As One With Authority

“even as You gave Him authority over all flesh” (John 17:2)

Authority.

The ministry of Jesus was one of authority, and this concept was the cornerstone of all He said and did. At the beginning of His ministry, Jesus preached what is often referred to as the “Sermon on the Mount”. It was here that He laid the groundwork of who He was and what He was all about. After hearing Him, the Bible states that the people were “amazed”, “for He was teaching them as one having authority, and not as their scribes” (Matthew 7:29).

The real question here is why didn’t their scribes teach with authority? Weren’t they the authority of their day? Weren’t they the ones responsible for bringing the laws of God to the people? Weren’t they the ones who were supposed to have the answers to theological questions?
Of course they were.

What then made Jesus so different?

It should be noted that early on Jesus was generally considered as one among many rabbis. John the Baptist, from a family of priests, would have been considered a rabbi as well. In Jewish culture, these rabbis were teachers who gathered disciples around themselves and taught the law as they had been taught it. These men were well-known, respected, and had great influence. But never, under any circumstance, did even the greatest rabbi make a claim to change a commandment, adapt a teaching of Scripture, or give a new teaching. Their job was to interpret, explain, give commentary, lend wisdom, and call to action; not to create.

In their teachings they would avoid error and draw their authority by quoting from someone considered above themselves, by using a phrase such as “the Scripture says”, or “Rabbi so-and-so once said”, or “the doctors of the law say”. They typically kept their topics to matters close to previous writings and teachings.

Jesus spoke differently. Much differently.

He spoke on matters that deeply affect every aspect of how we live, what we live for, and how we interact both with one another and with God.

He said things like, “I have come to fulfill the law”.

He said things like, “you have heard. . . but now I tell you . . .”

He said things like, “whoever has seen Me has seen the Father.”

He said things like, “do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets”.

So while others of His day were often adding more and more and more complicated details and demands to the law, He was simplifying it.

While His contemporaries were writing volumes of rules that were to be followed to the minutest detail, he was saying “Love God, love people”.

The very word ‘authority’ has its root in the word ‘author’. One who writes. One who creates.

An author is the highest expert on a book, because he is the one who wrote the book. He knows every word and syllable. Who can claim to know a book better than the author who wrote it?

Jesus was writing the book before their eyes. And unlike anyone they had ever seen or heard before, Jesus alone appeared to have the authority to do so.
Throughout the Gospels, Jesus claims to have authority to cast out demons, to heal sickness, to control natural forces, and furthermore claims the ability to pass this authority on to others (see Matthew 9:6 and Matthew 10:1). If that wasn’t enough, he claims the authority to forgive sin, an authority reserved for God alone (see Mark 2:10). Not even the High Priest claimed this degree of authority for himself. This was all unheard of, and well outside the bounds of any typical teacher of the law.

And this was unacceptable.

Essentially, by claiming this authority, Jesus was claiming to be the fulfillment of prophecy, including Daniel’s prophecy recorded in Daniel 7:14 –

14 “And to Him was given dominion, Glory and a kingdom, that all the peoples, nations and men of every language might serve Him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion which will not pass away; and His kingdom is one which will not be destroyed.”

Jesus was claiming to be the promised Messiah, God incarnate, and everyone knew it.

But not everyone liked it.

Killing Writer’s Block 6:52 -7:12 p.m. February 24, 2013

I haven’t got around to blogging for a while, and I miss doing it.  Once my Christmas break came to an end, so did much of my free time to do things I enjoy, like designing furniture out of old pallets, reading novels just for fun, and writing.  So I decided tonight to sit down for twenty minutes and just write anything that came out and post it no matter what.  Including this paragraph.  You have 20 minutes – - – - GO!    

There’s really something to be said for the whole process of getting thoughts down in writing, and then having the honor to share those thoughts with anyone interested.  And this is so much easier to do now than at any other point in recorded history.  It’s amazing really.  Imagine what Socrates would have done with the audience each of us has waiting for us once we hit the “submit” button.  Then again, he may have been watching videos and gotten distracted.  Like many bloggers, on any given day I end up with views from all around the globe, and it still amazes me that anyone really reads this stuff.  But back to the process of writing . . .

16 minutes.

Ernest Hemingway once said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”  And honestly, he’s exactly right.  Writing is about passion and determination and allowing obscure thoughts to crawl out from those crevices we hide them in during the day in order to make space for deadlines and schedules and newspaper stories and appointments and other matters.   When writers try to find those thoughts, and can’t find them, we call it writer’s block.  Sometimes writer’s block can stem from the mere circumstance of not having enough time to coax those thoughts out from the hiding places they get shoved into for safe keeping.  And so we don’t write.  

And our thoughts wither.  And our hearts wither.

10 minutes.

As true to Hemingway’s suggestion, the greatest salve to writer’s block is just to sit down at a keyboard and just start typing something.  Anything.  It doesn’t even matter what.  Even this mess.  Just spew out some random nonsense about your grocery list, some Sting song lyrics if you know any like De doo doo doo De da da da just because that is what is in my head right now for some reason, a plot line remembered from McHale’s Navy and how it somehow still reminds me of my grandfather,  a childhood remembrance about putting penny candy at the bottom of a slurpee on Saturday mornings, or maybe just how it is a gorgeous night, but somehow you wish it was raining instead because rain is exciting to watch and reminds you of coffee.  It reminds me of my wife too and how we both like the rain and how excited we were that it rained right after our wedding even though other people might think that’s weird.  It doesn’t even matter what we write.  Just that we write.

Because our best words are most often those which we did not expect to write.  Our best words are merely amorphous thoughts given a form and a structure and a cadence to be understood by others so they too can see, hear, feel and experience what you see, hear and feel and experience.  And a camaraderie is established.    

3 minutes.

Every now and then I get into the rhythm of writing, and my fingers just kind of start moving along on their own across the keyboard until the fine moment when a thought goes straight from a seldom-accessed synapse and bypasses all thought, feelings and premonition and somehow ends up on the screen in front of me.  And when it happens you know it.  Like the paragraph right before this one.         

My kids are asking what’s for dinner, and I don’t know what to tell them without checking the menu posted on the refrigerator. 

Times up.

The Urgency of the Moment

Today is a significant day for the cause of human freedom. And not because of the inauguration.

Don’t get me wrong, inaugurations are very important; they represent our freedoms, they represent the power of democratic elections, and they represent the security and order of a peaceful transfer of power. This is all good, and I’m thankful for it.

But that stuff happens every four years.

We will continue to argue about politics and politicians for the next four years, and another four years after that, and so on. What makes today significant is that today a group of women who have voluntarily left their comfortable lives of American freedom have traveled across the globe, and are showing love, kindness, respect and dignity to another group of women who have no familiarity with any of the above concepts. Today, ladies who have known the gift of freedom are sharing it with ladies who have not known freedom, ladies who have been living in slavery.

Why? Because Freedom is not truly freedom until it is multiplied.

Freedom is not about celebrating the work, but finishing the work.

Freedom cannot long exist in a vacuum. Freedom that accepts any oppression is not worthy of itself. It is negligence.

Celebrating freedom is easy, and there is no hardship in talk about making a difference. It is easy to proclaim ourselves as a city on a hill. But while we sleep tonight, true Freedom quietly steps with boldness and determination into the darkest corners of the earth and shines the unbridled light of Justice one candle at a time.

Slavery is real. It exists today and is more widespread than most of us imagine. Yet Freedom is real, and continues to be the strongest weapon wielded against injustice.

Today is also significant in that it is Martin Luther King Day. Much can be said of this man who fought with the power of love to bring about equality and freedom. Most of us know his speech from 1963. To imagine the dream he spoke of is fulfilled while millions around our globe languish in slavery is dire foolishness.

In his momentous speech he declared that, “Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children. It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment.”

But 50 years later, the planet still is not free.

The moment continues to be urgent.

We have made progress in multiplying freedom, but we have so far to go. While we discuss the urgency of the moment, while we comfortably talk about making Justice a reality, while we witness the political process of freedom, brave soldiers have already embraced the cause and taken action.

Those soldiers, in this case, are women.

To join them in making a difference visit www.ijm.org

Christmas Without the Tree

Well, here we are. Back to January and back to Ordinary. Back to shaky resolutions, back to school, and back to life after the Holiday hustle.

Bah. Humbug!

Tonight I walked down to the end of the driveway, and I felt a certain sadness tugging at me. You have probably felt it too. A chill lingers in the air, but the glowing wreaths, snowmen, manger scenes, ornaments and candy canes that had adorned our street days ago are now all but gone, a few procrastinators notwithstanding. The lights that glimmered, danced, and illuminated the night are now packed away in the garage for another year, and the world is back to normal. Back to plain, dark, and ordinary.

Just ordinary. In fact, according to the church liturgical calendar the 12 Days of Christmas are quickly followed by Epiphany, and then the time until Lent is known simply as “Ordinary”.

Wow. Really? Just . . . Ordinary?

I guess ordinary is the best way to describe it. But ordinary can still be good.

If you are like me, you have seen some version of “A Christmas Carol” more than a few times. After his time with the spirits Ebenezer Scrooge makes a big promise: “I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.” Which sounds great, but what does it mean? Does it mean keeping the lights up? Does it mean keeping up the tree? Does it mean keeping the Rudolph nose on the car and going-a-wassialing among the leaves so green?

Maybe.

But it is more practical to keep Christmas by viewing life through a lens of eternity. By refusing to forget the miracle of God in a manger. By considering Christmas as more than just a day, but a mindset; a way of life. By learning to number our days and seek wisdom as we go. By allowing that wisdom to forever change who we are. By being polite and giving and charitable when we don’t feel like it.

Especially when we don’t feel like it.

By seeking peace on earth, good will to men. By starting and ending each day with a prayer of thanks, and by doing unto others as you would have done unto you. By allowing the spirit of Christmas to invade ordinary and forever change it into something new and better until ordinary takes on a new meaning. Ordinary becomes a fulfillment. Ordinary becomes joy. Ordinary becomes sharing cheer and wearing a smile when no one else knows why.

Ordinary becomes the same as Christmas, just without the tree.

At least that’s the way I see it.

Happy Holidays vs. Merry Christmas (or “Just for the Halibut”)

For some time the phrase “Happy Holidays” has been the politically correct alternative to the much more offensive Dickensian phrase of “Merry Christmas”. However, secularists beware! It appears that you have unwittingly fallen into a well-laid trap of Anglo-Saxon religiosity. . .

The trap lies in the origin of the word “Holiday”. Once upon a time, in the bygone days of the Anglo-Saxon language in England (around 950), the two words halig (holy) and dæg (day) were joined to create the word haligdæg, which was used to describe days of religious observances. The Anglo-Saxons were predominately Christian/Catholic at this point in history, so this would have referred specifically to Christian holy days. As the English language changed, the word evolved into haliday around the year 1200, and then into the more familiar ‘holiday’ somewhere around 1500.

Of course, in our 21st century world we also refer to non-religious days as holidays (Columbus Day and Super Bowl Sunday are my favorite examples). Still, at the heart of the word itself there remains the suggestion that we are celebrating something that is “holy”.

As for the halibut, what does that have to do with anything?

Well, the funny sounding name of this funny-looking fish is derived from the Middle English words hali, and the word butte, meaning flat (Yes, I just said butte. At least I didn’t say Djibouti). The fish received this name after it had become a popular dish on Catholic holidays.

Holy flat fish, Batman!

So go ahead and enjoy your holiday halibut, and I wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a Happy Holiday!

Oh, and Season’s Greetings, of course.

A Time to Weep

Today there is weeping. Not just crying, but weeping. A weeping that comes because there is no other way to adequately express what is going on inside of us. When we feel sorrow beyond words, we weep.
Today, sadly, we weep for children.

These children who lost their lives today in Connecticut were not my children. I don’t even know their names. But they could have been my children. Or yours. We can’t even begin to imagine what living that horror must be like.

And so we weep.

Senseless acts such as this are heard of far too often. Perhaps at times we are guilty of having grown horribly and inexcusably numb to hearing about it.

But today was different.

Today was Kindergarten.

We do not know all the details, and we don’t have to know them. I don’t care if I ever know them.

All I need to know is that Today we will grieve with these families, we will pray for them, and we will weep with them. These were American kids at an American school that experienced what should never ever be. These are all the details I need to know.

I am reminded of an old hymn by Albert Midlane:

“There’s a Friend for little children Above the bright blue sky, A Friend who never changes, Whose love will never die;”

And then I remembered that Jesus wept. Jesus wept specifically for a friend who had died. And then I thought that somewhere today, Jesus must be weeping. It has been said that there is a special Providence in the fall of a sparrow, that He knows and dearly loves every one of them, and that not one falls without His knowing. Each life is precious.

In this dark hour, we know that there is hope waiting at the end of tragedy.

We know sorrow will one day give way to peace.

But for today, we pray for comfort, we offer comfort, and we weep.

(Also published at http://playgrounddad.com/a-time-to-weep//)

A Journey to Bethlehem

Christmas.

There are so many things that happen around Christmas that make it what it is. The familiar songs, the classic movies, the decorations, the festivities and the lights all around are just a few of the things that make Christmas a special time of year. In our family, we have more traditions than we can fit into the month of December! But there is one that stands out among the rest.

Every night in December we celebrate Advent as a family. We read Scriptures, sing Christmas songs, talk traditions, and pray together. This year, on the first Sunday of Advent we talked about our favorite Christmas traditions, and as soon as someone said their favorite was the Journey to Bethlehem, everyone else in the room was shouting, “Hey you took mine!” There is no doubting the Journey to Bethlehem has certainly become a favorite around our house each December.

Each year, a local church puts on this “Journey”, which is essentially a re-enactment of the familiar events surrounding the birth of Christ in Bethlehem so very long ago. For our family it would not really be Christmas without it. Complete with sheep, camels, realistic street scenes, Roman soldiers, Wise Men from the East and a host of angels singing Hallelujah, it takes just a little bit of imagination to find you have been transported out of the social media world of 2012, and back to a distant time and place, to a world in need crying out for a Savior.

And then it doesn’t take long to realize that the world we live in today isn’t really all that different.

Last night we took the Journey to Bethlehem with a group of friends and experienced it all once again. But even after years of hearing this story, and years of seeing it played out, the story never gets old. Even though I am familiar with it, and I know the ending, it still evokes emotion, it still has meaning, and it still reminds me that there is a purpose to it all.

That somewhere beyond the Christmas hustle and bustle, there lies a child in a manger.

That somewhere beyond the noise, there is a Silent Night.

That Almighty God so loved the world, that He wrapped Himself up in human skin to walk among us.

That whoever believes in Him shall have everlasting life.

And I think Christmas is really all about journeys. God’s journey to reach us where we are, the long journey of a young man and his betrothed, the journey of Magi from a far-off land, the journey of shepherds to ‘see this thing that has happened’, and the journey of all those who had to travel for the census decreed by Caesar Augustus.

But in a symbolic way, it is a journey for all of us too.

A journey out of what is comfortable and from all that distracts us, to a small stable in a small town where the Savior of the world lies resting. A journey from our everyday life, just to kneel and worship the newborn King at a place we probably would have otherwise never heard of.

And I think that is a journey I should probably make a lot more often.

Pulling Weeds and Planting Men

 
It may sound strange, but I am thankful for weeds.

Weeds are a fact of life. Like unwelcome visitors, they show up unannounced and make themselves right at home, spurning the fact that they were not invited. As men, we take pride in our lawns, and each year millions of dollars are spent on products that claim to rid our otherwise pristine properties of these pesky intruders. Yet despite our best efforts, they just keep coming back.

With the holidays approaching, and Christmas decorations anxiously waiting to go on display, I planned one last ‘weekend cleanup’ of our front yard. Most of that cleanup would involve clearing out our flowerbeds, which have been actively overrun by these un-welcome visitors, and mowing the lawn one last time until Spring.

So when Saturday morning arrived I told my two boys that we would be doing lawn work, and surprisingly they didn’t run away in disgust. I anticipated a backlash, but they were actually excited about doing it. Which baffled me a little bit, but I didn’t complain. Maybe they just like the idea of getting dirty without being in trouble for it.

Who knows?

My wife actually had the crazy idea that I should let my oldest son mow the yard, which I hadn’t even thought of before. I have been so used to doing it myself for decades that I didn’t even notice how excited he was at the prospect of it, or that he was old enough.

So, after a cup of coffee, and wearing my oldest, junkiest ripped up jeans and an old, itchy flannel shirt that was once my Dad’s, I got down in the dirt with my boys and we went to work on this crisp Autumn day. By the time we came back in, we were dirty, tired and hungry, but we had a few bags full of weeds and a mowed lawn to show for it. But thinking about it now, we had much more than that.

For starters, my oldest son mowed the lawn by himself for the first time. There is a certain pride in that, and I can remember to this day the first time I mowed when I was a kid. It is a milestone of sorts to push that mower I had seen my Dad push so many times.

I showed my youngest son that it is possible to get filthy dirty, dig around in the yard looking for night crawlers, and still be working.

I showed them that I see worth and value in who they are by letting them do work, and expecting they can do it just as well as I can. We told stories and laughed, and I have officially passed down to them the fine skills of pulling weeds and mowing the lawn. Which I will readily remind them of next summer.

As Dads, it is our job to build up our children, and this Saturday became an unexpected opportunity to do just that. Working together with our kids, teaching them even small things, and telling them stories about when we were kids, accomplishes this in a small way.

Which is why I am thankful for weeds.

(Previously published at  http://playgrounddad.com/pulling-weeds-and-planting-men/)

Ready or Not, It’s Autumn!

It is again September, and with the start of September comes the end of Summer. And the end of Summer can be elusive, but look beyond a passing glance and it is hard to miss.

The Olympic flame has been extinguished; the venues now empty and the athletes gone home.

The local pools, brimming over with laughter just days ago now sit silent and still.

School supply aisles are slowly dwindling, leaving the shelves exposed and bare, reminding us that the oak branches in the park will soon follow suit.

Children have reluctantly exchanged the playgrounds for the school grounds, and along with their teachers they have already begun the long countdown to Thanksgiving.

Craft stores have again been beautifully transformed from the typical summer fare into vibrant hues of harvest oranges and radiant golds.

And The Boys of Fall eagerly grasp for the baton as the Boys of Summer make their way around the glorious final lap.

Lazy Summer life begins to settle in to a routine.
And just like that, Autumn is upon us.

Autumn is a unique season. It symbolizes endings turned to beginnings. To me this Autumn is particularly unique, as it marks my oldest child starting high school, and my youngest leaving the preschool. Just two more examples of endings turned to beginnings. And so it goes. . .

But ready or not, Autumn has come! To be sure, today’s morning walk still doesn’t quite feel like an Autumn walk, but Autumn is so much more than just temperature. Close your eyes and breathe the not-quite-yet-Autumn air and you will sense it; barely detectable, but undeniably present. Because Autumn is a state of mind.

For many of us, the mercury still stubbornly clings to the ninety degree mark and refuses to accept the inevitable. Regardless, Autumn has always proven to be patient, and will graciously allow these last few balmy days of September to slowly dwindle away in their own time. And soon Autumn will allow the Winter season to drop in a little early. But Autumn is easygoing, and doesn’t seem to mind.

Autumn is campfires and college football, russet-lavender sunrises and flaming golden sunsets, cozy warm sweatshirts and cool evening breezes. Autumn is a familiar bird finding its way once again to your backyard, stopping for a moment on her way back to her annual vacation. Autumn is grey rainy afternoons, and fond memories of raking up leaves into tidy neat piles, just to jump in and spread them around the lawn again.

But above all, Autumn marks another chance at a new beginning. And for many of us a new beginning is just what we have been looking for.

Ready or Not, Autumn is here.

Koncert 2 Kolkata

Lord, I will go anywhere you send me and do anything you ask. Just please don’t send me to ______________. Admit it, we have all had this thought. But from what I have learned, God has a funny way of sending us where He wants us anyway, and we have a funny way of being used by Him, and finding ourselves blessed when He sends us.

Last January, my wife and daughter went to Kolkata, India to work with victims of human trafficking, through a partnership of our church with the International Justice Mission. From what I have seen and heard, Kolkata is not a real clean place. In fact, it is very much the opposite. Mother Teresa gained worldwide popularity simply for her willingness to stay there and work with the poorest of the poor. The slums of Kolkata are a rough place, and very different from the suburban life most of us here are living.

Seriously. Very, very different.

But my daughter loves it and can’t wait to go back. It is a challenging ministry both physically and emotionally, but God has simply filled her heart with the people of Kolkata.

If you are not familiar with human trafficking, or the International Justice Mission, you need to be. This is a widespread problem throughout our world today, and it doesn’t just happen overseas. Shockingly, there are more slaves in the world today than at any time in history, with estimates ranging from 12 million to 27 million. The number is hard to pin down, as it is so widespread.
My wife and daughter traveling to India isn’t going to change that number very much. But if the number decreases even by one, it is more than worth it. If one girl rescued from slavery knows that she is loved and that she is valuable, it is worth it.

Traveling to the other side of the world isn’t cheap, however, and we started brainstorming ways to get there. Here’s what we came up with: I was a professional touring musician once, and have put on an event or two. My daughter Rachael and I have sang together several times before, and so we decided to call up the some of the very best musicians I know, put together a great band and do it for a cause – a Koncert 2 Kolkata.

Our goal is to raise the funds for this trip, raise awareness for the people we are going to help, and honor God in doing it. If you are in the Katy/Houston area, I encourage you to come out! There is no charge, just give as you feel led to give. For more info, or to find out about VIP tickets, go to our page at koncert2kolkata.wordpress.com, and be sure to visit the event page on facebook. If you can’t make it, you can still go to the page and see how you can help! God is faithful, and He often accomplishes great things through His people. Thank you for your help in getting the message of hope to these girls in Kolkata!