Why Jesus kept disappearing.

March 12, 2010

Jesus told a man to pick up his mat and walk. The man did. He picked up the mat and walked, right into the attention of the religious leaders.

Jesus disappeared into the crowd. When asked, the man didn’t even know the name of the man who had told him to do the unimaginable.

A few pages later, we find Jesus putting mud on a man’s eyes and sending him to wash it off. The man, who couldn’t see, knew it was Jesus but didn’t have any idea what he looked like.

In both cases, the men are subjected to Pharisaical interrogation. The authorities are worried, by the way, with technical obedience of the law. The healings happen on the sabbath, the day of rest, the day laden with behavior rules.

“The man who healed me told me to carry this mat.” What right did the healer to tell him to carry his mat, to disobey the law on the Sabbath? He was the healer, the one who brought freedom after 38 years. To the now walking man, it was self-evident.

The men can’t explain the spiritual how of the healing. They know they are well and they say that, but then they cannot give a satisfactory account of the healing to the authorities, to the skeptics.

Why does Jesus heal these men and then leave them dangling without details?

Faith wasn’t necessary for the healing, not much anyway. They didn’t do anything to earn it, to deserve it, to make it happen.

But now that they are healed, will they be willing to tell what little they know about what happened? Or will they look for other explanations, for other reasons, for other understanding?

These men told what they knew. And for that, they were given more. They saw Jesus.

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do you want to get well?

March 11, 2010

(Today is a guest post from Rich Dixon, a new and frequent commenter here. I asked him to help me understand this text. He did. )

Jesus sees a man sitting beside a therapy pool. The guy’s been paralyzed for thirty-eight years. Jesus asks a surprising question. “Do you want to get well?”

I wonder if the man thought it was a dumb question.

I’ve lived twenty-two years with paralysis. If somebody asked if I wanted to get well, I’d think it’s a dumb question. Of course I want to walk again.

This guy already knows exactly what he needs. If he could only be the first one into the water … but nobody will help him. Perhaps this stranger intends to carry him to the source of healing.

I could tell Jesus just what I need to walk again. If I could find the right doctor … if only someone would carry me to the source of healing, some revolutionary medical treatment that mends damaged nerves.

Or … maybe the man heard the question differently: Do you REALLY want to get well? He’d seen the accusing glances, overheard the whispered gossip. Why does he just sit there? Is he lazy, just looking for a free ride?

Maybe he was like people who struggle with addiction or poverty or abuse, tired of asking for help and receiving condescending suggestions about trying a little harder. Perhaps the man at the pool felt attacked and defended himself by explaining that he was doing his best.

Jesus didn’t ask dumb questions. He didn’t make back-handed accusations. His question wasn’t about walking.

Jesus cared about something a lot bigger and deeper and more eternal than physical health. His question wasn’t just addressed to the paralyzed man.

He spoke to those who listened and wanted to learn, and to those who watched and judged and condemned based on their self-righteous concern for religious rules rather than people.

He’s still doing that.

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not by yourself

March 10, 2010

“Love one another. “

We hear it a lot, people who hang around church.

  • We hear it from people who stand in front of the church and preach.
  • We hear it from people who we disagree with as they try to make us give in.
  • We hear it from people who avoid hanging around church because of all the love that they don’t see: “I thought you were supposed to be loving. All I see is arguments. All I hear is criticism.”

Today that passage has been resonating for me, though  I didn’t realize it. All I knew was that as I moved through the day, I needed people.

I needed to ask for help to understand a story. I needed to hear words of encouragement. I needed to offer some glimpses of understanding. I needed to accept thanks. I needed to learn about crises for some people. I needed to ask God to help them. I needed to think about other people. I needed to see my own needs.

I recently read that you cannot be a follower of Christ by yourself. It is a group project. My interactions today reminded me that even introverts like me need to love and be loved by one anothers.

Last week I was aware of a conflict. The two people reached resolution before the day was over, but sometimes tension can linger. Today I watched one party to the conflict tear up in response to a caring act of the other party. “I wanted to go find her and give her a big old hug.”

Neither of them are big old hug people.

That’s love.

It’s also proof.

When Jesus said, “love one another,” he gave the why.

“By this everyone will know that you are following me, if you love each other.”

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sometimes faith means walking away

March 9, 2010

Jesus told a man that his son would be healed.

The man took Jesus at his word and headed home.

Perhaps the man was good at taking direction because he worked for the king. That was certainly true for another healing situation. A centurion (military commander of 100 soldiers) wanted a servant healed. Jesus offered to come. The centurion said that Jesus had the power to command healing without being present, just like the centurion could command soldiers.

Perhaps this dad was used to being told “We’re finished. You can leave.” When Jesus said it, the man left. But you have to wonder what the man wondered. As he walked back home, an overnight trip, what was he thinking?

What do we think in those situations? We ask God for something. Some healing, some wisdom, some help. We finish asking (often with the formal “amen.”) And then what? We often read Bible verses to each other about trust and faith and timing. But most often we wonder. Or at least I do.

The man is getting close to home. His staff meets him on the road with good news. His son is well. The man asks for a timeline and discovers that exactly when Jesus says, “Your son will live,” the fever breaks. And now, finally, the man and his household (family and servants) believed that Jesus was who he said he was.

Our conversations with God are often unfocused. Sometimes we forget to draw lines connecting  events and prayers. We don’t expect that there will be an actual answer. We don’t remember what we asked when. And often, we don’t take Jesus at his word.

This dad did. He walked away from Jesus, trusting as much as he could. He arrived at home a believer.

Between? I bet he wondered.

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Desperate faith

March 8, 2010

The man’s son is dying.

This man is part of the  administration at a time when rank has privileges, but it doesn’t matter right now that he has a great job.  Those privileges may have connected him to the best possible care but it wasn’t helping. His son is dying.

He finds Jesus and begs for a healed son.

“Unless you people see miraculous signs and wonders,” Jesus told him, “you will never believe.”

It’s one of the times I wish we could hear his tone of voice, could see his eyes.  On paper he sounds cranky, tired, annoyed, critical. I’m guessing, however, that if we could see his eyes, they would be watching the man carefully, searching for a glimmer of faith.

What he found first was desperation.

“Sir, come down before my child dies.”

But in that very persistence, that unwillingness to be distracted by Jesus’ words, we discover that there is faith.

Jesus replied, “You may go. Your son will live.”
The man took Jesus at his word and departed.

Jesus had talked about people who need miracles in order to believe. This man believed what Jesus said and saw a miracle.

There are always questions when we look at healings.

  • Do some people have enough faith and other people not have enough faith?
  • Do I not have the right kind of faith when I ask for healing?
  • Is there a formula here that I need to consider?
  • What makes Jesus answer prayer about physical needs?
  • How do I know if I’m not asking the right way, if I’m just looking for something cool?

I don’t know the simple satisfying answers to those questions. I do know, however, that this man talked with Jesus.  And in the conversation, he was challenged and kept pushing God.

Desperate faith.

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Jesus understands

March 5, 2010

(Paul Merrill writes here every First Friday)

During this year, Jon has been going through the book of John, showing us some of the ways Jesus relates to us unlike any other. Jesus is the only one who ever lived who is fully God and was fully man at the same time. That’s one of those mysteries I will never understand until I am in His presence in heaven.

But I do understand how that makes Jesus uniquely qualified to say things about how I should live my life. If God spoke but had never known the pain that is central to life here, why should I listen to him? But since Jesus lived 33 years down here, he knows what we go through. He was mocked, spit upon, loved, hated and cried with. He hung out at parties. He probably ate some pretty bad meals. But he knew the joy of freshly cooked meal on the beach. He had a close friend die. He had a dad, mom and siblings – with related joys and challenges. (At times, he faced their disapproval.) He laughed heartily. I’m sure he hit his thumb with a hammer during his tenure as a carpenter. His best buddies failed Him, but He loved them anyway.

And now he lives today, still possessing that knowledge, as He speaks quietly – asking us to follow His example in how we live. But Jesus wants us to do more than just follow his example. He wants us to let Him live in us to do what He wants through us! That doesn’t make us robots – but rather people living the way we were designed to live.

If you have not experienced this, tell Him you want to try following him. If you are already following Him, ask Him lead you through what you are facing today.

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unlikely evangelist

March 4, 2010

No one in Israel would have said that the person to follow to a rabbi would be a Samaritan woman adulteress.

The only people that she would have been able to lead anywhere were people who knew her and saw what that rabbi had done for her.

People in and out of church know all about evangelism. People inside know the gutwrenching fear of having to walk up to some random house, knock on the door, and say, “God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life” or “Do you know where you would spend eternity if you died tonight” or “what kind of church would you be interested in if you could design it” or some other script taught by well-meaning evangelism instructors. People outside know the sheer confusion of having someone knock on their door and say, “Goddowhatlovesyoukindyouknowofandwherechurchhell?”

You can fill in your own stories of pain and fear and confusion and annoyance, of “bait and switch” and direct marketing and being a notch in someone’s belt. And even the terms inside and outside hurt.

In the ending to the story about the aforementioned Samaritan woman adulteress, the people from her village talk about why they decided to follow Jesus.

“At first we came to see him because we couldn’t believe how he had made you an honest woman. Then we couldn’t believe that he actually was willing to stay with us for two whole days (a Jew in our ceremonially unclean village). And then we listened to what he said, about us, about God, about himself.

They said to the woman, “We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world.”

Relationships. With her. With Him.

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harvesting happens year round

March 3, 2010

Jesus is sitting on the edge of a well. His disciples are standing around him. They are holding sandwiches. He is holding forth.

Do you know, he says, what fills my belly more than those sandwiches you are holding? Do you know what makes me get up in the morning, what so captivates me that I don’t even notice when I’m hungry? Do you know why I am so focused when I’m in a conversation that matters?

“My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work.”

You know how you say, “we’ve got plenty of time. No need to hurry. The harvest isn’t coming for four months.” You, dear friends, are fooling yourselves. Look at the fields. They are ripe.

At which point, the disciples would have begun to nudge each other. Jesus may have been a great rabbi, but he was a lousy farmer. The fields around the disciples couldn’t have been ripe.

If they had been ripe, the disciples could have grabbed handfuls of grain. By law, if they were hungry, they could have snacked as they walked.

And Jesus, knowing their thoughts, may well have laughed out loud at that point.

“Open your eyes! Look!”

And as they grudgingly turned around, they would have seen what Jesus saw. Bobbing along the path from the village, looking for all the world like waves of wheat, were the white robes and tanned faces and curly hair of the people coming to find out what the woman had been talking about.

Sometimes, Jesus says, all you have to do is show up. Stop trying to do everything. Be glad that you are part of a team. The conversation may come to you. The questions may come to you.  And I’m here, too.

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good news. I’m not.

March 2, 2010

A woman runs into town.

“Come and see! Come and see!”

No one looks up. She’s fallen in and out of love so many times that no one much cares what she says. Her judgment about what is worth looking at is, shall we say, uncertain.

“I think I might have found the Christ.”

You can imagine what is running through minds along the street. “That’s what you are calling him now?” “Isn’t that a stretch, even for you?”

“He’s told me everything I ever did.”

The people stopped.

This is a woman married five times. This is a woman keeping house again. This is a woman with denial challenges. This is a woman who goes to get water when no one else will be at the well, no one to ask questions, to shy away, to point. This is a woman with a gaping hole in her self. This is a woman who says, “this time it will be different. This time I’ve changed. Forget all the rest of those times. This time, it will work.”

And this woman comes running into town demanding attention, admitting to everyone that there really has been trouble in her life. And her invitation is to come and meet the man who has seen her heart and still been willing to converse with her.

Her work as an evangelist was powerful. The people from the village stopped what they were doing and followed her to Jesus. Not because she was perfect and polished and newly successful. Because for the first time they could remember, she told the truth about herself.

Kinda makes you wonder, doesn’t it, about why Christians think they need to be perfect? And why that doesn’t seem to work so well?

Maybe we just need to be honest about ourselves.

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Sometimes Jesus works in spite of his followers

March 1, 2010

Jesus and his followers are on a trip.

“Rabbi, you look tired. You need something to eat. Here, sit by this well. We’ll go into that little town. It looks safe enough, for a Samaritan city. Maybe just some of us should go, and some of us should stay. No? Okay, I don’t know about this, but you’re the rabbi. Just don’t pray the whole time. Judas, you got the money?”

I think Jesus was as glad to have them gone as to have food coming.

“Guys, you go on into town. No, all of you. I’ll be fine here by myself. I’ve got some thinking to do. No it’s okay. Just go. If you don’t leave you won’t get back.”

Jesus wanted to talk about living water with the woman who came to the well.

Then the disciples get back.

“Wait, how’d she get here? Shhh. But why is he talking with… Shhh! But what will everyone … SHHH!”

“Jesus, now that we’re alone, how about some lunch? It wasn’t much of a town, but we did some great bargaining and wouldn’t let them get the better of us. We’ve got some dried fish, and some rolls, just out of the oven. In fact, we could have been back here sooner so you would have to be alone if we hadn’t had to wait. But now we’re here and we’ll take care of you, so here. Eat.”

Jesus says he’s eaten.

They don’t understand. They went and got the food. They want to take care of Jesus. They are  just a little annoyed that their way of doing his work wasn’t appreciated.

Sometimes the reason God sends us on trips is not to get food. It’s to get us out of the way. Our presence can prevent his conversations.

Sorry.

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