Following The Lord . . . Surprisingly

We speak about having a personal relationship with Jesus. And that is good. It’s an idea rooted in the Gospels and described in the Epistles. We don’t want to have a “grasp of good principles” or merely settle into “living moral lives” all based on the example of a long dead guy. We want relationship with the living Savior, Jesus.

But doing life with Jesus, when he is no longer physically present as he was in the days of his incarnation is a bit of a challenge. How do we walk with him when we can’t see him?

A number of posts on this blog address issue like “learning to listen” and following the Spirit. I continue to try and think biblically and honestly about just how this is supposed to happen . . . in my life and the lives of others. And I came across an encouraging and interesting moment in Luke’s account of the church in Acts that pictures following the Lord in a surprising way.

In Acts 10 and the first part of 11, we have an account of how Peter ends up talking with a Gentile guy and his family; the man’s name was Cornelius and Peter ends up sharing the good news with Cornelius and his family and they come to faith in Jesus. Peter had times of prayer, and a vision (repeatedly), and a specific word from the Spirit, and angelic messages through others, and a fortuitous turn of events to help him follow the Lord. All those things went into how Peter ended up doing what Jesus wanted him to do. And, candidly, I often long for such things–such direct “leading.”

But it is right after that, as Luke reports about the establishing of the first truly Gentile community of faith, that I end up a bit surprised. The good news ends up getting all the way to Antioch, a city some good distance beyond the boundaries of Palestine and, hence, a primarily non-Jewish place. And that is where the first Gentile congregation is planted . . . a church that actually is the first community to be branded with the name “Christian” and the first church that purposefully sent out missionaries to reach others. Pretty cool. And I am forced to ask: “How’d that happen?”

Luke tells us . . .

So then those who were scattered because of the persecution that occurred in connection with Stephen made their way to Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, speaking the word to no one except to Jews alone. But there were some of them, men of Cyprus and Cyrene, who came to Antioch and [began] speaking to the Greeks also, preaching the Lord Jesus. And the hand of the Lord was with them, and a large number who believed turned to the Lord. (Acts 11:19-21)

A few men, from Cyprus and Cyrene, who had been in Jerusalem and had come to know Jesus, were in that city when Stephen was killed (as recorded by Luke in Acts 7 and 8). And the heat got turned up in that city. Persecution began. Followers of Jesus fled because of the trouble. And these guys ended up in Antioch.

Did they have a mission strategy? Apparently not. (Was that where the bus dumped them out? Did they run out of denarii?) Did the Spirit specifically direct them this way? We are not told so. In fact, to speak of these believers being “scattered” sounds much more like they kind of dispersed randomly from the city because of the trouble.

But when they got to Antioch, something happened. Jesus’ “hand was upon them.” Apparently they were doing what Jesus wanted and he was pleased to bless what they were doing. They were, therefore, doing his will. They were all about what he wanted for them. And how did they get there? Surprisingly . . . by being scattered.

I feel that way some times . . . often. I try and think and plan for what I believe the Lord wants for me. I try and listen, in and through the Scriptures and for the voice of the Spirit. And some times . . . often . . . I am not really sure I hear anything at all. And the day just begins to unfold, and I feel like I am being driven or carried along by the circumstances . . . kind of like being scattered.

And I wonder if I have missed the will of God for me, for that day, in that moment. But, maybe not. Maybe Jesus is able to get me to where he wants me to be and is intending to bless what we do when we simply are the people he intends us to be wherever we might find ourselves.

Like brothers who end up fleeing trouble and landing in Antioch, it may be that a part of following the Lord is to willing “be” who we are wherever we find ourselves today.

Convergence

With some friends, I have been thinking about “listening to the Spirit.” We have discussing what it means to walk in experiential reality with Jesus and to keep in step with the Spirit when Jesus is no longer physically present on the earth and when the Spirit who dwells within us is “incorporeal” (that doesn’t mean “not real”–although many seem to relate to the Spirit that way–but it means without a physical body).

We want to be able to hear from Jesus, know the mind of the Spirit, and find ourselves–with at least a small degree of certainty–”walking with God.”

Now, of course, we can turn to the Scriptures to discern what it is that God wants for us; much of what we long to know, God addresses in his Word. But what about those issues and choices and decisions and options that are not addressed directly in Scripture? Things like . . .

Where should I go to school?

Should I take that new job or not?

Who should I marry?

Is it a good thing for me to go on that mission trip? Or change my major? Or . . .

Although there might be some general guidelines in the Scriptures that have bearing on such decisions, and although we are enjoined (in Proverbs as well as elsewhere) to make “prudent” or “wise” decisions, there are times when we long to know: “Jesus, what do you want me to do?” And, a generic answer just might not cut it.

We were discussing Peter. Here’s someone who walked with Jesus, daily and in a physical way–up until the ascension. And then, no more! Jesus was no longer physically present and Peter could no longer listen to and follow Jesus in the same way that he had before. So, does Peter just go about his merry way, oblivious to what God might want for him? I don’t think so.

In Acts 9, we watch as Peter goes about doing the things he has come to understand Jesus wants him to do. He shares the good news about what Jesus has accomplished. He heals others in a manner he has come to see Jesus do. He has a general sense of what Jesus wants for him to do, and he does it. And then we come to Acts 10.

Peter, a good Jewish-raised follower of Jesus ends up going to a Gentile’s home. That would have been a huge obstacle. (That’s clear from the discussions elsewhere in the New Testament about the challenge that faced the early church in conceptualizing the relationship that would exist between Jew and Gentile once Jesus got a hold of both groups.) But, nevertheless, Peter went; and the Spirit worked in the Gentile’s family’s lives and the household was converted.

But then in Acts 11, Peter’s Jewish-raised co-followers of Jesus raised a question: “Why did you go and hang out with Gentiles?” Great question. And Peter’s basic answer is: God told me to go. (You probably need to stop and read Acts 9-11 to make sure you understand clearly what is going on and so you are resting on God’s words and not merely these blogged thoughts!)

So, for me, the question is: How did Peter know that God wanted him to go? And, as I look at what Peter said in Acts 11 to his friends, I see a number of elements that go into how Peter heard God. (I  will probably unpack each of these a bit more in future posts, but for the time being let me just briefly list what I see to be the five basic elements.)

1. Peter had been praying. Peter uses the generic word for pray; he was “talking with God.” (As opposed to making specific requests, or offering thanks.) So, to hear from God, Peter made time to talk with him.

2. Peter was open to an experiential “interruption” from God. Some Christians seem to think God is mute; that he can’t or doesn’t communicate. If Peter had thought that “Old Testament prophets got visions but God doesn’t do those kinds of things today” he would have dismissed the moment. So, to hear from God, Peter at least needed to be open to the possibility God might communicate.

3. Peter pushed back and thought about the experience. Every “spiritual experience” is not automatically from God nor a communication from him. Had Peter thought that, he would not have questioned and wrestled with the vision he saw and the voice he heard. So, to hear from God, Peter needed to be discerning and not naive.

4. Peter was willing to step out. In response to a combination of vision and voice, Peter tentatively stepped out to go with some strangers who came to the door, asking for him. It’s clear from the record of his experience in Cornelius’ house that Peter wasn’t absolutely sure what God was up to until he got there. But, Peter was at least willing to step out on what he thought God might be saying. So, to hear from God, Peter had to be willing to take a risk.

5. Peter sought to anchor what he believed was happening in what he was already sure Jesus had said and taught. Peter, looking back on his experience, sought to root his subjective “hearing” with what he knew, clearly, that Jesus had already said. So, to hear from God, Peter sought to understand his “leading” in light of Jesus already revealed word.

Not a formula. Not a method. Not “five steps to hearing from God.” It’s just Peter’s retelling how he knew what God had said. And, in the convergence of those five things, he ended up being sure.

Gracious Confrontation

At my core, in my heart of hearts, I really do want to grow in this life with Jesus. Although I don’t always see the things that he is calling my attention to, even though I sometimes push back from what he wants for me, and although I gripe and complain at times about how the journey is going, I really do want this life. And he knows that.

For all of us who long to follow, he knows how we struggle to get it right and move forward and see what we need to see. Jesus is fully aware of the call he has extended and the way we stumble over that call. And it doesn’t upset him; he isn’t bothered by my “not-yet-having-arrived-ness.”

It almost makes me laugh as I watch him engage the disciples in Mark 9 They are reluctant to talk about what is going on inside their own hearts, and he knows it. And he, in love, graciously confronts them.

Jesus has been explaining to them more and more about what lies ahead for him. He is going to be handed over into the hands of those who will put him to death. And, he will rise from the dead. (You can find that in Mark 9:31).

But they weren’t tracking very well on what he was saying. It didn’t fit with how they thought a “Messiah coming out” party should go. They wanted something more like victory parades and wonderful speeches and the overthrow of corrupt politicians. But the idea that he would die? That was hard for them to grasp. And they just couldn’t bring themselves to ask him about it (Mark 9:32).

But they still talked among themselves. It wasn’t that Jesus’ words left them entirely speechless; they just didn’t know how to talk about the dying and rising stuff. But they talked–about what mattered to them. They talked about their own greatness!

That, in itself, is startling. While they are walking along, on the road to Capernaum in Jesus’ presence, the twelve are discussing which of them was the greatest. It would seem that in that little band, everyone would have been agreed that Jesus was, in fact, the greatest; all of the rest were only “also rans.” So I guess they must have been arguing about the “first runner up” to greatness. In any case, they were more concerned about their own standing in the eyes of each other than in Jesus’ announcement that he was going to die. Startling!

And Jesus then asks; it’s not likely that he didn’t know. He’s asking to give them the chance to “own up” to what they were discussing. But no one speaks up. So, Jesus sits down with them.

We have to picture that. He pulls up a chair (a rock?) and calls them to sit with him. This is not “lecture time;” this is friends chatting. And he graciously explains to them about what real greatness is.

Sitting down, he called the twelve and said to them, “If anyone wants to be first, he shall be last of all and servant of all.” Taking a child, he set him before them, and taking him in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever receives one child like this in my name receives me; and whoever receives me does not receive me, but him who sent me.” (Mark 9:35-37)

There is no conceivable way that this was anything other than a gentle conversation. Jesus didn’t drag some poor child into the midst of a shouting match; he didn’t put his arms tenderly around the child while sternly rebuking the twelve. That picture just doesn’t fit.

Jesus is fully aware of how his journey–and the disciples’ journey with him–is playing havoc with their thinking. He knows that they are struggling with making sense of their own places in this adventure–and as a result they are discussing “greatness.” So, he graciously confronts them with what they need to hear, what they need to see, so that they can keep on moving with him.

It’s a tender, encouraging, helpful, coherent, warm picture of Jesus–even as he tells his disciples (and us) the truth we need to hear. It is the way Jesus deals with us in all our “not-yet-having-arrived-ness.” Gracious confrontation.

What To Do With What We See

It is surprisingly easy to read passages, particularly from the Gospels, and not really wrestle with what those passages are really intending to show us. Our broad familiarity with the general brush strokes of Jesus’ life and ministry and our vague awareness of the accounts of his ministry and actions, can leave us open to assuming our initial reading of a passage has mined for us all that is there. But, I as continue to press on in my own journey to know and follow this Jesus, I return time and again to passages that are somewhat familiar with the intention of not overlooking what might really be there for me to see.

For me, one helpful way in to a passage is to “find myself” in the passage. This isn’t to either remove the account from its appropriate historical context of to pretend that I am Peter or James or John, but it is to use my “sanctified imagination” to enter into the account of what really happened so that I can better pay attention to the details that go into making up the description of what occurred. I don’t want to read at arm’s distance; I will not be satisfied with the summaries offered in most study Bibles as the heading of a section.

The account of the transfiguration, in Mark 9, is a typical “familiar passage.” (It is worth reading; I will not be reproducing the whole account in this post even though I have the text open before me as I write.) The typical heading? “Jesus is transfigured.” (Whatever that is supposed to mean!) The typical “teaching point”? “Jesus is God/divine.” Most readers seem to walk away from this account having their already-settled sense of Jesus’ divinity affirmed by what is reported. It is not that Jesus’ divinity is not, in some sense, in view in the transfiguration. The real question is, however, what was really going on in that moment?

Peter has already made his confession; he has acknowledged that Jesus is the Messiah, God’s anointed deliverer (Mark 8:29). Jesus has explained to Peter and the other disciples that he will be heading to Jerusalem and there he will be put to death (8:31-32). This doesn’t sit well with them; particularly with Peter, who rebukes Jesus.

So why the transfiguration at this moment, in this place, in this part of the story? (I am not referring to “story” in the sense of a made-up tale, but in terms of the momentum of Jesus’ personal ministry with the disciples as recorded by Mark.) How does the transfiguration “fit” with what Jesus is doing in and through and with the disciples? Does he simply want to “prove” that he has it in with God in a unique way? Is that what the transfiguration is all about?

As I read the account, paying atttention to what Mark tells me, I want to imagine, think, explore what actually transpired. We are given a description; I want to enter into that to “see it” well.

Peter, James, and John are taken by Jesus up on the mount. There, Jesus’ appearance radically changes. But that is not all. Elijah and Moses appear with him. But that is not all. They were in conversation with Jesus. But that is not all. Another voice enters into the conversation, speaking from the cloud that overshadowed the mount. But that is not all. The voice of God offers the only direct instruction to the disciples there at the transfiguration: Listen to him! But that is not all. Then the whole thing is over.

If we give our attention only to the radiant glow coming from Jesus, we might accidentally be giving more attention to something that might not have been the main point. Sure, Jesus was transfigured. But what was going on in this transfigured moment was at least as important as the “holy glow” itself.

Moses, the key figure from the Law and the one who prophesied that God would raise up a prophet like himself, is there. Elijah, perhaps the pre-eminent example of the Prophets, is there. They are there intentionally, by God’s design. There presence must have meant something to Peter, James, and John. They would have seen these two men as, in some sense, representative of the Old Testament Scriptures, the Law and the Prophets (as the Old Testament was often referred to in Jesus’ day).  And they are in conversation with Jesus.

What is that about? What do these disciples need to “get” out of the transfiguration?

In the immediate context of what has been happening, they need to be clear that Jesus’ understanding of his own life and mission (even though it isn’t what the disciples themselves thought should happen) flows out of the Old Testament. They are being given a divine audio-visual aid to help them get it. And to make sure they don’t miss, God speaks up.

“This is my beloved Son, listen to him!” (Mark 8:7)

And once that statement is made, the divine audio-visual ends. Mark tells us that once the voice finished speaking, the disciples looked around and “saw no one with them anymore, except Jesus only” (8:8).

What would it have been like to be there? What would you have experienced? Certainly you would have been impressed with the glow. Obviously you would have been staggered by the vision and the voice. But what would have been the “take away”?

As they headed down the mountain, reflecting on the moment, it seems to me that the thing that would have stuck is relatively simple: We should be paying attention to Jesus! Rather than trying to correct or advise him (as Peter sought to do earlier) and rather than trying to figure out what they were supposed to do (as Peter did while on the mount), the message that would have come through loud and clear was simple: Pay close attention to what Jesus is saying!

Yes, Jesus is the God-man. Yes, God makes himself known through Jesus in a marvelous and unique way. But what I often fail to “get” is one of the biggest take aways from see him is that I probably should pay attention to him! Listening to him–what he says through his Word, in the Gospels, and to my heart  by his Spirit–is critical.

Right In Line

I don’t mean to paint life in simplistic, “black or white” ways, but when it comes right down to it many things are either black or white. Some of life really does divide neatly into sides; the good and the bad, the holy and the profane, the white and the black.

Failing to be honest about that, I can sometimes “blur” the line and talk myself into crossing the lines and yielding to things that I shouldn’t.

“But, it’s just a ‘gray’ area!” As long as I can convince myself of that, I can justify all kinds of choices and values and priorities and practices. It isn’t that I want to slip into a legalism; I am not talking, specifically, about acceptable versus unacceptable behavior. I am thinking more about thinking . . . and the kind of fuzzy thinking that ends up getting me in trouble.

When Jesus and Peter were discussing Peter’s “counsel” to Jesus in Mark 8, Jesus makes a comment that catches my attention. Peter has made a confession; he recognized that Jesus is, in fact, the Messiah, the promised deliverer from God. Peter may not fully understand all that such a confession entails, but he does get the identity right. He sees who Jesus is.

But, surprisingly, after making such a confession he feels the need to correct Jesus. Jesus was explaining to Peter what the implications were of his own Messiah-ship (and that the future included Jesus’ death); Peter didn’t like where the conversation headed. So, Peter took it upon himself to correct Jesus. (See my post on “A Bad Fit” for a bit more about this exchange.) And it is in Jesus’ reply that I find the provocative statement.

Jesus tells Peter that he is “not setting your mind on God’s interests, but man’s” (Mark 8:33).

That’s understandable; Peter is seeing things from his personal, human vantage point. We all do that; sometimes a lot! When we hear or read or see what Jesus wants for us, when we feel the Spirit’s tug or hear the Lord’s word, we can sometimes push back and resist. We can take it upon ourselves to advise God about how things really should be done. I can find myself attempting to take Jesus under my arm and help straighten out his thinking in hopes of convincing him that I have a better plan. Seeing things from a totally human stand point, I can find Jesus’ point of view troubling, provocative, even unacceptable. And, I find myself pushing back, resisting.

It is what else Jesus says to Peter in that exchange, at that moment, that really catches me up short.

“Get behind me, Satan; for you are not setting your mind on God’s interests, but man’s.” (Mark 8:33)

Now I don’t think that Jesus was confused and accidentally mistook Peter for the prince of darkness. I don’t think Jesus thought that Peter had, somehow, become Beelzebub incarnate. I do not believe that Jesus was insisting that Peter was demonized. Had any of things been what Jesus was thinking, he would have stepped in to deliver Peter and free him from this oppression as he had done for countless others.

What I think Jesus was saying is that Peter’s advice, human though it was, was right in line with the thinking of hell. Although Peter wasn’t demonized, his thinking was demonic. And that is a startling thought.

You see, I am more comfortable to think that when I push back against what Jesus is telling me that he and I just have a “difference of opinion.” I feel OK about pushing back against what Jesus is showing me because, I reason, “I’m only human” and I don’t always “get” (or, at least, I tell myself I don’t get) what he is saying to me. What makes me so very uncomfortable is the hint that when I take it upon myself to advise Jesus about how things are supposed to go I might actually be right in line with hell’s intents.

It would seem that Jesus saw this as a “black and white” kind of issue. It was either going to be his way or hell’s way. Peter pipes up with his opinion about how things should go and Jesus simply identifies Peter’s way as right in line with hell’s way, the devil’s way, of thinking. That is a sobering thought.

And with that in mind, I feel so much more inclined to agree with Jesus when I hear him speak or when he shows me something or when I feel the Spirit’s nudge. I think I’d rather be right in line with him.

I See That!

Last week I got hijacked. No, not literally, but something really did happen that radically altered how my minutes were being spent. And it had everything to do with how Jesus is messing with my life and drawing me to learn to follow him.

A lunch appointment I had scheduled got cancelled at the last minute. Without much thought, I decided to spend a few minutes at the food court at the local mall, get a bite and read a bit of Romans (what I have been exploring in my own life recently). Just about the time I was finished with the reading and the eating, a woman walked up to me, tugged on my sleeve and, pointing to my Bible, asked, “Are you just reading that or are you a pastor?”

I hemmed and hawed a bit, not knowing what my answer might lead to. She asked me if I would be willing to pray for a little baby girl–the little child I had been trying to ignore for the past six or eight minutes who was screaming and crying behind me. I turned to look, and saw a little African-American child, well under a year, with some kind of orthopaedic contraption connected to shoes holding her legs apart and her toes pointed out. And this little baby was clearly not happy.

I began to think through what this woman wanted of me and why she picked me out and what would happen if I prayed and the little girl only screamed more and what people standing around and watching would be thinking and . . . .

So I offered a variety of “theologically informed” disclaimers about praying in such situations, after which the woman (who was a friend of the mother holding the little girl) again asked me, “So, could you pray for this baby?” What could I say? “Of course.”

And I prayed . . . a relatively pathetic, dispassionate, detached, “safe” prayer. But right then, as I was praying, something happened . . . in me. I actually started to listen for what Jesus might just be doing. It was when I said my “Amen!” (and was finally quite enough to listen) that I think I heard him say, “She will be fine after she sleeps.”

Now I didn’t understand that to mean that he was going to heal this little girl. (I’m not a dis-believer in healing; I’ve seen him do such things. But as best as I could sense what Jesus was saying, this was about comfort and care and not about healing . . . at least in this moment.) So I mentioned that to the friend. “I think Jesus is saying that she will be fine–she will be comforted and free from this distress–after she sleeps.” And the friend explained that was part of the problem. The little girl had been crying for hours and hours–since the early morning when the special shoes were put on–and would not sleep.

Now I wanted to pray. I saw it differently. I actually thought I could see what Jesus was doing. So, I bent over the stroller where Celine, the little girl, was lying, wailing. I put my face up close to hers. And I began to pray with my heart in it. I asked Jesus to comfort her, feeling like that is what he said he wanted to do. I told her that Jesus cared for her. And, literally, in moments, she fell asleep.

I stood up. The mom and the friend were quietly whispering. A few people at the tables crowded around this stroller seemed to stopped in mid-bite, watching. What had just happened? I think Jesus stepped into this moment in the food court and I got to be a part of that.

I wonder if that is how it felt to Peter.

In Acts 9, Peter is in the city of Lydda. We aren’t told but how, but he came across a lame man named Aeneas. And Peter said to him, “Aeneas, Jesus Christ heals you.” What is easily missed is the sense of Peter’s words. He, literally, tells Aeneas that “Jesus Christ is healing you right now.”

What does this mean? What is Peter saying? Minimally, I have to conclude that Peter somehow saw, somehow knew, what Jesus was doing. And all Peter did was get in on that! It wasn’t that Peter decided to heal this man; it was only that Peter saw what Jesus was doing and joined him in what he was doing. Jesus stepped into that moment and Peter got to be a part of it.

“Celine, Jesus Christ is comforting you!” Jesus stepped into the food court and I just happened to be there and it pleased him to involve me in what he was doing. I see that . . . now.

It Feels Safer Here!

Nearly every day this week I ended up talking with someone who, knowing what Jesus wanted for him or her, was struggling to respond to the invitation because of fear. It wasn’t a “Run for the hills!” kind of terror, but it was that understated, subtly-pervasive, reluctance-producing apprehension that keeps us from giving in to what Jesus asks of us.

I felt it, personally, a number of times this week  in challenges I have been facing in relationships. Jesus was asking me for a certain kind of response; but I was pretty comfortable with how I was already handling things . . . even though the situation was not necessarily good.

Both in my life and the lives of these friends I have been speaking with, we could recognize similiar things. We saw the less-than-optimum situation we were in, we knew that Jesus was calling us to something else, but we were more at home with the trouble we knew than we were with the fear-inducing risk of stepping out into what Jesus was calling for.

I think about that and I just have to laugh. We settle for the familiar discomfort (the sadness or discouragement of what we are presently experiencing) over the unfamiliar discomfort (the apprehnesion about what is in store if we do things differently, the way Jesus is asking).

I wonder how Peter got over that. He must have gone through something like this when Jesus called him out of the boat.

Peter was a fisherman. He knew boats. He knew the sea. He had weathered more than a few storms. But this storm was terrible. Peter and his companions had been rowing through the night, against the wind, and what should have been a short trip had turned into an all night ordeal. And then Jesus came walking to them on the water.

On top of their fear of losing their lives at sea, now they faced the fright of what first struck them as a spectre, a ghost. But this “vision” spoke; Jesus’ voice rang out. “Be of good cheer! It is I. Do not be afraid.” (Matthew 14:27)

Peter shouted back: “If that is you, Lord, command me to come to you on the water.” And Jesus “commanded.” And Peter began to make his way over the side of the boat (which would have been a good deal larger than the row boat you might be picturing in your mind) and, swinging his legs over, he started to let his feet dangle toward the crashing waves.

Don’t you think some second thoughts must have run through his mind? Things like . . .

“Uh . . . even in the storm I avoided sinking as long as I stayed in the boat. So why am I getting out?!?”

“Dark night. Middle of the sea, middle of the storm. Soaking wet, slightly overweight, totally exhausted fisherman. Climbing out of the boat. What’s wrong with this picture?”

At least the discomfort of the boat, the stomach churning tossing of the waves, the beating wind and rain, and the ache of the muscles that had been straining too long and too hard was a familiar discomfort. It was known. And, it is likely that it would have seemed safer to stay with that discomfort. (And although there is no mention in the Gospels of the response of the others in the boat with Peter, I have no doubts they were sure that Peter had taken leave of his senses when he began to climb out of the boat.)

So here I am in the middle of my storm. I am tired from the tossing of trouble and challenges. My heart and mind ache from trying to ride this out. I feel battered and bruised and wonder how long I will be left rowing in this dark night of the soul in which I find myself. And Jesus invites me to something radical and strange and unfamiliar and pretty “un-natural.”

Perhaps it’s a call to extend myself in love in fresh ways. (“Yeah, right! I’ve already given it my best. Like that’s going to make any difference!”) Or maybe it’s a soft whisper reminding me to forgive. (“Thank you very much but I think my bitterness and anger are moving things along just fine.”) It could be any one of a number of ways that Jesus sees how I could do life differently, more like him.

And I tend to opt for the familiarity of my storm-tossed self-designed little boat, rather than heeding his call and stepping out of the familiar and into the adventure of walking on water with him. I prefer the familiar discomfort over the unfamiliar adventure. It feels safer . . . sometimes.

But then, in a moment of grace, I wonder. What would it be like to walk on water . . . even for just a moment?

Is that you, Jesus, calling?

Listening, Yet Not Hearing

A comment posted in response to one of the posts has prodded me to think about the ongoing exploration of “learning to listen.” Although it is clear, from the Scriptures, that those who know God have a “conversational relationship” with him, I don’t want to give the impression that unless someone is hearing audible voices that there is necessarily something deficient in the relationship.

So much of my praying and my communication with God tends to be one way; I speak, I talk, I gripe, I express feelings, I pace, I shout. Although I do know that God hears, without some response from him, this relationship with him feels much more like a monologue I am running rather than a dialogue that I am having. But I do think that it is possible to have real communication without, necessarily, hearing “words.”

David knows this and it is evident in many of the Psalms. In the 23rd Psalm he can speak of God’s restoration of his soul, and God’s comfort. In Psalm 4 David tells of his experience of God’s answer to his cry for help in a taste of gladness welling up in his heart. In Psalm 16 David realizes that the thoughts stirring in his mind as he reflects on God’s word and God’s ways are, in fact, instructions from the Lord God. So, David is listening to God, experiencing him in real communication, while not hearing “words.”

When Paul starts off on what will become his second missionary journey (beginning in Acts 15 and 16), he heads off to do what he believes Jesus wants for him to do. He is, in that sense, following the leading of the Lord. He is stepping into the general guidelines he already knows Jesus intends for him to follow. And then we come across some rather cryptic comments by Luke.

They passed through the Phyrgian and Galatian region, having been forbidden by the Holy Spirit to speak the word in Asia; and after they came to Mysia, they were trying to go into Bithynia, and the Spirit of Jesus did not permit them. (Acts 16:6-7)

More than once, in Acts, Luke has reported Jesus’ instructions to his followers or the Spirit’s leading in terms of “words” that were heard. That makes this account of the Spirit’s leading rather unique; no mention is made of what was said but only what was known.

The Spirit “forbade” and the Spirit “did not permit.” And Paul and his companions did not resist this leading; they followed the leading of the Spirit listening, yet not hearing. That is, they knew what the Spirit intended even if they had not received a “heard” word.

That, too, is part of this dialogue we can have with the living God. Like the non-verbal communication that passes between good friends or spouses or family members, there can be real communication between my soul and the living God apart from specific “words.” I can listen to God, I can perceive the Spirit’s leading, even apart from words. We can listen, yet not hear a verbal word. And we have communicated.

Whatever communication we have with the living God will both ring true with and find roots in the word he has already revealed–the Scriptures. The Scriptures are, indeed, his normative word to all friends and followers of Jesus. But in line with and along side of and around the word that comes to my soul through the pages of Scripture, the Spirit whispers and reminds, Jesus calls and invites, the Father directs and corrects. And my hope is to grow to be an ever-better listener.

And The Roads Converged Outside of Damascus

My mind continues to drift back to what Jesus did in Saul’s life (the one whose name is later changed to Paul) and Ananias’ life. I’m intrigued by the conversational way that Ananias related to Jesus. I am startled and encouraged by how “present” and active Jesus is. I find myself a bit taken aback that Jesus would tell Ananias that he has already told Saul that “a man named Ananias” is coming for a visit.

That kind of intimate, real, dialogue-rooted, communication with the living Jesus is sweet and attractive and compelling . . . and hardly ever anticipated in my journey with Jesus.

But thinking again about how Luke describes what happened in the first part of Acts 9, I was struck by something else. Specifically, how Jesus caused two paths to converge. (You might want to read the passage to familiarize yourself with what happened.)

Saul is on his way to Damascus to persecute followers of Jesus and drag them away. Ananias, well, he seems to have been just doing his daily kind of living in his home town. Neither anticipated what the day held for them.

Saul gets knocked off his horse, blinded, and led into the city. Ananias gets a knock on the door of his heart, has a conversation, and heads out into the city. Each of these men had widely divergent histories, journeys of faith, daily habits, preferences and practices. Neither of these men would have naturally concluded that they would ever embrace, as brothers. Saul might have thought about someone like Ananias; but such a one was someone Saul would oppose, persecute, and perhaps even to kill. Ananias had heard about Saul; but Saul was someone to be avoided, shunned, and hopefully left unseen and unmet.

But what happened? They met. They embraced as brothers. One prayed for the other. Jesus was in the midst of it. Wholly unplanned–by them; wholly orchestrated–by Jesus.

I realize that I have moments like that during the day. I don’t often (ever?) hear from Jesus the way Ananias did; I know I’ve never had a “Saul on the road to Damascus” moment (unless the fall from my horse wiped the memory of the event from my mind!). But I do end up finding my path cross with those I wouldn’t have planned or imagined or thought of . . . before the meeting happened.

Sadly, I often treat such moments as distractions. I have an agenda; I am headed somewhere, moving forward on my plans. And then that crossroads moment. Someone’s path crosses mine. Two roads converge in the midst of my daily life. And I’d like not to be so distracted. It might be good to be attentive. Because Jesus might just be the one behind the converging of these two paths.

It may not happen as dramatically as it did for Saul and Ananias. There might not be visions and voices, lights and healing. But it is possible–because Jesus is still alive, because Jesus is still carrying on his own ministry in the world, because Jesus willingly involves “average Joes” (like Ananias) in what he is doing–that when my path crosses another in an unexpected way . . . Jesus might be right at the center of that.

Time to listen! Time to watch! Time to pay attention! Jesus is doing something when those roads converge . . . whether outside of Damascus or in the middle of our very ordinary days.

What If Jesus Told Someone You Were Coming?

I was thinking out loud with some friends this morning about how we “follow the Lord” in our daily lives. Our ongoing conversations have led us to some honest reflection about how we tend to live as disciples. And, at times, we were driven to admit that we live the “Christian life” as if it were all about remembering Jesus, who lived and died and rose and left us some really good advice for life. But then we all have could recall moments–perhaps a bit too infrequent and far between–when we really did sense and feel and know that we are in relationship with someone who is alive, still active in this world, and who is as present (although unseen) in our lives as our friends and family. That is a wild and radical and refreshing thought–Jesus is alive and active and present in our lives.

The conversation turned to Acts 9 and how Jesus made himself known in such clear and manifest ways to both Saul (before his turn to faith and his name change to Paul!) and to Ananias. As we were exploring what Luke recorded for us there, I was challenged by what Jesus said to Ananias. Speaking to him, Jesus said:

Get up and go to the street called Straight, and inquire at the house of Judas for a man from Tarsus named Saul, for he is praying, and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay hands on him, so that he might regain his sight. (Acts 9:11-12)

This is startling! Not simply because Jesus and Ananias appear to have such a normal “conversation” (which for many post-ascension followers of Jesus might seem very far from normal!) but because of what Jesus says. Jesus tells Ananias that he has already told Saul that he (Ananias) will be coming! Jesus tells him, “You’ve got to go. I already showed Saul your picture and he is expecting you.”

Candidly, to think about life and ministry in such terms is so very far from how most of us seek to participate in the ongoing journey with the risen Jesus. Just think . . .

What if Jesus told someone that you were coming to talk with them?

What if Jesus gave you a word to share with someone else?

What if Jesus decided to lead another through how he was speaking to you?

What if Jesus told you about another person’s specific need? And then said he was going to meet that need through you?

What if Jesus told someone you were coming?

We can’t conclude from Acts or anywhere else in Scripture that this was an every day, all the time, kind of experience for Ananias. But what we also aren’t free to conclude is that Jesus doesn’t do these kinds of things. We can’t conclude that Jesus isn’t personally active and present and involved and moving in our world, and in our lives. But I might sometimes conclude–perhaps without good reason–that he just doesn’t do such things with me.

It might just change the way I approach my days, my praying, my sense of what it means to “follow Jesus,” my grasp of ministry, if I was even a little bit open to the very idea that Jesus might tell someone else that I was coming, and that he intended to let me know what he wanted me to do.

I doubt Ananias got up that Tuesday morning, looked at his day-timer, and scheduled an appointment:

Track down and speak to Saul, that persecutor of the followers of Jesus. Pray for his physical healing. Invite him to lunch.

But something very much like that happened. Not because Ananias planned it or anticipated it, but because the Jesus Ananias did life with was alive and active and real and personal. Ananias was inclined to listen for the voice of his friend, his savior, his Lord. And Jesus spoke to him and told him:

You’re going to have to change your plans today, friend. I told someone you were coming!