A Prayer

Shine Your light so all can see it 

Lifted up, 'cause the whole world needs it 

Love has come, what joy to hear it 

He has overcome, He has overcome

-SMS (Shine), the David Crowder Band

but these are written that so that you may believe 

that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, 

and that by believing you may have life in his name. 

John 20:31

Jesus, in this time of fear and unrest in our world, brought on by hate and zeal and belief in all the wrong places and things, may you be King. May you guide our responses and our prayers and our actions and behaviors. Be our Teacher, our Comforter. Use us to bring peace, as you brought peace. Strengthen us to mourn with those who mourn. Blot out our fears and our worries and our anxieties.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5

Jesus, in your life and your death and your resurrection, you teach us how to live.

You are King of life, and of death. 

You are King of our weeping, and of our rejoicing. 

You are King of our fears, and of our peace. 

You are King of our doubts, and of our belief. 

You are King when we are locked in inactivity, and when we are out in the world in your name. 

We see your loving response to us when we are overcome, in the book of John, chapter 20. We see it in the story of Mary Magdalene, who was inconsolable after your crucifixion. She found your tomb empty, and raced to tell your disciples who came to see for themselves. 

After they examined your vacant grave, and left, scratching their heads, Mary did not have the strength to leave and move on. She leaned on your tomb, and wept. In her grief, you chose to bless her—the first to see you in your resurrection. The angels asked her, “Why are you weeping?” Mary’s only thought was to be with you, even if just your empty bodily shell, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When you then appeared to her, her grief was still too much for her to see you fully, and you, in all your gentleness and grace, repeated the angels’ question. Deep in grief, she still did not recognize you, until you said her name. Until you said her name, “Mary.” Then, only then, did she see you, and her grief melted away like frost meeting the morning sun. Only when you know us and name us, can our grief and our weeping cease in the sheer surprising joy of your presence. Only when you meet us where we are can we be whole. Only when we embrace you as King of our grief, can we know rejoicing and fulness and abundant life. You do not erase our grief, but you sustain us in the midst of it with your very self. Mary’s grief was real, just as your death was real. The separation between yourself and us was real. Your resurrection brought you back to us, and you choose to bless us, just as you blessed Mary outside your empty tomb. Say to us our names, and capture our hearts, blowing out our grief like a candle. 

Before the disciples had seen you, before they were bolstered and strengthened by your renewed presence, they hid. They hid behind locked doors, no match for the strength of Rome or the powerful religious leaders, and certainly no match for you. When you appeared to them, they were full of fear, confusion, and doubt. Instead of reprimanding them for their lack of faith, their lack of decisive action, you blessed them, and you spoke peace to them. You showed them your pierced hands, your lacerated feet. You built them back up, and you confirmed their place with you, with the Father. You met each of them in their brokenness, in their terrified hearts, just as you meet each of us even today. Even though we too hide behind our struggles and doubts and fears, they are also no match for you. You bind up our wounds, our pains, because your love for us outweighs even death itself. As you sent the disciples out to spread your love and soothe the brokenhearted, so you send us now, today. 

In all our grief, our fears, our doubts, you come to us through the locked doors of our hearts and our minds, and you stand among us, and you both speak and breathe peace into our fearful places. You know our individual struggles, and you meet us in them. Meet us now, and use us to meet the world in all its fear and terror, and breathe your peace to us once again. 

Less is More

True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less. 

-C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. 

Jesus, John 13: 14-15

It’s easy to feel ostracized these days. In our days of extreme connectivity and everlasting wi-fi so we basically have no EXCUSE to not be connected to something somewhere, it actually highlights the ever-widening distance between ourselves and others. Lonely, left out, overlooked. If we don’t fit the profile, we can spend so much time running to catch up, trying to fit in, trying to hide our flaws. If we can hide just enough, maybe, just maybe we will find acceptance and community and be free to share our passions and talents. Inside the church or outside of it, online or offline, home or work, it can be so hard to find our place. 

But what if we embraced our loneliness and our inability to be enough? What if we let go of the gnawing need to be seen and heard and surrounded by understanding people? What if we gave up our pride even a little bit? What if, as C.S. Lewis says, we simply thought of ourselves less? 

I think that we would find ourselves in a place of freedom and creativity and confidence we cannot even imagine. 

Humility makes good things happen; humility makes good things possible. 

When Jesus washed his disciples’ feet before his crucifixion and resurrection, he became a servant. He gave his disciples a glimpse of what it meant to be the Messiah, the Chosen One to save all humanity. So that they would understand, he became a literal servant. Vulnerable by taking off his outer garments, he wrapped a humble towel around his waist that would be his clothing and also a way to serve these men, his own. He showed them what it meant to love, which was his new commandment. To love means to serve, means to lower yourself to love others. It means, as Fenelon says in Let Go, to love obscurity and humility. Paul says in Phillipians we can look to our own interests, of course, but we also are called to multitask and look out for others.

If we see others, even our own family in Christ, as more significant, our lives will be in balance, in the proper order. This is only possible when we are confident in who we are as chosen people. Before Jesus picked up the towel and humbled himself, he knew who he was. He knew that God had given him all things and that He was returning to the Father—this knowledge is what enabled him and freed him to take on a very humiliating job in any household at the time. This knowledge made it possible to show the love of God to these men, these chosen ones. 

Knowing who we are, then, will also free us to seek humility and obscurity. Knowing who we are will free us to fully love. Just as Christ knew who he was and to whom he belonged, we can be confident enough to love being offstage, to love being in the backseat, to being behind the scenes. The commandment to love our brothers and sisters in Christ is no small task or easy thing to take on. Families are messy and full of countering personalities and annoying habits and frustrating quirks. And yet, this is how the world will know that we are Christ’s—that we love each other. This is what will make the world sit up and take notice. This is what will make the world sing. 

The hardest thing of all, to lay down our natural and human pride, is what will make the world see the truth of Christ. Not our programs and institutes, not our lists of To-Dos and Not-To-Dos, not our activities and accomplishments. Not if we live a purpose driven life, pray the prayer of Jabez or refute the latest Da Vinci Code type novel. Not if we vote for the right candidate. You can live the messiest life in the world, you can totally not have your crap together, but if you love. Oh, if you love. The smallest things will shine the brightest light. The parables of Jesus, how he told the world what He and the Father were all about, all renamed the small things as the big things. Treasure hidden in a field. A widow giving all she had to the poor, and it being more than what others gave out of their abundance. Someone selling all they have to buy one small invaluable pearl. Servants taking what their master gives them and turning it into exponentially more. 

Jesus, of course, lived this out while he was here. He did not come to the world in obvious royalty, like a Prince George or a Princess Charlotte or a North West. He didn’t come in all the glory and protection of the temple. He was a poor son of a carpenter, lived out most of his days in menial and physical labor. And even when his time of ministry came, he didn’t spend it among the influential or the rich or the purposeful or those full of promise. He spent it among the marginalized, the sick, the poor, the prostitutes, the fishermen, the weak, the crowds with nothing to offer; basically, with people like you and me. He healed those who didn’t appear to have anything to give the world even if they were healed. So that the glory of God could be shown in their lives. 

He came to you, in your specific time in history, in your specific set of circumstances to show you love. He came to you, to tell you are chosen and safe, that you can be part of a big, wonderful, crazy family. He came to you, to tell you that you can reflect the very glory of God in your life, in your face, in all you have to offer, even in all your limitations. 

This, this is more than enough reason to seek humility, to seek to love fully. When we are rooted and grounded in God’s love, we will have no need to feverishly seek pride, position, the next thing. We can be content where we are, who we are with, and with what is front of us, knowing that we are safe and sound and being guided by perfect love. We can truly mourn with those who mourn, and fully rejoice with those who rejoice. We can practice hospitality out of a full and thankful heart, no matter how small or unimportant or left out we might feel at times. We know that, like Paul says in Colossians, our life is hidden in Christ and someday when he appears again, we will also appear with him in glory. And for now, while we see as in a mirror dimly and being loving and humble doesn’t always make sense, let us remember that we are obediently following in the footsteps of our loving Savior who never asks us to do anything he hasn’t already done, who sees and notes all that we do for him, and that somehow love always turns into its own reward.