Olympic Gold

I'm watching the 2012 Olympic opening ceremonies and I can't help but make a correlation between it and heaven.

Why? Simple.

Everybody's invited.

I am watching all these young athletes from countries all over the world. The nations may be ticked off at each other, with sanctions and embargos and broken treaties and murmurings of war, yet here they come anyway. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, some with shaved heads, men, women, slim, hefty, built for speed, built for strength, tiny, huge, wearing hats, wearing turbans, bareheaded, some with scarves covering their heads; whites, blacks, Asian, European, Arabic, islanders and desert dwellers, every tribe and nation is here. And they all are doing the same thing - marching in, smiling, waving at the crowd, hugging each other, laughing, taking pictures of each other, eyes wide to catch every magic moment.

I know there are a lot of politics associated with the games. I am not that naive to think that there isn't a lot of complicated stuff just off the screen. But I think we are all glued to the televisions tonight not just because of national pride, or love of sports. I think when we watch things like this, or for the few of us lucky enough, attend them in person, we are remembering something that hasn't happened yet, but is familiar nonetheless, because its in our blood, our bones, our souls.

I think, for all the sin and shame with which we've covered ourselves on this little world, we are still hopefully remembering the place we were made for, where nobody is like anybody else, and all of us are exactly the same.

Maybe we all fantasize being Olympians a little bit because we all somehow remember what heaven is about. At least I do. I want a shot at that parade. I will be waving my little flag and smiling.

Hold Any Snakes Lately?

Mark 16:18
Today's New International Version (TNIV)
"...they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.”



This passage in the New Testament has been quoted many, many times to point out the protection that Jesus gives his followers. "Look," people say, "this says you can even pick up a nasty old snake and not get hurt! You can drink poison and not die! Jesus is Lord!"

But what about the responsibility of the hand holding the snake? Or the lips about to take the poison?

I know from years of being in the company of domestic animals that the one thing we humans are not particularly good at is being gentle. We move fast, we demand obedience, we put leashes on our dogs and briskly lead them exactly where we want to go. We declaw cats and debeak birds. When we hike, we don't walk softly as the deer; we crunch along the gravel or the beds of leaves with industriousness, because we have somewhere to go -- we are headed towards the top of the mountain, the bend in the river, the peak that must be conquered. We are the only animal from which all other animals know to run away. And why is that?

Because we are not gentle. We don't take time to wait, to listen, to sit with and to be observed ourselves. We are too busy making tracks, making points, making waves.

I'm not saying that our creativity and industry is wrong; I just believe its not everything.

Think about it. How gently would you have to approach a snake to not alarm it? How tenderly would you have to hold it to not generate fear? How long would you have to be still in order for it to relax into the warmth of your hand? How quietly would you have to breathe in order to sit with such a silent creature, which only has a hiss with which to warn or cry?

I am a Christian. I do believe that Jesus is my Lord and I don't take lightly the privilege of being able to say that. But I also don't take lightly the privilege of not being the center of attention, of having to wait, to listen, to be quiet instead of being right. Holding the snake is almost certainly scarier for the snake than it is for me. I have a responsibility to be the type of person who can hold the snake - or the enemy, the sinner, the reprobate, the angry "other", the one who is not like me (or at least I don't see the resemblance)- in my hands as gently as I would hold a young and precious child. You know why? Because no matter how uncomfortable that snake makes me, it is a creation of God, as precious and irreplaceable in its originality as myself. Whether I like it or not, the "snakes" of my life still belong to God, and as such, are holy in their essence, even in this fallen world.

And as for that poison?

We worry so much that the world will stain us. That our rights will be taken away, that our values will be undermined, that our lives will be relegated to second class. That we will be poisoned by this world. It's ready to eat us alive, from the inside out. Doom, doom, doom.

Perhaps. But I doubt it.

It's not what goes in our mouths -- or our ears or eyes -- that poisons us in the end. It's not what others say to us, or even about us. It's what WE say, what injuries WE will not forgive, the flaws WE choose to point out in others because that's what WE are looking at. It's the lens we focus that determines whether we see deeply, or darkly, or turn the lens the wrong way round and burn the vision clean up, like an ant in the sun under a magnifying glass. I wonder how many people I have unknowingly burnt under my gaze. I am sorry for that.

Don't even ask me how many people have gotten better because my life touched them. I fear the number so small it may fall into negative digits.

And so, this is not a passage as a reassurance of protection. At least, not for me.

It's a commandment - hold the snake, and hold it with respect. Don't let the poison become part of your blood. When given the choice to heal or hurt, heal.

Be gentle. Let your hands be warm, and your heart be safe haven. It's a start.

When Beauty Is Defense (Against the Dark Arts)

Sometimes, like today, I feel overwhelmed by the enormous sadness in the world. I saw an article about someone who intentionally set a dog on fire. It died. I listened to the news about Syria. It's not getting any better over there; people are still being shot, the government is still lying to everyone. My niece posts pictures of children in Russia who are waiting in orphanages for someone to adopt them. I know I will not be the one to do that.

I feel very small and very helpless. If I were a really faithful Christian I would read my Bible and get some comfort from it. But even that doesn't seem to be of any help today.

The only thing that seems to help is finding some small beauty to remember. In this case, some wild flowers Rusty and I found on a walk some weeks ago.

The beauty of these flowers reminds me that we are not all there is in this world, our sin and cruelty and lost opportunities of grace. In fact, we are mostly not all there is in this world. Even though we spend most of our time thinking about what we do and what we want and who we are, there is a lot more to this world that us and our interests. It comforts me that the flowers don't know how to fix this world any more than I do, yet they still have their place in it. They are incapable of fighting off the evil that exists, but they are indominable in their ability to bloom in spite of it.

Today, on the drive home, I wept and apologized to the Lord for my lack of faith, and for the terrible things that happened today. For Syria. For the dog. For my own weakness and fearfulness when it makes itself known.

I didn't get an answer. But I did get this image, this memory of these flowers. And for all it's worth, it helped.

So I guess my thought for the moment is this - I am helpless and of little worth in the world, but so are the flowers on the side of the trail. Still they raise their heads, they do what they can. It's not enough.

And it is.