Will she be safe today?

Will she be safe today?

I just put my daughter on the school bus. 6 going on 7, headed off to 1^st grade.

6 years old, first grade. One week ago the first 100 thoughts that would enter my head upon hearing those words were of my daughter. Only my 101^st thought would go anywhere else, and then it would be to her classmates, all of whom I know by name. 

I can hardly believe it, but right now when I hear those words, my mind first jumps across the country. I don’t blame the media for that – I have not read every latest article. I can’t. What I have read is already scarred on my heart like graffiti gouged with a rusty nail. 

I just put my daughter on the bus. I hugged her, like any other day. I kissed her, like any other day. I told her I was proud of her, that she is my pride and joy – like any other day. I told her to be a good friend and a good student – like any other day. She got on the bus and excitedly crowded into a seat with two of her friends, because in first grade it doesn’t get much better than three-friends-in-a-seat-on-the-bus. Like any other day. I lingered until the bus left. Like any other day.

But then I realized it wasn’t like any other day. I didn’t just linger. I was transfixed. I couldn’t open my eyes wide enough. I couldn’t take enough of that moment in. I’ve been there before. “A girl!” the doctor said, and then they wrapped her and put her in my arms. Mother, father, daughter all together for the first time in the delivery room. I couldn’t open my eyes wide enough. I couldn’t take enough of that moment in. Now I’m flooded with the same hunger, the same grasping, but the context is all skewed. That was pure joy; this is infected with fear. 

On the outside, standing at the bus stop with hugs and kisses and words and waves, this is a day like any other day. On the inside I am transfixed because I am afraid that today might be different. 

When my father died, I grieved. What I found was that grief came in waves. Whether it was week or a month or a year later – or more – an event or word or sound or smell might remind me. Without warning grief wells up again. Not debilitating sadness, necessarily, but a longing for what isn’t.

Transfixed at the bus stop, that is what happens. Is this part of grieving for families that I don’t even know? How does grief blend with joy and longing and fear? Like this, I guess.

Will she be safe today? 

I received another email from the school reiterating the old and new security measures, and I’m grateful. Prudence and forethought are good values for administrators. But I don’t have to go deep down to know they can’t prevent evil. 

“Is it safe?” That was the top question parents asked when we used to take students to Guatemala for mission work. How do you answer a question like that? “We exercise prudence and forethought.” What else can we do? I remember one year hearing that question right after a stranger shot a woman point blank in her car in the parking lot of the local mall and then drove off with her car. “Is it safe?” What do you mean? Is Guatemala safer than the local mall? We only had two answers then, and I still have only two answers. Prudence and forethought for one, but more importantly I believe with all my heart that there is no better place to be than in God’s hands. 

Transfixed at the bus stop, my unexpected welling fear is that today will not be like any other day. I have only one recourse. “God, I commit my daughter into your hands.” Of course God never waits for my permission. God’s hands hold my daughter when I’m thinking of it and when I’m not. He claimed her before I even dreamt of her.

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,

the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip—

he who watches over you will not slumber;

indeed, he who watches over Israel

will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord watches over you—

the Lord is your shade at your right hand;

the sun will not harm you by day,

nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm—

he will watch over your life;

the Lord will watch over your coming and going

both now and forevermore.

-Psalm 121, NIV

Lord, you know what I want for my daughter today. And for her classmates. And for every child today. I want today to be like every other day where she comes home from school. I pray that without shame or second thought. More importantly, I put her in your hands. Not that you need or ever wait for my permission. Open my heart to trust you in all things and with all things. Give me the peace that no amount of prudence or forethought can ever provide. Give me peace that passes understanding. And hold her tightly. In the name of Jesus Christ, who suffered, was brutally crucified, then rose again so that though we suffer we too will rise again, Amen.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Jesus married? or even fully human?

So, was Jesus married to Mary Magdalene? A little papyrus has renewed interest in the question. I just read an article that brings up a more troubling issue: Can we believe that Jesus was fully human? The article had this in it:

“If Jesus is a normal human being and he’s sexual, that’s the real fear,” James Tabor, a biblical scholar at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte and the co-author of books about Jesus and his family, told NBC News. “You can’t think of Jesus like that because he’s too holy.” The Bible contains no explicit mentions of Jesus being either married or not married, but few churches have room for the idea of a sexual Jesus. 

I guess the question is what the difference is between being a normal human being and being fully human. In one sense Jesus was not just a normal human being. He is the Son of God, the firstborn over all creation. I could go on, but Jesus was hardly normal in the sense that there never was and never will be another like him. I usually say that Jesus wasn't merely human. However, it is crucial for us to know that he was fully human. Jesus experienced the full range of being human, because he was fully human. That's one reason I cringe a little every Christmas when we sing, "The little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes." Was Jesus exempt from the unpleasant aspects of being human? No. He was fully human. A sexual human, even. That isn't scary; that's comforting.

What would Hebrews 4:15-16 mean to us if Jesus was immune to the temptations we face?

For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. (New International Version)

The reality of Jesus with testosterone, single yet celibate, tempted but without sin, is a not a thought that we should shy away from. Can I really believe that somehow my experience as a human is more difficult than what Jesus faced?

That Jesus was not merely human but at the same time was fully human is central to not only what we believe, but also to how we live it out. As long as there is doubt about Jesus' full humanity, the church will continue to make strong proclamations. That is a conversation worth having.

As for Jesus being married, I have a personal opinion on that. A little papyrus isn't going to keep me up at night at this point. Another article speculated that Jesus' marital status may change the way churches think about celibacy among clergy and women's role in leadership. Let's just say I'm not holding my breath while this discussion continues.

the Gospel of incomprehensibility

This week as a church we are focusing on the story of Joseph in Genesis 37-50. Of course I call it “the story of Joseph” in a narrow sense, because the story is more about God than about Joseph. Joseph, from all we can tell, is faithful to God through some harrowing trials – being the object of a fratricide conspiracy, being sold to human traffickers (by his brothers), being a slave of a foreign dignitary, being a prisoner in the elite government dungeon. In all of this, though, God’s hand is on Joseph. It is not until the end of the story that we can look back and see how each successive situation, rather than being another step down, was really another step up to an unbelievable and dramatic rescue ending. God had the whole thing in his hand.

The story brings to mind Isaiah 55:8-9 –

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

neither are your ways my ways,”

declares the Lord.

“As the heavens are higher than the earth,

so are my ways higher than your ways

and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (NIV)

We often quote these two verses alone, and I think we generally do them justice. The first word, however, is “For.” These verses explain something; there is a context. So we look back to what comes right before them.

Seek the Lord while he may be found;

call on him while he is near.

Let the wicked forsake their ways

and the unrighteous their thoughts.

Let them turn to the Lord, and he will have mercy on them,

and to our God, for he will freely pardon.

There is a call to repent with God’s promise in advance to forgive. The reality of God’s ways and thoughts being higher than our ways and thoughts is really a gospel (good news) message. God’s rescue exceeds our dream of what is possible!

If we back out even further to get a bigger view of the text, we see that Isaiah 55 opens with an invitation to the thirsty and the poor to come and receive amazing blessings at no cost. The needs are clearly more than mere physical needs. God calls those whose hearts are hungry, whose spirits are poor (Matthew 5:3-12) – people with questions and sins and doubts and messy lives – and God promises abundance. We say, “How could that possibly happen? That’s not our way! We can’t even think of something like that!” And then we’re back where this whole musing started – facing a God whose ways and thoughts are not like our ways and thoughts. Now, however, we have those verses firmly rooted in the context of a theology of blessing. That God’s ways and thoughts are higher than ours is good news. It’s not simply that we have an incomprehensible God, but that his plan and power to bless in the face of blinding circumstance are incomprehensible to us.

It’s only in this context of power and incomprehensibility that we can begin to accept the truth of a verse like Romans 8:28 when we can’t even imagine a glimmer of hope (“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose”). God is good, and God is powerful, and God is working to bless in ways that we cannot see or understand – yet.  

So Isaiah 55 can end with a blessing as big as creation itself:

You will go out in joy

and be led forth in peace;

the mountains and hills

will burst into song before you,

and all the trees of the field

will clap their hands.

Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,

and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.

This will be for the Lord’s renown,

for an everlasting sign,

that will endure forever.

Open Doors

For these weeks after Easter we've been looking at stories of the early church from the book of Acts. In Acts 8 there is a story about the Jewish deacon-turned-preacher who meets an Ethiopian eunuch on the road. These two are from different worlds - economic, ethnic, spiritual. It would look from the outside like there were a lot of closed doors between them. Probably worst of all would be the eunuch's spiritual exclusion based on Deuteronomy 23:1. But here he is on the desert road reading Isaiah 53 and missing the whole point.

“Then Philip began with that very passage of Scripture and told him the good news about Jesus” (8:35).  I wish that sermon had been written down, but I know the story. God himself promised to step into human history to do for his people what they could never do for themselves. God was directing the winding story of his people to a specific climax, namely Jesus. All of the Old Testament laws and ceremonies, all the prophecies, they all were ways in which God was gradually unfolding the story of salvation that would all converge in Jesus. 

We should read the Old Testament like a funnel where everything comes together in Jesus. But then the picture looks like an hourglass, because God promised that he would not simply choose from one nation, but from all nations to be his children. And that is just beginning to happen in history as this Jew and this Ethiopian read Isaiah 53 in the chariot. No wonder the Ethiopian eunuch is excited. This story is about him. God has opened the doors. 

The man spots water in the desert – there is a great image – and demands, “What can stand in the way of my being baptized?” I think he is asking Philip if God’s saving work through Christ is as extravagant as Philip describes it. What can keep me from this salvation? The law that prevents eunuchs from belonging? My status? My nationality? Is there anything that can separate me from God’s love? Several years after this scene, the man whose relentless persecution of Christians started this whole international missionary movement would write,

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, 

neither angels nor demons,

neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,

neither height nor depth, 

          nor anything else in all creation,

          will be able to separate us from the love of God 

          that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

So they stopped the chariot and baptized the man on the spot. Nothing could prevent it. Nothing could stop God’s love from reaching this Ethiopian or stop him from responding. 

Why? Because it is all God's work here. It is so clear in this story that God is the one who prepares hearts to hear the gospel and then changes them. And what is that Gospel? Philip tells it straight - the good news is Jesus.

I love the story because it is our story, too. Through Christ, God has opened the doors to us.

Does God care?

In Job 22 Eliphaz opens with these questions:

“Can a man be of benefit to God?

Can even a wise person benefit him?

What pleasure would it give the Almighty if you were righteous?

What would he gain if your ways were blameless?”

Basically Eliphaz is asking, "Does a holy and wholly-other God really care?" There is something that seems intuitive about this, but it is ultimately a very dangerous line of thinking.

On the one hand, God is not contingent upon us. He doesn’t sit around waiting to see what we will do, wringing his hands hoping everything will turn out ok. God didn’t have to create us, but in grace he did. God’s grace means he acts in ways that people don’t deserve (and God’s mercy is that he doesn’t act in the way people do deserve). In that sense God does not need us.

But do we provide no type of benefit to God? Does he not gain any pleasure from us? On a practical note, if the answer is no, then it seems to me that there would be very little joy (or purpose) in worshiping God - for God or for us. If God was indifferent to us, it would be difficult to respond to him in love. Simple duty (leading to drudgery) would be the order of the day. The only wisdom we would have to offer to the world would be the empty words of Job’s friends (and how tempting that is at times!).

Then we go back to the very beginning of the book. The story begins with God pointing out Job to Satan precisely because God takes pleasure in Job’s righteousness (Job 1:8; 2:3). That theme is not unique to Job. I think of Zephaniah 3:17 – 

“The Lord your God is with you,

the Mighty Warrior who saves.

He will take great delight in you;

in his love he will no longer rebuke you,

but will rejoice over you with singing.” 

Even more importantly we call to mind the work of Christ who reconciles us to God. The holy and wholly-other God entered into our mess as one of us, making the ultimate sacrifice out of love for us, a love seen clearly in verses like Romans 5:8– 

“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: 

While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

When we make God’s holiness and wholly-otherness eclipse his love and grace, we turn God into something that he is clearly not. With good reason he reveals himself as our Father.

The first question and answer of the Heidelberg Catechism (the ones that set the tone for the rest of the teachings) say,

Q.  What is your only comfort in life and in death?

A.  That I am not my own,

but belong body and soul,

in life and in death

to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood,

and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.

He also watches over me in such a way

that not a hair can fall from my head

without the will of my Father in heaven:

in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.

Because I belong to him,

Christ, by his Holy Spirit,

assures me of eternal life

and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready

from now on to live for him.