The Good News about Being Cancelled

The word "cancel" is written all over our culture right now.   People quiver in fear of being found out for that one false move, misinterpreted or inappropriate action, hidden crime, and being shut down forever.  Game over.  You are condemned for what you have done, even as a teenager, not just for what is imperfect, but anything deemed unpopular, creating a death sentence for one's achievements or profession for the rest of one's life.  We live in an unforgivable culture.  It doesn't matter if you are sorry.  You cannot change.  You are cancelled. 

But God's idea of cancelling is the total opposite.  God is not surprised by what we have done.  He knows it all, and He knows us.  And that is why He sent Jesus.  

We are not cancelled.  Our sin is cancelled, and cast into the deepest sea. (Micah 7. 19)  We are not stuck.  We can change. God redeems our past and transforms us in the now.

The Hebrew word for cancel means to forgive, to pardon, to show oneself gracious, kind and benevolent.  Because we are all imperfect, and because of Jesus, our sin does not define us.  God invented forgiveness not to condemn us of our sin, but to release and liberate us.  We are changed, not because we deserve it, but because Jesus cancelled our debt of wrongdoing.  (And if the word "sin" is confusing to you, substitute the word selfishness.) 

I read in the news this week, a person citing-- even boasting -- a cancellation:  "I'm about to end this man's whole career."

But God says, "I come to give you life."  Not because we earned it.  But because He loves us.

Cancellation is the scarlet thread seamlessly woven throughout the Bible, from Genesis to Revelation, the story of God's redeeming, turning the world right side up.

Luke 7. 42  When they could not pay, he cancelled the debt of both.

Romans 8. 1  There is no condemnation in Christ Jesus.

John 3. 17  For God sent the Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through Him.

Romans 3. 23  For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. 

Isaiah 53. 6  All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way;  and the LORD has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.  

Cancellation is what Good Friday is all about.  It is why Jesus came.  And Easter is the proof. 

His mercy is more.

 

Bushwhacking

We have taken trails before that we hadn’t yet tried.  Those marked paths have been engraved into the wilderness by many faithful people before us.  Their trailheads are highlighted by signs with official names, mileage, and arrows (go this way!)  Trail maps and guidebooks list directions, elevation gain, highlights and cautions.  One trail we contemplated last weekend listed 23 stream crossings – four required removal of boots and three warned of “treacherous” in spring.  We’ll wait on that one.

 A couple of days ago, my husband Bill asked me where I would like to hike that afternoon.  There was no chore that could not wait for the next day.  The deep blue covering of sky and the mild breeze called us into an adventure.

I wondered about that untrodden wilderness behind our cabin, a steep hill without so much as a visible pathway, strewn with dead trees and a creek rushing in a race down the hillside.  I wonder what it looks like on that ridge up there, if we can get to it.  I wonder where the creek comes from.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why would we choose to bushwhack where there are no trails? I chuckled. “Because it’s there,” once replied British explorer George Mallory who attempted to summit Everest in 1924 and vanished in the effort.

The wilderness is not the unknown.  Just the unexplored.  And we are all surrounded by the unexplored.  We take for granted what is around us.  We have avoided the difficult and thereby forgotten the wonder of discovering something new. 

We justify our way out of it.  “But it might be hard.  It might be scary.”  And it might.

The mere thought prompted a childhood memory when my brothers and I would stuff food in our pockets, explore the vast woods that bordered our subdivision, and be gone until nightfall.  Our musician mom and scientist dad did not worry, quite unaware that we were gone.  We discovered trails where there were no trails, we built forts from discarded lumber found on construction sites and from tree branches.  In winter snow, we barreled crazily down the hillside on sleds, crashing into trees and ending up laughing in a tangle of brush.  We returned home shivering from cold, bruised and sometimes bleeding, but we had so much fun exploring.

Bill and I headed out the back door, realizing this bushwhacking venture might be quite short-lived.  Within a 100 feet, my hiking shoes were wet and muddy.  But with every step, wildflowers peeked shyly into sight.  We climbed over fallen trees, traipsed through downed limbs, and crossed the creek several times to find a way through the heavy brush.  A ridge up ahead gave us hope. 

The hardest part was a short rise covered in brambles, no way around, catching on our clothes, pulling at us with sharp thorns, and trying almost successfully to immobilize us.  The only thing to do at that point was to plow through.  I felt like I was reliving the woes and tribulations of Pilgrim’s Progress.

And at the ridge, there was another ridge rising before us.

There were no trails on that mountainside.  And at times, not even an apparent way through.  But we had gone so far, it was closer to keep going than to go back.

Or so we thought. 

We followed the creek and found in the midst of the forest, a forty-foot waterfall.  We had no idea it existed.  We are rarely aware of what God has entrusted within our care and reach and just a little bit beyond our vision.

We climbed even higher to get a good shot of the waterfall.  And then, another ridge appeared.

We kept going upward, at times the hillside so steep we were crawling with our hands, grasping every tree, every broken limb to pull us up and keep from sliding back down.  Careful what you put your trust in, I warned myself.  Too many branches I gripped for support came loose in my hands.  But even spindly trees came to my aid, giving me a handhold to pull myself up another few feet. 

Just a few yards further, just a few steps to that next tree I can grasp.  It was not a question of if we would make it.  We just had to keep going. 

Just because something is difficult does not mean God is not in it.  Don’t always select the easy way, the most comfortable and convenient.  Because when we choose to do something even a little harder, we learn not to be afraid and know how to trust God when life gets tough.  God never promised life would be easy, but “I am with you.”

And all the way we were covered by a strong fellowship of old growth trees and the majesty of God’s creation we could not have seen any other way.

We were not lost.  We just didn’t know where we were.

An old fire road finally came into view, a steadily drawn line barely perceptible --over there, up there, and finally under our feet.  And a hundred yards further, still following our creek, there was an old stump, a few rocks, and a vale of trees.  It was a hidden spring, the unlikely source of all that water streaming down the mountainside.  Not too different than how God provides in unexpected places and from the faithfulness of people we do not even know.

 

He split rocks in the wilderness,

and gave them drink abundantly as from the deep.

He made streams come out of the rock

and caused waters to flow down like rivers.

                              Psalm 78. 15-16

 

We reached the summit, completed our crazy venture, found the source of our creek -- but not through any strength of our own.  And God provided a wandering fire road in the middle of nowhere to lead us home.

 

And the LORD will guide you continually

and satisfy your desire in scorched places

and make your bones strong.

And you shall be like a watered garden,

like a spring of water,

whose waters do not fail.

                          Isaiah 59. 11

 

Sometimes we follow the trails.  And sometimes we bushwhack.

 

Sometimes my words in the voice of another

God desires that we come to Him with our aches and cries and wounds and absolute joy in our own words. That is why God invented prayer.  That we may talk with Him personally, listen and respond.  But as it says in God’s Word, sometimes we don’t even know what to say.  

“For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.”  (Romans 8. 26)

But even when we are speechless, God understands our every word when we come to Him.  Because he understands our hearts.  Sometimes there are no words for it.  And sometimes there are. 

Often, a Scripture verse will resonate in my heart.  Yes, God, that is what I was trying to pray.  And in the process, even in the very act of praying, I realize how shallow I am praying or that my own prayers are stuck in a rut or routine, the same diluted words repeated over and over again.

God translates my thoughts and feelings into His Word, when I just don’t know what to say or how to pray.  The Psalms have been used for centuries by the church in its liturgies, The Lord's Prayer deeply engraved, as well remembering the numerous prayers of Paul, unfathomable affections too deep for my own words.  Even then, there is not the need to pray in eloquent words, but from my heart.

Written prayers of others help me at times to think and pray differently.  Most often centuries old, these prayers do not just reflect my heart, but verbalize my heart.  And that enlarges both my vision and my vocabulary.  Because how I see God always impacts how I pray.

Today is St. Patrick’s Day.

 

 

 

 

 

In honor of this faithful ordinary man who God used in extraordinary ways, I am posting one of his ancient Celtic prayers from sixteen hundred years ago, known as the Rune of St. Patrick.  May the still-timely words of his prayer reflect our own hearts and verbalize not just a deeper love for God but realization of His deeper love for us.  I love the visual images Patrick used in his prayer, all of God's creation around him, when he was only an unknown shepherd slave on a lonely hillside in the early 400's AD.  He knew, even in that volatile and vulnerable place, to pray continually. (1 Thessalonians 5. 17)

 

The Rune of St. Patrick

 

Today in this fateful hour

I place all Heaven with its power,

And the sun with its brightness,

And the snow with its whiteness,

And fire with all the strength it hath,

And lightning with its rapid wrath,

And the winds with their swiftness along their path,

And the sea with its deepness,

And the rocks with their steepness,

And the earth with its starkness,

All these I place,

By God’s almighty help and grace,

Between myself and the powers of darkness.

 

If you are interested in learning more about St. Patrick’s remarkable life, please feel free to access my nightlytea blog on St. Patrick and his Shield, posted March 17. 2017.

Last picture taken

It was the ordinariness that surprised me. 

Several days ago,  I was challenged to look back at the last picture taken a year ago at this time, right before the lock-down was mandated.  I invited others to join me in scrolling back. For some, there was a big event like a concert, or a business dinner, or a birthday celebration.  But for the most part, our pictures prophetically captured what we considered ordinary life at the time.  Was that just a year ago?

What was the last picture you took before quarantine?  You might be surprised by it.

The day before quarantine, one of our daughters snapped a photo of me reading to our grandkids who live in town just several minutes away. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We didn’t realize that morning that it would be the last time we would be together for three full months. And even then, I felt blessed that the absence was not far longer.  We have not been able to be with our other grandkids who live far away in California for more than a year. 

But we learned to zoom.  It was not the same as being together, but it was what we had.  We made the best of it.  And each of us accumulated quite a few other necessary skills that we never knew we needed.

What were we doing that last week before lock-down? We were tottering on the edge of the unexpected. We could not have imagined a story like this.  There will always be things we do not understand yet. But our understanding does not limit God's greatness in it.

Life itself, relationships both great and small, and closeness to God are more precious.  Or are we just now realizing that?

 

How did we endure, what did we do, and in Whose strength did we rely in that strange new world?

 

This year was not just an interruption or an intermission.  But something way deeper than that.  God has provided for us, supported, taught, trained, strengthened and loved us.  And He is still redeeming.

 

God's redeeming has no expiration date.  He promises in Scripture, "I will restore to you, the years that the swarming locust has eaten."  Joel 2. 25    God's mercies often appear in unexpected ways, but always and exactly what we need.

 

In all those unexpected moments and months, God has been with us.  We all view life far differently now than we did a year ago.  God has filled that year with extraordinary stories, still unfolding.  And as the writer of Luke stated upfront in his gospel:

...to compile a narrative of the things that have been accomplished among us....   Luke 1. 1  

 

May we not forget the stories.  May we not forget His faithful Presence.  

Not just in what has been.  But what is now.

 

What is our first snap shot for the days and weeks and months to come?  What are we holding onto? Or perhaps in this continuing epic:  realizing Who has a strong hold on us.

But this I call to mind,

and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;

His mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is Your faithfulness.

 

                Lamentations 3. 21-23

 

 

 

 

Pressing On

I was looking through some old journals the other day.  I wondered what I was thinking about a year ago when our lives changed so radically because of the pandemic.  I found these words inscribed from sometime last April -- almost a year ago:

A friend posed the question:

"What will you do differently when we get back to normal life?"

How little did we realize in those "early days" what was still ahead of us.  How little did we realize how we would be changed by this.  How little did we realize that we would still be reorganizing our lives around the pandemic a full year later -- that people would still be vulnerable to it, still getting sick, suffering long haul symptoms, and still dying.  Plans were cancelled.  Churches went online.  My eight grandchildren have not been in real classrooms for a full year.  We had no idea.

Normal?  That doesn't even seem to be the question anymore.  Nor the answer.

A few days later, again a year ago, as I reflected on her question, I wrote down:  "It depends on what we are doing now. It depends if we want to go back to "just normal."

The pandemic was not a short story after all, but a vastly altering narrative.  And every day-- in the struggles and in the joys-- emerged a story of God's faithfulness.  We were awed by surprises along the way, strengthened by what we have suffered, girded up by what we experienced, grateful for how God provided and prepared us, and amazed at the resources we never knew we were capable, skills we didn't know we had, and how deeply relationships meant to us.  And we prayed a lot.  We missed the hugs.  We still do.

Eleven months into the pandemic, still huddled together as a family, one of my daughters asked her kids, "What is your favorite thing in the world right now?"  One four year old replied, "Cheese!"  His twin brother cried out, "Petting aminals!" (yes, correct spelling).  And my six year old granddaughter smiled and shouted out,  "Being together."

That is what she will remember for the rest of her life.  Being close as a family.  Spending time -- a lot of time together -- that is what is precious to her. 

Our lives will be divided by Before Quarantine and After Quarantine.

          And transformed by all the stories between.

Now to Him 

who is able to do far more abundantly

than all that we ask or think,

according to the power

             at work within us,

to Him be glory....

                Ephesians 3. 20-21

A New Trail

In an effort to enlarge our network of known and familiar paths through the forest, yesterday we hiked a trail new to us.  It was located in a corner of the woods we had driven past for many years, but had never bothered to stop and attempt.  We knew where it started, approximate mileage, and that the terrain was vaguely hilly.  But that was about it.

As we started off, the first almost two miles was a delight, a steady flowing stream, visually and audibly our constant companion.  The path was an old logging road, gutted in parts, but wide and welcoming.  It was moving at a gentle but upward incline.  How had we missed this way before?  

An arrow indicated a sharp left turn, scrambling across a single log bridge, and taking a new direction.  After about another half mile of meandering, the trail began to ascend.  And ascend.  And ascend.  At the top of each switchback, the trail bent uphill again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We had not gone this way before.  It was totally unknown to us.  And the uphills kept going...well, uphill.  Surely at the next bend, it would flatten out.  Things would get easier.  How much longer can this go on?

And a thought kept swirling in my brain, "Ascending doesn't have to be an uphill battle."  I lifted up my eyes and looked around.  I was missing the spectacular beauty of the deep crowd of trees surrounding us, and the festive and prolific rhododendrons uplifting the winter's grimness with their everlasting greenery, as if decorating the landscape for a year-long holiday.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I lift up my eyes to the hills,

from where does my help come?

My help comes from the LORD,

who made heaven and earth.

                       Psalm 121. 1-2

Up and up, we trekked, not knowing for how long.  And then just as suddenly, the trail began its descent....without a spectacular view at the top of the mountain that we hadn't known we would be scaling.  "Where is the view?" I said outloud.  But there is not always a mountaintop revelation, yet always so much along the way we can scarce take it in....if we are even looking.  It largely depends not on what we are seeing, but what we are looking for.  We miss so much splendor right in front of us.

Starting this day, a very long year ago, we all began an ascent on the extremely hard covid trail, suddenly there, unknown to us and that seemed to go on forever.  And when we came to what looked like the end or leveling off of the pandemic, it got even harder.  There was a grace in not knowing how long and hard it would be.  

But what we found was that God's faithfulness surrounded us all along the way, even through the adversity, and to know even more that we are not in control.  We never have been.  He is God, He is real, and He is right with us, even in our darkest moments.

And we are still hiking through it.  And when we do get to the end of this, there will not be a new normal waiting at the trailhead, but new hearts within us, a new strength that is not our own, and trusting even deeper in God, even in mystery, even in what we still do not know.  We have learned the melodies of the songs of ascent.  We are beginning to know and sing the words. Worship pushes back the darkness.  It doesn't flatten out the hard stuff, but God gives us His strength to endure and keep on going.  We do not walk alone.

One time I asked one of our daughters who is an avid runner, "How do you get up those big hills along the way on your runs?"  And she answered, "It depends on what you are thinking about."

 

For I, the LORD your God,

hold your right hand;

it is I who say to you,

"Fear not,

I am the one who helps you.

              Isaiah 41. 13