⁶ So when they met together, they asked him, “Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?”

 ⁷ He said to them: “It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority. ⁸ But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

 ⁹ After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight.

 ¹⁰ They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. ¹¹“Men of Galilee,” they said, “why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.”

This passage naturally evokes a lot of questions because of its remarkable and supernatural character.  ”He just floated away?  Where did he go?  Did anyone else see this?”  I even had a very blunt friend ask, “Could everyone see up his robe??  Do you think Jesus crossed his legs?”  See, this passage just begs questions of varying sorts, some more appropriate than others.

But there is another question that I ask when I read this passage, which is, “How did the disciples feel as they saw Jesus ascend?”  And the answer probably would be, “Terrible”.  And you can hardly blame them.  This was the second time that they were losing Jesus, the first being the traumatic events of Good Friday.  But lo and behold, Jesus returns to them, and they are sure that after His miraculous resurrection, He’s going to restore Israel from Roman occupation (they still don’t really get what Jesus is up to) and just generally be awesome.  But instead…He’s leaving them again.  And I would think that mixed in their sheer wonderment at the ascension, there was also a feeling of sadness and perhaps fear, as they saw Jesus leave them.

“He’s leaving us again??”

But the fuller purposes behind this event are revealed in John 16, where Jesus tells the disciples this:

⁵ “Now I am going to him who sent me, yet none of you asks me, ‘Where are you going?’ ⁶ Because I have said these things, you are filled with grief. ⁷ But I tell you the truth: It is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Counselor will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. ⁸ When he comes, he will convict the world of guilt in regard to sin and righteousness and judgment: ⁹ in regard to sin, because men do not believe in me; ¹⁰ in regard to righteousness,because I am going to the Father, where you can see me no longer; ¹¹ and in regard to judgment, because the prince of this world now stands condemned.

So as sad and painful as the ascension seemed to the disciples, it is in reality the start of something vitally important, and very good – the empowerment of the disciples, and the beginning of the early church.  They are on the brink of being transformed from everyday people into the leaders of a movement that will forever change the course of human history, God’s very instruments here on earth.  And it all begins not with a party and celebration, but with a moment of great loss and utter confusion.

Pain of any kind is unpleasant, and difficult to deal with and understand.  Rejection, sickness, failure, loneliness, loss, whatever it is, can feel categorically negative and destructive, with no redeeming purpose.  A setback of any kind sends us reeling, unable to understand what God is doing, or if He is even there at all.  Perspective in the midst of pain is nearly impossible.

But what makes that perspective possible is the realization that there is enormous good that God can accomplish in moments of great pain.  What’s more, sometimes we must experience those “negative” moments in order to experience the greater good that God has planned for us.  And so, the journey to witness the greatest good that God has planned for us may actually begin in confusion and loss.  Those moments are still difficult, but are not at all mutually exclusive to the work of God, and in fact, ultimately serve to make God’s ultimate redemption all the more amazing in the end!

So don’t let yourself being overwhelmed by disappointments and  pain, but realize that often, those moments are just a prelude to something amazing that God is going to accomplish in your life!

Come to me, my people, come 
There’s no need to be afraid of Your Father
When I see you, I will run
I will be there, I will be there

Before you call, I will answer you
While you still speak, I will hear 
My ears are turned to the cry
Of My chosen ones
In my love you can rest in me
For you are My very own
So hold on to the hope you have
That I would draw you to Myself
For I will never leave you alone

I will not forget you,
I gather My lambs in My arms
So I will comfort you and carry 
you close to my heart

I love the Lord’s Prayer, except this verse.  I hate that part, and so generally avoid it.

But not today.

Because there must be some reason why Christ calls us to confess in prayer, even if I don’t like it.  So here are some of the sins that I have committed in a 48 hour period.  I could try to justify myself in each of them and give more context, but I think that rather ruins the whole point of confession, so I won’t.  Be warned, I don’t think these confessions put me in a very positive light:

1. I swore at a bus driver all the way home this morning.  Not just the PG swear words, the R ones.

2. I met with a person who has been struggling in life for a long time now, and felt a sense of impatience with them.  I privately wished that someone else could take care of this person’s needs, not me.  Or that they would just go away.

3. I was bitter towards people whom I thought betrayed me, slandered me, turned their back on me.  I blamed my situation on them, and realized that I harbor a deep ill will towards them still.

4. At the park with my kids, I felt intimidated and apprehensive around men who were there for the simple fact that they were homeless.

Ugh.  That’s not it, either.  These are only the ones that I feel comfortable sharing on an online forum.  So I did it, I confessed my daily sins as commanded in the Lord’s Prayer.  It’s not pleasant, but I realize that despite the pain of confession, there is great power there as well:

First, I know myself better now.  Our sins are a crystal clear window into our spiritual state, perhaps the best we have.  We try to hide our shortcomings at all costs, and the more we do so, the less self-aware we become.  And after a while, we begin to believe our own lies and assume that we are doing just fine, and have nothing to confess, and so no need for Christ in our lives.  But however much we try to hide it, our sins unveil it all: our true anger, our bitterness, our prejudices, and our needs.  In confession, the shiny veneer of our lives is stripped away, our deeply flawed nature unveiled.  And our need for Christ acutely sharpened.

Second, I know what I need now.  It’s funny – sometimes as Christians, we have no idea what to share when someone asks to pray for us.  We scratch our heads and say, “Hm.  I guess I have a tough time at school or home or whatever, and you can pray for me.”  Something ridiculously generic like that.  But not me.  Now I know exactly what I need prayer for, and perseverance in: I need to rein in my tongue!  I need to have more compassion on broken and unlovable people.  I need to forgive others as I have been forgiven.  And I need to have a heart for the poor as Christ did.  I have a lot you can pray for.

Lastly, I feel freer…man, that word looks weird.  I feel more free.  It feels liberating not to hide everything, to put enormous effort into supporting the false pretense that I’m perfect.  It’s good to let it all hang out there and admit that I am not a perfect person, even as a pastor.  I feel better!  Now, I want to clarify this a bit – I don’t feel exonerated.  The state of innocence from guilt is not something accomplished through confession, but through crucifixion, and not my own either.  My sins, past and future, are paid for by the sacrifice of Christ on the cross.  Thank God!

So why do we confess then, if not to exonerate us from guilt?

There is more than one answer to this question: the difference between the state of sinfulness and the commission of individual sin, the idea of salvific grace versus daily grace, complicated questions that you should ask a more theologically minded individual.  But the answer that I want to highlight is that confession leads to healing.  Our culture is so judicial and legalistic that we tend to view anything having to do with wrongdoing through that lens: blame, guilt, innocence, exoneration.  And the gospel definitely has that sense to it, no doubt.

But as we confess our sins, we also inch closer to emotional wholeness and healing.  In this way, confession has not solely a legalistic component, but a personally restorative element as well!  Confession heals us, binds us up, and restores our relationships to one another.  Or as a professor at Fuller was so fond of saying:

“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” – Lewis Smedes

So there are very good reasons that Christ commands us to confess our sins when we pray.  And if we avoid this command, as contradictory as it might feel, we are only hurting ourselves in the end.  Because it is through the painfulness of confession that we approach the freedom found in forgiveness.

I watched this short film with my wife, and I’ll admit that there were a few moments when I was close to crying, a little.  It is a wonderful thing to see a child’s eyes light up as Caine’s do.  But then I remembered that my sheer manliness made crying physically impossible, and so I stopped.  But there is no doubt that this piece is inspirational and touching, to say the very least.

But to be honest, Caine Monroy (the little boy) is only my second favorite character in the video.  Caine is indeed special, brimming with creativity and joy, living in the thin place where reality and imagination collides.  But he’s special in a way that all children are special.  All kids are awesome and deserve attention and indie films made in their honor.  THEY ALL DEFINITELY DESERVE COLLEGE FUNDS.  My own children have moments like this.  For example, my daughter invented a far away planet called “Planet Zoycs and the Third Dimenchin”, complete with an alien language and a handy glossary for common terms:

My favorite person from the video was actually Nirvan Mullick, the filmmaker.  You see, it was Nirvan who first recognized something wonderfully creative in Caine’s arcade, and then actually took the time to play a few games, something that countless people probably declined to do before him, and after.  But then he went way further, investing his own creativity and time and effort into filming the arcade, and then mobilizing dozens of people to come and play.  If not for Nirvan, Caine’s story would have gone completely unrecognized, and we would not have this wonderful testament to the awesomeness of Caine, and to all children.

Moreover, Nirvan’s example serves as an important model for all of us big people.  When we consciously invest in children, and make special effort to celebrate their uniqueness and creativity, their lives are changed for the better.  But frankly, so are our own as we recapture some of that sense of wonderment and freedom that we ourselves had when we were younger.  And the world at large is improved, its future brighter, and more filled with some of the most wonderful fruit of the Spirit: Love, Joy, Peace, Kindness.

So here’s to you, Nirvan Mullick!  If it were appropriate to start a college fund for you, I would donate.  But at the very least, I would be happy to send you a new door handle for your Corolla.  Just give me your mailing address.

I’m sorry, Red Pinto.

Driving a moped is a very interesting experience.  Most of the time, I ride with a full motorcycle helmet, not because I ride so fast, but because the cars around me go so fast.  And I need to protect my face, because that’s how I make my money.  But on really hot days, or days where I know there won’t be a lot of traffic, I like to ride in my little half helmet, which does nothing more than make sure that, should I crash, my brain does not pass through the top of my skull, but through my smashed cheekbones instead.

When you ride with a half helmet, and no gogggles/glasses, driving becomes a totally different experience.  The first thing you notice is how dirty the streets are.  Every passing car or gust of wind fills your nostrils or mouth with sand and grit, and you realize how street cleaners are completely useless contraptions.  The second thing you notice is the smell, how the streets reek of gasoline.  You don’t really perceive it when you are in your car because it’s so sealed from the outside environment.  The only time car drivers smell gas is when they get a spot of it on their hands while filling up the tank.  But the truth is that the roads are redolent with gasoline fumes.  The same thing goes with sounds.  Large trucks are very loud.  And ambulances, WOW!  But there’s a reason that firetrucks and ambulances are that loud – it’s because our cars are specifically designed to mute sounds from the outside, and create massive amounts of sounds from the inside instead.

Lastly, you quickly realize that every person is driving way too fast.  Again, that is not that big of a deal when you are locked in a steel cage that will puff up with balloons should you crash.  But when you are riding an overgrown lawn mower down the street with a piece of plastic covering your skull, you realize how fast and heavy and dangerous cars truly are, and how strange it is that we should feel so invulnerable in something that is the leading cause of death for people ages 5-34.  We hurtle down roads made of hardened asphalt, traveling at speeds that only a few organisms in the world are physically capable of coming close to.  And we do so while listening to the radio, peering at our GPS or phones, maybe even daring to answer a few texts.  We just never realize how dangerous that really is, not from the inside.

Now this might not seem like such a big deal, until you realize that perhaps the reason that we care so little about street, noise, and air pollution is that we have no reason to.  After all, the inside of our car is (relatively) clean, quiet, and nice-smelling.  So who the heck cares what it’s actually like out there on the road!  But if the inside of our cars resembled the gritty loudness of the street, you can bet your butt people would demand action.

And again, maybe the reason we drive so fast is because we personally have never been clipped by the rear view mirror of 2000 lb car going 50 mph down a 3o mph street.  And so we have no idea how close that we came to casually ending that poor rider’s life, or at the very least, giving him a really, really bad day.  Perhaps if we were more personally aware of how dangerous driving a car can be, we would all be a little more willing to drive at a reasonable speed.

And you see the problem of an overly comfortable, hermetically sealed car, and life: it blissfully divorces us from reality.  It prevents us from truly understanding the plight of others.  It fosters ignorance.  And cars are not the only contexts that facilitate such a mentality.   Our meat is slaughtered in closely guarded abattoirs, our only interaction with it as a red blob wrapped in styrofoam and cellophane.  Our elderly pass away in antiseptic nursing homes, separated from the eyes of people who would prefer not to be forced to face such a grim reality.  Both are too icky for common consumption.

And no offense, but many of our churches function in the same exact manner: as more of a museum than a hospital, a time when perfect people come together in perfect places to live perfect lives.  We don’t use words like “mental illness” or “drug addiction” or “abortion” because they make us shift uncomfortably in our theater style seat, and settle instead for broad but ill-defined terms like “fallenness”, which I am not sure is technically even a word.  The poor, the ill, and the unclean stand out like sore thumbs on Sunday morning.

Walking the gritty road is obviously gritty, but so important.  Seeing the poor in your neighborhood or in your church is undoubtedly uncomfortable, helps you remember that the poor really exist outside of magazine articles and the like.  They are not imaginary constructs or statistics, but people living down the street with names and children.  As a result, we are all the more committed to fighting poverty.  Christians need to summon up the courage to call things by their proper names, and no longer rely on spiritual euphemisms alone to describe the hardest elements of our life.  We need to say the words, “abortion”, and “mental illness”, and “drug addiction”, not for the shock value that those words hold, but so that we can look our issues straight in the face and deal with them directly and more effectively, and without shame.  If we do not and content ourselves only with talking euphemistically, we leave people dreadfully unprepared for the reality of what life is like, even a life with Christ.

We should also remember that walking the gritty road is exactly what Jesus did for us.  He separated Himself from the perfection of heaven in order to be born in the squalor of a barn, and die in shame on the cross, so that His ministry to us might be perfected, and He might become our perfect High Priest and Intercessor.  Christ walked the gritty road.

And so should we.  No, it’s not easy, and may shock, scare, and scandalize you.  But perhaps a bit of shock and scandal is exactly what our faith needs.

¹ In my former book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began to do and to teach ² until the day he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles he had chosen. ³ After his suffering, he showed himself to these men and gave many convincing proofs that he was alive. He appeared to them over a period of forty days and spoke about the kingdom of God. ⁴ On one occasion, while he was eating with them, he gave them this command: “Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about. ⁵ For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.”

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I hate waiting.  And unfortunately, it seems like lately that’s all I do.  I wait to hear from churches about positions.  I wait to hear from agents or publishers about the book.  And the worst of it is that I have no idea if any of these groups or individuals will ever get back to me at all.  So often times it feels like I am waiting for nothing, to be honest.

What am I waiting for??

In Acts 1, you can imagine that the disciples might have felt the same way.  Jesus tells them, cryptically, that John the Baptist baptized with water, but that they will be baptized with the Holy Spirit, and that they should wait for this to take place.  Now, we have some familiarity with that expression, but the disciples did not.  They had no idea what baptism with the Holy Spirit meant in the least, and what ramifications it would have on their life.  But despite this, they were commanded not to leave Jerusalem, and wait for a gift that they were not even sure they would recognize.  You could imagine them asking themselves, “Err, exactly what are we waiting for??”  It probably felt like they were waiting for nothing.

Not quite though…

It’s true that the disciples probably had no idea what was to come, but that did not mean that they waited for nothing, or with no purpose.  They may have not understood exactly what Jesus was promising them, but they did know WHO was making that promise: it was Christ.  The same Christ who mysteriously told them not a few months earlier that He would be captured and crucified, and then rise again on the third day, and guess what?  He did just that.

So the disciples did not wait because they comprehended exactly what Jesus had planned.  Instead, they waited because they understood who Jesus was – it was Jesus who had commanded them not to leave Jerusalem and wait, and they had learned through experience that no matter how crazy it seemed, Jesus would always fulfill His promises.

I frankly have no idea what I am waiting for, and this lack of clarity and aimlessness can often begin to slowly morph into despair at times.  I’m sure that many of us often feel this way.  But I always find it helpful not to focus on what I am waiting for, but instead, who made the promise.  No, we don’t know what we are waiting for, and exactly what God has planned for our lives.  Such is the nature of life!  But thankfully, we do know who called us to wait, who crafted the plans, who made the promise: a faithful and wise God.  And that makes all the difference.

So it’s true that much of the time I feel blindfolded as I grope my way through life.  But thankfully, Someone trustworthy is leading me by the hand!

¹⁷ The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

   Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.”

   Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. ¹⁸ I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” ¹⁹ Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!”

 ²⁰ Peter turned and saw that the disciple whom Jesus loved was following them. (This was the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper and had said, “Lord, who is going to betray you?”) ²¹ When Peter saw him, he asked, “Lord, what about him?”

 ²² Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.” ²³ Because of this, the rumor spread among the brothers that this disciple would not die. But Jesus did not say that he would not die; he only said,“If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you?”

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I’ve always been confused by that statement, “If I want him to remain alive until I return”.  Why does Jesus say this?  There are a few explanations out there.  It may have to do with the fact that all the disciples were martyred except for John, the author of this gospel, who was instead exiled to the Isle of Patmos.  And so in some sense, it’s as if Jesus is alluding to the fact that John would be alive when all the other disciples had died.  Also, most people of that time period believed that Jesus’ return was imminent, meaning it was going to happen within one generation of Jesus’ resurrection.  And so in that chronological context, the idea of John remaining alive until Jesus’ return wasn’t that big of a deal, because that return was not far off.  But despite those explanations, there is no doubt a certain mysteriousness to what Jesus says here.

And unfortunately, that mysteriousness takes away from the greater point that Jesus is trying to make here, one that has enormous application in our lives.

There always had been tension between the disciples.  They often jostled one another for better position under Jesus, a dynamic that is clearly demonstrated throughout the gospels.  And everyone knew that John held a special place in Jesus’ heart, and I’m sure that others resented it.  I know I would have.  And that dynamic dies hard, even after the resurrection.  You see, in this account, Peter is being restored from his betrayal on Good Friday (or Thursday, depending on how you understand that event).  He is being forgiven and reinstated, and given a sobering picture of what his life will look like as the father of the early church.  Jesus completes this amazing reinstatement with the words, “Follow me.”  An awesome moment of true restoration!

But in the next breath, Peter looks at John, the beloved disciple, and asks, “Well…what about him?  What about John?  What will he be doing, what is his path?”  It’s unknown whether Peter asks this out of curiosity or perhaps a lingering competitiveness, but the point is that he does ask.  Jesus has just given Peter an intensely personal reinstatement and command to follow, but it’s almost as if Peter isn’t listening, and instead is focused on what John will be doing!  And Jesus responds, rather pointedly, “What is that to you?  You must follow me.”

I think that is a rebuke that we all should take to heart.

I have an amazing life: a wonderful wife, beautiful children, a house, and my health.  But I have to confess that I feel more than a little envy on occasion.  I look at the life of this or that person, and wonder why such success has evaded me.  Why is their church flourishing, while mine floundered?  Why was their book picked up so quickly by a publisher, while mine languishes in complete anonymity?  I spend unhealthy amounts of time focused not on the path that God has set me upon, but the path that others have, and that I wish I could have instead.  And nothing good comes out of this attitude because whenever I focus on the calling of other people, I feel inadequate, under appreciated, ineffective, and unfulfilled.  In the darker recesses of my mind and heart, I lament, “What about _______?  Why does my life not look like his?”

And the answer, quite simply, is that their life is not mine, and mine is not their’s.  My context and calling in God is unique.  He has given me a particular story to live out and path to tread.  My calling is not to love another person’s family, but my own.  My path is not to pastor the exact same church the exact same way that another person does, but to pastor the church God calls me to, in the unique way that God has gifted me.  Perhaps fame would be bad for me, and threaten what I love most.  Perhaps God took away my church because He had other things in store for me and my family.  Instead of coveting the story that God has given others, I should be relishing the one that I have been given, and figuring out ways to make my own story the fullest that it can be.  And in those rare moments in which I am able to live my life this way, not focused on others, but enjoying where I am and where I am going, I always feel greater peace and joy.

This is a dangerously pervasive dynamic in modern life, made all the more difficult by the innumerable means we have to keep tabs on others and compare/quantify our lives.  ”That guy has THAT many Twitter followers, but only follows four people?”  ”Wow, her Facebook pics of her children or husband or house or car make me feel envious.”  ”What the…he married HER?  Way out of his league!”  Instead of keeping our eyes on the path laid before us, we are constantly looking to the left and the right, peering over digital hedges, wondering why the grass always seems greener on the other side.

But the concept of greener grass is not a Godly one.  The greenest path is the path that God gives you to tread because it is borne out of  His wisdom and knowledge of the unique way in which you are created.  Every person’s path will enjoy unique blessings, and experience equally unique hardship.  And we should focus on living the story we are given, instead of the one we wish we had received.  Remember Jesus’ words:

“What is that to you?  You must follow me.”

 ¹³ Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. ¹⁴ They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. ¹⁵ As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; ¹⁶ but they were kept from recognizing him.

 ¹⁷ He asked them, “What are you discussing together as you walk along?”

   They stood still, their faces downcast. ¹⁸ One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, “Are you only a visitor to Jerusalem and do not know the things that have happened there in these days?”

   ¹⁹ “What things?” he asked.

   “About Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. “He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. ²⁰ The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; ²¹ but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place. ²² In addition, some of our women amazed us. They went to the tomb early this morning ²³ but didn’t find his body. They came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive. ²⁴ Then some of our companions went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but him they did not see.”

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This passage follows a common motif in Scripture, and that is when individuals fail to recognize God’s presence in their midst.  Abraham, Moses, and Joshua all have such accounts in the Old Testament, and in those accounts, it is difficult for us to understand their lack of perception.  How could they not see that the visitor among them was really God?  It is easy to feel the same way about the disciples in Luke 24 – after all, women had just told them that Jesus was not in the tomb, and an angel had said that He had risen from the dead.  After all that, how could they still not see that Jesus was right in front of them?

I think there is a supernatural explanation for this, that perhaps it was God that actively prevented them from recognizing Christ on the road.  But a more practical explanation for this strangeness comes from the second half of verse 17, where it says that “their faces were downcast.”  I don’t think it is hard to believe that it was their sadness that caused them to completely miss the fact that Jesus was right next to them.  After all, they had just been firsthand witnesses to a traumatic scene: their friend and teacher being beaten and nailed to a cross, hanging there for hours.  After an event like that, I’m sure that there are many things that we would fail to perceive as well.  But despite this, the fact of the matter is that Jesus is right in front of their very eyes!

The same dynamic often prevents us from seeing God’s presence in our lives as well.  We become so focused on the events of our lives, particularly the negative ones, that we are completely unable to perceive that God is right in front of us, or next to us.  We feel completely hopeless, not realizing that God is closer than He has ever been.  That is why it is always good, even the midst of the most difficult of circumstances, to breathe, and step back.  To try to remember the larger picture.  Now, for people with type A personalities (ME!), that can be extremely difficult.  The last thing we want to do is step away from whatever we are focused upon, because we want to hammer it out in a single sitting.  But that simple step of stepping away from total absorption gives us just enough space to see the truth, that God is not nearly as far as He feels.  So…

…Parents, if your kids are driving you crazy, breathe!  Let it go!  Although it may feel as if God is far, He’s not.  Don’t let that moment of familial insanity prevent you from seeing God.  Students who are studying for finals right now, these two weeks are not the totality of your life.  You will finish, and move on.  God is bigger than your finals, and with you as you prepare.  Same goes for those who are overwhelmed by work, or personal circumstances, or whatever.  It is hard, but make sure that there is a little space between you and those situations and emotions, so that you won’t miss out on the presence of Christ next to you, as the disciples did on the road to Emmaus.

Hallelujah!

Curiously, the same exact thing happened two years ago with Jonathan.  So rather than hash all out the details from last week, I’m just going to paste a section from my manuscript that describes the same incident:

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It was July of 2010, and Carol had only a few more weeks of treatments left.  We had fallen into something of a rhythm by that point: she would have treatments on Thursday and would be knocked out of commission for a few days as a result.  I would then step up daddy duties around the house until the weekend passed, and by that time she would be feeling much better, almost her usual self.  I would revert back to caveman status for a few days, and on Thursday, we would do it all over again.  It was nice to have a weekly rhythm, even if that rhythm involved going to the hospital so that your wife could have caustic chemicals injected into her body.

That particular Thursday was no different from the others.  But a few days afterwards, in an oddly flat voice, Carol said, “Peter, I haven’t felt the baby move since Thursday.”  At first, being the ignorant male that I am, I didn’t know why she was telling me this – was this bad news, was it goods, what?  I had no idea.  But one look at her face confirmed that this was very, very bad news.  Even though she had spoken calmly enough, I could tell that she was trying hard not to alarm me, and trying even harder to keep herself together.  ”The baby has never been this still for this long.”

“That’s it,” I thought to myself.  “The baby is gone.”  The chemotherapy drugs must have been too much for the baby, and it had succumbed to the toxicity.  I thought back to the miscarriage that Carol had had nearly a year ago, and fear washed over me at the prospect that it was all happening again.  We had lost another baby.

“Let’s go,” I told her.  “Let’s go to the hospital right away.”  At first Carol resisted, telling me that she was just being paranoid, and that she was sure the baby would move any minute.  But knowing my wife as I did, I knew that she must have already waited a while to tell me this.  So I insisted that we pack up everyone and leave for the hospital right away to make sure.  “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m sure the baby is fine.  But let’s just go to make sure, there’s no harm in that.”

That’s what I told her.  But what I was thinking to myself was, “Please God, no.  Please, please, not now.  This baby is all that is keeping us together.  Please don’t take this baby from us.  Not like the last time.”  My reformed and renewed understanding of God, so much stronger than before, was beginning to twist and buckle under the stress.

We got the girls into the car and drove to Georgetown Hospital.  I remember that it was hot and humid that day, as it often is in the DC region, but also beautifully bright and sunny, which contrasted with the storm that I felt inside of me, and I’m sure that Carol felt inside of herself.  We checked her into the hospital, the same hospital where she was scheduled to deliver the baby in a few weeks, and waited for a doctor to do an ultrasound to confirm that the baby was still alive.

Carol lay on the examining table, and I sat next to her, holding her hand.  I had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and was immediately brought back to the last time we had been like this together, in the surgical ward of Sibley Hospital seven months ago, and Doctor Magnant had shared with us the shocking news that Carol was pregnant.  How strange to be in such a similar position again, our hopes, our joy, our peace, hanging in the balance once more.

The doctor came in and began to use an ultrasound probe to try to find the baby’s heartbeat.  As she moved the probe around my wife’s stomach, the monitor was silent.  There was nothing, just faint static and subtle whooshes.  She moved to another location, and still nothing.  She moved once more, and we suddenly heard:

“LUBDUBLUBDUBLUBDUB.”

The baby’s heart was beating.  The baby was alive.

Carol’s face broke, and she dissolved into tears.  I exhaled, for the first time since the ultrasound started, and gave thanks to God from the deepest place in my heart.  The baby was alive, and doing fine.  It had just been resting for a while.  Once more, Carol and I had sat together, waiting for the most terrible of news, and once more God demonstrated that He had a plan, and that plan would not fail.

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Good times, good times.  Thanks to everyone who stood by us two years ago, and thanks to everyone who stands by us now.  Just 10 more weeks until this baby is due!!!

¹ As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage and Bethany at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples, ²saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and just as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. ³ If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ tell him, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here shortly.’”

 ⁴ They went and found a colt outside in the street, tied at a doorway. As they untied it, ⁵ some people standing there asked, “What are you doing, untying that colt?” ⁶ They answered as Jesus had told them to, and the people let them go. ⁷ When they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks over it, he sat on it. ⁸ Many people spread their cloaks on the road, while others spread branches they had cut in the fields. ⁹ Those who went ahead and those who followed shouted,

   “Hosanna!”

   “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”

 ¹⁰ “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David!”

   “Hosanna in the highest!”

 ¹¹ Jesus entered Jerusalem and went to the temple. He looked around at everything, but since it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the Twelve.

Although frequently overshadowed by Good Friday and Easter, Palm Sunday is an important part of Jesus’ ministry on its own, and we know this is true for the following reasons: first, Jesus performs a minor miracle on this occasion, using His power of prophecy to predict where the donkey would be tied, and that someone would have a problem with them using that donkey.  Second, the donkey is an unridden colt – unridden and unused animals in the Old Testament were used only for especially holy purposes, the sacrifice of atonement, and when the ark of the covenant is returned to the Israelites from the Philistines.  And thirdly, laying down palm fronds and shouting “Hosanna!” were not everyday occurrences, but reserved for conquerors and kings.  The crowd rightly seems to know that Jesus is not just a prophet, but a KING.

And yet, despite the significance of Palm Sunday, we know what is to come in just a short time, that that same crowd would cry for Jesus’ crucifixion, and for a criminal to be released in his stead.  How did this happen?  How did something that started so well, end so terribly, so quickly?  The problem was that the crowd did not truly understand Jesus identity, and more, what He had come to do – they may have known that Jesus was a savior, but they did not understand what He had come to save them FROM.  They thought he had come to establish a secular kingdom, when actually he had come to establish the Kingdom of Heaven.  They thought he had come to save them from Roman occupation and oppression, but in reality, He had come to save all of humankind from sin and death.  And because of this, because their expectations of Jesus were so faulty, it leads to disappointment and discouragement, and they turn on Jesus quickly.

But we shouldn’t look down on the crowd because this is a very common situation in our own lives, where God fails to live up to our expectations, and our faith can experience a dangerous turnaround as a result.  That is why it is important for us to test our expectations, and make sure that they are aligned with who God really is, and what He really promises.  He does not promise us a pain-free life, only that He will be with us when we suffer, and will redeem that suffering to greater purpose.  He never promises us a comfortable existence, but instead, one filled with providence and daily bread.  He never promises material wealth, or marriage, or children, or a long life.  Each of these ideas have become deeply entrenched in the western view of Christianity, but are unbiblical, and unhealthy.

In the end, Palm Sunday is a reminder for us not to conceive of God as a divine vending machine, or a benevolent grandfather figure in the clouds, who grants our wishes and whims and caves to our demands.  He does respond and answer us, but much in the way that the best of parents do: with His eye focused on longer, larger things.  He is not as interested in our comfort as He is in our betterment.  And the sooner that we realize this, the less likely it is that we will follow in the footsteps of this crowd, disappointed with a Savior who fails to live up to faulty expectations.