Tag Archives: hope

A litany for the last Monday in July

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Leader: Our God, it’s Monday.

All: Hear our prayer, O Lord.

A: I’m empty, O God, as empty as the heart of the widow walking next to the coffin of her only son. Do remember her, Jesus? No options? No hope? You healed her son. Please raise my heart.

All: Hear his prayer, O Lord.

B: I’m full, O God, thrilled with the adventure of a new week, a new morning. Yesterday was wonderful, the community, the worship. Let me remember the awareness of your presence all week long.

All: Hear her prayer, O Lord. And bring them together.

C: We are certain, O God, of the direction you are taking our family. We know that it will be hard, that love that gives up stuff and family is confusing to many, confusing to us. But we know that you are here and we know that you will be there. And we are grateful.

All: Hear their prayer, O Lord.

D: I’m so confused, O Lord, and then I hear that family and I am even more confused. How can they be certain of hearing you? How can I be certain of you hearing me? How can they pick up and leave and say that it’s you? I’d take just a whisper. Just an echo. Just a word.

All: Hear his prayer, O Lord.

C: And answer, please.

E: I am grieving. I admit it, O God. I know that you are with me. I know that. But he isn’t, not anymore. Not til forever. And I am trusting, that I am. But I am alone.

All: Hear her prayer, O Lord.

Leader: We are here, God, as different as apples and transmissions. Our fullness and emptiness grate on each other. So grant us your peace. No other will do.

do you want to get well?

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(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.

it is going to get worse

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Jesus told the disciples that he was going to come back to life. They were filled with grief.

Isn’t it peculiar how looking at a portion of a text can create a false impression?

What the text in Matthew 17 actually says is,

“When they came together in Galilee, he said to them, “The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men. They will kill him, and on the third day he will be raised to life.” And the disciples were filled with grief.”

The disciples heard the best possible news and they missed it because they were so focused on the worst possible news.

I think I understand. The worst news made sense. It fit their experience. People were killed all the time. They knew that Jesus was being watched.  They knew that Jesus had taken them out of the area because of the investigations. They knew that John (who baptized people) had been killed by Herod. They knew that Jesus made people mad.

The best news, on the other hand, made no sense. They had seen a few people brought back to life, but only BY Jesus. Without Jesus to do it, how could it be possible?

So they grieved.

I wonder how often today’s followers grieve the same way.  We heard of trouble. We hear what might happen to us. We hear about suffering that could happen. And we fear the loss to us.

What we don’t see is the smiles on the faces of people who have been scarred for being followers. People who know all about being betrayed, and beaten. People who also know that Jesus was, in fact, raised from the dead.

This weekend, listen for the whole message. Not just the fear we understand, but the hope we don’t.

what God did not call you to.

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Lots of people are wondering what God is calling them to do. And that is a good question. But on the way to the answer, we fill in many answers. So let me suggest some of the things that God did not call you to.

You are not called to be me.
You are not called to be your mother.
You are not called to be your pastor.
You are not called to be happy all the time.
You are not called to be rich.
You are not called to be as organized as the neighbor on the right.
You are not called to be as disorganized as the neighbor on the left.
You are not called to as ___ as your uncle dave.
You are not called to be your sister.
You are not called to be the guy in all the ads.
You are not called to be the perfect family.
You are not called to smile every moment.
You are not called to have every answer.
You are not called to say ‘yes’ to every request.
You are not called to work 24/7.
You are not called to read the Bible through every year.
You are not called to measure up.
You are not called to do it all.
You are not called to remember every detail.
You are not called to run their lives.
You are not called to do everything right the first time.
You are not called to be at the church every time the doors open.
(okay, maybe the custodian is, but other than that.)
You are not called to stop everything.
You are not called to save the world.
That was covered.
That’s why we’re called to follow Him.
A step at a time.
And that feeling of relief?
You are called to that.

quietly on purpose

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“How come Jesus told people not to talk about how he healed them?”

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.