Just a Few

By the way, this verse I have been talking about for the past couple of days is one of my favorites. The story of the prophet's hometown comes out of Mark 6, where Jesus visits Nazareth in the course of His ministry.

Jesus left that place and went to his hometown. His disciples followed him. When the day of worship came, he began to teach in the synagogue. He amazed many who heard him. They asked, 'Where did this man get these ideas? Who gave him this kind of wisdom and the ability to do such great miracles? Isn't this the carpenter, the son of Mary, and the brother of James, Joseph, Judas, and Simon? Aren't his sisters here with us?' So they took offense at him. But Jesus told them, 'The only place a prophet isn't honored is in his hometown, among his relatives, and in his own house.' (v. 1-4)

That is the passage I have been talking about for the past few days, about how holy people in our lives become so close that we fail to see the holy in them. Yesterday, I started to draw that toward Jesus. Today, I'll go even further because my favorite part of this passage is actually verse 5.

He couldn't work any miracles there except to lay his hands on a few sick people and cure them.

This verse is self-contradictory. He couldn't work any miracles...except for the few miracles He worked. Here's what I love about it, though:

It reminds me that we can never limit the power of Jesus; we can only limit His presence.

Read that again - we cannot limit the power of Jesus. We can only limit His presence.

The Prophet wasn't unable to do miracles in His hometown. Verse 5 clearly tells us that He still performed a few. He simply was not welcome to do miracles in His hometown. People were too busy questioning His family, His heritage, His upbringing and the ways that they knew Him to fathom the idea that He might, in fact, be holy. They weren't pushing through the crowds to get to Him like the bleeding woman on the street. They weren't climbing trees like Zacchaeus. They weren't running from one seashore to the other to hear Him speak again when He got off the boat. They weren't like the people who were looking for His holy, so to them, the Prophet simply looked homely.

He looked like the son of a carpenter, like the brother of brothers. Maybe He had Mary's nose or her eyes. Maybe He had His grandfather's chin. He certainly didn't look like a Prophet. He looked like the little boy who grew up down the street, the kid who was always mischievous (c'mon - you know He was), and they maybe sort of wondered what He was up to this time. They were waiting on the gimmick or the punchline. They were waiting on Jesus to show that He was really just Jesus. That's who they were looking for.

Which is perhaps why they never saw the Prophet. Which is perhaps why the Prophet did no miracles there. They weren't looking for a miracle-worker. They didn't think they were looking at one, either.

We have to be mindful of this with our loved ones, as I talked about on Friday. We have to make space in our lives for the holy people around us to be holy. We have to remember who they are, to take notice of their sanctified sides, to let them work miracles. We have to remember the prophets among us, not because we limit their power if we forget but because we limit their presence. When we're looking for the holy, we'll find it all around us.

And we have to be mindful of this with our Lord. We have to remember His holy side, too. As He draws near as a friend and becomes a constant presence in our lives, we have to remember He's more than the Guy who lives here. He's more than the carpenter's son. He's more, even, than our best friend. He's the prophet, and He'll work miracles if we'll let Him. If we don't...He's not any less of a miracle-worker.

Forgetting the holy side of Jesus does not limit His power, it only limits His presence. It doesn't limit what He can do with us; it limits how much He can do with us.

We are the living temple of the holy God. In us, He makes His dwelling. That means we are His hometown. The question is, then, are we busy thinking about the Man we think we know or are we making Him welcome to reveal Himself in a new way to us?

The question is, do we remember the Prophet? Do we honor Him?

Closest Friends

If you read Friday's post about A Prophet's Hometown, then by now you may be saying, "I don't know, Aidan. I'm not sure I buy your theory about 'those closest to a man.' I mean...the disciples..." The disciples what? Surely, these twelve men were closer to the Prophet than any other and a coarse reading of the Gospels might suggest He was honored among them.

But was He?

Honored, yes. Remembered, not quite. These men, who spent the better part of three years traveling and ministering with Jesus Himself, came under the same spell that we do with the prophets among us - they kept forgetting His holy side.

They're on a hill with a crowd of five thousand men, listening to the Teacher talk. Suddenly, they realize how long they've all been there with nothing to eat and beg Him to send the crowds away so that people don't starve. He tells His friends to feed the people, and they scoff. They can't afford so much food! And all they have on-site is a couple of small fish and some bread. Not exactly a four-course meal even for one man. So they're standing there looking at Him incredulously, wondering what He means by this command to "feed them." They have forgotten that He is God.

They're on a boat in the middle of a storm, and Jesus is snoozing in the stern. The waves are whipping around, the boat is tossing, the disciples are scared. Jesus is not. They cannot fathom how He can still be sleeping in the midst of all of this, how He's not scared, how He hasn't awakened to help them with the sails and ropes and all that nautical stuff yet. They rouse Him, and He seems bewildered. I don't imagine they woke Him looking for a miracle; I think they wanted Him awake and aware, to help with the ship and to be able to save Himself if the boat capsized. They didn't want to be looking after Him with so much else going on. With a word, He calms the sea and goes back to sleep, and they don't know what to say. They have forgotten that He is God.

They're on a boat again, in the midst of another storm. This time, they've left Him on shore, so even if they know He can calm the waves, He's nowhere around. Then a guy comes walking to them on the water, and declares Himself to be their closest friend, Jesus. "It's Me, guys," He says. And Peter, oh, faithful Peter, responds, "If it's really you...." If it's really You? Who else is going to be walking on the water? Who else is coming out in the middle of the storm? Who else is defying the laws of physics to get to them? OF COURSE IT'S HIM! But they have forgotten that He is God.

The whole Gospel narrative is really a story about how the Lord's closest friends keep forgetting He can do that. Whatever it is. They are constantly surprised by His abilities, as if they never expected them to come form their Friend. In fact, the only people consistently faithful to His power are those who walk into the story and back out of it - the blind men, the deaf men, the paralytic, the woman with the bleeding disorder. They come, knowing He can, and walk away, knowing He has and they are fully aware of His holy side throughout their spaces in His narrative. Everyone else...well, everyone else forgets.

It's the nature of being close to someone. They start to become this fixture in  your life and it's too easy to forget their holy side.

Which is a cautionary tale for those of us who would count ourselves among His friends. There is a delicate balance in which Jesus must be both our friend, close enough to make an impact in our lives, and a stranger among us, distant enough that we do not forget His holy side. A prophet is honored not in his hometown, by his family, or his closest friends. We have to stay conscious to the God around us and stay in awe of His holiness, lest He become a Friend who is not honored among us.

Lest we forget He is the Prophet.

Lest we forget He is God.

A Prophet's Hometown

One of the most oft-quoted cryptic things that Jesus said was that prophet is honored everywhere but in his hometown. I've never really understood this saying, although I've always tried to, but in the past week, I think these words have come more into focus.

It's not, as is so easy to believe, that those closest to you will never get your holy side; it's that they will easily forget your holy side.

I spent most of my Monday at the funeral of a beloved relative. Tuesday, the memorial service for a dear friend. Each dedicated their lives to service, to loving as the Lord called them to love, and yet, I found myself surprised by the services. Because I have to admit, I forgot.

Ralph was a firefighter for, I think they said, 30 years. He was an elder at his church. He was a driver for one of the county's access van systems, in both this county and another one. He volunteered with the fire department's social events and with the sheriff department's senior outreach. Then someone told stories about the way he cut firewood and took it down to a woman who needed it to heat her home. About how someone needed a place to sleep or comfort or something, and Ralph took the blanket off his bed so someone else could sleep well. It was these kinds of stories that made me stop and think because, quite simply, this was not the Ralph I was ever thinking about.

I was thinking about the guy who always wore a hat, who had that playful sense of humor and that keen sense of rhythm. I was thinking about the guy who could rib you one minute and hug you the next, then ask you to jitterbug. I was thinking about the guy a few weeks before, who, in a rare sober conversation with him (not in the sense of drunk, but in the sense of "unmasked), thanked me for one of my recent exploits and told me simply, "That was a very good thing you did."

Debbie, I knew less-well, although she had been a member of my church longer than I had and was the wife of one of my elders. I'd seen her serving around the church, had been to her home for small group, had shared space with her at retreats. And people told stories of the things she loved to do, of the way she lived in her quiet life, of the lives she touched through this or that service. A volunteer down at the therapeutic riding center, talking with parents of special needs children. A member of the quilting club, gathering with other women to tell stories through stitch. Coordinating the Giving Tree to make sure underprivileged children had presents for Christmas. It was again these stories that made me stop and think because, again, this was not the Debbie I was thinking about.

I was thinking about the woman who created an open home, who never judged anyone, who was always mysteriously absent while conspicuously present. I was thinking about the woman who spent small group standing in the kitchen, making sure the tacos were warm, making sure there was enough toilet paper in the bathroom. I was thinking about the woman who never sat down lest you might have to get up and get something for yourself. 

When Jesus said these words - a prophet is honored but not in his hometown - I honestly never considered He was talking about a physical place like Bethlehem. I always knew He was talking about a relational place, that place where people are closest to you, where they know your story so intimately, where you're so much a part of what's going on that people forget the other things you're a part of.

That's the case with Ralph and Debbie, and many who have gone before them and sadly, many who are still to go. These people are so much a fabric of my life that I forget their holy side. I forget all the little things they're doing in the name of Love because I'm more focused on simply who they are and all of that sort of bleeds together until you realize one day that it's been a long time since you considered them a prophet. It's been a long time since you've thought of their holy Love.

There's both a blessing and a curse in that. Everyone needs a place, I think, to just be who they are. To be a part of the fabric, to be a member of the family. A man needs a place where he doesn't have to be a prophet, where he can just be Ralph, where she can just be Debbie, but we must never forget their holy work, either. There are prophets among us.

The greatest of which in our very hometowns.

Coming

Yesterday, I wrote about Jonathan's armor bearer from 1 Samuel 14 and how his faithful friend, and protector, followed him up the cliff to meet the Philistine army. One of the other things I love about this story is that Jonathan went up at all.

Because so many of us are content to wait for others to come.

Jonathan was in that awkward middle ground. He had set out toward the enemy camp, but had not yet approached. In a low place in between, he paused. He spoke to the enemy on the other side and showed himself, in faith that God would give an answer that would guide him in his next step. The story says there was a cliff, on top of which the Philistine army stood. Quite literally, they were looking down on him.

Many of us reach this place. We step out in faith, pursuing whatever it is we believe God has called us to, but when we reach a low place in the middle and the enemy is looking down on us, we start to wonder whether we should go any further or not. Especially when the enemy looks particularly big, particularly strong, particularly well-armed and able to defeat us with one fail swoop. Sure, we could keep going, but all it takes is one swift move on our ascent, and that enemy is going to knock us down and break whatever bones we land on.

That makes this a critical point in the story - in Jonathan's and ours. He's said to his friend that if the enemy tells them to wait, that the army will come down to meet him, then they will not go up to fight because this will be the sign that God is not handing the army over to them. But let's be honest - what enemy is going to back down? 

That's literally what it would be. The Philistine army would have to turn around and guide themselves backward down that cliff, as any good rappel artist would, to get to Jonathan in the valley. That's foolishness at its best; backing down, you can't see what's coming and no wise force is going to put itself in that place. Which is also why our enemies don't back down. They're not about to come from that high place of power, where they can see us and look down on us, and turn their back to us to approach. Who knows where we'll be when they turn around?

It's foolishness, too, of course to go up. Needing all four limbs to climb and steady himself, Jonathan would have holstered his weapon. His armor bearer was bringing up the rear. Between the son of the King and the opposing army, there was nothing but eye contact. Maybe a stare down as the young man was going up.

We're content to stay in the low places, then we wonder why we're discontented with our lives. We set out, hoping to honor God, but when we reach the valley where our enemy is looking down on us, the foolishness of climbing up takes hold and we stop. We make camp. And we wait for our enemy to back down. Or go away. Or for our army to come and rescue us. We revert into a point of helplessness, not knowing what to do.

And here, it is our enemy that becomes our friend. As Jonathan said, "If they tell us to come up, we will go. For that will be God's sign that He is giving them to us." So our enemy taunts us and begs us to come. As the Philistines said, "So we can teach you a lesson." The enemy thinks when we get there, we'll be destroyed. The sword of the Lord says otherwise.

And here, Jonathan's words are our confidence, for the converse of this is truth. If you wait in the valley for your enemy to come, you will not win. God has not handed it over to you; He has not given you the victory. If you wait for that which stands against you to meet you on your ground, you will fail.

If you want the victory, by the word of the Lord, you have to show yourself to your weakness and hear its taunts, then against all conventional wisdom, you must boldly say, "I'm coming." Then start to climb.

Armor Bearers

This past Sunday, my pastor preached from 1 Samuel 14, the story of Jonathan rising up to defeat the Philistine army. In a quiet moment, he sneaks over to the enemy camp and takes with him, of course, his armor-bearer, the man designated to protect the King's son. So the two young men sneak off and approach the enemy camp, planning how the Lord will speak to them regarding their quest.

If they tell us to come up, Jonathan tells his trusted friend, then we will because that will be the sign that the Lord is giving them to us. And that's precisely what the Philistines say - come on up, and we'll teach you a lesson!

Jonathan turns to his armor bearer, and I love what he says next: Follow me up to the military post because the Lord has handed the troops over to Israel. (v. 12)

Did you catch that? He says, "Follow me."

This is the man who is supposed to protect him that he's talking to. Jonathan carried a sword, a weapon of offense, but it wouldn't be any good if arrows started to fly. His armor bearer carried his shield, the very thing you want in front of you when approaching enemy camp. But Jonathan tells the man to follow him - to come along behind him, where the armor does no good. 

Isn't that strange? We are a people who would rather have others go before. We spend our time convincing others that whatever we're about to undertake is a good idea, then push them along so that they lead the way. Then we can walk safely into wherever it is we have decided to go. We say that God has given us this opportunity or that God has blessed us or that God has called us, but most of us still send the defense in first. In case, you know, any of this goes wrong.

Not Jonathan. He walked in bold, leading the way. He said that he believed his God, and he took the Lord at His word. They have been handed over. God has blessed this. He didn't need protection from a promise gone awry. Promise is promise. If God said it, it must be true. So up he went, his armor bearer behind.

Which raises questions about the guy with the shield. It wasn't a good battle plan for him, either. Armed with armor, he was a man on the defensive but if the guy with the sword goes, all the armor in the world may not be enough. And it wasn't he who had been speaking to the Lord about this whole thing; he'd only heard from Jonathan and took his friend at his word. That's some trust right there.

I'm thinking about the things I want to do in my life, particularly about the things I have been called to do. For many, many years, I have believed in the word of the Lord spoken over me but not enough to go first. I have labored to get this world to understand what's happening and to blaze the trail for me. But not any longer. I'm not sure whether this coming year will be defined by faith, but this season certainly is. I am stepping out, going first, and going after the things that God has called me to. Unafraid because I have heard His voice and I'm taking Him at His word.

But I am thankful for armor bearers in my life. I'm thankful for the people who stand around me with shields, ready to guard me from the spears of this world. I'm thankful that they are willing to follow, that they will go where I go, and I am even more thankful that when it's time for me to lead, by faith, that they are willing to stand behind, even when it doesn't make much sense to do so.

I want to surround myself with these people. People who are willing to go first but who by no means insist upon it. People who are committed to going where I go, to walking with me, to taking the lead when necessary but knowing how to follow. People who will follow when there's no logical reason for them to do so except that I've said I am going and they have agreed to go with me.

Where is it that God has called you to go? Are you willing to go first, to take God at His word and lead the way? Are you willing to put your defense behind you, knowing you won't need it where God's promise stands firm? Is your sword and His word enough for you to go? And who is going with you?