What is my Business?

Advent is a wonderful season. When I was growing up we had a tradition of participating in advent. We would gather in our living room and run through a beautiful routine. 

1. Read a devotional and scripture passage from one of those little advent booklets.
2. Mom read aloud A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens.
3. Open Christmas cards. 
4. Open the advent calendar
5. Sing a Christmas carol together.
6. Offer up prayer requests, and talk with God. 

It's a beautiful thing that we do. I'm so glad that my parents set aside that time for us each year. We continue to celebrate it together when we are home, and mom is patient enough that she waits to read A Christmas Carol until I can be present, because it's one of my favorite activities that we share. I was able to be there for our advent celebration this weekend. I nuzzled up next to her as she opened the beloved story and began to cry to herself (as she does every year) while reading the opening sentence, "Marley was dead to begin with." It is the official start of our Christmas celebration. Everyone just waits for her first tear to fall so they can tease her, but I understand. 

This year, as she read the familiar words from the pages, I was struck very deeply by a section in the book more than I have ever been. I am posting it below so that we can share it together. To set up the scene, Scrooge is having a conversation with his old business partner, who happens to have been dead for seven years. But there he stands, in Scrooge's bedchamber, in the hopes of offering the old miser a second chance, and a renewed state of mind. When Scrooge begins to ask about life after death, this is Marley's response...

     "Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed," cried the phantom, "not to know, that ages of incessant labour by immoral creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its moral life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunities misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!"
     "But you were always a good man of business, Jacob," faultered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.
     "Business!" cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. "Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!"
     It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.
     "At this time of the rolling year," the spectre said, "I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode! Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!"

Later in the chapter Scrooge walks to the window to see Jacob Marley as he is leaving and he sees a great many other ghosts in great agony, crying out to people in the streets who were in need. Dickens writes...
   
     "The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever." 

I sat in the living room, of a large warm house, overcome with conviction. The passage served as a magnifying glass through which to view my own apathy. And what an ugly sight it was. I share this, not because I am overwhelmed by the apathy of others, or even the cruelty of the world, but because I am overwhelmed with my own selfishness. It is staggering when held in the appropriate light. 

I don't know what Hell is like, but what a truly interesting idea, that Hell is to look upon this world with, finally, a clear understanding of what is important, and being unable to act upon those new found convictions. It is a haunting idea. May it continue to haunt me as I walk forward from this passage. May its passion be reignited upon revisiting it every year, and may its message be transforming in my heart, mind, and actions. 

Fallen Birch

Fallen Birch

My eyes are accustomed now
To the waving white bows
Of the birch outside my window,
The one that has been dead
From the moment we said
I love this house, and moved all our trinkets in.
I can't help wondering when it died,
Or if anybody tried
To resuscitate it.
I think probably not,
That previous tenets forgot
To care for it with gentle hands.
Perhaps it had been taken for granted
As others became disenchanted
With life's beautiful things.
We humans are not to be trusted.
We are too maladjusted
To nurture these gifts given us.
We tend to strangle the roots
Stand by as each word pollutes
Let actions destroy a picture of love
We squander the blossoms
Pick pedals then toss em.
Overtime springtime is stripped
Of radiant fruits
Blooming forth from her shoots,
They fall fast to the dirt
Hardly making a sound
As they cover the ground.
It was dead before we stepped foot in this house.
Where then was the hope
For the birch on the slope
Which leads to the mailbox?
She had been dead for years.
She was watered with tears
But showing no signs of a wick.
And now at last she has fallen
No more blossoms, no pollen.
The inevitable has come.
Now a new opportunity befalls us
So destiny calls us
"Plant a new tree!
Water and tend this new garden
With grace and with pardon.
See what wonders you have yet to behold
 With love prune and strip
Plant a new relationship.
I mean...birch tree."

Starcatchers

I have always had a sort of fascination with the story of Peter Pan. There are many reasons: pirates, fairies, flying, imagination, swordplay, and eternal youth. Perhaps it is that last one that stirs me the most. I always loved the idea of escaping to a magical land where one could stay young forever.

It is not just a fear of growing up that drives this fascination, though I am afraid. I’m afraid of the responsibilities, the heartaches, and the change. But more than the fear of moving forward, I am grieved by the loss of what has past. We can never go back to our youthful carefree days, and I feel a great sense of loss. I will never curl up on my mother’s lap entrenched in her arms being rocked back and forth with the beating of her heart loud in my ear. I will never go tromping through the woods fighting off invisible ninjas or slashing down weeds with wooden swords. I will never swim beside my brother in the ocean as our super hero selves, Crayola and Crayon, punching waves in the face and saving all those who lie sleeping on the sand. I won’t play beanie babies on the school bus, or catch touchdown passes in laced socks and Mary-Janes.

The innocence, the confidence, the idea that I could do anything, be anything, those feelings are gone. Maybe dulled is more fair a term. But at any rate, I miss it. I miss the freedom and the simplicity of that life. Grown up life seems so complicated. Consequences are more severe, relationships more demanding, and pain more acutely felt. Could we only go back once in a while and feel the sensation? Wouldn’t it be wonderful?

 “On these magic shores children at play are forever beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Starcatchers

Wake up you starcatchers,

            You early morning dreamers,

You freckle faced raggedy gingers.

Pick up your pixie dust!

Today is for tasting cirrus vapors

Not for sinking your toes into the black soil of the earth

Where calluses serve as a symbol of toil

Rather than the freedom of Neverland days.

This dawn, we skate the horizon

To a place where swords and cannons are overtaken by daggers and pebbles,

Where the lips of orphans are not parched or cracked or bleeding.

For there, children clap for the salvation of fallen fairies,

Kites bear the weight of imaginative adolescent girls,

And ticking clocks mark the passage of crocodiles

Not of time.

Neverland does not mourn the living

Like barren winter trees still green with wick.

For there, we do not have seasons that pass,

But one infinite moment in which

Boys conquer men.

Ride with me

To where dreams are never too lofty,

Because where we go

We walk in the clouds

Weightless and unhindered by limits,

Or practicalities, or bedtimes.

No no!

We will glide on in endless story.

Follow me in youthful exodus

Out of the bondage of sheets, duvets and feather pillows.

Out the open window,

The gateway to possibility.

Do not stay behind as your fathers

Or their fathers before them.

Let this be the ageless generation!
                                     
                                                  -Elisa Parmer

Paradoxical Living

I'm in a bad spot. Spiritually, emotionally, intellectually........physically. Everything seems to flip flop rapidly. I'm a moody little sucker these days. And I gotta confess that, I don't even like being around me. It's a rough season. I find myself questioning my faith, the reality of it, the character of it, the logic of it, the theology. I went to Bible college, and frankly...well, I don't look like to the stereotypical Bible college alum. I sleep a lot. I serve little. I don't have a job in my field, and though my friends tend to believe light shines out of my rear, isolation seems like the best option when I wake up.

This is not the grand adventure I signed up for. It's not what I picture when I thought of people suffering with Christ. I spend most days feeling guilty and ashamed of myself. Who I am at the core of my being. It turns out finding my identity in Christ is a lot more than saying it, even more than the practical disciplines I practice. Walking out this path is messy. It's not for the righteous. It is for those who must be made righteous. And it turns out that knowing Jesus doesn't seem to make it easy to strive toward that goal.

"The shocking implication of Jesus' ministry is that anyone can be spiritual.
       Scandalous? Maybe.
       Maybe truth is scandalous. Maybe the scandal is that all of us are in some condition of not-togetherness, even those of us who are trying to be godly. Maybe we're all a mess, not only sinful messy but inconsistent messy, up-and-down messy, in-and-out messy, now-I-believe-now-I-don't messy, I-get-it-now-I-don't messy, I-understand-uh-now-I-don't-understand messy.
       I admit, messy spirituality sounds...well...unspiritual."
-Messy Spirituality Michael Yaconelli

So many times I fear bearing my struggles, my depression, the terrible situations I find myself in. And to be honest, it makes sense. Because there are times when sharing struggle bites me in the butt. It means trusting others, being vulnerable, daring to expect the best of someone. The truth is, sometimes other people are as messed up as I am, and so they react inappropriately. They can be judgmental, they can be cowardly, they can try to put words to things there are no words for. And sometimes, they respond with humility, understanding, reason, encouragement, even silence.

People are so predictable, and yet so unpredictable. So what do we do with that? Why would we put ourselves out there when we don't know what the response will be? Why should we strive to walk a path that half the time, we aren't even sure we understand, or believe? Why would we not get completely down on ourselves when we fail? Why should we trust in things that are so tangible one moment, and entirely intangible the next?

Because life is paradox. Plain and simple. It wobbles along on this tight rope, a balance of opposites. We live in a world where we must be "lead through valleys of sorrows to rivers of joy." A world where we are chosen, but given the right to choose. A world where we tend to hate the people we love the most. It can really seem like a sick game at times. But it is life as we know it. And people tend to utterly suck one moment, and be decent the next.

It's just how we are. And we can spend countless hours debating the psychology, theology, anthropology of it all, but the simple fact is it's paradox. A place where opposite principles coexist. And I guess I find comfort in knowing that the figures God places before us in the Bible are so real, so brilliantly stupid, so compassionately apathetic, so faithfully unfaithful.

I love reading that after Noah delivers humanity and animal life from destruction, he gets so slovenly drunk that he strips off his clothes and leaves his son's to clean him up. Because after I watched almost all of humanity drown to death, I would probably want to get plastered myself. And if I were King (or queen) of Israel, a great warrior who spent their life striving to live a life pleasing to God, and there was some hotty naked on the roof, I might just manipulate my power to get them in my bed. And if I left my entire life behind and followed Jesus around for 3 years, I would probably expect that he repay me with some kind of throne. And if I led a people through the dessert to the promised land, and they started worshiping idols when I turned my back, I would probably have the urge to throw some divinely inscribed stones at them.

As Christians, we often like to preach on complete supernatural transformation. That once you see the light there is no turning back. To an extent this is true. Once you know the truth, whether you like it or not, you can't go back. But the thing is, it's still not always what we want. There are times when I frankly just want Jesus to let me "off the hook." Times I wish I could go back to before, when I believed my life was my own. More often than not people do not magically quit cold turkey without any form of withdrawal. Normally there is no magical moment when lust is gone forever, never to return. Normally people don't meet God and magically love themselves thoroughly because they are made in His image. People struggle, fight, fail, stumble, get ticked off at one another, get ticked off at God. People are thrown into situations they can't control, and sometimes are consumed. But sometimes they are triumphant. Sometimes we are able to see God clearly. At times we have moments of confident belief. Sometime we even treat each other with love and affection. Sometimes we get it. Sometimes the paradox seems completely reasonable and even acceptable.

There is no formula. There is no secret code. Many times leaps of faith have no foreseeable landing ground. But it is life. And it is real. And Jesus is real. And when we let the very real Jesus into our hopelessly real lives, we are left with a hopelessly authentic relationship. And well, it's generally accepted that authentic life is preferable to the alternative. So, even though it can be awful, or messy, or fantastic...and even though there is no telling which it will be and when...be. Share with one another. Dare to be honest. Dare to be imperfect. Dare to forgive and be forgiven. Dare to be a mess.

One Day

I find myself for better or for worse at the beginning of a season, and I found this excerpt rather inspiring.

An excerpt from One Day by David Nicholls

             ‘What are you going to do with your life?’ In one way or another it seemed that people had been asking her this forever; teachers, her parents, friends at three in the morning, but the question had never seemed this pressing and still she was no nearer an answer. The future rose up ahead of her, a succession of empty days, each more daunting and unknowable than the one before her. How would she ever fill them all? 

              She began walking again, south towards The Mound. ‘Live each day as if it’s your last’, that was the conventional advice, but really, who had the energy for that? What if it rained or you felt a bit glandy? It just wasn’t practical. Better by far to simply try and be good and courageous and bold and to make a difference. Not change the world exactly, but the bit around you. Go out there with your passion and your electric typewriter and work hard at…something. Change lives through art maybe. Cherish your friends, stay true to your principles, live passionately and fully and well. Experience new things. Love and be loved, if you ever get the chance.

It Takes a Community

Last evening Hannah and I were discussing the dynamics of friendship. And she said something that I found to be rather profound. "I don't really believe in independence, I believe in interdependence." We spoke of the dangers of flying solo, being caught up in the self. How humanity was not meant to live alone, and yet the dangers of codependence can be just as devastating. When we require another to provide us with the entirety of our self worth, we subject one another to unrealistic expectations. She posed instead a third way. Interdependence. The mutual exchange of love, value, respect which we experience most healthfully in groups. It reminded me of a wonderful C.S. Lewis quote I had read.

This  quote can be found in Lewis’ book The Four Loves in an essay entitled “Friendship.”
The quote is a reflection on the loss of his friend Charles Williams, one of the famous intellectual groups, "The Inklings."

“In each of my friends there is something that only some other friend can fully bring out. By myself I am not large enough to call the whole man into activity; I want other lights than my own to show all his facets. Now that Charles is dead, I shall never again see Ronald’s [Tolkien’s] reaction to a specifically Charles joke. Far from having more of Ronald, having him “to myself” now that Charles is away, I have less of Ronald…In this, Friendship exhibits a glorious “nearness by resemblance” to heaven itself where the very multitude of the blessed (which no man can number) increases the fruition which each of us has of God. For every soul, seeing Him in her own way, doubtless communicates that unique vision to all the rest. That, says an old author, is why the Seraphim in Isaiah’s vision are crying “Holy, Holy, Holy” to one another (Isaiah 6:3). The more we thus share the Heavenly Bread between us, the more we shall have.”

Therefore, we could suggest that our commitment, love, and interaction with others brings out the truest self. In a world where the institution of Church has wrought so much pain, we wonder, "why not forfeit it all together." This pearl reminds us why we are called into community.  not simply with those who agree with us, like us, respect us, but with all people. That our thought may be challenged, that our intellect might be sharpened, that our wit might be honed, and ultimately that our love might abound.

The Hollow of the Wood

I wrote this poem, while watching this video of one of the students who attends the youth ministry I direct. The style of artistry this kid uses touches my heart. Another young friend sent me a text with this scripture this week. The combination inspired the words I wrote.
“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

The Hollow of the Wood
by: Elisa Parmer

Listening to the mellow beats and strums
Plucks and slaps, rhythm attacks.
The tings and pings picking high notes from strings
And it’s as if I know you more.
Things are a little clearer than before
And I remember how you make things beautiful.

At times I lose sight of you.
The lights get dimmer and I find my hands stretching out
In hopes to touch your face.
In this place
I will have troubles.
You promise me that.
And I’m feelin those  growing pains,
The hurts and the shame, Lord it’s starting to drain
The life out of me.

This isn’t the kind of promise I was hoping you’d make good on.
Just feels like a lot of weight to put on
These days,
In ways
That I didn’t see coming.
But then this kid starts strumming .
Energy’s humming, palms and thumbs drumming
Echoed in the hollow of the wood.

It’s as if a melody is starting to arise
And then pangs of high notes remind me to look up.
It’s an August Rush
Of emotion.
With sounds of the world coming together making sweet music.
Then my mind starts to fuse it
With the Gospel. That while the world seems hostile,
These pangs remind me that you overcame, are overcoming, and will overcome.
According to some,
This life is hopeless
Because we don’t know how to cope stress
Heal wounds,
but soon
I am going to meet you.
Weird, that a boy flicking the body of guitar,
Reminds me that we have already met.

The Weight of a Sparrow

The weight of a Sparrow

By Elisa Parmer

Had I the gift of penmanship

I would scratch you out a poem.

One with phrases so light,

They'd ride on the gentle breeze of a summer day

You Created;

Spoken on breath soft enough to kiss infant face

Powerful enough to push waves over cities.

And my words would be deep.

Deep like the ocean current that carries great sea turtles through

A poem for you

To your Glory, lest I should boast in my own fancy airs.

And who cares

If my metaphors seem weak

Or too ridiculous to speak.

This is not for the eyes and ears of doctors of literature

Learned theologians or even Televangelists.

For only you know the price on my sins.

Only you know the measurement of Grace required to pay my slaver.

You didn't offer a loan

Deferred for six months post my graduation to righteousness.

But you bartered your own bread and wine

You told me to drink of it often to remember the exchange.

Never did anyone offer such a sum

For an item so in need of repair.

You shared

The inheritance of a firstborn

With a dead man walking.

For that ransom I would paint you a seascape

A classic composition where the water

Is so vivid

You would keep a safe distance as not to get your shirt wet.

And I bet

I have disappointed you over and over.

There are days where I put more faith in the luck of a four leaf clover

Yet you are patient with me

Like waiting on the branches of a young tree

You wait,

Participate in my growth

Until the day you make me strong enough

To support the weight of a sparrow.

And even if an ounce more would crack the wood and shake my leaves

You delight in my strength.

Because for the first time

It came from your roots.