Like many of you, I’ve been reading about and hearing stories of and learning about all the many things Dolly Parton did in her 80 years here on earth.

I’m not really a country music fan, but I do know an icon when I see and hear one, and Dolly was an Icon.

The amount of music she wrote in her lifetime would be enough of a gift - over 3000 songs - but she also advocated and gave money and time and books and voice to people who needed it.
She let her life speak for her when words alone would not do it.

I had a whole other Uplift written for this week. But it seemed impossible to ignore the fact that Dolly was the Uplifter of all Uplifters. So I’ll save that one for another week and talk about Dolly here instead.
As both homage and as example.

Dolly didn’t have an easy or pain-free life.
She grew up poor, she lost loved ones, she died of cancer.
She knew pain and struggle as much as anyone, and would have had every reason to be bitter or mean or hoard her wealth for herself.
But she did none of those things.

There are lots of verses I could use to talk about her, but this one from Proverbs stuck out to me:
“Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it.”
All we see around us these days are examples of people choosing themselves - choosing their own comfort or power or choosing to accumulate wealth on wealth at the expense of …well, everyone. Billionaires are in a yacht-measuring contest that has literally no purpose or common good. I kept hearing the same thing over and over this week - Dolly could have been a billionaire. But she wasn’t. She gave away money and goodness to those who were in need, and she did not withhold it.

I just can’t get over the stories that are coming out, about how she helped kids graduate from high school, or helped adults get additional education, or how she gave money to families in a single community who had been devastated by fires.
She always started local, with her county or community in Tennessee, but more often than not, her goodness and generosity spread much farther than expected.
Even her Imagination Library originated in her home county, but now impacts kids in the US, Canada, Australia, the UK, and Ireland.

So Uplifters, in honor of Dolly, I want us all to take a little time to look around the communities where we are, where we were raised, where we live now, and see where there is a need. Maybe you can’t give as much as Dolly, but we can be generous. So today, for Dolly, “do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it.”

I was spending time with one of my favorite theologians yesterday and he reminded me that John Calvin once gave the Psalms the alternative title of: “An Anatomy of all the Parts of the Soul.”

What Calvin was getting at, which he said so beautifully, is that if you are feeling it, there is a Psalm for it. Grief, fear, sorrow, doubt, joy, anger, praise, happiness … it’s all there. Longtime readers of this uplift know that I have long felt the same way about the psalms. I can always find one to match my mood, no matter the mood I’m in.

I don’t know what compelled me to seek out Psalm 123 this week, but I read it with a kind of relief. It felt raw and real and familiar. But what I also noticed was that the psalmist was writing as a part of a collective that was struggling, not as an individual going through hard times. I’m well aware that there are plenty of people going through individually hard things, but it also feels like as a collective, we’re all also right where this psalmist is: sick of it.
Of course he writes it poetically but the gist of verse 4 is “we’ve had enough!” Eugene Peterson’s Message paraphrase says it this way: “We’ve been kicked around long enough, kicked in the teeth by complacent rich men.”
Preach.

I listened to a great podcast with author Cory Doctorow this week and it made me feel a kind of frustrated rage at the way things are. I’m not sure if that’s a recommendation to listen or not, but this verse echoed those feelings so powerfully that I couldn’t ignore it. I am so sick of those with power and money making all the decisions and leaving regular, hardworking, faithful people in the dust. I want to shout out, along with the psalmist - “ENOUGH!”

The psalmist could have made this about an individual grievance, but he did not.
He made it clear the ways that “those who are at ease” have an affect on the whole community. I’m sure he had an issue or two that were personal, but that’s not what this is about. This is about the suffering of the many, because of a few. So that “our” in this verse felt like call to something bigger than my own personal issues.
And in reading this psalm, there was a part of me that felt seen and known by the fact that my feelings were so clearly reflected back at me. This verse reminds me that my anger is not unjustified, and also is not unique in history.

The earlier verses of Psalm 123 are about waiting and watching for any sign of God’s mercy, and asking God to show mercy so that we might be restored - not to individual greatness but to communal balance, where we care for each other, and where no one is gaining power on the backs of anyone else.

Psalm 123 is a short 4 verses, and if any of this feels at all relatable, I hope you’ll go read it and also feel less alone, validated in your feelings, and one step closer toward the mercy that God is on the way to bring.
So, uplifters, if you’re feeling angry about the state of the world, about the ways the most wealthy are buying their way into power, then know that there’s a psalm for that, know that God hears this cry, and does, indeed, show up with mercy for the sake of those who are being harmed.

Thank goodness.

Yall. I’m tired.
Anyone else? Like bone-deep tired.
The world is exhausting.
People are suffering.
The news is overwhelming.
I have friends and family who are reeling from recent loss, fresh diagnoses, and big changes in their life and circumstance.

It’s just… a lot.

And if you live where I do, in the upper midwest, there’s an added kind of pressure to do all the things “while the weather is good” and of course you can’t possibly be sad or tired because it’s sunny and nice and because it’s going to be cold and grey soon and we’ll rest and be sad then.

We’re also at that part of the summer where we can all see the end coming so we’re trying to squeeze every bit of goodness and sunshine out of it. I looked at my calendar this week and just thought “who scheduled this?!” like some imaginary assistant had done this to me, instead of it simply being me doing it to myself. (Not just work stuff but good and fun and joyful things!)

This verse from Jeremiah is our uplift verses today because as I sat down to write this uplift there was only one word that popped into my mind: weary.
I feel weary.

Maybe it’s all those things I named above.
Maybe it’s the unprocessed stress and difficulty of the past months coming back to finally be dealt with.
Maybe it’s all of it, or maybe it’s some new thing I haven’t even thought of yet.

But the word was there, front and center and clear as day: weary.
So I went searching for scripture that might meet me where I am, and, not at all shocking, I found it in Jeremiah.

Remember Jeremiah is the crying prophet, and he is known for less than positive prophecies about what’s happening while grieving the world around him and naming that it exists in some part because of the unfaithfulness of the Israelites, and in some part due to corrupt leaders.

Couldn’t relate.

In this section Jeremiah is offering hope for the future to the weary people of God about what is coming for them. All of chapter 31 is peppered with the repeated phrase “This is what the Lord says” followed by just the most beautiful and poetic vision of what the world could be like.
To be fair, it isn’t that way yet, not for the people who Jeremiah is speaking to.
But that doesn’t stop him from telling them that it doesn’t have to be this way forever. That it won’t be this way forever.

Jeremiah notes that when God makes all these changes and describes what is possible, that in doing so God “will satisfy the weary soul.”
Those words in English don’t quite capture the poetry of the Hebrew but it’s just beautiful. However you translate it, the message that Jeremiah is bringing from God to the Israelites is that their difficulties will not last, and how they feel will also soon be transformed. Jeremiah doesn’t pretend things aren’t hard; doesn’t pretend they aren’t going through it. He names their weariness and their sorrow and the way that it impacts not just their bodies but their נֶפֶשׁ (pronounced ne-fesh), which we translate as soul. He is speaking about their inner being, their breath, their soul/self/life/passion.
I could cry at those words: God will replenish my weary soul.

Sometimes believing that things won’t be like this forever makes me feel like an incurable and almost ridiculous optimist. How can I look around and still think things can change? It’s because even when the city was rubble around them, the Israelites knew that God was doing the work of transforming and renewing and healing. I believe God is still doing this same work today. And I believe that God doesn’t say things that God doesn’t mean. Jeremiah makes it crystal clear that “this is what the Lord says” and then names promise after promise of the way God will take what is broken and seems unredeemable and bring it to new life.
That’s a promise that does truly offer something to my weary soul.
Even if it’s not immediate, it’s something.
And that’s enough for today.

I love this story. In 1 Kings 19 we hear about Elijah and his encounter with God. It’s a familiar and beloved story, because Elijah meets God not in loud big moments but in the silence.

There’s a repeated line in this story, when Elijah is running away from those who are seeking to harm him, and God asks “why are you hiding Elijah?” and Elijah basically tells God “yeah things are bad out there - so I’m out.”

This repeated back and forth with God happens twice in short succession (verse 10 and again in verse 14), and yet we often miss it because in between those two verses is the sheer silence story. And boy do we love that part.

It helps, I think, to set the scene: Elijah is just done.
He’s done with the bad guys always winning, he’s done with the people in power coming after him because he keeps speaking out, he’s just done.
He runs away, finds a cave to hide in, and spends the night there.
Listen, I don’t blame the guy. I’ve felt the same way plenty of times.
He just needed a break.
So when God asks him what he’s doing, Elijah tells God that he’s been working VERY hard, doing everything he’s been asked to do, and still things aren’t going well for him. Is he a little whiney? Yeah. But again, who can blame him? Being a prophet isn’t easy.

God tells Elijah “I am going to pass by” so be on the lookout. I love this part too, because it’s like God knows that Elijah needed a little reminder that he has God on his side, and God gives Elijah what he needs.
There’s a mighty wind, and an earthquake, and a fire, but God isn’t in any of those things. And again we usually rush to the next part of the story because we love the still small voice of God but I just can’t help but pause here to ask, what was Elijah hoping for? What was he assuming about God? Did he want God to be destructive? Was he hoping that God would come and tear apart his enemies and make everyone pay for not listening to him and chasing him out of town?
I mean, yeah. I think that’s what he wanted. But that’s not what he got.
God showed up in the sound of silence.
Then God asks him again, “why are you here?”
And yall, Elijah answers in the exact same way as before. Elijah stood there, knowing that God had just passed by, and it did not move him one bit. He was unchanged.

So, God tells Elijah that he should go back to Damascus and do one more thing and then his replacement will be waiting to take over the work. You’re done here Elijah. Thank you for your service.

Focusing here has forever changed how I read this section of Elijah’s story.
Yes, it’s still a pretty story about God being still and small when we hope and expect God to be loud and large, and if that’s what you need, it’s there for you. That hasn’t changed.
But there’s also a truth bomb tucked in the middle that we shouldn’t ignore either.
This story is no longer only a lesson for me to listen for God in the quiet and unexpected places, but a reminder that if I have an encounter with God and I am fully unmoved and unchanged by it, the problem might be me.
And I might need more than a night in a cave to deal with it.

This story reminds me that God makes God’s self known to me, especially when I start to spiral into hopelessness. When I think everything is awful and not getting better. That’s the promise of a God who does not leave us to struggle alone. Being present is God what God does.
The noticing, the knowing, being changed by an encounter with God, that is what I do. And if I miss God, or am unmoved by God’s presence, then my work changes, even though my belovedness does not.

So dear Uplifters, I invite you to let this story inspire and challenge you to notice,
to pay attention, and to let your encounters with God in the world, tiny and quiet as they may seem, move and change you. Let us not be so cynical and angry and hopeless that we miss out on what it does to us when God passes by.

I’ve been on vacation this week, and it’s been glorious. (It’s also why this Uplift is late to your inbox!) Our cabin this year faces east, which isn’t typical, but as an early riser, I love it. I love the early glow of the sky getting lighter, the chorus of birds singing to greet the day, and the particular way the sunshine sparkles on the water in the morning. Yes, sunsets are beautiful and glorious, but yall, don’t sleep on the aptly named sun glitter. East-facing also means we got to watch the moonrise this week as well. She was gorgeous.

I know there are lots of horrible things happening in the world. I know that while I’ve been on vacation, resting and reading and disconnecting from everyone and everything but the people in this cabin, the world has spun on. There have been disasters, both natural and man-made. There has been political strife and conflict, and I’m sure I’ve missed some hot gossip as well. So for any of you who are not on vacation, I realize that this Uplift may not be meeting you where you’re at. But I hope you’ll stick with me.

Because while vacation is a privilege, Sabbath is not.

Sabbath is a command. A need, a requirement, a can’t-miss rest for your body and soul.

This week I happened upon a poem from Lyndsey Rush, called “An Error Message:”
“You are not a Roomba, or Rosey from The Jetsons,
or Pacman or Inspector Gadget or a Tesla with a vanity plate (they all have vanity plates),
You’re more Florence than Machine,
More holy mother than motherboard,
Here for much more than to be user friendly.
So take this as a reminder - flashing on the screen in yellows and reds -
to power down and let your systems process.
Because even an optimus in her prime such as you
is not designed to constantly operate at full capacity.”

I think this is what Sabbath actually does.
Real Sabbath.
Not just a day off or even a quick self-care moment, but a real, honest-to-goodness rest. A day that disconnects you from the need to produce and compete and find your value in what you do and how you’re seen versus who you are and who you have been created to be.
I find this infinitely easier to do when I’m not working or scrolling or getting lost in the hustle and bustle of daily life. It’s a gift to find this kind of rest, to get away, to disconnect, to slow down, to quietly observe the way the sun sparkles on the water or listen to the birds talking to each other.

I believe the grind and hustle we subject ourselves to is not God’s dream for us.
God knew if rest was optional we wouldn’t do it.
So God didn’t suggest rest. God commanded it.
And I think God commanded rest because God knew that we would go and go and go until we couldn’t go any more,
that we would eventually go so hard that we’d get sick or sad or anxious or worse -we’d start to define our value in what we do instead of who we are.

I think, because we’re so far away from a regular sabbath rhythm, a weekly Sabbath can only be found and understood when we’ve remembered what it really means to disconnect. In our current culture of go go go, I believe weekly Sabbath actually needs a longer one to regularly reground us. A time when we get out of the rhythm of our daily lives and reconnect to ourselves for longer than 24 hours, really remembering who we are. Then Sabbath can become the weekly reminder we need in order to not fall into the trap of production and grind again. The further away that longer break is, the harder a weekly Sabbath will be.

So. I wonder what it would look like to prioritize Sabbath again.
I mean prioritize it as more than a mere suggestion, but as a command.
I wonder what it would look like to take longer breaks in between weekly Sabbath.
Some questions to ponder, as you head into your weekend:
If you’re a person who has Paid Time Off (PTO), do you take it?
If you’re a person who manages employees, do you encourage them to take all of their PTO? If your employees don’t have PTO, can you work to create a system that offers it?
Again, take some time, and dream with me what it would look like to live in a world where we took the command to rest seriously, for ourselves and for others?
Rest is God’s dream for us.
I hope you find rest this weekend, dear Uplifters.

When we typically hear Isaiah 61, it’s in the context of Jesus reading this section in front of a hometown audience, early in his ministry. (Let’s just say it didn’t go well.)
And, we often stop this reading of Isaiah 61 after verse 2, when, in my opinion, the most beautiful and poetic part is verse 3.

Isaiah is telling the people that the Lord is coming to bring the good news of release, liberation, and healing. That’s what the first 2 verses say. But then Isaiah adds some potent images to what this will actually look like.

When the Lord comes, people will trade their ashes for a garland, they will smell like the oil of gladness instead of the oil of mourning, and they’ll be wearing a garment of praise instead of a cloak of grief. Yes, of course there will be changes to entire systems of oppression - but you’ll also be able to see and smell the joy that is to come. This is not just a thought exercise. It’s physical and embodied as well.

Ashes were a symbol of deep repentance. They were placed onto the head after everything had collapsed - a physical symbol created out of the rubble. Isaiah says those ashes will be replaced with a garland - which in the Hebrew means crown or headdress. A party hat instead of dirt.

Everyone in Isaiah’s audience knows what anointing oil smells like. Burial oils and spices have a distinct scent, and for many, the smell is associated with deep grief and mourning. So for Isaiah to say that the oil of gladness will replace the oil of mourning, it’s quite a statement.

And lastly, what you wear at a wedding is so wildly different from what you wear when you’re in mourning, and Isaiah says that God is going to replace all the mourning garments with praise garments. As in, you won’t need your funeral suit anymore.

All three of these images are meant to symbolize the absolute overturning and undoing of grief and loss and tragedy that will happen when God shows up. They help us understand that God’s arrival will not arrive quietly but in a way that you can’t ignore, and honestly - you won’t want to.

Now, I am well aware that this is not our current reality.
Things are grim, and I can feel myself tipping towards hopelessness some days.
It can feel like the picture Isaiah paints is so far away - not just unimaginable but unreachable.
But Isaiah wrote this as a promise. He also knew it was far away, and felt even farther.
But he offered this promise to give hope to people who were being crushed by those in power and by the way the world was. And honestly, I think Isaiah might say the same exact things today.
There is hope to come.
Things will change.
People will be set free, and the symbols of grief and oppression will be removed and replaced with liberation and joy.
God will show up and trade all of this difficulty and division and anger for love and life and light - like beauty for ashes.

The other day, in the middle of the day, our electricity went out.
We’re in the middle of a heat wave, so it wasn’t too surprising, and thank goodness it wasn’t off for long.
But the first thing I noticed?

The silence.

All the fans and motors stopped.
The fridge was quiet,
the AC turned off,
the blower moving the air through our home turned off.

It was just quiet.

And once again, it became obvious how loud our lives are.
I almost never get in the car without turning on music or a podcast.
I listen to something while I’m cooking, cleaning, getting ready for the day, and even when I’m working (lo-fi beats for the win).
I even turn on white noise in my headphones when I really need to lock in.

There’s just a lot of noise around - ambient and intentional.

So last week, when I was preparing to preach on the parable that Jesus tells at the beginning of Matthew’s 13th chapter, I kept getting stuck on one line that he speaks at the large crowds of people who came to hear him: “let those with ears, hear.”

It’s such a strange ending to his grand speech.
Is he telling our ears to do what they do naturally?
Is he excluding those who can’t hear?
It doesn’t make sense!

There are actually a lot of ways this verse can be translated.
The Greek translation of this word “listen” really means to attend to, or consider what you have heard. This word doesn’t mean simply perceiving the sound, it means if you can hear words being spoken, consider what are hearing. AND the word “listen” is an imperative, which means it’s more of a command than a suggestion.

If you can hear this, I’m telling you to also consider what was heard.

Jesus is wanting the crowds to do a little bit of active listening here.
He’s saying this phrase in reference to a parable, which means he wants them to sift through the other noise and really take in what he was trying to get across. And I think God still wants the same for us today.

When the world around us is so noisy - how often do we really listen?
Perceive? Consider?

I sort of think of this like when you hear a song and you like it because of the melody or beat or general vibe but you don’t actually take the time to listen to the words that are being said.
Let those who can hear, really perceive what is being said.

So often we listen not to understand but in order to respond. We’re not really listening to each other. We’re already on to the next thing, the next soundbite or song or argument. We aren’t really taking it in.
I know this parable as a whole isn’t about listening or hearing but Jesus repeats this one phrase “those with ears, listen!” a few times in the Gospels and even though it’s not ever his main point, he is imploring us to do more than just hear the sounds.
He is asking us for depth.

I wonder if there are ways that we can be better listeners/perceivers/considerers with each other, and with the words of Jesus.
There is a level of care that is shown when we take words seriously,
and I think Jesus might be calling us back to that kind of care for God’s Word and for each other.

Those with ears that can hear, consider what is being said.

Even in the midst of a noisy world,
what might it look like to take some time to be quiet,
to sit and listen and filter through the noise
to the truth about God and each other that is underneath?

If you have ears, hear!

Hi Uplifters -
This might be the first time, in over ten years, that I am sending a midweek note. I think I’ve sent some Holy Saturday Uplifts on occasion, but never one in the middle of the week. But this deserves a special email. As some of you know, I wrote a book! It’s called “It All Counts - Finding God Everywhere They Told You Not to Look.” The official release date is next Tuesday, July 21st. You all are loyal readers of this weekly email, so I wanted to make sure that if you don’t follow me on social media, you still had a chance to order this book when it makes the biggest difference to me as an author, which is in pre-order. I don’t get the whys of this system, but it is what is. If you enjoy what I write, and the way I write it, you’ll like this book. It’s about faith and life and why the way you are doing both of those is good enough. I hope you’ll read it, share it, buy ones for your friends, your church, or request it at your local library.
It’s linked below.
Local to MN folks, the release party will be on July 16th, at 7pm, at Moon Palace Books in Minneapolis. It’ll be a delightful way to escape the heat for a bit and celebrate independent book authors and booksellers! Hope to see you there!

If you can’t make it to the party, or want to make sure you get a copy, order one here.

Thanks for the many years of support and readership. I’m grateful for all of you.
We’ll be back to the regularly scheduled Uplift on Friday!

~ Natalia

Fun fact: in the twelve-ish years that I’ve been writing these weekly uplifts, I have only used this verse twice. TWICE.
Surprising, right?
It’s one of “those” verses.
You know, the ones people pull out when someone is going through something.
Or ones people use to back up their individualistic faith with an individualistic God.
It’s what many people assume is the “Biblical proof” for being able to say: “this is all a part of God’s plan.” (Though to be VERY clear, that is a distinctly incorrect interpretation.)

So often, this verse is handed out in the midst of personal tragedy, grief, and/or difficulty - as if the perfect Bible verse will somehow make everything we’re going through all better: “Hey you - yeah you - things are all going according to plan, don’t you worry.”
Sure… that’s what I need to hear when everything is falling apart.

Maybe that’s why I’ve left it alone. It’s such a loaded bit of scripture.

But it’s probably time I come back to it, because people promoting a hyper-individualistic and Christian Nationalist theology as the truth are being lauded and platformed lately and so it seem like a good time for another reminder that the prophet Jeremiah is not writing to one singular individual person, telling them they are going to be blessed at some point in the future. No - Jeremiah is writing to the Israelites living in the Kingdom of Judah, before and during the destruction of the temple. It’s pretty specific. The Israelites were turning away from God and Jeremiah was tasked with telling them how bad it could be if they didn’t return to faith (and then watched it happen when they didn’t). If you’ve ever read Jeremiah as a whole, it’s not the most hopeful book. I mean, how could it be, with a context like that? Jeremiah is known as the “weeping prophet,” because his prophecy is full of lament and is a bleak picture of the way things could be.

And yet, in the midst of all his gloomy foreshadowing, and even gloomier “I told you so’s,” Jeremiah always makes room for a glimmer of hope.
He always makes sure to note there is another way,
another outcome for this group of people who have fallen so far away from God.
He always reminds them of who they are and how much God loves them,
despite everything.

So when we take this one verse and hand it to someone with a new cancer diagnosis, we’re kind of missing the point.
This is not about God’s action on behalf of one person.
This is about God’s action on behalf of the world,
always working to redeem and renew and reconcile.

When you read it the way Jeremiah intended - it becomes an entirely different verse.
It’s not about how your specific present crappy circumstance is a part of God’s plan for you, (also why would anyone believe in that kind of God?)
but instead it is about how God is always active and working - even within crappy circumstances - to bring new life and healing and hope to the whole of creation, including those who are suffering.

This future that God is actively working to create won’t harm you, even if things are harming you now. An this future that God is creating is just filled with hope.

See how that’s different? And so much better?

God is working on behalf of the whole world which God loves so that our collective future may be full of hope.

That’s stunning. And beautiful. And something I want to be a part of.
And that is a God I want to believe in, even when it’s hard.

So let’s be careful with this verse, Uplifters, and remember that God is working,
right now, on our behalf,
to give us - collectively - life that is good,
so we may be filled with hope.

Thoughts and Prayers: On What Counts as Patriotism

Thoughts:

I forgot the word “patriotism” this week. By “forgot” I mean the word just completely and fully left my brain.
I was in a conversation about people being proud of their country and the word patriotism was just gone so I just stumbled around and ended up saying “country pride.” As if that’s the phrase people use.

Maybe it’s just my aging brain, or maybe it was a protective measure against *waves hands around wildly* all this. Either way, it was laughable that I couldn’t think of the word patriotism at the same time I wasn’t able to find the feeling. It’s been hard to feel patriotic these days.

Like many things in our lives, there seems to be a “right” and “wrong” way. There’s a right way to be patriotic, and a wrong way to be patriotic. If you’re doing it the right way, that means rah rah America, and wearing clothes with the US flag on them (bonus points if it’s a swimsuit), going to a 4th of July parade, and oh - you also must love fireworks.

As someone who is/does none of those things, patriotism has always felt like, at best, it’s just not for me, and at worst, the way I’ve been doing it is wrong.

I’ve been working to be more open lately, trying to see life as more complex than the strict binary we sometimes cling to. I wonder if patriotism might be one of those more complex things. I’ve appreciated the ways lately that many Americans are trying to hold to the values of our founders while at the same time being critical of them and also while being critical of our country now. It’s a delicate balance, but I think that too is patriotism. What a gift that we have the freedom to push back, to criticize, to hold ourselves to a higher standard, and to not accept things as they are. I’m beginning to realize that this is its own kind of patriotism, and even if it’s not wrapped up in a red, white, and blue bow, it still counts.

A Prayer:
God of the universe,
without country, border, or political affiliation,
help me see patriotism in new ways.
Help me understand patriotism in the same way as prayer:

Not as a thing I can do right or wrong,
but as a conversation that is ongoing,
as pride in who we could be even when it’s not who we are,
and as love for the fellow humans who happen to live here with us.

May this season help us find new love for this place,
even on the days when it does not love us back.

We’re pretty used to getting what we want whenever we want it.
You can order food or household supplies or clothes without ever leaving your house.
You can watch what you want when you have the time to watch it.
You can listen to whole catalogs of music on your pocket computer.
You can talk to someone who is across the world, even on video, if you choose.
It doesn’t even feel like a big deal anymore.
It’s just the way it is.

So I was really struck by this phrase “at an acceptable time” that is found in this psalm.
The psalmist is writing about how his enemies are talking about him and how they are singing songs about him behind his back, and he says that he’s not letting it distract him. His prayer is to God. His words and his songs are not for gossip or spite but to pray to God.
He continues, so then, when it’s ok with you God, can you answer my prayer?
The psalmist’s prayer here is one that asks for God to save him.
You might think he’d ask for God to smite his enemies, and sure, there are psalms for that, but this is one of those times when the psalmist is just crying for relief.
When I read this psalm in its entirety, I feel that prayer in my bones.
Help me. Save me. Rescue me.
And yet, though we can feel how difficult his life is at the moment,
he still prays for this rescue to be “at an acceptable time.”
I’m just so curious about this phrase.
What is it telling us?
Does it cover his bases? Like, if the rescue doesn’t happen, that’s ok because I prayed for it to happen “at an acceptable time” so it must not be that time yet?
I don’t love that.
I don’t love that it almost feels like he’s apologizing for bothering God,
when we all know that God has asked us to come to God in prayer.
This isn’t a kind of “when it works for you, but you know, no pressure” prayer.
That also feels wrong.

I wonder if there’s an element of trust here that I find hard to connect with these days.
Maybe the psalmist is saying “I need saving, but I’ll trust your timing.”
It sets a strong contrast to my lack of trust and sense of urgency that I’m like,
sure I trust your timing God but could you do this thing right now anyway?
But I want to be able to trust God like this, like the psalmist does.
I want to get to a point where the abundant love of God that I know is available to me is enough to help me trust that whatever I’m going through I will be ok.

You see, if we believe in a God who magic-wands our problems away, this prayer really doesn’t make sense.
But if we believe that God is with us in the midst of and through our difficult days and moments, then this prayer feels exactly right.
It’s a prayer that essentially says: things aren’t great, God, and I’m struggling. But you love me, and love me abundantly, so I know you will be my rescue, and I know that while I’m waiting, I do not wait alone.

That feels like a prayer that maybe, just maybe, I can pray too.

I’m not a huge futbol watcher but I have been utterly captivated by the World Cup this week.
No, not the games, but the fans.
The fans who are visiting various cities in North America for games and practices and being fully welcomed by people who are not “their” people.
Scotland in Boston, Massachusetts.
Algeria in Lawrence, Kansas.
Japan in Plano, Texas.
Korea in Guadalajara, Mexico.
I’m obsessed with all of it.
We’re watching people learn about each other and be curious about each other in real time. We’re seeing what welcome and shared joy in community really look like as it’s happening.
It’s contagious.
Yes, of course there is competition between teams, but it’s all sitting on a foundation of enthusiasm and general love of the game that is hard to miss.

In full disclosure, I had originally picked another verse for today.
I had picked a verse from a different Psalm, calling God to come and smite those who do harm. It just felt like the call of my soul after news stories about obscene wealth hoarding and disgusting displays of power and intimidation from our government.
I, like the psalmist, would still like to encourage God to do a little bit of righteous judging and divine value resetting to the people in power.
I still feel that way.

But, I ended up with this verse from Psalm 133 instead, after watching video after video of people celebrating with strangers from countries they have never been to.
I’ve seen videos of Bostonians learning that the Scots are kindred spirits.
I’ve seen Koreans in Mexico learning about each other’s food and culture and figuring out the language barrier.
And I saw a tiktok from a gal at the Morocco game that said:“watching my dad’s reaction to his home country score in the city he immigrated to, met his wife, and raised his kids in.”
I cried.
Psalm 133 felt like the only verse that fit how I felt when I watched people just loving each other. Notice how the psalmist doesn’t say “when we live in uniformity.”
Nope. It’s unity, not uniformity.
The Hebrew word here literally means together.
We aren’t meant to be the same. We are just meant to be together.
How good it is when we live together with each other.
Yes, people can be awful, but this week, even in the midst of many awful things, I’ve been reminded of how amazing people can be when we come together to celebrate the ways we are not as different as we are led to believe.
It’s been a total joy, and one that shifted my perspective enough that a verse about smiting my enemies didn’t quite seem to fit the moment anymore.
I am learning, watching, and observing,
how very good and pleasant it is when kindreds live in unity with each other.
Whether you’re a fan or not, I hope you’re watching too!

Last week I learned the ASL sign for “mercy,” in connection to this verse from Matthew’s Gospel. In this story, Jesus is eating with the worst of the worst, and some of the church leaders were not too happy about it. We often assume they are self-righteous about it, but my most charitable take is that they actually were just hurt.
Tax collectors had aligned themselves with the occupying empire in order to gain power and position, and because of this, they did great harm to the community from which they came.
(ope - No modern day equivalent to that anywhere right now, is there?!)

Jesus responds to these upset (angry, self-righteous, or hurt) people by saying that he simply desires mercy.
He sets a table with the people least likely to be welcomed,
and in doing so, creates a new set of criteria for who is welcome,
and they - cough cough we - do not love it.
If the worst person I can think of is sitting at a meal with Jesus,
that means I might have to sit at a meal with that person if I also want to eat with Jesus. I fully understand why the religious leaders are like, um no thank you.
So they ask, “why does Jesus eat with these horrible people?”

I am grateful that Jesus responded with a clear answer:
“I’m here to bring mercy.
And I’m going to bring it to the people who need it most, first.”

Hard to argue, that.

Continuing in the story, I should note that Jesus then brings healing to two other people who were not the worst of the worst, but who were in desperate need of healing, just in case we missed his point.

There’s a hymn in the Lutheran hymnal that says “we make this love too narrow, by false limits of our own, and we magnify its strictness with a zeal God will not own.”

That line gets me every time we sing it.
God’s zeal is not for rules or regulations around who is worthy or deserving - God’s zeal is for mercy to those who are in need of mercy.

Sometimes that’s me. (ok, a lot of times that’s me).
And sometimes it’s someone else.
It doesn’t mean that God loves me less, or that person more.
It just means sometimes someone else needs God’s mercy more than I do.
And that’s ok.
This is good news when everything seems to be falling apart, or you’re struggling, or, as in the case of this Gospel story, you’re chronically ill, or you’re watching a loved one die.
We can’t always tell who has the greatest mercy need, but God knows, and acts accordingly, even if/when it offends our delicate sensibilities.

Mercy, in ASL I learned, is a “directional sign.”
The middle finger is bent in toward your palm, and then you face that finger towards the person most in need of mercy when you make the sign. (learn it here!)
Sometimes that’s me. Sometimes it’s not.

The direction of God’s love and mercy is determined by need, not want.
I find that comforting and reassuring.
Mercy is there when I need it, but I’m not the only one who does.
And that seems just about right.

Watch the video linked above (you only need the first minute),
learn the sign, and maybe take some time to reflect on which direction you’ll be sending God’s mercy today.

Towards you? Or someone else?

I was a substitute preacher at a church last weekend, and during the service, they sang a song with the lyric:
“so if ever I can’t see the magic around me, please take my hands off my eyes.”1

I’ve been thinking of this one lyric for almost a week now.
There is an implication in these words, at least how I read them, that if my ability to see magic around is limited, it’s sometimes because I have limited myself.
If I’m saying that I can’t see the magic around me, the songwriter is saying that maybe the problem isn’t that there’s not magic, but that I’m literally covering up my ability to see it.
For whatever reason, maybe I’m overwhelmed, and need to take a break, maybe I’m scared and just can’t look anymore - but I know I do this all the time.
I cover my own eyes.

I’ve always been a little cynical about this verse from Psalm 118: “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Not because it’s not true, but because it felt so unrealistic, or so unattainable for me.

When I’ve experienced something awful, I absolutely don’t take a moment to pause and thank God for this awful day, and I certainly don’t rejoice.
Who does? Who would?
If that’s you, tell me your secrets.

What if the psalmist is not saying we need to infuse the bad days with a little rejoicing and a silver lining or two?

What if this is actually a verse about missing the magic because I’m caught up in the awful?
What if this psalmist is telling me to take my hands off my eyes?

It’s really easy these days to only see bad news.
There’s a lot of it, and more where that came from.
I’m not saying ignore it all, though there are days I wish I could, but I am saying,
what if I’m so caught in the bad that I miss the good?
What if I’m focused on the evil and miss the holy?

This doesn’t mean those horrible things aren’t happening.
They are. We all know they are.
But it might mean that when I feel like there’s no good, no love, no grace, no magic, no God left in the world around me, it’s probably because I’ve stopped looking.

It’s there.
The magic. The holy. God. Whatever you name it.
It’s there.
All around us.
Even on the worst day.

Rejoicing is not always possible, I’m holding to that belief, but this prayer for God to take my hands from my eyes feels like the most honest and real prayer I could be praying these days.
So I’m going to pray it.
Pray it with me?

There’s a particular phrase that I’ve heard often in yoga classes and in therapy and in body work and in spiritual direction: “the body always knows.”

It’s a line that each of these varied practitioners have said to me as a reminder to take a moment and pay attention to the messages your body is trying to send you. They know how important this work is, in almost every area of mental, physical, and spiritual health.
It is not easy.
It takes a lot of work to listen to the body.
Work because we’ve spent decades being told that our bodies can’t be trusted, or shouldn’t be listened to.

But our bodies matter,
and they are always giving us messages about what is happening around us.
When I’m nervous my tummy always lets me know.
When I’m stressed my head usually tells me first.
When I’m safe and happy, my shoulders aren’t at my ears.
There are verses in the Bible that have been used as weapons, that when I hear them now, even decades later, I still find myself physically leaning away from, even if I don’t realize it at first.
There are people who make me feel the most and truest me, and my stomach and heart rate and breath all tell me well before my brain does.
There are times when I have a choice to make and the yes or no feel like they are coming from somewhere deep within me. I now call those full-body yeses, and full-body nos, and I’ve learned to trust them, and trust when I don’t feel them too.

We don’t often think of the above verse from Luke’s Gospel as one about embodiment, but it really is. Some disciples, walking to Emmaus, encounter a “stranger” on the road, who is the resurrected Jesus but they don’t realize it right away and they walk and talk and eat together before they figure it out, and then as soon as they do Jesus disappears. It’s such a great story.
One of the reasons I think it’s a story about embodiment is because of this verse 32: the disciples knew. Deep in their bodies, they knew what they were experiencing, and who they were encountering, but they just didn’t quite listen, or trust it, or let it break free.
The way they talk about it - “weren’t our hearts burning within us” - is somehow so familiar to me. It was a full body yes. They’re saying “I didn’t know it in the moment but now looking back on it, oh my gosh that was holy ground.”

I love this story because they didn’t notice or realize in their brains that they were talking to Jesus, but their bodies knew it the whole time.

I wonder how the story might have changed if they had listened to their burning hearts?
I wonder how many stories might change with a little more attunement to the things our bodies are trying to tell us?

I know.
If you haven’t thought about your body in a long time as anything else than a tool to get you from one place to another, then this can be hard work.
But our bodies are wise and carry ancient knowing and story and they always know.

We’re turning the corner into June - officially summertime, calendar-ly speaking.
In my opinion, any shift in rhythm or calendar is a perfect time to begin something new - ie to start noticing how your body is feeling, or what it might be telling you.

Sometimes your body is telling you that you need a break, because your shoulders are at your ears and your jaw is clenched.
Sometimes your body is telling you that you are around a person who is so comfortable and safe by literally softening when you’re together.
And sometimes, your heart will burn within you, telling you that the moment you are in is holy and important, and you don’t want to miss it.

This summer let’s practice listening to the wisdom of our bodies.
Start today.
Try it again tomorrow.

Just ask: How does my body feel?

Do it when you are going somewhere,
or leaving somewhere,
or when you’re in the middle of a gathering.
Just check in with yourself.
How does my body feel?
It always knows.

This may date me, but there’s a famous lyric in the 1998 song “Closing Time” by the band Semisonic where Dan Wilson sings: “every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

I’ve been thinking of this a lot lately,
as the end of the school year signifies endings and beginnings for families and students,
for those graduating,
for those sending a student into the world,
or for people figuring out a summer rhythm that is different than the school year.
I’ve been thinking about this as people I love hear new diagnoses,
decide whether to get married or divorced,
buy or sell their house,
or any other big life milestones - both good and bad.
Every beginning means something new replaces something old.
A new diagnosis changes the definition of health.
A new family member stirs up the system,
the same way the death of a loved one does.
No matter what it is, you can’t go back.
Something has ended, something begins. It’s the way it is.

I recently learned that Dan Wilson wrote those lyrics not about the end of a night at a bar, but about the birth of his daughter.
He knew that everything would be different, because of the new life that was beginning.
And I couldn’t help but think of this verse from Matthew’s Gospel.
The Apostle Paul also uses this image of birth pangs, but it begins here, with Jesus, as his disciples ask him about all the horrible things that are happening and he compares it to birth pangs.
It’s an image that is so stark and clear: childbirth is painful but at the end of it you get to hold the newest of new life in your arms.
Birth pangs are time-limited, and although they’re intense and painful, they have an ending. No one is in labor forever.
And birth pangs have a point. They are there to help bring something new into being.

Is this a perfect metaphor? No.
Is every birth painful? No.
Does every birth end in life? No.

But I think the point Jesus is trying to make here is the same one Dan Wilson made
way back in 1998, “every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
This, whatever “this” is for you, if it’s the beginning of a new thing, if it’s about change that is on the way, no matter if it’s good or bad, it’s going to hurt.
It’s not going to be easy or quick, but it will be worth it.
Jesus is telling his disciples that the life in front of them is not going to go smoothly, and yet they need not be afraid of hard things, of pain, or of change.
I want to live this way - less afraid of change, less afraid of what is happening around me, trusting that when some things end, other things begin.
I want to believe that seeing and living into the new life that God is creating all around us is always worth it.
Because it is.

We celebrated Ascension Day this week, the day where we remember that Jesus came to be with us, but didn’t stay. It’s the day is where we hear the story of Jesus floating up to heaven and the disciples just standing there, looking up at the sky, long after he left.

I imagine they were freaking out a little bit.
I mean, they had already thought they lost Jesus once, and now they have to try to do this all over again?
So, whether in awe or fear or grief or some combination of all of those feelings, they keep staring up.
And finally an angel comes and stands next to them and says, “buddies why are you looking up at the sky?” There’s an echo back to the story of the angel at the tomb telling Mary to stop crying because Jesus is not there, but risen. They are trying to name that the disciples are looking in the wrong place.

If you go back just a few verses, to the moment right before Jesus ascends, you’ll hear him telling the disciples to be “witnesses” for Jesus.
I think sometimes we assume this means we’re supposed to go out and tell everybody about Jesus. But that’s not what the word means. The Greek word here that we translate as “witness” is martys (said like “mar-toos”). It’s where we get our english word martyr.
We think of martyrs as people who die for what they believe in,
but in its original form, as in this case,
it simply means people who see something.
And yes, in case you’re wondering, the meaning of “martys” did change over time - when people were on trial for not being quiet about what they saw, and were put to death for not taking it back.

But even with that shift in the meaning, this word has always been about what we see.
You see, to be a witness isn’t about bringing Jesus somewhere Jesus hasn’t already been.
This is what a lot of people have been taught.
Maybe this is what you’ve been taught.
And yall, it’s SO. MUCH. PRESSURE.
Who can be responsible for bringing Jesus to everyone everywhere?
But that’s not what Jesus meant.
Jesus wanted us to do something much, much easier.
All he asked was for his disciples to go and tell about what they have seen.
All he is asking from us is that we tell about what we see.

Where are you seeing God in the world?

So much of the news that we see fly across our feeds right now is bad and scary and it is making people feel increasing amounts of anxiety and fear.
And when we feel anxious and afraid, we kind of forget to look around us at the small and persistent ways that God is already working in the world around us.
It’s easy to miss in all the noise, but also it’s everywhere.

God is everywhere.

And all we need to do is tell people what we’ve seen.
I just keep wondering if there were as many headlines talking about the ways people are being good to each other, and the ways that love won, and the moments that reminded us that God is active and bringing new life where it seemed like death won - would the way we move around the world change at all?
I think it would.
It’s easy to stir the rage machine.
To get fired up and share all the horrors and stupidity we see around us.
I do it all the time.

But what if some of us made a different choice?
I think this might have been what Jesus was getting at when he told the disciples that he would need them to be witnesses when he was gone.
Because we need to remember what love looks like in the world.
In moments and people and places and things - both big and small.
We just need to see it and tell people about it.

What was it that you witnessed today?

There’s been a lot of “maxxing” language around the interwebs these days.
It started in the gaming community but quickly spread to be a word that we add to just about anything to describe maximizing it in one way or another. We’re sleep-maxxing, looks-maxxing, protein-maxxing, money-maxxing, whimsy-maxxing… the lists go on and on. I’m honestly surprised I haven’t seen Jesus-maxxing or church-maxxing or faith-maxxing yet. I’m sure it’s on the way.

It seems like as soon as you add the word maxxing to something and start posting about it, commodification and competitive elements follow quickly behind, and, in my opinion, take away the joy and fun, if there was any to begin with.

When Jesus told the disciples that he came that they might have life, he didn’t just say any life, he said abundant life. But I don’t think he meant life-maxxing. Jesus doesn’t want us to hustle or grind or even post our way through life. Jesus wanted us to have ζωή περισσός - zoe perissos - (pronounced zoe-way perry-sose). Zoe means soul, or life, and perissos means exceedingly or extraordinary or over and above. Not maximizing every moment, but supreme soul-living.

Before he said he was here to bring abundant life, Jesus warned his disciples about those that come to hurt and steal and harm life, and he wanted them (and us) to have a measuring stick of sorts by which to determine if someone was there for good or not.

Does this person/place/thing/situation bring you unmeasurable and immeasurable and exceedingly abundant life?

If you answered yes - then this is what Jesus wants for you. This is what Jesus came to give you.
If you answered no - this is not God’s dream for you.
If you answered - I don’t know - then it’s also no.
I promise, you know when you’re living an abundant life.
And it’s not material, or measured by any kind of standard unit of measurement.
It’s not competitive or able to be commoditized.

So what is it?

I really like the First Nations Version of John 10:10 as a guide for what it means to receive and live an abundant life: I have come to give the good life, a life that overflows with beauty and harmony.

Isn’t that gorgeous?
An abundant life is not one where everything is maxxed but one that is overflowing with beauty and harmony.

This past week in my neighborhood, all the cherry trees started to bloom. There’s a stretch of road near my house that is just lined with pink and white blossoms and it’s stunning. I think of this verse every time I drive or walk on this street right now. It’s simply overflowing with beauty.

I was with a group of people earlier this week that just cared for each other in the most lovely way, letting everyone be who they were and also encouraging each other to be brave and take risks and love bigger, and this verse came to mind again - it was a room overflowing with harmony.

I think our world is in deep need of harmony and beauty right now.
Maybe you are too.
Things are hard and scary,
and it’s really easy to feel discouraged and disheartened.
But Jesus didn’t come so we’d stay hidden in those locked rooms of fear and sorrow. He came that we might have life.
Even though there are thieves around us hoping to steal and destroy,
Jesus came that we might have life, and life abundant.
Jesus came so that we might be a part of the good life that God has created for all of us - overflowing with beauty and harmony.
This week was my reminder to step out into it,
to let it overflow on and around me.
So I’m passing on this challenge to you.
Find the beauty, even if it’s not quickly seen.
Find the harmony, even if you have to search a bit.

When you experience those things,
know you are experiencing God’s dream for you and for the whole creation.

Happy May!

In Minneapolis where I live, this week has been what I like to call “green week.” It’s that short set of days when all the trees go from buds to leaves and suddenly what was a grey-brown landscape is all that vibrant green unique to early spring.

Even though I wouldn’t say it’s warm here yet, green week offers little signals all around us, letting us know that we did it. We made it through another MN winter.

Green week doesn’t always happen on the same week, and this year it feels particularly late. Maybe it’s just that this winter felt even longer than normal.
But somehow the trees just know. They know when it’s time to unfurl and open, because they don’t just have branches, but also roots, and the soil temp tells them more about when spring has sprung than the air temp ever does. What is under the ground is as important as what’s above it, and you can’t have one without the other.

“From the fig tree learn this lesson” Jesus says in Matthew 24.

I know there are a lot of scholars who think that this verse is about the end of the world; who think that Jesus is saying that just like a fig tree tells us when summer is near, so too will there be signs that will tell us that the end of the world is near. Maybe that’s how you have also heard or understood this verse.

But other scholars believe that this verse is telling us something else; it’s not about the end of the world, but more about about a promise that when God shows up in the world, there will be signs, similar to what signs of spring look on a fig tree.
That’s the one I am holding onto right now. The one that is not a threat but a promise.
There are more than enough things in the world that feel like threats, I don’t want green week to be one of them.

”From the fig tree learn this lesson,” Jesus says.
Jesus is saying that just as the fig tree putting forth leaves tells us something, so too does God showing up tell us something.
No, not that the world is ending,
but that something better is near.
That we have made it through.
That summer has come.
It’s not a threat, but a promise.
And a lesson well worth remembering, especially now.

There’s a picture on my gallery wall that I got from my friend Nora, way back in 2020. It says, “It’s going to be ok.” And it’s a quote that Nora’s husband Aaron said as he was dying of brain cancer. So it definitely didn’t seem like everything was ok, but it mattered that he said it. It seems like the most basic of statements, but honestly, it’s been really important for me to see it daily.

There are a lot of things happening in the world right now that make it feel like everything is falling apart - and that’s not even including the daily things people are struggling with on an individual and personal level.
It’s a lot.
Believing that everything is going to be ok seems like a big enough ask, so trusting that there is a God who loves us and wants good for us and wants life and life abundant for us feels almost impossible.

If that’s you - I know that reading the verse for today can be tough.
It can feel like a lie.
Or at the very least, a pipe dream.
Yes, it’s just one small statement of faith that Paul wrote to the early church in Colossae, but it feels a lot bigger than that right now.

Jesus is holding everything together?
Ok well good luck Jesus, you’ve really got your work cut out for you.

This letter begins, as many of Paul’s letters do, with a greeting and word of thanksgiving for the Colossians and their faith.
But there is a quick shift to reminders of who Jesus is and why it matters.
Paul writes that he has been praying for the Colossians, that their new faith may be strengthened.
Obviously we don’t have the report that caused Paul to write this letter, whether it was verbal or written, but we can make some guesses (and scholars have) about why he responded the way he did.
This new and fragile church community needed to be reminded of who Jesus was, why he came, and why it mattered, and Paul was up to the task.
He knew how trauma and persecution and violence and grief could turn faith into rubble, and how even the strongest and most faithful people might struggle.
So he didn’t waste time.
By verse 9 of the first chapter, Paul is praying.
By verse 15, he goes fully into his best Jesus sermon.
Because he knows what’s at stake.
And he knows that sometimes we need someone praying for us, and to remind us that Jesus has got us, that it’s going to be ok.
Even when the evidence doesn’t seem to support it.

So uplifters, wherever this little note finds you this week,
whatever state of strength or fragility you find your faith,
I want you to know that I’m praying for you.
Even if we’ve never met, I am praying for you.
And even today,
in the midst of things that might be causing your faith to be shaken,
when false prophets come and speak about God in ways that aren’t true,
when empires and leaders take credit for the work God does,
or when they sign God’s name to their evildoing,
I want you to know the same things Paul does:
Jesus is in all things.
Already present, even in the places and moments where we doubt God may be.
Present and holding things together,
even when it feels like everything is falling apart,
or if it feels like we’re falling apart.
Jesus is there.
It’s going to be ok.