"The Lord is close to the broken-hearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
- Psalm 34:18

Embracing our losses.

There is something about loss that seems to invite woundedness and brokenness to the surface, until that's all we seem to focus on.

Throughout scripture there is the reality that loss happens. There is not a single person that has ever existed that has not encountered some type of brokenness. And yet, it is the brokenness that opens one up to God's presence.

To what point must any of us reach before we acknowledge that we cannot do this alone?

Years ago while doing my Clinical Pastoral Care at M D Anderson, my supervisor asked me why I smiled when talking about something very sad that had happened in my life?. I had never thought about it. It was at that point that I realized that over the years, a smile had become a defense. He was onto something within me. My ability to be vulnerable was masked by something that was seen as acceptable, but was not real.

I think of the experience that is shared in scripture when Jesus arrives at his friend Lazarus' tomb, with Lazarus' sisters present, friends watching, and he "weeps."

The vulnerability of Christ is powerful here. There are no words to express what he was feeling or thinking. He weeps.

We all seem to wear masks.

The intentions of our heart should be something that people can see and know about us. If we are broken, or have joy, or are simply unsure, then we should be willing and able to talk openly about these things. But we don't.

Why is that? Why do any of us not present the truth about who we are?

We have become 8 second sound bytes and then we are ready to move on, but for some, the wound is much deeper and requires much more attention.

Our faith community should be a place where we can be honest. Our family should be a place where we can be completely vulnerable and know that we will remain loved when sharing our pain.

God is aware of all our troubles. Even when we can't seem to find words, our silence, and often our tears, cry out and God is there.

Being present for one another is among the most beautiful gifts we have to share with one another.

Our ability to be honest in our vulnerability is truly a blessing as well.

​I hope that we all may be able to be ourselves through all the times of our lives with one another, and that because of that vulnerability, we are made whole through Christ our Lord who heals all.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

"[There is] a time for mourning, a time for dancing"
~ Ecclesiastes 3:4

Henri Nouwen reminds us that mourning and dancing are never fully separated. Their "times" do not necessarily follow each other. In fact, their "times" may become one "time."

Mourning may turn into dancing and dancing into mourning without showing a clear point where one ends and the other starts.

Many times in reflecting about death, we will remark that the family is "grieving appropriately." It is a remark to say that the family will be fine. Grief is something that we all experience. Some are able to incorporate that grief into life, like a dance.

Often our grief allows us to choreograph our dance while our dance creates the space for our grief.

We lose a beloved friend, and in the midst of our tears we discover an unknown joy. We celebrate a success, and in the midst of the party we feel deep sadness.

Mourning and dancing, grief and laughter, sadness and gladness - they belong together, like a well orchestrated moment that finds us open to tears and laughter.

Let's trust that the beauty of our lives becomes visible where mourning and dancing touch each other.

​Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

I don't know about you, but I'm so thankful that I don't have to test my faith by stepping out onto the water.  As much as I hope that I would have faith enough to step out of the boat if Jesus were to call me to "step out," I'm not very sure whether I could stand, or take that first step.

I always remind myself when it comes to the story of Peter stepping out to attempt to walk on water, that the boat was full of others who claimed to be disciples of Jesus.  Peter is the ONLY one who decides to try his luck among the waves.  The rest sat back and simply watched.

We all have our own individual reasons for believing in God. The same goes with the way that we express that belief.

Jesus calling Peter out to walk on the waves was God's way of dealing with Peter. It just so happens he did it in front of a boat load of people. Our response to God's calling is not always meant to be a public display, or test.

I sat and listened to someone doubt their relationship with God, all because they never stood up, walked to the front of the church, and made a public confession that Jesus was their Savior. It was hard for the person to receive the comfort of knowing that the relationship was valid, all because he had to react to his faith in a specific way.

I'm so glad that Peter's future as the cornerstone of the church wasn't dependent upon the day he began to sink like a rock, rather than being the rock that Jesus would claim he would build his church.

The same goes for each one of us. The funny thing about faith is the fact it is based upon the belief in something that we can't see. It's knowing something exists, like the air we breathe, without thinking about it.

While Peter begins to doubt his faith, and surely must have had a brain flash, "I can't walk on water," Jesus is already present to help pull him from the abyss.

Each day that I am thankful that I don't have to prove my faith, but rather, just accept that it is present.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

"He told me I was going to die, and he wouldn't even look me in the face," the angry woman cried aloud with me after having gone through eighteen months of cancer treatments.  The doctor, she felt, had become "her friend." 

"I did everything he wanted me to try, but when it came time to tell me that I was still going to die, he couldn't even look me in the eye to tell me."

The pain that she was feeling was evident.  Over the past two years she had shared her struggles, made sacrifices to follow every request, and missed important milestones in the lives of her children with the hope that she would survive and live a full and productive life.  "I don't really know what I thought would happen.  I guess I hoped that somehow I would be whole again and able to do all the things I once did."

Each day I encounter people who have already "been through so much," as I often hear.  Meeting people at the end of their life is often surrounded by so many feelings, often regrets, and "what if's?"  They carry buckets that are full of holes that once contained lists of things that the person "hoped to do," in their lifetime. 

I'm always grateful when I meet  the person who acknowledges that they have lived a full, long life, with many friends, family members who love them, and often a faith community that serves as both a source of support and encouragement.  I'd like to say that those people outnumbered the "other people I meet," but for most of the people they are simply, "not ready to die."

Growing up in a farming community, I knew a lot about the circle of life.  Whether it be the seasons surrounding crops, raising cattle or other livestock for food, or simply the loss of those in our small community.  During my years attending a small county high school, death visited classmates, loosing one to a car wreck, then two brothers, when an auger they used for grain struck a power line.  We encountered droughts and floods.  Good seasons where we could afford additional things for our family, or the Christmas I remember walking behind a pick up truck in a field already frozen from winter, looking for ears of corn that the combine missed so that we could afford to buy gifts, while the ground "crunched," below our feet as we walked.

I could hear the woman's pain as she retold the timeline of diagnosis and treatment, and then again the words, "You're going to die."

It replayed in her mind, like a slow-motion replay of a game that was lost because of one mistake, or bad call.  She was so focused on what she felt like that she had lost to recognize the months her diligence in her treatment had gained her.  When she shared that her original diagnosis only gave her three months to live, and yet this was now almost two years ago, she began to turn from "the end," to what blessings had actually emerged.

While I could not explain why the doctor didn't look her in the eyes to tell her that she was going to die, I did encourage her to reach out to him to share what she was feeling.  I shared that he had already learned so much from the treatments that she pushed through, that he could also learn from how she was feeling now.

Paul writes, "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:6 - 7)

Often when we encounter "the end," or the sudden loss, we can't help but focus on what "might have been," or want to find something that we can point to as the root cause of the situation.  Through it all, we are still being reminded to stop and to pray.  Sometimes it is simply too much, and that is when we need one another.

Once again I am reminded that the will of God will never lead us to where God's grace will not sustain us, or where we fail to remain in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

"When I think about the pain that I live with each day, the unrest that it causes me because I can't seem to get comfortable, I still give thanks to God because I am being sheltered."

Pain is something we all know about.  Each day I encounter people living with, or trying to reconcile their pain.  Not all pain at the end of life has to deal with the physical body.  There is also spiritual pain, pain of loss, and a number of others things that can contribute to the experience of pain.

I spent a good portion of my morning yesterday with a man who made the decision to cease all treatment for his illness, and requested that we "turn off" his defibrillator that was set to "go off," in the event he went into cardiac arrest.  "I don't want my last moments to be filled with pain," he shared, realizing that the device would continue to go off, even as he lay dying of "something else."

"I just don't want the pain."

Turning off the device then was surrounded by the pain of those around him.  It was a signal to them that the pain of loss was about to enter, and grief seemed to overwhelm the moment.  The man's wife stepped outside the room, and I found her crying down the hallway from the room where the man is now resting.

"All I can think about is how relieved we were when he got that placed.  We didn't worry about his heart stopping," she shared with me.  "Now I just feel like we are giving up, and I don't want to deal with the pain."

Lent is a reminder of our woundedness, pain, and being broken.  While we focus inwardly, we can also look outwardly and begin to recognize the shadow of the cross that resembles our own.  Pain and suffering are not things that we can avoid.  Standing in our suffering welcomes us to better understand the love that God has for us.  While this woman expresses her pain, there was also the understanding that her husband will soon no longer be suffering and experiencing pain.

I am reminded that the seed must die in order to produce the harvest.  So it is with our pain that then allows for our faith to flourish.  Standing in the shadow of the cross reminds us that there is still a light that is being cast upon us to create the shadow.   Even in our pain, the love of God will sustain us.

Remember that we may encounter pain, but we are never out of reach of God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

I'm unsure why, but the last two days I have struggled to speak.  It's not that I don't have anything to say.  I'm simply finding that I need to think about what it is that I'm going to say.

Of all the things that Jesus reminded the disciples to do was to "love one another."  Today I'm acutely aware that loving one another means that we are invited to speak what we are feeling, and to reflect, while seeking ways to practice what Jesus is asking us to do.

Today we seem to talk about respecting one another, or tolerance, or even remaining silent when things occur so that we do not "ruffle," proverbial feathers.  We seem to be living in an age where we are invited to provide the "shocking remark," or the "challenge."  

Years ago there was a reporter that would often use a number of different terms to describe my sexual orientation, along with the word, "clergy," when writing stories about me and the church I was serving.  Sometimes the adjectives helped in the cause, but many times, it was used to sell a story, not to help me help those that I felt God calling me to assist.  I remember sitting down with the reporter and explaining how his words about me didn't always help me, or help those who needed the support.  As I shared what this meant for the people I was trying to help, many often never having known love, or that someone from a "religious," perspective could be trusted, he expressed that my sharing helped him to "understand."

Among the greatest challenges we face during Lent, or for that matter, any time of year, is that we are to focus on ways to reconcile ourselves to God and to one another.  It is the reminder of a journey made by God, in the incarnate presence of Jesus, who became the living presence of that love for each of us.  

The challenges he faced while reminding us that the Samaritan was more than someone "different" than us.  He was capable of caring and loving someone in their woundedness.

It's the same challenge that modern day followers of Jesus must face as well as we struggle to love one another.  Emerging on Easter Sunday from the tomb required love.  Yes, a miracle occurred, indeed!  But the essential message is that God loved humanity so much that God sent Jesus to us to live among us, to die, and to overcome the tomb.  If Jesus can rise from the dead, then surely, if we are the living presence of Jesus in the world today, then we can overcome our own doubts, racist beliefs, lines drawn in countless deserts full of sand, and the very things that keep us from loving one another.

Loving one another is always a choice.  A choice that Jesus clearly reminded us of, as he struggled to proclaim to everyone that above all things, "Love one another."

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

"I just can't seem to find God," she shared with me.  Her head lowered, and she began to cry as the middle-aged woman looked over at her mother who no longer knows her name.  The two have spent the last twenty years living together.  The first five of those years were filled with many trips, many friends, and many memories.  "Alzheimer's introduced itself to my mother about six years ago, and then they began traveling without me."

With each year that passed, her mother's presence changed, until the woman no longer recognized her daughter, or knew many of the friends that they had once spent hours upon hours with.  The daughter admitted, "I just finally gave up, and now we are here."  She looks around a very "institutional green room," as she describes it.  

She looked at me and commented that she keeps remembering the verse from Peter of "waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God," hoping that "today will be that day."  

She admits that she wishes that her mother could just finally, "pass away," noting that it is too hard to "see her like this," and then admitting feeling "guilty."  

"How does anyone wish that their mother would just die?"  She begins to cry even harder.

I hugged her and shared, "The greatest gift of love that we can give to one another is when we realize that we must surrender ourselves and those that we love to God.  It is no longer waiting to hasten God's arrival, it is our ability to sit and open our eyes and to begin to see what God is doing."

For any of us, our waiting, watching, and even our serving others, has to do with being able to wait with our eyes open and actually become "seers."  

Last Sunday I reminded our little faith community where I was speaking that while Jesus was carrying the cross throughout the streets of Jerusalem, those present were also being invited to see what lengths God will go to ensure that we get a glimpse of what God is doing.  

John, even in the wilderness declared, "The Kingdom of God is at hand!"

God's coming is all around us!  

During Lent we are invited to remove blinders, or even blindfolds that many of us wear each day, and look around us.  To sit in quiet places and to look not only outward, but inward as well.  To understand that the coming of the Lord is hastened when we are able to invite God to be present with us where we are!

This woman's sharing reminded me that we are to keep our eyes open.  To seek to find ways that the Spirit of the Living God can touch us, speak to us, and guide.  Even to places that may suddenly be unpredictable, and even difficult.  Becoming a "seer," reminds me that we are to look fully at God.  It is in our "seeing," that we encounter God's grace and mercy.

Open your eyes and see the God that encircles us, and who pursues after us, waiting for moments to be able to catch up with us!  God is always within us, even when God seems to be beyond us.

We are invited to loosen our grip on life, and instead, allow God to hold us in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

Yesterday morning as I was getting up, as my feet hit the floor, I suddenly was caught up in a thought.  As I took my first step, I felt the weight of my "tired self," and suddenly thought what the weight of the cross must have felt like for Christ.

It's not often that we are asked to visualize the journey of Christ the day that he was forced to carry the cross.  

This thought continued on and it became the opening words to my sermon where I was preaching to a group I have spent over the last year with.  Do we consider the weight of the cross?  How much heavier did it become for Jesus with each step?  With each drop of sweat, mixed with blood, stinging the eyes of Jesus, as his mind must have raced from pain, he continued, step by step.

We experience only a glimpse of what this must have been like when life seems to overwhelm us.  Try as much as we hope we can, we are often weighed down, or even paralyzed, by the weight of uncertainty.  I try not to let things "accumulate," on my shoulders, but they do.  The infatuation with, "doing it myself," has become the motto for many, including myself.  So many of the conversations that I have with my hospice patients involve learning how to "surrender," or to "ask for help."  Unlike the cross of Jesus, the crosses that we bear are often not our own.  They are often perceived as something that we simply, "must carry."  

Learning to accept, or to own, the things that belong to us can often be a source of learning throughout life.  Learning to let go of the things that don't belong to us can often be a source of fear and heartache when others don't realize that we can no longer carry the burden that no longer, or never did, belong to us in the first place.

In Matthew we are reminded, "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."  (Matthew 11:29)

During our Lenten journey, the weight of the cross can be overwhelming.  The weight of our own "selves," can be overwhelming as well.  Learning to discern what is ours can be both freeing and life-changing.  Sharing these things with God, can bring both reconciliation and liberation.  

Step by step, as we journey, as we bear our own cross, Jesus keeps saying, "Let me carry this with you."

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

There is not a Saint Patrick's weekend that goes by that I don't seem to stop and think about my great-grandmother, Audrey Faye Swift DeAtley.  This year she would have turned 126 years old on March 17.   If there is "one" particular person that was in my life that I could say helped to shape my faith the most, she would be the person I would name.

It was in her home as a child that I would listen to my dad and his brothers sing hymns on cold, winter evenings, as I sat in front of the propane heater.  The flames would heat up fire bricks within, as a fan would circulate air into the room, caught on the harmonies and melodies that would surround us.   I listened until I would feel the arms of one of my parents carrying me to the car, wrapped in something warm, after I had fallen asleep.

When I was a little older, I remember a group of women from her church coming over for coffee and conversations that would always include something sweet, and pages of the Bible being shared as they took turns reading at the dining room table.  My great-grandmother did not travel, but the room was filled with tea cups and saucers from all around the world that people had brought her.  A small table lamp that would simulate water falling from Niagara Falls, with a small boat below, that could keep my attention while the women talked and prayed.

Major holidays would mark the family coming over, and being one of the oldest grandchildren in my family, meant that I was given the task of watching my younger cousins at a card table set up in the living room next to the dining area.  The "child's table."  Everyone seemed to fall silent as she, or another family member, would ask us to bow our heads and pray, bringing all of us together.

I remember the time that my great-grandmother ended up in the hospital after a fall from a ladder.  She was picking pears from one of her trees, fell to the ground.  But being the "lady" that she was, she put the ladder up, went in and cleaned up, before going to the hospital.  I can then remember our family praying for her recovery.

If there is one thing that I can point to as the greatest lesson that she could have ever taught me that I still try to practice each day, it is, "Believing in the best of people, and to try to love them no matter what."

When one of my uncles suffered from addiction, she welcomed him, loved him, and prayed with him each day.

When relationships failed, or a job was lost, or when the valley seemed to be the darkest, the back porch door was always unlocked.  A smile would welcome, and her infamous word, "Well..." would give way to listening ears that seemed to understand, even when the generations were separated by decades.

The thing about having people like her in our lives is that it serves as a reminder to each of us that God remains God.  No matter how you age, or what your age, each of us can be an illustration to and for others of who Christ living in us can look like.

I know that she struggled at times with aging and understanding how some of us in our family got into the situations that we did, but there was never a moment of judgment or complaining.  Each afternoon when she was still able, you could find her on her front sun porch, sitting with her Bible, and often praying for one or all of us.  It was a given that at some point in the day, there would be the acknowledgement that God had created something good, and that while we may have struggles in our lifetime, they cannot overwhelm God's ability bless us.

Even as I write this, I can hear her reminding me that, "God will always be with you."

Her words were the words that she had read in scripture and believed.   From Matthew she lived the words, "and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.  And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age."

Thank you Mamaw DeAtley for reminding me to, "Stay in God's grip!"

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

"An angel appeared," seems to be the alert in scripture that something amazing is about to happen to someone that is going to change their life forever.   Today we don't seem to have these Biblical encounters.  It's not that society has changed, it's just that we have so many other "things," to help us rationalize why things are happening to us.

Miracles are suddenly "anomalies."  I remember years ago being told that because of an "anomaly of a cell," there was suddenly a cure to a disease.  I laughed and asked how do you spell "anomaly?"  I then said, "M I R A C L E."

For me, miracles are not always extra-ordinary things that require an angel to appear, although, the announcement that there is "something ahead," would be advantageous sometimes.  It's as if I might suddenly see situation for what it is.  Just the simple fact that my eyes opened this morning, the world around me seems to be just as I left it when I went to bed last night (which could be both bad or good depending on the situation), and I am once again having the opportunity to explore my faith while sitting and writing this reflection.  Ordinary?  or Miracle?  

Okay, anyone hearing, "Fear not!"

I have to wonder if without the announcement, are we no longer living in expectation?  When I look back at the times when an angel appeared, something in the world changed.  If we are to be the living instruments of Christ in the world today, it suddenly seems to me that the duty of the announcement no longer falls on the appearance of an angel.  The responsibility suddenly becomes ours!

We are to be the ones to reassure that wounded brother or sister that it will be "okay."  To "fear not," that we will not abandon one another when the pain is too great to bear.  When the disappointment beckons our heart to sink, the words, "I will be with you," can mean healing and restoration.  When we walk through the valley of the shadow of our darkest times, we are to be the messenger, or reminder, to not "fear," but to persevere!

One of the greatest fears that any of us have is that somehow we will no longer be who we are.  The inward journey of Lent is filled with steps that, for some, can be lined with fear.  Acknowledging our failures, or disappointments, takes courage while recognizing that perhaps we are exactly who we are meant to be, means that we must be fearless.

The will of God will never lead us to a place where God's grace will not sustain us.  "Fear not!"  You are in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

When the Lamb broke the seventh seal on the scroll, there was silence throughout heaven for about half an hour. 
~ Rev. 8:1

I have often wondered what was happening in heaven the moment that Christ declared from the cross, "It is finished."

Our days are filled with moments that seem to take our breath away.  I have begun to limit the news programs that I watch simply because I find that I am left numb, and often asking, "Why," as my breath seems to have left my body.  I long for the day when there will be no more sadness.  No more death.  No more moments where my words and my breath seems to be taken away.

Images flood our minds each day that leave us silent.  A young black man lays lifeless on the street of a Midwestern community.  Parents are told that their daughter who is only three years old has a terminal illness.  A brick is tossed from the overpass on a highway, killing a mother of three children.  Images and stories that simply leave us silent.

I have learned over the years that there are simply those moments where there are no words.  We are reminded that Jesus' spirit seemed to "groan."  It is the same with us.  These images and experiences move us in ways that leave us changed.  

The earthly hours leading up to Jesus' death must have seemed like an eternity.  The taste of sweat, blood, and the dirt in which all humanity had been created from, filled his mouth until he cried out that he thirst as he hung, dying, before a crowd that was anything but silent.

The skies grew dark, and heaven rumbled.

The great cloud of witnesses that surround us must have watched in silence.  I can only begin to imagine the shock when Jesus cried out, wondering why he had been abandoned?  The same cry we all know in times that leave us silent as well, gasping for the breath that has abandoned us.

There are no descriptions of what God was thinking. God is silent.

Recently while at the bedside of a dying teenager, there was a silence that I cannot describe.  The sound of parents surrendering, and watching, as her final breath was released.  There are simply no words.

Heaven must have been silent.

For many of us, we can point to a time when we were left silent. I have to believe that in heaven, a place where eternity has no timeline, there exists a moment when all of heaven was silent.

May we discover the sacredness of a moment this day, that leaves us simply standing in our steps. A moment that we meet God. May we be reminded that there was indeed a moment, when Jesus breathed his last breath, and in that moment, humanity and heaven were forever changed.

In the silence, God still is present.  In the silence, God is still holding us in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

"The Lord is close to the broken hearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit." 
~ Psalm 34:18

I could see that the door was very worn as I approached the front steps of a concrete porch yesterday.  The apartments, with a sign, "Under New Management," clearly posted to make people think that "something," might be changing, worn down and broken, are a place where people with little to no income live.  I knocked on the door, and as I did, the door moved back and forth, as the latch no longer was able to keep the door closed. 

As I stood there waiting, I could hear the sound of feet shuffling from the other side.  The door opened, and there stood a man, connected to a lifeline of oxygen, holding a feeding bag in one hand.  He smiled as he shook my hand with his left hand.  I had to adjust my outreached hand so that I could appropriately shake his.  "You must be the minister I heard about.  You got the bow tie on that the nurse said you would be wearing.  I've been waiting for you.  I have some questions."

Before we managed to make it back to where his bedroom is located, he began to ask me questions about "forgiveness," and "how do we know there is a heaven?"

I noticed the flooring changed from a worn carpet to a torn linoleum, and passed a door that was missing a door knob.  He sat on the side of the hospital bed that had been delivered recently.  I noticed a mattress against the wall that the man had previously been sleeping on prior to the bed arriving.  "This is so nice, isn't it?  If I knew dying was going to get me a new bed, I might have told people I was dying sooner."  

He smiled again.  I noticed missing teeth.  "Not really," he said, as if to see whether I was laughing or not.

"The priest already came, and I told him what I thought he wanted to hear," he shared, "but now I want to know what you think about the things I wouldn't even think of asking him."

Inwardly I cringed to think what might come out of his mouth next.  His voice strained from scars left by radiation treatment for the cancer that was now throughout his body.  "How do I know that God will be there to welcome me into heaven?  I really haven't been that great of a person.  In fact I know I haven't.  The priest that I saw in the hospital was the first one I spoke to in over twenty years.  I really am wondering."

I sat for a moment and suddenly realized that this man is living our Lenten journey in his question.  Lent is filled with moments where we recognize our own failures, turning inward, while also asking and wondering about our relationship with God, and when we do, we are suddenly faced with so many questions and feelings.  

This man wasn't just asking the eternal question that we all seem to wonder.  He was needing some kind of proof as well.  

In the church we are quick to describe streets of gold, gates made of pearl, and the presence of God, while the sound of eternal choirs singing overwhelm the question of, "How will I know that I will get there?"

I have sat and listened to people who have shared of their stories of salvation and being born again, but for this man, who's context consisted of his own understanding of heaven and God was where I would meet him.  So many times people ask me, "Well, was he saved?  Did you pray the sinners' prayer with him?  What did you do to lead him to Christ?"

My role of "chaplain," is about meeting people where they are.  He wasn't looking for something to remind him of his "sinfulness," he wanted to know more about God's promises.

I can tell that some of the people I know who have read what I have written so far are beginning to worry and become uncomfortable with how I'm handling the situation because of their own belief systems.  If there is one thing that I can relate is that, "It will be okay."

If we are honest in our thinking about heaven and God, then we must admit that we all have "thought," about what this man was expressing.  

Years ago I realized that none of us are capable of "fixing," someone's theology, because our  relationship with God is both personal and unique.  What we can do though, it try to live out our beliefs in how we love ourselves and love those around us.  He was being completely vulnerable with me, and in turn, it was okay for me to relate that there is not one person who has lived who has not contemplated the same thing.  

What I did share with him was this, "I'm grateful for stories from the Bible that remind us that we are all alike, and that we will, and do find, that at some point in our life we are faced with the same questions.  To answer your question, I remember the man who hung on a cross near Jesus on the day of crucifixion who simply said, 'Remember me when you come into your kingdom,' and Jesus telling him, 'Today you will be with me in paradise.'"

No great explanation.  No great theological quest.  A simple promise, and a simple answer for someone who admitted that he had not lived the most perfect life.  He is US.

The man smiled and shared that he needed to rest.  "Do you mind saying a prayer for me?"

"Of course..."

He closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep as I prayed.  At the end of the prayer I thanked him for letting me visit and for sharing.  He awoke just long enough to say "good bye" and "thanks for helping me to have peace."

It is not being unfaithful to ask these questions.  That is what Lent is all about.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

After these things Joseph of Arimathea, being a disciple of Jesus, but a secret one for fear of the Jews, asked Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus; and Pilate granted permission. So he came and took away His body.
~ John 19:38

This morning as I write my blog there is a group of men outside my dining room window trimming our trees, and it suddenly caused my mind to journey to the cross. It always happens about this time of year during Lent. At some point I begin to think of the cross that Christ would parade through the streets while carrying it on his back. The beatings, the pain, the thorny crown, and his sweat and blood pouring from his body as he makes his way to a hill, where the cross that he has carried, will then hold him until he releases his last breath. The same cross where Christ will cry out, asking why God has abandoned him, only to then proclaim, "Into Your hands I commend my spirit."

The cross is the symbol of daunting circumstances, as well as, a place where chapters end and new ones begin.

I think of the person who first looked at the tree that would serve as the symbol of the Christian faith for centuries to come. Did children sit beneath the shade of the tree where a man would pronounce "It is finished?"

Where did it grow? Was it among a great forest, or a lonesome tree left by the side of the road?

I think of the hands that cut the tree down, removed branches, and began the task of "squaring up" that which used to be round. With each slice, years of growth, seasons of weather, wind and rain, sun and moon fell away.

And then, I think of the person who fashioned the pieces into a cross. Was the person a slave? A free person, perhaps with a son, who was teaching the skills of a carpenter? How ironic.

I wonder if Jesus, when he first saw these pieces of timber fashioned into the cross he would parade through the city, carrying it upon his shoulder, did he give thought to the quality and craftsmanship that someone who was raised by a carpenter might note?

As Christ carried it through the streets, did it smell of fresh-cut wood?

While Jesus healed the paralytic, he commanded the man to "take up his mat and walk."

He now was commanded to take up THIS cross and walk.

With each step, he became more like the cross he carried. Layers of seasons, the experiences of life, fell to the ground with each drop of blood, like the sawdust of the cross while it was being made into something else.

To imagine the cross, is to imagine ourselves. While we make a conscious decision to carry Christ with us, Christ in His omnipotent presence, is always carrying us. We are the undeniable presence upon the shoulders of a God who loves us unto eternity.

As we begin our walk this day, we have already been lifted into the arms of God and are being carried.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019it

"The Lord will guide you always, and satisfy your needs in [the parched] land, and will strengthen your frame.  And you will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail."
~ Isaiah 58:11

Years ago, Helen Keller shared, "When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us."

So often during the season of Lent we discover that we seem to adopt a mindset that we must spend our time "giving up something," or turning away from some habit.  While this can be a positive thing for some, for others, it can also be the start of something else.

God's desires for each of us include experiencing joy, happiness, and love, among other things.  While some of our choices may keep us from fully realizing that these are essential touchstones of our faith, living out our faith does indeed also involve sacrifice, discipline but also restoration!

The power of the cross leaves an image of suffering and death, and for some, that is often where the image of God ends.  I have known people who feel that since Christ suffered, that somehow, they believe that by some circumstance, we too must suffer.

On the same note, I also know people who hate this image, and that they can't wait until Easter morning to cry out to others, "He has risen."

Both are important if we are going to experience the fullness of the Gospel.  We must have death if there is going to be resurrection.  We must have the resurrection if we are going to have eternity.

While we continue to make our way through this season of Lent, don't find yourself getting caught in staring at doors that have been closed with new choices, or when turning back, also be sure to recognize the open window, allowing the light of God's love to shine.  The restorative power of God is really what Lent is about.  It is the still small voice within each of us, calling us to be who God wants us to be.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019

Following last night's Ash Wednesday service, once everyone was gone, and the lights were turned off in the sanctuary, I sat and realized how life transcends death.   Lent reminds us of the limited time that Jesus had remaining while walking with his disciples.  It's as if Jesus invites us to sit and meditate on our own mortality, while continuing to live each day.

This morning while at my doctor's office I ran into a friend who had a stroke almost two months ago.  As he shared with me, in a loud voice that seemed to fill the whole office due to his hearing being effected, he announced to all of us in the room that, "I guess God found a way to get my attention!"

Everyone in the room looked at him, "And I guess that I am talking loud enough that I have everyone's attention here!"

He laughed and reminded me that we don't always know what life will bring us.  

Contemplating how we encounter each day is a life-long process of our faith.  I have to admit, I was so glad to see how well he was doing after seeing him in the hospital and just after he had been discharged.  He still has so much more healing to do, and that's just what I can see on the outside!

Each one of us bear struggles that we keep to ourselves.  It's not like we all have a milestone health crisis that suddenly reminds us just how mortal we are.  As I shared the words, "From ashes you were created, and ashes you shall return," yesterday with so many folks, I realize my words are the same words that have been shared by Christians for thousands of years.  

It's on days like yesterday that I accept the reality of mortality of this life, but also, that there is "more" to this life than simply living and dying.  Our imperfections open for us the vision of the perfect life that God through and in Jesus has promised each of us!

Paul reminds us that we are not to be distressed, even when we encounter hardship.  Somehow we are to look at our life, no matter what the condition, and to live it without despair.  The greatest words my grandmother shared with us were these, "The important thing in life is not so conquer, but to simply fight well."

Sitting in church last night I recognized the broken body of Jesus and the resurrection that I carry each day within me.  

As long as we possess life within us, we carry with us the death of Jesus, but also the resurrection.

Stay in God's grip!

G. Todd Williams (c) 2019