Not for death, but for the glory of God—thoughts on the Gospel for 5th Sunday of Lent

 

“This Illness is not to end in death, but is for the glory of God,

that the Son of God might be glorified through it.” –John 11:4

 

This Sunday’s Gospel is a lengthy section John 11, telling the story of the raising of Lazarus from the dead. There are so many elements in this story worth our contemplation.  The resurrection of Lazarus, coming out of the tomb still bound in burial cloths. What a striking image. Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus are models of faith and prayer, service and contemplation. The fact that Jesus waits 2 days before he responds to their plea is certainly something worth our attention.  What does that mean? Why would He do that? And there is, of course, Martha’s own confusion about the behavior of Jesus: 

 

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died…”  (cf. John 11:21)

 

How many times have we all felt that way? Asked almost that very same question: Where were you God, when my father died? Why weren’t you there to protect my husband, my wife, my child,  from cancer? From that car accident? From depression? From temptation? From all harm??

 

This chapter is so rich, in fact the readings for these past three Sundays have been so very rich; such fruitful food for prayer.  But, for me there was that strange and wonderful word from Jesus that comes early in the chapter:

 

“This illness is not to end in death, but is for the glory of God…”

 

And yet, Lazarus is sick, and Lazarus does die. His sisters and friends begin the process of mourning and burial for him.  They are not spared that suffering.  They must still endure it.  His death is real. Their grieving is real.  The suffering is real—and yet… there is something more: the glorification of Jesus that arrives somehow within the suffering, the grieving.

 

There are two things I am pondering about this reading today;

 

First, there is the reality of that suffering; the sorrow and mourning of Martha, Mary and their friends, as well as the actual suffering of Lazarus (unto death).  The fact that we have faith, or that we might offer up our suffering, does not in any sense diminish the pain.  It still hurts, still makes us question, challenges our faith and our heart and our soul—and may even cripple our bodies.  Being a “Christian” doesn’t spare you any of that human suffering; though it may give you comfort, it won’t take away the sting.

 

Second, that idea of Lazarus’s death being for the glory of God, and the glorification of Jesus.  That—I think—is what I am trying to get at when I talk of the value of need.  In this story Lazarus is facing the ultimate question, the ultimate insufficiency: death.  Lazarus cannot control death, he can’t work his way around it. Can’t, pull up his bootstraps and defeat it with gumption and positive thinking.  Like every single one of us, he is insufficient to that task.  And hence, his sisters calling out to Jesus for help.  They need help.  They cannot do this on their own. Their vulnerability overwhelms them.  And what does this vulnerability, this need do to their community?  It draws people to them. Friends, family, neighbors, come to offer comfort, to offer consolation, to share the burden of this suffering with Mary and Martha. They come to give of themselves, they leave the comfort and security of their own homes and lives and travel to be with Martha and Mary in their time of need.  And—in some small way—this self-giving, this coming together as community, this sharing of a burden, this entering into another person’s need, is a reflection of (or participation in) God’s love, God’s mercy, God’s compassion—God’s glory.  

 

And then, on a whole other level, there is Jesus coming to them, entering into their suffering, their need, and calling out of it life itself.  When Jesus calls Lazarus from the tomb, restores him back to life, He reveals something new about Himself to the people watching, even to His apostles standing nearby. He reveals to them His glory—the glory that shines from the very source of life itself: the Father.  But to us, today, who have heard this gospel reading all our lives, who have become overly familiar with the names and the events and just want mass to end so we can go get our coffee and doughnuts, what is Jesus revealing to us? 

 

I think it is Irenaeus who said: The glory of God is a person fully alive…

 

Jesus is glorified by restoring Lazarus to life, but He does this by entering into the sorrow and suffering of Mary and Martha and the mourners; by going to them, toward their need.  And He reveals the fullness of His glory by walking toward the cross, into his own suffering and passion and death—in order to meet us in our sorrow, our suffering, our need for salvation.

 

Walking away from church this morning, I was humbled by the power and mystery of this story, and by the question: How do I follow in His footsteps, unless I am willing to turn my face toward Calvary and walk always toward the cross?

 

Last, let me also say: finding a spiritual value in our insufficiency does not mean that we simply give in to any weakness or that we celebrate a weakness.  An addict or alcoholic may need their drug in order to avoid the pain of withdrawal; but real as that need may be, it does not mean that the best way to help them is to buy them a bottle of gin. A husband may say he needs his wife, but that doesn’t mean she must submit to him.  Helping others, entering into their vulnerability and need, does not mean becoming a doormat or enduring physical abuse.  It does not mean that we feed the addiction or sin of another. But it might look like sitting in silence with someone in their time of crisis, holding their hand, and wishing we could do more but knowing this is all we have to give.  There is a blessed humility in that as well. And God’s glory is revealed there, too.

 

Humbling ourselves, and truly entering into the suffering of another will often be uncomfortable, it will stretch our patience, our love, our faith even.  Like giving birth, it could even be painful at times, but it should always call us to come forth out of the tomb and into the light, where we can reflect the glory of God by becoming vulnerable and fully alive.

 

A reflection on intentions and babies for the 4th Sunday of Advent

“…such was his intention…”

--Matthew 1:18-24

 

We all have intentions, our hopes, our dreams, our plans for the day, for life—even for the holidays.  Maybe we intend to get up earlier, to start the day with a healthy breakfast, to eat more broccoli, to do core exercises every day before heading off to work…  When I was in 4^th grade a teacher asked me what I planned to do with my life.  I told her I wanted to be a singer!  My intention was to be another Donovan… or maybe another Davy Jones, even another John Sebastian.  Later in high school, hoping to impress a young lady, I tried singing for her.  She listened a moment, then asked (with some concern), “Does it hurt when you do that?”   My singing aspirations have been much more private ever since.

 

As the saying goes: If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans. Or sing to your girlfriend.

 

In the Gospel for the 4^th Sunday of Advent, we hear of Joseph and his plans, his intentions.  Oddly enough, this story begins with Joseph original plans crumbling to pieces.  He was planning to get married but, right in the first verse he discovers that his bride has become pregnant and the baby isn’t his.  One can imagine his shock and probable disappointment, however, instead of lashing out or seeking justice, he comes up with another plan. It would seem that he still has some feeling for Mary, and so he plans to spare her any public scene. He intends to divorce her quietly, and protect her from the shame and possible consequences of being accused of adultery, which (at that time) might have included being dragged to the city gates and stoned to death. 

 

Joseph’s intentions were honorable, they were good, they were even merciful, and yet they were not God’s plan, not God’s intention.  God’s intention was to put a baby in Joseph’s house.  Think about that.  And maybe ask yourself: In some way, isn’t that the real point of Christmas?  To let a baby into our house, into our heart, into our life…

 

Consider, what happens when a baby comes into the house?  Speaking from experience, everything changes.  Sleep schedules, diets, volume levels, washing schedules, and even personal hygiene.   The baby makes demands on our time, our energy, our attention, our budget, our love.  A baby demands that we change our expectations, our intentions, our life for it.  Even our TV schedule! I never would have imagined a life that included Barney the Dinosaur and Teletubbies. We have to humble ourselves and do things we never wanted to imagine ourselves doing; i.e. listening to Wee Sing cassettes in the car, or changing a diaper on a city bus, or cleaning up an unexpected mess, and trying to figure out which end it came out of!!

 

A baby demands that we put our own needs and desires aside, for its sake, for its care. That we lay down our life for the sake of another.  And strangely enough, it is the baby that teaches us that this isn’t a curse, this isn’t an agony we want to avoid.  What we learn by caring for a baby, is that the more we sacrifice for a child, the deeper we love it; the more we give ourselves away to their care and their needs, their smiles and their laughter, their peace and their delight, the more we are filled with such things ourselves.

 

Some of my most blessed memories are of waking at 3 in the morning to walk with one of my daughters.  I was exhausted. Often, I was confused. My intention had been to get at least a few hours of sleep, but instead I would hear the cry, or the call from down the hallway and I would climb out of bed—sometimes a little grouchy—but always (in the end) renewed by the chance to comfort their need; in fact, by the gift of their need.  And through that gift,  I was fulfilled. Because somewhere in all that middle of the night walking and swaying and carrying of a baby, I began again to sing.  I became—at least for a time—the singer I had always wanted to be. Walking the floor, or even the neighborhood streets, singing old Bob Dylan songs or folk songs, hobo songs, and especially, “Goodnight Irene.” In my three daughters I had a very appreciative, and a very captive, audience for about 8-9 years—about as long as the Beatles lasted.  I can still remember a time when one of them, by that point a toddler, said to her mother, “No.  Let Daddy sing.  I like it when Daddy sings…”

 

This Christmas, are you ready to let your life be upended? All your plans and intentions disrupted, maybe even utterly and completely changed?  This Christmas are you ready to let a baby into your house? Your heart?  Your life?  This Christmas, don’t just focus on the gift wrapping and the Christmas lights, the traditions and the trappings of the holiday.  This Christmas, take a little time to focus on the baby. Imagine it.  God took flesh and became not a king or a prince or a mighty hero, but a helpless baby, crying in a manger, a baby became completely and utterly dependent on the humans He had created.  Think about that as your Christmas gift… This baby needed feeding, cleaning, needed to be held and to be comforted.  And all He asked was that Mary and Joseph set aside their own plans, their own expectations and intentions and let themselves be changed, blessed and fulfilled beyond their imagining, by the love of a child.

 

This Christmas, let a baby come into your life. 

 

It will change everything.

The One Thing Necessary—some thoughts on Martha and Mary

 

“Jesus entered a village
where a woman whose name was Martha welcomed him.
She had a sister named Mary
who sat beside the Lord at his feet listening to him speak.
Martha, burdened with much serving, came to him and said,
"Lord, do you not care
that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving?
Tell her to help me."
The Lord said to her in reply,
"Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.
There is need of only one thing.
Mary has chosen the better part
and it will not be taken from her." --Luke 10: 38-42

 

Summer vacations are like crucibles. They try our souls and reveal who we really are. Are you a Martha or a Mary?  Do you fret over many things, or do you focus on the one thing necessary?

 

When our children were younger and we would take them on vacations, my wife would be packing suitcases, making lists, coaching the girls on how many toys or how many books they could bring, planning itineraries, planning menus, snacks for the car, food for the hotel room.  She was the one concerned about tire pressure, gas tanks, seating arrangements, departures and ETAs, even cat care while we were gone, mailboxes, home security, her garden; who would water her hydrangeas? 

 

Me—my main worry was the music for the drive; what CD would we play first? As we backed out of the driveway, what song would signal the start of our adventure?  Van Morrison, The Beatles, Ella Fitzgerald, Joni Mitchell, Pete Seeger, or Sharon, Lois and Bram?

 

Was I choosing the “better part?” Or was I just being a husband? Oblivious to the need for preparation to insure a successful vacation?  One thing I know for certain is this: without Lynne doing all that work, I wouldn’t have been free to go out and buy doughnuts and cue up my favorite song.  Without her taking on the responsibility of making sure everyone packed enough underwear and socks, toothbrushes, and a favorite bedtime toy, the vacation might never have happened. 

 

And the same be said of Martha’s hospitality and service.  Like any good hostess, she is busy making sure every empty glass is filled, every plate piled high, every need cared for, every guest welcomed.  Without her efforts there would be no party… Often, this story is cited as a depiction of two kinds of spirituality: service and contemplation.  Martha is service; all hustle and bustle, Mary is contemplation; sitting quietly at the foot of Jesus. And so, some people read the words of Jesus as a verdict on types of spirituality, i.e. that service may be good, but contemplation is better.

 

But, I don’t think that is what Jesus is saying here.  Think about how Jesus answers Martha; what does He actually say:  You are anxious and worried about many things… But only one thing is necessary.  Ok, Jesus… but what is that one thing?

 

The Anglican theologian N.T. Wright often recommends that when we are confused by a passage in the Gospels we should look at the context of the passage; what comes before it? What comes soon after? Reread the entire chapter…

 

The story of Martha and Mary comes directly after the story of the Good Samaritan.  And the story of the Good Samaritan comes as a kind of answer to the question: What is the one thing? What is necessary? What do I have to do to get into Heaven?  And that question is asked by someone who is “anxious” and worried and trying to put Jesus to the test (cf. Luke 10: 25-37). 

 

The Good Samaritan story is a story about a man who knows the one thing necessary: love, compassion, to care for others. The priest and the Levite cross to the other side of the road when they see the victim, because they are blinded by their cares and anxieties. They’re living not in the what is, but in the what if… What if the man is dead and I become unclean? What if he is contagious? What if his needs are too big, his wounds too serious and I can’t help him? Or I don’t know what to do? Or worse, what if I do the wrong thing? What if he is just faking and it is a trap? What if? What if? What if?  

 

But the Samaritan –who may have his own worries and needs and obligations—doesn’t hesitate; he simply goes to the injured man and show love, acts with compassion, becomes a neighbor.

 

What I hear in this story of Martha and Mary isn’t a dichotomy between service and contemplation, but a lesson about focus, about attending to the one necessary thing.  Martha’s service and food and hospitality were a blessing that even Jesus in the moment was enjoying, consider the story of Abraham and the three visitors (cf. Genesis 18:1-10) if you want another example of someone rushing around to prepare food for his guests.  The difference is, Abraham never complains. He is filled with joy at the opportunity to show hospitality, to serve these three strangers.  He gives himself fully to the one necessary thing. 

 

Jesus doesn’t correct Martha’s actions; He doesn’t tell her to slow down and sit still for a minute or come join with Mary at His feet.  Instead, He addresses her attitude. The scattered focus of her anxiety.  As the psalmist says: All doers of evil are scattered (cf. Psalm 92:9).

 

I think Jesus is calling us to focus; to give ourselves completely to whatever we are doing, whatever we are committing ourselves to.  And to not worry about the what ifs.  Sufficient unto the day are the troubles there of...  or to put it another way: Don’t worry about what other people are doing? Or saying… Or thinking… Just be present to the moment, present to what you are doing, who you are with, and do it with love. Let God take care of the rest. 

Do not be afraid, some thoughts on the anxious days before Christmas

“Mary, do not be afraid…”

--Luke 1:30

 

For some reason this morning I woke at 5am, wide awake, thinking about baking and presents that need wrapping and even though I wanted to go back to sleep, instead I got up, fed the cats, mixed up dough for bread, and went for a walk, hoping to clear my head.  Outside the world was beautiful and dark, whispers of clouds gathered here and there in the sky and on the horizon. But mostly this beautiful vault of darkness hovered over me, pin-points of starlight here and there, and the bright moon dazzling in its slow descent before the dawn.  It was peaceful and quiet and calming to be out there in the midst of it.  As I walked at the park, I passed a neighbor who stopped to ask me about my upcoming surgery. (Could be that is what woke me...) She wanted to know if I was okay? Was I afraid?

 What a beautiful way to start the day. An angel of mercy come to me out of the darkness to offer a word of kindness and encouragement. And, at this time of year isn’t that just what we all need.   

In the Gospel of Luke there is that famous story of another angel who shows up unannounced with a message that begins in a similar way: Do not be afraid.

 Of course that is a little different from meeting someone in the park. If I was just sitting at the kitchen counter with my morning coffee and a bagel, reading the funny pages (as we used to call them), and an angel appeared next to the refrigerator telling me not to be afraid, I think my gut reaction would be to scream like a little girl. PLUS… that kind of talk doesn’t usually bode well. It’s kind of like when people say: This won’t hurt a bit. You won’t even feel it[1]. 

 And yet, an important part of the angel’s message is in those four words, “Do not be afraid…” and I think perhaps that part of the angel’s message has been missing in my Christmas. Despite all the joyous trappings: the lights, the trees, the decorations, so much of how we celebrate Christmas is wrapped up in fear. Instead of resting in the joy of the season, how often do I find myself anxious and worried; afraid that I’m not doing enough, that perhaps I forgot something, a present for someone, an ingredient in a recipe, the egg nog in the trunk of the car… There is even the overriding fear of not getting everything just right. Not having that “perfect Christmas.”

But the angel says, Do not be afraid. 

 And, this morning as I ponder that message I hear something else.  Something much more personal to each and every one of us, yet particular to the story of Mary. What is she being asked to do? On a very basic level, she is being asked to save the world.  But, how…  Does she need to raise an army? Gain political power? Get rich? Become a martyr? Start a charity? No… She is simply asked to yes to God and to be herself, live her normal daily life, the life of a simple ordinary woman in 1^st century Palestine. To be who she was made to be.  And through that ordinary everyday life, as a wife and mother, as a refugee and a widow, to bear God into the world.  Of course, Mary is asked this in a very specific way, for she will literally bear the child Jesus into the world—first in her womab and then on her hip, in her arms, and at her side.  Wherever she goes, whatever she does. If she goes to the market, she is bearing Him to the market with her.  When she goes to the well to draw water, Christ goes with her. He is present there at the well, in her, through her, with her.  When she sits in quiet contemplating the beauty of a sunset, Christ is there.  Whether lighting a candle, or humming a song, or going to visit a sick friend, Christ is present in her, with her, through her. 

 That is a message for us to remember this Christmas, that –like Mary-- we are all called to be bearers of Christ into the world. We are all called to be God’s hands and face in the world; we have been given that as a gift.  That is the real gift of Christmas—that God is with us… wherever we go, whatever we do, He is with us. So, if you don’t get those lights up, if you forget to buy presents, or if you happen to leave the egg nog in the trunk of the car (for a week), do not be afraid…

 In fact, that is what we were made for.  And so what do we have to be afraid of? In fact, here’s an idea for this Christmas, a gift that needs no wrapping, and no bows:  why don’t we let go of all those fears and worries and rest in the presence of the one who was born this day in a stable in Bethlehem, the one who is with us always—even unto the ends of the age-- and the one whose hands and feet and face and love we are called to be.  If we could do that, instead of being afraid, we might just relax and Rejoice.  

Merry Christmas, my dear friends.

 

 

 

---

[1] If you’ve ever awakened during the middle of a colonoscopy, you’ll understand the importance of anesthesia…

So Many Things --a Meditation on Advent, Busy-ness, and Luke 10

 

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “You worry
and fret about so many things and yet
few are needed, indeed only one…” 

--Luke 10:41-42

 

 

Martha and Mary—such a famous story; how often have we heard this tale of these two friends of our Lord?  How often have we listened to that famous plea from Martha:  Lord, do you not care that my sister is leaving me to do the serving all by myself? (cf 10:40) And how often have we felt a tinge of sympathy for her plea?  It is such a human cry for help, for recognition, for affirmation.

 

And I hear it echoing in my own heart here at the start of another Advent.  I hear myself crying out incessantly: I have so much to do. How can I get it all done? Work! Chores! Laundry, dishes… Christmas lights to put up! Decorations to dig out of the garage or the attic! Where did we put that wreath? How about the Christmas pug? Did anyone remember to order groceries this week? What’s on Hallmark tonight?  

 

There is so much that wants to get done, that I want to get done.  And the tension of it, the constant busy-ness of it, can lead me away from the one thing needed—to rest in the Lord. 

 

All my life, I have felt a strong sympathy for Martha.  I hear in her plea a cry that echoes in my own.  It is a cry for fairness, for justice!  And it is a cry for recognition. A desperate cry to be noticed—Lord, Lord! Look at me.  See everything I am doing!  See me.  And I know this plea to well.

 

How often have I bitterly cried out to God as I cleaned the cat litter, or fed the cats, or turned on the bathtub so one of them could drink from the spout, or… And how many times have I resentfully folded the laundry? Or bitterly washed a pile of dishes?  Standing there at the sink feeling unappreciated. Unnoticed. Taken for granted.  Feeling like Martha, my soul crying out:  Lord, Lord! Look at me. Don’t You care? I’m overwhelmed! I’m trying to do everything, and nobody seems to notice!

 

And yet, what does Jesus say to her. Not that her work is unappreciated, or unworthy, but…that she has lost he focus.  She is fretting and anxious over many things, but there is only one thing necessary. Only one thing, needed.  And, I am pretty sure, it isn’t the laundry, or the dishes, or the cats… 

 

Just before this story of Martha and Mary, there is another story about a man who is anxious over many things.  He is the lawyer who asks Jesus what he needs to do to inherit eternal life (10:25ff).  Even when Jesus tells him that he is headed in the right direction, the man can’t rest in peace. He presses the Lord with that famous question: “And who is my neighbor?” (10:29) which prompts the Lord to tell one of His most famous parables—the story of the Good Samaritan (10:30ff). As I was reading this story the other day, I had a strange sense of kinship with the Levite and the priest who simply pass by the Samaritan.  I began to suspect that they weren’t just being cruel and selfish, but that perhaps they were distracted. Maybe the Levite was on his way to HEB to pick up new fuses for the Christmas lights, or the priest was on his way to get cat litter and some worms for his daughter’s turtles!  Maybe they were afraid to stop because they had so many other things they were tying to do… And, perhaps one of the lessons Jesus is teaching us here is the same one He is teaching us in the Martha story.  Don’t get lost in all that busy-ness. Don’t let yourself lose focus.  There really is only thing that matters.  And that is Love.  Act out of love, not out of a desire to be seen, not out of a desire to be affirmed, or to be justified. Not out of guilt or out of bitterness and resentment.  Like St. Therese of Lisieux reminds us, let Love guide your every action, let Love be your focus, because Love is the one thing needed. Whatever you are doing, do it with Love and you will find yourself fulfilled. In fact, the beautiful truth of Jesus is, wherever you turn, whatever you do, you will find Him already there, waiting for you, searching for you, wanting only to let you know you are Loved.  Even in that basket of laundry. Even in that sink of dishes.  Don’t be blinded by the distractions of the many unnecessary things; open your eyes and see the truth of the one thing needed. It is Love, and as the Beatles once sang, All you need is Love.

Meditation for the 2nd Sunday of Ordinary Time

Meditation for the 2^nd Sunday of Ordinary Time

“Do whatever He tells you...”

--John 2:1-11

The last words we hear from the Blessed Virgin Mary are pretty good advice: Do whatever He tells you.  They are spoken in the famous Wedding at Cana story.  And much has been made of their important advice.  Do whatever He tells you.  Yes. Good advice, for sure. And because what happens next is the first miracle, or as John calls them signs, i.e.  the first manifestation of Christ’s glory, it would seem to be pretty important advice too.

In this too familiar story wherein Jesus turns the water into wine, we are presented with that striking moment when Mary comes to her Son and says: “They have no wine,” to which Jesus responds: “Woman, how does your concern affect me. My hour has not yet come.” (cf. 2:3-4) Mary then turns to the servants and gives them her advice: Do whatever He tells you.   And the servants do it and suddenly there is more than enough wine and the wine is so good that the steward thinks the hosts have held back their best wine for the last.  This wonderful little story (11 verses) is rich with theological truths that have been explored and expounded since the days of the Church fathers.  So, I wasn’t imagining that I would be making any new or important discoveries, however I wanted to try my hand at it. And yet as I set pondering Mary’s advice, I found myself instead drawn to something else even more:  What He tells them to do...

Jesus tells them to fill the jars with water, and they do. They fill them to the brim.  Then He tells them to “draw some out and take it to the master of the feast.” (2:8)  And that was somehow the part that caught my attention as I listened Sunday during mass.  That part about the water.  Jesus didn’t ask the servants to do anything magical or dramatic or exotic or even out of the ordinary.  He simply asked them to fill the jars with water.  And then He asked them to present some of it to the “master of the feast.”  It was as if I had heard this story for the first time.  I couldn’t stop thinking about that water.  It’s just water.  That is all they bring.  And yet it is wine by the time they present it to the steward (or master).   And it isn’t just any wine, it is the good wine (sometimes translated: best).  What does this little detail mean? The water?

I can’t say for certain, but I want to propose something.  Water. It is common and every day we use it to rinse and wash and flush and soak and moisten and even to drink... We give it away for free at restaurants.  We forget to shut off the sprinkler (sometimes overnight) and waste it.  But, not to worry—it’s only water. I was thinking about that.  How Jesus asks the servants to do something they probably did every day of their lives: fill the water jars with water.  Nothing special.  Just do you work.  And they did. They did it with integrity. They filled those jars to the brim.  And that was all that Jesus required of them and that was how the first sign came to be; how the Kingdom of God began to be revealed; by some servants doing their menial everyday chore.  But there is one more piece to that puzzle: they did it for Jesus. 

Do you want to bring about the Kingdom of God? Do you want to be part of a sign, part of a miracle, a manifestation of God’s glory?  You don’t have to be a priest or a nun or a missionary to a foreign land; just do your work, your ordinary every day work –but do it for Jesus. Are you a math teacher? Teach for Jesus. You don’t have to proselytize, just teach each student with love and compassion and kindness.  Are you a salesperson? Then treat each of your customers as if they too were beloved children of God. Are you an executive, a company leader: then lead with patience and love and gentleness and integrity and honesty.

Jesus isn’t asking us to go out into the desert and wear sackcloth and eat locus.  He is asking us to bring our ordinary lives and work and live them and work them for Him. Bring Him your water: your tears, your sweat, your labor, your rest, your sorrow and your joy, even your laughter; give it to Him.  Fill the jars full with it. Even up to the brim. If we do that, He will do the rest: He will turn our water into wine. And not just Boones Farm; we’re talking something really good. We are all invited to this wedding feast –come. Bring some water with you. You don’t want to miss this.