Fierce Jesus

Christ Cleansing the Temple, by Bernardino Mei (1655)

I've been mulling over this one for a while:

On reaching Jerusalem, Jesus entered the temple courts and began driving out those who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves, and would not allow anyone to carry merchandise through the temple courts. And as he taught them, he said, “Is it not written: ‘My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations’? But you have made it ‘a den of robbers.’”  Mark 11:15-17

We believers love to love all kinds of pictures of Jesus: Jesus the shepherd, Jesus the healer, Jesus the teacher, Jesus the friend of children, Jesus the forgiver. Some people even like to picture Jesus the sufferer; after all, there are paintings of Jesus the sufferer in a hundred thousand churches.

But in this story we see Jesus the fierce champion, the bouncer of skanky swindlers in the temple courts, the wielder of a whip, the one who with gritted teeth berates those who desecrate God's house, the man who throws tables aside and glares down anyone who tries to carry their merchandise out with them. A fierce Jesus? Could it be?

It could.

Jesus was also fierce in his defense of the woman who had been caught in adultery. He was fierce in the way he nailed people who looked good and religious on the outside, but who were nit-picking, controlling, self-righteous critics on the inside. He was fierce towards those who took advantage of the poor, the weak, the defenseless. He wasn't afraid to call a spade, a spade, when it came to outing people who pulled others down into spiritual bankruptcy with them. Tie them to a rock and throw them into the sea, he said.

"Fierce" is not so winsome? Don't you believe it for a moment. Anyone who has needed a champion, a defender, a protector, a righteous judge who will storm in to their aid, ... anyone who has felt vulnerable and defenseless against power and violence in their time of need ... that's the kind of person who loves a fierce Jesus. After he threw the swindlers and moneychangers out of the temple, the courts rang with the voices of the little children, with the hosannas of people who had found a savior, of people who wanted to learn what Jesus had to teach them.  For them, the fierce Jesus was a relief, a comfort, a savior from the awfulness of being one down. Or two down, or a hundred.

The fierce Jesus. The Jesus of flashing eyes, steel-hard voice, no-nonsense commands that must be obeyed. We may not often think or speak of Him that way. But perhaps we should.

Twinkle, Twinkle

This evening I heard the most unexpected sounds coming out of our family room. The strains (and I mean "strains") of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star were wafting through the house. It was Husband, practicing after just one quick lesson from the young university student he hired to teach the elementary strings students this year. I was impressed.

It reminded me of people I've known who picked up on a new musical instrument when they were older.  Lana took harp lessons in her 60's. June learned to sing--and I mean operatic singing--in her 30's. And my dad taught himself guitar in his 40's.

People who are gutsy enough to learn a new instrument when they are yay-old should be applauded. Yep.  Applauded.

P.S.  To be clear, Husband has no intention of someday playing in the university orchestra or the valley symphony. He's just practicing to play for the elementary school students at their assembly on Friday.  He does have a point, but I don't recall what it is.

A Delectable Harvest

Some years I don't get my tomato garden planted, and then I weep and wail through the summer at not having done it when I meant to.

This year, I got it done after paying someone to rototill the patch of weeds. Above, you see our harvest. There is nothing--nothing--better than open-face sandwiches made with fresh tomatoes from one's own garden in the summer! What joy!

For the Lord your God will bless you in all your harvest and in all the work of your hands, and your joy will be complete. Deut. 16:15

Rosario Beach

I never turn down an opportunity to travel the six hours to be at our university's marine biology research station on the Puget Sound. This most recent visit for an alumni gathering was no exception. We sang together as the sun set on Friday evening, and listened to an encouraging devotional talk by the university president.

I had brought along with me a new student from Shanghai, China. We went for a walk along the stony beach after sunset, looked for fluorescence in the water by the pier, and gazed out over the quiet bay.  It's the kind of place where you feel closer to God.

In the day time, it's just as beautiful. What a place for Biology students to spend their summer doing research and taking classes! The place was bought for $53,000 in the 1950s, when a biology professor put his own savings on it as a down payment. The college board nearly sacked him for that, and at one point the president said to him, "Ernest, I think you just bought yourself a beach resort." But eventually they ante-d up, and we still have that beautiful place with cabins, classrooms, a dining hall, a chapel and many little cabins on 100 acres.  What a blessing!

I walked down the pier to meet Jim the Summer Director who had agreed to take us out for a boat ride to Deception Pass, and there were all these little jellies floating past the pier. "Aequorea Victoria," Jim the Summer Director said. I took dozens of pictures, trying to capture their beautiful translucence.  This was one of the few that turned out well.

The station at night, as seen from the beach. As always, I was terribly reluctant to leave for the drive home. But I'll be back!

"Hosanna": a Cry of Faith

Many people spread their cloaks on the road, while others spread branches they had cut in the fields.  

Those who went ahead and those who followed shouted,

“Hosanna!”
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
“Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David!”
“Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
~~Mark 11:8-10

When Jesus entered the city of Jerusalem on a donkey, people were waving palm branches and shouting the word, "Hosanna!"  I always thought that was a word like, "Hallelujah!" or "Hip-hip, Hurray!" But it's not. If you look it up, it means, "Save, I pray!" or "Help!!!"

What on earth?! Why would people, even the little children, usher a new leader into town with joyful shouts of "Save us!" or "Help us!"?

Upon reflecting about it for a while, it occurred to me that the word "Hosanna" is a word of faith, like very few other words are.  It started as a plea for help, a cry for a savior. But it became a shout of triumph because of the faith of people who utter the word, "Hosanna." They're confident that when they cry out to be saved, God will save them, whether through a person or through some supernatural act.

If you're so very sure that your cry for help will be answered, then "Hosanna" doesn't need to be a plea anymore. It would be wonderful to have that kind of faith on a daily basis, the faith that takes a plea for help and turns it, with faith, into a triumphal declaration.

Unions and Reunions

This weekend my brother traveled from California, and I from Washington to attend a wedding in Worthington, Ohio. It's been 30 years since we saw our friend Johnny, who was getting married. We grew up with him on Penang island in Malaysia, going to the same church and hanging out together in the same youth group.

It was a beautiful wedding, and fun to watch our old bachelor friend tie the knot with his bride. He met her in Ohio, but she grew up just a few miles from the school he attended in Penang. Who knew?! She had that gracious "Penang girl" affect. It was lovely to see them looking so happy.

But we didn't just fly across country for the wedding. It was an occasion for a number of us who grew up together to have a reunion, complete with delicious Penang food, lots of joking and laughing and heckling, and catching up on what the others are doing now. Most of us came sans spouses (to save money, lah!), which provided even more time and focus on each other.

My brother and I were the only Caucasians in the group who had grown up together in Penang. As such, we stood out like sore thumbs. Jokes have flown under this photo on Facebook about how our mom fed us Miracle-Gro.  But then, we were always taller and more conspicuous as kids growing up with these friends. The point is, we're all family, and the cameraderie we had with our childhood friends can't be duplicated anywhere else. May was gracious and elegant, as always; Viola was saying affirming things to all of us, as always; Edward was heckling the groom about kissing his bride; that's so very Edward; Sam was throwing off witty comments left and right, and then chortling as he always does. My brother and I found ourselves switching back into "Penang English," which amused those around us. "Don' make fun of me, lah. I grow up in Pee-nang just li' you, wat!"

It's a good thing, having reunions. It's worth the cost of flying across the country, even though I miss these people more acutely again for a while. Union and reunion: It's a little preview of how I imagine heaven will be.

Whose Dream?

Photo found on the web

     Then James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to him. “Teacher,” they said, “we want you to do for us whatever we ask.”
     “What do you want me to do for you?” he asked.
They replied, “Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory.”
     “You don’t know what you are asking,” Jesus said. “Can you drink the cup I drink or be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with?”
     “We can,” they answered.
     Jesus said to them, “You will drink the cup I drink and be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with, but to sit at my right or left is not for me to grant. These places belong to those for whom they have been prepared.”   

Mark 10:35-40, Emphasis supplied

I was reading the above passage the other day and marveling: What hubris these two guys showed, coming and asking Jesus to agree that He'd give them whatever they asked for! They hadn't even told Him yet what they wanted. What did they think He was, a genie in a bottle?

And then it struck me: I ask God all the time to help me achieve my dreams. All the time. "Please do this for my family member. Please do that for me. Please change this flawed quality in me (like, overnight). Please do such-and-such for the organization for which I work. Please do so-and-so for my friend." It's all about what I dream to be best for me and those people and things I care about.

Shouldn't I instead be asking God, "How can I help You achieve YOUR dreams?

It's not about my dreams, I realized--rather late in life, I'm sorry to say--, it's about God's.

Well, that sounds nice. But you have to keep reading.

Jesus asked if they could drink the cup he had to drink, and that was no blithe question. I have noticed that when you live a life of trying to follow Jesus, and you keep at it, sooner or later there's some kind of bitter cup you have to drink. And I mean bitter. Heart-wrenching, disappointing, painful. Why that is, I don't know. I can only testify at this point in life that there is always some great Good that emerges from such an experience. Sometimes, it's way down the road, with a long and excruciating wait. But perhaps that great Good contributes in an inexplicable way to God realizing His dreams for me or for His purposes in the situation where I am.

I grew up reading books about heroes. My heroes were Bible characters, pioneers, missionaries, and the fathers and mothers of the United States as a country. They were people who successfully met challenges and surmounted obstacles and ended up with satisfying, all-loose-ends-tied-up lives that were meaningful and left a legacy. As a child I wanted to become one of those. In my heart there was a dream that I would live a book-worthy story, leave a memorable legacy. That desire has persisted throughout my life, along with the feeling that I was a part of something much bigger than me, a story that was being written about God in the long run. I wanted to be a worthy character.

Reading this passage and meditating on its message for me, I realized that it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter about the book-worthy story. It doesn't matter about the memorable legacy. I don't need to care about being a character on the great stage of the universe, even if--in some invisible way--I am. What really matters is that question: God, how can I help You make Your dream come true?

The Mirror and the Perpetual Shock of Aging

Photos found here

Lord willing, I'll turn fifty years old later this year. And I am, as do many people, coming to some understandings about age as I consider the approaching milestone. One of these understandings is the realization that older people live in a state of perpetual shock about their age.

If you are an older reader, you'll know right away what I mean. You look in the mirror, and your eyes see the 20-something "you." You're generally the same person, only a bit wiser and more experienced. You know yourself better than ever, and yet one incident in a day can take you right back to the grade school or young adult "you." It could be a put-down, a passing comment, or someone who shuns you and leaves you feeling just like that left-out kid on the playground. How is it, when your mind is still accustomed to being in your twenties or younger, that your body is becoming padded, your skin saggy and spotted, and your hair thinner? You learn to not see that unless forced to do so.

We tend to look in the mirror and see ourselves as we were in young adulthood.

I have watched people of retirement age who are loathe to give up their careers and quit, feeling in their minds that they are still the capable, young, up-to-date professionals they once were. And they are often much wiser and still up-to-date, but their energy may have waned and they aren't as sharp at keeping up with details or knowing their own limits. (Once a chemist, always a chemist, and don't limit me to the chemistry of preparing my coffee in the morning.) There is something about productivity and being needed that reassures us of our value, and our minds work hard to stretch that out even longer than we can actually produce. It's essential to our identity and will to live.

We tend to look in the mirror and see ourselves as we were in young adulthood.

Because I watch people with my intuition always twanging--I walk around, as a friend once put it, like I have a satellite dish on my head compared to his rabbit ears with a bit of tin foil to help pick up signals (and young people wouldn't even understand that metaphor)--I see a lot of poignant moments.

There's the little old lady who still sashays up after church with a little spring in her step and sway of the hips to greet the handsome preacher. There's the old guy who twinkles his eyes and flirts with the young schoolteacher, quite harmlessly, and it makes him feel happy and young. There's the sixty year old guy who's still talking smack with his buddies on the golf course, jockeying like a young stud for the best swing or the hole in one. There's the woman who expresses shock as her children are graduating and marrying, wondering aloud how on earth this happened. She's still only 23 in her head.

We tend to look in the mirror and see ourselves as we were in young adulthood.

When I started my college professor career, I was 32 years old. In those days, some people mistook me for being a college student. My young scholars appreciated my youth, enjoyed hanging out with me, and would invite me to join them for their social activities. Over the years, aided by a change of location and job description within academia, that has waned. Not only have I experienced the shift with a twinge of loss, but I have watched other young college teachers face the realization that their students don't see them as young and charming anymore. You can see it in the eyes of a student who gives off verbal and non-verbal signals that you are middle-aged and less interesting, or even worse, that you are their antagonist. At best, you become less of a buddy, more of a seasoned and [hopefully] wise sage to them.

And yet, in your head, you consider yourself the same fun-loving social person that past students responded to as an older sibling or equal competitor on the basketball court. How did you get here? How did your status with them change, while you remained the same?

We tend to look in the mirror and see ourselves as we were in young adulthood.

I've begun to see people as timeless, in a sense. Within the aging body and mind, that hopeful young person is still there. The personality, the insecurities, the need for social affirmation, the interest in career, the desire to be contributing members of their families, social organizations and churches... it's all still there. Don't let the balding head, scraggly hair, wrinkling skin or dissipating physical abilities fool you. They are not simply "The Geriatrics," as I once heard a young person refer to an older couple. They can still listen to our stories (probably better than younger people), provide worthwhile opinions, share their expertise and help in the lives of the young 'uns.

There is good reason that those who are on the far side of whatever-decade-you-deem-as-"old" deserve respect, curiosity and genuine attention as valued members of the human family. In the mirror of their minds, they're still young adults. Despite the benefits of youth, I think there are a lot of young and not-so-young people who miss out by not understanding that. Perhaps we could exercise some double vision, look at an older person and see the person they see in the mirror, and communicate with that lively person inside them. Seems to me like remembering that could be an enriching experience for all of us.