Jesus told a parable about a rich man and a poor man who both died and went to their eternal destinies—the rich man to Hades (hell) and the poor to “Abraham’s side” (heaven). [See Luke 16:19-31.] I wonder if this be a statement on Sabbath—on our need to stop, to rest, to break from our daily activities—as much as it is a statement on care for the poor, or on heaven and hell?

The rich man was well-dressed and well-fed. The parable says nothing of his activities except that he “feasted sumptuously every day.” It suggests that he never stopped; never stopped to look down at the poor, sickly beggar lying at his gate; never stopped long enough to drop even a morsel from the ever-present loaf in his fat hand. Perhaps he did not even stop long enough to shoo the man away…”not in my back yard.” Yet somehow, he knew his name: Lazarus. The name means he whom God has helped. Maybe that was the rich man’s excuse: God would help him, so I don’t need to; or God has helped him, and look at the result. Either way, the rich man neither stops nor stoops.

How often, in our self-important busy-ness, do we not stop to look at those around us? How often do we not stoop to help? We know they’re there, for we must step over or around them each day; we may even know their names; but we neither know nor truly see them.

We know God’s name, too: Emmanuel—God with us. Yet in the never-ending toil of our well-dressed feasting, we miss, too, the very presence and intimacy of God.

I’ve been to Casa Hogar three times now and each time, I wrestle. I wrestle because I have a savior complex and I just want to rescue them. I want to bring one of the kids home, to give her family, to tuck him into bed at night, to love him.

But wait—is that what they really need? Is that what’s best?

            I wrestle because I want to bring tools and fix their pump and their toilets and their doors. I want to plant grass on their soccer field and fix their basketball hoop.

But wait—is that what they really need? Is that what’s best?

            I wrestle because I want to bring money and take them shopping and let them pick out clothes and toys.

But wait—is that what they really need? Is that what’s best?

            I wrestle because it would be so easy to just fix everything—to give them hot water and new clothes, bikes and books. Or to just bring them home. But wait….

I remember a time when Jesus fixed some things: healed some diseases, made some blind people see. Then he got away for some Dad time, time with his Father-God. And when some people came looking for him, looking for more fixes, he walked away… said he had to go preach somewhere else.

Another time a rich kid came to Jesus wanting to feel good about his future. Jesus told him to sell everything—all his stuff—and give it to the poor. The kid walked away, sad. I guess he had too much stuff to sell. Jesus watched him go. Just watched him. I bet Jesus was sad, too.

Walk away. Wow. Is that the answer? Maybe it is. Maybe the best thing we can do is to walk away—not from the people; not from Casa Hogar; but from stuff, and from fixing stuff, and buying stuff. Maybe we need to walk away from the idea that they need stuff and we have stuff se we should give them stuff. ‘cause, hey—when the stuff breaks….

Jesus met someone else once looking for water. He offered her living water, and that sounded so much better then the well water she was used to. (Living water, she thought, meant a fresh spring.) but he didn’t give her a new pump or even show her where there was a new spring. No, he gave himself. And her thirst—for friendship, for worship, for God—was quenched. He spoke her language…and changed her language.

Maybe…just maybe…what the kids at Casa Hogar need is living water. Maybe they need the warmth of our love more than hot water. Maybe they need our presence more than our presents. Maybe the best way we can love them is to learn their language.

My 5^th-grade daughter is working on a presentation about Germany for school, which I’m loving because I lived there during high school and have a bunch of memorabilia she’ll be able to use—including a six-inch chunk of the Berlin Wall. The more I help Megan, the more I realize how much has changed in the past thirty years.

After World War II, rule of Germany was divided by the four occupying nations: the US, Britain, France, and the Soviet Union. The nation was formally split into two in 1949. Forty-one years later—on October 3, 1990—there were massive celebrations as Germany was once again united under one flag. Fireworks flew over the famous Brandenburg Gate in Berlin; borders that had been closed for a generation were suddenly opened; East German-made “Trabant” cars puttered across those borders and onto the West German autobahns (where they got in the way of the zipping Mercedes and BMWs!).

But there were fears, too. A unified Germany would be the largest economy and second most populous nation in Europe (behind Russia). The differences between East and West were stark and, to some, seemed insurmountable. As one example, more than 90% of households in the West owned a car in 1990, compared with less than 60% in the East. Today, nearly a quarter century later, many differences still remain, especially economically.

The reunification of Germany provides a fitting metaphor for the transformation God works in our lives. There are events that take place to pave the way; in Germany, it was the “Peaceful Revolution,” the removal of the Hungarian border fence, and a crack in the Berlin Wall; in our lives, it may be a conversation with a friend, a crisis, or a class we take that raises new questions. Then there is an event, the official day of unification for Germany or the moment we “say yes” to Jesus and invite him to lead our lives. Finally, there is the day-by-day process of transformation that God works as we submit our wills to his, obey his commands, and seek to know him more and more deeply. It is a process that never truly ends.

While there have been a few momentous occasions in Germany over the past twenty-three years, most of the changes have been small, incremental steps. For someone who has “said yes” to Jesus, one of the next small, incremental steps on the journey of transformation is to be baptized. Like the celebrations at the Brandenburg Gate on October 3, baptism is a sign, symbol, and celebration of what has already happened in the life of a Christian.

Let the party begin!