oneness joins two
I desire oneness with you, Jesus. I understand you want the same with me. You prayed for that oneness during the days before your death. To be one with you would mean I would faultlessly understand your will. I could understand your mysteries. I would perfectly walk in your ways every day. If I were one with you, Lord, your thoughts would be my thoughts. Never again would I have to wonder which path to take. Never again would I be plagued by doubt or sin that now defeats me. If I were one with you, my personality would meld with yours and yours with me. I would demonstrate love, joy, peace, patience, humility, and hope everyday.
So if I want this union and you want this union, what prevents it from happening? Why do I profess to want oneness with you and yet pull away? Why do I insist on maintaining my separateness as an individual driven by my own pride? Why do I insist on doing things my way as if your way is not good enough? Why do I continually seek after my own way, rather than seeking yours? Perhaps I’m afraid of oneness. I’m afraid my identity will be swallowed into nothing and I will cease to exist. Remind me that oneness does not strip one of identity or uniqueness. Rather, oneness joins two in the pursuit of one goal, one purpose. This I can understand, and this I seek.
What is even more difficult for me in these days is your prayer that your followers be one. You prayed that we might “be brought to complete unity.” Your desire seemed to be that the world be drawn to you and to your love because of the oneness they see in your followers. This is painfully difficult for me because there are some Christians I oppose. There are some who call themselves Christian that make me shutter. I desire to be one with you because you are perfect and I want to be so. How can I desire oneness with others who, like me, fall far short of perfection?
Further, what is the basis of this unity with other believers? Sometimes, we can’t agree on even the most basic theological principles. Lord, I truly wish the church could live in oneness, for I know that our division often causes non-believers to turn their head in disgust. Forgive us this holy week. May believers from all over the globe set aside their differences and petty theological disputes and agree together on the Lordship of Jesus. May we kneel as one and accept the atoning blood of Jesus. May we all together understand our unworthiness before God and humbly accept the sacrifice that makes possible our oneness with you. Amen.
asking for trees to wither
Lord, yesterday when I asked you to teach your church how to pray, it wasn’t me I had in mind. I’ve been praying everyday for decades. Surely, I have it down by now. I was thinking of everyone else. However, you were quick to remind me that I, too, have a long way to go.
In reading the accounts of the week leading up to your crucifixion, I’ve been startled by how much you talked about prayer. I never noticed it before. You begin by pronouncing the Temple as a place of prayer. Then I read the story of the withered fig tree. The disciples are amazed that the fig tree you cursed has withered as if such a thing could not possibly happen. It does seem a bit startling to me as well. You acted as if it were nothing. What is nothing to you, is everything to me. The point, however, isn’t about your power over fig trees. The point, as you so patiently state, is the importance of faith in prayer.
“Whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” You reminded me that it is me that needs to learn to pray. I don’t pray with that kind of faith, Jesus. I tend to hedge my pleas with outs. It’s all rather paradoxical. If I pray with absolute trust for something and that something doesn’t happen, then my faith is damaged. I begin to wonder if you are real. On the other hand, if I pray “soft” prayers that require no faith, then there is never any possibility for the miraculous intervention of God. So I waffle somewhere in the middle pretending I believe, but seldom asking for trees to wither.
If prayer was such a major issue for you during Holy Week, make it a major issue for my life as well. Teach me to pray. Teach me to by unafraid of asking. Teach me to believe I have received it. Teach me to have faith in you. Teach me how to wither trees, move mountains, and make a difference with my prayers. Amen.
a place of prayer
Lord, it is hard for me to understand the purpose of the church. As much as we may profess it or want it, the modern church is different from its first century counterpart. Sometimes I sit in the pew wondering if what I’m experiencing is at all what you had in mind. The first thing you did, Jesus, after riding the colt into Jerusalem, was run people out of the Temple. Sometimes I wonder who needs to be run out of the church today. Perhaps it’s me.
You said the Temple was a place of prayer. The money changers had made it into something else. Their activity of buying and selling detracted from the purpose. There are many things, Jesus, that distract me from prayer and worship.
I am distracted by the showmanship of some worship experiences. How can I pray with the comedy shows and gyrations of the musical talent?
I am distracted by the false faces of those I encounter–members more than happy to welcome me into their building but condemn me or my family outside the building when we falter. How can I pray amid such hypocrisy?
I am distracted by profiteering of marketers–not just those selling things like the money changers in the Temple. I’m talking also about those who use church to gain some advantage–increased business, votes, and creation of personal kingdoms. How can I pray when I feel manipulated?
I am distracted by the proliferation of church programming that judges my worth on how involved I am with endless activities. How can I pray when I feel pulled from my prayers by the need for activity?
I am distracted by pastors and leaders who have abandoned the role of shepherd for that of CEO. How can I pray when I am seen only as on object for their empire?
Two needs I have this holy week, Lord. First, teach me to see past those things that distract me from you. It’s too easy for me to focus on all that is wrong with the modern church and all the ways we fail your purpose. However, when I attend to the church’s faults, I take my attention from you and from the important conversations you invite into.
Second, make me aware of the ways I distract others from prayer and true worship. I know, for example, that my cynical attitude can do nothing but make it hard for others to pray. Teach me to create an atmosphere of prayer; teach me how to lead others to you with undivided focus; teach me how to humbly remove myself as an obstacle to the Divine Presence.
Help the church, Lord, to rediscover this critical part of her reason for being. Help us to once again learn to pray. Amen.
stones will cry out
On this Palm Sunday so long ago you were on top of your game, Jesus. You told the disciples to go get a colt and they obeyed. All you needed to do was speak and people jumped. As you descended into Jerusalem the crowds threw down their cloaks and shouted, “Blessed is the King!” Sure, there were a few skeptics who called on you to quiet the crowds, but you said, “If they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.” The mute stones of the earth would have risen up and proclaimed the Lordship of Jesus. What a day that must have been!
I count myself as one of your disciples, Jesus. I would have obediently gone to get the colt at your bidding. I would have waved my palm branch and bowed before you as you rode past. The disturbing question I must answer every Palm Sunday is what kind of disciple am I at the end of the week? You knew that most of those who proclaimed your kingdom that Sunday would disappear on the day of crucifixion. Some of them, no doubt, flipped from praise to cursing in a matter of a few days. Even the beloved disciples who were obedient on Palm Sunday, fled the garden on Maundy Thursday.
Why is it I so confidently profess my love for you, then abandon you? Why is it I pretend to be so committed only to desert you when times get difficult. Perhaps it’s because I don’t fully understand your kingdom. I, like the praisers on Palm Sunday, want you to make my life easier, more convenient. I want you to sit on a throne and banish all suffering. You, however, descended into Jerusalem intent on sacrifice and death. Just the opposite of what I desire.
Remind me today, Lord, that you didn’t descend to earth in order that my life might never again know sorrow. Rather you came down to show me the way into sorrow. You wept for Jerusalem. You sacrificed your life for me and humanity. I desire that your way be my way. Teach me to weep for the cities. Show me how to offer myself in service. Remind me to join the rocks in praising you whether it’s Palm Sunday or Good Friday. Amen.
sunset on the rock face
Lord, the west facing rock is black at dawn. Lying in deep shadows one cannot see the texture, crevices, and colors. It is little more than cold stone, hard and unforgiving. It’s secrets and potential hidden. At noon, the rock turns shades of gray and black, harsh shadow from overhead. The afternoon sun strikes the face warming the stone, washing out the color, and revealing the faults.
Ah, then comes sunset, Lord. At the long awaited end of the day the rock face reveals its true character. The previously subtle colors show themselves. As the blues, reds, and yellows warm, so does the temperature of the rocks. Harsh crevices turn to distinguished aged wrinkles. Imperfections are no longer blemishes. Now they provide character and distinction.
I really don’t mind aging like I used to, God, because I’m beginning to see how the setting sun might someday reveal my true colors. As a child I didn’t know who I was or what I was to become. My future seemed dark and mysterious. As a teenager, I thought I understood who I was, but now see that everything was black and white, shadow or light with no depth. As a young to middle-aged adult, I became aware of my faults, the deep crevices and the harsh personality.
Now, Lord, I see my colors beginning to show. My edges are softer, my abilities are varied, my personality is less harsh and condemning. I see myself more realistically accepting the disabilities as part of my texture. I know I have much more to learn about myself, much more to reveal. I ask tonight that your sun set upon me gently, that I and others might see truly who you’ve created me to be.
I thank you, God, also for the senior adults in my life that have taught me much about aging gracefully. The beauty of the aging adult who reflects the colors of their God given character have touched my life with their beauty. They have taught me what it means to live with righteousness, humility, love and faith. May I someday be as they have been for me. May the colors of God’s gifts be evident to others who pass by my rock face. Amen.
