I learned early when my kids were little that parents always want their kids to be winners. We sign them up on soccer teams and basketball teams. We enroll them in dance classes and karate classes. And in each one of these activities our kids get trophies and medals. They get them not for winning but for participating. It tells them that everyone is a winner. 

We don't want them to fail. 

But the reality is that we're not all cut out to be a soccer player, a basketball star, a ballerina, or a karate champ. 

And sooner or later our kids are going to fail. Whether it be on the field, court, or on a test at school. Failure is inevitable. And that is a good thing. Failure can be a good thing. 

Failure gives us a chance to reevaluate. Failure gives us a chance to examine ourselves. Failure creates something new in us. 

When Peter realized he hailed failed Jesus, he wept bitterly. He allowed those tears to cleanse him. And then he was a changed man. 

Peter became the foundation of the church and led many people into living as disciples.

Jesus knew Peter's weaknesses. Jesus also knew Peter's strengths. Jesus knew Peter would fail. But what is so awesome is that Jesus knew Peter would learn from this failure and do great things for the Kingdom of God. 

A miracle of failure. 

Blessings, 
Lisa

On Monday I talked about familiarity, especially with your family, and how being so familiar with someone or something might prevent us from seeing the newness that is offered to us with each and every interaction.  James may have been holding onto the familiarity of his brother Jesus, which prevented him from seeing in fullness, Jesus as the Risen Christ.  It's like having your hands full to the point that you can't accept anything new, so we have to put something down.

This morning we think about the flip side of familiarity - familiarity and comfort.  In so many of these resurrection appearances Jesus eats with his disciples.  On the road to Emmaus he breaks bread with them when they arrive; on the beach Jesus eats a meal with the disciples.  Here in Luke the disciples are still afraid and Jesus uses food as a way to comfort them.  He eats fish with them, something we are sure they would have done together, as fisherman and fishers-of-men, many times.

If the church has done one thing right over the years, we can at least say we haven't failed at the food = comfort part.  "Sharing food is so simple, and yet so important."

After funerals, there is food; after weddings there is always cake; when we celebrate a milestone in the church, there is food; when we celebrate a new beginning with a baby, we bring food to their home.  When we know that not all of our neighbors are able to do the same, we provide food; when strangers are caught in systems that prevent them from the fullness of life, we provide food.  Whether its food pantry, or a soup kitchen, a potluck at church, bringing food to someone in their home, or communion on Sunday, "in breaking bread together, we find reassurance, security, comfort."

Familiarity and  comfort are found in the risen Christ.  Jesus is still the "same ol' " Jesus, "the guy they loved, their friend and master.  He was still the man who had walked with them by the sea and ate fish, cooked over a fire, day in and day out."  Jesus may not be able to physically offer us a piece of fish, but Jesus draws us into that familiarity.  As we wrestle with the risen Christ, and what the means, the fear, the questions, the doubts, Jesus draws us "into the miracle and reality of his resurrection."

Won't you come break bread with us this Sunday morning, and join us in feeling the reality and miracle of the resurrected Christ?

Blessings... Laura

I have two younger brothers who love to bring up my past errors and mistakes. They love to remember the time I burnt a bath towel in the oven (don't ask) as well as the time the bumper mysteriously fell off the pick up (again, don't ask). 

Our families know more about us than pretty much anyone. There are times that is bad (like when your brother's continue to bring up old stuff) but there are also times when this knowledge is comforting. My family knows who I am, where I've come from, my faults, and my strengths. 

We have a common bond that cannot be broken. 

We know very little about the family of Jesus. Sometimes I find it strange that the Bible speaks so little about them. 

Jesus appeared to James (according to 1 Corinthians 15:7) along with a multitude of people following his resurrection. Christ appeared to them out of his love for them and to unite them together in this love. 

We have a bond with our family that cannot be broken. We also share a bond with our Christian family that cannot be broken because the tie that binds us is the love of God. 

The resurrection proves that love wins and that love will remain our bond in this life and beyond. 

In a recent discussion over coffee with a friend I expressed reservations about a project he wanted to undertake, and he responded by calling me a Doubting Thomas. And – you know what? - it didn’t sound to me like a compliment. Most of us, in fact, think of doubt as something shady, dubious, unhealthy, or just plain dirty. We think of doubt as the beginning of a slippery slope careening off the narrow way. It may be a road less taken, but that’s okay because it’s not a road worth traveling. This is harsh stuff, no doubt (pun intended; I couldn’t resist), but perhaps this dark assessment of doubt explains why I was conditioned to feel guilty, even ashamed, for expressing doubt by the Southern-fried religion in which I was raised.

I reckon I should confess that I didn’t prove to be an outstanding representative of this proud religious heritage. To me, doubt didn’t feel dirty from the inside out; that was imposed on me from the outside. For me, doubt was simply a necessity. It was there no matter how hard I tried to walk the walk of a fundamentalist and root it out with piety and stubborn belief. And in the end it was not a bad thing. In fact, it was only when I embraced my doubts and questions that they began to open out to spiritual insight, strength, and growth in the Spirit of which I was incapable before.

I think Thomas, commonly dubbed Doubting Thomas, would understand my plight; I think he experienced something quite similar in his spiritual life; and I think that this passage from John 20 reveals the origins of a spiritual giant that can serve as role model for faith. Faith, that is to say, that develops not in spite of, but through doubt. To be perfectly honest, I think the moral of this story is as simple as it is overlooked – doubt saves the day.

Before his encounter with the risen Lord, Thomas suffered from the same fears that drive many of us. He wanted hard proof of this claim of resurrection before he would be willing to risk anything on it. He didn’t want to christen anything as true unless he could feel it, touch it, probe it, and in so doing clearly define it, limit it, and make it manageable.

Please note, however, that when Jesus invited Thomas to touch, probe, and feel resurrection life… he declined, and exclaimed in near ecstasy, My Master! My God! His fear had vanished, and solid, earthbound evidence had become inadequate, even superfluous. Thomas’ doubt was transformed in the presence of resurrection life into what could be called caution in the presence of mystery. His questions, his reservations, were not barriers to faith. Rather, they reflected his recognition that what he sought was beyond his understanding; it was beyond his control, that he had nothing to give to resurrection life, but had only to receive its fullness.

Like Thomas I say, Give me doubt or, to express it more forcefully, I doubt therefore I believe. Doubt as skepticism that is dubious of the strange, the new… not so much. Doubt as cynicism that is fundamentally distrustful of the motives and goals of others… not so much. Give me doubt that entices me beyond the narrow limits of my truth, my understanding, and my conclusions to something mysterious and wonder-full. Something like resurrection life. 


Bo

There are countless times when I have thought over, re-hashed, listed, catagorized, theorized, analyzed, or otherwise overthought situations, information, and decisions in my life.   Sometimes there is a running circle of I-should-have-dones that paralyze me for the next thing coming.  Nine times out of ten, I know what the answer is, I just forget to stop digging for more information.  

I'm a music teacher.  And there are many times, once a student has done the work of learning notes, words, fingerings, terms, and more, that they just need to stop thinking and do it.  They need to get out of their minds and into their hearts in order to make it to the next level of musical expression. It is the same principle in sports.  Athletes need to do the same thing in order to run a 4-minute mile or a marathon. And only the few who can get beyond the fear actually achieve those hurdles.

Recently, a friend asked me to work with his son who was auditioning for a part in a musical.  He had 16 bars to prove his worth.  Dad had helped him learn the notes and the words, but they were both stuck on making it work.  We talked briefly about what needed to be done physically to make the sound happen, and the son understood what needed to be done, but the kid wasn't doing it. He knew he could and he wanted to, but he couldn't get out of his own way.  

I told him that no matter what I did, he had to keep singing.  We started and I pushed him in the chest and told him to risist, all the while he was singing.  I tried like hell to push him over and he pushed right back.  He began making some glorious sounds he had never made before.  Dad was dumbfounded. And so was son. It wasn't too high.  It wasn't too hard. It was just too scary. All I really did was make him think about something else.  I made him get out of his own way.  It was in him all along.

Nadia Boulanger was a famous French music teacher who coached a number of American composers of the Twentieth Century.  She once said that her only job was to turn on the light and ask why the student couldn't turn it on for himself.  She knew that her students possessed everything necessary to succed. They just needed to get out of their own ways.

The word is already planted in us.  We know what needs to be done.  But we are afriad.  Afraid that we don't know the notes.  Afraid we will make a mistake. Afraid that if we run a mile in six minutes that we have failed.  Afraid of the judgement of others.

Funny thing.  My oldest son seems to know the truth. Shortly after discovering Power Rangers, he made a note for everyone in the family.  It was a few years ago, and I'm not sure how his brother's note survived the piles of paper in the house.  But he knows that hope is in his brother.  It is in you, too.