Dear Pastor, do you know the significance this Sunday coming?

There’s a gnawing sense of sorrow, a mighty disconnect between a person and their world, a genuine feeling of “I don’t belong,” when a person — females, but also males too — sits in a church service or elsewhere on Mother’s Day and everyone is celebrating.

That’s why International Bereaved Mother’s Day was founded the week prior to Mother’s Day.  It holds space for those who have not yet had a baby, for those who’ve lost a baby, for those whose goals and dreams have been crushed through cruelty of circumstance.

One in four pregnancies end in loss.  Yes, that’s right.  It’s not one in four women.  It’s one in four pregnancies.  Just as the scourge of addiction affects every family, every family bears grief for pregnancy and infant losses.  Perhaps it’s a sister, a brother, a cousin, a niece or nephew, a daughter or even a mother, or a dear friend.

So many women who sit quietly on Mother’s Day may well have very mixed feelings about what the day represents.  For just two instances, not all mothers are wonderful, and some were dearly loved but have died and are cosmically missed — these losses are resoundingly remarkable.

How can a minister best acknowledge the presence of loss that they may or may not know has taken place? — that continues to be felt.  Especially on days like Mother’s Day.

This is where each minister might pray and be led by the Spirit in sensing those in their flock who may well be hurting or refusing to hurt.  Yes, that’s right, for every mother or would-be mother who grieves the loss of shattered dreams, there are those too who had no space made for grief or chose not to grieve.

There are many ways that International Bereaved Mother’s Day might be memorialised in the church and elsewhere.  Mentioning it from the front, taking time to write and pray the prayer publicly, making gifts up, and making a ritual of remembrance are just some ideas.

We have certainly prayed this prayer, and commend prayer as a way of silently honouring loss and the grief that continues to be felt.  Space needs to be made for tears and for vulnerable expression of the emotions.

So long as the moment would not be manipulated (as great harm is done when it happens) a sensitive pastor can call people forward or invite people to respond in their seats — by giving permission for the tears to flow, to be embraced by a hug, to have people stand with the grieving as they give voice or silence to the sadness that they feel.

Church is best when there’s capacity for the sorrows that are real to the human experience.

If we make time and space for the joys, we ought also to make time and space for mourning (see Romans 12:15).  The spiritually mature will know that joys are even more abundant when we can face and feel our mourning.

So this coming Sunday, the Sunday before Mother’s Day, think and pray hard about those who bear immense sorrow or carry scars from the precious concept of motherhood.

The hardest thing is feeling alone in a crowded room

I had vision of it watching an episode of the second season of The Chosen, and it shook me for a few seconds.  The character who plays Matthew sits with the other disciples of Jesus around the fire and is completely excluded because of what they’re talking about: being a Jew during Roman occupation.

Watching the scene through Matthew’s eyes, it’s polarisingly lonely being in his skin as the traitor who partnered with Rome while the other disciples suffered in the hope that their Messiah might come (though he hadn’t come for centuries beforehand).

For Matthew, he doesn’t feel worthy to be sitting around that fire, apart from the fact Jesus called him.  So he is there, but he doesn’t yet feel at home!

Take yourself back to the moment you were deliberately excluded.  Perhaps you deserved it.  Maybe you didn’t.  Whatever the case may be, it always feels horrible when there’s a purple circle and you’re not in it.

It’s as if you don’t exist.  And it’s as if they laugh and sneer at you even as you’re ignored.

When you’re in that place—and you only need to be there once to really be impacted—you swear it’s the worst loneliness there is, even if in truth there a million different forms of loneliness that can imperil us.

I remember when we lost our son, there were babies everywhere, and it seemed like everyone was having a baby or announcing they were pregnant or just so over the moon for someone celebrating.

At the time, no matter how people tried to connect with me on the matter of grief I was “all fine,” and that was as a matter of fact true in part, though I couldn’t just avail myself to just anyone.  My grief was private to me.

This is why grief is a lonely experience first and foremost.

We share portions of it with those who care, but there’s always a limit to how much vulnerability is to be shared, and how much you’ll burden the other even if you feel they’ve got the capacity for it.

Grief leaves us alone in that crowded room where everyone else is alive and awake and of good cheer.  At these touch points we feel utterly alien to experience what we do.

If you’re that person tonight or today, where you feel utterly alone in your world, as if your world were a room full of people, please know that you’re not alone, and that there are people out there who get it.

People you can connect with.  People who will include you.  People who won’t require anything of you.  People who will let you be even while they tend to your lonely heart.

The journey of forgiveness when it feels impossible

“If you feel you cannot forgive, 
it is enough that you want to forgive.”
—Unknown

Forgiveness is hard for many people, yet it’s easy for others.  It’s no credit to those who find it easy, they perhaps have not faced harsh betrayal where there was no reconciliation to justice.

It’s also no condemnation to those who find forgiveness hard, for theirs is a journey of searching out the wisdom and heart change they seek.  There is probably no journey more difficult in all of life than forgiving in the face of unreconciled injustice.

The journey can take years, even decades.

It’s not my belief that a person who finds it impossible to forgive a situation will always feel that way OR that they are to be condemned that they find forgiveness is beyond achievement.

There are always good reasons why people struggle with forgiveness—and many of these reasons is related to trauma.

The person who finds it impossible to forgive but who also wants to forgive is already in a place of doing all that can be asked of them.  This world is not perfect, nor are any of us.  Imperfections are allowed.  But on top of this, reconciling injustice derails most people who have been transgressed.

The person who wants to forgive but still finds it so hard to do has usually tried several times to do it.  They have experienced significant frustration going around and around that cycle of wanting to, searching for how to, mustering up the faith to do it, feeling emotionally exhausted, feeling frustrated and guilty that they went to all this effort for such little result.

Forgiving people who have just moved on without having to face the injustice they caused is excruciatingly hard.  No matter how important forgiveness is, there is still the sense that it’s useless and hopeless anyway because it doesn’t seem to make any difference.

As the person who is doing the forgiveness without reparation of the relationship or justice done, the person can feel as if it’s a lose-lose situation no matter what they do.

Knowing that there are certain injustices that we may take to our graves may not seem to help, other than to know we’re not alone.  Identification can be made with those who have suffered grave injustices.  Identification can also be made with the God who sees everything and who will ultimately have the final word.  Inevitably that is usually enough, but it’s still a process.

If you’re in a place of feeling it’s impossible to forgive a person or situation, take heart enough to know it’s good enough that you want to forgive.  You’re not condemned if you can’t forgive yet.  Imagine God empathising with you on your complicated journey of unpacking trauma.

The last thing anyone needs when they’re struggling to forgive is to feel guilty, ashamed, or worst condemned.  There is always a valid reason for those who would rather forgive but can’t yet.  The valid reason is usually linked to trauma.  Faith says to these situations, “Just keep trusting.”

The wisdom in forgiving when it feels impossible is in backing off, healing the trauma, trusting THAT process.  Forgiving usually occurs AFTER embarking on the journey of empathy for what was suffered.

On not being the Enabler

Two cases in the not-so-distant past, and many more mind you, I’ve been reminded of the power for change in people’s lives when we DON’T enable poor behaviour.

To be clear, this is when we do things for people that they can and ought to do for themselves, because in doing things for people such unseen harm is done.  The chief harm is that they don’t grow into responsible people with agency for their lives.

Let me elaborate.

Struggle comes into everyone’s lives, and there are those who transcend the worst of situations and they become inspirations.  Everyone is capable of saying to their hardship, “This situation shall not define me... this situation will not relegate me... this situation may be my present, but it will not dictate my future.”

What is typical in this life is that those who are capable of more will rely upon the good nature of responsible people and do less than they could.  The failing of an otherwise good-natured person is to buckle with sympathy and give into the demand, however subtle or overt it may be—and, let’s be straight, some of these demands are plain manipulations.

This is typical of an addicted person’s behaviour.  To feed their addiction they need support or, better put, enablement.  They require others to come alongside and help them continue to evade what life is presenting as opportunities for them to grow.  They resist because there is pain ahead.  Their pain, however, is no more than is commonly met and conquered by others.

Anyone who prospers in this life has met their pain in its face.  They sacrificed when there was always an easier option.  They decided against ease, however, and went the way of responsibility and as a result they grew.

There are people who continue to go their own merry way of denial, yet have you noticed who they need as their support?  They need the person who has already overcome their own personal challenges—many of these people who have met pain full-on are what we call “empaths” because they know full well what pain is and they empathise with those who are only now meeting their pain.  This is why empaths are often taken advantage of by those who seem gifted in manipulation.

One of the chief goals of the responsible life is to love others enough to not let them off the hook of their own lives.

When we know the power there is in taking responsibility for our own life, why would we prevent another person from experiencing this power?

We ought not to save another person from the pain that is otherwise good for them.

Each person must make for themselves their own path, and we can and certainly should encourage such a person.  The wisdom is in knowing how much and what kind of support they need, resisting “rescuing” them.

The folly of a person who continues to evade the consequences of a life poorly lived is obvious.  It’s a blessing for them to come face-to-face with such a reality.  The very moment they see the fruit of their lives for what it has produced is the same moment that the miracle of turning and putting their hand to the plough might be seen.

All that stands against any of us is a mountain to be climbed, and each person must climb their own mountain.  There’s nothing wrong with getting (and giving) moral support, but this work can’t be done for another.

In the above context, the less we intervene in a person’s life the more we love them.

Some people need the motivation that, “If they won’t help me, I’ll help myself,” or even the motivation that says, “I’ll show them... I’ll prove them wrong.”   Good!

It’s so sweet to prove people wrong, and also to be proved wrong, especially when a person has ascended a mountain neither thought possible to be climbed.

Fighting like a pacifist

There was a period in my life where I fought nothing like a pacifist, hurt as I was by injustices that seemed beyond my power to forgive.  Thankfully, a power found me that was more than adequate to soften my calloused heart.

Before those injustices occurred, I was a pacifist.  Since February last year, I’ve been a pacifist.  More truly, I’ve always been a pacifist.  I’ve always fought like a pacifist—except for a time when I thought injustice could and should be fought another way.

The best way to fight injustice is through pacifism.

Sounds bizarre, doesn’t it?  Allow me to argue a case for fighting like a pacifist.

Firstly, pacifism is nothing like cowardice.  It takes more moral courage to respond with pacifism than to fight the conventional fight.  It is this way because pacifism opts for a common victory that people caught in conflict typically know nothing about.  The pacifist response sees ALL parties, including those innocent ones who are always hurt as collateral damage of violence.  

Operationally there must be agreement and a compelling commitment to pacifism well before angry nerves are stirred.

Pacifism to its core is a fight that never fights.  But it’s a fight that conquers fighting.  The way of pacifism leaves fighters mystified because of the strength of its peaceful power.  Pacifism stands in the fight without fear because it’s principled for something better.

It’s best described through a story.

Picture being at a professional-level basketball game and approaching half-time an official from the home team (who is down about 25 points) is incensed by one of the fans of the visiting team.  This fan is a bit of a mascot for the away team.  He is also intellectually impaired and struggles to be emotionally intelligent.  The two are witnessed by the away team fans standing toe-to-toe, the home team official towering over the visiting team’s mascot figure.  Violence is about to ensue, and anything can happen.  The moment is about to boil over into a melee.  Then, out of nowhere a person steps right between the two with the presence of a friend to both.  A smile to one, a smile to the other, some calming words, an arm around a shoulder, and the impasse is over.  Just like that.  Moment defused.  I’ve seen it work time and again.

Of course, it’s easier to step between warring parties than be a party to the conflict ourselves.

It’s good just knowing that pacificism is the wisest way to fight.  If we can accept that by faith, we fight for the good of all parties by not fighting, and by seeking truces every step of the way.

Central to making pacifism work is an unequivocal belief that people are capable of goodness.

Fighting like a pacifist is one of the hardest fights because there’s a lot of resistance from others, and we occasionally battle with our own indignant pride that says, “No way!  I’m not having that injustice!”

Someone must lead the way to peace, and peace always has hope about it because it’s safe to allcomers.  I’ve always said it, you can’t fight me if I refuse to fight you back.

One thing that bystanders always notice when two people are fighting is the chaos.  So many who watch on when anger boils over into the fury of fists or the flurry of words are afraid for what might still take place—especially when the clock can’t be wound back.

Pacifism is the Cross in all its glory, a perfect sacrifice of a good man facing an eternity of injustice.  We get to exemplify the work of the Cross in our relations in our own lives each day we walk this earth.

The strength of courage it takes to stand and not run, but say “I will not fight, but believe for peace,” cannot be underestimated.  Certainly, it will not convince the tyrant, but the entirety of eternity bears witness to one’s refusal to fight evil with evil to cause even more evil.  The evil must stop at us.

Fighting only buries the conquest for peace and redemption, understanding that there are people who have no interest in either.

People of peace are a compelling presence in this world.  But we must believe big in a justice beyond fighting.

In a divisive world, there’s nothing more subversive than pacifism.

NOTE: there are times when we are required to tell truth in a way that others feel attacked.  This is not against pacifism.  If people do no wrong, they have nothing to worry about.  If people do wrong, they have recourse to apology.

Close calls and second chances, and life beyond them

One thing I’m eternally grateful for is I’ve lived life a few different ways during my lifetime, and I’m really thankful to be relatively healthy at my age with what I’ve done.  

I know so many like me, who have tasted life in different ways and who have gleaned wisdom along the way.  It creates in us perspective and an appreciation of grace.

Some of the risks I’ve taken include driving a car over 210 kilometres per hour, basically double the speed limit, and I’ve been in several near misses on the roads and elsewhere.  We’ve all had those close calls.

Once I chugged a whole bottle of rum, and that, among a plethora of other regrettable drinking escapades where I was the life of the party or drank alone.  As a younger person, I’ve used anabolic steroids and illicit drugs.  I smoked cigarettes heavily for nearly 15 years.  Twice, many years ago, I got too close to contemplating my own demise.

In my earlier working days, I took many health and safety risks that until now I’ve gotten away with.  In the surf, once I nearly drowned.  I’ve been king hit by a coward’s punch, receiving a broken nose that required surgery.  I’ve had several injuries that could’ve been much worse, including one where I almost severed a femoral artery.

Besides having numerous near misses with cars and trucks on the roads riding a bike, I’ve almost knocked a man off his bike in a car I was driving, and when I was a six-year-old child, I was impacted by a car.

Apart from all this, I’ve been tremendously blessed to not yet have to deal with a terminal illness.  And, if this counts, once I exorcised a demon from a home of a man I was counselling—and apparently it worked (I just should never have attempted that on my own).

Many of you reading this would nod in agreement in terms of your own life.  So many people I know have taken even riskier life paths than I have, and I’m often inspired by stories of survival and recovery I hear when I’m counselling and elsewhere.

Equally, I know of those who have tragically been taken, and none of this diminishes their lives, and it makes us consider with solemnity and respect their loved ones who have been left behind—the grief they’ve bravely borne.  And it underscores how fortunate many of us have been.

One of the conclusions we can make from this is life is long enough for most of us that we’re not condemned by our pasts.  Life is long enough for most of us that we have time to reflect as impetus to changing our way of living.

But only we can take those as opportunities.  We’re the only ones who can.

For those loved ones of ours who equally live dangerously, theirs too is their own opportunity, and we who look on must simply trust that they might embrace life, accepting their decisions and the outcomes as they occur.  Not saying that’s easy!  It isn’t.

It’s hard to make another person’s decision for them.  Indeed, it’s madness.  It’s hard enough making our own decisions, especially those that require a sustained will, like overcoming addictions and forming new habits.

Yes, it’s hard enough living our own lives, and impossible to live another’s.

But the fact is, as we reflect over the things we’ve gotten away with, today or tomorrow is the opportunity to do life differently, to make the most of the second and thirty-second chances we’ve had.

When we consider the things that haven’t cost us dearly, we’ve got a lot to be thankful for.  Yet it leaves those who have lost loved ones in similar situations feeling cheated.  Life is fickle and yet most of us have been significantly blessed by many second chances.

It’s something to be genuinely grateful for.

The secret virtue behind achieving inner peace

Everyone—or at least the majority—it seems wants inner peace, yet few understand or are prepared to do what is required to achieve it.  Here’s what I think is the secret and highly unpopular single virtue behind the achievement of inner peace:

HUMILITY

The humble person:

-                values others above themselves (Philippians 2:3)

-                walks humbly with their God (Micah 6:8)

-                epitomises love (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

-                is patient, and they bear with others (Ephesians 4:2)

-                waits for the Lord to lift them up (James 4:10; 1 Peter 5:6)

-                embodies the willingness to lose so all may win (2 Corinthians 8:9)

-                is forgiven and healed (2 Chronicles 7:14)

-                is full of wisdom (James 3:13)

-                will be honoured by God (Proverbs 15:33; 18:12)

The foregoing point directly to peace.  Humility is what delivers such peace.

Yet, humility is hard for us all.
Selfish pride is our common human default.

The more success we experience in life, the harder it is to remain humble.

The more power we have, the harder it is to keep making humble choice.

The more possessions we gain, the harder it is to stay humble because we can become possessive.

The more popular we are, the harder it is to be humble in the acquaintances we keep.

The key to peace is to love others while also accepting the love we give out of humility is good enough.  Being at peace leaves no stone unturned in loving others while it’s also about knowing that our best efforts are good enough.

It takes mastery in humility to achieve that balance—loving others practically, with good effect, balanced with resisting the temptation to feel guilty when others don’t think it’s good enough.  If we KNOW what we did was the best we could do, we can be conscience free.  This is about not feeling like we need to protect ourselves and our reputations.

Humility is free enough to accept that good enough is good enough.

Humility is true freedom from the bonds of self, and therefore it takes us to the junction of peace.

Humility is neither covetous for its own in selfishness, nor is it protective of its own in fear.

The more we search for peace in this life, the more we may come to find that humility is the way to such a cherished prize.

Certainly, as we continue our quest for humility, more will we encounter the wisdom of a peace that transcends our understanding.

Peacemakers win when it seems they lose

What does the phrase, “Blessed are the peacemakers,” really mean?  It refers to those who don’t retaliate when they’re attacked, betrayed, contravened, desecrated, or exploited are blessed—because they use the opportunity to respond the right way.

If there’s one fault with today’s form of Christianity even compared with how it was ten years ago, it’s that Christians seem to feel more entitled to react to attacks, betrayals, contraventions, desecrations, and exploitations than ever before.

Of course, it makes so much human sense.
But there’s no wisdom in reacting.

Rather than holding open to the possibility that good might be done out of bad, retaliation simply adds more fuel to the fire of conflict.

If any of this makes sense to us, it’s because we’re genuine pacifists.  A genuine pacifist will get out of the way by refusing to retaliate so as to allow divine action and appropriate sanctioned justice to potentially enter the space and heal the moment.

Being a pacifist isn’t hard, but first we must resign ourselves to the fact that worldly people will see us as losers.  The eternal irony, however, is the only way to ‘win’ in the game of conflict is by being a pacifist.  That is because the offense, the trespass, the debt, the crime is ‘on’ the offender, the trespasser, the debtor, the criminal—the person who did the harm.  The offense, the trespass, the debt, the crime is never ‘on’ the pacifist who was offended against, trespassed, the creditor, the noble one—because they did no harm.

~

When a person does something to harm us or someone we love, and we don’t retaliate, but we consider what the just response is and do only that, what was done is on them, it’s not on us.

When a person takes it upon themselves to disregard us rather than considering us, and we don’t retaliate, but we consider what the just response is and do only that, what was done is on them, it’s not on us.

When a person shouts over the top of us, and we have the poise to listen and to not interrupt, their behaviour is on them, it’s not on us.  We’ve respected them while they’ve disrespected us.  

We’re the wise and loving ones and they are not, no matter what anyone says.

When someone does the wrong thing by us and we eventually forgive, we have done the right thing and it’s not on us. But if someone has done the wrong thing by us and they don’t seek our forgiveness, it’s on them, it’s not on us.  Their debt is transferred to God and we let God sort it out.

When a situation leaves us disadvantaged, yet we don’t respond out of an anger that damages people and things, we have already won the only victory worth winning.  It’s okay to be overwhelmed, sad, and even angry, to respond emotionally, but without doing harm to anyone or anything—including ourselves.

When a person corners us in conversation and expects us to respond without giving us time to think, and we’re neither combative nor shrinking, it’s on them, it’s not on us.  When they coerce us into agreeing with them, and we neither disagree or agree and just stay in the moment, it’s on them, it’s not on us.

When a person insists on taking our spot or roaring past us or otherwise enjoying something that is ours, though it may still hurt, it’s to our credit when we don’t react because we’re owed.  We only remain owed when we refuse to avenge the situation.  It’s only to our credit as long as the other person doesn’t apologise.

As soon as those who offend apologise, seeing the error in their way, making right of their wrong, committing not to do it again, and they seek our forgiveness, all is equal again.

It’s always a peacemaker’s prayer, but never our expectation, that a person might reciprocate our grace.  Our arms are the arms of receiving the repentant graciously, but we agree never to expect justice, because it only makes us angry when our expectations aren’t met.

The costs of the harms done are on those who do them.

Blessed only are those who do no harm.

20 years ago, the beginning of the end

I was 90 minutes late to a job interview and two hours later was offered the great opportunity I’d prayed for.  It was the weirdest thing to call the men who were interviewing me to explain I’d arrived in the right street but in the wrong suburb, to hear that they still wanted me to front up.  They asked one crucial question and it was my response to that question that won me the job.  I was to become the State health, safety, security, and environment coordinator for a global oil company.

And it was one of the worst decisions of my life.

I traded ambition for the real prize of life, family, without ever realising it.  Not two years later, having received the news that I’d missed out on the national manager position, that same day, my marriage was over.  Overnight.  I hadn’t seen it coming but I should have seen it coming.

I’d been in a job role that saw me have so much autonomy that I could travel our large State at will, needing to visit each site twice yearly.  Within 9 months I had the gold frequent flyer card.  I could book flights, hotel rooms, and hire cars and plan a trip in 10 minutes.  One week I’d been to Kununurra, Esperance, and Melbourne.  That’s six flights and about 12,000 kilometres.  It was nothing for an incident to occur and for me to be on the next flight or travelling regionally in my company four wheel drive within an hour.

When I was home, I was wired up to work emails and phone calls, and on one infamous occasion I took my then-wife out to a work function and left her with strangers while I dealt with a facility break-in in South Australia and a collision of two fuel tank trailers in the Great Southern.

I was so far out of my comfort zone, still so sure and certain in my competence, that I found a way to cope—through the escapism of alcohol consumption to destress, mostly on the weekends.

Being a pastor and counsellor these days, I had a faith back then, but I’d backslid into a place of a faith that simply didn’t work, the material world had taken over, I was doing my whole life in my own pitiful strength.

I knew it wasn’t working but I kept that secret to myself as I faked it until I could make it.  My life was imploding, and I didn’t know how to reverse it.

I’d staked my life on my career, but in overbalancing I lost everything.

The 17 months between April 2002 and September 2003 was a mirage.  Nearly one hundred flights and over 70,000 kilometres on the road later, none of it meant a scrap compared with losing it all—my wife, 24/7 access to my three children, my home, and ultimately I had to leave my job for another position that required no travel because I couldn’t bear to be more than 50 kilometres from my kids.

I don’t care what anyone says, you never truly recover from an investment in marriage and family of 15 years that ends in separation and divorce.  You are, however, forced to accept what you cannot change.  It still saddens me 20 years down the track how there is NO space made for me to be able to talk about my daughters’ younger lives and our time as a family back then.  It’s as if it didn’t happen.  I dearly love the connection I have with each of my three daughters, but I sincerely feel they missed out and continue to miss out.  They may not see it that way, but that’s the way I see it.

I’ll never forget sitting in some of those early AA meetings bewildered, thinking “How on earth did I get here?”  And I still have those thoughts in my life today.  20 years later.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very thankful for my life, but realistically, part of me died 20 years ago, and if I’m honest it still hurts.  Even that’s okay, because I know the ingenuity of the gospel that makes all things new of even the darkest lament.

I know I’ve crammed a lot into the last 20 years, and all my daughters have grown up.  There are so many things to be thankful for.  But there’s still room for sober reflection, and to honour what was my life, however wrong it was at the time.

I never shy away from those periods of my life that some might shun because they were part of the making of me, however hard they were to live at the time.

I’ll always make time to reflect over the darker times of my life.

20 years ago, and the beginning of the end was nigh.  I had no idea.  I also had no idea of what it would produce in me.  It became the catalyst in a life dedicated to serving God.

Picture taken of double road train leaving Albany Terminal and my Holden Frontera partially in view.