Found in Translation

Chewing on this...

I was thinking today about the proper translation of the Word of God.  The Bible has been translated into hundreds of languages, over hundreds of years, and for each translation to be as accurate as possible, each version has to be copied from the original languages in which it was written - Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek.  This means we cannot be satisfied with a Bible that has been translated from Greek to Latin to Italian to German to English...and so forth.  That is a grave risk.  Like a game of telephone, the Great Message of all messages would easily be lost in translation.  No, I need a Bible that's been translated straight from the original to the English...no other languages in between.   

Now hang with me.  If this is true with the written Word of God...how much MORE true is this with the Living Word, Christ Himself?

Just as the Bible in my hands is a written copy of an original Hebrew/Aramaic/Greek Bible from days of old, so my LIFE is to be a proper translation of the original Living Word, Jesus Christ.  So often we imitate one Christian or another, yet we fail to imitate Christ.  We are debating over "who follows Peter and who follows Paul," when the cry of the Scriptures is follow Christ!  I've ministered in loads of churches and youth ministries.  Probably my greatest frustration in church ministry has come from realizing how much people have fallen in love with their pastors, and how little they actually know and love Jesus.  Hello...He's the point!!!

Today Jesus challenged me with this:  Is my life a proper translation of the original Living Word?  Am I presenting Him in proper context?  Am I giving an accurate understanding of who He truly is through my life, in both word and deed?  Do people know what Jesus is really like because of me, or is He lost in the translation of my life?

My challenge today from Jesus was to measure my life against the Original.  He is both my Origin and my Destination, yet way too many times I find myself using other "copies" as a measuring rod.  But Jesus is the standard.  He is the canon against which my life must be weighed.  Am I living like Jesus?  This is the goal and the purpose of my life.

So tonight I am praying that Jesus will be found in my translation.  I am praying that people will know the truth about who He really is because I represent Him accurately, with love, grace and truth.  God, let Your Word that is written on my heart be purely reflected in my life.  You are the point.  My eyes are on You.

Eye on the Prize, Tara.  Eye on the Prize. 

"Looking from all that will distract, to JESUS, who is the Author and Finisher of our faith..."

Uncovered

Brace yourself, this is about to be awkward (you're welcome)...

I heard yet another hilarious story this week about my 4 year old nephew Jaden.  He was (supposed to be) taking a nap, when my sister went in to check on him.  Did she find him sleeping sound, snuggled up in his big-boy bed?  Of course not.  Instead, she walked in to find Jaden, buck naked, riding an enormous stuffed lion on top of his bed...like a cowboy.  Ahh, good innocent fun for the toddler.

I was retelling this story to my friend Becky, and I was struck with a thought I probably should've kept to myself...but, being the Queen of Awkward, I carried on :)  "What it is that makes kids love playing around naked so much?  I mean, I highly doubt you're ever going to walk in on an adult doing this...riding a stuffed animal while naked.  What if we did this just because we felt like it, too?  What's the difference between them and us?"

Becky's reply?  "I was naked, so I hid."

My reply? "Uh huh huh huh huh huhhhhhh...." 

Sucker-punch, Szaro.

I know this.  I've heard it a million times - the image of nakedness in the garden of Eden; of innocence lost, of shame and guilt entering the door of our souls through sin.  I get it; at least, I mentally get it.  But I guess I'm still finding daily that I have to ask God to restore me, again, today...and then again, tomorrow...and again, the next day.  I'm finding that each day something within me feels the need to retreat, to run and hide from Him among the trees so that the worst of me will not be seen.  But still, He calls me; He dares me to trust Him with it all - to come, uncovered before the One with whom I am always safe. 

I love the story of David in 2 Samuel 6 when he dances through the streets in praise.  The writer mentions that he stripped off his outer garment, which in a sense, means the psalmist got naked.  I know, we can't all just strip down and call it worship every day.  This would be quite distracting, of course, and in many cases, very, very disturbing.  And I'm probably not going to be endorsing nude devos any time soon, but there is still that part of me that wants to be more like Jaden.  I want to be like that little boy who playfully and innocently strips off anything that gets in the way of his joy. 

So tonight, maybe because I'm awkward...or maybe because I'm childlike?...I'm praying that God grant me the heart of this little naked cowboy, that I would approach Him with raw authenticity, with playful affection, and naked honesty. 

Ride on Little J :)

Why I Love Benjamin Linus

Paging Dr. Linus...

I'm getting a little weary of defending my special interest in the - evil?/good?/evil?/good? - character of Dr. Benjamin Linus on Lost.  So, once and for all, let me explain my affection.

Beside the fact that the Emmy-Award winning Michael Emerson is brilliant beyond comparison in his portrayal of Linus, there are more personal reasons why I relate to this oxymoron of a character.  We never know what to do with Ben.  Is he evil?  Is he good?  We see continual glimpses of both. 

And I see continual glimpses of both in me.

Ben is a liar.  He is selfish.  He loves the island more than anything else; or maybe, the power of the island.  He longs for power, influence, and control.  When someone steps in to challenge his 'territory' he is riddled with defenses.  The idea of submitting his authority over to someone else is grueling.  Here is a man who watches his own daughter die, for whatever reason - selfishness, love of the island over her - or maybe, just a simple miscalculation of the coming events.  He is a murderer, deceiver, manipulator, and anyone who gets in the way of his ideas or plans is a potential casualty of war.

It makes sense to hate Benjamin Linus.

It also makes sense to hate the Apostle Paul (who murdered early Christians out of his love for the Law).  It makes sense to hate King David (who turned his attention elsewhere when he found out his own daughter had been raped).  It makes sense to hate me.  I'm drenched in the allure of evil - after all, "the human heart is wicked above all else.  Who can know it?" 

If we want to point fingers, really point fingers, it "makes sense" in many minds to hate God Himself.  What kind of God, what kind of loving Father would watch His own Son die for the love the world?  I think it is the kind of God that loves, unconditionally, even the least of these.  Even the Benjamin Linuses of the world...even the Tara Gentrys.  It is the kind of God who is "compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.  He will not always accuse, nor will He harbor His anger forever.  He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities..." (Psalm 103). 

I love Benjamin Linus, because week after week, we have to forgive him - again and again and again.  If he is to be redeemed; if there is to be more for Dr. Linus, then he must be given yet another second chance through forgiveness and grace.  I love Ben because, more often than not, I am Ben.  I'm riddled with inconsistencies, selfishness, falling short of the glory of God.  Yet despite my failures, God loves me and continues to believe, "right up to the last moment," the best in me. 

I have no idea where this show is going.  No clue what their intention is, but with all the questions and answers and more questions, I find myself enjoying that hour every week where God is speaking to me about humanity and brokenness, about redemption and restoration.  I'm sitting by a lighthouse with Jack, wounded and aching, as I stare at an ocean trying to understand the goodness of God in my broken life.  I'm standing in faith with Hurley, believing the Jacob that no one else can see.  I'm guilty with Ben, knowing I do not deserve to be forgiven, but finding in grace, I am redeemed. 

So there...  I love Ben.  Deal with it :)

Because He Loves...

John 11 tells the following story: "Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha.  This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.  So the sisters sent word to Jesus, "Lord, the one you love is sick."  When he heard this, Jesus said, "This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it."  Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.  Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days."

Jesus loved them...so He didn't come to them.

OW...

Sometimes, because Jesus loves us, He doesn't come.  He holds back.  He waits, on purpose, knowing His waiting may mean a death. 

Sometimes death is good.  Sometimes death is needed, that there may be life...new life.  Greater life. 

So Jesus doesn't always come.  He allows for pain, even death, knowing that even this will not be the end for us.  There will be life after this, and His coming too soon will eliminate the opportunity to know Him more and become more like Him.

God, grace me with the courage to trust You, even in death; to trust You when You come running to my rescue...and when You don't.  Thank You for loving me enough to wait...

Here I Go, Apologizing Again

Found myself having to apologize on behalf of all Christians again today.  This seems to happen a lot at Teen Challenge.  I get a little tired of it, honestly - wishing Christians didn't say so many stupid things and treat people so unlike Christ.  Still, I'm humbled through self-inspection every time, knowing there are many ways in which I, too, contribute to the misrepresentation of Jesus in our world. 

There is one particular student right now that is especially challening me.  She is honest, authentic and raw - and I adore her for it.  She refuses to fake it.  She admits she does not believe in God - that sometimes she wants to, other times not, but that she is just too bitter and resentful to open up to even the idea of Him at this point in her life.  I wait for that wall to come tumbling down, yet every day, every week, we baby-step toward freedom, as I search for glimmers of hope that her heart may be opening to Jesus.

I asked her today to help me understand where this wall was coming from.  What was the source of this bitterness and resentment?  She gave many reasons that I personally could relate to all too well - loads of times the Church has disappointed her and common questions about hell, the goodness of God, etc.  But today I was punched in the heart by a teenager who wants nothing to do with God or Church or Christians for one main reason.  She put it this way:

"Well, they say that Christians are supposed to show you what God is like, and if Christians are what God is like, then I'm just not interested in that God.  And I know, Christians aren't "perfect," either, but...if Christians aren't like Jesus, then who will be?  Atheists?"

What more could I say?  I feel the same way.  I struggle with the exact same frustrations as a girl who wants nothing to do with God, the Church or Christians, because it's true... we are such a far cry from who Jesus really is.  I felt shamed into silence for a moment, because she was right.  I know she's right, and I ache because she's right.  I ache because I can't make other Christians get it right every time.  I ache because I can't make myself get it right every time.  And in moments like this, desperately hoping to bring light to her darkness, I realize God is still desperately hoping to bring light into mine.  To awaken me to the oxymorons of the Christian culture - the hypocrisies and parades that keep putting on the wrong show - our show, not His. 

I'm thankful for this student who challenges me to be more like Jesus.  Unknowingly, she awakens me more to Him each day, and I pray that slowly, through counseling sessions and conversations, through jokes and tears, through living it out one day at a time, she will let the walls crumble.  I'm privileged to walk this road with her, to ask these questions that we both share, to be equally challenged by one another as we walk into the Truth.

I saw something today.  An agreement, an understanding that we get each other.  That although she's not "there yet" in embracing Christ, she's willing to talk and to listen, and so am I.  We'll say it's ok that we don't have all the answers, that we're frustrated with the way things are and we long for more.  I'm finding that the honesty of an "I don't know" and a "Me too" go a long way.  Maybe people are not so hungry for our answers as they are hungry for our honesty.  During one of my many apologies on behalf of all Christianity today, I think a light turned on.  A dim light, perhaps, but a light nonetheless.  And, "though we see dimly, we will see Him face to face..." 

Bring her - bring me, Jesus - face to face with You. 

Help us to look away from all that will distract, to Jesus.

Make me more like You...

Awakenings...

A while back I was on my way to a birthday party, when the flow of traffic was interrupted by an unknown source.  I couldn't see far enough ahead to figure it out, and realizing I was going to be late, I started to get frustrated, muttering a few rude comments under my breath.  I was quickly silenced when I realized this was not meaningless traffic or "stupid Indiana drivers" as I had originally thought... it was a funeral procession.  Convicted, I whispered, "God, I'm so sorry.  Please comfort them." 

I was struck by the irony.  Here I was on my way to a birthday celebration, only to be interrupted by a funeral procession.  I wondered how many times funeral processions are passing right in front of me, and I miss them - men, women and children who are suffering, lost, broken, "dead mean walking," but I'm too busy to notice.  I have places to go, people to see, and my own life to celebrate.  I began to think about Jesus and what He would do in situations like these...

Jesus had a knack for turning funerals into birthday parties.

One of my favorite stories in the Bible (yeah, I know, I say that about all of them) is found in Mark 5.  Jesus is surrounded by crowds of people, healing their sicknesses and restoring life, when a man, a father named Jairus, shows up saying that his daughter is at death's door.  He asks Jesus to come with him, believing that He alone can save her. 

Jesus leaves the entire crowd for this one, dying child. 

On the way, He is interrupted by the woman we know as the one with the "issue of blood."  The moment Jesus spends with her turns out to be the death of Jairus' daughter.  Jairus' heart sinks, while those around him moan, "It's too late.  Why bother Jesus any more?"  But Jesus has plenty of life to give.  "Don't be afraid," He replies.  "Only believe."

Jesus and Jairus make their way to the house where the young girl lies dead in her bed.  Friends and loved ones are already mourning there, and they laugh at Jesus for suggesting He is able to restore this child to life.  But Jesus is not intimidated by the laughter of men.  He moves toward this girl and speaks life to her: "Talitha, koum," which means, "Little girl, arise."  

It's interesting that Jesus chose these words.  Mark makes a point to mention that she is 12 years old, the age at which a girl would be considered a woman.  Still, Jesus intentionally refers to her as a child, and in response, this "Talitha" arises to new life.  That word "arise" in greek literally means "to be roused from sleep, from sitting, from lying,  from disease, death, obscurity, inactivity, ruins, or non-existence; to rise up [again]."

Many of us are simply enduring life from one deathbed or another.  We lay around in beds of insecurity, intimidation, inactivity and loss.  In childlike faith, the voice of Life calls us to rise - to be awakened, to hear and respond in trust and live.  We tend to believe less as we grow up, but in God's mixed-up Kingdom, He calls us to believe more - to believe the impossible, the irrational, the inconceivable - believe and live.   

On this day of "Talitha, koum," Jesus walked into a funeral and turned it into a birthday.  He is present, now, to do the same with us.  So, Talitha Koum, boys and girls... arise.

Oh...and Happy Birthday.

She Said, "I Love You"

I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it. Every time my grandma doesn't remember me, it feels like the first time all over again. For some reason I keep thinking, "Maybe this time she'll recognize me, maybe she'll remember more." But every time she gives me that look, I realize I'm a stranger again. I immediately feel vulnerable, broken, like I want to run and hide from her - like I'm not sure I can keep loving like this. I feel like it's just too sad, it hurts too much, and honestly...like it would be easier to just forget her, too.

But how can I forget? How can I withdraw my love, simply because it hurts? I never imagined I'd see her like this...but I love her and to me, she's unforgettable.

I wonder how often Jesus feels that way about me...

Being with Grandma - it may be the closest I'll ever come to understanding how Jesus felt when He was "moved with compassion" for people. Not that I've never felt compassion before, but this one hits close to home. It very well may be the most uncomfortable, vulnerable, personally-painful, I'd-rather-avoid-it-if-I-could suffering I've ever been invited to step into. I feel the "moved with compassion" churning inside when I'm with my Grandma. Comfort would tell me to avoid it, ignore it, walk away and let others handle it.

But she is mine. I love her. I painfully love her. Though everything inside of me wants to hide and cry, somehow from the inside out I am moved toward her, not away. My hands want to touch her, my arms want to hold her, my smile wants to affect her, my eyes want to remind her that whether she 'knows me' or not, she is loved. She matters. She is remembered.

Thank God for the grace to move toward the uncomfortable brokenness of true communion. Walking in it, I'm not just finding her...I'm finding Him.

This week with Grandma, she didn't remember again. Not only did she not recognize me, but I think for the first time, the name "Tara" was no longer familiar. But Grandma, she's still mine. I keep smiling and eventually, she smiles too. I keep touching her, and eventually she reaches for me, too.

This week she gave me yet another favorite memory. I asked her if she wanted some water. She looked at me intently and said, "Are you an angel?" I laughed and repeated, "Do you want some water?" She replied, "Oh, ok, you're just a friend." Grandma has always called me her "Angel"...maybe she does remember a bit. Sitting together I rubbed her arm and smiled as she just stared, searching my face. Her eyes lit up like she had a revelation:

"I love you," she said.

Grandma forgot me, but she remembered love. I suppose we can forget many things in life, even those most important to us. But love is unforgettable. Love is inescapable. Love will never return void. So let not our love grow cold, let it not evaporate in the ache or be hidden in the darkness. Embrace the discomfort, move forward in compassion...love well.