What Shall We Wear?

[Excerpted from The Return Of The King. Frodo and Samwise have just destroyed the Ring of Power and collapsed in the volcanic aftermath. Sam wakes up to discover that they have not died, but are alive, regaining health, and in the care of Gandalf.]

     "...you were brought out of the fire to the King. He has tended you, and now he awaits you. You shall eat and drink with him. When you are ready, I will lead you to him."
     "The King?" said Sam. "What King, and who is he?"
     "The King of Gondor and Lord of the Western Lands," said Gandalf; " and he has taken back all his ancient realm. He will ride soon to his crowning, but he waits for you."
     "What shall we wear?" said Sam; for all he could see was the old and tattered clothes that they had journeyed in, lying folded on the ground beside their beds.
     "The clothes that you wore on your way to Mordor," said Gandalf, "Even the orc-rags that you wore in the black land, Samwise, shall be preserved. No silks or linens nor any armour or heraldry could be more honorable..."

Confession moment: I cannot read the above passage aloud to my children without my voice cracking and a stray tear or two (or three) leaking from my eyes. All hopes of keeping a straight face fail me at about the point where Sam asks what they will wear, and Gandalf answers, "The clothes that you wore on your way to Mordor..."

The kids of course can make no sense of my weepy ways at moments like these, but I have no trouble at all knowing where these tears come from. No trouble at all.

I cry because sometimes I feel like I'm on a weary journey too. Sometimes I feel like I'm wearing orc-rags. And sometimes I feel like my journey is doomed to failure. To be reminded that one day even my orc-rags might prove worthy of honor is unspeakably encouraging.

There must be a thousand reminders of Christian life lurking in The Lord of The Rings, but few for me are more near and dear than the ones so thinly veiled in this passage. What Christian, when reading it, is not reminded of Jesus Christ, his long journey to the cross, and the orc-rags which to this day Jesus wears to commemorate the culmination of his journey through Mordor?

John 20:26b-27a
...Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side...”

When Jesus rose victorious, his first stop was not at the home of a Hollywood make-up artist. Jesus did not undo the evils visited upon his body by evil men. Far from it.

Jesus reigns forever...

...With nail holes in his hands...

...And a gaping spear hole in his side.

To paraphrase Gandalf, "No perfect skin or touched-up beauty could be more honorable..."

Yes, orcs may do what they will do. But God redeems and makes beautiful even the scars from the worst events in our lives. Thanks to the mercy of Jesus Christ, we will one day share in a great victory over evil. One that will far overshadow the epic victory over the Dark Lord Sauron which Frodo and Samwise took part in.

...And on that day, we will wearing the marks and orc-rags we acquired on our own long journeys.

So bear up, Mr. Frodo. Tolkien is not the only one who knows how to bring hope from despair. Tolkien is not the only one who can snatch victory from a death march toward certain doom.

Tolkien is not the only one who can redeem even your orc-rags.

Jesus can do it too.

Lessons On Love From A Runt Hamster

One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was
walking along the beach with the LORD.

Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand:
one belonging to him, and the other to the LORD.

When the last scene of his life flashed before him,
he looked back at the footprints in the sand.

He noticed that many times along the path of
his life there was only one set of footprints.

He also noticed that it happened at the very
lowest and saddest times in his life.

This really bothered him and he
questioned the LORD about it:

"LORD, you said that once I decided to follow
you, you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most
troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when
I needed you most you would leave me."

The LORD replied:

"My son, my precious child,
I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you."


Footprints In The Sand, I'm not ashamed to admit, is one of my favorite poems. I've brazenly shared this fact with enough people to know that many consider the poem to be rather schmaltzy and maudlin. So be it. For me, the poem has never lost its beauty.

The reason why is simple. I've been through enough sorrows and enough lonely stretches in life to have an insatiable desire for Presence. To have someone with me, and to know that I am not alone precisely when I feel most alone.

I have, of course, always identified with the man in the poem: the one looking back at his life's journey and remembering those times when he was most hurt and most anguished. Recently, however, I was reminded of the poem by an experience that gave me (however slightly) a glimpse into God's perspective... the perspective of our God who says, "My son, my precious child, I love you and I would never leave you.."

A few months ago we mated our two hamsters intentionally. (I have a few rodent-hating friends who might find this clarifying adjective helpful.) Every now and then human parent gets things right, and such moments are to be celebrated precisely because they are so few and far between.

The decision to allow our hamsters to reproduce was a huge hit with the kids, and there was hardly a more excited moment in our home (for children and adults alike) than when the first hamster baby came toddling out of his mother's nest.

For those not versed in these arts, it must be understood that hamster moms can and do consume their children (literally) when they feel stressed. So the arrival of a "live one" into the open air of the cage was cause for sighs of relief all around. As the days passed our joy increased with each new healthy baby that tumbled out of the nest.

All in all, we eventually discovered that there were ten baby hamsters in that unbelievably small nest. And they grew. Quickly.

Before long our beloved and tired hamster mom bailed on her kids with increasing frequency, trying to catch a few winks of sleep in any place of refuge she could find. Corner of the cage... on top of her little wooden house... Watching a sleepy mom trying to get some peace and rest was truly a hilarious sight and, I think, the tipping point for my wife to truly fall in love with our little rodents. There are some things only mothers understand; shared trench experiences make for lasting bonds.

But all did not go without a hitch. Some days after the baby-sightings began we noticed a stunted runt flailing about helplessly outside the nest. With food as bait we enticed Mamma near to the "lost soul" and were apprehensively relieved to see her lug the little one back into the nest. Would the child get life-restoring sustenance there? We hoped against hope.

That night my wife asked me to do one last spot-check downstairs. Was the baby safe in the nest still? No. Mamma hamster instinctively knew this one was heading down fast and, following the laws of the wild, had re-deposited him outside her nest.

Thus began our struggle to save a dying runt. And dying it clearly was. This one was clearly smaller than his nine siblings and quite malnourished. My wife gave as only a mother can. She got up regularly throughout the night, dropper-feeding warm milk to the famished little one. The below picture, taken the next morning, showed a markedly improved hamster.

Our hopes began to rise, but on the second morning we woke to find the little one in a fetal position. When I picked it up, little Runt (so named by the children) breathed its last right there and then, in the palm of my hand.

I made my peace with the outcome quickly, but over the next few hours found myself reflecting on our loss of, in the eyes of the world, such a very small thing. What struck me most was how very different my feelings for this hamster were, as opposed to how I felt about the nine healthy ones still puttering about in the cage.

This hamster's own mother had rejected him. His nine siblings didn't in any real sense even know he existed. Or care. Runt was abandoned by all. All hamsters, that is.

But beings much greater than hamsters had taken him (and him in particular) into their concerns in a way that vastly overshadowed our care for the other hamsters. The needs of nine hamsters were met via daily additions to one food dish. Runt, in contrast, we hand-fed on an hourly basis throughout the night. Yes, if love is expressed in action, we loved Runt not least, but most.

There were of course ten babies. And they were all wanted and loved. But it was the one that died in my hands that I loved most and worked hardest for on that day.

It was hard for my thoughts not to be drawn back to that Footprints poem in the midst of these reflections.

Does God care when we suffer?

Do we even need to ask? God cares beyond anything that words can express.

And yet... And yet... we are tempted to wonder where God is when we suffer. We look at those who are not suffering and wonder why God loves them more.

Could anything be further from the truth? Nobody has more of God's attention or more of God's affections than those who are suffering.

We don't have easy answers to the question of why our omnipotent and loving God allows us to suffer, but my short time with Runt served to remind me well of how very much our God adores us and dotes on us.

"My son, my precious child,
I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you."

Lessons On Prayer From A Gift Catalog: Epilogue

Note: This reflection is a continuation of Part II

I am thankful to report that my journey with the gift catalog had one more stop before the end of the line.

A few days ago while at lunch with a friend I poured out my sorrows regarding this child of mine who had expressed no interest in the gift catalog. My friend's response was constructive and encouraging. He challenged me to realize that there were ways to broach the topic without putting my child in the judgment seat. Ways to open the conversation without condemnation.

Thankful for this input, I changed course. A few days later at an opportune moment I gently raised the topic with the child. Was there a gift purchase the child would like me to make?

To my surprise, the child recalled having opted for the surgery fund I had mentioned. We had obviously miscommunicated, since this was very much news to me, but it was good news. I had thought the child had opted out of the whole business. The child thought otherwise.

The child was clearly not so apathetic as I had feared. But to discover this good news, I needed to create space for it — space created by relationship and communication. It almost didn't happen.

Once again I am reminded of how priceless a good friend is — especially the kind that prod me and poke me when I need it.

Once again I am reminded that when I assume the worst (and proceed as if it's already reality) I can become midwife to the very outcome I dread.

But scriptures bid me do otherwise.

1 Corinthians 13:6-7 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Lessons On Prayer From A Gift Catalog: Part II

Note: This reflection follows on the heels of Part I

But my lessons on prayer from the gift catalog were not over yet.

Some days after several children expressed interest in "buying a cow and some chickens," I got on the phone to find out just how much each animal costs. It was a simple question, I thought, but the answer proved more complicated.

After getting a representative from the charity on the line, I soon found out that gifts "toward the purchase of a cow" essentially go into a pooled livestock fund. All well and good, except for the fact that I had really hoped to get pictures back of the cows we purchased alongside their happy new owners. I asked the representative if it would be possible for my children to receive pictures of recipients alongside their new cows?

No. There is no one-to-one matching between donors and cows.

Bummer.

She was making perfect sense, but it wasn't what I had hoped to hear. Could they send us a picture of someone receiving a cow, even if there is no exact mapping between donor dollars and any particular cow?

No.

Frustration. This conversation was not going according to plan. I changed the topic to the possibility of a life-saving surgery that we were also considering. Would we be able to know what that surgery would be? Know who it would be for?

No.

More frustration. Here too, however, the woman was making perfect sense. There were privacy issues at stake, plus the fact that surgery decisions are made pretty quickly, so they cannot predict in advance where the money yada yada yada...

The conversation was friendly enough, and I understood where the woman was coming from, but I got off the phone feeling rather frustrated and deflated.

The fact of the matter was, I had wanted to get some photos and stories to go with our giving. Adults can do without photos, but I felt that photos would make a big difference for my children. Photos would make more the reality of their gift-giving more concrete.

But a thought began to nag me. It wasn't entirely about my children. When it came down to it, I too wanted to know what surgery we had purchased, if we went that route.

I began to consider alternative options. In our home there were other gift catalogs of the same nature. Hmmmm. We could buy a buffalo for a family in India from that other catalog instead. Maybe they could accommodate my request for photos.

And in came the painful realization. New insights into my own brokenness.

I have no business approaching these gift catalogs like an American consumer, but that's exactly what I'm doing.

Ouch.

I had gone into that phone call with a shopping agenda. When I didn't hear what I wanted to hear, I started to consider shopping elsewhere. That's pretty arrogant and rude, considering what's at stake on the other side of this transaction. Families in need swinging in the balance of my own petty shopping preferences.

Once again, I began to see connections between the gift catalog and prayer.

• I should not have approached the gift catalog as a consumer.
Neither should I enter into prayer as a consumer.

• I was expecting the charity to tell me precisely what I bought.
Sometimes I expect God to do the same with my prayers.

• When I didn't perceive the charity to be fawning over my charity dollars, I was tempted to spend them elsewhere.
When I don't perceive God to be fawning over my prayer time, I am tempted to spend it elsewhere.

• The charity will put my money to good use.
God will do the same with my prayers.

• But I don't make the rules for the charity.
And God is in charge of the prayer business.

These thoughts were making me squirm, and probing questions from God began to surface in my mind.

Pilgrim, when you pray to me for someone else... Is it about you? Or about me and them?

Ouch.

Pilgrim, when I answer your prayers with a Yes, you often make it known that you were praying. Are you trying to claim ownership of outcomes that came from my hand alone?

Double Ouch.

But little Pilgrim, when I answer other prayers with a No, you get pretty silent. That isn't very consistent, is it?

Triple Ouch.

My child, I answer all of your prayers well. But my ways are not yours, and my reasons are not yours. Will you still trust me with the outcomes?

...Or do you expect me too to send you photos?

Note: This reflection continues with an Epilogue

Lessons On Prayer From A Gift Catalog: Part I

Over the past few years our charitable giving has not kept up with the amount of money we've set aside for that purpose. In short, inflows regularly exceed outflows. Time to take our charitable giving up a notch.

But where should the money go?

It struck me early on that I wanted our kids to be involved in answering that question. My hope ever was that their involvement would foster awareness of (a) how unbelievably wealthy we are by world standards, and (b) what life is like for the poorest of the poor. I hoped to see our children grow in their compassion and love for the poor and downtrodden of this world.

Making the task that much the easier, missions organizations send out "gift catalogs" around this time of year. You can buy a goat... a chicken... give a family a cow. You can buy clean water for a family. Meals for a hungry child. You can even buy a life-saving surgery. So many options!

How fun it would be, I thought, to give each kid a budget and then let them look through the catalog and spend it as they wished. A few weeks ago I finally pulled the trigger and did just that. We sat the whole family down, explained the plan, and set the gift catalog on the coffee table.

Then things began to fall apart.

For starters, reactions were muted. It didn't take too long for the kids to realize that this was not money they could keep for themselves. They could spend it on others — or on no one. But not on themselves. Once that became clear, any hope for a giddy response was gone. Human nature being what it is, I had largely prepared myself for this eventuality.

It was the child who didn't react at all who caught me by surprise.

Three kids did engage. Expressed interest in buying cows and chickens. ("How much does a cow cost?") Made purchasing decisions.

One child, however, never said a word. Never opened the gift catalog. Went back to reading a book as soon as I stopped speaking. Never looked back.

Enter the great sorrow. Days passed. A week. Two weeks. Nothing. My sorrow at the child's apathy increased and multiplied. I prayed about it. Thought about it. Strategized...

But the more I strategized, the more I realized my hands were tied with chains I could not loose. I wanted the child to participate out of joy and excitement. That moment passed at the time of the announcement, and I cannot revive it later by force or manipulation.

One day in the car I again brought my sorrow to the Lord. "God," I asked, "what have I done wrong here?" I then began to re-think (again) the situation over, trying to see the situation from the child's perspective.

"The child knows," I mused to myself, "that I'm going to give the money to a charity regardless. The child's inaction won't, in that sense, change anything. Perhaps that is why the child feels no sense of urgency or obligation."

Fair enough. But the fact is, I wanted my child to participate in the event. Direct my giving. I wanted my child to care along with me about the recipients of these gifts.

And that's when it hit me in a flash. A pain. A very sharp pain.

This is how God feels when I don't pray for others.

Ouch. Double Ouch. Triple Ouch. Am I aghast at my child's apathy? Guess what... I exhibit those same traits when faced the opportunity to pray. Not always, but all too often. All too often. The parallels between my gift catalog situation and my own personal prayer life tumbled into my mind, one by one.

• To my children's eyes, I have unlimited resources. So does God.

• I have made some of those resources available to my children for the benefit of others. When God invites me to pray for others, he is doing essentially the same thing.

• If my children don't take me up on the offer, I'm still going to put those resources to use for the benefit of others. Ditto that for God. My failure to pray is not going to prevent God from caring for this Earth, its inhabitants, and indeed the very person I am not praying for.

• Something has nevertheless been lost if my children have no interest in helping me give. Best I can tell, the same thing is lost when I choose not to share, through prayer, in God's providential work.

All these thoughts rolled through my head in a matter of seconds. It was profoundly humbling to realize how often I leave "God's gift catalog" untouched, preferring instead to spend my time and thoughts elsewhere.

And then the blessings began to flow. For out of this great sorrow God imparted to me a great blessing: a new understanding of how God feels about prayer.

In any given moment of any given day, there is a gift catalog on the coffee table of my mind. Depending upon where I am, alternatives will always be available. I can daydream in the car. I can surf the internet if I'm near a PC. I can go back to reading my book.

There is a time for daydreaming. Good books are a good thing. But if I am not drawn like a magnet to prayer, I am essentially doing to God what my child did to me: thumbing my nose at his gift catalog, leaving God do the picking, choosing, and blessing without my input. I actually make God sad when I do that.

The result? God grieves. And my soul is impoverished. Or should I say that God is grieved because my soul is impoverished?

But thanks to this experience I now have a renewed excitement and sense of urgency about prayer. It's not a chore. It's a gift catalog! I can spend wildly. On God's dime! With his blessing!

Will I open it?

Note: This reflection continues in Part II

Conversations in my Head: a Leading Indicator

I've been holding a conversation in my head for several days now.

Well... actually... it's more like weeks.

Hmmm... truth be told, month's would be closer to the mark.

I'm not kidding.

It may surprise no one to discover that the conversation is best described as an argument. And it's not with myself. It's with someone else.

I'm happy to report that I've been winning the argument. Hands down. It's a bit like war games exercises in the military. I keep re-running and re-running the argument, to see how it works with different twists. And I keep winning it.

But actually, I'm losing. I'm losing because the argument in my head is a cheap substitute for healthy conflict resolution that ought to be playing out in real life.

Thus the title of this reflection. By the time I find myself re-running a conversation (or argument) in my head more than once, I think I have all I need to know about what unfinished business I'm carrying around with me.

I need to have a cozy chat with God, and let the matter go.

Or...

I need to have that conversation with some special somebody. And see it through.

But arguing endlessly in the privacy of my own head is helping no one. It's a Losing Indicator.

The other person may have no clue that something's wrong. Or maybe they do know something is wrong, are rightly afraid to take the top off a screaming kettle of steam. Either way the net of it, for the other person, is a diminished relationship.

As for me? I'm certainly worse off. I know that because when I hold these closed-door sessions in my head, my gut keeps informing me that it's a whole-body affair, whether my head likes it or not.

And it ain't healthy.

I know this is Healthy Living 101 stuff, and yet somehow the notion of treating arguments in my head as a leading indicator feels like a new thought. I'm not sure why.

In any case, I guess I have my marching orders now. Or at least a leading from the Lord.

Will I follow?

Content With a Tent

When I picked the title for this reflection it struck me after the fact that the word "content" does essentially already mean "With a tent". That having been said, I do think it's importent to note that no pun was intented.

[Yes, I do slay myself.]

I was struck by something in 2 Samuel 7 the other day. Verse one begins with these words: "After the king was settled in his palace..."

Yes,David has finally himself escaped tent life. He'd been on the run from King Saul for I-don't-know-how-long. I'm sure there is a scholarly consensus on the number, though I don't have it before me. Whatever it is, it's clearly many years, safely north of a decade. Having finally escaped years of life as a pursued outlaw, however, David is now king of the land. Ruler over all Israel.

And David gets a great idea: he's going to build God a temple. Surely God is tired of tent-dwelling too? Wisely, David confers with Nathan the prophet before proceeding. Nathan agrees to the plan.

Then God steps in.

Later that night, we are told, God's word comes to Nathan. Words (in the plural) might be the more accurate description. God has a number of things to say! Several dwell (pardon another pun) on dwellings.

Firstly, God essentially scoffs at the notion that he needs David's help in acquiring "nicer digs". God next proceeds to explain in no uncertain terms that it's the other way around. God is going to establish the house of David. Better still, the house of David will be eternal.

As for God's house? That project can and (by God's decree) will wait. David's son will build it.

That's too tight a summary, but be that as it may...

The thing that struck me was God's opening question, posed to David. "Are you the one to build me a house to dwell in?" God proceeds to point out that he's been putting up with modest domestic circumstances for a long time. "I have not dwelt in a house from the day I brought the Israelites up out of Egypt to this day. I have been moving from place to place with a tent as my dwelling."

The contrast cannot be missed. David may have been consigned (unwillingly) to a tent for a decade and more. God, in contrast, has been content with a tent.

For centuries.

David may be relieved to now have a palace.

God is in no rush.

What for me added poignancy to this back-and-forth between God and David is that the very "House of David" which God did make eternal (as he promised here!) is finalized with the last, and eternal, installment of the final (and eternal) king. Jesus. The house of David was made eternal when King Jesus took his throne.

But before Jesus took his permanent place in eternity he did something else. He came and dwelt with men. And in perfect irony (intended? Or not?) the words John uses to explain this visitation are as follows:

John 1:14
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling with us.

The irony is easy to miss in the modern English provided above. In the original greek however, the phrase "made his dwelling" is a one-word verb: tabernacled. The tabernacle was the sacred tent David had thought to upgrade to a temple. Literally translated, then, John 1:14 indicates that Jesus "became flesh and pitched his holy tent among us."

So in one sense God's first physical long-term visitation with mankind began in a tent. And in another sense God's last physical visitation was in that same tent.

Tough questions. Tents are humble. And uncomfortable. If a tent is good enough for God... Is it good enough for me? Can I be content with a tent? How important is comfort to me? Might God just possibly have been setting an example for me in his willingness to dwell in humble digs?

More tough questions: There was a holy temple in Jerusalem when Jesus was born. In some strange sense, then, God quite literally left the temple to return to the tent. Are there any American temples I should pass over? In favor of the tent? Given the things Jesus had to say to those in charge of the temple, this is an important question. We have a lot of temples in America. Temples of a different sort, to be sure! But temples they are, nevertheless.

These difficult questions are food for thought for this particularly comfortable American. And for this comfortable American church.

Commit Yourself to No Great Endeavor...

...That is not worth washing dishes for.

I think this reflection requires very little explanation.

So I'll save us all the time.

Not All Philistines Are Philistines

The Philistines have not fared well, historically speaking. The name which once applied to a people group now is a pejorative term for someone who lacks culture and/or is guided by more base impulses.

Back in biblical times the Philistines were mortal enemies of the Israelites. A Philistine was someone you met in pitched battle. The giant Goliath was a Philistine.

So whether the word is used today or is taken out of the ancient scriptures, it's not a nice word.

It's our natural inclination as humans, I think, to avoid nuanced views on peoples and perspectives. Nowhere is this seen more starkly than in Washington, D.C., where our nation's leaders fight for supremacy, and where partisan politics now runs absolutely rampant. Democrats? Republicans? Much of the nation now despises either one group or the other.

And I am inclined to despise both. I don't trust either group, to be quite frank. I don't trust their motives and I don't trust their purposes. I, too, have become rather polarized in my political views.

Which is why I found it a good reminder to discover that not all Philistines are Philistines.

I had read the passages before, but for the first time it sank in during recent readings of 1 Samuel that among the Philistines there was a successful warlord of, to say the least, strange lineage.

Philistine warlords were the ultimate enemy of Israel, but the little Israelite boy named David... the one who killed the Philistine Goliath... the one who wrote numerous Psalms... the one who went on to be the greatest king of ancient Israel... That David, for a little while, had a very successful gig going.

As a Philistine.

For a time, David lived among the Philistines and (to all appearances) was a much-valued Philistine warlord. The Philistines themselves came within one hairbreadth of taking David along to the battle against the Israelites in which King Saul himself was killed.

How David pulled it all off is partly unknown and partly explained in the text of 1 Samuel. But for my purposes here I note only that he was quite successful in his ruse. So successful that I have to wonder how many Israelites might have thought he had truly turned his back on the Israelite people. Impossible to know.

But anyone who might have come to that conclusion would have been dead wrong. They would have been quite right, however, if they had drawn the conclusion (to use modern parlance) that he was an extremely effective power broker, mover and shaker, and negotiator.

All the skills you need in Washington? David had them. In spades. By no other means does one live among mortal enemies and leave most of them convinced that your true allegiance is to them.

But David was God's man. An upright individual. And his future was so bright, that Jesus Christ himself was and is known as the "Son of David".

So.

Before I toss the whole of D.C. down the drain.

Before I turn my back on all politicians.

Before I abandon all hope in the political process.

Before I assume I know the base motives of every scrabbling politician.

I need to remember one thing.

There are likely some Davids in Washington, D.C.

And maybe some Davids in a few other places and organizations I have given up for useless.

And since I'm not good at picking out Davids from a crowd of Philistines, I need to be careful of my words and judgments.

Not all Philistines, after all, are Philistines.

Worth More Than A Minute?

I've been grieved in my spirit over the past few years as I have watched my children grow older. One lacks spiritual vibrancy. Another seems to lack any life of the Spirit whatsoever. Sorrow pierces my soul in this matter.

That said, I found myself the recipient of both great comfort and great conviction in the 2nd chapter of "Hudson Taylor's Spiritual Secret" which I began to read recently.

Comfort came in the reminder that Hudson's spiritual life began at the age of seventeen. It's not clear what kind of child he was prior to that age, but apparently not one evidencing the life of Christ within. Hope! My children are many years younger than that. Perhaps they too will turn soon.

And how exciting and riveting to read of his his sister's entry that month in her prayer journal: she would pray daily for his salvation until it came. That very month it came!

But the real barn-buster came with his mother's role in the matter.

Many miles away, the mother was specially burdened that Saturday afternoon about her only son. Leaving her friends she went alone to plead with God for his salvation. Hour after hour passed while that mother was still upon her knees, until her heart flooded with a joyful assurance that her prayers were heard and answered.

The account of what happened that very afternoon in the heart of young Hudson, miles away from his mother and her desperate pleas before the throne of God, is enough to bring tears to the eyes of all but the hardest of hearts.

I found that passage, needless to say, greatly encouraging. I can have a role in my child's salvation! I cannot force it to happen, but God wants me to pray more about it! What an encouraging thought for a desperate man. I'm not quite so helpless in this matter as I have felt in recent months.

I left the book there to attend to some parental duties, but immediately the conviction began. And set in deep.

When have I ever prayed about anything for more than an hour? Ever? I'm not sure I have. Oh yes, I've reminded God of my concerns throughout the day on various serious matters. But uninterrupted prayer? I think the answer is.... never.

To be honest, I think most of my prayers for any one topic are, quite literally, not longer than a few seconds. Maybe a minute. It's a crushing thing to admit, but the time-span element and attention quality of my prayer life are, as they say, emblematic of the MTV generation.

Ironically, I decided to pen this blog as a challenge to myself to do just this for my children at least once a month. Are my children not worth an hour of solid prayer, once a month?

Ironically, I say, because it usually takes me an hour to get my thoughts down to my satisfaction. So I've now spent more time on this blog, today, than I have ever spent praying for a single child in one sitting. And I knew that would be true before I began to type.

So this blog had better earn its living fast, reminding me for years to come of a commitment I hope to keep for the rest of my life.

But even as I wrap this blog up, more conviction has come. Having just typed in the text myself, I'm now reminded that Hudson's mother excused herself from the presence of friends on that day she prayed several hours straight for the life of her son.

I have never left any fellowship of friends in order to spend time in prayer. I've declined engagements from time to time, I suppose. But I've never, so to speak, "left the party" so as to pray.

Oh, God! For a heart to know when this is the prescription you have made for my soul. How desperate my deafness, to never have heard this call. Give life to my ears, my Lord. They cannot hear.

Give life to my children, my Lord. They cannot hear either.

Power Yet Again

Yes, I'm hung up on power. This is maybe my fourth blog focusing on this word, and my third in a week or so.

I blame my father-in-law for this posting, at least in part. The Book of Common Prayer (BCP) does not escape my pointing finger either.

The BCP first...

Acts 1:8
"...But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

The BCP has Acts 1:8 as an Easter reading in its Morning Prayer liturgy, so I recite it often at this time of year. And of course there is that word Power all over again.

I may not have said this explicitly yet, but one reason I gravitate toward this word nowadays is driven by personal history. Between the age of maybe 20 and 40 (roughly) I kept waiting to see God do "exciting stuff" and wanting to be "in on it too"...

...and found myself disappointed on both counts.

Now it must be said that I was disappointed not because God had failed to deliver, but because I was watching for the wrong results. I'm picturing an alchemist busy trying to figure out how to turn lead into gold who doesn't notice that in one of his experiments diamonds are popping out of ordinary water.

I was watching for gold, so to speak. God was producing diamonds. God has always been doing exciting stuff. But do I have eyes to see it?

And as for me being "in on it too", well, it's hard to be in on the game if you're playing the wrong game. For two decades I thought we were in the business of creating gold. I wasn't much help to a God busily creating diamonds. I feel like I've worn out this analogy, but in any case the point is made.

All that to say... Call me slow, but I get there. God's not defeated. But I am. I must not be playing the same game. Or not the same rules. Or something...

So over recent years (as part of the BCP Easter-time liturgy) I find myself repeatedly reading Acts 1:8. And wondering at the word power that I find there. What does it mean for the power of God to be residing in me? Well (no shock) it seems rather clear in this verse that I'm empowered... to be a witness.

A witness.

Witnesses are called in court not to make things happen. They are called to bear testimony. So that's an odd conjunction. The power of God comes upon us, and we... bear testimony. Go figure.

Enter my father-in-law, who shared a wonderful insight with me a few days ago. He pointed out the simple fact (how could I have missed it?) that Samaria was not exactly Disneyland.

Duh.

Going to Samaria. Jews almost universally despised Samaria. To the Jewish mindset, Samaritans were scum of the earth. To whom can I compare this ancient people that without insulting the living? Let's go with a leper colony. "...and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and in a leper colony, and to the ends of the earth.”

For me, that simple substitution does wonders for the modern eye. It makes it obvious that the power promised was not a ticket to Disneyland. For those hoping to make gold, these words are not encouraging. But God is not making gold. He's making diamonds.

But let's leave diamonds behind and get to the point. If the power of God takes us to leper colonies, what exactly is God doing? What is God's power accomplishing through us?

I think it's all about enabling us (per my prior postings) to have superhuman patience and endurance. Patience and endurance are not required survival traits for victors lolling about eating bon-bons.

But patience and endurance may be the most important weapons you carry into a leper colony.

The problem God faces seems not to have changed over the past few thousand years. His people (even those who claim to know him well) seem never to grasp a simple fact: He's giving us power not to vanquish pathetic foes so much as he is equipping us to survive mortifying conditions.

For twenty years of adulthood I kept wanting to jump on some victory bandwagon. And for twenty years I never heard God's gentle voice... calling me to a death march.

Why do I say that this problem hasn't changed in a few thousand years? Well, for starters there is Acts 1:6.

Acts 1:6
Then they gathered around him and asked him, “Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?”

Acts 1:8 is the answer Jesus gives to his precious disciples. They weren't looking for a leper colony either. They were excited to see Jesus "kick some ass", to be quite frank. The disciples were pointedly asking Jesus if he was finally going to lead Israel to military victory over the cursed Romans. Note the hint of impatience in their words. "We've waited three years now, Jesus. Now are you going to lead us to victory?"

Jesus crushed their plans with no less finality than God has crushed a few of mine. In modern parlance, the exchange between him and the disciples went like this:

Disciples: So Jesus, are we finally going to Disneyland?
Jesus: Wait here for the money you'll need for your trip to...
[the disciples draw in a collective breath of eager anticipation...]
Jesus (continuing): ...India. Where you'll care for lepers.

I swapped money in for the word power because money is what talks in Disneyland. Power is, so to speak, what talks to the Romans.

The disciples were talking power, and Jesus responded to them on their own terms. Power is what they wanted, and power is what he promised to deliver... but for a purpose diametrically opposed to everything they had in mind.

Well I think I've probably taken a thousand words to get out a hundred-word idea. So I'll end with this second set of verses which I think underscore how universally the broader church has failed to grasp the simple plan of God. Failed out of the starting blocks, as seen in the very first verses of Acts.

And a few years later?

The same story.

Never mind the fact that (Jesus' instructions notwithstanding) the disciples didn't bother to leave Jerusalem in any real numbers until...

Acts 8:1
On that day a great persecution broke out against the church in Jerusalem, and all except the apostles were scattered throughout Judea and Samaria.

God has a way of getting his way. Another thousand words could easily be spent just comparing Acts 1:8 to Acts 8:1.

But I digress.

So. Persecutions begin... time passes... The church has spread beyond Jerusalem. Beyond Judea. Beyond Samaria. There is now a church in Corinth, a Greek city...

And the Apostle Paul is dealing with what?

The exact same problem Jesus faced....

1 Corinthians 4:8-13
Already you have all you want! Already you have become rich! You have begun to reign—and that without us! How I wish that you really had begun to reign so that we also might reign with you! For it seems to me that God has put us apostles on display at the end of the procession, like those condemned to die in the arena. We have been made a spectacle to the whole universe, to angels as well as to human beings. We are fools for Christ, but you are so wise in Christ! We are weak, but you are strong! You are honored, we are dishonored! To this very hour we go hungry and thirsty, we are in rags, we are brutally treated, we are homeless. We work hard with our own hands. When we are cursed, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure it; when we are slandered, we answer kindly. We have become the scum of the earth, the garbage of the world—right up to this moment.

There is a short translation for the above paragraph. In modern parlance it goes like this...

1 Corinthians 4:8-13
You guys went to Disneyland. We're living out our last days in a leper colony!

Paul didn't envy the Mickey Mouse ears. He'd bought into Jesus' plan. His frustration was not with the fact that he wasn't in Disneyland. His frustration lay with a church under his care that refused to leave Disneyland.

Has anything changed in 2,000 years?

Not really.

The American church, broadly speaking, refuses to leave Disneyland. And, frankly, most of the time... I'm not itching to leave either.

But I'm trying to listen.

And I'm not worried, either.

God has a way of getting his way.

Nice Girls Don't Change The World

So I had just finished a reflection on the word Power and shortly thereafter headed off to the local swimming pool for a lazy Memorial Day afternoon with the family and friends.

I sat down next to the wife of a dear friend and asked her what she was reading. She smiled and said, "Have you ever had that situation where someone gave you a book and told you that you should read it?" Then she flipped the cover over and I read the following title: Nice Girls Don't Change The World.

And... how ironic is that? I had just gotten myself to the point where I was ready to accept the notion that God's greatest power shows up in people who are, well, to quote myself verbatim, "Female and frail."

Do I retract everything? I was definitely forced to rethink my fresh new thoughts. Here before me was a very godly woman who seemed to be connecting with a book that encourages her to go out and be strong. And do something more male-ish... Change the world.

Well I did give it a bit of thought, because the circumstances demanded it of me. I didn't say too much to my poolside friend, but the thought rattled around in my head a fair bit.

And here is my conclusion: while I definitely felt it was good counterbalance to my radical notions of the day, I think this book (whose contents I've never read) is yet more of what I no longer believe.

Nice girls don't change the world. Agreed.

But the other girls don't either. And neither do pushy men change change the world. I'm inclined to say that God changes the world, or no one does.

And what, in the end, does it mean to "change the world", anyway? I don't like the phrase anymore. I'd rather focus on blessing the world, but this is equally beyond my reach. God can bless the world. I can bless a few people.

And once I'm down to something a little more possible, and a little more do-able, all of a sudden I am back in the realm where nice girls suit the task very well, thank you.

This is no quibble about the doubtlessly good intentions of the author of this book I speak of. And of course behind the phrase "nice girl" is surely some notions that we'd do well to dispose of as quickly as possible. God's prophets were anything but "nice boys". If by nice we mean "useless", "milquetoast" or "not one to rock the boat" or other such things of that nature, then "being nice" is indeed not the goal.

But if by "nice girls" we mean children who grow up to be "nice women", the sort of women who pours themselves into loving their husbands, their children, their neighbors, and indeed demonstrating compassion for needs beyond their community, then for myself I hope to raise two "nice girls" and two "nice boys".

If God's power is to be revealed in patient endurance, per Paul's prayer for the Colossians, I don't have any immediate problems with the word nice. I do, however, see immediate red flags in the phrase "Change the world".

Why? because that phrase begs me and entices me back to that mindset in which I believe again that by force of will and exertion I can fix the world and make it better. That, I think, is God's job, and one that is done (mysteriously) more through my patient endurance than through my might and great deeds.

So a toast again to Mother Teresa, whose quiet service left a mark that endures yet in the minds of people like myself. I suppose God did indeed change the world through Mother Teresa.

But I sincerely doubt that was the goal she had in mind when she headed to the slums of Calcutta to minister to dying, nameless souls.



[Post-Note: A few hours after posting this reflection I found myself googling Mother Teresa and reading a bit more about her in Wikipedia. How delightful to run into this quote there...

When Mother Teresa received the Nobel Peace Prize, she was asked, "What can we do to promote world peace?" she answered "Go home and love your family."

Amen, dear Teresa. Amen.]

Power Revisited

I knew that I wrote a blog entry on Power once before, but my how time flies. It was two years ago, nearly to the day. And yet here I am again, noodling over the same word.

It doesn't really look like I have that much to say here that is terribly different from what I wrote then. Once again, the Apostle Paul has me running hard (to catch up with him). Be that as it may, I think it's worth repeating the experience, so that these words will linger in my heart and maybe the idea sink in a bit deeper.

Here's what set my mind into motion. Our pastor shared a benediction yesterday which consisted of this reading:

Colossians 1:9-12
For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you. We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light.

My ears perked up at the mention of (yes, you guessed it) Power.

Because, as I mentioned earlier, I've been noodling over what is meant by that word for literally several years now. What does a really powerful man do? What does a really powerful man of God do?

Sidebar question #1: Are they different questions? In practice of course they are... Powerful men run Washington, D.C. and powerful men of God run soup kitchens. Right? But from the eyes of eternity I'm pretty sure both questions have only one answer. Many men who look powerful to our earth-clad eyeballs are as nothing on God's scales. I don't actually think that there are many powerful men in Washington, D.C.

But what does a really powerful man of God do?

Sidebar question #2: I've been saying "man" because I'm male. What about women? Pressed on the point, I'd in fact hazard a guess that, from eternity's perspective, the balance of true power lies more with women than with men. But here I get ahead of myself again, because I've not yet gotten to what really powerful people do. We kinda need that part worked out before we can look around and see who's doing it.

So, again, to the original question. What does a really powerful man of God do? Ah, but that's what make this set of verses so much fodder for reflection.

…being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might…

Right about now we’re ready for the 3-D special effects movie, waiting for the power to do amazing things and leave the world in awe of our POWERFUL God… and yet what does the rest of the verse indicate all this power will enable us to do?

“…so that you man have great endurance and patience…”

Endurance and patience. Those are not the first words that come to mind, are they? Infinite power of God within me… so that I can bear up and be patient.

Not the stuff of movies.

But maybe it’s time that my vision of “what God’s up to” be more divorced from western notions of power (and entertainment).

Endurance and patience. You know, if we were forced to pick a person to embody those traits, who might we remember?

Well, to be honest? Mother Teresa comes to mind for me.

And I don't think that's a fluke. Not a fluke on either count. She's the living embodiment of non-Washington and non-male. A woman with no earthly trappings of power.

Female and frail.

It's not what I had in mind when I hoped to be a man of God twenty years ago. Or ten years ago. Or five. But more and more I believe that my great calling... my highest calling... the way God wants to show His almighty power through me... lies in how I bear my crosses.

My heart wants to make a difference for God by throwing off crosses. Not simply my own, of course (how noble of me...) but also the crosses of others.

And of course God does want us to pursue justice and mercy. He does want us to work to make the world a better place. To speak for those who have no voice.

But a little voice in my head says that the most powerful witness to God, and the most powerful testimony I can give to men of his work in my life, is not in how I do all these wonderful things for other people.

No. The most powerful witness I can bear is how I bear my crosses. And thanks to four gospels I know how Jesus carried his cross.

There is a time for words. A time for argument. A time for civil disobedience. A time to take a stand.

But then there is a time to carry one's cross. And speak no words. The world has never been the same since Jesus carried his cross. Now that was power.

And Who Is Their Father?

I know of a church that had five pastors in succession, each with one or more sons to their name. Let's talk about the sons first.

The first pastor had two sons. Both sons were known for skimming funds from congregational tithing and for sleeping with the church secretaries.

The second pastor also had two sons. These were known for shady dealings in the community, money and power being never far from their thoughts.

The third pastor produced a son who was upright, godly, the kind of friend to dream of. He risked his life to protect the innocent, and was remembered long after his death as a saint among men.

The fourth pastor had a number of sons, but seemed not to engage in any of their upbringings. One son became a rapist. Another a murderer. Even his most promising son eventually left the faith in later life.

The fifth pastor (son of the fourth pastor) inherited the pulpit from his father. The son of this fifth pastor proved to be a hotheaded idiot, and yet he in his turn succeeded his father as pastor over the church. That was a disaster waiting to happen. Unsurprisingly the church split soon after pastor #6 took the helm.

The fractured church did survive, and other pastors (with sons of their own) presided over the mess that ensued. But enough on that for now.

Four questions.

1) Which of these five men was a good father?

2) Which of these five men would I prefer to have as pastor over my church?

3) Which of these five men most pleased the Lord in this life?

4) Under the leadership of which of these five men did the church flourish best?

Are they different questions? Well, of course they are. But what I really mean is, Should the answers to these four questions be different?

These questions are not academic, for the scenario I paint here is not a hypothetical one. These pastoral were real men, as were their sons.

If we had no other information I suppose we'd all be inclined to plump for pastor #3 as the the best answer to all four questions. What other choice do we have? The apostle Paul would have disqualified the other four pastors from leadership on account of their wayward sons. Hopefully pastor #3, who raised such a gem of a son, will prove to have been the best father, the best pastor, a man after God's own heart, and the head over a thriving church.

But these five church leaders have names, and we know all five of these men well. The name of the third "pastor" is King Saul. His son Jonathan was a jewel. The man himself? Not so much. Amazingly, the man who seemed a good answer to all four question was in fact a lousy answer to at least three of them. Saul was a lousy father, a man who greatly disappointed God, and nobody I'd want for a pastor. And while he wasn't always a bad leader, he didn't exactly take Israel from strength to strength either.

So much for Pastor #3! He's by general consensus taken to be the worst of the bunch.

What of the others? Who are these four poster-boys for poor fathering? They are, respectively, Eli, Samuel, King David and his son Solomon.

God himself indicts Eli for his failure as a father, and Eli wasn't such a hot leader for the "church" Israel. He was kind of a no-go on all four questions. So now we have ruled out #3 and #1...

And the remaining three? History indicts them all for failing to raise upright sons. (David, the only one for whom we know more than the barest of details, was an absolute epic failure as a father.) And yet Samuel, David and Solomon are all still (rightly) remembered for their roles as effective and generally great leaders of the people Israel.

"Church" Israel flourished well under the leadership of David, the adulterer and murderer who didn't have a clue where fathering was concerned.

"Church" Israel flourished best under the leadership of Solomon, a man who raised an idiot for a son, who chased more than a few skirts, and who ended up plonking for polytheism.

So there you have it. The worst of the bunch (King Saul) produced the best son. Among the other four leaders we had one who failed (along with Saul) on pretty much all counts. The three "best of breed" evidenced good leadership punctuated with awful parenting. Only two, on a personal level, began their own lives well and ended them well.

For me this leaves us with a profound mystery. And it's not an academic one. I have two sons. And I'm part of the church, where our leaders are supposed to be good fathers.

One the one hand I see in scriptures the strong indication that fathers are responsible for their children. We have God ripping into Eli for not reining his boys in. We have Paul saying that those in church leadership must first prove their ability to run a family well. And we have our own consciences, reminding us all the time that much is at stake during our few years as head over households with children in them.

But then we have some chief fathers of the faith (irony intended) doing something less than a bang-up job raising their flesh-and-blood sons. The list goes on and on. Esau. Reuben. (Nine of his brothers?) Eli's sons. Samuel's sons. David's sons. Amnon. Absalom. Solomon. Rehoboam... and most of the kings that followed. Finding someone in the Bible noted for raising good sons is a pretty depressing task. (Gotta be one in there somewhere...)

No, these are not academic question. I have two sons. And I belong to the church.

I know I'm not supposed to do the "flip open and read" approach to finding God's voice in the jumble, but I did it a few times this morning. I'm on a slow journey through the Old Testament, and am now in 1 Samuel. I've been wrestling with Eli, Samuel and Saul for several weeks now. Two of my morning flips turned up gold, which isn't a bad ratio out of maybe five flips. God is merciful to those who don't have fleeces but would know what to do with one if it were on hand.

One flip took me to this:

Deuteronomy 24:16
Fathers shall not be put to death for their children, nor children put to death for their fathers; each is to die for his own sin.

Implicit here is perhaps a recognition that sometimes the best and good efforts of fathers do not produce sons who remain on the straight and narrow. Maybe that's too strong a statement. Maybe it's more simply a statement that even failed fathers are not to die for their sons' failures, but rather for their own mortal sins. Be that as it may, (and here I confess that this is a rambling reflection, not intended to be airtight in logic and conclusions, but rather a window into my thoughts) I found even more food for thought in the last flip.

I found myself staring at the word Isaiah in bold, large font. The beginning of the book of Isaiah. So I began to read. The book begins with father's lament over his wayward son.

And the wayward son is?

Israel.

The identity of the mourning father?

God himself.

If ever there was a star witness for the defense of the "It's not entirely Dad's fault" plea, it would be God himself.

Isaiah 1:1-4

The vision concerning Judah and Jerusalem that Isaiah son of Amoz saw during the reigns of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz and Hezekiah, kings of Judah.

Hear me, you heavens! Listen, earth!
For the Lord has spoken:
“I reared children and brought them up,
but they have rebelled against me.
The ox knows its master,
the donkey its owner’s manger,
but Israel does not know,
my people do not understand.”
Woe to the sinful nation,
a people whose guilt is great,
a brood of evildoers,
children given to corruption!
They have forsaken the Lord;
they have spurned the Holy One of Israel
and turned their backs on him.

I cannot help but add here that in Jesus' own parable of the Prodigal Son, God himself is the pursuing father of... of... another lost boy. Should we fault God for this prodigal's behavior? And while we are at it, perhaps we should also fault God for the arrogant and icy judgmental ways of the prodigal son's elder brother.

Anyone looking for answers to settle all such questions will not find them here. But I end this reflection with a few observations.

Woe betide us fathers who succeed in "life", but fail our children.

Woe betide us also who judge other fathers too quickly on the basis of how their children turn out. God himself has done all things well, and neither his church nor his chosen people Israel have ever given him (collectively, anyway) the satisfaction of being the father of a stellar child.

[Sidebar comment... a practical application of this thought would be to lay off on Samuel. We don't know why his two sons turned out so poorly. I suspect Samuel was away from home far too much, but that is to go beyond the text. With Samuel we must be cautious before rushing to judgement.]

I might have thought of a third woe, but I have a son nearby waiting to play a game with me. Keeping the first woe in my thoughts, I end this reflection here with some tantalizing verses...

1 Samuel 10:12 (a question asked of King Saul)
"And who is their father?"

1 Samuel 17:55-58
As Saul watched David going out to meet the Philistine, he said to Abner, commander of the army, “Abner, whose son is that young man?”
Abner replied, “As surely as you live, Your Majesty, I don’t know.”
The king said, “Find out whose son this young man is.”
As soon as David returned from killing the Philistine, Abner took him and brought him before Saul, with David still holding the Philistine’s head.
58 “Whose son are you, young man?” Saul asked him.
David said, “I am the son of your servant Jesse of Bethlehem.”

I'm tempted to say it's a shame we don't know more about Jesse, but in light of Jonathan's relationship to his father Saul, perhaps that is to ask the wrong question.

...And as for what the right question would be... Perhaps in another blog. This one is too long already.

Just This Once...

I finally cracked (pardon the pun) a life-long habit of cracking my knuckles. For the past year or two I've basically never done it once.

That is, until a week or two ago.

In a moment of particular stress, my hand was against my cheek and my knuckles were in just the right position, and I thought to myself, "Just this once."

The great lie.

Just this once...

Since that day my habit has resumed in full force. Quantity-per-day may not have reached peak production, but the habit has taken on life again. It's alive.

So now I have to kill this bad habit again. But it's so much easier to keep dead things dead than to put to death something that wishes to live.

My bad habit was dead. But thanks to me, it's alive again. And it doesn't want to die.

Thank God the habit involved is just the cracking of knuckles. But what a reminder of the power of a vice, and the deceitfulness we practice on ourselves when we give ourselves a "one-time treat" to that vice and indulge it.

Just this once...

Ahead of Jesus

John 11:1-19
Now a man named Lazarus was sick. ... So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.” ... when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days ... then he told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” ... On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother.

As I read and re-read this passage, I found myself playing around with notions possible only with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight. Nobody then knew what we know now: that Jesus had intentionally delayed his visit to Bethany.

By the time Jesus arrived, Lazarus had been dead for four days. The question I found myself puzzled by was this: What would I have done, knowing what I know today, if I had lived then as a close friend or relative of Lazarus? This is not entirely an idle question, because as verse 19 notes, many friends and relatives did the obvious thing to do. They went to Mary and Martha to comfort them. And they didn't wait four days to do it.

But they didn't know then what Jesus was up to. Today, I do. Armed with hindsight, I started to make the blithe assumption that I would not have been in a rush to get to Bethany "ahead" of Jesus. It is not wise, after all, to hurry off ahead of Jesus, generally speaking.

Or is it?

As soon as the thought entered my mind, it began to fester a bit. Not visit Mary and Martha? How could I... Why should I not visit May and Martha? Yes, I know that Jesus is eventually going to arrive. And I know what he's going to do when he gets there. Well and good enough. But my beloved Mary and Martha are grieving now.

All of a sudden, 20/20 hindsight or no, I'm not so sure I know what the right response would be to a situation like this. Jesus is delaying. What should I do?

And here is where the question loses its ivory tower academic irrelevance and begins to take on poignant significance. For who among us cannot think of someone they know who is waiting on God for something? I can think of many such people. In fact, I strongly suspect it would be easier to tally up the people I know who are not waiting on God for something. We're all waiting on God for something. Some of are waiting on God for a lot of things.

So how one handles the Lazarus question has ramifications for real life. Granted that the Jews around at the time had no idea what Jesus was up to then. And we, today, do not (or ought not claim to) know exactly what God is up to today. So in that sense we're on an even playing field. On God's plans for our own futures, we're pretty much in the dark.

Now let's ask the $64,000 question. How should those friends be reacting to the news of Lazarus' death? How should they speak to Mary and Martha? If I have a good answer to that, I might just have a good working protocol for how I should be reacting to events in my own life and in the lives of those around me.

I don't think I know the right answer to that question. But I have a few ideas.

First, I think a staggering amount of humility is in order. We ought not try to intepret too quickly the reasons behind what God does or allows to happen, especially since we are not privy even to that basic distinction (whether God did it or whether he allowed it) let alone aware of God's guiding motivations in the matter.

Imagine saying to Mary and Martha, "Jesus is holding off a bit. He doesn't want to arrive until Lazarus has been dead for, oh, about four days or so." To speak that way would be ridiculous for at least two reasons. First, because we don't have the mind of God, and we have not that level of knowledge. Second, because even supposing we did have such insight, to speak of it would interfere with the very goals Jesus had in mind to accomplish.

Jesus meant for a great number of people to walk through four days of death. We ought not interfere with the experiences Jesus intends for others to go through. Of course those are harsh words, when you think of it. But God never was quite the softy we often wish him to be. He loves us more than we can even comprehend, but a brief review of the Bible ought to free us from any notion that he's a pushover for a parent. Job and John make that much clear.

Second, we must bring the absolute assurance with us that God is for us. That God cares. That he loves us. Jesus has shown us this much, and I believe these words of encouragement are in place at all times and in all circumstances. Even when Lazarus has died.

Finally, I think a big takeaway notion is to hold on to, and to share with others, the great conviction and faith that Jesus is coming. He may delay, but he is coming. We may die before we see him, but he's coming.

Can we go on ahead of Jesus? Yes! In fact, we must. Jesus does not wander the earth with dusty feet anymore. We are the dusty hands and feet of Jesus. So go we must. But go with humility. We don't know if God is going ahead of us or behind us, and in either case God is often pleased to keep us in the dark as to his larger plans.

And when we get there? We are on safest ground when we offer loved ones those few assurances we know to be true. God loves you. Jesus is indeed coming. Suffering souls need these assurances.

As for our wild guesses about what God is doing and what he is up, they will almost assuredly prove much less useful, helpful, or welcome.