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Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Invisible

The principal of the neighborhood elementary school and I were visiting in her office. We were chatting about plans for the upcoming semester, coordinating schedules, and broader neighborhood issues.

While we were talking I mentioned that several students from the school had spent a week in the woods at the church's camp the previous summer.

She asked who had gone and I casually rattled off a list of a half-dozen boys. She stopped, gave me an odd look, stood up, walked over to her desk, picked up a file, and opened it.

She said, "Tell me again who went to the camp?"

She seemed to be checking off the names of the kids in her file as I said them.

She closed the file, looked at me, and said, "I knew something had happened to those boys this summer. There's been something different about them this year. I didn't know what and I've been trying to put my finger on it. Now I know."

I had been at camp that summer. In fact, I had been a cabin counselor to those boys. By the end of the week, the collective prayer of the entire staff was, "Thank God it's over!" It had not gone well.

Or so we thought.

Because sometimes fruit is invisible. Yes, we knew we were trying to plant seeds in the kids lives. But those boys were moving targets the entire week and we were pretty certain they had dodged all the seeds we tried to scatter.

But something took root in them. It might have been something we had sewn or it might have been a seed or two that were drifting on the Wind that we knew nothing about. Or most likely it was some combination thereof.

And the seeds took root. And they bore fruit.

Invisible fruit.

Fruit that none of us at church could see. Fruit that we didn't see out on the streets. Fruit they couldn't really see at the school, but they knew something was there; they just couldn't put a finger on it.

It's in these moments that I get a little hint about the depth of faith and trust we need if we're trying to be about the work of the Kingdom. We need to trust that when we try to sew seeds that once in a while some will take root. We need faith to know that sometimes the fruit is invisible. We need to live in the peace that can come from faith and trust, especially when the fruit is invisible.

And in the midst of the moments when someone notices something different that they just can't put their finger on, we can experience a glimpse and echo of what Isaiah was trying to say when he wrote, "Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped." (Isaiah 35:5)

Lord, forgive me my desire to always see the fruit of the seeds I've tried to plant on Your behalf. Let me sew seeds in faith and trust today.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Birth

Our first child was born while we were living in the suburbs. Our second child was born while we were living in the inner-city. The different settings made for totally different experiences.

For example, when living in the 'burbs, the Andersons were having a baby. While living in da 'hood, my wife was having a baby. That may sound subtle, but it played out in quite a variety of ways.

This was made clear even before the baby was born. On more than one occasion when telling someone of the pregnancy, I was asked, "Who's the father?"

Wow! ---- in sooooo many ways.

That question is normally the first question asked about a pregnancy in the inner-city. For that matter, it's usually a piece of information that people might not know. But you would think that people who know me and/or my wife could have skipped that question and gone on to more productive conversation. For a moment, I guess they forgot who they were talking to.

Sometimes I think about my own prayer time and the questions I ask God. They make sense to me and are the kind that are normally asked in my world. But if I would stop for half a second before I start talking and remember who I'm talking to, I could skip to more productive conversation rather than ask some questions that would cause "Wow! ----- in sooooo many ways" to reverberate across the heavenly realm.

I ask "Where are you, God?" when I know he has already promised to be with me always. I ask "What should I do?" without first considering how his Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path. I ask "God, why don't you ________?" even though I know that my thoughts are not His thoughts and my ways are not His ways.

Fortunately, I also know that I live in His grace. Being born into this world is a totally different experience from being born into life in Christ. The first happened many years ago in a sterile hospital environment with doctors and nurses and a crib and crocheted baby booties waiting for me. The second continues to take place each moment in a messy world that's not always hospitable or accommodating to this new creation.

And when it's all over, my hope is that no one will have to ask about me, "Who's his Father?"

Thank you, Lord, for your grace. Help me to always remember who You are.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Trunk

The funeral did not go well.

From beginning to end, one thing after another went wrong in ways I could not have imagined. It wasn't the funeral home's fault. It wasn't the family's fault. It wasn't my fault. It just did not go well.

It wasn't just my opinion, either. While at the cemetery, the funeral director turned to me and in his most compassionate, professional, somber, funeral home voice said to me, "I'm thinking of climbing into the trunk of the limo until this is over. Would you care to join me?"

Yes, it was that bad.

And in that moment, being secluded from everyone and everything carried great appeal, even if it meant being in the limo's dark trunk.

The desire to hide in a dark place is quite familiar to me. It's not unusual to have seasons when multiple things go horribly wrong. It's no one's fault; they just happen. And there's no sense in trying to find the good in its midst at that moment. It is what it is, and my usual desire is to find a dark place to hide from the cascading trauma.

Back at the cemetery, the offer for some time in the trunk of a limo seemed like a great option. The funeral director and I both both decided, though, to stay out in the sunlight with the bereaved. The best help we could give was to be present amid the chaos.

It's in those times of wanting to crawl into a trunk that I need to remember that Jesus is Immanuel ---- God with Us. He chooses to be fully present in all our circumstances. If I follow Him I'll end up being present in all kinds of situations, too.

So I have a choice. I can be present in people's lives or I can hide, be it in the trunk of a car or in a dark place deep inside myself somewhere.

Though the dark places sometimes seem most appealing, being present in and with the Light is where I am called to be.

Lord, help me overcome fears and inadequacies that I may stand firmly in Your presence and be fully present in the lives of others.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Returned

Every once in a while when I get to the church there will be a couple of old Bibles leaning up next to the door. No note. No name. Just a Bible or two on the ground next to the church that a neighbor has left there.

Invariably, these Bibles are in rough condition. They've been folded in odd ways or pages are missing or they're especially musty. They may have even been rained on since arriving at the church.

No matter their condition, I always take them in.

What I've discovered is that people don't know what to do when a Bible has somehow gotten damaged. Maybe it got musty in a box buried deep in the dark, damp basement full of junk. Maybe the cheap paperback binding didn't hold up. Maybe it got bent and creased when it was used to hold up that old, comfortable couch.

No matter how it happened, once a Bible gets damaged, people aren't sure what to do. It just doesn't seem right to throw it in the recycle bin. The content hasn't changed and it somehow seems wrong to just put it out with the newspapers and junk mail.

So they bring the Bible to the church, leaving it at the foot of the door. Somehow in their minds, returning the book's content to its source provides absolution for their neglect of it and hope that it might do someone else some good in the future.

An old Bible is hard for me to deal with, too.

In it are stories I learned as a child and that I teach the kids in the neighborhood today. Yet, when I go back and read them again the lessons are not so clear and the picture the stories paint of God isn't always the same as the one I've painted of Him in my mind.

In it is a repeated call to abandon the ways of the world and to live fully human in light of the Gospel. Yet, I want to live in the light of the Gospel while only abandoning a few of the world's ways, namely the ones that I already don't like anyway.

In it are are stories and words and guidance that I just don't understand and that I want to either shape to my own liking or to discard. Yet, it's those parts of me that refuse to let go and let the text shape me into His liking that need to be discarded.

What should I do with the old contents of the Bible, written all over my heart and mind? Some of it I've let get musty by boxing it up in the dark damp places inside me where I store my junk. Sometimes, like cheap binding, I haven't held very tight to it. Most often, though, I've misused it to prop up something comfortable for my spirit to rest on like an old couch.

Yes, it's hard for me to deal with my old Bible. And many (most?) days I just want to leave it out of sight and get on with my daily tasks. But when the words inside me get folded in odd ways or are missing some pages or get musty I've learned from my neighbors what to do.

I need to take it back to the Source. I put it on the ground before Him. There I can receive absolution for the past and hope for His word's work in me in the future.

No matter the condition of His word in me, He'll always take me in.

Lord, shape me with your Word. Let your mystery not confound me but draw me closer to You.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Donkeys

We were reading the story of Palm Sunday together with some teenage boys. The kids had just read how Jesus had sent some disciples into the village to get a donkey for him to ride. When we read that they had put some clothes on the back of the donkey before Jesus got on, the group leader asked, "Why do you think they did that?"

Without hesitation and in all seriousness, one of the boys honestly answered, "So no one would know that it was the one they had just stolen." The others all agreed.

That was NOT the answer I was expecting.

I would have probably answered that the disciples put some of their clothes on the donkey to make something like a saddle for Jesus or to somehow honor Him. The thought of the disciples trying to disguise that donkey had never crossed my mind.

But the disguise made sense in the context of the kids' world and my ideas made sense in the context of my world. The fact of the matter is, though, that we were both probably wrong.

I will never fully understand the context of the stories of ancient Palestine. I can read about it. I can study it. I can travel to modern Israel (hopefully someday!). I can try really really really hard and I can get better at interpreting scripture because of my efforts. I can become quite knowledgeable of the context and through that I can gain deeper insights into the text.

Still, I will never fully experience (much less understand) the context of the stories of Jesus because I'm a relatively affluent white man in the USA 2000 years after all these events took place. I would guess that my understandings would sound even more off base to the original hearers than the kids' idea of eluding authorities by disguising a donkey sounded to me.

Yet, somewhere in the midst of my lack there is Truth. Truth seeks to reveal Himself through the text. And as His people gather around the text for serious study, when they bring with them enough humility to know that they will never really understand even a syllable without the Spirit's help, Truth is revealed despite our context. It comes humbly as it rides in on a donkey. (Matthew 21:5b)

And I'm not so sure why that donkey has some clothes laid on its back.

Lord, humble me with your Word. Help me welcome the Truth from it that You give into my life.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Senselessness

She got home just before dawn after completing her night shift on the cleaning staff at the university. She stepped into her 14 year old daughter's room to check on her. What she found was her daughter's body stabbed 17 times in her own bed. Forensics indicated that she had been raped twice prior to being stabbed.

Their pictures on the five o'clock news verified that the name of the deceased was indeed the girl I was remembering. She and her mom hadn't been in church for a while so I had to double check which block she lived on before going to the house.

Quite a crowd had gathered out along the curb. Flowers and stuffed animals had already begun to be piled high on the sidewalk in front of the downstairs window. I worked my way through those milling and those loitering in search of a familiar face.

The mom was visiting with everyone until she saw me. At that point, she grabbed hold of me and wept. My legs held both of us upright.

Several minutes later a Cadillac pulled up to the curb. Our city counsel representative emerged to express her condolences. At that point, the mom released her grip and again began visiting with the growing crowd.

The day's heat and humidity hung heavy in the air. The crowd was restless and its agitation was growing. It felt like things were on the verge of going out of control. I didn't know what to do so I went home and kept my other appointments previously scheduled for that evening.

I think this is the point in da 'votion where I'm supposed to connect the story to some more universal principal. I'm supposed to point out the Spirit's action or the role of the Church or something like that.

I'm not that smart. Making sense of what happened is well beyond my understanding of God and the capacity of the English language.

I do, however, need to go back in my mind to that night once in a while. I don't go back to it to try to figure it out any more. The world doesn't fit neatly into the boxes we construct in our mind. Like the writer of Ecclesiastes, I sometimes need to just acknowledge the senselessness of the human condition and choose faith in the midst of it.

God, I don't understand things most of the time. In the midst of senselessness, help me to choose You.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Sin

The young cousin of the guy who was in charge of all the drug deals in our neighborhood moved in with him for a few months. The church was just down the street from their house and when the doors were open this kid was inside.

Not long after he arrived, he handed me a couple of loose-leaf pages he had decorated. I opened them to see his art work. Along with the drawings of the church building and some illustration of the activities here was the statement "Be a Sin."

On the second page he wrote an acrostic of how to "Be a Sin":

B Behave yourself
E Easy on Bad News

A Act in a Proper Way

S Survive through the Bad Things
I Intelligent --- Show your act
N be Nice to Grown Ups

Needless to say, I was curious as to where he came up with this idea. He said, "Well, sin is a word I've heard at some of the churches I've been to so I figured it must be something people who go to church are supposed to be."

I wonder, how many people have gotten confused about things because people at church are busy "Being a Sin"?

I don't mean this in the way the described in the acrostic. I mean that sometimes as a Christians I display the exact opposite of what I'm trying to teach. It's so easy to do.

It's so easy when I receive insight and wisdom to be a sin and live in arrogance rather than in humility.

It's so easy when I receive material blessings to be a sin and live in greed rather than in generosity and abundance.

It's so easy when I feel supported and loved in a community's fellowship to be a sin and exclude others who are desperately seeking it.

It's so easy when I have been delivered from my destructive habits to be a sin and condemn those who are still ensnared.

It's so easy when I have a place of sanctuary to be a sin and withdraw from the world rather than to engage it.

Isn't the church often portrayed in the media as arrogant, greedy, exclusive, condemning, and withdrawn? Sometimes, my own "Being a Sin" is what has helped that image have a bit of truth in it.

If I'm going to be accused of "Being a Sin," then I want to be the kind of "sin" that our neighbor boy described: behaving myself, easy on the bad news, acting in a proper way, surviving through the bad things, intelligent and showing my act, and nice to grown ups.

Like the kid said, it's how ". . . people who go to church are supposed to be."

Lord, forgive me when I've abandoned Your ways amid Your blessings. Let my actions and attitudes reflect Your light and, in doing so, let your Way live in me.