Birthdays in Heaven

Do you think we celebrate birthdays in heaven?  Do we celebrate the day of our physical birth, spiritual birth, or conception?  Do we celebrate the day God imagined our days?  If birthdays are a way of marking our passage through time, how does that work out in eternity?

And do such mind games matter when what you really want is to celebrate the birthday on this earth, in this reality, at this time?  And isn't that, after all, why we celebrate birthdays...because we survived another year.  Because we are still together another year.  Because I still have you this year.

I am working on a sermon this week called A Day Submitted.  It is from the fourth chapter of James.  James is really giving the church a tongue lashing at this point regarding their treatment (or mis-treatment) of others.  He challenges their "control issues" by making the point, "You should know better than to say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into the city. We will do business there for a year and make a lot of money!" What do you know about tomorrow? How can you be so sure about your life? It is nothing more than mist that appears for only a little while before it disappears. You should say, "If the Lord lets us live, we will do these things.
          
I am trying to let this word challenge my schedule.  It has helped that I keep forgetting my calendar at home this week.

This prayer by Ken Gire has also helped: Forgive me, Lord, for being so concerned about my other commitments that I am unconcerned about my commitment to others. Help me to realize that so much of true ministry isn't what I schedule but what comes as an intrusion to my schedule. Keep my schedule flexible enough, Lord, so that when my path comes across someone in need, I would be quick to change my plans in preference to yours.

It has also helped that I am preparing for a wedding for a bride who won't have her mother there because her mother wasn't given another year on this earth.

It has also helped that I went to lunch to celebrate a friend's birthday...only she wasn't there because this year she celebrates at the Lord's table, at the wedding feast of the Lamb.

Which begs the question, do we celebrate birthdays in heaven? Maybe we celebrate the day we arrive home.

What do you know about tomorrow?
I know we make a lot of assumptions when we plan for it.  I don't think that's sinful.  But I don't think it's fruitful when we forget Who causes the sun to rise on our world, Who puts the breath in our lungs or the beat in our hearts.

Teach me to count the days...teach me to make the days count.

What would you do with one day left to live?  Not a very original question...it has been fodder for books, movies, blogs, songs.  What is moving is watching someone with one day left to live.

She brought them in, one at a time, and she told them how much she loved them.  She told them how much they meant to her, all she had learned from them, gained from them, grown from them.  She summoned strength from heaven knows where to wrap tired, thin limbs around each neck, to place dry, cracked lips on each cheek.  She spoke words that each of them needed to hear.  She knew her children needed her to say, "It will be okay.  I'll be with you.  I have everything worked out for you."  She knew her mother needed her to say, "Thank you.  I need you so much.  You taught me to be strong."  She knew her friends needed her to say, "I have loved being your friend.  Thank you for being mine."  She knew her pastor needed her to say, "I have learned so much from you.  Thank you for the faith you've taught me.  You have comforted me and my family so much."  She knew her husband needed her to say, "I love you.  You are my soul, my heart.  You have faithfully loved me, fought for me, done everything you could do.  I know I am loved by you."  How did she know to say all those things?  Because she lived all the days beforehand loving, listening, serving.

A few days before she died, she and I retold the story of Jesus's words to his friends the day before his death.  How he pulled them all around one table.  How he told them that he was praying for them, how proud he was of them...of all that they had done, of all that they would do.  He told them he wouldn't leave them, not really.  He told them he loved them.  He told them that if they ever struggled to remember, to celebrate this way:

Share a loaf of bread. 

 Remember the way he gave himself.  Remember the way he fed their hungry mouths, their hungry souls.  Remember the way he so easily brought up the nets, lifted their heads.  Share a loaf of bread...with each other. And then with someone hungrier.  And He would be right there.

Share a cup of wine. 

 Remember the way he poured himself out. Remember the way he gave water. Remember the way he redeemed water.  Remember the way he controlled the water, walked on water...trampled on fear.  Share a cup of juice...with each other.  And then with someone thirstier.  And He would be right there.
How did he know what they needed to hear?  Because he had been there, the day before and the day before that.
He was there when they decided to follow.  He was there when they turned away. He was there when childish imagination gave yield to adult anxiety. He was there when the first breath of oxygen was inhaled.  He was there when the first kick against warm womb was given. He was there when the first beat of the heart screamed LIFE! He was there then, loving, listening, serving.

Which leads me to think, He celebrates when we get home.  Who knows, maybe we celebrate lots of birthdays in heaven.  Maybe there are all kinds of "births" that God has noted in our book of days, proud of the passages we have braved, trusting the shepherd that has guided us through the valley of the shadow.  Jesus does make heaven sound like one huge celebration.

I guess I'll have to wait to find out.  And that's ok.  I have a lot to celebrate here in the mean time.

Jus' Jon

 
Today we celebrate a freckle-faced, uber-smart, high-energy, all around great American kid: Jon Burris!

Let me tell you about Jon.  I tell Jon, "You've been arguing with me and insisting on your own way since 30 weeks in utero."  He just tilts that squirrelly head sideways and grins.  I was the full-time, student mother of a 7-month-old, high-maintenance baby when I found out I was pregnant with #2.  I cried.  I went to the little altar at the country church Cliff was pastoring and prayed: "God I can't have another baby.  I already have a baby!"  The OB/GYN (who encouraged me to stop breast feeding the 10 month old, as it is difficult to support 3 life forms) told me: "You will hate yourself for about 3 years, and then you'll be so glad they're so close in age."  I tried to believe him.  When we found out that #2 would also be a boy, we began praying over him a spirit of friendship for his brother.  If they were going to be "Irish twins", we wanted them to be best friends.

I woke up from a pregnancy dream (you know, those really vivid, crazy dreams) knowing his name would be Jon.  In the dream, I was standing next a "holy figure"....I don't know a better way to describe it.  Maybe an angel?  He was "testing" my knowledge of Bible hero stories.  Maybe a seminary professor?  Anyway, the final character presented in this test was John the Baptist.  I identified him correctly and the figure said, "There arose a prophet named John."  And I woke up.  We decided on Jonathan, David's best friend.  We would call him Jon.  Just j-o-n.  Jon.

I was six weeks from graduating from seminary, and 30 weeks pregnant with Just Jon when he decided he was ready to enter the world.  Always ready, that kid.  The doctor and I agreed to override his decision, but it required medication and some compromises on my part.  While I wasn't willing to drop out of school (6 weeks left in a 4 year journey, people!), I was willing to watch some classes by video and drop out of all other activities.  It worked.  Jon stayed put until 37 weeks.  The week of graduation I was selected by my class to participate in the senior worship service.  I was worried that the mere activity of walking up the aisle in the processional and standing in the chancel would trigger labor.  We sang the following hymn during that service:

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth;

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide.

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow

Blessings all mine, with 10,000 beside.

Great is Thy faithfulness, great is Thy faithfulness!

Morning by morning, new mercies I see.  

All I have needed, Thy hand has provided.

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

Jon as Houdini in the 4 Year Old Circus

Feeling the kicks of that little guy as the organ and the congregation affirmed God's great watch-care over His creation was an unforgettable experience.  As was his birth.  A week after graduation, and three weeks before his due date, I went to bed thinking we would end up in the hospital.  I packed all the bags, and went to bed ready for whatever.  I woke up about 5 a.m. with contractions.  As I laid in the pre-dawn stillness of our parsonage, I read the day's Upper Room while watching the sun rise and counting minutes between contractions.  The chosen scripture reading for that day, June 4, 2002 was the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth naming John.  Wasting no time (Jon received the "wastes no time" award last year in school), Jon arrived before noon.  It was only after he was snuggled into my arms that I had time to tell Cliff about the devotion.  Jonathan Zechariah was finally allowed to make his debut into the world eleven years ago today.  His attitude has ALWAYS been, "what do I get to do today?"

Jon posing with "Tiger Woods" at Madame Tussaud's

That kid has packed a lot of life into 11 years.  And a lot of smiles.  His mouth has been open since birth...and not to eat, either.  Oh, to get Jon to sit still long enough to eat a plate of food!  He is either laughing or telling a story or both.  With a grin that literally splits his face wide open, his smile is infectious and life-giving.  And behind that smile comes friendship, creativity galore, and just enough mischief to keep it interesting.

We had Josh attending a preschool in Morton where we lived.  Jon was too young to go, so I would bring him with me to the Hispanic mission where I worked.  The pastor's wife would keep Jon (and teach him Spanish).  But he desperately wanted to go with Josh.  Finally, when he was 18 months old, the school decided he could attend...but he had to wear a uniform.  So we found little navy and white onesies, had them monogramed with the school insignia, pulled the khakis over the diaper, and sent Jon to school.  That's where he met Ms. Thelma.  Ms. Thelma loved her some Jon Burris.  While all the other children were napping, she and Jon would sit and talk.  (Wait, how old was Jon?  That's right, 18 months old.)  She told us one day that she tried to call him Jonathan, but he said, "Ms. Thelma, I'm jus' Jon."  Every day at the preschool, after reciting the pledge and their Bible verse for the week, the students would recite a poem in which they proclaimed, Excellence, I pursue you!  Jon would muster up all the seriousness he could find in that little mischievous body and declare boldly and proudly: eskalence, I p'sue you!

Getting Jon to sit and eat has always, always, always been a challenge.  We had gone out as a family to a bbq restaurant (not Jon's favorite because he has been a self-declared vegetarian since 6 months old).  Jon was, again, standing in his seat and being loud.  Cliff and I had already corrected him multiple times.  Finally Cliff, in a very controlled yet firm voice said, "If you don't sit down and eat your meal, I'm going to take you to the restroom and spank you. Do you hear me clearly?"  Without missing a beat, Jon said, "My name's not Clearly, it's Jon."

Later that year Jon found out he would soon become an older brother.  Josh was not the least bit interested in this new phenomenon, but Jon's imagination was completely engaged.  He stood about as tall as my belly button, and he regularly noticed my blossoming shape.  One day he said, "Mom, can the baby see me?"
"No, Jon, but the baby can hear you."  Jon pressed his face to my belly and said in a very low man-voice, "Baby, it's me Jon."

As Jon continued to watch my shape change, he became very concerned about the baby's exit strategy.  "How will the baby get out, Mom?"  I was not prepared for the birds and bees talk, especially with this particularly verbose preschooler.  "I will go the hospital, and the doctors will take her out."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"How will the doctors do that?  Will they cut your stomach open?"
Now this is where you and I will probably have a difference of opinion because it would have been very easy to say, "yes."  But I knew I wasn't going to have a c-section, and while I didn't want to have an anatomy conversation, I also didn't want to give him false information.
"No.  God gave mommies a tunnel for the babies to come out of.  The doctors help the baby come safely through the tunnel."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"Do they crawl like this?"  I nearly ran off the road laughing as I witnessed him through my rear view mirror doing a mock military crawl in his car seat.
"Uhm, no.  The doctor and I push on my tummy and she will slide out."
"Like going to the bathroom?"
"yeeeeahhhh....something like that..."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"What's at the end of the tunnel."
Oh Lord.  Why is my house so freakin far away.  "Uhm, a hole for the baby to come out of."
"oh."
(wait for it)
"Can I see the hole?"
That's gonna be a "no."

Jon wakes up talking.  His dad doesn't.  His dad takes him to school every morning.  (Oh to be a fly in that vehicle.)  Jon has this cute way of tilting his head and raising his voice an octave to ask questions.
"Dad, do you think we'll ever be able to see the internet?"
           "Dad, how cold does a cold-blooded reptile's blood get before hypothermia sets in?"

"Dad, would you rather die of hypothermia or heat stroke?"
               "Dad, who had more faith, Noah or Moses?"
"Dad, when you were a teenager (Cliff LOVES these questions) did you hate smoking like I do?"
      "Dad, how many children do you think I'll have?"
Cliff has learned to engage the children in prayer on the way to school.

But Jon's head is not just full of thoughts; his heart is very thoughtful.  He told Josh recently, "We really are best friends."  Just this morning he gave Zoe some of his birthday money to buy a ball cap.  His teachers always tell me about the acts of kindness he performs at school.  Jon probably has a million thoughts a minute...and a sizable number of them are about how to help you.

My OB/GYN was more right than he could have known.  What is the source of laughter, debate, experiments, mischief, and delight in our home?  Jus' Jon.

What a month!

Joel as Easter Lovey Bunny

Ahh, Easter!  I love Easter.  It's what I do, you know??!?  Really, I've loved Easter since I was a kid.  But wowser, it does a number to my calendar.

Easter Love

Add to that a birthday...a vacation...confirmation...youth Sunday...sickness...sickness x 3...a new dog...a tragic loss...baseball season...

3 Kids in 3 leagues = 5 days of baseball per week = crazy town!

...well, you get the picture (and just in case you don't...I've attached a few).

Confirmation 2013: Josh was in this class.  Perks of being a pastor--confirming your child.

.

I have been busy writing all the while, just not busy publishing.  So, hopefully soon I will start rolling out some of these thoughts that have spilled over to paper-screen as I have celebrated LIFE over the last month.  I hope you stay tuned.

Zoe is 7.  Pink and purple are still her favorite colors.  She is still my favorite princess.

We've grown by four feet: Meet Winston.  He's a Labradoodle.

Josh stealing, Jon catching, Zoe batting

 Fun times in Kentucky.  Josh and Jon were born there...and were ecstatic about posing outside of the hospital.  Will (the big kid in the picture) was a Kindergartner when we lived there.  His mini-me look-alike is Luke, his ten year younger brother.  Zoe and Luke hit it off big time.  Joel fit right in too!

Youth Sunday

The youth group at Trinity led worship the Second Sunday after Easter.  Their theme was discipleship.  Over the next several weeks, I am going to post some of their essays.  Amazing!

Last week our congregation said goodbye to a beautiful lady.  Julie's friends and family gathered to celebrate her life and encourage her precious family (mother, husband and 3 children).                        I love this picture of Julie.  It speaks of a promise, a secret that Julie knows.  There's more!

World Down Syndrome Day 3-21

Joy in the Moment

In April of 2007 I assumed I was pregnant with our fourth baby.  If nature took its proper course, I would be having a Christmas baby. Sure enough, the due date was set for December 11. I knew this would be the caboose.  We planned for four, this was the year that I planned to have number 4, and this would be just the planned space between numbers 3 and 4.  I also planned to have a little girl, a playmate for number 3 who was a girl.  So many plans…

Pregnancy and childbirth were easy for me.  Cliff tells me I shouldn't brag about this.  I might find myself clawed in the eyeballs by some poor woman who experienced every symptom in the book with a conclusion of 36 hours of labor.  Oh, I had morning sickness, and some crazy rash.  My back hurt…and still does!  But overall, good experiences, can’t complain.  Childbirth was so easy that I stopped using an epidural after number 2 and the OB started scheduling inductions because he was afraid I would give birth on my own.  He was probably right.  “So,” he chided, “don’t plan anything for the week before your due date and we’ll decide what day to bring you in.”  A planned delivery…

Around July it was time to have the blood tests you take midway through pregnancy to rule out any abnormalities.  This not being my first rodeo, I rolled up my sleeve, offered my blood, and bee-bopped my way out of the office without a second thought.  Two weeks later I was on the Fort Bayou Bridge heading back to work after lunch, trying to squeeze in a trip to Wal-Mart when my cell rang. It’s amazing the inconsequential details you remember when life takes sudden u-turns. 

“Mrs. Burris, do you remember taking the alpha-fetoprotein test?” asked the OB nurse.  Yes, I know I have pregnancy brain, but I do remember you sticking the needle in my arm. 

“Sure.”  Now my heart is starting to beat a little faster.  Is she about to tell me I am having twins?  (It tests for that, and in my secret heart I've always wanted twins…but as numbers 4 and 5?!?!?) 

“Well, your levels came back elevated, and sometimes that indicates a chromosomal abnormality, but you are so young and these tests come back with false positives all the time.  All the same, we want you to go to Mobile for some extra testing.  Mrs. Burris?  Did you understand what I just told you?”

 Uhm, I think you just told me that there may be something wrong with my baby, but MAYBE I DIDN’T HEAR YOU ON MY CELL PHONE IN TRAFFIC.  “Yes, I understand.”

 “Okay, well, you can call back if you have questions, but you will get a phone call from their doctor to schedule your appointment.  They will call soon though, because you will want the chance to terminate the pregnancy if something is wrong.  But I’m sure nothing is.” 

“Okay, great.”

I sat in the Wal-Mart parking lot.  Just sat.  I didn’t cry, scream, call anyone, I just sat.  I don’t know for how long.  I just didn’t know how to conduct myself in the next minute, so I let it wait for me.  Finally I got up the nerve to walk in the store.  A mother was fussing at her teenage daughter for being so slow.  The girl was willowy with wispy white-blond hair and she was standing in the flow of traffic with arms crossed and not moving.  Her back was to me, but the mother’s back was not.  The mother’s face was red with frustration and embarrassment.  Ah, Wal-Mart--the haven where I can always find someone with bigger problems than mine.  The thought skittered through my mind: “Well, whatever is wrong with my baby, we won’t have that problem!”  The girl turned and I saw the angelic features of a child with Down Syndrome.  I went home.  The next moment had to wait for me too.

I was able to tell my husband, my mother, and my pastor.  I couldn’t figure out how to tell anyone else, even my other children.  They laid their little hands on my belly and prayed, “Lord Jesus, make our baby strong and beautiful.”  I would cry and beg for it to be true.  Further testing revealed an otherwise healthy fetus so my OB decided not to talk about it.  I tried to make normal plans.

I chose to name the baby Joy.  I actually did not know if the baby was a boy or a girl.  I had found out with the other 3.  I wanted that storybook moment when the doctor said, “It’s a girl,” or “it’s a boy!”  Some days I would wonder what if…what if this baby is born with an abnormality?  What will happen?  What will I do?  My mind would spin with disaster scenarios, then the baby would kick and the Spirit would remind me, “Joy is within you.  Do not let life’s circumstances steal your joy.”  I would place my hand on my little Joy and tell sorrow and fear to wait a minute.  But, still, I did not talk about it. 

Sometimes I would go to websites or chat rooms for parents of children with Down Syndrome.  Those were terrifying places.  They reported that many individuals with Down Syndrome will also have other complicating conditions and life expectancy is only 60.  “I just couldn't keep my baby,” mother after mother wrote on the walls of those pages.  “I couldn't live with the pain.”  I would put my hand on my little Joy and turn off the computer.  I couldn't talk about it.  I needed a minute.

I bumped into families with Downs kids all the time.  Why had I never noticed before?  Was it a sign?  Or was I just sensitive, like seeing your car everywhere after you buy a new one?  The holidays were quickly approaching and I was growing past the cute pregnant size to the uncomfortable size when everyone wants to know when the baby is coming.  I still couldn’t talk about it, even with my husband.  I requested my maternity leave from the church where I preached; I planned to return after 8 weeks. I didn’t know how to make different plans. 

My last Sunday I offered communion to the faithful even as I counted contractions.  My husband went to work Monday morning and I stayed home for my first day of leave with our little girl.  She poured an entire bottle of bubbles on the bathroom floor then proceeded to slip down and hit her head on the tub.  I had to squeeze my huge self between the tub and toilet to rescue her and clean up the mess.  I put her down for a nap and cried, “God, I can barely do this with a normal child.  I can’t have a special needs child.  I don’t want a special needs child!”  I couldn’t talk about it because I didn’t think I should be saying that.  But there, I said it.  After a minute I collected myself and made gingerbread houses as planned.

 I went in for a 39 week check up on Wednesday.  There were magazines on the table in the waiting room and I flipped through a holiday one that gave cute ideas for decorations and cookies, and then I started to read an article about a family with four children.  Baby four came along with much joy and then, to their great surprise, he was born with Down Syndrome.  He had heart problems, vision problems, and diabetes, but he was the joy of their life!  I was horrified.  “Mrs. Burris, the doctor can see you now.”

 I lay on the exam table and watched my big belly roll with the kicks of a baby who has run out of space.  The doctor took several minutes to get there.  I was completely alone…me and the baby.  Unbidden tears leaked down my cheeks.  “GOD! How could you let me read that today?!  Didn't you hear me?  I don’t want a baby with special needs! This is not in the plan!”

In the next minute the Spirit spoke.  “Who do you think you are?  Did you make that baby, or did I?  I made you too.  You were born spiritually blind and I had to give you sight.  You were spiritually deaf to my voice and I had to give you ears to hear.  You were slow to speak, move, and obey my voice, and I waited patiently for you to respond to my love.  This child that you shun only demonstrates physically what I do for you each and every day spiritually.”

My spirit quieted and the doctor came in the room.  “Leanne, did you know you’re in labor?  Take yourself straight to the hospital.  We are having a baby today!”  I called my husband and my mother as I drove down the road to the hospital and checked myself in.

Three hours later I was pushing a new life into the world.  The OB hadn't talked to the nurses about the possibility of the baby’s abnormality.  I hadn't talked to the pediatrician.  My mom and husband knew, but we hadn't talked that day.

 But I had no more minutes.  With just two or three pushes the doctor was holding my baby and I was straining to see: was it a “Joy” as I planned, or would I need a new name?  “Well? Is it a boy or a girl!?”

 Suddenly the OB remembered, and the nurses realized, and my mother grew concerned.  “Oh… it’s a boy.”  It did not have storybook quality.  The little boy wasn't crying and a nurse was taking him to the other side of the room.  My mother rushed to the nurse’s side.  She looked at the bluish baby with great concern, then looked at me with reassuring eyes.  Maybe she didn't realize how small the room was.  The baby perked up, the OB was satisfied that I was taken care of, and he left.  The nurses took the baby.  My husband and my mother and I stared at each other.  We couldn't talk about it. 

Mama left to follow the baby and my husband asked if I thought the baby had Downs.  “I couldn't tell.  They are all so squished looking when they’re born.  Mama looked worried though.”  Hours later, nurses brought the baby to us.  “He is doing great!”  And he was.  They couldn't talk about it. 

Finally, late that evening the pediatrician brought me pages from one of those scary websites I had visited months before.  “Mr. and Mrs. Burris, we believe your son may have a condition known as Trisomy 21, or Down Syndrome. Had you made plans for this?” 

I was awake to see the sunrise the next morning.  “Okay, God.  So what now?  How do I proceed?  In a minute I have to engage this new reality.  Is there a plan?  What will we do?”  At that moment the nurses brought our tiny little boy into the room, crying for breakfast.  “What are we going to name him?”

  “Joel.” 

“Do not fear, O earth; be glad and rejoice, for the Lord has done great things!  O children of Zion, be glad and rejoice in the Lord your God.” Joel 2:21

It goes almost without saying that December 5, 2007 forever changed me.  Joel is a joy, both beautiful and strong. He is five now, and sticky, stinky, clingy, defiant, terrible two’s-three’s-four’s all in one glorious package.  But no one quiets my spirit like Joel.  When he sits in my lap and pats my shoulder with that stubby hand crossed permanently with a tell-tale palmar crease and lets that little tongue loll out ever so slightly, I know that every other plan can wait just a minute.  Together we sit and we talk about it.

A Prayer for Lent

Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus said, “When you pray, realize before whom you stand.”

Jesus offers a contrasting picture of pray-ers from a slice-of-life moment in the temple in Luke 18:9-14.

The first guy, a Pharisee, a leader in the religious community has found the appropriate place to pray; appropriate time to pray; appropriate posture to pray; followed the strictest code of the Pharisees to fast twice a week and give a 10^th of his income (even of his garden): he is perfect!  Except for one thing, he forgot to whom he was praying.

Dore Pharisee and Tax Collector

The second guy, a tax collector has found an awkward place to pray; wrong time to pray; improper posture to pray; never fasted or tithed: he is wrong!  Except for one thing: he offered his prayer to the right person.

Take note of the sins confessed and the sins forgiven.  The Pharisee believes he is free of sin, and has no need to confess any sin.  He has done everything required of him.  He has kept every law (which is really quite commendable considering the weight of the Jewish law).  He has lived righteously before all people.  No one could accuse him of any wrongdoing, especially hypocrisy.  His life is an open book, and truth be told he hopes all will read it.  Can we fault him?  Dare we fault him?  Fault him for what: praying too much, giving too much, fasting??? When was the last time I fasted, much less twice a week?  This guy is a model citizen! You would want your children to act like this guy, want your daughter to marry this guy.  Well, maybe, because she would soon learn what Jesus seems to already be aware of: the one sin this guy is guilty of is the one he failed to confess--pride.

Now, that’s not to condone the other guy.  The other guy is, well, a sinner.  He admits it.  Based on his occupation, he is probably prone to committing all the sins known to money.  Greed, cheating, using, consuming, wasting.  Of course I’m just guessing, or perhaps confessing.  Whatever the case, this guy is not going to be elected president of the Kiwanis of Greater Jerusalem.  But he seems to have one thing going for him: self awareness-- I’m a sinner.

Jesus isn't telling this story to teach that God likes heathens better than religious folks.  It’s just that the opposite isn't true either (although it’s often assumed).  Nor does God like religious folks better than heathens.  Truth is, God our father, likes us all the same.  Jesus is telling the story because he wants those of us who classify ourselves as heathens to take a deep breath and trust the grace of God.  The roof of the church isn't going to blow off just because you came in the door.  I promise!  Jesus is also telling this story because he wants those of us who classify ourselves as religious folks to take a deep breath and trust the grace of God.  That’s right.  Religious folk, like the Pharisee of the story and the Pharisee in me, do a good job of trusting our religion.  I put my faith in my good works.  I put my faith in good choices.  I put my faith in my good name.  I put my faith in my goodness.  And that gets us about as far as…well, our sin.  There is no faith that saves outside of our faith in Jesus’s redemptive work.

This Lent you are invited to observe a fast, go on a journey, take account of your days.  I would specifically ask you to observe a fast from religiosity, go on a journey with the tax collector to the altar of humility, and take account of all that Jesus has done and is willing to do for you.  

And pray like this: God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Milemarker~Joshua Zion is twelve years old

Josh #12; Jon #61

...which means I have been parenting for some 12 years, nine months...give or take a week.   Reading this post will require you to travel down memory lane with me and remembering some of my favorite Josh moments...to know him is to love him.

When Josh and Jon were in preschool they became consumed with acting out some of their favorite Bible stories.  They saw the children’s movie Prince of Egypt and were very inspired by the drama.  One afternoon I caught Josh playing in the yard with no shoes.  This irks me.  Either put on your shoes or take off your socks.  My preference, because we had dogs in the yard, was that he put on shoes.  I told him as much. 

“Josh, put your shoes on, please.”

“Mom, I can’t.  The Lord says I’m standing on Holy Ground.” 

This Easter outfit had a tie at one point.

Another afternoon, close to Easter, I went out to find all of their superheroes (Batman, Superman, Flash, Incredible Hulk) laying on the driveway.  I assumed there had been a nuclear disaster on some alien planet far, far away and went to investigate.  Upon closer inspection I realized that each hero was laying atop a little pile of sticks. 

“Josh, what are you doing?  Are they getting burned?”

It was then that the neighbor walked over.  He had been doing yard work and had come over to investigate the scene a little earlier.  “ They've been crucified,” he explained.

I looked again and realized it was true.  Each hero was carefully placed on two perpendicular sticks.  They had crucified their heroes. 

“What happens now?”  I really wanted to know.

“Now Jesus saves them.”

Jedi cowboys with swords

A few weeks later I caught the boys tying ropes around each other and leading each other through the yard.  I went to intervene.  I assumed they were playing cattle drive or something like that.  But we have a couple of non-negotiable rules in our home.  Rule number 5 is that we keep our promises…to each other, to our friends, to our baseball coach, to our teachers.  Rule number 4 is we use our words in kind ways and we don’t hit girls ever.  Rule number 3 is we take a polite bite of our food and we say thank you for food, even if we don’t like it.  Rule number 2 is we go to church on Sunday and we participate with the Holy Spirit.  Seem to hit most of them?  What could rule number one be?  Burris Family Rule #1 is (and I do not lie)  "no ropes around the neck."  This does not have a dramatic story to go with it, and it may seem to some to be a bit of an overkill (pardon the pun).  But it became obvious as boy number 2 became mobile only 14 months after boy number 1 there would have to be preventative measures taken if they both were going to make it to adulthood.  (You know, of course, that goal number one of parenting is keep them alive.)  So Burris Family Rule Number 1 (this is how we refer to it…regularly) is “no ropes around the neck.”  I realized on this afternoon I would have to expand the rule to no ropes around the waist and I was trying to decide if I would include no ropes around ankles and wrists and heads or just take the rope away (my sister says I could make fewer rules if I were less specific and more pro-active…she was very critical the day I said, “Please don’t cut your sister with the knife at the table.”  My sister doesn’t have kids yet).  Then I was close enough to hear their dialogue.

“Take him to the cross!”  Josh exclaimed this to an unseen guard.  Jon, with imaginary bindings on his wrists and a lowered head stumbled behind his big brother in pretend agony.  Josh then loosened the rope and mimicked nailing Jon’s hands and feet to an invisible cross.  After a moment Josh lowered the now relaxed body of his younger brother to the leafy ground and dragged him to the swing set.  Jon lay still for a moment then rose to his feet and walked toward Josh with his arms raised.

“Okay, Jon, my turn to be Jesus.”  And the re-enactment started over again with roles reversed.  I let them keep the rope.

The game was called “Take Him to the Cross” and they played for weeks.  My sister said they were getting too much church.

Josh is a warrior.  We named him Joshua Zion because we wanted to claim God’s promises for our future family that God would fight for us.  We did not have to be afraid, only believe.  We would choose, our whole household, to serve the Lord.  We believed that the Lord is Zion’s champion and we wanted “in” on the promise.  So our first little blond-haired, blue-eyed, Protestant, southern baby boy was named Joshua Zion.  He was born with a warrior’s heart.  It used to bother my mother that he was constantly fighting with sticks.  He never hit anyone, but he swung sticks like his life depended on it.  She bought sword after sword: plastic, Styrofoam, retractable, glow-in-the-dark, rubber.  It didn't matter.  Oh, he would swing those too.  But sticks worked well enough.  He is twelve now and still carries a stick.  We find sticks in our cars, bedrooms, tucked into corners, on the porch, under furniture…he stores the good sticks. Albert Einstein said,"I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones." Josh will be ready.  He’s never been in a fight.  Well, okay, he has scrapped with his brother plenty and has had to put up with sister brawls.  But this warrior-child has never, ever lifted a hand against a friend or enemy…nor has he been hit by someone else (which says something of its own).  He talks to us a lot about the violence in the world.  He creates stories in which those who are violent are put down by warriors who don’t love violence, but use force to stop it.  He loves action/adventure movies: Star Wars, Pirates of Caribbean, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Marvel Comics, X-Men, GI Joe, Transformers, Chronicles of Narnia…he loves it.  He loves war stories.  He can discuss generals, battle plans, dates, and strategies from the Civil War, the Alamo, and World War II. He has a copy of the Preamble and the Declaration of Independence hanging in his room…next to the Marvel Comic poster.

 He recently was confronted with a situation that frightened him:  a new class.  Our family moved mid-year.  He had a new school, new home, new church, and now was expected by his preacher-mom to go to a new 5^th and 6^th grade Bible study.

 “No.”

 That was his final word.  “Punish me however.  I won’t go.”  Did I mention Josh is a stubborn warrior?  After several moments of frustration on my part, I decided to stop focusing on my needs in the situation and discover his.

 “Why Josh?  Why can’t you go in there?”

“I’m afraid.”

“I understand that.  I have been afraid, too, moving to this new place.  I think you’re doing a great job.  Hey, can you think of someone in the Bible who was brave?”  I figure Josh is going to pick Moses or Joshua or David…his favorite warriors.

“Jesus was brave.”

“Wow.  He really was brave.  Can you think of a story of when Jesus had to do something really hard or that he was afraid to do?”  I assume at this point we will talk about Jesus dying on the cross.

“I think it must have been really hard to let Lazarus die.  Jesus could have healed him, but he needed to let him die so the other people could see the miracle.  It really hurt Jesus’s feelings because he cried.  I think it took a lot of courage for Jesus to just let Lazarus die.”

Josh is a warrior serving the God-of-the-Angel-Armies.  He did not get punished for missing Bible study that night.  I don’t know if Josh was identifying more with Jesus or Lazarus that night.  The next week he found the courage to go in.  

Gifts of Epiphany

 Have you ever gotten a gift that you wondered, “what in the world…” on Christmas morning, but found months later it was the best thing you could have not asked for? 

I have to think that was what Mary was thinking as the Magi from the east made their way out of her modest home that evening.  Imagine the scene with me…

Jesus, probably around the age of 15 months toddles from around his mother’s skirts to get a better look at the strange men who have appeared at the door.

 “We have come seeking the king,” they claim.

 “You’re off by a few miles, buddy,” comes the short reply from Mary’s neighbor.  Obviously strangers, the well-dressed, travel-worn wise men ask permission to enter Mary’s home.

 “Please, let me ask my husband to come in,” she may have quickly stalled.  After making sure the men and their animals have something to drink and a place to sit a moment, she scoops “the king” into her arms and rushes to Joseph’s wood shop.  She doesn’t make it all the way there as he has already been told of the strange visitors.

 “What do they want, Mary?  Do they mean harm?  How could they possibly know anything?”

 “I don’t know, Joseph.  They don’t seem to mean any harm…their words were, “we have come to worship the king.”  But I don’t understand how they found us…him.”

  At that moment the “leader” of the group rounds the corner.  “I don’t mean to startle you, nor do I mean to eavesdrop.  But I can understand your concern.  I hope you believe me when I say we certainly did not expect to disrupt your little community as we had no idea we would find him in such…humble surroundings.  We traveled first to Jerusalem, assuming he would be among the royal families.  Imagine our surprise when the star kept moving, bringing us to this…quaint village.”  Though kind, the man’s words are unmistakable, even if they do align with Mary and Joseph’s thoughts:  what is the Messiah doing here??

The star.  Just another one of the mysteries surrounding Jesus.  There had been so many…so many steps of faith.  Joseph had stopped trying to figure it out.  A man could go crazy trying to figure out the mind of God…especially when that man is tasked with feeding the mouth of God.  Mary seemed content with all the mystery.  Perhaps having the mystery grow inside of her changed her somehow.  They had wondered at the star that seemed to follow them since the night of Jesus’ birth.  But asking anyone would have started a conversation they were unprepared to finish.  So they were left to wonder…one of the questions they would ask this son of theirs…once he learned to talk.

Now the other travelers joined the tiny family in Joseph’s shop.  Even more rudimentary than the house, but certainly quieter. (Not that there would be any way to stop the gossip train in this small town.)  The travelers explained their discovery, their journey, their desire to worship Messiah.  Their knowledge…almost greater than Mary and Joseph’s…certainly gave credence to their story, and the couple found themselves wanting the men to stay.  They were the first since ancient Simeon and Anna to join Mary and Joseph in their astonishment over the coming of Israel’s Redeemer.  But probably more startling than the visit, were the gifts the men left when their visit came to an end: gold—the gift for a king; frankincense—the gift for a priest; myrrh—the gift for the dead and dying.  These were not traditional “baby gifts” at all…but then nothing about this baby had been traditional.

It was no wonder none of them could sleep that night—their minds were spinning!  Gold for a king! Almost laughable in Nazareth!   Even Jesus seemed restless as Mary tried to bed him down.  Finally, heavy eyelids drooped and dreams began to swirl through busy minds.  
“Joseph!” 
 Joseph was becoming old-hat at these angelic dreams!  “Gabriel!  Good to see you!  Pull up a chair!”
  “Joseph!  The baby is in danger.  Take him and his mother to Egypt tonight!  Joseph!” 
 Joseph sat straight up in bed.  A dream?  A nightmare?  As he glanced to make sure that Mary and Jesus were safe in the bed his eyes caught Jesus’ big brown eyes.  The tiny boy seemed to be begging Joseph to believe, act in faith, obey!  It was all the push Joseph needed. 
 “Mary, get up.  The wise men were sent to warn us…Jesus is in danger.  No time to pack Mary, we have to go now.” 
 Mary, who was quickly learning, as the mother of Messiah, to improvise, threw together the baby’s needs first, then a few things for Joseph and herself.  Her eye caught the pouches, material more expensive than her entire wardrobe, filled with the precious minerals and spices.  She unbundled the clothes, dropped the pouches inside, and quickly retied the pack.  Joseph brought the donkey (not that beast again, thought Mary) and they were off.  Quietly, quickly, miraculously, the tiny family who had just created quite a stir in the neighborhood disappeared into the night not to be heard from again for years.

I can’t imagine the fear that must have swallowed the parents with each step.  Will they find us?  Who is chasing us?  Who can we trust?  If we make it to Egypt, how will we live?  How will we care for Jesus?  How will we eat?  How will we worship?  So many questions to join the list.  If I am supposed to take care of God, who is going to take care of me?

We sometimes scratch our modern heads at the gifts of the wise men as well.  We like to joke that wise women would have brought more practical gifts…a casserole at least.  I know what I would do with gold, but I would struggle to recognize, let alone utilize frankincense and myrrh.  But think about this:

.  What would gold mean to a family having to flee their hometown overnight?  What would myrrh, with its medicinal properties, mean to a family struggling with poverty and unable to secure healthcare?  What would frankincense, a holy treasure offered in the temple, mean to a family who had no access to the temple because they could not afford the proper offerings (already gave doves…a poor man’s gift). 

What seem like silly, wasteful gifts to us are actually practical, provisional gifts.  And just in time!  It’s like God was in control or something…

And what if He is?  Even in the overwhelming task of parenting the Son of God, God’s very presence brings gifts of provision.

Can we believe the same thing for our lives today?  Has God given you a vision, a mission, a purpose, a responsibility?  When we are tempted to believe that birthing God’s vision is an impossible task, first can we stop to see what provision he has made, what unexpected gifts grace our lives?

What do you have in your hand?  What has God given you? 

What does it say about our (1) faith (2) gratitude (3) ingenuity to claim “I don’t have what I need.”

As we enter conversations in 2013 about who we are, what we are to be about, and who we are to serve, let’s first pause with gratitude for the abundance of gifts that God has blessed us with.