Our eyes filled with tears.
I'd like to say that it was because we'd gotten emotional over a movement in the Spirit, but that would not be accurate.
It was the fumes.
I don't remember the exact cause, but somehow the church was filled with gas from the sewer. It wasn't just a bad smell; the stinging toxins caused us all to react physically. We were quite certain that if someone had caused a spark the whole thing would have exploded.
Turning on the exhaust fans didn't help. Opening all the doors and windows didn't help. Stepping out of the building and breathing deeply ---- that helped.
Of course, this problem didn't exist at all on Saturday evening. I guess that's OK as we wouldn't have been able to pay the emergency fees to get someone out on the weekend to fix it anyway.
So we scoped out our options, gathered some old folding chairs, took them to the nearby park, and set them up under the shade of a tree. We found some batteries for a boom box and pulled out some CDs to play. We posted a kid a the front door and had him point the gathering parishioners to our new location.
Someone had thrown one of those big orange traffic barrels (the kind with the flashing light on it that road crews use in construction zones) into the park. It's flasher was not longer working so I set my Bible on it and used it as the day's pulpit.
Since we were just rolling with the punches, those who came planning to be indoors just rolled with things, too. Expectations for the day went down as everyone fumbled around a little bit, but in the end things turned out OK. We even had a couple of people who were in the park stop by to see what we were doing.
We called in the pros the first of the week and got the problem solved.
Since that time I've become a little more sensitive to toxic fumes inside the church.
Interpersonal conflicts, programming debates, inflated egos, people not meeting each others' expectations, theological disagreements ---- the list goes on. These fumes can build up overnight in a church and have us all on the verge of tears.
And it seems like one spark will cause the whole thing to explode.
When this happens it's critical that we get some fresh Air. Open the windows and doors. Turn on the fans. And when that's not enough, we need to get someplace --- physically, spiritually, emotionally --- where our expectations of each other can be relaxed and where we can let the Spirit breathe.
For it's in those places where we can let our flashpoints dim and replace them with steady light from the Word.
Once we're breathing again we need to be humble enough to ask for help from others. Hoping the fumes will just dissipate on their own will just keep us in the same crisis.
And though not all the sources of toxins in a church can be repaired with one service call, we know through the cross that the price has been paid and that restoration is already on its way.
Breathe on me breath of God.
Showing posts with label breath. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breath. Show all posts
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Friday, July 9, 2010
Failure
I wanted him to die.
That was a new feeling for me. It wasn't because he had done anything particularly bad to me. It wasn't that I even disliked him. As he lay in his bed gasping for air I wanted him to stop fighting and just let it all end.
I could hardly stand to be in the room much less look at him. The reason was that in that bed I saw our world's failures.
The failure of the medical system was in that bed. The multiple diseases that ravaged his body had been left to progress or had received minimal care as he had no insurance and no way to pay.
The failure of social services was in that bed. He easily qualified for a variety of community services but was unable to negotiate the system. By the time I had met him several years earlier, he had given up trying for some services and had become paranoid of the rest.
The failure of the free market was in that bed. He'd never been quite good enough for the jobs that were out there. His limited intellectual capacity and an occasional fight at work were more than supervisors were willing to put up with. He was too smart to get into service programs but not smart enough to make it through job training.
The failure of mental health care was in that bed. Living the repeatedly traumatic life he did any of us would need counseling and meds. He received neither. His DNA didn't help the situation, either. He was smart enough to know that the system could inflict more anguish than what he was experiencing outside it.
The failure of our schools was in that bed. He had been shuffled through and passed along and given a custodial education until he was old enough to drop out. He never had any reason to look back after his 16th birthday.
The failure of his family was in that bed. They were especially gifted in reinforcing bad behaviors and inflicting guilt to manipulate others. They were all able to survive but none were able to thrive.
The failure of the church was in that bed. He had come to us many times for help. We had tried to welcome him into the fellowship. We were never able to help enough to make much of a difference other than an occasional meal and his temper challenged the group's need for safety.
As he looked up at me, gasping for one of his last breaths, I -- we -- society, were all failing him once again. And in the darkness of my mind I somehow convinced myself that once he died that all the problems would die with him and we could all continue on with our little comfortable lives. If the problems were to go away, then he needed to go away.
But the volunteer hospice nurse kept coming through the room. She didn't know all the problems that lead up to this point or, if she did, she didn't seem to be too worried about them. She simply provided dignity and honor and care and actually stayed on after her shift ended for the day. For once in his life someone was making sure that he would not be failed again.
And she didn't seem too worried about the time of death. That would be handled by the One who had the next shift. For on her shift, like mine, she needed to be present and create a place of dignity for a stranger in need.
When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat, and when I was thirsty, you gave me something to drink. When I was a stranger, you welcomed me, and when I was naked, you gave me clothes to wear. When I was sick, you took care of me, and when I was in jail, you visited me. Whenever you did it for any of my people, no matter how unimportant they seemed, you did it for me. (Matthew 25:35-36, 40 CEV)
For a few hours at the end of his life he began to experience the healing and restoring welcome of the Christ that he would soon receive in its fullness.
And he didn't take the failings with him. Instead he left them here so that I -- we -- society might be blessed with repentance and grace and dependence on an undying Love that never fails.
Lord, let me recognize Your grace and mercy upon me as I go through this day. Help me live it out by fully welcoming others as I would You.
That was a new feeling for me. It wasn't because he had done anything particularly bad to me. It wasn't that I even disliked him. As he lay in his bed gasping for air I wanted him to stop fighting and just let it all end.
I could hardly stand to be in the room much less look at him. The reason was that in that bed I saw our world's failures.
The failure of the medical system was in that bed. The multiple diseases that ravaged his body had been left to progress or had received minimal care as he had no insurance and no way to pay.
The failure of social services was in that bed. He easily qualified for a variety of community services but was unable to negotiate the system. By the time I had met him several years earlier, he had given up trying for some services and had become paranoid of the rest.
The failure of the free market was in that bed. He'd never been quite good enough for the jobs that were out there. His limited intellectual capacity and an occasional fight at work were more than supervisors were willing to put up with. He was too smart to get into service programs but not smart enough to make it through job training.
The failure of mental health care was in that bed. Living the repeatedly traumatic life he did any of us would need counseling and meds. He received neither. His DNA didn't help the situation, either. He was smart enough to know that the system could inflict more anguish than what he was experiencing outside it.
The failure of our schools was in that bed. He had been shuffled through and passed along and given a custodial education until he was old enough to drop out. He never had any reason to look back after his 16th birthday.
The failure of his family was in that bed. They were especially gifted in reinforcing bad behaviors and inflicting guilt to manipulate others. They were all able to survive but none were able to thrive.
The failure of the church was in that bed. He had come to us many times for help. We had tried to welcome him into the fellowship. We were never able to help enough to make much of a difference other than an occasional meal and his temper challenged the group's need for safety.
As he looked up at me, gasping for one of his last breaths, I -- we -- society, were all failing him once again. And in the darkness of my mind I somehow convinced myself that once he died that all the problems would die with him and we could all continue on with our little comfortable lives. If the problems were to go away, then he needed to go away.
But the volunteer hospice nurse kept coming through the room. She didn't know all the problems that lead up to this point or, if she did, she didn't seem to be too worried about them. She simply provided dignity and honor and care and actually stayed on after her shift ended for the day. For once in his life someone was making sure that he would not be failed again.
And she didn't seem too worried about the time of death. That would be handled by the One who had the next shift. For on her shift, like mine, she needed to be present and create a place of dignity for a stranger in need.
When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat, and when I was thirsty, you gave me something to drink. When I was a stranger, you welcomed me, and when I was naked, you gave me clothes to wear. When I was sick, you took care of me, and when I was in jail, you visited me. Whenever you did it for any of my people, no matter how unimportant they seemed, you did it for me. (Matthew 25:35-36, 40 CEV)
For a few hours at the end of his life he began to experience the healing and restoring welcome of the Christ that he would soon receive in its fullness.
And he didn't take the failings with him. Instead he left them here so that I -- we -- society might be blessed with repentance and grace and dependence on an undying Love that never fails.
Lord, let me recognize Your grace and mercy upon me as I go through this day. Help me live it out by fully welcoming others as I would You.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Chirp
12 inches. That's how far we live from our neighbors. The common walls that separate our houses are 12 inches thick in our 'hood.
Most of the time it's not so bad. 12 inches of brick muffles a decent percent of the noise and I only know what the neighbors are having for dinner if it's especially spicy.
Of course, things are different in the summertime. Many of us don't have air conditioning so our windows are wide open all the time. The noise of the streets and nearby houses echo through each others homes.
So it was a pleasant surprise when everything was quiet as I got in bed that night. The fresh air of the open windows brought delight to my soul. The thought of a few moments of peace and calm before drifting off to sleep was quite a treat.
Just as I got comfortable in bed I heard it. You know the sound. It's that little electronic chirp that smoke detectors put out when they're low on battery power.
chirp.
40 seconds of silence.
chirp.
Trying to wish it away.
chirp.
Get up and check all the smoke alarms in the house.
silence.
Go back to bed.
chirp.
Yes, one of my neighbors' smoke detectors needed a new battery. I don't know if they weren't home or if they were really sound sleepers or if they just didn't care. But the one night that the street wasn't filled with noise from cars and radios and people . . .
chirp.
Jesus didn't answer my prayers the way I had hoped that night. By 3:00 a.m. I was requesting the hammer of God to come smash that thing and send it to its glory.
chirp.
Yes, sometimes 12 inches is a little too close, especially when the windows are open. In the darkness with both my and my neighbors' windows open it was clear that something needed to be done.
Sometimes there are annoying little chirps in my soul at night, too. Maybe I'm not paying attention or am sound asleep or am so disconnected with my own inner self that I don't notice or don't care about the chirping. Maybe I do notice but feel helpless in trying to make it stop.
Thankfully, God calls us to both times of gathering in close proximity and times of rest. When I get together with people of faith for a time of rest from regular responsibilities, like at a retreat or camp, I have the chance to be physically closer than normal. If things go well, I'm likely to open up the windows of my soul to let a fresh Wind in.
And it's then that I find it easier to hear the low battery chirp in me. It's in the quiet time together that I can most know where I need to let go of old problems and let new Power come in. But if I'm still unable to hear it, hopefully a nearby friend with his soul's window open will hear the chirp from my low batteries and will administer a recharge.
Of course, sometimes in those settings I learn that my batteries are holding sufficient voltage. That's when I can sometimes hear the low-battery chirp in a neighbor's inner life. Then it's time for me to help them to gain a new charge.
For as we care for ourselves and for one another this way, we quiet the chirps and let a Peace that passes understanding come in. Then we can truly rest in Him and disperse to our daily lives renewed.
Revive me, O Lord, and use me to bring restoration to others.
Most of the time it's not so bad. 12 inches of brick muffles a decent percent of the noise and I only know what the neighbors are having for dinner if it's especially spicy.
Of course, things are different in the summertime. Many of us don't have air conditioning so our windows are wide open all the time. The noise of the streets and nearby houses echo through each others homes.
So it was a pleasant surprise when everything was quiet as I got in bed that night. The fresh air of the open windows brought delight to my soul. The thought of a few moments of peace and calm before drifting off to sleep was quite a treat.
Just as I got comfortable in bed I heard it. You know the sound. It's that little electronic chirp that smoke detectors put out when they're low on battery power.
chirp.
40 seconds of silence.
chirp.
Trying to wish it away.
chirp.
Get up and check all the smoke alarms in the house.
silence.
Go back to bed.
chirp.
Yes, one of my neighbors' smoke detectors needed a new battery. I don't know if they weren't home or if they were really sound sleepers or if they just didn't care. But the one night that the street wasn't filled with noise from cars and radios and people . . .
chirp.
Jesus didn't answer my prayers the way I had hoped that night. By 3:00 a.m. I was requesting the hammer of God to come smash that thing and send it to its glory.
chirp.
Yes, sometimes 12 inches is a little too close, especially when the windows are open. In the darkness with both my and my neighbors' windows open it was clear that something needed to be done.
Sometimes there are annoying little chirps in my soul at night, too. Maybe I'm not paying attention or am sound asleep or am so disconnected with my own inner self that I don't notice or don't care about the chirping. Maybe I do notice but feel helpless in trying to make it stop.
Thankfully, God calls us to both times of gathering in close proximity and times of rest. When I get together with people of faith for a time of rest from regular responsibilities, like at a retreat or camp, I have the chance to be physically closer than normal. If things go well, I'm likely to open up the windows of my soul to let a fresh Wind in.
And it's then that I find it easier to hear the low battery chirp in me. It's in the quiet time together that I can most know where I need to let go of old problems and let new Power come in. But if I'm still unable to hear it, hopefully a nearby friend with his soul's window open will hear the chirp from my low batteries and will administer a recharge.
Of course, sometimes in those settings I learn that my batteries are holding sufficient voltage. That's when I can sometimes hear the low-battery chirp in a neighbor's inner life. Then it's time for me to help them to gain a new charge.
For as we care for ourselves and for one another this way, we quiet the chirps and let a Peace that passes understanding come in. Then we can truly rest in Him and disperse to our daily lives renewed.
Revive me, O Lord, and use me to bring restoration to others.
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