The judgment

After John 9 

He said it

plainly; he 

explained it,

succinctly. 

The reason

he came was 

judgment, that 

those who are 

blind can see, 

and those who

see may become 

blind. Guilt may be 

taken away, or 

guilt may remain.

It’s your choice.

 

Photograph by Manuel Bonadeo via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

Invocation Before the Reading of Scripture by Gregory of Nazianzus – D.S. Martin at Kingdom Poets.

 

Of Furniture and Formation – C. Ben Mitchell at Front Porch Republic.

 

Living Wisely in a Digital World – Maree at IndiAanya.

 

The church I led closed a year ago. I’m still not over it – Ryan Burge at Deseret News. 

 

 

Second verse same as the first

After John 9 

Disbelieving that a man

born blind could now see

(healed on the Sabbath, 

no less), they return

to their original questions:

was it him or his parents?

Who sinned? The parents

dodge an answer while

the man himself says

the obvious: I was blind,

and now I see; that’s all

I know. I can’t explain it.

I can’t give you the answer

you want, the narrative

you so desperately want

to maintain. Do you want

the answer that reinforces

your own bias and blindness,

or do you want truth?

 

Photograph by Amir Geshani via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

Flashback: What a Wonder Is a Human Being – Tim Challies.

 

Highly Online Missionaries? The Dangers of Digital Escapism – Jonathan Moe at Desiring God.

 

The Uncommon Power of Common Things – Kinley Bowers at Cogitare Magazine.

The odd healing

After John 9 

Dirt and spit are not

the usual medical

treatment for blindness, 

mixed together to make

mud. Directions for use:

anoint the eyes, once,

then rinse in the pool.

Shocking, yes, but

isn’t this how man

was created, taken from

the dust of the ground

and life breathed into

him? 

The first birth – created

from dust and breath.

The second birth – created

from dust and spit.

Man created from dust.

Man born again from dust.

 

Photograph by Punj Parekh via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

“The Lamp” by Anna Kamienska – D.S. Roberts at Kingdom Poets.

 

The Wonder of the Human Face – Tim Challies.

 

6 Kinds of Hearers of God’s Word – Brian Najapfour at Ligonier.

 

“Remember All the People” by Percy Dearmer – Anthony Esolen at Word & Song.

 

A Time to be Tired – Seth Lewis.

 

A man born blind

After John 9

A choice of answers

is offered as questions

to explain why a man

was born blind – did

he sin or did his parents?

He rejects both, explaining

it is no one's fault; it’s

not a question of blame

or fault. Hardship or

suffering isn’t a punishment;

that’s not how it works.

Endurance and healing and 

relief become the purpose

for which they’re intended:

to display the power of God.

 

Photograph by CDC via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

“America the Beautiful,” by Katherine Lee Bates and Samuel Ward – Anthony Esolen at Word & Song.

 

Friendship’s Faithful Wounds – Melissa Edgington at Your Mom Has a Blog.

 

What am I doing here?

After John 5:1-17

What am I doing here,

this pool and its colonnades,

with all its filth, it smells,

its piles of human waste

and wasted humans, lame,

blind, sick, broken in body

and broken in spirit. I step

 

carefully, avoiding 

the humans infesting

this place, these people

desperate to be healed,

waiting for the waters

to stir, signaling the time

to heal. No waters stir

this day, but a man makes

his way through the crowd

of brokenness and disease,

the crowd parting like so

many droplets and waves,

this man stirring human

waters, reaching one man,

telling him to rise, take

his bed, and walk. 

 

The waters stir this day,

unlike any other day,

stirring

unlike any other day.

 

Photograph by Mitch Hodge via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

Breathbodyprayer – poem by Matthew Pullar at Kingdon Poets (D.S. Martin).

 

Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee – Anthony Esolen at Word & Song.

 

Corpus Christi: Three Sonnets on Communion – Malcolm Guite.

 

Some thoughts on autism – Bill Grandi at Living in the Shadow.

Waiting among the colonnades

After John 5: 1-17 

Inside the walls,

inside the gate

that Nehemiah built,

the lame, the sick,

the injured gather,

waiting among

the colonnades,

waiting for

the stirring

of the waters,

believing that

the first one 

in the pool

is healed. 

The man too lame

to make his way

despairs; no one

is there to carry

him to the waters,

no one to help,

no one to pick him

up and help him or

even throw him

into the waters.

On a day like

any other, a day

of despair, a man

comes to him and

says get up, get up

and walk. He stands,

picks up his bedding,

and walks, watching

the living, stirring

water walk and

disappear among

the crowds.

 

Photograph by Nadim the Dream via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

The Importance of Running a Rigged Race – Joshua Zackal at the Institute for Faith, Work, & Economics.

 

3 Patterns That False Teachers Follow – Matthew Harmon at Crossway.

 

A Sonnet for Trinity Sunday – Malcolm Guite.

 

The Fruit of the Spirit: Introduction – Robb Brunansky at The Cripplegate.

Is timing everything?

After Luke 14:1-6 

Does it matter,

this art of healing,

on what day

it happens? It

seems a quaint 

concern, to be

worried whether

someone heals

on a Sabbath.

Does any form

of work, and

especially healing,

matter if it’s

on a Sabbath? But

I suppose it does

matter, for anyone

more concerned

with form, rather

than substance.

 

Photograph by Denise Jans via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

Living with Dementia – Peter Milsom at Evangelical Magazine. 

 

Impossible Christianity by Kevin DeYoung – Redeemed Reader.

 

Here Shall Your Proud Waves Be Stayed – Kathryn Butler at Story Warren.

Descending, on ropes

After Mark 2:1-12 

On my bedding they lower me

into the room of noise and

smoke and the small of bodies

densely packed together.

Too many people inside,

too many crowding the door

for a chance to see or touch

or be touched by the healer.

My friends, the faithful four,

make a hole in the roof,

startling those below as

debris falls, and lower me

on ropes, a descent into

noise and smoke and

smell. The noise abates,

suddenly, as they point 

and watch me descend.

My eyes search the room

for him, our eyes meet, 

and he says, first, that

my sins are forgiven. He

looks around the room,

reading the hearts, and 

says, second, rise, take 

my bedding, and go home.

I stand. I take my bed.

I walk.

 

Photograph by Alejandro Luengo via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The crowd goes crazy (silently)

After Mark 2:1-12

Through the roof he comes

on ropes, almost a theatrical

scene; that’s bad enough

(no sense of decorum

In honor of those present).

But then the healer says

the man’s sins are forgiven,

and theater becomes

melodrama.

His sins are forgiven?

Who does he think he is,

God? The impertinence!

the outrage! That’s 

an offense meriting stoning!

(But he did heal that leper

so it might be best to huff

and puff in silence.)

 

The healer looks around,

and he has the knack

of looking not only at

but also through the heart,

and he knows exactly

what we’re thinking.

To hammer home his point,

he doubles down, and after

pronouncing forgiveness

he tells the man to rise,

take his bed, and go home.

And the man does.

Sometimes it best to huff

and puff in silence.

 

Photograph by Sushil Nash via Unsplash. Used with permission.

What does the healer say

After Mark 2:1-12 

Confronted by the faith

of the men helping a friend,

men so determined they

punch a hole in the roof,

what does the healer say?

 

He sees the man known

as a paralytic descend

into the room, dangling

in the ropes, and what

he sees first, amidst all

the talk and mutterings

of the crowd inside

is the faith of the men

maneuvering the ropes.

What does the healer say?

What does the healer do?

 

Is it “You’re healed”? 

Does he touch or extend

a hand. Lifting the paralytic

up? Instead, and first, 

the healer speaks.

The healer says

the man’s sins 

are forgiven.

Because it was,

because it is

the most important.

 

Photograph by Aaron Blanco Tejedor via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The word is out

After Mark 2:1-12 

The word is out:

the man can heal,

a touch, a look,

a word can dispel

a demon, a disease,

even the most feared

of all, a disease like 

leprosy. And he’s here,

right now, in a home,

right down the street.

 

The crush is on,

the house is so packed

no one can move

or barely breathe.

Four friends bring

their paralyzed fifth,

unable to move

through the dense crowd,

without a word, they

climb to the roof,

carrying their burden.

Smashing a hole (debris

falling on the crowd 

below), they lower 

the fifth with ropes,

because they believe.

 

Photograph by Jake Weirick via Unsplash. Used with permission

No good deed goes unpunished

After John 5:1-17 

A man lame and paralyzed

38 years is healed by the stirring

of the waters of the word,

and the result is wonder,

amazement, perhaps some fear,

and fury.

The healed man carries

his bed, as commanded,

violating the human sabbath.

That he is healed is not

the point, that he is healed

is beside the point, they say.

That the healer told him

to get up, take his bed,

and walk is superfluous. 

They want, they demand

the man who commanded

a violation of the sabbath,

both in the healing and

in the command.

The healed man sees

his healer again;

the sabbath-keepers know

who it is. No good deed

will go unpunished. 

 

Photograph by Hsiu Lee via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The stirring of different waters

After John 5:1-17 

He sees the multitudes

edging the pool 

in their distress

and their hope,

and he asks one,

one chosen from

among them, if

he wants to be 

healed. The man

does, desperately, 

but cannot drag 

himself fast enough

to the stirred pool

before someone else

steps first. But still,

hope. And this day,

miraculous, different

waters stir, waters

moved by the words

‘get up and walk.’

And he who cannot

drag himself fast

enough is bathed

in the waters

of the words,

and he stands,

takes his bed,

and walks.

 

Photograph by Rostyslav Savchyn via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The stirring of the waters

After John 5:1-17 

They wait in their dozens

and scores, clustered

among the colonnades,

blind, lame, paralyzed,

invalids for whom life

is confined, narrow,

dependent. They wait,

daily, for the stirring

of the waters: first in

is first (and only)

healed. It is the first

and only the first and

the reality must be

sufficient to keep

the multitudes coming

back to wait. The reality,

or the hope.

 

Photograph by USGS via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Drop-kicking dropsy

After Luke 14:1-11

He is the point, or the example:

the man with dropsy, standing

there as they sit for a meal,

a man proven unclean,

it must be some sin

for otherwise he’d be well,

and he stands there

in his suffering until

the question is asked:

it is right, it is lawful,

is it legal to heal this man,

to heal him on this day,

this sacred day. No one

answers because to answer

is to shatter a belief,

a system, a culture.

In the silence he heals

the man, who’s sent away

but the silence remains,

a silence profound,

a silence burning.

Photograph by Rob Curran via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Christians don’t do that, do they?

We were attending a large church, large enough for two services in a big auditorium but still small enough to know people. We had been there a while, and knew a lot of people through Sunday School, mission trips, and adult classes.

A friend from work attended with his family. We never saw each other at work; different facilities and totally different parts of the company. But we connected at church, shared work war stories, sat in classes together, and helped each other through our children’s teen years.

And then – train wreck. For a time, his wife stopped coming to church; he would bring the kids. Then he told me his marriage might be over. And then his wife started attending church with her boyfriend.

I didn’t know the whole story, only having heard one side of it. But it was devastating to my friend, to the children, and to the church.

And then another friend, one I knew professionally, decided she wasn’t happy in her marriage. And she knew God wanted her to be happy. So she walked out on her husband and child. Later we learned she walked out of one relationship to be in the relationship she had already developed with a co-worker.

Then a couple we were in a small Bible study group with broke up. He decided he didn’t want to be married any more. As it turned out, he had a relationship at work.

And then a friend, with whom I worked in ministry for years, told me he and his wife were divorcing. She had told him to leave. This wasn’t a case of infidelity on either side; it was more that their marriage was wrecked and neither saw any hope for trying to retrieve it.

All of these people were Christians. Bible-believing, church-attending Christians. In every case, no one had a clue, even their closest friends. They came to church every Sunday wearing their Sunday smiley faces. With ample opportunities to share their hurting in prayer, classes, small groups, and individual friendships, they had said nothing.

And it made me wonder if the problem might be the church. You’re not supposed to have problems like this if you’re a Christian. It’s non-believers who have these problems. It’s the culture.

And maybe it is the church.

In Heart Made Whole: Turning Your Unhealed Pain into Your Greatest Strength, Christa Black Gifford says that “Jesus’ intention for us as believers is never to suppress the truth of our emotions and put on fake religious smiles, attempting to deal with very natural things on our own. When life hurts, we hurt just as He did—and that’s simply okay.”

Gifford and her husband went through the agony of losing a newborn child. It could have destroyed them both; it could have destroyed their marriage. They had dark, black days, and they probably still do, but they knew that the depth of their pain was known and understood.

We the church need to do better.

Led by Jason Stasyszen and Sarah Salter, we’ve been reading Heart Made Whole. Today concludes the discussion. To see what others are saying about this chapter, “A Heart Made Whole,” please visit Jason at Connecting to Impact.

Photograph by Lila Frerichs via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.