I built houses for myself, I planted vineyards for myself; I made gardens and parks for myself . . . I collected for myself silver and gold and the treasure of kings and provinces. I provided for myself male and female singers and the pleasures of men--many concubines . . . All that my eyes desired I did not refuse them . . . and behold all was vanity and striving after wind . . . . (Ecclesiastes 2:4-11)
Joel was only 45 when he died. I remember thinking he had what many men only dream of having: a loving wife and family, a good job, and well-liked in his community.
And yet, on a Tuesday evening after work he put a gun to his head -- and pulled the trigger.
In the few years I'd known him, he had the outward appearance of happiness. But outward appearances often belie the emptiness of the heart.
I wonder if long before the bullet shattered his skull, Joel had emptied his heart of what he'd learned as a child of God's love. As he grew older, did he try to fill that emptiness with things that promised fulfillment . . . things that ultimately left him empty?
To this day, no one knows why Joel took his life that Tuesday. But I wonder if, like Solomon, he realized wealth, position, and reputation are not enough to fill the God-created void St. Augustine spoke of in his Confessions: "Thou hast made us for thyself, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in Thee."
Who is not tempted at times to misorder life’s priorities, to choose the seductive allure of popularity, position or wealth to the sacrifices God requires of time, wealth and talent -- and not infrequently -- friendships, freedom, or even our very lives?
Decisions like that never occur overnight. They begin, and are nurtured, at the heart’s altar where, in time, they blossom into a mind-set of faith or faithlessness, trust or scorn, obedience or rebellion.
Turning from God's call on our lives doesn’t mean we’ll end up putting a gun to our head. But I’ve seen so often the results of running from Him, I think it’s a spiritual law: Those who persist in choosing their will over God’s reach the same conclusion Solomon reached before his conversion: “Vanity of vanities. All is vanity” (Ecclesiastes 1:2).
What a tragic mistake it is to end a life like that.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
The Promise
"Do I have any pleasure in the death of the wicked," declares the Lord GOD, "rather than that he should turn from his ways and live?” . . . . For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone who dies," declares the Lord GOD. "Therefore, repent and live." (Ezekiel 18:23, 32)
Every now and again
I think of the thief
dying next to Jesus.
I wonder if his mother
wept at the cross
for her wayward son . . .
or did she learn
of his death
days later
after strangers
buried him,
and she grieved by his grave
without knowing
of her son’s repentance
or of Christ’s promise:
Today
you will be with Me
in paradise.
I wonder too
of the many moms
and dads today
who grieve
at the grave
of their wayward son
or daughter
unaware
of their child’s
repentance
or of Christ’s
promise
Today
you will be with Me
in paradise.
Every now and again
I think of the thief
dying next to Jesus.
I wonder if his mother
wept at the cross
for her wayward son . . .
or did she learn
of his death
days later
after strangers
buried him,
and she grieved by his grave
without knowing
of her son’s repentance
or of Christ’s promise:
Today
you will be with Me
in paradise.
I wonder too
of the many moms
and dads today
who grieve
at the grave
of their wayward son
or daughter
unaware
of their child’s
repentance
or of Christ’s
promise
Today
you will be with Me
in paradise.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Arise My Darling, and Come Along
Prefiguring Christ and His Church, Solomon wrote:
[My beloved groom] . . . . says to me,"Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come! For see, the winter is past, the rains are over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of pruning the vines has come, and the song of the dove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines in bloom give forth fragrance. Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come! (Song of Songs 2:9b-13).
I'd read this passage dozens of times during the past 35 years of my journey with Christ. But only recently did its message nearly overwhelm my emotions as I connected it with others I'd memorized.
Jesus said, In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back again and take you to myself, so that where I am you also may be (John 14:2-3).
St. Paul added, Indeed, we tell you this, on the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will surely not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself, with a [shout], with the voice of an archangel and with the trumpet of God, will come down from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Thus we shall always be with the Lord (1 Thessalonians 4:15-17).
Sometimes, when I read promises like these -- and especially like that from the Song of Songs in which my Groom calls me His "beloved," His "beautiful one" -- I can almost hear the Lord shout. I can almost hear the trumpet. I can almost see myself in His presence, His arms drawing me to Himself as He whispers: Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come with Me. The vines in blossom are giving off their sweet fragrance. Winter is past. Come with Me to the place I've prepared for you. A place without tears, or fear, or sorrow. A place without separation, or death.
[My beloved groom] . . . . says to me,"Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come! For see, the winter is past, the rains are over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of pruning the vines has come, and the song of the dove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines in bloom give forth fragrance. Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come! (Song of Songs 2:9b-13).
I'd read this passage dozens of times during the past 35 years of my journey with Christ. But only recently did its message nearly overwhelm my emotions as I connected it with others I'd memorized.
Jesus said, In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back again and take you to myself, so that where I am you also may be (John 14:2-3).
St. Paul added, Indeed, we tell you this, on the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will surely not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself, with a [shout], with the voice of an archangel and with the trumpet of God, will come down from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Thus we shall always be with the Lord (1 Thessalonians 4:15-17).
Sometimes, when I read promises like these -- and especially like that from the Song of Songs in which my Groom calls me His "beloved," His "beautiful one" -- I can almost hear the Lord shout. I can almost hear the trumpet. I can almost see myself in His presence, His arms drawing me to Himself as He whispers: Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come with Me. The vines in blossom are giving off their sweet fragrance. Winter is past. Come with Me to the place I've prepared for you. A place without tears, or fear, or sorrow. A place without separation, or death.
Arise my darling, my beautiful one, and come along.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Citizenship -- Rights and Responsibilities
The jailer reported the words to Paul, "The magistrates have sent orders that you be released. Now, then, come out and go in peace." But Paul said to them, "They have beaten us publicly, even though we are Roman citizens and have not been tried, and have thrown us into prison. And now, are they going to release us secretly? By no means. Let them come themselves and lead us out (Acts 16:36-37).
I often stop at this section in my reading through Acts and mull this scene over and over in my mind -- especially because this incident has close application to the time in which we live.
Roman citizens of the 1st century enjoyed special rights not granted to non-Romans. One of those privileges was exemption from beating and imprisonment without due process of law. No wonder the city leaders became alarmed when they learned the status of their two latest prisoners.
We find also in this text St. Paul used his Roman citizenship to force a public apology from the magistrates. In so doing he guaranteed the new believers he and Silas had won for Christ would receive civil protection from political and religious harassment.
That is why St. Paul’s use of his citizenship rights provides us an important lesson.
Many today try to intimidate God's children into silence with regard to public policies and morality. They say our religious views have no place in government, in schools, in courts – even in the marketplace.
But that’s not at all what the apostles believed, nor what the Church teaches. Christian citizens not only have a right to actively participate in our government by speaking (and voting) against immorality and injustice, but we have an obligation to do so. Thus the Catechism of the Catholic Church states: (paragraph 2239) It is the duty of citizens to contribute along with the civil authorities to the good of society in a spirit of truth, justice, solidarity, and freedom . . . .
Then again, (paragraph 2242) The citizen is obliged in conscience not to follow the directives of civil authorities when they are contrary to the demands of the moral order, to the fundamental rights of persons or the teachings of the Gospel. . . . "Render therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's." “We must obey God rather than men . . . .”
From the standpoint of evangelism, Saints Paul and Silas teach us that by wise use of our rights as citizens, new converts won to Christ will find protection from religious harassment at the hands of civil authorities.
And just as important, our boldness in the face of social, political and cultural intimidation will enable not-yet-converts to hear the gospel presented without fear of reprisal.
Saints Paul and Silas, pray for us.
I often stop at this section in my reading through Acts and mull this scene over and over in my mind -- especially because this incident has close application to the time in which we live.
Roman citizens of the 1st century enjoyed special rights not granted to non-Romans. One of those privileges was exemption from beating and imprisonment without due process of law. No wonder the city leaders became alarmed when they learned the status of their two latest prisoners.
We find also in this text St. Paul used his Roman citizenship to force a public apology from the magistrates. In so doing he guaranteed the new believers he and Silas had won for Christ would receive civil protection from political and religious harassment.
That is why St. Paul’s use of his citizenship rights provides us an important lesson.
Many today try to intimidate God's children into silence with regard to public policies and morality. They say our religious views have no place in government, in schools, in courts – even in the marketplace.
But that’s not at all what the apostles believed, nor what the Church teaches. Christian citizens not only have a right to actively participate in our government by speaking (and voting) against immorality and injustice, but we have an obligation to do so. Thus the Catechism of the Catholic Church states: (paragraph 2239) It is the duty of citizens to contribute along with the civil authorities to the good of society in a spirit of truth, justice, solidarity, and freedom . . . .
Then again, (paragraph 2242) The citizen is obliged in conscience not to follow the directives of civil authorities when they are contrary to the demands of the moral order, to the fundamental rights of persons or the teachings of the Gospel. . . . "Render therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's." “We must obey God rather than men . . . .”
From the standpoint of evangelism, Saints Paul and Silas teach us that by wise use of our rights as citizens, new converts won to Christ will find protection from religious harassment at the hands of civil authorities.
And just as important, our boldness in the face of social, political and cultural intimidation will enable not-yet-converts to hear the gospel presented without fear of reprisal.
Saints Paul and Silas, pray for us.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Knowing Who We Are and Why We Are Here
Therefore be imitators of God as beloved children . . . . (Ephesians 5:1)
How does a person learn to imitate God?
As I laid my Bible down and pondered that idea, I remembered another text, this one in St. John’s gospel. Jesus said to His disciples, He who abides in Me, and I in him, he bears much fruit (John 15:5). Then St. Paul’s words dropped into my mind, I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live but Christ lives in me (Galatians 2:20).
As I mulled over those texts, I realized again (I say again because the Holy Spirit often has to remind me of things He has repeatedly shown me over the years . . . things I quickly forget), we learn to imitate Christ by abiding – remaining close to – Him. The closer we abide, the better we imitate.
It’s really that simple.
Jesus in His humanity abided so well in His Father that at no time in all of Scripture did He ever question who He was or what was His purpose on earth.
Even at the age of twelve, when Mary and Joseph found Him in the Temple, Jesus already knew His purpose. Didn’t you know I had to be about My Father’s things? He asked His parents. During His adult ministry, the Lord repeatedly and without hesitation declared His divine mission and origin. When St. Peter said to Jesus, You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God, Jesus answered, Flesh and blood did not reveal this to you, but My Father who is in heaven (Matthew 16:16-17) To a grieving Martha and Mary, He said, I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live even if he dies. And everyone who lives and believes in me will never die (John 11:25-26); To the Pharisees, He declared, Before Abraham was born, I Am (John 8:58), and, My food is to do the will of Him who sent Me and to accomplish His work (John 4:34); And yet again, I and the father are one (John 10:30).
The Church, which St. Paul calls the “pillar and support of the truth” (1 Timothy 3:15) adds her guidance about the Lord’s confidence and knowledge of His origin and purpose. For example, we find in the Catechism:
Paragraph 536: The baptism of Jesus is on his part the acceptance and inauguration of his mission as God's suffering Servant. He allows himself to be numbered among sinners; he is already "the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world". Already he is anticipating the "baptism" of his bloody death. Already he is coming to "fulfill all righteousness", that is, he is submitting himself entirely to his Father's will: out of love he consents to this baptism of death for the remission of our sins. The Father's voice responds to the Son's acceptance, proclaiming his entire delight in his Son.
Paragraph 440: Jesus accepted Peter's profession of faith, which acknowledged him to be the Messiah . . . . He unveiled the authentic content of his messianic kingship both in the transcendent identity of the Son of Man "who came down from heaven", and in his redemptive mission as the suffering Servant . . . .
Paragraphy 442 [When] Simon Peter . . . confesses Jesus as "the Christ, the Son of the living God", for Jesus responds solemnly: "Flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven” . . . .
Scores of additional such passages thread their way through the Gospels and the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Each illustrates without equivocation or nuance that Jesus never doubted his origin, role, or mission.
So what does that mean for us?
It is this: We do not have to stumble through life wondering who we are and why we are here. When we abide with Christ and learn to imitate His obedience to the Father, then who we are becomes clear -- we are a child of God. And life’s real purpose -- that being to serve Christ, to serve others and bring them the gospel of truth --becomes our passion.
After all, if it were not so, the Holy Spirit would not have guided St. Paul to write: Be imitators of God, as beloved children.
How does a person learn to imitate God?
As I laid my Bible down and pondered that idea, I remembered another text, this one in St. John’s gospel. Jesus said to His disciples, He who abides in Me, and I in him, he bears much fruit (John 15:5). Then St. Paul’s words dropped into my mind, I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live but Christ lives in me (Galatians 2:20).
As I mulled over those texts, I realized again (I say again because the Holy Spirit often has to remind me of things He has repeatedly shown me over the years . . . things I quickly forget), we learn to imitate Christ by abiding – remaining close to – Him. The closer we abide, the better we imitate.
It’s really that simple.
Jesus in His humanity abided so well in His Father that at no time in all of Scripture did He ever question who He was or what was His purpose on earth.
Even at the age of twelve, when Mary and Joseph found Him in the Temple, Jesus already knew His purpose. Didn’t you know I had to be about My Father’s things? He asked His parents. During His adult ministry, the Lord repeatedly and without hesitation declared His divine mission and origin. When St. Peter said to Jesus, You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God, Jesus answered, Flesh and blood did not reveal this to you, but My Father who is in heaven (Matthew 16:16-17) To a grieving Martha and Mary, He said, I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live even if he dies. And everyone who lives and believes in me will never die (John 11:25-26); To the Pharisees, He declared, Before Abraham was born, I Am (John 8:58), and, My food is to do the will of Him who sent Me and to accomplish His work (John 4:34); And yet again, I and the father are one (John 10:30).
The Church, which St. Paul calls the “pillar and support of the truth” (1 Timothy 3:15) adds her guidance about the Lord’s confidence and knowledge of His origin and purpose. For example, we find in the Catechism:
Paragraph 536: The baptism of Jesus is on his part the acceptance and inauguration of his mission as God's suffering Servant. He allows himself to be numbered among sinners; he is already "the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world". Already he is anticipating the "baptism" of his bloody death. Already he is coming to "fulfill all righteousness", that is, he is submitting himself entirely to his Father's will: out of love he consents to this baptism of death for the remission of our sins. The Father's voice responds to the Son's acceptance, proclaiming his entire delight in his Son.
Paragraph 440: Jesus accepted Peter's profession of faith, which acknowledged him to be the Messiah . . . . He unveiled the authentic content of his messianic kingship both in the transcendent identity of the Son of Man "who came down from heaven", and in his redemptive mission as the suffering Servant . . . .
Paragraphy 442 [When] Simon Peter . . . confesses Jesus as "the Christ, the Son of the living God", for Jesus responds solemnly: "Flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven” . . . .
Scores of additional such passages thread their way through the Gospels and the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Each illustrates without equivocation or nuance that Jesus never doubted his origin, role, or mission.
So what does that mean for us?
It is this: We do not have to stumble through life wondering who we are and why we are here. When we abide with Christ and learn to imitate His obedience to the Father, then who we are becomes clear -- we are a child of God. And life’s real purpose -- that being to serve Christ, to serve others and bring them the gospel of truth --becomes our passion.
After all, if it were not so, the Holy Spirit would not have guided St. Paul to write: Be imitators of God, as beloved children.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Remembering Lot's Wife
As soon as they had been brought outside, [Lot] was told: "Flee for your life! Don't look back or stop anywhere on the Plain. Get off to the hills at once, or you will be swept away." . . . . But Lot's wife looked back, and she was turned into a pillar of salt (Genesis 19:17-26).
Why did Lot’s wife turn back?
We can only speculate.
Perhaps she didn’t want to leave her parents and family. Maybe she wished to remain with her friends. Or she longed to keep the familiar and avoid the new.
Whatever the reason, her fate became a teaching point in St. Luke’s gospel. While talking about His second advent, Jesus cautioned His disciples against double-mindedness, of wanting a relationship with God while at the same time being unwilling to give up the familiar . . . even family and friends if necessary.
“Remember Lot’s wife” Jesus said (St. Luke 17:32).
Those words should strike like a hammer.
Remember Lot’s wife.
What prevents us from fully obeying Jesus? Why do we so easily hesitate when He calls us to a deeper devotion to Him? Why do we so tenaciously cling to the old in favor of the new?
Perhaps for the same reasons Lot’s wife turned back.
Perhaps for a few more.
Or perhaps we simply do not recognize the danger.
Why did Lot’s wife turn back?
We can only speculate.
Perhaps she didn’t want to leave her parents and family. Maybe she wished to remain with her friends. Or she longed to keep the familiar and avoid the new.
Whatever the reason, her fate became a teaching point in St. Luke’s gospel. While talking about His second advent, Jesus cautioned His disciples against double-mindedness, of wanting a relationship with God while at the same time being unwilling to give up the familiar . . . even family and friends if necessary.
“Remember Lot’s wife” Jesus said (St. Luke 17:32).
Those words should strike like a hammer.
Remember Lot’s wife.
What prevents us from fully obeying Jesus? Why do we so easily hesitate when He calls us to a deeper devotion to Him? Why do we so tenaciously cling to the old in favor of the new?
Perhaps for the same reasons Lot’s wife turned back.
Perhaps for a few more.
Or perhaps we simply do not recognize the danger.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Going Out of His Way
They came to the other side of the sea, into the country of the Gerasenes. When He got out of the boat, immediately a man from the tombs with an unclean spirit met Him . . . (Mark 5:1-2)
As I'm reading through chapter 4 of St. Mark, and then into chapter 5, I mused over the scene in my mind. In verse 35 of chapter 4, the Lord tells the disciples: "Let us go over to the other side." From the details here in St. Mark's gospel, and the parallel accounts in Luke and Matthew, there doesn't seem to be an apparent reason why the Lord decided to cross the Sea of Galilee.
But we know what happened when He arrived:
When [Jesus] got out of the boat, immediately a man from the tombs with an unclean spirit met Him,and he had his dwelling among the tombs. And no one was able to bind him anymore, even with a chain; because he had often been bound with shackles and chains, and the chains had been torn apart by him and the shackles broken in pieces, and no one was strong enough to subdue him. Constantly, night and day, he was screaming among the tombs and in the mountains, and gashing himself with stones.
I saw the man in my imagination. Dirty. Reeking with dried urine and feces. Filthy beard and hair. Wild look in his eyes. His face contorted with fear, or rage, or helplessness . . . or maybe all three.
The text continues: Seeing Jesus from a distance, he ran up and bowed down before Him . . .
If you remember the story, you know the Lord instantly healed the man and then cast the demons into a herd of pigs. When the people of the place heard what Jesus had done, they begged him to leave their country.
I've read that story dozens of times. But this time I noticed something new.
The Lord could have stayed on the other side of the lake and ministered to the hundreds who came to Him. But the Good Shepherd knew of a lost sheep across the water. Bound with chains stronger than iron, no one could free him from his demonic masters. He was their toy. Their plaything who did whatever their cruelty wanted him to do. And he would be imprisoned by them for as long as he lived.
But . . .
I'm so glad for the "buts" of Scripture.
But Jesus knew of the man. And that changed forever the man's destiny.
A changed destiny.
Who thinks Jesus is not the same today as He was yesterday? Who thinks the Good Shepherd does not still go out of His way to meet us in our desperation? Our helplessness? Our bondage to sins that drive us to one failure after another?
The text tells us when the man saw Jesus from distance, he ran toward Him and bowed at His feet, which is what everyone today -- bound by the past, bound by the present, and in fear of tomorrow must do -- lift our eyes to Jesus, bow at His feet, and receive His salvation.
As St. Peter promised: All who call upon the Name of the Lord shall be saved (Acts 2:21).
As I'm reading through chapter 4 of St. Mark, and then into chapter 5, I mused over the scene in my mind. In verse 35 of chapter 4, the Lord tells the disciples: "Let us go over to the other side." From the details here in St. Mark's gospel, and the parallel accounts in Luke and Matthew, there doesn't seem to be an apparent reason why the Lord decided to cross the Sea of Galilee.
But we know what happened when He arrived:
When [Jesus] got out of the boat, immediately a man from the tombs with an unclean spirit met Him,and he had his dwelling among the tombs. And no one was able to bind him anymore, even with a chain; because he had often been bound with shackles and chains, and the chains had been torn apart by him and the shackles broken in pieces, and no one was strong enough to subdue him. Constantly, night and day, he was screaming among the tombs and in the mountains, and gashing himself with stones.
I saw the man in my imagination. Dirty. Reeking with dried urine and feces. Filthy beard and hair. Wild look in his eyes. His face contorted with fear, or rage, or helplessness . . . or maybe all three.
The text continues: Seeing Jesus from a distance, he ran up and bowed down before Him . . .
If you remember the story, you know the Lord instantly healed the man and then cast the demons into a herd of pigs. When the people of the place heard what Jesus had done, they begged him to leave their country.
I've read that story dozens of times. But this time I noticed something new.
The Lord could have stayed on the other side of the lake and ministered to the hundreds who came to Him. But the Good Shepherd knew of a lost sheep across the water. Bound with chains stronger than iron, no one could free him from his demonic masters. He was their toy. Their plaything who did whatever their cruelty wanted him to do. And he would be imprisoned by them for as long as he lived.
But . . .
I'm so glad for the "buts" of Scripture.
But Jesus knew of the man. And that changed forever the man's destiny.
A changed destiny.
Who thinks Jesus is not the same today as He was yesterday? Who thinks the Good Shepherd does not still go out of His way to meet us in our desperation? Our helplessness? Our bondage to sins that drive us to one failure after another?
The text tells us when the man saw Jesus from distance, he ran toward Him and bowed at His feet, which is what everyone today -- bound by the past, bound by the present, and in fear of tomorrow must do -- lift our eyes to Jesus, bow at His feet, and receive His salvation.
As St. Peter promised: All who call upon the Name of the Lord shall be saved (Acts 2:21).
Friday, February 19, 2010
How Shall We Live?
"Speak to Aaron and say to him, 'When you mount the lamps, the seven lamps will give light in the front of the lampstand.'" Aaron therefore did so; he mounted its lamps at the front of the lampstand (Numbers 8:2,3).
Without windows
Without windows
darkness shrouded
the Tabernacle.
Symbols of God's Presence –
the bread,
the altar,
the lampstand,
Symbols of God's Presence –
the bread,
the altar,
the lampstand,
remained hidden.
But
But
when Aaron lit the lamps,
darkness scattered
and the light unveiled
darkness scattered
and the light unveiled
each nuance
Men and women
shrouded in sin's darkness
lose their way.
Men and women
shrouded in sin's darkness
lose their way.
Symbols of God’s
presence,
presence,
mercy,
love,
remain hidden.
But
“Ye are the light of the world,”
He said.
How shall we live
to illuminate His presence
to those living in the darkness
of the shadow
love,
remain hidden.
But
“Ye are the light of the world,”
He said.
How shall we live
to illuminate His presence
to those living in the darkness
of the shadow
of death?
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Blowing Trumpets
When in your own land you go to war against an enemy that is attacking you, you shall sound the alarm on the trumpets, and the Lord, your God, will remember you and save you from your foes (Numbers 10:9).
This text suggests
God needs cues
This text suggests
God needs cues
like silver trumpets
to jog His memory
Or,
some might say
He needs our prayers
to remember us.
God does not need cues
or trumpets
or prayers.
or trumpets
or prayers.
We do.
God knows our temptation
to serve Jesus
without seeking
the face of Jesus --
to open doors,
without asking His help,
to pursue the battle
with weapons of flesh,
instead of spirit,
to be satisfied
with earth
instead of heaven.
But blowing trumpets,
or praying prayers
force us to remember
But blowing trumpets,
or praying prayers
force us to remember
the battle
is not ours,
but the Lord’s.
is not ours,
but the Lord’s.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Not a Method, But a Relationship
Sometimes I am asked what method I use during my contemplative prayers – which I think are better defined as meditative than contemplative. Truth is, I don’t have so much a method as I have a relationship. The distinction is not simply semantics. Relationships are built over time. Methods can be developed or copied in a few minutes.
However, as one of my pastors said in a recent homily – a relationship with God can be started at any time. The sooner, of course, the better. So if asked how I mature in my relationship to Christ – which then translates into my prayer process – I would answer this way:
1. My relationship with Christ began in 1972. I can tell you the day and the place where it happened. I recognized I was a sinner and needed divine forgiveness. Having been raised in a Jewish home and knowing nearly nothing about Chrisitanity except that Jesus died for me, I did the only thing I knew I could do. I asked God to forgive my sins and cleanse me through the blood of His Son. A short time later, when I learned I also needed to be baptized, I received that Sacrament (although I didn't know at the time it was a Sacrament).
2. To maintain and grow in my relationship with Jesus, I bring my serious sins into the Confessional. But it is rare for me to go through a day without praying something like the Act of Contrition for each transgression I commit, regardless of how venial it might seem to me. I try to keep my slate as clean as possible. As the psalmist said, If I hold onto sin in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.
3. I always receive the Eucharist with purposeful aforethought. When Moses stood before the burning bush, God told him to remove his sandals because the ground on which he was standing was holy. And so each time I approach the consecrated Bread and the Cup, I remind myself the ground on which I stand is no less holy. Doing so helps me receive Christ with a more somber and reflective attitude.
4. I spend an hour each morning with the Lord. To help myself settle into an attitude for prayer and meditation, I listen to one or two recorded Church hymns or other worship songs.
During that hour I read at least two chapters of the Bible. (I also read two every evening). Over the course of the last thirty-seven years I’ve read the Bible dozens of times. In addition, Scripture memory has always been an integral part of my relationship with Christ. I have memorized hundreds of verses, and can paraphrase hundreds more. This treasure of God’s word in my heart aids my meditation as the Holy Spirit brings those texts to the forefront to teach me something fresh or (more often) remind me of something I’d forgotten.
My reflections, meditations and prayers during the rest of the hour are really birthed in my daily decisions to bring my will into conformity with Christ’s. One of the books helping me understand the importance of obedience is The Practice of the Presence of God, by Brother Lawrence. Brother Lawrence wrote that he would not so much as pick up a feather from the ground without permission from the Lord. It is that kind of obedience to Christ, even in the minutia of daily activities, that I try to strive toward. However, I am learning such obedience does not happen in a vacuum. It requires many decisions during the day to either obey Him or rationalize why I do not have to obey. But each correct decision makes the next one easier.
Two of my favored prayer methods is Lectio Divina and St. Ignatian “imaginative” meditation.
Lectio divina is an ancient form of prayer often associated with the monastic tradition. As I read from the Bible I ask myself what the writer was trying to convey to his readers. Then I ask what the Holy Spirit might be trying to convey to me in the passage. As I ponder the questions, I mull those thoughts over and over. Sometimes I will begin memorizing a particular verse in the text and speak it back to God as a form of prayer.
Ignatian prayer uses the power of imagination to draw me closer to God. As I read through the Scripture, or consider one of the mysteries of the Rosary, I meditate on a scene that might catch my attention – the scourging of Christ at the pillar, for example. I try to imagine what it would have been like if I had been there, watching the horrible scene play out. I try to smell the dust swirling in the breezes, to hear the mob’s shouts behind me, to watch our Blessed Mother crumble with grief to the dirt as the soldier’s whip slices Jesus’ back. And as I imagine myself in the moment, I pray whatever thoughts come to my mind as I watch the scene unfold.
At other times I pray my own spontaneous prayers, or recite some of the many prayers given us by the Church. St. Ignatius of Loyola’s prayer is one example:
Oh Lord, take my freedom, my memory, my understanding and my will. All that I am and all that I possess You have given me: I surrender it all to You to be disposed of according to Your will. Give me only Your love and Your grace; with these I will be rich enough, and will desire nothing more.
The prayer of Pope Clement XI is another (I include only a portion of his prayer here):
Lord, I believe in you: increase my faith. I trust in you: strengthen my trust. I love you: let me love you more and more. I am sorry for my sins: deepen my sorrow. I want to do what you ask of me: In the way you ask, For as long as you ask, Because you ask it. Help me to prepare for death with a proper fear of judgment, but a greater trust in your goodness. Lead me safely through death to the endless joy of heaven. Grant this through Christ our Lord. Amen
One of my favorite prayers is the Humility Litany of Cardinal Merry Del Val. (I include only a portion of it here):
O Jesus! meek and humble of heart, hear me.
From the desire of being loved,
From the desire of being honored,
From the desire of being praised,
From the desire of being preferred to others,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the fear of being humiliated,
From the fear of being despised,
From the fear of being forgotten,
From the fear of being ridiculed,
Deliver me, O Jesus
That others may be loved more than I,
That others may be esteemed more than I,
That others may be praised and I unnoticed, That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should
O Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
My prayer-life, deeply rooted in a long-term growing relationship with Jesus, is no different than the prayer lives of any other Christian during the past two thousand years who has had a passion to know Christ – not just know about Him. I hope something of what I have written here will stir you to seek more of our Lord and Savior.
It’s not about a method. It’s about a relationship.
And it's about starting sooner than later.
However, as one of my pastors said in a recent homily – a relationship with God can be started at any time. The sooner, of course, the better. So if asked how I mature in my relationship to Christ – which then translates into my prayer process – I would answer this way:
1. My relationship with Christ began in 1972. I can tell you the day and the place where it happened. I recognized I was a sinner and needed divine forgiveness. Having been raised in a Jewish home and knowing nearly nothing about Chrisitanity except that Jesus died for me, I did the only thing I knew I could do. I asked God to forgive my sins and cleanse me through the blood of His Son. A short time later, when I learned I also needed to be baptized, I received that Sacrament (although I didn't know at the time it was a Sacrament).
2. To maintain and grow in my relationship with Jesus, I bring my serious sins into the Confessional. But it is rare for me to go through a day without praying something like the Act of Contrition for each transgression I commit, regardless of how venial it might seem to me. I try to keep my slate as clean as possible. As the psalmist said, If I hold onto sin in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.
3. I always receive the Eucharist with purposeful aforethought. When Moses stood before the burning bush, God told him to remove his sandals because the ground on which he was standing was holy. And so each time I approach the consecrated Bread and the Cup, I remind myself the ground on which I stand is no less holy. Doing so helps me receive Christ with a more somber and reflective attitude.
4. I spend an hour each morning with the Lord. To help myself settle into an attitude for prayer and meditation, I listen to one or two recorded Church hymns or other worship songs.
During that hour I read at least two chapters of the Bible. (I also read two every evening). Over the course of the last thirty-seven years I’ve read the Bible dozens of times. In addition, Scripture memory has always been an integral part of my relationship with Christ. I have memorized hundreds of verses, and can paraphrase hundreds more. This treasure of God’s word in my heart aids my meditation as the Holy Spirit brings those texts to the forefront to teach me something fresh or (more often) remind me of something I’d forgotten.
My reflections, meditations and prayers during the rest of the hour are really birthed in my daily decisions to bring my will into conformity with Christ’s. One of the books helping me understand the importance of obedience is The Practice of the Presence of God, by Brother Lawrence. Brother Lawrence wrote that he would not so much as pick up a feather from the ground without permission from the Lord. It is that kind of obedience to Christ, even in the minutia of daily activities, that I try to strive toward. However, I am learning such obedience does not happen in a vacuum. It requires many decisions during the day to either obey Him or rationalize why I do not have to obey. But each correct decision makes the next one easier.
Two of my favored prayer methods is Lectio Divina and St. Ignatian “imaginative” meditation.
Lectio divina is an ancient form of prayer often associated with the monastic tradition. As I read from the Bible I ask myself what the writer was trying to convey to his readers. Then I ask what the Holy Spirit might be trying to convey to me in the passage. As I ponder the questions, I mull those thoughts over and over. Sometimes I will begin memorizing a particular verse in the text and speak it back to God as a form of prayer.
Ignatian prayer uses the power of imagination to draw me closer to God. As I read through the Scripture, or consider one of the mysteries of the Rosary, I meditate on a scene that might catch my attention – the scourging of Christ at the pillar, for example. I try to imagine what it would have been like if I had been there, watching the horrible scene play out. I try to smell the dust swirling in the breezes, to hear the mob’s shouts behind me, to watch our Blessed Mother crumble with grief to the dirt as the soldier’s whip slices Jesus’ back. And as I imagine myself in the moment, I pray whatever thoughts come to my mind as I watch the scene unfold.
At other times I pray my own spontaneous prayers, or recite some of the many prayers given us by the Church. St. Ignatius of Loyola’s prayer is one example:
Oh Lord, take my freedom, my memory, my understanding and my will. All that I am and all that I possess You have given me: I surrender it all to You to be disposed of according to Your will. Give me only Your love and Your grace; with these I will be rich enough, and will desire nothing more.
The prayer of Pope Clement XI is another (I include only a portion of his prayer here):
Lord, I believe in you: increase my faith. I trust in you: strengthen my trust. I love you: let me love you more and more. I am sorry for my sins: deepen my sorrow. I want to do what you ask of me: In the way you ask, For as long as you ask, Because you ask it. Help me to prepare for death with a proper fear of judgment, but a greater trust in your goodness. Lead me safely through death to the endless joy of heaven. Grant this through Christ our Lord. Amen
One of my favorite prayers is the Humility Litany of Cardinal Merry Del Val. (I include only a portion of it here):
O Jesus! meek and humble of heart, hear me.
From the desire of being loved,
From the desire of being honored,
From the desire of being praised,
From the desire of being preferred to others,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the fear of being humiliated,
From the fear of being despised,
From the fear of being forgotten,
From the fear of being ridiculed,
Deliver me, O Jesus
That others may be loved more than I,
That others may be esteemed more than I,
That others may be praised and I unnoticed, That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should
O Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
My prayer-life, deeply rooted in a long-term growing relationship with Jesus, is no different than the prayer lives of any other Christian during the past two thousand years who has had a passion to know Christ – not just know about Him. I hope something of what I have written here will stir you to seek more of our Lord and Savior.
It’s not about a method. It’s about a relationship.
And it's about starting sooner than later.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Sources of Pride
Speak to the Israelites and tell them that they and their descendants must put tassels on the corners of their garments . . . [L]et the sight of them remind you to keep all the commandments of the Lord
(Numbers 15:38-40).
Israelites wore
tassels on their clothing
to remind them always
whose they were
and to whom they belonged.
But in time
tassels lost their meaning.
Instead of drawing them
to God,
they became
sources of pride
that led them away.*
We should learn
from the past.
Symbols of our faith –
Rosary
Scapular
Crucifix
Medal
Holy Card
should remind us always
whose we are
and to whom we belong –
to draw us to God
instead of becoming
sources of pride
that lead us away.
*(Matthew 23:47)
Monday, February 1, 2010
The Best of Prayers
Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I do my share on behalf of His body (which is the Church) in filling up that which is lacking in Christ's afflictions (Colossians 1:24).
On Jan 17th I posted a contemplation about my sciatica pain. It has eased now considerably . . . for which I am grateful to God. But I learned something of great value during those short few weeks while I tossed each night in my semi-sleep and dragged myself through each day. I learned that while there is something (to use my words again) "visceral, something I would call evil" about such pain, I also learned there is something sweet in the experience -- because God can be in the experience.
That is not a platitude. It is something I simply learned.
One thing that helped me learn that is the comment a person made to my post. Her name is Patricia. I copy it here:
I suffer from migraine headaches almost everyday - for decades. Sometimes I think about what I might have become or might have accomplished were it not for the constant pain and weariness. Yet, Jesus seems to say: Be with Me. Just be with Me. That is all I ask of you.
Patricia doesn't know this (of course, if she reads this post, she will now know it), Patricia doesn't know it, but I have mulled her words over in my mind many times since I first read them. It was as if my pain -- short-lived as it has been compared to her chronic pain -- it was as if my pain helped me understand in an intimate way what she heard from the Lord when He said to her: "Be with Me. Just be with Me. That is all I ask of you."
A few moments before I sat at my computer to write this blog entry, I read a comment by St. John Vianney: You can pray by putting yourself quite simply in touch with God. When one finds nothing more to say to Him, but just knows He is there -- that in itself is the best of prayers.
I don't know the full meaning of the text I quoted at the beginning of this post. But what I do know is this: we might be missing a great blessing of God when He gives us suffering -- perhaps I should say, when God gifts us with suffering -- and we grouse and complain and brood and mope our way through the experience.
Please do not misinterpret what I am saying. I am not at all suggesting we should not seek relief from our pain. But what I am suggesting is that when the pain persists despite our valiant attempts to find healing . . . when pain persists, we ought to consider perhaps it is God's gift to us, something He is giving us to somehow work in us whatever it will be that will teach us the best of prayers.
And to be with Him in a unique way.
On Jan 17th I posted a contemplation about my sciatica pain. It has eased now considerably . . . for which I am grateful to God. But I learned something of great value during those short few weeks while I tossed each night in my semi-sleep and dragged myself through each day. I learned that while there is something (to use my words again) "visceral, something I would call evil" about such pain, I also learned there is something sweet in the experience -- because God can be in the experience.
That is not a platitude. It is something I simply learned.
One thing that helped me learn that is the comment a person made to my post. Her name is Patricia. I copy it here:
I suffer from migraine headaches almost everyday - for decades. Sometimes I think about what I might have become or might have accomplished were it not for the constant pain and weariness. Yet, Jesus seems to say: Be with Me. Just be with Me. That is all I ask of you.
Patricia doesn't know this (of course, if she reads this post, she will now know it), Patricia doesn't know it, but I have mulled her words over in my mind many times since I first read them. It was as if my pain -- short-lived as it has been compared to her chronic pain -- it was as if my pain helped me understand in an intimate way what she heard from the Lord when He said to her: "Be with Me. Just be with Me. That is all I ask of you."
A few moments before I sat at my computer to write this blog entry, I read a comment by St. John Vianney: You can pray by putting yourself quite simply in touch with God. When one finds nothing more to say to Him, but just knows He is there -- that in itself is the best of prayers.
I don't know the full meaning of the text I quoted at the beginning of this post. But what I do know is this: we might be missing a great blessing of God when He gives us suffering -- perhaps I should say, when God gifts us with suffering -- and we grouse and complain and brood and mope our way through the experience.
Please do not misinterpret what I am saying. I am not at all suggesting we should not seek relief from our pain. But what I am suggesting is that when the pain persists despite our valiant attempts to find healing . . . when pain persists, we ought to consider perhaps it is God's gift to us, something He is giving us to somehow work in us whatever it will be that will teach us the best of prayers.
And to be with Him in a unique way.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Who Will Tell Them?
Sirs, what must I do to be saved? (Acts 16:30).
Rarely do I read this story of Sts. Paul and Silas in the Philippian jail that I don’t smile.
Of course, what the prison guard meant by his question is not really clear. Did he refer to his safety? If the prisoners escaped, he knew he would be executed -- which explains why he was about to commit suicide (v. 27). Or perhaps he had heard rumors about these two strangers who preached about an eternal salvation and the forgiveness of sins through a man called Jesus Christ.
Whatever his meaning, he was desperate. And St. Paul took advantage of the moment. "Believe in the Lord Jesus," he said, "and you and your household will be saved."
The opportunities we have to share Christ’s love and forgiveness are not usually as dramatic as this scene described in Acts 16. We do not often know what earthquakes jolt the lives of those around us. Nor do we often hear their cries for help.
But oh! That God would make us more sensitive to the needs of others and be ever ready to answer their sometimes unspoken plea, "What must I do to be saved?"
After all, if we don't tell them, who will?
And so the Church teaches: The Church on earth is by her nature missionary since, according to the plan of the Father, she has as her origin the mission of the Son and the Holy Spirit. The ultimate purpose of mission is none other than to make men share in the communion between the Father and the Son in their Spirit of love. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 850).
Rarely do I read this story of Sts. Paul and Silas in the Philippian jail that I don’t smile.
Of course, what the prison guard meant by his question is not really clear. Did he refer to his safety? If the prisoners escaped, he knew he would be executed -- which explains why he was about to commit suicide (v. 27). Or perhaps he had heard rumors about these two strangers who preached about an eternal salvation and the forgiveness of sins through a man called Jesus Christ.
Whatever his meaning, he was desperate. And St. Paul took advantage of the moment. "Believe in the Lord Jesus," he said, "and you and your household will be saved."
The opportunities we have to share Christ’s love and forgiveness are not usually as dramatic as this scene described in Acts 16. We do not often know what earthquakes jolt the lives of those around us. Nor do we often hear their cries for help.
But oh! That God would make us more sensitive to the needs of others and be ever ready to answer their sometimes unspoken plea, "What must I do to be saved?"
After all, if we don't tell them, who will?
And so the Church teaches: The Church on earth is by her nature missionary since, according to the plan of the Father, she has as her origin the mission of the Son and the Holy Spirit. The ultimate purpose of mission is none other than to make men share in the communion between the Father and the Son in their Spirit of love. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 850).
Thursday, January 21, 2010
God and Caesar
Jesus said to them,
"Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,
and to God the things that are God’s”
(Mark 12:17).
And I wondered
what things are God’s.
Love Him
with all your heart,
all your soul,
all your mind,
all your strength.
And I wondered
what things are God’s.
Love Him
with all your heart,
all your soul,
all your mind,
all your strength.
And your neighbor
as yourself.*
And I realized
as yourself.*
And I realized
it is easier
to give Caesar
what is his,
than God
what is His.
*Mark 12:30-31
to give Caesar
what is his,
than God
what is His.
*Mark 12:30-31
Sunday, January 17, 2010
All They Need to Know
Though He slay me, I will trust in Him (Job 13:15)
There is something visceral, something I would call evil, about sciatic pain. It burns, twists and tears deep in my right buttock – so much so it sometimes nauseates me. And the pain is unrelenting. It hurts when I sit, when I stand, when I kneel, lie on my back, or stomach or either side. It overwhelms my thoughts during the day and taunts my sleep at night. It is the worst pain I have endured in nearly 60 years of life – worse than my two broken arms, two shoulder surgeries and a broken knee-cap. Narcotics don’t help. Anti-inflammatory meds are useless, as are sleep aids and other pills prescribed by my physician.
The other morning as I lay on the floor trying to pray, my mind drifted to Golgotha’s hill. I’ve been there many times in the past several months during my reflections on Scripture or on the crucifix across from my chair, or on the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary. I’ve been there so often, I can go there in my mind without much effort.
And so I saw myself kneeling before Him. His nailed feet were at my eye level. Each time He moved, a little more blood seeped from around the spike. I lifted my gaze. His body leaned forward from exhaustion. His hands held taut by the spikes. His eyes had rolled back into His head and all I could see were the whites. They were blood shot. From behind me I heard the voices. “There is no help for You in God.” “If you are the Son of God, come down from that cross.” “You saved others, can’t you save yourself?”
Then suddenly – so suddenly it startled me as I watched Him – Jesus arched His back. His feet pressed against the nail holding them to the wood. And from deep in His spirit He cried a mournful, frightened, confused: Eloi. Eloi. Lama Sabacthani. I’d never heard Him speak so agonizingly in my earlier meditations. He sounded desolate. Desperate. Despondent.
I knew what the words meant. I’d read the passage many times. “My God, my God. Why have You forsaken Me?”
As I lay on the floor trying to focus on what I saw in my mind’s eye, I heard the crowd again: “There is no help for you in God.” “If you are God’s Son, come down from the cross.” “You saved others, can’t you save yourself?”
But Jesus, having cried out, fell back to a near-limp position. If not for the nails holding Him, He’d have fallen headlong to the ground. I watched His breathing. It was labored. Almost painful. And I thought, The One who turned water to wine could have easily turned the spikes holding Him to straw. The One who healed Malchus’ ear could have easily healed His own wounds. The One who drove religious crowds from the Temple could have easily stepped from the cross and driven the mob from that hill.
Yet despite His searing pain, despite the mocking crowd, and despite even His tortured sense of abandonment by God – Jesus stayed on the cross.
Because He knew it was His Father’s will.
Many Christians endure unspeakable, devastating pain or loneliness – or both – and not just for two weeks as I have, but for decades. You probably know of some. Perhaps you yourself are among them. And they hear the whispers all the time, “There is no help for you in God.” “Why do you serve a God who treats you this way?” “Your cross is too heavy. Give it up.” And it is reasonable to ask ourselves why they continue doing the right thing.
They continue as they do – they even stay on their cross – because they know it is the Father’s will.
And in the midst of it all, that is all they need to know.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
All or Nothing Faith
On another Sabbath He entered the synagogue and was teaching; and there was a man there whose right hand was withered. The scribes and the Pharisees were watching Him closely to see if He healed on the Sabbath, so that they might find reason to accuse Him. . . . And Jesus said to them, "I ask you, is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath, to save a life or to destroy it?" After looking around at them all, He said to him, "Stretch out your hand!" And he did so; and his hand was restored. But they themselves were filled with rage, and discussed together what they might do to Jesus (Luke 6:6-11).
Each time I read this passage, I am bewildered by the Pharisees’ cold-heartedness. Why could it be wrong to heal someone – even on the Sabbath?
Throughout the Old Testament, religious scholars such as the Pharisees and scribes were appointed by God Himself to protect the integrity of Jewish faith. And next to circumcision, obedience to the Sabbath Day commandment was a central requirement to the proper performance of Jewish faith. Little wonder, then, that Jesus angered so many of the Jewish teachers and doctrinal specialists when – according to their understanding of Scripture – he broke the Sabbath by healing people.
As I contemplated this vignette in Luke’s gospel, I focused on that phrase – according to their understanding of Scripture. And then another vignette in St. Luke’s gospel flashed into my memory. In this one (chapter 9), the apostle John said to Jesus, We saw someone casting out demons in Your name, and we tried to prevent him because he does not follow along with us (verse 49).
It seems the Pharisees and other Doctors of the Law were not alone in the practice of their religion within the strict confines of their understanding of Scripture.
Jesus’ disciples practiced the same kind of – what I call – “all or nothing” faith.
“All or nothing” faith. It’s what I also practiced for decades. Unless people worshiped Christ like I worshiped Him, or interpreted Scripture as I did, or attended the same denominational church as I – their Christian faith was suspect.
I should have paid more attention to the Lord’s response to St. John in that next verse: Do not hinder him; for he who is not against you is for you (Luke 9:50).
All or nothing faith. It’s hard to achieve the kind of unity for which Jesus prayed, when we accept from others nothing less than the “Gospel According to Me” (see St. John 17:20-23).
Perhaps that’s why the Lord Jesus said to the Doctors of the Law: Do not judge according to appearance, but judge with righteous judgment (John 7:24). Or St. Paul wrote to the Christians in Rome: Who are you to judge the servant of another? To his own master he stands or falls; and he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand (Romans 14:4).
Each time I read this passage, I am bewildered by the Pharisees’ cold-heartedness. Why could it be wrong to heal someone – even on the Sabbath?
Throughout the Old Testament, religious scholars such as the Pharisees and scribes were appointed by God Himself to protect the integrity of Jewish faith. And next to circumcision, obedience to the Sabbath Day commandment was a central requirement to the proper performance of Jewish faith. Little wonder, then, that Jesus angered so many of the Jewish teachers and doctrinal specialists when – according to their understanding of Scripture – he broke the Sabbath by healing people.
As I contemplated this vignette in Luke’s gospel, I focused on that phrase – according to their understanding of Scripture. And then another vignette in St. Luke’s gospel flashed into my memory. In this one (chapter 9), the apostle John said to Jesus, We saw someone casting out demons in Your name, and we tried to prevent him because he does not follow along with us (verse 49).
It seems the Pharisees and other Doctors of the Law were not alone in the practice of their religion within the strict confines of their understanding of Scripture.
Jesus’ disciples practiced the same kind of – what I call – “all or nothing” faith.
“All or nothing” faith. It’s what I also practiced for decades. Unless people worshiped Christ like I worshiped Him, or interpreted Scripture as I did, or attended the same denominational church as I – their Christian faith was suspect.
I should have paid more attention to the Lord’s response to St. John in that next verse: Do not hinder him; for he who is not against you is for you (Luke 9:50).
All or nothing faith. It’s hard to achieve the kind of unity for which Jesus prayed, when we accept from others nothing less than the “Gospel According to Me” (see St. John 17:20-23).
Perhaps that’s why the Lord Jesus said to the Doctors of the Law: Do not judge according to appearance, but judge with righteous judgment (John 7:24). Or St. Paul wrote to the Christians in Rome: Who are you to judge the servant of another? To his own master he stands or falls; and he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand (Romans 14:4).
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Sharing the Tragedy
"In the twenty-fifth year of our exile . . . " (Ezekiel 40:1)
I don't know how many times I've read the prophet Ezekiel. Forty? Fifty? Yet this time, I noticed an important message nearly hidden in this verse, something I'd never before recognized nor contemplated.
God's prophet was not exempt from the devastation that brought Judah to its knees and into captivity. He shared in their tragedy.
Though I know better, I’ve always liked to believe God’s children will escape the judgment He sends to the ungodly. But Scripture – and human experience – teach differently. Wars take the lives of believers and non-believers alike. Natural disasters destroy churches as well as strip-clubs. Tragedy usually doesn't discriminate between sinners and saints.
Ezekiel went into exile with his godly and ungodly neighbors. But his pain was not without purpose. During those twenty-five years, the prophet lived his life of faith before others. And in so doing could also speak comfort and hope to his neighbors who desperately needed a word of comfort and hope.
But isn’t that what God calls you and me to do – especially when we suffer tragedies alongside our neighbors? After all, it’s easier to share hope with those with whom we share heartache, than it is to offer solace while we remain untouched by life’s pain.
It is as St. Paul wrote to the people in the church at Corinth:
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ (2 Corinthians 1:3-5).
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Dirty Barns and Feeding Troughs
I wrote this twelve years ago. The message, though, is the same.
---------------
I will never forget Christmas 1997.
A week before Christmas we were on our way from Texas to San Diego – orders of the US Navy. Nancy and I, along with our three teens, crammed into the minivan and made our way westward, sandwiched among luggage, bags of dirty laundry and an assortment of on-the-road lunches. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of tires slapping across asphalt, and the monotonous engine hum, stretched six hours a day into what seemed a dozen. We thought the journey would never end until, with frayed nerves, we pulled into San Diego.
Under different circumstances, San Diego is a nice place to pull into. However, two days before Christmas, a city of more than a million strangers was not my idea of a great place to spend the holiday. It’s a good thing none of us knew things were about to take a turn for the worse.
I awakened the next morning with a deep, wall-rattling cough. By noon my temperature hit 101. It hovered at 103 on Christmas day. Bundled under blankets, alternately shivering and perspiring, I did not at all feel “joyful, joyful.” Instead, I felt guilty for not acting “spiritual” and thanking God for all things -- even the flu. But I was too sore and too tired to mumble much more than a woeful, “why me, Lord?”
As I lay in bed, lamenting my fate and listening to Nancy read St. Luke’s account of the Christmas story, I noticed a similarity between my Christmas and the one of two thousand years ago.
The journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem would have been difficult enough under the best of conditions. First century travelers didn’t enjoy asphalt highways, restaurants every few exits and cell phones in their donkeys’ saddlebags. And for Joseph and Mary, that trip undoubtedly was not at the top of their list of fun things to do.
Their baby was due anytime and, like most parents, they expected to give birth surrounded by friends and family. But a governmental order changed everyone’s plans. Joseph and Mary had little choice but to load the donkey with luggage and food for the trip.
Under different circumstances, Bethlehem might have been a nice town to ride into. At this time, however, it was swollen with thousands of strangers. All the four star motels were full. Even the one-stars overflowed with visitors.
And, to make a bad situation worse, Mary went into labor.
Some Christmas cards picture Joseph and Mary sitting on clean straw in a scrubbed barn, gazing serenely at their baby lying in a manger.
I doubt that’s how it happened. They were both bone-tired from the grueling journey. They longed to find a place to bathe away their grime and sweat, and they longed for a warm bed on which they could let their weariness give way to refreshing sleep.
Instead, they arrived in a city of strangers and Joseph searched in vain from motel to motel, not finding so much as a cot for his wife to sleep on. And so, alone, they settled for the night in a darkened corner of a barn, to the smell of manure and rotting straw.
Despite their deep disappointments, I don't think Joseph and Mary looked toward heaven and lamented: “Why me, Lord?” I like to think they instead rehearsed Scripture’s many promises of God’s unfailing presence – such as this one from the prophet Isaiah: Behold, a virgin will be with child and bear a son, and she will call his name Immanuel (Isaiah 7:14). Or this one later in Isaiah: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are Mine! (Isaiah 43:1).
“Immanuel” – the Hebrew means “God is with us” – surely they sensed “God with us” embrace them as they bedded down in the stable. Surely they knew God knew their names, and that He loved them . . . even as they snuggled their first-born into an animal feeding trough.
As my wife continued to read, the Holy Spirit reminded me again of God’s unchangeable nature. As He was with Joseph and Mary when they loaded their donkey for the journey, so too He was with us as we set out across country. As He was with them when they settled onto straw, so too He was with us as we collapsed onto our motel beds. And as He was with them while Mary labored in childbirth, so too He was with us when I awoke Christmas morning shivering with a 103 fever.
Christmas 1997 reminded me once again, God is with us even when there aren’t any friends and family nearby, brightly colored lights, or good smells from the kitchen. His entrance into our world through a dirty stable proves He is near -- not only during good times, but also in the midst of disappointments, illnesses, loneliness, heartache.
And as He met the needs of new parents in a dirty barn two thousand years ago, He will also meet our needs today, wherever we might find ourselves -- in a hospital, a house, a prison, or a motel room.
End
---------------
I will never forget Christmas 1997.
A week before Christmas we were on our way from Texas to San Diego – orders of the US Navy. Nancy and I, along with our three teens, crammed into the minivan and made our way westward, sandwiched among luggage, bags of dirty laundry and an assortment of on-the-road lunches. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of tires slapping across asphalt, and the monotonous engine hum, stretched six hours a day into what seemed a dozen. We thought the journey would never end until, with frayed nerves, we pulled into San Diego.
Under different circumstances, San Diego is a nice place to pull into. However, two days before Christmas, a city of more than a million strangers was not my idea of a great place to spend the holiday. It’s a good thing none of us knew things were about to take a turn for the worse.
I awakened the next morning with a deep, wall-rattling cough. By noon my temperature hit 101. It hovered at 103 on Christmas day. Bundled under blankets, alternately shivering and perspiring, I did not at all feel “joyful, joyful.” Instead, I felt guilty for not acting “spiritual” and thanking God for all things -- even the flu. But I was too sore and too tired to mumble much more than a woeful, “why me, Lord?”
As I lay in bed, lamenting my fate and listening to Nancy read St. Luke’s account of the Christmas story, I noticed a similarity between my Christmas and the one of two thousand years ago.
The journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem would have been difficult enough under the best of conditions. First century travelers didn’t enjoy asphalt highways, restaurants every few exits and cell phones in their donkeys’ saddlebags. And for Joseph and Mary, that trip undoubtedly was not at the top of their list of fun things to do.
Their baby was due anytime and, like most parents, they expected to give birth surrounded by friends and family. But a governmental order changed everyone’s plans. Joseph and Mary had little choice but to load the donkey with luggage and food for the trip.
Under different circumstances, Bethlehem might have been a nice town to ride into. At this time, however, it was swollen with thousands of strangers. All the four star motels were full. Even the one-stars overflowed with visitors.
And, to make a bad situation worse, Mary went into labor.
Some Christmas cards picture Joseph and Mary sitting on clean straw in a scrubbed barn, gazing serenely at their baby lying in a manger.
I doubt that’s how it happened. They were both bone-tired from the grueling journey. They longed to find a place to bathe away their grime and sweat, and they longed for a warm bed on which they could let their weariness give way to refreshing sleep.
Instead, they arrived in a city of strangers and Joseph searched in vain from motel to motel, not finding so much as a cot for his wife to sleep on. And so, alone, they settled for the night in a darkened corner of a barn, to the smell of manure and rotting straw.
Despite their deep disappointments, I don't think Joseph and Mary looked toward heaven and lamented: “Why me, Lord?” I like to think they instead rehearsed Scripture’s many promises of God’s unfailing presence – such as this one from the prophet Isaiah: Behold, a virgin will be with child and bear a son, and she will call his name Immanuel (Isaiah 7:14). Or this one later in Isaiah: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are Mine! (Isaiah 43:1).
“Immanuel” – the Hebrew means “God is with us” – surely they sensed “God with us” embrace them as they bedded down in the stable. Surely they knew God knew their names, and that He loved them . . . even as they snuggled their first-born into an animal feeding trough.
As my wife continued to read, the Holy Spirit reminded me again of God’s unchangeable nature. As He was with Joseph and Mary when they loaded their donkey for the journey, so too He was with us as we set out across country. As He was with them when they settled onto straw, so too He was with us as we collapsed onto our motel beds. And as He was with them while Mary labored in childbirth, so too He was with us when I awoke Christmas morning shivering with a 103 fever.
Christmas 1997 reminded me once again, God is with us even when there aren’t any friends and family nearby, brightly colored lights, or good smells from the kitchen. His entrance into our world through a dirty stable proves He is near -- not only during good times, but also in the midst of disappointments, illnesses, loneliness, heartache.
And as He met the needs of new parents in a dirty barn two thousand years ago, He will also meet our needs today, wherever we might find ourselves -- in a hospital, a house, a prison, or a motel room.
End
Sunday, December 20, 2009
The Difference Between Today and Tomorrow
([Jesus] appointed the twelve:) Simon, whom he named Peter; James, son of Zebedee, and John the brother of James, whom he named Boanerges, that is, sons of thunder . . . (St. Mark 3:17).
I contemplated this passage for some time, mulling over the idea that Jesus chose such unlikely characters to become His disciples -- like John and James, the "sons of thunder."
And sons of thunder they were. For example, in St. Luke, chapter 9, Jesus and the Twelve were on their way to Jerusalem, so He sent His disciples ahead to prepare overnight lodging in Samaria, which was on the way. But the Samaritans refused them because Jesus was headed toward Jerusalem. Samaritans and Jews shared a long history of mutual distrust and enmity.
James and John were incensed that the Samaritans had rebuffed their Lord, so they said to Jesus, "Do You want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?"
Nice guys, huh?
But I think one of the reasons the Lord Jesus selected His disciples was not because of what they were, but because of what they could be. And so, years later the same John who was known as Thunder became known as the disciple of Love. In his first epistle, John uses the word "love" more than 30 times. Here is one such verse: "If someone says, "I love God," and hates his brother, he is a liar; for the one who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen (1 John 4:20).
And here is another: For this is the message which you have heard from the beginning, that we should love one another (1 John 3:11).
But what does this all mean for you or me? I think it is this: Who you and I are now are not the same people Jesus knows we can be tomorrow.
And how does that happen? How does one change from what we don't want to be to what we should be? The disciple John kept close to the Lord's side, day by day, year after year, throughout the rest of his life. And in so doing became like Him.
Likewise it will be for us if we do the same.
I contemplated this passage for some time, mulling over the idea that Jesus chose such unlikely characters to become His disciples -- like John and James, the "sons of thunder."
And sons of thunder they were. For example, in St. Luke, chapter 9, Jesus and the Twelve were on their way to Jerusalem, so He sent His disciples ahead to prepare overnight lodging in Samaria, which was on the way. But the Samaritans refused them because Jesus was headed toward Jerusalem. Samaritans and Jews shared a long history of mutual distrust and enmity.
James and John were incensed that the Samaritans had rebuffed their Lord, so they said to Jesus, "Do You want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?"
Nice guys, huh?
But I think one of the reasons the Lord Jesus selected His disciples was not because of what they were, but because of what they could be. And so, years later the same John who was known as Thunder became known as the disciple of Love. In his first epistle, John uses the word "love" more than 30 times. Here is one such verse: "If someone says, "I love God," and hates his brother, he is a liar; for the one who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen (1 John 4:20).
And here is another: For this is the message which you have heard from the beginning, that we should love one another (1 John 3:11).
But what does this all mean for you or me? I think it is this: Who you and I are now are not the same people Jesus knows we can be tomorrow.
And how does that happen? How does one change from what we don't want to be to what we should be? The disciple John kept close to the Lord's side, day by day, year after year, throughout the rest of his life. And in so doing became like Him.
Likewise it will be for us if we do the same.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tired of Forgetting
Every now and then I catch a glimpse of how little I understand God’s unconditional love. Like the other day. During my morning time with God, as I prayed the “Our Father,” I stopped at the phrase, “forgive us our sins.” Suddenly, my mind fast-reversed to the oh-so-many things I’d recently done, said and thought – things for which I am ashamed.
I don’t know how other Christians deal with repetitive sin in their lives, but I sure get tired of committing the same ones again and again. And I admit, sometimes I’m tempted to just give up. At my spiritual age in Christ, I should know where the fissures lie in the road, and be well adept at avoiding them.
As I replayed my recent falls, another text dropped into my mind: “God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).
That's a concept worthy of a book-length discussion.
Do I look to disown my children when the offend me? Of course not. As angry or hurt as I might be, I would in a heartbeat die for them if necessary.
But what of God? Does our heavenly Father look to disown His children, even when they anger or offend Him? Of course not.
And Jesus did, in fact, die for us to prove that point.
Why did Jesus endure the cross? To demonstrate – forever demonstrate – the Father's ongoing, unconditional love for sinners who continue to fall into the same fissures.
Time after time.
Sinners like me – and you. Regardless of the number of times we stumble, His love never changes. Not one iota. And His promise remains ever true: If we confess our sins, even seventy times seven times, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness (see 1 John 1:9).
Someday I'll not forget that.
I don’t know how other Christians deal with repetitive sin in their lives, but I sure get tired of committing the same ones again and again. And I admit, sometimes I’m tempted to just give up. At my spiritual age in Christ, I should know where the fissures lie in the road, and be well adept at avoiding them.
As I replayed my recent falls, another text dropped into my mind: “God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).
That's a concept worthy of a book-length discussion.
Do I look to disown my children when the offend me? Of course not. As angry or hurt as I might be, I would in a heartbeat die for them if necessary.
But what of God? Does our heavenly Father look to disown His children, even when they anger or offend Him? Of course not.
And Jesus did, in fact, die for us to prove that point.
Why did Jesus endure the cross? To demonstrate – forever demonstrate – the Father's ongoing, unconditional love for sinners who continue to fall into the same fissures.
Time after time.
Sinners like me – and you. Regardless of the number of times we stumble, His love never changes. Not one iota. And His promise remains ever true: If we confess our sins, even seventy times seven times, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness (see 1 John 1:9).
Someday I'll not forget that.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Merry Myth-mas
I wrote this several years ago. Unfortunately, little has changed.
--------------------
At first, I didn't notice the difference. But that's not unusual. I miss a lot of
things right under my nose. Like the Christmas poinsettia my wife set in the
middle of our dining room table. It took two days before it finally caught my
eye.
So, when Nancy said, "have you noticed how rarely you see the words, "Merry Christmas" any more?" I shrugged and went back to my newspaper. I'd been too busy juggling responsibilities at work, at home and with my aging out-of-state parents to pay much attention to anything else. Even Christmas.
Two days later, a commentator on National Public Radio (NPR) voiced a similar observation; Then I read an essay by columnist Don Feder.
"Christmas," Feder observed, "is being rapidly replaced with a generic holiday that, by coincidence, comes around December 25. "Merry Christmas" has been generally discarded in favor of "happy holiday." Stores have holiday sales. Schools have a winter recess . . . The "C" word is conspicuous by its absence.
But it wasn't until an email dropped into my inbox from a cyberspace acquaintance that I began to stir. We belong to the same email community and she wanted us to know her son had come up with a great label for Christmas.
"Mythmas." Then she added, "I love it."
I might be slow to notice poinsettias on the dining room table, but I can recognize a spotlight when I see it. Why has the "C" word has fallen on hard times? Why do some people label December 25th as "winter-holiday" and prefer "Mythmas" to "Christmas"?
Perhaps it's the roots of Christmas.
Christmas is rooted in the miraculous. Six hundred years before Jesus' birth, the Jewish prophet Isaiah wrote: "The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son" (Isaiah 7:14). Two chapters later he added, "and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace" (Isaiah 9:6). For those who don't believe in miracles and God-inspired prophecy, the virgin birth of Jesus is simply a
fairy tale.
Christmas is rooted in the record of Deity living among us and, through the Holy Spirit and the Eucharist, has remained uniquely with us ever since. When we lie down, He is there. When we stand, He is beside us. When we are lonely or troubled -- God is with us. For people who scoff at the idea that God became Man, Christmas must seem like nonsense. Maybe even blasphemy.
Christmas is rooted in God's inexplicable love for us. His Christmas gift, wrapped in strips of cloth in a Bethlehem stable, offered us eternal forgiveness because the Babe in the manger would, as an adult, take the punishment God required for our sins. And in so doing, God assured complete pardon for everyone who repents and calls on Christ as their savior. For people accustomed to earning love from a parent or spouse, belief that God loves them, despite their sins, is probably more like a child's fantasy than an adult reality.
Christmas is rooted in God's immeasurable grace. Many of us might not admit it out loud, but we think we deserve a pat on the back from God. We're good to our neighbors. We support charities, take care of the earth, protect whales, coyotes and other animals. And, if front-page headlines are any indication, we're a lot better than most people.
But God tells us we're not good enough. Nor could we ever be. He set the bar at absolute holiness, and we will never reach His standard on our own. Christmas reminds us God personally intervened in human affairs to bridge the unbridgeable gap between our weakness and His strength, our sins and His holiness. Those who believe they don't need help to gain God's favor might think Christmas is a story for the weak.
Long before the first Christmas, God said, "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:8,9).
Christmas will remain a myth, a day to call by any other name, for those who reject the Bethlehem story of God who became Man, of God who loves the unlovely, rescues the lost and walks with the penitent. But for those whose hearts look toward God, trusting Him for forgiveness and rescue from sin's penalty, Christmas is more than historical fact. It is nothing less than miraculous.
Merry Christmas.
--------------------
At first, I didn't notice the difference. But that's not unusual. I miss a lot of
things right under my nose. Like the Christmas poinsettia my wife set in the
middle of our dining room table. It took two days before it finally caught my
eye.
So, when Nancy said, "have you noticed how rarely you see the words, "Merry Christmas" any more?" I shrugged and went back to my newspaper. I'd been too busy juggling responsibilities at work, at home and with my aging out-of-state parents to pay much attention to anything else. Even Christmas.
Two days later, a commentator on National Public Radio (NPR) voiced a similar observation; Then I read an essay by columnist Don Feder.
"Christmas," Feder observed, "is being rapidly replaced with a generic holiday that, by coincidence, comes around December 25. "Merry Christmas" has been generally discarded in favor of "happy holiday." Stores have holiday sales. Schools have a winter recess . . . The "C" word is conspicuous by its absence.
But it wasn't until an email dropped into my inbox from a cyberspace acquaintance that I began to stir. We belong to the same email community and she wanted us to know her son had come up with a great label for Christmas.
"Mythmas." Then she added, "I love it."
I might be slow to notice poinsettias on the dining room table, but I can recognize a spotlight when I see it. Why has the "C" word has fallen on hard times? Why do some people label December 25th as "winter-holiday" and prefer "Mythmas" to "Christmas"?
Perhaps it's the roots of Christmas.
Christmas is rooted in the miraculous. Six hundred years before Jesus' birth, the Jewish prophet Isaiah wrote: "The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son" (Isaiah 7:14). Two chapters later he added, "and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace" (Isaiah 9:6). For those who don't believe in miracles and God-inspired prophecy, the virgin birth of Jesus is simply a
fairy tale.
Christmas is rooted in the record of Deity living among us and, through the Holy Spirit and the Eucharist, has remained uniquely with us ever since. When we lie down, He is there. When we stand, He is beside us. When we are lonely or troubled -- God is with us. For people who scoff at the idea that God became Man, Christmas must seem like nonsense. Maybe even blasphemy.
Christmas is rooted in God's inexplicable love for us. His Christmas gift, wrapped in strips of cloth in a Bethlehem stable, offered us eternal forgiveness because the Babe in the manger would, as an adult, take the punishment God required for our sins. And in so doing, God assured complete pardon for everyone who repents and calls on Christ as their savior. For people accustomed to earning love from a parent or spouse, belief that God loves them, despite their sins, is probably more like a child's fantasy than an adult reality.
Christmas is rooted in God's immeasurable grace. Many of us might not admit it out loud, but we think we deserve a pat on the back from God. We're good to our neighbors. We support charities, take care of the earth, protect whales, coyotes and other animals. And, if front-page headlines are any indication, we're a lot better than most people.
But God tells us we're not good enough. Nor could we ever be. He set the bar at absolute holiness, and we will never reach His standard on our own. Christmas reminds us God personally intervened in human affairs to bridge the unbridgeable gap between our weakness and His strength, our sins and His holiness. Those who believe they don't need help to gain God's favor might think Christmas is a story for the weak.
Long before the first Christmas, God said, "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:8,9).
Christmas will remain a myth, a day to call by any other name, for those who reject the Bethlehem story of God who became Man, of God who loves the unlovely, rescues the lost and walks with the penitent. But for those whose hearts look toward God, trusting Him for forgiveness and rescue from sin's penalty, Christmas is more than historical fact. It is nothing less than miraculous.
Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Whose Kingdom?
Jesus entered the temple courts, and, while he was teaching, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him. ‘By what authority are you doing these things?" they asked. "And who gave you this authority?. . . “Jesus replied, ‘I will also ask you one question. If you answer me, I will tell you by what authority I am doing these things. John's baptism--where did it come from? Was it from heaven, or from men?’ (Matthew 21:23-24)
The Lord always seems to ask the hard questions. Like this one.
"From heaven, or from men?"
And every now and again the same kind of question disquiets me. Even after all these years I still sometimes bristle against the tension that pulls me from what I want to do, when I know it’s not what He wants me to do.
You’ll never hear me say the Scriptures are simply good moral teachings and philosophies of men. No, for I am more than convinced they are the very word of God written by men moved by the Holy Spirit.
Every word.
Yet why do I sometimes live as if those words are human-contrived suggestions and not heaven-born commandments? Why, when it suits me -- regardless of its infrequency -- do I call my shadows, light, and rationalize my disobedience with an appeal to the slippery excuse of "I'm only human"?
Probably for the same reason the religious leaders in this text struggled with their response to Jesus – they wanted their kingdom, not God’s. Their will, not God’s. Their opinions. Not God’s.
Oh Lord, help me to practice it, as often as I pray it: “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done.”
The Lord always seems to ask the hard questions. Like this one.
"From heaven, or from men?"
And every now and again the same kind of question disquiets me. Even after all these years I still sometimes bristle against the tension that pulls me from what I want to do, when I know it’s not what He wants me to do.
You’ll never hear me say the Scriptures are simply good moral teachings and philosophies of men. No, for I am more than convinced they are the very word of God written by men moved by the Holy Spirit.
Every word.
Yet why do I sometimes live as if those words are human-contrived suggestions and not heaven-born commandments? Why, when it suits me -- regardless of its infrequency -- do I call my shadows, light, and rationalize my disobedience with an appeal to the slippery excuse of "I'm only human"?
Probably for the same reason the religious leaders in this text struggled with their response to Jesus – they wanted their kingdom, not God’s. Their will, not God’s. Their opinions. Not God’s.
Oh Lord, help me to practice it, as often as I pray it: “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done.”
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Merry Chris . . .uh . . excuse me. "Happy Holiday"
Over the years I've published several Christmas articles in a variety of magazines. Since we are now in the Christmas season, I thought I would post them from time to time during the next few weeks. Here's the first:
--------------------
My wife placed the salad bowl on the table, sat down and looked at me.
“I’m starting a one-person campaign to revive Christmas.”
I paused for a moment and then reached for the rolls. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m tired of surrendering to the culture that’s changed Merry Christmas to ‘Happy Holidays’ and ‘Good Spirit.’ If it wasn’t for Jesus, no one would be saying anything.”
Except perhaps, ‘Bah Humbug’ I thought.
“From now on,” she continued, “I’m wishing people a Merry Christmas.”
I took a bite of the roll, but had already lost some of my appetite. That always happens when I feel guilty about something. Her words reminded me how often I succumb to political correctness and rarely use the “C” word. It’s easier to just say, “Happy Holiday” -- or say nothing at all.
Humbug.
She continued. “Today, when the UPS guy dropped off the package, I said, Merry Christmas as he walked back to his truck.” She stopped a moment, her eyes alive with excitement, and added, “He turned around and smiled and wished me a Merry Christmas, too. He seemed surprised someone said that to him. I think he really enjoyed hearing me say it.”
Nancy then told me of two other people to whom she’d said those two words -- words that raise PC hackles and cause ACLU lawyers to rush to their casebooks. "They also were glad I said it."
Merry Christmas. Why would the best story the world has ever known raise the blood pressure of so many people? Why would the eternally gracious and sacrificial gift of God make so many people Christmas-phobic?
I think it’s because God insists forgiveness of sins is wrapped neatly in His gift package marked: Only For Those Who Love My Son, Jesus.
A lot of people think that’s too restrictive.
Well, they're right. It is.
Jesus said, “No one comes to the Father except through me.” He also warned, “Unless you believe I am He, you will die in your sins.”
And then there’s the Scripture, “At the name of Jesus every knee will bow. . . and every tongue confess, that Jesus is Lord.” And again, “There is no name (but Jesus) under heaven” through which we can be saved.
Those who are familiar with the Bible can cite dozens of other passages that support the point that God established only one way to Him, exclusive of all other paths.
I suppose if I didn’t like being told what to accept and how to behave to gain eternal life, I’d hate Christmas, too. I’d hate being reminded of God's narrow doorway every December. I’d be a raving Christmas-phobe.
Maybe also a Christian-phobe.
My wife is on the right track. Without John 3:16 there wouldn't be a Christmas. Without Christmas there would be no hope – for you, me, our families, our neighbors. No one.
But there IS a Christmas. And I thank God for the holiday – the Holy Day. Each year Christmas reminds us just how much the Father paid for our gift of forgiveness and eternal life.
“Happy Holiday” is a humbug.
“Merry Christmas” is the beginning of an intimate relationship with Him.
--------------------
My wife placed the salad bowl on the table, sat down and looked at me.
“I’m starting a one-person campaign to revive Christmas.”
I paused for a moment and then reached for the rolls. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m tired of surrendering to the culture that’s changed Merry Christmas to ‘Happy Holidays’ and ‘Good Spirit.’ If it wasn’t for Jesus, no one would be saying anything.”
Except perhaps, ‘Bah Humbug’ I thought.
“From now on,” she continued, “I’m wishing people a Merry Christmas.”
I took a bite of the roll, but had already lost some of my appetite. That always happens when I feel guilty about something. Her words reminded me how often I succumb to political correctness and rarely use the “C” word. It’s easier to just say, “Happy Holiday” -- or say nothing at all.
Humbug.
She continued. “Today, when the UPS guy dropped off the package, I said, Merry Christmas as he walked back to his truck.” She stopped a moment, her eyes alive with excitement, and added, “He turned around and smiled and wished me a Merry Christmas, too. He seemed surprised someone said that to him. I think he really enjoyed hearing me say it.”
Nancy then told me of two other people to whom she’d said those two words -- words that raise PC hackles and cause ACLU lawyers to rush to their casebooks. "They also were glad I said it."
Merry Christmas. Why would the best story the world has ever known raise the blood pressure of so many people? Why would the eternally gracious and sacrificial gift of God make so many people Christmas-phobic?
I think it’s because God insists forgiveness of sins is wrapped neatly in His gift package marked: Only For Those Who Love My Son, Jesus.
A lot of people think that’s too restrictive.
Well, they're right. It is.
Jesus said, “No one comes to the Father except through me.” He also warned, “Unless you believe I am He, you will die in your sins.”
And then there’s the Scripture, “At the name of Jesus every knee will bow. . . and every tongue confess, that Jesus is Lord.” And again, “There is no name (but Jesus) under heaven” through which we can be saved.
Those who are familiar with the Bible can cite dozens of other passages that support the point that God established only one way to Him, exclusive of all other paths.
I suppose if I didn’t like being told what to accept and how to behave to gain eternal life, I’d hate Christmas, too. I’d hate being reminded of God's narrow doorway every December. I’d be a raving Christmas-phobe.
Maybe also a Christian-phobe.
My wife is on the right track. Without John 3:16 there wouldn't be a Christmas. Without Christmas there would be no hope – for you, me, our families, our neighbors. No one.
But there IS a Christmas. And I thank God for the holiday – the Holy Day. Each year Christmas reminds us just how much the Father paid for our gift of forgiveness and eternal life.
“Happy Holiday” is a humbug.
“Merry Christmas” is the beginning of an intimate relationship with Him.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
What Must It Be Like?
For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:38-39).
What would it be like
to be so convinced
that nothing --
nothing --
can separate us
from God’s love in Christ?
What must it be like
to know
that you know
that He holds you
in the palm of His hands?
That He will never leave
or turn you away?
When storms thrash,
and our world falls apart,
how would our lives be
transformed
by the assurance
that God embraces us
in the midst of it all?
Satan whispers
we believe myths.
Our confidence is
misplaced.
There is no help for us in God.
God simply says, "Trust Me."
Who will we believe?
The right answer
reminds us --
the right answer
strengthens us --
to rest
in God's promise
that nothing --
neither death, nor life,
angels, or principalities,
present things, or future things,
powers, or height, or depth,
nothing
will separate us
from God's love
in Christ.
Nothing.
What would it be like
to be so convinced
that nothing --
nothing --
can separate us
from God’s love in Christ?
What must it be like
to know
that you know
that He holds you
in the palm of His hands?
That He will never leave
or turn you away?
When storms thrash,
and our world falls apart,
how would our lives be
transformed
by the assurance
that God embraces us
in the midst of it all?
Satan whispers
we believe myths.
Our confidence is
misplaced.
There is no help for us in God.
God simply says, "Trust Me."
Who will we believe?
The right answer
reminds us --
the right answer
strengthens us --
to rest
in God's promise
that nothing --
neither death, nor life,
angels, or principalities,
present things, or future things,
powers, or height, or depth,
nothing
will separate us
from God's love
in Christ.
Nothing.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Rest
Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ . . . who are chosen according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, by the sanctifying work of the Spirit, to obey Jesus Christ and be sprinkled with His blood . . . (1 Peter 1:1-2).
I think many think
God is
quick tempered,
impatient,
and intolerant
of failure.
I think they think
God stands with clenched fists
ready to strike those who turn aside
to the right
or to the left.
But what is the mission
and the message
of the most sacred heart of Jesus
if not to
demonstrate
the timeless promise
that God is
so slow
to anger;
that He overflows
with mercy –
and stands
with open hands,
ready to sprinkle
cleansing
and restorative
blood
from Christ’s wounds
on every prodigal who returns
from the right
or the left?
Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28).
I think many think
God is
quick tempered,
impatient,
and intolerant
of failure.
I think they think
God stands with clenched fists
ready to strike those who turn aside
to the right
or to the left.
But what is the mission
and the message
of the most sacred heart of Jesus
if not to
demonstrate
the timeless promise
that God is
so slow
to anger;
that He overflows
with mercy –
and stands
with open hands,
ready to sprinkle
cleansing
and restorative
blood
from Christ’s wounds
on every prodigal who returns
from the right
or the left?
Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28).
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Only One Endures
Now these are the kings who reigned . . . Then Bela died . . . Then Jobab died . . . Then Husham died . . . Then Hadad died . . . Then Samlah died . . . Then Shaul died . . . Then Baalhanan [died]
(Genesis 36:31-38).
Seven times in seven verses
the litany of death
cycles through the names of kings.
Rulers, all.
Mighty, all.
Seven times in seven verses
the litany of death
cycles through the names of kings.
Rulers, all.
Mighty, all.
Great, all.
Who spoke
and people
followed.
Who judged
and people
feared.
But the staccato-like rhythm of death
serves to remind
of the grave’s
certainty.
In its presence, political power is
meaningless.
Popularity
hollow.
Beauty
vain.
Wealth
empty.
When our eyes close,
only
what was done for Christ
endures.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
It is Sufficient
The Lord said to Moses, "Is the Lord’s power limited? Now you shall see whether My word will come true for you or not (Numbers 11:23).
Is God’s power limited? That’s the easy question.
Creation.
The Red Sea.
The Virgin Birth.
The Five Thousand.
The Resurrection
The Ascension . . . .
No, nothing
is too difficult
for God.
But the more problematic question is – Where is He?
Where is He
in tragedy,
in loss,
in suffering,
in death . . .
The answer depends
on the answer
to something
more fundamental:
Is God good
all the time
and in
all circumstances?
If no,
then we have reason to believe
God is absent
in our heartache.
If yes,
then faith in His
goodness
and love
and mercy . . .
will be
for us
sufficient.
Is God’s power limited? That’s the easy question.
Creation.
The Red Sea.
The Virgin Birth.
The Five Thousand.
The Resurrection
The Ascension . . . .
No, nothing
is too difficult
for God.
But the more problematic question is – Where is He?
Where is He
in tragedy,
in loss,
in suffering,
in death . . .
The answer depends
on the answer
to something
more fundamental:
Is God good
all the time
and in
all circumstances?
If no,
then we have reason to believe
God is absent
in our heartache.
If yes,
then faith in His
goodness
and love
and mercy . . .
will be
for us
sufficient.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Another Nail
How then can I do this wicked thing, and I sin against my God?
(Genesis 39:9)
By God’s grace,
Joseph prospered
above every other slave
in Potipher’s house.
He alone enjoyed access
to all his master owned.
The best food,
drink,
clothing,
comfort –
access to everything
except
Potipher’s wife.
But she wanted Joseph.
For days,
perhaps months,
he resisted her
bold
invitations
to her bed.
When at last
she cornered him
he fled,
leaving
only his cloak
in her fist.
Joseph said to her,
“How then can I do this wicked thing,
and sin against my God?”
And his question still probes
the essence
of life’s meaning.
Joseph recognized
what I must never
forget.
When I sin,
I do not sin
only against others.
I sin against
God.
Oh, Holy Spirit,
open my eyes to see Christ
recoil from the whip
that slices His back
with my every transgression.
I do not want to drive another nail,
or draw another drop
of His sacred blood.
(Genesis 39:9)
By God’s grace,
Joseph prospered
above every other slave
in Potipher’s house.
He alone enjoyed access
to all his master owned.
The best food,
drink,
clothing,
comfort –
access to everything
except
Potipher’s wife.
But she wanted Joseph.
For days,
perhaps months,
he resisted her
bold
invitations
to her bed.
When at last
she cornered him
he fled,
leaving
only his cloak
in her fist.
Joseph said to her,
“How then can I do this wicked thing,
and sin against my God?”
And his question still probes
the essence
of life’s meaning.
Joseph recognized
what I must never
forget.
When I sin,
I do not sin
only against others.
I sin against
God.
Oh, Holy Spirit,
open my eyes to see Christ
recoil from the whip
that slices His back
with my every transgression.
I do not want to drive another nail,
or draw another drop
of His sacred blood.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
As Dust
God . . . breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living being (Genesis 2:7).
By the time God formed Adam from dust,
He had already created a world
flourishing with life.
Yet only for the man
did He bend close
and breathe life
into his lungs.
That’s something
we sometimes
overlook,
and always overlook
to our loss.
Are not five sparrows sold for
two cents?
Yet not one of them
is forgotten
before God.
Then Jesus added,
The hairs of your head
are all numbered.
Do not fear;
you are more valuable
than many sparrows*
That's something
we also sometimes
overlook,
and always overlook
to our loss.
God knows our name.
He knows our tears
in the darkness,
our sighs
in the shadows,
our loneliness
in the crowds.
And He asks only
that we trust Him
to breathe life
into what seems to us
as dust.
*(Luke 12:6-7).
By the time God formed Adam from dust,
He had already created a world
flourishing with life.
Yet only for the man
did He bend close
and breathe life
into his lungs.
That’s something
we sometimes
overlook,
and always overlook
to our loss.
Are not five sparrows sold for
two cents?
Yet not one of them
is forgotten
before God.
Then Jesus added,
The hairs of your head
are all numbered.
Do not fear;
you are more valuable
than many sparrows*
That's something
we also sometimes
overlook,
and always overlook
to our loss.
God knows our name.
He knows our tears
in the darkness,
our sighs
in the shadows,
our loneliness
in the crowds.
And He asks only
that we trust Him
to breathe life
into what seems to us
as dust.
*(Luke 12:6-7).
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The Little Ways
And let us not grow weary in well doing, for in due season we shall reap, if we do not lose heart (Galatians 6:9).
It happened in early 1973. I parked my car at the edge of the pier and stared through the windshield. A storm loomed on the horizon. Waves churned and smashed against the breakers.
And a spiritual storm churned inside me as well.
I’d only recently turned my life over to Christ, but things were not turning out as I had expected -- although if anyone had asked me what I expected, I don't think I would have known.
I stepped out of the car and carried my Bible toward the end of the pier. The temptation to throw it – and my new faith – into the swirling waters rose like a two headed beast.
I stood there, wrestling with my thoughts.
That’s when the other vehicle approached. As it pulled alongside my car I recognized the elderly man behind the wheel. He and his wife were members of the church I’d recently begun attending.
I don't remember his name. I don't even remember what we talked about, except that he told me he spotted me on the pier and thought he’d stop and chat with me. But what I clearly remember is after our chat I returned to my car and placed my Bible on the seat beside me.
Thirty-seven years later, I have no doubt that the man’s simple act of taking time to talk with me broke the heat of my moment and helped me re-group to continue my walk of faith.
Through the intervening years I have learned many important spiritual truths. But the one lesson I find myself most frequently in need of reminder is this: Sometimes I spend so much time searching for the big and flashy ways to serve Christ that I miss the hundreds of little -- and probably more important -- opportunities all around me to serve Him.
It happened in early 1973. I parked my car at the edge of the pier and stared through the windshield. A storm loomed on the horizon. Waves churned and smashed against the breakers.
And a spiritual storm churned inside me as well.
I’d only recently turned my life over to Christ, but things were not turning out as I had expected -- although if anyone had asked me what I expected, I don't think I would have known.
I stepped out of the car and carried my Bible toward the end of the pier. The temptation to throw it – and my new faith – into the swirling waters rose like a two headed beast.
I stood there, wrestling with my thoughts.
That’s when the other vehicle approached. As it pulled alongside my car I recognized the elderly man behind the wheel. He and his wife were members of the church I’d recently begun attending.
I don't remember his name. I don't even remember what we talked about, except that he told me he spotted me on the pier and thought he’d stop and chat with me. But what I clearly remember is after our chat I returned to my car and placed my Bible on the seat beside me.
Thirty-seven years later, I have no doubt that the man’s simple act of taking time to talk with me broke the heat of my moment and helped me re-group to continue my walk of faith.
Through the intervening years I have learned many important spiritual truths. But the one lesson I find myself most frequently in need of reminder is this: Sometimes I spend so much time searching for the big and flashy ways to serve Christ that I miss the hundreds of little -- and probably more important -- opportunities all around me to serve Him.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Whose Report?
We went in to the land where you sent us; and it certainly does flow with milk and honey, and this is its fruit. Nevertheless, the people who live in the land are strong . . . and we became like grasshoppers in our own sight, and so we were in their sight (Numbers 13:27-33).
It’s not like God didn’t know the enemy's strength
when He told His people to conquer the land
He’d given to Abraham centuries earlier;
a land into which God had promised
to walk with them.
A land flowing with milk and honey.
But except for two faithful men,
the fearful declared the enemy too strong
to risk the attempt.
So Israel wandered the wilderness instead.
It’s not like God doesn’t know our adversary's strength
when He tells us to conquer the valleys of
disappointment, loneliness, heartbreak . . .
valleys through which He has promised to walk with us.
Valleys flowing with a peace beyond our understanding.
But except for a few voices of faith,
the fearful say the adversary is too strong
to risk the attempt.
So we wander our wilderness instead.
And God still asks:
whose report
will we believe?
It’s not like God didn’t know the enemy's strength
when He told His people to conquer the land
He’d given to Abraham centuries earlier;
a land into which God had promised
to walk with them.
A land flowing with milk and honey.
But except for two faithful men,
the fearful declared the enemy too strong
to risk the attempt.
So Israel wandered the wilderness instead.
It’s not like God doesn’t know our adversary's strength
when He tells us to conquer the valleys of
disappointment, loneliness, heartbreak . . .
valleys through which He has promised to walk with us.
Valleys flowing with a peace beyond our understanding.
But except for a few voices of faith,
the fearful say the adversary is too strong
to risk the attempt.
So we wander our wilderness instead.
And God still asks:
whose report
will we believe?
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Mourning to Joy
[Jacob] . . . exclaimed: "My son's tunic! A wild beast has devoured him! Joseph has been torn to pieces!" Then Jacob rent his clothes, put sackcloth on his loins, and mourned his son many days. Though his sons and daughters tried to console him, he refused all consolation, saying, "No, I will go down mourning to my son in the nether world . . . " (Genesis 37:33-35).
It would be more than twenty years
before Jacob learned Joseph
was alive.
During those decades
Jacob lived
with the wrenching memory
of a blood-stained tunic,
and the belief that his son
was dead.
I hate death.
I mourn the grave that robbed me
of my beloved.
My father-in-law.
My step-dad.
My brother-in-law.
I thank God
I have not had to mourn
my children.
Seeing one in a coffin
would tear my heart
the rest of my life.
I won't permit that image
to even linger in my imagination.
Death. Mourning.
And then I think
of God.
What grief is like His
when we choose
another path
and die outside His arms?
What anguish is like His
when so many of us
turn away?
But what joy is like His
when even one repents
and reunites
through the blood
of Golgotha's cross?
It would be more than twenty years
before Jacob learned Joseph
was alive.
During those decades
Jacob lived
with the wrenching memory
of a blood-stained tunic,
and the belief that his son
was dead.
I hate death.
I mourn the grave that robbed me
of my beloved.
My father-in-law.
My step-dad.
My brother-in-law.
I thank God
I have not had to mourn
my children.
Seeing one in a coffin
would tear my heart
the rest of my life.
I won't permit that image
to even linger in my imagination.
Death. Mourning.
And then I think
of God.
What grief is like His
when we choose
another path
and die outside His arms?
What anguish is like His
when so many of us
turn away?
But what joy is like His
when even one repents
and reunites
through the blood
of Golgotha's cross?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Trusting in Ourselves
They journeyed from the wilderness of Sin and camped at Dophkah. They journeyed from Dophkah and camped at Alush. They journeyed from Alush and camped at Rephidim; now it was there that the people had no water to drink (Numbers 33:12-14).
So, this morning I’m reading (scanning, actually) this section of Numbers. Starting at verse one, it’s quite a tedious list of the places Israel visited on their journey through the wilderness.
My eye glossed over verse 14 on its way to 15. And then it went back to 14: They . . . camped at Rephidim; now it was there that the people had no water to drink.
As I reread the verse I remembered how God led them through the wilderness -- with a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. When the cloud lifted from the camp, the Israelites followed. When it settled, they pitched their tents. So when I read here in Numbers that the people landed at a desperate place in the wilderness, it is clear that their arrival was not an accident.
God Himself had led them there.
That, for me, was a significant point. Why would their Protector, Redeemer, Savior . . . why would God lead them to a place like that?
As if to answer the question, my thoughts jumped to Psalm 23 and 2 Corinthians 1.
Sometimes the paths of righteousness lead us straight into a dark place (Psalm 23:3-4). Sometimes “we have the sentence of death in ourselves so that we would not trust in ourselves, but in God who raises the dead” (2 Corinthians 1:9). And though the idea disturbs my preconceptions, God does, at times, lead us to places without water, or light. Places of confusion, despair, and even heartache.
Why?
Maybe to remind us He is in the valley with us. Maybe to remind us that as He brought water to Israel from -- of all things -- a rock (Exodus 17:1-7), so He will quench our thirst in the midst of our own valley -- perhaps also from the most unlikely of sources.
And maybe also to teach us not to trust so much in ourselves, but rather in Him who raises even the dead.
So, this morning I’m reading (scanning, actually) this section of Numbers. Starting at verse one, it’s quite a tedious list of the places Israel visited on their journey through the wilderness.
My eye glossed over verse 14 on its way to 15. And then it went back to 14: They . . . camped at Rephidim; now it was there that the people had no water to drink.
As I reread the verse I remembered how God led them through the wilderness -- with a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. When the cloud lifted from the camp, the Israelites followed. When it settled, they pitched their tents. So when I read here in Numbers that the people landed at a desperate place in the wilderness, it is clear that their arrival was not an accident.
God Himself had led them there.
That, for me, was a significant point. Why would their Protector, Redeemer, Savior . . . why would God lead them to a place like that?
As if to answer the question, my thoughts jumped to Psalm 23 and 2 Corinthians 1.
Sometimes the paths of righteousness lead us straight into a dark place (Psalm 23:3-4). Sometimes “we have the sentence of death in ourselves so that we would not trust in ourselves, but in God who raises the dead” (2 Corinthians 1:9). And though the idea disturbs my preconceptions, God does, at times, lead us to places without water, or light. Places of confusion, despair, and even heartache.
Why?
Maybe to remind us He is in the valley with us. Maybe to remind us that as He brought water to Israel from -- of all things -- a rock (Exodus 17:1-7), so He will quench our thirst in the midst of our own valley -- perhaps also from the most unlikely of sources.
And maybe also to teach us not to trust so much in ourselves, but rather in Him who raises even the dead.
Friday, October 30, 2009
What Are We Thinking?
“ . . . and you grumbled in your tents and said, 'Because the LORD hates us, He has brought us out of the land of Egypt to deliver us into the hand of the Amorites to destroy us” (Deuteronomy 1:27).
The Israelites witnessed God’s power as He delivered them from generations of slavery. The Nile turned to blood. Frogs, gnats, boils, hail, and other disasters swarmed across Egypt.
As they fled Pharaoh’s army, God parted the Red Sea so Israel could safely pass – and He closed the sea on the chariots and horsemen as they chased after them.
Yet hardly had the mist dried from their clothes that they grumbled against God, as if He rescued them from slavery for the sole purpose of killing them in the wilderness.
What were they thinking?
Perhaps they were thinking like we sometimes think.
How often has God, through the death of His Son, rescued us from sin’s sting and ruin? How often has He comforted us, guided us, called us by name? How often has He brought us safely to the other side of our trials and taken us into His arms?
And yet, hardly does He hold us and we grumble when life’s inevitable storms surge again around us. And we look toward heaven and accuse Him of being deaf to our cries and callous to our wounds.
Oh! What are we thinking?
The Israelites witnessed God’s power as He delivered them from generations of slavery. The Nile turned to blood. Frogs, gnats, boils, hail, and other disasters swarmed across Egypt.
As they fled Pharaoh’s army, God parted the Red Sea so Israel could safely pass – and He closed the sea on the chariots and horsemen as they chased after them.
Yet hardly had the mist dried from their clothes that they grumbled against God, as if He rescued them from slavery for the sole purpose of killing them in the wilderness.
What were they thinking?
Perhaps they were thinking like we sometimes think.
How often has God, through the death of His Son, rescued us from sin’s sting and ruin? How often has He comforted us, guided us, called us by name? How often has He brought us safely to the other side of our trials and taken us into His arms?
And yet, hardly does He hold us and we grumble when life’s inevitable storms surge again around us. And we look toward heaven and accuse Him of being deaf to our cries and callous to our wounds.
Oh! What are we thinking?
Friday, October 23, 2009
Choices
If it is disagreeable in your sight to serve the Lord, choose for yourselves today whom you will serve . . . but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord (Joshua 24:15).
Sometimes choices can complicate life. Eating out is a case in point. When I lived overseas, the choices were easy. Walk into a restaurant (one of three from which to choose) and the waitress hands you a menu. One page. Nothing on the back. Options included chicken, fish, and hamburger. Thirsty? Select cola, ice tea or coffee. Like some dessert? Try frozen yogurt or a fruit dish.
It never took long to decide what to have.
That all changed when I moved back to America. Walk into a restaurant (one of a hundred from which to choose) and the waitress hands you a menu. Dessert choices alone fill a page -- front and back. Dinner offerings fold out to three pages. A year after returning home I still felt paralyzed by all the choices. To keep my sanity, I often simply ordered a burger and fries.
But if you think three pages of menu choices can complicate life, consider that Jesus offers us only two choices -- follow Him or reject Him. You’d think it wouldn’t take long to decide.
And for some, it doesn’t.
But many men and women, even after years of staring at the menu, remain undecided. They're still studying the choices, front and back, looking for a better deal.
There isn’t any better deal. That’s why God repeatedly warns us to choose -- today -- whom we will serve. Choose -- today -- to follow Christ.
And Scripture makes it very clear, one day the restaurant will close its doors. When that happens, the chance to choose will disappear.
Forever.
Sometimes choices can complicate life. Eating out is a case in point. When I lived overseas, the choices were easy. Walk into a restaurant (one of three from which to choose) and the waitress hands you a menu. One page. Nothing on the back. Options included chicken, fish, and hamburger. Thirsty? Select cola, ice tea or coffee. Like some dessert? Try frozen yogurt or a fruit dish.
It never took long to decide what to have.
That all changed when I moved back to America. Walk into a restaurant (one of a hundred from which to choose) and the waitress hands you a menu. Dessert choices alone fill a page -- front and back. Dinner offerings fold out to three pages. A year after returning home I still felt paralyzed by all the choices. To keep my sanity, I often simply ordered a burger and fries.
But if you think three pages of menu choices can complicate life, consider that Jesus offers us only two choices -- follow Him or reject Him. You’d think it wouldn’t take long to decide.
And for some, it doesn’t.
But many men and women, even after years of staring at the menu, remain undecided. They're still studying the choices, front and back, looking for a better deal.
There isn’t any better deal. That’s why God repeatedly warns us to choose -- today -- whom we will serve. Choose -- today -- to follow Christ.
And Scripture makes it very clear, one day the restaurant will close its doors. When that happens, the chance to choose will disappear.
Forever.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Evidence of His Mercy
Moreover, you shall not follow the customs of the nation which I will drive out before you, for they did all these things, and therefore I have abhorred them. . . . Thus you are to be holy to Me, for I the Lord am holy; and I have set you apart from the peoples to be Mine (Leviticus 20:23-26).
Why do I work so hard
to convince myself
I can consort with my culture
and remain faithful to God?
Why do I rationalize
the Holy One's commandment
to separate myself
from the customs
and lifestyles
of those who live as though
He does not exist,
or who pay Him lip service
instead of homage?
Is it because judgment does not quickly fall
when I turn from Him?
Do I presume He allows for circumstances
that tempt me to sin,
or that I can talk Him into a compromise?
I know better than that.
Those who befriend their culture
make themselves enemies
of God,*
and His patience
is not evidence
of His compromise,
allowance,
or indecision . . . .
It is evidence of His mercy
mercy that should lead me
to repentance.**
Surely, it is a fearful thing
to fall into the hands
of the living God.***
* James 4:4
** Romans 2:4
*** Hebrews 10:31
Why do I work so hard
to convince myself
I can consort with my culture
and remain faithful to God?
Why do I rationalize
the Holy One's commandment
to separate myself
from the customs
and lifestyles
of those who live as though
He does not exist,
or who pay Him lip service
instead of homage?
Is it because judgment does not quickly fall
when I turn from Him?
Do I presume He allows for circumstances
that tempt me to sin,
or that I can talk Him into a compromise?
I know better than that.
Those who befriend their culture
make themselves enemies
of God,*
and His patience
is not evidence
of His compromise,
allowance,
or indecision . . . .
It is evidence of His mercy
mercy that should lead me
to repentance.**
Surely, it is a fearful thing
to fall into the hands
of the living God.***
* James 4:4
** Romans 2:4
*** Hebrews 10:31
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Engraved Memorial
[The craftsmen made for the priest's breastplate]
. . . memorial stones for the sons of Israel,
just as the Lord had commanded Moses . . .
each with its name for the twelve tribes
(Exodus 39:6, 14).
God scripted memorial stones into the very fabric
of Israel’s worship.
Each time the high priest drew near to God,
he carried the names of the twelve tribes
on his garment
as a memorial
of the people God covenanted to love,
protect,
and make His own.
Some might think God set the stones
to remind Him of His people.
But God set the stones
to remind His people
He remembers
them.
And even so,
what more than the Cross
could God set in place
to remind you and me
He remembers
us?
I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands;
Your walls are continually before Me.
(Isaiah 49:16)
. . . memorial stones for the sons of Israel,
just as the Lord had commanded Moses . . .
each with its name for the twelve tribes
(Exodus 39:6, 14).
God scripted memorial stones into the very fabric
of Israel’s worship.
Each time the high priest drew near to God,
he carried the names of the twelve tribes
on his garment
as a memorial
of the people God covenanted to love,
protect,
and make His own.
Some might think God set the stones
to remind Him of His people.
But God set the stones
to remind His people
He remembers
them.
And even so,
what more than the Cross
could God set in place
to remind you and me
He remembers
us?
I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands;
Your walls are continually before Me.
(Isaiah 49:16)
Friday, October 16, 2009
Jesus, Please.
Having bought a linen cloth, [Joseph of Arimathea] took him down, wrapped him in the linen cloth and laid him in a tomb that had been hewn out of the rock. Then he rolled a stone against the entrance to the tomb (Mark 15:46).
My imagination took me this morning to the tomb. I sat against a tree and looked at the massive stone covering the cave's entrance. Several yards in front of me four guards sat around a fire. They joked. Told stories. Passed the time as they waited for the sunrise, and with it another squad of soldiers who would take over the watch so they could get some sleep.
I glanced at the sky. Lots of stars. I pulled a blanket tighter around my shoulders and looked back at the stone.
Then -- all at once, like an explosion -- light burst from around the edges of the boulder and shattered the darkness. The guards scrambled to their feet. One quickly grabbed his sword and held it at the ready. The others grabbed theirs.
And then, with my mind's eye, I watched the stone slowly roll to the right. I felt the ground groan and shudder under its weight. And I stood up, in anticipation.
But as quickly as the light appeared, it vanished. And a man dressed in a robe -- its glow fading even as I watched --the man walked from within the cave and stood a few feet beyond the opening. He looked at the guards, and they fell back in terror. They tossed their weapons away and fled toward the trees.
When they were gone, Jesus looked at me. His expression hadn't changed. I could see His face. Still Calm. Gentle. His eyes soft. I wondered why the guards fled.
I watched myself hesitate, and then walk toward Him. As I drew near, I bowed on my knees. It was then I saw His feet beneath the robe. And the scars. I sat on the dirt and stared at them.
And that was when I realized the Lord was bending toward me. In a moment He sat in the dirt in front of me. He took me into His arms, and held me.
And He held me.
And He held me.
Squeezing me into His chest, He held me.
I rested my head on His shoulder, and looked down His back. I could see the scars from the whip that sliced His skin at the whipping post. They covered His neck, shoulders and back as far as I could see down His robe.
Scars that should have been mine.
And I whispered, Jesus, please. Help me love You always.
My imagination took me this morning to the tomb. I sat against a tree and looked at the massive stone covering the cave's entrance. Several yards in front of me four guards sat around a fire. They joked. Told stories. Passed the time as they waited for the sunrise, and with it another squad of soldiers who would take over the watch so they could get some sleep.
I glanced at the sky. Lots of stars. I pulled a blanket tighter around my shoulders and looked back at the stone.
Then -- all at once, like an explosion -- light burst from around the edges of the boulder and shattered the darkness. The guards scrambled to their feet. One quickly grabbed his sword and held it at the ready. The others grabbed theirs.
And then, with my mind's eye, I watched the stone slowly roll to the right. I felt the ground groan and shudder under its weight. And I stood up, in anticipation.
But as quickly as the light appeared, it vanished. And a man dressed in a robe -- its glow fading even as I watched --the man walked from within the cave and stood a few feet beyond the opening. He looked at the guards, and they fell back in terror. They tossed their weapons away and fled toward the trees.
When they were gone, Jesus looked at me. His expression hadn't changed. I could see His face. Still Calm. Gentle. His eyes soft. I wondered why the guards fled.
I watched myself hesitate, and then walk toward Him. As I drew near, I bowed on my knees. It was then I saw His feet beneath the robe. And the scars. I sat on the dirt and stared at them.
And that was when I realized the Lord was bending toward me. In a moment He sat in the dirt in front of me. He took me into His arms, and held me.
And He held me.
And He held me.
Squeezing me into His chest, He held me.
I rested my head on His shoulder, and looked down His back. I could see the scars from the whip that sliced His skin at the whipping post. They covered His neck, shoulders and back as far as I could see down His robe.
Scars that should have been mine.
And I whispered, Jesus, please. Help me love You always.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A Different Kind of Death
This is adapted from an essay appearing in my second book, Lessons Along the Journey.
-------------
Moreover, I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; and I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh (Ezekiel 36:26).
From time to time I see an elderly man who attends the same 10:00 Mass as I. I’ve never spoken with him. He sits on the other side of the sanctuary and is usually making his way toward the exit during the final song.
The first time I saw him, I thought I’d seen my wife’s stepfather returned from the dead. The man resembles Cy so closely. And because of the remarkable resemblance, my thoughts went back last Sunday to one of the last times Cy and I were together.
Cyril James Farrell died peacefully in bed on April 29, 2005, five months before his 90th birthday.
It could have been a different kind of death.
Throughout his working career, Cyril was a fiercely competitive salesman with little time for family, and even less time for God.
Quick-tempered, opinionated and a no-nonsense kind of guy, Cy told you what he thought, even if it wasn't polite or kind – and it often wasn’t. He found fault with strangers, circumstances, and family. I didn’t like being around him when he got into one of his moods.
Many of us know the passage of years often solidifies a person’s bad patterns. But for some people, life-events can have the opposite effect. That's what happened to Cy.
In his mid-seventies, his legs began to hurt so badly he couldn’t walk more than a few yards without stopping to rest. Following two fruitless surgeries, the once determined and vigorous man was forced into a wheelchair. In his last months, he couldn’t get out of bed without help.
Although baptized as a child and he attended Mass with his parents, by the time he joined the army, he’d left his childhood faith behind. It was not until he was 85 and sick did he recognize, as if for the first time, why Jesus died.
Jesus died for him.
And with that recognition, Cy surrendered his life completely to the Lord Jesus.
Imperceptibly to those who saw him every day, Cy began to change. And those who'd known him as long as I, knew the change was extraordinary. Despite his loss of health and strength, I never heard him complain or find fault, except to say about his legs, "Isn't that the craziest thing? They don't work anymore like they used to."
Judging from the remarks of those who attended his funeral, no one else heard him grumble, either. They simply remembered him as a man who always met others with a patient spirit, a ready smile, and a kind word.
More than 300 white-haired friends showed up at the church to commemorate his life. Many more wanted to come, but lived too far away, or were too frail to travel. I believe they loved the man in the coffin because Cyril James Farrell left a legacy worthy of a Christian – a legacy that attests to the grace, mercy and patience of our heavenly Father who stays with us, year after year, waiting for His prodigals to come home.
I know why Cyril James Farrell died in peace. It was because he died in the arms of his Savior.
It could have been a different kind of death.
-------------
Moreover, I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; and I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh (Ezekiel 36:26).
From time to time I see an elderly man who attends the same 10:00 Mass as I. I’ve never spoken with him. He sits on the other side of the sanctuary and is usually making his way toward the exit during the final song.
The first time I saw him, I thought I’d seen my wife’s stepfather returned from the dead. The man resembles Cy so closely. And because of the remarkable resemblance, my thoughts went back last Sunday to one of the last times Cy and I were together.
Cyril James Farrell died peacefully in bed on April 29, 2005, five months before his 90th birthday.
It could have been a different kind of death.
Throughout his working career, Cyril was a fiercely competitive salesman with little time for family, and even less time for God.
Quick-tempered, opinionated and a no-nonsense kind of guy, Cy told you what he thought, even if it wasn't polite or kind – and it often wasn’t. He found fault with strangers, circumstances, and family. I didn’t like being around him when he got into one of his moods.
Many of us know the passage of years often solidifies a person’s bad patterns. But for some people, life-events can have the opposite effect. That's what happened to Cy.
In his mid-seventies, his legs began to hurt so badly he couldn’t walk more than a few yards without stopping to rest. Following two fruitless surgeries, the once determined and vigorous man was forced into a wheelchair. In his last months, he couldn’t get out of bed without help.
Although baptized as a child and he attended Mass with his parents, by the time he joined the army, he’d left his childhood faith behind. It was not until he was 85 and sick did he recognize, as if for the first time, why Jesus died.
Jesus died for him.
And with that recognition, Cy surrendered his life completely to the Lord Jesus.
Imperceptibly to those who saw him every day, Cy began to change. And those who'd known him as long as I, knew the change was extraordinary. Despite his loss of health and strength, I never heard him complain or find fault, except to say about his legs, "Isn't that the craziest thing? They don't work anymore like they used to."
Judging from the remarks of those who attended his funeral, no one else heard him grumble, either. They simply remembered him as a man who always met others with a patient spirit, a ready smile, and a kind word.
More than 300 white-haired friends showed up at the church to commemorate his life. Many more wanted to come, but lived too far away, or were too frail to travel. I believe they loved the man in the coffin because Cyril James Farrell left a legacy worthy of a Christian – a legacy that attests to the grace, mercy and patience of our heavenly Father who stays with us, year after year, waiting for His prodigals to come home.
I know why Cyril James Farrell died in peace. It was because he died in the arms of his Savior.
It could have been a different kind of death.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Restoring from Captivity
Your prophets have seen for you false and foolish visions; And they have not exposed your iniquity so as to restore you from captivity . . . (Lamentations 2:14).
As I meditated on my memory verse for the week my thoughts took me to the historical setting of Jeremiah's lament. Jerusalem, once the vibrant and prosperous capital of ancient Israel, lay in ashes. Its leaders murdered. Its population sent into ruthless exile.
It didn't have to happen that way. God had sent His prophets again and again to warn the nation of impending judgment for their sins. But the people preferred the gentle and soothing message of false prophets and priests to the harsh words of God's emissaries who warned against listening to falsehood.
And so, judgment fell -- swift, sweeping and deadly.
And then my thoughts returned me to the present, and to the messages I have heard from pulpits and Christian TV and radio programs which offer gentle and soothing promises, but never speak of God's justice, holiness and judgment.
I've heard the flock of God encouraged to become better people by learning about their "personality traits" as defined through psychological tests -- but rarely have I heard the flock encouraged to diligently, passionately, fervently seek God on their knees and in the words of the prophets, apostles and Church teaching.
I have heard "touchy-feelly" messages in which people are promised by their pastors health, wealth and happiness, but never have I heard them talk of Scripture's message of persecution, suffering and deprivation for God's elect -- or of how even Jesus "learned obedience from the things He suffered" (Hebrews 5:8).
God's prophets have always -- always -- been enjoined to speak the truth as a fire and as a hammer that shatters a rock (Jeremiah 23:29). God has always sent His emissaries to expose iniquity among those who should know better, that they might be spared judgment, which is inevitable to the unrepentant.
"Go into all the world," the Lord commanded the Church, and teach God's truth --the full truth -- even if it is disquieting and unwelcomed. For only in so doing can we participate in the work of God to restore people from their captivity.
There is no greater call or mission a child of God can have.
As I meditated on my memory verse for the week my thoughts took me to the historical setting of Jeremiah's lament. Jerusalem, once the vibrant and prosperous capital of ancient Israel, lay in ashes. Its leaders murdered. Its population sent into ruthless exile.
It didn't have to happen that way. God had sent His prophets again and again to warn the nation of impending judgment for their sins. But the people preferred the gentle and soothing message of false prophets and priests to the harsh words of God's emissaries who warned against listening to falsehood.
And so, judgment fell -- swift, sweeping and deadly.
And then my thoughts returned me to the present, and to the messages I have heard from pulpits and Christian TV and radio programs which offer gentle and soothing promises, but never speak of God's justice, holiness and judgment.
I've heard the flock of God encouraged to become better people by learning about their "personality traits" as defined through psychological tests -- but rarely have I heard the flock encouraged to diligently, passionately, fervently seek God on their knees and in the words of the prophets, apostles and Church teaching.
I have heard "touchy-feelly" messages in which people are promised by their pastors health, wealth and happiness, but never have I heard them talk of Scripture's message of persecution, suffering and deprivation for God's elect -- or of how even Jesus "learned obedience from the things He suffered" (Hebrews 5:8).
God's prophets have always -- always -- been enjoined to speak the truth as a fire and as a hammer that shatters a rock (Jeremiah 23:29). God has always sent His emissaries to expose iniquity among those who should know better, that they might be spared judgment, which is inevitable to the unrepentant.
"Go into all the world," the Lord commanded the Church, and teach God's truth --the full truth -- even if it is disquieting and unwelcomed. For only in so doing can we participate in the work of God to restore people from their captivity.
There is no greater call or mission a child of God can have.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Happiness and Obedience
Listen to Me, O Jacob, even Israel whom I called; I am He, I am the first, I am also the last (Isaiah 48:12)
Four times in chapter 48, God calls to His people to “Listen!”
I can almost hear Him sigh with remorse: If only you obeyed my commandments, your peace would have been like a river . . . (verse 18).
You’d think the Israelites would have known better. From the early days of the Judges, to the time of Isaiah’s ministry, Israel’s history ebbed and flowed with periods of peace, followed by rebellion, warning, judgment and, finally repentance.
And the cycle began again.
Do you know people today in the Church, people who should know better, and yet follow in the path of ancient Israel, moving through cycles of peace to rebellion, to judgment and – only then -- repentance?
Yet, all the while, God calls us to listen and obey.
And for good reason.
There is simply no other way to be at peace with God, with ourselves, or with others, than to listen to – and obey -- God. That is what He called Israel to do through the prophets. And that is what He calls to us to do through the words of Holy Scripture and Church teaching.
If only we would listen.
Four times in chapter 48, God calls to His people to “Listen!”
I can almost hear Him sigh with remorse: If only you obeyed my commandments, your peace would have been like a river . . . (verse 18).
You’d think the Israelites would have known better. From the early days of the Judges, to the time of Isaiah’s ministry, Israel’s history ebbed and flowed with periods of peace, followed by rebellion, warning, judgment and, finally repentance.
And the cycle began again.
Do you know people today in the Church, people who should know better, and yet follow in the path of ancient Israel, moving through cycles of peace to rebellion, to judgment and – only then -- repentance?
Yet, all the while, God calls us to listen and obey.
And for good reason.
There is simply no other way to be at peace with God, with ourselves, or with others, than to listen to – and obey -- God. That is what He called Israel to do through the prophets. And that is what He calls to us to do through the words of Holy Scripture and Church teaching.
If only we would listen.
Friday, October 9, 2009
A Bloody Faith
“If his holocaust offering is from the flock that is, a sheep or a goat, [the priest] must bring a male without blemish. This he shall slaughter before the Lord at the north side of the altar. Then Aaron’s sons, the priest, shall splash its blood on the sides of the altar”
(Leviticus 1:10-11).
Some believe the Old Testament religion was a bloody one.
They are right.
The blood of bulls and goats
flowed from the Hebrew altar day after day
after day
to atone for sins.
Some think the New Testament religion is less bloody.
They are wrong.
The blood bath of animals
was only a shadow
of the substance
to unfold
two thousand years later
on Calvary.
There
the blood of God
dripped from His face,
His arms,
His side,
to cleanse our sins.
And
within the seamless folds of eternity
it still flows
each time
we reject
we reject
His commandments.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Even So, Sometimes I Do Have to Ask
Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God . . . (1 Corinthians 6:19).
As I reflected again on the Lord's intervention in what should have been my flogging -- I wrote about it (click here) a few days ago -- this verse dropped into my thoughts. And it dovetailed with the imagery in my imagination as Jesus pressed Himself against me to shield my back from the Roman whip.
I memorized this text in 1 Corinthians years ago. Probably decades. I've written about it in published articles, referred to it during Bible studies I've taught, and cross-referenced it many times with other texts as I studied through the Scriptures.
But this morning the term Holy Spirit captured my attention. I suppose it's because I have, for a long time, referred to Him as the Holyspirit. The two words usually run together as if there is no distinction or real separation between them.
But there is a separation and distinction. And unless I clearly recognize it, the passage at the top of this post cannot impact my life as it ought.
Holy.
Some synonyms could be hallowed, sacred, immaculate, perfect, or pure. Yet, as St. Paul moaned, "In my flesh there is no good thing."
So how can it be that the Holy Spirit -- God Himself as the third Person of the trinity -- how can it be -- no, the better question is -- why would it be that the Holy, Sacred, Pure, Perfect, and Immaculate Spirit not only would come to me, but literally live inside me?
That was the question lingering in my mind as the eyes of my imagination fixated on that image of Jesus -- God in the second Person of the trinity -- as He pressed Himself against me to shield me from the whip in my earlier meditation.
And that was the question the Lord answered again when He looked into my eyes and said,
"Do you have to ask?"
Oh, but even so . . . knowing myself as well as I do, sometimes I do have to ask . . . why would God love me that much?
As I reflected again on the Lord's intervention in what should have been my flogging -- I wrote about it (click here) a few days ago -- this verse dropped into my thoughts. And it dovetailed with the imagery in my imagination as Jesus pressed Himself against me to shield my back from the Roman whip.
I memorized this text in 1 Corinthians years ago. Probably decades. I've written about it in published articles, referred to it during Bible studies I've taught, and cross-referenced it many times with other texts as I studied through the Scriptures.
But this morning the term Holy Spirit captured my attention. I suppose it's because I have, for a long time, referred to Him as the Holyspirit. The two words usually run together as if there is no distinction or real separation between them.
But there is a separation and distinction. And unless I clearly recognize it, the passage at the top of this post cannot impact my life as it ought.
Holy.
Some synonyms could be hallowed, sacred, immaculate, perfect, or pure. Yet, as St. Paul moaned, "In my flesh there is no good thing."
So how can it be that the Holy Spirit -- God Himself as the third Person of the trinity -- how can it be -- no, the better question is -- why would it be that the Holy, Sacred, Pure, Perfect, and Immaculate Spirit not only would come to me, but literally live inside me?
That was the question lingering in my mind as the eyes of my imagination fixated on that image of Jesus -- God in the second Person of the trinity -- as He pressed Himself against me to shield me from the whip in my earlier meditation.
And that was the question the Lord answered again when He looked into my eyes and said,
"Do you have to ask?"
Oh, but even so . . . knowing myself as well as I do, sometimes I do have to ask . . . why would God love me that much?
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Whom the Son Sets Free . . .
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the afflicted; He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to captives and freedom to prisoners . . . . Giving them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting (Isaiah 61:1-2).
One reason I enjoy memorizing Scripture is that once I know the text, it breathes its life into my spirit and I can more deeply reflect on its message than I would if I simply read it through.
This passage in Isaiah held my attention this morning as I related it to my recent experiences in hospitals where I've worked as a registered nurse. Most of the time nearly half (or more) of the patients on our unit are repeat admissions. They come to us several times a year with a variety of serious self-induced illnesses such as alcoholics with terminal liver disease, nicotine addicts with lung or throat cancers, diabetics who ignore their prescribed dietary, exercise and medication routines, drug addicts with skin infections, heart problems, kidney diseases or psychological changes such as paranoia and dementias.
As I thought about my experiences in light of the passage in Isaiah, I realized I usually viewed those patients as unfortunates who chose the wrong road on their journey through life. I'd not very often recognize them also as prisoners of Satan --bound with chains stronger than iron.
And that image of Satan's prisoners burdened me. Where, I wondered, where are the Archbishop Fulton Sheens of yesterday, the John Vianneys, the Catherines of Siena who each challenged and changed their culture, and in so doing set prisoners free? Where are the new Billy Grahams? The James Dobsons? The Archbishop Chaputs? The Father Corapis?
And where also are the ordinary men and women of God, men and women of the marketplace, the schools, the businesses, the university classrooms and lunchrooms who refuse to water down the "good news" for the afflicted? Men and women who will not kowtow to the culture, to speak political and social "correctness" and so lose their ability -- their God-given mandate -- to proclaim God's uncompromising truth which alone can bind up the broken hearted, give liberty to captives and freedom to Satan's prisoners?
I know where they are. They are reading these words.
You would not be a regular reader of this blog if you also did not have the same mind of Christ, the same compassion for the lost, the same heartache for those who repeat their poor choices as if they had no other choice.
This is the privilege God gives you and me . . . to set prisoners free. And we should never underestimate the importance of that privilege -- to bind up the brokenhearted, to give them hope for new life, a new journey in which old things are forgotten and wonderful new things lay ahead.
Oh, God, help us focus on that mission..
One reason I enjoy memorizing Scripture is that once I know the text, it breathes its life into my spirit and I can more deeply reflect on its message than I would if I simply read it through.
This passage in Isaiah held my attention this morning as I related it to my recent experiences in hospitals where I've worked as a registered nurse. Most of the time nearly half (or more) of the patients on our unit are repeat admissions. They come to us several times a year with a variety of serious self-induced illnesses such as alcoholics with terminal liver disease, nicotine addicts with lung or throat cancers, diabetics who ignore their prescribed dietary, exercise and medication routines, drug addicts with skin infections, heart problems, kidney diseases or psychological changes such as paranoia and dementias.
As I thought about my experiences in light of the passage in Isaiah, I realized I usually viewed those patients as unfortunates who chose the wrong road on their journey through life. I'd not very often recognize them also as prisoners of Satan --bound with chains stronger than iron.
And that image of Satan's prisoners burdened me. Where, I wondered, where are the Archbishop Fulton Sheens of yesterday, the John Vianneys, the Catherines of Siena who each challenged and changed their culture, and in so doing set prisoners free? Where are the new Billy Grahams? The James Dobsons? The Archbishop Chaputs? The Father Corapis?
And where also are the ordinary men and women of God, men and women of the marketplace, the schools, the businesses, the university classrooms and lunchrooms who refuse to water down the "good news" for the afflicted? Men and women who will not kowtow to the culture, to speak political and social "correctness" and so lose their ability -- their God-given mandate -- to proclaim God's uncompromising truth which alone can bind up the broken hearted, give liberty to captives and freedom to Satan's prisoners?
I know where they are. They are reading these words.
You would not be a regular reader of this blog if you also did not have the same mind of Christ, the same compassion for the lost, the same heartache for those who repeat their poor choices as if they had no other choice.
This is the privilege God gives you and me . . . to set prisoners free. And we should never underestimate the importance of that privilege -- to bind up the brokenhearted, to give them hope for new life, a new journey in which old things are forgotten and wonderful new things lay ahead.
Oh, God, help us focus on that mission..
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Booby-Trapped
Abraham said to his servant . . . “[Y]ou shall not take a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I live, but you will go to my . . . relatives, and take a wife for my son Isaac. The servant said to him, “Suppose the woman is not willing to follow me to this land; should I take your son back to the land from where you came?" Then Abraham said to him, "Beware that you do not take my son back there! (Genesis 24:2-6).
I understand Abraham’s fear for his son to return to his former land. Abraham knew Isaac’s relationship with God could be irreparably damaged if he returned to the place from which God had called them.
“Beware,” he warned his servant, “that you do not take my son back there.”
Have you ever noticed how, without warning, the lure of our old life can beckon us to return? Sometimes the attraction openly woos us with soft caresses and seductive whispers. More often, though – at least in my experience – it arrives gift-wrapped in subtle nuances, cradled in the arms of a disappointment with God, a loss, or a sadness.
Yet in whatever form it arrives, it is always booby-trapped.
And we invite disaster when we so much as toy with the wrapping.
I understand Abraham’s fear for his son to return to his former land. Abraham knew Isaac’s relationship with God could be irreparably damaged if he returned to the place from which God had called them.
“Beware,” he warned his servant, “that you do not take my son back there.”
Have you ever noticed how, without warning, the lure of our old life can beckon us to return? Sometimes the attraction openly woos us with soft caresses and seductive whispers. More often, though – at least in my experience – it arrives gift-wrapped in subtle nuances, cradled in the arms of a disappointment with God, a loss, or a sadness.
Yet in whatever form it arrives, it is always booby-trapped.
And we invite disaster when we so much as toy with the wrapping.
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