Gentle Restraint

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. (Matthew 5.5)

Do not be quickly provoked in your spirit, for anger resides in the laps of fools. (Ecclesiastes 7.9)

Meekness

We don’t use the word “meek” very often these days—not in a flattering sense, that is. We don’t praise people by saying, “She’s such a meek person” or, “I wish I could be meek like him.” Somehow, the adjective picked up negative connotations as our culture grew increasingly enamored with pop psychology’s push for self-esteem and assertiveness. We take “meek” to mean sheepish, shy, passive, and too timid to make waves. We stereotype meek people as pushovers, wallflowers, conformists, and yes-men/women, i.e., not the sort of person society respects or we want to be. Thus, when we hear Jesus say, “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth,” we’re apt to think, “How kind of God to include the meek people. It wouldn’t be fair to leave them out.” The condescension doesn’t faze us. And the most cynical of us might even remark, “It’s a good thing God’s giving them the earth. Lord knows if they had to get it for themselves, they’d be out of luck.” Clearly, I’m exaggerating—but not by much. Meekness is not something we aspire to or reward.

Yet Jesus tells us to be meek. He not only promises we’ll inherit the earth, but says we are (present tense) “blessed.” A closer translation of the original word would be “happy” or “fulfilled.” So we wonder if Jesus is using reverse logic here. Is He talking down to us, like we’re naïve children, making big promises to put us on our best behavior? No. Why should He? He just as well could warn us not to expect happiness and validation if we aren’t meek. But Jesus promises them to the meek. And since these objectives drive our self-actualization mindset, perhaps we should consider what meekness really is, because it has nothing to do with sheepishness, passivity, or conformity. Although it may appear as such, meekness is the opposite. It takes uncommon courage, backbone, and self-discipline to be meek.

Demonstrating Power

Many updated Bible translations replace “meek” with “gentle,” which reverses the negative spin while still underestimating praeis, the Greek word in Matthew 5.5’s transcription. There, it’s a cognate sharing the same root as many Greek and Latin words that mean “more or stronger than.” (The Toyota Prius is a modern cognate, coined to suggest its hybrid engine improves on traditional fossil-fuel motors.) Linguists from HELPS Word-studies—The Moody Bible Institute’s online language seminar—dissect praeis thusly:

This difficult-to-translate root (pra-) means more than “meek.” Biblical meekness is not weakness but rather refers to exercising God’s strength under His (sic) control—i.e. demonstrating power without undue harshness. [The English term “meek” often lacks this blend—i.e. of gentleness (reserve) and strength.]

Therefore, the meek whom Jesus describes—and calls us to be—demonstrate power through self-restraint. They’re gentle by choice, not nature. They let go many of the earthly assets at their disposal to influence situations and win arguments. They exercise "God’s strength under God’s control without undue harshness." For the meek believer, not alienating others by asserting authority or personal views is far more important than vindicating oneself or winning points.

Aggression of any kind is anathema because it verifies a lack of strength and power. It’s the lowest form of weakness—true spinelessness and bankruptcy of self-esteem. That’s why the Religious Right’s overheated rhetoric about “taking the world for Christ” and “declaring war on sin” rings so hollow. It merits no response, let alone any derision. The meek, not the aggressive, inherit the earth. Pushing an agenda—right or left, regardless of the ideals behind one’s motives—cancels all claims to meekness’s inheritance. And this principle holds for every arena in life: personal, religious, social, professional, and political. In 1 Peter 2.13, 15 and 16 we read, “Submit yourselves for the Lord’s sake to every human authority… For it is God’s will that by doing good you should silence the ignorant talk of foolish people. Live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as God’s slaves.” Meekness, then, is the demonstration of power by submission to others in service to God. We may disagree with our leaders and those around us. We may not like where our world, country, and communities are headed. But we don’t sink to confronting them on their terms. That brings our meekness into question and sets tongues wagging. Gentle restraint is our show of strength. We have nothing to lose. By opting for meekness, we remain happy, knowing we will inherit the earth.

Anger Issues

On the personal front, meekness reaps consistent, immediate rewards by defusing anger issues. It’s the only sure-fire method of anger management. And therein lies our key to happiness. Anger begets misery because it’s born in misery. What makes us mad? Frustration, resentment, and other symptoms of deficient meekness. We get angry because we’re ignored, disrespected, powerless, used, and abused. Yet meekness makes us stronger than any of them. Even if people and situations that enrage us persist for life, they’re only temporary. Our inheritance is eternal. We are heirs to the earth. Christ assures us we will come into our own. Thus, we conduct ourselves as dignified heirs of staggering wealth—meekly, with reserved gentility. Discipleship carries with it its own strain of noblesse oblige; as nobles, we bow and oblige rather than succumbing to provocation.

Our happiness and fulfillment are predicated on meekness, which makes anger an unreasonable option. In other words, those attempting to provoke us to anger ask too much. “Do not be quickly provoked in your spirit, for anger resides in the laps of fools,” Ecclesiastes 7.9 tells us. Meekness is our best defense against provocation, even when answering challenges would seem to serve our best interests. In those instances, we bridle our tempers, remembering we are first and foremost Christ’s disciples—“slaves to God,” as Peter puts it. Lent removes us from the clamor of daily life so we can find clarity to renew our vows of discipleship and strengthen our commitment. May our desert journey lead us to meekness and may we find the courage to embrace it as our way of life.

Meekness is not weakness in any form. It demonstrates power without undue harshness, which demands uncommon courage, backbone, and self-discipline.

Postscript: “Easy to Be Hard”

Walt and I recently saw the national tour of the Broadway revival of Hair and, once again (as always), this number choked me up. How many times do we allow our passions to lead us astray? We forsake meekness to take hard positions on social or religious issues and, in the process, alienate those around us. Jennifer Warnes performs “Easy to Be Hard” on “The Smothers Brothers Show” in the late 1960s.

Take It Easy on Yourself

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. (Matthew 11.28-29)

Digging Down and Doing

This is one of those passages we regularly reach for, yet seldom grasp. Without doubt, it’s one of the most blissful—and blessed—promises Jesus makes: “When you’re worn down, come to Me. When you’re overloaded, come to Me. I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11.28) Could it be more straightforward? So we take Him up on His offer. We go to Him and sigh, “Oh, Jesus, I’m so beat. I just don’t have it in me to move ahead.” Or, “Oh, Jesus, I’ve had it up to here. I just can't find the strength for one more problem.” We stand and wait, as though He’s running a supernatural rebound clinic, where He doles out reenergizing pills and burden reduction therapy. To some degree, the protocol we’ve derived from this text works, because time spent in Christ’s presence always restores energy and strength. Yet when we study the instructions attached to it, our approach is out of line with His direction. Like everything Christ teaches, the outcome He promises expects significant behavioral change from us.

It’s the next part that throws us, where Jesus explains how we get rest. Thus, before staggering to His doorstep, clutching verse 28 like a gift certificate to a spiritual spa, we should read verse 29’s fine print a few times:

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

Notice the not-so-subtle shift from “I will give” to “you will find”? When we feel too exhausted and put-upon to keep going, we turn to Christ. But in our turning, we realize His promise isn’t about standing around and waiting. It’s about digging down and doing. Jesus never says He’ll handle the heavy lifting. He invites us to exchange our baggage for His lighter load. He doesn’t offer a massage and a nap. He shows us how to take it easy, so our backs don’t ache from unnecessary burdens and our stamina isn’t spent on pointless exertion. “Be like Me,” He says. “Be gentle. Be humble. And you’ll find rest.”

Weary

At a glance, this passage seems to pop up from nowhere. It feels tacked-on at the bottom of a relatively uneventful chapter, as if Matthew decided he needed a button—a closing zinger—to pep it up. When we read chapter 11 with wide eyes, however, there’s no mistaking why it’s there. By the time we reach verse 38, it’s obvious Jesus is weary. The chapter starts with bad news. A big crowd has turned out to hear Him preach. Just before He speaks, disciples of John the Baptist arrive to inform Him their imprisoned leader now has second doubts about Jesus. “Go back and tell him what you see,” He replies. “People are being healed. I’m preaching the truth. John needs to settle down.” After they leave, Jesus realizes the crowd overheard His discussion. Some damage control needs doing, because it’s commonly known Jesus began His career as John’s disciple and launched His ministry at the Baptist’s urging. This little dust-up could easily be misinterpreted as rank ingratitude on Jesus’s part or, worse yet, set fire to new questions about His legitimacy. Now He has to scuttle what He intended to tell the people and assure them He holds John in highest regard.

It clearly enervates Jesus that John, his followers, or the crowd would entertain the notion He’s not authentic. “What do you people want?” He asks. “John lives in the desert like a recluse and you say he’s possessed. I minister in the towns and because you’re not thrilled with the company I keep, you say I’m a glutton and drunkard. You’re like a bunch of kids trying to run the show.” Then, catching Himself, Jesus finishes this part of the sermon by saying, “Wisdom is proved right by her actions” (v19)—the same message He sent to John. Usually, He’d change gears here, maybe tell a story with an uplifting moral, or point to something—a tree or field or coin—and extract life-giving wisdom from it. But He can’t seem to escape the weariness and pressure brought on by relentless questions about Him no matter how much good He does. Jesus unleashes a barrage of woes aimed at cities that doubt Him despite the miracles He performed in their streets. It’s not pretty. Once more, He catches Himself, only now He stops preaching and starts praying. The prayer reveals what’s actually going on and why He’s so tired of it. It’s in the prayer that He finds—and we learn how to find—rest and relief.

A Child Can Do It

“I praise you, Father,” Jesus says, “because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.” (v25) The challenges that weary Christ come from clever people driven by insatiable craving for difficulty. They make things more taxing than they are because simplicity strips their audacity and pride. When the answer is so obvious a child can see and understand it, the smart crowd loses its edge. They flood the squares and pulpits, declaring, “It’s not as simple as it looks.” Yet in Christ’s case, looking proves how simple it is. As He prays, Jesus comes to grips with the fact He’s made Himself tired by trying to get the smart set—whether people of faith, like John and his followers, or doubters, like the cities He condemns—to see what they won’t believe. He’s got sucked into their madness, which He doesn’t relate to, because He’s not like them. They’re harsh; He’s gentle. They’re haughty; He’s humble. They love difficulty; it’s their weapon. He loves simplicity; it’s His gift.

“All things have been committed to me by my Father,” Jesus confesses in prayer. (v27) He has no use for grueling debates and cumbersome issues. Faith in His Father and His purpose removes any reason to be combative and haughty. After this coalesces while He prays, He tells us: “Learn from me. Don’t get sucked into the madness. It’s not as difficult as they claim. It’s just looking and believing—so simple, a child can do it. Don’t let non-essentials exhaust and burden you. Be gentle. Be humble. Be like me. Take it easy on yourself and you will find rest.”

We exhaust and overload ourselves with non-essential complexity. Christ teaches His way is so simple a child can see it. Following His example is how we find rest.

The Faithful Servant

He will not shout or cry out, or raise his voice in the streets. A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. In faithfulness he will bring forth justice; he will not falter or be discouraged till he establishes justice on earth. (Isaiah 42.2-4)

Premature Battle Fatigue

Much of the northern hemisphere is experiencing an unusually hot and savage summer. Regions that need no more rain—like Iowa, Northern China, and Pakistan—have been deluged, while Russia crackles and burns. Here in the States, we’re in the early throes of what’s already an unusually hot and savage Congressional electoral campaign. (We hold biannual elections because we’re masochists.) The hot weather combined with the overheated rhetoric makes both doubly exhausting. The hopes that ushered in the current Administration vaporized long ago, almost immediately, in fact, when the opposition made it very clear every debate would be hobbled by political ideology, not guided by civic principles. Life here has become a “Road Runner” cartoon. While one side wants progress, the other hatches schemes to foil it. Objective viewers chuckle at how often the strategy blows up. But the opposition’s genius surfaces in how cleverly it’s bleached reason from the landscape. Somehow it’s convinced a large sector of the population the Road Runner is the villain and Wile E. Coyote is the hero.

At four months short of the Administration’s midpoint, many of us are dealing with premature battle fatigue. Nerves are frayed, hopes battered, and friendships bruised. Why must everything that’s said or decided be a polarizing issue? When did middle ground turn into a sinkhole? For American believers who watched as their nation steamrollered clear-cut Biblical standards of justice, compassion, and peace, the strain feels all the greater. The call for a return to godly principles might be answered if it could be heard. But the din of greed, prejudice, and conscious disregard for the least among us has become our national anthem—often sung around the flagpole of religion. This isn’t the American way. It surely isn’t Christ’s way. And we who disagree with it must take care not to abandon our ideals in hopes of protecting them. This fight that feels bigger than we is actually beneath us. Those who contradict God’s Word while claiming to honor it cannot stand. They will fall—sooner than many expect, because they’re not as safe and secure as most seem to think. The current model for sociopolitical engagement is founded on bad faith, suspicion, and bravado. (That’s why it’s beneath us.) The model we’re to follow is Isaiah 42’s portrait of the faithful servant.

An “Inside Voice”

We’re conditioned to read Isaiah as The Treasure Chest of Messianic Promises. And that it is. No prophecy approaches its eloquence and accuracy. Yet we minimize its worth by not recalling its impetus. Isaiah spoke to a people consumed with religious pride and mischief. Their haughty presumption that God’s favor was a right instead of a gift gave birth to a reckless sense of entitlement. They flocked to the Temple, where they put on an impressive show of piety that fooled everyone but God and His prophet. The prophecy begins with scalding condemnation of Israel’s self-deception. In making a spectacle of itself, it neglected the disadvantaged and disenfranchised within its borders. This puts a vastly different spin on the lyrical passages we trot out during Advent and Holy Week. The Promised One is coming not to rout Israel’s tormenters and establish a Hebrew empire. He’ll be sent to correct its faults and remediate its deficiencies. Since Israel has a real knack for confusing politics with priorities, Isaiah 42 says the Messiah will subvert every human method and impulse.

He’ll assume a lesser—some might even say passive—role that underscores His reliance on God. Verse 1 reads: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight; I will put my Spirit on him and he will bring justice to the nations.” The Spirit will endow Him with an “inside voice” in every sense. He will be internally driven to rise above external influences and threats. But He’ll also master the carnal impulse to drown out His opponents and prove His superiority in the public square. “He will not shout or cry out, or raise his voice in the streets,” verse 2 declares. Yes, He will speak against Israel’s folly; that’s His charge. But it’s unnecessary for Him to engage in their folly in order to defeat it.

He will be a gentle Savior, a caring King, and a just Ruler Who cherishes the wounded and perishing among His people. I love how Isaiah captures this: “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out.” (v3) No one will be unworthy of His love and protection. Surely this will fan outrage in Israel’s classist society by putting an end to privilege and transference of power. They’ll dig in their heels, question His authority, and mock His methods. But they’ll make a fatal mistake by misjudging His quiet nature as weakness of character. Not sacrificing His integrity to their game will give Him stamina to defeat their ploys by outlasting them. “In faithfulness he will bring forth justice; he will not falter or be discouraged till he establishes justice on the earth,” Isaiah writes. (v3-4) This Faithful Servant won’t be concerned with winning the day. He’s coming to establish justice. He’s in it for the long haul. He is our model.

At the Proper Time

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up,” Galatians 6.9 instructs. Our work is not in the streets, trying to shout down belligerent bellowing of self-deceived, self-serving fools. We work among bruised reeds and smoldering wicks. The voice inside us reminds us how much power we accrue by using our “inside voices.” Our gentleness, care, and commitment to justice resound in our words and actions. What others perceive as weakness of character is really integrity that energizes and enables us to outlast our adversaries. Faithfulness is the key that brings forth justice. Let the coyotes win the day if they must. Faithful servants are roadrunners. We have stamina to burn and tenacity to last. Most of all we have faith. At the proper time—and no sooner—our faithfulness will bear fruit if we don’t give up.

Like Wile E. Coyote, those seeking to undermine compassion and justice may think their schemes sound. But our integrity as faithful servants gives us stamina and tenacity to defeat them.

The Teaching Kind

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 11.16)

Righteous Indignation

Last week, a very dear Jewish friend asked to attend Palm Sunday service with us. As we walked to church, she said, “Yesterday, there was this preacher in the subway saying the meanest things.” Being well acquainted with the type, I said, “Everybody’s going to Hell, right?” She answered, “Everybody. If you smoke cigarettes, you’re going to Hell. If you drink, you’re going to Hell. If you’re gay, you’re going to Hell. He had me on the first two.” Being so close to Walt and me, we laughed he also had her on the third by proxy. As we walked on, it occurred to me since she’d never visited the church, she might be a tad wary of a similar spew-fest. “This won’t be like that,” I promised.

To my delight, the sermon surpassed “not like that” by such a wide margin it poised at the doomsayer’s polar opposite. Even though neither Heaven nor Hell came up, the polarity emerged in its righteous indignation. The pastor began by confessing she’d been in “a Lenten bubble,” and not heard much on the bilious accusation “social justice” is leftist theological code for communism—until a blogger cited the church’s Website as an example. She used this recent outbreak of ideological slander as a contextual bridge to Holy Week. “I am painfully aware that poisonous public discourse… has its place in the unfolding drama of this week,” she said, adding Jesus wasn’t crucified because He healed and fed people, told nice stories and gathered children around Him. “Jesus was crucified… because he was in every fiber of his being advocating SOCIAL JUSTICE,” telling us she’d typed the phrase in all-caps. Her indignation intensified as she debunked this newly hatched myth that compassion and concern are politically minted ideas. They’ve always been Christianity’s definitive markers, she insisted, with plenty of historical documentation backing her up. Near the end, she asked, “What might it mean to live so loud that the impact is felt everywhere we step, not because we are stepping on things or people, not because we are shouting at people, but because the stride in our steps [is] beating down the path toward the poor, the hungry, the disenfranchised, the ones who need Jesus’ SOCIAL JUSTICE?” After the sermon—titled “Living Out Loud”—our friend said, “That was amazing!”

Political Suicide

I awoke yesterday with the story of Christ clearing the Temple in my head, as we’re told it’s the first thing He does on Monday. I wanted to write about it, yet outside its overt aspects, I couldn’t figure out what to make of it. It happens so abruptly, without a hint of what lit teachers used to call “an inciting incident,” it doesn’t make sense. After Jesus and the disciples retire to outlying Bethany on Sunday evening, they return to Jerusalem the next day and go to the Temple. Immediately on entering, Jesus “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.” (Mark 11.15-16) We understand why He does it. The Temple has turned into a bazaar, where opportunistic tellers charge fees to make correct change for monetary offerings and wranglers sell sacrificial animals at pricey mark-up. This is common in pagan temples, which also sell meat presented to idols as convenient take-away. So commerce within its courts twice desecrated the Temple by gouging worshipers and mimicking idolatry. But none of this explains why Jesus clears the Temple now.

The commercialization of Temple property isn’t new. Jesus has seen it all His life and never (to our knowledge) reacted unfavorably before. Of all the times to vent His displeasure, none could be worse. The prior day’s coronation parade has ramped up alarm among Temple authorities. Opposing their policies in such a volatile way is political suicide. Not only does Jesus enrage them, He infuriates influential merchants and insiders by disrupting their businesses. Why doesn’t He meekly enter the Temple, don His rabbinical shawl, take a seat, and wait His turn to speak? For some time, He’s been clued into the formulating conspiracy against Him. And there’s our answer. Realizing Sunday’s public acclaim has increased the urgency to be rid of Him, Jesus takes His first chance to correct these intolerable practices because it may be His last chance to do it. Then, after Palm Sunday’s sermon, I have a better idea of the full scope of what He does.

High Melodrama

Most of us have heard this episode preached and seen it dramatized more times than we can count. And it’s a safe bet that it’s always been presented as high melodrama. Jesus storms into the Temple, knocks over a lot of furniture, and once He’s got everyone’s attention, bellows a scathing indictment that lashes Isaiah 56.7 to Jeremiah 7.11: “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 11.17) His words tremble with fury and the people quake with fear. This doesn’t square with Mark’s report, though. After Jesus overturns the merchants’ stations and halts the flow of merchandise, there’s a cooling off period. Mark prefaces Jesus’s statement with, “As he taught them, he said…” He taught them. That’s the difference between undignified condemnation and righteous indignation, poisonous discourse and constructive criticism, a preacher’s rants and a pastor’s restraint—the difference between harsh judgment and gentle justice.

Jesus was the teaching kind. Discipline and care governed His every word and action. What we witness in the Temple is a Teacher willing to risk His personal safety—His very life—to demonstrate a forgotten principle. What we don’t see is an angry God, frustrated Rabbi, or crazed Provocateur. And we understand Jesus uses this scenario not merely to right an overlooked wrong, but also to teach us how to teach. It’s His last chance, and He does it in the most memorable, atypical manner imaginable. When we trim back the fatty melodrama and cut into the meat, it’s not that hard. If necessary, we must sacrifice personal comfort and safety to demonstrate our point. But we prove it by teaching. Mark ends saying the Temple authorities “feared him, because the whole crowd was amazed at his teaching.” (v18) When we’re the teaching kind, the consternation of adversaries and amazement of listeners separate us from every other kind.

All this melodrama layered on the cleansing of the Temple misses the teaching that follows.

Postscript: I’m Trying to Be Like Jesus

Being taught isn’t something we sing about very much. Yet we can’t be the teaching kind without learning from the Master. This popular Latter-Day Saints’ children’s song touches me deeply with its message—so simple on the surface, yet so complex and richly nuanced through and through.

I'M TRYING TO BE LIKE JESUS

I'm trying to be like Jesus

I'm following in His ways

I'm trying to love as He did

In all that I do and say

At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice

But I try to listen as the still, small voice

Whispers

"Love one another as Jesus loves you

"Try to show kindness in all that you do

"Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought

For these are the things Jesus taught."

I'm trying to love my neighbors

I'm learning to serve my friends

I watch for the day of gladness

When Jesus will come again

I try to remember the lessons He taught

Then the Holy Spirit enters my thoughts,

Saying

"Love one another..."

Easy Rider

Go to the village ahead of you, and just as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. (Mark 11.2)

Burdened by Foresight

For three years, Jesus and His disciples function like dozens of other rabbinical bands roaming about Palestine. Outside of holy days that summon them to Jerusalem, they follow no set itinerary. They stay free of social obligations so they’ll not be tied down in any one place too long. Overall, they do a fine job of not wearing out their welcome anywhere. They enter a new village, where Jesus speaks to the people, performs miracles, occasionally preaches in the town's synagogue, and sometimes enjoys the hospitality of local hosts. Then He and the disciples move on. Yet even those who watch from a distance observe a startling difference when Jesus comes to town. Unlike other free-range prophets, He brings out the priests and lawyers. Everything He says and does riles them. Not only is His message radical. So are His methods. Most unorthodox preachers—John the Baptist, for example—usually avoid controversy by settling in the wilderness. Not Jesus. He keeps coming back, and that makes Him a problem.

Jesus is sharply aware constant controversy is a key element of God's redemptive plan. Opposition to Him is designed to mount until the Jewish establishment and Roman government—typically at odds with each other—collude in bringing Him down. He’s burdened by foresight, and as antagonism for Him escalates, awareness of what’s to come intensifies. With Passover less than a week away, He and the disciples join thousands of Temple pilgrims en route to Jerusalem. Knowing how authority figures think, Jesus recognizes the holiday gives them prime opportunity to strike. They can destroy Him and demonstrate the fate of non-conformists in one fell swoop. Since He expects the week to end in a crushing show of religious and governmental force, Jesus decides to make use of His opportunity for a final display of righteous affirmation. To put it bluntly, He devises a plan to fulfill an ancient Messianic prophecy.

Spontaneous Coronation

Zechariah 9.9 reads, “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” As obviously as the time has come for His destruction, Jesus realizes it’s time for Israel to declare His salvation. In fact, prophetic tradition insists Israel must welcome its King before rejecting Him. Thus, the cross’s eternal significance hinges on a spontaneous coronation. All along, priests and lawyers have tried to trick Jesus into confirming He’s the Messiah—a heresy so grave it would call for immediate execution. But Jesus hasn’t made (and, to the end, refuses to make) any such claims, going so far as to order the disciples not to discuss the topic with anyone. (Matthew 16.20) His reason is simple: the people must crown Him King, acclaiming Him with Hosanna, high praise reserved exclusively for their Savior and Messiah. Jesus sets the stage for this to happen.

At first, this troubles us with its implication Jesus manipulates the masses (and prophecy) for His benefit. We prefer to think His riding into Jerusalem on a colt and the adulation that greets Him are miraculous coincidences that jibe with Zechariah’s promise. Yet how can that be? Jesus and the crowd are so thoroughly steeped in Messianic Scripture it’s impossible to imagine He or they act unknowingly. As Jesus and the disciples approach Jerusalem, He’s extremely conscious God’s sacrificial plan is fast falling in place. He knows what He must do as well as what the crowd will do. What’s more, He trusts everything He needs to carry out the plan will be provided. On reaching Bethany, a short distance from Jerusalem on the Mount of Olives, Jesus instructs two disciples to travel ahead to the next village, in all probability the last stop before entering the city. “Just as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ tell him, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here shortly.” (Mark 11.2-3)

When the Time Comes

The miracle we seek—and the lesson we can take from it—comes in two parts. First, a colt matching Zechariah’s description is ready and waiting for the disciples. How is this a miracle? Of course, the colt is there because God pre-arranges it and, as Christ, Jesus already knows this. Yet it still doesn’t preclude human interference during the time it takes the disciples to reach the village. Thus, while Christ knows the colt is there, Jesus believes it will be there. He sends His disciples to retrieve it by faith. This leads to Part Two. It’s folly to expect anyone can harness an unbroken colt and safely ride it anywhere, let alone through a mob. Why not settle for trained donkey? Glancing back at Zechariah, we see why he specifies a colt: “your king comes to you… gentle, riding a donkey, a colt.” Jesus mounts the colt by faith so Christ can enter the city as promised—an Easy Rider whose gentle command of the unruly animal magnifies His lordship.

Though Christ’s foresight heightens His perception of how and when God’s plan will fall into place, He still has to rely on faith in its purpose and process. We’re no different. There are times when knowledge of God’s promises encourages us to take conscious steps toward realizing them. Yet we often resist because what we need isn’t within ready reach. By faith, we must know God will supply every requirement to finish His work. The colt will be found when the time comes. The power to ride it easily and gently will be found, too. Meanwhile, there’s no profit in answering anyone who challenges who we are or what our purpose is. When the time comes for us to gently enter Jerusalem as living testaments of Christ’s lordship, people will tell us who we are and what we’re about.

The colt will be there when the time comes.

Postscript: Trust and Obey

We often describe Lent as a journey that leads to the cross and the empty tomb. And tomorrow’s start of Holy Week brings that premise to life by launching a number of commemorative rites. Yet today affords us a chance to revisit Christ’s preparation to enter Jerusalem—to remember why trust and obedience are so vital to God's plan. “Trust and Obey” (not the traditional hymn) by Hillsong.

Not Done Yet

In Joppa there was a disciple named Tabitha (which, when translated, is Dorcas), who was always doing good and helping the poor. (Acts 9.36)

The first in a series on Great Women in Scripture.

Pioneers
Years ago, I attended a lecture by the great Southern writer, Eudora Welty. In the Q&A segment someone asked what were her perennial favorites. “The Bible is the only book I read again and again. It never gets old for me,” she replied. When someone else questioned how she refreshed over-told stories like David and Goliath, Ms. Welty offered an ingenious method. Approach them imaginatively, she advised, like a director who tinkers with a classic play’s setting. It forces new perspectives on the reading, just as watching Hamlet in street clothes can reveal previously unnoticed nuances. Read David and Goliath as a modern war story, for example, and the villain’s weapons make him think he’s invulnerable. When David kills him with a pistol shot, the story becomes a warning about false hubris. Or set it in the Civil Rights era. While Southerners who know prejudice is evil tremble on the sidelines, a young Northerner confronts the Klan. Now the story is about irrational fear created by irrational hatred.

Following Ms. Welty’s suggestion, I’ve been reading The Acts of the Apostles as an Old West chronicle, envisioning first-century Christians as pioneers migrating across new territory, building new settlements, and dealing with new challenges. The transposed setting perfectly fits the book’s rough-and-tumble, episodic structure. It casts the Apostles’ bravado in a heroic aura reminiscent of stolidly principled, though often troubled good guys played by John Wayne, Henry Fonda, and Gregory Peck. While believers cobble together makeshift churches, Peter, Paul, and a few others roam the land to help and defend the pioneers. They get arrested, pursued by angry mobs, tried in kangaroo courts, and run out of town. Basically, Acts is one showdown after another, with a few amazing incidents sandwiched in between. One of these, the story of Dorcas, is a personal favorite. Occupying all of eight verses in Acts 9, it’s little more than a quick recap of a miracle. Yet, when I recently reread it in my new “Western” context, it surged with fresh life.

Gentle, Energetic, and Graceful
Dorcas’s story is attached to another tale that puts Peter in Lydda, where he heals a bedridden man. The miracle inspires everyone in Lydda and an adjacent hamlet, Sharon, to follow Christ. The total conversion of two villages should merit extended coverage. But Luke, Acts’ author, scoots ahead to nearby Joppa, where details he reveals up-front about Dorcas immediately pique interest. His lead sentence reads, “In Joppa there was a disciple named Tabitha (which, when translated, is Dorcas), who was always doing good and helping the poor.” (Acts 9.36) He identifies her as a disciple, indicating she was a fervent, prominent figure in the Joppa church. Her notability for “doing good and helping the poor” confirms this. And Luke’s focus on her name—“Tabitha,” as she’s called in provincial Aramaic, as well as the Greek “Dorcas”—is very telling, as both mean “gazelle.” Thus, we picture Dorcas as a gentle, energetic, and graceful woman who’s sorely missed when she falls ill and dies.

Local disciples send two men to catch Peter before he leaves Lydda. Without specifying how they hope Peter can help, Luke uses their urgency to imply Peter’s heroic reputation precedes him and he’s often summoned to address situations beyond other disciples’ control. That he arrives without delay indicates Dorcas is a stabilizing, positive force her church and community can’t do without. Verse 39 says when Peter enters the room where her body rests, “All the widows stood around him, crying and showing him the robes and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was still with them.” For all the good she’s achieved, Peter surmises she’s not done yet. He dismisses the mourners and calls her: “Tabitha, get up.” (v40) She opens her eyes and takes Peter’s hand as he lifts her up. Her resuscitation persuades many to follow Christ. Before this, though, Peter calls the believers and widows, and presents Dorcas to them. (v41) He restores order much like a Western hero rides into town and ends its turmoil. And in the same way, he hangs around until things fully return to normal. Verse 43 reports, “Peter stayed in Joppa for some time with a tanner named Simon.”

Open Ways
The Old West filter doesn’t enhance Luke’s portrait of Dorcas. Like all committed, caring women, she’s timeless. But recasting her story as a frontier tale heightens the sense of how tragically her loss is felt and why Peter rushes to reverse it. Joppa needs Dorcas. She’s irreplaceable. Proverbs 18.16 says, “A gift opens the way for the giver.” Dorcas’s gifts as a seamstress open ways for her to free impoverished people from shame and reawaken their pride. Her death spells the end of dignity for many who looked to her for inner healing and personal strength. Had Dorcas squelched her talent or lost touch with it, her loss wouldn’t even be worth mentioning. Because she uses her gifts, her death is simply unacceptable.

Her story isn’t extraordinary. It’s exemplary. We’re all irreplaceable. The good we do arises from sensibilities uniquely our own. Our talents open ways to help others as only we can. Yet when we minimize or drift from gifts God has given us, we essentially die. We’re numb to the loss, but our absence is a tragedy for those who need help. For all the good we’ve accomplished, we’re not done yet. There’s more—much, much more—we can do. Death is simply unacceptable. It’s time to get up, spring back to life, and fill the void we’d otherwise leave behind.

No talent is too trivial or small. When we minimize or drift from gifts God has given us, we create a void in lives that need help.

(Next: Hand-Me-Down Faith)

And Be Thankful

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. (Colossians 3.15)

The Great Equalizer

Colossians is one of Paul’s trickier letters, if it really is his in the first place, which many scholars doubt. Given its date and stylistic variances, most probably one of his associates composed the epistle in Paul’s name. The tone is markedly more pastoral, unlike reliably authentic letters (e.g., Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians), where Paul addresses ongoing issues with treatises that read closer to doctrinal briefs than spiritual counsel. Yet while the prose lacks his force and finesse, the content indubitably reflects Paul’s views. Fringe thinkers have confused the Colossians with teachings about divine hierarchies, legalism, and circumcision. After reasserting Christ’s supremacy as God Incarnate—and his ordained authority as their leader—in the first chapter, Paul (or “Paul”) disputes these toxic notions in the next chapter, and turns to pragmatic truth in chapter 3.

“Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things,” Paul says in verse 2—dismissing the extraneous doctrines as earthbound and unworthy of attention. In their place, He summarizes what should command the believer’s focus, prefacing it with this: “Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature.” (v5) In case we’re unsure “whatever” that is, he makes a list: sexual obsessions, greed, anger, malice, gossip, insults, and lies. Everything he cites spins off the urge to prove we’re better or more important by securing better or more lovers, money, or influence than others have. One-upmanship isn’t confined to secular life, either. The teachers Paul vilifies also tout superior levels of spirituality, piety, and ethnicity. This is impossible, verse 11 says: “Since Christ is all and is in all, there are no Gentiles or Jews, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarians, nomads, slaves or free citizens.” Nothing we’ll ever achieve or possess can raise us above anyone else. Christ is the Great Equalizer. Know we’re all equal and don’t forget it, Paul says.

Called to Peace

Although the false doctrines foisted on the Colossians run the gamut from impenetrably abstract to imperviously literal, they share a common thrust—claiming exclusivity as God’s elect. In verse 12, Paul assures the Colossians their equal acceptance is secure and reorients them to what’s truly important. He writes, “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.” Instead of demanding the impostors correct their thinking, he places the onus on us to disarm advocates of religious elitism and discrimination with tender care. “Bear with each other,” he says. “Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.” (v13-14) With this, equality acquires a much weightier significance than same status. Being chosen, holy, and dearly loved people carries certain expectations and responsibilities. There is no high road and low road to choose between; there’s only one road. It’s level and accessible to all. And it leads to peace.

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace,” verse 15 says. Whether triggered by base cravings or high-minded ideals, efforts to prove our superiority to others inevitably end in strife. Somebody always gets hurt—and most often it’s us. We weren’t called to prove anything. We were called to peace. When we give Christ’s peace complete rule of our hearts, it governs our desires as well as thoughts and feelings they produce. It overrides compulsions to compete with those trying to belittle us and destroy our faith. We speak peace to the confusion they generate by responding with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. We tolerate and forgive, and most of all we love—not to convince anyone we’re better, but being convinced we’re no better than anyone.

Mercy and Grace

The third chapter of Titus, another Pauline epistle of questionable origin, houses a passage very similar to Colossians 3. It encourages us “to slander no one, to be peaceable and considerate, and to show true humility toward all men.” (v2) We’re reminded, “We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.” (v3-5) This synchs up with Ephesians 2.8-9: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.” Because of God's mercy and grace we’re saved. Even faith is a gift we receive, not a thing we can take pride in doing on our own. Before we get too caught up in how right and wonderful we are, we should take the last three words of Colossians 3.15 to heart: “And be thankful.”

Going into this thanksgiving season, let’s be thankful we’re no better than anyone else. Let’s express our gratitude for every opportunity to humble ourselves and extend compassion and kindness, gentleness and patience to others. Let’s thank God for this magnificent gift of faith to know His love, mercy, and grace are real—to offer forgiveness out of grateful hearts healed by His forgiveness. Let’s thank Him for His peaceful governance of our lives. We are His chosen people, holy and dearly loved. If no other blessings come our way, that’s more than enough to be thankful for.

Seeking status is a pointless endeavor that always ends in strife. Thank God for true equality in Christ.

(Next: In Word and Deed)

Postscript: Minor Changes

This past week saw the fewest posts of any week since Straight-Friendly launched in June 2008. In part, this was because it’s taken longer than I expected to bounce back from last weekend’s illness. It’s also due to the demands of maintaining a daily schedule in addition to personal and professional duties. Finally, I’ve needed to devote extra time proofreading Straight-Friendly: The Gay Believer’s Life in Christ, a book I wrote two years ago that prompted the blog. In the next two weeks I hope to announce it’s in print and available for purchase. (Pray with me about this, please.)

Consequently, I’m making some minor changes here, moving from a daily format to publishing posts every second day. Over time, the posts have grown to explore topics and texts in greater detail. No one is more aware than I of the burden this places on you by doubling the reading time of the earlier posts. It’s a lot to keep up with. Yet I also feel our conversation here is richer as a result. Slowing the frequency of the posts gives you more time to read and respond, and me more time to prepare them. It just makes sense all around.

I hope none of you will be disappointed by this and pray you’ll keep dropping by and commenting as always. You have made this place everything it is. I’m grateful to God and you for your faithful, enthusiastic support. And your satisfaction with it matters most of all. By all means, feel free to offer your thoughts about this change, pro or con. Straight-Friendly is a work in progress. Your opinion is of utmost importance.

Blessings always,

Tim

Anger Issues

A hot-tempered man must pay the penalty; if you rescue him, you will have to do it again.

                        Proverbs 19.19 

Mad at the World

The comedian Katt Williams talks about people “who are hard all the time, from the time they wake up until they go to bed.” Paraphrasing slightly to tidy up his fondness for volatile euphemisms, he says, “They’re mad before they eat breakfast. [You want to say] ‘What’s wrong with you? It’s 7 o’clock in the morning and you’re bangin’ on bacon?’” The line gets big laughs of recognition at how ridiculous anger can get. Second to hate, anger is the most malignant emotion we know. It enters our hearts on the heels of injury (actual or perceived) and creeps through our system until it seizes our thoughts, feelings, and physiology. Angry responses are inevitable; they’re part of our emotional palette. Though this may surprise some, we get angry because our Creator gets angry. For example, 1 Kings 11.9 tells us, “The LORD became angry with Solomon because his heart had turned away from the LORD.” The difference between God and many of us, however, is we nurse anger while He quickly releases it to find a better way. In Exodus 32.14 we read: “Then the LORD relented and did not bring on his people the disaster he had threatened.”

Flashes of anger are understandable. Sustained anger has no reason. It searches for new targets to justify its existence. Our neighbor does something that makes us mad. To stay mad, we’ve got to get mad at something else he/she does, and then something else. When that source runs dry, we start noticing other things to be angry about—maybe a spouse or third neighbor who knows why we’re mad but doesn’t take our side. Before long, we’re angry with everyone who doesn’t get mad with us. Eventually, we’re mad at the world--we're bangin' on bacon--which ends with us being angry with ourselves most of all.

Anger Is Costly

Strangely enough, Solomon—whose behavior enraged God—captures the price of sustained anger. “A hot-tempered man must pay the penalty.” Anger is costly. It creates enormous debts in relationships, many of which we can never fully satisfy with later regret and apologies. But it also exacts a tremendous toll on us. Constantly angry people wind up horribly lonely. No one wants to be subjected to endless flows of poisonous, erratic behavior. Anger makes people unhealthy, and unhealthy to be around. They’re unreasonable, selfish, and sad. It doesn’t take long to realize nothing will make them happy, because they’re hell-bent on being miserable. And even the most patient people remove themselves to invest their energy and optimism in others who’ll appreciate and benefit from them.

What’s most intriguing about Solomon’s counsel is his decision to pair wisdom about hotheads with sound advice for those around them. “If you rescue him once, you will have to do it again.” Anger’s greatest expense is the trouble it causes. Angry partners set fires of humiliation and despondency in those committed to love them for life. Angry parents etch scars of fear and hostility in their children’s hearts. Angry children crush parental confidence and fulfillment. Although specific outcomes vary, all who suffer uncontrolled wrath and struggle unsuccessfully to rescue the angry person share one common emotion—lost hope. The bitterness of failure never fades entirely, nor trepidation about trusting others. Only God can say how many deserving relationships are undone by the ripple effects of foolishly nursed rage.

Power Struggles

Anger issues are basically power struggles. They’re fed by subterranean wells of fear and perceived worthlessness. Think about what makes us angry: suspicions no one notices or cares what happens to us; feeling useless or rejected; disrespect, deceit, and disregard. We give way to anger to reassert our value. Behaviors and situations that don’t challenge our insecurities may annoy us, but they don’t make us mad. Only those tapping into hidden anxieties bring anger to the surface. Outbursts of rage are primitive attempts to regain control—to conquer fear by inflicting it on others, to increase our value by slicing into anyone unfortunately within range. But anger never delivers on its promise. Never in human history has it produced a desirable effect. And frankly, if we actually believe persistent anger can change things for the better, we’re mad fools.

Solomon offers the key to overcoming power struggles brought on by personal insults and injuries. In Proverbs 16.32, he writes, “He who is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he who rules his spirit than he who takes a city.”  (NKJV) Control of situations triggering rage comes by taking control of our anger. Meanness is not might, nor intimidation a show of power. Anger exposes weakness and impotence. It validates the very things it means to disprove. Cruel, vengeful people will do and say everything possible to enrage us, playing us like self-destructive puppets for their personal pleasure. We have two options. We can allow them to string us up and, in doing so, ruin our lives and dozens we touch. Or we can defeat their intentions by letting anger pass and, like our Father, find a better way to resolve our issues. Here’s Solomon’s suggestion in Proverbs 15.1: “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” His wisdom cuts both ways; gentleness halts anger in others and in us.

Anger never delivers on its promise. Never in human history has it produced a desirable effect.

(Tomorrow: Homeward Bound)

Give 'Em Something to Talk About

By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.

                        John 13.35 

How About Love?

I’m predisposed to like Bonnie Raitt. She exudes a kind of old-soul pragmatism I find appealing in its skill to cut to the chase without getting twisted up in superfluous emotions. In fact, a number of her songs are written from the viewpoint of someone so self-contained and experienced petty nonsense flies right by her. Raitt’s 1991 single, “Something to Talk About”—her biggest hit to date—draws on this perspective. Its freewheeling tone and tempo set the song in the voice of a more seasoned lady speaking to a younger or perhaps less worldly man. Evidently they’ve been friends for a while and their relationship has set tongues wagging with suspicion they’re lovers. At first she dismisses the idea. But then she detects there may be some validity to the rumors. The talk makes her buddy nervous, as if he’s concerned it will reveal his hidden desire for her. She welcomes the chance to take their friendship to a more intimate level, however, and tells him, “Let’s give ‘em something to talk about, a little mystery to figure out. How about love?” In one fell swoop, she brings love into her life and defuses the rumors by confirming them. How smart is that?

People Talk

It’s absurd to imagine we can conduct ourselves in such a way we’ll never become grist for the gossip mill. People talk. And most of the time, their reason for talking has more to do with them than us. They talk to prove how much they know. (“Well, I heard…”) If we can’t prevent being talked about, we can influence what people say by giving them something to talk about. Basically, that’s Jesus’s point in telling us “everyone will know you’re My disciples if you love one another.” When we’re known for our love, what’s said about us is affected in one of two ways. Either people discuss how we love others as ourselves, or if someone suggests otherwise, they and their comments carry no credible weight.

Christ and His disciples work in an atmosphere crackling with gossip and character assassination. This is common in repressive environments like theirs—where everyone issubjected to intense scrutiny by the religious right—as well as among oppressed groups like the Jews living under Caesar’s thumb. People who feel unworthy and powerless grab at anything they can to prove their legitimacy. Knowledge is power; it confers authority—if it’s authentic. Speculation boomerangs on the talker. People stop listening to the gossip and start talking about the gossiper. Jesus explained how to handle talebearers in His Sermon on the Mount: “Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven.” (Matthew 5.11) Here, He instructs us to be known for love so those who limit their conversation to facts can only speak well of us. “Give ‘em something to talk about,” He says, “a little mystery to figure out. How about love?”

Good Gossip

Is anyone more fascinating than one who loves without condition and restraint? A person who’s known for his/her love generates good gossip by raising questions about where so much love comes from and how it’s constantly expressed. Here’s a quick story to illustrate this. A friend whose dating history is rather spotty introduced her new boyfriend to several of us. Beyond being handsome, he was also outgoing, unaffected, and genuinely fond of our girl. He became the hot topic before we could get home to call one another about him. Surely something’s wrong somewhere, we thought, because everything about him seems right. So far, everything indicates we were wrong—not only for talking, but also for doubting—and we still spend more than usual time discussing him. With the cynicism behind us, though, our conversation revolves around what a fine, gentle, loving guy he is. He mystifies us and we feel honored to know him.

When people talk about us, what do they say? It’s worth noting, because it’s a good measure of how well we’ve mastered Jesus’s instructions. It’s often said love is a decision, not an emotion. Yet in light of Christ’s commandments, there’s nothing to decide. Love is what we do. It’s what we’re known for. Choice isn’t an option. We love equally and unilaterally, without selective preference. If we truly seek identification with Jesus, our first order of business is to love as He loves. Deciding we can love some more and others less (or not all) also gives people something to talk about. But what’s said won’t reflect Christ. In John 3.16, Jesus states His impetus for living and dying as one of us: “God loved the world.” As His disciples, we understand each of us comes into this world for the same purpose and reason. God loves the world. We embody and express His love accordingly. Loving everyone, from our closest friends to our worst enemies, we fulfill Christ’s laws of love and squelch false rumors. People won’t have to be told we follow Jesus. They’ll know. That’s something to talk about!

Give ‘em something to talk about. How about love?

(Tomorrow: Noble Attempts)

Postscript: Can’t Resist…

The Raitt tune’s been pounding in my ears the whole time while writing this. Although it’s not about discipleship, the chorus very well could be. For those who need a refresher, here it is.

Anniversary Post: Every Word Heard

Then those who feared the LORD talked with each other, and the LORD listened and heard. A scroll of remembrance was written in his presence concerning those who feared the LORD and honored his name.

                        Malachi 3.16

One Year Ago Today…

I clicked on blogger.com and spent the better part of six hours figuring out how it worked and if I could transfer what I saw in my head and felt in my heart to a computer screen. Availability of the blog’s name was the first of many surprises, since Googling “straight-friendly” rang up more than 35 million results. This seemed to confirm the blog was headed down the right path. The next hour went to finding a header photo and learning to upload it and lay text against it. Once I got that down, the description flew off the keyboard, because I already knew what Straight-Friendly wanted to be: “a daily devotional for GLBT and other alienated Christians—with occasional personal observations.”

That’s all I knew, though. I had no idea what it would require in terms of personal commitment and time to hammer out a few paragraphs a day. Indeed, little ahead was visible, let alone imaginable. I didn’t see and never dreamed Straight-Friendly would gain the encouragement of far-flung pastors, congregations, and individuals from nearly every denomination. Nor did I see or dream it would bless me with dozens of relationships I will cherish for life. I never saw or imagined how much I would learn and grow from so many who offered so much simply because that’s what Christians do.

When You Showed Up

For six weeks, I cranked out posts with not a comment from anyone other than friends I invited to drop by. Those days in limbo frustrated me, naturally, but in hindsight I understand what was happening. I needed time to develop discipline to pray, meditate, and study, to write day-in and day-out, to learn not to expect responses (to this day, I’m always delighted when one comes in), to go with what I believed instead of anything I saw. The blog needed time to get up on its feet and assume a life of its own. Then, starting in mid-August, you appeared, one by one, many on the recommendation of John Shuck, the amazing pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Elizabethton, Tennessee. John was S-F’s first new friend, has remained a true friend, and I’ll ever be grateful for his inspiring support, in both word and example.

When you showed up, you held out your hands and opened your hearts and Straight-Friendly suddenly became something far richer. Its mission didn’t change. It still centered on Christ’s doctrine of love. It still urged disenfranchised believers—particularly GLBT ones—to overcome rejection from other Christians. It still searched the Scripture for guidance as we strive to express God’s love and acceptance to others. But once you came, you transformed this echo chamber into a resonant garden. Faith, hope, and love thrived. Joy broke through dark clouds of worry, despair, and intolerance. You made this place safe for all with your gentle humanity and spiritual candor. All it is, and all God blesses it to become, is because of who you are. I love you immensely for that.

Written In His Presence

In this very short year, I’ve discovered when people who love and honor God find one another, we drop everything—differences, inhibitions, and assumptions—to celebrate what ties us together. Like those whom Malachi mentions, we talk with each other. We speak of God’s love and forgiveness, His power and healing, our joy and pain, our hope and confidence. We encourage one another. We rejoice together. We pray side-by-side at the cross. We sing at the empty tomb. We learn and we laugh. The Lord listens closely. Every comment is noted, every emotion felt, every word heard.

What began as a cheerleading site for ostracized believers blossomed into “a scroll of remembrance written in His presence concerning those who fear the Lord and honor Him name.” Straight-Friendly is a very precious thing to me, a living record of friendship and fellowship, of blind love and bold kindness, of earnest searches and thrilling discoveries, of lessons and longing. It astounds me more than I can say but doesn’t surprise me in the least because, as Ephesians 3.20 says, God does “immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.”

I’ve seen God's power at work in all of you. I’ve experienced the richness of His favor through your love and prayer and support. I’ve felt your strength and marveled at your courage. I pray each of you a bounty of blessings for so vividly conveying the majesty of our God’s miraculous love and light.

Holding every one of you forever in my heart,

Tim

You showed up and this echo chamber became a resonant garden.

(Tomorrow: The Strength You Have)

Postscript: "Pride Parade" on Youtube

Cuboid Master asked if I'd post Friday's PFLAG/Welcoming Church "Pride Parade" video on Youtube so she could share it. Here's the link for any of you interested in posting it at your place or sending it family and friends:

Pride Parade