Then there is the kind of authority that makes you want to listen. You see it out. You are astonished at its competence and you would do anything to hear more, give anything to shadow them.

You know what I mean. You have names in both categories. I know you do.

When Jesus started teaching, people were astonished “because he taught them as one who had authority, not as the teachers of the law.”  It wasn’t that his text was completely different: he was using the same Law and Prophets as all the rest of the teachers. But he would have been teaching it as if he knew that it was true, as if he knew what it meant, as if he had been involved with its writing.

Of course the listeners didn’t know all we know about Jesus from Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. They are offering their initial reaction to this guy who was  only starting to have a reputation. They were hearing these teachings for the very first time. And they had chills.

Down the hall from me, Kelley’s talking about a high school girl reading her way through the Bible for the first time. She’s serious about reading, serious about the questions she’s asking. There’s a sheaf of paper worth of questions. She’s sensing authority. She’s listening.

–

If you are joining me in 7×7, read Mark 2:1-3:12. (Here’s an FAQ page). If you would like a couple questions to ask after you read, ask Jesus why he chose to spend time with sinners and tax collectors. Or ask him how you should handle sabbath like he did.

I read her words. I stop. There is such immense quiet, paintings of silence between her words.  I want to sit on the little benches in art museums and look at the silence.

I am, I confess, a little jealous.

But in truth I am convicted. There is nothing stopping me from quiet except me.

I remember a sermon I preached once, four or so years ago. I talked about “be stilling”. Not about “being still”. That’s what happens when I respond to “be stilling.” “Be stilling” is what God did to Elijah.

Elijah had told the king that it wouldn’t rain. It didn’t. Years later he had a face-off with the king’s prophets. It was a call-down-fire-from-heaven face-off. Elijah – and his God – won. Then Elijah told the king that it would rain. It did.

In that moment of victory, the queen said she’d get Elijah. His heart, bouyed by adrenalin, collapsed.

You know the feeling. I do too. We get to the top and find it an emotional abyss.

Elijah ran til he collapsed. An angel gave him breakfast and courage. He walked forty days to the mountain of God. A whole lent of fasting and wondering and waiting to hear God, waiting to tell God off.

Yes, we know that feeling.

At the mountain of God, God said, “yes?” Elijah dumped his fear, his anger, his devotion, his doubt. There was tornado. And earthquake. And firestorm. The godly acts of power useful when you fear an enemy. But that wasn’t God’s voice.

Instead, a quiet whisper. Elijah was “be stilled.”

–

If you are joining me in 7×7, read Mark 1. (Here’s an FAQ page). If you would like a couple questions to ask after you read, ask Jesus how exactly he made himself take time away. Or how he handled all the requests he always got.

I didn’t like the idea at all.

• It felt really legalistic. What if you went 6:50 or 7:30?
• It felt too structured. Listening to God should be about feeling, not formality.
• It felt too small. Imagine scheduling 7 minutes to listen to your spouse?
• It felt too cute. What was magic about 7 x 7?

And then I started working on my health. I started riding a bike for 25 minutes at a time. That didn’t feel legalistic, it felt like the kind of exercise habit you need to start getting stronger. I listened to Nancy talking about the days that I’m at work all day and evening. And I realized that there are some days that scheduling 7 minutes to listen to her would be more than I do without planning. And I realised that we need simple reminders.

Many of us have discovered that frequent brief conversations are as important to building relationship as occasional long conversations. They build the habit of interaction, the familiarity with tone of voice and manner of speech and style of language.

Lent starts tomorrow. I’m going to commit to 7×7. If you want to join me, I’ll have a link every day to a passage from Mark that takes me about 5 minutes to read out loud (that balances out differing reading speeds). And I’ll have a question or two from the text that you can ask God.

I’ll still be writing 300. This is optional. But if you need something positive for Lent, try 7 x7.

In this week’s episode, a wealthy young executive  comes to Jesus looking to inherit eternal life. After a brief interview about his character (perfect), Jesus challenges him to let go of all his wealth.  The executive walks away sadly. Then the rest of the disciples meet in the boardroom to discuss the implications of wealth for obedience.  Next week, a tax collector named Zach.

ROCK CENTER with Simon Jonahson.  (Wednesday, 9:00pm)

In the first episode of this new series, Jesus is the special guest. He starts by renaming the host after the show. He then heals the host’s mother-in-law.

NCIS (Tuesday, 8:00 pm)

Gibbs is called to investigate the disappearance of four sailors. The only clue is a huge pile of fish. He starts by interviewing Zebedee and Jonah, each the father of two of the sailors. When he discovers they were fisherman, not sailors, Gibbs head back to Washington. Ziva stays to catch up with family.

BIG BANG THEORY (Thursday, 8:00pm)

Sheldon dreams that his mother might actually be right about Jesus. Then he loses at “rock paper scissors lizard Spock Jesus.” Jesus created rock. Disciples write on paper. Paul uses scissors to make tents. Jesus steps on lizard. Jesus loves Spock in spite of his incessant scientific rationality. And Sheldon.

BIGGEST LOSER (Tuesday, 9:00pm)

A dozen disciples come to the ranch to figure out why they keep eating what doesn’t fill them up. After joining 15,000 people for a miraculous feast, eating  whole grains from a field, sharing unleavened bread and wine in a curious final meal, they watch Jesus betrayed and lose big. But then he comes back to life, eats broiled fish and then serves them a lakeside fish breakfast. They quit worrying about food and the ranch and start looking for the kingdom.

I know those people too. I’m one of them.

Sometimes the same stories are important to tell. Uncle Ed’s diligence in reading that made him the first member in the family to go to college. Sister Hazel’s baking skills and foresight. Your boss’s passionate commitment to the core values of the organization.

Peter was one of those people too.  In the second letter bearing his name he wrote,

So I will always remind you of these things, even though you know them and are firmly established in the truth you now have. I think it is right to refresh your memory as long as I live in the tent of this body, because I know that I will soon put it aside, as our Lord Jesus Christ has made clear to me. And I will make every effort to see that after my departure you will always be able to remember these things.

Because he had seen Jesus, he wanted to made sure that no one forgot the stories. It was, literally, a sacred trust for him. From his own experience he knew that under pressure people forget things. People act impulsively. People lose control. And one way to help is to get those core truths firmly planted.

So that when they think about you, they remember the stories.

We can’t rest long. There are only two days left in the week. Which is, of course, a lie we tell ourselves. The week runs all the way to Saturday night. When the next one starts.

It’s enough to make us tear our hair out and run around in circles.

That’s exactly, by the way, what David did one day. I don’t know that it was a Thursday. David was running for his life. He went from Israel over to the Philistines, to the king of Gath. The king’s servants recognized him. David was afraid. He pretended to be insane. It worked. He was tossed out.

And then he wrote a poem about it. Psalm 34. In the middle of it, he offers instruction about what to do when everything is collapsing.

 Come, my children, listen to me;
I will teach you the fear of the LORD.
Whoever of you loves life
and desires to see many good days,
keep your tongue from evil
and your lips from speaking lies.
Turn from evil and do good;
seek peace and pursue it.

See peace and pursue it. Of all the things to do in the middle of a day when every king you know is chasing you, when Saul is throwing spears at you, that’s all he can come up with? Seek peace and pursue it? 

Exactly. Pursuing peace is hard work. It’s not doing nothing. It’s a passionate quest.  It’s life-consuming.

It’s a worthy project for a Thursday.

Stories take words and breaths and turn them into walls our egos crash into, and overstuffed chairs our souls rest in, and kitchen chairs where our hearts linger over coffee and donuts.

Stories teach best when they take the familiar to illustrate the unfamiliar. If your grandfather sat in a kitchen chair, lit at night when you visited while on vacation by a harsh fluorescent circle of light, lit at noon by the window by his right hand, if you walked in and saw him in that chair for coffee in the morning, then when someone speaks of kitchen chairs where hearts linger, your heart leaps and says, “I know.”

If, on the other hand, you met your grandfather for coffee on the floor of a tent, sand blowing by, camel near at hand, then the image of kitchen and chair leave you wondering.

So when Jesus says, “a farmer went out to sow his seed,” he had to be describing a scene that was as familiar as that morning’s walk. Because, after all, Jesus was the storyteller. He told stories and worlds existed. He told stories and people were.

For Jesus, stories matter.

—

We can go up two paths with our thoughts.

One is a road of application. It speaks of our own storytelling and says, “tell of what is familiar.” To teach with story is often to start in the kitchen rather than the chancel. Illuminate the infinite with the familiar.

The other is a road of reflection. Until writing this, I had never thought that perhaps the ordinary listener struggled with the stories not because they were so unfamiliar–as they are to us (what farmers sow? They all use 20 row planters)–but because they were so familiar.

Jesus told great stories to all. Only some said, “wait. What?”

What bothered him more was that a group of good friends, supportive friends, knew that he was in jail. They wondered about him. They sent a couple guys to check on him. Sending meant traveling miles and days. For one of the guys this trip was brutal. He got sick. He nearly died.

Paul decided to send Epaphroditus home. He wrote a letter for E to carry. Here’s how it starts.

Dear friends.

I love thinking about all the ways you encourage me. You are completely part of my heart.  When you are helping me, you are part of a great work, something life and death, something that matters. And I know that’s what you want to do. I pray that’s what you want to be.

It’s why I’m in prison right now. Other people are mocking me. They are free. They are saying “You can talk about Jesus without getting locked up for being abrasive.” But I don’t care. That means they are talking. And I’m committed. In fact, I’m willing to die for it.

If you want to know how to live this way, serving others, risking your life, you find a great example in Jesus. In fact, there’s a hymn about him about him people here are singing. I think you’ll find it helpful.

Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.

I’ll let you read the rest of it yourself. It’s called Philippians. But it’s really a love letter.

That’s how Scott greeted me. “Yes, a few,” I said as my eyes started to mist.

I know that’s a pretty strong emotional response to someone wondering whether you’ve lost weight. For years my response to that question has been to laugh. Almost derisively. For years it’s been the sweater, or moving from large to extra large so the tightness isn’t as obvious.

A month ago I decided that I didn’t want to be one of the guys I remember from my youth who died of a heart attack after shoveling the driveway at the age of 50. I’m past that age. I decided that I wanted to change some habits. I decided to pay attention.

When Scott said something, I realized something was working. The gradual shift from spending 25 minutes online to 25 minutes on a bike worked. The shift from chocolate to frosted mini-wheats worked. The doing instead of talking about doing worked.

As I reveled in visible progress, I realized that I need to do the same for my friends. I need to recognize and affirm the fruits of discipline. I don’t pay much attention to weight. But I could start noticing spiritual growth.

Lots of you are working on growing in your relationship with God. You are trying to understand what obedience really means. You are trying to talk with God more consistently. And it shows. You are getting frustrated less. You are noticing your frustration more quickly. You are spending more time wrestling with questions that matter.

You still see the struggle. You may not see progress. But as you listen to Peter who says to “make every effort to add to your faith, goodness. And to your goodness, kindness,” and so on, there will be changes. I’m noticing. I’ll cheer more.