July 29, 2020 § Leave a comment
“A holy place is where we become aware that there’s more to life than meets the eye, and that the more is ‘other,’ Other. God, who is beyond us, is also at hand.”
Eugene H. Peterson, Leap Over A Wall
Not every sanctuary is built with human hands.
The photos in this post were taken from the Oconaluftee Islands Park in Cherokee, North Carolina. Once within its ‘walls’ the bamboo forest is transformed into a sanctuary of sorts. Curiously, this rapidly spreading growth is classified as grass. However, in maturity it manifests as a collective paneling of stalks that line paths and creates glorious corridors. Even more spectacular, this paneling allows light and splendor to infiltrate the enclosure it creates. And if that weren’t enough, the stalks of the bamboo are so tall that rather than grow endlessly in a straight line, at some point, they dovetail into one another, forming a magnificently arched ceiling – as though cognizant of Someone it was created to exalt.
Whenever we consider Jesus’ retreat to the mountains (Mark 6:46), our inclination is to put emphasis on prayer, because that is what he did. But I think there is more – that Jesus used that space of time to recapture his own sense of awe at the beauty of the very creation he sustains (Colossians 1:15-17).
We think of the ‘good’ pronouncements in the creation narrative as declarations of perfection – and they are. Nothing could ever supersede the unblemished handiwork of God – it was good because He is perfect. But is it possible that God was also thrilled with the beauty that He sculpted out of nothing?
Normally, this is the time of year that Katherine and I return to the beach we have enjoyed with our family for 20 years – To soak in the sun and get lost in the sound of crashing waves, where cell phones cannot be heard. But this year, with COVID-19, and our home state a hot spot for all the wrong reasons, we decided to hide in the mountains. With few exceptions, we stayed to ourselves and were reminded of the grandeur of God.
Though not a substitute for the gathering of God’s people in worship, it is difficult to stand on top of the world, so to speak, and not be filled with wonder. A breathtaking view completely redirects one’s attention from the immediate to the eternal. It is a holy interruption of the noise and chaos of daily routines.
Whenever we enter into sanctuary, we are transported and dwarfed by the majesty of God, whether a physical church locale, a walk by the bay at sunrise, or a mountain vista that swallows us in its grandeur.
This is a good thing.
Entering into sanctuary makes us no larger, and no more capable of managing the universe. It rescues us from the delusion that we can. And lifts our gaze from the immediate to the eternal, transforming our fear of lesser things, into renewed faith, in the eternal God who came near, and became immediate in His Son Jesus – for us.
Friends, this is our good news.
grace & peace.
May 13, 2020 § Leave a comment
“[Sabbath] is resistance because it is a visible insistence that our lives are not defined by the production and consumption of commodity goods.”
Walter Brueggemann, Sabbath as Resistance
If this moment we find ourselves in has done anything, it has forced us to consider who we are in light of great uncertainty. Economic instability and job security are heavy on hearts and minds. High School and College Seniors wonder if the next level awaits them, and what it will look like when they get there. Their inability to walk the aisle is symbolic of how our world has come to a stop of sorts. Weddings have been put on hold. Funerals are limited to small graveside gatherings.
One of the byproducts of this moment is work from home. For those of us who are accustomed to driving to the office, it is an adjustment. Our dining room table has become my office desk. Katherine is teaching elementary music at her keyboard in our basement. Zoom is family (who else wishes they had stock in this company?!)
With others who have observed the same, we have found that we are working more, not less.
For this, God has mandated Sabbath, or rest.
Since this isn’t an exhaustive theological treatise, suffice it to say that God has built rest into the ecosystem of human well-being. We cannot be fully human if we cannot stop and lay aside agendas that dominate our minds and emotions at the expense of our reliance on God, our true Source of all care.
I have to confess that this is perhaps the most difficult thing for me to do. The work is always there: deadlines, sermons, studies, teaching, meetings, conferences, counseling. The rhythm of work, rest and recreation has been wrecked in my universe. The temptation is to think that rest is optional, but Jesus says otherwise.
Interestingly, the New Testament reveals Sabbath as something we enter into, as much as what we do. And it begins with Jesus who invites us to himself: “Come unto me… and I will give you rest…” (Matthew 11:28-30).
Rest and worship are radical acts of faith, in which we acknowledge, as individuals and in community, that we are more than the sum total of our stuff, our failures, our ambitions, and our experiences, and that true value and care, are found in our Creator, who made all that is… and then rested, and then made us His.
Sabbath is the reminder of what fear constantly attempts to make me forget – and always at the expense of those I love most.
Throughout the narrative of God’s people, the seventh day, the seventh year, the Year of Jubilee – all are intended to aim towards understanding that in Jesus the ‘It is good’ of creation, and the ‘It is finished’ of the Cross converge in him.
In Jesus, the work is completed, the debt is paid, and true rest has begun, until fully realized when he makes all things new.
Rest assured friends, this is our good news…
grace & peace.
May 6, 2020 § Leave a comment
“Little is large if God is in it.”
Leonard Sweet & Frank Viola, Jesus, A Theography
I was recently made aware of how on Sunday mornings, a woman in our church, a widow, phones her friend, also a widow, who does not have internet service, in order that they can worship together as our service streams, she on her computer, and her friend as she listens through her phone.
Such a small, but beautiful expression.
And the picture in this post was taken by a young woman in our church, a nurse on the frontline, who recently received this care package from a couple (members of our congregation) that quietly left it at her front door.
Smallness and small beginnings comprise a theme that is woven throughout the gospel’s redemptive story. From the moment God created everything out of nothing, the big stories in the scriptures demonstrate God’s greatness with the obscure and unknown.
We can be glad for this. In spite of our own relative smallness, God invites us to collaborate with Him in the daily course of His grand care of the world, not by shows of strength or displays of greatness, but within the boundaries of our own limitations.
Zechariah prophesied that in time, “whoever despised the day of small things shall rejoice…” (4:10a). He foresaw when those who deemed the small things as meaningless, would be given a new perspective. Have you considered that the small things you offer might be received as life-giving in big, unexpected ways?
My guess is that when all is said and done with this current crisis, we will look back and remember that to some extent we were sustained by the power of seemingly tiny gestures, like a boy offering Jesus his lunch, who in turn fed thousands with it.
It is the simple kindnesses, the meager offerings, the encouraging phone calls, the anonymous prayers, the neighborly acts, the invisible sacrifices – people caring for others in quiet ways that will likely not be detailed on the evening news, but that are also not lost on the Father.
After all, isn’t this what endears us to the gospel? That in God we have a Father who wrapped His Son in obscurity, in the smallness of a newborn – for the sake of His spectacular design for making us His?
Isn’t this our good news?
grace & peace.
April 29, 2020 § Leave a comment
“indeed, he said nothing to them without a parable”
Last Sunday I recounted a day my father lay unconscious on a gurney, awaiting examination, in an Emergency Room hallway. For roughly an hour he had been unresponsive – to our mom, to me, and then to the EMTs. While in that hallway, it occurred to me to sing to him, and somehow the words and notes made their way through whatever layers of resistance that held dad in unconsciousness – and he revived – first with faintly moving lips and no sound, but then, after a few moments, audibly, as we made discordantly beautiful music together.
Afterwards, I was surprised and delighted to receive texts and e-mails from people who shared similar stories of situations where love pierced through the sadness of the moment.
Suffice it to say that your story matters.
During his public ministry Jesus was many things: teacher, leader, healer, and rabbi. But he was also a master storyteller. A redemptive theme runs throughout his parables (stories), with plots of forgiveness, restoration, love, even judgment. The characters are real, so real that we can see ourselves in their lives – which of course is the point.
Jesus understood that a good story draws one deep into the drama, before they recognize parts of their own lives they may not have otherwise had visited.
If the storyline of The Man Who Invented Christmas is true, then Charles Dickens could not complete A Christmas Carol until he was forced to revisit his painful childhood years. Only when he acknowledged that those years drove the Scrooge-like fear and anger that boiled deep within him, was he freed to envision – and then write – a redemptive conclusion to his book.
In John 5:39-40, Jesus said, “You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life, and it is they that bear witness about me, yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life.”
All along, Jesus was telling his own story, one we have been invited into – through faith.
One day, we will tell the story of a time when the world stopped, as a virus spread round the globe. We will share what we learned, and remember who we lost. We will recount the good as well as the ugly things it revealed about our character and faith. It will serve as one chapter among many that we will look back on.
It will inspire elation and shame, repentance and rejoicing. And we will have grown. Most importantly, we will remember how Jesus relentlessly pursued us, and stepped into the dark places that threaten to deceive our hearts into losing hope, and forgetting the magnificent end of the story we have been written into because of him.
Which is why your story matters, unvarnished and unedited. In it, the Storyteller himself – Jesus, speaks the possibility of hopeful endings for all who hear.
what good news…
grace & peace.
April 22, 2020 § 1 Comment
“In his mercy, our God has given us a form of language that bends his ear and pulls his heart.”
Will Walker & Kendal Haug, Journey to the Cross
I have always been compelled by Jesus’ words to his disciples at the Last Supper. As he blessed the bread he said, “I tell you I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God” (Luke 22:16), and then the cup, “Take this, and divide it among yourselves. For I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes” (Luke 22:17-18).
Until now, I never associated lament with these statements. It had not occurred to me that Jesus was expressing a holy longing that he willingly bears until reunited with his friends. In this regard, this current crisis we find ourselves in has been instructive.
Jesus was no stranger to lament. He wept at the grave of his friend Lazarus (John 11:35), and then, as he approached Jerusalem for Passover (Luke 19:41-44), he lost it. He grieved with the grieving, and pitied the hurting.
Unfortunately, I always saw lament as an emotional speed bump to move beyond, and power through to happier, more productive things.
However, lament is a gift the Father has bestowed on his children. It is not self-pity, but a longing that enables us to enter into the world’s pain – as we feel our own – believing that God will one day redeem it.
So, go ahead! Accomplish much while secluded in the confinement of your home! Paint that wall, complete that puzzle, read that book, rearrange that room, clean out that closet, bathe that dog – all noble goals that life rarely offers time for.
But as you devise strategies to combat the insanity of isolation, and the uncertainties associated with constantly-changing timetables for our return to public life, take time for the sadness too.
Take the time to feel the moment. Feel the chaos of a world in disarray. Feel the displacement of communities, families and churches. Feel the loss of jobs and opportunities. Feel the heartache of those who are alone, and those who have lost loved ones in death.
I pray that God will allow this moment of frustrating isolation to challenge me to practice what I have spent an entire lifetime devising strategies to avoid. Because I never heard the holy longing in Jesus’ voice – until now.
He longs for us.
In the saddest, but sweetest of ways, this is our good news…
grace & peace.
April 15, 2020 § Leave a comment
“If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.”
There is something in all of us that gravitates to the idea of sides: ‘us’ vs. ‘them’ – ‘good’ and ‘evil’ – Urban and Rural – Management vs. Union. You name it, there is an argument for any posture.
Certain events throughout history reflect this tendency. World Wars. Ethnic struggles. Civil Rights. Moral/Ethical differences.
The competitive nature of athletics (which I love!) pits team against team, and fan versus fan. Election cycles ignite shameless mud-slinging, and endless offerings of political ads. Sibling tension led to the first murder. We even see it in churches. The list seems endless.
This is not to say that it is never good to take a side. When Hitler threatened Europe, the choices could not have been starker. However, in a fallen world we will strive.
For this reason, I find the moment we are in to be extraordinary. Right now, every human on planet earth is aware that they are equally, potentially exposed to the same virus. No one is immune, and all are at risk. Each feels his or her fragility, and relative smallness. For perhaps the first time in my life, and maybe in any of our lifetimes, the predominant narrative transcends surface divisions. We are all in this together.
The picture above is of tents that are erected in Central Park by Samaritan’s Purse, a non-profit led by Franklin Graham, who has been more political in his public statements than I am comfortable with. But to his credit, the tents are serving to provide hospital beds for New York City during the crisis. The action transcends politics and offers aid in a moment of need.
While as Christians, we are bound by the integrity of our Faith, Paul tells believers everywhere to “live peaceably with all.” I believe this is a call to model a healed world by how we live in that world – with and before others.
We don’t have to agree in order to lock arms. And we don’t have to sacrifice who we are in order to live at peace. In fact, I would argue that who we are as believers should reflect and facilitate the peacemaking passion of God in the life of the world.
After all, Jesus’ mission was to bring reconciliation where there once was alienation between God and humankind. While it is our nature to strive, it is God’s to heal.
We are called to live out of what our Savior has freely done for us with his own blood. When we do, the world notices, and lives change.
What good news…
grace & peace.