Prayerlessness

September 14, 2016

Once or twice each week my day begins before I'm ready for it. If I've scheduled to have breakfast with someone, or have an early meeting to attend, I'm off and running before I've had time to read my Bible and pray. I know, that's a pretty sad admission for a pastor to have to make, but it's the truth. Once a day starts like that, it's usually pretty much a straight shot through till evening. Once in awhile I'm able to stop in the middle of the day to reorient, but not often.

Today was one of those days. It's now just past ten, and I've been on the go since I got up at six. I did get in some reading time before heading out into the day, but I'm ashamed to say that my prayers were pretty truncated. Tonight as we said our evening prayers with Ian, Eliza, and Gemma, I realized that I hadn't prayed for our grandchildren by name in a couple days, which made me wonder, "What kind of grandfather forgets to pray for his grandkids?"

All this is to say that I'm grateful tonight for guilt, or if you prefer, conviction. I'm grateful that God brought to mind my prayerlessness, that I felt that twinge of chagrin, to have a measure of sensitivity to my inadequacy and shortcomings in this area. It would be tragic if we could go blithely through a week without any awareness of our sins, for with no awareness there can be no confession, if no confession, there can be no forgiveness, and if no forgiveness, there can be no reconciliation and no fellowship with God. Conviction is never pleasant, because through it we are reminded of the immensity of the gulf between God's holiness and our sinfulness. But it paves the way for us to return to the One who made us in his image and for his glory. That's a pretty good place to be, no matter how we manage to get there.

Excellence

September 13, 2016

Excellence always attracts. And amazes. I've been taking upright bass lessons since last January, first from a student at Fredonia State, then from their newest professor of bass, Kieran Hanlon, who joined five other professors for a recital last night. Their first selection was a magnificent jazz version of "Summertime" from Porgy and Bess that he arranged, followed by a bass solo that utterly amazed me, not only for its complexity, but also for the fact that he had the entire five minute piece memorized, as did the other performers on their solos.

Linda used to joke (at least I think it was a joke) that without notes I couldn't even hold a decent conversation. I know I never dared enter the pulpit without something in front of me. I've listened to great preachers. They are a delight to hear and watch. They know their material, have a sense of timing, know how to craft a sentence, build suspense, and draw the congregation along to the place where they are ready to make a commitment. I would never claim to be more than an average preacher, more like a hack than a master. But I appreciate excellence in preaching, as I appreciate excellence in any endeavor, whether it be mechanics, carpentry, engineering, sports, writing, etc. I particularly enjoy the excellence of my wife's culinary skills.

Just playing such difficult music is far beyond me; doing it from memory stretches my imagination. It was glorious, and demonstrated what is possible, even if not for me. That's what excellence does; it lifts us beyond the ordinary. I contend that excellence in any endeavor reveals something of the character of God, who does all things well. I am grateful for last night's recital which gave me a target that I'll never hit, but which at least I can see.

Hope for the Hopeless

September 12, 2016

"I have seen his ways, but I will heal him." These words from Isaiah 57:18 come at the tail end of a long litany of failure, rebellion, and depravity that lay at Israel's feet. If anyone deserved the judgment of God upon them, it was this nation at this time in her history. God was not unaware of Israel's sins; but he was determined to rescue the people he loved.

For anyone who has ever believed that they were beyond redemption, that they were too far gone, without hope, these ten words are life. God sees. Nothing is hidden from his gaze, not the secret sins we have successfully hidden from all eyes, not even the failures we have managed to hide from ourselves. He sees it all, but instead of judgment, God chooses to heal. If ever there were a promise worth holding onto with a vengeance, this is it. It can be hard to believe when one is in the midst of failure, but this promise is our only hope. We have a choice to believe the accusations of the devil or God's promise. The one will lead to despair, the other to relief and hope. I am grateful tonight for this word from Isaiah that offers encouragement for the people of God who have almost lost hope. God has seen our ways, but he will heal us.

Can We Still Hope?

September 11, 2016

It's been fifteen years. Most of my grandkids cannot remember the attack that changed our world forever. They have no recollection of the Twin Towers, or of the cowardly and murderous assault upon the innocent people who went to work that morning, never to return home again. They cannot recall images of those same towers, collapsing in a cloud of dust and debris, nor of the gaping hole in the wall of the Pentagon or the huge furrow plowed into the field in Western Pennsylvania. America was given a flesh and blood introduction to jihad that Tuesday fifteen years ago, and those of us who are old enough to remember can recall exactly where we were when we first heard the news. We were mesmerized by the video footage of that second plane plowing into the South Tower, shooting a ball of fire out the other side. In spite of ourselves, we watched over and over the collapse of the towers, hoping that somehow it was all just a television fiction instead of the horrific reality it in fact was.

We were brought together as a nation that day. With the exception of a few conspiracy theorists and those in our midst who either openly or secretively support radical Islam, we came together in shock, sorrow, anger, and determination. As is too often the case however, we began to squabble over what to do with the space left after the cleanup, we bickered over what health benefits were owed to the first responders, and we saw our nation's leaders refuse to acknowledge the expressed motivation behind this and subsequent attacks. Today we are divided.

How can we be thankful in light of these events? Some would say that even to think of gratitude under such circumstances is an affront to those who died that day fifteen years ago, and to the many who have since given their lives in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, Iran, and half a dozen other countries in the Middle East. But the alternative to gratitude is despair, and yielding that ground can be fatal to a nation and to the individuals in it.

In the sixth century B.C., the city of Jerusalem was overrun by the Babylonian Empire. Jeremiah was an eyewitness of the fall of the city, and composed a lament over its destruction. He chronicles the brutality of the conquering armies as they raped, pillaged, smashed babies' skulls against walls, ripped fetuses from pregnant women, while they leveled the city. In the midst of what was to that date the worst holocaust the Jewish people had ever experienced, what possibly might there be for which to give thanks? Through his tears, Jeremiah found what he was looking for.

In the third chapter of the poem he penned, he wrote these words:

I have been deprived of peace; I have forgotten what prosperity is.
So I say, "My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped from the LORD."
I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."
The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him;

Jeremiah doesn't minimize the anguish of his people, but neither does he forget the only hope he can find in what is otherwise a despairing situation. "Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." Tonight I give thanks that we are not consumed. God loves us still, and evidence of his compassion is all around us, if we will look for it. Every morning we wake to a new day, with the opportunity to experience God's faithfulness. We may have to wait for it, but if we hope in God, if we seek him, his goodness is there, waiting to be discovered.

Remembering

September 10, 2016

It is amazing how soon and how easily I forget. Late in life John Newton, converted slave and slave trader and author of "Amazing Grace, How Sweet the Sound," told of how his mother taught him about Jesus, "but I forgot." While enslaved himself, tied like a dog under the table of an African queen, he promised God he would change, but when he escaped, forgot his promise. Over and over again, he forgot, but God didn't forget, and as an old man slowly walking the streets of Bristol, he was always ready to tell people that as an old man, he had forgotten many things, but one thing he remembered; "I was a great sinner, and Jesus is a great Savior."

This evening, Linda and I attended the launch service for Conduit North, a new church plant on the north side of Jamestown. The music was good, there was energy and enthusiasm, pastor Cameron preached well, but for me, something was missing, something that had nothing to do with the folks at Conduit. It was missing inside me. I just felt empty inside, like I was left standing on the station watching the God train pull out. I think part of it is envy. I've often wondered if I was playing it safe in ministry, working within a system that provided guaranteed work, housing, health care, and pension. How does any of that help me trust God? I've often looked back at wasted hours, failures in ministry and personal life, wishing I could retrace my steps and do it again, only better. But I can't go back, any more than any of us can. It's easy to wallow in self-pity or self-condemnation. And the Enemy of our souls is more than willing to fan any spark of unbelief into flame.

We got home, I picked some tomatoes, then sat on the back deck in the fading light, praying. It occurred to me that my problem is narcissism. Whenever I focus on me, on how I feel, on the emptiness within, that's where I end up: empty. So I pulled out my phone, went to my gratitude app and looked at the suggestion for the day. It was to give thanks for three things moving. My first thought was about Emma, but she doesn't move enough to count. But looking into the sky with storm clouds rolling in, I could see them scudding across my field of vision, and immediately thought of our God who moves mountains. Giving thanks is a decision we make, not a feeling we have, and as I began to thank him for moving the mountain of doubt and unbelief, I could feel it trembling and finally rolling away like the clouds overhead.

Gratitude has immense power, but only if it is expressed. And only if it is directed to the One, the only One to whom it truly belongs. As Cameron finished preaching tonight, he told the people that though he will make mistakes and probably fail at times as a pastor, he would always give them Jesus. Which was my prayer for him and my encouragement to him earlier today. I am grateful tonight that whether I feel it or not, Jesus is Lord, and will never fail to come to those who truly wait on him.

The Unreasonable Atheist

September 9, 2016

Atheism puzzles me. I can understand the agnostic who says, "I don't know if there is a God," but like some fundamentalists, the atheist is too certain of his unbelief. It's possible that I may be oversimplifying this particular worldview; there is much in this world of which I know little, and plenty more of which I know nothing at all, so perhaps I don't really understand atheism. As I understand it, the atheist says, "there is no God; God doesn't exist except in people's imagination; he's the feebleminded's explanation for all that he doesn't understand."

Wednesday I attended my first class in jazz improvisation, a pretty heady subject to tackle when I barely know my way around the string bass. Jesse, the student teacher, was charting jazz and blues sequences on the board, talking about Tonic notes, fourth's, fifths (no, not the kind that comes in a bottle), seconds, augmented, diminished, seventh and ninth chords, how all these relate to each other and work together in a musical composition. When I learned the saxophone, I was taught the notes, key signatures, timing, and the composition notes that told us when to
slow down, speed up, get softer or louder. I didn't get any music theory at all. I didn't know it, but it was still there.

I am amazed at the complexity of sound. An octave is the same note, only in a higher pitch. In any string length, move halfway from one anchor point to another, and you'll have an octave. Sound comes in waves, and an octave is a sine curve cut in half. Music is physics, math, and emotion, all rolled into one. Different instruments produce different tonal qualities, which is why a bassoon sounds dark and woody, while a trumpet is bright and brassy. But I have no idea as to why this is so. So I stand on the shore of this ocean of music and toss my feeble notes into the waves, amazed at the vastness of it; how a single scale can produce so many different songs. It would never occur to me to say, "There are no more songs out there." I may not know what they are, but they are surely there.

Although I don't agree with him, the agnostic at least makes sense when he says, "I don't know." The atheist however, seems awfully arrogant. To categorically deny the possibility of God's existence, one would have to possess all available knowledge, an attribute we give to God alone. Failing this, to say God is an impossibility is either arrogant or foolish. If there is something in this world that I don't know, I must concede the possibility of the existence of a god, or God. There's plenty I don't know, so I know God is possible. My faith tells me who he is, what he is like, and how I may know him. That's enough for which to be thankful tonight.

Forgiveness

September 8, 2016

This morning I was reflecting on some of the Scripture I read yesterday (I can be a bit slow on the draw when it comes to spiritual insight), and Luke 17:3-4 came to mind in an unusual way. The text reads, "If your brother sins against you, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him. And if he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times in a day he comes and says, 'I repent,' forgive him." Words similar to these are found on Jesus' lips on more than one occasion. It is a command we are too often slow to keep. Awhile back when ISIS terrorists beheaded six Libyan Christians, to the amazement of even the Christian world, their families went on national television declaring their forgiveness of the murderers. Most of us would at least require months, if not years, to get to the place where we can forgive, but they recognized forgiveness not as a nice gesture, but as a command from the Lord, which they took very seriously.

As I read this text and thought about the command to forgive seven times a day, or as Jesus told Peter, "seventy times seven," I became aware that this is not a command given without a context. Jesus can command this kind of forgiveness because it is the kind of forgiveness he offers us. I think back over the years and over the many times I stumbled over the same weaknesses, and of the times I therefore figured God must have given up on me now, and I realize Jesus isn't telling me to do something he hasn't already done over and over again. He commands us to forgive because that's what he did, and it is how we demonstrate to the world that he lives in us. An unwillingness to forgive, to be reconciled, is proof that no matter how loudly and convincingly we preach, no matter how much we sing and pray, we ourselves haven't received the forgiveness of Christ. This is true not only of our need to forgive others, but also of our need to forgive ourselves.

When we've failed (again), it can be hard to believe that with simple repentance we can be forgiven, but amazingly enough, that's how it works. If we believe, it works. I am grateful tonight that what Christ commands he also enables, and that he only commands what he has already done. Repeatedly. Seventy times seven.