An If Then Hypothesis statement

Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or do you begrudge my generosity?’ So the last will be first, and the first last.” Matthew 20:15-16

I do not know how the last judgment will pull together, as The Lamb of God is revealed to all the nations of the earth, but I suspect that, “Just as a father has compassion on his children, So the LORD has compassion on those who fear Him. For He Himself knows our frame; He is mindful that we are but dust.”

And I realize that yes indeed there is the lake of hellfire where death and hell and the false prophet and the beast are cast, but I also know He who holds the keys, He who will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears from all faces. Will He forget the child that He suckled at His breast?

Dawdling Everette on my knee puts fresh umph into that verse. And I know that people that I love and admire disagree with me about when the evening comes, but this is where the Spirit, well maybe the Spirit of google led me today, because on the right side of the margin, across from a Tortured for Christ quote, biblehub.com lists these verses:

All the nations you have made shall come and worship before you, O Lord, and shall glorify your name. Psalm 86:9

It shall come to pass in the latter days that the mountain of the house of the Lord shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be lifted up above the hills; and all the nations shall flow to it, and many peoples shall come, and say: “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.” Isaiah 2:2-4

Who will not fear, O Lord, and glorify your name? For you alone are holy. All nations will come and worship you, for your righteous acts have been revealed.” Revelation 15:4

And we looked into the eyes of those nations yesterday, as the students spoke up for the destitute, the enslaved, the abused, the imprisoned, the unknown tribe in Paraguay where a New Tribes missionary couple dedicated fifteen years of their lives translating the Old Testament for a people group of about 100. And their tears reflected in our eyes as God’s great love for these His children made its tangible presence in the trailer classroom on Speedway, just south of the landfill. That He gave His only begotten Son, who came not into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved. The Son who announced that when He would be lifted up He would draw all men unto Himself.  That old familiar science teacher If/Then Hypothesis.

And once again the powers of google.com invades my quiet space of meditation, and floating off to the side of this Scripture is a quote by Richard Wurmbrand, the guy who wrote Tortured for Christ, a book that gripped the third-grade Christy and who read it over and over, as it pretty much formed the foundation for her understanding of what it means to follow Christ: “God will judge us not according to how much we endured, but how much we could love.” I didn’t really remember this part, what I remembered was the pain, “but that’s ok” bits.

But really laboring in the vineyards, even in the heat of the day, is not intended as a hideous torturous thing with only the almost mirage-like reward of distant crowns and golden streets shimmering in some abstract future to keep us on the straight and narrow.

And actually, laboring in the vineyards, in the ministry of reconciliation, as His plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in Him, things in heaven and things on earth, is a joy and a delight. 

Ask my family, I made them shut up and listen, over and over again last night, as I read aloud the final exam essays from my ninth grade English and Environmental Science students, as I smiled and laughed and wrote “Excellent thinking!!!” with lots of underscores in the margins.

And even though yesterday I was having technology issues out the gazzoo and for some reason the IT lady had changed the wireless system yet one more time so my Mac was offline and the PC was simply not running the PowerPoint projects on the projector dangling from the ceiling even though Mrs. Roddy who is amazing came in several times to try to figure it out and for some reason some there was a lady observing my class who I have no idea who she was and there was one of my long time ago seventh grade students who is now teaching middle school English observing and none of the presentations were exactly perfectly ready even though all the kids had stayed up all night putting them together and were shouting “Us first, us first,” that lady, whoever she was, said that she had never seen such an engaged class ever in all of her years of teaching, and not a flicker of an eyeball went off-task in the entire hour and a half.

And there is not a single one of those kiddos who will say, “Man, that was easy” as they wrote and rewrote and rewrote and rewrote their literary analysis or redid the hanging indent for the Works Cited or called for an interview and then got called back and then had to call another number and then yet another number, but the fruit is sweet.

And even more sweet is the fellowship, in the shade of the evening, as I walk with My Creator and LORD, and Abba Father, and I am His delight, and my name is written on the palms of His hands.

Selah.

Gathered around the table, round two

“What do I still lack?” 

Jesus said to him, “If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.” Matthew 19:21 

So (see above) people just don’t live that "Love Jesus and read the Bible and do everything He says" so much these days.

For example Alan said that a lot of people these days explain that the early church guys who did what Jesus said, i.e. sold all they had and gave it to the poor not because they were obeying Jesus but because they were mistaken because they thought He was coming right back to get them and so then Paul had to collect offerings on their behalf and that was stupid and embarrassing so we don’t have to obey that commandment any more.

But last night I heard a story about a teaching professor at Rutger University who sold everything he had except for a backpack and an extra shirt and a chess board because he is a ranked Master, and now he sits in Nepalese villages and plays chess with people and talks to them about Jesus.

And there was another story, “the most romantic story ever” of sorts, of this couple who just as they were about to get married, the guy was arrested for being a Christian because they live in China and he got sentenced to ten years and he told her that she was free to marry someone else and she said Never, I will wait for you, even if it is ten years. But it wasn’t because he was having such a huge impact in the prison because of his hymn singing and Bible teaching that the prison official was impressed and kept reducing his sentence and reducing his sentence, and at last chopped it down to one year, but would you mind volunteering to stay one extra year just to help me in the prison? And he did and she did and the prison official became a Christian.  And just about everyone else too. 

And last night Kevin the Iranian and his sweet wife knocked on the door and wanted me to write a job recommendation for her now that she has taken English four times at Pima, and luckily there were already two extra plates at the table set up under the bright orange red purple sunset. And there was Jackson and his friend from Mexico City that he wanted us to meet and Cate with a C who has the best job ever that included toilet papering a house and dressing up like a 50s girl and hanging out at a midcentury trailer show and yesterday she wore a red wig with braids and sang “Somewhere over the rainbow” to a delighted room of Southside second graders. And Yuchang who is always ready for a good conversation. And pots of food and homemade bread and so many stories about how our God is bigger than we think, yes Cameron I am quoting you. 

By the way, Cameron thought that I didn’t love my house because I hate the cockroaches I can’t seem to get rid of, but no I don’t. It is such a wonderful gift house with all of the lights that the uncles and cousins hung and cushions that my mom made and the vine-covered arch that Marco made and even Ali learned how to tile and did the counters for us. And Alan waters the gardens faithfully.

And even though selling all that I have and going to play chess in Nepal sounds like a lovely way to follow Him, maybe I have a different hermeneutics path, and maybe my footsteps have more to do with the “Take eat” way of following, and that is my path to perfect. 

Even as He is perfect.  Which is my perfection. He living in me. Done and sealed. 

Gathered around the table, round one

“What do I still lack?” 

Jesus said to him, “If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” Matthew 19:21

So yesterday, as usual, we gathered together to break bread after the Sunday service. Well, actually, divvy up cheese chicken nachos with lots of extra slices of fresh jalepeños at Bisonwiches. 

And we started talking with a great guy who is committed to bringing the gospel downtown and who is all about urban ministry. But then somehow the conversation twisted into bringing not only the gospel but orthodoxy to the foodie hipsters and drunken college students and wandering artists and musicians and sundry street people and marketed children. And what is orthodoxy, which according to him is being diluted and mingled and is the work of the church to build up. 

If you love Jesus you will read the Bible and do everything He says. 

But (see above) people just don’t do that much these days. Except for the thousands of joyous European youth gathered in Assisi this weekend to celebrate a Pope with a fresh take on an old familiar story. 

And his contention struck a nerve around the table. Is the job of the church to build up Orthodoxy? Or something else? Because I am old and not particularly hipster, my only experience with doctrine has been division and not They shall know we are Christians by our love, by our love.

Because sometimes people read the exact same Scripture and yet disagree as to what it means. Which brings us all into the world of hermeneutics, biblical interpretation. The complicated world. Because it is all well and good to set up general guidelines that our understanding must be Simple.  Consistent. Not subjective. And must fall under the big guideline of Jesus: Love God, love your neighbor. But each of us still picks and chooses wantonly until we get tangled up in all of the loose threads and fall to the ground and wonder how this Bible could possibly be God-inspired and profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness.

But all the wandering around hermeneutics websites just makes me a little sad and tired, with the mixture of rather snide little digs to the not-quite-as-Orthodox, unlike swimming a hard 400 meters on Monday morning, which makes me happy and tired. And while there is a great deal of joy in envisioning a redemptive-movement hermeneutic that speaks of a God at restorative work in which we are called by Him to join, it is a different sort of joy than that which bubbles out of Nicole and her Do What Jesus Did love and the Yes, you can quote me God-is-bigger-than-you-think peaceful joy of Cameron, and the simple although a tad weary joy of Mike Birrer who was meditating on God for August, and His Word in September and here it is already October and he still hasn’t picked a theme because he has been pretty busy just loving on Tucson.

Thus I turned to Mr. Jolly G. K. Chesteron and his Orthodoxy tome for a little century-old perspective.

Somehow one must love the world without being worldly. 

And though St. John saw many strange monsters in his vision, he saw no creature so wild as one of his own commentators.

To accept everything is an exercise, to understand everything a strain. The poet only desires exaltation and expansion, a world to stretch himself in. The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits. 

As we have taken the circle as a symbol of reason and madness, we may very well take the cross as a symbol at once of mystery and health. Buddhism is centripetal, but Christianity is centrifugal: it breaks out. For the circle is perfect and infinite in its nature; but it is fixed for ever in its size; it can never be larger or smaller. But the cross, though it has at its heard a collision and a contradiction, can extend its four arms forever without altering its shape. Because is has a paradox in its center it can grow without changing. The circle returns upon itself and is bound. The cross opens its arms to the four winds; it is a signpost for free travelers.

Although very little of it addressed the question at hand, what does He mean when He says, “sell all you have and follow Me,” I felt cheered.    Except for this, framed in the background racket of fiddling politicians, there is one more thought to consider:

The whole case for Christianity is that a man who is dependent upon the luxuries of this life is a corrupt man, spiritually corrupt, politically corrupt, financially corrupt. There is one thing that Christ and all the Christian saints have said with a sort of savage monotony. They have said simply that to be rich is to be in peculiar danger of moral wreck.

Perspective is good. Some things never change.

But I am still mulling over what it means to be perfect.

And in the midst of a great crowd

But Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 19:18

Thinking about my kiddos today, and not hindering them, rather blessing them. All day long.  And they are actually not little children, but still they are young souls tender and tentative, trying to make sense of the world and how they belong.  

And really they have been brought to me so that I might lay hands on them and pray on the kingdom of heaven pilgrimage.

And may I prove faithful and not weary or careless. And I heard a great story last night, in that it was a true story. About someone who was in a hurry and there was a guy who was dirty and smelly and probably drinking and not so very terribly pleasant, so he pushed past. Who knows, maybe he pulled his cloak in closely as he edged along. But afterwards, his heart broke.  That was Jesus and an opportunity missed to kneel at the feet of the One.  And he vowed never to let that happen again.

And likewise may I never be too distracted because I need a few more copies or because once again my technology refuses to cooperate or because my eyes and heart are looking ahead to the next item on my list and are not noticing now.  Now, while I am here in the presence of such a child.  

For whoever receives one such child in my name receives Me.

Supping at His table, not mine

And out of pity for him, the master of that servant released him and forgave him the debt. Matthew 18:27

So Alan and I paid off our mortgage for 220 South Country Club Road last month. Or two months ago. Whoopee.  I guess. Because there really has been absolutely no change in anything as far as I can see, except I am sort of vaguely worried that I won’t pay the property tax on time or did our USAA insurance get canceled and anyway the mortgage has been automatically sucked out of our Tucson Federal Credit Union account for so many years that it never seemed very tangible. Just sort of a general weight hanging around that made me feel one with the masses.  And I guess I always tried to figure out how to deduct the interest off of my Federal income taxes, but it never seemed to make much of a difference.

And even as a child the “Behold, I stand at the door and knock” verse always made me uncomfortable.  And it’s only gotten worse, because I am so aware of the large sheafs of peeling paint in the back room and the kinda cute “artwork” Nicole finessed in the guest shower to make light of the fact that you have to turn on the shower with a wrench, and don’t even get me started about the cockroach-infested kitchen. And nice pastors always talk about Jesus going through my cupboards with me and helping me clean things up a bit, and really that makes my stomach tighten into knots because I know that the closet in Jincheng’s room is stuffed to the gills with random stuff like crumpled American Girl dolls and empty picture frames and old prom dresses.  

But that’s not the way it is at all.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation.  2 Corinthians 5:20-21  

And He really isn’t coming into my tattered and bedraggled albeit somewhat picturesque home.  Rather I have (past tense) stepped out into His glorious grace, according to the abundance of His steadfast love, because of who He is, not because of me. The old is done and gone. I have been released. 

And rather than the chore of sorting through my old rubbish, trying to decide what is salvageable, and what should be donated to Goodwill, and what should be hauled out immediately to the trash bin with an extended arm and pinched nose, it has been taken care of, totally. By Him.

And the whole thing about this story of the ungrateful servant is that I am not forgiving seventy times seven times with my leaky and spider-webbed and quite honestly, pretty self-centered understanding of paying off debt. Complete with mosquitos swirling, lazily, because they know exactly where their next fat and hapless meal is coming from. 

No. Rather I am joyfully welcoming the world to join me in place of reconciliation. His reconciliation. His mercy. His grace. Abundant and overflowing. The love of Christ which passes knowledge and understanding.

As He has forgiven me my debts. Glory

I love it how Cameron always kicks off his shoes

Again I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything they ask, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them. Matthew 18:19-20

So every Thursday afternoon, Sue Livingood comes over to Desert to pray. With me. And I gotta admit that part of it is downloading a whole chunk of my life into her insightful and honest heart.  But most of it is the very real sense that Jesus is present, whether we are sitting in my nicely air-conditioned room or walking up and back along the Pantano Wash. In the big scheme of things those very real aches and bumps to lay before Our Father Which Art in Heaven might seem of paltry significance, but truly in the big scheme of things there is no paltry significance, every woven strand is golden and worth more than two sparrows sold for a farthing in the marketplace. 

And as we rummage through the stories, His hand of goodness is so very evident. And this is a good thing to do in the presence of a witness. And while I am a big fan of the prayer closet and my list of fixed prayers so I know that I am praying for Jon and Pamela and Harry and Charly and Lou Lou on Wednesdays and the back and forth swimming of laps, there is a bubbling up joyfulness in two or three gathered in His name.  

And every afternoon, or almost every afternoon I make a sort of pilgrimage over to Jack and Mary Anne’s next door. And Pippen greets me with a please-please-scoop-me-up scamper and I go lean up against the file cabinet and review the day.  And it doesn’t matter whether we are talking about the newspaper headlines or the kid whose mother just left or who is coming over for dinner, there is that moment at the end where we remind ourselves that He is present, in our midst, and we pray and cast of our cares upon Him for He cares for us. And probably maybe that is why so many people also find the house next door a comforting pilgrimage and His presence indeed permeates the very walls around us.

And reflecting on the moments of two or three gathered together in the past few days, whether it was sharing a bottle of wine under the stars or watching a movie on the living room wall about the destruction of life as we know it masterminded by a crazy North Korean, the bad guy du jour, or a Skype conversation with someone headed off to hear Pope Francis or burros and roasted jalepeños at El Guerro with an old friend or one more time around the table at family dinner, I know that a closing benediction would have been a meaningful act of faith. That only would have honored Him and heartened us as we head out into the world that so wears and tears at our collective souls. 

Weston sent me a little story this morning. He too showed Father of Lights to five of his classes and was struck by the simple obedience involved in prayer. 

It was a day of stepping out in faith a bit. I just felt so juiced up by how the Spirit is moving that I would just eye people on the bus and wonder what might be. Then this guy came with crutches so I gave him my seat. 'Do I pray for him...?' But I was afraid to. So another guy came on and asked him if he had a ficha for the transmetro, as he only had a 1 quetzal bill. He said no, and then this old guy, fished a coin from his bag and I gratefully traded to avoid the long line for change later in my commute.

I was just struck by his kindness. And it was this little shove, this tiny voice saying go for it. So I asked the guy if I could pray for him and God wants to heal him and I prayed there bending down in the chicken bus. I asked him how he felt and he said better and thank you politely. He told me his name and how he'd been in an accident and showed me x-rays of his leg where the metal plates were screwed in. And something else about an infection, and how he goes to church, but not after the accident. So I said Let's pray again. And that was that, apparently no healing fuego, no transforming shin. As soon as I looked up, I was right at my stop, just in time, Dios te bendiga, bendiciones and ~shoomp~ a la casa. 

But I just know that to try was not in vain. And recounting the story I see God's hand at work. I'll probably never see Carlos again, but I walked away full of expectation that God was gonna heal His son.

And so just thinking. Certainly I am not Jesus. But I am stumbling behind him in His footsteps. And I have in my hands His very prayers with which he sent out His disciples into the world.  And perhaps these students are not my disciples exactly, but Desert’s vocabulary this year is that I am their ladder holder, and I sure know that ladder holders pray for those teetering up above them. 

And in the same way that Weston is stepping into prayer by faith and lots of humility I decided that I would start praying publically with my homeroom class, sending them out into the day to face whatever demons of complacency or selfishness or doubt or loneliness might assail them. And I am now committed to ending my many moments of gathering with a verbal acknowledgement of what I am believing-LORD-help-my-unbelief that He is here in our midst. 

And I will hold in my mind the image of the Hindu guru who as he prayed to receive Jesus into his heart, slid the worn sandals off of his feet, for he knew He stood on holy ground.

Winking and glimmering under the setting sun

Woe to the world for temptations to sin! For it is necessary that temptations come, but woe to the one by whom the temptation comes! Matthew 18:7

So my head hurts. Seriously. And I have seven more fourth drafts of The Pearl literary analyses sitting next to my computer, neatly paper-clipped with the peer revision sheets and the double-column quote and inference notes. And because this is my ninth graders’ first step into the big bad world of parenthetical citation and an inviting introduction and satisfying conclusion leave reader with sense of resolution and clear, comprehensive thesis statement in introduction sets up entire essay and details follow logical, effective order in body paragraphs and thoughtful transitions show how ideas connect through essay, I am dragging them towards doing it over and over until it is done right.  And they are all good sports about it, and not complaining, and smiling at the challenge of excellence, but I am reading and reading, over and over about how “being rich isn’t bad,” and writing over and over in the margin “focus on what Steinbeck is saying in his story and not what you personally believe” until my pencil lead breaks.  

And the mysterious google forces linked today’s verses to the 2350 Bible verses, one out of seven in the New Testament, that speak about money and possessions.  Boy oh boy, ol’ Steinbeck sure understood God’s heart on this one as well, as he traces the almost destruction of a kind and innocent man descending into the hell of greed. 

For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world. 1 John 2:16

No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money. Matthew 6:24

But if anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God's love abide in him? 1 John 3:17

And of course in the NPR background drones the twisting pontification of our elected officials trying to squeeze the destitute into one more reelection slogan.

And this one might as well be the thesis statement of every sharp word of this parable, the parable of the Pearl of Great Price: But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs. 1 Timothy 6:9-10

And I wonder about Mr. Steinbeck and the power of his words that also seem to rightly divide the heart of man. Are the prayers of dear faithful Juana making the magic of prayer, her face set rigid and her muscles hard to force the luck, to tear the luck out of the gods' hands, so very different from my homeroom students who mutter under their breath every morning, “I pray we have a good day and do good on our tests and if anyone is sick please make them well in jesus name amen and can I please copy your geometry homework?”

And at the end of the story, when all is lost: his home, his livelihood and his only son, Kino wrenches his soul back from the pearl, the pearl with its music of promise and delight, its guarantee of the future, of comfort, of security and drew back his arm and flung the pearl with all his might the ugly grey malignancy into the sea and what shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul?

The music of the pearl drifted to a whisper and disappeared.