Early one morning last week I checked Facebook and saw this status:

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”
— Washington Irving

I had to catch my breath.

I’m a crier. Weddings, funerals, books, movies, songs. The groom’s face at first glimpse of his bride. Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. The book of Psalms. The Notebook. It’s embarrassing at times, but overall I count it as a blessing; I’d rather cry than not feel at all.

I’ve seen some tears this week. A few days ago at Manna House (more about Manna house here, here and here ): a mother in raw, anguished grief on the morning after her daughter’s violent death. Later that day, a daughter’s agony as she searched for her missing parents and feared the worst.

Those moments took my breath away.

The women’s tears opened the door for comfort; an outward sign of need and vulnerability that would perhaps not otherwise have been expressed. An opportunity for others to empathize and walk with them through the grief, even if only for a moment or two. And an honor for me to be invited onto the sacred ground of another’s tears.

I’m comforted by Psalm 56:8:

Record my lament; list my tears on your scroll (or in your wineskin); are they not in your record?

In ancient times, tear bottles (or wineskins) were used to catch the owners’ tears in times of grief. King David wrote this Psalm as he was being pursued by enemies who sought to kill him. Some scholars say David believed that God has a tear bottle of His own in which He collects our tears.

I love that thought. That He sees each tear as it falls and keeps them in His bottle. That every tear I shed is known to Him. And that He comes, with tear bottle in hand, into to those raw, vulnerable moments when the tears will not be contained any other way.

Amen.

I don’t usually write posts like this, and I’ll probably make some people mad, but … here goes.

These words of love and compassion from Shane Claiborne still ring in my ears as I grieve over the tragedy in Haiti.

“God intends for the church to be the hands and feet of Jesus in today’s world and the Bible calls for believers to be the light of the world … when the next generation thinks of the church, they will think of compassion, justice, peace, reconciliation, gentleness and love and that Christians will be known not for who we are against, but for whom we love — everyone.”

Contrast Shane’s words of love and compassion with this statement from televangelist Pat Robertson (from CBS News):

As Haitian Prime Minister Jean-Max Bellerive said “well over” 100,000 people may have died in the national disaster, Robertson took to the airwaves Wednesday on his show and said that the country has been “cursed by one thing after another” since they “swore a pact to the devil.”

“Something happened a long time ago in Haiti and people might not want to talk about,” Robertson said Tuesday.

According to David Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons, author of the book unChristian, Christians — and the church — have a less-than-stellar reputation. And statements like Robertson’s and this gem from author John Piper do little to represent Jesus’ unconditional love.

Christians are supposed to represent Christ to the world. But according to the latest report card, something has gone terribly wrong. Using descriptions like “hypocritical,” “insensitive,” and “judgmental,” young Americans share an impression of Christians that’s nothing short of … unChristian.

When a friend is diagnosed with a terminal illness, do we talk about the poor choices they have made?

Do we tell the bereaved family of a middle-aged heart attack victim that their loved one is gone because he was fat and sedentary?

Is it necessary to explain to the devastated parents of a teenager killed in a car accident that their child was a crappy driver?

Of course not. But I’m speaking the truth, you might say. Yeah. it might be the truth. Sometimes the truth hurts, but it must be spoken nonetheless. Those parents may have to deal with the fact that their child’s error caused the fatal accident. Sometimes family and friends have to intervene with harsh words in the life of an addict to bring them to the point of change. But sometimes, even true words just do not need to be spoken.

The difference is … love. In Ephesians 4:15 (The Message), the Bible tells us to tell the truth in love (emphasis mine).

God wants us to grow up, to know the whole truth and tell it in love—like Christ in everything. We take our lead from Christ, who is the source of everything we do.

Of course there are times when tough words must be spoken, but it’s wrong to justify cruel words as truth when their aftermath is only pain. We must measure our words — both the sweet word and the hard ones — by Jesus’ example.

Please pray for the people of Haiti and donate what you can to support relief efforts.

Photo courtesy D Sharon Pruitt

Author and blogger Anne Jackson recently asked her readers the following question: If you could ask any question … about poverty, injustice, and how the church should respond … what would you ask? (read Anne’s post):

I commented on Anne’s blog with three questions — not particularly smart, poignant or profound questions, but they nag at me and, since this is my blog, let’s tackle Question One.

Why do some Christians care more about what others wear to church, what kind of music is played and other superficial things than poverty and injustice?

Maybe it’s my southern upbringing, but, for many people, church must be a dress-up affair. I’ve heard it said, “God deserves my best.” Of course He does. But … does He define best the same way we do?

I doubt it. Admittedly, I’m no Bible scholar, but based on what I know about Jesus, I don’t think He’d have been featured in GQ. My impression is that He dressed for comfort and practicality. I bet sometimes He worshipped His Father in dusty sandals.

As for music, there are lyres, harps, lutes, tambourines and cymbals mentioned in the Bible. This makes me think God likes variety, which just might be why He created us as unique beings in His image. Some of us are moved by traditional hymns, some like to rock and raise the roof and still others prefer a quiet, acoustic sound. It’s a matter of taste, the culture of the congregation and the community the church hopes to reach. Nothing more, nothing less. So why do we still fight about it?

It’s so easy to get distracted by surface issues; they are neater and cleaner to deal with than poverty, disease, war and injustice. Sometimes we translate not like us as not ok, but God calls us to look beyond these surface issues to the things that matter to Him, rather than cater to our own vanity, personal tastes and quest for status.

I like this post from Scott Hodge, lead pastor of The Orchard Community in Aurora, Illinois.

Sacred Reminder

The programs aren’t sacred.

The methods aren’t sacred.

The ministries aren’t sacred.

The service times aren’t sacred.

The communication style isn’t sacred.

The committees aren’t sacred.

The bylaws aren’t sacred.

The denomination isn’t sacred.

The style of music isn’t sacred.

The color of carpet isn’t sacred.

The font that’s used on in the bulletin isn’t sacred.

The only thing that’s sacred is the mission of Jesus.

Sometimes we just need to be reminded …

Photo credit: Pink Sherbet Photography

One of the last photos taken of my Dad; Jim took it in the backyard of the house I grew up in, probably in late May 1993; they were cooking on the grill, which is why the dishtowel is slung over his shoulder.

The most important thing my Daddy taught me: grace

The Oxford American Dictionary defines grace as:

1. Simple elegance or refinement of movement,
2. (in Christian belief) The free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings.
   • A divinely given talent or blessing
   • The condition of being favored by someone

My Dad had grace in all its meanings. He moved gracefully, both physically and socially. He swung a golf club with grace and practiced orthodontics with grace. When he drove the boat, he could bring the rope right into the hands of the skier without missing a beat.

He loved to learn and schooled himself thoroughly on a variety of subjects; it’s hard to imagine that he never knew the Internet, never had an email address.

He loved most music, especially classical, and amassed an enviable collection. Among his favorites were Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Pathétique, Op. 74, The Impossible Dream, from Man of LaMancha and his favorite hymn, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.

He had a nickname for each of his patients and always remembered it. A handsome, well-dressed man, he could move easily in the most sophisticated social and professional circles, yet he could truly relate to and be accepted by those in the most humble of circumstances.

He wrote beautifully, was an accomplished and poised public speaker, he sang beautifully and just about the only thing at which he was not particularly adept was resealing a zip-top plastic bag.

His faith was profound as anyone I’ve ever known, yet as simple as a child’s. He knew that it was not our own goodness or our compliance to a set of rules that earned our place in heaven. If we could earn our own way, it would only give us cause for pride and arrogance. With a burning passion he hated the legalism that so many are willing to accept as a counterfeit for grace. Though they frustrated him, he felt for them, as he knew they would never know the true peace of the Father’s agape love.

When we chose his epitaph, we decided on one simple word — one word with several meanings that represented every facet of the life he lived on earth: grace.