Ann Voskamp and the Eucharisteo Bashers

My friend recommended the book 1,000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp to me when we met for coffee.  I'd been smacked sideways by hard news and was still reeling from all the clergy sexual abuse junk we've been confronted with for the past 2.5 years.  I've learned since reading most of Voskamp's book that she certainly has her critics.  It seems that the John Piper and John MacArthur fans are offended by her particular used of metaphor and her references to Nouwen and other Catholic writers, whom the critics deem mystics.  They've accused Voskamp of being a mystic and a pantheist, to boot.  Good grief. What I've seen between the pages of her poetic book is this:  The woman clearly loves Jesus.  A friend challenged her to think of things for which to be thankful, as Voskamp recognized her propensity toward ingratitude.  So, her book was born - and in it she focuses heavily on what she calls "eucharisteo," or gratitude.  She knows that both the good and the not-so-good are things for which the believer is to be grateful:  "in EVERYTHING give thanks."  And in looking for things for which to be grateful, Ann Voskamp was changed.

Clearly, I am, at this stage of my life, struggling to be grateful.  I complain a lot.  A LOT.  Inwardly, outwardly complaining 24/7.  In reading 1,000 Gifts I felt shame, but I also felt normal, understood, and inspired.  So take that, Voskamp bashers.  And now I'm taking up the same gratitude challenge - not the Oprah-like "be grateful for what life has give you" thing but a deep, inward look at my attitude towards God.  Is He really good, all the time, as the song goes?  If I begin to focus on this, what might happen? Will the Holy Spirit change me, too?  I pray yes.  I pray that my in-look will alter my out-look in a positive way.  My in-look has been very flawed, I think.  Skewed.  Small.  Yet I have His Spirit, which is the antithesis of skewed and small.  CSA cannot, canNOT, CANNOT take that from me, and for that, I am eucharisteo.

Confronting My Abusive Former Pastor: The Hollow Man

Well, I did it.  I confronted my abusive former pastor, and I did it afraid.  But I think he was more afraid than I, and that's what actually enabled me to speak life-giving words to him.  I pulled no punches, though, because I knew that it was the God-ordained opportunity of a lifetime to tell him how his abuse has impacted my life on every level.  With my husband on my left and my advocate on my right, I soldiered on through our "round table" discussion (part of what is called a Just Resolution).  I was concise and compassionate.  I had prayerfully decided before the meeting to give any bitterness to God - an act of the will, if you will.  He teared up often, but I've seen all that before so am unmoved by his tears.  Yet my residual emotion post-meeting is pity.  I see him for the pitiful person - the hollow man -  that he really is.  

 I have left this abusive pastor to God.  I am done.

Strained Chords

Today in church we sang a hymn with a refrain that included the words "strained chords."  I've seen those terms together many times, but today they just sort of jumped out at me.  I began thinking about the dynamics of music-making and how stringed instruments must be plucked, picked, scraped by a bow, or, in the case of a piano, banged by a hammer.  Strings must be acted upon rather violently before they do what they were designed to do, when you think about it.  They "strain" under the pick, bow or hammer in order to make what we hear as music.  They must constantly be tuned - another violent act, if you will - to give them the best possible opportunity to do what they are designed to do.  And they are most often played together in chords - and in the case of today's hymn, in "strained" chords.  


As a follower of Jesus, I so often feel like those strings.  When out of tune, I must trust the musician to make the proper adjustments.  Before I can release the sounds that make music, I am plucked, picked, scraped, or banged.  The musician determines the strength of his touch on the string.  The process of making music, if you are a string, must be painful at times.  


The process of making disciples must be painful at times, too.  


I keep telling myself that my song is coming, and when it does, it will be beautiful.  I know this because I trust the Musician.