His Chair…

So a few months ago, I’m sitting across the table from this lady with some significant financial problems. She’s desperately trying to hold herself together, but the weight of the financial burden combined with the humiliation of having to ask for help has left her looking like someone has kicked her in the stomach. She tells me her story. It’s unfortunately familiar these days, but still hurts to hear.

I tell her we’ll do what we can to help with her bills. I also let her know that we have lots of other ways we can help. When I mention that we have a free medical clinic that comes out to Park Lane every couple of weeks, she stops me and asks, do you help with dentist stuff? I let her know that we have a free dental clinic but that there’s a waiting list and her husband would need to see the Park Lane doctor first. She reaches out and grabs my hands, and asks if I’m for real.

Apparently he’s got some really bad teeth that are hurting so bad that he’s been pulling them out with pliers. She informs me that he’s already pulled 3, but didn’t get all of the last one so it’s gotten infected. As she described with tears what it was like to watch her husband pull his own teeth out I felt overwhelmed with mixed emotions. On the one hand, I feel this deep sense of sorrow that this couple has had to experience such huge pain. It was the kind of sorrow that aches deep down in your guts. At the same time though, I’m feeling this very real sense of deep joy and gladness that this pain doesn’t have to continue for them.

We prayed and cried together and I told her I’d see her husband at the Park Lane clinic at 8am Wednesday morning. I was so excited about meeting this guy and helping him in Jesus name. So a couple of days later Wednesday morning rolls around, but I don’t see him at the clinic. The whole morning I’m looking for this guy, but no guys show, just women and children. So as we’re packing up the medicine I call the lady and told her I didn’t see her husband. Her response floored me.

“Yeah, he went, but when he got there he saw some people coughing, and you know, the last thing he needs right now is to get sick…”

I was stunned and mumbled something about how he’s always welcome to come back, but that it is a medical clinic, so people that come are usually sick. As I hung up the phone I was thinking to myself, quite loudly, WHAT!!!!!??! Are you kidding me??! You’re having to pull your teeth out with pliers and you’re scared of a cold??! Am I missing something here? It really bothered me. I mean, how in the world could someone bearing such a crushing burden just blow off an opportunity to have it lifted for free? For a few days this question irritated my brain like a piece of hair in my mouth.

In my old age I’m slowly coming to realize that the things that bother me the most in others are usually the things I struggle with the most. Remember that story in the Bible when he prophet Nathan tells King David that story of the rich guy that had the poor guys pet lamb killed? As David is burning with anger and starts calling for the rich guys head Nathan holds up the mirror. This was yet another mirror experience for me.

My rotten teeth are the painful burdens and sin struggles that I willingly carry around and try to handle in my own strength, with pliers. Jesus stands there with arms wide open, and I can see in His eyes conflicting deep emotions. On one hand, I can see the pain He feels for me rolling down his cheeks. He knows exactly what I’m carrying around and the paralyzing pain it’s causing me. At the same time though, I can also see a hopeful excitement in His eyes as He thinks about how I would feel if I’d just hand over my crushing load of sin and stress and let Him take it all away, for free. He’s standing there calling out to me, come to me my child, you’re weary and burdened, and I will give you rest

So tell me, what idiot turns a free invitation like that down? Who in their right mind sees their problem and the perfect solution and yet, with pliers in hand, waves Jesus off and says, thanks man, I got this one

Me. Pretty much daily since I can remember.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why I’ve chosen to live with this heavy millstone of sin, stress, fear and wearying worry hanging around my neck for most of my life. What lame excuses am I habitually throwing up to justify hanging on to my burdens so I can try and deal with them on my own with pliers? I feel like for so many years I would hear Jesus’ unbelievable invitation and bring all my junk to Him and I’d ask Him to take it away, to lighten my burden, take away my sin and fix my problems… and then nothing would happen- in my heart or with my circumstances. The formula rarely worked for me so I think I slowly just started to try and cope on my own. I’d talk to Jesus about my problems still, but with no expectations and mainly because I felt like I was supposed to.

It’s sad, but it’s taken me most of my life to see the part of the equation I’ve been missing. I’ve been walking into the dentist office with my jacked up teeth and infected gums and in the doorway there stands Jesus. Like always, he lovingly welcomes me in and directs me to the chair with his hand. I catch a glimpse of the nail hole in his hand and am reminded that I don’t want the chair, at all. Can we just talk about my teeth and some hygiene ideas I can do at home? Can’t you fix my problems without the chair? He smiles an understanding smile and says, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your soul. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” It’s crystal clear with all the yoke talk, that while He’s promising to fix my teeth better than I ever could, He’s also asking me to sit down in His chair and fully surrender first.

This is usually when I thank Him for being such a good listener and give Him some lame excuse for why I’ve got to take my oral disaster and go. As I look back over my shoulder I catch a glimpse of him with His face in His hands, shaking His head. Come on though, in His chair I’m not in control anymore, and I’m probably going to experience some kind of pain, loss or discomfort. So instead of taking up my cross, or His yoke or sitting in His chair, or whatever picture you want to pick, I live life with a crushing sack of rotting garbage on my back.

Have you become used to carrying the weight too? Think about it. Do you really, honestly and truly experience a peace that passes all understanding? Like when everything is crumbling around you and you can’t fix it, but you are genuinely at peace inside.  Do you really, truly experience joy when life is raining tragedy and sadness on you, or patience when every one of your buttons is getting pushed, or kindness and gentleness when someone is hurting someone you love? Do you feel light even when life is heavy?

If not, you, like me, may be trying to experience His life giving healing without embracing His life ending cross. Think about it. Can He ask you to do anything, to stop doing anything, to give up anything? Anything? Can He ask you to follow Him anywhere? Anywhere? Can He ask you to love anyone, to forgive anyone, rebuke anyone? Anyone? If Jesus had complete control of your money, your time, your gifts, your life, do you think He would spend it the way you’re spending it? If He showed up at your job, or your house and said, come follow me… Would you be willing to go? What if you’d have to leave your life behind?

When our answer is yes, He begins His life giving surgery, but the second we start with the, “Not that tooth, it’s too sensitive,” or the, “Not that treatment, it’s too scary,” or the, “Not that infection, it’s not really that bad,” He lovingly steps back and waits until we’re ready to surrender complete control. My problem is thinking that partial surrender is the same as total surrender. I’ll climb into His chair often enough, but the second I hear the tools tinking around on his metal tray I’ve got a quick excuse for why He can’t do that with my mouth. Ok Jesus, have your way with me… unless it’s going to cost me more of my time or my money than I’m willing to invest, or unless it’s on my day off, or during my free time, or when I’m tired, or a sin that really isn’t that big of a deal, to me. I’m yours Jesus… except if it’s going to be too uncomfortable or painful or unless I might have to actually risk something or give up something I love.

If we’re not willing to sit in His chair we shouldn’t expect to receive His life giving burden removal, right?

As I’m thinking about Dr. Jesus’ chair and what it really means to have a seat, suddenly the guy that was pulling his own teeth out with pliers didn’t look so stupid. Instead of judging him, I now empathize with him. Please pray for me. The whole sitting in the chair thing is an epic daily battle for me.

And by the way, this picture of Jesus as some dentist and the cross as this dentist’s chair is obviously woefully lacking. The truth is, Jesus doesn’t just want to fix my smile and the cross is a way more gruesome, painful, uncomfortable, terrifying picture than any dentist’s chair. It doesn’t just hurt, it kills. Taking His yoke on me is way harder than getting some novocaine shot and tasting my tooth smoke for an hour in a padded dentist chair.

The truth is, a perfect, cavity-free smile will never come close to describing the beautiful, exhilarating, euphoric, exciting, light, whole, complete, joyful, fruitful, purposeful, powerful, peaceful life we find when we follow Jesus’ example and lay our lives down.

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~ by Jonathan Taussig on April 20, 2010.