Tag Archives: Jesus

Introducing the “Deep Well”

Posted on by

“The Deep Well” is born out of a few threads that emerged during a Sabbatical in 2013.

The first came out of Isaiah 55, where God is reminding his people that they have spent resources—a lot of resources—on “food that is not really food” and “drink that is not really drink.” Folks have wasted their time chasing after things that don’t really satisfy. In contrast, God says, “All of you who are thirsty, come to the water! Whoever has no money, come, but food and eat! Without money, at no cost, buy wine and milk… Listen carefully to me and eat what is good; enjoy the richest of feasts” (vv1, 2a).

The idea that came to me was to just set up some space where God’s people could “feast” on Him. Not really much of an agenda—just provide an arc and a space where people could throw themselves into God and He could satisfy their deep thirsts and hunger.

The second came out of the idea of our “belovedness” in God’s eyes. This theme, echoed in a few writers for me, is necessary (to my mind) because sometimes the very reason we run after so many other things that do not satisfy us is because we are terrified what God may actually think about us—that He actually may not like us.

It occurred to me that reminding folks that they are beloved in God’s eyes would be a good thing to do.

These two ideas—to let people feast on God, and to remind them that they are the beloved—form the backbone of this thing I’m calling “Deep Well”. There are other thoughts and inspiration mixed in as well, but these form the spiritual core of what I’m doing.

It’s pretty simple; I’m thinking that most good ideas are. I’m thinking I’d like to see just how many folks out there are hungry, and thirsty and how many need to be reminded that God’s forgiveness (and love) precedes their repentance. Right where they’re at.

For now, if you want to know about this thing called “Deep Well” you can come here and follow me, or stay posted on Twitter.

The first “Deep Well” event will be happening on June 7 at Element3 Church in Tallahassee. Doors will be at 7:00, and the music will start at 7:30. I’d love for you to come and invite as many friends as you care to.

Let’s see what happens.

Living the Resurrection :: The Calling God

Posted on by

As I’ve written before, contrary how most of us experience Easter, it’s actually a season of the Church, and not merely a day. It’s not meant to be blown by and then remembered in the rear view mirror by its exhaustion (hello, church-workers), chocolate consumption (or Peeps), and communal meals.

Just as Lent prepares us to think about the Cross, Easter now prepares to live the Resurrection Life…

… The reason that it’s a season is that this not as easy as it seems.

So over the next few weeks, I’m going to offer some thoughts on “Living the Resurrection”, and maybe we can figure this out together.

….

In contemplating the empty tomb yesterday morning, I was struck by Jesus’ activities after he is raised.

Assuming that the resurrection was a pretty big deal in those (any?) days, did you ever wonder why Jesus doesn’t just set up shop in the tomb and wait for everyone to come and see him?

Instead, he hits the road.

Matthew tells us he goes up to “the mountain” (one of his favorite places in Matthew) to give some final instructions to the Twelve.

Luke tells us that he joins some disciples on the road to Emmaus, then shows up later at dinner.

John says he crashes a (really, really depressing) party that the disciples are having, and then later to Thomas, and eventually has a really important conversation with Peter before departing.

Paul tells us,

He appeared to Cephas, then to the Twelve, and then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at once—most of them are still alive to this day, though some have died. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles, and last of all he appeared to me, as if I was born at the wrong time. (1 Corinthians 15v5-8)

In other words, even after the Resurrection is still really busy. 

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel says that one of the essential characteristics of God is that He pursues us:

This is the mysterious paradox of Biblical faith: God is pursuing man. It is as if God were unwilling to be alone, and He had chosen man to serve Him. Our seeking Him is not only man’s but also His concern, and must not be considered an exclusively human affair. His will is involved in our yearnings. All of human history as described in the Bible may be summarized in one phrase: God is in search of man.

Jesus—even after Easter—continues this tradition of the calling, seeking, pursuing God.

He is not content to only wait and allow people to seek Him out; He goes in search of folks.

… Of Mary, who loved Him but could not save him…

… Of the Twelve, who couldn’t stay awake with him or stay loyal to him…

… Of Thomas, who wasn’t even sure he believed he was really alive…

… Of Peter, who denied that he even knew him…

In other words, not only is Jesus on the move, searching people out, but the very folks who let Jesus down, who weren’t sure about him, who deserted him, who were helpless: those are who he goes to find. 

The Resurrected Christ is looking for you. No matter what you’ve done, no matter what you “lack”, no matter how you think you may have betrayed him, he is still seeking you. He’s not afraid of you. He’s not ashamed of you. He’s not embarrassed.

So maybe this Easter, stop running. Or just slow down.

*e

Eleven Things About Resurrection

Posted on by

What the resurrection means (at the very least)…

  1. That Jesus was/is the Christ, the Messiah
  2. That love really does win
  3. (Relatedly) That evil, death, and violence do not have the last word
  4. That doubt on Saturday is a part of life, but can give way to faith on Sunday
  5. That God is almost always unexpected
  6. That life with God is not just a resuscitated life, but a resurrected life—simultaneously a part of our current existence but radically reordered
  7. That wide-eyed wonder—and even a mild freak out—is a perfectly acceptable reaction to God’s work
  8. That I’m not “stuck” where I’m at; I can grow and change
  9. That God hasn’t abandoned humanity or this world
  10. Consequently, there is work to be done. Redemptive, resurrection work.
  11. That whenever I—or you—think “this is really all there is”, I’m wrong; that life and possibility can spring up in the deepest darkness

He’s alive, folks. Let’s dig in, drink up, and roll up our sleeves.

*e

===========================

Good Friday, 2013

Posted on by
Cristo Crucifado by Diego Velásquez

Cristo Crucifado by Diego Velásquez

There’s lots that I could say today.

But I’ve decided I really won’t.

My words pale in comparison to the response that this day deserves. So just this: stumbled across this quote yesterday:

Jesus Christ is born in a stable. He has to flee to Egypt. He passes thirty years of his life in the shop of a craftsman. He suffers hunger, thirst, weariness. He is poor, scorned, abject. He teaches the Kingdom of Heaven, and no one listens to him. All the great and the wise pursue him, take him, and make him suffer frightful torments. They treat him like a slave, make him die between two thieves, after having preferred a thief to him. That was the life that Jesus Christ chose, and we, we have a horror of the slightest humiliation.

– François de Fenelon

Christian folk: find yourself a space today to sit in front of the cross of your Savior. Take some time to think on him, and to thank him.

Because no one really did at the time, and now we know better. Or should.

============================================

Lent Reflection #6 :: Jesus Uncomfortable Healings

Posted on by

I’m probably alone in this, but sometimes I feel like Jesus has a funny way of healing people.

To my eyes and ears, Jesus’ healings have a hard edge to them.

For instance, we are told that one time Jesus heals a man with a “withered hand” on the Sabbath, and the religious experts are pretty ticked off about it (Mark 3v1-6). There are some interesting aspects to the story:

  • according to the text at least, the man hasn’t asked Jesus to heal him; in fact, Jesus initiates the whole process (in front of the community in the synagogue)
  • the man’s life isn’t at stake (even for Pharisees, saving life on the Sabbath was actually permitted)

There’s a sense in which Jesus is standing there, and commands the guy (who is not supposed to be in the synagogue), “Get in here and stand up in front of everyone so they can see what’s wrong with you.”

Can you sense the social awkwardness?

What begins to emerge is the possibility that Jesus is essentially using this man’s affliction and subsequent healing as an example, as a way to push the religious authorities into a corner (and to begin to plot Jesus’ death).

And all of this happens very publicly, in front of everyone. The man is healed, but first the man has to stand up in front of his community.

To me, it’s very tense. Why couldn’t Jesus have privately healed the man? Why couldn’t he have pulled the Pharisees and the Herodians aside and performed this act of political theatre in front of them alone?

Why subject the man to this public scrutiny?

A few chapters later, Mark relates the story of a woman who has been suffering—”bleeding”—for twelve years. Without going too deeply into social laws of the time, the cultural laws maintaining purity at this time were quite strict; this poor woman would have been strictly and severely ostracized.

So in a way you can understand her desperation to get to Jesus; to be made whole again. She reaches out her hand and grasps the edges of his cloak (or prayer shawl) and, “immediately”, we are told, her illness is gone.

Awesome. And then she goes away and is restored to life and community, right?

Almost. Not before Jesus very publicly calls attention to her. 

Before her ultimate restoration, Jesus makes sure the entire group of people knows that she is there, and that she has received a healing.

Again, part of me wonders why Jesus didn’t pull her aside, privately bless her and then restore her to the life.

Why the public display?

The last healing story actually comes out of John’s gospel. Jesus finds a man by a pool believed to have healing properties. The man had been there for thirty-eight years. Jesus asks him, “Do you want to be made well?”

The man explains why he can’t get into the pool in time, and Jesus responds by saying, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.”

For some reason, on top of all the very public displays of Jesus’ healings, this one has been sticking with me.

And it’s all because of the mat. 

I don’t know the mat looked like. If it was comfortable; if it was threadbare and worn; if it was donated. I don’t know any of the details.

But I do know what it represented.

It represented the man’s weakness.

It represented his brokenness.

It represented his need for restoration; for health.

And Jesus tells him to pick it up and take it with him. 

If I put myself in the man’s place, I would have longed so deeply to leave the mat behind. Who wants to carry around the reminder of our past? Our brokenness? Our shame?

But instead, Jesus tells him, “No: actually this is the thing you have to bring with you. I know you’d like to leave this part of your life behind, but people need to see this. They need to ask, ‘Hey what’s with the mat?’ And you have to tell them your story.”

Looking back over these three stories, Jesus’ there’s always another agenda operating around Jesus’ healings. They are never “the endpoint.” If they were, it’s possible for Jesus to be considered more of magician—a first century “House”—than the Messiah. The healings are there to make theological points, to tell stories, to point people towards God’s restoration agenda for the entire world. Not to say that it’s great to be healed, but we need to remember that God’s (and Jesus’) agenda is always bigger than our own individual situations, and the healings are always a part of that agenda.

So maybe Jesus has done something for you. Maybe there’s some brokenness in your past (gosh I know there’s some in mine).

And maybe what you really want to do is to leave your mat behind. 

But instead Jesus is telling you, “Pick it up; pick up your past. Pick up your brokenness, the things you’ve seen, the things you’ve done, and even though I have restored you, tell others about them.”

Obviously, just because you carry your mat with you does not mean that you’re still crippled. But somehow you still have to tell people about it.

Live your life in such a way that people go, “Hey what’s with the mat?”

What does your mat represent? Have you left it behind? I think in so many ways Jesus is saying to us, “Go back and get it; carry it with you. Not in a shaming way, but in a way that helps others.”

peace

*e

================================

Lent Reflection #5: The Cross Creates Communities

Posted on by
(1622) by Simon Vouet; Church of Jesus, Genoa

The Crucifixion (1622) by Simon Vouet; Church of Jesus, Genoa

Jesus’ mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene stood near the cross. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Woman here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that time on, this disciple took her into is house.

Mary is watching her son die. In his final moments, as a small community gathers around him, Jesus commends his mother to the care of one of the Twelve (possibly John, the author of this Gospel). He has to do this because at this point none of the rest of his family—not even his brother James—believes in him.

God has always had a people. From the beginning of his ministry, Jesus doesn’t just heal individuals, but he creates a community around himself. Even at the cross, we see Jesus gathering people and creating networks of care.

For some reason—and I really don’t know why—we resist so much of this. We pull away from community, sometimes because of time or priorities, sometimes because of hurts, sometimes because we don’t like what we’re hearing about ourselves.

But we really need to fight against this isolating tendency.

Because someday there will come a need: a phone all that changes everything; a meeting that dries up the future; an email that shakes the foundation of everything you are.

Someday, it’s going to be dark, not just outside, but maybe inside your spirit as well.

And then where will you turn?

We like to think that we exist in some glorious vacuum: some of us alone as individuals; some of us as nuclear families.

But the truth of the matter—even revealed at the Cross—is that we are in desperate need of other human beings.

So,  this Lent:

  • are you gathered around the cross of Jesus with other folks? are you committed to them, and they to you?
  • if not, is there something you need to do to restore yourself to that community?

This is one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard about the Church, and this deep need that we have for community. Watch it and think—really think—about these words.

 "Shelter" by Jars of Clay
To all who are looking down, holding onto hearts still wounding

For those who’ve yet to find it, the places near where love is moving

Cast off the robes you’re wearing, set aside the names that you’ve been given

May this place of rest in the fold of your journey bind you to hope
You will never walk alone 
In the shelter of each other, we will live, we will live

In the shelter of each other, we will live, we will live

Your arms are all around us 
If our hearts have turned to stone there is hope, we know the rocks will cry out

And the tears aren’t ours alone let them fall into the hands that hold us
Come away from where you’re hiding set aside the lies that you’ve been living

May this place of rest in the fold of your journey bind you to hope
that we will never walk alone

If there is any peace, if there is any hope 
We must all believe, our lives are not our own
We all belong
God has given us each other
And we will never walk alone
© 2010 Bridge Building / Pogostick Music (BMI). All rights for the world on behalf of Pogostick Music administered by Bridge Building.

peace

*e

=============================

Lent Reflection #4: Broken Bottles

Posted on by
Christ in the House of Simon by Dieric Bouts

Christ in the House of Simon by Dieric Bouts

Shortly before Jesus is arrested, Mark records this dinner that he attends.

While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. But some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment wasted in this way? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her. But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she had done will be told in remembrance of her.”

SO. There is a lot going on here: The cost of the perfume, the identity of the woman, Simon, Judas, poverty, etc.

But I want to talk just for a minute about perfume bottles.

The contents of that bottle were valuable—nard we think was a pretty rare and valuable spice.

And they were to be offered to Jesus, to anoint him, to prepare him for burial.

In a sense what was in the bottle was going to be offered in worship to Jesus.

But first, the bottle had to be broken.

First, glass, or clay needed to be shattered. Only then can the gift flow out to Jesus’ feet. Only then can the fragrance of those gifts spread throughout the entire house, forcing people to take notice of something that is going on in the midst. Without the breaking, the bottle may remain attractive; it may be a really great looking bottle, and it may even be tempting to believe that the bottle of perfume is fulfilling its purpose by sitting on the shelf looking great.

But it’s not until the bottle is broken can the true beauty of its gift be received and shared. 

There is a strange tension in what we bring to Jesus as well. We all desire to bring him our best: our voices, our thoughts, our service, our hands and feet.

But before we can do that, we have to suffer the breaking.

I don’t mean a shameful breaking; I don’t mean a “breaking” in the sense that casts aside. I mean a breaking that merely releases what we have to give. A breaking that allows us to bring the deepest and truest gift of ourselves to the world and to Christ.

A releasing of our gifts for the sake of Jesus. A releasing of our gifts in such a way that those “in the house” with us—the people we are in community with, our brothers and sister—notice.

“Something has just happened.”

blessings

*e

==================================================

Lent Reflection 3 :: The Thing About Crosses, pt. 2

Posted on by

Last week, I wrote about the public nature of “bearing our crosses”; how they aren’t easily hidden, and are pretty obvious to people. I challenged you all to take up a cross with someone, and share it with someone. Maybe you did that; maybe you didn’t.

That’s the nature of the interwebs, I guess.

But I thought some more about crosses this week (it being Lent, and all), and something struck me from the other side of the equation. 

I remember sitting with a friend of mine once who was going through some really heavy, trying times. We were sitting outside at a local coffee shop (because where else do pastors hang out <snark>), and she was just crying and crying. Then she began apologizing because of the crying. It was a vicious circle.

I stopped her, as best I could, and said, “Please don’t apologize for your tears. You have to understand—for pastors, these tears are a precious gift to us, because they are your deepest fears and hurts. You are giving them to us to share and to care for, and they are precious to us. This is a gift; don’t ever apologize for your tears.”

In a letter to the church in Galatia, Paul the apostle wrote, “Carry each other’s burdens and so you will fulfill the law of Christ” (6:2 CEB).

I’m used to thinking about “burdens” in a very tangible sense (in fact, I preached on it once): bills, sicknesses, and physical needs. This is true and necessary, and it remains true and necessary. Reaching out to help people walk through life is no small thing, and every time we help our brothers and sisters, we are truly “fulfilling the law of Christ.”

But the main “burden” that Jesus tells us to carry for ourselves is the cross. 

(See where I’m going here?)

So as we (and the folks around us) take up our crosses—our own obvious instruments of pain and torture that we experience—at the same time, we need to be reaching out and helping others bear those same crosses.

So last week, I was thinking about what it takes to share the nature of our own crosses.

This week, I’m thinking about what it takes to bear others folks’ crosses.

Someday, someone may offer you the gift of their tears, their hurts, and their shame. How will you respond?

Will you treat it like a gift? A cross that you help carry?

Or an inconvenience, an embarrassment?

I guess in a way I’m saying that we don’t walk this journey towards Jerusalem alone; we need to help each other, and share what we can, so that we can all get there.

Like you didn’t know this one was coming….. 

But this is so very tasty too….

 

peace and blessings

*e

===============================================

Jesus is SO Down With Marvin…

Posted on by

I’m journeying through Mark’s gospel with some friends, and we were talking this week about 2v13-22. Essentially, Jesus goes to this guy named Levi (no relation to my son) who is a despised and outcast member of his culture, and invites Levi to follow him.

Then, as if that’s not enough, Levi throws a part for a bunch of his friends and invites Jesus to it. His friends are, well, colorful. Scripture says they were “tax collectors and sinners.” Again, tax collectors were seen as corrupt and greedy, less than moral. The word “sinners” here is even more interesting. There were two different Hebrew words (and concepts) for our word here. The first word was ‘am ha’ aretz. This essentially meant “people of the land”. They were simple people, people who weren’t interested in the rigorous obedience of the Pharisees or the political change of the Essenes or Zealots, but they weren’t necessarily awful. 

The other possibility, however, is slightly more scandalous. The second word is resaim. This word means the wicked. It means people who aren’t even the slightest bit interested in being good, much less holy.

To be clear, we’re not sure which word is being used here, but one thing is clear:

Jesus is with them, either way.

And what’s more—what is really freaking people out—is what Jesus hasn’t asked of these tax collectors and sinners…

… He hasn’t asked them to get their lives straight first.

… He hasn’t shamed them.

… He hasn’t berated them for their lack of morals or for their “bad behavior.”

… He has a party.

So when people come up to Jesus immediately after this and ask, “Why do John’s disciples and the Pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast” (2v18), something very interesting is going on. You see, fasting itself was pretty common in Jewish culture; it’s actually common in many religious systems. There’s nothing wrong with fasting at all. But fasting typically has a specific connotation to it:

…it’s associated with repentance. 

We’re told that John the Baptizer came “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (1v4), and the Pharisees were desperate to see God act on behalf of Israel, so they pursued a pretty vigorous program of fasting and righteous (not so they could be buzzkills, mind you, but so God would come to Israel and set them free and bring His peace and shalom to His people).

But when Jesus shows up, he neglects the repentance part and goes straight to the party (his “repentance” in 1v15 isn’t so much about repenting of your sins as it is about rearranging your mind and your life to see the Kingdom in a new way).

He’s saying, “You don’t have to arrange your life to invite God into it; He will come into it just as you are. I don’t want to leave you unchanged; no one wants to be wicked, after all, but I’m coming to the party and you’re invited.”

So, incidentally, when Jesus talks about “unshrunk cloth” and “new wine” in verses 21-22, this is what he’s talking about: the “old way” is not  a bad way, but it really doesn’t fit reality anymore.

Jesus is here, and he’s having a party.

Are we inviting people to a party?

Or are we beating them up?

Or are we selling them “get-out-of-hell” insurance?

A friend of mine sent me this article this week, and it made me think of this passage of Mark and this blog post of mine.

Go read it, please.

….

 

Shouldn’t we be singing a better song?

 

I can’t help but read the words of the Grantland article and think about the way we do evangelism. Just reading the words in light of Jesus desire to throw a compelling party for people makes my heart ache for the way we should living with our friends.

Marvin said, “I asked God that when I sang it, would He let it move men’s souls.” 

Do we ask God to let us move men’s souls when we sing the Gospel song?

Or do we just ask for a sale?

Also note: lots of folks hated it. They were outraged. Marvin was corrupting, destroying the National Anthem.

But there other folks there too.

… and they heard that song, heard it in a new way, in a way that they never even know that they needed. Something welled up inside them. Everything that was old and tired about that song now seemed new and refreshing.

They got it.

And they wanted IN.

BLESSINGS.

*e

 

=======================================

Lent Reflection #2 :: The Thing About Crosses

Posted on by
Christ Carrying the Cross'', oil on canvas painting by Titian, 67 x 77 cm, c. 1565. Museo Nacional del Prado}} |Source =Museo Nacional del Prado |Author =Titian |Date =c. 1565 |Permission

Christ Carrying the Cross”, oil on canvas painting by Titian, 67 x 77 cm, c. 1565. Museo Nacional del Prado}} |Source =Museo Nacional del Prado |Author =Titian |Date =c. 1565 |Permission

After calling the crowd together with his disciples, Jesus said to them, “All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.” (Mark 8v34)

I’m going to assume, for just a moment, that you know some of the details of what Jesus is talking about—that “taking up your cross” means taking up something that is very shameful and painful.

But there’s one more thing about crosses:

… they’re big.

You see, the thing about crosses (and taking them up) is that they are very difficult to hide. Crosses are just “out there” for all the world to see (one of the reasons that the Roman government reserved crucifixion for rebels and terrorists was so that they could very publicly proclaim, “Does everyone see what happens to people who choose to disobey Rome?”)

Most of the time, I feel like I get the part about carrying my own pain and shame, but what I miss is the idea about my cross being public, being shared with others. It’s one thing to acknowledge your pain and shame; it’s another thing entirely to choose to share it with someone.

It’s an easy assumption that we all have painful secrets; what would it look like for you to share them with someone during this Lenten season? What would it look like to really take up your cross in a public way?

Is there something you need to share?

Interestingly enough, as Jesus carries his own very real, very heavy cross to the place of his crucifixion, we’re told that the soldiers pulled a man out of the crowd and forced him, of all things, to help Jesus carry his cross.

Simon, a man from Cyrene, Alexander and Rufus’ father, was coming in from the countryside. They forced him to carry his cross. (Mark 15v21)

So maybe, just maybe, that as we make our crosses visible to others, we find that they will lend their shoulders, their strength, their faith to us, and make our walk just a little lighter.

p.s. I the title for this post was inspired by a song written by a good friend of mine named David Greco. He’s a great singer and songwriter, and an even better person. Please support his music and make him famous.

 

==========================================