Christian

Today’s Word: Offering

Steve · February 17, 2014 · 13 Comments

fish3 — Dried fish in Hong Kong market. SJG photo.

(Based on John 6:1-15)

I was sent to the market by my mother with very clear instructions: Buy five small barley loaves and two dried and salted fish. Nothing more. And come right back home. I was only 12 at the time, so I never could have imagined how much my life would change that day…

I was walking home from the market along the shore of the Galilee when I saw a crowd gathering, pointing toward a small boat just then coming ashore. As it beached, a couple of the men in the boat jumped out and hauled it the rest of the way in, away from the tide. They were fisherman, and I could smell the fish in their nets and on their clothes. People just kept coming and coming, running along the shore and from the market square, and I kept hearing one name over and over — Jesus. Jesus is here. The rabbi, the healer, the prophet. I had no idea who this man was, had never heard his name before. But here he was standing in front of me, the one that everyone else deferred to, pointed at, sought to get closer to. And I was right there, a pretty exciting thing for a kid from a small fishing village.

Today’s Word: Climb

Steve · February 16, 2014 · 1 Comment

Since I was a child, I Ioved the story in Luke’s gospel (Luke 19: 1-10) of Zacchaeus the tax collector who, because he was so short, ran ahead of the crowd following Jesus and did a surprising, almost childlike thing — he climbed a Sycamore tree so he could get a better view and try to get Jesus’ attention. The child in me could relate, especially because I was a “wee little one” and always one of the smallest in my class until I was about 15 and had a growth spurt. Some of you will, indeed, remember this childhood Sunday School song:

Zacchaeus was a wee little man, a wee little man was he.
He climbed up in a Sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see.
And as the Savior passed that way, he looked up in the tree,
And he said, “Zacchaeus, you come down.”
For I’m going to your house today…for I’m going to your house today.

Zacchaeus is rewarded for his effort. Jesus sees him, calls him by name, and then invites himself to Zacchaeus’ house for dinner. This leaves the crowd stunned, for Jesus does something we will see him do over and over in the scriptures: He dines with sinners. He prefers the company of those who need him and his healing and transforming ways to the pious and self-righteous who just want to be seen in his company.

Today, I pray that my inmost desire is still the view from that tree, sitting in that gnarly crook awaiting the one who knows me by name, knows all of my shortcomings and failures and loves and accepts me as I am. It is my passionate desire to hear that voice say, “Come, let’s spend some time together,” because I know that time of presence can take away all my other false and misplaced desires. To hear my name called by the one who created me is to know I am loved; it is to know my purpose, my foundation.

Ask yourself in silence: What do I need to overcome and rise above in order to see Jesus more clearly? What’s blocking my view of God?

Today’s Word: Seeing

Steve · February 9, 2014 · 2 Comments

And then there was light. That’s all I know. There was light. SJG Photo.

Tell us that story again, Uncle Bartimaeus. Tell us how you were blind and then how you could see. Tell us so that we might believe…

I couldn’t see a thing, had never been able to see the sun or my father’s face. So I sat outside Jericho every day, next to the gate and across from the big tree where everyone gathered, and I awaited alms, prayed for prophets to pass, hoped for healing. I had nothing better to do. Because I am blind, some assumed I was an idiot, too, but I was not, am not. I’d heard of this Jesus, heard stories of him related by passersby who ignored me, listened as they talked of his miracles, of his gentle and healing hand.

So on that day I began to hear the buzz around noon that he was coming to town and might be heading my way. I staked out my place across from the tree. No one told me, of course, because no one paid attention to me at all back then except maybe to throw a mite my way once in a while. But I knew he was coming, knew before everyone else because I heard the crowd before it even turned the corner by the market stalls. I heard and knew — and began to believe — that he might actually pass my way.

When I could tell he was within earshot, I cried out, “Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.” And then a second time, when some were trying to hush me up, “Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.” Then there was just silence, my favorite sound, for in silence I find the real and the holy. For me, sacred always follows silence. I steeled myself, and I could sense all heads turning in my direction, all their cloaks swooshing toward me. I heard sandals shuffling, the dust flying in my face. I held my breath, as I always did, for I was used to life at ground level. Then someone said, “Take courage, he is calling you.”

And I remember thinking: calling me? No one calls me. No one knows my name. And what do you know about courage, anyway? Still, I threw aside my cloak and jumped to my feet, wishing I could see their faces, see how surprised they were to see me moving so quickly and deliberately. As if I was a person who mattered and should be paid attention to. Someone reached out and touched my arm, gently, and led me 15, 16, 17 steps…and we stopped. Silence again.

“What do you want me to do for you?” he asked. And that voice…that voice. What was it about that voice? Such authority and kindness. Eternal, somehow, as if it had always been here. I almost laughed but didn’t. What did he think I wanted?

“I want to see.”

And then there was light. That’s all I know. There was light.

(Mark 10:46-52)

Ask yourself in silence: What do I want from God? What do I need to see?

Today’s Word: Power

Steve · February 8, 2014 · 1 Comment

Over time, through my reading and prayer and good, sacred conversation with friends and spiritual companions, I have come to see one very clear choice in life: We can choose power, or we can choose love. This basic choice plays itself out in nearly every aspect of our lives. We make many choices in the course of our days — big and small, important and insignificant — but they can nearly always be boiled down to this. Do we opt for power or love?

Relationships based on power do not and cannot last. Love and power may for a while hold each other in some kind of unnatural and predatory balance as one person (or country or corporation or political entity) lords it over the other — one cowering and the other threatening in ways both subtle and severe — but this tension cannot last, for the weight of the power of one on the other will eventually crush and kill. This is true in our marriages, families and friendships, and it is true at nearly every level of existence and civilization. But the truth is, we can only control the choices we make.

We can choose the way of power and see where it leads. And it can lead to some seemingly wondrous places, filled with piles of money and the power to influence others. It can lead to grand houses and positions of authority. It can lead us to unimaginable opportunities to taste the many seductions of the world. But the way of power can never last. It will eventually crumble under its own weight for it has no real foundation and no connection with the divine. For God, however powerful, is love, and love always cares first for the other and gives up any power it might have for the good of the other. And love, as we have been taught and have come to know, never fails, which is pretty powerful.

Ask yourself in silence: Which do I exercise more, love or power? Which do I rely on?

Today’s Word: Exile

Steve · January 1, 2014 · Leave a Comment

Over the past week I’ve read and heard several times now the story in Matthew’s gospel about Joseph and Mary’s exile into Egypt following the birth of Jesus. This is not a story to which we usually pay much attention. It’s a post-Christmas, dark tale about threats of death and the murder of innocent children, and who wants to spend much time thinking about that?

But here’s what I’ve found. There’s a message of hope for us in this story, for we have all experienced exile at one time or another in our lives. Maybe you’re there right now. It could be an exile from God or maybe from a friend or family member. Maybe it’s an exile from yourself, a time of running away from what you think might hurt you. But whatever form it takes, exile can be a time of great spiritual growth if we leave ourselves open to hearing the voice of God in the wilderness. Joseph, a much under-appreciated character in the life of Jesus, is the hero of this story because he was willing to listen for and act upon the voice of God. “Take Mary and Jesus to Egypt, Joseph,” God says. And Joseph does. “Time to come back to Judea,” God says, and Joseph heads back to Israel. “On second thought,” God says, “better go to Galilee,” and Joseph settles his family in Nazareth. Listen. Obey. Act.

This is the call to a life of active contemplation, to a life of listening for the voice of God and actually expecting to hear something. Not a sound, perhaps, but nevertheless a knowing, a sense of God’s presence and direction. It is a life of staying the course and trusting the journey because something tells you it’s right. It’s a life of acting on the still small voice inside of us.

Ask yourself in silence: Am I trusting the journey I am on? Am I even aware of the journey?