? Or am I so driven to build it, that I bypass the Builder?

How do I let the Builder do his thing? And how do I know if I am letting him build the house?

I find two things that make room for the Builder to build in my life. First, I pause. I take a moment or two to reflect on who is building. Chances are if I am rushed, it is I who is building the house. If I am impatient, it is I who is building the house. If I am angry in the process, it is I who is building the house. When the Lord builds the house, he gives room for my best me to come out.

Second, I invite. I take a moment to ask the Lord to build. I ask: What do you want it to look like, Lord? What is your timetable? What do you want to build in me while you are building the house? And I invite him to do it as he likes. That is a journey of faith. It is exactly what a Song of Ascent should be.

And when the Lord builds my house—whatever that house may be—my labor is not in vain.  

Romantic Italy

Italy. It sounds so romantic. Oh wait, did it ever dawn on you--like it did me this week--that romance and romantic come from the word Roman? Whatever is Roman seems romantic. I think that's why so many of us want to go to Italy. It is so Romantic.

When I was in college a friend of mine was leading a Bible study. For some reason now lost to me, he asked the group for a definition of "romantic". I was there with my girlfriend that night, so when the subject of romance came up, everybody looked at us. Then she looked at me. "Yeah, Buddy," her eyes asked, "how 'bout it?" I stalled and tried to run a misdirection play--look, a bird--but it wasn't working. Pretty soon everyone realized I didn't know how to define romantic. My friend the Bible study leader eventually helped me out. Romantic, he said, is when something is ideal or idealistic. Romance is about what is ideal.

Right now that's funny to me because I've been in Italy a few days. In some ways it is highly romantic. Donna and I--yes, she was the girlfriend at that Bible study--arrived first in Venice. Venice is perhaps the most romantic city of Italy. (Think gondolas and gelato.) It is rather ideal. There are no cars, no car horns, and no car smog. People walk a lot, often together. They sit outside and eat gelato. The TV shows are all in Italian, so although they sound very romantic, you can't figure what they're saying. You might as well have a conversation. That's romantic too.

But the funny side is that Venice is no more ideal than my town or yours. They have pigeons. Lots of them. Have you seen the damage pigeons can do? And I'm not just talking about dropping bombs on unsuspecting romantic passers-by. Apparently Friday was trash day in our Venice neighborhood. People left plastic trash bags tied on their doors somehow. Very romantic. And pigeons somehow figured out how to open some of those romantic trash bags. Soon there was trash everywhere.

Besides the pigeons, there's the walking. Where's my car when I need it? They do have streets, but they are only for walkers. They are interrupted every hundred feet or so by a footbridge so pedestrians can walk over another canal.

I did like the gondolas. And the vaporettos that masquerade like buses on the grand canal. Very cool.

I liked the churches too. That's why we came on this trip--to see churches. We wanted to experience what the architects designed into these houses of worship. We wanted to experience the awe of looking up into the domes of the cathedrals, to see the story of the Bible told in mosaics of gold and beautiful colors. We found that the architects not only helped us look up toward God, but also down to the floor, for the floors were some of the most interesting parts of the churches. The Basilica of St. Mark, Venice's most impressive church, had the most impressive floor, a fabulous, colorful marble mosaic. Other floors contained the bones of past priests and past benefactors of that particular church. The churches were very busy with art.

I wish the churches were busy with people. We didn't get to every church in the city. And we only got to one on Sunday. That was the day we planned to join a church for worship. We knew it would be Catholic, which we are not. We knew it we would be in Italian, which we don't speak or understand. And that's understandable. The problem is--and the most non-ideal situation in Venice is--that the churches are full of art but not full of people.

I'm not the judge of the church in Italy. And many people have written well about the decline of the church in Europe. So I don't need to write a ton about it. I came on this trip because I love the church, even the churches that express their faith in Jesus differently than I do. But I do wonder about the church in my own country, in my own town, the church I serve. Rick Steves, the well-known travel writer, without irony calls the churches we saw "the best museums in Venice". That is not ideal. A museum is a repository of the past. A church should be the story-tellers of the present and the delivery system of hope for the future. That's the ideal. A church that can be that is a romantic church. May that kind of romance never leave the church I serve.

Pushing the Bell

On Wednesday night we left my younger brother, Greg, to sit with Mom. The time of her passing was getting closer, but only God knew the exact timing, so we wanted to make sure one of us was with her all the time. Greg wanted the night shift.

Quite a while ago, my brother-in-law, Matt, had installed a doorbell on the table next to Mom’s bed. Mom could push the bell if she was in need or distress. My sister, Kyleene, whose bedroom was directly above Mom’s room, could come down and address her needs. Since Mom had been moved to a hospital bed recently, the button for the bell now rested next to a reclining chair. Greg sat in that chair on Wednesday night.

This was the plan. When the hospice nurse notices that Mom is reaching the end, she tells Greg. Greg pushes the bell, which rings in Matt and Ky’s room. Matt stops by our room on the way downstairs. We all gather around Mom to be with her as she transfers to heaven.

At 5:00 a.m. Greg pushed the bell. In the skip of a heartbeat we got downstairs, not knowing how urgent the bell was. We arrived in Mom’s room to find she was entering a stage called agonal breathing. I won’t give you details—I’m not that kind of doctor. But a pattern developed where she gasped for breath several times, then she would vocally sigh. The sighs were amazing. Peaceful. Then she would close her mouth, and each time she did I thought, “That was her last breath.” A long pause followed—20 or 30 seconds. Then Mom would begin the agonal breathing again. Followed by a vocal sigh. Followed by closing her mouth, and I would think, “That was her last breath.”

This phase of Mom’s passing was extremely stressful, in my view. I actually prayed for her to quit breathing. Make this her last breath, Lord. Let that sigh be the last one. That would bring peace. But then the breathing started again. This went on for 90 minutes. I struggled with that.

Sometimes in a season of stress, we find ways to relieve it. Six of us surrounded Mom’s bed: Greg, Ky and Matt on her right side; Donna and me and our daughter, Breck, on her left. Suddenly, in the midst of the quiet, Greg spoke up. “Oh, that’s not fair,” he complained. It was unrelated to anything I could see. Then he asked, “Are you kidding me?” I looked where he was looking and noticed a vase filled with tulips. Tulip petals lay scattered on the dresser. Apparently the tulips had been given to Mom a while ago. They were dying—and dropping petals—as Mom was dying. If Beauty and the Beast comes to mind, Greg said that’s exactly what it looked like. Then we all laughed. It was funny and ironic and painful all at the same time.

We now call it Tulip Humor. Anything that breaks the morbid tension of death with a laugh or a smile—that’s Tulip Humor.

Mom loved to laugh. I think she would have enjoyed Tulip Humor. People have told me this week how much they loved her laugh. I guess it was too familiar to me, because I hadn’t really thought about it. But now when I’m in a crowd of her friends, I expect to hear her laugh. I imagine it.

As we huddled around her bed Thursday morning I loved hearing Mom sigh. Every sigh let me hear her voice again. I had never thought about her voice. I thought it was a normal voice, but it wasn’t. It was the voice that taught me to read. It was the voice that told me “Great things come in small packages.” (Yes, that voice instilled in me a willingness to tell short jokes.) It was the voice that told me I could do anything I set my mind to. It was the voice that scolded me and blessed me. When she sighed I could hear her voice. I loved that.

After each sigh she closed her mouth. When she did, I thought she looked just like my Grandpa Jennison, her dad. Kyleene saw the same thing. Every time it happened, we chuckled. Tulip Humor.

During her last hour we had Pandora playing Hymns. Is every hymn about heaven? It seems like it when you’re waiting for your Mom to go there. When Dad died 13 years ago, I remember being in church in the weeks following. Every song reminded me of him. Every song brought tears. But I loved them all.

Mom passed at 6:34, Thursday morning. It was the day before Good Friday. I am writing this on Saturday morning. The Saturday of Holy Week is the quiet day between the death of our Savior and his resurrection. Good Friday reminds me that the sin that caused death has been paid for. Easter reminds me that the sting of death is gone! Mom no longer needs to push the bell.

 

 

Rally

Yesterday got quiet. After four days of visiting with family and friends, Mom’s energy faded yesterday. I think the parties exhausted her. But she loved the parties. I believe it was exactly what she imagined and hoped for.

We still had a few guests come by yesterday, but they were fewer and scattered farther throughout the day. Mom became less and less responsive. By the afternoon she was not able to focus her eyes and she could no longer complete a sentence. Mostly she slept.

That’s how it’s supposed to be in her journey toward heaven. We’ve been told that she will sleep more and more and eventually she won’t wake up. It is supposed to be relatively peaceful. But I think we forgot about the thing that led to this decision in the first place. She has a foot that is dying. It is extremely painful for her. So that peaceful sleep we expected was disturbed by quite a bit of pain.

Hospice has helped with that. Mom has pain meds. They are helping. But are they enough? Pain comes in this life. The world has hurt since Eden. But it is not good to see pain on the face of a loved one while she is sleeping.

Yesterday Mom woke up occasionally. She gazed toward the people who were in the room. But in some ways it looked like she gazed beyond us, like she saw something ahead and we were blocking her view. Donna and I wondered if she could see heaven from here. One of her dearest friends, Shirley, came for a long visit last night. She sat with Mom for several hours. One time Mom opened her eyes and saw Shirley sitting there. She looked a little confused and said, “What are you doing here?” I think Mom sometimes opens her eyes and expects to be in heaven. When she sees us she knows that at least one of us is not in the spot she expected.

We didn’t know if she would make it through last night. Hospice moved her to Intensive Comfort Care status, which is the most active level of hospice. She will now have a nurse or aide with her around the clock. So my sister stood watch last night, while some of the rest of us got some sleep. When I got up this morning, I went in and began reading scripture to Mom. The 23^rd Psalm and the Valley of the Shadow of Death. First Corinthians 15 and the Hope of the Resurrection. Psalm 139 and how carefully and wonderfully God made us. And 1 Corinthians 13, normally known as the Love Chapter, but containing a beautiful statement of our future in heaven with Jesus.

When I began reading Psalm 23, I told Mom, “You might be familiar with this one.” She was. She weakly moaned her approval of the psalm. As we read some more scripture, she became more alert. She opened her eyes. She looked at us. 

When my daughter, Breck, saw Mom open her eyes, she cheerfully said, “Good morning, Grandma.” Mom answered back with a strong and cheerful, “Good morning.” My brother, Greg, was there. He was smiling and weeping at the same time. He said, “We love you, Mom.” She said very clearly, “I love you too.” 

About that time an aide from hospice entered the bedroom. She greeted Mom and us. By now Mom was pretty clear, so she said “Hi” to the aide, then added, “You’re interrupting my plans.” It was Mom at her confident, playfully-defiant best. We laughed. Then she told us her plans for the day. “We’re going to go to Costco,” she told us. More laughter. None of us knows whether she was completely confused or just helping us laugh. We laughed just the same. I don’t remember a happier sentence than that.

Mom rallied for about 20 minutes. Then she lapsed back into unconsciousness. It's quiet again.