Category Archives: church life

Living Faith-Attentive

 

“Be on guard, Elaine. You’re going to see a snake. Be looking for a snake.”

God’s voice couldn’t have been clearer in my spirit yesterday afternoon while I was out for an afternoon stroll. His certainty forced my immediate, audible response.

“Yes, Lord, I’ll be watching for the snake.”

One lap around the block, then two, almost three before a thunderstorm blew in and interrupted my search. No snakes in sight, just a caution in my spirit that lingered inside of me throughout the nighttime hours.

“Be on guard, Elaine. You’re going to see a snake. Be looking for a snake.”

Morning came, this Sabbath morning. My body ached, and my heart was heavy. Not today, Lord. Can’t I just call in sick … sit this one out? I’m not feeling it. I want to live in, not out; stay close, not expand.

“Be on guard, Elaine. You’re going to see a snake. Be looking for a snake.”

There it was again. A reminder to stay vigilant. Watchful. Faith-attentive.

And so I did something I don’t normally do on Sunday mornings. I grabbed a pen and began counting the fish—the blessings in my life. I kept writing and writing until it was time for us to make our way to corporate worship. My body still groaned its resistance, but my heart was lighter. Faith had taken the lead, while my feelings took a break.

With the van loaded and spirits lifted, we backed out of our garage. It was then that I saw it out of my driver’s side mirror. A water moccasin slithering its way across my driveway and up the Crepe Myrtle planted next to the basketball goal. I watched it for a long time. Thought about it for a long time. I’m thinking about it still on this Sabbath afternoon – a time normally reserved for napping.

“Be on guard, Elaine. You’re going to see a snake. Be looking for a snake.”

And I’m thinking on it. Pondering snakes—the ones that slither through our front yards and the ones that slither through our hearts. How often they go unnoticed in our lives, camouflaged and quiet in their approach. Real and present danger close at hand and, most of the time, we’re caught off guard because we’ve missed the warning.

“Be on guard, Elaine. You’re going to see a snake. Be looking for a snake.”

Oh the vigilance of the faith-attentive heart! For eyes to see, ears to hear, and a willing heart ready to receive and believe the voice of God’s Spirit as he speaks.

I don’t want an overgrown heart full of weeds and worries and wickedness that block the ear-splitting whispers of the Holy Spirit. I want the thunderous clap of God’s clarity ringing in my soul as I walk this earthen sod. I’m weary of the world’s words—those clattering, clanging, and banging cymbals of nothingness. God save me from those hell shrieks—those sounds that will never speak me into the folds of heaven but, instead, hasten me into the bowels of permanent torment.

“Be on guard, Elaine. You’re going to see a snake. Be looking for a snake.”

Be on guard, friends. You’re going to see a snake. Be looking for a snake.

It will come quietly in the night; boldly in the day.

It comes now.

May God grant you his voice, his protection, his direction, and his strength to stay faith-attentive as these days are growing shorter. The kingdom draweth nigh. Even so, come quickly Lord Jesus.

Peace for the journey,

 

let the evening come . . .

“Jacob left Beersheba and set out for Haran. When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set.” –Genesis 28:10-11

 

Certain places. We’ve reached a new one—a God-ordained assignment just an hour south of our last one. My number nineteen; pastorally speaking, our fifth appointment with the United Methodist Church.

Like Jacob on a night so long ago in Bethel, we’re stopping here for a season. The sun has set on our previous day’s traveling (our six months’ worth of running), and now we have the great privilege of rest, of living and breathing in this new place landscaped by open fields, few stoplights, fresh peaches, and neighbors who drop by with fresh vegetables . . . just because.

Certain places. We’re well-suited for this one. Sometimes a heart just knows when it’s home. And this morning as we worshiped alongside new friends in filled church pews, my soul was stirred at the deepest level. First Sundays rarely go as planned; there are always a few hiccups and a few whispers, but none of that mattered to me on this first Sunday of my number nineteen.

What mattered?

The peace of knowing that I am home. That I can rest my head upon this stone named Saint Luke and can find a stairway that stretches straight forward to the heart of God. Like Jacob, my soul proclaims, “Surely the Lord is in this place …” (Gen. 28:16).

It’s not that the Lord hasn’t been present in my preceding eighteen places; it’s simply a great soul-relief knowing that he resides here as well. That God has already graced this place with the present of his presence long before my arrival.

I’m grateful for the setting sun, for a tangible sign that a previous day’s laboring is finished. It’s a good thing to shut my eyes and pull down the shades on the struggles of recent days, knowing that even as I rest, God is at work . . . ascending and descending on his ladder of mercy, making certain that I don’t miss his whispers of grace. I imagine he will tell me great and unsearchable things in this night’s pause (Jer. 33:3). Divine disclosure is a guarantee for the children of God. As we are faithful to rest in God’s house, our Father is faithful to entertain our hearts with his.

I want nothing more.

I just want to know God and then, out of that knowing, lead others to know the same. This certain place is the right place to do both. With God’s help and because of the heavenly generosity afforded my soul, I pledge my affection to this new ministry soil. I’ll put my hand to the plow, alongside my husband’s; together we’ll sow kingdom seed, and we’ll trust God for the harvest.

And so I pray,

Let the evening come, Lord. Let the stars shine brightly in this night’s rest. Slow me down and show me your glory. May the labors of my yesterdays serve as a strong foundation for my today, as well as an anchoring remembrance for my tomorrows. I thank you for this stay in Bethel and for this stone upon which I lay my head, my heart, and my faith. Make this pause in my journey count for your kingdom. Keep me on my knees, and awaken my heart to yours. Thank you for the struggle that has brought me thus far, and thank you for the grace that has kept me moving forward. Home is within reach. I can see it from here. This certain place is the right place for my heart. Amen. So be it.

PS: There was a beautiful flower arrangement on the altar this morning, given in honor of our arrival. Thanks to Mr. Bill, I have fresh cut flowers all around my house. It’s good to be welcomed!

Rodeo . . .

 

This isn’t my first rodeo.

In the course of my lifetime, I’ve lived in five different states, ten cities, and changed physical addresses at least eighteen times. My family and I are less than a week away from making it number nineteen.

A new home. New community. New ministry. New everything. Alongside the new, will arrive some old. It’s the old that sustains me. Strengthens me. Maintains me. That old?

God is near. (Ps. 145:18; James 4:8)

God.

Is.

Near.

When breathed in isolation, those three words hold enough theology, imagery, breadth, and depth to transition a heart from the old into the new. God and his nearness are old. God and his nearness are new. Never changing; ever the same. Ever present, active, and accurate. God simply and profoundly IS wherever I am. I cannot outrun his presence or hide from his heavenly GPS. He knows where I am and is willing to keep pace with my progression. Movement wins when God is with me.

This is how I can do this thing—keep making these moves and living the itinerant life. Knowing that God is near me keeps me upright in the saddle and focused on the finish line. Certainly, I’ve kicked up a little dust along the way, taken a tumble every now and again, and even knocked over a barrel on occasion. Each rodeo comes with its unique obstacles. But even then—even there in those moments of holding on for dear life—joy can be found. There’s something about the ride that trumps the risk.

To ride and rope and gallop alongside Jesus is to live life on the solid edge. This is how faith feels to me right now—dusty, wild, fast, and furious. I am hanging on for dear, sweet life. I’m resolved regarding the finish line, tenaciously gripping the reins in one hand while waving to the crowd with the other . . .

Just so you’ll know I’m still here. Just so you’ll know I haven’t given up. Just so you’ll know that I’m still committed to the ride, regardless of how bumpy it gets some days.

How grateful I am for the nearness of God and for this ride that draws me ever closer to his heart!

*Fair Warning: Number nineteen, here I come! Saddle up, and get ready to rodeo, friends. We’re in for the ride of our lives. May God grant us his favor, his strength, his discernment, his joy, and his peace for the journey that lies ahead. I thank you for the privilege of riding my horse next to yours.

 

where Love lives . . .

Go to where love lives.

This was God’s message to me earlier today . . . to go out into the world and find where love lives, where love is. Where the sights and sounds of Christmas are still burning their witness—those homes and those folks who aren’t afraid to deck the halls, display a crèche, and throw in a few lights for good measure.

Go to where love lives, Elaine, and remember that Christmas is alive and well and thriving within arm’s reach of your front door.

This is becoming increasingly difficult to manage, the finding of Christmas love. Why? I think it is because there’s too much anger in the world, too much busyness, too much consumption. The ABC’s of discontent.

Angry about . . .
Busy with . . .
Consumed by . . .

Living there (with anger, busyness, and consumption), it’s easy to overlook the love. Love rarely blossoms within the soil of dissatisfaction. Instead, love often suffocates because of it. Rather than feeling the love, we suffer the sting of having missed it, wondering where it all went wrong and how we’ve arrived at this season of painful reduction. What if, instead of our anger, busyness, and consumption, we adopted an alternate approach to finding love–the ABC’s of consecrated pilgrimage rather than the ABC’s of discontent?

Approach the manger.
Behold the Child.
Consider the Gift.

Approaching, beholding, and considering Jesus. He is where love lives. Find him, and you’ll find Christmas peace.

Go to where love lives. If things are getting a little crowded in your interior—if you’re depending solely on your ability to keep the Christmas spirit alive only to realize your terrible insufficiency at doing so—why not step outside your confinement and search for the sights and sounds of Bethlehem around you. In your neighborhood. Around the table. At an altar. In the faces of family, friends, and strangers who cross your path. When you can’t find the love on your own, choose population over isolation. Don’t allow the enemy to fuel your search or to fool you into believing that Christmas cannot be found . . . that Christmas is dead.

Christmas is not dead; Christmas is alive and burning brightly in the hearts and homes of those who’ve not yet caved in to desperation or bowed low to discontent. Go, find those pilgrims, and allow their witness to be the guiding light that leads you toward renewed hope and strengthened perspective.

Go to where love lives. And then, from that filling, courageously and willingly live love before others so that they might find their way home to Jesus. Light a candle for the King and his kingdom. Together, we decorate this earth with our faith.

Prepare, ye, the way of the Lord! I’ll meet you on the road. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

 

A Sunday Morning look from God’s Pew

This is where we went to church yesterday . . . at least for those of you who answered the roll call on my facebook page:

Twenty-five states represented (I think), at least twelve denominations and several non-denominational churches. You can click on this link for a better visual. Sorry, NC folks, we’re a bit covered up on the map. Thanks to everyone who pinpointed their Sunday worship to this completely random and highly unscientific poll. There’s no hidden agenda here, no huge motive attached to my survey, and certainly no guilt allowed for anyone who didn’t make it to church yesterday! I just wanted to give you a tiny (emphasis on tiny) of how our “church going” might look to God from his heavenly vantage point. Can you even imagine how we must look to him, how wonderfully warmed God is when he sees our worship meld together as corporate praise on any given Sunday morning?!

 

Along these lines, I’d like to share with you a reflection I wrote in my book, Peace for the Journey. It details the reasons behind my choice to be a church-goer. Blessings to you, each one, as you move forward in your faith this week. Shalom.

 

A Sacred Doing (excerpt from Peace for the Journey, F. Elaine Olsen, 2010, 134-136)

 

Church is a family business around here. Doing life with Jesus isn’t an option in our home. Hearts may refuse the deeper “doing”—the sacred work of the cross. But as it pertains to our physical “doing,” to our comings and our goings and our stops between the two? Well, there is compliance on the part of my children, at least for the seasonal eighteen years beneath our roof.

 

It sounds harsh, legalistic, and intrusive, but as parents charged with the sacred trust of “training up a child” in the way of holiness, we understand that church serves as an ample shaping ground. At least it should. If church isn’t your thing, if for some reason you’ve come to the conclusion that your church is doing more harm than good, then it is time to revisit the issue. Maybe even time to find a new church.

 

Why? Because church was never instituted for our harm. Church was given to us as a gift, as a celebration, as a way of gathering hearts in one accord for the unified worship of the one God who is worthy of our reverent pause.

 

It’s not about programs and seeing how much we can cram into a worship service in hopes of raising our emotional fervor. It’s not about worship preferences, a rocking band, a stoic tradition, or even the dressing of our flesh. It’s not about who knows more, who seems less, who offers little, who tithes best. It has nothing to do with pageantry and pomp and circumstances created to boast a better faith than that of the competing churches down the road.

 

We may think it does, and in many ways, the best of these things often enhance our time of church participation, thus leading us closer to the heart of God. But to limit our church experience within such parameters—to define the quality of our faith based on these self-imposed guidelines—is to limit the sacred worth behind God’s intention for our gatherings. That worth is based on something far greater—a grander intention that cannot be matched by our feeble attempts at the same.

 

Church should be a place where we gather to know God. Any other intention falls subject to this overriding one. We may institute all manner of routes to get there, but at the end of the day, only one path leads us to the heart of the Father . . .

 

The cross of Jesus Christ.

 

Churches that are willing to follow along this path are not obsessed with the peripheral “rest of it.” Instead, the people are simply content to gather together in order to more fully examine and more profoundly entreat the Lover of their souls. Where two or three come together in God’s name, he promises his presence (Matthew 18:20).

 

And this is one of the primary reasons why church is family business in my home. I am counting on the probability that when our Sunday gatherings commence, there will be at least two or three others who have gathered with a similar intention. I want my children to be in the path of other believers, giving them the opportunity for the sacred intersection of their hearts with the heart of the living God, who knit them together in his likeness.

 

Does it always work out that way? Not always, but does that mean we should stop our efforts along those lines? Should we forego our corporate worship because it sometimes feels contrived and fake and so seemingly full of pretense? When God seems to prefer the hidden corners of our gatherings rather than a full-blown revelation of himself, do we pout out the doors in hasty retreat never to return? Further still, do we allow our children their choices about their participation? Are we content to coddle their preferences about God’s mandate for their sacred shaping? Where does our obedience lie?

 

Church will never perfectly practice our faith. Wherever flesh gathers, problems seem to follow. It is the tension of an earthly pilgrimage—this warring between selfish living and selfless surrender. Still and yet, it is our road to walk. It is our path of privileged participation. We can refuse it, or we can bend to it. Either way, the road requires our feet and the feet of those we hold dearest.

 

Better to give church the benefit of our many doubts and believe that somewhere in our “doing” of it, we will come across Jesus. And whenever that happens, friends, the kingdom of God is opened up for the partaking therein.

 

I don’t want to miss the kingdom feast. I yearn for the joy of its sacred celebration; it is a desire I hold for my family, a yearning I pray for you. Thus, I bow my head and offer this humble plea:

 

Show us, Father, the glory behind our obedience to “do” church. Meet us as we gather, and humble us with your presence. Forgive us when we think that you could do it better. We are a selfish and foolish people to put our needs ahead of your purpose. We want to know you, God; and then out that knowing, we want to serve your people with the truth. Keep us to church; root us in faith, and then carry us along the path until our willing obedience finds us safely in your arms, fully home, and finally at rest. Amen.

 

To learn more about Peace for the Journey and how you might obtain a copy, click here.

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