The following is a quote from Jean Vanier’s book “From Brokenness To Community.”
The broken and oppressed are teaching me what the good news is really about.
One of the most moving moments for me in the gospels is the meeting of Jesus with… Read More
Two years ago, I did a series at my church called “Misfit Magnet.” It was all about the kind of people Jesus attracted. And, of course, the series referenced the Island of Misfit Toys from the classic Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer TV special.
From time to time, we need to be reminded to suspend judgement and just love people. We have a tendency to surround ourselves with a homogenized group of people who think, believe, look, act, and smell like us.
Here’s a little different take on the subject of misfits… Read More
When I was a kid, we played King of the Mountain.
Actually, it was King of the Tractor Tire.
The playground didn’t have any mountains—but it did have some big tractor tires stuffed in the ground for us to play on.
The goal of the game: become “King” by shoving everyone else off the tire.
When you knocked all your competitors down, you became King of the Tractor Tire.
One day, Jesus’ disciples were playing King of the Tractor Tire…
“His disciples began arguing about which of them was the greatest.” (Luke 9.46 NLT)
When you’re arguing that you are the greatest, you “win” the argument by shoving others down.
Just as one of the disciples was about to shove his last competitor off the tire, Jesus interrupts.
“He brought a little child to his side. Then he said to them, ‘Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me also welcomes my Father who sent me. Whoever is the least among you is the greatest.’” (Luke 9.47, 48 NLT)
What was Jesus saying?
—You don’t become great by exerting strength over people; you become great by humbling yourself and building others up.
—Instead of trying to be the best shover of people, be the best lifter of people.
—Don’t knock people down. Give them a hand and lift them up.
—Get down off your tractor tire superiority complex.
—Welcome and help the “little” guy.
Remember that song from 1991 by the band Right Said Fred…
The one that goes on and on about all the things “I’m too sexy” for?
It arrogantly declares, “I’m too sexy for my shirt.”
Maybe you think it’s disgusting that someone would sing about how they’re too sexy for shirts, cars, hats, Milan, New York and Japan… BUT WE THINK THE SAME THING ALL THE TIME.
Really?
Yes. Really.
We’re constantly thinking, “I’m too ___________ for ____________ .”
For instance…
“I’m too over-qualified for this.”
“I’m too under-qualified for that.”
“I’m too old for helping out with stuff like this.”
“I’m too young for something like that.”
“I’m too messed-up for church.”
“I’m too ___________ for ____________ .”
Basically, this line of reasoning says 1 of 2 things:
Either “I’m too GOOD for this,” or “I’m too BAD for that.”
You know the story of the Good Samaritan, right?
Here’s the super-condensed version:
Dude gets robbed and beaten. He’s left in the gutter to die. A little later, a priest comes by—and when he sees the dude, he avoids the situation by walking on the other side of the road. A few minutes later, a church leader does the exact same thing. Finally, a guy who is pretty low in terms of society’s scale shows up. He jumps in, helps the dude out, and personally finances his recovery (the full version is in Luke chapter 10).
In this story, the priest was thinking ”I’m too sexy for my shirt.”
OK, not really—but he was thinking “I’m too good for this,” which is just as stupid.
Same thing with the church leader.
The Samaritan, rather than thinking “I’m too bad for this,” made himself available to help.
His ego wasn’t over-inflated and it wasn’t under-inflated.
He didn’t think he was too sexy for his shirt.
He also was willing to do what he could.
What’s the point of all this?
STOP THINKING “I’M TOO SEXY FOR MY SHIRT.”
Stop believing “I’m too ___________ for ____________ .”
PUT YOUR SHIRT BACK ON, AND LET GOD USE YOU.
A few years ago, I visited the apartment of a some college guys from my church.
To be honest, I was shocked. I’d never seen anything dirtier or messier. The cupboards were empty and the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. The apartment smelled bad. There wasn’t adequate lighting and it was dark in there.
I tried to mask what I was feeling; I tried to act as if this was all normal to me.
Then one of the guys said, “Sit down PB! Make yourself comfortable.”
I looked at the couch. It was covered with crumbs and stains and miscellaneous articles of clothing (dirty of course).
On the inside, I was having a mild panic attack.
On the outside, I smiled, moved a moist sock from the seat to the armrest—and sat down.
I was there for about 35 minutes. I have no recollection of what we talked about.
Here’s what I do remember: feeling uncomfortable and out of place.
It’s embarrassing to admit it, but I was kinda worried that I would get dirty or catch something.
A few weeks later, one of the guys asked me what I thought of his apartment.
For some reason, I answered honestly:
“I was uncomfortable. I thought it was dirty and messy. It stressed me out.”
He laughed. Then he said something I’ll never forget:
“PB, your house stresses me out and makes me uncomfortable.”
I was shocked. “Why?” I asked in disbelief.
He explained, “Because everything is neat and clean and perfect—everything’s in just the right spot. I’m worried that I will mess something up or get your perfect house dirty. It’s stressful. I don’t want to sit down. I don’t want to move. It just stresses me out. When I leave, it’s a relief because I don’t have to worry about messing up your perfect place anymore.”
I could see that he wasn’t being sarcastic or retaliating because of what I said about his place. He was being completely honest.
Wow. My clean house stresses someone out.
Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about that honest conversation we had.
I’m still embarrassed about the “I’m too good for this dirty mess” attitude I had about that apartment.
And I’m thankful God doesn’t have that attitude toward us.
Think about it.
Jesus wasn’t born in a royal palace or in a top-notch hospital.
Nope. He was born in stable, a manger… a barn.
God was perfectly comfortable entering our dirty mess.
“While they were in Bethlehem, the time came for Mary to have the baby, and she gave birth to her first son. Because there were no rooms left in the inn, she wrapped the baby with pieces of cloth and laid him in a feeding trough.” (Luke 2.6, 7 NCV)
This is an important truth to always remember:
NO MATTER HOW MUCH OF A DIRTY MESS YOUR LIFE IS, GOD IS HAPPY TO SHOW UP AND MAKE HIS HOME THERE.
Yes, God is perfectly comfortable entering our dirty mess.
There’s this ridiculous moment…
It’s the one that occurs right before a miracle.
It happens when you swallow your pride and offer what you are, what you have—knowing full well that it’s not enough, but you offer it anyway.
In that ridiculous moment, you wonder…
Will I be rejected? Laughed at? Blamed? Shamed?
And you think about how insufficient, inadequate, and utterly incompetent you are.
You ask yourself, “Why did I do this, why did I speak up, why did I volunteer myself?”
You feel kinda naked and exposed.
It’s that ridiculous moment…
Between your willingness to do something and God’s miraculous provision.
The little boy who offered his lunch to Jesus because 5,000 people needed something to eat knows what I’m talking about. What a ridiculous moment!
There he is—handing over his lunch to Jesus, thinking about how absurd this gesture must look.
I wonder how many of the 5,000 onlookers rolled their eyes and laughed to themselves.
I wonder how many thought, “Isn’t that cute and naive of him?”
I wonder how many “mature, seasoned veterans” felt rather pleased with themselves—that they didn’t make such an immature move like this boy did.
But the boy didn’t run.
He didn’t yell, “Ha! Just kidding.”
He pressed on—through that ridiculous moment, handing over what he had to Jesus.
He stood there, waited… and the rest is history.
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THAT RIDICULOUS MOMENT WAS AN AMAZING MIRACLE.
I believe it’s still true today.
God accepts our insufficient, inadequate, and utterly incompetent selves and does something amazing.
Are you willing to experience that ridiculous moment?
Sometimes we are willing—we want to make a difference—AND we are completely inadequate.
That combination (willing and inadequate) is where miracles take place.
In the Gospel story of the feeding of the 5,000, there wasn’t enough food available to feed the crowd.
When the disciples reported this to Jesus, he told them to LOOK AGAIN.
Andrew, one of the disciples came back and, said: “Here is a boy with five loaves of barley bread and two little fish, but that is not enough for so many people.” (John 6.8 NCV)
Let me paraphrase: Andrew says, “I found a boy who is WILLING to share his food with everyone, but what he has is completely INADEQUATE for what we’re needing.”
Jesus used what the boy was WILLING to share and performed one of the most legendary miracles.
Here’s what I always wonder about this story…
Was there really no one else there that day who brought any food?
I mean, come on—there’s at least 5,000 people there. SOMEBODY must have brought some snacks with them!
Serious. I bet some lady had ketchup packets in her purse.
And how many diaper bags with Goldfish crackers were there that day?
The thing is, nobody else was WILLING.
Whoever had food with them could see, plain as day, what they had was INADEQUATE.
Whatever anyone had was INADEQUATE—but one person was WILLING.
Look, most of us would like to contribute and make a difference… but we don’t bother trying because we know that we are INADEQUATE.
We gotta stop doing that!
WE ARE ALL INADEQUATE.
Miracles happen when we know what we have is INADEQUATE, but we’re WILLING to give it to God anyway.
One boy’s INADEQUATE lunch miraculously fed 5,000 people because he was WILLING to give what he had to Jesus.
Amazing things happen when you are WILLING and INADEQUATE.
We don’t always see what’s REALLY there with the first glance.
Often, we need to take a second look, we need to LOOK AGAIN.
You know the famous story about the feeding of the 5,000—right?
Big crowds came out to hear Jesus teach. They were far away from any restaurants or grocery stores.
The people were tired and hungry. The disciples suggested that Jesus send everyone home.
Jesus said, “No—you give them something to eat.”
A big discussion followed…
“There’s nothing here. If we purchased food, do you know how much it would cost to feed 5,000 people?”
Jesus told the disciples to go LOOK AGAIN.
He said, “How many loaves of bread do you have? Go and see.” (Mark 6.38 NCV)
Andrew, one of the disciples, said: “Here is a boy with five loaves of barley bread and two little fish, but that is not enough for so many people.” (John 6.8 NCV)
Of course, we know how the story ends. It’s a miracle. The food is multiplied and it feeds everyone. In fact, there are even leftovers—12 baskets full.
But before we arrive at the end of the story, something significant happened in the middle of the story… it’s when Jesus told his disciples to LOOK AGAIN.
You see, they were ready to call it a day. They decided nothing could be done.
But Jesus said, “LOOK AGAIN.”
When they looked again, Andrew discovered a boy with a little food—enough for maybe just a handful of people.
It wasn’t “enough,” but it was something.
And Jesus took that little, insignificant amount of food—and he multiplied it.
He made it enough. Jesus made it significant.
We see people and things all the time… which at first glance might seem little or insignificant.
I believe Jesus says to us, “LOOK AGAIN.”
The little and the insignificant… this is exactly what He likes to use.
So when you think, “There isn’t enough here to make a difference,” LOOK AGAIN.
When you’re ready to count someone out, LOOK AGAIN.
And when you’re ready to call it hopeless, LOOK AGAIN.
What seems little or insignificant to you might be the beginnings of a great miracle!
Brian worked with animals at a Veterinary Hospital for years and he has the scars to prove it. On his arm, hand, and even on his face.
You might guess I think the scars are ugly, or make him look like a damaged person—but to tell you the truth, I love them.
Scars mark the territory we’ve experienced together.
Brian and I were newly married when the dog bit him and the cat clawed his face. Something about those scars are beautiful to me. They tell our story together. I know what it took to heal from them.
I’m drawn to the brokenness in people. The pain, the suffering draws me in.
I think that might be how the Father feels about his kids. I can picture Him saying something like this, “Oh honey, let me see, let me look at it. I’ll fix you up. This might sting a little, it might hurt a bit, but we need to tend to that so it can heal.”
This is what I love about our Heavenly Father—that he is our great healer!
Life does not promise to be easy or without suffering. In fact, Jesus said, “In this life you will suffer, but to be of good cheer because I have overcome it.”
I wish I could have gotten pregnant again, but I know that struggle has produced some good things in me.
Sometimes people say adversity makes you stronger. I don’t know about that, but I would say it makes you softer. Even if it’s not the pain of infertility that someone is dealing with, I think any loss or dream unfulfilled is something I’ll understand a little better as a result of what we’ve walked through.
Jesus being our great healer offers us comfort, peace, and restoration. It’s as if he is saying, “No problem, Shari, I can clean this up and fix what’s broken. This is what I’m good at. In fact it’s my specialty.”
Why wouldn’t I run to the one who heals my wounds?
Scars speak to my past and how God has been there through all of it. When people ask about these marks, it’s a great chance to tell them the story of God’s healing, restoring work in our lives.
Pain speaks. We can learn from it. Don’t run from it. God is there—holding you, comforting you. You’re safe with Him, you’re safe here.
I’ve never liked taking leftovers home from a restaurant.
Maybe it’s the inconvenience of asking for a to-go box.
Maybe it’s the odor of leftover food that makes your car stink.
Or maybe it’s because I remember how they called to-go boxes “doggy bags” when I was a kid.
Doggy bag? I assume that means, “this food is perfect for a dog… or you, if your standards are Labradoodle-level.”
My wife LOVES leftovers.
She will take things from other peoples plates and put their scraps in her to-go box.
She takes the bread from the center of the table.
I’ve seen her take handfuls of the little hard candies that restaurants leave out (She really goes crazy over the ones at Maggiano’s).
I’ve come to the conclusion that my wife is more like Jesus than I am.
Why?
Jesus had a thing for leftovers too.
In Luke chapter 9, we have another Gospel retelling of the feeding of the 5,000 story.
QUICK RECAP: Huge crowds. Hungry people. No McDonalds or Taco Bell in sight. A little boy offers up his lunch… 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish (I’m thinking he must have been in junior high ‘cause that’s a lot of food for lunch). Jesus blesses the food, breaks it, distributes it to the disciples—and the disciples give it to the people. MIRACLE HAPPENS. Everyone eats and has enough. In fact, there’s even leftovers. Jesus has the disciple pick up the leftovers… 12 baskets full.
I like to think that Jesus had each disciple take home a basket full of the food. Can you imagine them going home explaining the story behind their “doggy bags” full of bread and fish?
Even after everyone was fed, Jesus noticed the leftovers.
He gave them value, worth, and significance.
They could have been overlooked—but Jesus saw them and had them collected.
To someone else, a few scraps here and there might not have seemed significant…
But Jesus took a second look. He saw value in the leftovers.
There are people in our world who have been tossed to the side, discarded, and counted-out.
They feel like leftovers…
And Jesus notices. He sees them. He recognizes their value, significance, and worth.
To Him, they are worth going back for.
Let’s be like Jesus.
Let’s take a second look.
Let’s notice the “leftovers,” and bring them in!
