My Little Friend

Good morning. The first few months of 2007 were not easy months for me. On January 31, after several illnesses, my dad passed away, and one month later, on March 1, I came home to find my father-in-law, who lived with my ex-wife and I, dead on the floor. These two men were my most significant male elders. I dearly loved both of them, and losing them both within a month was very difficult. 

I was training for a marathon that spring, and a few days after my father-in-law's death, I went on a planned three and a half hour training run at Crown Hill Park in Wheat Ridge. About 20 minutes into my first lap I looked down and saw a small, pink, stuffed animal sheep. It looked like it had been part of a roadside memorial, and the little sheep looked lonely and sad. As I was feeling lonely and sad I thought about picking it up and taking it home, but instead I kept on running. A few minutes later I regretted not having picked up the little pink sheep, and decided to pick it up on the next lap. About 30 minutes later I looped by the spot, but the little sheep was gone. I kicked myself for not picking it up when I had the chance. As I kept looping back to that place every thirty minutes, I became more and more sad that I hadn't picked up my little pink friend. My sadness and loneliness about losing the most important males in my life were mirrored in my lost chance to take home a sad and lonely little friend. 

After three hours of running I was ready to begin my last lap. I was on the complete opposite side of the park from where my pink friend had been, at least three-quarters of a mile away. I started to run, and in the distance I noticed something pink on the trail. I thought to myself, no.  I jogged to the spot, and there sitting right in the middle of the trail, looking right at me, was the little pink sheep. I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it. I picked up my little pink friend, and held him close, and cried for my dad, and my father-in-law, and for myself. It was the best cry I ever had.

I have no explanation other than God for how this sheep got there. All I know is that God was saying, at just the right moment, I am with you in your pain. As strange as it might seem, I believe this experience was, for me, a John The Baptist experience, and this morning I want to use my little pink sheep as a picture of Advent, John the Baptist, and God's relentless love.

John the Baptist must have had an incredible personality. Jesus said that John was the greatest of the Old Testament prophets, and his influence on the  people around him was profound. In Acts chapter 19, 25 or so years after Jesus, Paul The Apostle came across some believers who were still following John the Baptist. In 350 AD, some Christians came across a group of Jews, and they, too, were still following John the Baptist. And in John chapter one, you get the feeling that John is going out of his way to show his readers that Jesus was greater than John. John the Baptist was such a powerful personality that he threatened to eclipse even Jesus. 

And, John was a wild man. The gospels tell us that John lived in the desert, wore a camel hair tunic, had a belt of leather, and ate nothing but locusts and honey. He was a wild man in the wilderness, crying make straight the way of the Lord. This powerful, wild spirit of John the Baptist is the same spirit that I encountered when I found my sheep on the trail. My experience was a wild experience. It was wild in the sense that it was outside the box, extra-ordinary, and unpredictable. In a billion billion years, I would never have come up with the idea of comforting my grief with a pink sheep. Never. When God acts when I least expect it, in ways I could never imagine, and when I need it the most, that is the wild spirit of John the Baptist. 

The Jews in John's day were not in a good place. They were stuck. They were led by religious leaders who couldn't think outside the box, and they were living in a predictable world dominated by a brutal Roman Empire. They were frozen. Then, when the Jews needed it the most, in a way they could never imagine, a wild man appears in the desert giving them hope. 

Sometimes we need a wild bolt from the blue to realize that God is near. There are times in our lives when we are sad, or without hope. There are times when we are stuck in the familiar predictability of work, or family, or even church. There are times when we just can't seem to think outside the box, or get outside the boxes we live in. It is then that the wild spirit of John the Baptist breaks into our world, in ways we can't imagine. God is unpredictable, and he loves to help us in extra-ordinary ways. Like Mr. Beaver said about Aslan, the Christ figure, in the Chronicles of Narnia, he's not a tame Lion. 

When I began the third hour of my training run, I was physically and emotionally at a low point. I was exhausted from running, and I was dearly missing my dad and father-in-law. I didn't know what my life would look like without these men in my life. At my lowest point, I found the pink sheep. When God meets us at our lowest point, this is also the spirit of John the Baptist. 

When John appeared in the desert, our readings from Malachi and Isaiah instantly came to the minds of Jews and later Christians. They saw John as calling for a straight path, a path where valleys would be raised up, and a path where rough places would be made straight. For Jews of the first century, John's message gave great hope, because many were living in valleys of despair, and the path forward seemed crooked, and unsure. The Roman occupation was crushing, and nobody knew what to do about it. The Pharisees and Sadducees were not providing good religious leadership, and the Zealots, who advocated for an armed insurrection against Rome, were radical and dangerous. The Jews were in a deep trouble, in a deep valley, and their journey forward was foggy and treacherous. Into this foggy valley, John the Baptist provided hope, proclaiming that the Lamb of God was near. 

We have all visited this foggy valley. We all know the discouragement of being in a valley we can't seem to get out of, and of having no idea how to get out even if we could. Maybe our family is having problems, and nothing ever seems to change, and we have no clue about how to help. Maybe our job is a dead-end valley, where we really don't feel we can leave, but we don't see any way to make the situation better. Maybe we are plagued by a habit, or an addiction, that we just can't shake, and nothing we have tried sets us free. Or maybe we are alienated from a friend, and the pain of that alienation wounds us every day, but there seems to be no path to reconciliation. These valleys of pain and confusion are awful. Sometimes we just give up. 

But it is into these valleys of pain and confusion that the voice of John the Baptist calls to us. His voice reminds us that God will raise us up out of our valleys, and He will straighten our paths. Somehow, someway, God will lead us through our pain and confusion. This is the Christmas hope that will bring us home. This is the voice of John the Baptist. 

My finding the pink sheep on the trail was first and foremost God comforting me, and telling me He was near in my time of grief. But as I look back at that event, finding the pink sheep was also a signal that my old order of life was coming to an end. My old order was a good order, having as two of my elders two very good men. But as the circle of life turns, the old order passes, and when it does, a new order begins. I am still, eight years later, trying to figure out and fully inhabit what it means to be me in this new order. 

John the Baptist was the herald of a new order. Not only did John seek to make the valleys level, and the journey straight, he also passionately sought to bring the high places down, and to make every mountain and hill come down low. The Pharisees believed themselves, and their interpretation of the law, to be the high water mark of Judaism. But they weren't humble, and they were often hypocrites. John furiously took them on. He called them a brood of vipers. And when the Pharisees pridefully asserted that, well, Abraham is our father, John responded, yeah, well, God can make children of Abraham out of rocks and stones. The Pharisees thought they were high and mighty, but John cut them off at the knees. John said, There will be a new order, and if you don't repent, you won't be part of it. 

And John took on the Romans too. When John rebuked Herod about his sexual sin, John was not just calling Herod out, he was calling out the entire Roman culture of sexual casualness, decadence and vice. John was taking on the entire Roman order of life, and He proclaimed that a new order was coming, with a new leader who would be the messiah. 

When we encounter the wild spirit of John the Baptist, he will also take on our high places, and he will begin initiating a new order. We all have high places in our life, areas that need work. We all have areas of pride from which we look down on others. We are all aware of actions or attitudes in our life that are hypocritical. I'm sure we all have places where we cling to the old order of things, ways of life that don't work anymore, but we're afraid to let them go and move into a new way of living. The wild spirit of John the Baptist doesn't always appear as as a cute stuffed animal.  John's spirit can sometimes be a purifying fire, and that spirit is always pushing us to change course where needed, and repent when necessary. The goal, as Paul tells us, is that our love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight, to help us determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ we may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.

The story of John the Baptist is a moving and inspirational story that we read every Christmas.  John said prepare the way of the Lord, and in Advent we prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ. My little pink sheep is a wonderful Advent picture of how God meets us in our low places, and changes our path for the future. But, as I finish this morning, I need to conclude with a warning. John the Baptist was a force of nature, a wild and passionate spirit who challenged the world in which he lived. This made him a dangerous man, and dangerous men sometimes come to a bad end. We must be careful with the spirit of John the Baptist, because there is a little bit of Herod in all of us. The spirit of John the Baptist is relentless, and sometimes, like King Herod, we are tempted to lock this spirit up, and sometimes even cut its head off.

The spirit of John the Baptist never quits, and he can wear us out. There have been times in my life when God was clearly knocking on the door of my heart, in the spirit of John the Baptist, and I didn't want to respond. I was tempted to lock the voice of God up and not deal with it. One or two times when I was young I was tempted to cut God's voice off completely. Fortunately I didn't. At times God has hit me over the head to get my attention, at times he has forcibly pushed me in the right direction, and a few times he has dragged me against my will. I'm glad He did. And I'm glad  I never allowed the Herod in my heart to lock this voice up or silence it completely. The spirit of John the Baptist is like a strong wind that never stops, and the best strategy is always to put up our sails and let the wind take us where it wants. Resistance is futile. 

I am very thankful for the gift of my little pink sheep. I will never forget how he came into my life, and I will never forget why he came into my life. This advent, may we all thank God for the many ways he has come into our lives. May our hearts be open to the wild spirit of John the Baptist, and as we await the coming of Christ, may God make straight our paths, meet us in our valleys, and gently help us down from our high places. Amen. 

Transfiguration and Field of Dreams

Good morning. Many movies over the years have moved me emotionally, but one movie that gets me every time is Field of Dreams. How many have seen this? It's a story about an Iowa farmer named Ray, who hears a Voice that says If You Build It, He Will Come. So Ray ploughs under his corn field and builds a baseball field. Sure enough, long-dead baseball players start showing up on Ray's field, beginning with shoeless Joe Jackson. It's a magical movie, and as a young man I was watching it with my girlfriend. At the end of the movie, when Ray sees his father as a young man, I started to tear up. After I took my girlfriend home I went back to my house, sat on my couch, and cried my eyes out for at least half an hour. I wasn't even sure why I was crying, but something about voices, baseball, and fathers touched something deep in my heart. Every time I see Field Of Dreams I still feel that magic.  

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Transfiguration, and as I was looking at our readings, I felt a magic similar to what I feel when watching Field of Dreams. And I heard a voice saying, "If you preach it, they will come."  So this morning I want to use Field of Dreams as a guide for looking at the magic, the mystery, and the poignancy of the Transfiguration.

In our gospel reading Jesus takes three of his closest disciples, and ascends a high mountain. There, He is transfigured in glory, and is joined by Moses and Elijah who shine with an amazing brightness.  Moses and Elijah were the fathers of Judaism, Moses the father of law, and Elijah the father of prophecy. What a story!  What a Field of Dreams!  For Peter, James, and John, this would be like Todd Helton taking you to a baseball game, and being joined there in glory by Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle. At the old Yankees stadium. It had to be incredible. 

Then Peter, dazzled by the sight, and in the presence of the greatest figures in Jewish history, says, hey, let me build some condos so you can all stay for awhile. Good old Peter. Mark says Peter was flustered and scared, and didn't know what he was saying. But I wonder if Peter didn't know exactly what he was saying. In Field of Dreams Ray hears a voice saying if you build it, he will come.  Peter also hears a voice, and his voice says, since they have come, I better build it. Peter wanted to make this experience last. He wanted to make it permanent. He didn't want it to ever end. 

This deep human instinct to build a container for the sacred, and make it permanent, is universal. If you were a Freudian, you might say that in the presence of the holy, human beings have an edifice complex. Just think about how many churches, synagogues, mosques, shrines, pyramids, kivas, and other religious structures have been built in human history. It's easy to understand why: our encounters with the sacred are magical and profound, but they don't happen often enough, and they don't last long enough.  So we want to honor these experiences, and make them tangible and permanent. We don't ever want them to end. Ray heard a voice and built a ball park. Peter heard a voice and was going to build some condos. 

But just as Peter is discussing with James and John his building plans, poof, Moses and Elijah disappear. Peter is thinking permanence, but he is slammed by the temporary. We've all had mountain-top spiritual experiences that end way too soon. We have visions of the divine, we see how everything fits together, and then a friend calls whose life is completely falling apart. We touch God in nature, and then have to return to the city. In worship we come into the very presence of God, and then on the way home some idiot cuts us off in traffic. On retreats, camps, and mission trips we clearly see God in our brothers and sisters.  But then we have to go back to work. We wish so much these experiences would never end. 

But they do end. In this life we all have to come down from the mountain.  The Voice says build it, but reality whispers, it doesn't last. 

In our Old Testament reading, we learn the story of Elijah the prophet passing the blessing to Elisha. Elisha was the chosen successor of Elijah, and he knew that Elijah would soon leave on a fiery chariot to be with God.  There was no way Elisha was going to let Elijah get away without receiving a double blessing, so he stuck to Elijah like glue, following Him from city to city, until he got the blessing. As Elijah was being taken to heaven, Elisha said, "My Father!  You are like a Father to me!  Elisha loved Elijah, and he pursued Elijah so he could receive his father's blessing. 

In Field of Dreams, Ray hints throughout the movie that his relationship with his father was not a good one. His father had been worn out by work, and Ray was a cocky 17 year old kid. Ray left for college, and never saw his dad alive again. Ray's father could not give the blessing, and Ray couldn't receive it. But at the end of the movie Ray's father is one of the ballplayers that shows up on the baseball field. Ray's dad is a young man, and as Ray and his dad start to play catch, you know that their relationship will be healed. Ray will receive the blessing. 

Fathers are very significant people in our lives, for both sons and daughters, and a father's blessing is deeply, deeply, important.  As a psychotherapist, I have worked with far too many people who never received their father's blessing. Like with Isaac and Esau, too often blind fathers can't bless their children, and with tears the children, like Esau, never seem to find healing. I know people, and I'm sure you do too, who are desperately seeking their father's blessing, 20 or 30 years after their father has died. Whatever a father's blessing is, it is incredibly powerful. 

I wonder if Peter, James, and John felt this loss of a father's blessing when Moses and Elijah disappeared. They weren't denied the blessing, but they were this close to touching, and hugging, and playing catch with Moses and Elijah, the fathers of the faith. And then the fathers were gone. To switch metaphors, it must have been like the Super Bowl, with Seattle on the goal line, the championship right there a yard away, and then it's gone. Ouch. 

Fathers are a great mystery. We long to know them, understand them, and be blessed by them. Many of us have heard a voice that says ease their pain, which is also our pain.  Peter, James, and John heard the voice of God the Father saying this is Jesus, my son. I love Him. We all Long to hear the voice that says that we, too, are beloved. 

In second Corinthians, Paul says that God's radiant glory is displayed in the face of Christ, but there is a veil that prevents the world from seeing this glory.  Believers can see through the veil, but most people can't. This reminds me of a scene in Field of Dreams, where Ray is faced with a very difficult decision. He is bankrupt because he turned his cornfield into a baseball field, and his wife's brother is insisting that Ray sell what's left to the bank. But Ray's brother-in-law can't see the players on the field.  He doesn't believe. There is a veil that prevents him from seeing the glorious treasure of the baseball field, a treasure that people will come and pay to see.  

This is such a great metaphor for our lives. We know the glorious reality of heaven is there, but the hardships of this world often veil our eyes from seeing it. There are times when we feel bankrupt, and we don't have the inner resources to dig deep to see how God is working in our lives. Sometimes our financial issues are so pressing that we lose track of the other reality of God and heaven.  Our relationships are often such a mess that God seems a million miles away. Sometimes our health aches and pains us enough that the reality of a heaven of peace and joy seems like a dream.  On the other hand, our riches and affluence can veil our eyes to the reality of heaven, because in our comfort we are tempted to believe that this world is heaven. It isn't easy to consistently raise the veil, and be comforted by, and challenged by, the reality of God's world. 

But for Peter, James, and John, on the mount of Transfiguration, the veil was completely removed.  They saw clearly the glorious reality of heaven.  After Moses and Elijah left, however, Jesus says something strange. He says, don't tell anybody about this. Don't tell anybody about this?  Really Jesus?  What's that about?  We've seen past the veil, and you want us to keep quiet?

I have a confession to make. I get this whole veil thing. But I don't like this whole veil thing. Sure, I get that not seeing through the veil all the time develops our faith. I get that it disciplines us to seek God, and patient seeking builds perseverance, and persevering in hope builds character. I get all that. But I don't always like it. I don't like that some people have been so bruised by this world that they seem unable to see past the veil. I don't like it that in certain seasons of our life the glimpses beyond the veil are way too few, and way too far between. I wish it were different. 

Seriously.  Why couldn't Jesus have walked down from the mountain with Moses and Elijah, removed the veil for good, strolled into Jerusalem, and inaugurated His messianic kingdom?  Would that have been so hard?  

Jesus tells us why He didn't do that. He told the three, don't tell anyone what you have seen on this mountain until after I have risen from the dead. That's the catch. There's the rub. In order to play on the Field of Dreams, we all must journey through suffering and death. The veil will be lifted, but only after we journey through suffering and death. We will know permanence, but only after we journey through suffering and death. We will be blessed by our fathers, and all our relationships will be healed, but only after we journey through suffering and death. I don't like it, but this is our entire faith. This is the good news. 

This is why we always celebrate the feast of the Transfiguration right before  Ash Wednesday and Lent. It's a liturgical reminder that nothing stays transfigured unless it first goes into the grave. As Jesus had to journey through suffering and death before He entered into glory, so must we. One day we will all play on a field of dreams with all the saints.  But first, we must go the distance. 

Field of Dreams is about longing, and magic, and heaven. When we long for permanence, we long for heaven. When we long for our Father's blessing, and for healed relationships, we long for heaven. And when we long to see through the veil, and see God face to face, we long for heaven. In this holy season of Lent, may we all find heaven in our journey to the cross, and may we all follow the Voice that leads us home. 

Amen