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
Friday, December 28, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
an apparent contradiction
“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.
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.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
a wideness in his mercy
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
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
Saturday, December 1, 2007
grace and lies
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)