Luke 10:3
Go your way; behold, I send you out as lambs among wolves.
These are perilous times that we live in. We need the protection of God to keep our faith in the midst of them. We need to see the evil and not hide our head in the sand but combat it with the love and peace of God. Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Be still and know that Jesus is God. In the name of the Father, in the name of the Son, in the name of the Spirit we abide. Greater is Holy Spirit in us than the evil that is in this world . We overcome hatred with the love of the Lamb. Carla
Matthew 10:16-17
“Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves. Therefore be wise as serpents and harmless as doves. 17 But beware of men, for they will deliver you up to councils and scourge you in their synagogues. NKJV
Snakes are commonly thought of as wise, perhaps because they are silent and dangerous, or because of the way they move (Genesis 3:1). In the midst of wolves meant that the apostles would be exposed to hatred and violence from men. Harmless literally means “unmixed,” which may also indicate purity and innocence. The NKJV Study Bible
Jesus Himself faced persecution; so too will His disciples. Here, He warns them of their fate and assures them that the Spirit will give them the appropriate words in times of trial. Faithlife Study Bible
Mark 13:9–13
“But watch out for yourselves, for they will deliver you up to councils, and you will be beaten in the synagogues. You will be brought before rulers and kings for My sake, for a testimony to them. And the gospel must first be preached to all the nations…
Luke 12:11–12
“Now when they bring you to the synagogues and magistrates and authorities, do not worry about how or what you should answer, or what you should say. For the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say.”
Matthew 23:34
Therefore, indeed, I send you prophets, wise men, and scribes: some of them you will kill and crucify, and some of them you will scourge in your synagogues and persecute from city to city,
Acts 5:40
And they agreed with him, and when they had called for the apostles and beaten them, they commanded that they should not speak in the name of Jesus, and let them go
What will I choose to care for—to be loving and kind in today’s world?
In what ways can I say No to apathy and indifference and resignation?
In what ways can I say Yes to, “I do my best to lift others up.”
And if you ask me, “Where were you lifted up?”
“Where did you learn about—where were you embraced by—the gentle healing arms and hands of grace?” I would tell you—and re-tell you over and over again—the story of my Grandmother, Gladys Andrews.
My grandmother—Southern Baptist born and bred—didn't cotton to folks in her church who played the judgmental-eternal-damnation-card just to feel good about themselves, or for the sake of proving a point. She understood that in her church's "theology," there were many kinds of people "on the outside." (Truth be told, in her church, "most" people were "on the outside.")
But my grandmother lived by an overriding imperative: "Anybody is welcome at my dinner table, no questions asked, no matter what."
My grandmother understood the power of presence—the power of lifting people up.
In the latter years of her life, in the back yard of her home in northern Florida, my grandmother had a porch swing. She liked to sit, and swing, and hum old church hymns, like Rock of Ages Cleft for Me. I can still see her there, wearing a white scarf over her head, a concession to chemotherapy's unrelenting march. When I visited her, as a young adult, she would always ask me to sit with her on the swing, for a spell. She would pat my leg, and she called me “darlin'.”
As long as my grandmother lived—and in spite of her pain—there was always a place for me on the swing. If I were asked to explain Grace, I would paint the picture of my grandmother's swing. There, I never had to deliberate or explain or worry regardless of the weight I carried. The swing—my grandmother's presence—existed without conditions.
And I am here today, because of that swing.
I can “hear” the invitation of grace.
I can “hear my song”—and the dance (empowered by grace) that unlocks my heart, and the extraordinary gift of being restored to myself.
The arms and hands of grace, that...
...remind us we are beautiful, when we feel ugly.
...tell us we are whole, when we feel broken.
...give us the power to dance, even when we feel shattered.
...allow us to take a step, even when we feel stuck, or shut down.
…that arms of grace that “lift us up”…
And yes, I have used this before in a Sabbath Moment... and realized the blessed gift of remembering the arms of grace, so decided one more time wouldn’t hurt (and my confession, it’s kinda nice to see pictures that remind us we were young once).
Around us, my friends, a lot of people are struggling. The world for so many, feels upside down. A kind word, a gentle touch, a seat on a porch swing, is a gift that makes all the difference. Let us be on the lookout for those who need that gift, and a seat at the table. And, I hope you find the permission and invitation to hear the song of grace.
“Dear God, soften our hearts and help us pull up a chair for one another. May we view one another with compassion and remember that we all have a seat at the table. Amen.” (Maria Shriver)
And the porch swing is a reminder of the necessity of “grace” rituals.
Rituals (porch swings) remind us to pay attention. They can be places of sanctuary where we are able to receive. And places from which we give; realizing that our salvation lies not in changing the world’s orientation to us, but in changing our own orientation to our brokenness, which in turn changes our interchange with the world, where our brokenness (the torn fabric) can be used to heal and redeem, and not wound or diminish or fuel hate.
I know that when I lose sight or touch with that grounding, I live as a wounded dog, lashing out, castigating and labeling and dismissing, (because you’re out to get me), finding solace only in an assumed place of power which always needs to diminish someone.
This week, where’s your porch swing?
Sabbath Moments
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