faith – Page 19 – Lisa Lewton

Advent Joy: Ode to My First Playground

Remember the elementary school playground, if that is part of your story? The playground I grew up on was the most amazing place. It was far too massive for playground protocol today.

The playground at Sherwood School (where K-12 fit snuggly in a single building), showcased slightly ancient yet timeless equipment such as the wood and metal merry-go-round, where I overindulged in spinning on the first day of third grade and went home after losing my stuff in the doorway into the bathroom. (Blessed be the janitors.) Metal slides towered into the clouds like skyscrapers, and the swings were for swinging but mostly for girls to chatter about boys.

Behind the equipment was a mowed area nearly the size of a football field where baseball, soccer and football took place, long before we understood the long-lasting effects of concussions. You are welcome, next generations, for all the inadvertent experimenting we did with head injuries in order for you to know, today, that getting hit in the head is not a good thing.

To the east of the land of head injuries was, you might not believe me, a forest. A Sherwood Forest, yes, clever you. The forest became off limits late in my elementary days for obvious reasons, but before that, we built forts and did business. We coldly ripped bark from trees and made it our currency to purchase pretend food and pretend supplies. We told secrets in those woods and I’m sure drove the teachers on recess duty into utter exhaustion. We ran from bullies, made weapons with sticks, and how did none of us die in there during recess?

Today marks the last day in the week of Advent set aside for joy. We await the joy Christ will usher in when he comes again to gather us as one. In the meantime, would you share a story today about your first playground?

Advent Wondering: Peace in My Neighbor’s Neighborhood

In 2020, our world became both smaller and bigger.

The world was smaller in the sense that we scarcely moved around in it. I spent much of my time at home with the four people in my immediate family. In shared spaces, we all did our work. We cooked and ate and washed dishes together. I took lots of walks. We watched movies and played games and drove each other bonkers and then we got over it. There is a sense of peace in being connected with the people in your home.

The world also grew bigger. From my living room in June, I watched the burning streets of South Minneapolis on Facebook. Peace may have been something I was enjoying in my small world, but not in my bigger one. More than ever before, 2020 made me aware of the absence of peace for so many of my neighbors whose neighborhoods are not quiet like mine. Not all my neighbors trust the police like I do. Not all my neighbors feel safe going on long walks or stopping at a convenience store like I do.

Injustice against black and brown bodies was not new news to the big world, but it became more tangible news as our siblings in Christ persisted in speaking up about an absence of peace. Perhaps for the first time, I felt invited into the lament of a wide world with a narrow sense of what is normal (white food, song, experience) and what is not (black food, song, experience).

Peace is not reserved for our small world. Peace is not mine, it is God’s dream for the world. Peace requires peering out far enough for the world to become bigger, and neighborhoods to look more like one big world and less like separate worlds.

God arrived in a manger in only one world, after all, in another time when peace was only enjoyed in small worlds. This Advent, as I dream of peace in my small world, I’ll also dream of peace in the world that is unfolding more and more each day.

My Christmas Tree Tried to Kill Me

A grace-filled thing happened last week. While I was at church one evening, my husband and kids transformed our living room into Christmas. There was nothing more than an empty tree stand when I left. Upon my return the stand was occupied by a full and beautiful tree 8-foot tree (the size I had requested), the walls were decorated with archived kids’ art work, and my grandmother’s wooden painted Santa Claus was nuzzled nicely into our burlap wreath.

(Women, sometimes we need to be physically away for Christmas miracles like this. If you want help from your family, you sometimes need to ask them, find an excuse to leave the house for a couple of hours, and return home with words of thanks and no criticism. None.)

The next day, we hung lights and ornaments on the great big tree that has made its presence known. As its branches stretch out, it is quite difficult to walk around it without knocking off an ornament. Watering is an act of spelunking, except instead of a flashlight you have an awkward watering can.

A major problem, I realized too late, is that our Walmart tree stand underestimates the size of this gorgeous addition to our family. So, when I was sitting in the living room yesterday, after preaching a sermon encouraging people to keep their Christmas expectations from getting out of hand, and the tree attacked (a.k.a. fell on) me, I was surprised, then sort of ticked off at this giant tree, then thankful my two kids who were there came to my rescue. We found ourselves in an intense operation: stabilizing the tree, maneuvering around a broken bulb, soaking up the water in the carpet, retrieving soggy presents.

Finally the madness subsided. Perhaps it was akin to getting a crabby cat into a kennel, although I’m mostly afraid of cats, so I don’t know that for sure. Christmas is the giver of so much emotion, so many expectations, so many disappointments, and so much, hopefully, recognizing the people who are there for you when you need them, for example, when they bring home a tree without any help from you, and then that very tree tries to kill you.

Advent Wondering: Can I Live Without Amazon for a Year?

If I set aside the downsides of every one of my Amazon purchases (extra packaging materials, more fuel burned by trucks, working conditions for underpaid and harried Amazon employees) what’s not to love about Amazon?!?

For the love of this busy culture, in two days my item arrives at my door! Socks for a kiddo, lotion for me, that cute pillow case for a living room throw pillow. Or, in two days an item arrives at the door of any address I enter into the shipping information. Need to send a gift? Amazon will do it! Need a toothbrush every six months to arrive without actually ordering it? Amazon can do that, too.

Amazon is like Tabitha from “Bewitched”, Santa Claus, the world’s best mom, and a little bit of Jesus all wrapped in one.

Which makes me wonder…when buying becomes so easy and automatic (“I’ll just order it on Amazon.com!”), what am I forgetting? The more automatic it is to order on Amazon, the less I actually consider what I’m buying. If what I “need” is but a click away, that’s just too fast for me to make a mindful purchase. I’m not looking at something at the store and comparing it with the items around it, which takes long enough for me to also wonder if I truly need to purchase it. A “click away” takes the think away. (I’m sorry.)

My Amazon Prime membership is up at the end of December and I wonder if Amazon and I need to take a short break. Will I miss out if I don’t click for 365 days? Will my kids go without socks and my couch look dreary? Both are entirely possible. I’ll also need to buy toothbrushes all on my own in six months.

Will I also be a little slower in my clicks? Will I end up with fewer things at the end of 2021?

The weeks of Advent lead me to wonder such things. How can I slow life down? How can I be intentional with choices that impact my neighbor and this earth? How much do I really need and have I noticed how many drop-offs I make at the thrift store? Am I being mindful with money or just clicking away?

Life tends to accelerate without our even noticing. Even in a global pandemic it moves quickly.

“Blessed are those who click wisely.”

Advent Week One

You have only four weeks to get ready for the arrival (advent) of love in a manger.

Not four weeks to choose the most amazing presents and bake the most delectable cookies. Not four weeks to wear yourself down to design the perfect Christmas.

Christmas is most perfect when we don’t fuss with it too much. God did a fine job being born in a manger, filling a human body with the loving presence of the Almighty.

It won’t get better if you do too much. If you beat yourself up for eating too many cookies or get crabby with your family because they don’t appreciate all your hard work.

Work less hard toward the perfect Christmas. Light a candle and reflect manger love in conversation, stillness and gentleness with the friends and family whom God entrusted to you.

And grace lightens the darkness through you for four whole weeks.

How to Remember the World is Much Bigger Than You

A famous biblical story features a made-up dude named Job (pronounced differently than it looks). Job had it rough and justifiably wept and wailed. We read in the story how not to help our grieving friends, but in the end it is no surprise that God has the last word.

God zooms out on Job’s view of the world. “The world is much bigger than you,” God relativizes to a miserable Job in a dozen ways. God points Job to creation, showcasing the larger-than life creation work goes on day in and day out without Job or anyone’s help.

Like a proud child, God points. “Look at the sea, I did that! See that cloud? That was me! The snow and hail? It isn’t always lovely, but it’s my work. And the ostrich’s wings? I gave those wings the power to flap, baby!”

Last week, I felt a slice of Job’s pain. And God pointed.

“Feel the warm sun on a November day? I made that heat!”

“Taste the fresh bread. Grain was my idea!”

“That gracious card someone sent you? Don’t you love it? I invented kindness!”

“You heard that song and faith welled up in your throat? You are welcome.”

Okay, God. I remember now. The world is much bigger than me.

This is Your Soul. This is Your Soul on Hate

If you are as old as I am, you may remember the powerful commercial by the Ad Council to illustrate drug use. Above a sizzling frying pan, you saw an egg and heard the monotone words: “This is your brain.” The egg was cracked and dropped onto the pan, followed by these matter-of-fact words: “This is your brain on drugs.”

Drugs fry your brain, we understood without question, yet questioning how much we wanted eggs for breakfast anymore.

What the Ad Council did not mention is drug use that becomes drug addiction can divide families…can alter one’s perception of one’s self and one’s neighbor…can steal hope and shape the future.

That old ad keeps coming back to me because something is happening in Christian communities, or at least in the one I serve as a pastor. The same thing is happening among some groups of friends and certainly among families.

I’ll stick with what I know as a pastor. The one body of Christ I’ve been called to lead has been disrupted not only by a pandemic, but also by a strange strain of sizzling hot hate. It is deep hate against “the other side” and I see it most clearly on Facebook.

Clearly I don’t see many people, so once in a while I will check a person’s Facebook page if they pop into my prayers. Sometimes I can learn something about the person’s life that might need specific prayers.

What I might find is deep anger, mistrust, and sizzling hot hate in shared posts and capital letters. Hating quarantine. Hating a political party. Hating wearing masks. Hating. Hating.

I see it on the pages of people whom I know to be sincerely generous and kind. I have walked with them through tragedy and confirmed their kids and baptized their grandkids. I know them past their Facebook pages and the hate that sizzles on their pages.

And I worry so much about their souls. Not in the “will they go to heaven” sort of way. Jesus already took care of that worry. But I wonder in the “how are you surviving” sort of way. What is such hate doing to the way you are loving Jesus and seeing the world and being in relationship with your neighbor?

I think you can remove the word “drugs” in the egg ad and replace it with the word “hate”. Hate can divide families…can alter one’s perception of one’s self and one’s neighbor…can steal hope and shape the future.

I suspect if you are reading these words, you may not be the hater. But if your Facebook page does reflect sizzling hot hate, take a quick inventory of whether it’s really you in there. Is that really you on your Facebook page, or have you let hate shape who you are on social media because it is what’s trending?

An Instragram post on @henrinouwensociety yesterday reads: “Prayer converts the enemy into a friend.” If that is true, then prayer may be able to take the sizzle out of hate. It may be able to mend broken relationships. Certainly, the death of Christ did something even greater – set forgiveness where there was none, set life where there was death.

Who knew a pandemic that in theory would bring people closer together to fight harder against it, (think The Great Depression and WWII and 9/11) would be the thing that lets loose the hate?

Ending a Staycation

In the spirit of returning to the simple, I spent a week at home.

The usual fall weekend family getaway to Minneapolis or Rapid City or Sherwood was set aside for a staycation. I cleaned a few closets, baked bread, read books, remembered how to exercise, and took extra walks. I made an impressive Bloody Mary bar for my husband and discovered “The Good Place” on Netflix.

It was a very good time.

I also took my oldest kiddo to the DMV where they let him loose with a license.

It was mostly a good time.

When none of that was going on, I rested. Have you stopped to notice you require copious amounts of rest these days? Sit still for a moment and notice the compounding worries and questions that are now part of your daily life in Covid-19 times. Never before did those worries occupy your mind. Now, they do. Judging by the number of cases in our country, those loitering worries are not going away soon.

And yet, those worries do not define you nor do they get to take over your life. You are beloved child of God, free from the greatest worries about your forgiveness and salvation, and free to receive Christ’s love and utterly free to give it to your neighbor.

Channel your inner Marie Kondo and part ways with a worry. Name one worry and dare yourself to let it go. Bid that worry farewell and let God worry about it instead of you. God is remarkably good, always good, at shouldering your worries. Then do a profoundly simple thing you need so much of right now: Rest.

Advent All Along

(Photo by Valeria Boltneva on Pexels.com)

We are a mere three Sundays from the first Sunday in Advent. Advent is a season, or time in the year when we turn down the volume. We dim the lights and slow the pace. Counter to our culture, we recklessly insist on hope and pray exclusively for peace. Week after week as the nights stretch out, we light more candles to push against the dark.

Advent and Lent are both seasons that lead to the two biggest celebrations of the church year, and both seasons call for quiet. They demand a thoughtful kind of waiting. For four weeks of Advent (literally “to arrive”) we are waiting for the arrival of the embodiment of God’s love in a way God had never shown up before.

Last year, our congregation journeyed through Advent with Amy-Jill Levine and her “Light of the World” book. She opens up the old stories with her even older Hebrew stories. And…she is delightful. This year, I may wait through Advent with “Present over Perfect”, by Shauna Niequist or “Waiting, Accepting, Journeying, Birthing”, by Sarah Bessey. I can’t decide. Both wise women push against the kind of dark that calls women to do more, be more, and have more.

Perhaps there has never been a more intense Advent for so many women in America. I heard Kristen Howerton tell Kate Bowler in a recent podcast the gift of feminism is that women can do anything. We just don’t have to do it all at once. And yet, women are keeping up with the majority of household work, bending our schedules to align with the hybrid schedule, usually leading the way in our marriages, scheduling kids’ appointments and activities, and working extra hard in our paid work. Oh, and the groceries! And now it is the eve of Christmas Eve and we do the shopping, send the cards, bake the goods, wrap the presents, and hide the freaking elf.

All this time before we even reach Advent, we are waiting. Waiting for “normal”, for less intensity, for a vaccine, for the busy lives we knew before and didn’t really like to come back. Every day we wait for the intense fog of our daily lives to lift. And it will, but not yet.

Not yet. Those are Advent words.

Life is not as it should be, not yet. Every day is Advent, not yet as it should be yet demanding reckless hope from you and prayers exclusively for peace for you. All this pandemic time, we have been waiting. So dim the lights and turn down the volume. Light a candle and insist the love of God that took shape in Jesus Christ is worth the wait.

While you wait, do not do more. Stop that. It’s ridiculous. There is no award for cutest tree, most precisely-wrapped gift, or most exhausted mama. There is only the love of God for which you need not wait.

Three Things to Make in Your Own Kitchen

There are a baker’s dozen reasons to hurry things along in the kitchen.

You don’t have much time, you don’t even like to cook, no one ever taught you how, you’ve misplaced all your pots and pans, or you simply prefer take-out. Some shortcuts only make sense: frozen tater tots, canned beans, Annie’s Mac and Cheese, corndogs, your favorite take-out place.

I do wonder, however, if too much efficiency in the kitchen means cutting short the connection to the cooks who came before you and those who will come after you. Like the communion of saints at the Lord’s Table where we are connected with all the saints of every time and place, there is a sacred generational connection that happens among cookbooks and cutting boards.

Perhaps nothing we do in the kitchen is new. Long ago, a cook figured out how to bake bread and cook meat. Sifting and kneading and braising and broiling are human inventions. Not so long ago, my mom taught me some things that her mom taught her. There may come a day when my kids say the same. Cooking leaves a mark in the world.

Tamar Adler put it this way: “Cooking is both simpler and more necessary than we imagine.” The sacred space of a kitchen is occupied by so many generations all at once. And so I offer you three simple and necessary recipes in a moment when the world is occupied by so much anxiety. May your kitchen be a place of peace.

Buttermilk Biscuits

You need only 10 minutes to mix them together and 15 minute to bake and 2 minutes to watch them disappear. The only problem is that I tend to consume equal amounts of biscuit dough and baked biscuits.

Original Nestle® Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies

I’m a fan of Tollhouse’s version of chocolate chip cookies because my kitchen growing up was never without them. A friend once told me our house always smelled like them. But again, the problem with the dough…

Coffee Creamer

To the saint before me who invented sweetened condensed milk. Thank you and damn you. If I had to choose only one drink for the rest of my life, it would be sweetened condensed milk. After that, I would choose a good cardiologist. For now, this makes your coffee extra special, which you deserve in the sacred space of your own kitchen shared by so many generations at once.

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