students of jesus

By now the scandal is largely forgotten: several years ago at the university in our little town a college girl contracted a fever and died within 72 hours. It’s a Christian university, and many of the students prayed for her during those hours. When the girl died, people stopped praying—except for about a dozen of them. This was the scandal: they prayed for resurrection.

The students tried to gain access to the county coroner’s office and pray for the girl’s resurrection. The coroner said no. The students stayed on the sidewalk and continued to pray into the night. You could see them as you drove by: lifting their hands, calling on God to overrule this untimely death.

The girl was not resurrected.

At the university people were shocked at the audacity of this prayer. Professors observed that the dead girl (a believer) was now with Jesus in Heaven. Why, they asked, would anyone think it was a good idea to bring her back from a better place? The students who prayed (and the church they were associated with) gained a reputation of being radical and even irresponsible toward others. The same people who would defend the Biblical record from the book of Acts became vocal critics when a few zealous students decided to attempt living out an episode from that book.

I'm guilty, too. Here’s my personal experience when I was confronted with a first-person testimony of God using Christians to raise the dead:

Jessica lives among the poorest of the poor just north of Lima, Peru. As a very young child she fell ill, languished for a few days, and died. In her neighborhood there were no telephones--no electricity, no running water. Her mother gathered the women in the neighborhood and began to pray. She sent others to find her husband, and still others to find the elders of the church, who showed up within a couple of hours and joined in prayer. After hours more of prayer, Jessica came back to life.

I met Jessica when she was about eight years old. Her mother told me how Jesus had raised her daughter from the dead. I suggested that perhaps her daughter had been very sick, but not dead. With typical North American smugness, I reasoned with the woman that God most certainly had healed the girl, but remained skeptical of outright resurrection. The woman became incensed and told me she knew very well that her daughter had died, and that Jesus brought her back. Mom was pretty angry with me.

Why don’t North American Christians raise the dead—or even try? In fact, even suggesting the possibility is considered bad form. I tell Jessica's story in my book, The Impossible Mentor. It covers two pages out of 250, yet I've heard from many people that--because of this story--the book is dangerously out of balance. Perhaps, but I'd like to suggest at least four possibilities as to why this topic is so sensitive:

• North American Christians don’t raise the dead because we don’t ask. Death has the final word in our society: call the doctor, call the coroner, call the funeral home. Let them make the pronouncement and carry the dead away. Affluent societies are insulated from the dead. The dead are whisked away, cleaned, dressed and embalmed by professionals while we weep and mourn at home. It doesn’t occur to us to stay by their side and ask God to intervene. When a woman named Tabitha died in Joppa, the believers asked Peter to come help. (Acts 9) They didn’t accept death as the final word.
• North American Christians don’t raise the dead because we don’t see death as an enemy. We attribute every death with God’s sovereign plan, and comfort ourselves with superstitions like “everything happens for a reason.” Yet the Apostle Paul makes it clear that death is indeed the enemy of humankind, “For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” (1 Corinthians 15: 25-26) Death is real, and inevitable, but we have forgotten it is also our foe.
• North American Christians don’t raise the dead because we have not learned from Jesus. Jesus taught by his actions as well as his words. Bill Johnson, pastor of Bethel Church in Redding, CA, reminds us that Jesus ruined every funeral he attended. Perhaps Jesus raised the dead because not everyone dies in God’s perfect timing. A quick study of the gospels reveal that Jesus and his disciples intervened in the deaths of those who were young, or who died accidentally.
• North American Christians don’t raise the dead because we have pushed all resurrections into a single event at the end of time. It is a day to be desired: the grave will give up its dead, we will meet him in the clouds. We comfort one another with these words, and so we should. But our faith is about more than the end times, our faith is also about this present age.

Jesus himself gave these instructions to his disciples: “As you go, preach this message: ‘The kingdom of heaven is near.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give.” (Matthew 10: 7-8) The scripture presents the example of Jesus, Peter, and Paul, all involved in resurrection ministry. It’s true that we will all taste death eventually, but it’s not true that all death is for us to taste. The Kingdom of God message should be met with Kingdom of God demonstration. Forgiveness, justice, mercy, community, healing, and yes, resurrections are all signs of the in-breaking of God’s Kingdom.

Four bullet points aren’t enough to change anyone’s mind. But they should be enough to open the discussion: why don’t North American Christians raise the dead? Believers in Asia, Africa, and South America do. We cannot dismiss their experiences. In many respects believers on those continents are more familiar with death than we are—and more familiar with resurrection.

This is no academic exercise. This discussion is important to individual followers of Jesus. We need to embrace all possibilities of life in Christ, especially, perhaps, the ones that blow our minds.

What do you think? Should we raise the dead? Can we raise the dead? Why are North American and Europeans Christians the exception?

To hell with tolerance, to heaven with love. 

Tolerance is the demand of the oppressed for the grudging acceptance of the oppressor. Tolerance demands a place at the table even when the table is full of strife. Love is a feast of goodwill and plenty, always renewed. Tolerance is pocket-change. Love is lasting wealth.

Love surrounds me in a tide of patience and kindness. I’m not owned by envy or pride, or the manipulation that flows from others seeking their own way. Surround me with love and I live protected, I feel trusted, and I become the object of hope. Tolerance will let me go my own way—even when I’m a fool. Love is slow to anger; even in the presence of love’s anger I know my good is at stake.

Try this on for size: “God so tolerated the world that he left us alone, that whoever believed in him could be free do whatever seemed right.” Who would remember such a phrase for even a minute? But “God so love the world he gave his only begotten son so that whoever believed in him would not perish but have eternal life”? These words will live forever.

Love is relentless in giving, steadfast in promise. Tolerance says “Whatever.”

If we align ourselves with love we align ourselves with cosmic victory, because God is love. Tolerance is earth-bound: a wooden idol carved by men. Love keeps company with faith and hope; tolerance says we can live apart from one another, isolated from true communion.

Love is no theory; it is power in practice: Dr. King chose non-violence as a strategy, but love was his motive: “Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend. We never get rid of an enemy by meeting hate with hate; we get rid of an enemy by getting rid of enmity. By its very nature, love creates and builds up. Love transforms with redemptive power.” Tolerance changes the surface of things; it transforms nothing. It leaves the heart captive and cold.

You may object. “Love is an ideal,” you say. “Ideals cannot live in the heat of life.” Perhaps—except the Ideal became reality and thrived in the glare of the desert sun.

We find love when we turn to a source beyond ourselves. Governments can mandate tolerance, but never love. The strongest man cannot will himself to love. No religion can manufacture love: no spiritual regimen will create love on its own. Love is discovered and received. The good news is the discovery of a source of love, never ending, always churning, poured out in every moment and every place.

Love calls: come search with me.

There’s only a small difference between the words, “Give what you have,” and “Give what you’ve received,” but it’s the difference between two kingdoms.

Jesus commissioned his disciples on their very first assignment with these words: “As you go, proclaim this message: ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received; freely give.”

Pastors and church leaders have been big on the “go, proclaim” part of his instructions: so big, in fact, that in our haste we’ve sometimes failed to grasp his words, “Freely you have received; freely give.” One of the secrets to ministry lies in discovering what you have received before you rush off to give.

These words come from Matthew, chapter 10. It was the first time Jesus sent his disciples out into the field of ministry. Apparently, the Lord considered them prepared--or prepared enough to begin to put their lessons into practice. The disciples had left everything behind to follow Jesus: their businesses as fishermen, their roles as tax collectors, zealots, or whatever had occupied their time before they heard the call, “Come, follow me.”

The difference between giving what you have and giving what you’ve received is the difference between the kingdoms of this world and the Kingdom of the age to come. What the disciples received from Jesus was a new way of life. It was the vision of God’s Kingdom breaking into the here and now. Consider these three points:

“Give what you have” focuses on our talents, our abilities, and our wealth. The starting point is what we have. We bring our not only our resources to the party but also our understanding, our methods and our values. One of the telltales of lifeless religion is people working hard to serve God, bringing the sacrifice of their time, energy and money. A sign of the Kingdom is people who joyfully share what they’ve received.

The disciples listened in amazement when Jesus suggested that a rich young ruler should “sell everything you have . . . then come, follow me.” The logic of the world would suggest that a rich man is already poised to serve the King: he need only redirect his wealth toward God, as if God would benefit from deep pockets. In my imagination I see the rich young ruler walking away, shaking his head, thinking, “Jesus missed the boat. I have a lot to offer.” Meanwhile Peter speaks up: “we’ve left everything to follow you.” Jesus tells Peter that those who serve him will receive “many times over” what they have given up. I’ve learned that we not only receive more, but we receive resurrected relationships, resurrected perspective, and resurrected resources.

“Give what you’ve received” focuses on what God does in us and through us instead of our own abilities. Jesus’ instructions to the disciples were simple, and simply impossible: “Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons.” Easy, right? In reality, Jesus gave them a commission that required them to figure out a way to take the Master’s presence and power along with them, even when Jesus stayed behind.

A parable: Jesus sent out the twelve to heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. When they returned the first ten said, “Master, in your name we established hospitals, consoled the grieving, developed a leprosy research institute, and a psychiatric hospital.” The other two returned and Jesus asked, “Where are the buildings? How did the fund-raising go?” They answered, “Master, we have none, but we healed the sick, raised the dead, cleansed the lepers, and drove out demons. But we have nothing to show for it.”

What have we received? Some will dismiss these words as simplistic yearning for signs and wonders, for flash and dazzle. But no: the essence of our calling is to first receive from him--whatever he has to give--and then share his life with others.

Have we ever taken time to sit in silence and reflect on what he has given us? What abilities, insights, anointings or empowerments can we confidently say we have received from Jesus? The passage from Matthew 10 highlights the supernatural, but Jesus has more to give than we imagine. For example, he also said to his friends, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14:27) Is this a reality for any of us? Then we should share the peace of Jesus with others.

Can you imagine yourself standing next to someone filled with fear, placing your hands upon them, and imparting the peace of Christ? If you’ve received any measure of peace from him, then it’s yours to give. He is the giver of supernatural gifts. He also gives us the fruit of the Spirit: do we have love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control? Then these, too, we should give.

Let’s use our imagination one more time: what if each of us determined to receive from him each morning, and returned home empty each night. What would the Master say when we returned?

In our fractured society demographic studies are the sacred scriptures of politics, education, and marketing. The categories of Latino, African-American, Anglo, and Asian are too large: demographics break down ethnicities into subcategories of gender, age, sexual orientation, and coffee-habits. In the church, George Barna has made a career out of demographic distinctions. We live in sociological ghettoes, and those who sell goods, services, and philosophies can find all the figures they need to target their message.

Our Creator has a different demographic approach: oneness—the kind of oneness that spans the gaps and unifies people of every nation, tribe, and tongue. Consider, for example, how Jesus launched his church:

Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven . . . Parthians, Medes and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya near Cyrene; visitors from Rome (both Jews and converts to Judaism); Cretans and Arabs . . .

In that moment when God chose to launch his ends-of-the-earth initiative, he chose to bring people together. Jesus indiscriminately poured out a one-size-fits-all solution on everyone: the true demographic of the church is the Holy Spirit.

The earliest Christians learned again and again the work of the Spirit. The Comforter broke boundaries and distinctions worldwide. The Spirit of Christ favored one people, “neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female . . . all one in Christ Jesus.”

The Lord’s method was part of his message. One faith, one baptism, one hope, one Lord. The book of Revelation, that crazy picture of the moment when time itself is rolled up like a cloak, paints a picture of the Forever Days: there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. 

God is a sweet community within Himself: Father, Son, and Spirit. Even in the midst of the Trinity’s sharp distinctions and clear identity there radiates a oneness. What keeps us from imitating his example?

I once met a man who hopped everywhere he went. He had two legs, but relied on one. In fact, he had given each leg a name: one called “grace,” the other, “strength.”

He had hopped for years. It was amazing. He could keep up with most people who used two legs. He was easy to find in a big group of people, because the hopping motion caused his head to pop above the crowd like a human whack-a-mole figure.

So strongly did he believe in his hopping leg, he would rather fall than use the other. No problem: he would tuck and roll and bounce back into action. Of course, over the years one leg grew ever stronger. His thigh and hamstring developed to amazing proportions—45 inches or more in circumference. His calf was so well defined you could see every fiber of the muscle. He would’ve saved a bundle on shoes, except they’re sold in matching pairs, but for him, only one shoe ever wore out.

Even at rest, when he was sitting down, his preference for one leg stood out. He always leaned one direction as he sat. You always knew which direction he would lean.

He loved the Lord and did his best to hop in the ways of God. It’s funny, though: one day I borrowed his Bible because I needed to read a bit in Ephesians. It was the strangest thing, though (and who can say if it was related to the hopping), when I got to chapter 2, verses 8, 9, and 10 were completely missing from his Bible. When I asked him why they were missing, he told me, “It’s got to be a mistake. There’s no way those ideas could walk side-by-side.”