3 Things Found Bent Over

February 4, 2020

Today’s prompt is “3 things found when bent down.” It’s an intriguing thought that pushes me to think outside my own boxes. 

I learned a long time ago that if you want a child to talk with you, you have to bend down to their level. You learn lots of interesting things that way. Our little Gemma has been wiggling a loose tooth for at least a couple weeks. The other day, it was hanging by a thread, but she refused to let anyone pull it, and didn’t want to do it herself. I’ve never seen this kind of behavior before; when I was her age, when a tooth showed signs of loosening, I’d be at it with tongue and fingers, literally prying it out of my mouth. My kids were the same. Not Gemma. Sunday, a chance glance her way revealed a new gap in her mouth, so I called her to me and bent down to look. She smiled sheepishly and showed me the empty socket, telling me that it came out in her sleep. Fortunately, she didn’t swallow it; after all, I don’t think the Tooth Fairy leaves anything for pooped teeth.

Most of my shoes are tied loosely enough that I can easily slip my feet into them without messing with the laces. My aunt Marion was aghast one day when she saw me wiggling my heel into my shoe. “You’ll break down the heel!” she exclaimed. Raised during the Great Depression, such a pedantic travesty wouldn’t have been tolerated. We are not nearly as careful of our stuff as are those who know what it’s like to not have it. 

My hiking shoes are another matter. There’s no way I can get them on without carefully loosening the laces before slipping my foot into them. I can’t just stand and wiggle my feet into them. It takes a few seconds longer, but it’s good for the shoes. I wonder how many things in life would be better off if we took the time to bend over and take care with them? 

That’s exactly what God did for us. In Philippians, Paul says Jesus didn’t cling to his status as God, but humbled himself, taking on human flesh for our salvation. He bent down low to save us. Salvation can be lowly, dirty business. It wasn’t something God did casually standing on one foot, so to speak, wiggling and forcing his way into the shoe leather of our hearts. He bent down, carefully loosening the laces by which we were bound in sin, before gently slipping inside us by the Holy Spirit. then he binds up the loose and broken parts, lacing us securely in his love so he can walk out his life in us. I’m grateful he didn’t try to do all this from a distance.

Seeing

February 3, 2020

They slowly walked into the Riverwalk Center arm in arm. He gently guided her to a table where she sat while he ordered from the cafe. I was at a nearby table reading, but couldn’t help but notice them. They were perhaps in their late seventies, possibly early eighties, carrying themselves with an air of genteel elegance. Their meal ended, he took care of the tableware before they stood together. She took his arm as they walked quietly out into the parking lot, all the while staring straight ahead, sightlessly taking his cues from the touch of his hand on hers.

I heard not a word, but years of love emanated from them in a language all its own. The tenderness with which he softly spoke and carefully guided her steps is not the product of our instant gratification society, but was built layer upon layer, year by year, till it bore the rich patina of grace, a depth of love and kindness that sang silently to me as I watched. The heart sees a beauty that mortal eyes cannot behold. He saw her as she was when they first met—young, with smiling eyes. Her eyes no longer saw the lines in his face or the love reflected in his own, but she saw. Indeed, she saw him as he truly is. Linda and I are getting there ourselves, day by day, year by year. I hope we are able to see until the last time we shut our eyes to this world. I want to be able one more time to gaze into her eyes, to behold the beauty of her soul. But even if these mortal eyes should fail me, I will see...oh yes, I will see, and give thanks.

Wordless Prayers

February 2, 2020

Sometimes when I pray, I can’t seem to focus;; words don’t come, my mind is in a whirl. Actually, it’s more than sometimes; it’s most times. I suspect it’s not mere confusion, early onset of dementia, or anything of the sort. At least part of it I believe is spiritual warfare. The Enemy of our souls fears our prayers and will do most anything to keep us prayerless.

Recently, I came across a quote from St. Basil the Great, the 4th Century bishop of Cappadocia. “This is how you pray continually—not by offering your prayer in words, but by joining yourself to God through your whole way of life, so that your life becomes one continuous and uninterrupted prayer.” I grew up learning that Scripture is how God talks to us, and prayer is how we talk to God. Note the emphasis on words. For over fifty years (Yesterday was the fiftieth anniversary of my first sermon as a pastor. I still have the manuscript and can quote the text I used), I made my living with words. They are not unimportant; after all, the apostle John said of Jesus Christ that he is the living Word of God. 

I am thankful however, that prayer is not totally dependent on words. St. Paul even wrote that God hears wordless prayers: “the Spirit also helps our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.” (Romans 8:26). There are plenty of times for one reason or another that words fail me in prayer. When that happens, the Holy Spirit scoops up the heartache and anguish, the longings and intercessions we feel, but cannot express, and translates them into heavenly language heard by the Father. How cool is that?

Giftedness

February 1, 2020

Jeremiah said it. “The heart is deceitful above all things...who can know it?” He mentioned also that it is desperately wicked, but it’s the deceitful and unfathomable part that commands my attention tonight. It’s fashionable in Christian circles to focus on spiritual gifts as God’s key to a fulfilling life. “When we operate out of our giftedness instead of obligation or guilt, we discover the joy of serving Jesus that comes from knowing this is how we are wired by our Creator to live.” Words to this effect are common in the circles where spiritual gifts are bandied about as a cure-all for whatever ails us. “God certainly wants us happy,” seems to be much of the rationale behind such talk. We take surveys and answer questionnaires purporting to help us discover our gifts and live more authentic and fulfilling lives.

I have no doubt that people have different gifts and that if we play to our strengths, we tend to be more satisfied than if we spend our lives merely trying to shore up our weaknesses. I could spend a lifetime studying math, perhaps become somewhat adequate at it, but I would never attain the proficiency necessary to teach, be an accountant, or even keep track of how many kids are in the room at a given time. I’m good at some things; math is not one of them. That doesn’t mean I should ignore math altogether. It just means you should check your change if you buy something from me. You might get back more than you paid!

Ministering out of one’s giftedness is great, but it’s not the end-all. When doing so, it’s easy to confuse our own desires with God’s will; when I was a pastor, I was often a bit wary when people volunteered for things. It is usually difficult to distinguish between God’s desires and ours. The heart, after all, IS deceitful.

One of the ways I have learned to discern God’s voice is when an idea comes to me that is polar opposite of what I would choose to do. When it’s something I like to do, I have reason to be suspicious, but when it’s something God has to drag me into, I can be reasonably sure it’s his idea, not mine. My giftedness may play into it, but often when God leads (or in my case drags me kicking and screaming), he leads us in endeavors for which we cannot discern having any aptitude. After all, if I know I can do it, why do I need God? But if he takes me where I don’t want to go, where I don’t know what I’m doing, where I’m in over my head, and it succeeds, everyone will know it’s his doing and not mine. So I’m thankful that God speaks in ways I do not want to hear, telling me to go places I don’t want to go, and to do things I would rather not do. When I finally give up and say yes, he does amazing things. It’s called picking up a cross, and it’s at the heart of Christianity.

Joel

January 31, 2020

Silently he creeps, moving imperceptibly from shadow to shadow till he gets into position. Sniper of the spirit, he moves unseen and unsuspected, patiently waiting to ambush the soul.  His name is grief. He lies motionless, seemingly for eternity, gazing with steely eyes looking for the right moment, before slowly squeezing the trigger that sends his deadly projectile with pinpoint accuracy exploding into the heart of his unsuspecting victim.

How many times I’ve officiated at funerals, telling the mourners how grief can catch them by surprise, I couldn’t say. A song on the radio, the aroma of a flower or something on the stove, and the hard-won calm is instantly shattered by waves of anguish that suddenly burst upon the unwary like a tsunami. Having witnessed it time and again, I know this, but experiencing it is altogether different than describing it. Writing to the wife of my dear friend Joel about my latest trip to Cuba was in my mind simply the courteous thing to do, honoring his memory and letting her know his work continues. Re-reading a couple of year-old emails from him took me by surprise, familiar phrases jarring my senses with renewed ferocity. 

If there is any real explanation for how friendships develop, I’m not aware of it; but reading Joel’s reflections from last January on Christmas and the holiday season, I am struck by how much a kindred soul he was to me. He thought deeply and counter-culturally, at times mirroring and intensifying my own observations, and at other times challenging my presuppositions with his unique perspective. 

This grief rolled over me this morning, and has dogged my steps all day. My heart is heavy, but I wouldn’t trade its heaviness for anything, for it is evidence of a friendship that enriched and challenged me to be more than I thought I could be. I cannot fill his shoes; his talents and skills were different than mine, but I can grasp the baton he held out as he finished his leg of the relay, and run with all my might toward the goal. I am grateful to have known him, to have had the privilege of calling him my friend, of hearing his heart and witnessing his enthusiasm for missions. My life is richer and deeper for it, my sorrow today a small price to pay for such a treasure.

Morning Routine

January 30, 2020

“O God, you are my God; early will I seek you: my soul thirst for you, my flesh longs for you in a dry and thirsty land where no water is.” —Psalm 63:1

It’s been a long time since we all managed to get together—my brother and sister in law, my sister, mom, and Linda. It was a wonderful evening, talking and laughing for about three hours. Among other things, we talked about habits, one of which was our morning routines. My brother is an early riser, born of his years on the farm when the cows had to be milked by 6:00 am. It’s not unusual for him to be stirring at 4:30, 5:00 for sure. Judy however, will wake a bit later and lay in bed reading her Bible and praying. “He turns on Fox News; if I watch the news that early in the morning, it ruins my whole day!” she exclaimed. When I questioned how her day would go if she started out with CNN, she just rolled her eyes. 

Judy had touched upon a secret I’ve learned but don’t always practice. What we do first thing in the morning has the potential to shape the entire day. In a few weeks, I’ll be preaching on Deuteronomy 30:15-20, where Moses entreats the Israelites to “choose life.” We must choose life because our default is death. When I wake up in the morning, if I don’t choose to focus on God’s grace and mercy, I’ll almost certainly default to worry and fear, or to grousing about the latest dumb or diabolical political decision made in Albany or Washington, none of which I can do much about. I have to deliberately avoid the newspaper, Facebook, and email feeds, many of which I’ve eliminated from my daily inbox for my own sanity and spiritual well-being.

It’s amazing to me how easy it is to scroll through that stuff; the word “addiction” comes to mind. And it’s not as if I don’t know what people are going to say. Before I even start, I pretty much know where any given article is going to end, no matter which side of the issue I’m reading. I actually prefer articles from those on the other side of the aisle, because I need to know how others are thinking, but I’ve cut way back on all of them.

In the above psalm, David reveals the problem and the solution. The problem is our thirsty souls. We cannot slake that thirst in the dry and desolate land of media of any sort, social or otherwise. This world offers no satisfaction to a starving soul. We must as the Bible says, turn to wells of living, or flowing water that will never run dry. Jesus himself said it: “If anyone thirsts, let him come unto Me and drink.” (John 7:37) Early in the morning is a good time to do just that if I want to start the day off right. I do, so I will.

Called

January 29, 2020

“Our problem is we’re not used to the word ‘sacrifice.’” Not exactly the words I wanted to hear. It was Jeff’s response to what I had shared with my prayer team what I believe God is calling me to do at this stage in life. I suppose it’s time to share it with you.

I was speaking to Cuban pastors about leadership from 1 Samuel 14 the story of Jonathan, son of king Saul. While his father dithered in camp, Jonathan decided he couldn’t stand the thought of the Philistines dishonoring the God of Israel. He and his armor bearer are at the bottom of a steep hill—a cliff, actually—while the enemy peers down at them from above. He gets the not-so-bright idea to show himself to the enemy and see what they do in response; not exactly what you would call brilliant tactics. “If they say, ‘Come up to us,’ we’ll go up. It means the Lord has delivered them into our hands.” The Philistines called, they climbed up on their hands and knees, and quickly dispatched about twenty of the garrison.

I told the pastors that God’s will is often discerned when our enemy or problem calls to us. As I spoke, I saw in my mind the face of the homeless woman we worked with last month. In the course of working with her, I learned that there are no homeless shelters for women in all of Chautauqua County. I had brushed it off as a bit of sad information until it came roaring back at me as I spoke to these pastors. How could I speak with integrity about how God leads us while ignoring the challenge right in front of me? 

Not being too happy with this, I told God, “You must be kidding! I know nothing about running a women’s shelter, don’t know anyone who does, have no money, no place, no staff. I like being home at night. And besides, men don’t run women’s shelters. Did you forget how you made me, God? If you don’t mind, I’ll politely decline.” People say God always answers prayer. I’m here to say there are times he just ignores my pleading. He’s been doing this with me, totally uninterested in my opinion on the matter. It scares me half to death, but there is also a part of me getting excited about the possibilities. Then Jeff’s remark comes barreling at me like a runaway bus. Nothing worthwhile comes until we’re ready to sacrifice. As much as I don’t want to, I know it’s coming. Linda and I had a conversation about this today. By conversation, I mean, she talked and I listened. If things begin to jell, something’s going to have to give. I think I know what one of those things is, but time will tell. At any rate, as unsettling as it is, I am grateful that God doesn’t appear to be finished with me yet. If he can call Moses at 80, I guess he can call me at 70.