Rescuers

I live in the Midwest.  I live in a small town in the Midwest.

I live in a town where the sky is big, the hills are small, and the problems of the world are just not that concerning to us.

I sit this morning and read Galatians again, seeking again for the Spirit to shape in me the heart of Christ.  The Spirit strikes quickly:

"Jesus Christ, who gave himself for our sins to rescue us from the present evil age."

Jesus was a rescuer.  He rescued from the evilness of the world in which he lived (and in which we still live.

But I live in a town where the sky is big, the hills are small, and the problems of the world are just not that concerning to us.


I think often of my friends and brothers around the world.  For those fighting to bring hope to those lost in the hopelessness of homelessness.  I think of those sharing good news to those bogged down by the legalism of Islam.  I think of the wonderful young man Abhijeet, sharing faith in his homeland India; sharing even though his best friend's wife was killed, his friend brutally beaten.  I think of those freeing slaves, ending sex trafficking, and bringing clean water...

...and I feel disconnected.

I can send money (and do).  I can help out with a note of encouragement or prayer (and I do).  I can cheer them on and encourage involvement and raise funds...

...but ultimately I live in a town where the sky is big, the hills are small, and the problems of the world are just not that concerning to us.

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The big lights of the conventions were burnt out of her eyes.  The excitement gone.  The only reality left was that she knew she was changed, but was already ready to go back.  It was easier in the present evil age, even if more damaging.  It was easier to live without hope than to taste hope and fight for it.

And the text says she is ready to give up.

And I pray with her.

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He is strong, strong like abused dog that lashes out because it is better to bite than to get beaten.  The walls around his heart seemed like steel.  He didn't need anyone, he doesn't need anybody.  He doesn't always start the fights, but he sure finishes them.

He comes to church, but refuses to share his life with ours.

Until he comes from school broken.  Hot tears breaking down his face like acid eroding the steel around his heart.  He yells and cusses because he wants to be loved.  He wants to be accepted.

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No, I cannot be actively involved in beating the slavery in Africa, or the oppression of Islam in the Middle East.

But here in the Midwest the sky isn't so big and the hills are not so small that they are insignificant.  The problems are real.  The evil is real.  The pain and hurt and hopelessness all lead us to one major need:

Rescue.

And this I can do.  This I will do.

The Very Thing I Was (not) Eager To Do

I once threw change at a homeless man in Cincinnati to avoid talking to him any longer.

I threw it, it went everywhere, and I turned and left him to pick up the pieces of my generosity.  It wasn't 24 hours later that I was pulling out my wallet to pay a big tip to a horse-and-buggy driver to show off in front of my friends.  I was self-centered, fearful of those that were not like me (and who I thought were lesser than me), and ignorant.

And perhaps it should be noted that I was attending the National Missionary Convention.


At twenty, I was on the fast track to becoming one of those hot shot ministers that could preach to large crowds and do fantastic things.  I had helped write and design the curriculum for the NMC's youth program for that year, and would be helping teach it throughout the weekend.  I was there to be an expert.

And yet I knew nothing.

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My first year in ministry and I am surrounded by a new reality.  In my first month I am going to a different type of missions gathering.  A group of 10 of us, half of them teenagers, are going to talk with Islamic refugees.  We are not going to preach, nor are we going to accomplish some great work.  We are simply driving five hours from home to spend the day having conversations in English, helping them get accustomed to their new life in the United States.

I talk to an elderly man as we walk through the park.  He is weathered from horrors that my life cannot comprehend.  He asks about my family, and why I do not yet have children at the age of 23.  I balk and try to explain the intricacy of being stable before having children to a man who was uprooted and moved across the world just a year before.

He asks about my faith, and I share that it is in Jesus the Messiah.  He came to bring good news.  I asked about his faith.  He shares that when he was young they would have stoned any man found out to be a follower of Jesus the Messiah; and those were the good old days.

As we leave for the return home.  This man, whose pride is killing my brothers, embraces me in a hug--a deep sign of respect.

On the ride home I realize:

The one thing I know is that I know nothing.


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Now a four year ministry veteran.  I know less than I did before, but yet I know more.  On trips to serve or listen or talk I have learned that these places, these people are crucial.  They belong to God.  I am struck now, this very morning, as I read again through Paul's letter to the Galatians, about a simple agreement between Paul and the other leaders of the church:

"All they asked was that we should continue to remember the poor, the very thing I was eager to do."


Let me be likewise eager, O God and Father of this homeless soul.

Anticipation

Dear God,

As I gather with your church, within your sacred walls of flesh community.

I do not see you.

I am too busy.  I have to look for you afterword.  I am too busy doing, thinking, looking, sharing, caring, shaking, smiling, hugging, hand raising, singing, teaching....


And I forget that you are in it all.

The old ones, Paul and Peter and countless others, they anticipated

You.

They looked for you, sought you, worshiped you, praised your grace, waited for you.

And you were there.

And you sent them.

And they saw, they noticed.




...So let it be with me.

What I Am Learning--A Freedom Most Frightening

"Lord, renew my mind"

This faint whisper has become the battle cry.  As I focus on Romans 12:2 as my one verse, its primary purpose is to become my one prayer.  And so I pray that little phrase throughout my day:


Lord, renew my mind.

And I set to work at doing my part.  Renewal requires submission.  Renewal requires rules.  My mind needs restrictions and guidance and a set of yes's and no's

And in God's gracious answer to my prayer he led my rules to Galatians.

I sat up and read it front to back about 2 weeks ago.

I read it again front to back 2 nights ago.

It is intoxicating.

Paul, nay, God plants in Galatians a truth so scandalous it makes my heart race.


We are free.


Yes, we are free.


And I have read Galatians 5:1 before, about being set free for freedom sake, and all the time I praised God for my freedom from my sin (a freedom so real!)...


...but that is not the freedom talked about.


No, we are free from law.


No more does my effort count.  No more am I judged on my ability to be good enough, to be just enough.  No more am I required to align my life with the law of God.  NO!  It is for FREEDOM I have been set free.


Jesus did the work.  Jesus did the righteous living, Jesus did the sacrificial dying, Jesus did the death defying...




...and Jesus still does the sanctifying,  The Spirit, living within is doing the holy-making for me.


I just submit, and find myself lavished in freedom.


No more rules and regulations, just freedom that leads us to living like God.




And this freedom terrifies me.


I know it must be so.  The law, my law, has never kept me close to God before, and it never will.  But...but I just feel like it can't be this easy, this free.


Doesn't freedom naturally lead to anarchy?


Not this freedom.


This freedom dances in the perfection of grace.  It burrows down into the soil of Christ.  It is watered by Spirit...and fruit comes.


Good fruit from freedom.


Shudder my soul with expectancy.