Author: JRMITCH85

I spent the bulk of my afternoon watching my son fly through the air again and again on a small zip line. He absolutely loved doing this endlessly repetitive simple task all afternoon. While part of me wanted to say, “hey why don’t we go and do something else?” I instead held my tongue and marveled at his joy doing something that he had not previously done. My only regret is the fact that I didn’t join him and make a trip on the zip line. He actually appreciated the fact that he was “flying”, and he “experimented” with different ways he could speed up or slow down his flight on his repeat trips.

How many times do we find joy in the simple things? Shouldn’t we simply appreciate the ways we fly, even if it is repetitive, simple, or boring?

As Christ calls us to become like children, I am reminded that our children are often able to look at the world from such a fresh perspective, and I am encouraged to fly more often.

“Lord, guide me toward flight, and help me appreciate the things I often think are mundane and repetitive.” Amen

Today I am flying on an airplane, and as I sat in the terminal waiting to board the airplane, I kept thinking about how everyone here is going somewhere, and the place that we all intersect is not the destination for any of us. The flow of people in and out of the gates at LAX is somewhat constant, people leaving and coming. Where are all of us going? Are people going to venture out and see their friends and family? Maybe they are going to that one last business trip before the Thanksgiving holiday? Just heading out for vacation? For nearly everyone there is a destination in mind. It just isn’t here.

This reminds me of the direction of the church today. Where are we going? Are we going to be a club for our inner circle of friends? Are we going to become shelters and food banks? Are we going to become commuter campuses that people from the surrounding suburbs come to congregate in the city once or twice a week? Are we going to be that place where we can confess and then go on with our lives afterward? Maybe we are even going to become the terminals that people pass through, but never think of as their destination?

Are any of these bad unto themselves? I don’t think so, I think each model of the church has some validity, but there are a few issues that we must all deal with in our models of “church”. If any of our churches lose sight of the fact that the Spirit is dynamic, then that particular church will become static, and stuck in the way that it has always done things. The Spirit is always moving and it is the Church’s responsibility to embody Christ’s mission for the world. Does our church feel stuck in it’s ways? If so, this is the fight we must fight. There must be a reason we do what we do, and that reason has to be Christ, and what we are called to do in scripture. Mission cannot be a program of the church, but must be the definition of the church.

I like the idea of the church as a terminal. Where we are at cannot be our destination, but rather we must get in line with that which God has called us. We are called to move and prepare God’s people for God’s Kingdom. Our work is never done, until God calls us home.

I know that going to the pumpkin patch is something usually reserved for October, but I have become accustomed to seeing the beautiful orange gourd until at least Thanksgiving. However, this week the pumpkin has begun it’s disappearing act and the proliferation of red has taken over in anticipation for the Christmas season. This makes me sad, because I love the pumpkin, I love going to the pumpkin patch, I love carving pumpkins, I love eating all the wonderful pumpkin baked goods my wife makes, I love both preparing and eating pumpkin seeds, and I love the fact that it reminds me that Thanksgiving is almost here. I can’t overstate my affection for our orange friend. (Well, maybe I have.)

I am thankful for this day, and even though they have begun to disappear, I am reminded by the pumpkin that I have a lot for which to be thankful.

“Heavenly Father, thank you for the many blessings in my life. Thank you for family and friends. May you remind me that each corner I turn, I turn because I am blessed. Thank you Father God!” Amen

As a postscript: I hope that the disappearing act is happening because they are being transformed into delicious delicacies. 

As I walked through the doors today I had a well laid out plan about what I was going to do today, and the tasks that were finally going to be checked off, however my day didn’t go as planned. An entire host of things that demanded my attention came up, and the day spun out of control.

I need this prayer right now.

“Lord I thank you for the chaos that has surrounded me today, and even more I thank you for never leaving my side in the midst of the chaos that lies inside and outside. May I learn to become more dependent upon You, and less dependent upon the plans and task lists I make. Praise be You in all things and in all circumstances.” Amen

In a recent trip to Berkeley, I got a chance to visit and watch games in the “new” Memorial Stadium on campus. I have seen dozens of games in Memorial Stadium, but over the last two years it has been renovated with a new press box, training center, plazas outside the stadium, concourses within the stadium, and seat configurations which have transformed this stadium from the 1920’s into a new creation. However, from the outside, much of the façade is the same as it was before the renovation.

So many of us concentrate on fixing up our exterior while leaving the inside the same. I am guilty of this. Over the last three years I have “renovated” my exterior, dropping about 150 pounds, and reclaiming my athletic roots, but some bad habits I have left alone in the core of my heart. This is inconceivable.

What have you left alone untouched in the corners of your heart? Where do you need renovation?

Heavenly Father, I relinquish to you those areas of my heart that need renovation. May you take on the ugliness that lies within, and make me a new creation in this old body. Amen.

Saturday must have been a long and dark day. Not only did they hide in fear of their lives, but even worse, they grieved deeply. Jesus was gone. His disciples had watched the soldiers carry him off to his execution the day before. Now it was Saturday, their master was dead and the grief cut deeply, leaving them utterly hollow.

They had not signed up for this. Jesus was supposed to be the Messiah. He was supposed to lead them to victory over their oppressors. He was supposed to establish Israel as a strong nation once again and allow them to bask in the joy of sweet justice. Pain, grief, and sorrow were not part of the package.

Perhaps you have felt like the disciples that dark Saturday. I know I have. Over a fifteen-month period in my life I experienced the deaths of a friend, two grandmothers, my father-in-law, and the church that we had planted, as well as the near death experiences of a sister-in-law and a niece. Wham! There I was. It seemed like everything around me was dying. I didn’t sign up for this. I thought the way of following Jesus was one of victory and peace. All I felt was pain and despair. Actually, I had lost the ability to feel. I wish I could say that I handled it with poise and dignity, quietly nodding and smiling, quoting pithy platitudes about God’s sovereignty. I didn’t. I toggled between numb denial and irritating doubt. I wondered if perhaps I didn’t measure up. Perhaps God was punishing me for something. Perhaps I’d been duped all these years and the universe really was a cold and empty place.

I have to think that the disciples had similar feelings on that dark Saturday. It seemed as if all hope was gone. We feel this way because we forget an important truth. The way of Jesus is a way of pain, grief, and sorrow. Jesus suffered much in his life – even before his arrest and execution. As a child he knew what it meant to be hidden in Egypt in fear for his life. He knew the loss of his stepfather, Joseph. He wept over the death of his friend, Lazarus. He grieved over the blindness of the citizens of Israel. He agonized to the point of blood in the garden of Gethsemane. He screamed out in the words of his ancestor, David, as he hung on the cross, “My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?”

But Jesus told us it would be this way. In John’s account of Jesus’ final teaching Jesus said that God would prune the branches that clung to the Vine (John 15:1-17). Pruning hurts. To have large parts of your life severed from you is not a pleasant experience. There is no joy in the sensation of shears cutting into your flesh. Yet, as the Great Gardener knows, without pruning there is no life.

That is the way of Jesus – the way of God’s love and grace. God purifies us with pain. The disciples learned this and went on to write to the churches about it. James said to consider it pure joy when we suffer various trials, because in the end it makes us complete and strong. Peter told us that suffering refines our hearts like fire refines gold. Then Paul, as he described the painful process of working through persecution and breaking down the walls of prejudice, reached the climax of the whole process with one word – hope.

Saturday was finally over. On Sunday the disciples came face to face with a reality that is deeper than grief. They met hope. Jesus plowed through pain and grief and came out the other side alive once more. Saturdays will come. Of that you can be sure. They will come and they will be painful. They may last a day; they may last twenty months. When they come, remember this – without Saturday we don’t get to Sunday. The love of Jesus is our hope for today and forever. We will grieve, but we can grieve with hope.