Dirty Laundry

Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.  Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.  For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.  Psalm 51:1-3

Ashley looks great!  To look at her you wouldn’t know that anything had ever happened.  Her mind is sharp and her body gets stronger by the day.  Miracle (a word I definitely don’t bandy about lightly) is the only word to describe it.

I ended up speaking at my Uncle’s church today.  It was an experience.  Beyond those things that I will not describe here, are the things that were hinted at, and some…simply thought but not spoken.  I guess that’s why I have this silly blog – it’s a forum to say those things I wouldn’t otherwise say.

Standing in Harold’s church brought back a flood of memories, an overwhelming flood for that matter.  Looking at Ashley sitting not 15 feet away, facing the shortcomings in my life, made me think of this verse in Psalms.  It seems that no matter where I turn, my sin stands before me.  There’s a constant reminder, but I guess maybe that’s part of the cross I bear in being a disciple of the Christ. 

I’m guessing the whole of my Christian life will not revolve around my unworthiness and wrangling with myself to come to terms with what my life has been up to this point.  I’m guessing that this is a cathartic phase if you will, although the realization of my worm-ness will likely never leave me. 

So, what’s the problem here?  What have I done that’s so horrible?  Well, this is definitely not the forum for those details, but if you’re reading this (and I don’t mean to be snarky here), simply think of the things you have done and who you have been and my list is probably very similar.  But there is one thing worth discussing here.  One thing that has defined my life, one thing that, because of its ubiquity in my life, needs to be addressed here…today…now.  I kinda hinted at it at Harold’s church today, beyond the fact that I have no idea how to make Jesus plural, the problem is this:

Two Jesus’s. 

I was thinking about Harold’s comment to an earlier post where he said, “I believe all of your "callings" were of God. Does not the Bible tell us that there are none that seek God? And did not Jesus say that no one can come to Him except the Father draw him? That  tells me that any inclination that we have toward Christ is from God.”  I suppose that’s all true, but what if it wasn’t really Jesus I was drawn to before? 

Looking back at my life, I’ve come to realize that the Jesus I was drawn to before was nothing more than an idol, the very graven image that we are so often warned against.  You see, in previous times my attraction to Jesus wasn’t Jesus at all.  Rather, it was the trappings that we set up around Jesus that drew me.  The opportunity to, in some heinous way, make opportunity for myself.  As a child, it was the approval of my family that came with appearing to love God.  Let’s be real for a minute.  Mom, if you’re reading this I’m sorry, but you may want to skip this part.  I really don’t remember ever loving God in any real way.  I don’t know, maybe I did – but looking back it seems like it was all just make-believe.

Bible college and ministry.  Man!  What a farce that was!  I can honestly say that that whole part of my life was about how I could be a star – the size of the stage didn’t matter nearly as much as the idea that I would be “the guy”!  The Youth Pastor, the Assistant Pastor, Pastor, the wanna-be theologian.  NONE of it was about Jesus.

So.  Was I drawn to Jesus by the God who sent Him?  Did Jesus, being lifted up, draw me to himself?  No.  Not at that time.  I was drawn to an idol called Jesus.  And that explains, at least to me, why I never found peace or comfort in Christ.  I was worshipping the idea of church.  Really, I was worshipping me.  It some ways, my whole life had been a fraud, hollow.  And it makes sense.  Isaiah 44:9 says, “They that make a graven image are all of them vanity; and their delectable things shall not profit; and they are their own witnesses; they see not, nor know; that they may be ashamed.”  I didn’t stand a chance!

So what’s different this time?  Jesus #2.  Jesus.  That’s what’s different, or rather – that’s who is different.  I don’t know how or when, but at some point in the last several months, I died.  There is, in some miraculous, mysterious way – a new creature.  Jesus somehow became real, not merely an idol.  Jesus is no longer the trappings of church.  Jesus no longer is - me!  The best part is that I realize now that it IS God who draws me, it IS Christ, having been lifted up, who draws me to himself.  Now, that doesn’t mean that I won’t once again try to weasel my way in to make something of myself.  But now that I am aware of who I am, (like the scorpion who stung the frog – it’s my nature) perhaps I will hear the voice of God when He reminds me that it’s not about me and to ‘Knock it off!’ 

My sin will always be before me.  Also my nature.  I’m just one of those guys who thinks, over thinks, then exceedingly abundantly over thinks.  But there’s this really cool passage in Hebrews that gives me hope: 

This is the covenant that I will make with them after those days, saith the Lord, I will put my laws into their hearts, and in their minds will I write them; And their sins and iniquities will I remember no more.  Now where remission of these is, there is no more offering for sin.  Having therefore, brethren, boldness to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way, which he hath consecrated for us, through the veil, that is to say, his flesh; and having an high priest over the house of God; let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience, and our bodies washed with pure water.  Hebrews 10:16-22 

Yes? Who's Calling Please?

…and called Mary her sister secretly, saying, The Master is come, and calleth for thee.  John 11:28 (KJV)

Sometimes I just want to write.  Very often I come across a thought while I’m reading and I just want to write about it.  There may be no particular lesson or deep, personal experience with it, but it hits me and I just want to write.  The downside is that this often happens late in the evening and if I don’t jot down some thoughts, it’ll keep me awake…sometimes for hours.  This is one of those times.  Not sure where this is gonna go, but settle in and let’s see…

The thing that grabbed me about this particular verse was how lucky Mary was to have Jesus, the very Christ – asking for her!!!  I started thinking how thrilling that must have been.  I wondered if Mary thought about it for a second; did she have the presence of mind to savor the thought?  She certainly didn’t think long about it because the next verse says that “as soon as she heard that, she arose quickly, and came unto him.”

I suppose there’s a lot here.  I’ve heard the call, felt the draw of Jesus several times in my life.  Not much appreciation there.  I usually answered the call with my thoughts and intentions elsewhere.  Other times I simply didn’t listen to that call, it went ignored even shunned.

Another thing that struck me was that the story isn’t about Mary seeking Jesus.  She didn’t just wake up one day and decide that…oh, I think I have time, or – maybe I’ll meet with Jesus today.  No.  Jesus called her, and she responded.  How many times have I, as the result of a certain nausea toward life, just decided that maybe Jesus would be the panacea, a hobby, a means to an end?  Each of those times ended in either more loneliness, disappointment, discontent or simply loss of interest.

I’m always fretting over the thought that maybe this go-round is more of the same.  But it doesn’t seem that way. Sure, in the beginning there were certainly some events that might make it seem the same, but…I don’t know – somehow this time it’s different.  I guess I simply have to have faith that this time it was Jesus calling and not George looking for some opiate to relieve the dead wall reverie of life, or looking for a means to an end.  I struggle with that.  But if it is Jesus calling – oh that I would be like Mary and run quickly!

Indeed!

But Jesus answered and said, Ye know not what ye ask. Are ye able to drink of the cup that I shall drink of, and to be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?...   Matthew 20:22 (KJV)

He is risen!!  From a Christian perspective this is indeed great news!  If Jesus stayed in the tomb, well – I don’t know what we’d be talking about right now.  If the Jews of Jesus’ time and shortly thereafter became evangelistic after the diaspora, then I suppose we’d be celebrating Passover and looking for the Messiah.  But He did.

Jesus rose from the grave – great, awesome, incredible news!  Jesus rose from the grave – uh, oh boy…what does that mean for me?  Oh I know it means that the debt of sin has been paid.  I realize the justification, sanctification, and …  But I have that feeling that it means even more (or am I looking for additionally?) right here, right now.  I guess I’m considering what it means in my every-single-day life.

I find it hard to believe that Jesus died on a cross and rose from the dead just so I could go to church on Sundays, give a bit in the offering plate, sing some songs and maybe even now-and-then do good things for other people, although these certainly seem to be part of the big picture.  But if that is all there is to being a Christian, then I would have to agree with Bonhoeffer when he called that kind of Christianity “cheap grace”.  The kind of grace where my life remains unchanged, I could continue in sin, no worries because ‘He is risen!’

I have no interest in a cheap grace Christianity.  My desire is for Christ to be real, substantive in my life.  It is, in Bonhoeffer’s words once again, a “costly grace”.  For this grace cost Jesus more than I could even begin to express here.  And it is a grace that will cost me…what?  My life?  Maybe that’s what it is – I surrender my life to the will of God.  I haven’t a clue how to do that.  The best I can do is offer it daily, maybe even sometimes moment-to-moment.

I suppose I should be careful what I wish for.  Costly grace.  Drinking from the same cup.  A baptism in which Jesus surely was not referring to water.   But cheap grace is too similar to what my life has always been, and frankly – I don’t want it, it’s hollow, empty, sad.  I don’t know what a costly grace will look like in my life.  I don’t know what the resurrection, His and mine, will do to my life, but I have already been crucified with Christ, now it’ll be interesting to see what my life will be with Christ living in me. 

He is risen!  And so am I!

A Long Good Bye

Then cometh Jesus with them unto a place called Gethsemane, and saith unto the disciples, Sit ye here, while I go and pray yonder.  And he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy.  Then saith he unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death… Matthew 26:36-38 (KJV)

When I was being shipped out for the first Gulf War, the hardest part was the waiting to go and the long good byes.  I remember calling my parents and my Dad, with a quivering voice, tell me to watch out for the gas.  I don’t remember what else he said, if anything, I just remember his voice.  Then the night before I left, my wife and I stayed up all night holding each other, crying, and watching North by Northwest.  It was the longest night. 

The next day two things stuck in my mind:  we had this sergeant in our unit who was the meanest SOB I’d ever met.  He wasn’t a particularly big guy, but he was hard-as-nails tough.  He had been in my unit for three years but he wasn’t going with us because he was leaving the Army within a month.  So as we marched out the gate of our little post, Sergeant K stood and shook each of our hands as we went by…tears streaming down his face. 

The other thing I remember was marching through the airport in Nuremburg with civilians lined up all along the walls.  There was no cheering or flag-waving, just these somber stares and tears.  I’ve come to hate long good byes.

Gethsamane haunts me.  With Maundy Thursday coming, I spent some time thinking about Gethsamane and reading it over and over again, praying over it, chewing on it.  It spooks me.

I see Jesus with the figuratively literal (huh?) weight of the world on his shoulders, going to a garden with some friends to pray.  But it’s so much more than that isn’t it?  It’s the middle of the night, He’s already told his friends he’s gonna die.  Matthew tells us that when he got to the garden Jesus became sorrowful and very heavy.  And herein lie the thoughts that trouble me. 

I can’t begin to fathom how the whole God-intertwined-with-man thing works, but I wonder if part of the sorrow was the long good-bye to his friends.  I wonder if he went to Gethsemane looking to the Father for comfort.  Did he get it?  He knew that in a matter of hours the Father would betray him – what anguish!    Where were the angels to minister to him this time?  Was the Father already grieving?  Was He looking at Jesus and thinking 'I just can't watch this'?  He asked twice (!) if the cup could be passed from him, when the Father answered...was His voice quivering?  Peter and the boys were sleeping...was Jesus already alone in this whole thing?  

There are lessons here.  But sometimes I don't want lessons.  Sometimes I just want to think of Jesus and let that be enough.  I can’t put it into words except to say that I cannot, not even once…read the story of Gethsemane and not find tears on my cheek. 

Something Funny Happened On The Way To The Diner

…follow thou me.  John 21:22 (KJV)

I’m in a hotel again.  It seems so long ago that I was writing of being in this same hotel and the loneliness I was feeling after all the chaos and intensity of Ashley’s accident.  I wrote about a diner and what it would be like to meet Jesus.

It’s different this time.  I can look out my hotel window and see that same diner, but I’m in a different section of the hotel so my view of the diner is different.  It made me think back to that long lonely night and contrast it to how I feel tonight.  A lot has happened since that night.  Ashley has had a truly miraculous turnaround.  I have been through a glimpse of my own personal hell, but it seems different now. 

At least for this moment, I don’t have that desperate feeling of wishing I could meet Jesus.  I feel like I have met Him!  Through all that’s happened, even since that “Diner” moment, somehow I, for the first time ever, feel like I have met Jesus.  And I gotta say – it sure isn’t because of anything I have done.  On the contrary – this whole thing has been so out of my control, so in spite of me; trying to overthink it, fearing I’d find some way to screw it up, fretting it would all somehow just evaporate and I would just be left with, well - me.  But it hasn’t.  Jesus seems as near now as when I met him in the diner.

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out what it was all supposed to look like in practical terms.  How am I supposed to live out this thing called faith?  What am I supposed to do?  Good grief!  That thinking was so anxiety-producing!  I think I have an answer.  I don’t know if it’s the answer, but I have to say – I give up.  I don’t know what it will look like.  Don’t know what the plan is.  But, Jesus is alive and well.  I have seen Him, so I have seen the Father, so I suppose I’ll just have to stop worrying about what it looks like and just follow Him.

I mean really!  How much easier can this part (I don't delude myself about ease) of it be?  I don’t have to figure it out, or devise a plan.  I don't have to pave the way.  I can try to simply trust an Almighty God to lead the way.  I just gotta follow.

Et Tu George?

And forthwith he came to Jesus, and said, Hail, master; and kissed him.  Matthew 26:49 (KJV)

As Easter approaches I have been doing a little thinking every day on some of the key players in the events leading up to the crucifixion.  As a part of this exercise I try to put myself in their shoes and guess what I might have done.  Most of the time I find that I would likely have done much worse.  If I were Peter – I would have cursed six times.  Mary Magdalene – I would have headed for the hills.  Over the years (in years past is probably more accurate) I have done such character studies, but it occurs to me that Judas has pretty much been off limits.  Why is that?  What is it about Judas that makes me avoid him like a case of Anthrax?  Maybe because he is unredeemable. He betrayed Jesus. He is to be spat on, despised, forgotten.  Or, and I fear this is the real reason - maybe I see more of myself in Judas than in the rest of the crew.

Judas is uncomfortably close.  Judas was probably the most educated of the disciples. He was one of the few not from 'up North', and likely saw himself as a cut above, a bit special. He was the only one given a task: to take care of the money, and we can imagine he probably earned that by being more numerate. It is also thought he was likely to be a bit of a Zealot. He probably saw Jesus' mission - as most did - as a political one. Jesus would rise up against the Romans and chuck them out, restoring sovereignty to Israel.

Judas would doubtless have heard that the authorities were looking for a way to trap Jesus. They had also said that they didn't want him arrested over the festival, because they feared that after his triumphant entry to Jerusalem the people would riot. Perhaps Judas spots an opportunity. He will go to them, offer to betray Jesus, and persuade them that he can only do it now - over the festival. Perhaps he hopes this will cause a riot, and thus catalyze Jesus into his political takeover.

Judas attends the Last Supper. And when Jesus hands him a piece of bread - his 'body broken' - Judas leaves. Why did he leave then? Perhaps because he was the only one to understand the huge significance of what Jesus was doing in that first act of communion. If Jesus is going to die and become transcendent, he will slip through his political hands. Jesus – the Christ - dispersed, viral, networked - cannot be controlled. And he must stop this from happening.

So he goes to the authorities. They convene hurriedly and agree to his plan. They go to find Jesus, and a crowd follows them - excellent! He approaches Jesus and kisses him. Maybe he thinks Jesus will be pleased - he is offering him his golden opportunity on a plate to begin his political mission. Things start brilliantly: a fight breaks out, swords are drawn... Then disaster - Jesus commands them all to stop. He submits, is led away, given a mock trial and killed, his followers dispersed. He has failed.

Judas was distraught, he threw the money back, and committed suicide.

So who is this Judas?  For years I thought of Judas as this scumbag accessory to murder, no more worthy of thought than a pile of....  But today I realize...he is me. How many times have I (do I) tried to decide for God what God is going to do?  I find that sometimes, when I kiss Jesus it's more out of a lust for some kind of power, some feeble attempt at manipulating the Creator than it is for the mere gratefulness and love which I should be giving.  I hate to think of it, but sometimes I feel like I am more Judas than any of the others.  Maybe it won’t stay that way.  Maybe I can strive to be more like Mary, I’d even settle for Peter!

At the Gates

…experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully…  Ephesians 3:19 (NLT)

Dante wrote that there was a sign which hangs over the entrance to hell: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”  I’ve heard some people say that hell is right here on earth, others that hell is a very literal place.  When I watch the eleven o’clock news, when I see pictures of the kids in Africa with bellies swollen from starvation and disease – hell, right here on earth.  I shudder when I think of the possibility of a literal, burning hell – frightful.  But one thing both ideas of hell have in common is that they are hopeless.

I have sensed hopelessness, nay even despair a number of times in my life.  So far this year alone I have been acquainted with that feeling a couple times.  Looking back, even at the very recent past, I have seen myself standing (figuratively mind you) at those gates with all hope abandoned, despair having enveloped me, and all because of situations I have in some way or another…created myself.

All this brings me to realize a couple things.  I am my own worst enemy.  I am a (terribly) fallen creature.  Unworthy.  Unholy.  Exceedingly wicked.  Unlovely.  Not so much in a fleshly way, because, well – I’m actually a little teddy bear, relatively nice, and at least a little less than hideous.  But, spiritually speaking – unlovely.

Pulling out the ledger and calculating the sum-total of my life, I find myself utterly lacking in any redeemable way in which a Holy and Just God could look into me and find anything worth loving.  Yet…here I am.  God draws me.  Christ died for me.  Ugh!  HE DIED FOR ME.  Unfathomable.  Not just in a bunch-of-black-pixels-on-top-of-white-ones kind of way, it’s unfathomable in an I-try-to-wrap-my-head-around-it-but-just-can’t-understand-it kind of way. 

Jesus, God incarnate, chose to suffer and die – such was his love.  In a recent moment of despair, at a moment of trying to make out the letters on a sign above a gate:  A   b    a   n    d    o    n  … I was exposed, touched by? the love of Christ in a way I will never understand.  It sounds so trite on virtual paper, yet in reality so profound.  I don’t get it, but wow!

I suppose love is experiential not understandable. Love is something to be felt, joined in, participated in, given, received...but never understood.  How much more so the love of Christ.

Walking Trees

...I see people; they look like trees walking around.  Mark 8:24  (NIV)

Note:  This post was written 3/5/10 but I was too tired to post it on time so it reads a day late.

Ashley went home today!  Exactly two months from the day that a horrible accident nearly claimed her life...Ashley went home! 

This has been an amazing journey.  Of course I'm not callous enough to have wished it on her - oh so far from that.  But through all the pain and torment this precious little girl has suffered...much, much good has come.  Not only for me but for scores of people I don't even know. 

Before the accident I believed myself to have begun some kind of spiritual journey, and indeed I had.  But something much more than that has come from this.  From whining about faith, to catching a glimpse of faith and on to a hunger and intense desire for faith - all in a few short weeks.  I have had the honor to be around several people with a genuine faith, the kind of faith I could emulate - as a good dog.  I have learned much, and been blessed in a way that I not only don't deserve - but don't even understand.

Now for some really bad exegesis.  I caught a glimpse of what faith is.  I saw it, I felt it.  But now I feel like the blind man in Bethsaida.  I have had my eyes opened, and I saw something over there, I can tell it's faith, but my sight isn't quite there yet...it looks fuzzy, it looks like trees walking around.  My guess is that it's not because Jesus couldn't do the job all at once...it's more likely that the fuzziness of my faith is, well - my fault.  Despite what has happened.  Despite the fact that my once nearly dead daughter today was sitting on the sofa in her home with her husband.  In spite of the fact that major changes and healing in families and relationships has begun in earnest.  Even though prayers have been answered in powerful ways...

I have this blurry, out-of-focus faith.  But how sweet to see something!  Someone!  I don't think Jesus gave me a glimpse to tease me, he'll finish the job.  Now if I can just stay right here, scrunching my face and squinting my eyes until...

Why Am I Observing Lent?

Yet even now, saith Jehovah, turn ye unto me with all your heart, and with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning:  and rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto Jehovah your God;  Joel 2:12-13 (ASV)

Okay, since my last post in which I hinted (I guess more than hinted) at the fact that I am participating in Lent this year, I have received several emails, nearly all of them asking – why?  So, if you are one of those who emailed me I have this to say – thank you!  I truly mean that.  Because of your simple question, I have (once again) been prompted to look inside myself to find out exactly that – why.  On the surface it was simple…I am participating in a little different church tradition than I had previously, so I thought I should experience it.  But, after some thinking and serious consideration, you get blessed (ha ha ha) with another episode of me trying to work something out!  Lucky you!!

Growing up Baptist, only the Catholics (and the one Ukrainian Orthodox) in my neighborhood participated in any type of Lenten fasting or self-denial. Listening to the kids in my neighborhood, I often wondered what, if anything, I was missing out on - other than the pain of no meat, or candy, or…

I am all too aware of the fears some have concerning the observation of Lent, or other such traditions.  The most succinct statement I can think of right now to summarize this concern is Calvin writing in his Institutes:  “There is nothing which God more abominates than when men endeavour to cloak themselves by substituting signs and external appearance for integrity of heart.”

But I have to wonder – does the simple doing of a thing make the fear a reality?  I mean really, is it possible that we can use a time like Lent to teach us a lesson?  To give us a reminder of an attitude and discipline that we can carry throughout the year?  Is it really wrong to solemnize a relatively short period of time to remember what the Christ has done for us? 

What if it was a part of an observance such as Lent that, while fasting (or any other kind of spiritual discipline), we constantly remember the words of God to tear our hearts and not our clothes?

So why am I observing Lent?  Because I am grateful (how inadequate is that?) for what Christ has done.  Because I will use this time to learn a spiritual discipline.  Because maybe during this time I will learn to rend my heart and leave my clothes intact.

Silence of THE Lamb

 All of us, like sheep, have strayed away.
      We have left God’s paths to follow our own.
   Yet the Lord laid on him
      the sins of us all.

 He was oppressed and treated harshly,
      yet he never said a word.
   He was led like a lamb to the slaughter.
      And as a sheep is silent before the shearers,
      he did not open his mouth.  Isaiah 53:6-7 (NLT)

It is the silence involved with the whole thing I find most unsettling...

When he was accused by the chief priests and the elders, he gave no answer. When Pilate asked him, "Don't you hear the testimony they are bringing against you?" Jesus didn’t reply, even to a single charge.  Even when he faced Herod, the guy that murdered his cousin…Jesus said nothing. 

Silence in trial, long silences on the cross.  Silent in defiance of noise and words, silent and vulnerable, defiantly silent refusing to justify, refusing to explain, just bearing witness in silence, raising questions but offering no answers.

There’s an old hymn that says He could have called 10, 000 angels…silence.

You know those times when you’ve wronged someone, and instead of yelling at you…they just look at you?  That is a truly deafening silence.  When I read the story of the passion tonight, that’s what happened.  I sat here and noticed, nay – heard the silence of the Christ. What didn't he say?  Words of pain or fear?  Disgust?  I want to open my Bible and read that Jesus said…what?  SOMETHING!  God once said that his spirit would not always strive with man...Yell at me!  Tell me the wicked man I am!  But no.  I am left to pronounce that judgment on myself.  Left to meditate, or wrestle...squirm?  

Yes, yes, words will come. Some from the Cross - 'Forgive' and after more silence - words from the Tomb - 'He has Risen' - but not yet, please not yet... This is the first time I have observed Lent and already it has been a long season…but hold it still...keep the words at bay...let the silence be heavy with anticipation, painful, just a bit longer...so that when words are spoken they come finally with the power of a whisper to deafen, and ring like an incredible announcement of good news. 

It's Not (all) About Me

When Pharaoh’s horses, chariots, and charioteers rushed into the sea, the Lord brought the water crashing down on them. But the people of Israel had walked through the middle of the sea on dry ground!

Then Miriam the prophet, Aaron’s sister, took a tambourine and led all the women as they played their tambourines and danced.  And Miriam sang this song:

   “Sing to the Lord,
      for he has triumphed gloriously;
   he has hurled both horse and rider
      into the sea.”   Exodus 15:19-21 (NLT)

In this passage Miriam sings praises to God for delivering the people of Israel from the pursuing Egyptians at the Red Sea.  The song cheers the sight of Pharaoh’s army being hurled into the sea, drowned in the Red Sea, overwhelmed by the fathomless deep, sunk like stones, swallowed up, and all because of God’s love.  Most sermons I’ve heard about this passage depict this event as a celebration of deliverance from evil, metaphorically represented by Pharaoh’s army, and it doesn't trouble them.  

So this is what’s happening right now – I am a selfish person.  Now, before you start to judge too harshly – so are you.  I mean really…we all have a tendency to be selfish.  But, at least for this post, I’m talking about me (ugh!  Once again being selfish!).  Unfortunately though, it’s true.  I look out for people, I try to be a good guy, help others when I can, but really I’m quite self-centered.  This blog is about my journey into faith, it’s an honest attempt to be…well – honest.  I am exploring faith, theology, church, Jesus, God, Jesus as God and so on.  But I begin to think these exercises, these contemplations are all well-and-good, but it’s not all about me. 

It’s tough to think about sometimes.  Those really true honest looks.  It’s a difficult thing to look at one’s life and see how my own sin has affected others, and it’s usually not in a positive way.  I was reading Miriam’s Song this evening and I thought the same things I’ve always heard in the sermons:  Isn’t the love of God a beautiful thing!  And it is  - I most assuredly don’t dispute that.  But I also thought, that maybe Miriam and Moses and the Children of Israel might have done well if, in the midst of their celebration, they had thought, even if for just a moment, that it wasn’t all about them.

How many “innocent” men died in the Red Sea that day?  How many soldiers were merely doing as they were told…as is a soldier’s wont.  How much pain, agony, suffering…because of God’s love?  No, not entirely.  This tragedy happened because Israel had been taken into slavery – because of their sin!  So maybe on the eastern side of the Red Sea there should have been some introspection mingled in with the celebration. 

The Gospel was not all about them, God delivered for Israel, but others suffered because of them.  In the same way, because of my sin, God delivered and Jesus suffered on the cross, and my fellow man has often suffered because of me.  Sometimes I get so focused on my relationship with God, so focused on what God has done for us and the Body of Christ, that I forget that Christ died because of sin...my sin.  I see preachers on TV who talk about the love of God and how God wants his children to prosper, have joyful, fulfilling lives. But I often forget that He died for ALL.  That God does not rejoice in the suffering of any of his children.  
I once read a rabbinic story told in some Passover Haggadahs.  An angel standing next to God urges him to celebrate the great victory of deliverance as the sea washes over the army.  God hushes him saying: “Be quiet, my children are dying.”  

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Jesus entered Jericho and made his way through the town. There was a man there named Zacchaeus. He was the chief tax collector in the region, and he had become very rich.  He tried to get a look at Jesus, but he was too short to see over the crowd. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree beside the road, for Jesus was going to pass that way.  When Jesus came by, he looked up at Zacchaeus and called him by name.  “Zacchaeus!” he said. “Quick, come down! I must be a guest in your home today.”  Zacchaeus quickly climbed down and took Jesus to his house in great excitement and joy.  But the people were displeased. “He has gone to be the guest of a notorious sinner,” they grumbled.  Meanwhile, Zacchaeus stood before the Lord and said, “I will give half my wealth to the poor, Lord, and if I have cheated people on their taxes, I will give them back four times as much!”  Jesus responded, “Salvation has come to this home today, for this man has shown himself to be a true son of Abraham.  For the Son of Man came to seek and save those who are lost.”  Luke 19:1-10  (NLT)

How lucky am I!  I’m rich!  No, I haven’t won the lottery, and with the exception of a portion of the Super Bowl pool, I haven’t come into any extra money as of late.  No, the fact is this – 53%, that’s 53 out of every 100 people on the face of the earth…53% earn and live on $2.00 a day.  You read it right…two dollars.  Per day.  I am a rich man.  As far as material things go, I want for nothing.  Maybe that's why I so often find it easy to live without God.  I'm not relying on him for the very basics of life.  But, every now-and-then, a rich person responds.

Just a couple chapters earlier in the book of Luke, Jesus despaired over how hard it is for the wealthy to enter the kingdom of heaven.  But in chapter 19 we read about a rich man who did!  I’ve heard dozens of sermons on this passage over my lifetime, but today it struck me at a more oblique angle. 

What caught my eye was this:  Jesus noticed this man in the tree, invited himself to dinner, and “Zacchaeus quickly climbed down and took Jesus to his house in great excitement and joy.”   The money was an afterthought.  Zacchaeus’ stuff, those things of his life came after.  Jesus wanted to have dinner with him, and he got excited about it!  Money be damned – what mattered was spending face time with the Messiah!  That’s so cool!  Zacchaeus got it.  He understood what was really important, in spite of the relative ease with which he lived his life.  

In Revelation 3:20 Jesus says, “Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.”  Jesus wants to have dinner with this rich man!  Over the last few months and especially in the last several weeks, I have heard this rapping at my door.  In the beginning it seemed a little tapping, I wasn’t even sure I heard it; I had to keep peeping through the peephole.  Then it grew ‘til it has become this pounding!  I know we always picture Jesus as this kind and considerate guy, as he politely knocks on the door of our hearts.  (Gotta love the metaphors).  But I don’t feel like He’s being particularly meek or gentle in this case at all.  It seems as though he’s pounding with both fists, kicking at the bottom of the door, rattling the handle and yelling!  How cool is that!  Dinner with the Messiah!  Maybe hope for a rich man!  But I fear…

How far does it go?  How far do I go?  Rich young ruler?  Zacchaeus?  I know opening that door is gonna cost me, one way or another.  But I get excited at the thought of being able to say – “whatever, I want to sup with the King.”    

Help My Unbelief

And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.  Mark 9:24


I missed church today.  I hate missing church, but sometimes it can't be helped.  I missed church today because of my Uncle Harold (insists on Chinese restaurants), but as luck would have it, same Uncle Harold had sent me a recording of a sermon he had preached some time ago.  So my sermon part of Sunday was in some way fulfilled, and it's kinda funny - the sermon was timely, although I must say, I found it moving, and in some ways infuriating.  But then, that's the problem isn't it...

Here's the deal:  Today is Valentine's Day, so I spent a little time thinking about love today.  I thought about familial love, romantic love, the love of my friends and the love of God.  To be sure God's love kinda outweighs all the other loves for many and various reasons.  I guess in this forum we can simply stipulate that.  Love is nice isn't it?  I mean, even an old ogre like me gets a little love.  BUT...(you had to know that was coming)

When I saw my daughter the other day, I couldn't help but wonder...where is the love of God in this?  Ashley's one of those people who love God.  She was not one to sit around wondering about His existence, there was never that whining about what is real, what is truth - none of that.  But yet...there she is struggling with the simplest thought.  And you know what sucks?  I do.

If you look back in this blog, even just a few weeks ago, you'll see that I prayed (along with hundreds of others) that Ashley would live.  I wrote about how science and medicine were at an end, and only God remained.  And God delivered.  Ashley is alive, her body strengthens by the day, and hope remains for her mind.  But what is my first inclination?  To question God.

I still don't totally buy into that whole 'God is in control' and 'all things work together for good...' stuff, but for crying out loud!  I was shown a glimpse of faith.  I was given an opportunity to sense even a mere essence of the Christ; then the first thing I do, when I see the suffering of one so dear to me - I wonder where is God's love.  And this is not new to me.  I thought the same thing when I saw that guy sleeping on the bench down at the Corning Preserve again just last week.  I see struggling and hurt and sorrow and my first inclination is to blame God.  Can you imagine the nerve of me, to blame God?

But I do like what Uncle Harold had to say in his sermon.  After some pretty good exegesis, Harold closed his sermon with, to me, a very profound and honest statement...we may not know why bad things happen to good people, whatever the reason it's okay, it'll all make sense over there..."

To be honest, the "why" of suffering has never troubled me all that much.  The fact of suffering wounds me to the core.   Whatever the reason for Ashley's suffering, whatever the reason for the suffering of that guy at the Corning Preserve, whatever the reason for the suffering of countless millions around the world, my prayer right now is two-fold:

"Lord, may Harold be right, over there may it all be okay and in the meantime...please help my unbelief."

Attendance

Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him.  Matthew 4:11 (NLT)

You wouldn’t believe what I just saw.  I was taking that shortcut that you showed me the other day.  It was weird man.  At first I thought I was seeing things, but I swear it was real.

Yeah, you’re right, I’ll sit over here in the shade.  No, no…it’s definitely not the heat!  Just give me a drink and shut up and I’ll tell ya.

Okay, okay, let me see.  So I left the house a couple hours ago.  I found the spot where you showed me the shortcut so I headed out, I figured I could remember the way.  So just as I was walking between those two trees, this guy came brushing by me.  I mean, he had what…15 feet that he could have gone around me but he bumped into me like he didn’t even see me.  It pissed me off a little so I grabbed his shirt.  Dude, when he spun around…when he spun around…gimme a second.  When he looked at me this chill went up my spine.  I don’t know why!  I don’t know.  I mean this guy was furious!  Man, he looked at me like he just wanted to tear me to pieces!  I know!  I don’t know…it sure wasn’t anything I did!  Anyway…no!  I’ve never seen him before and I don’t want to see him again.  Hell no!  I think I’d just cross the road or something.

Listen, listen…that guy isn’t even what this is about.  Well, give me a second.  Can I have another drink?  Whew, thanks.  Okay, so I’m walking along just thinking about work tonight and what might be for dinner, and about ten minutes later I see this guy laying there.  I don’t know!  I was about 30 feet away.  What was he wearing??  Just let me tell the story will ya!  So I see this guy.  I could tell he was alive because he was moving you know.  No, not a lot, but enough that I could tell he wasn’t dead or anything.  Look, do you want me to tell the story or not?  Then stop asking questions.  Yeah maybe some bread.  You got any meat?  Cool.

So I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into, but after that guy I saw a few minutes before and now this…I figured maybe I oughtta check this guy out.  So I go up to him and what a mess!  No there wasn’t any blood, but this guy looked like five miles of bad road.  He was sunburned so bad he had blisters all over his face and hands.  His lips were cracked, yeah I guess there was some dried blood around his mouth.  He was shaking and looked like he was wasting away to nothing.  Yeah, you know what I mean…his eyes were all sunken in and his face had that look like he had too much skin. 

Oh man!  And did he stink!  No tellin when the last time he took a bath or shaved.  I don’t know.  He didn’t seem drunk.  As a matter-of-fact, when I asked him if he was okay…I know, I know, but what else was I supposed to say?  Well, if you ever come across someone like that – you say that.  Anyway, so I asked him and in this dry, raspy voice he says that I should probably just keep moving.  I tell him that I could help him, but he just shook his head, I think he said something about tired, or tried or something.  I had to put my ear next to his mouth to hear him, but all he kept saying was “go”, “hurry”.

I don’t know!  I don’t know!  So now I’m totally creeped out right?  So I think well okay.  Dude’s gonna die out here like this, but he doesn’t want my help.  Then I think of that guy that I passed and think maybe, if he did this to this guy, maybe he’s comin’ back to finish the job.  I know!  I don’t want no trouble.  I mean, I feel bad about this guy and all, I don’t really wanna leave him, but dude, by now I’m freakin’ out!  So I figure I can send some help once I get here.  So I start heading out.  Yeah I know.  But I didn’t know what else to do.  Yeah I know where he is.  No no no.  Just wait.  I haven’t even told you the creepy part yet.

I swear!  Yes I’m telling you the truth!  I couldn’t make this up!  Okay, if you’re not gonna believe me…okay then.  So I just decided to be on my way and send help when I hear this noise.  I don’t know.  I don’t know!  I never heard a sound like this before.  Look.  I start to walk away, I hear this noise and I turn and look.  Dude.  There were these three guys sitting around this guy.  Wuddaya mean?  I’m tellin’ you!  Three.  One was sitting there and had that guy's head resting in his lap and he was wiping his face with a wet cloth.  C’mon!  Why would I make this up?  Three.  Yes, a noise and they’re there.  So one of the…I don’t know, well dressed.  Okay – very well dressed.  So one of the other guys is putting some kind of cream or medicine or something on the guy’s hands and feet, and kind of gently massaging him. 

No!  That’s just it – where we were there was no way they could have just walked up on us.  I didn’t particularly look, but I didn’t notice any, just mine coming along that shortcut.  I know!  I’m tellin’ ya’ – I’m starting to shake again just thinking about it.  So the third guy seems like he’s putting together some food.  I don’t know, I didn’t look that closely, it was food.  No, not a meal, maybe some fruit and bread, I don’t know.  Anyway he’s cutting up the food into small pieces and all three of them are praying.  Yes praying.  I don’t know, they didn’t sound local.  He seemed to.  They’d say something and he would nod and whisper something back, so I guess so. 

Here’s the weird part though.  The guy on the ground?  Well, these three guys are fixing him all up and stuff…this guy on the ground…and…I don’t know, I don’t know.  This guy on the ground looked like he was about dead, these guys come out of nowhere, and get this – they had wings or something.  Okay, okay okay.  I know it sounds crazy, but when they moved…I don’t know, they had wings or something.  They really didn’t walk and they weren’t really flying…I don’t know, but this much I do know…when the one cutting up the food walked or flew or floated or whatever he did, when he went to give it to the guy on the ground – he didn’t leave any footprints!  What?  What do you think I did?  I ran man!  I know.  I know.  It’s crazy I know.  But you shoulda seen the dude on the ground.  Man, he looked bad.  

Full of Dead Men's Bones

“Thou blind Pharisee, cleanse first that which is within the cup and platter, that the outside of them may be clean also.  Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness…”  Matthew 23:26-28 (KJV).

Do you ever walk around with that empty feeling?  I do.  Sometimes it’s because I’m hungry…need a pizza.  Sometimes it’s because work has drained me, or I haven’t slept enough.  The last few days it’s because I’ve had that sense of being hounded.  No blood hounds, no posse.  My boss isn’t on my back, and the tax man remains at bay.  No…this time it’s different.  Scripture is bugging me.  You know how you come across something and it just sticks with you?  Wake up – it’s there.  Go to work – it’s there.  No matter what you’re doing or where you go – there it is.

Ultimately it’s a good thing, but when you’re in the midst of this kind of thing it’s rather troublesome.  Maybe I’m just one of those over-sensitive guys.  I think too much, feel too much, worry too much.  Well, for the last several days…

Here’s the problem:  I struggle sometimes with knowledge of things about Christ and knowing Jesus.  I know a bit about religion and the Bible.  I have studied philosophy, theology and even learned a little bit about house repair.  But, of late, and certainly after reading this verse the other day, I just feel like one of those big concrete sepulchers you see in pictures of a creepy looking cemetery in New Orleans.  Full of dead men’s bones.  It’s an empty feeling.

I have ventured into a life of faith (more like stuck my toe into the ocean), and it’s knocked me for a loop.  I am quickly coming to realize that I know about Jesus but I really don’t know Him.  I want to know Jesus.  I have no desire for that Joel Osteen, kind of Christianity.  I don’t want to sing hymns and spiritual songs…expressing my desire to know some sanitized, shallow, Sunday morning glad-handing Jesus.  At the same time I have absolutely no desire for a spiritual maturity measured by the number of consecutive Sundays of church attendance I can tick off the calendar, or the number of fellow-Christians I can alienate simply because they don’t match up to my understanding of theology.  I simply want to work out my own salvation, to know what it means to know Jesus. 

I want to be more than a white sepulcher, no more dead men’s bones.