The Good NEWS

I've started reading through the Gospel of Mark in my quiet time. Yesterday morning, I read Mark 1:21-28 and was particularly captivated by the second to last verse. After Jesus casts the demon out of the man in the synagogue, the people respond by saying "what is this? A new teaching - and with authority!" (verse 1:27)

The Gospel is supposed to be news.

One of the first things I learned in my university theology classes was that the word "Gospel" comes from the Greek word "evangelion" which literally means "good news". I can't tell you how many times my professors drilled that to us, how many times it popped up on an exam as a multiple choice question, how many times I read it in textbooks. Yet, amazingly, I forgot about it. Gospel, the Gospel, was replaced with a million other definitions that I came up with along the way. The Gospel was a way of life, a belief system, a story with a happy ending. But news? Nah. It wasn't news to me.

The reaction recorded in Mark 1:27 really convicted me. The people were drawn to Jesus and his message because it was a new teaching. It a breath of fresh air. It caught them off guard. It intrigued them. Not only was this a new teaching but it was being taught with authority.  Now, I just did a quick search online and the most common definition of authority is power. Power to enforce, command, control, determine ... power to assign ... power to influence. What Jesus was teaching wasn't just new, it was also authoritative. It wasn't just a new choice or one option among many. It had authority; it was the only option. And the people recognized that.

Last I checked, we still call the message of Jesus the Gospel ... and that means it's still suppose to be good news. When we share our faith, people should still be responding with "what is this? A new teaching - and with authority!" It shouldn't be a "been there, heard that, no thanks" kind of deal. So what are we doing wrong?

Thank You To My Mother ...

Yesterday, I found out that someone 

- and not just anyone, but someone I have been trying earnestly to impress -

thinks I am overweight. 

She thinks I am fat.

And do you know what thought came to me,

once the rage inside me had subsided and the tears had stopped and my heart was beating normally again and my hands weren't clenched in little fists ready to punch this "someone" square between the eyes?

I thought: thank you to my Mother.

Not that I blame my Mother for my heavy-set frame, as some girls do.

Not that my Mother passed down "big bone" genes ...

Or that somehow my plus size curves are a flaw or blessing to be attributed to her.

No. Not that kind of thank you.

Thank you to my Mother ... for loving unconditionally.

For being the kind of Mom to whom I was always beautiful;

even when I was chubby

even when I had a double-chin

even when my hair was a messy, uncontrollable frizz ball

even when my teeth were crooked and I was too chicken to get braces

even when other little girls may have been prettier than I.

I always knew I was beautiful to her. I never doubted that.

Thank you to my Mother ... 

for continuously telling me that I was - and am - perfect.

For telling me that she is proud of the weight I have lost,

but mostly proud of the character I have developed.

For raising me to believe & know that there is more than meets the eye.

Thank you to my Mother ...