Deconstrucion

Dear Friends,

A pastor named Brian Zahnd wrote a book on Lent and called it “The Unvarnished Jesus.” Inspired by ancient icons, or paintings of Christ, he noticed how often those icons—whether painted as frescos onto walls or canvases—got covered up with other paint or varnish. This seemed to mar the original beauty, covering up what was meant to be seen and celebrated. Similarly, there are certain comforts or identity markers that can mar or distort who we are, creating protectant layers along the way. Lent often provides an opportunity for us to see some of those extra identity markers and strip them away for a season to gain a different perspective on who we are. Lent can show us our true identity as beloved. 

This stripping away is true for us as people, but also in the church. How many layers of varnish have we covered Jesus in? How many theological constructs have we contained Christ in, painting the Jesus we want to see? We either dumb Jesus down and create some sort of universalistic perspective where Jesus was simply a good teacher—definitely a liberal democrat—who just wants everyone to get along and as long as what you’re doing isn’t hurting anyone, it’s okay. Or we’ve made Jesus into some national treasure—definitely a conservative republican—preaching hellfire and brimstone, waiting for you to make a mistake because you’re just a worm anyway. And we keep covering Jesus in more layers, repainting him based on what religious circle we might be influenced by at the time. 

There’s a theologian who offers courses during Lent called “Atheism for Lent.” I’ve never taken this course because, honestly it sounds really bleak and not for me, but I love this concept. Lent can be a 40 day journey of deconstruction, or what another friend of mine calls “detangling.” How fitting this 40-day wilderness existence with Jesus is to disentangle ourselves from those, sometimes unhealthy perspectives about Jesus and Biblical interpretations? 

Before Jesus entered the wilderness, he was baptized and his primary identity as BELOVED was spoken over him. When I think of my own baptism, I keep seeing myself coming up out of the waters with algae or seaweed clinging to me. Like I should be coming up with my true identity in Christ on me, and yet there’s this coil of seaweed called predestination around my neck. There’s this slimy length of “everyone who doesn’t say the sinner’s prayer is going to burn in hell” sticking to my arm. And attached to my leg says that every other church is getting it wrong, but not the one I’m going to. There’s one on human sexuality, on social justice, on war and violence, on the death penalty, on infant baptism, on creationism and evolutionism. The slimy list is endless and reminds me of Jesus saying to those listening, “you’ve heard it said, you’ve heard this theology or this biblical interpretation, this hermeneutic, but I say to you.” Time to detangle, strip away, and drop some of those weighty and distracting parts because, when we do, this leads to a spiritual renewal and depth of growth in Christ. We get to see the most important parts of what it means to be human and what it means to love Jesus.

Lent gives me an opportunity to see each clinging perspective for what they are so I can grab hold of them and disentangle myself from them, dropping them off of me while I’m reminded of who Jesus truly is. When Jesus was crucified on the cross, he took the cumulative weight of every way humanity has succumbed to deceit, every area of sin, harm, shame, every lie that we’ve believed, everything that distorts our primary identity as BELOVED and every way we’ve covered up our primary identity, Jesus took it all upon himself and when he died, all of that died with him. And when he was resurrected from the dead, he conquered sin and death and invited every person to find their identity in Him. 

Now, some of those previous constructs and interpretations are helpful and good and help us stay the course of Christ-likeness. But some of them have become distracting arguments and idol making where being right or winning the argument is more important than honoring God and loving your neighbor. 

So as you strip away this Lent, may you begin to seeyour identity as beloved before anything else. And may you begin disentangling yourself from any imperfect biblical interpretations by coming to God’s Word with a curious spirit, a humble heart, and inviting the Spirit to teach you like a child.

With (love),
Bethany

A God Who Weeps

Dear Friend,

There’s this story in John’s gospel about Jesus’s dear friend, Lazarus, who was severely sick. When Jesus found out he was dying, instead of hightailing it to his bedside, Jesus twiddled his thumbs and took care of other non-pressing matters. And when Lazarus died, Jesus then made his way to his friend’s home. He was met with questions like, “If you had only been here sooner, he wouldn’t have died.” 

How real is that question right now? Right now there is pain and sorrow. Right now mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers ask Jesus, “Why didn’t you come sooner? Why did he have to die? Why are you letting them attack us? You could have rescued us, so why didn’t you?”

Because Jesus is the resurrection—he knows all things with heavenly joy and what’s to come—Jesus could have met the unbearable grief of the moment with trite phrases like, “everything happens for a reason” or “why are you still crying, he’s in a better place” or “heaven needed another angel” or “God will never give you more than you can handle” or even, “God’s still in control.” 

But he didn’t. Because Jesus isn’t just the resurrection. Jesus is the life. He is the now and the not yet. Instead Jesus felt the entirety of emotional grief. He allowed himself to feel what they felt. Even with fully knowing all things, he felt the fullness of sadness. 

Jesus wept. 

I wonder about Jesus weeping. How much had he carried for so long? I wonder if Jesus needed a good cry? I wonder if Jesus had been holding the pain of the world, the hatred of people towards themselves and each other and the reality of death for so long that when his friend died, he lost it. He needed a good cry. His body needed to weep. When you feel the pain of the world and the calling to meet that pain with love, and guidance and direction, sometimes you just need a good cry. To release. To let go. To feel it all. 

Jesus wept over their pain and his pain. Jesus wept because things weren’t right in the world even though he was in it. He wept because suffering and death  existed and it never should have. He wept because he loved. He wept because he was present. He wept because he felt what they were feeling.

Jesus looked at the people he loved and asked them to take him to where Lazarus was buried.

He wept and said, “Take me to where it hurts the most.”

Take me to where hope seems bleak.

Take me to where the pain and grief and sadness and anger and rage and death reside.

It’s like Jesus is looking at those suffering in hospital beds and those burying their children and those insisting that black lives matter and those fleeing their homes and country and those hoping for resurrection and hoping for all things to be made right and hungering for justice and righteousness to flow down like an everlasting stream and says to them, take me to where it hurts most. 

Where is Jesus now? He’s where it hurts most.

He’s standing by the bombed areas. His Spirit is whispering comfort and truth over those hurting and separated from their families. Jesus is present to that pain and weeps alongside the justice seekers and mourners and those being arrested for protesting their country.

Where is Jesus now? He’s where it hurts most. He follows you to that spot in your marriage. He’s listening to the pain of your addicted child. He is lead by you to that area of loneliness and abandonment and loss and temptation. He abides with you to every wound you’ve ever felt as you take him to where it hurts most.

Because Christ is with you in life and in resurrection. Christ’s constant presence holds you in hard times, brings comfort and healing in difficult situations, and provides a new way of seeing hope—a new perspective of who God is.

The God who weeps. 

My friend, where does it hurt most right now? Can you invite Jesus into that tender and raw spot? Perhaps when you do, you’ll find the same power and might that raised Lazarus from the dead can gently bring new life and healing where it hurts most.

With (love),
Bethany

A Dysfunctional Family

Dear Friends,

Jesus often taught people through these weird stories, or parables. I think it’s because parables are meant to disturb and disrupt our commonly held understandings of God, of religion, of Jesus, and community and even family life. They have the potential to break you open and show you hidden or hurting parts within you and within your relationships. They are not meant to provide comfort or keep you apathetically relaxed. They speak truth to power and disrupt religious security. 

A very familiar parable is the Prodigal Son. You can read about it in Luke 15:11-32. 

For those listening, Jesus beginning his parable with “A man had two sons,” would have caused them to think of others in their lineage who had two sons: Adam had two sons, Cain and Able. Abraham had two sons, Ishmael and Isaac. Isaac had two sons, Esau and Jacob. And in these stories, the younger brother was the one who was favored. So right from the start, we can see that this is a story about a family and the complications of family dynamics because instead of being the good younger son, this is a combative, over-indulgent and self-absorbed son. 

He asked his father for his share of the inheritance--land, animals, and property structures. His father obliges his request, which is really weird. Why wouldn’t he just say no? How many other demanding requests had this younger son previously-incessantly asked his father for? Did he wear him down over time that his father was like, “fine, it’s yours. Just be done with it.”

(I once heard that, as parents, we just can’t imagine the day when our children will grow up and leave our home that we want to hold onto them as long as possible, but as they become teenagers and become so challenging, we actually begin to look forward to when they’ll grow up and move out! )

This father began the long process of dividing his life between his two sons, taking account of everything and making sure it was fair and equitable. I wonder if he tried to slow the process down, just to keep his son with him a little longer and praying he’d change his mind. But when it was done, his son immediately began liquidating the assets. For a month, his son probably met with wealthy investors and sketchy slumlords, selling off family land that had been passed down through the generations—land his father and his father’s father and all their children grew up on. I’m not sure what the older brother would have thought as their childhood was depleted out from underneath him. I wonder if he was confused and disappointed that his dad wasn’t doing more or why he would allow this to happen. The text doesn’t mention this older son and I wonder if he felt just as overlooked as the text seems to suggest.

Without looking back for a second, this younger brother leaves his family, friends, community, and homeland behind, totally self-centered and self-focused. Was it poor parenting or a failure from the religious community? Was he not prayed over enough or given enough responsibility? Did something traumatic happen to him that caused him to leave any and all healthy relationships? We don’t know how long he was gone, but we can assume it was years. 

The text says that he wasted everything he had and by the time it was gone, a famine had already struck the land. Starvation is a fine motivator for a person to work in any field, even with pigs. While this younger brother was there, it seems he had a change of heart, but did he? Was it true and real repentance or was it just that things weren’t working out for him and things were better at home? I don’t think his motivation was repentance as much as convenience and comfort. 

This younger brother put together some memorized words for his father that showed little regret for his actions: “I have sinned against heaven and before you.” This is the same line that Pharaoh used towards Moses to hopefully stop the plagues, but we know he didn’t mean it. One pastor said it like this, “I’ll go to Daddy and sound religious.” 

It didn’t seem to matter what was actually going on in his heart, though, because the father saw his son from a long way off, desperate to have him back in his family regardless of his son’s heart condition, and he ran to meet him and kisses him a million times. The word for “compassion” that the father had for his son hints at a kind of death to resurrection—his son was dead and now he is alive. His reaction is like any good father’s would be, wanting health, goodness, healing, and love for their children. 

His dad is just so thankful to have his son home. He doesn’t know if his son will murder the whole family to get more to spend more or to feed his addiction, just like we parents have no idea what our children will do tomorrow, or next week or next year. They’re with us right now and that’s what matters. Any parent of an addicted child knows that this moment I have with my child who just showed up on my doorstep, might be the only moment I get, and I will celebrate it with everyone in my life because they have all been praying that they will return. 

Addiction or kids that are manipulative have a way of affecting everyone in the family though. How often are other siblings overlooked and undervalued? This story began with “a man had two sons,” but his other son lived between the lines for a while, unmentioned until later when the chaos returned. I wonder if this older brother wasn’t meant to simply represent a bitter, obedient, or self-righteous person. I wonder if this older brother was sad, dejected, and hurting? How many days did he keep the family business going while watching his father become more and more despondent? How many times did he pass the front porch and see his dad watching the horizon for his brother who had already caused their family so much pain? How many times had he asked his father for advice or attention and received a blank stare or was told they could talk about it later?

And the worst part is, when the party began, no one even noticed he was missing. He had to find out from someone else. 

This parable is about a father who had two sons and both of them became lost to him. Once he realized how broken the relationships had become, he was willing to do anything to repair it. This is about a desperate father and a broken and dysfunctional family who didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but today we celebrate. Today, we will come back together. Today we will start healing. 

Jesus was once asked, how many times should I forgive my brother who has wronged me for the same things over and over again? When do I give up hope? When can finally write him off and move on with my life? Seven times? And Jesus answered, “Seventy times seven.” 

The father had two sons. 

Two very different sons. 

He showered the younger with a million kisses, never speaking a word to him, because that was his younger son’s love language. And he carefully and intentionally chose words to speak to his older son, because that was his older son’s love language.

This parable just ends without a happy conclusion or wrapped in a perfect bow and I think it’s like this because rarely are families like that. Sometimes we have to notice the kids we’ve overlooked in our own homes. Sometimes we have to release the hope of an apology because if we wait to get one, we might wait forever. Maybe the invitation is to celebrate now even while things are still broken and hurting because sometimes the celebrating can be a catalyst for change. Sometimes its being at the party you didn’t want to attend that your heart softens and the grudges loosen and the resentments hold less power and you might just find yourself recognizing how much grace and forgiveness you have received.

With (love),
Bethany

Jonah 3 - New Perspective

Jonah 3 

Dear Friends,

After spending three days and nights inside a watery, claustrophobic tomb, praying and crying out to the God he still believed in, Jonah was vomited out of that big fish and onto a beach. I can imagine him kissing the earth in gratitude to be alive, raising his arms up high and stretching out his sore back. Stumbling from hunger and seasickness, he looked around, hoping to find a nearby village he could rest in to reorient himself. As he settled into a local inn, he heard that word from God about Nineveh once again: “Go to the great city of Nineveh and proclaim to it the message I give you.”

I wonder if he felt new excitement about this second chance at life that God had given him, regardless of this old word from God. And as he began traveling, I bet he was full of praise and hope for those first few days. But as those days of traveling turned into a week, his excitement and fervor shifted. He had the message from God, but with every step he took, he remembered who this message was to go to—the most grotesquely violent people who certainly didn’t deserve mercy.

He probably turned around a dozen times throughout that month of travel, arguing with God the whole time. 

Jonah had a message from the Lord, and since he was a prophet he would bring the message to the people because that was his job and he was given mercy from God. 

When you read the other prophets and their writings of their messages from the Lord, they are long and filled with flowery language. Their prophesies contains specific details, weaving poetry, allegory, and stories together for the people. Some prophets even participated in guerrilla-type theater for dramatic affect and to make a point. But for Jonah, he probably spent his entire travels cutting God’s message down to the bare minimum, strategically sabotaging God’s words. He wondered, “How can I say what needs to be said with the least amount of words necessary.” 

By the time Jonah arrived, he had perfected this message to five Hebrew words. He walked around the city for a few days and, like a broken record without any dramatic flair he announced, “In forty days Nineveh will be overthrown.”

Jonah didn’t mention God. 

He didn’t mention why they would be overthrown. 

He didn’t give details about what they should do to NOT get overthrown. 

Or who would overthrow them.

But the king of Assyria took this brief message incredibly seriously. He stepped off of his throne, away from his authority and hierarchy and power to sit in the dirt. Sitting in the dirt gives a person a whole new perspective. You see the world differently and what matters most in the dirt. This king, covered in dirt and ash, then commanded his people and animals to do the same—to cover themselves with goat hair and stop eating or drinking anything because they were entering a time of mourning and repentance. Repentance means to stop going the direction you are heading and go a different way. It means to turn around. It reveals new perspective. For Nineveh, they ceased and stopped everything so they could discover this new direction and perspective. 

This brief and vague message Jonah gave to the Ninevites was enough for them to stop everything and pay attention. And God’s response towards them was great compassion.

Jonah 3:10 
“When God saw what they did and how they turned from their evil ways, God relented and did not bring on them the destruction God had threatened.”

The word for “relented” is “nacham” which means compassion, pity, and sorrow. God looked at Nineveh and how their leaders and people intentionally took off their robes and crowns, put on goat hair fleeces, and sat in the dust in deep mourning and God’s heart broke for them. God saw them with empathy and compassion because they were human beings created in God’s image. God knew they were more than the harm they had caused. 

God saw them.

Friends, God saw Jonah in his irritated and frustrated state. God saw the Ninevites in their desire to change. And God sees you in your uncertainty and apprehension on the decisions you must make today. 

Know that God looks at you with all the love and compassion. So be still for a moment. Step down from whatever throne you might find yourself on and come back down to the dirt. It’s here that you might see a new perspective and that begins with the truth that you are loved and you are seen. 

With (love),
Bethany

Jonah - Chapter 2

Dear Friends,

When I think about characters in the Bible, it’s easy to see them two dimensionally without a story or a life, beyond what is told to us. But Jonah had a story and stories bring empathy. Knowing a person’s history and hardship has the potential to soften our own hearts and relate to that person differently.

We don't know much about Jonah, about his life circumstances or upbringing. We don’t know what kind of loss he had experienced or the times of joy in his life. We do know that life wasn’t easy in many ways because of the culture and time in history with the Assyrian’s bloodthirsty oppressive violence over Israel. And based on human psychology, we can infer that Jonah’s upbringing came with inter-generational trauma and difficulty. He came from survivors and survivors carry the traumas of their surviving. When you aren’t sure how to make ends meet, how to feed your kids, when you’ll be called off to war, or hearing that the next city over has been burned to the ground, there are certain traumas that become a foundational bedrock to how a person navigates through their life.

For Jonah, his upbringing, more than likely, was rooted in those generational traumas and daily uncertainties. 

I’m sure this shaped how he saw the world. Similarly, the difficult and traumatic life experiences you’ve had has the potential to shape the way you view the world making you wonder why God didn’t protect you from that thing or that experience. Friends, it’s really challenging to respond to God’s direction with joy when loss and uncertainty has paved your way into today. And if that’s the case for you and me, I can’t begin to imagine how it was for Jonah.

But whenever Jonah needed grounding, he could find it in the Temple.

The Jerusalem Temple housed the presence of God and everything that a Jewish person did was rooted in the admiration of and distinctness of Temple life. So, whenever Israel was subjected to foreign oppressive powers, they would turn their focus towards the Temple with the knowledge that God's presence still resided there and this reoriented their perspective in whatever storm they faced. 

The Temple was also a constant, physical reminder of God’s covenantal relationship with God’s people—that God loved them with an unbreakable love and desired them to follow God’s ways. Covenants weren’t something God made up. It was an ancient practice that tribes and peoples used to signify a mutually beneficial promise being made between them. For example, the son and daughter from two different families of similar wealth and power would marry to benefit both.  Or two tribes would make a promise to have each other’s backs or not go to war against each other.. 

To make a promise with another person or between tribes, the leaders would cut a covenant. They would take an animal, kill it, cut it in two, place each half just a part from the other, and then walk through the animal. This signified that the promise they made to each other was for life. If either party broke the covenant they were essentially saying, “May it be to me as it was to this animal...Till death do us part." 

If I break this promise, you can walk through my blood.

In Genesis 15, God used this ancient, barbaric human-made and understood promise and pledged Godself to a people. God cut a covenant with Abraham, knowing full well that human beings could never uphold the promise of relational fidelity.

As God’s prophet, or God’s mouthpiece, Jonah's prophetic role was to remind Israel that they were to be faithful to following God and the ways of God no matter their circumstances. I’m sure Jonah took his role very seriously. Calling people back to God can be an emotionally and mentally exhausting job and can be super depleting when people just don’t want to listen. 

So when the word of the Lord came to Jonah to speak second chances over Jonah’s sworn enemy, over the people who may have murdered and mutilated Jonah’s own family members and demolished his countrymen over the past hundred or more years, of course Jonah wasn’t super stoked. This wasn’t just the graciousness of God. This seemed like a breach in God’s covenantal fidelity and promise. This word of the Lord would have felt like God was sleeping with the enemy and would certainly cause Jonah to wonder if God kept God’s promises. 

It would have felt like betrayal, abandonment, treason. 

I bet everything Jonah thought he knew about God, everything he’d worked for and preached about began to unravel and come apart. His faith, his theology, his religion fell apart like a house of cards, so what was the point of living when everything you’ve ever known now seemed like a lie? Of course you would run away and get as far as you could from where your life began to crumble. 

He boarded a ship for the farthest place he could think of and while on this ship, a fierce storm kicked up and began tearing the ship apart, threatening to sink it. While the sailors did their best to survive by throwing their livelihood overboard and crying out to their gods—screamed prayers carried away by the wind and rain—Jonah headed down below deck to sleep it off. 

When grief hits you hard because everything you thought you knew about your own life expectations or how your life was supposed to turn out falls apart like a house of cards, it’s really hard to function. 

Jonah avoided reality, numbed the present, and sunk below the ship because grief will do that to you.

Once the sailors discovered that the storm was from Jonah’s making and after deliberation, they woefully decided to throw him overboard. 

And this is where the big fish comes into the story. Throughout chapter two of Jonah, we don’t read about the details of his experience in the belly of this big fish. We read about his prayer life.

Jonah had no idea how long he would be in this situation or if he would survive it. We know it would be three days but all he could probably see was a slow death and the torturous existence of a claustrophobic grave.  But in the middle of despair, he fixed his perspective on what he knew to be true. “I remembered you” Jonah said about God. I remembered your faithfulness. I remembered your love. 

Jonah prayed, I remembered you. He didn’t know what the next moment would bring him but he did know that when he walked through the valley of the shadow of death, God wasn’t waiting for him on the other side, beckoning him closer. He knew that God was with him in the valley, in the grave, in the depths of such unknown and impossible places. 

Jonah remembered God and decided to fix his eyes on God’s holy Temple. He looked towards the Temple and could know that God was with him. 

Friends, when you are walking through the valley of the shadow of death, I want you to know that God is with you in that. God walks it with you. And this valley might be of your own making, like it was for Jonah. It might be from someone else’s making. It might be from nothing you can actually point towards and blame, it's just hard right now. Some of you might feel like Jonah, totally irritated and frustrated that life isn’t turning out the way you had imagined it because you thought you’d be married by now or that your marriage would be healthy by now or your kids would be kinder by now or you would have the right career by now. And to be told by God to walk in obedience when things are such a mess feels like an impossible task. It feels like God hasn’t kept God's promises to you.

But some of you might feel like you’re in the belly of the grave, barely surviving or holding on. There is a level of loss and grief that has buried you and it’s been way longer than three days. You’ve lost the ability to sing, pray, or trust that God is with you at all. 

So, look towards the Temple. (What does that even mean for us in the West?)

Friends, if you’ve given your life to Jesus and invited him to be your Lord and Savior, the power and truth of his Holy Spirit dwells in you. When Jesus was being crucified and was on that cross, he looked out over his murderers and mockers and enemies with the deepest amount of compassion and love and said, “Father forgive them because they don’t understand what they’re doing.” And he breathed his last breath and he died, the Bible says that the thick curtain that separated the area of the Temple that contained God’s presence, that no one could access, was ripped down the middle. 

God’s presence couldn’t be held back for a minute longer. 

Jesus brought forth a new covenant through his sacrifice on the cross because blood was required. The covenant God made was broken by human beings and because blood was required in a broken covenant, God slipped into skin to be near humanity and to die for humanity so a new covenant in his blood would overshadow everything else. When Jesus died on the cross, the presence of God became accessible to all people! The Church became the temple that houses God’s presence. You are the temple and together, the Church bears witness to God’s love and grace to every person, especially our enemies. So when life feels impossible, when you feel like you’re drowning in a watery grave without any knowledge of how long you might be buried in the deep, know that you are not alone. Look towards the Temple, towards the Church, towards within you.

Because the power that raised Christ from the dead can raise you from your watery grave as well! 

With (love),
Bethany

Jonah - Sinking Below

Dear Friends,

The first chapter in Jonah is usually where most people spend their time because it ends with that whale (big fish). A lot of us stop at the whales in our lives, don’t we. We believe that's where the story ends instead of seeing how that’s kind of where our story begins.

Going deep down into the whale marked a turning point for Jonah after he tried running away from God. It was at the bottom of the whale that he realized God was still with him.

The beautiful nature and character of God is that God continually pursues us into the deepest places we venture. It’s often in those deepest places, way down to the bottom of ourselves that we realize that God as been with us all along. Oftentimes people find God at the bottom of the barrel and the end of their rope. When you have nothing left to hold onto and there’s nothing left to point towards, it might be there that you found God. And it’s not because God can’t be found or felt when things are good. God’s there, present with you then as well. It’s just there’s less in the way when you’ve got nothing left. 

For Jonah, it seemed he discovered God when he went down to the deep. The Hebrew word, yarad, is used three times in this chapter. It means to go down or to sink and I think the writer wants us to get a picture in our minds of sinking. Sinking can be something that happens to us and it can also be something that we allow to happen to us. Sometimes we sink to avoid reality and responsibility and sometimes we sink because we’ve been pushed down and can’t get back up. 

For Jonah, he sank to avoid. He got on that ship to avoid God and the calling God gave him. The wind and the waves became so destructive because of Jonah’s choices that the sailors began throwing their livelihood and financial wellbeing overboard to survive and Jonah chose to avoid by sinking below deck. I mean, as these sailors were struggling and shouting and praying, Jonah says, “peace out” and sinks to the bottom of the ship to sleep it off. 

Sometimes when life feels like it’s too much because of the choices I’ve made—the million little harmful decisions that have grown into a huge storm—it feels easier to numb and avoid and ignore the chaos I’ve created around myself. Like I’m sinking to the bottom and going to sleep so I can avoid the destruction I’ve caused. And my people, those I love and those I might not even know, oftentimes currently live through and feel the consequences of my choices while I sleep it off. 

Once I realize the destruction my choices have caused, there’s this temptation to believe that I’m worthless or no good. Instead of seeking forgiveness or admitting wrongs, some people tend to deflect and choose not to take responsibility, which is what Jonah did after the sailors discovered that the storm was his fault. He simply tells them the good Sunday School answer that he worships the God of heaven who made the sea and dry land, like he’s spouting off John 3:16 from memory but has never taken it to heart. 

Jonah knows the right words to say but they seem to mean nothing to him. 

And he says, “Fine, throw me overboard because I’m no good and worthless.” Not, “I shouldn’t have brought you into this and I’m sorry for the harm I’ve caused you.” 

So they threw him overboard and God provided Jonah with a big fish to become his temporary home. 

What an act of grace and mercy from God! God didn’t have to rescue Jonah. God didn’t need to even use this whiny, self-absorbed, small-minded man to accomplish God’s purposes, and yet God did. It’s because nothing surprises God. God wasn’t surprised by Jonah going the opposite direction. God wasn’t surprised that Jonah was ignoring and avoiding God by sinking down.

Everything we thought about what God should be like is broken apart in this story. God should say, I can’t work with that now. But instead the prophet, who should be praying is sleeping, and the sailors, who should be cursing are praying. This story breaks apart every category or box that anyone tries to keep God in.

God’s willingness to work with broken and selfish people caused God to rescue Jonah as he sank down. 

For three days and nights of God’s grace, Jonah sat in his thoughts and replayed his life like a movie. Jonah’s life wasn’t this tiny snapshot we get from this story. His life contained loss, death, rejection, infidelity, falling in love, disappointment, abuses, weddings and celebrations, hangovers, embarrassing moments, dread and fear, arguments, worship, prayer, dinner parties… 

Over three days he thought about this life that God had given him and he began to wake up to what was instead of what wasn’t. He’d been sleepwalking through his life, simply existing in his relationships, in his faith, in his work. 

If you got alone for three days and nights with only your thoughts and prayers, what would you be woken up to? What might God be speaking to your heart about second chances and do-overs? Where have you been sleeping through your relationship with Jesus? Did you pray some prayer a long time ago but let go of that deep connection with God? Are you satisfied with knowing all the right Sunday School answers but not actually knowing God? 

So friends, name the chaos for what it is. No longer sink into numbing sleep to avoid the storm you might have caused. Because God loves you and claims you and might allow a whale of grace to wake you up to reengage life once again. 

With (love),
Bethany

The Whale in your Story

Dear Friends,

Last month, my church walked through the Biblical book of Jonah and I thought I’d write out parts of each chapter that impacted me and might impact you. 

The story of Jonah starts with a prophet being called by God to go to Nineveh. Nineveh was the capital city of Assyria and was known for skinning the enemy alive. They were known for making their enemy’s loved ones carry the decapitated heads of husbands and fathers on a pole, parading them around the destroyed city. More than likely, this prophet, Jonah, had friends or family members violently oppressed or murdered by the Assyrian army.

God told Jonah to preach against this foreign people so God wouldn't destroy them. Knowing God’s heart of compassion, Jonah assumed this message was one of mercy and Jonah’s like, nope, and fled in the opposite direction on a boat. A massive storm came up and everyone on the boat thinks they’re going to die because someone must have done something wrong to make the gods so angry. After they discovered it was Jonah, Jonah jumped overboard and is swallowed by a big fish. He was in this big fish for three days and prayed to God, who had mercy on him. The fish spat Jonah out on land and Jonah journeyed toward Nineveh where he said five words about God’s mercy. Everyone repented and even the animals repented and wear sackcloth and Jonah became furious with God’s mercy for these people, so he sat under a tree and asked to die. 

And the story ends with God asking Jonah a question: “should I not be concerned about these humans and animals?”

Over the next few days, I’ll pull apart each chapter, but I wanted to point out how easy it is for most people to get caught up in the details. The big fish easily becomes some litmus test for if you believe in miracles or not. Like, if you don’t believe Jonah was swallowed by this whale, then you probably don’t believe in Jesus being raised from the dead. The whole story, then, becomes about a whale. 

Honestly, how many times has this story been relegated to nursery walls and Veggie Tales movies about a man and big fish? This fish is only mentioned twice in the first chapter and, yet, it’s all we really focus in this story and it’s not even the point of the story.

How often do we, as humans, tend to place our attention and focus on the parts of our life or the parts of our story that are not the point? It’s like if I focused all my attention on infertility and not being able to get pregnant. When we found out we would never have children in the typical way that most people have children, it was devastating. It certainly didn’t fit my plan for my life and it began to unravel any expectation for my future. I was angry and sad and frustrated that God would place a desire to be a mom on my heart but make it impossible to get pregnant. 

Friends, infertility is part of my story but it’s not my whole story and it is certainly not what my story is about. 

If you only knew me as “Bethany and infertility,” that would distract from the bigger picture of God working in my life for God’s glory, compassion, love, and grace to be seen. Sometimes we don’t know what to do with such a compassionate God that we look towards the seemingly impossible parts of our lives and make them into the story. We take the big things—the things that aren’t meant to be overlooked but certainly not meant to be obsessed over—and we make them into a whale that is difficult to see past. 

What whales in your story have you been obsessively focused on that has made it hard to see past? Infidelity? Divorce? Illness? Childhood trauma? 

Friends, the whale is not the point of this story. The whale in your life that you’ve given so much attention to is not the point of your story. It’s in your story, but it’s not your full story. You are more than that whale. Your marriage is more than that whale. Your life and ministry and family are more than that whale. 

And this story is so much more than Jonah and a whale. 

It’s about a God who pursues Jonah, who pursues our enemies, who pursues you and me. It’s about a God who still choses to work within the situations and contexts we find ourselves in or the ones we’ve made for ourselves. It’s about a God who never gives up and will always have the last word in our lives. 

With (love),
Bethany

End Times and Left Behind

Dear Friends,

I grew up in the height of “Left Behind” where churches split over whether you were pre-tribulation or post-tribulation and what you believed about the rapture. As a child, I would lay awake in bed at night *terrified* that maybe the formula-prayer that I prayed wasn’t genuine enough and I could be “left behind.” After all, Jesus Christ’s imminent return would happen like a thief-in-the-night, and the only thief I had heard about was the man who stole Polly Klaas from her house during a sleepover.

Jesus returning was something I hoped to avoid.

Maybe the “left behind” understanding of the future is still rampant in many churches, but I’ve been removed from it these last couple decades. I still believe Christ will return, but honestly I hope that it happens to some other generation, namely because Jesus is still drawing people into a relationship with Divine Love. 

Lately I’ve been reading more posts on social media from folk pleading for people to get right with the Lord because Christ’s return is on the horizon. In these posts, folk cite Jesus talking about the last days where wars and rumors of wars, famines, great earthquakes, and the like will become common. Oftentimes this thinking comes with escapism or avoidance—avoid the world and government and non-Christian peoples, and wait it out until Christ comes to rescue the faithful while the rest of those no-good-sinners face judgement. 

Throughout history - from before Jesus to after Jesus - life has felt impossible. There have always been wars and rumors of wars and horrific things too evil to mention. For centuries, faithful Christians have cried out to God in their longing for and begging for things to be made right. They’ve prayed and pleaded for Christ’s return from the moment he was raised from the dead and ascended into heaven. And yet, these prayers are met with a certain silence. 

It seems like assuming Christ’s imminent return gives confidence in what to expect, like a person can predict what’s to come even in the silence.

I wonder if we’ve had the wrong perspective. 

I wonder if we’ve been praying for the wrong things.

Instead of confidently assuming what’s to come, I believe we’re invited to curiously wonder at what is now—what is Jesus up to now in this current difficult time? Because, while we long for Christ’s return someday soon, there’s a current invitation to walk in faithfulness with strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow with the perspective that he’s already returned. Friends, the Spirit of Christ lives within those who have said “yes” to Divine Love. 

The thief-in-the-night includes an invitation into faithful reliance on God during the most impossible and difficult times. And Christ knew how life only gets harder for every individual human and what people need is not some focus on an arbitrary horizon to escape suffering but on the truth that Christ is with us IN our suffering. 

With a prayerfully curious spirit, I desire to live in the paradox of “now and not-yet” and leave behind the fear of being left behind.  

With (love),
Bethany

My Long List of Enemies

Matthew 5:43-44
“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

Dear Friends,

When I read this passage, I tend to think about the enemy elsewhere or overseas, abstract and removed from me personally. But Jesus wasn’t talking about the enemy far away. 

He was talking about the enemy up close.

The word for “enemy” in Greek is “ekthros” which means the one who opposes you or is hostile to you. 

Some of you know the hostility of your boss or co-worker. You’ve felt the hostility of your neighbor or spouse or classmate. 

I’ve felt this. I’ve known hostility from others. I’ve known it from people that I love who hurt me deeply through exclusion. I’ve known it from being a female pastor through the opposition and marginalization I’ve received from some Christians. Even family members can be hostile at times.

Friends, we have all felt the hostility of another person and we’ve all been hostile towards other people. We’ve known enemies and we’ve been enemies.

Lately, I’ve seen an influx of “enemies” growing on social media and in conversations. Buzzing under the surface is hostility, blame, revenge, and hatred towards the “enemy” where it feels like a war has been declared and everyone must pick a side. 

The list of people’s enemies keep growing longer and longer…

We’ve made enemies on every side and all around. We’ve made people into the bad guys and have grown increasingly hostile towards each other. I don’t think Jesus is saying that some people aren’t the enemy and he isn’t saying that they aren’t actually hostile towards you and you just need to let it go. No, he’s asking you to love them even in their opposition.

But it’s really hard to love people and to hope for their best and to want their good when they are purposefully hostile towards you.

So what if you can’t love your enemy? What if you can’t muster up the strength, the energy, the ability to love them? 

Friends, the Lord is with you. Loving your enemy—the person or people that have caused you harm or the people who seem against you at every turn—sometimes it’s there that you have to throw your hands up and cry out, “Lord, I cannot do this on my own! I cannot love this person right now. I cannot pray for their good and if I’m near them I might do something I will regret. Lord, I need you to love them through me and in spite of me.” 

Praying for your enemy isn’t some doormat theology where you allow toxic people to keep hurting you or you stay in evil situations because you need to love them through it. Jesus is not speaking about you fixing another person or healing someone who is abusive to you or others. Loving your enemies means you hope for their wellbeing and you’re for their good. It means that you’re for them, even if it has to be from a distance and through prayer.

I’ve noticed that something happens to me when I pray for people I have a hard time loving.

My heart softens towards them. I begin seeing them as the beloved child of God instead of a sum total of their behaviors and points of disagreements. I see their story and their pain and how hard life has been for them. I see that God is for them and loves them. 

Through prayer, the forgiveness and mercy that God has for me becomes the forgiveness and mercy that I have for them because I begin to see that God has prepared a table before me in their presence. I am invited to share a lavish feast with my enemy.

Maybe I won’t see eye-to-eye with them, and maybe they’re still an enemy, but my heart and mind gets changed for the better and it’s there that I am at peace.

So, pass the mashed potatoes and pull up another chair. There’s plenty of room at Christ’s table of grace.

With (love),
Bethany

Nihilism or Joy

Dear Friends,

I was laying in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling when the text came in. Another prayer request. Another need. Another cry for hope, for healing, for strength and endurance and help. 

Sometimes it all feels like too much. The list of needs gets piled on top of those already there and those coming in like gangbusters from around the world. Viruses and variants. Vaccines and schools restarting. Earthquakes, flooding, fires, climate change, and food scarcity. Terrorism, trafficking, politicians and elections and hatred of those who think differently. 

“Lord, in your mercy,” I whispered with pneumatic breath. 

But in that quiet moment I was gracefully reminded that healing, hope, strength, endurance, and help doesn’t come from me. I am not the answer or the savior or the rescuer. I am simply the holder—the offerer. Honored, I receive the requests and hold them close as I embrace and ingest your pain, shouldering the burdens with you in love. But your pain doesn’t live in my body for long because I am not your hope. 

If I was your hope, I would be crushed and annihilated by the weight of it all. Hopelessness would destroy me if I believed the lie that I had control or that it was my responsibility to rescue others. I would be paralyzed, unable to move.

Because it is not my job or role to rescue. It is my role to help bring hope and healing where I am able to. I am to work for good while pointing to the Healer even when life feels impossible.

This is how the Enemy can stop me from working for good. Nihilism is a nasty and bleak form of surrender. If I believe life is meaningless or I believe what’s-even-the-point-of-working-for-good-when-it-just-seems-like-things-keep-getting-worse, I stop doing anything. 

But if I simply wear rose-colored glasses to ignore the pain in the world around me, I also stop doing anything. 

I believe there’s another way forward in the possibly debilitating needs around us. The myriad of your big or small current struggles and present difficulties have the great possibility for pessimism to set in, and I’m asking you to never give up working for the good even when it feels pointless or impossible. 

There’s an Old Testament book called Ecclesiastes where the writer seems to spiral into a nihilistic darkness, unable to see beyond the “meaningless” nature of life. His despair made it feel impossible to work towards good. But he ends with a newfound understanding that all are held in God’s hands and there is much joy and goodness in this world while we still have breath in our bodies. Hard work, great sex, good wine, nutritious food, worshiping God, caring for those in need around you, wearing clothes that feel good, dancing and moving your body, robust conversation, falling in love. The writer also states that with ALL THINGS, may your heart be one of joy.

It’s worth preserving, my friends. Regardless of who is in office or what you believe about masking or how personally impossible today might seem. Life is still worth preserving and its worth working towards good for yourself and those in your midst. Because we’ve been designed to do so in the ways you can, even when it might feel meaningless or like too much right now. 

Life is a gift from God. In ALL THINGS, and with a heart of joy, I want to steward it well. I want to know what I can do and release what I cannot. And I never want to forsake myself or the most vulnerable around me through nihilism. 

And friends, oftentimes it’s enough to simply whisper, with a pneumatic breath, “Lord, in your mercy,” because there is a healing Savior, and it is not me.

With (love),
Bethany

Qualified for LOVE

Mark 6:7-13 (The Message)
Jesus called the Twelve to him, and sent them out in pairs. He gave them authority and power to deal with the evil opposition. He sent them off with these instructions:
“Don’t think you need a lot of extra equipment for this. You are the equipment. No special appeals for funds. Keep it simple.
“And no luxury inns. Get a modest place and be content there until you leave.
“If you’re not welcomed, not listened to, quietly withdraw. Don’t make a scene. Shrug your shoulders and be on your way.”
Then they were on the road. They preached with joyful urgency that life can be radically different; right and left they sent the demons packing; they brought wellness to the sick, anointing their bodies, healing their spirits.

Dear Friends,

I’ve heard this passage used as encouragement towards missionaries to other countries by saying how God doesn’t call the qualified but qualifies the called. I really truly believe this to be true because, friends, there is no one righteous, no not one, as scripture says. No person is fully prepared to drive out evil and pervasive darkness or help heal lifelong traumas in people or face the realities of sex trafficking and other horrific parts to life. I cannot do these things on my own and no one is ready to. If you think about it, Jesus sent Judas and another disciple out to do this work and I can’t imagine them being qualified either.

God doesn’t call the qualified but qualifies the called. 

But in the same breath, this truth has damaged so many cultures and peoples, historically speaking and throughout today. There were some Christians, with a savior complex, who raised support and funding, were prayed over and moved to another culture to “save it for Jesus.” But in the process, some missionaries have colonized people, stripping them of their cultural identity by saying how sinful their traditions were or how misguided their culture was. With limited training or cultural sensitivity, these missionaries trusted that God’s already qualified them to bring their Western understanding of Christianity to the “pagan peoples” who needed saving. This way of missions has long been detrimentally damaging and severely harmful to people who have already been created in the image of God.

This passage is not that at all. These paired-up disciples are sent, in faith, to different towns. In faith. Not their faith but Jesus’s faith in them. 

When you are sent out into the world every day, regardless of how qualified you think you are, Jesus has enough faith in you and in who God created you as to bring good news of LOVE wherever you go.

These disciples had nothing with them to rely on, so they had to be reliant on the hospitality of the town and fully dependent on God. They weren’t coming in with flashiness, or skits or a light-show or a celebrity speaker as if they had something to offer. They arrived without ego, without pomp, without anything to offer besides the truth of God’s kingdom and the LOVE of Jesus. They arrived as disadvantaged in nature, as paupers in need, fully reliant on the villager’s hospitality. 

They must be good guests, grateful for the shelter and food and kindness. And after staying for quite a long time in someone’s home, eating food from their dishes, helping with housework and helping repair the oxen carts and taking care of the animals and children and going with them every Saturday to synagogue for worship and practicing Sabbath together with this family, these two disciples could share why they were there. They could share the faith they had about what God was up to and how God’s restorative kingdom was arriving. They could share about Jesus and the interesting, compelling, radical person he was. They would talk about the miracles they witnessed, the way Jesus touched the leper and healed him, how he claimed authority over evil things, stopping pain in its path. And as this family and community began to trust, these men took oil out to help heal open sores, anointing the sick with the power of God, casting out the scariest and most evil parts in people’s lives, and helping restore marginalized and sick people back to community. 

Not everyone believed and I’m sure people questioned these disciple’s qualifications. But they still faithfully shared what they had seen, heard, and experienced through Jesus to their new friends.

Friend, you are sent out everyday as a Jesus person into your job, family, and community and the only thing you need to be qualified for is the openness to be in relationship with people who do not know Jesus. It’s never too late and you’re never too old to make a friend, to move into their life and serve them and love them and then share the LOVE of God with them. What they do with it is up to them and God, but what an opportunity to live out the good news of God’s LOVE in a world that’s desperate for it.

God believes you can and has empowered you through the Holy Spirit to do so—embody LOVE, because it has the power to save.

With (love),
Bethany

Yellowstone

Inspired by Timothy Gombis from one of my favorite podcasts: Voxolgy with Mike Erre
 

Dear Friends,

A few years ago, my extended family and I traveled to Yellowstone National Park where we camped in a stormy-cold downpour and tried to stay warm, huddled by a fire. We had all traveled so far and didn’t want to miss out on the beauty surrounding us that every morning after breakfast, we would unglue our frozen bodies from around the fire and drive to different areas of this unique biome. The steamy pools of light turquoise giving way to deep navy azure, stark against white mineral stone, seemed to beckon a closer look. Bison ambled alongside the roadway--large masses of remnant history where indiginous peoples once dwelled. Geysers belched and spit like clockwork to the sounds of squeals and laughter. An icy, alpine river sliced through the landscape leaving canyons in its path. But no matter how majestic and beautiful this countryside was, I was so cold and couldn’t quite warm up and this affected how I participated throughout each day.

Like a person’s experience with God/spirituality/church, there are different seasons and opportunities in how a person participates. One of the best places to learn about the facts of Yellowstone is the visitor’s center. If I chose to stay in the visitor’s center, I would learn about how large the park is and that it’s located on a supervolcano. It houses hundreds of animal species that coexist in a sustainable way. Indiginous tribes passed through and lived around there from 11,000 years ago until they were forced out as it became an official national park in 1872. 

Information and important facts.

If I chose to avoid the visitor’s center and instead biked and hiked around Yellowstone, I would be able to experience it. I could sit by that alpine river while the long grass tickled my legs, breathing in the crisp air as a prayer of gratitude for God’s beautiful creation. I could explore those vast spaces, traversing under evergreen trees and cut my own trail--just me and Jesus. 

Wanderlust and comfortably alone.

If I chose to join a guided tour, mixing myself into a group of curious people captivated by wonder and amazement, I could learn and experience simultaneously. A park ranger would walk us along the winding trails towards the most important sites. I would take in the color wheel of mauves, burnt siennas, and bright yellows banking each thermal spring while the ranger spoke about ancient volcanic eruptions and the calderas they formed. While I marveled over this space, people in the group might begin asking questions I hadn’t thought of before, allowing me to dig deeper and learn differently than I would have in the visitor’s center or just enjoying the beauty on my own.

Seeing, learning, experiencing, participating.
Falling more in love with God and God’s creation in Yellowstone.

In regards to my spiritual life (I mean this in a holistic sense), I could stay in the “visitor’s center” by going to seminary or reading theology books and learning everything I could about God while keeping God at a distance. Or, instead, I could hike trails and meditate on the expansive love of God through a Sun Salute and drawing near to God’s presence. I could treat the beach as my church, experiencing God in the waves but never being challenged in my thinking or seeking to know more. Or perhaps it’s not simply studying about God or simply experiencing God on my own, but maybe there’s a better way where I could mix myself into a community of faith. It’s there that I can learn from the “park ranger” and find curious and open people who are willing to ask questions I hadn’t thought of before, making way for unfamiliar encounters. It’s with this group where I learn about and experience the love of God while practicing this love and grace together. And maybe the ranger doesn’t have all the answers and maybe this group might not be perfect, but that’s not the point. 

The point is to experience and participate. 

And friends, maybe it’s okay to stay near the campfire with your closest people for a while so you can warm up before venturing out in the first place. Just don’t stay there too long because there’s so much to see, experience, and participate in. It’s in those wide, expansive spaces of creation, away from the comfortable warmth of a fire, that you are beckoned to fall into the vast love of God.
And it’s so good.

With (love),
Bethany

Hometown Rejection

Dear Friends,

There’s this story about Jesus in the Bible where he travels back to his hometown after being away for some time (Mark 6:1-6). I imagine him chatting with his closest friends as they traveled the dusty roads towards Nazareth. I wonder if he talked up his mom’s cooking and how comfortable the beds were in his childhood home—I mean, as a carpenter, he made them himself. I wonder if there were certain friends he was most excited to see.

I’m not sure what it was like when he got there—the text doesn’t say—but it sure didn’t sound like there was a “welcome home” party thrown in his honor. 

When Saturday rolled around, Jesus and his disciples went to the local place of worship and he taught a message there. Mark doesn’t even include what Jesus said, only the responses from those listening.

There seem to be two different responses: wow and nope.

Wonder, curiosity, open-hearted acceptance 
vs.
Stubborn, hard, closed-hearted indifference

I wonder how long it was for those who might have been open and curious about Jesus and his words, to become influenced and shut down by the haters? How long before their openness and acceptance towards Jesus began closing off as distrust and doubt clouded the room?

The text says they were offended or scandalized that Jesus was representing their town. It didn’t matter what he preached or who he healed or how kind and compassionate he was, they couldn’t see past who they knew him to be. He was the firstborn of Mary—the one born out of wedlock. The mamzer or bastard who didn’t have a father to be known by, only as Mary’s son, spoken out like some embarrassing slur. Jesus had a scandalous beginning making his words and actions untrustworthy and impossible to accept.

Growing up around certain people or situations can sometimes cause a chip on the shoulder that makes people think they have permission to judge more harshly and unkindly. Oftentimes I am the harshest critic of what I know or think I know because familiarity can breed contempt. I wonder if that’s what was happening for Jesus’s hometown? They believed they had nothing left to learn and this closed them off from the expansive and restorative kingdom of God through Jesus. 

They were disinterested in him because God wouldn’t dare work through someone they knew wasn’t worthy.

There was a saying back then—“Nothing good comes from Nazareth.”

This saying seems familiar, doesn’t it? Nothing good comes from that family. Nothing good comes from that area or that community or that trauma or that experience.

Most of the times, God uses the kinds of people who others believe nothing good can come from. 

Jesus chose twelve men to follow him. Some were teenagers and others were more established in careers. They had shady pasts and we know a shady future for some. From the outside, it looked like Jesus chose people that nothing good could come from. Maybe these guys thought the same about themselves. Maybe they believed the lie that nothing good could come from them. 

But friends, the truth of God’s intention for this world, for you, is good. God created all things good and human beings very good. You have been created very good, but sin has marred what God created. It has fractured the good and broken apart the whole. You’ve been fractured and split apart because of those things that have happened to you and the things you have done. Those harmful things were not good, but God still redeems and restores all things for good. I’ve seen this in my own life because God restores all things back to wholeness.

How unfortunate it was for those in Nazareth to miss the good, restorative redemption in their midst. 

Friends, I don’t want to miss the restorative redemption of Christ. I don’t want the chips on my shoulders or my own closed stubbornness to affect other people or influence the way they respond to Jesus. I don’t want anything about me—my words, actions, behavior—anything to come between you and the healing and saving love of Christ. I want relationships restored. I want people healed. I want the good news of God’s love through Jesus to be fully accessible to all people.

And this is good. Very good.

With (love),
Bethany

Vacation- The “Good Life”?

Dear Friends,

I’m at a hotel in Las Vegas right now. My kids are playing in the pool with other squealing children everywhere. It’s hot outside but the clouds provide enough shade to trick my mind into thinking it’s cooler than it is. There’s thumping pop music streaming through speakers hidden in rocks. I didn’t realize this hotel was a timeshare until we checked in. We found it on some hotel booking site but when the incentives poured over us to attend a 90 minute presentation, we said no four times. 

But I’m a sucker for free stuff. 

Early this morning, I went to a room with a dozen other couples who are, apparently, also suckers for free stuff. A sales-person greeted us with the energy of a toddler on French Roast. As I sat there listening to his pitch to a room full of middle-aged folk, I began tearing up. The presentation was good—really good. It pulled on all the right heartstrings reminding every parent and grandparent of how much life/fun/excitement they have missed out on. 

Regrets. Sorrow. Disappointments in putting more focus towards 

work instead of joy 
career instead of family
production instead of rest
job instead of vacation 

I wasn’t tearing up because I’ve been missing out on vacation-life. I was tearing up because this man was selling vacation AS life. Like life isn’t truly life unless you are on vacation. 

I’m all for disruptions to my everyday life. I’m all for unplugging, getting out of town, finding places of adventure, and finally reading a good novel. I’m all for good food and good play and good rest. But, friends, these moments are not when life finally begins. If vacation is the “good life,” what does that make the rest of a person’s life? 

I’ve known the temptation of comparison. I’ve felt the thief of joy and experienced evaluating my own life to another’s. I’ve lived a discontented existence where the “good life” must belong elsewhere. I’ve embraced those lies before and they are fully corrosive and absolutely depleting.

The shame in that room was palpable and felt heavy, like a burden no one should bear. With the weight of the world already on their shoulders, the sales-person hoisted insecurities wrapped in Timeshare bliss on top of them. I wanted to shout out a different truth. I wanted to take the microphone and share how this purchase wouldn’t fill the void in their hearts or make their family finally get along. This was not the quick fix towards the good life.

I wanted to share that because of Jesus, I began to experience the good life everyday. I wanted them to know that when my life was crumbling around me and when I feel exhausted and anxious and overwhelmed by my circumstances that I cannot change, I still experience the good life because of Jesus Christ and his love for me. I wanted them to know that it’s Jesus who said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy burdened. Learn from me and find rest for your souls.” It’s Jesus who said that in him is life to the fullest. It’s Jesus who redirects my focus away from daily production and back towards daily rest and joy. It’s Jesus who gently invites me to breathe and savor every moment immediately, not just when I leave town. I wanted them to know there’s a deeper truth to the good life.

I love vacation and look forward to those planned-holy-disruptions, but life is so full of daily sacred moments reminding me that the good life has already arrived. 

Timeshare or not, the good life is more than two weeks out of the year, and I just wanted you to know that.

With (love),
Bethany

Listen to Your Life

My friend,

Did you know that
you are more than your 
accomplishments?
You hold value 
beyond today’s tasks.

If your life were
somehow measurable,
it must never quantify
into what you’ve done
but
who you are.

And you are more than
what you’ve done.

You are more

You are

You

Listen to your life.
What is that 
still 
small
voice
whispering 
to you?

You are more

You are

You

Let’s Play

Dear Friends,

Even with housemates and a revolving door of lovely humans coming in and out, my home is a place of refuge and rest for me. During this pandemic where everything went online, including my faith community, my home didn’t become a burden of hustle or rushed chaos. It seemed to settle into its sacredness—a place where a bit of heaven resided.

The last five months have been really hard for me, though. My son has been sick with severe and debilitating stomach pain where his pain is all our family has been able to see, in many ways. For a few months, a deep seriousness fell over our home. I couldn’t see it at first because I was living it, but this seriousness became a weighty, impossible burden I couldn’t release as it slowly crushed me. I’m an adaptable person where not much encumbers me, but this had taken it’s toll.

At the end of April, I was talking to my therapist about this level of seriousness—my son’s sickness, seminary classwork piling up, children home for school, new building for my church, and the daily tasks. She gently asked, “When was the last time you played?”

When was the last time I played? I hadn’t thought about intentionally playing for years, truthfully, and I’ve been okay with that. I’m a lighthearted person who tends to find joy in most situations that “play” hasn’t been missing from my life. But I had been so weighed down in the seriousness of my home that, not only did play not exist, it wasn’t welcomed or invited. 

I couldn’t recognize the lack in my life because I was suffocated by it. It was all around me, pressing against me, like I was straining against forceful wind and unable to move forward. 

There’s this story in Mark 5 where the disciples are in a boat, alone, in the middle of the Sea of Galilee. The wind had picked up so much that they were stuck out there, straining against a kind of wall, pressed on every side. It was getting darker and they were getting tired when Jesus shows up walking on the water. The text tells us that he was about to pass them by when they saw him. 

Friends, in the boat that once held rest and refuge for them, they were now stressed, overwhelmed, tired out, and irritated in that place. Instead of rest, they felt weighty seriousness and Jesus just strolls up and WAS GOING TO PASS THEM BY like he’s some jokester pulling a prank on his buddies who are having a really hard time. 

Sometimes we’re not rescued out of a situation in the ways we want, but a little play and joking can be the right disruption needed to break us out of the seriousness and to remember everything will be okay. 

Not perfect. Not healed. Not rescued. But okay.

So, tickle your kids. Chase the wind through a field. Find a pool or river to swim in. Dye your hair pink. Put on loud 80’s music and dance until you can’t breathe. Race up a hill and roll down it. Turn your table into a huge nacho plate. Make a trough of banana splits. Play basketball in the dark. 

May you find ways to play today and may you know it’s going to be okay.

With (love),
Bethany

The Violence Within Me

Dear Friends,

The depth of violence infecting and reigning in human hearts reveals itself in the smallest of ways. I think it’s hidden and quietly unobtrusive, shrouded by my smile and encouraging words. But it is there and capable of great harm, first to me but then to you.

This violence isn’t one of war or weapons in the traditional sense. There will be no physical harm from me towards another’s body but I could slash you open with my words. I do not have a license to carry but it’s certainly a concealed weapon—kept at bay and corrosive to myself. I’ve been aware of this violence within me and the names it goes by: pride and insecurity. For years it came out as knives hidden in my words or posture where I tried to stand above you with more knowledge or swagger. Even if you didn’t notice, I did—corrosive. 

It’s the dearest of friends who lovingly pointed out what I had thought I had hidden so well. They showed me my pride and insecurity and the sneaky violence I was capable of. The Holy Spirit has helped reform that part of me, convicting and reshaping those hidden places. 

Lately I’ve noticed this internal violence in subtle ways—I could miss it if not paying attention to such powerful-Holy Spirit-peace and grace. It comes out in judgement towards others who think differently than me and I wonder if this is a struggle, at times, for you too.

Here’s the struggle I have felt and seen:

I hope people who refuse to get vaccinated will get sick, but won’t die.

I hope people who got vaccinated will get sick, but won’t die.

There is no peace or grace within these sentiments, only violence embedded in pride and insecurity. And deeper still, there are seeds of dehumanization quickly taking root in those dark and hidden parts of people. These hidden dehumanizing thoughts can grow into real weapons and real violence against real people without even realizing it. What starts small and hidden in one’s heart can produce horrific outcomes if not rooted out, regardless of a pandemic.

Everyone has their reasons for what they do or don’t do in this pandemic. Some might say we’re heading towards a tyrannical existence and others might say “my body, my choice” and others might say “your body, your choice and your choice to harm others by your choice.” 

I don’t have a clear answer for others beyond my own opinions and beliefs if asked, but I do have the option on how I can respond in a way that doesn’t further dehumanize others. And when I disagree with you or others, my response towards you and others must be marked by peace and grace. My Savior is non-violent in every regard, so I will keep praying “peace and grace” over myself, over you, over our country and over this world as I am being reshaped into non-violence. 

May it be so.

With (love),
Bethany

A Blessing

The Lord said to Moses, “Tell Aaron and his sons, ‘This is how you are to bless the Israelites. Say to them:
“‘'The Lord bless you
   and keep you;
the Lord make his face shine on you
   and be gracious to you; 
the Lord turn his face toward you
  and give you peace.”’
“So they will put my name on the Israelites, and I will bless them.”

Numbers 6:22-27

Dear Friends,

This blessing is probably familiar to many people and while I didn’t grow up with it, my husband has prayed it over our children before bed and prayed it over our church family for years now. It has become a warm blanket of familiar stability, cozy and comforting. But this blessing of God's favor, protection, and affirmation is more than sweet words. It has the capacity to shape my perspective and move me into action.  

First, the word for “you” is singular meaning that this blessing is for me. I’m the one God blesses and keeps. I’m the one who receives a face of shining gladness and love. I am known and loved and valued by God. I’m the one who God turns God’s presence  towards me and looks at me with complete affection and acceptance. I’m the one God desires to have peace. (And friends, this is also for you). This is the blessing God gives to Moses to give to Aaron, the high priest, to give to the rest of the community. 

God blesses you and keeps you.

This blessing tells me God isn’t angry or mad at me. God isn’t hiding God’s presence from me. God isn’t looking at me with a twisted face, disgusted by my behavior or disappointed in how God made me. 

God blesses me and keeps me.

When God gave this blessing to Moses to give to Aaron to give to the people, God’s blessing might have felt distant or had to travel far where God was unapproachable. And God was. And sometimes the Church still makes God unapproachable and inaccessible—out of reach from mere humans. We segregate blessing to only come from the priests or pastors onto the people. We tuck blessing away into dusty corners of cathedrals and onto pew benches in sanctuaries, relegating it to the keeper of keys and paid clergy. We come to the Church to receive blessing from the powers that be. 

But through Jesus Christ’s death on the cross, the Temple curtain that separated God’s presence and holiness from the common and mundane was torn down the middle. Jesus became our great High Priest and our mediator. Speaking out blessing is not reserved for ordained or paid pastors, priests, ministers because when you gave your life to Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, when you became a disciple or follower of Jesus, you became a priest. You became a pastor and minister and bearer of blessing. 

This blessing isn’t simply for you to receive on a Sunday or to pass the peace to the church people around you. You become the bearer of blessing, the passer of peace. The church gathers to speak blessing over each other so we can go out and speak blessing over the world. 

God blesses the world and keeps the world.

There’s a lot of people who need a blessing and need to know that God is for them, that God loves them, that God shines God’s face upon them, and that it is God who brings them peace.

May it begin with me. May it begin with you. 

With (love),
Bethany

When Death Still Stings

Dear Friends,

On the 15th of most months for the past four years, a vigil has been held on the Arcata Plaza or at Arcata City Hall. We bring flowers, wear red, light candles, hold signs, and shout “Justice for Josiah!”. We stand in silence with our heads bowed in disbelief at our failed justice system. We listen to prayers prayed and a mother’s heart breaking, voice cracking, tears falling, rage and grief lining everything. 

After many young people in his care were killed from gang violence, Father Gregory Boyle once wrote, “You don’t keep vigil—it keeps you.” 

Those of you who have lost your “beloved person,” where death came too quickly, abruptly, unexpectedly—a life stolen—you don’t hold monthly vigils to remember. You carry the vigil with you into every moment of your life. You hold vigil in your body, the hollow pain of loss embeds deep within you where this cavernous void becomes a constant reminder of who is no longer there. Every experience, every life-changing moment, every trip or vacation or holiday or meal around the table is a vigil—a perpetual sign of the life stolen and the emptiness you feel without their presence with you. 

You don’t keep vigil—it keeps you. 

Who made us judge and jury of another person’s life? When a murderer—in street clothes or uniform—determines who lives and dies, where is justice there? Jesus Christ was unjustly accused, unjustly tortured and beaten and mocked and murdered with all his dirty laundry of who he ate with and how much he drank as an after-thought justification for his beatings and death. Like Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, George Floyd, Daunte Wright, and countless other names. Beatings, torture, murder justified through later-learned dirty laundry.

You don’t keep vigil—it keeps you.

I never knew David Josiah Lawson personally, but I know his mother, Charmaine, and I’ve felt a sliver of the pain she carries coursing through her and into me. I’ve held her hand in prayer, vice gripped with generations of Black grieving mothers surrounding her, wailing and raging over their sons’ lives stolen. My hands and body, a tripod to keep her up.

When a Black man calls out from dying breath or from fear of being pulled over or from bleeding at a house party, “Mama!”, are not all Mama’s called on? Do we not all hear their cry echoing throughout the ages if we listen close enough? I think of Jesus Christ on the cross crying out for his Mama and making sure she would be held through the void that would come from his death—that she would be cared for in the pit of her grief and in her rage and anger at injustice. 

There may have been victory over death through Christ’s death, but everyday still hurts. When the weighty death of your beloved’s unjust killing stands on your chest, where you can no longer get full breaths in, the pain can overshadow any victory. Because no matter the victory of Christ, and no matter how many times Christians say “Oh death, where is your sting?”, death fucking stings. The paradox we live in as a People of Hope includes the lingering sting of death until death comes for each of us and the joy of what’s-to-come is revealed. 

You don’t keep vigil. Vigil keeps you and is the constant reminder of how much death still stings. 

So what do you do in the meantime? How do you continue forth within this sting? 

“God protects me from nothing but sustains me through everything,” Father Boyle wrote in Tattoos on the Heart. In the midst of working to undo an unjust and oppressively racist system bent on control and greed, we find that we might not be protected but we are sustained. You can walk through the valley of the shadow of death, even when the sting of death feels impossible, because you are not walking it alone. Christ walked that valley before you and walks it with you even now.

With (love),
Bethany

The Messy Middle

Dear Friends,

I’ve been sitting with an image these last few days where I’m standing on the middle of some kind of platform with people on my left and right. It feels good, like we all have enough in common to be near. But then both sides start moving further away from the middle, so far I can barely see them anymore. And as they move further away, the middle where I stand begins to rumble, tremor, and split like ice breaking off in Antartica. I’m desperately holding onto both sides, my muscles aching, afraid of falling through and losing myself into a widening chasm of separation where families and friends have lost sight of what really matters. 

I try to shake off this image, this horrifying vision, but it won’t leave me alone.

In my conservative Christian high school government/economics class, like, a hundred years ago, we all took a quiz to find out if we leaned more Democrat or Republican. As we “graded” our own quizzes with our teacher’s instructions, I was deeply dismayed and disturbed with each answer that leaned more left than right. Agitation spread through me as I realized that I might agree with Democrats on some moral and ethical ideals! I began to question my loyalties to Christianity and Jesus, wondering if I belonged anywhere anymore. Hoping no one would see my shame, I quickly tucked the quiz into my binder where it would stay hidden—I could stay hidden—desperate that no one would find out.

For years since that moment, I registered Republican and blindly voted with the “Christian” party, rarely delving into the policy or personhood of each vote. But the more I began to grasp my own convictions and the more I began to pay attention to those outside of me and mine, the more I recognized the messy middle was where I felt most at home. I belong in the middle, finding myself pulled left and right at different times and in different ways. I’ve found space to stretch and expand in the middle, never quite landing on one side fully but often having to navigate the complicated, unstructured messiness the middle offers. Instead of a wasteland of lonely wandering, I’ve found a people there in the middle with friends and family on each side—some further to the left or right, but others closer to the middle with me. 

Lately, though, this disturbing image where the Left and Right walk further away from each other—so far they can’t seem to see the other any longer—seems to be a reality. Each side points fingers at the other saying it’s their fault. Instead of seeking the middle, the Left has rooted itself in prideful arrogance where belonging is found in how “woke” they are in what they say, regardless of what they do. And the Right has traveled so far down a rabbit trail called Q, they’re not sure if they ever want to come back, if they could even find their way. Not all are arrogant bastards or conspiracy quacks, friends. But certainly enough on both sides that the middle tremors and my muscles ache. Enough that my family and friends look differently than they did a year ago. 

Enough that I’m concerned.

When I look at the messy middle example of Jesus and his disciples, his closest friends had political leanings that were extremely opposite and violently contradictory. Their ideals for government structure and their personal moral compasses didn’t align perfectly. Perhaps this is why Jesus spoke of God’s kindom so often? Maybe Jesus knew that the first words he spoke out when starting his ministry needed to be the most important and often repeated because human beings are forgetful people who need countless reminders. “Turn your attention away from the systems and structures of this world because God’s kindom, God’s intention of harmony is here.” 

I was reminded by my friend on Sunday that Shalom/Harmony isn’t something we can do on our own. We need each other to harmonize. We need to meet in the middle and join our voices together, in the midst of our severe disagreements and deep differences, to lay down our defenses and all the ways we’re right and they’re wrong. Maybe if we decided to humbly press through the discomfort, like the disciples chose to do, we could begin to make music together and find enough healing and grace for today and tomorrow.

The middle might be messy, but it’s where I belong. I hope you can scoot a little closer. 

With (love),
Bethany