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.”