Palm Whine

“So does this year’s Palm Sunday reading focus on the Palm or the Passion?” a friend and bandmate asked me, about this time last week, when we were rehearsing the week’s worship music.

“Not a whole bunch of either,” was my reply.

Like many key events in Jesus’ life, Palm Sunday is treated slightly differently depending on which Gospel you read, you see. Some of the Gospeliers pause for a while in the euphoria of the Palm Sunday parade. Others go a little more toward underscoring the bittersweetness of the occasion, and use their text to foreshadow the Passion of the Christ.

The Lectionary used by the Anglican Church is focusing on the book of Mark this spring, and Mark’s Gospel is not known for flowery, elaborate language. It’s succinct, straightforward and to the point (unlike that last sentence). This approach definitely has its advantages, but in those pivotal moments in the life of Jesus, there are times when I, for one, could use some evocative imagery.

My kingdom for an adjective!

Case in point: Mark’s Palm Sunday account (Mark 11:1-11) reads only slightly less matter-of-factly than, ‘He came, they cheered, He left.’

It’s not the shortest account of the four Gospels in terms of word count, but it contains the least commentary by far. Matthew’s version refers to the prophecies that the event fulfils. Luke’s points out the Pharisees’ reaction and Jesus’ response to them. John’s story (although even shorter than Mark’s) underscores the significance of the event in hindsight.

Mark dispassionately and objectively recounts what happened that day and lets readers infer and interpret things as they choose. As a journalist, I appreciate the approach, but as a worship leader I could use more.

Hence my response to Amanda’s question: probably more Palm than Passion, but really not much of either.

And in light of that, I gotta tell you, I struggled with Sunday’s set list. I brought in the two standard Hosannas (one by Starfield, the other by Paul Baloche) and then came up empty.

This was particularly concering for me, because last year’s Palm Sunday was a Passionate, tough act to follow, and I didn’t want this year’s to pale in comparison – for the congregation, yes – but also for me.

I hate to brag, but last year, our church band knocked the Palm Sunday worship music out of the park. I was so deeply moved by my bandmates’ excellent performances that I choked back tears as I gave the call to worship.

Thanks to Pastor Stephen’s superb sermon from 2011, I was able to very effectively put myself in the place of those fair-weather followers who waved palm branches on the first Palm Sunday, as I wrote in last year’s Palm Cross Disciplehood entry. (Stephen hit another grand slam with this week’s Palm Sunday sermon, by the way. Tying it to April Fool’s Day was an inspired choice. Go to www.holytrinitycalgary.org/downloads to listen to both Palm Sunday sermons, as well as those from several years previous. You’ll have to scroll down a fair bit to get to last year’s, delivered on April 17).

‘Will this year’s music end up being a mere shadow of its predecessor?’ I wondered, with not a small amount of worry. ’Will I think of anything new to say to my reader(s) through the e-pages of this blog? I don’t want to be a one-hit wonder, or suffer from the sophomore jinx.’

And then I read the New Testament reading for this week – and I knew exactly what to do musically (and, as it turns out, blog-ically as well). In Philippians 2:5-11, the Apostle Paul expertly reminds us of Jesus’ holiness, and what that looks like, in earthly terms, for us. I dare you to click the link, give it a read and not be moved.

The passage reminded me not to take Jesus’ holiness for granted. After all, if He had been just another guy, how holy would Holy Week be?

Jesus probably wasn’t the only would-be Messiah who was welcomed into Jerusalem with a palm parade, and then crucified for his rabble rousing a few days later. As Pilate famously spits in Jesus Christ Superstar, ‘You Jews produce Messiahs by the sackfull.’

It’s the holiness of Jesus that makes Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday and Good Friday what they are. It’s His holiness that makes that mind-bogglingly absurd, non-sequitur arithmetic possible – the equation I’m speaking of is the fact that the death of one Saviour – at the hands of the people He came to save – is greater than the sum of all of the sins of all of the people who currently live, who have ever lived, or ever will live.

There’s no way on Earth that it adds up. But thanks to the holiness of Jesus, it adds up perfectly in Heaven.

So as I called people to worship on Sunday morning, I invited them to not only put themselves in the sandals of those first Palm Sunday palm wavers, but also to stay in their own loafers and step back and take a broader look at Holy Week, and how the holiness of Jesus made (and makes) it all possible.

Then Amanda, Jenn and I led the congregation in songs that used the word ‘holy’ even more than they used the word ‘Hosanna.’

And I think that was just fine with Jesus.

After all, what better time to pause and reflect on the holiness of Jesus than on the first day of Holy Week?

Seems obvious in hindsight, doesn’t it? And yet, I wouldn’t have arrived there, if the Lectionary had prescribed the Palm Sunday reading I wanted, instead of the one I needed.

Hmm. Maybe Mark knew what he was doing after all.

Peace be with you.

Image Source: http://catholicfire.blogspot.com/2011/04/palm-sunday-2011.html

Re-Lent 2012

Holy Moly! It’s Holy Week already!

Lent sure went fast this year for me – probably thanks in part to the fact I’ve taken on a huge worship music project this spring (Cursillo Music Director) and am taking a Confirmation Class (bragging, not complaining). Meanwhile, my family and I are beginning the process of looking for a bigger home (both bragging and complaining).

But whatever the reason, Lent felt about three weeks long this year, rather than the usual twelve (Check out last year’s Lent and Re-Lent posts for my 2011 thoughts on this). Yeah, I know it’s six weeks, but it sure feels longer – normally.

And as the Palm Sunday Parade stampeded past me the other day, a question occurred to me: If Lent passes quickly for me, am I doing it wrong?

Or, since Lent was made for people, rather than people made for Lent, perhaps there is no wrong way to do Lent – except not at all. Probably worth pondering.

But either way, Lent is just about over now, so it’s about time for a little navel-gazing.

Six weeks or so ago, in my Lent 2012 post, I announced that I was giving up self-reliance for Lent this year, and I have to call the exercise a qualified success.

‘Qualified’ because I fell a bit short of a perfect record in the category of ‘Letting Go and Letting God’ from Ash Wednesday to now.

Like about 95% short.

But since my pre-Ash Wednesday 2012 score was probably about 3%, I call a mark of 5% a monumental improvement.

And my life is probably more than 2% better as a result of this baby step. I can think of several examples where things have turned out much better when I’ve given an issue to God and actually let go, than they would have if I’d micro-managed it on my own steam. (Incidentally, I think it’s awesome that in God’s Hierarchy, we get to delegate to our Master. Yet another example of how things are upside-down in our world.)

You can call my success with these items a psychosomatic exercise in self-fulfilling prophecy if you like, but you can’t argue with success!

And regarding other topics I’ve delegated upwards, where the positive resolutions have yet to arrive, I still feel better than if I’d spent the last three fortnights obsessing about them – with nothing more to show for the exercise than new wrinkles.

“Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” – Luke 12:25.

Amen. Preach it, J.C.!

But the real measure of success in my Lenten journey isn’t really how far it’s taken me, but whether or not it will continue: Will I keep on keeping on in the Let Go and Let God (LGLG) Department, or revert to my Cling On and Make Rob (COMR) default?

You’d think this would be a no-brainer.

After all, LGLG is much easier and much less stressful than COMR. But you have to actively decide to be an LGLG guy – multiple times per day – and remember to implement this decision, also multiple times per day. COMR is the path of least resistance, so it’s very easy to slip back into this idiotic rut.

So will I continue to get better at letting go and letting God after Easter Sunday?

To borrow a phrase from the Anglican Baptismal Covenant, I will, with God’s help.

Peace be with you.

Martyrhood?

Be careful what you pray for, you just might get it.

This adage is most often applied to wishes, but I think it works just as well for prayers. And I became a walking illustration of this piece of cautionary wisdom earlier this week.

I was on my way to work, praying my usual morning prayers – one of which goes something like this: “I pray for Christendom, Lord – for your whole church, all over the world. I pray for apostles, prophets and martyrs, and for bishops, priests and deacons – and for insight and discernment on which one (or ones) of these you want me to be, if any.”

The Crucifixion of Saint Peter (Italian: Crocifissione di san Pietro; 1600) is a work by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, painted for the Cerasi Chapel of Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome. Peter is said to have asked that his cross be inverted so as not to imitate his mentor, Christ, hence he is depicted upside-down.

Then, as often happens, my focus drifted and I began to think about things other than the prayer at hand. For no apparent (at the time) reason, my thoughts landed on John 21:18-19 – “Very truly I tell you, 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.” Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!”

These verses often give me goosebumps – and not the good goosebumps of epiphany, exactly. Not the freaked out chills I get when I watch a horror movie, either, but maybe somewhere inbetween.

I’ve never really understood why this passage affects me this way, but this week I wondered if God might have given me an indication: I think He might want me to be a martyr.

And I gotta tell you – that wasn’t the revelation I was hoping for.

I’ve been wondering for a while if God might have set me apart for a special purpose (Delusions of grandeur much, Baldy?) – maybe a priest or a deacon; maybe a prophet or apostle (whatever these words mean in a 21^st-Century context), and I’m eager to find out what. So while I pray for the folks who wear these six hats in our world today, I often tack on a prayer for myself – not bothering to omit the very unlikely (bishop) or the very unpalatable (martyr), because God knows what I really mean.

He sure does.

Better than I do.

Gulp.

Now, I have no real reason to think this ‘epiphany’ is anything more than un-wishful thinking, of course. It could be more of gravy than of grave (to misquote Ebenezer Scrooge), for all I know.

But supposing it is ‘real,’ what am I supposed to do with it? If I knew that the priesthood was in my path, I could enrol in a seminary. But there’s no Martyr College, as far as I know (If there were, I bet they’d insist on being paid tuition fees upfront).

What, exactly, does a martyr in the making look like?

Do I go around looking for a fight, just so I can lose? Do I visit anti-Christian countries and double-dog-dare the local infidels to torture and murder me? Probably not.

The best example of what a martyr in the making looks like is, of course, Jesus prior to Good Friday. But what does that mean in a 21^st-Century context? And while the WWJD philosophy is a good one in most cases, we’re not all here to die on a cross at age 33 for the sins of the whole world. Jesus’ unique role in history required that he live like a man with a death wish, and I don’t think we’re called to go and do likewise.

So where does that leave me? Dunno.

But before I break out the jackhammer to start tunnelling through this apparent dead end, perhaps a re-think is in order. Maybe I’m being too literal here.

Did God drop a hint that He might need me to physically die for Him someday? Or was He reminding me that I need to spiritually die to myself, every day? Perhaps this encounter was a reminder that I’m falling short of being a Living Martyr in the here and now.

“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me,” the Apostle Paul wrote in Galatians 2:20. “The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

Hmm, doesn’t sound that familiar, actually. But it sounds like it should sound familiar.

I think that’s the standard we’re all supposed to strive toward. (I have my doubts that Paul fully achieved this, 24-7, by the way – but he definitely came a lot closer than I do.)

In Christ, we can be born again, and I count myself in that club (as I said in my Moment post last fall). But can we truly claim to be be born again if haven’t died to our old ‘selves?’

Thankfully, God doesn’t seem to be tied down by earthly chronology here – Death to Self doesn’t have to happen before we’re Born Again, and it doesn’t have to happen all at once. These death throes literally last an entire lifetime for absolutely all of us (except Jesus).

But that doesn’t give us the right to resist the transition – and I think that’s what I’ve been doing lately (perhaps even more than usual), without fully realizing it. So maybe God was using hyperbole to make a point. He does that sometimes, you know…

In the Parable of the Tenants (Mark 12:1-12), Jesus tells a thinly-veiled allegory of how people rejected God’s prophets, one by one, and then predicted accurately what would happen to his Son (they’d kill him). The vineyard owner’s response? “He will come and kill those tenants and give the vineyard to others.” As my pastor pointed out recently, that’s exactly what God is entitled to do to His children who reject Him – and it’s exactly the opposite of what He chose, and still chooses, to do.

Maybe by bringing John 21:18-19 to my attention this week, God was pointing out that He’s entitled to demand that I die for Him – but all he’s chosen to ask is that I live for Him.

Either way, I’m pretty sure there’s no better way to prepare oneself for potential physical martyrdom someday than to fully embrace living martyrdom today.

Peace be with you.

Image Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crucifixion_of_St._Peter_(Caravaggio)

Abba

Well, we’re about two weeks into Lent. How are those disciplines going so far, folks?

Getting any easier?

Thought not.

Some of us have probably already blown it on whatever we set out to do or not do, back on February 22. (One friend of mine declared he’d give up gluttony, then proceeded to scarf down three sizable cookies immediately after the Ash Wednesday service. Doh!)

I know I’ve certainly dropped the ball many times on my promise to give up self-reliance. Guess I have to try harder (oops; there I go again). This discipline stuff is hard – I guess that’s why they call it discipline.

Even if you haven’t fallen short on your Lenten Vow, maybe you’re running out of enthusiasm for the task. Maybe your daily Bible reading, or extra prayers, feel more like cramming for a test or babysitting a tedious child than they do like enriching quality time with your Best Friend.

And whether you’ve broken your vow entirely, or you’ve slipped into a going-through-the-motions rutt, I bet you’re tempted to beat yourself up about it.

Don’t.

First of all, Lent isn’t even half-over, so there’s plenty of time to get back on the horse (or the wagon, if your fast involves alcohol). God isn’t interested in us having a flawless record on a particular discipline during the 40 days of Lent, he wants us to use this time (or any other) as an opportunity to move closer to him, and stay there.

Today is the first day of the rest of your Lent!

OK, this photo has nothing to do with this blog entry. But every time I think of the Aramaic word Abba, I think of the Swedish supergroup. It also works in reverse for me - and hopefully will do the same for you, from now on.

Secondly, I don’t think God is mad at you for failing; I think He’s proud of you for trying! In Mark 14:36, Jesus calls God ‘Abba Father.’ Abba is the Aramaic word for father, but I’ve heard it described as a term of affection – papa, for example.

Or daddy.

For the record, I don’t think Jesus is the only one who gets to call him Abba. You don’t have to be the Son of God to call Him Daddy. The Lord’s Prayer doesn’t start, ‘Our creator, who art in heaven,’ after all.

And as I’ve mentioned before, the first time someone pointed out that God wants us to call him Daddy, it was a watershed moment for me in my faith journey.

‘If God invites us to call him Daddy, maybe he loves us the way we love our children when they’re toddlers,’ I reasoned. ‘When your one-year-old is learning to walk and she takes a step, then falls flat on her fanny, you’re not frustrated with her failure to take two steps; you’re elated that she managed to take one! “That’s my girl!” you bellow as you scoop her up in your arms, shower her with kisses and tell you how proud you are of her. That’s the way we love our toddlers, and we’re imperfect humans with a frail, crude human hearts; how much greater is our heavenly father’s love for, and pride in, us?!?’

If the last few paragraphs feel a bit familiar, that’s because I lifted them verbatim from my second Disciplehood post, Goosebumps – published back in October 2010. I think God wants me to highlight them for my reader(s) who are struggling with Lent and feeling bad about it.

And I’m happy to oblige. This epiphany is just too awesome to confine to one post. I’m not bragging, because these words didn’t come from me.

They came from Daddy.

Peace be with you.

Image Source: http://agnethannifrid.blogspot.com/2010/11/weekendpresent-abba-screensaver.html

Spit

Something tells me that whoever coined the phrase, ‘Getting there is half the fun,’ wasn’t talking about salvation.

The process of dying to our temporal selves, so we can become our true selves – fully in the next life, but to a limited yet growing extent in this one – will sometimes be painful.

If only we could get to the product without going through the process. But we can’t. The things we need Jesus to do for us will not always be pleasant for us.

This isn’t exactly front-page news, I suppose, but three Gospel readings really brought this reality into focus this week. And all of them involve the Messiah’s Saliva (Messialiva?):

In Mark 7:31-35, Jesus heals a deaf-mute man by sticking His fingers in his ears, then spitting and touching the man’s tongue. Then, in Mark 8:22-25, He spat on a blind man’s eyes and partially restored the man’s vision. (People looked like trees walking around.) Then, he repeated the grody process, and the man’s vision was fully restored. And in John 9:1-7, Jesus spat on the ground and made a paste with his saliva and the dust, then rubbed that on a blind man’s eyes. He told him to go and wash in the Pool of Siloam (which means ‘Sent,’) and the man was healed.

Ick, double ick and triple ick.

Now, I’m sure that once this was done, the three healees were extremely grateful, but I can imagine them being less than enthused while it was going on. ’Really, Jesus, you need to involve your saliva in the transaction? You need to put your fingers in my ears? It’s necessary to touch my tongue? OK, but this better work…’

When it was over, perhaps they invoked the Buckley’s Mixture slogan – it tastes (and/or feels) awful, and it works.

As my pastor quipped when we chatted about these passages, at least the blind guys didn’t have to see what Jesus was up to. I wonder if the deaf man had second thoughts when he saw how the Savior Saves.

And really, they’d have had a point if they’d questioned the Master, wouldn’t they? Jesus was God Made Flesh, wasn’t He? Why did He have to get so personal – and so gross? He could have healed them with a wink, a smile, a high-five or a thought, just as easily, couldn’t He?

On that note, what’s with the Mulligan in the second story? Why didn’t his first healing ‘take?’ Seems unlikely that the half-heal was Jesus’ fault, him being perfect and all. Perhaps the blind man’s belief that the icky process would be effective was less than 100%, and therefore, it was less than 100% effective? Dunno.

But back to the original question – why did the process have to be so unpleasant and so intimate?

I suspect that the ickiness wasn’t for the benefit of the ‘healees’ who lived the story – He could have healed them any way He felt like. No, the Yuck Factor is for those who come to Him today – for you and for me; the people reading the story.

Maybe Jesus used this rather manky methodolgy to underscore for future believers that  good can come from the nasty, painful, gross times in our lives. That not only does God use for good the mud and spit that the world throws our way, but sometimes He’s the one doing the spitting and the flinging – and as unlikely as it seems now, we’ll thank Him for it later.

Maybe sometimes, a paste made of mud and loogies is the clay He uses to remold us.

Peace be with you.

Image Sources:

• http://americanbedu.com/2011/05/21/saudi-arabiausa-–-reverse-culture-shock-perhaps/
• http://stuartfrew.wordpress.com/2009/01/08/canada-08-buckleys-mixture/

Lent 2012

Lent 2012 hasn’t even started yet, and it’s already giving me trouble.

I’ve been struggling for weeks with the question of what to give up for Lent this year, and haven’t really gotten anywhere.

• Facebook? I did that last year.
• Swearing? The year before that.
• Secular music? The year before that.
• Coffee? Not while life requires that I get up at 5:45 a.m. Besides, my office is getting snazzy new java machines this week, so I’m pretty sure I’d cave in by Thursday morning.
• Beer? But it makes me so smart and attractive.
• Snacking? Refraining from all non-meal food consumption might be possible, but it wouldn’t be pretty. And I don’t think I could do it without ‘disfiguring my face,’ like we’re called to do in Matthew 6:16-18 (NIV): “When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
• Lunch? Last year a friend gave up the meal of lunch for all of Lent, noting that Muslims regularly kick our sacrificial butts by fasting from all food during daylight hours during the entire month of Ramadan. Admirable, A.R., as always. But regarding R.P., see Snacking, above.

So as I wrestled with this question of what to give up, it occurred to me that I could take something on instead. But what?

Maybe I should read all four books of the Gospel before the end of Lent, I suggested. Not bad, but when will I find the time? Neglecting my family, work and ministry responsibilities for Bible study doesn’t seem very Lenten to me. And if I just shoehorn it in around all of the things I’m already doing, will it be quality time with God anyway? Or will I just be mechanically moving my eyes over the words to legalistically fill some arbitrary, self-imposed quota?

Today, it occurred to me that maybe I’m ready for a different kind of Lent this year.

Maybe being the music co-director and webservant at my church, belonging to two small groups (although I don’t currently have time to attend either of them), reading a daily-ish devotional book with my wife, participating in a confirmation class, serving as the music director for an upcoming retreat weekend and writing a weekly-ish blog, while working 80% of a full-time job and being the family’s primary housekeeper guy for the other 20%, and being the husband of a wonderful and busy wife and father to two wonderful and busy children, adds up to enough of a sacrifice.

Maybe God doesn’t want my Lent to be about gestures of devotion. Maybe He doesn’t need me to try to do more good things or fewer bad things. Maybe He wants to use the next 40 days to help me to be more like He created me to be. And my well-intended efforts to do what I think He wants me to do might actually get in the way of that.

Great. So what does that look like?

A little reflection and prayer reminded me that my biggest vice isn’t beer, coffee or fatty snacks. It’s self-reliance. I’m addicted to the ridiculous notion that I know what’s good for me, and that achieving and attaining it is up to me. And even though I know it’s an addiction, and even though it’s preventing God from remaking significant areas of my heart and life, I won’t/can’t let go of it.

Whenever I begin to try, I hear the Devil’s Advocate whisper ‘The Devil you know is better than the Devil you don’t know.’ Then, for good measure, he changes gears: ‘Turning the general landscape of your life over to God is a good idea, but surely He wants you to take care of the details, right?’

Good point, Mr. D.A. But the God I know is infinitely better than the Devil I know, so I choose to choose God.  And while we’re quoting ‘devil’ sayings, the Devil’s in the details. Or, at least, in the fixation on managing the details.

Take that!

(Notice how Satan used Scripture to tempt Jesus in the Wilderness, but he uses corny clichés with me. Maybe he tempts each of us with the language in which we’re most fluent.)

I think God wants me to drop all the potentially empty gestures and suspend my lifetime subscription to Do It Yourself Weekly for the next 40 days and sign up for the Let Go and Let God Illustrated no-obligation trial period.

Maybe He’ll even help me make it last beyond Easter Sunday.

You’ve read it here first, folks: I’ve decided to give up self-reliance for Lent. Now all I need to do is come up with a nine-point plan for how I’m going to put that into action.

Sigh.

This is gonna be harder than I thought.

Peace be with you.

Photo Sources:

• http://www.cumberlandchurch.org/2011/04/15/the-weekly-04-15-2011/
• http://baderbrewing.com/store/home.php?printable=Y&cat=394
• http://www.headfirstlabs.com/books/hrajax/chapter03/coffee/coffee.html
• http://felixker.com/so-random/the-most-dangerous-potato-chips-to-eat/
• http://www.copyblogger.com/facebook-features-2011/
• http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Mouth_of_Sauron

Listen & Learn, Part 3: Isaiah the Waiter

I’m not talking about the black guy from The Love Boat here (that was Isaac the Bartender [Ted Lange], by the way), but I am talking about love.

Specifically, I’m talking about the Book of Isaiah and its famous passage about waiting.

On February 5, the Old Testament reading in liturgical churches around the world was one of my absolute favorite passages in all of Scripture: Isaiah 40: 21-31. In the New King James Version, the last verse goes like this:

But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.

In addition to the encouraging words this verse holds for everyone, God has used this touched my soul directly with it a number of times, for a number of reasons I might blog about someday. For reasons that don’t entirely make sense temporally, the reading gives me Goosebumps and quickens my breathing.

It makes me feel like God has come near.

So when I learned that this Isaiah passage was the reading for that Sunday, I excitedly chose Everlasting God as one of our worship songs for that service. And as I went over it, I regretted that I’d overlooked it last Advent. That ‘Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord’ line dovetails very nicely with the anticipatory season of Advent, and I’d never picked up on it in the past.

Oh well, I said. There’s always next year.

Then, in his sermon (All Aboard in 2012) from that week, Pastor Stephen Hambidge pointed out the other definition of the word ‘wait.’ When you go out to eat, the guy who brings you your food is a waiter – the gal is a waitress. For the sake of gender neutrality we often use the term server.

In this context, to wait is to serve.

So maybe, Stephen pointed out, Isaiah 40:31 isn’t just about people who hope in the Lord (as the New International Version translates it), but moreso about people who serve Him while we hope in Him.

To be clear, I think both of these meanings of the word ‘wait’ apply here, in the same way that Jesus was God and man at the same time.

Stephen’s astute observation serves, probably unintentionally, as a bit of a rebuke for me, because I’ve often been tempted to hide behind Acts 6:2: ‘So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, “It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables.’

I’ve often felt like a Word minister, you see, and I’ve seen this as permission to leave the get-your-hands-dirty stuff to others while I write and sing and update the church website. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that God put the word ‘wait’ in two of my favorite passages, and waited patiently for me to have ears to hear, and finally connected the dots in this way for me last week.

OK, Jesus. I get it now. Sorry it took me so long.

Good evening. My name is Baldy, and I’ll be your waiter.

Peace be with you.

Photo Source: http://manhattaninfidel.com/2011/05/17/tragedy-on-high-seas-love-boat-sinks/