Crazy like Jesus

The crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat. When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, ‘He has gone out of his mind.’ (Mark 3:2-21)

From one point of view, not much has changed. The figure of Jesus—his words, his example, the life he lived and into which invites others—presents a choice that is no different now than 20 centuries ago.

On one hand, there were those who clamored near to see what he’d do next. The evidence suggests he did some amazing things. People got healed and released from a variety of maladies, physical and emotional, in his presence. They also heard a message that the poorest, weakest and worst among them were at least as valued, important and loved as celebrities and those who occupy executive suites.

Any real American will tell you this is at least a little crazy.

So it is no surprise that many in his own time thought Jesus engaged in trickery, sorcery, and delusion, suggesting he was off his rocker, perhaps a megalomaniac who was a danger to himself, to society and to anyone who got too close to him.

They were right, of course, not about the megalomania, but certainly about being a danger to himself and others, as history and the experience of many millions well prove.

Consider. He had power. He acted with authority. He spoke as if the life of God worked though him. And he was certain this power was not for personal comfort, protection or glory but for the healing of broken bodies and hearts—even if that should cost him dearly, which it did.

Jesus’ family apparently wanted to save him from this madness by taking him home and ending this silly mission he called the kingdom of God, this community defined by the mutuality of love not the accumulation of power.

Some ... most, I suppose, believe or live like this is just as crazy as when Jesus suggested this is what God always had mind for us.

But what most impresses me, after nearly 70 years of life, is that the people I most admire, the souls who have made the biggest impact on my soul, the faces who bring tears of gratitude to my eyes are exactly those who were crazy like Jesus.

David L. Miller

 

 

 

 

 

Sabbath moment

Then Jesus said to them, ‘The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath. (Mark 2:27)

Sabbath moment

I come here looking for sabbath, and often as not I find it. Or perhaps sabbath finds me once the scene is set.

The scene is simple enough, a desk piled with books partially read, pens and pencils askew in a desk organizer, a lamp, a candle, a computer, steam rising from a coffee cup, a small stereo from which Latin chant praises the God who meets us in common things and familiar places.

Today, sabbath time is interrupted by a familiar voice on the phone, a request, conversation, laughter, the promise to speak again soon.

The sun momentarily pokes through winter’s gray, disappearing again into a January sky.

It matters not, for warmth within offers the only sabbath the heart truly needs. Sabbath is more than rest or even quiet. Sometimes sabbath is as noisy as the laughter that filled the room ... and my heart ... as we ended the call that interrupted my silence.

Sabbath happens when the heart sinks into the well of Love hidden in the depth of one’s soul. Wholly immersed in this mysterious Love who loves us whole, gentle joy fills the heart ... knowing this Love is within us yet infinitely beyond and immeasurably deep.

Words fail, of course. For what words can encompass the Love who encompasses all and extends beyond all that is? This Love is unknowable, yet known; uncontainable, yet dwelling in the hidden depth of our souls into which we sink in sabbath moments.

Every such moment is a gift of love from the Love who invites us to seek sabbath space where our hearts can sink into their depths to receive what Love alone can give.

Love really has only one thing to give, its own dear self. Receiving this gift, we become more ourselves than we usually are.

David L. Miller

Caught in the middle with you

And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost, and so are the skins; but one puts new wine into fresh wineskins. (Mark 2:22)

Liminal space, it is sometimes called, this time out of time when you are neither where you were nor where you might, could and (one hopes) will be, once body and soul find their way from the no-longer to the not-yet.

Faith is needed, of course. It always is, but perhaps more so amid transition because so little is seen, and the restlessness within is hard to define. Is it hunger for rest in the peace of God where love fills the heart, or is this restiveness the Spirit’s agitation, spurring the heart to new ways of being?

Ancient wisdom suggests it is Spirit’s way of saying, Keep going. Keeping looking. Keep your heart open, and don’t try fit your life into former patterns that once fit like a glove. They no longer do.

The happy implication here is the promise of more. I have more for you, the Spirit says. Don’t imagine I am done with you. Springs of water will bubble up in your life, and I will turn them into the wine of gladness, joy you have not yet tasted.

This is your word to me this day, a word for any, I suppose, who are caught in liminal space, eager to know what will come ... now that what-was is no longer.

You are in this space with me, dearest Love, and you bid me to wait and watch and know ...  all is well and will be, for there is no space where you, my Lord, are not.

And this is enough for me.

David L. Miller