Grace (part 4)

It has been eighteen years since the L.A. riots.  An African-American man named Rodney King had been arrested by police officers and during the arrest was beaten by them.  All of this was captured on videotape and used as evidence in a court trial against the arresting officers.  But even with the incriminating visual proof of abuse the officers were acquitted.  

That’s when all hell broke loose in Los Angeles and people began to riot in the streets.

 

Amidst the riot a thirty-three year old truck driver named Reginald Denny was minding his own business when he was pulled from his truck by angry young rioters and beaten almost to death.  This beating was also captured on video and used in court proceedings against the young rioters.  And yet the rioters were set free!  How is this possible?  Its possible because Reginald Denny is a citizen of God’s Kingdom and had the grace within himself to forgive his assailants.  Later he went on Phil Donahue and the talk show host just shook his head in disbelief.  “These men tried to murder you Mr. Denny!” 

That sounds very familiar.  Like a dying man on a cross uttering the words “Father, forgive them…”  It has been said that to forgive is divine.  This is true.  But my theology says that we have been indwelled with the divine.  Should Reginald Denny be some kind of freak extreme of how far a human being can go to show grace?  Or should his example be the norm?  

Everything about God’s grace is a gift.  His unmerited favor in accepting us no matter where we’ve been or what we’ve done is a gift.  When the grace he pours into us is allowed to flow out of us, it is still God’s gift.  We may choose to let it flow, and our decision and our will are imperative.   But ultimately the power to show grace comes from the one who put that grace into us.  And isn’t it amazing that when we are able to show grace, and forgiveness, that it always brings some measure of healing and peace to our own souls?  Grace is a wonderful gift.  It is quite simply --- amazing!  

Grace (part 3)

It is convenient for us to forget that in the story there is another son.  In fact, Jesus is telling this story to the religious leaders called Pharisees, who had no real concept of grace.  They could not understand why Jesus spent so much time with the outcasts of society.  So, Jesus tells them three stories about a lost sheep, a lost coin, and a lost son, driving home the point that his mission was to seek and save the lost.  The Pharisees, with their legalistic, uncompassionate ways, are the other son. 

The other son is hard working, diligent, and loyal; in most measurable ways a good person.  However, when it comes time to rejoice over the safe return of his brother he stiffens and bristles.  In fact, culturally it is he that should have been organizing and giving the party.  Instead, he refuses to even be happy that his brother is alive! 

Doesn't this story hit home just a little?  Sure, Jesus is giving the Pharisees what they had coming.  But don’t you struggle just a bit with allowing the grace that God poured into you to spill over onto other people?  I know I struggle with being a grace centered person.  I am not always the best example to follow, I am afraid.  But we need to be clear about this.  God expects the grace he has extravagantly poured into us, to be poured out in the same way. 

This is anti-cultural to say the least.  It doesn't fit in our system of living to be merciful, gracious, and forgiving.  That’s why the words of Jesus can sometimes seem scandalous.  He said, “Forgive, even as I have forgiven you.”  God’s forgiveness of mankind is complete and authentic.  There is no other way to read his words than as straightforward as they are delivered.  We are called to forgive in the same way.  It sounds very good in church on Sunday morning, but can seem positively scandalous in the real world. 

You can understand why Peter would ask Jesus the question. 

"Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?" Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.               Matthew 18:21-22

This surely must have been a Kodak moment.  According to the Scribes and Pharisees you are only required to forgive someone up to three times.  By now Peter knows that Jesus’ ways go beyond those of the Pharisees, so he asks “up to seven times?”  I would loved to have seen his face when Jesus said, “No, seventy-seven times.”  And Jesus must have noticed Peter’s jaw on the floor because he tells a story to explain what he means. 

The main character of this story is a servant that owes an enormous debt to the king.  When he comes before the king he begs for mercy hoping that he and his family will not be cast into prison, which is the custom.  And just like the father in the story of the prodigal son, the king in this story shows grace and mercy and forgives the man’s debt in its entirety.  He does not postpone the debt, nor does he set the man up on a system of payments.  He completely cancels the debt. 

Well, after the man left the presence of the benevolent king, obviously with a new lease on life, he happens upon someone that is indebted to him.  The scenario is flipped so that he is suddenly the one with the upper hand and the ability to show mercy.  However, instead of allowing the extravagant grace to spill out onto his debtor, he decides to demand payment.  The king hears about it and is outraged.  Wouldn't you be?  If we are not people of grace, do we really understand the grace that God showed to us?  

More to come... (and by the way... I realize the font is changing size in the middle of my posts.  I have not been able to fix this as of yet.  Sorry if it is distracting.)  

Grace (part 2)

I have often felt that being a father has helped me understand God more than any other aspect of my life.  The joy of granting my son forgiveness, helping his young little soul to heal, is an event from my life that brought me close to God’s heart.  He is often referred to in Scripture as our Father.  Jesus tells us a story about the kind of Father he is when he shares the parable of the Prodigal Son.  

Charles Dickens called it the greatest short story ever written. 

As the story goes, a young man is living and working in his father’s household but decides to leave.  He wants to do things his way and be rid of the oppressive life he believes he is living.  But not only does he want to leave, he also wants his inheritance before he goes.  Even today an inheritance is only received when someone dies.  The son was telling his father, “I wish you were dead.”   Now, no father in that culture would concede and give this kind of child his inheritance.  But this father is different.  His ways are different.  And he gives the young man his share of the estate. 

Immediately the son goes away and begins to live “extravagantly.”  That is what the word ‘prodigal’ means, by the way.  He is called a prodigal because he goes away and lives extravagantly.  But after going through all of his inheritance, and being deserted by his friends, he “began to be in need,” (Luke 15:14).  What an understatement!  To “be in need” is the same phrase that is translated as “fall short” in Romans 3:23, where it says we have all sinned and “fallen short” of the glory of God. 

I love how the next part of the story goes.  Jesus says, “When he came to his senses…”  Can you hitch your own horse to that phrase?  That’s when he decided that the best place for him to be was with his father.  Even more than that, he thought that if somehow his father could see past his terrible behavior then he might be able to live as one of his servants and at least survive.  What the father does in this story is beyond reason… unless you are a father. 

This father sees his son a ways away, which means he must have been watching for him, or had told his servants to be on the lookout.  He runs to greet him, throws his arm around him, puts a robe on his back and a ring on his finger.  His actions send a message to the community around him, “This is my son!  I accept him!”  Culturally, after what this son did to his father, the members of the community had the right to stone him to death.  But the father ran to him.  And his actions went well beyond forgiveness.  His actions showed acceptance.  As it turns out, it is the father that is truly extravagant.  Don’t try to wrap your mind around it.  Just let your heart be washed in it. 

Paul says that we have a ‘spirit of adoption’ that causes us to call God ‘Abba,’ which is an Aramaic word for father.  But not just ‘father,’ more like ‘daddy.’  In the culture of Paul’s time, just like today, adopted children are granted rights as though they had been naturally born into the family.  God is our father in the most intimate of ways.  And he has met many of us on the road with his arms stretched wide ready to bring us home once again.  

Grace (part 1)

My life is halfway finished and I am nowhere close to a rational understanding of grace.  Someone once defined grace, quite appropriately, as the unmerited favor of God.  If it is unmerited, then it doesn't fit into a realm rational behavior.  So I have stopped trying to wrap my head around grace and instead chosen to simply bask in it. 

I have been able to experience grace in many ways.  Sometimes it’s the painful awareness of my own sin and the relief that God does not hold it against me.  Many times it comes from the people in my life that overlook my faults, people who themselves are filled with God’s grace.  Grace is quite simply --- amazing.  And in my life God has given me great snapshots of his unmerited favor. 

When my oldest son, Ryan, was eight years old he decided he wanted to be baptized.  With children you never know whether they are making that kind of a decision based on conviction or something else, like seeing someone getting baptized and thinking it looks like fun.  So we asked him some questions, explained a few things, and put him off for the time being.  Although he seemed to know the right things, we weren’t sure whether his heart was in it.  After all, repentance is part of coming into a relationship with God, and how can an eight year old be repentant?  My wife and I began to pray for a way to know his true heart.  Specifically, I prayed for God to give me a teachable moment with my son. 

About two weeks later I went out of town for about a week.  I always get the wife and kids some kind of gift for having to do without me for a week (although that may have been gift enough).  I got Ryan a video game for his PlayStation and he loved it.  A few days later he wanted to take the game over to a friend’s house.  Now usually that’s a big no-no in our home, taking video games to someone else’s house.  But I was feeling gracious and said he could.  The next day I got a phone call from his friend’s mother.  Evidently my son, upon reaching his friends house and finding them riding skateboards, put the game on their car and forgot all about it.

I hung up the phone and called Ryan to the kitchen table to ask him about the video game.  He knew he was busted and confessed his crime.  I told him how frustrating it was to have spent money on a game for him that he left sitting outside, and then proceeded to dole out his punishment.  That’s when I realized that God had given me the perfect teachable moment for my child to understand the gospel.  I said to my son, “Ryan, you are grounded from the television and video games for a week.  But here is what is going to happen.  I am going to take your grounding.” 

He looked at me like I was insane, his eyes quickly becoming question marks.  “Yes Ryan.  I love you, and even though you really messed up, instead of you being punished, I am going to be punished.”   My son didn't really know how to react.  He thought it was some kind of trick.  Finally, after sitting there a bit confused, he left the table and went to play.

I was feeling pretty good about my parental wisdom.  But I will be honest with you --- that was a tough week!  No television!  I didn't realize until that week how much I enjoyed watching television.  Truly, it was tough.   And all week when Ryan would notice that while everyone else was enjoying television or video games, dad was doing something else.  In the middle of the week he was so bothered he came and said, “Dad, you don’t have to do this anymore.  I can be the one grounded.”  But I insisted that I would remain grounded instead of him. 

At the end of the week I called Ryan back to the kitchen table.  I asked him if he understood why I took his grounding.  He stuttered and stammered; worried that he would be in trouble if he didn’t have an answer.  I said, “Ryan, it’s very simple.  Even though you were the one that deserved to be grounded, I love you and decided to be grounded instead.  I wanted you to see an example of what Jesus did for you.”  Of course I explained that being grounded from television doesn't even come close when compared to the cross.  And you could see the wheels turning in his little mind. 

“Dad, I need to tell you something,” he said. “Do you remember when I was five and Allison was three, and she got in trouble for pulling the blinds down in the living room?”  I honestly did not remember that incident, but I nodded yes so he could continue.  “Well,” he said slowly.  And then tears came to his eyes.  “It wasn't Allison that did it.  It was me.  So, would you spank me?” 

I am not exaggerating in saying that this was one of the most profound moments of my life.  My poor little eight year old boy had been carrying this guilt around for three years.  It left a burning sense of shame in his sweet little heart.  And when he finally had the opportunity to unload his burden he took advantage.  Even, as he thought, if it meant punishment.  Now that is repentance.  It was my joy to tell him that he was forgiven for his lie, and that God also had forgiven him for all of his sins. 

Our lives bear the truth of the Scripture.  We are born into this world as innocent as doves, and as we grow and learn we discover right from wrong.  Eventually, because we are human beings, we choose the wrong path.  But God is a redeemer, and by grace he reaches out to us, and helps us overcome the guilt and shame that seek to destroy us from the inside.  

Midway

The midway point.  That’s what it was called on our map.  My wife and I were celebrating our tenth anniversary with a trip to Lake Tahoe in the winter.  That was fifteen ago but seems nearer.  This particular day we spent on a snowmobile tour.  We couldn't really afford for each of us to drive our own snowmobile so we shared.  The trip was almost an afterthought for us, but turned out to be the highlight of our trip. 

After a couple of hours of riding across open fields, in and out of forest, and over hills with majestic viewpoints, we reached the midway point.  Our journey was halfway finished.  They had an outdoor kitchen with a few healthy snacks and several pots of hot water for hot chocolate or cider.  It was a great place to rest a bit before the final leg, warm up our insides… and reflect on the journey up to that point. 

On the edge of our outdoor kitchen was an observation area that looked down into the valley from which we had emerged.  We saw the open fields, the forests that provided natural tunnels, the brooks and streams that kept moving despite the cold.  And though we enjoyed each spot with its varied terrain and took full advantage of each special moment, it looked a little different from this vantage.  Like pieces of a puzzle that when put together simply pictured one terrific journey. 

My life recently passed the midway point.  I remember thinking that this point was a long ways away.  My oldest son Ryan just celebrated senior night as a member of the varsity football team and my wife and I ran onto the field with him before the last regular season home game.  When I was a senior in high school playing my last home football game we had a senior night.  We ran out onto the field as our names were individually announced alongside the name of our fathers who were our escorts.  As my dad and I jogged to the middle of the field I tried to really enjoy the moment.  I looked at my dad in his goose down jacket and his cowboy boots, sporting a few extra pounds and a receding hairline, and I distinctly remember thinking --- dad’s getting old! 

He was seven years younger than I am now. 

So here I am, in a reflective phase of my life.  It is very likely that there is now less of a trail ahead of me than behind.  And while the final leg of my journey promises to be exciting I can’t help viewing life in my rear view mirror.  When I do I notice that each part of this terrific trip has simply been one piece of the puzzle that when looked at together reveals the work of an artist.  Not that my life has been anything that some would call extraordinary, but it has been graced with these undeniably divinely shaped moments that I recognize so much better as I look back from my midway point.    

GOD

I am not sure when I first became aware of God.  I guess that would be like trying to remember when you began to eat solid food.  It just seems that God has always been distinctly present in my life even before I could articulate a belief or sing “Jesus Loves Me.”    I just don’t remember a time when I was not aware of him.

There is a story told about Helen Keller, about the first time her teacher told her about Jesus.  According to the story Helen Keller got very excited and communicated these words to her teacher; “I have always known him.”  Maybe we are born with some kind of innate understanding of our maker and with each passing day begin to know him personally. 

No, I can’t recall a moment when I first became aware of God.  But he has always been aware of me.  Even before I was born he seems to have been aware of me.  When God spoke to the prophet Jeremiah he said,  “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you…” (Jer. 1:5).  

What a profound thought!  That even before you were a gleam in your daddy’s eye, you were a gleam in the eye of your heavenly Father!  He exists in a way that is not restricted by the dimension of time and space he created, so his knowledge of you and I is beyond a concept of beginning and end.  The philosophy and science of this engages my mind in wonder.  But the spiritual reality of being that important to the maker of this vast universe touches my heart. 

King David sat out on the veranda of his palace and gazed up into to heavens.  He saw the moon and the stars, and gazed onto the infinite black recesses between the stars, and suddenly felt small.  David said, “What is man that you are mindful of him?”  (Psalm 8:4)  He is asking, “Among all of this majestic heavenly grandeur, who am I to you?” 

That question might be even more profound today.  Our science teaches us something that David did not know --- that there are billions of galaxies in what appears to be an ever-expanding universe.   There are exponentially more people on this tiny orb floating in space.  So, we keep getting smaller and smaller in this vast universe.  And yet, it is still proven true by what we learn and what we experience, that God knows us each so well that, according to Jesus, even the hairs on our heads are numbered.  Not that difficult to keep track of my hairs, but when I think about someone like Troy Polamalu, I am impressed. (Google him)  

And as I stand at this midway point of my life and look back down the trail I see some places where God surely must have been with me.  I will use the next few entries to share… 

Seasons

Recently I spent a week visiting family in Texas.  As I pulled out of my driveway to make the trek I took a good look at the flaming red maple in our front yard, on fire with color illuminating the season.  I was sad when I returned several days later to see that almost every leaf from the tree was gone.  A powerful wind came through one day and stripped the tree of its Fall beauty.  

It left me anxious for a future autumn. 

Fall is drawing closer to an end and the beauty of this quarterly season has once again provided our eyes and souls with natural art.  It has me thinking about each season the year brings, and how each season has a beauty of its own.  

Very much like the seasons of our lives. 

SPRING

As the temperatures of winter begin to warm into Spring, new buds on trees, new green hues in the grass, and new flowers emerge as from a long slumber. It reminds me of new birth.   It reminds me of being young, and having your whole life ahead of you. 

We are always in such a hurry to move on from this place in our lives and often miss the real beauty of youth --- and new beginnings.  Education.  Marriage.  Children.  And many firsts.  There is an energy and a youthful vigor that we often don’t appreciate until our lives are in a new season.  Spring has its own beauty. 

SUMMER

During Summer the Spring has done its work and now everything is in full bloom and fruitful.  This is the prime of our lives when we have in many ways reached a destination.  Our careers are in full swing.  Our philosophy and worldview has solidified.  We have grown and matured and begin to notice the beauty of a life we have treated like a race, and we long to simply stop and smell the proverbial roses.  Summer has its own beauty.  It is in many ways the graduation of Spring. 

    

FALL

Fall is a little like Spring in that it is a transitional period.  Summer warmth does not immediately become Winter’s cold.  There is this beautiful period of the year when summer has come to an end but winter is still not upon us.

Isn't it interesting that the leaves are the most beautiful when they are in the last stages of  life?  They take on a beauty that the most fruitful summer can only envy.  We human beings have this transitional phase.  We have raised our children, and now begin to think about how we will spend the rest of our lives. 

As a parent I weep with joy and also loss at photos of the Spring time of our marriage, having our children, building a home.  And as much as I long for the Spring, I am looking forward to the beauty that the next phase of our lives will bring.  Fall is beautiful. 

WINTER

Winter can be cold.  Winter can bring lots of difficulty to a life.  As we reach this stage of existence the colorful leaves have been cast off, the grass has died, and the year has run its course for vibrant vegetation.  Winter may not be my favorite season, but it certainly has its own beauty. 

I remember taking that long Texas trip a few years ago in the early days of winter. Leaving very early in the morning I arrived at the edge of the Flint Hills just after sunrise.  The Flint Hills certainly have their own beauty, as the prairie contributes its unique brand of artistry.  The green fields of Spring and the colorful flowers of Summer are truly missed when the landscape is nothing but… brown. However, the cold air that brings death to ground growth is the same catalyst for breathtaking beauty.

The temperatures reached freezing in the night and as I entered the Flint Hills the ground was covered in a sheet of ice as far as the eye could see.  Each blade of the tall grass was an individual icicle.  And as the sun peeked over the horizon the reflections in the ice were nothing short of enchanting.  In the death of winter I found life giving food for my soul.  The beauty on that plain would be envied by the other seasons if they were flesh and blood. 

In the winter cold a beauty emerges.  A lifetime of wisdom and gratitude, often marked with the effects of wintry loss, can rest in assurances that Spring will happen again.  Spring will come for their progeny, and for the soul of the life traveler making tracks in the snow. 

The Cry of the Flesh... A Holy Expression

I had only been living in Paducah, Kentucky for about five months when a fourteen year old boy, Michael Carneal, walked into one of our high schools and opened fire on a ‘before school’ prayer meeting.  Three young ladies died from gunshot wounds that day.  One young lady was kept alive on machines until her father, away on business, could come home and say his goodbyes. 

           

Before the day was over students were hanging signs around the school that said “We Forgive You Michael.”  Because that’s what Christians do, right?  They forgive.  Even though the sun was yet to reach mid-sky. Even before the final goodbyes between a father and his daughter.  My heart and soul have this question:  what gave those students the right to forgive when they were not the ones who suffered? 

            

At lunch time I stood in line at a fast food restaurant waiting to order.  There was a television on the wall with continuing coverage of the shooting.  Directly in front of me was a crusty old codger of a man in overalls staring at the television and shaking his head.  “They should hang that boy from the highest tree they can find,” he declared in disgust.  I found myself in profound agreement with him --- which put me outside the Christian camp for the moment.  In the midst of this tragedy this average old codger expressed the heart of many hurting people. 

It was like an imprecatory psalm. 

            

With each passing day of human existence I have come to have a deep appreciation for the Psalms.   Most of Scripture is a matter of God speaking and his people listening.  The psalms, however, are humanity speaking back to God.  The verses written were put to music and used to express praise to God for his provision, his goodness, and his mercy.  As a collection they are truly the earliest of songbooks for God’s people. 

But would it shock you to find, tucked away in the hymns of the holy, verses like these? 

Let death take my enemies by surprise; 

       let them go down alive to the grave,   Psalm 55:15 

Break the teeth in their mouths, O God…   Psalm 58:6 

May his children be fatherless and his wife a widow.    Psalm 109:9 

           

This is just a sampling of what are called ‘imprecatory psalms.’ Does it seem odd, or maybe even offensive, to find such evil intentions in the hearts and minds of someone writing a psalm?  After all, we are aware of the teachings of God’s Son, who says that we are not to repay evil for evil.  He also says to love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.  The word “imprecate” means to wish evil on someone.  So how is it that in God’s Word you have such strong anti-Christian language?  Or, as one student of the Scripture asked, “what are these verses doing in my Bible?” 

            

First of all, God didn’t write the Psalms.  Remember, these psalms are human beings expressing thoughts, feelings, and emotions to God.  If that troubles you or challenges your understanding of what it means for the Bible to be inspired then you might want to remember that God spoke to the world through people.  He inspired the writers of Scripture to speak his words within their own context, in their own language and in their own style.  If we limit our understanding of inspiration to mean that God grabbed the prophet or poets hand and guided the writing that strictly then we miss a big part of the dynamic role human beings play in how God is made known to the world. 

            

And with the psalms the writer cries out to God from a human standpoint.  We are able to connect with those ancient writers who experienced doubt and disillusion, anger and disappointment, and even pain and agony.  Our lives are littered with these human experiences.  These ancient poets were able to articulate what many people felt when it came to navigating life as a person of faith.  But notice that they took their troubles and questions and confusions to the right place.  To God himself. 

            

The writer of Psalm 55 begins his psalm, “Listen to my prayer, O God, do not ignore my plea; hear me and answer me.  My thoughts trouble me and I am distraught…”  And within the psalm you find resolve for the writer, like v. 22 which remind the worshiper, “Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you…”   The writer of Psalm 58 asks to be avenged by God, but throughout the psalm you find that he trusts God to make things right.  So he is able to simply trust that God will handle things and he can simply worship… “With my mouth I will greatly extol the LORD; in the great throng I will praise him.”

           

I like the earthiness of the psalms because life is not lived in a sanctuary.  The sanctuary helps us see the world differently, and gives us fresh perspective.  Like the writer of Psalm 73 who nearly lost his faith when he watched wicked people flourish and good people perish.  His vision became clear when he went to God, “When I tried to understand all this, it was oppressive to me, till I entered the sanctuary of God…” 

But life is lived as you walk away from the sanctuary.   

           

I think this is why the 23rd Psalm is so often used at funerals.  Personally, I often feel inept when it comes to helping people cope with death.  I always feel so short on answers.  But in most cases answers don’t help or alleviate suffering.  What seems to help is a willingness to share in someone’s suffering.  This psalm, number 23 in the collection, is like a friend who comes along side of you and helps you speak when you simply do not have the words.  It says that though we may experience times of darkness and doubt, we don’t need to fear because our shepherd is caring for us.  I am thankful for David and his ancient expression. 

            

The psalms help us connect to a God who understands what it means to be human.  When Jesus came into this world he wrapped himself in human flesh and lived among his creation.  His sod traveling existence took him down roads of pain and suffering.  In that garden the night before he was arrested and killed he cried out to God in agony and even fear, but his cries were transformed into words of trust and faith.  And from the cross he even borrowed the words of a psalm writer when he cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  (Psalm 22:1). 

May the words of the Psalms allow you to express your true plight to God, and may your expressions be met with the calmness and security that can only come from your creator.   

Can the Cross Be Seen From Where You Are?

The Gospels tell the story of God inserting himself into our story in the flesh and blood of his son, Jesus of Nazareth.  Each biography accounts for selected events in the life of the Savior according to the audience to whom they were writing.  For example, Luke is the only one that tells us the story of Jesus in the temple as a young boy of twelve --- the first year he would have been allowed in the temple.  That is a very Greek way of writing about heroes, sharing a scene from childhood that demonstrates that the hero we know was already becoming a hero as a boy. 

Matthew has a deep interest in noting how events in the life of the Messiah fulfilled prophecy.  His gospel is not chronological and is instead grouped along the lines of subject matter, a very Jewish way of writing.  His goal is to reach his Hebrew brethren with the good news.  Mark seems to be written to a Roman audience.  It is a bit more concise.  And John’s gospel, written several decades after the other three, addresses some theological issues concerning the nature and identity of Jesus Christ that had arisen over the early days of Christianity. 

But the biographers are on a race to the cross. 

In all four gospels the bulk of writing is reserved for the final week of Jesus’ life.  His birth, his boyhood, his three years as a traveling teacher, are all covered in a Cliff’s Notes kind of arrangement including prominent scenes and dialogues.  But the days immediately leading up to, and the hours immediately during, the crucifixion are chronicled in dramatic detail. 

It seems to me the crucifixion of Jesus is the epicenter of God’s story. 

Well, of course it is, right?  I am not telling you anything new.  In fact, the cross has become the symbol of our faith.  It dots our landscapes on church buildings.  It adorns our bodies in ornate jewelry.  It lives through the ages in art.  If you paid special attention one day to noticing this ancient symbol you would be surprised how many times you see a cross. 

On Interstate 40 just east of Amarillo, near the small town of Groom, is a cross that stands 190 feet tall.  Ten million people pass by this landmark every year and, according to their website, one thousand people stop.  It can be seen from twenty miles away.  Interestingly, a group from Illinois was inspired by the epic structure and decided to build one for themselves.  Eight feet taller.    

The cross is precious to us as people of faith.  It is a reminder of the amazing grace and love of our God. The place where my burdens are lifted and my sins are pardoned.  A reminder of the kind of God Abraham met next to the altar where his son lay ready to be killed.   A God who intervened and proclaimed a promise that echoes throughout eternity.  “I will provide the sacrifice.” 

The cross is the symbol I cling to in my imperfections, knowing that God loves me even when I am at my worst.  It makes me right with Him by virtue of the one perfect sacrifice to end all sacrifices.  I am righteous in God’s sight because he sees me through the atoning sacrifice of the unblemished lamb of God.  The lamb’s shed blood ironically washes me clean and makes me pure in the sight of God. 

And the cross is the place where I choose to die. Right? 

It’s where Jesus died for me.  So why do I have to die? 

Jesus died for my sins, and the sins of the world.  That is what happened on the cross.  He died FOR me.  Why would I have to die?  Well, you tell me what we should do with words like these…

Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and  

follow me.  For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.   Luke 9:23-24

TAKE UP your cross, and follow me…

Take up YOUR cross, and follow me…

Take up your CROSS, and FOLLOW ME…

God did not mean for the cross to be an historical point of reference.  He meant for it to be an ever present reality. 

A tangible answer to corruption and evil. 

A method for human relationships. 

A way of living that counters culture and turns our own world upside down.

A very bloody way to end bloodshed.

A call to die… so we can truly live. 

And so I wonder, among our landscapes of steeple supported and sky reaching crosses, is the cross really visible?   

Forgotten Miracle

I don't know if you have a specific place in your house where you sit to pay bills.  For me its either the kitchen table or a small wooden desk upstairs.  Both have a hard wooden chair, which fits the uncomfortable task of paying bills.

A couple of weeks ago I was going over our bills and looking at a few receipts while Thomas and his friend Isaiah, who had spent the previous night with us, played in the living room.  A few of you know that we have had quite the summer in the Koelzer household.  Both of our main vehicles had major, expensive issues.  Our refrigerator went out, our water heater went out, our air conditioning went out... twice!  Even the front door knob broke off in my wife's hand.  It was a stressful and very expensive summer.  Sometimes when it rains, it pours.

Of course we are not the only family that has ever had to deal with breaking down appliances and breaking down cars.  And many of you have had a cascade of problems contained within a short amount of time just like us.  But it sure can be depressing.

Thomas and Isaiah came into the kitchen while I was looking up information about pulling the starter off our Corolla to have it tested --- third vehicle to break down.  Isaiah needed me to open a little drink pack he has to to have every day to take care of his transplanted organs.  I gladly opened it for him, patted him on the head, and went back to my computer screen.  As he walked away he asked, "when is Miss Heather going to take us swimming?"

Just as I was about to go upstairs to pull up our carpet and assess the damage from a leaking window (thank you Hurricane Isaac), I heard Isaiah laugh loudly.  And as I turned to look at him I felt like God was speaking to me.  It seemed like he was saying, "Remember?  Do you remember?"

For those of you who do not know, Isaiah Johnson is the  eleven year old adopted son of Aaron and Jennifer Johnson.  He was born with his intestines outside of his body and has spent a large portion of his life in hospitals.  Ike, as he is known at home, had an organ transplant a handful of years ago, and it failed.  Most recently he has had a three organ transplant.  Yes, I said THREE organ transplant, all at once.  On many occasions Isaiah was not only knocking on death's door, but about to break the door down.  And we prayed.  We prayed many times for Isaiah, sometimes at a loss for how to pray.  It seemed at many times that his pain was unbearable so we pondered the possibility of God  taking him home.  Those were tough days.

Isaiah lived.  He has beaten so many odds, and every day is a gift.  There was a time when I would see Isaiah and I would squeeze him tightly, praising God for this very visible miracle among us.  But I guess the new wore off, and I just take it for granted that Isaiah is part of our lives and spending the night with friends and going swimming.

In that casual moment of experiencing a child's laughter I was reminded of God's goodness.  Of how he has showered me with so much blessing, working miracles right before my eyes.  My life, my family... so many, many blessings I take for granted --- like the miraculous presence of a child who will forever occupy a place in my heart.

The book in our Bible called Lamentations is written by the prophet Jeremiah, often called the "weeping prophet."  The book is a lament on the condition of God's people and the overwhelming desolation of their land and city.  However, in the midst of his lament come these encouraging words.

Because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.   Lamentations 3:22-23 

I almost wonder if Jeremiah looked up from his papyrus to see a child laughing at play, and it made him realize that even in the midst of a deluge of lament, God rains down abundant blessing.  And sometimes when it rains... it pours.