Scars Lose their Luster

Scars Lose their Luster

(“The Lord gives his people strength; the Lord grants his people security.” Psalm 29:11)

Scars lose their luster only in the eyes of those
who have never seen the strength it takes to
stand in the way while soundwaves encircle
like sharks.

It takes a different breath to blow summer bubbles than
to extinguish birthday candles. The gentle air slides inside
the soapy film and it folds upon itself. The huge inhale and
puffed out cheeks whoosh past the wicks and complete the
next stage of gray. Each, in their own way,
are rainbow art and photography.

Look closely at the cratered face,
there once was something magic there,

that either disintegrated upon impact
or was excised by the scalpels of a thousand tongues.

Look clearly at the furtive eyes,
there once was something sparkling there,
that either evaporated upon drought
or was dispatched by the hackles of a thousand guns.

And still, and swinging on the pendulum of song…

It is the power that allows the widow to cry,
it is the peace that encourages the barroom reply,
it is the abundance that fully walks upon the earth,
it is the language that defines all as equal worth;
all is spiritual in the tongue of the redeemed.

It is gritty, not ghostly;
it is dirt clods not prayer cloths.
It is cattle and hay, new births and old departures.
All and in all, the strength is as the day.

We will, and swaying on the compasses of song…

Some Kind of Joy

Some Kind of Joy

(“The Lord is my strength and my shield, in whom my heart trusts. I am helped, so my heart rejoices; with my song I praise him.” Psalm 28:7)

When did I start thinking that my entire live would be lived
above
ground?

There are a lot of people who have cared,
but not enough.

Along the way while trying my best
someone plowed under my confidence.

Much of my imagination was buried below
the horizon while
I slept for decades.

And now dreams wake me growling
at invasions and protestations
that hide in the light of day.

The darkness can instruct me,
send me, arouse me to listen
to the lower chambers of my heart.

Faces I have not seen in 40 years
greet me in love while nearer acquaintances
stay silent.

A lot of people have cared, but is it
enough?

It is not death I fear,
(it is closer than later)
but more life underground.

My songs have change, the lyrics
like water,
fit the forms of my life completely.

I am moving out from approval
to some kind of joy that fits my
doubts and jagged melancholy.

In this I rest, beneath the topsoil and
atop the buttes,
I shall be I

And I shall rejoice the One-that-Is
has planted me, shone on me,
coaxed me and nurtured me

In the quiet rhythms of life underground.

Dwelling in the Center

Dwelling in the Center

“Then the column of smoke covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the tent.” Exodus 40:34

The final few chapters of Exodus read like complicated instructions for Lincoln Logs or an Erector Set. Dimensions, materials, and colors are all specified for the tent of meeting. It can be tiresome reading, especially if you are not sure what a cubit is.

When I was young, we would visit my grandparents in Tulsa, OK. My Uncle Veril had an Erector Set. I loved playing with it. It even had an electric motor so you could build a tower with a functioning windmill. Sad to say, I never got that far in my building skills. I have never liked reading instructions; they feel like a waste of time. Just get in and get the thing built, is the way I roll.

I was thankful that we had two men who understood construction when we built our new church building in Harvey, ND. If I had been in charge… (Well, never mind. It would have fallen down by now.) But guided by two men who knew what we needed and gave good instructions, we started with a foundation of a 6400 square foot building that was perfect within a quarter inch on the diagonal. From there a beautiful place of worship arose.

If we only had the Old Testament, we might think that the building we worship in is the most important idea for meeting with God. After Moses completes the intricate instructions, God finally inhabits the tent of meeting in a column of smoke. It is so dense that Moses could not even go inside.

When the smoke lifted from the tent, the Israelites would break camp and follow it. Exodus ends by telling us that “the Lord’s column stayed over the tent during the day, and there was fire in the smoke at night. In this way all the Israelites could see the column throughout their travels.”

In a moment we’ll look at what the New Testament has to say about this. But let’s stay with this image for now. Imagine being among the tribes of Israel, watching the tent finally erected, and then a column of dense smoke fills its interior. You have only experienced God through the mediation of Moses until that point. As far as you know, God talks to Moses, Moses talks to you. God separates himself from humanity.

But now God actually shows up in the middle of your encampment. Yes, it is after doing the requisite preparations, but that makes sense too. Even if God does want to be among us, we also need to know that He is different than we are. The tent, in the middle of humanity, signals God’s relationship to humanity. He is a God who relates to us where we are.

And, God fully fills the tent. So much so that Moses cannot even enter. God not only dwells among them, but God leads them. No more through the mediation of Moses, the people can see for themselves that God is present. And when the column of smoke moves up and out of the tent, they know it is time to move on.

When John describes how Jesus came into the world he says, “The Word became human and lived among us. We saw his glory. It was the glory that the Father shares with his only Son, a glory full of kindness and truth.” The phrase “lived among us” means “tented with us.” Jesus is the presence of God in flesh and blood. Now, notice this. In Exodus it said that the “glory of the Lord filled the tent.” John says of Jesus, “We saw his glory. It was the glory that the Father shares with his only Son.”

The tent of meeting in the wilderness was a picture of what God ultimately wanted to do. God no longer must be experienced in some sort of manifestation. He has already shown up in His Son Jesus. 

Let me be honest. For a good 20 years of my Christian life I went to worship services and meetings and longed for “God’s presence.” I would stay late to pray. Others would tell of their experiences of a “glory cloud” or some similar thing, and I would seek for the same experience. I wanted “all” of God. I do not want to negate anyone’s personal experience, but I do need to make this statement. If you have trusted Jesus, you have all of God within that you will ever have! God never doesn’t show up, because Jesus dwells in you now.

Here is how Paul describes it: “God wanted his people throughout the world to know the glorious riches of this mystery—which is Christ living in you, giving you the hope of glory.” Colossians 1:27 You do not have to pray harder, read the Bible longer, attend more meetings or any other religious action. Christ is all and in all. And all of Christ dwells in you.

“Why, then, don’t I feel like He is there?” Ah, that questions haunted me as well, especially when I heard other people’s tales of spiritual and mystical experiences. (Let me say again, I do not discount anyone’s experience, but to long for what someone else has can become a form of covetousness and even idolatry.)

Let me give just one idea that helps me. This time, not the erector set, but packing a car for a trip. My mom was the most fastidious packer in the world. She once packed a Volkswagen van for a two-month cross country camping trip with all the equipment and a family of six! But packed well, there was space for the whole family.

It may not be the best analogy but think of it like this. We all have lots of stuff packed into our lives. And they are not good or bad things, they are just the stuff of living. We have jobs, school, meals to prepare, laundry to wash, cars to maintain; all of these occupy our mind and our time. With so much occupying the center of our life, it is not easy to consider that Christ is actually dwelling within us.

Now consider the deepest part of your being, your soul. Think about the deepest desires, the highest beauty, the music that inspires you, the friends that make you laugh the most. All of these are gifts from God. Even your unmet needs or tears of sorrow are places to experience Christ. When your heart is moved by an act of kindness, it is Christ within joining with your own spirit. When you struggle with deep pain or excruciating temptation, Christ is your “hope of glory” and is fully present in that moment.

Mom packed that bus, putting everything in its place, so the center, where passengers sit, could be clear as possible. She did not ignore the suitcases, the camping gear and ice chest, she simply arranged them to leave an open center. Think about doing that with the “stuff” of your life. Do not classify it as secular versus spiritual, just arrange your life to have a center where you always find Christ. The truth is, I would much rather have Him dwelling within me than having to go to a tent full of smoke, wouldn’t you? Let Him dwell in the center of your being. That is where He wants to make His home. Not as a ruler or a lord, but as a loving and compassionate Brother as you wander through life’s wilderness.

And Then We Are Born

And Then We Are Born

(“You teach me the way of life. In your presence is total celebration. Beautiful things are always in your right hand.” Psalm 16:11)

Lastly I want to say that I am an
archipelago and not a continent,
though the ants that sting my feet might disagree.
(I know you think you’ve found all the
ground you can cover in me,
but there is more to be discovered than
you or I perceive.)

You see my present, and think you know my past.
I am flooded with every act from middle to last.
You see my blunders, I bathe in them daily.
My intentions are more gloomy than you have imagined.

For I am dark jungle and the brightest beach,
barren desert and living reef,
artesian spring and salted sea,
I live in the margins not in the
clarity I wished and believed an
infant life could be.

No one shames the tree for the shadow it casts,
nor blames the sun for not piercing the tree,
the tree and the sun are one.

I hated the middle, the mud, the dark
and assumed the light would change me at last.
But I am tree and sun, dirt and air,
castaway and citizen,
a single soul containing the universe with all its
cold void and searing stars.

Some traveled with me through the overgrowth,
some left when they saw I might be lost,
some welcomed me at the caravansary,
some left provisions and went swimming.
Others wandered with me, overland, between the
boundaries of dusky light. We knew each other better
for our simplicity and loved each other more in the
complexities of soul no one can explain.

We learned new languages and geography;
history was abandoned as we waited for water
and listened to the stories we told. We did not know
if we were younger than the universe, or old.
But the Creator’s light cast shadows in the heat
and brightened the songs we once thought torn by the
unwelcome complications of the moment, the journey,
the untransformed.

And then we are born.

Look on the Lenses

Look on the Lenses

(“Then the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, ‘It is the Lord!’ When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he girded his mantle to him (for he had stripped down), and sprang into the sea.” John 21:7)

Look on the lenses of my glasses to
detect the sorrow of my moods,
the eyelashes have transferred the salt of my tears
and spotted my spectacles from the inside out.

What do you do when it seems everyone you know
has forgotten you? Where do you look for the invisible
friends upon the shore? How do you grasp a God
this far from home?

I feel like throwing something against glass,
crashing it into shards, the window, the mirror,
the windshield; something that will break as surely as
the ice pick pits the ground. I feel like smashing the roof
with a sledgehammer,
the sidewalk with a pickax;
but I hold it in and it all comes out in trembling hands,
thunderstorm tears,
aching hips and images appearing in sleep
that haunt my lonely heart for day.

I have no profession to return to,
the boats are owned by others now.
My avocations are solo performances,
a cast of one
for an audience or none.

If someone said she saw you I would run
toward her gaze. I would clothe myself quickly
and beg her to take me to the observatory,
café or public park to find you. I would not
finish this phrase…

I Am Sending You

I Am Sending You

“Then Jesus said to them again, ‘May you have peace. As the Father has sent Me, I also am sending you.’” John 20:21

Can you imagine the fear, the despondency and lack of hope that Jesus’ followers felt following his crucifixion? They had been “all in”. Many had left their livelihood three years before to follow this wandering teacher. Over their internship they slowly understood that Jesus was the promised Messiah, the one who would deliver Israel and set up the kingdom of God.

If we can stop for a moment; consider this. We human beings only understand the world around us through one faculty; our malleable and fallible brains. And our brains receive information through our senses, filtered through culture, teaching and experience. In other words, just because we think something is true, we ought to be open to the possibility we may be mistaken.

The disciples were not mistaken about Jesus’ identity, but they did get the nature of his kingdom wrong. That is quite natural. The only kingdoms they knew were what they had experienced, what their brains had observed and heard about. So, certainly the kingdom of God would be similar to what they knew. Yes, a good God would rule, but, the only way they understood “rule” is by authority and force. They were soon to be surprised.

Jesus’ death did not square with what they “knew”. We can understand their reasoning. “If Jesus is ushering in the rule of God, then he will defeat our enemies, show his power, and ascend a throne that none can overthrow.” Seeing him suffer at the hands of both religious and political rulers, they must have fallen deeply in despair. In some ways, Peter’s exclamation, “I never knew him”, may have held some truth.

But Sunday morning Mary Magdalene ran to Simon Peter and John with mind-boggling news. The stone to Jesus’ tomb was rolled away and she worried, “They have taken the Lord out of the grave. We do not know where they have put Him.”

Peter and John run to the grave and see it just as Mary said. They saw the linen cloths Jesus had been wrapped in, but the white cloth that had wrapped his head was rolled up and lying by itself. Even then, they did not understand that Jesus had risen from the dead. (Remember, all they have are their limited brains to make sense of it all.)

The two disciples went back to their homes. That’s an amazing thought. Jesus is alive, but they are still slowly taking it all in. They simply go back home. But Mary stayed by the grave, weeping. And it is there that Jesus appears to her. He instructs her to tell his brothers: “I will go up to My Father and your Father, and to My God and your God!” She hurries away to tell the disciples what she has seen and heard.

(A quick aside. Recently a well-known evangelical leader had unkind things to say about a female Bible teacher. Those in the audience applauded his snide remark. He is among some who think women have no right to the pulpit or teaching ministries. I wonder if he would have listened to Mary.)

Later that evening, as the disciples are gathered behind locked doors because they are afraid, Jesus appears to them. His first words are, “Peace to you.” The disciples immediately react with joy as Jesus shows them his wounded hands and side.

And once more he offers them peace, saying, “As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.”

That phrase should make us stop, be quiet, and consider: How did the Father send Jesus?

Remember, the disciples had the kingdom of God all wrong. Jesus’ resurrection shows he has indeed won the victory. But sin and death were defeated, not by force, not by armies, not by hard-fisted legal enforcement, but by suffering and death. The kingdom of God has not changed. We are sent to be men and women who are willing to give ourselves on behalf of others, not tell others how to behave.

The Father sent Jesus to the less fortunate. He went to the poor, the sick, the blind and the “sinners”. He did not condescend, as if they needed to prove themselves before He brought healing and forgiveness. Let us go in the same way, we are all on a level playing field.

The Father sent Jesus to those who could not give back. Who could offer Jesus anything that he did not already possess? He gave hope to the hopeless. He healed, even when some did not return to say, “Thank you.” Let us go in the same way, not looking for people to behave just because we have given. Let us simply give.

The Father sent Jesus to go out of his way for others. Remember the woman at the well? She was a Samaritan. Jesus had to take a less traveled route to meet with a single woman in need. Why do we expect people to come to a church building once a week, where they feel out of place? Let us go out of our way to share the Good News of God’s kingdom of mercy and love right where people are.

God is not afraid of humanity. Are we fully aware of that? The most degraded heart does not scare God or keep him away. God loves humanity so much He became one of us! So, why in the world would we ever avoid someone who seems different than us? Why would we not embrace the homeless, the hungry, the addict, the rebel. God embraced them already when Jesus took on the same human flesh and blood.

When Roman Catholics celebrate the Mass in Latin today, the last words the priest or deacon speak are “Ite missa est.” Translated, it means: “Go, the [congregation] is sent.” The people are told, in so many words, “You’ve worshiped, celebrated Christ in Communion and heard the Word, now go forth as His ambassadors in all the earth; be that bread that is broken for a hungry world.”

Behemoth

Behemoth

(He lies under the lotus plants, hiding in the protection of marshy reeds. Job 40:21)

Below the floating lotus the beast untimely hides
where marsh, mud and reeds provide
a covering from gray and olive skies.

The lotus stalks spread across the camouflage bog,
a crown upon the royal waters, pink flowers and
circling leaves adorn the diadem that floats;
a part and a whole, the lotus pod bends fully ripened

And scatters seeds across the silent water.
They turn and sink, and rise with the breath of the beast,
caught upon bubbles like rainbow confetti.

But finally,
beneath home and beast,
each seed settles upon the deep,
the mud enriched with plant and beast,
to begin the next vitality.

Sometimes they sleep in cracked earth
waiting for the Spring. Dormant is not dead,
but serene and unwearied. The life awakens
in the mud
as rain renews the germ, the miniature genesis
of behemoth’s shelter. On a quiet day,
with your ear to the ground,

Beloved,

You can hear both the beast’s slow heartbeat and the
seeds breaking the borderline between water and mud.

You'll Never Guess

You’ll Never Guess

(“They themselves did not go into the court house. They did not want to become unclean. They wanted to eat the Passover Feast.” John 18:28b)

You’ll never guess who sat next to me,
while the drama played out below.
You’ll never fathom what it meant to me,
for someone to enter my unclean home.

Never mind that my thoughts are tangled,
my hair has fallen
and my friends cannot hear the distress calls
I’ve sent secondly hoping for someone to
sit on the porch with me,
take up the torch for me
that I’ve already carried too long.

Some friends followed him,
some adversaries too,
but no one stood with him,
the place was infected and out of tune.

They resisted the gravity of the situation,
and slunk back to homes to prepare flat bread
and meat to celebrate their own liberation.
But no one stood with him,

the place was unholy in the short run.

I might have hurried too; who knew
the weekend was the starting gate for rejuvenation?
All I know is I wait on the porch
for someone else who knows pain and isolation
to offer warm skin, a one way ticket home,
a mortgage forgiven or a gift card redeemable for
darkening the pain,
brightening the stains of depression without
expiration.

You’ll never guess who sat next to me
and I hope somehow, they will return.

Of Brides and Badges

Of Brides and Badges

“Then one of the seven angels…came and spoke with me, saying, ‘Come here, I will show you the bride, the wife of the Lamb.’” Revelation 21:9

A late-model black Ford Mustang drove past me on my walk earlier this week. It was a beautiful car, sleek and freshly polished. I waved at the driver and she waved back. (I wave at everybody on my walk, makes them scratch their head and say, “Do I know that guy?”)

The next day I took the same route and about 15 minutes into my walk saw the same black Mustang parked in the driveway of a house nearby. “That’s nice,” I thought. “The owner lives in the neighborhood.” Then, about 10 minutes later, passing another house I saw a second black Mustang. I thought, “Well, it is a nice car. But two in the same neighborhood?”

Today I took my walk, same route, same cars. But this time I looked closer at the second “Mustang”. Oh no, it had a Chevrolet badge on the front. It’s a Camaro!

That made me think of my early teens. I grew up in a very car-centric time and place. I turned 13 in 1968 living near East Los Angeles. Almost every friend I knew was into cars. We are also not far from some of the most famous drag strips in the country. I watched the Funny Cars more than once as the red to green countdown sent them roaring down the quarter-mile track. So, cars were a big part of our scene.

Sitting in the front yard with my friends, they would often identify the make and model of each car well before it drove by. Me? I had no idea. I couldn’t distinguish a Ford from a Chevy from a Dodge, let alone the model and year. But they could! I take that back. I knew what a Ford Fairlane was, our next-door neighbor owned one. I don’t think I even knew the difference between a sedan and a coupe. (Yes, if you are asking, I do know now. Four-door, two-door.)

I never asked those long-ago friends how they could tell the difference. For one thing, it would betray my ignorance. Whether they had read Car and Driver from front to back since they were ten or had glued models together of all the popular cars, they knew what they were talking about. On my walk, it was the Chevy insignia that identified my mistake.

How do we know what group or groups are the “church”? What insignia or badge can we identify? Does the church have modern fuel-injection, hemi engines, or gull fins? There are many pictures of the church throughout the New Testament. One of the most frequent is the “bride of Christ.”

I’ve performed over 100 weddings in my ministry. I’ve seen brides in glorious white and beaded dresses, in cowboy boots and in their favorite team’s jersey. No matter how they were dressed, there was no one more beautiful than the bride standing with her groom. (Sorry guys, nobody comes away from a wedding saying, “And wasn’t the groom beautiful?”)

Brides are radiant; they are effusive. They are like a firework display of protons brightening the world for the few moments of the ceremony. Their faces shine, their makeup runs, but even that is beautiful. It really doesn’t matter if they took all morning to pretty themselves up or went minimal for a simple exchange of vows. A bride is love and loveliness on visual display.

There is a reason she glows. (And you can thank me now, guys.) Brides do not stand alone. They beam because they are in love with their groom. She may have been “pretty” before the wedding but combine that with the depth of love the couple shares, and there are few moments like it.

I believe these two qualities, beauty and love, are the primary marks of the church. Whatever else we might say about any particular bride, she is beautiful. And so is the church.

Now, I do not mean, necessarily, the religious expression of Christianity. I am referring to the beauty of those who have kept their heart and eyes upon Jesus alone. They have learned there is no other like Him. They take the blush in their cheeks from the love He has for them.

Imagine the moments when you have seen someone carry out a selfless act. Perhaps, struggling financially themselves, a family decides to adopt a child from out of poverty. Or another, in retirement, decides to mentor a preteen child. Or think about former President Jimmy Carter, at 95 and still building houses with Habitat of Humanity. Recently he was back on site the day after falling at home and receiving 14 stitches.

There is beauty in all of these acts. I would venture to say that most people who give selflessly have been on the receiving end of great love and mercy at one time in their lives. Those who keep Christ in view have received the infinite grace of God. The more we realize that and experience it, the more beautiful the church becomes.

Which lead to the second attribute; brides are full of love. That is the source of their beauty, isn’t it? You see, we really do have a choice. Is our relationship with Christ about rules? Is it about some view that sees Him as a taskmaster who expects our slavish devotion? Or, are we like a bride who, knowing great love, can only give the same?

It is far too easy to replace these insignias with labored practices that wear us out. Or, we become political polarized, seeing every act of one party as “godless” and another as “God’s own will.” Never forget that during the American Civil War preachers were using the Bible to preach both slavery and emancipation. But which view was beautiful? Which was loving? Which looked like a beautiful bride?

I haven’t used the word “romance” yet but let me conclude with it. Men may have a difficult time with the concept because Jesus is male, and we are called the Bride. But I believe Jesus wants to romance us. If it helps, the Holy Spirit was often referred to as feminine in early church writings. Nonetheless, let the idea of romance inform your response to Christ. Allow the Divine Love that gave everything for you sweep you off your feet. Allow the Divine Love that asked nothing of you, but simply gives, transfix you. Let the thought that the entire universe if filled with the glory of Love invoke a tear, or even make you a bit giddy today.

Beauty and love; be the Bride.

I Shall See You

I Shall See You

(“Now you are going through pain, but I shall see you again and your hearts will thrill with joy—the joy that no one can take away from you.” John 16:22 [J. B. Phillips])

Another night and another dream where somehow everything I attempt
goes partly wrong somehow.
Letters of intent that scare me out of my wits,
a plow that pulls me through the backcountry fences
onto private property where every eye can see.

Another morning when the pain wakes me early,
keeps me prone till noon and will not let go. A violent
season
that my brain invented, and no other brain can diagnose.

Some questions are impaled, some answers are so veiled
they mock the slightest turn of the mouth. Every phone call
used to send me
into broken twig apprehension,
and now that the phone doesn’t ring the
dreams
supply the same intentions, driving sleep from the cells
that need duplication. But the tiny thoughts that
still find expression
are turning like neutrinos undiscovered until
the atoms were sliced like cheese.

I will not talk of my faith, as if I possessed it like real estate;
I will not answer as if I owned anything at all.
I will not speak of circles unbroken when every chain link
seems to come apart at the seams.
(Like the disciples, I can huddle behind locked doors
as long as is needed.)

I do not see You well, and my search is even weaker;
but You see me, the weary and broken seeker.
I do not comprehend, I can barely compose a tune;
but You show up, broken and risen from the tomb

With wounds so visible there is no mistaking Your identity.
The room shakes at the intensity of fire that carries the ash
into rivers that run beneath our senses.

We will sleep again, dream again, and certainly
go wrong again and again.
But You-Who-See-Us again take our trembling letters
of resignation
and rewrite us again and again.

For Once

(“I was eyes for the blind person. I was feet for the lame person.” Job 29:15)

You took the lives that were broken eggshells,
the eyes that had not slept in weeks,
and rocked them like a lullaby, and sang them
like a hymn.

You took the ears assaulted by spears and arrows,
and listened to the sparrows for them,
heard the promises of lovers and
danced for them to the tune of children’s laughter.

You took their feet, shrunken with time,
and walked the forest among the pines for them,
marched in the parade and plunged your toes in the mud
for them. You massaged the scales and the brittle nails
that displayed their age too soon.

You took their soul, fragile as a soap bubble in the wind,
and flew it like a kite for them,
despite the unpolite words of those
who do not understand how love can take
the saddest of them. You took their soul,
crumbling like desert clods,
and rained for them in tears that,
(let no one know) for once
were not their own.

Christmas Gifts in July

Christmas Gifts in July

Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you; not as the world gives, I give to you. Don’t let your heart be troubled, neither let it be fearful. John 14:27

Now that I’m retired from ministry there are a few things that I’m beginning to understand about life. And, there are a whole bunch more questions, but we’ll leave that for another time. Here is one thing that I’ve learned: No none likes to be told what to do.

Even the best leaders in business give people objectives and not specific instructions. A leader who is constantly telling people what to do quickly is seen as a micro-manager and someone who does not trust her team. But, if they can delegate responsibilities and allow others to accomplish the objective in their own way, the team members see themselves as valuable and trusted.

I wonder how often as Christians we tell people what to do, or what they should be feeling, or how they should be experiencing the world. “Jesus left us peace. So, you should feel peace no matter what is going in on your life.” “Jesus left us peace. Here are four ways to achieve that peace in every circumstance.” “Why are you so anxious all the time? Don’t you know Jesus gifted you with peace.” And on and on and on.

I understand that sometimes people respond to such exhortations, and I do not want to exclude them entirely. But we also need to take a step back and realize none of us experience peace (or joy, or faith) one hundred percent of every day. And, some peoples’ lives have been so disrupted by hardship, that for them, even accepting that peace is possible is an immense challenge.

I almost decided not to write about this verse today. Most who read this already know my situation, and I won’t belabor it. The short story is I retired early due to health reasons and now my wife and I live with my sister and brother-in-law in Texas. Patti is working, I suffer pain every day, and do not have a vehicle at the house. I would much rather still be in Washington near our daughter, but we have to finish paying the mortgage on our home there before we can move back.

All this is not how I envisioned my life at 64. So, the situation, along with chronic pain and clinical depression, have produced a situation that is not conducive to feeling a lot of peace. And, if someone wrote me a letter with this verse as a heading, I probably would not receive it well. It would sound like they were telling me “Hey, dude, buck up. Grab the peace that’s there for you!” (As if, after 40 years of ministry I was entirely unaware of Jesus’ promise.)

But, if I received a note that said, “I’m thinking of you. I know this is probably one of the hardest times of your life. Wish I could do something. Try your best to find some peace in the middle of it all. I understand how difficult that must be right now,” I would rejoice. No, I would weep, with joy. It would be a human touch that transmitted the presence of Christ.

When my mother died in 1987, she was only 53 years old. She lived in Upstate New York and had bought a Victorian home she hoped to remodel into a Bed and Breakfast. Unfortunately, she never was able to fulfill her dream.

When we heard of her death my sisters and I met up in New York to grieve together, comfort her husband and each other, as well as have a memorial for her in the little village she had called home. We pulled up in front of the old house in the car we rented. Though in some disrepair, it was beautiful, and fit our mother’s sensibilities to a t. We walked up onto the porch that circled the entire house, knocked on the door, and our step-father beckoned us in.

After hugs and greetings, he gave us a tour of the house. One thing caught my eye almost immediately. In the corner of one room were at least half a dozen wrapped Christmas gifts. But Mom died in late July, so I asked about them. Those were the gifts Mom had bought for us and her grandkids, but never had the funds to mail.

In the middle of our grief we all laughed. Mom always made sure to gift her kids, and especially her grandkids. It hadn’t gone without notice that there was nothing under the tree from her the previous Christmas.

We looked at each other, picked up the gifts, turning them over, looking at the labels and wondering what exactly to do. Eventually we unwrapped them. I cannot tell you what the gifts were, I do not remember. But it affected us deeply that Mom kept those presents wrapped and ready for us.

Jesus told his disciples that he was leaving them a gift: his peace, his shalom. Shalom is more than feeling calm. It is the common greeting in Hebrew, and is a desire for wholeness, purpose and goodwill in a person’s life. It goes far beyond living without anxiety. Jesus’ gift is purpose in life that is not defined by career, popularity, good looks, or any of the outward measures we use. It is an inner awareness that we are so valuable to him, that he has bequeathed that purpose to us forever.

The disciples didn’t respond exactly as Jesus suggested; their hearts did become troubled, they were fearful. Within a few hours they would see Jesus taken away by military might, tried unjustly, beaten to with inches of his life, and hanged on a cross in the cruelest form of punishment invented by mankind.

Peter denied Jesus out of fear. The disciples scattered during the crucifixion, later to be found huddling out of fear in the upper room. But, after the resurrection they discovered the peace Jesus had promised. Now some of them would be treated in the same way. Yet they would ask forgiveness for their persecutors, they would pray instead of denying the love Jesus had brought into the world.

I do not want to tell you that you should be experiencing peace in this very moment. Grief over our mom’s death overshadowed our happy discovery of the Christmas gifts. Of course, it did. And the struggles of the present, the pain of the past, the fear of the future can all work against the sense of peace Jesus promised. But I do want to remind you that he did promise that peace, well-being and sense of purpose. I am slowly learning that, now that my “purpose” is no longer in being a professional minister. Indeed, much of my time is spent simply nursing this 11-year-old headache. One day this week I spent only eight hours out of bed.

But, if you will accompany me on this journey as we seek to let the presence of the risen Christ give us peace, maybe we can encourage each other in our difficult moments, and avoid simply telling each other, “Hey, you oughta have peace.”