What Do You Want Me to Do For You?

I sat on our deck, annoyed with an associate who, I believed, was taking advantage of me. I'd done him a favor, but he'd decided it wasn't quite right. He wanted to change the plan "just a bit." I knew what "just a bit" meant -- I'd be doing favors until I put my foot down. The irony is, as I sat there, looking out into our yard, my eyes fell on my husband and a friend struggling in the budding heat of the late morning sun. The retaining wall at the end of our property needed replacing. The wall is ours, our burden to bear; whether we pay someone to do the work, or do it ourselves, it is our problem. But we have a truly selfless friend who labors alongside my husband. He has pushed himself and beat his body up for days now, doing our work. For his service, he goes home each day filthy, with sore muscles. He is away from his family and has surrendered his schedule. He has given up so much for us -- and not because we are great people or have done much of anything for him in return -- simply because he has a servant's heart. 

In Mark 10:32-52, Jesus asked the same question twice. The thing I find most interesting is the difference in the audience each time. In the first instance, Jesus had just told His disciples that He was going to die and rise again. He referred to Himself in the third person, so maybe they didn't quite get it. Or, maybe they did, and in a "request" reminiscent of the Parable of the Good Father, they said, “Teacher, we want You to do for us whatever we ask.” In other words, "Yeah, good story, but we've got something we want to talk about." These were "seeing" men. They'd traveled with Jesus for years, were presumably healthy and well educated in the lessons Jesus taught. But they couldn't see past their own desires -- even for their Friend. Did Jesus flip out? Did Jesus rethink His decision to make them disciples in the first place? No, His relationship with them was never about Him; His purpose was to bring glory to His Father by giving His all for them. And He responded, "What do you want Me to do for you?"

The second situation takes place when, on the same trip to Jerusalem, Jesus and His disciples encounter a blind man, Bartimaeus. Bartimaeus calls out, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Though his eyes might not have been working, this humble blind man could see: he confessed the Man before him as "God's Salvation" and "King of Israel", and begged for mercy. And Jesus responded, "What do you want Me to do for you?"

Jesus, the Servant Messiah, full of love and mercy, has selflessly given His all for the glory of His Father. Whether our heart is grateful or full of ourselves, God calls whom He wills. His plan and His glory are not dependent upon human "rightness." And that is comforting indeed, for none of us gets it right all the time. But as we humbly respond to the voice of the Holy Spirit, the righteousness of Christ is imparted to us and sanctification begins. May we faithfully desire His mercy and intentionally appreciate His grace as we grow to become more like our Servant Messiah.

Living in This (...); Waiting for This (!)

What do you think of when you hear the word "miracle?" It has to be unbelievable, right? Like water to wine, or a funeral procession brought to a dead stop (pun intended) when the corpse is ordered to get up -- and does! Miracles are supernatural events, but I think there is a tendency to expect instant supernatural events.

In Mark 8:22-26, Jesus heals a blind man. But this miracle is a little different from the others recorded in the Gospels:

Then He came to Bethsaida; and they brought a blind man to Him, and begged Him to touch him. So He took the blind man by the hand and led him out of the town. And when He had spit on his eyes and put His hands on him, He asked him if he saw anything.

And he looked up and said, “I see men like trees, walking.”

Then He put His hands on his eyes again and made him look up. And he was restored and saw everyone clearly. Then He sent him away to his house, saying, “Neither go into the town, nor tell anyone in the town.”

We all see it (no pun intended here). It almost seems as though there's an OOPS! We want to ask, "Why wasn't he healed the first time?" We might even rank it below other miracles -- you know, 'cause "it didn't take the first time." Well, Jesus was making a point, a point I'm going to save for another day. My point is, why do we think miracles are only miracles if they happen instantaneously, within moments of us praying for them. Or, from the minute we see an improvement in our situation, we expect a favorable and full resolution before the next downturn. 

Let me first say, God is God and we are not. His thoughts are higher than our thoughts, and His ways are higher than our ways. There is no other god but God Almighty. He does things as He wills, and He is always on time.

The other thing is, I'm sure you're familiar with this little doodad: ... It's an ellipsis. It's a tool of punctuation that can indicate parts of a quote have been removed, maybe because they are not quite necessary to support your position. An ellipsis is also be used to intensify suspense. The end is coming, but wait for it... BOOM! Before you know it, there it is! An ellipsis can also replace a thought or leave the reader to infer the writer's thought. Here's the purpose for the grammar lesson: we would all much rather live in the ! Wouldn't we? We want our miracle, we want it now, and we don't want to struggle through it. Take for instance that diagnosis. Wouldn't it be wonderful to wake up and find we're healed? We don't want round after round of treatments; we don't want setbacks; we don't want a manageable condition. We want death to life ! restoration. 

It's hard living in an ellipsis. There are parts of the story omitted to us. Parts we can't see. We may not know why things are happening this way or if they will change. We're not looking for the "WOW" factor on a payment plan. We just want out. We want to get back to the way things were before the bankruptcy, or the divorce, or the funeral. "Let's do the ! and I'll tell my story, and people will think it's great, and we can move on." We want all the facts. We want to see the end right from the beginning. Living in an ellipsis just leaves us with too many questions, too many sleepless nights, too many tears, and too many doubts. But God is working. I've lived through one or two ... in my time. I'm living in a few right now. If I trust who God is, I know He has left some parts of the story out -- at least from where I'm sitting. Will I know them by four o'clock this afternoon? Maybe. Or, the entire story may never be revealed to me until I'm bowing in His presence. Will I know the exuberance of an unexpected plot twist? Maybe. Or, it may happen slowly, as a vision becoming clearer, but no less miraculous. 

We need to enjoy our time living in ... There may be lessons to be learned. We need to rejoice as we live in ... God is worthy of our gratitude and praise. And let us expectantly wait for ! whatever and whenever that may be.

As Little Children

Children have a way of making grown-ups feel ridiculous. We adults think we're so sophisticated and intelligent; we think we have the weight of the world on our shoulders. Then we find ourselves forced to talk to a child about death, or poverty, or serious illness. We stress over what words we'll use. We imagine a Hallmark moment where the child collapses in tears into our arms. We imagine feeling strong, a refuge for their little fears; we imagine assuring them it will be alright and, in the safety of our embrace, a tentative smile -- a symbol of hope -- spreads across the child's face. Speaking as gently and carefully as we can, we finish our speech with a sigh, and in the silence that follows, the child speaks: "Can we go for ice cream if I eat all my dinner?"

In Mark 10:32-35, it almost seems as though one of those moments took place. Jesus and His disciples are walking along. He shares with them things that will occur, things that will happen to cause His death. "They will mock Him, and scourge Him, and spit on Him, and kill Him." Jesus is talking about Himself! Are His friends shocked? Are they fearful? Not according to Mark. "And the third day He will rise again,” Jesus tells them. Do they ask, "Rise again? What do you mean rise again?" Nope. But two of them do reply: “Teacher, we want You to do for us whatever we ask.”

Can you imagine Jesus' surprise? Did you hear anything I just said? Guys, I just told you I'm going to die. Unjustly. At the hands of those who will mock and beat Me. I'm going to be murdered, but I will rise again. How can you ignore what I've just said, and ask Me for a favor? 

But Jesus wasn't surprised. He didn't say those things. What He did say was, “What do you want Me to do for you?” (v. 36) No hesitation. No rebuke. Jesus simply made Himself available. This was the third occasion on which He spoke to them about His death and resurrection. This was important. He wanted His disciples to understand, and yet, He knew these men were only human. He knew they were as short-sighted as we are from time to time. He knew they couldn't even imagine the dramatic turn of events from one week to the next. He knew they were self-centered and had an earthbound way of looking at things. And He loved them. Jesus' interactions with His disciples were never about Him. In fact, His presence here on earth was never about Him. Revelation 13:8, tells us Jesus is the Lamb, slain from the foundation of the world. He came to earth for mankind and for the glory of His Father. He was available. And He is today as well. He is accustomed to dealing with small minds and immature thoughts. He has seen every sort of self-centeredness there is, and He loves us anyway. He is willing and able to do exceedingly abundantly more than we can ask or imagine, if we are willing to trust and obey as little children.

Exchanging Our Values for Priceless Treasure

It's been almost seven years now, but it seems like always. It's funny how being a part of something wonderful can become so comfortable you can't remember what life was like before that. Or you can't remember what you saw in your old life that made the transition so difficult.

Seven years ago, we were forced to leave our church home. I'd grown up there; my children had grown up there; but, things had changed. They'd stopped preaching from the Bible. In fact, when I used the phrase, "inerrant Word of God" to refer to the Bible, I was corrected. Apparently, the word "inerrant" as it applies to Scripture is offensive. When the discussion moved to Creation, I was told, "Well, we just don't know how the universe was created." Then came the sermon about praying for the dead that they might be raised to life in heaven. Later! Here's the thing, though -- it hurt to leave. I was angry we'd been given no choice. I was angry heretics had taken over the place I loved, where I was happy worshiping and serving. I thought there'd never be a church that would measure up, and I couldn't fathom calling any other church, "home."

The first time we walked into our now, and "oh!-wouldn't-it-be-wonderful-if-forever" church home, I wanted to cry. A friendly woman met us at the door, and I didn't want to like that. We walked into the hall where people were talking and laughing as they ate breakfast, and I didn't want to talk, or laugh, or eat. I wanted my old Sunday morning back. How foolish I was! In this family, we were accepted from the door; we have been loved on in ways I never dreamed; we have grown in our relationships; we have been taught and led, and as I said, I'd be happy if we stayed here forever. I cannot, for the life of me, think of one thing that would cause me to pine for our old church, and I cannot believe our place in this family is only seven years old. Our time here has been priceless.

In Philippians 3:7-14, Paul had experienced a similar transition and, as a result, a similar transformation. When it came to Judaism, Paul called himself "a Hebrew of Hebrews:" he was all in. He was a law expert, a Pharisee. He was most zealous, working to imprison or eliminate those who disagreed with Jewish law. He'd been so dedicated to obeying and serving the law, he called himself "blameless" by his efforts. He wore his achievements as a garment of righteousness. But, Paul left behind his life of religion and was no longer who he used to be. His life of structure and security, prestige, performance, and authority; the life he'd been born into, had been comfortable living, was no more. He had been forced out when he met Jesus on a road going to Damascus. There was no way he could stay in his old life; there was just far too much about it that was wrong. Years later, as he wrote to the church at Philippi, Paul said the things he once valued were nothing to him. Compared to the excellence of knowing Christ, every self-serving, self-righteous thing he had loved was trash. He longed for his identity to be that of Christ alone: "Look at me and see what the Lord has done." And he pressed on toward becoming perfected in Christ. He had by no means arrived, as he once thought; there was still so much more for him to learn, and so much more of his old flesh that needed to put to death that he might reflect Christ more and more each day. His transition, from worshiping the law of God to surrendering to the Son of God, brought about an outward transformation. And he wasn't going back. Paul wrote thirteen of the the twenty-seven books of the New Testament, took the gospel to the world on three missionary journeys, mentored other Christian leaders and saints, and eventually died a martyr. The ripples of his life are immeasurable and the value of God's work through him is priceless.

Change can be hard, especially when it comes to leaving the people and places with which we are accustomed. When God leads the way, however, when the transition is by His design, greatness can happen. Transformation can happen. And the things we once loved can lose their value, while the things God gives are priceless. Obey Him and trust Him for the outcome.