“While Jesus was in Bethany in the home of Simon the Leper,… ”
I’ve read Matthew 26 plenty of times, and skimmed right over verse 6 on the way to the “good part”—where an unnamed woman anoints Jesus with an alabaster jar of expensive perfume. But as often happens when I reread familiar passages, this time the Holy Spirit pointed out something I’d missed before.
Simon the Leper. This man, who surely had other, more positive aspects to his person, was known to everyone as “Simon the Leper.” His disease defined him.
Tuesday, I wrote about how I came to follow Jesus. Today I continue the story.
I had been born again, but in a way, it was a premature birth. I just didn’t have a clue about what I’d signed up for, that my new-found faith was going to impact every aspect of my life. Still, it was a birth. I was naked and messy and knew nothing, but I was alive.
I had my first communion at an all-campus service on June 1, right before finals week, and was baptized in the lake on campus the next afternoon. I took my tests, packed up my dorm room, hopped in my car and headed home for the summer. Continue reading
Today is my rebirthday. Forty years ago on May 14, 1973 in a college dorm room, I prayed to ask God to forgive my sins and come live inside me.
Becoming a Christian was probably the least likely decision I ever expected to make. I was born to parents who were both raised Catholic but never met God. My mom was an atheist to her dying day, and my dad remains an agnostic (perhaps a deist) at age 91. As I grew I adopted their beliefs, and by high school I was a force to be dealt with. I was sure that science would answer all my questions. The idea of God was laughable.
Yet here I was, a freshman at a secular university, praying to “receive Jesus.” What happened?
God came and got me.
This Sunday we’re all supposed to celebrate mothers. On the surface it seems like a great idea. After all, we all have or had a mother. When you think about the daily sacrifice that goes into raising a child, setting aside one day a year to express our appreciation and thankfulness seems inadequate, the very least we can do.
But for many of us, the idea of motherhood isn’t that simple. As Facebook recognizes, relationships are sometimes complicated. Life is messy.
Our Swazi missions team had our first official meeting last week. As I looked around the room at these people I’m going to get to know so well over the coming months, I was struck by how different we all are. It seemed that the only thing we have in common is our desire to serve God and others.
Think you don’t qualify for a mission trip? See if you can identify with any of my teammates.
I was going to post some thought-provoking, deeply insightful comments about something I noticed in Matthew 26 during my Bible reading this week. Honest I was. Then I made the mistake of cruising through my Facebook feed, and I found this gem, shared by my brother-in-law. It’s just too good to pass up.
Please note that the “blog” featured here isn’t real. LarkNews.com made it up to prove a point… and a good point it is. In fact, the rest of their blog is pretty funny too. I recommend it.
Know anyone like this? Could it be me? Now I feel compelled to go back through my Facebook posts and see if I’m guilty. Yikes!
My original post for today has been rescheduled for next week. See you then.
For the first time in several years, I didn’t have a blog post queued and ready to post this morning.
I could list the excuses (quite valid)—I went camping all weekend. I came home sick. The decongestants make my brain fuzzy. I stayed in bed and watched The Hobbit with Pete instead of getting up and traipsing downstairs to write. But in the end, it all comes down to this: writing a post was not my top priority, and it didn’t get done.
I think we’ll all live. And just to entertain you, I’m reposting this extremely pertinent little story I wrote back in 2010. See you Friday.