Reflection: Awareness - PG# 4915 (2006/2006)
by Christine Chakoian
Awareness can be so hard to hold on to, but is it worth it! Every day, a thousand little miracles encircle us, if we just notice. The trouble is, so many things distract us: we get preoccupied with busy schedules and unfinished tasks, with tomorrow’s worries or yesterday’s mistakes. Jesus said, “Consider the lilies of the field,” and the least we can do is see them – the lilies of the field, and the birds of the air, and the way the leaves rustle in the breeze. Our senses invite us to remember – to savor – the wonder of all we are prone to forget: the comforting murmur of water against the shore; the beckoning scent of warm bread from the oven; the impossible softness of a new baby’s skin; the first glimpse of the full moon as it rises into the night. “Oh, taste and see how gracious the Lord is,” and when we’re aware, when we’re really awake, we notice everywhere the tell-tale hand of our awesome God – the tell-tale presence of beauty and sheer grace.
Reflection: Call - PG# 5009 (2006/2007)
by Christine Chakoian
I was a teenager when I felt the call to ministry, and I’ve loved being a pastor, so I never expected to get another calling. But when I got married in my 30’s I was startled to experience my marriage and motherhood as callings too. And now I’m surprised to hear God is calling me again: to go back to school, and to take care of my aging parents. Many of us experience multiple callings, callings that inevitably compete with each other for time and attention. But if God is truly calling us, then God will work out a way to fulfill each of these roles faithfully, and even joyfully. God doesn’t set us up to fail.
Reflection: Community - PG# 5108 (2007/2008)
by Christine Chakoian
My friend Jim Lowery remembers how he learned to be part of a community. When he was a young man growing up in the South, every Saturday night before he went out on a date, his father took him aside and said, “Son, remember who you are.” Though his dad was warning him not to dishonor the family name, he was doing much more than that: it was a reminder to Jim that he was an important member of the family, his family who loved him and cared about his well being. The same is true for each of us. We are beloved members of God’s family—all of us—children of a God who loves us and cares about us more than we will ever know. And if we ever forget, we have our spiritual communities, our “brothers and sisters” in God’s household, to remember for us, to remind us who we are, to remind us of our home in God’s heart, where we’ll always belong.
Reflection: Diversity - PG# 5021 (2006/2007)
by Christine Chakoian
I knew nothing about religious diversity when I was growing up: most of my friends were Protestant, with a few Roman Catholics thrown in and I didn’t think much about it. Imagine my surprise when I got to seminary and discovered more people with different beliefs than I’d ever met in my life: Protestants and Catholics and Eastern Orthodox, Jews, Muslims, and even Mormons. At first I found the diversity startling and even disturbing. But then I discovered unexpected blessings. Not just that my parochial perspective was wonderfully enlarged; even more, I was pressed to articulate my own faith in ways I never had before. Religious diversity didn’t hurt my faith; it strengthened it.
Reflection: Endurance - PG# 5124 (2007/2008)
by Christine Chakoian
I’ve never been very athletic, so I really admire my colleague’s endurance to run the Chicago marathon. She told me how she starts out strong, but the farther she goes, the harder it gets, how the pain is so great she doesn’t think she can take another step, how tempting it is to quit, even close to the end. What keeps her going? The company of friends surrounding her, the reassurance of runners finishing ahead, and the cheering crowds surrounding her, six-deep the whole twenty-six miles. It strikes me that faith is just like that. The distance and pain and temptation may be great, but we are strengthened along the way: by the company of the faithful beside us, the reassurance of the saints ahead of us, and the great “cloud of witnesses” surrounding us, cheering us on to endure to the end.
Reflection:Environment - PG# 5410 (2010/2011)
by Christine Chakoian
I’ve recently finished writing the history of my 150-year-old congregation. Founded at the dawn of the Industrial Revolution, our community was built by courageous, enterprising men and women. They harnessed the power of the steam engine, built factories, felled forests. Then, as faithful stewards of their newfound wealth, they built universities and hospitals and orphanages near and far. Now, 150 years later, glaciers melt at an alarming rate; oil wells pollute the seas, flora and fauna disappear, and there is no end in sight. An unintended consequence of the progress my community’s founders earnestly sought.
Instead of criticizing them, I find myself wondering what that stalwart generation might do with the challenges we’re facing now. I doubt they’d throw stones at the past. I doubt they’d sit on their hands. I suspect they’d urge us to get up and look around and harness whatever power we have to save the environment. They’d urge us to be great stewards of the resources we have to save the Earth. The Psalmist wrote, “The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it; the world, and those who live in it.” Those who live in it now, and for generations still to come.
Reflection: Faith - PG# 4912 (27/28)
by Christine Chakoian
Grace Faith isn’t some long list of beliefs you have to go along with. Faith isn’t a possession you have to check for constantly like your wallet to make sure you still have it with you. Faith is more like a companion, a friend, a steady voice reassuring you when you are anxious, cheering for you when you are wavering, cautioning you when you are tempted, reviving you when you are weary. Faith is that trust that no matter what might happen in the ups and downs of life, you’re never facing all your trials alone. For the Lord himself is the one whispering in your ear, holding your hand through the dark nights of your grief and fears, and waiting with you in the morning when joy rises like the sun.
Reflection: Faih - PG# 5107 (2007/2008)
by Christine Chakoian
My faith was sorely tested by a loss I endured. I felt so sad that at my lowest point one morning, when I was walking – no, pounding – on the treadmill in the basement, I started screaming at God. I called God names. I threw back in God’s face everything I’d tried to do right. Between sobs and screams, I swore off believing. The worst was feeling that God was useless, that it didn’t make any difference whether there was a God. But even while I screamed, I knew how absurd it was. I kept talking to God. And eventually, I started laughing. God had won. And I knew that even though I really didn’t want to go on, that I really didn’t want to believe, I didn’t have much choice because God wasn’t going away.
Reflection: Faithfulness - PG# 5218 (2008/2009)
by Christine Chakoian
Many of my friends are deeply faithful people. Some of them recite the entire creed without question, but others of them have to keep their fingers crossed half the time. Is one group more faithful than the other? Maybe; maybe not. I think God looks for evidence of our faith in how we live. Do we behave as people who trust that God is the author of life? Do we treat others as sisters and brothers in Christ? Do we care for the environment as stewards of the Earth? Do we act as if the consequences of our actions mattered, not only for our personal well-being, but also for the well-being of the world? What we believe matters. It informs how we approach the world. But faithfulness comes to life in our actions.
Reflection: Fear - PG# 5102 (2007/2008)
by Christine Chakoian
Fear is something most of us try to avoid, but it's a natural feeling and sometimes it can bring an unexpected grace. Last year I was terribly afraid that I'd botched part of my job. I felt the weight of responsibility on my shoulders, and worse yet, the lurching dread that I might fail. I shared this with my walking buddy, a retired businesswoman who's a member of my church. She said, “Oh, Chris, our pews are filled with people who feel this way. In business we're up against intense pressure to perform, we're just one deal away from failure.” Her words washed over me like a wave of relief. And with that wave came an incredible gift: I felt a deep compassion for my congregation, and understood at a heartfelt level the stress they endure. It changed my ministry. And while I still don't welcome fear—it feels terrible!—I know that God can work great things in us, even when our courage fails.
Reflection: Goodness & Mercy - PG# 5205 (2008/2009)
by Christine Chakoian
Most of us want to be thought of as “good people,” but what exactly does that mean? When the Apostle Paul talks about “goodness” as a fruit of the Spirit, the word he uses means doing kindness or mercy. So being a good person isn’t about being following the rules or being fair; being good means being kind-hearted and merciful.
When I think about the people who have been good to me, invariably they are the ones who’ve gone the extra mile: forgiving me when I didn’t deserve it, reaching out to me when I was short-tempered and lonely, encouraging me when I felt like a failure. Goodness like that is contagious. I want to give what I have received because goodness has been the balm of God for me.
Reflection: Grace - PG# 4908 (2005/2006)
by Christine Chakoian
Grace is like a long-awaited change in the weather, like the feel of the sun on your shoulders after endless gloomy days of cold, hard rain. You just can’t believe how good it feels. Maybe you’ve even forgotten that behind the gray clouds the sun has always been there, shining, radiating warmth and energy, that behind whatever dark sky has been hovering over you, God has always been there, radiating strength and tenderness and love.
God’s grace isn’t something you can control, any more than you control the wind. Maybe that’s why it’s so refreshing: you can’t work on it; you can’t earn it; you can’t create it; you can’t hurry it. You just get to enjoy it, this undeserved blessing God is showering upon you, just because God loves you. It’s humbling, and it makes you feel alive.
Reflection: Hope - PG# 5013 (2006/2007)
by Christine Chakoian
Hope is not the same as optimism. My sister helped me understand the difference this way. When we were growing up, we played endless games of cards and our Dad was a master player. He won all the time, because he could always play the odds. He could memorize the cards and predict their probability. Now optimism is like that. When we're optimistic, we're making the best bets on the deck we're dealt: if we're smart, we'll succeed in school; if we're athletic, we'll do well on the team; if we're healthy, we'll enjoy a long life. But hope, hope believes that God, who dealt us life in the first place, still has more cards to be dealt, cards that we have not yet seen.
Reflection: Joy - PG# 5003 (2006/2007)
by Christine Chakoian
Deep joy is something you can’t plan, it comes in its own time. Years ago, after our family suffered a terrible loss, I slid into a fog of sadness, and I couldn't find my way out again. Everything seemed gray and dark to me, and it didn’t help we were living in Oregon where the winter rains lingered for weeks at a time. And then one April day, I looked up and everything had changed: the tall fir trees stood majestically against a wildly blue sky, and the soft breeze stirred the scent of earth and pine, and then, as suddenly as the clouds had cleared I felt this unfamiliar stirring in my heart, and then I laughed. It was joy, sweet and simple joy, and I knew deep in my bones that I could delight in life again.
Reflection: Joy - PG# 5211 (2008/2009)
by Christine Chakoian
Sometimes joy is hard to come by. When times are tough, or stress is overwhelming, it’s difficult for me to feel joyful. But joy isn’t always dependent on happy circumstances. Sometimes joy is a matter of paying attention: looking for God’s presence that shines everywhere.
Mindfulness is what psychologists call it these days. A beautiful prayer from a funeral service, of all places, says it this way: “Help us to walk amid the things of this world with eyes open to the beauty and glory of the eternal; so that, among the many changes of this life, our hearts may surely be fixed where true joy is to be found.” We all have access to joy at all times—even in grief—because of God’s astonishing beauty that unfolds in our presence all the time.
Reflection: Justice - PG# 4905 (2005/2006)
by Christine Chakoian
Justice is a huge concept. But Jesus boils it down to this: loving our neighbors as passionately as God loves us. Justice is very personal for me. When I was a little girl, my Armenian grandmother took me on her knee and, weeping, told me the story of her childhood; how when she was a little girl her people had been abused for their race, persecuted for their religion, marched off their land. They lost everything. Everything but their faith and their loving God who took them by the hand and led them into freedom.
Now when I think of loving my neighbor I think not just of the family across the street who may need a cup of sugar or a shoulder to cry on, but I also think of the family across the world who may need a cup of water or a hand just to survive. Sometimes it feels overwhelming. What can one person do? But then I remember my grandmother and I know I have to do whatever I can: to raise my voice and write my checks and stomp my feet if I have to for the sake of justice, for the sake of my neighbor who is God’s beloved child.
Reflection: Justice - PG# 5022 (2006/2007)
by Christine Chakoian
Justice became very real to me when I was a young teenager, shopping with my cousins in a department store. We were having a splendid time, suggesting outfits for each other, picking out jewelry, trying on endless pairs of the cutest shoes. We were leaving when a security officer stopped us, and accused me of stealing a pair of shoes. I was indignant. How dare they accuse me of this? And then I was scared. Would they throw me in jail? Would I have a police record? They had all the power, and all I had was a flimsy receipt and my word. They finally let me go, and no harm was done. But I’d learned how much it matters—even in so small an incident—that God calls us to defend the righteous, protect the powerless, and love the truth, for the sake of justice.
Reflection: Love - PG# 5201 (2008/2009)
by Christine Chakoian
Love is one of the most glorious feelings in the world. But love is so much more than a feeling. It’s an attitude, a choice, that lasts long after romance fades, or our children are no longer charming, or friends disappoint us. The strongest love isn’t the most passionate, but love that has been tried and tested. Newlyweds may feel giddy, but 25-years into a marriage, we choose to overlook faults, forgive hurts, and cherish each other’s friendship.
Newborns are innately adorable, but parents of teenagers choose to nurture our kids’ character and delight in their interests. Think of it this way: when we choose to love in spite of another’s weakness, we are simply loving others the same way God loves us.
Reflection: Suffering - PG# 4901 (2005/2006)
by Christine Chakoian
Suffering is a fact of life – the only question is how we cope with it when it comes. I’ve learned so much from the faithful suffering of peole I’ve known: from 90-year-old Helen, who matter-of-factly welcomed her impending death…from the young man, Jon, who went into open heart surgery trusting that in life and in death he belonged to God…from Samuel, robbed of his home in Cameroon, robbed of his speech by a stroke, yet grateful for the riches of Scripture and his family. These people were at peace with their suffering.
But I’ve also learned from those who have not patiently accepted their suffering—that anger is sometimes the only pathway open to us. Sometimes we need to rail against God, and scream in protest: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” We are more faithful in our honest rage than in pretend acceptance. For the Lord knows our sorrow, and is acquainted with our grief, and he took on our flesh, so that we never need to suffer alone."
Reflection: Peace - PG# 5405 (2010/2011)
by Christine Chakoian
I forgot how painful conflict is, not just intellectually, but viscerally uncomfortable. Not long ago I was reminded in a heated debate over the congregation’s property. Passions grew hot over competing priorities: mission and outreach pitted against building and staff. Long-dormant skeletons of miscommunication and distrust leapt out of their closets. Neighbors and congregants clashed over rights. It was not pretty. But it taught me something: just like feelings of grief, conflict is cumulative. Its remnants don’t completely go away. Each new conflict dredges up old memories. It’s neither good nor bad; it’s just the way we’re wired. But the reverse is also true: our memory of peace is cumulative, too. Each time we try to resolve a conflict, we draw from a deep pool of memory. Best of all, it’s not just our personal memory, but ancient memory, our faith community’s memory, that helps us find our way to peace.
When our congregation was at the end of our rope—edgy, crabby, ready to clobber each other in the conflict—our memory of peace came flooding back. Memory from Scripture like: “Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.” “If your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink.” And, “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things, and the God of peace will be with you.”
Reflection: Prayer - PG# 5113 (2007/2008)
by Christine Chakoian
What is prayer? We know it's not like a vending machine that gives us whatever we want. And it's not a mindless recitation of memorized phrases. So, what is it? For me, prayer is a lively, ongoing conversation. First, there's the listening: listening for God's Word in Scripture, in silence, in worship, in the voice of a friend.
And then there's the talking. Sometimes I'm angry: Why did God let cancer strike a friend of mine? Sometimes I'm so filled with joy that words can't touch it: How do you say thank you for a sunset so round and red it stops you in your tracks? Sometimes I'm ashamed: I don't even want to admit to myself the impact of the hurt I caused, let alone whisper it to God.
But whatever's going on in my heart of hearts, I know I have to be honest with God, as honest with God as I am with the people I love. And God honors my honesty with a listening heart, more open than I can imagine.
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