Forgiving Snape

I had a strange dream last night, and I know it can be attributed to my fertile thoughts. But I also believe God spoke to me last night through it.

It is a rare, rare, rare, rare day (night?) when I dream that I am, quite literally, someone else. That is what happened last night. And how fitting, how richly fitting, that I should dream that I was Harry Potter!

For those who know the books well enough, the irony is probably clear. Harry had a habit of dreaming he was someone else — Lord Voldemort. The other fifteen people in this world who haven't seen the movies or read the books will likely find this blog a waste of precious time. (Always a pretty high risk with my blog in any case...)

Dreams are funny things... I know that I was Harry Potter in my dream not because I thought to myself (during the dream), "I'm Harry Potter!" but rather because of who I interacted with and what happened.

I was interacting with Snape. And he hated me. And I hated him.

But what's moving to me about that dream is that something in me caused me to couch my woundedness (hatred is usually a response to hurt) in something less than scathing terms. My words betrayed a hint of weakness and brokenness.... And Snape heard them. He heard something in my tone of voice. And he, in his turn, responded with a hint of acknowledgement that he might have mistreated me. Chinks of light.

And peace was made.

Here's where things get funny again (or maybe just bizarre)... As rapproachment was made, it was made first by words, and then by touch. And after the touch was made with Snape on my left, I turned to the man on my right — who had bleach-blonde hair. Yes, it was Lucius Malfoy.

Ha! What a riot of a dream!

But in any case, I put my hand on his back in a friendly gesture and said, "See, I am not always harsh!" And instantly, the man who had, moments before, been Lucius Malfoy, as sure as the day is long... became a different man. (Potter fans, I must apologize... he didn't become anyone recognizable to me from the Harry Potter series... In fact, the man wasn't even someone I know from real life.)

But he was a gentle and kind man. Lucius Malfoy became a saint. Before my eyes. At the touch of my hand.

And then, as if touch had not already taken significance in this dream, Snape led me by the hand to another room where he gave me a gift of food. In a true-to-life way, there was a point where it was awkward to hold hands as he led me through a doorway. I held on. I didn't want to let go of his hand. I knew the connection was important.

Well, needless to say, this dream has moving implications for me. I won't claim it as a vision from God, but I will say this: I believe God has used it to remind me that it is my calling to dream of the impossible. Forgiving Snape.

There are some Snapes in my life. There are real reasons for this dream to have arrived in my subconscious mind on the night it did. I suspect we all have a Snape or two somewhere. Three? Will I forgive mine? The unwinding of hurts hangs in the balance.

What would the world be like if we were to, each and every one of us, forgive Snape? To touch the untouchable. To love the unlovable. We'll have to be vulnerable. That's the first step. Is it worth the risk?

We won't know exactly what would happen until we try. But I have pretty darned good idea it would be beautiful. I am reminded of Isaiah's vision of God's future kingdom...

Isaiah 11:6
The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling together;
and a little child will lead them.

By hand, I suspect...

What's Mine Is Yours — And Thankfully So

The worries of life were circling in for the kill this morning, so I went to read the 23rd Psalm for a bit of soul solace. The 23rd Psalm is at heart the joyful song of a person who knows that they are safe in the care of a perfect guardian. The Lord is my shepherd... Does life get better than this? I don't think so. These are comforting words for a troubled soul.

But as I finished reading Psalm 23, my eyes fell upon the opening verse of Psalm 24.

Psalm 24:1
The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it...

The more I stared at this opening verse, the more it seemed to me that in order to live in the peace of the 23rd Psalm I must first make my peace with this first verse of the 24th Psalm.

The picture is clear enough when I consider my own home. My wife and I own both it and all the children who live in it — an echo of Psalm 24:1.

Our children are well cared for. Each child eats three meals a day and sleeps each night in a warm bed. We keep them healthy. We try to shower them with regular expressions of love — An echo of Psalm 23.

Do my kids feel like they're living a Psalm 23 existence? Mmmmm... Sometimes. Maybe. But on a regular basis the answer is No. My kids cannot help but worry and fret...

About stuff they want...
About stuff they broke...
About stuff a sibling took...
About stuff a sibling broke...
About what a sibling said...
About what a sibling did...

I occasionally point out to my fractious children that when push comes to shove — perhaps especially then! — everything in the house belongs to me and to Mom. "What's mine is mine," I remind them, "and what's yours is mine, too." They don't like to hear that. And they continue to fight over a pile of petty and cheap plastic that they do not, in the end, even own.

I repeatedly remind the kids that it's my job to worry about the shortcomings of their siblings. Parenting is hard enough without their "help", so I ask them to leave that job to me. They don't like to hear that. And they "help" me anyway.

But if only they would hear me. And take me at my word. Such freedom! A Psalm 23 existence awaits them! Yes, it's all so obvious to me when I think about my kids.

But then God speaks to me. "Pilgrim," he gently whispers, "you haven't been trusting me any more than your children trust you."

And, annoyingly, God is right.

Nothing I "own" adds up to anything. Not in God's economy. He created the universe. Why exactly do I worry about what few small things God does or does not entrust to my care? But I do.

God intimately knows, loves, and deals with seven billion people. He doesn't need my flawed and ham-fisted help. But I give it to him anyway. I have advice for God on how to fix a few people I happen to know. Sometimes, when it seems God is not moving fast enough, I try to fix them on his behalf.

Yes, I'm just like my kids. I think I can imagine what God is saying...

There's nothing you can do to put my house in jeopardy.
There's nothing anyone else can do to put my house in jeopardy.
There's nothing you have this not really mine.
There's nothing you have lost that is not still mine.

"Remain mine," God whispers, "and there's nothing and no one in the universe that can keep me from blessing you. I'll take care of you. Don't worry about stuff. Don't worry about the others. They are my concern."

I would wish that kind of peace for my children.

God wishes it for me.

Psalm 23 doesn't have a whole lot to say about stuff and people. It's almost entirely about God, our good shepherd, and the joys of simply living with Him. Its carefree attitude about "the world, and all who live in it" is precisely why the 23rd Psalm exudes such a pervasive attitude of peace and quiet joy.

The pastures of Psalm 23 await me. Am I willing to pass under the gates of Psalm 24:1 to enter in?

Psalm 24:1
The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it...

Psalm 23:6
Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.

Peace In The Storm

Luke 8:22-25
One day Jesus said to his disciples, "Let's go over to the other side of the lake." So they got into a boat and set out. As they sailed, he fell asleep. A squall came down on the lake, so that the boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger.

The disciples went and woke him, saying, "Master, Master, we're going to drown!"

He got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. "Where is your faith?" he asked his disciples.

In fear and amazement they asked one another, "Who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him."

You slept, Lord Jesus, in the middle of a storm that was enough to make seasoned sailors tremble.

Grant unto me, Oh Lord, two things: Peace to sleep in any storm, and wisdom to trust most of all in you to guide my boat to safety.

Even when the boat is sinking.

Thick-Headed Disciples

Luke 9:43b-44
While everyone was marveling at all that Jesus did, he said to his disciples, "Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you: The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men."

Why did Jesus beg them to listen carefully? Aren't the words pretty straight-forward? Well, Yes and No.

Yes, the meaning is obvious to us today. We know Jesus went on to die on a cross.

No, the meaning was not obvious to the disciples. And Jesus knew it, so he warned them to listen carefully. Not that it made a difference...

Luke 9:45
But they did not understand what this meant. It was hidden from them, so that they did not grasp it, and they were afraid to ask him about it.

The disciples didn't know a cross awaited Jesus. But it's more than that. At this point in the story, they didn't see how a cross even could await him. He was their long-awaited Messiah -- a conqueror. Their worldview didn't have room for a crucified Christ, so they were predisposed to ignore Jesus whenever he (regularly) tried to forewarn them of what lay ahead.

Luke 9:46
An argument started among the disciples as to which of them would be the greatest.

Unbelievable. Jesus is warning his disciples that dark and evil days lie in his near future — and their response is to jostle for position in anticipation of the day he takes over the world.

We mock the disciples for not listening to Jesus. Silly men! He told them that a cross awaited him. Silly men.

But before we get too carried away with our derision, let's return once more to Jesus and see his response.

Luke 9:47-48
Jesus, knowing their thoughts, took a little child and had him stand beside him. Then he said to them, "Whoever welcomes this little child in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. For he who is least among you all — he is the greatest."

Question. Have we listened to Jesus any better? Does our worldview have room for these words?

The fact is, in this and other passages Jesus clearly states that his followers will take up crosses of their own. We as Christians long ago made our peace with the cross of Christ. But have we made our peace with our crosses?

I know I haven't. Not really. Not entirely. I remember what Jesus said, but like the disciples what I do and say suggests that I never got the memo. Why is that?

Because, as was the case for the disciples, so it is for me. The truth of these words is still largely hidden from me. Not completely, to be sure, but enough so that it's hard to live as if I believe them.

But there's something else I share in common with those disciples. Along with them I am more than a little afraid to ask Jesus for clarification on the topic of crosses. I too am afraid of what he might say.

Thick-headed disciples.

Jesus had twelve of them 2,000 years ago.

And with me that makes thirteen.

Celebrating Deliverance Before It Happens

Jonah 2:1
From inside the fish Jonah prayed to the LORD his God.

Thus began my scripture reading for yesterday, and as I reflected on it I was reminded again of the fact that Jonah's song of praise erupts from his lips before his deliverance is complete. His song of deliverance comes from within the belly of a fish.

It was a timely reminder, because later that afternoon my FTB came back with a vengeance. FTB stands for financial tar baby. It's the name I've given a financial asset I nearly cannot give away. I never meant to come into possession of it. Yesterday morning I had it swinging loosely off of one fingernail. One more shake and I'd be free of it forever... But no. Today my FTB is firmly attached to both my hands again... perhaps even my torso.

In the end, I am confident God is not terribly worked up about this financial woe of mine. But God does have a stake in the matter. I know he wants he wants me to do what I do for His glory... and to, like Jonah, praise him from the belly of a stinking fish. In short, God cares about me.

Parenthetically, it's fun to note that God's concern is not limited to people. Jonah 4:10-11 notes that God cares about animals and even, it might be argued, the fate of a single plant. But I digress.

Jonah had reason to praise God from within the fish's belly. Short of the fish that swallowed him, he'd have drowned. But Jonah also cause for concern. I can think of a few things to worry about from within the belly of a fish. How long will the air sustain me? How long before I get digested? How long before the fish retches me back into the ocean and I drown for the last time?

So Jonah has a choice. He can celebrate his deliverance from drowning... or lament his current state of affairs.

The entire book of Jonah is an ongoing story of God's mercy and love, almost all of which Jonah doesn't get one bit. Not one bit. Jonah is extremely thick and stupid where God's mercy is concerned. But for a brief moment in chapter 2, Jonah rejoices in a moment of clarity. He understands that God has been merciful to him.

From within the belly of the fish, Jonah praises God not merely because God saved him from drowning, but also in confidence that God would also resolve the other open issues. Like the fact that he's stuck in the putrid belly of a fish... in the middle of a big, deep ocean.

Lord, teach me to praise you in the midst of my own life's open issues. The ocean is big. But you're bigger.

Jonah 2:2-10
He said:
"In my distress I called to the LORD,
and he answered me.
From deep in the realm of the dead I called for help,
and you listened to my cry.
You hurled me into the deep,
into the very heart of the seas,
and the currents swirled about me;
all your waves and breakers
swept over me.

I said, 'I have been banished
from your sight;
yet I will look again
toward your holy temple.'

The engulfing waters threatened me,
the deep surrounded me;
seaweed was wrapped around my head.

To the roots of the mountains I sank down;
the earth beneath barred me in forever.
But you, LORD my God,
brought my life up from the pit.

"When my life was ebbing away,
I remembered you, LORD,
and my prayer rose to you,
to your holy temple.

"Those who cling to worthless idols
forfeit God's love for them.

But I, with shouts of grateful praise,
will sacrifice to you.
What I have vowed I will make good.
I will say, 'Salvation comes from the LORD.' "

And the LORD commanded the fish, and it vomited Jonah onto dry land.

Hiding What God Cannot Heal

I was struck today by the interaction between Jesus and Martha recorded in the John 11.

Martha's brother Lazarus had died four days earlier. Jesus now arrives on the scene with a very good and wonderful plan. He's going to raise Lazarus from the dead.

First step?

Gotta get that stone away from the tomb entrance.

John 11:39
"Take away the stone," he said.
"But, Lord," said Martha, the sister of the dead man, "by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days."

By Martha's reasoning, the stone is a help and not a hindrance. Why? Because Martha assumes that this is a problem too big for Jesus. Jesus can do wonders, but Lazarus is dead. Even Jesus can't fix that. That being the case, why remove the stone? What's the point?

But Jesus surprised Martha. And I am pondering where I ought to let him surprise me.

What stones do I have over problems and sorrows that I think are too big for Jesus?

Am I afraid of letting the stench of my hidden wounds see the light of day?

Jesus, I lay before you my hidden sorrows. Take away the stones that hide them. Bring to life that which was dead. Bring your fragrance and life to that in me which stinks unto death.

And, as with Larazus, let your healing power displayed in my life be testimony to the world that Jesus conquers all.

Even death.

Symptoms Don't Kill You

I've been meaning for some time to jot down a quick reflection on a recent article I read entitled Metabolic syndrome: A game of consequences?

The gist of the article, should the link grow cold, is simply the fascinating thesis that being fat is not bad for you.

What???

Yes. Being fat is not bad for you. Eating too much is the real culprit. The new thinking is that, when we eat too much, our bodies convert the stuff we eat into fat. So far so good. No surprises there.

But the next thought is that it is literally the food that is killing us, and not the fat. Fat, by this reasoning, is merely an indicator of the thing that's really killing us. The details get pretty scientific, but the short of it is that food itself (great in moderation) is toxic in bulk quantities.

That's a revolutionary restatement of the problem, and it has real-world implications in how we think about things. If it's true, for example, then liposuction is not helpful, nor even neutral, but rather harmful in that it not only hides the problem but also strips the body of a key tool in its arsenal to fight the toxic effects of food.

I was struck by this for reasons noted in the article and also for reasons not explored in the article. Chief among those thoughts that ran through my mind was the fact that a healthy habit of fasting regularly is, in light of this research, clearly an extremely healthy thing to do. Fasting is one of those spiritual disciplines widely practiced throughout church history up until a few hundred years ago.

A lot of good Christian habits have fallen by the wayside in recent centuries. Silence. Solitude. Hospitality. The roadside to modernity is littered with the corpses of good Christian disciplines. I know hardly a soul who practices fasting regularly.

But I digress.

On further reflection, I was also struck by other areas in Christian life where I have seen this sort of confusion in play. For example, I have learned in recent years to not lament the decline of a local church.

Christ's bride is alive and well. Where God is served, the Spirit is present. Where Christ is honored, his people will, as he promised, have life, and life abundant at that.

If a local congregation is dwindling... if a church closes... that's fat. An external indicator of a critical problem that lies elsewhere. The real problem? That Christ is no longer honored at that church. That is what we ought to lament.

Once this thinking is in place, we are all freed of the ritual hand-wringing when churches are run poorly or close up shop, etc. Let us focus rather on watching God and serving His church. The other stuff may come and go, but in the end are just symptoms of how well or poorly the Christians within them are living out God's calling.

God's calling, and His church... are quite safe. And I can rest in that peace.

So let's worry about honoring Christ. The churches we call "home" on Sunday morning will take care of themselves if we do that.

Just like fat doesn't gather on a body that eats in moderation and exercises regularly.