In the morning, O LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation. (Psalm 5:3)
::
My granddad is a man of few words. He observes a lot, but reserves his spoken observations for when it matters. So when he’s got something to say, it seems the whole world stops and takes notice. And more often than not, it’s to the world’s benefit that it did.
Grandpa Al, or George as he’s known to some, is looking forward to his 101st birthday in a few months. All the more reason to stop and listen.
Big fan of the NBA and especially Shaq, Grandpa got to see the Miami Heat play last year for his 100th birthday.
::
I was thinking the other day as we celebrated Christmas with my family that Grandpa Al reminds me some of Enoch, the fellow who “walked with God for 300 years.” I sometimes get the idea that Grandpa wouldn’t mind being just like him. I need to be careful here, because Grandpa’s a regular reader, and I don’t want to say something that would be taken the wrong way. Last Christmas he told us he’d heard the first hundred years were the hardest and he was looking forward to the next hundred.
Obviously my 300-year reference is in part about age, but moreso it’s a reflection of his longstanding relationship with God. He’s walked with God for nearly a third as long as Enoch. And to my mind, his reputation is at least as sound. He’s a man of the Word, and he’s a man of prayer, and he’s been providing a godly example to all kinds of folks around him for a very long time.
Not the least of which are the three generations of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren who span out in front of him.
He’s passed down an amazing heritage of faith to those generations, and I’m so grateful for that. But I don’t mind telling you he also passed down a sharp wit and a fabulous sense of humor. If you’ve met any of George’s descendants and wonder where they get it, look no further. There are all kinds of apples on the ground that fell not so far from that brilliant tree.
::
So then it comes as no surprise that at family gatherings when Grandpa makes it known that he’s ready to start telling stories and jokes, whatever we’re all doing comes to a screeching halt, and everybody pulls their chairs in a little closer to hear what he has to say and get a good laugh. Grandpa’s always told a good story. But when he’s a hundred and tells the story, it’s a hundred times better.
This year at our Christmas gathering, Grandpa didn’t disappoint. Among the stories he told was one about which I promptly made some notes. I’m hoping I can do his storytelling justice. He told of a woman, who from the day she and her husband had been married, worried about a burglar entering their home. So each night, she insisted that her husband go and check to be sure the doors were locked before they could go to bed. Even when they’d been married for thirty years he was still faithfully checking the locks at her nightly urging. One night, she heard a noise and dispatched her husband back downstairs to investigate.
“It must be a burglar!” she exclaimed.
So her husband went downstairs, and flipped on the light, only to find a man standing there with a gun pointed at him. “Just hold on right there!” the husband said. “I want you to come upstairs and meet my wife. She’s been expecting you for thirty years!”
::
The other day we talked about Simeon’s lifelong expectation and anticipation for the Messiah, fulfilled when he at last held the Child in his arms. I’ve continued to ponder the thought of expectation as the days of Christmas have continued on. Maybe because of Simeon’s all consuming sense of expectation. Maybe because of my earlier neglect of any sense of expectation.
Or maybe it was just because of Grandpa Al’s story of a wife’s expectation, a husband’s gracious attending to it, and a burglar’s long awaited arrival.
Expectation.
::
I just wonder sometimes what I truly expect of God. Sure, I expect Him to be good to me. I expect Him to have expectations of me. I expect of Him in a very general sense.
But in the every moment? In the very specific details? Do I really expect Him to come through? Am I as convinced of Him as the wife in Grandpa’s story was of the burglar?
Convinced enough that I would go and check each and every night?
David writes in the Psalm that he lays his requests before God every morning, and then waits in expectation. He waits in expectation because He knows God will come through. He knows God will deliver. David might have to wait, but he knows He will come through. He’s not wishing, he’s expecting. You expect when you’re confident of the outcome.
I think my granddad knows some things about waiting in expectation too. He’s been waiting on God more years than I can imagine. He knows God comes through. And he expects Him to.
Even if it takes thirty years. Or a hundred years.
::
In the morning, O LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation. (Psalm 5:3)
My granddad is a man of few words. He observes a lot, but reserves his spoken observations for when it matters. So when he’s got something to say, it seems the whole world stops and takes notice. And more often than not, it’s to the world’s benefit that it did.
We took this 100-year old NBA fan to see the Heat & Timberwolves for the big birthday.
Grandpa Al, or George as he’s known to some, is looking forward to his 101st birthday in a few months. All the more reason to stop and listen.
::
I was thinking the other day as we celebrated Christmas with my family that Grandpa Al reminds me some of Enoch, the fellow who “walked with God for 300 years.” I sometimes get the idea that Grandpa wouldn’t mind being just like him. I need to be careful here, because Grandpa’s a regular reader, and I don’t want to say something that would be taken the wrong way. Last Christmas he told us he’d heard the first hundred years were the hardest and he was looking forward to the next hundred.
Obviously my 300-year reference is in part about age, but moreso it’s a reflection of his longstanding relationship with God. He’s walked with God for nearly a third as long as Enoch. And to my mind, his reputation is at least as sound. He’s a man of the Word, and he’s a man of prayer, and he’s been providing a godly example to all kinds of folks around him for a very long time.
Not the least of which are the three generations of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren who span out in front of him.
He’s passed down an amazing heritage of faith to those generations, and I’m so grateful for that. But I don’t mind telling you he also passed down a sharp wit and a fabulous sense of humor. If you’ve met any of George’s descendants and wonder where they get it, look no further. There are all kinds of apples on the ground that fell not so far from that brilliant tree.
::
So then it comes as no surprise that at family gatherings when Grandpa makes it known that he’s ready to start telling stories and jokes, whatever we’re all doing comes to a screeching halt, and everybody pulls their chairs in a little closer to hear what he has to say and get a good laugh. Grandpa’s always told a good story. But when he’s a hundred and tells the story, it’s a hundred times better.
This year at our Christmas gathering, Grandpa didn’t disappoint. Among the stories he told was one about which I promptly made some notes. I’m hoping I can do his storytelling justice. He told of a woman, who from the day she and her husband had been married, worried about a burglar entering their home. So each night, she insisted that her husband go and check to be sure the doors were locked before they could go to bed. Even when they’d been married for thirty years he was still faithfully checking the locks at her nightly urging. One night, she heard a noise and dispatched her husband back downstairs to investigate.
“It must be a burglar!” she exclaimed.
So her husband went downstairs, and flipped on the light, only to find a man standing there with a gun pointed at him. “Just hold on right there!” the husband said. “I want you to come upstairs and meet my wife. She’s been expecting you for thirty years!”
::
The other day we talked about Simeon’s lifelong expectation and anticipation for the Messiah, fulfilled when he at last held the Child in his arms. I’ve continued to ponder the thought of expectation as the days of Christmas have continued on. Maybe because of Simeon’s all consuming sense of expectation. Maybe because of my earlier neglect of any sense of expectation.
Or maybe it was just because of Grandpa Al’s story of a wife’s expectation, a husband’s gracious attending to it, and a burglar’s long awaited arrival.
Expectation.
::
I just wonder sometimes what I truly expect of God. Sure, I expect Him to be good to me. I expect Him to have expectations of me. I expect of Him in a very general sense.
But in the every moment? In the very specific details? Do I really expect Him to come through? Am I as convinced of Him as the wife in Grandpa’s story was of the burglar?
Convinced enough that I would go and check each and every night?
David writes in the Psalm that he lays his requests before God every morning, and then waits in expectation. He waits in expectation because He knows God will come through. He knows God will deliver. David might have to wait, but he knows He will come through. He’s not wishing, he’s expecting. You expect when you’re confident of the outcome.
I think my granddad knows some things about waiting in expectation too. He’s been waiting on God more years than I can imagine. He knows God comes through. And he expects Him to.
Even if it takes thirty years. Or a hundred years.
Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life -— in order that I may boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor for nothing. (Philippians 2:14-16)
::
We shine like stars in the universe.
There’s something about stars. We can see them from literally years away. They’re that bright. Even so, from here they seem to be a disconnected bunch of bright spots. Sure, there’s a constellation here and there, but really, not that many of us can just shoot a look up at the sky and see Orion or even the Big Dipper without a little coaching.
But if we can get up close, we see some pretty amazing stuff in that big huge universe. Check out this set of photos I borrowed from Hubblesite.com — stunning photographs of space taken from the Hubble telescope.
Now, you tell me what shining like stars really looks like.
Shining like stars blows people away.
::
These are just photographs. None of us could stand in the actual presence of these shining heavenly bodies. They’re overpowering.
So when Paul tells us to shine like stars, is this what he means? He tells us here that we are to a crooked and depraved generation what the stars are to the universe. As they shine there, so we shine here. The shining of the stars points directly back to the Creator. We marvel. We stand in complete awe and wonder.
Yet our impact, our shining, can be just this powerful.
::
How do we do it? How do we shine like stars?
Look at the text. Paul makes it pretty straightforward, really. “Do everything without complaining or arguing.” He’s just finished talking about how Jesus did this very thing. He took on the form of man, giving up everything He had and everything He was entitled to. He became not just a man, but a servant. He gave up all His rights.
Where do our complaining and our arguing come from, anyway? Isn’t it from our sense that we’ve been ripped off somehow? Our rights were violated? We didn’t get what we bargained for? Somebody is taking advantage of us?
We tend to think we have a lot of rights. The right to be comfortable, the right to not be inconvenienced, the right to have resources, the right to be healthy, the right to be important, the right to feel valuable, the right to not be alone, the right to be left alone, the right to be right. When we don’t feel quite free to exercise those rights, when we sense that someone is preventing us from doing so, we complain. We argue. We demand that we be treated as (we think) we deserve.
Jesus didn’t do that. Not ever.
And Paul challenges us here not to as well. Jesus did not consider equality with God to be something to be grasped (though He had every right — He was part of the Godhead for heaven’s sake). He humbled Himself (willingly), and He made Himself a servant (willingly). He gave up all His rights as God, and by the time it was all over, He would also give up all His rights as man.
And never once complained.
::
We’re challenged to do the same — so that the world can see the shining of the stars. So that in the midst of all the depravity of the world, all the darkness and despair, His light shines out through us.
We recognize in our humility that defending our rights — or complaining and arguing — pales in comparison to the opportunity to hold out the word of life.
To shine like stars.
Stars that draw those who are seeking light.
::
We shine like stars in the universe.
There’s something about stars. We can see them from literally years away. They’re that bright. Even so, from here they seem to be a disconnected bunch of bright spots. Sure, there’s a constellation here and there, but really, not that many of us can just shoot a look up at the sky and see Orion or even the Big Dipper without a little coaching.
But if we can get up close, we see some pretty amazing stuff in that big huge universe. Check out this set of photos I borrowed from Hubblesite.com — stunning photographs of space taken from the Hubble telescope.
Now, you tell me what shining like stars really looks like.
Shining like stars blows people away.
::
These are just photographs. None of us could stand in the actual presence of these shining heavenly bodies. They’re overpowering.
So when Paul tells us to shine like stars, is this what he means? He tells us here that we are to a crooked and depraved generation what the stars are to the universe. As they shine there, so we shine here. The shining of the stars points directly back to the Creator. We marvel. We stand in complete awe and wonder.
Yet our impact, our shining, can be just this powerful.
::
How do we do it? How do we shine like stars?
Look at the text. Paul makes it pretty straightforward, really. “Do everything without complaining or arguing.” He’s just finished talking about how Jesus did this very thing. He took on the form of man, giving up everything He had and everything He was entitled to. He became not just a man, but a servant. He gave up all His rights.
Where do our complaining and our arguing come from, anyway? Isn’t it from our sense that we’ve been ripped off somehow? Our rights were violated? We didn’t get what we bargained for? Somebody is taking advantage of us?
We tend to think we have a lot of rights. The right to be comfortable, the right to not be inconvenienced, the right to have resources, the right to be healthy, the right to be important, the right to feel valuable, the right to not be alone, the right to be left alone, the right to be right. When we don’t feel quite free to exercise those rights, when we sense that someone is preventing us from doing so, we complain. We argue. We demand that we be treated as (we think) we deserve.
Jesus didn’t do that. Not ever.
And Paul challenges us here not to as well. Jesus did not consider equality with God to be something to be grasped (though He had every right — He was part of the Godhead for heaven’s sake). He humbled Himself (willingly), and He made Himself a servant (willingly). He gave up all His rights as God, and by the time it was all over, He would also give up all His rights as man.
And never once complained.
::
We’re challenged to do the same — so that the world can see the shining of the stars. So that in the midst of all the depravity of the world, all the darkness and despair, His light shines out through us.
We recognize in our humility that defending our rights — or complaining and arguing — pales in comparison to the opportunity to hold out the word of life.
Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel. (Luke 2:29-32)
::
So many people had life altering encounters with the Child that first Christmas. We know Mary did. No question there. From the moment the angel first visited and told her she would bring the Messiah into the world, her life was never the same. She faced the shame of an unmarried pregnancy, was mother to the most phenomenal Child ever to walk the earth, and faced a deeper loss than any of us can possibly imagine when her Son hung, battered and lifeless on rough hewn wooden beams.
Joseph did. He was called upon to stand by his betrothed, while all around would see their shame and dishonor, and he would have no reasonable explanation. Yet he would love the Child as his own, teach Him his trade, pour his heart into Him and protect Him into adulthood.
The shepherds, privileged to be amongst the first to hear of His arrival, had an experience that was beyond their wildest imagination. The Magi would travel miles and miles to see Him, never giving up on their journey.
They were all touched in such significant ways. Life changing ways.
But there was one other guy that has caught my attention this time around. A guy that doesn’t get a lot of attention. If we read Luke’s account of the Child’s arrival, we hear of him, albeit very briefly.
Simeon.
::
I have a new appreciation for Simeon this season.
What’s so great about Simeon? He gets all of eleven verses in the Gospel of Luke. What’s all the fuss?
Take a look at those eleven verses. Simeon was quite a guy. And he had an experience I can only dream of.
(I just read a great piece of poetry at Treasures of Darkness on Simeon and Anna — check it out.)
He was, according to Dr. Luke, a “righteous and devout” man who was waiting for the consolation of Israel. He feared God and he had his eyes on one prize and one prize only: the consolation of Israel. I love how the Message translation tells it, that he was “a man who lived in the prayerful expectancy of help for Israel.”
Prayerful expectancy.
This was his purpose. He awaited the arrival of Messiah.
::
But wait, there’s more.
The Holy Spirit was upon this man, something that didn’t happen in that time to just anyone. It happened for a particular purpose. Simeon was all about the purpose. He had just the one.
Prayerful expectancy of the arrival of the Messiah.
The Holy Spirit told Simeon that he would, in fact, see the Messiah before he died. Before he breathed his last, he would see the Messiah. He was all about the waiting, all about the expecting. He hadn’t seen him yet, but he knew that he would. He would continue in prayerful expectancy until it happened and until his purpose was fulfilled.
And on that amazing day, forty days after that other amazing day, he was led by the Holy Spirit to be in the temple — presumably to be there when the young parents would bring the Child according to the law. He took Jesus in his arms (that’s another story altogether — he took Jesus in his arms! What was that like?), and before he pronounced his famous blessing, he praised God for fulfilling the promise. He knew, from the moment he saw and held the Child, that this was the One. This was the Messiah. God made good on His promise, and the one who waited in prayerful expectancy now had seen the object of his lifelong hope.
This was the moment he lived his life for.
How do I know that? Listen to what he tells God: “Sovereign Lord, as You have promised, You now dismiss Your servant in peace.” He knew this was the One. “For my eyes have seen Your salvation.” Here, in the eyes of this Child, Simeon knew that he had seen the Messiah. He knew that redemption was close at hand.
::
And he knew this was all he needed.
The moment he had lived for had come. And he was done.
“You now dismiss your servant in peace.”
Simeon lived for a single purpose. And when that moment came, he knew. He was complete. He was done.
I want to live for a single purpose. I want to know when that purpose is being fulfilled.
And when it’s done, I want to be dismissed in peace.
I want to know that I’ve completed what I was made for.
::
Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel. (Luke 2:29-32)
So many people had life altering encounters with the Child that first Christmas. We know Mary did. No question there. From the moment the angel first visited and told her she would bring the Messiah into the world, her life was never the same. She faced the shame of an unmarried pregnancy, was mother to the most phenomenal Child ever to walk the earth, and faced a deeper loss than any of us can possibly imagine when her Son hung, battered and lifeless on rough hewn wooden beams.
Joseph did. He was called upon to stand by his betrothed, while all around would see their shame and dishonor, and he would have no reasonable explanation. Yet he would love the Child as his own, teach Him his trade, pour his heart into Him and protect Him into adulthood.
The shepherds, privileged to be amongst the first to hear of His arrival, had an experience that was beyond their wildest imagination. The Magi would travel miles and miles to see Him, never giving up on their journey.
They were all touched in such significant ways. Life changing ways.
But there was one other guy that has caught my attention this time around. A guy that doesn’t get a lot of attention. If we read Luke’s account of the Child’s arrival, we hear of him, albeit very briefly.
Simeon.
::
I have a new appreciation for Simeon this season.
What’s so great about Simeon? He gets all of eleven verses in the Gospel of Luke. What’s all the fuss?
Take a look at those eleven verses. Simeon was quite a guy. And he had an experience I can only dream of.
He was, according to Dr. Luke, a “righteous and devout” man who was waiting for the consolation of Israel. He feared God and he had his eyes on one prize and one prize only: the consolation of Israel. I love how the Message translation tells it, that he was “a man who lived in the prayerful expectancy of help for Israel.”
Prayerful expectancy.
This was his purpose. He awaited the arrival of Messiah.
::
But wait, there’s more.
The Holy Spirit was upon this man, something that didn’t happen in that time to just anyone. It happened for a particular purpose. Simeon was all about the purpose. He had just the one.
Prayerful expectancy of the arrival of the Messiah.
The Holy Spirit told Simeon that he would, in fact, see the Messiah before he died. Before he breathed his last, he would see the Messiah. He was all about the waiting, all about the expecting. He hadn’t seen him yet, but he knew that he would. He would continue in prayerful expectancy until it happened and until his purpose was fulfilled.
And on that amazing day, forty days after that other amazing day, he was led by the Holy Spirit to be in the temple — presumably to be there when the young parents would bring the Child according to the law. He took Jesus in his arms (that’s another story altogether — he took Jesus in his arms! What was that like?), and before he pronounced his famous blessing, he praised God for fulfilling the promise. He knew, from the moment he saw and held the Child, that this was the One. This was the Messiah. God made good on His promise, and the one who waited in prayerful expectancy now had seen the object of his lifelong hope.
This was the moment he lived his life for.
How do I know that? Listen to what he tells God: “Sovereign Lord, as You have promised, You now dismiss Your servant in peace.” He knew this was the One. “For my eyes have seen Your salvation.” Here, in the eyes of this Child, Simeon knew that he had seen the Messiah. He knew that redemption was close at hand.
::
And he knew this was all he needed.
The moment he had lived for had come. And he was done.
“You now dismiss your servant in peace.”
Simeon lived for a single purpose. And when that moment came, he knew. He was complete. He was done.
I want to live for a single purpose. I want to know when that purpose is being fulfilled.
And when it’s done, I want to be dismissed in peace.
I want to know that I’ve completed what I was made for.
“Isn’t there anyone…who knows what Christmas is all about?” (Charlie Brown, A Charlie Brown Christmas)
::
My Christmas tree is up. Since Saturday. And only because the guys broke down and got it set up for me. But it’s not decorated. And under the tree still looks pretty sparse.
They’re starting to get a little worried since there are only two shipping days left until Christmas and there are still a few known gifts out there that they’ve ordered, but have not yet been delivered. (No typo there, remarkably. I meant shipping, not shopping. We do most of our Christmas shopping online.)
When I asked at dinner yesterday what we should have for Christmas dinner, I was told a few things that folks didn’t want, and had one bet five bucks he could go the whole day without eating a thing, suggesting we just skip Christmas dinner.
Christmas has been a little slow in coming to our house this year.
::
Between work, blizzards and a short season since Thanksgiving, we’re just running a little bit behind. Even the Christmas program at church got postponed for a couple of weeks.
Tonight, as I debate spending some time on Christmas preparation and going back to the office, the thought I’ve had frequently in recent days returns to me, that I’ve not only postponed the material preparation for Christmas, but also the greater preparation.
The pondering. The meditating. The reflection.
::
In all the static buzzing around me, mostly not even related to Christmas, I throw up my hands in a last ditch effort to try to connect to the specialness of the season, and call to the heavens, much like Charlie Brown, “Isn’t there anyone…who knows what Christmas is all about?” Isn’t there anyone who can tell me?
Truth is, there are plenty who can tell me. The angels can tell me. The shepherds can tell me.
Mary can tell me. Joseph can tell me.
Simeon can tell me.
My kids can even tell me.
But two videos I watched today told me. Two videos as different as night and day. But they both tell me something so very important. Two videos remind me in vastly divergent ways just what Christmas is all about.
::
First, Linus can tell me. It doesn’t get any simpler than this.
Thanks to Steve Norris at Thy Grace Is Sufficient for reminding me of this great embodiment of the story.
::
But then, Jesus can also tell me. He tells us, He shows us. In a way that nobody else could.
Thanks to The Rogue Angel for pointing out this powerful video. (Note this video contains graphic scenes from The Passion of the Christ; view at your discretion.)
::
The significance of Jesus’ arrival into our world.
Don’t delay its hold on you.
::
My Christmas tree is up. Since Saturday. And only because the guys broke down and got it set up for me. But it’s not decorated. And under the tree still looks pretty sparse.
They’re starting to get a little worried since there are only two shipping days left until Christmas and there are still a few known gifts out there that they’ve ordered, but have not yet been delivered. (No typo there, remarkably. I meant shipping, not shopping. We do most of our Christmas shopping online.)
When I asked at dinner yesterday what we should have for Christmas dinner, I was told a few things that folks didn’t want, and had one bet five bucks he could go the whole day without eating a thing, suggesting we just skip Christmas dinner.
Christmas has been a little slow in coming to our house this year.
::
Between work, blizzards and a short season since Thanksgiving, we’re just running a little bit behind. Even the Christmas program at church got postponed for a couple of weeks.
Tonight, as I debate spending some time on Christmas preparation and going back to the office, the thought I’ve had frequently in recent days returns to me, that I’ve not only postponed the material preparation for Christmas, but also the greater preparation.
The pondering. The meditating. The reflection.
::
In all the static buzzing around me, mostly not even related to Christmas, I throw up my hands in a last ditch effort to try to connect to the specialness of the season, and call to the heavens, much like Charlie Brown, “Isn’t there anyone…who knows what Christmas is all about?” Isn’t there anyone who can tell me?
Truth is, there are plenty who can tell me. The angels can tell me. The shepherds can tell me.
Mary can tell me. Joseph can tell me.
Simeon can tell me.
My kids can even tell me.
But two videos I watched today told me. Two videos as different as night and day. But they both tell me something so very important. Two videos remind me in vastly divergent ways just what Christmas is all about.
::
First, Linus can tell me. It doesn’t get any simpler than this.
::
But then, Jesus can also tell me. He tells us, He shows us. In a way that nobody else could.
We live by faith, not by sight. (2 Corinthians 5:7)
::
We’re in full blizzard mode here in South Dakota. We had a few days of respite this past week, just bitterly cold temperatures but not so much falling and blowing snow. But now we’re right back at it. A thick new layer of soft white powder is blowing around now, leaving mountainous drifts and obscuring visibility. And it’s so blistering cold that a person really wouldn’t want to be out in it. I realize blistering is usually associated with heat. But this is the kind of cold that burns.
Nevertheless, we were out in it. We had to go out to collect children at the theater and take care of a friend’s cat. As we drove down the ice packed highway, the stoplight turned yellow. Lane applied the brakes. And then we cringed and listened to that excruciating grind. And felt the Tahoe keep sliding. And sliding. And grinding.
Grinding.
Sliding.
Intersection growing closer.
And then, the vehicle stopped. Right at the edge of the crosswalk. Just like it was supposed to.
Antilock brakes make me crazy.
::
All the way through driver’s ed, at least in my part of the country, they hammer into your head that you never just hold down your brakes when you are stopping on ice. You pump your brakes.
Don’t hold ‘em. Pump ‘em.
But not antilock brakes. Once you put ‘em down, you just hang on and wait for the vehicle to stop. You fight every urge to let up and pump the brakes. And remarkably, the vehicle stops.
You’ve got to trust the ABS. And nine times out of ten (remember, I’m a claims adjuster — I’ve seen too much to be able to say 100 percent), they come through.
But only if you trust them enough not to pump the brakes.
Only if you trust them enough not to take matters into your own hands.
Only if you trust them enough to let them do what they were made to do.
::
How many times do I act like God is the old fashioned brake system? He tells me to apply the brakes and hang on. He’ll stop the car. But it doesn’t feel like He’s going to come through. I can hear the grinding and I can see the sliding. I want to pump the brakes. I want to make sure I maintain some control.
I can’t turn it over to a brake system I don’t understand.
We live by faith, not by sight. This is what Paul stressed so earnestly to the Corinthian church. What we see can throw us off. It can make us think God is not coming through. It can make it look like we’re going to crash right into that car coming into the intersection. It can make us only hear the grinding and see the sliding.
But faith, faith is something different. The Message translation puts it like this: “It’s what we trust in but don’t yet see that keeps us going.” It’s our trust that the antilock brakes don’t need to be pumped that keeps us holding the pedal down. When we rely only on what we can see, we’re surely going to pump the brakes. And in all likelihood, crash.
::
We live by faith, not by sight. Our trust in what we don’t yet see (oh, but one day we will) keeps us going.
Don’t pump the brakes. Fight the urge to take things into your own hands.
Hold on through the grinding and sliding, and trust the brakes to work like they are supposed to.
No matter what you see.
Let what you don’t yet see keep you going.
::
We live by faith, not by sight. (2 Corinthians 5:7)
We’re in full blizzard mode here in South Dakota. We had a few days of respite this past week, just bitterly cold temperatures but not so much falling and blowing snow. But now we’re right back at it. A thick new layer of soft white powder is blowing around now, leaving mountainous drifts and obscuring visibility. And it’s so blistering cold that a person really wouldn’t want to be out in it. I realize blistering is usually associated with heat. But this is the kind of cold that burns.
Nevertheless, we were out in it. We had to go out to collect children at the theater and take care of a friend’s cat. As we drove down the ice packed highway, the stoplight turned yellow. Lane applied the brakes. And then we cringed and listened to that excruciating grind. And felt the Tahoe keep sliding. And sliding. And grinding.
Grinding.
Sliding.
Intersection growing closer.
And then, the vehicle stopped. Right at the edge of the crosswalk. Just like it was supposed to.
Antilock brakes make me crazy.
::
All the way through driver’s ed, at least in my part of the country, they hammer into your head that you never just hold down your brakes when you are stopping on ice. You pump your brakes.
Don’t hold ‘em. Pump ‘em.
But not antilock brakes. Once you put ‘em down, you just hang on and wait for the vehicle to stop. You fight every urge to let up and pump the brakes. And remarkably, the vehicle stops.
You’ve got to trust the ABS. And nine times out of ten (remember, I’m a claims adjuster — I’ve seen too much to be able to say 100 percent), they come through.
But only if you trust them enough not to pump the brakes.
Only if you trust them enough not to take matters into your own hands.
Only if you trust them enough to let them do what they were made to do.
::
How many times do I act like God is the old fashioned brake system? He tells me to apply the brakes and hang on. He’ll stop the car. But it doesn’t feel like He’s going to come through. I can hear the grinding and I can see the sliding. I want to pump the brakes. I want to make sure I maintain some control.
I can’t turn it over to a brake system I don’t understand.
We live by faith, not by sight. This is what Paul stressed so earnestly to the Corinthian church. What we see can throw us off. It can make us think God is not coming through. It can make it look like we’re going to crash right into that car coming into the intersection. It can make us only hear the grinding and see the sliding.
But faith, faith is something different. The Message translation puts it like this: “It’s what we trust in but don’t yet see that keeps us going.” It’s our trust that the antilock brakes don’t need to be pumped that keeps us holding the pedal down. When we rely only on what we can see, we’re surely going to pump the brakes. And in all likelihood, crash.
::
We live by faith, not by sight. Our trust in what we don’t yet see (oh, but one day we will) keeps us going.
Don’t pump the brakes. Fight the urge to take things into your own hands.
Hold on through the grinding and sliding, and trust the brakes to work like they are supposed to.
In him was life, and that life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1:4-5)
::
I’m a big Spongebob Squarepants fan. I hope that doesn’t invalidate anything I’ve said up until now. One morning JP and I almost forgot to leave for school and work because there was a new episode on, and it was really funny. Really, it was. I don’t have much opportunity these days to just throw back in a chair and watch the show, but I do hear it blaring in the background while I’m doing things around the house or catching up on reading or writing. The other day I heard a line that found itself a place in my head. I don’t even know what the context was on the show, because I was too busy grabbing a gadget to type the line into to save it for later.
Spongebob was talking to his friend, Patrick Star (a rather dim-witted starfish), when he said, “This isn’t your ordinary, everyday darkness. This is advanced darkness.” (Emphasis added.)
Not your ordinary, everyday darkness.
::
That’s the kind of darkness we encounter every day, isn’t it?
John says something rather illuminating about darkness. Despite the darkness we face each and every day, there is a light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness doesn’t get to overcome it. Even advanced darkness doesn’t overcome this kind of light.
What kind of light is that? This is super-advanced light. Read the progression in that verse, but backwards. This light that shines in darkness is the light that comes from the life that is in Him. In Him is life. And not just life but then light. Light that is not your ordinary, everyday light, but the light that will not be overcome by advanced darkness. Light that will not be undone by the dark. Light that shines in the darkest of dark places.
Even when it’s not your ordinary, everyday darkness.
::
No matter how dark, no matter how advanced, the light is sufficient. This light is light because it is life.
It shines in the darkness.
And the darkness does not overcome it.
::
I’m a big Spongebob Squarepants fan. I hope that doesn’t invalidate anything I’ve said up until now.
One morning JP and I almost forgot to leave for school and work because there was a new episode on, and it was really funny. Really, it was. I don’t have much opportunity these days to just throw back in a chair and watch the show, but I do hear it blaring in the background while I’m doing things around the house or catching up on reading or writing. The other day I heard a line that found itself a place in my head. I don’t even know what the context was on the show, because I was too busy grabbing a gadget to type the line into to save it for later.
Spongebob was talking to his friend, Patrick Star (a rather dim-witted starfish), when he said, “This isn’t your ordinary, everyday darkness. This is advanced darkness.” (Emphasis added.)
Not your ordinary, everyday darkness.
::
That’s the kind of darkness we encounter every day, isn’t it?
John says something rather illuminating about darkness. Despite the darkness we face each and every day, there is a light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness doesn’t get to overcome it. Even advanced darkness doesn’t overcome this kind of light.
What kind of light is that? This is super-advanced light. Read the progression in that verse, but backwards. This light that shines in darkness is the light that comes from the life that is in Him. In Him is life. And not just life but then light. Light that is not your ordinary, everyday light, but the light that will not be overcome by advanced darkness. Light that will not be undone by the dark. Light that shines in the darkest of dark places.
Even when it’s not your ordinary, everyday darkness.
::
No matter how dark, no matter how advanced, the light is sufficient. This light is light because it is life.
Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come. (2 Corinthians 5:1-5, NIV)
For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again. Sometimes we can hardly wait to move—and so we cry out in frustration. Compared to what’s coming, living conditions around here seem like a stopover in an unfurnished shack, and we’re tired of it! We’ve been given a glimpse of the real thing, our true home, our resurrection bodies! The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what’s ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we’ll never settle for less. (2 Corinthians 5:1-5, MSG)
For some reason, I’ve really been missing my friend Debbie the last couple of days. Not that I don’t miss her other times, but lately it’s been a little closer to the surface.
Might have been unexpectedly seeing this amazing picture of her on a friend’s Facebook page.
Might have been that things have been a little challenging at work lately, and that Debbie always had a way of helping me keep my head and remember why I come to the office. (Here’s a secret: it’s not just about the paycheck.)
I counted on that, and I just don’t have it any more.
Or it might have been that I found myself wondering what it must be like for her now, walking on a beach that might just look a lot like this picture, basking in true sunlight, and already understanding something that I’ve been struggling to get my mind around lately: This life just ain’t what it’s all about.
Jesus, worn out by the trip, sat down at the well. It was noon. A woman, a Samaritan, came to draw water. Jesus said, “Would you give me a drink of water?” (His disciples had gone to the village to buy food for lunch.)
The Samaritan woman, taken aback, asked, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” (Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.)
Jesus answered, “If you knew the generosity of God and who I am, you would be asking me for a drink, and I would give you fresh, living water.” (John 4:6-10)
::
My first few months out of college, I worked for a social service agency that served the migrant farmworker population in Minnesota and North Dakota. I was attached to a mobile health screening unit that traveled throughout central Minnesota providing basic health services and referrals to folks who had extremely limited access to health care otherwise. I made barely enough money to survive much better than the laborers we were serving, but got a chance to rub shoulders with the Latino community and keep my language skills from getting too rusty.
I remember one morning the nurse assigned to our unit came in to work visibly upset. She’d been having some problems and went to the clinic to get things checked out. What she learned was that somehow or other, she had contracted scabies, unfortunately most likely in a home visit to one of the crowded makeshift trailers our clients called home.
Scabies.
::
As you might expect, recalling this story kind of started to make my skin crawl. There’s a reason for that. That’s exactly what scabies does. According to the Centers for Disease Control, scabies is an infestation of the skin that results when the microscopic scabies mite burrows into the skin to live and lay eggs. What happens next is a lot of itching and discomfort, as well as a lot of work to disinfect bedding and clothing in your home to prevent the spread of a very easily transmitted infestation.
We noticed that when my colleague would tell people she had scabies, folks would take a couple of steps back. They didn’t want to get too close. Still, she felt obligated to let them know, given the ease with which the thing could spread. It was almost like those days when the Hebrews had to isolate themselves outside the city gate and call out “unclean, unclean” when they had one of any number of infectuous diseases.
It seemed to me that the biggest thing that scabies did was make you scary, friendless and alone.
::
What struck me most about this story was how my friend’s eyes filled up with tears as she recounted how the doctor came into the examination room, and immediately reached out to shake her hand. Since she’d walked into the facility, the clinic staff had been stepping away from her and noticeably avoiding any contact as soon as they realized why she was there.
Everyone was suddenly afraid of her. Afraid of catching what she had.
Afraid that she might get herself all over them.
They were all afraid except the doctor, who warmly greeted her and wasn’t afraid to touch her.
::
When Jesus sat down at Jacob’s well in the middle of that hot day, after a long and tiring walk, the Samaritan woman who came along to draw water didn’t have scabies. But she was a woman. And a Samaritan. Two strikes. She may as well have had scabies. No Jewish man in his right mind would have talked to her. Look at the text of The Message translation above: “Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.”
Jesus took the risk. He took the chance.
He talked to the Samaritan woman.
::
Even she was “taken aback.” She was startled. This was very unexpected. Here was a Jewish man, one who ought to know better, speaking to her, a Samaritan woman with a very, very colored history. There she had her strike three. She was taken aback.
Perplexed, she asked him, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” Aren’t you afraid of what people will think? Aren’t you concerned that I’ll get something on you? It was, perhaps, not unlike what my colleague may have inquired of the doctor: Aren’t you afraid of me? Don’t you worry you’ll catch something? Isn’t your skin starting to crawl?
::
We read on and find that Jesus had a transformational encounter with the woman, offered her living water and told her everything about herself. He won her over with this visit, and she ran away to tell others about this man she met at the well. There was a lot that happened when Jesus sat down to talk to her. But it all started because he was willing to talk to her at all.
He wasn’t afraid of what might happen. He didn’t worry about what she might get on him. He had no concern about the discomfort and itching that may result.
He wanted to win her heart.
And because He crossed all the boundaries, real or imagined, to reach out and touch her, he did.
::
Jesus, worn out by the trip, sat down at the well. It was noon. A woman, a Samaritan, came to draw water. Jesus said, “Would you give me a drink of water?” (His disciples had gone to the village to buy food for lunch.)
The Samaritan woman, taken aback, asked, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” (Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.)
Jesus answered, “If you knew the generosity of God and who I am, you would be asking me for a drink, and I would give you fresh, living water.” (John 4:6-10)
My first few months out of college, I worked for a social service agency that served the migrant farmworker population in Minnesota and North Dakota. I was attached to a mobile health screening unit that traveled throughout central Minnesota providing basic health services and referrals to folks who had extremely limited access to health care otherwise. I made barely enough money to survive much better than the laborers we were serving, but got a chance to rub shoulders with the Latino community and keep my language skills from getting too rusty.
I remember one morning the nurse assigned to our unit came in to work visibly upset. She’d been having some problems and went to the clinic to get things checked out. What she learned was that somehow or other, she had contracted scabies, unfortunately most likely in a home visit to one of the crowded makeshift trailers our clients called home.
Scabies.
::
As you might expect, recalling this story kind of started to make my skin crawl. There’s a reason for that. That’s exactly what scabies does. According to the Centers for Disease Control, scabies is an infestation of the skin that results when the microscopic scabies mite burrows into the skin to live and lay eggs. What happens next is a lot of itching and discomfort, as well as a lot of work to disinfect bedding and clothing in your home to prevent the spread of a very easily transmitted infestation.
We noticed that when my colleague would tell people she had scabies, folks would take a couple of steps back. They didn’t want to get too close. Still, she felt obligated to let them know, given the ease with which the thing could spread. It was almost like those days when the Hebrews had to isolate themselves outside the city gate and call out “unclean, unclean” when they had one of any number of infectuous diseases.
It seemed to me that the biggest thing that scabies did was make you scary, friendless and alone.
::
What struck me most about this story was how my friend’s eyes filled up with tears as she recounted how the doctor came into the examination room, and immediately reached out to shake her hand. Since she’d walked into the facility, the clinic staff had been stepping away from her and noticeably avoiding any contact as soon as they realized why she was there.
Everyone was suddenly afraid of her. Afraid of catching what she had.
Afraid that she might get herself all over them.
They were all afraid except the doctor, who warmly greeted her and wasn’t afraid to touch her.
::
When Jesus sat down at Jacob’s well in the middle of that hot day, after a long and tiring walk, the Samaritan woman who came along to draw water didn’t have scabies. But she was a woman. And a Samaritan. Two strikes. She may as well have had scabies. No Jewish man in his right mind would have talked to her. Look at the text of The Message translation above: “Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.”
Jesus took the risk. He took the chance.
He talked to the Samaritan woman.
::
Even she was “taken aback.” She was startled. This was very unexpected. Here was a Jewish man, one who ought to know better, speaking to her, a Samaritan woman with a very, very colored history. There she had her strike three. She was taken aback.
Perplexed, she asked him, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” Aren’t you afraid of what people will think? Aren’t you concerned that I’ll get something on you? It was, perhaps, not unlike what my colleague may have inquired of the doctor: Aren’t you afraid of me? Don’t you worry you’ll catch something? Isn’t your skin starting to crawl?
::
We read on and find that Jesus had a transformational encounter with the woman, offered her living water and told her everything about herself. He won her over with this visit, and she ran away to tell others about this man she met at the well. There was a lot that happened when Jesus sat down to talk to her. But it all started because he was willing to talk to her at all.
He wasn’t afraid of what might happen. He didn’t worry about what she might get on him. He had no concern about the discomfort and itching that may result.
He wanted to win her heart.
And because He crossed all the boundaries, real or imagined, to reach out and touch her, he did.
You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:15-16, NIV)
::
Saturday morning I went to the office to see if I could make sense of my desk, stopping at a convenience store on the way for a caffeine injection. I walked back to soda cooler and reached down to the very bottom shelf where they stock the Mountain Dew (why must they make me work for it so?), but just couldn’t get a grip on the can. I’d kind of get ahold of it, start to lift it up and then it would slip back out of my fingers. I may as well have been trying to pick it up with a ping pong paddle. I tried a few more times before I had to give up.
With an annoyed grunt, I yanked my glove off so I could free my hand to grab the can. At the same time, a thought passed through my mind.
Having an opposable thumb does you no good if you’re wearing big heavy gloves.
::
While I was standing in line with my precious green can of carbonated life, it happened. You guessed it. That thought traveled on through to my weird filter, and I thought, “I think there’s something Jesus said about that one time.”
Turns out He did say something about that. Not with gloves and opposable thumbs. But with light and buckets.
Jesus told His followers in Matthew 5 that they were light. Purposeful light. The light He has put in us, the light He has made us to be, is designed to shine before others so that they will see God. The Message tells us that by keeping our light visible, by being open and generous with our lives, we’ll “prompt others to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven.”
::
There’s something about light that’s almost a little passive. I won’t say that we aren’t to actively show God’s love to the world. But think about this light thing. How hard does a flame work to be bright? How much racket and commotion does a lightbulb cause to emit its golden glow? You light the flame, and it just calmly, quietly cuts through the dark. You screw in the light bulb, and in its blinding tranquility opens up everything in the room. Light just is, or else it’s dark.
That is to say, the lamp doesn’t work itself into a lather trying to be bright. It is, by its very nature, light. It’s what it was made for and it’s what it does. It doesn’t suck it up and grit its teeth and force itself to be light. Light is light.
Jesus understood this. When He told the disciples they were light, He didn’t command them to be light. He just told them that’s what they were. “You are the light of the world.” Because He lives in us, we are light. There is something that happens just because we are. His light shines.
::
Light is hard to hide, but it can be done. Photographic darkrooms are designed to seal out even a sliver of light. During the air raids of World War II, it was normal practice to seal off all the windows with heavy shades to prevent any light from sneaking out.
Because we are light, in order not to shine we actually have to work at it. We have to hide the light, seal it off somehow. That’s what He’s talking about when He says that when someone lights a lamp, they don’t put it under a bowl. Or as The Message says, “hide you under a bucket.”
::
What’s the point of having light if you’re just going to cover it up?
What’s the point of having an opposable thumb if you’re just going to wear a big heavy glove?
Do I work to seal off the light shining through me? Or do I aim to put the light in the most visible place possible?
You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:15-16, NIV)
Saturday morning I went to the office to see if I could make sense of my desk, stopping at a convenience store on the way for a caffeine injection. I walked back to soda cooler and reached down to the very bottom shelf where they stock the Mountain Dew (why must they make me work for it so?), but just couldn’t get a grip on the can. I’d kind of get ahold of it, start to lift it up and then it would slip back out of my fingers. I may as well have been trying to pick it up with a ping pong paddle. I tried a few more times before I had to give up.
With an annoyed grunt, I yanked my glove off so I could free my hand to grab the can. At the same time, a thought passed through my mind.
Having an opposable thumb does you no good if you’re wearing big heavy gloves.
::
While I was standing in line with my precious green can of carbonated life, it happened. You guessed it. That thought traveled on through to my weird filter, and I thought, “I think there’s something Jesus said about that one time.”
Turns out He did say something about that. Not with gloves and opposable thumbs. But with light and buckets.
Jesus told His followers in Matthew 5 that they were light. Purposeful light. The light He has put in us, the light He has made us to be, is designed to shine before others so that they will see God. The Message tells us that by keeping our light visible, by being open and generous with our lives, we’ll “prompt others to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven.”
::
There’s something about light that’s almost a little passive. I won’t say that we aren’t to actively show God’s love to the world. But think about this light thing. How hard does a flame work to be bright? How much racket and commotion does a lightbulb cause to emit its golden glow? You light the flame, and it just calmly, quietly cuts through the dark. You screw in the light bulb, and in its blinding tranquility opens up everything in the room. Light just is, or else it’s dark.
That is to say, the lamp doesn’t work itself into a lather trying to be bright. It is, by its very nature, light. It’s what it was made for and it’s what it does. It doesn’t suck it up and grit its teeth and force itself to be light. Light is light.
Jesus understood this. When He told the disciples they were light, He didn’t command them to be light. He just told them that’s what they were. “You are the light of the world.” Because He lives in us, we are light. There is something that happens just because we are. His light shines.
::
Light is hard to hide, but it can be done. Photographic darkrooms are designed to seal out even a sliver of light. During the air raids of World War II, it was normal practice to seal off all the windows with heavy shades to prevent any light from sneaking out.
Because we are light, in order not to shine we actually have to work at it. We have to hide the light, seal it off somehow. That’s what He’s talking about when He says that when someone lights a lamp, they don’t put it under a bowl. Or as The Message says, “hide you under a bucket.”
::
What’s the point of having light if you’re just going to cover it up?
What’s the point of having an opposable thumb if you’re just going to wear a big heavy glove?
Do I work to seal off the light shining through me? Or do I aim to put the light in the most visible place possible?
Don’t run up debts, except for the huge debt of love you owe each other. When you love others, you complete what the law has been after all along. The law code — don’t sleep with another person’s spouse, don’t take someone’s life, don’t take what isn’t yours, don’t always be wanting what you don’t have, and any other “don’t” you can think of—finally adds up to this: Love other people as well as you do yourself. You can’t go wrong when you love others. When you add up everything in the law code, the sum total is love.
But make sure that you don’t get so absorbed and exhausted in taking care of all your day-by-day obligations that you lose track of the time and doze off, oblivious to God. The night is about over, dawn is about to break. Be up and awake to what God is doing! God is putting the finishing touches on the salvation work he began when we first believed. We can’t afford to waste a minute, must not squander these precious daylight hours in frivolity and indulgence, in sleeping around and dissipation, in bickering and grabbing everything in sight. Get out of bed and get dressed! Don’t loiter and linger, waiting until the very last minute. Dress yourselves in Christ, and be up and about! (Romans 13:8-14 MSG)
We’ve made quite a mess of the economy — yep, you read right. I said we. Wasn’t just Washington, wasn’t just big corporations and CEOs with big fat wallets, and AIG running off with the taxpayers’ bailout money to nurse their wounds in a spa. While I say “Curses, AIG,” I still have to recognize that you, and I, and that guy down the street — most of us helped them create the disaster it is today. You don’t want to read an economics lesson from me, but I will say this. I think all the way from the CEOs to me, we got pretty greedy. Even so, it seems that the whole fiasco has given me a much needed opportunity to take a look at my own habits and tweak them a bit where it might be sensible. And the uncertainty has perhaps motivated some of us to take a look at what and whom we trust.
I had a chance recently to visit my old church (Church of the Open Door in Maple Grove, MN) and was plenty challenged by a sermon that addressed the uncertainties and where our hearts are. During his message, Pastor Dave Johnson referred to an executive at Mars Inc. whose job title is Vice President/Indulgence. I wasn’t honestly sure if he had made this up as a joke or if this was the real deal, so I Googled it. Sure enough, this is a real guy with a real title. Roger Cohen of The New York Times has a fascinating article you can read in its entirety. He tells how M&Ms have been producing a “premium” version that costs about double the original “common folk” M&Ms. And sales are going through the roof.
Cohen says this: “Now, in these times of plunging stock prices and falling sales, you’d think [the Vice President/Indulgence] might be struggling to get people to indulge. It makes sense to drop needless pleasures when cash is short. But this is a recession in which indulgence is thriving, a phenomenon that says much about our world.” This is interesting. At a time when folks could reasonably be expected to cut back on nonessentials, it doesn’t appear that we are. We’re still inclined to run straight for the luxuries, big and small, even though we maybe can’t afford them, we clearly don’t need them, and it’s pretty debatable whether they ultimately add any real value to our lives.
Paul had no idea what a recession was when he wrote to the Roman church.He hadn’t even been through the Great Depression. But yet his counsel is as appropriate for us as it was for them. Don’t forget, the Word was breathed alive by God Himself. Even though Paul didn’t know what might be happening in the U.S. (and global) economy in the year 2008 (I scarcely think Paul even believed there would be a year 2008), God knew. God knew we would be here. God would know how we got here. And God would grieve that we didn’t pay attention to so many important things He’s tried to teach us for generations — and that not just because the economy is messed up.
Right off the bat here in verse 8, Paul says something pretty big: “Don’t run up debts.”
Don’t run up debts. He follows that with “Don’t always be wanting what you don’t have.” A lot of times, that’s why we end up running up the big debts, isn’t it? I know, sometimes it’s to pay basic bills when times are just plain tough. But often, too often, it’s because we got to wanting something we didn’t have (and couldn’t afford) so much that we went ahead and went into debt to get it.
He goes on to warn us about getting so caught up in our stuff that we lose track of God. He tells us of a huge urgency — “Be up and awake to what God is doing! …We can’t afford to waste a minute, must not squander these precious daylight hours in frivolity and indulgence…” The urgency to be awake to what God is doing and God is calling us to do gets lost in our indulgence. Cohen explains that indulgence is a thriving business even in the wake of global economic crisis because we have come to believe so deeply within us that we are defined by what we purchase and what we eat. “Tell me how you shop,” he says, “and I’ll tell you who you are.”
I checked the dictionary to make sure I knew what I was talking about when I used the word indulgence. I didn’t want anyone to be able to say to me, as Inigo would say to Vizzini, “I don’t think it means what you think it means.” Here’s what I found:
indulgence
noun
1. an inability to resist the gratification of whims and desires
3. the act of indulging or gratifying a desire
4. foolish or senseless behavior [syn: folly]
Any one of those speaks directly to our seemingly endless ability to pursue the delight of ourselves into our absolute ruin. We can scorn guys like the VP of Indulgence, but the truth is that if we weren’t buying it, he wouldn’t be selling it. M&Ms would only pursue a ripe market. We ask to be treated this way by continuing to respond favorably to their advances.
As he usually does, Paul gives us an alternative. We don’t have to die pleasing ourselves. We don’t have to pursue self indulgence. We don’t have to rack up outrageous debt pleasing ourselves. We don’t have to go wanting all kinds of stuff we don’t have and don’t need.
He tells us to go ahead and run up one debt. And one debt alone: “the huge debt of love you owe each other.” This is a debt he’s good with. Because this is a debt not created by our inability to resist gratifying our own whims and desires. This is a debt created by our love for God and our love for one another.
Why be defined by what we buy and what we eat?
Why not be defined by how we love one another?
This would allow us the freedom to pursue the missing definition above.
2. a disposition to yield to the wishes of someone
We could devote ourselves to yielding to others, submitting to others, loving others. Paul says that kind of debt, and that kind of indulgence, is a much better way.
Don’t run up debts, except for the huge debt of love you owe each other. When you love others, you complete what the law has been after all along. The law code — don’t sleep with another person’s spouse, don’t take someone’s life, don’t take what isn’t yours, don’t always be wanting what you don’t have, and any other “don’t” you can think of—finally adds up to this: Love other people as well as you do yourself. You can’t go wrong when you love others. When you add up everything in the law code, the sum total is love.
But make sure that you don’t get so absorbed and exhausted in taking care of all your day-by-day obligations that you lose track of the time and doze off, oblivious to God. The night is about over, dawn is about to break. Be up and awake to what God is doing! God is putting the finishing touches on the salvation work he began when we first believed. We can’t afford to waste a minute, must not squander these precious daylight hours in frivolity and indulgence, in sleeping around and dissipation, in bickering and grabbing everything in sight. Get out of bed and get dressed! Don’t loiter and linger, waiting until the very last minute. Dress yourselves in Christ, and be up and about! (Romans 13:8-14 MSG)
We’ve made quite a mess of the economy — yep, you read right. I said we. Wasn’t just Washington, wasn’t just big corporations and CEOs with big fat wallets, and AIG running off with the taxpayers’ bailout money to nurse their wounds in a spa. While I say “Curses, AIG,” I still have to recognize that you, and I, and that guy down the street — most of us helped them create the disaster it is today. You don’t want to read an economics lesson from me, but I will say this. I think all the way from the CEOs to me, we got pretty greedy. Even so, it seems that the whole fiasco has given me a much needed opportunity to take a look at my own habits and tweak them a bit where it might be sensible. And the uncertainty has perhaps motivated some of us to take a look at what and whom we trust.
I had a chance recently to visit my old church (Church of the Open Door in Maple Grove, MN) and was plenty challenged by a sermon that addressed the uncertainties and where our hearts are. During his message, Pastor Dave Johnson referred to an executive at Mars Inc. whose job title is Vice President/Indulgence. I wasn’t honestly sure if he had made this up as a joke or if this was the real deal, so I Googled it. Sure enough, this is a real guy with a real title. Roger Cohen of The New York Times has a fascinating article you can read in its entirety. He tells how M&Ms have been producing a “premium” version that costs about double the original “common folk” M&Ms. And sales are going through the roof.
Cohen says this: “Now, in these times of plunging stock prices and falling sales, you’d think [the Vice President/Indulgence] might be struggling to get people to indulge. It makes sense to drop needless pleasures when cash is short. But this is a recession in which indulgence is thriving, a phenomenon that says much about our world.” This is interesting. At a time when folks could reasonably be expected to cut back on nonessentials, it doesn’t appear that we are. We’re still inclined to run straight for the luxuries, big and small, even though we maybe can’t afford them, we clearly don’t need them, and it’s pretty debatable whether they ultimately add any real value to our lives.
Paul had no idea what a recession was when he wrote to the Roman church.He hadn’t even been through the Great Depression. But yet his counsel is as appropriate for us as it was for them. Don’t forget, the Word was breathed alive by God Himself. Even though Paul didn’t know what might be happening in the U.S. (and global) economy in the year 2008 (I scarcely think Paul even believed there would be a year 2008), God knew. God knew we would be here. God would know how we got here. And God would grieve that we didn’t pay attention to so many important things He’s tried to teach us for generations — and that not just because the economy is messed up.
Right off the bat here in verse 8, Paul says something pretty big: “Don’t run up debts.”
Don’t run up debts. He follows that with “Don’t always be wanting what you don’t have.” A lot of times, that’s why we end up running up the big debts, isn’t it? I know, sometimes it’s to pay basic bills when times are just plain tough. But often, too often, it’s because we got to wanting something we didn’t have (and couldn’t afford) so much that we went ahead and went into debt to get it.
He goes on to warn us about getting so caught up in our stuff that we lose track of God. He tells us of a huge urgency — “Be up and awake to what God is doing! …We can’t afford to waste a minute, must not squander these precious daylight hours in frivolity and indulgence…” The urgency to be awake to what God is doing and God is calling us to do gets lost in our indulgence. Cohen explains that indulgence is a thriving business even in the wake of global economic crisis because we have come to believe so deeply within us that we are defined by what we purchase and what we eat. “Tell me how you shop,” he says, “and I’ll tell you who you are.”
I checked the dictionary to make sure I knew what I was talking about when I used the word indulgence. I didn’t want anyone to be able to say to me, as Inigo would say to Vizzini, “I don’t think it means what you think it means.” Here’s what I found:
indulgence
noun
1. an inability to resist the gratification of whims and desires
3. the act of indulging or gratifying a desire
4. foolish or senseless behavior [syn: folly]
Any one of those speaks directly to our seemingly endless ability to pursue the delight of ourselves into our absolute ruin. We can scorn guys like the VP of Indulgence, but the truth is that if we weren’t buying it, he wouldn’t be selling it. M&Ms would only pursue a ripe market. We ask to be treated this way by continuing to respond favorably to their advances.
As he usually does, Paul gives us an alternative. We don’t have to die pleasing ourselves. We don’t have to pursue self indulgence. We don’t have to rack up outrageous debt pleasing ourselves. We don’t have to go wanting all kinds of stuff we don’t have and don’t need.
He tells us to go ahead and run up one debt. And one debt alone: “the huge debt of love you owe each other.” This is a debt he’s good with. Because this is a debt not created by our inability to resist gratifying our own whims and desires. This is a debt created by our love for God and our love for one another.
Why be defined by what we buy and what we eat?
Why not be defined by how we love one another?
This would allow us the freedom to pursue the missing definition above.
2. a disposition to yield to the wishes of someone
We could devote ourselves to yielding to others, submitting to others, loving others. Paul says that kind of debt, and that kind of indulgence, is a much better way.
Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes; when they die, their projects die with them. Instead, get help from the God of Jacob, put your hope in God and know real blessing! God made sky and soil, sea and all the fish in it. He always does what he says — he defends the wronged, he feeds the hungry. God frees prisoners — he gives sight to the blind, he lifts up the fallen. (Psalm 146:3-9a, MSG)
This picture was not actually in front of my office this week, but for some of my coworkers, this is what it may well have felt like.
My employer, for the first time in its long and storied history, cut some positions this week. Laid people off. (Actually, the first thing I learned about the layoffs is that we don’t call them that. We eliminated positions. All a matter of semantics if you ask me, and if you were one who was eliminated, it still had to feel like you were voted off the island. I find layoffs to be a less clumsy term. And since I’m not in management, I’m going to take the liberty of using the word I prefer.)
Some pretty crazy things happen when a whole bunch of people lose their jobs all at one time. It’s hard. No big fancy words for that. (Some may have thought of plenty, but I won’t use them here.)
It’s just hard.
Folks who get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They worry about paying their bills, feeding their kids, keeping their homes, affording insurance, keeping their pension. They wonder what they did wrong. They wonder how they couldn’t see it coming. They wonder what they do next.
Folks who don’t get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They feel horrible for their friends and coworkers. They worry about what’s going to happen to them. They feel relieved that they survived the carnage. But then they feel selfish about that, guilty even, for having their job to go back to. But then, they don’t know how long they can trust that now.
Nothing like pulling the rug out from under folks to make the whole world feel like a pretty shaky place.
So over the past couple of weeks, waiting for the shoe to drop and then sitting and looking at it all busted apart on the floor, I’ve had a couple of overriding thoughts. The “things I learned from the layoffs.” Everybody has learned important stuff from the layoffs. I don’t know that this is necessarily any smarter than what everybody else has learned. But this is definitely one of those times for me where the Word — God’s love letter to us — and life really collide hard. They smack together with a huge crash and really make you sit up and take notice.
Before I say much more, I need to say this: I’m not going to comment on the company’s decision. Right decision, wrong decision. Good execution, bad execution. Doesn’t matter at this point for my purpose here. It’s done. And anything you read here is not intended to reflect bitterness or anger on my part, nor is it intended as a commentary on anyone’s reaction in particular. This is no more than a couple of pertinent observations about how we face life in the wake of very unexpected, very devastating circumstances, and really, that applies to all kinds of things that have nothing to do with jobs and cuts.
So here we go. Things I Learned From the Layoffs:
Lesson No. 1: Don’t Give Your Life to the Company
Now, when I say that, I don’t mean specifically to my company. I mean to any company. Businesses are businesses. They exist to earn profits. Unfortunately, very few businesses are in the business of taking care of employees. They take care of employees to the extent that it enables them to have the employees they need to be profitable. I don’t say that to slam companies and corporations. I say it simply because it’s true. Companies who focus solely on the needs and wishes of their employees cease to exist after a while, in which case they no longer have employees to be concerned with.
And I think it’s fair to say that the converse is true most of the time. Not all, but most of the time. If an opportunity presented itself that offered something better — whether in pay, benefits, job description, satisfaction — the vast majority of people would leave their current employer.
What I’m trying to say, and perhaps poorly, is this: No company deserves your life. They deserve your best effort for a solid day’s work. That’s the relationship that we have. I agree to do my job to the best of my ability day in and day out. The company agrees to pay me the salary and benefits they offered and I accepted. Once in a while we’re known to kick in a little extra effort. And once in a while, employers are known to give out a little extra. But as Jesus instructed His disciples, “the workman is worthy of his meat.” (Matthew 10:10 KJV) More simply, the worker is worth his wages.
But to give my life to something that isn’t worthy of it sells us all short. My life belongs to my family. And most importantly, because I recognize my utter need for Him and His lordship over me, my life belongs to Jesus. While I’m grateful for my current job and past jobs I’ve had with a variety of organizations, some of which I’ve even really loved, I can’t see any one of them stacking up next to my family and my God. My life belongs to them and they are infinitely worthy of all of it.
A business, by its very nature self absorbed and committed first and foremost to itself, is not worthy of my life.
Lesson No. 2: Don’t Get Your Life From the Company
Way too often we look to our boss or our job or our company to provide us with things that they simply cannot. As I’ve said already, our relationship is limited. The company doesn’t owe me life any more than I owe mine to it. I owe the company my work effort. The company owes me my compensation. That’s it. No company can provide me with security, and when I look there for it, I will be woefully disappointed, as many of us have been in these past several days. My job, my boss, my company simply cannot bestow security or certainty or stability. It’s not their job and it’s not within the realm of their capability.
Jobs cannot bestow life. They just can’t.
Here’s the thing. And this is the only thing I’m going to say today that really matters. There is only one sure thing. There is only one source of life. There is only one person in all the world that can give us everything we really need. Life, love, security. No, I have not been reading any new self-help books and so I’m not going to tell you that you’re the only one who can do that for yourself. I will not say “we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.” Trusting in ourselves for life and security makes about as much sense as trusting in an insurance company for those things. We just don’t have it.
There’s one source of life, only one, like it or not, and it’s my Father God. Listen to the words of Psalm 146 above: “Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.” Companies are run by . . . mere humans. But only God can provide the sure foundation when the rug gets pulled and when the walls start shaking. He’s the only one that not only knows what He’s doing but actually has the resources to come through. People and organizations, mere humans, sometimes make honest mistakes and sometimes honestly take advantage. Either way, they are destined to let us down. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.
But the Psalmist says we can put our hope in God. “He always does what he says.”
And what does He say He does?
He defends the wronged.
He feeds the hungry.
He frees prisoners.
He gives sight to the blind.
He lifts up the fallen.
That’s a lot. But He can do it. He does do it. He will do it. He’s a sure thing.
Good lessons from the layoffs for me. God is worthy of my life. God is the only one who can give me life.
He’s worthy of my trust in every possible sense.
The last verse of Psalm 146 says it all for me. If I will just let it be so.
“God’s in charge — always. Zion’s God is God for good!”
::
Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes; when they die, their projects die with them. Instead, get help from the God of Jacob, put your hope in God and know real blessing! God made sky and soil, sea and all the fish in it. He always does what he says — he defends the wronged, he feeds the hungry. God frees prisoners — he gives sight to the blind, he lifts up the fallen. (Psalm 146:3-9a, MSG)
This picture was not actually in front of my office this week, but for some of my coworkers, this is what it may well have felt like.
My employer, for the first time in its long and storied history, cut some positions this week. Laid people off. (Actually, the first thing I learned about the layoffs is that we don’t call them that. We eliminated positions. All a matter of semantics if you ask me, and if you were one who was eliminated, it still had to feel like you were voted off the island. I find layoffs to be a less clumsy term. And since I’m not in management, I’m going to take the liberty of using the word I prefer.)
Some pretty crazy things happen when a whole bunch of people lose their jobs all at one time. It’s hard. No big fancy words for that. (Some may have thought of plenty, but I won’t use them here.)
It’s just hard.
Folks who get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They worry about paying their bills, feeding their kids, keeping their homes, affording insurance, keeping their pension. They wonder what they did wrong. They wonder how they couldn’t see it coming. They wonder what they do next.
Folks who don’t get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They feel horrible for their friends and coworkers. They worry about what’s going to happen to them. They feel relieved that they survived the carnage. But then they feel selfish about that, guilty even, for having their job to go back to. But then, they don’t know how long they can trust that now.
Nothing like pulling the rug out from under folks to make the whole world feel like a pretty shaky place.
So over the past couple of weeks, waiting for the shoe to drop and then sitting and looking at it all busted apart on the floor, I’ve had a couple of overriding thoughts. The “things I learned from the layoffs.” Everybody has learned important stuff from the layoffs. I don’t know that this is necessarily any smarter than what everybody else has learned. But this is definitely one of those times for me where the Word — God’s love letter to us — and life really collide hard. They smack together with a huge crash and really make you sit up and take notice.
Before I say much more, I need to say this: I’m not going to comment on the company’s decision. Right decision, wrong decision. Good execution, bad execution. Doesn’t matter at this point for my purpose here. It’s done. And anything you read here is not intended to reflect bitterness or anger on my part, nor is it intended as a commentary on anyone’s reaction in particular. This is no more than a couple of pertinent observations about how we face life in the wake of very unexpected, very devastating circumstances, and really, that applies to all kinds of things that have nothing to do with jobs and cuts.
So here we go.
Things I Learned From the Layoffs:
Lesson No. 1: Don’t Give Your Life to the Company
Now, when I say that, I don’t mean specifically to my company. I mean to any company. Businesses are businesses. They exist to earn profits. Unfortunately, very few businesses are in the business of taking care of employees. They take care of employees to the extent that it enables them to have the employees they need to be profitable. I don’t say that to slam companies and corporations. I say it simply because it’s true. Companies who focus solely on the needs and wishes of their employees cease to exist after a while, in which case they no longer have employees to be concerned with.
And I think it’s fair to say that the converse is true most of the time. Not all, but most of the time. If an opportunity presented itself that offered something better — whether in pay, benefits, job description, satisfaction — the vast majority of people would leave their current employer.
What I’m trying to say, and perhaps poorly, is this: No company deserves your life. They deserve your best effort for a solid day’s work. That’s the relationship that we have. I agree to do my job to the best of my ability day in and day out. The company agrees to pay me the salary and benefits they offered and I accepted. Once in a while we’re known to kick in a little extra effort. And once in a while, employers are known to give out a little extra. But as Jesus instructed His disciples, “the workman is worthy of his meat.” (Matthew 10:10 KJV) More simply, the worker is worth his wages.
But to give my life to something that isn’t worthy of it sells us all short. My life belongs to my family. And most importantly, because I recognize my utter need for Him and His lordship over me, my life belongs to Jesus. While I’m grateful for my current job and past jobs I’ve had with a variety of organizations, some of which I’ve even really loved, I can’t see any one of them stacking up next to my family and my God. My life belongs to them and they are infinitely worthy of all of it.
A business, by its very nature self absorbed and committed first and foremost to itself, is not worthy of my life.
Lesson No. 2: Don’t Get Your Life From the Company
Way too often we look to our boss or our job or our company to provide us with things that they simply cannot. As I’ve said already, our relationship is limited. The company doesn’t owe me life any more than I owe mine to it. I owe the company my work effort. The company owes me my compensation. That’s it. No company can provide me with security, and when I look there for it, I will be woefully disappointed, as many of us have been in these past several days. My job, my boss, my company simply cannot bestow security or certainty or stability. It’s not their job and it’s not within the realm of their capability.
Jobs cannot bestow life. They just can’t.
Here’s the thing. And this is the only thing I’m going to say today that really matters. There is only one sure thing. There is only one source of life. There is only one person in all the world that can give us everything we really need. Life, love, security. No, I have not been reading any new self-help books and so I’m not going to tell you that you’re the only one who can do that for yourself. I will not say “we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.” Trusting in ourselves for life and security makes about as much sense as trusting in an insurance company for those things. We just don’t have it.
There’s one source of life, only one, like it or not, and it’s my Father God. Listen to the words of Psalm 146 above: “Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.” Companies are run by . . . mere humans. But only God can provide the sure foundation when the rug gets pulled and when the walls start shaking. He’s the only one that not only knows what He’s doing but actually has the resources to come through. People and organizations, mere humans, sometimes make honest mistakes and sometimes honestly take advantage. Either way, they are destined to let us down. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.
But the Psalmist says we can put our hope in God. “He always does what he says.”
And what does He say He does?
He defends the wronged.
He feeds the hungry.
He frees prisoners.
He gives sight to the blind.
He lifts up the fallen.
That’s a lot. But He can do it. He does do it. He will do it. He’s a sure thing.
Good lessons from the layoffs for me. God is worthy of my life. God is the only one who can give me life.
He’s worthy of my trust in every possible sense.
The last verse of Psalm 146 says it all for me. If I will just let it be so.
“God’s in charge — always. Zion’s God is God for good!”
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment—to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ. (Ephesians 1:3-10)
When my kids are unappreciative of their dad’s efforts to help them see the upside of what they prefer to see as only unfavorable circumstances, they often deride him as one of those “optimists.” Those folks, as they say, who having had an arm severed by an angry (and hungry) crocodile would say something like “Unfortunately, an angry crocodile just ate my right arm . . . Fortunately, I am left handed.”
Let this serve as my contribution to the “Unfortunately . . . Fortunately” game. Unfortunately, Sanchez Is a Lot Like Me . . . Fortunately, God Is Not So Much Like Me. This is the good news angle produced by my reflection the other day on Sanchez-is-like-me.
It all started one day when someone said something to me about “my cat.” I replied that “Sanchez is not my cat. Sanchez is the cat that I permit to live at my house.” When I said it, there seemed to be a familiar ring to it that I just couldn’t place. But it came back to me the other day when she had belly crawled across the living room floor, stalking me. Once she reached the chair where I was sitting, she looked up at me with her pupils dilated almost bigger than her eyes, and kept twitching as she held herself back from a full frontal attack. I began to speak to her, telling her mean and hateful things, but in a kind and soothing voice. I realized in that moment (just before the bloodletting began) that what was so familiar was that it seems to me that I often view God and me like me and Sanchez. That I seem to think God views me the way I view this menace that is systematically taking over my home. (Think I’m kidding? She took a nap in the kitchen sink tonight.)
I sometimes fall into a seemingly bottomless pit of thinking that God sees me just like I see her. I don’t love Sanchez. I tolerate her. I abide her.
I don’t love her.
I did not one day announce my desire to have a cat and go to the animal shelter to choose her. I did not have my choice of everything in the heavens and the earth and choose her. I do not treasure her. I do not enjoy her fellowship. I do not delight in her.
But these things are all true of how the Father views me. (Well, minus the animal shelter part.)
When she had her first visit to the vet, we got some of her shots for free because we had taken in an orphan. We were foster parents. Even then, we had no intention of adopting her as our own. She was still a temporary boarder, an alien to whom we were providing sanctuary until her permanent home materialized. I put up with her, but I did not want her, did not love her, and did not wish to keep her around.
So here I am finding myself thinking that God often sees me the same way that I see Sanchez. He had a momentary lapse in judgment and He let me in before He realized what He was doing, and now He’s stuck. He puts up with me. He tolerates me. He has to; it’s in the covenant. But if He could find a loophole, He be through with me in a heartbeat. It’s as though He’s like me when I say “Sanchez is not my cat.”
This is often a daily, hourly struggle for me, to recognize on a continuous basis that this is simply not the truth. That the truth is that God would never say that I am not His child. He would never say that He does not love me but only endures me because He signed on to a covenant in a moment of weakness. God does not tolerate me. He loves me with an everlasting love, all the while that He sees the Sanchez-like sin in my life, the selfishness and unrepentance in my heart, He also pours out His love, through the riches of His grace. It was not in a moment of weakness that He chose me, but in a moment of outrageous love.
He does not permit me to stay in His home until He finds a suitable alternative for me. Listen to the words of Ephesians 1: In love He predestined us to be adopted as His sons (and daughters). Predestination doesn’t smack at all of a hasty decision made at the end of a long and stressful day.
He knew, before He lit up the stars and before He poured water into the sea, that He would choose us, and He would adopt us as His own. This wasn’t something He did when He was tired and not thinking clearly. He did it in accordance with His pleasure — it pleased Him to adopt us. It has yet to please me to care for Sanchez. But the Father made me His in His good pleasure.
I took in Sanchez out of obligation. He takes us in freely.
We give Sanchez the food and water she needs and we clean her litter box when we must. He gives us redemption through the blood of Jesus out of His riches, and He lavishes His grace on us.
He lavishes His grace on us. That’s an outpouring. Not a drizzle. Not a smidgen. Not the required amount. An outpouring that washes over us.
An outpouring of grace is a far cry from just putting up with me because He has to
So, fortunately, God is not so much like me. He doesn’t see me the way I see Sanchez.
The trick, I suppose, is to keep that contrast between being stuck with me and pouring out buckets of grace on me because He just loves to do it.
::
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment—to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ. (Ephesians 1:3-10)
When my kids are unappreciative of their dad’s efforts to help them see the upside of what they prefer to see as only unfavorable circumstances, they often deride him as one of those “optimists.” Those folks, as they say, who having had an arm severed by an angry (and hungry) crocodile would say something like “Unfortunately, an angry crocodile just ate my right arm . . . Fortunately, I am left handed.”
Let this serve as my contribution to the “Unfortunately . . . Fortunately” game.
Unfortunately, Sanchez Is a Lot Like Me . . . Fortunately, God Is Not So Much Like Me.
This is the good news angle produced by my reflection the other day on Sanchez-is-like-me.
::
It all started one day when someone said something to me about “my cat.” I replied that “Sanchez is not my cat. Sanchez is the cat that I permit to live at my house.”
When I said it, there seemed to be a familiar ring to it that I just couldn’t place. But it came back to me the other day when she had belly crawled across the living room floor, stalking me. Once she reached the chair where I was sitting, she looked up at me with her pupils dilated almost bigger than her eyes, and kept twitching as she held herself back from a full frontal attack.
I began to speak to her, telling her mean and hateful things, but in a kind and soothing voice. I realized in that moment (just before the bloodletting began) that what was so familiar was that it seems to me that I often view God and me like me and Sanchez.
That I seem to think God views me the way I view this menace that is systematically taking over my home. (Think I’m kidding? She took a nap in the kitchen sink tonight.)
I sometimes fall into a seemingly bottomless pit of thinking that God sees me just like I see her.
I don’t love Sanchez. I tolerate her. I abide her.
I don’t love her.
::
I did not one day announce my desire to have a cat and go to the animal shelter to choose her.
I did not have my choice of everything in the heavens and the earth and choose her. I do not treasure her.
I do not enjoy her fellowship.
I do not delight in her.
But these things are all true of how the Father views me. (Well, minus the animal shelter part.)
::
When she had her first visit to the vet, we got some of her shots for free because we had taken in an orphan. We were foster parents. Even then, we had no intention of adopting her as our own. She was still a temporary boarder, an alien to whom we were providing sanctuary until her permanent home materialized.
I put up with her, but I did not want her, did not love her, and did not wish to keep her around.
So here I am finding myself thinking that God often sees me the same way that I see Sanchez.
He had a momentary lapse in judgment and He let me in before He realized what He was doing, and now He’s stuck.
He puts up with me. He tolerates me.
He has to; it’s in the covenant.
But if He could find a loophole, He be through with me in a heartbeat.
It’s as though He’s like me when I say “Sanchez is not my cat.”
::
This is often a daily, hourly struggle for me, to recognize on a continuous basis that this is simply not the truth. That the truth is that God would never say that I am not His child. He would never say that He does not love me but only endures me because He signed on to a covenant in a moment of weakness.
God does not tolerate me.
He loves me with an everlasting love, all the while that He sees the Sanchez-like sin in my life, the selfishness and unrepentance in my heart, He also pours out His love, through the riches of His grace.
It was not in a moment of weakness that He chose me, but in a moment of outrageous love.
He does not permit me to stay in His home until He finds a suitable alternative for me. Listen to the words of Ephesians 1: In love He predestined us to be adopted as His sons (and daughters).
Predestination doesn’t smack at all of a hasty decision made at the end of a long and stressful day.
He knew, before He lit up the stars and before He poured water into the sea, that He would choose us, and He would adopt us as His own.
This wasn’t something He did when He was tired and not thinking clearly. He did it in accordance with His pleasure — it pleased Him to adopt us.
It has yet to please me to care for Sanchez.
But the Father made me His in His good pleasure.
I took in Sanchez out of obligation.
He takes us in freely.
We give Sanchez the food and water she needs and we clean her litter box when we must.
He gives us redemption through the blood of Jesus out of His riches, and He lavishes His grace on us.
::
He lavishes His grace on us.
That’s an outpouring.
Not a drizzle. Not a smidgen. Not the required amount.
An outpouring that washes over us.
An outpouring of grace is a far cry from just putting up with me because He has to
So, fortunately, God is not so much like me. He doesn’t see me the way I see Sanchez.
The trick, I suppose, is to keep that contrast between being stuck with me and pouring out buckets of grace on me because He just loves to do it.
But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can’t keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don’t have what it takes. I can will it, but I can’t do it. I decide to do good, but I don’t really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don’t result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time. It happens so regularly that it’s predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God’s commands, but it’s pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge. I’ve tried everything and nothing helps. I’m at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn’t that the real question? The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different. (Romans 7:17-25, MSG)
I’ve been reflecting on how this whole Sanchez thing happened to me. (To get the back story on Sanchez, read here, and here, and here, and here.) Take a look at this. This was Sanchez the day she came to our house. Now, she was cute enough when she first came to stay the night. How could you not take her in for a little while?
But it was supposed to be temporary. She wasn’t supposed to be part of the family. It was just to nurse a tiny abandoned kitty back to health and find her a new home. But somehow, she stayed. Now she lounges around and looks pretty and really acts like she owns the place. Oh, sure, she looks innocent enough…
…but she’s not. Now that she’s big enough and agile enough to go anywhere she wants, we can’t leave stuff out like we used to. Well, we still do. But we shouldn’t. She gets into everything. She finds pens, bottle caps, flash drives, loose change, empty bottles, and anything else she can carry in her teeth, and stashes it under the throw rugs or behind the computer desk. She’s a thief and a hoarder.
And she’s not nice. Yes, that’s my arm she’s chewing. I call that The Death Grip. See how she has her front feet wrapped around my forearm? Her claws have punctured my arm to hold it secure. You can’t see her teeth, but that’s just because they are sunken into my flesh. And her back feet? The still photos won’t show it but she’s using them almost like she’s propelling a kick board in the pool, not for the purpose of going anywhere, but primarily to shred whatever is left of my arm after her front claws and teeth are done.
I realized today as she took a swipe at one of JP’s friends that came to spend the night that she’s just one big liability claim waiting to happen.
I’ve been mulling over this piece for the last week, waiting for it to fully take form. All I knew for sure was it involved Sanchez, me, and God. I had it going a different direction. But as I started a list of the things that really annoy me about this cat, something unpleasant occurred to me. You know how the people you find the most annoying are those that are also the most like you? I know that I couldn’t survive in a world made up of people like me. I don’t really know how the rest of you do it.
So I considered what was most irritating about Sanchez, and I realized that as I looked at Sanchez through that lens that I saw just as much of me.
Ouch. She draws blood this time without even touching me.
Let me show you what I mean.
Sanchez wants us on her terms. She wants us to pay attention to her only when she wants it, and then, we’d really better pay attention. If we want to play when she’s not interested, well, heaven help us.
I want God on my terms. I want Him to be ready and waiting for me when I’m ready for Him. And when I’m not? I’d Him to wait patiently on the sidelines.
Sanchez is inconsiderate and selfish. She couldn’t care less if she’s sitting in my spot, or tearing up my desk, or stomping all over my keyboard, or taking our stuff and hiding it under the rug. All she cares about is getting what she wants, when she wants, regardless of how it might affect someone else.
I am inconsiderate and selfish. I often do whatever I feel like doing, despite how it might affect someone else too.
Sanchez is ungrateful. Sanchez has everything she needs. She has food, she has water, she has a warm home, she has plenty of people who pay attention to her and play with her and snuggle her when she wants. But she doesn’t care. She never says thank you, and she never shows the slightest bit of gratitude. She just demands more.
I am ungrateful. God provides me with everything I need. And even sometimes, things I want. He cares for me, and honestly, I have to say I have so much. But I forget to be grateful for that. I neglect to thank Him and those around me. I just go back and ask for, sometimes demand, more.
Sanchez hurts us sometimes without meaning to. She has these claws, and she doesn’t have any idea how sharp they are and how easily they puncture and slice. She’s careless and wounds without intending to do it.
I hurt others sometimes without meaning to. I’m careless with my words and don’t realize how sharp they are and how deeply and easily they puncture and slice.
Sanchez hurts us sometimes on purpose. Whether she’s trying to get our attention, or she’s mad about something or she’s just that way, I’m pretty sure that sometimes she thinks it through and just bites down hard.
I hurt people sometimes on purpose. Maybe my desire isn’t really to cause pain, but I’ll admit when I’m angry or hurt sometimes I’ll still do things that I know will hurt. I think it through (or not at all) and just bite down hard.
Sanchez is impatient. She is unwilling to wait for what she wants. As I changed her litter today, she didn’t think I was pouring it fast enough, so she started throwing it around. She tears into the food bag as we try to fill her dish. She just won’t wait patiently for us to come through.
I am impatient. I am also unwilling to wait for what I want. I don’t allow God to come through and I try to force things on my own, sometimes ripping the bag or spraying the litter around in the process.
Sanchez is merciless. Recently when she slashed my leg, leaving a three-inch gash that was dripping blood (no exaggeration), she looked at me and walked away. No remorse, no mercy. If it had been convenient for her, she’d have slashed the other leg too.
I am merciless. I just don’t always recognize the needs of others, and I sure don’t always respond to them with mercy.
Sanchez acts like she owns the place. She’s pretty sure our house was built and furnished just for her. And while she’s at it, I think she believes that we were born to serve her. She believes she has arrived. She forgets that she is a guest, a visitor, a temporary resident (would that it were true).
I act like I own the place. I act like this world is my home and that everything is here just to please and service me. I forget that I am but a tenant and that our eternal home is really what it’s about. This isn’t enough, it’s not all there is. When I act like it is, I act just like Sanchez.
Sanchez is unrepentant. She does the same things she’s been told not to do over, and over, and over. Sometimes within seconds of being told. And sometimes while she looks us right in the eye.
I am often unrepentant. I know what God asks of me. And yet often I do the opposite. Over, and over, and over. And sometimes, looking Him right in the eye, I’m ashamed to admit.
Get the point? I am so much like this annoying parasite that has taken over my home. While I am very quick to point out all that is wrong with her (and don’t think I’m not mentally doing that to other people as well), it takes me a little longer to recognize these are the same things that daily challenge me.
The big difference, I suppose (besides that she is a beast and I am a person), is that I want to do the right thing. She really doesn’t care. There is nothing in her that makes her want to do it differently, that makes her want to do right.
I do. I have Jesus working in me, giving me the desire and the power to do what He wants.
And that makes my seemingly constant propensity toward sin even more exasperating.
::
I’ve been reflecting on how this whole Sanchez thing happened to me. (To get the back story on Sanchez, read here.) Take a look at this. This was Sanchez the day she came to our house. Now, she was cute enough when she first came to stay the night. How could you not take her in for a little while?
But it was supposed to be temporary. She wasn’t supposed to be part of the family. It was just to nurse a tiny abandoned kitty back to health and find her a new home. But somehow, she stayed. Now she lounges around and looks pretty and really acts like she owns the place. Oh, sure, she looks innocent enough…
…but she’s not. Now that she’s big enough and agile enough to go anywhere she wants, we can’t leave stuff out like we used to. Well, we still do. But we shouldn’t. She gets into everything. She finds pens, bottle caps, flash drives, loose change, empty bottles, and anything else she can carry in her teeth, and stashes it under the throw rugs or behind the computer desk. She’s a thief and a hoarder.
And she’s not nice. Yes, that’s my arm she’s chewing. I call that The Death Grip. See how she has her front feet wrapped around my forearm? Her claws have punctured my arm to hold it secure. You can’t see her teeth, but that’s just because they are sunken into my flesh. And her back feet? The still photos won’t show it but she’s using them almost like she’s propelling a kick board in the pool, not for the purpose of going anywhere, but primarily to shred whatever is left of my arm after her front claws and teeth are done.
I realized today as she took a swipe at one of JP’s friends that came to spend the night that she’s just one big liability claim waiting to happen.
Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is suffering terribly from demon-possession.” Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.” (Matthew 15:21-23 NIV)
A friend of mine just complimented me the other day, quite unexpectedly, for having expressed myself in some particularly “gracious and diplomatic” way. I was a bit struck by that, what with my often abrasive tendency toward unnecessary frankness. I don’t see myself associated with such qualities as graciousness and diplomacy very often. I put that up against a verbal altercation I recently had with a robocaller and it wasn’t tough to see which one was perhaps more like me.
Let me explain. A few weeks ago I answered a call from Josh, a fellow who often calls our home to discuss our finances. He always recites the same concern over our supposedly mounting credit card debt and always sounds so genuinely concerned about our financial situation. He seems like a very nice young man. But of course, his facts are always wrong about how much debt we might have accrued, how many credit cards we have and how many months our payments are in arrears. That’s because Josh isn’t real. He’s just a recorded voice and he’s playing the same made up information into hundreds of homes across the country at the same time as ours, hoping that one of the hapless recipients of his message will be moved by his phony concern and want to talk to someone who can use their dire straits to make a buck for Josh’s employer.
That night, despite Josh’s sincere demeanor, he got on my nerves. So rather than just terminate the call when he started talking like I usually do, I pressed “1″ to talk to someone about being removed from Josh’s list. I was immediately connected to an obviously overworked call center rep who said, in a tired and nasally voice, “You pressed ’1′ to talk to a financial consultant about consolidating your debt.”
“Well, no,” I said. “I pressed ’1′ to see if I could get Josh to stop calling me.” Now, I didn’t expect she’d be pleased to hear this, but I had no idea what I had just unleashed.
“Well then, why did you press ’1′?” she demanded, and a little loudly if you ask me. “You’re supposed to press ’2′ for that!”
I made a feeble attempt to explain. “I’m sorry, but I had other things to do, so I didn’t want to tie up my night listening to all the prompts for my options. I just pressed ’1′ because it came up first.”
She was enraged. “You’re supposed to press ’2′ for ‘do not call.’ You pressed ’1.’ You press ’1′ to talk to a consultant! Why didn’t you press ’2′?”
“Because I didn’t want to listen. Look, I’m sorry. But you guys called me. Why are you yelling at me?” I asked.
Her response would not have impressed my friend as gracious and diplomatic. “BECAUSE YOU’RE WASTING MY TIME!” she howled, and with that she disconnected me.
I was a little stunned, I have to tell you, just as I often am when I manage to provoke a member of the service industry to berate me. Yes, it’s happened before. Remember the house latte?
You already have likely figured out that for me, there are few random events. I process most everything through a “what does this mean” filter, and often find application where, most certainly, there really wasn’t any intended. This event was one of those that made it to my list.
So what does this mean? The “what does this mean” for me is this: As believers we often are at a complete loss as to what to do when someone pushes “1″ instead of “2.” When someone comes in an unexpected way, or doesn’t jump through quite the right hoops, or maybe jumps through the right hoops but in the wrong order, or when someone just doesn’t look or act like we think they should. When the actions or responses or life circumstances of another don’t fit into what we understand or feel comfortable with. That’s when we lose it.
Why didn’t you just push “2″?
Here in Matthew 15, not so very long after Jesus had walked on the water, He was traveling with His disciples when a woman approached begging for mercy and healing for her daughter, who was possessed by a demon. The woman was a Canaanite. And she was persistent. She was so persistent that the disciples finally went to Jesus and told Him to get rid of her. She was getting under their skin. She kept pleading with Jesus, and she just wouldn’t stop. For some reason, Jesus didn’t respond. He didn’t grant her request, and He didn’t tell her to go away. He seemed to just ignore her. The disciples, assuming He just wasn’t interested, finally insisted that He tell her to go away. “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.” The Message says “Now she’s bothering us…she’s driving us crazy.”
They assumed that Jesus didn’t respond to her because she was the wrong kind of person. She was a Canaanite. Clearly “not one of us.” And Jesus seems to validate their unspoken aversion to this woman. He told her, “I was sent to the lost sheep of Israel.” The disciples, I’m guessing, figured that they had it right. Jesus wanted nothing to do with her. She didn’t look right, she didn’t act right, she wasn’t right. She pressed “1.” And Jesus was telling her off.
You go, Jesus. Let her have it. She pressed “1.” Stupid, annoying woman.
But He wasn’t telling her off at all. He was giving her an opportunity to demonstrate her faith. And teach the disciples a thing or two.
She persisted, and Jesus almost looked like he was going the way of the robo-rep. “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs,” He told her. You pushed “1″ and you definitely should have pressed “2.” You’re not doing this right.
And she persisted further. “‘Yes, Lord,’ she said, ‘but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.’” It was as though she said, No, I can press “1″ or I can press “2.”
She knew. She knew that Jesus had come for her as surely as He had come for the Jews. She knew she wasn’t “one of them.” Yet she believed Jesus was Who He said He was. And so she also knew it had nothing to do with who she was or who she wasn’t. It had everything to do with Who Jesus was.
Jesus was pleased with her faith, and we discover if we read between the lines that this is why He allowed this one to play out as it did. Because it allowed her to demonstrate her great faith, and it also allowed Him to teach the disciples something.
Sometimes it’s not the people we expect. Or maybe it’s the people we expect, but not the way we expect. Sometimes people just don’t follow our rules and they don’t do their faith the way that we think they should. Sometimes they press “1″ instead of pressing “2.”
But this hardly matters, does it? They want Jesus. They know He’s what they need, and all they need. They know that pleasing us is the last thing they need to care about.
They need to please Him, and trust Him, and follow Him.
And me? Whether they push “1″ or push “2″ I need to be ready to serve, not chastise them and not hang up on them.
I need to be ready to respond to them in a way that pleases Him.
::
A friend of mine just complimented me the other day, quite unexpectedly, for having expressed myself in some particularly “gracious and diplomatic” way. I was a bit struck by that, what with my often abrasive tendency toward unnecessary frankness. I don’t see myself associated with such qualities as graciousness and diplomacy very often. I put that up against a verbal altercation I recently had with a robocaller and it wasn’t tough to see which one was perhaps more like me.
That’s when Thomas, the one called the Twin, said to his companions, “Come along. We might as well die with him.” (John 11:16 MSG)
Thomas gets a bad rap, you know? He’s the one who’s tagged as “Doubting Thomas” because after the brothers told him that Jesus had risen from the dead, he doubted. He needed proof. He needed to be able to see Him, see His wounds, touch Him in the flesh.
Being so superior to the likes of Thomas, we chide him. “Doubting Thomas” indeed. Naturally, if we had been there when the Marys and Peter and John came back from the tomb wild eyed and insistent that Jesus was alive, I’m sure we’d have been first in line announcing our stupendous faith. Of course, we’d have understood every cryptic remark Jesus made before His death that alluded to imminent events. We’d have been able to push through the crowd of clamoring disciples at that time and said, “Fellows, fellows, please settle down. Do you not remember when He said that He would rebuild the temple in three days after it had been torn down? Certainly you understood He referred to Himself. Surely you knew this was to happen just this way! I cannot see how you do not believe instantly and without question.”
I doubt it. I think we’d have been huddled in that upper room wondering what was going to happen and why Jesus had abandoned us just like the rest of them. And we would have dismissed the claims of our friends that He was alive. It had to be their overwhelming grief talking. At least I know I would. I somehow doubt I’d have understood so many of the important things that Jesus had said and done before His death that would have helped prepare me for the very scary days to come and would have helped me to know that He would be back, and back with His resurrection power.
See, I figure that Thomas was really no different than the other guys, and perhaps us, except for one important quality that Thomas had that we overlook in favor of our microscope on his tendency toward disbelief. Because we focus the lens on what we see as his huge flaw, we miss something so important.
Thomas was authentic.
Thomas was honest and up front about his doubt. Not unlike David, Thomas had that willingness to say out loud what was going on in his heart and his head. Thomas would admit to feeling what most of the others were likely feeling but not saying.
With this look at Thomas, my wanderings in John 10-12 come to an end. Before Jesus even went to see Lazarus, we have a brief but meaningful encounter with Thomas that in many ways set the stage for the doubting reputation he acquired at the time of the resurrection. We get a glimpse of Thomas’ authenticity that perhaps makes us feel more uncomfortable with him than willing to admire him (though perhaps still privately thinking, “he’s a lot like me”).
You might remember that in John 10, before Jesus went to Bethany to be with His friends in their crisis, He’d had a bit of an altercation with the Pharisees. They’d accused Him of blasphemy and nearly stoned Him then and there. He slipped away and had been keeping something of a low profile since then. But when He heard of Lazarus’ illness, after the initial delay He told His disciples that He wanted to go to them. He wanted to return to Judea.
The disciples, in a word, freaked. In verse 11:8, they said, “Rabbi, you can’t do that. The Jews are out to kill you, and you’re going back?” He was always doing things that they didn’t understand. And they were always coming undone. So here they went again. And of course, Jesus went into another explanation of His plan that just made no sense to them. But one thing was clear: He would go to Lazarus and his sisters.
At this point, Thomas resigned himself to the will of his Master. He recognized that Jesus was going to do what He wanted, whether the disciples thought it wise or not. Whether it ended in His death or not. And being a total Eeyore, he was pretty confident that they would all die. He said to his friends, “Come along. We might as well die with Him.” Can you hear the voice of Eeyore? Listen…
(click to play)
Think of Eeyore saying, “Come along. We might as well die with Him.” He sounds just like Thomas.
But you know, Eeyore has an authenticity to him too. He is willing to say what is going on in his head even when others don’t really want to hear it.
The difference is Thomas was not glued to one spot with his gloom. Thomas, despite his pessimism and his doubt, actually led the way. While all the others were holding Jesus back and telling Him He should not go, Thomas stepped out and expressed his fear (they would all die), then walked straight through it to stand with Jesus and go where He wanted to go (they would all die with Him). Even if it meant dying, Thomas saw the importance of being with Jesus.
He had his doubt, and he had his fears. But in the midst of it, he stood with Jesus and he led his brothers to do the same.
Thomas’ doubt did not disqualify him for service to his Master. Thomas’ willingness to admit his doubt allowed others to believe. When Jesus showed His wounds to Thomas, don’t think for a second that others weren’t craning their necks, hoping to see something that would help them believe. And when Thomas called his brothers to go with Jesus despite what he thought was certain death, his willingness to press on, despite his obvious fear, no doubt strengthened them to go along as well.
Jesus doesn’t want us to doubt. He wants us to trust. But He never asks us to pretend. He asks us to be honest with Him about our doubts and our fears. And then He asks us to trust Him despite them and move on forward.
We might as well die with Him.That’s when Thomas, the one called the Twin, said to his companions, “Come along. We might as well die with him.” (John 11:16 MSG)
Thomas gets a bad rap, you know? He’s the one who’s tagged as “Doubting Thomas” because after the brothers told him that Jesus had risen from the dead, he doubted. He needed proof. He needed to be able to see Him, see His wounds, touch Him in the flesh.
The crowd that had been with him when he called Lazarus from the tomb, raising him from the dead, was there giving eyewitness accounts. It was because they had spread the word of this latest God-sign that the crowd swelled to a welcoming parade. The Pharisees took one look and threw up their hands: “It’s out of control. The world’s in a stampede after him.” (John 12:17-19, MSG)
Watch this little black and white video. I can’t tell you what old movie it’s really from. (Hey Dad, does it look familiar?) So for my purposes here, we’ll just call it How the Middle East Was Won. Or Blazing Pharisee Saddles. Maybe They Call Me Trinity. Or perhaps just plain old Big Stampede or Cattle Stampede. (Those last two are real titles. Catchy, eh?)
Call it what you want. But when you watch the clip, imagine that the Pharisees have traded their fancy temple robes for chaps and 10-gallon hats. And then watch what happens when the stampede starts.
When the one guy has to jump up in the tree so he’s not completely trampled by the charging cattle, not unlike hapless victims at last year’s Black Friday sales at Wal-Mart, I love to imagine he’s a Pharisee, trying to stay out of the dangerous path of those who are rushing to give their lives to Jesus.
As those who witnessed Lazarus’ resurrection run off to tell others, there’s a huge crowd forming. And they all want a piece of Jesus. They have been amazed by His love and His power, and they want some of that. They want Him. And they are, as we’ve learned, turning to Him in huge numbers.
For the first time ever, the Pharisees are losing control of the people. And with that, now their turf is at risk. Jesus has posed this enormous threat to their power and position, and they are at a complete loss as to what to do to regain control. They are stymied as to how to get the people to submit to their puffed up authority again. They are scrambling, first to get out of the way of this thundering stampede, and second to figure out how to rein it in again.
Jesus shows Himself, and all the world is “in a stampede after Him.” That is a picture that is so fun, so exciting, so invigorating. To imagine enough people moving with enough passion and energy after Jesus that it is a virtual stampede. That’s the kind of reaction Jesus gets when He’s seen in His fullness. When He can reveal who He really is, unhindered by the this-is-not-really-Jesus filters that the world often sees through, and when our own shortcomings and failures don’t hide Who He really is, people drop everything and run for their lives after Him.
Despite the excitement this image builds in me, it also raises some questions in my mind.
For those of us who are charged with telling others about Jesus, are we getting the word out in a way that would spark a stampede? Are we telling the real story, unfiltered and unadulterated? Are we showing Who Jesus really is in our words, our actions, our lives?
Are we afraid of starting a stampede?
I wonder, have I ever felt passionately enough to join in a stampede after Him? Can I even understand why people would charge after Him in that way?
When the stampede starts, if I’m a Pharisee, I’d best be getting out of the way. If I’m inclined to hinder the working of God in the hearts of those He loves, I’d better hope there’s a handy tree nearby that I can jump up into. Because when He works, that stampede’s coming. And it stops for no one. If I’m in the way, I’m on the ground and I’m going to be pretty battered when it’s done.
Better to start moving, instead of impeding, so that when the stampede starts I can just jump in and run.
::
The crowd that had been with him when he called Lazarus from the tomb, raising him from the dead, was there giving eyewitness accounts. It was because they had spread the word of this latest God-sign that the crowd swelled to a welcoming parade. The Pharisees took one look and threw up their hands: “It’s out of control. The world’s in a stampede after him.” (John 12:17-19, MSG)
Watch this little black and white video. I can’t tell you what old movie it’s really from. (Hey Dad, does it look familiar?) So for my purposes here, we’ll just call it How the Middle East Was Won. Or Blazing Pharisee Saddles. Maybe They Call Me Trinity. Or perhaps just plain old Big Stampede or Cattle Stampede. (Those last two are real titles. Catchy, eh?)
Call it what you want. But when you watch the clip, imagine that the Pharisees have traded their fancy temple robes for chaps and 10-gallon hats. And then watch what happens when the stampede starts.
Then, to the others, “Go ahead, take away the stone.” They removed the stone. Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and prayed, “Father, I’m grateful that you have listened to me. I know you always do listen, but on account of this crowd standing here I’ve spoken so that they might believe that you sent me.” Then he shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” And he came out, a cadaver, wrapped from head to toe, and with a kerchief over his face. Jesus told them, “Unwrap him and let him loose.” (John 11:41-45, MSG)
Unwrap him and let him loose.
The Word is full of things that I would love to hear the voice of my Redeemer say, and other things I never want to hear. I think one day I’ll work on a list of each. On that list of things that I would love to hear is this one: Let her loose.
Jesus stood before the tomb, and asked that the stone blocking the entrance (or in this case, the exit) be moved away. Once it was gone (and everyone had gotten over the smell), He commanded Lazarus to begin breathing again. He commanded his heart to begin beating again. He commanded his feet to start walking again. We could go on and on. He commanded all those things with just three words: “Lazarus, come out!”
And Lazarus was obedient, even beyond his death. He came out. He came out of the tomb, though still wrapped in the grave clothes and so certainly more than a little impaired. To those standing nearby, likely the same fellows who had moved the stone, He asked that the grave clothes be taken off. “Unwrap him and let him loose.”
Lazarus had done the part he could do — he’d come back from death at Jesus’ command, and he’d come out of the tomb. But now he needed a hand. He needed someone to unwrap him.
Strange that he could come back to life after four days of death, yet he needed the assistance of the mourners and bystanders to remove his grave clothes. He was wrapped and bound from head to toe. He was alive again, but still hindered. Still bound up. Still tied down.
Jesus used those who were nearby to assist him. He ordered them to unwrap him, and to help free him to experience the new life he was given.
When Jesus calls us from death to life, we are no longer a corpse. We are no longer a cadaver. But to a certain extent, sometimes we still hop around like the mummy in Scooby Doo, still wrapped up and stumbling around, unable to move freely about the cabin because we allow the remnants of death to continue to entangle us and to strangle us.
We might need a little help getting unwrapped.
We might need someone to let us loose.
Jesus gives us those people, you know? When He gives us life, He gives us all we need to experience it. And often that means He gives us people to stand alongside us and walk alongside us to help us when we’re hindered by our already dead past. The grave clothes have to come off. We have to be let loose.
Jesus didn’t call Lazarus out from the grave to just lay on the ground in a pile of white strips. He didn’t call him out so he could stay bound up with the spices and smells of death.
He called Lazarus out and cut him loose to show others that he was alive and that He was alive.
::
Then, to the others, “Go ahead, take away the stone.” They removed the stone. Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and prayed, “Father, I’m grateful that you have listened to me. I know you always do listen, but on account of this crowd standing here I’ve spoken so that they might believe that you sent me.” Then he shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” And he came out, a cadaver, wrapped from head to toe, and with a kerchief over his face. Jesus told them, “Unwrap him and let him loose.” (John 11:41-45, MSG)
Unwrap him and let him loose.
The Word is full of things that I would love to hear the voice of my Redeemer say, and other things I never want to hear. I think one day I’ll work on a list of each.
On that list of things that I would love to hear is this one: Let her loose.
Then the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin. “What are we accomplishing?” they asked. “Here is this man performing many miraculous signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.” (John 11:47-48)
Did you think I was done with Lazarus yet? I’m not.
We’ve talked at length already about the significant influence Jesus was having amongst the people. Since He raised Lazarus from the dead, people were trusting Jesus in droves.
We’ve also talked about how there seemed to be no real dispute as to whether Jesus was in fact doing all the amazing and miraculous things that were being reported about Him. Even the Pharisees and chief priests seemed convinced He was doing this stuff: “Here is this man performing many miraculous signs.” No indication they thought He was a faker. They believed at least that much.
But where these two came together — the reality of His influence and the reality of His power — it all kind of fell apart for the Pharisees because He was mounting a significant threat to their position with the people and with the Roman authorities.
By this time, of course, Jesus’ public ministry was in full swing. He’d been very visible and He’d been very up front about His purpose in coming to fulfill the law. He’d been very aggressive in blowing up the Pharisee’s happy world order and in challenging their teaching at nearly every turn. And since it was the very nature of a Pharisee to expect everything of others and nothing of oneself, it was not surprising that with very few exceptions the Pharisees were not among those who were rushing to put their faith in Jesus.
No, rather, the Pharisees found themselves in the very unexpected position of resisting the call of One Who came to heal and free and restore. He Who came to fulfill the very law they had given their lives to uphold and preserve and enforce. The Messiah they had long awaited and themselves had taught would come to redeem the people they were charged to lead.
Yet when He came, despite what they could see before their very eyes, they rejected Him. They sought to destroy Him. They aggressively worked to prevent others from following Him.
They became blinded by their own power and failed to recognize His.
They sought to protect their turf in the face of undeniable truth.
They became afraid of losing their position if they allowed Jesus to continue to draw all men to Himself.
Their turf became infinitely more important than the truth.
They knew Jesus spoke the truth. They knew His power was real. I believe this to be evident throughout the gospels. They didn’t deny His miraculous power, though they attempted to discredit it by claiming it was from Satan. When they sought to accuse Him, they had to line up false witnesses who were wiling to lie about Him.
They knew what was true.
But they had to protect their turf.
Their turf had become so much more important to them that they did not permit themselves the luxury of believing in the One sent to redeem them.
They missed their Redeemer because they sought only to protect their position.
When my position (or my anything) becomes more important than my Redeemer, we have a problem.
::
Then the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin. “What are we accomplishing?” they asked. “Here is this man performing many miraculous signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.” (John 11:47-48)
Did you think I was done with Lazarus yet? I’m not.
We’ve talked at length already about the significant influence Jesus was having amongst the people. Since He raised Lazarus from the dead, people were trusting Jesus in droves.
We’ve also talked about how there seemed to be no real dispute as to whether Jesus was in fact doing all the amazing and miraculous things that were being reported about Him. Even the Pharisees and chief priests seemed convinced He was doing this stuff: “Here is this man performing many miraculous signs.” No indication they thought He was a faker. They believed at least that much.
But where these two came together — the reality of His influence and the reality of His power — it all kind of fell apart for the Pharisees because He was mounting a significant threat to their position with the people and with the Roman authorities.
Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. “Take away the stone,” he said. “But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.” Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:38-40)
Martha has lost her brother Lazarus. She is overcome with her grief. She knows Jesus has the power to heal. Based on what we already know of her faith in Jesus, I think it’s fair to say that she believed He could also raise Lazarus.
Even so …
Faced with the prospect of Jesus bringing Lazarus back, she is stopped by the prospect of the smell inside the tomb.
Jesus stands at the tomb, ready to take action, ready to do the really big thing. He asks for the stone to be moved. To this, Martha replies, “But Lord, by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there for four days.”
Offered the opportunity to embrace her brother, once lost to death and now on the verge of being raised to life, the smell makes her think twice. She’s not so sure it’s a great idea to open that tomb up and let the horrendous stench out.
To be sure, there’s a nasty smell that’s built up in that rocked-off cave. Embalming options were pretty limited, and it was not possible to preserve a body for any length of time. Combine that with putting that decaying corpse in a confined area with no air exchange, and we know Martha isn’t kidding. She’s right on the mark. Opening that tomb is going to be bad. The smell will be overpowering. I’d venture to guess that when that stone was moved away, those up close passed out from the stink as surely as the front row at Sea World’s Shamu show is drenched by whale splash. It stunk. Bad.
Jesus in unconcerned with the smell. Martha, He says to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Jesus, as ever able to cut throught the stinky garbage to the heart of the matter, does so again. Martha, it’s not about the smell. It’s about the glory of God.
Martha, it’s about what I’m going to do, not about the stinky part ahead of it.
Martha, please. This is why I’m here. Let Me work.
Each time God wants to do a work in my heart, it seems I go through the same thing as Martha. I know what He wants to do. I know what I want Him to do. And I know what He is able to do.
But I also know that when He moves that huge stone out of the way, it’s going to be like punching a hole in a steamboiler. There’s going to be an overpowering rush of escaping vapors. And they are going to stink. It’s going to be terrible. The stench might cause me and anyone nearby to pass out. And then I wonder if I really want to let Him do His work in me. The smell might just be too bad.
It’s ok, He says. Believe in Me. Trust me.
You will see the glory of God if you believe in Me and let Me do this.
It’s not about the stink. It’s about what He’s going to do.
::
Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. “Take away the stone,” he said. “But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.” Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:38-40)
Martha has lost her brother Lazarus. She is overcome with her grief. She knows Jesus has the power to heal. Based on what we already know of her faith in Jesus, I think it’s fair to say that she believed He could also raise Lazarus.
Even so . . .
Faced with the prospect of Jesus bringing Lazarus back, she is stopped by the prospect of the smell inside the tomb.
Jesus stands at the tomb, ready to take action, ready to do the really big thing. He asks for the stone to be moved. To this, Martha replies, “But Lord, by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there for four days.”
Offered the opportunity to embrace her brother, once lost to death and now on the verge of being raised to life, the smell makes her think twice. She’s not so sure it’s a great idea to open that tomb up and let the horrendous stench out.
To be sure, there’s a nasty smell that’s built up in that rocked-off cave. Embalming options were pretty limited, and it was not possible to preserve a body for any length of time. Combine that with putting that decaying corpse in a confined area with no air exchange, and we know Martha isn’t kidding. She’s right on the mark. Opening that tomb is going to be bad. The smell will be overpowering. I’d venture to guess that when that stone was moved away, those up close passed out from the stink as surely as the front row at Sea World’s Shamu show is drenched by whale splash. It stunk. Bad.
Jesus in unconcerned with the smell. Martha, He says to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Jesus, as ever able to cut throught the stinky garbage to the heart of the matter, does so again. Martha, it’s not about the smell. It’s about the glory of God.
Martha, it’s about what I’m going to do, not about the stinky part ahead of it.
Martha, please. This is why I’m here. Let Me work.
Each time God wants to do a work in my heart, it seems I go through the same thing as Martha. I know what He wants to do. I know what I want Him to do. And I know what He is able to do.
But I also know that when He moves that huge stone out of the way, it’s going to be like punching a hole in a steamboiler. There’s going to be an overpowering rush of escaping vapors. And they are going to stink. It’s going to be terrible. The stench might cause me and anyone nearby to pass out. And then I wonder if I really want to let Him do His work in me. The smell might just be too bad.
It’s ok, He says. Believe in Me. Trust me.
You will see the glory of God if you believe in Me and let Me do this.
It’s not about the stink. It’s about what He’s going to do.
So the chief priests made plans to kill Lazarus as well, for on account of him many of the Jews were going over to Jesus and putting their faith in him. (John 12:10-11, NIV)
I’m not so old that I watched Leave It to Beaver in first runs. But neither am I so young that I can deny watching the reruns while I was growing up. It was never one of my favorites, but there was no Sponge Bob in that day and you took what you had. I’ve always been curious about how people express themselves, with how they use language and vocabulary and how idiomatic (or idiotic) expressions and phrases might pepper their speech. Leave It to Beaver was a terrific case study for me then, even as a kid sprawled out on the recliner with a bag of chips and a soda trying to numb my mind against the more important things like homework and cleaning the bathroom. The characters on Leave It to Beaver didn’t seem to talk like normal people, not even like normal television people.
Do you remember the odd way that Eddie Haskell always spoke when he was trying to schmooze Mrs. Cleaver? And how Wally and the Beav always said “Gee” and “Golly” before practically anything else they said? The expression that always stuck in my head though, was the one that Beaver always used to explain why something had happened (over which he had practically no control of course) and what made me think of him when I read these verses in John 12.
“On account of…”
“Well, gee Dad, I got my Sunday clothes all filthy on account of Lumpy pushing me in the mud after I called him a bad name on account of him being such a jerk and all.”
“On account of…”
It’s a great phrase, really, though it used to grate on my nerves when Theodore said it. It points to the cause of the effect. It explains why, and sometimes how, something happened. So think of Beaver Cleaver telling the story of how the chief priests decided they had to destroy the evidence and kill not just Jesus, but also Lazarus.
“Well, golly Pharisees, we just have to kill him. We’re losing control of the people on account of Lazarus rising from the dead and all. Gee, all kinds of people are putting their faith in Jesus on account of him.”
Well gee. What would Beaver say about me? What would the chief priests say about me?
What is happening in the kingdom on account of me?
This is an important question.
Obviously, Lazarus had something of a passive role in all this. After all, he was quite dead when Jesus worked the miracle, and ultimately, it was Jesus who did work it. Lazarus just had to come out when he was called. But beyond that, he allowed himself to be used by God by being where people could see him and believe that Jesus had really done what was being reported all over the region. People didn’t necessarily put their faith in Jesus because they heard what they believed to be some tall tales about Lazarus. But they did because the story was significantly credible at the time, and a large part of the credibility was the fact that Lazarus was up and walking around, and was seen in public, and was living proof of what God had done.
I would suggest it’s no accident that this story is similar to our own. When Jesus calls us from death to life, our role is far more passive than His as well. He calls us, we respond. He was the One Who paid the price. He was the One Who went to the cross, and went to the grave, and returned to live on into eternity. He was the One Who defeated sin and death and Satan himself. He was the One Who prepared our hearts to receive Him. But beyond our accepting the call, our responding to His invitation to come from death to life in much the way that Lazarus did in a physical way, we then allow ourselves to be used to show the world around us that Jesus is alive. That He is powerful. That He is mighty to save. That He has paid the price and has secured the victory. In the same way that Lazarus was living proof of what God had done when Jesus beckoned him to leave the tomb, we are living proof of what God is able to do in the hearts of men. We are living proof that God pours out His mercy through the blood of Jesus for us. We are living proof of God’s life and work in us.
On account of Lazarus, many were “going over to Jesus.” They were believing in Him. They were finding life in Him. And the Kingdom was growing explosively.
On account of me, are many “going over to Jesus?” What is happening in the Kingdom because of how God is able to use me?
Am I following God in such a way that many are compelled to follow Him as well?
Those would be some incredible words to hear said about oneself.
“Gee Wally, on account of [insert your name here], many are going over to Jesus and putting their faith in Him.”
Word got out among the Jews that he was back in town. The people came to take a look, not only at Jesus but also at Lazarus, who had been raised from the dead. So the high priests plotted to kill Lazarus because so many of the Jews were going over and believing in Jesus on account of him. (John 12:9-11, MSG)
One more perspective on different perspectives. After Jesus raised Lazarus, word spread. It spread as fast as it could in a time and a place not instantly connected by television and internet and phones and faxes and email and text. I’m chuckling now as I consider that if Jesus had been hooked up with Facebook or Twitter, His status would read something like “Jesus Christ is … generating shock waves throughout the people by calling His dear friend Lazarus out from the tomb.”
In any event, by Biblical-era standards, word got out pretty fast, and pretty far and wide. And now we can see the mixed reactions amongst those who were not eyewitnesses. This is how they responded who did not see firsthand what had happened, but had heard reports from others. Again, the contrast is stark between the two primary responses. As stark as the difference between the sun setting in the west and the sun setting in the east.
Some time has passed since Jesus brought Lazarus back from the dead. Jesus had withdrawn to a smaller village to stay out of the public eye in light of the growing threat from the Pharisees against His life. A few days before Passover, He returned to Bethany to be with his friends Mary, Martha and Lazarus. While He was dining in their home, word also got out that he was “back in town.” Again, word traveled fast in a time and place devoid of any modern rapid communication avenues. A crowd grew, wanting to see Him and also wanting to see Lazarus.
Those who had seen what Jesus had done and put their faith in Him shared the news with others and they responded by wanting to see Him as well. They wanted to see this Jesus, and they wanted to see Lazarus, the evidence of the amazing power this Jesus had.
But while many wanted to see Jesus, there were also many who wanted to see Him dead. Remember, there were also those snitches, those who saw and ran off to tell on Jesus to the Pharisees. The snitches were indeed successful in firing up the Pharisees to work even harder to neutralize the Jesus-factor. They were now so committed that they planned to elminate Lazarus as well.
Again, just like with the cynics the other day, you won’t see in the text that the Pharisees necessarily doubted that Jesus had done what He was reported to have done. They don’t seem to have disputed that He was not truly capable of such amazing miracles. Instead, they just wanted Him out of the picture. They didn’t want to discredit Him. They wanted Him dead. And Lazarus? He was bad for business at the synagogue too. Because of Lazarus, many were putting their faith in Jesus. They had to destroy the evidence. They had to kill Lazarus too.
In the investigative work that I do every day, I’ve found that it’s very unusual that a party makes any effort to prevent you from seeing evidence that is favorable to their position, or obviously falsified, or just plain irrelevant. If the opposing party has evidence that appears unfavorable, but they can fill it full of holes, they don’t bury it. They expose it. The testimony of Lazarus was devastating to the Pharisees. It was devastating because it was true, and I believe that they knew this. And so they had to plot to eliminate Lazarus as well, because he was damaging their efforts to neutralize Jesus and stop others from following Him.
Amongst those who heard about Jesus’ amazing miracle on Lazarus’ behalf, some “were going over and believing in Jesus on account of him.” On the other hand, in sharp contrast to their response of faith, the Pharisees only expanded their plot to kill Jesus by adding Lazarus in as well.
Both heard the same story. One heard how He gave life and they ran for it. The other saw a threat and they ran from it.
In so doing, they attempted to put up a roadblock to those who were running for life.
::
Word got out among the Jews that he was back in town. The people came to take a look, not only at Jesus but also at Lazarus, who had been raised from the dead. So the high priests plotted to kill Lazarus because so many of the Jews were going over and believing in Jesus on account of him. (John 12:9-11, MSG)
One more perspective on different perspectives. After Jesus raised Lazarus, word spread. It spread as fast as it could in a time and a place not instantly connected by television and internet and phones and faxes and email and text. I’m chuckling now as I consider that if Jesus had been hooked up with Facebook or Twitter, His status would read something like “Jesus Christ is … generating shock waves throughout the people by calling His dear friend Lazarus out from the tomb.”
In any event, by Biblical-era standards, word got out pretty fast, and pretty far and wide. And now we can see the mixed reactions amongst those who were not eyewitnesses. This is how they responded who did not see firsthand what had happened, but had heard reports from others. Again, the contrast is stark between the two primary responses. As stark as the difference between the sun setting in the west and the sun setting in the east.
Some time has passed since Jesus brought Lazarus back from the dead. Jesus had withdrawn to a smaller village to stay out of the public eye in light of the growing threat from the Pharisees against His life. A few days before Passover, He returned to Bethany to be with his friends Mary, Martha and Lazarus. While He was dining in their home, word also got out that he was “back in town.” Again, word traveled fast in a time and place devoid of any modern rapid communication avenues. A crowd grew, wanting to see Him and also wanting to see Lazarus.
Those who had seen what Jesus had done and put their faith in Him shared the news with others and they responded by wanting to see Him as well. They wanted to see this Jesus, and they wanted to see Lazarus, the evidence of the amazing power this Jesus had.
But while many wanted to see Jesus, there were also many who wanted to see Him dead. Remember, there were also those snitches, those who saw and ran off to tell on Jesus to the Pharisees. The snitches were indeed successful in firing up the Pharisees to work even harder to neutralize the Jesus-factor. They were now so committed that they planned to elminate Lazarus as well.
Again, just like with the cynics the other day, you won’t see in the text that the Pharisees necessarily doubted that Jesus had done what He was reported to have done. They don’t seem to have disputed that He was not truly capable of such amazing miracles. Instead, they just wanted Him out of the picture. They didn’t want to discredit Him. They wanted Him dead. And Lazarus? He was bad for business at the synagogue too. Because of Lazarus, many were putting their faith in Jesus. They had to destroy the evidence. They had to kill Lazarus too.
In the investigative work that I do every day, I’ve found that it’s very unusual that a party makes any effort to prevent you from seeing evidence that is favorable to their position, or obviously falsified, or just plain irrelevant. If the opposing party has evidence that appears unfavorable, but they can fill it full of holes, they don’t bury it. They expose it. The testimony of Lazarus was devastating to the Pharisees. It was devastating because it was true, and I believe that they knew this. And so they had to plot to eliminate Lazarus as well, because he was damaging their efforts to neutralize Jesus and stop others from following Him.
Amongst those who heard about Jesus’ amazing miracle on Lazarus’ behalf, some “were going over and believing in Jesus on account of him.” On the other hand, in sharp contrast to their response of faith, the Pharisees only expanded their plot to kill Jesus by adding Lazarus in as well.
Both heard the same story. One heard how He gave life and they ran for it. The other saw a threat and they ran from it.
In so doing, they attempted to put up a roadblock to those who were running for life.
That was a turnaround for many of the Jews who were with Mary. They saw what Jesus did, and believed in him. But some went back to the Pharisees and told on Jesus. (John 11:45-46 MSG)
Many of the Jews who were grieving with the sisters of Lazarus were profoundly affected by Jesus’ deep love for His friends. When they saw Him call Lazarus from the tomb, they believed in Him. They put their faith in Jesus. First they saw His love for Lazarus, then they saw His power displayed on Lazarus’ behalf, and finally they were convinced. As The Message puts it, “That was a turnaround for many…”
As we talked about yesterday, I’m convinced it was the combination display, not just the miracle but Jesus’ love along with it, that put them over the top. That’s what caused the “turnaround.”
But we’ve been looking at mixed reactions, right? How different people observing the very same event react in radically different ways depending on their vantage point. Despite the fact that many put their faith in Jesus when they saw what He did, there were others who did not. And in fact, they didn’t just opt not to believe in Him. They weren’t just not faithful. They were finks.
Stooges. Snitches.
Nobody likes a tattle tale. Unless you’re a Pharisee.
These guys ran straight to the Pharisees to get them all charged up about what Jesus was doing. As though they needed a little more stimulation for their No-Jesus sentiments. “Some went back to the Pharisees and told on Jesus.”
Think this one through. A guy you knew to be dead, whom you had just been with his family and loved ones to mourn, has just been raised to life. And you can’t find a way to be totally excited about that? You can’t find a way to be amazed? You can’t find a way to believe it?
All you can find your way to do is trot down to the synagogue and report this latest miraculous atrocity to the Pharisees?
In the face of something like this it seems to me that a person would actually have to work hard to disbelieve it. They were there when Lazarus went into the tomb, weren’t they? He’s been in there for four days. Even if he was only “mostly dead” when he was put in the tomb, it’s an easy argument that he was quite dead after four days.
But were they ever arguing that He hadn’t really done it? I don’t see it. They don’t ever express doubt that this was the real deal, that Jesus truly brought Lazarus back. I would submit that the finks and tattle tales believed that He really did it. But that’s where vantage point comes in. They saw the same event. There’s an agreement on the facts. But when it comes to the response, there is a great divide. Some see and believe. Some see and reject. And still others can’t just leave it at rejection but they seek to destroy on top of it. That’s a topic for another day.
One thing is clear. Some of these folks had hearts that were ready to receive the good news, and others did not. I sure don’t get God’s timing on things, but I know that He has to do the work of preparing us to receive Him. Some of these folks were not prepared. Maybe that came later. Maybe it came not at all. But at this moment in time, the difference between those with soft hearts ready to welcome their Redeemer and those who were still hardened and saw Him as a threat to their order of things is stark.
It all makes me wonder how I might do the same. How I might completely miss the point of a huge God event while it brings someone else to their knees.
::
That was a turnaround for many of the Jews who were with Mary. They saw what Jesus did, and believed in him. But some went back to the Pharisees and told on Jesus. (John 11:45-46 MSG)
Many of the Jews who were grieving with the sisters of Lazarus were profoundly affected by Jesus’ deep love for His friends. When they saw Him call Lazarus from the tomb, they believed in Him. They put their faith in Jesus. First they saw His love for Lazarus, then they saw His power displayed on Lazarus’ behalf, and finally they were convinced. As The Message puts it, “That was a turnaround for many . . .”
As we talked about yesterday, I’m convinced it was the combination display, not just the miracle but Jesus’ love along with it, that put them over the top. That’s what caused the “turnaround.”
But we’ve been looking at mixed reactions, right? How different people observing the very same event react in radically different ways depending on their vantage point. Despite the fact that many put their faith in Jesus when they saw what He did, there were others who did not. And in fact, they didn’t just opt not to believe in Him. They weren’t just not faithful. They were finks.
Stooges. Snitches.
Nobody likes a tattle tale. Unless you’re a Pharisee.
These guys ran straight to the Pharisees to get them all charged up about what Jesus was doing. As though they needed a little more stimulation for their No-Jesus sentiments. “Some went back to the Pharisees and told on Jesus.”
Think this one through. A guy you knew to be dead, whom you had just been with his family and loved ones to mourn, has just been raised to life. And you can’t find a way to be totally excited about that? You can’t find a way to be amazed? You can’t find a way to believe it?
All you can find your way to do is trot down to the synagogue and report this latest miraculous atrocity to the Pharisees?
In the face of something like this it seems to me that a person would actually have to work hard to disbelieve it. They were there when Lazarus went into the tomb, weren’t they? He’s been in there for four days. Even if he was only “mostly dead” when he was put in the tomb, it’s an easy argument that he was quite dead after four days.
But were they ever arguing that He hadn’t really done it? I don’t see it. They don’t ever express doubt that this was the real deal, that Jesus truly brought Lazarus back. I would submit that the finks and tattle tales believed that He really did it. But that’s where vantage point comes in. They saw the same event. There’s an agreement on the facts. But when it comes to the response, there is a great divide. Some see and believe. Some see and reject. And still others can’t just leave it at rejection but they seek to destroy on top of it. That’s a topic for another day.
One thing is clear. Some of these folks had hearts that were ready to receive the good news, and others did not. I sure don’t get God’s timing on things, but I know that He has to do the work of preparing us to receive Him. Some of these folks were not prepared. Maybe that came later. Maybe it came not at all. But at this moment in time, the difference between those with soft hearts ready to welcome their Redeemer and those who were still hardened and saw Him as a threat to their order of things is stark.
It all makes me wonder how I might do the same. How I might completely miss the point of a huge God event while it brings someone else to their knees.
The Jews said, “Look how deeply he loved him.” Others among them said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” (John 11:36-37)
Claims folks like me love to tell you that there isn’t much we haven’t heard. We’re great to have at social gatherings because we have some of the best stories. We start to really believe we’ve heard it all. (We haven’t.) One of the things that just doesn’t surprise us much is how vastly divergent perspectives different people may have on the very same incident. On any number of days in the process of investigating an accident we might have conversations like the following:
…
Me: Well, Mrs. Smith, why don’t you go ahead and describe the accident for me.
Mrs. Smith: Ok. First, you have to know I’m an excellent driver. I’ve been driving for over 60 years and I’ve never had a ticket.
Me: That’s terrific, Mrs. Smith. Now, let’s talk about how the accident happened.
Mrs. Smith: Right. Well, I was driving down the road, Burlington Boulevard, I think, but I can’t be sure because they keep changing the street names. I was in the right lane and traveling 24 miles per hour because the signs say the speed limit is 25 miles per hour and I don’t ever speed. It was about 4:45 in the afternoon, which I know because I was on my way home from water aerobics and it always gets done at 4:30. I was going eastbound, right into the sun. It was really bright. I remember that because I was having a hard time seeing because, well, you know how the sun can sometimes blind you when it’s setting and it reflects so terribly. So I was driving home, and thinking about that delicious roast that was in the oven and I was just hoping it wasn’t overdone because Mr. Smith just doesn’t like that at all. I came up to an intersection and I had a green light. I know it was green because the cars in the other lane were going through too, the ones that were driving on my left side. Well, you know, I had the green light, so I just went on through. That’s what you’re supposed to do at a green light, go through you know. So I did. And wouldn’t you know it, I just don’t know where the other car came from, but, BAM! He just hit me. Just like that. And my car spun around and I think I hit something else. A light post maybe. Or maybe it was another car. I just don’t know. It just shocked me, you know. I was pretty shook up. And he hit me in the front, on the right side. I’m pretty sure he was talking on his cellular phone like all those young kids do. And eating a hamburger. And his music was really loud. They just shouldn’t let people do that in their cars, you know?
…
Me: Thanks for speaking to me today, Mr. Johnson. Could you describe for me what happened in the accident?
Mr. Johnson: Sure. Last Tuesday, around 4:30, maybe 5:00, I was on my way home from work. I was on 57th where it crosses Burlington. Are you from around here? It’s kind of a crazy intersection, really busy at that time of day. I was going eastbound, 57th runs east to west. I work in the city, and I always drive 57th home to my place east of the metro. The sun was starting to drop a little, and I remember trying to adjust my rear view mirror because it kept kind of hitting me right in the eye when I’d glance back. Well, anyway, I’m coming up to the intersection, and the light turned green when I was about, oh, I’d say six or eight car lengths back. I kind of slowed up a bit anyway, just to make sure the intersection was clear, but I figured I was good to go since there was another car ahead of me that was already going through. So I kept going, and when I was a little more than half way across, this lady, she just smacked right into me on the back right side of my car. She was going north on Burlington, I’m pretty sure in the left lane, and she must have been flooring it because when she hit me my car spun all the way around and I hit her again on the back part. There were cars on the right side of her that were stopped and backed up for half a block because of the red light. I don’t know what she was doing. So I got out, and another guy stopped to help us, and I borrowed his cell phone to call 911 because I ran out of minutes on mine last month so I haven’t been using it.
…
Me: Mr. Bork, I understand you may have witnessed this accident that happened last week on 57th and Burlington. Could you spare a few minutes to tell me what you saw?
Mr. Bork: Oh, sure. I’d love to. Always glad to help out. Now, let’s see. I was standing on the corner waiting for the light so I could cross Burlington. I was on the, hmm, the northwest corner. No, wait, it was the northeast. Yeah, northeast. Right next to that Starbucks there. I go there for coffee every day. Now they say they’re closing. Don’t know what I’m going to do. Probably will have to start going to McDonalds down the street. Anyway, I’m standing there waiting, kind of feeling like I want to get going fast, because it looked like it was going to rain anytime. It was cloudy and starting to get real dark, you know? It just didn’t feel right. So while I’m standing there waiting for the light to turn green so I can go west across Burlington, this lady pulls up going north. She pulls into the left turn lane there – there’s two lanes you can go straight in, and one you can turn in. She whipped right into the turn lane, and there wasn’t nobody coming the other way, so she went ahead and turned. Well, just as she did that, this other guy, I don’t know what he was thinking, he just came south on Burlington at a high rate of speed, and when he saw her, he slammed on his brakes and he went into a skid, and he starting spinning around, you know, just like you see in the movies. It was really something! He just couldn’t get himself together and he kind of clipped her in the back corner part, by the light. And then she went flying off out of control and up the curb. Never seen nothin’ like it. I was really scared.
…
The conversations I just had with Mrs. Smith, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Bork all relate to the exact same accident. I do have these kinds of conversations some days, where I have to shake my head and wonder. How can people not see the same accident the same way? They were all there. Yet they don’t all agree on what directions people were going, what the weather conditions were, what color the light was or even which direction the sun sets. Occasionally I find myself asking the person the date and location of the accident again, just to make sure that we’re really talking about the same event. Only once has the person ever thought a little and said, “Oh, wait. Yeah, that was that one on Thursday. You’re talking about the accident on Wednesday, right?” Most of the time I find that people were describing the very same accident. But they recounted the events as they saw them and as they earnestly believed they happened, but all from their own vantage point. And sometimes from where they stood, the facts vary wildly from what the next guy will tell you. It’s all a matter of perspective.
The folks who were there when Jesus brought Lazarus out from the tomb each had their own vantage point as well. If we were to have interviewed them following these events, they would each have their own version of the facts, and their own reaction. Reading John’s account of the event, we see some of those mixed reactions up close and personal. Look with me over the next couple of days at the various points of view amongst those who witnessed or heard about Lazarus’ miraculous resurrection.
…
When Jesus arrived at Bethany, Martha met Him outside the gate. Meanwhile, Mary stayed in their home, surrounded by many of the Jews who had come to mourn with her and Martha. These mourners stayed close to Mary, and when she left the house to go meet Jesus, they followed her. So they were there to see Jesus when He was so emotionally impacted before He restored Lazarus to life. Amongst these folks who had assembled to mourn with Lazarus’ family we see the first instance of these mixed reactions, the different vantage points.
Some of them watched Jesus as He wept, and they said, “Look how deeply He loved him.” The romantics in the crowd saw Jesus’ tears, saw Him break down emotionally, and they saw Jesus’ profound love for His friend. They sensed His pain and His grief. A man who loved his friend so much would weep at this moment. To them, it could only mean that Jesus loved Lazarus so very deeply. So they watched and they marveled that He could love him so much.
But there were pragmatists among them as well. They saw the same Jesus weeping in the same way over the same death of the same Lazarus. But for them there was nothing romantic about it. There was nothing touching about it. These were the guys who had no time for the process. No time to just experience. No time to just feel what they were feeling. Got a problem? Well, let’s work out a solution. To these guys, the whole scenario just made no sense. These were the guys who saw Jesus weeping at Lazarus’ tomb and said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” Good grief, they said, this guy can work miracles. He can restore sight. Surely He could have healed Lazarus. What was He thinking? Why didn’t He do something? He had a chance to heal him and He didn’t. The solution was right in front of Him. He did nothing. He had His chance, and now He’s standing there crying. What good will that do now?
Two kinds of people. Two kinds of reactions. Both saw something in Jesus. One saw His capacity to love, to grieve, to feel. The other saw His ability to restore, to heal, to repair. And seeing what they saw, they responded differently. One marveled at Jesus. The other was annoyed at Him. One saw love as deep as the ocean. The other saw one big missed opportunity. One saw the real deal. One saw a fraud.
I don’t think either one of them saw the resurrection coming.
But here’s what I do think. I think that the one who recognized Jesus’ deep love for His friend was closer to the Kingdom than the one who believed that Jesus blew the moment. Here’s why. Jesus performed a lot of miraculous signs during His walk on earth. And while the miracles drew people to Him, sometimes in hoards, it was often those that came to Him for the miracles that were the first to go when the going got rough. They didn’t commit to Him because it’s tough to commit if it’s just to the signs.
There were those who were touched personally by Jesus’ power — not just bystanders who were amazed. These were the ones who were healed of debilitating illness, who were lame and made to walk, who were blind and made to see, who had loved ones restored to health or life. They experienced Jesus’ power, yes. But they first experienced His love. They first recognized that He saw them, that He loved them, that He wanted to touch them. They experienced His power through His love.
I won’t discount the significance of Jesus’ power and of the miracles. And I won’t devise a pecking order for the attributes of God. But I am convinced that those who experienced Jesus’ love were closer to the Kingdom than those who only recognized His power.
That’s the difference between these two people standing outside the tomb, mourning the death of Lazarus and observing Jesus as He wept. One could recognize the depth of Jesus’ love. The other saw only His power, and His failure to use it.
So when I see Jesus act, or not act, what do I see?
How do I let my priorities, my experience, my opinions and my preferences affect my perspective on what God is doing?
Is the light red or green? Were you going north or south? Does the sun set in the east or the west?
What’s my vantage point?
::
The Jews said, “Look how deeply he loved him.” Others among them said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” (John 11:36-37)
Claims folks like me love to tell you that there isn’t much we haven’t heard. We’re great to have at social gatherings because we have some of the best stories. We start to really believe we’ve heard it all.
We haven’t. There’s always tomorrow.
But one of the things that just doesn’t surprise us much is how vastly divergent perspectives different people may have on the very same incident. On any number of days in the process of investigating an accident we might have conversations like the following:
::
Me: Well, Mrs. Smith, why don’t you go ahead and describe the accident for me.
Mrs. Smith: Ok. First, you have to know I’m an excellent driver. I’ve been driving for over 60 years and I’ve never had a ticket.
Me: That’s terrific, Mrs. Smith. Now, let’s talk about how the accident happened.
Mrs. Smith: Right. Well, I was driving down the road, Burlington Boulevard, I think, but I can’t be sure because they keep changing the street names. I was in the right lane and traveling 24 miles per hour because the signs say the speed limit is 25 miles per hour and I don’t ever speed. It was about 4:45 in the afternoon, which I know because I was on my way home from water aerobics and it always gets done at 4:30. I was going eastbound, right into the sun. It was really bright. I remember that because I was having a hard time seeing because, well, you know how the sun can sometimes blind you when it’s setting and it reflects so terribly. So I was driving home, and thinking about that delicious roast that was in the oven and I was just hoping it wasn’t overdone because Mr. Smith just doesn’t like that at all. I came up to an intersection and I had a green light. I know it was green because the cars in the other lane were going through too, the ones that were driving on my left side. Well, you know, I had the green light, so I just went on through. That’s what you’re supposed to do at a green light, go through you know. So I did. And wouldn’t you know it, I just don’t know where the other car came from, but, BAM! He just hit me. Just like that. And my car spun around and I think I hit something else. A light post maybe. Or maybe it was another car. I just don’t know. It just shocked me, you know. I was pretty shook up. And he hit me in the front, on the right side. I’m pretty sure he was talking on his cellular phone like all those young kids do. And eating a hamburger. And his music was really loud. They just shouldn’t let people do that in their cars, you know?
:: :: ::
Me: Thanks for speaking to me today, Mr. Johnson. Could you describe for me what happened in the accident?
Mr. Johnson: Sure. Last Tuesday, around 4:30, maybe 5:00, I was on my way home from work. I was on 57th where it crosses Burlington. Are you from around here? It’s kind of a crazy intersection, really busy at that time of day. I was going eastbound, 57th runs east to west. I work in the city, and I always drive 57th home to my place east of the metro. The sun was starting to drop a little, and I remember trying to adjust my rear view mirror because it kept kind of hitting me right in the eye when I’d glance back. Well, anyway, I’m coming up to the intersection, and the light turned green when I was about, oh, I’d say six or eight car lengths back. I kind of slowed up a bit anyway, just to make sure the intersection was clear, but I figured I was good to go since there was another car ahead of me that was already going through. So I kept going, and when I was a little more than half way across, this lady, she just smacked right into me on the back right side of my car. She was going north on Burlington, I’m pretty sure in the left lane, and she must have been flooring it because when she hit me my car spun all the way around and I hit her again on the back part. There were cars on the right side of her that were stopped and backed up for half a block because of the red light. I don’t know what she was doing. So I got out, and another guy stopped to help us, and I borrowed his cell phone to call 911 because I ran out of minutes on mine last month so I haven’t been using it.
:: :: ::
Me: Mr. Bork, I understand you may have witnessed this accident that happened last week on 57th and Burlington. Could you spare a few minutes to tell me what you saw?
Mr. Bork: Oh, sure. I’d love to. Always glad to help out. Now, let’s see. I was standing on the corner waiting for the light so I could cross Burlington. I was on the, hmm, the northwest corner. No, wait, it was the northeast. Yeah, northeast. Right next to that Starbucks there. I go there for coffee every day. Now they say they’re closing. Don’t know what I’m going to do. Probably will have to start going to McDonalds down the street. Anyway, I’m standing there waiting, kind of feeling like I want to get going fast, because it looked like it was going to rain anytime. It was cloudy and starting to get real dark, you know? It just didn’t feel right. So while I’m standing there waiting for the light to turn green so I can go west across Burlington, this lady pulls up going north. She pulls into the left turn lane there – there’s two lanes you can go straight in, and one you can turn in. She whipped right into the turn lane, and there wasn’t nobody coming the other way, so she went ahead and turned. Well, just as she did that, this other guy, I don’t know what he was thinking, he just came south on Burlington at a high rate of speed, and when he saw her, he slammed on his brakes and he went into a skid, and he starting spinning around, you know, just like you see in the movies. It was really something! He just couldn’t get himself together and he kind of clipped her in the back corner part, by the light. And then she went flying off out of control and up the curb. Never seen nothin’ like it. I was really scared.
:: :: ::
The conversations I just had with Mrs. Smith, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Bork all relate to the exact same accident. I do have these kinds of conversations some days, where I have to shake my head and wonder. How can people not see the same accident the same way? They were all there. Yet they don’t all agree on what directions people were going, what the weather conditions were, what color the light was or even which direction the sun sets. Occasionally I find myself asking the person the date and location of the accident again, just to make sure that we’re really talking about the same event. Only once has the person ever thought a little and said, “Oh, wait. Yeah, that was that one on Thursday. You’re talking about the accident on Wednesday, right?” Most of the time I find that people were describing the very same accident. But they recounted the events as they saw them and as they earnestly believed they happened, but all from their own vantage point. And sometimes from where they stood, the facts vary wildly from what the next guy will tell you. It’s all a matter of perspective.
The folks who were there when Jesus brought Lazarus out from the tomb each had their own vantage point as well. If we were to have interviewed them following these events, they would each have their own version of the facts, and their own reaction. Reading John’s account of the event, we see some of those mixed reactions up close and personal. Look with me over the next couple of days at the various points of view amongst those who witnessed or heard about Lazarus’ miraculous resurrection.
::
When Jesus arrived at Bethany, Martha met Him outside the gate. Meanwhile, Mary stayed in their home, surrounded by many of the Jews who had come to mourn with her and Martha. These mourners stayed close to Mary, and when she left the house to go meet Jesus, they followed her. So they were there to see Jesus when He was so emotionally impacted before He restored Lazarus to life. Amongst these folks who had assembled to mourn with Lazarus’ family we see the first instance of these mixed reactions, the different vantage points.
Some of them watched Jesus as He wept, and they said, “Look how deeply He loved him.” The romantics in the crowd saw Jesus’ tears, saw Him break down emotionally, and they saw Jesus’ profound love for His friend. They sensed His pain and His grief. A man who loved his friend so much would weep at this moment. To them, it could only mean that Jesus loved Lazarus so very deeply. So they watched and they marveled that He could love him so much.
But there were pragmatists among them as well. They saw the same Jesus weeping in the same way over the same death of the same Lazarus. But for them there was nothing romantic about it. There was nothing touching about it. These were the guys who had no time for the process. No time to just experience. No time to just feel what they were feeling. Got a problem? Well, let’s work out a solution. To these guys, the whole scenario just made no sense. These were the guys who saw Jesus weeping at Lazarus’ tomb and said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” Good grief, they said, this guy can work miracles. He can restore sight. Surely He could have healed Lazarus. What was He thinking? Why didn’t He do something? He had a chance to heal him and He didn’t. The solution was right in front of Him. He did nothing. He had His chance, and now He’s standing there crying. What good will that do now?
::
Two kinds of people. Two kinds of reactions. Both saw something in Jesus. One saw His capacity to love, to grieve, to feel. The other saw His ability to restore, to heal, to repair. And seeing what they saw, they responded differently. One marveled at Jesus. The other was annoyed at Him. One saw love as deep as the ocean. The other saw one big missed opportunity. One saw the real deal. One saw a fraud.
I don’t think either one of them saw the resurrection coming.
But here’s what I do think. I think that the one who recognized Jesus’ deep love for His friend was closer to the Kingdom than the one who believed that Jesus blew the moment. Here’s why. Jesus performed a lot of miraculous signs during His walk on earth. And while the miracles drew people to Him, sometimes in hoards, it was often those that came to Him for the miracles that were the first to go when the going got rough. They didn’t commit to Him because it’s tough to commit if it’s just to the signs.
There were those who were touched personally by Jesus’ power — not just bystanders who were amazed. These were the ones who were healed of debilitating illness, who were lame and made to walk, who were blind and made to see, who had loved ones restored to health or life. They experienced Jesus’ power, yes. But they first experienced His love. They first recognized that He saw them, that He loved them, that He wanted to touch them. They experienced His power through His love.
I won’t discount the significance of Jesus’ power and of the miracles. And I won’t devise a pecking order for the attributes of God. But I am convinced that those who experienced Jesus’ love were closer to the Kingdom than those who only recognized His power.
That’s the difference between these two people standing outside the tomb, mourning the death of Lazarus and observing Jesus as He wept. One could recognize the depth of Jesus’ love. The other saw only His power, and His failure to use it.
So when I see Jesus act, or not act, what do I see?
How do I let my priorities, my experience, my opinions and my preferences affect my perspective on what God is doing?
Is the light red or green? Were you going north or south? Does the sun set in the east or the west?
“You don’t have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26 MSG)
The folks who were present at the time of Lazarus’ death and who were there to mourn him had mixed reactions to what they saw, something we’ll take a longer look at soon. But the one thing they all seemed to agree on is that Jesus could have been the difference between life and death.
Jesus knew He was the difference. He told His disciples before they headed off to be with Mary and Martha that Lazarus had fallen asleep and that He was “going there to wake him up.” (John 11:4)
Mary and Martha knew He was the difference. When they first saw Him, both of them said “if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” (John 11:21, 32)
Even the skeptics in the crowd knew He was the difference. When they saw Jesus’ grief, they said “Could not He who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” (John 11:37)
Jesus was the difference. They all knew it. Had He shown up on time, He could have kept Lazarus from dying. Lazarus would have still been alive. And we know already that Jesus demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that He was the difference between life and death by calling Lazarus out of the tomb. By cutting him loose from death’s grip.
But He had a conversation with Martha that revealed that beyond the physical difference He makes, He is also the difference between life and death in a spiritual and eternal sense. Martha understood there would be a resurrection one day. That the dead would all rise in the last day. So when Jesus told her that Lazarus would rise, this was what she was thinking. She knew he would rise at that time.
But Jesus challenged her understanding of the resurrection twofold. First, He told her she didn’t have to wait that long to experience the resurrection. It wasn’t just a last-days kind of resurrection. “I am, right now, Resurrection and Life.” It’s me. I’m it. I’m the difference. I’m all you need.
Martha, He told her, I can give you everything you need, everything you long for, right now. You don’t have to wait. I can do that because I am that. I am Resurrection. I am Life. I am all there is.
And to show it, He challenged her understanding, and her faith, again. “Do you believe this?”
He went on to the tomb, and He called Lazarus out. He demonstrated Resurrection. He demonstrated Life. He was both, and He did both.
There are things we have to wait for. A lot of things. Not everything I long for is going to happen today. Or tomorrow. Some of it isn’t going to happen on this side of that last-days resurrection.
But going from life to death? Experiencing the resurrection He offers every day? The redemption of my cold and distant heart? The life that only He can give?
I don’t have to wait. He has that there for me right now. He is, right now, Resurrection and Life.
::
“You don’t have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26 MSG)
The folks who were present at the time of Lazarus’ death and who were there to mourn him had mixed reactions to what they saw, something we’ll take a longer look at soon. But the one thing they all seemed to agree on is that Jesus could have been the difference between life and death.
Jesus knew He was the difference. He told His disciples before they headed off to be with Mary and Martha that Lazarus had fallen asleep and that He was “going there to wake him up.” (John 11:4)
Mary and Martha knew He was the difference. When they first saw Him, both of them said “if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” (John 11:21, 32)
Even the skeptics in the crowd knew He was the difference. When they saw Jesus’ grief, they said “Could not He who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” (John 11:37)
Jesus was the difference. They all knew it. Had He shown up on time, He could have kept Lazarus from dying. Lazarus would have still been alive. And we know already that Jesus demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that He was the difference between life and death by calling Lazarus out of the tomb. By cutting him loose from death’s grip.
But He had a conversation with Martha that revealed that beyond the physical difference He makes, He is also the difference between life and death in a spiritual and eternal sense. Martha understood there would be a resurrection one day. That the dead would all rise in the last day. So when Jesus told her that Lazarus would rise, this was what she was thinking. She knew he would rise at that time.
But Jesus challenged her understanding of the resurrection twofold. First, He told her she didn’t have to wait that long to experience the resurrection. It wasn’t just a last-days kind of resurrection. “I am, right now, Resurrection and Life.” It’s me. I’m it. I’m the difference. I’m all you need.
Martha, He told her, I can give you everything you need, everything you long for, right now. You don’t have to wait. I can do that because I am that. I am Resurrection. I am Life. I am all there is.
And to show it, He challenged her understanding, and her faith, again. “Do you believe this?”
He went on to the tomb, and He called Lazarus out. He demonstrated Resurrection. He demonstrated Life. He was both, and He did both.
There are things we have to wait for. A lot of things. Not everything I long for is going to happen today. Or tomorrow. Some of it isn’t going to happen on this side of that last-days resurrection.
But going from life to death? Experiencing the resurrection He offers every day? The redemption of my cold and distant heart? The life that only He can give?
I don’t have to wait. He has that there for me right now. He is, right now, Resurrection and Life.
MAKING HEADROOMchronicles a year (or so) of weekly trips to a monastery,
where words are spoken slowly,
as though the point is to hear them —
not to see how many can fit into an
already bustling space. It’s the kind
of place where the next thing is glad
to wait as long as it takes for an old man
to shuffle across the room.
I learn to meet him in the quiet
so I can also meet him in the clamor.
One morning JP and I almost forgot to leave for school and work because there was a new episode on, and it was really funny. Really, it was. I don’t have much opportunity these days to just throw back in a chair and watch the show, but I do hear it blaring in the background while I’m doing things around the house or catching up on reading or writing. The other day I heard a line that found itself a place in my head. I don’t even know what the context was on the show, because I was too busy grabbing a gadget to type the line into to save it for later.
This picture was not actually in front of my office this week, but for some of my coworkers, this is what it may well have felt like. 
…but she’s not. Now that she’s big enough and agile enough to go anywhere she wants, we can’t leave stuff out like we used to. Well, we still do. But we shouldn’t. She gets into everything. She finds pens, bottle caps, flash drives, loose change, empty bottles, and anything else she can carry in her teeth, and stashes it under the throw rugs or behind the computer desk. She’s a thief and a hoarder. 
And she’s not nice. Yes, that’s my arm she’s chewing. I call that The Death Grip. See how she has her front feet wrapped around my forearm? Her claws have punctured my arm to hold it secure. You can’t see her teeth, but that’s just because they are sunken into my flesh. And her back feet? The still photos won’t show it but she’s using them almost like she’s propelling a kick board in the pool, not for the purpose of going anywhere, but primarily to shred whatever is left of my arm after her front claws and teeth are done. 
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