What does it mean to be brave?

I've been reading Annie Downs' book "Let's All Be Brave" these days. It is taking me a while to get through it (I've been at it since March), because at the end of each chapter I have to wipe away my tears and work on believing the truth Annie lays down. It's exhausting, but I love it. 

I've talked to a lot of people recently about being brave, people who have a lot more experience at being brave than I do. I wanted to hear that things got easier. That as they learned to trust God more, it didn't seem so scary or hard. But everyone I talked to, without exception, told me that it is always hard and even trusting God doesn't stop it from being a leap of faith. If it were easy, making the step wouldn't be brave; it would be the easy next step. 

There's a lot of talk in the media these days about what it means to be a brave. Sometimes, they call it "being a hero." We attribute things like courage and strength to this title; usually, there is so much more that goes in to making a hero. 

I was talking to my dad the other day about life and things, and of course, the shooting in Oregon came up in our conversation. We took turns talking, willing to admit when the conversation was out of our depths. In the face of such tragedy, sometimes the only thing we can agree on is that it was horrible and how much the families who lost loved ones must be hurting. 

Some reports of the shooting say that the gunman was targeting Christians. It's hard when Christians overseas are meeting their death out of love for Christ; it is a completely different experience when it is happening in my country, a land that sings the song of religious freedom for all. 

It's been almost a month since the shooting, but I still think about it. I work at a university. We've had police on campus after a bomb threat (that turned out to be a false alarm, thank God) so the thought of a school shooting tends to be on my mind more than it was before. More than I want it to be. I think about what I would do in an active shooter situation. It scares me to have to think that way, but I know I would have to be brave for my students even if I wanted to curl in a ball under my desk and not engage. 

One thing that my dad said in our conversation has been on a loop in my brain for the last month. 
"You know the bravest person in all of this? The second person who was shot. They knew what was coming when they answered how they believed. And they said it anyway. That's bravery." 

Being brave is hard. It never stops being hard. Making brave choices can change your life. 

This is another day, O Lord. 

I know not what it will bring forth, 

But make me ready, Lord, for whatever it may be.

If I am to stand up, help me to stand bravely.

If I am to sit still, help me to sit quietly.

If I am to lie low, help me to do it patiently.

And if I am to do nothing, let me do it gallantly.

Make these words more than words, 

and give me the Spirit of Jesus. 

Amen.

Book of Common Prayer

Get Involved in Someone's Mess

It's become a tradition in my family, and one that I have continued as I work out my own traditions, to attend the Maundy Thursday service at my church. I didn't even know what Maundy Thursday was about until we started attending my church almost 10 years ago. Now I can't imagine missing it.
It's pretty much the same service every year. We keep it simple: mostly hymns, organ prelude, reduced praise team, no drums. The lights are kept low and all of the distractions in the lobby are cleared out. We don't have greeters at the door and you are asked to enter the sanctuary speaking only to the Lord in prayer. Our pastors pitch in and take different parts of the service: one or two read scripture at different points, one (or more) give a devotional on the scripture, our Senior pastor leads communion.
We have a foot washing at this service. It is to mirror what happened after the Passover meal that the disciples shared with Jesus. Jesus washed the feet of his disciples, a job usually reserved for a gentile servant. Apparently, washing feet was something so degrading that they couldn't even ask one Jewish servant to wash another Jew's feet. It wasn't just the dirt, but the humiliating nature of humbling yourself before another person that made this task to distasteful.

Why is this night different from all other nights?

I've heard the story before. Jesus humbled himself, taking on the place of a servant and washed his disciples feet. It's an example to us to live humble lives, just as he did. The weight of the Lord of the Universe getting down on his knees and washing feet was huge. It was the picture of sacrifice. But tonight I saw something different. When Jesus started washing feet, the disciples were talking amongst themselves about the political organization of Jesus' new kingdom. They were trying to figure out who would be at the right and left hand of the King, who would hold what positions, probably how great it was going to be to see Rome cower in fear. They lived in a time when there was a first and a last and even to religious leaders of the day, that order was very important. Surely the new kingdom that Jesus would bring would have such an order to it as well. 

Instead of reprimanding them, Jesus grabs a towel and starts washing their feet. I imagine it got pretty quiet, the bickering dying down as people stopped to watch their Master washing feet.
In that one simple act, Jesus set the traditional religious and political roles of the day on their head: he made all twelve men equal. 
He didn't wash Peter's feet and then say, "Wash the feet of the brother next to you." He did all the dirty work, quieting the voices calling out to be noticed and recognized. He humbled himself before each man. By making the disciples equals, not based on their political or economic station, but by their importance to him, Jesus calls them to participate in each other's lives. The bigger picture here is that they had been served but now it was their job to go and serve others. If Jesus got down to wash the dirty feet, maybe we also need to be washing feet of the people around us? Maybe we also need to get involved in other people's messy lives?

Maybe I've heard it before. Maybe I've been blind to it. But all of a sudden, washing feet was about more than just me. Holy Week is a time for introspection and prayer. We remember the joys and struggles of the last week of Jesus' life on earth. We are thankful for the sacrifice that was made for us…and then it kind of ends. I hesitate to say this, but I think we've been making Holy Week all about us. And if you haven't, I'm pretty sure I have been.

Washing feet tonight felt different. I walked back tonight with a fair bit of anxiety. The hall is dimly lit with people everywhere, and I am just not sure where I'm sitting. In years past, I would pick a person before going back so that it would be easier. I didn't this year. I spent the short walk to the fellowship hall mulling over the call to involve ourselves in other people's messy lives.   When I got to the back, my choice was easy. There was a young woman, probably only a few years younger than me, who I knew from the church and a Bible study we used to attend. She was sitting alone and so I asked her if I could wash her feet. I knew some of her story, but only what she had sparingly shared. Her family also served in the church; sometimes it is hard to speak honestly about family (even if it is just your biased perception of things) members who publicly serve and are known in the church. I knelt down and prayed for her as I cupped water to dribble over her feet. I prayed for her heart. I prayed for her struggles. I prayed that she would feel loved.

Life is messy. There isn't anyway around that. Sometimes in my mess, I hardly feel equipped to deal with my stuff. I use that as an excuse to not serve others. But then I think about the disciples--not a one of them were trained for ministry when they met Jesus. Some of them had really great jobs, some just had jobs. He called them out of their former life and taught them something new. We don't have be amazing preachers or teachers to further God's kingdom. Sometimes, we just need to help wipe the dust from someone's feet, pray for them and get involved in their mess.

"But among you, those who are the greatest should take the lower rank, and the leader should be like a servant. Normally the master sits at the table and is served by his servants. But not here! For I am your servant." 

Luke 23:26-27

Faith of our Fathers

 Faith of our fathers, living still,

In spite of dungeon, fire and sword;

O how our hearts beat high with joy

Whenever we hear that glorious Word!

When I got my new job, I had to switch the church service I attended. For the longest time, I was a solid second service girl. Enough time to sleep in, make it to Sunday school (on a good morning) and then service. As long as the preacher didn't go too long, breakfast was just wearing off by the end of the sermon, making you the right amount of content and hungry. At this point you were happy and content enough to pay attention and talk to other congregation members, but hungry enough to not forget the time. If you had kids under ten, there was no way you would forget that lunch needed to happen soon after the final "Amen."

Faith of our fathers, we will strive

To win all nations unto Thee;

And through the truth that comes from God,

We all shall then be truly free.

I was sure the thing I would miss the most (besides all the sleep) was the music from second service. Second service was for the young, hip kids (and kids at heart) who liked drums and a good bass line. We sang songs that you stood for, clapped hands for, raised hands for and sometimes, even cried over. This was the service that gave you permission to talk to God in a language void of words like "bulwark" and "fortress."

Faith of our fathers, we will love

Both friend and foe in all our strife;

And preach Thee, too, as love knows how

By kindly words and virtuous life.

 So when I found myself crying over the hymn, Faith of our Fathers, it surprised me. Not a bad thing or a wrong thing, just a surprising thing. I started singing this hymn and I got through the first verse just fine. The problem came when I tried to sing the verse.

 Faith of our fathers, holy faith!

We will be true to thee till death.

The words stopped in my throat. In spite of dungeon, fire and sword. The children in the Middle East who were currently experiencing the "sword" part of that verse jarred me out of my easy Sunday morning routine. I started praying.

Lord how is this happening? How do things like this pass your desk? What do these children know about sacrifice? I know you are in control of all things and allow things to happen for reasons I will never understand, but how is this happening? 

The faces of children I knew in my church who had recently professed faith came to mind. I couldn't help it. This is where I lost it. I was standing there in the middle of the church, hymnal hugged to my chest, weeping over the faith of children everywhere. I wept for their families. I wept for the sacrifice. I wept at the loss. I trusted God to turn my tears into prayers and encouragements for the families mourning the loss of their children. I surely could not do it justice.

How do you cope when Faith of our Fathers leads to the beheading of children?
I wanted to be angry at God. I wanted to rail at Him for allowing … what? People to choose faith above life? To test them on it?
This is something I can do every day. I live in a country that allows me to choose my faith and worship freely. I forget that other countries and other Christians around the world do not have that luxury.

If some of this feels disjointed, it is because I don't have answers to these questions. I don't have political statements or solutions.
I just know that my heart is breaking for the children and the families that are literally choosing to be true to Christ until death.

Rainy days

Is anyone else getting a little tired of the rain hitting PA these days? Just me?
I love the rain, I do. Any kind of rain makes me think of London rain. A traditional London rain is a consistent mist through out the day, but of course it does deluge on occasion. Like that day I spent running around the city, without rain boots, and my jeans got soaked up to my thighs? That was a pretty good day, though.
I had to brave all the rain yesterday. As much as I hated it, I had to. Why, you ask? (Drum roll, please....) Because of the interview I had! Woot! That's right! This girl had her first (ok, well second this summer, but this one I wanted!) interview for a real job! A full time job in an academic library!! (And, as a bonus, they offer graduate classes. Which means if I get this job, and if I have it for 6+months, I can start grad school for almost nothing! I think. Still working on details for that one.)
Of course to have this interview, I did have to drive an hour through pouring rain just to get there. And I had to take the longest detour ever just to get home because of flooding and downed trees on the road. And yes, I had to ShopVac the basement when I got home 2.5hrs after the interview.
How much has my life been like yesterday this past summer? My life has seen so many detours, closed roads and road blocks the past few months. Yesterday, I had my dad's GPS so thankfully I could get home with some certainty that I wasn't going to get lost. In life, I don't feel like I have that. I wish I could hear God's voice saying, "In three weeks, take the interview offered to you" or "Pass up the next three jobs in faith that the fourth one will be the one I have for you." My pastor once preached a sermon about how God, unlike our GPS units, doesn't tell up "Recalculating" because He isn't thrown by our mistakes or the troubles that come up in our life. He doesn't have to give up directions for a detour. I know all of that, but sometimes I would love to hear that audible voice giving directions. I know prayer goes a long way in this, I know. But still, there are days when I wish I could hear him say, "Laura, this is the one. This is it."

But you know what? Yesterday was a pretty good day. Rain and all, you ask?
Yes. Rain and all.

Prayers you didn't know you prayed

It is a new morning ritual of mine to grab my iPod before I even get out of bed and check email, Facebook, Twitter and my Google Reader. It helps me get all that "stuff" out of the way before I am actually awake enough to function for real. This sometimes results in me falling back to sleep waiting for a page to load but, oh well!
To my shock/joy/excitement about a hundred thousand other joyous emotions, I ran across this post by a woman I previously only knew through the blogosphere as "Annie." I am following her trek to Scotland and the things she is learning about faith and herself in the process. What really grabbed me was the pictures at the end of the post. Did they look familiar to you, if you hopped over there? Well, they should! If you didn't, this is what the pictures were of: Remember this church I found while I was in Scotland? I fell in love with it, flaws, abuse, weeds and all. I find it hard to put it succinctly into words, or even into words at all, the reason why this church stood out to me the way it did. Whatever the words, I almost hoped that it would stay like this, as a beautiful reminder of some great Truth about God's love never ending no matter how messed up we get.
But Annie's post changed all of that for me.
There is a church (Crossroads Church Edinburgh) that desperately wants to meet in a church. Not just any church. This church. They went out one day and cleaned the weeds from the front of the church in faith that God hears and will answer their prayers concerning this building.
And I wonder...did God allow me to find this church, fall in love with this church, so that in two (almost three) odd years later, I could pray specifically for Crossroads Church to have this beautiful place? So I could call up a well-loved memory, put myself on that sidewalk, and pray with them for the joy and purpose of the Kingdom work that will be done there?
I couldn't have known all of that on that weekend I fell in love with Scotland. No way. I had no way of knowing how to pray for Crossroads Church. But God placed in my heart a love for that particular plot of land, that particular building, those particular people that would eventually worship there.

Join me in praying for and with Crossroads Church concerning their dreams of meeting one day in this building. I think I started praying years ago for them, but it is so nice to be able to put a name with the church!

I have to ask: when in your life has God answered prayers you didn't know you had prayed?

(Check out the rest of Annie's blog here.)