Posts tagged may 2010

What do I have a GIVENNESS NOW to?

What grieves the heart of God.


I knelt by my Grace’s bed tonight to pray, and my youngest daughter amusingly twisted my hair with her fingers.  

“It’s not that long”, she assured me, for she knew that I thought it was, and wanted to get it cut short before the Arizona summer got any hotter.  

I was shocked that she said those exact words, because of what I had just seen earlier today.  Tears suddenly welled up in my eyes, and grief overtook me.  

Why?  Because the 3oth and beginning of the 31st verse of the gospel of Saint Matthew exhorts me with these words:

“Even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid” 

I must be honest, 
it is very hard for my mind and heart to believe these words today…

when I saw the very hairs, 
of many who must have been very afraid, 
numbering to nearly two tons. 


I was randomly changing channels on the television, and stopped when I came across a documentary on the Holocaust.  A survivor from a concentration camp led a camera crew through the Auschwitz Death Camp, or through what is now a ‘living’ museum in memory of those who ‘lived’ and died there.  

Encased behind glass windows are displays of items taken from the prisoners when they arrived to camp.

The deputy director of the Auschwitz memorial site, Dr Jacek Lachendro, claims that 1.95 tons of human hair “was shaved from the heads of the victims before they were gassed”.  The hair was examined after the war and found to contain traces of Zyklon-B; the pesticide which the Nazis used at Auschwitz to kill an estimated 1.1 million people, most of them Jews, and found in a textile factory after the war ended.  The Nazis used the hair of death camp victims make rough work clothes and to line the boots of U-boat crews.

1.95 tons of hair. 

Nearly four thousand pounds of hair.

Did any of the holocaust victims remember their daughters assuring them, before their imprisonment, that their hair was “not that long”, as mine just did tonight?



The Holocaust survivor then led the camera crew to the next exhibit.

To 43,000 pairs of shoes.

Forty-three thousand pairs of shoes.  Eighty-six thousand shoes.

I can’t imagine nearly four thousand pounds of human hair.  Or eighty-six thousand shoes.  But I can imagine one hair.  Or one shoe.

Of someone like me.

Or my wife, my son, my daughter, my father, my mother, my brother, my sister, my friend, or my neighbor.


And as I watched this Holocaust Memorial documentary, I grieved.  

I didn’t know what to do, so I prostrated myself, perhaps in homage of this holiness and the sacredness of this sacrifice…even the very hairs of their heads. 

And then, I wept.


I have a GIVENNESS NOW to what grieves the heart of God.

What do I have a GIVENNESS NOW to?

Homelessness here.


He was homeless.  Or at least he appeared to be.

Perhaps in the least likeliest place…church.  Or perhaps, as I came to believe, in the most likeliest place.  Homeless here, that is.

We first saw him sitting in the church we were attending for the first time.  His tattered, old clothing may have given the impression that he was homeless.  If his looks didn’t, his shopping cart certainly did. 

My thoughts went from:  

“There’s a homeless man at church” to… 

“There’s a homeless man, in the very first pew, of church” to… 

“There’s a homeless man, in the very first pew, next to the center aisle, of the church” to… 

“There’s a homeless man, in the very first pew, next to the very center aisle, immediately before the sanctuary, of church” to… 

“There’s a homeless man, in the very first pew, next to the very center aisle, immediately before the sanctuary, of church, with his shopping cart” to… 

“There’s a homeless man, in the very first pew, next to the very center aisle, immediately before the sanctuary, of church, AND his shopping cart, overflowing with large black trash bags” to… 

“There’s a homeless man, in the very first pew, next to the very center aisle, immediately before the sanctuary, of the church, AND his shopping cart, overflowing with large black trash bags, filled with everything” to…

“with everything he has” to…

“everything”.

Yes.  Everything.

Wow.

I must admit, I also thought, “This is the church” or “This should be the church, shouldn’t”.  And why, something inside me wants to attend this church, Our Lady of Mount Carmel Roman Catholic Parish, in Tempe, Arizona.

I must also admit how impressed I became with the pastor, Father John Bonavitacola, that very moment.  Why?  Because many pastors would probably freak to have a homeless man at church, let alone, in the very first pew, next to the very center aisle, AND with his shopping cart,overflowing with large black trash bags, filled with everything he has, during mass or any sacred worship service.  And if they did let “him” stay, or even welcome him gladly, surely they would expect him to leave his “stuff” outside of the place where the congregation would assemble, ornave, and definitely not near the sanctuary of the church, wouldn’t they?

No.  Not Father John.  Not at Mt. Carmel.  

Why wouldn’t we expect people to bring “everything they have” to church so they could leave it at the altar?  Even if they could for only that hour?


Randy Severance is one of my closest brothers and friends, who I have journeyed with in faith sharing or accountability group, with three other guys, for the past 17 years, and a parishioner of Mt. Carmel.  I asked him about the homeless man attending the church and Randy remarked, 

“You and I come to church every Sunday and are reluctant to bring what we have in our lives to God; there is always something we leave at home.  

But he never does.  He always brings everything he has.”   


We left church that Sunday evening, and as we were pulled out from the church parking lot into the street, we noticed the homeless man out in front of the church.  We turned the car around to offer him the few dollars of cash that were in my wife, Genine’s purse.  

Genine said to me, “Pull the car near where he’s standing and I’ll roll my window down to had the money to him.” 

I not only pulled the car near where he was standing, but parked it, and got out to talk to him.  And asked him, “Do you need a ride?”

Surprisingly, he said, “Yes”.  Genine immediately got out of the passenger seat and headed to the back seat of my Toyota Rav4, where my 14 and 11 year old daughters, Abigail and Grace, apprehensively scooted over to make room for mom.  And amazingly, the shopping cart, large black trash bags included, fit into the back storage space of the vehicle.

As we headed north towards downtown Tempe, I asked him,

“What’s your name?”

“John.”

“Where are you from?”

“That’s a personal question”, he cautiously answered.

“I’m sorry”, I quickly apologized.

“No problem”, he replied.

“Can I drive you home?”, I asked.

“I don’t have a home”, he explained.

“Where can I take you? Let me buy you dinner”, I persisted.

He graciously accepted my invitation and said, 
“There’s a Burger King on the corner of University and Mill”.

And there we went.  

But before we said goodbye to John, I asked if we could pray for him.  He agreed.  And I blessed his forehead while making the sign of the cross with my thumb and prayed as I do with each of my children each night before they sleep:

“I bless you, John, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  May God protect you from sickness and harm, guard you by His angels, and give you dreams of heaven.”

I gave him a twenty dollar bill and helped him get his stuff towards the door of the Burger King.  I had initially thought to park it outside the side of the building near one of the windows where he could sit and eat, while watching his cart and bags, but John wanted it inside the fast food restaurant with him…so there I took it, before the startled faces of the Burger King employees.

We said our goodbyes.  John thanked me.  And waved to us, as we drove from the Burger Kingparking lot, north on Mill, to MoJo’s for frozen yogurt before heading “home”.

I thought about John a lot after day.  And prayed for him, too.  Wondering if we would ever see him.  

We did.

And still do.

Every Sunday.  

I didn’t know that John attends mass every Sunday at Mt. Carmel.  And from what I have heard, just about every mass, every Sunday.

We saw him on Easter.  And one Sunday, a young couple had their infant daughter baptized…and sat right next to John in the first pew, next to the center aisle, immediately before the sanctuary, of the church, AND his shopping cart, overflowing with large black trash bags, filled with everything he has.  

And, we have purchased orange and strawberry Fanta soda from Circle K, and the New York Times, large curd cottage cheese, and a bottle of water from Safeway, and helped him get large, but thin, pieces of cardboard from the dumpster behind a building on 5th and Mill to be inserted as soles for his shoes.  Why?  Because this is what John wanted.
Nothing more, nothing less.

Why?  Because “John” is my brother.  Isn’t he?

John may be “homeless” here.  

And so may I.  

We, my brother, John, and I, always have been.  He just appears to be.

I’m just realizing this now.


Where is he from?  

That’s a personal question, at least that’s what he told me.

I know where he’s from, even if he wouldn’t tell me.

He’s from the place we will call home.

For now, he and I, are homeless here.


I have a GIVENNESS NOW to homelessness here.

What do I have a GIVENNESS NOW to?

The demands of beauty.


“Genuine love…is demanding.  But its beauty lies precisely in the demands it makes.  Only those able to make demands on themselves in the name of love can then demand love from others.”  John Paul II, Message to Young People, Cuba, 1998

The Reverend John Young-Jung Lee, a minister of The United Church of Canada, probably never met Karol Wojtyla when he was pope of the Roman Catholic Church, yet he must have understood the “demands of beauty”, as he addressed his congregation on the Fourth Sunday of Easter in 2008 with these words:  

“Toward the end of Leonard Bernstein’s musical work entitled Mass, there is a scene in which the priest is richly dressed in magnificent vestments. 

He is lifted up by the crowd carrying a splendid glass chalice in his hands. Suddenly the human pyramid collapses and the priest comes tumbling down. His vestments are ripped off and the glass chalice falls to the ground, shattering into tiny pieces. 

As he walks slowly through the debris of his former glory, barefoot and wearing only a T-shirt and jeans, he hears children’s voices singing off stage, 

“Laude. Laude. Laude. Praise! Praise! Praise!”

His eyes, transformed by God’s grace, suddenly notice the broken chalice. 
He looks at it for a long, long time. 

And then, haltingly, he says, 
“I never realized that broken glass could shine so brightly.”


He concluded his sermon with this exclamation:

“What beauty! 

Can we see the light of Christ that shines in his brokenness? 
No matter what situation we are in, we have the beauty of the Creator. 

Whatever situation, condition we are in, we have God’s beauty in us. 

There is no exception. 

Life is a gift. When we find God’s beauty in us, life becomes a gift. 

Jesus invites all of us and says, 
“I came that you, all of you, may have life, and have it abundantly.” 

This is God’s blessing for all of us. Thanks be to God.”


The beauty of genuine love does lie precisely in its demands.

The demands of beauty,
…beauty given precisely as “gift” to be received precisely as “gift”.

The demands of self, in the name of love,
…what beauty!

There is no exception.

Thanks be to God.


I have a GIVENNESS NOW to the demands of beauty.

What do I have a GIVENNESS NOW to?

“You” who is hard to get.


When I listen to the raw honesty of Rich Mullins’ song, Hard to Get, I hear the prayers of man whose relationship with God is just that, honest. 

And I begin to speak with the same raw honesty to God.  

Even, when He is hard to get.  Especially, when He is hard to get.

And then…He doesn’t seem so hard to get.

Does He?


You who live in heaven, hear the prayers of us who live on earth, 
who are afraid of being left by those we love, and get hardened in the hurt. 

Do you remember when you lived down here, where we all scrape,
to find the faith to ask for daily bread?
Did you forget about us, after you had flown away? 

Well I memorized every word you said.
Still I’m so scared, I’m holding my breath, while you’re up there just playing hard to get. 

You who live in radiance, hear the prayers of those of us who live in skin. 
We have a love that’s not as patient as yours was, still we do love now and then. 

Did you ever know loneliness?
Did you ever know need?
Do you remember just how long a night can get, 
when you were barely holding on, 
and your friends fall asleep, 
and don’t see the blood that’s running in Your sweat?

Will those who mourn be left uncomforted, while You’re up there just playing hard to get? 

And I know you bore our sorrows.
And I know you feel our pain.
And I know it would not hurt any less, even if it could be explained.

And I know that I am only lashing out, at the one who loves me most. 
And after I figured this, somehow all I really need to know is if:

You who live in eternity, hear the prayers of those of us who live in time. 
We can’t see what’s ahead, and we can not get free of what we’ve left behind.
I’m reeling from these voices that keep screaming in my ears, 
all the words of shame and doubt, blame and regret.

I can’t see how you’re leading me, unless you’ve led me here, 
where I’m lost enough to let myself be led. 
And so you’ve been here, all along I guess. 
It’s just your ways, and you are just plain hard to get.


I have a GIVENNESS NOW to You who is hard to get.

What do I have a GIVENNESS NOW to?

To places He himself would be visiting.


“The Lord sent them out ahead of him in pairs,
to every place He himself would be visiting.”  Luke 10:01

Sent in a 2001 Toyota Rav4.

A father and daughter pair.

To a place called “Baseline Road” in Mesa, Arizona.  
To a place in my relationship with Abigail.
To a place in a teenage boy dressed in skinny jeans.

To places “He himself” would be visiting.


On this, our last drive, of the last morning, of the last day of school,
(as on most mornings, of most school days),

Abby and I sang along with the radio,
imitated teenage pop artists like Nick Jonas and Taylor Swift,
and prayed, 

for a skinny teenage boy, in skinny jeans,
who we always see,
on the road to school,
as he walks down the sidewalk,
and listens to his headphones,

just before we, 
and he, 
arrive late.


Even though this morning, we didn’t see him, as we usually do.

I blessed my daughter with the sign of the cross on her forehead, 
dropped her off at the back of school,
(the quickest accessible route when she’s late),
and said goodbye.

Remembering I had forgotten something important for work at home, 
I turned the car around and headed back the way I came.

I was stopped by the crossing guard, for one last very, very late student,
who just happened to be…

the skinny jean teen,
who took a shortcut through the neighborhood near the school.

And as the crossing guard led him safely across the street to the school,
he momentarily paused just before the front bumper of my car,
and looked towards me.

I wanted to yell out the window of my car to him, 

“I’m praying for you SKINNY JEAN TEEN!!!”

But I didn’t.

And it wouldn’t have mattered if I did.

What mattered was knowing that there is a place,
in this skinny jean teen,
that God Himself is visiting,
and would be visiting.


Abby and I will no longer see him walking to Rhodes Junior High. 
Maybe we will see him walking to Dobson High School next fall.
Even if we don’t we’ll continue to pray for “Zach”


“Zach”?

That’s the name of the skinny jean teen.

How do we know?

Abby just found his photo and name in the school year book.


Pray for “Zach” and others like him. 

Even in their skinny jeans.

And the “places” of their hearts He Himself would visiting.

I will now.



I have a GIVENNESS NOW to places He Himself would be visiting.

What do I have a GIVENNESS NOW to?

To be moved with compassion.


“But while he was yet a long way off, his father saw him, and was moved with compassion, and ran, and fell upon his neck, and covered him with kisses.”  Luke 15:20 (Darby’s Translation)

What did the father see from a distant, to be moved with compassion?

He saw a “son”.

What’s my reaction as a dad, 
when my children are “yet a long way off”, 
as they journey through life or through faith?


The word ‘compassion’ is defined as ‘concern for the suffering of another, together with the inclination to give aid or show mercy’.

The Latin meaning of compassion is “to suffer with”.

Do I have a givenness now to be moved with compassion?

Do I have a givenness now to suffer with? 

Only if I “see” him or her,
for who he or she really is,
and not for what he or she has or has not done.  

Who is “he”?

Who is “she”?

A son of the Father.  

A daughter of the Father.


My teenage daughter was late (again) for school.  

How did I react?  Unlike a father.  

Then I saw her for who she is.  

My daughter.  A daughter of the Father.  

And I reacted as I should have.  


I have a GIVENNESS NOW to be moved with compassion.

What do I have a GIVENNESS NOW to?

Letting the weeds grow with the wheat.


Here is another story Jesus told: 

“The Kingdom of Heaven is like a farmer who planted good seed in his field. But that night as the workers slept, his enemy came and planted weeds among the wheat, then slipped away. When the crop began to grow and produce grain, the weeds also grew.” 

The farmer’s workers went to him and said, 
“Sir, the field where you planted that good seed is full of weeds! Where did they come from?”

“An enemy has done this!” the farmer exclaimed.

“Should we pull out the weeds?” they asked.

“No”, he replied, “you’ll uproot the wheat if you do.” 

“Let both grow together until the harvest.”  

“Then I will tell the harvesters to sort out the weeds, 
tie them into bundles, and burn them, and to put the wheat in the barn.”  Matthew 13:24-30

Should I pull out the weeds?

The weeds in me?
The weeds in friends?

The weeds in family?

The weeds in my wife?

The weeds in my kids?

The weeds in my teens?

The WEEDS in my TEENS? 

NO?

No.


The field where I planted that good seed is full of weeds.

Should I pull out the weeds?

No, I’ll uproot the wheat if I do.  (And I have.)

I will let them both grow together until the harvest.

I am quick to mistaken wheat for weeds.

I have a givenness to wheat, and because of this…


I have a GIVENNESS NOW to letting the weeds grow with the wheat.

What do I have a GIVENNESS NOW to?


The touch of the hemorrhaging.


“She came up behind him and touched the fringe of his clothes, and immediately her hemorrhage stopped.  Then Jesus asked, “Who touched me?”   Luke 8:44


Who touched me?

My 14-year old daughter.

Hemorrhaging.

As she experiences the first days of her monthly menstrual cycle again.


What do I have a givenness now to?

To Midol, Maxipads, and Tampons. 

”She came up behind me and touched the fringe of my clothes”, 
ready to vomit from nausea and bedridden from severe cramping.  

Her physical hemorrhaging didn’t immediately stop.
But her emotional, psychological, and spiritual hemorrhage may have.

Because her touch was felt, and her God was felt, in the hemorrhaging.

And will continue to be…at age 14 or 41.


I have a GIVENNESS NOW to the touch of the hemorrhaging.

What do I have a GIVENNESS NOW to?

The breath of yhwh.


yhwh?

yhwh.


Exhale through your mouth.

What sound does it make?

“YAH”

Inhale through your mouth.

What sound does it make?

“WEH”


Exhale.  

Inhale.  

“YAH” 

“WEH”  

“YAH-WEH”

“YAHWEH”


The sound of the very first breath I took when I was born, 
of the very last breath I will take when I die, 
and of every breath of my life, 
will sound like this:

“YAHWEH”

The breath of God, reminding me of “I AM WHO AM”.

“He breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit”.  John 20:22

How is the givenness of Spirit of God received now? 

Just breathe.


I have a GIVENNESS NOW to the breath of yhwh.