war, peace, and art

Hunger and war. Both sufferings disturb me. I knew they often walk hand-in-hand, but until recently I didn't realize how closely related they are.

In my World Geography class, we are studying Africa. Her countries' imports, exports, and economic disparities. Africa... Uganda, especially... and her people have been heavy like a rock in the bottom of my heart for the last five years or so. The violence, the starving children, and the unspeakably terrible things the people endure and die from. If I could have one wish, it would be for their healing.

[Amazing photo by my good friend, Barbara Lapp.]

Until now, I hadn't done much study on the reasons the ugliness exists. The horn of Africa is definitely the most afflicted with starvation, but it wasn't always this way. Poor farming methods weigh in, too, but a huge reason for starvation is war. I didn't know this, but Somalia used to produce enough food for her people and have excess to export. Now, her people are among the world's most desperate for food.

"What happened?" my professor asked.

I wished I couldn't guess the answer, but I could. "War."

He nodded. "Every Somali owns a machine gun, but no one owns a plow."

Of all the possible remedies that crowd my head and make me wonder what my part to play in this orchestra, the throbbing beat of this verse is a recurring theme:

"And [God] will judge between many peoples

And render decisions for mighty, distant nations.

Then they will hammer their swords into plowshares

And their spears into pruning hooks;

Nation will not lift up sword against nation,

And never again will they train for war."

-Micah 4:3 NASB


If it grieves us, how much more anguish must it bring our Father to see His children kill each other as their children die of hunger? It's senseless. Senseless! Horrible and terrible. I don't have all the answers, but I know a renewal of thought is desperately needed. And more possible than we might see.

[source]

If I had to choose just one, this sculpture would be my favorite piece of art in the world. It gives me goosebumps and makes my heart thump.

What makes my heart beat even faster is this: God invites us to engage in this vast renewal. He gives us disturbance, a vision, and hands to mold small changes every day. Changes that replace violence with peace.

Maybe someday I'll be able to go to Uganda or Somalia. But today I am here. And so, today, I will work for peace. Here. Now.

A Prayer for Humility

Lord,

For my focus on myself,
Give me a clear vision of You.

Grant me deep, true love for others
Instead of using others to make myself feel loved.

As I give You my plans, abilities, and aspirations,
Refine them and direct my passions with Yours.

And when I begin to excuse my selfishness,
Be merciful and bring me to repentance

That I may cast away my sin with distaste
And live again in the radiant light of Your Presence.

Amen.

wishes and dreams

This is one of those weeks in which I walk around with my mouth in a comical twist, caught halfway between laughter and tears. I've always said that I could never be a foster mom; I was sure I couldn't survive the constant loving and letting go, especially when the letting go means sending them into an environment you wouldn't choose for them.

Pretty sure God looked ahead to what I'm doing now and chuckled quietly. Anyone who works in human services, especially in a residential setting, is subjected to high volumes of love and loss, pride in "their" kids' accomplishments, and sickening fear while watching them make really hurtful choices. Saying possibly permanent good-byes to (I'm guessing here) 90 teens in a year takes an emotional toll. Because of confidentiality laws, I am not allowed to contact my girls once they leave, not for three years or until they turn 18. They are allowed to contact me through the agency, which happens infrequently. When it does happen, sometimes it's at 3:00 AM and they are out on the street, partying, and you can hear the hunger for stability and love in their voices. And I wish they would still be here, where I could make sure they are safe from the person who is following them and freaking them out. I could share my crackers and cheese with them when they wake from bad dreams and send them back to bed with a hug and an extra blanket to keep them warm.

Not long ago, several of my girls watched a scary movie right before they went to bed. Bad idea. This has resulted in some severe insomnia and sleeping in the living room before. These girls have lived through shootings and seen some pretty crazy spiritual activity; I have no idea why they watch things that will trigger their own worst fears. Especially before they go to bed. But I did find out later that, while they were watching the movie, M. said, "Maybe we shouldn't watch this at night." And J. replied, "It's OK. Becky works tonight. She can come in here and rebuke the devil." When K. told me, I laughed (I could just HEAR her say, "and reBUKE da DEBbil"), felt extremely honored, and remembered the time I prayed with two of them and invited the Presence of God into their fear and into their room, asking Him to help them feel safe enough to sleep. Immediately, they had.

This time, three of them lay on their mattresses just inside their doorways so they could see each other and talk quietly. With their lights on. Until 4 AM. Because it was a weekend, the time thing was no biggie to me. I asked them if they wanted me to pray with them, and J. said, "When we was all trying to go to bed, I said a prayer and we all said 'amen'. So I think we're good." Oh, mercy. They make me laugh so hard sometimes. Finally, all but J. fell asleep. She literally raised herself, has fought on the streets since she was 9, and is tougher than I will ever be, but she asked me to check her room every 5 minutes to make sure she was still alright. An hour later, she had fallen into a light sleep. When I stuck my head quietly through her open doorway, she bolted straight up in bed, her irises dwarfed by the whites of her eyes. She saw it was only me, and slumped with relief, panting.

"You poor girl!" was all I could say past the rushing of warmth that pressed on my heart. I sat on the edge of her bed, put one arm around her, and said, "God, J. is scared. Please help her to feel safe. Help her to feel how much You love her. Protect her. Thank You for her." The rigidity left her body, and she leaned against me. I held her tight and swallowed hard because she is not very affectionate and not at all demonstrative. The moment was sacred. She lay down, pulled her blanket up to her chin, and I tucked it in around her shoulders. "Sweet dreams," I whispered, then ran out to the staff desk and rummaged blindly for the Kleenex box through the tears of the blinding realization that this, in all probability, might be the first time she had ever been tucked in. I wished I could make up for the years of putting herself to bed, never getting what comes naturally to me because I received it; a little rough-housing while getting ready for bed, reading a story all snuggled in a rocking chair, saying prayers, then being tucked into bed with a goodnight kiss. Peace. Safety.

Five minutes later, she was breathing deeply. Fast asleep, with a little smile on her relaxed face. I probably could have turned the light off without her noticing, but I left it on because she had asked. I wished I could freeze that moment. Keep her safe. Keep HER. Forever.

I can't.

Within the past week, four of my girls were discharged. Three of them within 24 hours. All four are close enough to me to feel like family. One of them has been here for the length of my employment, over a year. That's rare. I tell them I am proud of them. They have changed so much, worked so hard to learn to control their behaviors so the judge will deem them stable enough for discharge. And they are. But only two of the four are returning to stable environments. One is going to another group home, to yet another group of people who won't even know her after another year has passed. One is 18, no longer in state custody, and ready to try to live on her own. I wonder who will be there for them when they are afraid. I know how easily they could end back up on the street, vulnerable to all manner of pain and harm. I know how easily they could be put in jail in a few years for following crowds that get them into fights and drugs. I will miss them.

I love them, but I have to let them go. Let them try their wings. Trust God to protect them and heal them when they crash into walls. When they fall.

Fly high, little birds.

And God will take care of me, too. He always does. I laugh. I cry. I love and let go. I will forever carry the imprints of their faces in my heart, but the process of releasing them to their own choices teaches me to love like the Father loves. Like the Father loves them. And me.

When I arrived at work this morning, a note was scribbled on the white board in the living room. From Dae Dae*, who left yesterday afternoon.

"Dae Dae* is going to miss everyone (meaning Jaye*, Nehna*, and Becky). Keep ya'll heads up high, lovely gurls! :) "

Fly high, dear little bird.

*Variant spellings and nicknames used to protect identities.

Green Pastures

The past few weeks have been intense, for lack of a better word. Loving broken people comes with a price sometimes. 

When she told me she was pregnant again, hope surged into my heart. Before, she only told me she had been pregnant after the question of whether to bring a little life into her own young, single one had been terminated. This time, she looked at baby clothes and we read baby name books. We cried and dreamed. I loved the little life inside her almost as much as I love her. I asked some of my closest friends to join me in praying for both her and her baby's lives... they both seemed fragile and a bit precarious. Instead of just praying, one newly-married friend and her husband offered to take the baby as their own, whether temporarily or permanently, whichever she wanted. I made sure she ate nutritious food, stroked her hair and held her when she dizzy and sick, and assured her she was not alone with this child. Every ounce of my hope, fear, and love I poured into begging prayer.

But still she chose.

And the baby is gone.

This grief is a twin valley. One for the little person I loved but will never hold; a life that will never be lived. Another for her. This baby seemed to be a chance at redemption, a tug toward taking responsibility for her actions. She seemed to miss the wonder and awe of nurturing the beginning of a whole little person inside herself. Instead of a growing love, she had a pressing question. It seems she's had to turn off a part of her soul, and I hardly recognize the shell of a girl she's become. 

When the ceiling of life falls in, nothing is sacred from the havoc, dust, and exposure. Every day, questions you never dreamed you'd ask fly up through the holes at God. 

But even in valleys, God opens His hands and provides green pastures. New friends, exercise and rain, a surprise visit from my dad, colorful lollipops to send to my sisters, and moments that renew hopes I had almost forgotten, moments that make me feel young and dauntless. 

Summer will come again, with its sunshine, rest, bare feet, and pure joy.

P.S. Anna, I found this picture on my phone and it made me resolve to visit you and your hammock sometime this summer. :) 

bound

out the window
the house across the street
went sliding past

a leaf
flaming yellow
fell up instead of down

everything's wrong
for a moment
i couldn't stop it

until my head
stopped spinning
and i was still sitting on the couch

a deep breath
focusing eyes
stopping thoughts

i wish that's all
it took for me
to put your world back to rights

the chasms behind your eyes
your voice gone husky
your smile you wish was real

that's what makes me never sleep
spend hours forbidding them to touch you
trying to buy you with my tears

and yet you go willingly
knowing your fate
drawn, in fascinated horror

how can i teach you
to love yourself
half as much as i do?

how can i turn to rubble
walls a hammer
passes through, not penetrating?

i tell you all the time
i wish i could save you
but i can't

you decide for yourself
i can't decide for you
my hands are bound

Prayer in the Garden

Lord,

As you have entrusted the earth to me,

So I entrust myself to you.

As I clear away sod to make room for flowers,

Uproot the crowding in my soul choking peaceful fruition.

Break up the clods of my adamant pride,

Add the rich compost of the wholeness you intend for the world,

And quench me with the showers of your continual love,

That I may be an oasis of beauty and peace...

A resting-spot for others,

As my gardens are to me.

Amen.

This is all...

... I can think right now:

"Oh My God", by Jars of Clay

Oh my God, look around this place

Your fingers reach around the bone

You set the break and set the tone

Flights of grace, and future falls

In present pain

All fools say, "Oh my God"

Oh my God, Why are we so afraid?

We make it worse when we don't bleed

There is no cure for our disease

Turn a phrase, and rise again

Or fake your death and only tell your closest friend

Oh my God.

Oh my God, can I complain?

You take away my firm belief and graft my soul upon your grief

Weddings, boats and alibis

All drift away, and a mother cries

Liars and fools; sons and failures

Thieves will always say

Lost and found; ailing wanderers

Healers always say

Whores and angels; men with problems

Leavers always say

Broken hearted; separated

Orphans always say

War creators; racial haters

Preachers always say

Distant fathers; fallen warriors

Givers always say

Pilgrim saints; lonely widows

Users always say

Fearful mothers; watchful doubters

Saviors always say

Sometimes I cannot forgive

And these days, mercy cuts so deep

If the world was how it should be, maybe I could get some sleep

While I lay, I dream we're better,

Scales were gone and faces light

When we wake, we hate our brother

We still move to hurt each other

Sometimes I can close my eyes,

And all the fear that keeps me silent falls below my heavy breathing,

What makes me so badly bent?

We all have a chance to murder

We all feel the need for wonder

We still want to be reminded that the pain is worth the thunder

Sometimes when I lose my grip, I wonder what to make of heaven

All the times I thought to reach up

All the times I had to give

Babies underneath their beds

Hospitals that cannot treat all the wounds that money causes,

All the comforts of cathedrals

All the cries of thirsty children - this is our inheritance

All the rage of watching mothers - this is our greatest offense

Oh my God

Oh my God

Oh my God

...but even songs that give voice to pain are proof of beauty, of redemption. Somehow, wordlessly, so is the sunrise in the east this morning.

National Day of Prayer

I'm caught between two straights as the National Day of prayer approaches. Ambivalence reigns as I feel a pull between pros and cons.

Pros:

• I AM thankful I can pray in public without being arrested. That freedom is amazing, one that so many of my brothers and sisters can hardly fathom.

• This country's people and leaders need prayer, and it's pretty cool to have a day dedicated toward asking God to bless them.

Cons:

• I cringe at the bigotry Christians can display when demanding religious rights. Hardly as "wise as serpents and harmless as doves". I sometimes wonder if the National Day of Prayer would be observed so religiously by Christians if they would release the notion that practicing publicly gains them a foot in the door of power on the political scene... or the notion that people are drawn to live as Jesus teaches by being told how wrong they are.
• I am uncomfortable with the impetus to pray for our country. We're concerned that the "Christian nation" is losing favor with God? 

 

           Was it ever a Christian nation? Can you imagine Jesus either in Washington's place or under his     command on his lauded surprise Christmas Day attack? Ironic, that a "Christian" nation was in the throes of a bloody birth on the day set aside to commemorate another bloody birth... one of a Man preaching peace and offering His life instead of the lives of others... healing instead of killing. How can followers of this Man of Sorrows ask God to bestow more wealth and power on a superpower when others created in His image are suffering... and some at the hands of this superpower? The focus makes me shift in my seat. While flipping through radio channels recently, I came upon a Christian talkshow. An unknown political guru was saying "Some Christians say, we're a superpower, whether we like it or not. I ask, why are we so apologetic? I'm GLAD we're a superpower! Who else do you want the superpower to be?" He went on to say that America is saving the world by spreading "Christian politics". I groaned aloud. Do we know ANYTHING about the Kingdom and how Jesus wants to save the world?

• If we are to be salt and light in our country, why are we more concerned with the posting of the Ten Commandments in public buildings and holding massive prayer rallies than we are about knowing and caring for our neighbors?

Brian Miller, pastor of Sunnyside Mennonite here in Lancaster offers these timely questions:

"What if Thursday, May 6 was National Day of…
1.  turning the other cheek to the evil person (Matthew 5:39)
2.  beating our weapons into farm implements (Isaiah 2:4)
3.  loving our enemies and praying for those that persecute us (Matthew 5:44)
4.  loving our neighbors as ourself (Mark 12:28-31)
5.  selling everything we have, giving to the poor and following Jesus (Mark 10:21)
6.  having no other gods before Yahweh (Exodus 20:3)
7.  “I hate all your show and pretense–the hypocrisy of your religious festivals and solemn assemblies…”   (Amos 5:21)
8.  doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with our God (Micah 6:8)
9.  treating the alien who resides among us as a citizen…of loving the alien as ourselves… (Leviticus 19:34)
10.  asking God to forgive our sins as we forgive those who sin against us (Luke 11:4)
11.  confessing our sins one to another that we  may be healed (James 5:16)
12.  trusting in God rather than military might (Psalm 20:7)
13.  sharing our daily bread
14.  reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:18)
15.  proclaiming the Gospel of peace (Ephesians 6:15)
What if…
we would gather around a cross rather than a flag
What if…
we would listen rather than speak
What if…
Jesus’ kingdom would come on earth as it is in heaven"

What if?

What if the church would remember that

"my first allegiance is not to a flag, a country, or a man
my first allegiance is not to democracy or blood
it's to a king & a kingdom"
-Derek Webb

A Franciscan Benediction

May God bless us with discomfort
at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships
so that we may live deep within your heart
May God bless us with anger
at injustice, oppression and exploitation of people
so that we may work for justice, freedom and peace
May God bless us with tears
to shed for those who suffer pain, rejection, hunger and war
so that we may reach out your hand to comfort them and
to turn their pain into joy
And may God bless us with enough foolishness
to believe that you can make a difference in the world
so that we can do what others claim cannot be done
to bring justice and kindness to all our children and the poor.

[a borrowed prayer]

Take my life, and let it be
consecrated, Lord, to thee;
take my moments and my days,
let them flow in ceaseless praise.

Take my hands, and let them move
at the impulse of thy love;
take my feet, and let them be
swift and beautiful for thee.

Take my voice, and let me sing
always, only, for my King;
take my lips, and let them be
filled with messages from thee.

Take my silver and my gold,
not a mite would I withhold;
take my intellect, and use
every power as thou shalt choose.

Take my will and make it thine;
it shall be no longer mine.
take my heart, it is thine own;
it shall be thy royal throne.

Take my love; my Lord, I pour
at thy feet its treasure store;
take my self, and I will be
ever, only, all for thee.

---

Words: Frances Ridley Havergal, 1874

eagle and dove

in God we trust but
under the eagle we live
full of peace and prosperity
we got too much to give
we say it's our right
sent to us from above
raise our hands to the eagle
and shoot down the dove

so we say
close your eyes and pray
thank God for the eagle
and all the food that he kill
eat and drink to your health
amass and hoard your wealth
don't look back in history
or around you, you don't wanna see

wounded but hopeful
the dove is alive
watch as she carries
green life that will thrive
in the barest of places
if only you'll plant it
she'll teach you how
if your heart understands it

eagle and dove
eagle and dove
eagle and dove
which one will you love?
eagle...
dove...
eagle...
dove...

View from Outside

"Come on! You can't be a Christian!" He laughed in disbelief.

"Well, I am." I laughed too, partly at the irony. I was in Wal-Mart, bundled to the teeth against the carnivorously frigid elements outside. It's not often I'm not identified immediately as a "church lady" because of my garb. I had just hit upon a CD of Handel... and another of some Bob Marley songs I'd been wanting... when the guy next to me noticed my selections and commented. We'd talked music for a little, then he had wondered who else I like. He had not recognized a few names, and I had said they were Christian artists.

"But you're not stuck-up enough. I can't believe it. All the Christians I know just go around thinking they're better than everyone else and voting Republican."

As his distaste for Christians poured out, so did a bit of his story. He grew up the delinquent, messed-up kid. Pain and subsequent anger colored his world in scenes of chronic estrangement from his class at school... and now from society. And the Christians in the scenes? They were the ones the furthest away from him, going about their lives with their own clean friends and programs.

I told him I was sorry. Really and truly sorry. I told him I'm not ok with how many people are hurt by religion, and that I'm trying to learn to live like Jesus did. "I guess you can just say I'm a Jesus freak."

He stood there. Quiet and looking at Wal-Mart's grungy tile floor. Then he laughed again. "That's the first time I ever heard someone call themselves that. Jesus freak. I mean, I've heard it used to mock people. But that's really cool. I'm cool with Jesus. If you're really trying to live like Him, I mean, that's really cool. I sometimes think that Jesus wouldn't be a Christian. But yeah, I don't want a part of this church stuff."

That was a mouthful.

Since our conversation, I've been thinking a lot. We church-goers cherish the notion that people will be drawn to Jesus by how we look or live our lives. Maybe. Looking like I march to the beat of a different drummer has given me opportunities to talk to people about Jesus. But maybe that's not enough. Maybe, just maybe, people need to feel respected as people. Maybe they need to be heard and loved. Maybe then they'll be drawn to Jesus.

Memo to Christians: we have some friends to make.

All I want for Christmas

"All My Tears"

When I go, don't cry for me
In my Father's arms I'll be
The wounds this world left on my soul
Will all be healed and I'll be whole.
Sun and moon will be replaced
With the light of Jesus' face
And I will not be ashamed
For my Savior knows my name.

It don't matter where you bury me,
I'll be home and I'll be free.
It don't matter where I lay,
All my tears be washed away.

Gold and silver blind the eye
Temporary riches lie
Come and eat from heaven's store,
Come and drink, and thirst no more

It don't matter where you bury me
I'll be home and I'll be free
It don't matter where I lay
All my tears be washed away

So, weep not for me my friends,
When my time below does end
For my life belongs to Him
Who will raise the dead again.

It don't matter where you bury me,
I'll be home and I'll be free.
It don't matter where I lay,
All my tears be washed away.

-Jars of Clay

As Christmas approaches, my heart finds a voice in the cries of  the Roman-enslaved Israelis so long ago... "We need a Saviour!" Jesus, isn't it about time You showed up again? The flickers of light in this world sometimes seem engulfed by the darkness that enslaves so many. How much longer can the planet bear so much suffering? All I want for Christmas is for You to come, to place Your scarred hands on our heads, and to heal us. All I want is to sit with You and be able to see You as I talk to You. Living here wears me out, body and soul.



But Jesus tells me, "I have come, and I am here. You are part of my Presence, so keep at it. The lights aren't as wavering as they seem from ground level. They are spreading, and soon I'll engulf them in my Light."



For the record... if I die before then, please spare the expense of an ornate casket. Send the money to Uganda. Better yet, take the money and go to Uganda yourself. Take light and healing with you.


Just sayin'.

it's Christmas time in the city

I love the way the city looks right now... whole streets lit up with twinkly lights. Even better than the beautiful, tasteful displays downtown, I love the lights on my street.

Colorful, unexpected, and hard to capture

especially with a camera that barely focuses held by shivering hands... but the option of taking advantage of those conditions always remains...

before I head into my warm abode...

As usual, this Christmas, I'm praying for the coming of the Prince of Peace to the hearts of the people I know and love... and to the hearts of the people I don't know and too often overlook.

If there is to be peace in the world,

There must be peace in the nations.

If there is to be peace in the nations,

There must be peace in the cities.

If there is to be peace in the cities,

There must be peace between neighbors.

If there is to be peace between neighbors,

There must be peace in the home.

If there is to be peace in the home,

There must be peace in the heart.

Lao Tzu

Sabrina

she's all of 12
and says she's 14
she's got a fight
scheduled
at school tomorrow

she says she's not scared
she says she doesn't care
if she gets hurt
or
is sent to juvy

she doesn't know that
her eyes betray
she's just a little girl
wanting
to find security

she wants to know she's heard
and know she's loved
and told she doesn't
need
to be so strong

i tell her she's too precious
to mess herself up like dat
i know she's
listening
despite ignoring me

she's desperately hungry
God, be WITH her!
keep her closer to
Your heart
than i can, tonight


I first met Sabrina at Lancaster Bible School when she was a frizzy-haired ten-year-old. Anti-social to the other kids, she didn't talk me until I had spent a while pushing her on the swing and looking at the animals. Animals. They were one thing to which she showed affection. She was fiercely protective of the puppy she held, pouncing in anger on the unsuspecting boy who ran with it to put it in its pen. Something about her engraved her on my heart.

A year later, I was sitting in a circle of girls at Kids' Club, teaching a lesson... or, more accurately, trying to harness a galloping conversation... on how much God loves each of us, unconditionally. Sabrina came up the stairs, plopped down as far from the circle as possible, and glared directly ahead, clutching her skinny self with her crossed arms. Wanting to welcome her to clubs, I invited her to join the circle. Her reaction suprised even the other girls. The most flambuoyant fell silent as she, like an erupting volcano, swore and violently relocated. As the talking proceeded, God answered my prayers and granted us His loving Presence. One by one, lights were lit in eyes around the circle as they... GOT it. Sabrina was curled in a fetal position, hugging a pillow. Later, someone found a baby bird that must have fallen from its nest. It was almost dead. I tried to make the bird feel as safe as possible while Sabrina vented her anger on me for not doing more. I so badly wanted to heal it. I so badly wanted to heal her.

Now, a year even later, I am back at clubs. Sabrina is there, thank God. I know there is a reason for both. She's grown into a girl who can work her world. She's so hard, and yet so fragile. Last week, she was planning her fight at school. She was desperate to prove to me that she had her life in control, that she wasn't scared. She knew I knew better. I told her I wasn't going to tell her how to live her life, but that I have friends who live like that... and I don't want to see the same things happen to her. I tried to help her think about the consequences, about how little it would prove, but, more than anything, I wanted her to hear that I cared about her and wanted her to know she was worth too much for that. She pretty much ignored anything she didn't want to hear, but I could tell she was listening. That was a week ago tonight. I don't see her until next week. Maybe I'll stop by her house tomorrow on my way home from work. For some reason, I can't stop thinking about her tonight.

Please, would you pray that Sabrina will know the love of God, the God who isn't intimidated by her anger, but cares for her hurting heart?

The Fellowship

Father, resuscitate us
Don't let the people watching say
We trusted foolishly in You
We grasp the horns of the altar
Fall to our knees, arms around the cross
Caught in the paradox
Jesus, don't leave us

You, them, me
A fellowship

We die our deaths
In the hope of

Resurrection

Conversation with the Shepherd

Shepherd,
I love being in Your arms
Or following close to Your side
Never outside the reach
Of your loving eyes
Guiding hands

Shepherd?
What about them?
They're in the canyon
Where the wild things live
My heart pounds in fear
They'll be destroyed

Shepherd,
I know Yours does, too
I can feel it
Why don't You drag them out
Instead of calling?
They aren't listening

Um, Shepherd?
It's because You love them
More than You fear Your own heartbreak?
Teach me how to love like that
Can You pick me up
So I can know we grieve together?

redemptive violence?

Finally, might we all be starting to listen to the people who would know best that violence begets violence: the soldiers? Remember Timothy McVeigh? Of course, we were outraged when he killed 168 people in the infamous Oklahoma City bombing. It was horrific. Just thinking about it makes me nauseated. But, we forget what he, in a twisted way, was trying to say. During the Gulf War, he became totally disillusioned with war and the idea that hurting people is a way of bringing healing to other people. It didn't make sense to him to kill Iraqis to right wrongs, so he killed Americans to show how senseless it is.

"We all thought we were doing this for your country and these
people are terrible, every single one of them. You get over there and you realize
two things, they're not so terrible and how is this helping my country?"

If Timothy McVeigh wasn't a big enough indication that killing people who kill people to show people that killing people is wrong doesn't work, take a listen to Kenneth Eastridge. He is frighteningly honest about what today's war actually looks like. It's not the noble and dignified heroism we are told it is.

"The Army pounds it into your head until it is instinct: Kill
everybody, kill everybody. And you do. Then they just think you can just come
home and turn it off."

Read Eastridge's tragic story and heart-rending testimony and see if you still feel the violence in Iraq is bringing peace to our Iraqi bothers and sisters... or to our brothers and sisters who are on their "tour of duty", as we neatly dub it. I pray for my friend who has been deployed to Iraq, and for the people he will kill.

God, this insanity has to stop. Why do You make yourself vulnerable enough to let us make our own choices, to follow the god of our choosing? Sometimes I wish You'd love us a little less and just stop us. We hurt the people You love, which shreds Your heart as well as their bodies. We hurt Your Name by claiming Your blessing on this mess. Move our hearts to Love and a rejection of hatred. Bring Your Kingdom to our hearts and, through us, to the world You created.

Sorry to sound like a broken record, folks. I know I talk about this a lot. I just stumbled across Eastridge's news article tonight and was disturbed afresh, especially when I've been reminded a lot recently that the church (in some cases) is a huge supporter of "ousting evil" in Iraq. I had to vent.

soul static

Show me, Father, who You are. So many conflicting voices, asserting they know You and demanding that others know You the way they do. When will we give others the liberty You give them... the liberty to make mistakes, the liberty to be fallible? Why do we set ourselves up above You? How can we preach wrath and healing in the same breath? Lord, we get it so wrong. Why do You keep using us to bring Your message? Help us to turn to You in humility, to stop demanding we be Your slaves when You want friends... and, lost in Your love, find Your voice coming out of our lives and mouths.

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Lord Jesus, we want to know you

In our searchings, guide us

We are in desperate need of You

You are the Shepherd, we the sheep

Give us ears to hear Your voice

Calling us to follow You

When we are close to You is when

We are at peace

Make us little children

So You can take us in Your arms

Hold us on Your lap

Close to Your heart