LIKE A CHILD (Matthew 18)

Whoever becomes simple and elemental again, like this child, will rank high in God’s kingdom.

(Matthew 18:2-5 Message)

Forgive me a proud Grandma moment.

My daughter-in-law’s grandmother passed away recently. Of the considerable family gathered, my little girl is the one who said, “Mimi has gone to be with God in heaven.”

Mimi died of cancer, and her final days were difficult. Jordan still had Mimi on her mind. In her night time prayer, she asked, “Please make Mimi feel better.”

Mimi was in heaven, with only God to take care of her. Jordan just wanted to talk to God about her.

My daughter Jolene had a similar kind of faith. She pictured flinging herself into Jesus’s waiting arms when she died. When she died, I’m sure He stood, arms flung open to hold her.

Right before the end, my mother developed signs of dementia. One time when I came to visit, she was sitting up in bed, speaking quietly.  She smiled brightly when I entered. “I was just talking to Jesus about you.” She knew His presence, not by faith alone but with a childlike understanding.

Church hymns touch our residents Like the people here at the nursing home who cry, sing along or cry, when visiting churches sing the songs of childhood. “Tell me the story.” “Amazing Grace.” “Jesus Loves Me.”

Confused minds. Incomplete thoughts. Irrational thinking.

But…faith that God is at the center of everything. Faith like a child.

I pray that I cling on to Jesus with that kind of faith as my time comes closer.

MOUNTAIN MOVERS

“Because you’re not yet taking God seriously,” said Jesus. “The simple truth is that if you had a mere kernel of faith, a poppy seed, say, you would tell this mountain, ‘Move!’ and it would move. There is nothing you wouldn’t be able to tackle.”

Matthew 17:20, Message

This verse is one I struggle with. Mostly with conceiving why anyone would want to move a mountain—or maybe that’s the question. Jesus’ answer speaks to a bigger problem.

Peter had given the perfect answer when asked about “Who do you say that I am?” Jesus rewarded him, along with James and John, to the Mount of Transfiguration.

After that miraculous encounter, they must have expected to march into Jerusalem at the head of an army. Instead, three times before the end of the chapter, Jesus tells them I’m going to die. I will be raised again.

They didn’t have a clue what Jesus meant. Look at the questions they asked:

·         Wasn’t Elijah supposed to come first?

·         Why couldn’t we cast the demon out of this man? (Just a note: the nine other disciples. The big three were away with Jesus when the situation developed.)

·         When Jesus repeated His warning, they felt terrible. They didn’t ask questions.

·         When the Pharisees tested Jesus about paying the temple tax, that becomes the important question.

I wish I could say I would be different. But I’m the same way. I make an excellent ostrich. I stick my head in the sand until the last possible second of a mounting emergency.

I don’t take God seriously enough. If I fill my mind and heart with His word, His love, his will—I might stop asking stupid questions. I might join God in what He’s already doing.

The disciples wanted a kingdom. God offered them salvation.

I want fans in the tens of thousands. Instead God hands me a table with three emotionally and dementia challenged women.  No mother could feel any prouder when I see small steps of progress. I feel like my genuine love and concern helps those three women.

Forget the thousands. Them I don’t know about.

But my small community here, I do know and am known. If I take God seriously, I will work here with joy and abandon.

DON'T BE A BACK SEAT DRIVER (Matthew 16)

Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You’re not in the driver’s seat; I am. Don’t run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self.

(Matthew 16:24-25 Message)

If you claim to be a follower of Christ, get out of the driver’s seat. We may not like it, but we understand.

The next words out of Jesus’s mouth shock us. “Don’t run from suffering. Embrace it.”

Back then, Peter said “That can never be!” and Jesus rebuked him as Satan’s messenger. “Get out of my way, Satan. . .You have no idea how God works.” The rebuke is ever weirder, following on the heels of Peter’s recognition of “You are the Son of the Living God.” God praised Peter highly, describing him as a rock, and all the affirmation that came with it.

From the highest heaven to hell itself. Peter understood God’s heart about one thing, but he was as blind as the rest of us about the other.

If Jesus meant, of course I have to suffer and die. I’m not here to restore the kingdom, the rebuke makes a little sense.

But Jesus says more than that. We will suffer, as He did. We should embrace suffering. In suffering, we find our true selves.

Perhaps those hermits who spent years on top of a platform in the desert understood something we ignore today. They sought suffering as a means to knowing God better.

Luther tried the same thing. He flailed his back. He later recognized the futility of his actions, that the just shall live by faith and not by acts of contrition.

When I am suffering, should I seek escape?

Perhaps Paul’s advice to the church at Corinth can guide our thinking: “Yes, each of you should remain as you were when God called you. Are you a slave? Don’t let that worry you—but if you get a chance to be free, take it.”. (1 Corinthians 7:20-21, NIV)

Our true selves depend on the inner man, not the external shell—not even a wheel-chair bound nursing home resident.

SALOME'S DANCE COMPETITION

But at a birthday party for Herod, Herodias’s daughter performed a dance that greatly pleased him, so he promised with a vow to give her anything she wanted.
(Matthew 14:6-7, NLT)

I confess my fascination with dance competitions. I watch SYTYCD religiously (So You Think You Can Dance, for those not in the know.) I will also watch Dancing with the Stars. Not to mention the dancers on other competitions such as America’s Got Talent and Kim of Queens. Worst of all, I watch those horrible mothers and cruel teacher on Dance Moms.

In the process, I have come to understand the fascination of dance for young women. Thinking of all those devoted dancers made me consider today’s story in a different light.

Salome, the name traditionally given to Herodias’s daughter, has been portrayed as a slutty young girl twirling behind seven veils, revealing her nudity. Liz Curtis Higgs gave a different spin on the story in Really Bad Girls of the Bible. She portrayed Salome as a young girl dressed for a “glitz” pageant (hair pieces, false eyelashes, and the like), in cowgirls dress and boots, dancing to a western song.

I can see that. Salome had the opportunity of a lifetime. How had she learned to dance so well? I suspect there were limited opportunities to perform. What a rush to receive an invitation to dance for the king (her stepfather) and other powerful men of the kingdom.

She rose to the occasion, dancing the best she had ever performed,

She wasn’t promised a prize, but she received one far beyond her wildest dreams. He offered her anything she wanted, “up to half the kingdom.”

She had Daddy in the palm of her hand. I wonder what she wanted for herself, what she might have asked.

Unfortunately, at that point, Salome’s dream slipped out of her fingers. As coached by her mother, Salome asked for the head of John the Baptist on a plate.

Talk about interfering dance moms.

With a different mom, Salome’s life might have turned out differently. Consider her story as a warning against stage moms who live vicariously through their children.

THE GOSPEL IN FICTION (Matthew 13)

That’s why I tell stories: to create readiness, to nudge the people toward receptive insight. 

Matthew 13:11-15

I love stories. I grew from Dr. Seuss’s silly rhymes to Nancy Drew and on to the greats such as Charles Dickens and Thomas Hardy in high school. By far my favorite books were the Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien. In college, I discovered  C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia and books by other authors from their Inklings group. In them, I discovered the gospel retold in compelling fiction.

In fact, in seminary, I wrote a paper about “eucatastrophy,” a term coined by Tolkien. He argued against calling something “just a fairy tale,” stating “it is a sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur. It does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure: the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance; it denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.”

            I find that same ping in many works of fiction, some more than others. I felt it when I read The Chamber by John Grisham; Bone Crack by Dick Francis; Really Bad Girls of the Bible by Liz Curtis Higgs.

            As I write, I pray that my books will be mediums of that same eucatastrophe. That over and above the problems my characters face, they will run to the joy and peace of faith.

            Pray with us writers of faith, that our words will nudge our readers to “receptive listening.”

RUBBERY LIVES (Matthew 12)

I prefer a flexible heart to an inflexible ritual.  (Matthew 12:7 Message)

As a child enduring abuse, I clung to the restrictions of a legalistic church. They taught that a Christian could lose her salvation. I avoided that scary possibility by following the list of “don’ts”:

·         smoke

·         drink

·         dance

·         cuss

·         have sex outside of marriage

·         go to movies

·         wear short skirts or jeans

The perfectionism I strove to achieve brought no joy. Over time, God taught me that I was not only “dead to sin” but also “alive in Christ.” My understanding of the Christian life shifted, to one inspired by my relationship with a Holy God and His love for me.

I still clung to the idea of a “perfect” theology, however. After Bible college and seminary, I substituted a system of theology for a list of rules.  Christians disagreed on a few peripherals, such as the timing of baptism, the millennium question, and so on.  I did not anticipate disagreements over things like. . .

·         the Trinity

·         salvation vs. conversion

·         The origin of sin

Our differences came up at an ecumenical Bible study at work, with people as dedicated to a right understanding the Bible, as I was. I was flummoxed.

Now I live in a nursing home with people from several denominations, including one I label a “cult.” One of their members clings to one central truth: Jesus loves me, this I know; and He is my Savior.

I am not ready to give that “cult” a free pass—but I know that lady will be in heaven when she dies.

A flexible heart to accept those of different lifestyles and doctrines—asking God to show us which hearts are true to Him.

The longer I live, the more rubbery I get.

POETIC GRACE (Matthew 11)

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. Matt 11:29, Message

This week I am writing poetry instead of my next romance, and this haiku came out of reading Matthew 11. Back to regularly scheduled programming next week.

God’s grace unforced speaks

Rhythmic spasms of mercy

Lightening my heart