880

The last week has been a bit different.  Thursday-Monday I was either in Michigan or traveling to/from Michigan--around 880 miles traveled (I am thankful for my little car!).  On Saturday, my parents celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary.  Both of my sisters (plus my brother-in-law) were also in town for the weekend (hence my trip "home")--this was the last time we'll all be together until Christmas.  We had a family dinner of chicken mango kabobs, ginger cilantro rice, and grilled broccoli, with rhubarb strawberry tarts for desert.  It was fun to all be together and celebrate what God has done in and through my parents in the last 30 years!  Our family picture is below: 

In addition to the family dinner, it was fun to hang out with family.  I was also able to see some friends and spend an afternoon on the Lake Michigan beach.  All in all, it was a great weekend.  My least favorite part was all of the driving.  I'm glad that I don't have to make that drive again for a couple of months :).

Now I'm looking forward to the next weeks--preaching, worship planning, pastoral visits, Canada Day (on Thursday), meeting with the college students who are home for the summer, and we'll see what else develops.

Here's a picture of the backyard of the home I'm staying in.  This is basically the view from the basement (yes, I know that I am blessed).

Some flowers in the backyard:

Shaking Our Fists, Or Why I'm Humbled and Grateful

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Yesterday I preached on Psalm 13, a sermon entitled “Shaking Our Fists.”  The essence of the sermon was that the psalmist was so angry at God that he was shaking his fists at God, and we too have occasions to shake our fists at God.  God gives the psalmist and us the freedom to shake our fists at him, so that we can process our pain with the context of God’s covenant relationship with us. 

As I’ve mentioned before, this church has many reasons to mourn and shake their fists at God.  I was scared to preach this sermon.  This is only my second sermon to this congregation and I wasn’t sure how far I could go.  I wasn’t sure how bold I should be with naming the hurts of the congregation.  But I felt in my spirit that this message must be brought and that I needed to name things.  So I did.  I would imagine that some people went home uncomfortable.  Some might have even thought I was totally wrong (although none of them told me to my face so far).  But several people said this was exactly the sermon the congregation needed to hear.  One of the pastoral elders, whom I have quickly come to greatly appreciate, told me after the service that there is a history of people stopping coming to church when hard things happen to them because they aren’t happy with God and there isn’t room in the worship to be angry.  His comments reminded me of Prof. Nydam (pastoral care professor) saying that every worship service must have space to be sad, because that’s life.  The elder also said the previous pastor, although much loved, didn’t/couldn’t go there.  Put all these factors together (with an immigrant culture of making do), and people don’t feel the freedom to lament.

I look back at yesterday and I am profoundly humbled and grateful.  I am humbled that God would take my words and use them to speak his words.  I am humbled that even when I feel like my words aren’t good enough, the Holy Spirit still uses them.  I am humbled that God called me to this place for a purpose that I didn’t know (and probably no humans knew)—to walk with this congregation through the darkness and to acknowledge its presence. 

And I am grateful that God is using me here, but I am also grateful for all of the work God has done (and is doing) in me to equip me for this work.  I have heard over and over that to be able to walk with people through pain and grief, you must be connected to your own heart and able to grieve your own losses.  It is a testimony to God’s grace in my life that since I was in high school I have learned to express my emotions to people instead of my dog (loyal and patient as she was).  I am thankful for friends that have encouraged me to speak my heart freely to them and God.  I am thankful for friends that have listened to my stories of loss and disappointment and helped me to grieve.  I am thankful for Professors Bosma and Nydam who taught me about lament and equipped me to share this freedom with God’s people.