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Jotham and the Phoenix
December 17, 2007 By Chris Paris Jon slouched down in his seat on the plane, hoping to
avoid eye contact and conversation. He had not been as lucky on his
trip to the food court. Sitting down to an overpriced meal which he
justified based on his last airplane meal, he had been interrupted by a
teenage girl with faded mascara, stringy hair, and torn jeans. “Excuse me, sir, are you a preacher?” Jon's hopes of remaining incognito on this trip had
failed him, his prophetic mantle somehow shining through his everyman
disguise. “Yes, I am a preacher.” The girl stood motionless, trying to form the right
words. Jon spoke up, “Can I buy you something to eat?” “No, I'm not hungry. I just need some, well, I need
some advice.” “Sure, have a seat.” Recalling the conversation as he sat on the plane, he
reconsidered his attitude. He had not desired to help this young girl.
He was not without compassion, but he had grown weary of the grind of
helping others. Fortunately for the girl, the usual catchphrases came
back to him, the clichés that he always used to help people in need.
Kyrie was a runaway. She had finally decided to return home. Too
afraid to send her money fearing that she might use it for drugs, her
parents had bought her a plane ticket. Kyrie wanted to change her life,
but she wondered if her parents would ever trust her again. Jon simply reached into his bag of sermon
illustrations and told her a story about a young runaway returning home
on a train. His parents had told him that if he were welcome, they
would hang a white sheet on the old oak tree by the train tracks. The
young man told the story to a traveling companion. Too afraid to look
for himself, he asked his friend to see if the white sheet of welcome
were waiting for him. When the train sped past the prodigal's home, the
friend told him to look at the old oak tree filled with white sheets and
the mom and dad that stood waiting for the young man. The story had seemed to help Kyrie. As she started to
cry, John took some napkins from the dispenser on the table. “Here, wipe your tears with these. And keep some
extra ones to remind you of the white sheets. They'll be a hope to hold
on to during the long flight.” Jon, the great dispenser of wisdom and advice, had no
hope to hold on to during his flight to a remote island getaway. He
secretly wished that the trip were merely for sand and surf, surf and
turf. Unfortunately, this counselor had need of advice himself. This
physician was deeply wounded by his profession. Out of the Anointing Profession or calling? In the early days, it had
seemed so clear to him. He would not give up on his calling, and God
would not give up on him. Now he wondered if he had not merely chosen a
profession and was holding onto it, accruing heavenly stock options and
waiting for retirement. For a man who told everyone else to avoid going
through the motions, he had become very methodical and robot like. He
was a tin man out of joint and out of anointing oil. He worked off of
personal experience but not the old supernatural experiences on which he
had so heavily relied as a young minister. Jon disembarked from the plane and headed toward the
resort. When he arrived at the beach bungalow and dropped off his
things, the sight of his counselor surprised him. The sandy haired man
with the bare feet looked like some sort of beach bum. He was kicking
up sand as he walked toward Jon, pulling out Famous Amos cookies from a
bag every other step. Swallowing down a mouthful of cookie, he stuck out his
hand. “Hi, I'm Jotham. You must be Jon. Pleased to meet
you.” Jon worked hard not to quickly dismiss the individual
before him since his present circumstances did not give him the option
of simply writing him off. Jon needed help. He had never felt such
burnout in his life--fires of rage rather than of the Spirit flamed
inside of him, destroying his walk with God, endangering his ministry,
and hurting his family. He spent the next few hours pouring his heart out to
Jotham as the counselor listened intently. The one way conversation was
more a lament than confession of sin: lamenting the attitude he felt
toward Kyrie when she had bothered him in the airport; lamenting his
lack of real joy; lamenting the seeming loss of his once promising
gifts. They too had seemed to go up in smoke in the fiery furnace of
his life. A Story that Matters After Jon dried his tears and felt that he had poured
out everything, Jotham spoke, “I'm going to tell you a story and then
I'm going to ask you a question.” Again, something inside of Jon recoiled at the man
before him. His appearance had been the first obstacle, but now he felt
uncertain of whether or not he could stomach yet another story. He
heard plenty of them at leadership conferences, and he read plenty of
them in self-help books. Stories were his bread and butter. The
cleverly placed joke, anecdote, and otherwise mundane account made
spiritual could enliven any sermon. Whether it could actually help a
hurting person who knew the tricks of the trade was the greater
question. The story's beginning did not give Jon much hope. “The trees wanted to appoint a king over them. First,
they asked the olive tree. But it said no. It refused to give up its
oil which honored both God and humans. Next the trees asked the fig
tree to rule over them. It refused because it did not want to give up
its sweetness and fruitfulness. Hearing the answer, the trees
approached the vine. It too refused because it would not give up its
ability to bring happiness to God and humans. Finally, the trees
offered kingship to the thorn bush. It agreed to take the mantle of
leadership, encouraging the others to come and take refuge in its
shade. It also issued a warning that any tree that did not respect its
rule would be burned.” Jon assumed that the story must come from the wisdom
of some other religion than Christianity. Trying to hide his disgust,
he said, “I guess the question for me is, 'What does the story mean?'” The Moral is Easy “No,” said Jotham, “I'm going to tell you want it
means. Then I'll ask you a much harder question. “You are like the three good trees in the story. You
have an anointing which has led you in your calling. You are a fruitful
person who accomplishes much. And, finally, you are a person who brings
joy and happiness to others. Even in the midst of your great despair,
you are able to help others. “Unfortunately, by taking on the mantle of leadership,
you have become much more like the thorn bush than the anointed olive,
the fruitful fig, or the rejoicing vine. You are failing to provide the
shade and protection your family needs. You are starting unnecessary
fires that only make your calling and your life more difficult. “You feel withered and burnt out. You were once like
a tree planted beside rivers of water. You were fruitful in earlier
seasons of life, your foliage never faded, and whatever you produced
thrived.” As the words sunk in, the tears flowed out of Jon's
eyes. He finally realized that he had become someone he had never
intended to be. He had been planted on good ground and still he had
somehow become a thorn bush. He had neglected his God, his calling, and
his family even as he had desperately tried to fulfill every
obligation. Obligation--that was the problem. Ministry had become
obligation not a joy. A profession, not a calling. A job, not a way of
life. After weeping for what seemed like days, Jon spoke,
“What can I do, Jotham?” A Question That Hurts “Are you ready to answer my question now?” Jon shook his head and looked Jotham in the eye. Again, the unexpected came from the lips of the
strange counselor, “Do you believe in the resurrection of Jesus
Christ?” Jon, assuming that Jotham was speaking of some kind of
recommitment, emphatically said, “Yes, I believe in the resurrection of
my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” Jotham looked him in the eye, “No, you don't.” Stunned, Jon reacted quickly, “Yes, I do! It's what
I've preached all my life. It's what I've believed since I was a kid.
I may have let some things slip in my life, but I have always held tight
to my belief in Jesus.” “If that's true, then why don't you believe in the
resurrection of Jesus?” “I don't know what you mean,” Jon said throwing his
hands in the air, “I do.” “You've done this several times during your ministry.
You've fallen on hard times and risen from the ashes, feeling new and
young again. But each time you're getting a little older. Your
marriage is getting a little older. Your kids are growing up. You
crash and burn and get reborn, but you never see the effect it has on
your family. “They don't want a Phoenix. They need a resurrected
Jesus who's going to walk through the door and tell them not to be
afraid. They need a Jesus who's going to walk down the road with them
and share a meal with them. They need a Jesus who's going to take them
fishing. “You can rise from the ashes, but you'd better look
back and see what you're leaving in the dust. Your kids are never going
to be the kind of good tree that you once were because you're nurturing
others but ignoring them.” The life seemed to seep out of Jon. If he had ever
needed a resurrection, it was now. The Question's Answers The process took time. Over the next few days, he
shared many more things with Jotham. Tears flowed, rage was spent, and
healing slowly came. On the last day, Jon gathered his bags for the return
flight home, looking forward to seeing his family. He thanked Jotham
for all of his help, but before leaving he had one last question. “Jotham, that story about the trees really helped me.
I'd like to use it. I'm guessing that maybe you got it from some Greek
fairy tale or eastern religion. To me it sounds like something a wise
man like Confucius would say. If you could tell me where you got it,
I'd love to study it more.” Again, Jotham's answer surprised him, “Judges
9:7-15.” “You mean it's in the Bible?” “That's right, Jon. Clichés and popular illustrations
are good, but sometimes we forget that the Bible contains the greatest
stories of them all.” © 2007, Chris Paris ---------- Chris Paris is a Ph.D. student at Vanderbilt University. He spends his free time playing online Scrabble with his wife Lydia and football (Americana and otherwise) with his son Luke. |
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