A Passionate Good Friday

I'm not one to normally to pick up and go, but the opportunity presented itself Thursday evening at dinner, and so I took care of some necessary commitments, threw a few things in a bag, and headed out the door the next morning to Atlanta. The occasion was a friend's extra ticket allowing me to enter the gates of the Verizon Amphitheater for Passion's Good Friday service. The Easter weekend/summer break traffic was horrific, but good company and a heart full of joy over such trivial matters made the trip easy and short. (And now I can say I've actually been through the metropolis of Locust Grove.)

I have to admit I've never stood in line to get into a church service. Not until now anyway.
Fortunately, Julie and I didn't have to fight for our seats. (If anyone knows me well, they know I'm serious when I say that.) It's all who you know -- and we knew the right person this time.
They don't start until Julie's son Jonathan says "Okay."

Okay, so he does have a boss who gives the final word: Shelley Giglio. A beautiful woman who glows with Christ. (L-R) Me, Jonathan, Julie and Shelley

The grassy knoll was covered with souls eager to worship. I wonder if this in any way resembled the mount when Jesus taught the multitudes.
It was an amazing evening to say the least. I normally don't take pictures in worship services, but for the sake of the blog, I did manage to snap a few shots during the 4 hour service.

Chris Tomlin

Matt Redman

Kristian Stanfield

These 3 guys, along with their worship teams, ushered us into the Presence. As Louie calls it, they were the "door holders."

Louie Giglio

And Louie led us to the cross. Rejoice with me for the lives that were exchanged this night.

It was a night filled with singing, with dancing, with shouting, with bowing, with offerings, with tears, with joy. It was a moment of looking back as well as forward, of knowing I no longer have to "do" because it has been done. It was a powerful evening ending with a huge exclamation mark as all the stops were pulled and the noise resounded far into the night skies toward the heavenlies. It was a night of worship, the kind where every vibration was felt and every emotion experienced.

And yet, in these last moments before the Easter shout is heard, I take one more look upon God's Son, His broken body, His bruised face, His bleeding head, His open side, and His hands and feet split open with nails -- and there is no response but silence. Anything else would be inadequate.

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven ... a time to be silent ... (Eccl. 3:1, 7b)

Just an ordinary moment...

Wounds

A number of years ago, our middle child was playing football in our neighbor's backyard when he stepped in an ash pile. Coals from the trash heap were still simmering from the burning that had taken place earlier that week when Robert went after the ball and inadvertently (so he says) jumped in the middle of the mound. Quite surprisingly, one of the hot coals lodged in the top of his shoe under the tongue and began searing into his foot. Even today, he carries a nice pretty scar from the wound he received that summer morning. I'm sure he remembers the pain of the burn each time he looks at it, as well as the fact that he couldn't wear a shoe for months. And surely we all recall the numerous washings and bandaging and doctor visits in Savannah. But we also remember gathering around him as a family and speaking "life" into that dead place so he wouldn't have need of a skin graft, and then witnessing to a stunned specialist about the power of prayer and of a faithful God as the doctor looked in awe at the new bud of flesh breaking through that which was so dead.

We all have our wounds. I have them; you have them. Some are worse than others, but the fact remains: wounds happen and when they do, they hurt.

I have been carrying around a wound now for a year; one that goes deep, but not physically so. In fact, as the Psalmist says, it was "a man like myself, with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship as we walked together in the house of God." Yes, I think those are some of the toughest wounds because they are so relational. I've considered the pain of this wound. It manifests itself in a number of ways: anger, resentment, a desire for revenge. And no doubt, it steals even my peace. Yes, wounds are painful. They rob the inflicted of wholeness.

But I'm reminded this Maundy Thursday that by His stripes, His wounds, I am healed. And as I approach resurrection morning, I also bring to mind that those wounds were not removed when He arose in His glorious state. In fact, they became part of His glory; even the way He made Himself known to His disciples when He showed them His hands and His feet. So could it be that my own places of injury are destined not as roadblocks, but to become glorified -- and just as Jesus was identified by His, so will I be identified by mine in my eternal life in God?

Yes, only an all-knowing, loving, compassionate God can take such woundedness, such pain, such brokenness -- whether it be a foot or a heart -- and bring glory. That's enough to make me want to shout an early, "Hallelujah!"

Just an ordinary moment...

Unexpected Palm Sunday Devotional

My Lenten reading was not what I thought it would be as I sat down this morning for my devotion time. I assumed I'd be waving palm branches and shouting "Hosanna!" as this Holy Week began. Rather I was provoked to generous living -- generous as in Mary anointing the feet of Jesus with very costly ointment and then drying them with her hair. Which leads me to question: what is my very costly ointment? With what am I to be generous?

Truth is I find myself less like Mary and more like Judas. Yes, I pretend a noble heart and I desire a benevolent spirit but in reality my heart is stingy. Even in my "quiet time," it is more for me and less for Him. It is more about what I can receive than what I can give. And so during this Holy Week, I'm focusing on a generous spirit. I'm asking the Lord to make me generous with my time with Him. That this week I will listen quietly and watch intently as He walks again the road to Golgotha for me and accomplishes that which He came to do. That maybe this week I could be the one who sits before Him and wipes the tears with my hair.

O, Lord, open my heart to be generous this week in my love for and my time with You; and for just once, help me forget about myself.

Just an ordinary moment...

Bonding

"Jesus came to create bonds, and living in , with and through Jesus means discovering these bonds in myself and revealing them to others." These were the early morning words I read last week as I sat on the balcony overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. I have to admit I wasn't sure exactly what was being said; and so I just sat. But as I watched the waves lap the ocean floor and the foam tickle its shore, I began to understand a little bit of Henri Nouwen's thoughts. We experience bonds in all types of arenas. Bonds between a husband and wife; between friends; between other Christians. But this particular morning, I experienced a different kind of bonding. Maybe it was the vastness of the ocean or the constant-ness of the waves that drew me to the One who is even more vast and more constant. But bonding occurred. And with it came unity, healing and restoration.

I think that's the nature of a bond. Don't you?

Just an ordinary moment...

Tug-of-War

I sit here in my "garden enclosed" watching the cardinals and yellow finches along with a loud woodpecker vie for the numerous feeders just beyond the deck. (A pair of white doves just flew by to their nesting place high in the pine at the edge of the yard.) Their song lets me know they're happy. Their number lets me know that they enjoy community. And of course, my feathered friends also signal Spring -- as do the shifting shadows and the feel of warmth on my skin.

This morning I had on woolly slippers and flannel pj's; this afternoon I wear flip flops and crops. This time last week, we were canceling Bible study due to wintry and icy conditions; today, I have my windows raised enjoying 70 degree temperatures. It's certainly a contest of strength when it comes to the prevailing season; and the one being asked to leave is just as stubborn as the one pushing its way in.

As I continue my journey deeper and deeper into Lent, focusing on the passion of the Lord Jesus, I am finding that during this season of tug-of-war when winter and spring struggle with each for dominance, that I also have my own inner battles -- my own conflicts and clashes between self and submission, trust and fear, faith and hopelessness, turmoil and peace, doing or being. And just like the seasons, I am finding both to be willful.

Surely, Spring will reign soon.

Just an ordinary moment...