Wonder Web

 

Most of my family’s outdoor walking or hiking in Kenya is limited to well known paths and pre-selected locations in the highly visible savannah. After all, with animals that can eat you running around looking for lunch, adventuring off the beaten track is not very wise. Arriving at my parents’s house in the Midwest I saw the opportunity to help my boys see a different kind of trekking and a different kind of nature.

Finding a wooded trail along the bluffs of the Mississippi River we set out for a short adventure. It wasn’t long before all three boys kept insisting that I walk first. After making sure they knew that a deer would not jump out and eat them, I led the way. It wasn’t long before I realized why.

I kept running into a slightly sticky strand of spider web. If you’ve been through a forest trail you can appreciate the situation. You’re out there enjoying the scenery and seeing life as created by God and all of a sudden, Bam! A line of web is pressing against your face. If it had been the whole web of course it would have been noticed before walking into it, but since it is merely a strand of silky entrapment, it blended into the environment perfectly without detection. It’s not enough to destroy the day, but as you step back to peel the lone clinging line from your face, it can lead to two main questions. The first being, why could I not see this before I ran into it. The second, and perhaps more pressing question, just where is the spider now?

Now, having scraped the webs from my beard, I am alone in reflection as I more cautiously move forward through webs of deceit embedded into an environment of Truth.

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” —Jesus (John 14: 6)

Such a Time

Here we are. Enclosed by an invisible force wrecking havoc upon the mind and challenging the heart. An enemy floating within and without our walls. Replacing our vibrant lives with colorless fear all while stripping away our individual and collective dignity. We find ourselves fenced in, “for such a time as this.”

It’s an interesting call to action, “for such a time as this”*, but what is this phrase really calling us to do? Originally it was stated in a scolding manner to a young woman. She was being challenged by her uncle to take into consideration all that lay beyond herself. Her location and position in society were called into question by having her reflect on what it truly is that she is called to do. Esther’s uncle was reminding her that she was chosen to set aside her self interests and step up to face uncertainty and a looming enemy head on. She didn’t create her circumstances. She didn’t desire to be involved. She didn’t even think she could make a difference. But Esther realized she was part of a much larger story line and knew that as a follower of the one true God, she had been created and given the voice for such a time as this.

The oppressive beast of today may look different from what Esther faced, but it stems from the same brokenness of humanity. And so we are still left to ask ourselves, “What have we been called for?” It’s a good question, but it’s also a hard question. It’s easy to be a follower of something when all is well, but what about when life is full of uncertainties and revulsion? What about when monstrous systemic viruses rear their ugly head?

As a follower of the one true God, there is little option of what we must do. We may not be the final voice that slays the beast, but we are all called to speak out in truth as we do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.** And we are called to this action, for such a time as this.

 

* Esther 4:14

**Micah 6:8

 

Returning Home

With evening rapidly approaching, my young son ran up to me holding a book my mother use to read me. It’s a book full of short little poems and although it is not a new book by any means, the lessons it taught hold truer than I could ever have imagined. Joshua opened it up for me, saying, “Here. Start on this page.” The first little poem titled Near and Far* began softly with the words,

Little children far away,

“Cross the ocean wide,

“Though they do not look like us

Are the same inside.”

Initially I wondered if my five year old is understanding current events. Simultaneously my mind thought back to lessons learned at home. Lessons about right and wrong and humanity. With the Golden Rule** as a constant guide, it’s no wonder poems like Near and Far and TV shows like Mr. Rogers Neighborhood helped me grasp the greater command of Love your neighbor as yourself.*** A command of action.

Living out these lessons and sharing them with others does not require grand gestures and dramatic statements, but it does require action in love to step up and step out. After all, treating our neighbor as we want to be treated, in love and dignity, is necessary to restore our road home toward the reconciliation that God had in mind before the world began.

 

Won’t You Be My Neighbor? Reconciliation and Foot-Washing in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood

* Near and Far by Kate Cox Goddard

**Matthew 7:12

*** Mark 12:30-31—-Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.”

Hope in You

You came in to a world that chose to ignore you and despise

A world choosing self, believing lies, and refusing to give you even a tithe

Yet you looked right through us and saw our brokenness, and we saw compassion in your eyes.

You left it all and came when we did not deserve

We fought over worldly status, but you abandoned your throne and came to serve

I don’t deserve your service, but somehow still I have the nerve to live a life of self-service

You claimed to be the I AM and then,

You walked on water, went to hell and came back again

I was alone in the desert of night, wasting away, thirst cutting my soul like a knife

You came to me, my light, my living water, bringing me out of death to life.

I aimed to follow you; yet my intentions were thin, full of meaningless attempts to cover up my sin

I heard you calling out to me, telling me of hope from above

And I again turned from you, hiding among the rocks of despair, but still hungry, desperate, and craving for your love.

You came to me, like a dove from heaven, saying you were the door and the only way in.

You took my shame, took my pain, took my sinful name-replaced it with your name, and said I am enough.

You Resuscitated me. Rejuvenated me. I’m Rescued and Resurrected. You brought me back to life. You are the only way, the only truth, and the true meaning to life.

Our Best Christmas Performance Ever

Growing up I often heard the story of the ruff and tumble Herdman children who came to church enticed by snacks and ended up volunteering to be in the Christmas play. As time went on the six Herdman’s took over the production, caused anxiety among the adults, and put their rustic twist on the play. Yet in the end, the town deemed it the best Christmas pageant ever.*

Stripped away from their performance was the polished perfection of rehearsed lines and overly practiced movement across the stage. Stripped away were all the pretenses that can so often lead us astray. The Herdman’s brought authentic worship for a baby king. In a similar fashion, I witnessed something yesterday that brought a raw emotion to me from the tips of the hairs that stood up on my neck to the watery vision of my eyes. The Village children of our compound were at it again.

In the past two weeks my sons and all their friends have been working together to create gingerbread houses, singing carols, playing games, and in general having a good Kenyan Christmas holiday in our compound. Yet yesterday was different.

 

They rode in on their makeshift donkey carrying the unborn king.

And when they arrived they found no room in the inn so had to settle for a lowly manger. After wrapping the baby in swaddling cloth, and in true awe, they couldn’t take their eyes off of him.

Even a rough and tumble shepherd with his trusty sheep was brought in from the margins of society to witness the greatest gift of all.

As the narrator belted out the story line from the Jesus Storybook Bible, and the angel made her appearance to all involved, the watching audience sat amazed at the transformation unfolding.

Like the Herdman children in the 1971 book*, it was unexpected and it was real to those looking on. I imagine the events of the first Christmas must have been very similar. From the shocked parents and neighbors of Mary to the overwhelmed and fearful shepherds. Or the unscripted haste with which people took off to search for this king above all other kings. When the truth is right in front of you, you can’t help but be overwhelmed at what “has happened, with which the Lord has made known to us.”**

The Village children performed from the heart “glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told to them.”*** And it truly was our best Christmas performance ever.

* The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson

** Luke 2:15

*** Luke 2:20

Do you see what I see?

It really is that time of year again. A time when gift giving comes to the forefront of our consciousness and traditions take prominence. Conversations turn towards family and songs about peace begin anew. Yet amidst it all there often hangs the dismal cloud of dismay. Disbelief shrouds pessimism, covering our path forward in doubt and despair.

“And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
    “For hate is strong,
    And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”*

And so we trudge along with less spring in our step following our man made star of cynicism. Blurred vision and self-sightedness guide the way, but then we come to a bridge. It seems old and rugged. At times it may even appear too fantastical to be real. Yet regardless of our perspective, it is still there. The very bridge we need when there is no other way to cross the bottomless chasm we see in front of ourselves? The bridge is anchored in a foundation deeper than Earth’s core. It’s anchor is love.

Do you see what I see? A bridge, a bridge, shining in the night. It can lead us straight to the Light.

The Bridge

From Uncreated Light to straw…

From perfect triune harmony to cloth…

Omnipotent to frail…

Eternal to Infancy…

Joy, unspeakable joy. An overflowing well, No tongue can tell.

Joy, unspeakable joy. Rises in my soul, Never lets me go.**

…From straw to wood

…From cloth to nails

…Frail to power

…Infancy to eternity

Christmas is the bridge to the cross. And the cross is our bridge to God.

 

It truly is a time when we remember that all can be made right. A time when our wrongs can be restored by crossing the bridge.

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
    The Wrong shall fail,
    The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”*

* Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

** Joy to the World (Unspeakable Joy) by Chris Tomlin

 

Yes Indeed

Many years ago it seems, but not so far away, my wife and I found ourselves in a Christmas play as the parents of three middle aged children. It seemed plausible at the time since we weren’t far from having children of our own. We were living in the Land of the Rising Sun and all around us the notion of Christmas was present, yet the presence of Christmas was absent.

Our stage children were keeping us busy with life and somehow time passed and we never really explained to them what Christmas was all about. So as the play unfolded there was the piercing question of “Dad? Mom? What is the real reason for Christmas?” I don’t recall what my scripted answer was, however, I vividly recall thinking how odd to have three middle school children who had never heard the true meaning of Christmas. But as the play suggested, sometimes we become busy being busy. Decorating cookies and filling stockings gives us immediate joy and suddenly time passes and we’ve glossed over and forgotten to share what the presence of what Christmas is all about.

****

Fast forward many years to a lunch conversation. Cue the music:

As the background music floated through the room reminding us all that “it’s the most wonderful time of the year“, a little voice pierced the tranquil thoughts and memories floating through my head.

“Papa?”

“Hmmm”

“Papa?”

“Yes.”

“Papa. What is the real most wonderful time of the year?”

“I don’t know, what do you think?”

“I think it’s when Jesus resurrected from the dead. What do you think Papa?”

“Yes, indeed. Well said son.”

****

Maybe we did learn our lesson from that play so long ago but not so far away. Keeping the main thing, the main thing can be more of a challenge than we think sometimes. However, to live in the presence of the Risen Son is indeed the most wonderful time of the year. And that is truly worth sharing.

Reentry

Sometimes the night was beautiful. Sometimes the sky was so far away. 

Sometimes it seemed to stoop so close. You could touch it but your heart would break.*

The carefree days of summer are rapidly smoldering into extinction. It was a time of exploring with friends. And a time of grasping onto rays of sunlight for as long as parents allowed. A time when negotiations were made, and play was extended. And a time when negotiations broke down. A time when the nightly scream was “must play,” however, the fatigued body always overcame giving in to summer exhaustion, allowing for rest to arrive. It was summer.

Sometimes the morning came too soon. Sometimes the day could be so hot.

The was so much work left to do. But so much You’d already done.*

 

The summer’s battle cry of freedom still rings out, yet much momentum is dissipating into the winds of educational conformity. Batteries are charged. Now it’s time for reentry.

And step by step you’ll lead me

And I will follow You all of my days*

* Sometimes by Step by Rich Mullins

Through the Rain

The year was long with many roads tempting the lines to be blurred. Clarity floated in and out replacing the fog with the sharp contrast of Truth.

So much to consider and talk about. So much to discover and learn. So much to weigh and ponder against an immovable standard.

Tea and lessons are always best shared.

Ruffled feathers aside, we made it through the rain. The dimness has turned clear.

Save Us

“I am a rock. I am an island. And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.”*

My home culture encourages the, go it alone mentality claiming strength from self. We sing praises to the stoic one who stands alone. The lone underdog who with his own strength and power, overcomes everything to find triumph and victory from his own doing. While not self created, he is self saved. Coupled with this belief is the cultural notion that it is the male that has traditionally been promoted as the one to stand tall in the face of adversity, overcoming all to provide for friend and family. Songs sung of individual greatness. Folktales feeding the fables of the one man show. The Western movies I consumed, or the Rambo characters I portrayed myself as may have left me with a view of myself that may not be entirely true.

It’s never been a simple thing for me to ask for help. I would so much like to point to my home culture for this, however, if anything is to blame for this trait I suppose it would be my pride. So when 3 out of 5 of my family developed pneumonia it was not something to easily power through and fix myself. As strong as my pride is, it was not capable of saving us. Self survival was no longer an option. And that’s when Community stepped in.

Community nourishes in sickness.

Community accepts and carries each other burdens.

Community enriches.

Community builds up in spirit.

Community sustains.

Community loves unconditionally.

It is our pride that screams out, “I am enough.” But honestly, deep down, we know we are not self-sustaining. In pride we claim, “I am my own god!” Yet, throughout humanity it has never been proven that we can be our own god and find life. We simply can not save ourselves. We need Community.

A community that is bound together three in one. A community that takes us as we are and gives us hope. A hope that is not fleeting or drifting on the whims and fads of life, but a hope that is based upon a solid foundation of unconditional love. A community that hangs our transgressions on a cross, yet bookends the deal with an empty tomb. In this community, and this community alone, we find that we not only have life but life in abundance. Through this community alone, we can be saved.

 

 

• I Am a Rock by Simon and Garfunkle