Messages from Messengers of Light – Part 3                             

My third (and last!) son was a very dangerous little guy.  I felt that I was saving his life daily, even before he entered the “terrible two’s.”    One day I had even called my husband at work, crying.  “I think Seth’s going to die today!  I just caught him trying to back into the laundry chute holding my biggest butcher knife!”

I was certain that God must have several guardian angels posted on this child, 24/7!

One day, the 2-year-old had escaped outside, and I heard a blood-curdling scream on the driveway.  Running out the back door, I saw that he had somehow rolled a two-wheel bicycle forward, with his little finger now stuck between the bicycle chain and the gear.  I could not roll the wheel forward nor backward to release his flattened little finger.  Screaming for anyone in the neighborhood’s help, I picked up the bike (with him and his finger attached) to try to get anyone’s attention on our short, dead-end street.  NObody seemed to hear, and Seth, the bike, and I were now hidden behind our huge pine tree in the front yard.

Suddenly, from the dead-end end of our street came the most professional bicyclist racer I’d ever seen in person.  He appeared from “no-where”, and rode right to us…the screaming woman and the screaming 2-year-old behind the big tree.  Unzipping his small, professional bag of bicycle tools, he quickly disengaged the wheel gears and released the flattened little finger.  Both Seth and I were crying . . . he with screams of pain, and me imagining my baby losing his finger.  When I looked up to thank the professional racer, he had completely disappeared.  Gone. I didn’t see him go, had no way to thank him, and could not imagine how a professional racer could be riding from the dead-end of a little one-block-long street in Little Chute, Wisconsin.  

Seth’s daddy arrived and we rushed to the ER, with his finger saved through the quick actions of a mysterious Stranger, never seen before nor since.  

Divine interventions were frequently needed in those early years of Seth’s life. . . 

(my last child!) and I definitely had a sense of Angels nearby.  (I think they must have had a rotation schedule just for Seth!)  

But for me, that professional, world-class bicyclist will always be an Angel in my book  (whether divine or not!)!

Messages from Messengers of Light – Part 2

“For He Himself is our Peace, 
who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, 
the dividing wall of hostility…”
Ephesians 2:4

I was a new bride, beginning what would be a very adventurous life with my new husband.  He had come from a troubled past of Darkness, and was fully immersed in a new Life in the Kingdom of Light . . . the Kingdom of God.   His troubled past added to the passion he had for people who were drowning in Darkness, often hopelessly entangled in drugs.  

His passion to reach out to drug-addicted youth had led us into looking for a safe place away from the city streets where the entanglements of drugs and the devastating downward spirals of that life-style were so easily accessible.   We had found a property away from the city, but would need the approval of the small community where that property lay.  A town meeting had been announced, and the date set.

As we entered the small town hall, we could feel the hostility of a standing-room-only crowd of local folks who wanted nothing to do with drug addicts, alcoholics, and troubled youth.   (They had no idea that our worst-case heroin-addict had grown up in their small town.)   My husband was led up to the official front table where the town’s governing committee would call the meeting to order.  I had found an open chair in the back of the now standing-room-only gathering.  My heart was already pounding.

As the meeting commenced, anger began to surface and mount in the large crowd of local citizens.  Angry words began to be shouted and joined by a growing number of individuals until the packed room erupted into yelling, gavel-pounding, and people literally coming out of their seats in rage.  The meeting had to be called to an end, for fear of a violent riot on the brink.  Everyone was on their feet shouting.  

I was trying to keep my eyes on my husband, at whom most of the crowd was directing their words and anger.  Tears began to well up, and fears began to overwhelm me.  I wanted only to find my  Bill and run.  

As I stood at my seat in the back, craning to keep my eyes on my husband at the front of the room, I was desperately asking God to get us out…to rescue us.   Then my eyes were caught by a woman’s eyes.  A stranger.  She was at the very front of the room, and our eyes locked.  It was as if a path opened through the angry crowd between the woman and me.  She began to walk directly toward me.  I could not look away, even though the hostile mass was continuing to shout and raise their fists toward the town leaders and, especially, my husband in the front.  

But my eyes were locked on hers.  No word was spoken as she wrapped her arms  around me in that turbulent, frightening mob.  Peace began to sooth the fear inside. . . Peace beyond my own understanding.  She held me, without a word, for mere seconds.  Then she looked into my eyes, again, without a word.  I glanced away for just a moment.  And then she was gone.  I had not seen her leave. I could not see where she had gone. I had never seen the woman before.  Nor since.  But that moment  left me with a sense of Peace and assurance that God was with me…with us…despite the circumstances, despite the outcome, and regardless of all the fears of that night or the future to come.  God knew.  God was there. . . always.  

He is our Peace.

Messages from Messengers of Light – Part 1

“Didn’t our hearts burn within us . . .”

( a night in the desert)

The room was hot and completely dark.   It was the dead of night in the Sahara Desert refugee camps.  None of the vast desert sky’s starlights were able to penetrate into the stiflingly hot room where we slept.  Eyes open or eyes shut made no difference in the darkness.  My roommate and I had fallen asleep, following a busy day of meetings and activities surrounding the Faith Dialogue event in which we had participated.  Our team was exhausted, the mattresses uncomfortable, the hot desert air merciless,  and the darkness impenetrable.

Earlier that week, some of our team had talked a little about stories of Muslim people encountering a glowing figure appearing in their rooms in the night, wearing Eastern-style robes, and exuding a Light from His Being in a way that they recognized Him to be Jesus the Messiah.  As I drifted off to my much-needed sleep, I wondered what that experience must be like.

Several hours later, I abruptly awoke from my sleep, my eyes focused on the foot of my bed.  There before me stood a man that I would describe as a very handsome, Western-World, royal- looking “Prince.”   His entire being was Light.  He was wearing a white tuxedo, complete with satin vest, woven gold braiding and buttons, and white gloves.  He even held a white top hat in the crook of His arm, against His chest.  His beautiful eyes looked into mine.  He gently smiled, and extended his right hand as if to say, “Come . . . dance with Me.”   

In that jaw-dropping moment, I glanced toward my roommate, wondering if she was seeing what was happening on my side of the room!  But when I looked back, the Prince was gone.  

In the moment I had looked away,  my Prince had disappeared.  I wished I hadn’t taken my eyes off of him.  

But it was as if He wordlessly answered my questions of why so many in the muslim world are experiencing visitations in the night of a figure wearing Eastern-style robes, glowing white from an internal Source of Light, and a silent invitation to believe and follow Him.  Their world is one of flowing robes.  Messages are often shared without words. . . a look, a hand movement, communication with the eyes.  My Western world is one of fine suits and waltzes…(I wish.)

My shining Prince had invited me to join Him in the Holy Dance that He has prepared for the World.

“Thomas, one of the twelve, 
Was not with them when Jesus came.”
John 20:24

Growing up in a Bible-believing family, I was well taught from earliest childhood the Bible stories that are most well-known.  “Doubting Thomas” was one of those stories, and the focus was normally to not doubt the stories of Jesus.  Thomas’ story was usually presented as an example of the need to believe all that the Bible teaches us, without the unfortunate doubts that Thomas expressed.

But revisiting that ancient story recently, I am seeing it in a different light, and connecting to it in a new way.   

The followers of Jesus had experienced their world completely blowing up, with the horrific crucifixion, His death and burial outside of Jerusalem during their high holiday of Passover.  Not only were they thrown into their deepest experience of trauma and grief, but they feared for their own lives, being the most closely-connected circle of followers of the Crucified Jesus.  Quietly gathering under the cover of evening’s darkness, there was fear, turmoil, incredible trauma and sadness shared among them.  

Within circles of grief, there are those who are more aware of practical needs than others.  They are the ones who will be preparing a meal . . . gathering extra plates and cushions, making coffee for everyone, running to the local market, and simply doing the dishes.  They do it quietly, those un-planned acts of kindness that are their way of loving well.  

When my husband died, in those first days I was staying at my son’s home with family gathered all around.  A knock at the door signaled the presence of one of my most loved and respected ministry leaders and role-models.   Stuart and Jill Briscoe.  Following a precious time of loving, sweet conversations, I had to briefly turn attention to something else.  When I returned to my friends, I found Stuart, having donned an apron, washing the huge pile of dishes that had accumulated in the large kitchen sink.  He was simply living out something of which he often spoke:  The Ministry of Presence.  I will never forget that picture in my mind.

I suspect that Thomas may have been practicing that attitude.  He seems to have been quietly serving the larger group . . . going out to handle practical needs while the others were gathering together to talk . . . in shock, grief, and a need to simply “be together.”  So Thomas had missed the experience of the rest of his friends, that of Jesus’ visitation to their “hiding place.”    

But Jesus did come, and He gave that Moment to Thomas.  Very personally.  Intimately.  Without criticism or rebuke.  Whatever Thomas’ reason for being out of the gathering place, we can only imagine.  But Jesus gave him a very personal Moment that probably set the course for the rest of Thomas’ life. Jesus invited Thomas to physically touch the crucifixion wounds.  No rebuke. There was no hint of shame for having missed the moment that “everybody else” experienced. Jesus gave him that personal Moment…with an intimacy not noted with any of the others.  And Thomas spent the rest of his life spreading the Good News he had experienced to his world. . . all the way to us today.

Our Savior sees our sorrows and loss.  He knows our hearts.  And He tenderly gives us Moments with Him that will linger on forever.  

“So He went in to stay with them.  When He had reclined at the table with them, He took the bread and blessed it, and breaking it, He began giving it to them.
Their eyes were opened and they recognized Him; and He vanished from their sight.”
Luke 24:29-31

Middle Eastern / Bedouin hospitality is ancient and amazing.  Not only do I have dear memories of experiencing it in the Saharawi camps in the Sahara Desert, but I have also experienced in the culture of Israel.  

Luke’s account of Jesus’ story of “the hospitality of strangers” as He traveled to Galilee after His crucifixion and resurrection is a clear picture of Bedouin hospitality.  He was on a main traveling road, (Emmaus Road) leaving Jerusalem and heading to His home region of the Galilee.  He began walking along with two strangers, who were talking about the things they had learned of Jesus’ crucifixion and reported resurrection.  Not divulging who He was, Jesus joined their conversation in such a way that the two travelers invited Him to join them for a meal at their home.  Jesus accepted, and that evening they realized Who He really was.

Bedouin hospitality still exists.  I have experienced it throughout the 20+ years of spending time with the Saharawi people in the desert.  I have never experienced a time when I was not warmly invited into a refugee home/tent, and treated like royalty.  No questions asked.  With absolute Grace, there was a hidden scramble going on . . . children being sent to neighboring tents to find plates, silverware, glasses, cups, and food items.  All for the strangers.  What was presented to us (after LOTS of rounds of tea), was a lovely, artistic display of food, love, and amazing hospitality.  It was years before I learned the truth of how much rushing and work was going on behind the scenes in order to treat their “strangers / guests” as was their culture.

Jesus enjoyed a large meal (with lots of men to feed on short notice!) in the home of Cleopas, speaking to all the men who gathered around the table to meet and hear this Guest.  His Guest was speaking Words of Life and Truth.  Life-changing Truth.

How are you doing in the area of welcoming and inviting Jesus “in” to your daily activity (like a walk along your road), and into your home?  Is He a Present Guest at your table?  Is He welcome when it’s “just the family”. . . or when it’s an evening with friends?  Does He have anything to say?  Are you poised to listen?

Cleopas was a man of influence and the head of his family.  He made the invitation for Jesus to come into his personal world.  And he included others as well.  

Jesus came.

“The Messiah also suffered for you, 
leaving you an example for you to follow in His steps, 
 [as it is written in Isaiah 53:7]:  

“Who committed no sin, nor was any deceit found in His mouth;” 
and while being reviled, He did not revile in return;  
while suffering He uttered no threats, 
but kept entrusting Himself to Him who judges righteously.”   
1 Peter 2:21-23

I grew up hearing lots of sermons and Bible lessons about “being Jesus’ Hands and Feet” in this world.  Lots of examples of how to serve our families . . . neighbors . . . world, using our energy in Godly, practical ways.  The world can glimpse and taste the heart of Jesus through our lives.

But recently I have been taking a closer look at the stories of Jesus as He faced His own looming physical experiences of His human hands and feet  in going to the cross.  

It’s one thing to consider His hands and feet as He moved about on this earth:  Walking through the land of Israel . . . stony dirt roads that he traveled, visiting fishing villages around the Galilee, hostile towns in Samaria, or the annual trips from Nazareth to Jerusalem for festivals with his friends and family.  Stories of desert travel, navigating through hilly terrain along rocky, dusty paths, Jesus passed through villages, both friendly and not. He moved through the Land of Israel teaching about Life…Love…and His Father’s love and glory.  Seashores, mountains, desert, and unpaved, stony roads are the setting for so many stories of Jesus’ Words and miracles as well.  

Those stories inspire us to step out of our familiar routines and make time to interact with people in practical, caring ways.  Like Jesus did.

But I had never given much attention to the “hands and feet” accounts of what Jesus experienced  in the hours leading up to His death on the cross.   At least, not in the implications of how I may be Called upon to use my own hands and feet in ways that would physically hurt for the sake of others.   That’s a whole different level of “being His Hands and Feet” to my world.

Being inconvenienced to serve others is one thing.  But to go to the point of real physical discomfort or pain for the sake of others is not what is common in our practical experiences of following Jesus.  What He endured through His crucifixion, both before and during the Cross, is far beyond what we can imagine.  What His Hands and Feet went through was excruciating.  And beyond that, there was the lashing of His back, the huge thorns in His head, the psychological torment, and more.  The emotional torment of experiencing God’s “abandonment” throughout the whole physical torture would have been incredibly brutal in itself.  Extreme public humiliation was woven throughout His trauma.

It was all on our behalf.

The next time you sing a worship song about “being His Hands and Feet,” don’t take it lightly.  For the sake of our lost world, it may cost far more than simply “giving” and “going.”  

Are we willing to bear that?

“… Until we all come unto the measure

of the stature

of the fullness of Christ.”

Ephesians 4:13

I have a friend who is from a different country, but lives here in the US.   He owns property in his homeland, and still loves to return there for time with family and friends…lots of good memories.  

With his repeated visits to his homeland, he decided to build a house as an investment as well as for his own use when visiting there.  But he did most of the decision-making concerning the new building via telephone with his contractor.  He had his plans drawn out and sent to his builder.   But there was one detail that they both missed, because they were each using the measuring system with which they were each most familiar.  For the builder, it was in metric.  For my friend, it was feet and inches.  Not the same!

Because the systems of measure of each man was such an assumed, usual daily practice, it was never mentioned that one was thinking in metric, while the other was thinking feet and inches.  

When my friend went to see his new house for the first time, he was shocked to find that it was a very large house….far bigger than he had planned and expected!   They had used common numbers, but the values of the measuring system of each was very different.  They’d both made their own plans using their own measuring system, never realizing they were entirely different systems.  Everything had been built according to the plan.  But the end result was NOT!

We all tend to measure the realities of our lives according to the measurements used by our own little world.  We may silently compare our own life details with those of others . . . our looks, our homes, our children, our spouses, our jobs, our income, and even our spirituality.  But we don’t realize that we are “measuring” all of those things with our own system of measurement.  We’ve learned to assess values, sizes, talents, and lives according to our own frames of references . . . our own experiences in life.  We believe that our “measuring system” is true and common to everyone around us.

But we’re not using the correct measuring tool.  We’re just using our own device, or the measuring devices used by the people of our personal world.

The only True Measure is God’s. . . the Creator of All.   If we miss that foundational fact, we’re making constant mistakes concerning what should be.   

God, the Creator of All that exists, laid out tons of measurements for His Creation to follow . . . concerning the realities of this Earth, and the human race and how it was intended to work.  When we turn away from His Measuring Rod – His One Absolute, and begin using a different system, everything goes awry.  All that was Planned comes out way off from the Plan. . . relationships, homes, families . . . the Earth itself.

Our only True Measure is Christ Himself.  

What measures are you using?