Limbo Dancing

2011-11-17T10:38:00.001-05:00

Discovering andrediscovering and rediscovering Annie Dillard

A couple ofyears ago, my cousin Jamie, herself a talented and accomplished writer ofprofound songs and prize-winning short stories, introduced me to the writingsof Annie Dillard. Soon after, I heard the pastor Tim Keller read alengthy quote from one of Dillard's books during a sermon. And now, anentire chapter of the Eugene Peterson book that I am reading has been devotedto this author that Peterson calls "an exegete of creation in the sameway John Calvin was an exegete of Holy Scripture." Peterson says,"she reads the book of creation with the care and intensity of askilled textual critic, probing and questioning, teasing out, with all thetools of mind and spirit at hand, the author's meaning."

And so I wantedto share with you a portion of this chapter that has, at last, convinced methat I must start reading Annie Dillard for myself. Peterson's chapter isentitled, "Praying with Eyes Open," and this particular section iscalled, "a World of Scripture." The phrases and sentences inquotations are drawn from Dillard's work Teaching a Stone to Talk,which is now waiting to be read on my Kindle once I've finished with Peterson.

The sea lion is the mostpopular resident of the Galapagos, gregarious and graceful, welcoming andsportive, "engaged in full-time play." Visitor's joke that when they"come back" they would like to come as a sea lion. "Thesea lion game looked unbeatable." After long reflection and another visitto the island, she (Dillard) made a different choice : the palo santo tree. She had hardly noticed them on her first visit. The trees werethin, pale, wispy miles of them, half dead, the stands looking like blastedorchards. She chose the palo santo because even though "the silenceis all there is," it is not a silence of absence but of presence. Itis not a sterile silence, but a pregnant silence. The non-human silenceis not because there is nothing to say but because, in disobedience or unbeliefor sheer terror, we asked God not to speak and God heard our prayer (reference to the request of the people of Israel atthe foot of Mount Sinai - Hebrews 12:18-21). But though unspeaking, God isstill there. What is needed from us is witness. The palo santo is a metaphor for witness.

The premierbiblical witness, John the Baptist, said, "He must increase, but I mustdecrease." The witness does not call attention to itself; what it pointsto is more important. Being takes precedent over using, explaining,possessing. The witness points, mute, so as not to interfere with thesound of silence: the palo santos "interest me as emblems of the mutenessof the human stance in relation to all that is not human. I see us all aspalo santos trees, holy sticks, together watching all that we watch, andgrowing in silence."

Witness is thekey word in all this. It is an important biblical word in frequentcontemporary use. It is a modest word saying what is there, honestlytestifying to exactly what we see, what we hear. But when we enlist in acause, it is almost impossible to do it right: we embellish, we fill in theblanks, we varnish the dull passages, we gild the lily just a little to holdthe attention of our auditors. Sea lion stuff. Important things areat stake - God, salvation - and we want so much to involve outsiders in theseawesome realities that we leave the humble ground of witness and use our wordsto influence and motivate, to advertise and publicize. Then we are nolonger witnesses, but lawyers arguing the case, not always with scrupulousattention to detail. After all, life and death issues are before thejury.

Dillard returnsus to the spare, simple, modest role of witness. We live in a time whenthe voice of God has been extinguished in the creation. We want thestones to talk, the heavens to declare the glory of God, but "the veryholy mountains are keeping mum. We doused the burning bush and cannotrekindle it; we are lighting matches in vain under every green tree. Didthe wind used to cry, and the hills shout forth praise? Now speech hasperished from among the lifeless things of earth, and living things say verylittle to very few."

Our necessaryand proper work in such a world is witness like the palo santo trees.

ClickHERE for a Rabbit Room (Andrew Peterson's blog)article introducing Annie Dillard and some of her best works.

the strawberry story

2008-10-20T16:36:00.003-05:00

Some of you read this story in one of our recent family updates. But, for those of you who don't get our updates, I wanted to post it to the blog for your reading enjoyment:

Crystelle (our 6 year-old) and I planted strawberries in a planter box on our balcony back in April. For nearly two months, nothing happened. Then, sometime in early June, a little sprout popped its head up out of the soil. A few weeks later, a second sprout popped out. Although we were excited to have some evidence of life, we didn't have much hope that we'd actually have strawberries by the end of the summer.

As the summer weeks passed by, we watched these little guys grow into small plants, and our hopes started to grow along with them. Then, in August, one of the plants flowered, and by the end of August, we could see the evidence of our first little strawberry beginning to emerge. We couldn't believe it! We were so excited! As the strawberry grew, two other buds appeared and gave way to two little green strawberry babies.

The first week of September, our first strawberry began to turn red. We were ecstatic! We might actually get to eat a strawberry from our own strawberry plant. For those of you who know anything about Annie and my gardening skills, you will understand why this seemed like such a phenomenon to us. We have never planted anything that has ever lived long enough to yield an edible product!

One week later, we were having breakfast and Crystelle said, "Look dad! The strawberry looks ready to eat!" I took a closer look and, sure enough, that strawberry was plump and ripe and tempting. Still, I could see one little spot where it was a tad bit pink, and so I said, "Let's give it one more day. We'll divide it up tomorrow morning at breakfast." Everyone was excited about the idea of dividing this tiny strawberry among the 5 of us!

That afternoon, we were coming home from school and one of the neighbor boys who is in Micah's class, Théo, asked if he could come over to play. I told his dad that we could keep Théo at our place until about 6 P.M. So, we headed for our apartment and the boys immediately got into superhero dress-ups. I sat down at my desk to go through some mail, and everything seemed to be going fine until Micah came running into my room shouting, "Théo ate the strawberry!"

My initial shock turned to a brief moment of internal rage, which then yielded itself to a helpless and profound sadness. As I made my way through the apartment to the balcony, I could see Théo with a big grin on his face and a bit of strawberry juice streaming down his chin. Crystelle came running. She took one look at the strawberry plant that was now void of its treasure (Théo had also picked the next largest strawberry on the plant leaving only one little green strawberry clinging for dear life) and she burst into tears.

I didn't know what to do or what to say. I wanted to strangle him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry with Crystelle. Instead I just held her in my arms for awhile as my body temperature cooled back down to normal, and as the violent thunder storm in my head dissipated. I gently explained to Théo, who was very confused about what the problem was, why Crystelle was crying. He shrugged his shoulders and ran off to find a nerf sword with which to attack Micah, who was dressed up as Mr. Incredible.

A few hours later, as I recounted the story to Annie, we had a good laugh together over how much that little strawberry meant to our family. The loss of that little strawberry was like the death of a family pet. It was tragic in a way that, to some, might seem absurd. But it had been a little object of hope for us through the summer months. We had talked about it, dreamed about it, watched its birth and growth with great interest, and anticipated its ripening as much as we might anticipate the coming of a birthday or the visit of a dear family member.

In a split second, this little treasure had been violently picked and popped into the mouth of a 4 year-old boy that had no idea of its immense value and importance. Our family would not have simply eaten that little strawberry. We would have ceremoniously partaken of it as the achievement of a once-thought unachievable goal.

Fortunately, in the wake of this mindless and heinous act, one surviving strawberry was left. Even as I type, it is ripening on the vine. It should only be a matter of days now before we painstakingly remove it from its housing, carefully divide it into tiny morcels, and consume it together in celebration of our accomplishment. And this week, we are receiving no visitors!

God told me . . .

2008-10-01T15:48:00.001-05:00

I learned a hard but important lesson this week that I wanted to pass on.

I have always been bugged by the phrase, “God told me . . .” Some Christians use this phrase quite often, and I have found myself wondering what makes them so sure that they are hearing from God. The vast majority of the time, when people say that God told them something, they do not mean that God spoke audibly to them. Neither do they mean that God’s written Word communicated some important truth or message. Rather, they are usually referring to an impression or feeling, a thought or idea; some sense that a message has come to them from God by way of their sentiments or their intellect, often providing specific guidance relating to some decision or problem or life experience.

Although I do believe that impressions like these are one of the many ways that God may communicate with His children, the fact that they are entirely subjective makes me cautious about placing much weight upon them if they are not confirmed and reinforced through other more solid sources of wisdom (God’s Word, godly counselors, etc.). In other words, I don’t think that an idea or feeling that may have come from the Lord should ever be the primary basis for decisions that I make or for advice that I give.

With that being said, I must confess that I recently made the mistake of placing too much weight on an impression that I believed had come from the Lord. Here’s what happened:

For several weeks I had been praying about what next steps to take with a friend that I am discipling. Spiritually, he has been stuck in a rut for a very long time, unable to make much progress or experience much victory. One particular morning, I had spent an extended period of time praying over him and his family. During this prayer time, I felt that the Lord gave me a clear idea of what I should do next with this friend. The plan included several very concrete elements that seemed to have been simply laid out before me as I prayed. This doesn’t happen very often for me, and I was really excited at what seemed to be the Lord’s obvious leading in response to my prayers.

Several days later, I met with my friend and his wife to tell them about what had happened. With a great deal of enthusiasm, I described how I had been praying for them, and how I sensed that the Lord had given me insight regarding our next steps. I clearly expressed the fact that this could simply be my own active imagination, and I asked them to pray about the project that I had presented in order to determine whether or not they felt it was from the Lord. At the same time, in describing the project, I talked about my own “conviction” that this was from God and that He had responded to my prayers.

Within two days, I received a phone call from my friend confirming that he wanted to move forward with the plan. Over the next few weeks, as we followed through on what we had decided to do, I could sense an increasing unease in my friend regarding one particular aspect of the project: a fast that we had committed to do once a week for three months. When he started to express uncertainty about whether the fast was a good idea, I confidently referred back to the “clear” guidance that “we” had received at the outset, and encouraged him to persevere in “obedience” to the Lord’s “leading.”

He started to seek out counsel from several leaders in the church to see what they thought about the fast we were doing. All of them expressed some hesitations about it, given my friend’s instability and his psychological condition (he is bipolar). My initial response to this was a rather prideful frustration over the fact that these men were clearly not being sensitive to the Spirit and were simply basing their responses on worldly logic.

It wasn’t until several mornings ago, when I met with my friend for a time of prayer, that I started to realize what I had actually been doing. As we talked through our perspectives on what was happening, he took me back to the initial meeting when I presented the “vision” that I felt I had received. He reminded me of certain words that I used, and of the enthusiasm with which I spoke. It was convincing. It was hard to disagree with. He didn’t have any better ideas, so, why not?

Without realizing it at the time, what I had communicated to my friend in that initial presentation was: God told me! What choice did he have but to go along with it? How do you disagree with someone who has heard from God?

And there, I think, is the major danger with that phrase . . . with that concept, whether overtly stated or merely implied. The only rock solid source of divine inspiration that we have today is God’s written Word. The words of the Bible are the only words that I can communicate to someone else with absolute certainty of their divine origin. Outside of God’s written Word, all other messages, impressions, sentiments, feelings, ideas, revelations, visions and dreams must be treated with a healthy skepticism given the reality of our sinful nature, the subtle influence of worldly thinking, and the interference of spiritual enemies.

When we do feel convinced that we have “heard from God” in a way that does not flow directly from His written Word, I think it is important to avoid communicating that which we have received to others in a way that suggests it carries some exceptional spiritual weight or authority. Rather, I think it should be submitted with great humility and caution to godly brothers and sisters who may either help confirm or reject the validity of the message in accordance with the clear teaching of God’s Word.

Unfortunately today, the excesses of certain branches of the charismatic and pentecostal movement with regard to the role of the Spirit and the use of what some refer to as “prophetic words” has caused more conservative branches of the Church to completely reject the idea that God’s Spirit might speak to His children in any way other than directly through the written Word. Although, as I mentioned above, I do believe that the Spirit of God does speak to and guide us in a wide variety of ways that are always consistent with His written Word, it is because of such excesses that I think we need to be particularly vigilant and cautious in our handling of any source of guidance that does not directly flow from the inspired Word of God.

arrogance and assurance

2008-09-08T07:06:00.002-05:00

I think it is easy to get arrogance and assurance mixed up. While arrogance is clearly the fruit of pride, assurance sprouts from a different root. And although God is clearly opposed to arrogance and pride in all of their forms, God’s Word portrays assurance as something to be desired and displayed by His beloved. It would be helpful to examine all of the occurences of the word “assurance” in the Bible, but I simply want to whet your appetite by looking at one from the book of Hebrews:

Hebrews 10:19-23
Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy place by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great high priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.

The author of this passage gives three exhortations (let us . . . let us . . . let us) that are rooted in two profound truths (since we . . . since we).

SINCE WE have confidence to enter the holy place
by the blood of Jesus
by the new and living way opened through the curtain.

SINCE WE have a great high priest over the house of God.

The two truths here are really one and the same, and might be stated this way:

SINCE WE HAVE JESUS!!!

LET US draw near
With a true heart in full assurance of FAITH.

LET US hold fast
The confession of our HOPE without wavering.

LET US consider
How to stir up one another to LOVE and good works.

Since we have Jesus let us draw near. It is interesting to consider the relationship between the three words that are linked to this idea of drawing near. We draw near to our God, entering the holy place with CONFIDENCE, with a true heart in full ASSURANCE of FAITH. Condidence, assurance, faith.

Since we have Jesus let us hold fast. This command adds to our list the idea of an UNWAVERING HOPE. Confidence, assurance, faith, unwavering hope. In the following chapter of Hebrews, chapter 11, the author defines FAITH as the ASSURANCE of things HOPED for, the CONVICTION of (or we might say CONFIDENCE in) things not seen. So, we might say that faith, assurance, and confidence or conviction in this context are all synonyms. They are all manifestations of a muscle-bound hope in Jesus.

What happens when Christians characterized by this muscle-bound hope in Jesus that we call assurance, or faith, or confidence, or conviction spend time together? They stir one another up!

Since we have Jesus let us consider how to stir one another up to LOVE and good works. When you put a bunch of Christians filled with muscle-bound hope in Jesus into the same pot and stir them up, you end up with a tasty delicacy of love and good works.

Unfortunately, I think that we are often afraid to walk in the assurance, faith, and confidence that are ours in Christ, particularly when spending time with other Christians. We don’t want to come off as arrogant or proud. We don’t want to seem “super-spiritual” or “holier than thou.” And so, we shy away from spiritual topics. We hesitate to speak about our love for the Lord, or the truths that we are discovering in His Word, or the fruit that He is bearing in our lives. And the result is that much of our “Christian” fellowship is actually quite fleshly. It doesn’t smell much like Christ at all.

When brothers and sisters in Christ succeed in distinguishing between a sinful arrogance and a saintly assurance in Christ, genuine spiritual community results, and this always overflows into love and good works. We let our love for the Lord spill over in our interactions with one another. We boldly point one another to the cross again and again. We willingly open God’s Word together, and gladly receive whatever instruction and insight that springs forth. We graciously rebuke sinful behavior in one another, sharpening eachother as iron sharpens iron. We spur eachother on to righteousness and justice.

I don’t know about you, but I am hungry for time with faith-filled men and women whose confidence is not in the flesh (arrogance) but in the grace and power of Christ (assurance). May I be filled with the Spirit of Christ today such that I will walk in the assurance that He gives me, and spur others around me on to do the same. Amen.

sticks and stones

2008-08-11T08:41:00.003-05:00

I was reminded recently that I still foolishly believe in my own ability to right societal wrongs by taking justice into my hands. Although the lesson left me scraped and bruised (literally), I'm sure it is one that I won't soon forget.

I was jogging along a path for bikers and runners last week when I heard the sound of a dirtbike coming my way. Motorized vehicles are normally not allowed on this path for safety reasons, and I could feel the anger rising in me at the fact that yet another young punk had decided to break the law and put people at risk.

For some reason, I made a split second decision to do something about it and placed myself in the middle of the path as the biker raced toward me. I put my hands out motioning for him to slow down, which of course, he did not. He sped right past me, close enough for us to brush shoulders, and kicked his foot out just a tad bit too late to actually hurt me. He turned back and flicked me off with a universal sign of disapproval before carrying on with his ride.

With heart racing and still feeling in a bit of a huff over the encounter, I continued my run. I must admit that several times in the minutes that followed, I imagined various aggressive and even violent scenarios in which I replayed the clash, mostly to my own advantage. I was surprised at how quickly my mind got carried away with my emotions, and how creatively it conjured up alternative courses of action.

And then I noticed him. A young man, around 17 or 18, possibly of North African or Arab descent, standing at a junction in the road ahead. He was holding a large, sharpened stone in his hand, and was clearly waiting for someone. As it turned out, that someone was me. It was my dirtbiker friend.

I slowed down as he came toward me, and said to him in French, "You're the guy on the dirtbike." He tried to conceal the stone, and actually claimed that he had a knife in his pocket. He began screaming at me, threatening to kill me, and eventually holding the stone up as if he was going to strike me. He wanted to know why I had gotten in his way, why I had "attacked" him. "No one does that to me," he shouted several times.

The rage that he displayed undoubtedly had far deeper roots than our brief encounter on the trail, but I was now its object; I had made myself an excuse for the unleashing of a pent up storm. I could tell that he wanted very much to strike me, but for some reason, he could not bring himself to do it. He told me to apologize, which I did, and then he seemed ready to leave me alone.

Then it happened again. That sense of need to right a wrong, to take justice into my own hands, kicked in. As he walked away I foolishly said, "I was wrong, and what I did was stupid, but you were wrong too." Well that pushed him over the edge. He came at me with a fury that I have never encountered before in my life. Still unable to bring himself to strike me with the stone, he began kicking me and screaming at me to leave, which I was more than glad to do.

But as I turned to walk away, he just kept kicking me. Twice. Three times. A fourth time even harder than before. And with this last kick, I turned as he was extending his foot for a fifth blow. I grabbed hold of his foot and took him down to the ground. For a brief moment we fought for the stone that he still clutched in his hands. I succeeded at dislodging it from his grasp and tossed it far from us.

By this time, several of his relatives had driven up and were yelling at us to stop. I let him go and he immediately raced over to them to explain that I had attacked him. He went looking for his stone as one of the ladies yelled at me to run away . . . advice that I readily accepted.

When I finally got home, I noticed the deep gashes on my knee and the scrapes on my arm. I could feel my heart pumping inside of me as I replayed the event over and over in my mind. Who would believe that I had just been in a fight with a teen-age dirtbiker? The absurdity of it was almost laughable. I imagined one of his family members walking into our church some Sunday morning when I was in the pulpit giving the message and saying, "that's the guy that attacked our boy!"

In the days that followed, I asked the Lord about what I could learn from this humiliating experience. I knew for sure that He was very pleased that my pride had taken such a beating, but with the pleasure of a loving Daddy who wants His child to learn a hard lesson that he refuses to learn.

The idea that has come to mind again and again is that no form of violence or aggression will ever succeed at bringing about justice. Justice is the work of the Lord. My decision to confront that young man physically was taken as a sign of aggression, and it failed to accomplish the desired purpose. Actually, it simply made matters worse, inviting an aggressive and violent response.

In the past few days, I have thanked the Lord for the limited consequences of this lesson in lowliness, knowing that a different set of circumstances could have produced a far more painful and perhaps enduring result.

Interestingly, a few days ago, I was at the church praying when a man came in carrying a piece of metal pipe. I was the only person at the church at the time, and the man was clearly angry. I quickly prayed for grace and for the Lord's peace, and then approached the man to find out what was up. He had come to "regulate" a conflict he had had with a member of the church, and he showed me his metal pipe.

I could sense the peace of the Lord flowing through me in this moment as I talked the situation through with the man. We even opened God's Word together and read from the book of Galatians. Part way through our discussion, he put his metal pipe away and said, "I think I had better get rid of this thing."

It was truly a joy to be used as an instrument of God's peace, and I sensed the Lord redeeming my previous encounter through this experience.

The gospel calls us to radical acts of social justice, but I am of the opinion that these will never require aggression or hostility of any kind. Although they may put us in danger, it will not be because someone feels physically threatened by us. Following Jesus will inevitably bring us into conflict with others, but if we suffer, let us suffer for doing good (not for being foolish as I was). This calls to mind a passage from 1 Peter, with which I will close:

Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you share Christ's sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed. If you are insulted for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the Spirit of glory and of God rests upon you. But let none of you suffer as a murderer or a thief or an evildoer or as a meddler (maybe I would have fit into this category). Yet if anyone suffers as a Christian, let him not be ashamed, but let him glorify God in that name . . . Therefore let those who suffer according to God's will entrust their souls to a faithful Creator while doing good (I Peter 4:12-16, 19).

power from on high

2008-08-11T08:21:00.003-05:00

I wanted to pass on the lyrics to a song that I wrote several months ago. I still don't like the melody, which is why you won't find a link to me singing it on Youtube. But, I have often been encouraged by the lyrics and so decided to post them for the benefit of any who might stumble across them.

Chorus
There is power from on high
For those who are lowly
The children who know me
And look for my return

How I love to supply
The humble who hear me
The faithful who fear me
With that for which they yearn

Oh, when will you learn
To wait for power from on high?

Verse 1
Though I'm leaving you now, don't be troubled
For I go to prepare you a place
When I come back our joy will be doubled
Once again we will see face to face

In the meantime I'm sending a Helper
Who will guide you and teach you the truth
When you're lost look to Him and find shelter
He will come make His dwelling in you
Yes, He will come make His dwelling in you

Repeat Chorus

Verse 2
Now I send you like sheep into danger
Where the wolves wait to wrip you apart
In this world you are aliens and strangers
So above all you must guard your heart

If you ask me I'll clothe you in armor
With a breastplate, a belt, and some boots
I will give you a shield and a helmet
And the sword of the Spirit of truth
You'll need the sword of the Spirit of truth

Bridge
And if you wait for my Spirit and walk in my Word
You may ask what you wish and you will be heard
If you wait for my Spirit and walk in my Word
You may ask what you wish and you will be heard

Repeat Chorus

a word from the gospel coalition

2008-06-21T05:23:00.002-05:00

This morning I was profoundly encouraged and challenged as I read over several documents produced by the "Gospel Coalition." Convinced that you will be equally blessed if you take the time to peruse their web site, I wanted to give you the link so you can check it out:

http://www.thegospelcoalition.org/

Below is a brief excerpt from a section of the Theological Vision for Ministry, entitled, "In what ways is the gospel unique?" Several statements here struck me in light of my previous post. For those that might be interested, an earlier section of this same document, entitled, "How should we respond to the cultural crisis of truth?" engages the common accusation of "arrogance" that I recently touched on.

To give a little context, this passage treats, in light of the gospel, the limitations of both religion or moralism (traditions and practices that are not rooted in and flowing from a right understanding and application of the gospel) and irreligion or secularism (a way of thinking and living that excludes God and His revelation). The language is a bit dense, but worth the multiple readings that may be necessary for proper digestion.

The text:

This gospel fills Christians with humility and hope, meekness and boldness, in a unique way. The biblical gospel differs markedly from traditional religions as well as from secularism. Religions operate on the principle: “I obey, therefore I am accepted,” but the gospel principle is: “I am accepted through Christ, therefore I obey.” So the gospel differs from both irreligion and religion. You can seek to be your own “lord and savior” by breaking the law of God, but you can also do so by keeping the law in order to earn your salvation.

Irreligion and secularism tend to inflate self-encouraging, uncritical, “self-esteem”; religion and moralism crush people under guilt from ethical standards that are impossible to maintain. The gospel, however, humbles and affirms us at the same time, since, in Christ, each of us is simultaneously just, and a sinner still. At the same time, we are more flawed and sinful than we ever dared believe, yet we are more loved and accepted than we ever dared hope.

Secularism tends to make people selfish and individualistic. Religion and morality in general tend to make people tribal and self-righteous toward other groups (since their salvation has, they think, been earned by their achievement). But the gospel of grace, centered on a man dying for us while we were his enemies, removes self-righteousness and selfishness and turns its members to serve others both for the temporal flourishing of all people, especially the poor, and for their salvation. It moves us to serve others irrespective of their merits, just as Christ served us (Mark 10:45).

Secularism and religion conform people to behavioral norms through fear (of consequences) and pride (a desire for self-aggrandizement). The gospel moves people to holiness and service out of grateful joy for grace, and out of love of the glory of God for who he is in himself.

arrogance and "the only way"

2008-06-11T06:38:00.000-05:00

I recently spoke with a dear friend from high school who I respect enormously even though she continues to reject the idea of a personal God. Over the years, we have had many profound conversations about faith and philosophy. Each of them ends the same way: we agree to disagree.

In this most recent interaction, she brought up the Christian claim of “exclusivity”: the idea that salvation is found in no one but Jesus. Like the vast majority of postmodern thinkers, she finds this assertion to be disgustingly arrogant. And I must admit that, at first glance (as well as at second, third and fourth glance), the Christian belief that Christ is the “only way” to be reconciled to God smells like a superiority complex: we’ve got the truth . . . you don’t . . . so if you’ll just think like us, you’ll be alright.

Isn’t it contradictory for men and women who are called to lowliness and humility to accept a belief that fuels arrogance and superiority? Lowliness and superiority, humility and arrogance are mutually exclusive. And there is no question that belief in the uniqueness of Christ has fueled attitudes of arrogance and superiority in a substantial number of Western Christians. The stench of pride permeates much of what we hear from Christians on television, on the radio and on the internet: we’ve got it . . . you don’t . . . get with it!! And no place reeks more with the putrid odor of pride than the Christian blogosphere (if you don’t spend much time reading Christian blogs like mine, I recommend that you continue to keep your distance . . . it can honestly be a nauseating experience).

So what do we make of this dilemma? Does the ample evidence of arrogance in Christians suggest that there is something flawed in the doctrine of salvation by faith in Christ alone? I honestly don’t think that it does. Rather, I think that the arrogance that manifests itself in many of us is the result of a misunderstanding and misapplication of this precious truth. And unfortunately, our mistake makes it very difficult for the world around us to digest what it is that we have to offer.

And what do we have to offer? We offer the idea that there is a God who exists . . . a God who is there (as Francis Schaeffer puts it). This God has a personality, a character that is on certain levels knowable, and on other levels beyond comprehension. We believe that God has chosen to reveal His character, His nature to mankind through the wonders of His creation, as well as through written texts that we call scripture. These texts have been compiled in a book that we call the Bible. Through the Bible, we believe that God shows us not only who He is, but what He wants. He explains why He created us and what the purpose is behind our story.

Now, if I sat down and came up with my own concept of a deity, wrote a book about it, and submitted it to the world as the exclusive truth about the one and only God, this would undoubtedly be arrogant. But, if I am exposed to this book called the Bible, which was written by many different people in many different places over the course of many centuries and yet still presents a unified vision of a God who claims to love people like me and to want a relationship with them, a God who claims to have a purpose and goal for their lives . . . and if I choose to believe that what this book says is true and to live according to what it says rather than to live however I want, then this would be anything but arrogant. Foolish maybe, but not arrogant. Naïve perhaps, but not arrogant.

If I believe the Bible when it tells me that I am helpless to rescue myself from the flawed nature of this world and that I need God’s help in order to be saved, then this is anything but arrogant. If I believe the Bible when it tells me that God showed mankind His love by coming to earth in the form of a man and living among us, and dying on a cross to pay the penalty for our rebellion against Him, and rising again from the dead in order to defeat the power that sin and death once held over us, then this might border on insanity, but it is not arrogant.

When I tell others that God wants a relationship with them and that He has made a way for such a relationship to take place if they will only believe, this may be complete nonsense, but it is not arrogant. When I say that God invites all who trust in Him for salvation to spend eternity with Him, and that this invitation requires nothing of us but simple faith in His promise, this may be a pipe-dream, but it is not arrogant.

The point that I am trying to make is that the idea that there is one God who has expressed Himself to the world through one Book (though divine truths can be found all over the place), and who has chosen to save the world through one historic event, and who invites all of mankind to receive salvation by taking one simple step of faith may be entirely ludicrous, but it is not arrogant. Nothing about this belief elevates the individual who believes it. In fact, everything about it lowers, even humiliates the believer.

If you believe the Bible, then you accept that in your strongest moments, you are actually very weak. If you believe the Bible, then you accept that your most intelligent thoughts are actually quite foolish. If you believe the Bible, then you accept that your best effort to earn for yourself a safe place in the afterlife won’t get you anywhere. If you believe the Bible, then you accept the fact that you need God, and that you are lost on your own.

A right understanding and application of the truths of the Bible should always humble and lower us. These truths pour cold water on the fires of arrogance and superiority that tend to burn in our hearts. Christians who believe the Bible should be the most humble men and women on earth, because they know that this God is usually most appealing to the poor, the marginal, the weak, the helpless, the outsider, the reject, the good-for-nothing. Choosing to follow this God will place me right alongside of such people, and will help me to see, in case I hadn’t seen it already, that I am one of them.

Although that may sound depressing, it is actually incredibly liberating. Once I realize that I am nothing, I can make room for this God who is everything to come and fill my life from head to toe with His grace and power. And the joy and satisfaction that accompanies the life lived with a daily filling of this God’s grace and power is truly indescribable.

Unfortunately, there are many people out there who claim to be Christians, who claim to love God and His Word, who claim to follow Jesus, but whose lives show little or no evidence of the impact of the humbling, lowering truths of God’s Word. But I would like to suggest that those men and women who have been impacted by these truths, though they passionately proclaim the uniqueness of their God and Savior, are anything but arrogant.

don't drink the water

2008-05-17T16:37:00.001-05:00

Swimming in an ocean of visual temptation, I can’t help inhaling some water from time to time. The simple act of “breathing” as I swim opens the door for potentially poisonous “salt water” to enter my body. But, responding to the thirst that I sense mounting within me, should I open my mouth to drink deeply of this deadly water that surrounds me, I will find myself caught in a powerful whirlpool. The more I drink, the thirstier I get. And the thirstier I get, the more I drink until the excessive intake of salt floods my bloodstream and brings my life to a sudden end.

In an increasingly image-based and sex-driven culture, Christ-followers like me and you can’t help but be exposed to visual material that threatens our spiritual health. Unsurprisingly, when I have not been drinking deeply from the fresh Spring of Living Water, I am far more tempted to quench my soul thirst by opening my mouth wide and swallowing mouthfulls of this salty water that is so easily accessible.

Here in France, I am confronted by pictures of nearly nude people at every turn. It is honestly difficult for anyone but the blind to walk, bike or drive more than ten meters in the city without encountering bare bodies on display. So, each day as I leave my apartment building, even if it is only to walk 3 minutes to the bakery for bread, I am faced with a question: How much of the water am I going to drink? As I walk by that advertisement with the naked woman in the pharmacy window, will I drink deeply, or will I keep my mouth (read eyes) shut? As I pass the magazine stand with pornography on display, will I drink deeply, or will I keep my mouth shut? Should some new image that I’m not expecting catch me by surprise, will I drink deeply, or will I shut my mouth before any more salt water gets in?

I have found that the more free I am with my eyes as I make my way through the streets of Grenoble, the more bound I feel in my spirit. I have no reason to doubt the poisonous effects of this salt water on the state of my soul: I can sense them almost immediately when I give in to the temptation to drink.

Does this mean that I must walk around with a paranoia complex, afraid to look anywhere for fear that I might see something I shouldn’t? Not at all! As I mentioned above, inhaling some salt water from time to time is unavoidable simply by virtue of the fact that you need to breathe (read, you need to open your eyes to see where you are going). The question isn’t: Will I see anything that has the potential to tempt me to sin? The answer to that question is obvious: Of course I will! The real question is: How long am I going to leave my mouth open with my face in the water? How long am I going to let my eyes drink of each tempting image that they come across?

Summer time is upon us. And for men as well as women, this can be a season of spiritual slavery due to our culture’s preoccupation with sexy bodies and sexy clothes. We can be tempted to lust after a person. Or we can be tempted to lust after the sex-appeal that a person has (wishing we had the same). In either case, giving in to such temptation feeds our flesh and starves our spirit. Don’t understimate the poisonous effects of visual self-indulgence. And for God’s sake, don’t drink the water!

chances are

2008-05-10T02:17:00.000-05:00

Be gentle with the rude;
For chances are
Something painful sparked the mood.

Show kindness to the mean;
For chances are
Dark days are all they’ve seen.

And love the ones who hate;
For chances are
Their suffering has been great.

For if I see beyond the face
And read between the lines,
Then chances are I’ll give more grace
And see their sins are mine.

yeah you!

2008-04-30T08:08:00.003-05:00

I’m thinking about this speck in the eye again and its really bugging me. I’ve been studying the book of James with my wife and a couple of friends, and I was struck between the eyes (I’ve got a speck in one and a log in the other) by this statement in chapter 4:
“But you – who are you to judge your neighbor?”
I could see this big finger pointing right in my face . . . “yeah you!”

How easily I let myself off the hook on this judgment thing.

I don’t judge anybody . . . . . . . . “yeah right!”

I was on the phone a few nights ago with a friend who had been pretty angry with me over some comments I made last weekend. I had challenged him about some things in his life, and it didn’t go well. As we talked it through, I was still feeling justified in having confronted him, and was glad to hear that he was getting over his anger at me. But then, once again, I saw the finger and heard the words . . . “yeah you!”

What got me was when he said, “Nick, I wish you could come and spend just one day in my shoes.” Both he and I knew that it was impossible. But the statement resounded within me, like a gong that has just been struck with a big wooden hammer. I can’t spend a day or even a moment in his shoes. I don’t know what its like to be bipolar, or what its like to live with the unfortunate side-effects of mood stabilizing medication or anti-depressants. I have not lived through his life experiences, and am entirely unaware of the influence that they exercise over his thinking and his view of himself. I don’t interact with many of the people that he does, and am ignorant to the stresses and the joys that come from his relational network. I am clueless about the particular work that the Spirit of God is up to in his heart, and know very little about all the transforming work that has already taken place in him since he first believed in Christ for salvation.

BUT YOU – WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE?!?!

Does this mean that there is no place for confronting one another in love? Not at all. We see much evidence of the biblical writers confronting people over sin, and even challenging professing believers to test themselves to see if they are in the faith. BUT! I am mindful of a passage that comes a bit earlier in James, chapter 2 verses 12 and 13, which says:

Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment!

MERCY TRIUMPHS OVER JUDGEMENT! WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE?

As I reflect on this striking statement, I am sobered by the realization that I engage in far more judgment that I would like to admit. Much of it will never escape my mouth, but it is there wallowing around in the mud-pits of my heart and mind. No doubt, it comes somewhat naturally to me and to most people, I would imagine. Often it can happen without any conscious mental effort on my part.

So what do I do about it? I need my Savior to come and bulldoze away the mud-pits so that judgmental thoughts have no place to wallow. I don’t want judgment to feel at home in my heart and mind. I want the Spirit of God to fill my heart with the fertile soil of His Word. I want the green pastures of God’s mercy to be widespread in my inner being, leaving no place for mud-loving creatures to settle down.

MERCY TRIUMPHS OVER JUDGEMENT!

. . . “yeah you!”

My God, I confess that I am prone to judgment. Forgive me for often forgetting that “there is only one Lawgiver and Judge, the one who is able to save and destroy.” Fill my heart and mind with your mercy, and may that mercy spill over into the lives of those who cross my path today. Amen.

riding with Don Quixoté

2008-04-08T12:19:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I feel like Sancho Panza, the mule-riding sidekick who serves as squire for the legendary Don Quixoté. For those who don’t know the story, Don Quixoté is the main character in a novel (written by Miguel de Cervantes) considered by many to be among the greatest works of Spanish literature in history. Don Quixoté is the fictional name taken on by a middle-aged gentleman from central Spain who, having become addicted to books about chivalry (knights in shining armor rescuing princesses who have been captured by dragons, and so on), decides to become a knight and ride around the country doing good and opposing evil. Sancho Panza is the ignorant peasant who agrees to go with him.

Quixoté and Panza end up trying to rescue people who are not in danger, mistakenly helping others who are bent on doing harm, and generally making complete fools of themselves. In perhaps the most famous scene of the novel, Don Quixoté becomes convinced that a cluster of windmills is actually a group of giants. He valiantly takes up his lance and attacks the unsuspecting windmills, hence the phrase, “tilting at windmills”(which means attacking imaginary enemies).

Poor Sancho Panza often finds himself oscillating back and forth between the “real” world, and the fictitious and fantastical world that emerges from Quixotés imagination. The story ends tragically with Quixoté returning home in complete disillusionment, with Panza desperately trying to keep the imaginary journey alive.

If I’m honest, I must admit that sometimes I feel like Sancho Panza. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in an imaginary world, engaging in absurd activities that have no significance other than that which emerges from my Master’s fancy (or worse yet, my own). I can feel like I’m following a lunatic (not a liar and not the Lord), with no idea of where I’m going or what will happen when I get there. Sometimes I can’t help but ask this Knight that I follow, “What planet are you on? What in the world are you thinking?” Sometimes I feel like I have followed a fool into a meaningless adventure, and that the real world is simply laughing at me as it passes me by.

A French author and philosopher named Albert Camus wrote extensively on what he called “the philosophy of the absurd.” He wrestled with the apparent “meaninglessness” and undeniable contradictions of life, while at the same time searching for some meaning that serves as a motivation to go on living. I have had to read several books by Camus as part of my French coursework, and I have been impacted by his portrayal of life’s absurdities. The truth is that our world, for all of its logic and order, is filled with apparent contradictions, with opposing realities that don’t make much sense. And there is reason to be really depressed, as was Camus (and as are most philosphers) for much of his life.

But in light of this absurdity that I can observe all around me and, at times, even in me, I find it fascinating that the Son of God didn’t come and straighten it all out. Instead, he himself entered into the absurdity, into the complete folly of this world; living a life that didn’t make any sense at all at the time when he lived it. I’m sure that the disciples could have found themselves relating to Sancho Panza as well, had they had opportunity to read the novel. Jesus often said and did things that probably seemed insane. Following him around must have felt like utter lunacy at times. And I’m sure that these men were regularly faced with the question: Is this real, or are we on a wild goose chase?

Perhaps surprisingly, I’m finding that the more I’m exposed to the absurdities of this world, particularly in the context of people’s lives, the more Jesus starts to make sense. Hanging out with my engineer neighbor, with his lovely wife and three kids, who lacks for nothing and is very pleased with the general course of his life, I find myself squirming to make sense of the claims of Christ as they apply to him. But sitting in the car across from a nearly homeless man in his mid-60s, who describes his life as “hell,” and who is trying to make sense of the downward spiral that he’s been in ever since the untimely death of his wife, I’m strangely comforted by the blatant folly of the Christian faith. A homeless Jesus who wandered the countryside with a rag-tag bunch of otherwise insignificant men and women, opposing the proud and giving grace to the humble, has something to offer this desperate friend.

Does that mean that Jesus is irrelevant for the rich and happy? Yes and no. The book of James tells us that God has chosen the poor to be rich in faith. Jesus suggested on numerous occasions that, in His kingdom, the poor and lowly (the have nots) are blessed while the rich and satisfied (the haves) are often excluded. But, when they encounter Jesus, the “haves” are often faced with an option. They can humbly hop on their mule and follow Jesus into the foolish way of faith. Or, they can proudly reject his way in preference for the apparent logic, order and sanity of the “real” world. Unfortunately, there are few from this category of people who are willing to exchange their worldly sanity for Christ’s absurdity. And, although the United States has succeeded in creating a very orderly and “sane” branch of Christianity where the “haves” can feel at home, this bares little resemblance to the scandalous, confusing, and insanely self-sacrificing road that Christ described as the “narrow way.”

In the end, I’ve got it way better than Sancho Panza. The wisdom of my Master’s foolish way proves itself again and again in my daily life. And although at times His apparent insanity can be confusing and disconcerting, I am finding that His promises are consistently true, and that His grace is sufficient for me.

In the face of what seems like folly, my Lord, when I’m tempted to turn away, give me grace to join the apostle Peter in saying: Where else can I go? You have the words of life.

get lost!

2008-03-13T11:57:00.001-05:00

I am finding that the more consumed I am with myself, the more depressed I become. How does my auto-preoccupation manifest itself? Probably in many of the same ways yours does: uncertainties about what others think of ME, concerns about MY physical inadequacies, worries about MY future, comparisons with others who are superior to ME in some aspect of their life. Yuck! It makes me nauseous to think about how much I think about MYSELF!!

But even as I reach for the Pepto-Bismol, I have to pause and ask myself why this kind of ego-centrism makes me want to vomit. Afterall, isn’t life about self-gratification? Why wouldn’t it make me happy to do whatever makes me happy? If the advertisers and media gurus of this age have any wisdom to offer me at all, I should be thinking MORE about my own needs and desires, not LESS! I need to FIND myself, to figure out who I really am and what makes me tick so that I can be of some VALUE to this world.

Not surprisingly, the words of Jesus don’t fit well with a world characterized by auto-preoccupation. In the gospel of Mark, chapter 8, he scandalously calls his followers to a life characterized by auto-amnesia:

If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it. What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?

The key, according to Jesus, is to forget about yourself. Stop caring about what others think. Stop fretting about your appearance. Stop worrying about your future. Stop comparing yourself to others. The problem is that this is way easier said than done. Auto-preoccupation is entirely natural and highly encouraged in my neighborhood. Auto-amnesia is just plain extra-terrestrial. Who lives that way? Who thinks that way? What planet does Jesus think we’re on?

Back to the Pepto-Bismol. As normal as it may be, there is something sickening about ego-centrism. If we are honest with ourselves, the vast majority of us must admit that we suffer from the disease chronically. And if things are out of whack with us emotionally, pyschologically and maybe even physically, the Bible would seem to say: well duh! You weren’t meant to live with yourself at the center of your life!

So, if we buy into Jesus’ scandalous idea that denying self rather than indulging self, forgetting self rather than concentrating on self, losing self rather than trying with all our might to find self actually leads us to what we have been yearning for all along, how do we make the shift? How do we take up our cross and follow?

Having worked my way up to this crescendo, I want to apologize for the fact that I don’t have any easy aswers to the question. I feel like I am only beginning to see evidences of a shift from auto-preoccupation to auto-amnesia in my life. But, I can pass on a few beginner tricks that I’ve picked up so far.

First, I find that the more time I spend being occupied with the Lord in His Word and in prayer, the less occupied I am with myself through the course of the day. Nothing too earth-shattering there. The challenge, as we all know, is DOING IT!!

Second, I find that the more I look out for and celebrate the God-given qualities that can be observed in others (believers and unbelievers), the less I compare myself in unhealthy and self-centered ways to others.

Third, I find that the less I talk to others about my future plans and projects, and the more I entrust my next steps to the Lord in prayer, the less concerned I am about my future.

Fourth, I find that the more time I spend with people who don’t have very much, the more satisfied I am with what I have, and the less interested I am in having EVERYTHING that my next-door-neighbor has.

I imagine that some of you have found tricks that help you to “get lost” as well. I’d love for you to post them as comments to this blog so that we can all benefit from the wisdom that you have found.

grape juice in the gas tank

2008-02-28T10:49:00.002-05:00

Although I know that what goes into my body, whether through my eyes or my ears or my mouth, exercises influence over my spiritual condition, I struggle sometimes to live as if I really believed that this were the case. What does that mean?

Let me start unpacking that statement by referring to Galatians 5:16 and 17, which says, “walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other to keep you from doing the things you want to do.” What is the evidence, then, that I am walking by the Spirit? The response to this question comes several verses later: I bear spiritual fruit. So, if I am not bearing fruit, I must ask myself what is wrong. Chances are good that I am living according to the flesh, which means that I am allowing myself to be controlled by my sinful passions and desires.

Self-control is the last fruit to appear on the list of spiritual fruit in Galatians 5:22-23, which is unfortunate because I think it can often take a back seat to other more prominent fruit like love, joy and peace. The reality is that, without self-control, I will find myself exercising very little spiritual authority; living a life with very little spiritual impact. If I am unable to control my fleshly desires, I will continually live according to the flesh rather than according to the Spirit. And a literal reading of Galatians 5:21 would suggest that, if I continue to live this way, I may not be in Christ.

So what does this look like in real life? Every day I am hungry; not just gastronomically but also spiritually, intellectually, emotionally and, yes, sexually. A variety of desires and urges jockey for position within me, crying out to be fed. It makes me think of a group of hungry piglets fighting to get to their mother’s teat. And the question that I am faced with is this: which desires do I feed and what do I feed them?

My response to this question will make the difference between a life lived in the Spirit and a life lived in the flesh today. It will also make the difference between a fruitful life and a fruitless life today. I might go one step further and say that it will make the difference between a genuinely joyful life and a regrettably joyless life today.

Three stumbling blocks among hundreds, if not thousands, manifest themselves quite regularly: the refrigerator, the television, and the internet. Each of these three pose powerful and dangerous threats to my spirit-life. Without daily access to a grace-based, Spirit-empowered self-control, I will turn to one or more of these objects to satisfy one or more of the fleshly cravings that grumble within me. Without daily access to this same self-control (or self-discipline) rooted in God’s grace and power, the hungry spirit within me will go unfed and will therefore be ineffective and unproductive in the spiritual realm.

Imagine that I decided to pour gallons of Welch’s White Grape Juice into the gas tank of my car rather than diesel fuel (most cars in France are diesel). The juice is clearer in color than the diesel fuel, it smells better and it tastes better, not to mention that it costs less. From a purely sensual and financial standpoint, the grape juice is a way better choice than the diesel fuel. The obvious problem is that the engine of my car won’t function on grape juice. It needs diesel fuel if I hope to get anywhere in it.

In light of this, shame on me for pouring the grape juice of excessive and unhealthy eating into my spiritual engine. Shame on me for pouring the grape juice of wasted time reading political news reports from the internet into my spiritual engine (I have become somewhat of a political junky since my departure from the US and I need deliverance). Shame on some of you for pouring the grape juice of mind-numbing and morally questionable television shows or movies or literature into your spiritual engines. Shame on some of you for pouring the grape juice of perverse internet material into your spiritual engines. Shame on all of us for trying to nurture ourselves on any fluid that simply satisfies the flesh while starving the spirit that our heavenly Father graciously brought to life within us.

Our spirits, the engines of our souls, must have the spiritual diesel fuel of God’s Word, extended periods of prayer, Spirit-filled fellowship with other believers, spontaneous expressions of thankfulness and praise, and good works of kindness and mercy toward others who are in need (among a host of other spiritually nurturing activities) in order for us to live spiritually fruitful lives that impact those around us to the glory of our Lord Jesus.

May God give us grace to abandon the cheap grape juice in exchange for the costly diesel fuel that we desperately need every day of our lives.

umerited, conditional grace

2008-02-13T01:59:00.003-05:00

The following is a selection of verses from Psalm 25 that I came across in John Piper's devotional book, A Godward Life (the words in italics are references to God's gracious help and the words in bold are conditions for receiving this grace):

Good and upright is the LORD;
Therefore He instructs sinners in the way.
He leads the humble in justice,
And He teaches the humble His way.
All the paths of the LORD are lovingkindness and truth
To those who keep His covenant and His testimonies.
For your name’s sake, O LORD,
Pardon my iniquity, for it is great.
Who is the man who fears the Lord?
He will instruct him in the way he should choose . . .
Turn to me and be gracious to me.
For I am lonely and afflicted . . .
Look upon my affliction and my trouble,
And forgive all my sins . . .
Guard my soul and deliver me;
Do not let me be ashamed, for I take refuge in You.
Let integrity and uprightness preserve me,
For I wait for you.

In his meditation on this selection of verses from Psalm 25, John Piper points out that “all the forgiveness and help of God are gracious and unmerited . . . but they are not all unconditional.” The text speaks of God’s lovingkindness, His instruction, and His protection. But it makes it clear that these helps are given to “sinners” who keep His covenant, who walk in integrity and uprightness, who wait for the Lord, who take refuge in Him, who fear Him, and who are humble before Him.

So, as I seek the Lord for His blessing, I must also seek Him for grace to live the kind of life that He loves to bless.

the fight to forgive

2008-01-28T10:16:00.000-05:00

Sometimes forgiveness can be a real fight. It is especially hard when the person who has wounded me either doesn’t recognize what they have done, or sees no need to seek forgiveness for it. But, even when the offender does ask for forgiveness, at times I find that it is not easy to genuinely grant it. Why is this? If a person has wronged me and then they look to make it right, why wouldn’t I simply be glad for the opportunity to forgive and move on?

One reason is that, deep down inside, as much as I may want to be restored to right relationship with the person who has hurt me, I also want justice. If I am honest, I must admit that part of the struggle to forgive is that it seems to circumvent the process of payback. You hurt me, and therefore, I want to hurt you back. I want you to feel the pain that I have felt. I want you to recognize how wrong you were in doing what you did or in saying what you said. I want the freedom to use words as my weapons of punishment, with the hope that the verbal lashing I give you will somehow satisfy my craving for justice.

It is amazing how many times I have found myself sliding into “payback”mode even after I have already said to a person, “I forgive you.” Sometimes within the same sentence I can do so. “I forgive you, even if I still have no idea how a nice person like you could have ever said something like that.” Such a sentence would suggest that I have lost the fight to forgive. I may have spoken the words, but I have come nowhere near embracing an attitude of forgiveness. I still want the debt to be repaid.

The rub with forgiveness is that, in order to truly forgive, I have to be willing to absorb in myself the pain of the offense. I must be willing to drop whatever right I feel that I have to repayment or revenge. I must accept the fact that I will never make this person understand what they really did to me, how deeply they hurt me, or how much they disappointed me. When portrayed in this way, forgiveness seems completely illogical; it seems to border on masochism. Why must I suffer while the “criminal” goes free? What pleasure is there for me in that? What benefit is there for me in that?

If it weren’t for the cross of Christ, I would be left with no basis for believing that there was any benefit or pleasure at all to be derived from forgiveness. But Jesus’ death teaches me something extraordinary. Hebrews 12 says that it was “for the joy set before him” that Jesus endured the cross. The cross is the ultimate example of someone absorbing within himself the crimes of another. The debt we owe the Lord could never be repaid, and he knew it. So, he extended forgiveness by way of the cross. This would seem like utter folly if the Bible didn’t clearly make an essential point: that it was this very act of absorbing the offense of his enemy that resulted in his victory, his glory, and his joy. And, I must add, it resulted in my (the offender's) deliverance and spiritual freedom.

Now, as a follower of Christ and child of God, I am invited to follow him as he leads me into victory, glory and joy. As it turns out, one of the great potential barriers to me in walking this path is the barrier of unforgiveness. I am occasionally faced with a difficult question: will I absorb the sin of another against me, fighting (if necessary) to arrive at a place of genuine forgiveness that seeks no repayment for the wrong committed? Or, will I reject the model of Christ, looking instead to the model of the world which suggests that I am better off getting my revenge (whether subtle or overt) whenever and however I can?

As hard as it may be for me to put into practice at times like now when I am faced with my own unwillingness to forgive someone who has wronged me, I am convinced that Jesus is right. I am convinced that his way is the best. I am convinced that my victory, glory and joy are rooted not in exacting repayment for debts, but in forgiving them. I am convinced that my decision to forgive has the potential to bring deliverance and spiritual freedom to my offender.

Lord, give me grace that I might fight the fight of forgiveness. Help me to put into action that which I have become convinced of in my heart. When the moment of decision comes, when I finally stand face to face with the one who hurt me, and the wrong is addressed (if ever that moment does come), empower me to extend grace and forgiveness and nothing more. And help me to do this regardless of how satisfied or unsatisfied I am with the offender’s words and attitude toward me. May my choice to forgive open the door for their delivrance and spiritual freedom. I pray this in the name of my Forgiver, Amen.

pigs and pearls

2008-01-21T05:24:00.000-05:00

Pigs are creatures that eat trash and wallow in mud.

Pearls are precious treasures waiting to be discovered by those who search eagerly for them.

When Jesus instructs me in Matthew 7 not to “give dogs what is holy” and not to “throw pearls before pigs,” what is he talking about?

Let me give a little context for this question. Since I have arrived in France, I have had numerous opportunities to engage with people in discussions about spiritual matters. In a few cases, I have made direct reference to Christ and to our need for the grace of God that comes through Him. In many cases, I never even got that far. In no case yet have I actually talked through the profound significance of the cross of Christ, or the eternal implications of His death and resurrection for sinners like you and me.

At times I feel guilty about this. Am I ashamed of the cross? Am I afraid to present the gospel in its entirety? Am I worried about what people will think of me?

Today I was walking and praying to the Lord, and I asked Him about this. “Lord, I have asked you to give me boldness to proclaim the gospel, and to give me the words to say each time I interact with someone who does not yet know you. Why don’t I ever get to the cross? What’s going on?”

I kept walking and I waited for a response to this question. Very soon after I posed the question, this image of pigs and pearls came to mind. What use does a pig have for a pearl? He can’t eat it; and if he does, it will probably make him sick to his stomach.

Then a contrasting image came to mind. I pictured a sheep wandering around in a desolate valley, with nothing to eat. I imagined someone approaching the sheep, pointing to a rocky path leading up the side of a mountain, his lips whispering some message of hope. Soon, the person turned and began walking; and the sheep followed behind. I knew where they were going. They were going to find the green pasture.

No pig in his right mind will follow a stranger up a rocky mountainside in order to find some grass to eat. But a hungry sheep will. The sheep may not be too bright. But one thing the sheep does well is to follow the one who knows where to find the good grass.

It is interesting that this instruction about pigs and pearls comes on the heels of an exhortation to avoid judgment. Jesus rebukes the person who would look to pull the speck out of his brother’s eye before dealing with the log in his own. Sometimes, I think evangelism can go this way. I approach someone with the certainty that I have the message that they need to hear. Unfortunately, I may not recognize that I’ve got logs in my eyes that keep me from seeing this person clearly. The log of my own limited experience. The log of my own narrow worldview. The log of words and images that may mean one thing to me and something entirely different to them. And with these logs in my eyes, I can’t possibly help this person with their speck, whatever that may be.

And this is a major problem: I don’t know what the speck is. I don’t know why they don’t believe in the Lord. I don’t know what experiences they have had with faith and religion. I know little or nothing about their journey, their loves and passions, their successes and victories, their wounds, their failures, their dashed hopes and dreams. To give them my explanation of the gospel in such a state of blindness would be like throwing pearls to pigs.

But Jesus is in the business of transforming spiritual pigs, who eat trash and wallow in mud, into spiritual sheep who hungrily search for green pastures and still waters. How He does this is a mystery to me. It is a work that the greatest evangelists, most eloquent preachers, and wisest theologians on the planet are incapable of accomplishing.

So what does that mean for my day to day interactions with men and women who don’t know the Lord? It means that I take time to hear before I speak. It means that I ask the Spirit of God for discernment regarding a person’s readiness for the pearls of the gospel, the profound truths of the cross and the death and resurrection of Christ. It means that I guard those pearls until the Lord begins His transforming work of grace in their heart.

It means dropping tempting nuggets of truth into the pens of apparent spiritual pigs. It means testing the waters by making mention of the green pastures that are found in Christ, talking openly about the evidences of His grace and the effects of His power, looking for a sheepish spark of hunger in the eyes.

It means that much of the work of evangelism includes searching for lost sheep (men and women whose hearts have been quickened and made hungry by the grace of God), placing myself in contexts where I might encounter them, and readying myself to lead them to green pastures.

Does this mean that I never talk about the cross or the essential message of the gospel? Not at all. But it does mean that sometimes, when filled with the Spirit and with boldness to proclaim the good news, I may find myself unable to express that which I most want to say. For some reason, the Lord may not let me go there. And so I keep looking for opportunities, as I wait and I pray with expectation for that moment when pearls may be placed in the palm of a companion who has finally started searching for them.

this evil day

2008-01-16T05:40:00.000-05:00

Several weeks before the New Year, I started asking the Lord for a passage of Scripture to pray over myself in the coming year. In 2007, the verse was James 1: 19, “Know this my brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.” And over the course of the year, I saw the Lord targeting issues of anger in my life, as well as shedding light on my tendency to talk too much and to listen too little.

So once again, I asked the Lord to give me a glimpse of the refining work He wanted to do in me so that I could pray along with Him. Almost immediately a passage came to mind, and it stayed on my mind right up through the New Year. It is Ephesians 5:15-16, “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.” The key phrase that rings in my head almost daily is, “making the best use of the time . . . making the best use of the time.”

One thing that strikes me about this text is that it does not say, “making the best use of MY time.” I have been sobered over the past few weeks at how selfishly I handle THE time that has been given to me, as if it was MY time. The Lord has been gently reminding me that THE time belongs to Him; and that has implications for the way I go about the day, and the week, and the year.

I’m reminded of a passage earlier in Ephesians that says, “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” If I view THE time through the lens of lowliness, I realize that even before I was born, my Lord knew what He wanted to accomplish in and through me today. The day is not a blank slate waiting to be written on. The question is never, “What should I do today?” Rather, the day is a beautiful piece of poetry already composed for me by the Lover of my soul. The question is always, “What joyous work are you doing today, my Lord, that you invite me to join you in?”

As compelling as that image may be, I see two hindrances when it comes to putting it into practice. One is that I’m not sure I’m convinced that the Lord has specific works that He invites me to join Him in today. The second is that, even if He did, I’m not sure that He will show me what they are.

In light of this, I often find it easier to throw myself into the day, engaging in all kinds of activities in the hope that something will bear some fruit; that something will benefit the kingdom of God. But I’m caught up short when I read verse 17 of Ephesians 5, which says, “Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is.”

Ah. What a fool I can be, running around like a bunch of squirrels in December (see previous blog entry if that image makes no sense to you). Again, what a fool I can be! Thinking that I am making the best use of the time, I actually waste all kinds of time and energy giving myself to activities and endeavors that may have no connection whatsoever to the will of God for me today. “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise . . . understand what the Lord’s will is.” But how do I do that?!?!

James chapter 1 is written to people who find themselves lost in the midst of trials. Chances are good that they have no idea what to do or where to turn. Why is this happening? Where is God in this? James encourages them to ask the Lord for wisdom: “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given to him.”

Although I am not fully convinced of it yet, I am starting to believe that the Lord invites me daily to come to Him for wisdom in making the best use of the time. I’m starting to believe that it is impossible for me to make the best use of the time unless I wait daily on the Lord for wisdom.

And, I’m starting to believe that it is a sign of true humility for me, not to simply dive into my day with no idea of where I’m going or what I’m doing; but rather, to quietly come before my Lord and ask Him to shine His light into the darkness of this evil day. Without the light of His wisdom guiding my steps, I will most certainly be swallowed by the evil day rather than walk victoriously through it.

the oak and the squirrel

2008-01-01T09:52:00.000-05:00

This morning I was thinking about a big oak tree that grew in the back yard of our old house in Michigan City, Indiana. Every Fall, this tree showered our yard, our neighbor’s yard, and the alley next to our house with acorns. A sizeable community of squirrels were the beneficiaries of this abundant harvest each year.

Today, I imagined that oak tree when she was just a young sapling. Not too many branches; not too many leaves; no acorns. I could hear the squirrels badgering her as they raced to and fro around her undeveloped trunk, preparing frantically for the long winter: “Don’t just stand there . . . do something! Winter is coming. You’re going to starve. You’ll never get anywhere like that. What are you waiting for?”

And then my mind shifts to another scene from the book of 2 Chronicles. A large army is bearing down on the small nation of Judah. King Jehoshaphat knows that the situation is hopeless. He calls the people of Judah together to seek the Lord, praying this prayer: “We are powerless against this great horde that is coming against us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.” Then, the text says that all of Judah just stood there before the Lord with their little ones, their wives, and their children. They just stood there. I can hear the grumbling from the “squirrels” in the ranks: “Don’t just stand there . . . do something! The enemy is coming. We’re going to die. We’ll never win like this. What are we waiting for?”

But as they just stand there, waiting, the Lord sends His word through a prophet: “Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed at this great horde, for the battle is not yours but God’s. You will not need to fight in this battle. Stand firm, hold your position, and see the salvation of the Lord on your behalf.”

This statement is a bright yellow flashing arrow pointing me toward the gospel. It is, I think, the most essential message of the Bible: the battle belongs to the Lord. And yet, for some reason, it is the most difficult concept for me to truly grasp and apply.

Most of the time I find myself running around like a squirrel, looking for an acorn, carrying it to some hidden spot, stashing it there, and then racing off to start all over again. Motion . . . constant motion and activity. And all this while the oak just stands there . . . and grows bigger and stronger. Each year she spreads her branches wider, casting her harvest of acorns across an ever expanding territory. Who does the squirrel nourish? Himself and maybe his offspring. Who does the oak nourish? Countless numbers of creatures big and small; by just standing there.

As I enter 2008, I am praying Psalm 1 for myself: that, delighting in God’s word (His inspired, life-giving word that is revealed and applied in me by His indwelling Holy Spirit), I would be like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season.

Deliver me from the “squirrel-race,” gracious Father. Teach me that my work is to wait upon you, like an oak planted by a stream. Give me patience to stand firm and hold my position on the ground where you have planted me. Strengthen me to resist those voices that would rebuke me, mock me, ridicule me, threaten me, insult me into thinking that the battle is really mine; that it is up to me to produce the fruit; that it is up to me to change my own or someone else’s circumstances; that it is up to me to generate the plan; that it is up to me to supply the results. Convince me, merciful Father, that the battle is Yours. Teach me to let you fight for me. Teach me to wait for the fruit that you will surely bring forth in its season. Amen.

trials, temptations, pleasure and pain

2007-12-28T10:22:00.000-05:00

I’ve been feeding on James chapter 1 the past several days. It’s a challenging passage for folks who find themselves in the midst of hardship. James draws a distinction between “testing,” which comes from God, develops perseverance and maturity, and leads to life, and “temptation,” which comes from our own evil desires, gives birth to sin, and leads to death. One way to summarize the difference between the two would be: testing is God’s gracious nudge toward life by way of refining pain, while temptation is my sinful nature dragging me toward death by way of twisted pleasures.

It’s clear that this passage doesn’t teach that pain is good and pleasure is bad. James invites believers into joy, which is the most profound expression of pleasure. He reminds us that all good and perfect gifts come from our heavenly Father. However, it seems that James is concerned with the possibility that his brothers and sisters in Christ are missing out on the enjoyment of God’s good gifts. That may be because they are unable to recognize the gift when it comes their way.

Unfortunately, I think that I often pray for and expect God to provide the kinds of gifts that will tempt me to delight in something other than Him: material comforts, financial security, uncomplicated relationships, physical health. I may be surprised and disappointed when He doesn’t supply in one of these arenas, particularly when I have prayed a lot about it. Sometimes, instead of receiving comfort and relief from the Lord, I find myself inexplicably in the midst of trial.

It is at moments like these that James suggests I remember the generosity of God; and in particular, the generous way in which He gives me wisdom when I ask for it. How do I consider it joy when I face trials of many kinds? I go to my Father and ask Him to show me what He’s up to. “What are you doing in my life through this, Lord?” This is a prayer that the Lord delights to answer. He loves to give me light in the midst of the storm; not necessarily removing the pain, but rather supplying the kind of discernment that helps me to see His gracious hand at work.

So, God’s wisdom teaches me to see His goodness in the midst of my grief. I think that one of the most effective witnesses to the transforming power of the gospel is that of the person who, walking in the grace that only God supplies, manifests the joy of the Lord as he suffers.

I try to avoid criticism in this blog, unless it relates to my own prideful self. But, I can’t help but mention before closing that the teaching of James seems to fly in the face of the “prosperity gospel.” I invite you to view a brief clip of John Piper’s comments on this topic by clicking on the link below.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=ukcV-xtU3hc

an apparent contradiction

2007-12-20T16:48:00.000-05:00

“Mission . . . must take the form of servanthood. Only in this way can it escape the charge of arrogance.” (G. Thompson Brown)

I have been struggling with what seems to be a significant contradiction in my life pursuits. On the one hand, I have given significant time and energy to learning about how to nurture humility and starve pride in my life. However, I am presently employed as a missionary. The idea behind my vocation is that I have a message that others need to hear in order to be saved. They are missing some vital information that I have; and I need to tell them about it. And here lies the conflict: the very nature of my profession would seem to foster an attitude of superiority rather than lowliness.

There are plenty of statistics to show that missionaries tend to be “fix-it” people with varying degrees of what might be considered a “savior” complex. Sometimes I wonder if the Lord didn’t design foreign missions primarily to get people like me so far out of their comfort zone that they can’t help but be convinced of how tiny, insignificant, and powerless they really are to do anything that really matters for the kingdom of God. Through the centuries, the mission field has served as a reliable reducer of over-sized egos.

In the past several weeks, I’ve had some first-hand experience with the damage that can be caused by an attitude of superiority, even when the person with the superiority problem is entirely unaware of it. The first time someone here told me that they felt judged by me, it took me entirely off guard. I didn’t think I was judging anyone. On the contrary, I thought that I had been pretty humble and lowly in my interactions with folks since my arrival. The fact is that it’s hard to be proud when your 5-year old neighbor communicates far better in the local language than you do. But somehow, with my limited abilities in french, I had found a way to communicate an attitude of superiority. My pride found a way to poke through the dry ground of this new living environment in no time fast.

Moments like this can leave me feeling hopeless, wondering what the heck I’m doing here. Who do I think I am coming to another country to try and convince people that they need to be saved through faith in Christ? At times it can feel like nothing more than a personal ego trip gone terribly wrong.

But then, I come across a quote like the one at the top of this entry: “mission must take the form of servanthood. Only in this way can it escape the charge of arrogance.” Something in this quote points me back to Jesus again. He had servanthood written all over everything he did. I think of his words, “The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Something in these words gives me hope that I might find a way of living this life without the apparent contradiction. Perhaps “humility” and “missionary” are not mutually exclusive states of being.

I can’t pretend to have arrived at a place of rest with this concept yet. I find myself struggling almost daily with various forms of internal conflict and discomfort with this path that I am walking. But the fact that Jesus came this way before me gives me courage. The fact that countless thousands have walked this road, have wrestled with their own uncertainties, have faced off against their own pride and subtle issues with superiority, have come to find great joy and even freedom in this often unrewarding labor inspires me to keep walking another day.

Lord, teach me what it means that mission is servanthood. Show me how to walk the lowly way of the kingdom in a world where faith is increasingly an object of scorn. Help me to fix my eyes upon the One who, for the joy set before him, endured the cross, scorning its shame. Give me strength today to take up my cross and follow. Amen.

a wideness in his mercy

2007-12-11T11:37:00.000-05:00

From time to time a song will take my mind hostage for a few days. I'll find myself humming the tune when I wake up in the morning, thinking about the lyrics at various moments throughout the day, and often singing it to my kids as I put them to bed at night. Sometimes I find that it is the Lord who put the song there, and that it may even be his voice singing to me in my head, comforting me and caring for me by means of the music. I wanted to pass on the lyrics to a song that the Lord has been using in this way over the past week. It is the handiwork of Rich Mullens, a singer-songwriter whose music has often taken (or been used to take) my mind hostage, particularly when I have been in need of healing:

There's a wideness in God's mercy
I cannot find in my own
And He keeps His fire burning
To melt this heart of stone
Keeps me aching with a yearning
Keeps me glad to have been caught
In the reckless raging fury
That they call the love of God

Now I've seen no band of angels
But I've heard the soldiers' songs
Love hangs over them like a banner
Love within them leads them on
To the battle on the journey
And it's never gonna stop
Ever widening their mercies
And the fury of His love

Oh the love of God
And oh, the love of God
The love of God

Joy and sorrow are this ocean
And in their every ebb and flow
Now the Lord a door has opened
That all Hell could never close
Here I'm tested and made worthy
Tossed about but lifted up
In the reckless raging fury
That they call the love of God

grace and lies

2007-12-01T15:38:00.000-05:00

A character from Albert Camus’ novel, The Stranger, recently called my attention to a significant problem in my life: dishonesty. I had to read the book for one of my French courses here, and as we discussed the main character, Meursault (pronounced Mer-sew, not Mer-salt), I was struck with the realization that I am not a very truthful person.

In the novel, it is Meursault’s inability to tell a lie that sets him apart from everyone else, and eventually leads to his death. Meursault feels no need to color the truth to his own advantage, nor to tell people what they want to hear. He says exactly what he thinks, and tries as best as he can to portray things as they really are. One side effect of this commitment to truthfulness is that he doesn’t talk very much.

As I followed this character through the storyline of the novel, I came to the realization that I am not at all like Meursault. I do have a tendency to color the truth to my own advantage, and my interactions with others are often influenced by what I think they may be expecting of me. I also tend to talk way too much. I have started to pay more attention to my words, and have been surprised at the number of times that I have said things that didn’t really reflect what I genuinely thought or felt.

Interestingly, one reason why Meursault is so free to speak the truth is because he is entirely indifferent to the opinions and feelings of others. He is a very isolated person who has no real concern for his fellow man beyond what they might contribute to his own temporal happiness.

In comparison, I tend to be very concerned about the opinions and feelings of others, which is one reason why I am often tempted to slant the truth. I can excuse myself for this slanting by thinking that what I am really doing is giving grace. In other words, I am usually quite anxious to encourage and build others up (my real motives for this will probably be the subject of another entry). I often look to construct relationships and establish stronger connections with those who cross my path regularly (again there are motive issues here, but I'll explore those at another time). I may consciously or subconsciously console myself with the thought that my intentions are genuine, even if the means may be a bit shady. After all, what is wrong with wanting to make people feel better or wanting to open relational doors wider?

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in the midst of a relational conflict with a husband and wife from our church here in France. They are a couple that Annie and I have spent a significant amount of time with, even though they are very different from ourselves, and even though the relationship is sometimes uncomfortable. One afternoon, I was on the phone with the husband and the conversation was not going well. At one point, I heard myself expressing the desire for authentic friendship with him and his wife. The moment the words came out of my mouth, I knew that they were not true. My wife, Annie, heard the statement that I made, and she knew that the words were not true. I imagine that the man to whom I spoke the words knew that they were not true. So, why did I make that statement?

Twisted though it may seem, in my desire to “give grace” to this person, to mend the relationship, to keep him from sliding further away from the Lord than he already has, I made a statement that was intended to encourage and perhaps supply a way forward. The problem was that the statement was simply not rooted in truth. Though I do want to see this person grow in the Lord, and though I am willing to partner with him in various ways toward that end, I honestly do not find any evidence of a genuine desire for friendship with this person in my heart. What is really warped is the idea that I could possibly contribute to someone’s spiritual growth by lying to them. And yet, if I took some time to reflect on it, I imagine I could come up with a sizeable list of encounters in which I attempted to do just that: to give someone grace by lying to them.

As I reread the line that I just wrote, the thought strikes me as simply absurd. And yet, I know that I have done this numerous times in the past.

In the novel that I mentioned above, Meursault was described as someone who understood the value of words. He chose his words carefully, and this was disconcerting for many around him who were accustomed to careless and even untruthful speech. Though I don’t want to be indifferent like Meursault, I do want to be someone who understands the value, I might even say the power of words.

This entry is already getting long, so I need to reserve that topic (the power of words) for another day. But I will close with this simple thought: the nearer I draw to my Lord, the Word of God spoken to mankind with grace and truth, the more I will come to value timely and truthful words. As Jesus is formed in me, I believe I will naturally speak less and listen more. I will weigh my words, and wonder before I speak if there is something the Lord would have me say. As a statement is being formed in my mind, I will ask myself whether this statement is rooted in truth or falsehood.

And as the Lord accomplishes this transforming work in me, my hope is that I will become more like the prophet Samuel. 1 Samuel 3:19 says, “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground.” May the Lord be with me in such a way, and with you, my friend. And may we be men and women whose words do not fall to the ground.

showing my color

2007-11-19T13:17:00.000-05:00

Although I’m sure I’ll revisit the subject of prayer again in the future, I want to turn my attention to a different topic in this entry. In a recent conversation, I found words escaping from my mouth that showed the true color of my heart for a moment; and the color was green.

I was talking with someone about the French courses that I’m presently taking, and found myself commenting on another student who is in several of my classes with me. I began by speaking some words of praise for this student, but very soon shifted to recounting a recent experience that made him look bad. As I wrapped up the story, I felt uncomfortable with myself. My gut seemed to be talking to me, telling me, “something just went wrong.” And indeed it had.

As I reflected on the words I had just spoken, I realized that they revealed an envy of this person that I had not previously acknowledged to myself. He happens to be a doctoral student at Boston University, studying to be a literature professor. He is exceptionally intelligent and seems to have a photographic memory. His mastery of the English language and near mastery of French leave us all in awe at times, professors included.

So, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised at the appearance of some jealousy in my heart. But the truth is that I was surprised; not just at the jealousy, but at the ugly way that, in this particular moment, I had taken pleasure in his pain.

I’ve been thinking for several days now about a passage from James chapter 3. It says:

Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show it by his good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such ‘wisdom’ does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, of the devil. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness.

I’m struck by several things in these verses. First, it is interesting that James contrasts the humility that comes from wisdom with the envy that comes, ultimately, from the devil. He links envy to selfish ambition, and says that it is rooted in an earthly and unspiritual way of thinking. Another way of looking at this is simply to say that envy and selfish ambition come from pride.

And that doesn’t surprise me at all. The student that I mentioned above is strong in areas that I think I am strong in as well. The problem is that he is stronger. Why does his superior strength threaten me? Because I think I’m something special. The pride within me would like me to believe that I have reason to boast about certain qualities that I possess. When the value of these qualities is diminished in comparison with someone else, this can undermine my self-esteem . . . which makes me feel sad.

When this happens, I am faced with several possibilities. I could simply be depressed. I could look for ways to forget or drown out my sense of inferiority. I could work really hard to assert myself in some area in such a way that would enable me to feel superior once again . . . at least until someone comes along and out-does me in that area as well.

Or, I could let the appearance of envy remind once again of my need for grace. This apparition calls to mind the reality of pride in my heart. If I’m honest with myself, I know that I am powerless to combat this problem; incapable of changing my condition. So, I cry out to the Lord for grace. I remind myself that this battle is his, and I ask him to fight it on my behalf. I confess my sin to the Savior and invite him to cleanse me once again through the blood that he shed for me on the cross. I ask him to fill me with his Spirit, his life-giving Spirit who transforms me from the inside out with resurrection power. I trust him to help me walk in lowliness for the remainder of this day.

One other contrast from this text that caught my attention was that of envy as opposed to peace-making. The envious person is consumed with himself. The peace-maker is concerned for others. The envious person is incapable of communicating peace, because his neighbor, whoever that may be, is always a potential threat to his sense of self. The peace-maker’s sense of self is rooted in the fact that he is accepted in Christ, a reality that is never in peril, that is never threatened by the success or greatness of others. The envious person is on the lookout for weaknesses and flaws in others, which give him a basis for feeling superior over them. The peace-maker is on the lookout for the evidences of God’s grace in others, so that he can call their attention to the Lord’s loving presence in their lives.

I must admit that it disgusts me to see envy in myself. However, even this evidence of sin in my heart is redeemed when I give it over to my Good Shepherd. He uses it to draw me closer to himself, to convince me that I need him just as much today as I did when I first believed.

My Lord, please deliver me of all envy and selfish ambition. Fill me with your peace. Fill me with that security that comes from knowing I have been chosen and adopted by a loving Father through faith in his Son. Empower me today to communicate your peace to others around me, I pray. Amen.

beyond breakfast

2007-11-02T09:18:00.000-05:00

If the gospel is the “power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes,” and I believe that it is, then I could use a heavy dose of this power multiple times a day. Why? Because I find that my old, dead self has a way of popping its head up out of the grave in one shape or another, not just daily, but numerous times each day. I am haunted by the ghost of my old man, and the evidence of this paranormal activity can be seen at times in my actions and my words.

Unfortunately, for quite some time, I saw no connection between the power of the gospel, which we might also call “grace,” and my daily struggle against sin and carnal living. The gospel, for me, was simply a set of propositional truths that applied primarily to people who didn’t know Jesus yet.

You have been separated from God because of your sin. Because of His love for you, God sent His Son, Jesus, to die on the cross and rise from the dead, paying the penalty for your sin and conquering sin and death. If you put your faith in Jesus, you may enter into relationship with God and be guaranteed eternal life.

When a person decides to believe this Good News, they become a Christian and then (I assumed) move on to bigger and better things, spiritually speaking. It wasn’t until just a few years ago that I was challenged to reconsider my understanding of the gospel, and more specifically, of the on-going role that it plays in my Christian life. This was a kind of spiritual awakening for me; a revolution that has changed the way I live as a follower of Christ.

As I read and studied God’s Word, I started to find that His grace jumped out all over the place. This grace that lies at the heart of the gospel message turned out to be an essential component for my survival as a believer. I have come to understand the grace of God as, at least in part, the manifestation of His power in my day to day living: a power that I can’t live without.

Let me give you two examples of what this looks like for me: one that shows a recent failure to walk in the grace of God, and one that shows a recent victory.

First story
Two weeks ago, both Annie and I started our day with some time reading in God’s Word and praying. I considered a passage in Ephesians 4 which says, “I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.” This passage is loaded with key words that I was praying for myself, and for my family and for several people that I know, words like: humble, gentle, patient, love, unity, peace.

Now, it is not every day that both of us get a chance to start our day in time alone with the Lord like this. Anyone who has little children knows that this can be a major challenge for parents. So, what could go wrong on a day like this? Well, it wasn’t two minutes after I left my room to start getting ready to leave for class that all hell broke loose in our home; and it was mostly my fault.

Annie asked me if I could take Crystelle to school because Micah was sick and she didn’t want to take him out in the cold. I only had a short window of time before I would be late for class. I let her know how I felt about the fact that she had waited until the last minute to ask me to do this. She let me know how she felt about my tone of voice and attitude. I accused her of something and then she accused me of something and down, down, down we went into the pit of muck. I packed up my things, grabbed my astonished daughter by the hand, and out the door we went.

Where is the life of Christ in that? Where is the evidence of the new creation in that? Where is the humility, gentleness, patience, love, unity, peace in that? I had done what I was supposed to do that morning: quiet time. I should have reaped the benefits in godly living. But, instead, I somehow found myself sprawled out, face first, in the mud. I had operated under the false impression that fifteen minutes of prayer and bible reading would be sufficient to carry me through the day. What went wrong? Should I have spent thirty minutes instead?

No, that’s not it. What I realized later that day as Annie and I reconciled and revisited the events of the morning together, was that I had not put my hope in the gospel, in the grace of God that empowers me for godly living. Instead, I had put my hope in my quiet time. The fact is that I am in need of God’s grace each moment of my day. And my recognition of this on-going need for grace, a grace that works powerfully in us enabling us to live the life that we most profoundly desire to live, is a motivation for what Paul refers to as “prayer without ceasing.” To the extent that I recognize my need for Christ’s “salvation” moment by moment throughout the day, I will find myself turning to Him with my needs in prayer, even if that prayer lasts only a few seconds.

Second story
Last Sunday, we were all getting ready to head out to church. I had some documents to print that I needed to bring with me. Annie was getting herself ready in the bathroom. The kids were starting to get a little nuts. Doors were slamming. The volume of their voices was steadily rising along with my blood pressure. I was nearing boiling point when my son let out a window-rattling yell. I was out the door of my room in a flash, heading for the living room where the kids were, to give them a piece of my mind. But as I made the brief trajectory between rooms, a thought crossed my mind: I need grace now. I am lost in this moment. My anger is threatening to carry me away. I need grace now.

I entered the room, and before speaking a word of correction to anyone, I gathered the kids together and we all sat on the floor in a circle. I asked my daughter, Crystelle to pray for her daddy that the Lord would give him grace. That the love and patience and gentleness of Jesus would shine through him. Crystelle prayed that for me. And then I prayed, and told the Lord how much I needed His saving grace in that moment.

My friends, something changed radically in the atmosphere of our home in those 3 minutes we spent asking the Lord for grace. Even Annie could recognize it in the next room over (where she was drying her hair). My sin and weakness had shown themselves once again, threatening to drag me down into another pit. But, in this moment, I turned to my Savior for grace, for the power of the gospel that is the salvation for all who believe.

I’m finding that my spiritual breakfast, time spent in the Word and prayer at the start of my day, does not make me spiritually bullet-proof for the rest of the day. Instead, it is an opportunity for me to orient myself toward the cross in preparation for the warfare that will inevitably come my way. It is a chance to remind myself that I am lost today without the life-changing power of God working in and through me. It is a means of opening the door of my heart to the resurrection power that was unleashed when Christ emerged from the grave, and that is made available daily to me through the indwelling presence of His Holy Spirit. It is the starting point for my on-going conversation with the Lord throughout the day, a conversation that is fed by the challenges, hardships and even failures that I face as the day unfolds.

So prayer is rooted both in the will of God (discussed in the previous entry) and in the power of God. And if I hope to become a person of prayer, I need to move beyond a simple reliance on my spiritual breakfast, my quiet time, as a protection against the spiritual threats of the day. The fact is that I need the powerful grace of God working in me and through me throughout the day, and prayer is my way of accessing this grace; a grace that God, by His Spirit, is anxious to give me; a grace that enables me to live a life worthy of the calling that I have received; a grace that saves me from sin not just when I first believe, but every day from then until I stand before my Savior in glory.

what hinders?

2007-10-21T09:24:00.000-05:00

I have often blamed busyness for the lack of prayer in my life. So much to do, so little time to do it. But, I’m starting to think that this is probably a smoke screen for other problems that hinder my prayers. I’ve been thinking about 2 passages that the apostle Peter wrote in reference to prayer. The first, found in 1 Peter 3:7, is addressed to husbands. Peter encourages them to be considerate of their wives, treating them with respect as fellow heirs of God’s gracious gift of life. What’s really interesting is the incentive that he gives for living this way: “so that nothing will hinder your prayers.” In the next chapter of I Peter, he encourages believers in general to be “clear minded and self-controlled so that you can pray” (4:7). Peter seems to be saying that the way I treat my wife and the control that I exercise over my mind and my body have a direct impact on my prayers.

What strikes me is that my prayers can clearly be hindered by my actions. What I do, and even the way I think, can interfere with my prayer life. Does this mean that the Lord stops hearing my prayers? I actually think that this question reflects a common misunderstanding of how prayer works.

It is fairly common and natural to assume that prayer starts with us. We have a need that we present to the Lord. Our prayer makes Him aware of our need, or at least emphasizes it in some way that hopefully will move Him toward action. Then, the Lord either answers our prayer or He doesn’t (or as some like to explain it, He always answers our prayer, but His answer may be “no” or “wait”; this response has always bugged me for some reason, though it may be entirely true – maybe it seems like a cop-out).

However, one of my professors explained prayer this way: prayer starts in the will of God. The Lord has something He wants to accomplish. He makes His children aware of this desire. His children cry out to Him for the accomplishment of His will in this matter, and this sets the plan of God in motion.

When we think of prayer in this way, it becomes obvious that prayer, as does everything that relates to our spiritual life, starts and finishes with the gracious plan of God. This means that listening to the Lord, hearing the heart of God in prayer comes before speaking. In fact, our speaking in prayer is simply the overflow of God’s Spirit within us. As Romans 8 teaches, “the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.”

If prayer starts with God, then hindrances must effect OUR hearing and not His. And if prayer starts with God, then a worthy question to ask would be: How can we pray if we can’t hear God? If we spend very little time in prayer, there is a good chance that this is because we rarely if ever hear God’s still, small voice. When we hear the Lord, we can’t help but pray. When we encounter God, we can’t help but long to draw near to Him.

Some would say, “you don’t hear God because you don’t spend enough time in prayer.” And although this statement may have some truth to it, I can think of no place in Scripture where our ability to hear God’s voice is linked to the amount of time we spend praying. Rather, as Peter points out, it would seem that our ability to pray (to hear from God and then respond to Him in accordance with His will) is greatly influenced by the way we live.

Something as simple as the way that I treat my wife, or my children, or my neighbor, or my boss may impact the extent to which I am able to hear the Lord today (I Peter 3:7). If I allow my mind to be cluttered by noise from the radio, from the internet, or from the television, I may struggle to hear the Lord today (I Peter 4:7). If I am consumed with worry about a relationship, a health problem, or a financial need, I may find it difficult to hear the Lord today (I Peter 4:7). If I fail to control my eating, my eyes, my words, or my heart attitude, I may be incapable of discerning the Lord’s still, small voice today (1 Peter 4:7).

And in each of these cases, it seems clear that if I do not hear from the Lord, I will find it very difficult to pray. My praying, if I try to pull it off anyway, may prove to be nothing more than an empty list of surface-level needs. It will lack the touch of the Spirit, that energizing authority and insight that characterize the kind of praying that responds to the revealed will of God spoken into my heart, inviting me to participate in the accomplishment of His plan for this day through prayer.

If I find myself unable to pray like this, it seems wise for me to ask myself: What is hindering my prayers today? I know that the Spirit of God is anxious to reveal all hindrances so that they may be eliminated, and so that the channels of communication with the Most High may flow freely once again.

childlike or childish?

2007-10-14T15:35:00.000-05:00

A wise friend posted a comment to my previous blog entry that I have been chewing on this past week. He reminded me, in the context of prayer, that children (and the childlike) are given special priority somehow before the Lord. This raised the following question for me: Is it really possible to learn about and grow in prayerfulness? If it is the simple and the childlike who are heard by the Lord, then wouldn’t any increase in knowledge or experience seem to work against us? I was troubled by this question until I remembered the importance of differentiating between the childlike and the childish.

Although the Lord clearly taught that His kingdom belongs to little children, He also chastised His disciples for their lack of understanding. For Him, childlikeness was an attitude of heart, not a state of mind. In Luke 22, when the disciples began to argue amongst themselves (much like little children I must say) over who was the greatest, Jesus rebuked them saying, “let the greatest among you become as the youngest, and the leader as one who serves.” Similarly, in Mattew 18, Jesus said that, “whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” In both cases, there seems to be a conscious decision (on the part of one who might have reason to brag) to embrace an attitude of lowliness. And it is this willful decision, not ignorance or inexperience, that Jesus commends.

I was struck earlier this week by a passage from Ephesians 4, which includes these words: “. . . until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves . . .” The apostle Peter, in his firt letter, challenges his readers in a similar way: “Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up to salvation – if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good.”

So, while there is certainly a shrinking down of our pride in childlike self-abandon as we draw near to the Lord, there is also a growing up of our spirit through disciplines rooted in grace. The two most fundamental disciplines of grace seem to be prayer and feeding upon God’s Word.

That was a lengthy entry, the soul purpose of which was to make the point that there is a place for thoughtful interaction about the nature and practice of prayer. Unfortunately, our adult minds seem to work against us when it comes time to embrace a childlike attitude before the Lord in prayer. Thankfully, there are practices that can be learned, both from the Lord Himself and from His disciples throughout the centuries who have themselves discovered ways to overcome their childish distractedness and hyperactivity as they humbly seek the Lord for grace to pray.

how to: part 1

2007-10-04T10:24:00.000-05:00

So what do you do if you find it difficult to pray? It’s true that entire libraries could be filled with all of the pages of print that have been devoted to this subject. In light of this humbling reality, I must admit that I have nothing new or revolutionary to add. However, in the next few entries, I will pass on a few insights that I have found particularly helpful.

In the past few months, I have been using passages from God’s Word as a kind of mental anchor during my times of prayer. I am easily distracted when alone in my “prayer closet.” It can be hard to sit still, both physically and mentally, which makes it difficult to enter into the Lord’s rest. And yet, I am finding that the first step in a fruitful moment of prayer is to enter into the Lord’s rest. The Word helps me to take this step.

Before I continue with that thought, let me back up a moment and point out what prayer is NOT. Unfortunately, in ignorance, I have given much time in the past to an activity that I thought was prayer, but that really wasn’t. This activity was often frustrating and unfulfilling for me, but I didn’t know why. After all, I was praying!! Or, so I thought. Although I had often heard people speak of prayer as “conversation” with God, I never really grasped (or perhaps even believed in) what that really meant. The activity that I mistook for prayer was a one-way monologue in which I verbally presented a list of requests to God in hopes that He would hear and answer. Deep down I knew that this was not at all relational or interactive, but I was unaware of any other way to go about it.

I am convinced that one reason why so many believers find themselves giving little if any time to prayer is because they have yet to grasp what prayer really is, much less how to put it into practice. One challenging thing about prayer is that it is counter-cultural to the core. Genuine prayer revolves around practices that are very unnatural and even foreign to us. An obvious reason for that is because prayer is participation in a relationship with a Being that is from an entirely different realm of existence. It is the most extreme form of cross-cultural encounter.

I mentioned above that the first step in commencing a moment of prayer is to enter the Lord’s rest. What does that mean? Though it is still somewhat of a mystery to me, I can say that entering the Lord’s rest has something to do with mentally and spiritually crossing from one state into another. It is removing myself from the whirlwind of work and worry, in order to enter into the peaceful and patient presence of my Lord. It is here, in this foreign place (though I must say that it becomes more and more familiar with time) that genuine prayer emerges. And I use the term emerges because often I find that, once I have entered this place of rest in the Lord’s presence, words seem to escape from my mouth directly from my heart without having taken the long-way round through my mind.

There is much more to say about this entering of the Lord’s rest as a precursor for genuine prayer, but let me finish this entry by acknowledging that I have found the Word to be an invaluable help in this endeavor. And it truly is an endeavor. Making the transition from a “normal” mental state into this other restful place that I am referring to is no easy stroll through the park. My mind is bombarded by distractions: things that need to be done today, ideas for future projects, faces of people I should contact, lyrics for new songs or poems, a lengthy list of requests that I know I should pray for . . . aaaaah!! Get me out of here!!

But if I start with a simple passage from God’s word, it gives me something to hang on to when these waves of distraction start to pound me from within. Often, I will choose a short phrase, like, “his grace is sufficient for me.” I may repeat that phrase over and over again for several minutes as I allow my thoughts to calm down and my pulse to slow a bit. Eventually I start to sense the peace of the Lord descending upon me and I will feel the liberty to begin to interact with Him.

I will discuss more of what this interaction can look like in a future entry, but for now, let it be said that often as this interaction takes place, the distractions will return. It is at these moments, when I realize that I am off track, that I have left the place of rest momentarily, that I turn back to my passage once again: his grace is sufficient for me . . . his grace is sufficient for me . . . his grace is sufficient for me. Soon, in fact, this time round it will happen much more quickly than when I first started, I will find the peace and rest returning, and once again will sense the liberty to continue in prayer.

In closing, does this mean that the Lord doesn’t hear the rushed requests that we so often throw His way? I am by no means suggesting that. The Lord knows that we are weak and ignorant children, much more like sheep even than children. He is anxious to hear us and anxious to meet our need. However, what I am suggesting is that the activity of prayer that He invites us into is something far more wonderful and transformational than many of us have come to know or experience. And this is why the disease of prayerlessness is so rampant among us.

Come and heal our disease, dear Lord. Please teach us to pray. Amen.

when heart is heavy

2007-09-25T15:03:00.000-05:00

When heart is heavy, hanging down
When inspiration fails me
You beckon me draw near the Throne
Your invitation hails me
Oh, Gentle Shepherd, lead the way
And clear the path before me
I'll follow you and as I pray
I'll worship and adore Thee.

linger

2007-09-15T07:14:00.001-05:00

Several years ago I wrote a poem that expressed to the Lord my longing for more time alone in His presence. I am ashamed sometimes at how easily this heart’s desire can be muted by the worries and occupations of my day. But, as I explore this problem of prayerlessness, I am finding that one help in overcoming the problem has been to reconnect with this deep hunger that is always there, whether I am aware of it or not. When my stomach growls, I normally try to feed it. But if I ignore the growling long enough, chances are good that it will calm down and perhaps even go away after awhile. Depending on how busy I am, I may even forget entirely about the fact that I need to eat. I wonder if this might happen with the growling of our souls for more of God. The poem below expresses a desire to learn to wait on the Lord with the faith that doing so yields rich results. I recently put the poem to music, and have been singing it as part of my prayer time. So, if you want to hear what it sounds like in song, you can click on the YouTube link beneath the poem.

Let me learn to linger longer,
Loving Lord, within Thy Light
Hoist me higher, Hope of Heaven,
High like hinds upon the heights
Grace me, God, with glorious gladness
Grab me . . . grip me with gentle glove
Ask of me anything, Adored One, my Abba
Anoint me, Almighty, with oil from above

http://youtube.com/watch?v=fkDHEiiMCbo

the impossibility of change

2007-09-06T17:32:00.000-05:00

I recently heard a minister say that both religion and irreligion can be evidences of unbelief. On the one hand, a person who does not believe in the power of God may choose to lead a completely irreligious life. He may reject spiritual ritual and practice of all kinds, throw morality out the door, and embrace a lifestyle of wreckless self-indulgence. On the other hand, a person who does not believe in the power of God may choose to lead a completely religious life. He may work to overcome his sinful habits, engage in all sorts of spiritual activities, and devote himself to various forms of self-denial.

It is interesting to think that both responses may reflect an unbelieving heart. In the first case, unbelief is put on display and is, therefore, obvious to all observers. But in the second case, unbelief may be mistaken for genuine faith by all but the most discerning. It is amazing how hard we may work at the Christian life, not realizing all along that our every effort may flow from an unbelieving heart. And what would be the evidence of this unbelief?

I think that prayerlessness is probably the most obvious evidence. The starting point of prayer is an awareness of my own inability to accomplish something. It is an acknowledgement of my weakness in a particular area of life, or of my powerlessness to help someone else with some area of their life. Prayer is a sign of humility and a sign of faith. When I pray, I declare to God my belief in His ability to hear and answer. Even if I have my doubts about these things, the very act of praying is a step of faith on my part. Prayer can be a faith-awakening statement to my own uncertain heart that something within me trusts in God to accomplish this on my behalf. It makes sense, then, that I would consecrate to the Lord in prayer any area of my life where I recognize my own inability, weakness and powerlessness. It makes sense that I would bring to the Lord any need that is presented to me which I am certain I cannot meet.

Given that my life is filled with inability, weakness and powerlessness, and given that I am faced with needs every day that I can’t possibly meet in the lives of people around me, what does it say about me if my life is characterized by prayerlessness? It says that I must not really believe in God’s power to hear and answer. I may pour myself into religious activity of all kinds, attending church every Sunday, tithing regularly, participating in a small group or bible study or church ministry, perhaps even sharing my faith with a friend from time to time. But, if I am not regularly bowing myself before Almighty God in prayer, then chances are good that all of this is really a mask for unbelief in His power to act on my behalf.

So, where does that leave me? Perhaps I should develop some rigid prayer schedule with the determination, MUST PRAY MORE!! Perhaps I should find a few prayer partners who will HOLD ME ACCOUNTABLE. Perhaps I should attend a SEMINAR or BIBLE STUDY on prayer. Perhaps I should READ SOME BOOKS on the subject of prayer. Perhaps I should encourage my pastor to PREACH A SERIES on prayer. The scary thing is that I might easily give myself to ANY AND ALL of these reasonable pursuits before ever taking the first step on the road toward prayerfulness.

It seems to me that learning to pray starts with the humble admission that change is impossible for me apart from the transforming power of God in my life. I will never become a man of prayer by striving to be one. In fact, the harder I work, the more fruitless my efforts will be. This is one aspect of the mystery of the gospel. The work of Christ on the cross was not merely sufficient and essential for my salvation, it is sufficient and essential for every step that I take in my journey heavenward. I can do nothing apart from Him. Even today, after having walked with Him for more than 16 years, I find myself powerless to live out the Christian life on my own.

To the extent that I am willing and able to acknowledge this powerlessness and cry out to God for His grace and intervention in my life, crisis by crisis, day by day, and eventually moment by moment, to that extent will I find myself becoming a man of prayer. In fact, I will begin to find prayer spilling out all over the place as I become more conscious of my weakness and more purposeful about turning to the Lord with this weakness. Once again, I come to find that what humbles me helps me and what lowers me lifts me, for when I am weak, then I am strong.

some music

2007-08-21T06:58:00.001-05:00

If we're gonna dance the dance of lowliness, we'll need to have some music!

And so, I thought I might share a song with you that I recently wrote for my wife's 30th birthday. It's a song about a lowly woman named Hannah, whose story is told in 1 Samuel chapter 1. Hannah was unable to have children, and became an object of scorn because of it. But, she cried out to the Lord for help, and she came to find that the Lord is a God who hears.

My wife's name (Anne) is the French name for Hannah in the Bible.

If you click on the link below, you can view a not very impressive video presentation of the song. By the way, I don't believe that the pursuit of lowliness is an excuse for mediocrity. But, I will say that I'm a YouTube beginner, and my self-broadcasting skills are very limited, as you will see. I will make no excuses for my voice or guitar-playing, as I'm learning that pride can manifest itself in the form of INFERIORITY just as easily as superiority.

Click below:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=xmZ1gsUJscM
I apologize in advance for any questionable YouTube content that may appear on the same page as my video. Unfortunately, I have no control over this.

Lyrics to the song "He hears"

Verse 1
I will ask and I won’t cease
Until my answer’s been released
Until I can be sure my need is known

I will beg and I will plead
Until with my eyes I have seen
The evidence of grace from heaven’s throne

Oh Lord Almighty look and see
Your humble servant’s misery
Have mercy now and please remember me
Remember me . . .

Verse 2
I lay my trouble at His feet
I will not drink and I won’t eat
Until I’m sure my God has realized

The depth of my despair and grief
My anxious cry for His relief
I’ll wait till I’ve found favor in His eyes

Oh Lord I hope in You alone
I’m lost and helpless on my own
I humbly bow before your gracious throne
Your gracious throne . . .

Refrain
Hannah you are heard by the Most High
Hannah speak the word and He will reply
Hannah loving arms He holds open wide
They beckon you come boldly as a favored child

Oh Hannah, dry your tears
He hears

Bridge
In the Lord and in His strength I will delight
In the Lord who stands alone for He is holy
Who from the barren woman brings forth life
Who raises up the poor and lifts the lowly

Verse 3
I asked the Lord for him and now
In my arms I hold Samuel
The son I feared that I might never bear

And I will offer sacrifice
To Him who heard my desparate cries
Forever my son will live in His care

Oh Eli come rejoice with me
The Lord has listened to my plea
And granted my request so graciously
So graciously . . .

Refrain

where it began

2007-08-06T09:39:00.000-05:00

Today marks ten years since my brother Andy passed away. I hadn’t planned to write on the subject, but I was helpfully provoked by a beautiful e-mail from my mother and a thoughtful phone call from a friend. And I was reminded that this event, my only brother’s death, was really the starting point of my journey into lowliness. I apologize in advance for the fact that this will probably be an exceptionally long entry. But I feel compelled to tell the story, and I imagine that someone may be interested to read it.

Andy was twenty-two months younger than me, which meant that I had some work to do in order to maintain my status as the superior older brother. Given that I was naturally more outspoken and interactive, I tended to enjoy more attention and recognition than he did during our childhood and adolescence. Though we experienced seasons of limited friendship, much of our growing up was characterized by separation: I went my way and he went his.

It wasn’t until high school that I started to realize that my younger brother might pose a threat to my self-esteem. In all honesty, I hadn’t noticed until that point much of what went on in his life and what kind of person he was becoming. Looking back I know that this was mainly because I was so consumed with myself: with my own pursuits, my own friends, even my own spirituality. In 10th grade, a missions trip altered my relationship to the Lord in a dramatic way, launching for me a genuine pursuit of God that continues to this day. But none of that was shared with my brother.

I began to notice that Andy had a special quality about him during a trip to Spain and Israel that we took together as part of a ministry team, the summer before my junior year of high school. It was on this trip that I was first exposed to his sense of humor, to his compassion for others, and to his ability to listen and ask the kinds of questions that enabled people to open up to him. I could see various members of our team being drawn to him, and this bothered me to some extent, because I was used to people being drawn to me.

Unfortunately, not much changed in terms of our relationship until after I had left home for college. And even then, the change that took place was not pleasing to my ego. In his last two years of high school, Andy really started to find a life rhythm. He excelled in the sport of volleyball, combining his tall body with an athletic prowess that made him lethal on the court. Trying his hand at theatre, Andy discovered an avenue for artistic expression that he was exceptionally talented in. And diving (scuba and free) provided an outlet for his adventurous spirit as well as an excuse to spend time in the mysterious underworld of the Caribbean Sea.

When I came home from college for the first time during the Christmas vacation of 1994, it almost seemed as if there was a stranger living in my home. I didn’t recognize this person who inhabited my brother’s body. He was confident, he was cool, he was clever, he was accomplished . . . and all of this without being cocky. What a few may have mistaken for arrogance was really simply self-assurance and an obvious comfort in his own shoes. This comfort with himself made him really easy and fun to be around. And this comfort was something that I knew I did not possess.

In fact, my first semester at Wheaton College had served to undo much of the self-confidence that I had built up during my years in high school. Having excelled in my own arenas as a member of a very small student body on a small island, I quickly found at Wheaton College that I was just an average Joe . . . at best. I was surrounded by valedictorians, some of whom were also superior musicians AND athletes AND spoke multiple languages. They were highly driven, type-A personalities, many of whom happened to be eldest siblings like me. My ego took a pretty good drubbing during those initial months, and I had not yet come to appreciate the benefits of such abuse.

So, in the wake of what turned out to be somewhat of an identity crisis, I returned home to find a younger brother whose sense of self was both healthy and attractive. And this seemed to poke more holes in my already sinking boat.

Two years passed, during which Andy finished high school and started his college education at Eckerd College in St. Petersburg, Florida. During his first semester at Eckerd, Andy and I started to communicate through e-mail, a phenomena which we had both only recently discovered. That Christmas, when we both came home from college, there was the scent of something different in the air between us.

I remember Andy meeting me at the airport when I arrived. He gave me a big hug, which was unusual for the two of us. Riding home in our dad’s black CJ-7 (really cool Jeep, for those who don’t know cars), salty breeze blowing through our hair, swapping dorm stories and laughing at eachother’s jokes, I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. I remember wondering: Is this me and my brother? Is this a dream? It was a scene that I had often imagined in my mind and hoped for deep down, but that I had never really believed I would live out in this life. And here I was, thoroughly loving spending time with my brother.

And that’s how it went for us that Christmas break. We spent loads of time together, and I honestly loved every minute of it. Altough I had the sense that our roles had somehow reversed, with him leading the way and setting the terms, I found myself settling into that rather than fighting against it. It seemed somehow appropriate and right at this time in our lives.

In recent years, as I have had more time to reflect on our relationship, I realize that, to some degree Andy took leadership over our relationship in a way that I had never been capable of doing. My pride and insecurity had rendered me incapable of bridging the gap between us as we were growing up. And now, as we were entering into adulthood, it was Andy’s sense of peace with himself and security in who he had become that enabled him to do what I could not do before. This is humiliating for me to admit, and I shudder with shame at times as I think of the years lost and the opportunities wasted due to my foolish pride.

Christmas 1996 was for me a taste of what I had been missing all those years. And though the taste was bitter-sweet because of what it revealed about me (only in a limited way at the time), I drunk deeply from the stream of new friendship with my brother during those weeks.

The following summer, I came home for several weeks to work before heading off to camp up in northern Wisconsinm where I would finish off the summer as a high school counselor. I worked for a roofing company called Rooftops, and Andy joined me there for the last two weeks before I left island again. We had lunch together almost every day, and we also worked on several projects together. As far as our friendship was concerned, we built on the ground that had been laid over Christmas and seemed to be finding a way of relating that worked well for us. I left St. Croix with a sense of enthusiasm for what was emerging between us, and an expectation for more of the same in the years ahead.

And then came August 4th. I remember that I was sitting with one of my high school kids at a picnic bench down by the lake at Honey Rock camp. His parents had recently been divorced and he was struggling to find his way through the mess of it all. We had been reading from James 1 together, where it says, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” Little did I know at the time that this passage was meant just as much for me as it was for my camper.

During this discussion, I received a message from the office saying that my dad had called and that I needed to call home. I sensed immediately that something was really wrong. And because it was my dad who called, I worried that something had happened to my mom.

I had a really hard time finding a phone that was available. It was a Sunday afternoon, and there were only four pay phones for the entire camp. I circulated among the phones until one finally opened up. When I called home, one of our neighbors answered the phone. This really worried me because it meant for sure that something was up. She quickly passed the phone to my mom, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard her voice. My dad got on the phone as well, and they asked me if anyone was with me. I told them that I was alone, and there was a sigh and then silence on the other end of the line (apparently they had included in the message a request that someone accompany me for the phone call . . . in some ways I’m glad that part didn’t get through because it would have really freaked me out).

The next words I heard were: “Andy drowned today.”

Even typing those words brings tears to my eyes once again as I think of the dramatic force with which that statement hit my soul. I needed no time to process. The response was immediate. I remember a loud cry escaping my mouth, as if it had been vomitted out of my heart, and this was followed by what seemed like an eternity of uncontrollable sobbing.

I was overwhelmed with a sadness that goes far beyond the mere loss of a loved one. I know now that my soul was grieving more than Andy’s death. It was grieving the loss of what had only just been born between us. It was grieving what would have been in the years ahead. It was grieving all that there was about him that I didn’t yet know, that I hadn’t yet experienced. It was grieving my own absurd self-absortion that had robbed me of precious years with my one and only sibling.

And it was this that made the week that followed so bitter for me. I returned home to join my family and to attend Andy’s memorial service. For days, our house was filled with people who came to tell their stories, to share their experiences, to express how much Andy had meant to them. I could feel my heart grow harder and harder inside with each new story that I heard, with each new word of affirmation spoken. These people were speaking of a person that I barely knew, and now would never know in the way that they had.

For the first time in my life, I dreaded being with others. I felt alone in a sea of people who had loved and appreciated my brother during the years of his life. I felt condemned and ashamed inside, and though I didn’t fully understand these emotions at the time, I could sense this dark cloud descending over me as the week wore on. The day of his memorial was sheer agony for me as I sat through several hours of testimonies, poems, and stories about Andy’s life and impact. I did not share anything on that day, and the reality is that I had very little experience about which to share. Our friendship had ended in its infancy, and this was a source of great bitterness for me as I listened to the rich experiences that others had enjoyed with my brother.

In the wake of this twighlight zone week, I was faced with the reality of some really dark corners in my heart. I honestly had never really considered myself all that sinful before. Though I knew I was a sinner in the way that everyone is a sinner, I really thought of myself as somewhat morally exceptional up until this point in my life. In the weeks and months following Andy’s death, I finally became convinced that my spiritual condition was far worse than I had ever imagined. My response to Andy’s death and especially to his memorial service served as a kind of awakening for me to the wickedness that was within me. It was a shocking realization that finally opened the door for me to start to understand the gospel for the first time in my life.

The work that has taken place in me since then, as I have grown in the awareness of my own sinfulness and helplessness, as well as in my comprehension of the gospel, the cross, the grace of Christ and His redemptive work in our lives, is really nothing short of a miracle. And that is an entirely different story that must be left for another entry.

My purpose in telling this particular story about this particular event has been to remind myself (and perhaps inform some of you) of the dark and filthy pit in which the grace of Christ found me. I had been a Christian for many years before Andy’s death; but without really knowing it, I had been blind to the harsh reality of my own sin and to the wondrous reality of God’s grace. Andy's death was for me the starting point of my journey into lowliness.

I still do not rejoice in the loss of my brother, for I would far rather have had the Lord find me through some other form of suffering. When my inner man is tempted to shake his fist at God (which is a temptation that I still face to this day), I hear the words of Job in my head as he responded to his foolish wife, “Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble.” Andy’s death has troubled me profoundly. The older my kids get, the more I long for them to know their one and only uncle on my side of the family. I know that he would be their hero. And perhaps it is an evidence of God’s grace in my life that, now, 10 years after his death, I genuinely hope that he will be.

surprise? yes and no . . .

2007-08-03T09:43:00.000-05:00

I don’t think it would be an overstatement to say that the vast majority of Christians in the West devote very little if any time to prayer on a daily basis, outside of meals and perhaps a moment or two before bed. This is both surprising and unsurprising.

It is surprising because the Bible both encourages and commands the faithful to pray. Consider a few examples: Pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests (Eph. 6:18). Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God (Phil. 4:6). Pray continually (I Thess. 5:17). I urge, then, first of all, that prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone (I Tim. 2:1).

It is surprising because some of the greatest promises of the Bible are linked to prayer. Consider just a few from the New Testament: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you (Mt. 7:7). Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours (Mk. 11:24). And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it (Jn. 14:12,13). And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus (immediately following the exhortation to pray in Phil. 4:6,7). This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears us – whatever we ask – we know that we have what we asked of him (I Jn. 5:14,15).

It is surprising because Jesus’ life and ministry, as well as those of the apostles were characterized by prayer. Consider once again just a few examples: He went up on a mountainside by himself to pray (Mt. 14:23). Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed (Mk. 1:35). But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed (Lk. 5:16). They all joined together constantly in prayer (Acts 1:14). They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer (Acts 2:42). “And we will give our attention to prayer and to the ministry of the word” (Acts 6:4).

It is surprising because many of the most noteworthy saints in Christian history lived lives that were characterized by prayerfullness. It is also surprising because many (if not all) of the great movements of God’s Spirit in Christian history came on the heels of extended and concerted prayerfullness on the part of the saints in a region. One of my professors went so far as to say that God, in His sovereignty, has chosen not to act except in response to the prayers of the faithful.

At the same time, our prayerlessness is not at all surprising. Whereas prayer calls us into silence and solitude, we live in a “media” culture that constantly bombards us with noise and makes us feel insecure about being alone. Whereas prayer requires waiting and persevering, we live in a “microwave” culture that wants results NOW! Whereas God’s response to our prayer may look entirely different from what we asked or expected, we live in a “warranty” culture requiring outcomes and results that are guaranteed. Whereas the fruit of our prayer may never be attributed to our efforts, we live in a “copyright” culture that begs for recognition and compensation.

Our prayerlessness is also unsurprising because of how limited our experience of “need” is. Prayer flows most fluidly and fervently from the lips of one who is in need. Many of us don’t really need much of anything. Or, if we do need something, our instinct is to figure out how we can take care of that need on our own. We tend to be completely unaware of the depth of our spiritual need, satisfied at having been “saved” through faith in Christ and “guaranteed” a place in glory.

What we often don’t realize is that, although we may warm a seat in the church service every Sunday, throughout the week our activity may be characterized by the fruit of fleshly living. As we have discussed at length in this blog, pride seems to be the most obvious evidence of life according to the flesh rather than according to the Spirit.

And it shouldn’t surprise us at all that pride and prayerlessness tend to go hand in hand.

Another way of saying this is that pride and prayerfulness are mutually exclusive. It is impossible for a person whose life is characterized by pride to enjoy a rich and fruitful prayer life. And, it is impossible, when someone is seeking the Lord in prayer, for pride to go unnoticed or unchecked for long.

Unfortunately, it is also impossible for those of us who suffer in the sin of prayerlessness to change our condition in our own strength. Those who try find themselves facing failure and discouragement again and again. The impossibility of this task and how we respond to it will be the subject of a future blog entry.

the man the king delights to honor

2007-08-01T06:28:00.000-05:00

I hope to continue writing on the subject of prayerlessness later on in the week, but I wanted to take a moment to recommend an excellent sermon on the subject of pride and humility. Dr. Timothy Keller, head pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in New York, gave a series of messages on the book of Esther in April of this year. The series was entitled "Esther and the hiddenness of God." The third message in the series is entitled, "The man the king delights to honor." It advances our discussion on humility in a profound way. For those who are interested, you may purchase and download the sermon at the following web address:
http://sermons.redeemer.com/store/index.cfm?fuseaction=product.display&Product_ID=18639

indisputable evidence

2007-07-23T14:52:00.000-05:00

Prayerlessness is perhaps the most indisputable evidence of pride in my life.

The act of prayer is first and foremost a purposeful step in the direction of humility. It is an acceptance of my weakness and a sign of my dependence on One far more powerful and wise than I. When I pray, I lower myself. I declare my need. I acknowledge my insufficiency. Without question, prayer must be considered one of the principle activities of the meek and humble.

Prayerlessness, however, is the opposite of all these things. It is ignoring my weakness and rejecting the Lord’s gracious provision and guidance. It is a statement of independence and self-sufficiency. When I refuse to pray, I declare to God (either consciously or subconsciously) that I don’t need what He has to offer. Without question, prayerlessness must be considered one of the principle characteristics of the proud, and a grievous insult to our loving Savior.

Prayer is, in fact, the most powerful weapon the Lord provides for pummeling pride and for waging spiritual war against the presence of sin in my life.

Daily, the Lord waits to place this weapon in my hand, anxious to train me in its use. But rather than accepting His gracious gift and devoting time to the practice of prayer, rather than allowing the Spirit of God to instruct me in this martial art, I have often chosen to ignore the offer and to go about my daily business as if there were no need for such a weapon.

I may take the weapon in hand playfully from time to time, as if it were a toy; before meals and to open and close a meeting with other Christians. But I know next to nothing of its value as an instrument of war. And at this point, armed combat, face to face conflict in the spiritual realm is out of the question. Examples of answered prayer in my life? Well, I’d rather not talk about it. If I’m honest with myself, the thought of seeing God’s transforming power unleashed in response to my prayers seems almost mythical.

Now, those last few lines may have been slightly exaggerated, but I want to paint a disturbing picture that is, unfortunately, not entirely unlike the experience of many Christians with prayer (including myself at various stages of my journey in Christ). And the reality is that prayerlessness is an obvious sign of spiritual anemia. Andrew Murray says that:

Nothing so reveals a defective spiritual life as the lack of believing and unceasing prayer. Prayer is the pulse of the spiritual life. It is the great means of bringing (to believers) the blessing and power of heaven. Persevering and believing prayer means a strong and an abundant life (The Believer’s Prayer Life).

In the next several entries, I will be examining prayerlessness as a symptom of pride and spiritual sickness in my life. I invite your comments and insights. I sense that my participation in the dance of lowliness will be enhanced or hindered in direct relation to the nature of my investment in prayer. This means that any examination of my prayer life (weak and fragmented as it may be) will prove to be not just beneficial but essential to my progress in humility.

shadow dancing

2007-07-17T09:41:00.000-05:00

When I recognize that my need for a “witness” is actually a gift from a loving God who sees me and invites me to live in the light of His gracious gaze, I then must wrestle with the twisted craving for worldly attention that lingers in my heart. I have acknowledged this craving in previous posts, so the idea is not new. But, the fact is that my longing for attention persistently and covertly works its way into my motivations, perverting much of what I do and say in the course of a given day. Even the actions and words that I might intend to offer or appear to offer to the Lord can be infected by the disease.

So, what do I do about it? Certainly, I can and should be honest with the Lord about the problem, confessing my sin and inviting Him to transform my desires. But as I do that, I need to expect that He has heard my prayer and will answer it. This expectation moves me to be on the lookout for “helps” that the Lord will send my way to assist me in this battle against my ego-mania.

And what might such a help look like? I would suggest that any circumstance that places me in the shadows has the potential to prove highly useful as a weapon in this war. One of the best ways to destroy a sinful craving is to STARVE it. Unfortunately, as an American, I don’t like the word “starve” very much and am not used to depriving myself of things that my flesh really wants. Fasting, for example, is a spiritual discipline that I have been slow to cultivate. However, sin seems to be almost organic in nature, growing as it is fed and diminishing as it is deprived of nourishment. In the flesh, I am naturally drawn to opportunities and circumstances that will put my “star” qualities on display; that will earn me the attention and admiration that I am convinced I deserve. Unsurprisingly, the more often this desire is satisfied, the stronger it grows and the hungrier it becomes (like Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors, “Feed me, Seymour!”).

But what happens when I find myself in someone else’s shadow? It may be the shadow of a highly successful parent, or of an older or younger sibling, or of a co-worker, or of a neighbor, or of a brother or sister in the church, or of my own spouse. The motivation to escape from the shadow of this person can be a powerful driving force. Something within me yearns to at least be recognized as their equal, if not their superior. I may find it difficult to appreciate their success or celebrate their victories. I may find it easy to quietly enjoy their failures or even find some twisted pleasure in their hardships. This person becomes for me an enemy, perhaps without ever having engaged in a single act of aggression against me. Why? Because I want the attention that they get.

Consider, though, how this relationship changes if I have been dancing the dance of lowliness, walking the path of humility. Let’s say I have confessed my craving for recognition to the Lord, and have admitted that I am not satisfied with living before an audience of One. I have asked Him to humble me and to refine me so that my joy is genuinely found in living for Him alone. Later that day, I am on the phone with my grandmother and she starts raving about how proud she is of my older sister (who is an imagined character in this imagined scenario). As numerous members of my family often do, my grandmother begins to run through a list of my sister’s accomplishments and admirable character traits. I can feel the resentment rising within me, as it has many times before.

But then, I’m reminded of the request that I recently made to the Lord, and I realize that this is perhaps the first of many helps from Him in stifling that need to be recognized and cultivating a comfort with the shadows. I can sense that my pride is really ticked off and it strikes me that this is actually a good thing. I settle into the moment, allowing my ego to take a hefty beating, and thanking the Lord for answering my prayer. In fact, if I really want to stick it to my pride, I may even add a couple of my own positive comments about my sister to the conversation. Before I know it, I find myself inwardly rejoicing each time someone praises my sister in my presence. What once depressed or enraged me inwardly, now brings delight because I recognize the experience for what it really is: a gracious gift from the Lord that helps me by humbling me, that lifts me by lowering me.

It really is amazing to consider the potential freedom that may come from embracing humility. How many people are there in my life who cast shadows over me in one way or another; shadows that I have until now deeply resented and fought to escape? How many relationships have been hindered by my jealousy of another person’s success? The dance of lowliness teaches me that spiritual success is often found far away from center stage. The steps of this dance often lead me away from the spotlight and into obscurity, as far as the world is concerned. But surprisingly, and paradoxically, I am coming to find that the light of God’s love shines brightest on those who gladly dance in the shadows. And the more I come to enjoy shadow dancing, the more capable I am of enjoying the people around me whose success and popularity and giftedness were once nothing more than a threat to my happiness.

guest post: parent as witness

2007-07-10T04:09:00.000-05:00

A friend recently posted the following as a comment on the entry entitled, "dancing in the dark." It advances the conversation in a way that I didn't want others to miss out on, just in case you don't read other people's comments. So, I am adding it as a guest post. Hope you enjoy and maybe you'll be provoked to respond with your own comments as well.

Rachel said:
Our interdependence, our inability to exist without mothers/fathers, our need to be watched is how life begins. Helpless babes cannot survive without being cared for(active witnessing)? As you note the need of a witness (caregiver), is indeed a God given basic instinct. An unattended child will disgrace his mother. The very act of being witnessed will provide the motivation to behave. It seems the corruption of this need is based in laziness. As a babysitter in college I used to think I had this incredible skill with children for I had very few problems with the children misbehaving. Now as a parent I understand why-I wasn't distracted. Now that I'm juggling reality and children I see when I'm not focused on interacting(active witnessing) is when bad behavior creeps in unnoticed. Witnessing is the essence of parenting,seeing/participating in the lives of our children. Giving them the peace that they are protected because someone is watching out for them. Someone wants front row in their life. It seems if parents took this reponsibility seriously, the transition to understanding the eternal eye of God would be natural. God wants to actively witness our lives--He wants to participate. When I draw near, He is always there. May we actively witness the lives of those we love and may we honor God by opening our lives to His active witness.

my audience

2007-07-06T10:38:00.000-05:00

In my last post (“dancing in the dark”) I considered the idea that “we need a witness to our lives,” and I suggested that this longing may be related to the fact that we were created to live under the gaze of a God who sees us. What really interests me is the potential impact that this truth might have on our day to day living IF we really believed it. And that IF obviously suggests that we really don’t believe it. I think it is healthy for me to ask myself often: Who is my audience? Who am I putting this show on for? Whose opinion of my performance really matters? And if I were to consider my actions and words throughout the course of the day, and take a moment to examine the underlying motivations for these, I imagine it would not be very hard to identify who my audience really is.

Church is a great testing ground for this. I shudder as I think of the number of times that I have sat through an entire church service, singing the songs, listening to the message, taking the communion, perhaps even engaging in prayer without REALLY pondering the profound idea that God is there and that He sees me. If this is the case in church, how much more so throughout the rest of my week?

The up-side to this, of course, is that He really does see me. And that reality has the potential to be extremely liberating if I can grab hold of it. What a relief it would be to narrow the members of my audience down to One. I’m not suggesting that I intend to embrace a monastic lifestyle or live in isolation. Other people will see me; there is no way around it. And in fact, what they observe in my life may serve to advance God’s purposes in theirs. The issue here is not who is in the audience. The issue is who I am performing for.

How freeing it would be to ignore the voices of the critics and the flatterers, to live uninfluenced by what they will think and what they will say. To the extent that my attention may be fixed upon the face of the One who sees me, the One who knows me inside and out, the One who designed me and who understands how I function and why I function that way, to that extent will I find satisfaction and fulfillment in the life that I live on the world’s stage.

And this, I believe, proves to be true even when I am far removed from the world’s spotlight, when I do not occupy center stage. Perhaps, as I suggested near the end of my previous post, performing in the shadows on the world’s stage makes for a far more pleasing performance in the eyes of my Audience.

Hebrews 4:13
And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.

dancing in the dark

2007-06-27T02:11:00.000-05:00

I’m not normally a big fan of sappy romance films, but a comment from the movie “Shall We Dance” (2004) struck me as surprisingly profound (for a film featuring Richard Gere and Jennifer Lopez that is). For those who don’t know the movie, the basic plot includes a bored estate lawyer (Richard Gere) who decides to take dance lessons from a beautiful dance instructor (Jennifer Lopez) in an attempt to spice up his life a bit. The lawyer’s wife (Susan Sarandon) starts to worry that he is having an affair and so she hires a private investigator to check things out. In one of their meetings, the investigator asks the lawyer’s wife why she is so committed to being married. Why not just leave him? Her response is, for me, the most memorable part of the movie:

“We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'."

I’m impacted by this quote on a variety of levels, and if I were still an English teacher, I would have a blast picking it apart with my high school students. But, writing for this blog, my purposes are more narrow; so I’ll just follow one thought trail as it relates to the dance of lowliness.

“We need a witness to our lives.” How true it is that what we create and what we accomplish and what we achieve often only seems valuable to the extent that it is recognized by others. This song I wrote doesn’t really come alive for me until I’ve had the chance to sing it to someone and observe their response. This grade I earned for my final paper isn’t nearly as satisfying if no one else knows that I got it. Putting in the extra effort that is required in order to not just do the job, but to do it well seems pointless if no one really seems to notice or care. For many of us, it is the “witness” that gives purpose and meaning to the things we do. Without a “witness” it can be hard to find the motivation to try anything out of the ordinary; anything above average; anything beyond the bare minimum. Mediocrity and meaninglessness often characterize the “unobserved” life; the life lived outside the gaze of an “other.”

Because of this, we can often find ourselves, either consciously or subconsciously, striving to win over the attention of those around us. If many of us were to examine the basic motivations behind the clothes we wear, the objects we buy, the words we choose, and the various pursuits to which we give ourselves, I think we might find, among others, a profound longing to be noticed and perhaps even admired by the “witnesses” around us. And although it would be easy to conclude that this motivation must be rooted in sin, I think that like so many other casualties of the fall, this longing is simply a corrupted version of a God-given desire.

Before I go any further with this train of thought, I want to interject a passage from the gospel of John that begs to be included. Very quickly after Jesus comes on the scene in the early chapters of this gospel, John the Baptist finds himself being overshadowed by this newcomer’s ministry. John’s disciples become distraught over this development and say to John, “everyone is going to him.” John’s response to their concern for his waning notoriety and popularity stands as a shining lamppost for those who would travel the path of lowliness: “Therefore this joy of mine is now complete. He must increase, but I must decrease.”

If the longing to be witnessed, to be recognized, to be noticed is common to all men and women, and I believe that to some extent it is, how is it possible that someone could genuinely find joy in disappearing? What satisfaction is there for the person who finds himself in the shadows? What delight is there for him who dances in the dark?

I know that I lack the wisdom and life experience to respond to this question in a satisfying way. But, I will suggest two thoughts that are taking shape in my mind as I consider it. First, I think that this deep longing for a witness, though twisted by the fall, is God-given because we were created to live under the gaze of a God who sees us. Second, in the mysterious way of the kingdom, it seems that the less visible our actions and accomplishments and abilities are to the earthly witnesses around us, the more valuable they are to God.

Though I would like to explore these two statements in greater depth, I sense that I have written enough for now and need to simply let them sit awhile. I invite your comments and responses knowing that it is often through Spirit-led dialogue that the Lord brings the truths of His Word to light.

my costume

2007-05-25T21:31:00.000-05:00

So, how am I helped by circumstances, events, words, people that humble (or even humiliate) me in some way? My May 1^st entry provides some context for this question, just in case you haven’t read that yet. Consider this: for much of my life I have been reminded by others both in friendly ways and in not so friendly ways that I am a rather skinny individual. The fact is that at one point or another in virtually every day of my life, I think about this physical attribute and often wish that it was different.

About a year ago, I was strangely encouraged during an interview with Chris Rock (African American comedian and actor for those who may not recognize the name) that I heard on National Public Radio’s daily program “Fresh Air.” Terry Gross, who was conducting the interview, acknowledged the fact that Chris is a skinny man, and asked him if he thinks much about it. In one of the very few serious statements that he made in the interview, Chris told Terry that he thinks about it every day.

This admission made me wonder if perhaps many or even most people think in a dissatisfied way about some aspect of their physical appearance regularly, if not daily. I was comforted to think that I am not alone in this particular insecurity, but also disturbed at the realization that this self-awareness occupies so much of my thought life. When I started to explore the idea that “what humbles me helps me,” I immediately turned my attention to this arena of physical insecurity.

I definitely feel lowered each time I think of my own appearance in comparison with any number of toned, muscular men that cross my path either in the world of entertainment or in real life. And there is no getting around the fact that our culture elevates the buff and humiliates the bony (with the possible exception of runway models . . . though even they have taken some flack for their appearance in recent months). The fact is that there are loads of physical attributes displayed in the appearance of most normal men and women that don’t fit with the commonly held cultural ideal of beauty. Given the standards of a pop culture that seems to scream at us wherever we turn, it is unsurprising that many people don’t feel very sexy at all most of the time.

So how does this sentiment help? Although it must be acknowledged that these standards are rooted in a false vision of beauty, and that our physical attributes were fixed in the sovereign will of God long before we were born, for the average Joe and Jane, these truths supply little comfort when one is faced with his or her own likeness in the mirror every day. But, for the person pursuing humility, this encounter with my own physical “flaws” can serve as a daily dose of antibiotic for the ailment of pride.

Though some may feel uncomfortable with drawing spiritual benefit from a lie (specifically the lie that I am physically flawed, or that physical appearance even matters much at all), and although it would clearly be preferable to simply convince yourself of the truth (that God made you the way you are and that you are beautiful to him and to your mother, and that inner beauty is more important anyway), I am becoming convinced that one way to weaken the effect of a persistent form of self-deception in my life is to see how I can use it as a springboard toward holiness; in this case manifested as humility. (I apologize for the super-long sentence . . . my high school English teacher, Ms. Barton, would be horrified.)

So I’m looking in the mirror and I’m thinking, “Boy, are you skinny!” And at that moment, I have at least two options in front of me. I can carry that thought with me into the day, letting the pride within me that desperately longs to be seen and admired and considered attractive keep me feeling like a lanky loser. Or, I can decide to dance . . . the dance of lowliness that is. I can acknowledge the obvious, that I’m not the Hollywood hunk that something within me insists that I should be. I can let this reality serve as a reminder that I’m not what everyone is looking for. I’m no superstar. I don’t stand out in the crowd. I don’t have what people think they need. I’m just an average Joe.

And as I pummel my pride a bit with this thought process, I can turn to the cross once again and remind myself of the awesome image of the only man in all of history who was anything more than an average Joe. What he came to offer had nothing to do with anything so shallow or fleeting as physical appearance or sex appeal. He walked among us as one from whom springs of living water flowed. Unlike me, he could satisfy the deep longings of the men and women with whom he interacted. He could see beneath the surface of things, completely ignoring what people and society tried to demand of him, and recognizing instead the great joy that accompanied obedience to his Father.

And so, what humbles me helps me. Awareness of my physical flaws can remind me that I still don’t see with the eyes of Christ quite yet; that what I value doesn’t always line up with what he values; that my longings can still be shallow and misplaced; that my Redeemer still has a lot of redeeming to do. If I choose to dance the dance of lowliness and gladly welcome those things that lower me, occasional reminders of my less attractive attributes may serve as healthy blows to pride and helpful building blocks for humility in my life.

Lord, may it be so for me today.

a few meaty excerpts

2007-05-07T11:48:00.000-05:00

from Humility (Preface), by Andrew Murray
available on-line at http://www.worldinvisible.com/library/murray/5f00.0565/5f00.0565.c.htm

When I look back upon my own religious experience, or round upon the Church of Christ in the world, I stand amazed at the thought of how little humility is sought after as the distinguishing feature of the discipleship of Jesus. In preaching and living, in the daily intercourse of the home and social life, in the more special fellowship with Christians, in the direction and performance of work for Christ,-alas! how much proof there is that humility is not esteemed the cardinal virtue, the only root from which the graces can grow, the one indispensable condition of true fellowship with Jesus. That it should have been possible for men to say of those who claim to be seeking the higher holiness, that the profession has not been accompanied with increasing humility, is a loud call to all earnest Christians, however much or little truth there be in the charge, to prove that meekness and lowliness of heart are the chief mark by which they who follow the meek and lowly Lamb of God are to be known.

. . . we have the mystery of grace, which teaches us that, as we lose ourselves in the overwhelming greatness of redeeming love, humility becomes to us the consummation of everlasting blessedness and adoration.

. . . nothing is more natural and beautiful and blessed than to be nothing, that God may be all.

. . . it is not sin that humbles most, but grace . . . and it is the soul, led through its sinfulness to be occupied with God in His wonderful glory as God, as Creator and Redeemer, that will truly take the lowest place before Him.

a song for the dance

2007-05-01T15:04:00.000-05:00

I have delayed for some time now my discussion of a topic that is, in my opinion, essential to participation in the dance of lowliness. The reason for this delay is because I have lacked the time and mental energy to do the topic justice. But, I am now 3 months (and 9 entries) into this blog, and I can’t wait any longer.

So here it is:
If you want to dance, it helps to have a song to dance to.
But for the dance of lowliness, not just any song will do.

For well over a year now, my own participation in the dance of lowliness has been dramatically enhanced by a brief “refrain” that is more poetic than musical. But, I’ll refer to it as a “song” for the sake of the metaphor. The refrain is as follows:

What humbles me helps me
What lowers me lifts me
For when I am weak
Then I am strong.

The idea flows from II Corinthians 12, where Paul described his painful struggle with a “thorn in the flesh.” He acknowledged that the purpose of his suffering was to keep him from being “too elated” by the spiritual experiences he was having. Though he begged the Lord to deliver him, the Lord let his suffering continue, supplying these words as an explanation: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” And I would suggest that Paul’s response to this revelation provides the biblical basis for the dance of lowliness:

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities.
For when I am weak, then I am strong.

What sets genuine followers of Christ apart from the adherents of any other religion where folks lay claim to the truth, testify to life transformation of some sort, enjoy some form of spiritual community, or involve themselves in humanitarian aid? I think that perhaps this may be one distinguishing feature: folks who follow Jesus can dance when they suffer. Just as Jesus embraced suffering “for the joy set before him,” and just as the apostles rejoiced that they were “found worthy to suffer for the sake of the Name,” so Christ followers throughout history have heard in the message of the gospel a song that they can dance to, even in, and perhaps especially in the midst of hardship.

Unfortunately, many men and women who claim to represent the way of the kingdom are pointing people to a false understanding of what the gospel accomplishes in our lives. They would suggest that following Christ diminishes our suffering and reduces our life problems. The thinking goes like this: the better you get to know Christ and the more faithfully you follow His teaching, the less hardship and pain you will experience. In fact, this idea often drowns out the sweet music of the kingdom, muffling the lyrics of a song that brings hope to those who are suffering and joy to those who are in pain.

If the gospel is about eliminating pain and hardship in people’s lives, then no wonder a large number of men and women who think that they are Christians are confounded by their inability to escape from their suffering. The harsh realities of life often leave these folks wondering why they can’t hear the music; why they can’t find a rhythm they can dance to.

But just as a businessman walking the noisy streets of Chicago needs to adjust his hearing in order to recognize the faint sound of the cricket chirping in a sidewalk planter, so many followers of Jesus need to adjust their hearing in order to recognize the life-giving song of the kingdom.

The song beckons us to find grace in the midst of our suffering. It points us to the possibility that those difficult events or encounters that lower us somehow, that chafe at our pride and choke our self-esteem, that shake our sense of identify and stimulate our insecurities, are really helps in our journey heavenward. What humbles me helps me, and what lowers me lifts me. Though our society encourages us to delight in our strength and celebrate our success, the lowly way of the kingdom scandalizes us with the call to rejoice in our weakness and find God in our failures.

So we find in the gospel a song to dance to. Following Jesus inevitably brings us down the path of suffering. And some of us will walk this path for the vast majority of our journey here on earth. Whether we ache with our own hardships and personal struggles, or whether we share in the pain of others, or whether we groan with creation in eager anticipation of a redemption that is yet to come for this lost world, those of us who follow Jesus must know that we will suffer quite often. But the good news is that those things which make us suffer can also make us dance; that is, if we have ears to hear the lowly song of the kingdom.

The Water Song
(from Hannah Hurnard's Hinds Feet on High Places)

Come, oh come! Let us away –
Lower, lower every day,
Oh, what joy it is to race
Down to find the lowest place.
This the dearest law we know –
"It is happy to go low."
Sweetest urge and sweetest will,
"Let us go down lower still."
Hear the summons night and day
Calling us to come away.
From the heights we leap and flow
To the valleys down below.
Always answering to the call,
To the lowest place of all.
Sweetest urge and sweetest pain,
To go low and rise again.

a hidden danger

2007-04-27T08:28:00.000-05:00

I cringed a bit after re-reading my last entry a few days ago because I realized that my closing statements might sound like an assault on large churches with advanced technology systems and pastors who write books and appear on talk shows. And perhaps, to a certain extent, it was. But its easy and all-too-common for small folks (like me) in small churches (like mine) to criticize big folks in big churches without contributing anything beneficial to the “conversation.”

I like to root for the underdog (like my pastor friend) and point out the flaws and shortcomings of the “winners,” maybe because it makes me feel better about myself. It’s tempting to try and justify my own “nothingness” by cutting down the folks who seem to be “something.” And one hidden danger of exploring and writing about the concept of “humility” (as I am in this blog) is that it would be easy to use the topic as a bludgeon for striking out at those who, unlike myself, ARE in a position of visibility and notoriety. A person standing alone on a pedestal makes for an easy target.

How quickly I can jump to conclusions about the man or woman in a high position. How naturally I can form assumptions regarding their REAL motives or their TRUE spiritual condition. How satisfying it is to imagine that their fame or their success is actually very worldly and counts for nothing in the eyes of God. But what do I reveal about myself as this thought process unfolds? It seems to me that such a response to the elevation of others points to an inner longing for this same kind of recognition and a corresponding bitterness at my own lack thereof. And that reeks with the pungent aroma of pride.

Is the pastor friend that I mentioned in my last entry a BETTER example of lowly living than a big-name big-church pastor with a slew of books on the market? I’d like to think so, but such a conclusion would be rooted in nothing but shallow observation. My desire to even the score and bring others down to my own level is an evidence of pride in my life. And my quickness to cast judgment on others who succeed should make me question how well I am walking the lowly kingdom way.

working your way to the bottom

2007-04-18T14:58:00.001-05:00

Last December I had lunch with a pastor of a small church in Michigan City, Indiana. I had only met this new friend a few months earlier, but our every interaction thereafter impacted me significantly. This particular encounter would prove to be our last and most profound.

For several weeks, something had been stirring in the spiritual life of my friend, and as he attempted to speak with me about it, he found himself overcome with emotion. I waited patiently as he described some of the events that had taken place, and it soon became obvious that the Lord’s hand was moving in his life. At one point in the conversation I asked my friend what he thought the Lord was up to; why these things were happening at this particular time in his life. I’ll never forget his response.

Before I tell you what he said, I think it might help to have a little background. My friend was born and raised in South Africa, and had cut his teeth in ministry working among the poor in urban slums. He had come to the United States for Bible training and had decided to stay and plant a church in Gary, Indiana; arguably one of the more impoverished and hopeless towns in the country, and perhaps the least desirable place to live in the Midwest.

After successfully planting a church in Gary, he moved on to Michigan City, just a couple of exits away from Gary on the interstate. When I met him, his church served between 50 and 75 people, depending on the Sunday, and he was involved in caring for substance abusers and homeless folks. A man who had attended the church eventually robbed the church before serving several years of prison time. Once the man was released, my friend provided lodging for this individual as he got himself back on his feet.

The more I heard of my friend’s story and ministry, the more convinced I was that this was a man who walked the lowly road of the kingdom. But, that’s why his response to my question was so surprising. When I asked him what the Lord was up to, my friend explained that all of his life, he has longed to be ready to serve among the poorest of the poor. He explained that, years ago, he had too much pride for the Lord to be able to use him in such a significant ministry. His heart was not ready for such a high calling. But, he senses that the Lord may finally be moving him toward the kind of work that he has always dreamed of doing: serving and loving the poorest of the poor, the precious prizes of the kingdom.

In other words, my friend has, with the grace of God, been working his way to the bottom. His ambition in ministry is to climb down the social ladder rather than up. Long gone from his mind are visions of large congregations, beautiful buildings, fancy technology, book tours, speaking engagements and interviews on Larry King Live. His dream is to disappear among those who are dearest to our Lord. He has heard the high calling of the kingdom, and the call is to go low.

limbo stick

2007-04-11T01:12:00.000-05:00

Unlike many dance forms that merely require a body and a good beat, dancing the limbo demands the use of a physical prop: a stick. The limbo can’t be danced without it. Fortunately, limbo sticks are easy to come by, and may vary in shape and size from a janitor’s broom to a piece of driftwood on the beach. The quality of the dance is directly related to the height of the stick; and the further a dancer advances in the dance, the closer to the ground the stick brings him.

It is dangerous to compare the cross of Christ to a limbo stick, but I think there are interesting similarities worth noting. The danger lies in the fact that the two are different in far more ways than they are alike. Whereas limbo sticks are multitudinous and easily disposable, the cross is unique and immeasurably valuable. Whereas limbo sticks move at the whim of their holders, the cross is firmly fixed in the sovereign will of God.

But one similarity between the two worth mentioning is the centrality of the wood, of the pole, of the leveling object to the performance of the dance. Where each is concerned, the dance is impossible without it. Thus, each exercises influence over every step of the dance.

A second similarity relates to the effect of each object on the dancer. As with the limbo stick, the further a grace dancer advances in the dance of the kingdom, the lower to the ground the cross will bring him. And interestingly, any dancer in either dance who does not find himself steadily progressing closer and closer to the ground must ask himself whether or not he is really participating in the dance at all.

And so, the lessons of lowliness are always taught in the shadow of the cross, the leveling limbo stick that consistently directs us downward as we dance.

from Caedmon’s Call, The Danse

Jesus dansed into the world, singing his heavenly song
He taught the danse to those who would listen and learn as he moved along
But the steps of His danse, they led to a cross
where He died while the haters mocked on
But He dansed through death’s arms and over hell’s gate
And in three days dansed forth from His tomb.

We must danse, danse, danse
Danse in God’s honor
We must yield our steps unto the King
We must danse, danse, danse
Danse in God’s honor
Let His praises ring throughout the earth!

dance of the doorkeeper

2007-03-31T02:14:00.000-05:00

“I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God . . .”

I read Psalm 84 just a few days ago, and wondered as I read the above line whether this was really true of me. So far, my faith in Christ has not cost me much in terms of social status or peer recognition. Although working as a high school teacher was by no means a prestigious or lucrative vocation, many people that I interacted with saw it as a respectable, perhaps even humanitarian endeavor. And now that I am serving the Church full time in a foreign context, I still don’t have much prestige or make much money. But, I continue to enjoy some level of respect and occasionally admiration among those who consider themselves followers of Christ and participants in His kingdom. That is to say, most of the folks that I associate with recognize some significant value both in what I used to do for a living and in what I presently do. And this, to a certain extent, can help make up for the fact that I’m not among the growing number of millionaires and cultural phenoms in their 30s.

But Psalm 84 is written by someone whose love for the presence of God seems to deliver him from the need, not just for prestige or money, but even for the respect and recognition of his peers. A doorkeeper is wallpaper. A doorkeeper is merely one of many minor components that together point to the glory and majesty of the temple. The unique characteristics of the doorkeeper’s personality, his gifts and talents, his life experiences, his previous accomplishments are irrelevant. He is easily dispensable, and doorkeepers in general are readily interchangeable. In fact, chances are good that if he were sick one day and replaced by someone else in the role of doorkeeper, no one would notice the difference. No one tells a doorkeeper what a good job he is doing keeping the door. No one thanks a doorkeeper for keeping the door. Depending on where he is located and what is expected of him, it is quite possible that a stone statue could do his job.

In light of that image, I know for certain that I am unable at present to declare with the sons of Korah, “I would rather be a doorkeeper.” I consistently find myself wondering what my unique contribution will be in any number of areas. Though I may not verbalize it, I regularly sense a pressing need to distinguish myself from the crowd somehow. What will make me stand out? What will I be remembered for? And my own concern in this regard relates not so much to the immediate: what will make me stand out tonight at this gathering I will be attending? Rather, it is more long term: what will cause people to look back at the life I have lived and conclude that I have lived well and have made a difference somehow in the world?

Not long ago, I watched Brad Pitt play the role of Achilles in the movie Troy. Although the degree to which he was consumed with his own legacy could easily be considered extreme, I sensed traces of a similar hunger lurking within my own heart. A hunger to be remembered for something. A hunger to leave my mark on this age. A hunger to stand out among the members of my generation.

I could easily blame others for this craving. For many years, people have suggested to me that I would really do something with my life. They have compared me to recognized names who have gone before me in ministry. And although, in the moment, I have in feigned humility laughed off the comparison, I would by lying if I said there weren’t some hint of longing for such recognition lingering within my soul. Maybe even more than just a hint.

But Achilles was clearly a miserable man (at least, that’s how Brad Pitt portrayed him). And I am becoming convinced that the pursuit of a legacy, of a name, whether it be in the business world or in the arts or academics, or even in the Church (perhaps especially in the Church) provides fertile ground in the heart for the choking weeds of pride and selfish ambition to grow and squeeze out all joy-giving spiritual life. Men and women intent on making a name for themselves have no place in the dance of the kingdom. The awkward weight of their ambition makes limbo dancing impossible. They can’t lower themselves for fear that they might drop their dreams, lose their legacy, miss out on their life mission.

And so I return to the doorkeeper. This particular doorkeeper, or maybe aspiring doorkeeper, in Psalm 84 is clearly dancing. Listen to the song he is dancing to:

For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere.
I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God
Than dwell in the tents of wickedness.
For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor.
No good thing does he withhold from those who walk uprightly.
O Lord of hosts, blessed is the one who trusts in you!

Something tells me that this aspiring doorkeeper gets it. He doesn’t just understand that the favor of the Lord is superior to the favor of men. Unlike many of us it seems, he really believes it! He has become convinced of the paradox described in my previous posting: that the way down is the way up, that to be low is to be high . . . that to have nothing is to possess all.

Oh, I’m so far from this. Lord, please cause me to be revolted by my own pride and selfish ambition. Please teach me the dance of lowliness, the dance of the doorkeeper. I’m no good at this dance. I’m carrying too much cumbersome garbage. Strip me of these hindrances I pray, and clothe me in the simplicity and humility of the kingdom.

Limbo Lines

2007-03-27T00:04:00.000-05:00

A few lines of lowliness from Arthur Bennet's collection of Puritan prayers and devotions, The Valley of Vision:

LORD, HIGH AND HOLY, MEEK AND LOWLY,
Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision,
where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights;
hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold thy glory.

Let me learn by paradox
that the way down is the way up,
that to be low is to be high,
that the broken heart is the healed heart,
that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,
that the repenting soul is the victorious soul
that to have nothing is to possess all,
that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,
that to give is to receive,
that the valley is the place of vision.

Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from the deepest wells,
and the deeper the wells the brighter thy stars shine;
Let me find thy light in my darkness,
thy life in my death,
thy joy in my sorrow,
thy grace in my sin,
thy riches in my poverty,
thy glory in my valley.

dancing at home

2007-03-22T03:45:00.000-05:00

For several months now, life circumstances have provided me with a lot of time at home. My wife and I have three young children, so this is a good season of life for a “tag-team.” Annie and I do a lot of trading off in order to allow each other time for various pursuits, like devotions, exercise, cleaning, and any number of other tasks. As much as I would like to say that I have loved every moment of it, I can’t . . . because I haven’t. This arrangement has been very challenging at times. On any given day, I will find myself washing dishes, cleaning floors, making beds, picking up toys, changing dirty diapers and soiled clothing (sometimes for the same child within the same half-hour). I am faced with the persistent plea, “daddy, will you play with me,” which any parent knows is excruciatingly painful to turn down. The action and the noise and the needs are unrelenting. And although I love my children and thoroughly enjoy spending time with them, living continually in their presence can be exhausting. At the very least, this time has served to deepen my appreciation for the high calling of any parent who chooses to make their children their life vocation. Marketplace employment is far less demanding!

One other effect of this extended time at home relates to the dance of lowliness. I’m starting to think that home may be the hardest place to perform this dance well. Limbo dancing is easier for me, I think, among strangers or mere acquaintances than it is among my loved ones. For some reason, it can be really hard to humble myself in service of my wife and of my kids. Although at times it can be joyful to do so, I find that often it requires an act of the will that goes contrary to what I really want in the moment. I can find myself mentally asserting my rights, and recounting the list of “good deeds” I have already performed on behalf of the family. I may weigh out in my head a measure of the time I have spent with the kids in a particular week in comparison with the time my wife has spent with them (by the way, if I am honest, she has always spent far more).

An analogy that Annie and I have discussed on several occasions involves two people riding a tandem bike. If you have ever ridden a tandem bike for any extended distance, particularly if you have ridden in front, you know how easy it is to become convinced that YOU are doing all the work. You can’t see behind you, and it can easily feel like the person back there isn’t peddling at all. This is especially true when trying to work your way up hill. In fact, on the few occasions that I have ridden a tandem bike up hill with someone else, I have found myself getting ticked off inside at the laziness of my riding partner . . . even though I really have no idea how hard they are peddling. It was revealing to me, after the first time that Annie and I rode a tandem together, when she explained that she had felt the same way about me. So, here we both are, peddling as hard as we can, and thinking that the other person is just sitting back and enjoying the ride.

Living family life together as parents of three can be just like that! I think I’m doing all the work, and she thinks she’s doing all the work; and we both end up frustrated that the other person isn’t pulling their fair share. And this is where the dance of lowliness kicks in. The moment I decide to keep peddling no matter how hard she is peddling; the moment I decide to keep serving no matter how hard she is serving; the moment I decide to keep loving no matter how much love I feel coming my way, I have shifted from a stressful labor to a joyful dance. And the longer this season at home lasts for me, the more I am learning about turning labor to dancing with the help of humility.

dancing in fear

2007-03-06T08:36:00.000-05:00

I read this passage in Psalm 33 a few days ago:

From heaven the Lord looks down and sees all mankind;
from his dwelling place he watches all who live on earth -
he who forms the hearts of all,
who considers everything they do.
No king is saved by the size of his army;
no warrior escapes by his great strength.
a horse is a vain hope for deliverance;
despite all its great strength it cannot save.
But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him,
on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,

In him our hearts rejoice,
for we trust in his holy name.
May your unfailing love rest upon us, O Lord,
even as we put our hope in you.

In my first entry, I acknowledged my fear of being considered a failure (I used the term “loser”) and suggested that this fear may hinder my ability to walk in the way of the kingdom. One way I typically respond to this fear is to put my strengths on display and to keep my weakness under the bed as much as possible. I want others to recognize the best aspects of who I am, and may even exaggerate these when the opportunity presents itself. And, I want others to miss the worst parts, the things of which I am ashamed or about which I feel insecure. Often, I do this without even consciously deciding to. It is so natural for me; an impulse that acts on its own without requiring any thought or direction.

But, this need to convince others of my value and keep them blinded to my limitations is really a form of slavery in my life. It exercises influence over so much of what I say and do that, at times, it is difficult to tell what actions and words are really coming from my genuine self. Did that statement really reflect who I am, or was it a projection of what I would like others to think about me? Did I do that because I really wanted to, or was that action driven by some sense of expectation or some inclination to confirm or correct another person’s perception about me? It is not hard to see why a life lived in this kind of captivity could so easily be void of real satisfaction.

And I think this is one reason why I am so drawn to the way of the kingdom. Walking in the kingdom way requires a person to be more true to themselves, to who God made them to be, and less controlled by the opinions and expectations of others. Whenever I catch glimpses of this in the lives of saints who have walked before me, or in a few who live this way today, something within me stirs in recognition of the obvious freedom that they seem to enjoy.

The kingdom way invites folks to do the opposite of what they are predisposed to do; to boast in weakness and consider as garbage those “strengths” that they once boasted in. As the Psalm says, the size of the king’s army and the strength of the soldier are of no use to him when he stands beneath the watchful gaze of the all-powerful God. In a society that is so consumed with size, and strength, and beauty, and riches, and fame, and visible forms of success, our greatest hope is that others would notice any evidence of these in our lives. But the one who walks in the way of the kingdom rejoices in the absence of these things in his life experience, knowing that they are fools gold.

I am amazed at how concerned I can be about the opinions of men, when these opinions shift so quickly and are rooted in false values and empty ideals. But the kingdom invites me to change the stage upon which I perform. Much of my life has been lived on the stage of public opinion, being fed by the cheers of the audience and starved by their boos (or even worse, their disinterest). The kingdom invites me to a new stage for an audience of one: from heaven the Lord looks down and sees . . . he watches . . . he considers everything I do. The Psalm tells me that “the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those who hope in his unfailing love.”

And so I find myself dancing in a new kind of fear. I once danced in the fear of a fickle crowd of men and women whose satisfaction with my performance never lasted long. That dance was an attempt to display the best of what I had to offer; to reach heights of achievement that might inspire awe in those who observed me. This new dance requires that I abandon the best of my old repertoire. It is a dance of lowliness requiring an entirely different technique. It is a dance best performed away from the spotlight. It is a dance that often leaves me flat on my back. And yet, I’m finding already that there is joy in this dance of an entirely different kind.

dancing in silence

2007-02-26T15:54:00.000-05:00

As a literature major and high school English teacher, I naturally tend to be wordy. Those who know me would readily agree that I bend toward verbosity. And so it makes sense that blogging might attract my attention as an avenue for satisfying this appetite for written expression. However, as a follower of Christ with an elementary but growing grasp of His kingdom way, I’m coming to find that less is more with regard to the spoken and written word. In fact, silence, rare though it may be in the daily experience or practice of the common American, is both characteristic of God Himself and of those who walk in the way of the kingdom. I am only now beginning to discover that silence is not the absence of communication. In fact, communication is often enhanced rather than hindered by silence.

I once heard about an interaction between Mother Theresa and a reporter (some have suggested it was Dan Rather) who had asked her about what she says when she prays to God. Apparently, she replied, “I don’t say anything. I just listen.” When the reporter asked what God says to her, she apparently replied, “He doesn’t say anything either. He just listens.” She went on to say, “if you don’t know what that means, I can’t explain it.” Whether it happened or not, something about this dialogue rings true. And for a talkative person like me who takes great delight simply in hearing the sound of his own voice, there is a warning here: don’t let your love for language limit your ability to listen. This could be restated in the form of a beatitude: Blessed are the silent, for they hear the voice of God.

Since the start of the new year, I have been praying James 1:19 for myself: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry. Although this admonition clearly applies to the spoken word, I also sense its relevance to the written word. The internet is reverberating with visual noise, and bloggers are among the primary contributors to this din. And so it seems potentially contradictory for me to be praying for a quickness to listen and a slowness to speak, while at the same time making my own contribution to the often self-gratifying concert of voices that scream and shout in type. Given that this blog is simply one exercise in my own exploration of lowliness, my hope and prayer is that my writing will simply be a whisper that draws the occasional attention of a fellow traveler; a journeyman who, like me, has grown weary of the sound of his own voice. And yet, in the wake of extended seasons of silence, we may venture to speak from time to time in order to practice a softer and truer tone and language that resonate with the rhythms of the kingdom.

the dance begins

2007-02-22T13:21:00.000-05:00

Two weeks ago, I met a man named Mitch. Our conversation quickly turned to the subject of faith, and Mitch asked me this question: “Why is it that the people who end up following Christ are always losers?” I honestly don’t think the statement was meant as a personal attack on me; it was a genuine question. Even so, it poked at my gut like a long fingernail, prompting a flood of defensive thoughts and feelings. My mind immediately raced to generate a list of highly successful, rich and famous men and women who call themselves followers of Christ. Then, a train of thought emerged on the subject of “true greatness” and why the so called “losers” who follow Christ are really the winners. I prepared to wax eloquent on the misconceptions regarding “success” and the deceptive nature of status. And then it struck me: the real issue is that I don’t want to be considered a loser.

For some reason, it is easier for me to accept the fact that I am “lost” (a theological term that lays the basis for my need to be “found” or “saved” by Christ) than it is to accept the possibility that I might be a “loser” (often referring to a person of low social status and a general tendency toward failure in life). Something about the word, and the condition or position that it describes, is so dreadful that it may rank among the most debasing of insults in our culture. “Loser.” A loser is a guy that can’t get girls. A loser is a person with no friends. A loser lacks the social grace and trend awareness, the cultural savvy to know what to say and what to wear and what to do in the midst of the crowd. A loser is the opposite of everything that most people aspire to. And a loser is the person that I least want to be.

As I think through this interaction and consider how great my concern continues to be about what others think of me, my preoccupation with how my life is viewed relative to the rest of the world around me, I’m realizing how far I really am from the way of the kingdom; from the humble way of Christ, who I claim to follow. Although there is something subtly (or maybe overtly) ego-centric about blogging, I am drawn to the medium as a means for exploring the subject of lowliness in a way that might draw the thoughtful insights, experiences and criticisms of others. I fear that my own paranoia about being a “loser” (it’s a bit humiliating even to acknowledge that the thought crosses my mind, unsophisticated and immature as it seems to be) may hinder my own exploration and application of Jesus’ teaching on the lowly way of the kingdom.

In thinking through how I want to go about this, I find a metaphor emerging in my mind. I picture two people standing about 3 feet apart, holding a pole level between them, and about 3 feet off the ground. A third person is contorting his body into this unnatural position, with his head and torso thrown back, arms outstretched, and his body from the waste down thrust out ahead as he inches his way up to and eventually under the pole. Music is playing and people are laughing. They are dancing the limbo. Something about this dance speaks to the exercise I am hoping to engage in: an exercise in lowliness. In the limbo, the lower you go, the better you do. It is the opposite of virtually all other forms of exercise or entertainment in the world. It is often ungraceful. It usually makes fools of the participants. It nearly always evokes the raucous laughter of its observers. And yet, it is really fun! Something about the limbo reminds me of the lowly way of the kingdom. And so, I’ve entitled this blog, Limbo Dancing: Exercises in Lowliness.