Two Days Out from Fifty-One: a Poem

My flesh may be middle-

aged and chubby, tired

by 8 and prone to pain

that gathers in my knees

and knuckles; yet

my spirit shines

immortal, cast

gleaming hot, an

image-bearer. I

look like my Creator--

more and more I can't

wait to see His face

blazing glory and

hear His voice rolling

like the waves that slam

into the shore. He

will call me His 

little one.

What the Religious Leaders Knew

Every time I read the Gospels, I'm struck by the religious leaders' refusal to believe even in the face of all the evidence that Jesus was the Son of God. They witnessed His miracles. They saw Him raise the dead. In fact, they knew that He Himself rose from the grave. In Matthew 28, after the resurrection, the guards "went into the city and told the leading priests what had happened." Their response was to call a meeting and come up with a plan to cover up the resurrection. 

They knew. If anything should have convinced them that Jesus was who He said He was, it should have been this. He rose from the dead. But instead, they bribed the guards to lie and say the disciples stole His body. But the religious leaders knew what really happened. They knew Jesus was alive.

The same hardheartedness was true of Herod when Jesus was born. He knew Jesus was the Messiah, yet he tried to have Him killed. Otherwise, he would not have called all the teachers of the law together to find out where the Messiah was to be born. Herod knew. He knew the child the wise men were seeking was born to be the savior of the world, and yet, he tried to murder him. 

Knowledge and belief are two different things. 

Knowledge is mental assent that a set of facts are true. Belief is a change in behavior based on that knowledge. It wasn't knowledge that made the disciples follow Jesus. It was belief.

"But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God" (John 1:12). 

If our belief doesn't change how we live, then it isn't belief. It's mere knowledge, and knowledge alone doesn't make us children of God. It wasn't just knowing that He was the Messiah that made the disciples follow Jesus. It was belief that made them leave their lives behind to follow Him.

Coloring with Jesus

A couple months ago, I had the realization that 1). I never dream about Jesus, and 2). that's really weird because I spend so much time thinking about Him. He's the center of my life. I spend time with Him every day, read His word every day, and try my best to live for him. He is the most important relationship that I have. But instead of dreaming about the Savior I hold dear, I dream about things like rivers full of VHS tapes or labyrinthine houses with really big bathrooms. 

And then, two nights ago, it finally happened. I dreamed about Jesus. We were coloring, Jesus and I. I was coloring a picture of Jesus--while coloring with Jesus. We only had four crayons. He passed me the blue crayon so I could color His sash. And then I drew brown hair on the picture (the Jesus picture was bald and cleanshaven). 

That was it. Nothing miraculous happened. Nothing spiritual. Just coloring--but I loved it. I like the version of John 14:2 that says, "In my Father's house there are many rooms" (NIV). Oh, I'd take a mansion, to be sure (as many other versions tell it). But the idea that we're going to stay in His Father's house with Him makes heaven seem much more like going home to live with family. Jesus is my King, my Savior, and my Lord--but He's also my brother and my friend. I like the idea of doing mundane sibling things with Him. I want to share crayons and color pictures. I want to eat cereal and play board games. I want to laugh with Him.

But, in the meantime, I'll sit at His feet every day and talk with Him about life. I'll learn to listen to His voice. And, hopefully, I'll see Him in my dreams.

Routine Cancer Diagnosis

 My older sister was diagnosed with breast cancer last week. She got the call on Friday morning, following her Thursday biopsy (during which the doctor optimistically told her she didn't think it was cancer). 

There should be a rule among doctors--or at least a strong suggestion--not to ruin a patient's weekend with a cancer diagnosis. It's hard to have fun on Friday night when you're weighed down by the knowledge that an enemy has invaded your cells. 

This Wednesday, she'll meet with a surgeon. Cancer makes even healthcare move a little faster.

We have a pretty good idea of what lies ahead. We've been here before. My mother is a breast cancer survivor, as is my twin sister. We know the routine: surgery, radiation (sometimes), chemotherapy (often). We know about wigs and hats. We know that eyebrows and eyelashes may not grow back, that curly hair can grow back straight, that leg hair may be sparse for years to come. That chemotherapy keeps your underarms from producing odor, making deodorant unnecessary for up to a year afterwards.

We know about weight loss and vomiting, diarrhea and constipation, nose bleeds and fainting. 

We know how cancer ages you.

But this isn't the worst thing my sister's been through. She lost both her husband and her oldest son to cancer. Their diagnoses were far more tragic than her own. Her husband lived six months after what he thought was an ulcer was discovered to be colon cancer. My nephew lived one day after his doctor began to suspect that his pneumonia might actually be leukemia--a diagnosis not confirmed until his autopsy.

It'll be a rough year, which is another thing we know. But as people of faith--as Jesus followers--we have hope. We have peace. Obviously, we'll be praying for healing, but if healing doesn't come, if that isn't God's plan, then may we have God's grace to walk this road with courage and to stand together in strength and unity.

In Defense of Sunday Morning Coffee

 

Image by 5688709 from Pixabay

In the movie Jesus Revolution, there’s a scene where the pastor is remonstrated by a curmudgeonly old congregation member about how the barefooted hippies are ruining the church carpet with their dirty feet. The pastor (played by Kelsey Grammer) responds by washing the hippies’ feet as they enter the church. The lesson, of course, is that people are more important than carpet, and an unblemished heart is worth more than an unblemished floor.

 Today, we have found another way to irritate the curmudgeons among us and ruin the carpet simultaneously—through the addition of a coffee bar at church. Actually, my pastor is careful to call it a coffee area instead of a bar. Evidently, he doesn’t want to give the wrong impression. We don’t want our coffee to be associated with that other social beverage.

 And therein lies the appeal of coffee. Besides the fact that it helps us stay awake during particularly boring sermons, coffee is a social drink—if it is being used as such. While I have reservations about the place of coffee in the sanctuary, coffee that stays in the foyer is the best church innovation since the invention of the overhead projector.

 If any of the crankier members of my particular congregation were concerned about what coffee was going to do to the sanctuary carpet, they must have either left the church or given up the fight long ago. My nephew, who is a grown man, kicks his cup over at least once a month. He’s trying hard to ruin the carpet, which must be some sort of super stain resistant variety as he has yet to leave a mark on it. Part of his issue is that he’s forgetful, part of it is that he has a toddler who is a whirlwind of chaos and destruction, but mostly it’s that my nephew worships with his entire body. It’s hard to pay heed to the cup of coffee at your feet when you’re on your knees with eyes closed and arms upstretched.

 Coffee in hand or resting on the floor is a surefire way to discourage freedom in worship. I, myself, am far less prone to dancing when I have my hands wrapped around a Styrofoam cup. Although coffee may be problematic in the sanctuary, coffee in the foyer invites conversation. Of course, in order to foster true communion over coffee, churches also need to provide both comfortable seating and time to fellowship. When combined with such time and space, coffee communicates to the congregation that there’s an expectation that they will stop and talk before settling into their customary pews. We are supposed to be part of each other’s lives. Coffee and conversation give us a place to build those friendships.

 The coffee in church trend began as part of the “seeker sensitive” movement, a movement which still causes grumbling in some quarters of the church. While much of the criticism of that movement is warranted, a coffee bar (excuse me, I meant area) in the foyer is the best addition to come from it, not because seekers are going to be won to Christ because they like the coffee, but because it gives everyone—seeker and saintly curmudgeon alike—something warm to wrap their hands around as they build relationships. And those relationships—the communion of saints—is part of what church is all about.