nard º9

The Teacher and his disciples snuck down from the wilderness town they’d been staying in out of public view back to the town of Bethany, where his closest of friends lived.  It wasn’t long ago that Jesus had come here and brought Lazarus back from the dead–making him undead–performing a miracle so great that when the people saw what Jesus had done, many who had doubted before believed in him.

Lazarus had cheated death, because he knew Jesus.  And Jesus loved him.

The religious leaders had heard about it too, and wanted to get rid of Jesus and his popularity.  They’d even considered killing off Lazarus as well, once and for all, for fear of his resurrection story and the momentum it brought to this belief in Jesus as the Messiah.

Under the mounting pressure of the coming Passover, which would be Jesus’ last, he and his disciples once again entered the home of Lazarus and his two sisters, Mary and Martha.  They all were comfortable here, and they all were welcome.

The air around the table was thick with the mixed emotions of this gathering–fear of the Pharisees and their plots to kill both the Guest and his host, unbridled joy in the company of close friends, anticipation for the coming religious festival, and an immense gratitude that couldn’t be expressed in mere words.

Lazarus was still alive!  Jesus brought him back from beyond the grave!

It was an amazing meal.  Figs, bread, choice wine and lamb, which had been marinated in mixed herbs for over twelve hours.  The small house smelled like a fine restaurant, bathed in a feast of food.

Martha was pleased with her efforts, and had spared no expense in preparation for her hospitality.  She served the guests as her brother, Jesus, and the disciples casually lounged on pillows chatting around the table, propped up with one arm and eating with the other.  But where had Mary slipped away to?  She had a habit of skipping out on the work that needed to be done.  Martha glanced to see if she was once again sitting at the feet of Jesus, staring at him as usual–focusing on his every word and leaving all else for later.
She wasn’t.

Where was she?  Finally, Mary entered quietly from the other room.  Tears were streaming down her face, but she was silent.  She had a small jar clasped in her hands as she approached the Teacher.  Kneeling beside him, she poured the contents of the jar onto his feet, massaging a thick oil into his skin.

It was then that everyone in the room realized what was in the jar.

An intoxicating fragrance filled the room, overpowering any memory of the smell of food.  The Egyptian-imported essential oil’s intense aromatic scent of lavender and flowers and spices caused the room to spin, and everyone stopped eating.  All eyes were on Mary as she poured it all out–a full pound of pure nard oil–onto the feet of Jesus, rubbing it in first with her hands, and then wiping his feet dry with  her hair.

Martha was speechless.  Her dinner ruined, interrupted by her sister’s awkward affection of Jesus, she didn’t know what to say.  But strangely, she wasn’t angry–there was something beautiful about what Mary was doing.  Martha didn’t understand why, but it was innocent…intimate…and…
“EXPENSIVE!!!!  This is RIDICULOUS!” Judas exclaimed.  His head was still woozy from the overpowering fragrance.

“Why would you waste something so valuable?”  He was standing now, indignant as he towered over the kneeling woman whose slick hair was covered in perfume that represented her family’s life savings.  “What’s wrong with you?!  Outside beggars and children and lepers go hungry and you dump out a perfume that could have been sold for what most families make in a year?!  Why wasn’t it sold and given as a gift to the poor if you want to show your appreciation of Jesus?”

“Leave her alone.”  Jesus said, his gentle hand touched the top of Mary’s shoulder as he stood, now eye to eye with the one who would later turn him over to the religious leaders for a small fortune himself.  “Don’t worry, Judas,” he turned and looked at the others, still sitting stunned by this unanticipated interruption of their evening.  “If you’re really, truly concerned about the poor, there will always be ample opportunity for you to help  them.”
He looked tenderly at Mary.

“But you do not always have me with you.  She’s done all she could do; she’s anointed my body beforehand for the coming burial.  She’s given what is considered valuable for that which she considers precious.”

PED XING.

“Wake up, Azariah,” the Beggar said.  “It’s time to go down to The Pool.”

His name seemed like a mean joke being played on him by Yahweh.  It literally meant, “God…YAHWEH God, has helped.”  Yet it wasn’t God who helped him every morning.  It was the Beggar and his friends.

God never helped him.

The Beggar and his three friends were a mixed bunch, made up of different ages and ailments.  The young one was missing an ear; another was partially blind; the oldest had been caught stealing at a young age and paid the price–his hand.

Each of them had encountered their troubles in life, and therefore spent their days by The Pool of Mercy on its five porches.  It was a prime location for begging.  It was nicely settled near the Sheep Gate–the only northern entrance to the Temple’s outer courts, which meant lots of people walking by.

Lots of guilty people, seeking to appease God.  What better way to get on God’s “good side” then to give money to a beggar?  They were still beggars, but they usually fared alright.

Azariah always made more than the rest.  There were literally hundreds of sick people–the blind, crippled, paralyzed–that gathered here for begging.  Yet Azariah wasn’t here for money.  He, like all those who gathered around The Pool of Mercy, believed that if they waited long enough by The Pool, its waters would mysteriously and miraculously stir; and when they did, the first-one-in would be healed.

That’s why the Beggar and his friends spent each and every morning moving Azariah to “his spot.”  He had the best spot in the area; a great location for begging as it was right near the main road through the gate, and it was also close to the pool.  Azariah was closer than anyone.  He paid the beggars to move him each morning, and it worked out–everyone got what they wanted.  Azariah got his spot, and the beggars got their money.

So Azariah spent his days there, lying on his bedroll, waiting for the water to stir.  The beggars often talked about him, and wondered how he’d ever manage to be the first-one-in when he couldn’t walk.  Azariah would have to be carried by someone else.  They’d tried it a few times, but another was always faster.

But Azariah still had the best spot.  And it was his spot.

He didn’t get the spot because he had the worst ailment, although it could be argued that he did.  Everyone at The Pool knew Azariah couldn’t walk; in fact, he couldn’t move.  He was paralyzed.  But even that wasn’t why he had the spot.

It was his because he’d been there longer than anyone else–he’d been there for thirty-eight years.  Waiting.  Thirty-eight years.  And God never helped him.

But today was different.  Because of the upcoming religious festival, multitudes were in town, heading to the Temple.  It happened each year.  There was a buzz and excitement in the air.  Everyone around The Pool felt it; even Azariah.

One of the many coming through the gate was Jesus.  He’d walked through it before.  Many times.  Every year, in fact.  Since Jesus could remember he walked through the gate with his mother Mary, his father Joseph, his sister Salome and their brothers…and every year they would walk through the line of beggars.

They never had a lot of money; but they always set aside some bread and a little extra money from the woodwork that Joseph had done that year, and gave it to the beggars.  There was one in particular that Jesus was looking for.
Jesus remembered him.  Always in the same spot.  Every single year.  Ever since he  could remember.

But this year–this day–was different.  God was going to help. Jesus walked up to the man on the mat, in his spot; the same spot he always was.

“Do you want to get well?”  The question pierced Azariah’s soul.  Of course he wanted to walk!  But the way Jesus was looking at him, he knew this Rabbi meant meant more than just walking.  Right?  “Do you want to get well?”

“I can’t, sir…whenever the water is stirred, I don’t get in there in time.  By the time I’m in the water, somebody else has already beat me there.”  Jesus knew this was all a smoke screen, an excuse to stay stuck in the life he knew instead of embarking on the adventure of the unknown. “Get up, take your bedroll.  Start walking, and be on your way.”

Azariah shuddered at the thought of putting the hard words into action.  With a gulp, he raised himself with his arms, put weight on his feeble legs and for the first time in thirty-eight years, took his first step.

He left his spot.

Jesus knew it wasn’t just his body that was paralyzed.  Constantly missing out on the first-one-in healing, even the hope to be healed gave way to a blase acceptance of the status quo.  The years of discouragement had paralyzed his will and desire.  So he’d lay there, in his spot, waiting for someone else to assist him.

Then Jesus asked him to do the impossible; to stand on his feet, pick up his bedroll and to go on his way.  He’d been there so long (thirty-eight years!) I doubt he even knew where “his way” was.

what things do you feel stuck in?  what are you waiting for?

what is Jesus asking you to move from?

what is Jesus asking you to move toward?

a faith manifesto.

we are convinced that people want to belong to a community that has a purpose; it’s what we call TRIBE.

TRIBE is a mob of displaced, disconnected, dispassionate, severed, disrespected, unnoticed, unknown and voiceless individuals who inspire movement together as ONE.

as ONE, this mob–this TRIBE–is committed to walking alongside our community, helping each other find and follow Jesus Christ.  as ONE, we will move with transparency.

as a TRIBE, we will celebrate our uniqueness as individuals; as a TRIBE, we will inspire one another; as a TRIBE, we will live with passion and purpose; as a TRIBE, we will find our voice in a hopeless world.

we are convinced that our hope, our identity and our joy is unwrapped in the person and work of Jesus Christ, who from day ONE has known each of us by name.

daydreamers.

All men dream but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds awake to find that it was vanity; But the dreamers of day are dangerous men, that they may act their dreams with open eyes to make it possible.

–T. E. Lawrence 

Our world needs daydreamers daring to dream dangerously.

The table of history is seasoned with men and women who have dared to dream of a world better than this; who have been emboldened by their visions to live life defiantly in the face of the status quo and have courage enough to ask an Almighty God to change His creation through them.  Adding much needed and exquisite God-flavor to their surroundings, they have brought vivid color to a world of dull and dingy black and white and stirred the imaginations of those audacious enough to follow in their footsteps– encouraging those who come afterwards to take a hold of hope and visualize a world better than the one we live in. 

I’m inspired by each of them.  I want to dare to dream dangerously. 

Dreamers, from Walt Disney to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., from Rev. Billy Graham to Mother Teresa, have quite literally changed the world by envisioning a state of affairs better than before.  The impression they have left on countless millions–their global emotional and spiritual  footprint, if you will–is immeasurable.  Yet each of them set out not to stroll onto the stage of international superstardom or sainthood, but simply to right what was wrong in the world in which they lived.  We need today such men and women who have not just familiar vision and foresight but that possess a courage, conviction, and passion to engage the injustices of our present society. 

This generation longs for a sense of belonging; it values authenticity, transparency and humility; it emphasises praxis over dogma, it values deeds over creeds; it admires kingdom thinkers rather than empire builders; it finds meaning in the uncertain valleys of ambiguity, paradox, metaphor, mystery, and artistic creativity; it expects and even demands meaningful engagement with those who strive to lead them; it views the Bible as the story of God’s redemptive purpose rather than the repository of propositional truth. 

That’s this generation.  And it’s waiting for you to lead. 

It’s waiting for you to dream.

I’ve committed myself to daring to dream dangerously.  I am convinced that as I do so, not only will my life change, but the lives of those around me will as well. As I influence the relationships in the arena of my existence, I am convinced that we can collectively change the world.  I might be crazy.  I might be idealistic.  I might be a radical.  I might even be a bit of a biblical heretic. 

But I’m daring to dream dangerously. 

I dream that God can and will move in, through, and around us.  I dream that He can and will reform His Church.  I dream that He can and will redeem all of creation unto Himself. 

I dream of Heaven.  On Earth. 

I dream that a community of WayWard Followers can and will usher in the Kingdom of God by running hard after Jesus Christ.  I dream of a day when those who claim to follow Him are defined not by their religious codes and creeds but by their conduct and love one for each other and Others.  I dream of a day when the chief purpose of our being is to meet the needs of those around us, thus honoring the One who created life.  I dream of a day when the Church has been restored to comfortably and confidently fulfill her role as the Bride of Jesus Christ.  I dream of Christ followers living in a supernatural, divine unity that transcends our human understanding and tendency toward division, that we would be one just as the Father and the Son are One–that in this unity we might be found complete and made whole as Jesus prayed in John 17.  I dream that we may live out the principles of Kingdom Living found in Jesus’s sermon on the mount and in the end of Acts chapter 2. 

I dream that this will happen in my world. In my day.

In this generation.

I dream that we can and will live out the abundant life Christ has in store for us–to love God and love Others above all else, and that in every decision we make and every action we take; in every conversation we have, this divine love would shine forth.  I dream that we can and will fulfill our calling to bring hope to the afflicted; to mend the brokenhearted; to proclaim freedom to the captives and liberty to those who are held in chains; to comfort those who are in mourning; to feed the hungry and to clothe the naked; to be a beacon of hope and light in a world afflicted with darkness and despair. 

In the words of a magnificent man who dared to dream dangerously whom I regretfully never had the opportunity to meet, 

“We are not here for ourselves alone, but as necessary fragments of divine love, working together to rebuild lives and communities.  I am convinced that we are here to do something, to extend ourselves for the Kingdom.“

–J. Andrew Cole, RISE Founder 

Heaven. On Earth. You must think I’m idealistic.  Radical.  Crazy.  A dreamer. 

I’m proudly all of those things.  Many others are as well.  To borrow a few words from a well-known book entitled, The Irresistible Revolution authored by a fellow radically idealistic dreamer, Shane Claiborne: 

I used to think that those of us who hope for things we cannot see and who believe that the world can be different than it is were the crazy ones.  We are usually called that by people who spend their lives trying to convince everyone that the crazy things they do actually make sense.  Now more and more people are starting to imagine that maybe another world is possible and necessary and actually quite imaginable.  I’m starting to wonder if, actually, we have gone sane in a mad world.  In a world of smart bombs and military intelligence, we need more fools, holy fools who insist that the folly of the cross is wiser than any human power.  And the world may call us crazy.

The good humored teacher and street-corner prophet Peter Maurin, co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement, put it this way: “If we are crazy, then it is because we refuse to be crazy in the same way that the world has gone crazy.”  What’s crazy is a matter of perspective.  After all, what’s crazier: one person owning the same amount of money as the combined economies of twenty-three countries, or suggesting that if we shared, there would be enough for everyone?  What is crazier: spending billions of dollars on a defense shield, or suggesting that we share our billions of dollars so that we don’t need a defense shield?  What is crazier: maintaining arms contracts with 154 countries while asking the world to disarm its weapons of mass destruction, or suggesting that we lead the world in disarmament by refusing to deal weapons with over half of the world and by emptying the world’s largest stockpile here at home?  What’s crazy is that the US, less than 6 percent of the world’s population, consumes nearly half of the world’s resources, and that the average American consumes as much as 520 Ethiopians do, while obesity is declared a “national health crisis.”  Someday war and poverty will be crazy, and we will wonder how the world allowed such things to exist.  Some of us have just caught a glimpse of the beauty of the promised land, and it is so dazzling that our eyes are forever fixed on it, never to look back at the ways of the old empire again.

…It seems to me that God could surround us with elders as we bring new energy into an aging body, but it will take tremendous courage from old folks to dream new dreams and allow a new generation to make their own mistakes.  And it will take great humility from the new generation of the church to listen to the wisdom of our elders and know that we can learn from others’ mistakes.

If you have the gift of frustration and the deep sense that the world is a mess, thank God for that; not everyone has that gift of vision.  It also means that you have a responsibility to lead us in new ways.  Recognizing that something is wrong is the first step toward changing the world.  So for those of us who have nearly given up on the church, may we take comfort in the words of St. Augustine: “The Church is a whore, but she’s my mother.”

Maybe we are a little crazy.  After all, we believe in things we don’t see.  The Scriptures say that faith is “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see” (Heb. 11:1).  We believe poverty can end even though it is all around us.  We believe in peace even though we hear only rumors of wars.  And since we are people of expectation, we are so convinced that another world is coming that we start living as if it were already here.  As prominent evangelical activist Jim Wallis says, “We believe despite the evidence…and watch the evidence change.”  So may we begin living as if poverty were over, and we will see it come to pass.  May we begin beating our swords into plowshares now, and the kindgom will begin to be not simply something we hope for when we die but something we see on earth as it is in heaven, the kingdom that is among us and within us.

I pray that we will have the integrity of the early church, which, in the same breath that it denounced their empire in Rome, was able to invite people into the Way–little communities scattered throughout the empire…may we spend our lives making the Jesus way of life accessible to people.  The world is thirsty.  All creation is groaning.  Christianity as it is has not satisfied the souls of those who hunger for another way of life.

One friend was asked by a skeptic, “You are all just a little group of radical idealists.  What makes you actually think you can change the world?”  And she said, “Sir, if you will take a closer look at history you will see…that’s the only way it has ever been done.”

Our world needs daydreamers daring to dream dangerously.

And it’s waiting for you to dream.

rescue and redemption

This past Sunday at Richwoods, our Lead Pastor Jim Powell left us with this final thought…

Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe…

A trustworthy saying.  One we can depend on.  Something to hang our hat on.  A truth we can stand firm on.

Jesus Christ came into this world to rescue sinners.

You are one.  So am I.

In fact, I’m the worst.

But Jesus came.  He came to rescue.

God rescues us, and more than that–He shows us His mercy and grace.  He displays us like a work of art–He shows us off–in His unlimited patience as an example for those who are right on the edge of forever trusting in Him.  The light of His truth and love shines through the brokenness of our hearts and our redeemed lives, drawing Others closer to Himself.

He restores and redeems that which has been lost.

I’ve lived this redemption.  I’ve experienced this grace.  I’ve been rescued.
It’s my story.

Until just recently and over the last long several years, I have been running. I’ve been running from my faith and my God. I have sinned repeatedly and defiantly against Him and His will for my life; in fact, I was against His will for anyone’s life. My incessant infidelity, immorality, carelessness and arrogance led me to a place where I had literally no hope. I had purposely run so far from God that there was nothing redeeming about any of my thoughts, words or deeds.  Entirely engrossed in self-pity, I blamed Him and others for my circumstances and accepted no level of responsibility for my actions.  The hardships in my life–some of which were due to amplified injustices that we each face everyday, and many of which were a direct result of my own selfishness, pride and stubbornness–were twisted and mangled like an undergrowth of my soul to further fuel the fire that burned in my heart against my Creator God. The roots of bitterness that had been planted in my youth had received just enough sunlight of circumstance and water of despair to grow into strong vines that entangled and eventually choked the very desire to live out of me.

My behavior was that of a narcissistic, codependent, angry, compulsive, and bitter coward. In short, my actions were that of a sinner fallen far from grace. My heart was so dark, so angry and so destroyed by the chronic disobedience to what I knew in my heart to be true, that literally everything I did was far from honoring to God, and therefore damaging to me and to everyone around me.  There is no excuse that I can offer nor any defense of the content of my character within the context of my rebellion.  My pride and insecurities were in the way of allowing me to respond to God’s grace–a result of my open and methodical defiance to my Maker.

Rather than simply face the truth and admit my frailty to those around me who cared, I consistently wove a web of deception and self-preservation around my world and sabotaged any relationship that threatened my rebellious and self-centered  lifestyle.  I entrenched myself in lies in an effort to keep the truth of my condition at bay to myself and to others. The twisted and wicked nature of my thinking allowed me to actually believe that my actions were “saving” my identity, when in reality I was sentencing and executing myself to a spiritual and literal death.

As many of you know from conversations as you‘ve joined with me on my journey, instead of following Jesus or living my life according to the truths and principles of Following the Way, I had rejected them entirely and lived my life My Way. It is from that dark place–a heart wounded by my past and turned inward on my own needs and desires–that my wrongdoings came.

Yet it was in that state–when I was as far from God as I’ve ever been, with no chance of making it back to Him on my own–that He met me.  He rescued me.

Jesus Christ came into this world to rescue sinners.

I am one…In fact, I’m the worst.

But Jesus came.  He came to rescue.

He rescued me.

And in His mercy and grace, He has found it fit to provide me platforms to share my story with Others who are lost along the Way; to encourage them, to display me.  I’ve only just begun the long and painful journey of getting back where I need to be–not only spiritually, but emotionally and psychologically as well. Running from God takes its toll on mind, body and soul. In humility, sorrow and sincerity I’ve limped back into the arms of my Father; back into authentic community; back into transparent relationships in my journey.  In doing so, I’ve serendipitously and unwittingly given God permission to use  me–a broken vessel, allowing His light to shine through the cracks of an exposed and wounded life.  His love, by His grace, is revealed to Others in the midst of my shattered world.  The process of my own healing and restoration is being used by Him to help Others who seek to (re)engage as Followers of the Way.  That He would choose to rescue me; to work in and through me; to display me, of all people–the worst sinner–is evidence of His mercy and grace.

I’ve lived this redemption.  I’ve experienced this grace.  I’ve been rescued.
It’s my story.

And as I continue along the path, as I follow the Way, this is my prayer:

Investigate my life, O God; search me; examine me; test me, and see if there is anything out of whack.  Check my priorities and my hidden thoughts; my fears and underlying motives; seek out the source behind my ambition and my drive, and remove from me anything You see as wrong.  Cut out any cancer that lurks in the corners of my heart, no matter how much it hurts.  Make me pure before You, O God, as only You can.  Leave me only with the priority of following You.

Lead me in Your Way.