faith – Page 11 – Lisa Lewton

An American Advent: Esther

You will find them in the reeds when Moses floats down the river. She is the unseen young girl whose parents were taken during the war. Before anyone else finds out, the angel first proclaimed the good news for all the world to her.

The Bible is nothing if not shocking. When something big is about to happen, it does not first happen among the mighty and powerful. Elected leaders do not shape the story of Scripture. Those with political importance are only center stage when they have messed it up.

The infant Moses was saved when two young girls took charge. It is teenage Mary who first received the good news of Jesus’ coming. And no one suspected Esther.

Esther’s story is told in ten chapters that famously make no mention of God. She was a Jew raised by her Jewish cousin, Mordecai, after her parents were taken in the Babylonian Exile. When the non-Jewish king went on the hunt for a new pretty face, Esther won his favor. Later, Mordecai overheard a plot to exterminate the Jews and urged Esther to use her place in the king’s favor to stop it. He said, “Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.”

This Advent series challenges you to notice an Advent hope for our own nation. In America, the land of the divided and the home of finger-pointers, we tend to look for hope in all the wrong places. We look for hope among the wealthy, the mighty, and within our own political party. We blame and bicker, boo and belittle.

And no one suspects Esther.

Upon Mordecai’s urging, Esther went to work. When no one suspects you of changing the world, you have plenty of permission to do so. And she did.

As America waits for a better economy, a better selection of political candidates, a better nation, Esther is a story of what to do while you wait. She wasted no time blaming or bickering. She, a young woman in a man’s world, the unseen girl with tragedy as her backstory, hatched a Shakesperean plan that concluded: “…and if I perish, I perish.”

While we spend these Advent weeks waiting for the birth of a Savior and waiting for Jesus to come again and waiting for a better America, how are you waiting? Are you blaming the leaders you elected because America does not look how you want? Are you bickering with those who see the nation differently when all this time you could be the unsuspecting whisperer of hope?

Let’s move the spotlight from the nation to the Christmas dinner table that awaits you. You know, the table you may be dreading because the very people who bother you most will be seated beside you. People who see the nation differently, or your family history differently. People you successfully avoid most of the year. I recently listened to a podcast in which a listener asked if it is possible to just end it with her family because she’d had enough of them. If you are dreading the Christmas dinner table, it appears you are not alone.

Esther saved a nation, and perhaps you could save Christmas dinner. How did she do it? She believed that what made her unique was exactly what was needed. Out of love for her people, she was brave and honest. She did not wait for someone more important to make a difference, she understood the one who could make a change was her.

Photo Credit: Akira Deng on Unsplash

An American Advent: What Does Justice Have to Do with Advent?

Fighting for justice is the daily work of a mom of young kids.

While the word justice addresses big concerns such as hunger, poverty and racism, justice is also a concern at the Lego table. Years ago, the 19-month difference in my little boys’ ages nearly did me in, especially when Legos were involved! The more aggressive brother hoarded the Legos or disassembled his brother’s creation. Whatever each one had was never fair enough and the tantrums that erupted were Vesuvian. My job as a mom was to advocate for justice at the Lego table by asking questions of my two little boys:

Why can’t you at least let me shower before you fight?
But seriously, why are you so angry?
Can you tell your brother what you want?
How can you share what you have so the Lego table can be a fun place for both of you?

Justice is what happens when people work toward the same equitable goal. Justice is two little boys sharing Legos, even though it lasts only long enough for a mom to take a shower.

In America, justice is a touchy word. Currently, Americans are rather possessive of their notion of justice, applying the word only to their own political party – blaming the opposing party for threatening justice. But justice is not a partisan word, it is an Advent word.

The Narrative Lectionary reading for the first Sunday in Advent is spoken by the prophet whose name is pronounced more than one way. Habakkuk (HAB-ah-kuk or Hah-BAK-kuk) is advocating for justice. He is waiting for God to bring about equity for God’s people caught between the superpowers of the day: Babylon and Egypt. The future for God’s people is grim, so Habakkuk turns to God and says, “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen?”

This is the faithful cry of Americans today, waiting for justice. How long, Lord, will our nation cling to their political parties? How long will we stand for the news to be delivered without integrity, deepening the divide between neighbors? How long will everything that’s wrong be the fault of everyone but our own selves? Lord, how long?

Next week, I will share the story of someone who believed it was her responsibility to advocate for justice. It was not the responsibility of the political powers of the day, or even the more powerful gender. She believed it was her own work to advocate for justice, which changes everything.

This week, consider your own understanding of justice.

In a journal or a conversation with a person or the Lord, what would justice in America look like and how much does your own political preference shape your understanding of justice?
Turning back to the questions at the Lego table, but seriously, why are you so angry?
Can you tell your brother and sister in Christ who may disagree with you how you want justice to look?
How can you share what you have so ~~the Lego table~~ America can be a fun place for both of you?

Eventually God responds to Habakkuk. In 2:1-5, God’s response threatens anyone who depends on wealth and pride. Wealth and pride do not bring about justice. Justice requires as much giving as getting, which is very difficult to teach both at the Lego table and in America. May justice begin in our own nation with your own honest reflection.

Photo credit: Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Series Finale of a New Way to See Your Life: Look Closely, It’s a Butterfly

My annual eye exam includes putting on funky 3D glasses to spot an image hiding on the page. One of those images is a butterfly. (Do not use me to cheat on your eye exam, you have to find it yourself!) Wrapping up our five weeks of family systems thinking based on Roberta Gilbert’s book, “Extraordinary Relationships: A New Way of Thinking About Human Interaction,” the hidden image of a butterfly sums it up. First, let’s review.

Part One: Your own life is incredibly interesting. Instead of trying even harder to be a better human, imagine wearing a detective’s jacket. Look closely at your life. What matters to you? How are you pursuing your goals? How can you respond to life’s challenges more maturely? Systems theory is a way to responsibly look at your own life and identify unhelpful patterns you likely learned growing up.

Part Two: To handle stressful parts of our life, we often engage in triangles. When we are frustrated with a spouse, boss, friend, or parent we complain to a third party instead of directly dealing with the problem. We blame the other person in the conflict in order to keep from admitting our own contribution to the problem. We even hope to change people. The triangle keeps us from seeking a healthy solution.

Part Three: According to systems theory, each person is an individual self. At our best, we are connected to the people who matter to us without taking responsibility for them. This looks like two partners sharing the work of running a household, or a parent of young children working toward “an eventual equal relationship” with them (Gilbert’s phrase). Look at your life and see where there might be an over/underfunctioning relationship. Hint: it is a relationship that drains you.

Part Four: Fusion occurs when we care so much that we lose our own selves in the relationship. Trying to keep the peace, we keep our own hopes and dreams quiet. In pre-marriage counseling, when a couple tells me their parents never argued or disagreed, I wonder which one of them gave up their own voice for the sake of unity.

And finally, the moment you have been waiting for, the finale!

Systems thinking is a way to look at relationships within your family of origin (the family in which you grew up) and your generative family (the family with whom you live as a grown-up). In relationships, there is a level of anxiety. By anxiety, I mean emotional intensity such as fear, anger, or depression. The way in which you respond to anxiety has everything to do with what you learned growing up. Your challenge now is to notice your responses and become more responsible in how you handle them. You can only change yourself. The goal is not to evolve into a perfect human, but simply to be aware of your own self. We make progress when we are aware of our emotions without letting them take over.

To wrap things up, who do you know who handles stress well? Picture a moment when emotions are intense. At the family Thanksgiving table when your uncle spouts out his extreme political view, or at a board meeting in the thick of an argument. This person remains calm and speaks thoughtfully, stating his or her own views clearly. The person does not blame others, but is responsible for his or her own words and actions even though not everyone will agree. That person’s calmness eases the tension in the room.

This is an example of emotional maturity. When I meet with a couple that is stuck, I listen for the person who speaks without blaming. The person who can articulate the problem without blaming is the one person who can make a change in the relationship. He or she can see beyond the intensity of emotions to remain an individual self. This person has thought through what matters most and can tell you their own hopes and dreams. Although this person is connected to family, he or she does not depend on family to move toward goals.

What makes us timid with our own hopes and dreams? Of course, we do not want to disrupt our family. Being human is to have deep desires to feel connected to friends and family, and so we adapt our behavior to fit in. We sacrifice our own unique perspective and goals to keep the peace. This is like looking at my eye doctor’s 3D image and seeing only dots. No butterfly stands out.

The person you thought of earlier is like the 3D butterfly who does not get lost in the picture. It is the individual who keeps calm amid stress because that person knows what he or she stands for, while at the same time remains connected with the people who matter most. Being true to your own beliefs and goals might at times disrupt the lives of those whom you love.

My call as a pastor sometimes disrupts my family’s schedule. Because of the time and emotional complexity, my work demands more of each of the four people in my life. And yet, every time I complain to God about this, I am somehow affirmed that this is the work God needs me to do right now. My kids know I will miss some of their performances; if they want clean clothes, they need to do their own laundry; their time off might not match my time off. I need each of their own unique contributions to our family. They know I love them so much that I want them to learn to depend not only on me, but also on themselves.

My prayers for each of my three kiddos are shaped by my desire for their independence. “God, help them learn to trust themselves, for I know you are deeply a part of each of them.” The same individuality is true of my marriage. “Lord, thank you for this person who is so different from me, who encourages me to be myself.”

Systems theory teaches the way toward healthy relationships is to remain connected to your family of origin. If those family members are no longer living, have conversations aloud or on paper with the person who was the greatest challenge to you. Working out relationships with our own parents and siblings sets us up for better relationships with the next generation. This work can be scary, but you can handle scary on a day like Halloween! This scary work requires you to speak up when you might rather not, and to stay connected when you might rather end the relationship. At your best, you recognize the butterfly in the picture that is you, without letting your own unique self get lost in the demands of everyone else’s lives.

Why did God create people so differently, making relationships so challenging? Argh.

Here is a prayer to encourage you to keep learning about your life.

Good one, God, making as all so different. However, it’s hard to be impressed by your creative genius when you’ve made it an enormous challenge to share the same earth, same nations, same neighborhoods, same workplaces, same homes with people who drive me crazy. What I learned from generations before me created patterns in my life in all of these places. Grant me clarity to look objectively at my life to recognize the healthy patterns and to let go of the unhelpful ones. Give me courage to speak up, grace to forgive and let go, curiosity for my own life, and wisdom to stop trying to change other people. Thank you for making me this way, even though I still have so much to learn. And you have more than enough mercy for this lifelong learner, your beloved child. Amen.

A New Way to See Your Life, Part Three: How to Light the Unity Candle

In her book, “Extraordinary Relationships: A New Way of Thinking About Human Interactions”, Roberta M. Gilbert describes two people who meet, are attracted to each other, and grow intensely close. Even thinking about being together makes each of them happy. Soon after, they are considered “fused,” meaning when one person is happy, so is the other. When one person is frustrated or sad, so is the other. Their interactions become intense, trying to return to and maintain a state of happiness. They work so hard to keep each other happy, knowing when one of them is happy, so is the other. They constantly struggle in their pursuit of good feelings. They have lost their own selves in the relationship.

If you have attended a wedding ceremony when a new couple lights a unity candle, you might remember they light one candle using their own individual candles. “Be sure not to blow out your own candles,” I tell couples during rehearsal. “You are still your own person in your marrage!”

This idea is confusing in part because of the movies. When couples fall in love in the movies, they become like one person, synchronized, fused. They are together in every sense of the word, but that relationship only has to last until the credits roll! In real life, couples are not to become one person, they are to remain two separate people with their own ideas, hopes and dreams; their own opinions and worries; their own friends and connection to families of origin; having their own unique relationship with kids. “Relationships become uncomfortable, not because we care too little, but because we lose too much of ourselves in them.” (Gilbert, p. 77).

You can identify a fused relationship in your life by noticing which relationship feels most demanding and even draining. Gilbert asks whether there are unrealistic expectations tied up in this relationship. Another question for self-reflection is whether you can spot fusion in your family of origin? Could the people in your family have their own identities and priorities? What did it look like when one person expressed opinions that differed from the family, or when a family member moved far away?

As my teenagers add years to their lives, I both enjoy and am challenged by their individual perspectives. Aware of how fusion makes it difficult to be our own selves, my kids are not required to agree with me, nor am I required to agree with them. We can have our own thoughts regarding politics, relationships, gaming, and music. It is so much fun, and again challenging, to equip them to be their own unique persons, like individual candles that keep burning. Each of my kids are valued members of our family not because we agree, but because our different ideas make our family more interesting.

In my marriage, I was slow to learn what a gift it is that my husband and I sometimes see politics and theology differently. In the early years of marriage, it seemed as though the goal was to be like-minded. (Again, the movies!) But thank goodness like-mindedness is not the goal! In my family of origin, too, it has been a blessing to have parents whose own opinions and perspectives differ, which offered even more perspectives growing up.

Fusion in families stunts our individual growth. When we try too hard to keep the peace and fake our agreement, we miss out on each person’s individuality. It is, in fact, enriching to live under the same roof with someone who respectfully disagrees with me, even though it can be a pain the neck! Growth is hard. I am challenged to keep learning, and to keep defining my own perspective.

Next week, in the last part of this series, we will zoom in one more step to notice our human tendency to be together, think alike, and avoid conflict. I will share a few last thoughts to encourage you to keep your own candle burning, just as Jesus said: “In the same way, let your light so shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5:16)

The Peachy Life

(Photo credit: Nati Melnychuk on Unsplash)

Only a slice remains of the sweet season when you enter the produce section of the grocery store and meet a pile of peaches! Buried in yogurt and granola or piled up beside my morning eggs, I do love myself a peach. It takes a minute and no more to add such abundance to my life, long enough to slice and then handwash the knife.

There are times when even the quick work of preparing a peach seems like too much. To slice up a peach would require too much time, so I don’t. And what a bummer, with peach season in North Dakota so short it’s the pits. (Your eyeroll is justified.)

If I tell myself there is not enough time to slice a peach, I am far too busy. If I tell myself there is not enough time to connect with a friend, take a short walk, read a few pages of a book, breathe a few deep breaths, look into the eyes of the family member speaking to me, or visit with my husband, I have let my life become too rushed.

On this side of 40, I might grow more aware of the needless things I do. Things, I hate to admit, no one would notice if I did not do them. When these needless things do not get done because I am “busy” slicing a peach, consuming the flavor of abundant life, all is peachy with my soul.

Laundry is a Sacred Act

Welcome to the season of routine! <insert cheering from roaring crowds of mothers> I took a peek at my daughter’s new planner (because she is my mini-me) to discover both birthdays and days of room cleaning all assigned to their proper days. Ah, the power of rhythm and routine.

With age also comes the power of forgiveness when rhythm and routine are disrupted or adapted. Truly, few things are sacred in our lives. If you pause to ponder what is truly sacred in your life, what might that be? Family connections? Health and well-being? Friendship? Sharing? And Jesus, of course. Most questions a pastor asks you can be answered, “Jesus.”

For me, doing the laundry is sacred. The washing and folding and praying for the people who will wear the things you wash. (Disclaimer: I stopped doing my kids’ laundry when they were five because laundry pods are awesome. But I do on rare occasions move their laundry from here to there or wash the random items that are abandoned in the living room.) Tucking away the towels, hanging up the coats, the infrequent scrubbing of baseball caps and shoes. This is sacred work I try not to rush. I hope my prayers become lodged in the fabric, like chocolate stain that will remain there forever. I hope these woven in prayers will speak up, somehow, when my child of any age feels inadequate, overwhelmed, frustrated, pressured, or lost.

I’ve noticed it’s not so tough to encourage a younger kid in her or his faith. It’s the older variety that poses the challenge. How do you pray for the kid, who for the sake of maturity, needs to grow some distance between you? It might be the bigger the clothes you end up moving or washing, the more prayers that are needed to weave into all that fabric! “Big kids, big problems,” you have heard. We can also say, “Big kids, big prayers.” Or, “Big kids, big community,” by which I mean kids need extra love from the people around them.

It’s so easy to step back when kids need healthy distance from parents and guardians, but perhaps it just means we step closer to them in prayer. It is letting go of the influence we once had in their younger years, and trusting the woven-in prayers, and the accompaniment of our Lord to guide and guard them always.

Could daily prayer for kids, grandkids and neighbor kids be part of your new academic year rhythm and routine, if it isn’t already? If you are retired and you miss the feel of the new year, your new homework could simply be the sacred practice of prayer. Pray for families getting ready in the mornings, that their words are kind and their snacks healthy. Pray for kids who eat lunch alone, or who feel alone even though they are sitting with others. Pray for playground peace and collaborative classmates. Pray for supportive friendships and self-kindness.

Just as a parent of young kiddos will tell you there is always laundry to do (thank you, chocolate stains), there are always prayers to pray.

Time Capsule Trumpet

When a friend mentioned her daughter asked to play trumpet in 6th grade band, I was happy to offer my old Selmer. This is the trumpet I’ve packed up, left untouched and moved to four different homes in the last couple of decades. It’s the one I played most days of the week during the school year for roughly eight years.

Opening up the case before taking it to the professionals for a tune-up was like cracking open a time capsule. There was our school song, laminated and crumpled after years of basketball games. (“Sherwood High School, hats off to thee!”) There was the crepe paper, red poppy and American Legion label twisted around the brass for Memorial Day “Taps”. There was my 7th grade handwriting with my name, school and address in the event my trumpet and I were separated at a competition. (Was my mailing address actually Box 1? It’s true!)

Looking back, it seems my trumpet and I were rarely separated during that long stretch of time. Eight years is an extremely long stretch of time for a kid! My recollection of high school band (grades 7 – 12 seated across the gym stage, curtain closed) involves heaping sympathy for the music teachers who, let’s be honest, had little to work with. Yet every day he or she showed up, waving a small not-so-magic wand and hoping for a miracle. I also played for two years in college under the direction of the incredible Gordy Lindquist, a northcentral N.D. legend, made legendary by his ability to tickle the ivories while they were covered up by a sheet, or playing behind his back and in a variety of other contorted and hilarious moves including upside down. You couldn’t help but love being in the room with him, your classmates and your instrument which you played in the ordinary, boring way and not upside down.

Then I tucked the Selmer trumpet into its velvet outline, latched the black case and moved it to four homes until finally, finally a girl will play it. With the “Minnesota Rouser” and “Taps” tucked into the horn’s history, now it will learn new tunes. In the beginning, each note will come painstakingly slow until suddenly, a song will emerge, a new life lived.

Write a Letter to Your Future Self

“Why is it you feel content?” asked my spiritual director some years ago. He noticed in that moment the weather in my spiritual life was 72 and sunny. This question got me thinking. Why did I feel content? I reflected with him out loud. I was reading, journaling, and working out. Conversations with my family felt good. And I was proud of the work I was doing in ministry.

“You could write these things down,” he suggested, knowing writing things down is one of my favorite hobbies. “Then, when you feel less content, you can look back and remember what it looks like for you to feel content.

His idea jogged my memory. Several years back on the verge of a sabbatical, I wrote a letter to my future self. Although I was filled with joyful anticipation at the weeks of rest and reflection that lay ahead of me, I also felt sad when I considered the pastoral ministry I would miss. I love the work God has set before me, and I didn’t want to forget it when I grew so cozy in the rest and reflection of sabbatical. In my letter, I reminded future Lisa how much I love serving as a pastor.

In those rare moments of clarity, it is worth grabbing a pen, or typing a note in your phone. How often do moments of clarity descend upon us? How often do the five people in my family ride together in a vehicle without fighting? How often does our puppy not destroy a perennial when roaming the backyard? How often isn’t it windy in southwest North Dakota? Right. Rarely.

What might that letter say, if you were to capture a moment of contentedness and pass it along to your future self? How might you assure your future self that you are, actually, enough just as you are? You do not need more money or fancier things. The way you look, feel and move around the world is just fine, beloved one.

Today may not be that particular day of clarity, when the spiritual weather in your life is 72 and sunny. No worries. That day of contentedness is somewhere around the corner. Keep a pen and paper handy.

It Was There the Whole Time

There is a peaceful place you yearn to be when life feels hectic. When the pace picks up, where do you long to go, knowing that in your particular, peaceful place, the pace slows?

Humans require a peaceful place with a slower pace every now and then, as noted in the commandment to remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy. The command is not for God but for us. Good comes when we hit the pause button for an hour, a day, or longer, even when it means stranding a bottomless to-do list.

The peaceful place I often imagine is near water: a stream, river, lake. A watery site where birds hover and come to visit. Is this why my favorite color is blue, I just now realize? I know I’m not alone in finding peace by water. It’s where Jesus tended to hang out when he hit the pause button. It is why lake cabins are forever in demand. I love to watch the water in motion, quietly offering life to mysterious creatures below and to happy onlookers like me. Does it have something to do with our very first swim in the amniotic waters? Who knows.

I do know there is little natural water to be found where I live. We are all shocked when the grass is still green in July! Lakes are few and far between in southwest North Dakota. There is a lovely river not far from me, but not so easy to visit.

And all this time I long to be spectating waters, it occurs to me, peace may not be so far away after all. The disruption of peace is not limited to the particular places where the pace slows. In the wonky rhythm of summer, there is peace in a deep and renewing breath, in the shifting colors of a yard populated by perennials (thanks, Marcus), and in the broad view of badlands or a field of seeds quietly growing food in the darkness of the soil.

Peace is not only there, it is also here.

Dear Lord, keep me from overlooking peace because I expect it to look like something else. Amen.

Has Neighborliness Lost its Value?

A couple of years ago, Marcus and I planned a neighborhood get-together. We know most but not all of our nearest neighbors and we both believe neighborhoods are safer when we know one another. And familiarity with neighbors makes it easier to locate a cup of flour at the last minute for cookies.

Because delivering invitations is a thousand times easier with a cute 8-year old, Karis and I left invitations in a dozen of our nearest neighbors’ doors. They could RSVP to my cell to host part of a progressive party or simply attend. Two neighbors responded (who also happen to be members of St. John) that they were bummed they would miss it. A week or so later, another neighbor asked if anyone responded to me. When I told him no, he knowingly said, “I didn’t think anyone would go to something like that.” (At least he was honest!)

I am so curious what it might mean when neighborliness loses its value. When we are less inclined to gather, what are we missing? When we do not need our neighbors in the same way as the first generations in the Midwest, what is lost?

It has always mattered to me for our kids know at least some of our neighbors so they have trusted adults if something happens when Marcus and I are not home. In my head, we do actually need our neighbors. And if I need those neighbors, I also care for their well-being. I care that my kids are safe and I care that my neighbors are safe.

“And who is my neighbor?” the first century lawyer asked Jesus to clarify. Anyone who needs help, Jesus began to explain, making the answer more broad until it became specific. Your neighbor, Jesus zeroed in, is anyone who needs help whom you would rather not help.

Humanity has never been great at following Jesus’ command to love our neighbors, especially the ones we would rather not help. It is not new that neighborliness demands more of us than most of us can give. However, what does it mean that bearing arms seems to be easier than neighborliness in particular corners of our nation? Have we become so suspicious and even fearful of our neighbor that someone may be more inclined to purchase an assault weapon than attend a friendly neighborhood gathering with snacks? Are we failing at neighborliness?

Let me be clear, I am not advocating for gun control. I am part of a family who hunts animals. We can have conversations around gun laws without extreme solutions. I am more interested in conversations around neighborliness, which I suspect are just as hard but yet more productive.

As we move through this devastating time of mass shootings in my own country, I promise to pursue discussions around neighborliness. I promise to practice inviting my neighbors to gather, even if it may seem a ridiculous idea to some of them. If Jesus was ridiculous with his mercy, I can lean in that direction, too.

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