Unlikely Disciples

Last sunday, I watched a "60 Minutes" interview of the estranged Madoff family. At one point, the interviewer wonders aloud, did Bernie 'go bad'? When did honest business become corruption?

Rarely does a person begin with crime in mind. It usually starts with a subtle shift. A suggestion is made, a step off the path is taken. The slope down appears minor, even if covered with loose gravel. After a short time, he is slipping farther and faster, no longer in control of his world, unable to get out. He's trapped in a hell of his own devising. It has gotten too big to manage. It now manages him.

I think sin is always this way: cumulative, self-inflicted, destructive and enslaving. One sin always seems to lead to another, more extreme sin. Deceit demands greater deceit. Addiction requires more drug to appease. Unforgiveness eats our hearts to hollowness. Concern for one wrinkle grows into costly surgery. Sin always asks for more, then demands more, and then takes more.

But there is no excuse for it. Every instance of sin is chosen. It's an act of will. Madoff chose to do this thing. He bought in to the lie. (Every sin begins with a lie, usually along these lines: 'this sin will bring  satisfaction or fulfillment'. I can't think of an instance where this is not the case.) He deserves what he is getting, maybe worse.

Here's a crazy thing, though. I think that if Jesus met Bernie Madoff, he would ask him to be a disciple. I know, outrageous. But let me tell you about another man.

His name is Levi and he lived in the land of Judah during Roman occupation. Levi decides to be a tax collector for the Romans, a move that automatically makes him a traitor to his own, beleaguered people. Why does he do it? Perhaps it's the lure of financial security.

At first, he just does his job collecting tax, but then it's so easy to take just a little more. His conscience bothers him, but he explains it away. Such a small amount, really nothing to be upset about. Yet with every tax, he demands a little more.

And every time something in him says it's not right, but the thrill of the take, the lure of extra cash keeps him coming back to it again. By the time Jesus comes around, Levi is a full-fledged tax-collector, very wealthy, very trapped, and hated by his countrymen. He is a thief. A traitorous crook. Everyone knows and despises him.
And then he has this encounter with Jesus:

  After this he went out and saw a tax collector named Levi, sitting at the tax booth. And he said to him, "Follow me." And leaving everything, he rose and followed him.

 And Levi made him a great feast in his house, and there was a large company of tax collectors and others reclining at table with them. And the Pharisees and their scribes grumbled at his disciples, saying, "Why do you eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?" And Jesus answered them, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.  I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance." Luke 5:27-32

I think Levi was desperate to get out of his self-created hell. When Jesus comes to him, Levi walks off the job, 'leaving everything.' He throws Jesus a huge party and invites the other desperate ones so that they too can experience freedom from their wretchedness. I think the sweetest part of this story is that Jesus approaches Levi while he is in the act of swindling. Jesus comes right up to the tax booth. 

Of course the key to Levi's freedom is in the last word of the verses. Repentance is at the root of becoming a follower of Jesus. It's a new path which involves restitution, sacrifice and amends. But it's also a path of forgiveness and freedom. And I think that Jesus would ask the same thing of Bernie Madoff, offer the same forgiveness and freedom. 

We know Levi by another name: Matthew, the author of the first gospel in the New Testament. He really did leave everything and follow Jesus. It is said that he died, possibly a martyr, in Ethiopia, as a very different, beloved church father.

It's that crazy thing called GRACE at work again.

The Most Beautiful Time

City Park at Sunset,
taken by Mallory Moran

There is a certain angle of the sun which vividly reveals the splendor of the world to me. As the sun sets, the richness of color and shadow and painted sky transform everything around me. (I suppose it happens in the morning too, but I'm rarely awake to enjoy it.)

The world is washed with a light that is more golden than white. Even the factory and refinery near our home become beautiful at this time of day.  I absolutely love it.

There are times when I have been stalled in traffic, irritable and tired, and then I see the light spreading across the buildings, or dappling the ground under a boulevard of trees. Something in me lightens too, and I am filled with appreciation.

Last evening, I walked down a busy street, strewn with trash and speeding cars, and the light lifted my head to see an amazing sky set off by the autumn leaves. It made me smile involuntarily. So very beautiful. It is my favorite time of day.

It never gets old.  I've come to realize that this appreciation is directed at God, who makes such beautiful moments. It is worship-- a response to yet another of the good and perfect gifts that he lavishes on me.

It's pretty amazing when I think about it. Here I am, head down, rushing someplace or doing something, and then he opens my eyes to see this beauty around me. He breaks into my rapid thoughts and pace and gives me the gift of colorful light. My world is paused for while, and I connect with him in the midst of "to-do" lists and urgent demands.

He loves me through beauty. I am filled with joy, and the joy is worship turned back to him, and I enjoy the worship because worship is full of joy... and well, I realize that this is the sweetness of having God as papa.

He tells us in his Word that we are rejoice in him always, and we think of worship as a duty and "right" behavior.  What we don't realize is that he knows we are really made for it, and that when we worship, we are filled with joy. It is communion with him. Love that flows back and forth, originating from him and reverberating back from us. I am so alive in those beautiful times, so full of thanksgiving.

Part of the beauty of the moment is that nothing has changed in my circumstances. I am still in traffic, still on a dirty street. I still have to return to the mess of a difficult relationship or financial worry. Nothing has changed except my heart awareness.  My soul is made lighter in communion with God, regardless of the life struggle.  Some folks would say it's "transcending" above circumstances, but I think it's more of a reality check than transcendence. He stops my stream of busyness to remind me of who he is, who I am, and what is really important.

I've been told before that I see things differently than other people. True. Perhaps that is why I am an artist instead of an engineer.  But that makes these moments even more sweet to me. God shares intimacy with me in the way that fits me best.  That is yet another wonderful part about having God as papa. He knows what will resonate with me.

It will be different for another of His children. Maybe it will be the face of one's child, the sound of laughter or fine music, perhaps the elegance of a mathematical equation, or the perfect structure of a cell that brings a person to appreciative, thankful worship.  It is not the same for you and me. We have an amazing, singularly attentive Father God.

I am curious to know what brings you to the place of joy and gratitude. I hope you experience it often.  May the eyes of your heart be opened to the intimate gifts God is giving you today.

It is so sweet to enjoy the Lord. Come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord!

Blinders and Fire Fights

Sometimes discovering my inconsistencies can be pretty funny. Recently, I was browsing a Fitness magazine while munching some extremely greasy potato chips. I had paged half-way through before realizing the irony of my situation. My next step will be to sit down with a large, cheese-lover's pizza and take in a work-out video.


Blind spots. We all have them. It's the big piece of wood lodged in our eye that we don't see when judging the behavior of others.  It's the camel we are have let through while straining out the gnats (Mt. 23:24).

One time in college, I was arguing with a friend and he finally said in exasperation, "You are so contentious!" Of course my immediate, non-contentious rejoinder was, "No, I'm not!" Hee hee hee.

And then I went home for a holiday and realized that my entire family seemed to communicate through arguing-- not knock-down-drag-out fights per se, but as my mom puts it "argy-bargy"conversation. Everyone had a dissenting opinion, everyone was right, and everyone was willing to fight to death to prove it. After being in a non-contentious environment at school, I found it exhausting.

I realized that indeed, I was contentious: exhibiting an often perverse and wearisome tendency to quarrels and disputes.  I worked hard to mitigate that behavior and thought I had kicked the habit, until my husband (then boyfriend) and I met up with my brother for the first time.  My husband was extremely confused. He had no idea why my brother and I were fighting at the dinner table. I was also confused because I thought the night had gone rather well. Yet again, contention reared it's ugly, little head. More work to do.

Discovery of this blind spot had a domino effect.  My contentious tendency revealed a need to be right all the time: pride and insecurity. It revealed a quick temper: lack of self-control.  My quarrelsome behavior showed me that I can be domineering and bite with words. It revealed an inability to listen well to others, to understand their point of view. It revealed an inability to be vulnerable in relationship: fear.

As far as I can tell, none of these things have made the "fruits of the Spirit" list. Shoot.

As Christians, our main goal in life has been described as "to glorify God and enjoy him forever." We often sing about wanting to know God better. The unintended consequence of this knowing is that we see ourselves more clearly. Next to God, we are not so great, not even a very good. In fact we are in deep trouble. Every Biblical encounter with God's glory leaves a person flat on the ground, babbling incoherently that he is going to die because of his sinfulness. Blind spots revealed!!

We are charged with goals: to be like Christ, to be light, to be ambassadors of heaven. Tim Keller says that the Christian life is about constantly putting out the small fires of hell that show up in our hearts. The difficulty is that on our own, we cannot accomplish these things.

Mercifully, God has sent a counsellor to help us, and if we are willing, the painful transformation begins. The Holy Spirit comes in with his tools and starts to work on us. Humility enters from below to show us who we are, and pride begins to wither. Conviction stabs our hearts and we are moved towards repentance. Love woos us out of fear and self-protection. Assurance asks to override anxiety. Our desires begin to change, and those impossible tasks of being like Christ and putting out hell fires become possible.

Contentious behavior was a huge, relationship-breaking blind spot in me. With the safe critique of a friend, I was able to see it more clearly and allow God to change me. I still get into debates on occasion, but I'm learning to let some things go. 

These fires will continue to pop up in my life. When one area of blindness is finally seen and dealt with, the Spirit shows me another one. We are constantly dousing flames... resentment and unforgiveness, gossip, controlling others, pride- again and again and again... (some fires take a long time to extinguish).

This process of transformation makes grace very personal and real to me. It also reminds me that everyone is in this blind-spot revealing process and in need of grace as well.

I suppose you can disagree with me if you like, but do you really want to argue about it? ;)

 "Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you."

 Philippians 3:15

(I'm being a little cheeky with this verse, but if you look it up, it fits pretty well...)

The Wounds of Pride

I read this excerpt from Celtic daily prayers and it was really good for me.

"He said, 'Let us pray for those we love.' And that was easy. Then he said, 'Let us pray for those we do not love.' And there rose before my mind three men for whom I had to pray. They were men who have opposed my work. In this they may have been wrong.  But my wrong was in resentment and a feeling of letting myself be cut off from them, and even from praying for them, because of it. Years ago I read a quote from Mary Lyon that recurs to me again and again: 'Nine-tenths of our suffering is caused by others not thinking so much of us as we think they ought.' If you want to know where pride nestles and festers in most of us, that is right where it is; and it is not the opposition of others, but our pride, which causes the deepest hurt. I never read a word that penetrated more deeply into the sin of pride from which all of us suffer, nor one which opens up more surgically our places of unforgiveness."

Samuel Moor Shoemaker, And Thy Neighbor




Can't really add to that. It is a convicting reflection about what offends me and how I respond.

It is my Ongoing Story

I sat in the back of the car, feeling cold and empty. I could see my mom's silhouette in the headlights of oncoming traffic. She and my sister were talking about seeing my cousin dancing in their dreams. She's definitely in a better place, happy, with the Lord. But I felt no assurance or peace. I didn't know where she went. She was just gone. Heaven? I didn't know if it was real or just a way of consoling oneself in the face of tragedy. And it was a tragedy.  She and I had been the same age. At eighteen, life was supposed to be beginning, not ending. It left me cold and empty, confused and sad.

Her death was a jolt, a repercussive blast to the eardrums that leaves permanent change. If anyone was supposed to die, it should be me. I had a lot less to offer than she.  I returned to my second week of college heavy with these thoughts.  It was the first time that loss had infiltrated my world on a grand scale.  I didn't know what to do.

Was I mad at God? I don't know. I was angry at the unfairness of her death, but has no one to pin it on. I didn't know if God existed. It seemed like if he was there, he was helpless to effect change in the world.

For a while I continued to float through my freshman year. I went to parties and tried the drunken lifestyle, randomly made out with a boy. But I couldn't shed the cold emptiness.  This "party" stage was pretty pathetic actually. I was really bad at "wildin' out", and within two months I had given it up.  It just couldn't satisfy the gnawing vacancy I carried with me.

"Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also." John 14:1-3. 

These verses were read at the funeral. I had never heard them before. I didn't know where to find them in the Bible. But I wanted to understand them.  I came home late from a party and found the underused book. The last time I had opened it was for AP English, reading Job as historical literature.  I don't even know why I had it at college with me.

I laid in bed, flashlight in hand, and flipped through the book until I found John 14. The words were supposed to be comfort and I felt none. But I kept reading. Something in me couldn't resist it. Night after night, I would covertly open that Bible in the dark and read by flashlight. I underlined words, put question-marks in the margins.  It seemed to be written in a different language, but I was desperate to understand it.

At the same time, a community of Christians has materialized around me. My Christian RA had first told me the news of my cousin's passing. She would sit in the lobby and talk to me, comfort me, explain the book to me.  A friend invited me to a Young Life leader training.  "Training" appeared to be a group of students praying aloud and singing worship songs with a guitar. I was uncomfortable but kept going. There were cute boys involved, but beyond that, the group had a pull I couldn't explain.

I had so many questions about God's existence, the Bible's veracity, the religions of the world, why good people suffered. I wrote my dad a letter. He had been an atheist but converted to Christianity in his twenties. I wanted to know why. The letter was questions front and back. He took it very seriously, and a year later gave me his reply: 31 pages, single-spaced, addressing each question with deep, thorough care. It is one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever received.

And while waiting for that response, I enrolled in introductory religion classes, continued to go to YL training, and read the book. My soul hunger was crazily insatiable.

At home, one sister asked why I was reading that book so much. "I just have to know" was the only fitting answer. Another sister told me I had changed (and this was a good thing. I had never treated her well). I knew she was right. I felt different, less angry, less vindictive. I didn't operate with the same mean streak and didn't want to. My heart was changing.

I can't give a day of the week, a specific prayerful moment when God came to me. I can't tell you the first day I believed and accepted Christ as the way, the truth and the life.  One day, towards the end of that freshman year, I realized that I had been believing for a while. It's as if I had started walking in a direction without really thinking about it, and suddenly turned to see that I had been journeying with God.

I didn't know then that God wanted to be in a relationship with me, that he loves me. I didn't understand the death and resurrection that made it possible for me to be close to him.  But God has super-imposed his good news on my life. I was a dead thing made alive, a dark thing becoming light, bitterness becoming sweeter, a wound being healed, a stone heart turned to flesh. I was helpless to change, hopeless and empty. He changed me, gave me a hope, filled me up.

Wrapped up in my story is an assurance for anyone.  If you really want to know the truth, if you give him a chance and seek to understand him, he won't leave you empty-handed. He always shows up. He loves us so much.

He has loved me with an everlasting love. I am convinced that nothing in this world can separate me from it. He gives meaning to all suffering.  He forgives and transforms. He makes all things new. He makes me lovable and able to love. With him, death is not forever.  He is transforming me still. It is my ongoing story.

Fine Young Criminals

My sister's coin purse bulged mockingly.  "You stole my money!"I shouted.
"No, I didn't."
I pointed to the empty piggy bank lying on the floor.  "It was right there when I left and now it's gone!"
"No it wasn't. I don't know what you are talking about." 
I fumed with impotent fury. I had no witnesses. She was two years older and stronger than I.  I knew she had taken my carefully saved pennies, but I had no way to prove it.  I stalked off in frustration, thinking "When I get to heaven, I'll ask God and he'll show me how you stole my money. Then I'll know!"


And then... I framed her. I drew the nastiest, most terrible picture my five-year-old mind could conjure, forged her signature on the bottom, complete with hint of Dyslexia: Ytak, and immediately brought it to my mother.


For a while, things were going swimmingly. My mother was sufficiently horrified by the drawing, and Katy's pleas of innocence were unavailing...


And then... Mom looked a little more closely at the drawing, collapsing my house of cards. I have always been a good artist, better at drawing than any of my siblings. My mom knew Katy couldn't draw well enough to make this picture. I was found out.


And then... In her horror at what my mind could manufacture, she invited our pastor over to the house and showed him my terrible drawing, deeply concerned for my mortal soul.


In the end, I was broke and completely embarrassed. Revenge never gets you what you want.


An interesting twist on this saga is that I forgot about the frame up. I remember the stolen money and my vow for heavenly truth. I remember the drawing and the embarrassment of the pastoral disclosure, but Kate was the one who remembered the defaming forgery. And she had completely forgotten about those lifted pennies.


Isn't it funny how a mind works? It's really easy for me to remember the times that people have been unjust to me. I have a long memory for the mean words spoken on the playground, poor parental advice, personal slights. But my memory is short for the ways I have hurt others. I have some cringe-worthy remembrances of my misdeeds, but a lot of it is vague and glossy.  By contrast, the wrongs done to me are often in high relief.


Lately, when I'm praying, God will bring me some of those glossed over follies. It's not for the sake of shame or guilt, but for sober reflection on the state of my heart.  Sometimes I forget that I am desperately in need of forgiveness.  When one of these old sins is brought to mind I am rightly humbled again.  It's a necessary slap in the face. I need to be forgiven. I have hurt others. I am at their mercy. I am at God's mercy.


These reminders also undermine my carefully stored injustices.  I don't know if this is true for anyone else, but replaying those past hurts can actually make me angry all over again. I can even get upset about those stolen pennies if I think about it long enough.  


And then the words from Jesus' sermon on Mount Olivet pierce right to my heart: "For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." (Matthew 6:14-15 ESV)
Jesus takes our sin away as far as the east is from the west. He no longer remembers it.  Corrie Ten Boom says that he takes our sin and flings it into the ocean, and puts up a "no fishing" sign so that it will never be brought to the surface again.


But in the case of wrongs committed against me, I fish them out and examine them again and again. This is not forgiveness.  The sins against me still have power in my heart. Yet if I refuse to forgive them, than how can I be forgiven?


Someone always ends up footing the bill of injustice. It's either shouldered by the victim or paid off by the criminal. In our case, Jesus paid it all. He hasn't held our sins against us. If we are truly crucified with Christ (Galatians 2:20), it means that we are going to pay too. We are going to have to swallow pain and injustice and forgive. It is a very difficult thing to do.

I am learning, too, that forgiveness is never a one time thing.  Every time a bitter thought comes to mind about someone, I need to forgive that person afresh. I have to turn my thoughts away from remembering the sin, because it has been forgiven.  This is not easy, but it is like Jesus.

What does forgiveness mean? No more bringing it up.  No more fueling of anger. No more trying to make the other uncomfortable. No more manipulative guilt trips. Sometimes we think we've forgiven and then we see the person succeed and get angry. This is a sign that there is more work to do.


Forgiveness takes full stock of the wrong committed and says: "I will no longer hold this over your head. I will not harbor it in my heart. The slate is clean." And it may be that the recipient of forgiveness doesn't appreciate it at all. It doesn't matter. We still have to forgive.


The stakes are pretty high with this. I can't be forgiven if I refuse to forgive.  God is so gracious, but I can exclude myself from his grace.  


Lord help me to be a forgiver.  Erase my ledger of offenders. Erase my ledger of offenses.


Set us free from the tangle of sin.

Running away

I've always enjoyed a good run. When I was little, I felt that my new, periwinkle blue, velcro 'Kmart Specials' made me lightning fast. I spent that first afternoon running up and down the sidewalk in them, wondering if passersby were impressed by my great speed.

As an adult, running has been a source of release and stress relief. I plug in earphones and take off, leaving behind the trouble... at least for thirty minutes. I've always viewed it as a necessity, and even felt that moving to a developing country would be too difficult because I wouldn't have the same freedom to run. (Nonsense, of course. I could run anywhere if I really wanted to).

But I've realized that my running has exceeded those thirty minutes on asphalt. I have done a lot of running away, and even when I haven't physically left, my mind has entertained the notion.  Every time I've faced a trial, the suggestion to leave has undoubtedly shown up.

A friendship hit a rough patch and I retreated inward. A romance fizzled and immediately a new state, a new city, a new anywhere-but-here felt like a good idea. Wasn't it about time for a new job? I was sure of it in the midst of a hard stretch.   Discontent or difficult relationships always triggered the itch to run away.  I haven't always acted on the flight instinct, but the option always appeals.

Running can also be preemptive. Fearing loss or pain, the first thought is to retreat before it has a chance to catch me.  A relative of mine gave her dogs away in order to avoid their eventual deaths. I always thought her behavior off and a bit cruel, but now I see the same avoiding instinct in myself. It is a battle to stay engaged with life.

I don't go for runs nearly as often as I once did. The discs in my lower back have started to deteriorate, and the pounding of a run always threatens me with a back spasm or sciatica.  It totally sucks.  But I see that if running can no longer be my coping skill, perhaps God is wanting to teach me another way to deal with life.

I went on a run last night. At one point, I ran past a house where a yippy chihuahua was off leash. It started chasing me down the street, so I ran faster. The little imp had no trouble keeping up,  growling and nipping at my heal. This had to be a funny sight. What a guard dog. Obviously running wasn't working, so I stopped abruptly, turned and yelled "Hey, you go away!" and he immediately retreated,  barking in umbrage.

So funny. As long as I was running from it, that little thing was empowered to chase and bite. But my turning and standing thoroughly cowed it into submission. I had size on my side, after all.

Isn't this the same thing that God asks me to do? Turn and stand in the face of adversity? Running away never solves anything. Ignoring the problem only allows it to grow. Retreating from hardship only ensures that I won't mature.

The problems in life will undoubtedly be more intimidating than a little chihuahua nipping at my heals.  But if God is with me as he has promised, then I will always have size on my side.  I need to put on His armor: truth, peace, righteousness, faith, saving grace, and the Word, and stand up.

Alone I am easily shaken.  Alone I run away, but  if God is for me, who or what can truly stand against me?

He's promised that nothing can separate me from his love.  I just need to remember the one who is standing with me...


Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Eph. 6:13


(P.S.- Of course, I do think there are appropriate times to retreat. Healing, assessing situations, obvious physical danger, having healthy boundaries in hard relationships, etc. all require some form of retreat. I am talking more of habitual avoidance...)