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