The supermarket is a jungle. In the ancient jungle, the hunter
needed many weapons to avert certain death by predators. The panther lurking in the shadows of
plants could easily jump forward and seize its prey. Enter color.
The human eye provided an effective defense against predators, detecting
different wavelengths of light and providing depth for different objects. Man could now tell the difference
between a banana leaf, and a heaving furry mass of teeth and claws breathing
death right at its prey. Enter
marketing. Marketers have learned
how to make their products stand out in a supermarket. They know that reds stand out more than
any other color. They know that
yellows and golds make people salivate.
They know that when people shop in a counter-clockwise pattern, that
they spend more money per trip.
They know that the more space a product can take up on the shelf, the
more likely a shopper will be to buy their brand. Marketers have become the new predators, preying upon poor
consumers who shop with their eyes more than their brains.
We need to see. Colors, shapes, and contrast create
variety that helps us to distinguish between objects and pick out specific
targets to view. But in the
supermarket, seeing doesn’t seem to protect us…our vision is blurred by our inclinations…our
tendencies to act without thinking.
Our human nature. When we
let this nature have its way, we aren’t able to see things clearly. We tend to focus on the wrong things,
while the more important targets recede into the landscape.
However, the disciples saw more
when they went up to the Temple to pray.
They didn’t see what Luke intentionally calls the Beautiful gate. Beautiful things draw us…they stir
emotion in us and pull at our insides.
At that time, some of the priests were concerned that Jews were moving
away from the beautiful structures and traditions of Judaism. The Jews were dividing. Some were steadfast in the traditional
atmosphere of the Temple…the senses were engaged, from the burning of
sacrifices, to the ornamental depictions of Eden, to the call and response of
reading and prayer. Yet Peter and
John weren’t distracted as they went to the temple to pray. They didn’t just see the decorations…the
pomp and frill of their religion.
God opened their eyes to true worship.
What everyone else saw was speck of
dust on the ground…an accessory to the landscape of the Beautiful Gate. What Peter and John saw was a man. He stood out. And he did not stand out because he asked them for
money. In fact, this would make
him even more prone to recede into the background, because this was his
job. It was what he had done his
whole life…being carried in by someone else, and holding out his hand for
something…anything, so that he might be able to survive another day. He was part of the landscape of the
Temple…just another detail of worship, like the art, the sacrifices and the
reading. But not to Peter and
John.
To Peter and John, this beggar was
you and I. This beggar, who
understood need. This man who
could not control whether or not he survived from day to day. This man who depended upon the wealth
of others to survive. This man had
no deceptions about his status in the world. He had no intentions of moving up the social ladder…this
wasn’t in the cards. He even
needed someone to carry him to a place where he could ask for money. He came to the table empty-handed, like
a child who depends upon parents for survival. This man was a dog under the table, begging for scraps…he
was each one of us.
Is this not our communion? Which one of us has something to offer
at the Lord’s meal? None…not
one. We are not there to serve,
but to be served. We come to the
table to eat. We are the
beggars…we are the children. There
is only one who offers…only one who gives. Christ Himself, gives to us, feeds us His own life. We bring nothing to the table but an
empty stomach…a heart that needs nourishment.
Peter and John saw something
more. They saw past the beggar,
and saw the man. They saw the
hands reaching for something more than silver and gold. They saw a stomach that hungered
for something that would not vanish in a few hours. Their view on the world was changing. Things that didn’t matter began to
recede. The old order of
things…the way that beggars were just a part of the landscape…the traditions
about social behavior and religious interaction…these things all began to recede,
and Jesus began to advance. Their
eyes were opening.
In other words, Peter and John were
not experts on how to be cool.
Maybe they began to not care about what was or was not cool. Possibly, they didn’t even know what
was cool. They were losing
interest in focusing on the surface of things. Louie Giglio talks about the “veneer” of what happens on
Sunday…that someone wears the right graphic tee, or cool watch. That we have can lights and fog, or
that we nail our deadpan one-liners, or that our graphic design team mocks up
an awesome jpeg for our sermon series.
Now, these things are not bad in themselves, but there must be something
deeper. Jokes or no, cool watch or
no, graphic design mock up or no, Jesus can be there…but to find Him, we need
to push past the façade. We cannot
be distracted by the appearance.
Peter and John were looking for something going on below the surface.
Because on the surface, Peter and
John were mere miracle workers. To
a passerby, they were like other miracle men who healed, or performed various
supernatural feats, and turned a profit.
Now don’t get me wrong…everyone loves to be amazed. We all need our attention drawn by
something beautiful…something that creates a desire within us to move, and to
pay attention. But these men were
no mere miracle workers…they weren’t selling their name, “The Amazing Peter and
Wonder John”. They were doing
these deeds in the name of the Christ…the Messiah. They named another authority, Jesus, who was stirring up the
order of things. At first glance,
these men were like the other rogue magicians, but below the surface, they were
offering so much more.
Appearances can be deceiving. The smallest seed can grow into the
tallest tree. I’ve met men on the
streets of San Fransisco who had PhD’s…who have the Old Testament memorized in
both Hebrew and English. When you
meet that beggar on the side of the road, you might be meeting a king. Saul Williams puts it this way, “I can
think of nothing heavier than an airplane…I can think of no greater
conglomerate of steel and metal…I can think of nothing less likely to fly…There
are no wings more weighted…I too have felt a heaviness…The stare of man
guessing at my being.” What do you
see when you look at someone? Do
you see their clothes, or do you see their character? Can you look past the politics and see their potential? Or do you see them at all?
We all have a sight problem. We have a problem seeing the people
that our nature won’t let us see.
We see the people that we want to see. The people like us…the people that interest us. Of course, we see our friends. We see other Christians, we see other
athletes, or other intellectuals, or other leaders, or athletes, or rebellious
outcasts. We even see our
enemies…the people that stand out.
We see the people that offend us…the religions, or lifestyles that make
us uncomfortable. These things
stand out when we survey the landscape.
But whom are we missing? Who recedes into the landscape? Recently, UNC housekeepers were
recognized for their contribution to the UNC community. Have you ever met the people who clean
our bathrooms? Or the people who
serve us food or keep up the grounds or drive the buses? What about the people who serve in a
restaurant? Or delivered you a
pizza? Now, I’m not suggesting
that you hail a waiter, sit him down and ask him for his life story. He will probably lose out on much
needed salary from tips while you chat.
But you can see these people.
You can go beyond the surface…offer more than the status quo. You can make their jobs easier. You can make their salaries more
manageable. You can offer them a
smile, or a handshake…you can listen to them. You can give them the benefit of the doubt. You can begin to see. See that something bigger dwells
beneath the surface…a bigger story than the veneer that we impose upon the world.
Because the smallest seed can
become the biggest tree. Something
so big hiding in something so small.
That Christ Himself might dwell in us. That as we eat this meager bread, and drink this grape
juice, that we are eating and drinking of the King of Kings. Is this not a communion with our
Lord? Our eyes are so easily
deceived, and we can lose focus.
This is not a mere ritual…this is us waiting on the Messiah.
And
so, Peter and John demanded that the beggar see as well. They said to him,
“Look at us!” At that moment, they
saw each other. Their eyes were
opened. At that moment, both Peter
and John, and the beggar pushed past the veneer and looked deeper. And Jesus sprang forth. Is this not a communion with our
Lord? That we see Jesus, and that
He looks back at us? Something
deep and intuitive exists here.
When David Crowder describes the difference between classical and
bluegrass music, he describes classical as more calculated and organized, while
bluegrass touches the deeper, more intuitive parts of a musician. Classical music has an audience that
watches a performance, while bluegrass music has an audience that whoops,
hollers, and participates in the music.
The division between musician and audience collapses…there is
community.
We
are about to sit at the table with our Lord. You are about to see, and be seen. There is a weight to this meal, the weight of 2000 years of
saints sitting at the table. The
weight of God’s fullness busting at the seams. But there is also a comfort…an intimacy, that when we are
seen by the Lord…when we touch the hem of his robe, that anything exposed to Him
can be cleaned. That we all sit
with one another at peace, as we are His beloved. That the One we have waited for, hiding in a piece of bread
and a sip of juice, can finally be reached. As we come to the table, come as a child. Let Him see you, and be prepared to
open your eyes. This is the One we
have waited for…
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