300 words a day

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.

“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.”

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.

A “giving up 200 words for Lent” post

A woman told Jesus she wasn’t married. He agreed and described her marriage history: five husbands, living with a sixth man.

She was impressed with his abilities to describe her life. She started a theology conversation.

Eventually she said, “When the Messiah comes, he’ll explain what to do about worshiping God.” Jesus said, “you are talking to him.”

She ran to get her friends.

Jesus didn’t tell her to change behavior. He wanted her to know who he was. Then, maybe, she wouldn’t keep looking for his love in others’ arms.

He’s still working that way.

His people often don’t.

Jesus asks for a drink

An unnamed woman can’t believe he’s asking.

Jesus says, “If you knew more about me, you’d be asking me for a drink. Of living water.”

She says, in order,

1. You have nothing to draw water with.
2. The well is deep.
3. Where is living water?
4. Are you better than Jacob, our ancestor, who actually watered generations of sheep from this well?

Jesus is making an unorthodox claim and she is trying to figure out what it means. Her responses to Jesus were practical, historical, and appropriate.

Jesus follows up by differentiating between regular water and living water.  With living water you won’t get thirsty. In fact, you will end up with a spring inside that will make you live forever.

That’s what it sounds like. Peculiar.

Unless, of course, you are sitting next to a well in the middle of the morning talking to someone who is coming to the well at a time different than everyone else, perhaps because she is looking for something that will satisfy a deeper thirst.

This unnamed woman, after all, remains involved in the conversation with Jesus. She is tracking through it. It is making sense to her.

How can we tell?

Because she wants some of that water, that soul-satisfying, thirst-quenching, free-flowing water. She asks for it.

It’s easy to forget, steeped in church as we are, lost in structures and steeples and sanctuaries and ceremonies, that Jesus wasn’t selling or recruiting or promoting. He wasn’t convincing or conniving or cajoling.

He was offering what people wanted, deep down, but never hoped that they would actually find.

And he did it without scolding.

How do we know? Because of where this story goes next.

But while we wait for that turn, just a thought:

What are you thirsty for?

Jesus was heading to Galilee, to home.

He was heading away from Jerusalem, away from controversy with religious people. In the process, he walked right into the middle of religious controversy.

He had to go through Samaria.

Samaritans were regarded by Jews as half-breeds, as spiritual wanna-bes. Jews were regarded by Samaritans as uppity, as arrogant, as holier-than-thou.

I tried to think of a way to imagine that trip. Here’s as close as I can get. It would be like a Catholic priest walking into Protestant bar in Northern Ireland during the Troubles and asking for a drink. Religion, politics, prejudice.

Jesus, of course, knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t looking for trouble. He wasn’t wanting to start a fight.

He was wanting to start a conversation. He went to Samaria and stopped by a well and sent his disciples into town for food because he knew a woman was coming to get water and he wanted to talk with her.

Ah, but that’s a problem, too. A Jewish man talking with a Samaritan woman. And a rabbi at that.

What would people think? What would people say? What would it do to his reputation if anyone found out?

Jesus didn’t care much about what people thought. He cared about people. And he cared about this particular woman that no one else cared much about. And he made the conversation simple by sitting at a well that would provide a common point of conversation.

This was Jacob’s well. The same Jacob that was called Israel. The same Jacob that the Samaritans and Jews went back to.

Jesus met her exactly where she was living. He didn’t make her come to where he was living. And he asked her for help.

I’m pretty sure he still works that way.

—

Sorry to miss yesterday. I need to have a migraine post that shows up automatically when I can’t show up. But I’m all better now.

John had a niche. He was “the rough looking baptizing” guy. Everyone knew who he was. He had lots of business. (Apparently, many people had to repent.)

Suddenly, there was competition. Jesus and his disciples started baptizing nearby.

John’s disciples came to him and started to complain. “Rabbi,” they said. “That guy you were talking with. He’s getting all the attention.”

“That’s the point.”

John takes many more words, but that’s what he really says.

It still happens. Jesus does something and takes the attention from us.

Our hearts say, “He’s getting all the attention.”

That’s the point. It’s his.