Recently some friends of ours stopped by at our house on their way home from Florida to Wisconsin. They were driving up Interstate 55 and just had an hour or so to spare as they passed through, before they got on I-39 north. It was great to see them even if it was only for a short visit. While at our place they brought their two cats in for a break from their traveling cage—and since we didn't think it would help our relationship if our two dogs ate them, we kept the cats in the laundry room. When it came time for our friends to leave, one of the cats was missing—then we discovered him wedged in between the washing machine and the wall of the house. Nothing could entice him out of his protected space. They even had a trick that always brought the cat running—they'd pop the lid on his food can—but not this time. Well, 45 minutes later, we pulled the cat, completely against his will, from his chosen hide-out. Sometimes we're like that cat. We find a place that seems nice and safe, but it's not really good for our growth.
The passage this morning is a call to be in relationship with others, beginning with God. The one thing, the main priority, is a strong relationship with our Creator. From that flows strength and purpose in all other aspects of our lives, and true connectedness with others.
For Michael Holmes, it started out as just another day of sky-diving in his native New Zealand. Last December 13 he jumped from a plane more than two miles up. He'd done this so many times before—he was such an enthusiast, his whole life revolved around this one hobby. It was more than a hobby—it was a passion—an ultimate top priority. His helmet-mounted camera captured all the action. As always, he relished the exhilarating view of earth far below, the adrenaline rush, the pure silence as he plummeted toward the ground. At 4,000 feet he pulled the main chute, just as he always did. But there was no familiar, sudden jerk to end his free fall so he could drift softly downward. He just kept dropping. The chute had failed to open. But as a veteran jumper he didn't panic, he just pulled the back-up cord. And he kept dropping. It, too, was a dud. With little time to ponder, as the ground rose up to meet him, it occurred to him he had only seconds to live. "Oh darn, I'm going to die," he said to the camera. Then one last gesture, one last act—he waved to the camera. It was an attempt at connection; a reaching out, to family and friends—a final goodbye. I wondered, in that particular circumstance, would I have the presence of mind to wave goodbye to my loved ones?
Written into the human heart and soul is the desire for connection. If Lent is a time to recall and repent of our disconnection from God, it's also a time to turn, to return, to the one thing, the main priority of life, our spiritual connection. And the reason we can even think to do that is because our Creator has taken the initiative to reach out to us. Relationship is God's priority. That's what the Christ event is all about: God going to incredible lengths to re-establish the relationship with us.
Another story ripped from the headlines. It was a routine call about burst pipes, but police on Long Island were not prepared for what they found: the body of 70 year old Vincenzo Ricardo, dead for a year, sitting in front of the TV, which was still on. The medical examiner said, "He hadn't been heard from in over a year. That's the part that baffles me. Nobody sounded the alarm." Neighbors thought Ricardo was in a hospital or a nursing home. Said one, "We never thought to check on him." I wonder how long he had been there in front of the TV before he died, unconnected, day after day, with nobody to care. Maybe years.
The Bible says, "The same Lord is Lord of all, and is generous to all who call upon him. For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved." It's a picture of a generous God—overflowing with mercy, rich in forgiveness and love, able to pull us out of all kinds of trouble—an openhearted God, who uses that mighty power to accomplish our salvation. Sometimes the being saved is portrayed as almost impersonal—a mere legal transaction that gets us out of punishment and into heaven. It's so much deeper than that. Biblically speaking, salvation is relational. We are brought from isolation to community; from sin, to service; from aimlessness to mission. And one of the most remarkable aspects of that early Christian community was how the old divisions of race and gender and social status were overcome, and people who would never have known each other became deeply related in Christ as sisters and brothers.
This happened to me. Back in Kalispell, Montana, there was a minister and his wife who Leslie and I decided to try and befriend. However, we had the distinct feeling we were being—uh, put off. Now I'm not one to keep going back in the face of rejection. But Leslie persisted. Eventually we went out to dinner together and from there we became very good friends indeed, and are to this day. We later learned that they had been burned in a friendship and weren't quite ready to try again. But there's something about Christian love that doesn't give up too soon. Sometimes, eventually, we're told to kick the dust off and move on—but I think we err on the side of giving up too soon. God's love is persistent. The only way God ever got a hold of me was because of this divine persistence. God never gives up on us—even when we might give up on ourselves.
This persistence is remarkably portrayed in the movie Forrest Gump. Forrest ended up in Vietnam, where one day his platoon was ambushed and nearly wiped out. Forrest had a chance to escape, but he would not leave his wounded buddies behind. He went back into the jungle which by then had turned into a roaring inferno, and one by one he carried his friends out. That part of the movie is based on a real episode that occurred during the war. What a risk he took for friends! I wonder what we are willing to do for friends. How much are willing to extend ourselves—to risk—to reach out?
Each week in the Friendship First program there's a different challenge that encourages us to reach beyond ourselves. They're simple and do-able—but they also require intent on our part. For instance: spend a few minutes getting to know a neighbor. Or, send an e-mail or make a phone call to re-connect with a friend. Not exactly rescuing somebody from a burning jungle—but then again, maybe our simple act of reaching out will make the difference in someone's life. Give it a try.
This passage on the greatest friendship of life—that with God—leads to chapter 12, which describes the nature of life together as the community of faith. We are to be living sacrifices. Everyday acts of caring, which over time strengthen our bonds in Christ. Make friendship with the Lord your priority, it's telling us, and see how powerfully this priority affects all the other relationships of life. |
