I couldn’t find Jesus and then I did

JKB —  May 30, 2013 — 2 Comments

I had lost touch with Him.  I was praying and meditating on Scripture and nurturing the relationship the best I knew how…but His image and voice were faint.  I couldn’t see Him.  I couldn’t hear Him.  I couldn’t find Him.

Reason?  Carla’s sister’s cancer.  Her name is Paula and we love her very much and she has been battling this satanic disease for 3 long years.  Last week we found out the most recent chemo treatments haven’t been working and the end is probably near.  And I was angry.  And frustrated.  And nothing made sense.  I’ve seen lots of tragic death in 3 decades of pastoring but this time I couldn’t find my way.  And I couldn’t find the Jesus who promised to never leave me and to always be with me even when the path was black as pitch.

And then I found Him.  I found Him in His body.  I walked into church last Sunday morning, unaware of how lost I was feeling…until Rita put her arm around me and I started to weep and laid my head down on the table as Phyllis and Elaine and Pam prayed for me and our family with tears and passion and then told me “Hey, let’s not do normal church today, Pastor…lay your sermon down, just be a brother and a human being and let’s just call the people to pray.”

A few moments later, I found myself in the embrace of Ben and Chris and Joe and Dan and Tony and Joel all whispering in my ear, “Love you, bro…we got you, we got Paula” – and then Carla walked in and the brothers and many other sisters pulled her into their arms and whispered the same care into her ear.  After the singing – I truthfully didn’t sing much – I stood in front of the community and took a risk:  “Carla and I are a mess today.  Our sister Paula seems to be dying from the cancer we have begged God to take away.  I am angry.  I know I am your pastor and I’m not trying to put too much on you, but the truth is, today my faith is faltering.  But I am here.  We are here.  We always ask you to show up in your brokenness…so we are here with you in our brokenness.  I have no sermon in me to preach.  We’re going to read some of the Book and then we are going to pray and then take the Eucharist before we go home.”

And that’s what we did.  Without commentary – I read Psalm 23 and Isaiah 61 and Luke 1 and John 11 and Romans 8 and Revelation 21 and then back to John 14…and it was more powerful than I could have imagined.  In fact, I think I began to find Jesus that morning in the simple reading of Scripture – as I simply read the text, even with a heart full of doubt and sadness and anger – I think His face began to take shape, His voice began to grow stronger.  The Logos of God coming alive in and through the Logos of God.

But mostly, it was in His body – the body of Christ – where I found Christ last Sunday morning.  After I closed the Bible I sat down next to Carla…and prayer began.  All around, folks began to pray…for themselves, for one another, for their loved ones, for unspoken needs too deep and too painful to even utter aloud.  Some came to the front of the church to be prayed for by fellow brothers and sisters in Christ who for sure had their own needs but that morning chose to stand in the gap for others, washing their feet with tearful cries of intercession to a God and His Son who at times, in the pain, seem difficult to find.

And some of the brothers and sisters came to me…and to my best friend Carla.  Some just sat with us and wept, arms draped around our shoulders, hands squeezing our flesh as if to say, “I’m just here.  I have no words.  But I’m here.”  Others prayed beautiful prayers of compassion and intercession, begging our God to show up for Paula, her husband Gene and their family – for Carla and for me – to make His presence known because we desperately needed Him and the way was so dark and we were struggling to find Him.

Marc and Cindy and DJ and Keith and Audrey and Catherine and Stacey and Jim and Shauna and Sue and Stephanie and Hope and Mack and Kevin and Ron and Albert and the brothers and sisters I mentioned earlier and so many others I’m not mentioning because our eyes were closed some of the time and some folks just couldn’t get to us because they were praying for others or because there was just so much love…so much presence…I want you all to know that I couldn’t find Jesus for a moment but last Sunday morning, I found Him again…in you.  Each of you.  All of you.  The body of Christ.

And then Carla and I walked to the front and ate the body of Christ and drank the blood of Christ – and mysteriously…even miraculously, we walked out of the building full of Christ.  Nothing had changed in Paula’s circumstance.  God still hadn’t answered our prayer the way we wanted Him to.  But even with the darkness still all around…in and through His body – God’s people, our brothers and sisters – we found Jesus, once again.

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My friend, Larry Sherman

JKB —  May 8, 2013 — 1 Comment

imageI met Larry in 2002, less than a year after being fired by a church I had served for 14 years…a church full of people I loved very much. My heart was broken and full of anger at the way the church had, in the end, treated my family…and full of shame concerning my own inadequacies as a man and pastor. Larry was recommended to me by a mutual friend because Larry was a leader in a worldwide community of believers called the Evangelical Covenant…and because my friend knew Larry had the heart of Jesus. Over pancakes one morning, Larry listened as I poured out my story of pain and anger, shame and grief and as I shed bitter tears that literally dripped onto my syrupy plate.

Larry, Debbie and grandchildrenHe listened as I berated others and berated myself and asked frustrated, cosmic questions about whether there was any truly safe place on the planet where you could be a human being and grow and even make mistakes and yet follow Jesus together in authentic, repentant, forgiving and ever deepening community. He listened patiently and I remember feeling in my gut, “this guy doesn’t know me…but he cares about me – not as a commodity to be used or recruited for his group but as a wounded man and brother.” He didn’t need to say it. If the love and acceptance is real, it’s cool if you say it and often helps the healing if you say it but you don’t really need to say it because the other person just knows.

Finally, I was done. And Larry simply looked at me and said something like, “You’ve been through a rough time. You’re owning and working on your stuff. And you’re working on forgiving others their stuff. God is with you and you’re going to be all right.” And I can’t be sure because there was so much going on in those days…but I think it was at that moment – over pancakes with a brother I had never met in my life – that I began to believe it. God was with me and I was going to be all right.

Larry3Over the next 10 years, Larry partnered with me and the other leaders of Hope Community Church [my new community of believers] – and he taught us and consulted with us and counseled us and talked with us on the phone…and more than anything else, he believed in us. He helped Hope find its way into the Evangelical Covenant family and mentored me in the ordination process and was there for the hugs and high-fives and picture taking in Estes Park in 2005 when I became an official covenant pastor. He introduced Carla and me to his best friend and life-partner, Debbie…and the four of us ate together and went to shows together and laughed and prayed about all kinds of stuff and often told beautiful, life-giving stories about our kids and yeah, sometimes even cried together over those same kids. Larry treated us like we were family. And every couple months, Larry would call and ask if I wanted to hang out – and I always got the feeling he wasn’t calling just to do his job with the Covenant but because he really wanted to be with me as a man and brother. Larry Sherman, indeed, was my friend.

Kevin and LarryAnd yesterday, May 7, 2013, my friend Larry went to be with Jesus.

Larry, I miss you, man. Thanks for loving me and accepting me when I couldn’t love and accept myself. Thanks for not trying to be a star…but following Jesus and taking time to wash feet – my feet, Carla’s feet, the feet of the leaders of Hope Community Church, the feet of many, many leaders and people in the body of Christ both in and outside of the Covenant. Thanks for deeply loving your wife Debbie and your kids and grandkids in a way that models Jesus to us all. I will never forget you, Larry. Thanks for choosing to be my friend. And I will see you again soon, my dear brother…in glory.

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Comparison is death

JKB —  May 1, 2013 — 2 Comments

Bernard of Clairvaux calls it “curiosity”, the first step of ascent to the sin of pride.  Not the curiosity of a traveler who wonders what the Rocky Mountains look like in the winter or of an artist who ponders what it would be like to lay down the brush for a while and work with clay.  He is speaking of the curiosity of someone who is dissatisfied with his own lot and begins to curiously look over onto the lawn of another…wondering whose grass is greener.

Bernard says that when our curiosity gets the best of us and we start obsessing about how others are doing – not because we are innocently interested – but because of our lust to compare our situation with theirs – that only two things can come of it and both are bad.

First, we might say, “My lot is better than the lot of my friend.  I am doing better than them.  Maybe I am better than them.”  Pride, arrogance, smugness, condescension…possibly felt only subtly and expressed not at all – but there…in our spirits, nonetheless…poisoning our outlook and attitude and stealing the humility and dependence that is necessary for us to hear and follow the voice of our God.

Second, we might say, “My lot is worse than the lot of my friend.  I am doing worse than them.  Maybe they are better than me.  In fact, I must have what they have and be what they are or my life cannot be fulfilling or be what it is supposed to be.”  Envy, jealousy, covetousness, self-pity…possibly felt only subtly and expressed not at all – but there…in our spirits, nonetheless…poisoning our outlook and attitude and stealing the confidence and hope and focus and trust that is necessary for us to hear and follow the voice of our God into our absolutely unique future – custom designed by Him…for us!

Bernard goes on to say that there are only two times when it is wise and good for us to raise our heads from our journey and look outside ourselves.  First, when we are in a mess and need mercy and cry out to God like David, “I look up into the hills…where does my help come from – it comes from the Lord!”  Seems to me – and I think Bernard would agree if he could climb over 900 years of history and be here with me as I write these words – that there will be several times each day – and some days several times each hour – when we will need to look out from ourselves to seek the help and courage and delivering grace of our great rescuing God.

And the second time Bernard says it is appropriate to look up from our own journey – is when we hear a cry of need from our brother or sister or maybe simply see that they are hurting and could use some love and care and we move toward them to wash their feet or stand alongside them or position ourselves to defend them from injustice or danger.  This look “outside” will also be a regular part of a life lived in a war zone where our brothers and sisters are also our fellow soldiers battling a common diabolical enemy for the very lives of other human beings.

But looking outside myself into the journey of another…curiously…to compare?  Never.  Because that kind of comparison is always, always death.

Bernard’s 900 year old counsel makes me think of Jesus’ 2,000 year old word to Peter in John 21.  Peter has just received his marching orders from Jesus about loving Him and loving others…and before Peter takes two steps he looks up and sees his friend John and says, “But what about him, Lord?”  Jesus’ reply:  “What is that to you?  Follow me.”  Because comparison is always, always, always…death.

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Return of the Prodigal Son

JKB —  April 11, 2013 — 1 Comment

Return of the Prodigal
I will read an outstanding book twice. To read a book more than twice, it must be one of the top books I have read in my lifetime. So, it should mean something when I say I have read Henri Nouwen’s “Return of the Prodigal Son” five times. Outside of the Bible, this book has done more to help me understand the love of God the Father for His sons and daughters than any other. And I love it that Nouwen weaves his experience of Rembrandt’s famous painting of the prodigal kneeling before his father [the older brother standing off in the shadows] with his understanding of Jesus’ parable in Luke 15. It is artistic and brilliant and brings texture and depth to the rich, central truth of the Father’s unconditional love for both his wayward son AND his judgmental older brother. Possibly another unique contribution of Nouwen’s exposition of Luke 15 is his observation that in his view, an undercurrent of Jesus’ thought in telling this story is that God the Father is trying to grow and mature all of us into compassionate Father’s who deeply love other sons and daughters!! You can tell that Nouwen has psychological training – and his human observations hit home – both in ways that comfort and convict. But the psychology NEVER overpowers the theology – in fact, reading Nouwen on Luke 15 convinces me more than ever that when Jesus speaks in the gospels, what He shares ALWAYS has something to say to the human psyche, the human spirit – to MY human psyche and spirit – in deeply healing ways. In short, reading Jesus…reading Nouwen on Jesus always, always, always leaves me with a fuller understanding of my Father’s unconditional love…for me. If you haven’t yet read Nouwen’s “Return of the Prodigal Son” – pick up a copy and start the journey…now. Don’t delay.

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Lick the plate

JKB —  April 3, 2013 — 2 Comments

A couple weeks back our granddaughter Ada stayed with us for about 10 days and one evening we made doughnuts together. Carla helped her mix the batter and pour it into the doughnut molds and then stir the frosting and soon Ada and all of us were covered with so much doughnut goo that WE looked like doughnuts ourselves!

imageBut the really fun part was helping Ada drip frosting on the cooling doughnuts. Of course the sugary, warm, soupy frosting ran all over not only the doughnuts but her fingers and hands and elbows and shirt and a good deal of the sweetness ended up on the doughnut plate itself. While Carla was washing up, Ada and I finally sampled a few of the small, toddler size doughnuts for ourselves…and then…and then…when we were done, I did it. I did what any self-respecting doughnut loving, frosting loving but more importantly Ada-loving grandfather would do – I picked up the frosting covered plate and licked it. And then I handed it to Ada and said, “you want to try?” and with wide eyes and an almost two year old half grin that seemed to shout, “you mean it’s ok?”…she stuck out her tongue and picked up the plate and dived into sugar heaven.

The next morning, her mother Andrea made her pancakes before leaving for work. [Hey, all you sugar police – cut us some slack…the kid’s on vacation at grandma’s!] Like the frosting the night before, syrup was wonderfully everywhere and soon the pancakes were gone and Andrea left the table for an instant to get a wet towel to wipe Ada’s hands and when she turned back around, sure enough, there was Ada…licking the syrup from the plate. She was doing what Grandpa’s love had taught her to do, in fact, what his love cheered her on to do…what he hoped she would think about and dream about whenever she thought about grandpa and grandma and coming to their house…”why that’s the place where I get to lick the plate!!”

It occurred to me this Easter season that everything about God and Jesus and the church and His people and the entire Christian thing is supposed to be about “licking the plate”. It occurred to me that when Paul tells us in a letter like Romans that he has some “good news” for us, that God has seen us drowning in our sin and He loves us so much – we are His “beloved” sons and daughters [Romans 1:7] – that He has sent us a deliverer named Jesus of Nazareth who has died to take the penalty for our sin upon himself…and then rose from the dead to prove that we are now, indeed, free…that he is saying in behalf of God, “Really, it’s ok, beloved…you can lick the plate. It’s so good and it’s so sweet and it’s free and it’s all for you and there’s more…always more! I want you to know that in My house, this is what you get, this is what you do…when you’re with Me, we make doughnuts with lots of frosting, son…and we make pancakes with lots of syrup, daughter…and after we’re done with the doughnuts and pancakes, we always, always, always lick the plate!!!”

And it made me wonder if that is really what non-believers think about when they think about God and Jesus and the church and believers…or do they think mostly about mushy, overcooked, smelly brussel sprouts or some kind of nasty possum stew like Granny cooked on the Beverly Hillbillies. Do they think about a God who stands over us like some kind of dysfunctional orphanage headmaster with a pointed, wagging bony finger saying, “Eat it…eat all of it…or else”, a God who says, “It’s all about the law…obey it or die…”. Or do they see and feel a gracious Father who invites us into His home to be His real sons and daughters and to call Him “Abba, Daddy” and who freely feeds us grace – sweet and rich and wonderful and fabulous and free…a God who invites us to “lick the plate” – and who cheers us on when he sees our tongues out and faces buried in his mercy and compassion and grace?

In fact, I’m wondering today not just about non-believers…but also about what most believers think when they ponder God and Jesus and the church and even other believers. And maybe most of all today, I’m wondering…about you?

 

 

 

 

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City government, the Emperor’s New Clothes and the people

JKB —  March 6, 2013 — 5 Comments

turtleI’m not the sharpest tack in the drawer.  But I’ve been working in Detroit for almost 26 years and it seems to me that our city government is stuck.  And that we need some help getting unstuck.

Period.

And it really feels like we need to get over ourselves and start thinking more about the people.  Stephen Henderson, editorial page editor of the Detroit Free Press, said it best the other day when he wrote:

“At minimum, let’s say the people in the city shouldn’t be dying, waiting for services that never come.”

What Henderson refers to is the fact that:

“Detroit’s elected leaders have been unable, and in many cases unwilling, to confront the horrible fiscal imbalances that leave insufficient money for EMS rigs, fire trucks, police officers and public lighting.”

In other words, the present Detroit leadership – with all their hard work and policy setting – for whatever reasons – have been unable to consistently and adequately deliver the absolutely necessary for life services needed by the people of Detroit.

He goes on to say:

“Now they’ll lose power to someone who will.”

“Will what?” you ask?  Well, hopefully, the new temporary leadership will start thinking less about political power, less about who is motivated by what, less about who’s getting over on whom…and begin to think more about what really matters to us all – the people.

It’s not that I’m unsympathetic to the realities [for example] of power politics.  The “power motive” has always been there in public policy and debate and life – from the Pharaohs of North Africa to the Tudor kings and queens of England – from the Caesars of Rome to the Tsars of Russia – from the Holy Roman Emperors of the middle ages to the democrats and republicans of the modern era – there have always been issues of power and control.  And there surely are in this case as well – only God knows who in Lansing or who in Detroit city government are about keeping the power, keeping the control…instead of simply helping the Detroit citizen live his or her life.

And as for other underlying motives, what about race?  Any thinking person knows that the Civil Rights Movement couldn’t cure racism that lives in the human heart – and while Civil Rights Legislation made it illegal to do racist stuff, laws have never been able to eradicate racism from a human spirit determined to hang on to hate.  So, is there any racism, any trace of evil, diabolical, regurgitated, repeated “I’m better than you because of the color of my skin” mentality lurking in this whole emergency manager plan thing?  I suspect so.  Again, only God knows where because most leaders are too dishonest to own their latent racist, elitist spirit [if indeed it exists inside them] and too sophisticated to let their racism overtly leak in words or policy.

So, what I’m asking is this:  can we simply own that this whole thing is likely a mixed bag on many different levels but that the time has long since come and gone when drastic measures are in order to at least try to do something – even appoint an emergency manager – to help the people??

Because from what I see and hear and experience in my own life, working and serving in Detroit, and talking and living with and connecting in intimate relationship with a whole lot of Detroiters – many if not most of the people aren’t really thinking a whole lot about power or race or other motive-related mess – they just want their lights on, they simply want police presence, they need to know an EMS tech or fireman will be there in their pain, that their trash will get picked up, that the busses will run on time and that their kids will make it safe back and forth to school.

One more thing.  I’m also willing to believe that alongside any leaders who are hungry for power and control or any leaders still wrestling with a deeply embedded racist agenda or some completely other non-helpful mentality or motive – that there are some good folks, some honest folks, some hard-working, compassionate leader types in Lansing willing to come alongside our good, honest, hard-working, compassionate leaders in Detroit in order to partner with us, to help us get unstuck, to help us turn the corner, to help us…do a better job of helping the people.

Emperors-New-Clothes1Anyone remember “The Emperor’s New Clothes”?  Two scam artists come to town and convince an egotistical Emperor that they are making him a new set of Emperor clothes, some royal threads so special that only the most sophisticated and elite of the people can see them.  Of course, there are no real clothes.  It’s a scam, remember?  But on the day that the emperor parades down main street to show off his special outfit, all the grownups are so afraid of not being sophisticated and elite that they can’t bring themselves to say, “I can’t see anything on the Emperor except his boxers!!”  So they all play along with the scam until a young child – unencumbered by any need to be sophisticated and elite – shouts out:  “THE EMPEROR’S NAKED!!” at which point chaos erupts and the town goes wild…but at least the Emperor puts on a real shirt and some real pants.

As I said earlier, I’m not the sharpest tack in the drawer.  But I think Stephen Henderson is.  And I’m officially joining my child-like and possibly somewhat naive voice with his – shouting out that our beloved city is naked and it is about time we did anything…almost anything within our power and within the boundaries of decency and common sense…to help her get rightly clothed again.

 

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Aslan brings me to tears…again.

JKB —  March 4, 2013 — Leave a comment

AslanJust this morning, in fact.  Aslan [Turkish for “lion”] is, of course, the figure of Christ – the Lion of Judah – in C. S. Lewis’s “Narnia Chronicles”, redemptive tales of medieval type fantasy set in a parallel universe in a land called Narnia.  Four children from “our side of the veil” [the Pevensies – Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy] accidentally stumble into Narnia through a magical and mystical wardrobe and begin a series of adventures where good and evil perpetually battle – sometimes to the death – and the desperate need for a hero savior redeemer is just as evident there…as here.

So, when our girls were little and I read the Chronicles to them at night, all four of us lying on the bed – Andrea on one of my arms, Leigh Anne on the other and Caroline roaming the bed as she pleased, I cried regularly – usually at something Aslan said or did or even when he would simply “show up” out of nowhere at just the right time.  My girls – even Caroline – could “feel” my voice choke, sense my pause in reading when there really was no pause and then glance up to check out what was going on with dad – my glistening eyes were the final clue.  “Daddy, are you crying?  Why are you crying?  Are you sad?  Are you ok?”  How do you tell three little sweethearts under the age of 8, “Well girls, you see, Aslan made your daddy cry?”  How do you tell them that it’s as if Aslan, by speaking to someone in Narnia – or loving, saving, rebuking or encouraging them – has just spoken to you…and saved, loved, rebuked and encouraged you…as if you were actually, for real there in Narnia with Aslan…yourself?

Well, this morning I opened a little book entitled “C.S. Lewis’s Letters to Children” and read Lewis’s response to a little girl named Hila who had written Lewis and asked him about Aslan’s “other name”.  Lewis replied:

“As to Aslan’s other name, well I want you to guess.  Has there never been anyone in this world who (1.) Arrived at the same time as Father Christmas.  (2.)  Said he was the son of the Great Emperor.  (3.)  Gave himself up for someone else’s fault to be jeered at and killed by wicked people.  (4.)  Came to life again.  (5.)  Is sometimes spoken of as a Lamb (see the end of the Dawn Treader).  Don’t you really know His name in this world?  Think it over and let me know your answer!”

All good wishes,

Yours ever

C. S. Lewis

As I read these words, I immediately choked up, paused in my reading – eyes glistening.  Aslan was bringing me to tears…again.  Maybe it was mostly the part about him “giving himself up for someone else’s fault to be jeered at and killed by wicked people.”  Maybe also because “that someone” is me.  And finally, maybe because I am so thankful – so passionately thankful – that even though “the deep magic” from the beginning of time requires the death of those “at fault”…that there is also a “deeper magic still” which says that if One both worthy and willing chooses to die in the place of “that someone” who is at fault – then the just requirements of the deep magic are forever satisfied.

A reality, I wager, worth crying about.  In fact, if you think about that reality long enough…I bet Aslan will make you start crying, too.

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“Complete trust in the love of Christ…”

JKB —  February 13, 2013 — 3 Comments

I just finished Sigrid Undset’s biography of Catherine of Siena, a 14th century Italian mystic whose love for Jesus Christ blows me away.

The mystics, by the way, were a late-medieval movement reacting to the scholasticism of the same period.  The scholastics [Thomas Aquinas was the most famous] were a group that tried to match the growing intellectualism of the pre-Renaissance and Renaissance era by applying the logic of Aristotle to the Christian faith.  These incredibly intelligent and educated scholars feared that the increasing knowledge of the day would somehow diminish the ability of the common person to believe in the revealed truth of the Bible or even in Jesus Himself!  So, they responded by writing volumes of detailed argument about why Christianity was true and how “the faith” and science even complemented one another – allowing “enlightened men and women” to continue to believe in ancient, revealed truth about God.  This was all well and good – but the mystics basically said, “Got it – but where’s the intimate relationship with Jesus that my soul longs for?”  Their lives and writings served the purpose of moving the church back into a more balanced perspective between mind and spirit in their [and our] human attempt to know a very big God.

Catherine was one of the mystics – perhaps the most well-known of them all.  She only lived for 33 years on the planet [1347-1380] but her deep love relationship with Jesus had equally incredible impact on nobles and peasants, common believers, bishops and popes, friends and enemies, criminals and noted citizens, the healthy and the sick alike.  Slight of build, weak and frail from fasting and lack of sleep and prayer and constant serving of the poor – nevertheless, this young woman became one of the most influential figures in Christianity of the era…because of the love of Jesus…His love for her and her love for Him…a love that permeated her life and powerfully spilled over into the lives of countless others.

So, back to me reading her story – the phrase that captured my heart is this concept of “completely trusting in the love of Christ.”  What Catherine means is something more than simply knowing that Jesus Christ loves us…of course, that’s where we start – drinking in the reality that by His grace and apart from any of our own merit or goodness or law-keeping, Jesus simply loves us.  Unconditionally.  Forever.  Especially through His cross.  But “complete trust in the love of Christ” means taking that unconditional love into every situation – no matter how painful or unjust or frightening – and allowing that love to dictate our attitude, action and response.

So, for example – one day a powerful Franciscan scholar named Fra Lazzarino came to visit Catherine for the sole purpose of exposing her and all her visions and experiences as fraudulent and humiliating her as a heretic.  He had “raged against Catherine” in public sermons so when he came to see her, she already knew his arrogant, judgmental and hurtful purpose.  Yet, when Fra Lazzarino appeared, Catherine asked him to seat himself on one of her lone pieces of furniture in her bare cell of a room – a small wooden chest – while Catherine humbly seated herself “at his feet”.  The monk began their dialogue with a stream of disingenuous flattering words, asking Catherine to tell him what the Lord had been showing her, but in reality, only attempting to trap her by getting her to say something that he could use against her in the future.  But Catherine, knowing Fra Lazzarino’s true purpose – yet completely trusting in the love of Christ [what other reason!!??] replied modestly and calmly, begging the Franciscan “to talk to her, to strengthen and instruct her miserable soul.”  After some hours of conversation, when it was time for the monk to leave, Catherine politely followed Fra Lazzarino to the door, fell on her knees and asked him for his blessing and then said, “Please, of your mercy, pray for me.”

Fra Lazzarino went back to the Franciscan school there in Siena where he taught theology and was so deeply moved in his spirit by Catherine’s humility and genuine love not only for Christ but even for himself that he couldn’t lecture or teach that day or eat or sleep that night.  In fact, he was overtaken with tears and wept as he looked around at the luxury in which he lived and contemplated his arrogance and hypocrisy and “lip-service” to God.  At first light of dawn, he made his way back to Catherine’s home and upon seeing her – fell at her feet and wept some more as he apologized for his arrogance and his attempt to deceitfully trap her.  She forgave him and after a few more hours of talk about Jesus and His great love – Catherine sent him back to the Franciscan school to begin a new life of following the way of the real St. Francis…and of course, of the real Jesus of Nazareth.

Catherine’s biographer, Sigrid Undset, says that Fra Lazzarino was never the same.  He sold most of his possessions and gave the proceeds to the poor.  He remained a teacher for some time but those who heard him said that his teaching and preaching were somehow different.  The Franciscan was “scorned and ridiculed” for his new austere and humble and more Christ-like lifestyle – but it didn’t matter.  His life had been changed by his connection with one who “completely trusted in the love of Christ.”

Look, I know Jesus Christ loves me.  I settled that question after a near suicide attempt 20 years ago.  But I’m not sure how much I trust the love of Christ in every situation – especially if that situation is unjust or unfair toward me or someone I love.  I fear I would have told Fra Lazzarino to get lost or just exactly where he could stick his overly correct theology and if he would have given me the least bit of lip, I wonder if I would have tried to bait him into provoking me so I could beat his behind and then hypocritically justify it later by saying he started it.  One thing I know – I would never have sat at his feet and asked him to teach me anything and would never, ever have asked him “to pray for my miserable soul.”  I don’t think I would have trusted the love of Christ enough to love him…instead, I fear, I would have judged him and taken the execution of justice into my own hands – if not physically, at least emotionally, spiritually, verbally and relationally.

But I desperately want to love the Fra Lazzarino’s in my life like Catherine of Siena – I want to so completely trust the love of Christ that the power of His love is able to work in and
through me in the most deeply personal and profoundly evil situations – to literally see the power of His love “cover a multitude of sins” – just as it did in the 14th century through feeble, frail, and surrendered Catherine.

Loving Christ, powerful Christ, make it so…in my life…please.  I beg you.  By your love and by your grace.

 

 

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“He believed in Jesus even though Jesus didn’t deliver him”

JKB —  January 24, 2013 — 4 Comments

That’s the handwritten note I found in the margin of my Bible two mornings ago – right next to Luke’s story [23:39-43] about the two insurrectionists crucified on either side of Jesus.  This note – which I apparently wrote to myself after reflecting on Luke’s tale sometime in the last decade – reflects what I think our brother gospel writer’s main point was when he recorded the event 2,000 years ago.

Usually the focus in this story is on Jesus’ words to the second criminal promising that he would be with Jesus – in paradise – that very day.  And for real, that’s some deep and profound stuff – especially since this criminal guy had obviously committed a capital crime against the Roman government [you didn’t get crucified for purse snatching] and since he clearly wasn’t religious and in fact, most likely represented the dregs of society in the ancient world.  Jesus promises him eternal life freely?  No sinner’s prayer?  No baptism?  No three month waiting period to see if his good deeds proved that he really and truly believed?  Wow.

But again, I don’t think this was Luke’s central point…well, maybe just not his only central point.  I think Luke also told the story to challenge our tendency to believe in Jesus if and only if, when and only when He delivers the goods of the moment.  And in this situation, Jesus definitely did NOT deliver the goods of the moment and yet the second criminal believed in Him anyway.  Think about it this way:  at the crucifixion that day, the sign above Jesus’ head reads, “KING OF THE JEWS”.  Kings have power.  The Romans were demonstrating the power of their king and their kingdom by incarcerating and beating and torturing and finally publicly crucifying these three rebellious Jews and it makes sense that the first criminal – seeing the “King of the Jews” sign – cries out to Jesus, “If you’re the Messiah – if you’re a king – deliver us!”  And I suspect that even though the second guy berates his partner for his arrogance – if you asked him he would still have said, “Yeah, I’d love for Jesus – if he is who he says he is – to get us the heck off these crosses – right…now.”

But Jesus says nothing and Jesus does nothing.  In the traditional sense of being powerful, Jesus doesn’t act like much of a king at all.  In fact, he clearly seems power-less, disinterested in revenge or proving himself or even personal pain relief – all the traditional power stuff – much to the first criminal’s sarcastic disappointment.  But there must have been something about Jesus…something that deeply impacted and touched the second criminal, something beyond Jesus’ decision to not deliver himself or his two crucified companions that day.

Was it the way the second guy observed how Jesus treated Simon of Cyrene, who carried his cross most of the way to Calvary?  Both criminals would have been on the same road with Jesus…they would have seen and felt everything Jesus saw and felt and even did.  Was it the way Jesus stumbled along the road, attending even in his agony to those who mourned him?  Was it his words of forgiveness to those who pounded the spikes into his flesh?  Was it the way he handled the gawking of the people and the sneering of the religious rulers and the mocking of the soldiers?  I wasn’t there and neither was Luke so he doesn’t really say and we can only guess.  But there must have been something about Jesus’ character, his person, something that oozed out of his pores along with the blood and sweat of his pain that shouted to the second man hanging alongside him because this second man believed in him…even though Jesus didn’t answer the prayer for immediate deliverance, even though it seemed like Jesus did absolutely nothing.  Nothing that is but hang with him…and his friend…in their suffering.

Remarkable.  Though Jesus didn’t answer the first criminal’s prayer for deliverance – like any real king with any real power should have and would have – the second criminal says, “Lord, remember me when you come into your…kingdom.”  In other words, “Jesus you’re not doing what I want you to do and I’m still in the pain that I’m in but yet there’s something about you that makes me think…makes me believe that you really are a king and you really do have a kingdom.  And I’m suffering and dying and I’ve got questions and anger and regret and frustration but there’s something about you – right now – something about you…especially you being here, with me, in my suffering – though you’re not taking it all away – something I can’t quite describe or articulate but yet something about you that I also cannot deny.  Something that makes me still believe in you.  Even though you are not delivering me in the way I want, even though there doesn’t seem to be a good reason why you aren’t taking me and us out of our pain right now…yet, I still believe in you.  I believe you are a king.  And if you would have me, Jesus, I want you to be my king…I want to be a part of your kingdom.”

I guess I don’t really have much more to say about this except that if I saw the second criminal walking down the street today, I think I would walk right up to him and say, “Remember what you said to Jesus on the cross that day 2,000 years ago?  My sentiments exactly.”

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Analyze less…cry out more

JKB —  January 9, 2013 — 1 Comment

crying-out-to-godIf there’s one thing we westerners are good at…it is analysis. We analyze everything. The propensity to analyze is embedded so deep within our psyche and our everyday response to life that we are constantly thinking about and thinking through and thinking around everything over and over and over…which at times can be helpful and move us forward but many times becomes counterproductive and keeps us stuck. If our analysis helps us understand and respond wisely to a situation – that’s cool – but if through our analysis we think we can control stuff and life and people and circumstances – and even God – so that we won’t be surprised or afraid or hurt – then I think it becomes less than helpful because it simply isn’t true.

So, I’m reading through Luke the other day and come to Chapter 18 and I think this quandary about analysis is what Jesus is trying to get at. He opens with a parable about a widow who is in a whole lot of trouble who cries out to a crooked judge – over and over and over – and finally gets the crooked judge to give her much needed justice. Jesus editorializes and says to his audience, “What makes you think God won’t come and deliver justice, in the same way, to His kids who continue to cry out to him day and night?”

He follows with another story about a humble Jewish tax collector [Roman collaborator and betrayer of his Israeli countrymen] who cries out on his face before God, begging for mercy…in contrast with a proud religious leader who analyzes the situation and determines that God has blessed him because of his goody two-shoes list of righteous deeds and with great and pious dignity thanks God that he isn’t like the sinful maniac kneeling next to him, shouting at God for forgiveness.

Next comes the real-life scene where the all-grownup and proud as peacocks gaggle of 12 disciples tells a bunch of young, rambunctious, unassuming little kids that they can’t come and hang with Jesus because He has more important stuff to do. And by the way, isn’t it true that little children tend to spontaneously cry out to their caregivers when they have a need because they’re small enough and powerless enough and thus humble enough to believe they can’t do everything by themselves and actually need a whole lot of help?

Then there is the story of the self-righteous rich young ruler who wants to “do” something to gain eternal life [at least that’s what his question to Jesus implies, “Teacher, what can I do?”]. He doesn’t want to cry out to anyone or be beholding to anyone and in fact really probably thinks that because he’s got money, he’s got the blessing or backing of God to make eternity happen for himself…with a little coaching, of course.

Finally, Luke closes the chapter first with words from Jesus’ own mouth – his prediction of his trek to Jerusalem where he will be crucified…die…and then rise again – but not before he has cried out over and over and over on the cross to his Father with passionate words and phrases like “forgive them” and “I’m so thirsty” and “why have you forsaken me” and finally, “into your hands I commit my spirit.”

And then, really finally, as if to show that any of us can cry out like Jesus, if we are willing – Luke tells us about a blind man in Jericho who hears that Jesus is coming and cries out to Him, “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!” Of course, the folks standing around, analyzing the situation, tell him to shut up. “Jesus ain’t got time for you, fool. He’s the Son of God and has Kingdom stuff on his mind so shut your pie hole and stop your whining and crying and let Him be.” Now Mark says the blind man’s name is Bartimaeus and Matthew says there are two blind men, not one…but two things all three writers agree on. First, when the crowd tells the blind man to be quiet – he “cries out all the more” – and second, hearing the cry of this brother in need, Jesus “stands still”. Imagine, the second person of the trinity, hearing the cry of one puny, suffering human being in the backwater of Israel, the armpit of the ancient world – and he stops in his tracks? And then he calls the blind man closer…and asks him to repeat his cry…and answers his cry and the blind man receives his sight. And then Jesus says, “Your faith [I’m guessing he means the desperate faith that compelled the blind man to stop analyzing and start crying out to Jesus in the first place] has made you well.”

It doesn’t take a Bible scholar to see that Luke believes Jesus is trying to tell us something profound and he has organized his 18th chapter to call us to a decision about our lives. Do we want to stay locked down in the arrogant, self-righteous, controlling paralysis of analysis? Or do we want to follow Jesus into the freedom and security of crying out to a God who loves us – even in the face of our sin…or our helplessness…or our blindness…or even our death?

So, after reading Luke 18, I’m sitting there in the chair in my living room with tears running down my college educated, master degreed, obsessively analytical face – and say to my Abba , “Father, in 2013, help me to analyze less…and cry out more. In fact, help me to get so sick of how obsessive analysis leaves me cold and unfulfilled and desperate…that by faith, I cry out more and more and over and over to you, in situation after circumstance after relationship – and watch how you deliver me…and us…in your time and in your way…just like your Son Jesus delivered the desperate widows and the guilt-ridden tax-collectors and the powerless children and the hopelessly blind of that day. And just like you delivered Jesus from his grave.”

How about you? Are you sick of analyzing your life to death? Then let’s ask God, together, to help us in 2013…to analyze less…and cry out more.

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