Category: meditations

What was it that made Jesus different?

What set him apart from every other person in the crowd?

Was it his teaching ability – his deep and profound lessons that made everyone marvel at his wisdom?

Was it his charisma – his ability to bring hundreds and hundreds of people to himself and speak to them about things that many of them didn’t want to hear?

Was it his political agenda – the hope that surrounded him that this might finally be the one who would redeem Israel?

Maybe.

But as I watch the life of Jesus, I see one thing that sets him apart from all others I have ever seen. There have been other great teachers, and people with amazing charisma, and other political giants, but there has never been anyone, to my knowledge, who has been able to love like Jesus.

He loved people.

Any time, any place.

It didn’t matter what it cost or what it meant to his schedule. It didn’t matter what it looked like to others, or how wretched their life was. He constantly – time after time – stopped everything that he was doing,
no matter how “important” it was,
so that he could love people.

“Go and do likewise.”

when i read about the life of Jesus, what i’m struck with time and time again is how he treated people – and so often how we fall short of treating them in the same way. Jesus made people feel special. he made them feel wanted. he made them feel important. he didn’t talk down to them or talk at them, but rather he talked with them. many times our interactions with people – people in general – aren’t guided by the spirit of Christ. they’re just the people who bring us a drink at sonic, or who check us out at the store, or take our money at the toll booth. i think what sets Jesus apart from us is that he made each and every person the most important person in the world when they were around him.

may we each look at the people around us in a different way – through the eyes of Christ.

“…and remember their sins no more…”

It’s hard for me to believe God remembers my sin no more. Perhaps it’s because I remember my sin so well, or because other people remember my shortcomings and view me in light of them. Maybe it’s because I have such a hard time forgiving others – let alone forgetting what they’ve done and saying that it never happened.

And when i sit with someone and am prepared to share with them all my failures and weakness – I squirm a little when they say tell me those things don’t matter – I feel uncomfortable with the idea of forgiveness, of pardon, of justification.

I have so much to learn about how God works. I can’t understand Him. And in those moments when i see a new picture of God, I feel afraid – afraid because I see a new picture of how far I have to go.

“No longer will a man teach his neighbor,
saying ‘Know the Lord!’,
because they will all know me.”

May I know and practice the depths of your forgiveness, O God.

Jesus spent a lot of time in boats.

Maybe that’s why I like them so much.

We journey across life, each in our own boat,
in an ocean of powerful forces we don’t understand.

Good sailors use the wind and the waves,
they don’t create them.

How often do I sit in my boat,

sails raised,

and blow with all my might,
hoping to move along.

at the national prayer breakfast, bono mentioned the advice he received from a wise man:

“Don’t ask God to bless what you’re doing,” he said, “rather jump on board with what God’s doing, because it’s already blessed.”

So often we look around us seeking God’s blessing in our lives for whatever little pet project we have right now, instead of looking around for what God is already doing, and becoming involved in that. So often I’m guilty of trying to make things work out on my own, instead of seeking God’s will and following His plan.

My hope is that each of us will look around us in our lives for the work of God around us, that we would all constantly jump on to what He is doing, and that in the process we would both be a blessing to others, and be blessed ourselves.

“When I am weak, then I am strong.”

“My strength comes from the Lord, my rock and my high tower.”

Don’t tell that to the rich men,
full of importance,
trusting in their wealth.

Don’t tell that to the talented,
full of God’s gifts,
but trusting in their ability.

Don’t tell that to me,
full of pride and stubbornness,
trusting in my own way.

“We can do it!”

“We’re good enough!”

“My strength comes from the Lord…”

I think one of the most disturbing tendencies in my life is my desire to “fix” things. I want to feel like I have control of my life, like if I just do enough then everything will work out. So often I trust primarily in my strength, rather than in God’s power.

How much greater would my life be if, when faced with a problem, I spent less time worrying about it and more time focusing on things that I could do? What if I recognized that the power of the entire universe rests in the hands of God Almighty, and that my strength is insignificant?

May we each find our strength in the Lord.

“But the Lord provided…”

Of course, that was only back then.

Back when God still did things.

When he talked to people
and healed the sick
and fed the hungry
and calmed the distressed
and touched the hearts of men.

Long, long ago.

A time out of mind, for some.

But the Lord provides.

The Lord provides.

It’s hard to remember sometimes that God provides. It’s hard to remember that He looks down at us and knows what we need. It’s hard sometimes to think that he cares.

I take comfort in the provision of a God who not only looks down from heaven, but walks alongside my path. As I look to the past, I see the wonders the Lord has performed again and again in my life, rescuing me from myself as well as my enemies. As I look to the future, I look with hope, renewed daily by manna from the Hand of God.

We sit in worship,
hollow men,
stuffed men.
Shape without form,
Gesture without motion,
our substance stolen silently
long ago.

Without meaning
knowing not
why we come or where we go or what we do
our rote repetition rambles on –
quiet and meaningless –
soothing fingers on temples
therapy to addicts of form and structure.

Why is our force paralyzed?
Where has our strength gone?

Burn empty straw!
Raise voices no longer dry!
Whisper together no longer!

Return to the old paths –
not empty paths of institutionalism,
but the rocky paths of Galilee,
in the footsteps of the Savior.

“If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow me.”

There was a man who wanted to take up his cross. So he began his search for a cross that would be worthy to carry for his Savior.

He found one that was large and lifelike. It was made of wood – rough wood – unpolished and un-sanded. It was an exact replica of the one Jesus carried – right down to the last splinter. And he looked at it and stood before it in wonder.

But then he considered what it would require to carry that cross. He considered the pain, the splinters, the weight, the ridicule of his friends, and he decided he would find another, not so real cross to carry.

He found one that was smaller and more easily carry-able. It also was made of wood, but of a more polished sort. The cross was large enough to be noticed, but small enough that it could be taken more places unobtrusively. And it was beautiful, like a piece of art. Long he gazed at it and admired its beauty and form.

But then he considered what it would require to carry that cross. It was still large enough to be inconvenient at times, and while it was a thing of beauty, things of beauty often invited questions, and questions were definitely not what he was going for. So he decided he would find another, not so beautiful cross to carry.

He found one that was smaller still, and made out of silver. It also was beautiful, but of a more subtle sort. It was small enough that he could take it and wear it on a chain around his necklace – small enough to be taken anywhere at any time.

He considered what it would require to carry that cross. It was small and light and convenient – qualities that he definitely appreciated. It didn’t require too much of himself, and wasn’t too much of a burden. When he needed to have a token to show everyone that he was a follower of Christ, the small silver cross would suffice, but if there happened to be the occasion – as there all too often was – where his friends were making fun of the people who carried the big, wooden crosses, he could simply drop it inside his shirt and pretend that he didn’t carry a cross.

Realizing that this was the kind of cross that he needed – one that was functional, unobtrusive and altogether practical, he immediately set about to wear it each and every day.

His cross became his new companion, and he would wear it – almost every day – with him wherever he went. Some days he would just forget to put it on, but it wasn’t a terribly serious issue. After all, the cross didn’t interfere with his life, so a day or two missed wasn’t a big deal.

It was a great conversation starter. Some days the man would see another Christian carrying one of the big, real, heavy, splintery crosses. He would go and talk to them and admire their crosses. He would ask how they could possibly bear to carry such a thing around with them their whole lives. It would always puzzle him when they would smile at his silver cross and ask him the same question.

Finally the day came when the man died.

He came before
Jesus – the man of the Cross, the God of the Cross,
who said,

“If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow me.”

“Here I am, Lord. Here is my cross. This one, right here, around the chain.”

And
Jesus – the man of the Cross, the God of the Cross,
looked at him and said,

“What Cross?”

An old AFC skit. Similar in the lines of sacrifice as the one before.

“I will not offer to my God that which costs me nothing.”

Can he still feel the nails?

Something that always surprises me about Christians is our fascination with nails.

We imagine the nail-scarred hands.
We craft necklaces out of three nails, fashioned in a cross to remind us.
We sing songs that dramatize and magnify the physical pain of the Cross.

And we ask
almost proudly
“Can he still feel the nails,
every time I fail?
Can he hear the crowd cry ‘Crucify’ again?”

Could it be –
Could it really be –
That we have missed the point of the resurrection so much we don’t understand
that we’ve missed the point?

“Christ died for sins

once
for all,

the righteous for the unrighteous,
to bring you to God.”

He died.

Once.
For all.

Can he still feel the nails?

I think Jesus tells us the answer to that:

NO!!!

When we sing those words and our eyes wander to his hands, I see the Jesus – the Jesus who knows the nails, who knows the meaning – the Jesus says, “I left the nails behind. I conquered everything they stood for. Why do you still bring them up?”

This Jesus died 2,000 years ago for your sins and mine. The ones we have committed in the past. The ones we will commit in the future. He bore them to the cross.

The pain he bore,
the shame he took.

And because of that we have life.

Jesus left our sin at the cross so that we could live together with him

forever.

Can he still feel the nails?
or is it only you?

Of the many songs that have serious theological issues, this one perhaps bothers me the most. Christ died once, we are told – once for all, erasing the punishment of sin. With what anguish and loss Jesus went to the Cross, and he carried my sin with Him there – My sin, O the Bliss of this glorious thought: My sin not in part, but the whole, is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more…

The fact is that Christ has already paid the price for our sin. He paid the price 2000 years ago on a cross and pays it no longer. He paid once both for the sins you have committed and the sins you will commit. What particularly bothers me about this song, I think, is its blatant use of guilt as a motivator. Instead of promoting our love of Christ and our desire to be like Him as the motivation for a Christlike lifestyle, it instead seeks to make us feel guilty about the pain we have caused Christ and hopes to mitigate that by suggesting that we continue to cause pain with each failure.

It is precisely because of the death of Christ that we no longer have to sing songs like this. It is because of the totality of Christ’s victory over sin that we are able to conquer the guilt and shame of our failures and become new creations in Him. Praise be to God that the nails no longer have power over Him, or over us!

“Love your neighbor as yourself.”

“And who is my neighbor?”

Is it only your brother?
your friend?
your spouse?

Is it the acquaintance?
the passer-by?
the person behind the counter?

Is it the policeman?
the tax collector?
the guy who hit your car?

Is your neighbor the influential guy?
the rich man?
the powerful man?

Is it the homeless?
the outcast?
the poor?

Is your neighbor pretty?
smart?
popular?

Are they unattractive?
annoying?
forgotten?

“Which of these three
do you think
was a neighbor
to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

And who is my neighbor?

“Go, and do likewise.”

We often find it easy to love those who love us. We find it easier to love those who it benefits us to love in some way. The real test of love is not whether we love those from who we gain something, but whether we love those who can offer us nothing in return.

Christ’s love knows no bounds. We have nothing to offer him, and he loves us anyway. He loves people regardless of their social status, their income level, their intellect, their ability, their family situation, their past, their appearance, their clothing… there is nothing about anyone that causes Christ to love them any less.

May we love with the love of Christ. May our love reach out across social barriers and cross racial lines to bring healing to a world in desperation. May we seek to love selflessly, giving of ourselves to those who can give nothing in return. And may we find courage to love boldly those who need it most, even when it’s easier not to.

“Teacher,”
he asked,

“what must I do
to inherit eternal life?”

I’ve known people who ask this question. They ask because they want to know – to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that they are fine, that their passport is stamped and their ticket is punched. What do I have to do, in order to guarantee that my reservation is secure?

Jesus’ answer is remarkably simple:

Love God with everything.
Love men like you would love yourself.

So simple.
So complicated.

And we say we love God.
And we say we love men.

And still we ask.
And still we ask.

There is a paradox in our Christian walk that renders our journey both simple and complex simulteneously.

The commands of Jesus can be boiled down into four words: Love God. Love others. Though amazingly simple concepts, they become exceedingly complicated when we try to put them into practice.

While a rather simple set of “rules” and “guidelines” govern how relationships and love work, any of us who interact with people know that there’s no formula that accurately describes a relationship with a person – you can read a 10 step book to making a friend, but it isn’t going to describe every situation you might encounter, nor will it have the “answers” to how to make every person like you.

As we encounter God, it is not with a rulebook or with a score card, but in relationship – a relationship where our call is to honor the heart of the Living God.