Intersection (Day 18 of Lent)

In today's passage for Lent, we're told that it is the time of the Feast of Tabernacles.  Being very unknowledgeable about the symbolism for this feast, I will do my best to summarize.  During this feast, which is still celebrated by Jews across the world, individuals build a sukkah.  The sukkah is a small, three-sided shelter made out of organic materials.  Inside, there is enough room for one person and a table.  It is customary to decorate the sukkah with ornaments, popcorn wreaths, candles, and brightly-colored objects hanging from the ceiling.  For seven to nine days (depending on the custom of the individual), the person "lives" in this dwelling, celebrating the provision and shelter of God.  It points back to the time recorded in scripture in which the Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years, with shelter and provision from God.  

Another aspect of the Feast is the gathering of Jewish people at the temple, or synagogue.  Practicing Jews come together and celebrate God's past provision and His future restoration.  They reflect on the hope of the time when everything will be put back together again by the Lord God.  For the Jew, there is no Yeshua, or Jesus.  There has not been a liberation from physical, mental, and especially spiritual oppression.  It is a time of celebration, though, remembering God's provision and looking forward to the time of redemption.  

According to the passage in John chapter 7, Jesus has a family and they are all practicing Jews.  Jesus knows that the Jews in Judea (where the temple and the feast are held) are plotting to kill him for his claims that He has been sent from the Father.  For the Jews, this is absolute blasphemy.  The penalty for someone claiming this kind of thing is mostly ridicule, but if it goes too far, death.  Jesus is making His way to the latter penalty.  His brothers ask, "Why don't you go out to Judea?  Your disciples need to see the work you do.  No one who seeks to inform the public does so behind the scenes."  

It would have been a great marketing opportunity for Jesus to show up to the most important feast of the Jews.  He would have them all in one place, and it would make a great opportunity to have a platform.  But, he knows something that his brothers and family don't know.  The message he's carrying is the opposite of what they are believing.  His own family doesn't believe in what he's claiming.  Jesus tells his brothers "it isn't time yet."  He seems fearful that if he goes to Judea, he will create a lot of commotion.  

Nevertheless, Jesus still goes.  Knowing that he's the most wanted man in Jerusalem and that crowds of angry Jews have a price for his head, he goes in secret after his family.  His family doesn't even know he's going.  Maybe if they knew, word would get around and he would be captured.  But, it wasn't time yet.  

I imagine it was heartbreaking for Jesus, this whole process.  The one message he wanted to get out was that He was sent by the Father to be the temple - the restoration of the world.  Essentially, the Jews were celebrating the provision of God, but refused to accept the Provision of God standing right in front of them.  They were reflecting on the future coming of a Messiah, and refusing to believe the Messiah was already in there midst.  Who would blame them though?  Jesus didn't.  He had to have been in anguish about how focused the Jews were in their festivals, and at the same time staying humble enough to not get on a platform in public and try to win them over with moving speech and dazzling miracles.  He didn't give up.  He loved them so much that he didn't infringe on their traditions and practices, but was waiting for the right time - when the Father made it clear to him to act.  

This passage makes me wonder what Jesus would think if he were to observe us practicing Lent today. Would he see a people who are fasting out of their reflection of Him, or would he see a people who are fasting out of a refusal to believe that the kingdom has come and will come in its fullness?  

I believe that just as Jesus showed up and kept quiet during the Jewish holiday of Feast of Tabernacles, he loves us so much that he will not impede on our customary ways of doing things.  Unless, the time has come.  The phrase, "It's not time yet," keeps showing up in the gospel of Matthew.  Every time someone tries to persuade Jesus to do something, he says it's not time yet.  In this passage, it wasn't time for Jesus to show up to the festival and start preaching or building on his claims.  He respected the traditions of the Jews, knowing that there would be a time to interject.  

I believe there is a time, or many times, in which Jesus intersects with our lives.  Heaven meets earth, joy intersects with depression, self-hate intersects with unconditional love, bondage intersects with freedom.  Whatever heartache, sadness, hopelessness and despair we are experiencing currently comes with it the reality that in the right time, heaven will intersect earth.  I believe that everything and everyone is in the process of being restored to its intended perfection.  Along the way, however, are valleys of sadness and despair.  If we're trying to ritualize our way through these moments, it's okay.  If we're trying to make the best out of dire circumstances, it's okay.  We're wired to do so.  As Jesus watches, grieving and celebrating with us, he knows there's a time to intersect, and right now may not be the best time.  

Because sometimes, good is the enemy of better.  

As we go out today, do we understand that no matter how hard we try, we are not in control of time?

  

Do we see time as a thing that's running out, or a thing that is being used to restore?  

What's one way we could use our time today to bring restoration to the world, or to receive restoration for our weary bodies, minds, and hearts?  

On Assignment (Day 17 of Lent)

When I moved to Galveston about five years ago, I remember unloading my trailer with my roommate Ricky.  As we were unloading, the neighbor from across the street - Wayne - came over and started helping us.  Halfway through the load, he asked, "Why are ya'll moving here?  There's nothin' but niggers and spics over here."  It happened to be in an area where a lot of government subsidized housing was located.  

I tried to keep my composure the best I could.  Trying not to respond in a way belittled him, I stuck to what I believed.  I told him, "Well, Ricky and I don't think that we are any better than the folks you're talking about.  We're here to open our home to whoever needs one and to help out in any way we can."  

As I was taking a bed stand into the house, I overheard Wayne tell Ricky, "Your buddy is weird.  What's wrong with him?"  

Ricky expounded on what I had said, and from that day on we shared life with Wayne, saw his heart change toward the exact people he was degrading.  He even joined us in our worship services on Friday nights, crammed in our little duplex.  From hanging out with Wayne, I learned to be more tolerant of people who don't look at the world differently than I do.  We became really close friends, and spent a lot of time sitting on the porch and talking about life.  He taught me how to hunt for oysters in Galveston Bay, and how to grill them.  He showed me how to make some extra income collecting cans and taking them to the local recycling facility.  Most importantly, he showed me that I had just as many - if not more - prejudices as he did. 

In today's passage out of John chapter five, Jesus is explaining to the Jews that he has come with the authority from God.  He tells us that he's been given tasks by the Father to carry out.  The Jews have a problem though.  Although Jesus is standing right in front of them, they do not accept what he is saying or doing.  Although they have their heads in their Bibles constantly, they are missing out on the obvious - that the scriptures all point to him.  Jesus says that they follow Moses, but miss who Moses is writing about in the first place.  

Jesus tells them that he is being confirmed through the tasks that he's been given to carry out, and that God is the witness to those things.  Just like in my experience of moving to Galveston and carrying out something that I believed was confirmed by God, Jesus is carrying out the things he has been given by God.  When these things actually get carried out, Jesus is saying that the "greatest Witness of all" is confirming him.  

Unlike the Jews in the time of Jesus, we don't have the luxury of seeing and hearing Jesus or God.  Many of us use language that portrays a seeming audible communication or visible reality, but it is imagery.  It is how we try to connect with God and other people.  In my opinion, language doesn't confirm God.  We can talk all day long about how we believe in Jesus, and how God is working in our lives, but language just doesn't confirm anything more than knowledge and beliefs.   

Jesus is essentially saying that the only confirmation we have of God is the work that we do on this earth.  I have to say that in my move to Galveston, it was a mess.  I was at the low point of my life inwardly, but outwardly I was acting differently.  Alcohol was ruining me and my motives were all jacked up.  However, there was still action going on that made people like Wayne ask questions.  In spite of my own messy life, I was still somehow able to act upon my beliefs in a way that made people curious.  I was on a mission that I believed God had assigned to me.  

I haven't had anybody ask me any questions of why I do the things I do recently.  It makes me wonder if my life really looks any different, or if it truly is a light to the world.  If I have to ask these questions, it probably means that I am not living that brightly.  What happened to the childlike faith?  Whatever happened to throwing care to the wind, following what I thought was the voice of God?  Sure, I'm following my passions, but it just doesn't seem like my passions are doing any good for anybody else.  Sometimes, I wonder if I'm so far deep into the American Dream that I'm deluded into thinking that I'm "doing it right?"  Is it possible that I've gone so far deep that I no longer find the need to pay attention to the needs around me? 

If I really care about sharing the love of God with my neighbors, coworkers, friends, and family, then I'm going to have to stop thinking that language is my greatest tool.  I've got to pick up a shovel.  If people aren't inquiring as to why I'm doing what I'm doing, am I really putting the love of God on display in my life?  

As we go out today, may we do one thing that we don't normally do.  No matter how jacked up our motives are, may we carry out an assignment that we think God has commissioned us to do.  

Unorthodox (Day 16 of Lent)

About three years ago, I was sitting in church and listening to a heartbreaking story of how a young married couple had just been devastated by a car wreck.  The couple had been married for two years, and because of this wreck, the husband suffered a traumatic brain injury.  The wife was unable to be there at the time, so received information over the phone about her husband's accident.  She didn't know how to process the information.  The husband was unconscious, and went into a coma for two months.  As I was listening, I knew I had to help in some way.  The person giving the story said that the wife was in dire need of help.  

As the coma went on, and as the husband lie in the hospital bed, lifeless and uncertain, the wife prayed and cried and agonized over the possibility that her husband was not going to make it.  People from the church responded.  Some people joined the wife at the hospital.  Some made meals.  Some got together and prayed with and for the husband and wife.  At the time, I was doing some odd jobs so I decided that the yard needed to be mowed on a weekly basis.  

I started showing up to the house and mowing.  I was hesitant about getting too close to the situation because I don't know how to respond with stuff like this.  I'm not very good about dealing with tragedy.  So, my natural reaction is to help out in a tangible way that doesn't involve very much emotion.  

After two months of the coma, the husband blinked.  A wave of gratitude swept over the wife and the whole church family.  After a few more months, the wife moved the husband home.  A friend and I began taking meals to the couple one night a week, and I continued mowing.  

I would watch from the sidelines as she would take him to the bathroom, feed him, change his clothes, put him in bed, get him out of bed, brush his teeth, massage his arms and legs, and do many other things that would wear any sane person out.  On a few occasions, she would lose her mind and just scream.  Other times, she would laugh hysterically.  And other times, she would just sit, depressed and hopeless.  She was afraid of not having what it took to take care of her husband.  I felt compassion for both of them.  As I continued mowing, and watching, and taking meals, the powerlessness of the wife was rubbing off on me.  I was realizing how much I wanted to help, but how little I could do.  

As a way of helping the wife grieve, a small group was started for anyone who was dealing with overwhelming situations in life.  At the time, I was just entering into alcoholic recovery.  I began attending this group as a way to combat my own desire to drink.  I needed another avenue to share my problems.  Over time, we all bonded in a way that only a community of suffering people can.  We shared our deepest pains, and a lot of the time everything seemed hopeless.  But, we kept talking and kept supporting each other.

As we all got more and more vulnerable with each other, I fell in love with the wife and got real scared.  I was too scared to say anything about it to anyone.  I would keep showing up and denying the feelings that were growing inside of me.  I thought, "What if someone finds out about this?"  Thoughts of the pastor of my youth rolled through my head as I envisioned fires of hell and excommunication for people who committed adultery and fornication.  

I kept showing up.  Eventually, I couldn't keep the information to myself any longer.  I told the wife that I loved her (as a sister).  I couldn't completely let her know what I felt, because that would mean that I was a sinner.  For months, I beat around the bush.  My service to her and her husband had developed into continual visits to the nursing home where her husband was now.  I would show up with my harmonica and another friend would bring her eukelale.  We would eat with the husband, and get him out of his wheelchair in the hopes that we could teach him to walk again.  

The wife and I began dating and taking care of the husband together.  In a wild mess of jealousy, heartbreak, grief, fear, and silence, we maintained this secret relationship that scared the crap out of both of us.  We were very afraid of anyone knowing about our relationship.  I was afraid of the husband finding out, even though he couldn't cognitively recognize our relationship.  Some days I would show up to the nursing home and find her lying in bed with her husband.  Other times, as we would stroll with the husband through the halls, she would kiss him on the forehead and call him "babe."  

In these moments, it felt as if my heart was being rung out like a wet rag.  I kept my mouth shut, and bottled it up.  I was afraid of saying anything out of my fear of rejection.  More time passed, and we knew we couldn't remain silent about our relationship.  So, we decided to arrange meetings with several of our most trusted friends at church.  We sat down in living rooms and Waffle House to explain to these folks what was going on.  We felt they had the right to know.  The response we received was overwhelmingly unexpected.  My mind would tell me that people were going to tell us we were living in sin and going against God's will, but we were received with compassion and dignity.  We were validated.  These people had enough compassion to understand that we were going through enough mental torture on our own to have people add more to it.  The process of "coming out of the closet" was the first step of replacing shame with restoration.  Although we have broken up three times, and it's still a crazy mess, we have come to accept the crazy mess.  But, our belief systems have changed dramatically as well.  Our relationship has come alive, and I think we each have come alive in our own ways.  All three of us (including the husband) have a relationship that can't be scripted or generalized.  

Some days the husband sees me as his best friend.  Other times he sees me as his worst enemy.  But, we know deep inside that we are just on a journey.  We are not the guides.  We have not done this deal perfectly.  We have screwed up over and over, and we will screw up more.  What once was dead and lifeless and broken into pieces is being restored in a way that's unbelievably breathtaking.  

Sometimes, the dead hear the voice of God in a way that others can't.  It is the only way they can find life and begin a process of resurrection.  It may be the most illogical, unaccepted, sacrilegious way of doing things, but they know they are being moved and guided not by any human being but a still, small voice that provides the only sense of sanity they can find.  The passage for Lent today tells us that Jesus decides and carries out the judgment he thinks is best for every person.  Nowhere does it say in this passage that those who do wrong are going to live in eternal conscious torment.  Instead, it says that the Father and the Son don't shut anyone out.  They want everyone in on the life they offer.  Jesus claims in the passage that he's been handed all honor and authority from the Father, so we don't have to worry about what our pastors, priests, and religious friends are going to say when they found out about how crazy we are and how unorthodox we are in our lifestyles.  

As we go out today, may we accept that we aren't doing the whole life thing the right way.  May we take Jesus up on his offer of real and lasting life, a life that isn't gauged by how righteous we are, but how much we are loved.  

The Healing Waters (Day 15 of Lent)

My friend Brandon has a traumatic brain injury.  He received it when he was involved in a car accident a few years ago, and ever since he's been dependent other people for his basic human needs.  One day, we were having a party at the house of one of our church members, and Brandon was there with us.  It was a nice day, so we all decided to jump in the pool.  Brandon doesn't get a chance to swim much, as it requires a ton of assistance, and there's not a pool at the nursing home he lives in.  In order to get Brandon into the pool, several people have to help out.  One person has to be on each arm, and one person has to be in front, spotting him.  This day at the pool, someone engineered a floating device out of the styrofoam tubes and placed it around his waist.  It was a beautiful thing to see everyone get involved and get Brandon into the pool.  As he got in and floated around, I sensed I was taking a part in something much bigger than a swim.  Although there was no way of telling, it seemed that we were taking part in restoring some part of Brandon's life, something we couldn't see.  Pools have a way of doing that.  Pools have typically been associated with healing.

According to John, there was a pool in Jerusalem.  There were five alcoves (inner rooms arranged on the outskirts of the main pool), and in these alcoves were hundreds of sick people.  Blind and crippled folks would sit near these healing waters in the hopes of being restored to health.  One of the beliefs around the time was that the god Ascelpion - who was believed to use water to heal the sick - would send angels down to stir the waters of the pool.  It was believed that when the waters "troubled," they would heal whoever sat in them at the time.  

In our time, pools are used in athletics to loosen tense muscles and to restore circulation to injured areas of the body.  They shorten recovery time, and many rehabilitation facilities use swimming pools.  In this story, there is a man who has been paralyzed for thirty eight years.  He's been sitting by this pool hoping to get well, and every time the water gets stirred, he can't get there in time.  Someone else always gets in first.  

Jesus shows up one day and finds the man sitting there.  He asks him, "Do you want to get well?"  

The man answers, "Yes, but every time I want to get in, I can't get there in time.  I have nobody to help me get in and by the time I get there it's too late."  

Jesus says, "Get up, take your bedroll, and start walking."  

He does just that.  We're told that he gets up, picks up his stuff, and walks away.  No sooner does he leave than the Jews around the pool stop him and tell him he can't be carrying his bedroll on the Sabbath.  They tell him he's breaking the rules.  Never mind that the guy is walking for the first time in 38 years.  

There's many different ways we could go with this passage, but I wanted to focus on the pool.  The pool, which was intended for healing, just wasn't working.  It wasn't working for many people, but we're only given the one account of the paralyzed man.  No matter how much the man believed that the waters would heal him, he didn't have the ability to get to the waters.  Jesus, who a couple passages ago told a certain Samaritan woman that he had water that wouldn't run out, has shown up at a pool.  

The man can't reach the water, and the water comes to him.  The man is hopeless and hope comes to him in the form of Jesus.  

Sometimes, there just isn't anything I can do.  It's usually when I exhaust all of my solutions.  I'll try something new, or different.  I'll try thinking differently.  I'll exert my will every way that I can, and I'll do it until I realize that it just isn't working.  I just can't reach the water.  Alcoholism is my handicap.  It keeps me from getting to the pool, so the water has to come to me.  Pornography is another one.  There's just no amount of power I can exert in this area that will get me to the healing water.  The water has to come to me.  There are things in my life that I'm powerless over, and unless I've tried figuring it out long enough, I won't admit that I'm powerless over anything.  I have to hit rock bottom, or at least some sort of physical, spiritual, or emotional pain.  But, just as with the paralyzed man, Living Water finds us when we arrive at that place in our lives when we just . . . can't . . . reach . . . the water.

In what areas do we need to realize that we just can't reach the water?

How can we go about realizing this?

May the Healing Waters come to us today as we reflect on the ways we are powerless and stuck.

Spun (Day 14 of Lent)

In 2002, I was celebrating with a friend for his birthday.  I was underage at the time, so I got one of the older guys some money to get me a bottle of Evan Williams Tennessee whiskey.  By this time in my life, I definitely had a problem with drinking, but didn't think so.  When the whiskey arrived, I found a glass and began pouring shots for myself.  Shot after shot for two hours left me in a state of dizziness and the world spun around as if I was on a merry-go-round.  That was only the beginning of the night, as we were all "preparing" for the night out on the town.  What I didn't know was that everyone else was drinking moderately.  They were literally having a couple drinks before going to the bar.  Having a couple just doesn't work for me though.  I take it to the edge every time.  Before we even got into the vehicles, I stumbled and swayed my way and had to be assisted.  

When we arrived at the bar, I fell out of the truck.  Some guys helped me out, and aided me inside where, I fell once again into a pool table.  Luckily, the bar owner asked the guys to get me out of there not long after we entered.  So, a couple Good Samaritans in the group loaded me back into the truck and took me home.  Knowing that my parents were asleep, and were not okay with alcoholic consumption of a minor, much less their son being the minor, the two friends perched me on the porch for the night.  

Sometime during the night, my parents woke up and found me cuddled up in front of the door.  They couldn't wake me up, so they dragged me inside with the help of my brother.  Shortly after, alcoholic seizures began and they immediately hauled me to the car for a trip to the emergency room.  As my parents sit beside my hospital bed, doctors used charcoal to get the poison out of my body.  They prayed for me as I lay there unconscious, hoping that God would deliver me from the mess I was in.  My blood alcohol content was .43, of which symptoms include:  a general lack of behavior, unconsciousness, impaired breathing, impaired heart rate, and visible jerkiness in eye movement.  Death is possible at a BAC between .30 and .39.  I was lifeless.

In today's passage for Lent, we're told about a court official who hears that Jesus is in Galilee.  His son is on his deathbed, and the official has heard stories about what Jesus did over the Passover feast.  It's a shot in the dark for the guy, but he's willing to travel miles to find Jesus and ask him to do something.  When he finds Jesus, he says, "My son is sick.  Can you come and heal him?"  

Jesus responds, "You Galileans . . . you have to see a dazzling miracle in order to believe."  He puts him off.

The official won't have it though.  He insists, "My son is on his deathbed!  You have to do something!"  

Then Jesus says, "Go home.  Your son lives."

On the way back home, the servants of the official intercept him on the road to announce, "Your son is living!"  

The official asks them, "What time did it happen?"

The servants say, "Yesterday at one o' clock."  The official knows in his heart that Jesus said his son lived at one o' clock.  After making the connection, he believed.  In fact, when he got home he shared his findings with the household, and they all believed.  

I'm sure at some point in the early morning hours in the hospital, after my parents had to sit through the agony of watching the doctors frantically do whatever they could to bring me back to life, the head doctor came up to them and said, "Your son is going to live."  Throughout it all, they prayed and pleaded with God to keep me alive.  They believed that God could.  When I came to, the doctor told me what my BAC level had been, and said that I was very lucky to be alive.  

I'm sure that from that point on, my parents had a new insight into prayer that they had never had before.  When they saw my eyes open and my vitals go back to normal, they believed that there was a God who was intricately connected and concerned for human life.  They didn't see Jesus lay a hand on my forehead or breathe air into my lungs, but believed that God could heal me.  

Just like this court official, whose son was in a different geographical place than Jesus at the time of his healing, my parents couldn't actually see the step-by-step process of the divine.  They could only believe.  The truth was, I went from death to life.  The belief was that God was responsible for it.  

Most of my life, I've thought that believing in God requires an experience of my senses.  Rather, belief consists of what I cannot see or touch.  In this case, my parents accepted what they could see.  They saw their son full of alcoholic poison and unconscious.  That was the truth.  They couldn't see or hear God, and they believed that God could work in the situation.  

As we go out today, may we believe that God restoring the world and its people.  

As we touch and see our own brokenness and the brokenness around us, may we believe that God does not let people stay broken.  

What can we do today to touch what's broken?  

What can we do today to help increase our belief in a God who restores?  

Hero of the Harvest (Day 13 of Lent)

There was this homeless couple that I lived with in Galveston.  Well, they were homeless until they moved in.  I wish I could say that my motives were purely to care for them and help them get on their feet, but what I really wanted at that time was to avoid the problems in my own life and take on the problems of someone else.  I wanted to fix them.  I felt a sense of duty and responsibility for them, and would "hide" them from other people so that they wouldn't stick their hands in my cookie jar.  I wanted to be the hero, the savior.  After two years of trying to be their solution and trying everything I could to make them change, I hit rock bottom.  After hurricane Ike came, I moved back home and they found a house for themselves.  They were getting on their feet, and I was barely making it.  Yet, they weren't living up to my distorted standards.  I kept seeing them as the homeless people who needed someone to fix them.  Even though they had their own place, were starting a family, and becoming self-supporting, I wanted them to do what I thought was best for them.  It did not work.  After I ran out of ways to fix them, and became convinced they weren't going to listen to me, I got outside help.  I got other people to help me fix them.  The man and woman were confident enough that they could be self-supporting, but I thought otherwise.  I was convinced that the man was taking pills and endangering their newborn baby.

As a result, I was the ringleader in taking the steps to call CPS to report the man's "bad" behavior, even though it wasn't proven.  I was also the ringleader in taking back the vehicle that had previously been given to him.  It was bad.  The last time I talked to the woman was on the phone.  I had called her two weeks later to see how they were doing.  What I heard was not what I expected at all, but why shouldn't I have expected it?  I was playing God.  She was hysterical.  She couldn't believe that the CPS were called, and she said that they found nothing that would place the baby in danger.  She had thought we were friends, but I had become their enemy.

To this day, this memory creates a lot of remorse.  I wish there was something I could do to fix it.  There is, but I just have to take the right steps to get there.  I need to find them first, and then arrange to meet them if they allow it.  I have wronged them, and I want to straighten it out the best I can.  

In today's passage for Lent, we start where Jesus and the Samaritan woman are finishing up their conversation.  The disciples get back from H.E.B, and they show up, shocked that Jesus is talking to the Samaritan woman.  I guess they hadn't learned by now that Jesus doesn't show an ounce of favoritism.  Trying to change the subject, they try to get Jesus to eat the food they've purchased, but he's not having it.  He says, "I have food you guys know nothing about.  I sustain myself off of doing the will of the One who sent me."

The disciples are like, "What are you talking about, dude?"

Jesus says, "You see these fields out here?  In about four months, they'll be ready for harvest.  The Harvester is gathering up all the good grain that's ripe for eternal life.  The Sower and the Harvester are arm in arm, gathering up a harvest.  If you guys would just look around, you'd notice that everywhere around you is grain ripe for harvest.  In fact, you've been given the opportunity to harvest but haven't even had to lift a finger to do so.  The Harvester's been working at it long before you got here."  

When I crossed paths with the homeless man and woman, I believed I was the Harvester.  I did not take into consideration that God had already been working on them long before I ever showed up.  As a result, I made the situation worse.  Because of that situation, I've learned to look at other people as God's children and not my mission projects.  

Jesus proposes God is working on all of us, regardless of what belief system or creed, race, or educational background.  He proposes that we're either ripe for harvest, or becoming ripe for harvest.  He says to look around and notice the fields that are shining in the sunlight.   

I believe there's not one of us whom God is not preparing for harvest a.k.a. life to the fullest.  I also believe that each of us gets to take part in the harvest of others, playing a small role in cultivating the people around us.  We are being cultivated by God, and at the same time get to help cultivate the folks around us.  No one is left out on this work, but all of us get to decide if we want to take part in it or not.  

Are there any people in our lives who we need to take a step back from and quit trying to be the hero with?  

How are we being cultivated by God right now?  

Who do we need to help cultivate today?  

As we go into the world today, may we remember that we are working for the Harvester and not the other way around.  My we take a look around and notice the fields around us.  May we remember that long before we ever got to where we're going, God started a great work and has accomplished way more than we know about.  May we let go of our selfish egos that tell us we have what it takes to fix other people, and instead let our cultivation of others be a product of God's cultivation in us.  

The Farmer (Day 12 of Lent)

One day I was at work, and it was one of those days where I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and possibly the wrong side of the universe.  I couldn't seem to be at peace no matter what I tried.  During the lunch rush, I got really pissed at the head cook and threw a piece of cornbread at him.  Then, I mentioned a few a Spanish words that I thought may be insulting.  Needless to say, he was not happy and neither was I.  We didn't talk to each other the rest of the day, and I kept fuming, trying just to make it to 4:00.  

That night, I thought about what took place, and wrote it down.  I came to the conclusion that I got angry because things weren't going my way, and I wanted to be in charge and run everyone's life.  In response, the next morning I showed up to work a little early.  I wanted to apologize for my actions, but wanted to make sure he understood.  So, I typed up a note that said, "I was wrong for getting angry and throwing the cornbread at you.  Is there anything else I've done to harm you?  Is there anything I can do to make it right?"  After I finished the note, I copied and pasted onto Google Translate (which, by the way, is a great tool for those of you who work with people who don't speak English).  I translated the message, then took it to him.  I stood there as he read it, and he said, "You said some very bad things yesterday.  It was very bad buddy."  

"Is there anything I can do to fix it?"

He said, "Don't do it again."

A thought popped in my mind that I should go back to Google Translate to look up the words that I had insulted him with yesterday.  On the Spanish side of Translate I typed, "pinche bendejo."  When I saw what the English translation was, I panicked.  I had no idea that's what had come out of my mouth.  I went back to the head cook again and apologized for what I had said.  I made a mental note to never say that again.  

Language is very powerful, even when we don't know exactly what we're saying.  It's powerful for both the giver and the receiver of the words.  For me, I underestimated what I had said, thinking that my broken Spanish wouldn't have much effect.  It did.  

In today's passage for Lent, we find Jesus giving a parable about seeds.  He says there's this farmer who scatters some seeds, and they fall in four types of areas:  the road, the gravel, the weeds, and good earth.  The road seeds got eaten by birds.  The gravel seeds sprouted but had no root action.  The weed seeds were strangled out.  The earth seeds produced a harvest beyond the farmer's wildest dreams.  He doesn't mention the ant pile seeds, which is what's happening to one of mine right now.  I'm wondering if the seeds I have planted are going to make it.  Every morning I go out to water, and there's nothing except dirt.  I don't know when I'm going to have to draw the line and say, I need to start over.  

I believe the farmer in this passage represents God.  I believe the seeds represent the logos, or the word of God.  I believe the different surfaces represent us at different stages in life.  

There have been times where I have heard about God and his love for me, but I was like the road where the birds came and picked up the seeds.  They didn't stick.  I heard it, and it was gone just as quickly.  There have been times I have heard about God and his love for me, but I was like the gravel.  The logos sprouted into a bunch of head knowledge, but the roots never sunk into my heart.  Then, there have been times I have heard about God and his love for me, but I was like the weeds.  It wasn't long before someone came and told me that God loves me if . . . and the weeds of religion and dogma strangled the logos.  But then, there are times that the logos sets in, finds root, and grows into something beautiful.  When this happens, the birds and the weeds don't stand a chance against.  

What I try to do through this blog is to carry a message that I believe in with all my heart.  There's no way I can prove it though, and that gets frustrating sometimes.  The only way I have to come close to proving it is to speak and act in accordance to the logos inside my heart.  Belief is simple and profound at the same time.  Just like the word that I gave to my head cook, a few simple words turned into a big commitment to never say those words again.  

Since believing something means doing so without proof of its existence, many of us are fearful to do so.  We've had birds and weeds come at us in the past to take away what we held in our hearts, simple seeds of belief in God's love for us.  Just when we thought our seeds were starting the growing process, the message of God's love got distorted with rules, people's conceptions of a fiery hell with eternal torment, and old covenant theology.  We let the distractions uproot our seeds and fade away, holding an everlasting resentment toward religion and it's people.  Some of us threw the God concept away entirely on account of people who distorted his message.  Others of us have really struggled to reacquaint ourselves with a loving, compassionate, and inclusive God.  

I've been transformed by the logos of God.  Through trial and tribulation, birds and weeds, one simple seed finally made it to my fertile heart.  I believe that God is loving, and reading the scriptures helps to back up the belief.  I think this passage is more than a series of phases though.  

For those of us who have not experienced the fertile ground of the heart yet, this passage brings hope.  There are times when we think that we will never experience the joy, peace, contentment, and love of God.  But, I believe God is tilling all of our hearts to make them fertile and ready to produce a harvest.  My encouragement to everyone who is having a rough go with God is, please don't discount the farmer on account of the birds and the weeds or the lack of soil.  The farmer is constantly working tirelessly to create a good soil that will produce good crops.  

As we go out today, may we be okay with what the status of our fertility.  If we are like the road that the birds come and swipe away our seeds, may we believe that the Farmer is still working.  If we are like the gravel in which the seeds aren't finding root to our hearts, may we believe the Farmer is still tilling.  If we are like the weeds in which other messages keep drowning out the logos of God, may we believe the Farmer is still planting.  If we are like the fertile ground, may we believe that the Farmer is nurturing and pruning us, and that we have much to give away.