WHY THE WESTGATE TRAGEDY IS SO TROUBLING

There have been a few historical events in my memory that left an unforgettable level of grief.    These include the day United States President Ronald Regan was shot (March 30, 1981), the beginning of the Rwanda Genocide (April 7, 1994), the Oklahoma City Bombing (April 19, 1995),  the day the Twin Towers in New York went down (September 11, 2001), and the Westgate Tragedy (September 21, 2013).    I can tell you exactly where I was at when the news started coming.   In each one I was dazed for a longer than normal period.    With each one I could never be the same again.

As I’ve visited the last few weeks with other Americans it is obvious that my inclusion of Westgate in these tragedies is unique.   Why?

Two writings have struck me as an answer to why the Westgate tragedy is so personal and the grief so deep.   One was a missionary colleague, Cheryl Cash who wrote, 

“We reside in Uganda (to the West of Kenya) but so much of our training, our renewing, and our strengthening traces East. Our family history is anchored in that land where we became missionaries and became parents...  Stores and scenarios that we are familiar with and relate to. A very strong awareness that danger is no respecter of persons. Or days. Or locations.  Very bad things happen.  Tragedy reaches and takes.

(http://www.gentlyled.blogspot.com/2013/09/praying-with-kenya.html.)”

Another Zain Verjee wrote, 

"Westgate was like home to us," said my father to me… And he was right - the mall was practically our second home -- it's where we met our friends, did the household groceries, and banking…

Looking around now at our kitchen, the tea, coffee, white asparagus, beads, my favorite ice-cream (toff n'choc with nuts) wine glasses, mobile phones, are all from Westgate (http://www.cnn.com/2013/09/30/world/africa/kenya-mall-verjee-witness/index.html.)”

I concur.   I looked in our home.   Jana’s jewelry is from Westgate.   Many of the colorful necklaces our American friends compliment Jana on are from Westgate.  Also, there are 4 carvings in our home from Westgate that summarize why the Westgate tragedy is so troubling.   We purchased them during our last Nairobi visit to mourn with our community the passing of missionary mentor and colleague, Berkeley Hacket.

THIS COULD HAVE BEEN ME

One is a carving of an African pastor in study.     Westgate mall was comparable to most malls I’ve visited in the USA.    Java House was like a combination between Chilies, Starbucks, and Baskin Robbins.   The Art Café was like one of those trendy art side walk cafes in Chicago’s Loop.   Nakumatt was our Wal-mart.   There was a movie theater with current movies.   International banks had branches.      Nairobi is where we went in the early ‘90’s to shop when Uganda’s economy produced few basic staples.    Nairobi is where missionary and African church leaders mentored us.    Nairobi is where we went when we were sick.   Nairobi is where we laughed and got a few Western frills.    We walked the malls in Nairobi.   We easily could have been in Westgate when the tragedy happened.   

THIS COULD HAVE BEEN MY NEIGHBORS, FRIENDS, AND FAMILY

We were some of the fortunate ones.   In our base moments we quickly checked phone

texts, email, and social media.   No one from our intimate church, school, mission, or friendship base was killed or in Westgate when the tragedy happened.    Yet, they could have easily been there.

Westgate attracted Africa’s middle class entrepreneurs.    Those were the people we served with in our recent posts.   Those attracted to Westgate included both Kenyans and friends from Uganda and Rwanda who were frequently in Nairobi for business and social events.   Missionaries met there to trade stories, laugh, and cry.    Westgate was one of the places on our earth our diverse community called, “Home.”

MY NEIGHBORS, FRIENDS, AND FAMILY ARE IN GRIEF

As YouTube began posting videos of Kenyan funerals I watched one.    Everyone with an East African root knows someone affected by the Westgate tragedy.

A pastoral friend and staff performed one funeral.   We had traded meals, notes, proposals, and ideas in the past.   Yet, they also did something that was so typical of the best Kenyan church leaders.   When we were in Nairobi in December 2011 with Gabriel Mugisha Jacobs being treated for convulsions they had called to ask, “What can we do?”   We asked for them to sit with us in the hospital.   When Mugisha went into a convulsion they held him with us and prayed.    They were now pastoring the grieving in Kenya.

The video scanned the crowd.   I recognized a Rwandan neighbor whose past refugee living included Nairobi.    I don’t know if she was in Nairobi for business and saw it as a season to extend our common Great Lakes compassion.   I don’t know if she made a special trip to grieve with friends.

Yet, I do know that in cars of parking lots of East African weddings and funerals the families from all our nations are deeply entwined in a community of understanding and love.

THE TERRORISTS COULD HAVE BEEN MY NEIGHBORS

Al Shabaab may be lying.  It is a dangerous thing to trust the good will of cowardly and cruel terrorists.    Yet their list of terrorists includes six from America.    Two were from Minnesota.   Their list included one each from Illinois, Maine, Kansas, and Arizona.    A quick Google search will find many articles over the last few years of Al Shabaab recruiting Somali Diaspora youth in America.   The whole truth may never be known.   Yet it will include a story of immigration gone wrong.    Evil was nurtured in my America.   Had the terrorists once walked the Mall of America with me?   Had one of the terrorists been raised a few blocks from my Chicago home?

A European missionary friend told me that radicalization frequently happens as second generation immigrants realize they can never acclimate.   They idealize beyond reason “home,” and their youthful passions become depraved.     

Immigrant friends have told me, “I always live in the hyphen.   When I walk into a room people see a _________ - American.

Christianity has been on a 20 year decline in the United States.   There are many wounds, stories, and documentation of the decline.    Yet, the Westgate tragedy hits home in the strongest term possible to me that I must decide now to love all of my diverse neighbors as I love myself.

MISSIONARY RESPONSIBILITY

Thus from this grief that is both very personal and communal I resolve to hold fast to my missionary calling.  This could have been me.   This could have been my neighbors, friends, and family.   My neighbors, friends, and family are in grief.   The terrorists could have been my neighbors.

Here am I.   Send me.

(For further missionary reflections on the Westgate tragedy that hopefully will bring some measure of healing to our community see http://www.hekimagreatlakesmessenger.blogspot.com/2013/09/walking-in-two-malls-missionary.html.)

'Tis the Life of a Military Wife – Tim Returns Safely from Iraq" by Guest Blogger, Landra Jenkins

Guest blogger, Landra Jenkins

I have not given any time to my little story of " 'Tis the Life of a Military Wife" in a while. I am up EARLY this morning baking and I just love the smells it puts throughout the house. I guess it triggered some memories, and as I was walking down this memory lane, I remembered I had left quite a cliff hanger; I hope everyone is okay, and still able to hold on.

So, I believe I left off with Tim returning safely from Iraq.

(My mom has been quick to point out that I leave out some details. Honestly, there is no way I can get it all. These are just the parts that stand out as I thank God for the journey!)

Tim was still having trouble with his back and leg. The military puts a rather large hurdle in front of you when you have a medical issue. There is the initial doctor visit, then you wait for a referral from a tiny list of authorized doctors, then there is physical therapy, two or more visits back to the specialist... you get the point. Anyway, Tim was in the middle of some serious issues. He was having a burning , tingling down his leg and pain in his lower back. 

We knew what was happening and there was nothing we could do to stop this roller coaster!

OUCH!! We've done this before

Tim's family has a history with this back injury and surgery. Tim's dad had four or more back surgeries with a very painful fusion, then oldest brother  Dave followed in his footsteps, then middle brother Mark  had his back surgeries ,and now we were looking down this path as well. 

Unfortunately, during the middle of all this therapy and doctor visits, Tim was deployed to Iraq. When he returned I noticed how he got off the plane. It looked VERY painful. We got him into the neurosurgeon pretty quickly. I was shocked how quick, like within the week. He did several tests and reviewed Tim's MRI. Tim was losing feeling in his leg and it took several minutes before he could apply any pressure on it when standing.

 That doctor looked at us and said, “I can operate tomorrow." I was like...WHAT? I just got him back! Are you serious? We still had Uncle Dave with us. He was actually at the house watching our kiddos, I think. Anyway, in true Jenkins fashion, Tim put off the surgery for a couple days just so he could go hunt with his brother. His exact words to me were, “When am I going to get this opportunity again to do this with my brother?" I stored up a little bitterness at that moment and was mad that he had been gone to Iraq and finally home, yet wants to go hunting with his brother???

It wasn't about wanting to go on a date with me. It was the fact that I was tired of being the parent 24 /7. I wanted to hand him these kids and run away!! I loved my kiddos, don't get me wrong! I was exhausted!!

USMC Tim Jenkins' family upon return from Iraq

Realizing I would not win this fight, I gave in. But, I did not let go of that anger. (NOT RECOMMENDED) I knew after listening to the surgeon that Tim would not be any help with the kids for another 6-8 weeks. He couldn't even lift Jacob! It was not my best moments. Here is Tim trying to spend some quality time with his brother ,who has given his life to winning the hearts and souls of the lost in Africa. I mean seriously people, Dave had been in Africa for like 11 years at this point. He was bringing people to Jesus, and I am having a selfish meltdown about Tim wanting to spend some quality time with him. Honestly the next few years were not my best. It was draining, exhausting, and I was in need of a Debbie Cook!!

So, Tim goes hunting with Dave and they had a blast. I still remember Tim's glow on his face as he returned and kissed me saying, "Thank you!"

Now it was time to start getting ready for them to remove his ruptured disk. I slowly let go of

Spine surgery #4 made me go Episcopalian

that anger and replaced it with fear. Why do we let the enemy get that foothold? Thankfully, I had Dave there right by my side. I mean honestly, looking back...why in the world did Dave end up with us right at that moment? Yes, it was a God thing!! Dave had been through this, and he offered Jenkins humor to the situation. I don't know how they all do it, but they all make very heavy situations feel light and manageable! 

Anyway, there were details that still needed to get worked through. I needed someone to watch the kids and I still didn't really know many people yet, and this happened pretty quickly (within a week of his return), so I was nervous about that too. When I dropped my kids off at the church nursery I asked a lady there if she would be willing to watch the boys while I was with Tim for surgery. She was very gracious and stayed with them the entire day. I didn't worry about them...I was really thankful for the break. Dave and I drove Tim to the hospital. Dave was just sticking around until the surgery was over. He needed to catch a cab as soon as we got the "all is well." I will never forget how Dave stayed with me! 

We took Tim back and he got all snookered up. We said goodnight and went down to the waiting area. It wasn't long before there was someone needing to speak with me in billing. No, I am not kidding! Tim is back in surgery and they have pulled me aside to talk about $$$. Dave went with me. It was just very typical of TRICARE, but I didn't know this at the time. See, the way military insurance works is, you have a very limited supply of doctors that they will approve "PAY" for services. There were only two neurosurgeons that were approved in all of DFW. We got word to stay clear of one, so what other choice did we have but this last guy! So, as I am sitting in front of this lady with lots of papers and really no sympathy for the fact that my hubby is currently under the knife and maybe this conversation is best suited for another time, she unfolds the following:  “Mam, you are on Tricare...correct?”

“Yes”

“Well, Tricare will cover the surgeon that your husband is seeing today. However, this hospital is not an authorized user for Tricare, so you will be billed the amount shown here.”

No words...speechless...sinking in my chair!

Dave perks up beside me with this , "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! I let him continue on with his statements. It started out with , "Now I have been in Africa a while, but I can't believe that this is the way we treat our guys returning from war zones!  He just got back from Iraq!”

I was still trying to get over the amount of zeroes I had just seen. I was secretly wondering if I had time to run upstairs and yell, "Stop!" Put down that scapula!!"

I don't remember how that was settled at that moment. I don't remember what else was said. I just

Tim, the boys, and a half eaten jelly doughnut

remember getting back in the elevator and heading up to see if Tim was out of surgery and what drama was next! We didn't sit there much longer and Tim's surgeon came out with a huge grin. He was older, and prior military. He provided this service at a much discounted rate for military. This is why you can only use certain doctors. Only so many are willing to take on the Tricare bear! 

He said, “We got him all fixed up! He had a nasty ruptured disk that was sticking out and he will be much more comfortable now. Man, that thing was like a half-eaten Jelly doughnut, with all the filling running out on important nerves!"

I was caught up with emotion at that point. Plus I was still so worried about the money. I started crying and the surgeon hugged me and said, "Hey, he's going to be fine."

 I told him I was so thankful for his gift and that we could be seen by him. I told him that during the surgery I was called down to billing and they wanted me to pay the balance for the hospitals part. I truthfully cried and explained I didn't know how in the world we will pay that enormous amount. He turned furious! 

He said, “Don’t even think about that. I only operate here. This is a Tricare nightmare. I have this. You don't need to worry about any of that right now."

Commissioning of USMC Lietenant Colonel Tim Jenkins

 He was very compassionate and he could see that the burden was great!! I let it go, and we got ready to go in and see Tim. Dave laughed so hard at his drug induced brother. Tim kept checking to make sure he had all his man parts. It was really funny! Then Tim sat up and was determined to go to the bathroom! There was no stopping him!! He had just got out of surgery and wanted to walk to the bathroom. Oh my word! The nurse was not happy with him (Yes, I called her...I had a cray-cray I couldn't control!) Anyway, everything was still there and the plumbing was working ,so he settled down, and I think the nurse gave him an extra dose of Knock You Out Sucker. He needed it!

Dave had stepped in and played his part in our lives, but it was time for him to go. He got a cab and was off. I stayed with Tim until after dinner, then had to head over to the house and relieve the sitter.

 I cried in the parking lot as I drove away. I don't think people understand the chaos that military

Marine Corp Ball 2008

families go through.  It is constant. The entire family is serving in different ways. I cried because I was so thankful we made it through all that craziness. I cried because I missed Debbie!! I cried because I knew it was going to be a very stressful 6-8 more weeks, and I was already so tired of doing it all. I got home, paid the sitter and fell into bed.

 Early the next morning I loaded the kids up in the double stroller and we went to retrieve the dad. He was up making jokes and happy to see us. Tim did well in his recovery. He wanted to help, in fact it drove him crazy to watch me juggle the kids, mow the yard, and manage our life. He was ready to throw Jacob in the air and wrestle Josiah again. The boys were ready for all that fun too. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again, these were not my best years. I didn't always have the attitude of Christ during the next couple of years. Tim loved to poke fun at me and call me Mrs. Bates (you know from that awful movie, “MISERY") during the 6-8 week time period. It was due to my bad attitude and him being in bed. I never took a baseball bat to his legs like the movie. 

However, that bitterness that I allowed in my heart took its own journey into other parts of my life. I couldn't maintain friendships and actually lost some due to my issues. God does not want us to hold onto those feelings because they are not given to us through HIM. God's language is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. These other feelings are handed over from...yep, the one who shall not be named. I must confess I let that snake govern my heart in these times. Don't make those mistakes. God continually provided for us. God blessed us throughout the process. My heart could not even see the blessings for all the bitterness I was holding. 

So, in conclusion...The VEGGIETALES said it best when Larry Boy was given this wisdom: “Do not hold on to your anger, or your anger will hold onto you!"

Now if you will excuse me, I got some delicious banana-pumpkin muffins I need to devour! LOVE ONE ANOTHER!!

Preach! — Feeling blessed.

DON'T SETTLE FOR INCOMPLETE LOVE

Both English and the vernaculars of my earthly home (Africa’s Great Lakes) don’t adequately communicate the depth of possibilities and meaning for what in English we call “Love.”    Maybe, even our linguistic shortcoming is actually an indictment of the failings of our humanity.    We many times say “I love ____” when our real meaning is “I want ___,”   “I need ____,” and “I desire _____.”    This is the toddler view of love.   In the toddler view love is a means of acquisition for selfish gain.    

                A few years ago, my older children were quarreling over “fault.”   According to each one’s perspective the problem of the day was not “their fault,” but “the fault of the competing sibling.”    My youngest at the time was a toddler beginning his language acquisition.    When he heard an argument over possession he ran to the middle of the argument pushed his siblings aside, and proclaimed, “No.  It is my fault.”   His toddler view of love required him to acquire all he could.   Siblings get out of the way.

                We giggle at toddler view of love as acquisition.   Yet, maturity only brings sophistication in love as acquisition.    

                I’ve spent most of my adult life pastoring.    Much of that has been in places of the world with less financial resources than the United States.    I’ve seen many moments of both heart break and triumph.   All stir our emotions.   When our emotions stir we use the language of love to convey what is happening.    In these moments we often settle for incomplete love.    Our incomplete love sees humans as tools for acquisition.    Humanity becomes photo opportunities, blogs, marketing material, and laborers in an acquisition race for more resources and influence.

                Sovereign God created language.   Humanity is always recreating.   At certain moments in time we get it right.    During the season that Jesus walked the earth one word to describe love was the Greek word “phileo,” the love of brothers and friends.

Ballet Rwanda December 2011

                We can’t survive without the love of siblings and friends.     Little girls on the playground become friends and share their feelings.  Little boys quickly find playmates for the games and competitions of life.   As time goes on we thrive in a community of camaraderie no matter our age.   We know it is the glue of life.   It creates a community that plays and laughs together.    Our experiences are shared.   Even the painful experiences become internal jokes in phileo.   High success teams are high phileo teams.    

Yet phileo is an incomplete love.   It is a love of inclusion based upon common joy in pursuit.    What happens when our community must include another who does not share the common past?    What happens when jokes aren’t funny?   What happens when another’s fashion is awkward?   Even what happens when someone on the team smells bad?    If our love is only phileo it is incomplete.    This is particularly true for those of us called to shepherd.   Maybe it is even more so for those of us shepherding far from our shared joy in pursuit?

CCR's Covenant Handover of Gabriel Mugisha Jacobs

                Before Jesus began walking the earth his Hebrew predecessors used the word, “hessed” to describe love.   English has no single word to describe this love.    Many translate it as “steadfast loving kindness.”    When our colleague doesn’t share our past, tells bad jokes, wears awkward fashion, and smells bad; we must make a choice.   We choose to practice hessed.    We remember we live in covenant.   We’ve made a commitment to this relationship and this endeavor.     The commitment is one we cannot leave.    In fact, the Old Testament uses hessed to describe this hessed love of God in its fullness.   God keeps His covenants even when we humans abandon ours.   He is always there for us.    Also, His care is the gentle nurture of kindness.   Hessed makes our love more complete.    Typically, we see it in matters like enduring marriages and business partnerships.    Local churches thrive when they have a consistent pastoral presence.    Hessed is seen when you watch couples at 50 year anniversaries giggling and flirting with one another.    It also is seen when business partners retire as friends.    Pastors who practice hessed answer late night phone calls.    They come to be with their people when the easiest thing to do is to hide behind professionalism.   Hessed is one of the reasons I am such an advocate for marriage when a society is recovering from internal turmoil.   Hessed brings unity.   It broadens and strengthens extended families.   Over generations hessed builds national unity.    Yet, hessed is an incomplete love.    

                Hessed is about kindness in covenant.   What happens when covenants are not formed?   What happens when our covenant community has conflict with another covenant community?  Feuds and civil wars come with such fury because our internal hessed desire has gone astray.    In fact, humanity’s greatest tragedies of depravity were ones when covenant became exclusive.   What united was the destruction of another community.   Hessed can be an incomplete love.

                One of the pitfalls of hessed is that we do not “feel” with all other humanity.    In conflict we tend to dehumanize our opponents.   We strip them of humanity and portray them as demons.   Conversely, we tend to make our leaders such human demi-gods that we forget God is the hero of humanity’s stories.    

                I am an American evangelical who has lived most of my adult life in Africa’s Great Lakes.    My hessed community is a very broad and at times a contradictory one.    

Kampala Kids League Simba Team

                One of my favorite memories from our Uganda season was volunteering with Kampala Kid’s League (KKL.)    It once pushed my hessed to the very edge of my humanity.   I was once assigned to coach the Libyan ambassador’s daughter.    My American evangelical clan would have wanted for me to consider this child an enemy.   During our first practice she called me, “Sir.”  She was a good athlete.   She was a born leader.    She cheered for all the other kids on our team.   She won me over rapidly.   For her, race, nationality, and religion were irrelevant to both our humanity and our shared team goals.   I found myself deeply regretting the hatred my American evangelical clan had taught me towards Libya.   I never met her dad.   The bodyguards quickly ushered her away from practices and games.   Yet, she was one of those young people that as time matured I hoped would no longer call me, “Coach and Sir,” but “friend.”

                The Arab Spring struck a small terror in my heart.   I had not seen this delightful young woman in years.   I guessed her family could be in danger.    I searched for her on Facebook.    I asked old coaches if they knew how she was doing.    I even asked friends in media and government who may have known the family’s whereabouts.   The ones who may have known giggled.   Only a pastor could ask these questions and be taken serious.   If they knew the answer they had to be quiet.

                I know many in our Great Lakes of Africa region have Libyan friends.   I chose to pray for this girl publicly at Christ’s Church in Rwanda.   I watched heads nod among my African brothers and sisters when I said, “I have Libyan friends.   I don’t know if they are safe.   I don’t care that much about the politics, but I do care about my friends.   Can you pray with me?”   CCR is a multi-national church.   An American Embassy employee told me he felt the same way.   Yet, another couple of Americans were offended and left.   

                As my concern increased, and I could find no news through relationship networks I turned to Google.   I created a bunch of different searches.   I found my old friend.   She was safe.   She had signed a petition about the environment at a university function.   My guess is her family had decided to keep her almost untraceable, and I stumbled upon her last voice.   It was classic for her.   She was rallying others to a cause that was good.   In the Google search I also came across a list of Colonel Muammar Gaddafi mistresses.  One suspected mistress was the grandmother of my friend.   The internet is a strange source of news and information.   It thrives on rumors.   Sometimes it whispers what we all intuitively know is true, but cannot say or document.   Sometimes it just spreads untruthful mythology.   Was my friend, Gaddafi’s granddaughter?  I do not know, but the story has elements of consistency with what I know of her body guards, connections, and inherited athleticism and charisma.

                When much of the world cheered at Gaddafi’s death I grieved.   I remembered a little girl who called me, “Sir,” and brought out the best in our team.   Phileo and hessed had taken me to a new place of love called compassion.    The thought of a little girl as a young woman crying over the loss of her grandfather caused me to cry in pain.

               

After weeping with Mary and Martha Jesus brought Lazarus to life

                The Greek language of Jesus’ day used the word splaxna to describe this love of compassion.   Splaxna is the word from which English creates spleen.   Jesus’ compassion was the love that causes us to literally have “shaky guts” for others.     It is humanity in our created glory.    When one in our community is in trouble we feel their pain.    Our bodies and spirits feel inconsolable pain with another.   The shortest verse in the Bible is, “Jesus wept (John 11:35.)”   We memorize it as children.   As adults we remember it when we cry for joy at weddings and weep with grief at funerals.    Compassion is the point where our human dignity in the flesh meets the divine.   We feel the emotions that God himself feels.   These emotions are passionate.   They strengthen all the parts of our incomplete loves of phileo and hessed.    Compassion makes us both better friends and better covenant keepers.  Compassion reminds the old married couple of who was holding their hand when they woke up from surgery.   Compassion causes middle class families to adopt orphans and give them full legal and relationship rights.    Compassion causes us to sacrifice for another with joy.    Compassion requires for us to move beyond feelings to action.

                Yet, compassion is an incomplete love.    Compassion requires for us to be present.   It is neither a distant love nor a fantasy world.    The Aid industry thrives on incomplete compassion.   In fact, during December as year-end gifts are sought pseudo compassion becomes a thriving marketing tool.    The west is bombarded by images of poor children in developing nations.     A missionary friend of mine called this marketing tool, “vicarious grief.”   The emotion is truly felt.   Yet presence is not given.   Vicarious grief makes it easy to “like” on Facebook and re-tweet on Twitter.   Vicarious grief makes it easy to stop for a moment in channel surfing.   Vicarious grief allows one to feel they are a participant when they are not.     It actually leads to a dulling of humanity.   It strips the suffering of their dignity.   It creates an emotion, but it is not an authentic emotion of presence.   Vicarious grief becomes an addictive cycle of seeking a more shocking photo or story to stir emotions and raise resources.   It is no wonder why so many thought leaders outside of the United States emotions quickly turn to anger at marketing that promotes vicarious grief.

                Phileo, hessed, and splaxna are love.   They are real.   They are part of being human.   They bring us to a place of behaving like God.   Yet, each in a certain way is a love with a reward.   Phileo creates friendship.   Hessed creates trust.    Splaxna creates passion.    Life requires all.

                Yet, these loves are completed in another word in which both English and Great Lakes’ vernaculars cannot express in a single word.    The Greeks called this word agape.    This is the love of relinquishment.   It is the love of sacrifice.   It is the love where there is no personal return.   It is the love that endures over time.    It is supremely seen in Jesus, the Son of God giving up all the glories of heaven to dwell with men.   He laughed with us.   He made water to wine to keep the party going.   He called us friends.    He covenanted and promised to always dwell with us.   When he saw our pain he wept.   He used his full authority to remove our pain.    Yet, his authority could not remove the eternal pain of suffering our sin created.    Thus in the love of agape sacrifice he laid down his life.   His surrender was brutal.    His agape bought our freedom.

                Today, agape completes our incomplete love.   We rarely truly see agape, because it is the love of relinquishment.   It brings little glory.   It returns little in the immediate.    Yet, it is the love that endures.    Maybe, we see agape best when one after a long struggle relinquishes all the rewards of the struggle?   Maybe, we see it best when a leader steps aside in his prime of leadership so that another generation can lead?   Maybe, we see it best when a leader chooses to make his institution stronger than his charisma?

                Agape completes our hopes of human love.   It takes us beyond the love of toddlers for acquisition.  Our words can barely express this sacrificial love of relinquishment.    May we instead live it.