Broken

     They were all she had left of her father. A few pieces of pottery, shaped by his hands on the potter’s wheel. It was all that remained of his life of nearly eighty years. Every piece had been glazed with a bright color and her father’s initials were scratched on the underside of each one. She proudly displayed them on a little shelf she had fashioned from an old piece of lumber she found in the garage.
     Every week, while cleaning the house, she would carefully remove each vessel from the shelf and dust it inside and out. Touching the smooth glaze on the outside and the chalky gray inside brought back visions of her father’s endless hours fashioning each piece on the spinning wheel. Today was no different. One by one she started to move down the line of precious keepsakes. When she reached for the third one her dust cloth caught the end of the shelf and tipped it upward. Before she realized it or could do anything to stop it every one of the honored vases, bowls and plates spilled onto the hard wooden floor shattering into what seemed like a million shards of broken clay.
     Immediately her eyes filled with warm tears. She collapsed in a heap onto an old wooden chair, feeling as broken as the pottery which surrounded her feet. She looked in disbelief at what was left of her father’s legacy. But the longer she looked through her bleary eyes, unable to focus in their normal way, the more she was convinced she saw something among the rubble. The colors on each of the clay pieces, broken into a myriad of shapes and sizes, seemed, through the tears to be forming a beautiful picture. A mosaic of randomness and yet an eerie beauty reminiscent of what she had seen on occasion when looking through a kaleidoscope.
The longer she looked, the more beautiful it became…and then a small voice seemed to speak from deep inside of the mysterious mess on the floor. “You are never so broken, never so destroyed or removed from your original purpose or My plans for your life that I cannot make something wonderful, something divinely glorious out of what you see as disastrous and worthless.”
     Sitting back in the chair she continued to stare at the floor until the tears cleared from her eyes and the scattered pieces came back into focus. She tried to tear up again so that she could once again see the beauty but it was gone. The tears were gone and so was the beauty.
    

     When tears come, somehow in the mysterious way of the Divine comes an image which can only be seen while the tears are there. Never despise the tears. Embrace the moment, enjoy God’s perspective of brokenness, and thank Him that within every shattered moment there is beauty.

Table Fellowship

      I often hear from those in academia and would-like-to-be theologians, how Jesus and Paul preached two different gospels. These days we are seeing quite a momentum to swing toward the words, deeds and example of Jesus for patterning our life and mission as Christ-followers. It seems lately that Paul gets the blame for all the apparent inconsistencies in the New Testament.

      Although one can make a case for some differences in their approach to mercy and grace, one of the most striking similarities is their teaching and exemplary living regarding “table fellowship.” The concept of eating together was deeply ingrained in the culture of Jesus’ Palestine. One of Jesus’ major religious faux pas, as least as far as the Pharisees were concerned, was His table fellowship with prostitutes, tax collectors and sinners. His willingness, even intentionality about inviting everyone to the table speaks volumes about how He interpreted the levelness of the playing field when it came to grace.

      One of the important teachings of Paul that can be overlooked, if the culture in which Paul speaks is ignored, is his teaching about table fellowship and the Corinthian church. In his instructions concerning the meal served before the observance of the Lord’s Supper, he speaks directly to the class warfare and segregation that had made its way from the Roman dinner and drinking parties to the Lord’s Table. The issue was the preferential treatment of the rich, allowing them to eat and drink before the poor. This segregation into lesser areas of the house meant they ate much later, were served poorer quality food and drink and were separated for obvious reasons from the rich host and his cronies. This teaching in I Corinthians 11 begins with a discussion about divisions in the church, moves on in chapter 12 to talk about the body, the more presentable and less presentable parts and the need to treat all parts, especially the less presentable ones with special care. The discussion then moves to Paul’s most excellent treatise on love (charity) in chapter 13. Of course, knowing that there were no chapter divisions in Paul’s letter, we must assume that this long discourse on non-preferential treatment, honoring all parts of Christ’s body and allowing agápē love to be the guiding force in our actions, is a written reiteration of Christ’s living example of table fellowship. I can just imagine Paul recalling the stories of Jesus and His controversial meals as he sent his message to Corinth: “The table of grace is for everyone!”

     Seeing this consistency between Paul and Jesus ought to speak to those of us who claim to be following Christ in the twenty-first century. There is no room in the house for classification, segregation, or prejudicial treatment toward any who would desire to sit at His table and “dine with Him.” Ain’t nobody got time for that!

That Used to be OK

    Generally speaking, I try to stay out of the political fray. Partly because as a minister I am not supposed to use my influence to sway peoples’ viewpoints about matters of State, at least that seems to be the politically correct view. 

     I, generally speaking, am not a conspiracy theorist, a close-minded fanatical type, or even a hell-fire and brimstone, name-the-sin kind of preacher. As far as I know I don’t hate anyone, I have no phobias that I'm aware of except mice, heights and fast rides at the amusement park, and I don’t picket or boycott things with which I don’t agree (at least not anymore).

    I think I’m a pretty reasonable, likeable guy; at least I try to be.

But lately I’ve discovered that it doesn’t seem to be ok with a lot of folks that I’m also a man of conviction. I’m a man of faith, which automatically disqualifies me as a nice guy in a lot of people’s opinion. I kind of get that. People of faith, or at least people perceived to be people of faith have done a lot of nasty things over the years, and the rap kind of falls on all of us. 

     I go to church, I believe in Jesus (as Savior), I tend to be conservative in most of my political views (not because I’m a person of faith or because I have an axe to grind but because those are my convictions), and I still believe that there are some absolute values that would make the world we live in a better place.

     I don’t hate people whose values are different than mine, I just disagree with them. For some reason that’s not OK anymore. I’m not afraid of people whose values are different than mine, we just don’t agree about what’s important. That doesn’t mean I’m phobic, it just means we don’t see eye to eye. That used to be OK, but not anymore. If I state my opinion or decide not to support a cause, (according to some) that’s not me stating my beliefs, that’s me being “mean-spirited and hateful”, although those who may disagree with me are not being “mean-spirited or hateful” when they voice their opinions or boycott a city who has a law they don’t like.(I'm confused???)

     Let me set the record straight. I don’t hate anyone. I have convictions. I’m not against anyone. I don’t believe in mistreating Muslims or gays or Democrats. I believe in America they have a right to live their lives in peace and without fear of hate crimes like anyone else. I have friends who are Muslim, some who are gay and even some who are Democrats. I have long admired Jimmy Carter (not for his politics but for his unapologetic faith in Christ) and read his devotional guide every morning. One item on my personal bucket list is to meet him in person. I’m not a hater.

I believe in freedom of speech, freedom of worship and freedom to hold unpopular opinions. I believe our words ought to be kind and considerate, our worship open and accepting of whoever wants to participate and our opinions protected even if they happen to be out of step with society. 

     I long for a time and place where we are all considered important, none of us written off because of our convictions, and equally respected even when we differ with each other. You need to know that I respect you and your opinion, lifestyle and/or belief system, regardless of whether or not I agree with it.  I don’t hate you, I’m not afraid of you and I welcome your friendship and even the opportunity to build a relationship of mutual respect with you, even if we disagree about some things we both feel are very important.

     That used to be OK…