Through the Shark Tank

Moses stretched out his hand over the sea.

The Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind. Exodus 14:21

By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as if it were dry land. Hebrews 11:29

“Shark Realm” is a stunning exhibit at Adventure Aquarium in Camden, New Jersey. Essentially, it consists of a clear, acrylic tunnel running through the middle of an enormous shark tank. Visitors walking through the tunnel have a completely unobstructed view of the water and the 850 creatures swimming around and above them. The illusion of being deep beneath the sea yet without getting wet (or getting eaten) is mesmerizing. Fantastical.

But the spell was broken for me when, during my turn, a pair of visitors in line behind me began to question the structural integrity of the beautifully engineered display.

“What kind of PSI do you think they’ve got going on here,” one fellow asked another.

“I don’t know, but there’s a heck of a lot of water in here. The sign says 550,000 gallons. One ding in the ol’ plexiglass and whoosh. . . . we’re gonners.”

The collective mood among the people in the tunnel shifted swiftly from wonderment to apprehension as individuals first contemplated the invisible force holding back the waters, and then further imagined its letting loose. Distress and fear registered on their faces. Wanting to leave the tunnel as quickly as possible, some visitors turned back toward the entrance they had funneled through just moments earlier, only to be reminded that this was a one-way walkway. The newest crush of entrants now clogged the opening, and the only way out of the exhibit was to press forward 40 feet to the exit. There could be no turning back.

Of course, there was no disaster that day at Adventure Aquarium. Only the whiff of a supposition of a rumor. Upon exiting the Shark Tunnel we were all deftly routed through the Shark Gift Shop. But even though the threat of danger was imagined, the experience has helped me to engage with the biblical story of the Israelites passing through the Red Sea as Moses, with God’s power backing him up, restrains the ocean. In my aquarium encounter, just like in the Exodus account, circumstances required that all participants move forward. No matter how terrifying it was to advance, reversing or reverting or retreating were impossibilities.

To move ahead when the future is uncertain—well, isn’t that just one of the scariest challenges human beings face? The message I take from today’s Daily Texts is that, frightened or not, we must step forward on our life journeys, not backward. The sense of being protected in the midst of the peril, and the feeling of relief that comes after we have lunged and plunged into the future—these are the rewards for putting our trust in God.

What's Next?

The Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” Genesis 21:1

God granted the inheritance to Abraham through the promise.

Galatians 3:18

It was this time a year ago that I renewed my relationship with Dave, the moving van operator. The morning he arrived in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania to load our boxed possessions onto the big orange Allied truck, his face seemed familiar to me. As we compared notes and reconstructed history, Dave and I came to the realization that he had been our driver 5 years previously when we transferred our household from Madison, Wisconsin to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Now he would be in charge of relocating our stuff to Gnadenhutten, Ohio. And when he pulled up to the 3-story brick American Foursquare-style home in Gnadenhutten, Ohio, Dave recalled having been in the house years earlier and negotiating furniture around the tight bends in the staircase for yet another Moravian pastoral family.

He would never say this aloud because he’s a very polite man, but as he packs and unpacks lamps and mirrors and bicycles and pianos, I’m pretty sure Dave questions the efficiency of the Moravian Church and the sanity of its clergy. (But hey, we do keep him steadily employed.)

Listening for and responding to God’s call is hardly ever an efficient prospect. In fact, it’s usually pretty complicated and messy. Look at Abraham and Sarah. I don’t suppose they found nomadic desert travel to an unfamiliar territory to be especially easy. I don’t imagine that they considered bearing and raising a child, an heir, in their advanced years to be a model of efficiency either. And regarding sanity—well, that characteristic is often scrutinized when someone claims to listen for and hear God’s voice.

I’ve been listening and hearing that voice since I was a teenager, and I think I’ve been faithful in responding. That doesn’t mean I always understand why God wants me to be in the places God puts me, or how I’m supposed to accomplish what it is God wants me to do. With all humility, I confess that I have no clear sense of what my purpose is in this land God has been showing me for 12 months now. Some days I find this discouraging. Other days, I find it to be energizing as I try to discern what’s coming next. In all of it, I find encouragement in the way God blessed Abraham and Sarah for their faithfulness, for their willingness to follow God even as they stepped out into the vast unknown.

There’s no big orange truck in my immediate future. I don’t expect to be seeing Dave again anytime soon. But I do expect that God has more to show me in this place. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow.

Murderous Thoughts on Mother's Day?

You shall not murder. Exodus 20:13

This is the message you have heard from the beginning, that we should love one another.

All who hate a brother or sister are murderers.

I John 3: 11 and 15

Being that it’s Mother’s Day, I guess I was expecting a softer start to the morning than to be confronted by the words, “You shall not murder.” So much for flowery, lacey, pinkish sentiments.

You shall not murder. Yes, as a parent, I have sometimes been frustrated enough by one kid’s antics or the other’s that I have muttered to myself, “I swear I’ll kill him.”

I try to reserve that phrase for the truly serious offenses—not for minor infractions like tracking mud across a freshly washed kitchen floor or swigging orange juice directly from the carton or even losing a brand new L.L. Bean winter coat out on the sledding hill. For these sorts of judgment lapses I tend to resort to extremely heavy sighing and head shaking.

No, I only invoke death threats in scenarios that cause me extreme worry and heartbreak. Like the time my pre-schooler wandered away from me in a 2-story department store that opened onto an enormous shopping mall. He had decided to play Hide-And-Go-Seek, but had forgotten to inform me that the game was on. He ducked inside a circular clothing rack laden with skirts, and the only thing that eventually gave away his location was a muted giggle as I searched frantically, calling out his name. In his glee, little did he know the thoughts that ran through my mind—thoughts of him being alone and frightened, thoughts of him climbing on the railing of the second floor concourse high above the first floor fountain, thoughts of him being lured away by a fellow with Tootsie Pops and evil intentions. Of course, when I did discover the child’s hiding place, I was so crazy with relief that I cried and embraced him. I didn’t even come close to killing him.

Neither did I kill either of my children on any of the subsequent occasions when I may have gotten calls from the school principal, or heard from other parents in the neighborhood about some questionable behavior, or on those very late nights when one didn’t arrive home by the agreed upon time and didn’t have the decency to text me. I may have breathed fire at the time, but I still loved them through the fury.

While working out the rules that would be good for humanity, maybe God Our Heavenly Parent was watching what people were up to and, out of frustration and heartbreak, muttered, “I swear I’ll kill them.” Maybe God Our Heavenly Parent deals daily with this attitude. Who knows?! Maybe this particular commandment first came into being as God was working out God’s own parenting skills.

Love your kids today. Love your parents today. Love your God today. And for goodness’ sake, try not to kill anyone.

Restoration

When you return to the Lord your God, then the Lord your God will restore you from captivity, and have compassion on you. Deuteronomy 30:2-3

Jesus said to the healed woman, “Daughter, your faith has made you well;

go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” Mark 5:34

I have an antique trestle-style library table. No, let me rephrase that. I have the pieces of an antique trestle-style table. Some are splintered, all are dusty, and they are stacked in the corner of my garage.

Once belonging to my Uncle Fritz and Aunt Margie, the skinny table used to decorate the back wall of their vintage Midwest farmhouse living room. Throughout my entire childhood and youth, the table was most often topped with a doily, a lamp, and a filled candy dish. At holiday time, it boosted their 4 foot tall artificial Christmas tree to a grand height and held their tissue-paper wrapped gifts.

Especially in its current state, the table is of no particular worth. Made of inexpensive pine varnished into a sticky blackness, its only value is sentimental. And yet, I’ve carried that small woodpile with me on several cross country moves always with the hope and expectation that someday—when I have time—I will restore the heap into a serviceable item of furniture.

Restoration, of course, means to return something to its earlier condition. But it also means to take it a step further—to refurbish something to a better condition.

Both Old and New Testament verses in today’s Daily Text speak of restoration. In one example we hear about someone being restored to the community following a time of exile and isolation. In the other, we learn of someone’s health and wholeness being restored. In both cases, these acts of restoration are life-affirming and positive. The people effected end up being better than ever because they have come to know God’s compassion.

Struggles in this life are the gritty sandpaper, the grinder that scrapes against the surface and scratches off the old finish. Without the grit, the stain wouldn’t adhere, and without the stain, the beauty of the grain would not be revealed—even better than the first time.

Someday I’ll get to work on that table. In the meantime, I invite God to keep working on me.

The Warmth of God's Blessing

The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you.

Numbers 6:25

Jesus said, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” John 20:21

I went to a high school track meet yesterday to cheer on my son and his teammates, but only the fact that Dan was scheduled to run in the finale event kept me anchored to my chilled aluminum bleacher seat through the whole contest. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy watching the competitive sprints, the aerial pole vaulting, or the punishing 3200 meter run. All of the kids’ achievements were worthy of ovation.

No, the tough thing about being out there last evening was the raucous wind pummeling the already cool air and taking it down my degrees. By perching high enough up in the stands to get a good look at the finish line, I also set myself up to be pierced by the icy blasts that persisted even though the sun never gave up shining. With gloves on, coat zipped, and hood up, still my teeth chattered.

But then, for about four and a half minutes—only the amount of time it took for one speedy runner to complete one lap of the oval—the wind ceased. The wind ceased and the persistent sunshine immediately heated me to the point where I had to shed the outerwear and tilt my head back to receive the glorious warmth.

Is this what it feels like in the soul when God’s face is shining, when God is being gracious? Is this what it feels like in the spirit when God is offering a blessing? Could be. Could be.

The Lord bless you and keep you.

The Lord make his face shine upon you.

The Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.

Take a Knee

Before me every knee will bow; by me every tongue will swear. They will say of me, “In the Lord alone are righteousness and strength.” Isaiah 45:23-24

Therefore God also highly exalted him, so that at the name of Jesus every knee would bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Philippians 2:9-11

I find no difficulty, no hesitation in saying out loud, “Jesus is Lord.” The hard part comes with the knee-bending. Whether done physically or metaphorically, kneeling in Christ’s presence is an act of submission, a demonstration of my willingness to yield control to an authority outside of myself. But I’m a control freak, so capitulating never comes easily. I have to work at it.

This evening, I had the opportunity to learn a new skill. I was with my church hand bell choir for our regular Monday night rehearsal when the director asked me to move from my usual position and learn a different part. Now, I have a modicum of hand bell experience, and I’ve mastered the basics along the way. I can read music, I can manage a different bell in each hand, I know how to create the special effects that come with thumb damping and plucking and shaking the bells. I’m proficient.

Or I thought I was proficient until I was asked to ring 4 bells simultaneously. Yes, there is a way to overlap the bells’ strappy handles so that each hand can accommodate 2 bells, and yes, there is a way to strike them independently of each other. Several practiced musicians tried to show me the proper technique that would allow me to accomplish this feat. I would go so far as to say these musicians were experts. They were authorities. Had I simply submitted to their expertise, had I acquiesced to their experience and surrendered to their teaching, it would have been an evening of lovely, full-bodied music pealing through the church.

But of course, I barreled ahead on my own, disregarding their knowledge and wisdom in exchange for my own clumsy clanking and banging. A train wreck would have been a happier sound than the ones I was creating by ignoring good advice and doing things my way. (The director sent us home early tonight. I think it’s because I gave her a headache.)

I have a tendency to charge into life in the same stubborn way, believing I can figure things out for myself. Sometimes I can, but it’s never without a lot of false starts and dissonance. I’m sure I must give God a headache. I know I give myself one. If I could just manage to take a knee sometimes and simply acknowledge that Jesus is in control—and I’m not—there would be a lot fewer headaches to contend with.

Holy Spirit Promises

The Lord will not cast away his people,for his great name’s sake.

I Samuel 12:22

The promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him. Acts 2:39

My china cabinet is filled with stories my male teenage children do not want to hear—like how the antique flat champagne glasses we use for dessert on special occasions were originally wedding presents belonging to their great grandparents, two German immigrants who met and fell in love in Chicago; or how, when she was a little girl, my mom would actually use the Shirley Temple milk pitcher and matching cobalt blue cereal bowl when she would join her father in the kitchen for “a little lunch before bedtime.” I’ve tried to pass along family lore in the snippets and vignettes the dishes bring to mind, but any such telling brings on glazed eyes and slumped shoulders.

When I was a child, I adored staring at the gold rimmed porcelain plates and the silver inlaid Venetian glass decanter with matching cordial glasses. Their origins fascinated me not only because of their beauty, but because they put me closer to understanding my lineage, my ancestry. My peeps!

Though referenced often enough in our household, these cultural indicators do not resonate with my kids. In fact, when my youngest son was in third grade, he came home from school one day and said, “My teacher asked me what my family’s heritage was, and I told her we didn’t have one.” It’s moments like these that I slap my hand to my own forehead in mortified disbelief. I wonder how it is that I have failed so completely at connecting my own child to his own history, his own legacy?

It’s bad enough that I have not stirred my children’s imagination when it comes to tales of their forebears. But what might even be worse is if I’ve failed to stir their longing for something magnificent not in the past, but in the present and future. Have I shared my faith in meaningful, memorable, powerful ways, and have I helped them to understand that the promise of the Holy Spirit’s power and presence is right there for them if only they take an interest, if only they claim it?

It was awfully generous of Peter to tell his Pentecost audience that the full blown energy of God’s Spirit would be available not only to them, but also to their children and even to people at a distance (in other words, you need not be present to win). What is implied in Peter’s speech, however, is that it would become a parental responsibility to convey to the next generation just how a wildly outrageous encounter with God’s Spirit is transformational.

Yes, the promise is for our children. Yes, God’s Spirit works in crazy, unexpected ways. But it is also our joyful obligation to help our kids make the connections that will light up their souls.