Easter All Over Again

It's been five weeks since the Western world celebrated Easter.  Five weeks.  Five weeks is long enough time for even the most elevated emotion to dissipate into the rush, into the distraction, disappointment or just plain ordinariness of the ordinary.

I wonder if Orthodox Easter could be coming for some of us at just the right moment to remind us that we need the second resurrection.  By this, I don't mean that Christ had to die twice and be resurrected twice.  By this I mean that in our lives we come to this place of needing that second... chance? Opportunity? Word from God? Second touch of the blind man... Second cup of coffee...

I sure know I need it!

The first words out of Jesus' mouth on that Sunday morning (or early afternoon?) struck me with fresh reality today.  He was speaking to Mary who was standing outside the tomb, empty tomb, weeping.

Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking? John 20:15

The only explanation Mary's world-view could offer to the mystery in front of her was that somebody stole Jesus' body.  It was an insult added to already grievous injury. It doesn't get much worse than that. It is the end of the world - Mary's world, not once, but twice.

She saw the reality in front of her - the empty tomb, the angels talking to her (?!!!), even Jesus whom she mistook for a gardener - through her the tear-stained eyes.  And she interpret that reality as broken as her shattered, broken heart.

What a mix-up! What misunderstanding!

But she couldn't realize it, she couldn't know it until she heard His voice, calling her name,

Mary! John 20:16

One word! That's all it took.  Hearing Jesus call her name.

And that's sometimes all that we need - one word - from His mouth, calling our name.  My name.  Calling your name.

The Litterbug

I caught him red-handed. I saw everything and now I am going to teach him the lesson, announced our self-appointed Angel of Justice, holding a large plastic cupcake container, empty except for the smears of pink, yellow and green frosting. 

C brought cupcakes to school for his birthday, I am told.  At the end of the day he was left with the empty container which he generously offered to A.  A accepted the offer, but when he got on his bike, he realized that the cumbersome piece of useless plastic was too cumbersome to handle and tossed it into the street. He rode off carefree, the container now turned into a piece of litter, not really his problem, since it didn't belong to him in the first place and it was in his possession for a very short time.

Hmmm... I deliberate, wondering what would be the best way to approach the sticky situation.  And how exactly are you intending to teach him the lesson?

I will write a note, DO NOT LITTER, tape it on the container, and put it on his front lawn. I know where he lives.  THAT will teach him.  He'll know how it FEELS to have litter on his OWN property.

Wouldn't that be considered littering? I ask gently and then watch the agony of the conflicting moral choices slowly arise and begin to wage war behind those dark brown eyes. 

But... but it is the RIGHT thing to do.  If I don't do it, he'll never learn not to litter. 

She is clutching the crumpled container as if the moral fabric of the universe will unravel if the little white-knuckled hands let go. Carrying the burden of responsibility for other people's choices makes her shoulders sag.

I know the feeling all too well.  But, how do I show, how do I explain to my Angel of Justice that there is also the Angel of Mercy at her side?

She storms out, and I hear the garage door open. I want to run, I want to scream and plead,

Please, don't do this.  Just throw it away, but please... don't... 

Instead, I stand glued to the floor, resisting the urge to yank the choice out of her hand… praying... for me... for her. 

What will she do? What will she choose?

She comes in few minutes later, empty-handed and walks into her room.  I push the flood of questions rising inside.  I hold off the torrent of sermons. Later that afternoon, I take an empty milk container into the garage and as I am about to toss it into recycling, I see the cupcake container resting silent among the glass jars, water bottles and cans.  

Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ and behold, the log is in your own eye? Matthew 7:3-4

Irreconcilable Differences?

Today the Orthodox Christians throughout the world are remembering Christ’s death on our behalf.  Five weeks have passed since the Western world has marked Good Friday as the somber reminder of the price that was required for the actions we have committed, which we often dismiss, excuse or trivialize.  Of course, for most, it was just a day to stock-up on chocolate and candy and an occasion to celebrate Easter Bunny and the coming of spring.

A five week is a long time.  It feels like there is an unbridgeable chasm between the two dates that commemorate the same event.  But the event, the sinless Son of God hanging on the Cross, unites us beyond our differences in cultures, values, priorities and lifestyles.  Our timing may be different, the way we mark the day may be different.  But regardless of the nationality, regardless of the worldview and the mindset, we all have a common bond.

The sin.

The consequences.

Death.

The grief and the mourning.

And the one hope… that will arise from the grave on Easter Morning.  

For He Himself is our peace, who made both groups into one and broke down the barrier of the dividing wall, by abolishing in His flesh the enmity, which is the Law of commandments contained in ordinances, so that in Himself He might make the two into one new man, thus establishing peace, and might reconcile them both in one body to God through the cross, by it having put to death the enmity. Ephesians 2:14-16

Resurrection 101 - Made For More... Much More

Preposterous as this illustration of unlimited access to the Buckingham palace and the Queen of England moving in to live with me may be, it doesn’t come even close to doing justice to the reality of what God has actually done on our behalf through Christ.

The unlimited, 24-7 access to the Throne of God:

Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin. Therefore let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:14-16

Our home, our body - Divine residence:

I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may be with you forever; that is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it does not see Him or know Him, but you know Him because He abides with you and will be in you. I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. John 14:16-18

If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word; and My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make Our abode with him. John 14:23

I look at this and I have to scratch my head, and wonder what the heck is wrong with me, for I seem to be much more inclined to spend my time doing anything but take advantage of this unlimited access, which is also called prayer. In fact, I welcome the distractions as if unloading the dishwasher is an urgent priority that can't wait until I hear from God!

But, as I pursue the distractions, as I pursue the illusion of life carefully choreographed on the Facebook pages of my friends or people I don't even know,  in that process, I also notice how my life shrivels up, my soul is diminished and my spirit sags, leaving me empty at best, and full of greed and discontent at worst.

Could it be that this is the Spirit's way of telling me that I am created for much more than what I am living?

That my soul's thirst is designed by God and can never be satisfied by anything but God and God alone?

Resurrection 101 - Who Placed the Queen Under House Arrest?

I must warn you that one has absolutely no idea what might happen next after he or she invites the Queen into their house.  Most of us would agree that there is a vast difference between an occasional, or even frequent trips to the Buckingham palace to talk to the Queen there, and the moment the Queen knocks on the front door of my in-much-need-of-repair home and I invite her to come in. To move in with us!

I would call the latter positively life-changing. My home is now a royal residence. 

My home??? 

Royal residence?!!! You gotta be kidding me!

But, what if it's not a joke and what if it's not a prank? If this is for real, I know that my life could never remain the same. This is going to affect just about everything I do, the choices I make and more importantly how I go about living my puny little insignificant life, now with the Queen of England under my roof.

Of course, there is always that option, after inviting the Queen in, to decide she is not quite up to my expectations, not quite up to my demands and specifications. I can, for example, choose to lock her up in the attic, or even better inside the laundry room (God knows there is an ever-growing mountain of dirty clothes piled up there to occupy her for a lifetime).

So, the Queen may still live with with us, but I prefer to keep her under house arrest.

Not that I - or anybody that I know - would ever dream of doing anything crazy like that!

But that is exactly what we are, each of us a temple in whom God lives. God himself put it this way: I’ll live in them, move into them; I’ll be their God and they’ll be my people. 2 Corinthians 6:16 

Recipe for Extraordinary

It wasn’t just another ordinary Sunday afternoon at Bob Carr. It was a magical journey. 

A journey taken by the vastly eclectic audience – music lovers, proud parents and grandparents, somewhat bored younger siblings, teachers, mentors and friends. The 'no videos and flash photography' announcement blatantly disregarded - but, no one seemed to mind.This was as much a family gathering as a cultural event of the season. 

It was also a  Hobbit-like, hair-raising, nerve-wrecking, sometimes delightful sometimes dreadful journey taken by countless volunteers scurrying around the back-stage making sure the pizza is served to the hungry players, the shoelaces are tied and the sheets of music are in order amidst all the creative crazy chaos reigning behind the curtain.

Lastly, it was a spell-binding journey taken by every boy and girl, teenager and adult sitting, standing, jumping, hopping, swinging their little legs too short for the ‘big’ chair – 200+ radiant faces performing together, glowing in the limelight of the reputable stage.

The MAYSFEST, the 2012-2013 season finale concert presented by Jonathan May Foundations was a distilled to perfection time capsule – filled with music, of course, wonderfully diverse music, as versatile as the age and the skill level of each player on that stage. But it went beyond music.  For one could also hear the emotion bubbling up, and passion, tender nuances of grief and loss, courage and hope, and the irrepressible power of joy to take us beyond ourselves and into the glorious world we often forget exists.  

Inside this time capsule – strong and vibrant legacy of the past… for everything beautiful, noble and good we get to taste and enjoy today is deeply rooted into the rich soil of the days, years and centuries past. The classic legacies of Mozart and Verdi sharing the stage with Hot Cross Buns and Chicken in the Country. Late Jonathan May certainly on everyone’s mind. The icing on this multi-layered cake? The grand finale of the world premier of Mondo Rondo by Daniel May.

Did you feel the vibrations? Our son asked after the concert.

We did, indeed!

Inside this time capsule – the dazzling hope for the future…For no one is too young or unskilled to be welcomed and included, loved and nurtured.  We all had to start somewhere. We all miss a note, a beat or even an entire measure sometimes.  But, when we listen beyond the audible, when we listen to the future we will see and hear those imperfections as the opportunities to care for, invest in and even sacrifice knowing the future will eventually reveal the rewards.

Inside this capsule – in the present moment, a credit due is a credit graciously given to each and every one, with the humble awareness that none of us could do it on our own - not even Emily, Mrs. May and Mr. Miller, aMAYsing and capable as they are.  The sum total of each person’s gift contributed – the talent, the time, the treasure – far exceeds the reach of any individual. And we are suddenly struck with awe at the tremendous privilege God has granted to all of us to participate,  whether our part is big or small.

Mix it all together and you get an unforgettable dream-come-true, a - not a moment but a - movement of life-changing transformation – one child, one family, one community… one note at a time.

Resurrection 101 - Does the Queen Like Pizza?

‘It would give me a great pleasure’, she said, I repeat the Queen’s words after I have closed the door behind me. Suddenly, I feel dizzy and quite overwhelmed. 

The Queen knows our name! She knows where we live… and… and she wants to have supper with us, I announce to my husband who has just reappeared from the bedroom, dressed more appropriately in the formal bathrobe attire. We actually match... perfectly. 

You mean ‘dinner’? The Queen wants to eat with us?!!! Wow! I knew it!  I knew sooner or later  the European Debt Crisis is going to affect the UK, but I had no idea that the monarchy is hurting this much!

I look at him, not quite sure whether he is being facetious or dead serious. I choose the middle road to avoid another flare-up of argument while the Queen of England is standing on the other side of our front door. 

This is not about the European economy and the Queen needing a handout from us! It’s… it’s like… She said, ‘It would give me great pleasure to have supper with your family.’ It sounded like… like she wanted to hang out with us… get to know us and let us get to know her… as she really is… not the way the tabloids portray her, or movies or books portray her… or even what we project onto her from our own ideas about who she is.  I think she wants us to get to know her the way she really is... the way her close her friends know her…

That's cool! In that case, what are we waiting for?!!! Open the door! Invite her in! He suddenly pauses, as if he just remembered something very important.  He frowns and asks, not necessarily expecting an answer from me, since Sunday night's dinner is his responsibility:

What are we having for dinner tonight?I wonder if the Queen of England likes to eat Papa John's pizza?

Resurrection 101 - The Queen is W-A-I-T-I-N-'...

I look at him – a hunk dressed in his birthday suit except for the towel, and then, I look at the Queen still smiling, seemingly unperturbed by the sudden appearance of my freshly showered husband.  I do what any responsible citizen of the Commonwealth would do if they had the Queen standing at their front door, staring at a nearly naked man. 

I slam the door shut right in her face.

What are you doing?!!! I yell in a half-whisper. You can’t greet the Queen dressed like that!

Oh, really? I guess I didn’t get a memo that the formal bathrobe attire is required, he retorts looking at my wardrobe ensemble for the occasion. Plus, it looks like somebody forgot to send me a memo that the Queen of England was coming to our house.

I didn’t know she was coming either! I snap. And, here we are now, arguing and bickering while the Queen of England is chillin’ her heels on our doormat, waiting. I start vigorously biting my lower lip, as is my habit when I am stressing out. 

What does she want anyway?

I have no clue.

Why don’t you ask her?

‘Why don’t you ask her’ – just like that, huh? As if it’s the easiest thing on the planet, asking the Queen what the heck does she want, knocking on our door at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning!

Have any better ideas?

I stab him with THE look, and slowly turn the doorknob, cracking the door barely open this time.  The Queen is still there. I still can't believe my own eyes. I clear my throat before I begin:

Excuse us, Your Majesty, but, no offense intended by the question, Your Majesty, but we would like to know what does Your Majesty want? Why ... why did you come here, Your Majesty? We think there might have been a small mistake... not to imply that Your Majesty makes any mistakes... Perhaps Your Majesty's driver took a wrong turn... or the GPS...

I shake my head in disbelief listening to myself talking nonsense. I start batting my eyelashes at the speed of hummingbird's wings, hoping it would make me look less stupid. 

Oh, it is not a mistake, my dear.  Not a mistake at all.  The Queen laughs, gracefully ignoring the rapid blinking movement. This is the S' residence, is it not? 

I nod silently, mystified that the Queen knows our last name and our home address. 

Well, then... Very well. I was hoping that I could have a supper with your family today. It would give me a great pleasure.

She enunciates the last two words and punctuates the statement with a royal smile. 

Resurrection 101 - And There is No Queen of England!

So one day I hear a doorbell followed by a knock on the door. It’s still early and we are not expecting any visitors. Who could it be? I wonder, when more knocking ensues.

Knock, knock!  

Honey, somebody is at the door. My husband yells from the bathroom, having just finished his shower. Would you please open it? He is wrapped in a wet towel, and certainly not in the position to do the honors, possibly stunning our early-morning unsuspecting visitor with his dazzling great looks . 

I roll out of bed, put on the bathrobe over my pajamas and shuffle towards the door.  I fumble for a while, trying to get the key to open the wobbly  lock, curse under my breath, when the key finally clicks. I swing the door wide open and I blink a few times, blinded by the bright morning light.  As my eyes slowly adjust to the glare, the silhouette standing in front of me on our dusty doormat takes recognizable shape of … the  Queen of England!

Good morning.  How do you do? She smiles at me, from under her wide-brimmed hat, speaking with, of course, perfect British accent.  I wonder if this is some kind of a joke, but a look behind her onto our normally quiet street sends panic up and down my spine.  The street is swarming with security guards and long black limos, and flashing lights.  I open my mouth trying to say something… anything… but all I am capable of producing is a faint,

Eeer…. Eeeerrrr…

From behind, muffled by the rushing sound of blood pounding inside my head, I hear my husband’s voice,

Who’s there? I muster all my articulatory powers to answer his question, knowing full-well how it's going to sound to him:

El- Eli- Elizabeth… I mutter. The Queen.  I finally regained my voice, so I add an explanation. The Queen of England.  

He laughs outloud and responds with his best Titan impersonation:

"You're living a fantasy, there is no Easter bunny, there is no Tooth Fairy and there is no Queen of England."

He turns the corner separating the kitchen and the hallway, dressed in nothing but a wet towel, his dark hair still dripping, leaving a trail of water behind. 

Resurrection 101 - The Queen is Moving In!

The Cross opened our way to God.  The gaps, the gaping holes of our sins filled.  By His blood. Not just barely scraping the bottom, but, overflowing. 

It is finished. 

His sacrifice - sufficient. Our debt – paid in full.

The veil of the temple was torn at the time of Christ’s death indicating that now access has been granted to one and all… who will.   24-7.  Into the command center of the Universe, into the heart of hearts of God the Father.

If, for example, I scored a jack-pot and got a multi-entry no-expiration date pass into the Buckingham Palace, with unlimited text and talk with the Queen of England on Her Majesty's private line, I would be a fool not to take advantage of it, realizing what a first-class privilege it is.. 

Now, if my Buckingham Palace pass turns out to be not a special privilege granted to a special few, but is, in fact, a special privilege granted to all who would bother to receive it… ? 

Wouldn't you think a little messed up...

Wouldn't you think a little screwed up to say,

Nah.  I have more important things to do. Or,

I think I'll just wait until Tomorrow.... Or, 

I’d much rather live more exciting vicarious life by hanging with all my virtual friends on Facebook, or Twitter, or drool over boards on Pinterest…

Every day – including today, April 26, 2013, we are invited, encouraged, welcomed to draw near, to come in - as we are - into something much greater than the Buckingham Palace. …Our ticket? His blood.. 

The Command Center of the Universe is also the Throne of Grace.  A place of mercy and undeserved, lavish love and a sole distribution center of strength, and courage and power for every need that arises in our lives - daily! 

But that’s not all.

Ten days after Jesus ascended to heaven, and sat down at the aforementioned Command Center of the Universe, something even more outrageous happened than us getting a pass into the Buckingham palace.

Ten days later, fifty days after Easter, it was as if the Queen of England herself showed up at our doorstep, hat, gloves and all, and announced that she was moving in!

Resurrection 101 - Too Much, Not Enough or Just Right

Those who don’t know the whole story might be inclined to say that Peter was a naturally-born leader, a logical pick, a no-brainer choice. Well,  he certainly was.  And yet, his natural talent and ability wasn’t enough for God to use him for His purposes. Or perhaps, it was too much.  So much of Peter that there was just no room for God.

Not enough.

 

Too much.

I teeter between the two.  A lot.

You are not enough. Spells inadequate.

You are too much.  Spells trouble

And sometimes, it's both at the same time!

I can try and try to fill the gaps… but the sum total of my gaps is much greater than the sum total of me.  It's hopeless. I need something… someone much bigger than me to fill my gaps.

I try to stay out of trouble. Honestly, I do.  But, try as hard as I can, trouble always seem to find me.  I can't explain it.  In fact, often the harder I try to stay out of trouble, the deeper I dig myself in.  My best efforts to stay out of trouble actually get me into trouble all the more. How hopeless is that?!! 

Until... until Jesus comes alongside – arguing  neither for nor against - and whispers into my ear.

You are just right… in Me. You are not too much for Me to handle. And those gaps? I AM... enough, for all your gaps, for every empty place ... .

Just right. I savor those words like dark chocolate melting on my tongue. 

Not too much.

Not not-enough.

Just right.

In Him.

The Cross opened our way to God. His blood filled my gaps and yours. It is finished.  His sacrifice fully sufficient. Enough. What we couldn't do for ourselves, God did. 

Your sins are forgiven, wiped clean, taken away.

Hard as it may be to wrap our minds and hearts around this, it is only a part of the story. There is more.  

There is more?!!!

Yes, there is more...

Resurrection 101 - The Incredible Power Functions

Our son’s love affair with LEGO® blocks started when he was four years old. We were on a cross-country road trip when our friends’ daughter in Tucson, Arizona gave him a zip lock bag with a dozen colorful plastic pieces. Those twelve pieces occupied his attention all the way to California and back to Florida.  Our lives would never be the same.

Over the years his LEGO® collection has exploded from that dozen to several thousand pieces, carpeting his bedroom floor and spilling into common areas that we had to stop walking barefoot inside the house. His engineering and artistic skills continue to grow and flourish. He became a subscriber to the LEGO® magazine where he first learned about Power Functions.  The possibilities created in his mind over the battery operated motor and associated gizmos were endless.  He was willing to invest a small fortune - $29.99 with free shipping and handling - of his own money to purchase the set.  We placed the on-line order and then we waited.  And waited.  And waited some more. Daily trips to the mail box. Several daily trips to the mailbox.

Has it arrived yet?

Nope.  Not yet.

The disappointing, empty feeling filled his heart as his little hands remained empty for what seemed to him like forever. He continued building space ships, and cars, and tow-trucks, pushing them around on imaginary Interstates, wondering if they would ever be infused with power from within.

Will the day come when the plastic pieces would come alive, energized from the inside out?

Waiting is difficult.  It positions us as powerless, dependent and not in control. I am yet to meet a person who volunteers for any of these positions:

Powerless.

Dependent.

Not in control.

I am on the beggarly, receiving end of this equation and honest-to-God, I don’t like it.  I want to be in control.  I want to be strong and independent.  But the chisel of waiting carves it out of me.

Right before Jesus left to go to the Father, He instructed the disciples to wait for the special delivery of the ‘power function all-inclusive set’ – the Holy Spirit. They remained in Jerusalem not really knowing what exactly they were waiting for. They prayed.  They  stuck together. They aligned their lives to the revealed Word of God.

But, when the day finally came, life as they knew ended and the new era begun.

The Season Finale At Last!

I am yet to meet an 11 year-old boy who sees practicing violin anywhere near the top of his priority list.  Our son is not an exception. Most days, getting him to move on the routine is as agreeable as pulling teeth and as aesthetically pleasing as the proverbial nails-on-the-chalkboard.  It's a chore, but he does it, despite his mother's frequent threats that she wants to quit. Dysfunctional family dynamics or not, the music (or the screeching) goes on in our household and  for the past couple of years he has had a tremendous privilege of playing in the Metropolitan Area Youth Symphony (MAYS). 

Even on the best of days, distractions, pressures and frustrations are numerous, and to be honest, sometimes the music he is given contributes to the problem.  Playing in an orchestra, his artistic director hands him only his individual part.  He is not privy into what’s on the music sheets of other orchestra members.  This makes his daily practice quite a challenge. He has no idea how his part fits within the larger whole. One particular piece, for example, has a number of rests, some of them several measures long, when he does nothing but count, and then at just the right time, after extended silence, he finally gets to pick up the bow again. 

Today we had an exceptional opportunity to be at the dress rehearsal before the season finale concert scheduled for next Sunday.  All the different orchestras comprising MAYS (eleven groups in all) were in the same room, bursting with unbelievable talent and energy, silliness and immaturity. At one point during the rehearsal a couple of hundred students were all together, their eyes glued on the director as they gave their best.

It was electric.

Each child was playing his or her own part, as they've practiced it all along, but they could finally see and hear how it all fit together. They looked at each other, thoroughly amazed. 

Wow! We didn’t realize we could sound THIS good!

Their faces were beaming with pride and passion and pure joy.  At the end of the piece, the room exploded with spontaneous applause.

Many times in life I feel like my son. The discipline that is required to live a life in step with the Holy Spirit sometime feels more like a chore, like practicing  scales and my own little seemingly nonsensical, disjointed, insignificant part of a larger orchestra piece. I have no clue how it all fits together. I often get annoyed by my fellow-orchestra members for not sticking to the script, for not keeping an accurate timing, for passionless, mediocre, sloppy performance which makes us all have to run through the piece again and again. 

It’s hard to be faithful.  It’s hard to stay focused, day-in, day-out, keeping  my eye on the music and on the Orchestra Director, waiting for His timing, honoring the rests, sticking to the script, while playing my part with heart and passion.

But, I need  to remember that there is the season finale… and that day, when the curtain of this world is pulled aside, we will finally get to see and hear how it all fits together… and we will be truly amazed that He could make us look and sound that good.

And it will be said in that day,“Behold, this is our God for whom we have waited that He might save us. This is the Lord for whom we have waited; Let us rejoice and be glad in His salvation. Isaiah 25:9

Power Up - What's Filling Up Your Tank?

We were trudging along on our way to school, a stream of cars passing us by when our son started with the barrage of not-so-out-of-his-character series of outlandish questions.

Mom, can cars be powered by magma fuel?

My eyes still glued to the pavement to make sure I was putting one foot in front of the other, I mumbled:

No, cars can’t be powered by magma fuel.

What about the geyser – can they be powered by geyser energy?

No, cars can’t be powered by geyser energy.

What about…?

But before the impromptu Power Source Inquisition proceedings could continue any further, I interrupted and launched into a weary sermon on the nature of the obvious.

Cars can’t be powered by magma fuel. And they can’t be powered by geyser energy. And any other energy except what they are designed for. Cars must use the kind of energy they are designed to be powered by. Some are made to use fossil fuels. If diesel, you must use diesel. If gasoline, you need to use appropriate grade. If it’s an electric car, it uses electricity. You must use the right kind of energy as its source of power. Anything different is not only ineffective but can also ruin the engine...


Suddenly I paused. We had a rough morning and all our attempts to resolve the ever-increasing tension seemed to create more frustration, which in turn, added more tension. I was drained and the day had not even started.

… And God’s children, I continued, lowering my voice to a near whisper as my lungs were filling with fresh air, God’s children are designed to be powered by God’s Spirit. Trying to get power from any other source is both ineffective and can ruin their engine… God’s children must get their power from God’s Spirit…


Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,' says the LORD of hosts. Zechariah 4:6

Resurrection 101 - Peter and the Gift of Power

Jesus is getting ready to bid his final goodbye to His disciples after giving them ample evidence of His resurrection and the revolutionary implications it has not only on each of them personally but also on every man and woman, boy and girl that ever lived or will live on our planet.  Even with forty days of listening to Him of this new God-life manifested to them, it's almost too much to take it all in at once.  There is still so much they don't understand, so many promises left unfulfilled.  

How does it all fit together? Are we going to see God’s rule finally established on earth as it is in heaven… in our lifetime? Is the time now? By the end of June?

Jesus’ answer to the inquiring minds who need to figure it all out is simple:

It is not for you to know times or epochs which the Father has fixed by His own authority; but you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be My witnesses both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and even to the remotest part of the earth. Acts 1:7-8

As much as I feel I need to know the whos and the whens and the hows of the coming kingdom, what I need, what I really need is the power.

Ability. Strength.

The physical and moral enabling to do what I know I need to do.  What I know I should do, but am too weak, too crippled by fear and doubt and memory of past failures  to graciously live out in this uncooperative body with a mind of its own.  

What I need is the life-giving energy of the Spirit of  God to allow me to live the kind of life that reflects His gracious rule in my house, on our street, in our neighborhood, in our city. In my Jerusalem. My Judea.  My Samaria... all the way to Papua New Guinea and Lesotho. 

The life that is not ashamed of Jesus Christ in the world, among the people who are ignoring or rejecting Him, whether its through misunderstanding, lack of knowledge or arrogance. 

And that’s exactly what Jesus promises to His disciples.  

But, before they get it, they must wait.

Resurrection 101 - Peter and the Impossible Game of Comparison

Peter considers the path laid out before him and the one he leaves behind. He remembers the day when following Jesus became too much for many, and they chose to opt out.  But, opt out for what? Opt out for whom?

Lord, to whom shall we go? You have words of eternal life. John 6:68

The choice is really a non-choice. There is no one else. Everything else, a dead-end.

But, his own history tells him that following Jesus is as impossible as not following Him.  

Is there anyone else feeling the same way?!!!

Peter turns around and sees John.

The beloved.

What about him? Is the path set out for John as strewn with thorns as Peter’s is going to be?

I want to know…  I need to know that I am not alone on this journey, Lord. That others share in the same suffering. That the bitter cup is not mine and mine alone.

Lord, what about this man?

What are You going to do with him? Will he be taken to the places he doesn’t wish to go? Will the fierce storms assail his horizon? Will he be tested?  Will he be tried, like gold is tried in the furnace?

Or will You shelter and protect him…

... unlike…

... me?

The unspoken fears and insecurities, the insidious power of comparison to erode, to divide must be stopped before it infests the minds and the hearts of the disciples.

That, dear Simon, is  none of your business. What I do with him, is Mine and Mine alone. As for you, follow Me.

So, Peter learned that day that it is hard to follow Jesus while keeping an eye on what everyone else is doing. That one can't really follow Him while trying to measure and balance on the faulty scales of comparison the weight of Jesus’calling on somebody else’s life.  

Resurrection 101 - Peter and the Debt of Discipleship

Peter rolls around the word of Jesus in his mouth, the gritty texture grinding at the remnants of his crumbling ideas of success, strength, sacrifice, service. The word is bitter… and it is sweet.

Love?

Feed.

My.

Sheep.

The sheep that will stray over and over again and do stupid things, you wouldn't believe if I told you. 

The sheep that will wear you out, exhaust you, drink you to the drags. 

The sheep that will keep you awake at night, and bring in the torrents of fears and tears and prayers you know nothing of yet. They will tempt you to throw in your towel, and go looking for better pastures with better shepherding material somewhere else.  They will push you to the limits of what you think you know of yourself, and then still further…

But when you find yourself hanging on the last thread of your rope, remember this, Simon. Remember that they don’t belong to you.  

They belong to Me. 

They are not yours.  

They are Mine.

I am the good shepherd who laid down His life for His sheep.  And I love them, just as I love you.  

So, you, Simon, show them… show them how I have loved you…

Simon, son of John, do…you… still... love… Me…Me…Me?

Yes, Lord… you know… everything… You know that I love You.

There is still more, Simon.  For when you were young, you followed your own desires believing, sincerely believing you are following Me, serving Me.  But those days will come to an end. And when they do and all the youthful energies and passions and longings are done away with, you will be taken to a place where you do not wish to go.  Follow Me, there, Simon. And, I will meet you in that place.  I will be with you.  And you will know My love for you, Simon Peter.  And My love for them...

Boston Garden

I planted a garden in front of our son’s bedroom window yesterday.  It was a spur-of-the-moment decision that has been germinating in the back of my mind for years.  On that side of the house is the location of the ugly sprinkling system manifold. Since ugliness generally attracts ugliness, we decided to generously pile more of it by keeping the yard waste bins there, in addition to scrap fence pieces and excess plastic flower pots. In the corner against our neighbor’s fence is the compost pile where all the organic matter not consumed by our household is rotting in the central Florida heat and humidity.

Such  has been the view from his bedroom window all these years.

I worked hard all morning and well into the afternoon, the dumpy area slowly reclaimed, taking modest shape of beauty and foreshadowing future glory.

I will remember April 15 as the day this garden was born, I thought, and the thought filled me with much satisfaction and joy.

Then, I came in and heard about the 

explosions at the finish line of Boston Marathon.  The thought of the memory of April 15^th as the birthday of the beautiful garden in front of our son’s bedroom window mocked me, spitting venom into my face.  It was as if the bomber reached beyond the marathon path, across the fence and into our back yard and planted  the deadly device amidst the gladiolas, day lilies, jasmine and petunias, leaving devastation and carnage behind.

The day will be remembered for mutilation, dismemberment and death… the smell of burnt flesh, He scoffed. ...It will be forever remembered as the day of fear and terror and the  power of evil to kill and destroy everything noble and beautiful and kind……So, why bother, then? Why bother planting the gardens and sowing seeds and training the vines…? Why bother creating beauty out of ugliness…?

The last thought hit me even stronger than explosion of hopelessness and despair.

Because... because there CAN arise beauty out of the compost pile…And there IS  a greater power in patience and prayer, love and life then momentary power of destruction and death.

And so the garden now growing in front of our son’s bedroom window became an intersection where life and death, love and hate collided...  A place of remembrance and prayer that in His time, God who gives beauty for ashes would bring about His goodness and glory, His manifest presence in and out of Boston just as He has done in the Boston Garden in our own back yard.  

Beauty in the Shadows

Resurrection 101 - Peter and the Three Simple Devotional Words

The rocks under Peter’s bare feet cut into his flesh like knives. The tender words of the Master cut deeper still. He knows that he knows  that he knows that he loves the Lord.

But, how do you look in the eyes of the One you betrayed and say... that you love Him?

Lord, You know all things.  You know... that I ... do ... love...  You.

In that moment, right there on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus doesn’t change Peter’s past, because the past, even with the resurrection, can not be changed.  But, with three simple words, three ordinary, common words, He forever re-frames it.  And with that, He also reframes and defines Peter’s future.

Feed.

My.

Sheep.

For, you see, Jesus doesn’t need Peter to proclaim his loyalty to Him before all his Facebook friends and Twitter followers. He doesn’t need Peter to defend Him with the sword. Nor does He need Peter to go to prison with Him or to die for Him. At least not yet.  The disciple would end up both in prison and eventually on the cross for his Lord… One day he will actually have opportunity to fulfill his own word…

What Jesus needs from Peter right now…is somebody to feed… His… sheep.

Simple. Rocket science. Of loving Jesus.

For when you love somebody, you don’t feed them sugar-coated, nutritionally-void substitutes, starving them to death even as you stuff them with the surrogates. 

But how do you know the difference between real food and a substitute?

When you love somebody, you don’t just sit there and watch them gorge themselves on poison that tastes good.  

But how can you tell the difference between a treat and a poison?

And what are the GPS coordinates of the Feed Store where one can get all this good food to feed all these hungry souls?

And Peter realizes that dying for Jesus might be actually easier, a lot easier, than living – truly living for Him.