Does It Really Mean That?

I was the substitute teacher for the oldest ladies Sunday School class.  When you are the pastor of a small church, you are also the substitute teacher for every class, as well as the part-time janitor, occasional soloist, and professional exterminator.

I was called in one Sunday when the regular teacher called in sick.  I think she was faking it.  Sure she was 92, it was winter, flu season, and there was two inches of snow in the ground, but she could have made it if she had wanted to.  With little notice, I walked into a class of six older women who had braved the cold and the flu to be in church. 

Any one of these ladies could have taught the class.   They had all grown up in that church, accepted Christ in that fellowship, and been baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.   They had heard countless sermons, Wednesday devotionals, and sat in Sunday School longer than I had been alive.

That church was near one of the finest seminaries in the world.  Through the years, seminary professors had served as part-time pastors.   Some of the finest preachers Baptists ever produced preached from the pulpit.  Starting after World War II, a procession of doctoral students served as pastors, living in the stone parsonage the church had constructed next door to the historic building.  One former pastor read the text from the original Greek each Sunday. Pastors were often measured not by how well they did as pastor, but what they went on to do afterwards.  These brilliant students became professors, missionaries, denominational executives, and pastors of prominent churches.  Somehow, I wound up in that long, distinguished line.

So, there I was, twenty-five years old, teaching eighty- and ninety-year-old women on a chilly Kentucky Sunday morning.  The lesson was on the Sermon on the Mount, the part in Matthew 5 where Jesus says, “Love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you.”  As I taught through the passage, I noticed the attention of the women was slipping.  One class member looked out the window, one seemed to be studying the picture of the Last Supper behind my head, and a third was asleep.  I knew this because her upper plate had slipped, and her false teeth hung precariously in her open mouth.

I knew these women had heard all this before, so I went to the tried and true tool of every teacher to re-engage the class.   I asked them to name their enemies. 

The two or three women who were hanging with me, looked puzzled.  One of them spoke up and said, “I don’t believe I have any enemies.”  Something about the word “enemies” woke up the one sleeping woman.  She clicked her teeth back into place, and said, “Well I have had several enemas and believe they are no fun.”  The woman next to her poked her in the side and shushed her, saying, “He said enemies, not enemas.”

Things they never taught me in seminary: how to help older women know the difference between enemies and enemas. 

Sometimes when I preach or teach, thoughts come into my head.  I’m not always sure if they are from the devil or from God.  At this moment, a thought crossed my mind, and before I could stop, my mouth started moving: “An enemy is anyone who means you harm.  Someone who gossips about you (I knew this crowd had a black belt in gossip).  Someone who steals what you own or steals your husband.  Someone who wants to harm your country.  Someone who wants to hurt you and doesn’t care that you hurt.  Jesus says to love them.  And Jesus said we ought to pray for them.  How much of your prayer time is praying for people you don’t like?”

This actually seemed pretty obvious to me. 

There was stunned silence for a moment.  Apparently, despite all the great preaching and teaching these women had heard through the years, this was a new thought.  After an uncomfortable few seconds, Mrs. Sue Flowers, the matriarch of the church, fixed me with a stern gaze and pronounced, “Well, it doesn’t mean that.”

Funny how you can sit in church for decades and still not hear the plain meaning of Jesus’ words: “Love your enemies.  Pray for those who persecute you.”  Funny how people want to simply deny the plain meaning of words when the words make them squirm.

Mark Twain supposedly said, “Some people are troubled by the things in the Bible they can't understand. The things that trouble me are the things I can understand…”

I think Jesus meant what he said.  Whether it troubles us or not.  So, think the people who really get on your nerves.  People who have hurt you.  People who disagree with you politically.  Your obnoxious neighbor.  Your ex.  People who want to attack our country.  Jesus said Love them.  Pray for them.  The only question left is what are you going to do?

The Box...

When my mother and father first married, the preacher at my family’s church came to welcome my mother to the community.  As the pastor made inquiries about my mother’s spiritual status, he found out she accepted Jesus in her teens, at a revival in the Methodist church in Venus (Venus, Florida, not Venus, the planet).  A week or so later, my mother, grandmother, uncle, and aunt were baptized in a pond, and brought into the fold of the Baptist Church.

In the midst of finding out my mother’s spiritual journey, the preacher saw a deck of cards on a side table.  In those days, some Baptists objected to the playing of cards.  I’m not sure why.  It might have been because playing cards was associated with gambling.  Or maybe, as comedian Chonda Pierce extrapolates, playing cards was thought to lead to beer.  Beer, at that time, was considered the root of all evil.

The preacher concluded his visit, and my mother thought no more about it.  That is, until the next Sunday.  In his sermon the preacher railed against the loose morals of the young people in the community.  He roundly condemned drinking, dancing, going to the movies, and working on the Sabbath.  Then in shocked tones, he gave the example of visiting a newlywed couple and discovering playing cards in their home.  It was a small church and my parents were the only newlywed couple in the church.  It was as close to naming a name without naming a name as he could go.

I remember my mother telling me the story years later.  She said she almost died of embarrassment.  Never mind my father’s father had been a preacher.  Never mind that she lived with her mother-in-law, who did not object to having a deck of cards in her house.  Never mind her sister-in-laws, their husbands, and their children were in the congregation that day and met the preacher’s denouncement with icy stares.  Mama said she wanted to crawl under the church and never come back.

That day in September 1945, the preacher drew a box and told everyone that if you followed Jesus, you had to fit in his box.  If you liked to cut a rug, you did not fit in the box.  If you went to the movies, you did not fit in the box.  If you took a drink of alcohol, you did not fit in the box.  And, if you liked to play cards, you did not fit in the box. 

Church people still draw boxes and demand people fit inside them.  The boxes change from church to church.  There are not too many churches left that tell you not to dance or go to the movies or play cards.  Maybe they all went out of business because they were majoring on the minors.

I have known churches that build a box around a certain translation of the Bible.  If you do not read that translation, you are not going to heaven.  Another church I know says your truth can be anything you want it to be.  If you were to participate in that church and suggest there might be such a thing as absolute truth, you would find their box is just as restrictive as a church that insists on using a specific translation. 

Not too long ago, a woman asked me, “If I follow Jesus, do I have to become a Republican?”  Of course, the answer is “no.”  Partisan politics are just another box that church people try to insist you get in.   When a church insists on adherence to a box, they usually tie the box to the promise of heaven.  “If you want to go to heaven,” they say, “then you have to get in our box.” 

Jesus never talked about boxes.  Instead, he said, “Follow me.”  If you follow Jesus, you arrive at heaven, because you have a relationship with him, not because you fit in a box.  Ironically, it is harder to follow Jesus than getting in a box.  If you get in a box, all you must do is stay in the box.  Staying in the box is passive; following Jesus is active.  If you follow Jesus, you must stay close enough to see where he is going.  You must talk to him about your journey.  When Jesus says to stop and rest, you stop and rest.  When Jesus says, go, you go.  Your focus is on him. 

When that story my mother told me flits across my consciousness, I cannot help but wonder: What if my parents let the preacher’s box chase them away from church?  What if the preacher’s box chased them away from Jesus?  Then I get a picture in my mind.  I do not know if it is true or not; but the picture is of Jesus and the disciples, gathered around a fire in the cool Galilean evening, going over the day, Jesus explaining his teachings.  Then, as conversation lags, Jesus turns to Simon Peter and says, “You want to play a game of cards?”

Fathers of the Bible…

Adam was the first father.  He had one son kill another.  Talk about a family feud.  I wonder what he said to Cain when he left home to get away from his reputation? 

Noah had three sons.  They apparently helped with the hundred-year ark building program and stuck by the old man during the year on the ark (the other choice involved a lot of treading water).  But after the flood was over, Noah got drunk one day and made a fool of himself.  One of his sons saw him naked, so Noah cursed his son by cursing his grandson.  Grandson: “Why doesn’t Grandpa like me?” Dad: “Well, he was passed out from drinking too much, naked as the day he was born…”   

Abraham sent his first born (Ishmael) away, because his first wife made him.  It was easier to make the boy and his mother pay the price of his poor judgment than fight with Sarah, his first wife.  Abraham was ready to offer his second born, Isaac, as an offering to God until God stopped him.  That made for awkward family memories: “Remember the time Dad almost killed you as a sacrifice?” 

Isaac had two boys as well, twins.  He learned nothing from the mistakes of his father.  He too favored one child over another.  When he mixed up the blessing meant for the first-born, Esau, giving it to Jacob, the younger, he made no attempt to reverse it.  He figured he would just let them fight it out, which they did.  For decades. 

Jacob had twelve boys from two wives and two concubines.  You thought your blended family was tough.  He favored one of the boys, Joseph, over the others.  His brothers had enough of it and sold their brother into slavery.  Sure, it turned out God was working the whole time to save Jacob and his family, but still, the relationships were strained.  After their father died, the brothers went to Joseph, who was a pretty high-up politician in Egypt, and said, “Dad said not to kill us.” That’s a pretty low bar for family ties.  If someone had ever asked Jacob how to have a close-knit family, I think he would have said, “Danged if I know how.”  

Manoah waited a long time to be a father.  When an angel told him he would be a dad, he asked for advice about how to raise the boy.  He wound up making sure Samson never cut his hair, but he gave in to every demand his son made.  He was a classic enabler.   Maybe he should have asked for a spine instead of wisdom.   

Samuel put his sons into the family business of leading God’s people.  They absorbed none of their Dad’s preaching.  They were supposed to be assistant judges but turned out to judges for sale, ready to sell a decision to the highest bidder.  It must of broke their Dad’s heart, what with him being a preacher and all.   

Saul hated his son’s best friend, David.  The boy drove him crazy – literally.  

David had a son rape his daughter; then another son killed the rapist son, and then the killer son rebelled against his dad. The whole thing turned into a war.  When his son is killed, David weeps, maybe because he realized he’d been such a lousy dad.  For a man after God’s own heart, his heart had to hurt because of the way his kids turned out. 

Solomon had so many wives and concubines he could hardly remember their names.  Must of made for awkward family meals: “Now are you the son of wife number 178 or wife 231?”  If therapists had existed in those days, I can imagine one of his sons saying to his therapist: “My dad didn’t even know my name!” 

I don’t know about you, but compared to these guys, I’m looking pretty good as a Dad. 

Why so many stories about failed fathers in the Bible?  Because none of us can be the perfect Dad.  We can do the best we can, but at the end of the day, we aren’t perfect and we can’t control our children.  It turns out that everyone is responsible for their own choices, their own decisions. 

In the Bible there is one perfect Father.  So, on this Father’s Day, if you are a Dad, accept His grace and ask for His help.  Stop trying to be the perfect Dad.  Admit your mistakes.  Your kids aren’t dumb; they know sometimes you just mess up.   

And cut your Dad some grace as well.  He wasn’t perfect.  No matter how bad he wounded you, try to remember he is a flawed person.  If you need help giving that grace, there is a Heavenly Father who can help you.  He’s the only Dad who ever had a perfect Son.   Because of their perfect relationship, your relationships can be better.  They will show you the way. 

Do not Let the Weak Die…

I saw a video clip of a news reporter in Tennessee, giving details of a protest on the steps of the state capital. The protesters were clamoring for the Governor to reopen the state for business and let life return to normal, whatever that means in this COVID19 world. Behind the reporter was a young man in his twenties, holding a sign. It said, “Let the weak die, Open TN (Tennessee).”

This young man’s poster is an echo of other voices. The Lieutenant Governor of Texas said, “There are more important things than living, and that’s saving this country for my children and grandchildren and saving this country for all of us.”  I agree lives may need to be sacrificed to preserve our freedom, but is it right to sacrifice a life to make sure we can all live comfortably? I have a hunch if the Lieutenant Governor infected with Corona virus and hospitalized, he would not be saying, “Go ahead and let me die so the price of gas can go up.” 

Of course, it is easy to skewer politicians and protesters, but I have heard similar comments from everyday folks. “People are going to die from the flu anyway,” someone told me the other day. Isn’t funny how its easy to dismiss “people” but when it is my people, my grandmother, my dad, I think their life is precious.

Throughout history there is a vicious, ugly thought that rises: some people are worth more than others. In the Ancient World, the world of the Bible, that was the way most people thought. Foreigners were enemies. Kill them because their lives do not matter. Enslave them, all they are good for is hard labor. It was a brutal world, where survival of the fittest lead to might makes right.

In Jesus’ world, it was common for baby girls to be abandoned. Girls were not thought to be as valuable as boys. Sick relatives were often set out to die. No need trying to take care of the elderly; they could not work anymore. What value did they add?

Jesus, building on Jewish teaching, taught something radically different. He told a story about a shepherd leaving ninety-nine sheep to go search for the one lost sheep. Bad economics, great shepherding. In that one Bible verse most people know, it is clearly stated, “For God so loved the world…”  Not just certain kinds of people. Not just certain nations. Not just the young and health. The world. Regardless of gender, nationality, orientation, or age, God loves everyone who ever has or ever will exist.

Jesus followers in the first centuries after his resurrection put this into practice. They picked up the abandoned babies and loved them as their own children. They cared for the sick and the elderly. When persecuted for their faith, they were willing to die rather than adapt.

It is true that Jesus followers got a lot wrong as time went by. By the Dark Ages, people who called Jesus “Lord” would go to war in his name. They were not merciful. During the plagues that hit Europe, the sick was not always cared for. People reverted to practices of their ancestors and left the sick to die.

Still, it was the followers of Jesus who built orphanages and hospitals. Established on the teachings of their Lord, they cared for the “least of these.”  There is something about Jesus’ clear instructions that the church cannot shake.

Regimes sprout up to challenge this value of human life from time to time. Not so long ago, people with dark skin were thought to be less than human and were enslaved. Native Americans were torn from their land in the name of economic progress. Hitler touted the superiority of the Aryan race and killed 12 million people. Some were Jews, others deformed, still others were political dissidents.

The greatest flaw when someone protests and says, “Let the weak die” is their failure to see themselves as weak. We all start as weak babies, needing care and nurture. Most of us will at some time get sick and need tender nursing. Many of us will get older and in our final days, we will be weak. Someone will have to feed us and bathe us. We all either are weak, or we will be.

Jesus followers believe Jesus came not for the strong, not for those who can fend for themselves, but for the weak and the meek. He taught us in the greatest sermon ever that until we admit our poverty, our weakness, our need for God, we will never find the strength we truly need. It is the strength, as the Apostle Paul said, the makes all things possible.

If Jesus came to help the weak – everyone of us – do we dare turn to anyone and say, “Go ahead and die?”   Aren’t you glad God is better than that?

I am Malchus…

I am Malchus, servant of the High Priest Caiaphas.  When a job needs to be done, quickly and quietly, Caiaphas taps me. 

I became a servant because I owed money I could not pay back.  I was put into a debtor’s prison and then sold.  I knew the only hope I had for freedom was to do the jobs I was assigned and to do them well.  I passed from Master to Master, always selling for a higher price.  One day my Master told me I was going to new Master, someone close to the very top.  I was brought to Jerusalem and entered the service of Caiaphas.

Caiaphas’ family were the elite.  His father-in-law, Annas, was the real power.  He was more politician than priest, always jockeying for position, always jealous for more power.  I was supposed to serve and not hear, but I could not help but overhear the news that would flow through the household.

Before long, because of my size, I became the enforcer for the family.  When they needed someone to shut up, I was sent to “persuade” the talker.  Occasionally, something more than words was needed.  After I broke a few bones, people got in line.

A recurring topic of conversation for the past few years was Jesus of Nazareth.  According to my Master, he was another hot-head who thought he was the Messiah.  But I heard other stories when I was out in town.  People said he healed the sick and drove out demons.  He came to Jerusalem a few times and I was sent by my Master to blend in with the crowd and find out more.  I only saw the man teaching, nothing more.  It was teaching like I had never heard.  He claimed to be the “light of the world” and the “bread of life.”  I did not understand his meaning, but even I had to admit there was something about his teaching that drew me, that made me want to know more.

Though a Jew, I was not a religious man.  Working in my Master’s house convinced me that religion was just a scheme to manipulate people.  Something about Jesus, however told me he was not interested in religious power.  He spoke of God as “Father.”  Whatever he was, I knew he was not a hot-head radical. 

It was the start of Passover week when Jesus came to Jerusalem the last time.  Crowds gathered and sang songs hailing him as the Messiah.  I reported all this to my Master.  With every report, I could sense he was more rattled, unnerved almost. 

On Wednesday before the feast, I saw my Master talking with a man I recognized as a disciple of Jesus.  I saw my Master hand over a bag of money.  I did not inquire about the transaction; I would find out soon enough if it concerned me.

Late Thursday night, my Master called to me.  When I came to him, the disciple of Jesus was with him again.  My Master said, “Malchus, go with this man, Judas.  Take some men with you, there may be trouble.  Judas will show you where Jesus is.  Seize him and bring him to my father-in-law’s house.”  I gathered a force of men: a few temple guards, a couple of other servants, and a few acquaintances who always seemed to be lurking near the High Priest’s home, including my cousin.

Judas led us to the Garden called Gethsemane.  The full moon shown on his face.  Streaks of red marked his face as if he had been bleeding.  His disciples were gathered around and looked like they had just awakened.  Judas told us he would kiss Jesus, as a servant would kiss a master.  I knew it would be a kiss of betrayal.

Judas did kiss him and we stepped forward.  From nowhere came a flash of metal and I felt pain as I had never felt before.  I put my hand to my head and realized in shock my right ear was missing.  Then I looked down and saw it: my ear, in the dirt. 

One of his disciples, a man I had seen before, was holding a sword.  The men with me surged forward but Jesus stopped them.  He seemed to radiate power.  “Put away your sword,” he commanded Peter.  “Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?”

I fell to my knees, in agony, screaming from the pain.  Then Jesus leaned down, picked up my severed ear, and he put it back in its place.  When the ear touched my bloodied head, there was a power I had never felt before. It was warmth and light.  The pain stopped.  Jesus looked me in the eye, he smiled, then he helped me to my feet. 

I reached up with my right hand, just to make sure.  Had I imagined it?  Was my ear really torn off?  I felt the pain.  I saw my ear on the ground.  It was real, I’m sure of it.  But now my ear was back on my head. 

The other men took hold of Jesus and led him off to Annas’ house.  I trailed behind, bewildered.  When I got back to the Caiaphas’ house, I saw them bring Jesus in.  Others were gathered.  I decided to stay in the courtyard in case there was trouble.  There was.  Around the fire, heated conversation arose.  Then I heard clearly my cousin’s voice, “Didn’t I see you in the olive grove.  You are one of his disciples.”  Another voice spat out an oath, “I tell you, I don’t know the man.”  A rooster crowed in the distance.

There were many comings and goings last night.  Now it is Friday and I hear Pilate, persuaded by my Master and his allies, ordered Jesus to be crucified.  He is hanging on the cross, just outside the city walls.  I do not know what to make of this.  He seemed more irritant than rebel, more teacher than general. 

But I cannot deny that I saw my ear severed and now it is back on my head.  Now I hear perfectly.  Whoever this man is, he has a power greater than any power I have seen.  I cannot help but wonder:  If a man can heal an ear, is there anything too hard for him to do?

An Abundance of Courage…

Talk about an impossible assignment: Joshua had been tapped to be Moses’ successor.   

Moses had an amazing backstory.  He was saved as an infant, due to the shrewd thinking of his mother and the compassion of an Egyptian Princess.  He grew up in a palace, with the most privileged members of Pharaoh’s house.  Forced to flee after he committed murder, he met a girl, got married, and wandered the back country for forty years. 

Then God spoke to him out of a bush that burned, except it didn’t burn up.  God told Moses to go back to Egypt and tell Pharaoh to let my people go. Moses went, reluctantly.  Ten plagues and several encounters with Pharaoh later, the people were set free. 

You’d think his problems were over, but they were just beginning.  The people of Israel had been slaves and didn’t know how to self-govern.  They had to learn, and Moses was their teacher.  He met with God on Mount Sinai, and spoke to God face to face, like a friend.  He gave the Israelite’s their law, the foundation of their culture.  He stuck with them through their rebellion and lead them to brink of the land God promised to give them.  Then, he went up on a mountain and died, seeing the promised land, but never entering. 

 Conquering this land would be Joshua’s job.  Joshua was born a slave.  No Egyptian Princess rescued him from the Nile.  He knew what it was like to get up every day and be treated different than other men because of his racial background.  He’d worked a slave’s job with a slave’s hours.  When Joshua first appears in the Exodus story, he is down in the valley, fighting hand to hand, while Moses is on the Mountain, holding up his arms.  Moses was doing important work, no doubt, but Joshua’s job was to be in the thick of it. 

 Joshua was on the fringes, waiting on Mount Sinai while Moses talked to God.   He would stay outside and guard the tent where Moses went to talk to God.  When a battle needed to fought, or when there was a spy assignment, the job went to Joshua.  A good man.  Someone you want by your side.  But he was not Moses. 

The problem with great leaders is they all die.  When they do, someone else has to lead.  For thirty days the people of Israel mourned Moses’ death.  Then they turn to Joshua.  He’s the new leader.  This is his time. 

There is a moment when God speaks to Joshua.  We don’t know if it was in Moses’ old “God Tent” or while he was walking around the camp one day.  We do know what God said.  He started with the facts: Moses is dead.  Seems like an obvious conclusion, but maybe it was God’s way of telling Joshua nothing would bring Moses back, and there was a new mission, a mission for which he had been chosen. 

His mission?  Cross the Jordan River into enemy territory.  Take possession of the land God promised.  Fight battles.  You will win them, but you still have to fight them, God said. Then God gives him a promise: “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you.”  God is making a simple point: When an elephant and an ant cross a bridge and it vibrates, it’s not the ant that does it.   

Then God gives Joshua some orders.   They are not “Round up the army.”  They are not “Get ready for battle.”  They are simple: “Be strong and courageous.”  God tells Joshua this three times.  Must be important. 

To “be strong” means to have strength to hold your position.  To “be courageous” means to have the will to go forward.  Three times God told Joshua the key to winning any battle:  Be strong.  Be courageous. 

We are in a battle, battling against a mutation of nature.  I hear over and over this phrase: “Out of an abundance of caution…”  I get the need for caution.  But I’m not so sure this should be our mantra.   

I believe this is a time to be strong.  Stand strong against anxiety.  Be strong enough to resist hoarding supplies.  Be strong and pray for our country, for the sick, for front-line providers.  Be strong and do not think yourself sick.  Teach your children how to be strong. 

Be courageous.  Be courageous and  help your neighbor.  Be courageous and encourage each other.  Be courageous and accept medical instruction.  Be courageous and endure, for “sorrow last through the night, but joy comes in the morning.”   This will pass.  COVID19 is not forever.  Be courageous and know that the God of Moses and Joshua is with you.   

This is a time for an abundance of courage.  This is a time to be strong and courageous. 

Simon’s Choice…

Simon was the ultimate trickster.  He made you believe his access to God was better than yours.  For a fee, he’d pray for you.  If you needed advice, he offered it to you – for a fee.  When a miracle was needed, he’d twist you around and you’d feel like he’d done something, though you weren’t sure what.  Yes, a fee was involved for that too.

People called him a sorcerer.  They assumed, because of his tricks, Simon could control God.  Sorcerers knew they couldn’t control God, but they learned (usually from another sorcerer) how to pull off some sleight of hand, or how to bluff somebody, or how to manipulate someone’s leg to make it seem longer.  People were more naive in those days.

When you trick people for a living, the danger is you begin to believe your own PR.  Long before P.T. Barnum billed his circus as the greatest show on earth, Simon boasted he was the greatest.  Nobody turns out to see the average sorcerer.  The greater the fame, the higher the fee.

Rumors reached Simon about a man named Jesus.  Everybody within a hundred miles heard about him.  People said he cast out demons and healed the sick.  Naturally, whenever a sorcerer like Simon hears about someone like Jesus, they have two questions: How much is he collecting in fees; and, how is he pulling it off? 

Simon couldn’t figure out how Jesus was doing it.  The people who were being healed seemed to be drawn from the crowd.  He had no accomplice to fake an illness or demon possession, a standard trick of the trade.  Simon heard one story that seemed impossible, that Jesus had just spoken a word and a servant of a centurion was healed.  Jesus wasn’t even in the house.

What astounded Simon most, however, was Jesus didn’t charge.  He never passed the basket, never gave a rate for a prayer.  Of all the things Simon heard, this one made the least sense of all.  What was the point of doing all this if you didn’t make money?

Months went by.  Then Simon heard this same guy, Jesus, was crucified in Jerusalem.  Before Simon could think “One less competitor,” the news was followed by a report that he risen from the dead.  Simon was impressed.  Talk about the ultimate trick!  But Simon knew if Jesus started working the Samaritan circuit, with a reputation of coming back from the dead, his career was over.

The strange thing was after a few weeks Jesus disappeared off the face of the earth.  There was word his followers in Jerusalem said he went up to heaven and left them to tell everybody the good news.  Simon couldn’t figure it out, but was relieved he wouldn’t have to compete with the guy.

Business stayed pretty good for a few months, but then a man named Philip came into Simon’s territory.  Philip didn’t promote himself; he just talked about Jesus.  He invited people to change their lives by believing Jesus was the son of God and live by Jesus’ teaching.  Just like Jesus, he casts out demons and healed sick people.  And just like Jesus, he didn’t charge a fee. 

Simon had to take a day off to see what this was all about.  While he listened to Philip speak, his own heart moved.  The lies he’d told himself wilted.  His soul leaned in, and he wanted this new way of life too.  On the first day of the week, he lined up with other new believers, ignoring the murmurs in the crowd, and he was baptized by Philip.  Something inside of him was happening.

He couldn’t bring himself to get back on the trail, doing his old shyster tricks.  Instead, he followed Philip around day after day, amazed.  He kept trying to figure out how Philip was doing the miracles.

In a few weeks, two of Jesus’ friends, Peter and John, came up from Jerusalem.  They meet with the new believers.  They did a strange thing: they prayed over them and laid their hands on them.  Exactly how, Simon could not explain, but he knew, and he knew the people knew, they had been changed.

The old familiar voice whispered again to Simon: “Imagine what you could charge with that kind of power?”  Simon could picture himself in fine robes of gold, a new chariot (the latest model, with two cup-holders), and the crowds back hanging on his every word.  He pulled out his money bag, went to Peter and dropped it in his hand.  “Give me the power to give the Spirit,” he said with a wink.

Peter put the money back in Simon’s hand and gave him a blistering sermon.  Peter gave clear instructions about repenting and taking this seriously, because God can’t be controlled by people and you cannot buy the power of God.

Simon faced a choice: the old or the new.  Go with the old way, no matter how hollow, or empty?  Go with the old way, manipulating and using people?  Or go with the new way?  Find a new way to treat people.  Find a new way to make a living.  Find a new way to deal with life.  Find a new life in Jesus.

We don’t’ know what Simon did.  We just know his choice.  And in his story, we know our choice too – Old way, or new way.  Simon’s choice.  And yours.

Be Anxious for Nothing…

Be anxious for nothing…

“Excuse me Lord, but I don’t think that’s possible.  You see, I have Christmas breathing down my neck, I don’t know how I will afford Santa this year, and on top of that, my in-laws are coming for two weeks over Christmas break.  And Lord, besides that, they’ve asked me to volunteer for the church Christmas play.  I’m supposed to wear my old bathrobe and be Joseph.  They told me I don’t have to say anything, just stand there and look holy.”

 Be anxious for nothing…

 “Lord, I wasn’t quite finished with my prayer.  My wife has been really moody the past couple of days.  Jesus, I wish she would get off my back – Oops, sorry Lord.  Plus, my boss is on me about closing that Palmer deal before the end of the year.  He keeps telling me to push harder.  I’m telling him if I push too hard, I’ll lose the deal.”

 Be anxious for nothing…

 “Lord, you keep interrupting me.  I’ve got this weird pain in my back.  I went to the doctor and he told me I need to cut down on the carbs and exercise.  Right.  How am I supposed to do that?  Most of the time I only have time to go through the drive-through at Chik-Fil-A.  Who has time to go to the gym?  Doc said if I would lose about thirty pounds the pain in my back would go away.  I try but it’s hard.”

 Be anxious for nothing…

 “Lord, are you a broken record today or what?  I’m telling you all my troubles and all you can say is ‘Be anxious for nothing…’  Where does that even come from? Oh right, from the Bible.  Yeah, I haven’t been reading my Bible.  I mean, I mean to.  I tried to get up early one morning and fell back asleep.  Then I tried to read it at night and feel asleep.  Seems like all I do is fall asleep.”

 Be anxious for nothing…

 “Lord, I can’t just turn it off.  How can anyone stop being anxious?  How do I stop letting my mind race around and around? Sure, I don’t like being this way, but what do you expect me to do?”

 Be anxious for nothing…

 “Okay Lord, I get the message.  You want me not to be anxious.  I guess I better find what the rest of that verse says.  Thank God – I mean – thank you for Google.  Here it is.  Philippians 4:6: ‘Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, with prayer and petition, with Thanksgiving, present your requests to God.’  Hmm.  So I’m supposed to pray my anxieties?  Is that it?  Wait.  Verse 7 looks interesting: ‘And the peace of God, which passes all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.’  So if I pray, I will get peace?  Is that what I’m supposed to do?”

 Be anxious for nothing…

“Okay, I’ll try it.  Father, let’s start with the bills.  Please let me win the lottery.  No, that doesn’t sound right.  Lord, I’m struggling financially.  Give me wisdom.  Give us ideas for the kids that don’t cost too much.  Give me patience as I deal with my in-laws.  And God, I’m just not comfortable on stage.  Is it okay to turn down the church?  I feel more peace not doing it than doing it.  Give my wife some peace.  Give us laughter.  Help us count our blessings, not our stresses.  I’ll have to trust that Palmer deal to you Lord.  God give me strength not to eat when I’m anxious.  If you gave David power over Goliath, you can give me power over food.  Heal my back pain.  I know I need to spend more time with you – hey, Lord, it just dawned on me, I can read my Bible during my morning break at work.  And Lord, give me peace.  You know Lord, I feel better.  Thank you.  Maybe you’re teaching me something.  Put stuff in your hands and stop pretending I am you.  Wow.  Thanks for being a God big enough to hold me. Okay.  In Jesus name, Amen.” 

 “Be anxious for nothing…  I really need to remember that verse Lord.  Thanks.”

 You’re welcome.

Only One Hero Here…

The Bible is brutally honest about the characters it portrays.  That’s one reason I trust it.

 The first man, Adam, is no hero.  He goes along with his wife and breaks the one law (one!) God gave him.  He has to move out of the garden of Eden to the equivalent of a single-wide trailer.  Days of delight are gone, replaced by days of sweat.  He can’t keep the kids from fighting; one of them kills the other.  Sure, he lives to a ripe old age, but let’s face it – he screws up everything for the rest of us.

 Noah starts off pretty good, building the ark and riding out the storm.  But he doesn’t do very well starting over.  He gets wasted one night and one of his boys sees him passed out and naked (or neekid as we say in the South).  Through his hangover he winds up cursing his grandson, which made family reunions a little tough.

 Abraham follows God’s call to leave home, but when things get tough, he throws his wife Sarah under the bus, telling her to go into Pharaoh’s house and be one of his concubines to save his skin.  God gets him out of that jam.  Later on, when all the fertility treatments haven’t worked, Sarah tells him to sleep with the cleaning lady and they’ll adopt the baby.  When Abraham is 99, God shows up and tells him the long-promised baby is coming.  Abraham’s response is to laugh in God’s face and tell him it’s impossible, because he’s old now and Sarah’s womb is way past its prime.  Abraham’s faith is like Swiss Cheese – there’s a lot of holes.

 When you dealt with Abraham’s grandson Jacob, you needed to keep your hand on your wallet.  He was always looking for the advantage, willing to cut any corner needed so he would come out on top.  The trickster wound up being tricked himself when he went to take a wife.  He thought he was getting a drop-dead gorgeous wife in Rachel, but woke up the day after his wedding with a huge hangover and a wife so ugly she made your eyes water.  It turned out Leah, though hard on the eyes, couldn’t turn around without getting pregnant, while Rachel couldn’t have a baby to save her life.  In classic neglected wife fashion, Rachel told Jacob to give her a baby or she would die (nag, nag, nag).  Jacob found one thing he couldn’t trick his way out of, so he finally prayed and Rachel had her baby.  They named him Joseph and spoiled him rotten.  Jacob’s boys didn’t get along the favorite, sold their brother Joseph into slavery, then told old Dad he was killed by a wild animal.  Jacob spent years grieving his favorite son, only to find out God was at work in the whole thing.  He would have to go live in Egypt for a while, however, and that set the stage for all kinds of trouble later on.

 Moses appears about four hundred years later and was such a cute baby he got adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter.  Palace life wasn’t so bad, except he never quite fit in.  He wasn’t really an Egyptian, not really a Hebrew.  He tried to right a wrong and wound up committing a murder.  He had to get out town fast and found himself on the backside of nowhere.  He wound up marrying a farmer’s daughter and was free labor to his father-in-law for forty years.  Then God told him to go back to Egypt.  Protesting he wasn’t any good at political action movements, God told him to go anyway, he’d take care of Pharaoh for Moses.  God did work the whole thing out, but Moses got stuck with a group of complainers that made a Baptist business meeting look like a convention of Positive Thinkers.  Moses got so mad at them he lost his cool and did his own special brand of sin, which cost him a trip to the Promised Land.

 I could go on, but you get the idea.  David was a man after God’s own heart, but he was also a man after Bathsheba’s body, which was a problem since she was married to someone else.  A few whispered commands and that little problem was taken care of, but it set off an unrest in David’s palace that lasted until the day he died.  His son Solomon was supposedly the wisest person who ever lived, but he wasn’t so smart about women and money.  If trying to love two women is like a ball and chain, Solomon was shackled up pretty good with his 600 wives and 300 concubines.  When he wanted to do a new building project he’d raise taxes again, or conscript more folks for forced labor.  Before he was cold in the tomb, his kingdom was broken in two.

 The New Testament folks were no better.  Peter was always putting his foot in his mouth.  James and John were always arguing about who was the greatest.  Thomas made Eeyore look like Joel Osteen.  Everyone thought Matthew was a traitor.  Simon was always arguing politics.  Judas lived pretty well on what he stole from their bank account.

 Even Paul was no saint.  He jailed a bunch of Jesus followers before he saw the light.  Even then, he had a pretty sharp pen if you crossed him.  He even had trouble getting along with Barnabbas, who got along with everyone. 

 There is only one hero in the Bible and that’s Jesus.  This is the guy who could wipe out the Avengers with a side glance, but he lays down his power to die on a cross, to pay the penalty for the sins of all the folks listed above, and everyone else in the world.  Death couldn’t hold him, however, and he came out of the tomb.  There wasn’t any stirring sound-track, just an empty tomb, some passed out temple guards, and some bewildered women.  God can be very understated.

 The mistake most of us make is trying to be the hero of our own story.  Nobody in the Bible does a good job of it; what makes you think you can?  The one hero in Bible, Jesus, offers you a life where you don’t have to be heroic; you just have to follow. 

 Following is a lot easier than leaping tall buildings in a single bound.  Try it.

Is This Any Way to Fight a Battle?

Joshua and God are having a conversation about how to do battle at Jericho.

Joshua: “Here’s how I see it, Lord.  We have two options.  We can lay siege to the city and starve them out.  That will probably take about two years.  Now, given the large number of walled cities in Canaan, it will probably take about two hundred years to complete this campaign.”

God: “That’s too long.  I want to do it faster.”

Joshua: “Then the second option is to do a full-frontal assault.  We storm the walls of the city.  Of course, we’d be under constant fire from the archers and as soon as we put the ladder up on the wall we’ll face the infantry.  It will be hand to hand fighting.  We estimate a casualty rate of fifty percent.”

God: “No, that casualty rate is too high.  We have other battles to fight.”

Joshua: “Well, then Lord, what do you have in mind? I’m fresh out of ideas.”

God: “Here’s the plan: I want you to gather the army and have them march around the city once a day for six days.  Stay beyond archery range.  Just march.  Carry the ark in front of you.  Tell the priests to blow on the ram’s horns.  Then come back to camp.  On the seventh day, I want you to do the same thing.  Have the ark lead out, but this time march around seven times.  The seventh time around, have the priests blow the ram’s horns and have the army give a battle cry.  The wall of the city will fall down.  They will be defenseless.  Then go in and conquer the city.”

Silence.

Joshua: “Beg your pardon, Lord, but I’ve never heard of fighting a battle that way.  You say circle the city once a day for six days, and then on the seventh day, circle it seven times.  The horns blow, we shout, and the walls fall down.  Lord, am I dreaming or am I on drugs or something?”

God: “No. You’re wide awake.  I think my instructions are pretty clear.  What’s the problem?”

Joshua: “Well, Lord, it’s just that’s not the way we fight battles down here on earth.  We work out strategies, make plans, and then go into battle.”

God: “And how well does the plan work once the battle starts?”

Joshua: “Lord, there’s an old saying: ‘No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy.’”

God: “So, Joshua, do you want to follow your plan that you know won’t work once the battle starts, or do you want to follow my plan, since I already know what’s going to happen?”

Joshua: “Good point Lord.  So how do I persuade the army this is a good plan?”

God: “Remind them of all I have done.  Remind them how last week I stopped the Jordan River from flowing and you all crossed on dry ground.  Remind them how I’ve sent manna every morning to feed them all their lives.  Remind them I kept my promises to their parents and led them out of slavery in Egypt.  Remind them you saw with your own eyes how I parted the Red Sea and how you heard my voice on Mt. Sinai.  Joshua, tell them your story.  Help them believe.”

Here’s the rest of the story:  Joshua did what God told him to do.  For six days the army marched.  On the seventh day, they circled the city seven times.  The horns blew; the army shouted.  The wall fell.

It’s the most basic choice of life: Do you want fight battles your way or God’s?

Hint: God has a better success rate than you do.

Lord of the Storm…

He was tired.  It had been a long day with the crowds, teaching them truths about Kingdom life. If you’ve ever taught from sun-up to sun-down, you know how exhausting it can be.  The crowd was so large he even had to get in a boat, so he could get some distance from the crowd, and be seen and heard. 

As the sun faded behind the hills he told his friends, “Let’s cross the lake.”  They were in an open boat, about twenty-five feet long, with a simple mast and sail.  They pushed off from shore and few other boats followed, and the crowd began to make their way home.

With the crowd behind him, he said to the men in the boat, “Mind if I lay down?  I’m pretty tired.”  Someone found a cushion, moldy and damp, for him to lay his head on.  When you’re exhausted, you’re not picky about your pillow.

The stars began to disappear behind clouds, and a dark night was swallowed by shadows on the water.  The experienced fishermen on the boat – Peter, Andrew, James, and John – knew the first hints of a storm.

They had ridden out many storms on this lake, and like most men, were confident in their knowledge.  They grinned at each other and hollered good natured insults at the non-sailors, like Matthew: “Hey, tax boy!  Better hold onto your stomach!”  From the back of the boat, there was the steady, breathing rhythm of sound sleep. 

The wind started to build, the waves began to whitecap with luminous foam.  Hard drops of rain began to sting their skin.  You would expect a sleeping man to wake up, but the man in the back of the boat slept on.

There comes a point when experience and knowledge run out.  The waves grew higher, the wind stopped blowing and started howling, and the rain began to mix with hail.  Water was starting to wash over the low gunwale. Peter and John stopped exchanging wise-guy grins and began to look at each other anxiously.  The boat was not being pushed by the wind; it was being tossed by the waves and slammed by the fierce air.  It seemed like the atmosphere was attacking the boat and the others on the lake.

How weary must you be to sleep through a storm?  How frightened do you have to be to admit you don’t know what to do?  It dawned on them that they needed to wake him and let him know they were all about die – and him too.  How could a man sleep with death approaching?

“Rabbi,” they said, “Don’t you even care that we are dying?”  Translation: “How can you sleep at a time like this?  We’re all about to die!”

It was funny when they thought back about it later.  His eyes scrunched up, like eyes do when they are woken too early.  His shoulder muscles tightened and then relaxed.  Finally, his eyes opened, with no trace of anxiety or panic.  He was the same Rabbi they had seen awaken so many calm mornings on land.

He looked at their panic-stricken faces and he smiled.  They were like children who think the world is ending because there is no peanut butter in the house.  Lifting his head from the pillow, with just a trace of “being-woke-too-early” in his voice, he turned away from his followers to speak to the storm.

“Peace!  Be Still!”  It was a tone of voice they recognized.  He was not speaking a suggestion to the storm but giving a command.  His voice held the same authority he used to drive out demons and heal the sick.  It was the voice that had echoes of calling stars into being and commanding plants to spring up out of the ground.  When he spoke like this, things happened.

This time, something stopped happening.  As the words rolled off his lips, the wind stopped.  The waves did not die down, they disappeared.  In a second, a blink of an eye, the “we’re going to die” storm changed to complete peace.

He looked at them with a puzzled expression, “Why were you so worked up?  Are you still missing faith?”

They looked at each other, jaws dropped.  It was Peter who spoke first (always): “Who is this guy?  He’s not just a healer, not just a teacher.  Creation obeys him.  Creation only obeys the creator.  So, this means…  Whoa!”

Whatever storm you are facing, Jesus is not anxious about it.  His peace is greater than any wind that blows.  His grace is stronger than your fear.  His love can heal the bruises of the hail and the sting of the rain.  Call out to him.  Tell him you need him.  Let him calm the storm raging in you.