Which Role?

On that particular day there was a big crowd on the move. The self-appointed leaders told everyone along the way what to do, how to do it, when to do it. In the middle of the crowd was the Man of the Hour and they were very intent on keeping him moving. They had no time for delays or distractions. So, when a beggar on the side of the road asked what was happening, the leaders were frustrated and upset when others told him Jesus was in the crowd.

Naturally, the blind beggar became very excited, called out for attention, called out for mercy.

Naturally, the leaders told him to shut-up and go away.

Naturally the Man of the Hour stopped the entire enterprise and asked him a simple question,

"What do you want me to do for you?"

The blind beggar stated his desire, it was granted, he was told his faith made him well, and he joined the big, rejoicing crowd moving towards Jerusalem.

Scripture always invites us to take a role. Would we be in the crowd relying on others to tell us what to think and how to act? Would we be the self-appointed leader deciding who's in and who's out? Maybe we would be the desperate person in need of healing. Possibly, too, we might try to imitate the Man of the Hour helping, healing, saving.

The crowd played follow the leader. The wanna-be leaders tried and failed to contain Jesus, the true leader. The blind beggar defied commands to cease and desist as he pled for mercy. It was very clear what he needed, but the Jesus respected him enough to ask,

 "What do you want me to do for you?"

We play every role in this story from Luke. We hide in the crowd protecting the best kept secret ever. We try to direct how, when, and where God works. We cry out for salvation. We offer help, healing, and safety.

The crowd kept moving towards Jerusalem. They didn't understand the journey, Jesus, or the destination itself. They didn't understand why Jesus stopped or the question he asked. The man with new vision certainly didn't understand any of this, either. He only knew he'd been respected and healed.

What crowd are we moving within? Who's in charge? Where are we headed? Is Jesus free to move and act?

*************************
 (Luke 18:35-43, The Message)

Distance

Lepers. Unclean. No contact. No acceptance.

In a group they came that day, standing at the required distance, calling out for mercy.

He told them, across the distance of rules and customs and space, to go to a place they'd never been.

Yes, go to that place where you've never been welcomed, never been touched, never been allowed to enter, he said. Just go.

He never came near or touched them. All they asked for was mercy and he sent them elsewhere.

Obedient: Did as they were told. Followed his command to go to the place that shunned them, the unclean; to show their ravaged and deformed bodies to religious authorities who wanted nothing to do with them, let alone come near or acknowledge them.

Risking everything to follow his command that defied all reason -
They became clean on the way.

Mercy restored them to community, to health, to life.

-----------------------

Homeless. Unclean. Frightening. Dirty. Sleeping in the rain on the cement. Hiding in the alcove.

In a group they came that day, passing by quickly, not wanting to take notice, keeping distance.

Three feet through the wall from his dirty, wet alcove to their table in the posh restaurant with the overly stuffed buffet of prime rib, turkey and salmon.

Three feet, a very short distance  ---
One in despair no longer seeking mercy -
One struggling to comprehend.

Then, he spoke again: Yes, go to that place that scares you and you don't understand. Risk everything. Don't judge, he said. Just go.

In obediance, paying for the extra meal, tying up the bag, walking out the door -  the healing came.

"Happy Thanksgiving. The food is hot."

Mercy given. Mercy received.

The Way becomes clear when we listen to the Truth and mercy brings others (and ourselves) back to Life, back to the Table.

The lepers of Jesus' day still call out for mercy through the world's refugees and homeless.

The Table is big enough.
The distance is irrelevent.
He continues to say it:  Just go.

The Watch

As I've done my whole life, I put on my watch every morning.  It doesn't track my health, ping with texts, display email, tell me the date and day, or connect to my phone. It doesn't have a battery, digital display, or a delicate band. The second-hand quietly sweeps clockwise every minute past 3, 6, 9, 12, as the big and little hands reliably declare the minute and hour. None of this happens, though, without a daily winding of the gold knob on the side. It's worked for decades without any repairs.

Long before it came to my wrist, it was on his wrist. I remember seeing it there every single day when he went to work, when he came home, when he read the San Francisco Chronicle at the table, when he drove the car, and when he worked in the yard.

It was a fixture. He was a fixture.

It never crossed my mind that his watch would one day be on my wrist.
It never crossed my mind that one day he would be gone.

I always thought there would be time to ask about his childhood in the orphanage, to ask about his time in the military, to ask about his time at USC, to ask about everything. Time. I always thought there would be more time for questions.

I'd found it in her desk when I cleaned out the condo. The enormous Danish roll top desk was gorgeous. I muttered to myself that it was a crazy expense she didn't have to make, but she did anyway. Amongst the many papers, pens, paper clips, and pencils it was waiting to be found in an old plastic bag. At first I was indignant. Why did she leave it in here like this? It seemed so cold, so uncaring to leave it with the rubber bands and staples. It went into the "Take home with me" pile, but the same thing happened at my house. I really didn't know what to do with it so for a few years it just sat in my dresser drawer. I didn't think it was right for me to use it. I needed to protect it, protect him, keep his memory in the drawer.

One day a couple of years ago, for absolutely no particular reason, I decided to wear it. I took off my cute little watch and put on the much bigger, round, brown, old relic. When I wound it up, it still kept time. At first it felt strange to have it on my wrist, but quickly it became a grounding fixture for me. Just as he had been. Just as he continues to be.

Since he last wore his watch my life has changed in profound ways. Even as the second-hand has quietly swept past 3, 6, 9, 12 over and over, time has stood still --- like it did on this day seventeen years ago. The day my Dad died.

I always thought there would be more time. I still think he should be here. His watch tells me every single minute that he was here and continues with me, regardless of space and time. I'm still on the clock with regrets for time wasted when he was alive and with a long list of new questions for him. But, they will have to wait. Wait for another kind of time, for eternal time when, to be honest, the questions will no longer matter at all.

Can we do this?

"Love each other.......Heal the sick.......Raise the dead.......Cleanse lepers.......Cast out demons.

That is what loving each other means.

If the Church is doing things like that, then it is being what Jesus told it to be.

If it is not doing things like that - 

no matter how many other good and useful things it may be doing instead - 

Then it is not being what Jesus told it to be.

It is as simple as that."

                                                                                   Frederick Buechner, The Clown in the Belfry

Today, like every single day across the globe, was very hard. Here are only two events: Twelve more people died in another mass shooting and children continued to die of starvation in Yemen.

Not enough loving, healing, raising, cleansing or casting out of the demons that plague us.

I wasn't in Thousand Oaks or Yemen today, but that doesn't get me off the hook. Did I manage to do anything as Jesus commanded?

I tried.

He knows that I tried.

Only His grace can bless and multiply my small efforts, our small efforts to be the Church.

And in these small efforts --

We push back against the tides of hatred, illness, death, separation, and fear that work so hard to convince us there is no other way.

But, there is.

There is always another way of hope and love.

And we, the Church, are commanded to live it so others may live in the first place.

Can I do this?  Can we do this?  Can you do this?

The Communion of Saints

I love this Japanese Maple in my backyard. When we planted it in the summer of 2013 it was very small. Now it covers the garden wall, stands at least 20 feet high and 10 feet wide, and extends above the fence. Below it is our special Shalom brick providing holy protection to a few of Rod's earthly ashes. As with each Fall, the tree's delicate leaves are turning deep red and purple, but the tips of the branches are birthing new growth. New, delicate, beautiful leaves are a surprising contrast to the ones that know it's time to change, it's time to go.

In church this morning I got to do something I just love -- serve communion. "The cup of the new covenant poured out for you," I repeated to each person as they dipped the bread in the cup.  It's such a holy and humbling privilege. I felt part of the wide body of Christ which is always old and new. My own body is getting a bit old, but sharing the cup with others felt like new life, new green leaves popping out all over the place on a beautiful November day.

There are some bumpy days ahead this month. There will be the seventeenth anniversary of my Dad's sudden death. There will be the first Thanksgiving without my Mom. There will be my thirty-eighth wedding anniversary and the fourth one without Rod. A few days ago was All Saints' Day and Pastor David talked about the saints in our lives.  I know who they are and their love is always present to me.

As the sad days of this month come like they do every year, I pray to remember the Communion of Saints, the cup of the new covenant, and the new life in my backyard in the midst of shorter days, longer nights, and the temptation to think I'm all alone, because I am not.

Paper Prayers

Dear LORD,

Place this prayer, this page
              Snuggly in the pocket of my heart -

That as I write,
              I may live.

And in my living
              May my writing be true and  honest.

Grant me the strength
              To carry your mission where You want it to go.

I need You in my prayer,

                      in my writing,

                                in my living -

Away from this page.

Amen