Child or Tool

I posted this a couple of years ago.Over the last few days I've thought of posting it again -- I think the message is of value even in the re-reading. And so, on this Palm Sunday, as we remember Jesus' entry into Jerusalem just before His crucifixion -- and resurrection -- I hope you find it useful.
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I am God, and there is no one like Me . . . My purpose will be established, and I will accomplish all My good pleasure (Isaiah 46:9-10).


I can't help but think about Joe and Charles when I read passages like this one from Isaiah.


Forty years ago, Joe and I were best of friends. Although he was married, the father of two daughters, and six years my senior, we were almost inseparable. We worked the same shift at a local taxi company and shared the same interests: drugs, parties and women. After working all day, Joe and I often spent hours cruising the bar districts while his wife and children waited for him to come home.


However, what I remember most about Joe is what I thought of him in my rare reflective moments. His life was a disaster waiting to happen -- and more to the point, I realized unless I changed direction, my life would mirror his.


That realization eventually led me to the navy recruiter’s office. I thought if I learned a job skill in the military, I would avoid the life Joe modeled for me. But during my tour overseas I found something much more valuable in the navy than a job skill.


I found Christ.


When I left Japan three and a half years later, I enrolled in a Bible college. It was there I met Charles, a former missionary and pastor. He taught several of my classes at the college and made the Scriptures come alive for me. But what I remember most about him is not his gift of teaching, but his humility. Nearly four decades later I can still see him in my mmory weeping at a church altar, pleading with God for wisdom to serve Him more fruitfully.


Charles never knew it, but he modeled for me a heart passionate to serve Christ.


I do not know if God used me Joe’s life during those years of our friendship, but God surely used him in mine. As I watched him manipulate and abuse even those closest to him, God gave me a glimpse of my own future if I persisted on that same path.


Nor do I know if God used me in Charles’ life. But God surely used him in mine. If not for my former teacher, my understanding of what it means to truly seek after God might be quite different today. And I might not have learned this important lesson: We have a choice how the almighty and omnipotent God will use each of us for His own purposes – as His tool or as His child, as a Joe or as a Charles.


I know how I want Him to use me.

What Will We Do?

With the moral mess
sweeping,
seeping
through our culture,
some church leaders,
like David the shepherd,
courageously
protect their flock,
guide their sheep,
and so rescue them
from the mouth
of the lion
set to devour them.*


“This is the way,”
they say.
“Vote accordingly.”

Yet others
seem reluctant
to guide their sheep.

I wonder why.

Do they fear the wrath
of a pervasive, pernicious media?
Do they fear the loss
of congregants?
Do they fear the
removal of
tax exemption?

How can we encourage them
to the battle?

St. Paul beseeched
the church at Ephesus:
“Pray for me
that I may boldly present
 the gospel of Christ” **

If he sought prayer
from the sheep,
is it not all the more true
our leaders need
ours?

St. John the Beloved,
like St. Paul,
lived in a time and culture
ablaze with hostility
toward the gospel.

Yet,
to the Chosen Lady –
perhaps a metaphor for the Church –
he wrote:

Anyone who goes too far and does not abide in the teaching of Christ, does not have God . . . If anyone comes to you and does not bring this teaching, do not receive him into your house, and do not give him a greeting; for the one who gives him a greeting participates in his evil deeds.***

How many prayers
did his sheep pray,
how many words of encouragement
did they speak,
until emboldened even
to the jaws of opposition,
St. John could warn those
who would listen,

“To receive
(he might say today ‘to vote for’)
those who pass laws
and promote lifestyles
contrary to Christ’s teaching
is to participate
in their evil deeds.”

So while I wonder
why some
seem reluctant
to lead,
it is more to the point,
I think, to ask:


“What will the sheep do
to encourage our leaders,
lest they falter
in the battle?”

*See 1 Samuel 17:34-3
** See Ephesians 6:19
***2 John 8-11

Unerring. Inevitable. Bloody. Unless . . .

Daughters of Jerusalem, stop weeping for Me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For behold, the days are coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us,’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’ For if they do these things when the tree is green, what will happen when it is dry? (Luke 23:28-31)

They wept for Him, the women.

They anguished for their beloved hope.

Bruised.

Spat on.

Back sliced by whips.

 

 

Soldiers shoved the cross

across His shoulders,

and pushed him
toward the road

toward the hill.

 

 

Mocked by government,

jeered by religionists,

cursed by crowds,

he staggered forward.

Five. Ten. Twenty yards.

Then fell.

 

 

“Get up, Jew!” A soldier snarled.

Jesus pushed himself

to his feet

and pushed

another yard. Twenty. A few more.

And fell.

 

 

They ran to him, the women,

and wiped his face with their shawls.

Tears dropped

from their cheeks. 

 

 

“My daughters,” he said.

“Don’t weep for me, but for yourselves

and for your children.

For if they do this when the tree is green,

what will they do when it is dry?”

 

 

What will they do when it is dry?

 

 

The answer,

the same answer,

replays again

and again

when governments,

religionists

and crowds lock Him

from their markets,

courts and communities;

 History paints a ruthless picture,

an unerring,

inevitable,

bloody picture,

of a land,

of a people,

without Jesus.

Communism.

Fascism.

Nazism.

Socialism.

All

rooted,

clothed,

and nourished,

in atheism.

 

 

Unerring.

Inevitable.

Bloody.

 

 

Unless we humble ourselves,

pray,

seek His face,

and turn from our wicked ways.*

 

 

*2 Chronicles 7:14

Never in Vain

I've published this before, but I can't remember when or where. But as I thought about the struggles the Church finds itself in at the moment, assailed by government decrees on all levels, I thought about this story. I hope it encourages you.
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Therefore, my beloved brethren, be firm, steadfast, always fully devoted to the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain (1 Corinthians 15:58).


The guy bowling in the lane to my right looked like he might be a tackle for the local college football team. Maybe a center. His arms looked bigger than my legs, and each time he stalked toward the foul line, I knew what to expect. For the last half-hour he’d hurled his 16-pounder at the speed of light toward the pins at the far end. Every time he tossed the bowling ball, all ten pins exploded with a roar that echoed across the bowling alley.

This time wasn’t any different. As my ball rumbled through the return mechanism, I turned to watch him stride confidently toward the foul line. As soon as the ball left his hand I knew the pins didn’t stand a chance. I was right. He walked back to his table and marked another X on the score sheet.

That’s when the youngster a few lanes to the left caught my eye. He looked like he might be three or four years old as he wobbled toward the foul line, straining with both hands to hold his ball. I wondered if it weighed more than he did. When he reached the line, he stooped and placed the ball between his legs. Then, with a mighty grunt, he pushed it as hard as he could toward the other end.

I don’t know why I watched it lumber down the lane, but I’m glad I did. The ball glanced off the air-filled bumpers in the left gutter, and then the right. I doubted it had enough uummph to reach the pins. By the time it did, it moved so slowly that the pins forced it to meander left, then right, then left again as it rolled through them. My jaw dropped as, one by one, all ten pins toppled over.

The youngster screeched, twirled in circles and raced back to his father, who penciled a big X on the score sheet. Meanwhile, I left my ball in the carousel and walked back to my seat, suddenly aware of an important spiritual lesson I’d just witnessed.

I am embarrassed to admit how often I’ve compared myself with God’s mighty warriors and lost hope that God could -- or would -- also use me. I’ve marveled at evangelists who only have to say, “Jesus loves you,” and crowds come forward by the hundreds, yet I spend half a day sharing the gospel with a friend, only to hear him say, “I’m glad you found something to make you happy. But, I think I’ll keep looking.”  I’ve turned my radio dial and listened to insightful, gifted teachers who’ve turned their corner of the world upside down for Christ, yet I've look around my Faith Formation class and wondered if the students slouched before me have heard a word I’ve said. I’ve spoken with missionaries home on furlough and been inspired by dramatic stories of entire communities turning to Christ, yet I can’t get one neighbor family to attend church with me.

It’s no mystery to me why I’ve often looked in the mirror and wondered aloud toward heaven, “You want ME to do what?” To which I usually follow with a litany of excuses: “I don’t know how. I’m too young, too old, too tired, too weak . . . .” 

And then God used a four-year old to remind me that, in all my self-excusing and self-justifying, I miss a critical point of Scripture: with faith as small as a mustard seed, any Christian (even I) can move mountains, stop the mouth of lions, and accomplish anything else God asks of us. Even when our feeble and halting attempts for Christ bounce from one gutter to the next, God orchestrates our meandering until even the gates of hell fall before us.

The young boy a few lanes to my left confirmed what I have known for a long time, but often forget : whether with the strength of a Samson, or the struggling attempts of a child, whether we hurl the ball at the speed of light, or use all our energy just to push it toward the pins, God’s word never returns to Him void, and our labor for Christ is never in vain. 

Hope, If . . .

If only you had paid attention to My commandments! Then your well-being would have been like a river, and your righteousness like the waves of the sea (Isaiah 48:18).

I just finished reading Hosea. I normally complete the thirteen chapters in two or three days. The chapters are short. But this time I was so captured by the images and lessons surging at me from the text, I read it in one sitting.

St. Paul reminds us the things written in the Old testament are for our instruction (see Romans 15:4 and 1 Corinthians 10:11). And they will instruct those with eyes to see and ears to hear, because God is the same today as He was four thousand years ago, and people are people regardless of the time, place or culture. Put those truisms together and they provide an unerring predictor of future events based on past performance.

Hosea writes about Judah and Ephraim (code words for Israel), but as I read the text I thought it eerily easy to substitute the word “America” in their place. The issues they faced – and the issues we face – are so startling similar.

For example, in chapter four the prophet writes: [T]he Lord has a case against the inhabitants of the land, because there is no faithfulness or kindness or knowledge of God in the land. There is swearing, deception, murder, stealing and adultery. They employ violence, so that bloodshed follows bloodshed . . .  Harlotry, wine and new wine take away the understanding. . . . a spirit of harlotry has led them astray, and they have played the harlot, departing from their God (4:1-12).
 
Hosea continues in chapter five: Their deeds will not allow them to return to their God, for a spirit of harlotry is within them, and they do not know the Lord (5:4). Then in chapter eight: They have set up kings, but not by Me; They have appointed princes, but I did not know it . . . They sow the wind and they reap the whirlwind (8:4-7).
 
For thirteen chapters God threatens, pleads, and anguishes over His beloved people. And because they are beloved, the last chapter promises them hope: Return, O Israel, to the Lord your God . . . say to Him, “Take away [our] iniquity and receive us graciously . . .  [and] I will heal their apostasy, I will love them freely, for My anger has turned away from them. I will be like the dew to Israel (14:1-5).
 
Sadly, though, Israel continued in their rebellion, and disaster finally fell.

God’s absolute and unchanging requirement for our holiness remains as true today as it did then. And if America is traveling a similar road as ancient Israel, it is good to know there yet remains hope for all for whom Jesus died; Hope because we – you and I – are God’s beloved.

But hope, only if we return to God and repent.

First String

Do you not say, ‘There are yet four months, and then comes the harvest’? Behold, I say to you, lift up your eyes and look on the fields, that they are white for harvest. . . . I sent you to reap that for which you have not labored; others have labored and you have entered into their labor (John 4:35-38).

I was not the most athletically gifted ball-player in high school.  But I enjoyed sports and when my friends tried out for the football team, I joined them. However, while they played in every game, I sat on the bench. While they dragged themselves into the locker room after each game with muddy uniforms, I rubbed dirt into mine so it would look as if I'd been in the game.

The crowning moment of my humiliating sports career came during our annual End-of-the-Season roast beef dinner. During the dinner, the star players would receive trophies and everyone would receive our coveted varsity letter.

My heart raced with anticipation as the coach called our names in alphabetical order. And it sank to my feet when he called mine and I walked to the podium to receive - a junior varsity letter. I’d never been so humiliated. For a full year I suffered the embarrassment of warming the bench and now, on the night of all nights for football jocks, they handed me a dinky JV letter.  I left it on the table, hidden under my napkin.

Everyone understands what it is like to be passed over for something special – to fail to make the “team.”  Most of us end up sitting life’s bench, watching from the sidelines as others break tackles and score touchdowns to the crowd’s thunderous cheer.

Yes, very few make First String in the game of Life.

But I have learned a marvelous truth about God’s view of Life: What most people admire, God detests (Luke 16:15). What most reject, God chooses. St. Paul surely understood this when he wrote to his Corinthian readers: “God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and . . .           the weak . . . to shame the things which are strong . . . that no one should boast before God” (1 Corinthians 1:26-29).

God doesn't have second string players. The missionary ministering to hundreds across the globe, the mother telling her children the wonderful story of Jesus, the office worker sharing her faith with others, are all critically important members of God’s First String Team (John 4:36-38; 1 Corinthians 3:9). And each will receive the coveted Varsity letter at the long-awaited gala celebration in Glory.

You and I might never be chosen first for what the crowd considers important. Their applause might always go to others. But the Coach of all coaches invites us to turn our backs on the crowd and follow Him. He invites us to be part of His first string.

For His offer, for His promise, for His opinion,  I am ever grateful.

How Long Has it Been?

Behold, I stand at the door and knock (Revelation 3:20).

Several years ago my wife and I flew from Seattle to Southern California to celebrate her mother’s 90th birthday. On the flight, Nancy sat next to an elderly couple. I guessed their ages somewhere in the late 60s or early 70s. I learned later, as we gathered our luggage, the couple were on their way to visit the husband’s son. They’d not seen or spoken with each other in thirty years.

Thirty. Years.

As we left baggage claim I shook my head in sadness for them. Nancy didn’t know why they’d been estranged so long. The couple didn’t share that part of the story. Yet, I wondered about the regret the father must have felt – and hopefully the son as well – for having been apart for three decades. It was surely the blessing of God that the father was still alive and healthy enough to travel to what I hoped was a joyous reunion.

Yet, even as I write this, years later, the image of that couple brings to mind two very important points.

First, if your parent is still alive, call. Today. Even if – especially if – you’ve been estranged for whatever reason. The Lord’s warning, “If you forgive others their transgressions, your heavenly Father will forgive you. But if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your transgressions” (Matthew 6:14-15) applies to everyone.

Tomorrow, their lives – or yours – can change forever.

The second point is this:

Are you estranged from your heavenly Father? How long has it been since you visited Him at Mass? How long has it been since you called on Him in prayer and met with Him through meditating on Scripture? Please, don’t let your past sins – regardless how grievous they might be – don’t let disappointments, remorse, or apathy keep you from renewing your relationship with Him. For if you listen carefully you will hear Him at your heart’s door, knocking. Even now, as you read this, He knocks, yearning for you to open up to Him.

We do not know if tomorrow our lives may change, forever.

The Roar and the Whimper

I tossed and turned trying to ignore Eric's wall-rattling snores from the guest room down the hall. But it was no use. There would be no further sleep for me until he rolled over.

Might as well check on Zion, I thought to myself as I threw off the covers and slipped out of bed. Our four-year-old could sleep through a tornado, so I was not expecting to see him lying awake in his bed, his  eyes wide with terror.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I sat beside him. He didn't answer, but from the growls down the hall, I guessed the problem.

"Are you frightened?"

He nodded and pointed toward the other room. "Lion," he whispered and snuggled close to me.

"You think there is a lion in the house?" I tried not to smile.

When he nodded again, I lifted him into my arms and tiptoed to the other room. I opened the door and showed him the 'lion.' Zion stared at him for a few moments. And then smiled.

In thinking back on that experience I wonder if there might be a close spiritual parallel between Zion's fears and those of my own. Satan's roar sometimes seem very much like a lion's, and it can paralyze me with fear . . . fear of the unknown, fear of the future, of the past, of the present. My “What if” replaces God’s “Who is like Me in majesty and power?”

Someone has said, "God's peace is always greater than our fears." I think St. Paul understood this when he wrote to the Church at Rome: What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril or the sword? . . . No, in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us. 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 8:35-39).

Standing at the threshold of the lion's den and seeing the reality, my son relaxed in my arms. His terror turned to peace. But oh! To be as a child in the arms of my heavenly Father, to stand with Him at the threshold of hell itself and know – really know the glorious truth -- that Satan's rage has been forever deflected by Calvary!

For good reason Scripture declares: God did not give us a spirit of cowardice but rather of power and love . . . (2 Timothy 1:7). Yet I am too often too busy cowering in the corner to remember that truth which can set me free.  

And that knowledge alone ought to be sufficient reason for me to daily ask God to grant me a hunger for His word; that I might thirst for it as a parched deer searching for a cool spring. How else can any of us know Christ's freedom except by knowing His word? How else can we understand God's power within us to stand at the threshold of hell itself and sense the peace of God wash over our hearts?

Though our guest's snores rattled on, my son went back to bed and quickly fell asleep. And so too it can be for us. Though Satan's roar seems ferocious, though it rob us of joy, freedom, and peace, God wants us to know when confronted with faith in Christ, Satan's roar sounds more like a whimper than a spine-chilling howl.

Because a whimper is what it really is.

With a Kiss?

Are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss? (Luke 22:48).

For thirty pieces of silver, the Great Pretender promised to lead the soldiers to Jesus. “The one whom I kiss,” he told them, “He is the one. Seize him, and take him away.”

Judas entered the garden and immediately approached the one he’d so often called his friend and lord. He brought his lips to Jesus' cheek. Meanwhile, soldiers in the periphery watched for the signal.

For three years, Judas had fooled the other eleven. For three years he’d hidden his thoughts behind pious words and good deeds. No one knew his heart. No one, of course, but Jesus.

I think of that some days when I approach my Lord in the most holy Eucharist. I bring His body to my lips, His blood to my mouth. And sometimes I worry that, as St. Paul warned Timothy, I turn, by degrees, from the appearance of godliness to denying Him. I worry that, as the apostle wrote to Titus, I profess God to others, but by my actions betray Him. I worry that I pray with my mouth, but not with my heart, the words of the psalmist, “Let those who wait for you, Lord of hosts, not be shamed through me. Let those who seek you, God of Israel, not be disgraced through me (Psalm 69:7).

Jesus asked Judas, “Are you betraying the Son of Man with a Kiss?”

Yes, from time to time I worry about my motives, my hidden sins – hidden even from myself – as I approach my Lord in the bread and wine. Which is why, now that I think about it, which is why I take the time – I make the time – to pray, study the Scriptures, and be scrupulous about my confession of sins. I never want to be found by Him having pious words and good deeds – but my heart is far from Him. 

A Good Place to Start this Lenten Season

I wrote this years ago and then promptly forgot about it, until tonight, while I was waiting to receive my ashes during Ash Wednesday Mass.
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And the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us of all sin (1 John 1:7)

As soon as I opened the door I knew something was wrong.  Rotten, actually. But I was already late for work, so I grabbed my lunch sack from the top shelf of the refrigerator and darted out the front door. My wife was out of town visiting her parents, so I planned to take care of the rotted whatever-it-was when I returned home later that night.

That was my first mistake.

My inbox at work grew inches with each passing hour. I didn’t leave work until after dark and the thought of starting dinner when I arrived home left me weak-kneed. I decided to grab dinner at a nearby restaurant.

By the time I arrived home, cleaning the refrigerator was the last thing on my mind. I plopped in front of the television to unwind a bit from the day. An hour later I headed for the shower and the bed. I’d take care of the fridge in the morning.

That was my second mistake.

The next day, my mistakes overwhelmed me when I opened the refrigerator door. The pungent stench of rotted cabbage filled every corner of the house. I slammed the door shut and glanced at my watch. I’d be late for work if I didn’t leave soon. I grabbed an apple and rushed out of the house. The fridge would have to wait.

When I returned from work ten hours later, the odor that had settled over the house left me no choice. I tossed the cabbage --- and the lettuce, tomatoes and celery laying nearby. Then I scrubbed the fruit and vegetable bin with bleach.

That’s when the spiritual truth dropped into my mind.

Like slowly rotting cabbage, sin is never a private matter. If left unchecked, its stench will seep into and ruin every corner of my life, my home, my community . . . my nation.

No one needs look further than the morning newspaper, whose pages drip with stories of greed, lust for power, and sexual immorality run amuck. And behind the headlines lie broken families, crushed dreams, ruined lives.

Of course, as one might expect, there is a better way. A much better way. God’s way. He has proven it true in my life. He's proven it true in the lives of millions of others. Give Him a chance and He will prove it true in yours.

Perhaps especially during this season of Lent, the Act of Contrition is a good place to start:

O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee; And I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishment, But most of all, because I have offended Thee, my God, Who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy Grace, to sin no more, and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen.

The Opaque Made Clear

And [Jesus] said to them, “O foolish men and slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary for the Christ to suffer these things and to enter into His glory?” Then beginning with Moses and with all the prophets, He explained to them the things concerning Himself in all the Scriptures (Luke 24:25-27).

Although my mom taught me about God as we celebrated the Jewish holidays, we never owned or read the Jewish Scriptures. My concept of God was based more on hearsay than personal knowledge.

Years later all that changed when a friend gave me a Bible and showed me numerous Old Testament passages, such as the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, Daniel chapter 7, Zechariah 12:10, and Psalm 22. Although written centuries before Jesus’ birth, the various prophecies spoke so clearly to my heart about Messiah Jesus' life, death, and resurrection that, at first, I thought I was reading the New Testament, instead of the Old.

Through the years, I’ve shown similar passages to friends, family and co-workers, Yet, most of the time they’ve merely looked at me and asked, “So? What’s your point?”

And each time, I was incredulous. How could they read Scripture that, to my eyes, clearly demonstrated Jesus' role in our redemption, and not see the point? How could they not see Him on every page? How could they not see Him in every sacrifice, prophecy and promise? 

The longer I walk with Christ, the better I understand the reason for their inability to see. The Bible is a not simply a book of ancient stories and moral lessons, as I've heard so many people -- even in the Church -- speak of the Bible. Its words were inspired by the Holy Spirit, and only He can make the opaque clear. Only He can make the invisible visible.

Which is why it’s not such an odd suggestion that we pray with the psalmist, “Open my eyes, Lord, that I might behold wonderful things out of Thy law” (Psalm 119:18). The Psalmist knew something about spiritual truth that we all can learn.

That we all must learn.

Nausea

But because thou art lukewarm,

and neither cold, not hot,

I will begin to vomit thee out of my mouth.

(Revelation 3:16,

Catholic Douay-Rheims Bible)

I have

for years

held an intellectual understanding

of the Lord’s rebuke

of the lukewarm Laodecian church.

But my understanding

of late

has undergone

a transformation.

The intellectual has become visceral.

It happened as I suddenly awoke

to the speed at which

moral decay is sweeping our land,

putrefication so noxious

it surely stinks

to the highest heaven.

While all the while

the hand-wringing,

speeches and statements

of churchmen and women

of all labels,

but especially of leaders

appointed by God

to lead His flock . . . .

While all the while the Church,

except for rare exceptions–

remains stunningly silent,

willfully impotent,

and spinelessly unwilling

to mount an offense neither for God,

nor for His sheep.

I understand the Lord’s nausea

over a lukewarm Church.

I’m a little nauseous myself.

Graveyards and Eternal Life

From my book, Lessons Along the Journey:
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Once the game is over, the king and the pawn go back into the same box. – Italian proverb

Cemeteries are not my favorite recreation spots. I’d rather be elsewhere, like the beach or at a campsite nestled among wild flowers. And so, when I visit the final resting place of friends or family, I usually stay no longer than it takes to lose myself in a few memories.

I don’t know why on one visit I altered my typical practice and wandered through rows of graves, stopping every now and again to read the words etched in stone that summarize someone’s lifetime: Joseph Kurtin - Born May 15, 1850, Died July 2, 1923. Four words and a few numbers. What had he done in life? How many mourned his death? Does anyone still remember him?

A few rows to the left, two stones stood side by side: Everett Stuart and Hannah Mae Stuart. They died the same day – October 12, 1961. Probably an accident. I wondered about their lives, but the faded marble sentinels remained silent.

Before I returned to my car, several more caught my eye. Maria was 17. Staci,  22. Antonio was 78. Thomas, 12. Marcus, 41. Rachel McCarty died the same day she was born – September 4, 1985. 

As I slid behind the wheel, I remembered the Biblical book of Ecclesiastes. King Solomon had it all – money, power, prestige – things I think so important. And he used them all to satisfy every whim that tantalized his flesh. “I denied myself nothing,” he wrote in chapter two. “I refused my heart no pleasure.” For years, possibly decades, Solomon fed his lust for bigger-better-more. It was not until he neared the end of his life that he recognized the true worth of money, power, and prestige. 

"Vanity of vanities," he called them.

How will my tombstone read? Born 1950. Died . . . . There’s not much room between two dates to etch accomplishments – or service. Such things must be written on human hearts, and I can’t help but wonder what my epitaph on those hearts will say. Whom will I have touched for good – or bad?
  
When I stand before the King of Glory, only what I’ve done for Christ will remain. I like to think the gold, silver and precious stones will illustrate how I demonstrated Christ’s life to others (1 Corinthians 3:11-15). The wood, hay, and stubble – my wealth, position and power – all of it will burn up.

"What is your life?” St. James asked. “It is a vapor which appears for a little while, and afterwards shall vanish away” (James 4:15).

To his credit, Solomon woke up to the truth about his treasures before it was too late. Before his body returned to dust, he discovered the bankruptcy of bigger and better. He understood what gives life eternal meaning and value. “Here is the conclusion of the matter,” he wrote. “Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment . . . whether it is good or evil” (Ecclesiastes. 12:13-14).  

For me, graveyards are not the most enjoyable places to visit, but nothing speaks so eloquently in their silence about life’s priorities as row after row of headstones. And nothing speaks about life beyond the grave more powerfully than the words of Jesus Christ: "Do not be amazed at this, because the hour is coming in which all who are in the tombs will hear His voice and will come out, those who have done good deeds to the resurrection of life, but those who have done wicked deeds to the resurrection of condemnation” (John 5:28-29).
 
What epitaph are we writing?

The Murderer and the Saint

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:1).

Christians had good reason to fear. Saul rampaged through their towns, dragging men and women before hastily gathered courts. When the disciples refused to abandon their faith in Christ, Saul cast his vote for their execution and watched as mobs hurled rocks at their bloodied and dying bodies. But not satisfied with decimating only the Jerusalem church, he set out toward Damascus to extend his murderous rage against Christians.

Then God knocked him to the ground. And the rest is history.

God used Saul, better known as the apostle Paul, to bring the gospel message to Europe and Asia. He spent the remainder of his life championing the One whom he at first despised. Two thousand years later, Christians still read his letters to find hope, power, encouragement, challenge, and renewal in Christ.

Some think God chose Paul that day on the Damascus road. The apostle, however, saw it differently. He believed God had chosen him long before he mounted his horse for the journey. God's call reached back before he tossed Christians into dungeons, or watched the mob murder Stephen. Before he persecuted the church of Christ "beyond measure and tried to destroy it" (Galatians 1:13), God had already set His seal on him. God chose Paul before he had done anything wrong or right. He chose him before he was born (see Galatians 1:15).

But more important, God chose you before you were born, chose you before you did whatever it is you've done of which you are ashamed and broken . . . chose you still -- today -- to raise you up as a beloved son or daughter.

Oh, imagine that unimaginable privilege!

Have you ever noticed that God sometimes has to knock us to the ground to get our attention? I have bruises to prove it. But bruises can be a good thing, if we let them be so. The psalmist wrote: It is good for me that I was afflicted, because now I keep thy law. If I had not been afflicted, I would have perished in my iniquity. Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I keep thy law (paraphrased from Psalm 119:65-75,92).

Or as St. Paul would later write: For the one who sows to the flesh shall reap corruption, heartache, grief, sadness, but the one who sows to the spirit shall reap eternal life, peace, love, hope, joy (see Galatians 5).

Has God knocked you to the ground? I have a suggestion rooted in my experiences: Don't get up until you first get to your knees and apologize to God for what you know to be sin. And if He has not yet knocked you to the ground, please don't wait for it to happen. His love for you makes such discipline inevitable.

And friend, it can be a very long way to fall.

Who Do You Say That I Am?

Because the Nicene Creed has undergone a recent retranslation by Rome to bring the English version closer to the original Greek, I will be revising my first book, We Believe: Forty Meditations on the Nicene Creed. The following is the first of a few changes I plan to make.
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[Jesus] said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”  Simon Peter answered, “You are the Christ, the son of the living God” (Matthew 16:15-16).

Nicene Creed Statement: I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth . . ..”

For the seven years I recited the Nicene Creed as a Catholic (I came into the Catholic Church in 2005), I liked saying “We believe.” As a Jewish Christian, I understand the value of the communal proclamation of faith. For thousands of years my people have made similar proclamation each Sabbath when they recite the cornerstone text of Judaism: Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai echod -- Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.  And for millennia, whether persecuted and ostracized to shtetls, or welcomed into towns or cities, Jews have anchored themselves to one another as much for protection as for self-identity.

Christianity, like its Jewish root, is a communal faith. The Lord Jesus said it first: “I will build my Church.” The Greek word used here – ekklessia – denotes those who are called out of the world and into God’s special community. Jesus did not establish a maverick faith wherein everyone does what is right in his or her own eyes. Anyone with a cursory knowledge of Israel’s history during the Period of the Judges understands how maverick faith leads to disastrous outcomes.

But long before the Church revised the Creed in 2012 to its original wording, “I believe,” I knew the communal ‘We’ in the Creed had potential to rob the community of the personal faith of ‘I’. Without individuals, there would be no community, and without individual faith, the community becomes little more than a religious shell.

The Lord Jesus went out of his way to teach the crowds about the one lost sheep, the one lost coin, the one lost son. He left the throng to find the one demoniac, the one leper, the one lame. He singled out Zaccheus in the sycamore tree, the woman at the well, the tax collector at the table. “My sheep hear My voice”, Jesus said, “and I call them by name.”  Yumiko, Ethan, Dakshi, Oksana, Jose, Deloris, Michael . . . .  God calls each of us by name to become part of the community of “those who are called out.”

Perhaps one of the clearest examples of the importance of individual faith can be found in the sixth chapter of 2 Maccabees. By the time of its writing, the Jewish people had been living under Greek domination for more three centuries. Many had already thrown away the ancient faith passed down from Moses for Greek philosophy, culture and lifestyle. Then, a little more than 160 years before Mary and Joseph laid their Baby in the manger, a Greek politician determined to force the remaining Jews in his realm, under pain of death, to abandon their religion and practices. To expedite their apostacy, he ordered the profaning of the Jewish Temple, “so that the altar was covered with abominable offerings prohibited by the laws” (2 Maccabees 6:5). He prohibited their celebrations of the Sabbath and their feasts. He made it a crime worthy of torture to even admit to being Jewish.

Enter Eleazar, the elderly Jewish scribe. When brought before the court and forced to eat pork, Eleazar made an unambiguous choice to serve God regardless of the consequences. He spit it out, preferring death than defilement.

But that’s not the end of the story of his personal faith.

“Those in charge of that unlawful sacrifice took the man aside, because of their long acquaintance with him, and privately urged him to bring his own provisions that he could legitimately eat, and only to pretend to eat the sacrificial meat prescribed by the king. Thus he would escape death, and be treated kindly because of his old friendship with them.”

Eleazar, however, would have none of that charade. He answered, “At our age it would be unbecoming to make such a pretense; many of the young would think the ninety-year-old Eleazar had gone over to an alien religion. If I dissemble to gain a brief moment of life, they would be led astray by me, while I would bring defilement and dishonor on my old age."

He then added, “Even if, for the time being, I avoid human punishment, I shall never, whether alive or dead, escape the hand of the Almighty. Therefore, by bravely giving up life now, I will prove myself worthy of my old age, and I will leave to the young a noble example of how to die willingly and nobly for the revered and holy laws” (2 Maccabees 6:21-28).

When we recite with those around us the words of the Nicene Creed, “I believe” we proclaim with Eleazar and with all the faithful martyrs who chose God over the culture: We will serve God and no one else. When we recite the creed together, we fearlessly answer the Lord’s question, “Who do you say that I am?”

We forever say: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.

Why Are You in Despair, O My Soul?

Why are you in despair, O my soul? (Psalm 42:5)


So what do you do when you’ve prayed for thirty years about a desperate need with eternal consequences, and your prayers seem to get no further than the ceiling?


Me? I struggle with depression over it. And finding lost car keys after a quick prayer just doesn’t help overcome the confusion, the frustration and other emotions I am not always able to articulate when God seems so silent about something of such eternal worth as that for which I have prayed for so long.


It was in that frame of mind that I recently began my morning with the Lord. I opened the Scriptures to the place I’d left off the day before and began reading Psalm 42: As the deer pants for the water, so my soul pants for you, O God.


My eyes glazed over. I’ve read that verse a hundred times or more, and this was just one more time on my way to completing my reading routine. I pushed through the next few of verses, forcing my mind to stay focused. And then I read verse five: Why are you in despair, O my soul? And why have you become disturbed within me?


Suddenly, now I’m focused. I reread the verse, as if I could hear the divine Author of the psalm whispering in my ear, Why are you despairing?


I read the next part of the text: “Hope in God.”


The Holy Spirit had captured my attention, and I went back to verse one. Then verse three beckoned: “My tears have been my food day and night, while they say to me all day long, ‘Where is your God?’”


Oh, where had I heard that before? So many times, I’ve lost count, my adversaries – Satan and his minions – have tossed their barbs at me, “What’s the use in prayer, or serving God? You keep praying, and He keeps ignoring you.”


I read further, sensing the Holy Spirit trying to speak with me. I got to verse ten. Again the psalmist laments, “As a shattering of my bones, my adversaries revile me, while they say to me all day long, where is your God?’”


Twice in this short song the adversary suggests suspicion toward God. It’s a play from the same playbook he used with Eve in the Garden. It’s an end run that has worked with all too frequent success for millennia. Why would Satan change his strategy now?


The psalm ends at verse eleven with the same challenge, the same encouragement, as at the beginning of the psalm: Why are you in despair, O my soul? And why have you become disturbed within me? Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him . . . .”


Hope in God. The Hebrew can just as well be translated, Wait for God. Or, in other words, Stop listening to the Adversary. God has heard your thirty-years-long prayer. Trust Him.


Trust Him!


My depression did not suddenly dissipate when I closed the Bible that morning. Trusting God without seeing an iota of His work in the situation for which I pray is not easy for me. But my gloom seemed a little lighter. And I found a modicum of comfort when the Holy Spirit reassured me that my prayers do get higher than the ceiling. And that God is working all things for good.


Richard, wait for God.


You who read this, wait for God.

My Way or the Highway

I posted this a couple of years ago, but after a particularly disappointing exchange I've had over the last couple of days with some FaceBook 'friends' (whom I have since 'unfriended' as a result), I decided this essay would be appropriate to post once again.
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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).

Lord, help us overcome impatience with patience, pride with humility, a deaf ear with an open mind. Teach us to judge not according to how things appear, but with righteous judgment. Amen.

It Doesn't Get Any Simpler.

“. . . let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, ² fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith . . . (Hebrews 12:1-2).

As soon as I opened the door I knew something was wrong.  Rotten, actually. But I was already late for work, so I grabbed my lunch from the refrigerator and darted out the front door. My wife was out of town visiting family, so I planned to take care of the rotted whatever-it-was when I returned later that night.

That was my first mistake.

My inbox at work grew inches with each passing hour. I didn’t leave the office until after dark and the thought of starting dinner when I arrived home left me weak-kneed. I decided to grab dinner at a nearby restaurant.

By the time I arrived home, cleaning the refrigerator was the last thing on my mind. I plopped in front of the television to unwind from the day. An hour later I headed for the shower and the bed. I’d take care of the fridge in the morning.

That was my second mistake.

The next morning when I opened the refrigerator door, the pungent stench of rotted cabbage filled every corner of the house. I slammed the door shut and glanced at my watch. I’d be late for work if I didn’t leave soon. I grabbed an apple and rushed out of the house. The fridge would have to wait.

When I returned from work ten hours later, the odor from the fridge had settled over the house. It left me no choice. I tossed the cabbage . . . and the lettuce, tomatoes and celery laying nearby. Then I scrubbed the fruit and vegetable bin with bleach.


Like slowly rotting cabbage, sin is never a private matter. If left alone, its stench will seep into and ruin every corner of our life, our families, communities, and our nation. And there is not one person reading this who does not know that to be true. They know it at a visceral level learned from experience – often from repeated experience.

We make a serious mistake to be casual about rooting sin from our lives. We make a serious -- deadly --  mistake when we tacitly ignore the commandment of God to be holy according to His standards, and not according to the standards of the culture.

Like the law of gravity, the law of sowing and reaping is inescapable: Whatever we sow, we reap. If we sow to the flesh, we reap corruption. If we sow to the spirit, we reap eternal life (Galatians 6:7-8).

It doesn’t get any simpler. Or clearer.

Or more difficult.