Jesus the Shame-Remover

I flung off the poncho and heard one student gasp audibly as all the “sins” I’d been covering suddenly became visible on my black vest. I was pleased that I had actually managed to walk around the last half hour of school with papers pinned all over me and no one knew. But then the funniest thing happened: even though I had been building up my Chapel talk to this moment, talking about my personal struggle with perfection and the need to hide my sins from the world, and even though I knew what was coming next, I suddenly felt that familiar shame. The kids could read all these sins all over me, and they would associate them with me. I had to resist the urge to reach up my hands and cover the vest. Just stick to the script, I told myself.

Forcing myself to read slowly and not rush, I shared the story from Zechariah 3, about Joshua the high priest who also stood before the Lord with filthy clothes. It had been a meaningful discovery in Scripture to me back in college and had become so again this fall as I saw similarities to the story of Edmund in our play (see previous posts). Excitedly, I got to the part where the angel removes Zechariah’s dirty garments and gives him clean, pure ones instead. I unzipped my black vest covered in sins and removed it before pulling out my white one with a single piece of paper pinned to it that read “Jesus.” When I actually put on the Jesus vest, two students clapped, and I laughed. I truthfully felt more free than I had just a moment before.

Then I introduced the idea of diffraction glasses. According to Galatians 3:27, I had actually “put on” Christ and was wearing him as clothes now, and the main idea I wanted my students to take away was that God now sees Jesus when he looks at me. Talk about no longer needing to live in that shame! Just as diffraction glasses are imprinted with some kind of image that then lets you then see that image everywhere you look, so God looks at me with Jesus-imprinted glasses. I am now fully IN Christ. One girl’s forehead actually wrinkled. So there was nothing to do but let them try it out for themselves.

My colleagues helped pass out the glasses, and students looked up at the ceiling where twinkle lights had been hung in preparation for the Christmas banquet. “Whoa, I see hearts everywhere!” a student exclaimed. 

I only hope that when the glasses are long broken and in the trash, the truth of Scripture writes itself deeply on the hearts of these kids whom I love - that to trade garments with Christ not only brings ultimate release from the perfection struggle, but that they can live fully “in Christ,” clean and pure and shining with a Jesus-shaped ring around them.

Diffraction glasses and my Christmas tree

An Offering on the Stage

 The craziness in the room was almost deafening. 36 nervous Middle Schoolers were scattered, some playing patty-cake, some yelling lines at each other, some taking selfies on their phones, and others floating from corner to corner, unable to sit still. The director and I eyed each other across the mayhem, our silent cries for help audible only to each other. The show was supposed to open in 25 minutes, and there was no way we could send the cast backstage in this state.

Fortunately, that very morning I had re-read my favorite scene from the book, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe and had thrown it into my bag along with my book of liturgies that happened to have a "Prayer before Taking the Stage." It didn't seem like this was really the ideal moment, but I decided to give it a try. Pulling up the high stool, I set myself on it and began to help those nearest to me quiet down. Eventually the calm rippled all the way to the corners, and I had a captive audience that I knew would likely last only 3 minutes. I set up the scene quickly and launched into the chapter where we see the Witch demand the blood that is rightfully hers, and Aslan offer himself in Edmund's place.

"Guys," I said, "we get to tell a really powerful story tonight - THE most powerful story. It's Jesus' story, and I'm so grateful for the hours you've poured in already. Let's lay this production on the stage like an offering to him." And with that I knew my 3 minutes were coming to an end. "Before I pray this liturgical prayer, I just want to open it up to 2-3 of you to pray. You can thank Jesus for what he's done and how far we've made it, or pray for all of us as we tell his story. I'll close us out."

We had barely closed our eyes before the first kid launched into his prayer, heartfelt and sweet, overflowing in gratitude. His "amen" was instantly followed by a second voice, asking Jesus to be pleased by our performance. She paused to take a breath and was cut off by a third student, begging God that everyone would remember lines and cues. That "amen" was picked up by a fourth and then a fifth. Prayer after prayer flowed from the hearts of these Middle Schoolers. Everyone could feel the Spirit was moving; it was a holy moment. The rocks had no need to cry out this night as the children did. Somewhere around the 15th student, I made eye contact with the director again, although this time through somewhat blurry eyes. We smiled but then both checked our watches. It felt wrong to cut them short, but we were supposed to be backstage in 5 minutes at this point. I took a deep breath and prayed the "Prayer before Taking the Stage," meaning every syllable.

And then we did. We took the stage and left an offering. 

And God is still moving.

Just today, an 8th grader launched a Bible study for his class, something he felt compelled to do after the play ended. He wanted to see more of Jesus' story in community with his classmates. Another mom came up to share about how they were singing a worship song on Sunday that said "the king of love had given up his life - the darkest day in history," when her children leaned over and said "Like Aslan?" What a gift to be invited into THE greatest story of all time.

Pic Credits: Yearbook Class

Purposeful Storms

The lightning flashed and was instantly followed by the thunder, confirming what we already knew: that the storm was directly above our heads. The sides of the tent flapped harshly, and suddenly we all gasped as the projector screen tipped in slow motion toward Debbie’s head. By the grace of God, she took a step forward in that moment, and it missed her completely. Still, we decided it was time to take a break. With squeals like little children, half of our group sprinted across the sopping grass toward the safety of the house while the rest of us tiptoed around the tent, unplugging extension cords and trying to lift things away from the ground. It was a comical scene.

Once we were all tightly squeezed into the living room and everyone had found a chair (one doesn’t sit on the floor in Africa if it can be avoided), we passed around towels to dry off heads and feet. “No Internet,” someone sighed, and one by one, everyone put away our phones. Cathy brought in hot water for tea since the temperature had plummeted (by African standards). While Brian restarted routers and plugged his computer into the television for our 3:00 zoom appointment with our boss two continents away, the conversation level in the room steadily grew. At first we were all laughing at the storm’s force and timing, but then we were comparing notes and speaking about all the challenges our program was facing in our countries.

The Internet returned just in time, and Gavin’s picture was surprisingly crisp. He spoke of what it means to be an innovator and maintain the vision of our high calling in our minds. He encouraged hearts and spoke of a future in which children from many nations would transform their worlds because they had received a solid education, and we couldn’t help but nod along with hope.

We ended the call simultaneously with the rain. The sun returned, and people unfolded themselves from their chairs, returned mugs to the kitchen, and meandered back outside. Brian wrapped up the cable from his computer to the television and smiled. “That was such a clear and strong connection! I was worried it wouldn’t work.” Mikki nodded. “It helped that we were inside and everyone was off their devices.” From the other side of the room, Debbie laughed. “Just like God to send a storm right when we needed it.”

Grace and I laughing as we huddle in the middle of the tent,
chairs blown over in the background!