I’m also amazed at the generosity of people.  The poster taped to the back of a folding chair read “All proceeds to support mission trips to Uganda and India.”  Because of that poster, we frequently received $1 for a 50 cent kitchen utensil, or $5 for a $1 shirt.  At the end of the day, these heart-felt contributions added up to a three digit blessing for both families involved.

So to the one who now sits upon our tired old couch, to the proud owner of that half-used box of tea bags, and of course to the procurer of the now infamous Fiesta Water Bottle, thank you for helping get us closer to our trips to Uganda and India.  We can’t believe you bought it, but we’re so glad you did.

Others had similar stories—plumbing turned deep sea diving, electric furnaces exposed as gas-powered imposters, auto repairs that ballooned into something only TARP funds could fix. And like most responsible young men, we placed the blame for our failures squarely where it belonged—on our fathers. They didn’t teach us enough. They didn’t pass down the right genes. We’re talking generational malpractice of epic proportions! But, in the end, we all knew it wasn’t their fault.  After all, stupid is as stupid does. At least that was what Dad said.

So I spent some time thinking about my father and the lessons I have to show for our time together. What did I miss? What did I gain? Who would I be if things had been different? Genetics aside, we are who we are largely out of our experiences and our relationships. And when it comes to my father, I can say there are certainly things that are different because of our journey together, the one we took and the one we never got to take.

Unlike some of my friends, I didn’t have the advantage of growing up with a dad in the house. While I certainly never lacked for any parental guidance, love, or care (thanks, Mom), I did face the reality of chasing after a distant, if not elusive, paternal relationship.

I loved my Dad. I didn’t know him or understand him, but I loved him. Yet, like most sons, I seemed to instinctively need his instruction and approval. Other men were present in my life (most notably my sainted grandfather) and worked hard to provide that male influence for me. But there were still things I felt should come from my dad alone. When I was sixteen, my hope for these things ended when Dad lost a long fight with heart disease.

Obviously, Dad and I didn’t share a close day-to-day bond like some fathers and sons. So his passing, while tragic and difficult, wasn’t necessarily devastating for me. But now, as a father myself, I seem to be missing him the most.

I want so desperately to be a great father, yet I have no road map for raising a son, no practical lessons or experience. And unlike some funny DIY disaster story, this kind of home improvement deserves to be done right. I can’t screw this up.

One friend told of his botched experience installing a light fixture. As it turns out, his type of fixture needed to be installed in reverse order. This is a fact he discovered only after he had nearly completed what should have been a quick job.

“I turned around,” he said, “and there was my wife holding the part I should have installed first, along with the manual. She said, ‘Forget something?’ So, I took it all apart and put it back the right way.”

Wives are good like that. The other day, I was talking with Darlene about Dad. She said, “You know, I watch you with our son, the fun you two have together, the way he clings to you and loves you so much. It’s almost like God is giving you what you never had with your Dad, only in reverse order.”

I know! Right? I was a puddle in the floor. Right there in Bone Fish Grille. I just fanned my face and shouted, “Man, those Bang Bang Shrimp are HOT!” But there was no recovery. She had uncovered a great truth of God’s love and faithfulness in my life, and my cup simply ranneth over.

So when I look back on what I did or didn’t have with my father, whatever lessons I failed to master, it’s almost as if I can see God quietly allowing me to build my life the best way I know how.  And now He’s standing there with a missing piece and the instructions saying, “Forget something?” And I did. I forgot my father—my Heavenly Father.

Could it be that the lessons I thought I had missed I’m actually learning right now? So, I guess I’m going to take it all apart and put it back the right way. The good news is: I’m not alone. I do have a Father, one who loves me and can teach me any lesson I need to learn.

How thankful I am for my wife, for my children, for a mother, and for grandparents who taught me how to love and to be loved. And how thankful I am for a God who seeks to be my Father and walks with me, no matter how big a mess I make of things.

After he said these things, Jesus became visibly upset, and then he told them why. “One of you is going to betray me.” John 13:21

The twelve men were most likely still trying to process what was happening.  Jesus was washing their feet.  He had gone to each of them, one by one, performing the most humble and menial of tasks with the love and care of a Creator for his created.

Now, as He takes His place at the table once again, He says, “So now you’re clean.  But not every one of you.”  Oops. Did he skip one?  Let’s see.  Twelve men, that’s twenty four feet.  No, that’s all of them.  So what did Jesus mean by this?

Here in the middle of this touching act of service, an act that foreshadows the ultimate sacrifice Jesus would soon make, comes a reveal more shocking than anything we’ve seen on “Lost.”

Verse 21 says, “Jesus became visibly upset, and then he told them why. ‘One of you is going to betray me.’” If they had commercials in first century AD, they would have cut to one here.

By now, we know the rest of the story.  Jesus identifies Judas as His betrayer, sending him out to “Do it, and get it over with.”  While the other eleven disciples are still confused, it’s clear to us that Jesus knew as he washed Judas’ feet what was to happen.  Jesus knew what Judas would do.  And still He washed the feet of the man who would soon hand Him over to a brutal and shameful death.

So, when Jesus said earlier, “I have set an example that you should do as I have done for you,” did He also mean washing the feet of the very one who least deserved it?

And if so, what does that mean for us?  What does this tell us about how Jesus treats us?  What does this tell us about how we are to treat one another?

Then Jesus answered, “Will you really lay down your life for me? I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times! John 13:38

Movies have a way of transforming us instantly.  We watch a James Bond movie and leave the theatre noticing every detail about everyone around us, ready to jump into action at the first sign of danger.  We watch a war hero selflessly sacrifice his life for the sake of those around him.  Then we leave ready to do the same, certain that we are prepared to answer just such a call.

This was Peter after his last meal with Jesus.  He had been caught up in the drama playing out around him.  “I will lay down my life for you,” he tells Jesus.  But Jesus knows better.  This was no movie.  This was all too real.

“Will you really lay down your life for me?  I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.”

Ouch.  Talk about busting your bubble.  It’s easy to watch from a distance and consider ourselves worthy of participation.  But when we are the main characters, life seems anything but cinematic.  Peter left the theatre ready to risk it all.  But as Jesus predicts, his first test ends miserably as he in fact disowns Jesus not once, not twice, but three times.

What Peter promised was not a bad thing.  The problem was in his motivation.  He was more focused on his own glory than the necessary sacrifice that would have to be made.  Certainly, there are moments in life when we are called to do the right thing, the hard thing.  But those moments are anything but glorious, let along Oscar-winning performances.

In short, we can be in the movie, or we can watch the movie.  But we can’t do both.  The choice is up to each of us.

I was recently asked to prepare three short devotions on John 13.  This is the first.

Then [Jesus] said, “Do you understand what I have done to you? You address me as ‘Teacher’ and ‘Master,’ and rightly so. That is what I am. So if I, the Master and Teacher, washed your feet, you must now wash each other’s feet. I’ve laid down a pattern for you. What I’ve done, you do. John 13: 17

Disciples didn’t go to day spas, and they didn’t wear New Balance.  Most theologians agree on these points.  And since we’re also fairly certain they didn’t drive Mini Coopers, it’s safe to say they walked . . . everywhere.  The unfortunate conclusion of these historical certainties is that disciples had dirty, ugly, smelly feet.

But so did everyone.  It was in the fine print when you signed up to be a Biblical character.   And so upon entering one’s house, most people compensated as would you or I by washing their feet.  And feet being what they are, you can imagine that this was a pretty personal thing.  In fact, to wash another person’s feet was considered so demeaning that the laws forbid a Jewish slave from being forced to do it.  You had to call in the “B” team, the Gentile slaves, for something like that.

So you can imagine what the disciples must have thought in John 13 when Jesus got on his hands and knees and began to wash their feet.  Other than Gentile slaves, this kind of thing was only done by wives for husbands or children for parents, and maybe disciples for teachers.  But it was never done by teachers for disciples.  And yet there Jesus was, kneeling, washing, and teaching all at the same time.

Peter (typical Peter) protests Jesus’ action. But Jesus says, “If I don’t wash you, you can’t be part of what I’m doing.”

That statement goes a little deeper than the bowl of water on the floor.  Jesus was getting ready to endure humiliation that would make washing feet seem like a walk in the park.  But without it, humanity would be lost, and He loved us too much to let that happen.  The tough part for Peter, and perhaps for us, is in realizing that to be a part of what Jesus did and is doing, we too must learn about true love and be willing to humble ourselves enough to serve one another.

“I’ve laid down a pattern for you,” He said. “What I’ve done, you do.”

So the next time someone shows us their dirty, ugly, smelly feet (or any other part of their anatomy for that matter), perhaps we should consider this story.  As Christians, perhaps we should be the first on the scene to do the jobs that must be done but that no one else wants to do.

To Lead Like Thunder
I didn’t know until recently that Jesus called James and John the “Sons of Thunder.”  Apparently, these two brothers earned that name by being bold and head-strong, even to a fault.  They were movers and shakers, leaders among their peers, make-it-happen kind of guys.  We all know people like this, people who are really good at getting results but that are so goal-oriented that things like sensitivity, or fairness, or . . . oh, I don’t know . . . other people,  just seem to get in the way.

The Sons of Thunder were famous for tripping over their own goals.  There’s a great story in Matthew 20 where James and John use their mother to approach Jesus with a special request. In verse 21 she says, “Grant that one of these two sons of mine may sit at your right and the other at your left in your kingdom.”

Stop the truck!  What?  When I first read this, I thought,”That sounds just like a couple of God Squad wannabe’s.  Always trying to sit next to the most popular guy in school.”  I mean, really.  They can’t even ask for themselves?  They have to get their mother to do it?  And when the other disciples weren’t around?  How calculated!  Then I looked in the mirror. 

I hate to say it, but my reflection looks an awful lot like this story.  I too have been concerned with where I might sit in the grand scheme of things.  I too have become so goal-oritented and ambitious that I failed to see the big picture – a picture that included the feelings of those around me.  But I still can’t say that my actions have ever been purely selfish.  Nor should we assume this for James and John.  Who wouldn’t want to spend eternity next to Jesus?  These guys were being who God made them to be.  They were seeking their place.  And they felt they had found it next to Jesus. 

Unfortunately their actions, like my actions, sound an awful lot like thunder.  Loud, but that’s about it.

To Drink from the Cup
Don’t get me wrong.  To lead like thunder can be effective.  But sometimes it’s only in the lonely echoes of failure that the whisper of Truth can be heard.  This Truth is as humbling as it is powerful.  When it speaks of leadership, it makes no promises of success, or acceptance, or of thrones at the right hand of God.  Instead, it warns that to lead is to be misunderstood, distanced, or even despised.

What does Jesus say to James and John’s request?  “You don’t know what you are asking,” Jesus said to them (not to their mother). “Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?”

Can’t you just see James and John standing there like Forrest and Bubba in front of Lt. Dan?  They look at each other, then back at Jesus, blank stares and blind confidence, nodding ”Uh huh.” 

The scene had to be similarly amusing for Jesus at first.  But I can’t help but wonder if His face grew sad with the thought of what was to come for these Sons of Thunder.  I say this because as He was setting them straight on who makes the seating chart in Heaven, He also says to them, “You will indeed drink from my cup.”

Fourteen years after this story takes place, James becomes the first of the disciples to be martyred.  His brother John, while living longer, does so in exile on a remote island, a prison camp, where he sees how the world will end.  The true cup of leadership is often not at all what we envision.  It is more a responsibility than a privilege.  And its taste is often bitter at best.

It’s later in this story that we find one of the most profound statements of leadership ever recorded in history.  Speaking to the disciples of James and John’s request, Jesus says, (28)  “. . . the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

And so for modern-day Sons of Thunder, there is a profound lesson to be learned here:

Leadership is not about where you sit.  It’s about the cup you drink from.

To be liked . . .
You are popular, at least for a season. People smile and welcome you when you walk into a room. Life is a little easier. Expectations are a little lower. You are simply accepted. You receive Christmas cards whether you send them or not. You get invited to the cool kids’ parties. You’re good enough. You’re smart enough. And doggonnit, people like you! But you would give it all up for just a little respect.

To be respected . . .
People guard what they say around you. You rarely see the “real” side of people. You are held to a constantly higher and often unrealistic standard. You are from time to time misquoted, and your name is often used for the gain of those whom you do not necessarily endorse. You are targeted and maligned. You are worshiped and revered. Your are unnecessarily credited, wrongly accused. And through it all, all you really want is to be liked.

I challenge you to look at those around you, at home, at work, at church, on the news. To whom do you offer your allegiance? Who do you like? Who do you respect? We see evidence of the above so much, even on the news. Reagan is revered now as one of the greatest US Presidents of all time. But when he was in office, he suffered the same sneers and jeers as any modern-day political leader. Respect.

We see Brittany Spears leave rehab as she tries to pick up the pieces of a shattered psychological existence. Front page news for the girl we praised and lifted up as a pop icon just two years earlier. Then we flip the channel and shake our heads. That poor girl. What’s the weather tomorrow? Yep, Brittany. We liked her.

America is starving for respectful leaders. Our homes are starving for respectful fathers. Believers are starving for respectable examples. And I firmly believe that men in general are starving for respect. But we are too concerned with being liked.

Like vs. respect. I think I know which I prefer.

My daughter’s delima (as it turns out) was rooted in her belief that the Bible explicitly commands us to dress our best when we go to church.  So I posed the following question to my wife . . .

Why are we to dress our best when we go to church?

Her reply . . .

“Our bodies are God’s temple.  We should treat them accordingly.  This also means dressing our best and being holy before God.”

To which I offered . . .

“But John the Baptist was holy, and he looked like crap.”

Her [final] response:

“Yes. But I’m not John the Baptist’s mother.”

Next Sunday, I guess we’re all wearing a dress to church.

From July 2007:

Remember Vacation Bible School?  Remember those hot summer days squirming in the pew sporting a Kool Aid mustache?  Remember counting light fixtures while the preacher droned out Bible stories and took up money?  (Yes, even then).  Ah, those were the days.  How much we learned!  The Pledge of Allegiance, The Christian Pledge, the Pledge to the Bible, the Pledge to Bear Bryant . . . ok, maybe that was just an Alabama thing. 

Even now, some 25 years later, I am still taking my children to Vacation Bible School.  And while the music is louder, the games are cooler, and most kids are walking around with iPods, some things have remained solidly the same.  The Bible is still “God’s Holy Word.”  Jesus is still offering everlasting life. And prayer changes things.  Which brings me to the real subject of this post, my daughter.   

At eight*, she is my oldest.  She accepted Christ at the early age of five, which was young I thought.  But she was precocious and clearly understood fully what she was doing.  Since then, she has epitomized child-like faith for my wife and me.  Her commitment to Jesus is pure and profound. She is an inspiration.

Today, she discretely pulled me aside and asked that I pray specifically for her younger (five year old) sister.  “Today,” she said, “is a very special day.”  Of course I pressed for further clarification (I am Baptist, after all and find it much easier to pray for people when I have ALL the juicy details).  She would not offer more, but just insisted that I pray for her sister.  Then, as a parting note, offered this one small clue.

“Our theme verse today is Romans 10:9.”  With that, she hurried to her class.

While you might not find the reference familiar, those of you who are believers will no doubt recognize the verse:

“That if you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” Romans 10:9 (NIV)

It suddenly occurred to me that my daughter was praying for her sister’s salvation.  She was also enlisting me to do the same.  My eight year old daughter saw the spiritual potential in the message her sister would hear that day.  She also remembered her own experiences as a five year old.  Therefore, she invoked the most powerful tool any of us carry as a Christian, prayer.

I began praying for my children before they were born.  But I was not prepared emotionally for the reality that they would one day grow up to pray for one another.  I am confident God will answer my daughter’s prayers.  I am confident that in her own time, my youngest daughter will no doubt come to depend on God’s saving grace as much as the rest of us.  But I am humbled at the faithfulness of my child and her unconditional commitment to prayer for the salvation of her sister.

*McKenzie is now nine years old.  She is still strong in her faith, and she still prays for her sister.

** Photo by Jadie Thomas, Jadie Thomas Photography