The Gift of Geese, by Stacey Regan, Pittsburgh, PA

But God sees us

Genesis 16:13 Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the Lord, who had spoken to her. She said, “You are the God who sees me.”

The Gift of Geese

Last December, my mom, 92, died unexpectedly. We held her memorial service in early January. While I moved to Pennsylvania almost 30 years ago, she still lived in North Texas.

Like Mom I’m a classic Type A, Enneagram 1 person, so when I needed to be on site for an extended period of time to help my brother and sister go through her things, I was there. When I needed to work remotely during the day and focus on Mom stuff late into the night, that’s what I did.

Between busyness and exhaustion, there wasn’t much time to grieve, and I knew I’d need God to help me anyway, since I’m not a natural emotions processor. When Dad passed 15 years ago, I asked God to help me grieve over his dying. I was aware that numbness seemed to be an impenetrable wall, and I didn’t know how to scale it. Then one day out of the blue, he brought me to tears on a particular stretch of road on my way to work. This occurred daily for months. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so gut-wrenching, and I both looked forward to and dreaded hitting that part of my commute. Slowly, over time the sobs subsided, healing took hold, and one day the time for that grieving was over.

As I followed my brother’s truck down the street the early morning we headed north with what I chose to keep of Mom’s things, I remembered how God had provided me a way to grieve for Dad, and wondered if he might do the same now for Mom. I enjoy long drives and seeing the changing countryside, so the first day flew by pleasantly enough, but with no grief markers.

The second day was totally different. Less than an hour after we’d left our hotel, something caught my peripheral vision. As far as the eye could see on either side of the highway lay fields of stubble, the remnants of last Fall’s harvest, but something had moved. On closer examination, the fields were covered with thousands of geese. Packed with them, for miles and miles. As I drove by, hundreds seemed to lift off already in their trademark V-formations, then lazily cross the road. This continued for at least 20 minutes as we continued down the interstate.

There’s something about the sight of geese flying overhead that physically thrills and awes me, but this was overwhelming in the true sense of the word, and I wept and wept. I wept over my mom’s death, and I wept over the provision of a loving God who knew how to help me release my tears. A God who sees me and understands my particular needs.

Shutterstock: Schuchart

Trying to find words to articulate and remember this experience, I’ve named it The Gift of Geese. I know that at least twice a year I’ll have a reminder of that gift flying overhead, even if I only see a single V limping across the sky. I don’t know if I’ll weep, but I know it will make me smile, remember, and utter several prayers of gratitude.

Note from Debbie:

Stacey writes songs that greatly enrich our worship at Church of the Ascension. Her song “I Offer My Isaac” brought Karis and me to tears on our first visit to the church the morning after her first transplant was cancelled:

I offer my Isaac here on your altar,

Removed from my shoulders, bound for the slaughter.

I surrender my Isaac here on your altar.

Freely I offer the love of my heart.

My hands are free to praise you wholly now, to receive what you have for me.

And should you take or return my Isaac, oh Lord,

On your altar my heart will still be. On your altar my heart will still be.

Connecting hearts

But Jesus prays for us

Hebrews 7:23-25 There were many priests under the old system, for death prevented them from remaining in office. But because Jesus lives forever, his priesthood lasts forever … He lives forever to intercede with God on our behalf.

Lent. What is it, exactly?

Since I didn’t grow up or live most of my life knowing about or practicing Lent, I’ve been asking God for a concept or image to help me understand it. In the Ash Wednesday service yesterday, we were invited to observe a holy Lent because since early times:

“ … the whole congregation was put in mind of the message of pardon and absolution set forth in the Gospel of our Savior, and of the need that all Christians continually have to renew our repentance and faith. … Let us now pray for grace, that we may faithfully keep this Lent.”

This morning I read chapter 8 of Dane Ortlund’s beautiful book, Gentle and Lowly, The Heart of Christ for Sinners and Sufferers, which takes a deep dive into Hebrews 7:25. Ortlund describes Jesus’s heart as so warm toward us that he is constantly talking to the Father about us. “Christ does not intercede because the Father’s heart is tepid toward us but because the Son’s heart is so full toward us. But the Father’s own deepest delight is to say yes to the Son’s pleading on our behalf. … The intercession of Christ is his heart connecting our heart to the Father’s heart.”

This is beautiful. And for me to benefit from Christ’s intercession for me, I need to open my heart to his. Jesus doesn’t force his way. He gently invites me to connect with him.

So this is my image for Lent: my heart open and connecting with his, so that he can cleanse and heal and grow his beauty and grace in me.

But how do I translate that into an image for this blog? My mind flooded with the memory of a very special prayer time with a Christian therapist who helped me heal from PTSD. I found myself in a beautiful sunny meadow, romping with Jesus as a small child, maybe four or five. Just the two of us. Jesus seemed to have all the time in the world, as happy to be playing with me as I was thrilled to be with him.

At one point Jesus fell laughing to the ground, and I ran to sit beside him. A gorgeous blue butterfly settled on his shoulder. He reached out, the butterfly crawled onto his hand, and he extended it to me. “The butterfly will be scared of me and fly away,” I thought. But it didn’t. Breathless, I watched it come to me. I trembled with delight. Jesus and I played with the butterfly for a long time.

When my therapist gently touched me and brought me back from this vision, I knew I was not alone. Whatever I had to deal with, Jesus was with me.

I ran to find paper and colored pencils to try to draw the butterfly. I’m not an artist and couldn’t capture its beauty. But I believe the butterfly was (is) the Holy Spirit.

So that’s the image I’ve placed as the header for this Lenten season. A symbol for me of connection with the Trinity through the Holy Spirit who draws me into Jesus’s heart of love, and through him to the Father.

Jesus’s work on my behalf isn’t just a thing he did in the distant past. He LIVES to intercede for me. And for you. His love for us is as fervent today as the passion that took him to suffering and death. And resurrection. For our transformation.

God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns (Philippians 1:6).

No, don’t be quiet

But Jesus heals us so we can see

Mark 10:46-52 As Jesus and his disciples left Jericho, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus was sitting beside the road. When he heard that Jesus of Nazareth was nearby, he began to shout, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” “Be quiet!” many of the people yelled at him. … But Jesus stopped and said, “Tell him to come here.” So they called the blind man. “Cheer up! Come on, he’s calling you!” Bartimaeus threw aside his coat, jumped up, and came to Jesus. “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked. “My rabbi,” the blind man said. “I want to see!” And Jesus said to him, “Go, for your faith has healed you.” Instantly the man could see, and he followed Jesus.

Epiphany. A season of revelation. Of a clearer vision of Jesus.

It seems fitting that the last story in Mark before the events of Holy Week is about seeing. And that yesterday, Christians around the world considered Jesus’s transfiguration, as a portion of Jesus’s glory was revealed to his followers, Moses (representing the law), and Elijah (representing the prophets). The Father said, “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him” (Mark 9:1-8), then Moses and Elijah were gone, and the disciples saw only Jesus.

How have you seen Jesus during these weeks of Epiphany? Has God opened your eyes in some way? Has he spoken to you personally or acted on your behalf to change the direction things were going? What’s your story of encounter with God?

Between Epiphany and Holy Week, we walk with Jesus through Lent. Many evangelical Christians don’t have experience with observing Lent. I knew nothing about it when I was growing up. On Thursday I plan to post my current thoughts and recent experience of Lent. Perhaps you’ll want to take steps toward honoring this in-between season, observed by many in Christ’s church almost from the beginning.

Also during the weeks of Lent (Feb. 23-April 1), I want to publish your story about how you have seen God’s revelation of Jesus during Epiphany. Write it down in one page and send it to me at debrakornfield@gmail.com. Your story will encourage others and you’ll have it to refer to yourself when you need reassurance that God sees you and cares for you.

During Epiphany, we’ve been looking at the question, “Who is this man?” from Mark’s point of view. Perhaps you’d like to look back over the topics we’ve considered since January 6. Ask God to open your eyes to see what he wants to show you and to open your ears to hear the words of love he is always speaking to you.

“I want to see!” The passion and desire of a lifetime poured into Bartimaeus’s words. I love that Jesus asked him what he wanted, giving this man the opportunity to use his voice and express what had been stomped down inside him his whole life.

Do you, too, want to see? Don’t be quiet. Cry out to the Lord for his mercy and healing.

Are you salty?

But Jesus was a poet

Mark 9:50 Salt is good for seasoning. But if it loses its flavor, how do you make it salty again? You must have the qualities of salt among yourselves and live in peace with each other.

A doctor. A groom. Old cloth and new cloth. Old wineskins and new. Civil war. A farmer, seed, thorns, birds, good and bad soil. A lamp, a basket, and a bed. A mustard seed. Food. A cup of water. A millstone. Salt.

Jesus may not have written poetry per se, but he was a poet. In the first nine chapters of his Gospel, Mark recorded Jesus using all these images. Imagery—described by Ezra Pound as “an intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time”—is the primary resource of poets, using concrete objects to elicit sensory responses. Imagery, a product of imagination, touches our own imaginations and communicates both more deeply and broadly than simple prose. The more we think about an image, the more we learn from it.

Take salt, for example. We mostly think of salt as providing flavor. In Jesus’s time, though, fish and meat were preserved by drying and salting. It’s still done today. I was surprised our first Christmas in Brazil to see rows of fish hanging from the ceiling of supermarkets or heaped in large bins. I learned this was bacalhau, dried and salted cod. Bacalhau is used in a variety of Brazilian dishes, but it’s now expensive enough to be reserved by most people for special holidays.

Salt has also been used since ancient times as a disinfectant. Gargling with salt water can help a sore throat. If you skin your knee while camping and didn’t bring a disinfectant with you, you can clean the wound with salt water. It kills microbes by dehydrating them.

A high school friend of Karis’s once told me that if she approached a group of classmates sometimes one of them would say, “Stay away a minute, Karis. You won’t like this story I’m telling.” Gossip and off-color stories weren’t part of the conversation when she was around. “But,” her friend said, “she was so much fun we loved having her with us. She was always up to something intriguing or mischievous.”

Jesus’s hearers would not have associated being salty with our concept of a “salty conversation,” or reacting to a slight or minor loss in a “salty” manner. These more recent idioms mean the opposite of what Jesus was saying!

We don’t “get” how salt can lose its flavor. But Jesus’s hearers would have known that the salt in the Dead Sea didn’t taste salty. It looked like salt and had other qualities of salt, but it contained gypsum, which altered its flavor.

So how can the qualities of salt help us (and could have helped Jesus’s followers) to live in peace with each other? Adding flavor (the delight of different personalities!), preserving the life-giving dynamics of friendships, cleansing away damaging elements … All this and more (what are your thoughts?) is summed up in one simple poetic image: salt.

The upside-down Kingdom

But God’s Kingdom functions differently Feb 13, 2023

Mark 9:35 Whoever wants to be first must take last place and be the servant of everyone else.

Mark 10:31 Many who are the greatest now will be least important in the world to come, and those who seem least important now will be the greatest then.

Saturday we had a delightful women’s retreat at our church that was a total group effort. Besides our planning team of five, we had ten table leaders, three intercessors, a musician who came to help with the worship, three babysitters, three caterers, two custodians, one artist who designed the cover of our handout, and at least six others who helped in various ways behind the scenes. Every person’s contribution mattered.

Thank you, Elise!

For me, part of what made the retreat lovely was the wonderful attitude of each person involved. I detected zero ambition to impress, to be noticed (even for being a great servant!), or to profit from the event for some private self-serving agenda.

I believe God smiled. And we felt his joy.

I’ve thought of a way you can serve people you don’t even know, honor the Lord, and make me smile:

Stop for a moment and think about your last week or month. Where has God met you or cared for you in a special way? In what situation did you face difficulty BUT GOD intervened and changed the outcome in ways only he can do? Perhaps you are still dealing with that situation but God has changed your attitude about it … Sometimes we’re so busy or focused on resolving the challenges of life that we don’t stop to notice what God is doing, loving us through others, surprising us with his provision … Or maybe he has encouraged you by bringing to mind something special he did for you in the past.

Write down one of those “God encounters” in one page and send it to me (debrakornfield@gmail.com) to post during Lent. I want the blog posts during Lent to be full of YOUR God-honoring stories, giving evidence of his involvement and care in our world now. I’m looking for ten stories to share between Ash Wednesday (2/22) and Good Friday (4/7).

The “God encounter” stories eight women spontaneously shared at the retreat were some of the richest takeaways for me personally. You don’t know how much your experience can bless and encourage someone else. And writing it down will preserve the memory of God’s goodness for you to refer to when you need encouragement.

I KNOW God is at work in your life, loving you and caring for you. If you don’t see it, ask him to show you, and maybe talk through with someone you trust what you’re experiencing. It can even be anonymous if you feel better that way, though I believe God is honored when we “own” his love for us.

I can’t wait to read and share your story!

All the children of the world

But Jesus says the Kingdom belongs to those who receive it like a child

Mark 9:34-37 The disciples had been arguing about which of them was the greatest. Jesus called them over to him, and said, “Whoever wants to be first must take last place and be the servant of everyone else. Then he put a little child among them. Taking the child in his arms, he said to them, “Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes not only me but also my Father who sent me.”

Mark 10:13-17 One day some parents brought their children to Jesus so he could bless them. But the disciples scolded the parents for bothering him. When Jesus saw what was happening, he was angry with his disciples. He said to them, “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children. I tell you the truth, anyone who doesn’t receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it.” Then he took the children in his arms and placed his hands on their heads and blessed them.

If you’re like me, the most heart-wrenching stories and photos coming out of southern Turkey are the children, injured if they’re still alive, freezing, hungry, without shelter and often without their families. Lord, have mercy.

In my imagination, Karis and her brother Michael are among those welcoming into Heaven the children who did not survive the earthquake, caring for them with tender love.

Heaven feels so close.

And our petty quarrels and power struggles so ridiculous.

Jesus loves me. This, I know.

Remembering Karis, by Valerie Kornfield Schalm, Pittsburgh

But God’s grace is wonderful

Acts 20:24 But my life is worth nothing to me unless I use it for finishing the work assigned my by the Lord Jesus—the work of telling others the Good News about the wonderful grace of God.

Valerie posted this reflection yesterday on her Facebook page.

Nine years ago, we said goodbye to Karis Joy.

With our family gathered today, we lit a candle, said a prayer, and remembered Karis with gratitude and longing (saudades)!

Among other things, we talked about…

…how delighted she would have been to welcome Dan to Pittsburgh, and how she would have loved his new house – with the big picture window, the deck in the back with a beautiful view, and the spacious kitchen…

…how Mom and Karis used to plan escapes from Montefiore Hospital during her free time and have great adventures, Mom pushing her wheelchair and IV pole up and down the Oakland streets, to the library (she had to be taken back to the hospital by the police), getting shut out of Montefiore in the maze of underground passageways connecting the various Oakland hospitals, popping up once in the psychiatric hospital and being taken as one of their patients, taking tunnels or going overland to the Children’s Hospital to visit patients there, to the Phipps Conservatory outdoor garden, even making it through upper Pitt campus all the way to the Franzen’s house once…

…how vibrant and strong and full of life she was, vivacious, passionate, excited about a million plans and projects and people, especially in times when illness did not limit her as much…

…how the struggle of her decline was a combination of losing physical and mental capacity…

…how she tried so many times to fix Abuelita’s (my Dad’s mom’s) old piano and took it with her from South Bend to each of her homes in Pittsburgh…

…how her dreams sometimes seemed too lofty, but sometimes found serendipity, like when she planned a fundraising website for a program serving underprivileged children near our home in São Paulo, and received a donation of $10,000…

…how she loved to create and enjoy art, and took several of us to local art shows and exhibits…

…how my work is connected to her life, both in the PICU and with wound and ostomy care. I hope to honor her and bless other patients and families as I connect with them in times of need…

Karis, we love you and miss you! Thank you for the ways you continue to walk with us. We look forward to the day when our eyes touch again!

Who is this man?

But Jesus cares

Mark 4:35-41 As evening came, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let’s cross to the other side of the lake.” So they took Jesus in the boat and started out. … But soon a fierce storm came up. … Jesus was sleeping at the back of the boat. The disciples woke him up, shouting, “Teacher, don’t you care that we’re going to drown?” Jesus rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Silence! Be still! Suddenly the wind stopped and there was a great calm. Then he asked them, “Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?” The disciples were absolutely terrified. “Who is this man?” they asked each other. “Even the wind and waves obey him!”

Mark 8:27-29 Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do people say I am?” “Well,” they replied. “Some say John the Baptist, some say Elijah, and others say you are one of the other prophets.” Then Jesus asked them, “But who do you say I am?” Peter replied, “You are the Messiah.”

Teacher … Messiah. What a huge leap from one to the other. Messiah, the Anointed One, the Son of God, the Savior, Redeemer, Rescuer, Lord.

A friend recently told me, “I admire Jesus. I learn a lot from him. But I don’t believe he is God.” I thought but didn’t say, You’re in Mark 4. But Mark 8 is coming!

A lot happened between Mark 4 and Mark 8. The disciples saw Jesus bring peace to a man who had been tortured by a legion of demons, heal a frightened woman sick for twelve years, bring a dead twelve-year-old back to life, suffer rejection in his home town, give them authority to heal, feed five thousand men plus women and children from one boy’s lunch, walk on water, free a Gentile child from a plaguing demon, restore hearing to a deaf man and sight to a blind one, feed four thousand more people …

What do you need to make the jump from “Teacher” to “Messiah”? Can you accept the testimony of those who walked with Jesus day in and day out, who witnessed his power and compassion and listened to his wisdom? Ask the Father. Don’t stop asking, seeking, knocking.

In The Inner Voice of Love, Henri Nouwen writes beautifully about Jesus calming the wind and waves in the story told in Mark 6:45-50, when the disciples still didn’t “get” who he really was. Here’s part of what Nouwen says:

… waves cover you and want to sweep you off your feet … feeling rejected, forgotten, misunderstood. Feeling anger, resentment, or even the desire for revenge, self-pity, self-rejection. These waves make you feel powerless. What are you to do? Make the conscious choice to move the attention of your anxious heart away from these waves and direct it to the One who walks on them and says, “It’s me. Don’t be afraid.” … He is very close to you and will put your soul to rest.

Jesus does care.