gratitude

Who Is Jabez?

Sometimes, the site prompt is unbelievably deep & searching, asking questions we might not want to explore. Today’s is: “What could you let go, for the sake of harmony?” Doesn’t this sound like so much of what we’ve been discussing in the epistles of Paul? When do the (perceived) slights and disrespect get so big that the relationship between us would be harmed? IS there a line, where it’s simply too much? Or is harmony to be defended at all costs, and we are to let everything go? This was not something I intended to think about today, it’s just a gift to lead us into ourselves, a place where we can consider what it is that we truly believe.

The prompt that got me to open my computer this morning did not come from the hosting website, it came from 1 Chronicles, chapter 4. Verses 9 & 10 read, “There was a man named Jabez who was more honorable than any of his brothers. His mother named him Jabez because his birth had been so painful. He was the one who prayed to the God of Israel, “Oh, that you would bless me and expand my territory! Please be with me in all that I do, and keep me from all trouble and pain!” And God granted his request.”

So, who is Jabez? An honorable man who too a risk and made a BIG ask of God – not only bless him, not only give him a lot of land, not only presence, but keep him from all trouble and pain!! ALL trouble and pain?! And, in an extraordinary move, God granted his request! What made Jabez so special? Did the fact that he was honorable ‘earn’ that unbelievable yes? Or was it the faith in a generous, loving God to ask? It seems like there should be more than 2 verses in a book no one really reads given to such a man, such a story. There have been many books written, many gospels based on 2 verses, surely there must be more to learn about this story.

Does God give us what we pray for? In Mark 11:22-24, Jesus says, Have faith in God…Truly I tell you, if anyone says to this mountain, ‘Go, throw yourself into the sea,’ and does not doubt in their heart but believes that what they say will happen, it will be done for them. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” If I believe that a mountain will throw itself into the sea, and it will because I said so, then maybe the prayer of Jabez isn’t that big of a deal at all.

But, then we have Matthew 11:2-6, “When John the Baptist was in prison, he heard what Jesus was doing. He sent his followers. They asked, “Are You the One Who was to come, or should we look for another?” Jesus said to them, “Go and tell John what you see and hear. The blind are made to see. Those who could not walk are walking. Those who have had bad skin diseases are healed. Those who could not hear are hearing. The dead are raised up to life and the Good News is preached to poor people. He is happy who is not ashamed of Me and does not turn away because of Me.”

John lived his entire life for Jesus, paving a way, devoted to the coming Messiah, and found himself in prison. We can forgive him for asking, “Um, are you the One?” Maybe he had Jabez in mind, thinking if we’re honorable & faithful, things will go very well for us. Jesus answers in an unusual way, essentially telling him he wasn’t getting out of that cell alive, but he shouldn’t turn away from Him. So, what’s up with this? All of the disciples had horribly tragic deaths (except John – a different John – who had probably only wished he died several times), the prophets didn’t exactly live cushy lives of material comfort. In fact, it seems like Jabez is the exception.

God’s blessing isn’t an exception. God’s generosity isn’t an exception. God’s grace & love aren’t exceptional. It’s only an exception that, in thsi case, His Divine Blessing looks so much like we want it to look, with easy living and loads of land and money.

What do we make of this? First, I can’t remember many prayers I’ve read or heard that sound like this. I wonder how many of us have prayed so boldly, so honestly, so un-self-consciously. I haven’t. Do we think it’s selfish or somehow wrong to ask for what we’d really like from the only One who could really give it to us. Maybe we don’t ask because, what if our answer is like John’s. Maybe our faith isn’t quite built to withstand a “No,” for whatever reason. Maybe we’re afraid to be so open with God, as if He doesn’t know what we’re holding back, leaving unsaid. What does this say about our perspective of God?

This morning, my sister told me a story about how she called a coworker to ask if she’d switch shifts with her. Now, I’m thinking about the vulnerability of that, but also the faith. My sister is likable and great at her job, she’s honorable. But she’s also perseverant, if that coworker says no, I bet she’ll be a little like the parable of the persistent neighbor, asking for bread at midnight over and over until she gets the bread. She asks for what she wants.

Maybe Jabez got what he wanted just because he knew the character of God enough to ask. Right now, if you ask me (and I suppose nobody actually has;), I think these 2 verses are about the heart posture of prayer, and our reverence and child-like belief in Our God. The act of asking says, 1. He loves me. 2. He wants to give me good gifts (even if I might not always know what He would call “good”). 3. I am human, He’s created me to be His child, He knows me, inside and out, so I’ll ask Him. But also, 4. I love Him, I’m grateful, I trust Him to know what I need, so my entire faith doesn’t hang on the thread of His giving me everything I want. I don’t need Him to be my vending machine to love and/or follow Him.

The Bible isn’t always easy to understand, and sometimes the deeper we get, the more mysterious it gets, but that doesn’t make it any less awesome.

Grading The Kings

The Old Testament readings lately in the Bible-In-A-Year plan are quick, glancing blows about the kings of Israel & Judah. They simply give the name, how long he ruled, and whether or not he did what was “pleasing” or “evil,” “in the Lord’s sight.” Sometimes, they spent many years in power, and still, only one thing seems to be important. (Of course, if you want to read more, the author repeats, you can look that up somewhere else.)

[Violence is always present. Some of the kings assassinate their predecessors, then are assassinated by successors. Some win wars, some lose wars, against the same enemies. This is the insanity of human beings, the story of Samson (in the book of Judges) on a loop, where only the names change. Samson does something (what he does doesn’t really matter, but someone gets offended and/or killed), then the Philistines retaliate, then, “because you did this to me,” Samson raises the ante, then, because he did that to them, they retaliate. Both sides think they’re right, obviously, only paying back evil for evil, an eye for an eye (or a head for an eye), but the story is one of an unquenchable vengeance and bloodlust. No one knows who started it, no one cares, really. At the end of the story, Samson and a building full of Philistines are all dead in the ruins. And then, the next ‘Samson’ and ‘Philistines’ believe that this time, it’ll be different. That we (whoever ‘we’ is) can bring peace through victory, but it’s not peace – the shalom of the Bible – and it isn’t lasting. It’s strange how we don’t like to read about the violence and war in the Bible, while we perpetuate the story generation after generation. Anyway, that’s not what I meant to write about today, it’s just a momentary digression.]

[Speaking of digression, we’re about to move into a few chapters in 2 Corinthians that scholars refer to as “The Great Digression.” Isn’t that awesome??]

The kings are graded on just one thing: did they do the things, govern the people, in such a way that it would please God or not? That’s probably enough to think about, but that is also not what I want to get into. What I do want to get into is another familiar refrain in these chapters (and I’ll specifically use just one example, from June 29, The Angel’s birthday, 2 Kings 15:3-4): “[Uzziah] did what what pleasing in the Lord’s sight…But he did not destroy the pagan shrines and the people still offered sacrifices and burned incense there.” Good kings, pleasing in the Lord’s sight, often leave pagan shrines and/or asherah poles, behind. This is fascinating to me. Why would they stop? Why would they leave such an offensive symbol of disobedience and idolatry standing? And how are they still considered “pleasing” to God?

The Bible leaves a lot of questions unanswered, doesn’t it? That is on purpose, by the way. The idea is that we enter in, wrestle with it, turn it like a diamond with many facets, discover ourselves in the story and then notice as the characters we are change with subsequent readings.

What do I notice? I was a bad king for much of my life, following in the footsteps of the culture around me, walking the roads that have been smoothly paved over hundreds, thousands of years, leaving so much damage (to myself and others) behind. Then, as I fell more and more in love with Jesus, my eyes began to open and I started to see new ways, take small steps from that wide path onto a new, narrow one. I was a king that might have followed some of the Law, might have followed Him a little, one foot on each path. I’m moving in a direction, growing, becoming. It’s that passage, Uzziah’s epitaph, that disturbs me. He was pleasing, but…

Where are the pagan shrines, the asherah poles, in my life? I wonder if all of the kings even knew they were there, I wonder if Uzziah could see all of the altars. Do I? Do I even want to know?

Uzziah left them, and was pleasing anyway. This is the message of grace, I think. We are new, redeemed, and we still leave some of the past standing. The old us still hides in tiny, secluded caves in our land. We still carry that “but…” but maybe the sentence gets reversed in Jesus. We may have, so far, left the pagan shrines, BUT we are pleasing to Him. We are loved anyway. We keep living these ridiculous loops of Samson, but… We keep going back to the wide path, even if just for a second, but…

When we read the Old Testament, it can be maddening. Why do they keep doing this?!!!? Why don’t they get rid of the shrines and poles?!!!?It doesn’t take much awareness to realize that we are them, and once we see that, we see the exile and the return (we see all of these stories) in a whole new Light, through new eyes of tremendous, overwhelming gratitude.

Sirens

“Describe one simple thing you do that brings joy to your life.” That’s the site prompt today, and I sure like it. We should do this, and tell someone. And probably, if we don’t have simple things like this, then we should get one immediately. You know I do puzzles, listen to songs and sing along loudly, lift weights, watch documentaries, write these blogs, read books… I am a simple man, so it just stands to reason that I’d have a life full of simple things that bring joy. I bet there are so many who would call my life unbearably boring, and I am more grateful than I can tell you for my simple, boring, wonderful life.

This morning, I woke up to the sounds of sirens. There were many and they were so loud. As it turns out, a bar in our little town was burning. It’s the second time this business has been ravaged by a fire in 7 years. 2 adjacent apartments were affected, displacing residents. One of the families in one of those apartments has 5 elementary school-aged children (I knew this early because I happen to be married to a school employee, but I would know this now because it’s all over the news). They have lost most of everything they own.

The Angel and I cried together, separately, this morning. We also were victims of catastrophic disasters that stole everything we owned. And now I see this prompt about joy and gratitude, and it seems connected. (This isn’t surprising, because everything is connected, if we only have eyes to see. But the connections between some things are easier to notice, even without “eyes that see,” aren’t they?)

There was recently a pretty massive disruption that swept through our family, and required days and (probably) weeks of recovery. It was full of broken hearts and drama, tears, relief, uncertainty, hope, and pain. Today, when I hear these sirens and see this news, our terrible time feels smaller, in comparison.

But we don’t compare, do we? Our pain is our pain, and should never be minimized or de-valued. The people who remind us that our hurts are smaller than another’s are not our friends. Instead, they’re tone deaf and are woefully lacking in empathy. Rather than climbing into our pain with us, their uncomfortability forces them to act out of their own selfish interest to “cheer us up,” so that they don’t have to feel any darkness.

However. This morning’s tragedy does bring new perspective, like a sledgehammer. Our drama was awful, but doesn’t require us to rebuild our entire lives. We had to process human behavior, brokenness, and loss with our sons, 19 and 21 years old. But we didn’t have to hold small children, and each other, soothing them, assuring them that we were there, still together, badly emotionally and physically wounded but intact, we would mourn and we would rebuild, heal. (I remember those exact conversations like they happened yesterday, my heart still aches for my boys and my Angel.)

I guess the true thing is that we are all in this, all tethered by our spirits and The Spirit. Our pain sure isn’t magically smaller in another’s (often, people would say to us, “if it makes you feel any better…” then give a story of their loss – and it never made us feel better. Why would it??), but it does connect us in ways we could not artificially manufacture. Our eyes open (they take vital steps towards those “eyes that see”), we are jarred out of our own stories, and compelled to enter into new stories. We move to help, to carry, to pray, to hold. Our hearts grow through the pain, as we become more and more empathetic.

The site prompts like today’s are important, because we constantly return to our joy, our blessings, our gratitude. And so is our inevitable pain, our certain loss & tragedy. Sharing this human experience, all made in Our Creator’s image, invites us to acknowledge the truth that we are all His, so similar in so many ways. When we are grateful, and when we are broken, these are the times we stop looking through these lying, deceptive lenses that tell us otherwise. There aren’t divisions between neighbors and enemies in ruin, only brothers & sisters.

The End.

As I read through this, I realize that it might not be as coherent as usual, it might be messy, chaotic. That might be on purpose. I am not as coherent as usual, I am messy, chaotic. Life is complicated, with many conflicting forces all working concurrently inside of our heads and hearts. We’re just trying to make sense of all of it, but sometimes, there isn’t any “making sense of all of it.” Sometimes, it’s just trying to survive, in the midst of catastrophe. Other times, we’re so grateful we could explode. And then, there are times when both of them are absolutely real and noisily, confusingly coexist. And we (all of us, all of you, all of them) are always there, beautiful gifts from a Loving, Living God. And that’s enough.

25 Years?!

[I wrote this on my other blog, and thought I would share it here, as well. It’s about a specific pop song, but it’s also about marriage, and the blessings we can sometimes miss. Maybe you’ll like it.]

What does “having it all” mean to you? That’s what the site is asking, and it is actually a pretty revealing query. It certainly tells more than most of these prompts. Maybe I’d care to dive into this another day, but not today, hosting site, not today.

Today is our 25th wedding anniversary. The Angel has been married to me for a quarter of a century. I’ll get all mushy at the end of this post, but something happened this morning that perfectly illustrates what a healthy marriage is, and how to get one. (I don’t have all the answers, obviously, but when I do happen to come across one, I like to pass it along to you. I don’t only want me to have an A+ 25-year marriage, I want everybody to have that. Incidentally, I am not particularly special or unique, what I’m about to write about has nothing to do with me, it is open to all of us. Also incidentally, I used to think this A+ healthy marriage had to do with finding the Angel, and that blessing had more to do with her being a unicorn rather than any principle or idea. I don’t, anymore. That unicorn has everything to do with my marriage, but she is not the only avenue for anyone to have a beautiful relationship.)

Anyway, this morning on the way to school (through some turn of circumstance, I take her to and from work nowadays), I chose to listen to an Amazon Music playlist titled Rediscover: 90’s Alternative. The first song was the classic “Wonderwall,” by Oasis. I knew she’d sing along with me once the first word of the lyrics “Today…” started up. It’s also an awesome love song – “I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now…Maybe you’re gonna be the one that saves me, and after all, you’re my wonderwall.” Perfect beginning to a great day, right? Except she says, “I’m happy I’m getting out of the car.” Whaaaat???? The she explained, she doesn’t like Liam’s voice or the song or the greatest era of music, either. 

We had our first date in 1998, got married in 2001, and have been together almost every day since. How could I have possibly not known this? Before this moment, it had never ever crossed my mind that anyone would not absolutely love this song. I told my son, later, that “it was wildly overplayed, think “Shake It Off” (by Taylor Swift) levels of airplay, and still, it wasn’t enough.” Everyone loves “Wonderwall.” The fact that my wife doesn’t is impossible.

So, here’s what I learned… You marry someone, you learn all about them, who they are, what they dream of and care about, where they come from, what songs they love, and then they grow and change, and you learn those things again and again and again. I am not the boy she married, and I will not be the man I am now in 10 years. She is not the same woman who sat across from me in that restaurant in 1998. We are dynamic creatures by nature, made to move and evolve. (Sometimes we forget and stagnate, but that is not our design.)

My experience has been that relationships crack and break apart when we stop paying attention, stop learning each other, when we think that we know who the other is, that there are no more surprises or amazing revelations. We get bored. But we are very wrong. The harsh truth of that is, we’re not bored with them. We’re bored with ourselves, we checked out of our own lives and never came back. We’re the boring, uninterested & uninteresting, apathetic, pathetically incurious ones. 

Imagine if I believed the Angel was the college junior I met those many years ago? I would have missed countless wonderful (tiny and humongous) transformations. She looks the same, gorgeous as ever, but now she has some gray hairs and they are absolutely fantastic, adding a level of texture and interest. Imagine if I stopped looking at her so closely, so intently. Imagine if I expected her to look like a 20 year-old. I would have missed this wildly better, even more beautiful, version entirely. 

After 25 years, I’m married to the Angel, but the Angel is different, new, stronger, deeper, both more open and more assured. She’s cooler than I thought, and she’s everything I knew she was. She drives me crazy – in all the good ways as well as the bad. Of course, there have been growing pains, but they are also growing joys, growing pleasures, growing wonders, and growing peace. We have discovered each other in terrific new ways, and in not so terrific ways (like the “Wonderwall” tragedy). We have loved each other, and will continue to do so, for as long as we are given. 

I’ll never know why she wanted to be married to me for one day, much less 25 years, but that’s her problem, not mine. As for me, I’ll keep looking & listening closely, dreaming, learning, I’ll keep growing and moving forward, and I’ll stay forever grateful that I get to do it with her, whoever she becomes, and whatever horrible thing I might learn in the car, tomorrow.

Conflict

Today, the 4 of us (the Angel, my 2 sons, and I) sat down to play a board game. While the game isn’t too important to this post, it was called Hues & Cues. The board has 150ish color squares. One person draws a card with one of those squares on it, then that giver describes the color on the card first in one word, then the players place pieces on the square they think corresponds to the clue. Then, the giver’s second clue is in 2 words, then the players place another piece. (For instance, I had orange and I said “church” because it looked like the orange of the Bridge, then my second was “favorite color” because it’s my favorite color.) The guessers get points for how close they can get to the actual color, the giver gets points for how close the guessers are. It’s super simple and fun. Elisha won, The Angel complained about the game for the entire hour, then came in a close second. I was last by a mile, which makes me wonder if I my vision or my memory is a problem. (That’s not exactly true. I have won before, so I’m probably not broken, just had an off day. Maybe I told them I let them win.)

Before we played this game that I lost in spectacular fashion, we engaged in some serious conversation, and I was faced with a wonderful reality.

We have not always discussed/argued/disagreed/fought in totally constructive ways. Voices have been raised, offense has been taken, words have been said that deeply wounded those closest to us. But as was obvious today, we have come a long way in learning how to communicate through very difficult circumstances & topics. This may not always be the case, but it is today, and I thought of 3 observations.

First, our transformation usually occurs over long periods of time and is often unnoticeable from moment to moment. It’s like when you lose weight. You lose a fraction of a pound at a time so it seems to you like there’s no change, but when you see someone who hasn’t seen you in a month, you realize there has been change and it is striking. So, we keep moving, walking the path, with very few signposts that point out how far we’ve come. Today was one for us. When we are lucky enough to have a signpost, we must stop, look around, and feel (and express) our gratitude. It’s nice to grow, it’s important to appreciate the work and ground we’ve covered with the Holy Spirit.

Next, conflict isn’t awesome. With the exception of a very good friend of mine, nobody likes it. But without it, there’s no catalyst for movement. It requires honesty, grace, and love. If you didn’t care about the relationship, you wouldn’t wade into deep water, you’d just find a new pool. We open ourselves in the giving and the receiving and the ties that bind us grow tighter and tighter. Everyone the gets the opportunity to break free of our expectations and become more and more like the new creations we are.

And last: Mostly, when we are offended and respond in our offense, it’s because we are feeling insecure and/or inadequate. We are feeling some kind of fear, so we are hurt and lash out. We cannot accept any challenge to our fragile ego, anything that might suggest that we are not perfect and always right threatens our idea of our own value (based wholly on our performance) and that is terrifying. I believe what happened today was, 4 people operated out of a deep sense of worth, not tied to anything, with no conditions. 4 people knew they could be vulnerable, could receive criticism, fail, and consequently, were free to learn and evolve. Our identity is only found in God, not in our best or worst moments, not our behavior, our achievements, and not in our board game proficiency.

Maybe that’s what it means to find freedom in Christ. Or maybe it’s just a step in the path to that beautiful freedom. Either way, I’m thankful for who we are now, and who we are becoming.

    Jairus

    In Sunday’s service, I stated a relatively simple but heavy truth that the Church almost always grows (in both width & depth) in times of oppression…but in prosperity, not so much. This has been played out and proven over history, and probably, our own lives.

    In the book of Luke (8:41-42), “a man named Jairus, a leader of the local synagogue, came and fell at Jesus’ feet, pleading with Him to come home with him. His only daughter, who was about 12 years old, was dying.”

    It’s not hard to vividly picture this scene in your head. He “came and fell,” “pleading.” His daughter is dying and he’s broken-hearted and broken, he’s poor in spirit. There’s nothing left to do, so he comes to a certain Rabbi, of whom he’s heard rumors. Who knows if they’re true, but he’s at the end of his rope. Imagine his face and footsteps. I don’t think he ran – maybe he did, but the word ‘fell’ brings images of heavy feet and slumped shoulders to me, of barely getting to Jesus before collapsing under the weight of such intense loss. He pleads, begs, cries, wails. “Help her, Rabbi, please help her!!” It’s 2 verses that are absolutely, totally devastating.

    Now, maybe Jairus was always following Jesus, maybe he was one of the first followers. Maybe he knew Jesus, maybe he believed. But maybe not, and that’s what I imagine. If he knew him, believed, he would have come sooner. The Jairus in my head was skeptical, fell right into line with the Jewish teachers and Pharisees in his circle. Or maybe, even, he was decidedly not a believer. Instead, maybe he thought this Rabbi was a dangerous threat to his God and his religion.

    But pain and suffering, oppression, lead us into some very uncomfortable spaces, right? We say & do things we might never say & do. We’re much more open minded, less likely to close any doors, more likely to open already closed doors. Jesus is a trouble-maker, but when her daughter is dying, what if it’s true??? What can it hurt?

    Jairus asks. He seeks, He knocks. He cries out in his broken-ness. And God answers. When Israel is in Egypt and cries out, God answers.

    When things are great, clicking along, the bills are paid, the sun is shining, we have a great tendency to forget. When we’re being promoted at work, we think we deserve it, we’ve earned it, we’re capable and strong. We know what to do. But when we’re fired, we’re lost, afraid, weak, and have no idea what to do or where to go. When we cry out for Help, God is far more apt to rescue us, than when we think we’re in control and so awesome we could never need/use any help from anyone.

    To tell you the truth, as I’m thinking about it, Levi (Matthew) is a much more exceptional story. He was a guy who had a good job, power, lots of money, and when Jesus said, “Follow me,” he left that all behind. We’re probably way more Jairus than Levi.

    Today is a gorgeous day, I slept great last night, and now I feel good and got a bunch done in the yard and my closet. I ate terrific pizza with my son for lunch. The Angel will be home in a minute. Today is a very good day. And I didn’t think of God too much, today. I said Thank You a few times, fleeting and quick. Sunday, I had a headache that woke me up out of sleep in the middle of the night, ibuprofen didn’t help, it was agony, and I spent hours in prayer.

    The idea is that, whether we have everything or nothing, whether it’s sunny or sleeting, whether our bank accounts are overflowing or empty, whether our hearts are overflowing or empty, God is still God and loves us exactly the same. I bet this is the “secret” Paul talked about, except it’s not really a secret at all, it’s the secret practice of turning our hearts toward Jesus not only on Saturday, when it hurts, but also on Sunday, when we’re healed.

    First Cousin Once Removed

    At some point during many of the holidays my family and I celebrate together, the conversation will turn to 1st, 2nd, 3rd cousins, once or twice removed, and what any of those terms mean. We never remember, so we discuss it more often than you’d guess. Incidentally, I am ok with this, because it’s hilarious. We just wait for it to come up.

    Anyway, last weekend, I went to my first dance competition. No, I wasn’t dancing (the way I worded that last sentence sounded like maybe I was). My first cousin once removed by marriage (The Angel’s cousin’s daughter) was dancing. She is 14 and has been dancing for most of her life. I had no idea what to expect, but I absolutely knew I’d write about whatever I experienced in this week’s post.

    Not only did I not know what a dance competition looks like, I’d never seen her dance before, so I didn’t know what her particular dancing looks like, either.

    The event was in a MASSIVE auditorium. Each competitor had a certain time (a minute or 2) to do whatever it was they would do, to music played at a pretty mind-numbing volume. (I’m not sure if you’re familiar, but there are lots of different styles of dance. I do know this, because I watched the TV show So You Think You Can Dance.) The kids in their very sparkly spandex outfits

    [Actually, that’s not exactly true. They wore very sparkly tiny spandex super suits OR they wore white flowy sun dresses, with little in between. Anyway]

    took the stage and performed, in numbered order. Some were awesome and some were good, none made me wish I wasn’t there. But my first cousin once removed by marriage was clearly the best. I would say by a mile, but there’s a chance that I am slightly biased, but only slightly. Objectively, she was clearly the best, maybe not by a mile, but for sure a good hundred yards. She was graceful, controlled, both subtle and overwhelming, and I found myself overcome with emotion. Beautiful things crack open my heart like eggs and flow all over, and her performances (1 jazz and 1 contemporary) were staggeringly beautiful. I thought about her life, her commitment and passion for this art/sport (it’s both, right? Elite athleticism combined with wild creativity and expression to create its own category), how so much of her resources – money, time, energy – and focus went into these few minutes. The hours and hours of physical practice are obvious, but what is staying with me are the countless hours of what is not so obvious. What she eats, how she works out, the many things she must have said no to, all in service of her one big yes, the foundation upon which she built the rest of her life.

    [It might not be the foundation for her, she’s remarkably well rounded, maybe it’s not even what she would say is the most important thing to her…but you get the point.]

    So, later, on the way home, I thought about me. I thought about my one big yes, the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and my commitment to Him. She was willing to offer so much of her life to a discipline, to a love, have I? With everything she does, how she walks, carries herself, she looks to the entire world like a dancer… What do I look like? Do I look like a walking, talking, loving, follower of Christ? From head to toe, morning to night, the food I eat, what I listen to and watch, is it all in service of this identity? Am I offering the best of me? Am I offering all of me?

    The truth is…well, maybe we can answer that another time. But last Saturday, that building was a church, and her dancing was a sermon, asking questions that aren’t so easily answered. I can’t tell if I’m more impressed by her dancing or her preaching, but I’ll tell you, it was an honor to sit under this 14 year old’s teaching & learn about life, love, faith, and devotion in a brand new way.

    This Rab

    Rab, a Jewish teacher of the third century A.D said (or, more likely, wrote), “Man will have to give account for all that he saw and did not enjoy.”

    This is a very interesting, invigorating perspective to see our faith, isn’t it? In a faith that is so often grounded in what we cannot do, what we should not do, This Rab asks the question of whether that ground is totally accurate. We weigh the bad we do much, much heavier than the good that is left undone. Choosing to turn our head away from the suffering of another and causing that suffering, while perhaps not equal in our eyes, they are both transgressions – against God and each other.

    I’ve hi-jacked a phrase from the actor Johnny Galecki that I heard on Anna Faris’ podcast: sin is all the ways we love ourselves (and each other) less. We love each other less through violent, evil acts of aggression, as well as through not practicing empathy, kindness, and mercy.

    We also love ourselves less by not enjoying the beauty of these Divine gifts that surround us.

    I just hung up the phone with my sister, who told this amazing story of a meal she shared with my brother in law on Friday night. She’s vegan, and, as vegans are, a zealot about it. It would be easy to tune this all out if, 1. She wasn’t brilliant and one of the very coolest people that has ever walked the earth, and 2. Her passion for and gratitude in this experience didn’t make me wish that I, too, was a vegan. (Not enough to actually become one for real, but while I’m on the phone with her, I think it’s not such a bad idea. That’s the thing about zealots, especially the best ones. She’d probably be a terrific cult leader.) Her evening, and her story today, were absolutely the best kind of worship. They both thoroughly soaked up the love of their Creator, through the food (and every other moment of that evening) without reservation.

    I do the same thing with our weekly telephone calls. How did I end up being so blessed by the God of the Universe?

    Our homework was to take the advice of the Rab and enjoy these gifts. Imagine the scene he implies, standing before the Giver, being asked why we didn’t have more fun (when He gave us so many ways to have fun), why we didn’t fly (when He gave us wings), why we didn’t slow down and taste the food He provided. What could we possibly say? “I was distracted, working, sleeping, scrolling.” Is there anything we could say as an excuse? Solomon writes in Ecclesiastes 9:9, “Live happily with the woman you love…the wife God gives you is your reward.” So, God gave me the Angel, who I love, as a reward (God gave you someone different to love, just insert her/his name here), how could I, with so little conscience, take her, take this life, these smooches, her laughter, for granted?

    We talk about the ways we don’t live up to our calling. Usually, this means the holes we are falling into, the bad decisions we make. We read Paul’s lists of behaviors, and consider how to stay away from the things that make us love us less. But we don’t always mention how we do not savor His gifts, and maybe we should, because if we did, maybe we’d be too busy delighting in all we have to be so awful to each other.

    This Rab quote seems more and more like a paraphrase of Jacob’s exclamation in Genesis, “Surely God was in this place, and I was unaware.” We have a wholly depressing tendency to fall asleep to our lives, and the people in them. We look at how bad everything is, how the wheels are falling off the world. Maybe it’s time we begin to look at how beautiful this Creation really is (and we do this out loud for everyone to see), and maybe that thankful praise would be the catalyst for a seismic culture change, for a tiny, baby step closer to what we pray, “Your Kingdom Come, on earth as it is in Heaven.”

    Details, pt 2

    The site prompt is asking me to share about one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten, and before we continue…well, maybe it’s not “before,” maybe it’s all related in the same conversation. Anyway. For Christmas this year, the Angel gave me 2 canvasses (canvi?) of pictures she had taken from a vacation beach trip, and on those canvi, there were words. The first one held my wedding vows to her, from May 2001 (I still have the original paper I read from at our ceremony.) Her vows, sadly, were lost in the flood that took everything else we owned. Still, that second canvas also had wedding vows, but these were newly written, from December 2025. How is that for “one of the best gifts” any human being has ever gotten??

    Now, moving on. Yesterday’s post was about the details of our lives that affect the sorts of soil we are, and are becoming. Then, this morning, today’s Bible In A Year reading is in Leviticus. I recognize that nobody likes Leviticus. Many of us are commenting (more like complaining) on the endless lists of instructions at the end of Exodus, and I always want to say, “just wait til we get into Leviticus.” I’m no different, I don’t like Leviticus, BUT it also happens to be one of my new favorite books. This super boring, repetitive list of commands has a vital message for our lives, then, now, and forever.

    Why are there so many instructions, why so much detail, why does this matter so much (and it obviously does), and why do these commands matter now, at all? Why are we reading this? Why should I care, thousands of years later?

    We live in a world of “good enough.” The smallest amount of effort is good enough. The minimum effort necessary is fine, just get by, don’t try too hard. As even Solomon says in Ecclesiastes, “avoid all extremes.” This philosophy is the polar opposite of the people we read about in the Scriptures, who left everything behind to follow a new Way of living. Who could ever have been more extreme than Jesus?

    Leviticus, and the parable of the soils, ask for our attention to who we are, who we are becoming, what we care about, and what we believe about ourselves and Our God. Essentially, (in addition to the overwhelmingly detailed sacrificial system, and the overwhelmingly detailed weights and measures of the Tabernacle in Exodus), they’re all asking what we’re giving to God. What is our offering? And, as we all know, the offering, the level of gratitude, implies a value to the gift and the Giver. Are we giving the first, the best, or simply what’s left?

    The Tabernacle was the early precursor to the Temple in Jerusalem, which was the early precursor to the current Temples, which are you and me. Do you think the lengths and widths of a tent or building are somehow less important than the details of our lives? That the Temple mattered then, but not now? Judging by the Bible, the very Word of God, everything matters.

    If that’s true, if 1. Everything matters, and 2. How we do anything is how we do everything, then what does that mean? If we give scraps to our job, then it’s probably not the only place we give scraps. What do our spouses, children, friends, co-workers, cashiers at the grocery store, servers, neighbors & enemies, get from us? What kind of soil are we in our home, community and the world? Do they know Who we follow?And do they know His tremendous value to us? As far as that goes, do they know their value to us?

    He is never asking for perfection, just the best we have to give, in any and all situation. Our first fruits. Of course, all situations are different, what we have to give might be different from moment to moment, but way too often, we slide along, at the lowest possible plane, trying not to break a sweat.

    I think Exodus, the Tabernacle, Leviticus, food & sacrificial laws, the canvi from the Angel, our posture towards each other, the way we express our love (intentionally and without condition or limit), Saturday nights and Tuesday mornings, all testify to the Truth that scraps are not, and have never been, what we’ve been called into. There is an honor and dignity to this awesome experience of being human, and some things, like the scraps, the crumbs that fall from our table, are simply beneath us. Sometimes, the biggest, most significant changes begin with small, seemingly inconsequential acts. Sometimes, an empty tomb and a brand new creation begin with a baby in a barn.

    Yesterdays

    Today is Monday, and yesterday, we studied a passage in Ecclesiastes that carried some really massive ideas. And those ideas asked some questions that we usually try our hardest to avoid. Obviously, Great Big Ideas with questions like sledgehammers aren’t reserved for Sundays, or for just yesterday. They can come & break the door down any of our yesterdays, if only we are open to receive – or as the Bible says, if we only have “ears to hear.”

    Maybe we can talk politics and what it means to respect the authorities…or maybe we can talk about the times to not do that…maybe we can wonder if it’s principle or rebellion that drives us, or what our hearts are overflowing with, flowing out into the world, getting all over everyone and everything… But I don’t really want to, not here, not today.

    What I do want to talk about, here, today, is about the 2 Gospels/gospels that are constantly vying for those same hearts. Because, probably, the one we choose dictates what actually overflows, what we are giving, what frequency we are emitting.

    The first is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This is one of grace, forgiveness, kindness, goodness, gentleness, humility, faithfulness, that has one central tenet: love. Namaste means the image of the Divine in me sees and affirms and honors the image of the Divine in you. We see we are all made in the image of God, all fallen, all redeemed by His grace and love alone. (Of course, for as long as we need to, we can choose to not accept this gift.) We see each other as brothers and sisters, free of judgment and hate. We’re not all stepping on each other for a bigger piece of the pie – we recognize we don’t deserve any of the pie, and yet, His abundance is infinite, which means we can all have all the pie we want. Our winning isn’t based one another’s loss, we all win. We are grateful.

    The gospel of me says that I am the center, I am better than you, my opinions, wants, & needs, are the primary concern for everyone. I demand assent. Maybe I will love you, if I want to, if there’s something in it for me. The divine in me sees you. The basic tenets are comfortability, pleasure, ease, temporal happiness (mine, not yours, unless yours happens to coincide with mine.) All of the -isms (racism, sexism, etc) exist here, because they all are based in the core belief: I am better than you. [We don’t acknowledge that this gospel is tied together with a dangerously thin line, because this arrogance is only superficial. It’s not grounded in confidence or esteem, it is insecure, fearful, overwhelmed with its own inadequacy. This is why, with this gospel’s worldview, I am so myopic – I worship a very small god. And I am mean & angry. I am very very angry.]

    The very interesting thing about all of this, is that we have a choice. Deuteronomy says, “I set before you life or death, blessing or curse. Choose life.” Some see God as like the ocean we swim in, but I think this verse exposes the flaw in that metaphor. You see, the ocean doesn’t care if you drown, not even a little bit. It’s completely indifferent to your survival, much less your fulfillment or joy. With those 2 words: “Choose Life,” this God shows His heart. He wants us to swim. But we can, and do, choose…

    We decide a million times a day, in every moment, which Gospel/gospel we choose – the Gospel of Jesus Christ or the gospel of me. The part that I don’t always like to admit is that we display that choice with our faces, words, posts, and lives, no matter what we might call it. Everybody can tell, usually the only one we’re fooling is ourselves.

    So, what could it look like if we all swim? If we all chose to love each other, no matter what? If we chose to honor each other, and if we all just ate all the pie we ever wanted, at the same table, together? I’d really love to find out. I’ll go first.