Romans 5:15 There is a great difference between Adam’s sin and God’s gracious gift. For the sin of this one man, Adam, brought death to many. But even greater is God’s wonderful grace and his gift of forgiveness through Jesus Christ.

“Please, sir. I want some more.”

The first minute of this scene from “Oliver” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tOkpntQtBM, could be seen as a caricature of an idea of God that some of us grew up believing. At the Bumbles’ orphanage, the best way to survive—to avoid wrath and punishment—was to keep one’s head down, follow the rules, be as invisible as possible, and express neither opinions nor needs. When Oliver drew the short straw in the “more, please” dare, the consequences he suffered were severe.

This picture—thank God! even when toned down—bears no relation to what our Father is like.

One of my friends often says, “Where there’s some, there’s more.” I’ve pondered this idea for years. What does it mean? I’ve noticed my friend using this phrase in two contexts, one in relation to personal need, and the other in relation to others’ needs. In both cases, the phrase expresses a life philosophy of abundance, in contrast with zero-sum, which does make sense if God is not in the picture. She would attribute her view to God’s inexhaustible nature and his openhanded care for his children.

My friend might say, for example, “I can share freely, because I can count on God giving even more abundantly to me.” Or “I can receive with joy, because there’s more where that came from—enough for everyone!” These are revolutionary thoughts for someone who grew up like I did, with a recurring nightmare as a young child of ending my life because there wasn’t “enough” of anything to go around to all eight of us kids.

This weekend I was caught off guard by strong words from several friends. I found myself thinking, “Where there’s some, there’s more. I love these people. Behind my love is God’s amazing, limitless love for them. I don’t need to become reactive. I can draw from the richness and depth of God’s love and respond gently.” A baby step toward living out of his unfailing “More.”

This morning I woke up with the wonderful words of this hymn by Don Moen filling my heart with gratitude https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOhFfSFK7TQ:

He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials His multiplied peace.

His love has no limit, His grace has no measure,
His pow’r has no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done;
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

              His love has no limit . . .

God’s greatest Gift, the Word made flesh—the precious Child we honor this sixth day of Christmas, visible image of the invisible God—shows us what our Father is like. John says God’s unfailing love and faithfulness come to us through Jesus, grace upon grace (1:16-17).

As I contemplate 2020, my deepest desire is to grow into this grace, to notice and actively embrace what leads to love. Will you join me? Tell me your story.

Alleluia, to us a child is born.

O come, let us adore him.

Psalm 68:3-6 Let the godly rejoice. Let them be glad in God’s presence. Let them be filled with his joy. Sing praises to God and to his name! . . . Father to the fatherless, defender of widows—this is God . . . God places the lonely in families; he sets the prisoners free and gives them joy. But he makes the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land.

I didn’t want to do Christmas. Grief caught me off guard, because last year was fine. I thought I was past that flood of painful feelings. Instead of “merry and bright,” I wanted to hide away somewhere by myself.

Added to missing Karis and her joy in this season, I’ve been lamenting (that’s not too strong a word) the story of our country, caught up with Nehemiah in confessing and mourning the sins and abuses of my people. Wondering what forgiveness looks like. Wondering what restitution looks like. Wondering what healing looks like.

Into all this sadness, God gave me Psalm 68, and he gives me Advent. Acknowledging our brokenness opens doors to true heart-gladness. (See this article published in the New York Times—Tish Harrison Warren is “author-in-residence” at our church: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/30/opinion/sunday/christmas-season-advent-celebration.html)

And God gave me a special experience of community. I risked sharing my sadness with some friends. Instead of judging me, they said “We’ll help you!” And they did. They laid aside their own busy-ness and came over for an evening to help me get ready for Christmas. Even the husband of one of my friends came! He cheerfully decorated cookies for me. Aren’t they cute?

Somehow my friends’ generosity helped me over my emotional hump. The experience reminded me of my sister Jan’s comment on the ButGod posting Nov 29:

I wondered if Caleb’s quick response to Val’s “you’re OK” was partly due to his already having been attended to by you. . . Maybe he would have responded just as well if Val had spoken to him in the midst of the initial meltdown . . . But it seems like a picture of our role in caring for each other in community. We can sometimes provide the immediate holding that allows the other to then perceive/receive God’s “you’re OK; I’m here.”

Isn’t that lovely? God recognizes our need for each other, not “just” for him.

I’m listening to Chris Tomlin’s “This Is Our God.” Yes!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwfHkZOU1_o

John 18:33-38 Pilate called for Jesus to be brought to him. “Are you the king of the Jews?” he asked him. Jesus replied, “Is this your own question, or did others tell you about me?” “Am I a Jew?” Pilate retorted. “Your own people and their leading priests brought you to me for trial. Why? What have you done?” Jesus answered, “My Kingdom is not an earthly kingdom. If it were, my followers would fight to keep me from being handed over to the Jewish leaders. But my Kingdom is not of this world.” Pilate said, “So you are a king?” Jesus responded, “You say I am a king. Actually, I was born and came into the world to testify to the truth. All who love the truth recognize that what I say is true.” “What is truth?” Pilate asked.

I thought of this intriguing passage when I read this opinion piece in the New York Times yesterday morning: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/12/09/us/politics/lies-damned-lies-and-washington.html?nl=todaysheadlines&emc=edit_th_191210?campaign_id=2&instance_id=14319&segment_id=19468&user_id=4c581b5e2a85dc7aee8f698dd30213e0&regi_id=609579281210

The question “What is truth?” matters now as much as it did two thousand years ago. Jesus wasn’t afraid to address it boldly, despite strong reactions. See, for example, John 8:42-47 and Matthew 15:10-20. He clearly believed objective truth existed, and that it mattered. In fact, in his conversation with Pilate, Jesus made what seems like a leap in logic, from the question of being a king to this bald statement: “I was born and came into the world to testify to the truth.”

Here are some questions I’m thinking about:

• Is it possible to exercise political authority in this world while speaking only truth?
• Do we have any examples of absolute integrity among our political leaders, past or present?
• Was it possible for Jesus to speak only truth because his Kingdom is not of this world?
• If truth was so important to Jesus, yet so hard to find in our political arena, dare I align myself and the name of my holy Lord to ANY specific politician or political persuasion?

While I ponder, I do know for sure that God wants me to think and speak truth, as faithfully as I am able to discern what that is.

Psalm 78:17-25 Yet they [God’s people] kept on rebelling against the Most High in the desert. . . They even spoke against God himself, saying “God can’t give us food in the wilderness. Yes, he can strike a rock so water gushes out, but he can’t give his people bread and meat.” . . . For they did not believe God or trust him to care for them. But he commanded the skies to open; he rained down manna for them to eat; he gave them bread from heaven . . . God gave them all they could hold.

Sometimes it’s easier for me to trust God with big things than with smaller, ongoing, daily challenges. Do you find that true?

I’ve been remembering the fall of 2004, when after setting records for her recovery from intestinal transplant, Karis’s body rejected her graft and nothing the doctors could do was successful in turning that around. She received every medication available to reverse the rejection, which meant her immune system was wiped out. I was able to trust God through the ensuing Legionnaire’s Disease, which took her to the ICU for 75 days. God did AMAZING things to save her life. Big time miracles! (See story posted on 2/4/19.)

In mid-January 2005 Karis was released from the ICU. She was too weak even to push the call bell to request help from the nurses. She was told she might never walk again. She had ongoing horrible nightmares from the high levels of fentanyl she had required in the ICU. I was the only person she trusted. She had no intestine, since her bleeding, disintegrating graft had been removed. Her daily “bread from heaven” was called TPN, nutrition directly into her veins. She bounced back and forth from the rehab hospital to the “regular” hospital as she developed chronic pancreatitis, liver failure, and multiple episodes of sepsis.

One day I received an email from a friend telling me she knew someone “like Karis” who had been cured through a special diet. If Karis would only follow this diet, she would be fine. Umm . . . I guess my friend had missed the fact that Karis had NO INTESTINE. Therefore, she couldn’t eat ANYTHING. For some reason, that email made me inordinately angry. I guess it triggered the frustration that was building up in me day after difficult day. And I felt hurt. If my friend didn’t understand the basic realities of our situation, she really hadn’t been tracking with us at all. I told myself never to offer advice unless I had taken the time to be sure I correctly grasped what was going on in a given situation. (Good to be reminded of this again!)

Every single day of 2005 challenged me to trust God for what Karis and I needed for that day. Jesus’ words stood out in bold relief: “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today” (Mt 6:34). And God provided the manna, one day at a time. Faithfulness to our needs for each day (Lam 3:23). Thank you, Lord.

Psalm 75:1-4 We thank you, O God! We give thanks because you are near. People everywhere tell of your wonderful deeds. God says, “At the time I have planned, I will bring justice against the wicked. The earth quakes and its people live in turmoil, but I am the one who keeps its foundations firm.”

Last night after a long and delightful Thanksgiving family day, our grandson hit his limit. A small thing (in my adult eyes) triggered a two-year-old meltdown. I held Caleb as he sobbed, his little head on my shoulder, his body heaving. Clearly, it was time for his parents to take him home to bed.

And then his mom entered the room. Still some distance away, she said calmly, “Caleb, you’re OK. Everything is fine.” Immediately, like turning off a faucet, Caleb stopped crying, turned around, reached out for his mom, cuddled for a couple of minutes, and then jumped on his Uncle Dan for more rambunctious play with Urso, his teddy bear. Caleb was cheerful and engaged the whole next hour until his family went home.

Last night, Valerie was the one who kept her son’s foundations firm. But I’ve seen the same thing happen with Caleb’s dad, Cesar. Reading Psalm 75 this morning, I found myself praying, “Lord, thank you that you are near, not far away. Give me trust in you like Caleb has in his parents. Help me to trust your promise and your plans. When my foundations seem to be giving way, I want to instinctively reach out to you.”

“When all around my soul gives way, he then is all my hope and stay . . .” ALL other ground is sinking sand.

Psalm 66:12 We went through fire and flood, but you brought us to a place of great abundance.

I don’t always feel grateful for this house. I say that as a confession, because God clearly brought us here. The problem is the size of our yard. We live on a corner lot, and I’m quite sure, when I look at our neighbors’ properties, that ours is oversized. I can’t keep up with it, not to the standards of most people in this garden city of Pittsburgh.

But that didn’t cross my mind when I saw this house pop up on the multilist early one Monday morning. I had been looking for a year for a house that could work for Karis (a bedroom and bath on the main floor, since at that point she couldn’t do stairs), that we could afford, within fifteen minutes of the hospital, with no bridges and no tunnels to slow us down in our too-frequent emergencies. People told me what I was looking for didn’t exist. Even my realtor told me that. I was getting desperate, because getting Karis in and out of our walk-up flat without falling was increasingly difficult.

So, when I saw this new house show up just a mile from where we lived, I jumped in the car and came to see. Yes, it looked like it had space for a bedroom on the main floor. I rang the doorbell, and the surprised woman told me it had two bedrooms and a bath on the main floor, I immediately called my realtor. The price was right, and by Friday we had a signed contract. I had barely looked at anything but the main floor. If that worked for Karis, nothing else mattered.

I did all this on my own, since Dave was in Brazil. He told me on the phone that God had indicated to him we would buy a spacious house, larger inside than out. And indeed, that has proved true. We can host four other couples or a houseful of family or friends with no problem. We love our mixed-race mixed-ethnic neighborhood. Next to us is a Turkish family, and next to them a Vietnamese family; down the street a Romanian family. Dave and I are just mixed up: German-Jewish-Russian-Scottish-Dutch-Bolivian-Guatemalan-Brazilian. American.

But—there’s too much yard. Too much yard work for me to handle. As I griped to my sister recently, she said, “Why don’t you hire some help?” Dave said, “Yes! It’s cheaper than moving!” Thus, I’ve met a delightful, hardworking young man, and I can now walk outside with pleasure and gratitude instead of guilt and a sense of oppression.  

Abundance comes in many forms. This Thanksgiving, I’m recognizing the joy of inadequacy. The relief of admitting I need help. The pleasure of restored gratitude for this house God gave us.

Should your path take you through Pittsburgh, we have space for you! And a pretty nice yard.

Isaiah 53:3-5 He was despised and rejected—a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care. Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down . . . But he was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins. He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed.

Last night I had dinner with a dear friend. As she said, it was refreshing to catch up, and laugh. We also talked about grief. She lost her husband, young, to cancer. I lost my daughter. For both of us, the holidays are challenging. Strangely enough, harder for me this year than last year. My friend reminded me that grief has its own logic. It comes in waves and catches us off guard, because we will never stop missing those we love who are no longer with us. We talked about how real Heaven is to us, how close. How we imagine the joy of our beloved ones who are there.

And we talked about my grieving over what I’ve been learning about the history of our country. She directed me back to Jesus, who can carry this burden that is too great for us. He experienced, in his own body, all of it. For us.

Today would be my mother’s 93rd birthday. We lost her to Alzheimer’s long before she was freed from it, and from all the other sorrows of her life, in the presence of Jesus. It will be amazing, one day, to see her again, healed. Whole. Because Isaiah also wrote about Jesus, that though he was crushed, “He will not crush the weakest reed” (Isaiah 42:3). The whole passage is encouraging me today:

Look at my servant, whom I strengthen. He is my chosen one, who pleases me. I have put my Spirit upon him. He will bring justice to the nations. He will not shout or raise his voice in public. He will not crush the weakest reed or put out a flickering candle. He will bring justice to all who have been wronged. He will not falter or lose heart until justice prevails throughout the earth.

In verse 1, “servant,” in Hebrew, is ‘ebed. The word is also used in Isaiah 53, in verse 11. It refers to a person of lower social status who is subject to another person for service or labor, like an owned slave or an indentured servant. (See Philippians 2:7-8). Jesus gets it.

This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he did not sin. So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most (Hebrews 4:15-16).

By the way, have you seen the movie “Harriet” yet? And do you know that November is Native American Heritage Month? Check out the U.S. Department of Arts and Culture on FB.

Psalm 51:5-6 I was born a sinner—yes, from the moment my mother conceived me. But you desire honesty from the womb, teaching me wisdom even there.

Most versions use the words truth or integrity in place of honesty. Some say from the heart, or inner being or inward parts instead of “from the womb.” The point is clear: radical facing up to the facts, from the inside out.

God gave this to me this morning as a way forward with the grief I’ve been carrying over our devastating sins as a nation (touched on in yesterday’s blog post). Confession is consistent with God’s desire for our honesty. I’m looking again at Nehemiah’s mourning and praying over Israel (Nehemiah 1), aligning his heart with God’s as David did in Psalm 51 after his terrible sins over Bathsheba, to the point of shedding blood.

This morning when I woke up, I found myself asking God for forgiveness for anyone in my family tree who may have participated in attitude or actions against other people as part of America’s story. I simply don’t know our family track record. But I do know that many who have claimed the name of God have sinned against him by showing favoritism within his family, to the extremes of hatred and oppression and violence.

If you too are grieved over the story of our country, past and present, you can join me in Nehemiah’s prayer:

O Lord, God of heaven, the great and awesome God who keeps his covenant of unfailing love with those who love him and obey his commands, listen to my prayer! Look down and see me praying night and day for your people. I confess that we have sinned against you. Yes, even my own family [at least, my spiritual family] and I have sinned! We have sinned terribly by not obeying the commands that you gave us [here I am substituting Jesus for Moses: Jesus’ command to love] . . . O Lord, listen to the prayers of those of us who delight in honoring you.

Teach us your wisdom, Lord. Purify, wash, cleanse, forgive, and restore us. “The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God” (Psalm 51:17). Thank you, Lord, for showing me that all of this is part of why Jesus went to the cross.

James 3:14-18 If you are jealous and there is selfish ambition in your heart, don’t cover up the truth with boasting and lying. . . Wherever there is jealousy and selfish ambition, there you will find disorder and evil of every kind. But the wisdom from above is first of all pure. It is also peace loving, gentle at all times, and willing to yield to others. It is full of mercy and good deeds. It shows no favoritism and is always sincere. And those who are peacemakers will plant seeds of peace and reap a harvest of righteousness. [The word can also mean justice.]

I’ve been on a steep learning curve about the history of the United States. I don’t know whether my ignorance is due to spending much of my life outside this country, or whether I just haven’t been paying attention. I grew up in a small Maya-Ixil village where mistreatment of the first Guatemalans by those who came later was commonplace. But I had the romantic (I suppose) idea that in the U.S. everyone was equal. That’s what we learned in school about the U.S. Declaration of Independence.

With amazing support from my brother-in-law, I just spent a week learning about the Oregon Trail in Idaho and Oregon for a historical novel I’m writing. The more I learned, the more grieved and disappointed I became about how people treated one another in the nineteenth century. Have you heard the term “Manifest Destiny”? Its advocates used fine phrases—including the name of God—to justify deplorable acts of oppression and violence against people who were “in the way” of U.S. expansion. And against people who could be used to facilitate that expansion, at whatever cost to them. Wherever there is jealousy and selfish ambition, there you will find disorder and evil of every kind.

My week in Idaho and Oregon ended with an evening out to see the movie “Harriet.” What a powerful experience. I was surprised (sorry—I’m learning how incredibly naïve I have been) to learn that it’s only been 106 years since Harriet Tubman died. My grandparents were alive then! That fact brings Harriet’s story so close to home for me, like I can reach out and touch her.

Holy God, what does all this mean for me, today? Show me, please. Purify my heart. I walk around enjoying my home, my husband, my family and friends, while inside I am grieving and uncertain about what you are saying to me about how my life needs to change. Teach me your wisdom, Lord.

P.S. AFTER posting this blog, I listened to a sermon by Bishop Jim Hobby. I recommend it: https://www.pitanglican.org/sermons/bishop-hobby-eucharist-sermon-gathering-2019-video-audio?utm_source=Master+Diocesan+List+%2F+Weekly+Newsletters&utm_campaign=e0bae7fad6-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2017_08_18_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_16cfed5f45-e0bae7fad6-711085821&mc_cid=e0bae7fad6&mc_eid=3f1a602d68

Mark 13:9-11, 19-20, 31 You will stand trial before governors and kings because you are my followers. But don’t worry in advance about what to say. Just say what God tells you at that time, for it is not you who will be speaking, but the Holy Spirit. . . The day is coming when there will be greater anguish than at any time since God created the world . . . But for the sake of his chosen ones the Lord has shortened those days. . . Heaven and earth will disappear, but my words will never disappear.

Do you ever feel worried or anxious when you read or hear the news? I do. Right now, there seem to be convulsions all over the world, including most of my beloved Latin America. I can become almost paralyzed with concern for Venezuela when I think about what our friends there are facing. Trust has never been my strong suit, and it seems our sovereign God gives me daily the choice to trust or to fret. I know he wants me to grow in my confidence that he is in control.

I’m intrigued today reading Jesus’ discourse in Mark 13 to find “But God” phrases referring to each member of the Trinity, regarding what will happen in the future. (That’s what anxiety is all about, right? Worrying over what may happen next.) Each of them speaks to my daily challenge. Trust or trepidation. Confidence or consternation. Serenity or stress. Don’t worry in advance—the Holy Spirit will speak; the Father cares and will shorten the really bad time; when everything else changes and is lost, Jesus’ words are still completely dependable. What are some of those words? Jesus will return, in love and power, justice and truth! He will make everything right!

Thinking about my temptation to worry, I looked again at Philippians 4, and was surprised to see that Paul’s words about not being anxious in 4:6 come immediately after “Remember, the Lord is coming soon” in verse 5, and shortly before, 3:20 says “But we are citizens of heaven, where the Lord Jesus Christ lives. And we are eagerly waiting for him to return as our Savior.” I so often take favorite Scripture out of context and lose track of the flow of what the writer is saying. Even in Paul’s time, apparently, people needed the encouragement of living their lives within the context of Jesus’ promised return.

I’ve been reading a fair bit of history as I research the historical novel I’m writing. People have always found plenty to worry about, and the troubles of their own times often overwhelm them, with good reason. From my point of view, those troubles get swallowed up in the flow of years. Even more what perturbs me now will fade away when Jesus reigns in perfect justice.

Within that overall framework, I come back to Paul’s directions for how I live. Will you join me in this today?

Don’t worry about anything; instead pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.