The man before the miracle

Bet'cha can't go six months of consistent church going and sermon-listening before you'll hear some adaptation and some way of working in the feeding of of the five thousand into a message, if it's not the central theme of the message. It's one of the more popular "go to's". But I got to wondering this morning how often the part just before that admittedly incredible and multi-layered miracle is talked about and thought about. In Matthew, the story of the feeding of five thousand starts in chapter 14 verse 15.

But in that very same chapter, in verse six, Matthew writes about the beheading of John the Baptist. Jesus thought a lot of John. So much so that Jesus not only allows, but insists that John be the one to baptize him. What I'm saying is that John meant an awful lot to Jesus. So as Matthew tells it, the daughter of Herodias gets anything she wants for her birthday. To her credit, she does not ask for a pony or Miley Cyrus tickets, instead she asks for John's head on a platter. Malibu Barbie it ain't. But since Herodias' daughter gets what she wants, John the Baptist is beheaded. Then Jesus is told and he is understandably upset. So much so that he "withdrew by boat to a solitary place" (verse 13). But by this point in Jesus' life he had enough of a paparazzi like crowd that going to a "solitary place" usually didn't last very long. Matthew says the crowds followed him - the poor guy just lost one of his best friends, he's crushed and wants to be alone, and he can't even get a few minutes to mourn. That crowd that chased him down ended up being the five thousand that he fed in the more talked about miracle. But the point is that Jesus wanted...needed alone time. Of course, being Jesus he set aside his need for solitude and helped to feed five thousand people. But he knew he needed to experience the pain instead of shrugging it off with the fact that he had a bigger mission in mind. He's about to save salvation but he's human enough to take time to hurt.

The same thing happens in John's gospel with the resurrection of Lazarus. When word gets to Jesus that Lazarus is sick and it's not looking good, he is told "Lord, the one you love is sick" (John 11:3). Something else bad is about to happen to someone Jesus is awfully fond of. Jesus knows the entire time - from the moment he hears that Lazarus is sick to moment the subsequent miracle is complete - what is going to happen. If I knew the ending of a movie, I'm probably not going to get overly emotional in the middle of it. Not Jesus, he knows how this movie ends, but he gets very emotional. Verse 33 tells us that when Jesus sees Lazarus' sisters Mary and Martha in mourning and hurting that Jesus became "deeply moved in spirit and was troubled." He knows what's about to happen - why he's come there - but he empathizes with Mary and Martha and the surrounding Jews. He doesn't look at them condescendingly and tell them "Hey, I'm Jesus ain't I? What're you crying about you know I got this!" It's not like it was unlike Jesus to take that kind of tone with people, he often showed frustration with the disciples when they're wide angle lense wasn't quite working. But despite that, he is moved with these people. Two verses later, he's moved to the point that he "wept" (verse 35). In verse 38, he became "once more deeply moved". He then raises Lazarus from the dead and the glory of God is witnessed. It was the intention the entire time. But Jesus did not lose his humanity in the process of being a member of the Trinity knowing he was in the middle of a miracle.

Two miracles, maybe the two cornerstone miracles in Jesus' ministry, yet they were flanked by his vulnerable humanity. I took comfort in that this morning when I saw one of my best friend's little girl. She had her hair in pig tails and was quite frankly adorable. After I let the cuteness process fully, the very next thought in my head was the day that my friend Abbie asked her mother to fix her hair for her before school. Abbie was around seven years old and for all I know, she had asked her mother to put it in pigtails too. Abbie grew up in Vermont and there was ice on the road that morning. The hairdo made her mom late for work, she drove over a patch of ice, hit a truck and was killed. For the rest of Abbie's life, according to Abbie, that hair request killed her mother. So when all of that started coming back I had to excuse myself from the sanctuary right about the time the message was about to start. As far as I know, Will didn't preach on either the feeding of the five thousand or the resurrection of Lazarus. But I just had to get out of there for a minute.

Part of me was wondering, "I thought you were over this? You're still affected? You're in Seminary and you don't know by now?" But that's not at all what it was about. Jesus knew and he still needed to get away for a moment...fleeting as it was. Jesus knew and he still wept and was moved with Lazarus' friends and family. So I eventually decided that simply because I miss my friend and wish she hadn't gone through what she went through doesn't mean that I've forgotten about my salvation or have lost faith. Christians are just as entitled to mourn as anyone else. I didn't wallow in this feeling for days and days. I stepped outside, got some air, looked up these two miracles and went on about my day. But just because you're a Christian and you understand and have faith doesn't mean that you shouldn't experience pain. I'm not talking about not having troubles. I'm talking about the people who think that it's a sin to not have a perma-smile regardless of the situation simply because you believe. The difference is you don't want to stay in that "valley" for long, but you are entitled to experience - not deny - your emotions. Jesus clearly did, it's what made him human.

"Come on up for the risin'..."

Someone mentioned to me the other day, "it seems like a long time since y'all have put anything up on your blog." Ok, that's not true. We took a trip and I thought that it's been a long time since we put anything up. And I'm reading this book about story and thought it would make for a better story if someone else suggested I write about our trip. The rest of this will be true and real...promise.

If you're reading this you probably know that Lindsay's crazy go nuts for musicals. Watching them, singing songs from them, being in them, whatever. So in trying to come up with something original and unique for Christmas, a trip to New York and a Broadway show came to mind. Clearly (to me) this was God encouraging me to pursue my wife's heart because volunteering to go to New York City is something I would have never....ever...ever done otherwise. I told Lindsay about a year ago that I would lay down my life for her. Shortly after that, I heard a voice say, "Then why don't you?" So this is was me trying to actually do that.

It was a hit. When she figured out (Christmas morning) where were going, she teared up a little bit. Before we even packed our bags, it was already worth it. We get up there and it takes (literally) 2 1/2 hours to get from the Newark airport to our hotel. Not a great start. The weather started out chilly and turned to brutally, unforgiving-ly cold (wind chill of 2 degrees on Tuesday). We threw our bags in the room and walked a couple of blocks down to Times Square. Good....Lord. I'll be honest, everything I was afraid I wasn't going to like about New York City, was right here. And to be fair, it wasn't the natives. It was the tourists (darn them). Here's my impression of Times Square: one big freakin', continuous billboard. Good thing we did some other stuff while we were there.

The next day we went up to Central Park. To give you some perspective, Central Park is probably bigger than my hometown. Let alone the rest of the city. Anyway, it's huge. We only covered half of it. You really do almost forget (just for a moment) what surrounds you on each side of the park. Then you pick a direction, look up, and see skyscraper after skyscraper and it all comes back to you. After finding as many movie landmarks as we could think of ("When Harry Met Sally"), we headed back to the south end of the city. Next on our sightseeing list was something I was never sure how to feel about seeing.

That is the skeleton of what will be the biggest statement a building has ever made. I wasn't sure what to do. The entire time we had been in the city, before we even crossed the bridge into the state, I kept seeing it happen. "I wonder what it looked like from here?" "I wonder what it was like to stand here and watch it?" "What if you were driving this way and saw it, what would've gone through your mind?" One of my only regrets about going to New York City is that I didn't go (chose not to go) before. I saw it on tv. I still see it in my mind, but I wished I had seen it before, so I could truly understand what's missing. Tollie understands what's missing. He was a volunteer in the memorial museum right across the street from where they stood. By the way, being down there and seeing just how cramped together everything is, how it didn't take out everything in sight, is one of the ways that I know God really was there, even though it's easy to miss Him through it. Anyway, Tollie wasn't there that day. His brother was. Tollie was a fireman and part of the clean-up/recovery effort. He came Friday the 14th. Lindsay told him about her dad and how he was a volunteer fireman back home, and his 60th birthday was coming up. I asked if volunteering in the memorial...museum for lack of a better word...helped. He said it depends on the day. He told us about the one time he was leading a tour. He stopped to point out something on the tour and when he turned, he saw it. He saw the mountain of...think of the worst thing imaginable....that's what it was a mountain of. And the people on the tour stood there and waited, while he went through this flashback. A moment or two later, he resumed. He understands too damn well. Earlier when I mentioned wondering what it looked like from different angles, I can't help but think of one guy who made it out. Who looked up from his work and saw this plane bearing down on him. Part of the wing sliced through his office. I bet there are days he wonders if surviving, trying to sleep with that vision really was a blessing. You move through this museum where there's a time line of that day and the bombing in '93. Then there's a room where they've displayed some of the things recovered. A spoon from one of the restaurants inside, a flier for something, and elevator button, a window to one of the planes. Yeah. There's a window frame to one of the planes on display. Imagine looking out that window, and realizing, it's over. Then in that same room is a fire suit. It is torn down the right shoulder. From the shoulder all the way down to the bottom. That's how the body was found. If you think reading this is graphic, if you think seeing it in a museum is graphic, try being Tollie. Try being in his mind during one of his flashbacks. That's graphic. But it's important. I'm not one of those who thinks you should watch it everyday to remind yourself of the lesson we supposedly learned (and have seemingly totally forgotten-the one about loving each other more). It's important because there are stories to be told. Stories cut short. Stories of amazing survival and miraculous second chances. Stories of unimaginable pain. New York is not a city that is defined by what happened on that day. The day after or the day after. New York is defined by the fact that 10 years later, they're well underway with rebuilding. More than just a building. I shook Tollie's hand as he walked out the door, he remembered to wish my father-in-law a happy upcoming 60th birthday. I thought as he left the room and that particular scene in our lives, "of all the things for him to remember, he remembered that Larry's turning 60 this year. That must've been a nice little escape for him. I hope the rest of his memories become that easy to live with."