To Pour or not To Pour--It's Not in the Rules

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One of my favorite pictures in the Bible is the one of Mary Magdalene pouring perfume on Jesus' feet:
Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus' feet and wiped his feet with her hair.--John 12:3
When a disciple objected, saying that the money should instead have been given to the poor,  Jesus told him,
You will always have the poor, but you will not always have Me.--John 12:8

It's lovely--a wonderful exposition not only of the love Mary bore for Christ, but also for Christ's affection for her and her helpless effusion. The poor are important, He says, but not as important as individual, intimate relationships with our God.

But then I think of Christ's discussion with His disciples regarding compassionate care when He said to them about those sick, or in prison, or naked:
Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for Me.--Matthew 25:40

Well which is it?
Are we supposed to spend all of our extra energies lavishing the perfume of worship and praise on Christ Himself, or are we supposed to use that energy serving the poor? Is Christ best served outwardly, or is our direct worship more important than any service?

Hmmmm.
Well, when I think about this, I think that the answer must be yes and yes.
After all, He clearly states both of these. He doesn't exclude one from the other. And if we try to do so, we run smack into legalism.

Why is it that we are always trying to boil down what Christ gave us into a bunch of rules?
Do this and don't do that. And some of them are so petty.
Christ is risen, so He can't be on a crucifix anymore.
Dunk, don't sprinkle.
He's Jehovah, not God or Christ, or Lord.
Worship on Saturday, not Sunday.
No instruments in church.
Don't drink, don't gamble, don't dance.

Why don't we get it? It's just not that simple. Christ and life in Him can't be reduced to rules. Like here. It's not just about what we give to whom and when. Ask Cain and Abel. Then both gave to God an offering from the best of their labors--Cain the crops he'd grown and Abel the animals he'd raised--but God did not accept Cain's offering.
The Lord looked with favor on Abel and his gift, but on Cain and his offering, He did not look with favor. --Genesis 4:4-5

Why not? What was wrong with it?
Well, I think that Cain and Abel's situation is the same as Mary's. Everybody brings what they have when they have it, but the thing offered does not necessarily make for an acceptable sacrifice. God needs more:
The Lord loves a cheerful giver.--2Corinthians 9:7
Give generously and do so without a grudging heart.--Deuteronomy 15:10

This is what made the offerings of Abel, and Mary, and whoever clothes or feeds the needy or does anything else for God: Abandon.
That's it. Christ watched Mary pour that nard on His feet and it wasn't the perfume, it was the love with which she brought it that  filled Him with joy. And it works the same for us. If we are going to give, give passionately. And He means it:
Because you are lukewarm, I will spit you out of my mouth.--Revelation 3:16

We have to abandon ourselves to the opportunities God brings, whether He brings a bottle of perfume our way or if He brings a stranger with an outstretched hand. Then our offering to Him becomes an outpouring of love, not the fulfillment of a requirement.

I remember when the book of Mother Teresa's personal letters, Come Be My Light, was published in 2007. It shocked a lot of people to learn that this sweet, holy, devoted lady was spiritually desolate most of her life. Always faithfully appearing before the Lord in prayer every day, and devoting all of her practical life to ministry to the poor, she nevertheless suffered from frequent spiritual desolation. "There is no God in me," she wrote. And sometimes, you and I get there, too.

Mother Teresa gives me hope that all I have to do is show up, whether with nard or with a hot dish or an overcoat. When Christ presents Himself, I can love Him while He is near. When He is not, I can love His people. As long as the love is passionate and without reservation, He will accept my gift.

What Scars Have to Say

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Scars.
I still have them. 
Painful reminders of my hurts. Throbbing echoes of hurts I caused.
And they don't go away.
Ever.

Heal me, I plead.
And God hears.
The bleeding stops, the wound closes--
But the scar remains.
Evidence of the hurt. Proof of the guilt.
Why doesn't it all go away?
I ask God: Why doesn't healing come with forgetting?

And God says: This is who you are.
Every hit you've taken, every blow you've given. They are part of you now.
Remember, He says. Remember your nature. Remember your origin:
From the sole of your foot to the top of your head there is no soundness--only wounds and welts and open sores.--Isaiah 1:6
My scars. Who I am. What I have done. What has been done to me.

Nobody gets to leave them behind his side of heaven. Nobody.
Even Christ wore His scars.
He stood in that room with His best friends, bright in His resurrected body. Alive again. Clean, victorious, and healed.
But those hands. That side.
Put your finger here. See my hands.--John 20:27
Still there. All the places of His own mortal wounding. Not smoothed over, not vanished beyond memory. Not comfortable.
But visible, both to Him and anyone who looked close enough.
His wounds, like ours, remained with Him.
Not for re-opening, but as witness. 

Christ's wounds bore witness to His perfection, His godhead.
My wounds bear witness to Christ in me.
My scars still stand ready to accuse, but they can also proclaim victory. 
Look at me, they say.
I have healed. I stand. I live.
I have known pain. I have inflicted it. See this ugliness? This is what it looks like.
Don't look away. You have them, too.

But this is the difference.
Because of Christ, I will not die from them. 

Broken by Myself

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I know that Christ died for me, but I don't believe it. Not really.

If Christ had to do that--die--really die--to fix me, then there must be something drastically wrong with who I am.
And He died, all right. I believe that. But because of me? Really?

The Bible, after all, says that I am made in the image of God, right? How messed up, then, can I be?
Enough, apparently.

This is hard to understand. But until I do understand, really understand, this miserable necessity of Christ having to die because I am so broken, I can't understand anything else--not about God, not about me. So long as I hold onto even the smallest inkling that I might be OK just as I am, I cannot know God.

I don't like this idea. Not even a little.

I am good, and patient, and kind and all the rest. Most of the time. I am. I sometimes even look in the mirror and think, 'Hey, you're OK, girl.' But inevitably, just about then, I crash and burn. Anger, deception, and selfishness crowd out all the good stuff. Again.

And I see Him there--Jesus--hanging, bleeding, dying--saying nothing, saying everything.

Is He accusing me? No. But neither does he shrink from the truth like I do. He wears the truth.  He carries it, lays down on it, and dies on it.

I am not OK. Not alone. Not without Him. Not ever.

He bore the punishment that makes us whole.--Isaiah 53:5
You were bought with a price--1 Corinthians 6:20

Putting Pain in its Place

Sam and Anne

I like to listen to first-time moms when they talk about the pain of childbirth. Really. There is a kind of community in this, something we all share and, as for every intense life experience, we all learn something from it. Some women bear their pain patiently, some resentfully, but like me, most of us try to forget it as soon as possible and, in the wake of the joy that usually follows, we can.

Not my friend Sam, though.

Now, Sam loves her daughter as much as any other new mother. She bubbles with the joy of her. She hasn't however, sidelined the memory of pain in getting there. Instead, Sam continues to stare her pain in the face, to call it by its nasty name, and commands it to its appropriate place in her life. Sam refuses to let her pain pretend to be anything other than what it is--hard, unpleasant, and temporary. 

Sure, she remembers that her labor hurt a lot, but also, defiantly, that it did not hurt forever. The pain never mastered her because she knew it had a purpose and when its purpose was fulfilled, it would end. In doing this, she got to keep the memory of the pain and the lasting gift it left her. Today, she can look at her daughter and say, 'You cost me a great deal, but you were worth it.'

In doing this, I think, she has discovered pain's purpose. What, after all, does pain bring? If we apply it correctly, it brings more than discomfort. Pain, if we let it, can bring sure knowledge that we can endure it and understanding that some things bring a hard cost. It can also bring vision of and hope for a future of health and wholeness.

Christ knew this, too--hence, the cross. He endured pain because He had a job to do that overshadowed it. His pain took a back seat to His purpose. He knew that the effects of His purpose would long outlast His pain. It happens the same for us. When God allows us pain, we can, if we choose it, come to know both the cost and the value of its greater purpose. By this knowledge, both the pain and the gift of it, we can join with Christ.

For the joy set before Him, He endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.--Hebrews 12:2

The Not-So-Great Commission

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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.

Crucifixion Song

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The moment of greatest defeat.
The moment of greatest victory.
Good Friday.
We hear Christ, in His agony, crying out, but the words....the words....
To the Jews within hearing, they were so familiar...

My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?--Psalm 22:1 and Matthew 28:46

They knew those words. They had memorized them from David's Psalm 22.
And they knew what came next.
They watched and heard prophecy being fulfilled before their eyes and ears.

I am a worm and no man, scorned by men and despised by the people.
All who see me mock me...He trusts in the Lord; let the Lord rescue Him.
I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint.
A band of evil men has encircled me, they have pierced my hands and feet.
I can count all my bones; people stare and gloat over me.
They divide my garments among them, and cast lots for my clothing.--Psalm 22:6-8,14,16-18

The Jews at the foot of the cross witnessed their Old Testament psalm enacted in their presence.
It was the Song of the Crucifixion.
But it would not finish in defeat. 
All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the Lord,
and all the families of nations will bow down to Him.
Posterity will serve Him; future generations will be told about the Lord
They will proclaim His righteousness to a people yet unborn--Psalm 22:27,30-31

And they knew the song's triumphant ending, too.
By uttering the first line, Christ also declared its final chorus:
--for He has done it.--Psalm 22:31

Indeed, He has.

Do Not Forget

God does not forgive, much less forget.
At least not in the way we most often think about it.
Just saying.

He never makes our sins just go 'poof!' and disappear. 
He does, however, move them.
I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist.--Isaiah 44:22
...as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.--Psalm 103:12
But He does not make sin disappear until somebody dies.

When we know we are guilty, He does not forgive.
When we repent, He does not forgive.
Only after somebody dies does God forgive and, for us, God wants that person to be Jesus.

When we repent and believe, our sins are moved to Jesus' back, and He died for them, all of them. 
If we don't repent and believe, we are stuck with our own sins, forever, all the way into eternity, where we must do the dying for them.

Imagine that, every time we lie, a soldier drives another nail through Jesus' hand into the cross.
Every time we cheat or betray or love the world,--another nail, and another and another.
Don't kid yourself.
If you expect forgiveness, this must happen. It must. Either that, or you hang on to your sins right into hell.
The only way out is to stop sinning, which we should probably give serious consideration.
But forgetting may not be such a good idea.

Being Beethoven

"How do I know God's will?" she asked me.
"How can I be sure I am doing what He wants me to do?"
Good question.

Anything we do, God Himself can do better, so what, after all, does God want from us?
And what does the Lord require of you?  To act justly and love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.--Micah 6:8

Yes, yes, I know that. But what to DO?
God gives us stuff to do not because He needs us to get it done for Him, but because He wants us to seek Him in it.

Seek Him first, last, and always...then do what seems right until we can't do it any more.

Don't concentrate on the result. 
As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.--Isaiah 55:9

Do what God gives us to do because He gave it.  
He manages the result.
I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow.--1Corinthians 3:61
We cultivate devotion to God.  He brings in the harvest.

Beethoven was nearly deaf when he composed his ninth symphony.  He never heard it, but he wrote it, and conducted it, with such genius and fervor that almost everyone recognizes its Ode to Joy:

God asks us, too, to play the notes even when we can't hear the music.
My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast.  I will sing and make music.  Awake, my soul.  Awake, harp and lyre.  I will awaken the dawn.--Psalm 57:71
Play on, and our love for God becomes our true song.

What the Marys Know

In the Bible we meet only one Martha, but three Marys--accident?  I think not.

Most of us can identify with Martha of Bethany at one time or another--hardworking, efficient, aware of others' needs, skilled, a doer of things that need doing and thus always busy and, oh yes, complaining.

The Marys, all of them--Mary Magdalen, Mary of Bethany, and the virgin mother of Christ--were lovers.  All of them.  They had "the better part."

We know we are supposed to be more like Mary but somehow we just, well, can't.  
Why not?

Because Martha is just so NECESSARY.
Dishes need doing.
Babies need feeding.
Lawns need mowing.
Who is going to do it all if all we do is hang out with God and love Him all the time?

I've decided that even Mary can mow the lawn.
What separated these Marys from Martha was not what they did, it was their attitude.

A Martha knows her Bible verses.  She goes to church.  She attends Bible studies. She helps folks in need.  She cleans the church and bakes pies for socials.
Martha marches to God's cadence.  And God loves her for it.

But Mary allows herself to be drawn into His arms and loses herself there--not forever, not so the beds never get made, but for the sheer joy of these times of communion.
She does not give up one for the sake of the other.  She has found her beloved and intends to enjoy Him.

They hurried off and found Mary and Joseph and the baby, who was lying in the manger.  When they had seen Him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them.  But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.--Luke 2:16-19

Don't let the tenderness of moments with Christ escape you. 
As Marthas, we only begin our life with Christ. 
As Marys, we find its depth.

All the Wrong Places

Of all the things we are supposed to know how to do as Christians, the most basic is to love.  We are supposed to know how to love.

Oh, yeah?  Try it sometime.

What is loving, anyway?
Love does not harm to its neighbor...--Romans 13:10
Love is patient, love is kind...1Corinthians 13:4
Greater love has no one than this: that he lay down his life for his friends.--John 15:13

So we are to care about other people more than ourselves.  
Is that love? Really?
If so, any atheist could love.

No, love must be something more.
Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.--1John 4:7
Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me...--Matthew 10:37
You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and all your mind. This is the first and great commandment...--Matthew 22:37

Love comes from God, so we have to love God first to love at all.


So, what does that look like?
It looks like this:
Love does not see the task first.  Love sees God first.
Love does not see the person first.  Love sees God first.


When the phone rings, we do not hear the phone first, or even the person on it, we hear God first.
When a child reaches up, saying "Mommy..."  we do not see primarily her sweet tears, but God.
When we pull out our wallet to buy something, we don't lead with desire for the thing, but for God.
When someone offers a mission trip, we do not see the  legions of unbelievers, we see God.
When we hear sermon, we do not listen for the pastor, but for God.
When we pick up a husband's socks for the hundredth time, we don't see the socks, we see God.

The small decisions and the big ones, they are all God's, for His glory, in His name.  Where we live, how we furnish our home or choose our friends, or spend our time.  All God's, for His sake.  No exceptions.

Does that mean we have no fun?  Absolutely not.
But God's highest will for us is to derive our primary pleasure from Him.

It means we lead with the Song of Solomon, not with the Ten Commandments.
We live with the Magnificat in our hearts.
My soul does glorify the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior...--Luke 2:46-47
How beautiful you are, Oh my darling!  How beautiful!--Song of Solomon 1:15

This is love.
From God.  Of God. For God. Back to God.
Once we know that, the rest will come.

Forgetting to Blush

Our pastor says that we have spiritual lockjaw.  When an opportunity comes to speak about the things of God in a non-church setting, we clam up.  I was thinking about this the other day when, predictably, the phone rang.  And I did it.  I stopped short of what I might have said had I been in church or with a believing friend.  I measured my words so that they became palatable.  When it came time to show my love for Christ, I took a step back, lowered my head, and blushed.

And I remembered...

Mary took a pint of nard and poured it on Jesus' feet and wiped his feet with her hair.  And the house was filled with the fragrance of perfume.--John 12:3

Mary did not measure the perfume she used.  She did not stop short of extravagant love in wiping Jesus' feet.  She didn't think first of what the others present in that room might think or how they would receive her actions.  Neither did she do it to poke them, to remind them of their own failings.

She simply loved her Lord.  She could do nothing less.

We are taught how to talk to people about Christ.  We are given phrases, even whole scripts with proofs and logical argument.  We are told to prepare our testimony so that we will know what to say when we have an opportunity.

I am beginning to think that we have got it backward.  Spiritual lockjaw is not an obstacle to be overcome.  It is the result of shallow love. 

I know this because of my love for my husband.  When we walk into a room, I am proud to walk visibly beside him, to hold his hand, to praise him, even to embrace him if the opportunity presents itself.  I do not think twice about this.  It is pure joy. I never measure its cost.

When I measure the cost of my love for Christ, I do so because my love for Him love lacks depth.

I say that Jesus is my Lord, my life, my deepest love.  I really do say this.  But, in the clinch, I don't act like it.

I must come to Christ without artifice, just loving Him out of the richness of our intimacy, an intimacy even deeper than that I share with my husband.  If this love, this intimacy, exists in private, I will not measure it in public.  Its fragrance will fill every room I enter, every situation He brings.  

In the end, I lack not the courage to testify about my God.  I lack a love true enough and deep enough to banish the idea that expressing love for my God takes any courage at all.

The Fangs that Deliver Passion

Slow movement in still, dark leaves, a short bright hiss, and a sharp pain...venom leaks from fang to flesh and rank poison rushes in circulation with life's blood, killing as it tries to nourish. In another place, however, under a laboratory's light, doctors use the same snake venom to treat high blood pressure and cancerous tumors. What kills, then, can also heal, but how to bend the deadly and dreadful to a purpose constructive and good?

First, recognize the poison:
I wanted to see what was worthwhile for men to do under heaven during the few days of our lives. I undertook great projects...I tried cheering myself with wine...I turned my thoughts to consider wisdom...everything was meaningless, a chasing after wind.--Ecclesiastes 2:3,4,12,11

Sometimes fangs deliver passion. My zest to accomplish, my desire to make, to build, to grow, to enjoy, all belongs to a life that eventually ends. I know that my calculated accomplishments will fall to dust, but I continue to reach out for them. Passion feels right. It hisses and uncoils so near to me that I let it bite time after time. Feelings this strong must surely belong to me, a proper part of who I am.

But the snake is never kind. It does not build, it destroys. No matter how attractive passion looks, it still belongs to the serpent and the serpent's nature kills. The snake forever remains the snake, and its mouth opens in rank greed for my soul. Only You can turn passion to constructive use.

I must remember the picture of Your passion--arms spread wide receiving simultaneous death and victory. My passion delivers only me to a summit of sand that collapses in a dark whisper. Your passion delivers You to Your rightful place in eternity. The hill I climb must be Yours, not mine. My determined face must set itself not inward, but toward Calvary.

Thought for today: What are you passionate about and who does it exalt?