Nice Girls Don't Change The World

So I had just finished a reflection on the word Power and shortly thereafter headed off to the local swimming pool for a lazy Memorial Day afternoon with the family and friends.

I sat down next to the wife of a dear friend and asked her what she was reading. She smiled and said, "Have you ever had that situation where someone gave you a book and told you that you should read it?" Then she flipped the cover over and I read the following title: Nice Girls Don't Change The World.

And... how ironic is that? I had just gotten myself to the point where I was ready to accept the notion that God's greatest power shows up in people who are, well, to quote myself verbatim, "Female and frail."

Do I retract everything? I was definitely forced to rethink my fresh new thoughts. Here before me was a very godly woman who seemed to be connecting with a book that encourages her to go out and be strong. And do something more male-ish... Change the world.

Well I did give it a bit of thought, because the circumstances demanded it of me. I didn't say too much to my poolside friend, but the thought rattled around in my head a fair bit.

And here is my conclusion: while I definitely felt it was good counterbalance to my radical notions of the day, I think this book (whose contents I've never read) is yet more of what I no longer believe.

Nice girls don't change the world. Agreed.

But the other girls don't either. And neither do pushy men change change the world. I'm inclined to say that God changes the world, or no one does.

And what, in the end, does it mean to "change the world", anyway? I don't like the phrase anymore. I'd rather focus on blessing the world, but this is equally beyond my reach. God can bless the world. I can bless a few people.

And once I'm down to something a little more possible, and a little more do-able, all of a sudden I am back in the realm where nice girls suit the task very well, thank you.

This is no quibble about the doubtlessly good intentions of the author of this book I speak of. And of course behind the phrase "nice girl" is surely some notions that we'd do well to dispose of as quickly as possible. God's prophets were anything but "nice boys". If by nice we mean "useless", "milquetoast" or "not one to rock the boat" or other such things of that nature, then "being nice" is indeed not the goal.

But if by "nice girls" we mean children who grow up to be "nice women", the sort of women who pours themselves into loving their husbands, their children, their neighbors, and indeed demonstrating compassion for needs beyond their community, then for myself I hope to raise two "nice girls" and two "nice boys".

If God's power is to be revealed in patient endurance, per Paul's prayer for the Colossians, I don't have any immediate problems with the word nice. I do, however, see immediate red flags in the phrase "Change the world".

Why? because that phrase begs me and entices me back to that mindset in which I believe again that by force of will and exertion I can fix the world and make it better. That, I think, is God's job, and one that is done (mysteriously) more through my patient endurance than through my might and great deeds.

So a toast again to Mother Teresa, whose quiet service left a mark that endures yet in the minds of people like myself. I suppose God did indeed change the world through Mother Teresa.

But I sincerely doubt that was the goal she had in mind when she headed to the slums of Calcutta to minister to dying, nameless souls.



[Post-Note: A few hours after posting this reflection I found myself googling Mother Teresa and reading a bit more about her in Wikipedia. How delightful to run into this quote there...

When Mother Teresa received the Nobel Peace Prize, she was asked, "What can we do to promote world peace?" she answered "Go home and love your family."

Amen, dear Teresa. Amen.]

Power Revisited

I knew that I wrote a blog entry on Power once before, but my how time flies. It was two years ago, nearly to the day. And yet here I am again, noodling over the same word.

It doesn't really look like I have that much to say here that is terribly different from what I wrote then. Once again, the Apostle Paul has me running hard (to catch up with him). Be that as it may, I think it's worth repeating the experience, so that these words will linger in my heart and maybe the idea sink in a bit deeper.

Here's what set my mind into motion. Our pastor shared a benediction yesterday which consisted of this reading:

Colossians 1:9-12
For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you. We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light.

My ears perked up at the mention of (yes, you guessed it) Power.

Because, as I mentioned earlier, I've been noodling over what is meant by that word for literally several years now. What does a really powerful man do? What does a really powerful man of God do?

Sidebar question #1: Are they different questions? In practice of course they are... Powerful men run Washington, D.C. and powerful men of God run soup kitchens. Right? But from the eyes of eternity I'm pretty sure both questions have only one answer. Many men who look powerful to our earth-clad eyeballs are as nothing on God's scales. I don't actually think that there are many powerful men in Washington, D.C.

But what does a really powerful man of God do?

Sidebar question #2: I've been saying "man" because I'm male. What about women? Pressed on the point, I'd in fact hazard a guess that, from eternity's perspective, the balance of true power lies more with women than with men. But here I get ahead of myself again, because I've not yet gotten to what really powerful people do. We kinda need that part worked out before we can look around and see who's doing it.

So, again, to the original question. What does a really powerful man of God do? Ah, but that's what make this set of verses so much fodder for reflection.

…being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might…

Right about now we’re ready for the 3-D special effects movie, waiting for the power to do amazing things and leave the world in awe of our POWERFUL God… and yet what does the rest of the verse indicate all this power will enable us to do?

“…so that you man have great endurance and patience…”

Endurance and patience. Those are not the first words that come to mind, are they? Infinite power of God within me… so that I can bear up and be patient.

Not the stuff of movies.

But maybe it’s time that my vision of “what God’s up to” be more divorced from western notions of power (and entertainment).

Endurance and patience. You know, if we were forced to pick a person to embody those traits, who might we remember?

Well, to be honest? Mother Teresa comes to mind for me.

And I don't think that's a fluke. Not a fluke on either count. She's the living embodiment of non-Washington and non-male. A woman with no earthly trappings of power.

Female and frail.

It's not what I had in mind when I hoped to be a man of God twenty years ago. Or ten years ago. Or five. But more and more I believe that my great calling... my highest calling... the way God wants to show His almighty power through me... lies in how I bear my crosses.

My heart wants to make a difference for God by throwing off crosses. Not simply my own, of course (how noble of me...) but also the crosses of others.

And of course God does want us to pursue justice and mercy. He does want us to work to make the world a better place. To speak for those who have no voice.

But a little voice in my head says that the most powerful witness to God, and the most powerful testimony I can give to men of his work in my life, is not in how I do all these wonderful things for other people.

No. The most powerful witness I can bear is how I bear my crosses. And thanks to four gospels I know how Jesus carried his cross.

There is a time for words. A time for argument. A time for civil disobedience. A time to take a stand.

But then there is a time to carry one's cross. And speak no words. The world has never been the same since Jesus carried his cross. Now that was power.

And Who Is Their Father?

I know of a church that had five pastors in succession, each with one or more sons to their name. Let's talk about the sons first.

The first pastor had two sons. Both sons were known for skimming funds from congregational tithing and for sleeping with the church secretaries.

The second pastor also had two sons. These were known for shady dealings in the community, money and power being never far from their thoughts.

The third pastor produced a son who was upright, godly, the kind of friend to dream of. He risked his life to protect the innocent, and was remembered long after his death as a saint among men.

The fourth pastor had a number of sons, but seemed not to engage in any of their upbringings. One son became a rapist. Another a murderer. Even his most promising son eventually left the faith in later life.

The fifth pastor (son of the fourth pastor) inherited the pulpit from his father. The son of this fifth pastor proved to be a hotheaded idiot, and yet he in his turn succeeded his father as pastor over the church. That was a disaster waiting to happen. Unsurprisingly the church split soon after pastor #6 took the helm.

The fractured church did survive, and other pastors (with sons of their own) presided over the mess that ensued. But enough on that for now.

Four questions.

1) Which of these five men was a good father?

2) Which of these five men would I prefer to have as pastor over my church?

3) Which of these five men most pleased the Lord in this life?

4) Under the leadership of which of these five men did the church flourish best?

Are they different questions? Well, of course they are. But what I really mean is, Should the answers to these four questions be different?

These questions are not academic, for the scenario I paint here is not a hypothetical one. These pastoral were real men, as were their sons.

If we had no other information I suppose we'd all be inclined to plump for pastor #3 as the the best answer to all four questions. What other choice do we have? The apostle Paul would have disqualified the other four pastors from leadership on account of their wayward sons. Hopefully pastor #3, who raised such a gem of a son, will prove to have been the best father, the best pastor, a man after God's own heart, and the head over a thriving church.

But these five church leaders have names, and we know all five of these men well. The name of the third "pastor" is King Saul. His son Jonathan was a jewel. The man himself? Not so much. Amazingly, the man who seemed a good answer to all four question was in fact a lousy answer to at least three of them. Saul was a lousy father, a man who greatly disappointed God, and nobody I'd want for a pastor. And while he wasn't always a bad leader, he didn't exactly take Israel from strength to strength either.

So much for Pastor #3! He's by general consensus taken to be the worst of the bunch.

What of the others? Who are these four poster-boys for poor fathering? They are, respectively, Eli, Samuel, King David and his son Solomon.

God himself indicts Eli for his failure as a father, and Eli wasn't such a hot leader for the "church" Israel. He was kind of a no-go on all four questions. So now we have ruled out #3 and #1...

And the remaining three? History indicts them all for failing to raise upright sons. (David, the only one for whom we know more than the barest of details, was an absolute epic failure as a father.) And yet Samuel, David and Solomon are all still (rightly) remembered for their roles as effective and generally great leaders of the people Israel.

"Church" Israel flourished well under the leadership of David, the adulterer and murderer who didn't have a clue where fathering was concerned.

"Church" Israel flourished best under the leadership of Solomon, a man who raised an idiot for a son, who chased more than a few skirts, and who ended up plonking for polytheism.

So there you have it. The worst of the bunch (King Saul) produced the best son. Among the other four leaders we had one who failed (along with Saul) on pretty much all counts. The three "best of breed" evidenced good leadership punctuated with awful parenting. Only two, on a personal level, began their own lives well and ended them well.

For me this leaves us with a profound mystery. And it's not an academic one. I have two sons. And I'm part of the church, where our leaders are supposed to be good fathers.

One the one hand I see in scriptures the strong indication that fathers are responsible for their children. We have God ripping into Eli for not reining his boys in. We have Paul saying that those in church leadership must first prove their ability to run a family well. And we have our own consciences, reminding us all the time that much is at stake during our few years as head over households with children in them.

But then we have some chief fathers of the faith (irony intended) doing something less than a bang-up job raising their flesh-and-blood sons. The list goes on and on. Esau. Reuben. (Nine of his brothers?) Eli's sons. Samuel's sons. David's sons. Amnon. Absalom. Solomon. Rehoboam... and most of the kings that followed. Finding someone in the Bible noted for raising good sons is a pretty depressing task. (Gotta be one in there somewhere...)

No, these are not academic question. I have two sons. And I belong to the church.

I know I'm not supposed to do the "flip open and read" approach to finding God's voice in the jumble, but I did it a few times this morning. I'm on a slow journey through the Old Testament, and am now in 1 Samuel. I've been wrestling with Eli, Samuel and Saul for several weeks now. Two of my morning flips turned up gold, which isn't a bad ratio out of maybe five flips. God is merciful to those who don't have fleeces but would know what to do with one if it were on hand.

One flip took me to this:

Deuteronomy 24:16
Fathers shall not be put to death for their children, nor children put to death for their fathers; each is to die for his own sin.

Implicit here is perhaps a recognition that sometimes the best and good efforts of fathers do not produce sons who remain on the straight and narrow. Maybe that's too strong a statement. Maybe it's more simply a statement that even failed fathers are not to die for their sons' failures, but rather for their own mortal sins. Be that as it may, (and here I confess that this is a rambling reflection, not intended to be airtight in logic and conclusions, but rather a window into my thoughts) I found even more food for thought in the last flip.

I found myself staring at the word Isaiah in bold, large font. The beginning of the book of Isaiah. So I began to read. The book begins with father's lament over his wayward son.

And the wayward son is?

Israel.

The identity of the mourning father?

God himself.

If ever there was a star witness for the defense of the "It's not entirely Dad's fault" plea, it would be God himself.

Isaiah 1:1-4

The vision concerning Judah and Jerusalem that Isaiah son of Amoz saw during the reigns of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz and Hezekiah, kings of Judah.

Hear me, you heavens! Listen, earth!
For the Lord has spoken:
“I reared children and brought them up,
but they have rebelled against me.
The ox knows its master,
the donkey its owner’s manger,
but Israel does not know,
my people do not understand.”
Woe to the sinful nation,
a people whose guilt is great,
a brood of evildoers,
children given to corruption!
They have forsaken the Lord;
they have spurned the Holy One of Israel
and turned their backs on him.

I cannot help but add here that in Jesus' own parable of the Prodigal Son, God himself is the pursuing father of... of... another lost boy. Should we fault God for this prodigal's behavior? And while we are at it, perhaps we should also fault God for the arrogant and icy judgmental ways of the prodigal son's elder brother.

Anyone looking for answers to settle all such questions will not find them here. But I end this reflection with a few observations.

Woe betide us fathers who succeed in "life", but fail our children.

Woe betide us also who judge other fathers too quickly on the basis of how their children turn out. God himself has done all things well, and neither his church nor his chosen people Israel have ever given him (collectively, anyway) the satisfaction of being the father of a stellar child.

[Sidebar comment... a practical application of this thought would be to lay off on Samuel. We don't know why his two sons turned out so poorly. I suspect Samuel was away from home far too much, but that is to go beyond the text. With Samuel we must be cautious before rushing to judgement.]

I might have thought of a third woe, but I have a son nearby waiting to play a game with me. Keeping the first woe in my thoughts, I end this reflection here with some tantalizing verses...

1 Samuel 10:12 (a question asked of King Saul)
"And who is their father?"

1 Samuel 17:55-58
As Saul watched David going out to meet the Philistine, he said to Abner, commander of the army, “Abner, whose son is that young man?”
Abner replied, “As surely as you live, Your Majesty, I don’t know.”
The king said, “Find out whose son this young man is.”
As soon as David returned from killing the Philistine, Abner took him and brought him before Saul, with David still holding the Philistine’s head.
58 “Whose son are you, young man?” Saul asked him.
David said, “I am the son of your servant Jesse of Bethlehem.”

I'm tempted to say it's a shame we don't know more about Jesse, but in light of Jonathan's relationship to his father Saul, perhaps that is to ask the wrong question.

...And as for what the right question would be... Perhaps in another blog. This one is too long already.

Just This Once...

I finally cracked (pardon the pun) a life-long habit of cracking my knuckles. For the past year or two I've basically never done it once.

That is, until a week or two ago.

In a moment of particular stress, my hand was against my cheek and my knuckles were in just the right position, and I thought to myself, "Just this once."

The great lie.

Just this once...

Since that day my habit has resumed in full force. Quantity-per-day may not have reached peak production, but the habit has taken on life again. It's alive.

So now I have to kill this bad habit again. But it's so much easier to keep dead things dead than to put to death something that wishes to live.

My bad habit was dead. But thanks to me, it's alive again. And it doesn't want to die.

Thank God the habit involved is just the cracking of knuckles. But what a reminder of the power of a vice, and the deceitfulness we practice on ourselves when we give ourselves a "one-time treat" to that vice and indulge it.

Just this once...

Ahead of Jesus

John 11:1-19
Now a man named Lazarus was sick. ... So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.” ... when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days ... then he told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” ... On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother.

As I read and re-read this passage, I found myself playing around with notions possible only with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight. Nobody then knew what we know now: that Jesus had intentionally delayed his visit to Bethany.

By the time Jesus arrived, Lazarus had been dead for four days. The question I found myself puzzled by was this: What would I have done, knowing what I know today, if I had lived then as a close friend or relative of Lazarus? This is not entirely an idle question, because as verse 19 notes, many friends and relatives did the obvious thing to do. They went to Mary and Martha to comfort them. And they didn't wait four days to do it.

But they didn't know then what Jesus was up to. Today, I do. Armed with hindsight, I started to make the blithe assumption that I would not have been in a rush to get to Bethany "ahead" of Jesus. It is not wise, after all, to hurry off ahead of Jesus, generally speaking.

Or is it?

As soon as the thought entered my mind, it began to fester a bit. Not visit Mary and Martha? How could I... Why should I not visit May and Martha? Yes, I know that Jesus is eventually going to arrive. And I know what he's going to do when he gets there. Well and good enough. But my beloved Mary and Martha are grieving now.

All of a sudden, 20/20 hindsight or no, I'm not so sure I know what the right response would be to a situation like this. Jesus is delaying. What should I do?

And here is where the question loses its ivory tower academic irrelevance and begins to take on poignant significance. For who among us cannot think of someone they know who is waiting on God for something? I can think of many such people. In fact, I strongly suspect it would be easier to tally up the people I know who are not waiting on God for something. We're all waiting on God for something. Some of are waiting on God for a lot of things.

So how one handles the Lazarus question has ramifications for real life. Granted that the Jews around at the time had no idea what Jesus was up to then. And we, today, do not (or ought not claim to) know exactly what God is up to today. So in that sense we're on an even playing field. On God's plans for our own futures, we're pretty much in the dark.

Now let's ask the $64,000 question. How should those friends be reacting to the news of Lazarus' death? How should they speak to Mary and Martha? If I have a good answer to that, I might just have a good working protocol for how I should be reacting to events in my own life and in the lives of those around me.

I don't think I know the right answer to that question. But I have a few ideas.

First, I think a staggering amount of humility is in order. We ought not try to intepret too quickly the reasons behind what God does or allows to happen, especially since we are not privy even to that basic distinction (whether God did it or whether he allowed it) let alone aware of God's guiding motivations in the matter.

Imagine saying to Mary and Martha, "Jesus is holding off a bit. He doesn't want to arrive until Lazarus has been dead for, oh, about four days or so." To speak that way would be ridiculous for at least two reasons. First, because we don't have the mind of God, and we have not that level of knowledge. Second, because even supposing we did have such insight, to speak of it would interfere with the very goals Jesus had in mind to accomplish.

Jesus meant for a great number of people to walk through four days of death. We ought not interfere with the experiences Jesus intends for others to go through. Of course those are harsh words, when you think of it. But God never was quite the softy we often wish him to be. He loves us more than we can even comprehend, but a brief review of the Bible ought to free us from any notion that he's a pushover for a parent. Job and John make that much clear.

Second, we must bring the absolute assurance with us that God is for us. That God cares. That he loves us. Jesus has shown us this much, and I believe these words of encouragement are in place at all times and in all circumstances. Even when Lazarus has died.

Finally, I think a big takeaway notion is to hold on to, and to share with others, the great conviction and faith that Jesus is coming. He may delay, but he is coming. We may die before we see him, but he's coming.

Can we go on ahead of Jesus? Yes! In fact, we must. Jesus does not wander the earth with dusty feet anymore. We are the dusty hands and feet of Jesus. So go we must. But go with humility. We don't know if God is going ahead of us or behind us, and in either case God is often pleased to keep us in the dark as to his larger plans.

And when we get there? We are on safest ground when we offer loved ones those few assurances we know to be true. God loves you. Jesus is indeed coming. Suffering souls need these assurances.

As for our wild guesses about what God is doing and what he is up, they will almost assuredly prove much less useful, helpful, or welcome.

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.