Never Alone

Community is the very heart of God's story - that's why it is always worth looking at in greatest detail. No matter what page of the Scriptures you turn to, no matter what the story is, you can almost always, if not without exception, find community in every breath.

At the outset of his story, God declares, "It is not good for man to be alone," and He spends the rest of eternity proving the point.

When the angels of the Lord visit Lot in Genesis, there are three of them. The Lord doesn't need to send three angels to do his work; one would suffice.

When Abraham sends a servant to find a wife for his son, Isaac, we are told of the servant's journey to find Rebekah. But read even there, and you will find that Laban welcomed the servant and the men with him into his home for the night.

When David runs away and hides from Saul, you'd think he'd be hiding alone, since Saul was the king of the nation and everything. But when you read those tales, you quickly discover that Saul and all the men with him were hiding from Saul - the lowest numbers indicate about 40 men with him at one point, and even more at other points. 

Paul, we know, traveled with all sorts of companions, writing letters to the churches in his own hand but mentioning all of their names.

When Jesus is promised into the world to Mary, so, too, is the voice crying in the wilderness. So even the Son of God comes into the world in community.

This is the thread that runs through the Scriptures.

In fact, on the very rare occasion when we see someone truly alone in the Bible, there are two things going on: first, he is alone only because he has intentionally separated himself somehow from the community. Moses goes up the mountain (although on at least one occasion, we are told that he took Joshua with him). Jesus steals away to pray (and here, too, His disciples are often not far away). Jacob sends his camp over the river ahead of him.

And second, they are not alone for long. For as soon as they find themselves separated, God comes to them, and community is once again the story.

Now, I say all that to say this - we're never truly alone. No matter how along we feel, no matter what's going on, no matter in what lonely place we find ourselves, all we need to do is to read carefully our story, and we will find all of the other people in it.

We will find that, like Abraham's servant, though the story sounds like it is ours, there are others with us. And when we shelter, we must find space for all of us.

We will find that, like David, when we're running from the hard things and hiding from troubles, there are many others with us. And when we tuck away into a cave, the cave must be big enough for those who have run away with us. 

We will find that, like Paul, we start signing more than just one name to our letters. We become aware of all of those we are traveling with, those who are doing our work with us and enabling us to do well our work.

We will find that, even like Jesus, when we were promised into this world, so, too, were others. We are voices crying in the wilderness, and we have voices crying after us.

And we will find, even yes, that when we steal away for just a moment alone, when we climb our mountains, retreat to the garden, or send our camp on ahead of us, here, too, we are never alone, for our God quickly joins us. 

Beautiful community.

For it is not good for man to be alone. 

To Each Other

I think one of the traps that we fall into when we consider the community that God has given us is that we think it is up to us somehow to go out and find the persons God has given to us. We think that God has given us just some generic idea of what little corner of the world He has for us, and it is then our responsibility to make it our own.

But that's not really the testimony of the Bible, either in the Old or the New Testament.

See, this is how we think it happens - we think that like Noah, God tells us something like "Go, get some of everything, and bring it to this sacred ground on which you walk." That's essentially what He told Noah, right? Go, get two of every animal, seven pairs of every clean animal, and stuff them into your boat. We spend so much of our time trying to get out people into our boat! 

Read the testimony, though. Noah doesn't have to go on one single hunt. He prepares the boat, makes the place, builds faithfully, and then the animals come to him. He doesn't go to the ends of the earth and round up a few armadillos here and some camels here and a jar of locusts from yet another place; they just...show up. They come to the ark. 

The same is true with Jesus. When we get to the Gospels, we see Jesus living in this place that God has given Him, and we hear Him talking about the persons God has given to Him. But by and large, Jesus does not go out and find these persons. Rather, He prepares the ministry, makes the place, walks faithfully, and these persons come to Him. In fact, the overwhelming majority of the Gospel testimony is that the people came to Jesus, even though it was He who was sent to them.

We let ourselves get so flustered by all of this, by all of these ideas we have about what it means to be a people of God given to a certain time and place, to be a people of God who have been given our own little corners of the world. But it need not be so daunting. The truth is that most of the time, we don't have to figure out how to go out and get it; we have to figure out only how to create the space for it to come to us.

And we do that by preparing well, making a place, and living faithfully. Just like Noah. Just like Jesus. Just like thousands of other men and women across history.

When you talk with persons who have been in ministry for awhile, either a formal or an informal ministry, one of the things you often hear is how they don't really have a choice in the matter; the need that they now minister to has always seemed, in one way or another, to seek them out. The hungry have always come, the sick have always sought them, the poor have knocked on their doors, the dying have called them in the middle of the night, etc. Whatever it is, most of us find, at one point or another, that the world that God has given us is actually coming to us; all we have to do is be here, faithfully. 

Not that this is a passive existence; not by any means. It's just to say that we spend too much of our time thinking we have to go, when the truth and the testimony is that so much of our going is done by creating a place for others to come. They come to us, but it's not really us; they are coming to something sacred, something holy. They are coming to God. In us and through us.

And so, we are given to each other, not in a way that makes us to spend our whole lives seeking, but in a way that makes us to spend our lives welcoming, embracing. Going, yes, but only in coming, one to another, each to each other, to the ends of all the earth, from our own very little corners of it. 

Given

As we think about the communities that God has given us, the person to whom He has called us, the way each of us lives out our own journey from the ends of the earth to our little corners of it, we cannot forget that every community that we are given, we are also given into.

It is too easy for us to believe that our givenness is played out in some sort of circular hierarchy, where we become Christians and give ourselves to God, our God gives us to some community that He hopes for us to reach, and then, in so reaching, we give ourselves back to God. It's the idea of Jacob's ladder - that all that we do and all that we are is this up-and-down motion between heaven and earth.

It's also an understanding where we end up doing all of the work. We end up doing all of the ministry. We convince ourselves that the Christian life is meant to be lived in some kind of constant pouring out, where we give absolutely everything we've got to everyone we're given, and when we start to feel empty or start to have need, the only place we have to turn is to God. It's subtle and deceptive, but the only end to which this leads is one where God has become our savior, and we have become saviors of our world. 

That's not how it was meant to be.

I'm not saying it's bad that we should seek to draw our strength from God. I'm not saying that we should not pour out what God has given us to our communities. But what I am saying is that we have to realize and remember that just as we have the persons God has given us, so, too, we are the persons that God has given to others.

Jesus' ministry was not one-sided, and He had direct access to all the power and glory of God. We read through the Gospels, and we do not see Jesus doing all of the work. We see others traveling with Him. We see others setting tables for Him. We see others shopping for Him. We see others praying with Him. We see others doing all sorts of things for Him, and it's not because there was something weak in Jesus' faith that could not get this sort of thing from God, but it's because in the beautiful way that God does community, the person of Jesus was given to the very persons that Jesus was given. 

Just as we are given to the very persons we are given.

And I think that this is an area that we can all do better in. I know I can. Most of us are living some kind of martyred existence, where we're running ourselves empty all the time for the sake of being there for others, but we don't know how to let others be there for us. We're giving all we've got, and not getting much in return, and we're saying with weary voices that this is okay, but all the while, the doubt is creeping in because our tired prayers are fervent, but fruitless - even God is not restoring us. Then we look around and realize all the lives we've touched, all the hands we've held, all the tears we've wiped, and we look in the mirror and wonder who is touching our lives, who will hold our hands, who will wipe our tears. All of a sudden, in the very midst of this community, we feel the tremendous weight of loneliness, and we cannot fathom how God could do this to us. 

He hasn't; this wasn't His plan. 

His plan was that we, too, would be given. That we, too, would be someone's person. That we would be a lot of someone's person. Our stories would be ones in which sometimes, we set the table, but sometimes, we simply sit around it. Our stories would be ones in which sometimes, we keep watch over those who pray and sometimes, they keep watch over us. Our stories would be ones in which sometimes, we reach out and touch those around us and sometimes, they reach out and touch us. Our stories would be this beautiful interplay of life in the community of God, not an everlasting up-and-down of Jacob's ladder, but a back-and-forth across the table, with dirty feet and hearty laughter and communion wine dribbling down our chins. 

So as we think about who it is that God has given us, let us also think, too, about who it is that He has given us to. Who are our people? And whose people are we? What is this community to which we've been called and how do we play a full part in it, as both ministers and the ministered, as givers and takers, as given to and simply given? 

Ends of the Earth

Jesus confined His ministry to Jerusalem and Galilee (and roughly the surrounding area), without apologizing for the regions of the world to which God had not called Him in this particular earthly mission. He never said He felt led or drawn to go to any other region; He never felt guilty for not working His miracles among the far reaches of the world. 

This is a difficult idea for many of us, particularly as we sing, "He's got the whole world in His hands." We know that Jesus was given for the world, but therein lies the subtle difference - He was given for the world, but He was also given to His particular community. It's how we get these incredible Gospel stories that take place in real cities and towns, on real seashores, with real persons involved and invested in them. 

But that doesn't mean the rest of the world just misses out on the whole Jesus thing. Of course, we know that is not true. Just a short time after Jesus left His community, Peter and Paul set out to minister to theirs, and the places where Jesus was not able (or called) to go now had men who were sent specifically there. 

And you know? I think Paul did more good in the far reaches of the world than Jesus could have. It's not because Paul was greater than Jesus; not in any way at all! But it is because Paul was given these reaches of the world; they were on his heart. These were his people, in the same way that the characters in the Gospels were Jesus'. 

Can you imagine if Jesus had tried to reach the whole world? Can you imagine if the life and ministry of Jesus took on the same mission and scope as not only the Gospels, but the work of Peter and Paul, too? He would have been stretched thin, not stretched out. We would have snippets and snapshots, not stories. There would be no narrative to be rooted in because Jesus Himself would have no roots anywhere; His whole testimony would be travel, not triumph. And by the time He finally comes to the Cross, we look not at a Suffering Servant, but at a weary warrior, a man who has worn Himself out going to the ends of the earth. And for what? It changes everything. 

Herein lies the beauty of the whole thing. Herein lies the lesson for the rest of us. Jesus focused His ministry on His community, on the place He was sent and the persons He was given. He prayed for them. He worked miracles among them. He healed them. He called them. And when the time came, He became a spectacle for them, a sacrifice on their hills. And then those persons, those who lived in the community of Jesus, became the testimony for their own communities. They focused on their places, on their persons. They prayed for them, worked miracles among them, healed them, taught them, shepherded them. And their communities became the testimony for their communities....and so on and so on.

When we read through the New Testament, we see all this interweaving of the communities of the faithful. They knew about each other. They shared letters among each other. They knew each other's persons, to some degree, and they knew each other's struggles. They leaned on one another, even in cases where the majority of them had never met. They were testimonies to one another, everybody in their own place and with their own persons, and we call them, collectively, the church. And we say that the church was some big thing that was going on, but the truth is that the church was (and is) a big thing only by being all of its small things. It is universal only in its locality. It is a community only in the sense of its communities. 

Most of us look at the headlines, at the troubles in our world, and we think we ought to be doing more. We spend so much of our time trying to figure out what to do about Syria. Or Sudan. Or Haiti. Or Russia. Or wherever may be vogue today. But the truth is that most of us struggle with knowing what to do because these are not our persons, they are not our communities. This is not where our hearts beat, and this is not what we have been given. There are, of course, persons who have been given these communities, and we must support and be grateful for them. There are, of course, still Peters and Pauls among us. But most of us? Most of us are not Peters or Pauls. We're just...us.

And we haven't been given the ends of the earth, but just our little corners of it. 

Here....here is where our stories start weaving in. Here is where we pray. Here is where we work miracles. Here is where we heal. Here is where we call. Here is where we become living testimonies, in our own communities, to our own persons, in this very place. And then one day, our communities become testimonies to their communities, and so on and so on, all around the world, until even the furthest reaches should know about this Man given to Galilee for the sake of the world. 

A Few Front Porches

Last week, I said that I don't even watch much of the news any more - there's just so much going on in the world that has nothing at all to do with my actual life. That may sound a bit self-centered, or perhaps even selfish, but I don't think it is.

This tip-of-our-fingers, all-around-the-world tragedy report that we are daily bombarded by does nothing more than to distract us from the real life, the real world, the real community that God has given to us. As our world grows larger through informational media, it also grows smaller, and so do we, until we are lost in a sea of humanity that somehow no longer includes our brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, friends and neighbors.

It's not that I'm not heartbroken by the things that are going on in our world; I am. It's not that I want to turn a blind eye to real human crises like what is going on in Syria and the Sudan; I don't. But I have to be honest and tell you - God hasn't given me a heart for Syria and Sudan, at least not at this particular season in my life. And when I try to stretch my heart that far, it becomes so thin that it can no longer hold the stories of the community that God has given me.

Bold words from a Christian, I think, particularly in a time when we are so connected to one another that we think our faith ought to be able to solve all the world's problems, that we ought to be engaged in every corner, that we should not look away for one second from the tragedy, lest it overwhelm what is good and pure in the world or something. But I say again - God hasn't given me Syria or Sudan. And you know what? I'm not apologizing for that.

I'm not apologizing for God not giving me the world because God didn't even give Jesus the world. At least, not in the way that we conceive of it any more. There's this passage in the Gospel where Jesus is praying with His disciples, and they hear Him, and His prayer is not for the world. It is not for the entire sea of humanity. It is not for all those who ever were, who are, and who were to come. No, Jesus prays "for those you have given me." 

Take a minute and think about that. Jesus is the Savior of the world, and yet, His prayer is so intimately specific. He does not pray for the world, but for those who have been given to Him. 

And in all His ministry, despite the ever-expanding areal coverage of human civilization, Jesus does not go beyond this one little region into which He was placed. He doesn't go to Asia. He doesn't go to Rome. He doesn't go to Spain. These were concerns on Paul's heart, but Jesus doesn't go there, and He doesn't apologize for it. (Nor does He say, we must note, that whatever's going on there is of no importance to Him; it's just not His. Not for this journey.)

This is an area for me that cannot be ignored. So many of us are trying to stretch our reaches to the far corners of the world, and we have forgotten how to walk across the street. We send money to missionaries because that's what we're supposed to do, I guess, for furthering the Gospel, but we don't live in love in our own communities. The world's problems seem so big, so pressing, so attention-grabbing that we no longer notice the tears in our friend's eyes, the hardship on our neighbor's hearts, the struggle in our community's core. We have made our worlds so large that we have lost them, and if we want to be a truly missional people of Jesus, then we have to start to understand once more that our work does not begin in the indigenous tribes of some remote locale we could never find on a map, but on the indigenous lives where our maps begin, that place where our GPS picks up where we last left off. Right here, with the people God has given us.

It's great to have a heart for the world. I'm not dismissing that. But it's better still to have a heart for Jesus. And when you have a heart for Jesus, you come to understand that the world isn't yours; it wasn't made for you, and it wasn't given to you. You weren't given all the headlines; you were given just a few home fronts. A few front porches. 

So if this big ol' world we live in seems overwhelming to you, if you get lost in all the big stuff that's going on in this broken place, start small. Figure out where your heart is. Figure out where God has put you, and why. Figure out who your people are, the ones that God has given you, and start there. Walk across the street.