a familiar face…

i wrote this last fall. i was struggling with the people in the Bible being so familiar to me. like old pictures on a wall that i overlook because i’ve passed by them so many times. one day, as i read about this familiar face in John 8, this person actual took form in my mind, became a woman who actually lived, who had a story, who had been made new by the Savior.

since writing this, i have struggled with it. is it ok to expand on something found in Scripture, when i obviously am creating a big portion of her story? is it taking away from who Jesus was in her life, or does it somehow help me understand Him more? is it belittling her somehow since it may not be the truth of who she was? ever since i wrote this, many other familiar faces have taken shape in my mind. however, i haven’t been settled enough with this to write them out.

on the other hand, i’ve been praying 2 very specific things for awhile now…should i be writing? if so, what? these people’s stories continue to float to my mind. i’m still not sure what to do.

what are you thoughts on this? after reading her story, would you let me know what you think? not of my writing (i’m not even sure i’m quite done with her story), but how this type of expansion of words in Scripture affects you? i appreciate any thoughts you might have!

…………………………………………………..

She smoothed down her brown curls, pinched her cheeks to bring a bit of color, checked the rising dough and rushed out the door. They only had a small window of time. As she moved quickly down the dusty streets, she gazed around her…first at obstacles, then at faces. Were they ones she recognized? Did they know?

She reached the door of the stable behind his home. She tapped on the door as she slipped inside. Her eyes searched for him, but he wasn’t there. She glanced toward the corner…their corner.

True, she shared her bed with her husband, but there was something about this corner in this stable. Dust swirled in the air from the hay, the stench of manure wafted through the place, but it was of no matter. This was their corner. A place for only them.

As she knelt down in that corner to straighten the rough wool which lay atop a pile of hay, she heard his footsteps. Her heart leapt. She turned to watch him enter.

‘You’re here,” he sighed.

“Of course!” was her reply.

Not be there? This was the highlight of her week. He was the highlight of her life, wasn’t he? Not her children, not her husband. Him. Somehow he made her feel young again…excited…alive!

They weaved themselves in each other’s arms, and their yearning swept them away from reality.

“What was that?” she gasped.

They had both heard it. The shuffling of feet. The rumble of low voices. Their bodies stilled.

It was them…the scribes and the Pharisees. The holy men. The lawkeepers. They knew. They had come for him. She quickly dressed as fear pierced her heart.

Wait. They seemed to be talking to him somewhat casually. Did he know them? They called him by name, and they weren’t tying his wrists. What did this all mean?

A rough hand grabbed her arm. The voice of the old scribe was coarse.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Her trembling fingers finished securing the rope around her waist. She looked up…sought the face she knew so well…her eyes imploring him to save her. He held her gaze for a moment and then turned his head.

They shoved her out of the stable and ostentatiously lead her down the dusty streets. Her mind was swirling. Where were they taking her? Why were they taking her? Why hadn’t they taken him, which was the custom? The faces all around…the knowing eyes. Her husband. Was he near? Perhaps he was walking home for lunch. Were they headed that way?

She knew the law. The punishment for adultery was death. She shuttered as she saw the rocks on the street. They were not smooth. The jagged edges would pierce her skin and break her bones. And ultimately…end her life.

They turned a corner. Couldn’t they just take her to the outskirts of the town? Why were they going into the temple where so many people were? Tears streamed down her face as the throng of people glared and cruel words tore at her ears and into her heart.

The multitude was encircling something. As they neared the center, she realized it was that man she heard about. The one who supposedly did impossible things. What was his name? Joseph? James? No…she just couldn’t remember.

The hands holding her arms thrust her directly in front of him. Her captors smirked.

“Teacher,” they spoke with such pompous authority. “This woman was caught in the act of adultery. The law of Moses says people of her sort should be stoned. What do you say?”

The teacher heard them. He was well aware that they were only using this terrified, adulterous woman to find fault in him in order to bring charges against him. But silence followed. No response. He didn’t look at them. He didn’t speak. In fact, all necks bent in confusion as they watched his finger reach down and touch the earth.

As tears stained her face, her eyes widened with alarm. What was he doing? Was he readying to grab this dirt to throw into her face? Or maybe that rock near his foot. Would he throw the first stone? What was he doing? Drawing on the ground? Writing something? She couldn’t quite tell. Why was he taking so long?

She just wanted it to be over. Whatever he said couldn’t negate the law. The heavy silence that filled the air was deafening to her.

He slowly rose. “Whichever one of you has no sin, you throw the first stone.” Stunned faces followed him as he knelt back down, finger again to the earth.

What did this mean? She didn’t understand. She was bewildered by the silence and the confusion of the past few minutes. Why were they waiting? What did he mean…the one who has no sin…the law said they all had sin.

She lifted her gaze away from this stranger just in time to see the back of the oldest man of the group…the one who had squeezed her arm so roughly. He was walking away. Through tear-glazed eyes she saw another turn to go. Then another. She stared…numb.

Soon she was alone…with him…this stranger who did unthinkable things.

“Woman,” he said gently. “Where are they? Has no one condemned you?”

“No one, sir,” she stammered.

“I do not condemn you either. Go now, and sin no more.” He spoke with such authority and yet with love.

She felt raw and exposed. Tears poured out of unknown places. Her eyes fixed on him. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t move. And there she stayed for some time.

She finally turned to go. Who was this man? His words, so full of power and disruptive. His eyes fierce and tender. She stumbled back down the dust-filled streets, unaware of the eyes gaping at her on all sides. His words, “Go now…and sin no more.” Who could say such words? She didn’t even really understand what they meant.

There were so many things to sort through. Why was she walking back home? She should be dead. How would she explain this to her husband? Her children? Her friends? What about the corner in the stable? How could she live and not sin?

In the midst of the storm of questions, she somehow knew that because of this man, the one who had saved her life, she would never be the same.

She couldn’t be.

letting…

“but how can God bring this about in me?

–let Him do it and perhaps you will know.

…George MacDonald

more than a workable life…

from Practice Resurrection by Eugene Peterson…

God. we begin with God. that seems obvious enough. “in the beginning God”…”God said”…”God so loved the world”…God. God. God. God who got the cosmos going. God who sent Jesus. God in whose name we received our baptismal identity. but obvious as it is, it is mighty difficult to maintain a visceral sense of that beginning. God begetting, when we don’t have our Bibles open before us, or are not in church.

we have short attention spans. having been introduced to God, we soon lose interest in God and become preoccupied with ourselves. self expands and soul atrophies. psychology trumps theology. our feelings and our emotions, our health and our jobs, our friends and our families muscle their way to center stage. God, of course, is not exactly sent packing or shut in a closet or close up in the Bible. but God is consigned to the sidelines, conveniently within calling distance to help out in emergencies and be availabe for consultation for the times when we have run out of answers.

our days are busy with little leisure for frills. we have work to do, interests to pursue, books to read, letters to write, the telephone to answer, errands to run, children to raise, investments to tend to, the lawn to mow, food to prepare and serve, the garbage to take out. we don’t need God’s help or counsel in doing any of these things. God is necessary for the big things, most obviously creation and salvation. but for the rest we can, for the most part, take care of ourselves.

that usually adds up to a workable life, at least when accompanied by a decent job and a good digestion. but–it is not the practice of resurrection, it is not growing up in Christ, it is not living in the company of the Trinity, it is not living out of our beginnings, our begettings [God]. if we live too far removed from, or worse, disconnected from, our origins, we will never arrive at the “full stature of Christ.”

 

i am one…

by Miriam Jones

i am one of his disciples
i am one who bears his name
i am one of satan’s rivals
i am one and i am unashamed

i am orphan made a daughter
i am a harlot made a wife
i’m a poor man called to dinner
i am a stranger recognized

oh i am the image of a hidden glory
yes i am danced over died for willingly
oh i am the keeper of a coming kingdom
and hallelujah i am home to coming King

i am one of his defiers
i am one of his runaways
i have fought him to the wire
and i have cursed him to his face
but i am one who he has pardoned
i am one who knows his grace
though the world my heart would harden
His love avows to keep it safe

beautiful…

mark 14:1-9

it was now two days before the passover and the feast of unleavened bread. and the chief priests and the scribes were seeking how to arrest him by stealth, and kill him; for they said, “not during the feast, lest there be a tumult of the people.”

and while he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at table, a woman came with an alabaster flask of ointment and pure nard, very costly, and she broke the flask and poured it over his head.

but there were some who said to themselves indignantly, “why was the ointment thus wasted? for this ointment might have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor.”and they reproached her.

but Jesus said, “let her alone! why do you trouble her? she has done a beautiful thing to me.” 

for you always have the poor with you, and whenever you will, you can do good to them; but you will not always have me. she has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for burying. and truly i say to you, wherever the gospel is preached in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.”

…………….

woman!

what a blessed contrast you make to the rulers in Jerusalem! they would preserve their power; you come with no power at all. they vaunt themselves; you have—except for one remarkable characteristic—no self at all.

what is your name that i might address my praise to you? i don’t know. were you someone’s mother? i don’t know. were you old, bent by years of experience? were you a prostitute? or else praiseworthy for purity and virtue? were you poor, the ointment an impossible expense for you? or rich, with easy access to a hundred such flasks? i don’t know. mark never says. i know nothing about you save this: that you anointed the head of my Lord.

ah, but that’s enough to know! that deed alone is your identity, your entire being: your self. it memorializes you forever. “what she has done,” says Jesus, “will be told in memory of her.” woman, now you are that deed, neither more nor less than that deed. i marvel at you. i pray God that i might do—and therefore be—the same.

for what was your gesture? an act of pure love for Jesus particularly. it was an act so completely focused upon the Christ that not a dram of worldly benefit was gained thereby. nothing could justify this spillage of some three hundred days’ wages, except love alone. the rulers who sought to kill Jesus were motivated by a certain reasonable logic; but your prodigality appears altogether unreasonable—except for reasons of love. the disciples, in fact, were offended by an act that produced nothing, accomplished nothing, fed no poor, served no need. they reproached you as a wastrel.

they were offended by the absurd, an act devoted absolutely to love, to love alone.

but Jesus called it “beautiful.”

who else anointed our High Priest, as priests should surely be anointed in office? who else anointed our King, the son of David? who else anointed the body of our Savior for burial? no one but you. i don’t know that you consciously recognized these offices of the Lord; but love instinctively sees the truth. love enhances and names in truth. no one else anointed him and by that gesture declared him Messiah, the Christ. the act, therefore, was more than beautiful. It was rare and rich with meaning.

and since the act is all there is of you, since humility has reduced you to this single thing alone and now you are no more nor less than your love for the Lord, you yourself are beautiful and rare and rich with meaning.

you are the beauty of faithful loving.

to those who do not truly love, you will ever be ephemeral or else an offense, either a shadow or an idiot. to me you are a model. you gave up all; you became nothing at all save love for the Lord; and exactly so are you remembered. here, “wherever the gospel is preached in the whole word,” is love’s monument!

you, nameless, anonymous, lovely indeed: thank you!

………….

Jesus, i love you, i love you!

cleanse me of anything that is not love for you, even though the world will thin me preposterous and my friends—some of whom are your disciples—will not be able to make sense of me. you are all the sense and meaning i need. i love you.

amen.

…by Walter Wangerin Jr in Reliving the Passion