Category: Love

Strain the Camel

Background Passages: Matthew 23:23-24; 2 Timothy 1:7

I don’t much like weeding the garden. Well, that’s not exactly true. I hate weeding the garden.

Recognizing it needs to be done from time to time, I started in one small corner and began pulling up the blanket of milkweed that covered the topsoil. Painstaking and boring. I finished a 10-foot section of ground and looked back on what I had accomplished. All the milkweed was gone. Yet, there in the middle of the flowerbed I just cleared stood a very proud, 18-inch dandelion with a bright, yellow flower on top. So focused on the little weeds, I missed the big, ugly one right in front of me.

I wonder if that was what it was like for the Pharisees as they settled into their comfortable lives. So focused were they on complete obedience to the letter of law that they missed its intent. So comfortable in the routine of religion, they ignored the needs of a lost world, never practicing what they preached.

In other words, they laboriously pulled the milkweed, but ignored the dandelion. Jesus’ call to righteous living put a spotlight on the dandelion.

In the last days of Jesus’ ministry prior to his journey to the cross, we find him spending more and more time grounding his disciples in the deepest fundamentals of faith. The more he talked about the kingdom of God, the more his opponents protested, pressured and plotted to eliminate him.

Instead of a concentrated effort to discern the truth the Pharisees made a concerted effort to discredit every word he spoke. They picked at the minuscule and ignored the material. A master of hyperbole, Jesus challenged their hypocrisy. The religious leaders of the day took great care to cross every “t” and dot every “i” in their quest for religious piety. So focused were they on the legalities of religion, they missed the point of faith.

Jesus acknowledged that they regularly gave their tithes of mint, dill and cumin, but he chided them for failing to practice the important matters of the very law they claimed to obey. Where is justice? Mercy? Faithfulness? “You should have practiced the latter without neglecting the former.”

Jesus took them to task for their improper perspective. “You blind guides! You strain out a gnat, but swallow a camel.”

Had I been standing next to Peter and John that day, I’m pretty sure the snicker I failed to choke back would have drawn an ugly glare from the closest Pharisee and a pained glance from Jesus that said, “Really? That’s your contribution to this debate?”

What a powerful commentary Jesus made with a tongue-in-cheek comment. It is a brilliant analysis of the problems preventing the Pharisees from accepting the new truth Jesus brought to the world. They were so driven by the principle of not eating what they deemed unclean that they would use a cloth to strain their drink to make sure they would not accidentally consume the tiny, filthy insect. Yet, they never seemed to see the camel they swallowed whole.

Had I been walking next to Jesus later that afternoon, I suspect I might have apologized and rationalized my inappropriate behavior. “I’m sorry, Jesus, but that was a good line. Pretty funny. Did you see their faces?”

I think Jesus would have put his arm around me and said with a rueful smile, “It might have been funnier if it weren’t also true in your life, too, my friend.” As my mind reeled, I’d hear something about ignoring the 4” x 4” beam in my own eye.

I am, at times, guilty of the same Pharisaical behavior. The Pharisees practiced their faith. They made dedicated effort to comply with the ritual and rules, focusing in extreme measure on the “thou shalts” and the “thou shalt nots,” while spending precious little time on the “love thy neighbor.” Being right was a higher calling than doing right. I may not always be that different.

You and I live in a time when it’s fashionable to be hypercritical. To declare ourselves politically and socially holier than thou. You and I live in a time when pronouncing our truth rides roughshod over proclaiming his truth. When we love the sound of our own voice rather than seeking to sound the voice of love. Such arrogance drives people away from the very one to whom our deeds and our words should point and proclaim.

It’s easy to play the Christian card in a world struggling to do what’s right. Attend church every week. Sing a few songs. Sit through the sermon. Study his word in Sunday School. Gather up a few old clothes to give to the poor every now and again. Now, somehow, I’m better that that other poor soul. It’s not that these things are wrong. Like Jesus reminded the Pharisees, these are things that should not be neglected.

However, when we focus on the “things” of our religion to the exclusion of the crucial matters of our faith…justice, forgiveness, love, compassion, truth…

…we become critical rather than encouraging…

…we divide rather than bring together…

…we falsely elevate our standing in the eyes of God, and…

…we fail in the deeper call of Christ.

We wonder all the time how the Pharisees could be so obtuse, time and time again failing to recognize the truth of Jesus’s words because they threatened to push them out of their comfort zone. The truth is they lived in fear of the kingdom of God that Jesus personified. It upset their apple carts and threatened to pull down their carefully constructed walls that isolated them from a world in need.

Jesus tells them, “You put on a good front. Make a good show of things. But, your heart cannot see what I see. Until it does, you will continue to go through the motions, critical of those less “pious,” feeling safe and comfortable within the walls you built around you.

“Until you see the world through my eyes and move past the ritual and routine, you’ll keep straining that gnat and eating that camel.”

Jesus calls me to keep doing those things I ought to be doing, but to focus on what matters most. I must set aside the fear that keeps me from embracing in love a world that knows no better way. I need to step outside my comfort zone. To challenge what I believe and dig deeper until God teaches me the next thing I need to know to become more like him. Fear stared the Pharisees in the face and gripped their hearts. It does the same to me at times.

When he needed to encourage Timothy, the young pastor of Ephesus, Paul reminded him,

“God did not give us a spirit of timidity and fear, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.”

I also find that encouraging. My ability to move past the trappings of religion and into a full expression of faith rests not in my own ability, but in the power of God through his spirit within me. My desire to love others will not come from the goodness of my own heart but from a realization of sacrificial love and mercy God extends to me every day. My desire to see the needs of those around me and to, therefore, act, comes from the discipline to be more like Christ every day in every way.

I don’t know if you feel the same way at times, but, if we assume we’re doing pretty well at filtering out our gnats, maybe it’s time we both strain the camel.

Peace, Love & Joy

Background Passages: John 14:20-27; John 15:9-17

They sit in our utility room unopened. Last Christmas, we were asked to hold onto two gifts for my niece. One is a heart-shaped stool that belonged to her grandmother. The other a present for my niece’s daughter. My niece knows they are here. Life circumstances keep getting in the way. Like most of us, when she thinks about it, the time is not convenient to pick up the gifts. Then, it’s out of sight, out of mind.

So, here we are eight months later, the gifts still sit in our house, unclaimed. Hold that thought for a bit. We’ll pick this up again later.

*****

What a strong sense of melancholy Jesus must have felt as he stood in the corner of the upper room listening to the light-hearted banter, a carry-over from the excitement of his triumphant entry into the city that morning. His disciples, buoyed by the throng that met them outside the gates and the welcoming shouts of praise they heard that morning, gathered for the evening meal, exuberant and enthusiastic.

The savior knew his inevitable fate. Knew the echoes of praise now in their ears would ring hollow in the days to come. Scripture tells us the disciples, caught up in the moment, seemed clueless to the end game soon to play out on a hill outside the city. Jesus stood prayerfully in that upper room. So much to say. Would they hear? Would they understand?

Over the course of the evening, the mood grew progressively more serious. More somber.

Washing of feet.

Pronouncing betrayal.

Breaking of bread.

Sharing of wine.

This do in remembrance of me.

Gone was the fervor of the morning. In its place, confusion and concern. It was an evening filled with questions.

Peter. “Where are you going?”

Peter again. “Lord, why can’t I follow you now?”

Thomas. “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”

Philip. “Lord, show us the father and that will be enough for us. “

Jesus spent these last moments available to him to teach again the truth of who he was. Offering comfort that only he could give to those who would, in a matter of hours, find their world flipped upside down. These questions are familiar to us…as are Jesus’ answers.

To Peter. “Where I go you cannot follow…”

To Peter again, “…I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.”

To Thomas. “I am the way, and the truth, and the life…”

To Philip: “Anyone who has seen me has seen the father…I am in the father and the father is in me…”

In response to their growing fears, he promised they would never be alone. That he would send a comforter and counselor. In the middle of that expansive narrative, he offered words we often forget.

“On that day, you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me and I am in you.”

Much of my personal Bible study over the past year explored what it means to live in the image of God. How are we to live the Christ-like life we are called to live? Given our sinful nature, it feels almost impossible. Yet, verse after verse of scripture shows us how…revealed in the life of Christ. This verse offers as great a hope that I can live in God’s image as any I’ve discovered. “…I am in my Father, and you are in me and I am in you.”

Living in the image of God is as simple as allowing Jesus, who is in us, to be the boss of our lives. To take control of every aspect of it. Of course, that’s easier said than done. I know. I fail miserably at it each day, it seems. Yet, the greater possibility exists that I can respond to the challenges of this world as God would like for me to respond because his presence in my life is a constant.

Give that some thought. He is in me. He is in you.

As the narrative in John 14 and 15 continued, Jesus touched upon three attributes of his life that he gifts to us when we place our trust in him. These teachings stemmed from yet another question asked by a disciple we don’t hear from often…Judas, not Iscariot, sometimes called Thaddaeus.

“Lord, why do you intend to show yourself to us, but not to the world?”

Thaddaeus missed the point. Jesus tried explaining to him and the other disciples that he reveals himself completely to those who call upon him. Those who place their faith in him. Those who love him. People who live by the world will never understand Jesus until they open their hearts to him.

The teachable moment continued. Jesus gave us more insight into his character, offering that which he possessed to his disciples, and by extension, to us. It comes as a gift, one we will need to accept if we are to live like Christ.

“Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. “

The world’s idea of peace is the absence of conflict. We know from Jesus’ life that living as he lived will not end struggle, but may in fact, add to it. Jesus said, “My peace I give you.” What is the peace he gives? William Barclay says it conveys the idea that we have all we need for our “highest good.” He wrote, “The peace the world offers is the peace of escape, peace that comes from the avoidance of trouble.” The peace Jesus offers, Barclay says, is the peace which “no experience of life can take from us.” A peace that is not dependent on life’s circumstance.

Jesus lived his whole life under the shelter of this peace, woven into his spiritual DNA. It was an essential part of who he was. Despite all he was sent to do and all he had to endure, Jesus’ spirit was never threatened.

His peace is part and parcel of the gift of salvation. As he lives in us, his peace is gifted to us. Not just any peace, but his peace. The same spirit of peace that carried him through every temptation, every trial, every test exists within us as his gift to those who know him. We just have to claim it and remove it from its box, allowing it to pervade every corner of our being. Living in the image of God, in the image of Christ, means abiding in his peace.

A few verses later in Chapter 15, Jesus continued his teaching to the troubled disciples. He asked them to picture a grapevine, declaring himself the vine and urged them to see themselves as the branches who can and must bear fruit.

Buried in that familiar passage is another verse that speaks to the very nature of Jesus Christ. Jesus personified love. It motivated everything he said and everything he did. He felt the all-encompassing love of his father and passed that love on to those he encountered. Love filled his heart and soul.

“As the father has loved me so I have loved you. Now, remain in my love…love each other as I have loved you.”

He revealed the depth of his love for those who believe in him…“as the father has loved me so I have loved you.” He loved his disciples, he loves us, with all the love the Creator holds for his created. It is not that way in a world without Christ. The world loves until it is disappointed. The world’s love turns quickly to ambivalence or hate, again, based on outside circumstances.

Jesus told his disciples to remain in his love. What is Jesus’ love? He provided the illustration.

“Greater love has no man than this, but to lay down his life for a friend.”

We are called to love one another. That’s not just a call to love other Christians. We are called to extend God’s love to our fellow man. Few of us may be called to mortally sacrifice our lives for another as Jesus did. Each of us, however, is called to personally sacrifice in service to those in need. Such selfless sacrifice provides evidence of our love.

The great news is that because he abides in us, we don’t need to rely on our human capacity to love. We get to draw from the deep well of God’s all-encompassing love within us. What a gift!

We see in the scripture that God has given us his peace and his love. He didn’t stop there. He urged his disciples to remain obedient to all he had taught them; to all God called them to do. Obedience to God’s will opens his gift of joy.

“I have told you this so my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.”

Living as the world lives is easy. It requires little stamina. One just floats with the flow regardless of where it leads. Jesus told his disciples that his way was hard. Living in the image of God, standing firm in faith, demands we swim against the prevailing current. Yet, despite the difficulty surrounding the Christian journey, the path we follow ought to be joyous.

There is always joy in doing the right thing. Joy in living a purposeful life. Joy in letting Christ control your day to day living. In knowing you have been true to the commands of Christ.

Jesus lived his life on earth as the personification of peace, love and joy. These fruits of the spirit were embedded within his nature. They are part of the image we hold of him. A part of who he was as a man. Despite the rigors of his mission and ministry, no outward circumstance would ever strip from him that essential part of his spirit and personality.

Peace.

Love.

Joy.

Those life-sustaining characteristics he embraced are now embedded in all who believe in his name. He promised it! “You are in me and I am in you.” He gifted his peace, his love and his joy to each of us.

Here’s the thing. It’s not just that he put the capacity to experience these things into our hearts for us to develop and grow. His peace, love and joy in its fullnes reside within us already fully developed and available through the presence of the Holy Spirit. The indwelling presence of Christ in the form of the Holy Spirit gives us access to the heart of Jesus…to the all-to-often untapped potential and power of Christ in us.

To his peace.

To his love.

To his joy.

These great gifts sit in the utility room of our hearts waiting to be claimed. They will never be enjoyed and experienced until we pick them up. Take them home. Put them to good use. Our unclaimed gifts of the God’s Spirit keep us from living as the image of God.

Jesus said, “My peace, my love and my joy I give to you.”

Maybe, just maybe, it’s time we opened the package.

From Mourning to Ministry

Background Passage: Matthew 14:9-23

No physical pain eclipses the pain of losing a close friend or family member. The grief of personal loss hurts. Shatters our sense of normalcy. Threatens our emotional stability. Chokes the very breath from our souls.

Grief might be tempered by the circumstances of our loss. When a loved one has faced months of pain from an insidious disease, for instance, the believer feels a sense of comfort and release knowing that a mother, a sister or friend is no longer suffering. That realization may lessen the gravity weighing on a sad heart, but it does little to fill the emptiness one feels.

Grief is a process as anyone who has lived it knows. Our reactions to it as individual as our own unique personalities.

In their respected book, On Death and Dying, Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler plotted five stages of grief that all must travel. People express themselves in various ways, passing through the stages in different ways or times because our relationship to the one who died was unique to us. The authors suggest we must go through each stage if we are to recover from the sorrow that engulfs us with the loss of someone special.

Kubler-Ross and Kessler define the stages of grief: Denial…a time of shock and emotional paralysis where we tend to avoid our new reality; Anger…a time when all the emotions we bottled up for a time get released; Bargaining…when we look for alternatives to fill the void within us; Depression…when reality weighs us down; and acceptance…finding our way forward into a new normal.

I know two families this week going through the death of a family member. Having walked in their shoes in my own family, forever uncertain what to say, I found myself scanning the scripture for words that might grant all of us a foothold of understanding on the slippery slope of sorrow.

Well-meaning folks like me will offer these families platitudes in the coming days based on our personal experiences. The intent will be appreciated. The care and concern evident.  But the words will most likely fall on a heart too troubled to hear.

Many passages of scripture tells us about God’s comfort during times of despair. There is beauty and value in those verses. As we seek to live in the image of God and if Jesus represents the image of God on earth, then what did Jesus know of our sorrow?

I suspect there were a thousand of unrecorded occasions when Jesus put his arm around a crying widow, offered a prayer for a brother in mourning, took a meal to a neighbor who lost a sister, prayed for a family whose mother died peacefully in her sleep, or stood quietly beside a parent whose child was ravaged by disease when no word would bring comfort. Scripture also tells us Jesus felt the grief resulting from the death of someone for whom he cared deeply.

His experiences with grief were personal, not second hand, full of the emotional trauma death brings. Late in his earthly ministry, his good friend Lazarus died. Though Jesus knew the outcome of this experience would be new life, scripture tells us he wept. His anguish over the loss of someone he loved so real and heart-wrenching.

Yet, another profound encounter with death touched Jesus at the beginning of his ministry. Not too long after Jesus gathered his disciples together and taught them things they needed to know about the kingdom of God, he sent them out, two-by-two, on a mission trip to preach the good news of God’s coming salvation.

At the same time, Herod, the Judean tetrarch, arrested John the Baptist, Jesus’ cousin and early partner in ministry. The Baptist ran afoul of the regional governor when he challenged Herod’s divorce and marriage to his sister-in-law. While John was in prison, Herod, intrigued by his step-daughter, promised her anything she wished. After talking to her conniving mother, the step-daughter asked for John the Baptist’s head on a platter. Herod did not disappoint and ordered John beheaded.

News of this horrific death reached Jesus just as the disciples were returning from their trip. The news was unsettling. Jesus and John, connected by circumstance of birth and passion of ministry, held deep respect for each other.

Jesus once told the crowds who followed him that “among those born of women there is none greater than John,” revealing his level of affection and respect for the tough-minded preacher. Jesus’ love was returned many times over. John stood waist deep in the Jordan when Jesus presented himself to be baptized at the starting point of his earthly ministry. Knowing who he was and the nature of his work, John hesitated. “I’m not worthy to tie your sandals,” he said.

When Jesus heard the news about his cousin, Matthew 14 tells us , “he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place.” Saddened. Distraught. Struggling with both the loss and the method of his death. Seeing in John’s death, perhaps, a reflection of his own future.

As he so often did when troubled with life, Jesus needed to feel the presence of his heavenly father. In the middle of the excitement of the missionary reports, he moved away from the crowd to find a quiet place to be alone in his thoughts, to deal with his emotions and his grief.

Yet, the crowd would not let him go. Maybe they were unaware of John’s death. Maybe they didn’t understand the connection between the men as cousins. Maybe they were so caught up in their own struggles they couldn’t see into the hurting heart of another person. Whatever possessed them to come, a large crowd circled around the Sea of Galilee to wait as Jesus’ boat came ashore.

Many of us can empathize with Jesus. He needs his time alone…his space to deal with his own breaking heart. Life will not allow it. Jesus had a choice, to look inward or outward. We face the same choice in times like this. We can turn inside ourselves, skirt the crowd and run into the desert alone. Or we can look outside ourselves to the people pressing around us and extend God’s mercy to them.

Matthew tells us Jesus saw the crowd and had “compassion on them.” What an amazing picture this presents! A grieving Christ sees the gathering crowd. When most of us would turned the boat around, Jesus dried his tear-stained cheeks with the sleeve of his cloak, said a new prayer for emotional strength, took in a deep breath and went about his work healing the sick, comforting the sorrowful and feeding the famished.

He spent the rest of the day with them, eventually feeding them with a little bread and fish before sending them on their way. A picture settles in my thoughts. The last family finally turned to leave. Jesus, who set aside his own sorrow for that time, waited until they were out of sight before sagging heavily on a boulder, allowing the emotion pent inside to flow freely.

Scripture says at some point he gathered himself, climbed the wilderness mountain as he had intended to do earlier that day and sought refuge in a father who understood clearly the heaviness of his heart.

So, what does this tell me about grief?  My faith pales in comparison to the faith of Jesus. How hard it is to carry on when all we want to be is carried away. This biblical episode in the life of Jesus tells us life never stops for the grieving. Never slows down. Never considers our emotional state. Life goes on.

The daze of days surrounding the loss of a loved one blow by with little regard to what we want or need. In the days that follow death there will be bills to pay. Places to go where no one knows our anguish. Children tugging at our sleeve who need us to be in the moment with them. Co-workers expecting us to be on our game. Work still to be done. Our ability to find the peace we need, the solitude we crave, gets overshadowed by the press of the crowd around us.

We can push the crowd away or do as Jesus did when he pulled the boat to shore…embrace for a moment the opportunity God puts in front of us to serve him. To testify through our last reserve of faith and strength to the power of the father who gives us the ability to put one foot in front of the other and move when all we want to do is turn the boat around.

I don’t want to minimize the difficulty of walking our grief walk. It is healthy to grieve. Healthy to find time alone to consider the meaning of this personal loss. Healthy to weep.

As Jesus sailed the boat across the Sea of Galilee that day, I suspect the horizon lay unseen in the distance obscured by the tears in his eyes. His vision limited to the prow of the boat as he stared blankly into a tomorrow without his dear friend. That’s the way I feel on days like that.

However deeply Jesus mourned John’s death, he didn’t stay in the boat. He turned grief into the fuel that fired his own sense of mercy and ministry. You see, all the hurt and pain we experience at the death of one we love can empower us to love more deeply, embrace more often and to serve more willingly.

These two friends of mine who mourn this week the loss of a brother and sister, respectively, will be in Collique, Peru, next week on a mission trip. They join others in building small homes for families who possess next to nothing. Despite their personal sorrow, they will step out of their boats on the shore of a dusty hill in South America to share the compassion of Christ to strangers unaware of the grief they bear. What a testimony!

In our most desperate times, our dependence on Jesus Christ serves as dynamic evidence of the power of God’s sustaining love to a lost world with little on which to cling in life’s toughest times.

Grieve because you must.  Mourn for lost love ones. Cherish the memories of love that runs deeply. But, along the way, may our emotions turn ever outward to spirit-inspired, Gospel-driven, compassion.

 

Always Love

Background Passages: Matthew 12:1-14; Mark 2:23-3:6; and Luke 6:1-12

I read another news account this week about the Baptist church in Kansas staging another protest to condemn with unholy words those they deem to be sinners responsible for the ruin of the world. Citing scripture. Calling names. Their views right. All others wrong. Compassion lost to the certainty of their conviction.

I don’t understand it. How can a people claiming to be of God miss so badly the spirit of God? How can they interpret scripture so strictly that they fail to see the hurt they inflict?

Their actions this week reminded me of a story from scripture. Journey with me to Capernaum.

*****

He watched from the shadow of the alley between two homes as Jesus wound his way through the streets of Capernaum, a gathering crowd surrounding the healer and his closest friends. He darted from house to house, staying just ahead of Jesus, always in shadows cast by the rising sun. Unnoticed. That’s the way he liked it. When people noticed, they stared. When people noticed, they judged.

Without warning, someone grabbed his left arm startling the man. Dark brown eyes under bushy eyebrows, stared into his own. The elegant robe told him all he needed to know. A Pharisee. He recognized him as one of the priests from Jerusalem following in the footsteps of the healer for the past three weeks.

“Come with me,” commanded the priest, pulling him down the alley into deeper darkness. When alone, the priest looked at his withered right hand, dangling uselessly at the end of an arm lacking any strength. Nodding at his infirmity, how did that happen?

“I was kicked by a donkey eight years ago. I can no longer use my hand.”

“I have a proposition for you…” started the Pharisee as he explained his plan. Then, with a furtive glance and a smile that lacked sincerity, he slinked away.

Instructed to go to the synagogue where the healer would teach that morning, the man with the shriveled hand stood by the entrance to the white-stoned building near the market, waiting for Jesus. As Jesus approached, the man stepped out to greet him. “Rabbi, I am in need of your healing.” Words the Pharisee told him to speak.

Jesus smiled. Saw his hand. The need obvious, but sensing more to the story. “Why come to me?”

“I’ve seen what you can do,” said the man. Then, with a nervous glance inside at the Pharisees finding a seat in the crowded synagogue, “They told me you could heal me today.”

Jesus looked at the men who questioned his every move for weeks. “Did they now?”

The man, oblivious to the obvious, continued, “I need to provide for my family. I need to work. I want to work. If there is a chance…” His voice trailed off in all too familiar whisper of hopelessness.

Jesus looked into his eyes. Heart full of compassion. He threw his arm around him, glancing once more at the Pharisees. “Come on in. Find a seat. Let’s see what God will do today.”

Jesus walked to the front of the room. Sat down on the stone bench. Surveyed the packed room filled with the contrite, the curious and the condemning. The stage set for another lesson about the priorities of God.

*****

Read the account of the man with the withered hand in three of the four gospels. The confrontation between the religious leaders and Jesus in the Capernaum synagogue started in the fields that morning on the way to worship. In the end, the Savior’s compassion was both rejected and received. It started as an ordinary Sabbath morning.

Jesus and his disciples rose that morning, intent upon going to the synagogue for the Sabbath time of teaching and worship. The local rabbi requested Jesus lead the discussion, a frequent occurrence early in his ministry.

For days, the Pharisees sent from Jerusalem tagged along everywhere Jesus went, hovering always on the edge of the crowd. Dipping in and out of the conversation when it suited them. Questioning his motives. Probing for answers. Checking Jesus’ words against their own rigid interpretation of scripture. Determined to find reasons to discredit his teaching. Hoping to turn the crowds against him.

As the disciples moved along the country path into the village, they walked along the edge of a wheat field. Through stalks of grain ripe for harvest. In the cool of the morning, they absentmindedly plucked heads of grain from the stalks. Rubbed their hands together to remove the husk from the kernels. Blew into their palms to separate the wheat from the chaff. Popped the morsels into their mouths. Hungry men on the way to church.

On any other day the action of the disciples would raise no eyebrow. Eating another man’s grain along the path was a standard of care for the hungry and weary traveler. But, today was the Sabbath. The Pharisees almost giggled in delight. They caught Jesus’ followers violating the strict rules of the Sabbath regarding work…harvesting, winnowing and preparing food.

They practically ran over the disciples in their haste to confront Jesus for this egregious violation. This blatant disregard for Sabbath law.

Jesus took the opportunity to teach, hoping his words would resonate. “Have you not read…” reminding them that David entered the Temple while under duress and took the consecrated bread in order to feed himself and his hungry men.

He quoted Hosea, “If you had known what these words mean, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice,’ you would not have condemned the innocent.”

As the debate ensued, Jesus silenced them. They stood with their mouths opening and closing like a fish out of water. No rebuttal. “The Sabbath is made for man, not man for the Sabbath. For the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath.”

The day cannot take precedent over human need. The law cannot substitute for mercy. This whole episode troubled Jesus. The conversation lingered in the Savior’s heart as he began to teach the lesson that day. A lesson about the priorities of God.

The same Pharisees who hassled Jesus during their walk into town laid their trap for him, taking advantage of a man’s disability for personal gain. Dangling him in front of Jesus. A worm on a hook. Begging Jesus to bite. To heal the man so they could challenge Jesus in a public setting about his contempt for the Sabbath.

Can’t you see the Pharisees fidgeting in their seats, waiting for Jesus to take their bait? When he didn’t immediately do so, one of them could no longer contain himself. Interrupting Jesus as he taught, he reminded Jesus of the episode in the grain field. He demanded to know. If, as you say, it’s permissible to harvest on the Sabbath… “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?”

From the moment he met the man with the withered hand outside the synagogue and heard his story, Jesus expected the question. “If any of you has a sheep and it falls into a pit on the Sabbath, will you not take hold of it and lift it out? How much more valuable is a person than a sheep!” The implication clear. “It is lawful to do good on the Sabbath.”

Jesus waited for their response. Jesus expected the question. They didn’t expect that answer. So they sat, tight-lipped and tense.

It’s hard for 100 people to fall silent, but if a pin dropped in the sanctuary at that moment, everyone would hear it. All sat perfectly still. Only their eyes darted back and forth between Jesus and the Pharisees, waiting for the next sandal to fall.

Jesus rose to his feet. Walked to the middle of the room. He looked for the man he met earlier by the door. He found him, sitting in the corner. Hiding behind the town’s burly blacksmith. The savior caught his eye. Motioned for him to come forward. A smile, warm with compassion. An invitation. Jesus stood behind him. Rested his hands on the man’s shoulders. “Stand here with me in front of everyone.” In front of these self-righteous men.

With fire in his eyes stoked by their hard hearts, Jesus bore into the soul of the Pharisees. Hear a heavy sigh in Jesus’ voice as he posed one last question, hoping to elicit a glimmer of understanding from their closed and locked hearts.

“Let me ask you, which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save a life or destroy it?” To do the good I intend to do or the evil you’re now doing?

Every eye in the room drawn to the obvious. The misshapen and shriveled hand, hung uselessly at the man’s side.

In the silence of the Pharisees, more contempt. More condemnation.

Jesus looked toward heaven. Eyes closed. Let out a slow breath to purge his gut of the bile of disgust rising in his throat. When he spoke softly to the man, little more than a whisper in his ear. “Stretch out your hand.”

In the instant the man followed Jesus’ command, the muscle and tendons regained their strength. The gnarled, misshapen fingers relaxed. As he raised his hand in front of his face, his hand was completely restored. Strong and sound like the other. Healthy again. Productive again. The synagogue erupted in shouts of joy from the people gathered to worship.

In a huff unable to celebrate for a life made whole, the Pharisees stormed out to conspire with bitter enemies to plot the death of Jesus.

*****

When you read these stories, we tend to look at them only as episodes chronicling the growing confrontation between Jesus and the religious leaders. If that were all it was, I’m not sure all three gospels would have carried an account of the story. There is a deeper, richer lesson waiting to be learned and it starts with the verse quoted by Jesus from Hosea, “I desire mercy not sacrifice.”

Jesus told the Pharisees, “If you understood what these words mean…” Well, what do they mean? Mercy trumps sacrifice. Compassion trumps dogma. The Pharisees clung so tightly to their “truth” they failed to recognize the need in front of them. Their strict adherence to law served as blinders to the suffering of those around them. We cannot and must not hold our “truth” so tightly that we dismiss how valuable another human being is to God.

Through these two vignettes Jesus suggests that we cannot place every jot and tittle of scripture over our call to serve, care for and forgive. Feed the hungry. Tend to the infirmed.

Think about it. Jesus didn’t dishonor the Sabbath. He was there every Sunday. (If you don’t see the irony of that statement, maybe that’s the problem.) Jesus sat aside the Sabbath as a day of worship to God the Father. As natural to him as breathing, but not if it meant ignoring a need.

We tend to cherry pick our Sabbaths. Taking things out of context without applying the whole of Jesus’ teachings. We cannot condone sin, but, by nature of our own sin, we are also disqualified to judge it in others.

Jesus met the woman caught in the act of adultery by another group of Pharisees. Jesus asked them to reflect upon their own sin. When her accusers faded away in the reality of Jesus’ question, he told her. “Neither do I condemn you…go and sin no more.” Rather than exclude, Jesus chose to love and teach.

Is it possible the social issues of our day have become our Sabbath law? The eating of the grain. The man with the shriveled hand. Depending on your personal beliefs, consider them the ancient equivalent of our attitudes toward whomever we deem undesirable. The Liberal. The Conservative. The Gay. The Transgender. The Straight. The Black. The White. The Brown. The Rich. The Poor. The Gun Owner. The Unarmed. Consider them anyone on whom we pass judgment. Anyone we point to in disdain while channeling our inner Pharisee.

Those in whom we easily see the sawdust in their eye while disregarding the 2 x 4 jutting from our own. Judgment is the easy way. Loving is the hard way. I’m too often guilty of taking the easy way.

If we are to live as the image of God, if we are to be like Christ, we cannot declare our “truth” or value “being right” more than we value lifting our hands to help the broken, the hurting or the drifting. As soon as we do so we lose the heart and spirit of Jesus. For him, it was always truth and right grounded in love. But always love.

In the story, the Pharisees never see themselves as a soiled robe in need of a good scrub. They see themselves as a garment already cleansed by their strict obedience to the law…in need of nothing else…now or ever.

Here’s the really sad thing about these stories. The Pharisees never doubted that Jesus could heal the man. They begged him to do it. Knew he would. They recognized in him God’s sufficient and amazing power and gift of healing. They never questioned his ability to heal, only his timing that broke a rule they created to set them apart from others. Staring them in the face was the chance to join with the Son of God and they could not comprehend it.

Never doubt for a moment that God loves the Liberal and Conservative. The Gay. The Transgender. The Straight. The Black. The White. The Brown. The Rich. The Poor. The Gun Owner. The Unarmed. Let us escape the confinement of our entrenched Pharisaical truths.

Jesus calls us to love. Jesus calls us to serve. This week let’s reach out to the hungry heart and the shriveled soul. It is always lawful to do good.

 

Fearless Love

Background Passages: Romans 12:13; I Peter 4:8-10; I John 4:18-20 and III John

“What should we do if we see one of you doing something wrong?” The question from my oldest son came out of the blue at the dinner table when he was about eight years old. My wife and I looked at each other in stunned silence as my mind raced through all the things I might have said or done since I got home that night.

My wife, unfazed by the question and probably with a cleaner conscious than mine, responded first. “You should tell us.” My son turned to me with a stern look on his face, “She talks to strangers all the time.” It seems our talks about “stranger danger” took hold. All I could do was shake my head and say, “I know. I know.”

What Adam observed is true. Robin will strike up a conversation with the woman she’s never met in the grocery line or the man at the doctor’s office…any time, any place, any one. She is outgoing and friendly to all she encounters. My son was right about her actions, but wrong in his interpretation. To my wife, no one is a stranger and all a potential friend.

I believe her ability to notice people, to make them feel special, is a God-given gift. In biblical terms, she has the gift of hospitality. Christian hospitality isn’t about fancy table settings or sumptuous banquets, it’s about servanthood. It conveys the idea of loving others in the name of Christ. While the Bible teaches all of us to love one another and to practice hospitality (Rom. 12:13), there are those whose spirit captures it in abundance.

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each one of you should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.” I Peter 4:8-10

At its core, hospitality frames the loving outreach of the Christian faith…with hands, hearts and doors open to the world. It’s more than just unlocking your home to those in need of a place to stay. It speaks more to making connections with those we encounter…even if the connection is brief.

You’ll find the gift present in the families that welcomed into their homes victims of flood, fire and storm. You’ll find it in the woman who gave up a successful career to open a shelter for abused women and children. You’ll find the gift in the foster parent who loves so unconditionally for an uncertain time.

You’ll find the gift among those men and women who meet the needs of the hurting. End the isolation of the lonely, Embrace the rejected. The gift flows naturally because they love…and they love fearlessly.

John reminds us in his first letter, “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because he first loved us.” I John 4:18-19

That leads me back to the first century to a man referenced just once in the Bible. A minor player with a major role to play. John wrote his third letter not to a church nor to a pastor. Rather, III John is the ancient equivalent to a quick text or email from the apostle to a dear friend named Gaius whose fearless love served as evidence of his gift of hospitality.

Let me give you the setting. During the first century the apostles journeyed through the biblical world planting new churches. As they moved on under the leadership of the spirit, they left those fledgling congregations in the hands of local pastoral leaders. To ensure these new believers stayed true to the teachings of Christ, the apostles would periodically send their personal assistants, itinerant pastors, to continue teaching the deeper truths of the gospel, helping them grow toward a more mature faith.

Inevitably, some of these local leaders felt they no longer needed the help of “outsiders.” John tells us of one such man. Diotrephes, a strong-willed man who enjoyed at little too much his prominent position in the church, constantly belittled the apostles and sent away unceremoniously the itinerant preachers sent by John to minster to the people. Diotrephes so loved “being first” he abused his authority, convincing the congregation to kick out of the church any who opposed him in this matter.

Gaius stood in the gap on behalf of these visiting pastors, defying Diotrephes and undoubtedly incurring his wrath. Yet, John encouraged Gaius to continue “walking in truth” (vs. 3) and praised him for his “faithfulness” (vs. 5).

You see, Gaius had the gift. He could make anyone feel welcomed. With Gaius, conversation flowed easily. There was something in his demeanor that instantly turned the stranger he met in the grocery store, the doctor’s office or the steps of his church into a friend. He was the kind of person who drew the lonely from their solitude.

Gaius saw the good in others and cast aside the arrogance of Diotrephes to embrace the teaching of those visiting preachers. To welcome them into his home. To share his food and provision. To invite others to hear their words of encouragement and hope. If that meant loving those he barely knew when other friends and neighbors called him a fool, that’s what he would do.

You see, like my wife, Gaius never met a stranger. He met everyone he encountered with fearless love and the open arms of Christ. Gaius had the gift of hospitality and he used it to God’s glory.

In the words of Jesus, “Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother or sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen.”

Most of us love fearfully, afraid to welcome the strangers we encounter. Always careful to approach only those who look and act like us. Afraid that opening our lives to others make us vulnerable to heartbreak and hurt.

We need to see that John commends Gaius for using his gift of hospitality. Gaius’ heart and home extended comfort and provision to the traveling ministers sent by John to preach and teach in his absence, despite the fact that they were strangers to Gaius. Despite the fact that others turned them away. By opening his home to these brothers, John’s beloved friend became a partner with them for the sake of “the Name” and for “the truth.” Gaius made a difference in sharing the name of Christ and his gospel of truth.

Gaius’ actions thrilled John. He wrote, “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.”

We’ve each been called to love because God first loved us. Those he gifted with the spirit of hospitality take love to a new level and it is fearless. What a changed world it would be if we all put it into practice.

*****

Author’s Note: This devotional thought is the second in a series of posts about some of the unsung heroes of the New Testament. These men and women, in many ways, carried the responsibility of the spread of the gospel in first 50 years after the ministry of Christ. By putting together the limited biblical references to their work and filling in the gaps with a little imagination, we find ways in which we, as ordinary Christians, can a heart for ministry in the examples they set.

 

Faith Amid the Sorrow

Background Passages: Job 3:24-26; Romans 12:9-13

He sat on the ground covered in the dust, overwhelmed by all that occurred to him. He lost everything and faced rebuilding what remained of a shattered life. Shaken to the core by circumstances beyond his control, Job revealed the anguish in his heart.

“For sighing has become my daily food; my groans pour out like water. What I feared most has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil.”

When I offered my last devotional post two weeks ago, my family and my community braced for what our weather forecasters called a “major flood event.” I know enough to know that forecasting remains ever an inexact science with constantly changing variables and frequently reflects the worst case scenario. Their suggestion that rains brought by Tropical Storm Harvey might exceed 50 inches seemed outlandish. This time they pegged it. My neighborhood received in excess of 51 inches. Other areas of Houston experienced more.

My family and I remain thankful our homes did not flood, but many across our area and all of southeast Texas were not as fortunate. During the storm it seemed it would never stop raining. The waters rose and fell in the streets and yards, depending on the strength of the rain at that moment, until the rivers, creeks, bayous and drainage ditches spilled over their banks. Then, the waters just rose.

Some people faced imminent threat to the lives of their families. First responders and complete strangers went out in waves of high water vehicles and small boats to bring thousands trapped in their homes to the relative safety of hastily improvised shelters. Many more thousands huddled on furniture or upstairs as the waters climbed inside their homes. By the time the rains stopped, thousands of homes were flooded.

Those who experienced the flooding stand in a mess not of their making and face rebuilding what remains of their storm-shattered lives. You can read Job’s words etched in their bewildered faces, “For sighing has become my daily food.”

Surveying the damage, many of them feel uncertain as to where to begin the process of cleaning up. What items must be discarded? What can be saved? For those on fixed retirement incomes or those without flood insurance, they wonder how they will find the funds to rebuild what was destroyed or replace what was lost? In the midst of such uncertainty, they find no peace. No quietness. No rest. Only turmoil.

Two things impressed me in Harvey’s aftermath. First, the victims of the flood who I knew to be followers of Christ, though obviously struggling at times to hold it together, remained steadfast in their faith. You see, sorrow and faith are not mutually exclusive. Job’s distress ran deep, but so did his faith. His heart bore the burden of his grief at the same time it welcomed the hope borne of his faith. Our friends and neighbors showed the same faithful resolve while grieving over all that was lost. I found their strength inspiring.

My church, like so many other churches and organizations, like so many individuals, jumped in to provide resources and labor to help victims of the storm begin walking down the road to recovery. Many of our people worked the shelter and processed thousands of requests for supplies of clothing and food donated from across the country. Our “mud out” teams gathered each morning and went to homes in our community to help friends and neighbors clean up from the storm.

God taught another lesson in the two weeks since the storm. Christians do not hold a monopoly on caring. Across the area, there were people of every background helping others in need. Basic humanity compels us to reach out to those who hurt. The world responds to dramatic need out of a sense of community service and charity. However, for followers of Christ, the motivation to help ought to exceed obligations of social concern and benevolence.

The Christian response ought to be grounded in love. The Greek language of the New Testament used four unique words for “love.” There is God’s love (agape) for his creation and his children. There is a romantic or sexual love (eros) and the love for a friend (philia).

Paul offered another word used only this time in the New Testament. It is the word storge. It is a love derived from natural attachment. The love a mother feels the moment she sees her newborn baby for the first time. The love flows automatically because of the natural connection between them.

Paul, in writing to the church in Rome, said the Christian response of human need must surpass social concern or civic duty. When facing human need, followers of Christ ought to demonstrate God’s love to everyone for no other reason than he created them in his image just as he created those of us who call him Savior. It is not a love that can be faked.

Look at what Paul said in Romans 12:9-13.

“Love (storge) must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.”

Throughout the week as teams went into homes to jump start the process of recovery from the storm, this passage manifested itself in the lives of the volunteers time and time again. Not just in the things that were being done, but through whispered words of encouragement. The hug or the arm around a sagging shoulder. The expressions of hope. The prayers voiced aloud and uttered in silence. The sharing of resources.

The countless acts of love demonstrated over the past two weeks did not end the anguish for those who suffered so much. It is my hope that each piece of sheetrock and insulation removed made recovery come a little quicker; a little easier.

As I spent my time at work, I could not help but see God’s love at work as his people put their love and faith in action. Amid the ugly devastation of the past two weeks, I find that beautiful.

*****

Our prayers go out today for all of those in the Caribbean whose lives were forever changed by the devastation in the wake of Hurricane Irma. We pray for safety and comfort for the people of Florida who face the strength of the storm and the inevitable struggle for recovery in the coming days.

Their Father’s Eyes

Background Passage: I Corinthians 13:4-8a

I’m certain there were a great many times during my sons’ teenage years when they agreed with Mark Twain when he said, “When I was fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around.” Hopefully, now that both of them are in their 30s, they might agree with Twain’s finished thought. “But, when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned.”

We celebrate Father’s Day this weekend. Last year I wrote about my Dad and the genuineness and integrity he brings to life each day. This weekend, he is in a rehab hospital recovering from hip replacement surgery at the age of 91. He is a good, good man.

I think back on all I learned from Dad and hope I put the best of those things into practice during my 38 years as the father of two sons. Adam and Andrew witnessed my response through the ups and downs…through life’s turmoil and trauma and its beauty and blessings. They saw me struggle when the fog of life shrouded my sense of direction. Hopefully, they also saw me press on until the mist lifted and the sun shone brightly again. Hopefully, they learned during all those days what not to do as easily as they learned what to do.

I have watched my two sons grow and mature into amazing husbands and fathers. Granted, neither of them has walked yet in the furnace of fire that will surely engulf them during the teenage years to come. Based on what I have seen so far, I think they’ll do fine.

So, on this Father’s Day, while I am eternally grateful for the example of my own father, I am equally blessed by the example of my sons.

I rejoice also knowing that both of my sons know first-hand the love of Christ and live each day in faith and commitment to him. Their relationship to Christ guides their relationships with their wives, their children and all those they encounter. They live as a witness to their faith by telling their kids about Jesus and his love for them and by bringing their children to church. As a result, the seed of grace and faith have already been planted in the lives of grandchildren. This testimony of faith is the greatest gift my sons will give their children through all the days of their lives.

Both my sons married well. God led them to two women who complement them in every way. Adam’s wife, Jordan, and Andrew’s wife, Melissa, are delightful additions to our family. It is obvious to me that Adam and Andrew adore them. Love is evident at its deepest level. Visible in meaningful ways. I’m grateful that they listened as God put those two women into their lives. They are stronger men and better fathers because of these exceptional young women.

Adam and Jordan have two sons, Eli, 6, and Josiah, 4. Andrew and Melissa have two daughters, Lena, 2, and Amelia, 6 months. These children recognize at some level the love their parents have for one another, even if they may be too young to fully understand it. It is another beautiful gift my sons give their children.

The two families joined us at our house today to celebrate my Father’s Day. It was good to have them here. The house was noisy, busy with the echoes of childish laughter and the stomp of running feet throughout the house. Sublime perfection.

Because I had this thought in mind for this devotional, I watched more closely the way my sons covered my grandkids in love. The passage of scripture that came to mind was not one of those traditional Father’s Day scriptures. Paul’s words in I Corinthians 13 jumped into my heart.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

I watch my sons playing with their children, spending quality time with them, and this is what I see. A love that is both patient and kind, expressed in arms that enfold them. Words of encouragement that build a child’s self-worth. A love that disciplines when necessary…not in a hateful or reactive manner, but in an instructive way. The fatherly guidance children need to understand the nature of right and wrong. Lessons that teach acceptable behavior and how God wants them to live. It is a love that guides and seeks the best for the child. The love I see in their eyes as they live life as a parent is protective, trusting, hopeful and constant. It is, I know, a love that never fails.

So, I watch them and think, “Maybe I didn’t screw them up after all.”

We like to talk about children who look like their parents. We say, “He has his father’s eyes.” Gary Chapmen wrote a song in 1979 that shows he understands that phrase in a different way. He saw in his own father a man who found the good in everyone and every circumstance. A man whose eyes reflected compassion and empathy. Chapman’s hope expressed in the first verse is that others will see in his own eyes what he saw in his father’s eyes. He then takes the last verse to a deeper level, reminding us that the world ought to see the loving eyes of our heavenly father reflected in our own.

https://youtu.be/sfRNXuc6eCk

I truly don’t know what others might see of me when they look into the eyes of my sons. I hope my influence has been a positive one. What is most important to me is that others see the eyes of Christ in the eyes of my sons because that’s what I see. For in their eyes, I see…

“Eyes that find the good in things,

When good is not around;

Eyes that find the source of help,

When help just can’t be found;

Eyes full of compassion,

Seeing every pain;

Knowing what you’re going through

And feeling it the same.”

In my mind, Adam and Andrew have their heavenly Father’s eyes that shine with compassion and empathy in their relationship to their wives, their children and the world around them. An earthly father cannot hope for more.

As I watched the frenetic activity around me today, I prayed that my grandchildren someday realize what a blessing it is to be wrapped in their father’s love. I pray they have their fathers’ eyes…as well as Father’s eyes.