After worship a parishioner approached me about my sermon on Jesus’ feeding of the 5000 in John’s gospel. “You made it sound easy.” I wasn’t sure if that was an accusation or an observation. In the sermon shared I Linda Cliatt-Wayman’s story about turing around a chronically under-performing, under-functioning inner city school (www.ted.com).

“You made discipleship sound easy,” the parishioner repeated. I weakly protested. “I didn’t mean to. I never said that Ms Cliatt-Wayman’s task was easy. Discipleship certainly isn’t easy. A guy named Bonhoeffer wrote a book about how hard it is to take Jesus seriously. (The Cost of Discipleship)  It’s the hardest work we’ll ever do.”

Walking to my car I reflected upon the short conversation. I thought about the disciples asking Jesus to send the crowd away. Instead Jesus asked them what they had to eat. One of the disciples replied that there was a child in the crowd who had a couple of small fish and some cheap bread. Jesus told them to bring him the fish and bread. He blessed the simple elements and instructed the disciples to distribute them among the crowd. Guess what? There was enough. There was more than enough!

“You made it sound easy.” The words ricocheted in my mind until they settled upon a glimpse of grace. The disciples gave Jesus ALL their resources to Jesus. Not a portion or a proportion but all. When we give all that we have and all that we are to Jesus, He takes it, blesses it and gives it back to us to use in doing the work of the Kingdom.

The hardest thing for we “Westerners” to do, I believe, is to give Jesus our “fish and loaves”…our financial wealth. Like the rich young ruler, we’d rather walk away than follow. Trusting Jesus isn’t easy. Following Him is even harder.

The text message was simple and straight forward. “Bill Thompson died.” I’ve officiated at many funerals over the years. I’ve been the bedside of many people as they passed from this Reality into the Next. Paraphrasing John Donne, I am touched by every person’s death, but Bill’s had a different affect upon me.

I used to have lunch with Bill every three or four weeks when we lived in a small Iowa town. Our lunches were not professional in nature. We simply talked about life. From time to time he would slip into the back of the sanctuary where I preached, abandoning for the weekend his cradle Roman Catholic faith. I last saw Bill fifteen years ago or so at a high school regional basketball game. We hadn’t been in touch for probably a half dozen years prior to that, but when we greeted each other with a “guy-hug” it seemed like we shared a lunch only the week before. We quickly brought each other up to date on what was happening in our respective lives. Then we departed. I didn’t see him again.

I knew that Bill had been sick. I heard it through the grapevine. I should have written him a note or sent a card or made a phone call. I think that he would have appreciated it, but I didn’t do any of those things. I got busy and the thought, the moment left. Then I got the three word text: “Bill Thompson died.” I wished that I had done a better job staying in touch. I wrote a message on the funeral home’s internet memory book, but that is not the same thing.

“Teach us to number our days,” the Psalmist wrote, “that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Wise advice. It is easy for us to forget that each day is precious. Sometimes it takes the death of a lunch-mate, a long ago friend, to remind us of this.

Glimpses of Grace…Pentecost in a Tornado.

Many years ago, when I was a boy on the cusp of my teenage years, I was in an F-3 tornado. It was on a warm, humid late summer-early fall afternoon shortly after school let out for the day. With a few other students I hung around after school because my mother was attending a meeting. About a half an hour later the sky began to darken as thunderheads rolled in from the northwest and the temperature dropped. A welcomed breeze carried the salty refreshing smell of a summer rain. Large drops soon fell lazily from the sky, then, just as suddenly, they turned into pellets of hail as the winds picked up. Suddenly, without warning, what was a summer thunderstorm turned into a violent swirling wind. I did not hear the deafening train-like roar that is often used to describe tornados. I didn’t hear anything at all but instinct took over as I ran down a hallway dragging a smaller boy by the hand. I later learned that the silence I experienced was due to the tornado’s vacuum effect as it touched down near me.

Within a matter of seconds, the tornado passed but not before destroying my elementary school and a few nearby homes. It’s destruction was precise and life-changing. The school was rebuilt, bigger and better than before. So were the homes. But for close to two decades afterward my heart would skip a beat or two whenever a late summer thunderstorm would roll in.

I think of that afternoon whenever I read the story of the Holy Spirit’s descent upon the disciples at Pentecost. “And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind” the writer said. Touched by the power of the Holy Spirit, the disciples were forever changed. Previously fearful, they were emboldened. They left the safety of the place where they huddled and charged into the world proclaiming the life changing message of God’s forgiving love in Jesus Christ.

The life changing power of the Holy Spirit continues to descend upon us “like a violent wind” bringing new life and new possibilities as old structures and ways of doing things are changed, transformed, and remodeled into the likeness of the Kingdom of God. Individuals are also changed; “reborn” from the likeness of the “old Adam” into the image of Christ living into our “adoption” of children of God and heirs of the Kingdom. This transformation is a glimpse of grace.

Glimpse of Grace in an Adoption Court.

Not too long ago I was invited to attend the adoption hearing of a child from one of my daughter’s previous marriage.  He was to be adopted by her husband. Over the course of time the nonbiological parent came to love the child, in no small part, because he loved the child’s mother.

The air in the courtroom was filled with anticipation as the judge asked what seemed like and endless stream of questions to the biological father, who was present via FaceTime, the boy’s mother and the man who wanted to take him as his child. Did the biological father fully understand what he was doing? Did everyone make their own decision without duress? And then, the last question, did the biological father understand that if the judge granted the adoption, that it would be final and irrevocable. There would be no “do overs” or “take backs.” All legal strings of attachment and responsibility would be severed. Everyone said they understood.

At the end of all of the questions, and the presentations by the lawyers–one for the biological father, one for the child and one for the couple seeking the adoption, the judge signed the adoption papers and declared the adoption final. It was done. There were hugs in the courtroom and pictures outside. Watching the whole process I thought to myself that this was one special child. He had been chosen because he is loved.

For everyone involved that morning, one road had come to an end, but another road was just beginning.  In his letter to the Ephesians the Apostle Paul told the church that they were the adopted children of God. He (God) predestined us as adopted sons and daughters through Jesus Christ. (1:5) We’re very special children. We are loved. And because we are loved, we too are adopted, eternally adopted into the household of God. There is a real glimpse of grace.

At my seminary commencement Dr. C. Ellis Nelson, the president of the institution, told us that Jesus doesn’t want “undercover agents.” Try as we might, we cannot hide our call to be ministers of Word and Sacrament. There are few things that I remember from my seminary days, but that truism stayed with me.

In the book Blood Done Sign My Name Timothy Tyson wrote about a member of the small rural Methodist church that his father served in the segregated South. The Rev. Tyson invited a well African-American preacher and president of North Carolina A&T college  to preach one Sunday. It wasn’t long before he received death threats

On this particular day, a lay leader in the church stopped by to tell the Rev. Tyson about a business call that he just made. The proprietor asked if the salesman supported the minister. Yes, he did. “Get the hell out of my store and never set foot in here again!” the proprietor angrily replied.

With tears welling up in his eyes but a small pained smile on his face, the lay leader continued, “Preacher, all of my life I heard about witnessing but until now, I didn’t know a damn thing about it.” (p. 354) I think that I kind of know what he was talking about.

There have been times when I considered being Jesus’ “undercover agent”.  But, that ruse never lasts longer then a few holes of golf. I enjoy, too much, watching the expression on the faces of at least one member of a foursome–usually the mouthiest one who doesn’t know my calling–as he replays everything he said or did over the previous holes!

Jesus never promised being a disciple would be “easy.” As a matter of fact, He talked about discipleship in terms of picking up the cross–His Cross–and “losing” ourselves for the Gospel’s sake. Many have paid a high price for following Jesus. I hope I’ll never have to, but if I do, then I pray that God will give me the strength to be faithful.

I recently drove to a neighboring state to stay overnight with my three grandchildren, ages 2-8, while their parents pulled “football duty” at a high school. The previous week I promised them, with great dramatics,–no leftovers but PIZZA!

When I arrived my daughter handed me a menu with the phone number of a favorite pizza place that also delivered, a necessity! I tapped the number into my I Phone and ordered two thin crust pizzas. I verified that they delivered but was told they didn’t. That was odd.  My daughter over-heard the conversation and thought that it was odd, too. Maybe, she reasoned their “delivery guy”called in sick. No matter, since she had a few extra minutes, she’d swing by, pick them up and bring them home for us. Great! Dinner problem solved! I’m a hero, the cool grandfather!

But not so fast! Upon arriving at the pizza place she discovered they never received my call! tThey courtesy called their other location. They didn’t have it, either.  So, she ordered the two pizzas and called to tell me that they would be delivered it within the hour.  Forty-five minutes later the doorbell rang, I tipped the driver handsomely, I poured milk and told the grandchildren to come eat.

As we were eating some of the world’s best pizza my cell phone rang. The area code indicated that it was from my home state, but it was a number I didn’t recognize. I let it go to voice-mail. They immediately called back. This time I answered. “Your pizzas are ready.” I quickly checked this number against the number I previously dialed. Ten numbers. Nine of them matched. The second number in the area code prefix, though,  didn’t! There’s not much difference between a “1” and a “0” but even a small difference is a difference AND, in a ten number sequence, that little difference becomes huge.

What are the odds that two pizzas places in two different cities, in two different states would have the same number, sans the area code! I explained my error and offered to pay them the next day on my return trip home. They laughed, told me not to bother, and probably enjoyed the pizzas!
I thought about this little mix up as I reflected upon the disciples response to their “commissioning” in Acts 1. The resurrected Jesus told them to return to Jerusalem and to wait for the promised Holy Spirit. They got it half right. They returned to Jerusalem. They even returned to the upper room. But they just couldn’t wait.

Waiting has to be one of the hardest spiritual disciplines for Western disciples to develop. We have to be “doing” something, fiddling with something, listening to something. We can’t just “wait.” Neither could they. They decided to fill the vacancy left by the absence of Judas. The unfortunate this is that they filled it with a follower of Jesus named Matthias, who, coincidentally, was never heard from again.

If the disciples had only waited they would have realized that God already put the Divine Touch on a replacement for Judas. A man named Saul, the most unlikely of all people to be a disciple–a persecutor of the Church with a great Jewish pedigree. God knew that Saul was a little rough around the edges, but God also knew that Saul could be shaped into a Paul, the ideal candidate to take the Gospel of a Jewish Savior to a gentile world.

“For everything there is a season,” the wisdom of Ecclesiastes, reminds us. There is a season for action. There is also a season for waiting. May God grant us the wisdom to know the difference.

I have a confession to make. I am an inefficient multi-tasker. I try to do too many things at once, get side-tracked and too often feel rushed. As a consequence, I am also an item counter. Yes, I admit it. When it comes to a check out line, I am an item counter. And I spend too much time asking myself things like,”Does a six pack of soft drink count as six items or one? Are they counted differently if they are held together by one of those plastic ring contraptions?” This is important stuff because it matters how I count my six bottles of Honest Tea!
    In the “express lane” of a grocery store I count the items in the carts of the people ahead of me. Do they have more than12 items?  Then, there is the person in the express lane who decides to get their checkbook out after they’ve been told the total amount of the sale!  Come one!  Can’t they put in the date, the name of the store and even sign the check while their 15 items in a 12 item express lane are being scanned?!
    Don’t get me started on Starbucks drive through lines! If I could make one rule that everyone would follow it would be that coffee drive through lines are for coffee, not  “mocha cookie crumble frappuccinos” or some special concoction! Just coffee, preferably black, but you can fancy it up with cream and sugar it you must!
    Now, I’m not proud of any of this, but before you judge me, I know that some of you get equally vexed at other people’s driving (I’ve ridden with you and heard you) or some television show (let me let you in on a secret, they can’t hear you! so quick yelling at the screen.)
    I became aware of this dark side of mine when I read M. Craig Barnes’, book Hustling God.  “Have you ever noticed,” he wrote, “that some people have more than their share of problems, but seem to still be happy, while others with easy lives are not happy?  (There are) a lot of people who got the marriage and the children they wanted, but they are still miserable. The thing that distinguishes us in this life is not that some of us are in shambles while others are doing okay. No, the thing that distinguishes us is that some of us are thankful while others are not. Until you become thankful, you will never find joy.”
    I would add a corollary; Joy precedes Peace, and when the two are combined they are held in a bowl called Thankfulness.
    Thankfulness, Joy and Peace are not found in things. I once read the story of a Holy Man who wanted to teach his disciple a valuable life lesson. Holding up a goblet, he asked, “You see this goblet?  I enjoy it; I drink out of it. It holds my water admirably, sometimes even reflecting the sun in beautiful patterns. If I should tap it, it has a lovely ring to it. For me, though, it is already broken. If I put this glass on the shelf and the wind knocks it over or my elbow brushes it off the table and it falls to the ground and shatters. And I say, ‘Of course.’ When I understand that the glass is already broken, every moment with it is precious.”
    Realizing that those things I hold dear, the people who are most precious to me, will one day be gone, makes me look at them differently, very differently. Actually, I think that it makes me look at them for the very first time because I can never be sure that it won’t be the last time!   Therefore, I cannot take them for granted! As a consequence, I’m learning to enjoy the moment, to live in the moment. Isn’t that a glimpse of grace?

     So, take 15 times through the express lane. Order a fancy frappuccino on you way home. I’m okay with it. Really. Kind of.

    If you were asked to name a “leader,” who pops into your mind first?  The President?  A CEO? Someone serving on a board with you? A coach? A team captain, the “go to guy” when the game in on the line.
    I have three bookshelves devoted to leadership. The books include those written by business gurus, military leaders, coaches, ministers and a smattering of to motivational speakers.  Frequently I give such books as graduation gifts.
    There are examples of leadership all around us but frequently we don’t recognize it. While watching a grandchild play Tee Ball I was surprised to see the most unlikely of people step forward as the “head-coach-by-default.” He didn’t look the least bit athletic. I imagined him as the kid who was always the last one picked in a P.E. class. Yet, from the very first day of practice, when two other “father/coaches” didn’t know where to begin, he stepped forward and organized the energetic chaotic group of 5 year olds into groups and began teaching the basic skills of the game. At each game he sets the line up and directs the action, always encouraging the kids with grace and humor. Afterwards he thanks every parent for bringing their child and adds a legitimate positive compliment about each player. The kids love him.  As I said, he never struck me as leadership material but, he is.
    I’m not alone in letting appearances throw me off of recognizing leadership.  When God told Samuel to choose from the house of Jesse Israel’s successor to Saul, Samuel was also thrown off course by surface impressions. Samuel stopped by Jesse’s and asked to see his sons. Laying his eyes on the eldest son, Samuel thought to himself, “Surely, this must be the one.”  After all, he looked like a king! But that still small voice of God whispered, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because he is not the one. I do not see as mortals see. I do not look at outward appearances but upon the heart.”  
    And so it went, through each of Jesse’s seven sons, until, a perplexed Samuel asked Jesse if he had any more sons. “Just one,” Jesse replied. “But you wouldn’t be interested in him. He’s the youngest.” Jesse sent for David and as the boy approached Samuel, I imagine that the old prophet agreed with his father’s assessment. David did not have the markings of a leader. But God knew something that no one else knew. God saw something that no one else saw. A king! (I Samuel 16)
    In his book The 360 Degree Leader, John Maxwell noted 99% of all leadership comes not from the top but from the middle of an organization. I think that Jesus understood this when He told His bickering disciples that “Whoever wants to be great among you, must first be a servant.” (Mark 10:43) Leadership is not about title or position. Those things are just facade. Real leadership, God-honoring leadership, springs from the heart.
    In that unlikely Tee Ball coach on a hot July morning I caught a glimpse of grace in the leadership of the most unlikely of people—at least in my eyes. But isn’t that the way God often works?