The Christian Distinctive (Warning: soapbox alert)

“And if you do good to those who do good to you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do the same.” Luke 6:33

I am a Pentecostal. I am glad to be a Pentecostal (notice I did not say “proud”). I have been “Pentecostal” from within the first year or so of my faith in Christ. I am happy that my acquaintance with Christ was not loaded down with a bunch of doctrinal baggage that explained away what are commonly called the “gifts of the Spirit.” From early on, in a Bible study I attended with a dozen or more people who found Christ together in the mid 70s, we simply read the Bible together and accepted what it said as if it were meant for us as well.

Unrehearsed

Unrehearsed

You set the stage that day,
for a backward age that might send
you off down the years
before tears and stains painted wrinkles
at the corner of practiced smiles.

You wished it clean, the mind and matter
that scattered your private dreams toward the sky,
seen by every passerby, but still unnamed.

Your innocence passed too fast; forward through
the crowded tunnel where those who enter
all arrive at the same destination. Outside that
grand opening, with eyes squinted shut at the sun’s
silver blast,
we face each other with nowhere else to go.

You made your decision, unfeigned, unpainted;
while the grain showed the pattern of joy and pain,
your eyes caught every motion, your mouth once
announcing ocean high and low, ebb and flood;

While most of us just cover up with scented suds.

You called us to our places that day,
far ahead of your age, no wrinkles named
by curled lips, and blackbird feet;
you smelled the air, heard the spring like
lilacs overhead, and knew, old or early,
the day could not wait until more audience arrived.

She stepped out from among us, began the truth-telling
(like a folk story retelling), that helped spell-bound
the one or two, either side of her,
who heard her eschew a fully staged confession, to
trade it for the first
unrehearsed whisper.

I Do not Qualify

I Do not Qualify

(“After this he went out and saw a tax collector named Levi, sitting at the tax booth. And he said to him, ‘Follow me.’” Luke 5:27)

How many times have You asked me;
over and over until I got up out of my crouch,
or just once, while You waited for the Yes
to run from my mouth to my feet? Direction
and discreet turns of phrase to keep me disguised
well enough.

I could follow, my name misspelled enough,
to enjoy the walk without explaining my choice.

Pretty soon I found the rags You left me, donned them,
looked bereft as I thought You meant me,
and talked just like the guys on the radio who
told me where to turn in my Bible while I was driving
deliveries for the downtown pharmacy in the VW bug
without a muffler. I don’t think I followed better then,
but the rest of Your team certainly thought I did.

Finally, a decade or so, I think my heart is finally in it,
but more lost than the day I left my seat. I don’t mean
to complain, but a high school education makes me feel
like no one at all when I am sure I could have studied, striding
down Berkeley’s Halls on at least a scholarship or half.
But I left the hope for higher learning thinking You meant
my sight set on Higher learning yet. I will follow You to
the end,
I will.
But we will have to have a conversation about that at
the end,
we will.

My heart is in it, following You, I mean. My feet and hands
and voice and wardrobe are sadder than they have ever been.
All I want to do is ask each one at the crossroad to
follow You,
but it is not enough, and teary I remember pictures I
nailed on the dream walls; preaching to half a thousand,
teaching to hundreds who memorized the notes in hand.

I do not qualify for the big sky palaces, they want Masters of
Divinity,
not Community College dropouts like me.

My heart is in it, following You, I mean. I’m must not sure
where that means for me to go, my voice is throaty, my thoughts
disjointed, my eyes red with tears, and my feet swollen. I love You
more,
and more Your people as well.

For me, please, grant the hundreds of friends and fields and
mother and brothers You said I would have in
this world
as well as
the world
to come.

Why I Keep Following (When it Hurts so Bad)

“God’s kingdom isn’t just a lot of words. It is power.” 1 Corinthians 4:20

The question hangs at the end of so many sentences. Those less connected to faith in Christ might be more likely to verbalize it, but it is not far from the thoughts of many who have been at least “church folk” for many years. I know the question well, because it is the one I have wrestled with the last few years: “If Jesus does not, or cannot, relieve this constant suffering of headache pain you endure, why do you keep following Him?”

Telling the Good News

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me. He has anointed me to tell the good news to poor people. He has sent me to announce freedom for prisoners. He has sent me so that the blind will see again. He wants me to free those who are beaten down.” Luke 4:18

Jesus returned to His hometown of Nazareth and attended synagogue as was His custom. He had been teaching at synagogues throughout the area. This time things were different. I do not know if He had quoted Scripture or spoken there before, but this Sabbath He made quite an impression. Quoting from Isaiah 61 about ultimate freedom God would bring to Israel, particularly through His Messiah, He put the scroll away and sat down.

Just Plant

Just Plant

(“The one who plants and the one who waters really do not matter. It is God who matters, because he makes the plant grow.” 1 Corinthians 3:7)

The announcements overheard, the ones that woke the
morning drowse and weave,
implied the job would never be done well enough,
and numbers weren’t as numerous as the count
of harvests years ago.

It rattled expectation, the promise that waited so far
out of reach. We could run faster then, true enough,
but we usually missed half our turns in our haste
to break the speed records of a generation ago.

The money rolls in just fine, sometimes between the lines,
but the worry doesn’t change much, dollars or thousands,
and the measure is never the bank account’s balance;
but the friends we take the chances with. They are better comfort,
finer enhancement than antique candelabras in the remodeled narthex.

It still remains, though, that the numbers are lower than
the days of lush vegetation in the backyard garden;
roses in rows from fence to garage; tomatoes dressed
green to red climbing the fence along the patio. These days,
having put off planting, grass grows taller than the single rose bush
I planted

The week after Dad died.

I’m embarrassed about my depression,
blushing that so much space is filled with so few faces,
and hope, now, when my lope is slower, to remember to

Just plant the rows for watering.

First Verse

First Verse

“It is because of God that you are in Christ Jesus. He became wisdom from God for us. This means that He made us righteous and holy, and He delivered us.” 1 Corinthians 1:30

When the fingernail clouds arise from the west
and the air is still with laughter on its breath
don’t give way, don’t give in, don’t question the moment,
don’t give way to the how or the when; just wait for the rain
as you have time and again.

About My Father's Business

“Jesus said to them, ‘Why were you looking for me? Didn't you know that I must be in my Father's house?’” Luke 2:49

Other translations have Jesus say, “Didn’t you know I must be about my Father’s business?” The meaning does not change much either way. But it started me thinking about the things I expect Jesus to do, and the places I expect Him to show up.

The Apple of My Eye

The Apple of My Eye

(“He shielded him and cared for him; he guarded him as the apple of His eye.” Deuteronomy 32:10b)

I don’t know how people do it. How do they take a flimsy bit of plastic, place it on the tip of their finger, and paste it onto their eye with barely a blink? Our eyes are among the most sensitive areas of the body. A speck of dust we might not notice on our tongue wreaks havoc when caught in our eyes. Run the tip of a needle across your arm and then think about doing the same thing to one of your eyes. Did you grimace?

As sensitive as the eye is to touch, and especially pain, it is interesting that God says to Israel (and, by extension, to those who follow Christ) that they are the apple of His eye. It is a familiar idiom, used for someone or something that is the object of our affection. It is a person who we greatly cherish. I might use it of my wife, or of any of my children, and we would immediately understand the relationships. “She is the apple of my eye, I don’t know what I would do without her.”

The Hebrew for this phrase can be literally translated, “The Little Man of the Eye”. It is probably the reference to the tiny reflection of oneself we can see in other people’ pupils. I immediately had an image of “me” imprinted on God’s very pupils. What an extraordinary thought! To think that God not only thinks about us, but has us always “in His eye”.

We understand this is a metaphor. God is not physical, therefore does not have an actual “eye” to see with. But here’s the thing about metaphors, they almost always are a picture of something greater than themselves. So, as beautiful as it seems for our image to be in God’s eyes, the reality is even greater. It is far beyond our imagination to even understand the depth of God’s affection for each one of us.

So, what about the apple of our eyes? Think about the affection and pride that wells up in your heart about your children. You want to show them off. You carry picture of them in your wallet (sorry…on your IPod), and show them off to anyone who will see. Or, if your “apple” is a prized possession, perhaps a treasure heirloom, you keep it safe, perhaps locked in a cabinet. You shine or clean it, and bring it out to show people when they visit.

So, when God calls those who trust Him the apple of His eye, He wants us to never doubt the depth of His affection. The verse tells us He shields and cares for those who are the apple of His eye. Though we may wander and not give God much of a nod, He is always reaching out to us, using everything at His disposal to help us see His desire to protect and care for us.

God is the perfect parent. Think about what you would do protect your child, the apple of your eye. If possible, you would remove every harmful thing from their path, and if someone threatened them, you would rise up immediately. You would never second guess any action you took to protect them, putting your life before theirs if necessary.

That is how much God adores the human race. As dysfunctional as we can be, as often as we mistreat each other in personal, corporate and even national levels, He still is filled with compassionate for each of us. Even if I am a merely mediocre dad, I still ache for my child when they are going astray or in harm’s way. God provided all that was needed for us to return to Him and not have to face His anger.

Though every action has a consequence on this earth, God chose to take the eternal consequences of every wrong decision, every sin, upon Himself. Jesus was God’s “ransom”, paying the debt we piled up by following our own way. He did that, not so He would have a bunch of people get together for an hour every Sunday and sing songs about Him (some of which people don’t even understand).

God sacrifice His own “Apple”, His own Son, so we could have a constant, unbroken relationship with Him. Here is where I fall so short. Why, when God has treated me so good, when He has given everything so nothing would separate me from His affection; why do I still insist on going my own way? If I am the apple of His eye, how much more should I respond with overflowing joy and love toward Him.

Why not pray as David did: “Protect me like the apple of your eye. Hide me in the shadow of your wings.” (Psalm 17:8). How quick are you to protect your pupils from even the smallest speck? That is the attention God shows those who call to Him. Enjoy His love, there is nothing better than being the “apple of God’s eye!”

Every Crossroad

Every Crossroad

(“No, the message isn't far away at all. In fact, it's really near you. It's in your mouth and in your heart so that you can obey it.” Deuteronomy 31:6)

Every crossroad, I choose home;
every ballot I cast is for familiar abode.
Family or not, friends or foe, all I long for,
all ever sought is the address I remember,
the phone number still stenciled, a prefix of
letter, not numbers; every memory, I consider
home.

Thank you, cabin in the foothills,
chili simmering in the iron pot, hot to the touch,
just above the fireplace embers. Thank you, recipe
only mom and a first-class chef remembered.
(We found it handwritten in the basement the day
after she died.)

Nearly each smile, home is over my shoulder;
and true the same of tears, when I heard the shouting matches
muffled near bedtime. There were no fingers upon the wall
to interpret their meaning; mom and dad have taken them silent
to their graves.

Every sad day, I need home;
every joyful is a young sister and younger cousin
who rode upon my shoulders. I never said no,
the big brother and oldest, I was proud to provide
a higher vantage for a wide-eyed view of the parade.

Every wish is a wish for home;
each breath and every stutter
I only wonder why the houses I lived in
are shacks and lean-tos now in a world
more dangerous than family within
the walls and windows always warmer than winter
outside.

The people are leaving, walking away,
who populated home-days and nighttime respite.
Why are my memories, my paintings finished long ago,
so appealing, and unreachable
than today’s sofa that, I hope,

My children remember as home.

Every new day, I view home;
thank you, blessed sojourn that,
though my yesterday is dream and rotted nails,
tomorrow may be the reality,
the home my Father started ages and parallels,
dimensions and creations
ago.

Solitude or Isolation?

“The little child grew up and became strong in spirit. He lived in lonely places until the day came for him to show himself to Israel.” Luke 1:80

Last Sunday I mentioned the dangers of living in isolation. Things become intensified and magnified when we cut ourselves off from others for too long. If we tend to be fearful, our personal segregation may make us even more paranoid. If we tend to think too highly of ourselves, isolation can result in a greater conceit. We have no human interaction to provide the normal checks upon our inner fears or haughtiness.

At the taco dinner served following that morning’s service a lady showed me the notes she had taken, saying that there were good things about being alone as well. I was quick to agree and her point was well-taken. I think it can be summed up in two words: isolation and solitude.

John the Baptist practiced solitude. He found the quiet of the “lonely places” helped him become better acquainted with God. As the woman at church said, “Sometimes I need to get alone to get my thoughts together.” She needed solitude to keep the everyday noises from drowning the quieter voice of God.

I think modern society has produced great isolation and not nearly enough real solitude. In a greater degree than before we have the opportunity to work at home. Or we commute to work with people we never see outside of work. If we attend a large church we may not have real connections outside of scheduled weekly services. Families live farther apart and move more often than ever before. The chance for life-long friendship is almost a thing of the past.

I hope this is merely an observation of our culture and not someone longing for the “good old days”. I swore when I turned 50 I would never become one of those who always looked back and wondered how the world functioned “today” when things were so much better “yesterday”. Mother Teresa commented that the western world has a poverty, not of money, but of real relationships. We go through life without many relationships that go much deeper than the surface.

A few years ago I wrote for the weekly newspaper in our town. For Veteran’s Day I was assigned a story about a man who had served in Viet Nam. I was told to go gently, he had some experiences which had greatly affected him, and he might clam up if I were to probe too much. The paper wanted highlights, not an in-depth report.

I called and set up an appointment. When I stopped by his house he welcomed me, and we sat at the dining table, just two men; nearly a generation apart. He began to tell me his story and where he was stationed. He brought out his old uniform, and he laughed when I asked if he could still fit into it.

That was the first fifteen minutes. I spent another hour with him. I do not remember exactly how it happened, and it may have been because he knew I was also a pastor, but before the first half hour was up he was spilling out his heart to me. He told me things that he had told no one. “I haven’t even shared these with my wife,” he told me. The tears flowed, and I saw a man who had suffered isolation for years, even having good friends and a supportive wife. He was afraid how people would receive him and his heartbreaking stories.

John the Baptist practiced solitude. Isolation often enables us to hide our hearts from others. Solitude is meant to produce exactly the opposite. As we are alone, just our thoughts and God, we encounter the choices between continuing to hide who we are, or open ourselves to the God who already sees. Solitude teaches us to stop hiding.

Our solitude may be fifteen minutes during the morning, a day during the work week, or even several days in which we get away alone, and let God speak to our hearts. Solitude always has and endpoint, isolation seems to go on forever. Solitude invites God to open our heart, isolation is a way to hide out from God and others.

As we learn that it is safe to be open with God, we receive others with more grace. As we see people like my Veteran friend, we become welcome hearers whose only role is to let people tell their stories with acceptance. People need validation that their story was ok, that they will not be rejected or abandoned because of something they consider too dark or hurtful to share.

Having spent time in the “lonely places” John the Baptist could be truly “on point” as he started his ministry. In that solitude he learned what many of us only learn second-hand. We learn “about” God, but He knew God Himself. Perhaps a bit of solitude would teach us all a little more about who God truly is.

The Former Country is Fading

The Former Country is Fading

(“Therefore, accept each other in the same way that Christ accepted you. He did this to bring glory to God.” Romans 15:7)

Did you come to the door just to tell me
that the party time had changed: and
those who peeked from behind the curtain,
were they early or late? or today’s top 10 list
with no room for 11?

Did you think your silence in the face of truth
made it any less a lie? Were the promises you made,
but had no intentions of keeping, worth the same confessions
you eked from the mouth of one already sweating
grief over his own slide down the black volcanic ash?

What word of knowledge did you possess,
to pretend to a microscope into my heart?
What word of wisdom did you purchase,
that inserted a microphone into my unspoken?

Whose prophet are you? And what puppets
wore your hands like gloves? Who gave you permission
to play like Pharaoh and send the helpless to another
desert drier than a year of chastisement making bricks
without straw and without pay?

Whose apostle sent you? That after the wander,
and after the promise, and after another
semi-miraculous crossing, you waited till we
finally caught our breath and announced, after the cure,
that there was no healing after all.

I’ve sent too many home myself, peeked out from the window
and pretended I was not home. You and I are no different
though, I wish you only the best, and
I wish
some of us were not the only
who had to confess.

The day grows slow now
and the former country is fading. This is an old song,
and the words are memorized, while the healing, without
prophets or evangelists or laying on of hands or vials of oil
is undeniably Divine.

Calm Down

“Do not say, ‘I’ll pay you back for this wrong!’ Wait for the Lord, and he will deliver you.” Proverbs 20:22

Sometimes the pain that continually plagues us is not the result of wounds inflicted by others, but rather are the result of repeated attempts to pay back the wrong. It is something like a fire. The first wound is a flaming cluster of dry kindling. To repay the burn, we throw our own inflammatory actions onto the fire. Not only is there no balm or healing, but we actually create even greater heat.

These “pay back” sessions rarely end with the first fiery response. Burning words and actions aflame with retribution only feed fierce blaze until it is nearly impossible to extinguish. More lives are damaged as a result of the desire to pay back a wrong that was done to us.

The initial pain, if worked through in a healing fashion, can be manageable. But the pain which results from constant sessions of payback never heals. Like a wound that someone constantly picks, it has little chance to completely heal.

Most of the time we think the person deserves our payback. Their actions or words directly hurt us, and the only course of action is to make the playing field even one more time. Let them feel the hurt to the same degree that they caused it. This might work if we human beings were rational beings who always acted out of simple logic. But we do not. More times than not, the person doing the wounding actually believes they are in the right!

Think about it. The last time someone was hurt by a word or action on your part, when it was shown to you, didn’t you think your actions were justified? You were simply trying to set someone straight, or you wanted to correct someone before they ran aground. You were only trying to help, right? So, if they attacked when your attempts to “help” inaccurately stabbed them in the heart, you might react wounded yourself.

Slow down! Cool down! Let the initial rush of anger and hurt pass by. Though your emotional reflexes insist you must act now, that is not true. You can wait. If you unwisely pick up your club to hit back, you not only will cause more wounds, you will obviously not display the Spirit of Christ.

It is no great wisdom to say, “Forgive”. Though more difficult than the mere admonition, it heals what would turn into a raging infection if we take the battle into our own hands. To let old injuries irritate your heart, and to plan how to get even only keeps those old wounds open and creates new ones.

When you feel the pull to answer back, especially if you think you will look like a fool if you don’t, do what this proverb advises: “Wait for the Lord, and He will deliver you.” It costs us nothing to heed this advice. Lay the hurt before God, tell Him every angry thought, every burning nerve ending. To cry, shout, yell our pain out at God Himself is the start of healing, without the side effect of causing further conflagration.

Then, believe what He said, that He will deliver you. He will do it, though we have no idea how, though we might never guess His final method, He will make things right. We are often made to look foolish when we answer back in anger. But, to wait upon God gives Him the chance to work, not only on the perpetrator’s heart, but also upon our own.

The more we wrestle with ugliness, the more it sticks to us. The more we stoke the fires of conflict, the greater the damage will be. So, take some steps to slow your mind and emotions down. Get rid of the energy in non-violent ways. Write it out, pray it out, sing it out, whatever works for you. But refuse to be a part of an ongoing wildfire nearly impossible to put out.

Wait, yes, that means some patience; but wait. He will deliver.

Got Some Good News

"Got Some Good News"

(“And He said to them, ‘Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation.’” Mark 16:15)

I never collected them, but I knew people who did,
butterflies all classified by shapes and size and color.
I followed a friend who captured them, a borrowed net
and plastic jar with holes for my specimen to breathe.
I caught a few, counted the hues, iridescent absorption of
light and reflected blush of foliage, they fluttered a bit
and, unable to escape, usually drooped to the bottom of the jar,
still breathing I think.

It didn’t occur to me then, a child who would rather see any bug
up close, but I think they are more beautiful in their flights together.
(I think they call the swarms or rabbles, and neither fit the glory
of those that transform from caterpillar armies). But I enjoyed
microscopes
and looked up close to see feather legs and scaled wings.

But I think they are beautiful, butterflies in whirlwind bunches,
a Pollock mobile freeformed against the sky.

So, I set free my little detainee and went with the friend I followed
home
for peanut butter sandwiches. He showed me his pins and labels
and I finished my sandwich, walked home quickly to find the bush
where the butterflies filled every gap. Standing upon the blossoms’ center,
they were countless ribbons who waved the breezes with their wings
so I thought someone was surely on their way home.

I have not seen a butterfly collection in decades, dead, dry,
pinned against the faded cardboard. But I did enjoy, and would love
to see it again,
a wedding where, alive and waiting their cue,
dozens, gossamer and streaked, leapt upon the sky from the midst
of a decorated box at just the moment the attendants wiped the
last tear of joy from their eyes.

You Dance with Wings

(written for my friend, and one of my favorite singers, Juliet Simms)

"You Dance with Wings"
(for Juliet Simms)

You laid down old words, a tune from the world
and made us smile. You laid it down for just a moment
and we knew we would love everything you offered.

You burned up new songs, a longing for the world
and makes us cry. You burned them up and down
like fire and took us straight to the heart of the matter.

You cried over joy, your eyes were open doors
and made us see. You cried like a child and smiled
like ice cream after passing your first spelling test.

You danced with wings, you soared to purple skies
and made us fly. You danced it round like the shy
girl who knows the secret we all wish she would tell.

You love like rain, you poured it across the air
and made us hear. You loved like drenching the sky
with new blooms that grow from the first word you sing.

He said What?

“Giving the right answer at the right time makes everyone happy.” Proverbs 15:23

Good conversation is truly an art. To be honest, as good a communicator as I can be when I’m “up front”, but me one on one with someone I don’t know well and I can sometimes clam up. I’ve always been that way. I even preferred double dating because it was so much easier to talk, not having to carry one whole side of the conversation.