For the People Watchers, EavesDroppers, and Hope Devoid

I admit I always read with a pen in hand (and I never, ever read library books). You won’t know what will stop you until a line raises a curious question or sparks something in your soul. I want to be ready. 

Because sometimes what’s in italics, almost like a whispered afterthought, warrants a full stop. Like in Luke 12:1.

The crowds at this time were packed in so tightly that thousands of people were stepping on each other. Jesus spoke to His disciples, knowing that the crowd could overhear.

– The Voice

Jesus’ next words were for the eavesdroppers, the people watchers, the hungry searching for hope that might feed them too.

It hits me, how simple and natural is the way Jesus taught. He always carried with Him the vision that truth and love and grace and God’s withness aren’t meant for just a few. They’re for me and you and every person driving in every car on every road in every country. Every person sitting on every bleacher at every game, not just this day or this season but every day that has ever been and ever will be. Every person facing any kind of disappointment. Every person longing to be seen, Every person who has ever breathed a breath, burned a finger, bruised a knee. 

Jesus often spoke in a way that those on the fridges, those pressing in to hear, those awaiting signs and wonders—and those self-described as skeptical—could all overhear.

The Intended Audience

We’ve each been privy to words spoken too loudly that leave a lot of damage. Maybe we bristle at the thought of being overheard because we’ve been hurt, and hurt people hurt other people, as the saying goes. We don’t trust what comes out of our mouths. Or maybe the pain of a betrayal is fresh. We wish we could erase what we’ve accidentally overheard.

I hear you if you’d rather words not reach more than their intended audience–or not be spoken at all. If I could, I’d take away all the words that have hurt you or those you love.

But maybe Jesus’s words reached exactly who needed to hear them. And it wasn’t just the people who locked eyes with Him as He spoke, but people hurt by other people’s words, people who have hurt others with their own untamed words.

It would be like Jesus to heal with the very thing that’s hurt the most. To plant seeds where hope has died. To seize every opportunity to share good news.

Eavesdroppers Welcome!

The more I ponder Jesus’s invitation to overhear His words, the more I wonder if He’s not teaching us a simple yet effective model of discipleship. One that looks a bit like a ripple-effect.

Jesus spent a whole lot of time with His Father. So much that the kingdom truth Jesus stored in His heart spilled out effortlessly every time He opened His mouth. He didn’t have to worry if His words would be more harmful than helpful if others eavesdropped because what came out always pointed to His Father. 

Jesus generously shared His Father’s heart with all of us instead of keeping it tucked away inside. He knew how very good this news was, and He wanted His words to free us, wanted us to catch His vision, wanted us to adopt His mission.

All along He knew the stories He told weren’t just for the people nearest Him, weren’t even just for the people barely within earshot. They were also for all people across all of time for His words are The Word, and He is timeless.

Just as the beautiful mysteries of kingdom-of-God living spilled out every time Jesus opened His mouth, so too does what’s inside us seep into our speech—which is why Jesus says to pay careful attention to what consumes us: “Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life” (Proverbs 4:23, ESV).

The Apostle Paul spells it out like this: “Fill your minds with beauty and truth. Meditate on whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is good, whatever is virtuous and praiseworthy” (Philippians 4:8, The Voice).

What Jesus demonstrated when He spoke indirectly to the crowds–and to you and I–is that opportunities to gently disciple arise in everyday conversations. We can ready ourselves by cultivating what’s inside us so what spills out when we open our mouths points to Him.

A Bigger Vision

Just imagine what might happen if the words we say breathed life, ignited hearts, and amplified hope when they were overheard! If what came out of our mouths was laced in humility and grounded in our God-identity. If our words repaired breaches and lent hope and lit a candle for someone else.

Someone listening over our shoulder, curious how to trust God when life doesn’t make sense.

Someone observing at a distance how we become the hands and feet of the Lord we say we love.

Someone with doubts and no idea what to do with them.

Someone who feels unlovable.

Someone misunderstood.

Someone keeping it together on the outside but crumbling inside.

Someone made the brunt of a bad joke.

Someone serving selflessly and feeling unseen.

Someone with questions that hollow and a soul-ache that persists.

A Commissioning & A Manifesto

You have been commissioned to live a faith that ripples. One that normalizes faith intersecting with our everyday relationships.

I want to leave you with this manifesto:

We posture our hearts like an open door, welcoming our neighbors into our hearts, homes, and lives. 

We let the things God is doing in our own lives ripple out beyond us. 

We cultivate lives worth imitating through a rhythm of spending time daily with God. 

We live from the overflow of grateful hearts. 

We don’t push our words ahead of our actions. 

We are humble, honest, and interruptible. 

We take notice of those around us. 

We create margin in our schedules for doing life with our neighbors. 

We know the direction is more important than the pace, so we keep taking baby steps even when we feel imperfectly ready. 

We are nurturing, one rhythm at a time, an uncommon normal.

Just a friend over here in your corner,

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