The Gospel of Whitney

I was cheering on contestants of The Voice when a small ticker began to run across the screen. Tickers rarely bear good news. I held my breath and read:

Whitney Houston ... confirmed dead ... 48 years old ... Beverly Hills hotel ... cause of death unknown.

The tension twisted in my chest. 

Whitney Houston was the Jersey Girl from New Hope who sang with a church-infused power and grace that captivated me from the time I was 9 years old. She was black and unequivocally beautiful, and I wanted to look and sound like her. In a musical landscape of forbidden music (everything from Madonna to Prince), she was a safe place with parental approval (they must not have listened closely to Saving All My Love for You).

Whitney Houston was also the addict who destroyed the voice that made her famous. The princess who chose the bad boy. She had everything we wanted--fame, money, good looks, talent--and she frittered it away while we tutted and criticized and dreamed of how we would do better if we had what she had.

Whitney Houston’s memorial highlighted hope within the tension. Kevin Costner revealed his Baptist roots, and said that Whitney is now singing before God, no longer wondering or worrying whether she is good enough. Tyler Perry spoke of a grace that carried her; because nothing could separate her from the love of God, not even when she was in the stratosphere of a drug high. 

Whitney Houston was a famous example of the best and worst in us all. The person we rooted for even as we ridiculed. In her last public performance, she sang Jesus Loves Me, arguably high. She fought hard with her demons, and tried to overcome them by sheer will. She tried to get clean. She tried.

And don’t we try? Singing and slurring the gospel message, trying to wipe our faces clean of sweaty, rank worry and fear so we appear fine? Singing loud to everyone with ears that Jesus loves us, hoping the message sinks in to our questioning souls? (Because if Jesus loves us, really, then why didn’t He save me from ______?) Muting the hurt that led us to the deep and abiding desire to turn down the volume of our private pain through, what? Drinking? Drugs? Sex? Legalism? Work? Silence? Avoidance? Porn? Shopping? Hoarding? Binging? Purging? Control? Denial?

Or for me in this case, sharp criticism. I thought to myself, for Kevin Costner and Tyler Perry to practically sing, Yes, Jesus loves Whitney at her memorial service is typical; treating the dead like they lived as saints (how many times has Whitney Houston been referred to as an angel?). All is absolved, all is forgiven. Hollywood types don’t tend to know their theology. I believe the words of Acts 4:12 to be true.

Then, this still, small thought arose: What if the song that Whitney Houston, Tyler Perry and Kevin Costner are singing to us right now is also true? 

Well, that would be scandalous.

Like a baby boy born to a woman who was pregnant before she got married. 

Or a man who let a woman of ill repute wash his feet with her tears and costly perfume. 

Scandalous...

Like a man who allowed an unclean woman touch his garment for healing, and then called her “daughter.”

Like a rabbi who let women sit at his feet to learn. 

Or like a man who defended an adulterous woman in front of a rabid and condemning crowd. 

Scandalous, indeed, to surround these women with a song of gospel love. 

Jesus’ love is scandalous. His grace is unfathomable. Whitney Houston’s tragic and untimely death pains my soul because she didn’t get to scrub clean her image and restore her voice. She was seemingly overcome by her demons. Is the dirt in her life evidence that she was not saved? 

The Bible chronicles those whose lives and stories didn’t end as well as they began (think: Lot, Samson, Miriam, Moses, David, Solomon, Saul, the Prodigal Son and the thief on the cross dying next to Jesus). As the thief bore the condemnation for his crimes in his body, Jesus promised him paradise. The thief exercised faith; Jesus honored it with His scandalous love. This is John 3:16: You believe in Me? You won’t perish. You will live forever. I would imagine that those looking on saw two dirty, bloodied criminals meeting their end. They couldn’t hear the song playing in the heavenlies: Yes, Jesus loves me.

I don’t wish to glorify ending badly--I can just hear Paul’s words in Romans 6:1-2 concerning sin and grace; should we purposefully continue in sin so that God’s grace may abound? Absolutely not!

I give glory to the scandalous love of God, for me and you. Do you believe that Jesus loves you? Then here is the ticker scrolling on the screen of your life:

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor heavenly rulers, nor things that are present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Learning a New Language

I will bless the LORD at all times;
   his praise shall continually be in my mouth. Psalm 34:1

I’ve been reading Ann Voskamp’s life-changing One Thousand Gifts, and have become increasingly aware that my language is one of spoiled grumbling, thanklessness for the daily provision, rather than gratitude for the GIFTS that have been so generously bestowed. I am an Israelite, looking at the manna and sighing…again…and not recognizing it for the miracle it is. 

So I’m begging for grace to change my grumbling into gratitude, thankful for the opportunity to learn a new language. Voskamp compares learning new habits to driving out old nails using new ones. HARD work, tedious, but SO worth it.  A few thoughts of mine about learning a new language:

One has to continually practice the new language. Since I graduated from high school I’ve had at least 2 semesters of Spanish, Russian, and biblical Greek.  And I can’t remember anything beyond the rudimentary basics of each, because I don’t ever use any of these languages, except maybe “Gracias” at a Tex-Mex restaurant. I have committed myself to learning Psalm 34, and am shocked at how difficult it is to remember I will bless the Lord at all times, His praise shall continually be in my mouth. I’ve started muttering it over and over and over…and I’ve put printed copies in the bathroom, in the laundry room, and in our house on wheels (the car). I am determined to possess a mouth, a heart, of gratitude. I’ve also started looking for the blessings in the everyday – what Voskamp calls “One Thousand Gifts.” Last week that included my 6-year-old’s utter delight at hundreds of noisy starlings making a pit stop in our neighborhood, and a diapered baby plunging himself with abandon into the bathtub with his sister. I have to MAKE myself LOOK for the miracle in the everyday, and not just let the everyday wear me out.

It’s easiest to learn a new language when one is immersed in the culture, in the environment of the new language (ie, move to Paris, and you’ll learn French more easily than if you stay in Texas). I need to be surrounded by examples of those who live with grateful hearts. I need to seek out those who already have this practice instilled, in scripture, in life, in music, in books. And I need to imitate them, learn their secrets. I need to make a habit of sharing my new language with others – I must speak it aloud, in public, not just to myself in the laundry room.

One has to recognize the old language when it surfaces. It’s far too easy to slip back into old habits, old familiar patterns. I have to recognize warning signs that my grumbling-talk is surfacing: my complete and utter inability to say I Was Wrong, Please Forgive Me when I’ve done something that shouts loudly for it, and the inability to voice my thankfulness to Very Important Very Close People in my life, like my husband, for the GOOD GIFTS they give me. I’ve heard stories about people who’ve adopted a new language dreaming in the language that they grew up with. Typically they knew that they’d made their adopted language their own when they dreamed in it. I’m praying that I can get to the point where I dream not in grumbling, fear, or worry, but in gratitude.

Father, Luke 6:45 shows that our words echo the cry of our heart. I’m praying that my new language will reflect a heart that daily overflows with gratitude for the gifts You’ve so generously given. Thank you.

 I finished this a few days ago – yesterday Voskamp had a beautiful post on her blog about the necessity of not just gratitude, but eucharisto, gratitude for even “that which is hard.” You really should go read that now…

What Would Jesus Eat?

[This is a blog post I wrote that originally appeared in Manna Express Online, a magazine written by the Christian diaspora.]

The freshness of the New Year is a reminder that God lavishes us with life, provision, and new mercies. At the time of the Exodus, Yahweh told the people of Israel to pick up just enough manna each day for their households, six days a week. He gave enough for every day--no need to worry, no need to hoard, no need to gorge.

Fast-forward to now: January is a time of dieting in America, with 500-calorie-a-day menus, hot pepper and water detoxes, and 40-day cleanses. Many of these regimens are even referred to as “fasts.” I don’t personally advocate these methods, but I do not believe they are sinful. Nor do I believe they are fasts.

Here's what I have learned about fasting:

1. It's not essential to the Christian life. There are commands that Jesus gave: making disciples, baptizing, teaching (Matthew 28:19), remembering His death through communion (Luke 22:19-20), loving God and loving one another (Matt 22:37-40). These are essential to walking with God.

Fasting is not mandatory, but it is a beautiful act of worship and a demonstration of dependence on God. In the Old Testament, people fasted for a time as a way to devote themselves to God. In the New Testament, fasting, along with prayer, was a weapon wielded to cast out demons (Matthew 17:14-21 and Mark 9:17-29). It was also mentioned in terms of short-term sexual abstinence (1 Corinthians 7:5-6), so that a couple could (for a time) dedicate themselves to prayer.

2. Which leads me to my next point: Fasting is not just about not eating food. It can be abstaining from sex or from a certain food or activity for a finite amount of time.

3. Fasting is private. If you brag about it to gain the praise or pity of other people, it’s pointless. You might as well go eat that burger. Matthew 6:16-18 says: "When you fast, do not look sullen like the hypocrites, for they make their faces unattractive so that people will see them fasting. I tell you the truth, they have their reward. When you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others when you are fasting, but only to your Father who is in secret. And your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you."

4. Fasting is associated with prayer. The desire for whatever we’re abstaining from drives us to talk to God. The Holy Spirit can work through this process. It is important to be familiar with the Word of God--the Bible--because the enemy likes to take advantage of our hunger to set us on a path of destruction. Luke 4:1-13 testifies to that.

5. Fasting is not dieting. Fasting is a mode of worship; dieting is a mode of weight reduction.

Would Jesus be on a diet? A quick look at the Bible reveals that since the Garden of Eden, God has loved for people to enjoy the taste and look of food (Genesis 2:9). Psalm 34:8 enthusiastically describes the worship and acknowledgment of God by saying, “Taste and see that the Lord is good!” When Solomon wanted to describe the beauty and sumptuousness of love-making, he chose dates and raisins, milk and wine as some of his metaphors.

God also incorporates food into our worship and remembrance of His rescuing love for us. Before the Exodus, the people of Israel experienced their first Passover, with hyssop, roasted lamb, and unleavened bread--a sensory metaphor of the One who would come and die for their deliverance. Yahweh chose to symbolize atonement for sin through the sacrifice of choice animals; they were a sweet savor to Him. When Jesus did come, He introduced the disciples to communion, symbolizing the way His body would be broken for us, and explicitly asked us to worship, with food, to remember him.

One of the ways that Jesus proved to his disciples that He had resurrected and wasn’t just a ghost was by grilling fish on the beach and eating with his friends, just like old times.

Jesus intends to celebrate our reunion with Him by throwing a huge party, and there will be wine. Jesus, in fact, will abstain from the pleasure of wine until we’re all together (Matthew 26:29, Mark 14:25, Luke 2).

From cover to cover of the Bible, the Lord has united our bodies and souls when it comes to worshiping Him and enjoying what He created. How we eat and care for our bodies is a reflection of our reverence for God. Romans 12:1 says, “Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.” (NIV)

I’m challenged to make my eating habits a part of my “true and proper worship.” Mind you, dietary restrictions do not bring us closer to God in and of themselves (check Paul’s take on this in 1 Corinthians 8:8 and Jesus’ words to the Pharisees in Mark 7:18-20). If it did, our righteousness would be weighed by scales, calipers, and mirrors. Thanks be to God that our work, or work-outs, don’t earn us salvation; only the sacrifice of Jesus can cover us. Only the work of the Holy Spirit and obedience to God’s Word can increase our intimacy with God.

I can, however, show Him that I appreciate what He gave me as a response to His mercy and kindness by putting food in its proper place. It is a sign of God’s provision, so it is to be enjoyed. As with any good gift of God, it is to be utilized but not abused, so it should be consumed in moderation. It is not God, nor is it capable of comforting or covering, so it should not be treated as an idol.

I believe that God’s ideal for us is to enjoy rather than abuse our food and our bodies. He intends for us to live eternally with both. If a diet helps us to retain proper stewardship of the body, it is good! If food restriction is a desperate attempt at gaining control or approval, it is not good.

God has prepared a veritable table before us. Food is not our enemy. Let’s put our daily bread back in its place--a creation to be harnessed and enjoyed.

water for mama

This year one of my resolutions is to get a handle on what part I play in “justice” in terms of the kingdom. I have to do this, because right now, when I hear or see issues that need a big dose of kingdom justice, I just shut down. Get overwhelmed. Feel completely bewildered. “What in the world can I do? I’m just one…”  But I’m really not just one, am I? I’m part of a huge group of people who love Jesus, who want to see justice done in His name. Who want to see LOVE fleshed out. 

Now there are SO many issues that need addressing…but I’m just going to tell you one that hits close to home for me. In magazine recently I saw a picture of a mama holding a baby that looked like a skeleton, and I know that she loves her sweet baby like I love mine… and I can’t even begin to imagine her pain. Baby’s pain. And then when I think about the fact that 4000 littles die each day because they don’t have clean water, it just makes me achy.  

They need water. Every summer, I dump perfectly drinkable water on my grass to keep it green. She has to walk how many miles just for SKETCHY water. I want to do something to help her get water, to help her keep her baby healthy.

I know mother’s day is fraught with difficulty for a lot of us. It’s supposed to be about honoring our moms, but instead it’s become this big day that reminds anyone who’d like to be a mom that they just aren’t, and I want to try to remedy that. What if we try to help the mama who needs water for her baby? What if I (and maybe you) write my mama a letter, and tell her what I appreciate about her, and what part she’s played in who I am now (which, honestly, is all she wants to hear, that she didn’t completely screw me up – that’s better than flowers that will die in a few days any day), and take that money that I would've spent on flowers or more stuff, and use it to help that mama get water? And maybe, if we’re hurting on mother’s day, we get together with some like-minded folks, and eat some good food that we’ve all prepared, and collect some money for these mamas? It’s just an idea. But I can’t get it out of my head, so it’s here, germinating.

That’s just one idea. I want to hear from you as I struggle with this issue: how do you get a handle on justice, on love, in the name of Jesus, in the midst of a society that just says GET MORE STUFF?

Love an Enemy? Yeah, right?

by Julie Cramer

Her ex-husband called me, irate—over a birthday party.

For the past year my friend has been separated from her husband. In that year of friendship, he has accused us of being lovers; of her dating someone from our running group (attractive B.O. guys, yum); threatened to take their son and not tell her where he was going; and screamed so loudly and spoke with so much threat that I got pulled over by a cop for not turning the car we were in at a green light (the abusive tirade I overheard had me unfocused and rattling).

Today her soon-to-be-ex demanded to know if she was actually taking her son to a sleepover birthday party, or … what?! He wanted details. Emails. To go to the home. For sure, a father should know where, when, and with whom his child will be partying down on Fritos and cake icing. However, he also accused my friend of something other than, something sinister, something adulterous.

Unfortunately, we weren’t surprised. He wasn’t in control, and it made him as frenetic as a sexless bull.

Then, he called my work phone, irate, demanding a return call (since the party was for my nephew, I could confirm its validity). I drove home, asking God to calm my my nerves. I asked him for wisdom, for calmness, for self-control … for help not to cuss the #$%& out.

Here’s the hardest maxim of Christ: Love your enemy.

Over this past year, whenever I've encountered my friend's ex or prayed for their situation, I have felt God impress two scripture verses on me. I wrote them down, took a deep breath, and I called her ex back.

To my surprise, he gave me enough space that I shared these verses with him (thank you Holy Spirit!): Matthew 5:37 and Proverbs 22:24. The verse in Matthew is one a trusted friend of mine once gave to me: “Simply let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes,’ and
your ‘no,’ ‘no.’” I was inconsistent. People felt they could not rely on me. I devalued people by not valuing their time. As a hairy-warted people-pleaser, I still struggle with this. I canceled plans just last night within five minutes of having said, “yes.” I have much room to grow.

The proverb takes the cake of all birthday cakes: “Do not make friends with a hot-tempered man, do not associate with one easily angered.” My friend's ex intimidates in order to regain control. He belittles and degrades. He attacks you at the core of your dignity. And he’s a follower of Christ.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember Jesus doing that. I remember him getting pretty darn specific about people’s sin and hypocrisy, but I don’t recall him shredding someone’s imago dei. In fact, his truth-in-love tack—though painful—is strategic. He pulls back the bow of truth to lob his words at our hearts, to pierce us with conviction, to promote pain that leads to healing.

When I spoke to my friend’s ex, he persisted in telling me that I didn’t know the full picture, that I didn’t know what she was really like, what he was really like. Really? Don’t his actions speak loudly? I know when I lash out I am accountable for the lashings I inflict. I really am like that. Perhaps not always, but I deserve some hits to the heart. Yet he was unrelenting in “giving me some information.” He kept saying his behavior was in reaction to what she had done.

Do you hear that? The blame-shifting. “I did that because you ….” “It’s not really my fault because if you’d only heard what she’d said, if you only knew how much she’s hurt me throughout the years.”

I get it. I’ve been bruised. I’ve been mistreated. But I’ve also been the one—as one of my friends recently said—kicking shins and running for cover. I’ve sulked in the corner and nursed my crooked heart harder.

Birthdays are about celebrating a person whom God has created in his image. In this case, it was a little boy who, as a toddler, had cheeks like potato rolls warmed in butter. He no longer has those cheeks, but those blue-sky eyes and easy laugh. Would I use my "inappropriate" words if someone attacked him? You bet your @#$# I would and anything else I could get my hands on.

I find it difficult to love my enemy because in every case truth-in-love may take different forms. Do you remain silent? Do you confront? Do you sever ties? Depending on the situation, all options may be the most loving choice. Jesus knew this. That’s why it’s all in there: love your neighbor as yourself; don’t make friends with an easily angered man; don’t associate with fools; flee from evil; stand up for the oppressed.

All I know is that tonight God, through his Spirit, gave me wisdom and grace to see through an abuser to his dignity. He gave me guidance on how to approach him. He curbed my anger when I wanted to do to him the very thing he did to my friend—kill the spirit, tear down, shame and deface. I wanted him to hurt. To feel beneath me.

That's ugly, isn't it? Have you ever felt that way? Thankfully, I think it's normal. The Psalms are chock-full of revenge language. Injustic is injustice. Anger has a purpose. In this case, God helped bring my feelings to light and helped me to confess them to him before I confronted the ex-husband. Otherwise, truth-in-love without first confession becomes truth-in-self-centeredness.

All that to say what? Unfortunately, I don't think this "one" has a tidy ending. What I can offer is that whether we harm each other violently or subtlely, it may be best to ask God to reveal ourselves to us before we even try to open our mouths. Let’s admit. Let’s pray. Then let’s be brave in our relationships so that God's Word can sink its healing arrows into our hearts.

And when the enemy remains an enemy? When a loved one continues to ignore or deny his or her part in the hurt? All I can offer is what God is giving to me in this moment—post conversation with the irate ex and hurtling emotionally down the path of consuming the entire supply of chocolate cake donuts at the nearest Dunkin’s: I did what I could. I confessed. I asked. I followed through in the best way I knew how. And I tried to honor the high cost of God's grace.

Now, the rest is up to the party pooper.

Christmas Mourning

Grandma smelled like comfort and cold cream when she hugged me. I can’t open a bottle of Pond’s in public because one whiff reminds me that she’s not here anymore. The slip-slip of her feet on linoleum in the morning, the perfectly crustless PB&J sandwiches that she made me, her church hats and bright suits. Gone.

The cadence of her voice when she scolded me, or, ninja-like under the strict eye of my mother, scored me some peppermints. Gone. Her faithful and tone-deaf hymn-singing morning and evening. She unwittingly taught me the words of great songs of the faith, even if I didn’t learn the melodies until later.

Cocoa powder, stirred in frothy, hot milk, but without the sugar. The shock of rich bittersweetness that goes down warm, but thick. Christmas, with its beauty, worship, and goodness, can still be difficult to digest because of notes of bereavement, loneliness, and disappointment.

My grandmother won’t be sneaking peppermints to my son. My husband will never know how proud his dad would be of his strength of character, and tenderness with his own son. Some beautiful friends of mine will have to contend once again with traditions of mistletoe and New Year’s Eve kisses, sticking in the craw of their loneliness, implying that they are incomplete without the husband and the children.

These are punch-in-the-gut reminders that we live in the time between Advents. Times of “Thy kingdom come [right now, please!], Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” because the present circumstances of affliction that Paul mentions in 2 Corinthians 4 seem anything but light, or momentary, and heaven is far, far away.

We are incomplete. All of us. Christmas on this side of Jesus’ birth is a Grand Ellipsis, an uncomfortable and prolonged inhale, an ache for God to be once more with us, face to face.

Paul speaks in 2 Corinthians 4 in light of eternity, because the present was hard to bear. 2 Corinthians 4:7-8 make that clear. Christmas brings our hope into stark clarity; what do we believe about this boy child born of a virgin? What does our future hold beyond the thick bittersweetness?

Resurrection and return. 2 Corinthians 4:13-14 says: “But since we have the same spirit of faith as that shown in what has been written, “I believed; therefore I spoke,” we also believe, therefore we also speak. We do so because we know that the one who raised up Jesus will also raise us up with Jesus and will bring us with you into his presence.”

We will be raised and brought into the presence of Jesus. Again: We will be raised and brought into the presence of Jesus.

We believe, therefore we must speak: Yes, we are all incomplete, yes, we are on the side of things where the loss of loved ones and the death of dreams are all too common; yet, we have the words of life.

Christmas is an opportunity to be mindful that there are hurting, grieving people all around us, whom we have the privilege of comforting, validating, and encouraging (even as we perhaps, suffer the same affliction). We can rob trite traditions of their power with a word of truth, adorning the hurting with the light of hope, scattering darkness. Jesus himself invaded the earth in the midst of silence and darkness, after a Grand Ellipsis. He enters our darkness, too, a Great Light of hope, once wrapped in swaddling clothes, once wrapped in grave clothes, and coming again to wrap us in fresh, gleaming righteousness. We are not abandoned. He’s coming back.

There would not be resurrection without death. As I mourn the 14th anniversary of the loss of my grandmother this Christmas season, I believe the weight of the joy of our reunion in glory will render this present grief as momentary, light and, finally, gone.