Throwing Stones Naturally

Throwing Stones Naturally

“Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” John 8:10

I reached over to pick up my squealing 1 year old granddaughter, Malia, and tried to calm her piercing, high-pitched squeals, “No, no! That hurts Nana’s ears! No squealing.” I put on my sternest face and tried to communicate with her. She waved her chubby arms and squealed again, setting my ears on edge. I put her down and mumbled, “I’m going to have to put you in time out.” My two year old granddaughter, Olivia, immediately perked up, “Time out? She’s too little!”

“No, she is not going into time out,” I explained. “She is too little. You are right. Nana is just trying to figure out what to do to help her understand.”

As the evening continued, Malia screamed over and over, communicating her frustration and fatigue in the only way she knew how. Each time, Olivia would ask (rather gleefully, I might add…) “Is she going in time out now?” I had to chuckle and told her over and over, “No, she’s too little,” kicking myself for mumbling something I didn’t mean in front of an attentive 2 year old.

Judgement, righteousness, rules, boundaries, the difference between right and wrong—it’s where it all starts. We begin to learn this from Day 1 with our parents and grandparents and others cooing over our successes and—hopefully—setting appropriate boundaries to guide us.

The flip side of the coin of life is mercy, compassion and unconditional love. These attributes do not come to reside in us unbidden. We must invite them into our hearts each day. Our natural tendency is toward gleeful enforcement of the law: I’m right, you are wrong; I’m good, you are bad; I’m going to heaven, you will cook in hell.

Jesus came to teach us a new way, not to abolish right and wrong and not to deny that God is a Just God, but to complete the picture, to fill in some of the details that were not fully presented in the picture of the Old Testament God. As a whole Book, the Bible starts with “In the beginning” and ends with “I am the Alpha and Omega,” and in between paints a multi-faceted picture of a God who loves humanity, who created us for relationship with him, who longs to restore us to a life of wholeness; he is a God who suffers when we stray and who stands waiting, with open arms for us to come home, come home, “ye who are weary, come home.”

It’s easy to point our fingers, to shout with glee when others get what they deserve. I’m so glad God doesn’t treat me as my sins deserve. I’m so glad I have found in Jesus the God who forgives my sins even as he hangs on a cross, suffering, this God of mercy looks over at the murderer and speaks words of tenderness, “Even today.” Because of his love I can only hope to try to treat others with the same compassion and tenderness.

But it is not something that grows naturally in the Garden of my Heart. There the twin trees of Judgement and Righteousness grow and thrive. The plantings of Love and Mercy struggle along, frequently overshadowed and shaded by the other two. Love and Mercy require daily tending, gentle pruning, weeding out the strident tentacles the other two boisterously put forth. In great humility, I see that only with Jesus’ tender hands guiding mine can I hope to cultivate the Fruit of the Spirit: Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Gentleness and Self-control—these beautiful fruit will grow in abundance with daily attention—but if I skip a day or two, suddenly Judgement and Righteousness reach over and cast a shadow. When that happens, I am still planted in God’s garden, but my beauty is small, my ability to spread the fragrant odor from the beautiful Fruit of the Spirit is stifled and choked.

Richard Rohr talks about living well in the second half of life. “As we move into the second half of life, …we are very often at odds with our natural family and the ‘dominant consciousness’ of our cultures…Many people are kept from mature religion because of the pious, immature, or rigid expectations of their first-half-of-life family.” (Falling Upward, pp 82-83). Whether our family is biological, church-related, adopted, social—we can either be encouraged to tend the tender parts of our garden of the Spirit or to simply default to the stuff that grows easily there.

Yes, Olivia, your little sister deserves time-out. She is not perfect. But I will not treat her as her screeches deserve; because my heart is full of compassion and mercy for her, so I will keep training and directing and guiding her with love and kindness, following the direction of the Spirit who lives in my heart. I will not throw stones. The stones that so readily fill my hands, I will give to the Master.

Joy Eastridge

Sun Cook

Sun Cook

The sun rises up
Over the horizon counter
Pulling restlessly at residual fog
That tries to cover
The bright, warm, smiling face.
His arms radiate out
Extended over his domain
Scooping off the patches of dew
Resting in glitter piles
All around his work area.
Arms spread wide the sun smiles—
White hot gleaming teeth cover his face.
As the dew succumbs to the reach of his arms
The flowers rise up to greet him
Singing in unison
The song of Life:
“Pick me!”
Leaning into the warmth of his irresistible embrace,
The birds dance about
Anticipating the great orb’s power
To warm up breakfast buffet.
Heat rises and expands as 
The sun boldly stands up for the day
And the sky blushes in response.
Pulling on his cloud apron
He smiles again
And all the world 
Warms into quiet submission
The Master cook’s creation. 

Joy Eastridge

Hospitality: The Way of the Word

Hospitality: The Way of the Word

Jesus loved a good dinner party. Throughout the New Testament, we see him at table, surrounded by friends (and frenimies!). His parting gesture of remembrance was to ask us to get together, sit at a table, break bread and drink from a cup. Although we have institutionalized the Last Supper into a ritual, at its heart it is a meal. He wanted us to gather in small groups, pass the food and enjoy each other’s holy company, gathering strength for facing the world outside our support system.

Even during his time here on earth, he was not particularly admired for his home-based approach. He said, “The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and you say,’Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and ‘sinners.’” Jesus was not selective about who he had dinner with. He did not reserve seats at his table only for those who were already worthy—he knew that table would be empty—but he chose instead to eat with a variety of folks, people of all walks of life, men and women, who flocked around him to partake of the wisdom he offered up.

Hear his words of invitation:

“Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:42
“Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.” Luke 19:5
“Simon, I have something to tell you…I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair.” Luke 7:40,44.
“While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew’s house, many tax collectors and ‘sinners’ came and ate with him and his disciples…[Jesus said,] “I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.’” Matt. 9:10,13

Jesus used the table and the fellowship around it, to draw us into the kind of communion that foreshadows our heavenly home. Our dining room table fits up to 12, a number that coincides with the number of intimate friends Jesus chose to help him change the world from the inside out. His revolutionary approach didn’t involve strength as we know it in a worldly sense, but true power from on high. By sitting together and sharing our lives while we refresh our bodies with fuel for the journey, we experience a tiny taste of what God wants for us. The hospitality of the table, of the small group gathered together, adds completion to the Lord’s prayer, closing the circle from our daily bread to “Your kingdom come, your will be done.”

How does Jesus’ message of the table translate to us in our day? Are we to host weekly dinner parties in our home? Maybe. But he may also be calling us to a higher vision of what his way means. While we tend toward the literal, Jesus tends toward the figurative, asking us to take what he said and lived and expand it broadly into a whole lifestyle that emulates his Way. Yes, we are to open our homes, apartments, condos, cars, hands, bank accounts, storage units—in fact our entire selves—but even more than that, we are to show hospitality of the heart, living as people who are truly transformed by love and willing to follow Jesus to the table and beyond. This transformation of the heart makes the table and the bread and the cup one more vehicle for love.

Our hospitality as people of Jesus’ Way leads us to have an open door policy, not just of our homes but of our hearts. We are not here to preserve and protect, or to solidify and establish but instead to spend and give, to pour out and to lay down in acts of selfless love.
Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” (John 10:10). Being full of life stems directly from the table of our Lord, a place of love and acceptance, a place of grace and joy. We are all invited to share, to hold out an extra seat for someone else. The circle of love is never full and everyone is invited to come, “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door I will come in and eat with him and he with me.” (Rev. 3:20)

The Biggest Step of All

The Biggest Step of All

I stepped out of darkness into
marvelous light
Drawn by the beckoning hand of the Master
His eyes of love.
The light was blinding, overwhelming
My eyes cast about
for a place
to stand.
I took a step toward religion—
It fit so well—
Sturdily wrapping my feet
In worn treads of tradition.
I practiced daily,
Walking around with others in the light
Believers who had been here longer than I.
Together we held hands
And learned to follow.
But then,
Over time,
My steps slowed…
And then ground to a halt.
Lined with certainty
My feet slid into the permafrost of
Rules & Regs.
No thought.
Just keep my head bowed to the light
Hear the Word,
Stay steady on course—
But Jesus beckoned beyond.
His eyes of love challenging me to
Much more.
He asked with a mischievous grin,
“Do you want to fly?”
Afraid to stay. Afraid to go. I vacillated.
I took one step toward him.
The biggest step of all.
We stepped off into the great beyond
Where nothing is certain
And everything is possible.

Joy Eastridge
New Year’s Resolution 2018