When preparing to preach recently, I came across some well-meaning followers of our Lord responding to critical situations in inappropriate ways, ways that required correction.  When Jesus is arrested, Peter brandishes a sword in defense, slashing off Malcus’ ear.  Perhaps his first instinct was to open up a window of opportunity for Jesus to escape into the darkness?  I don’t know.  That would be a swift-thinking, logical reaction, however.  But it would not take into account Jesus’ own descriptions of what he must face.  It would not be informed by what we know of Jesus’ character, that he is not one to hide in darkness, but rather that he boldly brings light.  So while it seemed good at the moment, perhaps, to Peter, it wasn’t connected to Christ.  Amazingly, in the midst of the scuffle, in the high stakes of that moment, Jesus takes the time to rebuke Peter and set him straight. This must be important. 

Likewise, Paul, a converted and convinced follower of our Lord, stops in Caesarea on his way to Jerusalem.  There, Agabus, God’s prophet whose credibility has already been established earlier, demonstrates how Paul will be taken and bound when he arrives at his destination.  On the basis of this prophecy, faithful Caesareans urge Paul not to go a step further.  Again, this sounds both logical and responsible.  But Paul corrects them despite their heart-felt arguments: “Why are you weeping and breaking my heart?  I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus,” (Acts 21: 11).  It’s a conversation-stopper, but more than that, it’s a perspective-righter. 

God has given some persons very acute minds, minds that research, analyze, formulate, and articulate statements that are both persuasive and impressive.  He has called some of these to leadership in the church.  Many persons are inclined to nod as they listen to such arguments, following their logic and resonating with the issue they address.  The persuaders.  The persuaded.  I've met these persons often and I find both  difficult to talk with. 

I read one such persuasive argument in a recent blog written by a colleague who claims we are not able to find the unity we long for and pray for because we do not agree on the essential elements on which unity is to be based.  It was a persuasive argument and, to my mind, quite airtight.  Yet, I do not believe it is true.  I have no debate.  I offer no anecdotal evidence otherwise.  My concern is that the argument wields fear instead of the two-edged sword I am more familiar with.     

As Christians we need to be careful that we advise on the basis of God’s will, humbly as we understand it from God’s Word, and that we follow advisers that we recognize to be following Christ.  That we do not follow those who counsel us on the basis of sharp, even brilliant, analysis if it capitalizes on fear, any more than we would follow those who offer tender encouragement if it requires a naïve view of security on our part.   Survival on this earth is not an ultimate Christian goal.  Seeking God’s will is.

In the midst of complicated decisions and in the malaise of troubling times, I am all the more earnest about listening for, watching for, waiting for the wisdom of the mature Christian person of faith. I long to hear that perspective in every small group, every board meeting, every spoken prayer, every sermon.  It’s that essential.

Jesus says:  “Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?” (John 18:11).  It’s a rhetorical statement, for what possible faithful answer could be considered as an alternative?  Yet, it  requires time spent with God and a willingness to act on what we trust to be true.

And – one more thing --sometimes it requires us to stop in the middle of what we’re doing or where we’re headed, to explain to those around us that, when we are following Christ, our choices don’t have to look good to everyone and they don’t have to feel good either.  The way is good simply because it leads where God calls us to go.

God’s will, God’s redemptive plan, God’s future of hope – these still unite us.  Our failure to get the details organized to the point of consensus does not diminish any of the above.    

When I first moved to Shelby in my 20's, I had a few brief conversations with one of my neighbors, Mrs. Barnum. (Yes, like the circus, but then again, not, as she explained.) One simple statement she made has stayed with me all these years. How likely is that? I think it made a lasting impression because she said it in passing, not trying to make a big point. It may have stuck because she was mentioning something she did, not something she believed or something she was trying to convince me to believe. Or maybe it's because I thought she had chosen a really improbable challenge and I felt a little sorry for her. Mrs. Barnum said, "Every day I walk to church and pray for an end to the Vietnam War." 

She was elderly. She took care of her elderly husband. My only mental picture is seeing the two of them seated on lawn chairs under a shade tree near their front stoop from which they could see traffic on two intersecting streets. And occasionally chat with passersby. Like me. 

Even now, I have to break up that simple sentence in order to take it in fully. Every day? No breaks for inclement weather? No excused absence for an achey back? I couldn't imagine her walking half a mile to the Catholic church every morning. Perhaps I heard that wrong. Perhaps someone picked her up. But she could have accomplished the same thing while sitting on her sofa with a cup of tea, right? Pray? I understood praying. I prayed, although my prayers were probably accompanied by fewer candles and I'm very sure they encompassed a much smaller radius. Prayers for the end of the Vietnam War? Honestly? That might not seem far fetched today, but it startled me. I'd come from MSU where demonstrators were protesting. I saw pictures of the war zone headlining the TV evening newscasts. And in between those two impressions, in the center, was an elderly woman who straightened herself out to her full height and put considerable effort behind her concern with no guarantees, no end in sight. 

Since then, I've led bible studies on prayer, I've organized prayer chains, I've asked for prayers. I've been to seminary. I've sat in small circles and prayed sincerely and deeply. Yet, my image of faithful prayer is still that soft-spoken, persistent, unassuming, powerless woman with a name like a circus, but then again, not at all like the circus we all live in. 

Prayers for peace this morning.

Signatures

I can recognize my Grandmother’s handwriting whenever I see it, although she is no longer with us.  She wrote with a dipping pen and naturally tended toward the old-fashioned meanings of words.  For example, once I remember her stretching across the kitchen counter to look out the window, studying the sky and saying, “It’s commencing to rain.”  (Well, actually, if she were to describe herself at that moment, she probably would say she was “peering” out the window.)  However, even if none of that were true, I would still recognize her handwriting because it always was beautifully distinctive; it still is.  Bits of her handwriting are preserved on postcards and letters, inscribed inside the cover of handed-down books, or neatly penned on faded recipe cards.  In that way, she left part of herself for the rest of us.   

I understand that penmanship seems to be going out of style today.  I’m typing this on Word for Mac 14.4.2 and it looks like anyone else’s version of Word.   But there’s still something about my hand-written signature that is unique enough to serve as verification of my intention on contracts and other official documents.  Everyone I know – my children, my sister, my husband my friends – everyone writes with an unmistakable signature.  

And that’s what struck me this morning when I read John 21: 15-19.  Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me?”  Three times asked.  Three times answered.  Tracing each layer makes the question more prominent until the answer becomes, finally, undeniable.   Then the direction, “Feed my sheep.”  It's as if Jesus were saying, OK then, here’s how to make your answer truly emphatic, here's how to press down so that your signature will show on many copies: feed my sheep.  

An aging cement sidewalk 
 with unsightly veins.

And lest Peter think post-resurrection life would be all lilies and roses, Jesus adds this prediction: “Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.”  Yes, we nod in agreement.  No surprises here as we look back across history from our point in time.  Peter will be humbled by age, of course.  Aren't we all?  But Peter will undoubtedly also suffer many things as he preaches and teaches.  Surely, his life will dependent on the will and agenda of others, for good or evil.  We will be spectators as well as beneficiaries of that.  

At this point John steps in with an explanation.  John, the writer, has a tendency to do this, I think, so we don’t get all dreamy eyed or sad in poignant moments like this and miss the point.  He has already done much the same thing just a chapter earlier when describing the encounter between Jesus and Thomas. There he concludes, “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” (John 20: 30-31)  This is John’s signature.  John underscores the lesson he doesn’t want us to miss. 

So, recognizing John’s style, I’m expecting some sort of insight and perhaps even a take-away to apply to my own life.  Here it comes:  “Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would …”  Now, I have to stop myself here and confess that sometimes I read too fast.  In fact, I read so fast that I even tend to fill-in the blanks, jumping to conclusions about where the author is going.  Do you do that?  Did you anticipate John’s next word was going to be “die”?  Did you guess this ending:  “Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would die”?

Sounds likely, sounds accurate, given all we know about the Roman culture of the time and the events that the early church would endure.  But my conclusion doesn’t sound much like Jesus, does it?  Whereas, John's conclusion does: “Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God.” 

I ought to know by now, I think.  Surely I ought to recognize the signature of God who raised Jesus from the dead!  God’s signature is always large and always ends with a flourish.  Oh, God does seem to press down firmly on every necessary line, but then, God always finishes with a glorious up-swing.  Always.  From First Testament onward, "Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today." (Genesis 50:20)

After interrupting the flow of the conversation to insert that critical reminder for me, John returns to the scene and, in case I’m still stunned by the direction that this is going, he concludes with Jesus’ deeply-personal, ever-familiar, signature invitation for all of us, “Follow me!”  

Much Grace, 

PS