Fig Trees, Foam Rubber and Forgiveness

Fig Trees, Foam Rubber and Forgiveness

“When you pray, if you remember anyone who has wronged you, forgive him so that God above can also forgive you. Mark 11:25

Imagine your life is a garden. You’ve planted rows of corn, green beans, tomatoes and other vegetables. You prepared the earth, broke up the clods, added the right fertilizer and placed the seeds in the proper lines. You look forward to a harvest to put on your table in the Fall.

But suppose that is all you did. In my world, that is exactly how gardening should be done. Plant the seeds, come back in a few weeks, put the produce in a basket and enjoy the benefits of your labor. Isn’t that how God does it? I have yet to see Him out and about in the forests making sure the evergreens are sprouting just right.

You see, I think that is part of why Jesus is so upset about a fig tree earlier in this story. Jesus and his disciples were on their way to Jerusalem and spotted a fig tree in full leaf, indicating it should also have fruit. Jesus was hungry, but there was no fruit on the tree. In fact Mark tells us that “fig season had not yet come.” Jesus pronounces a curse on the tree saying, “No one will eat fruit from your branches again.”

I know, that sounds harsh! So, hang with me here. Outwardly the tree showed every evidence that it was producing fruit. Yet, there was not a single sweet fig on the entire tree! Imagine the disappointment.

I can. Years ago I was a youth pastor in southern Oklahoma. The church had a reception to welcome us our first Sunday. So, we all gathered in the basement with everyone congregated around a table with silverware, plates, napkins and a beautifully decorated sheet cake. One of the board members gave me the ceremonial knife and asked me to cut the cake.

Starting in the middle, I ran the serrated edges down through the frosting and into the cake. Unfortunately, the dense cake resisted my efforts. As I sawed unsuccessfully the cake merely compressed under the blade. I wondered if it was angel food cake…the most difficult to cut in the world.

I continued trying to divide the cake with the knife, all the while pretending that nothing was wrong. I mean, someone had taken the time to bake it, there was no way I was going to insult them with a squirming look on my face trying to get through the first cut. So, as unobtrusively as I could, I continued to stab the resistant cake.

I started to notice the looks on the people’s faces. Were they laughing at me? What? Here I am, trying to be diplomatic about somebody’s shoddy cake baking and all I get is derision? What have I gotten myself into with this crowd? (Ok, you just caught two seconds of my inner monologue.)

That’s when the looks broke out into full-on giggles and hoots. The board member took the knife from me, scraped away a square of icing from the cake and showed me the problem. It wasn’t a faulty baker. The cake was a sheet of foam rubber! I laughed with everyone else. Who doesn’t like a prank at their own expense?

At that point I was ready for the “real” cake. Only problem, there wasn’t one. That was it, cake-cutting was over. I mean, this is the South, people. This is hospitality country…and there wasn’t a “real” cake?

I think I understand what Jesus must have been thinking when there wasn’t any “real” fruit on that fig tree.

The disciples notice later that the fig tree has withered to the roots and are amazed. Jesus tells them to trust God, and if they do, they can tell any mountain to throw itself into the sea, and, splash, that mountain takes a dive. “Whatever you pray for or ask from God, believe that you’ll receive it and you will,” he says. 

 Jesus then offers the most important "mountain" many of us need to pray away. He tells us to forgive others immediately when we pray. Withered trees. Swan diving mountains. Foam rubber cakes. Forgiving people who have wronged us. I think I see the connection.

Remember our garden? In the real world it needs to be tended, doesn’t it? A good gardener checks the plot regularly. Weeds must be removed, pests eliminated. Trees need to be pruned. An untended garden, no matter how well planted, will quickly be overrun with undesirable vegetation and will produce little to no fruit.

And so, we must tend our inner garden. We must remove the grudges that grow like weeds and prevent the fruit of God’s grace from coming to full maturity. We must actively forgive the  wrongs done against us as a way to remove the pesky pests of jealousy, bitterness and a host of other fruit-killers.

When you pray, the first order of business is forgiveness. Not your own, by the way. No, Jesus tells us forgiving others comes before asking for our own forgiveness. Isn’t that how it should be? I need the grace of God. I crave it. I cannot live without it. I am a parched man needing the cold springs of grace to quench my thirst.

How, then, knowing how needy I am, can I refuse the same refreshment that God in Christ has offered me? Let’s tend our gardens. Today, as you pray, imagine your heart as a garden, and ask the Holy Spirit to help you do a bit of weeding. Forgive. Today. Your own spiritual wellness depends on it.

help you do a bit of weeding. Forgive. Today. Your own spiritual wellness depends on it.

Forgiveness and Reconciliation

Forgiveness and Reconciliation

“If one of my followers sins against you, go and point out what was wrong. But do it in private, just between the two of you. If that person listens, you have won back a follower.” Matthew 18:15

I broke a glass a few weeks ago. That’s not the worst offense of my life, but this one was actually quite special. For our 25^th Wedding Anniversary Patti and I drove from North Dakota to Binghamton, NY to visit our son Michael and his wife Julie. While there Patti and I booked a room at the Painted Lady Bed & Breakfast in nearby Elmira.

Just south of the Finger Lakes region of Upstate New York, Elmira is also the hometown of Olivia Langdon, who was to become Twain’s bride. The couple made it their summer home and he wrote a number of his well-known books there. His in laws built him a writing room--12 feet across, with eight sides and a large window in each face. It was there in that study, perched on a hill above Elmira, that Twain began writing his great works.

The study now sits on the campus of Elmira College. The town provided such deep ties that the author is buried in Elmira at Woodlawn Cemetery, along with his wife, all his children, and his only grandchild. Patti and I had the privilege of visiting both the both his studio and spending a few moments alone at his graveside. Having read all of Twain’s books, this was almost as exciting as our Anniversary for me.

We brought home a couple of keepsakes from our visit: a pair of wineglasses inscribed with “Elmira, NY.” You have guessed by now, it was one of those wineglasses that I broke. Reaching into the cupboard for another dish, I inadvertently pulled one of the goblets out at the same time and it came crashing to the floor. I was speechless for a moment. Any other glass but that one! There was no way to fix it, of course. But at least we bought a pair. The second one shall be protected quite well, believe me.

It occurs to me that we sometimes break things more important than even commemorative dishware. Relationships are more valuable and sometimes more fragile than crystal wineglasses. As much as I wanted to apply some super glue to mend the shards scattered at my feet, I knew it would never look the same. Relationships, though, when tended with care, can actually become stronger at the broken places.

The great power of forgiveness and reconciliation are gifts we have been given in Christ. Those gifts can only be exercised in honest and true relationship. If we simply gloss over offenses, never talking or dealing with them, they stay inside the human heart, festering into something altogether more noxious than the original hurt. When we lovingly talk with each other, sharing our own concerns and personal responses, we open up the possibilities for the forgiveness, healing and strength that only Christ can give.

That is why Jesus left us with a clear path to reconciling relationships. The initial step is always to be taken personally, lovingly and carefully. Going to our brother or sister privately is a matter of deep respect. The person may not even be aware of the sin or offense. Or, we may have actually “taken offense” when none was meant. There is so much that can be accomplished when people put aside the desire to “win” and replace it with a desire to “win my friend”.

You see, talking it out doesn’t always mean I will walk away feeling perfect about the situation. There may still be particulars I’m hung up on. “Well, he didn’t say ‘sorry’ with real sincerity.’” Or, “Yeah, but we’ve talked about this before.” But, avoiding someone with whom have conflict leaves everything like an untended garden. Weeds grow, the ground cracks from lack of moisture, and nothing that resembles life can grow there.

Everything that is valuable in life has to do with relationships. We who are the church need to treasure those relationships with other followers of Jesus even more dearly. So, before you talk about it to someone else, or post it on Facebook, talk to the one who has offended you. And do it with all the humility and compassion of Christ.

It is interesting to note that Jesus’ guidelines about putting relationships right follow His statements that the “greatest” in God’s kingdom are those who humble themselves like “little children”. (Matthew 18:1-4) Then He reminds us that Father God is like a Shepherd who leaves 99 sheep to go find the one that has gone astray; not to discipline it, but to bring it back into relationship. (Matthew 18:12-14) There is no greater joy than having a broken relationship restored through honest conversation, compassion and forgiveness. 

Welcoming

"But the people learned where Jesus went and followed him. Jesus welcomed them and talked with them about God’s kingdom. He healed those who needed to be healed. " Luke 9:11

I know what it is like to just want to get away from people and be alone. Spending time with a few intimate friends always energizes me. I can get lost in conversation and mutual displays of wit (or supposed wit). But, much time in large crowds actually drains me. This has become more acute as I have dealt with my headache I woke up with almost seven years ago, and has yet do go away. I have a limited amount of energy I can spend on the buzz of human interaction before I need to hide away. Jesus, however, seems to always stop for those who need Him, even when He needs solitude the most.

To Try it All

To Try it All

(“Be tolerant with one another and forgive one another whenever any of you has a complaint against someone else. You must forgive one another just as the Lord has forgiven you.” Colossians 3:13)

The tour would begin at the intersection of Second Street
and Alhambra road; two boys who had the wind knocked out of them
simply because school had begun. The asphalt simmered,
the crepe myrtles, the trees with a grandmother’s name, spurred us
on. We marched between the cyclone gates with every clue lost
to new boys finding a place sit, a group to surround our shyness away.

I was never sure who I was, or might be, though I had as many friends
as enemies. Bruce good at conversation, introverted, I think, borrowed
time for him to string words into sentences and punctuate them with the
tiny spaces. He hated his name, his first name, I mean; Marion, it was,
and I understood, though we all agreed, for evil or good, that Bruce was
not much better.

Deidre was good for hanging upside down. Her dad constructed the best
swing set in the neighborhood. She hardly used the seats; more often
she hooked her knees
over the cross-beams of the Capital A held the blue and white tubes together.
It seemed she would hang there half the afternoon, and punch me in the ribs
if I dismounted too soon. And she could throw a ball better than anyone but Don.

Don was good for walking home, and singing “Build Me Up, Buttercup” on the way.
Held back a year and big for his age, he was my protector when a bully
or a chum
sent me a private invitation for a meeting behind the temporaries after school.
Plus, MJ, his sister, was the prettiest girl I knew from third grade through
junior high school.

I still was not sure who I was, or would be. Would I gather notions, subtract
emotions, and arrive at a calculated equation, well-balanced and firm? Four years
of cramming every day full like a knapsack for a month long hike still left me
thrilled at wandering, spilling all my wondering in ink and hopeful encores
after finishing my set of hand-crafted songs.

I was so unsure, though, I stopped at every red light longer than I should. “Your
poetry
doesn’t rhyme, kid; your music barely has a tune, dude; and God needs you
more in the pulpit than on the stage, son.” I stopped my pursuit before it had
begun.

Now I’m old enough to say “No,” to the objections and “Yes” to the offers,
but have traveled so far from the connections my extension cord will not reach
from this tiny spot of paradise back to the places I should have rolled the dice
and given it all a whirl.

It’s not heartache, nor a spirit broken by age; it’s regret, and I’ll forgive myself yet
before the next song with too few rhymes is written from where I sit. I miss
every bus I missed, every song not sung, every role I dismissed and mostly
the courage to try it all.

To Console or Call

To Console or Call

(“More than anything, keep loving each other actively; because love covers many sins.” 1 Peter 4:8)

It all smelled naked to the untrained eye;
like shame in the garden, rain during harvest,
so we covered it up with fragrances and smoke.

We were frightened and cold.

It all was larger than our own small acreage;
like memes in their orbit, tales oral and ancient,
so we hid in closets or glued green leaves on our broken branches.
We were broken and old.

Our minds were bigger than our bodies could take us,
our dreams unlimited have become finite over time,
the choices, from tears or sins, stares and pain,
have little chance of presenting themselves again.

Old friends, has my behavior surprised you? I must say,
you are as fragile as recent as I can remember. I would
not fail you even when frightened by the swordplay that,
I must say, wounded and nearly destroyed us both.

In these final few chapters I am wrinkled,
the band of pain is tightened around my brow and
I could use the eyes flashing with acceptance,
the voice sure with remembrance of both our broken wings
and broken hearts,
the standing invitation that never asked questions
and the pool of forgiveness (just mercy, no suggestions)
where wounds could be both cleansed and forgotten.

My feet are cold, my eyes are tired,
new friend are kind, but old friends are desired
who,
knowing all love all. We all were in the garden,
we all took a bite, we all have cursed and all have
accused, and now, as we ease toward our final mooring

I would give all for you, old friend, to console or call,
with love covering all. 

Who Meets Our Needs

“A high priest like (Jesus) meets our need. He is holy, pure and without blame. He isn’t like other people. He does not sin. He is lifted high above the heavens.” Hebrews 7:26

Jesus has been presented as an intercessor between God and man, a “go-between” if you will. But, it usually is taught that, because man is sinful and God is perfect, we need someone to represent us before God. Flammable humans simply cannot endure the Holy Flame. There is a certain truth to that; yet I believe it may be over-emphasized.

Today You Will be With Me

“Jesus answered him, ‘What I’m about to tell you is true. Today you will be with me in paradise.” Luke23:43

I vowed I would never say it, never entertain the thought; but the last night of our two week vacation with family in Minneapolis I cried out, “God must be punishing me!” The pain had continued the entire 14 days. I only felt good enough one morning of the entire vacation to venture outside of our oldest son’s house to find a coffee shop for some quiet reading. Even then, I stayed a very short time. That was the only time I left their house.

He Knows

"Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw it, he said to himself, 'If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.'" Luke 7:39

He knows who you are. You cannot sneak up behind Him. You cannot blindfold Him and say, “Guess who?” You cannot hide your shameful moments; He knows every one of them.

Prepare the Way

“You will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him, to give his people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins.” Luke 1:76b-77

Even before he was born, John the Baptist’s role was prophesied by his father Zacharias. I suppose many fathers have expectations of their sons. I have a picture I took of my oldest son sitting in my favorite chair with a Christian-themed book open on his lap. Oh, and he was 10 months old at the time. It was all meant in fun, but I’m certain another dad might have his son pose with a football, or a hammer, or a computer mouse. Yes, we fathers have high hopes for our sons. And every parent expects great things from each of their children.

Five-Year Plan

Five-Year Plan

(“Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy.” Proverbs 28:13)

It was meant to be merely a stroll,
a half hour wandering from shade to sun,
tree to tree,
to let the dust settle. I wrote it down
five years ago: “Take a walk and
sort out your options.”

I stopped.

Or should I say the pain knocked me to my knees,
freezing me in time. I’m
the one who has to fight the hardest
just to keep my darkest deeds at bay;
the weeds that grow from the muddy mind
so certain, yet so unwound. I’ve renounced

My sins

As often as a gardener squeezes the constant roots
from the old-growth hedgerow that hides the flower bed

From view.

It was meant to be a meaningful stroll,
a half hour worshiping in shade and sun,
sturdily
letting the dust settle. I engraved “grace”
in the morning mud: “Watch the sky and
wait for rain’s erase.”

I sighed.

Continuing in Grace

“Paul and Barnabas…urged them in long conversations to stick with what they’d started, this living in and by God’s grace.” Acts 13:43 (The Message)

Why is this so hard? This may come off as a rant, so I should apologize right up front. But I am actually as frustrated with myself as I am with the rest of Christianity. Paul and Barnabas had seen people respond to the Best News Possible, that sins are forgiven because of Jesus’ death on the cross. They watched as people received the message with great joy and observed their lives being changed.

New

“The priest shall take some of the blood of the guilt offering, and the priest shall put it on the lobe of the right ear of him who is to be cleansed and on the thumb of his right hand and on the big toe of his right foot.” Leviticus 14:14

In our most honest moments I think most of us would desire one thing; to know we are completely free from all the contaminations of living an imperfect life in an imperfect world. We would love to take back the cross words, the flirtatious looks at another man’s wife, the small lie to enhance a business deal. We would wipe out the black marks on our children because we stayed too long at work and left birthday parties too early. We would erase the tears on our wife’s cheek brought on by a sharp-tongued reply. In short, we would love to be able to begin again.

"If You Forgive"

“He breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you withhold forgiveness from any, it is withheld.’” John 20:22,23

I can only try to imagine what it must have been like to be one of Jesus’ disciples after the resurrection. I really have nothing to compare it to; I have no one who has died and come back to life. I have not even been fooled; thought someone was dead, then found out later that they were alive. April 1 is only three months away, though. That would be the greatest prank ever.

The Weight is Gone

“The Weight is Gone”

“Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.” Hebrews 9:28

I was a paperboy. If you have a mental picture of the archetype 12 year-old boy carefully balancing two bags of newspapers on his ten year-old bicycle, your imagination would come close to my youth from sixth grade through the first half of high school. I delivered the Oakland Herald Examiner for three years and the Contra Costa Times through a good part of high school.

Streaks Across

Streaks Across

(“Then turning towards the woman (Jesus) said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair.” Luke 7:44)

What have you heard, from friend or electrons sent
along the insulated wires that ride the same rhythm
as rails across the open plains?

What have you observed, from informed or insinuations
pinging off one closed mind to the other?

Where do we ignore, and what do we redeem;
what brings daylight or smiles, delights or miles
of memory that can wind from the windy peaks above
the bay upriver before morning opens for the day.

Who do we notice; the eyes that have seen more
sadness than the oceans rushing in the backdoor porch?

What can we watch; the wave of hair uncut catching
sun like rain, as it cascades across the cheeks of
the hopeful, streaks across the feet of the forgiver
that turns tears to joyful.

What can we say; the judgments that began that day,
or the tolerance that breathes the perfume of love given

By one who, unloved, had more to give, unbidden,
than all the basins filled with the scent of water
that has remained unmoved for far too long.

May the perfume spiral around our conspiracy theories,
soak and cleanse our acrid memories,
remind of us the exact moment we perceived

The fragrance which forgiveness filled each and every
sense.

Don't Judge

Don’t judge others, and you will not be judged. Don’t accuse others of being guilty, and you will not be accused of being guilty. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” Luke 6:37

I have heard preachers quote this verse more than once as the “favorite Bible verse of this generation”, implying they use it as a cloak to keep people from pointing out their sinful behavior. Of course, the sermon continues with a long list of “contemporary sins”, condemning each one along the way.

Church as Family

(“Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” Colossians 3:13)

If you are I are to know joy and freedom there are six words that must be part of our regular vocabulary: “I am sorry” and “I forgive you”. Simple ideas and nothing new, but revolutionary when we determine to practice them.

Reconciled!

Reconciled!

“But now you have been united with Christ Jesus. Once you were far away from God, but now you have been brought near to him through the blood of Christ.” Ephesians 2:13

There is perhaps only one thing sweeter than a long-term friendship that has weathered time and its varied stills and storms; that is the restoration of a friendship broken so deeply there seemed little hope of enjoying it again. Long-term friendships are comfortable and a refuge from life’s uncertainties. But to have the pain, doubt and even anger healed by the reuniting of friends is a joy that is hard to express.

Rise to Receive

Rise to Receive

(“For God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, no longer counting people’s sins against them.” 2 Corinthians 5:19a)

It is Monday, today, day two,
the second after Sunday, and the leading tone
toward Tuesday.

Moments are not paragraphs,
nor hours chapters,
nor days a story or
years a novel at all.

The day light was declared good
is the day hours passed and remained
just as fast,
just the same.

The dark afternoon when death was life
is the dark that passed and does not remain
just as true,
just the same.

Robin on the wire, your days are longer than mine,
your children hatch and learn and fly in that single season,
then leave the twiggy home for another fence post in
a suburban garden.

Doe and fawn who wander the blackberry blinds,
you hear more than I see, and lead the silent path
where last year’s Columbian White-Tail led
their own the river’s protected shore.

Humanity searches ruins of the ancient past,
kings lie in state and peasants have dusted away
while potsherds evoke possible tunes written upon the clay.

Who will find me and my own? Where, in all memory
have I played the songs that reflect the day, convey the way
life has invaded the unexpected waiting of Creation
and Adam. 

We rise to receive the Majesty and, believe,
earth and sky and child and elder are caught up together

In the Day when our imagination was much too small
for all the universe and the Father’s reconciliation.

Doors, Scars and Solitude

Doors, Scars and Solitude

(“For if you forgive others their sins, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.” Matthew 6:14)

No one knew for certain how long the door had remained shut.
It was simply a cabin, a hut on the lake erected for solitude,
gazing at the moon, and weekends of contemplation. There were
no locks,
there was
no telephone;
just four walls, a roof without insulation,
and rooms barely decorated but designed to
silence the buzz-talk of city animation.

No one knew why the purpose had changed, or when. Some
suggested
the owner had grown cold in the winter and tired of the splinters
after walks in the woods. He still retreated there,
but without passion. Solitude was the agony of loneliness,
and contemplation gave way to unwritten schemes
to settle the scores of offenses listed in the home office.
He could not wait to be alone.

No one questioned the wrinkles that spread from eyelids outward
like hashmarks nearly reaching his ears. Those who know him best
see the lines of pain, nights of fright, days of pulling the covers over
his soul again. Those who met him on unprotected days
thought he might have been betrayed, but mostly felt the echo
of anger that resounded like nails on the brain, scars grabbing the wound
and never looking the same.

No one entered inside the unlocked door, nor knew how
the outside could be cold as frost and the inner panel a foundry
of fire. But behind the door, nearly unhinged by time,
the scars kept bleeding, the wounds kept seeping, and he
hid for fear of one more pointed instrument piercing his
once active love.

He held the doorknob tightly each time he entered his
former refuge of light. He vowed to let nothing go
out of his grasp again. He had tried washing his wounds
in the lake alone; self-baptism and a solo rite of purification.
He threw the names far into the water, along with their claims
of moral dispensations, hoping to bury each bruise beneath
opaque waves.

He was never the man he began to be, never again the man
who honestly wanted only the best, and always confessed
stumbling more often than observed. How could they, who
also served, not do the same when they had used his name
to typify so many ways to fail?

He never was the same man, though honesty, when it all
began,
tried to forgive with melted tears, but still, after years
of hope,
seeks solitude to escape his fears mixed with love. Such
a stew of a man

He still is startled by every
knock on the door.