Montgomery Advertiser article for October.
Sunrise follows sunset, just the way God planned it
“Would you please stay three forever?”
I asked my daughter this question every day for weeks before her last birthday. She is, after all, my third child. My only girl. My baby. And right or wrong, she has me wrapped hopelessly and completely around her little finger.
So when the big day actually came, and my daughter finally turned four, I asked a new question, and expected the answer she gave every day for months. “Would you please stay four forever?” But instead of the swift and decisive, “No!” usually followed with something about pre-k and tee ball, which quickly told me she had places to go and people to see and staying put was not a part of the plan, this day was different. My daughter surprised me another answer, filled with amazing clarity and profound significance
“Okay daddy, I’ll stay four…until God turns me five.”
Wow. Isn’t it funny how truth--the kind that cuts you to the core--often comes from the mouths of children? Almost intuitively she knows, or at least senses on some deep level, that it isn’t God’s plan for us to stay right where we are. Our inclination is to hold on to the blessings in life, just in case. We strive in so many ways to keep things just the way they are, and yet God wants us to step into tomorrow. Like it or not, tomorrow will be thrust upon us whether we move or not. Sunrise follows sunset, just the way God planned it. We are called on to move, not just react.
The parable of the talents is a story from Holy Scripture that reminds me of the human desire to hold on and hoard life (Matthew 25: 14-30). A man going on a journey entrusts his property to three of his servants. Two of them take what he gives them and use it to make more. One fears the future and takes what the man gives to him and buries it in the ground. In that place, the treasure stays, and doesn’t lose value but doesn’t grow either. Ultimately, the man takes away what he gives to this servant. He fails to move into tomorrow with the confidence to use what has already been given to him.
I heard a story about a woman who visited a marketplace in Mexico. She ran across a man with beautiful parrots for sale. She noticed that the birds were not restrained in any way, and yet they stayed on their perches. When she asked why they didn’t fly away, the man explained how he trains the birds to identify their perches with safety and security. Instead of leaving, they grip their perch as if they have forgotten how to fly. She asked if it was possible to un-teach that behavior. He told her he could easily show them how to release their grip. They could then fly as freely as they wished.
We are like those birds in so many ways. We cling to what we know and what makes us comfortable. Afraid to lose what we have, we never venture out. We want to take time and space and freeze it all. Stay four forever. Or thirty. Or eighty. Please stay right here and keep things just the way they are. On our perches life may feel safe, but remember God ultimately made us to fly and sunrise follows sunset just the way God planned it.
What are you holding on to today? Are you afraid that time will march on and you won’t be able to keep up, or even worse, that the people you love won’t wait?
When it’s easier to stay motionless, remember the wind of grace. It blows beneath our wings with the power of resurrection and new life. God’s plan is for us to fly. And though mustering the courage to change or even move is often harder than the change itself, remember that God calls and waits in the future, but carried you the entire way there.
“Would you please stay four forever?” On second thought, I can’t wait to see the mighty ways in which God will use my daughter. As long as she, and we, are willing, God has so much more planned for our tomorrow than we can possibly hold on to today.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
He's Got the Whole World (and History) In His Hands
Montgomery Advertiser Article - July 2010
"I do." "I will."
These words remind me of spring and summer – seasons of transition. It's when many people move on to new jobs, new towns, graduation and marriage, and say "I do," or "I will" to the future. Though joy and excitement often fill the hopes of a bright tomorrow, new beginnings often mix with a healthy dose of uncertainty and fear.
The future by its very nature is unknowable. "There 'be dragons out there!" We can guess at what lies ahead, but we can't be sure until we get there. This element of uncertainty can make the decision to move forward or to move at all difficult to say the least.
Maybe you're at a point in your life where you have no excitement about the future,and are instead overwhelmed by the fear of what may be "out there." You must say, "I do" to a future without someone who has passed away. "I will" move forward without a loved one, when you've spent every day of what seems like forever waking up next to the same person. For others, it's making the choice to walk away from a relationship that must end, even though it's all we've known for decades. What has happened to my life? Can I make it out there alone? What happens when I get knocked down? What if my world that seems so out of control never gains a sense of order?
I was looking at an old map in a book the other day. The map had a rough outline of countries I recognized, but the coastline veered off in unusual directions and lacked details. The only clear images were of dragons and sea monsters creeping out of the depths of the sea. Mapmakers placed these monsters in the uncharted waters to represent the undiscovered places of the world. The creatures represented the unknown, and the fear that often accompanies it. As I stared at the map, I thought about the brave souls who said, "I will," and climbed aboard ships and headed straight in the direction of the monsters.
I always think of David when I think of those daring to move forward. David was the youngest of his brothers and an unlikely candidate to lead anyone into the future. No one, including Samuel, expected David to be the anointed one to lead God's people. But, Holy Scripture reminds us that God doesn't look on the "outward appearance" and those things human eyes value, God looks at the heart (1 Samuel 16:7). This boy stepped up and took on the Philistines and the champion fighter Goliath, knowing that God would ultimately "deliver" him. (1 Samuel 17:37). He defeated Goliath and went on to be a mighty king. I can imagine more than a few fearful citizens, and David himself, questioning a future with a young king in the face of all that threatened the people of Israel. His future was not without turmoil and challenge, but it was one filled with God's presence. God doesn't always call the qualified, as the saying goes. He does, however,always qualify the called.
We live in a crazy world. We are in the midst of the worst environmental disaster in our nation's history as oil pollutes the Gulf of Mexico and changes our way of life. Our nation's troops stand in harms way in two theatres of war. The economic arena sees the world trying to contain greed and abuse of all kinds. The economy continues to sputter along as millions look at a future with no job, or limited prospects. State governments from the east coast to the west teeter on the edge of bankruptcy. Each trip to the airport reminds us that safety is not a given in a world with some determined to bring about terror and destruction. It's enough to shake even the strongest nerve.
And yet God is calling each and every one of us to say, "I do" to tomorrow. There are personal, family and community tasks and relationships that demand our best. They require everything we have. Our legs may shake with the fear of moving forward, but God's grace meets us in the midst of our fear and trembling. God walks with us as we move forward. But, God also goes before us. God is already in tomorrow, preparing it for our arrival and waiting to greet us there.
We stand on the edge of tomorrow, and,frankly, we have no idea what it holds, but we do know who holds it. When we recognize this power we can look at the unknowable future and whatever it holds and say with confidence, "I do."
"I do." "I will."
These words remind me of spring and summer – seasons of transition. It's when many people move on to new jobs, new towns, graduation and marriage, and say "I do," or "I will" to the future. Though joy and excitement often fill the hopes of a bright tomorrow, new beginnings often mix with a healthy dose of uncertainty and fear.
The future by its very nature is unknowable. "There 'be dragons out there!" We can guess at what lies ahead, but we can't be sure until we get there. This element of uncertainty can make the decision to move forward or to move at all difficult to say the least.
Maybe you're at a point in your life where you have no excitement about the future,and are instead overwhelmed by the fear of what may be "out there." You must say, "I do" to a future without someone who has passed away. "I will" move forward without a loved one, when you've spent every day of what seems like forever waking up next to the same person. For others, it's making the choice to walk away from a relationship that must end, even though it's all we've known for decades. What has happened to my life? Can I make it out there alone? What happens when I get knocked down? What if my world that seems so out of control never gains a sense of order?
I was looking at an old map in a book the other day. The map had a rough outline of countries I recognized, but the coastline veered off in unusual directions and lacked details. The only clear images were of dragons and sea monsters creeping out of the depths of the sea. Mapmakers placed these monsters in the uncharted waters to represent the undiscovered places of the world. The creatures represented the unknown, and the fear that often accompanies it. As I stared at the map, I thought about the brave souls who said, "I will," and climbed aboard ships and headed straight in the direction of the monsters.
I always think of David when I think of those daring to move forward. David was the youngest of his brothers and an unlikely candidate to lead anyone into the future. No one, including Samuel, expected David to be the anointed one to lead God's people. But, Holy Scripture reminds us that God doesn't look on the "outward appearance" and those things human eyes value, God looks at the heart (1 Samuel 16:7). This boy stepped up and took on the Philistines and the champion fighter Goliath, knowing that God would ultimately "deliver" him. (1 Samuel 17:37). He defeated Goliath and went on to be a mighty king. I can imagine more than a few fearful citizens, and David himself, questioning a future with a young king in the face of all that threatened the people of Israel. His future was not without turmoil and challenge, but it was one filled with God's presence. God doesn't always call the qualified, as the saying goes. He does, however,always qualify the called.
We live in a crazy world. We are in the midst of the worst environmental disaster in our nation's history as oil pollutes the Gulf of Mexico and changes our way of life. Our nation's troops stand in harms way in two theatres of war. The economic arena sees the world trying to contain greed and abuse of all kinds. The economy continues to sputter along as millions look at a future with no job, or limited prospects. State governments from the east coast to the west teeter on the edge of bankruptcy. Each trip to the airport reminds us that safety is not a given in a world with some determined to bring about terror and destruction. It's enough to shake even the strongest nerve.
And yet God is calling each and every one of us to say, "I do" to tomorrow. There are personal, family and community tasks and relationships that demand our best. They require everything we have. Our legs may shake with the fear of moving forward, but God's grace meets us in the midst of our fear and trembling. God walks with us as we move forward. But, God also goes before us. God is already in tomorrow, preparing it for our arrival and waiting to greet us there.
We stand on the edge of tomorrow, and,frankly, we have no idea what it holds, but we do know who holds it. When we recognize this power we can look at the unknowable future and whatever it holds and say with confidence, "I do."
To-Be-Forgotten...Never
Montgomery Advertiser Article - August 2010
I don't know how she died, or why her family wasn't there. I will never know what made her smile, laugh, and cry. The world will never hear stories of summertime as a child, the security of daddy's arms with a skinned knee or Christmas at grandma's house. I don't know what in her life made her proud or what frightened her most. Last week she lived. Today she rests in peace, buried beneath Alabama's red clay.
Every now and then, area cemeteries ask me to conduct funerals for those who have no family or friends to claim the body and make arrangements. There is usually very little information about the person's life, beyond the basics of name or religious affiliation. And even though the person is unknown to me and most, the time I spend with this individual is always sacred. Other than the men who fill the grave with dirt, there is usually no one there to say goodbye. As I stand in a section of a cemetery forgotten by much of the world, I am reminded that this is one of the highest honors I have as a child of God. I join with the communion of saints, living and dead, and give witness to a life. It's a witness that acknowledges another person made in the image of the Almighty and says that every life matters.
We all want a witness to our lives. From the time we can barely walk, we scream, cry and shout to get the attention of those we love. It continues into adolescence and adulthood. We don't want to be chosen last for basketball or asked to the dance in the final hours. We want to be included in the right clubs and receive the best accolades at work. If people notice us, we think it means we matter. And yet so many of us, even when it appears to everyone around that we have everything the world says matters, go through life feeling forgotten. We have this sinking feeling that what we do and who we are doesn't matter. Even in the midst of such feelings, we look at the world and ignore others and through our action and inaction make them feel less than worthy. Whether we are the ones being ignored or the ones ignoring, Jesus makes it clear that every life matters and every soul should be made to feel important, because it is.
The ministry of Jesus is filled with stories of his witness to those the world has forgotten. He reaches out and brings the lost into community. Everyone on the shores of the Sea of Galilee in the region of the Gerasenes sought to avoid a man they thought was possessed by a demon. He was so violent they actually tried to chain him. They forced him to live in caves outside of town--out of sight and out of mind--forgotten. It would have been easy for Jesus to pass by this man when he approached. The people around him were probably telling him about the man's history, how he was a "crazy" and a "nobody." They could have told him that stopping might put Jesus in harm's way. But Jesus didn't ignore the man. He stopped, acknowledged him and this action began a process of healing. (Mark 5:1-20).
I believe the good news in this story is that we matter to Jesus. He meets us, as he met the tormented man, in the midst of whatever we see as our bondage and pain. He frees us from our own chains that bind us and from those others place in our lives. He looks at us and tells us that he loves us. His action of giving his life for us says that the world may have ignored us or forgotten, but he never will.
But there is more than that. At the end of the story, Jesus says to the man, "Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and what mercy he has shown you." (Mark 5:19). We are called to seek out those forgotten by the world and share the mercy and grace we have been given. Once we experience it, we cannot begrudge anyone anything. They maybe around the world, in the next town, next door or down the hall.
So let's take notice of God's children. Look into their eyes. Remember their faces. Talk. Listen. And remember the woman at the grave who others forgot.
I don't know how she died. I don't know how she lived. I wish I did. This day, God will give me another chance to do just that with someone the world has forgotten...a chance to remind them that he never will.
I don't know how she died, or why her family wasn't there. I will never know what made her smile, laugh, and cry. The world will never hear stories of summertime as a child, the security of daddy's arms with a skinned knee or Christmas at grandma's house. I don't know what in her life made her proud or what frightened her most. Last week she lived. Today she rests in peace, buried beneath Alabama's red clay.
Every now and then, area cemeteries ask me to conduct funerals for those who have no family or friends to claim the body and make arrangements. There is usually very little information about the person's life, beyond the basics of name or religious affiliation. And even though the person is unknown to me and most, the time I spend with this individual is always sacred. Other than the men who fill the grave with dirt, there is usually no one there to say goodbye. As I stand in a section of a cemetery forgotten by much of the world, I am reminded that this is one of the highest honors I have as a child of God. I join with the communion of saints, living and dead, and give witness to a life. It's a witness that acknowledges another person made in the image of the Almighty and says that every life matters.
We all want a witness to our lives. From the time we can barely walk, we scream, cry and shout to get the attention of those we love. It continues into adolescence and adulthood. We don't want to be chosen last for basketball or asked to the dance in the final hours. We want to be included in the right clubs and receive the best accolades at work. If people notice us, we think it means we matter. And yet so many of us, even when it appears to everyone around that we have everything the world says matters, go through life feeling forgotten. We have this sinking feeling that what we do and who we are doesn't matter. Even in the midst of such feelings, we look at the world and ignore others and through our action and inaction make them feel less than worthy. Whether we are the ones being ignored or the ones ignoring, Jesus makes it clear that every life matters and every soul should be made to feel important, because it is.
The ministry of Jesus is filled with stories of his witness to those the world has forgotten. He reaches out and brings the lost into community. Everyone on the shores of the Sea of Galilee in the region of the Gerasenes sought to avoid a man they thought was possessed by a demon. He was so violent they actually tried to chain him. They forced him to live in caves outside of town--out of sight and out of mind--forgotten. It would have been easy for Jesus to pass by this man when he approached. The people around him were probably telling him about the man's history, how he was a "crazy" and a "nobody." They could have told him that stopping might put Jesus in harm's way. But Jesus didn't ignore the man. He stopped, acknowledged him and this action began a process of healing. (Mark 5:1-20).
I believe the good news in this story is that we matter to Jesus. He meets us, as he met the tormented man, in the midst of whatever we see as our bondage and pain. He frees us from our own chains that bind us and from those others place in our lives. He looks at us and tells us that he loves us. His action of giving his life for us says that the world may have ignored us or forgotten, but he never will.
But there is more than that. At the end of the story, Jesus says to the man, "Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and what mercy he has shown you." (Mark 5:19). We are called to seek out those forgotten by the world and share the mercy and grace we have been given. Once we experience it, we cannot begrudge anyone anything. They maybe around the world, in the next town, next door or down the hall.
So let's take notice of God's children. Look into their eyes. Remember their faces. Talk. Listen. And remember the woman at the grave who others forgot.
I don't know how she died. I don't know how she lived. I wish I did. This day, God will give me another chance to do just that with someone the world has forgotten...a chance to remind them that he never will.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
God’s Light Shines Through the Cracks of Life
Montgomery Advertiser Article for May 2010 --
God’s Light Shines Through the Cracks of Life --
---
“Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” – Leonard Cohen, Anthem
---
I was invited to a tea party a few weeks ago. It was not a political rally, but a good, old-fashioned, make-believe tea party with my three-year-old daughter. I gladly accepted the invitation, and took my seat on a soft, pink blanket between a stuffed frog and a rabbit. Before the party could get started, my daughter abruptly got up and said that her outfit would never do. She needed her black Batgirl boots, and as a requirement of attendance, she insisted I wear some too. Thinking fast, I reached into the sky, pulled down my imaginary boots and pretended to slip them on. This did the trick, and my hostess allowed me to remain a guest on the floor.
Before long, the rules changed. I could only sit next to the bear, not the frog. I could only sip from a pink cup, never blue. Because I wanted to stay at the party, I did what I was told. I must admit, I thoroughly enjoyed my stay, but the experience did get me thinking about life and faith. I left with a few questions. How good do we have to be and how much is enough?
The world behaves very much like my daughter. We expect arbitrary changes and certain randomness in our dealings there, but I have noticed that many times we find the same thing in the church. We are told that our salvation is by grace through faith. Our deliverance is nothing we earn, but comes as a gift through the sacrifice of Christ. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God” (Ephesians 2:8). This is a transforming realization when we first truly hear it. We begin to allow the fruits of the spirit to show in our lives as a reaction to the love of God. This love is nothing we do or earn, and it delivers us from the exhaustive rat race of striving and the human accolades of achievement.
But then we are made to feel less than a real child of God if we don’t do the things certain others expect. If we don’t support this referendum then we must not really love God. If we don’t vote for this candidate or attend these party meetings, our devotion and discipleship is called into question. If we don’t live a certain lifestyle, we are considered posers and fakers and not true brothers or sisters in Christ. The life of discipleship becomes a matter of performance. We begin to rack up “points” in the life of faith by how much we do, or at least how much others see us do. We look over our shoulders to make sure we’re doing things right. We check to make sure others are doing the same. We feel and sometimes are told that if our lives have cracks then we have failed God and neighbor. These insecurities chip away at the truth, and by allowing them to take over we can’t help but question whether we’re worthy of God’s love.
No one is perfect. Every single person in this world has major cracks in the form of issues, challenges, problems, habits, and any situation that separates them from God. There are no exceptions. Sure, some have a wonderful veneer and all seems great, but under the surface, the cracks exist, and so do the questions. Is this enough…am I good enough?
The danger in performance-living is that our cracks tend to come back. Like the ones in our homes that we patch and paint over, our insecurities and separation inevitably show up again. Many times, when we see the cracks return in our lives, we get discouraged and forget that we are covered. We give up, and give in to the cracks. We forget that no matter how much we work we will never earn salvation. We also forget that it’s already ours. We have but to reach out, take God’s hand, and ask for help.
Jesus’ body was broken and cracked, so that our brokenness may be made whole. This crack is how God’s light of deliverance came into this broken world. Jesus died and rose again for all of those who find their lives filled with the cracks of separation and sin. The blood of Christ covers and protects us.
At the tea party of faith it is not where we sit, the cup from which we drink, or what we wear that keeps us covered by the grace of God. It’s the light and love of God and it often shines through the cracks of life.
God’s Light Shines Through the Cracks of Life --
---
“Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” – Leonard Cohen, Anthem
---
I was invited to a tea party a few weeks ago. It was not a political rally, but a good, old-fashioned, make-believe tea party with my three-year-old daughter. I gladly accepted the invitation, and took my seat on a soft, pink blanket between a stuffed frog and a rabbit. Before the party could get started, my daughter abruptly got up and said that her outfit would never do. She needed her black Batgirl boots, and as a requirement of attendance, she insisted I wear some too. Thinking fast, I reached into the sky, pulled down my imaginary boots and pretended to slip them on. This did the trick, and my hostess allowed me to remain a guest on the floor.
Before long, the rules changed. I could only sit next to the bear, not the frog. I could only sip from a pink cup, never blue. Because I wanted to stay at the party, I did what I was told. I must admit, I thoroughly enjoyed my stay, but the experience did get me thinking about life and faith. I left with a few questions. How good do we have to be and how much is enough?
The world behaves very much like my daughter. We expect arbitrary changes and certain randomness in our dealings there, but I have noticed that many times we find the same thing in the church. We are told that our salvation is by grace through faith. Our deliverance is nothing we earn, but comes as a gift through the sacrifice of Christ. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God” (Ephesians 2:8). This is a transforming realization when we first truly hear it. We begin to allow the fruits of the spirit to show in our lives as a reaction to the love of God. This love is nothing we do or earn, and it delivers us from the exhaustive rat race of striving and the human accolades of achievement.
But then we are made to feel less than a real child of God if we don’t do the things certain others expect. If we don’t support this referendum then we must not really love God. If we don’t vote for this candidate or attend these party meetings, our devotion and discipleship is called into question. If we don’t live a certain lifestyle, we are considered posers and fakers and not true brothers or sisters in Christ. The life of discipleship becomes a matter of performance. We begin to rack up “points” in the life of faith by how much we do, or at least how much others see us do. We look over our shoulders to make sure we’re doing things right. We check to make sure others are doing the same. We feel and sometimes are told that if our lives have cracks then we have failed God and neighbor. These insecurities chip away at the truth, and by allowing them to take over we can’t help but question whether we’re worthy of God’s love.
No one is perfect. Every single person in this world has major cracks in the form of issues, challenges, problems, habits, and any situation that separates them from God. There are no exceptions. Sure, some have a wonderful veneer and all seems great, but under the surface, the cracks exist, and so do the questions. Is this enough…am I good enough?
The danger in performance-living is that our cracks tend to come back. Like the ones in our homes that we patch and paint over, our insecurities and separation inevitably show up again. Many times, when we see the cracks return in our lives, we get discouraged and forget that we are covered. We give up, and give in to the cracks. We forget that no matter how much we work we will never earn salvation. We also forget that it’s already ours. We have but to reach out, take God’s hand, and ask for help.
Jesus’ body was broken and cracked, so that our brokenness may be made whole. This crack is how God’s light of deliverance came into this broken world. Jesus died and rose again for all of those who find their lives filled with the cracks of separation and sin. The blood of Christ covers and protects us.
At the tea party of faith it is not where we sit, the cup from which we drink, or what we wear that keeps us covered by the grace of God. It’s the light and love of God and it often shines through the cracks of life.
What’s the Burning Bush in Your Life?
Montgomery Advertiser article from April 2010.
What’s the Burning Bush in Your Life? --
“I can’t hear you. I can’t see you.” I heard these words not too long ago in Walmart. I rounded the aisle to see a young boy sitting in a shopping cart with his eyes closed and his fingers in his ears. His mother was trying to get his attention and he was doing his best to ignore her. I could see the exasperation in her eyes and I didn’t stick around to see the outcome of the standoff.
As children, we all employed the little boy’s tactic, and most of us still do. We pretend not to hear or see. We get so determined to live life the way we think we should or want that we don’t take the time to hear or see anything that deviates from our plan.
I think part of our aversion is that we know if we stop and listen that it will require something of us. We may have to change course or direction. We may see that the ground we are on is sacred, and we will have to tread lightly and we just can’t do it.
I suppose Moses had the right to cover his ears and close his eyes when he first encountered God in the burning bush on Mount Horeb. He flees from Egypt to Midian to evade punishment for killing a man. He eventually fades into the woodwork, marries and settles down. Just when he thinks he can cruise, the God he thought he left behind in Egypt shows up. Moses sees a bush, burning, but not consumed. Bushes don’t usually do this, so Moses has to know something is up. He could move right along and avoid the bush altogether, but he doesn’t. Moses turns aside to see what is going on. (Exodus 3:3).
When God had Moses’ attention, he spoke reassuring words, telling him that he had seen the affliction of the Israelites and that he would “deliver them from the Egyptians.” (Exodus 3:8). What a wonderful promise of freedom. But God doesn’t leave it there. He continues by saying that he is going to send Moses to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. Moses turned from his comfortable life, gave God attention and suddenly he was asked to do something.
Would you have turned? I like to think I would, but I have to admit I’m really not so sure. I join the human race in the ability to avert my eyes and keep walking, especially when I sense conflict, pain or demand. We walk right by the burning bushes that fill our lives. We’re so very busy. We really don’t have time to stop-places to go, people to see, and appointments to keep.
We love comfort, but we don’t do so well with demands, do we? The first part, the promise, is something we can live with. It’s what comes after that gives us pause. You can be a gifted teacher, but first you must go through years of dedicated training and times you’ll feel that the students you are committed to help may chew you up and spit you out. You will be a great athlete, but first you must sacrifice and suffer season after season of humiliating loss. You will lead a great company that will help employee and community alike, but you will first endure many setbacks and times when the thought of making payroll will keep you up at night.
Sometimes it’s easier to just walk on by, close our eyes and think maybe if we wish hard enough it will all just go away. Maybe we turn, but decide to do what Moses did at first and bargain with God. “Okay God, I’ll do this, but not that.”
I recently heard a story about one man’s burning bush. His daughter comes to him with a drawing of her family. The father reluctantly takes a break and asks her about the picture. She describes mommy cooking dinner and her brothers crying because one hit the other. She shows herself and the book she is reading. She then points to her father. He asks her why she colored in his face. She tells him that it’s not his face but the back of his head. He is working on his computer. In an instant, he saw the flames and heard the voice.
We all have burning bushes around us: those moments where God is trying to get our attention and engage us in the work of helping bring someone or something in bondage to the freedom of the Promised Land. But we walk on.
When we are tempted to walk on, let’s remember Moses. God’s promise contained demand, but God was with him. He was waiting for him when he got to Egypt and walked with him every step of the way to freedom. Maybe if we turned more we would hear God speak in our lives more.
Where is your burning bush today? Can you see it? Can you hear it?
What’s the Burning Bush in Your Life? --
“I can’t hear you. I can’t see you.” I heard these words not too long ago in Walmart. I rounded the aisle to see a young boy sitting in a shopping cart with his eyes closed and his fingers in his ears. His mother was trying to get his attention and he was doing his best to ignore her. I could see the exasperation in her eyes and I didn’t stick around to see the outcome of the standoff.
As children, we all employed the little boy’s tactic, and most of us still do. We pretend not to hear or see. We get so determined to live life the way we think we should or want that we don’t take the time to hear or see anything that deviates from our plan.
I think part of our aversion is that we know if we stop and listen that it will require something of us. We may have to change course or direction. We may see that the ground we are on is sacred, and we will have to tread lightly and we just can’t do it.
I suppose Moses had the right to cover his ears and close his eyes when he first encountered God in the burning bush on Mount Horeb. He flees from Egypt to Midian to evade punishment for killing a man. He eventually fades into the woodwork, marries and settles down. Just when he thinks he can cruise, the God he thought he left behind in Egypt shows up. Moses sees a bush, burning, but not consumed. Bushes don’t usually do this, so Moses has to know something is up. He could move right along and avoid the bush altogether, but he doesn’t. Moses turns aside to see what is going on. (Exodus 3:3).
When God had Moses’ attention, he spoke reassuring words, telling him that he had seen the affliction of the Israelites and that he would “deliver them from the Egyptians.” (Exodus 3:8). What a wonderful promise of freedom. But God doesn’t leave it there. He continues by saying that he is going to send Moses to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. Moses turned from his comfortable life, gave God attention and suddenly he was asked to do something.
Would you have turned? I like to think I would, but I have to admit I’m really not so sure. I join the human race in the ability to avert my eyes and keep walking, especially when I sense conflict, pain or demand. We walk right by the burning bushes that fill our lives. We’re so very busy. We really don’t have time to stop-places to go, people to see, and appointments to keep.
We love comfort, but we don’t do so well with demands, do we? The first part, the promise, is something we can live with. It’s what comes after that gives us pause. You can be a gifted teacher, but first you must go through years of dedicated training and times you’ll feel that the students you are committed to help may chew you up and spit you out. You will be a great athlete, but first you must sacrifice and suffer season after season of humiliating loss. You will lead a great company that will help employee and community alike, but you will first endure many setbacks and times when the thought of making payroll will keep you up at night.
Sometimes it’s easier to just walk on by, close our eyes and think maybe if we wish hard enough it will all just go away. Maybe we turn, but decide to do what Moses did at first and bargain with God. “Okay God, I’ll do this, but not that.”
I recently heard a story about one man’s burning bush. His daughter comes to him with a drawing of her family. The father reluctantly takes a break and asks her about the picture. She describes mommy cooking dinner and her brothers crying because one hit the other. She shows herself and the book she is reading. She then points to her father. He asks her why she colored in his face. She tells him that it’s not his face but the back of his head. He is working on his computer. In an instant, he saw the flames and heard the voice.
We all have burning bushes around us: those moments where God is trying to get our attention and engage us in the work of helping bring someone or something in bondage to the freedom of the Promised Land. But we walk on.
When we are tempted to walk on, let’s remember Moses. God’s promise contained demand, but God was with him. He was waiting for him when he got to Egypt and walked with him every step of the way to freedom. Maybe if we turned more we would hear God speak in our lives more.
Where is your burning bush today? Can you see it? Can you hear it?
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Blood Makes Noise
"Montgomery Advertiser" article for March
Blood Makes Noise
Blood makes noise. My out-of-shape body painfully reminds me of this every time I try to do something to get fit. When my heart starts pumping, I can actually hear the sound of progress pounding in my ears.
Whether we exercise or not, we all have moments when we can hear the blood pumping through our bodies. A crashing noise wakes us from a sound sleep and suddenly it’s as if our hearts will beat right out of our chests. Our team’s star player stands to make a three-point-shot. It’s the last few minutes of the game. The only sound in the arena is silence, but the hearts of thousands of fans beat rapidly in unison.
Do you remember how your heart fluttered on your wedding day? When it skipped a beat as the nurse handed you your first-born child? Blood makes noise.
This noise echoes throughout the Passion of Jesus Christ. The pounding of hearts fills the air, from the garden at Gethsemane to the crucifixion at Golgotha. Christ makes his request, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.” (Luke 22:42). His blood pumps faster as he asks to be spared and pulses as he gives himself up to the will of the Father and his “sweat became like great drops of blood.” (Luke 22:44).
Christ’s beating heart stops briefly in the garden. Judas, trusted friend and disciple, gives him the kiss of betrayal. Here, his heart is broken.
Confusion and resignation permeate the Sanhedrin as they interrogate Jesus. This gives way to the beat of anticipation when Pilate asks the crowd what they wish him to do with Jesus. And again, pulsating energy as they cry out, “Crucify Him!” (John 19:15).
Blood makes noise as it spills to the ground during the scourging. The Roman guards beat and whip Jesus with a strap of nails. The heartbeat gets weak as He walks to Golgotha. The people shout insults. The women wail. The guards place a crown of thorns on His head. The sound grows faint. “My God, my God, who have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34).
We see Mary, mother of Jesus, ache for her son. It was Mary who held Jesus in her arms, allowed him to listen to her heart as she rocked him to sleep at night. And when he fell down and skinned his knee, she was the one who scooped him up and told him things would be okay. I suspect it was Mary who initially taught Jesus about hope.
Do you feel that the sound of hope is silent in your life? Have you reached a point where you believe things are too far-gone, or that you have dug yourself in too deep to be rescued? Do you think you have done too much to be worthy of redemption?
The world tried to silence the sound, but it didn’t work. Jesus Christ lives. He conquered death so that we may live as if death were no more.
If we listen this Holy Week and Easter, we’ll hear it. It beats for you and for me, not because of what we do or have, what we’ve done wrong or right, but because we are His. It beats amidst our joy, pain, darkness and light. It’s the heartbeat of God. It beat on that day some two thousand years ago and it beats for us still. It’s the sound of compassion and love. It’s the sound of new life and salvation. And it beats as if to say, it’s okay. I’m right here with you. There is hope.
Blood makes noise. Thanks be to God.
Blood Makes Noise
Blood makes noise. My out-of-shape body painfully reminds me of this every time I try to do something to get fit. When my heart starts pumping, I can actually hear the sound of progress pounding in my ears.
Whether we exercise or not, we all have moments when we can hear the blood pumping through our bodies. A crashing noise wakes us from a sound sleep and suddenly it’s as if our hearts will beat right out of our chests. Our team’s star player stands to make a three-point-shot. It’s the last few minutes of the game. The only sound in the arena is silence, but the hearts of thousands of fans beat rapidly in unison.
Do you remember how your heart fluttered on your wedding day? When it skipped a beat as the nurse handed you your first-born child? Blood makes noise.
This noise echoes throughout the Passion of Jesus Christ. The pounding of hearts fills the air, from the garden at Gethsemane to the crucifixion at Golgotha. Christ makes his request, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.” (Luke 22:42). His blood pumps faster as he asks to be spared and pulses as he gives himself up to the will of the Father and his “sweat became like great drops of blood.” (Luke 22:44).
Christ’s beating heart stops briefly in the garden. Judas, trusted friend and disciple, gives him the kiss of betrayal. Here, his heart is broken.
Confusion and resignation permeate the Sanhedrin as they interrogate Jesus. This gives way to the beat of anticipation when Pilate asks the crowd what they wish him to do with Jesus. And again, pulsating energy as they cry out, “Crucify Him!” (John 19:15).
Blood makes noise as it spills to the ground during the scourging. The Roman guards beat and whip Jesus with a strap of nails. The heartbeat gets weak as He walks to Golgotha. The people shout insults. The women wail. The guards place a crown of thorns on His head. The sound grows faint. “My God, my God, who have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34).
We see Mary, mother of Jesus, ache for her son. It was Mary who held Jesus in her arms, allowed him to listen to her heart as she rocked him to sleep at night. And when he fell down and skinned his knee, she was the one who scooped him up and told him things would be okay. I suspect it was Mary who initially taught Jesus about hope.
Do you feel that the sound of hope is silent in your life? Have you reached a point where you believe things are too far-gone, or that you have dug yourself in too deep to be rescued? Do you think you have done too much to be worthy of redemption?
The world tried to silence the sound, but it didn’t work. Jesus Christ lives. He conquered death so that we may live as if death were no more.
If we listen this Holy Week and Easter, we’ll hear it. It beats for you and for me, not because of what we do or have, what we’ve done wrong or right, but because we are His. It beats amidst our joy, pain, darkness and light. It’s the heartbeat of God. It beat on that day some two thousand years ago and it beats for us still. It’s the sound of compassion and love. It’s the sound of new life and salvation. And it beats as if to say, it’s okay. I’m right here with you. There is hope.
Blood makes noise. Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Whistling in the Dark
This is a late post of February's "Advertiser" article.
Whistling in the Dark
Sometimes I like to whistle in the dark. When I was a child, I did this to muster up a little courage in the wilderness of life. I remember getting separated from friends on a hike during a camp out. As I made my way back to the tents in the half-light of dusk, I whistled thinking I’d scare away the danger that I knew waited in the darkness behind every tree.
What is it about the wilderness that frightens us? I think part of it, at least for me, is that we associate it with real danger and loss. When I hear about someone’s “wilderness” years or time in the “wilderness” it conjures up instant images of hardship and being in a place where, if given the choice, one would never go. It’s rarely something we choose. It can come through illness, economic hardships, alcohol or drugs and countless other ways.
Many times the wilderness envelops our lives just when we think we have it all together. Look at Jesus in Mark’s Gospel. John the Baptist had just baptized him in the Jordan River with the voice of God’s booming approval. Then he was thrown into the wilderness where he faced down temptation and the evil forces in this world. (Mark 1:9-13).
The wilderness experience gave Jesus strength and a fearlessness that was critical to who he was and what he would face on Calvary. After his experience, Jesus began to seek out wilderness in the world. When he found it, he named it, claimed it and conquered it.
The wilderness helps make us who we are. It’s there that we are forced to make a choice to rely on God as we see that the worldly things in which we place our trust have no power to save us. Many times it is there that we discover why God has called us to this time and place.
Lent, the 40 weekdays leading up to Easter, began Wednesday. Lent beckons us to imitate Jesus’ withdrawal into the wilderness. It is a time of self-examination and turning back to God.
We know that the wilderness isn’t tame, and we will come face to face with temptation. There we may meet the evil that attempts to control this world and our own lives. In order to pass such darkness we will have to wrestle with the world, with ourselves and with God.
This is not for the faint hearted. After all, it’s scary to look into the eyes of our own desires and actions and say, “No more!” It’s frightening to walk in a new direction, because the old is familiar and the familiar can seem easy, even when it slowly erodes our joy and sucks up the very breath of life.
There’s always the danger that we will get stuck in the wilderness, not because we have to, but because we choose it. We become comfortable with those things that separate us from God, even when we know new life awaits on the other side. We become accustomed to making excuses why we can’t do this or that. We are too busy with the world to stop to say, “Enough!” We are too worn down to pray that God will help us. We tell ourselves it’s okay because God understands and still loves us. God does love us right where we are, but that doesn’t mean he wants us to remain in darkness.
We enter the wilderness and find ourselves whistling in the dark to garner hope and courage. But remember that we aren’t merely whistling to fake courage and we don’t do it by ourselves. When Jesus was in the wilderness, in addition to the devil and wild beasts, “the angels waited on him” (Mark 1:13). God was with him in the midst of it and is with us.
Our Lenten wilderness journey and all such experiences end at the foot of the cross where we find ourselves loved best of all. How do we know? God shows us.
Whistling in the Dark
Sometimes I like to whistle in the dark. When I was a child, I did this to muster up a little courage in the wilderness of life. I remember getting separated from friends on a hike during a camp out. As I made my way back to the tents in the half-light of dusk, I whistled thinking I’d scare away the danger that I knew waited in the darkness behind every tree.
What is it about the wilderness that frightens us? I think part of it, at least for me, is that we associate it with real danger and loss. When I hear about someone’s “wilderness” years or time in the “wilderness” it conjures up instant images of hardship and being in a place where, if given the choice, one would never go. It’s rarely something we choose. It can come through illness, economic hardships, alcohol or drugs and countless other ways.
Many times the wilderness envelops our lives just when we think we have it all together. Look at Jesus in Mark’s Gospel. John the Baptist had just baptized him in the Jordan River with the voice of God’s booming approval. Then he was thrown into the wilderness where he faced down temptation and the evil forces in this world. (Mark 1:9-13).
The wilderness experience gave Jesus strength and a fearlessness that was critical to who he was and what he would face on Calvary. After his experience, Jesus began to seek out wilderness in the world. When he found it, he named it, claimed it and conquered it.
The wilderness helps make us who we are. It’s there that we are forced to make a choice to rely on God as we see that the worldly things in which we place our trust have no power to save us. Many times it is there that we discover why God has called us to this time and place.
Lent, the 40 weekdays leading up to Easter, began Wednesday. Lent beckons us to imitate Jesus’ withdrawal into the wilderness. It is a time of self-examination and turning back to God.
We know that the wilderness isn’t tame, and we will come face to face with temptation. There we may meet the evil that attempts to control this world and our own lives. In order to pass such darkness we will have to wrestle with the world, with ourselves and with God.
This is not for the faint hearted. After all, it’s scary to look into the eyes of our own desires and actions and say, “No more!” It’s frightening to walk in a new direction, because the old is familiar and the familiar can seem easy, even when it slowly erodes our joy and sucks up the very breath of life.
There’s always the danger that we will get stuck in the wilderness, not because we have to, but because we choose it. We become comfortable with those things that separate us from God, even when we know new life awaits on the other side. We become accustomed to making excuses why we can’t do this or that. We are too busy with the world to stop to say, “Enough!” We are too worn down to pray that God will help us. We tell ourselves it’s okay because God understands and still loves us. God does love us right where we are, but that doesn’t mean he wants us to remain in darkness.
We enter the wilderness and find ourselves whistling in the dark to garner hope and courage. But remember that we aren’t merely whistling to fake courage and we don’t do it by ourselves. When Jesus was in the wilderness, in addition to the devil and wild beasts, “the angels waited on him” (Mark 1:13). God was with him in the midst of it and is with us.
Our Lenten wilderness journey and all such experiences end at the foot of the cross where we find ourselves loved best of all. How do we know? God shows us.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The Tears That Lead to Life
This is my Montgomery Advertiser column for January - late posting.
I watch the news with its pictures of the destruction from the earthquake in Haiti with a very sad and heavy heart. The images of children without parents, bodies trapped in the rubble, and families, in shock, trying to decide just where to begin piecing life back together bring tears to my eyes. I watch. I pray. I donate some money online. All of these small, simple actions seem inadequate with such devastation.
“Jesus wept.” (John 11:35). This is the shortest verse in the Holy Bible. These words come at the beginning of the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. It’s a story infused with new life, not just for Lazarus, but for his entire family. Often in our haste to get to the wonder of Lazarus’ resurrection we skip right over the simple words about crying. Who really wants to talk about weeping when we can concentrate on the glory? Obviously the good news is in the new life that Lazarus has after the miracle…right? That new life is an essential part of the story. But today it is important to me that Jesus wept.
Jesus wept over the death of his friend Lazarus. He wept and weeps for the sin that separates us from God; those things we do that bring about literal and figurative death in our lives and the world. He wept and weeps with and for people because God cares. There are times when we wonder if anyone really cares about death and destruction in the world. There are moments of despair when we question whether anybody cares about our lives. The tears of Jesus remind us that God does.
The crying of Jesus is important. If everything we understand about Jesus and Scripture is glory and life, what happens when we are walking in the midst of destruction and death? What are we to do when the chances and changes of life leave us without healing or hope? Where are we, when we walk in what at times seems unconquerable darkness?
God’s grace and love always meet us where we are. God encounters us in the dark valleys and suffers with us. When we find ourselves in the throes of grief, depression, sadness, despair and loss, God is there. He remains with us and helps lead us out.
A child languishes in a pool of bad decisions, and you can’t seem to help him. A mother suffers through the final stages of cancer, and you feel hopeless. A marriage is more struggle than joy, and you can’t seem to do anything to stop the downward spiral. The fact that Jesus wept lets us know that God is with us in the middle of our suffering, confusion and what seems dead. He waits with us. He has already been in our darkness and claimed it as his. It reminds us that God will ultimately free us and give us new life.
There are times when our tears move us to action. There are also situations in life that are beyond our fixing. There is brokenness that we can’t repair no matter how much time, money or talent we have. All we can do is weep with those who are weeping, and it is enough. Weeping becomes a prayer that is heard by the one who has the kingdom, the power and the glory.
The tears of Jesus lead to life.
There is a story about a boy at Vacation Bible School who made a ceramic tray for his mother. He worked all week on his project, trying to make it just right. The last day of VBS, he couldn’t wait to show it to her. He ran down the hall and he tripped. The tray broke into many pieces, and he sat down and cried. A number of people stopped and tried to comfort him. “It’s just a tray,” they said, thinking this would put things into perspective, and he would snap out of it. But the child was inconsolable. Eventually, his mother came to where he was sitting. She knelt down and took him into her arms. She cried with him. “Let’s pick up all of the pieces, and we can take them home and put it together and see what we can make out of it.”
The tears of Jesus move him to save. When our lives are shattered, Jesus is with us in the middle of the mess and helps us pick up the pieces. He gives us strength and aid in making something out of what is left.
Jesus wept. Thank you, Lord, for that—and thank you, Lord, for the life born of those tears.
I watch the news with its pictures of the destruction from the earthquake in Haiti with a very sad and heavy heart. The images of children without parents, bodies trapped in the rubble, and families, in shock, trying to decide just where to begin piecing life back together bring tears to my eyes. I watch. I pray. I donate some money online. All of these small, simple actions seem inadequate with such devastation.
“Jesus wept.” (John 11:35). This is the shortest verse in the Holy Bible. These words come at the beginning of the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. It’s a story infused with new life, not just for Lazarus, but for his entire family. Often in our haste to get to the wonder of Lazarus’ resurrection we skip right over the simple words about crying. Who really wants to talk about weeping when we can concentrate on the glory? Obviously the good news is in the new life that Lazarus has after the miracle…right? That new life is an essential part of the story. But today it is important to me that Jesus wept.
Jesus wept over the death of his friend Lazarus. He wept and weeps for the sin that separates us from God; those things we do that bring about literal and figurative death in our lives and the world. He wept and weeps with and for people because God cares. There are times when we wonder if anyone really cares about death and destruction in the world. There are moments of despair when we question whether anybody cares about our lives. The tears of Jesus remind us that God does.
The crying of Jesus is important. If everything we understand about Jesus and Scripture is glory and life, what happens when we are walking in the midst of destruction and death? What are we to do when the chances and changes of life leave us without healing or hope? Where are we, when we walk in what at times seems unconquerable darkness?
God’s grace and love always meet us where we are. God encounters us in the dark valleys and suffers with us. When we find ourselves in the throes of grief, depression, sadness, despair and loss, God is there. He remains with us and helps lead us out.
A child languishes in a pool of bad decisions, and you can’t seem to help him. A mother suffers through the final stages of cancer, and you feel hopeless. A marriage is more struggle than joy, and you can’t seem to do anything to stop the downward spiral. The fact that Jesus wept lets us know that God is with us in the middle of our suffering, confusion and what seems dead. He waits with us. He has already been in our darkness and claimed it as his. It reminds us that God will ultimately free us and give us new life.
There are times when our tears move us to action. There are also situations in life that are beyond our fixing. There is brokenness that we can’t repair no matter how much time, money or talent we have. All we can do is weep with those who are weeping, and it is enough. Weeping becomes a prayer that is heard by the one who has the kingdom, the power and the glory.
The tears of Jesus lead to life.
There is a story about a boy at Vacation Bible School who made a ceramic tray for his mother. He worked all week on his project, trying to make it just right. The last day of VBS, he couldn’t wait to show it to her. He ran down the hall and he tripped. The tray broke into many pieces, and he sat down and cried. A number of people stopped and tried to comfort him. “It’s just a tray,” they said, thinking this would put things into perspective, and he would snap out of it. But the child was inconsolable. Eventually, his mother came to where he was sitting. She knelt down and took him into her arms. She cried with him. “Let’s pick up all of the pieces, and we can take them home and put it together and see what we can make out of it.”
The tears of Jesus move him to save. When our lives are shattered, Jesus is with us in the middle of the mess and helps us pick up the pieces. He gives us strength and aid in making something out of what is left.
Jesus wept. Thank you, Lord, for that—and thank you, Lord, for the life born of those tears.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)