Author Archives: Lisa Lewton

The Case of the Missing Lids

It happens to you.

You finish a meal and you are left with the leftovers. You reach into the drawer or cupboard where containers and lids take up residence. You find the perfect container but cannot locate the lid. You know it was just there! How do containers and lids separate? It is madness!

If you live alone, you wonder what you did with the lid and investigate, or give up, depending on the day and how much you want to bother with a missing lid.

If you live with other people, however, you open the case of the missing lid and go looking for someone to blame! At our house, the list of suspects includes the teenager who leaves a trail of containers and lids throughout the house, the old guy Marcus visits each week and delivers a meal in these containers, the dishwasher (you never know), or the dog who has been known to mistake a lid for a frisbee.

Blame is a lovely distraction. In fact, the missing lid will never be found, I know this to be true. The time we spend distractedly looking for someone to blame could be better spent reorganizing the system to make it less likely for lids to go missing in the first place.

If I zoom out a bit, I can see this fact: we toss lids into a drawer and hope for the best. Because multiple people do the dishes at our house, not everyone files lids (or containers) in exactly the same drawer. Also, lids crack and get tossed before a replacement is found, like benching a basketball player without sending in a sub, leaving only four on the floor, an incomplete team.

Blame will not get to the bottom drawer of any of this, it will instead stifle creative wondering and problem-solving. Blame keeps me frustrated instead of curious. Blame also makes a person crabby, which is no fun.

Blame for me extends beyond the lid drawer to relationships, just as it does for you.

Kathleen Smith has me considering blame after reading “Blame is a Giant Penguin.” (This is a subscriber-only article.)

“Moving past blame isn’t about letting people off the hook or excusing bad behavior. It’s about not needing a villain to steady the ship or make sense of one’s current functioning, a feat for the uber-narrative brain.”

This is to say, blame distracts us from the actual facts. It keeps us from thinking through the relationship to be honest with our own part in the problem.

  • Who are you blaming instead of zooming out to see the problem differently? Maybe more honestly?

Zooming out offers you a Christ-like view of your relationships, adding mercy to the question. It keeps you from being distracted by blame and reorients you to the everyday wonder of being alive.

  • What blame are you carrying that needs letting go?
  • How does blame melt away when you prayerfully define how you want to live? How you invite people to treat you?

When I zoom out and see my own part in a relationship problem, I often recognize that I have not been clear with how I want to be treated. I distractedly let someone else shape a relationship that needed more input from me.

Blaming is easy and so often it leaves us stuck. God’s gift of your life deserves a wider, zoomed out view of how you want to define your relationships (even with the lids.)

Case closed.

Photo by Luke Peterson on Unsplash

The Dog Who Walks (Only Sometimes)

Most mornings involve a walk with this dog. In fact, a primary reason I negotiated with Marcus a few years to get the dog in the first place was to get myself outside and walk, which I was unmotivated to do without a four-legged friend.

And so, in the mornings I am forced to play a game where I go looking for this dog who may be sleeping beside any one of three teenagers. Usually when I get to Door #3 I find him curled up and hopeful that I will forget our daily ritual. Like the student who avoids eye contact with the teacher posing a question, he hopes I will move on.

On this particular morning, he had chosen a couch for his sleeping quarter over a kid’s bedroom and went all chameleon, aiming to blend in with one pillow while hiding behind another.

Seriously. What dog passes on the famous invitation to go for a walk, a thing that is good for both of us? Who chooses not to do the very thing that is good for him, but instead the thing that is less good for him? I’ll tell you who: Paul. (and us)

I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate…I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. (Romans 7:15 & 18b)

The dog tries to get himself out of a morning walk. The rest of us try to get ourselves out of other things that are good for us.

  • Vegetables instead of cookies.
  • The hard conversation with someone we love instead of the small talk question.
  • Going next door to meet the next-door neighbor instead of keeping to ourselves.
  • Trying to direct a spouse or child instead of hearing them out.
  • Saving money instead of spending it – darn you, Prime Days!

Human beings, like this little slightly lazy dog, are not expected to be perfect. We are all creatures inclined toward sin, that is, we will do the very thing we do not want to do.

Now hold on. I am not scolding us for making bad choices, or telling you to revise your habits, although you very well may.

Instead, take a gentle look at your life and admit where you are doing the very thing you wish you would not do.

  • It is your human nature to avoid what is good for you. What does that look like today? Who might encourage you to reconsider?

Eventually, I coax the dog into a walk. Before we are ten steps down the driveway, his tail wags and h4 remembers he is a dog who, in fact, loves walks. I just need to remind him every single ridiculous morning.

We follow a Savior who does not wait for us to make the right choice, or to do what is good for us. Sit on the couch and try to blend in every day and you will not undo God’s love for you, a love that is unconditional and frankly quite stubborn.

There are days when the dog does not drag his feet, so to say, but willingly agrees to walk. That’s nice and all, both of us doing what is good for us, walking our way into a new day.

Watching Life

We learn purely from what we see and experience, and I did not expect a life lesson from the [boring] game of golf!

The summer before his junior year, my son embarked on a maiden voyage to the golf course with his buddy. Nearly every day for the past two years, he has swung a club or practiced his putts. He fell hard for this game. Which is the only reason I found myself on a golf course so many times his junior and senior year.

From spectating two seasons of high school golf I have learned two lessons:

  1. The game of golf is freaking hard. I had no idea.
  2. Watching golf is mostly boring, and the same is true of our lives.

Watching your life, what you see is mostly boring. You get up, do something similar to what you did the day before, eat mostly the same food, and at the end of the day you return to bed. Sure, things happen here and there, but our lives are mostly routine.

Only every now and then is there a delightful disruption to the mundane, exactly like the game of golf. Watching golf is somehow exhausting. I think it’s because the excitement is so rare, you have to pay close attention or you miss it.

For example, it is astounding when a player drives a ball perfectly straight down the fairway It doesn’t happen often, so when it does, it is exciting. Or even better, when someone sinks a long putt. Have you spent much time putting? It looks infuriating. A player cannot know with certainty how fast or slow the greens will be, or where a surprise bump might reroute the ball. Why does anyone play this game? I do not understand.

These atypical moments encourage you to keep watching, even though it’s boring. It helps to bring snacks.

Maybe you say: “I prefer a boring life to too much excitement.” I agree, routine is my friend. However, preferring routine can distract you from the rare, exciting moment.

  • When a family member trusts you to listen or to extend a helping hand. This can be an amazing, relationship-building moment.
  • When you are the one who needs more help, and you must trust that God put people in your life to do that for you. This can be an amazing, faith-building moment.
  • When you look outside to witness the graceful flight of a bird and wonder over the aerodynamics of its wings. There is nothing boring about birds – another thing I never imagined I would say! Creation can amaze us all.

May you watch the routines of your life be delightfully disrupted with a glimpse of the non-boring grace of the God who gave you this life, boring parts and all.

Photo by Soheb Zaidi on Unsplash

2007

High school graduation is just around the corner, with this year’s “Pomp and Circumstance” procession including yet another Lewton. Those preparing to graduate share in common one unusual attribute. Someday, their kids and grandkids will scoff at their antiquity, finding it difficult to believe that these old people entered the world with the iPhone.

That’s right! This year’s graduates have only known a world in which apps refer to applications and not appetizers, a society that devotes an entire device to one particular person. (Remember sharing a generic home computer with everyone in your family?)

The invention of this personalized device unleashed a storm of issues no one saw coming, or bothered to mention in 2007: data breaches, bullying, mental health worries (crises?), pornography, never-ending workdays, brand new gambling addictions, and a handful other unfortunate byproducts of the iPhone.

Although these issues are real, the blame for the storm cannot land entirely on any one device. These issues are in fact the byproduct of our sinful condition as broken humans. Human beings steal things, bully, and make poor choices. We set our own desires above the well-being of our neighbors. The device born in 2007 brought nothing new, only new variations on very old problems. There is, after all, nothing new under the sun.1

I have spent the past 17 years wrestling with the meaning of the invention of the iPhone for my kids. It has changed the landscape of their childhood, like any influential invention throughout time: the wheel, antibiotics, the printing press, Elvis Presley’s hip moves.

The wrestling match with a new invention is meant first for the grown-ups, not the kids.

Like any issue we encounter as parents and guardians, this is a faith issue. The match has less to do with a device and everything to do with how we choose to “fear, love and trust God above all things.”2

Instead of blaming a device, I might ask myself these questions:

  • How am I maneuvering life with the iPhone?
  • Do I rely on this gadget for the assurance, comfort and joy only God can deliver and offers me each moment?
  • What impact has this new-ish device had on my own ability to love my neighbor, tend to my well-being, and nurture relationships with those closest to me?

Kids do not learn from listening, they learn from looking. They learn from looking at the wrestling matches of the adults around them as these adults contend with new inventions, relationship disasters, social media, and work stress. What learning has the class of 2025 soaked up from the adults around them?

Just for fun, let’s go back to Elvis’ hips.

In 1956, Elvis was invited onto NBC’s “The Steve Allen Show” under strict instructions to keep his hips under control. One columnist at the time wrote: “Will Elvis rock and wriggle on Steve Allen’s Show tonight??? While thirty million teenage fans applaud in wild delight??? And will he shake his torso like a trotter with the heaves??? Will Presley’s fans all rally at the nearest TV set??? While mom and pop retire just as far as they can get??? Will maidens swoon and lads grow faint when Elvis starts to squeal???3

Elvis’ hips behaved, they did not rock nor wriggle. There was no need for mom and pop to retire as far as they could get. It appeared they had succeeded at teaching kids that hips are not for dance moves.

But what if the adults had offered a different kind of response, less appalled and more amazed at what hips can do? I’m not saying Elvis’ hips and iPhones are worth comparing, but I do wonder how the response of adults can help or hinder progress.

The maidens and lads refenced in the article would go on to hear their own grandkids and great-grandkids scoff at their antiquity, that their generation weathered the stormy moves of a rock star’s hips…until the next invention captured everyone’s attention and produced a new set of fears.

Although the world changes, Beloved Graduates, it also stays the same, as does our lifelong instruction: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.

  1. Ecclesiastes 1:9 ↩︎
  2. Luther’s response to the First Commandment. ↩︎
  3. http://www.elvis-history-blog.com/steve-allen-show.html ↩︎

Photo by Suad Kamardeen on Unsplash

A Chasm Has Been Fixed – Great. What’s a Chasm?

There are some strange words in the Bible. Actually, you can find a lot of them. I suppose a collection of books that spans thousands of years will deliver a handful unfamiliar terms.

Among the strange words: chasm.

I dare you to use this word in ordinary conversation today. No, I triple-dog dare you! First, what is this word?

Chasm appears but once in the Bible, referring to a gulf, or a great big separation. In Luke 17:26 it describes the empty space that stands between the rich man and Lazarus (the poor man) in the afterlife.

Can you imagine it?!! A monumental gulf between the rich and the poor? As if.

The rich man likes it not one bit. “Yo, Abraham,” he bellows from the fiery side of the chasm, as though Abraham is the bouncer. “Can you fix this chasm? Get me across?”

“Nope,” comes Abraham’s reply before reminding the rich man how he spent his life on earth ignoring Lazarus, stepping over his suffering body each day. The rich man’s control on earth did not accompany him into the afterlife.

On the news, I have seen this rich man. I have seen him cut programs that will primarily impact the poor and leave him and his ivy league cronies in the safety zone of wealth. I have seen him.

He has sent innocent immigrant families into a dangerously chaotic panic, even though these many (not all) of these families have improved my community with their hard work and dedication. I know this rich man.

The problem, as you well know, goes beyond the chasm between the rich and the poor. The more troublesome chasm in the United States runs between truth and baseless lies, between those who are loyal to President Trump and those who are less impressed with the past two months.

The real problem is not the chasm, but the fact that the chasm exists at all.

What is a chasm? It is the human presumption that “they” are wrong and “we” are right. No matter who is cast as “they” and “we”, the chasm is hugely problematic for the poor.

The gospel writer of Luke consistently points to the injustice of those who are left systemically poor. It is the unique spirit of this particular book. The writer concludes this chapter by insisting that not even a resurrection could fix the chasm that stands between the rich and the poor, which is a dismal forecast, yet more than 2,000 years later, seems correct.

Not even the resurrection of Christ reduced the gulf between the rich man and Lazarus. Not even religious wars or world wars or the invention of the internet. Not the expanse to the west or even into outer space fixed the chasm between those who have enough and those whose children will not survive past the age of one because their water is unclean.

Chasms are stubborn that way. Fed by the fertilizer of fear, the chasm between the rich and the poor, between versions of the truth, between political sides is not a far-away problem, but a here-and-now-problem.

  • How might the way that you speak of “them” and “us” affect the chasm? Who is listening and learning from your rhetoric?
  • Is there a news source you have not explored, a side of the coin you might explore in order to keep the chasm from expanding?
  • Name it. What are you afraid of as you stand on your side of the chasm? What is it about “them” that incites fear in you?

If the Bible teaches us anything, it is that hate and bitterness are not change agents. Only mercy engenders change.

Mercy. There’s a word. That word makes avalanches of appearances in the Bible. It is spoken and acted out repeatedly. Perhaps mercy could make more appearances among us today, beginning in our homes, on our devices, and among our next-door neighbors.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Round Tables

Churches have tables – oh so many tables!

There are the cumbersome rectangular tables that arrived in churches when people were unaware of back injuries. You can find tiny tables in classrooms, where grown-ups also squeeze in around from time to time when the grown-up tables are busy. There is, of course, the Lord’s Table, that most important where we feast with the saints in light.

And then there are the round tables. Pay attention to the round tables.

In the church I serve, the round tables may be akin to your dining room table at home. They are the place where everything happens: eating, crafting, homeworking, and visiting. Unlike most dinner tables, because of the superb custodial staff at staff at St. John, there are no piles on these tables. They are fully functional!

The round tables at this church have hosted family conversations, hopefully providing an on-ramp for parents and guardians to begin meaningful conversations about the tricky matters of life: money, relationships, body image. At these tables, families have gathered to grieve.

People sit at the round tables to imagine God’s desired future: planning weddings, holding meetings, and gathering with church partners.

Famously, the Knights of the Round Table used that very shape to ensure peace in the kingdom. At a round table, you come face-to-face with the people impacted by the conversation and decisions that are made. The table must be round, lest we lose sight of each individual member of the body of Christ.

Wherever you go, may your tables be round this week, that is, may you sit beside those who are impacted by the decisions you make, and together may you find peace. May you come face-to-face with those who accompany you through this life. May you draw near to those whom God has strategically placed in your life, not overlooking them in the busyness of your days, but refreshing your memory on the uniqueness of their eye color.

Photo by Allison Saeng on Unsplash

The Hen

What do you know about hens? I know very little except that I really like their beautiful and expensive eggs, which I eat very sparingly these days.

I also know from Luke 13:31-35 that hens gather. They are they original mother hens, buk-buk-buk-ba-gwacking and fussing over their babies.

Jesus offers the image of two animals in this passage: a fox and a hen. The fox is endless bad news for the hen, of course. The hen gathers because the fox prowls.

The fox, Jesus interprets for us, is Herod, the Roman governor on the prowl. As best he can, he gathers power and control.

Who, then is the hen? God Almighty.

Who is she gathering under her wings? You, beloved one.

God is the fussing hen, buk-buk-buk-ba-gwacking all the way to you.

And that is not all.

God is the fussing hen gathering all the beloved, all the broken, and all who live under the threat of Herod.

Herod is long gone, of course, yet the threat of those who love power and control remains. Where there is love of power and control, there is a threat for those whom Jesus describes as the least of these: those who live on the edges of safety, the neighbors who barely scrape by each day.

I imagine the hen gathering those who are still living in a warzone in Ukraine, the mothers whose husbands and sons will never come home. And those in Gaza, the brown-skinned ones whose homes, sacred spaces, schools, hospitals and coffee shops have been destroyed.

Still, the hen fusses.

Global Refuge is a non-profit with Lutheran roots. For Christmas, all of St. John’s offering went to the neighbors who are served by this organization. I learned from my colleague that when the federal government cut funding to organizations like this one, the federal government had the privilege of defaulting on their debt. Not only did Global Refuge lose future funding, it lost the funding the federal government had promised to pay.

And so, the hen’s work is never done.

Certainly, the fox has good intentions. I prefer a balanced budget and I dislike wasteful spending. Are there lines in the federal budget that should be cut? Has spending gotten out of control? Absolutely.

What does it say about the fox and its den when many of very first budget lines cut were the lines meant to become food for the hungry and shelter for the poor? It says that the hen will continue to fuss. Buk-buk-buk-ba-gwack.

Photo by Aditya Tma on Unsplash

Cloud Shapes

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfector of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:1-2

Was this passage the inspiration for the touching scene in The Lion King? You know the one. Mufasa directed Simba’s attention up to the stars and in the Broadway musical sang, “They Live in You.”

Probably not, but I am going to pretend it was!

The stars in the sky, like clouds molded into a work of art, call our attention to those who have gone before us, to the great cloud of witnesses who shaped our lives on earth.

Who do you remember when you gaze at the clouds or the stars? Who lives in you? Who ran the race with perseverance and waits beside Christ for you?

Today I am remembering my internship supervisor, Tom Zarth, who died on Ash Wednesday re-membered with Christ and the great cloud of witnesses, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

A requirement of ordained pastoral ministry in the ELCA is a year of internship, which I am grateful to have spent at Oak Grove Lutheran Church in Richfield, Minn. In those days, internship typically took place the third of four years of seminary. The fourth year, then, allowed students one more year or learning and processing after practicing ministry on internship.

My timeline had to be adjusted, however. When interviews took place for internships, I asked to stay in the Twin Cities because Marcus had a landscape business and was going to college. Like many others, I interviewed with a handful of pastors and deacons (mostly pastors). The seminary then assigned students to internship sites based on the preferences of both the students and pastors.

I had no offers. Nada. Although I sorted through all the feelings of rejecting, thankfully no congregation chose me as their #1 student. Thankfully because, had I interned my third year like all my classmates, I would have missed out on Oak Grove.

In these days of remembrance and grieving, people will recall Tom Zarth’s solid preaching, his gentle pastoral presence, his musical gifts and radical hospitality. He served at Oak Grove for decades.

The people in your cloud of witnesses are there because of the unique ways they shaped your life. Tom was a formative witness for pastoral ministry for me because he was genuinely human. You can think of pastors who lead with personality, who can mistakenly convert worship into a show. Tom led with authenticity. He preached, sang, and loved the neighbor with the gentle justice Marty Haugen sings of.

Distinctly, I remember when he played his guitar and sang “My Soul Cries Out,” the new rendition from the emerging ELW, at a conference gathering among his colleagues. I had no idea at the time how incredibly brave that was. The Twin Cities include a competitive culture for ELCA pastors and singing along is vulnerable. That song was a mark of his ministry.

I remember one Council meeting when he was almost late. He explained how their three-year-old was excited to hang out with him and not her mom for once, and he didn’t want to miss out. He may have been the first pastor to tell me the perk of the work is its flexibility. Ministry is incredibly intense at times, and at other times it allows you to go to your kids’ events at school.

Who might you remember with thanksgiving this week as you gaze at the clouds or the stars? Who has shaped your life?

Thank you, Lord, for Tom Zarth and for all the cloud of witnesses who have run with perseverance and now rest in you. Amen.

Photo by Jelleke Vanooteghem on Unsplash

Reflect. Rinse. Repeat.

My favorite devotional app is Pray as You Go. I love it because the daily devotion is the same length as my short morning walk with the dog. There is music, a Scripture reading and questions to wander deeper into the reading. It ends with a blessing.

Saturdays are special. On Saturdays, you are invited into examen, a spiritual practice of intentionally looking back on the day or week.

Have you ever stopped to notice how fast the days and weeks can potentially move? Perhaps it’s like a counselor might say at Bible Camp: the days are long, yet the weeks fly by.

How would you estimate the pace of your life? If you were to assign a speed to how fast your life is moving these days, what might be the miles per hour? Is your life moving at a safe speed? Or is it moving so fast you can hardly keep up and you are at risk of getting a speeding ticket?

The Saturday examen is a yield sign with a mirror. Slow down here. Look back and reflect. What do you see?

Take 3 deep breaths here to yield and look back and reflect.

Each Saturday that I take time to do the examen, I am amazed at what I see in the mirror, the volume of things that can happen in one week:

  • I see conversations, both the ones I had and the ones I missed out on.
  • I notice that person in my family who has been quieter than usual.
  • I recognize where I was my true self and where I simply tried to fit in because that was easier.
  • And every time, there was Christ beside me.

This is my favorite part of the examen. The danger of speeding through life risks letting Christ become a blur, a fuzzy figure in the background instead of a passenger beside me, a companion on the way, a conversation partner at the ready.

Reflect and then rinse. Let go of whatever needs letting go. Like the waters of baptism wash away the lurking threat of sin and despair, let the gentle love of Jesus rinse away your old hurts and regrets.

Slow down. Reflect, rinse, and repeat next Saturday, or as often as needed.

Photo by Jeremy Vessey on Unsplash

Giving Up

“What are you giving up for Lent?” a Confirmation student asked me on Ash Wednesday.

“Well,” I admitted, “I haven’t narrowed it down yet. But it’s time! I will get back to you.”

It was true. I had journaled a short list of ideas the day before and then set the list aside and forgot about it: minimize the things I have, share the busy Martha-like tasks at home to avoid constantly cleaning the kitchen like a crazy person.

What am I giving up and why do such things throughout the six-week stretch of Lent?

We give up something in Lent to follow the faithful Christian practice of giving up. A life with Christ is a constant, every day, every moment invitation to give up. To give up the gossiping, the gluttony and the gall.

Lent is also a call to give up trying so hard. To give up on the lurking notion that if you only try harder, you can be better a follower of Jesus. To give up some of the doing to make space in your life for the being with Jesus.

The hope is that after six weeks of a Lenten practice, you might establish a year-long habit. Six weeks of giving up might flow into 46 more weeks of giving up. And then a lifetime of giving up. When you trip and fall, no worries. Lent comes around every year.

The baptismal cross that was covered in ashes on Wednesday proclaims the promise that God does not give up on you, which in the end, is the only giving up that really matters throughout Lent and throughout all time. (However, I am still hoping to give up a handful of kitchen chores!)

Photo by Kseniya Lapteva on Unsplash