Reflections on Faith, Words, and The Holiness of Today
To whom it may concern,
I am taking a short season to rest and recharge after over a year of consistently posting to this blog that I have come to adore.
I love having space to reflect and place my thoughts and I will absolutely be returning, but sometimes, we just need to pause and be refilled so that there will be more to pour out in the future.
Thank you for your grace during this brief hiatus. I look forward to returning again soon!
All best,
Lindsey
Lord,
When my eyes crack open reluctantly and I see just enough sunlight coming through the window to signify that the day is creeping in, help my vision open wider. When I reach for my phone, catch my hand and tug me gently out of repose and into Your lap. Transform thirty minutes of “I could have been sleeping” into “Thanks for the nudge, this time with You has been nice.” Let the words of holy writ fuel me in ways that feel like gulping cool water when my throat is screaming. Let silence infiltrate my frenetic spirit; calm me down. Remind me that sometimes, the alarms you set go off before my own, and that can be a grace handed to me, whispers of true rest into my sleepy brain, breakfast in bed.
Thank you. Amen.
God of Sleeping, God of Waking,
You were there as I laid down and you were there as I arose. You were the comforting, quiet presence that never left your vigil and I acknowledge your reign over this space where muscles relax and muscles wind back up. Ease me in, ease me out. Help me, by Your Spirit, to lay the spent day aside and to welcome the new day with a hospitable heart. When I once again rest my head, may I look ever so slightly more like You, Lord Jesus, who refreshes and renews through the gift of repose.
Amen
A few weeks away was just enough to refresh words and soul alike.
In the morning I was vaccinated, taking part in a historic point on the timeline in which I received the gift of science and community side-by-side with my husband, who has promised to be with me for all milestones, which is the best. In the afternoon I rested really hard, as human as a human can get, binge watching Netflix and wondering if I had done enough, if I had accomplished enough to call myself worthy today. I felt alone in this but I am not, which helps. In the evening I was huffing Easter lilies, planting Easter eggs, and reading the Easter story, the Good Friday part, the dark parts in which Jesus reminds me that there is healing and there is life despite all the gore, which is heavy and good indeed. I am grateful that He absorbed the sin and its distance and brought me near so that it didn’t matter if I watched Bridgerton for hours on end or if I partook in history or if I simply read a story— I am worthy and I am here and I am no longer enslaved to fear, which is enough.
After a week spent doing one's best, honestly, and with gumption, couch-planting, snack-hoovering, kisses stolen during commercial breaks are all offerings poured on the toes of the One who kicked up Their heels on the globe which now houses this shadowy, gorgeous life we all try to lead. Making, renewing, authoring existence is exhausting, and if Divinity needed a day off, who do I think I am? This is to say: Reality can spin without balancing on my little fingertips, so I fold my hands behind my weary head and give it a rest.
The older I get, the more I love to spend time at home. About a year and a half ago John and I were able to purchase a little raised ranch that I’ve dubbed “Bag End” because not only is it built into the side of a hill like a hobbit hole, but it also has become a place of comfort and refuge and (thanks to me) a little bit of clutter. I adore the way it feels to sit on the far end of the couch (John calls it my perch), breathe in the fresh air through open windows, and bask in the simple joy of the sanctuary we have built together. Home is great.
Since becoming a homeowner, the term “dwell” has been something upon which I have tried to meditate. A quick Google search says that to dwell is to “live in or at a specified place”, which is straightforward enough. John and I dwell at Bag End. It is our home base, our headquarters, the place from which we have chosen to operate. Our dwelling place is the main hub of where we live our lives.
Dwelling, however, does not only refer to the physical spaces in which we live, but also carries real weight in spirituality as well. I was reminded by a friend this week of the gorgeous beginning of Psalm 91:
“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” (Ps. 91:1 NIV)
The whole chapter is a favorite, and here the Psalmist moves the idea of dwelling beyond the hearth and into the presence of God. When we dwell in the shelter of the Most High, we find rest as the Lord covers us. His shadow is a safe place where we can take a load off and trust that we are safe. When we pick to live in the specified place that is under the Divine wing, then we are good. Now and forever.
I would like to say that I have made my dwelling place with God as concretely as I have made my dwelling place at Bag End, but a closer inspection would reveal that, while I do try to consistently cozy up to the Lord, I also choose, in my brokenness, to dwell elsewhere. When the world is chaotic, I cling to novels and Netflix like they are an oxygen tank. I like to camp out in the burned out, poisonous pastures of anxiety. I will always be able to find a comfortable spot within the folds of pastry or the density of a brownie. I dwell on and in these things. I make dark homes where foundations were not meant to be laid.
Are novels and Netflix and the occasional baked good bad things? No (in fact, I would say that they are necessary). Do humans sometimes feel anxious? Of course. But I think there is something to be gleaned here about where we choose to dwell as we try to navigate the beauty and the mess of life.
Think back to the last time that you felt like you could use a safe haven or a little bit of genuine rest. Now, think about what your first gut reaction was in regard to where you could obtain that safe haven or genuine rest. Did you picture yourself falling into the arms of the Living God? Or did you, like me, immediately picture a bubble bath and a snack and whatever my chosen method of distraction was that day?
Too often, we don’t take God up on His offer to let us have a little campfire under the shelter of His wing. We choose to dwell elsewhere or, worse, dwell on things that suck the life from us rather than on the Giver of Life Himself. We look to every other dwelling place we can think of and foolishly hope that enduring safety will be found therein. And let’s be honest; sometimes the idea of dwelling somewhere where I won’t have to think at all is more appealing than being confronted with myself before the throne of God.
But who will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty? Those who dwell in the shelter of the Most High.
I want to issue a challenge: topple all dwelling places that sell you a counterfeit version of the gift the Lord holds out to us. Ask yourself: where am I choosing to dwell? You will not find safety on a dinner plate or at the bottom of a bottle or even in the well-loved spine of a library book. You will find rest when you dwell with God. Period.
Now, this does not mean that I can’t read a good book while dwelling with the Lord, nor does it mean you should give up whatever brings you little joys in life. We can even invite God in to transform those things so that they become part of our practice of dwelling with Him. If you are drawn to books, read a book about God! If you are drawn to food, share a meal with spiritual community! But I supposed that the point I’m making is this: a hotel room will never be home. It is temporary and might feel nice for a bit, but it does not serve as a substitute for that real place of refuge and comfort.
When you choose where to dwell, root down with Jesus. Dwell on Scripture, dwell on glorifying thoughts, dwell on the amazing love and grace offered to us by our Heavenly Parent. Do not set your mind and heart on anything lesser. Curl up in the shelter of the Most High, find rest in the shadow of the Almighty, and know that you are safe. You are home.
According to the internet, something being consecrated means “having been made or declared sacred.” I understand it as something set apart, special and holy. A top-notch seminary education and a google search pair well together!
Though communion elements and religious sites and the Levitical Priesthood certainly come to mind when one thinks of consecration, on this quiet summer evening I am thinking about the weekend I just spent at my parents’ house.
We are normally a family that operates on itineraries and plans. I like to say that resting is fine, of course, but it just has to be written into the schedule. So in preparation for our time in good, old Bucyrus, Ohio, I made sure to grill my mom on where we would get food and what we would do and whether or not we could carve out time for me to visit my favorite coffee shop in the world. She assured me that there would indeed be time for all of these things and more. She had a plan and I was comforted.
But upon arriving, somehow, I began to care less and less about the plan and more about grinding my feet into the exact earth on which I stood in each present moment. The flavors of my latte weren’t exactly on point, but I did get to sit at the fountain on the square with a few loved ones, talking about big ideas over the sound of a man randomly playing the bagpipes barefoot. The Greek restaurant did not have grape leaves as I had hoped, but the chicken on my salad was grilled just right. The fireworks show was short, but it had an abundance of the kind that look like sparkling willow trees. We all got a sunburn, but we laid by the pool, together.
Most prominently-our family dinner could not take place in a crowded restaurant, but that just meant that we could gather in the open air, in Keith and Rhonda’s big backyard, and relish all of the holiness that dripped off of those moments like honey. Normally I dislike wandering around my hometown for fear of running into ghosts from my past (I know I’m not alone in this), but there was something peaceful about cruising with my mom in her new car. “I’ll run into Carle’s and you go get gas. I will be out with some potato salad soon.” We were preparing for gathering, for time set apart, and a steadiness grounded me in the peace that comes with simplicity.
We ate and the grandkids all ran around barefoot like children. I was able to hit a wiffle ball and my husband took pitching very seriously. My cousin improved on her football spiral and Ryder fetched excitedly and the moms and aunts and grannies watched from the window, laughing as we formed living goal posts out of the bodies they had created with their own. The night ended with leftovers and an hours-long theological conversation. I could not help but wonder what in the world could be better than the life I am leading.
It wasn’t much, but it was consecrated in that it was protected and sacred, set apart for the express purpose of rest and enjoyment and love. It has been a long time since I have been so centered, so far from bone-deep exhausted. This weekend, that cookout, those tiny moments were untouched and unblemished, consecrated. If we open our eyes, we see a sparkling sheen of holiness that coats every good endeavor. Call your family, call your friends, buy some hot dogs, and experience God.
At this article’s writing, the world is locked down in the face of the Coronavirus pandemic. There is a lot of uncertainty and fear and grace and kindness all wrapped into a confusing bundle of emotion and experience. It is a surreal season through which we must walk, but I think we are all learning a lot in the process.
Last week, I signed into an online meeting of the class on Old Testament Theology that I am auditing at Ashland Theological Seminary. Just when I had gotten into the practice of revisiting the holy ground of my alma mater on Wednesday mornings, it was time to shift to the online platform for the sake of slowing the tidal wave of COVID-19. While we were all sharing about some of our experiences with it so far, I found myself divulging that I was oddly grateful for the down time quarantine had provided. To this, my wise and prophetic Karen responded:
“The whole world has been forced into a Sabbath rest.”
What a beautiful and terrifying word to speak over the world! How gracious and how inducing of vulnerability!
I write from the context of the West, where productivity and achievement is everything. Recently, there has been an emergence of a “Present Over Perfect” (Shauna Niequest) movement, which affirms that we are not ultimately defined by what we do, but by who we are when we pursue the difficult endeavor of living as our best selves. I agree with this line of thought, but I have always had a difficult time separating my purpose from my productivity. What are we if we are not moving forward?
The answer, of course, is that we are God’s; made in God’s image, daughters and sons that do not need to do a thing in order to embrace our belovedness.
Do not get me wrong; work is a wonderful thing. It is a blessing to be able to contribute and provide, each in our own unique ways. But I believe we are to lead our lives from the starting point of rest, not exhaustion. I believe we are to be defined by our personhood, not our productivity. Life is a balance of work and rest, not toil and the act of just barely recovering.
Enter: Sabbath.
It has taken a really long time for the practice of routine rest to play a part in the rhythms of my life, but here’s how I do it:
· I work hard Sunday through Thursday. I am the Coordinator of Volunteer Ministries at Ashland First United Methodist and I have the absolute joy of helping to oversee the amazing people who make the ministries of our faith community what they are. I love my job and I do the best I can to serve well throughout the week.
· That week of hard work comes to an end at 9 PM on Thursday evening. I stop answering texts and emails related to work. I try to prayerfully hand ministry over to Jesus so that I might sit back and be restored.
· It looks different every week, but Sabbath for Lindsey Funtik almost always includes a coffee shop. I might wake up, ride into town with my husband when he goes to work, and then head to a local roaster that I absolutely love. I will engage with some Scripture and do some writing and then read a novel for however long I want. I sip a cappuccino. I stare aimlessly out the window for a while. Lunch, maybe a nap, maybe the gym. John and I might cook and I aspire to end the day at 9 PM (so that it’s a full 24 hours) with a prayer of thanks.
· It’s not about zoning out, but about disconnecting from some things for the sake of deeper connection with the truest Thing.
· Saturday may or may not include ministry, but I always wake up rested and ready to go. I have had my moment of repose and the Spirit has juiced me up to launch headlong into another week of good, Kingdom work.
That’s it. My Sabbath practice is simple in that I essentially do whatever I can to personally recharge and get in touch with Jesus.
The part that is not simple, however, is the mental hurdles that I have to jump through in order to truly enjoy Sabbath. Ultimately, choosing to rest is an act of faith because it is the act of saying, “The world will not stop spinning because I disengage for a while. The Lord can handle it.”
This is harder than it might seem.
But now, as dear Karen said, the world has been thrust into the midst of an unasked-for Sabbath rest. There are certainly people who are still on the front lines fighting against the rising pandemic, and I am so grateful for them, but a lot of us find ourselves working from home or otherwise sequestered within four walls. So how can we seize this time and allow it to inform our walks of faith? How can we trust that the world will not stop spinning if we seize the silver linings of this cloud? Luckily, quarantines do not exclude Jesus. Whether you have multiple hours or fifteen minutes, Jesus can meet you in Sabbath rest and recharge you for the day(s) ahead. A few suggestions:
· Start mornings slowly, with coffee and devotions that you otherwise might have had to skip for the sake of getting ready and getting out the door.
· The advent of spring means some sunshine and slightly warmer temperatures, so get outside. A brisk walk during which you notice fresh air and birdsong can reorient you to the Creator.
· Practice different types of prayer exercises. A great resource for this is Creating a Life With God: The Call of Ancient Prayer Practices by Daniel Wolpert. Google is also a great resource. Please, feel free to reach out if you would like more information about prayer practices you can try!
· Relish in what community surrounds you. Have a long meal with your spouse, read with your kids, even call a friend. God can refuel us through community, even at a distance.
· Do whatever it is that centers you specifically. For me, it’s novels and baking and naps and coffee. For you, it might be music or woodworking or needlepoint or good movies. Know thyself, and trust the Lord to meet you where you are, using the interests He gave you.
Once, while worshiping as a guest at a Jewish synagogue, I got to partake in a Sabbath service in which we stood up and faced the door as a way of welcoming the Sabbath like a bride. We honored the inbreaking of rest and we committed to set it aside as God designed. My challenge to you is to recognize Sabbath when she walks in the door and embrace her for all that she is. It might look like quarantine, it might look like Friday cappuccinos, it might look like Sunday afternoons from 1:15-2:30. However Sabbath manifests in your life, consecrate it to the Lord and trust that we can sit back on the assurance of faith and renewal.
Lindsey Funtik 