John The Baptist Prepared The Way... As Did His Mother

Today's gospel reading from the Book of Common Prayer is Luke 1:39-48b. I was struck by something as I read it this morning — something I'd never noticed before.

As preface, it's important to note a few things. First, Luke 1:24 informs us that that Elizabeth went into seclusion for five months after discovering she was pregnant. Furthermore, verse 26 indicates that it was in the sixth month of Elizabeth's pregnancy that Gabriel visited Mary with the news of her coming pregnancy.

So now we pick up the trail on verse 39, which states that Mary hurried to visit Elizabeth only a few days after her encounter with Gabriel. It would seem that Elizabeth's seclusion ended with the timing of Mary's arrival, more or less.

Here is where things get interesting for me.

I may be going too far with this thought, but it strikes me that Elizabeth had not been in the presence of much talk. She had been in seclusion for five months, and her husband Zechariah was literally speechless.

Had Elizabeth heard the voice of anyone recently? Perhaps not. What few interactions she did have, if indeed there were any, would have been with familiar personages from her local community. I'd guess that such greetings, if they occurred at all, would have been subdued.

But now Mary bursts in upon this quiet scene. Verse 40 tells us that Mary entered the house first and then greeted Elizabeth. Heaven knows houses were not big back then! This was a very special meeting conducted in close quarters!

It would surely not be asking too much to imagine that Mary's excited greeting, delivered at close range, might well have been far and away the loudest voice John the Baptist had ever heard before. Small wonder that he leaped so excitedly in his mother's womb!

And is there not a lesson for all of us, as we approach the end of our season of advent waiting? Our world is full of noises, and when the noises go away, not a few of us plug the gaps with iPhones, iPods, and a host of other distractions that may not even involve sound.

But if we want to hear the voice of God, we need quiet seclusion. I don't mean to stretch the analogy beyond the breaking point. Mary was not God, and John the Baptist was not a spirit. That said, I see a parallel in the mix. A good reminder. Silence and seclusion attune our spirits to the intrusion of the almighty.

John the Baptist later recognized the entrance of the almighty not least because he sought out a desert in which to wait for him. In doing so, John followed the good example given him by his own mother. We do well to continue the tradition. If we miss the entrance of the almighty on any given Christmas, it's probably because we're not finding quiet places to wait for him.

One Last Swing At Our Friend Zechariah

A word of preface... having lovingly crafted this little blog below, I discovered shortly thereafter (upon reading more from the first chapter of Luke) that it is highly likely that Zechariah was struck not merely dumb, but also deaf. Turns out that when Gabriel told him he'd be silent, that word (in the greek) can also mean deaf. ...Which explains the odd actions noted in verse 62. Well... if Zechariah was deaf too, that kind of shoots a hole in what I wrote below. Ah well... live and learn.

I had a bit of fun at Zechariah's expense in my last blog, but am not satisfied to leave well enough alone. Tongue firmly planted in cheek, I suggest that Zechariah's punishment did not solely consist in his being struck mute for the duration of his wife Elizabeth's pregnancy.

No, sir.

A close examination of the situation reveals a little nugget — proof that God does indeed have a great sense of humor. To see that this is so, we need merely consider where Zechariah went after he was struck dumb: home.

Imagine the situation. It's 1 BC or so, with no distracting technology in the house, and probably not even a thing to read beyond a few scrolls of various holy scriptures (if that!), and those known well enough indeed already.

Nothing to watch. Nothing to listen to. Nothing new to read.

And this home... it is the home of an old couple. They've been married for decades. Every conversation has already been had. Multiple times.

And they are childless.

This is a quiet house.

But now, something truly new and amazing has happened. Elizabeth discovers she is pregnant. She's post-menopausal, and yet the promise of Gabriel has come to fruition. A true miracle.

Stunned.... Elizabeth retreats into seclusion for five months. Where? Home. It has to be.

What home?

The home she shares with her husband.

The guy who, for the time being, cannot talk.

So it is my contention that Gabriel and God pulled a doozy of a practical joke on Zechariah. Elizabeth, I submit, surely had many things to say. Daily. Hourly? However often it was, she had an audience for her words. For five months, Zechariah couldn't interrupt her or ask her to stop. All he could do was listen.

Listen, listen, listen.

A worthy punishment for a man who was not ready to accept the exciting news on the first pass, delivered from the tongue of an angel: he is forced instead to listen to his wife's reflections on the matter. But Zechariah was given this one mercy. Judging by the few words we know Elizabeth spoke (as recorded in Luke), hers were reflections very well worth listening to.

And the coup de grâce? Just note, friends, when it is that God gives Zechariah his voice back. Yes. Right after the baby was born. Right around the time (as many new fathers can attest) when nobody cares much what dad has to say anyway.

On Talking Back To Angels...

It is the considered opinion of this author that talking back to angels is not advisable. If circumstances require that you do so, however, for heaven's sake don't argue with answers to your prayer!

Today's scripture readings from the Book of Common Prayer include Luke 1:1-25, where we read about a man who got both these points wrong.

In this passage we read of how the angel Gabriel visited a priest named Zechariah to announce the good news that his aged wife would have a son — John the Baptist. Zechariah's reaction was one of doubt, however. "How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years."

In response, the angel Gabriel gave Zechariah a tongue-lashing. That is to say, Gabriel lashed Zechariah's tongue safely down in his mouth, so as to prevent further insulting words from spilling out. "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their proper time."

At about this point in the reading, I came to the sure conclusion that this blessing from God — a visitation by an angel, no less! — was a blessing for Elizabeth more so than for her husband. Zechariah did not deserve beneficence on this scale! Wise people don't look a gift horse in the mouth but this old man didn't know better than to second-guess a gift-angel.

"It must have been Elizabeth," I thought. "Elizabeth is the one being honored here. Zechariah is being blessed only because, as her husband, he is fortunate enough to come along for the ride." I was about to lodge this thought in the margin of my Bible when my eyes drifted upwards to the top of the page so as to confirm whether I was on the right track.

I was not.

This miraculous and marvelous angelic visitation began as follows... When Zechariah saw him, he was startled and was gripped with fear. But the angel said to him: "Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to give him the name John."

Your prayer, Zechariah?? And when an angelic courier brought you a big Yes answer from God, you doubted him?? Zechariah, Zechariah... fool of a man. If you didn't think it were possible, why were you still praying for it?

The scripture reading ends with Elizabeth's words, which she uttered after discovering that she was with child. “How kind the Lord is!” she exclaimed. “He has taken away my disgrace of having no children.” Zechariah is lucky God didn't give Elizabeth a package deal and remove her disgrace of a husband as well for no extra charge. But... God had plans for only one virgin birth, so I suppose God found it expedient to allow Zechariah to make it home in one piece. I cannot resist noting that Zechariah got lucky in more ways than one.

I am, of course, having overmuch fun at Zechariah's expense, and the man's dignity deserves rehabilitation. Let it not be missed, therefore, that verse 6 indicates that both Zechariah and Elizabeth "were upright in the sight of God, observing all the Lord's commandments and regulations blamelessly." If my long-term memory had served me better, I might have been kinder to our friend Zack.

But even so, there is a lesson here. A question. When we ask God for miracles, do we believe he is capable of delivering? Shame on us if we do not, for as Gabriel explained in his next visit to the virgin Mary, "all things are possible with God."

God, I Needed You Last Night, But I Wasn't There.

Agnostics suppose that God might not be anywhere, and atheists assure us that God is definitely nowhere. We who are theists, in contrast, know that God is everywhere.

Yet even staunch theists are tempted, when calamity strikes, to wonder where God went.

He is there. With us. He never left.

The real question is not whether God is with us during those times, because he is.

But are we with him?

If at any time we are not with God, then it will most certainly seem as if he is not with us. (No surprise, then, that so many of us feel that life is a rather lonely journey... but that thought for another day and a different blog!) How blessed are we, however, if even in our darkest moments we remain with him.

There are two great lies we must contend with whenever we suffer. In times of sorrow, Satan would have us believe that we are suffering both (a) alone and (b) for no good purpose. These two lies are disarmed and dismantled, however, if we suffer with the God whom we trust. We might never know here on Earth why God allows us to experience various sorrows, but if we know God is present and can trust him with those mysteries, the pain we endure is robbed of its power.

I recently forced my young son Luke to undergo an H1N1 flu vaccination. I held him in my lap tightly for the entire process, but Luke seemed simultaneously to lose both trust in me and the ability to hear my words of encouragement as soon as the long, sharp needle came into view. The more he focused on the needle, the less he was able to interact with me in any meaningful way. I think it would be fair to say that in some sense Luke faced his fears alone, and the experience for him was utterly terrifying. I was there the whole time, but I doubt it felt that way to Luke.

In fact, Luke has a history of asthma. For him, a case of the swine flu could mean hospitalization — or even death. Many years from now Luke will certainly be thankful for the many vaccinations he received along the way, but he's too young today to understand the science of innoculations. No amount of explanation was going to help Luke accept that flu shot with serenity. Facing a terrifying experience, Luke didn't need explanations. What he needed was trust.

We smile at how children behave when the doctor's needle comes out. But let us be honest with ourselves. Do we accept those needles God sends our way without a struggle? Not often. Do we look for explanations? Or do we ask God for more trust? Exactly.

Trust, however, is the silver bullet. Explanations are for those who doubt. As we learn to trust our God who is with us, we begin to discover that those unpleasant shots in the arm are preparing us for a better future. Luke had only the present doctor's visit in mind, but we, his parents, were taking a longer view. Likewise we humans all too often have only this present life in mind, but God too is taking the longer view.

All these fine words don't make suffering fun, of course, but if we believe them, we can, as the Apostle Paul notes, "not grieve like people who have no hope." (1 Thessalonians 4:13)

Hebrews 12:5-12
...And have you forgotten the encouraging words God spoke to you as his children? He said,

“My child, don’t make light of the Lord’s discipline,
and don’t give up when he corrects you.
For the Lord disciplines those he loves,
and he punishes each one he accepts as his child.”

As you endure this divine discipline, remember that God is treating you as his own children. Who ever heard of a child who is never disciplined by its father? If God doesn’t discipline you as he does all of his children, it means that you are illegitimate and are not really his children at all. Since we respected our earthly fathers who disciplined us, shouldn’t we submit even more to the discipline of the Father of our spirits, and live forever?

For our earthly fathers disciplined us for a few years, doing the best they knew how. But God’s discipline is always good for us, so that we might share in his holiness. No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening—it’s painful! But afterward there will be a peaceful harvest of right living for those who are trained in this way.

So take a new grip with your tired hands and strengthen your weak knees. Mark out a straight path for your feet so that those who are weak and lame will not fall but become strong.

Those last words from that passage in Hebrews may seem a bit odd and almost unrelated to the preceding text, but consider this: perhaps if Luke had endured his shot with serenity, other children waiting in line would been a bit more brave as they themselves approached the awaiting doctor.

The way we endure suffering reveals to a watching world something about the character of the God we serve and whether he can be trusted.

Hebrews 12:1-3
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

Amen!

A Mouse Unwilling To Die (Literally)

I turned on the light in the basement office this morning and settled down on the sofa to think, read and pray.

My quiet was soon interrupted, however, by a periodic and puzzling rustling sound. Within a minute or two I was up off the sofa and walking slowly toward its source. A mouse? Did we have to call in the exterminators? I was quite relieved to discover that the sounds were coming from outside of the house. A mouse had fallen into the window-well outside my basement office window and was now fully engaged in a strenuous bid for freedom.

Stuck in the window-well? Good news for me. (He's not in the house!) Bad news for the mouse, however! His prospects were grim. Barring intervention on my part, his exhausted demise in the freezing cold would arrive in due time. He had obviously (and quite mistakenly) decided that the light now pouring through the window pane was pointing him to salvation. Every few seconds I could see (and hear) him leap up against the glass pane. All to no avail.

What to do.

Well, I couldn't see myself enjoying my morning prayer time while listening to the rhythmic sounds of a dying rodent hurling himself against my window. To my shame, I do admit that I might just possibly have tolerated a quiet death. But this fellow wasn't going to die quietly. As I watched the mouse continue to struggle, my desire to help him out of his tight spot grew stronger and stronger. But it was cold outside! And how would I do it without hurthing him?

What to do.

Still watching the mouse hopeless flail about, I found myself reflecting on the fact that Jesus approved of retrieving sheep out of wells, even on the sabbath. Should I rescue a mouse from my window-well during this hour set aside for prayer? There was definitely scriptural precedent. I had to try. I sallied forth from the basement, grabbed a bucket and a stick, and ventured out into the cold, dark morning air to redeem a helpless mouse from certain death.

My mission was noble and my cause was right, but it quickly became clear that the mouse saw things differently. As soon as he saw me, he pressed himself into a tight corner of the window-well and refused to budge. How to tempt, badger or otherwise cajole him into the bucket? Thus began my early-morning battle of wits with a rodent.

It being a dark and cold morning, I confess I wasn't about to play the long game. I began to prod the mouse with the stick, hoping to work him toward the bucket. This mouse, however, was not ready to die just yet. After several minutes of poking and prodding, all I had managed to do was to make him squeal a great deal and scoot several times from one tight corner of the window-well to another. Time for a new strategy. Time for better tools!

I went to the garage and returned with a gardening trowel. With this equipment upgrade I did finally manage to flip him unceremoniously into the bucket — but it took several minutes of effort and I am fairly sure that I gave the poor, bedraggled, frantically squealing mouse a rather comprehensive bruising in the process.

I emptied the bucket out onto the frozen ground and watched the ungrateful wretch scurry off into a neighbor's garden. Mission accomplished. As I walked back into the house, I found myself pondering the lessons lurking in what I had just experienced.

If the mouse had trusted me and/or been ready to die, things would have gone very smoothly. But this mouse did not trust me one bit and he wasn't ready to die either. Zero for two. So, for our little friend the mouse, the road to salvation was paved with pain, panic and fear.

It did not have to be thus. After all, both the mouse and I shared a common goal: we both wanted him to be freed from the window-well. The problem, of course, was that the mouse didn't know better than to trust his bodily instincts for self-preservation. In this situation, of course, those instincts served him poorly. He did not understand that the great power looming over him with a stick was actually working for his eventual good.

Needless to say, I was reminded of how we struggle in like manner with our Lord. How much of our pains and sorrows would cease if we would simply let God have his way with us? It might mean letting some things within us die. Are we prepared to trust him with that? Or are we, like that mouse, going to make the process a painful debacle for all participants?

C. S. speaks eloquently of this in the following passage taken from his book Mere Christianity.

The Christian way is different: harder, and easier. Christ says `Give me All. I don't want so much of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want You. I have not come to torment your natural self, but to kill it. No half-measures are any good. I don't want to cut off a branch here and a branch there, I want to have the whole tree down. I don't want to drill the tooth, or crown it, or stop it, but to have it out. Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent as well as the ones you think wicked - the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours.'

Both harder and easier than what we are all trying to do. You have noticed, I expect, that Christ Himself sometimes describes the Christian way as very hard, sometimes as very easy. He says, 'Take up your Cross'- in other words, it is like going to be beaten to death in a concentration camp. Next minute he says, 'My yoke is easy and my burden light.' He means both. And one can just see why both are true.

Teachers will tell you that the laziest boy in the class is the one who works hardest in the end. They mean this. If you give two boys, say, a proposition in geometry to do, the one who is prepared to take trouble will try to understand it. The lazy boy will try to learn it by heart because, for the moment, that needs less effort. But six months later, when they are preparing for an exam, that lazy boy is doing hours and hours of miserable drudgery over things the other boy understands, and positively enjoys, in a few minutes. Laziness means more work in the long run. Or look at it this way. In a battle, or in mountain climbing, there is often one thing which it takes a lot of pluck to do; but it is also, in the long run, the safest things to do. If you funk it, you will find yourself, hours later, in far worse danger. The cowardly thing is also the most dangerous thing.

It is like that here. The terrible thing, the almost impossible thing, is to hand over your whole self - all your wishes and precautions - to Christ. But it is far easier than what we are all trying to do instead. For what we are trying to do is to remain what we call 'ourselves,' to keep personal happiness as our great aim in life, and yet at the same time be 'good'. We are all trying to let our mind and heart go their own way-centred on money or pleasure or ambition-and hoping, in spite of this, to behave honestly and chastely and humbly. And that is exactly what Christ warned us you could not do. As He said, a thistle cannot produce figs. If I am a field that contains nothing but grass-seed, I cannot produce wheat. Cutting the grass may keep it short: but I shall still produce grass and no wheat. If I want to produce wheat, the change must go deeper than the surface. I must be ploughed up and re-sown.

Amen.

I'm A Dead Man (And Other Lies We Tell)

"I'm a dead man."

I'd heard him say it before, maybe a year or two ago. I don't see him often, but our paths had crossed again. Once more the familiar words rolled out of his mouth as he reclined on a sofa in rude health, having just enjoyed a large and sumptuous meal.

A few minutes earlier he had been excitedly relating to me the latest on his search for the ideal retirement community – one which would doubtlessly be warm all year long and situated near a golf course. But conversation had now moved on to the topic of life with Christ, and his language suddenly changed so as to suit the occasion.

"I'm a dead man."

I didn't believe his claim the first time around, and this second pass wasn't any more convincing. I've never seen a more self-satisfied dead man in my life. I know something of his daily life, and best I can tell it has precious little to do with daily death.

So much for this other fellow. What about me? I ate that same tasty meal he ate, and I hope to retire one day too. Am I really different? if so, not nearly enough.

We all, to varying degrees, leave the dying to Christ. We are in the business of comfortably living. Our common desire to arrange for a suitable retirement is just the final chapter in a book devoted to the same enterprise.

Christ's participation in our lives is always commensurate with our participation in his death. Given that we devote our lives to avoiding crosses, why should we be surprised that the American church evidences so little of his resurrection power? Only the dead can be resurrected, and we refuse to die.

The question inevitably arises.... What does it mean to die with Christ? The entire New Testament is an end-to-end answer that question. So why then is the question so inevitable? It's inevitable because we read New Testament like the consumers we are. We pick and choose what we read, notice and remember – and it's usually things we've been trained by our consumerist society to value. Given that our society places a premium on avoiding death, it's not surprising that we fail to notice that death to self is the first, main ingredient in God's recipe to make us anew into the image of Christ.

By avoiding the blindingly obvious scriptural call to die with Christ, we generally miss not only the forest but also the vast majority of the trees. Truth be told, it's a good day when we notice the shrubs. Take Mark 10 for a simple example. The entire chapter reeks of self mortification (both literal and figurative), but our consumerist take-away from Mark 10 is the two verses where Jesus promises us a hundred-fold return on whatever we give up for his sake. (1oo-fold? In this life? Yahoo!) Driven by our fleshly desires, we fix our eyes on a solitary shrub in a chapter full of trees.

Even the shrubs we do not examine too closely. Who remembers that in those same two verses Jesus also promised us persecutions? As the old joke goes... "Is that a promise? Or a threat?" At best we in the American church would take such words as "advance warning." Those who have died with Christ, however, call them a promise – and a good one at that. The Apostle Paul said as much in his letter to the Corinthians.

But we don't want a promise like that, so we firstly ignore it, secondly forget it, and thirdly (the coup de grâce) get offended when the promised persecutions arrive. (Witness the righteous indignation in those various circulating religious emails we all see from time to time.)

We forget everything else Jesus said in Mark 10 too, which explains why we proceed to divorce as often as anyone else, hoard up money just like everyone else (for our retirement, we explain...) and avoid placing ourselves in danger just like everyone else. Like the rest of the general population, we want nothing to do with carrying crosses, be they relational, financial, or physical.

Crosses are for dead men.

2 Corinthians 12:10
That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Mark 10:22
At this the man's face fell. He went away sad, because he had great wealth.

Are You Lying To Me? Or Just To Yourself?

I am shocked to see how often people speak untruthfully. More shocking still is the sublime sincerity they exude while pouring patent and potent falsehoods from their lips. I am frequently forced to conclude that the sincerity is not a show. They believe their own words. They are the first victims of their own deceitfulness.

And yet I should not be shocked. I sometimes catch myself lying to myself. That is a sure indication that there have been other occasions when I lied to myself... and didn't catch myself in the act.

How often, O Lord, have I lied to you... and believed my own words? How badly I would like to say that never happens.

But I'd be lying to myself if I said that.

Psalm 139:23-24
Search me, O God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.

Bingarrays

Aerobies are practically weightless frisbees that look a bit like one of Saturn's rings. They fly practically forever - literally a hundred yards with ease, and into the nearby lake if you're not careful. (Word to the wise... they don't float!) Once you've played with one, it's hard to go back to an ordinary frisbee.

Anyway, having enjoyed our regular Aerobie so much, I bought a triangular Aerobie boomerang on a lark one day. (It works, by the way!) Some time later, Luke (our 5-yr old) noticed it and asked what it was. I told him it was a boomerang. Armed with this knowledge, Luke instantly became an "expert." (I've seen this phenomena with adults too...)

So a few minutes later, Abby (7 yrs old) comes in and exclaimed, "Oh, you have a frisbee!" Luke was ready with an instantaneous scornful reply. "It's not a frisbee, Abby!" he said with words dripping in condescension. "It's a bingarray."

Forgive Him. While He Lies To Your Face

A man betrayed my trust several years ago. He lied to me repeatedly, caused me great financial harm, strung me along... and to this day I am not free of the fallout from what happened. It was the financial equivalent of rape. I've still got the baby to show for it.

I was mulling over the nature of forgiveness yesterday as I burned several hours on some unpleasant work related to the "baby" born of that experience. While I worked I reminded myself again and again that Jesus was rather clear about the matter -- if I cannot forgive this person for what he did to me, then God will not forgive me my sins either.

When I got home that evening, I turned to my daily readings from the Book of Common Prayer, where I found (lo and behold) that the Gospel reading for the day was this very passage I had been mulling over. Here it is:

Matthew 18:21-35

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?"

Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.

"Therefore, the kingdom of heaven is like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants. As he began the settlement, a man who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him. Since he was not able to pay, the master ordered that he and his wife and his children and all that he had be sold to repay the debt.

"The servant fell on his knees before him. 'Be patient with me,' he begged, 'and I will pay back everything.'

The servant's master took pity on him, canceled the debt and let him go. "But when that servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii. He grabbed him and began to choke him. 'Pay back what you owe me!' he demanded.

"His fellow servant fell to his knees and begged him, 'Be patient with me, and I will pay you back.'

"But he refused. Instead, he went off and had the man thrown into prison until he could pay the debt.

When the other servants saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed and went and told their master everything that had happened.

"Then the master called the servant in. 'You wicked servant,' he said, 'I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to. Shouldn't you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?' In anger his master turned him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed.

"This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother from your heart."

As I pondered the parable anew, several new thoughts came to mind.

First, I was struck by the fact that, two years on, I still struggle to forgive the man who wronged me. The bar is set high. (Did Jesus ever set it low?) I should have forgiven the man on the spot while he was lying to me. To say the case mildly, forgiveness is something I have not mastered yet.

Furthermore, I noticed a common thread of deception (of both self and others) involved in both my experience of a few years ago and here in this parable Jesus told.

The debt owed by the second servant is equivalent to the wages a man might make after working 100 days. That's not chump change. In promising to pay it all back, the second servant is quite possibly telling a bald-faced lie -- or something close to it. "Be patient with me," he says, "and I will pay you back." Yeah, right.

One of the things I didn't realize until now is that the first servant was probably being shrewed -- and not simply impatient. He was probably right in guessing he'd not be repaid. His problem is not a lack of patience. His problem is a lack of grace.

Moving on. The second servant may or may not have been speaking truthfully and/or realistically, but there is no such ambiguity where the first servant is concerned. In promising to repay in full, he was lying either to himself, to his master, or to both, and making a fool of himself in the process. A talent is a unit of weight roughly equal to 94 pounds. Did the first servant owe it in silver or gold? Depending upon which you pick, he owed his master either several million dollars or (no joke) several billion dollars. Let's assume it was gold - just for fun. 10,000 * 100 (rough calculation) = 1,000,000. One million pounds. 500 tons. 400 tons, if we round it all down. That is still twice as much gold as the 200 tons of gold India purchased a few weeks ago from the IMF -- for 6.7 billion dollars. "I will pay you back." Yeah, right.

And yet Jesus is comparing me to that servant. It's unpleasant to acknowledge, but the comparison is perfectly apt. My debt to God is unfathomably great -- and it increases daily. I become the third delusional servant if I think for a moment that, with a bit of work, I can get on God's good side. "I will pay you back, God." Yeah, right.

But notice what the master did for the first servant at the start of the parable. He brushed aside his pathetic, blubbering, delusional promise of repayment.... and he just canceled the debt outright! "15 billion dollars? It's ok. You don't have to pay it."

I guess at the heart of this parable are two lying and/or delusional servants... and one tremendously and unspeakably gracious master. There's a lesson or three there for me to remember for the next time I try to negotiate with God!

Firstly, where God is concerned, I have nothing to negotiate with -- so I can stop that game now. ("I cannot pay you back!")

Secondly, I do face a master who graciously forgives massive, massive debts. ("You will cancel my 15 billion dollar debt??")

Thirdly, the only thing that might interfere with this unspeakably gracious solution is if I choose not to be equally gracious toward those around me. ("Uh-oh... there's a hitch?")

Always a hitch. I must go and do likewise.

Yes, the man lied to me. Yes, the cost to me was great. But how does my loss compare to, say, 15 billion dollars? What that man cost me is like dust on the scale compared to what I owe God. Do I want to remember the mite of dust bitterly -- and for the privilege continue to carry my debt to God? Or do I want to wallow in the grace of my Lord -- so much so that I lose sight of what others owe me?

It seems a simple choice... an easy decision. But God, I'm not good at this. Please help me to forgive others from the heart.

Verbal Jousting

Prologue: We are driving to Texas this coming week for a Thanksgiving visit with family. The rest is almost self-explanatory, but it might be helpful to know that I monitor Andrew's intake of movies closely and, where the Lord of the Rings is concerned, he only gets to watch it with me, preferably after a dose of readings from the original books.

This is an exchange of emails I had with Andrew yesterday. Since he hasn't (yet) replied to my last email, I'd like to declare a tentative victory. That may be premature...

These emails are presented here virtually verbatim, though I have tidied up a few misspellings and cut the text down to the salient points.


Andrew: Hey, I nnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeddddd to watch Lord of the Rings (and can we bring it to Texas?)

Daddy: Absolutely, Andrew! we can bring all three books to Texas. I think it's great that we're on the same page that we should not be watching movies at a time when we're in town with relatives ya don't see every day. Hhahahahahhaha. No movies! I am so glad you see things the same way I do on that. hahahhaha

Andrew: “Absolutely, Andrew! We can bring all three books to Texas.” Is what you say. What I say is this, “Absolutely, Andrew! We can bring all three movies to Texas.” I really like my version better, don’t you?

Daddy: Ah, a young imagination. So wonderful to behold. And there is no better place for your imagination to remain than in your mind. Thankfully, the dragons and balrogs we imagine don't show up in the car headed to Texas, nor the movies you imagine I said we'd bring along. Hhahaha! I love you! (...too much to let you waste away your life in front of the idiot box...)

Andrew: Now, you know that the TV, which you refer to as an “Idiot box” is a lot more entertaining than his books. I like the “They are coming!" ... CLANG, CLANG, CLANG THUD…………BOOM…BOOM…BOOM…BOOMBOOM…BOOMBOOMBOOM...BOOMBOOMBOOM…SHING, SHING, Clang, Orcs! "Bar the door!" ROAR!!!! "They have a cave troll!” better than “The rolling hills rippled in the slight breeze and looked almost like they were breathing. The green was magnificent and Sam knew in his heart that he would always remember this sight.” So that is what I have to say to your “Idiot box” statement! HA!

Daddy: Ah, a very nice reply -- very creative. I bet you got that way because I kept you away from the idiot box. (There is a certain circularity to this argument that I think you will find it hard to unwind...) hahah HA!!!!

Life, Liberty, and Bring Me Some of That Happines Too

For most of my life, I found the book of Hebrews confusing and, frankly, a bit weird. It didn't make much sense. I read it from time to time, and all I ever seemed to reap from the effort was the vague impression that this book didn't apply much to my life.

Today I would put Hebrews in my short-list of must-reads from the New Testament, and for one simple reason (if not several): Hebrews exposes the dark rot that seems to permeate every nook and cranny of American life. Americans have bought into the notion that a life without suffering is a well-lived life indeed, and not a few of us seem to think anything short of that (a pain-free life) is a violation of some inalienable human rights. Life, liberty, and happiness. (As for that bit about pursuing it, isn't that making us work just a bit too hard?)

Now here is an odd twist to this journal entry. I just now went in search of a quote from Malcolm Muggeridge which I had in mind to share here. I eventually found the quote, but not before finding two others which in this context simply cannot be ignored.

Here's the first quote: The pursuit of happiness... is without any question the most fatuous which could possibly be undertaken. This lamentable phrase ''the pursuit of happiness'' is responsible for a good part of the ills and miseries of the modern world.

Amen. Malcolm, you're making me look like a plagiarist, but I swear I'd never seen this quote before in my life.

The 2nd quote is not too family-friendly (unless you're trying to start one): "The orgasm has replaced the cross as the focus of longing and fulfillment."

Ouch! More on these in a second, but let's get down the original quote I originally set off in search of. Here it is: Contrary to what might be expected, I look back on experiences that at that time seemed especially desolating and painful. I now look back upon them with particular satisfaction. Indeed, I can say with complete truthfulness that everything I have learned in my seventy-five years in this world, everything that has truly enhanced and enlightened my existence has been through affliction and not through happiness whether pursued or attained. In other words, I say this, if it were possible to eliminate affliction from our earthly existence by means of some drug or other medical mumbo-jumbo, the results would not be to make life delectable, but to make it too banal and trivial to be endurable. This, of course, is what the cross signifies and it is the cross, more than anything else, that has called me inexorably to Christ.

These quotes capture well the essence of why I love the book of Hebrews, and why it makes no sense to American eyes, by and large. For those (many) Americans who treat orgasms as pretty much the end-all be-all of human existence, the book of Hebrews might as well have been written in Sanscrit. (And no, that's not a new font from Microsoft.)

Hebrews doesn't start to make sense until we start to treat the cross with the kind of desire, affection and reverence that we Americans normally reserves for sex.

Any takers?

He never called it stupid

Life is difficult. We all discover this to be true. Yes, it's tempting to think that a few blessed souls have it easy, but a review of how things turn out for lucky (??) lotto winners ought to give us pause before we assume that our lives could become miraculously free of difficulties were situation X, Y or Z resolved favorably.

So, given that there will always be a situation X, Y or Z, how should we respond to them?

I, for one, easily get frustrated. As a case in point, I am now in the middle of a situation which has proved costly to me in terms of both time and money (to say nothing of the emotional toll). Despite all my efforts over the past year or two, I have yet to escape it. The situation lingers on, like an intrusive and unwelcome visitor in my home. I believe God allowed it to happen for purposes known to him, and I trust God with the matter. I have already seen some good things come about as a result of what I have experienced.

So far, so good. To be able to say these things truthfully is indeed a victory. But it's not a complete one. I know the victory is not complete because of the words which flow from my heart when the topic comes up in conversation.

In prayer, I work hard to find words that indicate trust and love. God is in charge of the situation, and can be trusted with it. With effort, I find that I am able to thank God for what he is teaching me and how he is shaping me through it. It's tricky business, but I am able to find these words and mean them -- when I'm chatting with God.

But my, oh my, how the wording sometimes changes when I give friends or family an update on this same matter. Suddenly from my heart well up words which bear not-so-beautiful testimony to another perspective which I also hold within me. The thing is "stupid." The situation "sucks." I'm "tired" of it. "How I wish I had never met so-and-so, who got me into this mess." "If I had known what I was getting into, I would never have done it!!"

The strange thing is, I am being pretty honest in both situations. I speak with God in one way, and am helped by the knowledge that he is omniscient, omnipotent and loves me too. Why bother complaining to God, that being the case? In the mystery of life, this is how God is choosing to grow me up. I know this to be true, so I may as well talk that way when I'm in a conversation with him.

But in conversations with other broken people like me, I so easily move into what we all do so well -- an attitude of complaining. And usually I can count on their sympathy, because we all find it easy to slip into the fallacy of believing that difficulties are evils wrongfully thrust upon our lives -- intrusions on the idyllic existence we thought we ought to have been given as a birthright.

Then there is the example of Christ Jesus. Search the scriptures and see. Jesus never called the cross "stupid." He never said his situation "sucked." Whereas our woes usually jump us from behind (or worse, are the direct result of our own screwed up decisions), Jesus' cross was ever before him, precipitated by our screw-ups (not his)... and yet he knowingly kept walking toward it. With a good attitude. We don't know all the exact words Jesus used, but it appears that he talked about his impending doom in a rather matter-of-fact way with his disciples. The strongest words Jesus had to say about the crucifixion he knew he would endure were that it was a "baptism" he was eager to see to completion. (Luke 12:50)

But to call those his strongest words on the topic would be to ignore his prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. (Luke 22:41-44) Wait a minute. Prayer? So... let me get this straight. Jesus' words about his crucifixion were most "godly" when he was talking to men... And his words on the same topic were most "human" when he was talking with God...

Mystery. A complete reversal of how I talk about my little crosses in life. I save my complaints for people, and my most pious words for God. Perhaps there is a lesson there for me, somewhere.

But one final reflection to add to the mix, making Christ's example for me all the more compelling and challenging.

When unpleasant realities intrude into my life, my worst words are always reserved for those who helped usher them in, and the words come most easily when the offender is a close friend or family member. It's that commonly understood reality -- we are often more polite to strangers than we are to our own spouses or siblings.

For stark contrast, look no further than how Jesus spoke about the cross. Not only did he keep a good attitude about it, but he also never held it over anyone. It's a bizarre image... a painting no one ever painted. Jesus never held his cross over anyone. Imagine how tempting it would have been for Jesus to say in exasperation, "You pathetic people -- I'm going to die a gruesome death, and if it weren't for you, I wouldn't even have to do it! A little gratitude is in order here." But the gospels record no such bitter complaints.

Jesus didn't pop an attitude about the cross. He didn't complain to us about it. He didn't shove our noses in it. And when the burden was almost more than he could bear -- he talked to God about it. And he accepted it without argument or bitterness when God didn't take it away.

God, give me this gracious attitude for the crosses I bear in my life, which don't bear comparison to the cross of Christ anyway.

In The Beginning...

...Was the Word. (John 1:1)

Worthy words to remember upon this inaugural blogfest. So many words out there, but it begins with the Word -- and ends there too. He is the Alpha (with apologies to those who thought they were) and the Omega too.

I have begun this blogspot for a simple reason. No publisher has yet paid me for my writing, nor has any offered to take it for free. I confess I have not tried very hard. In fact, it would be simplest to say I have not tried at all. But I do have to question the wisdom of all those publishers who never dropped by my house to gain my acquaintance.

In the meantime, I have found this blogspot website (yeah, that was hard) and decided to work off my literary itches.

Yes, I've got a few of those itches. Ideas and thoughts. That is the inspiration (some might question the word-choice there) behind my blog title. Someone else took the URL (uponreflection.blogspot.com) but by the frequency of his/her blogs, my tentative conclusion is that this person has not been reflecting on much of late -- not publicly, at least. I wonder if I will follow the same course. A few blogs into empty space, and then nothing?

But back to the ideas and itches. Now that I have taken the time to create this blog account, I don't want to blow all my money on the first shot, so I will sign out quietly and hopefully gracefully today, only to (perhaps) tomorrow begin with some reflections upon the Word. Jesus. He continues to amaze me, and it is for the sheer joy of reflecting upon who He is that I have even begun this little blog fun.