Sometimes, anyway.

We looked at some people searching for Jesus yesterday. He had spent the night healing people, whatever illness they brought to him. When day came, he left for a secluded place. He needed some rest. And then the people came looking for him, wanting him to stay and keep healing them.

This means that when he stopped and went to find a place away, there were people who hadn’t been healed yet. There were people who still had problems. There were people who didn’t have their lives together. And Jesus walked away.

We think that as God, he could have kept going. But he was also fully man, which meant that he needed to sleep, to rest, to be away. Which means that it is okay to be human. It is acceptable after a heavy day of work to go away, to head home, to leave work undone.

When you are working hard doing what God calls you to do, you have permission, by example, to not do everything, to not heal everyone, to go away.

And that is something to anticipate.

(From Luke 4:40-44)

***

Here’s part of my reading list for this year: 2011 Books

Not, I suppose, a blind follower of a random mindless herd. (Unless that’s what all followers of Christ are). I like to believe that I have the capacity to think with some originality. I like to believe that I have some passion to do things that matter. In fact, I even have a passion statement.

But every time I hear conversations about not being sheep, about being original, about being independent and trailblazing and leaving cubicles, I struggle a bit.

Because I ache. Because no matter how hard I try I still find myself walking through the valley of the shadow of death. Because no matter how hard I try, I am in the presence of the enemy of my soul. Because I need, oh, I so desperately need still water. Because my soul needs restoration.

And you do too. Right? I mean there are moments when you cannot help but be a sheep. Not the conformist image we fight, but the somewhat fragile being that everyone  - everyone – wants a piece of.

I guess I’m not talking about jobs, about careers, about status and success. I’m talking about what’s behind all that, the gaping hole in your chest behind the facade of the press release. The dull ache the next morning when the sun comes up and everything you thought would work didn’t.

That’s when it’s worth understanding what it means to be a sheep. And what it means to have a shepherd who is willing to lead and feed and heal and restore. And in the middle of the valley, be present. And in the front of the enemies, serve a feast.

It is David’s favorite lyric:  ”The Lord is my shepherd.”

The most vibrant church Heather and I were part of did just that. They wiped all their ministries off the plate. Small groups, worship teams, drama, Sunday school programs. Everything. And they let God rebuild the church slowly.

They lost a lot of members. But the result was a fresh new thing. They (and we) found that the new church was open to what God wanted to do through them, rather than being stuck with, “We’ve always done it that way.” Silos of power were broken down. Those married to old systems left. New people joined who were more open to God’s movement.

In Leviticus 25, God announced a plan for the Israelites called the “Year of Jubilee.” After every 49 years, all property would revert to its original owners. Slaves were also set free. The chapter includes ways that the system would work.

We easily become slaves to the systems we set up. We often end up going through the motions rather than doing things for the purposes we (or others) originally intended.

So I’d urge you (and me) to examine what things we can cut out this summer – allowing God to have a fresh start with us. Be radical. It will hurt. But after the wounds heal, we may find more health than we’ve experienced in a long while.

Unlike Leviticus 25, I am not going to give you a road map for how to do this. You’ll have to work that out with God and others involved. I would suggest starting with prayer. Ask God how He wants you to start over. Be still. Listen to Him.

Have you done this already at some point in your life? Please tell your story in the comments.

(Paul Merrill writes here every First Friday)

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.

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.

“Shut up” is pretty much what a crowd of people was saying to two men who couldn’t see.

The men were by a road. They were likely begging, asking the people walking by for money. This day, they heard a crowd coming. They asked what was happening. They found out that Jesus was at the head of the crowd.

The men called out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!”

For guys who are begging crying out would have been pretty common. This was pretty focused crying out however. It would have been passionate. It would have pierced through the conversations going on around Jesus.

He was, after all, the only hope they had.

And the people in the crowd surrounding Jesus told the men to shut up.

I don’t know why. It may have been because they (the crowd) were afraid this hollering would spoil the reputation of the town (the chamber of commerce theory). It may have been because they wanted to hear Jesus themselves (the selfish theory).

What I do know is that it still happens. Crowds of seemingly religious people, looking like they are following Jesus, are telling people who need his help to shut up.

“You wouldn’t fit in our church.” “That’s my seat.” “I need quiet and space to hear from Jesus and so we need to keep the (pick one) crying babies, wheezing old people, wheelchairs, organists, drummers, imperfect people, perfect people, left, right, those people quiet.”

In this case, the two men kept shouting. Jesus healed them. They joined the crowd. Following Jesus.

I’m glad.

And I’m convicted.

He condemns some men who could.

The former had a demon, an evil spirit, an agent of satan.

The latter accused Jesus of working for satan.

The former caused people to begin to ask serious, thoughtful questions about the identity of Jesus, about his role in the lineage of David.

The latter caused people to wonder.

(By the way, this contrast of the man who couldn’t speak and the men who shouldn’t is in Matthew 12. The short version? A man had a demon that kept him from seeing and speaking. Jesus healed him. The people were impressed. The Pharisees said that the devil made him do it.)

Jesus takes issue with the reaction of the group of men who reacted to the healing. They were religious leaders. They talked among themselves. They made a sarcastic, dismissive comment. But Jesus overheard their thoughts and did what any self-respecting rabbi would do in response to unsound reasoning.

He destroyed it.

He identified the logical inconsistencies in their claim. He made it impossible for them to cling to their statement without condemning their colleagues who had done the same thing Jesus had. He summarized demon-removal theory. He said that actions prove the nature of the actor, words prove the nature of the speaker. He made a very large deal out of their comment.

And then he summarizes his teaching this way:

“But I tell you that men will have to give account on the day of judgment for every careless word they have spoken.”

Oh my. Every careless word? Every smart comment? Each of every three hundred words?

Oh. Then there is this difficulty. When Jesus starts teaching, he starts because he knew their thoughts.

Every careless.

We are called to be careful.

That’s a great question. It’s a question that someone asked me recently. It’s a question that I’ve wondered about and have made up answers to and have never really looked at.

Until just now.

It wasn’t because I was actually doing the research to answer the question. That would be too wise, too intentional. (It is a good principle, however. When someone asks a question about what something in the Bible means, consider actually looking in the Bible).

No, I was just moving through Matthew, the way I have been doing here, and I read “warning them not to tell who he was. This was to fulfill…” (Matthew 12:15-21).

As I read the “fulfill” part, which is a quotation from the prophecy of Isaiah, it was describing the ministry of someone who would work quietly, work gently with hurting people, who would not drive down the street with an loud amplifier.

Now, here’s the interesting thing: at the same time he’s proclaiming justice, no one will hear his voice in the streets.

It’s an interesting thought. Maybe he will be showing justice. Maybe he will be living justice. Maybe he will, with the touch of his hand and a quiet voice, bring hope and healing.

Maybe those of use following him can follow that model, living justly, whispering hope, offering healing with gentle words that will not destroy those already bruised and burned. Maybe, in fact, following is working around the edges looking for the bruised, the burned, the breaking. Maybe following is seeking out. Maybe following is being in the streets gathering pieces of broken hurt and mending them until justice is gently led to victory.

Maybe following means, or at least includes, living quietly on purpose.

“How is it with your soul?” is a question seeking an answer, trying to help someone else reflect.

“What is the question you don’t want me to ask?” is a question about trust, about helping someone discern what is going on in their heart.

“Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?” is a research kind of question. It could lead to a wonderful reflection on what sabbath really means, about what is restful, about the line between restorative activity and work.

Jesus goes that direction, using very clear comparative legal reasoning. “You’ll take care of a sheep. A man is worth more than a sheep. Therefore taking care of a man is acceptable.”

It is clear and accurate…and wasted.

They didn’t care at all about the answer. They cared about trapping Jesus, about finding a reason to kill him.

They asked the question knowing that the better his answer, the more wrong he would be. And he knew that the better his answer was, the more in trouble he would be.

And he didn’t back down. They asked. He answered truthfully and skillfully and then he healed the man. Because for Jesus, this was not an abstract conversation about theology. This was about a man with a hand that needed to be fixed.

——–

Join me in the mirror for a moment for some more questions:

1. When you know someone has argumentative questions, do you answer or avoid?

2. Is your answer adequate or technically brilliant?

3. Are you more about winning the argument or healing the person that is being used as bait?

4. For the sake of a person, will you risk everything?

Jesus wasn’t looking for a reason. He had one.

We don’t know how far the followed him. We don’t know where they started following him. We know that they were with him after he left the house of the formerly dead daughter. Whether they had been with him before that is not mentioned.

They were, however, following him. They were blind. They were asking him to have mercy on them.

Here’s a wonderful picture of the early stages of following Jesus for many people. Before he has done anything for them, they are aware that something is happening with other people and they are aware they need help.

I had thought about saying, “they see that something is happening” but, of course, these two blind men couldn’t see.

Jesus goes into a house. The two guys follow him.

They are serious about getting help. They are willing to enter someone else’s house. They are willing to be rude. They want to see.

And that’s where I often fall short. I am following, I am keeping up with Jesus, but then I have to take a next step to talk to him about what I need. I need to feel exposed. I need to not defer to everyone else. I need to go boldly into where he is sitting.

Suddenly, what had been shouting becomes a conversation.

“Do you believe I can do this?” Jesus asks.

“Yes, Lord,” they reply.

Simple, clear, respectful. Jesus asks and they answer the question he asks.

And so, he touches them, refers to their faith, and they can see.

I wonder if I miss healing, of eyes, perhaps, but certainly of heart, because I don’t go into the house and listen. And then say yes.