What did they see in the eyes of the Master, those times that He met with the Pharisees?
Did his eyes spark with frustration, anger and fire?
What did they see in the eyes of the Master, that time in the boat skimming dark Galilee?
Did they see strength and power over nature, and glances of wonder for lack of faith shown?
What did they see int he eyes of the Master, when the children were gathered so close to his chest?
Did they see joy, comfort and freedom? Did his eyes reflect the innocence there?
What did they see in the eyes of the Master, each time he gazed on some body in need?
Did his eyes brim with compassion, love and forgiveness? Did they see the power he had to fill every need?
What did they see in the eyes of the Master when he was taken and hung on the tree?
Did they see dread, pain and sorrow; loneliness, with love and forgiveness mixed in? Did they hear agonized shame when he begged for his father, compassionate love for his mother to hold, and forgiveness and welcome for the repentant thief?
What did they see in the eyes of their Master/Redeemer that Sunday he rose to waken the dawn?
Did they see joy, forgiveness and triumph? Did they see their failures swallowed up in his love?
What will we see in the eyes of our Savior on our first day of standing in front of this throne?
Will we see welcome, love, joy and forgiveness, or will we see sadness as we're turned away alone?
Monday, May 14, 2012
Of Dreams and Foxes
Have you ever experienced one of those dreams that remain with you throughout the day? Do you wonder if it means anything, or are you able to forget it and allow the dream to go into that area where dreams go when deleted from the mind? My dream this morning was one of those dreams and I believe it was meant to be shared.
We were in an old church, much like the first one we served, with wooden floors that slanted toward the altar area - floors that squeaked, allowing no one to sneak into the Sunday worship late. The seating was theater-style and the sloping floor made you feel you were leaning forward, perhaps in eager anticipation of the message? The altar and choir area rose about five feet above the first pews. It was a damp, musty building, but we loved the congregation and our children, who were not in the dream, had friends there.
The morning worship service had ended. It had been okay, with the typical, "Good job, Pastor" comments made as the people filed by on their way home to complete their day. My husband and I remained, as usual, to turn out the lights and lock the doors.
As I opened the front door, the cocoon of silence that wrapped the church was broken with cries of pain and pleas for help outside. The bright morning had disappeared and darkness had overcome the neighborhood. I was shocked by the sight of people being attacked and brought down by a pack of foxes, covered with mange, disfigured and obviously rabid. A woman lay to my left in the snow. She gazed at me with pain-filled eyes, whimpering in pain and begging for help. There were mounds of snow surrounding the area making access to the church slippery for the people, but easier for the claws of the foxes to climb.
Ron ran for something to use as weapons to keep the foxes from gaining access to the building, and, armed with a large stick and a broom, we found ourselves striking out at the foxes. Several times we drove them back and each time a few people rushed through the door to the church and into the sanctuary. Men, women and children streamed through the door as over and over we drove back the beasts. Some of those rescued joined the fight allowing more people to come flowing in to safety. As the numbers of people entering slowed, the fox attacks did as well. I recall asking about the woman in the snow and hearing a voice say, "She didn't make it - don't worry about her."
I turned back to some families remaining in the hallway who said they had never been in a church. We regaled them with all the church had to offer them and while the sound of the foxes outside grew quiet, we conducted a tour of the education area, youth room, music room and library. We listed all the programs the church offered, Sunday School, youth group, Bible Studies and choir.
As we neared the sanctuary, the noises assaulted us. Voices in raised whispers were heard from those who "respected the church." As we stood in shocked awe, the visitors shrank to the wall with disbelief and dread. As we observed, people were pointing at each other, criticizing and gossiping. Others shook their fingers in the faces of those they had chosen to correct. Some people cried, and some began to moan in pain, begging for aid. All over the sanctuary, I watched as people began to morph into mangy, disfigured foxes. They began attacking one another. I saw the eyes of the woman again, over and over.
I heard the words, "Whatsoever you do to the lest of these, you do to me." I realized with a broken heart that we had failed to do what God wanted of us. Instead of healing the hurting and saving the broken, we had been distracted by superficial things. While we thought of programs and buildings, the foxes had entered and overtaken the church.
I woke to my own thoughts, loud enough to have been spoken aloud, "Dear Lord, forgive us! We have allowed the foxes into the church."
We were in an old church, much like the first one we served, with wooden floors that slanted toward the altar area - floors that squeaked, allowing no one to sneak into the Sunday worship late. The seating was theater-style and the sloping floor made you feel you were leaning forward, perhaps in eager anticipation of the message? The altar and choir area rose about five feet above the first pews. It was a damp, musty building, but we loved the congregation and our children, who were not in the dream, had friends there.
The morning worship service had ended. It had been okay, with the typical, "Good job, Pastor" comments made as the people filed by on their way home to complete their day. My husband and I remained, as usual, to turn out the lights and lock the doors.
As I opened the front door, the cocoon of silence that wrapped the church was broken with cries of pain and pleas for help outside. The bright morning had disappeared and darkness had overcome the neighborhood. I was shocked by the sight of people being attacked and brought down by a pack of foxes, covered with mange, disfigured and obviously rabid. A woman lay to my left in the snow. She gazed at me with pain-filled eyes, whimpering in pain and begging for help. There were mounds of snow surrounding the area making access to the church slippery for the people, but easier for the claws of the foxes to climb.
Ron ran for something to use as weapons to keep the foxes from gaining access to the building, and, armed with a large stick and a broom, we found ourselves striking out at the foxes. Several times we drove them back and each time a few people rushed through the door to the church and into the sanctuary. Men, women and children streamed through the door as over and over we drove back the beasts. Some of those rescued joined the fight allowing more people to come flowing in to safety. As the numbers of people entering slowed, the fox attacks did as well. I recall asking about the woman in the snow and hearing a voice say, "She didn't make it - don't worry about her."
I turned back to some families remaining in the hallway who said they had never been in a church. We regaled them with all the church had to offer them and while the sound of the foxes outside grew quiet, we conducted a tour of the education area, youth room, music room and library. We listed all the programs the church offered, Sunday School, youth group, Bible Studies and choir.
As we neared the sanctuary, the noises assaulted us. Voices in raised whispers were heard from those who "respected the church." As we stood in shocked awe, the visitors shrank to the wall with disbelief and dread. As we observed, people were pointing at each other, criticizing and gossiping. Others shook their fingers in the faces of those they had chosen to correct. Some people cried, and some began to moan in pain, begging for aid. All over the sanctuary, I watched as people began to morph into mangy, disfigured foxes. They began attacking one another. I saw the eyes of the woman again, over and over.
I heard the words, "Whatsoever you do to the lest of these, you do to me." I realized with a broken heart that we had failed to do what God wanted of us. Instead of healing the hurting and saving the broken, we had been distracted by superficial things. While we thought of programs and buildings, the foxes had entered and overtaken the church.
I woke to my own thoughts, loud enough to have been spoken aloud, "Dear Lord, forgive us! We have allowed the foxes into the church."