Waves of mercy, waves of grace

For they were frightened of the people. Mark 11:32

So this pretty much seems to be the pattern for Phariseeism. And I am to avoid their leaven. This man-fear that permeates the mass, working its way into each cell.  But I cannot enjoy even a moment of smugness, because, honestly the air is thick with the spores, and with every breath I take, I suck it in.

And it is okay to remind myself of the markers, not for the pointing of fingers, but for leaning in closer to the mirror in order to remove the stakes. Let the lamp of the Word shine brightly so I can see clearly.

Jesus the Word is way clear, no blurry, smeared lines here: what is highly esteemed among men is an abomination in the sight of God. It so easily entangles: doing works to be seen by men, loving money, passing by the justice and love of God.

No wonder the chief priests and scribes tried to find a way of getting rid of Him. They were in fact afraid of Him, for His teaching had captured the imagination of the people.

Because wonder if it is really true? That I am living by another Authority? Unburdened? Walking light and easy with a gentle yoke?

One can exactly picture the broad smile and confident twinkle as Jesus replies to Them, “Then I cannot tell you by what authority I do these things.”

I don’t have to play by the rules anymore. Free, free indeed. And maybe that’s why I am being sent back to Mexicali, so I can sing and clap with the children once again.

Every move I make I make in You
You make me move Jesus
Every breath I take I breathe in You
Every step I take I take in You
You are my way Jesus.

A pilgrimage back to where the air is clear in spite of the billows of dust.

Hungry I come to You

“Have faith in God,” replied Jesus to them. “I tell you that if anyone should say to this hill, ‘Get up and throw yourself into the sea’, and without any doubt in his heart believe that what he says will happen, then it will happen! That is why I tell you, whatever you pray about and ask for, believe that you have received it and it will be yours. And whenever you stand praying, you must forgive anything that you are holding against anyone else, and your Heavenly Father will forgive you your sins.” Mark 11:22-26

Sigh. Somehow these verses are always a little discouraging to me, something I would rather just skip over. When of course, it seems like this particular declarative statement should be a huge hope and happiness moment. Because yes, sometimes the hills hop into the sea. And yet. Sometimes they don’t. And rather it being about Him, my thinking slides into me, and am I saying or thinking the right words? Enough times? Long enough? And my thoughts start spinning about doubt in my heart, or timing, or fasting, or acting on it being received or… and the hope and happiness thing evaporates.

And it was not yet time for figs anyway. What’s with that?

But actually I hadn’t ever particularly noticed the close proximity of the forgiveness item. As in connected with a coordinating conjunction close. And. And whenever (yes, every time) you stand praying you must forgive anything (yes, anything) that you are holding against anyone (yes, anyone) else. And (then) the Heavenly Father will forgive you. Me. With the same mercy I offer to others, it will be shown.

And well, this is much more important than moving mountains. Really.

And maybe that is the believe statement here. We don’t live out our faith by making mountains move, rather, it is more about living out release. If indeed I believe in a God of mercy and forgiveness and wisdom and justice and glory and restoration then indeed forgiveness takes on a whole new light. His love. It’s all about Him and not about me. Once again.

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.

Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,

Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,

Puts up with anything,

Trusts God always,

Always looks for the best,

Never looks back,

But keeps going to the end. The Message

And just sort of thinking and remembering the leaves that I have seen shrivel at a single word, my eyes were never on the fig tree. Or the hill. Really the prayers just seemed to well up out of me from within, the Spirit Himself pleading in yearnings that can find no words.

Selah..

He answered, "I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out."

 And those who went before and those who followed cried out with a cry of happiness, Hosanna! Be graciously inclined and propitious to Him! Praised and blessed is He Who comes in the name of the Lord! Praised and blessed in the name of the Lord is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna! O save us in the highest heaven! Mark 11:9-10

Really these who went before and those who followed had absolutely no clue what lie ahead. The road through Jerusalem was beyond their comprehension. I imagine they thought after one last glorious shout thousands and thousands of angels would descend and after the shortest of all possible scrimmages, the battle would be won, the Romans destroyed and the eternal kingdom would be upon them in golden glory. Or something like that.

And the road before us is much longer and harder than we imagine. Life is tough and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

But there is something else totally unexpected and unimaginable. The unimaginable love of Jesus–who could conceive of such a love demonstrated? In that while we were yet sinners, He died for us.

And I totally get why some Christians make the sign of the cross. In the Sign of the Cross, we profess the deepest mysteries of the Christian Faith: the Trinity--Father, Son, and Holy Spirit--and the saving work of Christ on the Cross. The combination of the words and the action are a creed, a statement of belief. A belief which should frame our thoughts–every how and why we live our life.

And a reminder. A continual reminder of this love demonstrated.

And even though they were pretty clueless, this cry of happiness was right and true.  Praise and blessing to He Who comes in the name of the LORD Almighty Creator of heaven and earth. Who came to earth to show us the road, true the road of suffering and pain, but also the road to this love, this love that surpasses knowledge--that we may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

So let me step out with shout of joy and may I praise Him with a loud shout in all that I say and do today. Even though I am pretty clueless about the shadows that lie just beyond the bend, I will fear no evil, for He is with me.

Take courage

Many of the people told him sharply to keep quiet, but he shouted all the more, “Son of David, have pity on me!”

Jesus stood quite still and said, “Call him here.” Mark 10:48-49

And many severely censured and reproved him, telling him to keep still, but he kept on shouting out all the more, You Son of David, have pity and mercy on me!

This was the point of last night’s sermon…the long-awaited exhortation on homosexuality after nine months of consideration and poring over 2,000 pages of study guides, it turned out to not be so much about them and more about me.

Without brokenness and love we will fail as a body of Christ.

God has a deep abiding work to do among us…and it begins with us confessing our brokenness. Apart from Him we can do nothing.

And from this place of need, we receive His eyes to see. His heart of pity and mercy: compassion, to be moved with pity.

The heart of Jesus, that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Me.  Sacrificial love flowing out of compassion.

And so often, the Church sees with human eyes and speaks sharply and severely censures and reproves the hurting and aching souls along the side of the road.

And may I be one of those, one of those who took the blind man’s hand and led him gently, “Take courage! Get up! He is calling you.”

Prayer: Son of David, I confess my brokenness. Apart from You I can do nothing. And in this truth, may I stand quite still and see with Your eyes, and have Your heart of pity and mercy. And move to act on that compassion.

The question

Jesus asked, “What do you want me to do for you?”

The blind man answered, “Master, I want to see!”

Jesus told him, “You may go. Your eyes are healed because of your faith.”

Right away the man could see, and he went down the road with Jesus. 

Mark 10:51-52

Splashing with joy in the waters

On the last and most important day of the festival, Jesus stood up and shouted, “If you are thirsty, come to me and drink! Have faith in me, and you will have life-giving water flowing from deep inside you, just as the Scriptures say.”  Jesus was talking about the Holy Spirit, who would be given to everyone that had faith in him. The Spirit had not yet been given to anyone, since Jesus had not yet been given His full glory. John 7:37-39

So I am loving those little green gmail lights because sometimes people just call for the fun of it, like Matteo called this morning while he was waiting for his Barilla pasta to finish cooking in the monastery he is sharing with a real friar who goes to be at midnight and gets up at six and spends the rest of his life helping drug addicts through restoration. And then Matteo is going to go practice his violin, preparing for his conservatory graduation recital of Bach in a week. And he practices in this soaring fourth century library at the monastery, him and old manuscripts for hours a day. And sometimes life is like that, quiet and beautiful.

But sometimes we thirst. There is an ache inside that quiet contemplation does not fill. And sometimes the Spirit sweeps over us and carries us out the door into the street. And yesterday Matteo stepped outside of the flickering candle-filled cathedral and tottering a bit while he found his landfeet, tasted the deep-flowing stream from within and offered cupfulls of intercession to the man on the street. And God met him there with joy.

And may I drink freely today. This rushing refreshing water is here for the slaking. And then, the next step out the door and down the cathedral steps into the street.

Freely give for freely you have received.

Bending down to pick up crushed water bottles from the sidewalk

They were a careless people—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back to their money and vast carelessness, or whatever it was and let people clean up the mess they had made. The Great Gatsby

Hear the voice of one calling: In the wilderness prepare the way for the LORD, make straight in the desert, a highway for our God. Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill made low; the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain. And the glory of the LORD will be revealed, and all people will see it together. For the mouth of the LORD has spoken. Isaiah 40:3-5

So last night it was one of those nights at the Voelkel house. Somehow we had this perfectly beautiful French family in our living room, a French family with their very own castle with sixteen fireplaces. But since our French is limited to Spanish cognates, I wrapped the Mrs. Hosterman blankets around them, Alan popped on one of his berets and his wrap-around-goggles, and they did the Safari thing under the stars, up A Mountain, over Gate’s Pass and through San Xavier Mission and home again, home again jiggity jug to chocolates, blackberries and thick muddy California wine until midnight. And we all laughed about me getting up at four to do my prayer thing and my swimming thing, and I said I slept deep and hard and it would be okay. But I woke up weeping. And the line, “They were a careless people” was haunting my dreams. And it had turned into a prayer for my kiddos.

And yesterday was a day of looking brokenness in the face. Arms wrapped around weeping people. On every staircase. On the living room couch. Hunched over a computer. Real live people smashed by careless people. Matteo gave me some clear images of that this morning. He sent me basically the modern version of the Four Spiritual Laws: God loves you, we sin, He took our place so that we could be restored to the life He created us for. 1, 2, 3, 4. And it was full of falling smashing plates. And they nailed the brokenness part. The seeking to fill the void. The nothing works. Smash.

And my kiddos are careless. Smash. Their tossed paper plates and napkins and candy wrappers and brand new unbit apples and unfinished homework roll under under the trees and next to the walls that they lean up against and text and nudge and yawn. And wait for someone else to come and clean up the mess they made.

And I do what I can to call out. Yesterday we watched a video clip from Venezuelan students pleading with the world to listen. And to pray. So we prayed. And watched unarmed Ukrainian soldiers march into Russian bullets. We watched tennis balls being made in China and calculated contrasting wages. And one of the boys got it and all that watching. He saw. He ended his environmental science production presentation with a plea not to harden our hearts like the Israelites. Hello to that ah ha moment that keeps us teacher-types hefting stacks of papers. 

And we are his Church. May we not avert our eyes. May we be called the repairer of the breach and not the plate smashers. The sort of all-about-me hard-heartedness that Jesus looked at sadly as they walk away. May I be found about my Father’s business. Nothing but. The action verbs rather than the leaning up the wall and text and nudge and yawn verbs: prepare and make straight. For His glory will be revealed.