There’s a Hebrew word for love that shows up on several occasions in the book of Ruth. It’s hesed. As one anonymous writer put it, “Hesed is the consistent, ever-faithful, relentless, constantly-pursuing, lavish, extravagant, unrestrained, furious love of our Father God!” I really like that definition but I think there are a couple of words missing: sacrificial, costly. Hesed sacrifices something to love someone. Hesed can be expensive, draining, risky or even emptying. Someone usually pays a price for giving hesed.
Over the years, we’ve had several friends adopt children. Some our friends adopt because they simply can’t have children biologically. God has placed a passion on their hearts to have a family and adoption seems the best course to do this. They love these little gifts God has given them with all whole hearts. Other friends have children biologically, but are still compelled to adopt. In no way do I want to minimize the sacrifice of those who have built their family through adoption, but there’s something intriguing to me about those who have already established families, and decide to open their home to more kids.
This past Sunday, I bumped into my friend Tim at church. Tim and his wife, Susan, have two biological children who are now teenagers. A couple years ago, they adopted three more kids—siblings they had taken in through foster care. It’s been intriguing for me to see this new family dynamic grow. I asked Tim how his week had gone, as I had heard that one of their adopted kids had been sick but I didn’t know the details. Tim told me Josalyn had spent eight days in the hospital with a respiratory infection. He said she was home and much better but it had been a tough week of going back and forth from the hospital, worrying about her condition while juggling all the responsibilities of everyone else. Now, just for fun, let me play the “what if” game for minute. What if I would have said to him, “Dude, you should have just dropped her off at the hospital and picked her up when she was better. You have enough responsibility with your real kids. Let the hospital take of her. Why do you have to run back and forth and worry about somebody else’s kid?” I’m betting that this would have been my last conversation with Tim; and he would have responded with some passionate words for me: “Phil, she is our real daughter! When we adopted her, we chose to love her as a full and equal member of our family. She’s our responsibility, no matter the circumstances. We love her!” Tim could have just, “We hesed her!” He would be declaring his consistent, ever-faithful, relentless, constantly-pursuing, lavish, extravagant, unrestrained, furious love that, at the time, was sacrificial and costly and started with a choice to love.
In the final part of the story of Ruth, Boaz shows a similar version of hesed as he negotiates with a family member to buy a plot of land from a widow. From a distance, this seems like a typical business transaction that could add to his estate’s value. But with the land comes the widow’s daughter-in-law, who is also a widow and is a woman born in Moab. Moab’s history with the Israelites was not good, so a man who willingly takes on a wife from Moab would be taking on social baggage. But, there’s more at risk. Boaz, in marrying Ruth the Moabite, is agreeing to father a child with her, to allow the child to take on the name of Ruth’s former husband, Elimalech, and to pass on a piece of his estate to this son so that Elimalech’s name and linage would be preserved. Not much in this deal for ol’ Boaz. There’s more risk for Boaz than potential value. Why would he do such a thing? The answer—hesed. Boaz loves. He loves Ruth, the widow foreigner from Moab. He loves Naomi, his family member who has fallen on hard times. He loves Elimalech, the dead man whose name and legacy could disappear. There’s possibly nothing much to gain for Boaz but that’s the nature of hesed. Hesed sacrifices for others.
As we approach Easter, Jesus’ action on the cross is the truest example of hesed. At the cross, he would declare his consistent, ever-faithful, relentless, constantly-pursuing, lavish, extravagant, unrestrained, furious love that was incredibly sacrificial and costly that started with a choice to love. As you approach the Holy Week, meditate on these verses:
For God loved the world so much that he gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. John 3.16 NLT
You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had. Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being. When he appeared in human form, he humbled himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross. Philippians 2.5-8
Friday, March 30, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Baseball, Breakfast, and the Homeless
Seven a.m. is a tough time for most high school students to be anywhere on a Saturday morning. But one by one, fourteen varsity baseball players I coach at NorthPointe Christian High School wandered into a downtown church at this early hour. They came to serve at a community breakfast for the downtown homeless and needy. I’m betting these boys had mixed motives in coming, but knowing these kids, I think for many of them their hearts were moved to help someone less fortunate.
First Park Congregational Church provides a breakfast for the homeless community once a month and they were grateful to have the boys that day. On this particular Saturday, many of their regular volunteers were out of town. It really seemed that without our team being there that day, a small number of people would have had to pull off the breakfast. Pat is a faithful volunteer, whose monthly task is to greet each “guest” as they come in for breakfast. She seemed especially grateful for the boys’ help. She said, “I can’t believe these boys would get up so early to come help us. This is awesome!” When I told her I wasn’t sure the boys were “all there,” (referring to the early morning cobwebs in their eyes) she quickly retorted, “Awww… they’ll fit right in with our guests.”
For the first hour we worked to prepare the breakfast. Some worked the grill, making pancakes and eggs. Others set up tables, filled syrup bottles, made coffee, and delivered bananas to each table. A few trained in the back to use the industrial dishwasher. And at 8 a.m., we were ready. Pat opened the doors and for the next hour and a half the boys filled plates, bussed tables, and ran food requests for 175 people—many of whom carried all their earthly belongings on their backs. Some of the folks were friendly and thankful, some were shy and quiet, while others just seemed like they were from another planet. The boys took it all in stride and treated each person kindly and respectfully.
After it was all over and everything was cleaned up, we gathered the boys together to thank them and to get their thoughts or observations from the morning. I asked my friend Charlie to talk with the boys for a few minutes about the history and mission of this breakfast. Charlie attends the church and was the one who invited us to serve that morning. Charlie and his wife, Tamara, have been organizing this breakfast once a month for the last twelve years. He said the church had been serving the homeless community in the downtown area for at least 30 years. As Charlie talked with the boys, I wondered what motivates people like Charlie, Tamara, and their host of faithful servants to do this. It was obvious they weren’t doing it for applause, as no one really gives them much of that. It was clear they weren’t doing this to get a good feeling about themselves, as that would have faded in the first few months of their twelve years of service. Instead, they did this simply for the love of people. It was their mission to look after the needs of others who had physical, emotional, financial, and mental needs.
What I love about environments like this is that they create a culture of people looking out for other people. Park Church was looking out for the homeless and needy in their community. The boys from NorthPointe baseball were looking out for Park Church on a day when their volunteer ranks were down. Charlie and Tamara were looking out for the fourteen young men modeling a lifestyle of sacrifice and servanthood for their fellow human beings in need. Honestly, everyone serving that day could have said, “Someone else can take care of this need. This is not my responsibility. I have other things to do.” But, each went beyond their own responsibility.
As we look at Ruth 3 this week, we see the characters of this biblical story looking out for each other. Each could have said, “Sorry, that’s not my responsibility. I have other needs to meet.” Naomi looked out for Ruth. If Boaz marries Ruth, Naomi will be left alone. But, Naomi wanted Ruth to be cared for and secure. Ruth looked out for Naomi. She sought for Boaz to intervene for Naomi’s dead husband and sons – not just for herself. Boaz looked out for Elimalech, Naomi’s dead husband. His marriage to Ruth could have compromised his wealth as he agreed to father a child that will not be “his.” Their child would be an heir of Elimalech to preserve his family name and line.
Going beyond our responsibilities to look after others comes from the deep heart of God. Spend some time meditating on these Scriptures this week and then give yourself to the needs of others.
Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also the interests of others.
Philippians 2.4
For even the son of man did not come to be served, but to serve and to give up his life.
Mark 10.45
First Park Congregational Church provides a breakfast for the homeless community once a month and they were grateful to have the boys that day. On this particular Saturday, many of their regular volunteers were out of town. It really seemed that without our team being there that day, a small number of people would have had to pull off the breakfast. Pat is a faithful volunteer, whose monthly task is to greet each “guest” as they come in for breakfast. She seemed especially grateful for the boys’ help. She said, “I can’t believe these boys would get up so early to come help us. This is awesome!” When I told her I wasn’t sure the boys were “all there,” (referring to the early morning cobwebs in their eyes) she quickly retorted, “Awww… they’ll fit right in with our guests.”
For the first hour we worked to prepare the breakfast. Some worked the grill, making pancakes and eggs. Others set up tables, filled syrup bottles, made coffee, and delivered bananas to each table. A few trained in the back to use the industrial dishwasher. And at 8 a.m., we were ready. Pat opened the doors and for the next hour and a half the boys filled plates, bussed tables, and ran food requests for 175 people—many of whom carried all their earthly belongings on their backs. Some of the folks were friendly and thankful, some were shy and quiet, while others just seemed like they were from another planet. The boys took it all in stride and treated each person kindly and respectfully.
After it was all over and everything was cleaned up, we gathered the boys together to thank them and to get their thoughts or observations from the morning. I asked my friend Charlie to talk with the boys for a few minutes about the history and mission of this breakfast. Charlie attends the church and was the one who invited us to serve that morning. Charlie and his wife, Tamara, have been organizing this breakfast once a month for the last twelve years. He said the church had been serving the homeless community in the downtown area for at least 30 years. As Charlie talked with the boys, I wondered what motivates people like Charlie, Tamara, and their host of faithful servants to do this. It was obvious they weren’t doing it for applause, as no one really gives them much of that. It was clear they weren’t doing this to get a good feeling about themselves, as that would have faded in the first few months of their twelve years of service. Instead, they did this simply for the love of people. It was their mission to look after the needs of others who had physical, emotional, financial, and mental needs.
What I love about environments like this is that they create a culture of people looking out for other people. Park Church was looking out for the homeless and needy in their community. The boys from NorthPointe baseball were looking out for Park Church on a day when their volunteer ranks were down. Charlie and Tamara were looking out for the fourteen young men modeling a lifestyle of sacrifice and servanthood for their fellow human beings in need. Honestly, everyone serving that day could have said, “Someone else can take care of this need. This is not my responsibility. I have other things to do.” But, each went beyond their own responsibility.
As we look at Ruth 3 this week, we see the characters of this biblical story looking out for each other. Each could have said, “Sorry, that’s not my responsibility. I have other needs to meet.” Naomi looked out for Ruth. If Boaz marries Ruth, Naomi will be left alone. But, Naomi wanted Ruth to be cared for and secure. Ruth looked out for Naomi. She sought for Boaz to intervene for Naomi’s dead husband and sons – not just for herself. Boaz looked out for Elimalech, Naomi’s dead husband. His marriage to Ruth could have compromised his wealth as he agreed to father a child that will not be “his.” Their child would be an heir of Elimalech to preserve his family name and line.
Going beyond our responsibilities to look after others comes from the deep heart of God. Spend some time meditating on these Scriptures this week and then give yourself to the needs of others.
Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also the interests of others.
Philippians 2.4
For even the son of man did not come to be served, but to serve and to give up his life.
Mark 10.45
Friday, March 16, 2012
When Grief and Grace Collide
They say there are five stages to grief: shock, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I’ve known this to be true in my experience as a pastor, as I’ve seen people close to me go through significant loss. Though people travel through these stages in different ways with varied intensities, each of the stages seems to have an important role in helping people move through the pain and toward healing. It doesn’t matter if someone has lost their wallet, their job, or their child, grief is a process that requires time and attention.
Probably the most profound loss I’ve ever witnessed was four years ago. I received a call from a friend who told me his 20-year-old nephew, Andrew, was in a serious snowmobile accident and had been air-lifted to a Traverse City hospital. My wife and I knew this family well and I could feel the deep concern for the seriousness of this situation on the other end of the phone. At the time, we were in the UP enjoying a weekend with our daughter who was attending college in Marquette. Phone calls kept us updated on Andrew’s condition throughout the weekend, each growing in seriousness and concern. Andrew had sustained a severe head injury. Brain function was not being detected. Requests for prayers asking for a miracle came with intensity and frequency.
Instead of going home on Monday, we decided to divert to TC to spend time with the family at the hospital. What we thought would be a one or two hour visit to pray and encourage turned to three days of being with this family at the hospital. The processes of grief could be clearly seen and witnessed in the hallways of the hospital. Andrew’s prognosis was grim and the family had the grueling decision to make concerning life support. They chose to give Andrew’s situation time to see if any positive changes would occur. Each day, a new wave visitors (family members, college friends, friends of his parents) arrived to show their support to the family. With each new wave of visitors came a new outpouring of grief. As a pastor, I found myself in some pretty profound conversations that were remarkably similar in theme. Shock and anger overcame people as they stepped into the reality they found in that hospital room.
As the friends and family processed the sights and emotions in the room, I could see their anger begin to grow. Some wanted to talk about their anger. Others just wanted to process quietly with an arm on their shoulder. For some, I think their anger surprised them and they felt guilty for feeling this way in this setting. When someone would talk about their anger, I would ask, “What or who are angry at?” The answer almost always came back, “I’m angry at God. Why did he allow this to happen?” Of course, I didn’t have an answer to that hard question, nor did I try to give some sort of spiritual platitude of an explanation. In my own grief, I was asking the same question with my own set of angry emotions. But deeper questions were asked in regard to anger in the situation. Some wanted to know if God was okay with them being angry with him. I assured them that God had strong shoulders and could take a punch or two. He could take it but, over time, he wanted their anger to turn to trust.
In the middle of these waves of grief, the family was making some very difficult decisions. Andrew’s parents, Ray and Ronda, made the incredible decision to talk with the Gift of Life organization to see about donating Andrew’s organs upon his death. I was asked to sit with them as they discussed the process with the representative from Gift of Life. It was evident to me that while this discussion was grueling and enormously painful, it was helping them accept the reality of their situation. And, it was giving them hope. Not hope that Andrew would be healed, but hope that someone would find life or health because of Andrew’s death. And, hope that they would someday be healed of the pain they were enduring. Over those few hours, I watched Ray and Ronda lead their friends and family in turning the corner of despair, denial, shock, and anger to accepting the reality before them and receiving a taste of the goodness God was offering in this horrible situation. I learned through Ray and Ronda that acceptance in grief doesn’t make them okay or normal again. Instead, it lets them be honest about the situation. It moved them to be faith-filled in their pain. It brought a glimmer of hope of God’s goodness to come. It brought a measure of rest in God’s ability to sustain them in their next moments. It’s an amazing thing to see what happens when grace collides with grief.
As we turn the pages of the book of Ruth this week, we find hope, refreshment, love, and grace. But remember, Ruth and Naomi are still deeply grieving the horrible loss of husbands and sons. But grace collides with grief in a barley field. Read Ruth 2 through the eyes of a grieving widow trying to scrape enough together to survive. Find the hope. Find the grace in the grief of this story.
Probably the most profound loss I’ve ever witnessed was four years ago. I received a call from a friend who told me his 20-year-old nephew, Andrew, was in a serious snowmobile accident and had been air-lifted to a Traverse City hospital. My wife and I knew this family well and I could feel the deep concern for the seriousness of this situation on the other end of the phone. At the time, we were in the UP enjoying a weekend with our daughter who was attending college in Marquette. Phone calls kept us updated on Andrew’s condition throughout the weekend, each growing in seriousness and concern. Andrew had sustained a severe head injury. Brain function was not being detected. Requests for prayers asking for a miracle came with intensity and frequency.
Instead of going home on Monday, we decided to divert to TC to spend time with the family at the hospital. What we thought would be a one or two hour visit to pray and encourage turned to three days of being with this family at the hospital. The processes of grief could be clearly seen and witnessed in the hallways of the hospital. Andrew’s prognosis was grim and the family had the grueling decision to make concerning life support. They chose to give Andrew’s situation time to see if any positive changes would occur. Each day, a new wave visitors (family members, college friends, friends of his parents) arrived to show their support to the family. With each new wave of visitors came a new outpouring of grief. As a pastor, I found myself in some pretty profound conversations that were remarkably similar in theme. Shock and anger overcame people as they stepped into the reality they found in that hospital room.
As the friends and family processed the sights and emotions in the room, I could see their anger begin to grow. Some wanted to talk about their anger. Others just wanted to process quietly with an arm on their shoulder. For some, I think their anger surprised them and they felt guilty for feeling this way in this setting. When someone would talk about their anger, I would ask, “What or who are angry at?” The answer almost always came back, “I’m angry at God. Why did he allow this to happen?” Of course, I didn’t have an answer to that hard question, nor did I try to give some sort of spiritual platitude of an explanation. In my own grief, I was asking the same question with my own set of angry emotions. But deeper questions were asked in regard to anger in the situation. Some wanted to know if God was okay with them being angry with him. I assured them that God had strong shoulders and could take a punch or two. He could take it but, over time, he wanted their anger to turn to trust.
In the middle of these waves of grief, the family was making some very difficult decisions. Andrew’s parents, Ray and Ronda, made the incredible decision to talk with the Gift of Life organization to see about donating Andrew’s organs upon his death. I was asked to sit with them as they discussed the process with the representative from Gift of Life. It was evident to me that while this discussion was grueling and enormously painful, it was helping them accept the reality of their situation. And, it was giving them hope. Not hope that Andrew would be healed, but hope that someone would find life or health because of Andrew’s death. And, hope that they would someday be healed of the pain they were enduring. Over those few hours, I watched Ray and Ronda lead their friends and family in turning the corner of despair, denial, shock, and anger to accepting the reality before them and receiving a taste of the goodness God was offering in this horrible situation. I learned through Ray and Ronda that acceptance in grief doesn’t make them okay or normal again. Instead, it lets them be honest about the situation. It moved them to be faith-filled in their pain. It brought a glimmer of hope of God’s goodness to come. It brought a measure of rest in God’s ability to sustain them in their next moments. It’s an amazing thing to see what happens when grace collides with grief.
As we turn the pages of the book of Ruth this week, we find hope, refreshment, love, and grace. But remember, Ruth and Naomi are still deeply grieving the horrible loss of husbands and sons. But grace collides with grief in a barley field. Read Ruth 2 through the eyes of a grieving widow trying to scrape enough together to survive. Find the hope. Find the grace in the grief of this story.
When Grief and Grace Collide
They say there are five stages to grief: shock, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I’ve known this to be true in my experience as a pastor, as I’ve seen people close to me go through significant loss. Though people travel through these stages in different ways with varied intensities, each of the stages seems to have an important role in helping people move through the pain and toward healing. It doesn’t matter if someone has lost their wallet, their job, or their child, grief is a process that requires time and attention.
Probably the most profound loss I’ve ever witnessed was four years ago. I received a call from a friend who told me his 20-year-old nephew, Andrew, was in a serious snowmobile accident and had been air-lifted to a Traverse City hospital. My wife and I knew this family well and I could feel the deep concern for the seriousness of this situation on the other end of the phone. At the time, we were in the UP enjoying a weekend with our daughter who was attending college in Marquette. Phone calls kept us updated on Andrew’s condition throughout the weekend, each growing in seriousness and concern. Andrew had sustained a severe head injury. Brain function was not being detected. Requests for prayers asking for a miracle came with intensity and frequency.
Instead of going home on Monday, we decided to divert to TC to spend time with the family at the hospital. What we thought would be a one or two hour visit to pray and encourage turned to three days of being with this family at the hospital. The processes of grief could be clearly seen and witnessed in the hallways of the hospital. Andrew’s prognosis was grim and the family had the grueling decision to make concerning life support. They chose to give Andrew’s situation time to see if any positive changes would occur. Each day, a new wave visitors (family members, college friends, friends of his parents) arrived to show their support to the family. With each new wave of visitors came a new outpouring of grief. As a pastor, I found myself in some pretty profound conversations that were remarkably similar in theme. Shock and anger overcame people as they stepped into the reality they found in that hospital room.
As the friends and family processed the sights and emotions in the room, I could see their anger begin to grow. Some wanted to talk about their anger. Others just wanted to process quietly with an arm on their shoulder. For some, I think their anger surprised them and they felt guilty for feeling this way in this setting. When someone would talk about their anger, I would ask, “What or who are angry at?” The answer almost always came back, “I’m angry at God. Why did he allow this to happen?” Of course, I didn’t have an answer to that hard question, nor did I try to give some sort of spiritual platitude of an explanation. In my own grief, I was asking the same question with my own set of angry emotions. But deeper questions were asked in regard to anger in the situation. Some wanted to know if God was okay with them being angry with him. I assured them that God had strong shoulders and could take a punch or two. He could take it but, over time, he wanted their anger to turn to trust.
In the middle of these waves of grief, the family was making some very difficult decisions. Andrew’s parents, Ray and Ronda, made the incredible decision to talk with the Gift of Life organization to see about donating Andrew’s organs upon his death. I was asked to sit with them as they discussed the process with the representative from Gift of Life. It was evident to me that while this discussion was grueling and enormously painful, it was helping them accept the reality of their situation. And, it was giving them hope. Not hope that Andrew would be healed, but hope that someone would find life or health because of Andrew’s death. And, hope that they would someday be healed of the pain they were enduring. Over those few hours, I watched Ray and Ronda lead their friends and family in turning the corner of despair, denial, shock, and anger to accepting the reality before them and receiving a taste of the goodness God was offering in this horrible situation. I learned through Ray and Ronda that acceptance in grief doesn’t make them okay or normal again. Instead, it lets them be honest about the situation. It moved them to be faith-filled in their pain. It brought a glimmer of hope of God’s goodness to come. It brought a measure rest in God’s ability to sustain them in their next moments. It’s an amazing thing to see what happens when grace collides with grief.
As we turn the pages of the book of Ruth this week, we find hope, refreshment, love, and grace. But remember, Ruth and Naomi are still deeply grieving the horrible loss of husbands and sons. But grace collides with grief in a barley field. Read Ruth 2 through the eyes of a grieving widow trying to scrape enough together to survive. Find the hope. Find the grace in the grief of this story.
Probably the most profound loss I’ve ever witnessed was four years ago. I received a call from a friend who told me his 20-year-old nephew, Andrew, was in a serious snowmobile accident and had been air-lifted to a Traverse City hospital. My wife and I knew this family well and I could feel the deep concern for the seriousness of this situation on the other end of the phone. At the time, we were in the UP enjoying a weekend with our daughter who was attending college in Marquette. Phone calls kept us updated on Andrew’s condition throughout the weekend, each growing in seriousness and concern. Andrew had sustained a severe head injury. Brain function was not being detected. Requests for prayers asking for a miracle came with intensity and frequency.
Instead of going home on Monday, we decided to divert to TC to spend time with the family at the hospital. What we thought would be a one or two hour visit to pray and encourage turned to three days of being with this family at the hospital. The processes of grief could be clearly seen and witnessed in the hallways of the hospital. Andrew’s prognosis was grim and the family had the grueling decision to make concerning life support. They chose to give Andrew’s situation time to see if any positive changes would occur. Each day, a new wave visitors (family members, college friends, friends of his parents) arrived to show their support to the family. With each new wave of visitors came a new outpouring of grief. As a pastor, I found myself in some pretty profound conversations that were remarkably similar in theme. Shock and anger overcame people as they stepped into the reality they found in that hospital room.
As the friends and family processed the sights and emotions in the room, I could see their anger begin to grow. Some wanted to talk about their anger. Others just wanted to process quietly with an arm on their shoulder. For some, I think their anger surprised them and they felt guilty for feeling this way in this setting. When someone would talk about their anger, I would ask, “What or who are angry at?” The answer almost always came back, “I’m angry at God. Why did he allow this to happen?” Of course, I didn’t have an answer to that hard question, nor did I try to give some sort of spiritual platitude of an explanation. In my own grief, I was asking the same question with my own set of angry emotions. But deeper questions were asked in regard to anger in the situation. Some wanted to know if God was okay with them being angry with him. I assured them that God had strong shoulders and could take a punch or two. He could take it but, over time, he wanted their anger to turn to trust.
In the middle of these waves of grief, the family was making some very difficult decisions. Andrew’s parents, Ray and Ronda, made the incredible decision to talk with the Gift of Life organization to see about donating Andrew’s organs upon his death. I was asked to sit with them as they discussed the process with the representative from Gift of Life. It was evident to me that while this discussion was grueling and enormously painful, it was helping them accept the reality of their situation. And, it was giving them hope. Not hope that Andrew would be healed, but hope that someone would find life or health because of Andrew’s death. And, hope that they would someday be healed of the pain they were enduring. Over those few hours, I watched Ray and Ronda lead their friends and family in turning the corner of despair, denial, shock, and anger to accepting the reality before them and receiving a taste of the goodness God was offering in this horrible situation. I learned through Ray and Ronda that acceptance in grief doesn’t make them okay or normal again. Instead, it lets them be honest about the situation. It moved them to be faith-filled in their pain. It brought a glimmer of hope of God’s goodness to come. It brought a measure rest in God’s ability to sustain them in their next moments. It’s an amazing thing to see what happens when grace collides with grief.
As we turn the pages of the book of Ruth this week, we find hope, refreshment, love, and grace. But remember, Ruth and Naomi are still deeply grieving the horrible loss of husbands and sons. But grace collides with grief in a barley field. Read Ruth 2 through the eyes of a grieving widow trying to scrape enough together to survive. Find the hope. Find the grace in the grief of this story.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
The Story a Good Picture Tells
As a guy who dabbles in photography, I’ve learned to believe the phrase, “Every good photograph tells a story.” It’s true. A good photo should cause the viewer to stop, to wonder, to ponder what’s fully happening with the subject. Unlike video, good still shots capture a moment in time in a single frame, to be examined time and time again. So whenever I fire the shutter on my camera, I hope I’m capturing a story to be experienced later.
When I shoot sports, my first goal is to capture peak action—the baseball coming off the batter’s bat, the basketball leaving the shooter’s hand with the defender in his face, the soccer player’s foot fully cocked and her eyes fixed on the ball in front of her. But I love finding those candid moments that communicate the tone and emotion that’s happening in the game—a frustrated coach, a celebrating bench, a demonstrative fan, a colorful student section in the crowd. These shots tell the viewer, “There’s a story within these images. You need to know more.”
Over the past decade, I’ve had the privilege of using my camera when traveling on Ada Bible Church mission trips. It’s been a huge perk of my job that I’m very, very grateful to experience. On each of these trips, I’ve carried a camera to capture the sights and experiences. I’ve been able to experience some different flavors of world poverty, as well as God’s unique work and blessing in Ukraine, Haiti and China. Recently, I spent an evening pouring through the hundreds of shots I’ve taken and I found a theme that deeply resonated with me. It wasn’t the pictures of the places we went to like the Great Wall of China, the tent cities in Port-a-Prince, or the city square in Kiev. It wasn’t the posed pictures of the team members I traveled with or the shots of the work project we were involved in. It was the candid pictures of people’s faces that I took on the streets. I pulled these pictures into a separate gallery and began to examine the powerful expressions of fatigue, contemplation, joy, and anguish. They retold the story. They allowed me to feel again the emotion I had experienced in that moment of time.
Because I’m a photographer, when I read Scripture I long to see snapshots of great moments in Bible history. I would have loved to have been a press photographer when Moses parted the Red Sea, when Jericho fell to trumpet blasts, or when Elijah called down fire from heaven to burn a water-soaked altar. To have been there with my camera to catch the action at its peak, would have been awesome. But I would also have loved to capture the deeply emotional expressions of people in the stories of Scripture. Oh, to have a photo of David as he cries out to God in a time of hiding from Saul, or a picture of John as he cares for Mary at the foot of the cross. To have an image of Peter as he preaches after the Holy Spirit invades him on the day of Pentecost.
This week, Ada Bible Church begins a new series called “When God Seems Far.” It’s the story from the book of Ruth. Like a good photography, this is one of those stories where the pain in the story needs to be captured and examined for the rest of the story to be fully understood and experienced. The characters in this story, Ruth and Naomi, are enduring incredible devastation. There’s a famine in the land, the men in their lives have died, and they are left to fend for themselves in a culture that could be very cruel to women and to the poor. As you read Ruth 1 this week, allow yourself to see the emotion in Naomi’s devastated face. Can you see the weathered expression of an older woman who has lost all hope in life and in God? Just listen to Naomi as she thinks about the devastation in and around her.
“Don’t call me Naomi,” she responded. “Instead, call me Mara, for the Almighty has made life very bitter for me. I went away full, but the LORD has brought me home empty. Why call me Naomi when the LORD has caused me to suffer and the Almighty has sent such tragedy upon me?”
The Scriptures can feel raw at times. Only when we capture this raw emotion can we eventually appreciate grace and compassion of the rescue to come. Before you flip the pages of the book of Ruth to find resolution and rescue for this poor woman, allow your heart to imagine her pain-filled face.
When I shoot sports, my first goal is to capture peak action—the baseball coming off the batter’s bat, the basketball leaving the shooter’s hand with the defender in his face, the soccer player’s foot fully cocked and her eyes fixed on the ball in front of her. But I love finding those candid moments that communicate the tone and emotion that’s happening in the game—a frustrated coach, a celebrating bench, a demonstrative fan, a colorful student section in the crowd. These shots tell the viewer, “There’s a story within these images. You need to know more.”
Over the past decade, I’ve had the privilege of using my camera when traveling on Ada Bible Church mission trips. It’s been a huge perk of my job that I’m very, very grateful to experience. On each of these trips, I’ve carried a camera to capture the sights and experiences. I’ve been able to experience some different flavors of world poverty, as well as God’s unique work and blessing in Ukraine, Haiti and China. Recently, I spent an evening pouring through the hundreds of shots I’ve taken and I found a theme that deeply resonated with me. It wasn’t the pictures of the places we went to like the Great Wall of China, the tent cities in Port-a-Prince, or the city square in Kiev. It wasn’t the posed pictures of the team members I traveled with or the shots of the work project we were involved in. It was the candid pictures of people’s faces that I took on the streets. I pulled these pictures into a separate gallery and began to examine the powerful expressions of fatigue, contemplation, joy, and anguish. They retold the story. They allowed me to feel again the emotion I had experienced in that moment of time.
Because I’m a photographer, when I read Scripture I long to see snapshots of great moments in Bible history. I would have loved to have been a press photographer when Moses parted the Red Sea, when Jericho fell to trumpet blasts, or when Elijah called down fire from heaven to burn a water-soaked altar. To have been there with my camera to catch the action at its peak, would have been awesome. But I would also have loved to capture the deeply emotional expressions of people in the stories of Scripture. Oh, to have a photo of David as he cries out to God in a time of hiding from Saul, or a picture of John as he cares for Mary at the foot of the cross. To have an image of Peter as he preaches after the Holy Spirit invades him on the day of Pentecost.
This week, Ada Bible Church begins a new series called “When God Seems Far.” It’s the story from the book of Ruth. Like a good photography, this is one of those stories where the pain in the story needs to be captured and examined for the rest of the story to be fully understood and experienced. The characters in this story, Ruth and Naomi, are enduring incredible devastation. There’s a famine in the land, the men in their lives have died, and they are left to fend for themselves in a culture that could be very cruel to women and to the poor. As you read Ruth 1 this week, allow yourself to see the emotion in Naomi’s devastated face. Can you see the weathered expression of an older woman who has lost all hope in life and in God? Just listen to Naomi as she thinks about the devastation in and around her.
“Don’t call me Naomi,” she responded. “Instead, call me Mara, for the Almighty has made life very bitter for me. I went away full, but the LORD has brought me home empty. Why call me Naomi when the LORD has caused me to suffer and the Almighty has sent such tragedy upon me?”
The Scriptures can feel raw at times. Only when we capture this raw emotion can we eventually appreciate grace and compassion of the rescue to come. Before you flip the pages of the book of Ruth to find resolution and rescue for this poor woman, allow your heart to imagine her pain-filled face.
Friday, March 2, 2012
The Problem with Grace
My apologies if this week’s post seems more like a book review than a story. I recently finished a book called All is Grace, by Brennan Manning that really got me thinking. Before reading this book, I honestly didn’t know much about the author. Recently, two people who play significant roles in my spiritual journey recommended that I read this book. That was enough for me to give Manning a try. But, this book is much different from his other writings. All is Grace is his memoirs—his life story.
As in most books, the dust jacket of the book came with a short bio of Manning in which it lists his accomplishments. It told of his days as a Franciscan priest living with the poor. It talked about the many thousands of people he has spoken to in conferences and in churches; and it listed the thick handful of books that have been appreciated by millions over the last several decades. I was impressed, and my curiosity was sparked, on how this man had been brought to such a place of impact. I wanted to know how God had crafted and developed this man to be such an effective minister of the Gospel.
Forgive me if I ruin the book for you but there were a couple of profound moments in his life that have left me a bit unsettled. I think I expected to read a story of a man who became more and more faithful, obedient, and stable as he grew older. But, that wasn’t the case. Manning’s life has been riddled with self-induced brokenness and pain. He described himself as a Wounded Healer: meaning that while his life was hemorrhaging, God was using him to heal others. Sounded good to me early in the book until I learned how deeply broken this man was throughout his life.
Manning grew up in a home where he learned to think of himself as an inconvenience and someone who would never amount to much. In high school he found the benefits of alcohol in coping with his pain of constant rejection and became a prolific drinker as a young man. Through a series of events and relationships, Manning came to experience the calling of God in his life and he entered into the priesthood. For many years, he served the poor and grew in his service to God within his many priesthood tasks. But his problems with the bottle were never truly relieved—they got worse.
As I read Manning’s story, I longed for the point of drastic transformation when he would fully surrender his past, his sins, and his struggles to God. I wanted to read of a moment when renewed surrender and commitment would usher him into being the wonderful speaker and writer that people know him to be. But that never happened. As a matter of fact, the further I read, the darker his life seemed to become. Ironically, his deepest moments of personal darkness where occurring at the height of his popularity as a Christian speaker. That bugged me! It deeply disturbed me!
During his midlife, Manning left the priesthood to marry a wonderful woman that had entered his life. This was, of course, a very controversial move that caused him to be ostracized from the Catholic community. But, Protestant ministries began to flock to his writings and sermons. He was in demand as a speaker and widely read by Christians throughout the world. However, this was also one the darkest seasons of his life. Manning talked about a game, a rendition of “hide and seek,” he’d play with his wife (really no fun for either). He would end a weekend of speaking to thousands and then hide himself in a hotel for days on end, drinking himself to unconsciousness. His wife would have to track him down and come and clean him up. Manning said that he had enough respect for his calling as an evangelist that he’d sober himself up enough to be ready for his next speaking engagement. After many cycles of speaking, hiding, drinking and sobering up, his marriage ended.
I hated that part of the book. It ticked me off! Why would God let a drunk, depressed, recluse sinner be so effective in the teaching and healing of so many people? It seemed so unfair to all the men and women who have served God so faithfully over the years but have seen much less fruit in their ministry. Why didn’t God throw this dude to the curb and give such success to someone more obedient and faithful? I didn’t like the answer I got from his story. All is Grace. Manning’s life is a trophy of God’s unmerited and unfair favor. That grace and mercy disturbed me. I was inwardly angry that God would give him such favor.
But, as I’ve reflected on this story, God deeply convicted me in this area of grace. When I become disgusted with God’s grace in someone’s life, I’m flaunting my own self-righteousness. In saying that someone should not get grace, I’m saying that I deserve grace but they don’t. Deserve grace? Yeah… those two words just don’t fit together, do they?
In my moments of questioning God’s goodness and grace in Manning’s life, I realized that I sounded like Jonah, upset that God would have mercy and kindness on the evil city of Nineveh. I sounded like the older brother of the prodigal son, disgusted that dad would throw a party for the stupid kid who blew his inheritance on booze and whores. I sounded like the worker Jesus described who labored all day and became angry because the boss paid not only him a full day’s wage, but the guy who only worked an hour. I’m screaming, “God you’re not fair with your goodness!”
But, grace is a gift and God gets to give it with wisdom and generosity. It’s not up to me to grade the fairness of the gift. My job is to recognize and embrace the acts of grace given to me and then to respond to grace with grace toward others.
In the end…I’ve earned nothing in this life and All is Grace.
As in most books, the dust jacket of the book came with a short bio of Manning in which it lists his accomplishments. It told of his days as a Franciscan priest living with the poor. It talked about the many thousands of people he has spoken to in conferences and in churches; and it listed the thick handful of books that have been appreciated by millions over the last several decades. I was impressed, and my curiosity was sparked, on how this man had been brought to such a place of impact. I wanted to know how God had crafted and developed this man to be such an effective minister of the Gospel.
Forgive me if I ruin the book for you but there were a couple of profound moments in his life that have left me a bit unsettled. I think I expected to read a story of a man who became more and more faithful, obedient, and stable as he grew older. But, that wasn’t the case. Manning’s life has been riddled with self-induced brokenness and pain. He described himself as a Wounded Healer: meaning that while his life was hemorrhaging, God was using him to heal others. Sounded good to me early in the book until I learned how deeply broken this man was throughout his life.
Manning grew up in a home where he learned to think of himself as an inconvenience and someone who would never amount to much. In high school he found the benefits of alcohol in coping with his pain of constant rejection and became a prolific drinker as a young man. Through a series of events and relationships, Manning came to experience the calling of God in his life and he entered into the priesthood. For many years, he served the poor and grew in his service to God within his many priesthood tasks. But his problems with the bottle were never truly relieved—they got worse.
As I read Manning’s story, I longed for the point of drastic transformation when he would fully surrender his past, his sins, and his struggles to God. I wanted to read of a moment when renewed surrender and commitment would usher him into being the wonderful speaker and writer that people know him to be. But that never happened. As a matter of fact, the further I read, the darker his life seemed to become. Ironically, his deepest moments of personal darkness where occurring at the height of his popularity as a Christian speaker. That bugged me! It deeply disturbed me!
During his midlife, Manning left the priesthood to marry a wonderful woman that had entered his life. This was, of course, a very controversial move that caused him to be ostracized from the Catholic community. But, Protestant ministries began to flock to his writings and sermons. He was in demand as a speaker and widely read by Christians throughout the world. However, this was also one the darkest seasons of his life. Manning talked about a game, a rendition of “hide and seek,” he’d play with his wife (really no fun for either). He would end a weekend of speaking to thousands and then hide himself in a hotel for days on end, drinking himself to unconsciousness. His wife would have to track him down and come and clean him up. Manning said that he had enough respect for his calling as an evangelist that he’d sober himself up enough to be ready for his next speaking engagement. After many cycles of speaking, hiding, drinking and sobering up, his marriage ended.
I hated that part of the book. It ticked me off! Why would God let a drunk, depressed, recluse sinner be so effective in the teaching and healing of so many people? It seemed so unfair to all the men and women who have served God so faithfully over the years but have seen much less fruit in their ministry. Why didn’t God throw this dude to the curb and give such success to someone more obedient and faithful? I didn’t like the answer I got from his story. All is Grace. Manning’s life is a trophy of God’s unmerited and unfair favor. That grace and mercy disturbed me. I was inwardly angry that God would give him such favor.
But, as I’ve reflected on this story, God deeply convicted me in this area of grace. When I become disgusted with God’s grace in someone’s life, I’m flaunting my own self-righteousness. In saying that someone should not get grace, I’m saying that I deserve grace but they don’t. Deserve grace? Yeah… those two words just don’t fit together, do they?
In my moments of questioning God’s goodness and grace in Manning’s life, I realized that I sounded like Jonah, upset that God would have mercy and kindness on the evil city of Nineveh. I sounded like the older brother of the prodigal son, disgusted that dad would throw a party for the stupid kid who blew his inheritance on booze and whores. I sounded like the worker Jesus described who labored all day and became angry because the boss paid not only him a full day’s wage, but the guy who only worked an hour. I’m screaming, “God you’re not fair with your goodness!”
But, grace is a gift and God gets to give it with wisdom and generosity. It’s not up to me to grade the fairness of the gift. My job is to recognize and embrace the acts of grace given to me and then to respond to grace with grace toward others.
In the end…I’ve earned nothing in this life and All is Grace.
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