All the Saints

From: galleryhip.com

Today is All Saints Day, one of the sweetest festivals of the church. It is when we remember our place among all those of faith who have come before and those destined to come after. The line is long, the crowd very dense and they are all so, well, so great. They have done so much, suffered so much. Many still do. How can we measure up to that? What kind of place in heaven can we find compared to them?

Mechthild of Magdeburg (1208-1282) expressed it well:

To the extent we desire that God be praised, recognize that we have been given, and properly carry out God's will, we are like the prophets and the holy fathers who through great virtue overcame themselves in God.

To the extent that we learn wisdom and through it change other people and stand true to God in all trials we resemble the holy apostles who went out of themselves even unto death.

To the extent that we are patient in all distress and in the measure that we hold fast to our Christian faith, even in the face of death, we resemble the holy martyrs, who have marked out for us through the shedding of their blood the true path to heaven.

To the extent that we bear resolutely the difficulties of Holy Christianity, both those of the living and those of the dead, we are like the holy confessors, who remained watchful in great toil and heard confessions with sympathy.

To the extent that we remain unconquered in battle and preserve our maidenly honor we are like the holy virgins, who have not lost true victory.

To the extent that we have deep sorrow and to the extent that we perform many kinds of holy penance we are like those holy widows who, after sinning, attained such great honor.

To the extent that we have all the virtues about us we are like God and all His saints, who have followed God with complete devotion.*

We are not asked to be saintly in the context of someone else's life. We are asked to become saints within the life God has given to us. The opportunity for martyrdom that put another man or woman in a den of lions or in front of an assault rifle may never come to us. We may never encounter the victims of a earthquake or a deadly virus or desperate hunger. We may never meet a people unreached by the gospel.

But we can be saints within the circumstances God has marked out for us to the extent that we yearn for righteousness with the same fervor as those who have done these things. We can love with the same compassion. We can work with the same zeal. We can rejoice with them in the same holy God.

All Saints Day. My day. Your day.

*From The Flowing Light of the Godhead

Our Father, Who Art in Heaven

photo: biblethingsinbibleways.wordpress.com

Father. Our Father. Father God.
It rolls off the tongue. So easy. So natural. So....well, true.
God is our Father. He made us. He nurtures us. He loves us.
But not for everyone.

I got a real eye-opener recently when I heard the story told by Scott Hahn* regarding the discussion/debate he had with a muslim cleric about God. Actually, Hahn didn't want to engage in the debate--he was convinced by his sister and brother-in-law because he was the only person they knew who was theologically educated well enough to even try and, well, the cleric wanted to. After all, it wasn't an opportunity that presented itself every day.

And, actually, it started out pretty well. They agreed about a lot of the attributes of God--His perfection, His majesty, His sovereignty, His might. They agreed about many of His works--His creation and sustenance of the world, His destruction of mankind through flood and their preservation through Noah,  His liberation of the Israelites through Abraham, and more. But the trouble started when Hahn first referred to God as 'Father'.

The first time Hahn called God Father, the cleric slammed his fist down on the table, shouting that he would not tolerate any more blasphemy. Blasphemy? wondered Hahn. For calling God 'Father'? Apparently. For a muslim, it is blasphemy to ascribe any human characteristic to God. God, to him, is not Father, nor is He a Son. He does not love with a Father's heart, and He does for forgive with it, either. 

Then what, Hahn asked, is God if not Father?
"Master," declared the cleric. "God is Master."

Master--as in slave master. Master--with complete authority but no obligation to affection. Master--owner and source of all sustenance, but with no need of mercy. Master--user, ruler, absolute commander. Worshiped and followed without question, unforgiving of failure, not hesitating to deservedly punish. God.

And that was the problem. God the Father loves. God the Master rules.

If this sounds unduly harsh, maybe we shouldn't be too surprised. We were warned of this. Sarah, Abraham's wife, made it obvious:
Get rid of the slavewoman and her son, for that slavewoman's son will never share in the inheritance with my son Isaac.--Genesis 21:10

Ishmael and Isaac, both Abraham's sons, would not share the same inheritance. Ishmael would forever be a slave, but Isaac would inherit all of Abraham's riches--his herds, his wealth, the best of what Abraham had to give. Ishmael would never again know his father's love. And neither did the cleric, the spiritual descendant of Ishmael. God was not his father.
He never heard this--
So you are no longer a slave, but a son; and since you are a son, God has made you also an heir.--Galatians 4:7

As Christians, we will never fully understand the yoke under which some people have to labor. God is, after all, our kind Father, who, when we stray, waits at the gate for us with open arms. He forgives. He has storehouses of blessings He is saving to shower down on us. He guards and protects and nurtures. He quite literally holds us in the palms of His hands. Not so for everyone, however.

The cleric eventually stormed out of the restaurant where he sat with Hahn, having warned Hahn for the third time that he was not to use terms like Father or Son in relation to God. He'd had enough. God was not, and would never be, his Father.

I admire the cleric for his clear understanding of God's exaltedness, but I have never had to associate God with harshness or with a supremacy that exercises itself without mercy. What terror would God bring without love? How would He use His infinite power? It scares me even to think about it. In the end, though, I am so glad for this perspective. It uncovers the real depth and privilege of the prayer that Christ, the Son of God Himself, gave us. It illustrates vividly the boldness and the favor with which we say,
Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name...

*Allah or Abba, Lighthouse Catholic Media

Saying Yes--The Only Job We Have

photo: leapforwardcoach.com

OK, it's Lent, and I'm thinking a lot about sin and salvation. Not everybody's favorite subject, but sin is kind of like an untended infection--ignore it and it could kill you.
So, I'm thinking today--what is sin exactly and how does it fit into God's plan?

Sin was part of God's plan, after all. It had to be. Nothing happens without God's will or permission, right? So the same goes for sin.
But that doesn't mean that sin is a good thing. Quite the contrary, of course. When it comes to sin, God allowed, with intent, something not good. Of course, He knows how to bend it to good, and that's what I want to talk about today.  I have to understand sin to understand its danger. And it is dangerous. Like the infection, it could kill me.

So why do I sin? Hmmm. I like it. I do. For instance:
I gossip because it gives me a feeling of superiority.
I eat or drink or spend too much because it satisfies me and I don't have to ask God for whatever I've given myself.
I am selfish because keeping my stuff enhances my feeling of strength and independence.
I lie because it appears to make circumstances easier. It smoothes the rough edges.
I do not honor a holy rest because what I have to do is just too important.

In every instance, I commit these sins because I am trying not to need God. I am doing the one thing He forbids me--choosing myself over Him.

And that is all I have to do. Choose Him. Say Yes, Lord. Period.

God's already done everything else. 
Jesus wasn't saying anything new when He declared "It is finished" from the cross. It was always finished.
I am God; there is none like Me, declaring the end from the beginning...My counsel shall stand and I will do all My pleasure...I have spoken it, I will also bring it to pass; I have purposed it, I will also do it.--Isaiah 46:9-11
Surely as I have planned, so it will be, and as I have purposed, so it will stand.--Isaiah 14:24

When God made us, sin came with the package. So did Christ and His redemption.
I know that sounds a little weird, but for us, all this happens in time. For Him, it was always there. And we can't change any of it. It's already done. Jesus already declared completion following the sixth day of Creation. We, and the world we live in, and every circumstance we encounter has always been finished.

There is only one thing I can do--admit it or not.

If I do admit it, I also admit God's sovereignty, His pefection, His love, and my own sin before Him. I acknowledge that He is God and I owe Him everything. In the process, I change little by little to become like Him. I worship Him for His perfection and His patience and His sharing even a little of Himself with me.. I dedicate myself to Him. I become holy.

Or I don't.

I can't have just a little holiness. I get it all or none.
Oh, I will still sin, but if I am admitting who God is, if I am saying 'Yes' to Him, I will get back on track. God planned for sin, remember. He allows us to be forgiven as long as we are loving Him the way He intended.

The one thing He does not tolerate, however, is for me to say 'No.'  
I can't say, 'No, thanks, God. I'll take whatever good you might toss my way, but I don't really need You. I can protect myself. I can make my own way.'
My 'No' is not only sin. My 'No' is the blasphemy of denial when it becomes my way of life. If I am to have a life with Christ, every sin (all of which tell God that He does not, after all, have authority over my life) has to be repented. If I do not repent of sin, it takes me only one place--down the wide road of death. Without repentance, we do not let God save us.

It's all one thing.
Either I say 'Yes and Amen--You are God. I sin. I owe You everything. I love You. I trust You. I serve You.' Or I give Him nothing. 'I don't need You. I'm sufficient to myself. You might as well not exist for all the difference You make.'

A heart for God can lapse into sin and be restored to Him--David proved that.
But a heart that doesn't need Him is all on its own in a very dark world.

Hi there--I'm a Sinner

photo: churchmarketingonline.com

Sackcloth and ashes. That's how the ancients did it.
When they were convicted of their sin, they tore their clothes, put on hard, scratchy garments,  poured ashes on themselves, then sat in a public place so everyone could see. We don't do that.

So, what can we do? After all, making a public declaration of sin cements our understanding of our situation before God in a way no private confession would ever do. So what, in the context of our own culture, could we do?

How about this:
As a rule, we're really good at introducing ourselves to people. What about if, the next time we shook hands with someone in greeting, we just said, "Hi, I'm JoAnne, and I'm a sinner."?

They do it at AA meetings all the time, don't they? It's part of their renewal, their repentance, if you will. They declare that they are alcoholics and so, begin their journey back from that pit. It should work for us, too, shouldn't it?

Say we did that.
What would a statement like that say, to ourselves and the people we meet?

First, God is real, and He has authority over my life, authority above both my own reluctance to admit it and any human's opinion of me.
If we say we have not sin, we deceive ourselves--1John 1:8
Against You, You only, have I sinned and done what is evil in Your sight...Psalm 51:4


Second, this same God created me because He loves me. If God is real, and instituted the conditions under which we are to live with Him--the same ones I have broken--He did so because they are a natural outflow of Himself. Whatever God commands me to be, He already is.
Be ye holy because I am holy.--Leviticus 20:7

Third, I am not perfectly holy, but God can save me. If I admit freely my sin, and acknowledge a God both all-powerful and loving, He has to have made a way for me. He is not content to leave me in the desolation to which admission of sin inevitably leads.
If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive our sins, and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.--1John 1:9

In the end, there is no gospel without sin. We wouldn't need it. God, already full and glorious in our sight, would be good news enough. As it is, though, things didn't work out like that. And what we live, or have the opportunity to live, is not Plan B. God only makes and keeps Plan A. He gets to do that, you know. Perfectly, like He does everything else.

He made us, and when He did, He knew we weren't God, like Himself. We never could be. Sin, and all its anguish, has to be part of God's plan. It's how we know His holiness, how we know how much all this cost Him, how much He loves us. We know instinctively that we cannot understand good in the absence of evil, happiness without unhappiness. Well, then, how could we know everything we know about God without seeing even a glimpse of life without Him? I don't think I could.

So, yes. I'm a sinner. And while I'm not proud of it, I understand the role my sin plays in God's plan. I need it. I need its anguish, its shame, its desolation. Then I know how much I need my God.

Hi. I'm JoAnne.....and I'm a sinner.

What is the Gospel?

photo: www.beaconsuccess.com

Our faith tells us that we are taught to preach the Gospel, but I have often wondered exactly what that Gospel is. Its direct translation from Greek put simply means the Good News. OK, but what good news?

From a personal standpoint, I know well the good news Christ brought to my own life--the renewal, the hope, the transformation, and the strength. But how did He do this? Well, through His suffering, death, resurrection, you say. That's right. He has done all this through His Holy Redemption.

But that's not quite it. I think there's more.

I know what Christ did--born of a virgin; lived and taught the New Covenant principles of love, humility, and sacrifice; performed miracles; died an undeserved and public death, then rose first from it and then from the earth itself. But the key to all this isn't His activity, it's Him.  

Everything Christ did only mattered because He did it. Other people performed miracles. Other people have died, then come alive again. Other people have died sacrificially for someone else. Other people live exemplary lives. But they do not carry the same weight.  Christ does not call us to preach what He did, but the One who did it--the Son of God, Son of Man, Creator-Redeemer, Jesus Christ. The Gospel, the Good News, is not what Christ did because, had anyone else done it, it would be no news at all.

Christ didn't enact the Gospel. He is the Gospel.

So, this is how I preach--deferring attention from the act to Him, lifting Him up. I know we all love to tell our stories of redemption, and we should. Believe me, I do too, but my story doesn't begin to come close to explaining the miracle and wonder of God. Nobody's does. My story, I think, is mostly for me--to remind me who God is--how intimate and mighty and, well, involved.  It helps me stay on the road toward Him.

So how do I preach? Well, if the Gospel is not what He did, then it's not what I do either. If the Gospel is who He is, then as I am called to follow Him and resemble Him, the Gospel is me. Myself. My very person. If you are saying, 'Whoa, there--we are not like God,' well then, I say that if we are not like God, if people can't see God in us, we are not equipped to preach. If people cannot see God in us, then we have no real knowledge of the Gospel at all. 

My very presence should say, 'Here He is, friend--Jesus Christ--Savior, Redeemer, Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God. He's in me and in you, too.' My life should make people long for God. I have to live the new life Christ has put in me, living primarily before the Lord, but all the while in the company of everyone He has put in my path. I can live so that when people see me, they see Christ. I can do this because God says I can.

Is this hard? Of course it is. At least until it becomes very, very easy. In the end, I don't have the responsibility for anyone else's salvation. I just have to look out for Christ as He shows the way. And that is very Good News, indeed.

For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you but Jesus Christ and Him crucified--1Corinthians 2:2
To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, Christ in you, the hope of glory.--Colossians 1:27

Learning from an Atheist

Photo: www.thesundaytimes.co.uk

"I don't need an outside source to tell me to be a good person. Seriously? How difficult is it not to be a jerk?"

Everybody should have an atheist in their life. I mean it. We take way too much for granted. Most of us have absolutely no idea how atheists think. We need to know more than how to answer them. We need to understand and respect them.

I love the atheist in my family. She pokes me. She argues with me. She challenges me. She makes me think.
"How difficult is it not to be a jerk?" she asked the other day.
It's a good question. She knows right from wrong for the most part--probably as much as most Christians I know. She knows she was born with this knowledge, a knowledge she didn't summon up for herself. She doesn't much care why she knows--she just does--and tries to live by it. She sincerely wants to be a good person and seriously can't imagine why that shouldn't be enough.

I try to imagine sometimes how God sees her. I know He loves her--that goes without saying. But how does He look on her sincerely good intentions? Are they enough? That's a harder one. Paul, in writing to the Romans, considered the same thing:

It is not the hearers of the law who are righteous before God, but the doers of the law who will be justified. When Gentiles, who have not the law, do by nature what the law requires, they are a law unto themselves, even though they do not have the law. They show that what the law requires is written on their hearts, while their conscience also bears witness and their conflicting thoughts accuse or perhaps excuse them on that day when, according to my gospel, God judges the secrets of men by Christ Jesus.--Romans 2: 13-16

Atheists have no faith in Christ, but they often have an active conscience--the law is written on their hearts. They, then, can be doers of the law without knowing from Whom the law comes. They are a "law unto themselves", but that law often conforms to God's. If God justifies the doers of the law, will my atheist then also be justified?

She might. God is, after all, in charge of His own heaven. He measures each one of us by something humans can neither see nor know--our hearts.
However, Jesus also said that:
No one comes to the Father except by me.--John 14:6
and:
By faith you are saved.--Ephesians 2:8
My atheist has neither Jesus nor faith. In fact, she has summarily rejected them both but, in her defense, I know far too many professing Christians who think less than an atheist about right and wrong. We might do well to consider them more often.  

Right and wrong are not always instinctively easy to come by. I used to think, for instance, that some certain lies ("No you don't look fat in that dress" or "I don't have to report that income--they paid me cash") were OK to tell. I don't anymore. My notions of right and wrong have shifted with changing age and circumstances.

It's the same for everybody. That's why a country has laws. None of us decides for ourselves what is legal. We don't individually decide our own speed limits and, as a result, we can all share the same roads without constantly crashing into each other. It's the same for life, isn't it? We don't decide right and wrong for ourselves so that we don't destroy one another. I may think it's OK to arm myself to the teeth and use my guns to defend myself and you don't. I may believe it's OK to spank my kids and you don't. I may think I have a right to share in someone else's wealth and you don't. We both sincerely believe we are right.

I don't know about my atheist, but when it comes to deciding right from wrong, I need a place to look it up, something I didn't write--the constitution for the laws of the land and the Bible for everything else. And I take comfort that, as long as I still live, God is working in both of us--me and my atheist. And, as long as she is willing to listen to me, really listen, I am happy to try to return the favor.

In the meantime, recognizing that I don't have all the answers, I cry on both of our behalfs, "Lord, have mercy."

The Prince of Peace, but First, the Sword

The Star of Bethlehem shines over the stable. 
Joy to the World. The Prince of Peace is born.
Hmm...Are you sure?
What did the angel first say to the shepherds before he said anything else?
Be not afraid.
The Savior has come, and He will bring peace but first, He will make you afraid.
Christ was born as a child, but when His time came to speak, His words did not all console:

I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.--Matthew 10:34

Christ's peace is Himself--both the peace and the sword.
We will have peace, but first we will have turmoil, resentment, death, and repentance.
Easy peace is delusion. Ease and comfort is the world's peace, not Christ's.

Christ's peace does not come naturally.
To get at Christ's peace, I have to tear down the delusion of my fallen humanity, and it will hurt.
I have to know the sword before I can sit in the Son.
It's like those nesting dolls...

I must be dismantled all the way down to the center, all the way down to the source of the star that shone so brilliantly they could see it in the daytime. I have to find, in my own center, the brilliance of Christ.
That's where the star of Bethlehem originates. In the heat of a star far hotter than the sun.
In the flame of God.
The flame that purifies.

What Angels Say

pic: pegponderingagain.com

The dark of night in Bethlehem.
He's born.
Mary and Joseph hold their newborn baby in those first hours, counting fingers and toes, watching those first hungry searchings, listening to those first snuffling coos. The first private moments of their parenthood. But not for long.

They have company.

source: jesuschrististhetruth.com

Angels kept them company.
Angels. God's messengers. Whenever they show up, pay attention. God has something to say.

Mary and Joseph's ancient world was a mess just like ours. Herod ran rampant, already issuing orders for the murder of children to eradicate any possibility of a challenge to his authority. Men labored achingly all their lives. Women served them with no governmental or societal equality. Only half of children lived to adulthood. Poverty reigned. Few could read. Kings held whole continents under thrall. Many died young from diseases we easily arrest today. Ignorance and prejudice and greed bred war.

But the angels brought a message from God:
Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout O daughter of Jerusalem; behold, thy King cometh unto thee...--Zechariah 9:9

Imagine them, in a barn--no, less than a barn--a cave, sharing space with animals. It was not a gentle setting. They had hay, and a manger, but no heat source, no convenient water, no facilities whatever. Just each other, the rudeness of animals, and faith in what they'd been promised.

It'd been a long time since the angel's first proclamation to Mary that she would bear a Son and that son would be Emmanuel, God with us.

She'd had nine months to think about this, to bear up under public derision, to witness Joseph's doubt, to watch Elizabeth bear her own miracle, to herself grow big and heavy and weary. To know, but to sometimes wonder.

We do it, too. We do not hear God's promise daily. It comes emphatically sometimes, when we cannot mistake it, but often it only whispers, a sigh we too often miss. But on some blessed mornings, in some dark stables, on some beds of pain and tears, it comes with announcement.

This is the promise, said the angel. This is your salvation. This is not only your son. He is Christ the Lord.

The Not-So-Great Commission

Photo: chantalsouaid.com

The Great Commission? Honestly, I'm not always a fan.
At least not the way I normally see it done.
Yes, Christ told us to take His gospel into the world.
Once.
In only one place in the Bible does He give us these instructions:
Go and make disciples of all nations...teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.--Matthew 28:19-20

But He didn't say HOW.
He didn't say TELL them.

Why can't we teach by showing them?
Why can't God speak up for Himself?
The Bible seems to think He can.

Are you going to plead Baal's cause? If Baal is really a god, he can defend himself...--Judges 6:31

Baal couldn't, of course, but the God of Israel can and does:
No plan of Yours can be thwarted.--Job 42:2
Our God is in heaven; He does whatever pleases Him.--Psalm 115:3

God does not need us to preach.
In preaching to unbelievers we too often look and sound exactly like those with whom we disagree--with atheists, for instance. An atheist believes as fervently as I do, and he or she wants the same thing I do. He wants to convince me he's right.
"Agree with me," he says. "Admit I'm right, or you will pay the price of your folly."
That, my friend, is preaching boiled down to its simplest component.
And we, trying to fulfill what we think Christ commanded, often do exactly the same.

Better, I think, to do what Christ told us to do not once, but many times:
Believe. Obey. Follow. Love. Forgive. Serve.
In doing these, we will not only speak the Gospel. We will BECOME the Gospel.

In Company with Songbirds

The came in silently, some with shuffling steps, some with walkers. They found the right pages with practiced hands, and looked to casual eyes like a hundred elderly ladies ready for a meeting.
Then they began to sing.
And I realized that I was in the company not of retired nuns at St. Francis House in Dubuque, Iowa, but with songbirds.

"We come to share our story...." they sang.

Their stories not so much as retired nuns, but as redeemed children of Christ.
The story that brings them so much joy, regardless of number of their years or the condition of their flesh:

"We come to break the bread..."

The bread of life, the cup of salvation,
the soaring redemption they all share regardless of their background or origin.

"We come to know our rising from the dead."

They may have trouble sitting, or standing, or walking,
But they know that amidst it all, they rise with Christ.

They taught me this.
Thank you, little birds.

The Glory of the Father

Photo credit:fineartamerica.com

Jesus did not come to save your soul.
Just saying.

Neither your pastor nor your Sunday school teacher lied to you--they just left off something without meaning to. Something important.

Jesus came to glorify His Father by obedience.
And, in the process, He saved your soul.
...the world must learn that I love the Father and that I do exactly what my Father commanded.--John 14:31
...through the obedience of one Man the many will be made righteous.--Romans 5:19

God the Father told Jesus to die as a ransom for mankind.
But, if He had told Jesus to do something else, like just perform miracles, or to administrate another ten plagues, Jesus would have done that instead.

You and I are, friend, are not the reason for Jesus' human life.
You and I are the objects, not the subjects.
Jesus acted not for us, but for His Father's glory.

Glorify your Son, that your Son may glorify you...I have brought You glory by completing the work you gave me to do.--John 17:1,4
I will do whatever you ask for in my Name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father.--John 14:13
Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in Him.--John 13:31

Doesn't He love us?
Well, of course. He said so.
But it is a secondary love, a love that follows rather than leads, a love properly subservient to His Godhead.
It is a love for which I am so grateful, because I don't have to prove worthy of it.
I am flawed, and we both know it. But because Christ loves His Father first, His success does not depend on me, and I am free to love Him all the more.

Christ will never choose us over holiness or righteousness or the perfect glory He shares with His Father.
But He does want us to join Him there.
Arise, Shine! For your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.--Isaiah 60:1

The light is Christ, and only by Him can we understand glory.

The Look of Real Horror

Aliens vs Godzilla
The Tomato that Ate Cleveland
Halloween 25
It's that time of year again, when horror becomes the pastime du jour.

But most of what passes for horror is only silliness.
Want to see real horror?
Try repentance.

Don't bother looking into the ridiculously manufactured faces of Jason or Frankenstein.
Try looking into the face of our holy God, knowing that you have offended Him and that He does not have to do more than think about your death to make it happen, and that His face turned away will be eternity in howling darkness.
Think about sin, your sin.

You will know when you get it, when the reality of it dawns on you.
You will know.

Why have these people turned away?..They cling to deceit;..no one repents of his wickedness, saying, "What have I done?--Jeremiah 8:5-6

"What have I done?"
The sadness, the devastating reality, the...repentance.
That is horror. Real horror.
Not the movies, not any fright fest, no trick or treating.

We have to go there, you know. And often.
Repentance is not a Sunday thing, not a just-before-church thing, not even a daily thing.
The best repentance comes right away, moment by moment, the same way we sin.

"What have I done?"
And when we know, and repent, Christ will show us again what He has done.

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

Shut Up, For Christ's Sake!

From almost my first breaths as a baby Christian believer, I have been taught to witness.  My job, once I came to understand the gospel, was to get it out there.  Christ's last instructions to the disciples, after all, were to testify to all the world, weren't they?

Yes, they were.  But He gave the instruction to testify as His last direction, not His first.

And what is witnessing, anyway? God tells us:
 You are my witnesses, declares the Lord, and my servants from whom I have chosen, so that you may know and believe me and understand that I am He.--Isaiah 43:10

Hmm.  Nothing about saying anything to anyone.  
Witnessing, in God's estimation, begins with knowing and believing and understanding.  Evidently that, at least initially, is enough.  Even the outspoken apostle Paul began with years of silent study and communion with other believers and the Lord Himself before he ever went anywhere or said anything to anybody.

Witnessing has a pre-requisite.  In other words, we have to be qualified before we intentionally speak about God.  Unless He is putting words in our mouths similar to the way He put them in Balaam's donkey's, then we are well advised to spend the time getting to know our subject matter, that is, Him, before opening our mouths. 

There is a reason for this, and I am learning it every day.  God is so darned BIG!  There is so much to know about Him, so much He has to show me, to teach me, to change in me.  Yes, there are times to speak out, but as His joy within me grows, I understand more and more that God is not what He does, which we learn first about, but who He is.  To know Him just flat takes time.  

And He knows this about me, too.  He knows it and is fine with it.  Listen:

I, even I, am the Lord, and apart from me there is no savior.  I have revealed, and saved, and proclaimed.  I, not some foreign god among you.  You are my witnesses that I AM GOD.--Isaiah 43:11-12

His witnesses that He is God.  Yes.  There is a time to speak, and boldly, but my witness must start and end with the nature and person of God Himself.  And once I fully know that, I will be a witness whether I speak or not.

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.

How Beautiful...

Grapes on the vine crowd one another, lush and full of juice, but if they continue to hang there, serve no purpose. To make wine, they must be crushed, and the crushing is our job. It makes a mess, to be sure, but the beauty of the resulting slurry, or must, lies in its promise. From this, along with an expert winemaker's intervention, will come a beverage not only beautiful, but full of goodness.

And so the gospel. When we employ the Word of God and its power in our lives, we stir things up. Things get messier before they straighten out, both in our own lives and in those around us. But oh, what a beautiful result!

How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!--Romans 10:15

Photo credit: www.weggywinery.com