Calamity

There are some things that I thought were going to be big issues in life, which turned out to be, well not so much...

For instance: Piranhas, quicksand, The Bermuda Triangle, spontaneous human combustion.

I can remember as a child being significantly concerned about the random locations of quicksand I may run into, and once caught in that mire, what kinds of body movements could be detrimental to escaping such a calamitous situation.  I entered into most forested areas with these thoughts lightly pinging at the back of my mind.  After all, if it came into play on Gilligan's Island, Jonny Quest and Scooby Doo, let's face it, we should all be wary about quicksand no matter where we live.  I thought, there would be giant signs warning us of these dangers, but I never saw any.  Which should have encouraged me to think that is was less of a problem, but it only reinforced the idea that they were well-hidden.  These death-inducing hazards were everywhere, but no one lived to tell of their whereabouts.

I'm now into my 60's and none of the "big four" listed above, have been a big problem. 

In fact, they have been no problem at all. (sigh of relief) 😊

This set me thinking about the things in life which HAVE been a problem.  

What I've realized is that there are some things I feel...And there are some things I know.

Letting go of what I feel 

                 in exchange for the truth that I know, or have discovered in Christ has been the

                                                                  great exercise of "growing up" in my life and I believe it always will be.  

Paul wrote this in Romans 7:15 (The Message) "What I don't understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise." 

What an incredibly honest assessment of his situation.  

No mincing of words. No effort to shade it in a way that sounds better.  

Straight-up vulnerability. 

He describes his own actions at times as something he......despises.  

How often do we hear that kind of truth?

So, I have put the fears I mentioned at the outset of this writing into a box of things labeled "lies".

Because when I'm trying to be as honest as I can about my failures as a father, husband, brother or friend I find myself identifying with the statement Paul made above.  AND this is my way of agreeing with him, by saying,

"The greatest problem or hindrance to my emotional/spiritual growth as a human has been...me."

This is not a statement of self-loathing, it's just pragmatism.

No one else and no other thing has waylaid me, kept me from my potential in a certain

moment like I have.  I'm not a victim of circumstance or upbringing.

When I have been less than I could have been or should have been, 

it has been because of my own choices.

There's a truth that lives and grows in me, through the work of the Holy Spirit.

When I listen to that truth and choose to follow, I grow.

I become...the more.

When I do not, 

I become...the lesser.

We can call it whatever we want.

Consecration.

Surrender.

Centered down.

Sanctified.

But, it follows closely to my corresponding choices.

As one who has been chosen, 

                          I am making a choice...to follow.

                                               I think it's the best way to stay out of the quicksand.  :)

She Left Her Jar

I really like the fact that it's a story about routine.

A seemingly chance meeting between a woman and a rabbi.

No one else was around to record what happened.

Which means that we read about it because the story got legs after it happened, and returned to John through her telling of it or perhaps those who knew her and witnessed the change in her passing it on.

This rabbi stops to get water in the middle of the day and meets a woman at a well.

She always comes at this time so that no one bothers her.

She hopes to escape notice.

But this time, he's there.  

Traditionally he wouldn't even acknowledge her.

It was forbidden actually.  Rabbis weren't supposed to talk to women in this context, not even their wives, daughters or sisters.

But he does.

Because he's different.  

Oh, so different, and she's about to understand that.

In their conversation she realizes that even though she has done what she could to be hidden,

This rabbi, Jesus, knows everything.

(Just writing that makes me smile. Because it's true for all of us.  There's a joy like we've never experienced that comes in our being found.)

You can feel her eyes drop to the ground, and an anxiety rise up inside her.

I wonder though, if in some ways, 

it was a relief to meet someone who knows the story without her having to tell it, 

even before she understands who he is.

Much has been written to the idea that she was a sinful woman, because of her past relationships and 

her current one.

It's worth noting that whenever Jesus meets people identified as "sinners" in 

John's writings, he calls them to repent, and he doesn't do that here.

According to Jewish law, only husbands could initiate divorce, which required no explanation or justification. 

A man could divorce his wife for burning dinner.

Then she would be expected to remarry another man.  What an exciting prospect.

Also, while women had some legal rights, their fathers arranged their first marriage to benefit the family, and women (who could be as young as 12–15) often had little say about a match, usually with a much older man.  So, they could easily outlive several husbands.

Regardless of how her life story unfolded; through the consequences of her choices, or through fates that fell upon her,  she sought seclusion and I'm sure she's weary of explaining herself.  

Yet, after this conversation, when she returns home, she can barely contain her thoughts before the people of her neighborhood.

It feels like she may be shouting when she says, "Come and see a man who told me everything I ever did!"

I want to add, "...without condemning me."

It's just before that declaration that I found a simple phrase that's become my favorite part of the story.

It's at the beginning of verse 28 (John 4).

"The woman left her water jar..."

That caught me by surprise.  It seems like an unnecessary detail for John to identify.

Amidst all the rest of what was happening, why notice a water jar?

Something forgotten by the person it belonged to.

Then I started thinking, how can she walk away from her whole reason for leaving home that day?

The question grew in my mind, until I thought...

It represented ALL that she left behind.

The identity placed upon her by others.

She was NOT a utilitarian object to be used and discarded.

The Christ had helped her to see that she was much more.

It represented her previously isolated self.  

In the moments after her conversation with Jesus she became 

the truth teller of her community, and others were drawn to Jesus, 

because they were drawn to her.

It represented her emptiness apart from the Christ.

As he promised, she was now filled with a limitless hope.

A living water.

I wonder if she left that jar there and never picked it up again.

Until Someday

It was a question, that would not be answered.

Almost an irritation.

It stayed; it took root.

I knew that what I held...

In my hands, in my heart, in my mind, was not enough.

AND somehow, it had become clear in my mortal thoughts,

that it never would be.

What then?

One day,

In that hovering of the divine, I was restless until the words spilled out.

"Where can you find?"

"How can you know?"

I asked, someone that I barely knew.

There were patient words of response.

A listening heart.

A smile.

A request.

He was compassionate unto tears, for me...

Which was shocking to my ego and broke my skepticism.

And then, while he prayed, a never before sense of being surrounded.

By kindness.

By holiness.

By wholeness.

By an Unseen Other who held all of this in him, 

like coins in his palm, now being extended to me.

An invitation.

Not spoken but understood.

I now know, it was deep, calling to deep.

I was consumed, not by anxiety but dissatisfaction with what was before 

and hunger for what might be.

Willingness to let go of the "not enough"

and to trust in this well of something I had never known.

At least not in this way.

The learning of a new way to be.

Even a new way to be seen.

a new way to live.

It was grace.

Washing over me and the stain of who I had been.

Me and the stain of all I will ever be.

Released.

A ransom paid.

A door swung open.

My whole body shook in this knowing and being known.

I wept in thankfulness.

In weightlessness and light.

I was a mess, a puddle. 

But I didn't care; it felt good.

Later, I straightened myself and stood.

Then left that place.

Taking account; looking in a mirror.

I was the same but completely different.

Suddenly aware of beauty in others and all around me.

Wanting with everything, for that new sense of being found and favored,

to be poured on all.

And it will be that way forever.

Until someday, face to face.

Jesus.

Three Times

Peter was a human.

He's not a metaphorical character.

He was passionate.

He was impulsive; in thought, word and action.

I bet the other disciples either thought or said out loud sometimes, "Wait 'til Peter hears

about this," and then laughed about what they thought Peter might do.

I love him so much.

So did Jesus.

He gave room for Peter to be Peter.

He also challenged that impulsive character over and over.

Called it out.

Refined it.

Redirected it.

And even on occasion, praised it.

(I think he does the same for us...when we are listening to him.)

John 21 is one of my favorite chapters in the New Testament.

There's a lot of real stuff going on there.

It's interesting that John concludes his gospel with a story line that is so closely

woven around the "Jesus and Peter" dialogue.

John lets us know that he's there, but the real focus is "Jesus and Peter."

Peter says, "Let's go fishing"

Peter jumps out of the boat when John notices Jesus on the shoreline.

Peter pulls the net full of fish ashore so Jesus can make breakfast.

Peter has an intense conversation with Jesus after breakfast.

Peter is told about his martyrdom.

Peter tries to deflect the conversation to John.

It's a lot to take in.

I want to touch on the one general thought that is reaching out to me today.

Three times..."Do you love me?"

It feels like Peter is fairly annoyed with the process.

And when I've read this before I think I have coupled Jesus responses to communicate

something like, "well...if you really do love me, then feed, tend or take care of others."

As though doing these things would prove Peter's love for him.

However, like I mentioned earlier, Peter was always ready to act.

When reading this passage most recently I wondered if that was really what Jesus 

was getting to.

I'm thinking that it may be actually almost the opposite.  

I think today that what I hear Jesus saying is this, "LOVE ME!"  

Full stop...and then...

It is the only way that you will ever be able to do any of the things you'll need to do in 

your life.  It will all flow out of your love for me.  If you don't LOVE ME...If you can't 

live in me and that love, and I live in you, bringing you strength and power 

through my love, you'll never be able to feed sheep or completely follow me

because honestly...it's humanly impossible.

It's his love for us, and in us, and our love for him that will sustain us.

It will keep us focused and able in whatever is before us.

Draw us out.

Draw others in.

At beginning and end.

There's no other way.

Holding Space

At a meeting last week.

I watched a friend facilitate something worth sharing.

We were together looking ahead at the decision to select a leader.

It wasn't for a Fortune 500 company.

It wasn't within a thriving metropolis.

Wasn't really even a big village.

The decision wouldn't be pushed out to media outlets.

Still, it was an extraordinary moment for me to witness.

Something I will never forget.

It went like this...

A while back there was a leader who fell into a difficult season of life.

Their health in several ways, was depleted.

And so he stepped down, and another was appointed.

But although the former stepped down, they didn't step away.

And the people who had followed him wouldn't let him go, during this difficult season.

Not even the one who had replaced him.

They practiced love and community like we talk about it being practiced,

but don't always see.

Then, a bit more than two years later, the other ran into their own very difficult season.

And they had to step down.  

During that time, the first had been able to find their footing again.

And because he had stayed connected; with everyone,

Because they shared love and hope and affirmation with each other,

It seemed completely appropriate to the selection team to reach out to the one

who had stepped away earlier.

Not as a default, but as a joyous moving forward for everybody involved.

As though there may have been a plan in motion all along.

As though a story was being written and this selection was the next chapter in that story;

just now revealed.

Oh.....and I should say that on the selection team there was someone who 

served alongside each of those past chosen leaders.  

Someone who saw themselves in that role of support to each, and although they had the training and 

experience to offer themselves as a candidate, they instead held space for those mentioned above, throughout the process.

Extraordinary.

This idea of holding space for others.

Human beings are worth more than being cast aside and forgotten when they stumble or struggle.

In the practice of true community we will have the opportunity to witness the whole of the story.

If we stay with it through the rough parts.

It's a beautiful thing to see.

It's even a bit miraculous.

The Christmas Gift

"He found himself standing on the corner of life."

That was the scene-setting phrase a teacher-friend in Poland used while telling the story of someone whose life had spiraled downward towards a very painful precipice.

The story didn't end there.

Things actually got better from there.

The view from a place of desperation can also be a place of discovery.

It worked out that way for Ebenezer Scrooge.

It worked out that way for George Bailey.

Coming to the end of ourselves can open the door for someone else to intervene on our behalf.

When we are lost.

When we can not find a way through.

When we are suffering.

We're really more fragile than we look.

Even when we're physically strong.

Or financially strong.

Or at the peak of our career.

We can break.

And then, as another friend of mine likes to say,

                                             "For this, we have Jesus."

A few days ago, Dan heard that his father had to be taken to the hospital.

It was only a short time ago that the family was all together in a much more

celebrative environment.  

But yesterday the family was gathering again.

Seeking peace and leaning on each other.  

Holding hands together.

Through tears.

                       "For this, we have Jesus."

She texted us a couple weeks ago to let us know that doctors had discovered

something concerning.

Days went by in waiting.

Finally some news that wasn't altogether joyous, but still hopeful.

Yet, in the middle of that tension too, I was reminded,

                                                       "For this, we have Jesus."

I can't not say it.

Even though it sounds so trite....still...

This is the message of the season.

God knows us in spite of all of our disguises.

In spite of our veneer.

In spite of our earthly successes.

He knew that we would need more.

He knew that we need his presence.

To catch us when we fall.

To show us a new way to see life.

                                    "For this...he brought to us....Jesus."

                                                                   

Courage To Be Kind

I think that sometimes being loud, 

                                       even arrogant,

              is mistaken for being bold.

Sometimes bold is loud.

But sometimes bold is quiet.

Even, very quiet.

Sometimes bold doesn't say anything at all.

Sometimes the boldest thing is to love; to apply grace or even just kindness.

And to go un-noticed in the process.

I don't feel like I do this well, 

but I've known some who were able to blend kindness and boldness.

Someone who I have held in respect for many years passed away last week.

He spoke both with passion and gentleness.

When he talked about our blindspots as people of faith in Jesus,

                                        there were times he sounded very critical.

When he spoke about his love of Jesus, or Jesus' love for him, his voice could break;

overwhelmed by the grace poured out...upon someone like himself.

He could also make us laugh...a lot.

He was the first "celebrity Christian" I ever met.

And he took time on a few occasions to have discourse with me.

Once, when I was only twenty, I had a one-on-one conversation with him.  

Later on, he responded to some questions I had via snail-mail.

I was a new believer in Jesus and he was kind to me. 

In my ignorance...about...much. 

He had courage to speak to the church about its shortcomings.

He also saw places to offer grace to the church.

He wasn't always appreciated for his words or position on things.

But mostly I felt he was just being honest about helping someone who he thought needed a measure of kindness; an individual or an entire country.

And he asked if we could be the people who just may be able to bring it to them.

He hoped and believed that we could and would do better with more knowledge, transparency and commitment.

Somehow, I believe these thoughts above fit into a portion of scripture that I've been chewing on.

There's a somewhat startling question that Paul asks in his letter to the Romans.

In Chapter two, verse four, he's discussing our tendency to look down on others in judgement, while ignoring the kindnesses that God has poured out on us, believing they would lead to our repentance.  As in...

How do we miss all the kind ways he has been patient with us and return that gesture with impatience directed to others?

It's a pretty significant understanding; the idea that God's kindness is his plan to bring us to repentance.

Now, I'm sure that God's plan has many dimensions to it, as he reaches into all of our hearts to draw us towards himself.  

He knows exactly how each of us are working through the messes in our lives.  

He knows our individual points of pride and resistance.  

He knows the places we have pain and broken-ness.

But I'm captivated by the idea that something as simple as "kindness" would draw us towards Jesus AND that we are expected to pass that simple part of "faith in action" on to others.

I wonder what that would look like in my world...

At the convenience store.

Or on the phone with tele-marketers.

Or while I'm driving through traffic.

When I'm in a hurry.

Or frustrated about all the above.

I looked up the word in the original Greek.  

Kindness = xrēstótēs.

It appears 10 times in the New Testament.

Here are some of the ideas related to it: 

"A Spirit-produced goodness which meets the need and avoids human harshness (cruelty)

...Meeting real needs, in God's way, in His timing."

Not harsh.

Not cruel.

Meeting needs.

In his timing.

Spirit-produced.

It is brave. 

It is true.

It comes from Jesus.

Even when you don't feel like it.

                                        The courage to be kind.