by jphilo | Nov 2, 2015 | Church Newsletter Columns
Let your speech always be gracious,
seasoned with salt,
so that you know how you should respond to each one.
Colossians 4:6
About a month ago, I was wrangling the label off a jar when the knife slipped and jabbed my left hand right below the thumb. A tiny puncture, no more than a centimeter long. Very little pain. Very little blood. But very well-aimed. Deep enough to slice the tendon to my thumb in two. Which resulted in hand surgery, almost 2 weeks in a ginormous splint, 4–6 weeks in a smaller splint, and months of physical therapy to regain motion and full functionality. All that because I didn’t stop to consider the consequences of using a knife as a weapon in a wrestling match with a jar label. As my daughter so sweetly put it, “Mom, you’ve made handling kitchen knives with impunity your hobby.”
I am typing, the splint firmly in place, and contemplating the similarities between that kitchen knife and my words. Sometimes, I think carefully and prayerfully about what I am about to say. I lean into God and ask him to speak wisdom beyond my own through me. In those cases, God consistently uses my words to heal relationships and create unity.
Too be honest, those situations are often the exceptions rather than the rule. More often, I speak without thinking. If I do pause before speaking, it isn’t to pray. I pause to shape my words into weapons and then aim them at soft spots where they will plunge deep. Once that’s done, I let the words fly off my tongue and hit their target with astonishing precision.
On the surface, the wounds I cause appear tiny. Bloodless. Painless. But over time, the damage below the surface becomes evident. Hurt feelings. Misunderstandings. Severed relationships that require massive amounts of time and energy to heal and always leave a scar. Nothing is ever the same after my barbed words spew forth without considering the consequences of using words as weapons.
I’m not the first person with this problem. James 3:6 describes how New Testament believers used the power of speech to harm others. The tongue is also a fire. It exists among our members as a world of malice, defiling the whole body and setting the entire course of our lives on fire. Not a pretty picture.
Paul also talks about the power of the tongue and sprinkles advice to believers throughout his letters about how to harness their power. Colossians 4:6 is my favorite. Instead of dwelling on what believers shouldn’t do–because if we’re honest, we already know what shouldn’t be said and still chose to say it anyway–Paul describes how we should speak. With grace, enhanced with salt so the listeners will savor, eat, and be nourished by them.
Those words are ones believers should commit to memory, to have ready to pull out and pray in the moments we are tempted to speak before thinking. When we do so, our moment of contemplation and dependence upon God’s wisdom instead of trusting our own can avert accidents. It can strengthen relationships rather than sever them. The pause to pray Colossians 4:6 allows us to channel time and energy toward kingdom building rather than damage control. They’re words I’ll be reminded to pray every time a glance at my hand reminds me of both the power of ordinary words…and kitchen knives.
by jphilo | Oct 16, 2015 | Church Newsletter Columns
This Fantastic Friday stars Abby, the quirky dachshund we once owned. (She’s the dog in the front in the photo. The other is Ellie, who belonged to my brother and his lovely wife.) Isn’t it amazing how God uses the creatures he creates to teach us more about him?
So the ransomed of the Lord will return,
And come with joyful shouting to Zion;
And everlasting joy will be on their heads.
Isaiah 51:11
Not too many years ago, we owned Abby, a yippy, snippy, little dachshund whose bark was much bigger than her brain. Once Anne left home, Abby grew increasingly nervous and unhappy. Eventually, she moved in with my brother, his wife, their two daughters and two dogs. She now lives in the closest thing to dog heaven on earth and is happy as a clam, though she’s a dog, not a clam.
Two months in dog heaven and Abby forgot me. With never a fair-thee-well, she transferred her affection to my sister-in-law, who loves the traitor unconditionally. Abby even forgot Hiram, who was the light of her life for many year once he gained her trust. Until she left us, he was the object of every speck of doggy devotion she could muster, which wasn’t much due to her small cache of brain cells.
But during a recent visit at the bro’s family, Hiram walked in and his presence sparked something in Abby’s itty bitty brain. She wiggled at his feet, ran around the house with youthful vigor (a mighty feat since she’s several pounds overweight and her belly drags on the floor), wiggled at his feet again, ran around again – like she did when she lived with us. Hiram patted her head, and she squirmed with delight at his touch.
Hiram welcomed her flighty love without rancor though he knew she would soon forget him. He didn’t begrudge the many hours spent proving his faithfulness to the younger Abby who had never before experienced such lavish love. He welcomed her fleeting affection, no strings attached.
I smiled as the silly little dog worshipped at his feet. Suddenly, a truth dawned on me. God loves me like that. No matter what I do, no matter how I presume upon His kindness, no matter how long I ignore His presence, God loves me just like that. He is always near, waiting for me to recognize the sound of His voice, the tread of His step. Waiting for the memory of His love to jog my brain which is far too small to comprehend His being. Waiting for the reality of His love to revive my joy, to send me running in circles, wriggling at His feet, squirming with delight as His hand touches my head.
God loves me – a silly, flighty woman with feet of clay – like that.
God loves you like that.
Not because of who we are, but because of who He is: the God who ransoms sinners by His love. Love from a God like that is the closest thing to heaven on earth, a place of peace and rest and worship.
It is eternal life.
by jphilo | Aug 31, 2015 | Church Newsletter Columns
All of us like sheep have gone astray,
Each of us has turned to his own way;
But the Lord has caused the iniquity of us all
To fall on Him.
Isaiah 53:6
Mom was the disciplinarian at our house, and a strict one at that, when I was a kid. Over the years, I watched my older sister, a crusader and rebel by nature, charge full speed ahead and bear the brunt of Mom’s wrath many times. Being averse to personal pain and suffering I chose to be a more compliant child, for the most part. But every now and then, I would stand my ground and wait for the wrath of Mom to descend. Sometimes it did.
But sometimes, Dad would wheel into the middle of the fray and intercede on my behalf. “Dorothy,” he would say, “Jo-Jo doesn’t usually argue with you. This must be important to her. How about you give her a break?”
At the same time, I would intercede on my own behalf by squeezing my eyes shut and silently praying, “Please, God. Please, please, please. If Mom gives me a break, I’ll never do anything bad again. Please, God. Please!”
Sometimes our pleas were ineffective, and I got a spanking. Other times Mom relented, and Dad gave me a wink and a smile. I went on my merry way, soon breaking my impossible promise to never do anything bad again. Because I was a kid, and that’s what kids do.
For years, until very recently in fact, my understanding of Christ’s intercession for sinners was stuck at a kid’s level, too. My vision of intercession was based on what my dad for me. Whenever I read these words from Isaiah 53:12–Yet He Himself bore the sin of many, and interceded for the transgressors–I pictured Jesus talking to His Father like my dad talked to Mom.
“You know,” Jesus would say according to my faulty interpretation, “silly little Jolene is doing the best she can. How about You give the girl a break because of my work on the cross.
Dad,” Jesus would add with a wink and a smile, “we both know I’ve got this.”
My picture of intercession changed a few weeks ago when I did a word study of “interceded.” I was surprised to discover that paga, the Hebrew word for intercession in Isaiah 53:12 was translated fall in Isaiah 53:6. As in But the Lord has caused the iniquity of us all to fall on Him.
Immediately, my skewed picture of Jesus’ casual intercession on my behalf before His Father was replace by a darker, horrifying vision. I watched as the monstrously heavy anvil of my sin fell upon Jesus. He watched as it fell, saw it bearing down upon Him, and had time to step out of the way. Instead, He stretched His arms out wide to embrace the weight of my sin. I watched as my sin leveled Him to the ground. All that remained was the shape of the cross and the echo of His pain. Speechless, horrified, humbled, and undone I gazed upon His cross, His pain, and the words to an old hymn came to mind.
What wondrous love is this
That caused the Lord of bliss
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul!
Alleluia! What a Savior!
by jphilo | Jul 6, 2015 | Church Newsletter Columns
Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.
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 11:29–29
Rarely have I felt as weary and heavy-laden as I feel today. So many burdens are bearing down. The Red Card Kids Sunday school class broke the hearts of everyone in attendance as we were brought face-to-face with the conditions children live in around the world. The killing of nine people attending a Bible study in Charleston sent believers in our country reeling. Every week parents of kids with special needs email their stories to me and ask for advice. And right now, this very minute, my husband and I are shouldering burdens concerning people we love very much, and we feel too weak to bear the weight much longer.
I am so weary, so heavy-laden. What I want right now if for the world to leave me alone while I watch one happy-ending movie after another, starting with The Wizard of Oz and ending with Ella Enchanted. Why do I–and maybe you, too–want to escape the woes of this world? Because, deep down, we know we can’t fix what’s wrong.
We can’t ease the daily suffering and oppression of millions of children.
We can’t end the racism that led to the killing of nine Christ followers.
We can’t provide the resources and rest parents of kids with special needs require.
We can’t even make things better for the people we love most in this world.
And yet as believers we are commanded to end oppression, to fight injustice, to heal the broken, and to maintain loving relationships. We are called to bear burdens we can never fix. God’s commandment seems so unfair. Impossible to obey. Unless we remember Jesus’ call to bear our burdens with HIm. To be yoked together In Him. Not alone. Never alone.
Of course, being yoked to Jesus so the burden can be shared requires us to make some adjustments. Being yoked to Jesus means matching our steps to His. Going the direction He says is best. Moving forward in His time, not ours.
Being yoked to Jesus means total dependence on Him. Total release of our will to His. Total relinquishment of our loved ones to His sovereign will. Total trust in His wisdom and power when all appears hopeless, when evil seems to be winning.
Only when we realize that all the impossible things God calls us to do are only accomplished through His divine power are we able to lay find rest for our sore and weary souls. Only then do we discover His yoke truly is easy and the burden is so very, very light.
Only then.
Only then.
by jphilo | Jun 10, 2015 | Church Newsletter Columns, Recipes
June isn’t usually considered soup weather. But I’d been wanting to try this recipe for Red Thai Soup with Ginger Meatballs ever since a friend posed it on Facebook. The ingredient list included fresh parsley, basil, and cilantro, all of which are ready for harvesting in my herb garden. So we had soup one night, and it was good.
The meatball prep took some time, but the soup went together quickly. Since the recipe makes enough meatballs for 4 batches of soup, several bags of frozen meatballs are ready for quick soup suppers when the weather turns cool again. Both the Man of Steel and I found the soup delicious and filling.
Red Thai Soup with Ginger Meatballs
Ginger Meatball Ingredients:
1 pounds ground beef
1 pound ground pork
2 cups baby bella mushrooms, minced
2 tablespoons fresh basil, chopped
2 tablespoons fresh Italian parsley, chopped
1 egg
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoonground black pepper
Heat oven to 425 F. Mix all the ingredients by hand in a large bowl. Form into 1-inch balls. (Makes 35–40) Place at least an inch apart on broiler pan. prepared cookie sheets. Cook for 12-15 minutes. Divide into 3–4 quart freezer bags and freeze.
RED THAI MEATBALL SOUP
2-4 tablespoons coconut oil
1 onion, chopped
2 cups Yukon gold potatoes, cubed
1 cup mushrooms, sliced
1-2 cups stir-fry vegetables•
4 cups chicken or turkey broth
9-12 juicy meatballs
2 tablespoons red Thai curry paste
1 tablespoon fish sauce
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon white pepper
1 can coconut cream
Chopped cilantro or basil leaves
Sauté onions, potatoes and mushrooms in coconut oil over medium heat until onion becomes translucent. Add stir-fry vegetables* and cook for 2 minutes. Add chicken broth, meatballs, curry paste, salt and white pepper. Simmer for about 5 minutes. Add coconut cream, cook on medium-low until hot enough to serve. Stir in cilantro or basil right before serving.
*I used sweet red pepper and broccoli. The broccoli was a bit overpowering.
by jphilo | Jun 1, 2015 | Church Newsletter Columns
And when He had taken the book, the four living creatures
and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb,
having each one a harp, and golden bowls of incense,
which are the prayers of the saints.
Revelation 5:8
“Is this heaven?”
“No, it’s Iowa.”
Truer words have never been spoken, at least in the opinion of Iowans. In June the grass is a verdant green, trees are in full leaf, and the cornfields are nearing the magical days when we can imagine Shoeless Joe and his teammates appearing from between rows of corn to converge on a field of dreams.
For me, some scripture passages read more like the script of a movie like Field of Dreams than like words for believers to live by. How do visions of strange living creatures in Revelation 5: 8 assure parents scared to send freshly graduated high school seniors into a world filled with evil? How do harps and golden bowls comfort parents of children scarred by horrors no child should ever experience? How can wafting incense reassure us when people we love dearly are wandering in darkness and despair and self-destructiveness?
Apparently, the vision is important because John reiterates part of it later in Revelation:
And another angel came and stood at the altar, holding the golden censer, and much incense was given him, that he might add it to the prayers of all the saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne. And the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, went up before God out of the angel’s hand. (Rev. 8:3-4)
In both passages, John describes the prayers of the saints as golden incense rising to God. The first passage could give the impression that the prayers are only those of saints already in heaven. But the second passage says, “the prayers of all the saints.”
Do you know what that means? It means that as believing saints, our prayers we on earth–for high school graduates, for vulnerable and damaged children, and for the lost ones we love–rise to God like sweet incense. If they rise to Him, He must hear them. And if He hears them, then we know He will answer them, though perhaps in ways we won’t understand in this world.
These verses say that our prayers matter. Our prayers make a difference in our lives and in the lives of those we lift up before the Father. On earth and in heaven. Today and for eternity. They provide the assurance we need when we are discouraged, when God doesn’t seem to hear and answer our prayers, when our high school graduates make stupid choices, when our broken children are not healed, and when the lost ones we love wander farther and farther away. When we want to shout, “God, do you hear me in Iowa?”
By his strange and magical Word, we hear God whisper into our shattered hearts, “Do I hear you in Iowa? No, dear one. I hear you in heaven.”
