Simple Help, Super Hero

The following piece was inspired by my good friend, Monica, who blogs at www.lifewithgrace.net.  Be sure to check out her work!
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A woman stands on a small, grassy hill, warmly lit by evening light.  She's looking off into the distance, at the unseen setting of the sun, with a small town visible in the background.  Despite the heroic pose, she seems, at first, quite ordinary.  She's an unremarkable figure dressed in unremarkable clothes: faded shirt, sagging jeans, scuffed sneakers.  As we draw closer, though, a slight stirring in the shadows behind her draws the eye and we see ...... The Cape.  

It's green, a deep, emerald hue, and made of a fabric that is lighter than a breath.  It moves gently with even the tiniest of movements. The slight hitch of the shoulders produced by a small sigh is enough to set it moving as though it were, somehow, alive. The folds of the long, full cape create dark shadows reminiscent of the depths of a summer wood, deep and mysterious. But in the sun, the color will be bright and translucent, watery in its clarity, like a crystal clear mountain lake, reflecting the green of the surrounding vegetation. It is a remarkable garment that speaks competence and strength along with softness and tranquility.  It is a superhero's cape...and it is mine!

...That was my fanciful imagining earlier, after I was able to help a friend solve a little computer problem.  She gushed in her joy at finally finding the root of her problem, and called me her hero - inspiring me to dream up my perfect superhero cape.  But the help I had given was unwitting and almost ungiven - the question I asked so basic (to me) that I almost didn't ask it for fear of appearing either inept or condescending.  But the tiny, stale crumb of help that I thought I was offering, turned out to be a whole loaf of goodness to her.  

When we take the time and effort to share even the tiniest of our gifts with others (things we may not even recognize as gifts!), we can at any time find them multiplied and returned to us.  I shared a simple question that came to mind, and got back the joy and pleasure of being able to help another.  And I got my beautifully imagined cape!

By helping one another, we can all be heroes - the smallest service, the simplest comment or suggestion can transform you into someone's hero.  Smile at a stranger on the street; hold a door for a mother struggling to herd her small children into a store; let someone merge in front of you in traffic - and suddenly you, too, may feel an imaginary cape hanging from your shoulders and swirling around your legs.

"Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too." (Phil 2:3-4, emphasis added)

The words above are from the Apostle Paul, but Jesus himself taught that whoever wanted to be "great" must be the servant of all.  You see, serving one another lies at the heart of the Christian life.  And we can start with our "widow's mite" of service, offering even the tiniest of helps to those around us.  That which may seem embarrassingly inadequate in our own eyes might be more than someone else could have hoped for.  

Messiah Jesus performed the ultimate service for us all when he bore our sins and died on a cross that we might have life everlasting in him.  His superhero cape started out as darkness and blood, funeral wrappings to cocoon sweet spices around his decaying corpse. On the third day, he left it behind and donned his true superhero cape - a garment of light that fills the world with His glory!   

"[The Lord] was sitting on a lofty throne, and the train of his robe filled the Temple.... The whole earth is filled with his glory!" (Isaiah 6:1b, 3b)

What can you do today so you might be someone's superhero? 

And what does your cape look like?

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(Really! Let's have some fun - tell us what it looks like. Post a comment and share with us what kind of superhero cape you imagine for yourself.)

Cat Gravity

I have a stalker!

Lest you worry for my safety, let me reassure you that I'm in no danger.  You see, my stalker is just my cat, Brownie.  But the last few months, she follows me around in a devoted way that borders on the obsessive.  If I sit at my computer, she insists on being in my lap.  If I sit on the love seat, she wants to perch on the arm next to me.  If I stretch out on the sofa, she wants to lay beside me, and when I lie down in bed, she wants to situate herself on the pillow right next to my head!   No matter where in my house I go or what I'm doing, if I stay in the same place for even a little while, I can look up and notice Brownie somewhere near.

She seems to want nothing but to be near me.  Sure, sometimes she seems to want to soak up some of my body heat, and sometimes she's hoping for a cat treat.  But more often than not, she just wants to be close.  I never knew I was so fascinating! Sometimes I joke with my husband that I must have "cat gravity" - some  irresistible force that pulls the cat into my orbit.

It occurs to me that this is how we should be in our devotion to God - doing whatever it takes to be close, "stalking" God.  Sure, sometimes we turn to God hoping to feel his love, and sometimes we seek God to make our requests.  But most of the time, we should be seeking him just to be close.

God is quite fascinating, after all.  Who better is there to be devoted to?  Surely no celebrity or public figure or business tycoon is nearly so fascinating as our God, creator of the universe, and creator of each of us.  God can speak to the deepest desires of our hearts and provide for our most profound needs in ways no human can.

Why, then, do we so often forget God?  Why do we so often turn to our fellow creatures and creation itself with our devotion, instead of to God?  Why can God's presence sometimes feel so remote and hidden from us?    If I have "cat gravity", then God should have "people gravity" like nobody's business, right? And we should all readily fall into "orbit" near God if we just once get close enough to be captured by the "gravity field" of his awesome presence.  Right?

But God doesn't want us to follow him mindlessly, simply because of the overwhelming nature of his greatness, as though pulled by an irresistible force like gravity.  God wants us to choose him, to love him - yes, even to stalk him!  God loves noting more than to see his children do all in their power to be close to him.

So, just forget about passively waiting around for God to draw you in with his "gravity."  Instead, set out to seek him, to find him, and to stalk him!

You will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart. (Jer. 29:13) 

How will you stalk God today?

What's in a Name?

My daughter (who was has been both Girl Scout and Girl Scout Camp counselor) tells me that these days, all the counselors have "camp names".  The camp name is a nickname, most kinda silly, to give the counselors a bit of privacy along with a certain air of mystery.  The counselors generally choose these names for themselves, and they tend to be things that are somehow descriptive, like "Poptart" for the counselor who swears she could live on Poptarts,  or "Splash" who runs the pool, or "Scarlet" with the bright red hair.

I was a Girl Scout who loved summer resident camp, and got the chance to work as a counselor one summer at my favorite camp.  Back in my camp days, though, not all the counselors had camp names, and camp names were earned or otherwise given by the other counselors.  Sure, the names might still be quite descriptive like they are now, but you didn't just choose one for yourself.  There would be an incident to inspire the name, or perhaps a simple observation that suggested a name, or a name you brought with you from past summers - SOMETHING!  And I've always been a little sad that I was one of those unfortunates who never inspired a camp name.  I was always just Linda, not Princess Moonbeam, or Smurfette, or Little Gray Pigeon, or something otherwise fun or intriguing.  And I've always felt that made me somehow "less."

Names are important, after all.  We are each identified by a name of some sort, and baggage that comes with your particular string of syllables will color your view of the world.  Whether common or unusual, simple or a nightmare to spell, connecting you with fine upstanding citizens or folks who's manner of living can't withstand the light of day - whatever your name, it helps you understand who you are and your place in the world.

A name given in infancy, however, can convey only so much about a person.  That's why there's something extra-special about a name bestowed in (more-or-less) adulthood, like the camp name.  A name GIVEN by someone who knows you implies relationship and care.  And I guess that's what saddened me about not having been given a camp name: the implication that no one I served with that summer either knew me well enough or cared enough to give me a name.

However, I think my lack of a camp name says more about my own introverted nature than anything ill-natured or lacking in my fellow counselors.  We introverts don't  readily share ourselves with just any-old-body, and the fewer people there are who really know you, the less likely you are to be given another name.  But we can take heart, because God knows everyone, to the deepest recesses of the heart.

God knows who you are - because He made you.  And He knows what you'll accomplish - because he exists outside of the constraints of time.  And God has a habit of giving people new names to better reflect who they are or what they will accomplish.  Abram and Sarai became Abraham and Sarah, Simon became Peter, and Saul became Paul, to mention just a few of the most notable examples.  When God claims you, God names you!

My name may still be "Linda" as far as I and the world knows.  But Jesus knows my heart and soul, and has a new name for me.  I long for the day when it shall be revealed to me, when I meet my Maker and Savior, and He reveals to me who He has intended me to be since before the foundations of the world were laid.

"I will also give that person a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it." (Revelation 2:17)

Take comfort, you lonely ones - Jesus knows your name!

A Song of Ascents

I’ve been here before.

I’ve been to this place before.  The landscape is familiar.  I know there’s a deep valley beyond that gentle, tree-covered rise, and that the path from here to there has several stony places and a muddy spot.  I recognize even the smell of the place.  I’ve been here before, at this place where all seems loss and vague sorrow, lonliness for something I can’t describe, wanting I-know-not-what. 

I know exactly what I’ve done when I’ve been here before.  The wanting sends me searching, and I head across the meadow, into the woods, along the well-worn path over the rise, and then down into the deep, deep valley beyond - the valley that seems so easy to walk down into, but which is such a struggle to get back up out of.   The path down into that deep dark valley is almost a joy to tread.  It’s cut into the steep and cliff-like valley wall, and it seems a great adventure.  Gravity pulls me down, and I walk faster than I think.  I don’t realize how far I’ve descended until I finally turn back and look with dismay at the hilltop so far above, so very tiny.  Have I really come so far already?

And now the wanting that drove me onward has left.  There is no longer a spur for my travels.  The climb back up is no adventure.  It’s hard work.  And fear.  The path that seemed so broad on the way down looks narrow and treacherous on the way back up, the distance nearly too much to contemplate.  Perhaps I’ll just take up residence here in this dark valley – it would be so much easier to live here, perched on the side of this rocky cliff, than to find the strength and will to climb back out.  Why, oh why did I come here? 

If I had known this was my destination, I never would have set out.  Would I?  But there’s the rub.  I’ve been here many times before, but every time is the same – I head down that same familiar path as though the end will turn out differently this time.  Yes – surely it will end well THIS time, surely I'll find what I'm searching for when I descend...  But, no, the end is always pain and sorrow, and a certain confusion at finding myself, again, so far from what I thought I wanted.  

But this time, my visit to this familiar country will be different.  As I look toward the path I know, toward that little rise and the valley beyond, I am remembering the difficulty of the return, the despair of ever leaving that deep, dark place.  The comfort of the familiar path, the feeling of adventure on the way down does not seem so appealing this time. 

I pause.  I consider.  I still want... I-know-not-what.  I’m still feeling lonely and alone with a vague sense of sorrow clinging to me like a fine mist.  I need to do something, ANYTHING, to leave this feeling of unease and unrest behind, but today I think I’ll take another path.  As I pause and gaze about the landscape, I notice the barest hint of a path.  Just a few bent blades of grass, a few tiny spots of bare earth, a path so faint that I’m not sure its really a path and not some random trick of nature. 

Then I lift my eyes and see, in the far distance, a low haze.  What is that?  Looking more carefully, I can begin to make out the rugged shape of mountains, steep and sharp, rising from the earth in the distance.  This faint path, it seems, is heading to those lofty peaks.  To follow this path, however, will be no easy matter of letting gravity take its course.  Although the trail starts gently enough, I know great effort will be required to reach those lofty peaks.  But somehow, strangely, my desire for I-know-not-what grows and strengthens as I gaze at those misty heights in the distance.

Yes - this time, today, I shall set out on a different course.

A Song of Ascents.
I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
Behold, he who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD is your keeper;
the LORD is your shade on your right hand.
The sun shall not strike you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The LORD will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
The LORD will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore.  (Psalm 121)

The Quality of Light

Have you ever noticed what a marvelous thing light is?  Not only does light allow our eyes to function, so we may visually interact with the world around us.  But light can also perform little miracles of mood - injecting beauty or sorrow or joy or excitement or worry into a situation, just because of the quality of the light in a scene. Photographers and painters are particularly aware of this phenomenon, and I think any architect or home designer worth their salt considers carefully the effects of light in their planning.

I was especially struck by the quality of light at church this past Sunday.  I was assisting at the altar, and happened to glance behind me toward the flower arrangements that sit on shelves on the wall behind the altar.   Rosy morning light, filtered and tinted by the stained glass above, was gently illuminating the arrangement in a most stunning manner!

 The arrangement itself was quite simple for Lent - just branches from (I think) a magnolia tree.  But the light caught the few blossoms that had started to come out and they simply glowed.  Stunning!  The arrangement on the other side of the altar made a striking contrast.  No special light fell on that vase, and the branches of that arrangement were dead and bare - no flowers, no light, no life!

And that got me to thinking about one of the readings from earlier in the service:

For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord. Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. It is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. But everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light. This is why it is said: “Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” (Ephesians 5:8-14, NIV 2011)

Those two arrangements - one in the sunlight, with flowers and life, tinted with a wholesome glow, and one not in sunlight, barren and dead-looking - are a perfect metaphor and illustration of living in the light versus living in darkness.  I'm pretty sure both vases of branches were about the same when they were prepared by the altar guild.  Yet one group of branches was bathed in light that drew forth the potential within, the flowers, the life.  And the other group, without light, not only didn't blossom, but also lost its potential to ever do so.

The light of Christ's presence can inspire growth and regeneration in even those parts of our lives that might seem the barest, driest branches of ourselves.  But the power of the Light of Jesus is greater.  All we need to do is expose ourselves - all our deepest darkest, most hidden corners - to that Gracious Light.  And Jesus will slowly, surely begin to bring forth life and growth.  

"Everything that is illuminated becomes a light."  Shine forth, my friends!

Are You a Reliquary?

A couple of weeks ago, I went to the Walters Gallery in Baltimore to see an exhibit called "Treasures of Heaven:  Saints, Relics and Devotion in Medieval Europe."  The exhibit was filled with intriguing items, mostly reliquaries of one sort or another.  A reliquary is "a container of relics," and a relic "may be the physical remains of saints, such as bones, pieces of clothing, or some object associated with saints or other religious figures."  (Sadly, most of the reliquaries in the exhibit no longer contain a relic.)

Arm reliquary, on display in the
 "Treasures of Heaven" exhibit.

Some of the reliquaries were rather plain in shape or decoration, most were elaborately decorated even if simple and shape, and some of the later ones were crafted to resemble the part they once housed, like the arm reliquary pictured to the right that once contained part of an arm-bone.  The objects were intriguing to look at, and intriguing to reflect on the notion that a finger-bone of St. So-and-So or a sliver of The True Cross might have some miraculous properties.  I'm not quite sure what I think about the veneration of such relics, but that's not why I'm writing today.

I'm writing about relics today, because it occurred to me that in some sense, Christians ARE reliquaries!  At one point in the display, the exhibit preparers suggest that a relic is what is left after death and decay, and invited people to write about what constitutes relics and reliquaries in their own lives and experience.  Reflecting on that question, I noticed that as Christians, the Holy Spirit is what we have left after Jesus' death (and resurrection and ascension into heaven).  So in some sense, the Holy Spirit is a relic.  And if the Holy Spirit is a relic, and that relic dwells in us, then that makes us RELIQUARIES!

a very plain reliquary

So, are YOU a reliquary?  Have you confessed Jesus as Savior and invited the Holy Spirit to dwell in your heart?  If not, I invite you to consider John 3:16 and Romans 10:9-13 as a starting point on your faith journey.

Rock-crystal reliquary,
so the relic can be viewed

And if you are a reliquary, then what kind of reliquary are you?  Some reliquaries are made so that the relic inside can be displayed to the faithful.  Other reliquaries have their relic secreted out of sight, and its presence is a matter of trust.  Some reliquaries are shaped to resemble the relic inside (like the arm reliquary above), others are not explicitly related to the relic inside.

elaborately decorated reliquary

Considering this reliquary metaphor for the Christian life, I don't think one type of reliquary is superior to another except for this: it is important that whatever type of reliquary we are, it should be obvious that there is something holy and set-apart about each of us.  No matter how plain and ordinary, or how extravagantly beautiful we are as "reliquaries of Christ," it should somehow be apparent that we are set apart for a special use, in the world but not of it.  Can others identify that "set-apart" quality in you?

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"Treasures of Heaven" will remain at the Walters Gallery through May 15, 2011, if you want to go see the reliquaries for yourself.  In addition to this special exhibit, the gallery also has a large permanent collection of medieval religious art and artifacts (mostly Christian).  Here are links to the Walters Gallery (to plan a visit), and for the "Treasures of Heaven" exhibit.