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One of the things I love about my “new spirituality” friends is that they’ve helped increase my faith in God.  They walk around with an expectation that good things are going to happen to them.  They speak positive things “into the Universe,” and they believe that good things will “manifest” to them.  By any other name, that’s faith.

Of course, some of them think of “the Universe” as just some cosmic force, as creative power that can be tapped into and manipulated to achieve what one wants in life.  Others take a more personal approach.  They see a “the Universe” as alive, full of love, as a personality, more along the lines of how traditional Christians view God.  In other words, a person.  And they interact with It/Him in real time. It is a real spiritual dynamic in their life.  And as a Christian, sometimes I really envy that.

The difficulty I have is when they treat this divine source/God as just some sort of cosmic power source that can be drawn from indiscriminately, or as a piggy bank of creative energy that can be tapped into at will for sometimes selfish gains.  In that sense, they are no different from most of us who pray and present our lengthy shopping lists to God.  Sometimes all we want of God is what we can get out of him.  And when I see this in other people, just how inappropriate that approach is becomes more striking to me.  God is not a bank account to be withdrawn from at will, he is a person who desires interaction.   “New spirituality” usually views “the Universe” as intellect, even perfect love, but without will, without personality.  And I can’t understand that. Raw intelligence, raw source of creative power, without will or personality?  Surely, Divine Intelligence would resist petty human manipulation, would insist on recognition and even a relationship of love.

When we interact with God, when we pray, when we seek things from God, we need to do so as though we’re interacting with a living being, a Person.  We’re told all through the New Testament that we should have faith, but that faith is in God, not just in some impersonal force that creates the results we are seeking.  We have faith in the fact that God loves us and wants the best for us.  We have faith that when we ask for things, he knows the best way to get them to us if they’re good for us.  And sometimes that means he will say no — like any loving parent.  We have to be willing, we have to be open, to the idea that he may say no, or that he may do things for us in ways that we do not expect.

Expectation, frustration & leprosy

There is a story in the bible that highlights this point.  Naaman was commander of the army of the king of Aram.  He was a great man, a valiant soldier, and he was highly regarded by the king.  But he also had leprosy.  He hears that there is a prophet of God in Israel who may be able to heal him, and he gets permission from his king to go see the Prophet Elisha (2 Kings 5).  When Naaman gets to Elisha’s house, with all his horses and chariots and his hundreds of pounds of gold and silver, Elisha doesn’t even bother to answer the door.  He sends his servant instead.  And the servant tells him, “go, wash yourself seven times in the Jordan, and your flesh will be restored and you will be cleansed.” But Naaman storms away angry.  “I thought he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, and I thought he would wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy…”

Elisha didn’t do things the way Naaman expected, and Naaman walked away.  But the story doesn’t end there.  Naaman’s servants whisper some words of wisdom in his ear (isn’t that what friends are for?).  “My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it?  How much more, then, when he tells you ‘wash and be cleansed!’” Naaman sees the logic in this, and then goes and does what the prophet had told to do: he dips himself in the tiny, muddy, insignificant Jordan River seven times.  And, wonder of wonders, he’s healed.  His flesh is restored and was clean like that of a young boy.

Here’s the point.  Naaman expected the prophet to do things in a certain way.  He expected the prophet to come to see him personally.  He expected the prophet to utter the name of his God.  And he expected the prophet to wave his hand over his wounds in some kind of magical gesture.  That’s how he envisioned he would be healed.  And because Elisha didn’t do any of those things, Naaman almost missed a blessing.  He walked away without his healing.  And if his servant hadn’t been wise enough and gracious enough to point out his stubbornness, Naaman probably would have died from leprosy.

Sometimes we miss God because we’re looking for something else.

Sometimes we miss the blessing because it doesn’t come in a way that we expect.

We all have shopping lists, we all have checklists of things we would like from God, and sometimes we even foolishly tell God how we would like him to accomplish them.  We usually don’t think of it this way, but we are actually trying to tell God how to do his business.  Naaman had faith, but he also had expectations.  And his expectations nearly nullified his faith.  When we go to God with our requests, with our special needs, when we want a new lover in our life, a new job, a raise, a better social situation, better health, or any number of good things we may have on our list, it’s best for us just to go to God trusting that he is a loving father, and that he wants to provide for us.  When we step over into telling him how to do it, that’s when we risk losing it all.

Let’s bring things down to earth a bit.  Say you’re single.  You’ve been looking for a spouse, a partner, a new boyfriend or girlfriend.  And you’ve probably been taught in well-meaning churches trying to encourage your faith that you should be very specific in your requests to God.  You should know exactly what you want.  You should create a “blueprint for your faith.” So, you may have said, “I want him to be tall, dark, and handsome.  I want him to have brown eyes, dark hair, to be a certain height and weight.  I want him to have the heart of a Romeo, the gallantry of a Lancelot, to be self-supporting and financially independent, to be masculine, ….”   None of those is a bad thing.  But we can become blinded by our checklists, by our too-specific expectations, so that if God were to drop our dream man right in front of us, we might not even recognize him.

The same with a job.  Say you have specific desires for your next job.  You’d like more flexible hours, better salary, better working conditions.  You would actually like to enjoy the people you work with, doing a job that suits your talents and your interests.  And you know exactly what it is you want to do, you know exactly what it looks like.  So you pray that, and you tell God exactly what you want.  So now you’re scanning the internet, looking at all the job sites, looking for your dream job.  And most likely, you’re not finding it.  But there are several that are close candidates.  So you apply to those.  And some of them even respond to you and invite you to interviews.  One of them even offers you the position.  But you have to pray about it, searching your heart, probing the heavens, seeking the will of God to know if you should take this job or not.  Your friends may be telling you not to take it because it’s not what you were praying for.  Or they may be telling you to be practical and take what you can get.

You have to go with your guts. God is spirit, and you are a spiritual being.  Most of the time, he will try to communicate with you spiritually, through your spirit. And that normally translates as gut feelings, instincts, intuition. So, what is your gut saying to you?

And even though this wasn’t your dream job, it didn’t fit all your checklist items, all your expectations, you decide to take it.

And now you’ve given God the opportunity to do what only God can do.
To do some of that “God stuff.”

I’ve been in both these situations I just described:  I dictated my wish list to God for a new life partner and for a new job.  And at least in my case, neither of these situations worked out exactly as I was expecting, what I had set my “faith” upon.  But in each case, God did some pretty wonderful stuff.  When I let go of my detailed spec list, my dating life took on a whole new dimension I wouldn’t have imagined. And that job turned into a career path that’s paid my bills comfortably for years. Because, like Naaman, I was persuaded not to stubbornly walk away angry because my specific details were not being met line by line, I untied God’s hands, and he was free to move in my life in ways that he saw fit, not as I dictated to him.  And I’m a better man in a better situation now because of it.  I’ve learned more, grown more, become richer not only financially but also emotionally, psychologically, spiritually — because of these prayer requests that were answered not exactly the way I wanted.

If I’d been stubborn, if I’d said “no, this is not what I’m looking for,” then I would have missed out on both those blessings.

It’s good to have faith.  And it’s good to make checklists.  It’s good to identify what we want and what we don’t want.  But we also have to realize that God is not a coke machine or a juke box.  We can’t just push some buttons and expect to get exactly the product we want.  This is where I part with my new spirituality friends.  We can’t just “speak it out to the Universe” and expect it to “manifest” exactly as we describe.  We’re dealing with a Person who is more powerful and has more options available than we do. He sees things we can’t even imagine yet. And it’s best if we give him as much flexibility and leeway as possible to accomplish those goals for us.

Naaman almost missed it.  He knew exactly what he wanted and how he want it to happen.  But reality didn’t work out quite the way he imagined.  And his expectations nearly robbed him of the blessing.  But because he listened to the wisdom of his friends, and stopped being so stubborn, he let God do it the way God wanted to.  And he walked away a healed man.

We are children of an amazing, powerful, and loving God.  When we speak, he listens.  And Jesus said in the gospels, “Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Lk 12:32).  He wants to give us the desires of our hearts (Ps 37:4).  But the key to receiving the desires of our hearts is to not tie God’s hands with our too-specific expectations.  Our faith must be in God, as a loving father, not in the specific ways and means we expect him to do things.

We have a relationship with a Person, a personality, someone who walked with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden in the cool of the day.  There’s a degree of trust in that relationship, a trust that he knows us personally, and loves us personally.  And if we give him the flexibility of our trust without tying him down with our detailed expectations, we might actually be surprised at what good things he will do for us.

Sometimes religious people really annoy me.

Real life requires real answers — or sometimes at least the admission that we don’t have an answer — not churchy platitudes.  Warm, religious-sounding words, full of all the right terminology but devoid of any real power don’t help anyone.  Fluff. Drivel. And that’s how I felt when I finished reading one preacher’s advice on “How to Recognize God’s Voice.”  So let me throw in my two-cents worth.

First, my disclaimer.  If I were any kind of expert on hearing God’s voice, I’d probably be the happiest and most successful man on the planet. But I’m stumbling and fumbling around here, trying to discern my way, just like the rest of us.  But there are — in my limited experience — some pretty basic signs that help shed some light on the murky fog a lot of us walk around in.  And the key lies not so much in hearing God’s voice — I believe God is speaking to us all the time. The key lies in recognizing the voice when we hear it.

Let me start by killing the churchy platitude that set me off: “The number one way God speaks to us is through his Word, the Bible.”

Pardon my French, but let me just call bullshit on that one.

That’s like saying that the number one way your parents — or your lover — speak to you is through some user manual.  God constantly whispers in your ear, tugs at your heart, gives you a sense of intuition or a “gut feeling.” God is always talking. And he isn’t waiting for you to crack open that leather-bound book.

But just to clarify, my beef isn’t against using the Bible to learn more about God. I just take issue with pretending it’s a book of magic with answers to all your questions.  And if you’d only read it … blah blah.

The God who walked with Adam in the Garden in the cool of the day, the God who spoke to prophets in the Bible … spoke.  I was reading yesterday some stories about King Saul and King David in the Bible, and was struck how often that phrase kept popping up: “the LORD said to Samuel …”   Yeah, how?  How did God speak to him?  Did Samuel crack open the Scroll of Leviticus and read, searching to discover who Saul’s replacement would be?  Yeah … no.  Guess what? While the Bible contains a record of God’s words to us, and he often speaks to us through it, the Book itself will often not be very helpful when you’re actively looking for some guidance. At least if you’re expecting the answers to be there in black and white.

A starting point …

We have to begin with the assumption that God wants to speak with us.

And for some people, that may be a huge leap of faith.  But consider this: that image mentioned earlier from Genesis, God walking with Adam, talking with Adam, calling out to him …  God speaks.  And why did God create humans to begin with?  Okay, we may be crossing over into philosophical territory here, but surely it’s more than just to worship him — despite all those great songs we may sing in church. This might sound heretical, but I do not believe we were created to worship God, nor is that our primary purpose in existence.

Based on what I can tell from Scripture, it seems pretty clear to me
that we were created for relationship with God.

Friendship. Hanging out. Socializing. Fellowship. Communion. Intimacy.

If God wanted you principally for worship, well, he’s already got plenty of angels for that. Again, theological speculation, but a common thought is that he wanted someone with a free will, someone in his own class of being, to choose to love him, to hang with him.  I don’t mean to be flippant about it. But let’s be real. Some of the great figures in the Bible were called the “friends of God”: Abraham and Moses for starters, and Jesus said he no longer called his disciples servants but friends.  We could list other references, but you get the idea.  We were created for love, to be loving partners to/with/for God.

What is the meaning of life? What is our primary purpose?  Relationship.  Friendship.  With God and with each other. So, at least that one church tune we sing so often got it right: “I am a friend of God … he calls me friend.”

And if you can make that leap, if you can embrace that basic premise, then you’re well on your way to learning how to recognize his voice.  How do you talk with your friends?

Email? Letters? Texts?  Sure.  And we can put the Bible in that category.  I’m not ruling it out (despite my tirade above) — the Bible is, as my pastor says, God’s love letter to us.  I’m just saying it’s only one way he speaks with us — and not the primary way, at that.

When we want to talk to our friends, most of us actually speak, we use words. We use our ears. And we use our hearts.  Sometimes we use touch. Sometimes it’s just a nudge.  Sometimes it’s eye-contact.  Imagine sitting across the room from the object of your affection. How are you signaling him or her?  How long can you go without communicating with him? How long before you want to hear her voice?

Why would God be any different?

Sure, he created the universe. He’s paying attention to that irregular star activity in the Horse Head Nebula, and the surge of dark matter floating closer to our Milky Way (can you tell I’m no astronomer?).  But he did take the time and effort to create humanity, and the Psalms tell us that he knew us — as individuals — before we were even in our mothers’ wombs.  That’s some pretty personalized attention.  And don’t think for a second that he suddenly lost interest when we turned the age of 12. That Holy Love Literature tells us our individual names are written forever in heaven, that we are the apple of his eye, that he sings over us.  Pretty heady stuff.  So I think it’s safe to claim that he still wants to hang with us — on that individual, personal level.

Back in Eden, when Adam and Eve were hiding afraid and in shame after their little dalliance with rebellion, it is God who goes in search for them: “Where are you …?”  So why do we think he suddenly dropped into a passive mode? Is he waiting for us to brush the dust off the old King James Bible we got as a Sunday School prize, and read chapter after chapter, straining to find his will in the black and white verses?  “Oh, I see Steve is looking for my guidance about whether he should get serious with this guy he’s dating. Guess I’ll make him work his way through Colossians where I hid my will for this situation.”  Umm, no.  Seems silly, doesn’t it?  But isn’t that what most of us think?  “I need help. I want to know what to do, or at least what God would like me to do … about X or Y …  So I better read the Bible.”

Hey, the Bible is great. I’m a firm believer in Scripture. God speaks to me using it all the time. When I’ve got deep issues I’m troubled with, it’s amazing how suddenly a verse will jump off the pages, highlighted in spiritual neon, and it’ll ring inside me with new meaning I never saw before. And there it is: the answer I’ve been looking for.  But it wasn’t the magic of the Book.  It wasn’t even the words themselves on the page. It was the activity of the Spirit, making those words come alive.  It’s what theologians call illumination – spiritual highlighting.

And he does the same “spiritual highlighting” with all types of situations.

It’s the message that’s important; not the medium it comes through. God can speak through my trusted friends. He can use a song on the radio. He can use a preacher.  He can use a TV commercial or a Facebook status.  He can use an audible voice from Heaven. He’ll prompt your intuition, or give you a fresh moment of inspiration, a thought you’d never had before. From what I know of God, it seems like he’ll use whatever means, and as many means, as possible to communicate with us.

But when you’re reaching out with your heart, there will also be a lot of background noise: your own thoughts and worries, other people’s opinions, coincidental signs.  How do we filter all that out?

The way we know it’s from God is that there will be this gravitas to it.  It will ring like a bell inside us with power and heaviness, and it will fit. It will fill every corner of the question we’re chewing on. And there will be absolute certainty: done deal, “this is it!”  The answer will “settle” inside you with a kind of solidness to it, like the closing of a door on the question. And then there will be peace. Like freshly fallen snow on a quiet winter night. Like a cool breeze blowing across you after a time of sweat and strain.  These are tell-tale signs. These are the work, the activity, of God’s Spirit.  And that’s how you recognize God’s fingerprints on the answer you’re looking for.

God is Spirit. And you are a spiritual being, created in his image.
And though he will speak to you in a wide variety of ways, recognition of his voice is a spiritual activity.
You’ll know it in your gut.

There are no clear-cut methods, no great formulas or strategies to reach that point where words suddenly take on divine significance, where you suddenly develop ears that discern that whisper of the Spirit or eyes that see his illumination.  But when you’re genuinely seeking God, when you want to hear his voice, he won’t hide from you. Like a lover, longing for your presence, he may string you along a bit, just for the pleasure of your company.  But he won’t leave you guessing.  And he won’t put you through religious gymnastics, he won’t make you wade through holy texts.  Hey, if you’re already there, he may speak to you through them.  But if your heart is open, he could just as easily drop a flash of insight on you while you’re walking at your favorite park.

Elijah was in trouble. It’s another story in the Bible. He’d just had a major spiritual high, a victory in wiping out the false prophets of Ba’al. And then he crashed.  Fear gripped him. Uncertainly hounded him. And he sought God in the sacred places, the place where God had moved in history. He ran to historic Mt Sinai.  And God shook him up.  The answer he was looking for was not in the fire. Not in the earthquake. Not in the wind. It was in the still, small voice. That whisper deep inside, whispering “this is it.”

Hearing from God is not some extraordinary phenomenon, reserved for saints and the sober-minded. It’s normal for us to seek divine input. It’s part of being human to reach out and communicate with the God who created us.  So, as Jesus once told a group of his followers, “ask — because the one who asks receives. Seek — because the one who seeks finds.  Knock — because to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.”   Go ahead.  Ask.  Then keep your ears open to hear, keep your eyes open to see the answer.

To hear God’s voice, pay attention. Just be listening. He’s always trying to talk to you. The answer will be there.  To recognize God’s voice, to know when it’s really him, look for the gravitas, that sense of “settledness” in your gut.

It isn’t that hard.  You’re asking. He’s speaking.  We just need to learn to recognize that internal resonance, that ringing of certainty and truth, that finality when the answer comes.  You’ll feel it.  It will be a knowing in your gut more than in your head.  That’s the “still, small voice.”

My buddy Jill made a profound statement on Facebook the other day. It was in response to an article about how wimpy liberal Christianity is because it offers little that can’t be found in liberal secularism. But the point is equally valid for “Bible-based” churches as well:

Unless there is something distinctly profound, ecstatic or unqualifiedly transcendent that happens in the religious space, why bother? Just go to brunch.

I had one of those moments today in church. In fact, it’s a regular part of my Sunday experience. The powerful, palpable presence of God. It warms the air, surrounds you like a comfortable quilt on a chilly morning, brings peace to your restless heart and wrestling mind, and puts all the whirling chaos of life back into proper perspective. And if you don’t have that, why bother?

And it was during one of those moments soaking in the divine presence that I was reminded of a simple truth. We were — I was — having an encounter with a very personal God. A person, not a force. Not some cosmic consciousness or the energy that permeates the universe. A person who speaks my name aloud, whose name I know. God is everywhere, in all things at all times, and no place escapes his presence. God is in all, but that does not mean that all is God. We were created in his image, and we can have his Spirit living in us, but we are not divine. We do not occupy the Throne of Eternity. As the book of Job reminds us, “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?” We are the creation; he is the Creator. He is immanent in all his creation; he holds our hands in all the stages of our lives; but he remains transcendent, above and beyond creation, distinct from it because he created it and it all exists because of him.

“The heavens declare the glory of God,” scripture tells us, and “the whole earth is full of his glory.” But the universe is not God, nor is God the universe.

For the hungry soul searching for truth, dissatisfied with the drivel and hypocrisy of established religious institutions, there is sweet beauty in the simple image of the God who created us walking in Eden in the cool of the day, calling for Adam. Calling for us. God in search of man. Revelation so profound and powerful, yet simple and beautiful.

The purpose of life is not to attain spiritual enlightenment. Neither is it to achieve prosperity or personal success. Inner peace, clarity of mind, even human unity and universal harmony are not the highest pursuits of our existence. The goal is relationship. The Living God and us. The Creator of all is not just “Universal Father” but also “Abba” — a personal, intimate and tender relation — the One who walked with Adam and Eve in the Garden, calling them by name. The great “I AM”, the Eternal One, is also the personal “God of your fathers, of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob.” Not only does he call us by name, but he calls himself by OUR names! He has established an irrevocable bond with us that is so much deeper and more personal than just the sharing of energy and essence. The personal intimacy of our relationship is woven into the very fabric of the universe. If we will just listen, our very souls cry out, “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”

That is the highest truth. That is the greatest revelation and personal achievement: an awareness of the Lover and being the Beloved.

At the end of our days, when our spirits unwind from our failing bodies, we will not just be reabsorbed back into the energy of the universe, or even rejoin the “higher mind”. No such impassive future awaits us. But we will be reunited with the One who loves us with an everlasting love; “I and Thou”, distinct and separate, but in an inseparable union. “For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither things present nor things to come, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

And what greater existence could there be? What higher truth could we want than that?

Some days you just feel like crap.

Sometimes you feel like your life is going nowhere, that you’re stuck in some barren wasteland of a place, no one is paying any attention to you, your future looks bleak and hopeless. You may even feel like your life is cursed, that God has abandoned you, forgotten your name, and moved on to someone else. You feel done, finished, wiped out. And all you wanna do is scream.

Most of us have been there — and probably a lot of us are still there. But hey! Snap out of it. The game isn’t over yet, and the universe is about to stop just for you.

Here’s the Story …
I was reading through a familiar story about a guy who had three strikes against him, but who won in the end despite all his disadvantages. He was blind. He was a beggar. And he was stuck in a dump of a town that had a really bad history. And stranded there, all he could do was call out for help. But life didn’t pass him by; he was not forgotten by history, and in fact, his name is now famous, known around the world — well, at least in the church world, anyway.

One day Jesus and his crew were on a trek from the north country down to the big city of Jerusalem, and they had to pass through the town of Jericho. Everyone knew Jericho. It was on a main highway from the fertile Galilee to Jerusalem, and on the East-West route connecting the Transjordan region with the Judean hill country. Joshua and the refugees from Egypt had marched around it a thousand years before, and (as we all know) its “walls came tumbling down.” A curse was placed on anyone who dared rebuild that city (Josh 6:26), but it was situated at the mouth of one of the largest freshwater springs in the area, so curse or no curse, that little bit of real estate was not going to stay abandoned for very long. And Jesus and his team were passing through it on their way to some important business about to become the first Easter holiday.

This poor guy, sitting in his sweat, caked in dirt, probably stinking to high heaven, heard the commotion of Jesus’ entourage, and started raising a ruckus. He wanted some attention. He wanted some help. He was sick of where he was, and he wanted out. The crowd around him, preoccupied with the celebrity coming through town, did not appreciate the disruption. He was told in less than friendly terms to shut up and stop making a nuisance of himself. But the guy persisted. And Jesus stopped. Jesus turned around and told his crew to get him. Now that he had been recognized, the crowd changed its tune. “Cheer up. On your feet! He’s calling you.” The man threw his cloak aside, jumped to his feet, came to Jesus, and told him what he wanted. And Jesus gave it to him. Immediately, the man was healed of blindness and joined Jesus on the road (Mk 10:46-52).

So what?
Here’s the point to that little drama. We all sometimes feel like we’re stuck in a rut, that life and our destiny has passed us by. And we may even feel like we’ve earned it, like we deserve to be there, that we made God angry at us, and this is our punishment, our curse. And now we’re in such a bad place we can’t even see our way out of it. We’re blind, we don’t even have any idea which way to go or what to do next. We feel like we’re rotting right where we stand. Our life is over. It seems hopeless. But Jesus stopped for that man. Even with all the things pressing on his mind, Jesus stopped to pay some attention to that insignificant, washed up, dirty and stinking, little man. And the future changed in that instant. Not only did that man get his sight, but his life was handed back to him. He got a new purpose, a new journey. And to this day, Bartimaeus’ name is recited by kids in Sunday Schools around the world. All because he called out and Jesus stopped.

It Ain’t Over
It ain’t over till it’s over. And it ain’t over. You may feel stuck in your Jericho. You may feel like you’re done, the game’s over, you’ve used up all your chances and you might as well just sit on the ground and scream. But Jesus stopped in that cursed town. He stopped for a single person. He interrupted his urgent schedule to breathe life back into a seemingly worthless individual. And everything changed. The man threw his coat aside, he dropped the baggage from his past, embraced his future, and a new stage of his life began.

You may have to do the same. You may have to call out — even to the point of becoming a nuisance to those around you who think they have their acts together. But you won’t be ignored — not by the guy who has the power to restore your life, your vision of the future, your purpose. You may have to stop being so passive. You may have to exert the energy to throw off that heavy cloak you’ve been carrying around, that old stuff that weighs you down and ties you to your past. There may be something required of you to help take those first steps into your new life. But “cheer up. He’s calling you.” You’ve caught the eye of the King of Creation — and right now, that makes you the center of the universe. And your story is just beginning.

As a single guy, feeling the full weight of taking care of the house, the yard, the laundry, the cooking, the dogs, a full time job …, I think I now know exactly why God gave Adam a “suitable helper”.

Funny, how every single person I know is focused on finding Mr. Right or Miss Right. The desire for companionship is strong in us humans. And with rare exceptions, that’s how it’s supposed to be. Unless you happen to be graced with the spiritual gift of celibacy, you’ve probably more than once quoted that famous passage from the creation account in Genesis: “It is not good for man to be alone …” (Gen 2:18). And your sights are usually zeroed in on finding a romantic partner, someone to love, to be loved by, to “have and to hold,” and to experience that physical/mystical bond of “the two shall become one flesh”. (Thank you, Genesis, for providing us with all those great images.)

But I recently became acutely aware of what was perhaps the original intent of that spousal description. The King James version of the Bible reads, “an help meet for him”, and thus was introduced into English idiom the term “helpmeet” (and not as some of my more amorously focused brothers think, “helpmeat”). God gave Adam the herculean task of tending a huge garden and all the wildlife in it. And practically speaking, there just weren’t enough hours in the day or strength in the body to do it all alone. Adam needed help — and a help specifically suited to him, to his personality and to his specific needs. A helper was needed to help him accomplish his task. Not just to be a romantic partner. That “becoming one flesh” stuff is all just a wonderful fringe benefit.

Without that help, it is likely that Adam would not have been able to successfully do the thing he was charged with doing.

And that’s the point. You were put on this planet to do something significant, something important, something no one else but you can do. You were designed to be that unique piece in the cosmic jigsaw puzzle needed to complete the picture. And without you, without you fulfilling your assignment, that puzzle will always remain incomplete. And guess what? You can’t do it alone. None of us can.

It is interesting and informative that when Jesus sent out his disciples to do the work of the Kingdom — to proclaim the message of Freedom, to heal the sick, and to break the power of the enemy — he sent them out two by two (Mk 6:7). Like Adam, we weren’t meant to try to accomplish the work by ourselves. It’s too big for any one person. We need help. And based on these two important passages, it seems clear that that’s how God intended it. And if that’s the case, then we can also assume that it is God’s will that we have that help. He WANTS us to have our “suitable helper”. And that’s good news for most of us: God is right there in the mate-finding game with us.

But here is the kicker. You gotta look beyond the surface. You gotta get past your own amorous needs and look at the bigger picture. God wants you to have the love of your life, that partner who will be faithful in good times and in bad, in blessing and in trouble. Just make sure you find someone who will actually “help”. Find someone whose heart will align with yours, who will cooperate with your purpose on this planet, who will come into agreement with the important things in your life, and come alongside to help. Make sure your prospective mate can actually contribute. You don’t need another burden, another weight to carry. You don’t need the distraction or the drain on your energy and time. You need someone who will share the burden and help you carry the weight, who will help you stay focused and will re-energize you. Make sure the person you’re considering will be an asset to you, and is of some earthly good — other than providing you some sugar.

Your pursuit of a life companion is a wonderful thing. And if you stay purpose-driven and mission-focused, you’ll have God as a recruiting partner. Because He wants you to succeed even more than you do.

You’ve got important work to do. And you’re gonna need some help! So choose your helper wisely.

As my friend, Dr Jill Carroll, pointed out: Americans seem to demand that Muslim clerics rise up and denounce any extremist behavior to prove Islam is not a violent religion. Why don’t Christians feel that same responsibility?

So, as a Christian minister, I should state for the record that these so-called pastors who advocate the killing of gay and lesbian people, or putting them in concentration camps with electrified fences do NOT represent me, my faith, or the Jesus I know. These religious fanatics must be labeled for who they are: extremists, violent, unChristian, and dangerous to America.

Hot topic of the week: North Carolina votes to forbid same-sex marriages in their state, and President Obama publicly states that he is in favor of full recognition of marriage for those same couples. And, of course, people are all hot and bothered — for one reason or the other.

Some see the passage of Amendment 1 in North Carolina as yet another nail in the coffin of the evangelical church and its relevance to the under-30 crowd. A bunch of old, white men fighting a losing battle over issues no one younger even cares about. Nothing new here; religious people have been bemoaning this for decades: Church in danger of losing the current generation.

But my gut reaction is “don’t blame the evangelicals.” Or better put, don’t equate conservative, inflexible, irrelevant religious people with evangelicalism. The very word “evangelical” comes from the Greek word for “Good News”. Guess what? The Good News isn’t stale. It isn’t rigid. It doesn’t rise up to impose its own way. It doesn’t oppress people or take things away from them. It isn’t political. It doesn’t rise or fall with the turning generations. It isn’t even fixed in black and white on the pages of Scripture. Well, the Good News is, but everything the church as linked to it is not. Here is the Good News: God loves the world, and he sent his Son to reconcile the world to him. Those who believe it are reconciled. They are now his children. Done deal. That’s all there is to it. All that other stuff is unrelated.

Those people who become alarmed at the “war on marriage” or the “war on American traditional values” (as though those were handed down from Mt. Sinai), they have little to do with what being an evangelical is all about.

Being an evangelical means I’m concerned about people being separated from God. It means I believe Jesus came to re-unite them with the Father. It means I care that they hurt. It means I try to treat them as I want to be treated. It means that if God’s love lives in me, I must extend that love to others. And I want to see those others brought into the same loving relationship with God through Jesus that I have.

Hooting and hollering on TV and talk-radio, voting knee-jerk reaction measures in Congress or the state legislatures, rousing the troops to get out the vote for the next election … all irrelevant. Politics and voting belong in the civic arena. Faith and relationship with God is the domain of evangelicalism. “Render to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s” — and let’s not confuse the two.

People of genuine faith are gonna have disagreements about social and political issues. We’re human. It’s automatic. But let’s not let intractable, angry, or even frightened people equate their actions with being a good Christian, defending the faith — or of being evangelical. Those actions do not represent Jesus nor his Church. They’re just the behavior of scared people. Let true evangelicals stand up and say, “we don’t care who you are, or who you love, who you vote for, or what you’ve done. That is not our concern. We just want you to know that God loves you.” And all that other stuff has nothing to do with us.

A new year is always a good time to rethink. Re-evaluate. But not just in making resolutions or planning to solve problems that have haunted us the previous year. It’s also a good time to ask the same questions of ourselves that we may have answered years before, to guage our growth, to see how much we may have changed or how far we’ve come.  Or even just to measure our state of mind.

With that in mind, here are James Lipton’s famous questions that he always asks famous people in his “Actor’s Studio”. The answers here are mine, but you could ask them of yourself — just for fun.

1. “What is your favorite word?” – Yes.

2. “What is your least favorite word?” – Busy.

3. “What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?” – Revelation, some fresh insight I’d never heard of or thought of before.

4. “What turns you off?” – mean people. Rudeness. Cold-heartedness. Greed. … this one is too easy.

5. “What sound or noise do you love?” – the sound of a kiss by two people who are in love

6. “What sound or noise do you hate?” – a slamming door.

7. “What is your favorite curse word?” – I try not to curse (too much), but I’m kinda fond of the word “bitch”, said affectionately to snarky friends, of course.  (Sorry, mom!)

8. “What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?” – the one I dreamed of for years: University professor.

9. “What profession would you not like to do?” – oh, so many! Politician, for one. Salesman. Doctor. Attorney, accountant … all kinds of things.

10. “If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?” – Thank you. I needed that done.

… At least for this year.

Weird thing happened last night at church. A bunch of us got together for our weekly Bible study, and, it being the night before Thanksgiving, only a handful of people showed up. And we talked, and joked, and laughed like we normally do. And then it was time to get down to business. Leading the group, I started praying. And I was still laughing while I prayed. Even as we all lifted some of the concerns and requests up to God, I described the various situations to God as any of us do in a group of friends we enjoy being around. Real issues, real stories, but told from the comical side, sharing the joke with God.  Laughing in the Throne Room.

And it struck me: I’ve never in my life seen a preacher laughing while praying in church.

How ridiculous. Why are we always so serious, so “religious” about talking to God? Laughing, expressing our humor with God should be the most natural thing in the world. And I think it’s because even after all these generations of being a supposedly “Christian nation”, of being the most overly-churched, overly-exposed people to the Gospel in the entire world, we still have it ALL wrong. We still have very little idea what that “Gospel” is really all about. But then again, religious people are almost always the last to grasp the simple truth.

What Good News?
When Jesus first started doing public ministry, way back 2000 years ago, the very first words he said were: “The time has come. The Kingdom of God is here. Repent and believe the good news!” (Mk 1:15). I was rereading this a few days ago, and I was stumped by the phrase. “Believe the good news”? What good news? Mark, the gospel writer, never explains what that is. Of course, it had to be related to the Kingdom arriving, but what did that really mean? Well, we have four gospels — Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John — and each describes the same events from different perspectives. Like four people at a party, each will remember and highlight certain things that were particularly important to him, bringing out details that the others may have overlooked. So I flipped over to Luke’s account to see if he could fill in the missing details: what good news?

Jesus went to Nazareth where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue … The scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written:
The Spirit of the Lord is on me because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners,
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to release the oppressed,
and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
Then he began by saying to them, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” Everyone spoke well of him and were amazed at his gracious words” (Lk 4:16-22).

There It Is
And there it was — the good news. And these religious folks, these people who had read their Bibles all their lives, were amazed at what he was teaching them. Jesus didn’t just read to them, he “began by saying to them”, so he must have spent some time elaborating, explaining, telling them familiar truths in a way they’d never heard before. He opened their eyes for the first time in their lives to the true heart of God, hidden in words they already knew so well. And this is it…

That religious prison you’ve been living in all your life — you’re free from it. That view of God you’ve had all these years, the God who counts your sins, the one whom you try so hard to please but keep failing — here’s a different view. See the Father in a new way: not through laws and rules and religious lifestyle, but in simplicity of a loving relationship. Don’t be blind anymore to the true character of God. Open your eyes and see. That oppression you’ve been living under, the frustration of constant failure to live up to other people’s expectations and rules and regulations, trying to force you into a mold of “holiness” — you’re released from all that. Oh, and by the way, the time has come, your King is here now, and that means you NOW live in a time of God’s favor. You’re accepted, you’re loved, unconditionally, just as your are, right now, independent of your ability to live up to all these legalistic standards. It’s a whole new world, a whole new age. You are completely free from all that old stuff, and you already have God’s blessings and favor. It’s yours now. And you don’t have to do anything to have it except believe it. That’s the good news!

So why are we so serious, so religious, so legalistic about our relationship with God — even after two thousand years — when it’s so simple? In a single word, the heart of the good news is freedom. Freedom from ANY rule or protocol or standard of behavior required to enjoy the company of the Creator of the Universe in your normal, day-to-day life.

Real Life
But what does look like in real life? Simplicity itself.

You know those rules people told you about, things you had to do to please God? Or those things you weren’t doing, and that’s why God wasn’t pleased with you? Throw them all out.

You know how you were told you couldn’t wear too much make-up because it would displease God? Or how your hair was too long? Or that that tattoo you had on your arm was a sin? Or your dress was too short, or your ear was pierced too many times? Or how you went dancing last night, or had too many drinks — or that you had a drink at all? It’s all garbage. To use the language of the Old Testament, that shirt you are wearing was made from two types of fabric: you’re a sinner. You cut the hair at the corners of your head. God is displeased. The tassels on your shirt are not showing in public — you failed. You walked too far on the Sabbath. You must die. You didn’t bring your whole tithe into God’s house — you are cursed. You ate shrimp for dinner last night — you are an abomination. You had pepperoni on your pizza — you must be outcast and shunned. Or — hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen — the person you love is the same gender as you. You are abhorrent to God, and your blood is on your own hands. Rubbish. It’s all garbage.

That’s why the Apostle Paul, who used to be one of the biggest legalists of his time, could say, “God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins. He canceled the written code that was against us and that stood opposed to us, with all its regulations. He took it away, nailing it to the cross. … Therefore do not let anyone judge you by what you eat or drink …” (Col 2:13-16).

News Flash
The great news flash of Jesus is this: none of these rules has ANY intrinsic spiritual value. Not one of these can make you holy, and none of these has the power to make you unholy. The good news is that you are free from all these regulations and standards. And anyone who tries to impose these on you again as a way of pleasing God is a liar, a prison-keeper, someone who wants to put you in chains — against the very Declaration of Freedom Jesus himself proclaimed.

You are FREE from the prison of religious rules and restrictions.
You are RELEASED from the oppression of other people’s expectations of your life as a way of having a relationship with the God who loves you.
The true image of your Father is RESTORED – one who accepts you, loves you, without any condition. And that blindness which kept you from seeing his true nature, which always made you think he was angry with you — it’s gone.
And on top you your total freedom, here’s the bonus. You walk in God’s FAVOR, whether you feel like it or not.

You were poor because all this freedom was kept from you. You walked alone in the misery of your life because religious people all around you told you that you had to take on the burden of all these rules and laws of “godly living” in order to have the blessings that are already yours.

This is the good news. You are FREE. You are FAVORED. And when you walk in that simple, uncomplicated relationship with the Father who loves you, you will slowly begin fulfilling “godly standards” automatically. You won’t want to kill or steal. You won’t want to disrupt the beauty of someone’s marriage by having an affair with one of the spouses. You won’t want to gossip or bad-mouth your boss or that irritating co-worker because you know in your heart how hurtful that is. You’ll start feeling compassion for your neighbor who’s trying to deal with screaming kids. You’ll be concerned about that old woman down the street who can’t afford groceries. As you walk in the freedom of God’s love, your heart will be transformed. Any code of behavior that God is concerned about will be written on your heart, and you’ll do them naturally as you grow. No rules. No one telling you what you must do. Just natural living. Free.

The good news is it’s already done. The time has come. Your King has arrived – and he wants an intimate relationship with you! You can have peace with God, you can have the wonders of his friendship, and it all comes without a rulebook. The good news is you can tear up that old rulebook and throw it in the garbage where it belongs.

Anything else is worthless. It’s nothing more than legalistic prison. You are free. You are released. You can see God as he is. And he is already pleased with you: you already walk in his favor. Because of Jesus, there’s nothing you need to do except believe it.

And that’s good news worth celebrating!

There I was, minding my own business, innocently browsing through endless Facebook posts from my infinite number of friends (never been more popular in my entire life!), and I noticed that one buddy in a moment of excitement and adoration wrote out the doxology as his status.

“Praise God to whom all blessings flow. Praise him all creatures here below. Praise him above, ye heavenly hosts. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Only he got one word wrong — as some of you may have already noticed.  I grew up in church where we sang this almost every Sunday, so it jumped off the screen at me.  And it’s always those little windows of time when you see something old in a new light that spark fresh insights.  That one little word makes a huge difference.

“From whom” not “to whom.”

Big deal; who cares?  Okay, call me knit-picky, but it effects how we view God, how we view our relationship to him — how we view life.  God deserves our praise, to be sure.  And my mom taught me at a young age the incredible power that is released into our lives when we praise God in the middle of our difficult circumstances.  There’s value in that; it’s honorable to send your blessings to God.  As that cranky old oatmeal commercial guy used to say, “it’s the right thing to do.”

But we miss a powerful point about the character of God and his amazing love for us if we get that word wrong.  “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights, who does not change like the shifting shadows”, James tells us.  God is a generous God, a giving God. One who pours out good stuff on us, just because he loves us.  And he doesn’t quit when we mess up.  He doesn’t change his mind.  Like that powerful revelation in Exodus when he proclaims his name to Moses: “The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love … (Ex 34:6).

That good stuff is for us.  And if we miss that point, we’re missing out on some jaw-dropping grace, some amazing love, some unheard-of favor.  Not because of who we are, or the fact that we’re constantly buttering him up with our praise.  Just because that’s who he is.

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”  That’s your heritage.  That’s your birthright.  We can love him all the more because of his love for us, because he is constantly pouring out blessings — even when we don’t see or feel them.

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.” That one little word can turn your whole day around.

Opening scenes are important. You miss ‘em, and you may miss the key element in everything that follows. Like an Agatha Christie mystery. The ending won’t make sense if you skipped the early pages introducing the main characters.

Okay, I’ll admit I can’t recall ever having actually read an Agatha Christie novel, but I’ve seen the Murder on the Orient Express movie. That counts, doesn’t it?

The same goes for the Bible. Now, before you go “oh, that Bible stuff again”, hold on for a second. This could be important — maybe even life-changing. Faith and a relationship with God may not occupy center stage in your life as it does with some of us fanatics, but I’ll bet you’ve got some thoughts about God, about who he is, what he likes and dislikes, whether or not he’s tallying merits and demerits on his infinite abacus. What’s the first image that comes to mind when someone mentions “God”?

And that’s the point. Most of us get it wrong. Our impressions are based on images from Renaissance art, or Hollywood movies, or (even worse) fire and brimstone preachers. Church can really mess you up sometimes if you let it. And, frankly, a lot of those preachers don’t know much more about God than you do — I mean really, his personality and character, his heart, not just Bible facts and head-stuff. If they did, we’d see a lot more water-into-wine miracles happening all around us, a lot more Hanukah lamp-oil generation, and a lot less public stonings.

So let’s go back to the opening scenes. Let’s let God introduce himself. Scrap the images we’ve been carrying around most of our lives about what God is like, and let him tell you himself. What does God want you to think about him?

Act I, Scene i
Famous first words — everybody knows them: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” Book of Genesis, chapter one, verse one. And we could camp out here for a while, but I am especially moved by the next sentence. “Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.”

There’s an image for you. “Hovering.” The Spirit of God was hovering over it all, over the mass of chaos and emptiness. And out of that mess, he brought order and life. Good life. (And if you happen to be going through some chaos in your own life right about now, that simple thought may hold the key to keeping you sane.) This is who God is. This is how he introduces himself. The hovering one.

The English language doesn’t do this justice. The word used there is a rare one in Hebrew. It only occurs 3 times in the entire Hebrew Bible, and those other references paint a powerful picture of what’s going on here. The image is the protective action of a bird, caring for its young, wings spread over them in the nest, fluttering. In fact, that is a better translation than “hovering”: fluttering. The other reference in Deuteronomy describes this protective love God has for his people: “In the desert God found Jacob, in a barren and howling waste. He shielded him and cared for him; he guarded him as the apple of his eye, like an eagle that stirs up its nest and hovers over its young, that spreads its wings to catch them and carries them on its pinions” (Dt 32:11). (The third passage, Jer 23:9, reads “all my bones tremble…”, reinforcing the “fluttering” action inherent in the word.) God introduces himself, as soon as he steps onto the stage, as the protective, caring one. His Spirit flutters over the empty stuff of time and space, and embracing it between wings of love, transforms it, nurtures it into his beloved creation. This is your God. This is how he wants you to see him.

Another Self-Revelation
Later in the story, when Moses is dealing with the harsh realities of leading a strong and stubborn people, he confronts God and demands a greater revelation of him. Kind of like “If these are your people, then I’m gonna need to know you better so I can lead them better.” He wants to see God face to face. Of course God knows this would kill him; Moses would vaporize in the unfiltered presence of full glory. So God puts him in a cleft in the side of a mountain, covers him protectively with his hand, and then passes by, declaring his name, revealing himself to Moses: “The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion, and sin. Yet he does not leave the guilty unpunished…” (Ex 34:6). God describes himself in the way he wants to be perceived and understood by us. Compassionate. Gracious. Overflowing with love and faithfulness. Loyal. Forgiving. And Just.

How have we missed this? How have we turned this loving, protective, caring, compassionate and gracious God into something other than that? How have we turned him into a vindictive, white-bearded and cranky old man, catching us in every fault, every sin, every failing and mistake? Maybe it’s human nature. We know God is perfect, and our imperfections are glaring in comparison. We think he must be angry or displeased or at the very least disappointed by our shortcomings. But, as King David once noticed, he knows that we are but dust, he knows we fail. And he loves us anyway. He eagerly accepts us back into his presence — full of grace, compassion and love.

The Final Word
God’s own people may be the worst at misunderstanding him. Jesus one day stood with his protégés in the Temple of Jerusalem, surrounded by religious people, some hungry, some self-satisfied. And he called out with aching heart, “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem. You who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you. How often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. But you were not willing…” (Mt 23:37). As he faced rejection by the people he came to love, Jesus again and again showed the heart of the Father, even in the very choice of his words. He longed — and continues to long — to gather us under his wings of love. Yet we are so often not willing. We don’t get it. But this is your God. This is how he wants you to see him.

We may have missed this introduction. We may have skimmed past it, or may have never seen the spotlight shining on him as he bursts onto the stage of creation and into our personal lives. But this is the description of the main character in history. Hovering — fluttering — over us, gently caring for us as a bird sheltering its young under loving parental wings. This is the Eternal Father, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love, full of forgiveness. If we miss this crucial character profile, we’ll read the rest of the book with the wrong impression. We’ll walk through our day to day lives seeing God as someone other than he really is.

Opening scenes are important. They set the tone for the rest of the story. And sometimes we need to go back to page one to get it right.

I was just sitting here, minding my own business, cup of coffee in hand, browsing through various news stories that posted headlines on Facebook, and an otherwise insignificant blurb made me angry.

The article was about an advertising company in Australia reversing its decision to pull an HIV Prevention ad from local buses. They’d run it, gotten some negative backlash from the public, so they pulled the ads. Then, after a second wave of public outcry at the recall, they reinstated it. Simple business flip-flop. The ad was sponsored by the Queensland Association for Healthy Communities, and the image was of two men embracing, holding an unopened condom. Pretty tame stuff compared to what people see on TV these days. What was the big deal? The photo wasn’t shockingly offensive, and the purpose was to save lives, so what was all the hooplah about?

Those pushy Christians were at it again. Turns out that the initial complaints came from a certain “Christian lobby”, trying to control the world again. Once the company realized it was a targeted political campaign by this group, they reversed course and put the ads back up.

And I thought, doesn’t the Church have anything better to do? Isn’t this exactly why people never turn to the Church when they are in real spiritual need? The world — people, real human beings — see the Church as a bizarre  organization full of angry people bent on putting society into a strangle-hold to preserve some artificial traditional values as though they originated on Mt Sinai. Is this what the Kingdom of God has become all about? People so focused on gaining power over others, controlling TV, schools, making laws about who other people can or cannot love and build families with? Since when has Jesus’ commission been to become the “God police”? No wonder nobody outside the Church takes the Church seriously.

The Great Commission is and has always been to make disciples. And the purpose was not to build a society of religious clones, marching to the same tune of morality and religious beliefs. The point was to bring lost and hungry people back into a relationship with a God who loves them.

When Christians fail in this mission — or substitute some other agenda in its place — the inevitable (and only) result is a mockery, an empty shell of ritual and tradition. One might as well paint “Ichabod” over the buildings in huge red letters — “God doesn’t live here anymore.”
Church folks regularly bemoan the exodus of the youth. Congregations become greyer and more wrinkled, as younger generations see the Church as irrelevant, out of step, offering nothing. Holier saints pray for revival, expressing their desire for this generation to see the moving of God with power as they may have seen in years long since passed. But then they load upon their brothers and sisters a burden of rules, regulations, traditions, and lifestyles — legalism, by any other name — and wonder why no one is pounding on the church doors to get in.

When we, as believers, focus less on eliminating “safe sex” advertisements from public buses, and start focusing more on the hurt, on those in need, on introducing those who hunger and thirst for “something more” to a God who loves and embraces them, that’s when we’ll see those days of “power” again. That’s when the Spirit of God will move again in our congregations in ways that caused previous generations to impact their neighborhoods and cities. Not by laws. Not by protests and targeted email campaigns. But by the Spirit. When we get back to what’s actually important to the heart of God, that’s where the Presence of God will manifest.

If we want a “real” move of God, if we want the “real thing”, then we’ve got to start focusing on what’s “really important” to Him. And that won’t be protesting civil union laws in Illinois, or condom ads in Australia. It will be getting back, once again, to the primitive message of “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink …” Maybe then the world will start taking Christianity and the Church seriously again. And until that time, we don’t deserve their attention.

“Jacob left Beersheba and set out for Haran” (Gen 28:10).

What could be possibly one of the most boring verses in the entire Bible suddenly jumped out at me with such intensity and meaning, I just had to stop and stare at it for a while.

Jacob was a weasel. He was a trickster, somebody well-skilled in passive-aggressive behavior. He was a mama’s boy and a manipulator. He let people walk all over him. He was weak and wimpy. And I’m sure he was full of insecurities and self-doubts, and maybe even a little self-hatred. (Hey, kinda like a lot of us!) But he was also a man with a destiny. He had a role to fill in divine history, and God wasn’t gonna let a few personality flaws interfere with his ultimate plans.

So there he was, hanging out in Beersheba, a dusty little spot on the map, barren of life and luxury except for some scrub grass suitable only for livestock and a few wells his grandfather had dug. Not the kind of place to build a name for yourself. Not even the kind of place to build much of a life. But he wasn’t stopping there. He was on his way to Haran, a rich, exotic city sitting on the trade routes of civilization, looking for a wife and his future. Caravans carrying goods from Mesopotamia to Egypt, from Persia to what is now Turkey passed through that city, and it was known for it’s gold, spices, and precious stones. He was going from the southern most outpost of fertile land to the excitement of the big city in the north. But it wasn’t the city that held the key to his destiny. It was the journey itself.

“When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night …”
For many of us on the journey to new life and purpose, we overlook this important aspect: sometimes you just gotta stop moving, and camp out for a while. Something was about to happen to Jacob — he was hours away from that famous vision of angels ascending and descending the ladder between earth and God, a new revelation of God and about himself — and if he’d forced himself beyond that resting spot, if he’d continued his journey through the night in a hurry to get where he was going, he would have missed it. Like him, most of us tend to be restless. We’re running ahead at full steam, trying to escape (or at least change) our current situation, and reach the next stage of life, something better and more meaningful. But if we don’t slow down, if we don’t take advantage of our current situation, if we don’t learn whatever it is we’re supposed to glean from the present experience, we won’t be ready for that next step. Sometimes we have to slow down enough to listen.  And for once, perhaps for the first time in his life, Jacob doesn’t blow the opportunity. He rests. And then God speaks.

“I am the LORD, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac.”
What’s missing here? Those of us who grew up in Sunday School can fill in the blanks. The title always goes “the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” But that hasn’t happened yet. Jacob already had some years and experience under his belt, but he hadn’t come fully into himself yet. He hadn’t realized his full identity, nor had he developed a satisfactory relationship with God. His faith was still with the God of his fathers — or to put in another way, it was his parents’ religion. He had yet to really make it his own. But it’s during this journey that all that changes. It’s in the desert, in the sand, in the middle of nowhere on his way to somewhere, that God becomes real to him. And his life is changed from that moment on. After this trip, the God of Abraham and Isaac becomes the God of Jacob.   A new relationship, a divine partnership, is born.  And when that happens, nothing remains the same.

“I will give you and your descendants the land … You will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. And all peoples on earth will be blessed through you …”
It’s here, at this place of camping out, this place of quiet resting, at a break in the running, that Jacob gets the promise of the destiny he’s been looking for. God assures him that he will ultimately come into his own: he’ll inherit the land. But more than that, the purpose of his life is suddenly made clear: through him the whole earth will be blessed. It’s at this moment, at that rest-stop on the journey, that his life suddenly comes into focus. He is somebody. He has hope and a future. He is worth something.  All that scheming and manipulation, that striving for recognition and favor, the tricks and deceit, even his passive weakness, have not disqualified him from a purpose-filled and fulfilling life.  His mess-ups couldn’t shake the love and favor of God for him.

And on top of that, God promises to watch over him: “I am with you, and will watch over you wherever you go … I will never leave you …”  A new depth and quality to his life appeared out of nowhere in that moment.  It’s the breakthrough he needed in his quiet desperation, proof that his life had significance, that the world would be a better, more blessed place because of him.

His story continues, and a few chapters past this passage is another well-known event in his journey. It’s years later. He’s arrived in Haran, married the woman of his dreams (actually, got four women in the process), had eleven sons, and with God’s favor had become prosperous, despite his flawed character. And on one lonely night, still seeking to fill the void in his soul, he wrestles with a divine stranger till daybreak (Gen 32:24). Even though he’d achieved many of his goals — the love of a life-partner, a family of his own, the successful business — he’s still longing for deeper fulfillment. And he refuses to let the stranger go until he gets something from him: “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” But that’s exactly what the divine visitor came to do, and he gives Jacob a new name: “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men.” That life of constant struggle — deep within himself, with others around him, his family, and with God — God uses as material to forge his new identity. Though his journey in life would continue on for many more years, that part of the search for identity was finally complete. He now knew who he was, and what he was all about.

And none of this would have happened if he’d stayed in the dust bowl of Beersheba, if he hadn’t left his father’s house in search of his destiny.

For many of us, this is the story of our lives.
We’re restless and wanting more. We feel dissatisfied and unfulfilled where we are right now, and we have this nagging feeling in our guts that “there has to be more than just this.” There is.  A lot more. Your job is not done; your life is not stalled out. You are not stuck in the mud, or in the rut of your day to day grind. For those wanting more, there is new purpose and greater significance; there is a coming into your true identity, becoming all you were meant to be; there’s a deeper relationship with God, and a more fulfilling destiny — something bigger than yourself, something that will impact the world around you.   But it all happens along the way. It happens in the journey.

So don’t stop pressing. Don’t stop seeking God for more. Take advantage of where you are now, learn what you can, grow in the place where you’re planted — you’re more likely to hear the revelation you need to get you to the next step when you’re still enough to listen.  But don’t think that’s where your journey ends. You may be in a dusty spot, hanging out by a few wells of water, surrounded by little more than herds of sheep and goats, but Haran is calling. The fullness of your God-designed identity and destiny still await you. And this is God’s promise to you, as well as to Jacob. Don’t quit. Don’t give up. You’re gonna make it. You’re on the road from the dust bowl to your destiny.

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Shabbat Shalom, y'all

I grew up hating Sundays. (My poor mom is probably feeling all guilty about that now. Sorry, mom.)

Sunday was church day. It was “the Lord’s Day”, and we were supposed to honor God by getting dressed up, sitting through tedious (to me) sermons, singing some dreary songs, spending the afternoon quietly resting (impossible for us kids), and then enduring another church service in the evening. And, seemingly all too often, the day ended with an after-service scolding for bad behavior during church. I couldn’t wait for Monday to roll around again.

Somehow we got the impression that Sunday was reserved for somber activity. It was not to be profaned. It even had one of the big 10 Commandments protecting it. It wasn’t until I got to spend a lot of time with Jewish friends that I discovered the heart of the Sabbath.

Okay, first, let’s dispense with the academics. Yeah, Sunday is not technically the Sabbath. Saturday is. So, can we Christians get off our high horse about protecting the “holy day” considering we’ve even got the wrong day? And “the Lord’s Day” does not mean the day belongs to the Lord — everyday belongs to the Lord. That term came into use during the earliest days of the Church to commemorate the day Jesus was resurrected, and mostly among Gentile believers. Jesus’ first disciples were all Jewish, and they continued celebrating the Sabbath on Saturday like Jesus had done.

Honestly, though, I don’t think God is terribly concerned about the correctness of the day. He is more concerned that we honor its purpose and intent. That we take a much-needed break from doing our normally scheduled routine, that “sweat of the brow” stuff, and use the day to re-energize, relax, enjoy some peace, get back in touch with real priorities in life, and even renew our connection with him. It’s a day when we’re not preoccupied with everyday chores and concerns. So, with that in mind, here’s a little gift of liberty to my hard-working friends: if you can’t take off work every Sunday (or Saturday), use whatever day you do have off as your Sabbath. Going to church or temple is not a requirement of the day; it’s just a perk.

And here’s another key distinction: the Sabbath is for “celebrating”, not sitting around, “quietly resting” as though we were in mourning. My Jewish friends would gather for a huge Friday night dinner (Shabbat begins sundown Friday and ends sundown Saturday). Fresh flowers would be on the table. Candles would be lit. There’d be prayer, thanking God for the food and for the gift of the Sabbath, recognizing how he sanctified it, setting it apart, for special use. And then there’d be wine, and good food, laughter, talking, enjoying each other’s company, and maybe even dancing. We “honored” the Sabbath by celebrating it as a holiday. So much so, in fact, that it’s tradition to eat three festive meals during the day. It is a gift from God for our enjoyment. As Jesus himself reminded us, “Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath” (Mk 2:27).

Sure, there are some restrictions on the day. That’s part of its purpose. My religiously observant friends wouldn’t drive on the Sabbath. They wouldn’t cook — that’s work, so all meal preparations were done the day before so we could just enjoy the day. Some of them wouldn’t watch TV or carry things. As a Christian embracing liberty as my spiritual right, I sometimes found some of their personal choices a bit over the top, but that was their way of ensuring they reaped the full benefit of the peace of the day. “Shabbat Shalom”, the blessing spoken to each other, is a hope and a prayer that we would find sufficient grace and peace to restore us and equip us for the coming week. And that, I firmly believe, is what is in the heart of God when he instructed us to “keep the Sabbath”.

It’s not about being quiet. It’s not about whether you watch football on TV or go to the movies on this holy day. And (sorry, Pastor), it’s not even about whether you make it to church or synagogue. It’s about taking time off to gather together, enjoy each other, and enjoy God in our company (that’s where church fellowship can be a special blessing). It’s about recognizing this amazing gift of grace given to us — a day every week when we can shift gears, slow down, reconnect, and celebrate life. God planned it that way from the beginning. And not just for my Jewish friends. For all of us — it was given to Adam and Eve before there was any such thing as Jew or non-Jew. It’s our birthright as humans, for anyone who will receive it as part of God’s design for us.

“If you keep your feet from breaking the Sabbath, … if you call the Sabbath a delight, and the LORD’s holy day honorable, … then you will find your joy in the LORD …”, the prophet Isaiah tells us (Isa 58:13-14).

It’s about joy. It’s about rest and reconnecting. It’s a celebration of life. The Sabbath is a “delight”! And we should treat as such.

So … Shabbat Shalom, everybody. May whatever day you choose as your Sabbath be one of joy and refreshment, family and friends, good food and fellowship. It’s your inheritance from God. Enjoy it.

Weird thing happened the other day. I was scrolling through a bunch of statuses on Facebook, glancing at comments by friends I know pretty well, some I know hardly at all, and organizations and churches that I “like” or am somehow associated with. And I ran across two or three statuses that kinda reminded me of car dealership commercials on TV. “Need to make some last minute tax deductible donations before the end of the year? Consider our church …” And me, still battling issues with impulse control, rapidly snapped off a comment about how sad that was; “if you have to ask, then maybe you’re doing something wrong …”

Okay, not the most gracious thing I could have done. It just struck me as so commercial, so off track, churches asking for money. Looking back on that now, I’m almost surprised that I was even surprised by that. We’d all been burned by the constant money-begging on Christian television, and I guessed we’d all moved past that. My thinking: “If you were really doing the work of God, the provision would automatically be there already, right?” But some of my friends didn’t mind those offending statuses at all. Operational expenses weren’t automatically met by generous donors acting as the hand of God. How else are these organizations going to keep doing the good work unless they ask for support? “You have not because you ask not …”, as one friend reminded me.

Hmm. My friends were probably correct. But I was still left with that sour taste in my mouth. Something about this just isn’t right.

Then I happened across the profile of a pastor friend of mine, and noticed that he’d gone back to school to pick up some technical training and certification. He already had a college degree (in the non-money making field of Biblical Studies), but was now needing more (other) training to make a living. That really hit me — with a sadness that overshadowed my earlier offense at those solicitation requests. And I was suddenly struck by how many pastors I know who have to be bi-vocational. They’ve accepted the call of God to tend his people, and they’re carrying the joys and responsibilities of that task nearly full-time. They teach. They spend time daily preparing their sermons and lessons. They pray, spending time keeping their spiritual ears tuned to God, lifting the needs of their flock before the Eternal Throne. They counsel hurting people on the phone. They visit the sick in the hospital, they answer phone calls in the middle of the night, they meet people who just “need to talk” for lunch, for dinner, for breakfast, for coffee. They go to endless meetings: meetings in the community, meetings at the church, networking with other organizations that effect the community they shepherd. They’re touching lives and making an impact. And they do all this joyfully. They love it. They find purpose and fulfillment in it. Well, most of it, anyway.

But then they have to go to their “other job” to pay their bills, to put food on their table, to have medical insurance. And family life? Those blessed with spouse or children hardly get to spend any time with them at all.

Sacrifice, I think, we all expect of our holy men and women. Sacrifice is part of the call.

But what about us? What about those of us on the receiving end of all this sacrifice? We gladly spend time with our pastors; we’re quick to call them when we need them, when we’ve lost our job, or when our child is sick or a relative was taken suddenly to the Emergency Room. And we’re thrilled that we finally found a church where we belong, where we fit, where we can reap the rich benefits of good teaching and spiritual community. And, thank God, our pastor never annoys us with sermons on giving. Thank God he’s not out for our money.

I’m all about grace. I’m all about liberty and freedom from religious obligation. We’ve received such a treasure in the Kingdom of God. We’re free. We owe no man any obligation, we’re under no pressure to conform, to live up to other people’s religious expectations of us. This is our heritage. This is our right as children of the King. But in celebrating our liberty, have we forgotten the responsibility that comes with it? Being the beneficiaries of such extravagant grace and liberty, aren’t we also under the obligation to help others come into their inheritance? Aren’t we also to share in the burden of ministry? The Apostle Paul said that anyone who receives instruction in the Word must also share all good things with his instructor (Gal 6:6). That is, if we are blessed, if we enjoy the freedom we’ve been taught to walk in, then we must financially support those who led us to this place of grace. We must take care of our shepherds. As Jesus himself told us, “the workman is worthy of his keep” (Mt 10:10).

And more than that. What about the work itself? That “Great Commission” thing was given to all of us. Most of us don’t have the gifts, the abilities, or the time to make this our primary function in life. But we can participate by supporting those who do.

As Paul again tells us, everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved — this relationship with God, this freedom, belongs to everyone.
But how can people call on someone they’ve never heard of?
And how can they hear unless someone teaches them?
And how can someone teach unless they are sent? (Rom 10:13-15)

Those of us not called to bear the sacrifice of full time ministry must pick up the slack and support those who are. “How can they preach unless they are sent?” That is our job: to “send” them.

Those few Facebook statuses requesting year-end donations are an embarrassment. But not for the organizations requesting them, as I at first thought. They are an indictment against us, against those of us who reap the benefit of all the great teaching, of all the comfort and encouragement our pastors lavish on us, against all of us who enjoy the warm fellowship of community our shepherds have created for us. Those people and organizations on the frontlines, plowing the road for us, making our lives easier, those taking the Good News of restored relationship with God to people and places who still need to hear it — why are they carrying this burden all alone?

Paul continues: “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” (Rom 10:15). We can be beautiful too. We can share in the blessing by sharing in the responsibility.

Our preachers may be reluctant to lay the burden on us. You may not hear pleas from the pulpit for financial support for all the ministries and services we take for granted, for all the words that have changed our lives. But as people who enjoy royal citizenship, we need to step up and take more seriously the duties of that citizenship. Wherever we have benefited, whoever has enriched us — we owe them our lives.

I wish I’d never have to see one of those solicitations again. Not because these ministries need our support to continue the work, but because we degrade them by making them beg. They shame me. They shame the Church. They remind us that we are lazy, ungrateful, and selfish. They’re a finger gently pointing in our faces that we are not shouldering our share of the job. We need to do better. And I promise, from now on, I will.

“A tree is known by its fruit,” Jesus tells us.  If we’ve enjoyed the fruit, we should support the tree.

I was watching an episode of West Wing the other day, and Toby, the sulky, dark, idealistic character, quotes an Italian proverb to C.J, the Press Secretary: Quando dio vuole castigarci ci manda quello che desideriamo — “When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.”

Interesting quote. But it got me thinking: Thank God, my God is not like that.

It reminds me of something we hear all the time in pious circles: don’t ask God for patience. Patience comes through suffering — and you sure don’t want that.

You know, I suppose there is some biblical basis for that statement. Doesn’t James tell us, “the testing of your faith develops perseverance”? Sure, we can learn patience through suffering and difficulty, but isn’t it also one of the fruits of the Spirit? “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Gal 5:22). It’s a characteristic that is developed in us by God’s Spirit as we mature. Maybe it doesn’t always have to come as the result of long suffering. Maybe God isn’t always that harsh: “I want you to grow up, so I’m gonna throw a bunch of hardship your way …”

I’d rather think of God in the terms Jesus described him. “Who among you who, when your son asks for a loaf of bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!” (Mt 7:9-11).

What kind of parent would say, “Ah, son, Ah daughter. You ask for a good thing, like patience, so I must torture you now”? The same goes for other things in our lives. If we ask for something that might harm us, do we think God would punish us by actually giving it to us? What kind of Father is that?

What if we take the flipside of Jesus’ saying? “If your hungry son asks for stone, won’t you give him bread instead? If he ignorantly asks for a serpent, will you give it to him? If he mistakenly asks for a scorpion, won’t you give him an egg for breakfast instead? If you, as messed up as you are, wouldn’t give something harmful or dangerous to your children even when they ask, how much more would your Father in heaven also not do such a thing?”

We gotta stop thinking of God as some kind of impersonal machine, dolling out trouble when we ask for a virtue because that’s the formula: trouble leads to patience. This God, who loves us so much he actually came down to physically walk and talk with us in the flesh, we gotta stop seeing as a ruthless, heartless Cosmic Force.

If I ask for something that might harm me, if I’m desperately praying for an answer that might actually be dangerous for me, or cause me greater pain, I’m comforted to know that my Father — a wise and loving parent — cares enough to say “No”. He has no problem saying, “you don’t need that now” or “no, that’s not good for you — you can’t have that.”

I wanna turn that Italian proverb upside down. This is the truth I embrace. “When God wishes to bless us, he doesn’t always answer our prayers.” I’m happy God sometimes says “no.”

Just something to chew on …

Okay, I know I’m sticking my foot into it now, ’cause I’m guilty of this most of the time myself. But how many times do we lay claim to a deep spirituality and a love for God yet turn a blind eye to the difficulties of other people around us? In my case, it looks more like “sure, I’d love to sit with you and chat about deep theological issues, but if you don’t mind, please don’t trouble me with your messy life.”

You know that story of the Good Samaritan in the Bible? It’s a bit troubling to me. I don’t like it, because it places demands on me that are inconvenient. But here’s the bottom line: if you want a real relationship with the Eternal God, it will only go as far as your involvement with other people.

In that story, in Luke 10, a religious expert comes to Jesus and asks his advice. “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Sounds heavy, but really the guy is just expressing the emptiness he’s feeling inside. He knew his Bible; he lived it as best he could. He was an expert. But something was still missing; he knew it, but he just didn’t know what it was. So he asks the guy who had become famous for his connection with Heaven, who’d healed all kinds of diseased and injured people, who’d set people free from dark forces in their lives. Surely, he would know. And Jesus, being the good Jewish rabbi that he was, turns the question back on the man: “What is written in the Torah; how do you read it?” And the man responds with the classic and correct answer: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.” “That’s right,” Jesus affirmed, “do this and you’ll have life.”

Standard Answers Won’t Do

But it was the standard answer the man knew his entire life. And it wasn’t enough. So he probes deeper, “but who is my neighbor?” Basically, I believe the man is asking Jesus to show him how to make it work. “What does this look like in real life? How am I supposed to do this?”

And then comes the famous parable. A man is walking from Jerusalem to Jericho and gets way-laid on the road by robbers. He’s beaten and left half dead on the side of the road. Two religious types, a priest and a Levite, walk by, see him laying there, and cross over to the other side of the street to avoid him. But a Samaritan sees him and has pity on him. He walks over to him, cleans his wounds with wine and oil, bandages him up, places him on his donkey and takes him to an inn where he pays the inn-keeper to care for him. Which of these acted as a neighbor to the beaten man? Obviously, the Samaritan. The point is simple enough, and the religious expert gets it.

Catch the Details

But there is some really rich subtlety in this story we might easily miss. Jesus describes the beaten traveler as “half dead”, and I’m struck by his choice of words. I think they’re deliberate. After all, the original question he was asked concerned obtaining eternal life. So the word-play involving life and death would be striking. And our impression of the two men in the story who walked by, ignoring the injured man, would naturally be one of revulsion. “How cold-hearted. How hypocritical. And they call themselves ‘religious,’ that priest and Levite. That wounded man may be half dead, but those two guys are completely dead inside. The Samaritan, on the other hand, taking compassionate action to help the man, now he is fully alive, fully in-tune with his humanity. He’s the one with ‘true religion’; he’s obviously got a clue about what true godly life is all about.” In Jesus’ deliberate choice of words, we can already see what is involved in “inheriting eternal life.” It’s not about what happens to us after we die; it’s not just about life in the “age to come.” It’s about the quality of the life we live in the here and now. We can go around as religious zombies, dead to those around us, or we can live a rich, fulfilling life involved with others. When God’s life invades us, it will change the way we interact with people.

And look at what that Samaritan man actually does. He sees the beaten victim and is immediately moved by compassion. In the story, this is the first reference to any kind of emotion, any type of personal connection with the robbed man. The Samaritan is emotionally engaged in the situation and with his fellow human being. Next, he cleans and bandages the man’s wounds, he touches the man. He gets his hands dirty. He is now physically as well as emotionally involved in the man’s plight. Then he puts the man on his donkey and takes him to a place where he can recover. That means he has to walk. He gave up his own comfort to help the man; he readily puts up with the inconvenience. And finally, he even pays the man’s medical bills. This Samaritan was fully engaged in the situation — emotionally, physically, materially and financially. He knew what life was all about. He had what that original seeker was missing.

Full Impact

The full impact of this can be seen when we go back to the answer Jesus elicited from the religious leader. What is needed to participate in the divine life? “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength … and love your neighbor as yourself.” In answer to the man’s follow-up question, “But how do I do this?”, Jesus shows that loving God is inseparable from loving people. If we are supposed to love God with all our hearts, minds, souls, and strength, then those are exactly the same qualities we must use to involve ourselves with others. Like the Samaritan, we must love others with all our hearts, souls, minds, and strength. That is what loving God is really about.

To put it another way, “If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but closes his heart against him, how can the love of God be in him?” … “If anyone says ‘I love God’ yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For anyone who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen. … Whoever loves God must also love his brother” (1 John 3:17; 4:20-21).

Interestingly, in the Gospel account, Jesus turns the religious man’s question around. Instead of asking “who is my neighbor,” we should be asking, “who can I be a neighbor to?” You can’t claim to have a deep sense of spirituality or a great love for God while at the same time ignoring the needs of people around you. To love God, you must love your neighbor, you must be fully engaged with those around you — emotionally, physically, materially and financially: with your heart, your soul, your mind and your strength. In a word, it’s about relationships. It’s about real human-to-human involvement. If we want a more meaningful life that only a closer walk with God can bring, that’s what we must do. “Now go, and do likewise,” Jesus tells us.

So the next time someone asks you to help them move, you may just have to double-check your initial reaction. “Help you move? Of course I will.”

I’ve been seeing something lately that’s always been there, and maybe I’ve even known it by another name, but it’s become fresh, more meaningful and more powerfully inviting.

It’s the impression of Jesus’ deep desire to enlist more people into partnership with him in the mission of freeing people, helping them, and letting them know how much they are loved by Heaven. In a hurting world desperate for answers but met only by empty religious duties and regulations, or a culture overflowing with overzealous morality, this mission is as vital now as much as ever.

It’s not about soul-winning. It’s not about Christian duty. It’s not about transforming society or even populating heaven.  It’s about tapping into divine power to meet the needs of those around us. It’s about feeding those who are hungry — in a spiritual as well as physical sense — and easing the pain and hopelessness of people who are harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd (Mt 9:36; Num 27:15-17).  We see this in Jesus’ heart-felt plea to his followers, “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into his harvest field” (Mt 9:37-38). Immediately after saying this, he sends them out into the surrounding towns and villages with instructions to drive out evil spirits, heal the sick, and proclaim that the Kingdom of Heaven had arrived. There were so many in need, the burden was too much for him to carry alone.  And he wanted his closest friends to share in the task and with the same divine authority.

Like when Peter wanted to walk on water with Jesus, Jesus responds with characteristic encouragement: “Come on, try it out.”  He is not jealous of his divine prerogatives; he isn’t stingy with his power — especially when there are so many people needing help.  He WANTS us to jump in there with him, to take up the ball and run with it.  So many are depending on us.

You can hear this invitation to partnership when Jesus is faced with a tired and hungry crowd of 5000.  They followed him around, always wanting to hear more, see more, experience more of what he had to offer. And even when he was exhausted from the constant demand on him, he still had compassion on those who were clinging so desperately.  When his protégés wanted to send them away, he replies, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat” (Mt 14:16).  Instead of ignoring the need, Jesus delegates the responsibility to them.

When I read “they do not need to go away,” I hear him saying, “just because I’m tired doesn’t mean the work stops. I’m not the only one who can help. YOU do something about the problem.” Of course, his disciple panic. “How are we going to handle this? We only have a few loaves of bread and two measly fish.”  You can almost hear Jesus sigh as he tells them “bring them here to me.”  “Really? You’re still gonna make me do this by myself. Here, let me show you how.” Then he looks up to heaven, gives thanks to God for the resources (as small as they might be), and starts dividing the bread and fish into meal-sized portions.

But here’s the key: “Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people.”  Jesus enlisted their help.  He brought his protégés into the miracle, as though saying “this is what you guys should have done.”  He needed their help, wanted it, even if it meant more hand-holding.  And his disciples distributed the food to everyone. With more coaching from the boss, they we able to meet the need of all those tired and hungry people.

And the result?  “They all ate and were satisfied.”  Catch this. This is the whole point of his invitation. When we partner with Jesus, when we take up his work — as he instructed, as he so earnestly desired — people are satisfied. They move from being needy, from being harassed and helpless, from being tired, desperate and hungry, to being content and fulfilled. It’s a restoring process, the on-going work of the Kingdom. And this is the work assigned to us. No one person can do the job by himself. Your local pastor cannot carry the weight alone. He cannot answer all the phone calls, he can’t visit everyone in the hospital, he can’t do all the counseling, or respond to all the requests for prayer. The work was never meant to be handled by a select few.  It was always intended to be shared by many — by all of us who claim to be Jesus’ followers.

The situation hasn’t changed. The need is great, the harvest is plentiful, but there are always too few workers. Why? Usually because we feel unqualified. We feel like it’s not our job, or that someone else is supposed to do it.  But this is not true, regardless of how inadequate we may feel.  The disciples didn’t feel up to the task; they constantly doubted their own abilities to meet the challenge.  And notice, Jesus NEVER gets on them for trying to do too much. He never criticizes them for wanting to help or even from being presumptuous enough to think they too could tap into divine power to handle situations.  His rebuke only came when they were being lazy or when they lacked the faith.  He attacked their sense of inferiority and inadequacy.  He was trying with all his energy to equip them to take on this great task of helping the people, of freeing them from lack, from bondage, from powerlessness, from fear, from oppression, from spiritual hunger, and from blindness to their great value to the Eternal King. And he knew he could not do it all himself. His job was to train us so we could carry on the work.  And it was the deepest cry of his heart: “send more workers!”  When he saw all the hurting people, he was moved with compassion and stirred to help them. And he longed for many more to come alongside him and join the battle.

That urgent invitation was not limited to those earliest disciple alone. His instructions echo on to us as well. The need is still great. The harvest is still plentiful. People are still hurting, and there is still so much work to be done.

We need to hear the words of Jesus again, this time as a personal invitation to participate in the miraculous. The world is waiting for it. People are counting on it. “They don’t need to go away. You feed them.”

Expect it. Just accept the fact that it’s gonna happen, and don’t let the threat of it stop you.  You will always encounter storms whenever you’re trying to cross over to the other side.  Of anything.

It’s a fact of life, illustrated so graphically in the Gospels when Jesus one days tells his close group of disciples, “Let’s go over to the other side of the lake” (Mark 4:35). He and his crew had just had a long day of teaching and healing and dealing with crowds of needy people, and he wanted to move on.  Maybe he was just looking to get away to a place where they could get some peace and quiet, or maybe he recognized that he was finished where he was and it was time to continue on to a new location. In either case, they climb into a boat, he immediately crashes into a deep sleep, and out of nowhere, a furious squall hits them.

Most of us going through changes in our lives can relate. Whether it’s one messy situation we’re escaping and trying to rebuild our lives, or it may be that we’ve achieved one set of goals and it’s time to step it up and move to the next phase of life, a lot of us are on the move.  And change is messy. Change is hard.  Change makes you vulnerable. And when you’re in transition, that is the point that storms will invariably be thrown at you to knock you off your course.  We can pick up a few survival lessons from this story.

Leaving the Crowds Behind
“Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him” (Mk 4:36). When you’re moving into a new stage of life, you’ve got to leave some stuff behind. Doesn’t matter if it’s just “stuff”, or it’s old situations, former friends or former nuisances. Whatever the case may be, one of the key principles is that there’s gonna be some separation from what you were surrounded with, what you were used to. You’ve gonna have to drop some stuff and some people in the process.

Matthew’s account of this same story adds some interesting details to this point (Mt 8:18-27).  Between the time Jesus gave the order to cross over and the time they actually climb into the boat, two would-be followers drop out. One, initially so enthusiastic, says “I’ll follow you wherever you go.” But Jesus warns him he’ll have to leave his source of security behind, that there will little comfort during the journey. “Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but I have no place to lay my head.” And we hear nothing more from this guy. I guess it was too much for him. Another guy says, “Hey, I want to follow you, but I’ve got to take care of my folks first.”  A valid enough excuse, even an honorable one. But it was an excuse none-the-less to not start the journey RIGHT NOW.  Jesus’ response: “Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead.” Sounds harsh to our soft Western ears, but basically he was undercutting the guy’s excuse. “Unh unh, now is the time. Those future concerns will take care of themselves.”  Apparently, that didn’t make the guy very happy, and he vanishes from the scene.  No excuse is good enough.  The time is now. You’re supposed to move. You’ve got the order to cross over.  Stop making excuses.  The good news is that you won’t be alone. Jesus is in the boat with you. But not only that, “other boats” are making the crossing too.  The journey you’re supposed to be on isn’t meant to be traveled alone.  Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of company. But this time, company going in the same direction and with the same goal as you.

Tempest in a Teapot
“A furious squall came up, and waves broke over the boat so that it was nearly swamped.” (Mk 4:37). The Sea of Galilee is a small lake, 7 miles wide by 14 miles long. But it’s surrounded by hills, and wind can whip calm water into roaring waves quite suddenly, like swirling water in a teapot. When you’re out in the middle of that, it can be quite terrifying.  You are at your most vulnerable when you’re in the middle of transition — when you’ve left the secure, familiar ground for a new shore. Sometimes you’ll be so preoccupied with the process of change that you’ll not notice the early signs of the storm, and it will catch you totally off guard and unprotected. (Matthew adds that the storm rose up “without warning.”)  But these guys should have been prepared for this. Several of them were fishermen who’d spent most of their lives on that lake. And we need to learn this lesson: we should expect a storm when we’re out in the boat, even if we don’t see any early signs of it.  That sudden squall will make us want to turn back, quit the journey, and head back to our former safe harbor. And realistically, that’s probably its purpose. To stop you. You’ve got people and unseen forces often wanting you to fail, resisting your every bold step forward.  You may get spooked, you may panic. You may want to quit.  But don’t.

“Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” (Mk 4:38). Isn’t that our typical response? I’ve been there, I’ve done that. It’s taken a whole lot of pushing to get me moved out of my comfortable position to venture out in this new direction, and often my first reaction in the face of this unexpected resistance is to question God.  “Don’t you see? Don’t you care?!”  The unexpected surprise of it has thrown off my momentum, and like those disciples I fall back and huddle in the corner of the boat. It’s human. It’s normal. But we need to grow past that and change how we react.

Tell it to Shut Up!
“Jesus got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, ‘Quiet! Be still!’ Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, ‘Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?’” (Mk 4:39). Come on, people. We may not be able to command the wind and the water like the Messiah (or at least not as effectively and immediately), but that wake-up call is to us as well.  We were told to get on the move. We were called up to a new place, commanded to cross over.  Resistance will come. The wind will howl, the waves will crash against us, even to the point of swamping us, overwhelming us. But with that divine command also came authority. And we need to train ourselves to use it.  We need to get aggressive. “Shut up. Stop that!”  Remember the Apostle Paul’s words, “we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against powers …”  We wrestle. It may take a little energy. When trouble comes — and if you’re on the move, it WILL come — don’t cower down. Don’t retreat or go back. Stand up, and with an assurance of the authority given to you inherent in your orders to move, resist it. Tell it to stop. And the powers of heaven will back you up. By yourself, you’re no match for the strength of those forces.  But that’s the beauty of authority. It’s not by your strength or by your power. Sometimes all you need to do is speak the word, and you’ll unleash the power of heaven to break into your situation. “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”  You’ve come this far. You can go back if you want, but you’ll forfeit so much.  Don’t lose faith, don’t get spooked by the resistance.  Deal with it.  Get tough with it.  Dispense with it quickly, then press on. Keep going.

After the storm quiets down, they arrive at the other side. They’re finally at the next stage of their journey. And more adventure awaits them.  In the Gospels, when they reach the other side, they’re met by a man possessed with an evil spirit. I’m sure they were thinking: “Crap! This is just what we need right now!”  But the situation gets handled easily, and they continue on.  And so will you.

Many of us are crossing over. We’re in transition, moving on with new things in our lives — new adventures, new purpose. Resistance will come. It’s part of the same old, well-worn strategy to stop us.  But half the battle is won if we’re not caught off guard by it, if we expect it.

“Among you stands one you do not recognize…”
- John 1:26

Sometimes we think too much. There’s a phrase I’ve heard a lot (often aimed at me) that describes how many of us handle particular situations: “paralysis by analysis.” We want something, we’ve been looking forward to something, we’ve sought God and pressed the Heavens with our prayers to get something, but we actually get in the way of receiving it because we’ve already decided what it looks like. We’ve planned out how it is supposed to happen. We’ve worked out all the details, and our expectations are focused like lasers on that particular answer.

And, sometimes that’s fine. There is a place for being specific in our prayers and in exercising our faith. But if we’re not careful, we can be blinded by our own expectations. We can become so set in our perspective of how things are supposed to work out, that we miss the answer right under our noses.

Are You the One?
In John’s Gospel, that’s the scenario we see when the Jewish leaders came to John the Baptist asking if he were “the one” (John 1:19). Was he the Messiah? Was he Elijah? Was he the Prophet foretold by Moses whom they were to obey? John gives them another answer. No, he’s the messenger preparing the way, he’s the voice calling in the wilderness. And the one they’re looking for, the one their hearts are desiring after, is already among them in the crowd. They just don’t recognize him.

We have the benefit of historical perspective now — “hindsight is 20/20.” But back then, God’s people weren’t sure what the Messiah was supposed to look like. Scripture was filled with images and phrases describing him, but from so many different angles that a clear understanding just wasn’t possible. Like trying to see clearly through a multifaceted crystal, no one knew exactly how to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. Was he a mighty warrior-king along the lines of King David? Was he a priestly leader who would purify the faith and restore proper Temple worship? Was he that Suffering-Servant who took upon himself the divine punishment of the people? Wasn’t he supposed to come from the heavens with angels in his wake, and restore Israel to its rightful place among the nations? In fact, at that point in history, many believed that there would be two, perhaps even three, different messiahs, different leaders who would accomplish those different tasks. With all these images, all these details, all these preconceived ideas of what the Messiah would do, it was understandably too easy to overlook that rough, calloused carpenter from Galilee.

Don’t we do exactly the same thing when we’re seeking something from God? Don’t we block ourselves from accepting the gift he’s offering us simply because we’ve clamped down the inner openness necessary to recognize it? We’re looking, our hearts are aching from desire for that miracle only God can supply, that thing we’ve been hounding him for day after day. And it could be that we’re stumbling right over it.

Ignorance is not necessarily an obstacle. Everyone starts there. Even John the Baptist didn’t know who the Coming One was until he saw the Spirit descend on Jesus. The difference between John and those religious leaders who questioned him was in their attitudes. They already “knew” what they wanted, what they were seeking, and exactly what it was supposed to look like. John, on the other hand, remained open to let God do things HIS way. John stayed receptive to the Spirit’s role in identifying the fulfillment of the promise: “THIS is the one.” Instead of being blinded by predefined expectations, he allowed God to reveal the answer. So he saw. They didn’t.

What Do You Want?
Later in the story, John’s disciples see Jesus and start following him around (Jn 1:37). Jesus turns around and asks them the question we all need to answer for ourselves: “What do you want?” Wanting is not a bad thing. Seeking after a heart’s desire is not a sign of selfishness. Since God loves to give us the desires of our heart, it helps if we have some idea of what we actually want. Telling God how to do it, though, is another matter. And these two men demonstrate the right attitude: “Rabbi, where are you staying?” They are respectful and show their willingness to stay close. Jesus’ response is the same he offers us today when we come to him with our urgent longings: “Come, and you will see.” It’s an open invitation to relationship. “Come, spend time with me, and you’ll find that thing you’ve been looking for.” Interestingly, Jesus doesn’t answer their question. Sometimes, the timing isn’t right, sometimes we’re not ready for the answer, and sometimes he wants us to readjust our priorities. But he doesn’t turn them down, he doesn’t reject them or turn them away. The answer is always found in relationship with him.

That’s our key today. We want things. We need things. Our hearts longs for satisfaction in some area. And we can either play the role of religious people, so blinded by our own expectations that we miss the answer right under our noses. Or we can follow the example of John and his disciples who waited for God’s Spirit to reveal the answer in his own time, in his own way.

When we’re eagerly searching for that heart’s desire, looking here and there, constantly questioning “are you the one, is this it?”, we need to relax a bit and let God do his thing. He asks us, “What do you want?” He WANTS to give it to us. But we’ll only see it if we stay in touch with him. “Come with me, and you’ll see.” Without that openness, without that receptivity to the Spirit’s pointing, we can miss the very thing we’re looking for, even if it’s right under our nose.