sundays | Elaine Olsen

Sunday morning…

February 28, 2010

The brilliancy of a Sunday morning’s sun.

It beamed through the slits in the mini-blinds reminding me of a new day’s embrace. I needed its witness this morning… needed to know I’ve been given another day to live it right, especially since yesterday seemed to live so completely wrong. From beginning to end, my Saturday was filled with confusion, chaos in my externals which contributed to an internal chaos that remained throughout the day. When I put my body to bed last night, I did so with a simple prayer in my heart:

Lord, visit me in my rest and sort this mess out. Make tomorrow my brand new beginning.

It’s a prayer we can pray in faith, because our Father makes it his business to sort out our messes and to bring new beginnings to his children. We can never out-do his willingness to make sense of our confusion or out-sin his grace therein. God makes himself available to our pleas for the “new” and will always be faithful to follow-through with a “new” that is tailor made to individual needs.

I don’t know what transpired in my night’s pause, but the brilliant arrival of sunshine seemed to punctuate the fact that my Father took my prayer to holy heart and granted me the grace of a new beginning this morning. I couldn’t help but notice him. Morning light has a way of announcing his presence—of saying “I’m here…” and “won’t you join me on the road today?”

Life lives new and fresh and better than yesterday when we join our Jesus on the journey of grace. Certainly, some days flesh themselves out as healthier than others. Some days we operate out of God’s fullness rather than personal depletion. Some days our wills line up with our Father’s and, no matter the schemes of the enemy aimed in our direction, we don’t take his bait; instead, we keep faithful to the truth and to the right and good witness of the Holy Spirit living within us. Some days we live life like God intends for us to live it. Some days we live like Easter people.

And some days we don’t live much at all. Some days we step over boundary lines that we were never meant to cross. Some days we say things, do things, pretend things that aren’t in keeping with kingdom living. Some days we live for self rather than for God. Some days we don’t live up to our potential because we’re too busy living beneath our level. Yesterday was a “don’t” day for me, but thankfully, today is walking better.

Today is living like Easter. Like resurrection. Like light. Like freedom, and I have the brilliancy of a Sunday morning’s sun—a Son—to thank for that.

A resurrected life with a resurrected Jesus… how I want to live each day. How thankful I am for a Father’s grace that covers me when I don’t live with resurrected truth and for his willingness to intervene in my night’s pause to re-work my chaos so that my morning shines new and fresh and with the promise of a better day ahead.

May each day of this new week we’ve been given live with the brilliancy of a Sunday morning’s Son as our witness. He intends for us to live in the truth of Easter and with the grace of the cross as our inheritance. Be kind to yourself when you don’t get it right, and be deliberate about asking for a new beginning accordingly. He loves you far more than you realize; you are his bride, and for better or worse, in sickness and in health, he’s keeping you forever. As always…

peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: I don’t know how much I’ll be around this week. I have some pondering and praying to do apart from blogging, but I’ll be visiting you and loving you from my own little spot on the globe. If you have anything more specific you’d like me to pray about this week, please feel free to e-mail me. Shalom.

on "going public" with Jesus…

January 17, 2010

“As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.’” (Matthew 3:16-17).

Today we celebrated “the Baptism of the Lord” in our worship service. I didn’t know that this particular event in Jesus’ life received a Sunday all its own, even though I’ve been doing this “liturgical” dance with the Methodists all of my life. Christ’s baptism certainly is worthy of remembrance as are all his moments, but this one in particular marked the beginning of something special.

It marked Christ’s beginning journey to the cross—his public ministry on this earth. What began in the Jordan would climax at Calvary. When John baptized Jesus in keeping with the fulfillment of Scripture, God introduced his Son to the world with a few words of sacred commendation. With his affirming love and with his “well-pleased.” The Holy Spirit lighted upon Jesus in the form of a dove, empowering him to walk the earthly road assigned to him.

Today, my preacher (a.k.a. “my man”) admonished us to “remember our baptism” as well. To acknowledge that moment from our past when we first “went public” with the grace of God. My public moment came as a young adolescent, kneeling at the altar railing of the Wilmore United Methodist Church. Dr. David Seamands spoke the moment over me. I remember my white dress, the one I desperately searched for because it was so very important to me to look pure—to be adorned in white raiment in keeping with the sacred occasion. A few friends joined me at the altar that day. They other details have long since faded from memory, but I do remember thinking that this occasion was something more than in keeping with religious protocol. It was a day that marked the beginning of something bigger in my own journey… a walk to the cross of sorts, where my heart and life identified with the heart and life of Jesus Christ at a deeper level.

Long before I ever felt the “wetness” of Dr. Seamands’ hands upon my head, God’s grace was working on my behalf. There has never been a time in my life when Jesus wasn’t real to me. He’s always been present; always been part of my thoughts. He began the sacred conversation with my soul at the earliest of ages. It continues to this day, and I cannot imagine my life without him.

I suppose there have been seasons when I tried… tried to live free from him. Times when I deliberately chose flesh over faith, but even in those moments of willful rebellion, the conversation continued. Muffled some days because of my freely chosen decisions, but present nonetheless. Jesus Christ has kept me, friends, all the days of my forty-three years. He is the reason I have peace in my heart. He is the reason I gather with the saints on a Sunday morning to reflect and remember, rejoice and relive the single truth that has claimed me and transformed me.

Today I remembered Christ’s baptism. I remembered my own. I dipped my hand into the water and clutched remembrance to my chest. I knelt at the altar again and considered my “long ago and far away.” I considered Christ’s as well, and I was thankful for his “entering into” that Jordan River so that I could, one day, enter into my very own moment of “going public” with God.

Please don’t misunderstand me. Baptism, for me, exceeds religious practice. I understand the huge denominational divide that separates our views along these lines. I simply don’t get hung up on it. God’s grace and his Son’s moment at the Jordan are too big to allow me to linger in my limited understanding therein. Some of you are dearly devoted to Jesus Christ and have never had a moment of “going public” with your heart. No water has sprinkled its wetness upon your head; your body hasn’t been submerged in a baptistery, much less the Jordan River. Let me assure you of this…

You are no less precious in our Father’s eyes. If Christ has entered into your broken and weary estate, if you have received him as your Lord and Savior, then you have “gone public” with your Jesus. You have been baptized with the renewing power of his Holy Spirit. When it comes to the matter of our hearts, we answer only to One. And if your heart belongs to the King, then all of heaven rejoices and bends low to offer their chorused applause. Your wetness on the inside far exceeds any public display of “wet” on the outside.

Does that mean that “baptism” is nothing, that it accomplishes nothing, isn’t important or not an appropriate response to the working of the Holy Spirit within us? Not at all. Baptism is an outward and visible sign of an inward working of grace. It is one of the ways we “go public” with our Jesus and our profession of faith. And I happen to believe that “going public” with Jesus is always in keeping with his plans for the crucified life. A life that identifies, in part, with the Savior who went public with his commitment to the cross so that you and I could better walk our commitment accordingly.

Today I remembered my baptism, I remembered Christ’s as well. Tomorrow I pray to remember the same—to never walk a single day without the grace of Calvary pulsing through my veins. I want my life to be the lavish expression of the life that he lived and breathed and walked and surrendered some 2000 years ago on my behalf. To offer any less to him, is to live less. And the last time I checked, “less” didn’t fit with God’s agenda of more.

It’s been a long time since my “long ago and far away” moment of “going public” with Jesus. There are few remaining persons in my life who actually remember that moment. I don’t imagine they think on it very often. The water that poured down my head has long since dried up, and the godly man who put it there? Well, he walked home to Jesus not long ago. But there is One who thinks on it very often. His memory is clear, and his rejoicing still resounds throughout all of heaven to announce that I am his, that his working grace continues on my behalf, and that the indwelling power of his Holy Spirit has found a good and spacious rest within my soul.

{lisa leonard designs}

I am the living temple of God’s living Spirit. So are you. In wearing him, we wear our “going public” display of his witness for all the world to see.

Wear your baptism this week, friends. Remember it well, and walk it into a world that needs the pulse of Calvary moving through its midst. As always…

peace for the journey,

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PS: Friends, please refrain from allowing our comments to become a heated debate regarding the practice of baptism. This is not my intent with this post, but rather to allow us remembrance and reflection regarding the importance of wearing our “baptism”–whatever that has been for us–as a living witness to the world. Shalom.

a Sunday’s better…

October 25, 2009

9:10 AM. Wal-Mart. Check-out line. This morning. Sunday morning.

I didn’t want to be there. I try and avoid Sundays and Wal-Mart, but when my children informed me that today was the day they’d be packing their Samaritan’s Purse, Christmas shoeboxes during the Sunday School hour, well, what’s a mother to do?

I tried scrounging through drawers and all the places where I sometimes stash “extras”—left-over goodies for spare occasions requiring a quick gift. Somehow, I didn’t think the children in the remote villages of Africa would appreciate scented candles and bath salts while their friends were unwrapping toy cars, balls, and bubble gum. So after a brief “interior” debate with myself regarding a trip to Wal-Mart prior to Sunday worship, I loaded the kids in the van for the one-mile trip down the road.

Having a Wal-Mart close by is a great convenience for this mom, especially on a day when she doesn’t want her kids (umm… the preacher’s kids) to be the only ones not participating in the Christmas mission project. We quickly loaded our arms with some dollar goodies and made our way to the “express lane.” One of the advantages of going to Wal-Mart on a Sunday morning (if there could be an advantage) is that the crowds are sparse and the “express” check-out really lives up to its billing.

The cashier scanned my items and was bagging them when I noticed another Sunday shopper in line behind us. He wasn’t buying toys for shoeboxes. He was buying a black belt to go with his black suit and shiny tie—a pretty clear give-away that he was headed somewhere requiring more than the typical sweats and t-shirts of the other shoppers I’d seen. Not one for “quiet” check-out experiences, I took a chance on the fact that he was heading to church, and said…

“Would you look at this kids … here’s a man needing a new belt for church.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve got to give Sunday my best.”

“Of course you do; I’d certainly hate for you to lose your britches during worship!”

He chuckled; we small talked a bit more, and on my way out the door, I shouted back to him…

“Enjoy your Jesus today.”

“Back at you, ma’am. Back at you.”

We parted with smiles and as friends, knowing that we shared some common ground on this Sunday morning. At Wal-Mart. At 9:10 AM. In a check-out line. On a day when we shouldn’t have been worried about such inconveniences, yet a day when we both made a decision to give God our best.

Not our left-overs. Not scented candles when toys would be better. Not a frayed piece of leather when some fresh rawhide would look better … serve better … present itself better because Sundays are intended for our better.

I’ve been thinking about that “better” for the better part of the day; it has both annoyed me and delighted me.

Annoyed me because, in many ways, I think we’ve gotten away from “better” on Sundays. It seems as if “good enough” and second-rate has become the accepted norm rather than the exception. When did that happen? When did we first decide to trade in our “best” as it pertains to our worship for a watered down approach to the process? When did “raggedy and rumpled” replace “spit and polish”? Why is it we don’t bring our “better” to worship on Sundays?

Delighted me because, in many ways, I realize I don’t hold the answers to it all. What I deem “better” is somewhat relative—a personal application regarding my expectations for the Lord’s Day and how I think it should be approached, should be absorbed, should be celebrated, should be revered. I can tell you that in my thinking about Sundays, there is little room for a Wal-Mart run. Still and yet, I’m delighted by the fact that I’m not bound by legalism, but a bit bothered that I’m not—

bound to something better. Some way of “doing” the Sabbath better that exceeds the world’s view of a Sunday’s worth.

As I stood with my young children this morning in the front pew singing “How Great Thou Art,” tears filled my eyes and stung my heart. My arms cradled their shoulders as I watched each one of them run their fingers along the stanzas of the hymn, trying their best to keep up with the pace of the piano. We’ve been working on this for a long season … this learning of how to sing a hymn from an actual hymnal and how to join our voices in unison with the other congregants who’ve come to worship. It may sound a bit rustic, a bit perfunctory to some of you, but it seemed to me that they were giving God their best … “doing” their best to understand this tradition of church worship that I hold dear, and one that I fear will soon be obsolete.

While standing there, I also thought about him. My new Wal-Mart friend standing somewhere in a church of his own in another part of town, wearing his new belt and worshipping the same God as me. I imagined his worship being a bit different from mine, but his heart? Perhaps more similar to mine than the world would imagine. A heart that was willing to make a pit-stop prior to worship in order to “give Sunday his best.”

To give Jesus his best. Not because he had to, but rather because he wanted to. Because somewhere in his past, at some point in his “growing up” years, someone took the time to teach him about Sundays and about giving Sundays something more than his “good enough.”

God is worthy of more than our “good enough’s,” friends. Worthy of more than our disheveled approach to approaching his presence. Certainly, God invites us to come as we are to the throne of grace, knowing that his grace is the only worthy covering for our sin-stained hearts. But when our “coming as we are” is based on our laziness rather than on our desire for holiness, then we’ve missed the mark. We’ve misunderstood the hugeness of the “Who” it is we’ve come to worship. If we really “got” that, then I imagine our check-out lines would be filled with our endeavoring to give God our best.

Annoyed and delighted. That’s where I am in the matter of worship. Wanting to do better, realizing that my better could never be enough to match the honor and glory my Father deserves. I’m going to work on this, this week. Would you be willing to do the same? To examine your worship and your Sundays and your “giving it your best” before the heart of our Father? If we truly want to live better, than we must be willing to examine our hearts further. Otherwise, we meld into a Christian cultural norm that no longer stands out, but rather blends in with a world that was never intended to serve as our norm.

Enjoy your Jesus this week. And should your feet find their place in a check-out line, take time to notice the people around you. To speak to the people around you. To give them some of your time, your conversation, your laughter, your prayers. The kingdom of God happens there just as much as it does in our pews. Perhaps even more so. As always…

peace for the journey,

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