Category: meditations

“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.

ran across an old notebook of mine last night… perhaps it’s safe to post this now 😉

there must be a point in our walk where we move from a motivation of guilt to a motivation of lvoe. is there anger in the eyes of Jesus? i think not. sorrw, yes. disappointment? probably.

if Jesus remains only the God who makes us feel guilty then we will never truly be able to draw near to Him and know Him in the fullness that He wants to know us. If Jesus only runs a constant audit of our lives and is there only to beat us down and make us feel bad when we step out of line then He is not our redeemer – he is our judge.

the forgiveness of Christ is complete. Jesus did not teach in the negative, but in the positive. He did not say “Don’t do unto others what you don’t want them to do to you”, but rather “do unto others what you would have them do unto you.”

I feel such sorrow for those who have such a dark view of Jesus. For Jesus is like a mentor. I don’t want to disappoint my earthly mentor because I respect and love him, not because I fear him. He isn’t constantly looking over me and waiting to stricke me down. He’s constantly looking over me and waiting to pick me up. He doesn’t refuse me when I wrong him, but He seeks to teach me his ways. How sad not to know the love of Jesus, but only to know of the lofe of Jesus.

as we come to the close of a day where we ostensibly set aside time in order to reflect on the myriad of things we have to be thankful for, it seems fitting to, along with other bloggers all across america, take a moment to enumerate a few things for which i am thankful.

the difficult part in making a list like this is not coming up with a list of things that you can be thankful for, but really in figuring out where to start. despite what we learn on hgtv and tlc, we are all blessed in thousands of ways, living in luxury unimaginable to kings of 500 years ago. we so often take for granted the small conveniences of life – climate control, hot showers, the ability to turn a light on in the dark, water you can drink out of the tap – only dreams to the richest of people not so long ago. we’ve become numb to the lies of our culture, a continual barrage of media telling us our lives aren’t complete.

in contrast to that message is reality.

tonight i go to sleep after eating two fantastic meals, with more left-over food in my refrigerator than i can possibly eat in the next 4 days. 814,600,000 people will go to bed undernourished.

i can read and write, something 18% of the world cannot do.

though outdated now, the computer i am typing on cost 1,500 dollars, 25% higher than the world’s estimated median income. my ipod cost 1o% more than the 271 dollar per-capita income in kenya.

when i graduate with my ph.d., i will be more educated than 99% of the world – in fact more educated than 99% of america. by contrast 41,000,000 people in america over the age of 18 don’t have a high school degree. 944,000 have no formal education.

i could go on all night with numbers and statistics. statistics lie, but the stories behind them are real. each one of those numbers represents countless mothers, fathers, children who will go to bed tonight in need – some without the basic necessities of life.

but perhaps most of all, i am thankful for something i do not have – despair. while thousands of people lie awake tonight questioning the purpose of their lives, or sit at a bar stool waiting for the next round, or sleep fearful of the future, i go to sleep tonight hopeful – hopeful that tomorrow will be a better day, that together we will craft a better world, one day at a time.

There are many phrases that are popular today as we try to integrate God into our American culture. Often we are quick to point to the phrase “In God We Trust”, feeling that it is one of the core principles our nation was founded on, though the phrase was not adopted until 1956. We speak of “God Bless America”, and have songs like “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” which speak of the judgment and wrath of God burned into our minds.

Many times these phrases express our desired national sentiment or Christian representation of “God’s Country” rather than actual biblical significance. One phrase, however, captures a biblical truth that we as a church have all too often forgotten – e pluribus unum – from many, one.

Each of us comes to Christ from a different path, with different stories, different experiences. We have different talents, different desires, and different preferences. But amazingly Christ has brought us all together in His Kingdom to form one unified body under his leadership, the body of Christ.

And in the body of Christ we become one – old and young, rich and poor, successful and not, those who struggle daily with sin and those who seem to have everything right – all of us come equal and needy to the broken body of Christ.

And in the moment when we reach to his body and take his flesh and drink his blood, may we be reminded that none of us is any better than another. May we be mindful that we have no right to look down on anyone else, nor should we feel less worthy than anyone. May we respect the paths and stories of all those who have come to Christ – seeking to love each other. And may we remember that our true identity is in Christ, and that out of many, we become one.

is the world so dark?
is there no beauty here we may enjoy?
do we live in a world so twisted and broken
that we are the only light remaining?

no.

for God called his world good.

we do not have the market on goodness cornered.
we do not possess the only earthly ability for good.

let us praise good – all good –
as all good
points to the maker of good –

God.

our father,
we come before you
a hopeful people
a faithful people.

we come before you with worries and pain
joy and thanks
we come with a thousand
plans
desires
dreams
lives.

we come in this time asking
to be equal before you
not only in your eyes
but in our hearts

may our grace and mercy to each other
extend as far
as the grace and mercy of Christ.
may our hearts be filled with compassion and justice

may we know and believe
that each person
was created by you
is loved by you
is valued by you.

may our charity flow freely
to your creation.

may we be a blessing to your world –
giving more than we take
recognizing
that you love all you have made.

teach us,
God,
to desire to honor your creation –
all of your creation –
as much as we desire to honor
You.

create in us your heart, o God.
a heart of love
a heart of justice
a heart of righteousness.

open our eyes.
let us not be blind
to the pain and suffering
around us
as we so often are
but place it
where it cannot be ignored.

open our ears.
force us to hear
the screaming calls
of the weak
the oppressed
children and mothers
widows and orphans.

open our voices
make us cry out
against the world
against our friends.
concern us not
with our popularity
but with grace.

destroy our pride.
destroy our selfishness.
destroy our sinful desire.

take our lives
and make us
a blessing
to all those we meet.

those who seek shall find.
help us not only seek you
but also those who need you.

we come to you a dishonest people
hoping to conceal from you
our blemishes and imperfections
hoping foolishly that you don’t notice
how broken and helpless we are,
though you made us
and know us.

we come to you, proud of our knowledge
secure in our accomplishments
hoping to impress you
with
a resume
though we all fall short
of your standard of holiness.

we come to you with false wisdom,
thinking we have answers.
we come for confirmation
of what we already know,
angry
when you reject our answers
and leave us with questions.

we come desiring more for ourselves
than we do for you –
false servants of your kingdom,
seeking you after all else has failed.

and we have failed.
we have failed you, and you alone.

convict us of our sin.
and remind us
that only your transforming power
can heal us.

remind us that you heal.
now.

may we come to you humble
weak and powerless
but expectant,
longing,
hopeful.