posts

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.