The Stranger in Between

Jesus was the name on everyone's lips

In my childhood.

The name in the songs.

The name the preachers shouted about.

The name Sunday School teachers told with reverence.

Remember how He died.

He loves you so much

He stretched out His arms and died.

 

Photo: Pixabay, Geralt

I knew Him in my childhood.

I don’t remember not knowing.

Savior of the world.

King.

God.

One.

I knew when His spirit filled me.

I knew when His name covered me.

I knew the words of eternal life.

I knew so much, but I didn't know Him well.

Not well enough.

 

My teens.

Don't just know His name. It's a whole relationship, the way you want to fall in love.

He already loves you. Just do your part,

And love Him with your whole heart.

My heart, skeptical but wanting to believe, settled into it,

Accepting that questions would be an ever-living fixture in it.

 

How unequal is a relationship where One dies for the other,

And the one receiving the gift says "Thank you?

I can’t love you back the same way.

I'll try to serve you and make little sacrifices sometimes.

Does that help?" 

 

That gap felt wide. I knew I was supposed to do my part, be grateful. 

To try and become who He made me to be.

The facts were strong.

But who was Jesus, really?

Why again did He die, and what did it have to do with me?

The world needs to know, but do they care to know?

I know, and I'm not even doing my part very well.

Shouldn't I be more passionate if I really know Him?

I kept doing my best, and it was all very flawed.

 

Jesus, the familiar stranger on everyone's lips.

Man without face.

Presence without image.

Words without voice, so I read them aloud

In my voice.

Memorized them. Quoted them. Dissected them over coffee.

Black and white words on a page, and red words.

His words.

Words that would never die coursed through my veins, my breath,

Alive again.

I tried to imagine Him better so He would be more real.

Spirit encounters forced me to know He was real.

I couldn't argue.

I knew Him the way you know the ocean by walking through the edge of it.

I knew He was real, and I began to see that depths

I’d never imagined were beyond me still.

There had to be more.

 

My college years.

I committed to my direction, dodging the worst vices.

I'd been warned of the red flags,

Taught how narrow the path is.

Like a goody two-shoes, I tiptoed through a strange land where Jesus was a foreign figure.

I knew Him. I knew things they wouldn't admit were real.

I saw the folly of their facades.

I saw the painful end of their rights and freedoms.

I saw through vain philosophies and bravado-heavy claims. 

What did they know? 

Knowing Him was a shame there.

They knew more than God, and I knew

That was a vice of its own, so I chose to walk by faith.

To be small. An oddball. A minority.

A stranger dancing to a song no one else could hear.

 

To know Him would be listening for His voice in small-town preaching,

And let it choke out the siren songs of prestige

And acceptance.

And pride.

To know Him would be letting Him unhook me from the long-toothed trap of consensus.

It meant discovering what His living words meant in my wilderness,

Digging for hours through intellectual underbrush until I found markers to

Point the way forward.

His words became a weapon against the lies,

Especially the ones I told myself.

I knew I could find answers to my questions, because He was the answer,

But the in between,

The marking trails to Him,

It was so much work.

I quested and searched and answered. But in the noise of my own making,

I felt the weight of what I couldn’t fully grasp,

And feared I would never:

He talks a lot about love. Am I missing something?

We did talk about this. We talked about love so often I forgot.

Love was on everyone's lips from day one.

We know His name. We know His power. We know His love.

It's all about love.

Why is my life so full of Jesus and His love, and so cold and barren too?

Why am I floundering in these shallows when the depths are singing out to each other?

How is this all supposed to work?

 

The answers arose again and again in words, books, songs,

And flowed out of faithful saints working their fingers to the bone at their humble stations.

Silly girl. God is not a problem to be solved.

He’s a whole being.

If you keep on, you’ll find Him.

So I did.

And I knew Him, but not well enough.

How could I?

 

Mary of Magdala knew this divide too.

She was healed by a nameless stranger.

What are the chances?

Surprise fell on her like a strike of pure lightning: You're whole.

Free.

He knew her name. He loosed her from demonic terror,

Un-chaining their authority and shielding her in safety.

He touched her soul before she could speak.

He knew her before she could know Him, and He loved her.

 

It's all so unequal. Unfair to the point of overwhelm.

Is this what it means to be loved? To be indebted beyond belief?

To be handed a whole new world? For free?

Maybe she really did say, "I will know Him for the rest of my life."

 

Did I, like her, mistake the relief of knowing Him for the end of all grief?

If He was God, shouldn't the meaning of one encounter last forever?

Why are we so bruised and fragile, always needing?

 

I could feel her devastation when He didn't erase her brain with amnesia.

He didn't transplant her into someone else's life, void of her identity.

The rest of her life would be knowing Him and healing from the scars.

Insecurities and bouts of shame would buck their backs like wild horses.

He didn't pave her a road free of disruption.

Temptation would sing its song.

These habits are harmless.

They are part of you.

They'll comfort you.

She would fall. She would forget, not the knowledge of what He did, but the feeling.

She would forget the lightning, and the relief, and the joy.

She knew Him, but not well enough.

How could she?

 

She had to learn not just who He was, but how prone she was to forget what she'd been given.

She couldn’t hear the cry of truth when despair shouted again

Into the serenity of her healing,

And she ran away.

She had to endure the pain of the inequality between them stretching impossibly again.

He couldn't be more holy, and she couldn't be more guilty.

She had to learn how Jesus forgives when we forget Him.

No literary master could contrive a juxtaposition this unbalanced.

 

The gap gets wider the more you know Him.

He is greater than you thought.

You are less than you thought.

You thought you were low before, but now look how much lower you feel

When you’ve known His voice, and you still forgot the lightning.

His Kingdom became familiar, and

God forbid, you let His face become mundane.  

The cycle continues... she had to be found again, and find Him again

And let Him embrace her again in the depth of her shame,

Wrapping His own righteousness around her like a cosmic hug

That makes no sense.

How could He possibly invite her into His story, when He is so pure and she is so broken?

 

Mary M.

She learned it from Him. And I learned it from her, and the others like her.

You can enter into that embrace, not because you can fulfill your part of a relationship,

But because He will make up the difference.

He will stand in the gap.

He will make you holy.

He will make you worthy,

He will answer your pitiful efforts

With ridiculous overabundance.

You’ll never know Him well enough.

The ocean of the I AM is too deep and too wide.

You can know Him

And be consumed by Him. 

 

She would invite us, wouldn't she?

She'd say, Stay with Him. Just stay and absorb as much as you can.

It takes time.

Listen through the teaching and the preaching.

Watch for the miracles.

Endure the soul-deep crisis of not comprehending his ways.

Witness the cross.

Wait for the resurrection.

Wait for the wind and the fire.

Wait for the Spirit.

Suffer with Him,

And let Him into your suffering

And surrender

With all your heart, soul, mind, and strength,

Until the power of His resurrection

Animates you and flows out of you like a river of life.

 

Be the disciple who never stops asking for more. 

You'll never grasp a shred of understanding how He could do it.

How He could stand on two hairy, dusty feet like any other man and

Embody all the power of the only throne in Heaven.

You’ll never master the mystery of how He got here.

 

But you’ll know Him for the rest of your life:

Lord and Sovereign, Priest and King.

You'll begin to entertain what infinity means,

The way nothing about Him has edges or endings.

The waves will swell until you can’t imagine any more of Him,

And you’ll shrivel, until you can no longer evaluate the divide between you.

 

You’ll nurture His words in the soft soil of your heart.

Roots and tender sprouts will press out from the seed

Birthing new desires, new decisions, new habits...

An entire new person,

Transformed. 

So different than before.

So full of life. 

When the voices tell you you're a dirty, broken little sinner,

You can answer as a saint, 

Because now He stands in between.

 

He'll bathe you in His own goodness.

His Spirit will tutor you.

He'll spark life-giving truths on your very lips

Spreading stranger to stranger, bones to bones,

So the fire never dies.

 

But if it starts to dissolve in you,

Remember the way you were,

And the way He intervened.

Remember what He rescued you from, and

The way he winked at your unease.

Remember His laugh at your relief.

Remember how you were never a stranger to Him.

And remember the trouble you wanted to make

The moment you realized who He was.

God forbid you forget,

But if it all disintegrates, 

And it breaks your heart to think of His face,

As long as you live

Remember how He’s standing there still

In the in between,

Ready in mercy to hold you again.

 

“I am the good shepherd.

I know my own and my own know me…”

(John 10:14 ESV)

 

The beginning of this piece was hearing the finale song of The Chosen’s Season 2: Trouble, by Matthew Nelson and Dan Haseltine. My view of Mary Magdalene is now shaped by The Chosen's fictional interpretation of her story, written beautifully by Dallas Jenkins, Ryan Swanson, and Tyler Thompson. Thank you all for helping me understand that she and I are soul sisters, no matter how different our stories.

 By Kristi Moore © 2021 Please don’t reproduce without permission, thanks!  

 

 

I Corinthians 13 for Writers

Though I write with the voice of an angel, and have not love, I am become as a forgotten word in a dying language. 

And though I have the gift of enchanting language, and can unravel all mysteries, and absorb all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could change the world by sharing my ideas, and have not love, I am nothing. 

And though I give a portion of my royalties to feed the poor, and though I put my reputation on the line for the Truth, and have not love, it profits me nothing. 

Love suffers rejection, and is faithful. Love doesn’t envy the success of others. Love isn’t prideful about accomplishments. Love isn’t puffed up. 

Love isn’t self-focused, doesn’t seek favor, is not oversensitive to criticism, is not easily threatened. 

Love rejoices at the success of others. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 

Love never fails: but where there be prophetic writings, they will fail; Where there be inspired messages, they will cease; where there be magnificent stories, they will vanish away. 

For we understand in part, and we write in part. But when perfection arrives, then my scraps of writing will be washed away. 

When I was a child, I wrote as a child, I understood as a child, I reasoned as a child; but when I became an adult, I put away childish things. 

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I am known in part, but then I will be known fully.
  
And now I must write faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. 

Letters From Haiti, 1985, 1989

Last year I found some of my Uncle Chuck's letters to my grandparents from while he was in Haiti. Some of these stories had become little family legends, and it was fun to see them in his handwriting. I'm sharing these clippings (with my grandparents' permission) as a way to remember my Uncle Chuck and the people he loved in Haiti. 

Reading into my uncle's dry humor, I see that the trip was a challenge on many levels. Yet, at the end he was eager to go back. Many of you know his story didn't go as planned. He did not have years of work ahead of him; he had unknowingly spent his last healthy energy in Haiti. 

I didn't realize until I read these letters that my Uncle Chuck must have been one of the first voices in my life who preached loudly and clearly without any words: don't be afraid to live outside your comfort zone. Do whatever it takes to make a difference... I'm so thankful for that voice, and I hope that you will hear it too as you read. His life wasn't long, but he made an impact everywhere he lived.

We miss you and love you, Uncle Chuck! 

On Creatures

June 21, 1985
The first night a tree frog (about the size of a coffee cup) went hopping all over the floor & walls. We tried to chase him out but never succeeded so we went to bed thinking there were probably other creatures we didn’t know about running loose. 

They have some pretty good sized lizards here also. The ones around our house are from 1 to 2 feet long but they help eat the other bugs. 

The kitchen is infested with huge roaches. They can really move fast. We sprayed yesterday with Raid & this morning we woke up and there were about 20 big ones & a whole bunch of little ones dead on the floor. 

July 26, 1985
Tuesday night I was very startled to see a tarantula on the bathroom wall. It was the first we had seen in the house & hopefully the last! This one could really move fast. Quite a battle ensued as I kept trying to hit him with a shoe. Finally we sprayed him with bug spray &he stayed still long enough for me to pound him with the shoe. 

August 2, 1985
As I was writing I looked up & saw a rat out the window run the top of the wall. That’s the first one I’ve seen around here. I did see one early Thursday morning (2:30am) while driving down the road. He was about the size of a cat.

On Weather

July 5th, 1985
The weather is fairly cool tonight. The temperature is probably around 90 but it only feels about 70.

Nov. 25, 1988
The weather in Haiti is always warm. During the “winter” the temperature is usually around 85 in the daytime and drops to about 75 at night. The temperature very rarely gets below 70, except in the mountains. Haiti never has snow so most here have never experienced it. 

On Travel

June 21, 1985
Last week we went to one of the churches in the mountains. The road was very bumpy & it took about 12 hours to get there & back.

March 9, 1989
Guess who we have Airline Tickets with? You’re right – Eastern Airlines! [EA was on strike.] Well today I went downtown to change them & had been to Eastern & then Pan Am then the travel agent again & back to Pan Am. By the time I returned back to Pan Am they were no longer accepting Eastern tickets or any that Eastern had endorsed to them. So as of today our tickets are technically worthless... I really don’t think there will be a problem since we are not leaving until May. Surely someone will honor them by then.

August 9, 1985
The Sheets were to arrive back on Monday. We drove down to pick them up but they were not on the plane. We went to the ticket counter & asked if they were on that flight. The lady told us that this was secret information & that she could not tell us. We said okay – and then [she] walked to the computer, punched in & told us they were not on Monday’s flight but would be on Tues. Tuesday we drove back down & the same thing happened so we went back on Wednesday & they were on this plane.

March 23, 1989
Pastor Clement was supposed to come and interpret for us but he did not show up at our meeting place so we went without him. There had been heavy rains that night and a mud slide had covered the road so he was unable to come.

March 23, 1989
We are back on the bike [motorcycle]. The lady with the jeep is trying to sell it and she will be leaving the country for a few months in April. It sure was nice having it and it spoiled us. I had been using it to visit most of the schools. 

July 12, 1985
The traffic gets quite congested here, especially if a cop is trying to direct it. It would be like driving in downtown Portland at 5:00 with no rules.

June 21, 1985
We have a Yamaha 125 motorcycle for our transportation. It is a Sheaves for Christ trail bike. It is kind of fun to ride. There are only just a few “good” roads here. The rest are just bumpy rock & dust. The drivers are real wild too. 

On Differences

March 16, 1989 

Well we miss you all & will be seeing you in May si J vié. (If Jesus wills.) Every Haitian always says that. Si J Vié and they always say Grace a Dieu – when we would say as thank God. 

July 26th, 1985
Monday was a national holiday because of elections. They have different voting practices here. When you go to vote you are asked by armed men if you would like a “yes” ballot or a “no” ballot. As one scans the room & sees all of the guns he naturally asks for a “yes” ballot &a thn goes & votes, “yes” of course. 

August 2, 1985
One thing I have learned down here is that nothing will be like what you would picture it to be in your mind.

Feb 17, 1989
You all are talking about how long it takes the police to get to a call, well here they ask you if you have a body. If you do they come, if not they don’t show.

April 14, 1989
The coup seems to be over. For all the noise and shooting there does not appear to be much damage. President Avril said that his troops were using “practice ammunition” and that they were not to shoot below head level. I take that to mean that they all shot in the air with blanks. I wonder how all the people were injured and killed from that? 

March 16, 1989
One of our pastor’s wives died this week so I went to the funeral at Pont Sonde. She had been sick & then got better & next thing we knew she died. She was about 55 years old & that is old for the Haitian. In fact that is the life expectancy in Haiti. 55 years. I think it is 73 years in the States.

June 21, 1985
Thursday we were trying to clean the garbage pile out of our back door, so we hauled it out into the street (where everyone else puts their garbage). There was a box of Rice Krispies in it that had been infested with bugs that I threw out. No sooner had I turned my back than a young boy dug through the garbage, picked up the Rice Krispies, and ran off. Tonight I was noticing that not too much of our garbage was left. The people will take their “treasures” home to use or eat.

Nov. 25, 1988
Many of our churches have day schools. They begin in October and finish in June. To be able to attend school here in Haiti every student must have shoes, a uniform, a book bag and a lunch pail. Because of these cultural requirements many cannot attend.
Their day begins a little before 8:00 am and goes until noon. The students sit crowded together on rough wooden benches and copy their lessons from a “blackboard.” They do not have any privilege break or field trips or parties... The facilities are very crude. There is no running water or indoor bathrooms and no mirrors, yet the students feel very privileged to be able to attend. 

July 12, 1985
Saturday the 6th we went to the Iron Market. We found our “guides” & were led about to spend our money. We bought several wood carvings & things. It was quite an experience having the merchants trying to sell you something all at once. Our guides literally fought them off. It was fun.

July 12, 1985
The Sheet’s washing machine broke down so we have been doing our laundry in the bathtub. It is hard work.

June 21, 1985
Our phone number at our house is 60999, but our phone hasn’t worked for the last 3 days & may never work again so don’t be alarmed if you cannot phone us. 

On New Experiences

July 19, 1985
We’ve had an exciting week. Monday I went to the barber for a haircut. The barber put his shirt & smock on, turned on the air conditioner, began unlocking drawers & pulling out his tools. I sat down & explained in English & Creole what I wanted. He must have been nervous because he kept clicking his scissors in the air, very fast. He was so short he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the top of my head. He did a very good job. All for $4.00.

March 16, 1989
[We visited] another of our schools that is in the area. It is in a small brush arbor type “building.” The kids sang for us a couple songs. Jesus Loves the Little Children of the World & one to the tune of When the Battle’s Over We Shall Wear a Crown. They were singing different words on that one. I still have a hard time trying to understand when someone talks to me. Kinda like you are trying to figure out my handwriting. We are by no means fluent, but can almost hold a reasonably intelligent conversation.

March 16, 1989
Monday we packed our suitcases & moved out to the “Farm” for a few days. We are staying at the Heady’s house which is out of Port au Prince 23 kilometers. There is about 60 acres of Haitian Desert where they have some chickens. All the chickens are layers & we collect about 20 dozen eggs a day. They had two chickens they had set aside to butcher. They were pretty good sized, about like a turkey. One of them died, so we butchered the other one the next day. Today we had one of the layers die. It looked like a ruptured egg inside. Now we have another which is sick and will die too. It seems that it is not strange to have them die.

July 19, 1985
After dinner the kids went to play. A few minutes later Maggie came back saying Jason fell & was crying. We went out to see. He had gone across from our house to a house that is being built. He had crawled up one of the walls & had fallen 8 feet when the wall fell apart. The walls here are made of cement block. A couple of blocks fell on him. He didn’t break any bones, but his legs were all bloody. I brought him back to our house & then we decided to take him to the doctor. When we got to the doctors Sis. Sheets & I went in to help. Here the doctor is also his own nurse, receptionist, bill collector etc. I held Jason down while the doctor gave him a shot in the knee & then cleaned the wound & put a couple stitches in a blood vessel that had been ruptured. It was all very interesting. Of course Jason did not think so. The next day you would not have known he even hurt himself. He was up running around & fighting with his sister.

June 28, 1985
We are doing fine & have began setting up the files & record books for the church. We have been teaching English to some of the Bible School students. We are getting more used to the bugs. Most of them have died from the spray. Our phone is working again, for a while anyway. Prices are very high on American items & any packaged foods. We are having a good time! 

July 19, 1985
Tomorrow, like most Saturdays, I go to the airport to help unload the Agape plane of the mail & parcels. We are escorted out to the runway where we unload the plane, then we take everything through customs where we open every box for them so they can mess everything up. Most things they don’t charge customs on. It depends on what type of mood they are in. From there we load everything into the van & go to the Agape “Office” where people come to pick up their mail.

June 21, 1985 
This is probably the longest letter I have written in my life so I better close before it gets longer. We love you & miss you but are enjoying ourselves.

On The Future

July 26, 1985 

We have only 3 weeks left here. We will be sorry to leave. We have really enjoyed our stay here. 

March 23, 1989

I don’t think we will be meeting the missions board until October. Thanks for sending all the tax booklets. I am going to try to do them while I am here... We are enclosing a few pictures that we finally got developed. Hope you can enjoy them. We love you all and miss you. 

April 14, 1989
I have some plans for building some desks out of plywood that I would like to try when I get home. It takes one sheet for each desk. I figure I can make them for around $30.00. I don’t remember what a nice piece of plywood cost in the states, but here it is about $45.00 and it isn’t too nice. All the plywood is imported, mostly from Brazil so it is expensive.

April 21, 1989 
We will not write you again, as that we shall be arriving home on Tuesday the 2nd of May. Michael is getting excited about riding on the big airplane. We have been counting down the days until we see you all. We love you all and will see you in 10 days as of this writing. Probably only 5 days from your reading this.