dear wendell,

More than anyone, it is you that has encouraged me to write. No. We don't know each other personally.  But, as you like to say, we are all a part of one another. I always give a piece of you when I give me, and somehow, you give a piece of me... because you write your poetry and novels and essays to me. And you even farm for me.

Below I've listed the books/sermons/confessions that I'd like to write about someday. If you'd ever like to hear about one of these, just let me know. It would be my pleasure.


Jesus is not a Very Cooperative Messiah
If Whole Foods were within Twenty Miles, I'd be there Every Day
There is no End to my Relational Sin
Nine Tornados (God's Living Tools that have Disrupted my Life)
If It Ain't Relational, It Ain't
Lessons from a Father-in-Law who was an Ass
Could We Stop Tying to Find Ourselves, Please?
Born to Farm (The Very Life of God in Me)
My Wife is so Quotable


All the above are being shaped in me as I write... someday I'll leak out a bit. All but the last one. That's either for a special occasion or never.

Again, thanks for farming.

dear henry,

I wrote this letter a couple weeks ago and forgot to mail it to you... sorry for the delay. But the loss of that amount of time doesn't phase you much for it's been almost 220 years since your funeral. And Knoxville, which was named after you, has changed quite a bit. But, of course you wouldn't know that because you never visited our beautiful Tennessee valley! Sorry. I'm trying hard not to hold a grudge. It was probably James White's fault anyway for trying to get on your good side (do Secretary's of War have a good side?)

Well, I doubt anyone has written you lately, let alone someone to tell you about what his wife has done this week. But what she did, she did in your city of Knoxville. And your county of Knox.

She painted.

Now don't be disappointed. It's not like being the President's buddy or having your image on an eight cent stamp or having your own personal library in Boston (I'll bet you visited there, I say sarcastically). But the joy she felt will give and give and give to others well beyond the memory of you and I! The flow of Sandy Bottom Creek and the captured blooms from the UT Garden. Six Silos by the road on the way to Corryton. And a whitewashed barn once used for hanging tobacco.

Hank, (may I call you Hank?) you'd dig this woman! I know you and Lucy had thirteen kids, which tells me that you enjoyed your wife too. But I mean it in a different way. Put a paint brush in Kathie's hand and magic happens: Seventy-nine year old farmers start talking about their mothers that used to paint with oils. Between canvases, ladies named Margaret ask you in for a chicken salad sandwich. Gardeners tell you about how hard life is with a three year old.

Most importantly the creative magic of art wins the day... in the souls of people.

But most, most, most importantly, the creative magic of art placed in her soul... is winning the soul of me.

Silo Field
8x16, Oil on Linen

dear karl,

I was both glad and sad to see the FedEx package on my porch yesterday. In it contained my laptop that I use to post letters like this one. I accidentally left it in Washington DC a couple of weeks ago (I might even admit that my "accidentally" was a Freudian Slip, for I dislike most things electronic). Nonetheless, it is back for me to tell you that I've thought of you twice within the last few hours.

The first time I was quite unconscious to the world and in deep sleep. I was struggling with a two-part dream where a) I needed to record a song with Ryan Long (but he wanted me to play guitar for him... I don't play the guitar!) and b) I competed in a one-on-one, three mile swimming competition in a small pool and lost. You were present with the fan base for my opponent and, when my opponent won, you jumped into the pool with 100 other guys to sing raucous Marine songs in deep voices! You then popped the cork to a champagne bottle and the celebration went to another level. All this time I was in the pool, but only as an observer.

I stayed awake for about an hour thinking on the meaning, then dozed into a much more fitful dream.

The second time I thought of you happened when I opened my door this early morning after dreaming of bombs and children and communion with others while in a Muslim country. (Now is the time in the letter to stop for a moment and take a deep breath. Trust me, I won't be taking any of these dreams to a therapist anytime soon! Suffice it to say that my soul is deeply engaged in the life our Lord has given me... one of dangers, toils and snares. And hope!)

I awoke to the young green of my little place in Fountain City! Morning light glanced across the new grass. The Yew hedge is a chorus of tiny, tiny lime sprouts. And our elderly sugar maple gladly bows under the weight of her new leaves, thousands of children keeping her company for another spring!

I thought of your love of the art of God's creation.
And my dreams became simple vapors.
Gone.

Because of the last few hours, I step into today more like a poet.
Yes. My memory of our friendship makes me want to have champagne for breakfast.
My love to Ellen.

dear beth and debbye,

It's been a full day of following the "jaw on the ground". That's what my wife has been all day... a woman who has had the breath knocked out of her, starting with this time last night when she won an honorable mention in her very first Plein Air painting competition. It was a total surprise, especially after considering the caliber of talented artists here. If you want proof, check out the artist's websites and read some of their bios! Kathie came here to stretch and grow, not for any awards.

THEN, today she actually won the final challenge... yep, first place for the complete-an-oil-painting-and-frame-it-in-two-hours competition. Actually, they call it the Quick Draw that is open to anyone, not just the juried artists. (One of the fun parts was the quick friendship Kathie struck up with Julianna Wells, the blue ribbon winner for highschoolers!).

To be recognized by folks that she doesn't know (strangers) is one of the highest forms of flattery for Kathie. And then to be honored twice by the Director of the Georgia Museum of Arts! This will take a while to seep in. A future she is looking forward to.

Big Bear Farm, 8x16, Oil on Linen

dear duck-huntin, truck-drivin, blue-collar, good old boys,

My wife has been working this week.

Yes, I'm sure you would like to question the truth to all this, but try it once. Just try to be chosen as one of the top trap and skeet shooters in the Eastern US. Just try to rebuild a transmission with your own tools in another town with a clock ticking in your ear. Just try to find the perfect fishing cove and pull out an eight-pound largemouth with all your peers watching. Just try to write a redneck joke on the spot and have Jeff Foxworthy grade your accomplishment.

The only thing that would make that different than what Kathie is doing this week? She sees it all as opportunity to fall more deeply in love with what she loves. 

In thirty minutes we go to the Collector's Preview Reception where ticketed art enthusiasts enjoy the unveiling of the works from thirty professional painters, some watercolor but mostly oil. Each submit three paintings for judging and up to six backups to replace in case one sells.

You get the sneak peek... here are a few of Kathie's eleven she painted en plein air this week:

Above It All, 8x16

Living Together, 12x24

Midday Blush, 12x24

dear matt,

He was forty-two years old, and he could see nothing before him that he wished to enjoy and little behind him that he cared to remember.

Thanks for Stoner by John Williams… I finished reading the novel last night and was reminded how deep and wide the arm of God can reach. On one hand I have restricted my thinking on the ways of God because He says that there is only One Way. On the other hand, when I open myself to personally know this One, then the breadth of my thinking welcomes my own heart and soul to enter.

How often I have become anxious and urgent when talking with a man who is like Bill Stoner as written in the words above! Or even when futility or acedia sits on me, leaving me wedged between nothing and nothing, my fearful ways of sorting and resolve begin to own me. I then subtly demand that someone (or myself) GET BETTER.

Or is it possible that I could simply rest, and start to love my life and the life of my friend that God is redeeming. How strange and mysterious His ways.

dear greg,

a picture is worth a thousand words.

dear jason,

My life with Kathie continues to shape me, although I rarely marvel at her as I should... another good reason to write, because in writing I stop my little ferris wheel. You can check those notes on the blog link at Kathie's website if you like.

I kind of ask your forgiveness. The intention of writing a letter like this one each day is beginning to wear on me. And I'm sorry, kind of. The "kind of" is more resolute for Wendell Berry. He calls me to chain myself to a tree, as in this line from his poem, How to be a Poet:

Live

a three-dimensioned life;

stay away from screens.

I'm starting to feel him. Sitting in front of an electrically-currented machine daily is not a desire of mine, plus it pulls on me like a tired three-year-old. So, I hope to keep writing for a few more days, if not but for me. Don't be surprised though when there are no more posts. At that point you can trust that I've picked up a pen and paper.

No Repair Needed

This poem will not end with

The word I search for to

Explain away the

Old arousal within.

Resurfacing more frequently

But now through

Green song beyond

The winter binge

That gives me briny

Eyes of soul than I ever knew

Could be in a sort

Like me, one so akin

To Judas. Caring for

Pocket change I thought grew

Into long money with time.

It doesn’t. To win

Nothing is my prize.

To eat the hollow stew

That promises to nourish

Is an act of Hope… again.

Well there it is. Manna called Hope.

The word from nowhere

Looked for. With a half grain of

Salt to help me begin.

dear tuesday painters,

I’m discovering that most of you artists work better when you have fewer resources. At least that’s the way it is for Kathie. I remember the day we drove to Cade’s Cove in the Smokies for an evening paint, only to discover that she left her palette at home. With a few tubes in her backpack and the flat, glass-like surface of a CD case for mixing (found in the car floorboard), she forged ahead. It seems that the creativity it took to get set up primed her inspiration pump.

Artists need very little, if anything… with the exception of Space.

Callaway Gardens is a manicured and babied land of gardens. I'll bet the entire season of Spring is birthed here before spreading across the remaining states. New Green. Black Dirt. Non-Stop bird song. It’s breathtaking… and a little too perfect.

Our interior senses are more inclined toward Process, Unfolding and Not-Quite-Yet. So, with floppy blue hat and a brush clinched between her teeth, Kathie motions me toward the property’s working vegetable garden, a wide expanse of slow but active production.

This week I’ll read and write a bit, but my prime job is to be her Sherpa. Hauling art supplies from car to designated spot of the moment. She can do it all, but she likes me and gives me the job. Yet, being a Sherpa is more about creating space or, better said, getting out of the way. We’ve had countless discussions (I’d rather not say arguments in this letter) about my knack for subtly pushing her to begin. I forget about the space thing easily. I’m a slow learner.

But a Sherpa’s most important work has nothing to do with manual labor. A Sherpa’s most important work is this: Don’t miss the moment.

So often service impedes my ability to mature, to ripen. Paradoxically, I can preoccupy myself with being available so much that it weakens my ability to be truly available in the moment.  Missing the opportunity to live out of a centered place within myself can actually extract the beautiful gift of space.

Obviously this is not an exclusive lesson for the spouses of artists. It’s actually a call for me to be me… an artist too. And here is another discover I am making: Artists love artists.

Be who you is, cuz if you ain’t who you is, you is who you ain’t. 

Anonymous Gravestone Inscription

dear roger,

Kathie attended your painting workshop last September, because she was jumping into her life, what she would admit to be "her calling"... to be an Artist. 

Over those four days of painting outdoors and guiding the already talented small group, you said two quite impactful comments to her. 1) After watching her paint for only an hour or two, you said, "So, when are you going to start doing this full time?" 2) Toward the end of the workshop - "It's time for you to enter Plein Air Competitions". A good friend of mine is fond of saying, you spoke Words pregnant with life.

Tomorrow is Kathie's first competition.

We leave in the morning for Georgia's Callaway Gardens annual Plein Air Paint Out where you won second place last year. She's not going with the idea of award, but to stretch into this calling you helped envision. Yes, there might be more exposure and certainly some comaraderie with others who had to compete just to be selected... but the hope lies in the jump.

I'm sure you can remember the nervous anticipation of your first one. Five straight days of painting. Time constraints. Maybe bad weather. People watching, interrupting with their comments. The final night's art show and sale. Am I good enough to be with these other talented painters? And these are just my thoughts! There is no telling what's happening in Kathie!

What courage she has. And what desire... to be a woman alive to the presence of God in her!

Kathie purchased this little sign yesterday in Asheville and placed it in the window above the kitchen sink when we got home. Tomorrow we go to her River.

dear larry,

What is it like to peel away from the world for a week to listen to your profound teachings? What is it like to speak with new friends in inviting ways through conversation?  What is it like to huddle with rich believers and consider another approach to listening well?

I might like to know, because I did none of that this week.

Instead,

• I begin to realize that all my words are pregnant with something. I want them to have power not neediness.
• I'm thinking that my preparation is really a mask for control.
• I believe I aim too low in conversation because it's a natural appeal to the culture I live in.
• I'm praying for a supernatural appeal to rise up in me that aims high.
• I find myself defining Spiritual Formation as finding and releasing the power of God within me and identifying the obstacles to it.
• I begin to consider that confusion is an opportunity for me to my quiet soul.
• I find myself wanting to get lost in relationship with others instead of getting lost in their particular circumstances.
• I'm seeing how much I live for relief.
• I am starting to see God's sovereignty as His stubbornness for me.
• Trying harder to understand a technique becomes a way of holding back the God in me.
• I more clearly see that my exercises have much to do with confession and repentance.
• I remember how much I long to worship and know God in Trinity.
• I'm beginning to see myself as a prisoner of Hope.

Thank you, my friend.
Thank you very much.

dear bt,

I want to write you, if for no reason but to say I love you, you matter to me, I thought of you today.

My favorite part of living in west Knoxville, the one thing I miss the most, is you. Who in their right mind would leave you as a neighbor? Only a street separated our lives and houses. Countless conversations in the front yards. Regular back door surprises. I miss you dragging your tarped leaves down into my backyard. And who else would go to the trouble of getting a sleep study simply at my suggestion... and then send me a photo?

How else would we have known your children?

We had a great with-ness, you and I. And for the record, I still have a few of your tools that I'll never return as a reminder that all we have is really each others. Well, I love you, you matter to me, I thought of you today.

dear Windy,

Not Gene Kelly I say.
More like King Kong
When coming to the art of
Floor and song.
Not my feet that are
The concern, you say,
More my gaze that might
Lure your heart to stay.

Chin up, young master,
Comes the royal request
For my eyes to feast on
Porcelain face,
High cheeks, sure brow,
What lines can compose
A neck and an ear
With the scent of a rose?

Is there music in my dream
Or the Victrola's breath
Sending spring to my legs
Before near to my death
I now know it's your tummy
Flat-flat onto mine
Sweet rocking our boat
Step-stepping to time
As the wax plate now skips
As do I, but not not falling.
Might I bolt to both of
The double doors calling?


What holds in the end?
Is it hand on the waist,
The sure gaze of love
Or the terrors we face?
It's our birth scars of old
Regenerate. Anew.
Blood and Song
That attach us like glue.

dear renda,

Yesterday, in multiple ways, I was aroused to love Jesus more.
That gladdens me because I came here to be stretched in a way (Spiritual Direction) to allow others to be aroused to love Jesus more. What I'm saying is this simple thing, and it's for all Christians: It's me and Him before anything Missional that includes me.

I have been drawn again into Trinitarian theology. Now, don't let the word "theology" bog you down... it just means "think hard on, study". When I think on God being Always and being Love, then how could God be love then (when absolutely nothing else but He existed) without having another to love? Thus Trinity. And that's why His being is also Relational. Which is why He created you and me! Not because He was lonely (They had each other), but so He could show His Trinitarian, Relational way-of-being off!

The other element? Space.
A Trinitarian Theology is steady and trustworthy, but it's also distant from me without space to know myself that I might know Him. And this "knowing myself" is ongoing that my knowing Him might also, until the day.

Well, there are all kinds of words of beauty flying in the air from God, and some are landing... penetrating me. James Houston once said, "If we were to understand the pourosity of the human soul, we would know God better."

Help me to know how deeply permeable I am, my Lord. And then continue Your deep plunge! Amen.

dear tl,

I trust that you remember our regular daily schedule here at the School of Spiritual Direction (SSD). All morning we sit in class beginning with a long devotional from Larry out of Colossians (that he writes each day before the sun comes up) and then a study on the Seven Questions of Spiritual Theology (Who is God? What's He up to? Who are we? What went wrong? What did God do to remedy the problem? As a result, what is the Spirit up to now? How can we join Him?)... all as a foundation for listening to God's Spirit when we are drinking coffee with someone.

There are a few notes I've taken but mostly I just sit and let the lectures and 30-person conversation pour on my head. Here are a couple of notes I've made for myself, about myself, to myself:

• All my words are pregnant with something... what? Neediness, Power, Emptiness, Pull, Hope?
• When in conversation with someone about things that matter, am I hoping to repair damage or release life?
• When confused or don't know what to say, do I use it as an opportunity to quiet my soul or figure someone out?

And my favorite scribble to myself:

• I like the phrase "deifically alive"!

And I do. It comes from 2 Peter 1:4 as he speaks about you and I being participants in the Divine nature of God. And in doing so, I am Deifically alive! Although it's hard for me to pronounce, because of God's Spirit living within me, it's not so hard to believe!

Wow.
Do you today?

dear damon and lea,

We send you our love from The Cove in Asheville. Kathie said that it felt like a reunion, being with Larry Crabb's team whom you also know... folks who love my person, not the persona I've learned to live out of most my life. The only thing missing is you.

Kathie and I are here for you. And all our other friends that care to have conversations that matter. The present  conversation I am having with God looks something like this: "Lord, will you help me discover more stretching exercises for the ears of my heart? When I sit with a friend over coffee, the old ways of listening still push their way to the front of the line... helping, sorting, amateur diagnosing, arranging, explaining, etc. And the funny part is that often those ways lead to productive results for my friends. Yet, eventually after a good chat, I feel quite empty. Because my assistance, as good as it might be, helps only to lead to a smoother and more understandable way to live. But Lord, above every good thing is You, and I want for my friends to know You more! And I want to know You more! Help me discover more stretching exercises for the ears of my heart?"

I guess I could say that we are really here for us.

dear mrs. bogart,

I've been writing letters to a few people this week who have both made a deep impression on my life and "moved on" to be with our Lord. Although they are gone, you may not be. And I'm not worried that you may be offended by that, for I'm sure you will never see this letter anyway. It's just my chance to transition my writings back to the living by offering my gratitude to you.

Thank you for introducing art to me.

As my eighth grade teacher you had the capacity to allow both math and art to exist within you. (As I remember, those were the only two subjects you taught!) And I like how you went about it... not an intro of me to art, but an intro of art to ME. You saw my comfort with both abstract thinking and linear logic living together within me. You saw my inclination toward creating space for myself to explore with paint and pencil. You saw my young openness toward gaining a new way of seeing.

Thank you.
You would love my wife.
You would still love my often wild thinking and inclinations and love for good poetry.

It's amazing what a good teacher can birth.

dear ryan,

The two of us sat together countless times over a biscuit, talking of life. A couple of moments are branded to my memory:

I'm sure you remember sitting on the front stoop of Chisca. It was my favorite old cabin at Frontier Ranch where I've slept many a night. That's the place where you gave your life to Christ, giving me the privilege of sitting with you under a matchless Colorado night sky. That was June of 1993.

But the next year was tough... for both of us. None of your buddys wanted to walk the same rocky path like you did. Each week we would meet at Hardee's on Campbell Station Road for that biscuit, hanging on to the Hope that was alive in both of us. And the business I owned was floundering. You didn't know it, but those mornings together were not just for you.

Our very last time together was May of your junior year. I decided to stop my years of being a Young Life leader so I could bring more focus to my business. And this morning I would tell you... you who "needed" me so much. But it was that day you walked in with a new friend, a guy on the football team I also knew, the FCA president, a believer! That day you and I saw so many said and unsaid prayers come to fruition. That day changed my life. Within a single moment God brought each of us to a new direction: You - the first real high school friend in Christ to walk with during your last year in high school. Me - a new career path at the age of 36.

And off we went.

I saw you a couple times during your Senior year, but Young Life staff had carried me to a different school in a different part of town. And then to Asheville. Maybe it was eight or ten years later that I heard of your overdose. For some bad reason I couldn't get back for your funeral and I still regret that. I was caught up in my own little world.

We will be together again.
No sitting this time.
And no biscuits. At least none from Hardee's.
In a Holy City.
Where God will live with us.
We will be His people.
He will be our God.
Every tear will be wiped away by His hand.
Death will be gone forever.
So will crying.
And, hard to imagine, but all pain too!
Everything will be made new.

Including what was made together between us.
Meanwhile, I'll hang onto the Hope.
You pull for me.

dear jody,

You were always the easy one, so easy to be with.
The romantic.
The crooner.
The one who carried the ball but didn't need to.
The one who was always one with the crowd, wanting them to be at home.
You were just an inch off center... close enough but not.

Some people survived that US Air crash nineteen years ago in Charlotte. This morning they are waking up to go to work and eat lunch and have an afternoon beer and watch the nightly news with Brian Williams. They are glad to be alive. But they have no idea how alive you are at this very moment. Nor do I completely. But I do believe this a little, which you know in full: "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived the things God has prepared for those who love Him".

You are with Him.
I am jealous over what happened to you in 1994.
And what's happening in you now.
But I'll wait my turn.
Pray for me.

P.S. I'm still refusing to shave my upper lip like you suggested.

dear lee,

Where do I begin?
Almost eight years later we still bear the marks of your friendship...

We loved to laugh with you because you loved to laugh.
We felt at home with you because you were at home.
We saw you with wide eyes because you had a wide vision for us.
We confessed to you because you had confessions of your own.

You embraced our uniqueness because you were odd too.
You never waited on another to lead the way because you were being led.
You screwed up because you were foolish.
You felt free to live large because you knew you were forgiven.
You were stubborn because you were faithful.
You said wild things things because you were free.
You loved because you were first loved.

You linger in your absence because you were fully present when here.
Thank you.

dear bob,

This week I've decided to write to you and other friends of mine who have risen ahead of me. And you are the first I write to. I don't know how this works though... can you hear my words to you? Do you care or are you too busy in worshiping the Lamb? Or do you know the words I'm going to say before I write them?

Anyway.
I miss you.

Remember the summer of 1977 when you led some Young Life leaders in a Bible study? There was a moment I'll never forget... my friend Warren was asking us to hold him accountable to having a morning quiet time. How many, you asked. Warren replied, "I want to start with a small goal - have a quiet time at least three mornings this next week". And you want us to hold you accountable, you inquired. We were each assured, yes.

I wonder if I'll ever know, but I'm pretty sure you prayed hard for Warren that week. Seven days later you casually but purposefully asked him about his quiet times. "I had two morning quiet times this week" was his response. Well, the short of it is this: You railed on him like he had slapped his momma. I thought you were going to barbeque him for lunch! Finally you took a breath and sheepishly Warren dared to ask, "Bob, why are you being so hard on me?" And here is the moment I learned more about following Jesus as a 20 year-old. You said:

"Do you know what time a bank teller goes home every day? She goes home AFTER she has reconciled her money exchanges with the bank customers. If she is one penny short, she will have to find it before clocking out for the day... this is what it means to be held accountable. If you don't want to be held accountable, then you might want to choose a different word next time."

You were a loving, loving, loving hard ass.

On the other hand, I was simply an ass.
But you believed in the Christ in me deeply enough to put me on the YL team at Farragut high school... with you. How God shaped me through you! Your pursuit of the coldest kid, the way you took me with you on meaningless errands, our countless hard conversations. You celebrated the goodness of God in my life and you simply celebrated me. You fathered me to the Father, you brothered me to my brothers, and you showed me the Spirit of God when life was real hard.

You had no care for foolishness. Like a ghost you would show up at the times I was most in need, then in a flash be gone. And I've never known a greater example of servanthood and intentionality.
All that you owned was mine. (Even when I knew you had no money, you sent a $500 check to my son for a summer mission trip to Honduras!)

Almost seven years ago you left us... and again, I miss you.
I long for an integrated life that is half what yours was.
Pray for me if it works that way.
And if it does, I'm sure you are praying hard.

dear little girl,

You are yet to be born, but may I be the first to say to you...
He is Risen !!!

Each year (and I can't wait for you to join us!) we celebrate this Easter Sunday as our greatest day! And it's because this God-man named Jesus stood in our place of guilt and took the punishment due us for our desire to love ourselves above the One who created us (as you are now being created in your mother's belly). And we also celebrate because, though His taking of our punishment was complete, it did not triumph over Him... He won! It's His greatest day too!

So today we party and laugh and eat and drink and dance and run and shout and seek to live in this hope - Jesus who was chosen by God (that's what the words Messiah and Christ mean) now lives in us today and every tomorrow after us!

At the right moment we will meet, little granddaughter.
And the first thing I will do is give you the sign of the instrument of His death on your forehead... my prayer that He will mark you by His new way of life.

See you soon!

Disciples John and Peter on their way to the Tomb on Easter Morning

Eugene Burnand, 1898

John 20:1-18

Lord, you have passed over into new life, and you now invite us to Passover also. In these past days we have grieved at your sufferings and mourned at your death... Now at Easter you reveal to us that we have died to sin, passing over to your risen life!   BERNARD of CLAIRVAUX

dear knox,

This is the world you were born into...

A world and a people who crucify.

I hope you begin to let the realities of this place get near you at an early age, knowing that none of these realities can bring you harm. Here is Holy Saturday's truth:

Nothing compares to the explosion of yesterday's death of Jesus.

The earth cracked as did our hearts.
Grief is such a watered-down word at this point.
There is bile in my mouth from witnessing the endless suffering of God's Son.
And to meditate on the thought that it was for me! Because of me!!
Nothing compares to the explosion of yesterday's death of Jesus.

Except for tomorrow.
Just wait.

Transport of Christ to the Tomb

Antonio Ciseri, 19th Century

John 19:38-42

Help us, we pray, to make known to our world that its cause for despair is ended, and that its suffering and its sin will one day be no more. This we ask in the name of the risen Christ, and for His sake. Amen.   MURRAY RAE

dear will,

May I offer you this short observation on Pilate as a foundation for this Good Friday:

Politics, the shrewd art of tact and prudence, is Pilate's way of operating.
And mine too, if I am honest...

How many years have I sought to influence the actions of others for win-win results?
How many words have I used to maneuver myself into looking good?
How often have I sought to reap benefits while pleasing others at the same time?
Each time being left more empty than before, asking...

What is truth?

Although Jesus remained silent when Pilate asked these three words, Jesus answered Pilate by standing in front of him. The answer is Him. And He answers us the same way.
He stands in front of us.
Exhibit One.
Exhibit Only.

He offers not words to explain truth. He offers Person.
Today is the awkward celebration of His offering.
Yes, to humanity and the Jews and the Gentiles and to Pilate.
And to you.
And to me.

So, let us "celebrate" by allowing Him space to stand in front of us this day. To hang in front of us. To be buried in front of us. And then, we might have a new and bigger space to let Him you-know-what on Sunday.

Ecco Homo - "Here is the Man"

Antonio Ciseri, 19th Century

John 18:28-19:16

O Lord God our Father... Do not allow any of us to remain apathetic or indifferent to the wondrous glory of Easter, but let the light of our risen Lord reach every corner of our dull hearts.    KARL BARTH

dear jessica,

Today is a big day for you... finding out if you will have a daughter or a son! I'd like to share with you these mid-14th century words from Geert Groote (please don't name your child that) as you live out this Maundy Thursday:

Here you should call to memory some of the special and most loving words from that meal so as to grasp in your heart how much love Jesus showed them there. For instance, 
     I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I die.
     You will know that you are my disciples if you love one another.
     You will weep and mourn while the world rejoices; you will grieve,
          but your grief will turn to joy.
     I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to see you.

You ought to understand, to break and to chew upon those words with al your strength, and with great sobs you should observe how far you are from them yourself. Then consider the prayer he uttered in agony and his resignation of himself into the hands of his heavenly Father even to bitter death and also that bloody sweat he sweat in fear of the death he was about to suffer. Now throw yourself to the ground and with the loud voice of your heart and folded hands cry out and say, "O grieving Lord, how shall I repay you for all you have given me. I will accept the cup of salvation"      (Psalm 116:12).

Lamb

Francisco Zurbaran, 17th century

Today's Lectionary:

• Exodus 12:1-4, 11-14
• Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19
• 1 Corinthians 11:23-26
• John 13:1-17, 21b-35

Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you.  PSALM 84:4

dear bo,

There was a moment when Jesus turned His whole self (mind, body and soul) toward the cross. It came after an instance in which His disciples were arguing about which of the twelve were greatest, followed by a statement of John against someone trying to get into their inner circle. The moment is found in Luke 9, verse 51:

As the time approached for Him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem.

Knowing those closest to Him would deny, disown and desert Him, He set His face like a stone toward His Father's desire.

And what about Judas? Since he betrayed Jesus, this admired and trusted member of the Twelve must have had resolute moments as well. Throughout today, the day before the Great Triduum begins (Maundy Thursday through Easter morn), I will meditate on one difficult question: How am I like Judas?

Head of Judas

Boltraffio, late 15th century

Today's Lectionary:

• Isaiah 50:4-9a
• Psalm 70
• Hebrews 12:1-3
• John 13:21-32

Almighty God, who sees we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves; keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls; that we may be defended from all adversities... and all evil thoughts which may hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.    COLLECT FOR THE SECOND SUNDAY OF LENT 

dear katie,

The way in which the woman in this sculpture leans back awakens something in me. Is she falling back into the Hands of God, as Jesus must have been doing during this week, entrusting His whole self to God? Or is she lifting high her whole being in gratitude, also as Jesus was lifted high on the cross? Or is she using her final breath to call upon the invisible God, yes even as Jesus did? Can she take anymore? Can you take anymore during this season? Ready to give up giving up? Ready to move on to another church calendar season?

Well. We all will very, very soon. But let me be an encouragement - stay with Jesus. As He walked these final days on earth, riding a donkey, washing other's feet, spreading His arms in love on Friday... becoming nothing. Take some time here with scripture or the study of this woman. Stay with Jesus just a while longer.

Beloved
Linda Crossan, 2000

Today's Lectionary:

• Isaiah 49:1-7
• Psalm 71:1-14
• 1 Corinthians 1:18-31
• John 12:20-36

Let me always remember You, love You, meditate upon You, and pray to You until You restore me to Your perfect image.    - AUGUSTINE OF HIPPO

dear holly,

As the busyness of another Monday arrives, and the industry and tide of life makes time fly by unnoticed... Holy Week releases a scent. Bidding us stop. Here, today, now, like Mary, find something that makes you stop.

Use a thesaurus to look up silence.
Choose at least one of today's Scripture.
Or sit long with Qi He's, Mary Magdalene as she anoints the feet of our Jesus.

And the fragrance of the oils fills your house.

Mary Magdalene
Qi He, 2001

Today's Lectionary:

• Isaiah 42:1-9
• Psalm 36:5-11
• Hebrews 9:11-15
• John 12:1-11

Lord, I seek you with all my heart, with all the strength you have given me. I long to understand that which I believe.   - AUGUSTINE OF HIPPO

dear kathie,

Like a carrot placed in front of a donkey, you lead me with your love for the visual. Over this Holy Week of our Lord, I will offer an image for meditation with the Lectionary readings and maybe a little reflection.

Traditionally the beginning of Holy Week is, of course, Palm Sunday. But it is also known as Passion Sunday. Most churches choose one of these tracts for their style of worship on this day. Palm Sunday is a more raucous approach noticing and imitating the crowds as they heralded Jesus' ride into Jerusalem with shouts of "Save us!" Those participating in a more subdued Passion Sunday are preparing for the quieter and more reflective journey of the Week to come.

Because I do not write on Sundays, I now offer you tomorrow's Passion readings:

Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm 31:9-16
Philippians 2:5-11
Like 22:14-23:56

Croatian Palm Sunday
Divinity Library, Vanderbilt University


Rows of grapes
with greenery in hand
shoulder to shoulder
awaiting the Lamb,
God-compacted-Man
threatening to show
those of us who never
could know
the press and pack
of Three into One
resulting in awe
diminished by none.

dear todd,

I'm so glad you and your wife spent last night with us. You were in high school when I left Asheville, some thirty years your elder. Even still, something awoke within me when you walked into our home. Standing in the back hallway there was no great desire to be introduced to any new thing... our house, our town, our almost nine years missed with one another. Instead the Spirit of gladness filled the air in our words but, even more so, in the silence between the words.

And I would wager this. You might be a little drunk when it comes to your pleasant thoughts of me. Good eye contact, a little gray hair and well-crafted words can greatly advance my persona in the thoughts of man.

Since others can articulate this much better than I, and since it's the Saturday before Holy week begins, may I cut this letter short with a poem, a quote and a verse which are so applicable to me.

A Warning to my Readers, by Wendell Berry

Do not think me gentle

because I speak in praise

of gentleness, or elegant

because I honor the grace

that keeps this world. I am

a man crude as any,

gross of speech, intolerant,

stubborn, angry, full

of fits and furies. That

I may have spoken well

at times is not natural.

A wonder is what it is.

"There could not be anything more foolish than an untaught man, such as I confess I am, to presume to teach what he knows nothing about"   Bernard of Clairvaux

I'm speaking to you out of deep gratitude for all that God has given me, and especially as I have responsibilities in relation to you. Living then, as every one of you does, in pure grace, it's important that you not misinterpret yourselves as people who are bringing this goodness to God. No, God brings it all to you. The only accurate way to understand ourselves is by what God is and by what He does for us, not by what we are and what we do for Him.    Romans 12:3 (The Message)

Apart from God I have nothing.

Apart from God I am nothing.

Let us now together approach the Week before us with sobriety and anticipation.

dear devon,

Since you told me the story of your long-hoped-for reunion, I have (as the great saints might say) rejoiced exceedingly! Over and over I have celebrated what God is presently unfolding to you.

Also, maybe you can help me with something. Do you remember the time I gave all the guys in our small group so much crap for watching The Bachelor? Lately, and I'm not sure why, Paul's words in 1 Corinthians 10 keep returning to me. The heading in the NIV is, The Believer's Freedom:

"I have the right to do anything" you say - but not everything is beneficial. "I have the right to do anything" - but not everything is constructive. No one should seek their own good, but the good of others.

To have one eye about things, a single vision to know God above everything, even the blessings of reconciled relationships, is to live purely and wholly in every circumstance of life. Listen to Sir Robert Southwell who was martyred for his faith at the age of 33 in the late 16th century:

Diversity begats confusion, and perfects not art.
It is difficult to imitate even one thing correctly.
Graft your thoughts into some good stock.
Suck the sap from a fruitful root.
Change of juices does not ripen, but rots the fruit.
He who is familiar to all is friend to none.
You will never be your own, if always with everybody.
Among many strangers, you will have but few friends.
Transplant not your mind into such varieties;
suffer it to take root in some one soil.
Plants frequently transplanted sooner wither than blossom.
It is an unwholesome appetite that tastes of everything and relishes nothing.
He who sips of all and sticks to none is unsteady of heart.
Recall then your senses.
Restrain your wandering mind.
Think upon a new course.
Count yourself worthy of something to which you may in future adhere.
Be at home somewhere and live there by rule;
then go forth to other places, like a guest looking towards a home.

Am I living spiritually bipolar? Thankful to God for blessing me while transplanting myself from soil to soil? Do I practice the spiritual life in season only? Do I hop from book to book, from quote to quote, from blog to blog sipping someone else's juice so I don't have to sit still at home in my own interior world?

Maybe I wanted to write to you specifically because you are in a place of opportunity. What is it like to receive such a gift from God yet hold it loosely? How do you worship our Lord alone, anticipating even more of Him, yet without the expectation of more blessing?

I hear that throwing myself humbly upon the mercy of God is the only path.
Maybe we could listen together over coffee?

dear jc,

I miss our times together at Earthfare snacking on trail mix and marveling that God would use the likes of us with His people.

Something hit me this morning as I was meditating on the three denials of Peter found in Luke 22.  After his last denial the scripture says, "Just as he was speaking, the rooster crowed. The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter."

Then I began to speculate...

• It must have been true love in the eyes of Jesus that awakened Peter's failure.
• Judas' betrayal and the sudden arrest of Jesus created such angst and confusion in Peter that it uncharacteristically froze him in this flash of crisis. 
• The impact on Peter was so great because of some deep and unknown betrayal from his own past.

Then it hit me. I love to speculate.

Getting a little nugget of insight makes me feel engaged, which could make me feel really good about myself, which is a slippery slope leading to pride. Don't get me wrong. A reverent imagination, while listening to God during times of meditation, is a rich blessing from God. Yet, I have an instinct to worship blessings instead of simply worshiping the Blesser.

I carry a quote from Larry Crabb around with me. It's the only thing stuck between the pages of my Bible, and I use it as a reminder of "how to be with". How to be with a friend. How to be with Scripture. How to be with myself.

My job is to follow the Spirit's movement desiring an aroused appetite for God that could lead to somewhere good. To tag along with the present Spirit into this life, into scripture, into one another and into His Very Self.

Wow.

His Spirit and Life in me! Moving in my bloodstream, firing between my brain synapses, blowing throughout every crack and crevice of my soul!

I'm so glad Jesus earlier said to Peter, "Follow Me".

He says it to us in the very same way.

Follow Me.

dear knox,

There are some things that your parents won't tell you about the covert actions they employ to raise you. In the future they will have many closed door sessions about how they might shape your strong will and how they might prevent breaking your wonderful spirit. They will lower their voices and often fight with each other over how to discipline you. I hate telling you this, but they will also speak in code from time to time.

So as your grandfather, I feel it my duty to clue you in on a few things.

First, let me say this: They are rookies. That's a nice way of saying that they are making it up as they go. Although they are learning on you, I would like for you to cut them some slack over the next 50 years. Also, there is a much deeper reason for giving them space to fail and succeed.,,

They are trusting you.

Yes, it may sound strange that your parents are trying to trust someone who still wets his pants. But it's true. And it's a right thing for them to start so early. For example,

• They let you put things into your mouth that don't belong there, trusting you will discover this truth on your own.
• They help you understand the word NO in little ways, trusting you will discover a big freedom in the future that is found within boundaries.
• They will allow you to make bad choices, trusting you will be shaped by God through the impending results.
• They will allow you to keep some bad company, trusting you will lean on Another to love the bad company instead of follow the bad company.

Let me say it another way.
At the moment, you rely on them for 100% of everything - food, cleaning, transportation, shelter, etc. But you would be mistaken to think that the job of your Mama and Papa is to reduce your reliance on them down to zero percent. Their job is not to teach you to be independent... their job is to teach you to be dependent on Another.

Even as rookies, they are showing great courage. Ultimately they are trusting God with you. In learning to count on them now, you are preparing yourself in advance to trust Another. And that will be your greatest hope come true!

When you are older I'd like for you to read these words from a man named John Piper...

The harder it seems for God to fulfill his promise, the better he looks when you trust him. Suppose that you are at the deep end of a pool by the diving board. You are four years old and can’t swim, and your daddy is at the other end of the pool. Suddenly a big, mean dog crawls under the fence and shows his teeth and growls at you and starts coming toward you to bite you. You crawl up on the diving board and walk toward the end to get away from him. The dog puts his front paws up on the diving board. Just then, your daddy sees what’s happening and calls out, “Johnny, jump in the water. I’ll get you.”

Now, you have never jumped from one meter high and you can’t swim and your daddy is not underneath you and this water is way over your head. How do you make your daddy look good in that moment? You jump. And almost as soon as you hit the water, you feel his hands under your arms and he treads water holding you safely while someone chases the dog away. Then he takes you to the side of the pool.

We give glory to God when we trust him to do what he has promised to do–especially when all human possibilities are exhausted. Faith glorifies God.

Love,
Pops

dear Jesus,

This morning I sit still in the quiet and wait.
Then I write whatever prayers rise up in me.

• Silence is our friend, my Lord, our place.
• All my anxiety I transfer to the evil one, for I hear he becomes restless when my center is You.
• In the unpolluted quiet, my soul tilts toward gratitude.
• for the beauty of the fifteen friends in our home last night that overwhelm me to the point of not knowing what to do with such a large amount of beauty. And I don't want to know... I just want to enjoy!
• for the way You are keeping my friend from having what she wants in ministry, so that she might have more of You instead.
• for my brother who is learning to trash the scorecard way of living to embrace the One who by His death made Himself the Way to the Father.
• for my wife who marvels at You like a child who walks into a Christmas morning around the tree.
• for the creativity my little sister is discovering.
• I long for time to slow down. Or better said, I am longing to live more present to the people in my moment, slowing time.
• I resist now the urge to wrap up this time of prayer and now...
• I confess:
• I have created a life with little need for confession.
• my impurities include the demand for order and clarity.
• I am still prone to sell my agenda with spiritual language.
• I critique the way other's worship You.
• I have purposefully declined opportunities to be gracious, because it would prove inconvenient.
• I like food too much. 
• I am not keen to all my ways that are in need of forgiveness.
• For the young children whom Kathie and I know and love: the challenge of living in this world but not living of this world seems to increase... they must have Your strength. Shape their spirits earlier than we would ever imagine with courage and trust, to look like Jesus.
• For Your blessings, thank You. But above all, for You, the Blesser, I lift my hands in my now public closet, asking you to inhabit the eyes of each reader and pray-er who calls upon You with me.
• After this hour of prayer, I begin to understand why Martin Luther, once said, "I have so much to do this day that I shall spend the first three hours in prayer."
• Make the incline of my heart for You to steepen.
• Great and Holy Three-in- One, on this 30th day of Lent, to You be glory in my Family and in me, for Your sake.

Yes.

dear kolby,

Two purchases to make before your son is born:

1) buy the boy your favorite book.

if he is born blind,

read it to him

and he will grow in love by the sound of your voice.

if he is born deaf,

act out the words to him

that his eyes may see the affection of his parents.

if he is dumb,

teach him to write his own story

that he may nurture others as you have him.

2) buy the boy a baseball glove.

if he is born athletic,

play catch with him

and he will thank you on ESPN one day.

if he is born artistic,

he will go to games with you

and readily learn to appreciate your love for roasted peanuts.

if he is born poor,

catch a few innings together at the local high school

and your joint-account will rise a few pennies at a time.

And when the boy chooses to turn from the love he is born into,

refusing to hear that he is the beloved,

living a lie to all he loves…

the sound of a turning page

or the crack of a bat

will bid him return.