 I deliberately kept it plain and simple: first Jesus and who he is; then Jesus and what he did—Jesus crucified.
-I Corinthians 2:2 This is a two-parter, friends. Holy week begins in only a few days. Holy week is a journey. We walk with Jesus into Jerusalem, onto the cross, and quietly wait in the tomb. It's dramatic, and it's personal. A story this compelling and emotional is the sort of thing that shapes you in the 100th reading as well as the first one. God suffering with all humanity, to heal and restore all humanity. God bearing the sin of the world, to defeat the powers behind that very sin. Jesus, replanting the world with the fertilizer of his very body. Jesus, who turns every understanding of power and violence on its head. If we allow it, the annual recurrence of holy week peels back layers of our own hearts. It's a time to open ourselves up. It's also a time to let the story speak for itself. Have you ever noticed those documents for tests or legal stuff that just says, "this page intentionally left blank?" You may think those blank pages are just a bureaucratic mystery and a conspiracy to destroy trees. I agree. But beyond that, there are reasons. Pages are left blank in legal documents to separate content, so that subjects don't blend together accidentally. And in standardized tests, pages are also left blank to stop those cheaters who might read the next section’s questions before it’s the appropriate time! But despite all theories, one thing is clear: the blankness of the page is not an accident. It's supposed to be there. A blank page means pause and take a breath before something new starts again. Many of us enjoy regularly reading insights from others. We love learning about Jesus and thinking about Christian faith in fresh ways. There is so much content out there. I'm all for it. But there's a shadow side to most everything. And if we're not careful, all the good voices, commentaries, podcasts, books and articles become "spiritual surrogates" in our lives. They may be very good and very helpful at times. But we can also allow them to fill in most of our spiritual gaps and thoughts. We rarely allow ourselves the blank page to pause and encounter Jesus personally with totally open ears.... to embrace a page that's intentionally left blank (and maybe even, to grab a pen....). It's scary. Many of us like all the words and thoughts and ideas of others. And yet, from time to time, we must get out of this mindset and journey into the desert alone with Jesus. On a blank page, no one tells us what we're supposed to think or where we're supposed to focus. We are left to encounter Jesus without a filter. Next week on Thursday you'll get a normal Together for Good email as you head into Good Friday. It will be completely empty, except a single reminder: this page intentionally left blank. Let it invite you to go directly to the story of Jesus with nothing else to fill up the page. Walk with him into Jerusalem. Pray with him in the garden. Grit your teeth when he is unjustly accused. Flinch with him when he is beaten. Hang you head with him on Friday. And wait quietly on Saturday. Encounter the story of Jesus and listen for the whisper of the Divine. Give yourself a blank page and the chance to do some really beautiful work with God on your own in the coming days. Jesus is eager for the time together. If it's helpful to have some framework, you can use these passages as you walk with Jesus this week. Monday: Luke 19:41-48 Tuesday: John 14:1-10 Wednesday: Mark 14:1-11 Thursday: John 13:1-17 Friday: Psalm 22:1-19 Saturday: Matthew 27:62-66 The story of the cross reveals the horror of human brokenness and the beauty of God's forgiving love. The resurrection reveals the hope of God's remaking everything for a future of life. Sometimes that's all the commentary we need. Keep your page blank enough this week for Jesus to speak love to the deepest places in you. Jesus, in the coming days, meet me in your story. Peace, Keith
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 I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.
-Ezekiel 36:26 Country music singer Billy Ray Cyrus, who is now the second most famous singer in the Cyrus family, reached fame 31 years ago with his hit song Achy Breaky Heart.Honestly, this song still holds up. How could you not love it? When the singer's girlfriend breaks up with him, he says that she can go ahead and tell everyone. Everyone except his heart... You can tell the world you never was my girl You can burn my clothes when I'm gone Or you can tell your friends just what a fool I've been And laugh and joke about me on the phone. But don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart I just don't think he'd understand. And if you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart, He might blow up and kill this man The poor guy has a heart that's at risk of being broken. He really wishes it wasn't so breakable. But there are worse types of hearts... Hearts that can never be broken. Hearts that can't ache or break. Hearts that have turned to stone. Ezekiel is a wild and crazy book in the Old Testament with some seriously NOT PG-rated imagery and harsh judgments. God's people had kind of gone off the deep end and given in to a world of violence, idolatry, and neglect of those in need. But the book is not without promises of restoration. In chapter 36, Ezekiel shares one of God's hopeful promises with his people. He says that God is going to move in them one day to change their hearts. He will take their heart of stone away, and in its place he will give them a heart of flesh. The rabbis of old knew this phrase well. In Hebrew, it is lev basar. A heart of flesh is one that is soft and attentive, able to be moved, and able to feel. Centuries ago, the Hasidic teacher Rabbe Nachman of Breslov founded a movement based on cultivating Ezekiel's lev basar. He taught, "there's nothing so whole as a broken heart." The tradition held that a broken heart is different than a sad or depressed one. It is open to one's own suffering and the suffering of others. It is a heart that feels, that has vulnerability and openness. It's a heart that is available for true connection. This is the work of God in us-- to create a heart of flesh that can feel, that can connect with others, and that can even be broken. I find it profound that God promises to transform stony hearts enough that they can be broken once again. It's so easy for us to guard ourselves from discomfort or pain by putting walls around our hearts. If we don't feel, we can't hurt. We can also allow our hearts to be stony toward others. This is especially true for those we don't get along with. We may be moved with compassion for those we feel are suffering unjustly. But for those who have made poor decisions or who we deem to be in the wrong? Our hearts are rarely able to break for them. So we are soft toward one person, stony toward the next one. But Jesus doesn't offer us the choice of deciding who is deserving of softheartedness. A heart of flesh, if God is the one making it, will always be open to the Spirit's moving. It will always have compassion for those who are hurting, regardless of which "side" we might be tempted to think that they are on. I love so much that this heart of flesh is something that God gives us as a gift. The gift of being able to feel and share emotions is a sacred thing. The gift of being able to hurt with those who hurt is a high calling. The gift of embracing vulnerability is the gateway to knowing God and knowing others. Undergoing open heart surgery with Jesus may be terrifying and painful, but it is the way to a full and healthy life. Where do you find your heart stony today? Toward whom? Today is a wonderful day to invite Jesus to soften your own heart-- even to make it breakable-- so that you can be fully human, and fully open to God's movement, once again. Jesus, take whatever has hardened in me, and bring it to life. Peace, Keith  "The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.” -Jesus, Mark 12:31 For months I've been journeying with 5 other pastors in a weekly coaching cohort, with the goal of exploring our inner lives and moving toward health and healing. It's been life-changing as I prepare for my upcoming sabbatical. And yep, pastoring for nearly two decades has worn me down and left me ragged in a number of ways. I'm not sure why this sort of reality isn't openly talked about very much. It's probably because pastors fear that if they show signs of weakness and exhaustion, they are failing as spiritual leaders. A piece of me used to think like that. But not anymore. This week our cohort conversation was about self-compassion, and how often this element is overlooked in the Christian journey. For many of us, there's a deeply ingrained mindset that we should be compassionate toward others, but harsh on ourselves. You know- cut it off if it causes you to sin kind of harshness. There are plenty of verses for that, and I believe we need to look honestly at destructive actions. But this attitude extends far beyond sin. If we feel inadequate or limited or we fail in any way, the mindset is to just dig in and grind a little harder. It's the gospel of self-improvement. God helps those who help themselves! I'm intimately familiar with it in my internal monologue. C'mon, Keith. Just be better. At everything. The problem is that this can completely bypass the central part of God's story, that real transformation happens from knowing our belovedness in God's eyes. God's kindness, the scriptures say, is what leads us to becoming whole (Rom 2:4). And Matthew reminds his readers that Jesus would fulfill Isaiah's prophecy about a Messiah so gentle on those who felt weak, that: "A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out" (Matt. 12:20). Even those of us who proclaim God's gentleness on others frequently struggle to embrace the same spirit inwardly in self-compassion. We hear the invitation from Jesus saying, "come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest" and we make sure that those around us understand how good that news is for them. And all the time, the harsh critic of that internal monologue fails to offer the same tenderness that we believe God gives. During our group dialogue, I realized that one of the keys to deeper self-compassion lies in developing a greater imagination. We believe that Jesus is with us all the time, but we rarely take time to imagine his posture toward us during some of the most difficult moments in our past. And it can change how we see ourselves. It can be transformative. What do you think Jesus wants to say to the 9 year old you that thought he had to make everyone laugh in order to be loved? What do you think Jesus wants to say to your young mom self who felt like she was always on the edge of breaking down? What do you think Jesus wants to say to the 30 year old you that was battling addiction and spiraling out of control? What do you think Jesus wants to say to the 40 year old you that walked through that unimaginable divorce? What do you think Jesus wants to say to the you that felt absolutely shattered when you didn't get the promotion at work? What do you think Jesus wants to say to the you who walked through your child's chronic illness and had to be strong for everyone? What do you think Jesus wants to say to the you who wakes up and feels worthless and unmotivated to do anything? Perhaps this week, you can courageously look back at your life and the things that hurt the most. Look back and consider those moments of failure or striving or inadequacy. What would Jesus's gentle compassion sound like in those moments? How might that lead you to new levels of self-compassion and transformation? Consider Jesus sitting with you, embracing you, crying with you, reminding you of your belovedness. You may find that the grace-filled words of Jesus toward your former self will soften your own attitudes toward your current self. God's grace is for all the parts of you-- even the parts that you are frustrated by or that feel deeply broken. Jesus, be gentle with me today. And teach me to do the same. Peace, Keith |
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