The international terminal at Detroit Metropolitan Airport was nothing to write home about. At least back then, twenty years ago. More like a barn or a bus station than the fancy airport with the amenities we have come to expect these days. A way station, an in between space really, despite the word used to describe it - terminal. A place not of ending, but of changing. From this to that. From what was to what will be. From a life that was to a life of something different and as yet unknown. Not a terminal so much as a bridge. And we walked that bridge that day, three of us crossed one way and four came back the other. And life was ... different from that moment on.
I was reminded of that this week. Because I stood in another airport to surrender the same bundle that came to us in Detroit twenty years ago. Surrender temporarily to be sure, but still ... We stood in a terminal, hoping it wasn’t. Trusting it wasn’t. Just another curve, another bend in the road that we had been traveling for twenty years together. Another adventure in an adventurous life together.
Maddie had been excited and nervous for a days, sometimes more one than the other. But the trip to the Columbus airport in Ohio was a quiet one. Mostly because she was sleeping, but also because we had said all we knew to say and couldn’t find words to calm the fears and ease the concerns any further than we had done. When we arrived and were in the parking garage, even before the terminal itself, Maddie found one of her friends who was also making the trip and she began to unfold, like a bud that had found some sun at last. By the time we got through the baggage check and were waiting for the trek to the security station, she was all smiles and ready to head off on her adventure - four months in Germany with students from her school in Ohio. Witt in Wittenberg it’s called. Wittenberg University goes back to Wittenberg Germany to stand in the footprints of Martin Luther.
She’s having a great time. Modern technology keeps us in touch these days. And yet, there was that feeling as she walked away from us to go behind barriers and through metal detectors, past guards with badges and guns, is this what I signed up for? This surrender, this helplessness? If I had known what all was involved in this parenting thing, in this family sharing of life and love and hopes and fears of all the years, if I had known would I have still said yes?
Luke.4:14-21 Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. 15 He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone. 16 When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17 and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: 18 "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, 19 to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." 20 And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21 Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."
Everyone says that this scripture is about Jesus. That this is the declaration of the kind of ministry he was going to pursue. The time in the wilderness, there at the beginning of Chapter four, was about deciding, wrestling, if you will, with the possibilities in front of him. Give the people what they want, that was within his power. Turn this stone into bread, feed them, get to them through their bellies, through their hungers. Feed them and they’ll follow you anywhere. No, he says, there is more to it than that. I want to feed the hungers they forgot they had. OK, then, show them strength. Flex your muscles, play the power card, the authority card. People are drawn to power, like bees and honey. Be strong and they’ll fall at your feet. No, he says, power is not of this world. Power belongs to God, we live in humility, we live vulnerable because that’s what living is, risking, letting go, surrendering. Hmm. Ok then, go for the sensation, it was whispered in his ear, the miracles, death-defying acts of derring-do. Folks go for that, give them a show, you’ll have to fight them off with a stick. No, he says, shaking off these thoughts as he was shaking off his raging hunger there in the wilderness. No, you can’t live by miracles, you can’t sustain a faith based on miracles. No, that won’t work.
What’s left? How will he run this traveling salvation show? I know what I’ll do, he thought. And he came back from the mountains, got a drink of water and slim jim and wandered into the synagogues and town centers. Word spread, Luke says, and the early reports were positive. Everyone spoke well of him. He taught something different, something new but old at the same time. He taught ancient truths in a new language, as one with authority. He spoke plainly, but told the stories, he offered a simple truth, but drew it in pictures that seemed familiar to everyone.
But what was that truth? What did he teach? It wasn’t until he strolled home that Luke tells us the essence of his message. He ambles into the synagogue where he sat as a boy in Sabbath school, reciting lines and repeating answers to old questions, and maybe asking an impertinent question now and again. They had gotten the news, his reputation preceded him. So he was invited to teach. Called to the front, he was handed the scroll, Isaiah, the biggest one, heaviest one. Was told to read. Luke says he looked for the bit he wanted. This wasn’t an accident, just happened to come in when the lectionary had the right text. No, he searched for it. He found the place, after an uncomfortable silence filled the room, and he began to read. The Spirit of the Lord is upon me. Well, of course it was. Luke told us that in verse fourteen! He was throwing off Spirit sparks wherever he walked. It surrounded him like a cloud, preceded him like headlights on bright. The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach.
Yeah, well, that Isaiah, he was quite a guy. He had quite a message, didn’t he. Jesus read it through. And they all sighed contentedly. Yeah, those were the days, they thought. When old Isaiah stood there declaring the Word of the Lord. People took notice, you better believe it. God was closer then. When people like Isaiah were around. Proclaiming. Setting free. Opening eyes. Saying God is close, real close, pay attention and see. Those were the days.
Jesus let the scroll roll up in his hand like a window blind and then handed it to the dazed attendant, and then he sat down. Not because he was done. That’s what it sounds like to us. But no, rabbis taught sitting down. You stand to read, out of respect for the Word. But then you sit to explain and expound and apply. You sat down and we had the word for lunch, we chewed it over and approached it from every perspective we could think of. The historical, what did he mean and what was going on at the time? The literary, what devices was he using to help them hear and see? Is this poetry or prose? The contextual, who were the listeners at the time, how did they hear these words. The theological, how does this tell us more about God according to thinkers over the years? They expected a lecture on the text when Jesus sat down.
Instead they got a nine word sermon. “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” That’s it. Can’t imagine they were thrilled by that. Of course this passage is about Jesus. He declared his ministry priorities, his core values. He trotted out his mission statement, laid it out for all to see and hear. In your hearing, he said. Which means that, yes, this is about Jesus, but it is also about you. It’s about me. We have signed up for something bigger than we knew. When we decided to be within hearing distance of Jesus we have entered into a whole new world. A whole new understanding of our own lives and the mission to which we have signed on. It’s about us as much as it is about Him. Because we claim to hear, we claim to follow. We may be afraid of the call, afraid we aren’t up to it, afraid it is more than we knew. But it is about us. It is about loving as he loved, loving enough to make a difference in the world. Not just in us, but in the world.
In your hearing, he says, meaning that we are now a part of it. A part of the kingdom breaking in, breaking down the walls that divide us, lifting up the broken among us, even when it breaks our hearts. This is taking place in our hearing. And becomes our speaking. And our living. And our hoping. And our loving.
I would like to believe I would have still said yes, even if I knew how difficult parenting is sometimes. How tenuous our hold on them really is. I still would have said yes, even if I knew it would tax me beyond my capabilities sometimes. Because the love is worth it. Maddie is half a world away, Rhys is finishing up his college career and will graduate in a few months, going on to who knows what. But I still would have said yes. You heard it from me.
Shalom,
Derek
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