Archives by: Gary Hoag

Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go. John 21:18

“We have both seen how some of our friends could not accept unforeseen changes in their lives and were unable to deal with an unknown future. When things went differently than they had expected or took a drastic turn, they did not know how to adjust to the new situation. Sometimes they became bitter and sour. Often they clung to familiar patterns of living that were no longer adequate and kept repeating what once made sense but no longer could speak to the real circumstances of the moment.

Death has often affected people in this way, as we know too well. The death of husband, wife, child, or friend can cause people to stop living toward the unknown future and make them withdraw into the familiar past. They keep holding on to a few precious memories and customs and see their lives as having come to a standstill. They start to live as if they were thinking, “For me it is all over. There is nothing more to expect from life.” As you can see, here the opposite of detachment is taking place; here is a reattachment that makes life stale and takes all vitality out of existence. It is a life in which hope no longer exists.

If mother’s death were to lead us onto that road, her death would have no real meaning for us. Her death would be or become for us a death that closes the future and makes us live the rest of our lives in the enclosure of our own past. Then, our experience of powerlessness would not give us the freedom to detach ourselves from the past, but would imprison us in our own memories and immobilize us. Thus we would also lose the autonomy you have always held so dear.

I think there is a much more human option. It is the option to re-evaluate the past as a continuing challenge to surrender ourselves to an unknown future. It is the option to understand our experience of powerlessness as an experience of being guided, even when we do not know exactly where. Remember what Jesus said to Peter when he appeared to him after his resurrection: “When you were young you put on your own belt and walked where you liked; but when you grow old you will stretch out your hands, and somebody else will put a belt round you and take you where you would rather not go.”

Jesus said this immediately after he had told Peter three times to look after his sheep. Here we can see that a growing surrender to the unknown is a sign of spiritual maturity and does not take away autonomy. Mother’s death is indeed an invitation to surrender ourselves more freely to the future, in the conviction that one of the most important parts of our lives may still be ahead of us and that mother’s life and death were meant to make this possible. Do not forget that only after Jesus’ death could his disciples fulfill their vocation.”

Henri Nouwen in A Letter of Consolation (New York: HarperOne, 2009) 49. Let me know if you want this PDF. It’s a must-read for those who mourn or are struggling with difficult circumstances in life. It’s also a must-share for anyone you sense needing consolation.

If you wonder why this exploration of consolation, then let me report that these posts have touched me and many others deeply.

They have helped us revisit losses to see how God might use them for gain. It has taught us not to allow death to immobilize us but move us.

And the idea of being “guided” is so powerful. God will take us places (often out of our comfort zone) for our good and His glory.

So, in hard times like the ones we find ourselves, let us be people whose generosity reminds people that through surrender we find new life.

For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it. Mark 8:35

“Things that made us worry greatly later prove to be quite insignificant, and things to which we hardly gave a thought before they took place turn our lives around. Thus our autonomy is rooted in unknown soil. This constitutes the great challenge: to be so free that we can be obedient, to be so autonomous that we can be dependent, to be so in control that we can surrender ourselves. Here we touch the great paradox in life: to live in order to be able to die. That is what detachment is all about. Detachment is not the opposite of autonomy but its fruit.”

Henri Nouwen in A Letter of Consolation (New York: HarperOne, 2009) 49. Let me know if you want this PDF. It’s powerful.

Got to see a dear Aussie mate, Tim Macready, this weekend. He was visiting Denver and plans to move here with his family in a few months.

He reported that packing up his home in Sydney into a shipping crate has been hard because they have accumulated so many things. As a shrewd steward, he added that while most of the things they possess they acquired for little or no money, the stewardship of them was still a burden.

Things. Notice what Henri writes about things.

“Things that made us worry greatly later prove to be quite insignificant, and things to which we hardly gave a thought before they took place turn our lives around.” The reason for detachment from things is it positions us to take hold of what really matters.

So, what worries you greatly today?

Tim is realizing that downsizing will allow him to travel through life with less burdens. It will free him to live, give, serve, and love more generously.

What about you? Are there things from which it is time to detach?

When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy. Psalm 94:19

“Consolation is a beautiful word. It means “to be” (con-) “with the lonely one” (solus). To offer consolation is one of the most important ways to care. Life is so full of pain, sadness, and loneliness that we often wonder what we can do to alleviate the immense suffering we see. We can and must offer consolation. We can and must console the mother who lost her child, the young person with AIDS, the family whose house burned down, the soldier who was wounded, the teenager who con- templates suicide, the old man who wonders why he should stay alive. To console does not mean to take away the pain but rather to be there and say, “You are not alone, I am with you. Together we can carry the burden. Don’t be afraid. I am here.” That is consolation. We all need to give it as well as to receive it.”

Henri Nouwen in Bread For The Journey (New York: HarperOne, 2006) reading for 9 February. This is a daily devotional that I located in PDF form. Let me know if you’d like a free copy.

Notice the last sentence. It’s worth repeating.

“We all need to give it as well as to receive [consolation].” It’s not taking away but drawing near the brokenhearted. Saying “I am with you with our words and our actions.”

I am learning to do this.

It’s a vital aspect of our generosity, especially for people enduring hard times. We need to come alongside them, to help carry their burden. And how do we get the strength to do this?

The psalmist teaches us.

When we have pain and challenges, anxieties and stress, we find consolation in God. This refreshes and renews us to aid others. It positions us to lift their gaze heavenward.

I have a quick story about this.

We had our catalytic converters stolen from our Toyota Sequoia. Jenni shared this in a recent Spigot post and a friend came alongside her, encouraged her and pointed to a place that could help.

We had $3,732 in our tax refund and were asking God what to do with it.

The first bid was going to be $6,060 to fix them. We prayed. This friend offered us consolation and help. The place she pointed us to fixed them for almost exactly what we had: $3,670.

Why tell this story? It’s a story of consolation.

We came on hard times. We cried out to God. We had peace but still suffered. A friend drew near to us. Listened. Helped. God filled us with peace and provided for our needs and sent a friend to journey with us.

Consolation. We all need to give it as well as receive it.

And the place we can find and unlimited supply is the God of all hope who fills us with joy and peace when we put our trust in Him.

Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. John 12:24

“When Jesus said that if a grain of wheat dies it will yield a rich harvest, he not only spoke about his own death but indicated the new meaning he would give to our death. So we have to ask ourselves, “Where do we see the harvest of mother’s death?” There is no doubt in my mind that this harvest is becoming visible first of all in those who loved her most. Our deep love for her allows us to be the first to reap the harvest and to share with others the gifts of her death.

Isn’t it here that we have to start if we want to discover the meaning of mother’s death? Before anything else, we have to come into touch with—yes, even claim—the mysterious reality of new life in ourselves. Others might see it, feel it, and enjoy it before we do. That is why I am writing to you about it. We may help each other to see this new life. That would be true consolation.

It would make us experience in the center of our beings that the pain mother’s death caused us has led us to a new way of being, in which the distance between mother, father, or child slowly dissolves. Thus our separation from mother brings us to a new inner unity and invites us to make that new unity a source of joy and hope for each other and for others as well.”

Henri Nouwen in A Letter of Consolation (New York: HarperOne, 2009) 26-27. Let me know if you want this PDF. It’s powerful.

I titled today’s post “share unexpected gifts with others” because Nouwen brought to my attention the gifts of death, which at least to me, were quite unexpected.

If we move toward the pain of loss we discover new life and true consolation. My proclivity is to stuff my feelings, to deny or ignore pain, or to avoid it. In so doing, I miss the gifts.

But now as I think about this process that Henri suggests it helps me see the purpose, the blessing, the gifts of a person’s life to me for myself and for others.

Also, I can see how this would bring us as people, closer together, and cause the blessings of the deceased to spread. This is generosity at a deep and unexpected level.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

“Real grief is not healed by time. It is false to think that the passing of time will slowly make us forget her and take away our pain. I really want to console you in this letter, but not by suggesting that time will take away your pain, and that in one, two, three, or more years you will not miss her so much anymore.

I would not only be telling a lie, I would be diminishing the importance of mother’s life, underestimating the depth of your grief, and mistakenly relativizing the power of the love that has bound mother and you together for forty-seven years. If time does anything, it deepens our grief. The longer we live, the more fully we become aware of who she was for us, and the more intimately we experience what her love meant for us.

Real, deep love is, as you know, very unobtrusive, seemingly easy and obvious, and so present that we take it for granted. Therefore, it is often only in retrospect—or better, in memory—that we fully realize its power and depth. Yes, indeed, love often makes itself visible in pain.”

Henri Nouwen in A Letter of Consolation (New York: HarperOne, 2009) 16.

Henri wrote this letter to his father about six months after the death of his mother. He went on to publish it to help others who grieved to find consolation in Christ.

I located the PDF for sharing. Let me know if you want it. It seems like everyone I know is enduring grief and pain. Often, people say that time heals. Henri offers an alternative perspective.

While healing can take place over time, giving attention to pain is the pathway for finding love. So, avoiding or denying grief or pain is not the answer. But we need to make intentional effort here.

Henri admits early on in this book that he was busy when his mom died. We all are. Only when he took time to reflect and embrace the pain of his loss did he find the love he needed.

If you or someone you know has experienced loss. Encourage them to move toward the pain. There they will find love. In so doing, you will give them a gift that is precisely what they need most.

Today I honor my wife Jenni. It’s her birthday. As the Soulcare Anchoress, she helps move toward their pain and brokenness and discover the love of God in unfathomable ways. Happy Birthday Jenni!

For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort. 2 Corinthians 1:5-7

“Ministers are those who can make their search for au­thenticity possible, not by standing on the side as neutral screens or impartial observers, but as articulate witnesses of Christ, who put their own search at the disposal of oth­ers. This hospitality requires that ministers not only know where they stand and whom they stand for, it also requires that they allow others to enter into their lives, to come close to them, and to ask how their lives are connected with one another.

Nobody can predict where this will lead us, because every time hosts allow themselves to be influenced by their guests they take the risk of not knowing how their lives will be affected. But it is exactly in common searches and shared risks that new ideas are born, that new visions reveal themselves, and that new roads become visible.

We do not know where we will be two, ten, or twenty years from now. What we can know, however, is that hu­mans suffer and that a sharing of this suffering can help us move forward. Ministers are called to make this forward thrust credible to their many guests, so that they do not stay still, but have a growing desire to move on in the conviction that the full liberation of humankind is still to come.”

Henri Nouwen in The Wounded Healer: Ministry in a Contemporary Society (New York: Image, 1972) 105-106. This is a solid book. Reply if you want the PDF.

The role of ministers is to welcome others into their journey, to share their search, so that others may be aided, helped, and served. This shapes everyone in the process. It also impacts everyone involved in untold ways as we share both our risks and our suffering.

As I serve a global community of stewards in my role at GTP, I am exposed to challenges in Africa that I could not have imagined, touched by challenges in Asia I never dreamed, stretched by difficulties in Latin America to which I have not related.

It’s both complicated and transforming. Whether you work with people all over the world or from around your neighborhood, your lives shape each other. It’s impossible to chart where this will take you. But I am confident it is similar to what the Apostle Paul described linked to the Corinthians.

Today’s Scripture elaborates on the interconnectedness of suffering, comfort, and hope that we have both with Christ and with each other. This level of sharing has risks, that is, it’s messy, and rewards, it’s uplifting! Nouwen merely spells out what this looks like for us.

Generous ministers care about the searches of others and realize that in helping them, they too are helped.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: “For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:35-39

“When we are not afraid to journey into our own center, and to concentrate on the stirrings of our own souls, we come to know that being alive means being loved. This experience tells us that we can only love because we are born out of love, that we can only give because our life is a gift, and that we can only make others free because we are set free by the One whose heart is greater than our own. And when we have finally found the anchor place for our lives within our own center we can be free to let others enter into the space created for them, and allow them to dance their own dance, sing their own song, and speak their own language without fear. Then our presence is no longer threatening and demanding, but inviting and liberating.”

Henri Nouwen in The Wounded Healer: Ministry in a Contemporary Society (New York: Image, 1972) 97-98.

This is a powerful book. Again, reply if you want the PDF.

Basically Nouwen reminds ministers that we cannot save anyone. We cannot make their problems go away. And, while yesterday we discovered that we can help them find hope, today we learn that our role is to teach them to find their anchor place in the One who loves them and from whose love nothing can separate them.

It this place we realize that our life is the gift to them.

This creates space for them to dance and sing, to speak and move in peace with joy. This invites them to a new way of living rooted in knowing that they are loved. If this is deep stuff, too deep to ponder, then know this. As Richard Foster put it, the world does not need more smart people, but more deep people.

The people around us need us to locate this anchor place.

When we do, our life becomes the gift they need. I am not there yet, but I am understanding these profound truths so I can help those around me, those I serve, those I work with, to experience this love and the peace and joy it brings.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13

“The Christian leader, min­ister or priest, is not one who reveals God to the people­ — who gives something to those who have nothing — but one who helps those who are searching to discover reality as the source of their existence…

In this context, pastoral conversation is not merely a skillful use of conversational techniques to manipulate peo­ple into the Kingdom of God, but a deep human encounter in which people are willing to put their own faith and doubt, their own hope and despair, their own light and darkness at the disposal of others who want to find a way through their confusion and touch the solid core of life.

In this context, preaching means more than handing over a tradition; it is, rather, the careful and sensitive ar­ticulation of what is happening in the community so that those who listen can say: “You say what I only suspected, you clearly express what I vaguely felt, you bring to the fore what I fearfully kept in the back of my mind. Yes, yes — you say who we are, you recognize our condition.”

When someone who listens is able to say this, then the ground is broken for others to receive the Word of God. And no minister need doubt that the Word will be received! The young especially do not have to run away from their fears and hopes but can see themselves in the face of the one who leads them; the minister will make them understand the words of salvation which in the past often sounded to them like words from a strange and unfamiliar world…

So the first and most basic task of contemporary Chris­tian leaders is to lead people out of the land of confusion into the land of hope.”

Henri Nouwen in The Wounded Healer: Ministry in a Contemporary Society (New York: Image, 1972) 43-44.

This is a great book.

It sketches counsel for doing ministry in a dislocated world to rootless generations bereft of hope. And it acknowledges the wounds and loneliness of the minister.

I found the PDF if you want it.

Today’s post reminds us as Christian workers that our giving may not be just material, but also deeply spiritual. We get to articulate what is happening in a manner that brings hope.

This is easier said than done.

To lead people from confusion to hope, we must make the journey first ourselves. This is where I find myself. Trusting God at deeper levels helps me overflow with hope. Join me on this way.

One day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the time of prayer—at three in the afternoon. Now a man who was lame from birth was being carried to the temple gate called Beautiful, where he was put every day to beg from those going into the temple courts. When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for money. Peter looked straight at him, as did John. Then Peter said, “Look at us!” So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them.

Then Peter said, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” Taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man’s feet and ankles became strong. He jumped to his feet and began to walk. Then he went with them into the temple courts, walking and jumping, and praising God. When all the people saw him walking and praising God, they recognized him as the same man who used to sit begging at the temple gate called Beautiful, and they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him. Acts 3:1-10

“When people show you their boundaries (“I can’t do this for you”), you feel rejected. You cannot accept the fact that others are unable to do for you all that you expect from them. You desire boundless love, boundless care, boundless giving.

Part of your struggle is to set boundaries to your own love—something you have never done. You give whatever people ask of you, and when they ask for more, you give more, until you find yourself exhausted, used, and manipulated. Only when you are able to set your own boundaries will you be able to acknowledge, respect, and even be grateful for the boundaries of others.

In the presence of the people you love, your needs grow and grow, until those people are so overwhelmed by your needs that they are practically forced to leave you for their own survival.

The great task is to claim yourself for yourself, so that you can contain your needs within the boundaries of your self and hold them in the presence of those you love. True mutuality in love requires people who possess themselves and who can give to each other while holding on to their own identities.

So, in order both to give more effectively and to be more self-contained with your needs, you must learn to set boundaries to your love.”

Henri Nouwen in The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom (New York: Image, 1999) 20. Found another winner! I located this book in PDF form. Reply if you want a copy.

Today Henri helps us learn how to give more effectively. This is something I think most readers want to know. We see it illustrated in today’s Scripture.

Peter and John head into the temple and the lame beggar expects something from them. This is true for all of us, even if we are not lame. We have expectations of each other linked to giving.

When he asks them for a handout of money, the reply of Peter and John shocks him. They don’t give him what he wants but what he needs from what they have. They offer a hand up. A miracle happens.

Nouwen’s counsel echoes this. It may surprise us because Henri does not point us to study the analytics of various charities to give more effectively. In plain terms, he does not point us outward, but rather inward.

Peter and John had boundaries and knew what they could give. When we set such boundaries we too are able to increase the effectiveness of our loving generosity. What might such boundaries look like for you?

At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship and said: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.” Job 1:20-21

“If there is any word that summarizes well our pain, it is the word “loss.” We have lost so much! Sometimes it even seems that life is just one long series of losses. When we were born we lost the safety of the womb, when we went to school we lost the security of our family life, when we got our first job we lost the freedom of youth, when we got married or ordained we lost the joy of many options, and when we grew old we lost our good looks, our old friends, or our fame. When we became weak or ill, we lost our physical independence, and when we die we will lose it all! And these losses are part of the ordinary life!

But whose life is ordinary? The losses that settle themselves deeply in our hearts and minds are the loss of intimacy through separations, the loss of safety through violence, the loss of innocence through abuse, the loss of friends through betrayal, the loss of love through abandonment, the loss of home through war, the loss of well-being through hunger, heat, and cold, the loss of children through illness or accidents, the loss of country through political upheaval, and the loss of life through earthquakes, floods, plane crashes, bombings, and diseases.

Perhaps many of these dark losses are far away from most of us; maybe they belong to the world of newspapers and television screens, but nobody can escape the agonizing losses that are part of our everyday existence — the loss of our dreams. We had thought so long of ourselves as successful, liked, and deeply loved. We had hoped for a life of generosity, service, and self-sacrifice. We had planned to become forgiving, caring, and always gentle people. We had a vision of ourselves as reconcilers and peacemakers.

But somehow — we aren’t even sure of what happened — we lost our dream. We became worrying, anxious people clinging to the few things we had collected and exchanging with one another news of the political, social, and ecclesiastical scandals of the day. It is this loss of spirit that is often hardest to acknowledge and most difficult to confess. But beyond all of these things there is the loss of faith — the loss of the conviction that our life has meaning. For a time we were able to bear our losses and even to live them with fortitude and perseverance because we lived them as losses that would bring us closer to God.”

Henri Nouwen in With Burning Hearts: A Meditation on the Eucharistic Life (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1994) 24-26.

What does a lengthy post on “loss” have to do with the generous life. Today’s Scripture sums it up perfectly. Sometimes the Lord gives, and sometimes the Lord takes away. In all things we must worship the Lord, holding on to rather than abandoning our faith and urging others to do the same.

But it’s really hard in times of loss. I remember, as spiritual advisor to the founding owner of the Colorado Rockies, Jerry McMorris, it was hard to encourage him to hold on to his faith. When we were together one day, I asked him what it was like being in such a high profile role.

He said, “Gary, when things go well, you are on top of the world. But when things are bad. It’s really bad.” Then he turned and concluded. “The highs are high and the lows are low, but the lows are lower than the highs are high.” Maybe that’s why he appreciated our friendship? I journeyed with him in highs and lows and encouraged his faith.

If you are experiencing losses right now, or you know someone who is. Sit with Job and remember to worship in these times. Give thanks for all circumstances. Also, remember to encourage others because life is really hard, but Christ is with us and allows losses to draw us closer to Him.