JESUS

Do you have any friends? Really close friends? Friends for life?

I came to a startling revelation a few months ago. I don’t have any friends. I don’t. I have a lot of acquaintances but, other than my wife, I really have no close friends.

I’ve had some friends in the past, but not many. Eventually something happened—nothing sinister, just something—like moving, having a baby, changing jobs, building a home, going back to school, changing churches; nothing bad or wrong, just something that happened and, the next thing I knew, another friendship slowly eroded.

Now don’t get me wrong, there are half a dozen guys who I consider to be close, caring people and who I always look forward to being with. They are people with whom, on occasion, I have shared my guts...and I would again. They are people who know how to have fun, who accept me as I am—no pretense, no persona to maintain—just simple, meaningful relationships.

But a close friend? Nope. Not one.

You are probably wondering why. I have been wondering why for a long time. After some very painful soul-searching, I think I have discovered the reasons.

I am too busy. I am gone too much, travel too much, speak too much, and work too much. I have done an excellent job of convincing the people around me that I am too busy—too busy doing the very important work that I am doing—to have any time for friendships. In other words, I have »snowed« everyone around me. I have convinced them to buy into the myth of my busy-ness to such a degree that the possibility of my being their friend (or them being mine) never enters their mind. That’s what people like me do. We hide behind the walls of our busy-ness so that we don’t have to worry about anyone wanting to be our friend. You see, people don’t want to impose. They don’t want to rob my wife and me of the very few moments we have together, so they enable us by staying away from us so that we can be even busier.

This week I am speaking in England, next week New York, the week after that Hawaii, then Australia, then Dallas, then Vancouver. And then I come home for a few days...exhausted, jet lagged, useless to everyone around me while my body and mind adjust to the new and unfamiliar surroundings—my home. I spend a day with my wife and kids getting reacquainted, and all the while I’m anxious to get to the phone messages and correspondence that have fallen way behind. I’m home, but I’m not home. I am present, but I am not really present. And then one morning I wake up and realize that I am alone. Very alone. I realize I need to do something about all of this, then I race to catch the plane for my next trip and vow to change when I get home. But I never do.

When will it occur to those of us who are in the ministry, who are in the public eye, that we cannot keep doing this? We cannot keep hiding behind our busy schedules. We cannot keep acting like we have no choice because without us the world will fall apart.

Instead of the world falling apart, we fall apart...or our families, or our kids, or our congregations fall apart.

I’ll never forget a statement Janis Joplin once made after a big concert: »I’ve just made love to 25,000 people and I’m going home alone.«

Let me speak as bluntly as I possibly can to all of us, including myself: If we are too busy to have friends, we are much too busy. If we are too busy to have time for our families, kids, or neighbors, we are much too busy. Most of us in the ministry are lone rangers, isolated from everyone, separated by our »fame« and our giftedness. We have surrounded ourselves with employees whose job is to keep the peons away from us. No wonder so many ministers crack up. No wonder so many ministers end up having affairs, or end up using their churches as a place to pad their pocketbooks and/or build monuments to themselves.

Friendship is not an option for Christians.

Jesus’ disciples were friends, not groupies...even Judas.

Let’s get real. Let’s quit being so busy. Take a sabbatical. Take the time required to build the kind of friendships that will last. After all, that’s what Jesus did. He wasn’t so busy that He didn’t take time to make friends first, then disciples. He only had three years. Isn’t that one of the great parts of the Good News? The God of the Universe—Who should be fairly busy Himself—wants to be our friend.

Instead of building a ministry to thousands, maybe we ought to build a friendship with one. Instead of speaking 200 times a year, maybe we ought to listen to our children and our spouse. Maybe we should be known not for how many converts we make or radio stations we acquire or crusades we hold. Maybe we should be known as someone who knows how to have friends.

I have decided to make some friends.

It will mean I have to stay home. It will mean I have to spend time with someone doing absolutely nothing. It will mean I have to work at something that is not easy for me. But I am not worried. My friend Jesus is willing to help.

The tragedy of modern faith is that we no longer are capable of being terrified. We aren’t afraid of God, we aren’t afraid of Jesus, we aren’t afraid of the Holy Spirit. As a result, we have ended up with a need-centered gospel that attracts thousands...but transforms no one.

What happened to the bone-chilling, earth-shattering, gut-wrenching, knee-knocking, heart-stopping, life-changing fear that left us speechless, paralyzed, and helpless? What happened to those moments when you and I would open our Bibles and our hands started shaking because we were afraid of the Truth we might find there? Barclay tells us that the word used in the Bible for »Truth« has three meanings—a word used to describe a wrestler grabbing an opponent by the throat; a word meaning to flay an animal; and a word used to describe the humiliation of a criminal who was paraded in front of a crowd with a dagger tied to his neck, its point under his chin so he could not put his head down. That is what the Truth is really like! It grabs us by the throat, it flays us wide open, it forces us to look into the face of God. When is the last time you and I heard God’s Truth and were grabbed by the throat?

Unfortunately, those of us who have been entrusted with the terrifying, frightening, Good News have become obsessed with making Christianity safe. We have defanged the tiger of Truth. We have tamed the Lion, and now Christianity is so sensible, so accepted, so palatable.

Who is afraid of God anymore?

We are afraid of unemployment, we are afraid of our cities, we are afraid of the collapse of our government, we are afraid of not being fulfilled, we are afraid of AIDS, but we are not afraid of God.

I would like to suggest that the Church become a place of terror again; a place where God continually has to tell us, »Fear not«; a place where our relationship with God is not a simple belief or doctrine or theology, it is God’s burning presence in our lives. I am suggesting that the tame God of relevance be replaced by the God whose very presence shatters our egos into dust, burns our sin into ashes, and strips us naked to reveal the real person within. The Church needs to become a gloriously dangerous place where nothing is safe in God’s presence except us. Nothing—including our plans, our agendas, our priorities, our politics, our money, our security, our comfort, our possessions, our needs.

The two men on the road to Emmaus knew they had been with Jesus because their »hearts burned from within.« The impotence of today’s Church, the weakness of Christ’s followers, and the irrelevance of most parachurch organizations is directly related to the lack of being in the presence of an awesome, holy God, who continually demands allegiance only to Him—not to our churches, our organizations, or our theology.

We believe in a God who wants all of us—every bit of us—and He wants us all the time. He wants our worship and our love, but most of all He wants us to trust Him. We have to be more in awe of God than we are of our government, more in awe of God than we are of our problems, more in awe of God than we are of our beliefs about abortion, more in awe of God than we are of our doctrines and agendas. Our God is perfectly capable of calming the storm or putting us into the middle of one. Either way, if it’s God, we will be speechless and trembling.

Our world is tired of people whose God is tame. It is longing to see people whose God is big and holy and frightening and gentle and tender...and ours; a God whose love frightens us into His strong and powerful arms where He longs to whisper those terrifying words, »I love you.«

Please tell me why God allowed over 6000 innocent people to be murdered on September 11, 2001?

Answer?

I don’t know.

Where was God?

I don’t know.

When Leslie Weatherhead, a minister in London during the Second World War, was asked by a member in his congregation where God was when his son was killed in a bombing raid, Weatherhead replied, »I guess he was where he was when his son was killed.«

And where was that?

I don’t know.

Isn’t »I don’t know« too ambiguous? Isn’t »I don’t know« an unconvincing way to convince young people Christianity is true?

Actually, »I don’t know« confirms one critical truth about Christianity…it’s a mystery!

Jesus loves us, right?

Of course.

So if he loves us, he protects us, right?

If he loves us…he is with us.

Jesus can heal, can’t he? And perform miracles?

Of course. Just not very often.

Why?

I don’t know.

What about God’s will?

My youth director says we’re supposed to seek God’s will. There are lots of verses in the Bible that tell us to do God’s will, aren’t there? God does have a will, right?

Absolutely.

Trouble is God’s will is not like a to-do list. It’s more like an undecipherable code. The Bible definitely gives us some clues about the code of God’s will, which means we can figure out part of it; but, because it’s God, we will never crack the code.

Clues?

Yeah, like, follow me, serve me, love me, live by my commandments, point people to me.

That’s it? Just follow me, serve me, love me and trust me?

That’s about it.

What do you mean »that’s about it?«

You don’t want to know.

Yes I do.

We get a cross.

Cross????? What does that mean?

I don’t know.

But God does heal people, doesn’t he?

Certainly.

And miracles do happen, don’t they.

Right.

So we can count on God helping us, can’t we?

We can count on God being God.

Which means…??

I don’t know.

And what does that mean?

It means we can trust God if we lost someone in the WTC or if they survived.

It means we can trust God when we have cancer and when we’re healed.

We can trust God if we survive a natural disaster or if we don’t.

We can trust God when we get a glimpse of Divine will and when we don’t.

We can trust God in the answers and the questions, in the good and the bad, in the light and the dark, when we’re winning and when we’re losing.

We can trust God even when the Truth doesn’t answer all our questions or leaves us with even more questions.

And, most importantly, just beyond our »I don’t know’s,« Jesus is waiting with open arms to snuggle us in the mystery of his love.

One of my son’s friends (I’ll call him Greg), recently celebrated his 28th birthday. Greg’s parents weren’t happy with his life choices, especially his decision to live with his girlfriend. Knowing his parents’ displeasure, Greg and his girlfriend decided to get married, and they called his parents to give them the good news. »We want to be married in Minnesota, so the entire family can come.« Greg’s parents were happy, but restrained.

While they were planning the wedding, Greg’s girlfriend discovered she was pregnant. Realizing the coming pregnancy would upset his parents, Greg decided to call off the wedding and use the money they were going to spend on the wedding for their new baby instead.

Greg and Diane opted for a courthouse wedding with a justice of the peace presiding. Only my son and his girlfriend witnessed the union.

A couple of weeks after the »wedding,« my son and his girlfriend were with some friends, and the subject of Greg’s marriage came up. Everyone concluded that it was more like a »non-wedding«—impersonal and isolated. As Greg and Diane’s friends talked, their conviction grew. No wedding should be an impersonal, isolated, bureaucratic, legal transaction. Weddings should be celebrated. The couple should be surrounded with the support and care of family and friends.

The group looked at each other and almost in unison said the same thing: »Why don’t we give Greg and Diane the wedding they never had?« As soon as the words left their mouths, they knew what had to be done. Even though Greg and Diane were legally married, the group decided to gift them with a »real« wedding. The date was set, both families were called, and, surprisingly, all agreed to come to the surprise wedding at their own expense. Sixty friends and family were involved in a conspiracy of grace.

To ensure that the couple was available on their new wedding day, Greg and Diane were invited to my son’s home for a »dress up« dinner on the day of the wedding conspiracy. When the couple arrived for dinner, a group of Diane and Greg’s friends kidnapped each of them separately and each was given the bachelor and bachelorette party they’d never had. The »bride« and »groom« were separately driven to a secluded place where, seated in a circle with their same-gender friends, they were asked a series of questions like, »Now that you have been married for three months, what mistakes have you made? How can we help you in your marriage?« Both the young husband and wife were given a picture of their spouse and asked to write on the back of the photo all the reasons they loved that person.

When the individual parties were finished, Greg and Diane thought that the surprise was over. You can imagine their shock when they were returned to the house, only to discover 60 of their family and friends waiting for them, laughing, yelling »Surprise!!!« The hugging and the crying began. It took Greg and Diane a long time to stop crying and after they regained their composure, the entire group moved into the back yard surrounded with flowers where a minister was waiting. The couple exchanged vows, each parent vowed their support, and each friend walked by and whispered a blessing to the couple. When the service was completed, there wasn’t a dry eye anywhere. Everyone left knowing they had participated in a moment of grace. This wedding had »Jesus« written all over it.

Coming Home
by Barbara Davidson
Born in post-World War II Germany of Polish holocaust survivors, my longing to find an earthly place I could call home began early in life. My parents, victims of Hitler's atrocities, had been thrust from their homes and forced to find new ones. Germany was for us a place we were but temporarily transplanted. From there we would eventually sail to the United States to establish more permanent roots. And so the Bronx, New York, became our new home. But we soon learned that anti-Semitism hadn't ended and, of course, never could end merely with the collapse of Hitler's regime. The Nazis had ceased abusing my father, but the same satanic spirit resided in my pseudo-Christian Gentile neighbors, who on several occasions beat me up simply because I was Jewish.

While we had made a home, we were not home. In time, though my parents remained in the Bronx, I left--first, to the faraway island of Manhattan. Later, as a blossoming flower child of the late '60s, having embraced Yoga and Eastern religions, I responded to the beckoning of India and Ceylon. But my anticipation of spiritual ecstasies was dampened by the pervasiveness of abject poverty. How, I wondered, could such so-called enlightened philosophies engender such darkness? Cutting short my stay at a yoga retreat in Ceylon, I headed for Israel--eager, yet at the same time, very reluctant. I had had my fill of Judaism. Its empty rituals were tiresome, and Jewishness was a source of shame to one as assimilated as I had aspired to become. (I had forbidden my mother to speak Yiddish to me in public. I wanted so much to be a Gentile that the highest compliment anyone could bestow upon me was to tell me that I didn't look Jewish.) Consequently, all that really interested me about Israel was the prospect of experiencing communal farm life on the kibbutz.

But God had other plans. (Was it mere coincidence that the night before leaving mostly Buddhist Ceylon, the only movie in town was »The Ten Commandments?«) Flying into a breathtaking, golden, Jaffa orange Israeli sunrise, I was overcome with emotion. But why was I, who rarely cried, crying? Why did I feel like kissing the ground? This was not my country. I was an American.

My intended brief stay turned into ten months. I loved the kibbutz life, and I thought I might return to live in Israel after completing my college education in the States.

But I felt so uncomfortable among the Orthodox Jews at my college that the very idea of living in an all-Jewish State was abhorrent to me.

Still determined to find a home, I then fancied that the West Coast would provide me with what I was looking for. It wasn't. Meanwhile, a subsequent return trip to Israel in 1977 convinced me that it still was no more than a nice place to visit.

In early 1982, however, everything changed. I received a pamphlet on a street corner in New York. It was put out by Jews for Jesus, and I felt compelled to write a letter to them. I soon received a phone call from a Jewish woman who invited me to attend a service. It was a fascinating experience seeing very Jewish people singing praises to Jesus. I stopped running away from my Jewish roots. That was when I found my Messiah. With his abiding love, he set into motion the process of my discovering my true home.

In August, 1982, I was able to return once again to Israel--this time to help with the Lebanese war effort. As a volunteer with the Israeli Army, I was blessed with the opportunity to spend an entire month with the courageous defenders of that tiny country that is God's earthly promise to the seed of Abraham; to clean tanks and machine guns; to pack duffle bags; to help my people; to learn about the agony and the heartache of continual war; to help protect my country.

How strange, yet how comfortable was this new feeling of love and loyalty which overcame me. God had certainly changed the heart of this would-be Jewish anti-Semite. For the first time in my life, I felt that I was truly home. Indeed, from God's point of view, I was home:

»But you, O mountains of Israel, will produce branches and fruit for my people Israel, for they will soon come home.« (Ezekiel 36:8, NIV)

My return to New York was difficult because I now knew what had motivated my search for an earthly home: I was in the Diaspora, outside of God's promised land, and in exile. At the same time, however, I realized that before coming to know Y'shua, I had also been in a spiritual Diaspora--cast out from God's promises by my unbelief. But God, by His abundant grace, was true to His promise:

»I will put my spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land.« (Ezekiel 37:14)

He put His spirit in me, and I came alive, and subsequently settled into my spiritual inheritance through my faith in the Messiah of Israel. Although still living in New York, I pray that one day soon I will also physically settle in the land of my forefathers. But in the meantime, I know for certain that wherever I am on this earth, I am at home in the Lord.

Please tell me why God allowed over 6000 innocent people to be murdered on September 11, 2001?

Answer?

I don’t know.

Where was God?

I don’t know.

When Leslie Weatherhead, a minister in London during the Second World War, was asked by a member in his congregation where God was when his son was killed in a bombing raid, Weatherhead replied, »I guess he was where he was when his son was killed.«

And where was that?

I don’t know.

Isn’t »I don’t know« too ambiguous? Isn’t »I don’t know« an unconvincing way to convince young people Christianity is true?

Actually, »I don’t know« confirms one critical truth about Christianity…it’s a mystery!

Jesus loves us, right?

Of course.

So if he loves us, he protects us, right?

If he loves us…he is with us.

Jesus can heal, can’t he? And perform miracles?

Of course. Just not very often.

Why?

I don’t know.

What about God’s will?

My youth director says we’re supposed to seek God’s will. There are lots of verses in the Bible that tell us to do God’s will, aren’t there? God does have a will, right?

Absolutely.

Trouble is God’s will is not like a to-do list. It’s more like an undecipherable code. The Bible definitely gives us some clues about the code of God’s will, which means we can figure out part of it; but, because it’s God, we will never crack the code.

Clues?

Yeah, like, follow me, serve me, love me, live by my commandments, point people to me.

That’s it? Just follow me, serve me, love me and trust me?

That’s about it.

What do you mean »that’s about it?«

You don’t want to know.

Yes I do.

We get a cross.

Cross????? What does that mean?

I don’t know.

But God does heal people, doesn’t he?

Certainly.

And miracles do happen, don’t they.

Right.

So we can count on God helping us, can’t we?

We can count on God being God.

Which means…??

I don’t know.

And what does that mean?

It means we can trust God if we lost someone in the WTC or if they survived.

It means we can trust God when we have cancer and when we’re healed.

We can trust God if we survive a natural disaster or if we don’t.

We can trust God when we get a glimpse of Divine will and when we don’t.

We can trust God in the answers and the questions, in the good and the bad, in the light and the dark, when we’re winning and when we’re losing.

We can trust God even when the Truth doesn’t answer all our questions or leaves us with even more questions.

And, most importantly, just beyond our »I don’t know’s,« Jesus is waiting with open arms to snuggle us in the mystery of his love.