Snow

When I first began to pastor, I served a rural church out by itself on a lonely blacktop road in Tennessee.  Snow was something that just didn’t happen much, and then one year that all changed.  We went through a series of what we came to call “wicked Wednesdays” and “sinister Sundays”.  We called off one worship service after another and prayed for Spring to come.

It was about that time that I discovered an interesting passage in the book of Job.  After a flurry of comments and arguments by Job and his fickle friends, God breaks the silence.  He overwhelms Job with question after question, basically convincing Job that he (nor any other human being) could ever understand all that God is up to.  There comes a time when you just have to trust that God is at work even if everything seems to scream that He is not involved.

In that kind of context God asks Job, “Have you entered the storehouses of the snow or seen the storehouses of the hail, which I reserve for times of trouble, for days of war and battle?” (Job 38:22-23). We have storehouses of salt to melt the snow, and God has storehouses of snow and hail – quite an image.  And it is an image – God is trying to help us understand that which is beyond our understanding, and so He calls upon us to look at snow as a way He combats – what?  He reserves these storehouses of snow and hail for times of trouble, for days of war and battle – what does that mean?

As I looked out my study window this week with the snow falling, I was intrigued by how everything had come to a halt.  We go ninety-to-nothing most of the time, and then a little thing like a snow flake stops it all.  Mighty eighteen wheelers slip and slide, and as the snow accumulates, we get stuck inside.  We talk about getting cabin fever, about going stir crazy, and about being bored.  Interestingly enough, some families reconnect, bake cookies, play board games, find new ways to entertain themselves.  We may pray for a sunny day, and we find ourselves longing for Spring.

In it all, I wonder if the battle being fought isn’t for our souls.  We squeeze God out with our busyness, we think we are so powerful with our technology, we believe nothing can stop us – and then a snow flake wakes us up.  A thin layer of ice reminds us of our own instability and frailty.  Being stuck inside forces us to acknowledge our dependency.  God doing battle, God waging a war, gently reminding us that He is God and we are far more frail than we will admit.

Maybe we need more snow.

Transformation

One of my favorite stops during our recent Italy trip was at the San Giovanni in Laterano (St. John Lateran) Church in Rome.  The church is dedicated to John the Baptist and John the Evangelist and is the first among the four major basilicas of Rome.  Beautiful on the outside, the inside is breathtaking.  Huge sculptures of the apostles stand beneath reliefs from the life of Jesus and oval paintings of Old Testament prophets.  Each of the apostles have some symbol that speaks of their role or death – Peter and his keys, Simon the Zealot and the saw by which he was martyred, the Apostle Paul and the sword symbolizing his execution as a Roman citizen.  All of these were impressive, but I found myself going back over and over to the sculpture I have pictured here, that of Matthew (Levi) the tax collector.

Matthew’s story is told simply in Matthew 9:9-13.  He is sitting at his tax collectors booth, likely charging the exorbitant  taxes for which such collectors were notorious.  Though viewed as traitors for working with the occupying Romans, they were often very rich as they filled their own money bags with whatever amounts they could get above that promised to Rome.  We read that Jesus simply came up to Matthew and said, “Follow me,” and Matthew got up and followed.  Of course, that was not the end of it – Matthew later in the day had a party, a dinner in honor of Jesus who loved those known as outcasts and sinners.  Already Matthew is seen collecting something more important than money – he is collecting followers for Jesus.  Some of the religious legalists of the day did not like it and complained about Jesus associating with such sinners.  Our Lord’s response was direct – “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.  But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’  For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

Whether Matthew previously viewed himself as unhealthy I do not know, but obviously there was something about Jesus’ message that changed his life and altered his eternity.  The mercy extended through Jesus began its transforming process, first evidenced by his attempt to introduce his friends and co-workers to Jesus, and then his dedication to following Jesus as one of the twelve apostles.  The statue pictured here shows Matthew standing with his foot on a money bag – certainly a symbol of the bags of coins that had possessed him in the past.  Because of Christ, the coins had lost their value.  In his hands is a Bible, a symbol of his determination to tell others about Jesus, most evidenced by the Gospel of Matthew.  What began as a simple calling changed his life, his career, his treatment of others, his life message.  Surely this is what transformation looks like.

There were other tax collectors who manifest great transformations, the most famous being Zacchaeus in Luke 19.  Once living only for himself, Zacchaeus was transformed into a generous man, suddenly aware of the injuries he had caused and determined to do something about it.  The change in his life was apparent to all.

Of course, Matthew challenges us to reflect on our own lives and the priority shifts that come as a result of our relationship with Christ.  Surely Jesus wants to be more than just an added dimension to our lives – He wants to be life itself.  When that happens transformation takes place and it becomes increasingly evidenced as we who are sick become increasingly healthy, as we who tend to think only of ourselves and cling to our bags of coins (or whatever else we value greatly) respond to such mercy by the dedication of our lives to Jesus and our compassionate outreach to others.

I wonder, if a sculpture was made of you, what would your foot be on?  What would be in your hands?  Would transformation be evident?

I ask the same of myself.

 

The Dash In-between

I have started a series of sermons on faith in the life of Abraham, and this past Sunday I asked folks to write down two dates.  The first was the date of birth (I did give permission to cover the date if people didn’t want their neighbor to see it!)  I then asked those present to put a “dash” after the date, and then the numbers two, zero, and a question mark.  It would be something like “1978 – 20?”.  The second date would be the date of death, an unknown for the most part.

I pointed out that we have no control over the first date.  We didn’t ask to be born, ready or not we came because of the actions of others.  And the second date, the date of death, is a date we have little control over as well.  But the dash in between – that is the place of choices, decision making, where we can decide what we will do with our lives.

Abraham at age 75 responded to God’s call and it changed his life and ours.  Our choices are important as well.  What we do with the “dash in-between" will speak of adventure and faith and the embracing of promise – or of boredom, waste, unrealized potential, unfulfilled longings. 

In this context I quote Gregg Levoy from his book Callings: Finding and Following an Authentic Life.  I continue to find this quote challenging, and I wanted to share the challenge and discomfort with you:

To sinful patterns of behavior that never get confronted and changed,
Abilities and gifts that never get cultivated and deployed –
Until weeks become months
And months turn into years,
And one day you’re looking back on a life of
Deep intimate gut-wrenchingly honest conversations you never had;
Great bold prayers you never prayed,
Exhilarating risks you never took,
Sacrificial gifts you never offered
Lives you never touched,
And you’re sitting in a recliner with a shriveled soul,
And forgotten dreams,
And you realize there was a world of desperate need,
And a great God calling you to be a part of something bigger
than yourself –
You see the person you could have become but did not;
You never followed your calling.

A powerful and troubling quote indeed – and through Abraham, a reminder that whatever age we find ourselves, we can respond to God’s call to find purpose, life, authenticity, and hope in following Jesus.  We can get up out of our recliner and be a part of something far bigger than ourselves.

I hope that will be your choice today and every day as you live out your dash in-between.

The Best Thing About Italy

It has been a while since I have blogged, a fact my son reminded me about by placing a link to my blog on his updated website.  I have no excuses, not really.  I find it challenging sending my musings into cyberspace, uncertain as to who might read what I say and if it will make any difference at the end of the day. As a pastor I have this strong urge to be pastoral in some way, and since the blog is connected to the church website, I guess I should.  But I also have the desire to speak more personally about what I am thinking, how I process things, how I interact with God.  On top of that, it is always a lot more fun reading my kid’s blogs than writing my own.

Back in March 2010 the First Baptist Church of Rolla honored our twenty years of service to the church (I am now in the 22nd year – crazy!).  They threw a party, said a lot of nice things, and gave Holly and I a trip to Italy.  Our daughter Alyssa and her husband Paul had been to Italy before, and they immediately said they wanted to be there with us, serving as our tour guides.  The time of Christmas was set (cheaper, more days for your money, a beautiful time in Italy, etc.) and finally it came.

It was a tremendous trip, one that we will always remember.  We were in Florence on December 23rd through Christmas morning, then headed to Rome from Christmas to New Year's Eve.  Not being world travelers, my wife and I were uncertain about a number of things, but we couldn’t have asked for anything better.  My son-in-law, with a Masters in Antiquities, was a splendid guide, taking us to all the places tourists go and then to places tourists would pay a high price to see.  I enjoy Renaissance art and saw original works by Michelangelo, Botticelli, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, Bernini, Caravaggio – you get the idea.  We visited museums, saw churches larger than any I had ever seen, enjoyed Italian cuisine, were amazed at ancient ruins, silenced by age-old catacombs.  We walked 8-10 miles a day, traveled by subway, bus, train and taxi.  I loved every minute of it – well, we did get lost in Florence on Christmas Eve and got soaked to the bone – but I almost forgot that in the midst of all the good things.

I have been asked the question several times, “What was the best thing about your trip to Italy?”  I can name several, sharing the time and the sights with my wife and children, reflecting on ancient Christian origins, overwhelmed by masterpieces of art.  But I think the best thing is simply the fact that First Baptist Church of Rolla gave us this gift in the first place.  They didn’t have to – a card, a plaque, a gift certificate to a restaurant would have expressed appreciation.  But this went way beyond all that, lovingly extravagant, expressing love and care for Holly and myself in a splendid way.

So very much a gift of grace, like those our Heavenly Father gives us on a regular basis through His Son Jesus.   Merciful, extravagant, prodigal, amazing grace.

The picture is of Alyssa, Paul, Holly and myself standing before the ruins of the Emperor’s palace in Rome and Circus Maximus – as my son-in-law says, “Think Ben-Hur.”

The Sparrow At My Window

Once again today I was in my office and heard the chirping of a sparrow right outside my window.  As it sat on the window ledge, I had the opportunity to observe the bird, to see its alertness, its vigilance.  If I looked closely, I almost believed I could see the beating of its heart as it rested from its flight.

I have no ideas what sparrows think about or what they do besides make nests and empty bird feeders.  Though I never thought a sparrow was exceptionally beautiful as far as birds go, the little creature has a beauty of its own.  When it took off I followed it with my eyes as long as I could, and then I whispered, “Only the Father knows where the sparrow is now.”

I find it intriguing that Jesus used the example of the Father’s knowledge of sparrows as an encouragement to trust and fearless living.  Jesus focuses on our frightened reactions to those who might harm us in Matthew 10, but the wider application is to anything that might threaten us or instill within us fear.  Perhaps the greatest fear is to be overlooked by God, forgotten, out of His sight.  Frequently I speak to those who believe their lives are lived largely without the awareness of the Father.  It is a fearful thing indeed, to fall through the cracks, to be overlooked or forgotten by the Almighty.

But Jesus insists such is not the case.  A sparrow can’t fall to the ground without the Father’s knowledge and involvement, Matthew 10:29 tells us.  That makes God a great bird-watcher, but does that fact relate to us?  Yes, indeed, of course it does – Jesus goes on to say in Matthew 10:30, “And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid, you are worth more than many sparrows.”  

What’s the point?

As large as God may be as the Creator and Sustainer of all that is, He notes the distress of even the smallest of creatures.  Not only does He know about the sparrow, He has an accurate count of the hair on our heads, seemingly useless and insignificant information – except it tells us how attentive God is to us.  As one writer put it, for God to know that kind of information is a way of saying God is engrossed with His people.  I like that image – engrossed.  Absorbed.  Immersed.  The way we are to be with Him, and the way He really is with us.

Don’t be afraid, Jesus says – to God you are worth more than many sparrows.  Whatever we face in life, whether it be difficult times, disappointing circumstances, troubling relationships, broken health or hearts, we don’t have to face that alone.  The One who has His eye on the sparrow has His eye on us.  The One who doesn’t miss a hair on our heads doesn’t miss a moment of our lives.

And He wants to do more than just watch us – His longing is to walk with us through that which creates fear, to still our hearts and calm our souls and assure us that He is at work.

His eye is on the sparrow – but more important, His eye is on you and me.

Our Father In Heaven

I have to admit that the phrase from the Lord’s Prayer, “Our Father who art in heaven”, bothered me for a long time.  As a child I remember watching a sci-fi movie where the leading character is able to see into the depths of space, to the end of the universe.  It began simply, with being able to see through walls, but as his vision increased, he peered into space.  My childhood take was that if he looked far enough, he would finally see God, watching from the distance of billions of light years away. 

So where is God?  So far away that I can not even begin to comprehend it – that is how things came together in my childish mind.  And as I grew, I’m not sure I put away childish things very quickly.  Others don't either -- as a pastor I have people tell me that their prayers don’t make it up to God, that at times they don’t even make it past the ceiling.  They see God as one who is up there and out there, so far removed that we may have to speak up for Him to hear us, or speak long to get His attention.

In the last blog I spoke with great gratitude about Jesus directing us to call God “Father.”  That phrase speaks of such intimacy, closeness, and love. A tremendous privilege, to call God "Father."  Is Jesus now trying to correct our misunderstanding  – “Yes, God does want you to think of Him as Father, but don’t jump to conclusions – He is so far from you that you can’t even comprehend it” – have we misinterpreted what Jesus was getting at?

No, not at all – in fact, Jesus is helping us understand what kind of Father God is. 

For one thing, He is our heavenly Father.  Whatever our relationship with our earthly fathers might be, God is so far beyond that.  I can use this example – my Dad was almost completely deaf.  From my earliest recollections I had to yell to get his attention, and I became increasingly aware of the fact that his hearing aid did very little good.  He mostly read lips.  Carrying on a conversation with Dad was extremely difficult.  When I was in college Dad had a device which was suppose to enable him to hear me on the phone.  I would call home and try to talk to him – and you could hear the sadness in his voice when he would say, “I’m sorry Robert, I can’t hear what you are saying – here’s your mother.” 

My earthly father had trouble hearing me and carried on very few conversations throughout our times together – our Heavenly Father has no such problem.  He hears our shouts and our whispers, and He is always eager to carry on a conversation night or day.

Our Father in heaven – if I think of that phrase in distance terms, I don’t think of God being far removed but of God having an exceptional vantage point from which to see.  My daughter says there is a mountain you can climb in Arizona and see the whole city of Phoenix laid out before you.  We are so near-sighted in the living of our lives, but our Father in heaven has the vantage point of expanded vision.  He misses nothing.  He takes it all in.  We are never lost from His sight.  He doesn’t go around scratching His head wondering what’s going to happen next.  To say God is in heaven is to say He sees all.  Everyone of us.  Personally.

Our Father in heaven – I believe that also emphasizes His closeness.  Scholar N. T. Wright emphasizes that earth is our sphere of life and God is hidden from us for the time being in the spiritual sphere of life.  He is not distant – He is closer than we can imagine.  I think of the scene in 2 Kings 6 when Elisha and his servant were surrounded by the enemy.  The servant was terrified, but Elisha prayed that his servant’s eyes would be opened.  When they were, he suddenly saw the hills full of chariots of fire, the army of God.  They were there all the time – Elisha knew it, but his servant didn’t. 

When I dwell on the opening phrase of the Lord’s Prayer, using it as a pattern and a starter for my own prayer, my heart and soul goes in these kinds of directions.  I spend time with the Father knowing that He hears.  I relax in His superior vantage point, knowing that He knows what is going on and will direct me as I trust in Him.  And I ask Him to help me live with the awareness that I am never separated from His presence, that I don’t have to worry about my prayers making it beyond the ceiling.  I pray that I might have eyes to see His presence with me always through His Son Jesus.

Our Father in heaven.

Father

My wife and I recently had the joy of visiting our children. Our daughter Alyssa and her husband Paul live in Arizona, and our son Chad and his wife Becki live in Kansas. The time in Arizona was vacation time, tolerating what Alyssa seemed to think was “cool” weather (85-90 degrees) but immensely enjoying our all-too-brief time together. Our stay at Chad and Becki’s house was for a different reason, a much needed study break while Chad and Becki were at work. I still remember the shocked look on Becki’s face when she came home from work, saw all the chairs removed from around the dining room table, and my books and papers strewn all over the place. “Oh my!” were her only words. I wonder what she was thinking?

It was during that study time and as a result of a word I heard several times that this blog (or maybe a series of blogs) came to mind. The word was “Father.” Most often “Dad,” a time or two “Pops,” even a “Daddy” – but also the word “Father.”

I was taught what is called “The Lord’s Prayer” at an early age – my most distant memories include praying that prayer as it is written and has been prayed through the centuries. I have to confess I largely prayed it without comprehending what I was saying. They were only words that tumbled off my lips, filled with the faint hope that God might be moved by this magical incantation.

When I became a Christian in truth and not just in description, I turned from the formal prayers I had memorized to more personal, spontaneous prayers. The Lord’s Prayer became something seldom repeated, on special occasions or in community services.

And then one day I discovered the prayer again.

I was preaching a series on the Sermon on the Mount, and I stared at the words of the Lord’s Prayer in Matthew 6 and wondered what I would do with them. It was in that process that I realized that they were not so much words to be repeated as a pattern or structure to help us in our praying. I immersed myself in each word, spending time in prayer dwelling on the meaning of each phrase. I discovered that the prayer was of immense help, guiding me in a conversation with the One who, through His Son Jesus, wanted me to call Him Father.

Think about that for a moment.

Everyone on the face of this earth who knows me calls me by my name or title – Bob or Robert or Dr. Johnston or Pastor or whatever. But from the billions of people in this world there are only two people (or four if their spouses so choose) who have the right to call me “father.”  So few among so many.

This is how Jesus instructed us to address God. He could have given us many other titles or names – they are all found in the Bible. But I find myself deeply moved and eternally grateful that God wants us to think of Him as “Father”. I recognize that some, based on their relationships with their physical fathers, may find that difficult, depending on how their fathers treated or mistreated them. But stripped of all the limitations we earthly dads have, to call God “Father” speaks of tremendous love, extravagant grace, enduring compassion, and eternal relationship.

Jesus told a story about a foolhardy kid who turned his back on all the good things his father had taught him. We dads worry about that, and we are deeply concerned when our children seem to forget what our best gifts to them have been. In the story Jesus told, the child took off on his own for who knows how long, wasted everything he had, and finally came to his senses. He determined he would go home, not as a son but a servant. While he journeyed home rehearsing his speech, his father, who evidently had been on the look out, saw him in the distance. It was then that this father did a rather undignified thing in his day – he ran. With all his heart and strength, he raced to his young prodigal. His son started his speech but was stopped short – his father embraced him, gave him the symbols of sonship, and poured out on him prodigal love.

I think of that passage when, upon the nudging of the Lord’s Prayer, I call God “Father”.  I think of the extravagant gracefulness of that father, and realize that Jesus wants us to think of God in this way, as one who is absolutely delighted to have us come to Him in prayer. That invitation changes absolutely everything about prayer – and for that I thank our Father.