When Our Gifts Abuse Us

I've had this topic on my heart and in my head for a long time.  I know it probably sounds pretty dark, and I'm really not intending to write anything terribly emotional, but I feel like this is something we don't talk about enough.  Whether you're a musician, a pastor, a day laborer, a scholar, or none of the above:

What happens when your gifts are used to hurt you?

 

Now, let me define this a little.  When I say gifts, in this instance I mean the intrinsic qualities that every person has that makes them good at one thing or another and the purpose to which the talent/gift is used.  This could mean being good at playing the piano, but on a deeper level, it means having a gift and desire to play the piano for the purpose of praising God.  It could mean being a gifted speaker, but it more means being able to speak in such a way that you connect with other people and bring them closer to the Creator.  So, it's not just being good at a particular activity, but it's being gifted to do a certain thing well for the greater glory and benefit of God's kingdom.  Hence, even though it's not something you can get a degree for or earn medals in, listening, for example, is a gift that some people have and other do not, and it can do much to communicate love and acceptance to another person in Christ's name. 

As a person currently training to be a musician/minister/church leader, I have become very aware recently of how our gifts--given to us to bring glory to God--are sometimes used and exploited by other people to bring harm to me, the bearer of the gift.  I know this may not be everyone's situation, but I know one of my gifts is a tender heart.  Yet, there are people in my life who see my tenderness as a weakness, and direct their hurtful words and action at me to bring my heart pain.  Or, there are those who see a person gifted at listening, and proceed to place on that person numerous mental and emotional burdens without reciprocating love back to their neighbor.  I'm sure the list could continue on all the ways our gifts can be exploited by other to bring us pain, but I'd like to get to the question at hand: 

What is a healthy response? 

 

Unforunately, I don't have an authoritative answer for this question.  I still struggle with it on an almost daily basis.  However, I think the place to start lies in learning to set boundaries.  Allowing others to hurt me through my gifts means that I have not set limits in relating to this person regarding how I will or will not be treated.  Sometimes we do not realize when someone mistreats us through our gifts until we are in the thick of it, but that is no reason to allow such behavior to continue. This also requires that re-orient our ideas of what it means to love another person.  Loving my neighbor does not require me to stop loving myself.  In fact, I contend that my ability to acknowledge and encourage dignity in another corresponds directly to the dignity I afford myself.  If I lose my own dignity and identity in order to love another person, then I have not loved them at all.  Rather, I have aided and abetted a continuation of destructive and abusive behavior.  Yet, in setting relational boundaries, I create situations which diffuse manipulation by honestly expressing how I wish to be treated.  In the process, I also set an example for what healthy Christian love looks like.  Let us remember that Christ gave up everything for us except His identity.  Even in the face of the worst of human abuse and destruction, Christ redeemed us by remaining who He is.  Jesus did not love the world by transforming into the political leader the Jews desired, nor did He succumb to the desire others had to cloister Him away when opposition to His prophetic teachings grew.  Yes, Christ could have been a brilliant political liberator, but that wasn't His purpose.  Yes, Christ could have easily escaped suffering and death, but His identity lay not in preserving His own life, but in dying and rising again, that we might have life through the Suffering Servant, God Incarnate.  

In our imitation of Christ's love for God and love for neighbor, may we find the wisdom to use our gifts well with a strength of purpose and identity that only comes from God's guidance.  Then, may those who abuse see that true love communicates dignity and respect of self and of neighbor. 

Taking Care of Caregivers

I simultaneously made a statement and asked a question this morning that are difficult for me to admit to but important to acknowledge:

Today, I'm tired of caregiving.

When is someone going to take care of me?

It's very difficult for me to admit to these thoughts, but being vulnerable in this instance, I hope, will bring to light what it means to attend to caregivers and their families, and what it means to do it well.  On a day where I feel done-in, tired, weak, and empty, it can be tempting to say that taking care of a caregiver means taking away the burden of care.  But, not only is it unrealistic to believe someone will ride in on a white horse equipped with the muscles to lift, a gentle touch to bathe and dress, and the kindness to give dignity at all times and in all circumstances--it's also not true to the redemptive work of Christ.  Caring for the caregiver is not about removing the physical burden, partly because sharing in the labor is only temporary and fails to address the deeper source of pain and weariness. (Though, trust me, any help is greatly appreciated!)  Plus, the physical requirements on any caregiver, especially when the recipient of care is a family member, are only a portion of one's emptying out on the behalf of the other.  There are emotions, good or bad, that are associated with doing for another person what people can typically do for themselves.  Then, there are the emotions of attachment between the caregive-ee and the caregiver, because no matter how healthily you handle the relationship, you have a situation where one person depends on another to help with the most mundane and necessary things for a dignified existence.  All of this can turn into the perfect storm when the needs of the person you care for call for more of yourself than you have to give.  Hence, mornings when I wake up despairing whether relief will ever come.

So, I must ask myself, what does caring for Lisa the Caregiver look like?  If I were to paint a picture of what caring for caregivers looks like, I would ask you to picture a place where people gather to be honest, not only with their words but also with their bodies.  A place where it is safe to be weary and quiet.  A place where it is safe to be stressed and anxious.  A place where weeping and wailing are accepted as much as silent tears or joyful smiles.  A place where an embrace lasts a long time and the look of someone who chooses to stand alongside you communicates as powerfully as a sermon.  A place that is calm, a place that is full of life, a place where love is communicated in the sharing of food and the contents of our hearts.  A place where the call to "Comfort, comfort ye my people..." means a physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual in-breaking of mutual care and support. 

Most of all, I desire a place that fights the isolation of caregiving not with noise and activity, but with full and honest acknowledgement of me, with all my struggles, burdens, cares, joys, concerns, and passions.  I am more than a caregiver, but caregiving pervades my life in ways few other situations in life can.  There is only rest, only rejuvenation, only real care when me as caregiver and me as me are acknowledged, fully received and allowed to live in the tension that is inherent to my situation.  I don't want life to be fixed--I want it to be received, embraced, and encountered with tenderness and honesty.   

"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.  For My yoke is easy and My burden is light."  Matthew 11:28-30


 

 

Where am I?

I noticed it was a bright, sunny day as I drove up to the auditorium.  Volunteers greeted us in the parking lot, directing us on where to park and where to go once we got inside.  More volunteers shook our hands and welcomed us as we entered and gave us a flyer advertising more events we might be interested in attending.  We found our seat in the auditorium, a large space populated with cushioned chairs, wide aisles and a large stage at the front.  Above the stage was a stylized stick-figure drawing of a family, indicating that today our topic would probably center on family.  The ten-person band came out and led in singing and dancing as the lights were lowered on the audience and words were projected on the screens so we could follow along.  After twenty minutes of music, an assistant came out and introduced the topic of the day:  friends and family.  Then, the leader walked on stage with the friend he brought for the day—a body builder from the Power Team.  His friend proceeded to tear a phone book, break a bat in half, and bend a metal rod with his teeth, all to advertise the programs he and the rest of the Power Team would be bringing to the auditorium at the end of the month.  Then, the leader told us to fill out cards on the back of our chairs, indicating we had been there that morning.  To encourage us to do this, he reminded us that first-time attenders would receive a special gift at the end of the service, and in honor of this special day, second-time attenders would receive a Starbucks gift card.  Further, to celebrate the presence of friends and family at that morning’s program, everyone who filled out a card, regardless of their attendance status, would be entered into a drawing for a flatscreen TV which would occur at the end of the morning’s program. 

                As people filled out the cards, the leader told an inspirational story about a regular attendee whose family was behind on rent for that month, but had incredibly been provided for at the last minute.  This was to encourage others to donate to the cause of the program.  Then, while the cards and donations were collected, members of the band came out and sang a rousing rendition of “You’ve Got a Friend in Me.”  Following an inspirational video illustrating the positive effects of friendship, the leader came up to deliver an inspirational message on the power of friendship as seen in the relationship of Jackie Robinson and PeeWee Reese, Ian Kinsler and Josh Hamilton, the recovery of Johnny Cash, and even to men named Paul and Barnabas.  A couple beautiful proverbs on friendship were read, as well as a small narrative on the nature of Paul and Barnabas’ friendship.  The leader then mentioned a man named Jesus, who he said could be your best friend.  It was obvious this Jesus had impacted the pastor, but Jesus’ importance wasn’t explained until we were told that Jesus takes care of eternal life.  If we want eternal life, then we need Jesus to be our friend.  After that, there was a little more singing, followed by the drawing for the TV and some heartfelt parting words from the leader.  Then, we went out into the sunny day, got back in our car, and drove to lunch.

               

               

The above is a description of an experience Justin and I had at a local non-denominational church of approximately 1000-1500+ members last weekend.  The particular service we attended had about 200-250 people in attendance and it is one of the less-attended of the four weekend services offered by the church. The whole time we were there, all I could ask is:

 

Where am I?

 

I found this service highly disturbing.  I want to make clear, though, that the style of the service is not the issue.  Though I am not as comfortable with contemporary, Hillsong-style worship music, I found the music at this service to be well-executed and fairly sound theologically.  What bothered me about the music itself was how loud it was.  Between the darkened lights and in-your-face volume of the music, I couldn’t hear myself singing, much less the people around me.  This makes worship a lonely experience, and it does nothing to encourage congregational participation in the act of singing to and about our God.  However, all of this said, the ability to worship well in the service was not lost for me because of the music. 

Between the drawing for the flat screen TV, the lack of a proper use of Scripture in the sermon, and almost no talk of Jesus, I found myself shutting down.  I was angry.  Scripture of any kind was not mentioned or read until 50 minutes into the service.  Never in a sermon on friendship was the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ mentioned.  There was an altar call based on whether or not you would go to heaven if you died that day—not based on the saving power of Christ here and now to redeem us from our sin and free us from constricting loneliness.  In a list of freedoms that the church desired to bring to people, spiritual freedom was last on the list behind physical freedom and financial freedom, and spiritual freedom certainly was not last because of its importance.  As the wife of a disabled man, I found that people were kind to us, but nothing in the service was accessible to someone unable to walk.  Thus, when physical freedom was at the top of the list, immediate walls went up in both of us, because words like that indicate an unwelcoming attitude to the inclusion of the disabled.

Overall, I left the worship service disheartened and tired.  The spectacle, the lack of real theology, and the inability of the service to properly include the congregation in worship was quite demoralizing.  Yet, in some ways I am glad to have had the experience.  It is good to know how bad worship can be. In that service, I discovered what compromising your values and purposes for worship can become.  I left that place vowing to never allow myself to lead a service that did not preach Christ as Messiah, display the kingdom of God as here and now as well as not yet, and offer hope to the oppressed and real freedom to all, no matter their physical, financial or emotional circumstance.  I would rather be silent than commit an assault on the Good News of Christ with clashing cymbals, flashing lights, and empty words.

Ascent in Lament

This week in Spiritual Formation, we were assigned to test out a different form of prayer than what is our normal practice.  I chose to engage in paraphrasing/re-writing a psalm. The day that I sat down to do this was full of a heaviness of spirit.  Terrible news from a friend who was hurting, difficulties with caring for Justin, and an unshakeable spiritual weight pervaded the entire day.  So, when I sat down, I turned to Psalm 130.  Psalm 130 is a very familiar text to me.  There have been multiple musical settings both in hymn and anthem form of this psalm.  Yet, the one that seems to stick with me and come to mind every time I consider this psalm is "Out of the Deep" from John Rutter's Requiem.  This second movement begins with a low, mournful cello solo.  Though the movement climaxes to a moment of powerful hope, it comes back down again, repeating the opening phrase "Out of the deep, I come to you, O Lord.  Lord, hear my voice," with the voices fading in to the cello's soft closing statement.  Because of my experience performing this movement, I most often associate Psalm 130 with lamenting and pleading before God.  Yet, I am reminded every time I open to Psalm 130 in my Bible that this is a Psalm of Ascent, meaning it is a psalm that was most likely sung by the people climbing the hill in Jerusalem when they came to worship at the Temple.  It's movement music, meant to be climactic and set the stage for the worship that would take place in the place where God's name dwells.  (Wouldn't it be interesting to see what happened if we began preparing for worship while we're in the car driving to church?) 

Below is my re-written version of Psalm 130.  I won't tell you how I reconciled with this psalm as a lament and an ascent.  I'd rather just put this out there and pray that God would speak as God will speak.  Amen.

 

From places deep within,

     deeper than I can fathom,

I call.  Can You hear me?

I plead.  Are you listening?

I know my inmost brokenness and sin, the chaos that

      uncreates the Creator’s order would overwhelm

if You leave me untouched.

Yet, I praise the Most High,

     for in active forgiveness,

God restores me.

For a little while, I wait.

Though I am impatient,

     I remain hunkered down,

because to wait for God is to wait for the One

who is more necessary than breath.

All people—Hope!

Proclaim with a shout and whisper with awe:

God is true in love and vast in redeeming;

God is the Forgiver.

Disabled Dating: Spills and Bruises

Every Friday night, Justin and I try to go out to dinner, and every Saturday morning, we go to breakfast at Einstein's Bagels.  Fridays are about trying to be out and doing something together, usually the cheaper, the better.  Saturday morning is about getting to talk to each other.  These 18 hours are usually some of the best of our week.  Between school and work, the last half of the week doesn't allow much conversation besides the usual pleasantries and "would you stop stealing the covers!?"  This week was no different, so I was thoroughly looking forward to our dates together. 

Now, if you didn't know just how much I love my husband, you might wonder why I keep him around. We were getting ready to leave on our Friday night date, and as I leaned in for a kiss, my purse hit the joystick on Justin's chair.  For a brief moment, it looked like everything was going to remain stationary.  But, no!  After a split second of relief, the chair started moving forward with neither of us knowing how to react, until the chair slammed into the wall and me simultaneously, and continued to fruitlessly spin its wheels while we stared at each other in shock and pain.  Did it occur to us to ever just turn the chair off?  Nope.  The chair probably spun out for 30+ seconds before we formed coherent enough thoughts to reach over and hit the off button.  And notice Justin's toes crunched against the wall.  Oh, and my leg pinned between the wall and a footrest.  Thankfully, no bones were broken and the wall is probably worse off than my leg.  Some people like to start off a date night with a drink or small talk on the way to the restaurant.  For us, it's just not a date if someone isn't bruised by the main course.

This theme carried into our Saturday morning bagel date.  We at our usual Einstein's, partaking of our usual bagel and drinking the same cup of coffee we have every Saturday morning.  When we walk/roll in, they know us by name and practically have our order queued up for us.  Some of the employees even stop by our table to talk about weather, football or the other usual things.  As we're starting in on our bagels and conversation, my husband, being the highly intelligent man he is and not liking to keep a lid on his coffee, leaned over his coffee and simultaneously decided to inhale.  Coffee may smell good, but it can be rather shocking travelling up the nose.  Between the burn and his sensitive startle reflex, Justin didn't have a chance--and neither did my sweater.  As 16 oz of hot coffee flowed across the table, all I could comprehend was Justin's pained expression and the protection of my bagel, because a soggy bagel is a pitiful thing.  Justin and my bagel managed to recover nicely, but my sweater, jeans, and shoe (yes, shoe!) did not meet with such a favorable fate. 

I had a conversation with a classmate Friday morning, in which I was very honest (because I was asked) about a few of the practical difficulties of having a husband in a wheelchair without full time employment.  This classmate did not seem to know what to do with us, and said, "Well, this must be very difficult."  As much as I tried to reassure this person that we are joyful and trust in God's provision even when we do not understand, they said three or four times, "But, this must be difficult for you." You know, it is difficult, but that's not an attitude in which I am allowed to dwell.  This weekend's date experiences were not particularly easy, but they weren't irrecoverable either.  We ended up having a good time and great conversation after both mishaps and were even able to reflect on how these situations have the ability to shape our empathy and active compassion for others if we will allow God to use our circumstances in that way. 

This is just diabled dating.  I may end up with spills and bruises, but God has a way of taking pains and stains, and redeeming them into something more beautiful.

Performing in Church

Perhaps one of the hardest aspects of being a church musician is making mistakes.  I mean, preachers make mistakes all the time, as do lay people.  And, though they may feel uneasy about the mistakes, it's kind of come to be expected that that's going to happen.  You just have to hope that the mistake you make isn't about the name of the church's largest giver or calling God "She" (oh wait, is that really a mistake!?).

But, being a musician in church, at least for me, is difficult because I feel like there's an expectation that we shouldn't make mistakes--we're performers, after all!  Never mind that the making of a CD or a movie is full of mistakes that no one ever gets to see.  When I'm at the organ during a church service, I don't have the luxury of saying, "Oh man, that D# gets me every time!" or "Please have grace for me, I've had the worst week."  No, the mistakes happen without any opportunity to laugh at it or explain it.  So, whether this is really how people in the pew think or not, I can start to feel like I'm judged by what happens in that 3 minute hymn--like my entire worth as a church musician is wrapped up in that one moment.  And, if I manage to make it satisfactorily through that hymn, then there will be another one in a minute that throws up the gauntlet once again. 

Seems pretty backwards and futile, doesn't it?  Who of us isn't going to make mistakes?  Sometimes there will be blatant ones (like when I missed the 2nd ending on a hymn today), and other times it will be little things that only I and a handful of other people know about.  But, as I'm discovering, surviving this road has very little to do with more or less practice.  It has a lot more to do with grace.  Nobody else can give me the grace I need to give myself.  And thankfully, when I can't give myself grace, God reminds me that the giving and not-giving of grace is not my choice--it's God's. 

So, when I don't get showered with flowers after playing a hymn particularly well, and no one seems to notice this or that I practiced so hard on my prelude, it's OK.  Performing in church is not like performing on stage.  Performing in church is a constant conversation of grace between God and God's people, and my mistakes are less important to God than my willingness to participate. 

I Am Woman, Hear Me Quietly Affirm

This blog post has been fermenting in my head for quite a while now, but I've found it difficult to put what I want to express into a framework that makes it understandable.  It started out as a testimony to the great diversity of interests and drives God is developing in me, then it moved to a more social statement on not putting women in a box.  But then, I experienced a situation a couple days ago that threw everything into a different relief.

I was speaking with some fellow students on the steps of the library, when the conversation turned to a (female) professor I had my first semester who informed one of my classmates (to paraphrase), "In the academic world, a woman is only as worthy and respected as her highest degree.  Do not give up an academic career for a husband and family."  Needless to say, I highly disagree with this statement, and I expected my listeners to have a similar reaction.  However, one of my friends replied simply, "Well, yes, a woman does have to make that choice [between academia and having a family]."  I was taken aback by her statement and decided to steer the conversation a different direction, not knowing what my response would be if we continued down that train of thought.  I found myself filled with frustration, agitation, dejection, outrage.

In examining these emotions, I had to ask myself, why?  Why would her opinion produce such emotions inside me?  Why do I get up in arms when such attitudes are put forth?

The easy answer is that I believe I can do anything, even be both an academic and a wife/mother.  But that's a terribly wrong answer.  If I put that down on God's midterm exam of life, the Great Teacher would probably flunk me.  Truth be told, the easy answer is entirely selfish and wholly impossible.  If it's a situation of "I can be anything I put my mind to," then I need to seriously re-examine my life decisions, because right now, my mental acuity comes desperately short of holding life together, and we don't even have kids.  On my own merits, life falls apart. 

Thankfully, the hard answer--the correct answer--is also the grace-full answer:  I can be an academic, a wife, a mother, a musician, a liturgist, a "canner," a chef, and a theologian because God has called me.  God has called me to be myself, and as the Creator, God has created and continues to create in me a complexity of desires and gifts and talents.  In listening to the call and diving head first into God's plan, I am given the freedom and the strength and the joy of making the only choice that matters: to follow. 

As much as I may want to roar when my moderate-feminist sensibilities are affronted, the security of resting my identity in the pinions of the Most High urges a different reaction--quiet affirmation.  We live in a world--in secular and sacred venues--where women are shoved into boxes.  An academic woman is only as good as her highest degree.  A stay at home mom gives up the opportunity to develop her mind.  To be "this" means you can't be "that."  And everyone on either side of the argument employs themselves in judging the opposite contingency.  In all the noise of fighting and in-fighting to figure out a woman's place in the world, we forget the power of a gentle touch, a whispered encouragement, a welcoming embrace.  Even the Psalmist, in the middle of his descriptions of God as a rock and a Helper in battle remembers, "You have also given me the shield of Your salvation, and Your right hand upholds me; and Your gentleness makes me great. You enlarge my steps under me, and my feet have not slipped." [Psalm 18:35-36] 

Rather than add a voice to the throng, I choose to gently listen and quietly affirm:

Women, you can be all God calls you to be.  Listen and go!