 One of the men lying there had been sick for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him and knew he had been ill for a long time, he asked him, “Would you like to get well?”
“I can’t, sir,” the sick man said, “for I have no one to put me into the pool when the water bubbles up. Someone else always gets there ahead of me.” Jesus told him, “Stand up, pick up your mat, and walk!” -John 5:5-8 Remember those Dear Abby columns that used to run in the newspapers? Someone would always share about the issue they were struggling with, but instead of their name, they would sign it with a descriptor of their condition. Help me! Signed, Frustrated in Fargo. Or, more well known, Sleepless In Seattle. Has it ever struck you how unfortunate it is to think of someone’s problem as synonymous with their very name? If you were defined by your issues, what would your name be? Jesus meets a man whose body is no longer working. He can't walk or get up. He’s lying on his mat, like he does every day. But contrary to other healing stories, this man doesn’t cry out for Jesus. In fact, Jesus notices him first and walks over and asks him a question…. and a bit of rude one at that! He looks at this guy on the ground and says, Do you want to get well? What kind of a question is that? The disciples are probably standing there thinking, way to add some salt to the wound, Jesus. Interestingly, rather than answering the question, the man gives the reasons he's been unable to get well. He never gives a direct response to the simple question of Jesus. Did he hesitate? Maybe. Why? And why might we pause at that same question? It’s hard to talk about, but perhaps sitting in our woundedness, in a sad sort of way, is what we've grown accustomed to. We think, I'll always be this way... and the hopelessness sets in. I'll never be at peace... and the bitterness grows...... I'll always be the wounded one... and it defines us. Because if we're really honest, there's validation in using our pain as an identity marker. Holding onto our pain can shield us from the scary journey of growth. A friend betrayed your trust once, so every time an opportunity comes up to go a little deeper with someone, you keep the old wound fresh and remind yourself that you just can’t trust anyone any more. See what I mean? We all need to be healed of something. We’re all wounded. We’re the lame dude. And though we know that living life defined by woundedness is not in our best interests, we still construct identities around them. Dear God….. Signed, the selfish one. The divorced one. The weak one. There's a big difference between being honest about our wounds and our struggles and being defined by them. Acknowledging the wounds of your past is not the same thing as letting them direct your attitude for your future. American poet Carl Sandberg once wrote: There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud. Which one will win? So Jesus looks at this guy (and honestly, we really don’t know what’s going on in his head), and he says, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.” And the man chooses to rise in response. Do we understand that when he stands, he’s embracing a new identity? After 38 years, he’s no longer “the invalid!” But the mat- the symbol of this man’s woundedness, doesn’t actually get left behind. He’s told to carry it along. The mat that he had laid on for years, defining his condition, is now transformed into a symbol of his redemption. That’s the beauty of what God can do with our deepest wounds. They can be a part of us that points not only to our pain, but to our redemption. They can become a symbol of hope that reminds you of your new identity, if we invite Jesus to transform us daily. This is not the same as saying, "hey, just get over it." It's the hope that you are more than your pain. If your identity has been formed by your limp, or your shame, or your hurt… there is such good news. Those wounds are a part of your story, but they are not what needs to define you. You are a child of God. Jesus, make me willing. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well!
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 We don’t have a priest who is out of touch with our reality. He’s been through weakness and testing, experienced it all—all but the sin. So let’s walk right up to him and get what he is so ready to give. Take the mercy, accept the help. -Hebrews 4:15 (MSG) There’s a difference when someone thinks they can see where you’re coming from, as compared to having been there themselves. Does that make sense? If my kid is nervous the day before school, I can say, “Sure you are, but you’ll be fine.” But that’s vastly different than me saying, “You know, I remember a time that I was scared to walk into a new place, and it was hard. Let me tell you that story.” In the middle of fear and pain, one response feels distant. But the other makes us feel known. Of course, it goes deeper than school butterflies. When we walk through pain and trauma, many of us have learned that there are no words that can describe the struggle. It’s only when we meet another who has experienced something similar that we can access a glimmer of peace. We don’t even need to have our issues “fixed.” There’s simply something hopeful about being understood. And yet, even when we encounter people who experienced similar pain, fear, or heartache, there is still a limit. Every person is different, and we are complicated. Even when someone has been through something similar, they are not you. They are not able to see into your heart or your head. Not fully, at least. Years ago I had a conversation with a friend of mine who I would later lose to addiction. He was sharing honestly about his many struggles, and how even his hardest circumstances were somehow nudging him toward Jesus. He texted me a simple statement that will stay with me forever, about a conviction that he came to hold. "I have a Christ who suffered, and that’s how I know he identifies with me." So simple. So life-changing. We are given a confidant. A friend. A Lord. A brother… who has the ability to see into the depths of our pain and struggle. But he also experienced all the emotions we could ever imagine. And he hurt. He hurt hard. He gets it. Rejection. Loss. Pressure. Anxiety. Betrayal. Victimization. Temptation. Maybe that’s why Jesus is called “God with us” as his nickname in the Bible. Jesus looks at us squarely in the eyes, seeing past our walls of insecurities and our silent arguments with nobody in particular about how hard life is, or parenting, or dealing with this heartache, or that disease, or this addiction, or that uncertainty, or this responsibility. And instead of telling us to get over it, we hear a voice of gentle humility. I understand. Do we believe this? That Jesus understands? Or have we completely stripped away the humanity of Jesus to the point where we say he was human, but we really think he was mostly God.... so obviously he wasn’t really like us. Maybe like 60/40? When we embrace the extra-ordinary humanity of Jesus, that’s actually when his divine nature explodes into our lives. That’s the moment that we realize that we are truly, entirely, and impossibly… understood. More than your parents understand you. More than your spouse understands you. More than your best friend understands you. Even more than google understands your needs and wants. When we begin to trust that Jesus understands our struggle, and really trust it… Then we can let him lead us toward the way of life, however difficult that might be. Because you’re not alone. You are understood. And you are loved. Jesus, meet me where I am today in a way no one else can. Lead me on from there. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well!  Then Jesus stood up again and said to the woman, “Where are your accusers? Didn’t even one of them condemn you?”
“No, Lord,” she said. And Jesus said, “Neither do I. Go and sin no more.” -John 8:10-11 Sir, do you have any idea how fast you were driving? There is literally no correct way to answer this question. It’s a trap, friends. If I say “no” then I show myself to be negligent and lacking basic awareness of my own actions behind the wheel. If I say “yes” then I am openly admitting that I was completely aware of breaking the law and did it anyways. So I’ve been put in an impossible situation. A sheepish, “um, maybe 30?” seemed like a nice middle ground. It did not impress. License and registration, please. Truth be told, I was going too fast. I clearly remember the day I was driving to a trailhead for a run and found myself on a small road in the middle of NOWHERE controlled by the DE Fish and Game Commission. Apparently, all Fish and Game Commission roads have a 20mph speed limit. Also apparently, I was driving faster than the prescribed 20mph speed limit. In my defense, I would have gone slower if I had known I’d get in trouble. It's annoying to be caught and be told that you are doing something wrong, isn’t it? It makes you feel terrible. And awaiting the consequences while the police checked out my “license and registration” was not a great way to spend a 5pm on Friday, either. But when he returned, the officer looked at me and said, “well, we’re going to just give you a verbal warning this time. Please be careful, that’s too fast around here. Have a good day.” Oh, the sweet nectar of compassion! Well, this was indeed a very different feeling than I was expecting. I thought I was condemned, but truth be told, I felt a little bit like I had just won the lottery. Woohoo! I’m free! And I was. There was no condemnation! And yet something in me had changed, even though I hadn’t actually been punished. This isn't always the case... but I'm finding it often is. Without question, I left that parking lot driving a bit more slowly than before. And the next time I come there, I’ll be carefully taking my time on the way in. There was a lesson there, as hard as it was for me to admit. And in the end, I’m glad it happened the way it did. I’m better for it……. This is the power of conviction in the life of a Jesus follower. This is also very different from guilt or condemnation. We are tempted to live with two competing mentalities. The first tells us that we are constantly condemned. We walk around feeling like we will never live up to anyone’s (including God’s) expectations. We base everything off of the rules we follow or break, and our lives are characterized by both of those things. And that's why many people observe, like my one dear friend did, that “so many Christians are the least free people I’ve ever met.” If that’s the case, we’re not following Jesus so well. He came to set us free. The other mentality is that, because there is no condemnation from God as we trust Jesus, we no longer need to spend any time on self-development as disciples. We shouldn't really ever feel bad or change our behavior because we are under grace. But that misses the point too. We have been given the Holy Spirit so that we can have assurance that we are not condemned, but also have a little (or big!) nudge that sets us on the correct path when we’re moving in the wrong direction. And because of that amazing two-fold reality, we can rejoice in both the grace and the conviction that comes our way. The Spirit slows us down to ask, “Do you realize how fast you were going there?” Yet consistently comes back and says, "You have another chance. But make the better choice tomorrow. You can do it.” We need that, friends. What a gift to have a Spirit of both grace and truth in our lives. Jesus, help me become aware of the areas of life I’m speeding through dangerously. Teach me a better way. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well!  “Forget about what’s happened;
don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new." Isaiah 43:18-19 (MSG) In the famous Greek poem The Odyssey, the hero Odysseus is swept away for 10 years, fighting a battle that is not his own. Eager to return to his homeland, his journey is disrupted and he spends 10 more adventurous years on the sea, trying to survive shipwrecks and storms and eventually make his way home. He is seeking peace and tranquility in his homeland, but seems unable to reach it. Finally, he receives a mystical message that his homecoming will indeed happen, but he must make one final journey. And it has to do with the ship oar in his hand. The oar has become a trusty companion over the past decade. It was his tool for survival on the seas, and a reminder of all he's overcome. And now he is told to carry it far inland and plant it into the ground. The land is so far from the sea that the locals won’t know what it is, and they’ll think it’s a farm tool for separating grain and chaff. What an odd task. Now, since The Odyssey is an allegory, there are loads of meaning in each element, and we are free to interpret in our own ways as well. But one thing sticks out in this story... What was critical and meaningful to Odysseus at one time will not always be needed by him in the same way. Odysseus needs to leave behind one of the tools that defined his life, because a new season was at hand. In fact, he would need to intentionally place it behind him in order to move on.* Jesus is constantly inviting us to do this sort of stuff. Call it pruning. Call it becoming new. Call it working out our salvation. But there are times when what has helped us in one season needs to be left behind in order to live fully into the next as we follow him. What if the thing that has fueled you for years, helping you to battle through and survive, is the very thing that needs to be released in order to peacefully move with God to the next phase of your life? What if your need to prove yourself, which has made you a successful businessperson or entrepreneur, is now the thing that is hindering you from being fully present with your children as they grow up? What if your cynicism about churches, which has kept you vigilant and protected after having your trust betrayed in a previous experience, is now no longer needed as you step into truly meaningful community? What if your strength and ability to be independent, which propelled you to leave an abusive relationship many years ago, is not what's needed now as opportunities arise for truly loving, deep spiritual friendships? What if black-and-white understandings of the world, which helped you establish your convictions early in your faith, need to be released so that you can walk with Jesus into the gray and complicated areas of life? What if your oar has been the self-protection of passivity, which allowed you to be comfortable and quiet, when you know that God is stirring you to take some risks and start using your gifts in a new way? What’s your oar? What do you need to put in the ground? Jesus' invitation for the disciples to follow him meant many things, but two of them are obvious. It meant a constant journey, and it meant leaving things behind that they had once relied on. But the future was worth it all. This summer is an amazing time to bury some oars and embrace what’s next. Jesus, give me clarity on what to release, and give me Your presence for the next journey. Peace, Keith* *I'm on sabbatical until July 7th, so for a while Together For Good will be highlighting our favorite reminders from the archives. Don't worry, if I can't remember writing half of them, I'm hopeful they'll be fresh reminders to you as well! |
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