Standing in Line

January 7, 2019

It’s really quite remarkable when you think about it. “O how the mighty are fallen!”— a lament recorded in 2 Samuel over a king who what by all rights should have lived and died in obscurity, but whose name is familiar to millions of Jews and Christians—Saul, first of the Israelite monarchs. Were it not for the Bible, he would be just one of thousands of minor rulers of history’s petty fiefdoms. Israel after all, was for most of its ancient history, a mere footnote in the annals of the major world empires of the day. As it is, Saul is known even by little Sunday School children while many of the major players of history lie forgotten in their graves or known only by their participation in the Biblical story.

Saul should be an encouragement to us. A minor potentate, but great among the kings of Israel, he helped consolidate a fragmented hodge-podge of tribal loyalties under a single monarchy. He was certainly flawed, ending his life in disgrace and dishonor. But he is remembered. 

So when it seems as if life is flowing all around us in major torrents into a sea whose magnitude is beyond imagination, we can take heart that God often chooses the insignificant and unknown to fulfill his purposes, and when the final role call is taken, the last shall be first and the least shall be greatest. I don’t know where in line I’ll be standing, but living as I do in the backwaters and eddies of society, I’m hopeful to at least be somewhere in the middle. And if not, though normally I hate standing in line for anything I will be grateful to even be in that one.

Epiphany

January 6, 2019

Today is Epiphany, the Christian Church’s celebration of the visitation of the Magi to the Christ Child. Being foreigners, they were portents of the opening of the Gospel to all the world instead of it being merely a Jewish sect. It is a day when we think about evangelism, God’s call for us to spread the Good News of salvation through faith in Jesus Christ. There is a progression to this.

Last week, I spoke to my congregation about what motivated them for life. St. Paul said in 2 Corinthians 5, that two things motivated him: first was the terror of the Lord. He knew the consequences of sin in this world, and envisioned them in the next, and was terrified that anyone should have to face the music. He was also motivated by the love of Christ that makes it possible for us to face the terror of the Lord knowing that his just anger at sin has been deflected by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. I fear that too often I have been pretty oblivious to these two basic tenets of our faith, and as a result, haven’t had the necessary motivation to share my faith as I should. I was preaching to me more than to them. I concluded by challenging them and me to begin praying for one person with whom we can share Christ this year.

Today I encouraged my congregation to give themselves to reading and meditating on Scripture. It’s the only way to sustain spiritual life adequately for the commission we’ve been given to take the Good News to a world dying to hear it, yet refusing to believe it. Epiphany...Sharing Christ isn’t just about telling our personal story of redemption, but the greater Story of how it all came about through the great love of God that produced the Incarnation, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus, his Exaltation, and the gift of the Holy Spirit to the Church. Today we celebrate it, and each day I prepare to actually do it as I pray and search the Scriptures, thankful for the holy privilege of evangelism we’ve been given.

Weak Excellence

January 5, 2019

If excellence is a reflection of the nature of God himself, what do we make of God’s strange insistence upon using the weak and imperfect for eternal purposes? St. Paul states the case in 1 Corinthians 1:26-29

“Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him.”

While the soaring arches of a Westminster Abbey, the impeccable performance of the Hallelujah Chorus, or the magnificent oratory of Shakespeare’s Hamlet may reflect the glory of the Lord with breathtaking majesty, according to Paul, God revels in the halting, imperfect attempts of the lowliest of his people who present their best from the heart. Looking through some old files awhile back, I came across the childish scrawls of one of our children. It was a card—birthday or Christmas; I can’t remember—the gift of a four-year-old. The heart was lopsided, the spelling creative, but it was pure sincerity. I still treasure these gifts that today might be a bit embarrassing to their creators because I see beneath and beyond the childish ability to the childlike heart. 

If my kids made the same card today, instead of reflecting their love, it would be evidence of their thoughtlessness (except if Nate made it. Stick figures would be his best drawing). It’s the heart that matters. I’ve listened to trained voices singing songs of praise that left me feeling empty because all I heard was the voice; there was no surrendered heart of love behind the beautiful sounds. And I’ve listened to little children and tone-deaf adults who don’t know whether the note goes up or down, but their song is a beautiful paean of praise to the Lord who redeemed them. Excellence is not merely the end result of years of study and labor; for it to be truly excellent, it must also spring from a grateful heart. Tomorrow I will preach once more. Some may think it excellent, others may find it lacking. The only one who truly knows is the God who sees my heart. May he find excellence there, even if it doesn’t make it to the tongue.

The Refracted Image of Freddie Mercury

January 4, 2019

“Made in the Image of God” is perhaps the greatest thing that can be said of a human being. We love our pets; admire the strength of a lion, the grace of a hawk soaring in the heavens, or the savage intensity of a fisher. But there is none other that bears the image of God—the ability to reason, to create, to ponder eternity. 

When God created the heavens, the earth, and all therein, the Scriptures record him saying, “It is good.” The record is sparse; God spoke and it was. Only the human is given the special attention of God’s fingers, molding and shaping the Man from the dust of the ground. And when done, God said, “It is very good!” 

Sin entered, and the original beauty of creation was marred, mankind included. That image, once exactly reflecting the Creator, was also marred, like a broken mirror refracting the light in bizarre patterns to yet show albeit inaccurately, the image of God. I’ve often thought that our human pursuit of excellence is but one facet of that Imago Dei. We strive for perfection in science and medicine, for excellence in the arts, for peace in the world.

A couple nights ago, I stumbled across a couple YouTube videos, first of Freddie Mercury, and then of Michael Jackson, both at the height of their careers. I am not particularly a fan of rock music, and certainly hadn’t followed either of them as they rose like shooting stars, only to flame out at the apex of their powers, but I found myself mesmerized by the sheer magnitude of stage presence these two men commanded. They strutted, danced, and sang their way into the hearts of millions before crashing in self-induced destruction. Watching their performances, I can understand the attraction they held. They pursued excellence, came pretty close to achieving it, and in the process gained an enormous following. Like John Wesley who some two hundred fifty years ago when asked why crowds of people came to hear him preach, responded, “I just set myself on fire, and people come to watch me burn.”

Sad it is that these two individuals did just that, and unsustained by the fires of the Holy Spirit, simply burned out long before their time. Their personal lives were tragic, yet the Image of God remains in their passion and pursuit of excellence. I wonder what would happen if the people of God gave themselves as completely to Him as Mercury and Jackson gave themselves to their music. D.L. Moody, the great nineteenth century evangelist, was motivated by a man who said, “The world has yet to see what God can do through a man completely surrendered to Jesus Christ.” 

Moody vowed, “I want to be that man!” So do I. So do I.

Love and Prayer

January 3, 2019

It’s humbling to have to admit that I have a lazy mind. If I weren’t a preacher, my inner life, the life of the soul would probably be pretty shallow. Someone once said that many preachers preach to save their own souls. I believe that. I know preaching has saved mine many times. So I started out the new year preaching on motivation, and in the course of it, spoke of Paul’s motivation for preaching the Gospel: the terror of the Lord, and the love of Christ. He could see as others could not, the devastating consequences of lives dominated by sin. It doesn’t take much perception to see the calamity sin brings upon people; broken lives, broken homes, broken communities are all around us. St. Paul saw beyond that to the eternal consequences of sin, and was terrified to think of anyone having to face them. That’s the terror of the Lord. But there was also the love of Christ; God’s gracious answer to our predicament.

I challenged my people to begin praying for one person to whom they could offer Christ. Such prayer must be grounded in Scripture, which is this Sunday’s topic. But there must be prayer, and prayer is where things get a bit dodgy for me. I’ve listened to many people praying over the course of my life; I’ve heard some pretty eloquent prayers. I’ve listened to long and flowery prayers, loud and fervent prayers, quiet and tender prayers. I’ve listened to people talk about their vibrant prayer life, and I look at myself and wonder what’s wrong with me. Most of the time, I can’t think of much to say. God doesn’t need my explanation of the problem, so my prayers tend to turn into laundry lists of requests. That is, if I don’t fall asleep in the middle of them.

Some years ago, I came across some teaching about relationships, particularly for marriages. The author of this particular book talked about what he called the five languages of love. He said that people understand and experience love in different ways, but couples rarely speak the same love language, which results in frustration and often anger as they sincerely try to let their partner know of their love, but express it in ways that the other isn’t skilled in receiving. It’s like an Spaniard and a Russian wanting to communicate, but unable to do so because of the language barrier.

The five love languages are Touch, Time, Words of Affirmation, Gift Giving, and Deeds of Service. In our marriage, Linda’s love language is words of affirmation; mine is time. You can see where this is headed: If she spends time with me, my love tank gets filled up. She doesn’t need to talk; just being together blesses me. But if I’m not listening to her words and verbally telling her how special she is to me, her tank soon is empty. Words of affirmation are not my native tongue, and I often forget to speak her language, and in earlier years, she liked to be on the go so much, that coupled with raising our children, I often found myself running on fumes. Even today 48 years later, we both have to work to remember each other’s love language.

So one day, I got to thinking. “God made me the way I am. What if he just wants me to spend time with him instead of talking all the time?” God speaks my love language; there doesn’t have to be a lot of talk. I just need to carve out the time for us to be together. Once I figured that out, prayer began to make sense to me.

Whatever one’s love language is, God speaks it. We don’t have to learn a foreign language to love, and be loved by God. For me, words are ok, but not always necessary. Time is. Linda needs the words. So we each pray our own way, and God hears us both. For that, I am thankful tonight.

An Ordinary Day

January 2, 2019

Running through the day in my mind, nothing stands out as worthy of comment in my nightly thanksgiving notes. Perhaps this ordinary day in itself is something for which to give thanks. I got up, fixed breakfast, went to work, got a start on Sunday’s sermon, restrung my guitar, found an old song I had written years ago, then came home, stopping on the way at Home Depot for a few items, and the credit union to do our monthly banking.

Once home, the absence of a major project in the works left me feeling restless, so I wrote some thank you notes, loaded the woodbin, had dinner, attended a village board meeting, and came home to a couple games of dominoes with Linda and our granddaughter Alex. There was absolutely nothing earth-shattering about today. Except...

I woke up. Not everyone had that privilege. I am ambulatory, have reasonable use of my faculties, own a home that is warm and comfortable, the equipment I need to care for it, a loving wife to share it with me. My family is safe, living godly and honorable lives. My grandchildren are within walking distance except for those in college, and even one of them is home for the semester. Whatever aches and pains I have are minimal, and I have work that is both challenging and enjoyable. The sins of my past are forgiven, I have hope for tomorrow, and salvation joy today. 

My list could go on and on. My point is, there are countless individuals who would trade dozens of their best days for this single ordinary one. I don’t know famine or fear, am not suffering physically, spiritually, politically, economically. I am not at odds with my memories, my family members, or anyone with whom I must live. By any measure, I am blessed beyond measure on this ordinary day for which I give thanks tonight.

Lectio Divina

January 1, 2019

“Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil. Cling to what is good.” (Romans 12:9).

This morning I started a short Bible reading regimen focusing on Christian meditation. Last year’s plan took us through the entire Bible in a year, which was good, but at times I found myself reading almost mindlessly, just to get through the volume of Scripture needing to be read each day to stay on track. I needed to pull back a bit, take shorter texts and take the time to actually reflect on what I read. It’s the ancient practice of meditation.

One of the most well-known meditation disciplines is called Lectio Divina, Latin for “the Divine Word.” It has four components: Lectio (Receive), Meditatio (Reflect), Oratio (Respond), Contemplatio (Rest). Too often in our reading of Scripture, we read but don’t receive, think but don’t reflect, pray but don’t respond to what we’ve read, and never get around to resting in the Presence of God. We’re too busy, too rushed, too pressed for time to let the Divine Word take root in our souls. And when we read long passages of Scripture (which we ought to do at least occasionally), there is too much to digest. It’s like sitting down at a Thanksgiving meal, gorging ourselves till we hurt, and wonder why we aren’t absorbing the nutrients we need to get healthy.

So these words from St. Paul caught my attention this morning, causing me to stop and reflect.  I think this will be my theme verse for 2019; to love unconditionally, without selfishness, ambition, or expectation; to abhor evil, and cling to what is good. I abhor some evil—usually that found in others—but too often compromise and form secret alliances with it when it comes to the sins to which I am drawn. 

Then there is this “cling to what is good.” One would think that as a Christian I would be automatically drawn to what is good, but Original Sin still has a few of its hooks in me. It is almost always easier to ignore what is good than to actually do it. I think that’s why Paul tells us to cling to it. It is like a life preserver to a drowning man. What is good can be slippery when we’ve fallen overboard and are struggling with the waves. I need to cling desperately to the Cross, to what is good, with every ounce of strength I have, aided by the Holy Spirit. Why? Because my very life depends on it. 

So I’ve received the Word, reflected on it; now it’s time for me to respond to it in prayer, then to simply rest and rejoice in the Presence of the Christ whose death on the Cross enables and moves me to even begin this journey.