Category: Scripture ponderings

Wondering and Wandering to Christmas: Are You Feeling Lucky?

During my years of pastoral ministry, I had the privilege of working as assistant pastor to an extremely gifted man, Lester Clark. I learned so much from him. One of the things that shapes who I am and how I function can be directly attributed to Pastor Clark’s teaching. He didn’t believe in luck. He was so convinced on this matter that he didn’t call carry-in dinners Pot Lucks, he called them Pot Blessings.

Luck is defined as “a combination of circumstances, events, etc., operating by chance to bring good or ill to a person” (dictionary.com). Synonyms for luck include: happenstance, karma, and fortuitousness. For me the reason I don’t believe in luck is in the essence or definition: the idea of chance. Chance meeting. What are the chances of that happening?

If we believe in luck, then we would believe that it was fortuitous that Mary was betrothed to kind-hearted Joseph, a man who would go completely against the norm and go ahead and take her as his wife. We consider them quite fortunate for having shown up at the only inn with a stable still available and an inn keeper’s wife with a conscience when it came to sending a woman about to deliver out into the night. I don’t believe it was luck. I believe was God was working all things for good.

Another place where I don’t see luck, but rather see God is in the ways our paths cross at just the right time with people who touch and change our lives. When I was teaching classes in my last job, I would share with the class at the outset that I didn’t know why we were together, but that I completely believe that God put us there on purpose and for a purpose. I would refer to 1 Corinthians 12:18b: God has put each part just where he wants it (NLT).

Are you feeling lucky, or blessed? How do you look at and consider the circumstances of your life? Have you missed any divine appointments lately? Have you snarled about an inconvenience or interruption recently instead of considering God was working for your good or the good of someone around you? Consider changing your perspective and don’t leave anything to chance.

Wondering and Wandering to Christmas: Shhhhhh…

I will probably never be accused of being quiet. It was one of the things that really bothered my dad. He was always telling me to turn down my volume. He made a point to remind me to be quieter whenever I went out or to someone’s home. I laugh loud. I talk loud. I am just loud. So it was really hard for me to grasp what Paul was saying to the Thessalonians: 11 Make it your goal to live a quiet life (4:11, NLT). In terms of Myers-Briggs, I’m an ESFP. I have ADD. So I’m an extrovert, who thinks out loud, and acts impulsively. How am I supposed to live a quiet life?

Just as shalom, peace, is not merely the absence of conflict, quiet is more than just the absence of noise. In a small but insightful book, “Nurturing Silence in a Noisy Heart”, Dr. Wayne Oates points out that the noise of daily life can keep one from listening to, and attending to, the whispers which are truly important. Ken Gire picks up on the same theme in his book on the reflective life: “The reflective life is a life that is attentive, receptive, and responsive to what God is doing in us and around us (p. 11, The Reflective Life).”

Keeping those thoughts in mind, I can begin to believe that a quiet life is achievable for even me. It also reminds me of one of my favorite parts of the Christmas story. Having just delivered the baby Jesus, laying in a stable surrounded by shepherds, being serenaded by angels, Mary held it all as treasure and pondered them in her heart. Mary demonstrated the reflective and quiet life. Will we be attentive and reflective or busy and noisy? The quiet life awaits.

Day 9 Counting Blessings

I am thankful today that I am wired to see the positive, to find the blessing, to find the good in what others can only see as empty and bad.

Do you know that kind of person? They seem only able to see the negative, what’s missing and wrong. They’re the kind of people who always seem to be looking at the underneath side of things. I often wonder if they would know a blessing if it walke up and kissed them on the face. (At this point, all I can think of is Lucy of Peanuts: Eww, dog germs.)

Sigh. People like that drain me. Is that too honest? I think part of the reason that they do is that when I get around these Negative Neds and Nancys I fee responsible for trying to help them see the positive. I spend my time like some kind of NFL cheerleader on a mega dose of caffiene. It’s exhausting….and most often futile.

My life is F.U.L.L. of blessings. That awareness helped me when I was in jail. Even there I was able to see positive things. Granted, some days I had to look even harder, but I could always find something. The good thing is that I don’t need a whole lot. I’m very content with the mercy drops that fall around me, I don’t need the Showers of Blessing.

I guess that’s why Paul’s message to the Philippians has always resonated with me: Not that I was ever in need, for I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. (Phil. 4:11) This truth became real and foundational when I began to grasp more fully, and allowed the truth to get ahold of me, that “The Lord is my Shepherd, I have everything that I need.” Don’t have it? Don’t need it.

I count myself blessed. I am content in the blessings.

Book Review: Relentless Pursuit

book

Relentless Pursuit
God’s Love of Outsiders Including the Outsider in All of Us
Ken Gire
Bethany House Publishers, 2012
171 pages

Let me begin by telling on myself. I’m the kid that cried whenever Rudolph got to the Island of Misfit Toys. I have always felt like I was on the outside looking in. So to read a book addressed to outsiders was both validating and encouraging.

Way back when I was in high school creative writing, I was introduced to Thompson’s poem, The Hound of Heaven. I was a relatively new believer at the time, but I remember writing a piece that compared the poem to Psalm 139. I was impactful then, and Gire’s handling of the topic and material not only brought back the old thoughts, but gave me even greater insight to consider.

I was interested in reading and reviewing this book from the perspective of what it had to say to those outside faith. What ended up surprising me was how much it had to say to those on the inside with pieces and parts of themselves still outside God’s care and forgiveness.

I appreciated the Gire includes the stories of Thompson, C. S. Lewis, Eugene O’Neil and Dorothy Day, and Annie Lamott along with his own. I felt as I was reading and going briefly through the study questions at the end of each chapter that I was being invited to add my story to theirs. Another thing that he does very well is draw from scripture, both the Old and New Testaments. He is quite learned regarding so many topics, but he doesn’t come across in a expert way that would be offish to the reader, either as an insider or an outsider.

Two things that Gire mentions, somewhat in passing, really stood out to me. The first is a quote that Gire uses by Brene Brown from The Hustle for Worthiness stopped me completely. In it she says, “we stand outside of our story.” The entire quote seems to explain Gire’s understanding of what it means to be an outsider. The other is his reference to the Runaway Bunny. I could pay off most of my credit card debt if I had a dollar for every time I read that children’s classic. But I never made the connection with running away from God. It works though and I will remember it for a long time.

For me, the highpoint of the book was Gire’s handling of the topic of shame. I have read many books on this topic, from Bradshaw to Wilson, but there was something in Gire’s presentation that makes it less overwhelming. For example, he describes coming to terms with his ADD—yet another issue I could relate to. The way he presents his journey reminded me of another book read long ago, Making Friends With Your Shadow.

This is not a long book, but it is deep. It is inviting, but not simplistic. It is personal, but also relatable. I recommend it. It is set up with study questions, but I think it would take a very close and trusting group to deal honestly with this material—or hopefully they would be by the time they were done.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the author and/or publisher through the Bethany House Publishers blogging book review network. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR,Part 255.

Whisper My Name

We’re continuing in our study of Blackaby’s, ‘Experiencing God”, in our Sunday school class. I wasn’t scheduled to teach, but had begun the lesson since our teacher was 15min late. Happy to see him, because I had read the lesson as a student and not fully prepared to teach, I quickly slid out of the teachers seat, passing the reigns as I did.

At one point there was discussion about how as we move more deeply in our relationship with God, we become more accustomed to hearing his voice. The comment was made that the further away we are, the harder it is to hear His voice.

Right then I was physically present in that classroom, but taking a trip through a memory. I think I bought the ticket for the trip courtesy of another blogger. Sometime during this past week, someone asked what initially seemed like and inocuous question: what do you miss about summer? I can’t tell you why, but that simple question has stuck with me. I would find myself thinking about it almost daily. And it came to mind this morning during class.

When I was a child the rule was that you couldn’t be farther away than your parent’s voice. When your parent yelled your name, you better be within “shoutin’ distance” so you could be home before they closed the screen door. When I was in early grade school, that wasn’t hard because we weren’t allowed out of our fenced in back yard. The older we got, the further we would venture out–but never beyond their voice. I always thought a couple of my friends were super lucky. One mom had this special whistle that she did and it sure seemed like the wind carried that whistle forever. Another friend’s parents put a bell with a rope on their back porch and would ring it like a dinnerbell when it was time to come in. That bell was so loud, I thought it could be heard in the next county. But for me, there was no bell; there was no whistle. I had to listen hard, because punishment was swift and hard if I failed to hit the step before the door hit the frame.

In some ways, I think I liked it better when I grew a little older and the signal for coming in was when the streetlights came on. The problem with this new system was that I had to be responsible with looking up now and then to be sure the lights weren’t on yet. There was no external prompt, just me paying attention. It seemed with greater responsibility came greater consequences.

So of course, I began seeing the spiritaul parrallels as I sat in class this morning. It is very true the farther away we get, the harder it is to hear or distinguish God’s voice. I had trouble hearing my mother shout my name. God rarely shouts, so to hear Him we need to be tuned in relationally. The old hymn puts it well, “Prone to wander, Lord I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love.” The things on the periphery can seem so enticing, but they move us further and further away from Home.

As for streetlights, well, that reminds me a lot of my responsibility in this love relationship with God. I find it quite easy to become so obsorbed in what I am doing that I often miss the signals and signs. I don’t want to do that with God. It takes greater discipline and intentionality than what comes naturally for me. In my spiritual garden where the fruit is grown, I have to give special attention to the friut of self-control. I don’t want to be rigid, but I have to be more aware and disciplined. I can’t just pencil in the time for God. I have to live into the difficult “make every effort.”

The question then that still remains to be answered is what do I miss. I think I miss the simplicity of listening for God’s voice and not having to be so responsible and disciplined. I wonder if Adam and Eve missed that after they left the Garden. Oh, I know God continues to call us to deeper levels of awareness and maturity, but I’m not sure any of it is ever meant to replace the tenderness of hearing him whisper our name.

Book Review: Unstuck

Unstuck
Your Life. God’s Design. Real Change.
Arnie Cole + Michael Ross
Bethany House Publishers, 2012, 265 pages

I was looking forward to getting this book to read. Then I got it. My first impression was not good. The authors stated that their approach to getting unstuck was not found in a quick fix or formula, but they proceeded to describe steps for the process. The steps initially felt like a veiled formula. I decided to keep reading, and I’m glad I did. It became very clear that the authors were emphasizing process and relationship. I was also reminded that most of us don’t get stuck overnight, so we should realize that getting unstuck will indeed take time.

Each section of the book began with a list of concise goals that the authors intended to accomplish. I found this very helpful. The good news is that they did a good job of meeting their goals. Perhaps this is just a personal pet peeve of mine, but I have always disliked going to a workshop and having the leader identify goals, but never come close to meeting them. To the authors’ credit they demonstrated integrity in this issue.

One of my concerns at the outset was that the book, because of its foundation being based in a survey that was taken by the authors, was going be too statistically focused for my liking. What I found to the contrary was a nice balance between head oriented material referring to the study, and personal stories. This balance is such that it would result in the book appealing to either mindset. There is also a nice assortment of quotes to support their findings and their stories. Many of the names are recognizable, lending a sense of credibility and connection both to and beyond the material.

Another strength that I found in this book was that it was plainly written, without a lot of Christianeze or assumed common religious language. While this would be appealing to either unchurched folks, unbelievers, or those new to faith, there wasn’t a sense that the material was dumbed down, so it would still make sense and get the point across to believers who found themselves stuck in one way or another. With that in mind this book would be good for the new believer just starting their faith journey and wanting to understand the Word. It would be great from the perspective of preventative material so that they might be sparred some of the frustration of being potentially stuck in the future. There is still enough impact of the material for the stuck, static, and status quo believer.

The third part of the book puts the ball in the reader’s hand. It invites the reader to plot his/her own course toward a spiritual breakthrough. While the steps described sound like a formula, it is presented in such a personal way that the relational component came through very clearly. By including pages that resemble a workbook, the authors’ remove some of the natural tendency to put off doing the suggested work and reflection and instead create the opportunity for the reader to get right to work. It should probably also be noted that the book is formatted to be read (and digested) on a daily basis (each chapter gives a daily scripture reading and question). The chapters also close with a statement about what their research revealed and an encouraging nudge.

I think the thing that really sold me on the book was the way they seemed to tie everything up at the end. They have been emphasizing the importance of improving one’s relationship with God, especially as it is related to the Word. They share at the minimum we need to be reading and engaging the Word at least four times a week as the foundational component of getting and staying unstuck. They finish by describing the four critical elements of spiritual growth: knowledge; prayer, faith and action. I believe that these parallel the things that God himself requires of us, loving Him with all our heart (faith), soul (prayer), mind (knowledge) and strength (action) (see Deuteronomy 6:5). Anything that helps us understand and move deeper into relationship with Him is a good thing. This book does that in a very clear manner. I’m really glad I kept reading.

I recommend this book. Read it. Share it.

(I received a free copy of this book to review from Bethany House Publishers.)

Gentle Hands

I got my teeth cleaned this week. There are two reasons that encourage me to actually do this twice a year. First, I have insurance coverage, and since it’s paid for why waste it? The second is less “logical”. When I turned 50 (why does that seem so terribly long ago?) when I would see doctors, they would add this little phrase to their discussion: “Well, you know, you are the age…” When they talked I felt like I had just entered a time warp where everything was going to fall apart.

Confession time. I haven’t always been as committed to keeping my regularly scheduled appointments with the dentist. Cleaning hurt because I’m one of those people who naturally build up tartar, no matter how faithfully I brush and floss. I became so reluctant to go that my husband cancelled the insurance coverage. Now as is often the case, no sooner had he done this than I broke a tooth and needed a crown. That was an expensive boot to my behind. So I’m back to cleanings every six months.

So I show up for my appointment, and am quickly informed that the usual hygienist just had a baby and someone would be filling in today. I didn’t think much about it. I trusted that they would have someone competent there and just climbed into the chair. The woman was very chatty, discussing family, weather, and even politics. She was also painfully thorough at cleaning off my tartar. Scrape, scrape.and Wince, wince.

When the tooth torture and gum stabbing was done, the dentist came in to check the work and go over my teeth. I really like my dentist. The lead dentist was the one that was recommended when my tooth broke, but he was unavailable so I agreed to see his associate and I’m so glad I did. After a short discussion about my jaw pain she put on some gloves and began her exam.

Immediately I realized and experienced an enormous difference. The dentist’s touch was smooth and light, and quite gentle. She used the pick but it slid across my teeth causing no pain in the process. The difference I felt was amazing to me…and of course started me thinking spiritually.

Next Sunday is Mothers’ Day. Nelson and I are scheduled to sing for the worship service. I had recently heard a song on the radio while traveling that we had sung together in the past. The song was sung by a group called Truth, popular back in the 70’s and 80’s–I told you it was old. And obviously, it’s not very familiar since it’s not on youtube or godtube. (Insert disappointed sigh here.)

Anyway…the touch of the dentist hand reminded me of the master’s hands while the hygienist was more like me: well-intended, thorough, but just not as skilled or gentle. The dentist’s gentle touch reminded me of Jesus’ invitation to the people to come and learn from him for he was gentle and humble (Matthew 11). Gentle there doesn’t have anything to do with wimpy. No it’s strength under control. Just like the dentist. She had a weapon in her hands that could cause intense pain, but she wielded it as if it was really a feather in her hand.

I am drawn to feathers and a feathery touch. In this politically charged climate, I’m finding myself withdrawing from people because they seem more intent on throwing stones. I’m tired of all the wounding. There’s too much bludgeoning with the truth. Scripture says to always be ready to give an answer for the hope we have, and to do so with gentleness and respect. Yes, we need to speak the truth, but we’re to do so in love.

I needed my teeth clean. There was gunk there that needed scraped off. The hygienist did her job. I’m thankful. But it was the gentle hands of the dentist that really touched me–all the way to my heart. I guess we just need to remember that there really is more than one way to get the job done. Who will you gently touch for Jesus this week?

More About The Corner

Yesterday I posted about coming out of the corner. I mentioned something about wondering whether there was paint still on my nose because of the way it seemed some people were looking at me. This morning I was reading in Max Lucado’s book, “Fearless” and it came to me that perhaps it’s not paint but that I continue to carry the corner with me.

Can you imagine how ridiculous a three or four-year old would look trying to carry their corner of punishment with them? It would be hard enough to just carry the time out chair and still be able to function or enjoy. As I tried to imagine that I got the picture of Laugh In’s Edith Ann (google or check youtube if you’re too young to remember) trying to haul around her great big rocking chair. It just couldn’t be done. And we were never meant to.

Our six year old grandson has a behavior that just infuriates his mommy and Pepa too. I’ll confess until just now as I was thinking about it, I didn’t much care for it either. We can be right in the  middle of  a good scolding and he all of a sudden is ready to move. The infuriating part is that it appears that he is dismissing what we’re saying. It comes across as pretty disrespectful. I know that if I would have just thought about doing something like that a hand would have been flying in the direction of my smart mouth. But what if it wasn’t sassyness or disrespect? What if this child really has something and it’s preciousness is not to be squelched or denied? He lets go and moves on.

Reflecting on this, I was reminded of a comment made by a pastor I heard many years ago, “God has dumped our sins into the Sea of Forgetfulness and posted a no fishing sign.” It made such an impression on me that I wrote it in my Bible so I wouldn’t forget. Trouble is I should probably tattoo it on my hand instead because out of sight is really out of mind, and practice. Typically you’re not going to find me fishing unless my keys are hiding in the dark depths of my purse or I’ve returned to that
Sea and I’m trying to carry some long forgiven sin. There’s little more non-sensical than this.

In an effort to find more lasting relief and release, I went to the scripture to find this Sea of Forgetfulness and while there is no exact reference there are definitely verses that support the concept. Here’s some of what I found:
Micah 7:19 You will again have compassion on us; you will tread our sins underfoot and  hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea.
Isaiah 43:25 I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.
Psalm 25:7 Do not remember the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways; according to your love remember me, for you, Lord, are good.
Psalm 103:12 As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
Hebrews 8:12 For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more.
Hebrews 10:17 Then he adds: Their sins and lawless acts I will remember no more.

Others may see paint on me, but God doesn’t. He’s a lot more like my grandson–he’s ready to move on. 

As I wrote this reflection I was reminded of a song that our choir sang at church recently.  I found it one youtube:


I love this song.  I even love this arrangement.  When we sang at church some people complained because it just said the same over and over and over.  And it does.  But I love what it says.  Maybe they don’t get it because they haven’t been someplace that they never, ever, ever want to go back to.  Maybe because though they know they were bought with a price, they’ve never given much thought to the depth of that price–that it cost a life.  All I do know, is that I’m never going back.  No fishing in that putrid pool for me.  And like Asher, I’m moving on.

Prayer Patrol

As I began the year, I asked God to give me a word or theme that would be a guide for me as I journeyed through the days. The word that seemed to bubble up for me was prayer. Right on the heels of that I found and ended up teaching Will Davis, Jr.’s book, “Pray Big” at church. No sooner had I started that than I was asked to participate on a parachurch weekend team in the position of prayer. I like it when God makes things that plain.

This weekend is the time when I will be sequestered away and focused on prayer. I can barely describe how honored and humbled I feel to be given this opportunity. I have been part of the music ministry, given talks, and even been responsible for the spiritual direction of the weekend, but being asked to pray…wow.

During our last team meeting I was sharing with someone how blessed I feel to participate this way. I mean, when was the last time someone told you that all you had to do for the next three days is pray? Some might consider that boring or a daunting task. Not me.

Now the downside to this hit me last Sunday as I sat quietly in my pew at church preparing for the worship service to begin. I read over the list of prayer concerns within our congregation and was immediately aware of a heaviness in my heart. My eyes filled with tears as I realized that to really be engaged and involved in the ministry of prayer is be broken, broken and open to the needs and hurts of others and broken and open to the God of Heaven whose deepest desire is to meet those needs.

I have thought about that a lot this week. I have walked through the week with a new sensitivity and awareness. Prayers have been whispered immediately so as not to be forgotten. I gained a deeper connection with the way the Word describes how Jesus was moved with compassion as he looked out at the people of that day. Are you familiar with those passages? Two places in Matthew’s gospel, Matthew 9:36, and 14:14, describe how Jesus responded when he looked out over the crowd and saw their needs, both physical and spiritual. Later, in Luke 15, we find the story of the Prodigal Son, which could be called the Loving Father. In it we find that when the son finally comes to his senses and is walking home, practicing his apology along the way, he is swept off his feet by his father who deaf to the son’s words meets him “filled with compassion.”

I have often been put in the position of pray-er because of my former ministerial roles or my personality, spiritual and extrovert. It’s like being given the job of secretary in a group because you’re the only girl. I used to respond with a ready, “Have prayers will pray.” I never minded it, but I don’t think I really got the real deep meaning until recently. Being looked to as one who prays is an awesome responsibility.

I remember how this awareness came to a church I attended many years ago. Our beloved pastor was dying due to the ravages of cancer. It got to the place where the cure was worse than the disease and were put in the position of standing beside him as he finished his journey. Fortunately, our congregation had several retired or unassigned pastors, I was one, who were able to divide the responsibilities and make sure that there was no lapse in spiritual leadership. During this time, the prayer life of this congregation reached a new and deeper level, and the really amazing thing was how it went beyond the walls of our building. People in the community began to see how our lives and the life of the fellowship was being changed by prayer. We began to receive calls from people asking for prayer, people who had no ties to our body, but who were moved by the prayers of the people there.

I want to be that kind of person of prayer. I don’t want to be a “rent a pray-er” or someone who gets the job just because of a role or theological training. This broken feeling is heavy, but I don’t want to lose it–not because it makes me special, but because it forces me to go deeper in my relationship with God. There are moments when I just feel I can’t not pray. (Yes, I know that’s a double negative.) I’m praying as I walk through Walmart, at the bank, for the loud kid and frustrated parent at the Library. I pray for the car speeding by me that they will arrive safely and if they’re speeding because they’re trying to get to someone at a hospital (because no one should be in that big a hurry for any other reason…). I’m starting to see that anything and everything can be turned into prayer.

I feel ready for this weekend. That’s a little scary. I believe that there are going to be some tough spiritual battles this weekend. It won’t be a cakewalk. But the words spoken to Esther by her uncle have been ringing in my ears: you have been chosen for such a time as this.

Have you ever wondered what you have been chosen for? What will God accomplish through you this weekend? Do you believe that he wants to be that intentional in your life? Will you be open to it?

Way to Go Lady!

There are some biblical characters that I really enjoy!  The Syrophonecian woman is one of them.  (See Mark 7:24-31)  Jesus has just come through what seems to be a highly irritating exchange with the Pharisees and scribes.  Their hardness and heartless adherance to the traditions of the elders (This always reminds me of the nameless “they” in “they say”) along with the slowness of his own disciples left him drained and needing some down time.  So he goes to find some rest at someone’s home.  But there is no rest to be had.

I find it  quite interesting how a pagan woman got to where Jesus was seeking to hide.  The disciples have been so good at shooing away people and children, but somehow, she gets through.  According to the Greek she doesn’t just ask Jesus a question, she makes her request over and over.  It sounds somewhat annoying. So I guess in part, Jesus caustic response might be more understandable given his exhaustion and her persistance. 

A cursory reading of the story leaves wondering some things.  In addition to wondering how she got in: does she expect Jesus to come with her?  Had she heard about how Jesus seemed to provide a magical “remote” healing of the Centurian’s daughter?  If not, why didn’t she bring the girl with her?  How sick or what kind of demon possession did she have?  What was her name?  These are the questions that go through my mind at first glance.  Then I peel back a few layers and I really wonder, why was Jesus so sarcastic with her?  Didn’t he just get done rale against the Pharisees and their blind following of tradition?  Wasn’t Jesus’ comment just another form of Greek/Pagan bashing that would support their pharisaical mindset?

The only way I can read this story and make Jesus’ behavior make any sense is to see it as a possible teaching moment for those who were listening.  I think this way based on Jesus’ openness to healing those outside the Jewish faith.  He didn’t hesitate to heal the Centurians child, or Legion.  In John 4, it states that Jesus “HAD” to go through Sammaria, which resulted in his encounter with the woman at the well, when clearly that wasn’t the best way to travel.  So it would make no sense that all of a sudden Jesus had nothing to offer this woman.

I wrote the previous parts to this post last week.  Today we moved on in our study of Mark and covered Mark 8:1-21.  The beginning portion of this chapter is Mark’s report of the feeding of the 4000.  There is a lot of discussion regarding this second miracle.  Some commentators wonder if it’s just a repeat, an error, that there really wasn’t a second separate feeding.  Many feel that there were significant differences which possibly point to not only a second feeding, but a feeding that focused on Gentiles.  Those who support this thinking point to the number of loaves and baskets of fragments, seven, because seven and seventy are important numbers to the Gentiles. Also the fact that Jesus didn’t have to worry about the crowd pressing him to be a leader who would overthrow the Romans–the Gentiles didn’t have as big a beef as the Jews in this regard.  But the thing that stuck out most clearly to me was just the placement of the miracle: on the heels of his encounter with the Syrophoenician woman.

Could it be that Jesus did go to this woman’s home or region?  Could it be that her faith prompted his trip and the resulting three day teaching?  This miracle doesn’t appear to be the teaching opportunity for the disciples that the feeding of the five thousand was.  Here Jesus is prompted to feed these people out of sheer compassion, concern that if he sent them home they faint along the way.  In the first miracle the remnants that the disciples collected were described as small pieces, or crumbs, while here the leftovers are much larger pieces and they filled large baskets not the beggers baskets Mark describes in the sixth chapter.

I know it’s mere speculation on my part that there is any connection, but how many other things do we believe that are conjecture or interpretation?  Who’s to say it didn’t happen this way?  I like thinking about what a difference this woman could have made with her faith–and it wasn’t just about bread.  I imagine there was great joy as she shared her story.  I believe that others came to Jesus with a spiritual hunger that far outweighed their need for bread.  And if it did happen that way–I think they were fed to over-full.

When I think of this woman’s faith, I’m humbled and challenged.  Do I feel entitled to something big?  Will I accept the small miracles of daily grace that come my way?  How faithful am I about telling my story?  Do others see Jesus in me?  I want to feel close enough in my relationship with God that what other might see is imputance, God will interpret as holy boldness. 

There’s just so much to glean from this story.  But what I hear myself doing the loudest is cheering her on: Way to go girl!