Easter | Elaine Olsen

a mother’s grip … a Father’s shadow

April 19, 2009

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’” (Psalm 91:1-2).

I noticed it today while perusing my family Easter photos.

My grip on my son’s arm. Fingers that were content to grab rather than to gently frame. It is a telling photo, friends. One that speaks a witness as to the current condition of my heart. Mine is a heart gripped by the fragments of a broken trust. A heart that is afraid to believe that all is, indeed, well with my soul and that all will continue to live well in the days to come.

God is my shelter, my rest, my refuge and my fortress. In Him, alone, I need to put my trust. I don’t always do it, but I need to; thus, I will speak it, even if I don’t always fully feel it. Why?

Because it is the truth. God’s truth. And His truth is based on fact, not on emotions. If emotions were the rule of the day—the foundation behind our reasoning—our building of anything is as naught and crumbles to a quick death and dust accordingly. That is why truth exists apart from feeling. Feelings often come as a rich flavoring to truth but cannot be relied upon to paint a whole and accurate picture.

I know. I spent most of my forty-three years painting an inadequate faith. Over the past few weeks I’ve been faithful to add a few more brushstrokes to the mediocrity. It doesn’t paint extraordinary, friends. Instead, it paints usual, average, customary and just plain ordinary. Perhaps even less.

There are reasons behind my less. There always are. We don’t live less faith because we suddenly decide that “less” is a better swallow than “more”; there is always a driving force behind our less, and for me, that force has been rooted in a deliberate and difficult inward pause to examine the passage of time.

How quickly it comes; how easily it goes, and how fleeting is its remembrance once it has passed.

I notice it more profoundly these days. Age does that. Having a son turn twenty does that. Having a second child graduate from high school does that. Having conversations with aging parents does that. Having a daughter who has finally become too heavy to carry does that. Having a reflection that wrinkles and a frame that wearies does that. On and on I could chronicle the ways in which I’ve noticed the uncompromising and severity of a clock’s ticking.

And while I’ve long wished for the passage of time in younger seasons, this is the season when keeping it contained seems more urgent, more pressing and increasingly, more necessary. This is the time when the hugs squeeze tighter, the grip holds firmer, and when the words “I love you” speak clearer. Forty-three years of passing the time have given me a gift of sorts.

The gift of understanding … of realizing just how profound each moment should live. Consequently, when it’s not living … when moments collect and accumulate and are lived like moments to burn … well, I struggle. It seems they should, each one, live better—breathe with meaning and walk on purpose.

Good in theory; more difficult in the carry through. Why?

Because we somehow have fooled ourselves into thinking that time is ours to control. That another day is ours to live. That what was left undone in our today can be taken care of in our tomorrow. That moments can be replicated, redone and replenished because forty-three years have afforded us the witness of their abundance. That tomorrow … that next week and next year … well, there will be more.

That’s the difficult tug of my heart, friends. The struggle of my trust in this season of living. I want more moments that matter. I want to be a conscientious time-spender. I want to capture time, not squander it. I want to profoundly seed my light and influence into the lives of those around me, and then I want to watch them grow and multiply and burgeon beyond my initial investment.

What I want is time. What I’ve been given?

This moment in time. Right now. My isolated heart beat. My breath that goes in and out of me like a vapor. That’s it.

There are likely to be a few more beyond this one, but who am I to say? Who are you to make me that promise? God holds our bookends, friends. Our beginnings and our ends. In between, we are given but a few moments of influence on this earthen sod. They are passing in swift order and will soon be the history of another generation to remember.

And while it shouldn’t make me sad, while God doesn’t intend for me to stay mired in my emotions regarding time, He’s allowed me a moment in this season of living to pause before its authority over my life and over the lives of those I hold dearest.

It is a worthy pause, and as I continue to mine its worth, I do so seeing another picture emerge from an Easter family photograph. Zooming out from my initial grip on my son’s arm, I see something else. I see a shadow. A father’s arm … a husband’s arm that frames both my son and me into the bigger picture. It is a telling photo that speaks a witness as to the current and always condition of my Father’s heart.

A sheltering love; a shadowing rest. A refuge and a fortress Who holds time as a friend, and Who holds me within its grip for good reason and for extraordinary purpose. This is a picture I can trust. This is a faith I can believe. This is the sheltering that I need, thus I pray…

Keep me there, Father, nestled within your shadow and content to abide close near your heart. Frame my life within the timing of your will. You’ve given me my beginning; continue to shelter me as I journey toward my end. You are that end, God. May the moments that I walk forward from this one be filled with the shadowing truth that all moments walked with you, walk living and on purpose. Thank you for a Love that will not let me go. Amen.

Copyright © April 2009 – Elaine Olsen

Go Ahead … Live Your Easter

April 13, 2009

“The angel said to the women, ‘Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: “He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.” Now I have told you.’”

Now what?

I don’t know about you, but this past week has been one of the busiest I’ve had in a long time. Bible study, two family birthdays, lunch dates, dinner dates, Easter egg hunts, Easter baskets, Easter clothes, and all manner of preparation that surfaces between the cross and the empty tomb. Couple that with the fact that the Easter weekend is “on time” for a clergy family, and, well, you get the picture. And while not quite as chaotic as the Christmas season, this Easter pilgrimage has come pretty close.

Christ doesn’t mean for us to come to the cross with our harried approach at “doing” remembrance. He means for it to sink in … to root deep and to linger long and hard after our well-meaning attempts at fostering reflection have been packed away for another year.

There’s something a bit flawed about the way we remember. Something so seasonal and so liturgically tied to a calendar that doesn’t quite fit with what it means to live the crucified life—an always and “on time” daily walk that never strays too far from a bloody cross and an empty tomb. When we compartmentalize our faith by calendaring our remembrance, we often come to the end of it with a sense of confusion, emptiness, and a question or two that voices the conflict of our understanding.

Now what? Is this all I get for my well-intentioned efforts at reflection? Wasn’t I supposed to feel more? Remember more? Be more profoundly affected by my intentional pause for contemplation? Now what? What’s next? Where do I go from here, and will my “going” necessarily move me any closer to knowing Jesus and to being a woman who is intimately connected to his heart? If not, then why bother?

Good questions; ones that have surfaced for me this day. Not because I don’t see the sacred merit in calendared reflection. We need moments of intentional pause. Left to ourselves, we rarely take it upon ourselves to reflect and to remember. No, my questions about “what’s next?” have little to do with the formalities of my “doing” faith and more to do with the realities of my “living” faith.

Jesus’ followers mirrored some of my angst. If any group of people reserved the right to voice a “now what?” it was them. A couple of days of not knowing … of remembering and of smelling the stench of an egregious death … was enough to warrant a few questions. Weighed down by their grief and confusion, they came looking for answers. What they received would by the lynchpin to secure their continuing faith.

“‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’”

With those few words of angelic proclamation, a people renewed their hope. Their faith was “saved” because their Savior was saved … rescued from the sting of death and “going ahead” of them to prepare their hearts for his resurrected unveiling.

As it was for the disciples almost 2000 years ago, so it is for us.

You and I have a “go ahead” Jesus. A Savior who has “gone ahead” and sacrificially paved the way for our “go ahead.” Jesus Christ hasn’t left us alone with our questions. Instead, He’s drawn the map for the answers. He’s done so because he understands that, left to ourselves, we are but aimless wanderers, bungling our way through life, and tripping over the jagged edges that present their fierce resistance to our further understanding.

Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. He’s “gone ahead” of us to prepare for us a place of everlasting permanence. He’s ever on the move, clearing our paths and extending his grace so that when we come to our Galilee, we, too, will see Him in his resurrected glory and will know in our hearts the certainty of an Easter’s boast.

“When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: ‘Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’” (1 Corinthians 15:54-55).

Our “go ahead” Jesus holds the answer to that question. He continues to shape our understanding accordingly. Easter, 2000 years ago, should never be relegated to a calendared moment. Instead, it should be the heralded moment that we hold out as our candle to guide us as we go ahead in our following hard after our “go ahead” God.

There is abundant hope and life that comes with knowing that our Jesus has “gone ahead” and readied the road for our feet. He’s cleared the path, friends, and the hem of his garment is within reach … just ahead and close enough to touch if we are willing to move forward in his shadow.

What’s next? Now what?

He’s what.

Thus, may we all have the good and willing sense to fully tread and to fiercely trust as a passionate disciple in hot pursuit of the Savior.

He has risen; He is waiting. Go ahead now, from the empty tomb, and find your resurrected Lord. Today is the day of your salvation. Believe it, receive it, and get moving forward in the truth of Easter this week. You and I were created for such a journey. May God’s Peace be our portion as we go. As always,

PS: My kids are on spring break this week, and I am in need of one also. Accordingly, I’m going to take some time to tend to my youngin’s and to my soul. I’ll be around to see you but won’t be here on a consistent basis. Blessed Easter walk to you all… from my home to yours! Shalom.

By faith, elaine…

April 10, 2009

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for. By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.” (Hebrews 11:1-3).

By faith…

Faith Elaine that is.

Forty-three years ago today. Easter morning. Father standing behind a pulpit preaching about life issuing forth from the tomb. Mother lying in a delivery room earning bragging rights about life issuing forth from her womb. Both having something to say in the matter. Both cradling the blossoms of Spring—a Savior and a longed-for baby.

By faith, both blossoms were received into the lives of two parents who longed for their arrival. One into their hearts; the other into their arms. It was a good day for Chuck and Jane for so many reasons. It was a good beginning for Faith Elaine for so many more.

In both the literal and in the spiritual sense, the cross of Jesus Christ has shadowed my steps for the past forty-three years. Regardless of my wanderings to the contrary, the empty tomb has been my haunting—my known truth and my accepted understanding all the days of my life. There has never been a time when I believed otherwise. Jesus has always been real to me.

My journey with God is a “by faith” kind of thing. A deeply rooted belief in something grander, someone Greater who keeps the ebb and flow of my days in check. Who simply says and IS, and therefore, is worthy of my believing.

There have been moments of clarity along the way. The well-worn paths to the altar of my surrender are stained with tears of deeply rooted repentance and understanding. Times when I have strengthened my faith with a more intentional and willing trust in a God who longs to consecrate my life toward holiness. But from the very beginning, my life has been filled a knowing perception of God.

I’m thankful for that. It’s been a gift that has spared me untold heartaches … of that I am sure. And while I’ve had some questions along the way, never have the answers (some obvious, some still awaiting their voice) swayed me in my belief of an unseen, yet profoundly “felt” God.

God and me … well, we just go together.

And lest you think it is pride thing—that somehow I think I hold the market on what it means to walk a life in complete faith and holiness—then you don’t really know me at all. For if you did, you would understand that it is only by God’s grace, only by this “going together” seemingly from my beginnings, that I’ve made it to my 43rd birthday with any “absolutes” in my bag. If God hadn’t presented Himself to me early on in my life, I’m confident that I wouldn’t be presenting Him to you as the Savior and Keeper of my soul. Why?

Because I love this world too much. I am easily enticed by its trappings. It invites me, tangles me, and has the propensity to hold me to the contrary of everything sacred. I know that we are all prone to our struggles along these lines, but, perhaps, there are those of us who struggle with it more profoundly. I am one such struggler. Accordingly, I’ve needed the grounding of my Easter morning birth.

To walk my life in the shadows of a splintered cross and an empty tomb has been to walk in Truth. It is the way of sacred pilgrimage. It has been my way, much as it has been the way of the ancients of old. The “by faith’s” of Hebrews 11—the Hall of Faith as it pertains to biblical history.

We don’t see ourselves there. Instead, we focus our attention on the names and the corresponding “stories” that are attached to those names: Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses’ parents, Moses, the Israelites, Joshua, Rahab, Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel, the prophets, the martyrs. Indeed, a list of worthy journeys … all marked by faith.

But if we stay mired in their stories, if for some reason we think that their journeys hold the market on faith and that ours could never follow suit, then we’ve missed an important part of Hebrews 11. Before any mention of the well-knowns from our spiritual history, we are there … listed as part of the faithful entourage.

“By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.” (Hebrews 11:3).

Did you catch it?

“By faith WE… .”

You and me, listed amongst the heroes of our ancestral faith. Why? Because we believe that our world was created by an unseen God, and that his saying so—his speaking it all into being—is more than enough to solidify our limited understanding into a rock solid faith that is worthy of a mention alongside the ancients of yesterday.

I’ve spent most of my forty-three years living by my middle name… Elaine. I’m good with that, at least in the temporal. But in the spiritual … in the way that my Father sees me on a daily basis? Well, I want to be known by my first name. I want my life to be rooted in a by Faith kind of understanding.

By faith …

Elaine lived, Elaine died, and Elaine rose again to see the fruition of her first name made sight and the fullness of her hope made certain.

It won’t be long in coming, friends. Maybe in this new year of life that I’ve been given. If not, then in a season to come. It matters not to me the day nor the hour. What matters to me is my confidence in its arrival. And by faith, I am believing God to be the sure and final outcome of my intentional and current trust.

I began my earthly life within the confines of a resurrection remembrance—an Easter Sunday morning forty-three years ago this day. I will begin my heavenly life with the same. With a resurrection of a new body in a new place where everyday lives like Easter.

By Faith, Elaine is going to get there. By faith, I pray you’ll get there too.

I love you precious friends. Thank you for sharing this pilgrimage with me. Take some time this weekend to find your name written within God’s Hall of Faith. If you know Jesus as your Savior, then you are there, verse three (write it down). By faith,believe it and receive with all the certainty of an Easter morning’s resurrection. I love you each one. As always,

PS: Many thanks to my Tuesday night Bible study girls for remembering me! You women have been so faithful to study and to live your God. Keep to it! (note the inscription on the cake…aren’t they awesome?!)

Sweet Trust

April 5, 2009

Then Jesus told them, ‘You are going to have the light just a little while longer. Walk while you have the light, before darkness overtakes you. The man who walks in the dark does not know where he is going. Put your trust in the light while you have it, so that you may become sons of light.’ … ” (John 12:35-36).

I watched him walk to her. She couldn’t make it to him. A stroke claimed her ability to do so.

Two years ago she would have been able to make that journey down the aisle to receive the bread and wine. Today she sat in stillness as it was brought to her, and all I could do was find my tears. I’m not sure anyone else noticed the blessed exchange between her “less” and God’s “more,” but for me it was a privileged invitation to sacred participation.

I amply partook, not just of the elements but of the moment that birthed a true witness to the beginnings of an Easter week … as to what it means to pilgrim from a palm branch to an empty tomb.

Remembrance.

It’s a remembrance that has been a part of Ms. Margaret’s ninety plus years on this earth. I don’t imagine that she’s missed many communions in that time. Because she currently resides in a local nursing home, she is no longer a regular attendee of our church gatherings. Today was the exception. For whatever reason, today was a day that allowed her to come home to a familiar pew and to dozens of familiar faces.

It was good to see her; not just her physical presence, but her faith that continues even though her flesh has relegated her to a state of seeming anonymity. Wheelchairs and inaudible speech cannot confine the witness of a heart that has been claimed by the cross of Jesus Christ. Despite her physical limitations, her spiritual vibrancy remains, and I, for one, am better for the beholding this day.

As I lingered in the moment, the familiar hymn written by missionary Louisa Stead accompanied my contemplation:

Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to take Him at His word;
Just to rest upon His promise;
Just to know “Thus saith the Lord.”

I’m so glad I learned to trust Thee,
Precious Jesus, Savior friend;
And I know that Thou are with me,
Wilt be with me to the end.

Jesus, Jesus how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er!
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!
O for grace to trust Him more.[i]

Sweet trust. That’s what I witnessed this morning. It is a trust that has been birthed between a daughter and her Father throughout nine decades worth of living. A trust that has lingered despite ample heartaches and debilitating health issues that have begged a heart to the contrary. A trust that simply and profoundly says that God’s Word is enough.

That God’s Word is worthy. That God’s Word is willing. And that God’s Word is “… with me, Wilt be with me to the end.”

I don’t know when that “end” will come for Ms. Margaret. I wouldn’t presume to take her one moment sooner from this earth than what God has allowed. Her life still breathes with kingdom purpose. And her King? Well, He’s marked her days from beginning to end, and for now … for this day and, perhaps, for this upcoming week, she’ll be allowed another journey of remembrance to the cross, to the tomb, and to the glorious awakening of an Easter morning.

It is my privilege to walk it with her. It is my joy to walk it with you, ye saints of God, as we boldly approach the throne of grace with a sweet trust that walks in surrendered faith knowing the One who awaits us at the end of the road.

And while Jesus no longer hangs in submission upon a tree, remembering Him there is the worthy pause of our hearts this day … the worthy pause of hearts for always.

The body of Christ, broken for you. The blood of Christ, poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.

Do it all … live it all, my friends, in remembrance of Him, and do it with a sweet trust that walks a lifetime with the complete confidence in an everlasting grace. This is our invitation to sacred participation; accordingly, may our feet be found on the road of remembrance this week. Thus, I pray…

Let nothing take my focus from your cross this week, Father. Let not the consumption of my “to do list” consume me to the point of forgetfulness. You are worthy of so much more from me. More of my time, more of my thoughts, more of my hands, and more of my heart. Forgive me for relegating your cross to an annual remembrance. May I never lose the wonder of its place in history and its hold over my heart. You have allowed me the daily privilege of lingering in its cleansing pour. Thank you for the blood that has amply paved the way home. Keep me to its path until I safely land at your feet in final resurrection. Amen.

[i] Robert J. Morgan, “Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus,” Then Sings My Soul (Thomas Nelson Publishers: Nashville, 2003), 210-211.

A Quick Word from the Bench…

February 26, 2009

“When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, ‘Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch.’ Simon answered, ‘Master, we’ve worked hard al night and haven’t caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets.’” (Luke 5:4-5).

I just returned from our church’s Ash Wednesday service. My husband used this passage from the Gospel of Luke as the scripture focus for his brief, albeit powerful meditation. And while I didn’t intend to come “off the bench” this week with my words and my sweat accordingly, I must at least come into the midst of our huddle and offer you a thought—a word that struck me profoundly and pointedly at the moment of its hearing.

Could it be enough to simply obey the voice of the Master because he “says so?” Could his “say so” be as much as we’ll ever need to warrant our “because you said so” in all our many matters? Whether it be…

To cast our nets into deep waters because he says so.
To anchor our boats in the harbor and to follow because he says so.
To walk a top the raging seas because he says so.
To be prepared in season and out with an answer because he says so.
To feed the 5000 because he says so.
To embrace the least of these because he says so.
To carry our cross because he says so.
To feed his sheep because he says so.
To wash feet because he says so.
To love because he says so.
To pray about everything because he says so.
To go into all the world because he says so.
To _______________________ simply and profoundly because he says so.

Isn’t his “saying so” a worthy enough word to necessitate our awe and our immediate obedience?

It should be.

God’s words via his Word are life and breath and the stuff of eternal and lasting significance. And if for some reason in this season of beginning pilgrimage to the cross where God made good on his word once and for all, if you’re choosing the words of man over the words of God, then you have chosen less. You’ve obeyed the cravings of your sinful flesh, and your life and heart will be found wanting at the end of the day.

At the end of this life.

You will walk to the grave missing out on the deepest catch of your sacred and intended purpose, and you will forsake the overflowing grace of God’s intended sacrifice that was always meant for your keeping. And to miss that, friends, all because his “saying so” isn’t good enough to yield our “doing so,” is to miss everything.

Let it not be so my fellow pilgrims. Instead, let us willingly concede our wills, our wants and our words, to the One whose word never fails, is always true, and is guaranteed to lead us home into safe harbor where the unseen faith and trust of our “now” gives way to the sights and the splendor of our “next.”

It’s enough for me; I pray it enough for you.

Thanks for the huddle time, my good and kind readers. May God be with each one of you as you take up your cross this Lenten season and carry it all the way to Calvary. He is so worthy of the climb. As always,

Category Archives: Easter