Interrupted

Apparently, Jesus was interrupted a lot during His ministry. He’d try to take His disciples off to rest, and a crowd would come running after. They talked while He prayed and woke Him up when He slept. The Pharisees threw an adulteress in front of Him while He was preaching. Imagine if that happened today! A man coming down through the ceiling cut in on a sermon. A woman with an incurable disease cut in on a healing mission. A blind man with a really loud voice sitting by the side of the road cut in on a walk. They yelled His name, they mobbed Him, they burst into tears, they dumped perfume on His feet. In the synagogue, on the mountainside, in boats, in houses, on the street. Nowhere was safe. And what does Jesus do? Does He get annoyed, short-tempered, curt, upset? Does He say, “Sorry, I’m busy,” and go back to His real work?

No.

In fact, reading the stories, you get the idea that the interruptions were His real work. You see a Jesus who faces head-on every new face that pops up in front of Him, never pushing them aside to follow a plan. Why? How did Jesus manage not to lose His temper? Why did He treat interruptions not like burdens but like opportunities?

Because they were people. Jesus had a job to do, and that job was people. Not carpentry, not fishing, not money, not even synagogues. It wasn’t a vocation, it wasn’t a schedule, it wasn’t a sermon. His purpose was people. Plain and simple. And when they came His way, He saw them for what they were. Not interruptions, not irritations, but empty vessels with the potential of being filled with the love of God. He was never too busy to be interrupted because those very interruptions were His business. What about me?

The Gingerbread Project

It was going to be amazing. Just like the jewelry beads, the scarecrow family, and the Oreo turkeys, only Christmas oriented instead. I had the frosting out, the pre-shaped pieces for the little gingerbread houses, the gumdrops for the windows - everything! We just had to cut them out and put them together. And decorate them, of course.

So I started asking around. Gingerbread house, anyone? “Sure . . . maybe. After I do my homework. I’ve got a lot of homework tonight.” “Um, can I talk to my mom first online?” “Well, maybe later. I was kinda thinking I might take a nap.” Student after student listened, smiled, and declined. In fact, the only one who was enthusiastic was McKenzie, and she’s seven.

I walked into the computer room after a round of useless asking and found a fair number of them, staring at their computer screens, oblivious to the world.

That’s when it hit me.

These girls didn’t care about sitting down and doing something with me. It’s not that they don’t like me. They simply weren’t interested. There were two and a half hours between school getting out and the dinner bell ringing, and they wanted to spend that time the way they chose. Which meant sitting in front of the computer. Alone. There was no time for spending quality time with me. It wasn’t about getting to know each other better. Having good talks. Creating memories. They’d actually prefer to stare at the computer for a couple hours, thank you very much.

I wonder if we do the same thing to God.

There He is, sitting at the kitchen table with the gingerbread and gumdrops spread out before Him. Waiting for us to walk through the door and spend some quality time with Him. Have a good talk. Create a memory. Instead, we get on the Internet. Or flip on the television. Or take a nap. It’s not that we don’t like Him. We’re just not interested.