Is God stupid?

That's the first question that crossed my mind when I read the parable of the wicked tenants yesterday (Mark 12:1-12). I've never spent much time with this parable because it's never made a lot of sense to me, but as I'm making my way through Mark during my devotion time, I couldn't escape it.

Every time I've read this text in the past, my first reaction is, this vineyard owner must be stupid. A quick synopsis: Jesus tells this parable about this man who planted a vineyard and then leased it to tenants. The vineyard owner left the country and then sent workers ("slaves" as the text says) back to the vineyard to collect his share. The tenants, though, kept beating the slaves up and the slaves would return empty handed. The vineyard owner, not to be deterred, would continue this process. He'd send slaves. Tenants would beat them up and sometimes even kill them. The owner eventually sends his own son and they kill him, too. First reaction: Why would you keep sending slaves? Clearly this tactic isn't working!

Of course, this parable isn't about commerce and that finally clicked for me yesterday. I haven't read the commentaries to see if this interpretation is "right," but it seems to me that God keeps sending people our way (prophets, teachers, priests, even, as I believe, his son) and we keep ignoring, rejecting, even killing them. And yet God doesn't stop the process. When you first think about it, that's kind of stupid. Why would you keep sending them? Because, simply, God loves and every once in a while we receive the prophet/teacher/Jesus and begin to clue in.

This parable also has a pretty harsh warning for the tenants: "(The owner) will come and destroy the tenants and give the vineyard to others." So there's that and I don't want to simply ignore that part of the text either, but yesterday, I found it comforting that God continually does "stupid" things like bestowing love even when we ignore these entreaties.

Missing cornfields

At our staff meeting on Tuesday, we were reflecting on our comfort soul food--those books, places, spiritual disciplines that we fall back on when we're in need of a faith boost. Brittany, our associate pastor who's heading up our Andersonville launch and who also grew up in downstate Illinois, said that one thing that she misses is cornfields. I knew exactly what she meant.

It may seem odd that cornfields would be a place for spiritual sustenance, but we all have our holy ground, and wide open spaces with crops growing as far as the eye can see are in short supply in the city. I miss that.

I'm often asked how we've adjusting to life in the city and I usually answer that it's unlike anything I've ever experienced. In just about every other place I've ever lived, I'd always say that the town/suburb I live in is "good" or "fine." I don't think I'd have used adjectives much greater than those. Now I say that about 75 percent of the time, the place where I live is "exciting," "energy-giving," and "unpredictable." The flip side, of course, is that 25 percent of the time, I'd use adjectives like "draining" and "difficult." Which would you choose? Living in a place that's "good" all the time or a place that's usually "fantastic" but the other part of the time is "draining"? (Of course, option c is a place that's fantastic all the time!) Obviously we're opting for the 75-25 option, but there are days I wish I could plop myself down on a country gravel road with corn as far as the eye can see and just listen to nothing.

Let me see again

I've been slowly making my way through the gospel of Mark these last few weeks and have been pretty faithful to reading a few verses a day and reflecting on them. Like many new or renewed loves, though, my response to these verse has changed.

I started this process right after I came off a retreat and was renewed and reinvigorated (as often happens when I'm on retreat). The first chapter of Mark was a revelation even though I'd read it many times before. I felt I was there at Jesus' baptism, I was intrigued and inspired by his going into the wilderness. Over time, though, the stories and verses have lost their punch. "Oh, that's the story of Jesus stilling a storm," I think to myself. "Another feeding of masses of people?" I ask. I stick with it, though, and I think this is important.

So many people come to Urban Village and are excited about this new or renewed faith, but then the luster wears off and they go to try something else that gets their spiritual juices flowing. They don't know quite what to do with spiritual boredom. And that's when I recognize how important perseverance (which is often mentioned by Paul) is.

I was reading the story of the healing of Bartimaeus (Mark 10:46-52) yesterday, a man who was blind. Jesus asks him what he wants and Bartimaeus says, "My teacher, let me see again." It's that last word that caught me. He once was able to see. And he wants to see again. That's a good prayer: Let me see again, Lord. Stir up excitement and joy that has been there in the past and I trust will be there in the future. In the meantime, give me the perseverance to keep asking.

Welcome back

There are long to-do lists when starting a new church, but some of the instructions are quite simple. One of the first "rules" is this: Join stuff.

I must confess I've never been a big joiner, but if you want to meet people and let them know about this new church you're helping to start, you've got to be a part of groups. So I started joining all kinds of groups, including a running club. Even though I've been a runner most of my life, I've never joined a running club preferring, instead, to be solitary when putting in my miles. But I showed up one Wednesday morning at 6 a.m. and stuck with it. It wasn't easy. People already knew one another so I felt like an outcast initially, but I kept showing up and people eventually started talking and getting to know me. Last summer, I started in with the group again, but a few weeks into it, I had some changes to my schedule and I couldn't go for a few weeks. Then we went on vacation. And then it just felt awkward to go back. Would they remember me? It was easier just to go back to my solitary running ways.

How similar this is to our faith lives! We get into the groove of prayer, worship, community connection, but something throws us off and other things take priority and we start wondering whether God or a church would even want us back or remember us. Frankly, we'd rather bypass the awkwardness and just put our faith on hold.

Which is why the story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32)--as familiar as it may be to some--is always a great passage to read and reflect on. A wayward son insults his father, leaves home, falls on hard luck, debates a return, and comes home. And when he does, there are no questions from the father and, as far as I can tell, not much awkwardness. There is only embrace.

If you wonder whether you can ever return to faith or church, read that story. And hear God's resounding answer: Yes. Always.

Counting to 60

Our son is at the age where everything seems to take fooorrrreeeevvvver. When he asks how long he has to wait for something he'd rather not be waiting for and I tell him, for example, "Oh, 15 minutes," he'll reply, "How many times do I have to count to 60?" Kindergartners know their seconds and minutes. I always find it interesting that time seemingly stands still for children and yet rushes by for adults. Over and over we hear (and experience) the challenge of trying to fit everything into the 24 hours we've been given. Lately, though, I've been helped by the experience of counting to 60. It's amazing what can happen. When I close my eyes and count to 60, I can take 10 really deep breaths, which slows me down and reminds me of the nearness of God's breath. When I count to 60, I can bring forth a wonderful memory of one of our favorite places to go in the summer (Pentwater, Michigan) and hear the waves rush to the shore. When I count to 60, I can replay in my head a wonderful song I just downloaded ("The 23rd Psalm" by Bobby McFerrin). When I count to 60, I can make a good start on a list of things for which I'm grateful. When I count to 60, I can reflect on an issue that is important to me (like ending hunger). That's five minutes. After only five minutes, I've experienced a pretty great prayer. What can you come up with if you stop, close your eyes, take deep breaths, and count to 60? Even if you only do it once, I believe you may begin to see time not as something you wrestle with, but something you receive as God's gift.