Mister, Are You Jesus?

Isn’t it wonderful that we have children in our lives to keep us grounded? Children, who in their understanding of the way the world works say things that adults never see, much less utter, in a public setting. Words sure to spark nervous laughter or generate embarrassed blushes among parents and caregivers. Words that invariably speak the truth of the matter at hand. Perceptive and unfiltered comments through the eyes of one whose voice has not yet been silenced by cultural norms or expectations. While it’s fun to be within earshot of children’s insights and assessments of their environment, sometimes we become the objects of their fascination. Often in ministry, one might hear a child ask, “Momma is that Jesus?” Then again, on occasion, we might overhear a child say something far less flattering. On Saturday I happened to find myself on the receiving end of a child’s curious questioning. Apparently the young girl who was attending the funeral of a departed relative had never seen a worship leader donned in a white alb. As the funeral procession approached the family’s pew, the young girl leaned over to her mother and asked, “Momma, is that a snowman?”

Notice, she didn’t ask, “Momma is that Jesus?” Nope. From the perspective of a four-year-old I looked more like Frosty the Snowman than Jesus.

The comment, which brought chuckles to everyone within earshot of the innocent quip, stuck with me throughout the week. Especially after I read a story that Pastor Franklin Lee of Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Naples, Florida, wrote about for the weekly blog “God Pause.” A tale about a frantic business person who, upon hearing that his next flight is about to leave without him, starts to run through a crowded airport terminal. Focused on not missing his connecting flight, the man fails to pay attention to his surroundings or the people in his path. Inevitably he collides with a young woman pushing a cart full of apples, causing the apples to fly in every direction. Having recognized his stupidity, the man stops in his tracks, turns around, and vows to help clean up the mess that he made. As he approached the young woman crumpled on the floor the now penitent businessman noticed that she was blind and that she was crying. As he gathered the apples the man noticed that many of them were bruised, most likely the result of the accident he had caused. In an effort to make amends for his own stupidity the businessman put all of the bruised apples in a bag and gave the young merchant $50 as he apologized for the incident.

As he turned to walk away, most likely to a connecting flight that had left without him, the young woman called out, “Mister, are you Jesus?” Turning around the man replied, “No, I’m not anything like Jesus.” To which the young girl gently nodded, adding: “I only asked because I prayed for Jesus to help me gather the apples and he sent you to help. Thank you for hearing Jesus, Mister.”

After reading the story I asked myself, how often do we make time in our busy schedules or to disconnect from the 24/7 reality of social media and cellphones? How often, I wondered, do we really take the time to engage in spiritual disciplines that help us, modern day disciples, listen to the manifold ways that the Living Christ is calling to us? After all, if we can’t hear Jesus, how in the world can we incarnate the love of the crucified and risen One in the midst of a broken and hurting world? Instead of racing through life oblivious to the damage we cause – hurt feelings, inattention to others’ needs, and self-absorbed attitudes that focus solely on our own needs, desires, and wants — perhaps we need to make time in our lives to be still and to let God be God; especially if we don’t want others to mistake us for Frosty the Snowman. Indeed, it’s time to put Frosty back on the train to the North Pole and to slow down, to pay attention to the people God places in our paths, and to listen; to listen to the Living Christ who calls each one of us to respond in love to neighbors near and far.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Front Door Vistas: An Earth Day Reflection

The other night as I prepared to close my front door at the end of another glorious spring day in Kansas something caught my eye. I couldn’t believe it. There, no more than twenty yards in front of me, stood two silhouetted figures at the tree line highlighted by the majestic orange-lavender-pink sky. In an effort not to spook the deer, I remained perfectly still and watched as the pair gathered the last few morsels of their evening meal before bedding down for the night. The unexpected encounter, one of those moments in life that literally take your breath away, reminded me just how often I fail to recognize the beauty of God’s creation in my life.

“How often,” I later asked myself, “have I missed the opportunity to witness majestic scenes like the one that unfolded before my very eyes two nights ago because I have been too busy or too preoccupied to notice?” Too caught up with the mundane tasks of everyday life to take a break from the never-ending routine of checking items off of my ever-expanding to do list. Or, worse yet, that I close the doors, literally and figuratively, to the world around me; thereby short-circuiting the opportunity to renew my weary soul in the amazing beauty of God’s creation.

Closing doors – living and working within the confines of the comfortable, the familiar, and the routine – is a choice many of us make without a second thought. Sadly; however, in doing so we obstruct the view from our front porches, the gateways to our communities and the portals from which we engage the world around us. Mistaken and misguided attitudes that intentionally or unintentionally obstruct the view to the beauty, wonder, mystery, and glory of the world just outside our front doors. Doing so, I later discovered, prevents me from experiencing the psalmist’s joy of proclaiming, “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24).

The view of the two deer silhouetted against the backdrop of an amazing sunset served as a timely reminder to rejoice in the gift of each new day; to notice the remarkable in the mundane and to open the doors and windows of my humble parsonage to the beauty that surrounds me. In short, to acquire the habit of the heart and the mind that dares to see the world through the eyes of faith, to notice and to celebrate the beautiful and the majestic in the midst of the familiar; the taken for granted beauty of the sacred spaces and places in our lives. To live life like the psalmist long ago who viewed every day as another opportunity to relish and rejoice in the beauty and wonder of God’s glorious creation.

Listening with the Ear of Your Heart

  A few years ago I was introduced to the spiritual practice of learning to dwell in the Word, to let themes, images, and messages percolate as I encountered various biblical texts, not as an imaginary dragon to be slayed or a text to be bested, but rather as an opportunity to take in the mystery and majesty of God’s Word by learning to listen with the ear of my heart.

Learning to listen with the ear of our heart, sage advice offered by Benedict of Nursia to would be monastics ages ago, is a worthy spiritual practice for disciples of every age. An acquired habit of learning to disengage the intellect, to set aside our own predisposition to harness our cognitive powers to analyze and process information via reason and logic.

To listen with the ear of one’s heart requires an orientation of the spirit that witnesses to God’s activity in the ordinary, the unexpected, the misunderstood, and the unbelievable.

Listening with the ear of one’s heart is no easy task, for it requires an outlook anchored in hope; a hope firmly planted in the midst of doubt, uncertainty, and fear. A hope validated and reaffirmed by the risen Lord who repeatedly appears to confused, frightened, and grieving disciples saying, “Peace be with you” (LK 24:36b).

Perhaps now, as the initial joy and celebration of the crucified and risen Christ’s victory over the powers of sin and death begins to wane and our attention returns to the tasks at hand, especially the mundane and the ordinary, we can rediscover the power of God’s ongoing activity in our lives and our world by embracing the opportunity to listen with the ear of our hearts.

While there is no “one size fits all” in matters of faith, I am pretty confident that many spiritual sojourners experience crises of doubt, uncertainty, and disbelief at various times in our lives. Not surprisingly, the accounts of the disciples’ encounter with the risen Christ give me hope. After all, if Jesus’ closest followers didn’t have everything figured out, even after their personal encounter with the crucified and risen Lord, then maybe, just maybe, faith involves a lot more than smug self-assurance and intellectual assent to creeds and confessions written centuries ago.

In fact, disbelief and doubt seem to pepper the accounts of the risen Lord’s appearances to grieving and frightened disciples. According to John’s Gospel, Thomas refused to believe unless he could see and touch the risen Christ. And, when the women rushed back on Easter morning to tell their fellow companions the good news that Christ was risen, Luke tells us that “these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them” (LK 24:11). Nor did Cleopas and his companion recognize the risen Christ as they journeyed with him on the road to Emmaus. The pair, who heard about, yet chose to ignore, the women’s earlier testimony that “Christ is risen,” recognized Jesus only when he took bread, blessed it, and broke it, and gave it to them; after which he immediately vanished from their sight (LK 24:30-31).

And, as if to drive the point home, we learn that the risen Christ comes to his closest followers one final time. Standing among them saying, “Peace be with you” (24:36b). And, sensing their fear and doubt, the risen One invites his skeptical followers to “Look at my hands and my feet …Touch me and see” (LK 24:39). Yet another intimate and unexpected encounter with the risen Christ behind closed doors; one that helps the disciples to embrace an expansive understanding of faith. An encounter that also teaches without scolding. An opportunity to see and to touch and to hear — to listen with the ear of their hearts.

Yes, the intimate encounter with the crucified and risen Lord both empowers and equips the disciples to recall the ways the hands and feet of Jesus had been important in his ministry, healing people, breaking bread, traveling around with the good news. Yet, even after having the opportunity to see and to touch Jesus’ wounded hands and feet, we learn that “While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering” (LK 24:41).

The same could be said of us, don’t you think? We, too, doubt. We, too, struggle to believe. The fact that Jesus’ closest followers were still disbelieving and wondering, even in the midst of a joyous reunion with the risen Lord, gives me comfort. The disciples doubt, even after seeing and touching the hands and feet of Christ.

What a relief! If Jesus’ closest followers don’t have it all figured out, especially in the midst of a personal encounter with the risen Lord, then maybe faith is more about our relationship with God, than having to have all of the answers, of measuring up to an unattainable standard – the expectation of 100 percent certainty.

Perhaps faith is better understood as a relationship grounded in a tension-filled trust that does not exclude doubt, or wonder, or uncertainty. After all, many believers struggle with doubt, disbelief, and unanswered questions. In this crazy journey of life it’s easy to get sidetracked, steamrolled by the storms of life that leave a debris trail of broken relationships, lost loved ones, and personal and professional failures in their wake. And I, and perhaps some of you, have found myself sleep walking through the dark nights of the soul when it was difficult, if not impossible, to see God’s presence at work in the midst of pain, anger, loss, and disappointments. After receiving news that someone we love has been stricken with cancer, Alzheimer’s, or devastated by mental illness or addiction. When one we love is tragically taken from us. When a relationship that we expected to last a lifetime ends in divorce. When it is all we can do to get through another day.

Just maybe Benedict’s advice of learning to listen with the ear of our heart is precisely the advice we need to hear. After all, because we have been taught to see the world filtered through the lens of reason and intellect it is very easy to let nagging doubts distract us from the presence of the risen Christ in our lives, in the faces of our neighbors near and far, and in the brokenness of our world.

Sadly, we have been culturally and spiritually conditioned to believe that doubt is the opposite of faith. To focus on the glass that is half-empty, instead of the one that is half-full. To see the world through the lens of a scarcity mentality that is either unable or unwilling to see past the uncertainty and brokenness in our world and our lives: our inability to save ourselves from the pain, sickness, sin, broken relationships in our lives; fears generated by global financial crises, sky-rocketing healthcare costs, natural disasters, and unexplained tragedies; fears fueled by ongoing warfare, civil strife, and horrific violence carried out by fanatical terrorists.

Indeed, given everything that is happening today, it is almost impossible not to let fear, doubt, and apathy blind us to the reality that the risen Christ is at work in the brokenness of our lives and our world, reconciling all things to God.

Learning to listen with the ear of one’s heart requires an orientation of the spirit that is rooted in faith. Yet, faith doesn’t mean we have to have everything figured out or that we know all the answers. No, faith is much more than an intellectual or cognitive experience, faith, at its core, is a relationship with the Triune God. A God who desires to be in relationship with sinful creatures so much that God claims you and me as beloved children in the waters of baptism. And, even more remarkable, it is a relationship beyond our control for God is always the initiator, sending the Holy Spirit to work faith in us in the hearing of the Word — the good news of God’s grace, mercy, forgiveness and love. Faith is a relationship anchored in trust, even in the midst of doubt and uncertainty. A relationship that is nurtured and strengthened when the risen Lord comes to us at the Lord’s Table where sinners and saints alike are invited to receive the body and blood of Christ broken and shed for us. And, just maybe, if we listen with the ear of our hearts we will hear the Living Christ say, “Your sins are forgiven.”

Though it’s natural to doubt and to wonder, I take comfort in knowing that the risen Christ comes to me, a sinner, time and time again. The same power of experiencing the risen Jesus that enabled the early Christians to endure persecution and trials, to bear witness to the forgiveness of sins in Jesus’ name, is calling us today. Calling us to leave the comfortable confines of our church buildings and the familiarity of our homes and neighborhoods and to go out into a jaded and broken world, to be the hands and feet of Christ as we collectively proclaim the good news of God’s grace, mercy, and forgiveness in both word and deed.

Stitches of Love

“Little children,” writes the author of 1 John, “let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action” (1 John 3:18, NRSV). The author’s plea, it seems to me, is a Spirit-generated response to what Jesus Christ has done, is doing, and will do for all of God’s creation. Yet, a lived faith marked by self-giving love is no easy task, particularly in a world possessed by me-first thinking. A world obsessed with the unending quest for material goods, status, and position, often at the expense others’ needs, simply cannot, or will not, answer the call to love in truth and action. A worldly ethic challenged by the author of 1 John who boldly confesses, “We know love by this, that he [Jesus] laid down his life for us—and we ought to lay down our lives for one another. How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?” (1 John 3:16-17, NRSV).

In the midst of abundance, I frequently wonder why so many of us, well-intentioned and kind-hearted people, find it difficult to respond in acts of love to brothers and sisters in need. Are we paralyzed by fear? Or, do we allow apathy, the belief that the task at hand is so daunting that nothing we do will matter, to discourage us from reaching out in love to sisters and brothers in need?

Thankfully, not everyone buys into the lie that nothing we can do will matter. During my internship year in Ellis I have been inspired by both the dogged determination and lived faith of a remarkable group of quilters of all ages and abilities who have been meeting in St. John’s gathering space for more than forty years. Women who somehow make time in their busy schedules to come together in Christian fellowship a few Thursdays each month to share their creativity and sewing skills to produce mission quilts, school kits, and personal care kits for children and families, many of whom they will never meet. And, in defiance of the world’s me-first values, the quilters manage to produce nearly a hundred quilts each year, each one crafted from donated fabric that is carefully designed, cut, pieced, and stitched together with love. Quilts in every conceivable color and design; tangible expressions of a lived faith crafted for children of God both near and far. Gifts from the heart presented to a high school graduate or given to a local family after a fire or other crisis. Items stitched with love that are also distributed around the world through Lutheran World Relief to people living in war-torn regions, developing countries, or communities recovering from tropical cyclones, earthquakes, and other natural disasters. Gifts that are often transformed and adapted to serve a variety of local needs. While we may use quilts primarily as bed covers, quilts can serve as baby carriers wrapped around mothers’ backs or as market displays that are spread on the ground and piled with fruit and vegetables or as sacks for transporting goods and produce to market. Quilts may also be adapted to serve as sunshades or shawls. No matter how the quilts are used; however, they will remain visible reminders that someone in a faraway place like Ellis County, Kansas, cares about them.

While it may be difficult to jettison our me-first thinking or our mistaken notion that there is nothing we can do to change the world for the better, we can open our eyes and look around at the wonderful things that our friends and neighbors are doing to love in truth and action by helping brothers and sisters in need, one quilt, one school kit, and one personal care kit at a time.