Inside This Guys Head

A day or so later Jesus is with his disciples. John actually picks up this part of the story in his retelling of the gospel. In John chapter 12 Jesus tells his disciples:

“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. “I assure you: Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains by itself. But if it dies, it produces a large crop. The one who loves his life will lose it, and the one who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves Me, he must follow Me. Where I am, there My servant also will be…”

John 12:23-25

Jesus knew what many of us sometimes forget but remember each Holy Week: the path to resurrection is always preceded by a kind of death. 

Many of us want new life, a new start, a new beginning; resurrection. But if we are to experience resurrection we must be willing to embrace a kind of death.

The dying Jesus talks about can be understood as a kind of letting-go. It is a letting-go of the things in which we have placed too much confidence or allowed to hold our hope.

Right now we have all been pushed into a kind of letting-go. We are letting go of a life we have known so we can hold on to life. We are letting go of face-to-face connections, of eye contact, of hugs from friends or family members we do not live with us, of nights out or meals at our favorite restaurants. We are letting go of gathering together in person to praise God and share in the Table. Over the past weeks we have even  heard stories of loved ones letting go of family members as they are carried away to a private room, some for the last time.

We know about letting-go maybe now more than ever. We see signs of it all around us. But there are signs of letting-go that are life-giving and, I think, look a lot like the kind of letting-go Christ calls us to embrace.

It’s the nurses, doctors, and medical staff, the mental health professionals and hosts of other medical professionals letting-go of their own well-being to tend to the well-being of others. And it’s the scenes of these same people standing on the roof tops of hospitals with hands held high or heads bowed for to pray for their patients and for their city.

It’s the scientists and medicine makers, and leaders of other agencies letting-go of time with their families in exchange for long hours as they work hard to understand this virus that has arrested us and find an antidote.

It’s the cleaning crews in medical facilities, the grocery store workers, postal workers, bus drivers, truck drivers and delivery persons, it’s the social services case workers and non-profit leaders letting-go of their own needs to make sure our needs are met.

It’s the teachers and educators letting-go of their traditional lesson planning to find new ways to educate children from one side of a screen while still taking time to parade through neighborhoods to cheer on their students or call and check in with parents to see how every one is doing. 

It’s the police and firefighters, paramedics, and caregivers of every kind letting-go of their own safety, and even the safety of our their families, so we can be safe.

It is in letting-go that we pick up what Jesus offers. It is in letting-go that we take hold of what gives life, purpose, and meaning. It is in letting-go of the things in which we have placed our confidence that we can place our confidence in Jesus as King.

Zechariah’s prophecy (9:9-10) announces the righteous and victorious King of Israel will come, not on a war horse like other kings, but on a donkey in humility and peace, bearing witness to a different kind of kingdom.

In the Christian tradition we understand that when Jesus enacts the promise he is performing an unmistakable political act on behalf of a new kind of liberation. It’s why Matthew tells us in his retelling of the event that it has thrown the whole city in turmoil as people were asking, “Who is this?” (21:10-11)

Acting on behalf of a new kind of freedom that threatens the principalities and powers that dictate the terms of freedom, and to do so in such a public way, is a dangerous thing.

We know this to be true.

On the day before Palm Sunday we remembered the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King. We remember that the more public his declaration of freedom became, the more of a threat he grew, and the more his enemy pursued him, resulting in his death on a balcony at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis.

In remembering Dr. King we remember Medgar Evans. We remember that the more public he made his fight for freedom from Jim Crow in Mississippi, the more his enemy pursued him, resulting in his death in his driveway.

We remember the Freedom Riders of 1961, groups of white and African American activists whose declaration of freedom put on public display in the American South led to horrific violence against them.

Going public with a declaration of a new kind of freedom that threatens the principalities and powers that dictate its terms is a dangerous thing. Dr. King knew it. Medgar Evers knew it. The Freedom Riders knew it.

Jesus knew it. He knew the weight of the liberation he would bring, a liberation like no other, and the weight of suffering and violence he would endure because of it. And he did it anyway. For every one.

I’m thankful he did.

“That which needs healing must not be hidden from God.” 

These are the words a monk shared with me a few years ago as I began my silent retreat at Abbey of Gethsemane. In these days of much loss, grief, and disappointment, I offer them to you.

And I offer these words for contemplation and honest hope (inspired by a poem written by Dag Hammarskjold):

The road,
We shall follow it.
The playfulness, 
We shall rediscover it.
The cup,
We shall drink from it.
The pain,
We shall reveal it.
The hope,
We shall hold onto it.
The joy, 
We shall recover it.
The love,
We shall not forget it.
The road,
We shall endure it.
Together.

We know we have an idol when the threat of its removal or being taken from us provokes a strong defensive response. The Spirit of God is always working to convict God’s children that any thing pulling us away from total allegiance to King Jesus is an idol.

So we must choose.

The problem with idols is that they are tricky little things. What starts as an object of affection becomes an object of allegiance. What starts as a meaningful endeavor becomes our meaning. We are subconsciously seduced into a commitment that goes beyond enjoyment or honor, to deep-seated loyalty. What was once adored owns our adoration. It organizes our lives, dictates priorities, or sits in the place of honor above all things.

In the Christian tradition of vices and virtues, idolatry is the outcome of disordered love.

It’s the job we love too much.

It’s the hobby we love too much.

It’s the national symbol we love too much.

We love it so much that we are willing to dehumanize another to protect it. We love it more than our neighbor. Sadly, what we fail to realize is we love it more than our self. Thankfully God loves us more than we realize we need to be loved. He compels, convicts, and sometimes through his beloved community, counsels us to give it up.

But we have to choose.

May we choose wisely.

Today marks the day my Grandma Liggin died. We were close. Very close. When I was young she taught me about gardening. I can still see her sporting that sunhat while wearing navy blue pants and a sleeveless button up shirt (much like the one in the picture). Every now and then memories of us plowing rows for seed turns my thumb a little green and makes me want to plant a garden. Then I remember I’m too busy. Or too lazy. One of the two, any way.

I remember the fence she built around the garden. Yep, she built a fence. She was pretty amazing. Anyhow, the fence was meant to keep out unwanted critters. But there was a problem with the gate. It was a bit temperamental and liked to get jammed. On occasion the gate threatened to keep us out of the garden. Grandma would give it more than a few whacks with a shovel handle before we could enter (I never said she built a good fence).

I’ve been thinking about how Christ-followers are like gardeners rather than gatekeepers. When we love well and extend God’s hospitality we participate in cultivating human flourishing and home-making. The seeds of faith are plowed through obedience to Christ’s call to love God and neighbor, and the fruit of the Spirit–love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness and self control–grows from our lives and spills into the lives of others. Life together becomes life-giving. Any one can find a home with us and together we will learn to make our home with Christ.

Joys are celebrated. Burdens are shared. The unwanted are welcomed. The vulnerable are valued. The hurting are held. The sick are supported. Hands are washed. The widows are watched over. The displaced are defended. The fear of death is disarmed. This is human flourishing. This is home-making. It’s what happens when Christ-followers become like gardeners.

When we become like gatekeepers nothing new can be planted. Nothing new will grow from our lives or the lives of others. Many among us will feel alone. Many around us will remain displaced. The Church we call home withers and dies. Nobody is allowed in to God’s garden.

The Christian faith is a way of life connected to a story that begins in a garden (Eden), suffers in a garden (Gethsemane), re-birthed in a garden (Christ’s Resurrection) and ends in a gardened city (Revelation).

It seems we are better suited to be gardeners rather than gatekeepers.