Anyone who says, "I've never done anything really wrong," should reread Jesus's words from Mt. 5:21-22, 27-28:
"You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, 'Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.' But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment.... You have heard that it was said, 'Do not commit adultery.' But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart" (NIV).
While feeling the attractions of temptation isn't sinful in itself, we slip into sin the moment we stop to dwell on ideas about how much fun it would be to do something we know is wrong--even if we don't actually follow through physically. We don't even have to go as far as dreaming of personally committing sin; delighting in the idea of someone coming to harm by sheer chance is along the same lines as wishing we dared do the harm ourselves.
Sometimes we hear from secular psychologists that thinking ugly thoughts can't really do any harm, that it may even serve as a catharsis to keep us from actually turning violent. Probably most of the pious, self-righteous people who gave Jesus so much trouble thought along the same lines. The truth is that anger and lust, whether acted out or not, perpetuate themselves. Once we start resenting people and wishing something would happen to get them out of our lives permanently, our fantasies get uglier and uglier until we think nothing of delighting in the prospect of their early deaths. (I'm ashamed to admit I know this from personal experience.) If resentment-turned-hatred remains unchecked, it can easily progress to the point where it spills out, probably not in literal murder, but in hurtful words, backbiting gossip, even physical violence--sometimes directed at the actual subject of our anger, sometimes at innocent scapegoats.
Notice that I said, "probably not in literal murder." There are people who have let things go that far. Jesus's religious enemies did. They were so angry at this upstart preacher who told them they were no better than common sinners, that they wound up bullying the local governor into ordering His execution--and then they taunted Him as He hung on a cross gasping for breath.
If men who went out of their way to follow the letter of Old Testament Law could sink so low, who are we to say that our sinful thoughts don't really matter?
The sins of the hand are quickly condemned,
As they show for the world to see;
But the sins of the mind are a subtler kind,
And are found more abundantly.
You respectful souls who take pride in self,
Know the sins of the hand are fed
By the sins of the mind, as the fruit grows ripe--
So take heed of each thought in your head!
The sins of the eye draw shaking of heads
From the pious within the crowd;
But the sins of the heart are where eye-sins start,
Yet we think that the first are allowed.
But our Lord said all those who dream of sin
Are as guilty within God's sight
As the ones who then actually do the act--
So flee lust like a beast in the night!
The sins of the mind are the seeds that sire
Every sin that the world can see,
And the depths of the heart are where all wrongs start--
So keep all that's inside you free
From the things that lure you to outer sin,
And fill up all your heart and mind
With the Word of the Lord and the Spirit's grace:
Think on things of the purest kind!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
O Master! My Master!
Yesterday, the United States celebrated Presidents' Day; and the preceding Thursday--February 12, 2009--marked the 200th anniversary of the birth of one of our greatest presidents, Abraham Lincoln. A "Ripley's Believe It or Not" cartoon published that day noted that "More books have been written" about Lincoln "than any other American."
Lincoln has also been the subject of many poems, one of the most famous being Walt Whitman's "O Captain! My Captain!", which mourns the tragedy of the President's assassination and the pall it cast over the joy of the Civil War's end. Even the Abraham Lincolns among us are only human, only mortal. And the pain for those left behind is all the sharper when death takes, with little or no warning, someone who might reasonably have been expected to live many more years. Lincoln was fifty-six when he was shot; and many reading this will remember the shock of hearing that another President, John F. Kennedy, had fallen to an assassin's bullet, in 1963 at age forty-six.
Other unexpected deaths--whether by murder, accident, or sudden illness--send out few large-scale reverberations, but break dozens of hearts nonetheless. I know firsthand the pain of losing someone to a "here today, gone tomorrow" cause. In August 2006, my father died of blood poisoning: total time from first sign of illness to end of life, less than three days; age, sixty-seven. (Having people repeatedly observe, "He wasn't very old, was he?" didn't lessen the heartache any.) Just last Saturday, another member of the family--nonhuman this time, but hardly less loved for that--suffered a near-identical fate as my mother's cat was stricken with a sudden lung infection; he was gone within thirty-six hours, some six weeks short of finishing his thirteenth year on earth (the average life span for a house cat today is fifteen to eighteen years).
Of course, some "unexpected" deaths are ones we should have seen coming--and refused to. It's common knowledge that the normal "first step" in grieving is denial; often, we practice it in earnest long before and up to the actual death. On some level, most of us want to believe that we are too careful, too exceptional, too favored by God to ever experience real tragedy; many of us clutch this idea to the point where God Himself could tell us face to face that heartbreak is coming and we would directly contradict Him, "No, it's not." Don't believe any Christian could be so foolish? The original apostles were. More than once, Jesus told His disciples flat out that His ministry would end in humiliation and death; they continued to cling to the idea that earthly glory was in the near future for Him and them. Peter even tried to argue with Him: "Never, Lord!... This shall never happen to you" (Mt. 16:22, NIV). When it did, Peter and everyone else were as shocked as if they had never been told it was coming.
Apparently they hadn't been listening, either, to the rest of their Master's prediction. Even after the first part of it--that He would suffer and be killed--came true, they didn't trust that the follow-up prophecy--that He would return alive after three days--would be fulfilled as well. For two nights they mourned, seeing no hope ahead; those who went to the tomb on the third day did it not to meet their risen Lord, but to pay their respects to the dead; when He did, in fact, greet those first visitors alive and they reported back, the others "did not believe... because their words seemed to them like nonsense" (Lk. 24:11); and when Jesus finally showed Himself directly to the majority, most of them "were startled and frightened, thinking they saw a ghost" (Lk. 24:37). At least one disciple was so stubbornly reluctant to believe anyone could come back from the dead that even in the face of a dozen witnesses, he insisted on seeing for himself before he was convinced (John 20:24-29).
People today still refuse to believe in the Resurrection. Many respect Jesus as a person, but consider it a tragedy that He died in His thirties and had so few years to do good. Unwilling to look beyond His moral teachings and compassionate life to the full implications of His claims for Himself, they fail to see that His sacrificial death was the real point of His coming. In a way, we as Christians make the same mistake whenever we dwell on the "senselessness" of a death that catches us off guard, as though we were insisting to God that He was thoughtless or insensitive to allow it, or that His perfect control over everything must have slipped this time.
Lent begins next week. Traditionally, Christians give up something for the season; quite a few of us need to give up--permanently--our insistence that God should always act in ways we consider logical.
O Master! My Master! I thought You all our hope,
The Leader of our glorious cause, to break the tyrant's rope;
A King to sit upon a throne and wear a golden crown--
And now, beneath a darkening sky, I see our dreams cut down.
A cross holds my Master;
It's thorns that crown His head;
One final cry--my Master hangs
Limp and cold and dead.
O Master! My Master! We laid You in the tomb;
My heart is breaking from the grief; my soul is lost in gloom;
All yesterday we sat and wept; we'll see Your face no more;
The dawn is black--what is that knock I hear upon the door?
"The Master is risen!"--
A cry cuts through my dread--
"The stone is gone!" "He spoke to me!"
"He lives! He is not dead!"
O Master! My Master! What joy to see Your face,
To hear Your voice, to feel again the warmth of Your embrace!
I now can see the greater Cause that guided all You've done--
Far grander than an earthly gift, our freedom You have won!
Exult, O hearts! And sing, O souls!
And I, with low-bowed head,
Kneel as here my Master stands,
Risen from the dead.
Lincoln has also been the subject of many poems, one of the most famous being Walt Whitman's "O Captain! My Captain!", which mourns the tragedy of the President's assassination and the pall it cast over the joy of the Civil War's end. Even the Abraham Lincolns among us are only human, only mortal. And the pain for those left behind is all the sharper when death takes, with little or no warning, someone who might reasonably have been expected to live many more years. Lincoln was fifty-six when he was shot; and many reading this will remember the shock of hearing that another President, John F. Kennedy, had fallen to an assassin's bullet, in 1963 at age forty-six.
Other unexpected deaths--whether by murder, accident, or sudden illness--send out few large-scale reverberations, but break dozens of hearts nonetheless. I know firsthand the pain of losing someone to a "here today, gone tomorrow" cause. In August 2006, my father died of blood poisoning: total time from first sign of illness to end of life, less than three days; age, sixty-seven. (Having people repeatedly observe, "He wasn't very old, was he?" didn't lessen the heartache any.) Just last Saturday, another member of the family--nonhuman this time, but hardly less loved for that--suffered a near-identical fate as my mother's cat was stricken with a sudden lung infection; he was gone within thirty-six hours, some six weeks short of finishing his thirteenth year on earth (the average life span for a house cat today is fifteen to eighteen years).
Of course, some "unexpected" deaths are ones we should have seen coming--and refused to. It's common knowledge that the normal "first step" in grieving is denial; often, we practice it in earnest long before and up to the actual death. On some level, most of us want to believe that we are too careful, too exceptional, too favored by God to ever experience real tragedy; many of us clutch this idea to the point where God Himself could tell us face to face that heartbreak is coming and we would directly contradict Him, "No, it's not." Don't believe any Christian could be so foolish? The original apostles were. More than once, Jesus told His disciples flat out that His ministry would end in humiliation and death; they continued to cling to the idea that earthly glory was in the near future for Him and them. Peter even tried to argue with Him: "Never, Lord!... This shall never happen to you" (Mt. 16:22, NIV). When it did, Peter and everyone else were as shocked as if they had never been told it was coming.
Apparently they hadn't been listening, either, to the rest of their Master's prediction. Even after the first part of it--that He would suffer and be killed--came true, they didn't trust that the follow-up prophecy--that He would return alive after three days--would be fulfilled as well. For two nights they mourned, seeing no hope ahead; those who went to the tomb on the third day did it not to meet their risen Lord, but to pay their respects to the dead; when He did, in fact, greet those first visitors alive and they reported back, the others "did not believe... because their words seemed to them like nonsense" (Lk. 24:11); and when Jesus finally showed Himself directly to the majority, most of them "were startled and frightened, thinking they saw a ghost" (Lk. 24:37). At least one disciple was so stubbornly reluctant to believe anyone could come back from the dead that even in the face of a dozen witnesses, he insisted on seeing for himself before he was convinced (John 20:24-29).
People today still refuse to believe in the Resurrection. Many respect Jesus as a person, but consider it a tragedy that He died in His thirties and had so few years to do good. Unwilling to look beyond His moral teachings and compassionate life to the full implications of His claims for Himself, they fail to see that His sacrificial death was the real point of His coming. In a way, we as Christians make the same mistake whenever we dwell on the "senselessness" of a death that catches us off guard, as though we were insisting to God that He was thoughtless or insensitive to allow it, or that His perfect control over everything must have slipped this time.
Lent begins next week. Traditionally, Christians give up something for the season; quite a few of us need to give up--permanently--our insistence that God should always act in ways we consider logical.
O Master! My Master! I thought You all our hope,
The Leader of our glorious cause, to break the tyrant's rope;
A King to sit upon a throne and wear a golden crown--
And now, beneath a darkening sky, I see our dreams cut down.
A cross holds my Master;
It's thorns that crown His head;
One final cry--my Master hangs
Limp and cold and dead.
O Master! My Master! We laid You in the tomb;
My heart is breaking from the grief; my soul is lost in gloom;
All yesterday we sat and wept; we'll see Your face no more;
The dawn is black--what is that knock I hear upon the door?
"The Master is risen!"--
A cry cuts through my dread--
"The stone is gone!" "He spoke to me!"
"He lives! He is not dead!"
O Master! My Master! What joy to see Your face,
To hear Your voice, to feel again the warmth of Your embrace!
I now can see the greater Cause that guided all You've done--
Far grander than an earthly gift, our freedom You have won!
Exult, O hearts! And sing, O souls!
And I, with low-bowed head,
Kneel as here my Master stands,
Risen from the dead.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
True Rest for Souls
The past November-to-February has treated Houston to some of the most erratic and frequent temperature changes I can remember; we've hardly had four straight days within that time period which were all within ten Fahrenheit degrees of each other. Small wonder, with our bodies exposed to such constant adjustments and readjustments, that there seem to be more viruses than usual going around. I'm fighting a less-than-triumphant battle right now against my third illness of the season--or maybe, considering how long it seems to be dragging on, this is a fourth virus that came on the tail of the third.
Illness is a curse to the "mature" adult. When we were children, being sick had certain compensations: we didn't have to go to school; we didn't have to do chores; we got constant pampering; and even after we felt better, we frequently had an extra day off to make sure we were completely recovered. Not so after we're grown up; once we have "real" jobs, the principle changes from "Better safe than sorry" to "If you're strong enough to get out of bed, you're strong enough to do a full day's work." Well, what seems logical in theory doesn't always pan out in practice, as I found out last week when I literally collapsed (luckily into bed and not to the floor) after forcing my coughing, fatigued, nauseated body through a day of business-as-usual. After that, I gave up the fight and spent most (most) of the next few days resting.
General acceptance of working when sick is probably just one more manifestation of American workaholism. Taking an extra day off is considered lazy and shameful; sneaking a nap at lunch hour is looked on with extreme suspicion. Never mind that six-week vacations are the norm in many countries with high GNPs and that scientific research has found that people who rest frequently actually accomplish more; our society sees value only in constant movement. Someone even wrote a book called When I Relax I Feel Guilty.
I suspect, though, that what really kills most workaholics isn't the busyness of their bodies so much as the busyness of their minds and emotions--not their work loads per se so much as the tendency to be constantly thinking about everything that still needs to be done. I've been there--to a large extent I'm still there. Have you ever started a day with your body too weak to rise from bed but your mind screaming like an insane drill sergeant, "You must get up and work--you must finish the To Do list you've already made--you made commitments--you need money!"? It's not something I'd wish on anyone.
Forcing the body to rest is relatively easy compared to trying to force the mind to rest. No doubt the latter constituted a good bit of what Jesus had in mind when He said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light" (Mt. 11:28-30, NIV, emphasis added).
How often do we say, "I'd give anything for a little peace of mind"? Usually the one thing we need to give is the one thing we're refusing to give; we think the answer is getting our lives under control, when in fact we need to hand control over to the One Whose wisdom is as far above ours as the heavens above the earth (cf. Is. 55:8-9).
Once we get in tune with His mind, it becomes easier to figure out when we need to work and when we need to rest.
True rest for souls is never found
In merely stopping to sit down,
Nor skipping work, nor time away
In a vacation for the day,
Nor even in a week or two
To take a trip and thus renew.
No, to achieve the purest rest
That strengthens us to meet each test
And fortifies for life's hard blows--
The only soul that truly knows
A peace within for every day,
Is that which ever seeks God's way.
True peace of mind, which stands its ground
While storms of stress are beating down,
Is fortified through Scripture, prayer,
And through the faith that God is there.
There is no peace in thing or place,
But only in eternal Grace.
Come to the Lord; receive His rest,
Admit His way is always best,
And trade your "should"s which never cease
For His light load of joy and peace:
And He will give His rest to you;
And His own strength will fill you through.
Illness is a curse to the "mature" adult. When we were children, being sick had certain compensations: we didn't have to go to school; we didn't have to do chores; we got constant pampering; and even after we felt better, we frequently had an extra day off to make sure we were completely recovered. Not so after we're grown up; once we have "real" jobs, the principle changes from "Better safe than sorry" to "If you're strong enough to get out of bed, you're strong enough to do a full day's work." Well, what seems logical in theory doesn't always pan out in practice, as I found out last week when I literally collapsed (luckily into bed and not to the floor) after forcing my coughing, fatigued, nauseated body through a day of business-as-usual. After that, I gave up the fight and spent most (most) of the next few days resting.
General acceptance of working when sick is probably just one more manifestation of American workaholism. Taking an extra day off is considered lazy and shameful; sneaking a nap at lunch hour is looked on with extreme suspicion. Never mind that six-week vacations are the norm in many countries with high GNPs and that scientific research has found that people who rest frequently actually accomplish more; our society sees value only in constant movement. Someone even wrote a book called When I Relax I Feel Guilty.
I suspect, though, that what really kills most workaholics isn't the busyness of their bodies so much as the busyness of their minds and emotions--not their work loads per se so much as the tendency to be constantly thinking about everything that still needs to be done. I've been there--to a large extent I'm still there. Have you ever started a day with your body too weak to rise from bed but your mind screaming like an insane drill sergeant, "You must get up and work--you must finish the To Do list you've already made--you made commitments--you need money!"? It's not something I'd wish on anyone.
Forcing the body to rest is relatively easy compared to trying to force the mind to rest. No doubt the latter constituted a good bit of what Jesus had in mind when He said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light" (Mt. 11:28-30, NIV, emphasis added).
How often do we say, "I'd give anything for a little peace of mind"? Usually the one thing we need to give is the one thing we're refusing to give; we think the answer is getting our lives under control, when in fact we need to hand control over to the One Whose wisdom is as far above ours as the heavens above the earth (cf. Is. 55:8-9).
Once we get in tune with His mind, it becomes easier to figure out when we need to work and when we need to rest.
True rest for souls is never found
In merely stopping to sit down,
Nor skipping work, nor time away
In a vacation for the day,
Nor even in a week or two
To take a trip and thus renew.
No, to achieve the purest rest
That strengthens us to meet each test
And fortifies for life's hard blows--
The only soul that truly knows
A peace within for every day,
Is that which ever seeks God's way.
True peace of mind, which stands its ground
While storms of stress are beating down,
Is fortified through Scripture, prayer,
And through the faith that God is there.
There is no peace in thing or place,
But only in eternal Grace.
Come to the Lord; receive His rest,
Admit His way is always best,
And trade your "should"s which never cease
For His light load of joy and peace:
And He will give His rest to you;
And His own strength will fill you through.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Expanding Circle
How often do you do good things for others?
Most of us would have to say, "Not often enough!" The person who consistently puts others' needs above his own interests and preferences is a rare soul. A person who gives freely out of pure love, with no concern over whether her efforts are repaid or even appreciated, is even harder to find. The vast majority of humanity feels entitled to something in return, if only a verbal thank-you, for any favor done for another--and is quick to complain of others' ingratitude and to sever relationships with "all take and no give" people.
But much as we may wish otherwise, God isn't satisfied to see His people being only as good as the majority of humanity. As Jesus said, "If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that?... When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous" (Mt. 5:46-47; Lk. 14:12-14, NIV). Why? "That you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous" (Mt. 5:45). If God turned off the sun and rain to punish people for taking Him for granted, nearly all of us would suffer from regular dark days and dried-out lawns.
But even more than that, giving only to people whom we expect will give back keeps generosity trapped within a rather narrow circle. Toss a stone onto thick ice and it may make a few cracks at best. Toss a stone into liquid water and the ripples expand on and on.
Who knows where a few random acts of kindness may lead?
A kindness returned is a wonderful thing
When it's done from a warm, grateful heart,
But a kindness passed on is a greater thing still,
For the power of the good it can start.
For a kindness returned, though it bring a great joy,
Will remain in a closed loop of two,
But a kindness passed on makes the circle expand,
And its ripples may reach the world through.
To help out a friend is a wonderful thing,
When a heart acts in love that is true,
But a greater thing still is to help out those souls
Who may never give equal to you.
For to help out the ones who will quickly pay back
Is a thing most will do if they can,
But a heart that can give with no thought of return
Spreads the love of our Lord through the land.
Most of us would have to say, "Not often enough!" The person who consistently puts others' needs above his own interests and preferences is a rare soul. A person who gives freely out of pure love, with no concern over whether her efforts are repaid or even appreciated, is even harder to find. The vast majority of humanity feels entitled to something in return, if only a verbal thank-you, for any favor done for another--and is quick to complain of others' ingratitude and to sever relationships with "all take and no give" people.
But much as we may wish otherwise, God isn't satisfied to see His people being only as good as the majority of humanity. As Jesus said, "If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that?... When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous" (Mt. 5:46-47; Lk. 14:12-14, NIV). Why? "That you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous" (Mt. 5:45). If God turned off the sun and rain to punish people for taking Him for granted, nearly all of us would suffer from regular dark days and dried-out lawns.
But even more than that, giving only to people whom we expect will give back keeps generosity trapped within a rather narrow circle. Toss a stone onto thick ice and it may make a few cracks at best. Toss a stone into liquid water and the ripples expand on and on.
Who knows where a few random acts of kindness may lead?
A kindness returned is a wonderful thing
When it's done from a warm, grateful heart,
But a kindness passed on is a greater thing still,
For the power of the good it can start.
For a kindness returned, though it bring a great joy,
Will remain in a closed loop of two,
But a kindness passed on makes the circle expand,
And its ripples may reach the world through.
To help out a friend is a wonderful thing,
When a heart acts in love that is true,
But a greater thing still is to help out those souls
Who may never give equal to you.
For to help out the ones who will quickly pay back
Is a thing most will do if they can,
But a heart that can give with no thought of return
Spreads the love of our Lord through the land.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
All Earth Sings
What is your favorite song? A classic hymn? A modern pop piece? An old Christmas carol? I'd personally be hard-pressed to name a single favorite, or even make a top ten list. A lifetime of church music, radio, and various concerts has permanently imprinted dozens of much-loved songs in my brain.
Virtually every culture includes song among its traditions. There's something about the blending of music and poetry that infiltrates both sides of the brain and sinks deep into heart and soul. And for all the worries about "angry songs" that stir listeners to rebellious attitudes and outright violence, spontaneous singing is still associated primarily with happiness.
Of all the ways we reflect God's image, our love of song may be the most profound. Zeph. 3:17 (NIV) says that God "rejoice[s] over" us "with singing," so our longing to give the same to Him only makes sense. The NIV uses the word "sing" and its close derivatives (sang/singing/song) over three hundred times, mostly in reference to worship. Metaphorically speaking at least, even Creation sings, and not just through birds; even "the mountains and hills will burst into song" (Is. 55:12) when we open ourselves to our Lord's voice.
If we allow ourselves to regard God's works with the awe He deserves, we may soon find ourselves singing along.
The robin sings in the morning,
Sings to welcome the coming day:
All earth sings to the God of sunrise,
Who chases the darkness away.
The river sings in the daytime,
Sings as swiftly along it flows:
All earth sings to the God of sunlight,
As, shining, the waterway glows.
The breezes sing in the evening,
Calling workers to come and rest:
All earth sings to the God of sunset,
Who stretched out the sky east to west.
The raindrops sing in the nighttime,
Lulling all into peaceful sleep:
All earth sings to the God of Heaven,
Who soothes us when darkness grows deep.
The bluebird sings in the sunlight,
And the owl calls out to the moon:
All earth sings through the day- and nighttime--
And calls us to join in its tune.
Virtually every culture includes song among its traditions. There's something about the blending of music and poetry that infiltrates both sides of the brain and sinks deep into heart and soul. And for all the worries about "angry songs" that stir listeners to rebellious attitudes and outright violence, spontaneous singing is still associated primarily with happiness.
Of all the ways we reflect God's image, our love of song may be the most profound. Zeph. 3:17 (NIV) says that God "rejoice[s] over" us "with singing," so our longing to give the same to Him only makes sense. The NIV uses the word "sing" and its close derivatives (sang/singing/song) over three hundred times, mostly in reference to worship. Metaphorically speaking at least, even Creation sings, and not just through birds; even "the mountains and hills will burst into song" (Is. 55:12) when we open ourselves to our Lord's voice.
If we allow ourselves to regard God's works with the awe He deserves, we may soon find ourselves singing along.
The robin sings in the morning,
Sings to welcome the coming day:
All earth sings to the God of sunrise,
Who chases the darkness away.
The river sings in the daytime,
Sings as swiftly along it flows:
All earth sings to the God of sunlight,
As, shining, the waterway glows.
The breezes sing in the evening,
Calling workers to come and rest:
All earth sings to the God of sunset,
Who stretched out the sky east to west.
The raindrops sing in the nighttime,
Lulling all into peaceful sleep:
All earth sings to the God of Heaven,
Who soothes us when darkness grows deep.
The bluebird sings in the sunlight,
And the owl calls out to the moon:
All earth sings through the day- and nighttime--
And calls us to join in its tune.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Pass It on
Between Martin Luther King, Jr. Day yesterday, and the Presidential inauguration today, this might well be dubbed "National Leadership Week."
Most of us will never spearhead major reform movements or be elected President of the United States. Not all of us can be pastors, CEOs, or even heads of households. Are some of us then doomed to the label "always a follower, never a leader"?
Not necessarily. I believe that all of us are called to show leadership--defined as "the capacity or ability to offer guidance and direction"--from time to time. A leader can be the mother who demonstrates by example the value of frugality. A leader can be the bookstore clerk who recommends helpful titles to customers. A leader can be the lay Christian who introduces a friend to God (we even call it "leading people to Christ").
And a leader can be anyone who performs a tiny act of kindness. Besides being "led" into the realization that there are still thoughtful, caring people in the world, the recipient of such an act may be led to do the same for someone else. There are many versions, some true, of the story where someone helps out a stranger and departs with the words, "Don't worry about paying back the favor; just pass it on."
The kind stranger who disappears into the crowd may actually be a better leader than the state governor with legal authority over millions. People may obey the formal official solely out of fear, remaining thoroughly rebellious in spirit; but when people follow someone with no power to force them, they follow in their hearts as well as in their actions.
All who themselves follow the One Whose leadership was "gentle and humble in heart" (Mt. 11:29, NIV), should know how to lead others likewise.
She stood ahead of me in line--
The coffee shop was full for lunch--
Just one more face within the bunch,
Like any soul you'd pass by chance.
I hardly gave her any glance
As she departed--who knew where--
But then I heard the clerk declare,
"She paid her bill, and paid yours too.
She left this note to give to you."
These written words my eyes did see:
"Someone once did the same for me;
Please pass to someone else some time."
Most of us will never spearhead major reform movements or be elected President of the United States. Not all of us can be pastors, CEOs, or even heads of households. Are some of us then doomed to the label "always a follower, never a leader"?
Not necessarily. I believe that all of us are called to show leadership--defined as "the capacity or ability to offer guidance and direction"--from time to time. A leader can be the mother who demonstrates by example the value of frugality. A leader can be the bookstore clerk who recommends helpful titles to customers. A leader can be the lay Christian who introduces a friend to God (we even call it "leading people to Christ").
And a leader can be anyone who performs a tiny act of kindness. Besides being "led" into the realization that there are still thoughtful, caring people in the world, the recipient of such an act may be led to do the same for someone else. There are many versions, some true, of the story where someone helps out a stranger and departs with the words, "Don't worry about paying back the favor; just pass it on."
The kind stranger who disappears into the crowd may actually be a better leader than the state governor with legal authority over millions. People may obey the formal official solely out of fear, remaining thoroughly rebellious in spirit; but when people follow someone with no power to force them, they follow in their hearts as well as in their actions.
All who themselves follow the One Whose leadership was "gentle and humble in heart" (Mt. 11:29, NIV), should know how to lead others likewise.
She stood ahead of me in line--
The coffee shop was full for lunch--
Just one more face within the bunch,
Like any soul you'd pass by chance.
I hardly gave her any glance
As she departed--who knew where--
But then I heard the clerk declare,
"She paid her bill, and paid yours too.
She left this note to give to you."
These written words my eyes did see:
"Someone once did the same for me;
Please pass to someone else some time."
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Help Someone Cry
One of my New Year's resolutions was to give more time to "A" priority tasks. For those of you who've never studied the art of organization, that refers to a system of ranking "things to do" by letter: "A" for extremely important, "B" for pretty important, "C" for not all that important, and--sometimes--"D" for "not worth doing until all the others are finished." A major irony of life is that "A" priority tasks--those we instinctively recognize as advancing the larger missions God made us for--are often the easiest to put off, while "C" and "D" tasks--vacuuming the floor six times a week, composing detailed responses to every e-mail--are very good at instilling a sense of obligation. Most people, when they first start taking time management seriously, find that their schedules need painful surgery to remove things that seem important but aren't.
All of which is leading up to this announcement: I have concluded that regardless of what business experts recommend, adding new blog entries three to five times a week is not among God's current "A" priorities for my life. So until further notice, installments are being cut back to once a week.
Not that setting priorities is simply a matter of choosing certain physical tasks over others. All masters of time management, be they Christians or otherwise, are sure of "life's purpose" and give top priority to whatever things further that end. Whatever a Christian's specific ministry, his or her "purpose" must be in accord with Jesus's words: "Seek first [God's] kingdom and his righteousness... 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself'" (Mt. 6:33; 22:37-39, NIV).
Strangely, those of us who claim to love God often let "His work" interfere with loving our neighbors. A friend desperately needs an understanding ear--and we brush her off because we're late for church. A first-time volunteer proves a slow learner--and we get impatient with him for spoiling program efficiency. We turn our church work into just another bottom-line business.
Or, if we know we can't "make everything right," we do nothing. Many people, having suffered through traumatic illness, unjust scandal, or loss of loved ones, have had friends appear only after the dust has settled and say, "I wanted to be there for you, but I didn't know what to do!" It's cold comfort. Paul's advice in Rom. 12:15 is much better: "mourn with those who mourn." Don't feel you must solve your friends' problems; don't hand out unrequested advice; don't say "it's all for the best"; and definitely don't tell them how they could have avoided the tragedy in the first place. Just let them know, in action with minimum words, that you feel for them--that you feel with them.
Here as in many other aspects of life, children often understand the godly approach better than adults (see also previous blog entry), as did one little girl who came home half an hour late. She had been delayed, she explained, because a friend's favorite toy had been broken "and I had to stop and help her cry."
Even when a problem is fixable, anyone who is hurting deeply needs human feeling in the solution, not just a mechanical "there, it's all done" approach. Parents understand this when they apply not only antiseptic and bandage, but also a kiss, to small injuries.
And didn't Jesus Himself solve our sin problem through His own suffering?
"Amanda, why were you out so late?"
"Cindy’s dolly broke her eye."
"So you stopped to help Cindy fix it up?"
"No, I stopped to help her cry."
So many of us turn away from pain,
Feeling helpless to even try:
But if we can do nothing to fix things up,
We at least can help someone cry.
All of which is leading up to this announcement: I have concluded that regardless of what business experts recommend, adding new blog entries three to five times a week is not among God's current "A" priorities for my life. So until further notice, installments are being cut back to once a week.
Not that setting priorities is simply a matter of choosing certain physical tasks over others. All masters of time management, be they Christians or otherwise, are sure of "life's purpose" and give top priority to whatever things further that end. Whatever a Christian's specific ministry, his or her "purpose" must be in accord with Jesus's words: "Seek first [God's] kingdom and his righteousness... 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself'" (Mt. 6:33; 22:37-39, NIV).
Strangely, those of us who claim to love God often let "His work" interfere with loving our neighbors. A friend desperately needs an understanding ear--and we brush her off because we're late for church. A first-time volunteer proves a slow learner--and we get impatient with him for spoiling program efficiency. We turn our church work into just another bottom-line business.
Or, if we know we can't "make everything right," we do nothing. Many people, having suffered through traumatic illness, unjust scandal, or loss of loved ones, have had friends appear only after the dust has settled and say, "I wanted to be there for you, but I didn't know what to do!" It's cold comfort. Paul's advice in Rom. 12:15 is much better: "mourn with those who mourn." Don't feel you must solve your friends' problems; don't hand out unrequested advice; don't say "it's all for the best"; and definitely don't tell them how they could have avoided the tragedy in the first place. Just let them know, in action with minimum words, that you feel for them--that you feel with them.
Here as in many other aspects of life, children often understand the godly approach better than adults (see also previous blog entry), as did one little girl who came home half an hour late. She had been delayed, she explained, because a friend's favorite toy had been broken "and I had to stop and help her cry."
Even when a problem is fixable, anyone who is hurting deeply needs human feeling in the solution, not just a mechanical "there, it's all done" approach. Parents understand this when they apply not only antiseptic and bandage, but also a kiss, to small injuries.
And didn't Jesus Himself solve our sin problem through His own suffering?
"Amanda, why were you out so late?"
"Cindy’s dolly broke her eye."
"So you stopped to help Cindy fix it up?"
"No, I stopped to help her cry."
So many of us turn away from pain,
Feeling helpless to even try:
But if we can do nothing to fix things up,
We at least can help someone cry.
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