Dr. Kirk Lewis Books

A Model of Kindness and Hospitality

Mark 1:29-31; Matthew 8:14-15; Luke 4:38-41

Though early in his ministry, Jesus consistently felt the press of the crowd. The constant demand upon his time and energy. Tossed aside by those in his hometown of Nazareth, Jesus found rest from the rigors of his work in the home of Peter and Andrew, two of his most trusted disciples. We find him on several occasions in Capernaum, staying with the family of these close friends.

Men being men, I doubt that Jesus felt most comfortable in this home because of the two brothers who followed him. I suspect his delight in visiting their home in Capernaum arose from the welcome he received every time from Peter’s mother-in-law. Scripture tells us her name was Mary.

Cast aside the flood of mother-in-law jokes told since the beginning of time. Mary must have been one of the good ones. Maybe you picture her as I do. From the moment of her daughter’s betrothal to Peter, she loved him as a son. From that time on, anyone Peter brought home was also her “son.” She was Mom to all of Peter’s friends.

When Peter returned from fishing or from time away with Jesus, she scurried to embrace Peter and his friends every time as if they had been gone for years. The welcome genuine. The hospitality generous. The love evident. Greeting them with a hug, a smile and a warm plate of bread fresh from the oven.

Jesus knew this family. Loved this family. Within these walls Jesus rested. Relaxed. Laughed. Talked about anything and everything that had nothing to do with his work. It was his sanctuary. God’s son spent days as a guest in this…his home away from home away from home.

On this day, after a morning of teaching and healing, Jesus stooped as he pushed through the low door to the small cottage not far from the synagogue. He expelled a deep breath…the burdens he carried dropped from his shoulders as soon as he stepped over the threshold. Today, two steps in, he knew something was wrong. Rather than the typical shriek of joy at welcomed visitors there was only silence. The normal aroma of food cooking in the hearth replaced by the sweet smell of medical ointment.

Peter called out to his mother-in-law, “Mary, where are you?”

Walking to the back room, the disciple found her in bed in the grip of a major fever, tended to by friends. Recognizing intuitively the seriousness of her illness, Peter called to Jesus.

Jesus walked into the room, immediately assessing the situation. Peter asked his master, “Can you help her?”

Jesus knelt by the bed and took the woman’s hand in one of his own. Laid the palm of his other hand on her feverish forehead. He offered a quick prayer as he slid his hand lovingly to her cheek. Her eyes flickered open.

As Jesus rose he helped Mary from her bed. She stood, looked at Jesus with a sparkle in her eyes, tugging gently on his graying beard. “It’s good to see you again, Jesus.”

Her illness forgotten, she laughed with joy at seeing her son-in-law, his brother and friends. With a look of embarrassment, she realized they would be hungry. She had prepared nothing. With a song in her heart, pulled a meal together and waited on them throughout the day.

*****

It’s an obscure scripture reference rarely read. That the story centers on a mother-in-law is even more obscure. Peter’s mother-in-law, Mary, joins Naomi in the Old Testament as the only two mothers-in-law mentioned in scripture.

Reading between the lines, Peter loved his mother-in-law. His concern during her illness evident in his call to Jesus. I can also imagine that every time Jesus visited Capernaum he enjoyed the fellowship of this godly woman…his second mother in every way that mattered.

I read this scripture this week just days after my own mother-in-law’s funeral. It left me feeling with a degree of certainty that Peter’s mother-in-law was not unlike my own. We tend to assign characteristics of Bible characters to the personalities of people we know. It is the way we relate to them on a more personal level. In many ways, I can assign my mother-in-law’s characteristics to Peter’s mother-in-law.

If I do so, I know Jesus didn’t go to Peter’s house for the food. My mother-in-law, Glenna, could not cook. Raw meat loaf. Greasy baloney and potatoes. Canned vegetables and desserts right out of the box. Imagine a home economics major who could not cook. That was Glenna.

If Peter’s mother-in-law was like Glenna she was infinitely gullible, making her the target of good natured ribbing. Though falling for every exaggerated story, she laughed at herself while basking in the love wrapped in the telling. Just when you think you got the better of her, she’d pull out the world’s kindest insult to rattle your cage.

If Peter’s mother-in-law was like my own, she sent Peter and Andrew to sing in the family choir at the synagogue in matching home-made, lime-green, velour sweatshirts, oblivious to the horror-stricken look on their faces. Ugly as sin, the clothing was made with great affection.

Despite those shortcomings, if Peter’s mother-in-law was like my own, she was loved deeply and completely by all of her sons-in-law. She was a second mother to Peter…and to Jesus…as much as Glenna was to me.

Like Peter’s mother-in-law, Glenna opened her heart to everyone. If you wish to define the spiritual gift of hospitality, look no further. My mother-in-law welcomed everyone, even the West Texas boy her daughter brought rather unexpectedly that first time to the family reunion. That was the first time I experienced her warmth, but it was not the last time I felt it or saw it enclose others in its embrace. She had a gift for making people feel valued.

Like Peter’s mother-in-law, Glenna used that gift of hospitality to serve at church, at school and within the community. She was constantly making things for others. Bible bags for children at church. Rag bags for newlyweds. Clothes of extraordinary colors for her grandchildren. She loved to give gifts with a personal touch. If you needed something, she would drop what she was doing to help you. Forever unselfish in her service to others.

Like Peter’s mother-in-law, Glenna knew Jesus. She shared and demonstrated her faith to hundreds of second grade children who passed through her Sunday School class for more than 50 years. She taught the love of Jesus, making him real and personable to so many children. I cannot begin to fathom the number of children, now adults, who placed their trust in Jesus Christ, in part, because of what they learned from Glenna years ago. The wonderful thing is that her faith never wavered, despite the tragedies that struck her heart throughout her life.

Like Peter’s mother-in-law, Glenna’s kindness extended to everyone she met. I knew her for more than 45 years. If she ever had an unkind thought, she never expressed it aloud. I suspect the thought never crossed her mind. She was absolutely the kindest person I ever knew.

Dementia took its toll in her later years. We have all seen that dreaded disease confuse, confound and change the personality of the sufferer. However, it never changed Glenna. Her sweet demeanor…her joy…her ability to sing praises to God (off key)…never changed. When she could not remember the names of those in her family, she could remember every stanza to What a Friend We Have in Jesus.

I will miss my mother-in-law. I cherish her love for me and my love for her. I am also grateful that I see the best of her every day in the life and love of my wife. They are alike in so many ways.

Thanks to Peter’s mother-in-law for reminding me.

In Vain Do They Worship

Background Passage: Mark 7:7

Drive into any city or town in the United Kingdom and the dominant structure visible from miles away is the cathedral. These amazing structures were built centuries ago with one purpose in mind–to serve as a place of worship and praise to God.

A group of friends from our church spent time over the past 10 days touring, England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland. We’ve walked through many of these towering buildings with artful stained glass, vaulted ceilings and spires stretching to the heavens. Yet, far to many of them now serve as museums and concert halls.

I read this week that some of the most prominent churches in England now have less than 50 members to support a cathedral that would seat more than 2,000. I’m not sure I could explain well the secularization of Europe, but I wonder if the United States is not far behind.

Jesus shared with his disciples in Mark, “In vain to they worship me, teaching as doctrine the commandments of men.”

Maybe, it’s that simple. We quit listening to God and started doing what men wanted us to do. We abandoned worship because faith demands too much energy and effort.

We walked today through the beautiful cathedral in Belfast. Because membership is so low, most of these old cathedrals must charge an entry fee for tourists to continue to keep the doors of the church open. A news article just this week in London said that most people in Great Britain would call themselves Christian, yet fewer than 10 percent of them attend church at all.

I thought about that article today as I stood in the back of the Belfast Cathedral. I could only imagine what it would sound like to hear Amazing Grace sung by a congregation filling that old building.

So as I prepare for sleep tonight, I will share this thought as sung by the Irish Tenors. Thank God for his amazing grace!

Rest for the Weary

Background Passages: Mark 11:27-33: Mark 12:28-34; Matthew 11: 28-30

I wonder if Jesus ever walked into the temple in Jerusalem desiring only to offer his own prayers to the Father in the privacy of his heart. Did he ever just get to sit in the shade of the portico and listen to the well-versed teaching of the rabbi? If it happened, it did not happen often. His presence seemed always to elicit a response either from the people, begging for his words of truth, or from his persecutors, probing for a weakness in his teaching.

Hours before his arrest, Jesus might have entered the temple just to pray…to clear his mind for what was to come. Instead, he found himself surrounded by hate in a rustle of flowing and elegant robes. No pleasantries exchanged. No effort to pull him from the crowd that gathered that morning for a private talk. Jesus turned full circle studying the 15 or so men who hemmed him in…the chief priests, the most learned scholars of scripture and the temple leadership…each shouting an indignant challenge to the Galilean teacher they viewed as a substantial threat to their way of life.

“By what authority are you doing these things?” they asked. “And who gave you authority to do this?”

Those entering the temple turned on their heels not wishing to be dragged into the confrontation. Others trapped inside retreated to the walls or peaked from behind the broad columns lining the courtyard.

Jesus pursed his lips. Took a deep breath. Looked down at his sandaled feet, sensing the anger in their murmuring. He raised his head, stared intently into the face of the first one to utter the challenge. In a voice as soft as a sprinkle that threatened a downpour, Jesus said, “Let me ask you one question…” When he finished probing for a response, they huddled in confusion, knowing they had stepped into a trap of their own making.

After a minute of deliberation, the best response they came up with was, “We don’t know.”

Jesus turned again full circle with eyes that burned into their souls to see if any of the others could offer a better answer. When no one spoke, Jesus took a step forward, turned sideways and squeezed past the first row of robes as the others parted to give him room, and whispered to no one in particular, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.”

Delightfully cloaked in a religion of rule and regulation, the religious leaders of the day could not fathom the wonder of his miracles or the simplicity of Jesus’ teaching. It ran counter to all in which they believe. Counter to that which elevated them above the ordinary man struggling to comply with the multitude of laws the priests and teachers found so comforting.

These same men, or men just like them, constantly hovered on the fringe of the crowd as Jesus taught. One parable–about a vineyard and the workers who killed the master’s son when he came to collect what was owed–caught their attention. They gnashed their teeth when it became clear to them that Jesus viewed them as the unfaithful tenants.

As their anger grew they threw rapid fire questions at Jesus. “Should we pay taxes to Caesar?” “Will there be marriage after the resurrection?” Jesus answered and avoided their traps with a voice as strong as his accusers.

At one drawn out pause in the cancerous debate, a Pharisee stepped forward, arms stretched in front of him, palms up… a plea, a peace offering. The man looked back at the huddled Sadducees and smiled as if to say, “That was fun to watch.”

Jesus looked at him, puffed out his cheeks and exhaled audibly in relief, willing his heart to slow its beat. “Please. Sit.”

After a brief introduction, the Pharisee spoke with Jesus, intent upon understanding. “Of all the commandments in all the law, which is the most important?”

Jesus, who had spent the last three years trying to break down the wall the law had erected between God and his creation, smiled for the first time all day. Tears welled up in his eyes. At last, here was a question that merited his attention…an arrow that pierced the heart of the matter.

“The most important one,” answered Jesus, “is this: ‘Hear, O Israel, The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

This conversation continued as Jesus and his new friend exchanged similar thoughts and ideas. It ended with a warm embrace and a word of encouragement. Jesus held the Pharisee at arms’ length and said, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”

Life for the Sadducees and the Pharisees consisted of a set of rigorous rules and regulations no man could reasonably follow. Because their obsessive compulsive minds did it better than most, they held the ordinary man in contempt. Over time, arrogance led them to establish a hierarchy of goodness that carefully and permanently cemented them at the top of the pious pyramid, looking down upon and taking advantage of those failing to meet the stringent requirements the religious leaders imposed.

By the time Jesus arrived on earth, God’s original law and covenant lie buried under hundreds of rules of behavior almost impossible for anyone to obey. The burden of obedience drove people away from God rather than drawing them in. Jesus challenged this distortion of the law.

Noted psychologist Abraham Maslow explained the natural human tendency to be overly dependent on a narrow set of skills and resources when resolving issues in life. Maslow is generally quoted as saying, “I suppose it is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail.”

Rule, ritual and regulation became religion’s hammer in an attempt to beat God’s people into submission. It was all they understood. Jesus addressed the issue as he met constant rejection from the religious leaders and people of Galilee throughout his ministry.

In a similar episode early in Jesus’ ministry, he mourned for the cities of Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum saying that their absolute dependence on rule and ritual blinded them to the new truth of the good news he offered. Trying to help the people get past the legal barrier, Jesus said,

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

As I read through the scripture I can see the thoughts as they developed in Jesus’ heart and mind. Trying to find a way to make his point, Jesus focused his eyes on a farmer in the distance, walking behind an ox pulling a plow through the rocky hillside. He heard the farmer shout and the animal bellow as they labored to cut through the sunbaked earth.

Jesus thought back to that carpentry shop in Nazareth. Remembered the farmer who came to him in need of a new yoke for his ox. A perfectionist in his craft, Jesus followed the farmer to his field where he sized up the animal, visualizing how he wanted this new yoke to fit upon those muscled shoulders.

He went back to his shop. Jesus took his plane from a shelf and began to shape a piece of oak to match the vision in his head. He sanded it smooth and attached the harness points in perfect balance to keep the reins from pulling the yoke to one side or the other.

I can see him as he hefted the yoke on his shoulder and took it to the farmer, carefully fitting it upon the ox, adjusting it to his shape. He gave the reins to the farmer and watched for a minute as the ox pulled the plow through the field. The yoke made the burden less onerous for both man and beast.

That memory spurred the words. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened…For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Jesus spoke every day to people whose shoulders sagged under the remorseless pressure of compliance to a bulky set of rules. The Pharisees lived in a world of “do this…don’t do that,” of “yes to this…and no to that.” The people lived in a world, condemned by arbitrary rule, and ridiculed by the religious leaders for their personal failings.

Religion…faith…became a burden.

He faced the rebuke of the Pharisees when his disciples picked a little grain on the Sabbath to satisfy their hunger. He faced the challenge of religious leaders who chastised him for healing a man with a crippled hand on the Sabbath. Ultimately, in those last days, he battled with an entrenched enemy whose questions never addressed the heart of the matter.

Jesus tried time and time again to tell them. “It doesn’t have to be this hard. Love your God with your whole being. Love those around you as you love yourself.”

I read again this week of a man who said that being a Christian was just a bunch of rules designed to “suck the fun right out of life.” That statement always troubles me. Do we as Christians act like the religious leaders of the day forcing compliance to a set of “laws” we created to separate ourselves from others?

The joy of life is not conditioned by rules and regulations that tell you what you can or cannot do. Joy comes through relationships…first and foremost with God and then with others. If those two things fall into place, that which “sucks the joy out of life” disappears.

Walking with God need not be complicated. It need not be burdensome. When the master carpenter carves out your yoke and places it upon your shoulders, it fits like a glove, the burdens so much lighter.

Jesus countered the prevailing burden with a simple invitation to accept the salvation he offered…the life he offered. “Come to me…” It’s that simple. “…all who are wearied and burdened…” It’s that inclusive. “…I will give you rest…” It’s that rewarding.

Jesus extends a personal invitation to the lost who have not found him and to the found who have lost their way. Come to him. Erase the weariness from your heart. Then, love your God with all your being. Love your neighbor with the love God extends to you. Once done, life becomes joy.

Come Sit at the Big Table

Background Passages: Luke 2:41-52; Philippians 2:6-7; I Corinthians 3:1-3

I don’t know if your family gatherings were like mine growing up. Typically, everyone brought a pot luck casserole or vegetable while someone provided the ham. Everyone would meet at Grandma’s house after church on Sunday.

The cousins would play…loudly…while the food was placed on the dining room table, extended to its full length. Card tables sat in the “formal” living room, surrounded by those folding chairs that pinched more than one finger at some point during the day. After a prayer, the adults sat around the dining room table, banishing the kids with their paper plates to the card tables in the next room.

I remember listening from the other to the conversation around the big table. Sometimes it was filled with love and laughter. Sometimes it was serious and somber.

For each of the cousins, we longed for the day when Grandma would point you to a chair at the big table. What a glorious rite of passage! No longer a child. Now, an adult.

I wonder if Jesus felt that way when he entered the temple in Jerusalem when he was 12-years-old. Picture it.

Every year of his memory, the boy traveled with his family from Galilee to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover. His father, devote and upright, would walk with his son into the temple, his hand resting lightly on his son’s shoulder. Each year, the father let his son experience the awe and majesty of the towering white-washed temple stone, glistening in the morning sun.

Then, he would drop to a knee, take the young boy by the shoulders and remind him of his place. Standing with the other children against the wall—to look, listen and learn. Being seen, but never heard. With a smile and a gentle push, Joseph sent Jesus to join the other boys, all who longed for the day when they would be invited among the men to learn at the feet of Jerusalem’s most noted rabbis.

What a difference this year made! Jesus, on the verge of Jewish adulthood, entered his final year of study prior to becoming a “son of the covenant.” This would be his first year to sit among the men in the temple in Jerusalem, a moment about which Jesus dreamed for years.

On this special day, Jesus stood a little straighter beside his father just inside the gates of the inner courtyard. Joseph marveled at the lad who stood nearly as tall as he, the young man’s eyes fixed straight ahead, the slight smile on his face filled with anticipation and yearning. Jesus watched with fond recollection as his father again took a knee, hands resting on the shoulders of his younger brothers…a quiet word and gentle push sending them to stand with the other boys.

As Joseph watched them walk away he brushed the dust from his robe. When all was in order, the father gazed down at his oldest son and grinned. He knew the importance of the day for Jesus. It was all he spoke about for the last six months. With a nod of his head the two walked into the gathering crowd of men. No longer a child. Now, an adult.

The day ended. The thrill of the conversation not lost on Jesus. Throughout the teaching and questioning of the rabbi, Jesus listen. Never uttered a word. Never asked a question. Respectful of the moment. Taking it all in. That night he visited with family, excited by the day, full of questions left unasked at the temple.

The group of family and friends rose bright and early the next morning setting out on a long journey home…all except Jesus. He had every intention of returning home, but in the hustle of the morning, the burning questions in his heart consumed him. Almost without thinking he found himself again inside the temple, sitting on the steps among the men, listening with rapt attention to the words of the rabbi.

No longer overwhelmed by the moment, Jesus could no longer contain himself. He listened. He commented. He sought clarification. He probed with questions of his own that startled the rabbi. When the rabbi turned the tables and asked questions in return, Jesus did not shy away. He thought. He recited passages of scripture to support his thoughts. The dialogue intrigued the rabbis, drawing a larger crowd to hear the dynamic exchange of ideas.

Night fell and Jesus remained again in Jerusalem, finding a family to let him sleep by their fire. The next morning he went again to the temple, finding his place among the rabbi’s disciples. The dialogue deep, rich and instructive.

You know the rest of the story. The next day Jesus sat in the temple astounding everyone with his understanding and his insight. Amazing the learned ones with his questions. Drawing them deeper and deeper into the scripture they often took for granted. Making them think with him. Learning more with each passing hour.

At some point, Jesus felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Looking behind him he saw the face of his father, a look of relieved anger etched in his eyes. Joseph said nothing. He just crooked his finger, beckoning Jesus to follow. Follow he did. They left the inner courtyard and came face to face with Mary, his mother.

The swirl of robes engulfed him with a mother’s relief of a lost child found. Then, she pushed him away and the anger flashed. Jesus didn’t often see his mother in such a state, but he was smart enough to know to let her speak first.

“Son, why have you treated us so? Your father and I have been looking for you anxiously.”

I suspect there was more to the conversation than Luke records in his gospel. Suffice it to say, Jesus got an earful.

I also suspect there was a more sympathetic and apologetic response from Jesus than scripture records. “I am sorry. I should have asked to stay. I have never felt anything like this. I should have asked to stay. Please don’t be mad. Don’t you know? I must be about my Father’s business.”

In the hugs that followed and the sincere sorrow at the distress he caused, Mary and Joseph both recalled all those things they treasured in their hearts since the angel first visited. With a heavy sigh of forgiveness, Mary embraced her son again, “Please, next time, just let us know what you’re doing.” I can see Jesus reaching out, touching his hand to her check, a gesture of love and affection, “I’m so sorry, Mother. I promise.”

As they began again their journey home, Jesus filled each moment with excited conversation about all he had learned about God’s love, God’s will and God’s purpose.

I think we live with the assumption that Jesus was born with the full knowledge of his God-ness. I’m not sure that’s true. The day may come when I understand the duality of Jesus Christ as he lived among us as God and man. That day is not today by any means. I reason it out as best I can, trying to rationalize the omniscient and omnipotent Father encased in human form.

We tend to see Jesus as a four-year-old boy, capable of miracles, knowing completely his purpose and role as God’s Messiah. Yet, scripture tells us Jesus grew in wisdom and stature in the eyes of men and God. Growing in stature comes easily enough. The child became a man. Growing in wisdom complicates things. If he were God in all complete power and knowledge from the moment of birth, how could he grow in wisdom?

I believe Jesus understood to whom he belong. He knew who is Father was. His response to Mary and Joseph was honest. “I must be about my Father’s business.” I just don’t think he had full knowledge of what that meant for him and how it would play out in his life…at least not when he was twelve.
Scholars far more learned than I speak to God imposing personal limits to his own power and knowledge when he took human form so he could be “like us.” Paul said as much in Philippians:

“Though he was in the form of God, he did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but he emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.”

Perhaps Jesus emptied himself of the omniscience of the Father. There were some things he did not know. He admitted that some things were hidden from him when he told the disciples in Matthew that he did not know the day of his return:

“Of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only. “

If we can buy that idea, we see Jesus’ time in the temple in a new light. Not as God speaking from the mouth of a 12-year-old, enlightening the blindness of the rabbis. Rather, we see the inquisitive nature of a student of God. One who desires to know all there is to know about the nature and work of God. One craving righteousness.

That’s the point of the narrative in my eyes. Jesus preached to the multitude on the mountainside and tells them, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…” He understood that nature of that blessing because he experienced it himself as an eager boy in the temple. He recalled that longing to know God that compelled him with passion to seek answers to questions to which he had no ready answers. The quest for righteousness drove him to study…to grow in spiritual wisdom…in preparation for the moment when God would release him for ministry.

If we are to live in the image of God we must also hunger and thirst for righteousness as if our lives depended upon its sustenance.

What does that mean for us?

Too many Christians are not eager to understand more about God than they already know. We grow complacent and comfortable in our knowledge. As Paul said, to the Corinthians, “I gave you milk not solid food for you were not ready for it. Indeed, you are still not ready for you are worldly.”

It is a message echoed by the writer of Hebrews. “Although by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again…Everyone who lives on milk is still an infant, inexperienced in the message of righteousness.”

When we ought to be hungering for righteousness, we often grow too comfortable sitting at the kid’s table, afraid of the conversations that take place in the other room. Hoping we will never be asked to sit at the big table.

Yet, Jesus, as a boy, understood that obedience to God required him to open God’s word. To probe and dig more deeply into its treasure. To be responsive to God’s call today requires us to sink our teeth into God’s scripture. Asking questions. Looking for answers. Reading scripture each day as if it were new. Praying that the Spirit might breathe new truth into an open heart and mind.

I am grateful for the pastors and mentors in my life. I’m grateful for parents and Sunday School teachers who challenged my thinking. Friends who encouraged me to ask questions and to keep asking until the pieces of life’s puzzle began to fit together. I’m grateful to God who shows me sometimes that the puzzle pieces can fit together in a new way, taking me more deeply down the path he needs me to travel.

I am grateful that God invites us daily to sit with him at the big table.

Pull up a chair.

Forgiveness Without Limits

Background Passage: Matthew 18:21-35

One can’t be sure what prompted the question. Perhaps it was born out of a natural argument among men who traveled together days on end. Men getting on each other’s nerves after too much time together, staring into the distance from opposite sides of the road.

Perhaps the question popped into his head after hearing another rabbi expound in heavy monotone in the local synagogue about the law’s limit on human forgiveness.

Perhaps the question rattled around his brain after hearing Jesus teach about harmony among believers and dealing with the unrepentant sinner among them.

Whatever the prompt, Peter sidled up to Jesus one day with an honest question about forgiveness. “How many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me?”

The scripture Peter knew laid specific guidelines for forgiveness, declaring that you should forgive anyone three times. One was not obligated to forgive a fourth offense. The question Peter posed reflected the thinking of the day. Surely, there is a point where forgiveness is no longer expected. In essence, “When can I stop forgiving someone who hurts me?”

His follow up question suggests that Peter had a gut feeling that Jesus always lived in a “walk the extra mile-turn the other cheek” kind of world when it came to the law. He certainly saw evidence of Jesus’ boundless forgiveness in his time with his Lord. So, Peter exerted his opinion in the form of another question. “How many times shall I forgive a brother or sister who sins against me? Seven times?”

In the debate bouncing around in his head, Peter must have thought he would catch an “atta boy” from his Master for his magnanimous spirit. “The law says ‘three’ times. Let’s double that and add one for good measure. Now that’s turning the other cheek.”

Maybe it played out like this:

Jesus stooped as he walked
down the dusty path.
Picking up a chunk of gray basalt
along the side of the road.
“That’s a great question, Peter.”
Jesus bounced the rock in his hand a time or two.
Thinking about his response.
Casually threw the rock side-armed.
Bouncing it off the trunk of a cypress tree
60 feet down the road.

“I tell you, Peter.
It’s more than that.
You’re still too literal. Not seven times.
Seventy-seven times.

“We won’t get through this life
without someone hurting us.
Taking advantage.
Offending.
Insulting.
Happens in the closest families.
Happens within the fellowship of believers.

“How much do we damage all those relationships
if we put a limit on our forgiveness?
Doesn’t our limited attitude
set a substantial barrier between us and
those we are supposed to love?

“The law says three.
You say seven.
Both are limits.”

Jesus sat under the same cypress tree
he plunked with the stone.
Glad to get out of the summer heat.
His disciples settled around him,
taking a quick drink from a shared
water bag Nathaniel carried.

No heavy sermon.
No deep theology.
Just a tongue-in cheek story to teach
a powerful lesson about the
size of their hearts.

“The kingdom we’re trying to build here is different.
“Let’s suppose…”

Jesus then launched into a parable about a king to whom a servant owed more money that the disciples could imagine. 10,000 talents. Historians tell us a talent represented the equivalent of 6,000 days’ wages. Staggering! The number Jesus imagined would support a man for 164,000 years. Hear the laughter roll through the disciples as they could scarcely comprehend the outrageous fortune the man owed. Hyperbole of the highest magnitude. Jesus laughs with them. Sees that he’s captured their attention.

Jesus continues. The time comes to collect the bill and the king says, “Pay up or you and your family will be sold into slavery and all you own will be confiscated to repay what is owed…knowing full well the servant’s assets would scarcely make a dent in the debt.

The man falls on the floor promising to repay what he has no hope of repaying. Grasping at straws. Begging for mercy. Yet, somehow, the man’s contrite spirit touches the king deeply.

Jesus mimics wiping a tear from his eyes, “Your debt is cancelled. Go home.”

The disciples react with a chuckle and few comments about the king’s enormous wealth and the servant’s good fortune. Jesus waited until they settled down. His playful demeanor turning more solemn.

“Now suppose this very relieved servant…”

Jesus’ brow furrows in thought, eyes searching deeply into the heart of each disciple as he speaks. He explains how the forgiven servant encountered a colleague who owed him six months’ wages, a pittance compared with his former debt. Yet, the man whose debt was wiped clean grabbed his friend by the scruff of the neck demanding his payment.

That servant was in no better place financially than the forgiven one. Using the exact same words the first servant spoke to the king, the man falls on the ground. Begs for mercy. Promises to pay back a difficult, but not impossible, sum of money. Rather than extend the same mercy as he received, the man had the other thrown in jail until his debt could be paid.

The injustice described hit home with the disciples. Caught up in the story, they grumbled a bit, angry at the first servant.

Jesus becomes more animated as he continues the parable. His words coming more rapidly. “Now, when the king found out, he was livid and called the first servant before him. You wicked servant. I canceled all your debt because you begged me. Where is your mercy toward the one who owed you?”

The disciples pondered the words during the pregnant silence that hung in the air like a morning mist. Jesus added, “This is how my Father will treat you unless you forgive your brother and sister from your heart.”

I think Jesus liked Peter’s question. It gave him a chance to help the disciples sink the plow of personal belief a little more deeply in the fertile soil of applicable faith. It never crossed Jesus’ mind to make forgiveness a quantifiable event. Yet, the religious law of the day did exactly that, dragging the plow along the surface, setting the standard in shallow attitudes seemed to look forward to a day of retaliation rather than a time of reconciliation.

Peter stretched the legal limit as far as he felt comfortable. “I know you expect more from us, Jesus, than the law requires.” And, in that moment of inspiration, he doubled the law’s demand and added one to grow on. “Seven seems like a fair number,” proud of the forbearance it showed.

Jesus understood forgiveness as a way of being…a lifestyle choice. To Jesus, forgiveness was a way of relating to others. Thinking about others. Loving others. Forgiveness is nothing less than the way of Christ. If we are to live in his image, forgiveness must be our way as well. Not three times. Not seven times, but as an open expression of whose we are.

Picture Jesus. Visiting with the woman at the well, turning her from her troubled lifestyle.

Watch him. Writing in the dirt next to the woman caught in the act of adultery as the Pharisees who wished to stone her walked away with guilt laden feet. “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.”

See him. Wrapping his arm around Peter who lived for weeks with the sound of that rooster crowing in his head, “Feed my sheep.”

Forgiveness.

The way of Christ.

An infinite, life-altering act of grace.

In his book, Mere Christianity, C. S. Lewis wrote, “Forgiveness is a lovely idea, until there is something to forgive.” A promising premise, in principle, until we face the dreadful reality of pardoning the grievous and unforgivable.

Our lives are filled with broken promises, bitter betrayals and hurt feelings. We cry over unkind words, licking our physical and emotional wounds, telling our stories of loss and pain at the hands of another. Underneath all of it lies the question of forgiveness. How can we move past the hurt and into the healing?

Jesus told his disciples that forgiveness flows from the heart. He meant that they must dig deeply into their innermost being and find a way to set aside the anger, frustration and bitterness. To offer sincere words of forgiveness wrapped in the warmth of God’s love, extended with a handshake or embrace.

If the greatest attribute of God in Christ is love, one could make an argument that forgiveness is the greatest expression of love. This much seems to be true…living in the image of God requires us to demonstrate boundless forgiveness. It’s not that easy.

I have listened in amazement to a friend whose son was the innocent victim of a drive-by shooting talk sincerely about forgiving the one who senselessly took his son’s life. I heard honest words of forgiveness from a woman whose beloved grandmother was killed because the drunk driver shared one too many glasses of wine.

How can we hear testimonies like those and still harbor resentment toward the person who sat in our pew last Sunday? How can we let a few ill-chosen words of a neighbor cut us off from the fellowship we once enjoyed?

When we start counting the offenses we suffer at the hands of another…adding up the chalk marks until that day when we can say, “Enough is enough…” then we’re living exactly like the first servant in Jesus’ story. While we ignore the 10,000 talents of sin our Father forgave us, we hold our offender by the scruff of the neck, demanding payment… unwilling to forgive even the slightest of sins against us.

I share breakfast and Bible reading once a week with a group of men in the community where I work. Every breakfast ends with the Lord’s Prayer. The model prayer offered a petition and an expectation, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Jesus said as much to the disciples as he wrapped up this impromptu lesson. I see him rising from the tree under which he sat, bending down to pick up another rock, bouncing in lightly in his hand. He reared back and threw it, striking another bullseye on the trunk of another cypress tree 60 feet farther down the road.

Setting off down the road again, he ended the lesson with a casual but cautionary moral to the story, “If you don’t forgive others, how can God possible forgive you.”

His disciples get up and follow with their plow set a little deeper in the fertile soil of faith.

The lesson Jesus teaches his disciples, he also teaches us. Peter shared our human tendency to limit forgiveness. But to forgive beyond counting is inhuman. It doesn’t originate from us. It is born of a heart changed by God through Christ and his indwelling spirit of grace living within us. Christ living in us. Us living in the image of Christ.

A Righteous Woman of Influence

Background Passages: Luke 1: 26-38; Luke 1:46-55; Luke 2:22-40; John 2:1-12; and John 19:25-27

Mother’s Day lies just around the corner. I’m reminded of words spoken by the late Dr. Billy Graham speaking to the unique opportunity God gives women to influene and impact the lives of others in ways that few men can.

“There is nothing in this world more personal, as nurturing or as life-changing as the influence of a righteous woman.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not minimizing the man’s role in God’s world. When men allow God to rule their lives and women live out their call to righteous living there is a divine balance that makes the world a better place.

However, as most of us blessed with wonderful mothers can testify, Dr. Graham’s statement rings with the peal of abiding truth. I have felt it in my own life. The righteous influence of godly women…a wife, a mother, aunts, Sunday School teachers, public school teachers and countless friends…absolutely shaped and molded who I am, spiritually, professionally and personally. A new generation of women, led by my two amazing daughters-in-law, continue to teach me the things I need to know about being the man God needs me to be every day.

As I think of the women who influenced my life, I realized how blessed I am to have known so many women who believed in me. Women who supported me. Women who propped me up when I stood on the edge of failure. I think of the women who lifted me up at some point in my life with their presence…their words…their friendship…their touch…just when I needed to hear or feel it. Their influence is a tremendous gift in my life!

I’m convinced God placed these women in my life for a reason. Their influence in my life shifted from the piddling to the powerful because they live each day as righteous women.

So what does it mean to be a righteous woman of influence?

Of all the women of influence in the Bible I point you to Mary, the mother of Jesus. We, Baptists, fail to give Mary the credit she deserves for her unrecognized impact on Jesus’ life. Mary wasn’t perfect. She didn’t walk around with a halo above her head. She was certainly more than a simple vessel God used to carry his Son. To better understand Mary’s role, embrace the humanity of Jesus.

Let me explain. We tend to think of Jesus in the divine. We casually recognize his humanity, but we want to color it heavily with his godliness. We like to think Jesus was pulled from the womb without crying, speaking King James English and turning water into milk.

We don’t think of him as a baby with colic, crying through the night. A toddler who fell and bumped his head on the table Joseph built. A three-year-old disciplined for taking a toy from his little brother. We don’t think of him as a little boy scraping his knee while chasing a friend. As a teenager who thought that little Jewish girl down the street was pretty. We never consider that as a young, apprentice carpenter he one day bashed his thumb with a hammer, biting back the ugly word you and I might say.

If he came into the world to be like us, we have to embrace his human side…acknowledging the perfect way he dealt with all those very human situations. If we can fully accept Jesus’ humanity, that part of his personhood had a very human mother…one amazingly normal, human mother. The mother who lost it at times because she was up three nights in a row with a squalling baby. The mother who swatted the hand of a three-year-old for taking his brother’s toy. The mother who looked at that pretty little Jewish girl as a threat to her son. The mother who kissed the scraped knees and laughed at her son when he swallowed that ugly word after bashing his thumb.

If Mary was an ordinary, very human woman, why did God choose Mary to be the mother of his only begotten son? Why was she so “highly favored?”

I think God chose Mary because he knew the person she was. Knew the kind of mother she would be. God chose Mary because he knew she would love Jesus unconditionally. Knew she would teach him about life and model everything good in it. God chose Mary because she would stand beside him in the darkest hours of his life. He chose Mary above all others because she possessed the mother’s instinct to raise Jesus with the spiritual and moral integrity to tackle the mission God planned for him as the savior of the world.

God chose Mary because she lived as a righteous woman of influence.

Mary’s story begins in bizarre fashion. Not every woman could handle the news she heard. Mary possessed the spiritual depth to believe an implausible message.

It is one thing to accept the unlikely future while the angel speaks. It’s another thing to stay faithful when the angel disappears in the darkness. The rational side of Mary knew her pregnancy would bring a host of life-altering issues…ridicule and disgrace…embarrassment to her family…Joseph’s anger. What strikes me most about Mary’s response to the unexpected visit from the angel is that, in the end, she submits to the will of God with such obedience and trust. She said in response to all she heard,

”May it be to me as you have said.”

What an amazing moment of faith and obedience! Despite knowing the difficulties this decision posed in her life, she allowed God to work his will. How often do you think Jesus heard this story as he was growing up? Imagine the lesson of obedience and faith it taught him.

Still, like the disciples and like us, Mary struggled to understand God’s way of working out his redemptive plan. Her understanding of “Messiah” did not contemplate a tragic death. Though she heard it in the temple when Jesus was born, she did not anticipated a “sword would pierce her soul.” Even though she didn’t have Jesus all figured out, she grappled with the unknown, trusted God, and remained faithful to his call on her life.

More than once we see where Mary “pondered in her heart” all that happened around her. She did more than simply deliberate the meaning of a word or event. Rather, she watched, listened and thought about all that happened around her and her son in light of the message from the angel that night, in light of the words from the rabbi and prophetess in the temple. She constantly made the connections, determining how she could help make God’s plan come to pass in the life of her son. Not content to just let life happen, she laid the groundwork needed to bring it to pass.

At some point in Jesus’ life, Mary’s faith, obedience and trust, stood out as an encouragement to Jesus when he was struggling to follow God’s plan. Can’t you almost hear Mary’s words whispered in the Garden of Gethsemane as Jesus agonized over his impending death on the cross? I believe at such a time, Jesus recalled the words of his mother when she told the angel, “May it be to me as you said.” His prayer says, “Not my will, but yours…” the essence of obedience and trust…Mary’s model of faith that carried him through his most difficult times.

To be a woman of influence requires obedience to God and trust in his plan for your life.

GROUNDED IN AND GUIDED BY SCRIPTURE—MARY’S SONG
We encounter Mary again in scripture when she visits her aunt, Elizabeth. After they share each other’s miraculous stories of God’s blessing, Mary sings a song from her heart. Find in the words of Mary’s song the boldness to call for God’s justice in an oppressive, unjust world. Find in Mary’s song, the words and deeds of Jesus. She sings from Old Testament scripture, the traits of a living God:

“…you are mindful of me in my humble state…” Look at Jesus’ own humility before God.
“…scatters the proud…” Look at Jesus’ challenge to ritualistic faith of the Pharisees.
“…lifts up the humble.”… Look at how Jesus work so fervently for the poor and needy.
“…fills the hungry…” Look how Jesus fed the multitudes both physically and spiritually.
“…he is merciful…” Look how Jesus offered mercy to those who did not deserve it.

This was the image of God that Mary carried in her heart. Things she learned from scripture before the culture really allowed women to study God’s word. She internalized scripture she read or heard to the point where it shaped her life and ultimately the life of Jesus. That was the God she knew. That was the character of God she taught God’s son. I can imagine Mary singing her song to Jesus every night as she laid him in bed as a child, a poignant lullaby…embedding those godly virtues into his very being. Modeling it for him every day. In the end, her influence contributed to his role as the servant Messiah.

To be a righteous woman of influence ground yourself in scripture. Let it guide your actions. Share its meaning with those you love. Live out its lessons as you tend to the needs of others.

ENCOURAGING THE READY…THE WEDDING
We see Mary at the wedding in Cana. Mary tried to work through a potentially embarrassing situation when the host family ran out of wine. She brought the problem to Jesus.

Why would she do that? Jesus even asked her, “Why are you bothering me with this? My time has not come.” My mind sees Mary looking deeply in the eyes of Jesus without saying a word. Never taking her eyes off his, she spoke to the servant beside her, “Do whatever he says to do.” The twinkle in her eye and the crooked smile on her face signaled her belief that Jesus would do the right thing…every time. Her trust in him full and complete. That one look gave Jesus permission to be who he was intended to be. It is as if she were saying, “Now is as good a time as any, my son. I don’t need you as much as the world needs you. What are you waiting for?”

A woman becomes a righteous woman of influence by playing the role she plays…recognizing when it’s time to push the bird from the nest. Knowing when a simple word of encouragement to someone convinces them it is time to get started doing what God called them to do…time to take that leap of faith. Letting them know, “This is your time.”

DEEPLY LOVING AND BEING DEEPLY LOVED
The most endearing and enduring passage concerning Mary takes place at the foot of the cross. Scripture paints a vivid picture of a mother watching the son she raised and loved dying an agonizing death on the cross. A death she could not comprehend. Only a mother who lost a child can begin to fathom the emotional suffering Mary experiences as she hears his ragged breathing. Sees the pain etched on his features. Watches his life flow out with every drop of blood spilled on that rocky soil.

The words of Jesus from the cross whispered to John and Mary tell us everything about Mary’s influence on Jesus. “Behold your Mother.” “Behold your son.”

Jesus’ loved his mother so deeply he could not let death take him without ensuring that Mary would never be alone. Jesus recognized through his own pain the deep sorrow of one who loved him. Surely, while on that cross, there were flashbacks to every embrace, every kiss, every smile. Jesus hung on that cross, feeling like God had abandoned him, looking down on a mother who never could. A mother whose love was endless.

You become a righteous woman of influence when you love others so deeply that you are deeply loved in return.

My mom passed away 20 years ago. I cannot explain the magnitude of her impact on my life…my understanding of who I am…how I relate to others…the focus and purpose of my life.

I learned from her delightfully sarcastic sense of humor. Never mean-spirited, but always catching you off guard. Life needs laughter and it is always easiest to laugh at yourself if for no other reason but to avoid taking yourself too seriously.

She taught me to deeply respect the ability of women to be accomplished in any field, reminding me to keep capable, intelligent and independent women in my life. I loved it when she convinced my sister to leave the nursing field and become a medical doctor because she was smarter than most men with the degree.

She instilled in me an understanding that marriage was a partnership, promising to break my arm if she ever heard that I did not help with the housework.

She taught me about being a beloved grandparent. I loved how every minute she spent with our kids was personal and filled with joy. She was, after all, the one who sat on the floor with my boys and my brother’s girls and taught them to play poker.

Like Mary, my mom was obedient to her God, trusting him in all of life. Demonstrating her faith in the most difficult of times. She was able to do so because she was grounded in and guided by scripture, knowing just how to apply Christ’s teaching in the most practical of ways. Mom encouraged each of her children to pursue our dream and passion, instilling in us the belief that we could do anything. There were times when she pushed us with an impeccable sense of timing to start down the path God intended for us. In the end, Mom was loved deeply because she deeply loved.

Without a doubt, like Mary, my mom was one of those righteous women of influence.

I recently saw a posting on Facebook that said, “The fact that you are a woman doesn’t make you a different kind of Christian, but the fact that you are a Christian ought to make you a different kind of woman.”

Being a righteous woman of influence is a choice. Make it.

Living as a righteous woman of influence is a commitment. Live it.

The responsibility of being a righteous woman of influence is a gift from God. Claim it.

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.

A Matter of Choice

Background Passages: Matthew 4:1-11; Luke 4:1-13

He stood on the high bank
on the east side of the Jordan River,
looked down at the milling masses,
lining up to be baptized by John.
The butterflies in Jesus’ stomach fluttered,
the stirring of the Holy Spirit within.
For the past 18 years he waited.
Listening for God’s call
to begin the work he was sent to do.

“It’s time, Jesus.”
The voice within urges him on.

Jesus shuffles forward in the meandering line.
Waiting his turn.
Deep in thought.
His sandals sink into the mud,
Toes touch water.
Snapping back to reality,
he looks into the disbelieving eyes of his cousin,
staring back at him.

“Why are you here?”
“I am not worthy…”
“You should baptize me…”

“No, John, you need to do this for me…
I need you to do this for me.”

Rising from the cool waters of the Jordan,
Liquid cascading from his hair and beard,
Jesus wipes the water from his eyes,
Looks up to heaven…
a prayer on his lips.

The clouds break.
A dove descends.
A voice declares his name…

“My Son…”

Value and Validation.

A mountain top experience on the floor of a river valley.
Jesus slogs out of the river, climbs the bank,
Retracing his steps to the crest of the hill.
Jesus looks back at the crowd below
Waiting for their shot of redemption
Unaware that redemption stood beside them.

He turns away from his past.
Takes one step into the jagged edge of the wilderness.
Then another and another.
Into the desert to face the life options open to him.

Every step Jesus took into the barren, desolate and deserted landscape led him to a familiar place. I doubt it was his first time in the solitude of the wilderness. A place to ponder. A place to plan. A place to pray. Led by the Spirit as if the Father called to his son, “Let’s go someplace where we can talk.”

In the weeks after the spiritual high of his baptism, he found himself sitting in the shade of a grotto carved into the desert rock by wind and rain, looking back toward the setting sun over Judea…in the direction of Jerusalem where he knew his path would someday take him to the cross.

We call it the “Temptations of Christ” as if this was the first time Jesus faced his own human desires. We want our savior to be immune to the pressure of living up to God’s expectations. As God’s son, we want Jesus to know from the moment he was born that his role would be and how it would play out. We don’t think of him tempted as a young boy to lash out in selfish anger. Tempted as a teenager to disobey his mother’s command. Tempted as a man to stay with the family business rather than take that journey to Jerusalem.

We want to think that Jesus never faced the choices we face. Never faced the litany of options that pull us from God’s will. We want Jesus to demonstrate his rock-solid faith and obedience to God from the moment of his birth until he rose again into heaven.

To lock Jesus in that box of spiritual piety puts him on a heavenly leash, restrained from the possibility of sin. Negating the free will God gave him. Taking those possibilities from him makes his human birth unnecessary. His walk among us a sham. If the cross was not a choice, his ultimate sacrifice loses its meaning.

When Jesus walked into the wilderness, ready to begin his ministry, he faced a world of choices that would determine if he would follow the will of his Father or chart his own course. It was a time for Jesus to prepare himself mentally, emotionally and spiritually for the life ahead. He had to decide what kind of Messiah he would be. The Messiah God sent him to be or the one for whom the people would later clamor.

After weeks of prayer and preparation in the desert where all these possibilities flashed through his mind, Jesus awakens to his ravishing hunger. A voice begins picking at the heart of Jesus, trying to shake his resolve. The stone looks a lot like a biscuit. The voice says, “You’re hungry. To do this work, you’ve got to take care of yourself. Under the circumstances no one would blame you if you were a little self-absorbed. That rock looks a lot like a biscuit. Just say the word…” Jesus knew the power given to him by the Father. The counter argument of sin pushed him to selfishly abuse the God-given power. To place his own desires first in his life.

Yet, Jesus understood that selfishness served as a stumbling block to service and sacrifice. “Man shall not live by bread alone…” The work of God is not about us. It’s about those who need God’s touch in their lives. Living in the image of God demands that we set aside the selfish desires of our hearts and mirror the heart of God.

The voice in his heart says, “God will protect you in all circumstances. Hurl yourself from the temple roof. When the people see that you land unharmed, you will draw a crowd. Then when you preach, they will have to believe.” Jesus understood that we cannot bend God’s will to ours. We cannot force his hand by insisting our way is better. Jesus knew that calling attention to himself by an ostentatious show of power, might attract a crowd, but the faith it bought could not be sustained. “Do not test the Lord, your God…” His plan for our lives remains the perfect plan. Our errant decisions derail what God intended for us. We must avoid dictating the terms of our obedience to a God who knows us better than we know ourselves.

Jesus hears the voice say, “You’ve been asked to do the impossible. It doesn’t have to be that hard. I can set you up as ruler of the world with a snap of my fingers. Bow down to me. I’ll make it happen. No drama. No trauma. No painful sacrifice. Kneel.” Jesus fought the urge to take the easy road. It may have been a daily struggle throughout his ministry. As he began to grasp the magnitude of the sacrifice God asked of him, at a time when he could only imagine the agony that would come, he resisted sin’s easy path in favor of the road less traveled. He chose to connect with the one who offered real power rather than the one whose power was limited. “Get behind me, Satan. Worship the Lord your God and serve him only…”

To be sure, Jesus faced tough choices in the wilderness. We want the temptations of Christ to end in the wilderness, but they didn’t. Throughout his life on earth, Jesus faced the choice to do things differently…right up until the end. Sitting alone in the darkness of Gethsemane, agonizing over that which he knew lay ahead, Jesus fell to his knees. The depth of anguish in the prayer he pray to his God poured from his heart. “Please, take this cup from me. If there is any other way to do this, let’s find it.” When the voice inside him remained silent, he knew God’s way was the only way to bring salvation to a lost world. “Not my will, but yours be done.” A temptation. A choice. A decision.

If our strength to face the temptations we encounter feels weak in comparison to Jesus’ resolve, it is only because our connection to the one who gives that strength is frayed by our own selfish desires. We see it when we try to bend God’s will to serve our purpose. When we choose to follow the path of rebellion…the easy road…rather than rely on the power of God to keep us from stumbling on the rocks along the road he asks us to travel.

Will I live life my way or God’s way? Will I love or reject? Will I serve or demand? Will I help or hurt? Will I give or covet? The decisions we make must reflect his will and not ours. To live in the image of God requires us to make an active decision to do so. Every day. Every minute. With every decision point.

Sin will promise the world. God gives us the freedom to follow or flee. We do or we don’t.

A temptation. A choice. A decision.

Which will it be?

One Day

Background Passage: Luke 24:1-12

Creativity is a gift from God. I read a passage in a book with a well-turned phrase or hear the dynamic lyrics to a song and marvel at the ability of writers to string words together to creates a sound that reverberates in the heart of the reader or listener.

This week, I heard the song, Glorious Day, performed by Casting Crowns. Though the song was not new to me, I enjoyed its message and melody. This time my ears picked up on the familiar lyrics. Lyrics that sat me down among my teenage friends in the second pew from the back on the left side of the church in the First Baptist Church or Ropesville, Texas.

“One day when heaven was filled with his praises,
One day when sin was as black as could be,
Jesus came forth to be born of a virgin,
Dwelt among men my example is he.”

The modern tune had disguised the lyrics of the song from my youth. I’m not sure why my ears heard the words differently today. The overwhelming sense of spiritual nostalgia took me back to the foundation of my faith in that small rural community. If you’re older than 30 you will probably remember the words penned in 1908 by J. Wilbur Chapman as the song, One Day.

According to most stories behind this famous song, Chapman, a Presbyterian pastor and evangelist who preached during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, wrote a poem to go with a sermon he presented as a guest pastor at Stony Brook Bible Conference. He gave the poem to his pianist Charles Marsh who wrote the tune to the old hymn.

The powerful lyrics captured the essence of God’s plan for the world from the beginning of time. The first line confirms the pre-existence in time of Jesus, God’s son. One day dwelling in heaven. Receiving the praises of the angels for his glory and majesty. One day as God’s creation turned on the axis of selfishness, God sent his son to dwell among us as an example for us to follow of obedience and faith.

One day he is nailed to a cross, a grace gift offsetting the sins of any repentant soul. One day buried. One day risen. The eternal message of Easter.

Then, in an incredible fashion, Chapman crafted a succinct refrain that lays out the depth and breadth of God’s redeeming love.

Living he loved me.
Dying he saved me.
Buried the carried my sin far away.
Rising he justified, freely forever.
One day he’s coming
Oh, Glorious Day.

Though I love the tune written by Michael Bleecker, the melody doesn’t change the message. The old standard may well resonate with those of us who have lived long as recipients of his gift through Christ. The new tune may best bridge the gap between God and today’s contemporary seeker.

Whether you sing it in your mind the old way or the new, may its message connect. God sent his son to live unerringly. To love unconditionally. To die sacrificially . To be buried temporarily. To rise triumphantly. To come again eventually.

What a glorious gift of unmerited grace to all who claimed it that one day!

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.