less of me

I imagine John the Baptist had curried quite a following by the time his disciples came to him with a report that a man named Jesus was recruiting his own significant following.

They were concerned that Jesus’ ministry would render John’s obsolete.

John’s response? “He must become greater; I must become less.” (John 3:30)

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Most every morning I pause and ask the Spirit to form a prayer in me that will serve as a focus throughout the day.  I call it a “simple prayer.”

I’ve discovered that simple prayers are not always easy prayers.

Today’s prayer is no exception. It is an adaptation of John’s words above: “Lord Jesus, let there be less of me so others can know more of you.”

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I’m writing now to confess something: I didn’t want that to be my prayer today. When it popped into my head, I resisted it.

I began to rationalize the prayer. The power of twisted logic is that it usually contains a grain of truth. So, here was my thought-process:

Premise 1: We meet Jesus today through seeing his presence and work in flesh-and-blood people.

Premise 2: Faith in Jesus helps one become more one’s true self, not less.

Conclusion 1: If others are to know more of Jesus, they will see more of me, not less.

Conclusion 2: I should not pray ‘let there be less of me.’

I suppose it shouldn’t shock me, but I must say: I am stunned how quickly I form arguments to justify such brazen self-centeredness.

Thankfully, almost as quickly as I had formed the argument, I became aware of the game I was playing. And I knew that God, in his gracious gentleness, would not browbeat me into relinquishing pride. God is love and love never demands love in return. That can only be given willingly.

So, God waited silently; he made no counter-argument. There was no reply—other than the winsome invitation of his simple presence.

It’s a prayer of faith, after all. Yes, God is good and he is not out to obliterate our dignity. If the prayer he forms in us seems to tend that direction, it is because of our misinterpretation, not his meaning.

It’s a prayer made in faith. If it seems counter to logic that is because faith is God’s logic, not ours. To God, it makes perfect sense. To us, it feels a bit crazy. But, if we sit with it long enough, we discover it is a good kind of crazy.

Like love.

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When God gives a prayer it comes from the right kind of crazy called love.

That’s why letting God’s prayer form in us takes faith; it feels risky.

You have to trust God won’t leave you stranded, beaten down and humiliated.

He doesn’t.

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I’m glad Jesus taught in parables. He told several about seeds.

In front of my house is a tree. At one point, that tree was just a seed. It would not have become a tree had the seed remained.

When I tell Jesus’ parable of the mustard seed to children I point to the tree that grew from the seed and ask the children a silly question: “I wonder what happened to the seed after it grew into a tree? I wonder where it is?”

The children, no matter what age, look at me like: “Duh!”

So, we wonder some more: “I wonder if we could take this plant and put it all back into the seed again?”

“No!”

They smile and laugh.

The seed does not feel threatened. It is happy to disappear. There will be more beauty that way.

“Lord Jesus, let there be less of me so others can know more of you.”

the beautiful branch

We all grow in surprising ways. On Sunday I was privileged to share a story that reminded me of this. It is a story Jesus told, a parable:

The kingdom of heaven is like a person with the tiniest of all seeds, a mustard seed. It is so small that if I had one on the tip of my finger, you would not be able to see it with your naked eye. The person planted the seed in the ground and it began to grow. It grew into a large bush and then it grew so large it became like a tree. Soon, all kinds of birds came and made a home in the tree.

More or less, those are the words of the story Jesus told. Now here are some of the things you can picture in your mind’s eye: the “tree” is wild. It does not grow symmetrically. The birds are many-colored, also wild. Some of them make nests in the tree and some just want to fly. One of them comes very close to the person who planted the seed. This bird reminds me of the time Jesus came out of the baptismal water—and the Spirit in the form of a dove came close to him.

On Sunday when I told the story I saw new things in it. I imagined the person as the Father and the invisible seed as Jesus. I imagined the birds as the Holy Spirit—now red, then blue—sometimes black, white or gray—speckled or streaked—any color you can imagine. The Spirit makes a home and flies free. The Spirit loves both the plant and the planter.

The invisible seed (Jesus, the hidden God) grew and grew. We are the branches; each of us is a part of him, each of us makes a home for the Spirit of many-colors.

It was my daughter’s birthday on Sunday. As I entered into the wonder of the story, I savored a prayer of thanks for her life, grown from a wild vine. Like the branches in the story, I could not have predicted how or where she would grow--but one thing is unmistakable: the Spirit has made a home in her. Thinking of this still takes my breath away in worship.

Meaghan, you are beautiful. God loves you and so do I. Thank you for the shade you’ve given this weary traveler.  You are truly a gift worthy of celebration.

grief and parable

A few months ago I paid a visit to Indianapolis and facilitated a meeting with a small group of Christians. During the meeting, one of the men was clearly in pain. So, we prayed for him.

Just weeks after that, doctors discovered that the pain in his leg was caused by a tumor. He did not have long to live. About a month later, he died.

About six weeks ago, some other friends had a baby. Nine days ago the mother died of cancer.

Yesterday, a friend went to the funeral of a co-worker who was murdered eight days ago and on Friday another friend’s sister just passed away in old age.

So, today I'd like to tell a story that helps me process this grief.

Head over to PlayFull to read on, if you like.