The Timeline of Jesus

Christ sees all that will be as if it already was, all that was as if it now is, or is yet to be. Unbounded by the time he created, he lives above it and beyond it. Yet nothing happens within its cramped quarters that does not touch him, move him, stir his concern.

Thousands of years of human history come and go. War and peace. The rising of nations, and their fall. Progress and regress. Scientific breakthroughs and artistic achievements. Kindness and oppression. Moral victories and incomprehensible evil. Life and death. Joy and suffering. The successes and failures of billions — every facet of every life is known by the caring, timeless God.

Tears fall. Prayers rise. Through smiles and encouragement, through hateful and abusive words, he is always there watching. AIDS and addiction and incest. Healing, compassion and generosity. Nothing we face escapes his notice. Nothing in all the centuries since his birth, and nothing in all the millennia before his birth. Jesus is here. And he was there.

He was always there.

He is Alpha and Omega. The Beginning. The End. The Now.

And when time grinds to a halt, all we’ve ever longed for that is truly worthy will finally dawn, conceived by the patient Creator.

Do You Want to Be Well?

You realize you are ill. Your stomach is churning, your head is throbbing, your eyes hurt. Your shivering convinces you of your fever. You are weak and lightheaded, and the symptoms persist. By the time you make it to the doctor, you are genuinely concerned — a concern you think you see mirrored on his face.

But he reassures you, gives you what you’re sure is an accurate diagnosis, stuffs a prescription in your hand. You leave his office knowing that your restored health is as simple as following a few instructions and being patient with the healing process.

Upon returning home, you put the medicine aside, unopened. You disregard the instruction to force liquids and get plenty of rest. Not surprisingly, your health fails to improve, if anything, it worsens. At times, this concerns you — so much so that you take out the medications and the doctor’s instructions and spend a few minutes looking at them. Nevertheless, looking at them is as far as it goes.

Now, what’s wrong with this picture?

* * * * * * * * * *

And the New Testament says, “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.”

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The Contradiction of Cantankerousness

In times of success, when sorrow was a distant memory, the people of God celebrated. They feasted, danced, sang songs, laughed and smiled till they were too tired to continue the party.

But at their best, God’s people have always been a people of joy, even when their circumstances weighed them down. People who felt the weight of sorrow, nevertheless found a place of optimism within them. People who endured great adversity somehow brought joy into their present circumstances, as they contemplated a future hope. Prisoners song songs and wrote letters urging others to rejoice. “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” Paul wrote those words while incarcerated, the prospect of death always before him.

I do not know what I will face today. But if the grace of Christ touches me, I will be a person of joy. A core of optimism will remain within my reach. And he will keep me from the contradiction of cantankerousness. With his hand on me, I will set grumpiness aside, and my joy will be visible, unambiguous, contagious.

© 2006 | http://web.mac.com/jamesplong

The Crowd Beyond the Blur

I stepped off the plane, walked down the jetway, entered the terminal, caught up in the crowd. The voices around me rose in an unintelligible roar. No one was speaking English. Were it not for international symbols, the signs around me would be meaningless, incomprehensible.

For some reason, I paused. I looked into the faces of passersby. I listened to their speech, heard their laughter. For one brief moment, behind their eyes, I caught a glimpse of soul. In this airport, in all this chaos of humanity, there is not a single individual unknown and unloved by God.

I board a bus, enter a subway, walk the mall, step into a restaurant, cross the path of an old enemy, meet a friend for coffee, greet my sister, embrace my wife — I will never encounter another human being who is loved any less or any more by the God I call my friend.

And that is why anything less than kindness is not enough. Anything mean-spirited will disappoint my Father, who loves all individuals — and loves them unconditionally.

© 2006 | http://web.mac.com/jamesplong

Unanticipated Friend

“Be holy,” the stellar writer says, “because I am holy.” He might just as well say: “I am something that you will never be, can never be; now, get on with the task of being just that.” Which is sort of like saying, “Walk on water! But shoes with floats don’t count.”

The mystery is that he is always fiddling with impossibilities, twisting the unlikely into the probable. I read wild tales of God teaching paralytics to sprint, and blind folks to gawk at their newly enlightened world.

Does God perform moral tricks, too? Can he pull perfection out of my life as an illusionist might dip into a top hat and yank a bunny out by the ears?

The moral mystery unfolds. If God’s lips seem to curl at the corners into a faint smile as he urges me on toward the impossible, it may be because he plans to offer his moral strength at the very moment he shows me my moral weakness.

But if I didn’t first see my weakness, I might never accept his strength.

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Someday I Will Share Your Nature

Father, someday I will share your nature. Someday someone will see me and be reminded of Jesus. Someday the distraction of imperfection will be set aside and forgotten. I will finally be what I have been so slowly becoming these many years.

Lord, when finally you have completed the good work you have started, I will stand with Jesus your Son and my brother, and I will not be embarrassed and he will not be ashamed.

Amen.

Tolstoy on Change

"When I came to believe in Christ's teaching, I ceased desiring what I had wished for before. The direction of my life, my desires, became different. What was good and bad had changed places."

The Girl and the Tree

I noticed the tree, naked against the sky. Twisted, leafless, grotesque beauty, reaching out of the packed earth. The sun was setting, the sky streaked amber. Gnarled fingers of bark grasped, empty-handed, at the fading sunlight.

She paused there, by the tree, her face golden in the dying light, and mopped the perspiration from her brow with the red-plaid flannel of her sleeve.

She was young, perhaps 20. With both hands she lifted long, thick hair off her neck — dark hair, black as the approaching night. Her slender fingers brushed sweat-dampened tendrils from her face. Then, her palms flat against the small of her back, she stretched — cat-like, I thought — and smiled, the features of her dark, tired face suddenly radiant.

Where was that smile born? In a memory? A dream? A hope? A face remembered, a joke recalled? Or was it simply this moment of wonder? The sunlight fading, the night approaching. A tree dying, yet alive, holding some mystery, a memory, caught like a kite in its withered branches.

She had worked since dawn, the young woman. Hard work. In the field perhaps, or the nearby packing shed. Doubtless, every muscle ached. It showed in the slightest stoop of fatigue, in the way she walked, in the relish of so brief a break, pausing in the sunset to mop her brow, brush her hair, stretch her back, smile.

Had she noticed me, sitting there on the earth, my knees up, my chin resting in my hands? I don’t think so. But even if she had, still she would have paused, wiped her brow, brushed her hair, stretched her back, smiled. The magic of the moment was hers and hers alone, just as it was mine and no one else’s.

She walked on, and the sun descended beneath the horizon, pulling the blanket of twilight up and over the naked form of a dying tree. And everything was alive.

Dorothy Sayers on Christ's share in the human experience

"God has himself has gone through the whole of human experience, from the trivial irritations of family life and the cramping restrictions of hard work and lack of money to the worst horrors of pain and humiliation, defeat, despair, death."

Sky-sized Portrait

In my mind I need a picture of God, a mural as broad as the sky. If I could open my eyes wider, wider, I could see all creation on his canvas. From the swirling brushstrokes of galaxies to the artful blotches of newborn aardvarks. Zinnias and canyons, hermit crabs and oaks, oceans and infants. Through what he’s painted in creation, in colors bright and dark, muted or primary, I would see something of the artist.

If I could look closer, closer, into the texture of history as he is painting it, I am certain that I would see some artistic purpose. I would see, in brushstrokes broad and fine, some hint of what he’s up to, and what he’s like. The picture would breathe with life and purpose.

If I could see the painting as only God could enable me, if he could touch my eyes to perceive his art, I am certain I would see all that is unattractive turning slowly, slowly, into beauty beneath the artist’s hand, his brush trailing crimson.

In my mind I see a picture of God. But even a sky-size mural cannot contain it!

— Excerpted from An Ocean of Endless Light | copyright © 2006

What Happens When a Baby Is Born?

What happens when a baby is born?

A possibility enters the world.

It would be easy to think that one more life joins the race and nothing more -- another solitary face in the crush of humanity, known and loved by those who gave him birth, those who nurture her, but little impact on the wide, vast world.

What happens when a baby is born? A son enters a family. A daughter takes her place alongside a mother, a father.

What happens when a baby is born? Another child becomes a big brother. A sister has one more object of affection, care, competition.

What happens when a baby is born? Grandparents are ecstatic. Aunts and uncles celebrate. Friends who don't even smoke accept the festive cigar. Pink balloons, or blue, dance on the end of strings, amid streamers and ribbons and gifts of good will.

What happens when a baby is born? Someone's future friend begins the odyssey we call life.

And what will this child do? Grow. Learn. Achieve. Fail. Befriend. Love. Disappoint. Create. Invent. Build. Destroy. Discover.

Nothing this child touches will ever be the same. His mother will change. She will carry forever the imprint of this life on her soul. The child's father will perceive things differently -- will never think of himself in quite the same way again. Friends will be shaped, however subtly, by this one child's influence.

Someday, somewhere, a chance encounter which lasts a mere moment will spark a change -- a beginning --that spans a lifetime. Perhaps nothing more than a word spoken. A smile. A gesture. A hug. An encouragement. A word of warning. A bit of advice. But somewhere, sometime, a life-changing moment would not have happened, had this life not begun.

What happens when a baby is born? Unparalleled good. Incomprehensible evil. A breakthrough. A cure. A masterpiece. A crime. The course of a nation redirected, the change leveraged by one life.

We could think of a life touching a family, an influence felt in a sphere of friendships. But this is only the beginning.

Somewhere, in some small boat, in an infinite ocean, a child trails her fingers in the sea. A tiny wake of froth and bubble goes by unnoticed and unforgotten -- the waters undisturbed.

But couldn't something truly mysterious happen? Something of immeasurably greater consequence? Couldn't one child's touch change the very tides?

What happens when a baby is born? A possibility enters the world, and nothing is ever the same.

© 2005

As If There Were One

"God loves each of us as if there were only one of us," Augustiine wrote.

It is, of course, a wonderful thought -- an idea full of wonder. It is also quite true.

One way to take a measure of the love of God is to ask myself, "Does God really love me in such a personal and self-sacrificing manner? Does God love me as if I were the only one, even as he loves you so uniquely?"

If I were the only one, would he still go through with the bother of the incarnation? Those long months confined to the uterus of Mary, his mother, knowing the messy and perplexing dependence of infancy was to follow?

If I were the only one, would angels have cause to sing, would the star still rise, guiding me to the Christ child, would Mary still smile at the Good News she birthed? Would I have reason to shout and laugh and lose myself in praise?

If I were the only one, would he have spent the long years of childhood, learning and growing, step by patience-testing step, enduring the teasing and ridicule of those who questioned the circumstances of his birth and the integrity of his parents? Would he endure the hunger and the thirst and the fatigue and the grief that are part of the human experience? Would he do that for me, if I were the only one?

If I were the only one, would he face the bitterness and inhumanity of the mob, the injustice of a rigged courtroom, the anguish of abandonment, and the agony of the slow, tortuous execution? Would he do all this for me, if I were the only one?

Would he rise from death and ascend through the clouds with the promise of return and a place for me, if I were the only one?

Would the skies still split and the thunder of angel-praise still shake the earth? Would time cease and eternity dawn, and the arms of Christ spread wide to welcome me home, if I were the only one?

Why, yes, of course. "God loves each of us as if there were only one of us."

How can we help but celebrate, and pass on the astonishingly great news?

© 2005

The Breath of God

There is a reason they call him "The Wind," or "The Breath of God." He fills the earth and there is no vacuum. He stris, he rustles, and things happen. He breathes and we live or die. He settles smooth over life like air settles thick and full over fields, mountains, streams and cities. He gusts and blows and nations topple or habits break or someone changes her mind about God.

He is the Holy Spirit.

I call him "The Wind" -- "The Breath of God" -- because in the languages of both Old and New Testaments the word for "wind" or "breath" is identical to the word for "spirit." What is spirit? It is wind, breeze, the breath of life.

So I picture God's Spirit as "the wind," covering the earth, carrying the goodness of God on its breezes. It fills everything, touches everything, reaches everyone. It is everywhere and inescapable. I picture God's Spirit as "The Breath of God." Without him, life suffocates.

The imagery of God's Spirit as wind and breath is apt. We might try to close ourselves off from him, slam the door and close the windows against his breezes. But there always seems to be a draft under the door, reminding us of his presence and his patient but persistent desire to enter our stale and stuffy lives. Those who are wise not only throw open the door, but also inhale deeply.

© 2005

Assembling the Puzzle of Joy

You open the box and empty its contents on the table. There, before you, are hundreds of individual pieces that, when fitted together, will create something that makes sense. A complete picture. You pick up individual pieces, look at them from different angles, and try your best to fit them together with other pieces. Slowly, the project takes shape, as you compare the puzzle on the table with the picture on the box -- your only guide to what the puzzle is to become.

Your life is such a project. In time, hundreds -- thousands -- of individual details will somehow fit together. When the puzzle is at least complete, you will be satisfied with the result. Until then, the process of figuring out the place of each piece can be annoying, a seemingly endless trial of your patience.

The encouraging difference between these two puzzles is this: The puzzle that is your life, God is assembling. Each individual piece -- whether hardship or happiness -- God will fit together with flawless skill. When the process is complete, your life will perfectly match the picture in his mind -- the precise image of what you can become.

© 2005

Stars and Sand

A promise to Abraham
A promise to us

God made a promise to his friend Abraham. Though he was old, his wife unable to conceive, he would father the Nation, the people of the promise. Abraham, whose descendants are "as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sand on the seashore" held onto the unlikely promise.

Faith. Hold on to the promise.

Even today, God may seem distant, his promise a faint memory. But faith holds on to the promises of our Friend.

Sometimes faith means remembering, when everything inside you and around you screams for attention and will most certainly distract you and drown out the voice of memory, and cloud your vision of the better things God has promised.

So do this: On a clear night, go out and find a place away from the light pollution. Look up and start counting stars. You are linked to the promise, the promise God made to Abraham. You are an heir to that promise by faith. You are one of those stars. But what is one star among so many?

It is a flame of promise and potential known by an infinite and omniscient God.

Take a pilgrimage, in your imagination if not in reality. Make your way to the coast. Stand at the shoreline. Look out at the vast, immeasurable stretch of ocean. And look down at your feet and all around you. Stoop down and fill your fist with sand. Let the grains filter through your fingers. But hold one. Look at it. Keep it. Imagine its place amoung all the coastlines of the world. You are that one grain of sand. You are nothing. What do you matter?

No, remind yourself that you are known. That which seems insignificant and forgotten, that appears lost in the infinity of stuff, is known by God. You, the single star -- you, the solitary grain of sand -- are part of the promise and are known and loved by your Creator.

© 2005

Show Time

You enter a dark movie theater and take a seat. The curtain rises and the screen comes to life. For the next two hours you will watch a motion-picture depiction of reality.

Someone has written a script, but the limitations of the medium have dictated certain things. Let's say the story covers a span of three years; the movie will run 120 minutes. Obviously, much will be omitted from the story. The events will be abbreviated, as will the characters. People will be depicted, but the movie will fail to capture the full, rich complexity of real life. The best characterizations will remain caricatures, compared to reality, and the sequence of events as the movie related them will, of necessity, be distilled to simpler form.

The best of screenplays falls far short of the real story.

Even so, you watch the movie, captivated by spectacular effects, yet scarcely aware of them. You're so engrossed in the production that you're not distracted by the mechanics of simulating reality. If it's a good story, told well, it will touch your emotions and provoke reflection. You will not be quite the same when, finally, the closing credits begin to roll.

Then, as the lights brighten and you step through the exit, you enter what Hollywood has spent millions characterizing and you have just spent two hours escaping: reality.

It will be similar when we exit this life. We will look back on time as a gripping and convincing drama, but it will suddenly feel flat and simplified in the true and eternal light of day.

© 2005

A Place Called Forever

Time is a room in a place called Forever.

We live in that room.

Eternity is outside and all around us. Four walls, a floor and a roof hide Forever from view.

But something has punched a hole in the wall of this room called Time. God has installed a window.

Look through that window. Always look through that window, and let the great outdoors called Forever give perspective to all that happens in these cramped quarters we call Time. Then pause and thank the Builder for flooding your life with light.

* * * * *

Time is a room in a place called Forever.

We live in that room.

But one day, and soon, I suspect, the roof will fly off, the walls will fall, the floor will dissolve beneath our feet. Time will be consumed by the Eternity that has always surrounded it.

What will we do with the sudden brightness and the brisk winds that blow across Forever?

I imagine some will wither under that sun, shrivel up and blow away.

Others will be only warmed and invigorated, as if truly alive for the first time.

© 2005