Tinseltown’s Resurrection v1.0

 “The cloth that’d covered Jesus' head was folded neatly and lying to the side." ~ John 20:7

If Hollywood had scripted Jesus’ resurrection on Easter Sunday, it might have played out something like this:

Jesus died on Friday, the victim of barbaric torture for His “criminal” acts. His very-public death was gruesome, inhumane, even humiliating. Invented by the Persians between 300-400 B.C., it’s the most painful death ever devised. Hollywood would’ve downplayed its brutality in order to avoid an ‘R’ movie rating.

Just after sunrise, picture Mary hurrying to the tomb to finish anointing Jesus’ corpse. Hopeless, despondent, her faith dying with Jesus, we sense the scene’s emptiness. Her tears surrendering to grief’s crushing weight when she discovers the massive stone rolled away.

Mary frantically runs back and sobs out her testimony to Peter and John, fearing grave robbers have stolen the body. They frantically return with her to see for themselves, the younger disciple outrunning the older one only to find the tomb empty. Cue hysterical panic, primal fear, and shattered hearts.

As showbiz often does, flashback hours before Mary first arrived. Jolts of electricity race through Jesus’ body as He awakens just seconds before the Angel of Death comes to claim Him. Strength returns as His blood starts moving again. He eventually staggers upright.

Several attempts to move the stone prove futile, but Jesus having Herculean strength, finally forces the stone aside and stumbles out of the tomb, bleary-eyed and plotting His escape. He doesn’t bother tidying things up before a bright light secretly whisks him skyward.

But Scripture paints it differently. 

The Apostle John added a curious, firsthand detail (above) suggesting two things about the nature of the risen Lord.

First, John noticed Jesus' linen wrappings lying there, but the cloth that had covered Jesus' head was intentionally folded and set aside. 

Had thieves stolen the body, they would likely have taken Him, cloths and all, or simply have stripped the linens off and left them in a messy heap.

Second, in Jewish tradition, when the master of the house got up after dinner, he might wad up his napkin showing he'd finished eating. Only then could the servants clear the table. A neatly folded napkin meant he was not done and would come back.

Before leaving, Jesus took on the dignity befitting Him. He rose in a humble, nonchalant manner. He took a few moments to tidy things up, even going so far as completing a task akin to folding a guest towel - a sign that He would return.

He strode out of the tomb like He owned the place and announced to a broken world that He was setting everything back the way it was always supposed to be. From death into life. Out of disorder into order. Goodbye brokenness, hello wholeness.

Then on the third day He ascended a conquering hero.

“Lord Jesus, we rejoice continually in Your glorious and triumphant victory over death. For Your victory is my victory. Help me to live by it, in it, and for it. Amen (Selwyn Hughes)

Free Bird

 “Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength and soar like eagles.” ~ Isaiah 40:31

I used to feel a tinge of envy when I watched birds soaring through the sky as if on perfect tracks. They seemed so graceful, so peaceful, so uninhibited. Watching them soar among the clouds in the hallowed space between heavens and Earth filled me with wonder and admiration.

I longed to know the feeling of gliding over cities, mountains, and forests. I wished to hear the wind whistling in my ears and rushing over my wings. Mostly though, I wanted to view the world from a unique perspective, a higher perspective.

Whenever I envisioned myself flying over everyone else, watching the world come alive beneath me, sensing the hum of the city, the first to see the ever-developing canvas of the dawn, it makes me feel free.

No sadness up there, no fear, loneliness. At least that’s what my imagination brings forth. Whenever I need a memory to lift me off the ground, I look up.

Birds in flight fascinate me. Their anatomy is so eccentric. Hollow, yet strong bones; small, highly efficient lungs; and precisely arranged feathers that allow them to fly long distances without fatigue. Unlike humans, it’s amazing how they defy gravity with their tiny muscles.

If only I could fly like a bird…

One day I realized that I could never fly, but my soul could if I allowed it. My feet may still be stuck on the ground, but my spirit will always be soaring with my feathery friends among the heavens. 

Our souls give us wings – a kind of oneness with our Heavenly Father who infuses us with such energy and confidence that allows us to soar to greater heights of revelation, peace, and joy.

It requires us to relax in Him and trust that He knows what He’s doing. It requires that we trust His word, His ability, and His character. If we're on board with His plan for our lives rather than doing our own thing, we don't have to worry about sustaining or implementing it; it's His plan. 

So, He’ll bring along His resources and He’ll do the implementation. And whatever small part He gives us to play in that, He’ll give us the grace too.

When life's burdens are weighing you down like a dark, threatening cloud, place your trust in God and wait with a confident expectation and hope in Him. He will give you the confidence to soar with wings like an eagle to ride out any storm, and reach the blue, sun-filled skies of victory.

And now when I see a bird gliding effortlessly across the sky, I send it my affection and allow my soul to fly with it too.

Almighty Father, I pray that you will bless me with true riches that will never desert me and will last into eternity. Give me the grace not to forsake You, the Rock of my salvation, in Jesus’ name. Amen

Another Perspective

 “Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” ~ Lao Tzu

Shawn was feeling a little full of himself . . . and looking to pick a fight this morning.

Sheryl was running late for work. The demands of raising three children and holding down a full-time job weighed heavily on her. As she pulled her white Cadillac XT6 into the parking structure, Shawn sauntered by and said, "I wonder how many people could have been fed for the money that fancy SUV cost?

Instead of reacting impulsively, Sheryl took a deep breath, a brief moment of mindful presence.

“I’m not really sure,” she answered thoughtfully. 

“It helped feed hundreds of families near Arlington, Texas who built it. It helped provide clothing for the children whose parent labored making the tires, components, and electronics that went into it. It helped aluminum, steel and copper miners build homes for their families and support schools in their communities. And it provided health insurance for truckers who hauled finished vehicles to the dealers who sell and maintain them.”

“But to be honest, I don’t know precisely how many people it helped feed,” she said. “Can I show you one more thing?”

Shawn nodded awkwardly as she motioned for him to look at her license plate.

“Yea, MD 1692,” he scoffed. “So what?”

“At 16,” she began, “I packed my things, left my dysfunctional family and moved to California. Those were some of the hardest years of my life, but the same adversity that made for a trying childhood also taught me how to thrive amid challenging circumstances.

That grit drove traditional measures of success. I got married, worked as a HS biology teacher, and earned a master’s degree in education. All while raising three children.

I even found time for volunteering after work at local hospitals ... and dreamed of becoming a doctor. So, I applied for medical school. More than 2 dozen schools turned me down. But I never gave up hope.

I drew the attention of a school in Barbados that looked beyond my lack-luster undergrad GPA and considered other factors. Now, after earning my M.D. in 1992, I returned here to become a physician and serve the community.

Please don’t misunderstand me, sharing with others is still an important responsibility for us all. But, when you buy something, you put money in people’s pockets and give them dignity for their skills. Give money the car may’ve cost to a soup kitchen, and it will give you a pleasantly warm feeling for having done a good deed. Soon the money will be gone, and the kitchen will need more. And so will the people it feeds.

And if no one ever bought that expensive SUV, what would happen to all those workers who benefitted from my purchase of it?”

Holy Father, thank You for the work of hand and mind; for the opportunity to plan and design, to manufacture and grow, to serve and conserve, and to care for one another in the places where we work. Amen

Oh Danny Boy

 “Understand, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep God’s love is." ~ Ephesians 3:18-19

Every song tells a story. Or at least it should.

Such is the legendary piece written in 1910 by English barrister Frederic Weatherly. The poetic version of “Danny Boy” was written by Weatherly’s own hand after his Irish sister-in-law introduced him to the sweeping melody of “Londonderry Air." 

Frederic, a prolific songwriter before practicing law, published about 1,500 songs in his lifetime. “Londonderry Air” was discovered by Jane Ross in the early 1850s on the streets of northern Ireland, who composed the tune played by an anonymous street fiddler.

While millions have sung “Danny Boy” since it was written, its fame blossomed quickly thanks to the operatic voice of Elsie Griffin who recorded the first ever version of the beloved Irish ballad. Traditional versions have but four verses, but the most popular version has six.

More than a century has transpired since ink was put to parchment, “Danny Boy” stirs up deep emotion and feelings of Irish national pride. Yet, even today, the interpretation of its haunting lyrics remain up for debate.

Many believe it’s a loyalty message from a father to his son going off to war or emigrating (Irish immigrants brought the song to America in the 1920s).

Others suggest a parent wishing their boy to return to them before they pass away. Both are powerful themes in pain of parting and longing.

After the tragic events of 911, the strains of “Danny Boy” rose from memorial services of many Irish American police and firefighters who were among the victims. It honors both the notion of loss but also love reaffirmed by the joyful anticipation of being reunited again someday.

No matter its origins or meaning, "Danny Boy" has found a special place in Irish folklore; one of deep love that may reflect heritage and, perhaps, even romance with Ireland’s struggles. It reaches into one’s heart with an enduring power to move, uplift, and almost always yields soulful tears in expression. I’ll leave that up to your own senses of emotion and purpose.

The song reminds me of what Christ has done for us to elicit a response of love for Him.

“But come ye back when summer's in the meadow, or when the valley's hushed and white with snow. I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow, oh Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, I love you so.” (Danny Boy Verse2)

When you accept Jesus’ invitation to begin a relationship with God, you are secure in His love forever. Nothing can separate you from God’s love. Even when things are difficult or you feel far from God, it’s not because God stops loving you. The truth is that God will never stop loving you, no matter what you do.

“May God be with you and bless you; May you see your children’s children. May you be poor in misfortune and rich in blessings. May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward. Amen” (traditional Irish Blessing)

Precious Lord

 “Don’t be afraid, I’ll hold your hand. I’m here to help you.” ~ Isaiah 41:13

Thirty-two years old and a rookie husband, Pastor Dorsey and his wife lived in a tiny apartment on Chicago's Southside. As the featured soloist at a prominent St. Louis Revival, he looked for an excuse to stay home with his wife who was nearing the end of her pregnancy with their first child.

He didn’t want to leave. But Nettie had the final word.

“God will wait, people are expecting you,” she implored. So, he kissed her goodbye and rattled out of Chicago on Route 66 on a trip that would take several days.

The first night’s crowd of appreciative field hands, mill workers, and townies begged Dorsey for multiple encores. When he finally sat down, a messenger approached with a telegram. Perhaps a congratulatory note from his loving Nettie he thought.

He ripped open the envelope. Pasted on the yellow sheet were the words: “Your Wife just died giving birth to your son.” As a cacophony of joyful music and song surrounded him, the new Dad felt a mixture of guilt, grief, joy, and fear.

Pastor Dorsey rushed home and held his precious baby; happiness Nettie would never experience. The boy’s eyes were more brilliant than he could’ve dreamed they’d be, his hands more delicate. So light, so perfect, so Divine.

During the night, the newborn also passed away. Dorsey buried them together in the same casket. Then he fell apart, isolating himself for days. God had done him a grave injustice. He didn't want to serve Him anymore.

But weeks later as he wept alone, he thought about the afternoon he left for St. Louis. Something kept telling him to stay home Nettie. Was God calling? If he’d listened more attentively, he would have been with Nettie when she died.

He prayed while sitting at the piano; hands browsing the keys. Peace flooded him, inspiring a melody he’d never heard or played before. 

The lyrics just fell into place. “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” became the most famous among the over 3,000 hymns he penned.

He gave it to a friend who introduced it to Atlanta’s Ebenezer Baptist Choir. Martin Luther King, Sr. who was the senior pastor at that time, fell in love with the song immediately. Mahalia Jackson, Elvis Presley, and Tennessee Ernie Ford were among the legends who later recorded it.

Known as the “Father of Black Gospel Music,” Rev. Thomas Andrew Dorsey’s (1899-1993) song has since been translated into more than 30 languages.

As Christians, we walk by faith, not by emotions. Our feelings change constantly. Part of growing in our faith is moving beyond our moods and trusting God, knowing we don’t suffer alone. Nor do we suffer without hope. His confidence in God’s presence provided the tonic Dorsey needed to endure his grief.

“Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand! I am tired, I am weak, I am worn. Through the storm, through the night lead me on to the light. Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.”  (“Precious Lord, Take My Hand” by Thomas A. Dorsey)

The Illusion of Confidence

 “You are but mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." ~ James 4:14

The following is a true story.

On January 6, 1995, a large, middle-aged man moseyed into a Melon Bank near Pittsburg. He strolled up to the teller and, in broad daylight, brandished a semiautomatic pistol and demanded money. He wore nothing to conceal his identity, even smiling cheerfully at surveillance cameras before exiting the bank.

But there’s more! With the newly heisted $5,200 in his pocket, the thief got in his car, went down the road, and held up ANOTHER bank in an equally shameless manner. After the news media flooded the airwaves with the banks’ security footage, police identified him immediately.

Police arrested a shocked McArthur Wheeler. When shown the surveillance tapes, Wheeler stared in disbelief. “But I wore the (lemon) juice,” he mumbled. Huh?

He acted boldly because knew that lemon juice is sometimes used as invisible ink. Knowing just that little piece of info, Wheeler rubbed lemon juice all over his face before entering the bank believing it would render him undistinguishable from videotape cameras.

Police concluded that Wheeler wasn’t crazy or on drugs - just incredibly misinformed. For his botched efforts he received a 24-year sentence.

After extensive research, psychologists at Cornell University coined a name for the cognitive bias to inflate self-assessment. The “Dunning-Kruger effect,” describes how people inaccurately assess their abilities as being much greater than they are.

Before we poke fun at Wheeler and his misguided faith in the power of citrus, it’s harder to admit that we too succumb to the Dunning-Kruger effect in our own lives.

As a Dad and husband, I’m often guilty of refusing to ask for directions while getting us hopelessly lost. What self-respecting man doesn’t insist he can complete a basic home repair only before chaos (and property damage) ensue? Once teens obtain their driver’s license, research says they consider themselves good drivers despite their car’s telltale signs of scratches and dents.

But nowhere does the Dunning-Kruger effect become more apparent than the arrogance with which we plan the future. According to James (above), human life is like “mist”- a fleeting kind of thing. He spent most of his chapter warning about the wisdom of the world and selfish ambition.

What James is driving at is that we should recognize our arrogance in believing that we are the masters of our own fate. Our lives are temporary and fragile. We can't predict or control the future. We truly have no idea what will happen tomorrow.

So be humble and take a long hard look in the mirror. If you’re going to be bold about anything, be bold about doing the things Jesus taught us are good. And for the love of all that’s holy, when lost, use your GPS… or better yet, ask somebody for directions.

Holy Father, when I look into the future and see my weakness(es), help me to trust You. May I glorify You in my weakness, looking away from myself and to the wonders of Your amazing love through Christ. Amen

Power in Forgiveness

 “Moments of tragedy provide opportunities to demonstrate grace." ~ 1 Peter 3:9

The moment Eric met his first child, he recalled thinking, “What a gift! What a miracle!” The Georgia Youth Pastor was blown by the way God used people and nature to create little humans. Now as he prepared to be a Dad for the second time, he felt that same euphoria… until his life changed tragically.

He awoke to the news that his wife’s car had been struck by a driver who fell asleep at the wheel. Faith, his then 19-month-old toddler, survived the crash. His wife died instantly in the collision along with their unborn son.

Twenty-year-old Matt, a rookie firefighter paramedic, had been heading home after completing a sleepless 24-hour shift when he drifted into oncoming traffic and hit June’s car head-on. The crash would forever bind the two men’s lives.

It’s not hard to imagine the words Eric might’ve spoken to Matt, given the chance. But contact with the defendant was prohibited while the case wound its way through the legal system.

Eventually, prosecutors approached Eric about whether he wanted them to pursue the maximum sentence against the paramedic. But the newly widowed father also recognized an opportunity to practice the grace that he often preached about.

Amid the grief, Erik pleaded for leniency so Matt could avoid prison time. A judge ordered the firefighter to only pay a fine and do community service.

The two men never spoke directly to each other again until the 2-year anniversary of June’s death. Enough time had passed for Erik to understand that the accident had been just that – a horrible and unintended consequence of Matt’s actions.

Leaving the grocery store, Eric recognized Matt and walked towards his truck. The guilt-ridden man wept as he handed Eric a condolence card he’d just purchased. Two years of crushing guilt spewed out.

They hugged - one man saving souls, the other saving bodies. They talked for hours. They became friends.

They remain close to this day, meeting regularly and often spending time together during the holidays. They credit that chance meeting in a parking lot as the key to letting them both heal from the loss and pain.

They view their relationship as a blessing from God, a feeling cemented recently when Pastor Erik welcomed another child into his life with a new bride. Their baby was born on the same due date as the unborn child he and his first wife had been expecting.

Whenever we’re confronted with a choice between forgiveness or resentment, we’re given the option to experience life’s beauty or the horror of death. By holding on to anger, bitterness, and even hatred, we close ourselves off to God’s mercy and grace. Yet by forgiving, we help another receive that healing grace as well!

Father God, please forgive me when I allow anger and bitterness to fill my heart because I refuse to forgive someone who has hurt me. Teach me how to set aside my pride and to forgive in the same way You have forgiven me. Amen

Shielded by His Light

 “You, O Lord, are a shield around me.” ~ Psalm 3:3

The water-stained ceiling tiles above Barry’s hospital bed never looked so beautiful. He was still alive. There were surely no ceiling tiles in heaven, he reasoned.

Until yesterday, he’d come through the worst battle of his life, completing the last of his chemo treatments for acute myeloid leukemia. His latest test results seemed encouraging. He’d even been able to briefly dance with his wife, Adele, in the hospital room before the relief that had invigorated them turned into a raging storm. Barry’s appendix burst.

His white blood cells, depleted from chemo, couldn’t fight the infection. A low platelet count meant his blood wouldn’t clot sufficiently either. Surgery wasn’t an option. Without it, the poison flooding his body would be fatal.

The G-tube into his belly to drain off some of the toxins would only buy a few hours, not the weeks needed to stabilize him enough for an appendectomy. Adele urgently called everyone they knew to come quickly.

A family priest administered the last rights. Scores of visitors offered prayers and said goodbye. 

Everyone except Franny. “The Lord will be a shield around you’” she whispered. “That’s somewhere in the Bible. He wanted me to tell you that.”

Shield me, Lord,” Barry repeatedly until fitful sleep came.

He woke up the next day staring at the spotted ceiling tiles. The day after that too. The medical staff knew of only one case where anyone with cancer like his survived a burst appendix for so long.

After 7 consecutive days of waking to those ceiling tiles, he went home. They tested his blood every few days to determine if he was strong enough for surgery. There were no guarantees.

After six more weeks at home, his blood counts normalized. They prepared him for an exploratory procedure to assess his internal damage. Through the fog of anesthesia, Barry recalled David’s reassuring words: “You are a shield around me.” Franny wasn’t sure what they meant; nor was he. But that passage sustained him, like provisions during a desolate winter.

Immediately after surgery, an astonished surgeon entered the recovery room. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said, showing a photo of what was left of Barry’s appendix. “Surrounding it is a kind of shell, composed of scar tissue.” He circled it. “These adhesions serve as the body's repair mechanism.”

“What does that mean?” Barry asked.

He fumbled for the right words. “The adhesions acted like… tiny shields, tightly packed together… forming an impenetrable structure that contained the poison within it.”

Barry never questioned why his life was spared. That’s what heaven is for. For now, he’ll enjoy his family, his friends, and the blue skies, not ready to see beyond the ceiling tiles quite yet.

Holy Father, shield me from wickedness and help me to cast all my cares on You. Let me rest in Your love, knowing that You have promised to supply sufficient grace in all the trials I may face. Amen