Episode 5

Episode 4

Episode 3

Who Knows You?

Well, folks, I'm sitting in what used to be my daughter's bedroom before she moved off to college. These four walls now represent the parameters of my ministry...no, I take that back. I think of my friend who lives with his family on a renovated school bus. He said that his living room is whatever happens to be right outside the doors of his bus. One week it was parked at a lake. That living room had a whole lot of room for life to happen. The parameters of my ministry are only limited by the time and distance my body can travel. Wherever I am there is my ministry.

Well, I can hear the garbage truck (at least that's what we used to call it growing up) picking up the green trash bin outside. Other than that things are pretty quiet now—at least on the outside of my skull. Inside my skull is another story. There's a war going on there. If you could be a fly on the inside of my skull, this is what you might hear...actually, it's probably not a good idea for you to know what's going on inside my skull at the moment. Anything you know about what’s going on inside my skull can and will be used against me in the court of human disconnection.

This brings me to a theme that my brother, Mike, hardwired into one of his screen plays; i.e., the thing we most fear and desire is to be known. We most fear to be known for the reason I already gave: if you knew me, really knew me (e.g., knew what actually was going on in my skull, knew the awful things I've done/still do in life, knew the awful things that have happened to me in life, etc.) you'd probably want to turn the key in my padded cell, toss the key down some sewer hole and walk away without looking back. We most desire to be known simply because we were made that way: part of what it means to be created in the image of God is to possess an innate desire to be part of a larger community where we are both know and are known. Just as God Himself is part of a Triune community where each member is intimately connected with every other member, so too I/you/we belong to a community (or wish to) where we know and are known, where we love and are loved. Hence the dilemma. If I let you into my skull (heart might be more appropriate), chances are you won't like what you see/hear. But if I don't let you into my heart, there will be no opportunity for you to know me, and, therefore, no chance in heaven for you to truly love the real me.

I believe most of what we love about each other are carefully crafted, socially acceptable facades that we have laboriously and meticulously chiseled away at for years. That's why a lot of people can't stand little children. The wee ones haven't had the time to craft their socially acceptable facades and so they are what they are—tear, food, snot stained wailing, grimacing, laughing faces who aren't sophisticated enough to fool people by pretending to be something they're not—it's always wysiwyg with the wee ones. The thing that freaks me out about these little non-pretenders is that Christ says I have to be like them if I want to get into heaven. I'm pretty sure He's not saying that we all have to give up personal hygiene to gain access into his presence. It's the pretense thing that we have to give up. The facade, the walls, the barriers, the fears, the control because of those fears. Fear is the antithesis of faith and it's fullest expression; i.e., love. The attempt to control that fear through hypocrisy, legalism, etc. is the antithesis of trust. In other words, I must be known, really known by Christ if I want to be with Him. This brings me to Matthew 7 and Matthew 25.

In Matthew 7:21-23 we have the overconfident, overbearing, self-righteous, take charge movers and shakers of this world who with their can-do swagger, wave their self-made brag-lists before the face of the Lord and exclaim, "Hey, Lord, check this out. Check out what we did for You in Your name!" They then proceed to check off all the good things they did for Him: prophesying in His Name, driving out demons, performing all sorts of miracles, winning the perfect church attendance award the past 10 years, reaching out to thousands of lost folk in the remotest parts of the world, starting up shelters for the homeless, fighting against those who would teach false doctrine... the list goes on and on. And at the end of the list, what does the Lord say? "Be gone from me you evil doers, you believed the wrong doctrine! You belonged to the wrong church! You pursued the wrong sort of ministry!" No. He utters something that should cause even the godliest among us to pause and consider: "Be gone from me you evil doers. I NEVER KNEW YOU." He doesn't tell them their prophesy was false, their exorcisms were ineffective, their miracles were second rate. I NEVER KNEW YOU comes from another ball park altogether.

Matthew 25 is the other ball park. So, the Son of Man is sitting on his glorious heavenly throne and all the nations are gathered before Him. He then proceeds to invite those on his right to come and take their inheritance, the kingdom which was prepared for them before the world was created. These folk didn't even have lists in their hands. In fact, it's pretty clear from the context that they were surprised—I can see them shaking their dumbfounded heads— that they got invited to the party in the first place. Jesus tells it like it is: I'm inviting you in because when I was hungry, thirsty, homeless, naked, sick and incarcerated you cared for me. Their response is the kicker: "When did we care for you in any of these circumstances?" Come again?! What sort of divine oblivion is this? And Jesus' answer? "When you did it for the least of these children of mine, you did it for me." It’s fascinating that Christ knew and recognized those who He invited into His kingdom even when it appears that they were a little fuzzy in their recognition of Him.

What's the difference between the list wavers in Matthew 7 and the head shakers in Matthew 25? A razor thin world to the human eye; a radically different, multi-dimensioned world to the eye of God. In Matthew 7 those who bring their lists before the judge have created their own kingdoms of, by and for themselves, revealing that they aren't known by the true King of, by and for whom all things came into being. In Matthew 25 those who are invited to enter the kingdom reveal that they have the blood of the king flowing in their veins (true, not blue, blood) not because of anything they themselves can boast about but because they move and have their being within the kingdom of, by and for the King of kings Himself. They reveal that they are known by the Truth, that they belong to the Truth because the manner in which they move manifests the pedigree, the family tree, the fountainhead from which their spiritual DNA flows.

The heart of the gospel isn't a matter of believing four points on a printed page. Neither is it coming up with a list of all the things one has done in the name of Jesus. The heart of the gospel—and, therefore, our "salvation"—is wrapped up in a simple question: Are you known by the Christ? Only those whom He knows will be invited into His kingdom to reign with Him because they alone will be able to bear the weight of His glory. It takes one to know one. It takes one to see one. Only those who are like Him, those who are known by Him, will be able to see Him.

The question on the table for you and me is "How does the way we live now reveal that we are known by the Judge and King of our souls?"

Episode 2

Food For the Soul

I had lunch yesterday with a good friend at Thai Thai, a simple yet savory buffet of all things—you guessed it—Thai. I love lunches where not only the food is good but the "soul food" is even better. Being with my friend provided the soul food. Things "unseen" were discussed (consumed?) right alongside the pad thai and chicken curry. Now that's what all meals should be like. And then it happened. The word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. Just as I was about to stand up to pay the bill, Charlie, the waiter, placed a plastic platter of change on the table. I looked up at him confused. I hadn't paid yet so he must have placed someone else's change on our table. I began to express my confusion when he simply smiled that inscrutable asian smile at me (I should know, I've got 100% Japanese American blood). He pointed to the change and nodded. I still didn't get it until I looked carefully at the change. It was the exact amount of change that I would get had I walked up to the cash register and paid the bill: $5.20. The bill was for $15.05 and I had $20.25 in my hand. Then it dawned on me: Charlie had (1) observed me pull out the cash (including the quarter) from my pocket to pay the bill, and (2) knowing the amount I owed, (3) went to the cash register, (4) got my change, (5) walked over to my table and (6) smiled as he (7) placed the change before my confused face. I have a feeling the word gets fleshed out before me every day like this, but the question is do I have eyes to see and ears to hear it. Charlie was a living example of the "word made flesh" in more ways than one. Not only did he serve me beyond the call of duty (at least what we would expect of a "waiter"), but he also raised my awareness of God's presence by his awareness of mine.

A song of ascents.

I lift up my eyes to you, to you whose throne is in heaven. As the eyes of slaves look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maid look to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the LORD our God, till he shows us his mercy. Have mercy on us, O LORD, have mercy on us, for we have endured much contempt. We have endured much ridicule from the proud, much contempt from the arrogant.

—Psalm 123

Episode 1

In Everything Give Thanks...

Every day I form two (often unconscious) mental lists: things I am thankful for and things I am not thankful for. The things I am thankful for usually involve some sort of pleasure (or absence of pain). The things I am not thankful for usually involve some sort of pain (or absence of pleasure). So on the first list I have things like the following:

Great Breakfast this morning (except for the missing sausage)

Carpal tunnel syndrome not acting up.

Blood sugar levels OK.

No current arguments with wife that I know of.

Completed woodworking project without dismemberment.

No need for Prilosec or Imodium before or after breakfast.

The second list is easy. Just negativize the stuff on the positive list and add a few more for dramatic effect like the following:

Woke up and forgot why.

Noticed less hair on my head for the Lord to number—this might be on the Lord's "thankful" list.

Left the sock drawer open for the millionth time which was pointed out by my wife for the zillionth time.

My son, Jason, in whom I delight, ate one of my little sausages to punish me because I was 30 seconds late in coming to the breakfast table after the breakfast bell had been rung—for the millionth time, according to Jason.

Spent half the day meeting with "clients" with my zipper down.

Went to bed with the garage door wide open which, if my wife finds out, will subject me to an intense lecture on how I failed to be the protector of the family against all the dark evils of this world.

According to one leading source of all knowledge (i.e., weekeysomethingorother), the systematic study of gratitude (i.e., thankfulness) within the realm of psychology is a rather recent thing—owing to the fact that psychology is vastly more interesting (like the news) when it deals with how deranged we humans are. In addition to my criteria for what I may or may not be thankful for, the findings of these recent studies on gratitude tell us that gratitude happens when the thing we experience is perceived as (1) important to us, (2) costly to the one who gave it to us, and (3) coming from the one who gave it to us with a "no strings attached" benevolence. For the most part, I agree with the three points of gratitude, but what are we suppose to do with the "in everything give thanks" admonition? How is it that everything, including the gut/soul wrenching experiences in life, is the will of God for us and, therefore, something to be thankful for?

The thing about the word "everything" is it doesn't leave much room for misunderstanding and misinterpretation. It's similar to verses like "ALL things work together for the good" (Rom.8:28), "Rejoice in the Lord ALWAYS..." (Phil. 4:4), and "NEVER will I leave you; NEVER will I forsake you." (Heb.13:5). And because there is no room for misinterpretation, than it becomes a matter of simple perception, or more accurately, simple faith.

If God says to give thanks in EVERYTHING because it's His will for us in Christ Jesus then simple faith tells us that whatever the thing is (good or bad) it's allowed by God and, therefore, it's ultimately good for us (i.e., valuable), it cost Jesus something to give it to us (or at least allow it to happen to us), and it's given out of sheer grace with no ulterior motives—like the sun and rain that shines and falls on the good and the evil.

Now about painful stuff: emotional, physical, psychological, internal, external, spiritual, etc. When painful stuff happens it leaves us with a simple dilemma: will we or won't we believe that it's covered under the "EVERYTHING" clause? If everything that happens is the will of God (both painful and pleasurable stuff), then it must be for our benefit. It must cost Jesus something to give it to us. And it must be given in the way the Father in heaven cares for all His creation. If I can't see how something passes the 3-part perception of blessing test, then the problem is with my perception (my faith) and not with the blessing.

Much of life this side of heaven will be spent learning how to see the things that are unseen; i.e., learning how to see the blessing in the midst of the all the brokenness. Yes, we believe, but Lord help us in our unbelief. Yes, we smile when you give blessings (or takes away trials), and we say "Blessed be your name," but God grant us the grace to smile (or at least keep from cussing) when you take blessings (or gives trials), and help us to still say "Blessed be your name!" Amen!

Under Grace,

Martin

p.s. Can you guess which list the pic above belongs to?

Jacob I have loved, but Esau I have hated...

I became an "ojichan" (grandpa) two days ago for the first time. Miriam McConnell is a 7 pound 15 ounce living expression of grace. I've never seen a new born with such alertness of eye, such keenness of ear, but then, of course, I am biased, she being a chip of the ol' block and all. Right now it's safe for me to say that Miriam is my favorite grandchild because she happens to be my only grandchild, but what if Jenny (my daughter) gave birth to twins? What would I say then? "Miriam I love but "x" I hate"? To tell the truth, I am troubled by those words of both Malachi and Paul which are ultimately attributable to God Himself: Jacob I have loved, but Esau I have hated. Those words conjure up in me all sorts of painful memories, memories when I felt someone (whether friend or foe) was for whatever reason (whether fair or foul) favored above/before me. I know the theological arguments about the potter and the clay, the hardening of Pharaoh's heart, the vessels created for dishonor, etc. I know I have no right to claim God's favor as something deserved, something earned, and yet...and yet, I return to baby Miriam and I think of all the less fortunate babies born in this world who will be hated, mistreated, and what's worse, totally abandoned and neglected as if their birth contained no more meaning than a sparrow that falls to the ground unnoticed by human eyes. Everything in me recoils against the idea that some babies should be loved more than other babies; nay, that some babies should be hated over other babies. Most folk in their right mind would say that people who choose to love or hate one baby over another are out of their minds. But isn't that same insanity attributed to God when we say that he chooses to love some people while choosing to hate others? If I recoil at the idea of human partiality in loving and hating, I would rather be cursed and damned than believe in a God who isn't much different than what we see in the midst of humankind all the time: prejudice, partiality, and preferential treatment.

So what to make of the "Jacob I have loved, but Esau I have hated" statement? Here's my quick take on the matter. From other passages we know that God is not a God of "favoritism" or "partiality" (see Acts 10:34, Rom.2:11; Eph.6:9; Col. 3:25; Jas.2:1, 9). We also know (though this isn't always pointed out) that Esau may have been "hated" by God, but he still was blessed by God through Jacob (Heb.11:20). The evidence that God's blessing was on Esau (even if lesser than Jacob's) is revealed in the encounter between the two brothers on the way through Seir, the land owned by Esau. Jacob is expecting doom and retribution from his brother, but is truly surprised by a warm, affectionate embrace: But Esau ran to meet Jacob and embraced him; he threw his arms around his neck and kissed him. And they wept. (Gen.33:4) Esau's response is almost identical to the response of, not an older brother, but of a loving father in a well known passage in the New Testament: But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. (Lk.15:20) How is that possible? What happened to Esau's bitter rage and desire to seek vengeance on his younger brother who conned him out of both birthright and blessing? In the same passage in Genesis we get a clue to what contributed to Esau's change of heart: But Esau said, "I already have plenty, my brother. Keep what you have for yourself." (Gen.33:9) Esau clearly saw his life as full and not forsaken, as blessed and not belittled. In fact, Jacob describes seeing Esau's face as seeing the face of God because of the favor Esau shows to Jacob. The parallel character in the New Testament should not have been the loving father but the bitter older brother who interpreted the father's love for the lost son as a diminishment of the father's love for himself. In fact, the older brother's response is very much like Esau's initial response to having been conned out of his birthright. At that time he didn't feel blessed, he didn't feel loved, he felt cheated out of his father's love and there was no way he could rejoice in his younger brother's blessing. The older Esau is not the same person as the younger Esau. In fact, the older Esau's response to Jacob reveals a spiritual maturity far deeper than Jacob's.

So what's the point in all this? Simple. I am the younger Jacob who would con his brother out of his birthright with a bowl of beans, and I am the younger Esau who would sell his birthright to his brother for a bowl of beans. I am loved and I am hated. The part of me that is "hated" is that broken part of me that fails to perceive the goodness and grace of God, that twisted, convoluted part of me that cannot see the value of being a son of God but would exchange that glory for an inglorious bowl of beans. The part of me that is loved is the part that's been created in the image of God, the part that God sees as worth redeeming, worth saving, worth giving His one and only Son up for. The encounter between the brothers in their later years reveals how much they both began to see and taste that the Lord truly is good—despite their conniving, gut-feeding ways. It is in the encounter that we see Esau's favor and forgiveness of his brother because he must have found the favor and forgiveness of his God. It is in the encounter that we see Israel's (aka Jacob, the heel grabber) gratitude and generosity towards his older brother (OK, he still was a wheeler dealer, but, hey, at least he wasn't stingy) because he must have encountered the gracious generosity of his God, too.

By the way, every day in this world sparrows fall to the ground unnoticed by human eyes, but the truth is God not only sees the death of each and every sparrow but holds the worth of each and every sparrow alive in his memory. Therefore, whether your name is Jacob or Esau, you need not worry. You are worth far more than many sparrows. (Matt.10:29-31; Lk.12:6-7)

Under Grace,

Martin

FIRST ENTRY

In the 1999 film, Magnolia,—called an "epic mosaic" by one critic— Earl Partidge (Jason Robards), an unfaithful man whose life is slowly ebbing away, speaks of the two he loved and hurt the most: "I'd come home and get in her bed... and say... ”I love you." This is Jack's mother. His mother, Lily. These two... that I had... and I lost. This is the regret that you make. This is the... regret that you make and the something you take and the blah, blah, blah, something, something. Gimme a cigarette. Mistakes like this... you don't make. Sometimes... you make some and OK. Not OK, sometimes, you make other ones. Know that you should do better. I loved Lily. I cheated on her. She was my wife for twenty-three years. And I have a son. And she has cancer. And I'm not there, and he's forced to take care of her. He's fourteen years old. To... to take care of his mother... and watch her die on him. A little kid, and I'm not there. And she does die."

In his slurred, post-modern-yoda-like speech, Partridge confesses to his grown son (Tom Cruise) that he was a scoundrel to both wife and son. His life was one long self-seeking, self-promoting, self-aggrandizing "blah, blah, blah" of self-absorption. I am not much different than Mr. Partridge. But like I told someone once, the older I get, the more I realize how royally broken I am, yet the less I condemn myself for being so. How is it possible to see one's own screwedupness more while being disturbed by it less? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord who alone has come into the world to save us from ourselves; i.e., our sins. My prayer is that through this "bedosay" dialogue we'll be able to compare notes on the journey and maybe get over ourselves in the process (no matter how inconsistent) so that we can be about the business of grace and goodness in this broken world. Feel free to respond with your own thoughts/observations/questions on being, doing and saying. Until the next post,

Under Grace,

Martin