a picture worth 4 words

a few years ago our church ordered the updated AWANA program materials, which was a blessing and a loss for me, as a large part of my work had now been outsourced. every wednesday, i would show up early in order to get everything organized and set up and photocopied and labeled.  the most time-consuming part, but an intriguing diversion, was to come up with pictures for each week's Bible story.  for some reason, in another classroom in that wing are 2 massive wooden shelves or drawers stuffed with what appears to be every single Bible picture card that any baptist ever drew.  the oldest copyright date i've located predates the Cold War. 

i loved rifling through so many creative expressions of these scenes of David or Nebuchadnezzar or John the Baptist or Moses.  while i don't know what Moses looked like, i'm pretty sure he wasn't white, and i'm very sure he didn't have google eyes.

while i don't have to fight anymore to find an appropriate picture, in that mess of cardstock i actually took my favorite one and now keep it in our Cubbies room with our flashy new google-eyed picture cards.  it was such an inspiration to me, and even now i wonder at it. it's an artist's conception of one of my favorite Bible stories, even though there is no action, no drama, no loud noises or excitement at all.  it's two people, talking.  that's it.

but one of those people is Nicodemus. and the other person is Jesus. 

i identify strongly with Nicodemus on many levels.  i can more than imagine- i can remember- what he was thinking that night.  he was creeping in the shadows to Jesus's house because he would die of shame if anyone knew that someone raised in the church, who'd made a profession of faith and been baptized at 12, who read her NIV Bible every day and knew all the trivia answers… if someone like that still didn't know the basics of that religion?  if they struggled with anger, depression, forgiveness, trust?  if they could quote tons of verses but couldn't life them out? if they'd rather die than go one more day without peace or hope or something bigger than myse- i mean, himself- to live for? oh wait.  that wasn't Nicodemus- that really was me… but Jesus sat down that night and talked to him anyway. no sneer of contempt.  no raised eyebrow or turned up nose. He said, "sure. come on in- let's find a quiet place to chat."

and then that pasty-white, brown-haired, blue-eyed Jesus told Nicodemus the same incredible story that the google-eyed Jesus helped me tell the Cubbies last week. although the editors cleaned it up a bit, the picture card is pretty clear about what's happening to Jesus on that cross. to the left is a giant red "C" with 4 words underneath: "…Christ died for us." 

the 1986 version depicts that proud Pharisee sitting in the dark, hoping none of the members of his Sanhedrin facebook group tags him in a picture with a "heretic" like Jesus. he's aware of what hangs in the balance, though, and he knows it's worth risking a visit to this man who somehow speaks about God like He's real, and close, and personal, and powerful, and wise, and every bit as incredible as the Torah says He is. Nicodemus wants that God- at the very least, he wants to seriously look into it.  he's not ready to ditch the prestigious job, and he can't quite figure out how someone can be "born again," but he also knows there's something different about Jesus.

as i look into options, here and abroad, for sharing that same Good News on a longer-term basis, i've made sheets for each of the Cubbies to take home and share their story or verse with family and friends each week.  i bribed them with hand stamps, but hey…

holding myself accountable to that goal, i was given the opportunity to share the Gospel with a few people myself. a couple of them responded like Nicodemus's Sanhedrin friends did, complete with name-calling, self-righteousness and complete rejection (not unexpected, but my soul hurts for them anyway).  but one responded like Nicodemus. he can't quite let go of the Hinduism he grew up with, but he knows there's something different about Jesus.  he wants a God who listens to prayers, who cares about his burdens, who doesn't require penance for every single individual sin.  he wants to know what's going to happen to him after his life here ends. he wants justice for the evil he sees everywhere humans go. 

the best part is that Jesus gave Nicodemus 4 other words: "For God so loved…"  God loves the self-righteous as much as He loves the Hindu.  which is good, because otherwise i would have been chucked out on my ear. Jesus continued to say, "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life."  that's a promise. a mighty big one, at that.

and it's one that everyone needs to hear, because that promise is to them also.  

there's about a 0% chance that you do not know someone who needs to be told those four words "for God so loved."  someone you know is struggling with doubts and concerns and needs to hear, "Christ died for us."  you may or may not get a response.  that response may or may not be positive.  but just a few words can change a life.  Nicodemus was changed, and he makes an appearance at Jesus' cross with other believers.  i was changed, and i showed up at the cross, too- just a few thousand years later.  you were changed, or you never would have read this far.  

celebrate that.  celebrate the change in your life, because it's mind-blowingly awesome what God did for you. 

then find your "nicodemus" and have a chat with them.  it can all start with a few words.

a beautiful nightmare

i guess the vacation got to my head or something.   we're a few weeks past new year's and a whole new round of birthdays is starting, both of which tend to make us think of newness, happiness, beginnings, life and all manner of fun and frivolity.

we had spend a month learning about Noah and that section's theme of God keeping His promises.  it was fantastic, and we all had a blast.  if the kids spent any time at all thinking about the hundreds or thousands of people who were washed away by the rising waters, that all stopped the second i mentioned a 600-year-old guy building a boat, or doing anything, really. that alone is fairly distracting; when you add the chaotic zoological menagerie Noah and his family catered to for that entire year, i should be grateful they even retained "God Keeps His Promises."  we galloped like horses, stomped like elephants, roared like lions and tigers and bears, oh my- we did it all.  we sang "Arky, Arky" (which every child needs to know.  is this a "Northerner" thing?!?  only 2 adults i polled from church knew the song).  we had so much fun wondering if Noah had freshwater fishbowls on the ark, that we didn't really bring up the homes and pets and people and wildlife that didn't make it.

i was still a thinking a week behind when i waltzed into church this afternoon to prepare some coloring pages for all 17,000 children, flipped open the manual and saw the story for this week.

oh goodie.

instead of sticking with Abraham, we were jumping ahead a few centuries, right into Egypt, a land filled with slaves and sin, and about to be filled with frogs, bugs, brimstone and death.

i chose different coloring pages- happy pages- to photocopy.

i got all the story picture cards in order.

i wondered for 90 minutes how on earth to tell the story without causing too much trauma. this story didn't have any 600 year old people OR giant boats. 

we were doing mostly alright for almost half the time. 

entire river turning into blood? eww, but we moved on.

frogs? icky, but not too bad.

bugs? eh, not a problem.

boils? gross, but 4 year olds can't quite fathom it, so it passed right over their heads.

then all the fluffy cute animals died. bam. the Egyptians had lost their water supply, now they'd lost their meat, too. the kids didn't get that, either.  so i told them the truth: every time you eat a burger, someone lost a cow for that deliciousness.  no more burgers for the Egyptians.

thunder and hailstorms. locusts. darkness. three days of a darkness so dark you could feel it.

each time, Moses and Aaron went to Pharaoh and asked him to let God's people go.  
each time, Pharaoh said, "No."

every. blasted. time.

the kids had sobered enough by this point to hear the whole deal with Plague #10. 

about the fluffy white sheepie. about killing it.  about painting the door frame with its blood.  i am SO GLAD we no longer live in a culture where this wouldn't have sounded altogether creepy and gross and sad. 

but it is.  it's creepy AND gross AND sad.

it's to save the firstborns.

God was going to save the firstborn Israelites (all of them, really).  the firstborn Egyptians weren't so lucky.

the kids didn't really understand the word "firstborn."  so i told them the truth.  the oldest boy in every family.

bam.

there were a few firstborn sons in the classroom. at least half the class had older brothers.  there were tears- legit, wet, crocodile tears- welling up in those eyes.  one child covered his face with his hands and fell forward to hide his reaction to the idea of his older brother dying.

i couldn't help feeling it, too.  i've got a brother.  my sister has a firstborn kid that i saw last week and played in the snow with and worked puzzles with.

we ended the night with awards and badges for all the verses they've said, so i think they recovered. possibly better than i did.

…

this year instead of returning with my friends to India, i have remained here.  but my thoughts and prayers are still with them now, and i remembered one of the experienced from last year that got my attention.

it was a sunday morning after a 12-hour drive through bouncy, bumpy unpaved "roads" in a car with fewer seats than people.  the end of the trek landed us in a hotel with fewer beds than people, no hot water but lots of cold water on the floor and walls and pipes and…

anyway, we woke up and sipped the chai tea the hotel guy brought from the seller across the street, so we were looking down on him from the second story window as he conversed with a large crowd of folks, probably all about the white people that came to town.  then Lynn and i looked a little past him to the empty lot.  oh boy.  i was not quite awake enough for that. this is a small excerpt from what i wrote about it later.

***

the first morning in the hotel in Ongol i woke up to a surprise.  apparently on weekends, Indians like to chill before another work week and do most of their hanging out on Sundays, and their hanging out usually involves eating more meat than weekdays. some things are the same over there. :)

well, this hotel was one street behind a main street, so our windows overlooked the back of the market stalls that sell meat, especially lamb and chicken.

i would just like to state that i didn’t immediately appreciate the eye-opening insight to the Passover celebration, especially that early on a morning…but i did several cups of chai tea later.

it’s not clean.  it certainly isn’t pretty. it is not a part of our sanitized culture.  i wonder if we lost some of the beautiful hugeness of his sacrifice because we got rid of some of the ugliness.

the idea of hosting a cute little lamb in your house for a week and then turning it into lamb chops is one thing, especially after the kids have named it, petted it, played with it.

the idea that God Incarnate would willingly become that lamb and live among us, seeing the cross in His future for 33 years takes “sacrifice” to a whole new level.

***

i did not particularly enjoy making small people cry.

but the fact remains that without the sheep's sacrifice, Israel was doomed to slavery.

and without Jesus' sacrifice so are we.

it's a terrible bedtime story. 

but the good-ness is so good only because the bad-ness is so, so bad.

the best-est, most beautiful nightmare.

when the children get over the buggy nightmare, my hope is that maybe they'll hold on to just enough of the terror of the plagues to make the coming salvation that much sweeter.

my other hope is that big people do, too.  i know that all too often i forget some things.  it's easy to remember that i'm saved.  it's not always easy to remember what i've been saved from. i take the salvation almost for granted and neglect the cost that i didn't have to pay. it's happier, but it cheapens the happiness.  it's prettier, but it's not the truth. the truth is that all of humanity was on the edge of a thousand-foot cliff, about to fall into a rocky barren firepit. then we were hauled back at the last instant by our only hope. take away the cliff and firepit and all you've got left is a walk in the park that Jesus gives up an afternoon to join you for.

without the plagues, the Israelites would've given up even earlier or not even left their taskmasters. they would have made all the bricks Pharaoh wanted, as long as they got their cucumbers (seriously, where were their priorities?!?!).

we closed out story time, transitioned to snack time and after the Nilla Wafers we sang another classic, "My God is So Big"- and said a prayer of thanks. thanks for being so big, so strong and so mighty that there's nothing our God cannot do.  so big and so strong that he can turn rivers to blood, dirt into bugs, horror into hope and death into deliverance.

sweetest dreams, friends.

(just remember to check for frogs!)