Hearing is Healing

My daughter has been volunteering with at-risk youth in the city of Spokane for the past year. 

On a visit to celebrate her 21st birthday, I had the privilege of accompanying her to the Impact Center. She knew every kid in the facility and it was clear that they knew and loved her too.

At one point a new face appeared in the doorway and made her way to our table. The card game came to a stop as “Anne” began to pour her heart out to my daughter about some recent crises in her life.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little awkward with the situation. There were some pretty private things being shared with anyone and everyone within earshot. And a number of people were on hold waiting for the game to resume. But the end was worth waiting for.

After several minutes, a long pause enveloped us. Anne broke the silence. “Thank you, Elizabeth. You always listen to me.”

The message was clear: Anne experienced being loved by the simple act of being heard. Elizabeth didn’t offer advice or solutions. Just a listening ear tied to a heart that clearly cared.

It is only when we have truly heard someone that we can begin to love them the way they need to be loved. To offer the care they need and are asking for. Hearing is healing.

Whether it was a Samaritan woman at a well, a father with a dying child, or a woman suffering from an ongoing illness, Jesus never seemed to be in too much of a hurry to be present. He took the time to listen to and explore the stories of those He encountered.

In his Gospel, Mark describes a woman who suffered from an illness for more than a decade. She had spent everything she had to get well, but only got worse. Her one remaining hope was to encounter Jesus. Pushing her way through a large crowd, she managed to touch a piece of his tunic. The bleeding stopped immediately. She knew she was well.

Jesus felt it happen and stopped in his tracks before asking a seemingly ridiculous question: "Who touched me?" The disciples thought it was a joke. "Who touched you? In this crowd? A better question would be, "Who hasn't touched you?"

But Jesus was determined. Refusing to resume his journey until the person came forward. Eventually she did. And kneeling before him -- right in front of everyone -- she told her whole story. Don't miss those last five words.

Why did Jesus stop the procession and force everyone to wait -- including a distraught father whose daughter was in the process of dying? Because Jesus knew that the physical aspect of this woman's healing was only one part of her journey. Being heard -- and, therefore, loved -- was the other.

Who do you need to begin hearing in a new way today? Hearing is healing.

Listen with one intention -- to understand. Ask clarifying questions to make sure you heard them correctly. And then thank them for trusting you enough to share.

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Recommended Resource: Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, by Peter Scazzero.

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2KIXcGu

An Epic Tug-of-War

Why are some things so easy in theory but so hard in practice?

“I’m sorry.”

“I was wrong.”

“Please forgive me.”

I mean really... they are simple, everyday phrases in our native tongue. Yet sometimes it feels as though those particular words have a 400 pound anchor attached to them. As if the level of difficulty in drawing them from our hearts to our tongues is insurmountable. And an epic battle of tug-of-war rages inside of us -- a battle between doing what's right and self-preservation.

Maybe that’s dramatic, but it seems to be a pretty accurate description of my recent experience. 

I had been on edge for a few days, but couldn’t put my finger on the “why.” My normal jokes and quick quips were of the usual type but there was something different behind them. They cut more than they quipped. My wife was feeling it. I played it off. Maybe she was just feeling extra sensitive, I suggested. But I was noticing too. And then it seemed to subside.

A few days later, we were traveling out of state as a family. People were tired. There was tension in the car. I attempted a joke. It came out more like a jab. It was back. And she wasn’t laughing. I knew I needed to own it. Not just this it, but the other its before it. But it was hard.

You’d think that four and a half decades of opportunity and experience would make anything second nature — even apologizing. But that’s just it — it is second nature. With the first still alive and kicking.

Our first nature hasn’t changed much in 10,000 years. It’s the nature we inherited from Adam and Eve. They hid and blamed. We do the same. Because if there’s one thing we don’t want, it’s our sin out in the open.

“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate. Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths.

And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man and said to him, “Where are you?” And he said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself.” He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” The man said, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate.” Then the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this that you have done?” The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.”

Genesis 3:6-13

To paraphrase…

“I was exposed. I was afraid. So I hid.”

“The woman you gave me, it was her idea.”

“The devil made me do it.”

Have you ever wondered what might have happened if Adam and Eve had simply owned what they had done?

But that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Ownership. It’s not the words themselves that weigh 400 pounds. After all, we’ve seen kids throw them about with all the weight of a paper airplane. Some adults, too.

I believe it’s the owning of the pain and the damage it’s caused that increases the level of difficulty. It’s admitting the stuff that was — or still is — in our hearts that incarnates the power lifter on the other end of that rope. It’s a battle of the wills. A battle of two natures.

So how do we win? How can we persuade ourselves to do the really hard thing as we ask and trust God to give us the strength? Can I offer you another perspective? One that I hope will lead both of us to more victory in this area of our lives? 

What if we began to think of that 400 pound weight as a measure of potential power to be wielded rather than a personal price to be paid? What if we viewed the difficulty in dragging it from our heart to our mouth as a measure of the potential healing and relief that could come? Because it is.

The harder it is to face the thing you need to face, the more necessary it is to face it. Your desire to ignore what needs to be owned correlates directly with how much it needs to be owned. And the power of an “I’m sorry” is in direct relation to the difficulty in saying it.

I knew I needed to own my it and all the its before it, but hadn’t worked up the courage that evening. Embarrassing, I know. But I woke up the next morning resolved to drag the words to my lips. They would be spoken. No. Matter. What. 

Soon we would be in the car together. Alone. It would be a short drive to church on this Sunday morning, but I would get it done. As we made our way towards the church, the resistance inside felt as if portions of my organs were the ropes involved in this epic tug-of-war.  “It shouldn’t be this hard,” I thought. “Just say it,” I told myself. I was resolved, but the struggle was real. 

We turned into the parking lot. Time was running out. Had I really let it take this long? My heart pumped faster. And louder. The tension may have only been within me but it seemed as if it was enough to fill the whole car. “This is ridiculous,” I thought. And then determination overtook self preservation. “I’m sorry, Sweetie.” I paused and turned to look at her. “My words have been sharper than normal lately,” I continued. “I don’t know what’s causing it, but I know I’ve hurt you. And I’m sorry.”

Tears came. For both of us. She looked at me and simply said, “Thank you.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. They were words she needed to hear. Words her heart needed to receive. And words I needed to say. Healing was happening. Not because it was easy, but because it was hard.

I have a new determination going forward. When I think of the power of owning something that is hard to own, I’m going to begin picturing David standing before a fallen Goliath. That is the victory and legacy I want. Not that of the “warriors” who hid and refused to fight, but of the one who stepped forward. Because he knew there was a good God standing behind him and that His will was crystal clear.

That massive sword at Goliath’s side is the weapon I will yield. Much like the difficult thing I must do, it is full of potential power precisely because of it’s weight and the determination required to wield it. But, oh the joy and satisfaction in raising it overhead when the battle is over and victory is secured! When peace replaces palpitations.

Is there something you need to face today? Face it. Is there an it you need to own? Own it. 

Leave the legacy you want to leave.

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This post belongs to a series in the book of Genesis. To read previous posts in this series, use the links below or the archives to the left of this post.

The Image of God -- Genesis 1:27 -- an important reminder for all of us

Anatomy of a Fall -- Genesis 3:1 -- one of my favorite posts of all time  : )

Can You Believe It?

You and I live in the Information Age.  It may be more accurate to call it the Age of Information Overload.  Information is continuously at our fingertips.  Calling for our attention.  Bombarding our attention spans.  Unlimited access to ideas, statistics and images rides in our back pockets and purses, rarely out of reach.

The upsides are easy to spot.  You can learn more with less effort, find what you want in less time, and make fewer bad restaurant choices with just a few taps, swipes or key clicks.  

But the downsides are there too.  Suddenly, it seems, the truth is harder to nail down.  The facts depend on who you are listening to at the moment.  Everything has a spin.

Who is to be believed?  What can we believe?  And how much of it?  Whether it’s the direction of our country, police brutality, ISIS on the Mexican border, or Ebola ready to sweep through the nation, whose truth is the truth?  What are we to believe?  Who or what is believable?

While information overload may be unique to our time, deciding whom and what to believe is not.  Jesus told people some pretty unbelievable things and, in that moment, they, like us, had to decide what they should believe… what they would believe. 

In John 5:1-17 we find Jesus making his way through a very crowded Jerusalem.  A feast was being held and many God-fearing Jews had traveled to the city.  As he makes his way toward the temple, He passes by a pool known as the Pool of Bethesda.  

It’s a pair of pools actually, walled in with covered porches on four sides.  A roofed colonnade divides the two pools.  Popular belief states that at certain times an angel of the Lord would go down into the pool and stir the waters.  The tradition also holds that the first person to enter the pool after it was stirred would be healed of whatever infirmity he or she had.  As a result, the areas around the pools are filled with all manner of disabled people — blind, lame, and paralyzed (Jn 5:3) — waiting for the stirring of the water.  A multitude waiting for their opportunity to be well.

And then the focus narrows.  We go from a crowded city and a packed scene to a very tight view.  From a multitude of people to only two:  Jesus and one specific man. A man who had been sick a long time.  And waiting a long time.  Jesus sees and knows.  He approaches.  He initiates.  Because this is what Jesus does.  He finds us among a multitude but always approaches us as individuals.  His approach is always personal.  It’s the nature of relationship.

After acquiring the man’s attention, He asks:  “Do you want to be healed?”  It kind of makes you wonder what the man’s first thought was after hearing a question with so obvious an answer.  While we don’t have his thoughts, we do have his words:  “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.”

If in Jesus we see God as He really is — and we do —  then in the disabled man we see ourselves as we really are.  Sick from the effect of sin in our lives.  Longing to be well and whole, but lacking the means in and of ourselves.  Scratching and clawing our way to the waters, but always coming up short.

And it is into this that Jesus steps.  Initiating.  Asking.  Offering.  “Do you want to be healed?”  It seems like a silly question, but Jesus wastes neither words nor opportunities.  If He asks, there’s a reason.

“Do you want to be healed?”  It’s a valid question.  Do you?  Do I?  Really?  While our mind and mouth may answer “yes,” our hearts often betray a different reality.  We may be more like the lame man than we think — looking right past Jesus to all the reasons we can’t be healed, all the reasons restoration isn’t for us.  Our heart, where fear often resides, is well aware what healing might mean.  Healing might mean letting go.  Letting go of control.  Or anger.  Or bitterness.  Healing might mean beginning to trust again.  Trusting others again.  Trusting God again.  Healing involves change.  And change involves the unknown.  Pain and brokenness may be an enemy, but at least they are a known enemy.  And so we choose to remain where we are rather than trust God with the unknown.

It is precisely in that place right there ^^ that Jesus singles us out and asks again, “Do you want to be healed?”  Are you willing to trade pain and heartache for healing, even if it means trusting and some unknowns?

What kind of truth does Jesus desire to speak over you today?  What kind of healing is Jesus wanting to bring to you today?  What has He been waiting to speak over you and heal within you for a long time now?

The man in John 5 had been suffering this way for 38 years.  He never saw Jesus as one who could provide the healing that he so desperately sought.  And yet it was to this very man that Jesus speaks words with the power to heal: “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.”  

At the initial question, faith in Jesus’ ability to restore was optional, but at these words it was required.  In that moment, he had to decide.  Should he believe it?  Could he believe it?  He could.  He did.  For the first time in 38 years he stood.  On his own two feet.  Only 8 words earlier he had been crippled by the past and trapped in the present.  And now he stood.  Suddenly.  Suddenly freed from the chains of hopelessness.

What is your 38 year thing?  What is keeping you from being all that God has created you to be?  What is keeping you from believing that healing and restoration from the past are for you?  That every good thing that God has for His children applies to you as well?  What keeps you from believing that you are a beloved child of God upon whom the Father longs to shower his grace, mercy, forgiveness and kindness?  To reveal Himself as the Good Father and Shepherd that He really is?

It’s interesting…  A number of scholars believe that John shares the duration of the man’s disability for its symbolic value.  You see, 38 years is the length of time that the Hebrew people wandered in the desert, never entering the Promised Land.  On the edge of the river, but never crossing over.  A generation of people whose purpose and future were lost for one reason:  they failed to believe God.  Despite all the evidence to the contrary, they would not believe that God was willing and able to do all that He had promised.  They squandered their purpose and the promise.  38 years of pointless wandering — and a lifetime of regret.  

What’s your 38 year thing?

I’ll leave you with Jesus’ final words from this passage:  “My father is working until now, and I am working.”  

He’s not done with you yet.  Can you believe it? 

Where's My Miracle Part 2 - "A Greater Promise"

[An audio version of this blog post is also available - click here to listen]

And he said, “Where have you laid him?”
They said to him, “Lord, come and see.”

Jesus wept.

So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of
the blind man also have kept this man from dying?”
John 11:34-37

There’s something interesting about family. Ok, rephrase that. There are a lot of interesting things about family. But I’m thinking of one in particular. Have you ever noticed that we often show less courtesy to our own family members than we do to total strangers? Is it just that familiarity breeds contempt or is something else at work?

On a lighter note, I sometimes joke about my brother’s version of a family discount – he’ll sell me anything for just 20% more than he would sell it to a total stranger. Maybe he just knows what he can get out of me. In any event, it’s something we can both laugh about.

Jesus had family, too. A family that was very human – they even mocked his ministry in the beginning. Jesus’ earthly family was probably a lot like ours – some were blood relatives and some of them were just so close that they felt like family.

Well, if anyone was close enough to Jesus to be called family, it was a pair of sisters – Mary and Martha. Mary and Martha lived with their brother Lazarus in a town called Bethany. It’s likely that their home was a frequent destination for Jesus. Hospitality was huge in the Jewish world at this time and it appears that this family had a special place in the heart of Jesus.

If anyone was in good standing with God in the flesh, it was this family. And that is what makes the death of Lazarus, the brother, such a huge question mark. We don’t know what he died of, but we know he was sick for a few days – plenty of time for Jesus to get there and prevent his death.

The Gospels are filled with Jesus healing total strangers of all kinds of debilitating diseases – blindness, paralysis, leprosy, you name it. You’d think he would rush to the scene when a good friend like Lazarus is at deaths’ door.

But he doesn’t.

It’s not that he doesn’t know. He does. (John 11:3)

And it’s not that he doesn’t care. He does. (John 11:5)

Yet he seemingly does nothing. (John 11:6)

Lazarus is slipping. People are praying. His sisters are crying. And where is Jesus? About 2 days away. Waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for Lazarus to die.

So, when does Jesus show up? After Mary and Martha have been mourning their brothers’ death and, I imagine, questioning Jesus’ compassion. After four days of mourning and questioning, Jesus finally shows up.

It is a painful scene – one many of us are all too familiar with. Tears come in streams. The sound of weeping fills the house as family members arrive to cry, to console, and to comfort. Each knock at the door brings another familiar face and another wave of emotion. The death of Lazarus is recounted and re-lived time and again.

An elephant looms large in the room. It is the question everyone is asking, just not out loud: “Where was your friend, Jesus? Where was your miracle?”

Mary and Martha are in the middle of this scene when word arrives that Jesus is coming down the road.

We see the pain in Mary’s response: she has no response - at least not outwardly. She simply remains in the house, resigned. What pulsed through her heart at that moment? Anger? Doubt? Betrayal? All three?

And then there is Martha. She bolts out the door and charges down the road. When she meets Jesus, we see no embrace. Instead we see a bit of a rebuke, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” In other words, “Where were you?!? Where was our miracle?!?”

It’s a perplexing question, really. Jesus healed total strangers and yet allowed his friend to die. Jesus even healed people that didn’t ask for it. Yet when his closest friends sent for help, he left them waiting. He left them wondering. And then he left them mourning.

For the record, I’m relieved that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus when he was sick. Because it means that I am not the only follower of Christ who, like Mary and Martha, has watched and waited for Jesus to come, only to see someone I love take her last breath.

I’m grateful that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus. Because it tells me that Jesus knows and Jesus cares – even if he doesn’t show up in the way we would like him to.

And I’m glad that the tomb of Lazarus’ reeked of decomposition by the time Jesus showed up. Because it gives proof of a greater promise.

A greater promise? Yes, a greater promise! You see, all those people who were healed eventually died. The paralytics, the lame, the blind, the lepers. They all died. And even those few that Jesus raised from the dead during his earthly ministry all eventually died again.

But Lazarus was a believer. Jesus wanted to give Lazarus and his closest friends a taste of the promise he really came to make. Jesus never promised his followers a life of comfort here and now. He never promised a life free from suffering, pain or loss. He never even promised a long life.

No. He promised that he would overcome this world, this life. That after this life of struggle, disappointment and heartache, something greater awaits those who trust in Jesus – even when he seems two days away.

You see, Lazarus’ death was no accident. It was to display the glory of God and deepen the faith of all who witnessed what would come next: the raising of Lazarus from the dead.

Notice that when Jesus showed up and faced Martha on the road that day, he didn’t define himself as “the healer.” No. He said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” And he wasn’t talking about this life. This life, the here and now, is important, but the ultimate promise – the greater promise – is in the life to come. A greater life than we will ever know here.

Mary and Martha and Lazarus were followers of Christ. They were in. They were family. And right now, at this very moment, they are experiencing the promise. A greater promise. An eternal promise.

A life that requires no mourning. A life that never disappoints. But a life that comes only in our death. It is a giving up of the temporary in order to obtain the eternal. Ahh, yes. Now that sounds like the promise of Jesus.

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live,
and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”

John 11:25-26

Where's My Miracle?

And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well;
go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” Mark 5:34

The Gospel of Mark.

A man with too many demons to count. Tormented day and night, he lives among the tombs. Written off. Alone. Yet at the feet of Jesus he is made whole again.

A woman plagued by bleeding for more than 12 years. She is drained – physically, emotionally and financially. With a touch of Jesus’ cloak, she is healed.

A ruler of the synagogue whose only daughter is at death’s door pleads with Jesus. Word comes of her death, but for Jesus death is no different than sleep. He “wakes” the girl and gives her back to her family.

These are wonderful accounts from the life and ministry of Jesus. The kind that make me wish I could spend just one day watching Jesus move mountains. The kind that make me stand in awe of the God of the universe. Faith. Healing. Resurrection. Great stuff!

Yet if we are honest, these accounts can leave a weird aftertaste. The kind of aftertaste that begs the question, “Where is my miracle?” or “Where was my miracle?”

Where was my miracle when my mother battled cancer for three and a half years? For that matter, where was her miracle?

Where is my brother’s miracle as he battles cancer today?

Where was my aunt’s miracle as her husband battled Leukemia?

Where are parents’ miracles as they watch their child slip away?

Where was your miracle? Where?

But caution is in order here. Miracles are part of the story, but they are far from the whole story. Is it possible that the miracles are there to show us who Jesus is – God in the flesh – but that the other details show us what He came to do?

Jesus’ day was no different than our own. It was often some kind of personal need that brought people to Jesus: One of life’s fearful storms. Relentless demons. A debilitating disease. A loved one on the brink. These were the things that drove many to seek Him out. Yet Jesus always addressed a deeper need – a spiritual one.

Let’s take a look at the woman in these verses. She has secretly touched the hem of Jesus’ garment and has been healed. The story could have ended there: Jesus keeps walking. She goes home. Great story.

But it’s not the end. Rather, Jesus turns a secret healing mission into a public confession of faith. He moves from something good to something great. He takes a temporary physical fix and leverages it for permanent and eternal significance.

Her mission may be finished, but His is not.

Jesus stops the whole procession and calls out, “Who touched me?” She tries to hide, but she knows He knows. And He knows she knows He knows. So He asks again, looking her way this time, “Who touched me?” The compassion and gentleness of Christ compel her. She can hear it in His voice and see it in His eyes. She squeezes through the crowd, falls before him and “tells him the whole truth.”

And what is the result? She is saved. For eternity. Jesus makes it explicit. Although it is often translated “your faith has made you well,” we could just as easily translate it “your faith has saved you.” In this case, it meant both.

She could feel the physical healing in her body (v. 29) and now Jesus brings spiritual healing to her soul. He pronounces “shalom” or “peace” to her, a term with fantastic significance for the people of Israel. It meant that all was right between her and God – wholeness, unity, a restored relationship. Shalom. He calls her “daughter” – a child of God (something her disease had convinced her she wasn’t).

As the text says, the woman told Jesus the “whole truth.” I imagine “this whole truth” was quite a story. We don’t know where her story began or how long it lasted, but we know where it ended – at the feet of Jesus Christ – testifying of her faith and His redeeming work.

Jesus offers that same shalom, that same salvation to us. And He offers it the same way. The Apostle Paul tells us that “if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.”

It’s a promise. And the miracles of Jesus are here to show us that He will make good on that promise.

"The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save." Zeph 3:17