Feet Washing

Servants
Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. John 13:3-5

The Lord used the book Jesus on Leadership to prepare my heart before I received my call to ministry. The book brought me to a point of being willing to surrender my live totally to God’s service. The author begins the book with a memorable scene. (Note: the other book I used was God's Call, the cornerstone of effective ministry by Neil Knierim and Yvonne Burrage, Lifeway)

I rode with Henry Webb and Ralph Hodge to Atlanta for the first Promise Keeper’s Clergy Conference. While there, God changed my heart. One evening we heard Wellington Boone speak on reconciliation. He commented that while reconciliation between blacks and whites was important, God could not bring revival until blacks were reconciled among themselves. Wellington began to honor Tony Evans, a black pastor in Dallas. I did not know that Dr. Evans had been catching flack from the black community because he has reached out to whites.

Rev. Boone said in front of forty-two-thousand-plus clergy, “if I had a cup of water, I would wash Tony Evans feet.” The men of integrity would have nothing of idle words. Suddenly, a man jumped up and approached the stage with a glass of water. Almost immediately, another man came running down the aisle waving a towel. Men began to cheer and stand to their feet.

Another black clergyman on the platform, Bishop Porter, went to Tony Evans, stood him up, and led him to a chair on center stage. Wellington Boone took the towel and the water, unlaced Tony Evan’s shoes, and washed his feet. The place erupted with emotion. Men began to cry at the display of humility and honor. I began to cry because I knew God really wanted me to wash the feet of those who had called me to decide who deep the mission of God was in my life. That was it. I knew. My responsibility was to wash their feet. God would take care of the rest. (Jesus on Leadership by Gene Wilkes p. 5)

Last spring at Breakaway 05 our youth camp, I had my own powerful encounter with feet washing. Kevin, Kyle and Jordan had planned an awesome week at camp. As they prepared they decided to set the pace of camp by setting aside the Sunday evening for worship. The decision to use all five senses while engaged in the act of worship brought results beyond our expectations. Drawing on the traditions of the Christian faith we set up stations that the students would pass through; a room of incense for the sense of smell, music for hearing, a PowerPoint presentation of the names of God for sight, the feet washing for touch. We completed the service with communion for sense of taste.

I was asked to do the feet washing, the touch aspect of our sensory worship. As a child raised the Brethren church, a denomination who regularly practiced the ceremony each *Maundy Thursday, I was familiar with this ancient rite. I was able to pull from my memories and the resource of my father.Paired with Jordan, we were stationed outside on the patio between the tennis courts and pool. It was a beautiful cloudless night. There was no wind, unusual for that time of year in Texas.Jordan read the scripture, John 13:1-17, and I gave a brief talk from what the Lord had placed on my heart.

For who is greater, the one who reclines at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who reclines at the table? But I am among you as the one who serves.Luke 22:27

Jesus asked this question of his disciples at what is now know as the Last Supper. It was an unexpected question because the disciples had just finished arguing about who was to be this greatest. (Luke 22:24). It was an ironic question because Jesus had just finished the Passover supper and he had lead them through the first communion service and told them on of them one among them would betray him. Jesus was pointing to what he had done for them in the interim after the meal and before communion. He had washed their feet as a sign of humility and a lesson in servanthood. Jesus was making a point, because it was obvious they had not gotten it yet as he listened to their argument. He had come to serve. He was the suffering servant of Isaiah 53. He was prepared to die and preparing them for his death.

This is a simple ceremony we are going to partake in. At one time in all the protestant denominations and in the early church it was a common practice, however, it has fallen to the wayside because it makes people feel uncomfortable. This is sad, because it is a very powerful picture of the living Christ.

In silence Jordan and I started to wash the feet of the students, about a dozen at a time. I washed a young woman’s feet and Jordan a young man’s. They in turn washed the feet of the person beside them. We did this four times as each group of youth made their way to us. Each time it became richer and richer. The youth as they passed through all the stations were being transformed too. The presence of God was as strong among us as the night was deep, windless and silent. But the most powerful thing I witnessed was when Jordan knelt down and washed the feet of his wife Jennifer. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I witnessed one of the most beautiful acts of love of think I have ever seen. That is the heart of Jordan, my friend; he is a servant of God. He loves his wife more than himself.

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*The word "Maundy" comes from the Latin for 'command' (mandatum). It refers to the command given by Jesus at the Last Supper, that his disciples should love one another.

http://www.thisischurch.com/christianinfo/maundythursday.htm

Haiku

repotting

the fern

by porch light

I always knew. Blessings.

Blaze a trail across the sky

With the treasure of the heart

Light a starry path

Written in the dark



Don’t be afraid to be

Don’t be afraid to start



Lift up your voice to Him

And let His words impart

Peace within

Let the kindness of His love

Break it all apart

And then



Don’t be afraid to cry

Don’t be afraid to start

Don’t be afraid to die

Let Him leave His mark



Bring Your life to him

Bring your song to Him

Breathe your breath of Him

Blaze a trail in the night.




Written 6-25-05

Smoke and Soot

I love Counting Crows and they have a new CD. So I will add that to the good side of the balance. Along with the chalk pastel in the garage that is half way done and the relationship with my mentee that is so new and fragile. There is all the parks between here and the city to photograph and the churches with stained glass windows that maybe someday I will go and ask to go inside and photograph.
And maybe I will write and garden too.
I have a three day weekend…….. I really need it. My boss hurt her back and sweet Mirium is gone to New Mexico, north of Taos to work the horses and teach the boys to ride. Fun story… her mom calls and tells us they drove the horse up to the remote camps and someone in town sold tickets to watch.
See I knew she was a star and is back in the saddle where she belongs. And I am stranded in a strange life that I both loath and love. I cry out about it and thank Him too for the time to think long an hard about my life and the train wreck.
I found this. I wrote it awhile back… you know how it goes, it’s time.

I am dreaming. The load is tremendous and I only want to lay it down. The tears begin to track down my face, slowly at first then a sob. I sit at the edge of the bed and tell the story, trying to piece it together. I know dreams don’t really make any sense, but the feelings begin to rise up in me as I recall the images that bring them to life.
The rain has stopped and I am in a field face down. I lift my head and I am covered with soot and mud. I prop myself up onto one elbow and look at the devestation. I am in a field that has been burnt by a wild fire. I can still smell the smoke and I see the bleak and charred remains of my life and work in ruins around me. I continue to sob. Up on another elbow I realize I am alive and I am amazed as I remember the fire now. I am soaked to the bone, full of mud and soot. My face streaked and my life in ruin, but I am alive. The sky is hazy still and there is no sound but the wind and I am amazed and relieved. I sit up and it seems as if the ground is spinning. I try to hold on to the earth and wait, putting my head down on my chest and ask myself if this is real. But I am alive and the clouds begin to thin and the mud dries on my skin. I want to laugh. I must be a fright. I am not sure where my children are, but I am alive. I begin to cry softly again. The grass has begun to shoot up among the ruins. It is tender and soft and out of place among the blackened field lined with the remains of the trees that once stood proud and tall and offered shelter. As a child I climbed among the branches and sang songs from the swings they held in their outstretched arms. I look for miles in the distance and see no one. I am walking around, my clothes are grungy and my hair is matted, but I am alive.

Then everything changes.


A house appears. I have a job and I have started to plant a garden, the field is full of bloom but the land is still scared.
I do not know where the gifts come from but they keep coming, my house is full of them and art work I have painted.
No one enters my house although a few dear people stop as they walk along the road in front of the house. They carry with them laughter and smiles and gifts they leave without me knowing, so there is no one to thank.
No one understands the ruin, they cannot comprehend the gifts. I offer no explanation on how the gifts got here or why the devestation.
Then I remember the fire and I freeze in my tracks. I see another figure in the smoke walking up the road to my house. He looks as lost and dismayed as I do. His clothes are blackened and soiled and I begin to cry for him. He is my neighbor and my friend and I realize he has lost everything too. And I remember the fire and the fire is gossip. And I weep.

Written fall 2005

How does your garden grow?

I was maybe ten years old … I am not sure the summer my dad asked me to help him with the vegetable garden. He was raised in the country in the days when everyone had a garden. Growing up in Ohio, most people did. Things like tomatoes, green beans, radishes, carrots, watermelon, pumpkins and squash are easy to grow. I listened careful to his instructions and felt very happy working the soil with him. That is what we did first, turned the soil over and then tilled rows. Next we planted seeds then we watered. For my hard work that day my dad gave me a row of beans that were to be my own. I was to watch over them and pick them when they were ready. It was one of the greatest gifts I was ever given the love of gardening. I love to watch things grow. I love to get out in the sun and weed and trim and make the place in to something more than it was. That row of beans might as well have been magic beans that grew a stock and reached to the sky. Gardening will always be magical to me. And since I have left home I have not really be able to indulge this passion. But I will. For mother’s day I am buying flower for the garden and I am going to plant them and watch them grow. We will see what over the next few months and years that I can do. This is restoration at its best.

I am Just a Housewife

“I am just a housewife.” Then I thought of Rosa Parks who recently died along with Coretta Scott King. And I shuddered. I am sure they often thought that. But their place in history is evident in spite of their seemingly lowly positions, just a housewife. Martin Luther King Jr. described Coretta as “as a dedicated, devoted and loyal wife” in a sermon he preached about the night Jesus encouraged him to stand up for truth. (Soul Survivor p. 20) We all know Rosa’s story, a woman who refused to give up her seat on a bus for a white man defying an unjust law. She started a movement that brought a young black pastor into the forefront of change, Dr. King. One of the lawyer, E.D. Nixon, who would challenge the Alabama segregation laws described Rosa as one of the finest citizens of Montgomery; “Parks was securely married and employed, possessed a quiet and dignified demeanor, and was politically savvy.”

This is Black History Month and although I am not a person of color, I think I understand oppression and the struggle to stand up for truth. I am only a housewife, but I am called to speak the truth in love. I will tell the truth. The scripture tell us "If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." John 8:31b-33. As I am reading the story of King from Philip Yancey’s perspective I am hit by the reality of my upbringing and how the teaching of nonviolent social change I was steeped in as a youth has colored my world and shaped my personality. I just didn’t get it all right. In many ways I have suffered without demanding change. Commenting on her arrest Rosa Parks said, “The only things that bothered me is we waited so long to make this protest.” (Academy of Achievement Website) I too lament my lack of protest.

To suffer without cause is not wise, but to understand the strategy King employed and acted on brings new life to something that is at the core of my personality, call it empowerment, I don’t know, it is more like focus. Oppression of any form is never right. No matter what you call it. The scriptures teach the opposite and the Psalm declare God’s position on the subject. There is no mistake He hears the prayers of the afflicted and answers them in their distress. And the afflicted are told to look to their God for strength.

We as believers are called to a high standard.

Romans 12:9-21

Love

Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.

Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay says the Lord. On the contrary: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.

In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head. "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

The heart of Dr. King’s message; overcome evil with good. At its heart is the ability to forgive injustice, but the courage to stand up against it.

Yancey concisely states King’s charge to those he tried to lead in peaceful protest, “Moral change is not accomplished through immoral means.” (Soul Survivor p.25) Which brings us full circle to Jesus, "If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

King and his followers knew they had to endure and not give in to hatred, but follow their call to the end if they were to prevail, which they did at great cost to themselves. They knew they might not see the effects of their actions in their lifetime, but they endured and overcame.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

(I have a Dream Speech)

King’s strategies

Yancey compares King’s life call to the role of a prophet which is two fold; to communicate a short term goal that will bring attention to a problem and suggest a solution as in the bus boycotts. As these events bring social tension and resistance to them becomes painfully evident King proclaimed what Yancey called the long term vision of the Kingdom of God.

Yet when years have rolled past and when the blazing light of truth is focused on this marvelous age in which we live - men and women will know and children will be taught that we have a finer land, a better people, a more noble civilization - because these humble children of God were willing to suffer for righteousness' sake. (From King’s acceptance of the Nobel Peace Prize)

I find myself in the struggle of my life, against an invisible enemy, one not easily recognized; verbal and emotional abuse. Like Parks I am tired too, physically tired yes, but what I am speaking about is that I am tired of being controlled by another person. I do not see myself as a\ Nobel prize candidate, or a woman who will start a social movement. But a woman who will help others, someday I will.

What God is asking me to do?

He calls me to reformation; both personal and corporate within the body of Christ. He has shown me that only in a radical change in our relationships – how we deal with each other, can there be the change which will bring about the church God intended us to be.



Written 2-25-06

Church

Oh church today... we celebrated communion, I mean celebrated. It is a sweet little congregation in west Plano in the most beautiful neighborhood of Willow Bend. I love to look at the big houses as I drive in from my mid city home. I look at the gardens. My gaze never makes it to the houses. I do wonder what it would be like to have a garden like some of the ones I see, a piece of heaven I am sure.

The sanctuary is dark and the first thing I notice is the fragrance of the candles that lite the sanctuary front. My friend hasn’t shown so I slipped easily back into my hiding place by the post in the fifth row to the side. I can see all, but I am not really seen, or so I hope. I have been nearly invisible for a year or more. It is what I have needed. I know people, I shake hands but I do not let many cross the line of self protection I have drawn. I pat my own back and assure myself, “most people who have been through what I have would never darken the door of a church, much less the same denomination… in the same city.” But I have and I am glad that people allow me to heal silently among them. They don’t seem to mind, but gently urge me to take the next step. They know. Many have been where I am in some way, shape or form. All around me I am reassured that this too shall pass and I will be able to let down my guard and will always be welcome.

Then the music starts and I close my eyes. I open them to find everyone standing so I stand up and only listen. I need to only listen today.

Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus… washes over me and I know that God is speaking. He always seems to show up and continue the conversation I have had all week.

The sermon was the intro to communion; broken and pour out, the story of Mary’s anointing of Jesus before he entered into his passion. It was for me centered on the theme of worship and focus. It seemed to address some of my struggles of the last few weeks, calling me deeper into communion with Him. I have been fasting all weekend. Except for a small meal of fruit and vegetables I have not eaten since Friday noon and I realize that communion will break my fast. There is an immediate picture, practical in that He shows me that He is my sustenance, the source of life and all. This is a picture I believe he has longed to paint for me for awhile. His timing is perfect.

Pastor Dave reads from a writing on the nard that was poured out on Christ and how it lingered in this hair and clothes while he suffered. I do not know if Dave wrote it or not, if he did, he needs to write more, because it was so powerful a story… the fragrance of worship in the midst of suffering.

Jesus, Jesus precious Jesus, Oh for grace to trust him more.

DEFINITELY

Watchfulness

Luke 12:35-38


"Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning, like men waiting for their master to return from a wedding banquet, so that when he comes and knocks they can immediately open the door for him. It will be good for those servants whose master finds them watching when he comes. I tell you the truth, he will dress himself to serve, will have them recline at the table and will come and wait on them. It will be good for those servants whose master finds them ready, even if he comes in the second or third watch of the night."






OK





I look at the blank dialogue box and I wonder what to write...


not really I almost always have an opinion and something to say, but I am quiet so you could toss a coin and see what you get, never know... I might not say a word, I might talk your head off.




I want to talk about doors. I fell in love with doors while in Russia. I wanted to find fabric and bring it back as inspiration for design, but instead I took photos of doors.






Doors from Russia and doors from last weekend's photo adventure.