students of jesus

When I was a young boy Josué De La Cruz saved my life. My third-floor apartment on the northwest side of Chicago was fully involved in flames. The Latino firefighter crawled up the steps beneath the smoke, through the fire, and carried me to safety. I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for him.

He visited me in the hospital the next day. I thanked him for his courage and sacrifice. He told me he was happy to make a difference. We chatted for a while. His Spanish accent reminded me that he was from a completely different culture than mine. It was hard to understand him sometimes, but I was grateful. I fell asleep and he was gone.

My family found a new place to live but I included Josué in my prayers every night--for a couple of months at least. Eventually school took all my attention and life returned to normal. I was surprised five years later when Josué turned up at my college dorm one night. I was coming back to the dorm very late--trying not to attract the attention of the Resident Assistant.

“Man,” he said with that accent. “You know it’s really dangerous to drive home in your condition. You should be more careful.”

I was embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess so.” I shoved my hand forward to shake his. “Hey man, thanks for pulling me out of that fire back then.”

“No problem--that’s over. Listen, I brought you some money for textbooks. Take care for yourself.”

It was strange, him showing up that night. I really wasn’t thinking straight. When I woke up the next morning it was hard to tell where the night had ended and where my dreams began. But I did have $100 in the pocket of my jeans.

I was nearly thirty when he turned up again. I’d been married for seven years. My wife and I had one kid and another of the way. I had taken a job working for her father. It wasn’t the life I wanted but with another kid on the way paying the bills was a big deal. Still, the job sucked and I wasn’t happy.  I came home from work and there was Josué, the firefighter who had saved my life, sitting on my front step, petting the family dog.

“Dude, what are you doing here?”

“Amigo, it’s so good to see you again. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”

That seemed really strange to hear. All I could manage was an awkward “Thanks.”

“You know,” he said, looking up  from the dog. “You ought to cut your wife a little slack. It isn’t easy raising one kid while she’s baking another.”

“Well my job ain’t so hot either. Did you want something?” I asked.

He ignored the question. “I could help you with that if you want.”

I laughed. “Thanks. I’m a little old for the Fire Academy, don’t you think?” I  stepped past him an went to the door. “Thanks for stopping by, though.” Later I found a gift card to Applebee’s right where he had been sitting. There was a post-it note where he had scribbled, Take your wife out to dinner tonight.

I don’t know: maybe Josué had moved into my neighborhood because he began to pop up at the most random times and places. It began to get a little creepy. One time he was in the booth behind me and my friend at the pancake house.

“Hey man,” he said with that accent. “Have you been putting on some weight?”

“Maybe. You still look pretty fit.” It was true, I had to admit it.

“I’m not trying to bust your hump,” he said. “I just want to see you stay healthy and live well.”

I didn’t feel scolded. Especially because he waited for my buddy to hit the restroom before he spoke to me. “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll work on that.” When my friend and I left we found that Josué had already paid the tab. It went on like this for the next few years. Josué would turn up, offer his opinion on something or other, and always do something nice for me.

Then one afternoon he was outside my workplace. I had bolted from working for my father-in-law, but three jobs later I was going nowhere fast. Life sucked. My wife and kids were strangers to me, and I was thinking of getting in the car and just driving.

“My friend,” Josué said gently. “Don’t do this thing.”

I was startled. Did he know my thoughts? “What thing?”

“Times are tough,” he said. “I get it. Let me help you learn how to live.”

Finally I’d had enough of these strange appearances. “Listen, Josué. It’s been twenty years since you saved me from the fire. What gives you the right to show up and tell me what to do?”

“What good was saving your life if you don’t know how to live it?” he answered. “I went into your apartment that day to change your life, not just save it.”

“Really?” I demanded. “Well, I needed someone to save me--not someone to run my life. What gives you the right?”

“I am Josué De La Cruz.” He stood tall and his voice swelled with strength. And as he said the words he began to change: his face and clothes became white--dazzling beyond any brightness on Earth.

I shielded my eyes and heard thunder from the cloudless sky. In the thunder I thought I heard a voice. “This is my son. Listen to him!”

And then, in a moment the day returned, and the sunshine seemed less bright. Josué put his arm on my shoulder and said, “Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. That’s why I saved you that day.”

“Then he told her, "For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter.” She went home and found her child lying on the bed, and the demon gone." Mark 7:29-30

These are the final words from an encounter between Jesus and a pagan woman. Perhaps you know the story: Jesus leaves Israel and lays low in a foreign city. A Gentile woman seeks him out and cries for mercy on behalf of her demonized daughter. It looks as though she will be sent away empty, but after an infamous exchange with the Jewish Messiah, she returns home to find her daughter healed. Commentators have made much of the exchange: “healing is the children’s bread; humble yourself in prayer;” or even “don’t take offense when it seems God is against you.”

When I meditate on this story I am faced with a different question. Why did the woman leave? She was aggressive enough to find Jesus even when he wanted to keep his location a secret. She broke into his beach house and annoyed everyone in the room. She was a woman who will not be denied. From our perspective Jesus answered rudely yet she refused to be dismissed--until he says “you may go, the demon has left your daughter.”

We know the outcome: Jesus healed her daughter from where he sat. When Jesus uttered the words the room did not light up with the glory of God. There was no evidence of a miracle in the room. Other healing stories show people pleading that Jesus hurry to the bedside of those in need. Even his best friends Mary and Martha complained that if Jesus had only come sooner Lazarus would not have died. Yet this foreigner was content to walk away on the strength of his word.

Here’s my suggested meditation this week: would I have been satisfied with only his word? This woman knew when to pray, and she knew when to quit. When I put myself in the story I have to admit I may not have been so easily satisfied. Would I have insisted, “No! Please come now and lay your hands on my child”?

Let's consider these questions: When I pray, do I leave room for Jesus to speak to me? Will I trust him when he does? Am I satisfied with only his word?

How far apart are the natural and spiritual?  Robert Benton’s 1984 quiet masterpiece, Places in the Heart, explores the distance between the two.

Filmed on location in Waxahachie, Texas, this movie tells the compelling story of a Depression era family facing tragedy and poverty while maintaining their identity and dignity before God and man. Its characters are deeply flawed people thrown together by circumstances beyond their imagining. Somehow they must judge wisely between what matters and what seems to matter. This movie answers the question posed to Jesus by a lawyer: “Who is my neighbor?”

Places in the Heart is not an overtly Christian movie, and that’s a good thing. Some Evangelical ministries attempt to make “Christian movies with a message,” which is a really bad idea: when an art form elevates message above craft both the craft and message suffer. The characters in this movie quite naturally live their lives in a “Christian town.” If any Christian claims are made during the film, they are revealed in due course. Thus when the town’s mortgage banker is also a church deacon the movie naturally explores the relationship between the two identities residing in the same man. Eventually we discover the multiple identities of nearly every character in the movie.

Nominated for seven Academy Awards (Sally Field won for best actress and Benton for original screenplay), Places in the Heart presents a fine cast: Sally Field, Danny Glover, John Malkovich, and Ed Harris. Robert Benton’s direction is understated. He trusts the story without resorting to unnecessary drama. The pace is unhurried and the ending will cause you realize that the Kingdom of God breaks into our day and age more than we expect.

In my opinion any disciple who loves films ought to own this movie.

I dreamed last night of a little girl with bows in her hair. I knew immediately she was a disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ. She was young, not more than five or six years old. Her hair was pulled to either side and held in place by lavender bows, and the bows came flowing forth in two lines. A new bow appeared to replace each one that floated toward me, creating a lavender stream, flowing gently from her to me.

The bows from the right side of her hair were perfect, each one was fully shaped and proportioned, symmetrical and pretty. The ones from the left side were crude and clumsy, as if the little girl had tied them herself. The difference between the two kinds of bows was unmistakable, but she did not seem to mind. As I watched these bows in my dream the Spirit said “the bows coming from her right side are the intentions of her heart. She desires perfection, beauty and grace before me. The ones coming from the left side represent her ability to achieve these intentions.”

I continued to look at the little girl and something amazing happened! She began to age before my eyes. First she was but five or six years old: then seven, then eight. Still the bows streamed out. In only a few moments the girl became an adolescent, then a young woman, until she was finally mature. Through the changes the lavender bows continued to come, but the clumsy and rugged bows from the left side became more complete with each passing year until at last the two lines of bows were the same. The dream ended; I woke up an hour before the alarm was set.

In that hour I used the dream as my morning prayer before God, letting the images sink into my waking thoughts. I asked the Lord if this dream was for me or someone else (the fact that you’re reading it on my blog gives you the answer to that question!); I asked Him if there was meaning beyond the words spoken by the Holy Spirit in the dream. After some reflection the phrase “the full stature of Christ” came to mind. I knew the phrase came from one of Paul’s letters, and with the help of Bible Gateway I found the passage:

“ . . . until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ” (Ephesian 4: 13)

In the past few weeks at Students of Jesus we’ve discussed the process of spiritual formation: we’ve pondered over whether perfection is possible in the life of a disciple; how spiritual transformation depends upon relationship above precept; and how change runs deep when we cooperate with the Father. So today I add a few simple observations based upon a gentle dream and the passage it brought to mind:

Spiritual Transformation is a royal calling: the color of the bows represent the royalty to which we are born in the kingdom of God. Lavender is baby-purple, and purple is used throughout the scripture to represent royalty. We, too--you and I--are a royal priesthood, a chosen nation (I Peter 2: 9-10), who are called to represent the One who called us out of darkness into light. We can wear that calling like a gentle adornment in our lives.

Spiritual Transformation is a process: That the little girl became an adult, and the bows became more complete indicates some changes take time, and the Lord is well aware of the process. He knows the intentions of our heart and sees the clumsy nature of our attempts to imitate his completeness. Our standing before God changes when we are born from above, his image in our lives can grow more and more complete if our intentions and practices remain focused upon him: what the scripture calls “ever-increasing glory” (2 Corinthians 3:18)

Spiritual Transformation has a place for the imperfect: No one expects a child to have it all together. The bows on her left side were clumsy and crude, but there’s nothing wrong with a child who is disheveled. In fact, a child who is always perfectly groomed would be the exception! We expect children to have untied shoelaces, grass-stains on their jeans, and bows that just don’t quite hang right. It means they are normal children. And I, for one, am glad that Jesus loves the little children of the world, because it’s his good pleasure to give us the kingdom. The passage in Ephesians reminds us that we can all attain “the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.”

The Lord comes close to anyone who wants to be like him. He draws near in the most unexpected ways. Why not post a comment and share the dreams given to you by the Spirit?