Archive for April, 2006

Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for a while and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same.

– Source unknown

I’ve always perceived John as a fellow who viewed life simply. “Right is right and wrong is wrong, and things aren’t nearly as complicated as we make them out to be.”

For example, defining Jesus would be a challenge to the best of writers, but John handles the task with casual analogy. The Messiah, in a word, was “the Word”. A walking message. A love letter. Be he a fiery verb or a tender adjective, he was, quite simply, a word. And life? Well, life is divided into two sections, light and darkness. If you are in one, you are not in the other and vice versa.

Next question?

“The devil is the father of lies and the Messiah is the father of truth. God is love and you are in his corner if you love too. In fact, most problems are solved by loving one another.”

And sometimes, when the theology gets a bit thick, John pauses just long enough to offer a word of explanation. Because of this patient storytelling, we have the classic commentary, “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son.”

But I like John most for the way he loved Jesus. His relationship with Jesus was, again, rather simple. To John, Jesus was a good friend with a good heart and a good idea. A once-upon-a-time storyteller with a somewhere-over-the-rainbow promise.

One gets the impression that to John, Jesus was above all a loyal companion. Messiah? Yes. Son of God? Indeed. Miracle worker? That, too. But more than anything Jesus was a pal. Someone you could go camping with or bowling with or count the stars with.

Simple. To John, Jesus wasn’t a treatise on social activism, or was he a license for blowing up abortion clinics or living in a desert. Jesus was a friend.

Now what do you do with a Friend? Well that’s rather simple too. You stick by him.

Maybe that is why John is the only one of the twelve who was at the cross. He came to say good-bye. By his own admission he hadn’t quite put the pieces together yet. But that didn’t really matter. As far as he was concerned, his closest friend was in trouble and he came to help.

“Can you take care of my mother?”

Of course. That’s what friends are for.

John teaches us that the strongest relationship with Christ may not necessarily be a complicated one. He teaches us that the greatest webs of loyalty are spun, not with airtight theologies or foolproof philosophies, but with friendships: stubborn, selfless, joyful friendships.

After witnessing this stubborn love, we are left with a burning desire to have one like it. We are left feeling that if we could have been in anyone’s sandals that day, we would have been in young John’s, and would have been the one to offer a smile of loyalty to this dear Lord.

- Max Lucado

“Dr. Papaderos, what is the meaning of life?” The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go. Papaderos held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his eyes if I was serious and seeing from my eyes that I was.

“I will answer your question.”

Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into a leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter.

And what he said went like this:

“When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place.

“I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece - this one. By scratching it on a stone, I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine - in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find. I kept the little mirror, and, as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child’s game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of light. But light - truth, understanding, knowledge - is there, and it will shine in many dark places of this world - into the black places in the hearts of men - and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life.”

- Robert Fulghum

For that’s what faith is. Faith is trusting what the eye can’t see.

Eyes see the prowling lion. Faith sees Daniel’s angel.
Eyes see the giants. Faith sees Canaan.
Your eyes see your faults. Your faith sees your Saviour.
Your eyes see your guilt. Your faith sees his blood.
Your eyes see your grave. Your faith sees a city whose builder and maker is God.
Your eyes look in the mirror and see a sinner, a failure, a promise breaker. But by faith you look in the mirror and see a robed prodigal bearing the ring of grace on your finger and the kiss of the Father on your face.

If we think the arms are weak, we won’t jump. For that reason, the Father flexed his muscles. “God’s power is very great for those who believe,” Paul taught. “That power is the same as the strength God used to raise Christ from the dead.” (Eph.1:19-20).

Next time you wonder if God can catch you, read that verse. The very arms that defeated death are the arms awaiting you.

Next time you wonder if God can forgive you, read that verse. The very hands that were nailed to the cross are open for you. And the next time you wonder if you will survive the jump, think of Sara and me. If a flesh-and-bone-headed dad like me can catch his child, don’t you think your eternal Father can catch you?

I stand six steps from the bed’s edge. My arms extended. Hands open. On the bed Sara - all four years of her - crouches, posed like a playful kitten. She’s going to jump. But she’s not ready. I’m too close. “Back more, Daddy.” She stands and dares. I dramatically comply, confessing admiration for her courage. After two giant steps I stop.
“More?” I ask.
“Yes!” Sara squeals, hopping on the bed. With each step she laughs and claps and motions for more. When I’m on the other side of the canyon, when I’m beyond the reach of mortal man, when I am but a tiny figure on the horizon, she stops me. “There stop, there.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure?’ she shouts. I extend my arms. Once again she crouches, and then springs. Superman without a cape. Skydiver without a chute. Only her heart flies higher than her body. In that airborne instant her only hope is her father. If he proves weak, she’ll fall. If he proves cruel she’ll crash. If he proves forgetful, she’ll tumble to the hard floor.

But such fear she does not know, for her father she does. She trusts him. Four years under the same roof have convinced her he is reliable. He is not superhuman, but he is strong. He is not holy, but he is good. He’s not brilliant, but he doesn’t have to be reminded to catch his child when she jumps.

And so she flies.
And so she soars.
And so he catches her and the two rejoice at the wedding of her trust and his faithfulness.

Pray all the time. If necessary use words.

Sacrilege is to feel guilt for sins forgiven.

God forgets the past. Imitate him.

Greed I’ve often regretted. Generosity – never.

In buying a gift for your wife, practicality can be more expensive than extravagance.

Don’t ask God to do what you want. Ask God to do what is right.

Nails didn’t hold God to a cross. Love did.

You’ll give up on yourself before God will.

Sometimes the most godly thing we can do is take a day off.

Faith in the future begets power in the present.

To see sin without grace is despair. To see grace without sin is arrogance. To see them in tandem is conversion.

- Max Lucado, When God Whispers your name

The rising of the sun had made everything look so different – all colours and shadows were changed – that for a moment they didn’t see the important thing. Then they did. The stone table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end; and there was no Aslan. “Oh, oh, oh!” cried the two girls, rushing back to the table.
“Oh, it’s too bad,” sobbed Lucy; “they might have left the body alone.”
“Who’s done it?” cried Susan. “What does it mean? is it more magic?”
“Yes!” said a great voice behind their backs. “It is more magic.” They looked round. There, shining in the sunrise larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.
“But what does it all mean?” asked Susan when they were somewhat calmer.
“It means,” said Aslan, “that though the Witch knew the deep magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there is a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards.”

- C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

She smiled at a sorrowful stranger.
The smile seemed to make him feel better.
He remembered past kindnesses of a friend
And wrote him a thank-you letter.

The friend was so pleased with the thank-you
That he left a large tip after lunch.
The waitress, surprised by the size of the tip,
Bet the whole thing on a hunch.

The next day she picked up her winnings,
And gave part to a man on the street.
The man on the street was grateful
For two days he’d nothing to eat.

After he finished his dinner,
He left for his dingy room.
(He didn’t know at that moment
That he might be facing his doom.)

On the way he picked up a shivering puppy
And took him home to get warm.
The puppy was very grateful
To be in out of the storm.

That night the house caught on fire
The puppy barked the alarm.
He barked ‘til he woke the whole household
And saved everybody from harm.

One of the boys that he rescued
Grew up to be President.
All because of a simple smile
That hadn’t cost a cent.

- Barbara Hauck, age 13

One Tuesday evening in the beginning of the fall 1996 semester at Shippensburg University, sirens sounded. These sirens were not in celebration, they were a cry to the university that something was wrong: a house, only one block away, was on fire. Nine of the university’s students lived there.

From the minute the word got out that help was needed, it seemed like everyone showed up. The victims of the fire were offered endless invitations for housing for the night. The very next day, everyone got into gear to do their part in helping them. Flyers were posted with the items that were needed immediately, just to get these students through the next couple of days. Boxes for donations and money jars were placed in every residence hall. As a residence director, I went before the students in my hall to ask them to do all they could. I knew that college students don’t have much, but I asked them too do their best: “Every little bit will help.” I really didn’t think think they could do much. I was proved wrong.

At the hall council meeting the night after the fire, my residents decided to have a wing competition, where each wing of the building would team up to see who could bring in the most donations. I announced that the wing that won would receive a free pizza party. Thursday evening we announced over the PA system that we were beginning the wing competition. Within minutes, the place exploded. The single large box that I had placed in the lobby was overflowing. We quickly grabbed more boxes, and watched in amazement as they, too, filled to the brim. Members of the resident assistant staff and I began to count the items. I was astonished by what I saw, and I was inspired by these kids. When we came to the final tally, the winners turned to me and announced that they would like to donate their winnings as well. They wanted the victims of the fire to have their pizza party. Tears welled up in my eyes. I had watched these students jump to action, work tirelessly and donate all that they could. And then, as if that weren’t enough, they handed over their reward. I was touched and so very proud of them.

- Christa F. Sandelier

Once a week, every week without fail, the envelopes arrived. Each college student from a small church received an anonymous envelope. Inside were a handwritten prayer and a brand-new, crisp ten-dollar bill. When Abigail was moved to a nursing home, friends made a great discovery. They found a shoebox that contained a list of college students from her church, as well as envelopes, some leftover stamps and a few brand-new, crisp ten-dollar bills. Word got out among the members of the congregation. Soon after, each college student sent one carefully wrapped red rose every week, with a handwritten prayer attached. Abigail unwrapped each of the packages every week. She told the staff she was proud of her “prayer charges” as if they were her own children, had she been blessed by them. She never thought of herself as childless. She and dozens of former college students knew differently. After many years of giving anonymously, Abigail was rewarded with love and appreciation, one rose at a time.

- Mary J. Davis