Other Answers

Oh Lord, hear my prayer.
Oh Lord, hear my prayer.
When I call, answer me.


Oh Lord, hear my prayer.
Oh Lord, hear my prayer.
Come and listen to me.

It's a reflective and quiet melody. (Here's a link to listen to it.) I prayed it this morning.

What troubles me is two-fold. First off, when I pray it, I feel a bit (or a little more than a bit) like a hypocrite. My heart cries out as if God has not been answering me. But when I take my blinders of self-pity off, it's patently obvious that God has blessed me in literally uncountable ways. My life is a litany of blessings. It's just that my personality focuses on the disappointments.

So that's the first problem. When God answers me, and he does, do I even notice?

The second one is even more challenging than the first. I recently finished Night by Elie Wiesel. Shaken to the core, I have to ask, "Did Elie see any answer to his prayer?" The answer was No. Not from Elie's perspective, at the time. And who could blame him? Upon his entry into a Nazi death camp, he walked past a pile of burning human flesh. Men. Women. Children. Babies.

That is my second problem. Whoever answered Elie's prayers is the one who answered mine. In light of Elie's experience, that's not a comforting thought.

And between these two problems I struggled mightily as I pondered the God who answers all prayers. It's a package deal. The same God answers them all.

But then a very encouraging thought ran through my mind. The package includes Jesus. God the father answered the prayer of Jesus Christ. Jesus despaired too. Jesus knew the answer was not what he wanted to hear. And Jesus went to Calvary, for me, because that was God's answer to my unspoken prayer. My unspoken need.

The God who answered my prayer answered Elie's prayer. And Jesus' prayer. All three of us experienced the sense of abandonment. My experience pales before that which Elie endured. And Elie was not Jesus. But across the wide spectrum of experience it's the sense of abandonment that haunts us worst. When we pray, and the world seems silent, we inevitably feel abandoned. Does God care?

So it may not be the answer I want – but it's the answer a loving God gives to both me, Elie, and Jesus.

"Take up your cross. I'm not going to tell you otherwise."

If we're not in the mood for a cross, we'll certainly feel abandoned.

But this is what God's son experienced. If Jesus is to be formed in me, I will need to make my peace with the occasional feeling of abandonment.

Take up your cross.

What comfort is there in that? It is in the knowledge that beyond the cross lies life. Eternal life. Life with God. Beyond my petty day-to-day grind. Beyond the death camps of Germany. Beyond the cross where God himself died alone.

Beyond. Just a bit beyond that which is gruesome and just beyond that which wearies a human man.

God himself awaits me.

And he loves me.

On the other side of the cross, I will never be alone again.

Oh Lord, hear my prayer.
Oh Lord, hear my prayer.
When I call, answer me.


Oh Lord, hear my prayer.
Oh Lord, hear my prayer.
Come and listen to me.

Reminder From A Hamster Bottle

No, I didn't dream about a hamster last night, (as noted in a prior blog), though I have had that dream again since I last blogged about it.

This time it was an image. Sometimes images form in my head, and I find myself a bemused spectator. "I wonder what I was picturing?" I find myself asking, a second or two after the image took shape. I query my own brain for an answer to my own question. It's weird. We really do have subconscious minds. Sometimes I think it says a lot simply about what primordial thoughts are percolating below my conscious thoughts. Sometimes I think it's a nudge from God. Most of the time I cannot tell, and probably the true answer is that I never know.

Too much prologue. So there I was this morning, reflecting on some long, long, painful struggles I have been dealing with. And yet I am alive. Healthy. In a warm home. And yet... And yet... it's so human to turn to God for a solution to every problem – even when we have so much else to be thankful.

While I struggled with a few "Why" questions this image formed. Took shape. And I asked myself what I was looking at. It was the stopper on a hamster bottle. It's been 30 years now, but I'm pretty sure it was the way the bottle worked when I was a kid and had my own hamster. Rubber, with a tube running through it. Nowadays they screw on, but I digress.

So there it was. A hamster bottle stopper.

Why on earth? What brought that ancient artifact to my mind?

But as I reflected a bit, I had to smile. The hamster has to really work at it to get the water. There's a little ball at the end of the tube. That's what keeps the water from flowing out all at once. So the little feller has to push the ball bearing up to get each sip. It takes a little while. But it works.

If the hamster had a brain (a dubious proposition) he might wish for a faster delivery system. Why, oh God, he might ask, do I have to go through all this hassle. There's tons of water up there. I can see it.

But of course if it all came down at once, it would flood the cage and make it unsanitary. And I know from experience that an open dish of water likewise soon gets soiled with hamster poop, cage fluff and soggy hamster treats.

There is an upside to that delayed and slow delivery system. The water that comes is good, pure... and it sustains.

So maybe there is a lesson here for me. I am alive. The trials I have been through have not taken me out. God has provided. Drip-feed survival is not to be mocked. It may be a blessing. One day I will die anyway, but in the meantime perhaps a lesson from the hamster bottle. Someone who loves me has provided for me.

Even when it comes out slowly.

Catholics, Church and the Constitution

I woke up this morning and found myself musing over the recent revelations involving the Missouri bishop charged with failing to report to authorities what he knew: that one of the priests in his Diocese had, over a long period of time, engaged in habitual acts of child-abuse of a sexual nature.

Several things struck me as I lay there in the dark. First, it struck me with a sudden force that I was really, really angry. Angry at the bishop. Angry at the church. How strange. What about the priest? One might wonder why my ire was not directed in greater measure toward the wicked man who actually abused the innocent children. And so indeed I did begin to wonder.

What I came to realize is that I expect there to be wicked people in the world, and even in lower levels of church leadership. That certain men will, given the opportunity, use children for sexual pleasure surprises me none. It's part of the mix here on broken planet Earth.

What sets my blood boiling is the thought of people in higher (sometimes much higher) levels of church leadership failing to call others in the church to account -- or, in this case, even complying with good and just civil laws designed to protect children from dangerous sexual predators.

So I lay there in a sudden seizure of mental paralysis. Which is worse? And more fundamentally, is either deed really any worse than the other? To sexually abuse a child is an awful thing. To lay children down before the pagan altar of "protecting" the reputation of the church (I guess that one didn't work out so well) is no less awful.

I should hate both sins. And I need to love both sinners. And I should expect failures in church leadership to also be part of the mix here on broken planet Earth.

But I have not been feeling much love or compassion for the Missouri bishop. And I still cling to silly notions that here on broken planet Earth failures such as seen in this Missouri bishop should not happen.

Why?

Perhaps it's because of the abuse I have received at the hands of self-protecting church leaders that I have such a visceral (dare I say?) hatred for the church leaders. I've never been sexually abused by anyone in the church before. My gut reacts to sins I know well enough from the victim's perspective. I am a victim several times over of abuse by turf-protecting, reputation-protecting and self-protecting church leaders. An area of unforgiveness in me is revealed.

But then my thoughts moved on to the next puzzling thing. Yes, both sorts of sins are to be expected in the church. Sexual predators and organizational Machiavellis.

What happens when they collide?

I was struck by the thought that the writers of the Constitution knew something about this. They split the executive branch from the legislative branch. And they further split law-writers from the law enforcers. What have we, in the church, done to address this need? The writers of the constitution understood human nature well enough. Should not the church understand it even better?

Clearly the Missouri bishop had more than a little too much of the executive branch and the judicial branch wrapped into one under his hat. If in the church the executive and judicial branches were more distinct, we'd not (one would hope) have been so likely to see someone in the "executive wing" of the church so blatantly and awfully protected by such utter moral failure on the part of the "judicial wing" of the church.

But we don't. Not in the Catholic church. I see that in the news. And not in the Protestant church. I experienced that in person. In my Protestant church the break-down seems not to be in the ideal set-up, nor even in the legal set-up. In my experience the local executive branch (pastor/priest) was beholden in some way to the judicial branch (vestry/leadership committee). But only on paper. In practice I found, to my great distress and personal pain, that the priest rules and the vestry obeys. I guess some sort of similar process fails in the Catholic church too.

Lord Jesus, have mercy on us, your church. And have mercy on me. I am part of it, and I am obliged to remain in it. I am reminded of an old quote which seems sometimes to be attributed to Augustine and other times not...

"The church is a whore. But she is my mother."

Lessons From A Hamster

At least twice in recent months I dreamed I was holding a struggling hamster in my hands. In both dreams I struggled to accomplish two rather incompatible goals. One the one hand, I didn't want to hurt the tiny creature I had in my strong hands. On the other, I didn't want the hamster to escape my grasp and fall to the floor.

Injury and/or death awaited the hamster if it fell from my hands, but the very same fate lay in store for the hamster if I held it too tightly. And the problem was this: the hamster, in both dreams, was in full panic mode.

We have two hamsters in our home, so I can attest to the fact that hamsters do panic – and when they do, the floor is the next stop if you're not watching them closely. They'll jump to their death, given the opportunity. When they've decided to panic, that is.

So... why the dream? I'm not sure, but I have some guesses. I tell guests in our home regularly that I love to think of the hamsters as reminders for humans of how God thinks about us. We're dumb as a box of rocks (with all the smart ones taken out) and yet he absolutely adores us. We cannot do one blasted useful thing for him, but he's just tickled pink to watch us just to see what we'll do next. He even delights in watching us sleep. Obviously the illustration should not be taken too far, but I still find it helpful.

But what does God do with us when we're panicking? Here I may be reaching too far to interact with a dream that has more to do with last night's pizza than with instruction from on high. But I had the dream twice, so it must have significance in my own thoughts, if not God's.

In the dream I found myself both times coming to the same conclusion. The safest place for the struggling hamster was a cage. I wanted to hold and caress the hamster, but it was squirming like a banshee and to keep it from escaping my hand (and falling to the floor) I had to squeeze it too hard. In the cage I would not have to hold the hamster. It'd be a restricted world for the hamster, but it'd be a safe one.

When in life I find myself feeling caged in, perhaps the time has come to reflect on whether I would be willing to rest (without struggling) in my Father's hands. The sense of imprisonment might just recede if I could.

99.9999999999999%

I was struck by something yesterday morning as I sat in church. The universe is huge. (Stop the presses!) But seriously. Huge. Beyond our comprehension, huge. And largely lifeless. Which means that some 99.999999999999% of it is doing exactly what God designed it to do. Give or take a hundred 9's...

What struck me in that moment, as a programmer by trade, is that it makes all the sense in the world (pardon the pun) that God takes a keen interest in getting that last 0.0000000000000001% working right. We're the sticking point to an otherwise perfectly running program, as it were. My goodness, the lengths I will go to when I know that my program is perfect — except for one thing.

Of course I am usually wrong. I fix the one thing and later find out something else isn't perfect either. But God knows. He's not misinformed on the matter. He's got 99.99999999999999999999% of the universe working like a clock. It's just us.

And here is where love comes into play. Because as a programmer I might be inclined to kill the bugs that plague my otherwise perfectly running program. Most customers won't mind losing 0.00000000000001% functionality if the rest of the product works great. But God didn't take the easy way out. Not like that. He wants to restore what was lost. Not annihilate it and release a product with slightly fewer features.

But so many souls! Six billion? Seven? So many problems, and all bound up in the tiniest corner of his project. But then I remember that for every human soul on earth there are dozens of galaxies (if not more) and that in each galaxy there are a hundred billion stars... and God's got them all working just fine. It's suddenly not so amazing that God is able to pay attention to me. He's running the universe. And most of it is running just fine. It's just that last 0.00000000000000000% that needs help. A few billion souls in a tiny corner. No, for God the daunting part is not the count of the souls but rather the price to redeem them.

Infinite power, infinite wisdom, and infinitely tender love... and perhaps a touch of a programmer's perfectionism. He wants to get that last bit right. How wondrous to see the lengths God will go to in order to get our universe right. To give up himself, to become like us, to die for us... in order to perfect that last 0.0000000000001%

What a mighty God we serve!
What a mighty God we serve!
Angels bow before Him.
Heaven and Earth adore Him.
What a mighty God we serve!

Revenge Fantasies

I just watched The Help with my wife. It was enjoyable. But that does not mean it was good.

Entertaining? Yes. Heart-warming? Frequently. The movie also shone a spotlight on hatred — mostly of the racial sort. To the extent it reminds us all of our common humanity, and of our need to steer our hearts clear of hating others (especially others who gain that distinction by means of skin color or such), so much the better. But when all is said and done, I left the movie feeling that I had been watching a female revenge fantasy.

Many years ago (whenever it was that Air Force One came out...) I made a mental commitment to avoid male revenge fantasies at the movie theater. Male revenge fantasies are typically violent. Extremely. The simple formula is, "You took something good from me. Now I will rip your limbs off, one by one. But I won't move too fast because I don't want you to die too quickly."

Needless to say, this is not the life God calls us to, and it scares me that so many of us have allowed ourselves the secret pleasure of watching someone else engage in violent revenge, and to ourselves vicariously savor the agony inflicted upon the original offender.

I'm reading a great book right now, titled What's So Amazing About Grace. Perhaps that has made me momentarily more sensitive on the topic. Perhaps it'd be best if my sensitivity became permanently. Grace is underrated. Grace is the forgotten word. To the point that many people in common society would struggle to define the word with any clarity.

But I digress. To our movie. The Help. It's a female revenge fantasy. By and large, the good characters are good. The bad characters are bad. Really bad. And the worst character of all? Well, by the end of the movie she gets what she deserves. A female revenge fantasy. Like sugar, it tastes sweet. And when consumed in a theater, it doesn't turn sour in your stomach. You leave the theater feeling great.

But it rots your soul.

I mean that. If we savor revenge fantasies, we'll live them out too — to the extent we can. For we, to greater or lesser extent, become what we worship. If we worship revenge in the theater, we'll appreciate it well enough in the home. And at work. And at church.

Most of what Hollywood produces includes a slice of revenge fantasy, which is to justice what pornography is to sex. But Hollywood does sometimes get it right. To see what revenge does in real life, I'd recommend Mystic River.

Most movies don't tell the true story of revenge. Revenge destroys the souls of those who engage in it. Its destructive power is guaranteed to backfire. Mystic River captures this subtle truth, though perhaps too subtly. I suspect many never see how revenge backfires so tragically in that story's telling.

It's because revenge destroys those who pursue it that God calls us to love our enemies. Ironically, this commandment from God is noted, word for word, in the movie The Help. Several times. The words are celebrated.

I was reminded of Gladiator, a horribly violent movie which,  near the end of the movie, offered up Russell Crowe (with bloody hands) ask his own amphitheater audience when they would stop taking pleasure in violence. Wait! Isn't that what we Americans just did in this theater? Have we come so far since the Romans?

The Help engaged in this same sort of hypocrisy. Love your enemies. Wait! The high point of the movie was when pie (laced with fecal matter) got served up to the unsuspecting enemy! Her just desserts? Fine. But call it what it is. The bad woman ate shit in a pie that tasted great? How fitting, since anybody who left The Help with no misgivings probably did the same.

When Clean Words Don't Do Justice

Occasionally my thoughts grow dark, and what I want to say to others or to God seems to lack communicative power... that is, unless I permit myself to salt my comments with a few choice words that wouldn't pass the family-friendly filter test. Add that extra word or two, and suddenly I feel like I have really said how I feel. Suddenly I feel I have been more truthful about how I am feeling.

At times like these, and I had one a day or two ago, I found myself reflecting on the usefulness of coarse words. Occasionally they seem almost the right word — le mot juste. Without them, I have failed to communicate what I am feeling.

But this morning as I returned to this reflection (yes, after having shared rather bluntly with the Lord how I felt about an injustice I am being subjected to) I realized (I think) that there is a better way to approach the matter.

When clean words don't suffice, I think it's wiser to conclude not that I need to salt up the language a bit, but rather to conclude that I have discovered a place in my heart where I desperately need healing.

In short, coarse words are not part of a healthy diet, but rather a thermometer. My sense of need for them provides an indicator of my spiritual condition. I'll know healing has occurred (in part or in full) when I can speak, and do justice to my thoughts, without feeling a need to use coarse language.

To stretch the analogy a bit further, my use of course language is going to be about as helpful to God and to others as a coughing fit in the presence of the healthy. They'll know how I feel... and if they are wise, they'll take a step or two back from the stuff coming out of my mouth.

Armed with this new insight... I now return to prayer. I obviously need some pretty serious healing in a few spots....

The Last Chapter

Editorial comment: I hope I'll be able to get this thought down concisely... but don't bank on it.

I've been struck recently (from a number of angles) by the simultaneous arrogance and folly with which we interpret our lives and the times we live in. From the smallest details of our day-to-day living to the largest trends of global topics... we tend to think we understand "most of it" and can explain even more of it. And we are fooled by our own thoughts.

A book which was thrust upon me recently proved very rewarding... so first prize to author Nissam Nicholas Taleb. His book (Fooled By Randomness) proved more than a little thought-provoking. He focused mostly on how people interpret financial results. (For example, he analysed the dangers of assuming that "Since Warren Buffett has done so well over three decades, he must be a superior investor." Well, that is very possible. But it's also possible that he's the luckiest coin flipper among 40,000 starting contestants. After 15 flips you can expect at least one person to have demonstrated "a real knack for flipping only heads.")

Taleb's point is that we tend to look at what happened and then construct a story around why it had to happen. Why Harry Potter was destined to succeed. Well, it's often easy to explain why something had to happen, once you know that it did happen. How many other fabulous writers never become well-read? Quite a few. We only know about the ones who became big. And (after the fact, as always) gushing journalists explain why it's obvious the author earned the fame, deserved it... had written in such a way as to guarantee success.

It comes closer to home when we examine our own lives. I still remember to this day a lousy day back in 2nd grade. I was in a crowded room in a Christian camp-ish setting when the leader said that beneath a single chair was taped a candy bar. I reckoned I'd had a lousy day and was a good candidate to receive such bliss. I told God as much. And lo and behold... it worked out that I did (!) win that candy bar... it was under the seat of my very own chair. A 1-in-a-hundred winner... but if I had not won, I am sure I would not remember the incident today, 35 years later. I remember also vaguely that on other such days my views were not so honored by God's stamp of approval. Days on which the candy bar went to someone else, so to speak. I still wonder to this day about the distinction between "I won that candy bar by fluke" and "I won the candy bar because God decreed it."

Too often we use that latter definition, and it's sooo easy to do in hindsight. But the folly of it is that we cannot seem to predict God's sovereign decrees in advance nearly so well as we employ insights into his sovereign will after the fact. We construct so many stories, explaining what God is teaching us and providing illustrations of how God has been doing it...

And I am as guilty as the next person in this perilous adventure. Perhaps even more guilty. I am deeply confident that God is teaching me treasured lessons through a prolonged investment misadventure. Sure that God has my family through the financial debacle through gainful employment... but others will tell how God sustained their family through loss of their home... loss of every asset they own. We each weave our tales in order to explain the outcome we currently face.

It seems to me sometimes that agnostics, atheists and others are not quite so much prey to this folly. I remember the figurative slap in the face from 20 years ago. I commented that God had been kind to me, seeing as my leg in a full cast had been spared some discomfort by a very mild summer. The woman (not a believer) looked at me in awe and said, "Do you really think God gave the entire midwest a cool summer just for the sake of your leg??"

She had a point. I found myself stunned, not sure how to answer. How easy it is to make ourselves the center of the story, and to pretend we know how it ends and how it is proceeding.

What takes more bravery is to say, "I have no idea how this story ends. In fact, it's God's story. Not mine. And my story is only relevant insofar as it pertains to His story. And God has not revealed to me what role I have yet to play."

I mostly don't say that. I instead have a habit of thinking about today as if it's more or less a page in the final chapter of a book. I can explain so much about how God got me to this day. So much about where God is taking me. We know, of course, that today is (for most of us) not nearly the last chapter of our books. But we talk all too often with the confidence of someone who has read the whole book. When we haven't.

The story belongs to God. And I don't know what he's up to most of the time. And I take strong positions more often than I should.

So what inspired me to write this blog? A number of things. More than a few... Here's one...For example, note how many of us Christians alive today, when pressed on the matter, share a hunch that the Lord will return before we die. Hidden in there, I believe, is a commitment to the notion that we are integral to the story. How can it end after we're gone? Of course that sounds absurd when stated baldly. But count me among the guilty. Do I see signs that the end is near? Yes! But then so have past generations. A bit more humility here is due, both from me and the rest of the living saints. More than likely we'll join the ranks of the dead saints and God's story here on Earth will be still in full stride. The last chapter coming some time after my own death? Perish the thought.

But the most recent impetus (and by that I mean the last 120 minutes) was from a comment that theologian Mark Noll shared in a recent interview. He pointed out that neither Martin Luther nor John Calvin would have tolerated the notion that the earth revolves around the sun. But just two generations later, Noll notes, Lutherans, Calvinists and Catholics would together with one voice lend credence to that which is taken for granted by all educated people regardless of creed. Noll wryly (and astutely) proceeded to assure his interviewer that he (Noll) is not enough of a scientist to shed light on current topics of interest. (I can imagine one or two he might have had in mind...), But Noll felt very comfortable as a historian to say that in light of these historical episodes we Christians should not be too hasty in our assessment of God's truth where the latest hot scientific debate is concerned.

To use my own words, I think Noll would point out that the last chapter on many such matters is not yet written.

So let this rambling blog try to wrap up with this observation. Where one cannot predict the future, humility must be afforded the past.

God, grant me the humility to admit I have no clue what you're doing. You're God, and I'm not. It's enough to know you love me, and, where the future is concerned, to not presume too much beyond that.

Hidden Commitments

I've been reflecting on the turbulence of life lately. How we find things so complicated and intractable. Poverty. Politics. Church problems. Family problems.

It seems that there is always a general idea that some Christian principle ought to apply, and yet that somehow it can't be used in this situation because of XYZ. And embedded in XYZ is a hidden commitment. XYZ is usually something that seems good. Or almost good. One thing is sure, however. If XYZ is keeping us from complete abandonment to Jesus and his ways, there's a hidden commitment in there somewhere. It has to go.

I've been struck frequently by the image of Jesus "slicing through" snarly problems, not unlike how he walked through that murderous crowd on one occasion. How is it that a host of threatening things does not prevent him from the straight path out?

Disciples of Christ find themselves at the juncture between subsonic flight and supersonic flight. We're drawn to the supersonic. We know it's smoother and faster. As we draw closer to the threshhold, however, the plane starts to shake and shudder. We're not comfortable. And we're not flying supersonic. And we're at risk of crashing the plane.

Then there is Jesus. Somehow he slices through. His road is not easy nor fun, but his way is smooth. Isaiah didn't have jet fighters in mind, but he did say pretty much the same thing. Make straight in the desert a highway...

Even Jesus had his Gethsemene moments, to be sure, but this is the broader picture of the gospel. A man who sliced through and seemed to glide through all our turbulence.

Why else does Jesus slide through? Said a different way, Why is it we cannot slice through as he does? These two words were added to my reflections this morning...

Hidden Commitments.

The answer is in our hidden commitments.

Supersonic flight requires a smooth aircraft. No clunky bricks attached to the wings. Our hidden commitments not only keep us from bursting through the sound barrier. They also make our flight extremely unpleasant. And the harder we strain to follow Jesus through the sound barrier, the worse and worse (and more painful) our hidden commitments become to us.

No wonder the rich man went away so sad. He could see where he wanted to go. His heart was basically there. Jesus was only a few feet away. But his hidden commitment to wealth prevented the last smooth step into supersonic flight. You can almost see the brick attached to his shaking wing as he veered off.

Hidden Commitments. As these word rattle in my brain this morning, they make a good fit much of my journey these past few years. I've been dropping commitments at a startling pace. I still have more commitments to drop, and some that I have dropped were dropped poorly. None perfectly.

But as I find myself clinging to Jesus more, and other things less, I find my life less turbulent in pleasant ways. Am I still buffetted by many winds? Absolutely. Do I feel less turbulence? Absolulely. And people sometimes turn away. But it is the way forward. I want to fly with Jesus.

Let me not be blind to my own hidden commitments, Lord. When my plane starts to shake, Lord... grant me courage to examine my wings and find the brick.

He Forgets Not His Own

"He forgets not his own..."

I woke with the refrain running through my head, and now, several hours later, the refrain... will not refrain. It's on repeat mode, for the time being.

He forgets not his own.

He forgets not his own.

He forgets not his own.

What beautiful words. I suspect the hymn has been drawn forth at least in part by a beautiful Pixar movie (most of what Pixar does is beautiful, so this is not an exceptional movie in that regard) called Toy Story 3.

In Toy Story 3, which I watched with my kids last night, we see yet again the themes of fidelity in friendship, loyalty in love... time-honored themes. It was a touching movie.

I guess I have nothing earth-shattering to write here. I'm just setting down my thoughts as I reflect on God's fidelity to us, we who are so terribly unfaithful to him. How beautiful it is to know that God loves us so much.

He forgets not his own.

How beautiful to wake to those words.

He forgets not his own.

"Sticking" to Principles

The Sabbath has preoccupied my thoughts greatly in recent months. The more I honor it, the more it becomes obvious to me that in doing so I am blessed, not burdened.

We do not consider it a burden to take time out for food each day.

We do not consider it a burden to take time out for sleep each night.

Why is it that so many people, even among the children of God, consider it too much a burden to obey the call to rest on the Sabbath?

There are a number of good ways to answer that question, and my (well-justified) fear here is that I won't do justice to any of them by attempting in a few words to address a topic that has, no doubt, filled entire books.

Suffice it to say that the American church does not realize
a) that the Sabbath is still one of our Ten Commandments, and that
b) as with all of God's commands, obedience in this matter ushers us more fully into the life God wants us to have.

Because the American church in large part does not recognize this, we are that much more the impoverished for it.

Do I indict the entire American church so quickly? Well...

Yes.

Of course amongst 300 million souls there are many churchgoers who have not forgotten the Sabbath commandment. No doubt this is so.

But consider this: my church, the church I attend now, just yesterday took part in a multi-church event yesterday. Probably about five to ten churches together engaged in an event called Carefest during which worship takes place together and then groups go out to... to... to work.

What kind of work? Landscaping. Yardwork. You name it. Work for various causes and needs.

Are we doing it for free? Yes.

Are we doing it to serve? Yes.

Are we doing it on Sunday? Yes.

Is this a good idea? No!

Here yours truly, a Pharisee in training, is on thin ice. I think it's a terrible idea, but what thin ice it is.

Jesus worked on the Sabbath. And he got really upset with the Pharisees who sought to limit his Sunday service. Am I on the wrong side of the debate?

So hard to say... Because here we are caught between the Scylla and the charybdis.

We're on the wrong side of Jesus if we prevent good works on Sunday.

But we're also on the wrong side of Jesus if we let our human scheduling preferences override the commandments of God.

Jesus got really upset with how the religious leaders of his day allowed the rules of men to supercede the rules of God. There is a difference between addressing needs as they hit you in the face, as Jesus did, and scheduling work for a Sabbath.

A dozen churches in this area of town, including my own, scheduled work for yesterday. They did it that way for one simple reason -- Thousands of busy suburban churchgoers have their Sundays set aside. What better a day to schedule a multi-church work day?

Except for the fact that God told us to rest on the Sabbath.

Scheduling a multi-church work day for Sunday is sooooooo not a good idea.

So our family took the day off from church.

And here is where this rambling post gets a bit interesting.

Among the many relaxing things I did yesterday was a quick jog with a soccer ball. Is jogging work? No... no I needed the exercise and it was wonderful to get out of the house. But I did ponder that thought. No, it's ok. A jog is a good thing.

My young son Luke joined me, so it was two boys with two soccer balls on a Sunday jaunt. On my way back from the park, I was still reflecting on what we were doing and why we were not "working" with the various churches. And feeling good about it. In good ways and bad ways I was feeling good about it.

On the way home, we picked up loose sticks on the ground to use for light our outdoor fire pit. I've been in the habit of doing that for a long time. All fun and easy....

Until a little voice in my head said, "Hey, Brian. Are you gathering firewood?"

Very funny, God. Very, very, funny.

Numbers 15:32-36
While the Israelites were in the wilderness, a man was found gathering wood on the Sabbath day. Those who found him gathering wood brought him to Moses and Aaron and the whole assembly, and they kept him in custody, because it was not clear what should be done to him. Then the LORD said to Moses, “The man must die. The whole assembly must stone him outside the camp.” 36 So the assembly took him outside the camp and stoned him to death, as the LORD commanded Moses.

Nice touch, God. Nice touch.

And so the thin ice gets thinner. And I am reminded that the definition of work can get awful complicated. No wonder that by the time Jesus arrived so many rules had sprung up around the notion of work. Absurd rules. The sort of rules that Jesus had a ball with. Oh yes, Jesus loved to point out the inconsistencies in all the Pharisees did and taught.

And here yours truly was caught in one of his own. Busy condemning the work others were doing, I was gathering firewood on the Sabbath. And dragging my son into the mess.

Of course this, for me, was not work. The fire pit is FUN! Ah, such thin ice.

Do I think the Sabbath is important? Yes!

Do I still think the American Church has lost sight of it? Yes!

Am I Sabbath Pharisee? Um...

Um...

Yes.

I need mercy, because I am at heart a Pharisee, and it shows up everywhere.

Jesus — Master of Disaster

There are very few places in the gospels where Jesus appears to have lost control — where circumstances seem to guide Jesus rather than the other way around.

The last 24 hours of his life do invite us to entertain such notions, however. He is passed back and forth from one set of violent hands to another, and finally escorted by Roman soldiers to his own crucifixion.

Shall we assume that, in his final hours of life, Jesus was just a wee bit out of the driver's seat, so to speak?

I don't think so. Jesus was in control the whole time.

On one level, it's quite strange that we should think otherwise. During the weeks and months leading up to his death Jesus tried valiantly to clue his disciples in on what was to come — that he would be brutally murdered and yet rise again to life. His disciples didn't have ears to hear his words, but it's hardly the case that Jesus didn't know what he was doing or where he was going. Or what (or whom) was waiting for him in Jerusalem.

But it's one thing to say, "I'm going to throw myself into that swirling, flooded river and then I will drown." It's quite another thing altogether to say, "The currents will swirl me this way, then that way, then other way, and then you'll see a branch brushing by my head about 10 seconds before I go down for the last time."

Most of us don't attribute that much control to Jesus. And it is on this point that I think we sell Jesus just a bit short. We grant that Jesus threw himself into the river, so to speak. But I don't think we understand how much he knew about the river and how it would swirl.

He knew precisely.

Down to the last ripple.

A bit of backdrop first... A few examples of what I' driving at.

• Judas betrays Jesus... but Jesus knew it in advance and, in so many words, told Judas to hurry up and get on with it.

• When soldiers came to take Jesus away... he had already known they were coming.

• When Jesus' disciples desert him, they do so on cue... so much so that Jesus even informs Peter that he would deny association with Jesus three times before the rooster's morning song. (Even stupid roosters fall into line with the plan of God!)

• When Jesus was tried before the Sanhedrin... he was the only person in the room in control of his emotions. His words drove others wild with rage — but not the other way around.

• The Roman governor Pontius Pilate is revealed to be a coward and not much in control... But when he tries to tell Jesus that he (Pilate) is the master of Jesus' fate, Jesus calmly informs him in so many words that it is quite the other way around. (And given that Jesus had intended to die whereas Pontius had hoped to let him live, the fact that Pontius eventually hands Jesus over to death merely confirms who is indeed in control.)

• As Jesus carries his cross to Golgotha, women follow behind him, weeping uncontrollably... and yet like the director presiding over a play that he himself wrote, Jesus turns to his disconsolate audience and warns them that worse is yet to come before the final act concludes.

Yes, Jesus is being carried to his death by angry, powerful men — but on closer inspection it's more than a little obvious that Jesus has himself orchestrated the whole show, end to end.

Jesus was, quite literally, master over the entire disaster.

But this is all backdrop, and familiar stuff to anyone who has read the gospel accounts of Jesus' death.

Here's where things get interesting for me. Suppose I accept that Jesus was "that much" in control. Just suppose. And if he's that much in control... what about a few other things?

For me this line of thought picked up steam at a Good Friday service I attended two days ago. Some readings I received during the service reminded me that a crucified man dies, in the end, of asphyxiation.

On a cross it is easy to breathe air in. Very hard, however, to breathe it back out. One must "stand up" a bit in order to get air out of the lungs. It's not very fun to stand on feet which are bound or nailed to a cross, but a condemned man can do this, with great effort, for quite a while. Even days. (The Romans had truly perfected one of the most awful ways to die.) Eventually, however, the doomed man no longer has the strength to raise himself up enough to breathe out. Starved of new air, he dies for lack of oxygen.

I had heard this before, but a new thought entered my mind on reading this information... Answers to nagging questions I'd been noodling over for years.

The questions arise from these words from John....

John 19:28-30
Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.” A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. When he had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

My two questions were as follows. First, how did Jesus know he was going to die? And second, why did he die so quickly?

And for the first time in my life, I think I have answers to those two questions.

Why did Jesus die so quickly? Because he chose to. Jesus didn't die when he could no longer live. He died when he wanted to. He was in control. He chose to stop lifting his torso and instead lowered his head. And gave up his spirit. That's why he died quickly and that's why he knew when it was going to happen.

These thoughts align well with the verses which follow.

John 19:31-37
Now it was the day of Preparation, and the next day was to be a special Sabbath. Because the Jewish leaders did not want the bodies left on the crosses during the Sabbath, they asked Pilate to have the legs broken and the bodies taken down. The soldiers therefore came and broke the legs of the first man who had been crucified with Jesus, and then those of the other. But when they came to Jesus and found that he was already dead, they did not break his legs. Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water. The man who saw it has given testimony, and his testimony is true. He knows that he tells the truth, and he testifies so that you also may believe. These things happened so that the scripture would be fulfilled: “Not one of his bones will be broken,” and, as another scripture says, “They will look on the one they have pierced.”

Wow! The ancient scriptures God had inspired indicated that Jesus' legs would not be broken. Romans were on their way to break the legs of the convicted men. (Why? Because you can't raise yourself up to breathe if your legs are broken!) But because Jesus chose to die quickly, his legs were never broken.

Master over the disaster.

With these thoughts fresh in my mind, I revisited other assumptions.

"I am thirsty," Jesus had said.

The pleading words of a dying man? Was Jesus begging?

No!

There are four gospels to take into account, which makes things a bit complicated, but it's pretty clear that two drinks were involved in this crucifixion scene. John refers to the second drink, but Mark addresses both. Here's what Mark had to say about the first drink.

Mark 15:23
Then they offered him wine mixed with myrrh, but he did not take it.

My study Bible informs me that wine mixed with myrrh is essentially a sedative. So let's get this straight. Jesus refused a sedative in fluid form prior to saying he was thirsty.

This is not a beaten soul asking for mercy. His words seem to my eyes now much more like a final flourish, a finishing touch by the director of the play before the curtain falls (or rips in two?) at the end of Act III.

Master over the disaster.

Am I trying too hard to make Jesus a superhero? I don't think so. Even John's word choice invites this interpretation. According to John, Jesus didn't say he was thirsty because he was thirsty (though I'm sure he was). John explicitly notes that Jesus said he was thirsty "so that Scripture would be fulfilled."

So if only for argument's sake let's assume Jesus was this much in control...

Isn't there one last scene we should revisit?

Three gospels note that a man named Simon was made to carry Jesus' cross. In popular imagery it is assumed that Jesus was too exhausted to carry the cross all the way to the hill on which he would later die. I think Mel Gibson's Passion well captures the notion. After having received a bloody scourging and many blows, Jesus was a beaten man in every sense of the word.

Or was he?!?

This Jesus looms larger in my mind the more I reflect on this matter. He was in control everywhere. Refusing sedatives. Predicting the behavior of roosters and men. Was he unable to make it to the hill he would die on?

Perhaps.

But then again, the scriptures offer me a tantalizing second option, and the more I think about it, the more I like it. It fits. I think Jesus was gathering souls to himself. Even hours before his death.

What do I mean? Well note first that all three gospels inform us that it was Simon who carried Jesus' cross for him. Not "some stranger" but rather... Simon.

Simon of Cyrene.

We know where he's from? Yes. And that's not all.

Mark 15:21
A certain man from Cyrene, Simon, the father of Alexander and Rufus, was passing by on his way in from the country, and they forced him to carry the cross.

Simon. From Cyrene. Father of Alexander and Rufus??? Why do we know so much about this man Simon?? The answer is obvious. It's commonly assumed that Simon became a Christian, and his two sons were well-known in the early church.

This much I've heard before. But what strikes me today is that perhaps we should give Jesus a little more credit. Did Jesus really come up short on strength to get to Golgotha with his cross?

Or did Jesus, in perfect timing and perfect theatrics, arrange for a certain man named Simon to carry his cross. Not because Jesus needed Simon. But because Simon needed Jesus.

I am certain in my heart today that it is this latter explanation that makes the most sense. The scriptures don't tell us that Jesus fell flat under his cross. All they tell us is that Simon carried it. How fun (if that were the word for such a serious situation) it would be to see how Jesus pulled it off.

Jesus. Master of the entire disaster. Claiming disciples for his own at the very moment when he seemed finally to have lost his strength to carry on.

Jesus.

Master of the entire disaster.

Why should I be surprised that death had no hold on him either?

So today I raise a toast to the risen lord. Master over every disaster. Even mine.

A toast to Jesus, my King. Who has no less of a grip on my life than he did over his own.

And one more toast.

A toast to crosses thrust upon us. Sometimes horribly unpleasant burdens are well-disguised gifts from the Lord of the Universe.

I don't think Simon ever regretted the cross he bore on that fated day.

The True Mark

Romans 8:38-39
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

This is a banner verse for all believers, and rightly so. However today this verse came at me from a different angle.

The verse assures us of our place with God. Nothing we can do will ever separate us from his love. Yes, this is an encouraging reminder.

But it is also a sobering one -- for it is the true mark of Phariseeism to love others less even while claiming to love God more. This is impossible.

The key word in the verse above is love. There are many things we can do which will separate us from God. But nothing we can do will separate us from the love of God. In that little word lies the difference.

A timely reminder. Too often I feel God calling me to a different place. And I begin to scorn those who won't go there. But that is to remove not only my proximity to others but also my love and concern for them.

The loss of the former may be required. The loss of the latter is prohibited. I veer away not only from people but also from God if my love for others does anything but increase. Pity the soul who is separated not only from the world but also from God. Is there a more lonely place to be in this universe?

Which is why I write this reflection. Because my love has not been increasing. That is the true mark of one who is drawing nearer to God.

Lord, help me to return to you. To mark progress, among other things, by my love for others.

A Liturgy of Love

Pieces and parchments
from mundane and above
phrase and fragments
a liturgy of love.

Moments and miracles
wandering amixed
sadness and longing
on his gaze I'm fixed.

Exuberant, exhausted
and all points in between
I turn from the past
for the future I've seen.

Shouted or whispered
it depends upon the day
hold me, dear Lord
guard my heart in this fray.

Tired and tangled
motives unclear
refine me, oh Lord
till I love thee most dear.

Beaten and broken
disappointments that wean
but taught at a cost
on whose bosom to lean.

Piercings and crushings
these wounds I know of
what keeps me alive
is a liturgy of love.

Shed The Cane

I had a strange dream last night, and it left me troubled enough in spirit to want to noodle it over here.

There were "evil" people. Doing "evil" things. And they were recruiting people to help. And they really didn't want or need the recruits to really understand what was going on. Oh, the recruits really had plenty of cues that something bad was afoot. Strangers don't give you stuff for no reason. There is always a motive behind the gift.

I found myself having been recruited. Owning "stuff" that I wanted and liked well enough... but I could tell that I was being used.

And I was almost at peace with it, since I knew I wasn't the "mastermind" behind the plot. Just a lackey who had accepted some gifts of dubious provenance which might end up used for questionable purposes.

And then a light flashed in my head. I could go to jail for this. Caught at the wrong place at the wrong time... my excuses will be worthless.

And I have children who need me.

I started shedding the "stuff" like it was on fire. I emptied my pockets and person of that "stuff" like it was radioactive.

But the last thing I found I still had on my possession was an ornate cane. The dream ended with me still in possession of it, but no longer wanting it.

After I woke up I found myself puzzling over the cane. I've never owned nor wanted a cane in my life. But I know what they're for. More than anything, they are (or were, anyway) an indication of wealth.

Sure, old people use them. Because they need them.

But why do (or did) young folk use them in bygone eras? To tell the world a simple message: "I'm so rich, I can carry a pointless stick in my hands." Day laborers have burdens to bear. They carry what they must and not much else.

It was only the rich who could carry canes while young. Or umbrellas on a sunny day. Thus the lyric from the old song:

Come let's mix where Rockefellers walk with sticks
Or "um-ber-ellas" in their mitts
Puttin' on the Ritz!

So as I reflect on this odd dream, I am struck by one strong thought...

What is today's equivalent of a cane?

Whatever it is... I don't want it.

Deal-Making and Sacrifice

Genesis 28:20-23 (abbreviated and bulletized)
Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will
(a) be with me and will watch over me...
(b) and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear... so that
(c) I return safely to my father’s household...
then
(d) the LORD will be my God and
(e) this stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God’s house, and
(f) of all that you give me I will give you a tenth.

Two things leap out at me as I stare at this set of verses.

First off, it's very clear what Jacob stands to gain if God honors requests (a), (b), and (c). Not so clear what God ostensibly gains from (d), (e), and (f). Jacob is driving a pretty lopsided bargain. Par for the course, where Jacob the schemer is concerned.

Jacob gains a protective presence. A provider of all his needs. Safety. Wow! Powerful stuff!! Stuff any human would prize greatly!!

And God gains... ???? Jacob's acknowledgement. A stone for a house. And a tenth of Jacob's stuff. A tenth of what God gave to Jacob.

Stated another way, Jacob is promising God a negative ninety percent return on his investment of assets. This is not the sort of investment prospectus that will warm hearts in Wall Street! Invest in me, and I'll see to it that you lose 90% of the stuff you entrust to me. Deal?

But could Jacob have made a better offer? Therein lies the great mystery. No. Not really. What does Jacob have that God needs? What can Jacob offer in return? So while Jacob may be proposing a pretty uneven exchange, it's not like he's in a place to do better.

God doesn't need anything from us. Everything we have already belongs to him.

But let's examine that tenth more closely. Jacob promises to give God a tenth. A tenth of what? And to where? For what purpose?

There was no local charity near Jacob. He's a nomad in the desert. Red Cross doesn't exist yet. World Relief not yet formed.

There isn't a church, mosque or temple nearby. Not one of the three main religions behind these three words exists yet.

No charities... No churches... No NGOs! So exactly what does Jacob plan to do with the tenth? Well, it helps to remember what Jacob hopes to own: livestock.

Jacob likely (as I'm told by my reference materials) is speaking of animal sacrifice.

So what does God gain if Jacob sacrifices a pile of animals before him? Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but a pile of dead animals. Perhaps burned and crispy?

Our financial product is growing in clarity. So let's update that investment prospectus. We promise our investors regular losses of 90%. Ready to buy now? But wait! The 10% you don't lose, we promise to return to you in the form of a pile of dead animals. Excited to buy now? But wait!! Listen to this! That pile of dead animals? We'll burn them up for you at no extra cost.

Any takers in this new up-and-coming Wall Street livestock commodity fund?

What exactly does God do with a pile of dead animals? I think we all know the answer to that.

Nothing.

Again, a powerful conjunction of two realities. One, that we have little to offer. Two, that what we can offer... God doesn't need.

These two ideas help me to come to terms with a third powerful reality in my life — the fact that I have brought some pretty lousy sacrifices before the Lord over the years.

Gifts gone disastrous.

Money given "to the work of the Lord" that was never spent for anything better than the vainglory of man.

Time spent in an effort to "do something for God" that was, in hindsight, time invested into nothing more permanent nor more useful than the vainglory of man.

I might as well have spent the time digging holes in a field. And then refilling them.

I might as well have put piles of cash into one of those holes before refilling it.

Perhaps for emphasis I could have set fire to the cash first.

As crazy as that sounds, it's not far off from what Jacob would have done with his livestock offerings.

That's encouraging to me.

And sobering.

Encouraging? Because it reminds me that God knows my lowly state. My gifts to him, if given from a pure heart and for his glory, are a sweet aroma to his nostrils. God loves the lowly offerings of his little ones. Not because he needs them. But because he loves me. And he loves it when I try to love him back.

Sobering? Because I am so easily distressed about what happened to my gifts. Worked up because they were misused and/or misallocated by myself and/or the foolish people to whom I entrusted these precious resources.

If I truly knew how little God needed either my time or my money (My money? My time?) I wouldn't be so fixated on how they were misused down the line. But I am fixated. And it reveals a few things in my heart that need to change.

Imagine Jacob instructing one of his laborers to kill a certain cow and then to burn it. The laborer does so, but not according to instructions. Is God somehow short-changed in the final analysis? Is a properly slaughtered dead cow more useful than one done in by a (pardon the pun) hack job? How absurd!

Oh, sure, God may have something to say to the hired hand! Did the hired hand do his level best? Or did he discharge his duties carelessly?

But where Jacob is concerned, questions concerning the disposal of the cow are rather beside the point. God cares about Jacob's heart. If Jacob gave generously from a grateful heart, God is delighted. End of story.

And yet I don't have a lock on that truth. I fret over how well my sacrifices are presented to God. Because I think God needs my help. Because I think God needs my sacrifices. Does He?

He doesn't.

God, have mercy on me and free me of my slavery. I am slave to a notion that you need me and that you'll love me more if my sacrifices are "good" and "effective" — and I am wrong on both counts.

But I am slave to these notions. Free me to love you Lord. To love you as a clumsy child. Help me to not be afraid. You are not a perfectionistic parent. You love my clumsy gifts just as any doting parent would delight in their child's awkward pre-school craft creations.

Honoring The Nine Commandments

There used to be ten commandments, but nowadays there seem only to be nine.

I say that because there are only nine commandments that go uncontested. Oh, sure, in some sense we all break various commandments from time to time.

Maybe not murder per se, but we harbor rage, and Jesus had a few things to say about that.

Maybe not adultery per se, but we harbor lust, and Jesus had a few things to say about that.

As for coveting and envy, I hardly need point out how often we fall prey to that forbidden sin.

And so it goes on down the line.

We may wiggle and squirm ("It was a holy anger" or "It was just a tiny second peek, in appreciation of that person's God-given beauty") but we at least affirm the principal. We should not murder. We should not commit adultery. We should not engage in idolatry. We should not covet.

The wiggling and squirming I understand. I've done it myself often enough. But with no other commandment have I witnessed such zeal in redefining the terms. With this commandment, I regularly observe committed Christians resorting to the nuclear option. "That was the Old Testament. Jesus changed all that. We don't have to do that anymore."

Which commandment am I talking about?

Honoring the Sabbath.

It's only the fourth commandment, after all. Just after the ones about idolatry and worshipping other gods. It's probably just coincidental that it got listed ahead of murder, adultery, false testimony.

Just the Sabbath. The optional commandment.

What is it about Holy Rest that we are so averse to? Could it be we are enslaved to something that requires our time during the Sabbath? God calls us to rest on the Sabbath. Whose call are we obeying when we do not?

Perhaps, when we ignore the fourth commandment, we demonstrate that we are also in violation of one that precedes it. We serve an extra god. Perhaps two of them? Busy ones.

Not to worry, however! There is an easy solution to this problem.

Perhaps eight commandments will suffice?

The Economics of Worry

I've heard it said that one major approach to marketing involves two simple steps.

1) Give people something to fear.
2) Convince them that your product will make it go away.

There are other approaches, to be sure, but this one is certainly a common one -- and not least because it works.

In the spirit of fear and economics, here's another angle on a closely related topic — a proposition about fear that can be couched in economic terms.

We worry about things we can afford to worry about.

I came to this conclusion after reflecting on some fears that one of my children is facing. A trivial fear. One that should not cause any real distress at all. But the child sometimes has trouble sleeping at night all on account of this little matter. The whole exercise reminded me of how I, too, live.

I have a warm home. I have food. I have health care. In fact, these things are true of everyone in my family. None of us worry about those things.

So we worry about other things.

For me, family finances are OK for the moment... so I worry about unloading a financial tar baby (yeah, the old FTB) that is actually worth very real money.

My sleepless child? Schoolwork robs this little one of sleep. Ironically, the child is excelling in every class.

How silly are we? An excellent student losing sleep over school. A financially secure man worrying about a financial asset that most people would be delighted to receive as a gift. (Finding a buyer is another story, but I digress!)

Worry is not fun! So why is it that we always worry about something — even when there is nothing important to worry about? If the life of my child were hanging in the balance at a nearby hospital, it's a sure bet I wouldn't be worrying about my FTB!! But my kids are fine. So I worry about my next best options.

How stupid is that.

So a new approach is needed. The goal, I propose, is to remember what I can afford to not worry about. That list is a long one. Thanks be to God, who is my great reward! I can afford to not worry about anything. God is on my side. My eternal future is secure. And I am not alone now in anything I face.

How awesome is that?

Well, I've probably used a thousand words where a hundred would have sufficed, but hopefully in all this rambling I have cemented in an idea which will come back and poke me reproachfully at the appropriate time(s)...

Will I worry about what I can afford to worry about?

Or will I remember what I can afford to not worry about.

Precious Lord, let me do the latter. You paid a heavy price that it would be so.

What a waste to not now live in carefree abandonment to the God who bought my worries and has secured my future.

Take Your Pick

Hebrews 11:13-16
All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country — a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.

I don't watch TV (let alone the religious ones) enough to be certain, but if I were a betting man I'd stake a stack of pennies that this scripture passage from Hebrews does not feature frequently in those glitzy shows with pretty people flogging a health and wealth gospel.

- God wants you rich.
- God can help you be successful.
- God can let you die before he delivers on his promises to you.

Hmmmm.

Per Sesame Street, one of these claims is not like the others. The last one comes from the book of Hebrews. I cannot speak for the provenance of the first two.

Oh, people can (and do) throw out verses to defend the first two options. How about this one?

John 16:23b
Very truly I tell you, my Father will give you whatever you ask in my name.

I know that one gets good coverage on TV. So... I need only ask God for comforts and riches (all to be used in good ways, to be sure!) and God will not withhold from me these blessings? Sounds great! Sign me up.

Ah, the joys of verses taken out of context. Only a few verses later (in verse 33) Jesus notes, "In this world you will have trouble."

How is it that will we have troubles if we can have anything we ask for? What does Jesus mean?

A fair question.

I'm not a Bible scholar, and it's too late at night for any serious rookie scholarship work on Google. That said, I have the strong suspicion that there is a little fine print involved here. And the fine print says that Jesus has an opinion about those who belong to him. One salient characteristic is that they do not ask for what the world clamours for. Jesus knows that his own yearn for something else.

What?

Well, let's look again at the whole of verse 33.

John 16:33
“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

Peace.

What else? What else defines those who belong to Jesus?

A closer scrutiny of chapters 16 and 17 in John extend the list. Joy. Hope. Unity. Sanctification.

And a sense of Alienation — yes, Alienation with a capital A. Alienation from a world they no longer belong to.

John 17:16
They are not of the world, even as I am not of it.

I guess the rambling conclusion of this wandering reflection is this: We must take our pick.

Will we be Alienated from?

From Peace?

Or from the world and its desires?

I have had very little Peace today. I think I was pretty focused on worldly worries today. No fluke, that. Today I picked poorly.

But tomorrow, by God's grace, I can do better.

God, make me an alien in this world. A native in the Kingdom of God.

The Central Thread

I was struck the other day by how very often I interpret my world as backdrop to my story. This event impacts me in this way. That impacts me in that way. People I work with are important because of their impact in my life. (And not the other way around...)

Bizarre as it may sound, I too often go to the scriptures looking to them for guidance in my life. Of course, in one sense that is a delightfully good and healthy habit. Except when I forget that the scriptures were not written only for me. Duh. As if that needed to be said. And yet the sneaky underlying assumption courses along as I scour scriptures for God's message for me.

The constant testimony of the Spirit of God and of the holy scriptures is that God is the author of a great Story. And we are invited to be in it.

But the central thread in our story is Jesus Christ.

Why is it I keep living, and thinking, as if I am the center of the tapestry?

The best way to screw up a beautiful tapestry is to try to weave every thread through the very middle of it. I suspect I am not the only one making God's weaving project a rather muddled affair.

Let me adorn your tapestry, O Lord, in the corner you have woven me into. It is enough to beautify the threads around me and, as you desire, with them to provide backdrop to the most beautiful thread of all.