All Ears

March 7, 2020

“When the other disciples saw what was about to happen, they exclaimed, “Lord, should we fight? We brought the swords!” And one of them struck at the high priest’s slave, slashing off his right ear. But Jesus said, “No more of this.” And he touched the man’s ear and healed him.” —Luke 22:49-51 NLT

Earlier in the evening when Jesus was telling his disciples about what was soon to happen to him, they produced some weaponry, saying, “Look, we have two swords.” Instead of telling them to leave them in the upper room, or advising them that his kingdom didn’t operate that way, he simply said, “that’s enough.” As they walked to the Garden of Gethsemane, the swords were brought along. 

We shouldn’t read too much into this, implying that Jesus was advocating violence, but neither is it proper to imagine that he was an absolute pacifist. Apparently, he wasn’t bothered by the presence of what was state of the art weaponry. He knew his mission however, and when in his desire to protect Jesus Peter took a badly-aimed swipe at the head of the high priest’s servant, missing his intended mark, but managing to slice off his ear, Jesus reached out, touched the man’s ear, healing it and remarking that those who live by the sword die by the sword.

The text doesn’t tell us what that healing involved. Did Jesus pick up the ear laying on the ground, and put it back? Or did he just stop the flow of blood? Nothing more is said about this detail except that John’s gospel gives the name of the servant and the note that one of the witnesses to Peter’s denial of Jesus was a relative of this man. After this incident, this man, Malchus by name, simply disappears from the Bible.

I have no evidence for my belief, but I like to think Jesus’ healing of this man didn’t involve the restoration of the ear itself, but simply the healing of the bloody stump. I wonder if he followed the proceedings of the next day, gingerly touching the side of his head where his ear had been. Did he have trouble keeping his glasses on his face? Did he later come to faith, reckoning that the loss of an ear was small price to pay for the gift of salvation? 

God does heal people, but sometimes leaves reminders of his work in the bodies and minds of those he rescues. Jacob wrestled with God and limped his way into the Kingdom. The bright light that blinded Saul’s eyes on the road to Damascus left the reminder of that day in the poor eyesight that apparently plagued the apostle Paul even as it gave light to his soul. Sometimes we need those scars upon body and soul to remind us of the pit from which we have been delivered. Many a Christian continues to struggle with the effects of childhood abuse or the sins that once upon a time had been a daily habit. Those scars aren’t defects, but are touchstones that keep us centered on the grace that rescued and continues to hold us to the heart of Christ.

Age & Answered Prayer

March 6, 2020

Either we’re getting old, or God is answering our prayers. Our dinner group meets the first Friday of (nearly) every month. After a great meal, we all retire to the living room of whichever home we’re in, where we get comfortable before taking prayer requests from each family. When we started this group some ten years ago, the requests would fill pages and we would be praying till nearly 11:00. Tonight, we had some requests, but even more, we recounted answers to prayer. We’re still praying for the salvation of family members, for our church, for wisdom in the various life situations we find ourselves in, but we’re also seeing how God has worked, and thanking him for it. 

It might just be our age, but I prefer to think of it as God answering prayers, giving us a few less things to pray about; either way, everyone was out the door and heading home by 9:30. Nah...we’re not getting old! Couldn’t be that! 

A Solitary Light

March 5, 2020

Our eldest grandson turns 16 today. His birth is etched into my mind in a special way because it was the single bright beacon in a world that for me was getting darker by the hour. For a solid month, I had been dealing with a situation at church that was ticklish and tender. Someone was upset with me; she told me to my face that I hadn’t given her the recognition she deserved for all she had done. She was right, as far as she went. In my naïveté, I had somehow overlooked the Scripture that said that was the reason we served God, and I had missed the cues of her dissatisfaction. 

She and her husband were part of our dinner group, along with three other couples. Our monthly gathering was scheduled for that Friday night, but Linda and I were in Rochester awaiting Ian’s birth. It was a wonderful, joy-filled evening for us. Not so much for our friends Harry and Beth, who caught the brunt of this woman’s anger when they refused to agree with her. Linda and I are forever indebted to our friends who were put through the wringer that evening, but who remained loyal and never flinched nor complained about the mistreatment they endured.

We tried mending fences, but they were irreparably torn, and the church entered dark and difficult months as the campaign of whispering erupted into open warfare. There are many stories I’ll probably never tell except to say, “God provided.” After one contentious meeting, I told the District Superintendent that since things fell apart on my watch, instead of asking for a transfer to a different church, I wanted the opportunity to try to put things back together. I am continually grateful to have been given that opportunity, and that ten years later I was able to turn over to my successor a healthy congregation.

Those years marked by my grandson’s birth were difficult, but made easier by the gift of new life we welcomed into our family that night. Much like the pain of childbirth is swallowed up in the joy of new life, the pain and trauma of those days are long gone. The church is strong today, and our grandson has grown into a handsome, intelligent, and compassionate young man of whom we are very proud. The darkness has long since given way, and today we enjoy the light of his presence with us. Happy birthday, Ian! I’m ready when you are for your stick shift driving lessons.

Permanence

March 4, 2020

I’ve always been impressed by beautiful architecture. I love the soaring ceilings of cathedrals, the beauty of eighteenth century English manor houses or nineteenth-century American Victorian or Gregorian homes. It doesn’t take a large city to be adorned with beautiful old buildings that were once the stately homes of the well-to-do. Unfortunately, most of them today have been either subdivided into low-rent apartments, turned into office buildings, or allowed to simply deteriorate to the point where demolition is the only reasonable next step.

It’s a shame, but it’s been that way since the beginning of recorded history. Usually the destruction of such dwellings and civic buildings has been the result of warfare and conquest, but in the last fifty years, “progress” has been as destructive as warfare as entire neighborhoods have been razed for urban renewal, leaving large swaths of property a bleak and barren Soviet-style landscape. 

Tucked in toward the end of Luke 19 is an incident recorded by all three synoptic Gospel writers. Matthew tells the story in chapter 24, Mark in chapter 13, and here in Luke. Looking at the impressive architecture of Herod’s temple complex and the Fortress Antonia, Jesus was unimpressed. “I tell you, one stone shall not be left upon another,” was his evaluation. 

Europe boasts buildings—castles and cathedrals dating back nearly a thousand years. Egypt has its pyramids, but they weren’t built for human habitation, at least for the living.  Most of the architecture we admire is at most, three hundred years old. Here in America, three hundred years is about the limit. Most of what is a part of our daily lives clocks in at only about 150 years old, tops. 

Our home was built around 1853. We have photos of it taken around the turn of the last century. The exterior is recognizable, but with a few changes. Our chimney is where a door used to be; an entry room, enclosed back porch, and our new bedroom have all been added, but the basics are still evident. Internally, much has changed. We can trace some of it in the patterns of the floorboards, and when we renovated, we could see where interior doors had once been. We’ve completely remodeled, making it our own. I don’t like to think of the day when it will return to the dust from which it came. It will likely be long after we have done the same, but I still don’t like to think of it. Jesus’ words about Jerusalem echo down to the present day: the things that seem so permanent are in reality, quite ephemeral. In spite of how we usually choose to live, investing in that which shall not last is never a wise proposition. 

I love our home, but it too, shall one day disappear, along with all the things inside it that we value. Nothing of it is eternal except the people who have lived here, and who live here still. It’s good to know this so we don’t make the mistake of valuing the stuff more than the souls who inhabit not only our home, but all those that dot this village, this county, this world. I’m grateful for this morning’s Scriptural reminder to make sure my priorities and values are in order. It’s easy to mistake earthly beauty for the permanence found only in Christ and his Kingdom.

Bothersome Prayer

March 3, 2020

At first glance, the stories are just strung together without any particular connection, but in reality, they comprise a unified teaching on prayer. It’s found in Luke 18 where Jesus tells two stories—The Unjust Judge, The Pharisee and the Tax Collector, followed by two incidents—Jesus blessing the children and Luke’s version of the Rich Young Ruler. He apparently told the two stories in succession, but there is no indication of when the incidents occurred. They are supplied here by Luke for the purpose of furthering Jesus’ teaching on prayer. If you want to hear it directly, read the chapter. I’ll supply the outline and my own conclusions.

The Unjust Judge is a lesson on perseverance. The woman refused to be ignored, and was rewarded for her tenacity. If an unjust judge can be hounded into doing his job, how much more will the Righteous Judge hear the cry of his children when they persevere in prayer? The Pharisee and the Tax Collector is a lesson on humility. The Pharisee thought himself a cut above others. Jesus’ rebuke is sharp: “He prayed to himself.” Pride kills prayer. 

The incidents Luke recalls following these teachings adds another layer to the lessons. Prayer must be offered in childlike simplicity, simply coming to Jesus for blessing, fully expecting he will do so. Lastly, the rich man who came to Jesus was doing everything right in his personal life, but was neglecting the needs of the poor around him. Prayer that fails to take into its scope the needs of others is no prayer at all.

It’s hard to say which of these stories pegs me most clearly. I struggle with persistence in prayer. If an answer isn’t soon forthcoming, too easily I move on to something else, which exposes my lack of urgency and seriousness. Having been raised in the church and by God’s grace having avoided what some call “more grievous” sins, it can be tempting to pass judgment on others—in effect, setting myself up as God and praying to me. 

Simplicity can also be a problem. How often have I come to Christ with ulterior motives, with doubts and questions instead of simple faith. And it is patently obvious to me how frequently my prayers revolve around me and those closest to me, totally oblivious to the glaring need outside of my immediate circle.

Someone once complained to his pastor about all the things in the Bible he didn’t understand. “I’m not bothered by the things in the Bible I don’t understand,” the pastor replied. “It’s the things I do understand that trouble me.” I understand Luke 18, and it bothers me. It’s good that it does, for it means the Holy Spirit hasn’t given up on me, for which I am thankful tonight.

Bags

March 2, 2020

No more single-use plastic bags in New York State. Our nanny-governor who knows so much better than the rest of us what we ought and ought not be doing, has decreed them illegal, much like he has outlawed fracking and scary-looking guns. Our forebears came to this continent to get away from such invasive governmental oversight, but that was then; this is now. 

I’m no apocalyptic prophet. It doesn’t take much of a casual political conversation before someone asks the question, “How much worse can it get?” Plenty, I would say, as would the six million Jews exterminated by the Nazis in the middle of the last century, or the ten million Russians and Ukrainians starved, tortured, exiled, and murdered by their own government. Mao’s millions, Pol Pot’s decimation of Cambodia, Chavez and Maduro in Venezuela, or Castro in Cuba—we have no idea how bad things can get. Jesus said there would be wars, rumors of wars, famines, and earthquakes, but “the end is not yet.”

There are times I would like to play the Hobbit, feasting, dancing, smoking their pipes, and drinking their beer, oblivious to the drama stealthily sneaking towards the Shire from the east. Actually, I don’t like beer, and can’t see the attraction of tobacco, but that’s beside the point. The point is, there is always danger on the horizon. Most don’t see it; it takes a visionary to awaken a few lone adventurers to the potential within them and the challenge before them. 

Most of us don’t have a Gandalf calling us to faraway places, but we all have Jesus Christ calling us to awaken from the stupor of this world’s comforts, pick up a cross, and follow him. It may take generations, but most governments collapse from the weight of their own oppression and the apathy of their people. History documents the rise and fall of civilizations; the patterns are clear, if we are willing to see. Our forefathers thought deeply, and created a governmental system that has given more people opportunity than ever before in history. One doesn’t have to travel much to know how blessed we are. But it is a thin and delicate thread that connects us to the past and to the future. Like most valuables, freedom must be treasured and protected.

In Luke 17, some of the religious leaders of his day asked Jesus when the Kingdom of God would come. They expected a military leader who would free them from Rome’s oppression. As he did so many times, Jesus turned their thinking upside down. “The kingdom of God can’t be detected by visible signs...the Kingdom of God is already among (or within) you.” What he was telling them is that the freedom they sought is not secured by political or military means. We are only free if we are free in our inner selves. I look around me and see societal systems that increasingly squeeze the freedom out of people, all in the name of their own good. We can vote and volunteer, but much of the machinations of our culture are beyond our control. 

But I can control my own thoughts. Viktor Frankl, survivor of the Nazi death camps, said that the one thing the Nazis couldn’t take from him was his freedom to choose his own state of mind. So like Frankl, I refuse to relinquish to the Enemy of my soul the freedom I have in Christ to choose my attitude. Paul said, “Let this mind be in you, which was in Christ...” When I do so, I am free. Even if I can’t get tomorrow’s groceries in plastic bags. Our governor is not God, even if at times he acts like it. For that, I am thankful tonight.

Fast and Feast

March 1, 2020

For my Lenten discipline this year, other than writing each evening, I’m abstaining from Facebook. When our kids were swimming competitively, their practices consisted not only of mastering the finer points of the strokes, starts, and turns; most of their practice time was simply building endurance with sprints and repeated laps in the pool. They would swim miles every day. All season long, they were swimming tired. Practices intensified throughout the season until just before county and sectional meets when they tapered. Coach gradually eased off so they could swim rested for these important meets where they would drop their times and often break records. Everything was geared towards Sectionals, and for some, States. The seasons of Advent and Lent are a lot like the regular swim season—hard discipline designed to prepare us for the joyful seasons of Christmas and Easter, their deprivation heightening the experience of the holy days.

In the Christian liturgical calendar however, in the midst of the seasons of determined and deliberate deprivation are the feast days. Sundays are always a celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and as such, are not fast days. What that means is, on Sundays, fasting is suspended. So when I was fasting from coffee, on Sundays I could enjoy a cup or two of joe and still remain within the discipline. Mondays, it was time to return to the fast. 

This worked just fine for me when I was fasting from coffee; Caffeine has very little hold on me—I can take it or leave it. It’s the taste of the coffee that I like, not the buzz. Social media is different. I find that the urge to check the latest or scroll through is continually with me, so much so that I dare not take advantage of the fasting hiatus lest it get its hooks into me again. I need more time away if I am to break these chains. I’m sure it’s not the same problem for everyone, but I know it is for me. Easter will come soon enough. Perhaps by then, FB will have lost its hold on me and I can return to a more measured use of it. 

I don’t blame Facebook; the problem is in me, and it’s there that the solution must be found. Christ in me is the answer, for as St. John said, “Greater is he who is in you than he who is in the world. That is my hope and my confidence, for which I give thanks tonight.