Tag: Faith

Everyday Moments

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photo by Josh Scholten

The sacred moments, the moments of miracle, are often the everyday moments,
the moments which, if we do not look with more than our eyes or listen with more than our ears reveal only…
a gardener, a stranger coming down the road behind us, a meal like any other meal.
But if we look with our hearts, if we listen with all our being and imagination…
what we may see is Jesus himself.
~Frederick Buechner

He’s not hidden from us; we are heart-blind most of the time, so wrapped in our own worries and cares that we do not see Him.  As the heart veil is lifted, we may see Him in ways and places we could never have imagined.

Open eyes wide, listen with all your being, hearts at the ready, everyday, every moment.
He is here.

“Sir, we would see Jesus.” John 12:21

photo by Josh Scholten

Light and Shadow

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In faith there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don’t.
~Blaise Pascal

During intense election seasons like this one, I find myself seeking safety hiding under a rock where lukewarm moderates tend to congregate.   There is no political convention for us with rousing impassioned speeches or balloons falling on our heads.

Extremist views predominate simply for the sake of differentiating one’s political turf from the opposition.  There is no discussion of compromise, negotiation or collaboration as that would be perceived as a sign of weakness.  Instead it is “my way or the wrong way.”

I’m ready to say “no way,” as both sides are intolerably intolerant of the other.

The chasm is most gaping in any discussion of faith issues.  Religion and politics have become angry neighbors constantly arguing over how high to build the fence between them, what it should be made out of, what color it should be, should there be peek holes, should it be electrified with barbed wire to prevent moving back and forth, should there be a gate with or without a lock and who pays for the labor.   In a country founded on the principle of freedom of religion, there are more and more who believe our forefathers’ blood was shed for freedom from religion.

Give us the right to believe in nothing whatsoever or give us death. Perhaps both actually go together.

And so it goes.  Each election cycle brings out the worst in our leadership as facts are distorted, the truth is stretched or completely abandoned, unseemly pandering abounds and curried favors are served for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Enough already.

In the midst of this morass, we who want to believe still choose to believe.

There is just enough light for those who seek it.  No need to remain blinded in the shadowlands of unbelief.

I’ll come out from under my rock if you do.

In fact…I think I just did.

Need a Hug

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20120823-152402.jpg photo from iowacorn.org

“I’m still discovering, right up to this moment, that it is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. I mean living unreservedly in life’s duties, problems, successes and failures, experiences and perplexities. In so doing, we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God.”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

There are plenty of mornings when we climb out of bed and know we need a hug to help us meet the obligations of the day. The troubles we face can seem so overwhelming, we can’t do it without help and encouragement. Without that support, it can be tempting to turn and run, or hunker and hide.

Instead some of us choose to battle through troubles alone, relying solely on the strength of our own feeble problem-solving skills, or our frail muscle power to persevere. Others rely on the seductive fickle embrace of the bottle or other addictions to get through the day.

Today as we drove through drought-stricken dust-stormed central Iowa, I sense the deep need of the people here for any kind of encouragement and hope as they watch their crops dry up on the stalk. 91 degrees with a strong hot wind from the south withers farms, families and faith.

Many here are being called to live through this time of trial wrapped within the arms of God. We are asked to gratefully surrender our supposed autonomy; He graciously surrendered Himself for us to sustain us eternally through times like these.

We need to throw ourselves into His arms before we too dry up and blow away like dusty chaff. He bathes us in living water, a drenching from above, soaking us through and through in His sacrificial embrace.

20120823-103504.jpg photo by Josh Scholten

Snapping Green Beans

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green+beans

A reblog from 2006:

Our garden is now in full harvest mode.  I have just finished picking the bush beans and spent several evenings sitting and snapping them, preparing them for blanching and freezing, with visions of green bean casserole during the winter months dancing in my head.

Bean snapping is one of those uniquely front porch American Gothic kind of activities.  Old black and white Saturday matinee movies would somehow work in a bean snapping scene with an old maid aunt sitting on her ranch house porch.  She’d be rocking back and forth in her rocking chair, her apron wrinkled and well-worn, her graying hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and wearily pushing back tendrils of hair from her face. As the sole guardian, she’d be counseling some lonely orphaned niece or nephew about life’s rough roads and why their dog or pony had just died and then pausing for a moment holding a bean in her hand, she’d talk about how to cope when things are tough. She was the rock for this child’s life.  Then she’d rather gruffly shove a bowl of unsnapped beans in the child’s lap, and tell them to get back to work–life goes on–start snapping. Then she’d look at that precious child out of the corner of her eye, betraying the love and compassion that dwells in her heart but was not in her nature to speak of.  If only that grieving child understood they sat upon a rock of strength and hope.

Just as I sat with my mother snapping beans some 40+ years ago and talked about some difficult things that were unique to the 60′s,  I sat snapping beans this week together with my family, talking about  hopes and disappointments and fears and listened to our children grumble that I was making them do something so utterly trivial when from their perspective, there are far more important things to be doing. My response is a loving and gruff “keep snapping”.  Of course we really don’t have to snap the beans, as they could be frozen whole, but they pack tighter snapped, and it is simply tradition to do so.  We enjoy that crisp satisfying crack of a perfectly bisected bean broken by hand–no need for knife to cut off the top and tail.    We prepare for a coming winter by putting away the vegetables we have sowed and weeded and watered and cared for, because life will go on and eating the harvest of our own soil and toil is sweet.  We must do this. Indeed it is all we can do when the world is tumbling down around us.

Truthfully, there are times when I would prefer to be more rubbery like a bean that doesn’t snap automatically under pressure and is more resilient.

There is an old Shaker Hymn that I learned long ago and sing to myself when I need to be reminded where I must end up when I’m at the breaking point.

I will bow and be simple,
I will bow and be free,
I will bow and be humble,
Yea, bow like the willow tree.

I will bow, this is the token,
I will wear the easy yoke,
I will bow and will be broken,
Yea, I'll fall upon the rock.

As people of resilient faith we seek to wear the yoke we’ve been given to pull, bow in humility under its burden and know the freedom that comes with service to others.  Even in the midst of the most horrific brokenness, we fall upon the rock bearing us up with love and compassion.

It is there under us and we’ve done nothing whatsoever to earn it.

Time for us to get back to work and start snapping–life does go on.

Startling Joy

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photo by Nate Gibson


Faith is what makes life bearable, with all its tragedies and ambiguities and sudden, startling joys.
~Madeleine L’Engle

It was another day of a virus with fever that kept me down and atypically quiet on a summer day.  There are peas to harvest in the garden, a barn to clean, a new puppy to train, flower gardens to water–not to mention the usual needs at work.  I could do none of it, not even the requisite two hours at the Dept of Motor Vehicles to get my drivers’ license renewed before my birthday next week.  It all must wait for another healthier day.

Amid my own chills and aches, and with just a little dose of self-pity, tonight I witnessed an expanding fever rise across the horizon in the western sky, exploding in intense red-orange light, coloring and covering everything. Then, having reached its peak,  it backed off. as a fever will do, gradually fading to gray, all once again returned to normal.

And so my fever will relent at some point and fade in my memory.

Tonight, the fever in the sky,  like faith that touches and colors everything in the rough times, was the sudden startling joy that has made everything bearable.

photo by Nate Gibson

Lenten Reflection–Love Enfolds the World

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stanzas from the English hymn by Timothy Rees, all photos by Josh Scholten

God is love, let heaven adore him
God is love let earth rejoice
Let creation sing before him
And exalt him with one voice

God who laid the earth’s foundation
God who spread the heavens above
God who breathes through all creation
God is love, eternal love

God is love and love enfolds us
All the world in one embrace
With unfailing grasp God holds us
Every child of every race

And when human hearts are breaking
Under sorrow’s iron rod
Then we find that self same aching
Deep within the heart of God

God is love and though with blindness
Sin afflicts all human life
God’s eternal loving kindness
Guides us through our earthly strife

Sin and death and hell shall never
O’er us final triumph gain
God is love so love forever
O’er the universe shall reign

Lenten Reflection–Thirsty

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photo by Josh Scholten

Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.”
John 19:28

God thirsts to be thirsted after.
Augustine
I may be mistaken, but I think this is the only statement Jesus makes in the Gospel that reflects his bodily need. During his years of ministry, he doesn’t complain about a headache or backache, or sore feet, or a bad cold or feeling hungry. In one story, the writer John says Jesus is tired after a journey to Samaria where he sits down to rest at noon and asks a Samaritan woman for a drink of water from the well. As they talk, she asks for “living water” from him–her thirst, despite having easy access to a well, exceeds his.

So it is from the cross. He has extreme thirst, no question. He is offered vinegar on a sponge–hardly an answer to thirst–what we offer to him in his need is not worthy of spit. We stand beneath the cross with our own unquenchable thirst–unsatisfied by money or gadgets or status or power or pleasure or gallons of drink– that is slaked only as this man offers himself to us.

He tells us of his thirst so we remember our own deep need, unmet and unsatisfied until “it is finished.”

Only then we drink freely and deeply.

An Old Farmer Dies

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For Harry

He knows all about the cycle of the seasons
When to plow, when to disc, when to harrow,
When to plant, when to fertilize,
When to irrigate, when to weed,
When to harvest, when to leave stubble and
When to lie fallow.

He knows to read the sky and feel the wind
When the forecast is right,
When it is just plain off,
When to quit early for the day,
When to keep going beyond dark and
When to give up and go to bed.

He knows his animals and what they need
When to bring them in, when to turn them out,
When to doctor them himself,
When to call the vet,
When to use heroics and
When to let go.

He knows his family and friends
When to tease his wife, when to hug her,
When to be tough on the kids, when to love them
When to give all he’s got, when to withhold
When to bid at the sale barn, when to just smile and
When to go home empty handed but full of stories.

He knows his Bible and his faith
When to pray aloud, when to be silent,
When to trust through hard times,
When to share abundance,
When to believe with burning heart and
When to forgive and be forgiven.

He knows his time is coming
When his worn and tired body slows down,
When he drives his pickup and takes a wrong turn,
When he shows up for chores breathing hard,
When he bids at auction just because and
When he lies down for a nap and doesn’t get up.

He lies fallow, sleeping,
Having given up and let go
To head home, without getting lost,
Stubbled, forgiven and loved,
Storing the rest of his harvest
For a new and glorious day.

Great Grandpa Harry holding baby Emerson, photo by mama Abby Mobley

Let Evening Come by Jane Kenyon

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written by Jane Kenyon as she was fighting terminal cancer

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.




Praying the Inexplicable Prayer

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“Praise Jesus!”  the mother cried out as she bore down one last time, her husband gripping her hands, as she pushed their fourth child in five years, their first girl, into my lap.  As I laid her new baby up on her breasts, she sobbed and repeated over and over, “Thank you, Jesus, thank you, thank you…”

It was this prayer that marked as memorable an otherwise unremarkable labor, this prayer which transcended the usual flood of blood and amnion pooling at my feet, this prayer that somehow sealed this family’s destiny.

As a witness to this birth in 1982, I was only aware of the blessing I felt being part of the beginning moments of a new life.  I could not have known the vague and unremitting symptoms of fatigue and muscles aches this woman experienced before and during her pregnancy were not just those of a weary mother of young children.  In addition, her husband, a hemophiliac, along with his chronic joint arthritis from recurrent bleeding episodes, had troubling chronic fatigue and weight loss as well as frequent respiratory infections.  Two of their children seemed to always be sick with something.  No diagnostic test, nothing I nor my colleagues could think of, explained this family’s struggles.

As believers in the power of prayer and alternative approaches to healing rather than traditional medications or vaccinations, these parents were certain it was too much yeast in their diet causing the problem.   They tried elimination diets, tried antifungal medications, tried homeopathy.  Nothing made a difference.

This new baby girl seemed a hopeful sign that everything might be restored.   Instead, her birth marked the beginning of the end.

Sitting at my desk some time later, buried in stacks of medical charts, her father’s chart was placed strategically on top, marked with a note from my nurse: “Call the Blood Bank ASAP.”   When I called, I was transferred to the Director, who, in a carefully rehearsed and unemotional voice informed me my patient had tested positive for a new viral test that had become available.   He had tested positive for a virus transfused into him from contaminated blood products, and the Blood Bank was recommending all his family members be tested for this new virus called HIV—Human Immunodefiency Virus.  Could I call the family and make those arrangements please?

I sat stunned, knowing only too well what this meant.  I had already taken care of several dying patients, previously healthy young adult men, who had the symptoms described initially as Gay-Related Immunodeficiency Disorder (GRID), and now, with new reports of hemophiliac patients showing similar symptoms, the name of the syndrome had been changed to  “Acquired Immunodeficiency Disorder (AIDS)” .  It wasn’t just sexually transmitted, not just a “gay disease” as originally thought, it was blood borne as well.

The rest of the family was tested.  All were positive except the oldest son.  Untested blood products transfused into the father had infected him, then sexually transmitted to the mother, and passed during pregnancy or breast feeding to the youngest three children.

There was no known treatment and no hope for cure.  All that was left, all they ever had,  was prayer.

Their church community rallied to care for them as the disease took them, one by one.  Their oldest son, spared by an inexplicable grace, was entrusted to extended family.

Remarkably, despite their desperate circumstances, this mother and father continued to pray aloud, as they had at their childrens’ births,  through those same childrens’ illnesses and deaths, then later during their own descent into the hell of this disease.  Until the very end, they continued to pray an inexplicable prayer:

“Thank you, Jesus, may your gracious name be praised.”