tall dudes

I'm reading Hebrews 3 with my college girls, which means I'm all about that Moses. So I'm also digging through Exodus and Numbers. And I came to Numbers 13-14. (Recap: The Israelites send their spies into Canaan, some of the spies are a little wimpy so they come back like, "Those are some bad dudes up in there, we can't take 'em," and the Israelites FREAK OUT; God wants to smite 'em, Moses saves 'em (again), the end.)

It's really quite stunning.

Here are these folks who've been delivered from the hand of Pharoah. They've seen signs and wonders galore. I mean, like, THE PASSOVER, hello. The Red Sea parted for them, and then swallowed their enemies. They done got that bread. They were swimming in quail, y'all.

But one scary report. That's all it took.

They are right on the brink of the promised land. The spies came back with handfuls of delicious food, evidence that this is in fact the place of superior milk AND honey. It's over. They did it. In fact, when the Lord sends them in, he says "Hey! Walk up into this land I'm giving you!"

But they get one look at some tall dudes whose fortress-building game is strong, and they are OUT. They don't just doubt. They're not just a little nervous. They're effing weeping. They're talking s*** about Moses and Aaron.

They are standing in front of the door on the other side of which is Disney World, talking about, "We should have just died in Egypt, or even in the wilderness. That would have been better than this. Wait, maybe we can go back -- Hey! Y'all wanna go back to Egypt? Let's go back to Egypt, you guys. Slavery is better than fear."

Oooh though. Slavery. Is. Better. Than. Fear.

I think that's me. I think I live that way. I think God is giving me things, things I have prayed and begged for, things for which I have wandered around in the wilderness. But then I see a tall dude, and I'm out. I see a challenge. I see a contradiction. I see hard work. I see a hater. And I'm out.

That's all it takes to forget the promises of God. One scary report.

What do Caleb and Joshua tell the people though? Essentially?

God is with us.

God is with me.

200 miracles.

"For his gifts, and his call, are irrevocable." 

That's the answer he gave me.

Standing in worship last weekend, so pissed with God. Quietly rioting against the very idea of worship. Asking questions like, "Are you real?" and "Why aren't you saying anything?!" and "Why are you letting this happen?" and "Did all of this -- my salvation, my story -- mean anything really?" and "Are you still the God I put my trust in so long ago?" 

"For his gifts, and his call, are irrevocable." 

I don't remember where that's from (Romans? Hebrews?), and I don't remember when I first heard it or claimed it for myself. But it was a powerful verse for me in my early days at James River, when I was making the journey from the faith I had, to the more powerful one I found there. 

So when I heard it again last weekend, I recognized it. Like a familiar voice, calling out from the path ahead of me. 

I was asking God if he was still the same God, but I think what I was really wanting to know is if I am still the same. Am I too far out of his grace? Too distant from his love? Too skeptical for his church? Too broken for his mercy? 

But his gifts, and his call -- they're irrevocable. I'm not too anything. 

I pressed in, asking him to do just one miracle, show me just one sign that he's still with me, that it's all going to be okay. I heard his voice again, this time it said, "I've done you two hundred miracles in this very room, and you're asking me can I do just one?" 

Of course. 

Lord, I believe, but help me to believe. 

everybody, nobody, and anything.

Everybody's welcome. Nobody's perfect. Anything is possible. 

That's the motto of the church my Dad attends in northern WI. Jon and I were up there last Sunday, and though I've heard the words before, this time they really hit me. 

Everybody's welcome. Nobody's perfect. Anything is possible. Do I live that way? 

I don't think so. Honestly, in my home and my heart, nobody's welcome. Except for dogs. I love dogs. 

Certainly, I don't live with the permeating grace of a person who understands the imperfection of humanity, and herself. 

Though I would claim to believe in God's great and limitless power -- I don't think I live as though it's true, you know? Not for myself, not for others. 

The sermon last Sunday was given by a friend of my Dad's -- a former Lutheran pastor who had an affair that lead to the loss of his job, his standing with the Lutherans, his family of course, etc. So when he gave this sermon about getting lost along life's ways, about how getting lost can be a short detour, or a season of overwhelming sinfulness, I was riveted. The humility, and the courage that it takes to stand up in front of a group of people (Christians no less!) and wonder aloud at what would have happened had you followed God where instead you chose to sin, to talk so openly about the dissolution of your marriage, the tender and painful moments of separation... even with the eventual triumph, his sharing was a mind-blowing act of self-sacrifice and leadership

He said this thing about how there can be no happiness without holiness. So simple, so..duh. And yet. I absolutely try to find happiness without much of a thought to holiness. Not that I'm like smoking crack or separating babies from their Moms or anything. But I'm also not opening my home and my wallet to folks who need it. I'm not standing up for the weak and disenfranchised. I'm not volunteering my time (much), or digging deep into God's love to give it out. I live mostly for me. 

So...no happiness without holiness. And what is it to be holy? I think it is many things, but certainly a great place to start is this: Everybody's welcome. Nobody's perfect. Anything is possible.