Oh, at this busiest time of year with all its surging energy – shoppers scurrying in and out of our shop, women working frantically to meet orders, phones ringing, bright red ribbons atop baskets flying out the door – I have to pause and ponder and pray to renew my energy and joy.

Lord Jesus, I am so thankful that you came into our clamor and commotion as a baby. All this hubbub must stay outside the manger. Only quiet hearts bow down and see God Almighty in this babe.  When I quiet my mind and put aside the long to-do lists, I worship this Wonder. God became a child! Dietrich Bonhoeffer says, “Don’t speak! Stand still before this statement! Where is the divinity and might in this child? His poverty in the manger is his might. In the might of love he overcome the chasm between God and humankind.”

Oh, he has much to overcome in me today. The chasm seems wide. And then I think of that baby. Perhaps the gift I bring Him is just my exhaustion, laid down at His feet. And miraculously I am relieved of it. Wonder!

“I have to apologize to you, Jan,” she said squatting down next to my chair.  I searched her face for clues of what she was talking about. My mind quickly scanned recent interactions at Christ Kitchen. Disgruntled murmurings and budding tensions often find their way to my ears long before they have a chance to erupt. This one, however, had given no warning and somehow involved me. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I spoke against you to the other women. I was mad and started doing that distancing thing I always do when anger gets the best of me which ended with me bad-mouthing you. I didn’t get my way and I blamed you. It was wrong and I’m sorry.”

Curiosity vied with pragmatism. Did I really want to know what was said or should I just go with the apology? When you look curios up in Scripture, it says one who ‘pries into forbidden things, see Busybody’.  Clearly, this thing wasn’t really about me and wasn’t mine to know. “I accept your apology,” I said, opting for ignorance, “but it might be a good idea to correct what you said about me to the others.”

Sometimes, around our project which helps women transcend poverty, I get to see the most awesome examples of restitution. These gals have more courage than anyone I’ve ever known. Whether schooled in AA or hard knocks, they are my teachers in courses on humble admission of wrongs, fearless moral inventories, willingness to make amends. It occurred to me that I was in the presence of restoration in progress, of courage beyond measure. Her face lit up. “You’re right. I have to do that.” And off she went to talk to the others.

Smiling, I got back to work thanking the Lord for her; her candor and grit. A bit later, she bounded up to me with a wry smile. “Just want to tell ya,” she advised like a wise prophet, “it’s much easier to not say something wrong, than to have to correct it after you do.”

Yes, my sister-sojourner, it is.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about reconciliation. This churchie word, often quoted in complex theological discussions, was displayed in all its simplicity and beauty recently in a conversation I had with a woman from the Kitchen. She, we’ll call her Ronda, had been accused of stealing, but vehemently denied it. Not knowing what to believe, I sent her home to pray about what to do. “Just deal with God about it,” I told her without much hope that she would.

I wasn’t optimistic because over the past 14 years not one of our employees has ever admitted to stealing even when the evidence was clear and right in front of us. I was discouraged because Ronda is a great worker and I’d hate to loose her. I prayed all weekend that she would know that forgiveness was available. I prayed God would intervene. “Please, please, please, do something, Lord! Show her what to do, how to come back; show her how Truth offers freedom.”

She didn’t call on Tuesday when we’d arranged to talk. My worst fears played havoc with prayer. Had she conceded to discouragement, old habits, and beliefs?  Would this deride her new found stability and sobriety? Oh… I can get morose thinking I know the future.

Wednesday morning she called. “I’ve been reading my Bible,” she said, “all weekend actually. I wasn’t ready to call you yesterday; I had to keep reading. A chaplain friend told me to find verses that would help me. So I’ve been reading about being a thief. Did you know there’s a lot of verses about that? And, well, I don’t want to be one. There’s this verse in Ephesians that says if you used to steal, don’t do it anymore, but work and do something useful. And that’s what I want to do, Jan. I want you to respect me. I love Christ Kitchen and I want to work there. Do you forgive me?”

Ah, sweet Jesus. Reconciliation simply means change, what God accomplishes when he sheds his grace on us, the fallen, the oh-so-messed-up, the discouraged. It’s an invitation to accept God’s astounding provision in exchange for our dismal attitudes, bleak prospectives, and deadly habits. Ronda, my rookie theologian, spoke hope right over the phone line to this discouraged disciple. She joyfully revealed God’s mighty power to change the world one soul at a time.

I got up early to run along the Sea of Galilee. It occurred to me as the sun was rising through the eastern haze that Jesus and the disciples rarely hurried, let alone ran anywhere. Hmmm….what is wrong with this picture? Birds with new songs flit through the trees and draw my attention upward. Then, kerplunk! I twisted my ankle in a depression on the sidewalk and down I crash onto raw knees and elbows. Ouch! I don’t move, praying nothing is broken. There is not a soul in sight; no one in the whole world knows I’m laying here bleeding on a sidewalk in Tiberius. O, Lord, what have I done? I ran where you walked. I fell where you stood. I hobble where you healed.  With a swollen, black and blue ankle packed with ice, I am humbled to slow down. Unable to zoom around, I pay attention differently. I hear more. Hmmm…

I am standing on the Arbel Cliffs in Israel overlooking a breathtaking panorama of the Galilee. I can see the Golan Heights to the east, the Jordan River Valley to the north, and the beautiful Sea of Galilee 700 feet below. I can see the city of Tiberius now a thriving metropolis over to my right. Through the haze I can just make out the ruins of Capernaum, Jesus’ home during his ministry.

As I marvel at the beauty wondering if Jesus ever stood exactly here, I think about what he said to the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4. “If you only knew the free gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” Oh, Israel, home of my Lord, do you long for living water? How I pray you will know his free gift.

If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.  Mat 17:21

I never understood this verse. Moving mountains at a word is impossible, right? Jesus told his disciples that they couldn’t drive a demon out of a little boy because they had just such little faith; that demons of this sort only come out with prayer. His diagnosis of their problem was too little faith and then he offers his solution to the problem – faith the size of a tiny mustard seed.  Ah, the Master of word play at work. We don’t have to have huge faith to do the impossible, just a small bit of faith to pray to a HUGE God. Thankfully, we don’t need to have faith in our own competence or even in our ability to pray, we just need to get to praying. Commentator Dale Bruner says that mustard seed faith is “faith that’s said its prayers; faith that breathes”. Our faith might be small, but it’s not feeble. It’s alive just like a seed. Mustard seed faith is simply faith that moves you to pray to a really big God.

I love this picture of Jesus by the well with the Samaritan woman. The artwork is by a French artist so able to capture the deep perception of Jesus at work. (You can find these paintings, cards, and posters on the jesusmafa.com website.)

I’ve entitled this blog By the Well because the encounter between Jesus and the woman in the fourth chapter of John so aptly depicts discipleship. Jesus drew me to the well some 30 years ago. As I attempt to abide there with Him, the story is a continual source of instruction and inspiration for working with women living in poverty at Christ Kitchen. (For more about Christ Kitchen, visit www.christkitchen.org or click on the links on this page.)

Discipleship by the well in all its many forms will be the main topic of this blog. I pray that it will encourage you also. Just as Jesus went deliberately to Samaria to meet the woman at the well, he beckons all of us to follow him into the valleys and alleys of our towns. Masterfully, he shows us how to talk with societies outcasts, address their shortcomings, and love them into the Kingdom. With equal mercy, he mentors his disciples who have never talked with such women. “Follow me,” Jesus calls, “I’ll make you fishers of people.” He shows us the way, his way, to finding our true selves through service to the ‘least of these’. He offers women of the streets and women of the church a mentored path of transformation, one that enables both to say that they really have found the Savior of the world.

I’d love to chat with you as you consider these writings.
In His Way,
Jan