Fear and Love

John tells us that true love casts out fear. He goes on to say that in perfect love there is no fear. (1 Jn. 4:18) I guess my love is not perfect, because I find myself struggling with fear today.

This is a pretty rare experience for me. I am a generally confident guy who goes through life with a glass half full perspective, but there are a few things in my life at the moment that have brought up fear in me. It is so unfamiliar to me, that I couldn't have named it until today.

I was walking through the fields today, talking with God. I was asking Him to help me understand what has been driving me toward the old cisterns lately. Suddenly, it was crystal clear. I realized that I am afraid. I have been trying to escape from the pain of fear. The revelation seemed to come from outside of me, but I knew immediately that it was correct. Naming it allowed me to feel it and I suddenly had tears in my eyes. 

The things I am fearing are not fantasies, they are based in real circumstances I am facing. But that does not make them real. I have been more and more convinced lately that the future has no actual existence, and when I attempt to live in the imagined future, I can not really meet God there. God lives in the NOW. He is the I AM. He is always NOW! So, here in the present is where I must meet Him and where my love for Him must be perfected. His love for me is already perfect and total.

All of this is complicated by the fact that I no longer believe that God promises to deliver us in the triumphalist way that I was taught as a child. God does not promise to deliver us from suffering. He does not unfailingly rescue His children from poverty, disease, war, abuse, etc... I have seen too much pain and loss to believe there is a prayer, incantation, ritual, or service, which compels God to act in a particular way. Such beliefs are more akin to magic and shamanism, where the supernatural world can be manipulated or bent to our will, than to the Biblical picture of a fiercely free, all powerful, and independent God who does whatever He wills. 

I do love and trust this God, but I do not know what He will do. He may not deliver me from the things I fear. He hasn't always in the past. Does this make Him untrustworthy?  No, but it forces me to redefine my trust and face my fears. Do I trust God or trust that He will deliver a particular outcome. Do I trust His person and character? I feel like I am losing my faith in prayer as a productive force, but growing deeper in my love and dependence on the God who actually answers prayer. 

He met me today in the fields. He showed me my heart. We talked. He did not promise to deliver me, in fact, He did not directly address the questions I asked. But He was there. That's worth something. My fear is still with me, but it is diminished somewhat by His presence. Perhaps my love is being perfected even through this.

We read in Hebrews that Jesus was made perfect through suffering. (Heb. 2:10) What makes me think that my path will be more comfortable than His?

Everyone wants to go to heaven...

The gospel of Jesus Christ is a gospel that endures the cross for the joy that is hidden on the other side.  The cross precedes the resurrection.  There is a death between old life and new life.  I am reminded of a song by David Crowder, The chorus says, "Everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die. "How can we invite people to believe in a gospel that we don't believe in ourselves?

Every Christian I know wants the joy of the Lord, the fruit of the Spirit, the power of the resurrection in their lives.  The irony is that as we long for these realities to manifest in our lives we do our best to avoid the pain, the suffering, the cross.  The problem is that suffering is an unavoidable part of the journey. So, we veer off the path that would bring us to our desired destination.  Death is interwoven with life and process of growth.  

This was brought to my attention recently through my garden.  I have never been a gardener.  I mowed the lawn when I was a kid, but that's about as close as I have ever come to tending a garden.  When we moved into our current house, we inherited a wonderful garden.  It had been thoughtfully planted and arranged so that in every season there is something new blooming and sprouting throughout.  It has been a wonder for me to observe, and a steep curve for me to learn how to care for it.

It is a very low maintenance garden, but still it requires some work from time to time.  The most nerve wracking part for me is the transition between seasons.  That is when the cutting happens.  I am a far cry from a horticulturalist and have a hard time telling flowers and weeds apart.  I can pick out the familiar ones but do get confused.  Some of the weeds here actually have pretty flowers, and some of the flowering plants look suspiciously uninviting until they bloom. Then there is the real danger that I will kill a bush or plant when I am trying to help it. I might prune too much or too little and actually cause more harm then good.

We have now been here a year and I am please to see the results of the pruning that I did a year ago.  It appears that I have only significantly damaged one bush, the rest of the garden is really healthy.  Last summer when I was brutally hacking away at the garden I was pretty sure that I was doing irreparable damage, despite the guidance and advice of my expert gardening neighbors.  When I finished with some of the bushes they were all knobs and bare branches.  They continued to look ugly and bare for most of the year, but in the last month they exploded with life and are now full and beautiful.  The new growth more covers for the old wounds and would never have happened without the cutting.  The new blossoms push the cutting and death of the pruning to the distant recesses of my memory.

There was real cutting.  There was real death.  There were wounds and barrenness for a season.  These painful realities where not only unavoidable, they were preferable.  So it is with us.  It is not by accident that scripture is full of agricultural metaphors.  The life of the Spirit, in the Spirit, is organic.  We must choose to enter into and endure the pruning, the suffering, the seasons of death in order to experience the joy that comes only on the other side.  This requires an unnatural and patient faith.  A faith that trusts the gardener and that looks beyond the season of ugliness, trusting that there is a purpose to the pruning and that beauty will follow brutality.

Gifts and Brussel Sprouts

One of the interesting things about serving the Lord is the seeming delight He takes in surprising us.  Sometimes these are sweet surprises, unexpected blessings or gifts that we are eager to unwrap.  However, there are times when these “gifts” don’t feel quite as much like presents, but more like someone stuck some brussel sprouts onto our plate when we weren’t looking.  I remember as a kid sometimes reaching over and skewering an olive or other attractive morsel from my brother’s plate when he was distracted, but I’m certain I never swiped a brussel sprout.

It is interesting how quick we are to name gifts and trials, blessings and curses.  I know that I label them based on my most immediate experience of them.  If the thing feels good or I experience it as fun then it must be a gift, a blessing, God is smiling down on me.  If the thing is painful or I feel anxious or afraid then it is a trial or even a curse, God is distant or frowning at me.   Of course, hindsight often changes our perspective on things.  After the immediate has passed, we can view the results with more objectivity.  Sometimes in those moments we have a sort of epiphany and realize that the thing we called as curse was really a blessing in disguise.  A gift wrapped in pain or frustration.

I wonder what my experience of life would be if I really believed that everything, absolutely everything, was really under the control, the absolute control, of a being that loves me and cares for me even more and better than I love and care for my kids?  I am not saying that pain and suffering would cease.  These things will be with us until the end of the world.  But if I really believed that God was in charge of pain and suffering, perhaps I could endure them as a necessary part of my training.  I remember a coach in high school who pushed us to run until it hurt and then to run some more.  He knew that we were capable of more than we thought we were able to do.  He pushed us past the end of ourselves and we discovered something beyond the last frontier of endurance.

If everything really comes from my loving Father God, then perhaps the suffering is not simply meaningless pain, but is redemptive.  Perhaps there is a redeeming value, a redeeming purpose in it.  Perhaps God, like the coach, knows something that I don't know.  One of the miracles of the incarnation is that God actually knows our pain.  He learned through His own suffering.  So, when He sovereignly surprises us with suffering He knows what it means; He has been there and done that.  Somehow viewing it from this perspective makes it more bearable even if it is still unpalatable. I won't be looking for pain any more than I'll be surreptitiously skewering brussel sprouts, but perhaps I can stop muttering against the chef.

This is war

I stand on a battlefield.  Around me I see my friends, my brothers, my comrades-in-arms.  We stand together against a foe that we can't quite see.  An enemy that seems to materialize where we least expect him and then fade back into the darkness, lurking always lurking, looking for a weakness, probing for an opportunity to strike.

I see the wounded bodies of my comrades.  Bloodied and broken in the fight they pile up around me.  As I move among them, some wounds seem self-inflicted but others bear the cruel markings of the enemy.  Vicious attacks that tore them from their places in the firing line.  Unprovoked, unjust, and unrelenting assaults against those who would dare to stand against the encroaching evil and even to throw it back.  To bring light into the darkness, to bring hope to the hopeless, to set the prisoners free.

This is a rescue mission.  We have joined up to free the captives.  But the captives have been captive so long that they can no longer imagine real freedom.  Instead, they often willingly, even gladly, join in resisting "the invaders" who would set them free.  They view their liberators as the enemy while their true enemy eggs them on from within and smiles at their tortuous acts of self-destruction.  All the while creeping among our ranks to find a weakness in one of more of us to exploit.

My role is primarily to encourage the troops.  I move among them whispering words of hope and exhortation.  I administer first aid to those who have been wounded and sometimes aid in getting them more help.  I counsel with the leaders, and seek counsel from the Leader.  Sometimes I take an active role in the battle calling in air support or slogging through the trenches, but most days I find myself among the wounded.  I offer them compassion and pray for healing.  I understand their plight because I have been wounded to.

I hate our enemy.  I love our Lord.  I often puzzle as to why He doesn't simply end this war once and for all.  It seems sometimes that the darkness is gaining ground, but I trust our Commander.  I know that He has things well in hand through all appearances to the contrary.  I have seen Him turn the tide in battle before.  I have seen prisoners set free against all odds.  I have been on successful rescue missions.  I remember being rescued myself.

And so, I stand on the battlefield still.

God is with us

I have been reading Genesis lately, trying to keep up with my son.  We decided to read the New Testament this year, and when we got through Revelation, my son just flipped back to the beginning and started in on Genesis.  So, I decided to read along with him, but that boy is a voracious reader and it's been a challenge to keep up with him.  Today, I covered a bunch of ground in the middle of Genesis to catch up with him as He's almost done with Joseph's story.  (By the way, I have to wonder what a 7 year old boy does with the story of Dinah and Shechem, or Lot and his daughters!?)

I love reading larger sections of scripture at once.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy focusing in on a word or a verse as well, but there is something about taking in the whole scope of a story or a series of stories that illuminates the broader themes.  I was struck by the phrase "God was with him" and how many times in occurs.  It is a theme in each of the patriarchs lives and is also clearly a theme with Joseph.  God was with them.  This is usually either preceeded or followed by a list of the blessings they received, the wealth they accumulated, or the sons that were born.  Clearly God being with them is a tremendous source of blessing.  So much so that even their neighbors and erstwhile enemies could recognize it as the hand of God and sought treaties with them.

As I read the story of Joseph in particular I found myself pondering the blessing of God being with Joseph.  It is clear that He was with Joseph, but that God being with him did not prevent him from being abused and almost killed by his brothers, being sold into slavery, being accosted and falsely accused by his bosses wife, being imprisoned, or being forgotten by those he helped.  God was with him and was blessing him in the midst of these difficulties and injustices.  God's presence did not prevent them or allow Joseph to circumvent them. 

God did not rescue Joseph from the harsh realities of a radically dysfunctional family, work place discrimination, or the miscarriage of justice when falsely imprisoned.  God was with Joseph in the middle of these things.  Oh! How Joseph must have wondered where God was in the middle of his sufferings!?  I can only imagine how he might have felt as others were released from prison while he remained.  The one chosen and blessed by God seemed to be the only one who was not being blessed.  There was simply no way for Joseph to know what God was up to and God never told him.  God was with him the whole time, blessing him, but not releasing Him.

Emmanuel, God is with us.

The Invitation

The invitation is to follow Christ.  He makes no promises about the destination or even what will happen on the journey.  Sure, there is the promise of the ultimate destination when the journey is all over, and there is the promise that He will always be with us on the journey.  Not to minimize these, but what about the everyday promises? What about food on the table and a roof over your head?  What about healthy kids and good friends?  What about the respect of those you admire or those you lead?  What about all the things that we have been led to expect from life, from God?  Does He promise these?

If I believe what the Christian bookstores sell, then yes, He does, but I don't believe them.  I don't believe that "every day with Jesus is sweeter than the one before."  I don't believe that He promises that we will be healthy, wealthy, and wise.  I don't believe that following Him will always lead to light and bliss.  I don't believe that we'll always come out on top (in this world) or that we will be rewarded for doing the right thing.  Sometimes doing the right thing means being executed, or slowly being starved to death.  Sometimes following Jesus leads us into trouble not away from it.  A quick examination of the lives of the prophets, or the lives of the vast majority of Christians in our time and the ages before us, shows us that it is an anomaly to have a nice life and also follow Christ.

So, I reject the "face value wisdom and happy lies" that promise something that Jesus never actually promised.  He did promise that He would be with us.  He promised that He would send us the Spirit to comfort us and to lead us.  He promised that He would complete the good work that He began in us.  Ah, there's the rub.  To complete the good work of redeeming my soul and making me more like Himself, He has to lance the painful, infected, places in my soul.  He has to take me to face the hurt, the darkness, the pain in my own soul.  It's not just that there is sin "out there", that the world is sick and infected and therefore not as it should be and so we suffer in this world.  It's that I am sick and infected and not as I should be. 

So, I choose again today to follow Him.  Not because it will be easy, or will lead to all the worldly happiness that I crave, but because He is God and He is good.  He is good even when He takes me by the hand and leads me down in to valley of the shadow of death.  For dying to myself is a real death with real suffering.  I believe that He inflicts this pain because it is the only way for me to be healed.  I hate the pain, but I love the soul surgeon who inflicts it. 

Bent

In Paralandra, C. S. Lewis uses fiction to explore the nature of man. He creates a cavalcade of characters that embody various perspectives and ways of living. I think one of the marks of good literature is that it makes you think. A good book will continue to bounce around in my head for weeks after reading, or at least the ideas will resurface and become a part of my mental landscape.

Just this morning I found myself reflecting on my own nature and gravitating back to Lewis' description of one particular character. He describes the character as bent. As I reflect on my soul, my good intentions, my choices, my desires, I find that this word, "bent", is an apt descriptor. I am not shattered or broken, not irredeemable or un-fixable. But I am deeply bent.

As I ruminated on this it suddenly occurred to me that the way a blacksmith straightens something that is bent is by heating and hammering. This thought rose in my mind as I was asking the Lord to straighten my bent soul. I believe that He has me in the fire right now and that the hammer is falling even as I write this. He is not doing this to be cruel. He is doing this in answer to my prayers, and for my own good. The heat and the pressure are indespensible parts of my re-formation. He is working on my bent soul. I want to be re-formed in the image of Christ, but I can't say that I always enjoy the process. So, I choose to trust and wait for the next straightening blow to fall.

Easter Reflections

I watched a man in a wheel chair take communion on Good Friday. As this man with severe disabilities (I assume he had cerebral palsy) passed me with his care givers on his way toward the communion elements I thought, "Man! He is going to enjoy heaven! There are no wheel chairs in heaven!"

Then as I sat there reflecting on what Christ endured on the cross and on the state of our world today it was like a penny dropping and a pattern emerged from the random thoughts and experiences of the last few weeks. The disparate and seemingly unrelated events and ideas were suddenly revealed to be an intricate pattern of information that can only be understood as communication. Like one of those dot pictures that you stare out waiting for the moment when it "pops" and you can see the 3D picture within. The dots don't change, the picture doesn't change, it was there the whole time. It's just that one minute it's a mass of confusion and the next minute it's a carefully crafted work of art.

Our world was created perfect. Man was created perfect in body and soul. We had perfect capacity for understanding and communicating with each other, the world around us, and God. Then, the world was marred. We ruined it. Now the world, and all of us are twisted. The vestiges of residual glory are still all around us, but we are not what we were or what we will be. Like the man in the wheel chair. He was clearly a man with hands and feet, face and hair, but nothing was working quite right. He is a glorious ruin, a shadow of what we were meant to be. But he will not always be that way. One day He will be free. One day he will be perfect.

Jesus was perfect. He was perfect in body and soul. The world He lived in was the same twisted one that we inhabit, but He was not twisted. Then, in the passion on Good Friday, He was twisted and marred. His perfect body was torn, rent by the various instruments of cruel torture. He who knew no sin was made sin for us. The perfect sinless One was made imperfect and sin-full for us. On the cross Jesus was made sin. He was forsaken by God. He experienced the hellishness of separation from God that the rest of us experience our whole lives.

We no longer recognize the horror of it, because we have known nothing else. We can not imagine what it must have been like for Him. We are a world full of blind men. He could see, but was suddenly struck blind. Because we are all blind, we can hardly imagine what it would be to have sight. Then, the Seeing One came, and He explained the things we could not see. He offered to heal us so that we could see as well. But, we loved the darkness and so we sought to kill Him, to eliminate the One who exposed our blindness. That was good Friday.

But the beautiful surprise is that the story didn't stop on Good Friday. It continues and finds it's fruition on Resurrection Sunday. The Seeing One did not stay dead or blind. He conquered death and even now gives sight to the blind. His marring is our healing. By His stripes we are healed. He has conquered sin and death and has opened to us the way of the eternal kind of life. Man! We are all going to enjoy heaven!

The Stations of the Cross

I walked the stations of the cross today. I am staying at a monastery for a couple of days of spiritual retreat. This morning I took a prayer walk along a path that was puncuated periodically with stations to remind one of the various things that Christ endured surrounding the cross. The first one is his judgement by Pontious Pilot and the last one is being laid in the grave.

As I walked this dusty dirt path I found my mind being drawn into the story. I found myself asking Jesus what it was like. What was it like for you, the Righeous King of the Universe to be judged and falsely condemned by a governor of a small provence in a small empire on a tiny planet on the fringe of a small galaxy? What was it like for you to be abandoned by your friends. How did you do it? How did you endure the scorn, the shame, the unrighteous judgement, the beatings, the mocking, the hatred the scourgings, the crown of thorns, the weight of the cross, the nails, the debasement of the cross, the objectification, the vilification.

As I reflected on these questions it occured to me that Jesus endured it all because He trusted His Father. Even in the midst of the chaotic evil that surrounded Him, He trusted the Father. We know that He didn't want to go to the cross and that He begged His Father to take it away, but then He submitted to the will of the Father. He believed that He is and that He is the rewarder of those that earnestly seek Him.

The cross was not just a victory over sin and death, but also the victory of faith over flesh. Jesus, fully man, was obedient to death, even death on a cross. He fought the fight against His flesh and His fears and He showed us that it is possible. He showed us the way of victory over the flesh. Then, the Father showed us that it was worth it. After Jesus endured the cross scorning it's shame he was exalted and seated at the right hand of the Father. Absolute surrender and trust does not mean a glorious or peaceful life in thie world, but it does mean glory for God and life with Him eternally. At His right hand are pleasures forever more. He will not fail to reward those who earnestly seek Him. Jesus showed us the way.

The Journey of Faith

I am hungry for God and want more than anything to know Him and walk with Him, but I find the journey toward Him to be excruciating. I believe that I am on the right path, but I am SO impatient for my own growth. I find it hard to enjoy the journey, and instead find myself frustrated with myself and with others along the way. I find the process to be roughly analogous to physical training. It is hard work and the good that it achieves may not be readily felt of ever fully known; and yet over time the change can be perceived, if not by the eye then in the experience of living in the improved body. I agree with Paul that physical training is of some value, and trust that he is right when he says that training in godliness is of great value for the present life as well as the one to come.

God is refining me and that requires humility. But, the way to humility is through humiliation. Perhaps not for everyone, but it certainly seems to be for me. Yet again I find myself smarting after an interaction. I find myself longing to be understood and valued for who I am. I know that the reason it feels so bad is because I have not reached the holy indifference to the opinion of man that is the mark of true humility. I am wondering if this is even possible short of heaven. And yet, I see progress. I can see some progress in my own life and as I talk with and read those who are farther along I believe that much more is attainable than I have yet laid hold of. So, I press on.

And yet, I’m tired. Tired of being judged. Tired of being misunderstood. Tired of trying to fit into some mold of what a man should be, a Christian should be, a leader should be. I long to be free to be completely who I am. I do not long to stop changing or growing, it is that I long to be free to grow along the path that is uniquely mine, rather than the paths that others would mark out for me. There are a few true companions who know me, who give me the freedom to be who I am, and love me enough to push me to be a better version of myself. These are precious gifts to me that sustain and encourage me on the journey. Perhaps God alone should be enough for me, but I am grateful for these boons, these treasures, these friends.

I recognize that I not only lack humility, but I also lack faith. I can be a little self-congratulatory about my ability to step out into the unknown, but true faith is trust, not tolerance for ambiguity. I am reminded about a story I once read about a knight who served a lord. One day, the lord asked him to extend his sword arm. As he did so his lord raised his sword and poised to strike the blow that would sever his hand from his arm and end his fighting career. The knight was faced with a crucial test of his trust in his superior. I feel like God has asked me to extend my hand. Do I trust Him enough to leave my hand extended, to draw near enough to Him to be within striking distance? Or, do I withdraw it because I don’t trust that it will be worth it. I know that there will be pain and loss, but do I trust that the purpose will be worth the pain. Do I trust my commander, my Lord, enough to be expendable, to be expended on the battlefield? We may dream of marching victoriously with the conqueror, but who dreams being counted among the dead and maimed on the battlefield? Do I trust Him enough to let Him wound me?

After all, He is not tame. There are those who would assure me that my vision of God is too grim, too bloody, but I wonder if they have not emasculated God in their desire to make Him more amiable. The God of the scriptures is fierce and bold. He slays His enemies, and sometimes His friends. He is not random nor capricious, but neither is He tame and domesticated. He never acts out of character, but he chastises those who would reduce Him to formulas and platitudes; Job’s friends and the Pharisees are the most obvious examples of this. So, do I trust this wild God? Do I trust Him enough to be crushed by Him? What if I am not Joseph, or David, who endured the trials and depredations for a time, and were later exalted? What if I am Jonathan, or the thousands of unnamed warriors who were faithful and obedient and died in the struggle? Can I trust Him then? I cry out with Peter, “Where else can I go Lord? Who else has the words of eternal life?” And with Job, “I know that my redeemer lives” and “though He slay me, yet I will trust in Him.”

Meeting with God

Every day is filled with opportunities to meet with God. Every day is laden with the possibility for a divine ambush. To meet with God is an honor and a privilege that is available to everyone, but one that is fraught with danger, for you never know what God will do, or say.

God does not exist for us, but rather the other way around. In Him we live and move and have our being. He created all things, and all things were created by and for Him. He owns all things, myself included. So, to meet with Him is to meet with the awesome and terrifying King of the Universe. It is an audience with Immensity. It is a conversation with unbridled Power, Wisdom, and Glory.

It is a gift beyond measure that we can waltz into the Holy of Holies with reckless abandon. We can meet with the Immutable God without fear. For God Himself has made a way for us. He laid down His life so that we can have real life. The veil has been torn, and we now have direct access to the Father. We assume this tremendous privilege because we have always had this level of intimacy available to us, as has everyone that we have ever known, but it was not always this way. The saints and prophets of old longed for this, but died longing for what we take for granted.

So, today, I set aside time again to meet with Him. He does not always meet with me in special ways, but I set the time aside and dedicate it to seeking His face. Sometimes He visits me in special ways, and sometimes I spend the time in study and prayer with no special visitation. I have grown to enjoy both kinds of times. To be honest the times of studying His Word and intercessory prayer are often more peaceful and less painful. For when He comes, He pursues me with an intentionality and intensity that often leaves me sore from the probing of my heart.

Today was one of those times when He spoke to me. He probed my heart again and showed me that many of my decisions are made from my own desires. He graciously pressed down on some tender spots and directed me toward the place of growth for me. Unfortunately, or so it feels, that place is the crucible of isolation and obscurity. There is much more winnowing to be done in my heart. It is for my own good, and I am grateful for it, but the threshing sledge falls with terrible force to crack the husks and release the grain trapped inside. I am grateful for the meeting, if still a little sore. But it's a good sore, like the tenderness of muscles after a long, hard work out. A tenderness that speaks not of brokenness alone, but of a strength that is growing; the pain in the price of growth.

Humility

Humility is not a virtue that is attained easily, and one that is pursued with little gusto. I speak from personal experience; not as one who has attained it, but as one who has little stomach for the journey towards it.

I know that to be humble is to be like Christ. I want to be like Christ. I am just not sure that I want to go through the formative processes to become like Him. The process of sanctification is not a process of sinning less and less, but rather a process of being conformed more and more to the image of our Saviour. He learned obedience through suffering. (Heb. 5:8) I am coming to believe that the only way for me to learn humility is through humiliation. That is a form of suffering that I studiously try to avoid.

I am struggling to simultaneously embrace both my beauty, power, and strength as a child of God, and my brokenness as a son of Adam. I suspect that somewhere along this road is true humility. I am a creature, and not the creator. Andrew Murray says that is the basis for humility, not my sinfulness or even brokenness. I wonder how many times God will have to graciously remind me of my lack of divinity before I will remember and allow the truth of that to penetrate my heart and infuse my life with true humility. Life giving, freedom granting, humility.

The Boy and The World

There once was a boy who thought he could change the world. It was natural for him to think so as he had been assured of that for as long as he could remember. He was raised in a good family in a land of opportunity. He was told that he was special, that he was gifted, and that he had a strange and wonderful thing called potential.

He wasn’t sure exactly what potential meant, but it must be important because people kept mentioning it and assuring him that he had it. Sometimes it was a compliment, but other times it was barbed more like a criticism. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have potential, but it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice in the matter.

As he grew he began to realize that perhaps he really did have gifts. Perhaps he really was special and it wasn’t just the bias of his mother and father. What parent doesn’t think their child is special after all? Doesn’t every parent tell their child that they are the most beautiful and wonderful child in the world? And so the compliments of parents are always suspect. But as he grew and went to school he started to see that when graded on objective standards he really did have some gifts. He got good grades without really trying, and people seemed to look to him for leadership. He was a leader even when he tried not to lead. He was captain of the team and president of the school. It all came so easily, so effortlessly. Maybe, just maybe he really could change the world.

It was around this time that he started to notice the darker undercurrents, the subtle (and sometimes open) attacks. He was called names and ostracized by his peers. Perhaps they were just trying to drag him down to their level, perhaps it was because he was different. He also noticed that leaders, teachers, people in authority sometimes treated him badly for reasons beyond his comprehension. He didn’t like being the target of attacks and he wondered how to overcome, how to stop them, how to get away from them. He started to become angry and hard inside. He had to learn how to keep the attacks from hurting him.

Occasionally he would find leaders or others in authority who would notice him and be kind to him. They didn’t attack him. But then he started to realize that they too wanted something from him. They wanted to use him. Some even wanted to abuse him. They invited him in to their world. They honored him. They recruited him. They wanted him. Then, they used him for their own selfish ends and discarded him when they were done, or when he would no longer submit to being used. He tried to hide his potential, to not be noticed.

What about changing the world he wondered. What about the gifts and the abilities. What about his potential. Potential is a terrible burden to carry. You only have potential until you realize it. Potential is one of those things that is consumed in the use of it. Like a catalyst in a chemical reaction. Once it is used, it is gone. Those who change the world don’t have potential, they have realized their potential and it is no more.

And so the boy started to look for ways to use his potential. He looked for a master who would train him, who would help him to use his potential. He wanted to learn. He wanted to realize his potential. He wanted to change the world and to be a good steward of the resources that had been entrusted to him. He would gladly be consumed in the process if he could just be free to be who he was created to be.
He still knew somewhere inside that he was special, but over the years doubts had been sown in his heart, and bitter fruit was now ripening. He decided to try again. He knew there must be a good master, someone who could be trusted to lead and not to use, to free and not control, to empower and not wound. Finally, he found someone.

He found a man who talked the talk and by all appearances walked the walk. He decided to trust against trust. He decided to believe the unbelievable, that here at last was the good master one who would help him to realize his potential. They talked, they dreamed, and he was set free.

Then one day, they talked again. From the beginning of the conversation he could tell that something was wrong. Something in the tone of his voice was different. He tried to understand. He tried to submit. As the blows began to fall again, he didn’t even defend himself. He just let them come.

When it was over he picked himself up, wiped the blood from his face and tried to ignore the pain in his heart. He now understood. He was alone. There are no good masters. There are no trustworthy leaders. They all have their own agendas. Even those who recognized that he was special, that he had “potential” only wanted to use him. If he was ever going to change the world, if he was ever going to realize his potential, he would have to steer clear of those who would be his master.

Some have defined insanity as repeating the same action but expecting a different outcome every time. He realized now that he had been insane. He had repeatedly sought out leaders, masters to whom he could apprentice, and every one had wounded him. Perhaps the most painful thing was that they often blamed him for his own wounding and justified their actions with scripture, or by pointing to his weaknesses; weaknesses of which he was all too well aware. He was sick of being used and abused and then blamed for it. He was sick of being despised and rejected after having been used.

So, the boy was faced with a dilemma. “What to do? What to do?” If there were no good masters, then how do you move forward, how do you change the world? Was the answer to become a master himself? The question scared him because he had seen masters who used and abused and if that is what it means to lead then he wanted no part of it.

So, he walked out of town. He had to get away. He had to isolate himself, even if just for a moment. He couldn’t take the thought of another attack while he was so bruised and battered from the last one. He walked the bridge on the edge of town. It was over a deep chasm and he walked to the edge and stared into the abyss. Was this the answer? Was this the end of the line? Was there no chance to change the world? Was he wrong all along? Were they just delusions of grandeur? Is it possible then to be a leader, to be a master who serves? How could he be a master like that? Where could he find a master like that to learn from?

Then, he knew the answer. Jesus. Jesus is the master who was despised and rejected. Jesus stood like a sheep before His shearers and did not defend himself. Jesus accepted the authority that His Father gave Him and was unconcerned about the authority structures of His day. Jesus was the very model, the perfect model, maybe the only model, of a servant leader, a good shepherd. All others had let him down. All others would let him down. Only Jesus can be trusted. Only Jesus is the good shepherd.

As he stood on the bridge he heard footsteps behind him. He cringed at the thought of another attack. He stood still hoping that the approaching person would leave him alone. He grew apprehensive when rather than passing him by, he heard the intruder approaching him from behind. He nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a hand close on his shoulder. As he turned to face his accuser he found that before him stood the one good master. Jesus had come to meet him on the bridge. Jesus had tears in His eyes as he searched the face of the boy. They stood facing each other for some time. Neither spoke. After a while Jesus simply beckoned for the boy to follow Him. And so the boy followed the Master back towards town.