Version 2.0

Version 2.0

By: Joylyn Ortiz

Today’s release notes via text:
New UI, same UX. 
I close my eyes, breathe, disconnect
from the lengthy monologue. 
I scroll and scroll,
hit “Accept” 
for this download:
2.0
…

Error code. 

What Does It Mean To Love God?

 Jesus instructed his followers, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all of your mind, and with all of your strength. This is the first and greatest commandment." (Matthew 22:37-38) This seems simple, but what does it mean to love God?

According to khouse.org "love" here is the Greek word "agapao," which means "to totally give yourself over to something or someone." This word "agapao" is not an emotional feeling of love. Instead, it represents relinquishing self-interest and putting the beloved first.

This source also says that the verb "agapao" means something different than the noun "agape," which represents the unconditional, unchanging love God demonstrates for humankind. Agapao means total commitment and surrender, but it can be to something good or bad. For example, in John 3:19, agapao means total surrender to "darkness," and in other parts of John agapao means surrender to "the praise of men" or "this present world."

What does it mean to agapao God? I John 4:7-8 says, "Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love." According to the biblehub.com translation of the Greek, this verse would look something like this:

"Those to whom we are totally committed and surrendered (Beloved, from agapao), let us love (agapomen, uncertain origin) one another, for unconditional, unchanging love (agape) comes from God; and everyone who loves (agapon, uncertain origin) is begotten or brought forth (gegennetai) from God and comes to know, recognize, or perceive (ginoskei) God...for God is unconditional, unchanging love (agape)."

So, if we love one another in some form (the exact type of love here is not specified), then we are begotten or brought forth from God and come to know, recognize, or perceive unconditional, unchanging love. If God is agape and Jesus instructs us to totally surrender ourselves to God, then aren't we called to commit ourselves to the practice of unconditional love that does not change according to circumstances? 

God is the kind of love that gave his best, his only begotten son, to redeem a world that did not love him. God is a love that sees the beauty, worth, and possibility in the other and extends himself toward them to help them discover their worth. Jesus demonstrated this with his disciples as he drew them close in communion on the night he would be betrayed. 

Jesus extended love to them in selfless service because he saw the worth and potential in each one, and it was greater than their sins. This is how God sees each of us: as the beloved, the one he gave it all to save. He fills us with this agape, Himself, so that we become capable of loving others this way. His love dwelling in us makes it possible to love our neighbor as ourselves, the second great command of Jesus (Matthew 22:38).

To love God, we must first receive the love of God. This love fills us and becomes the source of love within us. Once we are filled, we love God as the natural outpouring of that which is within us, extending love to our neighbor and the world.

For God so loved the world that he gave us Jesus to show us what agapao looks like: total surrender and commitment to God and his purposes. Jesus was not dedicated to religion, though he did participate in it. His love for God was not limited to scripture, sacrifices, rituals, customs, or feasts. Instead, he showed his agapao love for God by spending time in prayer and solitude so that he could hear the voice of God. Then, he was humble and courageous enough to do what God asked him to do, even to die on a cross.

Jesus believed in two things with all his heart: that God was who he said he was, and that Jesus was who God said he was: His beloved son, the Messiah, the savior of the world. His unshakeable faith in these two things shaped his response to all the circumstances of his life and made it possible for him to fulfill God's purpose and bring love into the hearts of all humankind.

God created us to receive His love, to let it live within us and pour out in unconditional, unchanging love for the world. He never meant us to manufacture this love through our own version of martyrdom. If we try to be "good people" by sacrificing and serving others without being filled by love, we will dry up and find ourselves empty and tired. It's not sustainable.

The Jesus story points us to a God who wants to dwell in us, loving us more intimately than any earthly version of love. This love is agape, the unearned, undeserved, unconditional love of God. Jesus himself is the living example of agapao, the love that gives everything it has for the beloved. The love that could have chosen light or dark. The love that spills out, flowing back in total commitment to God, to agape for the world.

On the Threshold II

On the Threshold II
By: Joylyn Ortiz

To the One who waits in the rain,
To I Am, the great Something,
The Someone who seeks,
Come.
Too long I have closed
My window,
Filling the room,
Leaving no space
For your glory.
Too busy,
Afraid?
No.
Not afraid.
Just trying to be
My own Something,
To prove I can.
Fierce and
Proud
  all
     by
        Myself.
Believing the lie:
I must stand alone,
Independent,
Worthy of
Praise.
Like
You.
Oh, that's where
I become God
Instead of
A temple.
Filling myself
With my own spirit
Instead of yours.
Filling my ears
With my own
Praise.
Hanging my
Accomplishments
On the wall
Like I did everything
  all
    by
      Myself.
No, no, no, no.
I remember.
Tender moments,
Childlike seeking,
Abba, help me
Find the way.
Step by step
Revealed,
Doors
Opened,
Prayers
Choked out
Through tears
Falling on homework,
School bills
Washed away
By timely aid.
You made
My way.
You lead me still
When I listen.
So I open
My window.
Come.

On the Threshold I

On the Threshold I
By: Joylyn Ortiz

On a rainy morning I find myself.
I seek myself.
I seek God.
Whoever or whatever God is:
The One who wants to be found,
Who seeks me,
Who finds me.
I seek myself, yes,
The deeper part, the hidden core
Lying buried most days
Beneath layers of work,
Entertainment,
Relationships,
Ambition,
Duty.
The rain reminds me:
When surface layers wash away,
Underneath lies a shiny, clean
Something.
The something I seek.
What lies beneath
These days?
Am I the same
When the layers wash away?
When I seek me,
When I find me,
Has time and experience
Altered something?
Am I wiser?
Kinder?
Less selfish?
More disciplined?
Am I pure?
And is God the fire
In my heart,
The song on my lips,
The One who opens
My eyes in wonder?
At my truest,
Washed naked,
Shiny and clean,
Will I find him?

Solitude

Solitude
By: Joylyn Ortiz

Speak in the quiet, in the dark.
Call out hidden beauty.
What purpose have I,
Small and alone?
You know. You know.

The Tomato Seed

The Tomato Seed

By: Joy Ortiz

            A tomato seed, resilient and small,

Charted a course through unforgiving circumstances.

            Through unspeakable muck she traveled,

Carried by the unseen current, the cycle, the mess.

            Where was she going? She knew not.

Covered in residual sludge, she journeyed on

            Till time brought an unexpected question:

Could waste become life? Redemption?

            Into the process the tomato seed went, trusting.

Chemical treatment, separation, settling, and drying

            Took her through what felt like dying.

Crying out to the one who sees all, who holds all,

            She clung to the hope of life, as life

Crumbled around her. Lifted once more by the unseen,

            She rose, then fell again into a heap…of what?

Compost, organic waste, a fertile bed.

            What once was waste had turned to soil.

Clouds rolled across the sky, thunder announcing

            Life-giving rain. She soaked it in, softening.

Could it be? Could she grow? Tentatively, she reached

            A root, spearing downward, a shoot, pressing up,

Coaxed toward the sunshine warmth above.

            She broke ground. Up and up, the tomato plant

Climbed into the light and air, into the world.

            She spread her leaves wide,

Catching the sun’s rays as she sent yet more roots

            Down into the nourishing earth,

Caressing the soil which had borne her here.

            Her arms grew heavy with fruit,

Carrying the burden of flourishing.

            Ripe with fullness of purpose, she rejoiced.

Creator who sees, Creator who knows,

            All praise to the one who, in mercy,

Causes seeds to grow.

The Resentment Tree

The Resentment Tree

By: Joy Ortiz

I dig deep 

To chop the bitter root

Tendril by tendril,

Hacking away,

Loosening its hold

On my heart. 

How obvious,

Tall and gangly,

Springing from my center,

The interloper:

Neglected garbage seed

Full grown. 

Pull it out?

No. 

Thicker than an arm

It stands

Testament. 

Unforgiven. 

Sucking life from my soil,

Ugly and obvious. 

What now?

To cut and dig,

Pour salt into wounds,

Sweat and labor,

To remove

The resentment tree

Before it overshadows me

Completely. 

Dogs on Training

Dogs on Training
By: Joy Ortiz

You never taught us
To heel and walk.
When we pulled relentlessly,
Keeling sideways,
Nails raking pavement,
Eyes rolling,
Tongues lolling,
You gritted your teeth,
Clutching the leash.
We panted in the shade
Beneath a parked car,
Refusing to stir.
Angry, you carried us home.
Our walks were over.

You never taught us
To sit and stay.
When company came,
We rushed to the door,
Joyfully barking,
Leaping and howling,
Scratching bare legs,
Knocking down children.
You angrily struck us,
Kicked us and grabbed us.
We yelped in surprise,
Angry, you locked us up.
Our greeting was over.

You never taught us
To give you space.
Whenever you sat,
We were lap dogs
Jumping on couches,
Begging for treats,
Licking your faces
And anything we could reach.
At night in bed
We prodded you,
Stretching, squirming,
Sticking our feet
Into your back.
Angry, you kicked us out.
Our snuggling was over.

You never taught us
To keep the house clean.
Every rug was a restroom.
Muddy paws
Never paused at the door,
But ran right in,
Leaving tracks
Yard-filth brown.
Long, clicking nails
Scarred sofa and floors.
Loose hair softly drifted,
Clinging and coating
All that you owned.
Dreadlocks grew thick,
And we stank.
Angry, you cursed us,
Cleaning the house.

You never taught us
Not to beg.
We hounded you
Relentlessly,
Whining and pleading
For leftovers, scraps,
Fighting, barking, growling
Over each fallen bite.
We stole food
At every opportunity
From tabletops,
Plates, bowls,
And out of the hands
Of small children.
Nothing was sacred.
Angry, you locked us up.
Our feast was over.

Here's the thing:
We're excited.
We greet.
We snuggle.
We live.
We eat.
We love.
...in our own way.
We do.
Nothing personal.
We never try
To be bad.
We're just dogs.
So maybe try
To snuggle more,
To play more,
To bathe us,
To greet us,
To feed us treats,
To love us.
Maybe
You can learn
To be less
Angry.

Hungry and Small

Hungry and Small

By: Joy Ortiz

I spin my life

With gossamer thread

Strong enough

To trap a meal or two,

Yet beaten down

By a lazy hand. 

Never mind. 

Remaking,

Clinging to doorways,

Leaping from heights,

An aerial frame

I weave.

Here at my center,

I breathe

And begin again. 

Spiraling out,

Wider, further

To distant corners

I fling my net

And hope to catch

Something,

Anything 

For today. 

After all,

I must live

Somehow. 

Silver dream,

Sustain me

For I am small

And so hungry. 

Let not your shaking

Be only

The wind. 

Plants and Stones

Plants and Stones

By: Joy Ortiz

            My yard is nothing to brag about.  When it comes to gardening, I have lots of good ideas and intentions yet very limited know-how.  The result is usually unruly beds full of the hardiest plants and a good mix of weeds.  Every once in a while inspiration strikes me, I buy a bunch of seeds and small plants, and I try to make something intentional happen.  During one of these gardening fits I bought a packet of hosta roots and planted them around the tree in the center of the yard.  Hostas are a pretty hardy, leafy plant, so I was confident that I wouldn’t kill them anytime soon.  Sure enough, with spring warmth and rain the hostas began to send up green shoots which unfolded into beautiful striped leaves.  Success!  At least, until I put my tortoise in the yard.

            I don’t know if you know this about me, but I have a fifty pound sulcata tortoise as a pet.  I would love to tell you all about him later, but stay with me.  Here’s what you need to know right now: he eats anything that is green.  During the winter he lives in a pen in my basement, so he was still in his winter home when I purchased my hosta roots and planted them.  When I planned my garden, I forgot about Chewy.  You see, once the weather gets above sixty degrees in the spring, we start bringing Chewy outside to eat fresh grass.  Along with the grass he eats dandelions, violets, mulberry leaves, and…hostas.  He munched them down to little nubs.  I thought they were dead.

            Here’s the funny thing though: those hosta roots are still alive.  Every spring they send up shoots, and every spring Chewy mows them down again.  I keep wondering, “Will they come back again this year, or are they finally dead?”  Every time I see the curly green peeking up out of the mulch I think, “I really need to get some stones and build a wall around this flower bed.  Then these hostas can finally grow.”

            Church, some of us are like those hostas.  Our faith is an old root in the ground.  Something used to grow from it, but every time we started to flourish, life came and mowed us down.  So we sit quietly in the dark where it’s safe.  We don’t reach out anymore because we have learned our lesson.  When you reach out, you just get hurt.  Our faith is still alive with potential, yet it’s impossible for us to grow and flourish when life is just so hard.

            Others of us are like stones.  Our faith is solid and steadfast.  We stand firm no matter the season or weather.  We know who we are in Christ and are unmoved by life’s circumstances.  Do you know how we got that way?  Did you know we used to be plants, too, when our faith was young?  Did you know that a plant can become a stone?

            Sometimes a plant such as a tree experiences natural disaster.  Storms and floods can bring a river of muddy sediment sweeping through a forest, and trees become buried alive.  Encased in the mud, they die from lack of light and air, but they cannot decompose since the environment is sealed off.  Eventually groundwater seeps through the layers of sediment and carries various minerals with it which slowly replace the organic cells of the tree.  When the process is complete, the entire structure of the tree is transformed from a plant to stone.  This stone is strong, heavy, and hard.  Sometimes loggers mistake it for a living tree and try to cut it with chainsaws, which wrecks the blades.  The details of the tree, the bark, wood grain, and rings remain virtually intact, so the tree still looks like a tree, but it’s a stone. 

            Maybe your spirit was crushed by a disaster.  Maybe your faith suffocated and died in the dark.  Maybe you felt alone, cut off from the life you used to live, and you wondered if you would ever see the light again.  Maybe you knew that things could never, ever go back to the way they used to be.  I have good news for you: Christ comes to make us new.  He runs through us like living water, penetrating every cell of our beings.  Bit by bit, he washes away our old selves and replaces us with a new substance.  He makes us like himself: steadfast and strong in faith.  Sure, we might look like our old selves on the outside, but we are not the same.  He makes us eternal.

            If you are a stone, then you understand this.  You have been there.  You remember the pain of the disaster, the loneliness and despair of the dark, the slow, redeeming life that seeped back into you, and the wonder you felt when you realized you could no longer die.  You know what it’s like to stand firm in the face of adversity.  You have learned to rest in the presence of Christ in you.

            If you are a plant, then you know that your faith may grow in seasons, sometimes flourishing and bearing fruit or flowers, sometimes lying dormant in winter only to rise again in the spring.  You have experienced the spirit of God stirring within you, sending out green shoots that look like love, joy, worship, peace, service, goodness, and prayer.  Maybe you have served in church ministry or led a small group.  Maybe you are brand new and just started waking up and growing in God.  Plants come in all different shapes and sizes.  Some grow quickly or slowly.  Some are showy, and some are simple.  No matter which kind of plant you are, faith lies within you, and you have the potential for growth.  But with that potential comes vulnerability.  You can be hurt, cut down by others.  You can be picked over and stripped bare of your fruit, left feeling used.  You can suffer changes in the weather, and you can get beaten down by life’s storms.  In fact, if things get bad enough, your faith might even die.

            Here’s the good news: our faith does not have to depend on circumstances.  The different seasons of life come and go.  Our faith does not have to come and go with them.  Christ came to teach us a hard truth: we must die if we want to be alive.  In Matthew 16:24-26 NLT Jesus tells his disciples, “If any of you wants to be my follower you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross, and follow me.  If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it.  But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it.  And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul?  Is anything worth more than your soul?”  We must be willing to die to our old selves in order for Christ to make us eternal.

When Jesus asked Peter, “But who do you say I am?” and Peter replied, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God,” then Jesus told him, “You are blessed, Son of John, because my Father in heaven has revealed this to you.  You did not learn this from any human being.  Now I say to you that you are Peter (which means ‘rock’), and upon this rock I will build my church, and all the powers of hell will not conquer it.” (Matthew 16: 15-18) When we declare Jesus is our Messiah not just because we learned it from a human being, but believing because we have been tested by adversity and made new by the restorative spirit of God, then we become rocks, and Christ uses us to build his church.

            Church, we who are rocks need to surround our plants and create a safe place for them to grow.  One of the ways we do this is through prayer.  If you know someone whose faith is struggling to grow, please pray for them today.  You can also pray for opportunities to offer words of encouragement or verses of scripture.  Make time for these people in your lives.  There are so many who accept Christ and carry the spirit of God within them yet are struggling to grow.  It is the responsibility of the church to stand firm in Christ and provide a safe place for people to seek him and grow in him.

Plants, we need to keep growing and reaching out, even when we are afraid of being cut down again.  Pray for courage to face the pain of connecting with others.  Pray for opportunities to share your gifts with others. If you are in a season of growth, God bless you.  You make our garden beautiful.  If you are lying dormant, just wait.  Spring will come again.  Pray that the Spirit of God will stir within you and wake you up.  And if any of you is in that dark, dead, lonely place: hold on.  You are being transformed.  Someday Christ’s work in you will be complete, and you will become a stone upon which he will build his church.  Pray and declare him to be the Messiah, the Son of God, not because a person taught you to say that, but because you feel the weight of its truth in every cell of your being, changing you and making you new.

On Becoming Stone

On Becoming Stone

By: Joy Ortiz

I was a tree

Young and green

Before the rivers rose

Around me. 

Churning, sweeping

The current came

Sudden and strong. 

My brothers tumbled,

Shallow roots torn,

And washed away. 

I held fast

Straining to survive

Upright. 

Birthed by rain

Thick mud

Heaved 

Dragging me downward. 

Desperate, I reached

Toward hidden sun,

Yet touched nothing. 

Deeper and deeper

The earth rose,

A grave. 

Where was I?

Buried and lost. 

Couldn't breathe. 

All was darkness. 

Had I fallen?

Somewhere else

(Above? Below?)

A distant boom

Showered...

What?

Another layer. 

Alone, 

I died. 

Alone I stayed. 

No beetles came

Devouring. 

No worms

Bored holes. 

Even microbes

Abandoned me

In my perfect tomb

Of mud and ash. 

Untouched I stood. 

Waiting?

Is death only waiting?

Then water seeped,

Permeating mud,

Passing through 

My every pore,

Bringing gifts:

Quartz, silica, agate.

Rich treasures

Like funeral offerings

Replaced my flesh

With crystalline beauty. 

Ever so slowly

I transformed

Until every cell

Became 

Stone. 

Ages passed. 

What is time?

The world heaved,

Broke its shell.

Then came rain

Slowly, 

Slowly eroding. 

Layers dissolved

And left me standing

Like a tree, 

But changed. 

Bands of color

Rippled through me. 

Sparkling facets 

Caught the light. 

I stood strong,

Unbreakable,

A stone

With bark and 

Rings of growth,

Immortal

In the light and air. 

Then I knew:

Death

And salvation

Were the same. 

Palette

Palette 

By: Joy Ortiz

Do colors resist blending,

Yellow screaming,

"Not a drop, Red!"

Despising the orange

Which swirls and spreads,

Forever changing 

His lemony hue

To one deeper

And closer to sunset than noon?

Does the red gloat,

Overtaking his fellow,

Creeping across Cadmium Yellow's

Tube-pure hue,

Streaming an orange wake?

Do Red and Blue

Fuss and feud

Over "more or less of me or you"

In search of a perfect Purple?

Compliments go nicely

From a healthy distance,

But too close, too close,

And a shit-storm Brown

Spirals from the center

Of Blue-meets-Orange. 

Black comes along

Bringing everybody down,

Sky Blue to Slate,

Berry to Burgundy,

And not a drop affects him. 

Some are so touchy

Like sensitive White,

Deeply affected by any and all,

Yet his influence small

Changes little in them. 

Frustrated he pours himself

Into friend after friend,

Yet they stay the same. 

Do primaries marry,

Seeking a partner

To parent a spectrum

Of secondary sons and daughters?

"He's more of a Red-Orange...

A lot like his father."

How we mix and meld,

Changing ourselves 

And each other. 

What wonders we make,

A Pantone of people,

A vibrant mess,

Swirled and splattered

Together, together. 

Psalm 23 and Me

Psalm 23 and Me

A Meditation

The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. 

You take care of me. I will be content. 

You make me lie down in green pastures; you lead me beside quiet waters. 

My belly is full. Rest.  Food. Beauty and bounty. 

You restore my soul. 

Right here, right now. 

You guide me along right paths for your name's sake. 

I am not lost. 

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me.  

I am not alone. 

Your rod and your staff comfort me. 

Your guidance and correction give me peace. 

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. 

I can sit, relax, and eat even in the face of conflict. 

You anoint my head with oil. 

Your blessing, protection, and empowerment flow over me. 

My cup overflows. 

I have more than enough. 

Surely your goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life. 

No matter how far I run, you are behind me, ready to bring me back home. 

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

With you. Home. Forever. 

Birdsong

Birdsong

By: Joy Ortiz

My strength and my song,

I lift my voice

In the early morning grey.
What gifts you give!

Early morning silence,

Birdsong,

The hope of spring. 

Oh, the generous hand of God!

Blessings fall down.

We crowd to receive

Like winter-hungry,

Tired-winged birds. 

You feed and rest us.

We wait for spring. 

Sustain us, Lord. 

Our praises rise with the sun.

Pray for your Enemies

Pray for your Enemies

 

By: Joy Ortiz

 

            Recently I was invited to lead a small group event at my church.  I was a bit surprised when Pamela asked me to lead one of these prayer sessions, because I don’t consider myself to be much of a teacher.  I’m lucky if I know what day it is or where I left my shoes.  I have more questions than answers when it comes to the important things in life.  

        As I was preparing to talk, I asked God what in the world I should say.  What do I know about prayer?  These days, most of my prayers go something like, “God, my neck still hurts,” “God, please let that be chocolate on my child’s face and not poop,” or “God, thank you for these two beautiful girls, and please let bedtime come soon.”

            These aren’t bad prayers, but I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired to teach anyone about how to pray them.  I think everyone prays these kinds of prayers throughout the day: spontaneous words that spring to our lips when we feel a sensation: joy, pain, fear, sorrow, etc.  “God,” I prayed, “Please give me something worthwhile to teach your people. Something you want them to hear.” Immediately this story sprang to mind, so here is the lesson I prepared.

            After supper one evening I received a text message from one of my girlfriends.  “Hey, are you available to talk in person for like, 20 minutes?”  “Sure!” I replied, and I pulled the covers off of my comfy porch chairs, parked myself, and waited for my friend to arrive.  It wasn’t long before her car pulled up.  I greeted her with a hug, and we sat down to one of the best things about friendship: a safe place to talk about life.

            After we caught up on how-was-your-day kind of chit-chat, we got to the heart of her visit.  It turns out that a married man was sending my friend uncomfortably friendly text messages.  She was unsure about how to take it; on the surface the messages were fairly innocent.  However, her gut feeling screamed, “This isn’t right!”  She wasn’t sure what to do about it.  Thankfully, I knew the man well enough to tell her, “You are absolutely right.  These are not innocent messages, and you should steer clear.”  She breathed a huge sigh of relief and cried, “I knew it!  I knew it!  Now I’m gonna go home and tell my husband.”  We talked a little bit more, and then she went home.

            The encounter left me more than a little bit disturbed.  It sickened me to hear that my dear friend was prey to someone’s selfish and inappropriate attentions.  I found myself welling up with anger and disgust.  My mind played over every detail of the many hurtful, degrading, selfish acts that man had committed.  I hated that the list was growing longer.  That man was definitely the enemy, on so many levels.  How many of my friends would suffer because of him?

            The word “enemy,” as though I had typed it into a search engine, pulled a Bible verse to the front of my mind.

            “Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:44)  

            I knew God’s voice well enough to realize that He was speaking to me, lovingly correcting my attitude.  “No, Joy.  Not hate. Love.  Always love.  And pray for him.”  I was a bit ashamed that my heart was still so quick to hate instead of love.  I mean, I’ve been a Christian my whole life.  You would think I would look a little bit more like Christ by now. Grudgingly at first, then more sincerely, I began to pray for my enemy.

            It’s funny how something as simple as saying a prayer can change a person.  By praying for that man, I wasn’t changing him.  In that moment I was changing myself.  My tension and anger began to melt away as I brought my enemy before the Lord and asked God to help him.  I began to see him as a person again, a person like me: capable of both good and evil.  Instead of a selfish scum-ball, I saw him as a broken and lost human, and I began to wish for his redemption instead of his eradication.  Hope replaced hate in my heart, and I took the first small step toward loving my enemy.

            Today I invite you to practice praying for your enemies.  I read an article in Relevant Magazine recently that talked about loving our enemies, and I’d like to share part of it with you.  Addressing prayer for enemies, Thomas Christianson wrote,       “I’m not talking about ‘please give that person what they have coming to them’ prayers. But I also don’t mean that you need to spend an hour each night asking God to pour blessings upon them. There’s a way to pray both for justice and for the hearts of those committing injustices.

If you have hate in your heart for somebody, maybe it starts with ‘God, I hate that person, and I don’t want to.’

As C.S. Lewis has said, ‘[Prayer] doesn’t change God—it changes me.’

Praying for your enemies opens you up to the work of the Holy Spirit in your heart.

Martin Luther King Jr. in Strength to Loveposits that forgiveness is the decisive factor in how much you can love your enemy. I fully agree.

When Jesus looks at His executioners from the cross and offers forgiveness, can there be any doubt of His love for them?

When relatives of the victims in the South Carolina church shooting offered forgiveness to the young man who murdered their loved ones, could anyone doubt that they were seeking to take Jesus’ words and example seriously?

Loving your enemy does not mean you have to add them to your Christmas list, or make them your best friend. It doesn’t mean you excuse their actions. It means you forgive them, with the knowledge that God is both merciful and just.

Jesus faced grave injustice with sacrifice. Through prayer and forgiveness in our hearts, let us go forth to conquer injustice in our time by the courage not to demand retribution, but rather to repay injury with blessing and hate with love.”  (http://www.relevantmagazine.com/god/worldview/what-it-actually-means-love-your-enemies)  That was from the Relevant Magazine article “What It Actually Means to Love Your Enemies.”

            When Christ taught us to love our enemies and pray for our persecutors, he wasn’t trying to frustrate us.  He wasn’t trying to deny us our just measure of anger.  He wasn’t trying to tell us to stuff our real feelings down deep inside and cover them with a false, smiling face and nice words.  He was inviting us to the freedom and healing that can only be experienced in truly forgiving someone and releasing their sins to God’s justice.  Jesus was giving us a gift: peace and joy that takes the place of anger and hate.  When we bring our enemies to God in prayer, we cast down the burden of their sins against us at God’s feet.  We say, “This person did this to me, and I hate him for it, but I know you don’t want me to hang onto that hate.  So I am giving it to you.  Please release me from this burden, and please help me to love my enemy.”  When we leave that burden in God’s care, we don’t have to carry that negative weight around anymore.  All responsibility for justice and vengeance transfers to God.

            In Romans 12:9-21 the Apostle Paul teaches us:

“Love from the center of who you are; don’t fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good. Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle.

Don’t burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant. Don’t quit in hard times; pray all the harder. Help needy Christians; be inventive in hospitality.

Bless your enemies; no cursing under your breath. Laugh with your happy friends when they’re happy; share tears when they’re down. Get along with each other; don’t be stuck-up. Make friends with nobodies; don’t be the great somebody.

Don’t hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you’ve got it in you, get along with everybody. Don’t insist on getting even; that’s not for you to do. “I’ll do the judging,” says God. “I’ll take care of it.”

Our Scriptures tell us that if you see your enemy hungry, go buy that person lunch, or if he’s thirsty, get him a drink. Your generosity will surprise him with goodness. Don’t let evil get the best of you; get the best of evil by doing good.”

Romans 12:9-21 (MSG)

            As we prepare our hearts for prayer, I would like us to sing At the Foot of the Cross.  As we lay every burden down at the foot of the cross, may we also pray that Christ will teach us to be more like him, extending mercy, love, and hope for a new life to every human being, beginning with our enemies.