Dear Jesus, you are cordially invited . . .

I have never been one of those girls who got all mushy over weddings, but there are two weddings that are particularly noteworthy to me: my own and the one at Cana. Call me, if you want to hear more than you could possible want to know or ever will need to know about my and Ty's wedding. As for the wedding in Cana, if you don’t know the story, dig out your Bible and look up John 2:1-12. Go on, we’ll wait, because the rest of this is going to make a lot more sense, if you know the story.

Now, I don’t know how many favorite Bible stories a person is allowed to have, but put this one on my list, too. First of all, it happens at a party. You have to love that, the creator of the universe at a party! That alone gives me hope for a heaven that is way more exciting than any of my Sunday school teachers made it sound. We know that it couldn’t have been too solemn an affair because they drank up all the wine.

This is a major problem, and there are a ton of writings out there about the expected protocols and proper hospitality so I will spare you those details. Let’s just say, this was a major embarrassment to the host, and Mary tries to handle it discreetly by asking Jesus to help. Again, gallons of ink have been spilled over the significance of their conversation, and there are some good things to learn from it but let’s get to the part that makes this so cool for me – the jars.

The host had six stone jars which John explains are for Jewish purification rituals. These things were big, each one holding twenty to thirty gallons. And Jesus has the servants fill them up, to the brim. Now as modern readers, we think no big deal, the guy had stone jars to hold some water, but these jars are important.

A major part of the Jewish religion was purification. We call this washing up. The Torah records the significance of this act, and how God himself commands that his people purify themselves with water before and after certain activities. (See Leviticus and Deuteronomy for more details). We now know that the homes of the wealthy included private mikvahs, or tubs used to wash in, and pools surrounded the Temple so those who were entering could immerse themselves before doing so. Like I said, it was pretty important, but evidently this guy couldn’t afford a mikvah, so he did the best he could. He provided his family and guests with jars of fresh water so they could do what was right and proper before the Lord.

On this auspicious day something amazing happens.

I think we all get that if Jesus had not been there, there would have been no miracle. And Jesus’ very presence tells us something else about the wedding host, he desired to have relationship with Jesus. He wanted Jesus there for this joyful family event. How many times do we take time to consciously invite our Lord to the party? We are pretty good at sending up the bat signal when we are in trouble, but I think that sometimes he would like to have some fun. You know be in a relationship where he wasn’t just being used.

And when this host's desire for relationship collides with the his obedience, he receives a miracle. Because without his obedience, there would have been no stone jars, no place to put the water, and no means for the miracle. Jesus took what this man offered, a willing spirit and an invitation into another’s life and turned it into something amazing.

It was more than just wine. Jesus saved this man from humiliation and disgrace. He to care of the need before the host even realized he had one, and his obedience brought him greater honor than he could provide for himself. And I am learning that with God, our good enough is never enough for him. He always desires to do and give us more than we could imagine possible.

I think it is fitting that Jesus’ first miracle was one of almost whimsy, something that in the light of the rest of his life seems almost inconsequential. But it is such a bold declaration of who he is and what he desires to bring to our lives. He gives them wine, a symbol of God’s presence, his abundant provision, and his desire to bless us with joy through knowing him. In celebrating his nearness this tiny little act becomes so full of promise.

So my prayer for you today is that you honor the Lord with your obedience, you remember to invite him to the party, and when the wine runs out he will be there to bless you with the joy of his presence and provision.

Don’t Flinch – Part 2

In the last post I retold the story of the Woman at the Well from my perspective. As I said, I love this story because I know it all too well.

Once upon a time, I was well versed in the faith of my family and culture. I knew the proper forms of worship, the hope of the return of the Messiah, and I thought I knew all the right Bible answers. But once upon a time, I got married to a man who renounced his faith shortly after the ceremony and our marriage crumbled into a game of survivor. One I had to win if I was going to save my children and myself. I got out and tried to make a life for me and my girls, but it was a rough go.

Many people could not grasp how a good Christian girl could get a divorce or how I could wind up married to such a man that would make divorce the only option. I must not have prayed enough or I wasn’t submissive enough. There was sin in my life or I didn’t have enough faith. Not many were brave enough to speak these words aloud, but they didn’t have to. It was there in their eyes, in their offers to pray with me, and in the quiet way they would ignore the ugly facts of my existence.

I learned you don’t go to the well in the morning. Everyone was there ready with that pitying but condemning look. The whispers were low, but not low enough. So I learned to avoid the crowds, draw into myself, take comfort where I could find it, even in a few relationships that were less than holy.

When I would meet a new Christian, someone who did not know my story, I learned to tell it with a note of defiance and an unspoken dare to condemn if they must, but get it over with. I learned to accept the fact I was too far gone to be of any use to God or his people. Like the Samaritan woman I had too many strikes against me.

Worship was hard, my faith seemed as stagnant and dead as the water in that seep of a well but it was all I had. So I learned to make do. Fake it. Act like it was enough, all the while I was dying.

I hated the Holy Flinch, that involuntary reaction that good Christian people have when they are in the presence of sinners. The one we are taught is a gauge of our holiness. Oh, we are taught to hate the sin but love the sinner, but too often we fail to recognize there is no sin separate apart from the person. So often the sin has become the definition of who they are – as in, “Oh, you mean the divorced woman who sits in the back at church.” We begin to shy away from that person, as if their sin was going to rub off on us, like God wouldn’t like it if we came home smelling of divorce. Our kindness is marked with that boundary of “I will give you this, but don’t come any closer.” In the end, that type of kindness is crippling to the receiver.

My perception of God began to shift over time. I mean, if his people flinched then surely he flinched. And if he flinched, it had to mean one of two things, my sin was that great or he was that small. Either way, it meant there was no hope for me. I was lost, endlessly and miserably lost, and there was not a God who loved me enough or was great enough to save me from my reality. My façade was crumbling and my faith was a tattered rag too full of holes and too worn to be warm in the coldness of life.

But then came the day, when I went to the well and stared into its depths and wondered why even bother to lower the bucket. I would just be thirsty again, why prolong the inevitable? So I sat waiting my demise, wondering how long it would take to kill off those last vestiges of faith, and he showed up. I didn’t believe him at first. My ability to hope, to dream of great things for myself and my girls was dead, but somewhere in the deepest part of who I was I knew that when the Messiah came he would explain everything. And when he sat beside me on the edge of that well, that is exactly what he did.

He explained how there is plan and purpose for us all. He told me how there is not one moment of my heartache and pain that would be wasted. He told me he was big enough and great enough to redeem it all to his glory. He said his holiness could never be sullied by my sin and shame. He shared how his heart’s desire was to resurrect all this world had killed within me, and called me back to life. He shared a drink with a disreputable woman who had given up hope, until he saw me and didn’t flinch.

Don’t Flinch – Part 1

There is a story I love about Jesus, maybe it is because I identify with the woman he is talking to, all too well. As I read his words to her, and listen to her responses I can hear my voice forming the words, the sense of desperation and the sheer lack of hope.

The story is found in John 4:1-42. Jesus is traveling with his disciples but he sends them away for awhile, maybe so he could spend a little time alone with a woman they just wouldn’t get. Maybe it was so they wouldn’t have the chance to scare her off, or make another one of their blunders in defense of their Lord. Whatever the reason, he found her there alone at the well in the middle of the afternoon, and what he requires of her is astounding. "Give me a drink." (John 4:7)

I can see the disdain in her face as she responds, hear the unspoken accusations in her words. What are you going to say to me? What could you possible say that a hundred others haven’t already accused me of? You have no right to say one word to a woman such as I. Instead, she merely points out the obvious, you are a Jew and I am a Samaritan, why are you even speaking to me?

Jesus doesn’t flinch. I can almost see him smile as he tells her that if she had a clue, she would ask him to give her living water. It’s a set up, she can see it but can’t resist the chance to put this great man in his place. She tells him, you don’t even have a bucket or a rope, and yet you have the audacity to offer me something greater than the water in this well. I can almost hear the snort.

Living water, a precious commodity in those days. Water that had not been allowed to set or stagnate. It was required that one wash in living water before entering into worship, and not always available in that arid land. Even the water in the well was not living water, the well was a seep. Water from the surrounding land filtered through the rock and slowly collected there, stagnating and stinking because it had no fresh source. Water unfit for use in purification or cleansing, but all that could be had at this place.

Jesus continues, redirecting her vision back to the well, showing her something she has not seen or considered before. With gentle authority, he affirms what she has said and then challenges her to hope, but her heart has been broken. She has been kicked around by society, judged by the harshest critics. Why else would she avoid the other women who came to the well in the cool of the morning? The part of her that knows how to dream, how to hope, has been broken and Jesus is doing something amazing – He is calling it back to life.

“Go and get your husband.” He commands, and she laughs, with bitterness I am sure. “I have no husband.” You can almost hear the thought, once more I am disqualified, not good enough to receive a blessing. Her anger and wounded pride, justified yet again.

But Jesus still doesn’t flinch. “I know,” he says. “And I know all about who you are, what you have done, but I have still made the offer. I still want to share this drink with you!”

I can almost hear the mental scurrying as she seeks a place to hide within herself. She has to deflect, avoid the intimacy of the moment, kindness is too much. So she asks an inane theological question, something safe, but Jesus refuses to be distracted. He answers but his answer is far more pointed than she could have anticipated, "God is seeking those who will worship in Spirit and in Truth." He is looking for people who can acknowledge that there is sin, some sins they have chosen and some to which they have been a victim. But, God still desire to know them.

Listen close, I can almost hear the hope creeping into her voice, “When the Messiah comes, he will explain everything.” I will know why my life has been what it has, the thought pierces through her words. I will understand why I have had to endure what I have endured. It will all be worth it when he comes.

And Jesus, once again smiles, "I am he!" What a revelation! What a reason to grasp the hope he has offered! It is not an abstract idea. It is not something locked in the great, unknown future. It is now, and she has witnessed it.

Tune in next time – when I tell the story of when I went to the well.

So tell me a story!

Deep down inside of each of us is a craving to basic that we often fail to recognize its existence. A need so basic that we gratify without a second thought as to why we need or what we need. We fulfill this need in our children almost through instinct and yet it is considered a basic trait of a good parent. We have turned the fulfillment of this need into a billion dollar industry, and stores across the globe cater to it. Grand halls have been erected to service this need, products in all forms have been created in its honor, we have developed easily transported means to feed this desire, and yet, most of still fail to identify it as need. At best it is an indulgence or entertainment, but hardly ever deemed a necessity.

The need is simple, tell me a story. I need to hear, to see, to experience a time and place that I never inhabited. I need the chance to be a part of something greater, grander, or even more terrifying than the life I live. Tell me a story, be it a fairy tale, a romance, a thriller, or just how you took out the garbage this morning. Tell me a story, your story, another’s story, or one simply imagined.

There is power in a story. The power to influence my perspective, the power to teach, the power to inspire, and the power to destroy. A power so great that lives can be changed, nations moved, and eternity envisioned. Maybe this is the reason that God chose to reveal Himself first in a story. His first words to humanity are not rules, but a narrative of how He desired to create the beings He loved. He tells us of the men who served and failed Him and His unrelenting desire to redeem. And only after He tells us the stories of the first people to know Him does He take us deeper.

God knew that we would learn more from the stories than we would if confronted with rules alone. He understood that we would see the sins of Adam and Eve and know the brokenness of relationship to Him. He knew that if we could see the Ark floating upon the waters we have some idea of His greatness. He showed us how the devotion and heart break of Abraham could inspire us to faith more effectively than a mere command. In Moses, we experience his mother’s agony and grief only to be surprised by God’s grace and protection. In their stories we begin to know the God who is at once holy and loving in a way that only a story can convey.

Today we think of stories as something that belongs in other books, as if the pages of the Bible are too sacred to be read as a thrilling tale, but that is exactly what it is the most thrilling tale of how the creator of the universe chose to be a part of the lives of everyday, flawed people. And it is a story we long for, the one we want to be a part of.

We have tried telling it countless ways. We may replace the names of Scripture with Aragorn or Rooster Cogburn, but it is the same story over and over again. It is the story of people, or single person, who needs a hero. It is the princess in the tower who cries out to heaven praying that someone will come and rescue her from the dragon. It is Tyler Durden trying to make sense of the senseless, and Rigeletto playing the fool while hiding his treasure. No story we tell exists apart from our need to know THE story.

We search out the next big movie, and allow ourselves to know the story for an hour or so. We read a book, and get lost in the flow of words. We listen to the latest gossip, because even a dubious story is better than no story at all. Something inside of us tells us we need the story, so we seek it out, immersing ourselves in stories of all types because we don’t forget the story we are looking for is the one He wrote for us.

And unfortunately, we as a society and culture have forgotten the ability of a story to teach.We began to believe that stories are meant for entertainment. We think of them as amusement, and fail to grasp the significance of this great event. Our ancestors knew different, don’t believe me? Read the original fairy tales, before they were Disneyfied to make the audience feel good and were used to scare children into good choices. Or consider the fables which taught a moral.

Think for a moment of the parables Jesus used to teach, and how His stories reveal to us a Savior’s heart. He knew the value of a story and lived one so that we might know Him better. And He told us that our stories have power and that through our stories the world could come to know Him. So being good Christians we fancied it up a bit, not believing it could be that simple, not having faith in His words or example, we throw around phrases like “sharing our testimony” and lost sight of the fact that our testimony is nothing more than our story. That means that the enemy is overcome through our story, yours, mine, and all who have come before living a life of faith and struggle.

So tell me a story. One that is true but still has room for magic. One where there is still a man on a white horse, wielding a sword, coming to defeat evil. Tell me a story about how God was there in your life, how you came to know Him, and how He has demonstrated His love. Tell me a story that inspires me to keep pursuing Him, and tell me a story where love does conquer all. Tell me your story. I need to hear it because I need to hear His.

Putting it all Together Part 11 - Preaching to Myself and Other Drowning Rats

Then there are the days. . .Days when you wonder if this thing you set out to do will ever happen. If you have bitten off more than you can chew and think that you are going to choke on the bones. I would be lying to you if I said there is point in time when you get over it. If there is, I haven’t found it.

As most of you know we are putting together an event in February called Splendor and Holiness, and at the beginning we were all excited. Electrified might be a better word. We had carefully planned and prayed over our topic, we identified the need for Christians to learn more about worship, what it is and how to engage in it, and we had the means to make it happen. Several of our friends supported us as we fleshed out the idea, so we jumped. It was easy and it felt like flying, for awhile.

But something happens on the way to the realization of a dream. For those of us who have figured out how to dream and given ourselves permission to dream, that is the fun part. What isn’t so fun are the times that you wonder just how big of a fool are you going to look like if it doesn’t happen?

I think that sometimes as Christians we are told that following God’s lead should be easy, everything should fall into place with supernatural precision, and sometimes it does. Those are the great times, and you know you can’t fail. However, more often than not there is a time when everything seems to stop and you are left dangling over a cliff, waiting for something, anything to happen. God gets real quiet, and you realize just how big of a chance you took.

This is the place where most of us give up, where we think that we had a delusional moment and made a mistake. After all if we are serving God shouldn’t it be easier, safer? We begin to doubt our ability and God’s faithfulness. So pack it up, retreat to safer ground, and tell ourselves and our friends our excuses for why we stopped. I would be lying if I said I have not felt this way about the February event.

We have had many people say that they would be there, and we have had a few register, but there is an image of a theater in Muskogee with only a handful of people that I just can’t shake. It makes me feel a little sick to my stomach, and I worry if I will disappoint the friends that I have convinced to help me. Some bit of self preservation is screaming to get out while there is still time, keep my dignity intact.

In my more rational moments I have to wonder exactly where we got the idea that following God had anything to do with dignity. The truth is a lot of the time when God called people to great things the first thing they had to abandon was dignity. Noah built a stupid boat in his front yard, David danced through the streets in his underwear, the cowardly Gideon declared he could lead and army to victory, Hosea married a woman that would have shamed a sailor, and Peter made a fool of himself more times than I can count.

Maybe that is why these guys are our favorites. We all know what it is like to fall flat on our faces and make fools of ourselves. They took a risk, they even looked foolish as they did it, but they succeeded. They are remembered as men of faith and courage.

I have to wonder exactly what did Peter think as he lowered himself over the side of that boat. Did he leap out onto the waves with no fear? Or did he shake as he gripped tightly to the hull? Did he play out all the scenarios of how badly this could end for him? Or did he just see the chance to do what his Lord was doing? The Bible says that Peter saw the wind and was afraid. In that moment he began to sink, and I wonder how far down he got before he totally freaked out. Sometimes we see the pictures of Jesus pulling something resembling a drowned rat from among the waves, and yet, I have been told that Peter never made it past ankle deep before Jesus saved him.

Either way, any of you who have fallen know that a split second is all you need to envision your untimely demise. We see the wind and know the distance we have left to travel before we reach our destination. We feel the pressure of having to navigate the waves, and begin to doubt we will be able to do it. We feel the eyes of all the smart people who stayed on the boat and know they are thinking what fools we are while envying their safety. The thing is we know that if we can make it, if we can reach out and touch the object of our desire, no boat will ever be good enough again.

And the truth is, we never wanted sit on the stinking boat to begin with. We wanted to be the One who needs no boat, the One who did great things, and now empowers us to risk great things on his behalf. Striking out for the place you believe God is leading you is scary, but it is exciting and the grandest adventure we can ever know. How many times do think Peter sat around a fire and told friends about that night? How many times do you think his friends asked, “Can he do that for me?” I want a story like that for my life. How about you?

Can you leave the boat, brave the waves, and ignore the wind? There are times when it is easy, and there are times when it is the hardest thing we will ever do, but the good news is if we fail, if our gaze should wander to the elements cause of us fear, there is One who doesn’t mind pulling us drowning rats from the abyss.

Hope to see you in February!

Blue Skies Views from the Bottom the Well

Repost from June 11, 2008, in response to the questions that so many of you have asked over the past week. My prayers are with you all!


I have often wondered what did Joseph think when he sat at the bottom of that well, the one his brothers threw him into after he told them his dream. The dream where they would one day bow down before him. What other black thoughts must have followed when he wasted away in the Egyptian prison?

I wonder because I know what it is to think that God has spoken to me, revealed some special thing that was about to happen in my life. The promise of a new tomorrow where for once all things will be as I had hoped that they could be,but always there seems to be dark time where the promise is lost in the reality of miserable moments. Moments where my ability to affect change is swept away from me, where the power is given to another and I must continue to live despite the pain of watching my hopes fade before I ever touched them.

I wonder if Joseph could see the sky in that pit. Did he see the brilliant blue as assurance that God still watched over him or did he feel mockery at its distance? Those years when he was forgotten in a prison did he resent the woman who
wrongly accused him or the God who allowed him to be placed there? Were there moments of anger, pain, and confusion? Or was he blissfully faithful that there would be a day when he saw his dream manifest? Did he reason away hope?

Did he think that perhaps he had merely been the victim of misplaced hope? Did he think God a liar? Did he believe that his pride and arrogance caused this catastrophe? Were there days when he regretted placing credence in the images that
filled his sleep? Did he weep over the death of dream? Or did he stoically accept his fate, believing that all would be well in the end?

I wish I knew. Maybe if we heard the fights, the inner battles he waged with himself, there would be a clue for those of us who wait for God to move on our behalf. Some instruction of how to handle those times when we sit in a pit listening
to our brothers squabble as to whether to kill us or not.

I don't know why dreams often have to die before they can be realized. Sometimes I think it is so that we never mistake this thing that God wants to give us is something we conjured up. Maybe it is so that others will see it truly is God who
brought it into being and not the work of human hands.

There is some comfort in that thought, but my faith isn't always that big. If it was would I mourn the dream? And yet even as I type that last line, I hear the words, "Jesus wept". He wept at the news that his friend had died.

It is a baffling thought really. Jesus wept. I mean wrap your head around the whole scenario for a moment. God incarnate the one who breathed life into the original man, the God who spoke the universe into existence, the God who knows all things - weeps over the death of a friend, the death of his dream.

And we are God's dream. Each of us is a reflection and product of his desire. His dream of relationship, his dream of passion and revelation. We are his dream.

As Jesus moved towards the grave of a man who was his friend, as you and I hope to one day know him, he saw his dream die. With one amazingly distinct difference, he knew that with a few simple words his friend would walk at his side once more.
His tears never made sense to me, but tonight I think I get it.

As we strive to attain a level of communion with God that allows us to walk in faith, even in the most extreme situations, we are not to be callous to the death of a dream. Grieving over the loss of something we hold dear is not a sign of
weakness or even a sign of a lack of faith. It is being human. Indeed, if I may be so bold - it is being God like.

God never asked us to be without emotion. He never demanded that we deny pain. He only asked that we seek him, become conformed to his image as presented through the humanity of Jesus.

There is some debate on how much Jesus realized about his deity while he lived on earth. Some claim that he knew he was God from the moment he was born, others say it was not until he sat in the temple questioning the rabbis. Still others
point to his baptism as the moment of revelation. And even if a time can be determined there is still the question of how much did Jesus know, how much of his God consciousness was he able to access in his human form.

I tend to believe it was limited in many ways. That he knew what he needed to know for the moment. To me it makes his time here more - well, human. It makes his knowledge of our experience more intimate, and his tears at Lazarus death less
hypocritical. It makes his grief real, and not merely a display. And I have to ask, what did he think as he made his way to the grave of his dream?

At what point, did he know that his words held the power to call a rotting body from the ground? At what point, did Joseph realize it was his God inspired words that pulled him from his captivity? Will I know that moment in my life? Will you
know yours?

I really don't know, but I do know that in the mean time it is okay to weep. It is okay to mourn. I am not relinquishing my faith by acknowledging my grief, and should this be a dream that finds resurrection - it will be beyond what I had ever
dreamt it could be.

He looked like what?

I recently overheard a heated discussion about what Jesus looked like.  One person's argument was the Bible did not describe Jesus.  This is a true statement.  The Bible does tell His lineage and where He lived His life.  Therefore, we should be able to assume His appearance based on these facts.

But is Jesus' appearance as important as his life and purpose?  Should His looks have any affect on our response to His message?  Is salvation based on His hair being a certain color or style?  Is our relationship with Jesus' formed and nurtured due to the clothes He wore?

A person's appearance does not have any bearing on salvation or one's relationship with Christ.  Jesus did not care about people's dress, lineage, or history.  Jesus saw people's spiritual need instead of their need for new clothes or a haircut.  Jesus knew a person's physical and spiritual needs would be met when they accepted Christ.

In today's society, looks, beauty, and wealth seem to indicate one's worth in society.  Jesus uses none of these to determine a person's worth.  His message is everyone is of worth as God's creation and is worthy of being saved.