Lent

April 13, 2017 | Leave a Comment

Maundy Thursday

I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them. (John 13:15-17)

“You think you’re so high and mighty.”

Circa 1978, these were fighting words at Frances J. Warren Elementary School. I have no idea how a bunch of south side kids in Tucson, Arizona, managed to adopt a phrase that I have since learned originated in medieval England.

A kid who took charge of a game on the playground: “You think you’re so high and mighty.”

A kid who did well on his schoolwork: “You think you’re so high and mighty.”

A kid who maybe did have the temerity to suggest that maybe we shouldn’t be digging up the school landscaping during lunch hour: “Oh, you just think you’re so high and mighty.”

My neighborhood was poor. Poverty made us suspicious of authority, even our own, even each other’s. And we saw its abuses behind every bush.

Certainly authority is abused. Certainly we must call it out. But certainly authority, when rightly exercised in servanthood and grace, is a gift from our Savior God.

Jesus got up from the table at which sat the men who would lead his movement after his death. He would give them his authority. These would be his leaders, and so, he said, “I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.“

The example? To kneel, to serve, to be humbled.

There’s a common misconception in the church that we are elevating ourselves by asking of ourselves, as leaders in the Body, to try our best to live holy lives. We hold ourselves accountable, so we can hold others accountable, and we expect the people of the church to do the same for us.

I don’t know how to eliminate this misconception. Maybe you don’t have to be poor to be suspicious of authority. Maybe it comes naturally to us all.

“Oh, you think you’re so high and mighty,” we hear, when in fact nothing could be further from the truth. True leaders are asked to lower themselves, to submit to one another in mutual love. That’s authority, rightly exercised, in the name of Jesus, our example.

April 12, 2017 | Leave a Comment

Wednesday of Holy Week

Jesus answered, “It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.” So when he had dipped the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas son of Simon Iscariot. (John 13:26)

It is an excruciating truth.

Jesus would be betrayed. Judas would be his betrayer. Endlessly, we can debate Judas’ free will—or lack thereof—in this narrative, but the bare facts don’t change. Judas betrayed his Savior Jesus.

Here is the excruciating truth for us all: we will be betrayed. At some time, somewhere, someone will strike at us to hurt us. Intentionally, willfully, and purposefully.

Oh, it may be couched with, “I love you, but…” If you love me, why are you saying it? “I’m sorry if this hurts your feelings, but…” If you know it’s going to hurt me, why utter it at all? “This is just who you are, and you can’t change, but…” Do you believe in me and the power of Spirit so very little? I don’t know.

What I do know is that those words will live inside my heart forever, a voice I can and will to drown out with the voice of Jesus, “You are my friends…” (John 15:14)

The human heart is mysterious place, full of hidden motives and secret sins. I am no better, no worse, than my brother throwing stones, so I will not pick up those stones and throw them back.

And I keep a stone in my pocket today to remind me of the wounds my Savior suffered for me, never, even once, saying a mumblin’ word.

April 10, 2017 | Leave a Comment

Monday of Holy Week

“Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” (John 12:3)

Fexofenadine hydrochloride, aka Target-brand generic non-drowsy allergy relief tablets.

Our family keeps the box on the kitchen table this time of year. We eat them like candy. The smell of spring is welcome, but it comes at a cost.

The fragrance that filled Lazarus’ house that day in Bethany must have been beautiful. Not overwhelming, like my teenaged son when he douses himself with Axe spray. Not sickly sweet, like the perfume counter at the department store. That day at Lazarus’ house, the followers smelled the scent of grace, the scent of love.

But it came at a cost, and some of them thought the cost was too high.

What kind of Man would pour out His life for sinners like you and me? Was that cost too high? Of course, it was. He paid it anyway.

Today, this Monday of Holy Week, I will pay attention to the scents of grace around me, however passing—the lilies on my table, the cinnamon sitting out on my kitchen counter, even my son coming home later from track practice (sans Axe spray)—and I will know that this immense beauty I am able to experience each day was bought at a price, and I will give thanks.

Bible Verse of the Day