Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Sightings from India 2011
I'm back from India, and I've set up a page on this blog called Sightings from India 2011 with a few pictures and some notes from my trip. Please take a few minutes to check it out. Thanks!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Gaps
You may have noticed a gap in "Sightings on the Way" over the past couple of weeks. Not because I didn't see anything, but because we were busy with preparations for, attending, and relaxing after our son Matt's wedding in California. Perhaps I'll make some observations about those days in some future entries.
I'm letting you know there will be another gap for a couple of weeks again now because I'm off to India to meet with some of our Lutheran pastors there, to encourage them, pray with them, listen to them talk about their ministries, see what I can learn from them and what we can learn together. As the Lord wills, I'll be back here in the Blog O'Sphere around the first of September to catch you up. Until then, God bless us everyone!
I'm letting you know there will be another gap for a couple of weeks again now because I'm off to India to meet with some of our Lutheran pastors there, to encourage them, pray with them, listen to them talk about their ministries, see what I can learn from them and what we can learn together. As the Lord wills, I'll be back here in the Blog O'Sphere around the first of September to catch you up. Until then, God bless us everyone!
Cousins
Notes from a sermon on August 7, 2011. Matthew 14
Jesus and John the Baptist. The Messiah and the Forerunner. So theological. So formal. So King-James-ish, the way we think of this relationship.
Jesus and John the Baptist at the Jordan river. We almost hear Jesus (solemnly): "Hail, John the Baptist! I come to be baptized by thee." John (equally solemly): "Nay, Messiah, rather shouldest I be baptized by thee than that thou shouledest be baptized by me, whom am unworthy to untie the thong of thy sandal." Jesus: "Nay rather, prevent me not, for thus it is the plan of God, that all righteousness shouldst be fulfilled." And so on and so forth (yawn).
And later. John pointing to Jesus with all prophetic solemness to Jesus as the Lamb of God. As the One Who Must Increase. Jesus pointing to John as the Forerunner.
And then John's death reported to Jesus. Jesus takes the news stoicly, takes the disciples to the other side of the lake, heals a mess of people, feeds thousands, sends the disciples back, prays a while, walks on water. The lesson? "Surely Thou art the Son of God!"
Or not. Maybe that's just the lesson we've learned for years from Sunday School Teachers and Pastors and Learned Professors and Theologians and People Who Have Studied the Bible and the like.
Maybe if that's the only lesson we've learned we've missed out on a lot.
A year or so ago my now eight-year-old grandson Luke asked (out of the clear blue), "when Jesus was a kid, do you think he ever got into any trouble? Like, did he ever jump out from behind a tree and scare anybody?" What a delightful thought!
In Luke's town, there are quite a few cousins of varying degrees and steps of removal, some of whom are close to his age. He sees them quite often and plays with them frequently. Jesus and John were only six months apart, and they were cousins, so it's natural for Luke to latch on to that aspect of their relationship. So imagine with him, and with me, if you will . . .
When John and Jesus were kids, did they hide behind bushes or trees and jump out and say "boo!" at girls?
Did their moms call them in for cookies?
Did they write their names with chalk on the sidewalk?
Did they call each other Jack and Yeshie?
Did they skip stones into the pond?
Did they catch frogs and put them into their pockets?
Were they on the same soccer team, in the same Hebrew class, liked the same music?
And when they were thirty years old and John went out to the River to preach and baptize, and Jesus went out to be baptized by him, was their conversation all that formal, like between a Forerunner and a Messiah? Or was it between two cousins who had grown up together, this day with heads together, hands on each others' shoulders, more like "Jack, you know why I'm here." "Yeshie, you know I'm the one that should be baptized by you." "I know what you're saying, Jack, but you know this was always the plan." Jack (reluctantly), "Well, OK Yeshie, but you know this is the beginning of the end for both of us. Love you, buddy." And into the water they go.
And then think of the comments that Jesus and John make about one another as grounded in the cousin-cousin relationship, a relationship grown and fertilized and nourished for thirty years.
And then think of the announcement to his cousin of John's terrible, horrible, cruel, senseless death. Can we really have been so dense all these years to have thought that Jesus would have taken the news so stoically? Wouldn't this have explained His sudden desire to get away from the crowds?
And yet the crowds followed him, and wanted healing, and wanted feeding. And He did what Jesus would do, what good Christians would do - He put aside His own feelings and needs and sacrificed them to help all these other people. But I wonder whether His own heart was broken and screaming and hurting the whole day.
And finally at the end of the day the people went home, the disciples got into the boat, and He went further up the mountain to pray. And to cry, I'm sure - a lot. Just Jesus and the Father, finally alone to do what Jesus had needed to do the whole day. Pouring His heart out to the Father in grief and lament and sorrow probably for hours (that's why He didn't show up at the boat until the fourth watch) until finally, perhaps, His prayer morphed into something as simple as a breath prayer like "You are the Father; I am the Son; praise God." One breath per phrase. Over and over again. Jesus receiving comfort from the Father in that love and that relationship.
Until finally, the grieving done, the relationship reaffirmed, His strength restored, He was able to go down the mountain and set out on the surface of the water, held up firmly in the hand of the Father who loved Him, who had always loved cousin Jack, who now had Jack safely in His hands forever.
In the knowledge that Jesus was indeed the Son of this wondrous Father, and perhaps in the knowledge that He Himself would be the Resurrection even for His old friend Jack, he set out across the water to give His new friend Peter a hint of that Resurrection now.
Jesus and John the Baptist. The Messiah and the Forerunner. So theological. So formal. So King-James-ish, the way we think of this relationship.
Jesus and John the Baptist at the Jordan river. We almost hear Jesus (solemnly): "Hail, John the Baptist! I come to be baptized by thee." John (equally solemly): "Nay, Messiah, rather shouldest I be baptized by thee than that thou shouledest be baptized by me, whom am unworthy to untie the thong of thy sandal." Jesus: "Nay rather, prevent me not, for thus it is the plan of God, that all righteousness shouldst be fulfilled." And so on and so forth (yawn).
And later. John pointing to Jesus with all prophetic solemness to Jesus as the Lamb of God. As the One Who Must Increase. Jesus pointing to John as the Forerunner.
And then John's death reported to Jesus. Jesus takes the news stoicly, takes the disciples to the other side of the lake, heals a mess of people, feeds thousands, sends the disciples back, prays a while, walks on water. The lesson? "Surely Thou art the Son of God!"
Or not. Maybe that's just the lesson we've learned for years from Sunday School Teachers and Pastors and Learned Professors and Theologians and People Who Have Studied the Bible and the like.
Maybe if that's the only lesson we've learned we've missed out on a lot.
A year or so ago my now eight-year-old grandson Luke asked (out of the clear blue), "when Jesus was a kid, do you think he ever got into any trouble? Like, did he ever jump out from behind a tree and scare anybody?" What a delightful thought!
In Luke's town, there are quite a few cousins of varying degrees and steps of removal, some of whom are close to his age. He sees them quite often and plays with them frequently. Jesus and John were only six months apart, and they were cousins, so it's natural for Luke to latch on to that aspect of their relationship. So imagine with him, and with me, if you will . . .
When John and Jesus were kids, did they hide behind bushes or trees and jump out and say "boo!" at girls?
Did their moms call them in for cookies?
Did they write their names with chalk on the sidewalk?
Did they call each other Jack and Yeshie?
Did they skip stones into the pond?
Did they catch frogs and put them into their pockets?
Were they on the same soccer team, in the same Hebrew class, liked the same music?
And when they were thirty years old and John went out to the River to preach and baptize, and Jesus went out to be baptized by him, was their conversation all that formal, like between a Forerunner and a Messiah? Or was it between two cousins who had grown up together, this day with heads together, hands on each others' shoulders, more like "Jack, you know why I'm here." "Yeshie, you know I'm the one that should be baptized by you." "I know what you're saying, Jack, but you know this was always the plan." Jack (reluctantly), "Well, OK Yeshie, but you know this is the beginning of the end for both of us. Love you, buddy." And into the water they go.
And then think of the comments that Jesus and John make about one another as grounded in the cousin-cousin relationship, a relationship grown and fertilized and nourished for thirty years.
And then think of the announcement to his cousin of John's terrible, horrible, cruel, senseless death. Can we really have been so dense all these years to have thought that Jesus would have taken the news so stoically? Wouldn't this have explained His sudden desire to get away from the crowds?
And yet the crowds followed him, and wanted healing, and wanted feeding. And He did what Jesus would do, what good Christians would do - He put aside His own feelings and needs and sacrificed them to help all these other people. But I wonder whether His own heart was broken and screaming and hurting the whole day.
And finally at the end of the day the people went home, the disciples got into the boat, and He went further up the mountain to pray. And to cry, I'm sure - a lot. Just Jesus and the Father, finally alone to do what Jesus had needed to do the whole day. Pouring His heart out to the Father in grief and lament and sorrow probably for hours (that's why He didn't show up at the boat until the fourth watch) until finally, perhaps, His prayer morphed into something as simple as a breath prayer like "You are the Father; I am the Son; praise God." One breath per phrase. Over and over again. Jesus receiving comfort from the Father in that love and that relationship.
Until finally, the grieving done, the relationship reaffirmed, His strength restored, He was able to go down the mountain and set out on the surface of the water, held up firmly in the hand of the Father who loved Him, who had always loved cousin Jack, who now had Jack safely in His hands forever.
In the knowledge that Jesus was indeed the Son of this wondrous Father, and perhaps in the knowledge that He Himself would be the Resurrection even for His old friend Jack, he set out across the water to give His new friend Peter a hint of that Resurrection now.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Transformation
When I went out to get the mail yesterday, I turned back and let it be for a while. A cicada had just come out of his shell on the mailbox door, and was waiting for his new shell and wings to harden. I decided not to interrupt him.
His new body was somewhat larger than the shell next to him; and then there were those long wings! How did all that manage to fit inside that shell! Well, of course the time came when that shell was too small and he just had to leave it behind, and good riddance, I say! Now he can fly from tree to tree! Now he can sing with the other cicadas in the warm summer afternoons! He'll never go back to the confines of that shell anymore!
Not like some humans who, in the wake of their transformations seem to find the process frightening rather than freeing and want to take comfort by crawling back into a shell that no longer fits. Oh, no! What shall we do! Instead of getting rid of the shell completely, it's only too common to tuck the wings in tighter, pull our spiritual tummies in, suck up our newfound growth, and try to cram ourselves back in to the shell we used to occupy. Or perhaps we just give up and rip the wings off completely, and never know the joy of flying.
And sometimes there are others who knew us "back in the shell", who can't cope with the transformed us, who would be much more comfortable if they could squeeze us back into our formerly manageable state, cut off the wings, and deal with us as we used to be.
Perhaps they're saying, What, you've suddenly become aware of how much God loves you? What, you've suddently realized how delighted Jesus is with you? What, you've suddenly given up your lifelong pursuit of my approval? I'm not sure I like this transformation that is happening to you! I think I liked you better in your old shell. Here, let me help you back into it.
But I say, quick, cicadas! Spread those wings! Fly up into the trees! Sing your loud praises to the loving Father who has transformed you to be something greater than even you ever thought possible of yourself! And stick your tongues out at the ones who prefer your old shell to your new wings.
His new body was somewhat larger than the shell next to him; and then there were those long wings! How did all that manage to fit inside that shell! Well, of course the time came when that shell was too small and he just had to leave it behind, and good riddance, I say! Now he can fly from tree to tree! Now he can sing with the other cicadas in the warm summer afternoons! He'll never go back to the confines of that shell anymore!
Not like some humans who, in the wake of their transformations seem to find the process frightening rather than freeing and want to take comfort by crawling back into a shell that no longer fits. Oh, no! What shall we do! Instead of getting rid of the shell completely, it's only too common to tuck the wings in tighter, pull our spiritual tummies in, suck up our newfound growth, and try to cram ourselves back in to the shell we used to occupy. Or perhaps we just give up and rip the wings off completely, and never know the joy of flying.
And sometimes there are others who knew us "back in the shell", who can't cope with the transformed us, who would be much more comfortable if they could squeeze us back into our formerly manageable state, cut off the wings, and deal with us as we used to be.
Perhaps they're saying, What, you've suddenly become aware of how much God loves you? What, you've suddently realized how delighted Jesus is with you? What, you've suddenly given up your lifelong pursuit of my approval? I'm not sure I like this transformation that is happening to you! I think I liked you better in your old shell. Here, let me help you back into it.
But I say, quick, cicadas! Spread those wings! Fly up into the trees! Sing your loud praises to the loving Father who has transformed you to be something greater than even you ever thought possible of yourself! And stick your tongues out at the ones who prefer your old shell to your new wings.
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