Deep and Wide
On things that satisfy
I am tugging at Easter, begging it to stay awhile.
Like a frantic child, grasping a kite string in a windstorm. Or an empty-nesting mom, watching all she poured into go its own way. I am mourning a faith that disappointed. I am grasping at Jesus, desperate for him to remain. And I have come to this dichotomy. On the one hand, I believe we have made too much of sin. On the other hand, I think we have not made nearly enough of it.
When Lent became too much this year. When I could not make sense of others’ ideas about the crucifixion. When the phrases I’d heard and quoted from childhood brought angst, not comfort. I listened to the children.
One asked me during a Sunday morning crafting time, “Who is Satan?” Now, mind you, we had not been talking about him. But I take questions seriously, neither dismissing nor ignoring. I took a stab at answering, and it went sort of like this:
He—well, I wouldn’t say that Satan is a He. We don’t believe that Satan is something that you can see, do we? We might think about Satan being a spirit, like we say that God is a spirit. But that gets so confusing, doesn’t it? I think the Bible says less about Satan than we think. (THERE WAS THAT SNAKE IN THE GARDEN, one child says.) Yes, there was that snake, a serpent, I think our translations call it. And he talked and convinced Eve to do what God had said not to do. (THAT IS WHAT SATAN DOES NOW, another child says.) I suppose that is what we usually say. But, I’m not sure I want us to think like that. Sometimes, it’s just me that doesn’t choose the right thing to do or say. When you’re at home and you don’t want to share the video game or something with your brother or sister—well, I just don’t think that Satan is in you trying to convince you. I kinda think—it’s just you. I don’t see the need to blame Satan. Sometimes it’s just me and you, being selfish, being normal, being impatient.
Another asked me during mass, “Why do we come to church?”
It deserved an answer, and I saw no need to make her wait. So I leaned over and began whispering in her ear, all while the choir was singing. I posed a lot of questions, and she was real good, answering not with loud words, but with a few simple nods of her head.
Do you have a story that you like to read over and over? Or a show on tv or a movie that you like to rewatch? You know it, but you like to read it or see it again. People come to church for different reasons. I come for different reasons depending on what Sunday it is and how I’m feeling. Today I just need to hear the story again. That God made a big beautiful world. That’s all I need today. Being here reminds me that God made all of it—and me. I just sit sometimes and watch and listen. Makes me remember stuff.
I talked enough that she was satisfied. Either that, or it was time for prayers, and the sanctuary was too quiet for me to keep whispering.
I’ve been quieter on here and social media lately. Just searching for Jesus a bit. Searching for life. A few weeks ago, I sat down at the piano—well, one of our pianos, Andy would remind me that we have two, that’s another story—and I just opened up a hymnbook. I took my unpracticed hands and began playing that random song printed on the left-hand side page, and I smiled because in my head I could hear my Daddy singing it. It starts, “I am satisfied. I am satisfied. I am satisfied with Jesus.”
Oh, that I can be. Oh, that I want to be. Satisfied with Jesus.
I felt soothed singing those sentences. But I’m afraid that the song kept on, and I wish it had just stopped. The chorus finishes, every verse ending with it, “But the question comes to me, as I think of Calvary—is my Master satisfied with me?”
My smile turned into a scowl. This is the faith that has disappointed. A culture that asks me over and over if I am good enough. If I have done enough. If I have been grateful enough. If I have—dare I describe it the way it has felt—groveled enough.
Dear Child of God, He is satisfied.
Oh, how many need to hear this message. He is satisfied with you. You’ve got your stuff. You’re just like me. Selfish and downright lazy sometimes. But if he is a good King and a good Father, then I feel pretty certain that the last thing he wants you to hear is not the damning-sounding refrain of that hymn’s chorus. It is not up for debate. His love is big enough for all of us.
To get a fresh sense of the wonder of creation, life, and the power of nature, I took to the back patio for the first time ever. This spring, I took a few lessons from my friend Gretchen, who gave me the link to buy this raised bed and met me at the garden shop to choose vegetables, flowers, and herbs to go in it. She never tires of getting photos of the growth going on over here. Tracy and JoJo and Shannon have also been gardening inspirations.
I’m gonna leave you with these photos. Because I’m quite satisfied with it all.
BONUS: IF YOU HAVE READ THIS FAR, then you deserve something. Do you know what those things are on our patio ground in the very first photo of this post? There’s a close-up of these same things in a later photo. They are on the metal table.
Send me a private message here on substack telling me what they are. On Monday morning at 9am, I’ll take a look at my messages and do a random pick. You don’t have to even be correct :)
One person will get a copy of this book that came out this week that I love. Yes, I have one poem in it :)