Don't You Dare Kiss Me

The Bible tells us to be gentle.  It tells is to be patient, too, and to forbear with one another.
"I can do that," I think.
When someone cuts in line at the grocery, I can keep my mouth shut.
When I'm picking up socks for the fifth day in a row, I can almost smile.
When I get passed up for a promotion, I can try harder next time.
I'm doing pretty good.
Ha.

How about if the person in the grocery cuts off my arm instead of cutting in line?
What if I must pick up a sword rather than socks?
Or if I get chosen for the gas chamber rather than passed up for promotion?
It gets a little harder, doesn't it?
But Jesus did it, and He did it for Judas, who He knew would sell Him out.

Just before Judas walked out of the upper room to collect his thirty pieces of silver, what did Jesus do?
He prayed for him, he took off his robe, knelt before him to wash his dirty, smelly, betraying feet, and then Jesus fed Judas' conniving body with His own body and blood, the bread of life and the cup of salvation.
He forbore with Judas' outright evil  not only without complaint, but without apparently even noticing. 
And me?
I bristle with annoyance at the hint of a perceived wrong.
I know offense at the smallest slight.

A person who needs a bath needs only wash his feet; his whole body is clean.  And you are not clean, though not every one of you.  You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.--John 13:10, 7

Later you will understand.  Later--like now.
Thank you, Jesus, for training me with socks and checkout lines.
And please, please forgive my sad selfishness.

The Only Miracle

Jesus, the very Power of God, showed the world who He was in part by performing miracles.
To do this, He had to approach the filthy and festering, the poor and vile.  They were all the same to Him.
They were sinners who needed His miracle.
And so am I.
I need His miracle, too.

This is what I ask of my God--
As You made them see again, give me sight.
As You made them hear, open my ears to holy Truth.
As You made them walk, keep my steps turned toward your leading.
As You cured withered hands, keep mine devoted to your service.
As You raised them from dead, keep me in new life.

Now, Christ healed generously in kindness and compassion, but I know that part of the healing is my responsibility.  I have, in this transaction, something to do, too.
I must truly desire change.
What do you want me to do for you?--Mark 10:51
That is the hardest part.
I must want the miracle so badly that I stop being what I am, what I have nurtured and built in myself, the only 'me' I know.

Instead, I must zealously follow Him, look for Him, desire Him.
I must trust Him.
I must listen.
I must love Him with my whole heart, soul, and mind.

Then I will receive the real miracle.
There is, after all, only one.
It isn't the healed hand or the seeing eye or the sure step.
The miracle is only and always the glimpse of Himself that He brings every day.
Say only the word, and my soul shall be healed.--Matthew 8:8

Jew for a Day

I am trying to imagine myself a Jew today.
Or a Buddhist, or a Mohammedan, or a Muslim.
I know that God exists.  
He made me. His power drives the world.
Somewhere, from up high and far away, He influences my life.

I try to serve Him. I try to obey Him. I reach out to love Him, to draw near to Him, but He is too terrible, too far.
He speaks to men sometimes, but they don't benefit much from the conversation.  They are too flawed themselves.
Such men have stood so near God as to hear His voice in thunder and whisper, to feel the heat of His fire, to witness His blinding brightness, but even then, they fail.
They smash His personally engraved tablets in a fit of anger.
They fear their king so deeply that they tell him their wife is their sister.
They sleep with their captain's wife, then kill him to cover it up.
No, these men, though they have spoken with God, do not help much at all.

And, because I am a Jew, there is no Jesus.
God shows no gentleness, little mercy, no offered fellowship, no shared humanity.
I long for God, but know that He will not share His heaven with the likes of me.
I can never know my God.

Then I remember Simeon:
Lord, now let your servant depart in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared for the face of all people; a light to  lighten the Gentiles, and to be the glory of your people Israel.--Luke 2:29-32

He saw Jesus on the day of His presentation in the Temple.
One look.  That's all it took to change an impossible contradiction into hope and a future.
One look.
Not a God far away, but God in my own skin.
Simeon, a faithful Jew, but as sad and impatient as the rest, had waited for the promise.
And it came.
It came to him in the same way that it comes to everyone--in one moment.

I look up and He is there.
My Savior lives.

Waaaaa!

What do you cry about?
Be honest.
Sadness, loneliness, loss, physical pain, emotional hurt?
More often then not, this is the audio to that:  "Me. Me. Me."
Even empathy for someone else transfers from our own remembered pain.
Our tears are almost always all about us.
I do it, too.

We begin at birth with a cry of outrage when life smacks us with cold and discomfort, and we wail at its first assaults.
And they keep coming.
And, when they seem too much, we cry.

Did Jesus cry at birth?
He felt the pain and cold, too, but did He cry?
He wept later, but in very specific circumstances--over the sins of His people, and again at Lazarus' grave.  He wept for the death of people he loved. In no recorded instance did He cry over personal loneliness, insult, betrayal, or desertion.
Not like we do.
Jesus' flesh felt every body blow as deeply as our does, but He did not cry over them.
Why not?

Think about Him at His weakest moment--in the garden, sweating blood in an agony of anticipated suffering.
"Let this cup pass", He begged, but it would not.
He had come to the end of His human resources, but He did not cry.
I cry because I do not master my flesh.
Jesus, Master of all things, did.

He felt every pain, every hurt, as deeply as I do, but He did not give in to them.
Why not?  What was the difference?
He knew Himself.
He knew His Father.
He had already won.
I am supposed to know this, too, and in this knowledge, self-pity has no place.

Can I hold His kind of mastery over myself all the time?  No.
But in this, like in all things, Christ says,
"Follow Me."
"Be holy."
"My yoke is easy."

From the very first ones, all of my tears have been selfish.
Yes, tears sometimes come as a release, too, and I will still shed these, but I have no real reason to cry. Not ever.  Not really.
My Savior lives. He loves and cares for me.
What could I possibly cry about in the face of that?

It's All About the Feet

NFL players are lacing up pink shoes for their games these days.  They are not doing it to make a fashion statement, but, after the game, to auction them for charity. And buyers pay big money for them.
Why?  Aren't they just shoes?

Yes, they are only shoes, but, oh, the feet that wore them! That's what folks pay for.
Like the guitar John Lennon played, or a pen that signed the Declaration of Independence, an object can be elevated beyond its intrinsic value by its user.

Ok, you get that.
Now, pinch yourself.
You are made of flesh and blood.  We each occupy our own body and most of us are nothing special, pretty much like one another in composition and appearance.

But what if God put on identical flesh and blood, pulled on our own skin, and age, and pain? What if He laced up a human body as His version of a pink football shoe?  How would that flesh change?

Well, He did it, of course.
God did take on flawed flesh and wore it in His own game.
He wore it every moment...all the way into the end zone.
And when He did that, He changed the flesh, the game, everything.

Aaron Rodgers' pink shoes are still just pink shoes, though, just like before he put them on.
When God took on our humanity, our sickness and death became something else.
He not only made us part of Him, but He put part of Himself in us.
And the one body, the one He wore, He eventually put aside, perpetually undefiled, because it was His.

When Jesus put on flesh, He declared that He wants us to be like Him--not in exaltation, but in sacrifice and humility.
"Be holy," He says, not as men made to be Gods, but like God made man. 

Who, being in very nature God...made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness..." --Philippians 2:6-7
The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.  We have seen His glory, the glory of the One and Only...--John 1:14

Forget the Pool

Thinking today about the lame man sitting beside the pool at Bethesda, waiting 38 years to be healed.  Jesus, knowing everything about him, asks the man,
Do you want to be healed?--John 5:6

Obviously, waiting at the pool was not getting the job done.
Jesus wanted the man to reconsider his position.
Jesus did not just want to heal him.  He wanted to show him something wonderful.
He not only wanted the man to walk, He wanted him to see.

When Jesus told the man to pick up his mat and walk, restoring his mobility was not the point.
Jesus did not want to give him only legs that worked.
He wanted the man not to walk, but by walking to see real power.

The man had waited vainly for so long because he looked for the wrong thing in the wrong place.  He looked to get well, not to find God.

Where do I look? 
Do I look for relief?  Do I look for a spot of water to bring it?  Do I look to someplace else on the planet or to something of flesh and blood?  Do I think these can enact rescue, provide comfort?

Or do I look always into the eyes of my Savior?  Do I see His extended hand, offering more than the world, more than legs that work, more, more, more?

Forget the pool.  I want the power.

Sorry, Ma'am, You're Not On The List.

We have a lot of nerve thinking we can get into heaven.
When I think about it, I see only two choices in this heaven thing.  Either heaven is open to everybody because God loves us, or nobody because though He loves us, we are sinners and don't belong. I tend toward the second.  After all, if heaven were my party, I probably wouldn't want any gate crashers, so I figure that God doesn't, either.

A good thing I'm not in charge.  God sees it quite differently.  Jesus said so.

Let the world know that You have loved them as You have loved Me.  I want those You have given Me to be where I am, to see My glory, the glory you gave Me before the creation of the world.--John 17:23-24

But getting in is another matter.
I know I don't belong in heaven.  If left on my own, I would stand forever out on the sidewalk, facing whatever angels guard heaven's gates.  I do not, nor will I ever, make God's "A" list for anything I have done. 

I love God, but that won't get me into heaven.
I try to do right, but that won't get me into heaven.
People pray for me, but that won't get me into heaven.
I go to church, but that won't get me into heaven.
I read my Bible, but that won't get me into heaven.

I have only one hope for heaven.
God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son so that whoever believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life.--John 3:16

That's it.  My one ticket.  Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice.
You see, I don't have to try to get into heaven by myself.
Jesus walks me up the sidewalk and when we get to the door, tells the guards, "She's with me."

Boom!

I admit it.  God terrifies me. Yes, He loves us, but we can never forget His holiness--it is dreadful.  The ancient Israelites knew that, if they looked upon God in His glory, they would die.  They were right, and it is still true.

"Woe to me," I cried. "I am ruined!  For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty."--Isaiah 6:5

The Bible sometimes expresses the wrath with which God shows Himself to human beings as His anger, but God doesn't have emotions the same way we do.  He is constant, unchanging.   But most importantly, He is God, and He responds to sin, when He encounters it, in just one way--destruction.

Jesus, of course, made it possible for us to be cleaned from sin, and therefore come into God's presence, but God made no such cleansing provision for His world.  The earth cannot meet God, not any more.  It, too, now bears sin and God has only one option:

The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire; and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare.--2Peter 3:10

The Lord is holy, completely and perfectly, and His holiness strikes down anything or anyone imperfect who falls within His gaze. He does this purposefully, the same way He formed His creation, instant and complete.  

Biblical destruction is the only possible fate for a sinful creation encountering a holy God.  Creation has no option but to quake and fall apart.  It can do nothing else.

Only Jesus, sweet Jesus, stands between a holy God and a sinful creature. His love, and our faith in it, cast out all fear.  The world will fall, but we will not--not if we cling to Jesus.

Reaching In

God's most frequent admonition for us is to believe.  "Come to me," He says.  "Know me."  "Trust me."  And we do for a little while, but then the days come when we do not.  Heavy, dark days.  Lonely days.  Days when we know He has died and been buried and we don't know what to do next.  We heard that He had risen from the grave, but we haven't seen Him.

He has instructions for these times:
Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.--John 14:27
Do not worry about your life--Matthew 6:25
Cast your cares on the Lord.--Psalm 55:22

We try, but the sadness persists.

That is when our sweet Lord offers us His side.
Put your finger here.  Reach out your hand and put it into my side.  Stop doubting and believe.--John 20:27

He is real.  He had died and risen.  He has rescued us from death.  No matter how we feel, we must know that His wound  has bled real blood so that we can know peace, so that we can be free.  And when, on some days, the knowledge of these is not enough, we can reach our hand into His side, feel His pulse, and know, really know.

 He does not shrink back from our touch.  We cannot shrink from His.
I am with you always, to the very end of the age.--Matthew 28:20

Offering My Back

Lord.  Savior.  Son of God.  Son of Man.  Who was Jesus, really?  What was He like?  Maybe not like we think.


He was a man of sorrows, familiar with suffering.--Isaiah 53:3

Jesus didn't suffer only under the whips or on the cross; He was familiar with suffering.  He knew it well, and I am supposed to be like Him.  But I expect to be happy, to find goodness in daily living, to smile often and laugh with abandon, to know amusement and warmth and love.  I do not want familiarity with suffering.

Jesus tells me to be like Him, to follow Him, to die to myself and to be holy, that is, dedicated, to Him.  In theory, I agree.  Then He gives me a chance to do it.

I offered my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who pulled my beard.--Isaiah 50:6

Whenever the only discomfort at stake was His own, Jesus did not defend Himself.  Ever.  He defended the defenseless, He defended His Father, but He did not defend Himself.  And I am supposed to imitate Him.

Jesus was born sinless and died the same way.  I do not. I was born in sin and live there.  Opportunities to be falsely accused come rarely.  I am much more likely to be guilty than innocent.  But there are those times...those rare times....when I reap harsh treatment I didn't earn, when the only one hurt is myself.  In these come my opportunities to be like Him.  

Rather than leap to my own defense, I must bare my back and accept the stripes, not acting the martyr, but behaving like a child of the King. 

I know all too well that I am not like Jesus.  Please let me recognize the few chances I get to truly follow Him.  I will not see much goodness of men in this land of the living, but I will see His goodness.

How He Finishes It

The cross.  The lamb.  The blood.  There are levels of knowing. How can this horrible act remove my sin?  And where, then, does that forgiven sin go?

Every year I watch Jesus struggle His weary way up the hill, listen to the hammers, wait for the words, 'My God, My God..."  I know the reason for all this.  This horror, this terrifying travesty happened because I sinned, because we all sinned, and because God could not tolerate that.  He could not leave it alone.

God made the Jews kill sweet young lambs to repair this sin.  He made them cast out goats into the wilderness to die because of it.  He told His people that these innocent animals bore the sins of  men.  He made those same men sentence to death what would otherwise nourish them.

Then He sent Jesus.

Christ died for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God.  He was put to death in the body but made alive by the Spirit.--1Peter 3:18.

So, by God's act and decree, what He did to Himself He also does in me.  Jesus Christ died, and so must I.  My corrupt body, my sin, what I am in this world must be put to death so that, like Christ, my Spirit can be raised up.


I must die to the world.  I must die to finish in me what Christ did for all.  As I recognize, confess, and repent of each sin, Christ takes them from me with hands both tender and bleeding, and absorbs them into His own wounds, carries them in His own flesh and blood, and they die there.

On the cross, my sins are carried as far as the east is from the west because Christ moves them from earth to Himself.  By this single act, He gathers sins daily from all confessing believers and transports them to the instant of His own death, a cataclysm shaking heaven and earth, and pronounces, "It is finished."

Why the News is Good

Every Sunday, we sing about how God forgave our sins. Adam and Eve sinned.  I sin.  But Jesus came, sweet Jesus, and died for me.   

Jesus died because God wants us to live.  This is the good news, isn't it?  Knowing this, don't we have something to rejoice over, something wonderful to sing about?

Yes, we do.  But if that is as far as we go, we are missing the point. Jesus says He stands at the door. He stands at it crucified, risen, and waiting. But, the door to what?

He told us.  He showed us.  At the moment of His death on Calvary, the curtain of the temple split.  He opened the door to what lay beyond it...Himself. 

 The body of Jesus hung on the cross, but His nature, the holiness He shares with His Father and His Holy Spirit, had been confined to the darkness of the Holy of Holies behind an impenetrable curtain.  Our forgiveness through His death lets us in.

It's Him.  He is the Good News. 


Since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus by a new and living way opened for us through the curtains, that is His body...--Hebrews 10:19-20 (emphasis mine)


Jesus admits us to His own presence.  He tells us to follow Him to Himself.

This is why we sing.  He ushers us in, and there is no other way.

What You Said

In a universe yet unspoken, swirled in dark chaos, You ruled, breathless and complete. Before making, before matter, before motion, You knew men not yet shaped, not yet sinned. Simultaneous Creator, King, Emmanuel, Savior. While time waited, You said,

“I am the Word made flesh.”

In a dark rush of hot blood mixed with new life’s water, You burst forth in first breath. Already living man, already Incarnate God. Sacrifice awaiting slaughter, already laid on the altar of the world. Another crimson flow forecast, Holy and Eucharist, Body and Blood, poised beneath the waiting knife, You said,

“I am the Bread of Life.”

In a rude manger whose splinters spoke the thorns’ prophecy, You cried new tears. The spine not yet become a spear, the burr not yet become a scourge, the branch not yet become a crown, from sapling to stump, from cradle to cross, You would too soon carry wood that now carried you. As your pain bloomed, You said,

“I am the Vine.”

In the cold, ignorant night after four hundred silent years, You lit an only star. Halting the great wheel of heaven, leading three staunch kings, confounding one royal fool, this blaze of celestial glory ended in a sad hill’s forsaken dark. Although “My God, My God” consummated the alleluia, and despair shrouded all, You said,

“I am the Light of the World.”

In an unwary stable, serenaded by angelic choir, You dreamed, Victorious King, and heard:

“This is my Son.”

“It is Finished.”

“He is risen.”

You saw sin and hell laid waste, temptation’s dark angel aflame, the fallen fruit of your own imagination returned in tearless triumphant reunion through heaven’s gates flung wide.

All this, and yet a baby. You said,

“I AM.”

Merry Christmas