We weren’t slaves?
There is is this great moment in Scripture when Jesus lets it loose. For all the times he asked people to keep his identity on the down-low, this moment is not one of them. He comes right out and identifies himself.
“I am the light of the world. If you follow me, you won’t have to walk in darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life.” (Jesus, in John 8:12)
So the people start asking him a slew of questions, because this is a pretty lofty claim. And by verse twenty eight, Jesus gives them a clue and a time when it will all make sense. I love his compassion here, because he knew there would be a future event that would help unveil all these claims.
“When you have lifted up the Son of Man on the cross, THEN you will understand that I AM he.” (vs 28)
And then he later says,
“And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” (vs. 32)
What truth? The Jesus truth! The only truth that liberates the soul – that Jesus IS WHO HE SAID HE WAS, and that he accomplished what he came to do. He came with the message of hope, not with a machete of condemnation. He came to save…everyone.
It’s a beautiful moment.
But then, something happens. Something I find baffling, especially coming from a culture where people know their history. They had it recorded, they celebrated it, they taught it to their kids. They knew who they were and where they came from.
People: “But we are descendants of Abraham,” they said. “We have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean, ‘You will be set free’?” (vs. 33)
What?! We’ve NEVER been slaves to anyone? What about Exodus? What about the powerful Egyptian Pharaoh? What about the horses and chariots? The whips? The pyramids, the mud bricks, the quotas, the hunger, the fatigue, the long nights where they cried out for liberation?
How could they forget?
It’s because we forget our personal histories in convenient moments. And our forgetfulness blinds us to who Jesus is and what he came to do. It happened then, and it still happens today.
I personally can never forget the prison I used to live in. It was a prison of unforgiveness. It was dark, and ugly, and painful, and very, very, very lonely.
I hated a good man.
He had wronged me one too many times and I just couldn’t let go. And I was a pastor. I would imagine his tires getting slashed, and I’d smile. I’d want nothing more than for him to get stranded on the side of a long, deserted, hot road and get sun burns. Maybe even get really, really thirsty.
I’m proud of none of this. And I would share it with no one. So I sat in that dank dungeon shackled to the cold walls of that hate and persistent throb of retaliation.
I was a slave. I can’t forget that. I can’t omit from my personal history those moments that don’t play well with pastoral PR and sparkly white Christian smiles.
Because when I remember where I was, I’m always full of gratitude for Jesus and the fact that he didn’t leave me there. He didn’t say, “Rot in your own filth, punk! It’s your own making.” Nor did he say “You better fix this fast or you’re not worthy of me!” “Figure it out, and get back to me. Because you stink, Danny.”
He said, “Follow me.” And he could ask me to join him in that present condition because He forgave all my unforgiveness on that cross he was lifted up onto. And the future event he spoke of with that audience of old is now an event that lies in my past. He died for me. That too, is part of my history, and one far more glorious then the prison cell his death freed me from.
I was forgiven, so I now feel free to forgive.
When we forget the chains that once bound us, we begin to look down our long noses with stares that are void of compassion at the chains that bind the very people that Jesus asked us to love. We forget that we could not have done it on our own and we start white-washing our personal histories with testimonies of what WE DID to be free.
I freed myself through my prayers.
Really?
I freed myself with my impeccable Christians service.
Really?
I freed myself with my deep insights into God.
Really?
I freed myself with my unbending sense of discipline.
Really?
I needed a Savior. I needed someone who was far bigger and stronger then the chains. I needed to feel compassion so I could give it. I needed to experience complete forgiveness to be able to give it. I needed Love.
And I am free today because of one reason, and one reason only; Jesus GAVE me freedom. He did the humanly impossible task of settling my account in heaven, so I could overlook the accounts here on earth.
What is your story? And what are the parts where the wasteland and the prison cell were very real things?
Don’t forget it. Because if you do, you’re liable to forget who came to liberate you.
***
“But when the right time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to the law. God sent him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children. And because we are his children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, prompting us to call out, “Abba, Father.” Now you are no longer a slave but God’s own child. And since you are his child, God has made you his heir.” -Paul in his letter to the Galatians (4:4-7)
Jesus speaks Spanish too.
This past holiday weekend my parents took the girls to the zoo here in Lima for the first time. I’m still not sure who was more excited – my parents or my two daughters. While on this excursion we were certain our girls would see some pretty cool animals, but what we weren’t expecting was for them to see Jesus.
On Holy Thursday, Jesus was at the Peruvian zoo. I have my eldest daughter’s word on it.
Apparantly, they had some type of performance of the Passion of Christ on the main lawn area. It was a harrowing moment for my daughters, not because they haven’t seen this performance or because they don’t know the story…but because Jesus spoke Spanish.
Wide-eyed and exhilarated, my daughter greeted me that evening with, “Daddy, GUESS WHAT?! Jesus speaks Spanish!”
I know, it was really cute.
But I’m not sharing this because it’s cute, but because it hit me like a brick. I’m sharing this because I personally need to have that same innocent light bulb go off in me as well. I need to be amazed at what amazed her about hearing Jesus speak another language. Because there is a mind-blowing truth about grace and how amazing it is at the center of this very realization.
See, my girls are still getting adjusted to their new home. This world called Peru is still brand new for them. They still feel like outsiders. They’re still discovering new tastes and words and meeting new people…all the time. They still filter things through “us” and “them.” For them, Jesus comes from “back there,” from that place called Minnesota, where everything is familiar to them and where Jesus speaks in their native tongue. Up until Thursday, the thought that Jesus spoke anything but English had not even crossed their mind. He was like them, because he always spoke their language.
Yes. Jesus does speak Spanish. He does speak English.
And German.
And Hindi.
And Bora.
And Hebrew.
And Tagalog.
And drunk.
And prostitute.
And drug-pusher.
And wife-beater.
And cheat.
He’s fluent in extortionist and arsonist, and even knows how to speak murderer.
Because he became all of that on Good Friday when he carried the sins of the world – yours and mine and “theirs”- on his shoulders. He became sin, so that we could become righteous. And he knows exactly how to speak to the hearts of the broken today. Those people that I may not like, people who drive me crazy and honk incessantly at me in traffic, and who smear my good name, and those who have wronged me.
Jesus spoke my language so that I would know how much he loves me. He used people that understood grace and who could look past the odious parts of my personality, pride, and deep error to share that message with me. They shared grace in such a way that a Christian-know-it-all like me would understand.
May we be open to speak in the native tongue of others, not by mimicking their actions, but through compassion, so they can understand the only message that heals the broken, reconciles the exiled, and welcomes home the lost. May we come to realize that Jesus speaks everybody’s language.
***
That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
-Phillipians 2:10-11
He chose love.
Maestro Calderon's hand.
This past weekend I spent some time with a carpenter, and not in the Christian-cliche-allegory sort of way. I actually hung out with a man in his sixties who has been working with wood since his youth. He goes by “maestro Calderon” and he is fascinating to watch work. He spent a few days last week getting the beams and wood ceiling of our home ready for the finishing coats of lacquer.
I began telling maestro Calderon about my hopes to restore and repurpose some old wooden shelves I had found and a forgotten plank of wood that was laying around. I told him how I wanted to turn them into a rolling desk – a versatile work space for my wife and me. He liked the idea. A lot. He shared with me that his favorite part of being a carpenter is restoring wood that has been discarded. As if to convince me to proceed, he broke into a passionate description of the old door he restored at a state embassy several years back. Under all the coats of lacquer and years of wear and tear, he resdiscoverd a magestic piece of workmanship. He could describe every carving on that door.
There was something about the way he talked about restoring things that I found refreshing. It was like the concept for him wasn’t at all dutiful or forced. To him, the process of restoration wasn’t about making the most of the only bum option. He restores things with the same passion that a treasure hunter has who explores the ocean floors.
When I asked him for some advice and a few tips, he was taken aback. He was surprised that I wanted to give the project a shot myself, since most people here in Peru just hire jobs like that out.
“It’s messy,” he warned me. “Your hands will get sore.”
But I knew that it just wouldn’t be the same experience if I simply saw the before and after shots. I wanted to be part of the process.
So there we were, maestro Calderon sanding the ceiling beams up high and I sanding down the plainest bookshelves you ever saw down below.
In truth, I thought the process itself would be more…magical, but it wasn’t. It was really messy…and hot. And I learned that sawdust and sweat make for an interesting dough in your eyebrows.
But the process did make me reflect on what God does for us. He’s not into reforming us because it’s the most he can make of His only bum option. He restored us with passion. He made us totally new and repurposed us. He could have chosen to start over, tossed us aside, determined us unrecoverable, or chopped us up for fire wood.
But instead he chose mercy, restoration, love.
I know the glint in maestro Calderon’s eye when he described restoring that embassy door is but an infinitesimal glimpse of the great joy our Father had when he came to rescue us.
And this week I’m reminded that the process for our complete restoration wasn’t magical. It was real…
Real tears.
Real whips.
Real nails.
Real thorns.
Real punches.
Real lashes.
Real humiliation.
Real cross.
Real blood.
Like I said, there was something fascinating about the carpenter I hung out with this past weekend. He reminded me of Jesus.
***
“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” -The Apostle Paul, in his letter to the Ephesians (2:10)
***
Old shelves after an intense sanding.
Jon Keuning putting the casters on the bloom boxes.
Between all the lines.
I’ve been paying close attention every day as the construction workers and carpenters work on our new living space. To call it a house is a misnomer, since it’s more like a cozy third-floor two bedroom apartment that will be perfect for our family.
I’ve had the blueprints as a screen saver on my computer since December, and I’ve spent quite a bit of time looking at the beautiful drawings our friend and architect Jose Carlos made for us. While back in the cold winter of Minnesota, I would imagine the big front windows wide open, screenless, welcoming the scents and sounds, the breeze and fresh air from the park across the street. I’ve imagined the fireplace nuzzled in the corner crackling as we sit in the chairs next to it with new friends. Laughs, stories, mud-oven-roasted mountain corn, and Greg Laswell playing in the background. I’ve already imagined brainstorming sessions with friends from church and friends from other churches on the big white board we plan to mount on the wall that will become our makeshift office.
It’ll be epic. Black lines tracing the thoughts that race through the minds of people who share the same purpose; to make clear that the God we serve is in hot pursuit of all people… because He loves them so much that he gave his very life for them. The images won’t resemble the face of Jesus, but between all the lines that’s all I hope to see.
But it’s all covered in sawdust and construction dust right now. None of the rooms have doors and the roof is only half finished. Our bedroom is still missing a wall and the cement floor for the family room/kitchenette/office/dining nook is yet to be poured.
It’s a big mess.
But I don’t see the mess today. I still see the blueprint and the full-color imaginations of life being lived there. I know what it will look like soon enough. And I won’t stop until the music is playing and our guests are sipping their beverages and sharing their lives in the safety of friendship.
And so today I see the team. A group of hard working construction workers who are swinging hammers, running wires, sanding down boards, and measuring beams. I see progress.
***
My prayer is that God help me see people this way too. Not as lifeless construction projects or impersonal building materials, but as living breathing works in progress. Because that is what I am. My blueprint was drawn in the spotless blood of Christ and God sees the finished work. He knows what he is doing when it comes to my life. And all the saw dust, debris, bent nails and cracked surfaces don’t change his mind. HE will complete the work he has begun in me.
I desire to see people differently. I want to see beyond current realities and see what God sees. Reconciliation.
I’m building a house here in Lima made of cement and wood. God is building a temple with living stones everywhere.
“So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation.”
-Apostle Paul in 2 Corinthians 5:16-19
Milestone
It was 2 am when we all arrived home in Lima a month ago today. This first month has flown by.
I wish I knew where to start…
The heat.
The construction progress.
The new friends.
The adjustments.
The water main bursting. Or perhaps the traffic, or the food, or the laughs, the different bugs, the baptism service, or communion. The new schools would be a good place to start, as would be my minor car accident. Finding a mattress was also monumental, but so was last night’s small group where a tough-guy shed a tear when he let down his guard to share his struggles with the group. Where do I start?
I know exactly where… THANK YOU.
We know there are so many of our friends and family all over the world praying for us right now. This first month and all of the adventures would not have been possible or certainly not as rich without our certainty that loved ones pray for us. We also would not have been able to accomplish all that we have in this first month without those of you who financially support us.
Thank you.
We put together this animoto clip of pictures from our first month. They tell a better story then a blog post gives me opportunity to.
For those of you who would like to partner with us and contribute financially to our mission, you can do so online here knowing that we are extraordinarily thankful for any amount you are able to give. For those of you who already do, again, there would be no way to properly thank you outside of sending you of plate a ceviche…and that would just be gross.
Big Hug,
The Gs
Blameless (English & Spanish)
Holiness does not stem from pious paranoia.
It is the natural outworking of the certainty that we are loved by the One who makes the objects of His affections sacred. Imbedded in that unfailing Love is Life – a new life that is set apart from the ones we once lived.
I’ve been noticing that there is a lot a fear surrounding the term holiness. It’s as if the motivating message behind it all is guilt. We should feel ashamed, and thus we must change. Which is quite different then being deeply grateful for the free redemptive gift of grace, thus motivating in us the sincere desire to be changed by something more powerful then our mere will power.
I suppose there is this fear because the holiness that religious law demands is ironically out of our reach, while at the same time a function of our own ardent resolve. It’s a dead end. A futile condition that requires the assistance of a Savior. So flames must be stoked, Behavioranity constantly revived, to finally coax “unholy” people to work, work, work for something that was already accomplished by the only One who could secure for us the love of the One who makes the objects of His affections sacred.
What if we dared to believe what the apostle Paul wrote to the Colossian church? What if the simplicity of the Gospel can be trusted because the One who guarantees it can be fully trusted?
“For God in all his fullness was pleased to live in Christ, and through him God reconciled everything to himself. He made peace with everything in heaven and on earth by means of Christ’s blood on the cross.
“This includes you who were once far away from God. You were his enemies, separated from him by your evil thoughts and actions. Yet now he has reconciled you to himself through the death of Christ in his physical body. As a result, he has brought you into his own presence, AND YOU ARE HOLY AND BLAMELESS as you stand before him without a single fault.”
-Paul in Colossians 1:19-22 (bolding, all-caps, and italics inserted)
We are invited to live holy lives for certain, but no longer by the stern demands of an old system that held back the love of God until we somehow arrived at perfection to deserve it. Now instead, we are wooed into living a new life by a Life that was given to us lavishly and freely when we most assuredly did not deserve it.
***
“So Christ has truly set us free. Now make sure that you stay free, and don’t get tied up again in slavery to the law.” Paul in Galatians 5:1
||
La santidad no es producto de la paranoia piadosa.
Mas bien es la manifestación natural de la certeza de que somos amados por Aquel que hace que los objetos de su afecto sean sagrados. Incrustada en ese inagotable amor esta la vida – una nueva vida que se diferencia de los que alguna vez viviamos.
He estado notando que muchos le tienen miedo a la santidad. Es como si el mensaje de motivación detrás de todo esto es la culpabilidad. Es decir, deberiamos sentir vergüenza, y por lo tanto debemos cambiar. Lo cual es bastante diferente a estar profundamente agradecidos por el don de la gracia redentora, que motiva en nosotros el deseo sincero de ser cambiados por algo más poderoso que simplemente nuestra fuerza de voluntad.
Supongo que hay este temor, porque la santidad que exige la ley religiosa esta, irónicamente, fuera de nuestro alcance, mientras que al mismo tiempo una función de nuestra propia voluntad ardiente. Esto es un callejón sin salida. Una condición inútil que requiere la ayuda de un Salvador. Con esta mentalidad es que fuego se alimenta, “Comporta-dinidad” es constantemente avivado, para asi persuadir finalmente a la gente “nefasta” que se pongan a trabajar trabajar trabajar por algo que ya se llevó a cabo por el Unico que podía conseguir para nosotros el amor de Aquel que hace que los objetos de su afecto sean sagrados.
¿Y si nos atrevemos a creer lo que el apóstol Pablo escribió a la iglesia de Colossenses? ¿Qué pasa si podriamos confiar en la sencillez del Evangelio porque El que la garantiza puede ser completamente confiado?
“Porque agradó al Padre que en El habitara toda la plenitud (de la Deidad), y por medio de El reconciliar todas las cosas consigo, habiendo hecho la paz por medio de la sangre de Su cruz, por medio de El, repito, ya sean las que están en la tierra o las que están en los cielos. Y aunque ustedes antes estaban alejados y eran de ánimo hostil, ocupados en malas obras, sin embargo, ahora Dios los ha reconciliado en Cristo en Su cuerpo de carne, mediante Su muerte, a fin de presentarlos santos, sin mancha e irreprensibles delante de El.” -Pablo, en Colosenses 19-22
Por seguro se nos invita a vivir una vida santa, pero ya no por las exigencias de la popa de un viejo sistema que nos aleja del amor de Dios hasta que podamos de alguna manera llegar a la perfección para merecerlo. Ahora, en cambio, estamos cortejado en vivir una nueva vida por medio de una Vida que nos fue dado generosamente y libremente cuando no lo merecíamos.
***
“Para libertad fue que Cristo nos hizo libres. Por tanto, permanezcan firmes, y no se sometan otra vez al yugo de esclavitud a la ley.” – Pablo en Gálatas 5:1
In Line
Our first week is almost complete, and I’ve been reflecting on what stands out the most…
The food?
The weather?
The adjustments?
So much has happened, and yet, without question the highlight was the line at church.
We’ve noticed that there are a lot of lines to stand in. At Plaza Vea, the grocery store by the house, there always seems to be a line at the check out. Every errand we’ve been on to get the girls ready for school had it’s own line to wait in. There are lines at the bank, at the hardware store, and pretty much everywhere we’ve gone.
But of all the lines there was one that was amazing to be a part of. It happened yesterday morning at church. My dad shared a message in which he explained in a simple and beautiful way what communion is all about. He spoke of what the bread and wine represented and how we share this meal as a community to remember what our faith is founded on - the finished work of Jesus. And at the height of his message he called out a common fear that stops many from joining in on this important moment as a community. The fear that our wrongs trump His right. That our mistakes outweigh His grace. That our perfection is more significant than His passion.
You could sense the words resonating. You could sense people being freed from religious fear.
And when the moment came to take communion, two long lines formed. Like I said, I’d waited in several long lines already this past week, but none were like this one. This line was filled with hope, and people moved forward beckoned by grace.
It was a moment to remember, and the highlight of my first week here.
***
“This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.” – Jesus in Luke 22:19
The first 48 hours
Not that I felt dead before in any sense of the word, but I don’t ever recall feeling this alive. Although there is still a lot that I don’t know, there is one thing I am certain of: we are exactly where we belong at the right time.
I realized today as I helped my dad load 141 leftover bricks into an old red van that I now call “coche bomba” (car bomb) that even the perceived randomness of that activity was exactly what I needed to be doing today. It is as if the sense of purpose is seeping into my entire surroundings.
I spent 30 minutes talking to a teacher at my daughter’s school as she took a Spanish test this morning. In no time at all the teacher began to tell me how the up coming generations ignore church and believe in God less and less…
I stood in line this afternoon after corralling the school supplies my daughter needs to start school tomorrow in what I can only describe as a zoo. As I stood in the long checkout line a lady began to talk to me. She told me her life story in 15 minutes…
Then, in the taxi coming home from the market this evening our taxi driver told me how her husband had just lost his job and how she was struggling to keep him encouraged…
Three times today I walked away certain I had planted hope. And it all happened as we scrambled to get the back-to-school list completed.
We are where we belong. And the kalamata olives taste like never before, the sun shines like it was just polished, and the smell of construction dust from our soon to be finished apartment fills the air. It’s all a sensory choir that is welcoming us to our new home.
My friend Amy sent me this quote some time ago. Now for the first time is resonates deep in my soul.
I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be. – Douglas Adams
His love took root
We are now seven days out from starting the next chapter of our lives. In fact, at this time next week we should be on a flight en route to Miami, the pit stop on our trip to Peru. And before this chapter of our life closes, I want to be sure the story is told accurately.
I can forget sometimes. I can get things turned around in my mind. And I’m inspired to write this post as a reminder to myself should the day come that I turn this moment of our lives into something other than what it really is.
I’ve heard comments over the course of the last couple months that I know are meant to be encouraging, but that I can’t afford to lodge in my thinking. I’ve heard things like:
“God will bless you because you are obeying.”
“Everything is going to work out because you said yes.”
“You’re graduating to bigger things because you’ve given your stuff away.”
“He will provide for you because you’re sacrificing everything.”
“You will have favor in Peru because you’ve prayed in advance.”
And I know that we throw Christian pleasantries around without really thinking about what we’re saying all the time, but all these things are tantalizingly deceptive…and they are not true. Although it all sounds so noble, and something pompous and insecure in me wants to agree, I know the story all too well to be able to accept them as true.
We are NOT going to Peru because we did anything impressive or noteworthy. We are NOT going to Peru to prove a new degree of spiritual maturity. We can’t take a single jot of credit for the events that are unfolding in our lives. And so I write to set the story straight. The truth is that in seven days we get to open another gift, prepared for us by our Father who loves us.
This is all His doing. This is all His work. This is all His plan.
And I can’t afford to ever forget that because my faith used to be stuck. I had allowed a glass ceiling to form over my head because I believed that I didn’t have what it took. I would silently wonder if my wrongs had been cancelled by my rights, my confessions, my disciplines, my upright reputation, my stubborn faith, my manicured life.
My faith felt stuck because it revolved around things I could take credit for and later use as leverage to get God to do something for me, as if He owed me anything.
I used to think the actionable part of my faith was about somehow impressing God. It was what I did and what I had done that mattered. I obeyed. I prayed. I studied. I gave. I went. I stood. I…could then somehow accept the credit for any good that was unfolding. But the credit never belonged to me, and it never will.
This next step in our lives is a product of His love having taken root in our lives. Jesus rescued me from the tiresome chore of spiritual resume building and pining for God’s love and approval. Because of that unfailing love, the way has now opened up into a broad road with a horizon that disappears into the sunset.
I know things are going to be great…but not because of anything we’ve done, but because of what He did for us. He prepared this path for us as a gift, and we go in a posture of gratitude that He’d have us in mind for this mission. And we go into it knowing that all credit is to His goodness, His wisdom, His strength.
Let the record now show: our life is what it is because of God’s Grace.
***
“But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect.” Paul, in I Corinthians 5:10
Firm grip on you
This past Saturday my daughter came with me to pick up an important letter from a good friend’s house. As we approached the front door to his house, I noticed the walkway was covered with ice from an ice damn that has formed on the top of his garage. My daughter was already holding my hand as we apporached, but I wasn’t entirely sure that her grip on my finger would be strong enough should she slip and fall.
The chances of slipping were great.
So I adjusted by slipping my finer out of her small hand and then engulfing her whole hand with mine. I knew that should she lose her footing, I’d be able to keep her from falling and getting hurt. At first she looked at me with furrowed brow as if to say “What are you doing dad? I need to hang on to you!”
But she needed me to hold on to her more then I needed her to hang on to me.
***
Life has it’s slippery paths too. There are days we lose our footing, and circumstance takes our legs right out from under us.
I so often hear hope presented backwards – as in you must hold on to God. That it’s our own strength that ensures we hang on. You must do this and you must do that, you must, you must, you must.
When the Bible describes the deepest message of hope as…He will.
He will rescue.
He will comfort.
He will mend.
He will hold onto us.
He will never again remember our sins and lawless deeds. (Hebrews 10:17)
And it makes sense to me, because the stronger one should always do the holding.
Don’t panic. I’m with you.
There’s no need to fear for I’m your God.
I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you.
I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you. – Isaiah 41:10 (message)
