Reading the boring bits--some thoughts on all those cubits, the new temple, and the love of God (in the final chapters of Ezekiel)

 “The Lord is there…”  --Ezekiel 48:35

 I just finished reading Ezekiel and was wondering a bit about all those cubits and all those details about walls and widths and columns and chambers and gates, that whole new temple thing that seem to take up so much of the final chapters of this strange book.  Starting in chapter 40 and through the end of chapter 42 we get all these measurements.  This wall or this gate or this alter is so many cubits by so many cubits, etc etc.  It begins to feel like an architectural plan more than a prophetic book.  Even St. Jerome was troubled by the strangeness of this section.  He hoped readers would not find them “frivolous” but admitted that they made him feel like he was knocking on a locked door[1].  So many specific measurements, it begins to feel overwhelming.  I am certain many readers are tempted to simply skip ahead—to the good stuff!  Why not?  This temple (as described) was never built, and according to many commentators, never intended to be built. It was symbolic; representing to the reader an ideal or a vision of God’s eternal temple. Something like that.  And so, once we get the idea—it’s big and its stately and it’s glorious—why bother with the minor details: like how many inner and outer rooms and how many steps and how many columns, etc. etc?  What’s the point? Because there doesn’t really seem to be one…

 

But, I have to ask the same question—only with a little less exasperation in my voice: What’s the point?   Because I am certain, in God’s word, there always is one.

 

And here is what I would propose: Consider the sparrows.  Are not five of them sold for two pennies and yet not one is forgotten before God. (cf. Luke 12:6 & Matthew 10:29-31). Jesus reminds His disciples again and again that the little things (and the little ones) matter; assuring them that every hair on their head is numbered by God.  In other words: details matter. 

 

But why?

 

I’ve been thinking about that.  I wonder if it has something to do with love? When I first fell in love with my wife, everything she did fascinated me, every opinion she had, every whim, every idea, every song she sang or book she read, every flavor she liked… I wanted to know. I wanted to know whether she liked mustard or ketchup on a hot dog, wanted to know which Beatle she liked better: John or Paul, popcorn with butter or without, The Post or The Chronicle… I hungered to know everything about her. And every little detail mattered. Everything she shared with me—including her preference for ketchup on a hot dog (eek)-- was just one more reason to love her.  And I remembered them.  Because I was in love, every detail mattered.

 

I wonder if –in some way—God isn’t reminding us of that here in this lengthy list of seemingly meaningless measurements and boundaries. Is God reminding us that everything matters. Everything we do, everything we think, all of it matters. Because we matter. Because God loves us, not just collectively, but each and every single one of us individually. He loves us so much that He knows the number of hairs on each and every one of our heads. And, even knows the number that fell out on the bathroom floor this morning.

 

One more thing to note.  The book of Ezekiel ends with these words:

 

“The name of the city in future must be: The Lord is there.”

 

The Lord is there…  In the new Holy City, this symbolic city that Ezekiel describes. The Lord is there.  This city where every detail matters, where every small act is intentional. Where even the measurement of a wall or the height of a step, matters. Everything matters. Because everything and everyone is important—is loved.  The Lord is there—in that place of love.

 

What if we lived that way? What if we rose from bed every morning certain that everything we were going to do that day mattered, not matter how large or small the thing was. Everything from making the coffee to answering the phone, from saying hi to a neighbor, to waving at the UPS guy.  From going for a walk to picking up the trash by the curb.  All of it, each act, each humble little deed of kindness or compassion, done with love and humility… everything matters.  What if we lived with that much love?  What kind of witness would we be for the world?

 

I think if we lived like that, people might look at us and say:  The Lord is there.

 

I guess what I am saying is this: when you are listening to God, pay attention and don’t skip over the boring parts, even in life. Because quite often that is exactly where God is waiting to meet you…

---

[1] The Jerome Biblical Commentary 21:84 (Ezekiel 40: 5; p. 363); Prentice Hall, New Jersey, 1968.

Right where we belong--some thoughts on the act of reading Acts

 

“He spent the whole of the two years

in his own rented lodging. He welcomed

all who came to visit him…”

--Acts 28:30

 

This is describing how Paul was being held for trial in Rome.  It sounds kind of like he was under house arrest. I love the phrase: in his own rented lodging.  It sounds so cozy and cheerful. Something out of a British children’s book about a badger, a mole and a well-dressed bear off for a seaside vacation. But what caught my attention was the “two years.”  It is the second time within a few chapters that Paul has been held somewhere for 2 years  (stemming from the charges brought against him by the Scribes and Sadducee and his arrest in Jerusalem [cf. 21]). The implication is that Paul spends at least the last 4 years of his life in captivity: first in Caesarea (cf. 24:27) and then in Rome. 

 

Because the phrase was repeated, it caught my attention. At first, I wondered whether “two years” might be a symbolic length of time.  Something like the idea of Jonah being “three days” in the belly of the whale, or the Jews wandering in the desert for “40 years” or Jesus fasting in the desert for “40 days.”  Most scholars, theologians, preachers seem to treat those numbers as symbolic; possibly just meaning “a long time.”  But, as far as I can tell these “two years” in Caesarea and two more years in Rome have always been read in a literal sense.  Paul was in captivity for 4 years (in addition to travel from Jerusalem to Rome, plus getting shipwrecked and spending a few months in Malta).

 

Anyway, that is how I read scripture—some odd detail catches my attention, and off my little brain goes like a cat chasing a lizard (that was brought in with the potted plants from patio because of the freeze…just saying…).  BUT… this is how scripture reads me.

 

As I was sitting there cogitating over Paul and those two years, I found myself suddenly remembering a strange remark that Agrippa made to Festus (no—not the guy from Gunsmoke). At the end of chapter 26, Agrippa says:

            “That man could have been set free if he had not appealed to Caesar.”

Which sounds strangely like they are saying: If only Paul hadn’t made that rash appeal to Caesar, he could be free and on his way.  If only he hadn’t been so foolish, if only he hadn’t been so ridiculous, he could be a free man.  But, because he did, now he has to go to Rome and –well, you know what happens there...

 

And now I am suddenly thinking about how it all must have seemed so ridiculous and wasteful.  Two years doing nothing in Caesarea, followed by two more years “doing nothing” in Rome, and –in the eyes of the world—it was all due to Paul’s bad choice; his mistake. If only he hadn’t appealed to Rome.

 

Because of Paul’s rash choice he is forced to curtail his missionary travels and waste these valuable years in a holding pattern.  At least that is what it looks like in the eyes of the world. But, in God’s eyes, it is quite a different thing all together.  Paul is right where God wants him to be. He is doing exactly what God wants him to be doing. He is spreading God’s message of love and salvation to the world—even as he is held in custody. First, sharing it with the local officials and their households in Caesarea (Agrippa, Festus, Felix, et al), and then to the whole world through Rome, where he will be held and then finally (as tradition has it) put to death. Nothing glorious, nothing especially noteworthy, nothing particularly honorable about any of this; and yet, many would say, he changed the world.

 

How often do so many of us find ourselves contemplating those wasted years, those bad choices we made, haunted by a series of “if only” thoughts. If only I had studied harder in school. If only I had gone to law school. If only I had passed the bar. If only I had passed any bar… Sorry, Griffs! If only I had bought Apple when it was $2 a share.

 

If only Paul had not appealed to Rome…

 

But the lesson I learned from those two years with Paul in Caesarea and again in Rome is this:  being a beloved servant of God is not about being right.  It’s not about making “right choices.” It’s about being beloved. We are not defined by our mistakes, or by our successes—in the end, we are defined by the love of our Creator.   And we are called to live in that love, and to be a sign of that love for the world.  And that is exactly what we see in Paul, wherever he was, whatever situation he found himself in, even awaiting his own execution, he was being a beloved servant of God—and, like his master, he was welcoming all who came to him.

 

So, you see, this is how reading scripture works on me.  Even while I am busily distracted by some minor detail or some repeated phrase, foolishly chasing after some strange “two years,” the Lord is there in His love and planting seeds –casting them carelessly onto the soil of my soul.  Some falls on rocks, some among thorns, but other on rich soil where it will bloom, thirty, sixty, a hundred-fold. The trick is remembering He’s not only in charge of the seeds, He’s also in charge of the soil.  Like Paul, wherever you find yourself—in sunny Cancun, or without water and electricity in a frozen Houston suburb-- rest in that love and make welcome all who come.

 

 

A Christmas box from a friend

 “…one gift replacing another…”

--John 1:16

 

Gift giving has been on my mind lately.  Tis the season, you know.  In particular, I have been thinking about this one friend of ours who has sent us a gift box every year for the past –almost 30 years it seems.  She was a friend of mine in college, and over the years we have kept in touch by phone and mail, but our lives have gone off in their different directions. After college she moved back to Denver. She married, has 3 grown sons and a daughter. My wife and I are godparents to her daughter and she is godmother to one of ours. Like most people, we keep in touch by phone call and Facebook and letters, and remind each other how much we are loved. But, Barb is different from most friends.  She takes this whole friendship thing to another level.  And it includes gift-wrapping!  Every year just before Christmas she sends us a rather large box (or two--sometimes) filled with wrapped presents.  And when I say filled, I mean filled. She sends us a box full of presents; multiple presents for each member of the household. Books, toys, jewelry, clothing, candy, kitchenware, herbs from her garden. I think she even sent the cats a present one year. Each gift is wrapped and labeled, often with a silly note. And, keep in mind, she’s been doing this without fail for almost 30 years now. Some of the presents are silly, but some are beautiful, and so perfect—they seem like gifts from God. 

 

For instance, a couple of years back she gave me a black plastic fountain pen. It came in a goofy retro ‘50s packaging and looked like it was something she may have just tossed in at the last minute—thinking: Herman likes to write. He might have fun with this. And yet, it quickly become my favorite pen—and now, I do all my writing with it.  I think it may have even changed the way I write! The pen seemed to be filled not with ink, but with words, with ideas, with poems, with inspiration. But, I guess what it was actually filled with was love.

 

We joke sometimes about it, but it has become a part of our Christmas that we all look forward to. Not the presents themselves as much as the box! It has become for us a sign of Christmas, of the promise of Christmas. Has the box from Barb arrived yet?

 

There have been years when her gifts were just about the only presents under our tree.  And though we have on occasion reciprocated with boxes of biscotti and books and crafts and other homemade items, we have never met her level of generosity, nor have we ever been as regular and timely.  Yet still, regardless of our efforts, every year, the box from Barb arrives and on Christmas morning we open it with delight.  Her generosity, her constant and abundant generosity came to mind as I was thinking about this phrase from the beginning of John’s Gospel.

 

“…one gift replacing another…”

 

In other translations it reads something like “grace in place of grace already given…” or “grace upon grace.” Gift upon gift… Whichever translation, I hear in it a statement of overflowing abundance and generosity.  A vision of God’s love; a seemingly bottomless box of personally wrapped presents poured forth again and again! As soon as we open one gift, we find another. And if we aren’t happy with that, there is one more and one more after that.

Reading God’s word, I hear not a message of judgment and warning, so much as a message of love and generosity.  Again and again, the prophets remind us of God’s tender love for His creation.  They remind us again and again of His seemingly endless mercy and the abundance of His grace, His love for His creation. Each time we fail, we stumble and fall, He is there to lift us up and offer us again some new sign of His love, always replacing one gift with another, one grace with another, one covenant laid over another.  Until finally He gives Himself wholly and utterly into our hands. Taking upon Himself all our sins—our stumbles and falls, our rejection of His many gifts—He becomes the gift itself. Unexpected, undeserved, He is the gift.

 

Like that box from Barbara, that box overflowing with gift upon gift, God’s love comes to us grace upon grace and here at Christmas we are called to come together in joy over the abundance of God’s love.  It comes to us again and again, renewed again and again in great and small ways alike—even in the simplest and humblest gifts, individually wrapped and waiting for us to open with delight.  It may look like a Pez dispenser or a bookmark or a box of tea, a pair of socks, or even a newborn baby in a borrowed manger. Thank you Barb for helping me remember, the gift is always love.

The Extravagance of God's Love

“Tell me, suppose a man had a hundred sheep
and one of them went astray…” –Matthew 18:12

 

 Matthew 18 contains that brief and strange parable about the shepherd who walks away from his 99 sheep in search of a single stray.  I have heard preachers preach about this parable in multiple ways.  Often trying to tie it to actual shepherding practices. But it has never made sense to me (at least not an economic or mathematical sense).  Why would a shepherd abandon (and leave vulnerable) an entire flock, in order to go search for a single lost sheep. How would you explain it to the owner if something happened to the others? What if a wolf came along while you were gone and ate the rest of them?  But, of course, Jesus isn’t probably intending to teach a lesson about shepherding here. Looking at the context, the totality of chapter 18 --a chapter filled with images of extravagance-- it is pretty obvious that the ridiculousness of the shepherd leaving the 99 to go in search of the one is supposed to show us something. Probably something about the extravagance of God's love. And recently, I had an experience that  opened my eyes to the lesson of this parable in a way I hadn't expected. 

 During the recent flooding rains our backyard became a swamp.  Water standing ankle deep in places; even in the path were we have the concrete pavers, as I stood on the steps water covered my shoes. But, when I went out in the early morning to cover part of the turtle’s pen with a tarp, I didn’t pay any attention to the standing water inside their pen.  I assured myself that they were used to this kind of thing—heck, their turtles!  And—if I am honest-- I didn’t want to be bothered with trying to collect them in boxes or finding the dog kennel and setting it up as a turtle sanctuary.  I guess you could say, I wasn’t really committed to their care. I was willing to make a little effort—to go to just enough discomfort so that I wouldn’t feel badly. I could justify myself by saying: I tried.  At least I got out the tarp!  But, clearly there was no extravagance in my efforts.  At best, it was somewhat reserved. 

 But when Lucia awoke and saw the yard filling with water, everything changed.  Immediately, sans umbrella or shoes, she was out in the rain and the ankle-deep water with a Sterlite container, reaching into the mud and leaves, turning over bricks and bits of nature, gathering her beloved turtles.  Of course –out of guilt—I quickly got my wet shoes back on and rushed out to help her (and Lynne—who was already out there).  The three of us becoming a turtle transport, carrying plastic bins of curious creatures into the garage where the kennel was already set up to receive them.

What seemed remarkable to me was that Lucia knew each of them by name, and after a couple of trips, knew that one was missing. It was one who often gets into trouble, gets into awkward situations: trapped under a rock, or flipped on its back in the middle of the water dish and unable to right itself.  She was aware of its habits and rightly worried for its safety. Because she knew it. And she loved it—with a love that seems beyond reason to me. An extravagant love.

Immediately, she was back out there, and we were back with her; she was turning over rocks and lifting up anything a turtle might hide under until finally she found it.  The joy in her voice, the excitement, reminded me of someone-- a shepherd who lost a sheep…a single sheep.

On top of finding her one lost sheep, she also found three or four new babies. They are now living with the other babies in what used to be our “office.” I had dreams of writing several novels and crafting my Nobel Prize refusal speech from that room.  But instead it is a turtle nursery (or neo-natal unit) and I am writing from the dinner table (or the front porch). 

 As I write this morning –windows open, sunlight streaming in-- the rains have subsided, the yard is drying out and Houston has been graced with a week or so of lovely weather (according to channel 13).  The grown-up turtles are back in their pen, happily wandering about, hiding under rocks and flipping themselves over. 

This may sound frivolous, but I am sitting here contemplating the love of God, the weirdly, wonderfully extravagant love of God, and I am thinking –yes!  I get it now.  It is like the love of a young woman for her turtles—especially for that one awkward turtle who tends to get lost. Like a wandering sheep.   

 And I am glad for that. 

 And I hope the next time it rains, I will have a little bit of that extravagance, too. 

        God open my eyes, that I may read Your Word,
       Open my ears, that I may hear Your message in it,
        And open my heart that I will always be filled
            with the Love that is found there.

 

My wife's birthday and the love of God

“Such is my love…”

--Song of Songs 5:16b

It is my wife’s birthday tomorrow and recently I found myself thinking about our first “date.”  We went out to breakfast at Butera’s on Montrose and she had oatmeal with currents and cream. I think I had the same—but with brown sugar and a bagel and cream cheese and maybe a fried egg and some grits and fresh squeezed orange juice and lots and lots of coffee. And we spent that entire day together. We drove around talking and seeing things, stopping places. We may have gone to the art museum. That part I can’t remember, but I remember the oatmeal.  And I remember how for hours we were just together, talking and sharing everything we loved and everything we hoped; favorite movies, favorite books, favorite songs. Driving around Houston in my beat-up old Honda Civic wagon, with the windows down. Bob Dylan or Merle Haggard blaring from the cassette player. I loved that car. It was white with plenty of rust and no a/c.  I called it Moby Honda!  We Hermans have to stick together on these things.  

And she seemed to love it too.

At some point during the day, I took her over to meet some friends—the Broadheads. I wanted them to meet her. I wanted her to meet them. I wanted to share them all.  I hadn’t said anything to her yet, but I already knew I was in love. And I wanted everyone else to know it too.  “Such is my love…”

I think we stayed and had dinner with the Broadheads and then I took her home.  I think I held her hand on the way home.  In my memory, I nervously took my hand from the stick shift and reached over and rested my hand on hers. Whether I remember it accurately or not, it is a day I will never forget!  We spent that entire day together giddily eagerly sharing everything we had. There was never a lull in the conversation. Our talk overflowed, the way people in love do. Starting and stopping sentences as ideas and words popped into our heads, eagerly agreeing and offering glimpses of the lives we had lived and the people we hoped to be. Pointing out places we remembered, places we loved, places and memories we wanted to give to one another.  I am almost positive there was a stop at a bookstore somewhere in that magical day (maybe Brentano's or Books, Inc. or Brazos), that wonderful never ending date.  Sure there may have been mistakes and momentary lapses of harmony but we were so ready to forgive because we were so ready to love.  I’ve been thinking about that, too. 

As I read my way through the prophets, I find myself again and again coming upon images of God’s love, His passionate love, His endless ever renewing love for His people!  And I think, perhaps such is my love for Lynne, my beautiful wife of 31 years.  And perhaps that memory of that first never-ending date, is a kind of icon of God’s overflowing boundless love for us.  “Such is my love…”   God’s love for us is like that feeling you had on that first date, the first time you held hands with the person you love most in the world, the first time you shared a coke, or offered her your last onion ring, or the last bite of your bagel. That first time when you knew you were in love.  The look in your eyes as you gazed into hers… Is it possible, that is how God looks at us? Is it possible that creation, is God’s way of sharing everything He can with us, everything He loves, all His favorites?  (That could explain Bob Dylan winning a Nobel Prize…)

Anyway, take a moment and see what you can remember about that first date, that never-ending first date. Maybe you want to make time to sit down with your beloved and remember it together with a root beer float and two straws. Holding hands, side by side.  Or go for a drive and listen to a favorite album: Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Louis Armstrong, Loretta Lynne...   And when you are done, thank the Lord for your love, because it too is a gift. A gift you were given to share. A reflection of His own... His overflowing love for all of us.  And I am so grateful it is. 

Happy Birthday Linus.