Love In The Time Of Coronavirus

Love is sacrifice. There is no greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. All across the world, healthcare workers are sacrificing for their friends and for strangers alike. They are sacrificing for those who contracted COVID-19 from willful ignorance, from reckless disregard, and others innocently from some unsuspecting source. And yet medical workers treat them all the same, fight tirelessly for their healing. For this and so much more we all owe a great debt of gratitude and honor. 

But that is only a small part of what I want to say, and it is to those medical workers I write, I want you to be prepared. Your life is about to change forever, your sense of fairness, justice, and right and wrong may soon suffer so great an upheaval that it leaves you reeling in shock and existentially wounded. Please hear my words. I write them in love.

There is a term, many of you may know, a condition of the soul called moral injury. It is also a condition that many medical professionals already have from years of working in the healthcare industry. For anyone unfamiliar, “Moral injury refers to an injury to an individual's moral conscience resulting from an act of perceived moral transgression which produces profound emotional guilt and shame, and in some cases also a sense of betrayal, anger and profound 'moral disorientation’.” 1

“The concept of moral injury emphasizes the psychological, social, cultural, and spiritual aspects of trauma. Distinct from pathology, moral injury is a normal human response to an abnormal traumatic event.” 2

Moral injury refers to the “the lasting psychological, biological, spiritual, behavioral, and social impact of perpetrating, failing to prevent, or bearing witness to acts that transgress deeply held moral beliefs and expectations” 3

Said another way, moral injury is “A deep soul wound that pierces a person’s identity, sense of morality, and relationship to society”. 4 

There are critical distinctions that need to be made between moral injury, burnout, compassion fatigue, and post traumatic stress. Moral injury is primarily an existential crisis, and while it is often exacerbated and usually accompanied by the physical exhaustion of burnout, the ever narrowing emotional bandwidth of compassion fatigue, and the unconscious and very normal response of stress after trauma, it is more fiendish and perhaps more debilitating than all of the others combined.

Moral injury can be divided into two categories: individual responsibility, that is the perpetration of, or the failing to prevent, harm, and other responsibility where we witness the dereliction of sacred duty and/or betrayal by trusted others.

In this current crisis you are going to be asked to do more than you've ever done, with less than you've ever had, for more people than you could have possibly imagined. Resources will run out soon. At the time of this blog, New York has 5-6 days of critical medical supplies left. Already doctors and nurses are being asked to recycle disposable protective gear, or wear it long after it is safe to use. The decisions being made in boardrooms and political dens are affecting you and your patients in real time. And the stark reality of limited ventilators and other life saving devices is about to have a very real cost in human lives. This is battle field medicine, and no amount of training could psychologically prepare you for this.

Tomorrow, or maybe the next day you will have to choose which patient gets life saving resources. Tomorrow or the next day, another of your peers will fall ill, a victim of recycled masks, of compromised immune systems due to physical exhaustion from endless shifts. The blame may be easy to spot, the mistakes glaring and some even seemingly avoidable, but you will have no time to obsess on that, you will be in the fight of your life, perhaps the fight for your life.

The cumulative effect of all of this, the damage from this perfect storm of ignorance and unpreparedness, will leave your soul wounded. The unfairness, the tragedy, the inequality will fracture your heart, your mind, your spirit. Moral injury fills the vacuum where the illusion of human virtue once was. People will fail you, the system will fail you, your leaders will fail you, and you will be altered in ways unimaginable.

When this over, and it will end, you will be forced to deal with the moral injuries. Some will come from events where you failed, or perceive you did, the decision to give the ventilator to one patient over another. This will lead to toxic, negative, internally directed emotions and cognition like guilt, shame, and lack of self-forgiveness. Other events, those outside your control, administrative or political decisions or inaction that cost lives, will surface as toxic, negative, externally-directed emotions and cognition like anger, inability to trust, and lack of other-forgiveness.

Both types of events are associated with spiritual/existential issues, the loss of "faith", of questioning morality, and until resolved, these internal conflicts can in turn exacerbate social problems like isolation and aggression along with inducing mental health symptoms such as anxiety and depression leading to substance abuse and greatly heightened suicide risk. Doctors are already at one of the greatest risks for suicide, even in non-coronavirus times.

Limited life saving resources, the desire for personal safety over patient care, outright mistakes, administrative decisions with dire consequences, even co-workers playing God will all wound your soul, but the greatest existential crisis that you may face, will be why must the innocent suffer. This virus preys on the vulnerable, the weak, the defenseless. The ones who need us most. Where is the fairness, the justice in the universe? Where is God? If God exists, why doesn't He intervene?

There are no easy answers. There may be none you find satisfactory. But for your own well being, for the care of your soul wounds, let me offer what I believe is the only true inoculation against, and the only cure for moral injury: hope.

If you are reading this as a Christian, than you will perhaps appreciate what I am about to say, but in the event you do not believe in God, or the Christian God, please consider the thoughts to follow objectively. Every code seems nonsense without the key, a jumble of words and phrases with no meaning. If your universe seems dissonant, confusing, and indecipherable, (or when it does after this is all over) let me humbly offer the Key.

First you must realize you are not alone in this, hundreds of thousands of medical professionals are going through or will go through the same things. Secondly, I believe in a God who suffered in every way, bore every burden any human would ever suffer, and understands intimately your moral crisis, your soul wound. Feeling alone in this is an inescapable prison, but knowing you are not alone, that others, most importantly that God understands, is the beginning of comfort, the first glimmer of that hope.

The Christian bible says “Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope,” Romans 5:3,4

Scripture makes many promises, and perhaps none as seemingly unfathomable as this: “suffering produces hope”. The promise that for the believer, good will come from our afflictions. 

As I've written about before, I spent 16 weeks at a field hospital near Mosul, Iraq. There I saw the worst humanity can do to the most innocent among us. Children targeted by drone strikes, hunted by snipers. One night I carried five children to the morgue. It leaves you breathless, concussed. It shakes your faith. No easy answers come in those moments, no words of comfort for others come easy either. And yet something in us holds fast. Words form on our tongue that are not our own…

"…rejoice in your sufferings, know that suffering will produce endurance, and endurance character, and character will produce hope."

This passage is saying that when Christians suffer, they have a strength that is not their own, in their weakness they find God's grace, His great power, holds. When they would run in fear or in despair, when they would curse sacrifice and live for themselves instead, His nature in them holds. When in the midst of their worst physical, mental, even existential crisis, He never leaves them, hope is produced and that hope holds. For the Christian hope is not an abstraction, it is a person, His name is Jesus Christ.


Christianity is much more than a path to follow, a philosophy to obey, it is the transformation of our very nature by God Himself living in us. The power and the intimacy this affords us becomes such great confidence in the darkest hour. For the Light of the world is in us and even death could not extinguish Him. 

My prayer for you is this: Fall to your knees as you fight this wretched demon COVID-19, or perhaps it has already knocked you to your knees, and cry out for God of the universe to give you the hope of Jesus. He promises to work all things together for the good of those who love Him. He is infinitely able, and His love for you both unfathomable and unstoppable. 

Love is sacrifice. There is no greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. Jesus calls you friend, He laid down His life for you. So that you could live this life with the same power that raised Him from the dead and destroyed the sting of death, the power of the grave forever.

Let His perfect love casts out all fear. Let Him start to heal those soul wounds. Let Him be your peace in this storm, your shelter from more moral injury, from fear itself. 

Keep your chin up and wash your hands. Love you all. Xoxo




1. Litz, Brett T.; Stein, Nathan; Delaney, Eileen; Lebowitz, Leslie; Nash, William P.; Silva, Caroline; Maguen, Shira (December 2009). "Moral injury and moral repair in war veterans: A preliminary model and intervention strategy". Clinical Psychology Review. 29 (8): 695–706.

2. Molendjk, Tine (2018). "Toward an Interdisciplinary Conceptualization of Moral Injury: From Unequivocal Guilt and Anger to Moral Conflict and Disorientation". New Ideas in Psychology. 51: 1–8

3. Litz, et al. 2009, p. 697

4. Silver, D. (2011). Beyond PTSD: Soldiers have injured souls. Truthout.org (9/3/11). Retrieved from http://www.truth-out.org/news/item/beyond-ptsd-soldiers-have-injured-souls

They Were Like Birds

Tuesday Syrian President Assad's coalition forces used a chemical agent on civilians living in the Idlib Province. Official counts of the dead now exceed 80. Including 22 members of Abdel Hameed Alyousef's family. A picture of him holding his two dead babies is all over my social media and news feeds. The world is weeping at such grotesque tragedy, weeping for Abdel, weeping for the 28 other children and 20 women who were killed in the attack. Most died foaming at the mouth, choking, suffocating from the sarin gas. These are war crimes. These are crimes against humanity. 

A year ago I was in Greece. Working in the north near the border with FYROM at the refugee camp called Idomeni. There I met hundreds of Syrians running from Assad's 4 year assault on his own people, running from ISIS, running from a war with too many factions and not enough heroes. The drawing above was given to me by Razan, an 11 year old from Damascus.

One very cold morning I got to the camp early to find protesters all along the rail tracks that used to provide unfettered train access to FYROM for trade and passengers alike. 

The presence of protesters wasn't anything new, a daily occurrence for a beleaguered population of 13,000 whose lives were stuck in limbo while politicians pulled their strings from warm boardrooms thousands of miles away. But this morning the signs were different, this morning the mood was especially somber. Protesters seemed hopeless, far away in their stares. They were looking homeward, but through a thick fog of grief. Aleppo had fallen after almost four years of fighting. By the end of 2016 the battle for Aleppo would have become one of the longest sieges in modern warfare, 31,000+ people dead and 36,000+ buildings completely destroyed. 

Picture from Business Insider

Sitting in the tents of Syrian refugees, listening to their stories, the string of tragedies that had become their story, I found myself sharing chai and tears with total strangers. I will never forget their words. The Syrian boy below was shot in the leg by a sniper. His mother suffered from PTSD, her husband had been murdered by ISIS. Wet-eyed and weary she recounted both incidents, showed me the pictures on her phone. Showed me the decapitated child that was her daughter's best friend. Her little body left in the street as a warning to submit or be killed. This trembling mother had left before her children shared their father's fate, or before they became another lifeless example, lying in the road.

Above, the photos of Rostem, a young man shot in the head as he walked home from work in Damascus. His mother Amina wept as she told me about him, how she didn't know if it was Assad or IS that had killed him. She'd fled Syria with her daughter, to get her to safety anywhere. And then she teared up again, apologizing that she had no food to offer me, and then with great pride said if you were in my country, at my home, I would feed you the biggest meal. Her husband Omar smiled for the first time, but only for a moment as he told me of Amina's brain tumor. His words were slow and anxious. He he couldn't lose her too.

Now another year has passed. There are thousands of other stories to add to these. Refugees still pour out of Syria and other war torn countries. Still make treacherous journeys with their young, the infirmed and elderly, for the hope of safety. Thousands have died, drowned in cold seas off the coast of Turkey, Greece, and Libya. Thousands more will drown. Stories like that of the chemical attack Tuesday reveal what these people are running from, what's at stake.

I'm angry, I'm heartbroken. I hear the politicking, the rhetoric. I hear the hard-hearted diatribes against refugees, read the ramblings of those that have never tasted terror. I understand the complex nature of this issue. I understand the scrutiny and vetting of refugees, of governments being safe and responsible. But what I cannot understand, what I cannot stomach are the accusations levied at these families fleeing from terror. Accusations, some of which are made by people calling themselves Christians. Accusations of people they've never met, whose stories they've never heard, whose lives they've never had to live. Accusations like:

"They should stay and fight." "The men are cowards for leaving." "This is opportunistic migration." 

Stay and fight? While their families are being picked off by snipers, mowed down by air attacks, gassed with chemicals? Stay and fight and send their families along the treacherous journey to safety? Where many women are raped, many children exploited, many never make it at all. Stay and fight for who? With who? In a war with no rules, no boundaries. Where is the hope for defeating so many enemies on so many fronts? 

Cowards? These people have lived in these conditions for years, bravely, defiantly. Where is the cowardice, the opportunism in wanting to get your family out of harm's way? Get them to a life without war. What kind of coward, what sort of opportunist braves human traffickers, frigid waters, and years mired in refugee camps for freedom? I'd say that people like that have incredible internal fortitude, anything but cowardice.

To be sure, this is not the face of cowardice. This is shock. This is a father who has lost his 9 month old twins, Aya and Ahmed, and 20 other members of his family to a chemical attack from his own government. This is what staying gets you. A mass grave with 22 members of your family.*

Are there opportunists? Yes. Are there terrorists lurking in the ranks of this great throng of the dispossessed? Sure, probably. Will we stand before God and give account for the selfishness and self-protection that kept us from helping the hurting huddled masses? You know in your heart we will. 

Let us remember carefully the words of our Savior. "For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me." (Matthew 25:25-36)

We don't have to be anti-American to be pro refugee. We don't have to work against the security of the state to obey the mandate of Scripture. We don't even have to demand our government do anything but we have to. As a Christian our personal safety is not paramount, as a disciple it's not really even an option. What is paramount is our expressing the love and mercy of God is. Our obedience to His Holy word is. Our citizenship is in heaven. Our allegiance is to Christ. Our job is to build His kingdom not our own earthly one. And this is how we begin:

Get on our knees. Let us repent of failing to weep for the children of Syria, of Iraq. Let us repent of choosing self-preservation over fighting for the sanctity of these lives. Let us ask God to show each of us what to do. How we can be a light in this darkness? How we can welcome the refugee into our homes, or go and meet their needs where they are? This is our solemn duty and sacred trust. And it's the right thing to do. These are image bearers of their Creator. Let's not live in fear of hostile takeover, or religious subversion. We have not been given a Spirit of fear but of love and power and of a sound mind. We have been given the same power that defeated hell, death and the grave. We should be the bravest, most selfless and loving people on the planet. We have the perfect example. We, of all humanity, have the precious gift of Jesus. Love like He did. Even if it costs us our lives.

  


*Another member of the family, Aya Fadl, recalled running from her house with her 20-month-old son in her arms, thinking she could find safety from the toxic gas in the street. Instead, the 25-year-old English teacher was confronted face-to-face with the horror of it: a pick-up truck piled with the bodies of the dead, including many of her own relatives and students. “Ammar, Aya, Mohammed, Ahmad, I love you my birds. Really they were like birds. Aunt Sana, Uncle Yasser, Abdul-Kareem, please hear me,” Ms Fadl said, choking back tears as she recalled how she said farewell to her relatives in the pile. (from an Independent UK article)

The Night Hides A World, But Reveals A Universe.

I love to read the proverbs of other cultures. I love how it reminds us we are all so much alike. To me there is something very compelling, very salt of the earth about the oral tradition of a phrase that has stood the test of so many generations, that has survived the revisionists and the post modernists and the younger generations chaffing under the disciplines of their elders, throwing off the shackles of tradition. It speaks of course to a proverb's practical wisdom that so many lips for so long have uttered the phrases and felt completely justified if not obligated to do so. Today I have been reading Iranian proverbs and poetry.

The main text of poster is an Iranian proverb means: "Our cow doesn't milk, but pisses plenty", that describing a person who tends to make mess of things, rather than making them right.

These Iranian proverbs range from the practical:

Habits are first cobwebs, then cables.

You can’t push on a rope.

The joy of finding something is often worth more than what is found.

The larger a man's roof the more snow it collects. 

Standard fare really, similar sentiments found in every language, every culture under the sun. A testament to their universal truth. Then the slightly more abstracted, at least if nothing else by the translations:

A drowning man is not troubled by rain.

Every man is the king of his own beard.

He who has been bitten by a snake fears a piece of string.

The lion (and the lioness fellas) is most handsome when looking for food.

But there are also the romantic ones. I like these best:

The loveliest of faces are to be seen by moonlight, when one sees half with the eye and half with the fancy. 

Only a heart can find the way to another heart.

A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous. 

A woman knows the face of the man she loves like a sailor knows the open sea. 

Then there are those that bridge the gap between proverb and poetry, where the best of Persian culture begins to bleed through:

This is love: to fly toward a secret sky... Finally, to take a step without feet.

Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.

The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you..

But it is the Persian poets that I believe really capture the essence of the heart of the Iranian people. Such passion and such reckless abandon to it. Hafiz has always been my favorite. He was a master of love poetry:

...Your love 

Should never be offered to the mouth of a 

Stranger, 

Only to someone 

Who has the valor and daring 

To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife 

Then weave them into a blanket 

To protect you...

and...

...One regret, dear, 

That I am determined not to have 

When I am lying on my deathbed 

Is that 

I did not kiss you enough.... 

and the sensuous and heady..

Lean your sweet neck and mouth 

Out of that dark nest where you hide, 

I will pour effulgence into your mind. 

Artist's rendering of the most famous Persian poet Hafiz.

Hafiz also wrote about our relationship to God with such unapologetic romance and passion. The way that relationship should be. Intoxicated by the Spirit:


I am a hole in a flute that the Christ's breath moves through.....listen to this music.

I am happy even before I have reason. I am full of light even before the sky can greet the sun or moon. Dear companions, we have been in love with God for so very, very long; what can we now do but forever dance?

This place where you are right now

God circled on a map for you

Wherever your eyes and arms and heart can move 

Against the earth and sky,

The Beloved has bowed there – 

Our Beloved has bowed there knowing 

You were coming

But my all time favorite has always been this one. To me it speaks about the surpassing joy that comes from knowing God, of resting in the finished work of Grace, of letting go and surrendering to the mysterious wonder of His sacrificial, unconditional, never ending love.

What is the difference between your experience of existence and that of a saint? The saint knows that the spiritual path is a sublime chess game with God and that the Beloved has just made such a fantastic move that the saint is now continually tripping over joy and bursting out in laughter and saying, I surrender! Whereas, my dear, I am afraid you still think you have a thousand serious moves.


I do not agree with some of Hafiz's philosophy, and he has certainly been mistranslated as have all poets. But he consistently touched this truth. That the heart of man and the heart of God have a gravity, a convergent trajectory. That we are made for this collision, and that we should stop resisting the pull. As Hafiz would say..

Just sit there 

Just sit there right now

Don't do a thing

Just rest

For your separation from God 

Is the hardest work in this world

For NKA...

Rot In Hell Steve Jobs.

"Rot in Hell Steve Jobs. God hates you". So says the official mouthpiece for heaven's utter  discontent, Westboro Baptist Church, who will picket the funeral of Apple's recently deceased CEO. And to that I say, "good call!" Well played Mr. Phelps and your crazy little coterie of mush-minded minions!

The way I figure it, you are like the shadow that reveals the sun. Everywhere you go you spew the filth of hate and darkness which serves as a brilliant contrast to love and light. So bravo. Continue on my man! You are a pied piper for the lunatic fringe. Play on Mr. Phelps. 

Phelps' daughter makes Westboro's intentions known. Yep, the tweet was sent via Twitter for iPhone. The irony is beautiful.

Dear Westboro Baptist,

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 

You claim to follow Jesus and yet you do nothing, NOTHING he did. You do not reach out in tenderness to a broken world. You do not grieve for those stumbling in blindness. Instead you rejoice in the despair of others. You are NOT Christians! You have never EVER heard the voice of God. You do not speak for God. Your throats are graves and only death comes from them. 

And to you "Reverend"...

Blessed are the Peacemakers Mr. Phelps, for they will be called the children of God. But you, you spread division and foment animosity. You are NOT a child of God Mr. Phelps. You are a cancer on the truth. A festering blight on the perfect beauty of the Good news. May God save your soul Mr. Phelps.

Picket your own damn funeral. 

Nothing Shocking, Nothing Sacred.

Very little shocks us. Fed a steady diet of blood-lust and sex over a lifetime we have disconnected with horror and perversion. A child was raped by his HIV infected father may get our attention, but no sooner has the headline faded from sight that it fades from memory too. Of course it is a defense mechanism, a heart can only stand so much heartache, even on behalf of others.

Sacred And Profane Love by Tiziano Vicellio (Titian). Painted at the age of 25, it symbolized the eternal nature of God's love and the ephemeral loves of earth.

On the same token, nothing is sacred. We ritualistically desecrate everything from the sacrament of marriage to the sanctity of life. But again, the psychology of it is not complex, it is the way fallen creatures find comfort, devaluing others to raise our sense of self worth, lowering everyone to one great coterie of the profane.

So it should not have shocked me today when an off-color remark was spoken to elicit laughter from a third party to the situation I found myself in. A simple process was taking way too long and the person said "This is taking so long the nails in Christ's wrists are rusting."

I wanted to scream, "That's the love of my life you're talking about!!" But I said nothing. If the man knew Jesus, loved Jesus he would not have said it, anymore than he could have been so cruel and callous about his daughter or wife or mother, anyone he adored, anyone he held sacred.

Stop the friggin' planet....I want off.

Glorious Reunion!

Never has there been a better picture to me of our hope. Never a more heart gripping, tear jerking preview of what's to come. When we are caught up in the air to meet our Savior. When we enter our rest, when we make it home. When finally we hear those words we long to hear, when our Heavenly Father says, well done daughters, well done my sons.

More @ Welcome Home Blog.

Confession.

Among dusty papers, from a long ago life, I found this confession...

I thought that mine was a blind faith

But it was just the shadow of doubt

That comes like a comforting darkness

And wraps the heart in a shroud

I thought that mine was a pure love
But I was only hedging my bets
Because I knew that what I would give You
Was always less than what I would get

I thought that mine was a strong truth
But I'm weary from the burden of proof
And the doubt in my mind, is of the worst kind
Because my hands have been inside of Your wounds

Oh my faith is, so very faithless
And my love, my love is just pure hate
And all my truth, is dark lies
But in my weakness You're strength
And in my smallness You're great
And in my lowness You're high
And for this new life You died

Fair warning. (part 2)

One thing I forgot to say about the stories of Zacchaeus and the rich man, the very thing that was my first revelation when I revisited the story, was this, that Jesus was not the one who called into question either man's sin or righteousness (in fact the men themselves brought it up). Jesus was not, nor is He, sin obsessed (like the modern church seems be at times). He was fully confident in the power of His presence and love to transform the hearts and natures of those that believed in Him. Fully confident in the person of the Holy Spirit to convict of sin, and righteousness, and judgment as the gospel of John tells us. And I can tell you from experience, I've never made friends with somebody by them telling me what was wrong with me. Never fell for a girl who was bent on bringing to light my shortcomings. It is God's kindness that leads us to repentance. Our kindness that expresses that to a fallen world. We all know John 3:16. But John 3:17 is just as mind blowing. That God sent Jesus to save us, not to condemn us. Amen!

M.

Fair Warning.

This feels like a sermon. But here goes....

Last week I was revisited by a sing-song melody of my distant childhood. As I placed it I began to sing along. "Zacchaeus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he. He climbed up in a sycamore tree to see what he could see." And so on.... So I reread the story of Zacchaeus, the miniature tax collector and found it quite compelling especially in contrast to another rich man in scriptures that met Jesus.


In Luke 19:2 we learn that Zacchaeus was a wealthy high ranking official. The next 8 verses sum up his encounter with Jesus. The itinerant Jewish rabbi was entering Jericho and Zacchaeus wanted to see Him. Of course as the song clearly notes, due to his diminutive stature and the throngs of gawkers, Zacchaeus was having a great amount of perturbation in that respect. So he ran ahead of the crowd and he climbed a tree. Now as much as I know about first century customs, which isn't a lot I suppose, this activity of running and climbing was very unseemly for a man, especially one of prominence. But it was an earnest act. One of apparent desperation and humility, and Jesus not only noticed but responded by inviting himself to the tiny taxman's house for dinner, an act in Jewish custom that signified in no uncertain terms the commencement of a friendship. Zacchaeus instantly renounced any and all fiscal impropriety and promised four fold reparations to the wronged at which point Jesus declared that salvation had come to the wee little man. Amen!

In Mathew 19 verse 16 another rich man has his life collide with Jesus. The short account has the man asking Jesus what good thing he can do to find eternal life. After a rhetorical question that might have been more a comment on the mans motives, Jesus gives him the Mosaic response telling the man to obey the commandments. This the man had done without fail since his youth. So Jesus said simply and yet improbably "If you want to be perfect sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor." (And as Luke 18:22 adds, to follow Him.) We all know how that went over, for the man was very rich and sulked away. Prompting Jesus to tell his disciples that "it [was] easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven". Ouch.

Two rich men. Two completely different outcomes. But why? What struck me first was each man's desires. The rich man in Matthew was looking for eternal life, Zacchaeus, well, he was looking for Jesus. The bible says God gives us the desires of our hearts. The ones we state and the hidden ones that rule us I suppose. Zacchaeus wanted Jesus. He got that and eternal life. The rich man wanted eternal life, but the price was too high. His desire was for his wealth more than anything else. He didn't get eternal life because he didn't desire the one in whom eternal life is found. He wanted heaven, and so Jesus offered it to him, but in the future tense, if he would spend himself on behalf of the poor. (Not, I suspect to "buy" his eternal salvation by some "good" work, but to show the humble repentance of his heart.) Zacchaeus just wanted Jesus and Heaven was given to him, that day, right there, "salvation came to his house". God responds to our urgency, our desperation, our earnestly, humbly seeking Him.

Secondly, Jesus says in Luke 19:10 that he came to seek and save that which was lost. Zacchaeus knew he was lost, knew his own corruption and greed. Certainly everyone else did as per their reaction when Jesus decided to eat with him. The rich man on the other hand was righteous by the religious standards of the day. He had obeyed the law and the prophets and this would have been well know in such a close community. In his pride, or maybe his religious conditioning, he missed what Jesus had asked him, albeit cryptically, "Why do you ask me what is good? Only One is good." In essence, there is no eternal life through your good works, but only in heaven's good work- The coming of the Christ, to seek and save the lost. And then the man's true desires were exposed, as desire's always are, in the self-evident truth that "where your treasure is there will your heart be also".

The final thing that I wanted to mention was this. Zacchaeus met Jesus and instantly gave half of his possessions to the poor. In the early church those that had experienced Jesus had all their possessions in common. This was the reoccurring theme of those having experienced the redemption of the cross and the Person of Jesus, and their subsequent desire to give back all they had in worship of the one who Sacrificed all of Himself for them. A primary external manifestation of a heart being filled with the loving presence of God is the desire to love others, to meet their physical needs, and to share in their suffering. A heart that has been transformed by God's sacrificial love will do this instinctively, organically, and spontaneously with great joy. It is the fruit of the Spirit that naturally grows from the seed of salvation. Which begs the question? What do we, the elect, do with what we have on behalf of the poor? Are we so incredulously fulfilled by God's tender longing for us that the world and it's possessions have dimmed and faded in importance? Or are we sulkily resisting the Holy Spirit when he asks us to take care of the least among us, to really love our neighbor as ourselves? If we really have met Jesus, if He is really the desire of our hearts, is He enough for us down here? Is He our treasure?