Month: August 2021

Walking in the drizzle today, I listened to a lecture. It was on the genealogy of Jesus, listed in the first chapter of Matthew.

A black bird (an Australian raven? or crow? a corvid, anyhow) outside the hospital frantically stuffed a crumpled tissue into its beak. As I drew near, it flew up to the electricity line, then into a tree. Perhaps it was planning on lining a nest with the sodden mess?

Rounding a corner, I passed pest-ridden leaves sprouting from the trunk of a tree which fell in a storm last year.

Creation is broken.

Creation is sullied.

Shame

Women of note

There are four women listed in the genealogy of Matthew 1 prior to the end of the genealogy which finishes with Joseph, who was betrothed to Mary. Given that this lecture was given by a woman to ladies, it was hardly surprising that our Bible Study Fellowship (BSF) leader focused on these four individuals.

Tamar, Rahab, Ruth and Bathsheba had one thing in common, in addition to being ancestors of our Lord. It was not a factor which you might consider appropriate for ancestors of a great religious figure.

All of these women had previously had other sexual partners before playing their significant roles in the genealogy of Matthew 1.

You could say that the lineage of our Lord was broken, spoilt and shamed.

(Mind you, it must be noted that the women were not necessarily at fault as individuals. In fact, several were victims themselves of broken societies, and honoured for their faith.)

Prophecy

Time and time again, Old Testament prophets blasted the people of Israel for their unfaithfulness to God.

Perhaps the most vivid picture of such prophecy was powerfully lived out by Hosea. He married an unstable and unsettled woman named Gomer.

She left him. The patient prophet pursued and retrieved his errant wife. But it didn’t last long, for it seemed that she had a wandering heart.

The Old Testament is full of stories of how God’s people followed him for a while then strayed into idolatry, only to be pursued and restored by Jehovah … until the next time.

Old Testament prophets not only damned broken society, but also offered hope of restoration. As exemplified in the marriage of Hosea and Gomer, forgiveness and restoration was available.

The problem, of course, was that human nature did not change. It was only a matter of time for God’s people to wander from him again.

But there was hope for permanent restoration. The prophet Isaiah predicted that ‘a virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and shall name him Immanuel’ (Isaiah 7:14).

Which brings us to the genealogy of Matthew 1, culminating in Joseph, to whom the virgin Mary was betrothed.

Hope

Our faithful Creator united his unblemished spirit with flawed, broken and sullied creation. He was not contaminated by the union with Mary, a girl who was pure and untouched.

The pictures and prophecies of centuries past now came to a head.

Creation was broken and shamed. But restoration was underway.

The virgin was with child. She would give birth to a Son. He would be named ‘Immanuel’ – God with us.

We live in the now-and-not-yet. Jesus has come, born of a virgin. He has redeemed all creation. Yet black birds still line nests with soggy tissues. Pests still attack new growth. Disease, distress and even death still impact God’s people.

Creation was broken, sullied and shamed.

But light has broken into the darkness.

He had the big picture.

He knew how the story would end. It would be good. Glorious, in fact.

But the sisters were still in the dark. And they were hurting. Badly.

Martha

Martha heard that her Lord was coming. At last.

They had sent for him days ago. The Great Healer. Their personal friend. But he had not come then. And now it was too late. Much too late.

She slipped away from the activity of the house. Shoulders slumped, dressed in a drab tunic befitting a sister in mourning, she shuffled towards her Lord. In response to his nod of invitation, she sat beside him on a low stone wall just outside the edge of town.

Holding her emotions in check, a pounding headache the only sign of the tension within, she initiated the conversation. “Lord,” Martha said, her voice artificially calm and controlled, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Logical and methodical she was, even in her grief.

“But even now, I know that God will give you whatever you ask.”

What was she expecting? Her incredulity an hour or so later at Jesus’ suggestion that the tombstone be rolled away from her brother’s resting place would suggest that she did not expect to receive her brother back from the dead that very day.

Quietly, Jesus uttered the unimaginable. “Your brother will rise again.”

And then, in the context of back-and-forth questions and answers on the topic of ‘resurrection’, Jesus revealed a profound truth about himself. It is a truth that has encouraged believers in the centuries since, myself included.

I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.

John 11:25-26 NIV

Mary

As soon as she heard that Jesus was asking for her, Mary bolted out of the house. I imagine her hair flying behind her in disarray. The Bible tells us that her friends, who were trying to comfort her, followed behind, supposing that she was rushing to the tomb to mourn.

It was a noisy group that approached Jesus. Mary wept, as we know from Scripture. Being so expressive, I expect that she did so loudly and without restraint. Her friends wept too. Can you imagine the cacophony?

Upon reaching Jesus, Mary threw herself on the dusty ground, her tears dripping onto the dirt. She looked up from the ground, mud now marking her flushed face. “Lord,” she sobbed, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Unlike his interaction with Martha, Jesus did not try to teach deep theology to Mary in that moment. No, he simply said, “Where have you laid him?”

And then salty tears flowed down his own face. His shoulders crumpled and he, too, sobbed.

The big picture

All along, Jesus had the big picture. The sisters did not. Yet Jesus met with each of them where they were, with logic for Martha and emotion for Mary. His responses were not contrived. The sympathy was genuine.

Days earlier, upon receiving news of Lazarus’ illness, Jesus had prophesied something quite extraordinary. The Bible explains it like this.

So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.”

When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days.

John 11:3-6 NIV

Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.

Yet he stayed where he was two more days.

For there was to be a glorious end to this saga.

Dad

Fast forward to 2021.

It has been a year. A full 365 days.

On 9 August 2020, my father breathed his last. In the weeks prior to that, kind staff members had wheeled him to a window at pre-arranged times so that we could observe his decline.

Lockdown sucks.

I can’t begin to fathom what glory is like, but that’s what Dad experiences now. He was released from lockdown – both in the community around him and from his failing body – a full year ago.

But some of us, like Martha and Mary, still grieve. Oh yes, it is right to grieve. And we have a very great hope for an eternity with God. Yet in the interim, Jesus meets us where we are at. He meets logical, restrained people like Martha with theological explanations. He meets emotional, ‘let-it-all-out’ people like Mary with tears.

He has met me through what I understood was a ‘requirement’ to meditate on the passage on which this blog post is based (John 11:17-27) this past weekend as preparation for an online gathering. Actually, it wasn’t required after all. But it was helpful, and I accept that as a gentle touch from Jesus himself.

He knows our limitations. He knows our personalities. And he meets us in our weaknesses and short-sightedness.

HOPE

Martha and Mary trusted their Lord implicitly. And, in his sovereignty, he saw fit to call Lazarus back from the dead as a powerful pointer to the glory of God, a glory which he embodied.

We don’t have that luxury. And, to be honest, much as I miss Dad, I am actually pleased that he has missed a year filled with frequent lockdowns.

When I ‘zoom out’ to the perspective that Jesus had that day when he met Martha and Mary outside of Bethany, I am filled with hope for eternity. But when I ‘zoom in’ to the perspective of the two grief-stricken sisters, I am sad. We miss those we loved.

I take comfort in two truths gleaned from this meditation on the story of Jesus’ interactions with Martha and Mary just before he called Lazarus back from the dead.

First, Jesus meets us where we are at, understanding our finite perspective, as well as how we are wired. He meets us and he cares for us.

Second, Jesus has authority even over death. In a very real way which my finite mind struggles to fathom, those who have died in Jesus are now enjoying life in all its fullness.

As our Lord promised, those who believe in Jesus will live, even though they die. And whoever lives and believes in Jesus will never die.

And so we hope.

Even as Jesus meets us in our sadness.

“Here I am,” I prayed, shivering. 

Despite my cosy vest and the blanket over my legs, the air on my face and hands was icy. 

Birds cawed, cooed and tweeted, their various calls sometimes melodious and at other times, grating. An engine grumbled nearby, perhaps from a nearby suburban block subdivision. When it paused, the undulating rumble of traffic noise was audible. A train rushed by, no longer stopping at our local station, which is under construction at the same time that the level crossing is removed. 

The sun shone weakly, dark clouds threatening to block its light altogether. Raindrops glistened on overgrown grass. Flowers are forming, stems beautifully curving towards buds and blossoms. The violets are already out in all their glorious humility. The gentle angles in the garden contrasted with the squares of construction, every corner of my home behind me measuring 90^o exactly. 

What was I doing in the garden on this late winter’s day? And, more importantly, where was the Creator in all this? 

Background

It was a semi-regular half-day retreat. Several other women in ministry were striving to appreciate God through creation in their backyards at the same time. We were all connected through zoom. 

Having considered Biblical examples of how God expresses himself through nature, we were now doing the practical part of the exercise. Soon we would reconnect and share our experiences. (Screenshots of the instructions for our activity are below if you are interested. Let me know if you would like an emailed copy.) 

Allow me to share in this blog a few highlights from my time in the cold this morning. 

Mercy

‘Neglected’ is a good word to describe my backyard. Yet in God’s mercy, rains fall and plants grow. I don’t deserve a pretty garden. But God has seen fit to bless me with this little corner in suburbia. 

My thoughts flitted to Jesus’ words, uttered on the other side of the world some two millennia ago. In challenging his listeners to love their enemies, he said this: 

… that you may be children of Your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.

Matthew 5:45 NIV

I don’t deserve to have my garden watered, nor to have the sun shine on my neglected plants. But God does not treat us as we deserve. 

He is merciful. 

Pruning

Neglected though my garden may be, I did ‘prune in June’ … almost. It was more like early July, actually. 

Pruning is painful. At least, I imagine it to be when I attribute human characteristics to my rose bushes. Perfectly good branches are removed and destroyed. 

I remembered my Lord’s words to his disciples in another garden far, far away in both space and time.

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.

John 15:1-2 NIV

What does God want to prune from my life, I wondered? 

Pruning is painful. But I was comforted by the fact that the gardener is God himself. 

Onion weed

Onion weed. What an ugly name for such a vigorous flowering plant. 

When I first moved to this area, a helpful neighbour offered to poison the onion weed for me. I was horrified. “It’s green,” I explained. “Let it live.” 

To be honest, at the time, I thought that they were snowdrops. They’re not dissimilar, but one is a friend while the other, in this culture, is deemed an enemy. 

That was before I realised that, given half a chance, onion weed would take over my backyard. It’s not a bad plant. Although pungent, it’s pretty enough. But if I don’t uproot it, the grass will not have space to grow. 

The parable of the onion weed, I call it. Were Jesus to walk the streets of Melbourne at this time of year, I daresay he would have some story to tell about onion weed. It might be like ‘the wheat and the tares’. Nevertheless, I don’t plan to let grass and onion weed grow together in my backyard. 

Intentions for moving ahead

This morning, I took a half day, in the company of some other ladies, to focus on the Great Gardener. He cares for us in his mercy and he prunes us for his purposes. 

This sort of activity is always helpful. I find myself re-focused and refreshed. 

The onion weed, however, has to go!