little lamb arise

 I went out looking for Jesus one day.  My twelve-year-old daughter, the light of my life and the joy of my heart, was on the verge of death.  Jesus was our last hope.  I didn’t want to leave her side, but I was desperate.  So, after I heard that he was returning from the region of the Gerasenes, I went out to meet him. 

Unfortunately, I was not alone.  Thousands of people were waiting on the shore that day for his boat to return.  Word had spread; people were everywhere!  I’d never seen such crowds.  But I was determined.  If he could help my little girl, I would walk through hot coals to make that happen.  She was everything to me, the apple of my eye, and she was dying.  There are no lengths a desperate father will not go to in order to help his beloved child.

Luckily, I was able to make my way to him.  It doesn’t hurt, I suppose, to be a synagogue ruler after all.  Thus, the crowds parted and before I knew it, I found myself face down on the ground before him, pleading for the healing of my little lamb.  And when he agreed to come with me, I was overjoyed.  A glimmer of hope began to grow in my heart.

But before we had gone twenty feet, he stopped and started looking around.  He said someone had “touched his clothes.”  Of course someone had touched his clothes, there were people crowding all around him.  His disciples even reminded him of that.  But he insisted on finding who it was.

Then a woman fell down before him on the road and admitted that she was the one who had touched him.  She went on to tell him that she had been bleeding for twelve years and had tried everything to be healed of her affliction, but instead of getting better, she had just gotten worse.  He waited patiently as she told him the whole story—twelve long years’ worth.  The same amount of time my little girl had been alive. 

I was starting to get a little panicky and frustrated over the delay, until I heard what he said to her: “Daughter, your faith has healed you.  Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”  He called her daughter.  This woman was someone’s little girl too.  In fact, he wanted her to know that she was his little girl.  She was God’s daughter.  You see, he was not just healing her body but also healing her soul.  She needed to know that she mattered.  She needed to know that she was valuable.  She needed to know that she was loved.  And now she did. 

From that moment on, I knew everything would be okay.  I knew my little girl was in good hands.  Even after some of my friends met us on the road telling us that my daughter was dead, Jesus was not deterred.  He never flinched.  He just kept walking. 

To make a long story short, he came into our house and brought peace to our chaos, joy to our sorrow, and life to our death.  He took our daughter by the hand and whispered in her ear, “Little lamb, arise!”  How could he have known that’s what I called her?  Absolutely amazing!  And as soon as he took her hand, our little lamb stood up.  She was alive again!  Jesus had entered into our desperation and brought celebration, taken away death and brought about life.  Only God could do something like that.  

That day I learned a valuable lesson: When it comes to life in the kingdom, desperation creates some of the very best soil for God to do his work.

a prayer of transformation

“Dear Lord, it does not take much for me to forget you. The world, my world, has so many ways of demanding my attention that I quickly allow myself to be turned away from you. You are present in this world, in my life, in all that happens. But your presence is quiet, gentle, and unspectacular. Silence, solitude, quiet prayer, a peaceful conversation, and reflective reading help me to recognize that you are with me, that you call me, that you challenge me and, most of all, that you invite me into your house of peace and joy. Yet the loud voices of the world, the endless variety of “musts” and “oughts” and the illusion that everything has the quality of an emergency, all these things pull me away from the place where you dwell and make me live as if I and not you have to save the world.

A few days away from this house of prayer has made it very clear how easily I am seduced into thinking that everything except you is worth time, attention, and effort. Lord, I pray tonight that you deepen and strengthen my awareness of your presence, so that I can live in the world without being of it. Let the last two months of my stay in this monastery make my encounter with you as strong and deep and lasting as that of Saul on the road to Damascus, so that I can see the world with the new sight you are giving me. Amen.” ~from A Cry for Mercy by Henri Nouwen

desperation and dependence

What is Jesus trying to teach you during this season of your journey?

For me it comes down to two words that are intimately connected: desperation and dependence.  Desperation is that “end of your rope” feeling that Peterson talks about in his interpretation of the Beatitudes: “You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope.  With less of you there is more of God and his rule.” (Mt. 5:3, MSG) It is a feeling that comes from a deep sense of despair, an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and powerlessness.  And it leaves us with a very deep realization of our complete and total dependence upon something, or Someone, outside ourselves to come to our aid. 

Thus, desperation creates some of the very best soil for God to do his work in and through you because you are totally out of the way.  A stripping away of strength, adequacy, competence, pride, self-importance, and self-sufficiency has taken place and left us nothing to rely on except the grace and power and love of God.  Which makes us cry out, like so many in the Scriptures and beyond: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me.”  Because mercy is where our desperation meets God’s unfailing love.  It is the stuff of genuine transformation.

So, what’s Jesus teaching you lately?  I would really love to hear.

sanctification

a stripping away

a peeling back of the layers

of strength and adequacy 

of self-importance 

and self-sufficiency 

until nothing is left

i stand naked 

and alone

before you

and you say

finally

i see you

the real you

and it’s the most

beautiful thing

I’ve ever seen

God's mercy is greater than my sin

Henri Nouwen once wrote: “God’s mercy is greater than our sins.”  Unfortunately, we don’t always live that way.  “There is an awareness of sin,” he continues, “that does not lead to God but to self-preoccupation.”  We get so focused on our sin that we take our eyes off our God.  “Our temptation,” Nouwen concludes, “is to be so impressed by our own sins and failings and so overwhelmed by our lack of generosity that we get stuck in a paralyzing guilt.  It is the guilt that says, ‘I am too sinful to deserve God’s mercy.’  It is the guilt that leads to introspection instead of directing our eyes to God.”  Ever been there before?  I know I have.

I get so preoccupied with my sin that I fail to even acknowledge (much less experience) God’s mercy.  I get stuck inside myself and can’t seem to get out, wallowing around in my guilt and shame to the point where I never allow God to come and bathe me in his mercy and love.  Instead, I get caught in a decaying orbit of gloom, despair, and hopelessness rather than claiming the love and life and forgiveness God offers.

“Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love,” say the words of the ancient prayer.  “According to your great compassion blot out my transgressions, wash away all my iniquities, and cleanse me of my sin.  For I know my transgressions and my sin is ever before me.” (Ps. 51:1-3) But I also know the depths of your mercy, and that makes all the difference.  Your mercy really is greater than my sin.  It is enough to cleanse me so that I will be clean, to wash me so that I will be whiter than snow.  Help me to truly believe that, O God.  Help me to believe that your mercy is, indeed, greater than all my sin.  For only then will I be free.

a prayer for silence

O Lord Jesus, your words to your Father were born out of your silence.  Lead me into this silence, so that my words may be spoken in your name and thus be fruitful.  It is so hard to be silent, silent with my mouth, but even more, silent with my heart.  There is so much talking going on within me.  It seems that I am always involved in inner debates with myself, my friends, my enemies, my supporters, my opponents, my colleagues, and my rivals.  But this inner debate reveals how far my heart is from you.  If I were simply to rest at your feet and realize that I belong to you and you alone, I would easily stop arguing with all the real and imagined people around me.  These arguments show my insecurity, my fear, my apprehensions, and my need for being recognized and receiving attention.  You, O Lord, will give me all the attention I need if I would simply stop talking and start listening to you.  I know that in the silence of my heart you will speak to me and show me your love.  Give me, O Lord, that silence.  Let me be patient and grow slowly into this silence in which I can be with you.  Amen. ―A Cry for Mercy by Henri Nouwen

 

doors

there are doors

that open in our lives

and if we have the courage

to step through them

we will be met by Jesus

on the other side

he will lead us deeper

into his great heart of love

and what looked like a crisis

becomes a conversion

an invitation into

intimacy and affection

beyond our wildest dreams

every crisis offers a conversion

if we are willing to embrace it

and meet Jesus in the midst of it