the Spirit is greater than the whole world

I've been having trouble posting. Let's see if this gets through...

Dear friends, God can help through just a few people and through our hope, which is the Spirit. The Spirit is greater than the whole world. The children of God depend upon the Holy Spirit; and the Holy Spirit enters them and makes of them a dwelling of God so that from just one sighing child of God the entire glory of God can radiate. God does not need to count and say, "Yes, by all means I must have a hundred thousand in the world; otherwise nothing will succeed; if there are only a thousand, then all is lost." Such calculation is not necessary for God. If he has only several—indeed, at present, hardly any—yet through one person he can let such glory radiate that the hope gleams through the whole world.

-Christoph Blumhardt

family

She wondered why her wheelchair wouldn't move back from the table, then she looked down and saw the wheels were locked. The table was bright with colors and candles, turkey and cranberries, but she'd had enough. Too much noise. She liked to watch the little girl making faces and hear her laughter. But the man was still talking about football with the older boy, so loudly that she couldn't ignore them. "…into overtime. Hey, any more stuffing, Mary?"

"Yes, just a minute." The woman turned to her, and spoke louder. "I cooked the turkey upside down to keep the white meat juicy, just like you taught me, Mom. Remember that?"

She turned and nodded and smiled, but she didn't remember cooking a turkey that way.

"And I made the sweet potatoes the way you always did, too. With brown sugar and pecans, not marshmallows. That's become a family tradition, Mom."

Pecans? What was she talking about?

The tradition I remember, Isabel, is that you would always come over if I didn't make it to church. If I was sick, or the sidewalks were too icy, you would always show up smiling. You would read the passages they read in church, and then we would talk about them. And have some tea maybe...

"And of course everyone goes shopping tomorrow. Remember how you always used to take me? Would you like to go to the mall tomorrow, Mom? I don't want to miss the sales, and I could help you buy things for Christmas. The kids gave me plenty of ideas..." The woman looked at the children and the girl giggled.

Of course I was a little shocked when you started inviting those neighborhood boys into your apartment, Isabel. They weren't big, but they were so raggedy-looking. And rough―and you were just a young woman. And you kept it up, even when they stole from you. That worried me quite a bit. I wasn't surprised when the other tenants started talking about you, Isabel, and not in a nice way. What surprised me was that you kept doing it, even after I warned you. But I didn't go along with them when they were trying to kick you out. That went too far. That's when I came over and had lunch with some of the boys at your place. They weren't such bad boys. They didn't know how to sit still, or mind their language when a lady was present, but they seemed softer when they were at your table, Isabel. It even made me think that was the kind of place where Jesus would be. I was so sorry when they made you move. But really more sorry for those boys, and me...

"I heard John quit his job and is going back to school, Mom. Your nephew John, who lives in Colorado, you remember. Ann's son. Your sister, Ann?" She nodded, but... "Oh, and have you heard Helen's big news?"

I didn't hear right away that you'd been killed, Isabel. When you didn't show up that snowy day after I missed church, I wondered, but I never imagined it was that. I guess I just thought God would always keep you safe, even if you did keep inviting in people like that, sticking your neck out that way. Because you were just such a good girl, Isabel. God had to be watching you close. When I heard, I couldn't believe it. Murdered. I cried for a long time, cried and prayed harder than I ever did before...

"The Detroit game's coming on―is everyone as stuffed as I am? So who you bettin' on, Billy-boy?"

"Maybe we should just go to Marshall-Field's, Mom, so we don't have to walk around so much. How does that sound?"

Who are these people, Isabel? I don't think I belong here. And I'm tired, Isabel... so tired...

"Momma, Gramma's got her eyes closed... Mom!"

"Shh, honey, let your grandma rest."

"That's the tryptophan kickin' in! Heh heh..."

"Billy, hush!"

"But Momma, I tapped her arm and she didn't wake up."

"That's OK, I think she's done. Here, take this into the kitchen."

No, not yet, Isabel. We have to wait a little longer...

"Gramma's awake!" Then softer, closer, "Gramma? You said Isabel. Who's Isabel?"

She looked at the little girl thoughtfully. "Isabel..." she began, then cleared her throat and smiled. "Isabel was like a daughter to me... and a mother.... When I first met her, she...

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ransom

The room was completely dark and he was terrified. And alone―though there were others in the room with him. The man and the woman were whispering in the blackness. The deep male voice said not to worry, they'd get out of this, as long as neither of them panicked. The female voice wasn't so sure. The deep voice said the people who kidnapped them must want something, which meant they needed them alive. "They need you alive, maybe," the higher voice cried, "not me―why did they take me?" The woman's voice broke into a sob. Neither of them had said a word to him. Fear and utter darkness isolated him from them. But he shared the woman's question: Why did they take me?

Those two had been together; he wasn't with them. They looked like lawyers or something; he looked like what he was: a homeless bum. He just happened to be standing there when it happened. Again he saw the long, black limo pull up to the curb, the door flying open, and the men in suits grabbing the man and woman. He froze. It all happened so fast there was nothing he could do―except watch. But then they saw that he saw. He heard "Grab him too," but couldn't move, then they had him in the limo too and it was moving again. The man tried to protest, he seemed to be some kind of executive or rich guy who's used to being in charge. But all the suits said was, "Daddy wants to see you."

Now the female voice was crying openly. The man's voice said, "We'll get out of this, it'll be OK," then, a moment later, with less patience, "we just need to be calm and think." Another sob. "Or at least shut up and let me think," the deep voice growled.

"No!" the high voice shouted back, "I'll cry if I want! This is a horrible, insane situation and I shouldn't even be here. Whoever Daddy is, I'm sure he doesn't want to see me. This isn't my fault and I shouldn't be here!"

The shock of the light coming on was enough, but at the same moment the door squealed open. The suits entered and the door slammed. The man and the woman were frozen where they stood. And with them, from his place on the floor in the corner, with his knees pulled up under his chin, he stared at their captors in terror.
Both of the black-suited men were very large, muscled, and handsome, but one had thick curly hair and long sideburns. The other was completely bald. Each had an ear plug in one ear, with a wire running down into their collar. The hairless one pointed at the executive, commanding him to "Stand here," and indicating a spot on the floor directly in front of a video camera in the upper corner of the room. The executive hesitated, but obeyed. Then the bald man spoke.

"You've had quite a successful life, Walter. A comfortable life. But you haven't made Daddy very happy. You've made a lot of money at Daddy's expense, haven't you?"

"What do you mean? I have no idea what you're talking about." But the rich man was sweating through his expensive jacket.

"Yes you do, Walter. You know exactly what we mean. And now it's time to pay. So, how much do you think your life is worth?" The man with the curly hair pulled out a heavy, black pistol.

"Ransom? Is that what this is about?" The executive almost looked relieved. Then he started talking about money and seemed to relax, like he was back in his natural environment. But Daddy wasn't satisfied with a million. Or two million. Even when the executive worked his way up to 7.7 million, it wasn't enough, though the man swore to God it was all he had.

"You think that's all you're worth, Walter?" said the hairless man. "Daddy thinks you're worth a lot more." The man with curly hair raised the pistol and aimed.

"I'd have more but a lot is tied up in my charity. I could turn that over to you―it'll do wonders for your public image. Or you could take control of my whole company!" The rich man was starting to sound frantic.

"Your company, Walter?"

"All my companies! And I have influence, I have friends in high places who can make things happen for you. Isn't that worth something?"

The bald man shook his head. "Not to Daddy."

"I can work for him! I'm good at what I do―and I've got the money and power to get things done." The executive implored the camera now. "I'll work for you for the rest of my life!"

"Your life is over, Walter." Then a shot. The curly-haired man had finally spoken.

The rich man's body was dragged out, and the two men returned. Then the bald man pointed at the woman. As she stepped in front of the camera, she was weeping, but without making a sound. He noticed he was shaking where he sat, but he couldn't stop himself. And he couldn't look at either of the large men.

He just stared at the woman, even when the bald man spoke. "So, Susan, how much do you think your life is worth?"

She sobbed violently. "No," she whispered, "this can't be happening. I don't know anything about this."

"But Daddy knows about you, Susan."

"Who's Daddy?" she shrieked. "I don't know anything. I'm not in on it! I'm just a secretary! I worked for him, that's all."

"This isn't about him. This is about you, Susan, as you know perfectly well. Daddy is disappointed with you."

She stared at the bald man, speechless.

"You've had quite a comfortable life of your own, Susan. You did what you were told, you were a responsible citizen, and so you were well taken care of, weren't you? Some might even say you got more than your fair share..."

"Just a secretary," she sobbed.

"Yes, Susan, just a secretary. So how much? How much for your 'secretary' life?"

When she finally answered, he heard despair in her voice. "I don't know. We have some savings. My husband would give anything. Oh God, this is insane. Insane. This can't be happening. I didn't do anything wrong... just what I was told." She was losing it; rambling. "I shouldn't be here... didn't do anything... oh God. My life isn't worth anything to you! Can't you just let me go? Please..." Her voice fell to a whimper. "Let me go..."

"Yes, you may go." He jerked at the sound of the shot, and saw her fall.


He must have passed out then, because the next thing he knew the curly-haired man was lifting him to his feet. For a minute he was shaky and disoriented. Then he was standing alone in front of the camera.

"I wasn't with them," he croaked.

"We know," said the bald man. "Daddy wanted to see you as well. You have not gone unnoticed."

"But I'm just a bum! I just happened to be standing there!"

"You weren't always a bum, were you?" the bald man asked. "So take your pick. You can tell us what you think your life was worth then―or now."

How? How could they possibly know? Nothing about this made sense. The room swayed; he thought he was going to pass out again.

Then, like a slap, the bald man's voice brought him back. "How much?"

He faltered. "I have nothing. I... I had a life, a wife, children... But not any more. I loved them but... I couldn't help myself. I lost it all. No... wasted it―took what should have been theirs and wasted it all. Then ran. That was the best I could do for them."

"That's very disappointing."

"It was worse for me than them, I'm sure. They were better off without me―and my life ended on that day. But I was dying for years after that. Dying day after day after day, until... But I guess it's all over now."

"We asked you how much."

He looked at the bald man, then at the camera, then at the floor. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. Finally, he said softly, "Now... to me... it's not worth anything."

He heard the curly-haired man raising the gun. Suddenly he fell to his knees and looked up at the camera. "But please let me live."

The gun remained raised, and the man who held it spoke. "Daddy wants you to tell him why."

Now the tears came. He pressed his hands to his face and the tears ran through his fingers and streamed down his arms. They splashed and gathered on the floor in front of him. Then, slowly, he bowed his head. Lower and lower. Until his forehead touched the puddle of tears. Then he answered. The words bubbled though his lips and were muffled by his hands, but he only had to say them once. "I'm sorry. For all of it. But... somewhere in my dying... in my dying―I changed. Now I just want life. That's all. Just another chance at life."


Then he was being lifted. His vision was bleary and he felt terribly weak, but he was upright. Then the door flew open. And there was light, incredible light. So bright he could feel it. But he didn't cringe or turn away. The light seemed to be calling him, and he stepped toward it. And all at once he understood that the light was life, and that he was no longer alone.

And he knew that the one who was calling him was Daddy. His Daddy. He stepped through the door.

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a joyful noise

Yesterday Heather and I led worship here and used this Taizé song, which we sang as a round. It means "make a joyful noise to God" (from Psalm 100). We used the gospel from the lectionary and focused on being fruitful.

It seemed like our visits last week were pretty fruitful, though it has been a while coming. I have been talking with different people from Good News Partners, a transitional housing charity, for almost a year now. Not really finding the right person to work with us. But our recent meeting with Nora, their chaplain, seemed like it might bear something real and good.

And we also visited the Marquard Center, a Franciscan soup kitchen and transitional housing ministry. I got connected with them in an unusual way, but then couldn't get anyone out here for months and months. Now, having visited them, they seem excited about sending groups here for retreats.

So we've arrived home, a little worn out from the meetings and excitement, but making a very joyful noise to the Lord.

prints in the sand

I just sent this in to Jesus Manifesto. Came across it years ago on one of my walks.

One night I had a wondrous dream.
A set of prints on the sand was seen,
The footprints of my precious Lord,
Yet mine were not along the shore.

But then a stranger print appeared.
I asked the Lord, "What have we here?
This print is large and round and neat,
But Lord it's just too big for feet."

"My child," He said in somber tones,
"For miles I carried you alone.
I challenged you to seek My face,
Take up your cross and walk in grace.

"You disobeyed. You would not grow.
You would not stand against the flow.
Your neck was stiff, your ears were shut,
So there I dropped you on your butt.

"Because in life there comes a time,
When one must fight, when one must climb,
When one must rise and take a stand,
Or leave one's butt-print in the sand."

-Anonymous

to all, Jesus said...

Yesterday I responded to a comment on a recent entry by quoting something I wrote in my journal five years ago. It was good to be reminded of this:

Many who did not leave everything and follow Jesus were inspired to at least begin to give by supporting him and his followers. This offered them the experience of giving, and also brought them closer to Jesus, to know him better. To these, Jesus was thankful and accepted what they chose to give. But he did not direct them to remain as benefactors, to continue to gather wealth so they could share a portion with others, even if it was to his benefit. To all, Jesus said, “Follow me.” Whatever people chose to give was good, a beginning perhaps, that brought them into contact with Jesus’ way of life. But (whatever their particular gifts) everyone was called to be like Jesus in radical giving, in embracing vulnerability, and in complete dependence on God.

From this we can see how others can be drawn in to Jesus’ way. People first see something in the faith of Jesus’ followers and also see their vulnerability and need. So they are inspired to offer some help. This gives them the experience of God’s love, God working through them to support his own children, and also exposes them to Jesus’ way of life. If they then open themselves to this life, they will progressively give more, becoming more vulnerable and dependent themselves. And so they too will become inspirations to encourage giving, both by their example and their need. As people grow in this way, their gifts change. They have less material possessions to share, but their lives become a more valuable gift, both as an inspiration calling others to enter into God’s love and help care for his children and as a model for faith by which we become (and live as) God’s children.

This progression is like a cycle of life which continues to draw others into Jesus’ way.

old friends

We arrived in Evanston and are staying in the apartment of our friend Kaye, who we met when we lived here years ago. She's a dog trainer, dogsitting for someone else this week, so she offered her place to us for our visit here. A great anniversary gift. We'll be visiting other friends this week, too.

Outside Kaye's building, Heather noticed a wildflower garden, with many flowers that we see growing in the woods behind our place. I recognized the trilliums. There are lots of those blooming behind the cabin, too, where we spent our honeymoon. Every year they remind us of our wedding.

two years ago

We're leaving for Evanston tomorrow, for the rest of the week. A good break, a chance to visit friends and family, and we have several meetings set up with folks that might want to send people for our retreats.

Our anniversary is tomorrow, too. It reminded me of this combination of Psalms 34 and 84 that Heather and I put together to read at our wedding two years ago:

I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise will continually be in my mouth.
My soul makes its boast in the Lord; let the humble hear and be glad.

The sparrow has found a home,
and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young—
a place near your altar, O Lord Almighty, my King and my God.
Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you.

O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.
I sought the Lord, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears.
Look to him, and be radiant; so your faces shall never be ashamed.

This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.
The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them.

O taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are those who take refuge in him.

Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.
As they pass through the Valley of Baca,
they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools.
They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion.

O fear the Lord, you his holy ones,
for those who fear him have no want.
The young lions suffer want and hunger,
but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.

off to the cabin

Heather and I are celebrating our second anniversary by taking a day in the little one room cabin in the woods. We spent our honeymoon there, with no electricity or running water, just a wood stove for heat and candles and oil lamps for light.

I think I'll appreciate the quiet time.

first fruits

The first fruits of the spring are arriving already. Spinach and asparagus.

For lunch we had asparagus with poached eggs and burnt butter, a recipe we discovered while staying with my parent's last fall. This time we put it over toasted oatmeal bread I made in the bakery here. And we have eggs from the chickens of a friend who lives just the other side of town. Very, very good.