Lost and Found

I've never really seen the show, except for that one time I caught a bit of it while channel surfing. I'm sure it's a very good show and that I would probably like it if I invested myself into it. It has happened with other well-written shows.

In the last two weeks, much has been lost in our church. Two dearly loved servants of the church; quiet servants making bold impacts in the lives around them, yet no longer in the kitchen to help pour tea at potlucks. Another dear woman lost her memory, confused and angry that her family would take her to receive the care she doesn't know she needs. Yet another losing her appetite due to cancer treatment. All of us, losing another moment... and another... and another... as time slowly plods (or races swiftly by).

The coin. The sheep. The son. Life is turned upside down to find that which is lost. But getting lost can be so much better. Getting lost in a television show, in one's own political opinions, in the heat of the moment, are all much better than being challenged to do what is right or be a good steward or serve someone other than ourselves.

But being found means someone bothered to do the looking. Being found means we're reinvested, part of the flock again, a restored child that has to go back to doing the chores. The object in question (time, coin, sheep, son, et al.) must have some value to the Finder.

What if we too become finders, recovering lost time, finding time to rescue dying relationships, finding a space to meet God daily, finding the courage to run out to greet grace, finding the resolve to restore a sense of purpose to waking-up every morning. Our lives can be spent either way: either in losing or in finding. And only one of them leads to rejoicing.

________________________________

So he told them this parable: "Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.

Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.' Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

Then Jesus said, "There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living.... But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands." ' So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him....."

Luke 15:3-21

Moving Day

It was surreal watching the room dissolve around us. There we sat in my dear friend’s living room, casually chatting about ministry and the church, about our lives and relationships, as movers plucked vases from shelves and lamps from tables and walked out of the room. The careful arrangement of pictures and furniture that formed the fabric of what my friend and his wife called “home” unraveled, the movers gently pulling the dangling string. All the threads were being gathered that they would be woven into another home in another state.

Think of your own home and how it is decorated: shreds of memory behind glass frames, sofas and Laz-E-boys positioned just so, specific paint colors slapped here and curtains hung there, all to transform wood, walls and windows into something more than the timbers, metal and nails. It’s the moment that a house (a lifeless structure) turns into a home (a dwelling of living people). We carefully arrange all these things to optimize our comfort and security or rearrange them periodically to get a sense of newness. Then there are the piles of letters/laundry/tools/boxes that clutter countertops, floors and basements but we don’t mind too much because we’re used to it. It’s all part of the system. The end-result reflects our personalities and tastes: sloppy or tidy, bold solid colors or mismatched. But more importantly, it is a safe place; our place that we daydream about at work, where we feel at rest.

I think about those who are suffering from the floods in the Midwest, or wildfires in California, or the big quake in China, and wonder about their homes (or what’s left of them). I wonder what they call home now or if they have any place to retreat for safety.

“Security” has become the household catchphrase in the months since 9/11 (which left many houses emptier than before). If you’ve traveled by plane in the last several months, you’ve certainly endured the tedious delay of long lines and the time it takes to swab your luggage’s zippers and test it for explosive chemicals. While I can’t imagine it doesn’t do some good, are we really more “secure” from the dozens of other threats to our lives that (unlike the photo we want to hang in the living room) we have absolutely no control over?

One of the hard realities of life on this planet is that any of our carefully arranged bits of our lives that prop us up and protect us from sadness and grief can be yanked away at any moment. Our houses and expensive stuff. Our memory, health and hobbies. Or most scary, our loved ones.

How then can we do anything else but learn how to lean solely on Jesus, the Rock, which can never be taken? Doing so means we cannot put our faith in the lives we’ve made for ourselves but for the one that Christ alone can give us. We have but to lean on Him, like a child wailing into his mother’s lap, like a soldier with a wounded leg, like weeping in a friend’s solid hug. Then we’ll find that our home is not really in anything we can touch but woven entirely in the fabric of unmovable presence of God; a home build with the wood and nails of Christ’s tree and founded on the undefeatable power of the resurrection.

“The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer, my God, my rock in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” ~Psalm 18:2

Broken Mountains and Bows

“Change is the one thing in life that is certain…” – Anonymous

Ask this of one of the dozens of families from the Midwest who’ve lost everything in one of the many tornadoes in the last weeks, or one of the 5 million Chinese people left homeless by the earthquake, whether or not this statement is true, and you will probably get a disillusioned nod.

There is real security in a predictable life. It’s never the things you plan for that shrinks your savings account but the water heater going out during your shower, the unavoidable car crash, the emergency surgery, that comes from left field and catches you and your wallet off-guard. Divorce would certainly happen less if people didn’t change as they grow up.

But it always happens: change. Reality on our globe never sits still. Things that were there one moment are gone the next; jobs, health, love and loved ones. The landscape is always…changing.

And yet our instinct clinches down on these fleeting anchors anyway, desperately looking for purchase and security. Because anchors can hold us fast in life-threatening storms. But then when the anchor breaks away, we flail in the tempest, on the verge of drowning. Certainties are ripped away, leaving us soaked and lost.

But our God doesn’t play by those rules.

“God is our refuge and strength,
an ever present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea…”

Unaffected by our storms, both great and small, our God is unchanging in His utter dependability.

“The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.”

The reality of God’s power and love (greater than our broken earthly one) always wins in the end. The Psalmists are so good at reminding us that we can face any tragedy of human life (full of the kinds of grief and loss that words cannot capture) only if we let God be the Stronghold that He is. If we would simply

“Be still and know that He is God…

“Be still and know that He is…

Be still and know…

Be still…

Be

From Psalm 46

Help us, Isaiah....

Hope is a frightening thing.

It opens the door to the things we want most. It pulls back the bits of carefully-placed armor that shields our deepest and most sacred longings and exposes them to injury.

Skepticism is a far more practical approach to life:
Fewer disappointments and shattered dreams to clean up. It keeps you in touch with the needs of survival and reality. It's an all-around safer way to live.

I know kung-fu....

Not really. But as I watched the students under the jovial yet watchful eye of their Sifu (Master), I wanted to learn.

But the fact is, I know kung-fu about as well as I can identify the actual animal used in sweet-and-sour pork. However, I'm counting on the unique advantage that comes with ignorance: a blank slate. An empty cup.

"Hungry, I come to you for I know you satisfy
I am empty, but I know your love does not run dry.
So I wait for you. So I wait for you..."

... says the worship song. An honest psalm of despair and trust (interesting, how one often precedes the other).

Modern faith convinces on fixing ourselves. Who needs God when your hope is in human ability. Legend has it, that Ben Franklin, enlightened and lettered statesman/scientist of his Revolutionary day, attempted to mend his own character flaws by dedicating each week to repairing one of his broken virtues. He would perfect one and move on to another, only to find that after a short time, he needed to revisit the first one again. Certainly no surprise there for anyone who has sought to live a "good life".

And yet, God seems more interested in our availability than our abilities; a humble willingness as opposed to prideful prowess.

For you have no delight in sacrifice;
if I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased.
The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
~ Psalm 51:16-17

Vroom! Vroom!

I don’t understand. People laugh when I tell them that motorcycling is a religious experience.

Spring brings with it an abundance of new life. From the view atop Bent Mountain, looking down into the Roanoke Valley, I’m filled with wonder watching fingers of lime green creep up the slopes day by day. Before you know it, they’ll be overrun. Flowers are already defying last week’s frost and the sunshine thaws the earth from its wintery freeze. And the motorcycles begin waking up from their long hibernation.

Many people do not understand why some of their fellow mortals would dare such a reckless hobby. One thing they teach you in the “New Rider Training” program is that there are two elements to riding that sets it apart from driving: balance and protection. In a car, the seat cradles your entire frame, like a giant’s hand, suspended between four wheels that keep you stable on terra firma. On the motorcycle, you are responsible for remaining oriented right-side up to gravity, whether in motion, braking or standing at a stop light. In a car, you are surrounded by layers of steel and metal. On the bike, you are entirely responsible for whatever flesh you choose to expose to the elements and (if the worse should happen), the pavement.

Needless to say, there’s extra work involved piloting a motorcycle. It requires at least five additional minutes of preparation to put on all the armor of leather gloves, reinforced jacket and donning the brain bucket (doubly so when you have glasses) and then to do a once over to make sure lights and brakes in working order. Then once you pull out, staying upright means vigilantly watching for gravel, oil slicks and road-kill to spring up around a corner, negotiating turns at the proper lean angle, and staying balanced as you stop. This is to say nothing about negotiating the other drivers who aren’t accustom to looking for you or the drivers that are practically sitting on the seat behind you that don’t realize a motorcycle requires about half the distances as a car to come to a halt. (Believe me: for those who laugh when someone says motorcycling is a religious experience, this can do wonders for your prayer life!) Why risk it? It never escapes me every time I saddle up, if things goes south, I’m going to be the one to pay for it, regardless of who is at fault.

Because there is nothing else like it in the world: that’s why. I’ve never considered myself a thrill-junky. But I have yet to experience anything remotely akin to the rush of scenery all-around, the “groove” of a sweeping mountain curve, the exhilaration of the metal hooves pounding you forward just beneath your seat. Roller-coasters and convertibles do all the work for you. But in the extreme concentration of it and exposure to the beauty of the natural elements, you are so deeply connected to the machine that’s launching you along that when you pull in to the safety of your driveway (having defied the statistics and conquered gravity), you do so with a gigantic grin on your face.

So you’ll probably laugh again when I say that the Christian faith is so very much like riding a motorcycle. It is a dangerous, misunderstood trust in Christ that leaves others scratching their heads as to why you bother with such archaic superstitions or unscientific beliefs.

“For the message about the cross
is foolishness to those who are perishing,
but to us who are being saved
it is the power of God.” ~ 1 Corinthians 1:18

It is a way of living life that requires different external apparel and a certain balance with the truth so as to negotiate dangers along the way.

“Therefore take up the whole armor of God,
so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day,
and having done everything, to stand firm.” ~ Ephesians 6:13

And there is no greater joy than joining with Christ in His glorious work of bringing us home.

“Though you have not seen him, you love him;
and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him
and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy,
for you are receiving the goal of your faith,
the salvation of your souls.” ~ 1 Peter 4:13

Religious experience, indeed!