Redemption - Experiencing the Lower Case "R"

God is still in the business of healing and deliverance. Every day. Forgiveness, salvation and redemption are the things of His kingdom. No miracle is too big or too small.

I think I am finally beginning to understand redemption. I get capital “R” Redemption – Jesus dying for me on the cross – but small “r” redemption has never really made sense to me. When people spoke of it, I suppose I didn’t really believe them. Or Him. Okay, so something good came after something bad. But the bad thing still happened. I thought of the times I took my children to get their vaccines. A few painful jabs in the arm, with that unmistakable smell of hospital… They were too young to understand the protective benefit they were receiving, so how did we try to ease the pain? The public health nurse gave them a sticker. A sticker?! There is no way any of my kids would tell you that any sticker, even a Transformers one, was worth the experience of a sanitizer-smelling stranger stabbing them in the arm with a needle, their own mom an accomplice. But that was my view of redemption. A Dora the Explorer Band Aid stuck on a broken heart.

I remember reading about a couple whose infant had died. The father said that “God redeemed their loss.” What on earth could that mean? It sounded like the kind of ridiculous believer-speak of fundamental televangelists that freaked me out. God could bless them with a hundred other children, but they could never replace the unique life that was lost. At best they might be a distraction from the ache. But redemption? No way.

It’s not like when your car gets stolen, and your insurance pays for a new one. It’s not like replacing your old phone, or a sock with a hole in it. Cars, phones and socks can be replaced. Not children. I always hated the end of Job. (Well, I didn’t really like any of it, but the end was the worst.) “The Lord blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning; and he had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand donkeys. He also had seven sons and three daughters.” Job 41.12-13. Yeah, so he had twice as many animals as before. Great. But ten of his children died! So God gave him ten new ones? The new kids are indeed a blessing, but how on God’s not-always-so-green earth does that make up for the loss of ten beloved lives? How is this redemption?

But wait, don’t I believe in the God who can do “infinitely more than we can ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3.20)? That means I need to really trust that He can do things that I think are absolutely impossible. Like redemption.

Yesterday I experienced, for the first time that I recognized, the miracle of small “r” redemption. And to me it feels no less remarkable than capital “R” Redemption. (And resurrection is incredibly remarkable to me.) In a situation that has caused pain and anger, fear and shame for over twenty years, God worked a miracle. Out of that suffering He blessed me with compassion, forgiveness, and healing. He didn’t take the awful thing that happened away, but He took away its power, its ugliness. This is not like  I dropped my ice cream cone so God gave me a new one… The memory is not gone, but it is changed. He delivered me from the bondage I was stuck in. I think that is redemption. Yes, there have been many tears, but they became cleansing. Yes, I was clean, finally clean and whole after so many years of feeling dirty and broken.

I was never able to figure out how to put this burden down in my own strength, but Jesus stretched out His arms and took the burden from me, and now I feel light, like I can’t even remember what it felt like to carry it for so long. And now I sound like one of those over-the-top over-zealous TV preachers, but how can I not speak the truth? It all sounds crazy when we don’t believe, but when you experience it for yourself there is nothing crazy about it… it’s crazy how wonderful it is, but not that kind of weird crazy  that is just so, well, weird. And hard to trust. I know it sounds crazy. So did the Apostle Paul: “For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” (I Corinthians 1.18) I know that power, and I know it is God.

God heals bodies and hearts and minds and memories. I think I used to believe that was true for others, but maybe not for me. I knew Jesus could redeem me from my sins, but it never occurred to me that he could redeem me from someone else’s sins. But He has. I have this beautiful treasure chest that He gave me, but I kept putting all kinds of junk in it – a beautiful and incredible vessel filled with pain and ugliness, sin and rot. And I forgot my Father had the key! He opened the chest, took out all the crap, and filled it with Himself. God delights in surprising me, lavishing His love on me, showing me that I am indeed His beloved daughter.

I still don’t like the story of Job much. But I now see that the redemption Job received from God was not donkeys or camels or children. It was an overwhelming revelation of how much God truly loved Him, and knowing, really deeply knowing the depths of His love for us is a miracle. (And I have to trust that those children are with God now… that God is not bound by my limited sense of justice or heaven or anything.)

I used to think of redemption in economic terms – you take something that is inherently worthless, like a gift card, merely a piece of plastic, and trade it for something of value, something that is worth something to you. But God’s redemption is far beyond that. He doesn’t just redeem worthless things, He redeems awful things, painful things, evil things.

It sounds crazy to a lot of you, I know, I can hardly believe it myself. God re-routed my neural pathways, rewrote my operating code, took out my heart of stone and gave me a heart of flesh. He pruned off my rotten branches, and promises to tenderly feed and water me with His Body and His Word. None of these analogies really work, because this is a case of what is impossible for man is possible with God. (Luke 18.27) 

Healing. Forgiveness. Salvation. Deliverance. Redemption.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” John 14.26-27

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” Isaiah 43.1b

Thanksgiving and grieving

This morning I got the message, one of many I have been dreading. The police brought my dad home last night. He left the house at 2 a.m. and wandered the neighbourhood, knocking on doors. He didn’t know where he was or how to get home. Another milestone reached along the terrible path of Alzheimer’s disease. I can’t imagine the worry, and, as a typical caregiver would have, unfounded guilt that my mom must be feeling. Not a great way to start Thanksgiving Day.

As a day set aside to count our blessings, it can also serve to highlight our losses. As families gather and marvel at how the children have grown, we also notice how many of us have aged. Thanksgiving and Christmas were typically large affairs when I was a child, full of extended family. As my great-aunts fussed over how tall I was getting, I noticed how they were beginning to shrink. As we recounted shared memories over much food, I saw how the memories of my elders were fading. Once my Great-Grandad introduced himself to the woman sitting beside him at the table, unable to recognize that it was his daughter. A gentleman to the end. He was a wanderer too – he would somehow get past the nurses at the home, and they would later find him on the streets. Once he returned with two black eyes. When asked I’m sure he was convinced he had been “home” to Saskatchewan – he had left there some fifty years previous to live in B.C.

At least he had the happy form of dementia. I don’t know where my dad goes in his mind, but I am grateful he no longer remembers his own dad’s final years. His dementia was dark – he was selfish, moody, paranoid.  I’ve heard heartbreaking stories of people lashing out in confusion and rage at those who love them the most. And the slipping away of a loved one can happen in so many different ways. My parents tried to shelter me from the illnesses of my older relatives when I was young, but I knew. Great-Uncle Elliot always greeted his three nieces with, “Hi boys!”, and we threw our hands on our hips and protested, “We’re not boys, we’re girls!!” The year he simply said “Hi girls” we knew something was wrong. He died not long after. Great-Uncle Bill, another practical joker, left us in a similar way.

These were the relatives we only saw once or twice a year, and the changes are so much more pronounced that way. Unfortunately that’s how it is with my dad and me now. Living in different provinces, when I do see him the changes are so drastic. Gone is the grandpa who played ball and read books with his grandsons, helped in the garden, and talked politics and sports. I don’t know if my kids remember him that way or not. I must admit I have a harder and harder time seeing him as the hero of my childhood – the man who always put the worm on my hook, and taught me about birds and airplanes. The man who would defend my honour against any unsavoury seeming boy, secure my bedroom against any monster, and could open even the tightest of pickle jars.  There is a broken shell where that man used to be.

I want to throw my hands up in the air and say what on earth is the point of all this pain and suffering? What hope is there is a world where most of us end up dying in pain, and watching our loved ones do the same? Jesus Christ is the hope. He is the only hope for this broken world. He is the only way I can make sense of any of it. I pray for the peace of Christ to work in my dad’s heart and mind. But that part of his mind is long shut. Even before this disease started to overtake his brain, my dad was closed off to the idea of a loving God – he had been hurt by the church, and unfortunately didn’t know that the church sometimes has nothing to do with Jesus. But still I pray, that somewhere in all the deep confusion of dying synapses, God will heal those memories and Dad will find the love of Jesus.

So as I gather with my husband and boys this Thanksgiving, it is with mixed feelings that I remember all the family and friends I have shared this day with throughout the years – those celebrating in other places, and those gone on, as my Papa would say, to the “Happy Hunting Grounds.” And I pray that as you give thanks today, in the middle of your own pain and loss, you find the hope of the love of Jesus Christ. Thanks be to God. 

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. 

Romans 15:13(NIV)

The Road to Emmaus

The Road to Emmaus

Upon registering at our conference – “Walking in the Moment” (Ecclesiastical Province of Rupertsland Synod – if you’re not Anglican, and maybe even if you are, you just might have to google this... I don’t think I’m going to get around to explaining the organization of the Anglican Church of Canada in this installment) we were encouraged to blog about our experience this weekend. The theme comes from Luke 24:13-35 – The Road to Emmaus. To me this story illustrates the proverbial “aha” moments in one’s life. The disciples didn’t understand why Jesus died, why the supposed Messiah wasn’t the King, until a “stranger” explained God’s redemptive plan to them.

As we read this passage today we want to yell to them, “I know the end of the story - pay attention! Open your eyes!! That stranger is Jesus! It’s Him!!!” Finally they do get it... yes hindsight is often 20/20. “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road...?” (Luke 24:32 NRSV) How many times do we only clue in after the fact that God was with us during a difficult journey in our life? Or a confusing time. Or a scary place. Or an ordinary day.  Jacob said, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I wasn’t even aware of it!” (Genesis 28:16 NLT) Eureka! The lightbulb goes on!!

A few years ago I broke my foot. Bad injuries should really be accompanied by good stories. Not this one. I wasn’t skiing or skateboarding or hiking or horseback riding. My foot got tangled in a phone cord and I tripped. But did I ever do a number on my foot – surgery and screws and nerve damage and crutches for months. It was a nasty break. I couldn’t go to work. I couldn’t pick up my toddler. It was a momentous task just to get downstairs, let alone try to do laundry.  A whole bunch of other things were seemingly falling apart. I was in pain and I was cranky and I was really feeling sorry for myself. And I was mad at God.

One day I was driving to town (awkwardly), wallowing in self-pity and probably scowling. I felt like God was so far away. He was an idea. A memory. As I dwelt on the distance of God I turned on the radio. This is what I heard:
“I'm with you. If you believe in me, I'll believe in you. In the loneliest place you've ever been
I'm with you.”  (I’m With You – The Stills.)

Fine, I thought sarcastically, God, so you’re with me. But I can’t feel you. Believe in you? I do – in my head, but in my heart? It’s too broken right now. And I’m still mad at you.

Then I thought, what am I talking about? This is not a song about God – this is the cheesy local radio station! This is some sappy Top 40 love song... they even use it in a beer commercial! Whatever.  I put God far away again and I went back to dwelling on my misfortune – angry and anxious.
“Breathe, just breathe, take the world off your shoulders and put it on me. I need you to hear me say  ‘Breathe, just breathe,’” (Breathe – Ryan Star)

Are you kidding me?! I almost drove off the road – this was EXACTLY what I needed to hear right now. I needed to stop holding my breath, waiting for something else bad to happen. I needed to let go and let God... so I took a deep breath... But is this really God talking to me? That’s crazy... isn’t it? I had never heard this song before, but I certainly needed to hear it now. Hmmm...

I eventually got to town and slowly and painfully did my errands. By the time I was finished, God was back in a box in a remote shelf of my mind and I was grumpy and sore and well, it’s just not fair.

Driving home I decided to take the back gravel roads. I meandered around the farm fields and metaphorically shook my fist at the universe and everyone in it. The radio has been on since I left town, but I didn’t hear it until now:
“And the tears come streaming down your face. Could it be worse? Lights will guide you home. And ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you.” (Fix You – Coldplay)

That was it. I pulled over and absolutely bawled... God was speaking to me through the Peace River radio station. He was using rock music to reach his hand out to me. Maybe He really was with me. Maybe He had been with me the whole time.

The disciples were walking down the road – depressed, confused, disappointed. And they were walking beside Jesus! How could they be so blind? He was right there beside them! How could they be so self-absorbed? So selfish? How could they not see that Jesus was victoriously walking alongside them?! How could they not know?

Wow. The scaIes fell from my eyes. How could I not know? My heart burned within. Jesus was walking beside me too. Yes, victoriously. I totally expected to see Jesus around the corner, cooking up some fish and breaking bread for me. I would’ve gotten out of the truck and ran over to say to Him, “I’m sorry.” And eat His bread.  So I guess that’s what I did.

I wasn’t exactly walking to Emmaus. And I realized that the journey was just as important as the “aha” moment. The journey can feel very lonely and hard, and sometimes the presence of the Lord is very subtle. And we are often better with thunder from Heaven messages than subtle and gentle companionship. Was I even trying to hear the still small voice?

My foot was still broken. And I was still prone to wandering off into self-pity. But I was not alone. Jesus was walking beside me. Always. Even when I was on crutches. And yes, like the famous footprints, when it was too hard for me to walk He carried me.

To this day my foot is changed. My gait has changed. My arch is different. My bones are crooked and my nerves are damaged. My walk with God has not only spiritually but literally and physically changed. And now my arthritic foot throbs, perhaps in rhythm with the heartbeat of Christ in me. Like Jacob’s hip after his wrestle with God, I have a physical reminder of my relationship and journey with my Father.

The Lord spoke to me when I desperately needed to hear Him. He opened my eyes when I  drastically needed to see Him. He told me He wants me to breathe. And He is with me. And He will fix me. Thanks be to God.

“Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him… The Lord has risen indeed!!” (Luke 24:31, 34 NRSV)

“People say I’m strange, does it make me a stranger...” (Jesus Freak – Newsboys)