Jesus waited

Tomorrow most churches will hear the story of Jesus' temptation (Mt 4.1-11). I put together these thoughts to share during worship, with a focus on "waiting for God":

God had led Jesus into the desert.

There he was tempted: Instead of waiting for God to lead him out of the desert, he was tempted to end his hunger, end his trial now, by his own power. He was tempted.


As the devil pointed out to Jesus, God had promised to protect his life.

But he was tempted: Instead of waiting for God to rescue him from death, quietly, in a garden tomb, after he had been beaten, humiliated, and hung in front of the crowds, he was tempted to make God rescue him now, in the middle of the temple, in front of everyone. He was tempted.


Through the prophets, God had promised that his son would rule over all.

Still, he was tempted: Instead of waiting for God to bring down all rulers and humble all nations before him, he was tempted to take and use the power and wealth of nations now, when so much could be accomplished. He was tempted.

As we are.


But Jesus waited for God.

nobody again

Heather and I are leading worship the day after tomorrow, the first Sunday of Lent. Heather chose the theme of "waiting for God," and she and another woman designed banners with images of winter waiting. It's a good thing for me to be meditating on right now.

I'm realizing that I came to the farm (perhaps unknowingly) with ideas that things would be different for us now. That now that we had arrived at the place God prepared and opened for us, it would be easier, things would smoothly fall into place. Not likely, I know. But I have been sincerely surprised and confused by the response of a number of people (outside the folks here) that we have turned to for help. We've been mostly ignored. Can't even get a response to requests or phone calls. I makes you feel rather small to not even rate a "no, thank you."

But the experience reminded me of "nobodies." I wrote about it on the road this past summer, and focused on it in a letter we sent back to the church here. It begins:

It was dark when we approached the church, hoping to find shelter there for the night. Rain was coming. We surveyed the church grounds, not finding much, but it was rather late to be looking elsewhere. Then we saw a light in an upstairs window of one of the buildings. We thought we should at least ask permission before laying down, so we rang the bell and waited, a bit nervously. After a few moments we heard movement inside. Then the blinds on the window of the door parted and two eyes peered at us.

"Whaddya want?"

Heather and I looked at each other, then back at the eyes, and didn't know what to do. Did he really expect us to explain our situation shouting through a closed door? Then his fingers appeared, shooing us away. Heather thought she heard him say "We don't have any" as he turned away.

We found another church in time to hide from the fierce storm that blew in that night. But the next morning I thought again about those fingers, shooing us into the dark. That's the experience of nobodies. I remembered reading John Dominic Crossan's commentary on the Beatitudes in a library a few days earlier, and his description of Jesus' followers as "a kingdom of nobodies." Outsiders. Those who are considered of little or no value to society, and so are pushed to the margins. Or simply ignored. Yet among these Jesus found the ones he called "blessed"...

Perhaps our experiences on the walk prepared us more than I expected. In a way, it's comforting to think that. And I also find myself feeling better to discover that we are still nobodies—it seems right, the place where we will find Jesus with us.

I should also perhaps confess that I have being focusing too much on where retreatants will come from (and where support will come from), and that my eagerness to make these arrangements has been motivated by fear more than love. Fear of failure, fear of letting people down. I think I'm being called to focus more on our calling, sharing what's inspired us—Jesus' kingdom of nobodies, for example. And let God take care of bringing the right people to us.

a fine repast

We've been doing a lot of painting, but I wanted to be sure to remember Heather's other occupation last week. Butcher's assistant. Someone from the farm hit a deer on the way home from work, so someone else came out and got it and brought it home for meat. It was as close as Heather was going to get to hunting her own food (this season, at least), so she asked to help with the butchering. Did very well, too, from what I hear. I chose to pass up that learning experience.

Now we have some nice fresh deer burger, a roast, and some steaks, too. We tried the steak a couple nights ago. Heather marinated it in yogurt with garlic, cinnamon and ginger, then beat it with a small skillet to tenderize and sautéed it in olive oil. Very good.

"keep building..."

Praying the other day about who we will find to come for retreats, I remembered Noah building a huge boat in a place where there weren't many people wanting a boat just then.

And the thought came, "Keep building—it will be filled."



(click on image for full size)

"no one is good but God alone"

As Jesus was setting out on his journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, "Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?"

And Jesus said to him, "Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone..." (Mk 10.17-18)

I thought about this strange saying of Jesus after writing that last entry. It seems to me that Jesus is saying that God alone is the source of goodness, that all good comes only from God. Even those good intentions and acts that we have experienced from other people, or have offered to others—if Jesus would not attribute goodness to himself, how could anyone else? Perhaps it's like the analogy I read somewhere: If a servant obediently carries out some charitable action ordered by his master, that servant does not consider himself the benefactor. The master is the source of the good deed. The servant just did what he was told, with the resources he was given.

It's not false modesty to take this attitude. I really think we ourselves are not the source of good, or even love. There is too much confusion and mixed motives and fears to even begin to claim for ourselves purity of heart. But God is pure and God is love. And God will move and work through us and bring good and love where we thought there could be none.

It is no lack of self-esteem to admit our emptiness. Neither need it be a cause for despair. What it should be is a cause to look to God with an even more intense faith and dependence. The more we realize we lack, the more desperately we cling to the one Source.

the evil character

One of the movies up for a lot of Oscars this year is No Country for Old Men. I just read the book; it's by Cormac McCarthy. He's a pretty good author, though I probably wouldn't recommend this book because it's so violent. And depressing. One of the main characters is apparently without conscience, or soulless, with a rigid sort of personal ethics to him but without any mercy or compassion.

The possibility or existence of a purely evil person seems to be fascinating for people. I've seen it in a number of books or articles. I don't believe in it myself. But this story was interesting in that it didn't seem to be trying to distance the bad character from the other, more normal, moral characters in the story. Their faults were brought out by the encounter with the evil person (and sometimes they were even judged by him). The main good guy, a sheriff, ends up confessing a wrong deed in his past that has plagued him for years. And finally he quits his job, feeling that he has been beaten because he is afraid of the evil character, not only afraid of dying at his hand but afraid that a direct encounter with him might destroy the sheriff's own soul. Whether through anger, or by being shown the weakness of his own commitment to truth and goodness, perhaps. He feels he has lost confidence in his ideals and doesn't have what it takes to be sheriff any more.

For some reason this story made an impression on me. Its brutal honesty, perhaps. I mean it's honesty about how afraid and impure and dishonest with ourselves we all are. I don't think the story tells the whole truth; God's intervention seems to be missing, or denied. But it makes me think that it's important to admit how false and empty we are. Often we don't see or admit that, until we are faced with some threat or catastrophe and our response to it shocks us because it shows us what we are.

I think I often get very disappointed or depressed or angry because people don't turn out to be as good as they appear, or because I don't live up to the ideals I profess. But perhaps a big part of my problem is that I don't admit the truth about people (or about myself) at the beginning. "Sinner" is not just a religious category. If true goodness ever comes through us, then it's a miracle, an intervention of God that we should be desperately thankful for.

Maybe people are fascinated with the evil character because it is something they are too afraid to look at in themselves.

"We the people"
Are we the people?

-from Metallica's "Some Kind of Monster"

O say can you see...

There's a lot of talk of "change" in the election rhetoric this year. Perhaps the most comes from the Obama campaign, which portrays him as someone we can look to for a new direction, a source of hope. "Change we can believe in." His political following is described as a "movement." And he does seem to be the most idealistic of the candidates.

But I don't think we'll see real change in politics, even if Obama is elected. Like the other candidates, he has chosen the path of power and wealth (even the campaigning costs in the tens of millions) to achieve his goals. Even if he is a much better leader than others, his leadership and accomplishments will point to the necessity and efficacy of political power—the power of organized people—and the importance of money to get things done. And of course he wouldn't even be applying for the position of president if he wasn't ready to assume the role of commander-in-chief of the country's military power. This is not change. This is still the politics of "We, the People":

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

As I wrote last fall, the only true alternative, the only hope for significant and real change in our politics, our way of interacting with one another, is to shift our dependence from human power to dependence on God. Faith in God instead of faith in ourselves. There's a "change we can believe in."

a more personal connection

We visited the other Mennonite church in the area Sunday and got to spend some time talking with Cal Zehr, the pastor there. I'm interested in connecting with other churches and Christians here, to see if there might be chances to work together, and I appreciate feeling the body of Christ outside the smaller circle here on the farm. We might be able to visit the local Methodist pastor later this week.

Pastors might also be able to help put us in touch with others who might benefit from retreats here. Cal suggested a couple pastors in the Chicago area that might be helpful in referring people to us. We're starting to explore the idea of working with pastors in urban and economically disadvantaged areas, instead of trying to go through bigger social service organizations. I think I'd like that much better, if it can be arranged.

Part of what prodded us in that direction is that I haven't been able to get much response from the social service organizations I've tried. And the leader of retreats for the homeless in Chicago hasn't been very helpful in that effort; I had assumed he would be, from his encouraging words in the past. It seems he doesn't want to imply any connection between his organization and our retreats here. That's been very disappointing. But I shouldn't be surprised, as the growth and increasing establishment of all organizations seem to lead to an emphasis on self-preservation and a more "businesslike," impersonal way of interacting with people. Even the best groups get stripped of their spirit and vitality in that way.

I pray in our way of interacting with people here and with others in the city we can demonstrate a personal love that is strikingly different.

the nap

Here's the picture that inspired our bedroom colors, Van Gogh's "La sieste."
Heather has a print of it and likes the bright energy of the yellows. It is a
refreshing and invigorating place now (despite the theme of the picture), so
invigorating in fact, that it's really more an experience than a room.