...for the lonely

Talking with Cyndi the other day in a local restaurant, we came upon the business of loneliness. Bubble-people, to be exact.

You know them. They walk from point to point in a little world of their own, concentrated on thoughts their own. Sometimes the eyes are down, focused on the sidewalk ten feet ahead. Sometimes the eyes are far away, unseeing. Their owners are somewhere far, far away. Sometimes the faces reveal sullen fury; sometimes familiar hurt; sometimes what-now? desperation. Sometimes nothing at all.

Sometimes the darkening bubble isn't even a bubble of silence; it's a bubble of busyness. Look carefully, and a lot of our calendars turn out to be isolation bubbles. Alive inside, blind and dead to the world outside. Dead men walking.

Plenty of people now live vicariously through their own Facebook pages, which fill with "good news" and entertainment posts, leaving out the darker half of their realities. Like living through someone else; ironically, it's their own computer-display avatars.

People build bubbles for lots of reasons, many of them defensive and right in a limited way: coping with a family member addicted to chemicals or ambition or power, for example. But victims' isolation bubbles can outlive their usefulness and cripple us.

I said, "And then, sometimes people end up in isolation through very little or no fault of their own. I'm thinking of the 80-somethings at Regency (retirement home). As time passes, they outlive most of their old friends. It gets harder to find and make new friends, then too-quickly they die as well. It all takes energy that's become scarce. If you live long enough, you'll die alone."

Cyndi responded, "Unless... Like the Lorax."

So I started crying.

I hope you remember the story. It's a little parable about the Lorax, who takes care of the Truffula trees in the forest, beautiful trees with furry, wavy tops. One day, the Once-ler comes along with a Thneed-making machine. He starts whacking Truffula trees for their top-tufts, which of course are the basic material for a Thneed: it's a [pointless] "fine-something-that-all-people-need."

As the Once-ler proudly regards his first Thneed, a little guy pops out of the Truffula-stump: "Mister," he said with a sawdusty sneeze, "I am the Lorax! I speak for the trees! I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues, and I'm asking you sir at the top of my lungs! What's that THING you've made out of my Truffula tuft?"

Over the continued protests of the Lorax, the Once-ler destroys the forest and the Lorax must send away all the animals. Finally, the Lorax himself leaves, leaving only a rock with the word "UNLESS..." on it.

The bible is quite emphatic about fellowship (the Greek word is koinonia): We need it, each and all of us. (See Acts chapters 2 through 5, and the one-anothers of scripture here, for a start.) Unless we approach the lonely old people, they will die alone. For those who are involuntarily alone, a kind word can be cool drink in the hot desert. Unless we approach bubble people, they will live and die alone. Often, they see the approach, and avoid it - that's the key to maintaining the bubble, after all. But. Not. Always. Their choice - but let us at least give them the choice to exchange their bubbles for relationships.

I speak for the lonely, for the lonely have no tongues.
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Gardener

I buried a little finch this morning. He was still warm.

As I go on my daily walks, I sometimes encounter dead squirrels or birds in the roads, casualties of life in our after-Eden world. It always hurts me to see them lying there, broken, on the hard pavement. It seems so cold and hard. Usually I'll move them under a bush or something. Something...a little more natural, less clinical, less mechanical. Sometimes, I just have to put them back into the ground.

Anything that moves me emotionally, up or down, I look for the underlying "why?" of it. This one, I've known for a while. It's because, someone has to care.

God created a man, and unimaginatively named him "Man," which is all that "Adam" means. Man's job was to name the animals and watch over them all. (Remember "If I Ran the Zoo," by Dr. Seuss?)  It was a big job, and it stunk that the man was alone, so God created a powerful helper, Eve. (That's the biblical use of the Hebrew word "ezer." If you feel like a doormat-woman, read this. But I digress.)

Then the whole Fall happened, Eden was lost, and Man and Eve looked for new employment. They abandoned the animals. I imagine the animals were lonely, and I imagine they still are, in some way that we can't reach through. I know that we miss them. And I know why that tiny, warm little body felt so good in my hand this morning, as the storms moved in from the Gulf to drench us all. Man gave him a name and a place. I'm a Man. And he's still mine to take care of. Even in death.

I'm not saying everyone "save the environment" - that's only a secular cause. I'm just saying that we were made to be the tenders of the garden; that when an animal tugs at our heartstrings, we're feeling a little restoration of Eden in our hearts. God's quite clear on stewarding the good things he gives us: using them for our good, but not exploiting them. Next time it happens to you, maybe, just maybe, listen for God's Eden-heart, redeeming just a little bit more of our Fallen world to Himself. And You as well, son of Adam, daughter of Eve.
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The Skit Guys

I first saw The Skit Guys five years ago at a Youth Specialties convention. This little piece, done in front of about 3000 people who love to work with young people, made me cry with laughter...and then with something else. If you ever need to be told, "Thanks," then this might be for you. Sometimes people notice, even when you can't tell that you're making any difference at all. (16 min.)

Peace.
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Les Miserables

I happened to see several parts of the movie Les Miserables this weekend. The story is a picture of all kinds of things where God's goodness shines through over and over again. There's the lead character, Jean Valjean: a servant, accused, harshly punished, redeemed, Grace personified. There's Javert: a police officer who tracks Valjean over the years and the miles: relentless, cold, Law personified, and ultimately killed by his own head-for-an-eye justice. There are the ones who are helped and blessed by Valjean along the course of his life.

And there's The Bishop. (Not the frilly entitled kind. The Real kind.) Here's a little of the conversation when Valjean arrives at the bishop's front door, asking shelter, announcing his name and nineteen year in prison, as required by his parole:

...turning to his guest: "The night wind is harsh on the Alps. You must be cold, sir."

Each time that he uttered the word sir, in his voice which was so gently grave and polished, the man's face lighted up. Monsieur to a convict is like a glass of water to one of the shipwrecked of the Medusa. Ignominy thirsts for consideration.

"This lamp gives a very bad light," said the Bishop.

Madame Magloire understood him, and went to get the two silver candlesticks from the chimney-piece in Monseigneur's bed-chamber, and placed them, lighted, on the table.

"Monsieur le Cure," said the man, "you are good; you do not despise me. You receive me into your house. You light your candles for me. Yet I have not concealed from you whence I come and that I am an unfortunate man."

The Bishop, who was sitting close to him, gently touched his hand. "You could not help telling me who you were. This is not my house; it is the house of Jesus Christ. This door does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you are hungry and thirsty; you are welcome. And do not thank me; do not say that I receive you in my house. No one is at home here, except the man who needs a refuge. I say to you, who are passing by, that you are much more at home here than I am myself. Everything here is yours. What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me you had one which I knew."

The man opened his eyes in astonishment.

"Really? You knew what I was called?"

"Yes," replied the Bishop, "you are called my brother."

"Stop, Monsieur le Cure," exclaimed the man. "I was very hungry when I entered here; but you are so good, that I no longer know what has happened to me."  (Les Miserables, Vol. 1, Book 2nd, Chap. 3)

***

Now that's a man of God. I want to know what he has to say; I want to be around a guy whose heart infects others with wonder and hope. Valjean's notion of who he is ("I'm a convict") is shattered and his identity is transformed by his one evening with The Bishop. Valjean becomes, in midlife, a picture of the name he's owned since birth: "Valjean" means "powerful gift of God."

Reading the book takes a lot of time, but it's a masterpiece. If you like The Bishop's meeting with Valjean in the text above, follow the link to Wikisource and read the rest of their encounter. The bishop's backstory begins here; in fact, the Bishop is the one who starts the whole book off. If he weren't who God designed him to be, full of grace and generosity, a contrast to his often-rich and corrupt peers, we wouldn't have a book at all.

The funny thing is, there isn't a clue in Victor Hugo's biography to indicate that he's a Christian. But that sure didn't stop God from shining right through him into our lives, and certainly mine, today.

Free e-book via Gutenberg: ePub/Nook/iPad, Kindle/MOBI, and other formats.
Hardcover: Les Miserables (Everyman's Library).
Broadway musical touring production: Les Miserables.
Movie (Liam Neeson version, reviewers love first half, second is unlike book/musical): Les Miserables.
There are several movie versions out there (at least three more) - try the library.
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Real eyes...

I've been in a kind of blogging ebb lately, between taxes, other stuff, and, well, an ebb. Like, ebb tide. Not exactly discouraged, just kind of. So I was looking forward to lunch with my friend Dave. Good times.

As we walked toward our cars, I noticed a front-bumper plate on a gray SUV:

Real Eyes
Realize
Real Lies

It took a minute to sink in, and all I could think was, "Wow..." Dave and I just been talking about how we miss God's greatest for us, often by trading our forever identity as favored kids of God for temporary securities in the world around us (money, questionable relationships, etc.). (Take-home quiz: what have you traded lately?)

So I bent over and took a picture to remember it for...the blog. Talk about a kiss from the Lord; here was something I couldn't wait to share. And this thing was really well done; it had some graphics on it that along with the text added up to, "Now that's a woman, and she's been HURT...and she's learned something along the way." Something we could all afford to learn. Something we all need, from the only one who can give us Real Eyes.

• Real Eyes - To discern truth from deception and confusion, to distinguish between good and evil spirits. But also, even to present Real Eyes to those around us, to show our eyes to the world instead of hiding our work-in-progress Christianity behind a mask.
• Realize - To understand down deep, but also to "REAL-ize," to make real the truth we've seen.
• Real Lies - Be they malicious or just confusion, we are surrounded by lies about God's character, the completeness and accuracy of the bible he gave us, and ourselves.

But wait, there's more.

So I've taken the picture and we're finishing the conversation before heading off. Out of the side door of the restaurant comes a lady - the lady. She saw my interest, and she wanted to talk.

A few years ago she was going through a really hard time in her life, and she had a dream. I guess there was some drama going on in the foreground, but on a wall in the background were those words, big as life. Just like that. Totally out of the clear blue.

"I knew it was from the Lord, for me," she said. I told her I wrote a blog, and asked if she would mind if I used it. "I love to tell people about this; go ahead."

I hope she keeps doing that. I wish I could bottle up her story and her joy to carry around share with everyone (starting at our home church!). Heck, I hope she does the whole bumper plate, T-shirt, etc. thing and makes a bazillion dollars out of it. I have a feeling she'd use it well.

We talked a little longer, and then we all parted: me to review a paper, Dave to do some writing, and she to her now-cold lunch. But we were all a little warmer from God's love.

It was a great lunch. Who knew? 
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Run With the Horses

Eugene Peterson gave us The Message, which I love as a useable, preachable, accessible, accurate translation of the bible. (Purists will point out it isn't technically a translation, and that there are more accurate translations out there...and I'll agree with them.) He's also given us a number of books.

My friend Doug Glover gave me Run With the Horses in 2002, inscribed with the words "Thanks for the help with my flock..." The book is about the man Jeremiah, a prophet, who is Peterson's personal example and inspiration from the bible. That year, Jeremiah joined Daniel and David for me. A few quotes from the first chapter say more than I can:

"The puzzle is why so many people live so badly. Not so wickedly, but so inanely. Not so cruelly, but so stupidly. There is little to admire and less to imitate in the people who are prominent in our culture."

"No Oscars are given for integrity. At year's end no one compiles a list of the ten best-lived lives."

"Scripture...refuses to feed our lust for hero worship. It will not pander to our adolescent desire to join a fan club. The reason is, I think, clear enough. Fan clubs encourage secondhand living...We find diversion from our own humdrum existence by riding on the coattails of someone exotic...We do it because we are convinced that we are plain and ordinary."

"Scripture, however, doesn't play that game...We are prevented from following in another's footsteps and are called to an incomparable association with Christ."

Jeremiah grew weary, ready to settle for being just a face in the Jerusalem crowd, and told God his problem (Jeremiah 12). In reply, God asked him, "If you have raced with men on foot, and they have wearied you, how will you compete with horses? And if in a safe land you fall down, how will you do in the jungle of the Jordan?" And then he handed Jeremiah another prophecy to deliver to his people...

They were hard questions, unwelcome questions, for Jeremiah. And for us. But they were, and are, God's questions. Fortunately for Jeremiah and us, such questions from God are accompanied by his help, not leaving us either to thrash in the hurricane of circumstances or huddle in the irrelevance of the turtle-shell. Jeremiah's verbal answer, if any, isn't recorded for us. But his life, his obedient following of God, shouts that he chose to run with the horses.

Doug and I ministered at Wyndham Park retirement home for eight years. Doug knew what weariness was, and he knew how to sow encouragement into my life through the example of a no-kidding man of God. Peterson's wealthy prose rewards slow, thoughtful reading. It isn't bathroom reading, or beach reading. It's more like shut-the-door-on-the-world-over-the-rainy-weekend reading.

Doug's body is two years in its grave now, but his spirit lives on with Jesus and Jeremiah. Their legacy lives on in me, and in numberless others. Perhaps, if you read this book, it can live in you as well.
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Wildmen: A Band of Brothers

It isn't often that you see an independent, successful men's ministry. I realize that some will say, "Hey, I'm in one!" A few more will say, "Well, we've got a good one at my church." I'm glad you do. Really. But I've lost count of the number of Christian women who talk to me with That Look behind their eyes. They have That Look when the men in their lives don't have much connection with Jesus or even Christian men. They have That Look when the men in their lives don't give them Godly affirmation and guidance. (Men have their own version of That Look, for the same reasons - but that isn't this post.)

(My inner engineer demands a definition of "successful men's ministry," so here's where I'm coming from: A group of men who grow in the practice of being little Christs. Head-learning is a small part. Heart-sharing is a huge part. Actions of compassion, service and worship occur from more from desire than duty, although both play a part. And none of the above is guilted or coerced - if someone's there because they think they have to be, they're in the wrong place. Finally, and this is important, fun.)

Bill Losasso, pastor of Pathways Community Church, which I blogged here, suggested I call Jan Broucinek for a good-news story.

In 2003, a few men decided to do a "Forty Days of Purpose" study. When they finished, it was a "hey, that was great, spending time with you guys...I don't wanna quit, let's do something else." They took up John Eldredge's book Wild at Heart to see what else God might do with a few men. Eventually they adopted the name Wildmen. Actually, their wives kept using the name, and it stuck. And if the wives were talking it up...well, the word got around that this was good stuff.

They kept doing successive studies and kept outgrowing facilities, which is a nice problem to have. The long story short is that there are Wildmen allies (more church-specific) and Wildmen outposts (church-independent) scattered around in several places, mostly in the Bay area but a few further north.

You can learn a lot more from their website, or drop Jan an email. But in short, these are small groups that offer encouragement, accountability, teaching, practice, and the occasional special event. (Anything called boot camp's gotta be fun!) For guys with a porn problem, there are groups ("Pure Desire") that can aid recovery.

They've found a kind of interesting niche - part parachurch organization, part church-men's-group-planter even. In this huge metro area (4 million people in the Bay area), people drive and gather only when they want to - and apparently, men want to. Now that's a miracle.

Jan gave me a quote that I really want to hang on to. Abraham Lincoln said, "Every man over forty is responsible for his face." Honest Abe also said, "I don't like that man. I'm going to have to get to know him better."

There are very few things in America that are wilder than taking responsibility for our attitudes and actions, and choosing to get to know "that ass over there" better. Sometimes we can find that there's more to the ass than, well, his ass. He might have a face behind his face. He might look like...me.

Do the wild thing. Please.

The World's Worst Missionary

Sorry for the spotty blogging here lately; I seem to have been consumed by the Infernal Revenue Service and my own morbid fascination/concern-for-the-people about the Japanese earthquake/tsunami story. (I'm not all that worried by the nuke - just the breathless, poor, nontechnical coverage of it.) The end is in sight for taxes and nukes, however. Meanwhile...

Yes, Jamie Wright calls herself The World's Worst Missionary. I call her the author of the most honest, refreshing, funny, and insightful blog I've seen in a long time. Maybe ever. She must have successfully avoided some of the missionary training I've heard about. Anyway, here's a sample of life on the field that you'll never forget. :)  Kudos to Andrew Jones for sharing her with the rest of us.

"One morning, just like any morning, I was putzing around the house in my pj's, picking up breakfast dishes, sipping on coffee, doing whatever. The boys had all left for school, Steve had gone to work, and the house was quiet and still. Just the way I like it. I took my Mac and my coffee to the couch where I plopped my big butt down to get some work done. (Um, alright, so we all know that "getting some work done" is code for "lurking on Facebook". But that just sounds bad, doesn't it?) Okay, so was I "working" and sipping and enjoying quietness and stillness, and just, generally, really liking my morning. That's when "The Very Awful Thing" occurred."      ........read the rest at.....
http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/2009/10/this-really-happened.html
 
 

Why isn't the Bible free?

Jesus decided to come to earth for me long before I knew him. He decided, freely. We talk a lot about the free gospel - price paid, long ago, once for all. The day came when I decided to follow him; what that's "cost" me since has all been me giving, not under compulsion. Faith compelled isn't faith at all.

Christianity is about invitation and (voluntary) response, asking and giving, much more so than demanding and taking. (Next time you hear a preacher talk about "what the gospel demands from us," even via some wonderful old hymns like When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, check them against scripture. Try a word search on that word "demand"...good luck.)

So when I read the Bible, I find things like this: "What then is my reward? That, when I preach the Good News, I may present the Good News of Christ without charge, so as not to abuse my authority in the Good News." (1 Corinthians 9:17-18) Now I'm not ignoring the whole "workman is worthy of his wage" thing, but wouldn't it be nice if someone offered the Bible for free?

In case you didn't know: If you want to quote any of the modern translations of the Bible in any book or CD or video, you have to ask permission...and pay the man. When I was writing my book, I wanted to use quotes from Lord of the Rings, the song Signs, and 80 short passages from The Message version of the Bible. Small book, self-published, unknown author, no problem? Nope. Unbelievably, The Message was the most expensive; $500. And NavPress (the publisher) is just doing what all the Christian publishers are doing...Zondervan (HarperCollins) probably makes the most money from the Good New$ of anyone, through sheer popularity of the NIV.

For me, it was the last straw. What's happened to us? The publishing industry and our Congress have created a situation where the most valuable book in the world, which God freely gave to man, is never free...and we've stood by and done nothing about it.

Someone else apparently asked that question, and some better questions: "Shouldn't there be a free, public-domain, quotable, modern translation of the Bible for everyone? And shouldn't it be easily downloadable anywhere in the world? Don't we want this thing to spread like crazy?"

The people over at the World English Bible took a straight-up translation (which is literal, not interpretive) of the Bible, the American Standard Version. The ASV was public domain through its age, over 95 years. All they did was update the language a hair, losing the thees and thous. Presto change-o; free, accurate Good News for anyone and everyone, anywhere in the world.

The other long-term good news is that all Bibles will get cheaper over time - just the effects of the internet and continued competition between Bible translators. Unfortunate that it's a competition, but good side effects of returning God's word to its original condition.

Free.

 

All I Can Say

We visited our son at Ft. Hood, Texas, just prior to his Iraq deployment 2 1/2 years ago. While we were there, we drove just up the road to Waco so that we could go to church where David Crowder is the worship leader.  (And the band is the David Crowder*Band, just to be clear.) We'd all heard him in person a number of times, and he's a wonderful piece of work. Love the music; I think he's the greatest cheerleader for Jesus I can think of. But you gotta hear him speak...he just brings a point of view that's so simple and singular that it shouts "wisdom" and "compassion." Like that Jesus guy, you know?

So we showed up at University Baptist Church with like 400 college students and 30 people my age, and no, I'm not kidding. This is truly a student church, and it has a lot of that student-ministry feel to it: spontaneity, temporariness, transition, launching point, and PASSION.

We were about 20 feet from da man, and he came to a song we'd never heard before. I don't throw around the words hymn, anthem, and psalm very much, because most Christian songs (or any other songs, for that matter) just don't have that feel to them.  Lots of great music, love it, it just isn't those things.

"All I Can Say" is a psalm, like the ones that King David, the great psalmist, wrote. It starts with a heart-cry, a lament: loneliness, abandonment, hopelessness. It ends with a realization and a proclamation of God's presence and comfort. It's...Davidic.

It isn't a "God is my homeboy" or "God is amazing" or even a "Jesus will save you" song. It's a song that's elemental, basic, to our human condition. We're cruising along and things are fine, but the next time we reach for where we thought God was, he isn't there. Sometimes it's because he moved. Sometimes it's because we moved, or let ourselves get surrounded by circumstances instead of him. We cry out, and we discover eventually that he's been there all along - he just doesn't look the way we thought he did.

Well, to finish the story, David hit us with this emotionally raw psalm right before our little boy, who'd run himself and us over a rocky road for a few years, was going off to war. It was a good, deep weep.

David Crowder was an awkward, backward kid when a student minister named Chris Seay started mentoring him. Not too long after that, in the late 90s as UBC was starting up, All I Can Say was written. I kind of have an idea that the song came from a man who knew firsthand what it meant to be alone and unwanted, but learned also firsthand what it meant to be chosen by the King.

My prayer, as always, is that every single one of us, each one, every one, realize their chosen-ness by the King. Even when we're deep in despair, depression, or self-deception: "I'm ok, I'm born to be this way, it's not so bad, hey I've got it pretty good compared to..." God came to those who sin, who are blinded by own sins, and are wounded by others' sins against them. Of course we can't see him at first. (Why on earth do we think we would? That's another message...) But thank God, he teaches us to see. Our simple, but oh-so-hard call is to hear and accept his teaching example.

May you have peace in your house, and discover God today in the quiet, unexpected places and times.
  

Eli

I'm re-reading Bill Myers' book Eli.  Myers asks: What if Jesus had not come until today? Who would follow him? Who would kill him?

So you have a world of today that has never heard of Jesus.  And this weird guy shows up, teaching weird things, and doing weird (miraculous) things. Our protagonist, Conrad Davis, is a highly successful investigative reporter who starts off in our "normal" world and is thrust into that "abnormal" world by a near-fatal car accident. Conrad "knows" the story, but doesn't believe it...but when he starts to experience the story with Jesus, now that's when things start to happen.

Conrad is a bit like me, enough so that the old, old story still brings tears to my eyes. Anything that does that, always gets my vote. Bill has painted the old story in beautiful colors of compassion, truth, and intimacy. Find it, read it. Even if the normal-world parts of the story slow you down, you could actually skip them and still have a great reminder of Jesus and his love. And his willingness to do anything to catch us before the brink of eternity - it's never too late.

Shalom.

A cry from Christchurch...for us all

Andrew Jones is a missionary, blogger, and example for me of grace in the internet age. For the last 10* years he's written about the emerging church movement and other expressions of Christ across Europe and America. He's originally from New Zealand and about 6'5" tall, hence the name of his blog: http://tallskinnykiwi.typepad.com/.

He posted this a week ago, which I'm shamelessly reposting here. It seems that we always rediscover the real truths when the unexpected disasters happen. (But really, we know that disaster will come sooner or later - are they really unexpected? No. What if we acted on Sam's call before the C-word comes to us from the doctor, or the earthquake shakes us to our knees, or the hurricane removes our city? Perhaps there would be fewer statistics, and more relationships.)

Among the words that were spoken, two speeches seemed to strike a cord with me. The most profoundly simple and yet stirring was from Sam Chapman, leading Christian Maori spokesman.
"Why we do wait for a crisis to realise just how precious we are to each other? We've got a whole society out there saying, "Love me before I become a statistic! Don't wait till something goes wrong. Love me today!" I hope that out of the rubble, not just materially, but spiritually, psychologically, that the lessons we learn from tragedies like today, and there will be more . . . lets love each other! Lets not wait." 

Amen.

Irresistible Revolution, part 2

A few weeks ago, I mentioned re-reading Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution, and put in a quote about finding your Calcutta. Here's another excerpt about the group he's a part of, contrasted with...most of our lives:

"We have always called ourselves a tax-exempt 501c3 antiprofit organization. We wrestle to free ourselves from macrocharity and distant acts of charity that serve to legitimize apathetic lifestyles of good intentions but rob us of the gift of community. We visit rich people and have them visit us. We preach, prophesy, and dream together about how to awaken the church from her violent slumber. Sometimes we speak to change the world; other times we speak to keep the world from changing us. We are about ending poverty, not simply managing it. We give people fish. We teach them to fish. We tear down the walls that have been built up around the fish pond. And we figure out who polluted it."

That little paragraph has more oh-crap-this-is-MY-problem in it than almost anything I've ever read: macrocharity, distant, legitimize, and above all, "violent slumber."

Are we sleeping? What if we came fully awake, fully alive?
 

In the Company of Heroes

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, dumping breakfast leftovers in the trash along the way. He hurried over to the woman being wheeled across the lobby in her wheelchair. She had "cancer" written all over her, with the tired, pale face gazing out from under a knit hat.

***

I went to Bardmoor Clinic this morning for a semi-routine blood test, then bought a muffin and some coffee. While I was puzzling over the coffee stuff, The Man had commented, "You must be studying that thing!"

"That thing" was the book Black Hawk Down, which I'm re-reading. The three Post-It notes betrayed my use of the book.

"Not exactly. Those are bookmarks; these two are where I quoted the book in a class for new engineers, and this one is for an upcoming men's group meeting at church.  You've probably seen the movie (he had); well, I had the privilege of teaching a class with Mike Durant a few years ago. He was the pilot of the second Blackhawk that was shot down."

"The opening picture Mike uses in his talks is this one (here I fumbled around looking for this photo); he calls it, like his book, In the Company of Heroes. Mike is the one on the right."

The Man peered closely at the photo, printed in grainy black and white: five fit young men in their thirties, smiling for the camera.

"Mike is the only one who survived that day in Mogadishu. He points to these men for that title. He also points to two men, Shughart and Gordon, Delta Force operators who volunteered repeatedly to go down and guard Mike's crashed Blackhawk, then died defending it. Defending Mike."

I indicated to The Man that he should go on and get his coffee first; "You look like you know your way around this place."

"Unfortunately, I do...my wife..." His voice trailed off.

We share a few more words, then part with our food to different tables. I supposed that he wanted to eat alone. I resumed reading Black Hawk Down.

Suddenly, The Man rose from his seat, dumping breakfast leftovers in the trash along the way. He hurried over to the woman being wheeled across the lobby in her wheelchair. She had "cancer" written all over her, with the tired, pale face gazing out from under a knit hat. He moved right in and took over from the hospital attendant, wheeling her toward the exit.

Her face was turned toward him. He was her hope, her help, her hero. Maybe, in the mysterious way of marriage, she was his hero as well. They went out the door, and out of my life.

***

Sometimes we're in the company of heroes and don't even realize it. But ah, when we do. I wish you could see Mike's face when he talks about Shughart and Gordon. Probably, you never will. But look around: not too far from you are men and women who lay down their lives for their friends, even for strangers. There are people around you who demonstrate the love of Jesus. Look for them, and re-find your tears the way I did.
 

Middle East update

This is today's update from our friends who live and minister in the Middle East; in this time of great speculation, they share with us on-the-ground insights each week. Read it and celebrate!

                                                                                                                      

Dear coworkers, 
 
We're living through change in the Arab world that would have seemed unthinkable just two months ago. Tunisia's leader is gone. Egypt's is gone. Tonight Libya is reported on the brink of civil war. And this week the movement jumped from North Africa to the Gulf states as masses mobilized in Bahrain. 

In each case the regime responded to popular protests with violent attempts at repression, which only enraged the people, delegitimized the government, and alienated the armed forces. 

The religious hope all this movement is in their direction. But when Iran's illegitimate president made this claim last week about the Egyptian revolution, the lie was quickly exposed as his own people were being killed in the streets a few days later. 

Here's the truth: legalistic religion itself operates through lies, repression, coercion, and the use of force. The movement in the Arab world is exactly away from all this. It is an outstanding moment in human history, and an enormous opportunity for grace and truth. Liberation is finally coming to many of our longsuffering neighbors.

The fervor has even reached to Kurdistan; thousands marched this week in the streets of Sulaymaniyah.  And in the midst of it all one more little one from this region in northern Iraq reached us this weekend enroute to her heart surgery in Israel. You can meet Dina and check in on the other Kurdish families with us at the Children Now in Israel page, and there is opportunity online now to invest in two more precious, eternal lives who should reach us in the next two weeks. 

For whatever reason we are the ones chosen to be on hand for the birth pangs now convulsing the Arab world. Let's pray and prepare our hearts and be ready when the conductor of this grand symphony nods in our direction. 

Jonathan for the Shevet Achim community in Jerusalem