Southwood Lutheran Church

The Potter's Hand

Yet, O LORD, you are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand. (Isaiah 64:8 NIV)

This Sunday in worship we recognize the many high school seniors who will be graduating soon. We pray God’s blessings on them and hope they will ask God the Potter to mold and direct their paths of faith.

“The story is told of a master pottery maker in Peru. Having heard of the distinct quality of his work, people from all over the world traveled to the outskirts of Lima in search of his unpretentious shop. It was an uncovered, cluttered workspace exposed to the intense rays of the South American sun. As a result of forty years of continuous labor, the potter’s sun-baked skin resembled the dark reddish-brown clay he shaped into beautiful pots and bowls.

What distinguished this artisan’s pottery was a small indentation that every piece boasted. The notch- like feature at first glance might be considered a flaw. But it was not. It was the result of a claw-like digit on the potter’s right hand. He was born with it instead of a thumb. The shriveled stub and its permanent sharp fingernail imprinted the clay as it was fashioned in its final form. What had been a source of endless humiliation as a child had become the signature of success.

Although our Creator’s fashioning hands are not deformed, as He shapes us into His image, the evidence of His fingerprints in our lives render us valuable and priceless in His eyes. Celebrate the worth He sees as He looks at you today.”¹

 

1. Asimakoupoulos, Greg. Give Thanks with a Grateful Heart –Daily Devotions from the Greatest Praise and Worship Songs of All Time (Brentwood, TN: Integrity Publishers. 2002), pg. 113.

Reflections on a Sunday Sermon

Use it On Monday, by Michelle DeRusha

Michelle writes a daily blog about finding faith in the everyday at Graceful. On Monday's she reflects on Sunday's sermon in a weekly post entitled "Use it on Monday." She's nice enough to let us re-post it on Southwood's blog. You can read it here each week and then click over to Michelle's blog for more of her writing.

Even on the Raving Lunatic Days

Would there be anything I could do that would get you to not love me?” Noah asked me the other night as we were tucked under his comforter, watching the pine tree boughs wave against the moon. “No, absolutely nothing,” I assured him. “Even if you did the worst thing you could think of, even if you were in jail for your whole life, I would still love you.”

Yesterday morning, Mother’s Day, Rowan asked me nearly the same question. And I answered the same: “I love you guys every minute, every day, no matter what.”

“Even the lamp day, when you got super mad…did you love me the same that day, too? Or did you maybe love me a little bit less?” Rowan persisted.

Ah yes, the infamous lamp day. Not exactly the parenting moment I wanted to relive during the first 20 minutes of Mother’s Day: the day Rowan hurled a pillow across the living room and broke the lamp, mere hours after my mom had bought me a new lamp to replace the other lamp Rowan had broken more than 8 months before. The day I’d morphed into a maniacal lunatic.

I’d gripped the lamp base white-knuckled in my fist and raised it over my head, shaking it and raving incoherently. My mother stood speechless next to me, paralyzed along with the boys by my bellowing outburst. I ordered the boys to their rooms while I swept up the fragments, ranting about how they’d spend the entire day behind closed doors. My mother followed suit, retreating to the basement guest room as I crashed around the kitchen, slamming the box of fresh donuts into the trashcan and fuming aloud to myself while the boys howled in their bedrooms.

Not exactly indicative of the kind of overflowing love Paul talks about in his letter to the Philippians:

“I pray that your love will overflow more and more, and that you will keep growing in knowledge and understanding.” (Philippians 1:9)

As Pastor Greg preached about how parents must practice sacrificial love, tough love and gracious love, I thought about how much I'd failed as a mother on the lamp day. I thought about how I’d spread fear, how I’d burned with anger, overflowing not with love, but with bitterness and resentment; how I’d epitomized gracelessness.

But as I slumped in the pew, I also thought about the conversation that had taken place in the kitchen on Mother's Day morning, and the answer I’d given Rowan when he asked if I’d loved him less on the lamp day. “Even though I was really mad, and really disappointed about the lamp, and even though I really yelled a lot, I still loved you just as much,” I assured Rowan. “My love wasn’t even a tiny bit less. Love stays the same no matter what.”

My answer seemed to satisfy Rowan as he slurped the remainder of his milky cereal. And you know what? Later, after Pastor Greg's sermon, I realized that my answer applies to me, too. No matter how disappointing my behavior, no matter how God may grieve my raving lunatic lamp days, he still loves me just the same, not even a little bit less. No matter what.

How does God's limitless grace make you feel {especially on those raving lunatic days}?

You can read more of Michelle's writing on her blog Graceful.

 

For the Beauty of the Earth

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, And forget not all His benefits.” (Psalm 103:2 KJV)

Have you ever taken a walk among your blessings? Folliot Pierpoint did. He was feeling discouraged and a friend suggested that he take a walk among his blessings. The list of his many blessings is found in his hymn “For the Beauty of the Earth.” Since this Sunday is Mother’s Day, reflect especially on the blessings of this verse: “For the joy of human love, brother, sister, parent, child . . .”

“One of the delights that we as adults have in being around children is to hear their squeals of pleasure as they observe and discover some ordinary object about them. No doubt our heavenly Father is also pleased when His children take time to observe and appreciate His creation and then to simply express joyous gratitude to Him for His countless blessings. Today’s hymn reminds us of the common blessings of life that many of us often take for granted—the beauties of nature, our parents, family, friends, church. The lyrics then direct our ‘grateful praise’ to God Himself, the giver of every good and perfect gift.”¹

 

1. Osbeck, Kenneth W. Amazing Grace (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel Publications, 1990, 2002), pg. 331.

Reflections on a Sunday Sermon

Use it On Monday, by Michelle DeRusha

Michelle writes a daily blog about finding faith in the everyday at Graceful. On Monday's she reflects on Sunday's sermon in a weekly post entitled "Use it on Monday." She's nice enough to let us re-post it on Southwood's blog. You can read it here each week and then click over to Michelle's blog for more of her writing.

The Vine

As Pastor Sara lifts the bread high, the boy in the plaid shorts with the crown of whorled blond hair climbs onto the padded pew. Grabbing his dad’s shirt with one hand, he raises the other hand toward the ceiling, fingers splayed like a small, creamy starfish.

The dad knows what’s next – clearly this is a weekly routine. He lifts the boy until his flip-flops rest on the back of the pew in front of him. Clenching a fist-full of polo shirt, the boy straightens tall and steady, feet firmly planted on the back of the pew, his father’s arm encircling his waist like a lasso. And then the boy watches, steady and solemn, as Pastor Sara lifts the cup of wine toward the sky.

The little boy with the blond hair knows instinctively what I so often forget. He reaches, he climbs, he clings. He rests steady, comfortable and secure in his father’s arms.

He knows and accepts what I can never seem to remember: that apart from his father, he can do nothing.

“Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. “ (John 15:4)

You can read more of Michelle's writing on her blog Graceful.

 

There is a Redeemer

And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor to be with you forever—the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But you know him, for he lives with you and will be in you. (John 14:16-17 NIV)

On Easter Sunday, the Senior Choir sang an arrangement of the hymn, “There is a Redeemer.” It was a powerful way to celebrate that Christ has Risen! The celebration continues during this Easter season.

God deserves our most heartfelt thanks. This song provides the opportunity to express our profound gratitude to God for sending Jesus to us. He didn’t have to. He could have let us live aimless, worthless lives, eventually dying far from Him. He didn’t have to love us; He didn’t have to save us. After all, our sin had hurt Him deeply and separated us from Him eternally.

God knew we were lost. He knew we were hopeless and that the only way to save us would be to do it Himself. So He did that, coming to earth in His Son. Then, when Jesus returned to heaven, He gave us His Holy Spirit. Jesus called Him our “Counselor” who would be with us forever (John 14:16). God did not leave us to our own devices; He left us the Holy Spirit to walk with us and to guide us.

The Holy Spirit empowers us to do Christ’s work on earth—the work of serving, loving, sharing, and helping others enter the kingdom. One day God’s work on earth will be done. On that day, we will rejoice at all that God has done in us and through us for His glory!¹

 

1. Carsten, Debbie. Open the Eyes of My Heart: Daily Devotions. (Brentwood, TN: Integrity Publishers, 2002.) Pg. 21.

Reflections on a Sunday Sermon

Use it On Monday, by Michelle DeRusha

Michelle writes a daily blog about finding faith in the everyday at Graceful. On Monday's she reflects on Sunday's sermon in a weekly post entitled "Use it on Monday." She's nice enough to let us re-post it on Southwood's blog. You can read it here each week and then click over to Michelle's blog for more of her writing.

A Crowd of Witnesses in Real Life

Yesterday was confirmation Sunday at church, and I cried my way through most of the service without a shred of Kleenex in my purse. The young people kneeled straight and tall, white gowns cascading onto altar steps, scarlet carnations pinned to their chests, and as our pastors prayed over them while their parents crowded behind with bowed heads, hands on their shoulders, one word rang in my head: community.

In her sermon, Pastor Sara talked how each of us is surrounded by a “huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith” (Hebrews 12:1) – those who run the race of faith with us, paving the way before us, carrying us along as we grow weary.

“The people who have gone before us and who we spend our time with now help us tell our story,” Sara acknowledged. “The spirit of people both past and present cheer us on in our faith.”

As I listened to Sara I thought about the community of women Deidra, Erin and I hosted in my home on Saturday. Some of these women I know well – friends, colleagues and neighbors – and some I just met for the first time Saturday.

Truthfully, I’d been nervous about hosting this event. In fact, I’d awakened the night before at 3:30 a.m. in a panic. Should I buy flavored creamer? Did I have enough chairs? Should we wear name tags? Would I have to pray out loud? Would we stand around with our arms folded over our chests in awkward silence? Would people notice how sprongy my couch is with the broken springs?

How is this going to work with such a disparate group of women – women who don’t even know each other, who aren’t even in the same place in life, I wondered as I tossed and turned, sleepless and sweaty.

I worried about the fact that we were probably all at different spots on the spiritual spectrum. “What if it’s too Jesus-ey?” I worried. “What if it’s not Jesus-ey enough?” I fretted.

You know what?

It worked. It worked beautifully.

Sure, some of us had never met before. And it’s true, we were different, all of us at various life stages – married, single, divorced, empty nester, grandmother, young mother, working, stay-at-home, retired. And yeah, we were undoubtedly at various points on the spiritual spectrum, too. But despite all that, we laughed. We shared stories. We ate scones.

We connected.

And when I dashed out the door to head to work before the meet-up had even officially ended, and I saw Deidra up to her elbows in a sink full of soapy water, and Frances with a dish towel in her hand and Amanda clearing my table (two women, by the way, I’d only just met two hours before), I knew I was witnessing something beautiful.

As I stopped for a second to glimpse those three women cleaning my kitchen, I witnessed in-real-life community unfold right before my harried eyes.

Where have you found unexpected community?

You can read more of Michelle's writing on her blog Graceful.

 

Reflections on a Sunday Sermon

Use it On Monday, by Michelle DeRusha

Michelle writes a daily blog about finding faith in the everyday at Graceful. On Monday's she reflects on Sunday's sermon in a weekly post entitled "Use it on Monday." She's nice enough to let us re-post it on Southwood's blog. You can read it here each week and then click over to Michelle's blog for more of her writing.

Heaven Doesn't Feel Real

I’ll never forget the evening Brad and I walked past Noah’s bedroom a couple of weeks after Brad’s mom had died. Cat Stevens’Morning Has Broken was blasting on his CD player, and Noah sat tucked under his comforter next to the wide-open window. “I open my window and put this song on loud so Haukebo can hear it while she’s painting in Heaven,” Noah explained matter-of-factly to us.

Heaven doesn’t feel real like that for me. I know I’m supposed to believe in it, and I do, in a vague, religious kind of way, but it bothers me that I can’t wrap my head, or my heart, around it concretely.

I wish I believed in Heaven the way my kids do, but all I have is an amorphous, Christianese vision of Heaven. Frankly my view doesn’t offer much comfort; it doesn’t sustain me the way I suspect it does other people. I get some comfort from the thought of eternal life and the opportunity to spend face-to-face time with God, but Heaven? When I think of Heaven I draw a big blank.

Biblical descriptions of Heaven don’t help either. Pearly gates, streets of pure gold and a river bright as crystal sound like someone else’s vision (and I guess it is someone else's vision: it's John's). Like Brad said yesterday after we heard the description of Heaven from Revelation, “Gold streets don’t appeal to me. I think I’d prefer a softer, spongier material to walk on.”

When Noah was very young, his definition of Heaven consisted of “lots of white pine trees and mint chocolate chip ice cream all the time.” Yesterday after church when I asked him if his view of Heaven has changed since then, he told me that now he envisions “really puffy, soft clouds that you can walk on, and Ailanthus trees everywhere, growing right up out of the clouds, because Ailanthus means ‘tree of Heaven,’ you know.”

Rowan added that he thought Heaven will be a place where there’s “lots of fun stuff to do all the time.” I suspect he envisions infinite Mario Bros…without the nagging mother who puts a limit on screen time.

In the wake of my in-laws’ deaths, we’ve talked about Heaven more than usual in the last 18 months. I know I’ve used Heaven as a balm for the fear and pain that’s come with that loss, a way to offer brightness and hope for my kids in the midst of their grief. As a parent I’m desperate to ease my kids’ suffering, so I toss out Heaven as the only antidote I know. But to me, it feels like a weak consolation when they are missing their grandparents in the here and now.

I often ask the boys what they think Haukebo and Papa are doing in Heaven in an effort to create a link, a lasting connection between them and their beloved grandparents. But I think part of me is also trying to cement a vision of Heaven that they might carry with them into adulthood. While I know they won’t always believe that Heaven is comprised of mint chocolate chip ice cream, Ailanthus trees, Haukebo painting landscapes and Papa dancing to Johnny B. Goode, I hope that talking about Heaven now will somehow keep a sliver of it real for them later.

What about you? Does Heaven feel real to you?

{As an interesting side note: when I looked for images of Ailanthus trees on the web, I came across this description on the Duke University site: "More appropriately called the tree from hell, this common weedy tree is a seriously invasive species from China, most often found in disturbed areas and along roadsides." Hmmmm. Mabe Heaven really is in the eye of the beholder?}.

You can read more of Michelle's writing on her blog Graceful.

 

The Day of Resurrection

T“While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.” (Luke 24:4-5 NRSV)

This Sunday we continue the celebration of Easter. We sing with joy that Christ has victory over death and that we will have live eternally with Him in heaven. Our opening hymn is “The Day of Resurrection” and we join a long procession of saints who have sung this Easter hymn. This hymn is around 1200 years old!!

"The Day of Resurrection" is one of the oldest hymns in our hymnal. The words were written by St. John of Damascus of the Greek Orthodox Church. John was born in Damascus in the 8th century, and was engaged in secular work for many years. He became an Orthodox priest late in life, and spent the rest of his life at St. Sabas convent near Jerusalem. He was a gifted poet¶#151;the greatest poet of the Greek Church. The story is told of John writing a hymn for the funeral of a fellow monk—a monk not yet dead but at death's doorstep. After writing the hymn John started practicing it loudly. The next thing he knew, the dying monk came shuffling into the room to protest the unseemly noise.

This hymn, "The Day of Resurrection," was part of a much longer poem. John Mason Neale translated it into English in the 19th century—a thousand years after it was first written. The first verse calls us to celebrate the resurrection—to proclaim it abroad. The second verse calls us to live lives pure from evil—to live, as it were, resurrection lives. The third verse calls all the heavens and earth to be joyful—to sing—to proclaim a joy that has no end.”¹

 

1. Richard Niell Donovan, “Hymn Story: The Day of Resurrection” Copyright, 2007. Date visited: March 17, 2012. http://www.lectionary.org/HymnStories/The%20Day%20of%20Resurrection.htm

We Walk by Faith

Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy. (1 Peter 1:8 NIV)

Last Sunday we celebrated Easter with great enthusiasm and we had little doubt that Christ had risen from the dead. This Sunday, we hear the story of doubting Thomas and we confess that we too struggle with doubts as we make our way through the difficulties of life. Is it a weakness to doubt or is there perhaps a positive side to doubt? Wayne Wold gives this answer:

“First of all, doubt is a sign of a thinking mind. Just as it takes little thought to simply accept all we are told, rejecting any ideas that lie beyond our own imaginations is an equally scandalous underuse of gray matter. Having doubts means we are capable of weighing possibilities and reaching conclusions. Second, strugglers and searcher have a better chance of working through doubts than those who neither question nor search. Come to think of it, if it weren’t for doubt how would we know when we do have convictions? How do we know we do believe if we never consider not believing? Third, if Thomas’s encounter can be used as an example, expressing honest doubt may lead to a one-on-one encounter with Jesus. Just as having faith is not something we can attain on our own, we need each other, we need the word and sacraments of the church, and we need the real presence of Christ to help us as we grapple with doubt. And when we gather together with others who think, and doubt, and struggle and, yes, believe, we encounter the risen Christ in our midst.”¹

 

1. Wold, Wayne. Soli Deo Gloria. (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress, 2009) pg. 58.

Reflections on a Sunday Sermon

Use it On Monday, by Michelle DeRusha

Michelle writes a daily blog about finding faith in the everyday at Graceful. On Monday's she reflects on Sunday's sermon in a weekly post entitled "Use it on Monday." She's nice enough to let us re-post it on Southwood's blog. You can read it here each week and then click over to Michelle's blog for more of her writing.

With His Death

When I was 25 and working as an editor at an art magazine in New York City, I came down with a mysterious illness. For several weeks doctors couldn’t figure out what it was – test after test revealed nothing, despite my worsening symptoms: searing headaches, blurred vision, twitching, aching muscles, extreme fatigue, severe nausea. Once a long-distance runner, I didn’t have the energy to walk to the mailbox or lift my arms to brush my hair. Riding Metro North for an hour to my job in the city and working 50 hours a week was out of the question, so I took a leave of absence from work and moved back in with my parents.

Each night, limbs splayed, window open to the stifling August heat, I’d lay gripping the sides of the twin bed in my parents’ guest bedroom, paralyzed by the fear that I was dying. I was convinced I’d be dead by the end of the year. In my mind there was no other explanation – no one, I reasoned, could feel like I did and survive.

The absolute low point was the night I crawled into my parents’ bed and slept between them. I was 25 years old and sleeping with my mother and father like a three-year-old.

I eventually recovered from the illness, but the fear of death that had dogged me since childhood and intensified during the year I was sick never abated. More than ten years after that illness, married and the mother of two children, I continued to lay awake nearly every night gripped by the fear of death.

I didn’t pray about it, because I didn’t believe in God. I didn’t hope for a reprieve from the ever-present fear, because I didn’t believe that hope existed.

“With His death, the power of death over us is no more,” I heard Pastor Sara exclaim yesterday during Easter service, and as she spoke those words, I nodded yes, yes. It’s true. I believe it now.

I still think about dying from time to time, but not the way I used to. I don’t obsess over it any more. It doesn’t keep me awake at night, sheets balled in my fists, eyes wide at the ceiling. Nor do I believe that when I die, I will simply cease, that my body will be put into the ground, end of story. While I can’t quite envision what eternal life will look like, on most days I believe in my heart that it exists.

I tell you this story today, the day after Easter, for one reason: to give you hope.

It may be that you know someone lost, unmoored, hopeless. Someone who feels the talons of death grip tight. Someone who doubts or downright doesn’t believe.

It may even be that that someone is you.

My story isn’t dramatic or exciting. There’s no sky-splitting, fall-to-my-knees conversion. I never heard the voice of God or felt the presence of Jesus come suddenly into my life. I didn’t escape death or overcome insurmountable odds. This transformation from fear to hope, from death to life, unfolded slowly and uneventfully over a period of years. Truth be told, it’s still unfolding, this process of God replacing my heart of stone.

My story is pretty mundane, as far as conversion stories go. Yet it’s a story of hope and truth nonetheless. I am free from the power of death. With His death, the power of death over me is no more.

I pray you know that hope and truth in your heart, too.

You can read more of Michelle's writing on her blog Graceful.