I Forget I Remember

Funny how often I forget that I remember something. It happened again this morning in the final act of Homecoming 2014 at East Texas Baptist University. Homecoming concludes each year with an early Sunday morning worship service in beautiful Lampsato Chapel. This year’s service included a hymn that elicited emotions so powerful that I was physically affected (I discreetly wept).

I had forgotten that I remember the moving text of, “My lord is near me all the time.” From the first line, this hymn composed by Barbara Fowler Gaultney awakened deeply embedded childhood memories. One moment I was standing on aching knees and singing in a houndstooth sport coat at Homecoming; the next I was transported back to Trinity Baptist Church in Port Arthur, Texas, sitting as a boy on curved plywood theater seats that were fastened to an asbestos tile floor. Men wore polyester suits with wide ties, women were in knit dresses and panty hose, and choir members wrapped in blue satin robes with gold satin stoles sang out: “When the thunder shakes the mighty hills
And trembles ev’ry tree, Then I know a God so great and strong Can surely harbor me.” More than anything else I remember God’s closeness. Years later, I read the works of Francis Schaefer, who liked to speak of the “God who is there.” I do not disagree with his theology, but more than ever I cling to the memory that God is near and am increasingly relying on the present reality of a God who is here. I had forgotten that I remember just how much I need a loving Father to embrace and harbor me.

In the lightning flash across the sky
His mighty pow’r I see,
And I know if He can reign on high,
His light can shine on me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder,
And felt it in the rain;
My Lord is near me all the time,
My Lord is near me all the time.

When the thunder shakes the mighty hills
And trembles ev’ry tree,
Then I know a God so great and strong
Can surely harbor me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder,
And felt it in the rain;
My Lord is near me all the time,
My Lord is near me all the time.

When refreshing showers cool the earth
And sweep across the sea,
Then His rainbow shines within my heart,
His nearness comforts me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder,
And felt it in the rain;
My Lord is near me all the time,
My Lord is near me all the time.

(“My Lord Is Near Me All the Time”, words and music by Barbara Fowler Gaultney)

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Dane

Compassion

When brown-bagging solo, I prefer to picnic under the shade of a significant oak that towers above the east side of St. Francis Church on the west edge of downtown Waco. Days like this one are ideal for lowering car windows and allowing autumn zephyrs to blow in and out, finding refreshment in the process. I routinely enjoy these tranquil moments without distraction, which explains my frustration with the young woman who interrupted my Taco Bell Deal #4 by approaching and sitting on the steps nearby, disturbing my solitary peace in this cherished space. Her arrival annoyed me and I was about to depart in frustration when I looked closer and noticed that she was both pregnant and crying. The teenager was speaking with someone on a cell phone and from her gestures and expression I could see the conversation wasn't going well, her end of it anyway. Annoyance yielded to compassion and I paused to pray for resolution of all that was distressing and leaving her in tears. For all I know, her life and that of her unborn child hung in the balance of that conversation.

Life is fragile and deserves awareness. How often do life and death struggles wage war under my nose with no acknowledgement whatsoever on my part? How frequently am I stone cold oblivious to the damage done to human dignity by preoccupation with myself? I cannot say that my prayer helped the young lady observed from behind my windshield, but I can say that it softened me towards the angst of a fellow human being. In the end, prayer is more for my sake than for God's, and compassion changes me far more than it changes anyone else. "Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human" (Henri Nouwen).

Anniversary

A war is raging in this country over the meaning of “marriage.” While our nation struggles to define it, I rejoice over the honor of being husband to the most wonderful woman in the world. To be honest, I've not always been so positive about marriage in general, and confess that my wife has everything to do with my revised view of wedded bliss. Today is our wedding anniversary and we will enjoy an evening out together as most husbands and wives do annually, but my heart-celebration is not confined to one day a year. Daily I'm humbled by our common life, and the uncommon love I receive from the tender woman who chooses to share her life with me. The fact that Jo Beth said "I do" all those years ago can only be chalked up to temporary insanity, but may the madness continue a lifetime and beyond. 

My own good fortune reminds of something G.K. Chesterton wrote some time ago:

"Very few people ever state properly the strong argument in favor of marrying for love or against marrying for money. The argument is not that all lovers are heroes and heroines, nor is it that all dukes are profligates or all millionaires cads. The argument is this, that the differences between a man and a woman are at the best so obstinate and exasperating that they practically cannot be got over unless there is an atmosphere of exaggerated tenderness and mutual interest. To put the matter in one metaphor, the sexes are two stubborn pieces of iron; if they are to be welded together, it must be while they are red-hot. Every woman has to find out that her husband is a selfish beast, because every man is a selfish beast by the standard of a woman. But let her find out the beast while they are both still in the story of 'Beauty and the Beast'" ("The Common Man"). 

My wife and I are still in the story, and never want it to end. No doubt I caught her in a weak moment, but I'll never let her go.

And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man. And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. (Genesis 2:21-24, KJV)

Dotage

My good friend and neighbor from across the lane enhanced my vocabulary this morning. Our paths typically intersect en route to set out trash for Monday pickup. I look forward to these casual opportunities to swap snippets of theology and offer morsels for meditation throughout the week ahead. A handful of us gather for worship on Sunday nights in Dick's recording studio near his house, so Monday mornings are a good occasion for reflection. Dick is essentially a philosopher who happens to also be an accomplished musician, and I enjoy when he shares with me what he's reading at the moment, or an experience that sets him to thinking. Today, my musically inclined philosopher friend shared over trash cans a new word added to his vocabulary from his current reading. The word is "dotage." He explained that at first he thought it had something to do with doting over someone, like a proud mother does to a cherished son, but that isn't it at all. It holds a far more sobering meaning. Dotage is the stage of life when health, vigor, and mental faculties deteriorate ("you could live here and look after me in my dotage"). These are declining years, the autumn or even winter of one's life. 

Dick dropped this linguistic bomb then bade me farewell, leaving me to contemplate my own dotage while wearily toting garbage the remaining distance to its appointed place. For some odd reason I suddenly felt years older. Perhaps the soreness in my lower back is not merely muscle strain, it's muscular degeneration, and the fatigue I feel isn't caused by overwork, it's due to deteriorating physique. Almost as suddenly a Scripture sprang to mind that arrested my mental downward spiral: "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness" (Lamentations 3:22-23, ESV). Oh, the wonder of the thought-- fresh mercy every morning! I may be sauntering into the autumn of life or slogging unaware through aging's winter snow, but God's grace never tires and Christ's mercy is always young. 

Heaven on Earth

I can't write as an authority on the future state of believers, but I am learning to recognize heaven here and now. Heaven, like grace, is present tense, and I write from personal experience that heaven on earth is living in close proximity to who and what one loves most. In that regards, I have found paradise; more accurately, paradise has found me. The most discerning, scintillating, jocular, and alluring woman I've ever known calls me "Darling"; precious grandchildren, daughters and sons-in-law call me "Papa," intriguing neighbors and special others call me "friend." I'm blessed with residential space to breathe without urban interference; plank fencing marks our boundaries rather than cement sidewalks, and caliche replaces asphalt. Prominent sounds in the distance are not those of urban sprawl; instead, Barred Owls beckon to one another, a Kingfisher rattles out near the pond, and the ever-present Phoebe wheezes on a nearby limb. And if that's not enough to qualify as an earthly Elysium, I'm surrounded by books galore (Cicero said "A room without books is like a body without a soul"), enjoy fulfilling employment, retain the semblance of a brain, and, to top it all off, admit to darn good health for a man in his mid-50s.

I would never denigrate the thought and reality of our future state; I do, however, emphasize unapologetically the potential for embracing the Father on this side. I abide best in him, when I work at extolling his grace that benefits this breath and blesses this day. I accept the challenge of not living in the wake of what I once was. In place of always approaching sunset, I choose to rejoice over perpetual sunrise in this life and the next.

Then Peter began to say unto him, Lo, we have left all, and have followed thee. And Jesus answered and said, Verily I say unto you, There is no man that hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my sake, and the gospel's, But he shall receive an hundredfold now in this time, houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions; and in the world to come eternal life. (Mark 10:28-30, KJV)

Thingamabob

Thingamabob, doomahickey, whatchamacallit, just some of the words I use when I'm at a loss for other more concrete ones. Advanced academic degrees notwithstanding, I'm often at a loss to describe the simplest of objects. That same dumbfoundedness is the common experience of all authentic worship. Much of what passes for religion these days is too easily explained; holy stuttering is in short supply in post modernity. Very little mystery remains after singing choruses in rounds and learning five points for upgrading one's life, making church more akin to Wall Street than the Via Dolorosa. "Worship" services (I confess I've never understood why they are termed "services"--who  exactly is serving and being served anyway?) follow a well rehearsed schedule, such that if the Holy Spirit is to show up at all, she or he had better take care of business in an hour. Performance claims the prize and somehow we've convinced ourselves that grand productions draw 'seekers' to the Gospel, like so many moths to the flame. Conventional wisdom would tell that if I'm looking for slick entertainment I'll always find it somewhere other than church, irregardless of how much you spend to convince me otherwise. 

Whatever happened to sacred mystery? When did we decide that we could package the Holy Other into bite size portions, easily digested, and as readily forgotten? When was the last time that a glimpse of the Suffering Savior or the Conquering Christ seized your heart and wouldn't let go? How long has it been since the Ground of all Being grabbed you and you couldn't speak or cry or move in response? If I am able to fully plan and explain worship, the object must be something other than The One Who Was and Is and Is To Come. True worship elicits wonder, and wonder eventually gives way to transformation.

In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple. Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly. And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory. And the posts of the door moved at the voice of him that cried, and the house was filled with smoke. Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts. (Isaiah 6:1-5, KJV)

Signals of Transcendence

About the time I start losing my internal debate as to whether or not there's rhyme or reason to my current demands and immediate struggles, I'm rescued by a visit from grandchildren. Such was the case last night; two-year-old Hannah B spent the evening with us while big sister went to the county fair. My immediate assignment upon arriving home from a road trip was to distract Hannah, thereby allowing my wife to complete an embroidery project with a friend. Hannah and I took to the great outdoors hand-in-hand, and I watched with fascination as she reached down to examine every fallen leaf, place it in my hands, wait for me to 'ooh and aah,' then retrieve and gently return it to its spot on the grass. Hannah knows how to enjoy the moment, undisturbed by the past and unencumbered by anything future. In short order, my precious companion reminded me of the most weighty theology I've ever learned: "All moments are key moments, and life itself is grace" (Buechner).

Boston University sociologist Peter Berger, author of "A Rumor of Angels: Modern Society and the Rediscovery of the Supernatural," lists and describes what he terms "signals of transcendence": our passion for order (pointing to a Designer); our desire for play (showing our passion for eternal joy); our commitment to hope (refusing to believe that death has the final word); our conviction that true evil must be condemned; and our laughter at our limitations (showing that we believe they will be overcome). I appreciate Berger's contribution, but I believe Hannah B knows and demonstrates it best: The clearest signal of transcendence is that this moment, in and of itself, matters enormously. Grace is always present tense, and eternity begins right now. 

"So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. Return, O Lord, how long? and let it repent thee concerning thy servants. O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days." (Psalms 90:12-14, KJV)

The Living of This Day

Knowing how to end is one of my biggest challenges in writing. The 'when' of finishing usually works itself out; it's the quality of closing that's in question. The same may be said of human existence. These days I find myself face to face, face to back, and face to knee with my own physical decline and inevitable mortality. Just last week I was down on my knees laying some tile, complaining to my grandson Josh how I had shortened the lifespan of my knees by wasting my childhood pretending to be a horse. He promptly asked if I would be walking with a cane by the time he was his brother's age (that will be in only five years), then added, "if you're still alive." There's nothing like the brutal honesty of a child to set one to thinking. Frankly, I understand better now than ever why my mother said so often that she wanted Jesus to come again, so that she wouldn't have to die. She was secure in her relationship with Christ, she simply preferred to bypass the finality of ending. I wish that she could have done so, and to be honest--so do I.

I can truthfully say it's not the dying that bothers, it's the fear of not fully living while I'm still alive. "We must be careful with our lives, for Christ's sake, because it would seem that they are the only lives we are going to have in this puzzling and perilous world, and so they are very precious and what we do with them matters enormously"(Buechner). There's not much I can do about the weakening of my knees or the chronic catch in my lower back, but I do have within reach the ability to write my own epitaph. What happened or didn't happen yesterday pales in significance with what I do right now.  My life does count, and this very moment matters. The living of this day consumes, not remorse for the past or fear of failing to have tomorrow; the only way to know I'll end well is by fully living for Christ right now.

"I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world." (John 9:4-5, KJV)

The Reason for Remembering

I remember where I was the first time I heard Billy Graham preach. It was the 1968 Houston crusade held in the brand new Houston Astrodome, and I was proudly carrying the Bible my grandmother had given me for Christmas. I can't remember what was said or who was with Dr. Graham, but I do recall that the air smelled like plastic and cotton candy, an odd but unforgettable olfactory combination. I remember where I was the moment we learned that John F. Kennedy had been shot. I was about to enter the J. C. Penny store in old downtown Port Arthur with my mother and Grandma Richey, when a woman burst through the doors, arms waving frantically in the air, screaming "The President's been shot! The President's been shot!" I was three years old, but I can still see the scene and feel the emotion attached to it. 

A memory is deepened when formed from exposure to multiple senses. If you think about it, it's what makes possible, in fact, impossible not to remember experiences in your grandmother's kitchen, a childhood classroom, or Christmases past. You need only be exposed to a similar scent or situation and the result is instant recall. Others are remembered only briefly: an outline for an exam, a verse that you need to recall for a specific occasion, someone's name that's important at that moment. Hearing or seeing does not necessarily forge a memory. Remembering comes from hearing and seeing and tasting and touching and smelling. "Touch has a memory" (John Keats).

There's a reason for remembering; memory is as much about today as it is yesterday. "'It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards,' says the White Queen to Alice" (Lewis Carroll, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass"). God created memory so that I may learn from my past, for the purpose of either repeating or avoiding it. "Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real" (Cormac McCarthy,  "All the Pretty Horses (The Border Trilogy, #1"). 

Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him. He that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings: and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father's which sent me. These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you. But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. (John 14:23-26, KJV)

Heart of God

A legend from India tells of a mouse who was terrified of cats until a magician agreed to cast a spell and transform him into a cat. That resolved his fear until he met a dog, so the magician turned him into a dog. The mouse-turned cat-turned dog was content until he met a tiger, so once again the magician turned him into what he feared. But when the mouse-turned cat-turned dog-turned tiger came to the magician complaining that he had met a hunter, the magician refused to help. "I will make you into a mouse again, for though you have the body of a tiger, you still have the heart of a mouse." Attitude is everything. 

Once Winston Churchill was sitting on a platform waiting to speak to a large crowd that had gathered to hear him. The chairman of the event leaned over and said, "Isn't it exciting, Mr. Churchill, that all these people came to hear you speak?" Churchill responded, "It is quite flattering, but whenever I feel this way I always remember that if, instead of making a political speech I was being hanged, the crowd would be twice as big." While poverty of character is never encouraged, Jesus himself raises the right estimation of one's self to the highest possible priority. "Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 5:3, KJV). Only when I see myself in light of Christ and evaluate myself according to service to humanity, am I able to embrace the heart of God rather than that of a mouse.

Dallas Willard: "A vision of God secures humility. Seeing God for who He is enables us to see ourselves for what we are. This makes us bold, for we see clearly what great good and evil are at issue, and we see that it is not up to us to accomplish it, but up to God--who is more than able. We are delivered from pretending, from being presumptuous about ourselves, and from pushing as if the outcome depended on us. We persist without frustration, and we practice calm and joyful noncompliance with evil of every kind."

Re-Creating God

I'm in constant danger of re-creating God according to my own image. A milquetoast deity fits the bill. When it comes to how God looks at me, I want Mister Rogers, not William Wallace (Braveheart); soft when it comes to my shortcomings, understanding when it comes to my errors, and tender when it comes to my failure. The last thing I want is a standard bearer, a strong and demanding Warrior Captain, a relentless Coach that will not settle for anything less than that for which I was created. I may be hard on myself, but God should take it easy on me.

There's only one problem with this whole business--the Omnipotent One refuses to fit into molds of my own making. Our God is a God of grace, but his mercy is always in juxtaposition to relentless expectation. Remove the word "settle" from your Christian vocabulary--God grants unending grace, but he never settles for anything less than his plan for our lives. 

"For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them." (Ephesians 2:8-10, KJV)

Think It Not Strange

It isn't easy living the Christ life, but according to all available evidence it was never intended to be. "Think it not strange ..." Quite honestly, I prefer things that come easily, and if I'm not careful I make that my criteria for judging something to be God's will, as if friction and strain somehow invalidate God's purposes. That would be American hermeneutics, not biblical interpretation. Rigorous discipline, challenge, struggle, hardship--I may not gravitate naturally toward these, but such harsh descriptors are not incompatible with divine guidance. 

Although I've invoked it from time to time, I remain leery of the familiar Christian vocabulary of the "open door." I find many more examples in Scripture of hardship to be overcome than I do of walking through open doors like the opening segment to the old Get Smart TV show with Don Adams walking down a corridor as various secure doors open before him in rapid succession. The story of Joseph in Genesis disquiets me more than all the others put together. His tale is replete with mistakes, misunderstanding, false accusation, imprisonment, abandonment, servitude -- and all for a preferred son. The kicker is the commentary that comes at the end of the narrative: "But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive" (Genesis 50:20 KJV). Seriously? Or take Paul's unwelcome thorn in the flesh. God was obviously not unaware, as he responds to Paul's petition that divine grace is sufficient to carry him through the pain. Sounds good if you're not the one with the thorn, likely malarial induced headaches that stabbed like a red hot poker running through his skull.

The point to all this rambling is simply a compassionate caution against adopting the fallacy of open door theology. Judge God's will against his kingdom purposes, his Word, and his call on your life, rather than in light of the path of least resistance.

"Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you: But rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings; that, when his glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy. If ye be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye; for the spirit of glory and of God resteth upon you: on their part he is evil spoken of, but on your part he is glorified. But let none of you suffer as a murderer, or as a thief, or as an evildoer, or as a busybody in other men's matters. Yet if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed; but let him glorify God on this behalf. For the time is come that judgment must begin at the house of God: and if it first begin at us, what shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God? And if the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator." (1 Peter. 4:12-19, KJV )

Autumn Changes

It's officially fall and I'm celebrating by writing this while seated next to an amber fire in our fire pit just across the way from our pond. Autumn is my favorite time of year and has been for thirty six years. From the first fall season I spent away from the coast of my childhood I was hooked. I don't remember knowing before then that leaves change colors before turning loose from their branches, and that sitting out of doors at night could ever be enjoyed without swarms of stinging mosquitoes as unwelcome companions. Autumn is a period of transition from summer's blistering heat on the way to winter's barren hibernation; or to state it another way, it's a time of noticeable change. Most of these differences are positive ones for me -- cooler temperatures, fleece blankets, hot chocolate, holiday mode-- but there is another less than appealing emotional side to change. I can't help but consider the way life has altered itself forever over the past few years: A robust neighbor that only a few years ago would be riding his John Deere and tossing fallen limbs into a small trailer, who is now only a memory of his former self, resting quietly in an Alzheimer's unit; my dear mother who made her own transition three years ago from this earthbound existence to her heavenly home; my father-in-law who left us mentally a couple of years ago and physically back in February of this year; four new grandchildren born into the family within the past six years; a different job, a different church, a different body (with aches and limitations I never knew before); the list of vital differences marches on.

It is in these quiet moments of sober reflection that I find great solace in an unchanging God. My heart gravitates all the more toward a Father not in transition Himself, who is perfectly able to carry me through the transitions within myself. What would I do if forced to grapple on my own with the ebb and flow of personal experience? Praise God I'll never know. I am the variable; He is the constant. No doubt I will continue to change as will everything surrounding me, but my heart has found its resting place: "Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever" (Hebrews 13:8, KJV).

“Great is Thy faithfulness,” O God my Father,

There is no shadow of turning with Thee;

Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not

As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

 

“Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!”

  Morning by morning new mercies I see;

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—

    “Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,

Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,

Join with all nature in manifold witness

To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,

Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Mental Chatter

"I've been thinking...." How many times have I said that to myself or others, without pausing to consider the import of the thought? Much of what constitutes life is conducted in our minds and every meaningful thought is predicated on honesty. There can be no deep reflection, no positive change without intellectual honesty. All other mental activity is smoke and mirrors, void of lasting meaning. Dishonest thought is nothing more than senseless mental chatter. "What deadens us most to God’s presence within us, I think, is the inner dialogue that we are continuously engaged in with ourselves, the endless chatter of human thought. I suspect that there is nothing more crucial to true spiritual comfort . . . than being able from time to time to stop that chatter" (Buechner, "Whistling in the Dark"). Unseen, our thought life reflects who we are and determines the people we become. "As a man thinketh ..." (Proverbs 23:7); "When I was a child I thought like a child ..." (1 Corinthians 13:11).  What am I doing to promote the spiritual discipline of rigorous and honest contemplation? 

"Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee. Trust ye in the Lord for ever: for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength.

The way of the just is uprightness: thou, most upright, dost weigh the path of the just. Yea, in the way of thy judgments, O Lord, have we waited for thee; the desire of our soul is to thy name, and to the remembrance of thee. With my soul have I desired thee in the night; yea, with my spirit within me will I seek thee early: for when thy judgments are in the earth, the inhabitants of the world will learn righteousness."(Isaiah 26:3-4, 7-9, KJV)

God is Speaking

Solitude is a state of mind, not merely the absence of noise, and it forms a fitting backdrop for recognizing and connecting with Almighty God. Just last week my wife summoned me to our back porch in order to witness the spectacle of a swarm of migrating hummingbirds, a myriad of Ruby Throated and Black Chins, diving and dueling, making quite a clatter in the process. Jo and I understood that we had just been granted ringside seats to a rare and powerful display, and in that moment solitude ran rampant over us as we witnessed the handiwork of God. Anyone who stands out-of-doors long enough after sunset encounters the night symphony of the Creator. Nature does not make noise; nature produces music. Insomniac insects fill the night with music and there is a primal rhythm to it. Each scratch or thrush or squeal or hum is not out of place. In fact, such nocturnal sounds define life as consistent, patterned, purposeful. God is speaking if we take the time to listen.

Solitude, then, is the attitude of heart that allows space to discern the Creator, and, in time, ourselves. A great example is as near as a discerning look at the Old Testament. I like the way Barbara Brown Taylor supposes Moses's two-fold discovery:

"Moses's life changed one day while he was tending his father- in-law's sheep. According to the storyteller, he had led the flock beyond the wilderness to Horeb, the mountain of God, when an angel of God appeared to him in a burning bush....  The bush required Moses to take a time-out, at least if he wanted to do more than glance at it. He could have done that. He could have seen the flash of red out of the corner of his eye, said, 'Oh, how pretty,' and kept right on driving the sheep. He did not know that it was an angel in the bush, after all. Only the storyteller knew that. Moses could have decided that he would come back tomorrow to see if the bush was still burning, when he had a little more time, only then he would not have been Moses. He would just have been a guy who got away with murder, without ever discovering what else his life might have been about" (Barbara Brown Taylor, "An Altar in the World").

"Now Moses kept the flock of Jethro his father in law, the priest of Midian: and he led the flock to the backside of the desert, and came to the mountain of God, even to Horeb. And the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed. And Moses said, 'I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt.' And when the Lord saw that he turned aside to see, God called unto him out of the midst of the bush, and said, 'Moses, Moses.' And he said, 'Here am I.'"(Exodus 3:1-4, KJV)

Topsy-Turvy

The kingdom of God may best be described by the theological term 'topsy-turvy,' a phrase that comes in handy when ordinary words fail to capture the essence of a moment or the import of a movement. First recorded in England in 1528 as a compound word formed from 'top' and the obsolete 'terve', meaning 'topple over,' topsy-turvy portrays the sense of confusion one feels when things are not in proper order or are metaphorically upside-down. That's more or less what Jesus meant when he said, "My kingdom is not of this world" (John 18:36). He was reminding us that the kingdoms of this world are not identical with the kingdom of God, a fact that is frequently lost on Church leadership. Rather than standing in relief or opposition to these kingdoms, Christianity has often imitated them, and is still hard at it. A modern trend is afoot to redefine the pastor as CEO, the church as a business corporation, parishioners as customers, and to judge the whole ecclesiastical kit and caboodle according to a numerical bottom line. This obsession to imitate Maddison Avenue explains the popularity of prosperity theology and edges the Church precipitously toward the abyss of conformity. Under this scenario the Gospel is more akin to a good stock tip, or picking the right horse at Louisiana Downs, or lucking out with the right number in the Lottery, than to changing the world. "The righteous get rich and the poor get what they deserve" (James Mulholland).

The consistency with which the kingdom of God is not the opposite of the kingdoms of the world should serve as a warning to us. In his book, "The Upside-Down Kingdom," Donald Kraybill suggests that "the kingdom of God points to an inverted, or upside-down way of life that contrasts with the prevailing social order." Jesus of Nazareth was well versed in topsy-turvy theology.  Speaking to some rudely religious people, he warned: "I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you" (Matthew 21:31). He shocked his disciples by saying, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" (Matthew 19:24). Before we shout 'Amen' too loudly and continue on about our business, it would behoove us to repent from acting like Christianity is a status rather than a calling, for downplaying the responsibilities of a relationship with God and only emphasizing its benefits. No wonder so many are rejecting the Church. If the Church is not committed to changing the world, it has become irrelevant. "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven" must move from being a prayer to becoming our vow (Mulholland).

"But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking. Be not ye therefore like unto them: for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him. After this manner therefore pray ye: 'Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.'" (Matthew 6:7-10, KJV)

Take It to the Bank

Walking two days ago through the blacktop parking lot on my way to the West Waco Public Library I spotted a penny on the ground and hovered over it, uncharacteristically debating my response. I imagined faint whispers of my wife's voice reciting her common response to such an innocuous find, "Positive cash flow." Ordinarily I retrieve coins of any denomination, harkening back to childhood discoveries. Fifty years ago It would have thrilled me to find a penny on the ground, and I would have rejoiced all the way to my piggy bank, although it wasn't a piggy bank at all, but a small black box with a slot on top to hold a coin. As soon as you inserted the coin, a glow-in-the-dark hand magically emerged to grab the coin and jerk it inside (my father's preferred alternative to traditional children's banks). Finding unexpected cash is always pleasant, although in my case, monetary discoveries normally consist of currency found hiding in pockets that I absent-mindedly abandoned some time before, hence negating the idea of positive cash flow; chalk my "finds" up to recirculation. However, for reasons I can't explain or defend, I chose not to pick up this particular penny and take it to the bank.

Fast forward to yesterday afternoon, navigating Champion Forest Drive in the Champions region of Houston just after a toad-floater downpour.  As I slowed to a stop near the intersection of Champion Forest and Farm to Market 1960, I spotted a middle-aged man port side holding a small cardboard sign that read: "Pennys Help" (misspelling his, not mine). We rarely see such sign-bearers at intersections in Waco, but when I do, I typically lower my window and make a token offering if I have cash on hand, (which, quite honestly, I seldom do). More frequently, I offer to take the individual to buy something to eat, and the panhandlers take me up on the offer about thirty three and a third percent of the time. On this occasion in rush hour traffic, on an already jam packed artery, I did neither. I did not lower my window, nor did I offer assistance of any kind. I merely read the handwritten sign as I passed: "Pennys Help."

Arriving at my destination shortly thereafter, I had about twenty minutes until my next appointment, long enough to consider the juxtaposition of the two unrelated, yet oddly similar experiences. In both cases, something of value stood (I'm uncertain as to how to describe the penny's posture) within reach, but I chose to ponder and then pass by. The value of either was deemed too small to warrant my involvement. I can't help but wonder how many other people and experiences I dismiss and thus elude my touch. Lord, please remind me next time that 'Pennys Help.'

"Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me." (Matthew 25:45, KJV)

More Than Rice Chex

Some things in life are immune to personal preference. You may opt for oatmeal over Rice Chex, prefer blueberries to apples, or select rhubarb pie instead of mincemeat, and no one, including you will suffer for your choices. Other matters matter a great deal more. You really don't have a say in whether or not your heart pumps blood on autopilot throughout your limbs, or if touching a hot stove top will burn and blister your skin. Local ordinance demands that there be negative consequences for ignoring a burn ban and setting fire to the expanding mountain of brush behind my house. I might prefer to speak on my cell phone in a school zone, but that was never a good idea and no longer an option in this country. 

The same is true with both the horizontal and vertical aspects of discipleship. Grace is never neutral. Nothing needs to change to experience God's grace, but once we do everything must radically change, more out of divine necessity than individual choice. Grace doesn't demand that we clean up our act, it mandates a funeral pyre--death to self and all that accompanies our egocentric lifestyle. Surrender isn't surrender if I ferret away something in reserve. “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die. It may be a death like that of the first disciples who had to leave home and work to follow Him, or it may be a death like Luther’s, who had to leave the monastery and go out into the world. But it is the same death every time—death in Jesus Christ, the death of the old man at his call" (Bonhoeffer, "The Cost of Discipleship").

"Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies." (1 Corinthians 6:19-20, NIV)

Of Trains and Grace

Thirty six years ago, my best friend and I embarked on an epic journey. Fresh out of high school and sporting my own set of wheels, I somehow convinced my friend's naïve parents to trust him into my care for a road trip from Port Arthur to Mississippi and back. My ace in the hole was that our destination was a church camp and that the purpose of this extended soirée was spiritual growth. They consented and we departed. Oh, the feeling of youthful independence, conquering asphalt in a rust red tank officially identified as a '65 Ford Galaxy, heating pork and beans for dinner at roadside parks, and singing off key at the tops of our lungs to music blasting from state-of-the-art 8-track.

Dark thirty in some obscure-to-me portion of Mississippi, radio blaring to stay awake behind the wheel, we navigated a blind curve without noticing an unlighted Rail Road crossing warning. Neither of us saw the sign in the dark because we were too busy talking to pay attention, and we emerged from the bend just as a train approached the intersection from the west. The train's horn roared, I stomped the accelerator, and somehow we crossed the tracks just ahead of the train, feeling its draft as we plunged past. Stunned into silence, I pulled the car to a stop on the side of the road to allow time to collect what remained of our nerves, and to talk about what just almost happened. As we debriefed, we became convinced that God had rescued us from ourselves and decided that it was as good a time as any to prepare to die. We hastily scribbled a note to the effect that if anyone found us dead, they were to rest assured that we knew the Lord and that we wished the same for them. To cap it all off, we laid awake long enough that night to commit to memory what has become my life verse--Galatians 2:20. For the first time in my life, I had a glimpse of the truth that no one is ready to live unless they've tasted death in themselves. 

"I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me." (Galatians 2:20, KJV)

What Love Can Do

Every now and then you get to see what love can do. At times you may detect it in a grown-up choice made by a child you doubted would ever dip a toe into maturity. Other times you observe it over your shoulder from an objective distance, such as when you witness an unexpected act of kindness by a stranger for a stranger. The best times are when it approaches up close and personal, catching you by surprise. My wife had such a moment this evening when our five-year-old grandson brought a bottle of water to help with her laryngitis and proceeded to tell her what she already knew--that the two-year-old foster child wasn't in their home anymore. Josh's explanation went something like this: "I have some good news and some bad news JoJo (my wife). The good is that Julian went back to live with his real family. The bad is that I don't have a little brother no more."  

My own intimate glimpse of love's impact came this morning during a complimentary ride from Enterprise Rental to our home. I dropped off my rental and a young man welcomed me into a car in order to drive me back to Bosqueville. He was a talkative young man, and during the course of our conversation I innocently mentioned that I was a preacher, among other things. His eyes became animated along with the rest of him, and he proceeded to tell me how his life had recently begun to change. He told a story of how he dreamed one night about the Old Testament scripture Isaiah 40:28-31. He quoted the verses flawlessly out loud and then told me that he had asked one of the managers if he knew what it meant. The manager explained the verses and helped the young man determine the application for his own life. Since then he has hungered for the Word of God, and, in his own words, everything in his life is different. He concluded by saying that he wanted to be just like his supervisor. It just so happens that the manager who assisted with the interpretation is a young man that I had lunch with recently, at his request, in order to discuss how God might use him right there in his management role with a rental car company. What a small world this global village becomes when we are able to see some of the payout of investing in another life. By the way, the young driver told me that now he's encouraging his fiancé to embark upon some major changes in her own life. All of this reminds me of the little boy that told a pet store owner that he wanted to buy a certain puppy he saw in the shopkeeper's window. The skeptical owner tried to persuade him to make a different choice, explaining that the dog the boy had chosen was the runt of the litter and not likely to be very healthy, if it survived at all. Undaunted, the little boy replied, "Mister, you don't know what love can do."

"And this I pray, that your love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and in all judgment; That ye may approve things that are excellent; that ye may be sincere and without offence till the day of Christ; Being filled with the fruits of righteousness, which are by Jesus Christ, unto the glory and praise of God." (Philippians 1:9-11, KJV)

Contrast

We're enjoying a tantalizing taste of fall this weekend. A cool front has initiated some dipping temperatures and the relief from a steady sequence of near 100 degree readings and high humidity is palpable. The contrast is refreshing. Already I'm daydreaming of sweaters on the golf course, cuddling on the back porch with a lap blanket, and the scent of burning wood from warming fires in nearby chimneys.

Contrast is a good way of understanding Christ's command to be light. Webster's defines dark as "having little or no light." Light illuminates quite simply because it is the opposite of dark; luminescence is not a little different, it is antithetical to shadows. I can't help but ask if I am a cool front to anyone's emotional and spiritual climate. Do I leave a respite that lingers when people brush up against me? Am I an obvious contrast to the shadowy nature of contemporary culture and that which masquerades as acceptable? "We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light" (Plato). 

"You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that[a] they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven." (Matthew 5:14-16, ESV)

What some might miss is that Christ's statement about being light is an imperative. The Greek word is lampsato. Illumination for believers is never optional; according to Jesus, our light must shine. In light of this (pun intended) I question myself, does my participation in the human race brighten any corner of the marathon?

Planting Love

Today is not our wedding anniversary or my wife's birthday, but I want to pay tribute to the most inspiring woman I've ever known. My wife's name is Jo, but she should have been named Eve, as I'm convinced that she would have done a much better job as mother of all living things. She exudes femininity adorned by Parisian flair of a French manicure, but just as striking is her undeniable green thumb. Quietly she goes about her business of improving everything she touches-- plants, animals and human beings. I've watched over the past eight years as she has turned a barren plot of ground in Bosqueville into a bonafide bird sanctuary, deer habitat, and breeding ground for miscellaneous wild creatures, not to mention a sanctuary for more domestic breeds. Jo is the female alter ego of St. Francis, whose statuesque likeness adorns some choice shade just outside our screened-in back porch, a constant reminder that devotion and animal husbandry are compatible here. 

Jo's specialty is rescuing things. Some time back she found an injured nighthawk and kept it alive while imploring me to track down an aviary specialist she had heard lived in our area. Just last month she rescued a young Painted Bunting that she found stunned on the side of the blacktop on her way to work. For several days she attempted to feed and water the beautiful bird from the safety of our greenhouse, and I witnessed her gentle grief when she found it lifeless several mornings later. Her concern over the plight of the few deer in our region prompted us to buy a deer feeder to place behind our house, requiring frequent trips to the feed-store for apple flavored corn. I've held her in my arms while she cried over painful choices necessitated by a diseased cat and aging rescued dog. She even worries over feuding hummingbirds and arranges multiple feeders to minimize the dueling. No living creature is outside the scope of her redemptive spirit.

I will never know how this blessing fell to me to have her choose to wear my ring and take my name. I see God's grace in her eyes every morning, and gladly number myself among those whom she has rescued. Her name will likely never appear in lights, adorn a building, or command the attention of heads of state, but Jo faithfully plants her love into whatever willing soil lies at hand. 

"And in this he showed me something small, no bigger than a hazelnut, lying in the palm of my hand, as it seemed to me, and it was as round as a ball. I looked at it with the eye of my understanding and thought: What can this be? I was amazed that it could last, for I thought that because of its littleness it would suddenly have fallen into nothing. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasts and always will, because God loves it; and thus everything has being through the love of God." (Julian of Norwich)

"Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come. She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates." (Proverbs 31:25-31, KJV)

To Know I Was

Sometimes I read what I've written and actually benefit from it myself. That always surprises me. Yesterday's post is a case in point. It promoted me to give more attention to the grace I'm enjoying right now, than I do to what I hope to accomplish later today, tomorrow, or at some future time. This thing of writing may be the height of arrogance or the depth of self-asceticism, but hopefully it falls somewhere between the two extremes. Why in the name of all that's holy would anyone share a thought or experience, and expect any other person to choose to read and benefit from it? Perhaps writing is a base form of self-loathing, or an only slightly higher version of therapy. On really bad days and with certain topics, writing issues forth with subtle, or at times, not-so-subtle 'know-it-all' egotism. On better days, it gives concrete expression to human experience, creating an empathetic bond that allows for a loving challenge or gentle rebuff.

I guess what I'm pondering out loud is why I sit up late at night writing, awaken early to edit, and then glance throughout the day to see if anyone has read my paltry offering? A different and more accurate question may be in order: What if I didn't write? What difference would it make? The honest answer is that a refusal to record my thoughts would likely affect no one else, but it most certainly would hobble me. I am compelled to at least try to leave something behind greater than an insurance policy. I want desperately to do, say or write something that will outlive me: encouragement to someone I'll never meet exactly when it's needed, a reminder that I was here for family members that know and others who may hear my name but never know me in the flesh, a challenge to an errant practice that threatens to harm one's self or those they love. René Descartes penned the Latin philosophical  proposition: Cogito ergo sum ("I think, therefore I am"); however, I write, because I want others to know I was, and hopefully, learn something of what it means for a very ordinary person to live by the grace of an extraordinary Savior. 

"According to my earnest expectation and my hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but that with all boldness, as always, so now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be by life, or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." 

(Philippians 1:20-21, KJV)

Every Day Matters

Every day matters. Our daily challenge is to choose what matters most. To be completely honest, that choice has changed for me over the years. I've often wrestled with the inclination to lose sight of the value of this moment while straining to predict the next and strategize accordingly.  What I'm learning as I enter my senior years is that if we knew what tomorrow held, we'd never realize the potential of today. Grace is now and grace is here; grace is always present tense.

An author that I'm just now getting to know has something helpful to say about this present tense narrative of grace: "To make bread or love, to dig in the earth, to feed an animal or cook for a stranger—these activities require no extensive commentary, no lucid theology. All they require is someone willing to bend, reach, chop, stir. Most of these tasks are so full of pleasure that there is no need to complicate things by calling them holy. And yet these are the same activities that change lives, sometimes all at once and sometimes more slowly, the way dripping water changes stone. In a world where faith is often construed as a way of thinking, bodily practices remind the willing that faith is a way of life" (Barbara Brown Taylor). 

As long as my focus strays to later, I'm slightly less inclined to relish this instant. I need deliverance from frenetic obsession with what is to come, and to embrace instead the breathing and feeling and thinking and seeing and knowing-- right now. "Whoever you are, you are human. Wherever you are, you live in the world, which is just waiting for you to notice the holiness in it" (Taylor). There is grace to be had in abundance when I allow myself to detect the weight of God in the mundane and ordinary.

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." (Matthew 6:25-34, NIV)

If It Makes You Happy

What if God is uninterested in my happiness but eternally committed to my Christlikeness? The place of personal happiness is a current topic of hot debate in the aftermath of some comments by a high profile personality (should I say "celebrity"?) in Houston recently. Yesterday's headline from the Houston Chronicle: "Christians berate Victoria Osteen's 'cheap Christianity.'" The article goes on to say that Lakewood church's Victoria Osteen is at the center of a social media storm after daring to suggest that people should "obey" God because it will make them happy. Standing beside her husband Joel, Mrs. Osteen says, "Just do good for your own self. Do good because God wants you to be happy." If that doesn't get your attention, her next comment should. "When you come to church, when you worship Him, you're not doing it for God really. You're doing it for yourself, because that's what makes God happy." In response to the controversy swirling around her comments, Mrs. Osteen issued a statement Friday saying she stood by what she said and accused critics of being "ridiculous."

I'll never forget sitting with wide- eyed naïveté in missionary orientation more than twenty years ago, subconsciously convinced of my own invincibility and God's commitment to my indestructibility. I'll also always remember the jarring opening statement by one of the orientation speakers. Maurice Graham, Southern Baptist missionary to Kuwait, was one of several Americans held hostage during the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in August of 1990. His release came on December 9, the day Southern Baptists had been asked to pray specifically for Graham's release. He stood before all of us wet-behind-the-ears would-be missionaries and said, "God is not concerned about your personal comfort. He is committed to His glory." He went on to describe his terrible ordeal in detail, and for the first time that I can remember, the world shifted slightly away from me as its axis. I have wrestled with Graham's statement many times since then, and each time my center moves a little more in a God's direction.

Scripture is full of reassurances that God knows us, loves us, and desires for each of us an abundant life (John 10:10), but is this abundance tied to our own happiness, or is it much more connected to joy? Happiness is a momentary emotion based on an ever-shifting set of circumstances. Joy is an enduring character trait forged on the unchanging standard of the Incarnate Word, Jesus the Christ. Joy consists of the grand abundance of facing every circumstance with the character of Christ. “Do not pray for easy lives. Pray to be stronger men! Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers. Pray for power equal to your tasks" (Phillips Brooks). I believe Maurice Graham got it right, and only hope that I have the strength of character necessary to embrace abundance over against the tempting self-serving lure of transient happiness. 

"Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy,  for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls." (1 Peter 1:8-9, NIV)

Balancing Act

Speaking to a group of graduate students this week, I shared what I consider to be one of the most important statements in Scripture: "David shepherded them with integrity of heart; with skillful hands he led them" (Psalm 78:70-72, NIV). God develops individuals over a lifetime, and these verses form the foundation for making the most of that lifelong process: The key to effective personal formation is balance. According to what we read in Psalm 78, David was a great leader because he maintained balance between personhood ("integrity of heart") and performance ("skillful hands"). To tip the scales too much in either direction is to court disaster. 

Life is a perpetual balancing act. Granted, that is a rather broad generalization, but one based on the evidence of Scripture and the narrow perspective of personal observation and experience: A daughter balancing on the precipice of her senior year in high school. Another inching her way into adulthood with every choice made and bill paid. Still another daughter adjusting to an expanding household that now includes a two-year-old foster son. A new friend struggling to forge a life with family outside of a jail cell. A seriously aging parent perched precariously between sanity and senility. It's as if each of us tiptoe along a tightrope, securely in place and upright as long as we give as much attention to who we are as we do to what we do. Introspection is the necessary companion to performance; likewise, wise meditation always leads to effective action. Don't permit paralysis, but never neglect growth of your own character perched atop the high wire. 

"Therefore, with humility, set aside all moral filth and the growth of wickedness, and welcome the word planted deep inside you—the very word that is able to save you. You must be doers of the word and not only hearers who mislead themselves. Those who hear but don’t do the word are like those who look at their faces in a mirror. They look at themselves, walk away, and immediately forget what they were like. But there are those who study the perfect law, the law of freedom, and continue to do it. They don’t listen and then forget, but they put it into practice in their lives. They will be blessed in whatever they do. If those who claim devotion to God don’t control what they say, they mislead themselves. Their devotion is worthless. True devotion, the kind that is pure and faultless before God the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their difficulties and to keep the world from contaminating us." (James 1:21-27 CEB).

Thoughts from Chambers

I am mediatating this morning on these familiar thoughts from Oswald Chambers:

My Utmost for His Highest. “. . . my earnest expectation and hope that in nothing I shall be ashamed . . . .” We will all feel very much ashamed if we do not yield to Jesus the areas of our lives He has asked us to yield to Him. It’s as if Paul were saying, “My determined purpose is to be my utmost for His highest—my best for His glory.” To reach that level of determination is a matter of the will, not of debate or of reasoning. It is absolute and irrevocable surrender of the will at that point. An undue amount of thought and consideration for ourselves is what keeps us from making that decision, although we cover it up with the pretense that it is others we are considering. When we think seriously about what it will cost others if we obey the call of Jesus, we tell God He doesn’t know what our obedience will mean. Keep to the point—He does know. Shut out every other thought and keep yourself before God in this one thing only—my utmost for His highest. I am determined to be absolutely and entirely for Him and Him alone.

My Unstoppable Determination for His Holiness. “Whether it means life or death—it makes no difference!” (see 1:21). Paul was determined that nothing would stop him from doing exactly what God wanted. But before we choose to follow God’s will, a crisis must develop in our lives. This happens because we tend to be unresponsive to God’s gentler nudges. He brings us to the place where He asks us to be our utmost for Him and we begin to debate. He then providentially produces a crisis where we have to decide—for or against. That moment becomes a great crossroads in our lives. If a crisis has come to you on any front, surrender your will to Jesus absolutely and irrevocably.

Lord, the range of Your power, the touch of Your grace, the breathing of Your Spirit—how I long for these to bring me face to face with You. Forgive my tardiness; it takes me so long to awaken to some things.

Single Minded Love

The world clamors for my attention with ever-expanding volume, and the same could be said for each of us. Jay Walker-Smith, President of the Marketing Firm Yankelovich, says that in this country we have gone from being exposed to about 500 ads a day back in the 1970's, to as many as 5,000 a day. Without focus, it is easy to have our morality and spirituality swept away into thought patterns that do not align with godly thinking or a holy lifestyle. Along with the swelling voices competing for our attention, there are even greater demands placed on our time. I was in the office last week of an attorney in a large law firm and he told me that he is required to account for every six minutes of his time because every minute of his work day is worth $17 dollars to the firm. How much are the minutes of your life worth? Probably more than you could imagine.

In many ways, life is more complex than ever before, but in the most important arena things remain profoundly simple. "He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?" (Micah 6:8, KJV). "And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment" (Mark 12:30, KJV). 

The one thing I do that trumps all else and silences background distortion is when I prefer Christ over myself and to everything else. Nothing uncomplicates life like compelling love. The finest example of this simple obsession that I've known personally is Phillip Ingida D'ima. When I met him many years ago in the Kaisut Desert, he was stumbling from hut to hut in Kenya's northern frontier district, sharing the message of Christ's liberating love among the largely unreached Borana of Olla D'aba, a village near the town of Marsabit. Philip walks with a limp because of a leg deformed by childhood polio. I'll never forget Phillip's response when I asked him one day why he pushed through enormous pain so that he could tell his testimony of God's grace. He said simply, "Because I love Jesus. What other reason is there to live?" There you have it--the remedy for confusion and the pathway to profound peace--single-minded love for Jesus Christ. "Turn around and believe that the good news that we are loved is better than we ever dared hope, and that to believe in that good news, to live out of it and toward it, to be in love with that good news, is of all glad things in this world the gladdest thing of all. Amen, and come Lord Jesus" (F. Buechner).

"As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness."(Psalm 17:15, KJV)

Spiritual Obesity

A great chasm yawns between disciplined believers and spiritual couch potatoes. Grace was never intended to produce sluggish, flabby Christians.  Although we rightfully gorge ourselves on an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord of mercy, Scripture expects the opposite of spiritual obesity, out-of-shape believers lumbering lethargically through their spiritual journey. Grace results in heightened passion to pursue God, or we misunderstand its divine intent; grace and hunger are not only compatible, they are conjoined at the heart. The Bible unapologetically urges those who are being saved to strive, and those who have been found by grace to stay after the search for greater intimacy with the Grace-giver. Perhaps the best known story of pursuit in all of American literature is Herman Melville's 1851 epic tale Captain Ahab and the white sperm whale. Ishmael narrates the voyage of the whaleship Pequod and its captain's crazed pursuit of the whale Moby Dick, which on a previous voyage destroyed Ahab's ship and severed his leg below the knee. Unlike Ahab in his maniacal pursuit for revenge in the shadow of enormous loss, each of us is to be engaged in an all-consuming high and noble quest in light of inexplicable gain.

In what should be required reading for every believer, Tozer writes: “The yearning to know what cannot be known, to comprehend the incomprehensible, to touch and taste the unapproachable, arises from the image of God in the nature of man. Deep calleth unto deep, and though polluted and landlocked by the mighty disaster theologians call the Fall, the soul senses its origin and longs to return to its source" (A.W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God). This insatiable appetite for personal intimacy with Almighty God is the antidote for what Bonhoeffer terms "cheap grace." “Cheap grace is the grace we bestow on ourselves. Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession...Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate" (Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship). Grace pardons completely, and authentic discipleship accepts with it greater opportunity and responsibility, rather than entitlement.

“O God, I have tasted Thy goodness, and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need for further grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire. O God, the Triune God, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still. Show me Thy glory, I pray Thee, so that I may know Thee indeed. Begin in mercy a new work of love within me. Say to my soul, ‘Rise up my love, my fair one, and come away.’ Then give me grace to rise and follow Thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long.” 

― A.W. Tozer

Dilemma

An undeniable imbalance prevails between the evangelistic efforts by the average American church and the equally unavoidable lack of involvement in efforts to alleviate poverty, abolish crime, restore ex-offenders, minister to children of offenders, etc. I’ve given a lot of thought to this and wonder if we might resolve the dilemma by acknowledging the existence of an artificial distinction in practice between ”redemptive grace” and “transformative grace.” I have seldom met anyone who denies the fact that no one is outside the reach of grace and that Christ will save anyone, regardless of their sinful past. Certainly, we include ourselves in that redemptive reality. We expound Romans 3:23, “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” and in the next breath we hasten to Romans 6:23, “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ He Jesus our Lord.” We read those statements with an “of course” on the tips of our tongues. This is what I’m terming redemptive grace: “But God demonstrates his love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, having been justified by His blood, we shall be saved from the wrath of God through Him” (Romans 5:8,9). 

Rarely have I encountered anyone in the Christian community who would deny this saving reality; however, while we joyously proclaim the possibility of salvation regardless of past sin, we hesitate and falter at the point of helping those who receive new life to implement it, especially those who need a lot of help at the point of practicing it. We mean well and often are convinced that we’ve completed our task by proclaiming the good news of Christ, but when measured against the Scriptural standards declared in places like Isaiah 58; Amos 5:14-15; Micah 6:8; Matthew 25:31-46; and James 1:22-27; the actual application of our belief system is called into question. Stated simply: we readily believe in redemptive grace (God will save anyone), but we falter at practice transformative grace (God is willing and able to transform everyone). If we truly believe that God is not only willing to save anyone but also able to transform everyone, we will passionately engage hunger, poverty, homelessness, crime, substance abuse, unemployment, the restoration and reintegration of ex-offenders, and anything else required to ensure that every believer experiences what Jesus declares in John 10:10, a life that is full and meaningful in every possible way.

"The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly." (John 10:10, KJV)

Adjusting

I received an electronic notice this morning stating that a colleague has "endorsed" me for certain skills he thinks I possess. I don't want to sound ungrateful; I sincerely appreciate the sentiment and gracious intent. The problem is that I know myself far too well to feel flattered by the gesture, and for me that's a very good thing. Succumbing to flattery is akin to embracing an alkaline self-love--nothing grows in that kind of soil. I love how Buechner explains it: "Romantic love is blind to everything except what is lovable and lovely, but Christ’s love sees us with terrible clarity and sees us whole. Christ’s love so wishes our joy that it is ruthless against everything in us that diminishes our joy." The ruthless truth is that I clearly identify with the Apostle's self-deprecating assessment--"There is nothing good in me." Some may protest such evaluation as undue criticism or harmful self-condemnation; however, I deem it simply facing facts, admitting harsh truth at face value. As important as relentless honesty is for moving off dead center, the key to sustained personal growth is not in the acknowledging but in the adjusting. God desires productivity, not paralysis. As I confess my short-comings, I stand on the edge of potential improvement. God's Word never upholds inward judgment for the sake of judgment; instead, evaluation is always for the purpose of development. Stouthearted introspection has its place, but what matters most is a productive response to honest self-examination.

"For this cause we also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding; That ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, and increasing in the knowledge of God." (Colossians 1:9-10, KJV)

Thomas Didymus

Thomas Didymus, a.k.a. "Doubting Thomas," was more a complainer than a doubter. He is best known for questioning Jesus' resurrection when he first learned of it, but his famous doubting was the visible side of a more subtle attitude that may be detected in earlier exchanges. He was never one to look on the rosier side of things. "Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his fellow disciples, 'Let us also go, that we may die with him'" (John 11:16). "Thomas saith unto him, 'Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?'" (John 14:5). 

I guess that's why I feel an odd sense of kinship with Thomas; he was bent toward the Eeyore way of looking at life. We may label it with different terms such as grumbling, griping, belly-aching, or whining, but the result is the negative same. On one of our first dates, I was waxing critical about something and my soon-to-be wife startled me by asking if I wanted 'a little cheese with my whine.' She then uttered one her all time classic one-liners: "Whining is not attractive."  In King James English the word for complaining is "murmuring," but regardless of how we say it, whining is not attractive. Webster's says complaining is "an expression of unhappiness, dissatisfaction, or discontent." To say it another way, "Complaining is the outward expression of discontent from within" (Dr. Dale A. Robbins).

The interesting thing is that the one to whom Thomas complained most was Jesus himself. Irregardless of whatever circumstances evoke dissatisfaction, complaining is really deep down unbelief. If God is in charge the way we profess Him to be, murmuring and grumbling is essentially accusing the Lord of not holding up his end of the bargain. I read how Thomas questioned the Lord and my inclination is to say, "I would never complain to Jesus"; yet, to be honest, I do it all the time.  I complain about this, grumble about that, murmur about the other, all the time thinking that I'm doing it to myself, yet God hears it all. In the end, my complaints are to and against the Lord Jesus, and call into question the quality of my faith. 

"I use to think people complained because they had lots of problems. But I have come to realize that they have problems because they complain" (Robbins). Complaining doesn't change anything or make situations better; it amplifies frustration, fosters discontent, and spreads discord. Whining is an open wound that refuses to heal. Thankfully, Thomas was eventually able to declare, "My Lord and my God!" (John 20:28)

"Do all things without murmurings and disputings: That ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world." (Philippians 2:14-15 KJV)

Seeing Trees

Do you know yourself? Note that I did not ask, "What do you think about yourself?" A world of difference languishes between the two, awaiting the intrepid individual with courage enough for self-inventory. Some refuse bold introspection because they fear a result something like the opening lines to Dostoyevsky's "Notes from Underground": "I am a sick man....I am an angry man. I am an unattractive man....I'm sensitive and quick to take offense, like a hunchback or dwarf." The lives that matter are the ones who dare to say "I am a sick man," then quickly turn to the Physician.

Many of us whittle away our days stumbling over ourselves. Lacking clarity, we fail to see the trees for the forests that loom nearby. "No one longs for what he or she already has, and yet the accumulated insight of those wise about the spiritual life suggests that the reason so many of us cannot see the red X that marks the spot is because we are standing on it" (Barbara Brown Taylor, "An Altar in the World"). Forests are unique to the individual, but each holds potential for revealing trees if we know where to look and are willing to look long and hard enough. We are all tempted to busy ourselves with forests of good things, but lose ourselves in the mix. How long has it been since you reflected on important questions like: "Who am I?" "What is wrong with me?" "What is right in me?" The only real difference between those who ultimately navigate the narrow way and others who meander aimlessly down side roads is that the former are able to contain their fear long enough to filter from the chaos what is true about themselves and what God can do to make it right. Communing with God is a regular necessity, but there is also need for people to take communion with themselves. 

“Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty.”

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!” (Isaiah 6:5, 8 NIV)

Mentoring

If you've reached the place in life where you wish you could start all over again knowing what you know now, you're ready to be a mentor.  In Greek mythology, Mentor was a loyal friend and adviser to Odysseus, king of Ithaca. Mentor helped raise Odysseus' son, Telemachus, while Odysseus was away fighting the Trojan War. Mentor became Telemachus' teacher, coach, counselor and protector, building a relationship based on affection and trust.

Mentoring is a high dollar word that does more than imply an investment. It is the act of imparting to another your most valuable asset--yourself. Whether you're in a more formal arrangement such as mentor/intern, or a less formal friendship, the influence of one human being on another willing human being can be profound. Some time ago I was visiting a friend who helps lead Big Brothers Big Sisters North Texas, and was surprised to find near the entrance to their offices the T. Boone Pickens Mentoring Hall of Fame. I never knew such a thing existed. What quickly captured my attention was a massive pictorial timeline that depicts the history of Big Brothers and, essentially, a history of efforts in  this country of mentoring at-risk children. For years I have told my students that everyone should have a mentor and be a mentor, but exploring the Mentoring Hall of Fame evoked a sort of epiphany, jogging my memory of the intrinsic and eternal value of intentionally mentoring at-risk individuals, whether they be children, youth, or adults. What could be more Christ-like than one-on-one mentoring of someone who may be lost in many ways without such a valuable relationship? I have seen the benefit in my own life and owe a debt to many who have considered me worthy of their time and wisdom. As partial repayment, I make this a priority and encourage others to look for individuals in whom you may invest yourselves. Only eternity will reveal the significance of taking a little time to be intentional salt and light for someone who desperately needs to know she or he matters. Allow me to be redundant, everyone should have a mentor and everyone should be a mentor.

"One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts." (Psalm 145:4, ESV)

"So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you had become very dear to us." (1 Thessalonians 2:8 ESV)

Vocare

"Vocation" comes either from the old French vocacion, meaning "call, consecration," or directly from the Latin vocare "to call." Either way, blessed is the individual who carries on with a sense of divine calling. "Only those who decline to scramble up the career ladder are interesting as human beings. Nothing is more boring than a man with a career" (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956). A great chasm exists between vocation and occupation.

An encounter several years ago illustrates this well, especially because of the nurse I'll never know.  At the time, I was devoting some of my discretionary time to working with the local Baptist association, and I received a phone call one evening at the associational office from a most unusual caller. A man traveling by bus back home to Tulsa from a funeral in Junction had suffered a seizure and was in Providence Hospital for treatment.  His name was Billy. He said that he had accepted Christ in the hospital and wanted to speak with someone about how to get started right in his new Christian life. The hospital gave him our number. I agreed to see him, and in so doing learned about an inspiring sequence of events.  It seems that a hospital chaplain had left with him a small book concerning salvation written by Billy Graham. Later that day a nurse came to his room, saw the book on his bedside table, and asked if Billy had read it. Billy replied that he had but that he needed someone to explain it to him. Astonishingly, the nurse arranged to take her break at that moment and proceeded to lead Billy in giving his life to Christ in prayer. This was an unmistakable exhibition of vocation by the unidentified nurse-living out her calling to honor Christ through nursing.  I learned all of this from Billy as I dropped him off at the bus station, and he told me that his life had changed forever as the result of one anonymous nurse. God bless you Florence Nightingale, whoever you are, and God bless all who work and serve with God in mind.

"And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him." (Colossians 3:17, KJV)

Dignity

Others look for reasons to shop; I find that any excuse will do so long as it takes me to a library. In that spirit I stopped by Waco's Central Library today to return a book, and although I could have placed it in the drop slot provided for just that purpose and left, I convinced myself that I could actually enter and confine my browsing to a minimum.  You see, I saunter through aisles of books like a connoisseur swirls and then inhales the aroma of vintage wine. All libraries and bookstores hold a certain attraction, but this is an especially sacred space for me.  Before securing an aircard for my laptop, Central Library was the most convenient place for me to access free Wi-Fi, so it became for a time, in effect, my office. Appearances have changed a great deal since those days. A major renovation by the City of Waco netted a fresh coat of paint, altered design, updated furniture, and expanded holdings. The one constant is its clientele. Seated in front of every computer screen and on every lounging chair in every remodeled nook and cranny is a colorful array of ragamuffins, homeless persons. Jokingly, I've remarked that our city has the most educated vagrants around. Seriously, sitting next to and interacting with them over time gave me a deep appreciation that went beyond the sights and smells that conjure stereotypes. To this day, I call them my "peeps." 

Scanning that familiar scene reminded me of three years ago when I chose to go undercover as a homeless man on the streets of Waco in order to get inside their heads if not under their skin. I convinced myself that I would never represent Christ with convincing compassion if I had no clue what it was like to walk the streets with no knowledge of what I would eat or where I would sleep. My wife was less than enthusiastic about my decision, but on a hot summer day I donned my dirtiest t-shirt, worst shorts, most ragged shoes, and drove downtown.  I parked on the edge of downtown, locked my wallet and cellphone in my truck, and set out for only God knew what. It was important to me to spend a couple of days penniless and communication-less, but I quickly learned that heat, humidity, and hunger make for a formidable trinity of want. I stopped by the local homeless ministry to inquire about a place to stay the night and learned that to do so I would need to shower along with the other transient men. I acquiesced to the requirement and accepted a towel and complimentary toiletries, and admit that I felt my dignity drip slowly from me along with the cold water in the primitive surroundings. I learned that finding a free drink of water downtown in one hundred degree heat is a job in itself, and by the evening I slumped nearly dehydrated and heat exhausted onto a folding chair inside a Lutheran church that provides a free meal to the homeless every Tuesday night.  I honestly can't say what made more of an impression--the spaghetti and bread that I gulped down like a starving man, the iced tea that rehydrated me, or the volunteers that remained resolute behind the 4'x8' tables as if plastic could shield them from the pain and need that filed in front of them.  I listened to a preacher speak generically about hope, but my mind kept wandering to where I would rest my depleted body for the night.

Space does not permit a detailed chronicle of those two days, but I can say that in short order I experienced an odd camaraderie with a homeless band of brothers, as well as the shock of having people cross streets to avoid me and refuse to look me in the eye. As parched as I remained those summer days, I soon found my greater thirst was for human dignity, and I will never look or fail to look upon the least of these in the same way that I did before. I learned profound stories of human agony and shattered dreams, saw raw expressions of thinning hope, but most of all gained a heightened sense of the importance of speaking a name, the significance of daring to touch, and the magnitude of grace.

"Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, 'Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.' Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, 'Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or athirst, and gave thee drink? And when saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? And when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?' And the King shall answer and say unto them, 'Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these my brethren, even these least, ye did it unto me.'" Matthew 25:34-40

(photo source: www.mlf.org)