The bread and the brokenness

#blog52 #week4

“And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.'” Luke 22:19

(Yes, Jesus again. It’s just week 4, but so far this blog is way more Jesus-y than I anticipated. Sorry not sorry? Somehow I thought I could use scripture as a writing prompt and jumping off point, following thoughts and words where they wanted to go, expecting to write about things not so overtly spiritual. But these last few weeks… everything keeps bringing me back to Jesus. Make of that what you will.)

That verse, about the Last Supper. The accounts are virtually identical in Matthew, Mark and Luke. Jesus took the bread, gave thanks, broke it, gave it to his disciples.

How many times have I heard it? Thousands. I’ve heard it my whole life. I hear it every week now, near the end of each service at City Church, as we prepare to take communion together. And a few days ago I read it like it was the first time; saw something brand new in the simple and familiar words.

I just started reading The Broken Way by Ann Voskamp. It’s about finding meaning and abundance and intimacy with God within the suffering and brokenness of our lives. In chapter two, she writes about this verse. About how the original word used here for “give thanks,” eucharisteo, means not just thanks, but a thanksgiving that incorporates grace and joy.

Of course, the bread served two purposes. It was actual bread, part of the meal that they ate, but also a symbol of Christ’s body, soon to be broken and sacrificed. These were His last hours before death, and He knew it. It was in this dark, somber time of grieving that Jesus gathered his closest friends for a meal.

He did four things here: 1) took the bread, 2) gave thanks, 3) broke it, and 4) shared it. In the worst of circumstances. And the bread represented His body; His very life. He knew it would be broken. He accepted the pain, and He gave thanks. Thanks for what? For the bread, and for friends to share it with? For life itself, and friends to share it with? For God’s purposes, being revealed and accomplished through brokenness and pain and suffering? I don’t know. Yes, all of that, I think.

It’s the “giving thanks” part that I’ve been missing in the familiar communion verse. I heard it as a cue for me to thank Christ for his sacrifice, for paying the price for my sin — and that’s appropriate, of course. What I didn’t stop to notice was that He was giving thanks. Right in the middle of His own brokenness and grief, when everything looked darkest.

And He said “do this.” It’s counterintuitive. I’m thankful when good things happen. When the sun shines and those I love are healthy and there are victories and happy occasions to celebrate.

But when thinks seem dark and difficult, and everything is wrong and broken and discouraging? Give thanks for what? Food, and friends to share it with. Life, and friends to share it with. God’s purposes, even when I don’t see or understand them, being accomplished in the midst of brokenness and pain and suffering. All of that. May I remember to give thanks.

For food and friends to share it with.

Letting go of appearances

#blog52 #week3

I was the designated scripture-reader at church last Sunday. I love getting to do that. It feels like such a privilege to stand before the Church and read from God’s word. Sometimes the words are poetic; sometimes they’re a reminder of a comforting promise; sometimes they’re convicting and challenging. And sometimes, to me at least, they’re completely confounding or just plain weird. But at the end of the passage, the reader always says, “This is the Word of the Lord.” And the congregation responds, “Thanks be to God.” We receive the words together, as a sacred and mysterious gift.

Of course, being the designated scripture reader also presents a small opportunity for my everyday insecurities to kick it up a notch. Should I be reading louder? Slower? Am I reading too dramatically, or not dramatically enough? More importantly, why did I pick this dress? Is it camoflauging my belly or emphasizing it? Is my hair doing that awkward thing it does? Wait — where was I?

This time, the Old Testament reading was from Isaiah. (See above.) I sloshed coffee onto my bulletin right before it was time to read, and I wiped it off as well as I could. The sermon was about Christ’s sacrificial atonement and our reconciliation with God. But this post isn’t about that at all; this is a random tangent stemming from a single out-of-context verse. Because I noticed something; an almost throw-away detail there in the words highlighted by coffee stain. Prophesying about the Messiah (Jesus), Isaiah said that he “had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.”

Is that right? Apparently it is; there’s no physical description of Jesus at all in the New Testament. If he was ordinary-looking or downright unattractive, why do we have so many paintings of a good-looking Jesus? (Almost always looking more European than Middle Eastern, which is another whole thing.) Why is he always portrayed by exceptionally fit and handsome actors?

Because we have an unhealthy hang-up about physical appearance and assign way too much value to adherence to cultural beauty norms, that’s why. I know I do. I’m 52, and I’ve had some trouble the last couple of years adjusting to the reality that I’m clearly no longer young or thin. And I’ve been hard on myself about it. (Note: I’m really not fishing for compliments here. I realize that if you catch me on a good day and get a photo from the right angle I can look “attractive for my age.” The point is — so what?)

“What is wrong with me? Why am I still obsessing about body image? Why am I still confusing my self-worth with my physical appearance? Shouldn’t I have worked this out by now?” 

It’s hard to combat a lifetime of conditioning. Messages presenting an image of feminine beauty that’s distorted, unattainable and narrowly defined are incessant and insidious. I’ve always been both an avid reader and a voracious consumer of pop culture. I subscribed to Seventeen magazine before I was a teen, graduating to Glamour in my mid-teens and Cosmopolitan in my 20’s. For reasons I’m not clear about, I still subscribe to both Elle and Vogue. That’s a lot of cover models and fashion spreads to absorb.Not to mention television, movies, store displays, catalogues, Barbie dolls. And in our daily real life interactions with everyone from well-meaning relatives to strangers in public places — sexualization and objectification of girls’ and women’s bodies is as pervasive as if it were in the air and water.

So yes, I probably need a “girl-power, love yourself, embrace your beautiful body at every age and size” message every day for the rest of my life to remind me that instead of hating my thighs because they aren’t the size and texture I’d prefer, I can love them because they’re doing an amazing job of climbing stairs and steep hills and taking me wherever I want to go.

Back to Jesus for a minute. I don’t know if he had crooked teeth or blotchy skin or frizzy hair. Whatever his physical characteristics were, I’m pretty sure he didn’t spend any time obsessing about them or wishing they were different. He was too busy doing his job — healing the sick, telling us to love everybody and take care of each other, stuff like that. Also going to weddings and fishing with his friends and eating dinner with anybody who invited him over.

So if having an ordinary appearance with no beauty or attractiveness was good enough for Jesus and didn’t get in the way of his being fully present in every moment and living a meaningful life (an understatement if there ever was one), it ought to be good enough for me. And you. Because you’re beautiful. And it has nothing to do with your hair.

On not being alarmed

#blog52 #week2

“When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed….” Mark 13:7

These are unsettling times for so many of us. If you’re not alarmed about something every day, you’re probably not paying attention to national and global current events. (And you’re reading this on the internet, the most efficient generator and disseminator of outrage ever devised.) Your list of recent causes for shock and dismay may be similar to mine, or it may be very different, but you probably have one.

My small group of women was gathered around my table a few nights ago talking about all of this. How heavy it all feels. How to find the right balance of being informed and engaged without being despairing. How do you pay attention to all of the tragedy and injustice in the world, speak up and get involved where you feel you can or must, and still maintain your mental and emotional health, nourish your relationships with family and friends, and find beauty, peace and joy in daily life?

My friend Whitney mentioned the verse at the top of this post, from Mark. That was Jesus, talking to his disciples, telling them about things that would happen in the world after He was gone. Lots of scary things. And he said, “do not be alarmed.”

“Do not be afraid” is the most common phrase in the Bible. All through the Old Testament, God kept showing up, speaking to people in dreams and visions and through prophets, telling them not to be afraid. Angels said it. And then Jesus went around saying it, a lot. God seems to know how susceptible we are to fear, and how frequently we need reminders and reassurance.

But here the word Jesus used translated differently. He didn’t say “don’t be concerned,” or “don’t be outraged.” The plight of families struggling to survive in Syria or risking their lives to flee war and violence is cause for great concern. When the elected leader of our country insults my Congressman, civil rights leader and hero John Lewis, outrage feels like an appropriate response.

What we don’t need to be is alarmed: frightened, panicked, shocked, unnerved. The message of Jesus tells us, in essence, that we can expect terrible things to happen. We live in a broken, fallen world. But God is still with us. He will renew all things.

The next morning, my friend Peach sent us all a group text with this passage:

“The Lord will be a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble; and those who know your name will put their trust in You, for You, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you.” Psalm9:9-10

Maybe, knowing and remembering that we’re not bearing the weight of all the world’s troubles alone or unseen, we can see them clearly without being crushed by them. And this week-end, of all times, we can try in ways however big or small to be carriers of light and love in our own families and communities, remembering these words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.:

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

A few words about a year in pictures

“He has shown kindness by giving you rain from heaven and crops in their seasons; he provides you with plenty of food and fills your hearts with joy.” Acts 14:17

#day295

When I committed to taking and posting a picture every day in 2016, I had two main objectives. First, I wanted to learn to see beauty every day. By training myself to find something lovely or at least interesting enough to share even on the busiest or most mundane of days, I hoped to develop a habit of noticing and appreciating moments and details of goodness I might otherwise have overlooked. (No saving up good photos to post later — one photo, taken by me, numbered, in real time every day. Those were my rules. I like rules.)

Social media (over)sharing may seem like an unikely tool to build mindfulness and gratitude muscles, but… well, I’m going to be on Instagram and Facebook anyway; why not use them to do something creative and potentially fulfilling? At the risk of over-spiritualizing an Instagram challenge, I believe that God is kind and near, that He is paying attention and providing. But I often wasn’t seeing the evidence. I wanted to be reminded and convinced.

Second, I wanted to document the story of a year of my life as it unfolded. I liked the idea of starting a year like a book, not knowing where it would go, and being able to look back when it was finished to see the turns it took. I hoped that by capturing one moment of every day for 366 days, themes and storylines would emerge, if not a clear story arc.

#day75

As ambitious and contrived as the goal of learning to see everyday beauty was, it worked. So many spectacular flowering plants in my own yard! I had no idea. Atlanta’s walls and underpasses are brilliant galleries of street art. Even on the worst days, there is a sunrise, a big sky, a sunset, a moon. I am surrounded by adorable babies, stunning friends, interesting-looking characters.

Of course, this strategy can backfire. I’ve been guilty of missing out on being fully present and engaged with the people around me as I snapped away incessantly, briefly obsessed with getting a great shot for Instagram. But I can self-correct and re-focus. Slowly, my eyes have changed. I can see the goodness.

#day307

Finding a storyline is trickier. I’ve learned that my life is full. Jam-packed with great characters, lots of interesting settings, and quite a bit of action.

#day225

Happily and unsurprisingly, the person featured most frequently in my year of photos was my husband, known on Instagram as @fallenstonejr. Wonder what Allen’s up to? Just check my Instagram or Facebook. There’s Allen, looking pensive at dinner. There’s Allen brewing beer, holding a baby, holding a chicken, decorating the Christmas tree.

I was surprised to see how many friend and family members appeared. So many happy memories, big smiles, fun adventures.

#day59

I posted photos from 11 different states. From hotels, airports and conference rooms. Also from beaches, mountains, farms and from Graceland. And all around Atlanta — Marta stations, the High art museum, the Botanical Garden, The Fox, and 8 different festivals. I can’t seem to be still.

#day306

The volume of food pictures is, maybe, a little embarrassing. But it’s all so beautiful and varied and delicious! At home, I made tomato salads, roast chickens, lamb chops, chocolate cookies. At an astonishing 51 different restaurants, bars and coffee shops I enjoyed delightful company along with steak tartare, biscuits and gravy, bulgogi, chicken and waffles, and so very, very much more. I regret nothing.

#day126

There were also 20 pictures of my chickens. Was that excessive? They’re very photogenic.

#day106

There are hints of larger stories hidden in my year of photos. I can see threads of the story that God is writing. New faces of neighbors, including immigrants and refugees, their paths crossing mine for a reason. As the year ended, a miracle of healing in a relationship. A wedding, a grandbaby on the way, a beautiful new home for our church… all reasons for hope.

I’m making a different commitment this year. More writing (look, I’m blogging!), more reading, more reflection. But I’m thankful for the gifts of a year of Instagram photos.

#day94