Unless you yourself have been living in a cave for the past three weeks, you know about the rescue of the dozen Thai boys and their soccer coach. This rescue can be only described as miraculous. On Saturday, June 23rd, the team was reported missing, their bicycles found at the mouth of a cave as monsoon rains poured down. Search and recue teams were dispatched, but the flooded caves proved too treacherous for the local authorities. National and international divers were recruited, and, despite the odds, the whole team was found by a diver on July 2nd, nine days after reported missing. Weak from starvation and compromised by low oxygen levels in the cave, the team was cared for (underground) as the rescue team formulated an extraction plan. Ultimately, with the use of a ‘buddy diver’ system, the boys and their coach were rescued six, seven and eight days later (on July 8th, 9th and 10th). After more than two weeks of darkness, for the boys and their loved ones, they all were safely resting in a hospital located 37 miles away from that murky cave.
To many observers, lost in the details of this miraculous delivery are the fatal circumstances of Major Saman Gunan, the former Thai Navy Seal who died when his oxygen ran out while navigating the path in and out of the cave on July 6th. Without the sacrifice of a few, there would not be reason to rejoice. The good news – that the boys were delivered from certain death – is undergirded by greater news – that there are always some who will be willing to die that others may live. The good news celebrated by ordinary people is secured by extraordinary people amongst us: fire fighters, police officers, rangers, soldiers, sailors and more. Join me in celebrating the ones who dare to face death for the sake of others.
You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:6-8
Saving innocent good boys is commendable work. Saving guilty troublemakers (the neighborhood kids that are throwing rocks at houses and cars while calling our parents terrible names and stealing their property) is another matter. While no one would say, “Let them die!”, that same ‘no one’ will not risk their very lives, instead doing what they can, to save them. No one simply human, that is. The one who is fully human and fully divine would not only risk His life but will give His life to save all those who oppose His Father. He gave His life for you and me.
We all have been driven deeper into darkness through the chaos of the rising waters and were at the point of death, needing deliverance. Thank God that He bought us into the light, giving His own life as a means of our rescue.
My family and I have just returned from a road trip to our nation’s capital. Along the way we stayed with and enjoyed the company of friends and family. The trip was not without incident however. While we were still within Boston’s city limits, one of the car’s indicator lights illuminated: the Tire Pressure Monitoring System’s low pressure indicator. I immediately pulled over and checked the tires and saw no flat and decided to sally forth (it was torrentially raining at the time). That was when the ‘game’ began. For the next eleven hours of our trip, I would repeat the following steps: fill the tire with air to 40 PSI, drive for 55 minutes, observe the TPMS indicator light go on, drive for another 15 to 30 minutes, and pull over to find another air hose. Only once, in Connecticut, was the air hose missing at the rest area pump. As a side note, the New Jersey service stations were the best: mechanic quality pumps, free of charge.
After some experiencing some unexpected stops and some soggy shoes, we safely arrived at our destination. The next day, I went to a repair shop not far from where we were staying (after one last fill of the tire) and they were able repair the pin-hole breach for $20.50. I am grateful for that little orange light on my dashboard that looks like the cross section of a flat tire with an exclamation point in the center: I told me when I was in danger of causing greater damage and needed to address my air. It told me how far I could go and when I needed to stop.
We all could benefit from an air monitoring system. The Greek word for air is ‘pneuma’, and it is from these Greek roots that we get words like pneumatic (air powered) and pneumonia (“sick air”). The Greek word ‘pneuma’ is also translated in the Bible as the word for spirit. That is truly what I wish I had: an indicator light warning me that the Spirit within me is dangerously low and in need of filling before permanent damage occurs. The thought of my need for this SPMS (Spirit Pressure Monitoring System) came to me several times during our trip, always in hindsight. Imagine the decisions that would be made (or not made) if we all knew that our spirit was riding low at that moment.
“Instead, be filled with the Holy Spirit.” Ephesians 5:18
The context of the above quoted words of Paul point to two possibilities (both of which can be reasonably defended) – either we leak and need regular refilling to combat the challenges of the culture or we need regular reminders that we must rely upon our continual condition of being filled to combat the challenges of the culture.
Without an indicator light shining right in front of my face, I might neglect routine maintenance. This applies to the air in my tires and the spirit in my life. Regarding the latter, that is why the disciplines of faith are crucial: prayer, Bible reading, corporate worship. If I maintain these practices, I will avoid a spiritual blow-out and protect myself and those around me.
This Sunday is Father’s Day, the time when we celebrate the dads in our lives. Being the father of four, I can attest that being a dad is not a undertaking for the faint of heart. Generations ago, men had it easier, if Ward Cleaver or Mike Brady of classic television sitcoms are any indication – work every day during the week, escape to the home office when you are home and play golf on the weekends; the only time a dad interacted with their children was to dispense disciplinary chastisement or moral clichés. Today’s dads are expected to work inside and outside the home, attend a fair number of their children’s extra-curricular and school events, and spend quality time with their family. As I reflect on these things, I realize that being a father is one of the hardest and greatest roles God has blessed me to perform.
There is a man, a father, in the Bible that inspires me as a dad. His name was Jairus. He was a synagogue leader (and therefore a man of faith) and the father of a 12-year-old daughter. But he was a father in crisis: despite the religious practices he, no doubt, engaged in (praying, offering sacrifices and fasting), his daughter was dying. What would you do if your baby was deathly ill? If you are Jairus, you go to an itinerant rabbi whom you heard had accomplished miracles. However, before he could return with the man of Galilee, a servant of his tells him that it is too late: his daughter is dead.
Hearing this, Jesus said to Jairus, “Don’t be afraid; just believe, and she will be healed.” Luke 8:50
Instead of giving up, Jairus gave his troubles over to Jesus. He continued the long walk home and, instead of trusting the eyes of his servant, he trusted the words of a stranger. As he came into his home, there was weeping and mourning appropriate to the circumstances. But Jesus would not have any of it.
He went in and said to them, “Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep.” But they laughed at him. Mark 5:39-40
What is a dad to do? You take a leap of faith and everyone you care about thinks it is a joke. But, then again, what did he have to lose? If Jesus was unable to do anything, his daughter was still dead…but what if HE WAS ABLE to do something amazing?
There are days that I feel like Jairus, asking Jesus to secure a healthy future of my child. I have nothing I can offer but trust: trust that my 10-year-old will safely navigate the streets of Boston from school to home, trust that my 17-year-old will pass that difficult class, trust that my 20-year-old will be protected from the dangers prevalent in our national capital and trust that my 23-year-old will arrive home safely from that job 131 miles away. People may say that my intercessions are realistically useless or that my circumstances are ridiculously hopeless. Still, the dad in me will trust in the one who is able to do immeasurably more than I can imagine.
Happy Father’s Day to all those who are blessed to be called “Dad”.
As I was following a digital ‘rabbit trail’ this week, I came across Volvo’s mission statement: “Vision 2020 is about reducing the number of people that die or are seriously injured in road traffic accidents to zero.” Volvo has embraced what business leaders call a B.H.A.G. – a big, hairy, audacious goal. They developed an emotionally compelling and strategically bold trajectory for their company. Volvo and other business who develop these B.H.A.G.s challenge themselves, their employees and their consumers to imagine a future that is bigger than their individual efforts could produce, scarier than their comfort levels would allow and bolder than their frames of reference should expect.
B.H.A.G.s are nothing new. In fact, when Jesus sent out his disciples to minister to the needs of the world around them, as recorded in Matthew 10, he commands them:
“Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received; freely give.” Matthew 10:8
In my humble opinion, those are some big, hairy and audacious goals. How would it be possible for that rag-tag band of fishermen, financial agents and farmers to be able to do these things? Raise the dead? B.H.A.G.s are great, as long as they are achievable. When Jesus gave them a humanly impossible task to accomplish, thank God he also equipped them to accomplish it. Matthew tells us:
Jesus called his twelve disciples to him and gave them authority to drive out impure spirits and to heal every disease and sickness. Matthew 10:1
I wonder what B.H.A.G.s the Lord may be calling us to aspire to accomplish in our communities today. Without diminishing the power of God at work through us (it seems unlikely that we’d be commanded to raise the dead), He is challenging us attempt more than our ability enables, our comfort allows and our logic expects. He may be calling us to completely love those who make different choices than we have made. He may be calling us to comprehensively care for those ravaged by the consequences of sin, regardless of whether this sin is theirs or another’s. He may be calling us consciously give away all that He has generously given us – everything from grace to garage space. He may be calling us to compassionately speak the truth that others need to hear in a way that they will hear it so that the healing of hearts and relationships may take place.
Whatever we might think God has called us to accomplish, Matthew 10 challenges us to think bigger, think hairier, and think more audaciously. If we think we can help ten people, God may be enabling us to help a hundred. If we think we can encourage someone living on our cul-de-sac, God may be enabling us to encourage someone NOT living in our neighborhood. If we think we can teach the kids at the church, God may be enabling us to teach the kids at the public school. God is the originator of B.H.A.G.s. What is He able to accomplish through ours, were we willing to give Him the opportunity?
This coming Sunday, June 3rd, our community will gather along the length of Dorchester Avenue to celebrate Dorchester Day and commemorate its incorporation on June 1, 1630 with a parade of police cars, floats and local politicians. So, after church on Sunday, we will sit on the curb with our neighbors to be (hopefully) showered with candy and treated to skilled performances by dance troupes, martial arts schools and school marching bands. Despite being firmly within the city limits, we will, for an afternoon, adopt the feel of a small town as we wave our tiny American flags and put aside our differences in order to enjoy all our community has to offer.
It is good to get together with people every once in a while. Having a sense of community is important. But, don’t take my word for it; these are the words of Vice Admiral Vivek H. Murthy, the 19th Surgeon General of the United States:
We live in the most technologically connected age in the history of civilization, yet rates of loneliness have doubled since the 1980s. Today, over 40% of adults in America report feeling lonely, and research suggests that the real number may well be higher.
We are, despite all of our followers on Twitter and all our friends on Facebook, a bunch of lonely people.
I wish that all our neighbors – irrespective of economic, ethnic, racial or age-related distinctions – would have a parade to attend every weekend. I wish there were a regular event where we all could enjoy community. Rarely do we get together with someone somewhere outside of our well-defined demographics; that is, except for one particular occasion. God’s word has a remedy for this epidemic of loneliness: the family of God. That’s right, the church. If you are feeling isolated, attend a service of worship this weekend.
… not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another – and all the more as you see the Day approaching. Hebrews 10:25
Accept the challenge to be counter-cultural. Be willing to gather for an hour to hear music that you haven’t chosen and reflect on topics you haven’t selected, surrounded by people who are not completely like you. Be willing to engage in prayer and praise with those who have more and with those who have less. Be willing to share your story with those of a different culture and with those from a different upbringing. Be willing to rejoice with those who have something to rejoice over (even when it is something you might not celebrate) and mourn with those who have something to mourn over (even if you cannot sympathize with their pain).
If you are uncomfortable around people who are not quite like you and are a little scared to enter the doors of a church and be surrounded by strangers, come to the parade and look for me (I will be the only guy standing near Ashmont station in a suit and tie). I would be blessed to celebrate the community with you and develop some community with you. Maybe we can shake the mayor’s hand as well.
Earlier this week, I felt like a was in a bad comedy routine. At 9:18AM on Tuesday my cell phone rang and a telemarketer asked for Janelle. I politely told the caller that it was a wrong number and thought nothing more about it. It happened again, from a different number, ten minutes later. And again. And again. All told, I received a total of ten calls, all from different numbers and different companies, throughout the day. I thought that surely the last call I received was going to be from Janelle, asking if she had any messages.
My life was briefly interrupted by telemarketers, each one offering some great thing to someone I never met. Ten calls throughout the day, all looking for someone else, were a major nuisance. In the end, I never got an answer to my question of where they got my number; I can only speculate that, perhaps, Janelle entered a contest at a mall or visited a time-share presentation. Whatever the reason, intentional or unintentional, ten people reached out to me, thinking me to be someone I am not.
As I was answering all these calls, it struck me that there are those in our culture that will exploit one fact about us to gain access to our lives. These telemarketers had a valid phone number and tried to take advantage of whoever would answer. They took one vital statistic, one entry point into my life, and tried to get more. I am relatively certain that these calls were benign, but in a world where identity theft and cybercrime is rampant, one can never be too cautious.
“In your anger do not sin”: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold. Ephesians 4:26-27
While I am in no way equating telemarketers with the satanic (after all, I was a telemarketer for a local newspaper for about three hours), these ‘wrong numbers’ did make me think about the devil and his tactics. As Paul’s letter to the Ephesians tells us, all it takes is a foothold, a crack or crevice in our stony exterior, for the enemy of our soul to scale our defenses and access our vulnerable spirits. All it takes is one truth for the father of lies to breach the doors and take our lives – an embarrassing action, a hidden temptation, a word of anger, a troubled past. The devil takes what he knows and tries to get more, just like those pesky callers to my cellphone.
The remedy to both the telemarketers and Mephistopheles is to refuse to reply. We can, empowered by the Spirit, refuse to take the bait. We can tell them, strongly and simply, that it is a wrong number, that the one they seek is not found here. We can do this because one fact about us is not our identity and one forgiven action is not our lifestyle.
Now, if I could only figure out how to end those calls informing me about an urgent public announcement regarding my energy service I would be blessed beyond measure.
According to the National Retail Federation, the average Mother’s Day shopper will spend $180, or a total of $23.1 billion. That is a lot of flowers and jewelry. It seems that we all want to celebrate the blessing God has given us through giving us mothers. In recognition of Mother’s Day on Sunday, allow me to share the story of a remarkable mom who lived a few thousand years ago. She was poor, widowed and responsible for a child. Things have gotten so bad for her that she had given up hope. But God has other plans for her and her child.
We really know little about this mother. While we do not know her name or her lineage, we do know she was married, but her husband died and left her with no source of income: according to the scriptures, all she had to her name was a jar of flour and a pitcher of oil. We also know that she was not part of the “People of God”: she was an “unclean” Gentile. Lastly, we know that she was commanded by God to help a certain prophet of God named Elijah: she was commissioned to use that last of all she had to feed this stranger.
Before I conclude the story, allow me to digress. I am not at all surprised that God used a mother, especially a single mother, to save Elijah. Is there any other class of human being so willing to sacrifice as a mom? When there are five mouths and four slices of pie, it is the mom who says, “I’m too full from dinner for dessert; you guys have it.” When it is three AM and thundering, it is the mom who gets displaced so that her child can be comforted. She picks up the underwear, wipes up the barf and cleans up the bathroom. There is seemingly no need too demanding or distance too far to travel for a mom.
Getting back to the story, this mother prepares her last meal for herself, her son and her visitor. But the flour and oil never run out. She and her household (including the guest) were fed for three years, miraculously. Despite the fact that they were in the midst of a global famine, God was able to meet her needs. Just when one might think everything is going to get better, tragedy strikes when the son of this woman becomes ill and stops breathing. No one would blame her for her outburst:
She said to Elijah, “What do you have against me, man of God? Did you come to remind me of my sin and kill my son?” 1 Kings 17:18
After all she had sacrificed, was this really how her story was going to end? No. Elijah immediately cries out to God and her son’s life is restored to him. Then they all lived happily ever after (though not together).
I thank God that the mothers I am most familiar with (both biological and metaphorical) have yet to lose hope. They sacrificed for the sake of those they loved, expressed outrage when something hurt those they loved and never gave up hope for those they loved. Some of that has to do with their personal resolve – they are all formidable people of character – but some of it has to do with their faith in the God who can resource and restore them as He did for a Phoenician widow, her son and her house-guest.
Happy Mother’s Day to all those who have given more than they will ever get back from their families.
Last week was school vacation for our boys and I had a brilliant idea: we could do a jigsaw puzzle together. On Monday morning, in the rain, I went out to the store and bought a 1,000-piece puzzle of a beautiful winter scene and brought it home. We had the border done before lunch and began to fit together the rest. That was twelve days ago, and we still have not finished. It turns out that there is a whole lot of white – snow, roofs, mountains – and the puzzle is hard. Really hard. The boys have given up helping us finish putting all the pieces together and now I am beginning to fear that we will never be able to use our coffee table again.
What seemed at the time like a fun, family bonding activity has become exceeding difficult. As I sit in front of the unfinished puzzle, I feel the frustration well up within me: I know it all fits together, but I cannot for the life of me seem to place any of the pieces. Perhaps I am victim of an elaborate practical joke – I can hear the snickering of the worker at some jigsaw puzzle factory as she throws eighteen unrelated pieces into my box. There are pieces that seem to match the color but do not interlock and others that ‘sort of’ interlock but do not match the color. Has anyone else ever thought how easy it would be if there were numbers, differentiating columns and rows, on the backs of all the puzzle pieces?
Alas, there are no numbers. There is no cheat code. All I have between now and the puzzle’s completion is trial and error. All I have to guide me is the picture on the box (which, in this case, is extremely small of such a large puzzle and cropped on the sides so that it offers no help toward the edges). In my pursuit of my goal I have resorted to a game I like to call, “Is This Right? No. Is This Right? No.” But I am tenacious (a more virtuous word than stubborn) and will one day finish this puzzle, enabling my family to eat once again in the living room.
This puzzle is a lot like my life. It has easily recognizable boundaries. It has a cohesive whole. It is made up of tiny, incomplete glimpses of colors and voids. It is designed so that all the pieces will fit together eventually. It is at times frustrating and at times fabulous. For those blessed enough to realize it, we are given a picture to the finished product for reference. And it is, when completed, a work of art.
While I may not know how all the pieces fit together yet, the one who created the puzzle (and the one who created me) does. I am confident that my God will form my life into a masterpiece, a stunning work of art full of light and shadow. Perhaps He is even using this infernal puzzle to do it.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11
No one would have thought less of her had she dropped out. It was cold. It was windy. It was pouring rain. It was the Boston Marathon. It was a place she’d been before, including 2011 when she ran a personal best and still finished two seconds behind the winner. Nearly thirty minutes into the race, Desiree Linden tapped fellow American marathoner Shalane Flanagan and said:
“Hey, I think I’m going to drop out today, so if you need any help with anything, let me know. I’m happy to block the wind, whatever it may be.”
But she persisted. She and Flanagan continued to put one foot in front of the other. The weather conditions sufficiently slowed down the pace of the elite runners and she continued to run. She remained with the pack for the next 15 miles and then thought that this might in fact be her day. With a burst of breakaway speed, she separated from the rest of the runners and ran the final five miles alone, crossing the finish line more than four minutes before any other woman.
Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up. – Luke 18:1 (NIV)
While most of us will not run the Boston Marathon, we are all required to run the race of life. And there are days when the course conditions will cause us to contemplate dropping out and to think about giving up on our dreams or giving in to our difficulties. In numerous places, the Scriptures encourage us to not give up.
Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. – Galatians 6:9 (NIV)
We can benefit from persisting. We need not give up praying, even when our prayers seem to us like we are hounding God with our pressing needs. We need not give up doing good, even when our efforts seem to us unproductive and fruitless. We need not give up doing what is right, even when our faith seems to us as stagnant and stale. We need not give up going to church, even when our gathering seems to us as irrelevant or pointless. There is a blessing from tenacity that only those who endure can enjoy.
Watch your life and doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers. – 1 Timothy 4:16 (NIV)
The performance of Des Linden ought to serve as a reminder of the rewards for those who persist. We may still win the race. We will have our prayers heard and our needs will be met. We will reap a harvest of good in the world. We will save ourselves and those around us. We will encourage one another and equip one another for the difficulties inherent in life. We will finish because we did not quit. We might even finish first.
…not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another – and all the more as you see the Day approaching. – Hebrews 10:25 (NIV)
May we all see the laurel and medal as we have waiting for us at the finish line.
There is a person in my social circle (I will not divulge their identity) who regularly calls me by something other than my name. This person calls me “Rev.”. I appreciate the title as an acknowledgment of my years of schooling and my professional standing. I do not appreciate it as a nickname. I have tried everything to get this person to cease using this nomenclature – asking nicely (and then not as nicely), calling them by an equally clever occupational title, ignoring their solicitations when addressed in this manner – and, as yet, nothing has worked. So, I grin and bear this salutation.
While I am confident that the person I am speaking of will not read this post, allow me the time to offer my rationale for why I am upset by the nickname “Rev.”. First, I am more complex as a person than is represented through being addressed by what I do. Second, I struggle with sin too greatly to be entitled with calling myself someone who ought to be revered. Lastly, I do not wish others to address me in a way that conveys that I will be the spiritual, moral or biblical expert at all times. So, please, I prefer that you call me something other than “Rev.”.
As Peter entered the house, Cornelius met him and fell at his feet in reverence. But Peter made him get up. “Stand up,” he said, “I am only a man myself.” Acts 10:25-26
Let me take my last reason for averting this title first. Just as a doctor would not like every conversation to be relating to her profession (as in, “Hey, you’re a doctor; let me show you something weird”), I prefer not to “work” at every social gathering I attend. I am not simply present to pray or evangelize or compete in an informal game of Bible Jeopardy. I am so much more (and so much less) than a cultural touchpoint representing godliness in the world.
This brings me to the second reason: I am not as good or mature as this title reflects. The term “Reverend” is believed to be the anglicization of a Latin verb (revereri) meaning “to be revered or respected.” I am not proud to admit it, but if you were able to hear my thoughts or to stand by my side for 24 hours, “Reverend” would not be the word you would use to describe me. We all face the same struggle to keep the faith and I would be disingenuous to say I deserve the nickname I’ve been given.
I am so much more than what I do. Yes, I am an ordained minister. But I am also a crossword and game show enthusiast, a burger lover and an observer of Oscar®-worthy films. I am a fan of Boston-area professional sports and a foe of strawberries and bowling. I am a husband, parent and child. I have strong opinions about politics, condiments and manatees. I am, like you, more of a human being than a human doing.
Like it or not, all of us are too complex to be called by our job title. So, let’s keep the use of “Rev.” to Sunday mornings, when I am ‘on the job’. Most other times, I prefer to be called Michael (or “Skippy”, since I am so smooth).