As we continue our journey through Lent, I have to say that my burning prayer is simply this. Transformation. If there is a target, a bull’s-eye, an end-game to what we are about, this is it. This is the measure of our “success”. Not butts, budgets or buildings, not slick programs or hip events. No, we will hit the mark if: a) We, ourselves, are being transformed, looking more and more like Jesus. b) Our neighbors are experiencing the transforming love of Jesus. c) Our neighborhoods and communities are being transformed to be places Jesus would like (where everyone flourishes).
 
My top go-to prayer these days is the one Jesus taught us. “Let your kingdom come and your will be done. On earth as it is in heaven.” Last Sunday, as we sang a song together containing these powerful words, a member commented, “I don’t just want to sing these songs. I want to believe that when we pray them, God’s kingdom, God’s rule and reign, God’s healing, peace, justice, mercy and renewal will actually come in that moment.” And I deeply resonated with his words as I have pondered this a lot. I want to see God show up. I want to see hearts and lives, people and places transformed. I long to see God’s merciful and just kingdom come to a broken and unjust world.
 
And here, our intellect and reason, our apathy and disengagement, our cynicism and unbelief, and especially our pride and self-sufficiency keep us from receiving God’s kingdom. Over the last few weeks, we have been immersing ourselves in Jesus’ words. Blessed are the poor in spirit, the pure in heart, the meek, the merciful, the peacemakers, those who mourn, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness -- for the kingdom of God is theirs. But to receive this kingdom, it seems we must be hungry for it. We must become poor, giving up our rights, grieving over our sin, and surrendering to a God who is so much bigger than we can fathom. Trusting that God is indeed good. For if we have faith the size of a mustard seed, Jesus says that we can move mountains. Nothing will be impossible for us.
 
John Wimber, founder of the Vineyard Movement, talked a lot about the kingdom of God and how as followers of Jesus, we are compelled and commissioned to actually do the works of Jesus. You know that Jesus-stuff -- preach the good news, heal the sick, open blind eyes, set the captives free, and feed the hungry. Wimber coined it, “Doing the stuff”, and called every follower of Christ to proclaim and demonstrate this revolutionary kingdom.  Wimber told the story about how when he first became a follower of Jesus, he kept waiting to do the stuff. But alas, Christians just wanted to talk about it. And you know, I can relate. I am so tired of the talk. Aren’t you?
 
I don’t want to do church unless transformation happens. Unless God’s kingdom of love breaks into our everyday lives. Unless we become known as folks in our communities that bring healing, renewal, and restoration, like the words of Isaiah 58, making the community livable again. I am tired of an impotent gospel. I long for people to truly know what God is like. To experience the “good news” of this kingdom of grace in a holistic way.
 
You see, I am a charismatic contemplative. I believe these are not polarities, but rather two sides of the same coin. I long to join in God’s work in the world, attending to what the Spirit is birthing in our own lives and in the world around us. And I believe we do so by cultivating the slow work of the Spirit that happens gradually over time. The steady, the faithful, the small, the ordinary. And yet I also believe that we are called to midwife the Kairos moments of the Spirit where heaven breaks into the now in an instance or opportune time.
 
For I want to see God’s kingdom come in the slow, the small and the ordinary as we join God in our everyday lives. And I also want to see the supernatural power and presence of the Spirit breaking into the midst of sickness, need and affliction. I long for God’s power to demonstrate His love. Those of us who say this is unimportant forget what it is like to be desperate and in need, to be bound and to be afflicted, to be broken and to be shattered. We talk about the now and the not yet of the kingdom and I wholeheartedly embrace this theology, but what happens when we lose our faith for the now? Yes, it is true. So often, we live in the painful realities of the not yet. We cannot explain suffering, and we don’t understand when God fails to answer our prayers. And yet Jesus, in a moment, changed the trajectory of life after life, as he healed the sick, cast out demons, forgave sins and invited the outcasts and the untouchables to the table.

​I talk a lot about the need for reformation today. In society. In culture. And most definitely, in the church. It seems we have lost so much of what is good. I mean what is truly good. The real thing. Not the artificial. What is good for our souls, our bodies, our hearts and our minds. What is good for our families and our neighborhoods, our economies and our environment. What is good for our communities and for the flourishing of all who live here. What is the picture of the good life? And what is it that we truly hunger for?
 
America has sold us a picture of the good life. And for years we have bought it. Hook, line and sinker. It involves fame. Success. Accolades. Climbing the corporate ladder. The power of the dollar and the bottom line. It’s about the powerful, the strong, the big story and the top dog. It involves suburbia. And individualism. Private lives. Privilege. The freedom of choices so overwhelming we need Xanax. The big house, the white picket fence, and good schools for the kids. And it involves stuff. Toys, gadgets and more stuff. Stuff that breaks so we have to buy more. Shiny toys that must be upgraded every year. Gadgets we can’t possibly live without and lots of plastic that overwhelms our landfills and infiltrates our eco systems. Not to mention that we eat food that no longer resembles food, filled with “crack” substances like sugar and corn syrup proven to be as powerful as cocaine. And turns out, it was all a plan hatched to turn us into consumers who would buy what we didn’t need, and who would eat more than our fill-- so that we would keep working, and buying, and consuming. And well, it has worked. We work, and we work, and we work. And we consume and we consume. But for what? What are we truly craving?
 
I think the gloss is wearing very thin on this picture of the good life. For we are tired of chasing after that which doesn’t satisfy. This Lent, we’ve been spending time in The Beatitudes, which offers a very different picture of the good life. This week’s text is...
 
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be filled.
 
Filled? Satisfied? Is this even a thing? It seems foreign to the consumptive American appetite. Jesus offered bread to satisfy our hunger, water to satisfy our thirst, so that we would never hunger or thirst again. Whaaaat? What is this? And if this is true, surely our economy that is built on never ending consumption is doomed.
 
But I sense a hunger today. For righteousness. Said another way. There seems to be is a deep longing for justice, for shalom, and for peace. For things to be set right in the world. Another vision of the good life, Jesus’ vision. For the world to be renewed and for people to be made whole. For communities to be reconciled and for relationships to be restored. This is a picture of the good life. And one that more and more people are awakening to. The sham is over. The emptiness of consumption has been exposed and we are in the wake of a people and land raped by its insatiable appetites. It seems we are hungry for more.
 
But Jesus offers to satisfy our hunger with a very different vision of the good life. A life that is built around something other than what we have and what we can acquire or achieve. And the promise is that we will be filled. Satisfied. Whole. People today are hungry for a different vision for their lives, for their neighborhoods and for the church. And this is why we as The Practicing Church are so committed to learning, experimenting, and growing together as we seek to embody the words of Jesus in our neighborhoods.

​Hungry for more?

by Jessica Ketola

Sometimes I just have to gush about our community and the growing sense of shared life in the neighborhood. It’s hard to describe what may seem as unquantifiable. It certainly is not the “big” story. It’s just all the millions of little things. It’s seeing the beloved faces of our housemates, who live in the apartment downstairs, a few times every day. We exchange smiles, news and mail but not without doting on their adorable baby girl. It’s the simple joy of answering the door to neighbors who have walked to church. It’s being first on call to take 2-year-old big brother with the sacred advent of the newest member of our community. It’s the privilege of being listed as the emergency contact for a family. It’s the delight of being included in a toddler’s evening prayers.

​It’s the ease of calling a neighbor to ask if they would come pray for a shut-in who is sick. It’s every Wednesday night, sharing a meal with friends and neighbors and strangers (who don’t stay strangers for long). It’s the sheer joy of welcoming our international students into a true sense of family. It’s being “auntie” and “uncle” to the littles in our community. It’s the joy of giving tired parents a welcome break. It’s not being able to go to Fred Meyers or One Cup Coffee without running into someone we know, whether they are a part of our faith community or a student from our tutoring program, someone from the gym, or a fellow parent, neighbor, or community resource team member. It’s the privilege of no commute, freeing up valuable resources of time and oil. And for those neighbors who still commute, alas, it is the camaraderie of the E-Line.
 
It’s the constant overlap. Overlapping of lives, of interests, and of community efforts. We attend a disaster preparedness meeting and we see both new and familiar faces of neighbors, fellow followers of Jesus, Turning Point tutors, and neighborhood advocates. It’s being connected to a place, feeling a sense of pride, ownership and responsibility. To walk the neighborhood with purpose and with a love for the people who live here. This is our place. With its unique history, its gifts, its flaws, its challenges and its opportunities. And as followers of Jesus, we are committed to the renewal of this place and the flourishing of all who live here.
 
We care. But not in some disembodied or hyper-spiritual way. We care about everything. We care that our neighbors experience the transforming love of God, yes, we do. And we care that our neighbors have shelter and enough to eat. We care that our children are being nurtured and that our youth are being mentored. We care that our parents and children have sidewalks to walk on and parks to play in. We care about creating more third places in which we can gather and partake in the connection and meaning that comes when we share life together. We care that we know our neighbors and that our elderly are taken care of. We care that our local businesses thrive. We care that friendships are built across cultural, religious and socioeconomic divides. We care that our refugees feel welcome. Simply put, we care. And we’re not going anywhere. We live here too. We need our neighbors as much as they need us. This is the indescribable gift of community life in the neighborhood. A million and one small, seemingly insignificant things, that add up to the big thing. Because what we do every day matters much more than what we do every once in awhile. This is why Jesus was a big fan of the little things, children, the poor, the meek, the humble and the upside down paradox of the kingdom.
 
Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. - Robert Brault
 
by Jessica Ketola

​Remember as a kid when it was opposite day? Oh the fun we had, the possibilities seemed endless, the opportunities boundless, as we turned every scenario on its head only to burst out into side-splitting giggles. As I read the gospels, I see that Jesus was a big fan of this game. For everywhere he went, he seemed to declare and demonstrate a message that turned everything upside down and inside out.

For in Jesus’ day, when his followers declared Jesus was Lord, this was not a religious or rote saying. Under the ruthless rule of the Roman Empire, Caesar was Lord. No, this was a bold confession of a new allegiance to Jesus’ Empire not the Roman Empire, to a new revolutionary, opposite-day kind of kingdom, not the oppressive, self-serving, power-hungry kingdom of this world.
 
For Lent this year, we are spending time in The Beatitudes. And wow, I think that every day in this kingdom of love might be opposite day. These words, so simple and yet profound, confront and challenge every aspect of the way we do life. The Beatitudes is probably one of the most beloved portions of the gospels, found in Matthew 5 and Luke 6, beginning Jesus’ famous manifesto, The Sermon on the Mount. If Jesus was President (as Shane Claiborne likes to talk about), this would be his state of the union address where he lays out his platform and what he is all about.
 
And yet these words are truly the antithesis of all we hold dear in America. Jesus begins.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
 
Blessed are the poor? Are you kidding me? We do not find it blessed or delightful to be poor. In America today, it is all about acquisition, wealth, possession, climbing the corporate ladder, and social status. We like our nice things, our comforts, our houses, our cars, our private lives, our freedom, our cappuccinos and pour-overs, and all our little luxuries.

And we want to be great. Right? Make America great again! This is the land of opportunity. We’ve just elected the first billionaire as president, and for better or worse, Trump seems to be the manifestation of a culture that has worshipped the gods of capitalism, greed, fame and power. Even our church culture has been affected. A fellow songwriter recently commented on this phenomena in the American church where we have all these “God is Great” songs at the top of the worship charts. And while we know that God is indeed great, we also know he came to the world not in greatness but through humility. His revolution was not one of dominance with tanks and armies but one of submission and subservience that led him to the cross. And so while we want to be great, whether that is through our wealth or our success, our social status or what we can achieve, Jesus invites us to another way.
 
And this is a difficult way. One that is harder for a rich man to traverse than for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle. To empty ourselves of pride and of privilege. To be poor. And to be for the poor.
 
But I have a confession. I want to be great. I have been steeped in a culture that says I am loved and esteemed if I can make something of myself. And yet, Jesus calls me to another way of being, to become poor even as he became poor. To humble myself. To give up my privilege and possessions. And to be for the poor.
 
So we are invited this Lent to die, to empty ourselves of our pride, of our need for success and social status and wealth, our comforts, our own interests and desires, so that we might find life. That we might experience the true government of peace, love and justice in Jesus, not the capitalistic, reality TV government of our current administration. So what does it mean for us to give up privilege, luxuries, time, or our own desires so that those who have nothing could have something?
 
If we take these words of Jesus seriously, this is challenging. This changes the ways we do life. How can we open our homes and our wallets and our lives to be for the poor? What does it mean to embrace simplicity, refusing to consume more than we need and conserving so that other generations might enjoy the beauty and resources of the earth? We have so much. To the point of excess and waste. We rape the land, we pillage, we pollute and we destroy. We buy and we acquire stuff to the point that it becomes a burden. We throw away food when others go hungry. We consume and consume often without regard for its impact, the price of our consumption on the backs of the poor. But for what?

Jesus said, Whatever you do to the least of these, you do unto me. [Matthew 25:40]

As I look in the faces of the poor, as I see Christ looking back at me, my heart breaks. Surely, we are called to repentance. Surely, we have lost our way. If we are to claim that we are followers of Jesus, then I believe that we must respond to the compelling words of our sacred text. It is a time for change and for reformation. Because today and everyday is opposite day.

Lent is here and in some ways it could not have come soon enough. Like the kid who ate too much Halloween candy now forced to eat carrot sticks the next day, the blissful sleep that a delirious toddler finally succumbs to, the detox diet after all the rich food of the holidays or a good, brisk walk after feeling uncomfortably sedentary. It feels welcome. The good kind of discipline that actually feels like a relief, that makes us feel alive and reminds us what “good” truly is. So often, the artificial, the decadent, the loud, the urgent and the glamorous distract us from the simple goodness of life.
 
Which is why I love the season of Lent. (Is it okay to love Lent?) I don’t think I’m being masochistic or a glutton for punishment. For me, it is much more than giving up chocolate or another chance to blow my New Year’s resolution and feel badly about myself. No, Lent is more than that.
 
This year, I find I am welcoming Lent with anticipation and a sense of relief.  For I am bursting with lament. I am full of repentance. My tears overflow with grief and sorrow at the state of our nation, the condition of the church, the wrongs in our culture, the injustices of our communities and the indifference of my own heart. And I am longing for conversion. For transformation. For rebirth. That we would actually (not theoretically) become more like Christ, embodying the presence of Jesus in our neighborhoods and work places. That we would truly be a people of His Presence that live our lives in such a way that would invoke curiosity in those around us. And that we would find the face of Christ in our neighbor and in the stranger, in the weak, the poor and the vulnerable. If all I wanted for Christmas was my two front teeth, then all I want for Lent is transformation.
 
But what are we talking about here? What does repentance feel like? Believe me, it does not feel like that dreaded condemnation or judgment crap that we run from for dear life. No. It does not feel like the mind-numbing wash of shame or the black, heavy boulder in the pit of the stomach. No, it feels good. Like returning to a beautifully, home-cooked meal after a series of stomach-churning junk food binges. Like coming home to yourself after wandering away for so long. Like being grounded again in what is true and right after feeling fragmented and tossed in the wind. It is simply a turning toward and a turning away. It feels good in a deep, soulful way. So repentance, like Lent, is good.
 
Lent is an invitation to find pause in the midst of the chaos. To find silence in the midst of the noise. To rediscover what it is to be hungry. To rekindle desire. To reorder the stuff of our lives and to rid ourselves of the clutter. To return to what truly matters. For Lent is a time for reflection. It is a time for repentance. It is a time for prayer, fasting and almsgiving. To remember the poor. And then to become poor even as Jesus did. Though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich. [2 Corinthians 8:9] Lent is a time to empty ourselves of privilege, wants, desires, and comforts so that others might have them.
 
This is the backwards, upside down paradox of Jesus. That the first will be last and the last will be first. That we must lose our life to gain it. That we must die in order to live. And this is what the journey of Lent is about. The descending path of Jesus. Walking in the way of the cross so that we can experience the new life of the resurrection.
 
Then he said to them all, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it. What does it profit them if they gain the whole world, but lose or forfeit themselves? [Luke 9:23-25]
 
So this season of Lent, let us not run from repentance. But let us embrace this time to turn towards Jesus and to turn away from the counterfeits. Let us embrace the time to do our spring-cleaning, to consider our disordered desires, and to reorient our lives. And please, do not miss the opportunity to lament, to grieve, to fast and to pray. I hope you wore ashes and tore your clothes at least just a little. You must do so or you will inevitably implode with the residual anger and grief that builds with each insult added to injury. Yes, it will feel good. For Lent is good. Good for the soul.

by Jessica Ketola

*** Join us for a 6 week Lenten journey through the Beatitudes, Sundays 10am at The Practicing Church.