The Land Sings

The land sings at different times to seekers. Always, whispers rise, enticing one to look further, gaze longer, listen more closely, until terrain comes alive. But, frequently, the Holy Land uses one place, one ancient story to animate ageless sites where so long ago people lived and loved and laughed and fought and died.

On a trip to that mystical, marvelous, spiritual land, it happened to me as with so many others. Unexpectedly, the land hummed, I felt, more than heard, words form, then the ageless earth awoke…and my heart cracked a bit with the suddenness of it, and the tears fell, and as I looked around, the world stirred, and sang to me.

               We looked over another ancient city, one where the Greeks or Romans had (I need to study a few decades to get them straight) constructed a theater where we hoped to have morning worship; another group had claimed that convenient spot first. So, as our group explored other rooms and posts and the world of the ancients below, I stood above looking down, contemplating taking my sore feet down the ramp to explore the rooms. Enticing as that seemed, the coming back up gave me pause.

Mt. Gilboa--Where Saul & Jonathan Died

     

          Beside me, one of our leaders stood and looked as well. As happens, a conversation began:  “Right up there,” he pointed to the top of a mountain across from us, “is where the Philistines hung Saul and Jonathan’s bodies after they defeated them.”

Flannel Story Board

               I froze. The story of David and Jonathan moves me still—even after hearing it so often as such a young child in Sunday School where—before technology took over all presentations—my teachers used well-worn flannel boards, placing a boy, “David,” and his friend, “Jonathan,” sometimes able to change their robes, telling the story to rows of children enraptured with the flat, cloth characters. And here I stood, looking up and up and up—everything is “up” in Israel—and

seeing the place, the very spot where the bodies of Saul, Jonathan’s father, the king who lost his mind and his kingdom, his followers and his family, and Saul’s sons hung in disgrace, mocked by their
enemies, God’s anointed brought to disgrace. I felt the tears and turned to find privacy—among the 4,782, or so, tourists around me. However, none of them minded me. Perhaps the earth sang to them as well.

               So closely did I feel Jonathan and David from that point that I had to find the story again. In the Old Testament—there in the land of the Old Testament—I Samuel tells of their friendship. After

David and Goliath

the young shepherd boy David kills the giant Goliath, King Saul seeks a meeting.  Then, the son of the King meets the shepherd boy, and the Bible says, “Now it came about when he had finished speaking to Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as himself,” (I Samuel 18:1).  The relationship grew; eventually, Jonathan and David became brothers-in-law, as David married Michal, Saul’s daughter. But, Saul grew so envious of David’s increasing popularity with the people, he sought to kill him, and Jonathan, loyal son, loyal friend, found himself caught in the middle.

               Over and over, he protected David, even as Saul stalked David to kill him, even as Saul flew into rages when he found Jonathan did not help in the effort to rid Saul of this annoyance who he saw as a rival, even then, Jonathan stayed faithful to David. Over and over the Scripture emphasizes Jonathan’s love for David; we see David’s care for Jonathan. But the words “he (Jonathan) loved him (David) as his own life” show up in one form or fashion over and over…..Though at times, Saul seemed to recover from the all-encompassing envy and hate he felt towards David, never again could David and Jonathan enjoy their companionship as they had has young men. The words “covenant” and “love” and “vow” litter the story of Jonathan and David, two friends who lost each other.

                

               Now, in this land, seeing caves and hills where David might have actually run, the story still feels such present tense, and David again flees. They live their lives as they can—one hiding out, one ruling and chasing, and Jonathan? How torn he must have been. The friend of his childhood, who he loved so strongly, and his father, who he also surely loved, with whom he shared that lifetime of memories, now unable to find sanity regarding one innocent man.

Caves where David migith have hidden from Saul

Eventually Saul and his sons and his troops go to fight the Philistines. Saul sees his sons die at his feet. How can any parent read those words and not ache at the thought of it, especially knowing you caused that loss? Too injured to fight or run, rather than be captured, Saul falls on his own sword.

I love the next words:  the “valiant men” of Jabesh-gilead walked all night to retrieve the bodies of Saul and his sons.  Their king would not be treated so...

And David? When he heard that the man who tried so long, so very long, to kill him had died—King Saul and his sons, including the beloved Jonathan—he cried out a dirge for nine verses in II Samuel 1. Words like “Your beauty, O Israel, is slain,” and “Saul and Jonathan, beloved and pleasant in their life,” call out from the page, wailing David’s broken heart, exploding his grief for his King and his friend. No relief that he can stop running; no “He got his!” attitude. Only grief, deep, searing, stabbing grief at the loss of his King and his friend. David led his people in mourning…and his grief stayed with him, I believe, a lifetime.

Eventually, after more fighting and politics, David, who could not forget his friend, seeks “anyone left of the house of Saul……for Jonathan’s sake.” Sorrow did not leave, even after other battles and wars. They find Mephiboseth, Jonathan’s son, crippled in both feet as a young child when his nurse fell while fleeing with him.  David brings him to the palace, assuages his fear, gives him servants to work land for him, and assures him always of a place at his table—because of his love for Jonathan, the young man whose soul knit with his as a youngster, for whom he surely still kept a soul-knit remnant in his heart, even after so many years of anger and grief, pillage and war.

Mephiboseth’s story moves me as much as his father’s.  In my own life, a series of

Mephiboseth

unexpected and strange events led to my own problems with both feet. Though I have better medical care than Mephiboseth, I have spent time understanding the limits physical handicaps can impose. Thankfully, recent treatment and time have eased my own difficulties. But, for this this young boy, so hurt, so afraid, later taken in and loved by the great friend of his father…..this story in the land of its occurrence brought to life for me the reality of these people.  To want to run or even walk and have physical injury hamper your movements frightens in this modern day and age; how much worse in a time when a young man knew his feet would hurt and fail him the rest of his life? David’s kindnesses must have felt a miracle.

Thousands of years ago, David lived. Jonathan lived. They cared for each other, and they lost each other through no fault of their own. As I stood and looked up at the top of that mountain where the Kingdom of Saul fell (Beth-shan in the Bible) I could almost see mighty, ancient armies in the valley below me, hear the clanging of armor, banging of swords and crying of men, see the bodies of Israel’s leaders hanging in shame.  At that moment, in that place, the Holy Land started her song to me, enticing me with the power she has to bring the past into the present.

A waving hat startled me, broke the spell, carried me from the ageless past to the very present. “Let’s go!” came the call. Time to find the bus, go to the next unforgettable site.

For all of us, a different place, a different time, a different song woke that world. But, oh, indeed, that ancient land sings, and now that song calls me back, if not physically, then emotionally and spiritually. The land does, indeed, sing.

The City of David

Twelve Years a Woman

Twelve years grows a baby up to middle school age. Twelve years rushes a person from late middle age to retirement. Twelve years matures a teenager into adulthood. Twelve years…..

For twelve years the woman suffered from what the Bible calls “an issue of blood.” In that time, women having the “regular flow of blood” as well as a “discharge of blood” at any time other than her period is unclean—meaning she could not be touched or touch, could have no physical intimacy, couldn’t prepare food for others or do housework. Levitical law is specific with this.

If she had a husband, he might well have been long gone; divorce didn’t take a lot of work in those days.  Where she got money, her father, perhaps the husband who left her, really we just don’t know. But she used what money she had going from one doctor to another:  “Can you help me? Can you make this blood stop flowing?” She searched and tried until no money remained, no more to even try to help, and hope, that last gasping lifeline for the desperate, faded away, a disappearing illusion in a fog of anguish, having became not only no better, but actually worse, from her frantic searches for a cure. Very likely, she lived her life alone, by law unclean, unable to mingle with others, avoided by family and friends. By touching her, they would be unclean, unable to enter the Synagogue or Temple on Sabbath, on holy days, having no choice, no matter their desires, to associate with this fragile, ill woman.

This illness, in addition to the social repercussions, likely made her anemic….tired…..and every woman now thinking for ten seconds just groans at the thought of it…….twelve years. (Any man who lives with a woman no doubt groans in sympathy as well). With hope gone, I wonder did she reconcile herself to a life small and lonely? Or, standing outside the Synagogue, I wonder if maybe she floated a prayer:  “Please, God.” Of course, she might have been more specific, longer. But, at the end of hope, out of options, maybe "Please, God" was all she could muster.

We do know this…..somehow she heard about Jesus. She heard that a Healer was abroad in the land. Perhaps someone who loved her ran to her lonely, singular house….”Listen, listen! There’s a teacher….a preacher….a healer! And, he’s coming here, like NOW! You have to go see him! They say he even raises the dead! Maybe he can help you!” After so much……….so much time, so much money, so much despair, so much illness……could it be true?

Did she dare hope?

After the woman arrived where Jesus met the crowd, after seeing Him interact with hurting, needy people for just a bit, the woman grew certain Jesus could help her. At the same time, Jesus also dealt with a synagogue official, desperate over an ill daughter. People, crowded together as in a First Century Times Square, pressed in around Jesus, the twelve disciples there, everyone starting off to trek with Jesus and the father to help with the daughter.  The woman watched Him start to walk away…..and knew, just knew she could not miss this chance!  

Maybe she wrapped a scarf around her face to keep the crowd from recognizing her, maybe the crowd so concentrated on Jesus, they just did not recognize her, but, somehow, she quietly slipped through the people, behind this one, in front of another, between these two, kneeling a bit, reaching…… reaching…..reaching…….re-a-c-h—and just barely, lightly brushed the hem of Jesus’ robe. And she knew instantly she was healed!

Immediately Jesus stopped! In my mind, I see Peter and the other disciples, perhaps trying to protect Jesus from the crowd bumping into Him from behind, similar to the dwarfs colliding into Snow White, not seeing his sudden halt. No doubt, that was NOT the case, but we know Jesus stopped quickly and looked around. The Bible tells us He knew immediately that “power had gone out of Him.”

“Who,” he asked, “touched me?”

The disciples looked around at the crowd surging around them, pressing in close, wanting to see Jesus perform a miracle, no doubt some with faith, no doubt some wanting a good show. The close quarters made it difficult to move and not touch someone. Jesus wondered who touched Him?

Peter looked around, then at Jesus. “Who didn’t?”

But, the woman knew He had caught her.

You see, when a woman of faith touches the living Son of God, they both know it.

I want to touch Him that way.

As the woman came forward, Jesus told her, “Your faith has made you well; go in peace and be healed of your affliction.”

Faith……peace…....healing.

We don’t know of her life after this appearance in the Gospels, but surely she found family or friends with whom to live……..Oh, I hope so. I want to find her in Heaven, want to tell her how deeply her story touched me, want to listen to her tell me that sensation when she brushed Jesus’ robe with her fingers, the expression on His face when he looked at her, what her heart felt when His loving voice said, “Your faith has made you well….”

 My guess is she doesn’t tire of telling that story. Such a short time she appears in the Gospels, the longest section in Mark’s gospel, which, we are told, might be based on Peter’s memories. If so, did Peter mull over that time Jesus said, “Who touched me?” as a crowd rushed Him, Peter and the other disciples watching in wonder a small, ill, now healed, woman capturing the attention of Jesus, perhaps not for long, but certainly completely?

I love the story, and I love to imagine the different ways it affected the different people in it. How much better to lie in bed, retelling in my mind the story of a woman healed by Christ than to replay a hurtful situation in my life I cannot change, to put myself in that Biblical story, imagine the woman, see Jesus stop, the disciples bumping into each other and Christ…..”Your faith….go in peace….be healed.”

And if I can get out of myself and into the Scripture, just perhaps, I can hear Him speak to me.

Mark 5:25-34

The Outdoors Beckons--Seaside

The outdoors beckons our spirits, connecting to the beginnings of time for us—or most of us. The Bible tells us Adam lived in a garden with Eve, had a job there. That first wonderful task of his, to name the animals, must have brought laughter and fun! Did he have to think about them as he stared at a…..hippopotamus? I have no idea what his language sounded like or what hippopotamus sounded like in that language….but just the joy of it! Ponder an animal…..watch it lumber around in water, or sail overhead in flight, jump straight up, its horns slashing air, or dash about wildly in a field just because it can. And, then, to form the words to give each of these animals a name, its own special title, different than all others……

We read those words quickly, pass them by, say them easily with little thought. “Adam named the animals.” There are those, of course, even in churches who believe no Adam lived, no Eden existed with a lush, verdant garden for Adam and Even to tend and reap from, no animals fully-formed who frolicked around, waiting for their one, special name. But even if you don’t believe it did happen, think that if it had the amount of work to come up with all those names. “You’re a giraffe.” “You’re a goose.” “Zebra; monkey; antelope; fly; catfish,” and, of course, the beloved ones, “horse;” “cat;” “dog.” While I’m off in my imagination, I can almost hear Adam (in whatever his language) say to that last one, “Dog." What a good name. Would he (or she) then have heard for the first time, “What a good dog”?

Why don’t you hang around close for a bit?” and that familiar wild-doggy looking creature, the one before humans started breeding for size or coat or color, wags his tail, walks in circles a few times, lies down, tail-over-nose, sighs, and rests near his first person, now with a name all his own.

At least for me, the outdoors calls when my spirit needs soothing and when the indoors, comfortable as it can be, gets to be too much of too much.

 And so, this week, for just a couple of days, the beach.

No one knows for sure, of course, the beginnings of the beginning. My own agnostic scientist son assures me that “evolution is a methodology.”  Okay. I have no problem with that.

But standing on the edge of the continent there, watching the foaming Atlantic charge in, rush out, gather itself a bit, then hurl that foaming swell back towards the beach, I don’t know many people whose spirit calls out from within, “Oh, thank you, subhuman protoplasm that crawled out of the Sea!” For most people—and, I totally agree it is most—the call is, “Thank You, God, thank You,” or, if not God, then Spirit or however a person’s Higher Power is addressed.

 

As a Christian, Thank You, God, works fine.

All of which lends to posters and prose, but what does it mean and how does it connect to real people now?

My husband and I like all beaches, but we love this beach, this one beach, the one where he first introduced our son and me to the Atlantic over thirty years ago now. As a small, blond, blue-eyed boy stepped over the sand dunes, his first look at the body of water that…..never ended! His eyes grew, his mouth dropped, and his walk slowed and slowed….and stopped. But eventually, if not that first trip, then later ones, he fished, body surfed, learned to see the wonder of the waters. Since those first trips, we have returned and returned, usually to this same hotel, a miniature deck looking over the Ocean, the island small, tourists not yet ruling as in other ocean towns. And so, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, leaving detailed instructions for the very experienced pet sitter who did not need them, we loaded the car with enough stuff for a week as we left for two days, and headed east.

The pier juts out into the ocean, hosting fishermen and women 24 hours a day, I’d guess 365 days a year. I have never not seen at least a few intrepid souls casting from that pier. Birds dive bomb, fluff up against the wind, little beady eyes peering around:  “Who has food I can steal?” But the best, the sweetest, if looking out into that blue water I can see dolphins cruise by or, even better, break the surface and splash down, throwing droplets into the air, diving for room to get energy to leap again. These dolphins wear sleek, black skin, no doubt cousins to Flipper, but not first cousins. I’ve learned to watch for the birds hovering above the water, chattering, waving around……no doubt following the dolphins who, no doubt, follow the fish below.

Smorgasbord.

They don’t always show….not every time.  On Wednesday when I walked out onto the pier, feeling that “A-h-h-h-h” of relief, some time away from a period in my life that stress just visits more than I want, I whispered a prayer, almost a random thought, but a real one nonetheless. “Lord, it’s not a demand, but, please, dolphins…..”

We walked up a bit, saw a brave wet-suited young man waiting for a wave to catch and ride in, surf board at the ready, and then (because he knows I cannot see very well), Mike said, “Look! Dolphins!”

I peered out towards the sun reflected off the dark water, past the surfer……..”Where?”

“THERE!” And then I saw a fin break the surface and submerge…..break, submerge, the birds dancing in the air above. Suddenly, one sleek swimmer jumped, almost leaping over the surfer, a perfect dive back into the deep.

Ah, yes. And, without will, my mind whispered, “Thank you, Lord.”

The next day, those aquatic mammals put on a show! They swam, they jumped, they dove, they leaped. From the pier, we saw people on the beach stopping, pointing, as enthralled as we were—though I admit the fishermen around us didn’t care so much. “You can’t catch ‘em.” Eventually one slowly made his way back towards us, accompanied by a flying friend. I wore out my finger trying to get a picture. I can see the fin when I look, but no one else would know…..the memory and the gratitude that will stay with me must suffice; I will revisit those magical moments in my mind.

 

There are those, of course, who will say, “The dolphins would have been there anyway; your prayer meant nothing.”

Maybe.

But those who refuse to see an answer to prayer will never see one, even if God wrote in the sky, “I did this!”  To me, that gift, a sight of those beautiful sea creatures, so healing to a person for whom animals mean so much, a gift from the Creator who knows her better than anyone else, shows the love of that Creator. And, as when I see the ocean tides, or the mountains waving color in the fall, or a horse thundering across a pasture, running to me, a gift undreamed of not so long ago, or a dog watching me with eyes looking for my pleasure.....my spirit says, "Thank you, Lord. I am gifted beyond deserving."

Beside the Brokenhearted

In the past couple of weeks as I have searched for escape or reasons for my struggles or, at least in early morning hours, enjoyed fantasies of retribution concerning the difficulties I continue to deal with, I have also looked to other resources for help. The book Where Is God When it Hurts gives perspective beyond just physical or emotional pain, but truly does give hope that grief—which better describes what I feel about a recent situation—can lead not to joy or victory, so much, but to a maturity in the persevering of it.  Given half a chance, conceivably I can emerge a bit richer life-wise. For sure, the circumstances refuse to give way to my wishes. Perhaps I could just try a bit to come out the other side with a jewel or two created in the crucible of circumstance I can’t escape. Truth be told, those retribution fantasies too easily slip into my mind in free time…..I wonder if I have enough discipline to capture a valuable gemstone.

              

Interestingly enough, Scripture does not often give a “why” in the suffering of people. Oh, there are times when the people of Israel just turn away from God so far that He let them get captured or undergo some calamity so He could get their attention, then rescued them, wooing His people till they returned to Him. But, for the most part, pain or illness or loss simply arrived as the course of life.

In the Old Testament, poor Job is just having a Tuesday (or some normal day) when Satan all but dares God to test him, this good man who actually finds himself in the midst of mishap because he lives so righteously. “Yeah, no wonder,” Satan scoffs at God’s bragging on Job. “You won’t let me get near him.”

              

So, God allows Satan access—with restrictions:  “Don’t touch his body.”  Job, having no knowledge of the string pulling behind the scenes, must have felt the bottom falling out of the world as he loses possessions, livestock, family, one catastrophe after another, some a result, literally, of tragedy falling from the sky. And Job, justifying God’s faith in him, “did not sin nor charge God with wrong.” (Job 1:22.)

              

After God pointed out Job’s continued uprightness even after Satan’s initial attacks, the devil whines, “Yeah, but you won’t let me touch him.” At which point, God lets Satan have a go at Job and boils appear over poor Job’s whole body, head to toe. After all the emotional pain and loss, Job now faces nonstop physical suffering. He sits down and tells his friends, his wife, and God about it.

              

His friends offer scant comfort, convinced Job had to do something to deserve this treatment; God would not just willy-nilly bring down such misfortune on someone for no reason. Job maintains the lack of justification for such punishment; his friends don’t buy it. For chapter after chapter, they nag and badger, harass and torment. Fairly early on, even his wife jumps in, supportive as his friends. “Oh, just curse God and die!” (See Job 2:9)

              

And, yet, Job will not. Holding his integrity like a shield, he fights back the only way he can—with the truth of his knowledge. “I don’t deserve this!” He tells them all, even God.

              

After everyone else has a say, God settles it, first asking Job, “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?” And for most of the rest of the book (four chapters, or so) God reveals the audacity of questioning God’s actions. The best part is the section on horses (Job 39:19-25), but then, I’m a horse girl. God encourages Job to get up and get on with it, and has some rather harsh words for Job’s friends—then gives back to Job even more than had been taken from him, though even with that, He could not, in this life, give him the specific children he had lost. Loss comes with life in this world.

              

Nowhere does God even hint at telling Job why any of those terrible happenings had arrived in his life. And how does Job end their encounter? “And I repent in dust and ashes.” (Job 42:6) Having lost so much, upon a face-to-face meeting with the God to whom he had complained, Job repented his grumblings, having never known that God had held him up as an example of a man to emulate.

              

Hundreds and hundreds of years later, in the New Testament, the disciples asked Jesus about a blind man, again following the belief that adversity followed fault, “Whose fault is it this man was born blind, his or his parents?” And Jesus answered, “Neither. It was so the works of God could be displayed.” (See John 9:1-3) A man spent a lifetime of darkness not knowing his sightless eyes would someday help show the Son of God to the world….would he have chosen that disability had he known?

              

Would I?

              

What generally seems the case is that the cause of pain—short term or chronic or long term—just doesn’t seem to much matter in most cases in the Bible. That can be frustrating, does not seem fair. But, Jesus did say, “In the world you will have tribulation.” He went on, “…but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) Paul spends lots of time talking about the bad things that happen. The apostles were arrested, flayed, and stoned, among other things. While we live in this world, we will, indeed, have troubles.

              

And my cynical, sarcastic side thinks, “Well, no joke.” I mean, really, that’s no great revelation. And, truly, I want to assign blame….someone, surely, owes me (or you, or somebody) an apology.

              

The emphasis in Scripture regarding difficulties, though, seems to be, given the certainty of pain in life, on our reaction to trouble and pain. I can, as Job (who really did have a case for retribution to be made) did, make my case to God that life is not fair and stamp my foot to know why, why, why? Or, I can try to learn from Job, and countless others, that the why frequently does not carry much weight; cannot be changed; the cliché “I cannot change the past” is a cliché for a reason, and not waste the future reliving the pain of the past.

Which sounds w-a-y easier than it is.

              

This weekend as I watched a speaker on youtube, a woman I had never heard before, I saw a verse she put up, heard her speak about heartache. I found this woman by happenstance….found this specific video almost on a fluke. This is the verse I saw her put  on the screen…..the verse I repeated and repeated to myself ever since:

Psalm 34:18  The LORD is near to the brokenhearted

                           And saves those who are crushed in Spirit.

At such a time, with such a verse, surely God shows His care for a child who has called out to Him for help. I love taking apart such Scripture verses, one word at a time, using resources to look up the words in original languages to see the original meaning. And so, I delved into the verse….

The LORD.  Yahweh…The Covenant God. The I AM God. The eternal God. The constant God—the same yesterday, today, and forever. The God who cannot be improved—beyond all creation, all universes, all galaxies. The absolute standard of truth and goodness. The God Who is always right. Whatever He does is right. (Some of this is resourced from Desiring God site by John Piper). This is the God who cares for us.

Is near:  This word is translated “is near” in this verse. In other places, Scripture translates it “draws near,” “nearby,” “are near,” “nearest,” “related.” 

Then brokenhearted: Strong’s concordance uses these words, in part, to explain that word “brokenhearted:” abolish, break down, breaking in pieces, collapse, demolished, fractures, shattered, smashed, tore down.” I don’t believe we stretch it to use the illustration of a mirror, smashed on the floor, minute pieces scattered everywhere. Can it ever be repaired, put together, useful, even beautiful again?

And so, the first line of the verse proclaims that the God of all, the God who spoke and brought from nothing the creation of all, the God who cares from eternity into time for each of us—that God seeing a heart broken, shattered, broken into those pieces like a mirror smashed on the floor, that very God comes near to that person whose heart is so damaged and does…..what?

The second line of the verse promises:

He saves. That word suggests avenging, delivering, endows with salvation, gaining victory, helping, perseveres, saving, making victorious.

And he saves those who are crushed. The word crushed here can be contrite or truly crushed or oppressed.

Crushed in spirit……spirit. Among other words, Strong’s shows that Scriptures translates this word as heart, mind, temper, thoughts, wind, grief, wind.

And, so, this LORD of all, drawing near to the one whose heart is shattered delivers the heartbroken, makes that one victorious, helps that one who is crushed, oppressed in spirit,  in his or her mind, thoughts, with grief.

The LORD is near to the brokenhearted

And saves those who are crushed in spirit.

The Great Creator Covenant God of all moves in close to the one whose heart has been shattered, comforting with His presence, assuring with His authority—He is with the one who hurts—and helps that one, makes the hurting one victorious, gives them perseverance to gain victory over that thing that so crushes the spirit, that so devastates one’s mind, one’s thoughts, one’s ability to deal with disappointment and restore equilibrium and peace to the soul, heals one’s spirit.

God’s promise is, “I am close to you when you hurt.”

The realization of that promise, the truth of that Word, brought to me a gentle joy, that, though I do still feel the ache of past hurts, the “why?” will probably never be completely known in this life. My responsibility now is how do I deal with it?

Usually not well.

Last week driving home I had said out loud, as I recall, to the Lord, “Lord, I need SOMETHING from you. This is killing me” regarding this chronic, deep, sharp emotional wound I have dealt with for literally years now. It’s been enough. It’s long enough. But, even as I say it, I see the people involved, and my heart breaks again. I have done all the clichés, spouted all the right words, vowed to move on, and I hate giving them that much power over me. And it hinders my way out of proportion to the worth it should have—takes too much thought life, creates too many tears, makes me too sad, frankly. I believe the people worthy of much caring and love, but certainly if the relationships will not be repaired in the near future, or perhaps in this life, then I have to find a way to live life without an anchor of sorrow dragging me down, increasing even my fatigue level on any given day—and I can get tired well enough on my own, thank you very much.

And so, I sent out my SOS prayer:  “Help me, Lord!”

And He sent me this verse:

“The LORD is near to the brokenhearted

And saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

This verse only begins His promises to aching children.

In Isaiah 61:1—quoted by Jesus Himself in Luke 4:18—part of Jesus’ job for redemption is described as to “bind up the brokenhearted.” The words indicate wrapping up tightly and securely a wound broken in pieces—a shattered heart bound tightly back together, part of the work of the Messiah.

Over and over in Scripture, God promises to be with those hurting, to sustain those who feel unable to take the next step. After finding this verse…..this lifeline…..I looked for more verses to speak to those who, for a time, find themselves needing the assurance that God wants to help them through the sloughs of blinding pain and self-doubt, the miring substance of self-pity keeping them from moving forward, the walls of doubt that blind from the promised future of life abundant.

Such seeking is, of course, one reason God made the Internet. Put into a Google search engine “verses for healing broken hearts,” and more hits pop up (in 0.46 seconds) than can be read, well, ever. Mine the treasure and see:

Psalm 147:3 “He heals the brokenhearted And binds up their wounds.

Revelation 21:4 “and He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer

                                  be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain”

I John 4:10 “In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to

                        be the propitiation for our sins.”

Psalm 55:22a “Cast your burden upon the LORD and He will sustain you..”

Romans 8:15b “you have received a spirit of adoption as sons by which we cry out, ‘Abba!

                            Father’”

There are many, many more of these verses…..Scripture, chock full of promises from God to His children of love and care, along with those pesky commandments and warnings. But, He makes sure we know, even those commandments and warnings are for our good.

He is on our side. We are His children. Even more difficult to grasp, I am His child, and He loves me.

Though I may never understand all the reasons why the situation developed, though, no doubt, I contributed my fair share (what a good, politically correct phrase), I have done all I can to correct what I could, asked forgiveness, and forgiven as best as am able. Scripture doesn’t spend a lot of time on the why of pain and suffering; Scripture just accepts that in this fallen world, we will have it in good measure. Our responsibility is to deal with the suffering in a Godly manner.

In more than one place, and specifically in that jewel of Psalm 34:18, the LORD promises to move near, to comfort and save, those whose hearts with broken, shattered hearts, whose spirits are crushed. He doesn’t qualify the reasons for those troubles….he just makes the promise.

In past days, I have thanked the God who loves me enough, the God who spoke into existence the world (whatever that process looked like), who watches at night as we sleep, who thinks about us as we are too busy to think of Him, I have thanked Him that He, as my heart hurts from situations I cannot change or control, He moves nearer to me….promises to comfort me….and I look for Him close.

He is close.

I know this because He said He is.

In this fallen world where so often suffering and pain, disappointment and disaster seem to overtake us all, the question of why shouts, seemingly heard above all else. And when no answer appears, sceptics reply, “There, that proves your prayers do no good….”

But, quietly, softly under the screams and protests, next to the hurting and suffering, beside the ones working and building, moving close to the brokenhearted, the GOD of all begins to build up the crushed and bind up the wounds and comfort the hurting. I must not forget He loves just as tenderly, just as fiercely, those people whose actions brought me to this point. They, too, are His children. They, also, can find and feel His warmth and compassion. As His children, we, actually, are all in this together.

Where is God when we hurt? He is there, beside us. And the pain is an opportunity to know Him better. I gotta say, that is not the plan I would have chosen…..but, then, I am definitely not God.

IT WOULD BE nice to say that this gift of a verse from God has made my reaction to all things related to my initial situation all better, calm, quiet, nice and “spiritual.”

It would be nice to say that, but that would be a lie. In finding myself having to deal with the same conditions, again I felt my hackles rise, the tears flow, my emotions overtake what I want to be peaceful, composed countenance.

But, here is a difference:  I pray, again, for grace and blessings for those with whom I cannot deal, pray for forgiveness for my lack of grace, pray for us all. If there is to be resolution, it will not be without celestial action:  I am without ability to bring it.

And I acknowledge that as my heart broke, by faith, God drew near beside me. I know this because He said He would. I am better than I was before; though I felt the sharp stab of previous hurt, it did not pierce as intensely. The binding of wounds starts healing.....it is not the end. I pray now that in the process God draws close to all of us involved in this particular situation and focus on where we all go

from here. It is the past that hurts; I pray the future blessings for us all.

Peter's Clarion Call

The Church of St. Peter in Gallicantu, right outside Jerusalem, has a statue in the courtyard commemorating Peter’s betrayal of Jesus. At the top of the column that centers the statue, around which the portrayals of Jesus, Peter, a Roman soldier, and the maid to whom Peter voices his renouncements of knowledge of Jesus illustrate that event, a rooster crows, stretching his neck, forever announcing to Peter that yes, indeed, he, Peter, who had so vowed loyalty to his Lord, had betrayed Jesus with no thought, no hint of a hesitation, for anything but his own safety during the trial of Jesus.

               A rooster.

               I wonder if that is the symbol by which Peter would want his name remembered in that Land of Faith—a foul fowl, like the one who crowed so triumphantly announcing Peter’s shame and failure.

               On that night so long ago, as the ancient cock crowed his call to waken, Scripture tells us that Jesus turned and looked at Peter, two sets of brown eyes meeting, speaking without words across the paving stones that separated them. Peter, as the sound of the rooster hit his hears, looked into Jesus’ eyes, remembered Jesus’ foretelling of that betrayal Peter had just concluded—and, in shame, fled.  Where he spent the next two, long, harrowing days—and nights—Scripture does not tell us. How he survived inside himself, we do not know.  Who found him, hiding, sobbing out his disgrace, knowing his friends and fellow disciples now knew of his betrayal of Jesus? Who comforted him, tried to make him know that Jesus would never want him to bear that shame forever?

               Or, did anyone?

We do know that on Sunday morning, he and John, together, ran to the tomb to check for sure that Jesus had left His grave, as Mary Magdalene had told them. Though the younger John outran Peter and arrived first at the empty tomb (John makes sure to let us know this in his gospel account;  “I got there before Peter!!”), Peter entered the tomb first. John doesn’t tell us what stopped him at the door; perhaps his youth, maybe fear held him up, and Peter—maybe forgetting his shame and agony in his astonishment at Mary’s news—reverted to type and ploughed on in, taking no thought for consequences, determined to see if, truly, Jesus had risen from the dead, seeing the empty tomb, going away, dazzled, dumbstruck, wondering what this could mean.

And, if not here in this tomb, where, exactly, was Jesus?

They learned, of course, that Jesus was……with them. He appeared to hundreds of people after his resurrection. At one point, He came to Peter as Peter and friends (disciples, like himself, waiting to figure all this out) fished. Jesus helped a bit with their catch, fixed them breakfast.

We do not know all the conversation of that meal, but when they finished, Jesus asked Peter, “Peter, do you love me?”  After his humiliation, after his tears, after the heartbreak he had felt, brought on by his own unintended actions, Peter must have jumped at the chance to answer, “Yes, Lord! I love you!”

“Feed my sheep.”

Then Jesus asked Peter the same question again, after Peter’s positive answer, gave him the same reply, and yet again asked Peter, “Do you love Me?”  By this time, a frustrated Peter said, “Lord, You know I love You!” Jesus calmly repeated his answer, “Feed my sheep,” but from the perspective of 2000 years, we might ask Peter if, really, shouldn’t he lose any semblance of attitude? After all, just a small time before, he had sworn allegiance to this same Jesus—albeit a pre-resurrection Jesus—and then betrayed him three times. Many scholars believe the three times Jesus asked Peter about loving Him corresponded to the three betrayals of Peter…..

But, even as I entertain the thought, “Did Peter really have to be so….snippy to Jesus?” I remember that moment today when, again, I acted against what I know to be God’s will, oh, in a small matter for sure….except, can there be such a small……betrayal?

And down the corridor of history, carried on the air of the continued Presence, quietly, but oh, so clearly, I hear the crow of a rooster.

And I know that I, too, in acts perhaps not so blatant to the world, but glaringly clear to the One Who matters, have let down my Lord, denied knowledge of His grace to live in freedom and blessing, outside of circumstance, yet again surrendering to impulses I long to rise above.  Immediately, I feel the hurt of my failure.

Again.  

Who am I to criticize Peter?

If this occurrence happened only to me, or only in our time, perhaps hope would lie buried under guilt for us all. But, even 2000 years ago, the towering Apostle Paul said, “For what I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate.” (Romans 7:15) Better men (well, people) than I have fallen to this frustration.

There is no count on my failings; again and again I ‘miss the mark,’ do the thing I swear I will not, castigate myself for those failures……

Ah…..but like Peter, I do not have to stay hidden away, buried in disgrace. Unlike Peter, I do not have to wait the weekend...the road for me is short…a simple prayer away.

“Forgive me.” The Apostle John, he who ran faster than Peter getting to the empty tomb, in later life said, “If we confess our sins, He is faithful to forgive our sins and cleanse us.” (1 John 1:9) Paul also declares, “Who will set me free from the body of this death?  Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:24-25)

Redemption shines more clearly than the guilt; Peter, Paul, John all point to the risen Christ as the source for freedom from blame and self-reproach.

“Forgive me.” As the rooster call echoes through the centuries, so to do Jesus’ words to Peter, forgiven, cleansed, restored to his Lord, “Feed my sheep.” And I hear the Spirit delicately breathe across my heart…..”Feed My sheep…..”

Forgive those who hurt you, forgive, finally forgive…….

Turn the other cheek…..

Love……

Comfort……

Give…..

Do not keep accounts of wrongdoing…..

Care for……

“Feed My sheep.”

Forgiveness comes with greater purpose than expunging guilt…it comes for sharing Love.  Oh how I wish knowledge automatically meant change in behavior and feelings. Fortunately, the Cross brings endless forgiveness….I must just ask…..and ask…..and ask….and acknowledge, after each asking, the work completed, forgiveness given; truly, easier said than done.

Brother Lawrence said, "When I fail in my duty, I readily acknowledge it, saying, 'I am used to doing so; I shall never do otherwise if I am left to myself'. If I fail not, then I give God thanks, acknowledging that the strength comes from Him." It is not new, this asking forgiveness….this restoration.  Others before….others before…others before…that I would not spurn the lessons given by them.

Peter went on to preach the soaring sermon at Pentecost, start the Church, be a leader, pen some of the New Testament, and refuse to die as Jesus did, requesting instead a crucifixion upside down, not feeling worthy to suffer and die as Jesus had.

But, I don’t think he minds, from his now-celestial perspective, that atop the pillar in the courtyard of the church bearing his name just outside Old Jerusalem, the rooster eternally crows. For, without such a magnificent fall, would Peter ever have understood such towering grace? Would he have acquired the assurance to promise us that this “great mercy” Jesus gives us all through His resurrection leads us to “an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will not fade away, reserved in heaven for you”? (I Peter 1:3-4) I believe Peter would tell us that sharing with us all—those then, those since, us now, the ones who follow us—the restoration provided by Jesus made the pain and dishonor worth it all.

And, after the reconciliation, the crow of a rooster must have changed a meaning for him, that Apostle called “The Big Fisherman.” Instead of knocking him down with grief, when he heard the crowing later in his life, he must have smiled, lifted his face, and acknowledged the forgiveness he found from the words of the Lord of us all……

So, now, when I hear that echo, when the rooster calls to me from a night 2000 years ago, I pray God will use it as a clarion call, first to bow and pray a “Forgive me,” then to hear the specific way His “Feed my sheep” applies for that moment.

And, as one of the “cloud of witnesses” of Heaven described in Hebrews 12:1, perhaps Peter smiles.

On the Sea

Work has started. It's good work; valuable work. But make no mistake: to quote a poster I used to have, it sure cuts into your day.

As the year began, we had the first Mass of the year. Though not Catholic, 32 years at a Catholic school lets me follow along pretty well without embarrassing myself. I've learned the songs, know the responses, the solemnity of the service. I have learned to appreciate the beauty and peaceful rhythm of the Catholic Mass. My own churches I have attended tend to be a bit more....enthusiastic.

Different is not a value judgment.

The morning's Gospel reading told of Jesus walking out to frantic Disciples in a boat on a churning, frothing Sea of Galilee, that magnificent lake showing off for its Maker, who strolled along on the foaming, white-capped water ...., Peter climbing from the boat to join Him, sinking, crying out, Jesus grasping his hand, saving him from dropping into the depths....both of them entering the boat, and the seas, having shown their stuff, calming down. As the priest read the familiar verses from Matthew, I closed my eyes and saw from two months ago the beautiful, blue Sea of Galilee, 40 dear people on a boat riding along the Sea--that day, a Sea of Glass. The next morning the waves buffeting the beach illustrated the Gospel reading better.

We saw in Israel a 2000 year old boat, small, brought up oh, so carefully, from the silt at the bottom of the water, preserved one small area at a time. I pictured that boat tossed about on the waves, wind pitching it. It wouldn't hold twelve robust men, so I stretched it--same shape, bigger.

On our modern, much bigger, boat--it might as well have had a huge sign with flashing lights saying, "Tourist Ride! Tourist Ride!"--we danced the Hora to the ultimate Jewish song, "Hava Nagila." Most of us didn't dance it well

, but we didn't lack for enthusiasm! This morning I smiled as I remembered...

.....and into my mind slipped, again, a picture of Jesus along the shores, calling his first disciples, fish nets floating on that shining, azure water, those strong, muscled men leaving all to journey with Him, transferring their known tasks of catching fish to the celestial appointment of fishing for men.

That small land changes its visitors.....the archaeology that digs up the history of Scriptures and shows so much of how it really was.

And, when I need an escape, when the world is too much with me, I will close my eyes and be there.