A Parable (sort of)

Caged Lion Watching

Why don’t I tremble in fear while watching lions pace toward me at the zoo?  Safety is the simple answer.  I know (at least experience has taught me) that the lion cannot get out of his enclosure.  The zoo authorities reassure me that this wild beast cannot do me any harm and so I am free to simply observe. Standing there in my semi-expensive water repelling shorts, my cool flip-flops, nice (un-ironed shirt), while sipping on my designer coffee I can watch the lion pace back and forth.  If I concentrate enough I can even begin to marvel at his beauty and incredible power. I might even comment to someone near by or surreptitiously listen in on another’s inspired comments. The first few times of observing the king of the beasts brings me joy enough; for it seems worth the money and the time.  After a while it just gets a bit boring, this non-olympic event called “observing”, and so I look for a tad more action.  Maybe we can feed the lion and watch it tear the meat to shreds, or what if we put a lion tamer in the cage? Now something like that would be worth my while. Overall I want to be in a safe place, and I feel reassured when I hear the Zookeeper say, “you are in a safe place”.  I know that the Zookeeper is under quite a bit of pressure to make this viewing of the lion appealing enough for me to return, but as long as it is the best show in town, I guess that I will keep going.  Don’t ask me to be more than a paying observer.  Make sure that I am always safe. Keep me interested or I may start going down the road to the aquarium because I hear that the sharks are pretty amazing, a little scary, but still safe…

What if the Lion could get out of the enclosure?  Can He? Do I really want Him to get out?

I have heard that people used to go watch the Lion at the Zoo because that was just what you did.  It was a matter of discipline rather than entertainment value.  It seems to me that whatever the reason might be, the core problem remains the same.  It is how we view the Zoo; we see it as a zoo. Caged lion watching is safe.  The Lion is not…safe, that is.

What if there was a place where I could go and walk with the Lion?  What if there was a place that I could hear His voice?  I would surely tremble.  I would fall on my face and plead with Him to not consume me. I would cringe as His terrible velvet paws gently wiped away tears and sorrow. I might even say something like, “woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips.”  What I can tell you for sure is that Caged Lion Watching would seem utterly empty and perhaps irreverent?

Stephen F. Scarrow
August 8, 2012

Another Poem

If you have never visited Tijuana from the Mexican side you may miss the deeper meaning of this one.  We lived in Guadalajara for 12 years and when we visited this city (several occasions) we always sensed something very different in the heart and soul of the people.  This something we did not find in Guadalajara and I always struggled to put my finger on it, until the morning I stepped out onto the balcony of the hotel, where we were doing the Marriage Encounter event, and could look across Tijuana, across the border to the smoky hills east of San Diego. There is a haunting longing and a sense of unfulfilled plans and dreams in this place that cries out for fullness, completeness, and joy that can only be found in Creator...Father...loving Savior.

Tijuana Morning

Calm seems the morning hour

Mist rising over smoky hills.

A slowly awakening chorus

Of sights and sounds takes shape.

A haunting sense of distance

Oh so near to the very fiber of life.

Smoky reflections dance in the light,

A sense of long time sleepiness.

Tones and hues of life over playing,

Moving, always looking…longing.

Something better, something beyond,

Something lost…

Stephen F. Scarrow

8 November 2003

On the occasion of the 1^st Marriage Encounter in Tijuana

“You were designed for this.”

My son cannot understand how I drive around without the radio on.  It’s just that so often when I drive I have these great conversations with God, and here lately it seems that He is enjoying this as much or more than I do.

So…last Saturday afternoon I was pulling out of a driveway to return home when I heard that unmistakable voice once again. Get the picture…I had been asked by a pastor friend of mine (one of 15 pastors in our community that pray together every Thursday morning) to baptize a lady related to one of the members of his church.  This elderly lady had gone through a severe medical challenge and through this experience had encountered life! New life in Jesus radiates in her like I have only seen a few times in my life.  She is bound to a wheelchair and yet determined that she would be baptized at a family gathering in a family pool!

Are you getting the picture?  Thirty plus people are gathered around a homemade pool which I would call a “cement pond” to watch wife, mother, grandmother, and great grandmother lowered into the water in her wheelchair.  She gave a joyous testimony, very loudly, and a louder shout of joy with upraised arms when I brought her up out of the water. At that moment she floated out of her wheelchair and I told her that I figured she must have been filled with the Spirit! Once out of the water she challenged everyone in her family to be saved and to get baptized!  I waited patiently in the water as I looked each one in the eye. Many lowered their heads and looked away, but a more clear testimony could not have been given to them all.

I quietly greeted folks and then withdrew realizing that the reactions would be mixed.  For some they may have been relieved to see the “preacher” go.  While others may have been glad for my presence, I was very aware that my role was not as the principal.  I simply felt privileged and full of joy despite the blinding heat.

“You were designed for this.” O.k. so this time I was not so surprised to hear Him speak, but I was confronted with the content.  I had been struggling with my role as a pastor in general and in this community specifically. I am becoming more and more long term as each day goes by and this is happening by submission rather than by personal design.  Personally, I have always felt that I would function best in some large Latin American city and yet here I am in a small town U.S.A. setting.  “You were designed by me to shepherd my sheep.  I did not give them the names they have (Baptist, Methodist, Roman Catholic, etc) I never expected my shepherds to limit themselves by man’s definition.  Shepherd my sheep wherever you find them and where you have found that I have placed you.  And Steve, enjoy yourself!  You were designed for this.”

I guess I’ll just keep riding around without the radio on…

Steve Scarrow

FAC, Moultrie, GA

Just a couple of poems to share...just like art, they are shared with great trepidation as one reveals inner layers of the soul.

Be Silent!

Manicured lawns can not compare

With designed disorder.

Manufactured silence is a sham

Revealed in Creator’s playfulness.

True silence is active amazement.

Full concentration rendered as love

Returns as a warm breath stirring my soul,

A gentle Father’s hand on my shoulder.

Steve Scarrow

College of Prayer

September 22, 2006

Lake Louis, GA

Spirit Filled

Gently applied oil, penetrating comfort brings.

Deepest longing met with warmth.

Fearful doubting crushed by assurance.

Empty wandering filled with Presence.

Like a deep sigh Spirit fills.

Missing parts come out of darkness.

A gentle earth shattering roar.

In the oil…the smell of Jesus.

Steve Scarrow

College of Prayer

September 22, 2006

Lake Louis, GA

Title: Boldness

Subtitle: I was wondering why I had the audacity to name this blog provoking the lions…I guess I have a bit of an idea now…

It seems quite clear that there are seasons in life, such as youth, marriage, children at different stages, empty nest, and grandparent.  Let’s not mention old age!  But then there are moments…moments that change everything; or do they really? 

My pen has gone cold, taken to stuttering and lisping in these last months, actually since December…the fourteenth to be exact.  I was waiting, with my mother-in-law (one of those times you are glad she is around…smile!) in a waiting room.  One could do an interesting study on waiting rooms; I personally don’t really like them, but they do serve a purpose…waiting.  “Mr. Scarrow, telephone B please,” says the nice lady with the tired eyes that don’t really see you. Telephone B is not a good thing.  I should have realized that no one else was being called to telephone B.  The voice on the other end was faceless and so matter of fact.  The moment has begun. A warning begins to softly toll inside as awareness drifts into the periphery of my thinking. “She isn’t telling you everything”.  Waiting again in a waiting room trying to control thoughts, breathing, and knowing full well I am not in control.  An hour skids by and then another call to telephone B.  I am really not liking waiting rooms and have developed an aversion to telephone B.  “She is still not telling you everything” warns the awareness as the clatter of the clapper sounds louder and closer. Once again an hour latter, “Mr. Scarrow”, but this time there is a Dr. instead of the now reviled telephone B, someone I have never seen before.  It seems like there is a long stillness and a pause before he says the word.  In fact, now looking back, I cannot actually hear his voice form the word.  The thoughts came rushing and swirling. Action is so much easier in that moment.  What did we do before cell phones?

Some time later I found myself sitting beside her bed, the rush of first emotion beginning to fade.  The pounding of the bell of crisis fading just enough to begin to hear another voice, but I was totally unprepared for what I would hear.  The word given in such a moment crushed the lenses of self…self perspective, self focus, self protection.  To tell you the truth it was a shocking moment for me.  A word given in the tender flush of first grief seemed like a granite slab dropped in the middle of my flower garden of self pity.  I was sitting beside Andrea’s bed waiting for her to fully awaken from an unexpected surgery, knowing I would soon be explaining things we had never even imagined.  Poetic self serving thoughts roared through my mind. “How does a man tell the love of his life that she has cancer?”  When I heard His unmistakable voice say, “That’s not the issue. She will be fine.  How will you tell the world that your wife has cancer?” Boom! Granite on top of my carefully tended flowers. I shouldn’t have been surprised at my wife’s response to the “c” word, “Wow…o.k.” The next morning her first words were, “In the night God gave me one word, boldness.” I turned and looked at my garden and realized that it had been missing something, a nice big beautiful piece of granite right smack in the middle!

He built a table...someone was building a cross.

This coming Sunday is the second in the advent season and it is also The Lord's Table at Friendship Alliance Church.  As we prepare ourselves I offer a poem that came to me a few years back as I worshiped Jesus at the alter and Table in our sanctuary.

He built a table

With tears in his eyes

Each drop a memory

Strong caring hands had taught him how

Warm loving eyes had cheered him on

On the table he engraved his signature

The last of all

The servant of all

And somewhere, someone was building a cross.

He looked at the table

With tears in his eyes

Joy mingled with sorrow

An old friend bearing the tools of active humility

Friends obliviously feasting while feet he cleansed 

At the table he lived out the inscription

The last of all

The servant of all

And somewhere, someone prepared the cross.

I gaze upon a table

With tears in my eyes

Sorrow and joy intertwined

An old friend bearing His Body, His Blood

Constant His presence, permanent His care

At the table I become His endorsement

The last of all

The servant of all

Yoked through his passion proffered on His cross.

Steve Scarrow

April 27, 2006