Alive.

What does it mean?

Does it simply mean not dead?

It can be described as biological processes and chemical reactions.

It can be defined as heartbeats and breath rates.

It can be imagined as electrical impulses and firing neurons.

But I believe there is part of life that can’t be defined,

something that sets
people who are alive
from those who are walking dead.

“I am the bread of life…”

What does it mean to be alive?

I think it is realizing that the Bread of Life is walking with you,

believing the Living Word can comfort you,

knowing the reason for life is the Savior,

and hoping for the day you will live with Him forever.

this was, i think, one of my first realizations that there is some difference between those who are in Christian culture who are just going through the motions and those who have a life to them. it’s so easy in our modern day context to have people who show up and want to feel like good people, but never partake of the abundant life that Christ allows us to have. there are many people who sound religious, but aren’t really Godly.

the reality is that there is something more to Christian life than church attendance or ritual sacrifice. there’s something more than knowing how to pray or studying the bible… there is a life that exceeds those things. life that’s important and sadly too rare in our churches today.

may you find today the abundant life of Christ, and may it transform you in all you do.

“Unless you become like little children…”

I was around children once.

Two hundred-fifty children, and twelve of us.

Children scream
Children whine
Children cry
Children complain.

They ask stupid questions.
They pester and bother you, and wonder why you get frustrated.

They do stupid things.
They push the limit until they go too far, then say they didn’t mean it.

They hang onto you.
They hug you and squeeze you, and never want to let go.

Many times I fear asking stupid questions.
Many times I fear doing stupid things.

But my God tells me that it’s ok,
and holds me in His arms,

and never lets go.

i was on a weekend trip – twelve of us babysitting 250 children from third to sixth grade. it was a nightmare waiting to happen.

after spending one of the longest weekends of my life, i was struck at how i must look to God – an annoying whiny kid who does stupid things and pushes buttons until i go too far. and in that, i’m glad that God is infinitely more patient than I am.

may we draw close to the loving father who wraps us tenderly in his arms – and never lets go.

“This man who opened your eyes – Who do you say he is?”

Sadly, my response is all too often the same:

I don’t know.

Isn’t it strange,
in a religion based on a relationship,

I still must say

I don’t know.

There is a wonder to Jesus that I don’t understand.

There is a majesty to Jesus that I will never comprehend.

But there is a friend in Jesus who walks with me.

And I know who He is.

this is one of those ones that is really interesting to go back and read, because in doing so i’m really not entirely sure what i was thinking. i know who he is? really?

the idea though, i think is compelling to me even now. “this man who opened your eyes – who is he?” sometimes it’s very difficult for us as Christians to give a cogent answer to that seemingly simple question. we couch Jesus in a set of propositions or as a historical figure, rather than in a relational sense. we forget that we each have experience with Christ, and that we should know who he is *to us*. it’s not to say that we have all the answers, but there is a personal element to Christ that is vital – a relational element to Christ that is essential.

may we each find that today.

We come every week to stand
at the foot of our Lord.

We come and look up at the cross.
We come and look at the nails.
We come and look at his hands.
But how many of us come and look at his eyes?

We look at his scars.
We look at the guards around him.
We look at the men who beat him, and stripped him, and cast lots for his clothes.
But how many of us have the courage to look at his face?

We stand at the cross.
We weep at the cross.
We wonder in awe at the cross.
But do we notice the man on the cross?

We hear the screaming.
We hear the mockery.
We hear shouting crowd.
But do we hear the words he speaks to us?

Each week we come and survey the scene around us.

We take it all in.

But in our weekly sojourn,
how often do we remember the reason that we came there.

Because I don’t think it’s the cross that gives Golgotha its power.

And I don’t think it’s the Roman Soldiers at the cross.

And I don’t think it’s the crowd of the cross.

And I don’t think it’s the sounds of the cross.

But I think that what gives that hill its power

is the Man of the Cross.

And to know the power of Golgotha
you have to know the Man of Golgotha.

As you look at the cross,
look in his eyes.

Eyes full of pain.
Eyes full of sorrow.
Eyes full of wisdom.
Eyes full of joy.
Do you know the Man of the Cross?

again, clearly, this was in an eye phase. it was largely inspired by a passage in Cheney’s book God is no Fool – a book that still puts the hook in me sometimes. in it she asks why we don’t look into the eyes of Christ.

i also went through a phase where i was very uncertain about our methodology of celebration of the eucharist. to me, we have a strange fixation on pain and suffering during communion, though i wouldn’t have said so at this point. but even at this stage, i think i was frustrated by our strange focus on nails and crosses and soldiers as opposed to focus on Jesus… now i would say that that we focus too much on the cross and not enough on the empty tomb – the real anomoly of the whole story, but at this point in my walk i think my realization was that not just the eucharist, but really all of Christianity, is about Christ. there are lots of dressings and other things we put around him, but the essence is found in Jesus, and in Jesus alone.

I often wonder
what color were his eyes.

Were they blue, the steel cold blue that pierces to your very heart and cuts your soul,
for I believe that Jesus can look through, and cut my heart and pierce my soul.

Were they brown, the light brown that whispers “I am with you always, to the close of the age.”
for I have a friend in Jesus, who is with me always.

Were they green, the green like emeralds that dances and sparkles with joy and love,
for I see joy in the eyes of Jesus, and I see love in his gaze.

Were they those deep blue eyes, vast as the sea, eyes that show pity and compassion,
for I see compassion in his eyes, and I see pity when he looks at me.

Were they those dark eyes, the brown almost black eyes that you can stare into and they seem to go on forever, those eyes that have a pain and sadness about them that can equal no other,
for I think he must feel pain, and must have sadness when I fall time and time again.

They say you can tell a lot about someone by their eyes.

i can still look into the eyes of the people i had in mind when writing this as a freshman in college. the question is less literal and more figurative, of course. the eyes of Jesus were no doubt brown, but none the less i still wonder sometimes the amount of feeling they conveyed. i somehow believe that Jesus could communicate massive amounts of feeling and emotion with his eyes, and sometimes i try to find Christ in the eyes of others. to think of the range of emotions in the eye of Christ is a wonderful thing – joy to sorrow to pain to anger… to me the eyes of Christ bring a humanity to him that we don’t often consider – that this Jesus is not only king and lord, but human – the one who is with us and touches us.

may you look today into the eyes of Christ as you look into the eyes of others, and find in them a piece of God.