Hi guys--remember me? I'm the long lost writer of this said blog, who is getting her feet wet with this post, and soon, will let you in on the recent struggles of my losin' it journey...
I’m really not that big into Black Friday—it’s not because I hate shopping—I love it, but I don’t think there really is anything that could coax me out of be at 3 o’clock in the morning. What I do like, however, is to hear about some of the crazy lengths that people will go to, to get that one thing that their heart desires. Case in point—there was a couple somewhere—who pitched their tent sometime last Wednesday, not day before black Friday Wednesday, but week before black Friday Wednesday. They were outside of the Best Buy, living their lives until that one day, nine days later, when the doors would open, and they would get—what you ask? That’s the thing—they didn’t know. “We’re not quite sure, what we’ll get,” they said…”a flat screen, an iPad, we really don’t know. But, it’s gotta be something good.”
Here’s the thing—as much as I think those people are kind of crazy…we’re actually a lot like them. Except things in our line are just a little different. First, in our line, we have absolutely no idea what time the doors are going to open. There’s no 4am countdown in our line…those doors will fling open when we least expect it. Secondly—we know precisely what we’re waiting for—and it’s going to be something really, really good; we’re waiting for Jesus—for a time when swords will be beat into plowshares, and spears into pruning hooks, when nations will live in peace and war will be ended.
And, as much as I hate to talk about it…as much as I’d like to explain it away, we’re waiting for a time when some judging will be going one…when some of us will be left and some of us will be taken away; when you and I will be grinding mill side by side and I get whisked away to be judged and you get to live peacefully within the reign of God in the world.
Which I guess leads to another difference about our line—why in the heck are we still in it? Why do we keep standing here, when we’re pretty sure there are no flat screens in our future; why do we keep waiting for Jesus (either judging Jesus or gracious Jesus)…when we’ve been waiting for him for thousands of years and he still hasn’t come. It might lead to us to wonder if maybe there are some other lines with a little more promise—if there are other lines where doors will open on time and the gift on the other is one that makes a makes a little more sense. I don’t know about you…but, there are times I really, really want to cut in somewhere else; there are times when I’m tired of hoping for something that never comes, and believing in someone that seems to be absent more often than not. There are times when I want to throw my hands up in the air and go work for someone who doesn’t send me strange memos that leave be wondering if I’m going to be resting in the presence of God or standing alone with all the other sinners.
But, then a funny thing happens and Sunday after Sunday I end up right back here—with all of you—where we stumble in here longing for our cataracts to be removed so that we can see God again. I think that’s why we stay in this crazy line—because deep within us we know that this is the only one where the doors will open and we will see God. We’re still waiting because when those waters splashed over our foreheads, we were giving these new eyes to see the world. Maybe we’re still waiting, because even in the midst of some pretty boring line standing, and some pretty awful world happenings, there are still these amazing glimpses of a new world and our risen savior.
I came across this quote recently Catholic Sister Joan Chittister tells the following story: "Once upon a time, the story goes, a preacher ran through the streets of the city shouting, 'We must put God into our lives. We must put God into our lives.' And hearing him, the old monastic rose up in the city plaza to say, 'No, sir, you are wrong. You see, God is already in our lives. Our task is simply to recognize that.”
This Advent season we are not called to put God in our lives—like God is something that we can add to our lives like a big red bow…we are not called to stop all our Christmas shopping, and present wrapping and party going and simply to look at the baby Jesus in the manger. What we are called to do is to stay in line, to live our lives, and to see where those places where the door opens when we least expect it; to see those places where swords have been beaten into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks; to see those places where Christ meets us.
Here’s a few places where Jesus has already flung open the doors in the world—The USS General Vandenberg—a naval warship from WWII—was recently sunk in the Florida Keys to become a reef for marine life…sounds a little like swords used for war, being beaten into plowshares that give life.
For me, Christ opened doors in the story a friend tells…from one mother who yells too much to another who does the same, her words became life for me—“Nathaniel, my son, is pretty good at reading me,” she says. He knows when I’m going to get really, really mad about something. Just as I’m winding up and ready to yell, he’ll give me a big smile, put his arms out for a hug, and say, “Mommy, I love you.” It works every time. This is how God reminds me that God loves me, too. It’s not always easy to remember that—it takes a lot of energy to move away from the anger and over to the love. But that’s where God wants us—in the love.”
And that’s where God wants us—in line…in line waiting, waiting for the wonders of Jesus, waiting for the doors to be opened wide, waiting to meet Jesus in the world. My guess is you can guess your Tuesday faith assignment—stay in line…but keep those eyes open…because you don’t need to put God anymore, God is already there…and that, my friends, is waaaay better than a flat screen tv.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
In This Corner...
To save you all a little bit of heartache, I'm going to post just sermons for a bit...at least until I hit 50 pounds, and then I'll post pics :)
If you’re like the rest of the world, those 33 Chilean miners buried underground for 69 days, captured at the very least your attention, if not your entire heart. After hearing all their stories, you feel like you almost know them...The beautiful ones: of babies been born in hope while their daddies sang lullabies to them from underground; the comical ones—of wives and mistresses fighting over who had rights to see their loved one first (the wife probably wanting to say more than “I love you”). As we heard more about them, those men began to symbolize for the entire world, what it meant to live...to survive in hope; what it meant to fight to stay alive. In just a few short months they’ve already become legendary...because those men actually lived through what we all sometimes feel—that overwhelming, heavy, oppressive darkness—but instead of giving in, like we all sometimes want to do...instead of letting that darkness swallow them whole, they practiced their faith, they prayed each morning, they communed with each other, and they wrestled...they wrestled with God.
Just an hour after being extracted from the mine, freed miner Mario Sepulveda said, "I was with God and I was with the Devil, they both fought me but God won.” I wonder if Mario knew that thousands of years ago, his great-great-grandfather Jacob, whispered those same words. That thousands of years ago, there too was a man who met God in the darkness of a mine...who wrestled with God...
Let me tell you a little bit about this our first fore-wrestler Jacob, a guy you should have learned about in Sunday School—someone from your own family tree; someone who makes me think our branches should be a little better pruned. Jacob, was a wrestler from before he was even born. He and his big brother Esau would play tag in their mama’s belly, constantly trying to get the upper hand on each other, and on the day they were born, he was trying as hard as he could to pull Esau back in, so that he would go first. Those early escapades led him down a slippery slope; as time went on, he lived up to his name (Jacob indeed means liar, swindler, deceiver) when he stole his brother Esau’s inheritance by lying to his dying father; he then went on to marry two sisters, one who he loved, one who he didn’t and had 13 children with them and two of their slaves; he was shrewd, building up his own flock of sheep and goats, while making sure his father-in-law got the smaller, sickly, and weaker ones.
And so finally after living dishonestly for almost two decades and after getting all that he had ever wanted—wives, money, children, livestock, he decided it was time to listen to God and head back home, to face the wrath of the brother he cheated, and to live in the land that he had inherited.
So, he cries out to God—oh God please deliver me; save me from my brother who probably wants to kill me and then I will faithfully serve you; I know I’m not worthy, but you did promise that you would watch out for me, that you would always do good for me, so let me live, and I’ll give you what I owe.
And God answers, but not in a nice—of course I’ll always love you, come on home—kind of way. Instead there’s a reprisal of his early years, and there’s an all night long drag down fight; they wrestle together, and pull each other’s hair and knock each other down. Jacob even seems to be winning at one point, and to show his power this strange being strikes him, dislocating his hip. And as dawn draws near, this man, or angel, or maybe even God, tries to get away, but Jacob grabs him and won’t let go. He pulls his hand behind his back and demands that he be blessed—demands that he be smiled upon—demands that the man in front of him looks into his eyes, sees him for all the crap that he’s done and call him his child anyway.
And the man does just that—Yes, the man says, You are blessed. And furthermore, Your name is no longer Jacob—the one who steals, and lies, and deceives, but your name is Israel—because tonight you wrestled with God, tonight you looked into God’s eyes, tonight you held on for dear life, tonight you saw God face to face and you survived.
And Jacob—Israel, for his name was the not the only thing changed. His body was too. And each time he took a step and felt the pain radiate down his leg, he remembered; he remembered the promise of God—a promise that came through a knock-down, drag-out fight; a promise that blessed him body and soul for always.
You know what though, You and me; us and Mario—we’re still in this struggle; we’re still wrestling with God each and every night. We’re still living in this world where the darkness seems oppressive and the light dim. We’re still living when we wonder if God’s face will ever be made known; or if God’s left the building a long, long time ago. We’re still living lives that simply to not reflect the grace of a God who claims to love us; and we’ve been hurt too deeply, too many times, and continuing the fight is simply too exhausting.
But, please, what we can’t do, is leave the fight. We cannot leave God alone, on our mantle in a nice, safe, neat little box. We can and pretend that the wrestling with what God wants, what God needs from us, what God desires of us is over. We cannot let go. can’t let go that easily. We have to keep wrestling; we have to keep believing that we have fight left in us—that even though we’re just a small, country church, 35 strong, we indeed have something to offer the God of the world.
We have to keep fighting, holding on to God, demanding for God to bless us, demanding that we will not let go until God looks us squarely in the eye and says “I don’t care what you’ve done, or haven’t done, you are my child; you have wrestled with me and you will live.”
The thing is we won’t walk away unscathed; we’ll develop a limp that sends fire up our bodies with every step because facing God is far from easy; but we will walk away, and having seen God, having wrestled and demanded our blessing, we will absolutely never be the same. Having seen God, we’ll will tell the story of how our name was changed…having seen God we’ll remember the words of our brother Mario—Both the devil and God fought me in there. And God won. God took me by my best hand…the hand of God and I held on to him. I never thought for one moment that God wouldn’t get me out of here.” Never…never think for one moment that after all this wrestling is over, God will not get you out of here. Because when the night ends and the morning begins, God will take you by your best hand, and you will live.
If you’re like the rest of the world, those 33 Chilean miners buried underground for 69 days, captured at the very least your attention, if not your entire heart. After hearing all their stories, you feel like you almost know them...The beautiful ones: of babies been born in hope while their daddies sang lullabies to them from underground; the comical ones—of wives and mistresses fighting over who had rights to see their loved one first (the wife probably wanting to say more than “I love you”). As we heard more about them, those men began to symbolize for the entire world, what it meant to live...to survive in hope; what it meant to fight to stay alive. In just a few short months they’ve already become legendary...because those men actually lived through what we all sometimes feel—that overwhelming, heavy, oppressive darkness—but instead of giving in, like we all sometimes want to do...instead of letting that darkness swallow them whole, they practiced their faith, they prayed each morning, they communed with each other, and they wrestled...they wrestled with God.
Just an hour after being extracted from the mine, freed miner Mario Sepulveda said, "I was with God and I was with the Devil, they both fought me but God won.” I wonder if Mario knew that thousands of years ago, his great-great-grandfather Jacob, whispered those same words. That thousands of years ago, there too was a man who met God in the darkness of a mine...who wrestled with God...
Let me tell you a little bit about this our first fore-wrestler Jacob, a guy you should have learned about in Sunday School—someone from your own family tree; someone who makes me think our branches should be a little better pruned. Jacob, was a wrestler from before he was even born. He and his big brother Esau would play tag in their mama’s belly, constantly trying to get the upper hand on each other, and on the day they were born, he was trying as hard as he could to pull Esau back in, so that he would go first. Those early escapades led him down a slippery slope; as time went on, he lived up to his name (Jacob indeed means liar, swindler, deceiver) when he stole his brother Esau’s inheritance by lying to his dying father; he then went on to marry two sisters, one who he loved, one who he didn’t and had 13 children with them and two of their slaves; he was shrewd, building up his own flock of sheep and goats, while making sure his father-in-law got the smaller, sickly, and weaker ones.
And so finally after living dishonestly for almost two decades and after getting all that he had ever wanted—wives, money, children, livestock, he decided it was time to listen to God and head back home, to face the wrath of the brother he cheated, and to live in the land that he had inherited.
So, he cries out to God—oh God please deliver me; save me from my brother who probably wants to kill me and then I will faithfully serve you; I know I’m not worthy, but you did promise that you would watch out for me, that you would always do good for me, so let me live, and I’ll give you what I owe.
And God answers, but not in a nice—of course I’ll always love you, come on home—kind of way. Instead there’s a reprisal of his early years, and there’s an all night long drag down fight; they wrestle together, and pull each other’s hair and knock each other down. Jacob even seems to be winning at one point, and to show his power this strange being strikes him, dislocating his hip. And as dawn draws near, this man, or angel, or maybe even God, tries to get away, but Jacob grabs him and won’t let go. He pulls his hand behind his back and demands that he be blessed—demands that he be smiled upon—demands that the man in front of him looks into his eyes, sees him for all the crap that he’s done and call him his child anyway.
And the man does just that—Yes, the man says, You are blessed. And furthermore, Your name is no longer Jacob—the one who steals, and lies, and deceives, but your name is Israel—because tonight you wrestled with God, tonight you looked into God’s eyes, tonight you held on for dear life, tonight you saw God face to face and you survived.
And Jacob—Israel, for his name was the not the only thing changed. His body was too. And each time he took a step and felt the pain radiate down his leg, he remembered; he remembered the promise of God—a promise that came through a knock-down, drag-out fight; a promise that blessed him body and soul for always.
You know what though, You and me; us and Mario—we’re still in this struggle; we’re still wrestling with God each and every night. We’re still living in this world where the darkness seems oppressive and the light dim. We’re still living when we wonder if God’s face will ever be made known; or if God’s left the building a long, long time ago. We’re still living lives that simply to not reflect the grace of a God who claims to love us; and we’ve been hurt too deeply, too many times, and continuing the fight is simply too exhausting.
But, please, what we can’t do, is leave the fight. We cannot leave God alone, on our mantle in a nice, safe, neat little box. We can and pretend that the wrestling with what God wants, what God needs from us, what God desires of us is over. We cannot let go. can’t let go that easily. We have to keep wrestling; we have to keep believing that we have fight left in us—that even though we’re just a small, country church, 35 strong, we indeed have something to offer the God of the world.
We have to keep fighting, holding on to God, demanding for God to bless us, demanding that we will not let go until God looks us squarely in the eye and says “I don’t care what you’ve done, or haven’t done, you are my child; you have wrestled with me and you will live.”
The thing is we won’t walk away unscathed; we’ll develop a limp that sends fire up our bodies with every step because facing God is far from easy; but we will walk away, and having seen God, having wrestled and demanded our blessing, we will absolutely never be the same. Having seen God, we’ll will tell the story of how our name was changed…having seen God we’ll remember the words of our brother Mario—Both the devil and God fought me in there. And God won. God took me by my best hand…the hand of God and I held on to him. I never thought for one moment that God wouldn’t get me out of here.” Never…never think for one moment that after all this wrestling is over, God will not get you out of here. Because when the night ends and the morning begins, God will take you by your best hand, and you will live.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Lookin' Kind of Fuzzy?
I've decided that since Christianity as a whole is really just re-saying over and over again what Jesus said, I'm not going to feel guilty for reading columns that spark my imagination, give me an idea, and then send me on my way. For cryin' our loud, if our dear gospel writers could copy from each other, and embellish a little now and then, I think Working Preacher will simply have to forgive my using of their ideas. So, here is credit where credit is due...again...Mr. David Lose, thank you for the cataact image, which actually you stole from someone else. The stuff about Jesus, however, is all original...
For the longest time my mom couldn’t see anything; she even gave up shopping (which at the time was one of her favorite pastimes), because she couldn’t read the prices on any of the clothes. She wouldn’t drive past dark, because all the cars would get those little “angel lights” around the headlights, and she couldn’t tell if they were 100 yards away or just around the corner—well, that and because everyone else refused to be in the car with her. She had to hold things at the oddest angle to try and make the words or pictures visible through the patches that were clouding her vision.
For those of you who’ve had cataracts, you probably know what I’m talking about…and for those of you, who’ve had it removed, you probably know just as deeply what she’s felt since her surgery. Seriously, she’s almost like a brand new person. I remember just after her vision became clearer, she said she never realized how much not being able to see affects you—how much it changes how you interact with the world, how much it makes you…well, cranky. And since then she walks around with this new kind of sight—she reminds me of Mary, from my much quoted favorite scene from Little House on the Prairie when she gets her new glasses—“Pa, look at the leaves. Pa, just look at those leaves.”
We’ve talked a lot about why worship is a central part of being a Jesus follower—and here’s another one: you come to worship, to cut away all of that gritty, nasty film that clouds your vision. You come to worship for cataracts surgery…seriously. Let me take a little guess about how your week works. You wake up on a Monday morning, you either get ready to go to work, to go to school, to stay home with kids, or to do whatever you have planned for the day. You most likely have lists of things you need to accomplish, of places you need to go, of things you need to do.
You’ll do those things, go those places; you’ll eat some meals, talk to some people—you’ll work hard, maybe watch a little tv, get a little frustrated with your partner or your children; you’ll do a load of laundry, a few dishes, brush your teeth, go to bed, and wake up again on Tuesday. Is that kind of right?
And I’m wondering, where did you see Jesus? Because I’m a pastor…I’m guessing by virtue of my job, I think about these things a little more than you do, and I didn’t see him at all. Now, I believe with my entire being that even though I didn’t see him, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. I believe with my entire being that God IS active in our world.
I believe that God heals you every single day—that you are like those 10 lepers—simply doing your job (by the way—lepers jobs were to call out for people to have mercy on them—hence the calling our for Jesus to have mercy)…so you are doing your job, and someone tells you to do something or something happens like well…like Jesus saying, go show yourself to the priest…and more often than not, you’ll do just that. All those 10 lepers did…they did what they were told to do. The difference…the difference is that nine of those guys still had cataracts. Nine of those guys did what they were told to do, and their eyes still couldn’t see. But, one of them…one of them had surgery right there…right in the middle of nowhere, and when he looked up…he saw the green leaves and the blue sky and the clear skin and you know what else he saw? He saw Jesus. And I guess when you see Jesus, your body simply knows what to do, and it falls flat in front of him, and says Jesus’ favorite prayer—thank you, thank you, thank you.
So, you come to worship: one…to be reminded that indeed your vision is cloudy (I think we like to pretend it’s not). And two…we come here to let God remove that nasty film. And for those of you who’ve had eye surgery, you know it’s not the most pleasant thing—there might indeed be times where cutting away that layer of cloudiness hurts a bit—where you thought you were functioning just fine with a nice little veil between you and the world.
There might be times when you will hold onto that film for dear life, because you really like holding things at odd angles and making up what you actually see. And afterwards, it might even take awhile to get your balance, to re-orient yourself into a new way of seeing…because not having to squint at the world takes some getting used to, not having .
But, imagine, then…imagine what you will see. Because if we truly believe that God IS active; if we truly believe that God heals us, meets us on the way between Samaria and Galilee, between Lee and Dekalb, between Chicago and Rochelle; if we truly believe that, then I would imagine, cataracts surgery the good ol’ Jesus follower way…actually lets us see Jesus. That sounds pretty fabulous to me. That even though on Monday, I’ll still get up, argue with my spouse, go grocery shopping, make dinner, and put the kids to bed. I’ll still do the same things I’ve always done…but, instead of going through my day cloudy and blinded, I will see Jesus. I will hear him speaking in places where before I’d just hear noise--from little girls saying ‘you know there’s this God who will heal you;’ from grandmothers who pass on their faith through old warn baptismal gowns;’ from siblings who faithfully struggle with how best to help their mother; from little 3rd graders who are so excited to meet a brand new teacher. With that film gone—you will see Jesus.
Now there are some weeks, where the film might become so thick by Sunday evening, you don’t even make it to Monday. Sometimes I can’t even make it out those doors. But, that’s okay too. Because that’s why you keep coming back here…so we can remind each other. So, that we can hear anew in the Word where God has been active and promises to continue to be. So that we can walk by that font, and wash our eyes clean with the miraculous waters of baptism. We come back here so we can eat Jesus and be transformed from the inside out; so we can greet our brothers and sisters in peace and see that Jesus stands among us.
So, shut your eyes for a moment, feel that film fall away. Open them. Now healed ones…it’s up to you…are you going to keep going on as you’ve always gone…or are you going to fall flat on your face in front of Jesus, and whisper one of his favorite prayers--thank you, thank you, thank you. And then how about going out into the world, where the leaves might just be a crisp new shade of green, and where you pretty much want to tell everyone what God has done. And remember if Jesus starts to get a little fuzzy after awhile—remember he is indeed still there…and then get yourself back here, because your surgery is scheduled for 10:30 each and every Sunday.
For the longest time my mom couldn’t see anything; she even gave up shopping (which at the time was one of her favorite pastimes), because she couldn’t read the prices on any of the clothes. She wouldn’t drive past dark, because all the cars would get those little “angel lights” around the headlights, and she couldn’t tell if they were 100 yards away or just around the corner—well, that and because everyone else refused to be in the car with her. She had to hold things at the oddest angle to try and make the words or pictures visible through the patches that were clouding her vision.
For those of you who’ve had cataracts, you probably know what I’m talking about…and for those of you, who’ve had it removed, you probably know just as deeply what she’s felt since her surgery. Seriously, she’s almost like a brand new person. I remember just after her vision became clearer, she said she never realized how much not being able to see affects you—how much it changes how you interact with the world, how much it makes you…well, cranky. And since then she walks around with this new kind of sight—she reminds me of Mary, from my much quoted favorite scene from Little House on the Prairie when she gets her new glasses—“Pa, look at the leaves. Pa, just look at those leaves.”
We’ve talked a lot about why worship is a central part of being a Jesus follower—and here’s another one: you come to worship, to cut away all of that gritty, nasty film that clouds your vision. You come to worship for cataracts surgery…seriously. Let me take a little guess about how your week works. You wake up on a Monday morning, you either get ready to go to work, to go to school, to stay home with kids, or to do whatever you have planned for the day. You most likely have lists of things you need to accomplish, of places you need to go, of things you need to do.
You’ll do those things, go those places; you’ll eat some meals, talk to some people—you’ll work hard, maybe watch a little tv, get a little frustrated with your partner or your children; you’ll do a load of laundry, a few dishes, brush your teeth, go to bed, and wake up again on Tuesday. Is that kind of right?
And I’m wondering, where did you see Jesus? Because I’m a pastor…I’m guessing by virtue of my job, I think about these things a little more than you do, and I didn’t see him at all. Now, I believe with my entire being that even though I didn’t see him, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. I believe with my entire being that God IS active in our world.
I believe that God heals you every single day—that you are like those 10 lepers—simply doing your job (by the way—lepers jobs were to call out for people to have mercy on them—hence the calling our for Jesus to have mercy)…so you are doing your job, and someone tells you to do something or something happens like well…like Jesus saying, go show yourself to the priest…and more often than not, you’ll do just that. All those 10 lepers did…they did what they were told to do. The difference…the difference is that nine of those guys still had cataracts. Nine of those guys did what they were told to do, and their eyes still couldn’t see. But, one of them…one of them had surgery right there…right in the middle of nowhere, and when he looked up…he saw the green leaves and the blue sky and the clear skin and you know what else he saw? He saw Jesus. And I guess when you see Jesus, your body simply knows what to do, and it falls flat in front of him, and says Jesus’ favorite prayer—thank you, thank you, thank you.
So, you come to worship: one…to be reminded that indeed your vision is cloudy (I think we like to pretend it’s not). And two…we come here to let God remove that nasty film. And for those of you who’ve had eye surgery, you know it’s not the most pleasant thing—there might indeed be times where cutting away that layer of cloudiness hurts a bit—where you thought you were functioning just fine with a nice little veil between you and the world.
There might be times when you will hold onto that film for dear life, because you really like holding things at odd angles and making up what you actually see. And afterwards, it might even take awhile to get your balance, to re-orient yourself into a new way of seeing…because not having to squint at the world takes some getting used to, not having .
But, imagine, then…imagine what you will see. Because if we truly believe that God IS active; if we truly believe that God heals us, meets us on the way between Samaria and Galilee, between Lee and Dekalb, between Chicago and Rochelle; if we truly believe that, then I would imagine, cataracts surgery the good ol’ Jesus follower way…actually lets us see Jesus. That sounds pretty fabulous to me. That even though on Monday, I’ll still get up, argue with my spouse, go grocery shopping, make dinner, and put the kids to bed. I’ll still do the same things I’ve always done…but, instead of going through my day cloudy and blinded, I will see Jesus. I will hear him speaking in places where before I’d just hear noise--from little girls saying ‘you know there’s this God who will heal you;’ from grandmothers who pass on their faith through old warn baptismal gowns;’ from siblings who faithfully struggle with how best to help their mother; from little 3rd graders who are so excited to meet a brand new teacher. With that film gone—you will see Jesus.
Now there are some weeks, where the film might become so thick by Sunday evening, you don’t even make it to Monday. Sometimes I can’t even make it out those doors. But, that’s okay too. Because that’s why you keep coming back here…so we can remind each other. So, that we can hear anew in the Word where God has been active and promises to continue to be. So that we can walk by that font, and wash our eyes clean with the miraculous waters of baptism. We come back here so we can eat Jesus and be transformed from the inside out; so we can greet our brothers and sisters in peace and see that Jesus stands among us.
So, shut your eyes for a moment, feel that film fall away. Open them. Now healed ones…it’s up to you…are you going to keep going on as you’ve always gone…or are you going to fall flat on your face in front of Jesus, and whisper one of his favorite prayers--thank you, thank you, thank you. And then how about going out into the world, where the leaves might just be a crisp new shade of green, and where you pretty much want to tell everyone what God has done. And remember if Jesus starts to get a little fuzzy after awhile—remember he is indeed still there…and then get yourself back here, because your surgery is scheduled for 10:30 each and every Sunday.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
The Sermon that God wants me to preach...(that means I won't get in trouble, doesn't it?)
I really need to quit reading David Lose's columns from Working Preacher, because I get these ideas and actually do them, and one of these days I'm going to get fired. So, my congregation has an almost $200,000 endowment fund that literally is keeping the building running for 30 people. And it makes me a little angry...that maybe we're the rich man, walking past Lazarus each and every Sunday, just so we can worship in the same building their grandma did. So, my intent is to challenge them a bit--they'll each get $5 of that $200,000, and maybe they'll love spending it so much, they'll want to give it all away. If not, maybe it's time for a new call, anyway...So,here's rough outline of what I'm planning to say tomorrow. Tomorrow might end up with a Jesus loves you...Amen kind of sermon. (ps. Thanks for listening yesterday, you guys...I love you all.)
Another one of these tell you what I really want to say kind of sermons.
I read an article written recently by an English professor—and her concluding sentence. Greed is bad…it is really, really bad.
I think Jesus might agree—you know what Jesus talks more about than absolutely anything else—more than sex, more than heaven, more than fig trees—money. And why? Well, probably because we think about money more than…well, more than fig trees. Our entire lives seemed to be consumed with it—how to we earn it; how do we get more of it; how do we spend it; how do we keep it so one day we don’t have to work for it anymore. And, you know what? That makes Jesus really, really angry—because what does he want you to think of more than anything in else—no, not fig trees…but, he wants you to serve him? And that leads to how do you serve him? By seeing all those Lazarus’ on our doorsteps.
I saw him on Thursday; I was making a quick trip while the kids were at their piano and violin lessons—I saw him twice; first on my way into Wal-Mart, and then on my way out. And both times—all those questions went through my head—you know them. I wonder what he did to get here? I wonder what bills he decided not to pay. It says he has a family—probably just a ploy to make me feel bad. What good would my little dollar do. It’s not like giving him something would change the world—heck it wouldn’t even change his world. So, I drove on—cursed the stop light for being red, and for making me have to sit there and look at him for so long. And then grateful when it finally turned green, and I could drive on—pretend that he was no longer there and let someone else take responsibility for him.
You know that’s actually what happened to our dear Lazarus. Of course the English doesn’t tell us, but the Greek makes it clear that Lazarus was actually tossed haphazardly onto the front doorstep of that rich man. People who didn’t want to take care of him any longer, picked him up, dragged him across down and threw him upon the mercy of someone who had the resources to actually care for him. They threw him down upon the mercy, upon the compassion of someone who was supposed to…upon the mercy of someone who should care for him.
Most of the time, I think we’re the guys who throw Lazarus onto the rich guy’s doorstep. We think we don’t have enough; that our little bit won’t make a difference, so we give up, overlook our responsibilities and turn the problem over to someone with a little more authority, a little more clout, a little more money to share. But, you know what, we’re not them…we’re that rich guy. We have everything we need…we have more than we need—we’re told we don’t with all those blasted commercials, and new clothes and cars and things we could have—but we have more than enough. And instead of moaning that we don’t have enough—we’re called to look deeply into the eyes of that man standing at the Wal-Mart intersection…we’re called to not get defensive or suspect or doubtful…but we’re called to give out of the gifts that God has given us…and actually give it to him---give him the scraps off our table...because as one preacher said “not a single one of us will get into heaven, if we don’t have a reference letter from the poor.”
Here’s where I’m going to get a little too concrete for you—but you know who the rich man is among us? This congregation. As a whole, we have enough money to build a homeless shelter; as a whole we have enough money to feed thousands of children for a number of years; as a whole we could do a whole lot more than simply give someone the scraps that fall of our table. As a whole, we have hundreds of thousands of dollars sitting in accounts, so that we can keep these lights turned on and the fans running. I think Jesus is angry—because instead of seeing Lazarus sitting at our front gate…we’re making our own couches more comfortable and our own wine easier to swallow.
Now, before you start a coup and try to throw me out of here…I’d like to try a little experiment—because it’s quite possible I’m wrong—and the money in those accounts should just sit there to help us survive—maybe there’s something bigger and better we’re waiting for. But in the meantime—remember how we looked at our hands and saw they were God’s hands and by doing so made us use these hands differently.
What if we actually looked at this money and saw it as God’s money? What if we actually believed what we said…and acted as ones who’s lives overflow with compassion for those who are poor-who were overwhelmed with mercy that God longs for us to have for each other. What if we lived as ones who served only one Master—who served only God, and not the money we cling to.
So, this week—you indeed have a challenge. Take this $5 and use it. Keeping in mind that this is indeed God’s money—money that two days ago was sitting in our church’s account wondering what it was to be used for. Give it away—give a quarter to 20 people; give a five to one; buy a cup of coffee for someone who is lonely. But, while you’re pondering how to use it—pay attention to what happens to your heart. Do you see this money differently, because you know it’s not really your’s? I wonder then…is any of your money really your’s? Does it make you angry that you have to give it away, or does it make you joyful? Maybe…just maybe giving it away, will change more than the one who receives. Here’s the thing. Ihave no idea what’s going to happen here. I have no idea if this is the right thing to do. But, what I do know, is that Jesus wants us to serve him, through those sitting at our gates…I do know that serving, clinging to, loving our money, is not the way to get that done. What I do know, is that I’m tired of simply talking about what I believe, I’m ready to actually live it...And I also know this—that Jesus promises that whenever we give a cup of water, a bit of friend, the coat off our back to the least of these…we give it to him. I’m ready to meet Jesus…and if it takes me to give away God’s money to see him…maybe that’s a price we should be willing to pay.
Another one of these tell you what I really want to say kind of sermons.
I read an article written recently by an English professor—and her concluding sentence. Greed is bad…it is really, really bad.
I think Jesus might agree—you know what Jesus talks more about than absolutely anything else—more than sex, more than heaven, more than fig trees—money. And why? Well, probably because we think about money more than…well, more than fig trees. Our entire lives seemed to be consumed with it—how to we earn it; how do we get more of it; how do we spend it; how do we keep it so one day we don’t have to work for it anymore. And, you know what? That makes Jesus really, really angry—because what does he want you to think of more than anything in else—no, not fig trees…but, he wants you to serve him? And that leads to how do you serve him? By seeing all those Lazarus’ on our doorsteps.
I saw him on Thursday; I was making a quick trip while the kids were at their piano and violin lessons—I saw him twice; first on my way into Wal-Mart, and then on my way out. And both times—all those questions went through my head—you know them. I wonder what he did to get here? I wonder what bills he decided not to pay. It says he has a family—probably just a ploy to make me feel bad. What good would my little dollar do. It’s not like giving him something would change the world—heck it wouldn’t even change his world. So, I drove on—cursed the stop light for being red, and for making me have to sit there and look at him for so long. And then grateful when it finally turned green, and I could drive on—pretend that he was no longer there and let someone else take responsibility for him.
You know that’s actually what happened to our dear Lazarus. Of course the English doesn’t tell us, but the Greek makes it clear that Lazarus was actually tossed haphazardly onto the front doorstep of that rich man. People who didn’t want to take care of him any longer, picked him up, dragged him across down and threw him upon the mercy of someone who had the resources to actually care for him. They threw him down upon the mercy, upon the compassion of someone who was supposed to…upon the mercy of someone who should care for him.
Most of the time, I think we’re the guys who throw Lazarus onto the rich guy’s doorstep. We think we don’t have enough; that our little bit won’t make a difference, so we give up, overlook our responsibilities and turn the problem over to someone with a little more authority, a little more clout, a little more money to share. But, you know what, we’re not them…we’re that rich guy. We have everything we need…we have more than we need—we’re told we don’t with all those blasted commercials, and new clothes and cars and things we could have—but we have more than enough. And instead of moaning that we don’t have enough—we’re called to look deeply into the eyes of that man standing at the Wal-Mart intersection…we’re called to not get defensive or suspect or doubtful…but we’re called to give out of the gifts that God has given us…and actually give it to him---give him the scraps off our table...because as one preacher said “not a single one of us will get into heaven, if we don’t have a reference letter from the poor.”
Here’s where I’m going to get a little too concrete for you—but you know who the rich man is among us? This congregation. As a whole, we have enough money to build a homeless shelter; as a whole we have enough money to feed thousands of children for a number of years; as a whole we could do a whole lot more than simply give someone the scraps that fall of our table. As a whole, we have hundreds of thousands of dollars sitting in accounts, so that we can keep these lights turned on and the fans running. I think Jesus is angry—because instead of seeing Lazarus sitting at our front gate…we’re making our own couches more comfortable and our own wine easier to swallow.
Now, before you start a coup and try to throw me out of here…I’d like to try a little experiment—because it’s quite possible I’m wrong—and the money in those accounts should just sit there to help us survive—maybe there’s something bigger and better we’re waiting for. But in the meantime—remember how we looked at our hands and saw they were God’s hands and by doing so made us use these hands differently.
What if we actually looked at this money and saw it as God’s money? What if we actually believed what we said…and acted as ones who’s lives overflow with compassion for those who are poor-who were overwhelmed with mercy that God longs for us to have for each other. What if we lived as ones who served only one Master—who served only God, and not the money we cling to.
So, this week—you indeed have a challenge. Take this $5 and use it. Keeping in mind that this is indeed God’s money—money that two days ago was sitting in our church’s account wondering what it was to be used for. Give it away—give a quarter to 20 people; give a five to one; buy a cup of coffee for someone who is lonely. But, while you’re pondering how to use it—pay attention to what happens to your heart. Do you see this money differently, because you know it’s not really your’s? I wonder then…is any of your money really your’s? Does it make you angry that you have to give it away, or does it make you joyful? Maybe…just maybe giving it away, will change more than the one who receives. Here’s the thing. Ihave no idea what’s going to happen here. I have no idea if this is the right thing to do. But, what I do know, is that Jesus wants us to serve him, through those sitting at our gates…I do know that serving, clinging to, loving our money, is not the way to get that done. What I do know, is that I’m tired of simply talking about what I believe, I’m ready to actually live it...And I also know this—that Jesus promises that whenever we give a cup of water, a bit of friend, the coat off our back to the least of these…we give it to him. I’m ready to meet Jesus…and if it takes me to give away God’s money to see him…maybe that’s a price we should be willing to pay.
Friday, September 24, 2010
You win; I lose...
I am forever keeping score. I'm behind Brant by six games in our Cribbage matches. I'm vitually tied wins to losses in Words with Friends. I've done 36 loads of laundary to Steve's two. He's gotten up in the morning with the kids 182 times; I've gotten up with them 182 times in the middle of the night. My dear friend Kris has twice as many followers as me on her blog (hence, I can go longer keep track of how many people follow me). I will only arm wrestle people I know I can win (hmmm....six year old girls), and will quit absolutely everything (grad school, weight loss, writing....) before I actaully become the failure, I know I already am. This thing goes waaaay past being competitive--because it would be a good thing if it just kept me striving until I got better. But, that's not what happns. What happens, is my entire self-worth becomes tied up in numbers and games and who gives more than I do. My entire self worth depends upon if I'm good enough, or smart enough, or doing enough. And since more often than not...actually way more often than not...I do lose...well, maybe self-worth is over-rated.
Right now, I'm thinking, why even write this? Blogs are supposed to be for the good of all, right...I'm not as eloquent and uplifting as Kris, not as brilliant as Brant (sorry guys that I pick on you--you're my "I wish I were like them" right now--love you both). I merely take up space complaining and who in God's name wants to read that. But, I need to do this; I need all of this shit out of my head--and you're the ones who get to read it (so, adivce: stop reading now...you'll feel much better).
So, weight wise--you'd think 40 pounds would make me feel fabulous. Not so much, because Steve has lost 60, looks so much better than me, and because I'm so angry at him for that, I've started eating....for three days now I've had movie popcorn, frosted cookies, donuts, french fries and ice cream (probably 10000 calories in less than 40 hours) . And, you know what, I don't feel better--the scale goes higher (my self-worth goes lower) and my anger at Steve for getting smaller doesn't seem to abate.
Two--This last six months I've been having lots of pain--if you've been around me, you see me hobbling, because my feet hurt so bad, I can hardly walk. I've now been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis (which appropriately enough is a diease where your body attacks itself--a perfect one for me). And I'm now taking a low dose of a cancer drug--which makes me feel pretty crappy. And I so badly want to feel bad for myself (w/o feeling guilty), but I can't, because Steve's mom is really, really sick with complications from a lupus-like disease and is in the hospital...so she's actually sick...and now he's gone to take care of her and I'm angry that he can't stay home and take care of me. Honestly, what kind of person thinks these things...
I simply want to go bed for about three days and cry...and just so you know that butterfly crap I wrote about last post is well...nonsense. So, here's the real me--bitter, angry, tired, full of self-pity, and someone who in the next four hours has to write a sermon (that should go over really well...)...If you've actually read this far--you are indeed a saint...and maybe next time you see me, pretend you don't know my deepest, awful thoughts. I'd tell you to pray, if I really thought it mattered...so think kind thoughts for Donna (mom-in-law), tell Steve he's a great man for no leaving me yet, and simply tell me there are plenty of people with real problems in the world and to get over it...
until next time (if I don't quit this whole blog-thing)
your ridiculously unholypastormommy
Right now, I'm thinking, why even write this? Blogs are supposed to be for the good of all, right...I'm not as eloquent and uplifting as Kris, not as brilliant as Brant (sorry guys that I pick on you--you're my "I wish I were like them" right now--love you both). I merely take up space complaining and who in God's name wants to read that. But, I need to do this; I need all of this shit out of my head--and you're the ones who get to read it (so, adivce: stop reading now...you'll feel much better).
So, weight wise--you'd think 40 pounds would make me feel fabulous. Not so much, because Steve has lost 60, looks so much better than me, and because I'm so angry at him for that, I've started eating....for three days now I've had movie popcorn, frosted cookies, donuts, french fries and ice cream (probably 10000 calories in less than 40 hours) . And, you know what, I don't feel better--the scale goes higher (my self-worth goes lower) and my anger at Steve for getting smaller doesn't seem to abate.
Two--This last six months I've been having lots of pain--if you've been around me, you see me hobbling, because my feet hurt so bad, I can hardly walk. I've now been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis (which appropriately enough is a diease where your body attacks itself--a perfect one for me). And I'm now taking a low dose of a cancer drug--which makes me feel pretty crappy. And I so badly want to feel bad for myself (w/o feeling guilty), but I can't, because Steve's mom is really, really sick with complications from a lupus-like disease and is in the hospital...so she's actually sick...and now he's gone to take care of her and I'm angry that he can't stay home and take care of me. Honestly, what kind of person thinks these things...
I simply want to go bed for about three days and cry...and just so you know that butterfly crap I wrote about last post is well...nonsense. So, here's the real me--bitter, angry, tired, full of self-pity, and someone who in the next four hours has to write a sermon (that should go over really well...)...If you've actually read this far--you are indeed a saint...and maybe next time you see me, pretend you don't know my deepest, awful thoughts. I'd tell you to pray, if I really thought it mattered...so think kind thoughts for Donna (mom-in-law), tell Steve he's a great man for no leaving me yet, and simply tell me there are plenty of people with real problems in the world and to get over it...
until next time (if I don't quit this whole blog-thing)
your ridiculously unholypastormommy
Sunday, September 12, 2010
No complainin' here!
Imagine that! Today has been a fabulous day. Are you ready to hear some positive words come out of my fingers! I woke up early...which on a Sunday morning is a feat in itself. And guess what? I have officially lost 40 pounds! 40 pounds! That's 4 bags of flour, or 8 bags of sugar, or 160 sticks of butter...or in non-food terms...it's an Elijah! For some reason i'm weird THE END (Isaac took over for a minute); So, for some reason it feels real time...like I look in the mirror and can actually tell that it's working. It is indeed a wonderful feeling!
But, the day doesn't end there! Then, I got to go to church and we actually have children in sunday school! And they were so excited to get to acolyte! And then after that, I preached a pretty dang good sermon that connected with me and with others, as well (see previous post); I know God really deserves the credit, but I'm taking it today! And we sang some really great hymns (played by great musicians!)...and then...
I got to get a fry from Burger King (yeah free days!) and take a wonderful nap, and then I made an apple pie (again, yeah free day!).
It's just been one fabulous day, and I had to share! So, next time I'm moaning and complaining, remind me to look for butterflies or stray kittens...because Jesus is here. I love being tagged!
Night!
But, the day doesn't end there! Then, I got to go to church and we actually have children in sunday school! And they were so excited to get to acolyte! And then after that, I preached a pretty dang good sermon that connected with me and with others, as well (see previous post); I know God really deserves the credit, but I'm taking it today! And we sang some really great hymns (played by great musicians!)...and then...
I got to get a fry from Burger King (yeah free days!) and take a wonderful nap, and then I made an apple pie (again, yeah free day!).
It's just been one fabulous day, and I had to share! So, next time I'm moaning and complaining, remind me to look for butterflies or stray kittens...because Jesus is here. I love being tagged!
Night!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
You've been tagged...
Our faith life is a lot like a game of tag. Sometimes we hear something coming up behind us, and just as the words “I finally got you” are uttered from God’s lips, we yell “oh no you don’t” and we dodge God’s touch and get away. Because we are not simply not ready for the chase to be over. So, we wildly run in the other direction, or we quietly turn the corner, or we slip into the shadows, hoping that at least for a moment, we can stay free; at least for a moment we can pretend that God will never find us and our lives will never have to change.
Other times you’ll run and run and finally you simply give in, and let yourself be tagged. Writer Anne Lamott says Jesus is a lot like a stray cat. He just keeps following you around, nipping at your heels, looking longingly at you through your windows, trying desperately to come into your home; and finally, after shooing him away, and trying to pawn him off on friends, in utter frustration you fling open the door—“fine, you’ve got me. Come on in.” And the cat Jesus settles himself on your lap and the game is over.
And then, there are those times when you feel like you’re the only one playing. When you find yourself in this huge field of shrubs and thorns and really tall grass, and you look around, and you wonder—am I still in the game? Has everyone gone home and forgotten to tell me? Is God still ‘it?’ And you even start to shout out loud—“hey, come and find me…where’d you go. I’m right here.”
I have to be honest with you…I spend a lot of time in that field, surrounded by prickly grass, wondering if the game has ended without me. One of the great things about being a pastor is I get to talk a lot about God; one of the bad things about being a pastor is I have to think a lot about God. And the more I think, the more I struggle, and I turn God into this really knowable reality. I may preach about God being present and active and about how God works in the world. But, when I think about when was the last time God tagged me—it feels like I’m playing hide-n-seek, and God’s forgotten that I’m still hiding.
Until last week—last week some of you came to listen to Joe Kissick, the author of the Fourth Fisherman—and although he said a lot of wonderful things, what stood out to me, was in this crazy journey of searching for three Mexican fisherman, he started to doubt if he was doing the right thing, and he longed for God to send him a sign, to tell him if he was going the right way. Along the way, a plane ticket came open on a previously booked flight he really needed to be on; along the way, he was driving through the jungle and suddenly his little car was completely surrounded by hundreds of butterflies, beckoning him to move forward. Along the way he was tagged by God; God found him time and time again and ushered him into what turned into a vital new ministry. I left that evening longing for God to tag me; longing to feel something…anything…for God to find me, tag me, and curl contentedly up in my lap.
This story is long…but the next week, I suppose this last week has been kind of difficult—I won’t go into details (imagine that), but again I found myself doubting my call, questioning my worth, wondering if indeed the game was over or changed on me midstream. And the following happen, I kid you not; I was walking down my drive way, looking down at the ground, ready to cry, and I see the shadows of three butterflies—seriously, three butterflies—and I look up and they are circling around my head. And in that instant I was tagged. In that instant God found me; and I was no longer wandering and waist deep in that awful grass, wondering where God had gone, but in that instant I knew Jesus had indeed been following me around like a stray kitten longing to be welcomed, I simply had my curtains drawn, my head under the pillow and had been closing my eyes to the butterflies that surrounded me.
And you know what I had to do to get to see those butterflies. Absolutely nothing. There was nothing that I did. There was no confessing my sins; there was no huge prayer that I prayed; there was no major bible study I went to, or book that I read. There was simply me…walking in a field run-over with scratchy grass and when I looked up I was tagged. I was lost and Jesus found me.
Just like that sheep that was found wandering in the field; he didn’t do anything but get lost. That coin missing under the sofa—yep…didn’t do anything but jump out of the woman’s purse. It was the compassionate shepherd…the faithful woman that did the searching; it was the seekers—the “it-ones” who stopped everything they were doing, to play the most elaborate game of tag and who wouldn’t stop until every last one had been tapped on the shoulder. And then what happened? They all rejoiced—not just a “goodness gracious, I finally found what I was looking for” but an all-out, throw-down party, where there is dancing and singing and laughing and stories and joy—pure unadulterated joy. Because when you’ve spent so much time wandering around in an empty field…when you’ve been laying for days with the dust bunnies under the sofa…when you’ve been wondering if everyone has gone home…once you see those butterflies, once Jesus taps you on the shoulder, there is nothing you would rather do than jump into God’s arms and join the party.
So, what do you have to do this week? Absolutely nothing. Be lost…wander in the field, look down at the ground, lie under the sofa; because Jesus is “it” and there is nothing Jesus likes better than a good game of tag—and the next best thing? To throw one heck of a party.
Other times you’ll run and run and finally you simply give in, and let yourself be tagged. Writer Anne Lamott says Jesus is a lot like a stray cat. He just keeps following you around, nipping at your heels, looking longingly at you through your windows, trying desperately to come into your home; and finally, after shooing him away, and trying to pawn him off on friends, in utter frustration you fling open the door—“fine, you’ve got me. Come on in.” And the cat Jesus settles himself on your lap and the game is over.
And then, there are those times when you feel like you’re the only one playing. When you find yourself in this huge field of shrubs and thorns and really tall grass, and you look around, and you wonder—am I still in the game? Has everyone gone home and forgotten to tell me? Is God still ‘it?’ And you even start to shout out loud—“hey, come and find me…where’d you go. I’m right here.”
I have to be honest with you…I spend a lot of time in that field, surrounded by prickly grass, wondering if the game has ended without me. One of the great things about being a pastor is I get to talk a lot about God; one of the bad things about being a pastor is I have to think a lot about God. And the more I think, the more I struggle, and I turn God into this really knowable reality. I may preach about God being present and active and about how God works in the world. But, when I think about when was the last time God tagged me—it feels like I’m playing hide-n-seek, and God’s forgotten that I’m still hiding.
Until last week—last week some of you came to listen to Joe Kissick, the author of the Fourth Fisherman—and although he said a lot of wonderful things, what stood out to me, was in this crazy journey of searching for three Mexican fisherman, he started to doubt if he was doing the right thing, and he longed for God to send him a sign, to tell him if he was going the right way. Along the way, a plane ticket came open on a previously booked flight he really needed to be on; along the way, he was driving through the jungle and suddenly his little car was completely surrounded by hundreds of butterflies, beckoning him to move forward. Along the way he was tagged by God; God found him time and time again and ushered him into what turned into a vital new ministry. I left that evening longing for God to tag me; longing to feel something…anything…for God to find me, tag me, and curl contentedly up in my lap.
This story is long…but the next week, I suppose this last week has been kind of difficult—I won’t go into details (imagine that), but again I found myself doubting my call, questioning my worth, wondering if indeed the game was over or changed on me midstream. And the following happen, I kid you not; I was walking down my drive way, looking down at the ground, ready to cry, and I see the shadows of three butterflies—seriously, three butterflies—and I look up and they are circling around my head. And in that instant I was tagged. In that instant God found me; and I was no longer wandering and waist deep in that awful grass, wondering where God had gone, but in that instant I knew Jesus had indeed been following me around like a stray kitten longing to be welcomed, I simply had my curtains drawn, my head under the pillow and had been closing my eyes to the butterflies that surrounded me.
And you know what I had to do to get to see those butterflies. Absolutely nothing. There was nothing that I did. There was no confessing my sins; there was no huge prayer that I prayed; there was no major bible study I went to, or book that I read. There was simply me…walking in a field run-over with scratchy grass and when I looked up I was tagged. I was lost and Jesus found me.
Just like that sheep that was found wandering in the field; he didn’t do anything but get lost. That coin missing under the sofa—yep…didn’t do anything but jump out of the woman’s purse. It was the compassionate shepherd…the faithful woman that did the searching; it was the seekers—the “it-ones” who stopped everything they were doing, to play the most elaborate game of tag and who wouldn’t stop until every last one had been tapped on the shoulder. And then what happened? They all rejoiced—not just a “goodness gracious, I finally found what I was looking for” but an all-out, throw-down party, where there is dancing and singing and laughing and stories and joy—pure unadulterated joy. Because when you’ve spent so much time wandering around in an empty field…when you’ve been laying for days with the dust bunnies under the sofa…when you’ve been wondering if everyone has gone home…once you see those butterflies, once Jesus taps you on the shoulder, there is nothing you would rather do than jump into God’s arms and join the party.
So, what do you have to do this week? Absolutely nothing. Be lost…wander in the field, look down at the ground, lie under the sofa; because Jesus is “it” and there is nothing Jesus likes better than a good game of tag—and the next best thing? To throw one heck of a party.
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