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Glimpse of Grace…Being a witness has a cost

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.

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Glimpse of Grace…Almost Right

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.

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Glimpse of Grace in a Starbucks Drive Thru

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.

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Glimpse of Grace on a Tee Ball Field

    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?

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Gimpse of Grace…forgiveness

    “Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, ‘Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?’” (Matthew 18:21)

    There was time, when I was a young boy, that my father and my aunt—his sister—didn’t speak for a long number of years. I vaguely remember the origin of the rift. It was something about a car and Christmas and I am sure other things that my young mind could not wrap understand at the time. The bottom line, though, was that it was about something quite silly. I’m sure words were said or written, feelings were hurt, and it took on a life of its own. The dark dogs of Pride were unleashed.
    I don’t recall if they ever exchanged “courtesy Christmas cards” or not. I don’t know who they thought they were hurting. I do know that I was collateral damage because I was very fond of this aunt. She was the fun one. And, no doubt, they hurt each other. Now, in all fairness, their family of origin (F.O.O.) was quite dysfunctional. Their mother died rather unexpectedly at a young age and shortly thereafter, their older brother was killed in World War Two. Over the years I am sure that everyone learned to live with this “new normal.”
    Then, in the very early years of my ministry, as I led Bible studies, taught classes and read theology I came to the conclusion that for a follower of Jesus, forgiveness is not optional equipment. It lies at the very heart of discipleship. In response to Peter’s question about how many times he had to forgive a brother or sister, Jesus replied, “not seven times, but seventy times seven.” And then a little later, at the Cross, Jesus reenforced this teaching by looking down upon those who betrayed, denied and crucified Him and prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34)  These things fermented in my soul.
    One day, while visiting my folks, Dad and I were alone doing something or other. We were outside and I remember saying to him, “You know, Dad. I’ve been thinking. I think that if Jesus meant what He said then forgiveness so central to His teaching. And if that is true, then I don’t believe that when we die God will ever send us or anyone else to hell. Instead, I think that when we die we will find the person whom we haven’t forgiven here on earth standing at the “pearly gates” as a gatekeeper. We will have to shake their hand as we enter heaven.  And if we don’t want to, or can’t then God won’t have to send us to hell. We’ll send ourselves to hell because of our unwillingness to forgive.”
    He didn’t say anything but at the time he was an elder in his church. I don’t know what he thought then or later. I don’t know if he ever thought of it again or not. But I do know this, some time later there was a reconciliation. I don’t know how it came about, but it did. I also know that all of his estranged siblings were reconciled with each other and that they had several small intimate “family reunions” in his final years. Occasionally I would hear stories rich with laughter, stories and memories. The night before he died, three days after my mother died, Dad was on a conference call with his sisters. One had come for Mom’s funeral. A second nursed her husband after surgery in a distant city. The third also had a husband with health problems and could not attend the funeral. But they had one last reunion, one last telephone call. When I found Dad on the morning after he died I looked at the caller I.D. On it, I saw my last phone call to him, the one that he didn’t answer at 9:02 p.m.  And immediately preceding that call was the conference call placed at 8:45 pm. That ten minute conference call ended with Dad saying to each of his sisters, “I love you.” As far as I know, those were the last words he ever uttered. Those are not bad last words to have.
    I think that that reconciliation, any reconciliation, is a  glimpse of grace.

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Glimpse of Grace in a Church Garth (edited)

For the last four years a mallard nested in our church garth—a walled outdoor garden courtyard located in the middle of the church building. She first showed up when the garth was being excavated so that new drainage tile could be laid. While it was under construction we had an unusually wet spring which resulted in a six foot deep hole filling with runoff water. This “pond” surrounded by high brick walls must have been just too inviting to resist. She saw not a garth with a water-filled mud hole, but a safe small pond. Over the years she has been dubbed, “Garth Duck.”
    These last years we watched her nest, give birth and even mourn. Last year all of her little ones died, one by one. I hated going into the garth each day knowing that I would find another little body. We wondered what killed them. We knew that it wasn’t a predator. Had they been poisoned? Was there an unknown toxin? Maybe the fertilizer?  It wasn’t until after the last duckling died that someone mentioned that our Associate Minister, who left the previous year, put feed out each morning the previous two years! All this time I thought they forged(this should be foraged) off the land! But no, they had been fed! 
    After the last duckling died it was heartbreaking to see the mother walk around the garth mournfully calling to her brood which was no more.  Each evening she would utter what can only be described as a mournful cry to the setting sun. I felt terrible about what had happened and vowed that if she returned, there would not be a repeat.
    Well, as I said, she came back this year in all of her glory. It was almost as if she wanted to make up for lost time as she  laid fourteen eggs! Patiently she sat on her next(this should be nest) under an evergreen shrub. And then, a couple of weeks ago while the Benediction was being said at the outdoor worship service, she decided to take her brood on their first morning walk, around the perimeter of the garth to the excitement of all the worshipers! Needless to say, God gave a greater Benediction that day!
    As I sit in the minister’s study watching Garth Duck and her little ones on an early morning run-about, I see a glimpse of grace. What drew her back to this spot over the past four years, especially after a year of great sadness? Watching her silhouette against the high brick walls of the garth, I think that I know what it was. In the words of the Psalm, “The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer…in whom I take refuge.” (18:2) Surrounded by the sanctuary of a worship space, she found true sanctuary, even in the shadow of sadness.

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Glimpse of Grace Through a Poem

I was in eighth grade when Mrs. Miller introduced me to poetry. The truth of the matter is that I am not a “poetry kind of guy.” I’ve never really appreciated the giants of the art whether they be American or European. Whitman and Longfellow leave me cold, no matter how beautiful others say they are. Burns and Chaucer, ditto. I guess that I am more of a limerick kind of fellow. But Mrs. Miller did expose me to one poet who touched my soul, Robert Frost. His is the only set of collected works of poetry that I own.
    When I was young there was still a vestige of eighth grade being a “terminal degree”, if degree is the right word. And in this shadow, we had eight grade graduation complete with a class motto and poem. Our class poem was Frost’s “Two Roads.”
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth…
    In this season of graduation seniors are thinking about their futures. They have many decisions to make. Many “roads” from which to choose. H. Jackson Brown, Jr. once wrote that the most important decision a person makes is who they will marry. “90% of your happiness or misery will depend on that decision”, he said.  I think that there is a bigger decision. What will we do with Jesus?
    As Jesus concluded His “Sermon on the Mount” one can hear the echo of  Joshua. Standing on the edge of the Promised Land generations earlier Joshua gave the Israelites a very simply choice. “Choose this day whom you will serve” (Joshua 24:15).  I don’t know if Jesus was thinking of Joshua when He told the crowd before Him,  “Strive to enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction. (Matthew 7:13)
    Prior to saying this, Jesus painted a picture of how God looks at the world, and what it means to walk “the Jesus-Way.” Jesus never sugar-coated. His Way, the Kingdom Way, is not easy. It requires discipline and commitment. It requires a new way of thinking and looking at the world around us. But, Jesus said, His Way will lead to “real” life, to a life that matters. His Way moves us from fleeting success to eternal significance.
    Frost ended his poem with these words.  
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller,long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better clim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,  …
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
    Enter through the narrow gate, Jesus said.  For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction… But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life and only a few find it. Which road will you travel? Within that decision there lies a glimpse of grace.

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Glimpse of Grace…in a Ruler

When I was a kid the local Coca Cola Bottling Company gave a six pack of Coke to any student who presented a report card with 5 A’s during a grading period. Back then, at least in my household, soda was a special treat. My family simply didn’t buy soft drinks, even on birthdays! Coke also gave us a wooden ruler with Coca Cola Bottling Company stamped on the back side and the Golden Rule imprinted upon the front. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” It wasn’t until years later that I appreciated the marketing genius—The Golden Rule stamped on a ruler!
      Jesus was not the first to teach this principle. It is found in most major religions of the world. The difference, though, is that Jesus, rather than formatting it in the negative, as in, “Do not do to others what you would not want them do to you,” framed it in the positive! Rather than not doing harm, Jesus told his followers not only to do no harm, but to actively do good! This is a very big difference. The former allows us to withdraw from the world while The Golden Rule pushes us into the brokenness of the world. The first allows us to believe that because we haven’t done anything “bad”, we are sin free. Before I took Jesus seriously, this was my thought.  I considered myself to be a pretty good guy. But pretty good isn’t good enough. Life isn’t graded on a curve. I was being passive and letting myself off of the hook, not an active disciple of Jesus. 

     Active discipleship lies at the heart of Jesus’ parable of The Good Samaritan. In the parable, the priest and the Pharisee didn’t do anything wrong, per se. But they didn’t they didn’t do anything right, either. They did not help the beaten, bloodied, left for dead traveler. That was their bad.
      Disciples of Jesus must not settle for “doing no harm.” We are called to do good, even when it doesn’t directly involve us. When we do,  That’s when we become a glimpse of grace.

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Glimpse of Grace…Do We Dare Take Easter Seriously?

Easter is about so much more than bunnies and eggs.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I like the traditional American trappings of Easter. When I was a boy I used to get a solid chocolate Easter bunny each  year. On Easter afternoon my dad and I would sit together in an easy chair and devour the little bunny–piece by piece!  I colored hard boiled eggs with my mother.  To this day, every time I smell hot water and vinegar I have a flashback. I hunted Easter eggs in my back yard. When I was a real little boy I sat with my mother and listened to an old 78 rpm record of Irving Berlin’s “Easter Parade”.  I can still hear the scratchy sound of Fred Astaire and Judy Garland singing,  “In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it, You’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter parade.”  And I miss the Easter bonnets. They’ve gone out of style in my culture, but while walking through a department store a few weeks ago I spied a display of big beautiful Spring hats—Easter bonnets! I tried to talk my wife into buying one, but alas.
    When I say that Easter is about more than bunnies and eggs I am not trying to be a curmudgeon or a grumpy old man. I am merely saying that we must be careful not to get so caught up in the trappings of Easter that we tame the both the radical-ness of the Easter message and the revolutionary teachings of Jesus. The story is familiar to many of us, maybe too familiar. We’ve heard it so many times that we’ve become inoculated to its transforming power.
    Jesus of Nazareth born in a little back water village in a remote corner of the great Roman Empire of very humble parents grew in wisdom and stature and favor. He healed the sick, and touched the untouchable. He seemed to go out of His way to find the marginalized. At the end He was betrayed, denied, crucified and buried. End of story. But no, not this story.
    On that first Easter morning Mary Magdalene was met by the wonder and mystery of the tomb. The great stone that sealed assured Death of final victory was rolled away. She ran to Peter and to the disciple simply identified as “the one whom Jesus loved.” They, in turn, raced to the tomb. Each person at the tomb looked and saw something different. One saw grave clothes neatly folded. Another saw faith. Mary saw angels. Then she mistook a Stranger for a gardener.  Like the disciples who walked to Emmaeus and only recognized the Risen Lord at the breaking of bread, Mary recognized the “gardener” as “the Lord” when He spoke her name!
    What are we to make of all of this? What does all of this mean?  If the One Who Was Crucified, Dead and Buried is alive, then everything is different, forever different! It means that we have to take Jesus seriously!  We need to seriously consider a new way of life—not just an after life but a here-and-now life!
    Do we dare to take Jesus seriously enough to believe that there is a better way?  If so, Forgiveness is not optional equipment in life but an a new Reality, no matter how difficult it may be for us to forgive. And Generosity is not just something that we do with “left overs” but with “first fruits”! And Peace? Well, peace is not just a state of mind or heart but the reconciliation of warring factions.
    If we take Jesus seriously, do we also dare to also believe that the Kingdom of God is right here, right now, in our very midst!  “Wherever two or three are gathered in My name, ” He said, “I’ll be in the midst of them!”  Do we dare to believe that the Kingdom of God touches the brokenness of this world through our touch, whenever we reach out to the least, the last and the lost?!
    And do we dare to believe that those things we hold on to so tightly because we are so insecure in our relationship with our Maker are not really ours—never were and never will be?  Can we come to terms with the reality that we are merely sojourners passing through this world on our way to a place we long for but can never find in our hearts, a place called Home?!
    Do we dare to believe these things? If we do, then Easter is about so much more than bunnies and eggs bonnets and parades. It is about daring to believe—and following the One who went to the Cross and the Grave and Beyond.

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Glimpse of Grace

My dad loved thunder storms, especially, it seemed, at night. I remember as a child sitting on his lap as a real “rumbler” rolled through from the west. I’ve often wondered why he liked them. He seemed to find a certain peace, especially in the summertime.  If I ever asked him “why”, I don’t remember his answer. He entered the Church Triumphant several years ago. But still, I wonder.  Was Dad fascinated by the wind or the lightening? Perhaps he was reflecting upon life’s hard knocks, the storms and disappointments that he confronted and largely overcame? Maybe he was having a “Walter Mitty” moment, imaging himself back in the navy standing on the deck of a ship cutting though the North Sea.  I don’t know why, but I do know that I was afraid.     
        The disciples knew what it was like to be afraid. One night they were taking Jesus to the other side of the Sea of Galilee.  Suddenly a storm arose. They were sure that they were going to die. They desperately looked for Jesus and found Him, asleep, in the stern of the boat!  “Don’t you care?” they cried.  I can understand their fear. I can imagine their desperation. We’ve all been afraid. We’ve all wondered at one time or another, whether we want to admit it or not, “Don’t you care?”
        “Be still,” Jesus commanded. And, just like at the Creation when God brought silenced the chaos, the wind died, the waves calmed, order was restored, and the disciples looked at each other, wondering, “Who is this man?”
        “Why are you afraid?” Jesus asked. The question cut to the heart of the matter. It cuts us, too.
         Overwhelmed. Swamped. Afraid. Life has a way of making us afraid. “Don’t you care?” we ask. Yes, He cares. Jesus does care, and if He cares, then we know that God cares.
         Therein lies the good news, the glimpse of grace. Sooner or later, in His own time, always at the right time, He “stills the storm.”

 

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