Author: Allen Reasons

24 Hours to Forever: Lesson 2 – One Simple Truth

My physician’s words choked the air out of the already masked hospital room: “Anything you need to say to those you love, I suggest that you do it tonight.”  We understood the magnitude of his statement: it was time to “call in the family,” COVID-era version.  The subsequent conversations via video calls were no less painful than in-person visits. For the next 24 hours, Laurie and I stood at the threshold of the mystery of forever.  These writings reflect some of the lessons we learned. They are not meant to be prescriptive for everyone; instead, they are descriptive of our personal experiences only.  If they offer you hope, then our intent in sharing these has been accomplished. 

To read more about what led up to the doctor’s recommendation, click here for The Backstory. 

It would be 24 hours before Laurie and I would know that the most delicate part of the high-risk procedure was successful.  We spent that time confronting difficult speculations, processing unexpected realizations, and learning God-inspired lessons, all of which have forever altered our thoughts and actions. 

If I were to sum up my reflections that day in one primary truth, it would be this: love God and love others. These words eclipsed all others that crossed my mind.

Jesus said it this way: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.  This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself.  All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments” (Matthew 22:37-40).

Admittedly, part of me wishes that God had unveiled some groundbreaking revelation to me about some age-old question of faith. What if I had come through that experience with divine insight into the authentic eschatological timeline, or with a definitive explanation of the origin and power of evil? What if I had direct counsel from God regarding whether or not Jesus would wear a mask!?

Fifth Avenue Baptist Church, Huntington, WV

Instead, the most important word I received was one that had been at the forefront throughout much of my ministry.

During my last pastorate, the church building had six majestic columns facing the busy thoroughfare of Fifth Avenue in downtown Huntington, West Virginia.  These historical, landmark columns have served as pillars of beauty for many decades.  To our congregation, however, they stood for something greater: they were symbols of our mission as a church.  The two outermost columns represented our primary calling to love God and love others.  We sought to frame our life as a church between these two mandates of love.

The familiarity of these two commands notwithstanding, a different part of Jesus’s words surfaced repeatedly during our 24-hour journey.  I kept hearing His phrase, “the second is like it.”

Previously I had focused mostly on the two distinct instructions, love God and love others.  But I came to realize that when Jesus connected the two loves with the phrase, “the second is like it,” He altered these commands forever. As it turns out, Jesus was not just providing a smooth segue from the first commandment to the second. Instead, He used a word that evolved from the Greek that means “together.” One could read it as “the second is together with it.”  He connected the two directives together so that loving God was united with loving others. His word choice suggests that we cannot obey one mandate and ignore the other; they come together as a set. We cannot choose either to love God or to love others; instead, the requirement is both to love God and to love others. They may appear as two commands, but they form one simple truth.

John later expounded this idea in a letter: “Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar.  For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen” (1 John 4:20).  As I was raised in a household where we were not allowed to say “hate” or “liar,” John’s word choices have always impressed upon me how serious a transgression this is. One love without the other negates both.

Why is loving others such a clear reflection of loving God? Perhaps it is because we are God’s children.  Most parents understand this mindset: if you mistreat my child, you mistreat me.  The same is true for our Father: if we malign one of His children, then we malign Him.

Or could it be that the second command is like the first because God is providing a way to calculate our love for Him? We say we love God, but how do we know that our love is sufficiently pleasing to Him? Do we measure our love by church attendance, Bible reading, praying, or some other spiritual exercise? When Jesus unites love for God and love for others, He is giving us an appropriate spiritual gauge. Our love for others quantifies our love for God.

Jesus further refined this idea by insisting that our love for others cannot be mere lip service. It is tangible, like serving a meal to the hungry, offering a drink to the thirsty, providing home for the houseless, clothing the cold stranger, checking in on the sick and the shackled (see Matthew 25:31-40). Every person, whether they be our neighbor, our enemy, or our stranger, are opportunities to express our love to God by the way we treat them. 

How painful it must be to God when we essentially dismiss our professed love for Him by planting our feet in self-righteous hate toward one of His children.  Even more so, imagine His heartache when we make the audaciously arrogant assumption that He blesses our enmity toward others. How dare we claim divine authority to treat others unlovingly!  We cannot love God and not love others.  We cannot shout praises to Him, while simultaneously shouting at each other. 

Confession: I found it extremely easy to love both God and others as I confronted the prospect of meeting my Maker face to face during those 24 hours.  Hanging in life’s balance, I was willing to love anyone if it demonstrated to God that I loved Him.  This included loving the wandering patient from down the hall, who several times a day parked her wheelchair just outside my door so she could yell inappropriately at the nurses!  I loved the individuals who drew my blood every morning, long before it felt reasonable to be awake, realizing that their morning had started much earlier than mine!  If loving God meant loving everyone, well, then I was all in during my tenuous timeline. 

However, on this side of the hospital stay, the connection of loving God and loving others is a much greater challenge.  A few days after the 24 hours passed, I was discharged back into the divisive orbit of planet earth, where red and blue political perspectives end relationships, where selfish decisions break families, where skin color blinds us to what we all share in common, where arguments over masks dissolve the strongest bonds, where digital communication offers faceless opportunities to wound others, and where love for others is an honorable, but expendable, virtue.

It is in these times that God’s people must rise above the divide and embrace this one simple truth. If we claim to love God, then “the second is like it.”

May who we are more clearly reflect Whose we are.

_____

As my illness progresses, I am deeply grateful to my wife Laurie for her willingness to take my ideas and meld them into this readable form.  Also, our daughter Katherine has contributed her excellent editorial skills, and our son Preston has provided his creative graphic arts talents.  Thank you, family.

24 Hours to Forever: The Backstory & Lesson 1 – The Familiar Gift

The Backstory

My physician’s words choked the air out of the already masked hospital room: “Anything you need to say to those you love, I suggest that you do it tonight.” 

I was scheduled for a procedure the following day to address extensive blood clots threateningly near my heart.  Menacing clots had formed throughout my torso, legs, and lung; but this 5 cm clot was especially worrisome because of its size and location.  Lodged both above and below a previously inserted IVC filter, the clot was breaking loose, and already traveling through my heart and into my lung.

I knew the gravity of my current reality; seven years prior, I had lived through multiple pulmonary emboli.  I was blessed to have survived so far, but the hours ahead would be critical to staying that way. 

My wife Laurie and I both understood the magnitude of my compassionate doctor’s words: it was time to “call in the family,” Covid-era version.  Since only Laurie was allowed in my hospital room, our conversations with loved ones during the hours to come would have to be virtual. 

For the next 24 hours, Laurie and I stood at the threshold of the mystery of forever.  During that time, we walked through a wide range of emotions and realizations and awakenings—experiences that continue to reshape our perspectives on much of life.  Those hours have reformed our worldview in most every way. 

Not long ago, Laurie suggested that I share some of the lessons we learned, as they may be helpful to some.  I hope you find these lessons comforting, yet challenging; familiar, yet new; shared, yet personal. 

 

Lesson 1 – The Familiar Gift

Now that you know the backstory, I offer this first lesson I learned: When facing the unknown, look for God in the familiar. 

During those 24 hours, God revealed Himself in ways that I had never experienced before; and I hope to share some of those extraordinary moments in subsequent writings.  But God was also present in many of His familiar ways, and that truth is the subject of this lesson.

As soon as the doctor departed the room, Laurie and I understood we were hovering on the precipice of the unknown.  Even so, I was thankful to see a familiar flicker in my wife’s eyes, a look that I had seen time after time.  I knew in her eyes that God was showing up in a familiar way.  God’s peace settled in our room in the form of Laurie’s spiritual gift, the gift of encouragement.  That gift would now buoy us through the next 24 hours of uncharted waters and even as we navigated far into the future. 

In Romans 12:8, the word often translated “encouragement” means more literally “to call near.”  God has blessed Laurie with the gift to call people near to His intent for their lives.  Her life has been to encourage others to seek, discover, and act on God’s purpose for their lives. 

In all my associations with church leaders and congregants around the country, I have never met another individual with a more pronounced spiritual gift of encouragement.  Laurie would have given Barnabas himself, the Biblical paradigm for encouragement, a run for his money. 

Personally, in that moment, I needed to know that God would give meaning to those 24 hours.  Seeking His purpose is how I have met challenges in life, and God knew that I needed Laurie’s spiritual gift to find His greater good this time.  I understood the epiphany in her eyes, because I had seen God use her similarly over the years to encourage so many to find God’s intention, no matter their circumstances.

I recognized her affirming look as she encouraged countless young adults to come back to Christ after they had drifted away from the faith of their childhood.  It was her reassuring look as she supported hundreds of parents through their struggles to apply God’s truth in raising their children.  It was her look of confidence as she encouraged person after person to apply their own spiritual gifts to God’s glory, often resulting in the person’s accepting roles of church leadership, or singing in worship, or teaching Bible studies, or investing their lives in service to others.  It was her loving look as she peered into the eyes of so many Nicaraguan orphans and comforted them with the truth that God’s love transcends earthly struggles.

During those 24 hours in September 2020, God appeared through Laurie’s gift to encourage me to draw closer to His higher purpose for how I could experience those moments.  That is exactly what I needed.  I did not need a cheerleader to spur me to stay positive.  I did not need a researcher to educate me on Dr. Google’s odds for my survival, nor did I need placating comfort that all would be fine.  For me, hope exists at the intersection of God’s purpose and life’s challenges.  I found hope through Laurie’s familiar gift.   

When the doctor left the room, I looked into Laurie’s eyes and saw all those poignant expressions I had seen over the last 40 years.  I knew that wherever this journey would take us, Laurie would be at my side, encouraging me to see God in all that was happening.  My writing these words is a direct result of Laurie’s encouragement to offer my experiences for God’s use.

As the clock ticked off each hour to the procedure, God’s light sliced through the looming dark shadows in a very familiar way.  God often works that way.  It is part of His faithfulness.  God does not abandon us when the road gets difficult.  Rather, He walks with us, right where He has always been and, very likely, looking just like He has always looked. 

The challenge is that we must develop familiarity with Him now when the seas are calm.  If we do not travel with Him when the waters are smooth, we may not recognize Him in the storm. 

When you find yourself on a difficult stretch of road, consider how you have recognized God’s hand over the years.  How have you known God was with you?  Have there been certain people who have pointed you towards Him?  Have you found a song or passage of Scripture particularly helpful?  Have there been specific circumstances that have led to your awakening of God’s presence?  Remember, when you are traveling a completely unknown and unsure path, God knows your steps and may meet you there in the most familiar ways.  

Believe me, Laurie and I prayed earnestly for signs and miracles during our 24 hours, supernatural assurances that God was in charge.  We wished He would break into that moment and miraculously change the reality of our situation.  I will share more about that later. 

But thankfully, in the midst of our prayers for the miraculous, we recognized God, right where He always was, looking just like He always had.  He was there, fully present in Laurie’s spiritual gift.  It is true: when we faced the unknown, we found God in the familiar.

My Cross to Bear

A Note from Laurie: I have always loved the book, “My Utmost for His Highest,” by Oswald Chambers. His wife Biddy reportedly ensured her late husband’s words were published, albeit posthumously. I have been encouraged for decades by our friends and former church members to share some of the vignettes that Allen wrote every year during Lent to help us grasp, hear, feel, smell, touch, and experience the time of Christ, the world surrounding Jesus, during His journey to the cross. This is one of those stories, from the possible perspective of the carpenter who made the cross of Jesus.

From the time that I was a very young boy, I loved to work with my hands.  Creations of wood came so naturally to me that my little carved pieces became a part of my identity.  I developed a reputation for making perfectly shaped household utensils, smooth decorative items, and charming children’s toys.  Some people even called it my gift, and I knew that came with a responsibility.  If God had given me the gift, then I had to use it in ways that glorified Him.

My lifelong dream became reality when I opened my little carpentry shop in Jerusalem.  There was not a great deal of monetary reward in my trade, certainly not with my specializing in small objects, but I loved it nonetheless.  Eventually though, the financial demands of supporting a family forced me to rethink my career.  Handmade bowls and spoons do not pay the bills.  As with many things, survival became the more important choice over enjoyment.  I made the difficult decision to give up my intricate, small works of art to start making more lucrative products in a more viable niche market that could supply a steady stream of income.  I reluctantly realized that meant meeting the needs of, and selling items to, the patronizing, haughty Romans.

With their militaristic priorities, Romans were in constant need for spears, shields, and other tools of war.  Most contemptibly, Romans were keenly interested in procuring crosses, deplorable devices of death on which they hung their condemned prisoners.

Even though I dreaded affiliation with the ghastly enterprise of crucifixion, I nevertheless knew that I would have steady income if I simply justified my actions and betrayed my convictions. I did not see another alternative; I just hoped that God would forgive my misusing the gift He gave me.

My aversion notwithstanding, I reluctantly began making crosses for the Romans.  I resignedly rationalized my decision by reassuring myself that I had to feed my family, and theoretically, I was doing the world a favor.  Only the worst criminals would be sentenced to hang on one of my crosses, right?  Oh, we humans have such a way of justifying anything. 

My first order arrived a few days before Passover–two crosses, plus the possibility of one additional for a spare.  “Who knows when a last-minute name might be added to the execution list,” they mentioned, nonchalantly.  My instructions were straightforward.  The measurements and weight of the wood would always be the same, and each cross should be roughly cut.  Coarse knots and splintered edges were more desirable as to inflict more pain on the prisoner.  Since I specialized in small, smooth pieces, producing a rough, large cross was certainly not my forte.     


Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

With all the pilgrims arriving for Passover, business would surely increase for all of us shopkeepers.  Now, with the addition of these crosses, this important week could simultaneously accelerate my business and relieve financial pressure.

I worked tirelessly, assisting my Jewish customers in selecting small household items, while understandably keeping my cross-making process in the back of the shop.  I could not risk any of my customers seeing the tortuous horrors I was building.  How devastating it would be if they found out that the same hands that had skillfully crafted their bowls and utensils, or toys for their children, had also built a cross on which some of our own people would be sentenced to die.

On Thursday evening at closing time, several Roman guards came to pick up my two newly finished crosses.  As they dragged the crosses away, I fleetingly wondered who would end up hanging on them.  No time to worry about such things, however, for I had a religious meal to attend.

On Friday morning, I was busily arranging all my wooden carvings in hopes of another robust business day.  Right before my store opened, however, the Roman soldiers came back to get one additional cross.  They had one more last-minute crucifixion.  I gave God thanks that I had finished the spare in time.

A couple of hours later, I heard a boisterous commotion in the street in front of my shop, undoubtedly a horrible Roman crucifixion underway.  Crucifixions passed by regularly, as my shop was on the road to Golgotha.  I never paid much attention, but I had a vested interest in the proceedings now.  I went out to critique my handiwork as the procession shoved forward, but the teeming crowds blocked me and obstructed my view.  Undeterred, I followed the procession all the way to the Hill of the Skull.  I needed firsthand confirmation that all was satisfactory to my customers, even if it meant a long trek.

When the crosses were hoisted towards the heavens, I could finally see my work.  I’m not sure what I expected from the experience, but I found no sense of satisfaction or accomplishment.  Instead, I was overwhelmed.  I was overcome with acute, relentless sadness.  My eyes were drawn to the man hanging in the middle.  There was a sign that identified him as Jesus.  I had heard stories about Him, that He was a miracle worker who always spoke about loving God and loving each other.  I couldn’t imagine why they were executing Him, of all people!  I felt such a dark, hollow emptiness that they were torturing Him with my cross.

Then, our eyes met.  I will never forget His eyes.  He looked at me like He knew me.  He knew my past, present, future. I instantly realized He also knew that I had made His cross, but He was forgiving me for it.  His were the eyes of pure love.  Distraught, I turned away.  I had to get away from this; I could not stand to watch another second.  I was causing Him this pain.  It was my cross on which He was hanging.

As I turned, Jesus cried out, “… Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing… (Luke 23:34).”  The problem was that I had subliminally known what I was doing, yet I did it anyway. Now I knew in full what I had done.  I was an accomplice to His murder.

I ran all the way to my store.  When I got there, I slammed the door shut.  I grabbed my hammer and started smashing every piece of wood that was to become a cross.  Roman contract or not, I had to get rid of all of it.  NOW.  Finally, after about an hour of weeping uncontrollably as I destroyed the cross pieces, it was finished.  Nothing was left to remind me of those crosses, nothing except the indelible mental image of Jesus.  On my cross.

Through the kaleidoscope of my tears, I saw a couple of small carvings scattered on the floor.  I bent over to pick them up, and I discovered that when I had flung one of the cross pieces, I had accidentally broken one of my most treasured pieces of art.  It was an intricately carved, precious lamb. 

I had broken the lamb with a cross.

If Donkeys Could Talk

Have you ever heard my story, that of a talking donkey?  In spite of the obvious temptation to formulate a meme at my expense, I am going to share my story anyway.  We donkeys appear numerous times in your Bible, but usually only in practical references to carrying your loads of cargo.  But on at least three occasions, we profoundly impacted your faith family.

One of our most famous biblical spotlights occurred during the years of the Exodus.  God’s children were camped on the plains of Moab across from Jericho.  The king of Moab saw the hordes of Israelites gathering in his territory and knew that he had to confront them.  Fearing that their military prowess was far too great for him, he called for a sorcerer named Balaam, who could reportedly bring good on those he blessed and evil on those he cursed.  The king summoned Balaam in hopes to hire him to curse the Israelites. 

That’s where my ancestral lineage entered the story.  Balaam climbed aboard his donkey for the journey to the Israelites’ camp.  Along the way, the angel of the Lord appeared three times to stop Balaam from carrying out this evil plan.  Each time, the donkey saw the angel in the path and stopped, and each time, Balaam beat the donkey for not going forward.

That’s when it happened…the talking donkey moment.  My ancestor, Balaam’s donkey, complained about his treatment: “…What have I done to you to make you beat me these three times?” (Numbers 22:28).  As though words from a donkey were not strange enough, Balaam gets into an argument with … his donkey.  God interrupted this ludicrous dispute by also opening Balaam’s eyes to see the angel of the Lord standing in front of him, stopping him in his tracks and preventing his going to the Israelites. 

Which was the greater miracle: words from a donkey’s mouth or divine vision for a mercenary sorcerer?  Perhaps instead the greatest evidence of God’s intervention might have been that the lowly donkey saw God’s messenger on the path.  In spite of our reputation for being stubborn and set in our ways, Balaam’s donkey saw God’s presence and submitted to the divine authority.  It is rather humbling to know that my family line played a part in God’s children entering the Promised Land.    

Another well-known appearance of my family lineage occurred during the transport of Mary from Nazareth to Bethlehem.  For the census of Caesar Augustus, everyone returned to their hometown to be counted.  But there was a holier mission at stake.  Mary, Joseph, and their unborn child traveled to Bethlehem where the babe was to be born.   Talk about precious cargo.  Mary was expecting her child any moment.  Yet, historical prophecy depended on her arrival in Bethlehem before the baby was born.  Again, this important task was assigned to a forebear of mine.  Not wanting to do anything that could interfere with the ordained time and place of the child’s birth, the donkey carefully navigated every step, avoiding a rock that might trip him or a divot that might cause a stumble.  The tenuous trip was successful, as you undoubtedly know, and the Son of God was indeed born in Bethlehem. 

I know I have a different perspective on this, but why doesn’t the donkey get any credit for the smooth, uneventful journey?  The Gospels never mention a donkey in the story.  If it weren’t for pictures on the cover of Christmas greeting cards, the world may never have even considered the presence of a donkey at all!  But there was my ancestor, doing a thankless job once again.  No recognition.  No praise.  Just doing what donkeys do.  He carefully carried his consignment to her destination.  The difference was that this time, the payload he carried was a soon-to-be mother, along with her future Savior of the world.

What does Balaam’s talking donkey have in common with the unmentioned donkey that carried Mary and the unborn Jesus?  They share one of the common traits of our species: dependability.  One of our trademarks is that we persistently press on and move forward, doing whatever job assigned to us, persevering against physical odds.  We do the work.  That is what we do.  That is why we are sought.

A third mention of our family line occurred in the event in which I was personally involved.  One day, some men came to lead me away from my home.  The only reason I overheard was that the Lord needed me.  Before long, I realized I was carrying Jesus on my back, winding my way through throngs of people!  People were singing choruses from the Scriptures about His blessed coming in the name of the Lord.  They were lining the path before us with their cloaks.  I kept steady in spite of the uncertain footing of clothes underfoot, not to mention the startling palm branches unexpectedly waving all around me.  Just as my ancestor who carried Mary thirty-three years earlier, I knew that I had someone special on board.  I walked deliberately, proudly, and cautiously.

We arrived in Jerusalem at the temple, and just like that, I retreated again quietly into the shadows of history, just as my ancestors had done.  After all, the story has never been about me or my ancestors.  We simply carried out our assignments with humility and dependability.  And now, my job was finished.

People have tried to keep my memory alive over the years by developing stories of what I did after I delivered Jesus to Jerusalem.  One of my favorites is that I happened upon Golgotha on Friday.  I had not been able to forget my passenger of a week earlier.  He was so kind, so gentle, so soft-spoken.  On that grotesque hill, I could not imagine why anyone would want to crucify Him.  Your legend about me claims that I was so drawn to Jesus that I stayed at the foot of the cross that Friday, but it was so painful that I turned away so as not to watch the pain He was suffering.  In appreciation of my love for Him, Jesus caused the shadow of the cross to fall across my back.  Just as I had carried Him on my back into Jerusalem, I would now carry His cross on my back as a forever symbol of His love.

Photo by Leroy Huckett on Pexels.com

The next time you see a donkey, look at his back.  You will see the cross.  The markings of a cross can be visibly seen on the back of almost all donkeys.  It is a reminder of the day I fulfilled my task with the Savior. That is why I have passed this story on down through generations. 

You can decide if you believe the story of how we donkeys got our mark of the cross or not.  But what is more important is for you to recognize how faithfully we fulfilled our tasks in Scripture.  We did our job by protecting the Israelites on their journey to the Promised Land by causing Balaam to submit to the angel of God, by gently cradling the expectant Mary so that the Child would be born in Bethlehem as God had predetermined, and by carefully hoisting the Lord on my back as we marched triumphantly into the Holy City to announce His kingship. 

My legacy is a challenge to you.  What is your role in lifting up the Lord to further His mission?  What must you do to bear the mark of Jesus on your back?  Whatever is your purpose, may you find it and do it.  You may not get any praise.  You may not even be mentioned.  You may not even be noticed.  But you will know what you have done.  Most importantly of all, our Lord will know what you have done.  Then, you will have made a difference.

An Epiphany on Storming the Capitol:

A Perspective the Magi from Long Ago Might Speak to Americans Today

Today marks a one-week anniversary that is far from celebratory. Last Wednesday, your nation watched as it seemed to lose control of itself. Those scenes from Washington, D.C., will most likely redefine the 6th of January — far from how it has been observed for centuries. January 6 should be a day of celebration, but the annual recollection of those images at the U.S. Capitol might forever overshadow a very special anniversary and occasion.

January 6 is supposed to be the day to celebrate a holy moment in faith, the day of Epiphany. It is the annual observance of my personal appearance before the Christ Child. The reason my visit back then warrants its own day of commemoration is that you would certainly not imagine that I, of all people, belonged there. I only made the trek from the east because I was a student of the stars. Our findings pointed to this unusually brilliant star as a monumental marker of extraordinary historical value, so I dared not miss it. I was part of a mysterious group known as Magi, and we were far from being considered followers of Jewish traditions.

Indeed, it is that vast contrast between the Jewish baby and me, a sage of the stars, that created a lasting impression in your faith.

The day of Epiphany traditionally marks the occasion when Jesus revealed himself to the world. My presence with the child unveiled the revelation that his mission would reach far beyond the followers of the Jewish faith. Our brief experience together symbolized that the love of Jesus was for the entire world. That seismic revelatory insight into Christ’s purpose was truly an epiphany.

Yet, on Wednesday, January 6, 2021, the day of Epiphany took a much darker tone. Instead of love, there was hate. Instead of peace, violence. Instead of joy, anger. The day of Epiphany is about the child’s coming to widen the embrace of love, not narrow it.

On our way to see the child, King Herod met us secretly with the ominous instruction: “…Go and search carefully for the child. As soon as you find him, report to me, so that I too may go and worship him” (Matt. 2:8). When we finally found Jesus, there was something unique about him. I cannot begin to put it into words; it was an experience like no other. This child emanated a spirit of love, even for those of us who were foreign to his family’s beliefs. When our eyes met, a captivating aura of love and light enveloped me with such force that I immediately knelt in reverential response.

After giving our gifts, we dreamed of King Herod, cautioning that he did not mean well for the child. Instead of reporting back to him, as directed, we followed our premonition and intuition and returned home “…by another route” (Matt. 2:12). In retrospect, we now know that to be the wisest thing we “wise men” did.

So that brings us to today. What does the day of Epiphany have to do with the riotous behavior in your nation’s capital? Nothing, and that’s the point. It is hard to reconcile such violent anger on a day which you historically have spent embracing the Gospel of love for all people.

Even though you call me a wise man, I don’t know all the answers to your problems. But here is what I do know: what happened last Wednesday is not the solution. I only know of one vaccine for the hatred that has divided your country, damaged your friendships, and even destroyed your own family bonds.

The answer lies in what happened that day in Bethlehem. As the brilliant star shined, the presence of the child wrapped me with love. We shared very little in common, but his love found me when I found him.

When it was time to depart, I could not go back to the king’s odious plotting. My new road was now illuminated by the love that the child projected. I now knew to walk within the path of love, even when, or especially when, my steps might intersect with those who differ from me.   

Perhaps there was an epiphany last Wednesday after all… when you have been in the presence of the child, you cannot continue your journey the same way. If you have bowed to Christ, you must resume your journey “by another route.”

________

Scripture references are from the New International Version.

Christmas 2020: A Perspective from Job

Consider these words that Job might say to us today.

My name is one of the most referenced in all of history, which is rather odd since you rarely, if ever, name your children after me. Instead, my name is more of a condition, synonymous with pain and loss.  

When life becomes especially challenging, you seem to find comfort by invoking my presence as a fellow struggler of old. “I feel like Job,” you groan. The union of kindred spirits brings consolation, even if the two souls are separated by millennia.

I may be the last character from whom you would expect to hear during the Christmas season. I don’t exactly remind you of tinsel and mistletoe. But Christmas 2020 feels less like holidays and more like holy-daze, a sacred time in which even the most faithful are confused about God’s presence in such a struggling world. This may very well be the year that finding Job in Christmas makes sense.

Before my story became one of pain and despair, it was filled with an abundance of blessings, including a large, close-knit family, a vast wealth of livestock, and numerous workers to manage one of the greatest businesses in the land.

It would have been easy to rely on the security that our riches provided, but I worked intentionally to guide my family through the proverbial camel’s eye of the needle. As you know, even God himself took notice of my devotion: “…There is no one on earth like him; he is blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil” (Job 1:8). My deep faith is what positioned me at the center of the spiritual challenge between God and Satan.

Theological inferences notwithstanding, this otherworldly contest between good and evil had devastating effects on my earthly life. I lost my workers and my animals to violent raids of robbers. Others died when fire swept through parts of my land. Eventually, I had no way to make a living. Everything I had built was gone. Just when I thought things could not get any worse, I received the devastating news that my children had been killed in a wind storm. My grief was palpable. I lost everything. Eventually, I would lose my health. My wife would challenge my spirituality, and my “friends” would question my integrity. But through it all, I kept the one thing that could not be taken away…I kept my faith.

As I said when the unimaginable happened: “…Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised” (Job 1:21).

“I feel like Job” is commonly a lament that you are suffering like I did. In truth, your pandemic has certainly created misery that rivals mine. The widespread death, the lonely struggles in ICU rooms, the fears of susceptibility, the mystery of a novel virus, and the loss of jobs are just some of your afflictions.

Some of you would be in grave danger if you were to face symptoms from the virus. Illness, age, or some other condition has diminished your ability to fight it. I see myself in you, hearing all the COVID-19 arguments, but being reluctant to participate in the debate because it’s too personal. Your friends argue what’s right or wrong: mask or no mask, indoors or outdoors, 6 ft. or 12 ft. or 0 ft., in-person or virtual, vaccine or no vaccine. It’s hard to enter the fray when you feel like it’s your life in the middle. I had friends with strong opinions too, as I sat in the middle of a cosmic battle between right and wrong. Yes, some of you really do “feel like Job.”

But here is my challenge to you: keep the faith through your pain. Centuries after my story was first told, I appeared in your New Testament among the writings of James. He wrote: “As you know, we count as blessed those who have persevered. You have heard of Job’s perseverance and have seen what the Lord finally brought about. The Lord is full of compassion and mercy” (James 5:11). The greatest tribute you could give me is not to compare our afflictions, but rather to equate our endurance.  

I encourage you to find ways to express persistent faith in the pandemic. For instance, I have heard of one of your families who has turned social distancing into a faith-filled lesson for their children. The parents (we’ll say their names are Katherine and Eric) have three small children. Both Katherine and Eric’s fathers have conditions unsafe around COVID-19. They could spend these months grumbling about how their children are missing pivotal time with extended family. Instead, Katherine and Eric seize the teachable moment by explaining to their children that social distancing around their grandfathers is a way to say “I love you.” The principle that love conquers coronavirus is a truth that will far outlast the pandemic.

I long for the day when comparing oneself to me is not about misery, but rather it is about keeping the faith through the misery. Then my legacy would no longer be what I suffered, but rather how I persevered through it.   

You face a formidable test during this Christmas season. Decades-old traditions may be altered. Family gatherings may be smaller. At best, Christmas 2020 will look different.

My hope for you is that during these days of Job-like suffering, you will take opportunity to find Job-like, persevering faith.

Be still in the midst of the madness.

Avoid the distractions of divisiveness.

Look carefully in the loneliness.

That is where the Child still comes to meet you.

Merry Christmas,

Job

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Scripture quotations are from the New International Version.

The Year 2020: A Perspective from Simon the Zealot

Consider these words of what Simon the Zealot might say to us today:

“Why did God’s Son ask me to join his band of followers? My very presence put the entire mission in jeopardy. The Romans thought of me as an enemy who plotted against their government. Why would Jesus take the risk of associating with me?

My name is Simon. They called me Simon the Zealot, which distinguished me from Simon Peter. You recognize my name as one of the twelve disciples. But beyond my inclusion in the lists of disciples, your Scriptures make no other reference to me. Not a single word of mine is ever recorded. As you will learn, that may be a good thing.

I was a member of the group of people known as the zealots. Our movement among the Jewish people was driven by our distrust and disgust of Roman rule. Submitting to Caesar was nothing short of idolatrous, so we were steadfast in our resolve to prepare the way for our Messiah to set up his kingdom. Toward that end, we created problems for the Romans at every opportunity. Now you understand why the Romans hunted people like me and why I put Jesus and his disciples in danger by my very presence.  

One especially degrading tool that the Romans used to subjugate us was to tax us. Why should we pay money to Caesar, when only God was worthy of our allegiance? To make matters worse, the Romans employed some of our own Jewish brothers to collect their taxes. That was the final straw. We had to stop this blasphemous practice of Jews taxing fellow Jews to fill the coffers of Rome. As a member of the zealot party, I was willing to use violence against these Jewish tax collectors who sympathized with Rome and betrayed their own people.

Into this rancorous world entered a carpenter from Nazareth. When Jesus tapped me to join his group, he looked at me like he knew me. I figured that he had heard of my passion for Jewish independence. I accepted his invitation, thinking that it might be an opportunity to meet like-minded people. At the very least, Jesus had a certain charisma about him that evoked trust and confidence, and such traits could be useful in our zealous mission against Rome.

I will never forget when I first met the other disciples. There were two sets of brothers who were fishermen by trade, along with several other men who seemed to listen to the fishermen. And then, it happened. Jesus introduced me to Matthew, but Matthew did not need an introduction. I already knew him all too well. He worked the tax booth along a road through town. The Romans knew that the right kind of person to sit in the tax booth was one who was willing to turn against his own people for money. I was staring straight into the eyes of my enemy, a mercenary who took money from the faithful and gave it to the sinful.

Why would Jesus involve both of us in his work? After all, He knew the hostility between us. As a zealot, it took everything I had to restrain my violent impulse. How could Jesus think it a good idea to have political enemies on the same team, much less working together side by side? What was he thinking?

There were times when I thought Jesus was leaning to my side of the Roman debate, especially when he talked about the kingdom. There was the time when he said, “…the kingdom of God is in your midst” (Luke 17:21). I felt sure that he was declaring himself to be the heart of our coming kingdom. And when he sent us out on missions, he instructed us to say, “…The kingdom of God has come near” (Luke 10:11). And to this day, you regularly quote his words about prayer, “Your kingdom come, your will be done…” (Matthew 6:10). Zealots understood kingdom talk.

At other times, Jesus sounded the opposite of a zealot. He said things like, “…If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also” (Matt. 5:39). This passive strategy was certainly not going to defeat Rome. And then he would say, “…love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matt. 5:44). It felt like he was directing that at me. One time Jesus said, “…give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s” (Matt. 22:21). Of course, Matthew would include these words in his book. Do you remember what we were doing when Jesus told that famous story about the prodigal son? We were having dinner with tax collectors. Imagine a zealot breaking bread with a tax collector! Times like these made me wonder why Jesus had ever asked me to come along.

All the while, Matthew and I held our fragile truce. I kept the faith that Jesus would be the victorious leader who would end Roman oppression once and for all. He would then deal with Matthew appropriately. Even when Jesus went to the cross, I was sure that he was going to call down his army of angels to set us free. But it did not happen. When Jesus died, so did my anticipation of crowning him king of the new kingdom. My Messiah was gone.

You know what happened next. Three days after he died, he appeared in the room where we were hiding! I had renewed hope that he might still have a plan to lead us miraculously as the conqueror over Rome. After all, the victor over death could surely defeat the Romans.

We asked him directly, “…Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom of Israel?” (Acts 1:6) That turned out to be our final question. He left us again, ascending into the heavens. I did the only thing I knew to do. I went back with my friends to Jerusalem. And together, we prayed.

During our prayers in that room, my eyes were opened as to why Jesus had asked me to follow him. I finally understood why I had traveled these last three years with this group, one of whom was my sworn political enemy.

I recognized that my whole purpose was to walk alongside Matthew as we followed Jesus together. Jesus did not call me to write a gospel about him or even speak words that others would record in their writings. Jesus wanted me to live a life of faith with Matthew, my enemy. I was there to show generations to come that following Jesus would mean walking with someone with whom we fervently disagreed.

What an electric moment! I was in that room to show you that life with Jesus demands us to be better than our differences. Matthew and I were the first Christians to show that two opposing views can come together under the banner of Christ.

It all came together for me while we were praying. Your Scriptures do not reveal our specific words. But as you might imagine, I prayed for what we should do next as disciples. I prayed for my Jewish people, now that our best shot at revolution had literally just disappeared in thin air. I prayed for the safety of all those who had risked everything to commit to Jesus. And yes, I prayed for Matthew.

That is why I tell you my story today. You are as divided as we were 2,000 years ago, perhaps even more so. You are divided over so much:  politics, race, economics, healthcare, climate, immigration, environment, guns, and the list goes on. Who would have ever thought that Christians would argue over wearing masks?

Be zealous about your beliefs. Be passionate about your concerns. Be fervent about what you think is right. But never allow your differences to obstruct your love for each other in Christ. Jesus said, “…everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:35). The world is watching you in 2020. They want to see if you can love each other despite your differences. Our Savior wants to see that, too. How are you known: by your love for others or by your arguments against others?

My clarity came when I prayed for Matthew. It is very hard to pray God’s best for an enemy; candidly, you will not view them as enemy much longer. Who is your Matthew?”

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Scripture quotations are from the New International Version.

The Power of a Breath

I can’t breathe. The words instantly conjure the horrible image of the desperate cries of a dying man. In the following days, George Floyd’s words have come to symbolize the shouts of our Black brothers and sisters whose centuries of racial mistreatment are epitomized in the death of Mr. Floyd. It is about how we treat each other. It is about how we should love each other.

It shouldn’t escape us that this moment has occurred during the time of a worldwide pandemic. We have been wearing masks for several months now in an attempt to keep from breathing on each other. We are told that the mask is one way to protect people around us. It is about how we treat each other. It is about how we should love each other.

Converging on these two images of breathing is the current season of the church’s worship. Many Christians around the world mark this time of year as the season of Pentecost. Sundays are identified by their date in relation to Pentecost, i.e., June 14 is the Second Sunday after Pentecost. As recorded in the second chapter of Acts, Pentecost marks the occasion when God sent the Holy Spirit to imbue His people with His presence and purpose in the world.

When most of our English translations mention God’s Spirit, the word translated “Spirit” is the Greek word pneuma and its variations. The word means breath, wind, and spirit. To be filled with God’s Spirit is nothing short of being filled with God’s breath.

I’m not smart enough to figure out what must all be done to end racism toward my fellow Black citizens. I also don’t understand how to reopen our country without increasing the cases of the virus. What I do know is that an answer involves improving how we treat each other and love each other.

We must no longer accept the often-repeated excuses of white Americans: It’s just the way things were when I grew up; I don’t voice my feelings about racism, but I’m not a racist; I’m not Black, so I will never understand racism; I don’t know many Black people. The list of statements we use to avoid our contributions to racism goes on and on.

When we recognize these statements for what they are, false justifications for our actions and inactions, we can begin our own individual efforts to make our corner of the planet better. We can start to live as Pentecost Christians, breathing deeply the life-sustaining oxygen of God’s Spirit. 

What does being infused with the breath of God look like? Our actions will bear the fruit. We will be driven by love, not hate; by joy, not cynicism; by peace, not violence; by patience, not prejudice; by kindness, not indifference; by goodness, not suspicion; by faithfulness, not inconsistency; by gentleness, not callousness; and by self-control, not impulsive distrust (see Galatians 5:22-23). The fruit is about how we treat each other. It is about how we should love each other.

That kind of world is one in which we can all breathe.

To Be Masked, or not to Be, Is That the Question?

I’ve never heard so many questions for answers that I never knew existed. Questions about how far cough droplets travel. What is a contact tracer? How do I fold a homemade cloth face covering? Who should self-quarantine? We are under daily bombardment of questions and answers, perhaps more of the former than the latter, with differing opinions on how to restore “life as we knew it” without losing life itself.

As we take steps into the reopening light of this dark pandemic, every day brings its own unique questions. The world on the other side looks familiar, but not completely the same. 

In spite of our weariness of all the talk, we seem drawn to it, even engaging in our own diatribes on social media at times. (It doesn’t escape me that here I am adding to the deluge of pandemic conversation.)

The tension seems to be tautest between economics and health. Three months ago it would have been impossible to imagine a day in which going to work could create conflict between earning an income to put food on the table and placing public health at risk. But alas, these are the times.

To the already crowded dialogue, there is yet another perspective which Christians might ought to consider in this worldwide obsession. It is a mostly missing moral conversation that centers on what I’ll call the integrity of Christ. Integrity means to be whole, fulfilled, and undivided. Think of the words integer and integrate as ideas that contribute to the whole of something. As the body of Christ in the world, we have the responsibility to complete His presence in the world, to fulfill the integrity of Christ.

Believers should ask the question: Who should I be and how should I act in this moment to bring Christ’s character full circle? Even though we may arrive at different answers, it is vital that we ask the questions of the role of Christian morality in these days.

What does it look like for me personally to fulfill my responsibility in the integrity of Christ? At the very least, the character of Christ in Scripture reveals His constant focus on the other person. He told stories, gave instruction, and made decisions that always took others in account before Himself. That means that whatever I decide about living in the world’s new normal, I must seek the betterment of others first. That defines if I will wear a mask, or walk the correct direction in the store aisle, or wear gloves, or hug my grandchildren.

How would you answer the question, “As I emerge from pandemic separation, what behaviors of mine best further the character of Christ?” We will arrive at different answers, depending in part on the personal circumstances that we take to our reading of Scripture. The important thing is that we ask this ethical question and allow it to be a civil part of our public conversation.

And one more Scriptural truth that is part of my fulfilling the integrity of Christ: when you arrive at different answers and contrasting behaviors than I, I should respect the decision that you make.  

To be masked, or not to be, is not the only question.

Prosperity in a Coronavirus World

Remember those days of sitting down in a restaurant?  Or dropping the kids off at school?  Or hugging grandchildren?  Or walking into a store to buy toilet paper?  Life, between the first stay-at-home order and the yet-to-be-determined release dates, put so many of our normal routines on intermission.  What used to be is gone; what is yet to come is unknown.

The Israelites also found themselves in an in-between place when they were exiled to Babylon, far away from life as they knew it in Jerusalem.  Their situation was more of a stay-away-from-home order.  They surely grieved the loss of their traditional culture, customs, and especially their temple, the centerpiece of their faith.  They had no idea what life might look like if they ever returned.  Sound familiar?

Through the prophet Jeremiah, God responded to their paralyzing sense of loss with these instructions: “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.  Marry and have sons and daughters…” (Jeremiah 29:5-6).  They did not want to hear about finding purpose in their exile, rather, they only wished for life to return to “normal” as soon as possible.  Sound familiar?

In a letter to the exiled people, Jeremiah sent these oft-quoted words: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jer. 29:11).  God knew that they would one day return to Jerusalem, but not before 70 years had passed, along with a generation or two of Israelites.  But God was also offering them hope in the present, a prosperity during this in-between time.

And so might be God’s message to our 21st century exilic quarantine.  Live your life.  Enjoy the time with family.  Find the blessings in the abnormal.  Celebrate prosperity.

Prosperity?  What does financial well-being look like when the economy is shut down?  How can we prosper before the country opens back up?  The word that is translated “prosper” is the Hebrew word shalom.  It’s a Hebrew word that most of us know as a greeting of peace.  But shalom is so much larger than that.  Shalom means to experience peace that comes only to the life that is lived as fully as God means it to be.  But peace in quarantine?

Yes.  God’s plan for us, now and in the post-coronavirus days, is to know this peace that comes from being completely who we were created to be, even now.  Instead of spending our current days longing for what could have been or fretting over the unknown future, real hope is built on finding God’s peace in the in-between.

Shalom.  It is what we need right now.  Shalom.