On a summer morning in 1974, a young Frenchman stepped out seemingly into thin air. Perched nearly a quarter mile above the earth, Philippe Petit positioned himself at the edge of the South Tower. He put one foot out and began a spellbinding journey across the 130-foot span between the Twin Towers…yes, the fated towers of the World Trade Center. For 45 minutes the daring acrobat walked a ¾-inch wide bridge of cable. He paused to perform a quick dance step and pirouette. He lay down and conversed with seagulls. By 8:00 that Wednesday morning rain forced him into the waiting arms of Port Authority Police. He had crossed the span not once, but eight times.
Have you had a “mountaintop” experience? I’m not talking about a literal climb up or across the heights. But have you ever experienced such an exhilarating event that you actually felt a change in altitude? You felt certain you were floating among the clouds? People use the term to describe the births of their children. Or playing in the championship game. Or graduation from college, making the big sale, overcoming a fear. These are the great highs in life…the heights you never want to come down from. But you do. Sooner or later, gravity pulls you back to earth.
That’s exactly what happened to Philippe Petit. Shortly after the infamous World Trade Center crossing he suffered his first fall—from a height of 45 feet. In traversing the New York skyline at 1350 feet, he had accomplished the inconceivable. It was the routine—a conventional height—that tripped him up.
This is the truth of all mountaintop experiences—especially our spiritual highs.
Jesus walked along the shores of the Sea of Galilee and came upon two muscular men in a boat. He watched as they grasped a circular net and threw it into the waters. They returned the net to the boat to empty the catch and Jesus called to them. “Come with me and you will no longer cast for fish. You will fill your nets with men.” The pair left their boat and net behind and joined Jesus.
Further down the shore He found another pair mending their nets. “Come with me,” He shouted. And these two left not only their boat and nets, but also their father and his hired fishermen (Mark 1:14 – 20 paraphrase).
These four men gave up careers and property, and in the case of James and John, a modicum of prosperity. For three years they traveled with Jesus. They were a part of many mountaintop highs, including healings and miracles. They witnessed Jesus transform from physical to spiritual being.
But then there were the lows…the times when travels were boring and food was plain. James and John—the brothers Jesus nicknamed “Sons of Thunder”—shook things up by reminding Christ of the Kingdom He was to establish. They asked for the privileged seats of power in Jesus’ administration. They suggested that Jesus fill them with power to call down fire from heaven.
And when the heat was on, all four abandoned Jesus. They were on the team, riding a spiritual high, when Jesus called them as His disciples. They each had moments of virtue and intense devotion. But when Jesus was arrested, they asked themselves Is this all there is? They left and returned to fish the sea.
Perhaps you’re wondering what became of your mountaintop experience. You wonder when the excitement and passion left your call to follow Jesus. You question why Scripture seems dry, why you can’t seem to pray anything but “Thanks, God.” When did you start simply going through the motions of worship and service?
Philippe Petit experienced his one and only high wire fall during a practice session. He knew what he was doing…as he had done so many times before. It was routine. Complacency. He temporarily lost focus and left the wire.
Dry spiritual lows offer two options: 1) the uphill climb out of the valley, or 2) the crashing fall. If you’re feeling lifeless in your spiritual journey, stay with the routine. Don’t abandon or lose focus. Call out. Cry out. But keep walking—one foot in front of the other. And maybe add a spin or pirouette.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
IF I HAD A PULPIT: Service Calls
Though we were raised hundreds of miles apart, my husband and I share a similar summer memory. In fact, I think it’s a common recollection for most who grew up in the 60s. By day, we freely roamed the streets and playgrounds of our neighborhoods—pretty much unsupervised. Early each morning we hopped on our bikes and left home to explore and battle and conquer that world around us. Our days ended when by some mystically choreographed signal, the air filled with varied singsong bellowing. All around the neighborhood, ballgames came to an abrupt end, dolls were haphazardly packed into wardrobe cases, and secret treasures were quickly hidden away. Kids picked up discarded bikes and raced home. Mom had called.
We all knew what it meant when the afternoon waned and Mom stepped out on the front porch. When we heard the distinctive blare of our own name (or, in the case of the Powell kids, the piercing whistle), we knew there was no time to spare. Everything had to be abandoned at the sound of Mother’s call.
This Tuesday when our new President takes office, he will undoubtedly address America with a call of his own. Be ready to take action when Barack Obama calls this country to step up to community service. Mr. Obama campaigned on a platform of “citizen engagement” intended to lead the nation into expanded voluntary service. His plan calls for increased civic service opportunities for working Americans, retirees, and disadvantaged young persons. It outlines proposals to broaden AmeriCorps and the Peace Corps, integrate service-learning into public education, and help non-profit agencies introduce and grow successful service programs.
Americans will respond to this call. People believe in Barack Obama and the promise of change he brings to government. It is also well acknowledged that Mr. Obama comes to the presidency with a background rich in public service. His campaign calls it the “cause of his life.” As a student, Obama was active in poverty and health care issues in the US, and movements opposing South African apartheid. He served in community development and voter registration projects in Chicago. When President Obama makes the request for all Americans to step into voluntary service for the good of their communities, people will answer with resounding “yes.”
The more important thing, however, is not that the call is answered. It is whom we answer to. When my mother stood on the porch of our home on Berry Street and called my name, I responded. I reported to her. I didn’t peddle my legs off and then check in with the next-door neighbor. I went to my mom. And if by some chance I did not show when called, she returned to the porch. She called until I answered.
A young apprentice was serving in his master’s work place late at night. The boy fell asleep, but awoke at the sound of his name. Immediately, he went to the master to see what was needed. But the master had not called. He encouraged the lad to return to his own quarters.
Soon the child’s sleep was again interrupted. He returned to the master and was again dismissed. The boy heard his name a third time and went to see what was required. Finally the master discerned it was a greater call.
Three times the Lord called to Samuel (I Samuel 3:1 – 10). In obedience, the boy responded each time, but he did not answer the one who had summoned. Samuel could not fulfill the call on his life until he answered the One calling to him.
When our new president puts out the call for service, thousands—hopefully millions—will respond. In the excitement of this new era and hope for change, many will step forward and volunteer in their communities. We will answer in obedience because of the one who gave the call, but we won’t answer to him. Barak Obama will not hold us accountable. Likely, he will not stand before us and wait for a response.
But God does. This call to increased community service is not the brainchild of the American Democratic party—it’s the work of the church. Jesus asked His followers to care for the “least of these,” to visit the prisoners, feed the hungry and clothe the naked, to welcome strangers. The need for that work continues today. God is calling His people to mentor, build homes, to make beds and prepare meals at shelters. He’s asking for our vocational skills to teach, heal and nurse, fundraise, entertain. He needs our financial resources. God has placed the call; He is the one we answer to. He holds us accountable. He will call repeatedly if we don’t answer. And God is blessed when the response the same as young Samuel's, “Your servant is listening.”
We all knew what it meant when the afternoon waned and Mom stepped out on the front porch. When we heard the distinctive blare of our own name (or, in the case of the Powell kids, the piercing whistle), we knew there was no time to spare. Everything had to be abandoned at the sound of Mother’s call.
This Tuesday when our new President takes office, he will undoubtedly address America with a call of his own. Be ready to take action when Barack Obama calls this country to step up to community service. Mr. Obama campaigned on a platform of “citizen engagement” intended to lead the nation into expanded voluntary service. His plan calls for increased civic service opportunities for working Americans, retirees, and disadvantaged young persons. It outlines proposals to broaden AmeriCorps and the Peace Corps, integrate service-learning into public education, and help non-profit agencies introduce and grow successful service programs.
Americans will respond to this call. People believe in Barack Obama and the promise of change he brings to government. It is also well acknowledged that Mr. Obama comes to the presidency with a background rich in public service. His campaign calls it the “cause of his life.” As a student, Obama was active in poverty and health care issues in the US, and movements opposing South African apartheid. He served in community development and voter registration projects in Chicago. When President Obama makes the request for all Americans to step into voluntary service for the good of their communities, people will answer with resounding “yes.”
The more important thing, however, is not that the call is answered. It is whom we answer to. When my mother stood on the porch of our home on Berry Street and called my name, I responded. I reported to her. I didn’t peddle my legs off and then check in with the next-door neighbor. I went to my mom. And if by some chance I did not show when called, she returned to the porch. She called until I answered.
A young apprentice was serving in his master’s work place late at night. The boy fell asleep, but awoke at the sound of his name. Immediately, he went to the master to see what was needed. But the master had not called. He encouraged the lad to return to his own quarters.
Soon the child’s sleep was again interrupted. He returned to the master and was again dismissed. The boy heard his name a third time and went to see what was required. Finally the master discerned it was a greater call.
Three times the Lord called to Samuel (I Samuel 3:1 – 10). In obedience, the boy responded each time, but he did not answer the one who had summoned. Samuel could not fulfill the call on his life until he answered the One calling to him.
When our new president puts out the call for service, thousands—hopefully millions—will respond. In the excitement of this new era and hope for change, many will step forward and volunteer in their communities. We will answer in obedience because of the one who gave the call, but we won’t answer to him. Barak Obama will not hold us accountable. Likely, he will not stand before us and wait for a response.
But God does. This call to increased community service is not the brainchild of the American Democratic party—it’s the work of the church. Jesus asked His followers to care for the “least of these,” to visit the prisoners, feed the hungry and clothe the naked, to welcome strangers. The need for that work continues today. God is calling His people to mentor, build homes, to make beds and prepare meals at shelters. He’s asking for our vocational skills to teach, heal and nurse, fundraise, entertain. He needs our financial resources. God has placed the call; He is the one we answer to. He holds us accountable. He will call repeatedly if we don’t answer. And God is blessed when the response the same as young Samuel's, “Your servant is listening.”
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
IF I HAD A PULPIT: Separating Truths
Separate/Separation…
…to divide, as with an egg (splitting the yolk from the white) or laundry (keeping the light-colored clothes from the darks).
…a social system designed to keep groups apart; i.e., segregation justified by equality of services and facilities.
…a political and legal wall between two institutions ensuring the independent administration of each, as with church and state.
…(plural) as in components of a woman’s wardrobe…spring and summer tops and shorts, winter blazers and slacks.
…in some marriages, a time of living apart often preceded by separate accounts, separate vacations, filing separately, and separate beds.
The idea of separation may conjure fearful and heart-tugging images. It may simply have a more practical application. Perhaps it reminds us of injustice. We live in an inclusive society that encourages—no, demands—that no one be set apart to be labeled different. Separation divides and sets distinction. It just seems wrong.
But there is nothing wrong with separation as established by God. On the very first day of creation God’s Spirit hovered over the earth, moving back and forth across dark waters. God looked into the darkness and summoned forth light. Imagine that. Out of darkness, He created light. It was good—very good—so God separated light from darkness. He gave the earth time of prolonged darkness followed by time of prolonged light and named them accordingly: night and day (Genesis 1:1 – 5).
Creating light and separating it from the darkness gave the formless earth its first structure. Day filled the earth with the light necessary for the growth of plants and animals. It illumined the workspace given to man as he named and cared for the creatures. When night fell, man’s work was done. He and the rest of the earth relaxed and refreshed in the darkness. But only because the light and the dark were separated.
Separation is part of God’s order for the perfect functioning of His creation. He intricately designed and crafted this world to operate to His specifications, with boundaries around each created thing. These boundaries provide limits so all things function efficiently and completely, according to their purpose.
God separates to keep people or things distinct, pure, and dedicated to Him. He set the Israelites apart from the other nations to be His people. He asks His people today to separate from the world around them. The common catch-phrase is “we are in the world, not of the world.” We live here, work here, play here. But we do not belong to the world. We are God’s children. Our home is with our Father. While we live here, however, we are to distinguish ourselves from the evil and corruption that has tainted this world.
Though light is separated from dark and dark from light, there are times when the two mingle. Night overtakes day at sunset, and day breaks through night at sunrise. Day and night are divided by shadowy times of indiscernible spectrum.
And this is true for God’s people as well. Though we are to distinguish ourselves, it is in our lifestyles—loving one another, forgiving trespasses, expectant in hope for promised return of our Savior—that we separate from the world. We are not to withdraw and hibernate with our “own kind.” We are to live as lights in the darkness, drawing out the lost and guiding the wounded. We may look the same as everyone around us, but it is a bearing, a demeanor, that sets us apart.
How difficult is it to be thankful for separations? Isolating yourself from friends, family, or co-workers may sound depressing. A willingness to be the different, odd one can be daunting. Regardless, can you give God thanks for creating the separations around you? Can you thank Him for setting you apart to belong to Him and not the world? Can you celebrate your distinction as a child of God?
…to divide, as with an egg (splitting the yolk from the white) or laundry (keeping the light-colored clothes from the darks).
…a social system designed to keep groups apart; i.e., segregation justified by equality of services and facilities.
…a political and legal wall between two institutions ensuring the independent administration of each, as with church and state.
…(plural) as in components of a woman’s wardrobe…spring and summer tops and shorts, winter blazers and slacks.
…in some marriages, a time of living apart often preceded by separate accounts, separate vacations, filing separately, and separate beds.
The idea of separation may conjure fearful and heart-tugging images. It may simply have a more practical application. Perhaps it reminds us of injustice. We live in an inclusive society that encourages—no, demands—that no one be set apart to be labeled different. Separation divides and sets distinction. It just seems wrong.
But there is nothing wrong with separation as established by God. On the very first day of creation God’s Spirit hovered over the earth, moving back and forth across dark waters. God looked into the darkness and summoned forth light. Imagine that. Out of darkness, He created light. It was good—very good—so God separated light from darkness. He gave the earth time of prolonged darkness followed by time of prolonged light and named them accordingly: night and day (Genesis 1:1 – 5).
Creating light and separating it from the darkness gave the formless earth its first structure. Day filled the earth with the light necessary for the growth of plants and animals. It illumined the workspace given to man as he named and cared for the creatures. When night fell, man’s work was done. He and the rest of the earth relaxed and refreshed in the darkness. But only because the light and the dark were separated.
Separation is part of God’s order for the perfect functioning of His creation. He intricately designed and crafted this world to operate to His specifications, with boundaries around each created thing. These boundaries provide limits so all things function efficiently and completely, according to their purpose.
God separates to keep people or things distinct, pure, and dedicated to Him. He set the Israelites apart from the other nations to be His people. He asks His people today to separate from the world around them. The common catch-phrase is “we are in the world, not of the world.” We live here, work here, play here. But we do not belong to the world. We are God’s children. Our home is with our Father. While we live here, however, we are to distinguish ourselves from the evil and corruption that has tainted this world.
Though light is separated from dark and dark from light, there are times when the two mingle. Night overtakes day at sunset, and day breaks through night at sunrise. Day and night are divided by shadowy times of indiscernible spectrum.
And this is true for God’s people as well. Though we are to distinguish ourselves, it is in our lifestyles—loving one another, forgiving trespasses, expectant in hope for promised return of our Savior—that we separate from the world. We are not to withdraw and hibernate with our “own kind.” We are to live as lights in the darkness, drawing out the lost and guiding the wounded. We may look the same as everyone around us, but it is a bearing, a demeanor, that sets us apart.
How difficult is it to be thankful for separations? Isolating yourself from friends, family, or co-workers may sound depressing. A willingness to be the different, odd one can be daunting. Regardless, can you give God thanks for creating the separations around you? Can you thank Him for setting you apart to belong to Him and not the world? Can you celebrate your distinction as a child of God?
Saturday, January 10, 2009
PIONEER COLUMN (Jan 2009): You Are My Sunshine
Two vertical beams of light scan the night skies. As one journeys east the other moves west. On their return trip, they retrace the paths and eventually cross one another. This is the point of origin. This cross of lights marks where the beams begin.
Searchlights have been used for nearly a century to attract the public to grand events. As the logo of a well-known movie production company illustrates, searchlights are key to glamorous Hollywood movie premieres. They can also be found illuminating lesser events such as supermarket openings and used car sales. Lights arouse the curious. People flock to see—to be a part of—the extravaganza.
Advertising, however, was not the original function for searchlights. They were developed for warfare. The practice of night air raids had become an effective military tactic of World War I. Intended to catch troops and civilians by surprise, these bombings rendered victims defenseless and vulnerable.
Elmer A Sperry, electrical genius and entrepreneur, invented a portable anti-aircraft weapon, the Open-Type searchlight, to illuminate the night skies. Enemy aircraft caught in the arc of a rotating beam were exposed—made targets so that ground forces could bring them down. The high-intensity lights also blinded the pilots and gunners and made the bombing objectives made virtually invisible.
We, as Christians, are called to be “searchlights” in the world. With wide-arcing beams we’re called to signal the attention of others. We are to draw people to the great spectacle, the grand event that is the life and teaching of Jesus Christ.
Jesus described Himself as the Light of the World (John 8:12); He transferred that title to His followers (Matthew 5:14). Jesus expected His disciples to share, through teaching and life example, all He had instructed them. Followers who live an abundant life of joy—through prosperity as well as tragedy—draw attention. Disciples who serve mankind garner greater admiration than those who serve and promote self. Believers who preach good news signal hope to the weary and lost.
Yet how often is the light used to bring others down? We see people living in darkness, without direction, drifting aimlessly off course. Convinced our beacons will illuminate their path, we shine the light of truth. But it’s an intense light, exposing rather than guiding. Weaknesses are divulged and then targeted. The harsh glare of our light blinds. The lost turn away. The very people Jesus wants drawn to Him are repelled.
The prophet Isaiah told the nation of Judah that they too were lights in a dark world. They were exiles returned to the Promised Land, anxious for the restoration of their country and the leadership of the long-promised Messiah. Instead, they found frustration and misguidance at every turn. Reestablished in their homeland, they felt defeated.
“Wake up, people,” Isaiah encouraged. “The Lord has saved you! Share what you know about His goodness and faithfulness with the dark world. He has burst over you like beams of sunshine. You carry His warmth and brightness; you can break through the darkness covering this world. You are His sunshine. People who live in gloom throughout the world will be drawn to your re-invigorating light” (Isaiah 60:1 – 4 paraphrase).
Isaiah’s ancient words bear the same impact for God’s people today. You are God’s sunshine in this dark world. You know His salvation, His goodness, His faithfulness. You carry His light to break through the doom and gloom that remains in this world. How does your searchlight shine? Are you a blinding glare that diverts attention? Do you home in on the weaknesses of those around you? Or are you searching for the lost, beckoning with a soft, warm light? Will those who need Jesus be drawn to Him because of the light you cast?
Searchlights have been used for nearly a century to attract the public to grand events. As the logo of a well-known movie production company illustrates, searchlights are key to glamorous Hollywood movie premieres. They can also be found illuminating lesser events such as supermarket openings and used car sales. Lights arouse the curious. People flock to see—to be a part of—the extravaganza.
Advertising, however, was not the original function for searchlights. They were developed for warfare. The practice of night air raids had become an effective military tactic of World War I. Intended to catch troops and civilians by surprise, these bombings rendered victims defenseless and vulnerable.
Elmer A Sperry, electrical genius and entrepreneur, invented a portable anti-aircraft weapon, the Open-Type searchlight, to illuminate the night skies. Enemy aircraft caught in the arc of a rotating beam were exposed—made targets so that ground forces could bring them down. The high-intensity lights also blinded the pilots and gunners and made the bombing objectives made virtually invisible.
We, as Christians, are called to be “searchlights” in the world. With wide-arcing beams we’re called to signal the attention of others. We are to draw people to the great spectacle, the grand event that is the life and teaching of Jesus Christ.
Jesus described Himself as the Light of the World (John 8:12); He transferred that title to His followers (Matthew 5:14). Jesus expected His disciples to share, through teaching and life example, all He had instructed them. Followers who live an abundant life of joy—through prosperity as well as tragedy—draw attention. Disciples who serve mankind garner greater admiration than those who serve and promote self. Believers who preach good news signal hope to the weary and lost.
Yet how often is the light used to bring others down? We see people living in darkness, without direction, drifting aimlessly off course. Convinced our beacons will illuminate their path, we shine the light of truth. But it’s an intense light, exposing rather than guiding. Weaknesses are divulged and then targeted. The harsh glare of our light blinds. The lost turn away. The very people Jesus wants drawn to Him are repelled.
The prophet Isaiah told the nation of Judah that they too were lights in a dark world. They were exiles returned to the Promised Land, anxious for the restoration of their country and the leadership of the long-promised Messiah. Instead, they found frustration and misguidance at every turn. Reestablished in their homeland, they felt defeated.
“Wake up, people,” Isaiah encouraged. “The Lord has saved you! Share what you know about His goodness and faithfulness with the dark world. He has burst over you like beams of sunshine. You carry His warmth and brightness; you can break through the darkness covering this world. You are His sunshine. People who live in gloom throughout the world will be drawn to your re-invigorating light” (Isaiah 60:1 – 4 paraphrase).
Isaiah’s ancient words bear the same impact for God’s people today. You are God’s sunshine in this dark world. You know His salvation, His goodness, His faithfulness. You carry His light to break through the doom and gloom that remains in this world. How does your searchlight shine? Are you a blinding glare that diverts attention? Do you home in on the weaknesses of those around you? Or are you searching for the lost, beckoning with a soft, warm light? Will those who need Jesus be drawn to Him because of the light you cast?
Friday, December 26, 2008
IF I HAD A PULPIT: Get It Off Your Chest
We have a sweet display of crèches in the chancel of the Third Avenue church. Pastor Mike invited people to share their family nativity sets with the parish this Christmas season. Baby Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the shepherds and Wise Men are represented in various media: from porcelain to plaster-of-Paris, hand-carved wood to hand-cut paper. Most donors have left cards with a story belonging to the crèche. Some are treasured heirlooms, some gifts marking a special occasion. One was made by a group of 7- and 8-year-old boys just for this display. On Christmas Eve, we expect people to wander to the cancel to admire these beautiful depictions of the birth of our Savior Jesus.
As I admire the statues and stables, I notice among the young Marys a common feature. The maiden kneels before the manger with hands clasped to her heart…as if she’s trying to contain the matters of her son’s arrival, protecting all the memories surrounding the pregnancy and birth, keeping back the wonder of the miracle she’s experienced. She looks upon her child with gentle love, but she restrains the awe surrounding this monumental night.
Twice Luke’s Gospel tells us Mary “treasured all these things” (verses 2:19, 51). She set them as valuables in a storehouse, a place of safe-keeping. Verse 19 also tells us that she spent time “pondering them.” Mary reviewed the extraordinary events as most mothers do, questioning the future of her precious child. The word ponder comes from two words that mean union with or together and to throw [down]. In pondering the early events of Jesus’ life, Mary threw around the possibilities together with…? Whom?
With all that Mary had been through—an angel visitation, supernatural impregnation, broken engagement, unconsummated marriage, a 90-mile journey by donkey in her ninth month of pregnancy, and delivering her child in a barn—you’d think she would be prime for an appearance on Dr Phil. Common sense would indicate that Mary should not endure this ordeal in silence. Who could deny her the opportunity to vent, to rant, maybe even cash in on the story? She should have every opportunity to get it off her chest.
But that’s the very place Mary revered her circumstances. Luke says Mary held these extraordinary events in the safest place she knew—her heart. A private spot where she would review each moment and give each situation its rightful importance. Mary pondered these things in her heart, the place where God would join her in conversation.
Mary held all her circumstances in awe. She marveled at what was pronounced about her infant son. It amazed her that God would find her worthy of this sacred experience. Which, of course, explains why she found favor with God. Mary’s humility—the amazement that God would select a young, uneducated peasant girl to bear His Son—marked her as virtuous.
Humility distinguished Mary from other girls and women. It set her apart from many men and leaders of Jewish society. It was not a self-loathing or passive doormat state. Rather, it was the clear conviction that God was the source of any honor coming into her life. Mary knew that we earn no acclaim on our own. She understood that humility is recognition that without God, nothing we accomplish amounts to any good.
In a song of praise, Mary acknowledged God as her source: "For the Mighty One has done great things for me” (Luke 1:49). It was as if she were saying,
“He noticed me! I’m just a girl, but God my Savior has noticed me! I have nothing to offer Him, nothing that proves I am a person of worth. All I have is the quiet of my heart.”
In the quiet of her heart, God noticed Mary. He knew she “lacked” the world’s qualifications for worth: wealth, possessions, physical strength, leadership, education. But God was looking for something unique. He was looking for a heart that recognized its need for Him.
The proud heart has no room for God—it seeks its own glory. Its need is to be known, to tell its own story, to “get it off its chest.” Imagination springs from the proud heart and the story is embellished for the honor and adoration of the world.
How could such a heart be used in the mighty task of mothering God’s Only Son?
The humble heart welcomes God. In the quiet of acknowledging a need for Him, the humble heart joins with God in pondering all He has done. We call this worship—responding to God with quiet and stillness, joining with Him to converse, to ponder.
God noticed the young peasant girl’s modest heart. She responded to God’s call on her life with a willing trust. Despite the seeming impossibility of what He proposed, despite the cost it would surely mean to her future, Mary’s humbled heart was at peace. God confuses the ways of those who are “proud in the thoughts of their heart” (Luke 1:51), but the lowly heart has peace.
Mary had a story to share. An incredible story. But she kept it as a cherished treasure—safe from fame and boasting. Safe from the danger of embellishment. She kept it on her chest—within her heart. She shared it with God…and let Him share it with others.
As I admire the statues and stables, I notice among the young Marys a common feature. The maiden kneels before the manger with hands clasped to her heart…as if she’s trying to contain the matters of her son’s arrival, protecting all the memories surrounding the pregnancy and birth, keeping back the wonder of the miracle she’s experienced. She looks upon her child with gentle love, but she restrains the awe surrounding this monumental night.
Twice Luke’s Gospel tells us Mary “treasured all these things” (verses 2:19, 51). She set them as valuables in a storehouse, a place of safe-keeping. Verse 19 also tells us that she spent time “pondering them.” Mary reviewed the extraordinary events as most mothers do, questioning the future of her precious child. The word ponder comes from two words that mean union with or together and to throw [down]. In pondering the early events of Jesus’ life, Mary threw around the possibilities together with…? Whom?
With all that Mary had been through—an angel visitation, supernatural impregnation, broken engagement, unconsummated marriage, a 90-mile journey by donkey in her ninth month of pregnancy, and delivering her child in a barn—you’d think she would be prime for an appearance on Dr Phil. Common sense would indicate that Mary should not endure this ordeal in silence. Who could deny her the opportunity to vent, to rant, maybe even cash in on the story? She should have every opportunity to get it off her chest.
But that’s the very place Mary revered her circumstances. Luke says Mary held these extraordinary events in the safest place she knew—her heart. A private spot where she would review each moment and give each situation its rightful importance. Mary pondered these things in her heart, the place where God would join her in conversation.
Mary held all her circumstances in awe. She marveled at what was pronounced about her infant son. It amazed her that God would find her worthy of this sacred experience. Which, of course, explains why she found favor with God. Mary’s humility—the amazement that God would select a young, uneducated peasant girl to bear His Son—marked her as virtuous.
Humility distinguished Mary from other girls and women. It set her apart from many men and leaders of Jewish society. It was not a self-loathing or passive doormat state. Rather, it was the clear conviction that God was the source of any honor coming into her life. Mary knew that we earn no acclaim on our own. She understood that humility is recognition that without God, nothing we accomplish amounts to any good.
In a song of praise, Mary acknowledged God as her source: "For the Mighty One has done great things for me” (Luke 1:49). It was as if she were saying,
“He noticed me! I’m just a girl, but God my Savior has noticed me! I have nothing to offer Him, nothing that proves I am a person of worth. All I have is the quiet of my heart.”
In the quiet of her heart, God noticed Mary. He knew she “lacked” the world’s qualifications for worth: wealth, possessions, physical strength, leadership, education. But God was looking for something unique. He was looking for a heart that recognized its need for Him.
The proud heart has no room for God—it seeks its own glory. Its need is to be known, to tell its own story, to “get it off its chest.” Imagination springs from the proud heart and the story is embellished for the honor and adoration of the world.
How could such a heart be used in the mighty task of mothering God’s Only Son?
The humble heart welcomes God. In the quiet of acknowledging a need for Him, the humble heart joins with God in pondering all He has done. We call this worship—responding to God with quiet and stillness, joining with Him to converse, to ponder.
God noticed the young peasant girl’s modest heart. She responded to God’s call on her life with a willing trust. Despite the seeming impossibility of what He proposed, despite the cost it would surely mean to her future, Mary’s humbled heart was at peace. God confuses the ways of those who are “proud in the thoughts of their heart” (Luke 1:51), but the lowly heart has peace.
Mary had a story to share. An incredible story. But she kept it as a cherished treasure—safe from fame and boasting. Safe from the danger of embellishment. She kept it on her chest—within her heart. She shared it with God…and let Him share it with others.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
IF I HAD A PULPIT: Don't Blame Me
President Ronald Reagan enjoyed enormous popularity during his two terms in office. Though an arms-for-hostage scheme marred his last years, he left the White House in 1989 with the highest approval ratings of any US president since Franklin Roosevelt.
A young Democratic congresswoman noted a similarity between the president and the pan holding her children’s breakfast eggs. Patricia Schroeder, representative from Colorado, remarked, “After carefully watching Ronald Reagan, I can see he’s attempting a great breakthrough in political technology. He has been perfecting the Teflon-coated presidency. He sees to it that nothing sticks to him. He is responsible for nothing.”
The one thing that did stick to President Reagan was Schroeder’s metaphor. He became known as the first Teflon president.
What an enviable place to be, wouldn’t you say? The leader of the free world, the mouthpiece of democracy and responsible for protecting the liberties of millions…and blame could not attach itself to Ronald Reagan.
Now, it’s likely that you aren’t and won’t ever be in a place of such power, but even in your own circumstances, wouldn’t it be wonderful to be freed from blame? Can you even imagine facing charges and having them slide off you? Would it be possible to stand up to complaints and accusations without a string of explanations to back you up?
Of course you know that if you have accepted Jesus Christ as Savoir you are without fault. Every atrocity you’ve ever committed has been wiped away. You’re kind of a Teflon-Christian. The accusations may fly, but nothing will stick to you.
Nothing sticks, but is the life you’re living pleasing to God? You’re free from blame and accusation, but are you honoring God with the things you do? As a Christian, what do your actions say about the God who saved your life?
Though you are without blame, the day will come when you face Jesus to give an account of your life as a Believer. Much of our Christian theology is grounded in the belief that Jesus will return one day. He promised it; we therefore believe it. Jesus said, “Be ready.” He told us to be looking for it. Though we won’t know beforehand, we will see signs of His approach.
When He arrives He will appear in bodily form so that we can see Him and touch Him. And unlike His first time on earth, Jesus will return to judge the world. Believers and non-believers will stand before Him. What will stick to you when He asks, “What did you do with what I gave you?” Will you continue to stand as a Teflon-Believer?
It’s hard to comprehend, but God desires that we would stand before Him blameless, without fault—even on the day when Jesus rules with judgment. Paul said, For this is the will of God, your sanctification (1 Thessalonians 4:3). Sanctification--that’s one of those difficult church-words. It means holy, set apart, different from the world around you. God’s will is that we become a holy people, set apart from the world’s desires, and dedicated to His purposes.
Paul offered the Thessalonians sensible suggestions on how to fulfill God’s will:
Live in peace with one another. We urge you, brethren, admonish the unruly, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that no one repays another with evil for evil, but always seek after that which is good for one another and for all people. Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus (1 Thessalonians 5:13 – 18)
God’s will for you in Christ Jesus is that you would be made holy. That increasingly you would become like Jesus. That more and more, in what you say and what you do, you would reflect Jesus to the world.
God’s calls all His children to seek holiness for that Last Day—that day of judgment. His will is that you are able to stand holy and blameless and beyond reproach (Colossians 1:22), without spot or wrinkle (Ephesians 5:27). When the time comes to face Christ’s judgment, nothing will stick to the true Teflon-Christian.
A young Democratic congresswoman noted a similarity between the president and the pan holding her children’s breakfast eggs. Patricia Schroeder, representative from Colorado, remarked, “After carefully watching Ronald Reagan, I can see he’s attempting a great breakthrough in political technology. He has been perfecting the Teflon-coated presidency. He sees to it that nothing sticks to him. He is responsible for nothing.”
The one thing that did stick to President Reagan was Schroeder’s metaphor. He became known as the first Teflon president.
What an enviable place to be, wouldn’t you say? The leader of the free world, the mouthpiece of democracy and responsible for protecting the liberties of millions…and blame could not attach itself to Ronald Reagan.
Now, it’s likely that you aren’t and won’t ever be in a place of such power, but even in your own circumstances, wouldn’t it be wonderful to be freed from blame? Can you even imagine facing charges and having them slide off you? Would it be possible to stand up to complaints and accusations without a string of explanations to back you up?
Of course you know that if you have accepted Jesus Christ as Savoir you are without fault. Every atrocity you’ve ever committed has been wiped away. You’re kind of a Teflon-Christian. The accusations may fly, but nothing will stick to you.
Nothing sticks, but is the life you’re living pleasing to God? You’re free from blame and accusation, but are you honoring God with the things you do? As a Christian, what do your actions say about the God who saved your life?
Though you are without blame, the day will come when you face Jesus to give an account of your life as a Believer. Much of our Christian theology is grounded in the belief that Jesus will return one day. He promised it; we therefore believe it. Jesus said, “Be ready.” He told us to be looking for it. Though we won’t know beforehand, we will see signs of His approach.
When He arrives He will appear in bodily form so that we can see Him and touch Him. And unlike His first time on earth, Jesus will return to judge the world. Believers and non-believers will stand before Him. What will stick to you when He asks, “What did you do with what I gave you?” Will you continue to stand as a Teflon-Believer?
It’s hard to comprehend, but God desires that we would stand before Him blameless, without fault—even on the day when Jesus rules with judgment. Paul said, For this is the will of God, your sanctification (1 Thessalonians 4:3). Sanctification--that’s one of those difficult church-words. It means holy, set apart, different from the world around you. God’s will is that we become a holy people, set apart from the world’s desires, and dedicated to His purposes.
Paul offered the Thessalonians sensible suggestions on how to fulfill God’s will:
Live in peace with one another. We urge you, brethren, admonish the unruly, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that no one repays another with evil for evil, but always seek after that which is good for one another and for all people. Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus (1 Thessalonians 5:13 – 18)
God’s will for you in Christ Jesus is that you would be made holy. That increasingly you would become like Jesus. That more and more, in what you say and what you do, you would reflect Jesus to the world.
God’s calls all His children to seek holiness for that Last Day—that day of judgment. His will is that you are able to stand holy and blameless and beyond reproach (Colossians 1:22), without spot or wrinkle (Ephesians 5:27). When the time comes to face Christ’s judgment, nothing will stick to the true Teflon-Christian.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
PIONEER COLUMN (December 2008): A World of Despair
We live in discouraging times. With deep government debt, a plunging stock market, wars with no end, record-high mortgage failures and bankruptcies…we have to wonder, where is the hope? We see evil go unpunished. Suffering surrounds us. We fall into despair. Things will never change. They will always be this way.
Peter struggled to bring believers through just such despair. He spoke to them about the certainty of suffering—of being criticized, attacked, even hated—for sharing the Gospel. His greater concern, however, was damage that could come from within the ranks. Peter cautioned against complacency and encouraged followers to live out what they believed. He charged them to hold fast to the truth. He warned of leaders among them who would distort and subvert the Gospel message.
In his second letter, Peter assured the church that they would have false teachers among them. Preachers would ridicule those looking for the second coming of Christ. They will say, “Where is this ‘coming’ he promised?...everything goes on as it has since the beginning of creation” (2 Peter 3:4).
The people faced physical persecution from the Jews and emotional abuse from their own teachers. How bleak the world must have seemed. Where is the hope? How easy to slip into a sense that God had forgotten them. Things will never change. They will always be this way.
One of the great carols of the Christmas season comes from a time of deep despair. Tragedy had fallen on Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He lost his beloved wife in a freak and fiery accident in 1861. Then two years later, his eldest son was severely wounded while serving in the Union Army. On Christmas Day, 1864, with the Civil War raging, Longfellow penned a holiday poem of seven verses. We’re familiar with five of the stanzas that begin:
I heard the bells on Christmas Day, their old familiar carols play
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
This last line, repeated in all seven verses, seems to mock the truth played out in America that day. Longfellow’s despondency is transparent in two lesser-known stanzas:
Then from each black accursed mouth, the cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound the carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men.
It was as if an earthquake rent the hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn the households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men.
And then with the sixth verse, the poet acknowledges his despair. He cries out with words that seem to say, “Where is the hope? Things will never change. They will always be this way." In the misery of grief and the futility of war, had God forgotten Henry Wadsworth Longfellow?
No. Longfellow confidently concludes:
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead; nor doth He sleep!”
The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!
Peter similarly encouraged those he addressed. Though mockers scoffed and accused God of breaking a promise, Peter reminded the people that God was neither dead nor asleep. He was at work. He had not withdrawn His promise, nor was He delaying it. He was still working through it. Peter says: The Lord is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance (2 Peter 3:9).
God was and is using this period of time before Jesus returns to draw people to Him. With the promise of Christ’s second coming, God extends an incentive to join His fellowship. It is His greatest desire that no one would be left out, that no one would be lost on that last day. The message of Christmas is a message of hope: God first sent His Son to save the world. Despite the dire messages of the world (where is the hope? Things will never change), we take hope in the continual work of God. We find hope in believing His Son will return. As Longfellow said, The Right will prevail.
Peter struggled to bring believers through just such despair. He spoke to them about the certainty of suffering—of being criticized, attacked, even hated—for sharing the Gospel. His greater concern, however, was damage that could come from within the ranks. Peter cautioned against complacency and encouraged followers to live out what they believed. He charged them to hold fast to the truth. He warned of leaders among them who would distort and subvert the Gospel message.
In his second letter, Peter assured the church that they would have false teachers among them. Preachers would ridicule those looking for the second coming of Christ. They will say, “Where is this ‘coming’ he promised?...everything goes on as it has since the beginning of creation” (2 Peter 3:4).
The people faced physical persecution from the Jews and emotional abuse from their own teachers. How bleak the world must have seemed. Where is the hope? How easy to slip into a sense that God had forgotten them. Things will never change. They will always be this way.
One of the great carols of the Christmas season comes from a time of deep despair. Tragedy had fallen on Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He lost his beloved wife in a freak and fiery accident in 1861. Then two years later, his eldest son was severely wounded while serving in the Union Army. On Christmas Day, 1864, with the Civil War raging, Longfellow penned a holiday poem of seven verses. We’re familiar with five of the stanzas that begin:
I heard the bells on Christmas Day, their old familiar carols play
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
This last line, repeated in all seven verses, seems to mock the truth played out in America that day. Longfellow’s despondency is transparent in two lesser-known stanzas:
Then from each black accursed mouth, the cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound the carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men.
It was as if an earthquake rent the hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn the households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men.
And then with the sixth verse, the poet acknowledges his despair. He cries out with words that seem to say, “Where is the hope? Things will never change. They will always be this way." In the misery of grief and the futility of war, had God forgotten Henry Wadsworth Longfellow?
No. Longfellow confidently concludes:
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead; nor doth He sleep!”
The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!
Peter similarly encouraged those he addressed. Though mockers scoffed and accused God of breaking a promise, Peter reminded the people that God was neither dead nor asleep. He was at work. He had not withdrawn His promise, nor was He delaying it. He was still working through it. Peter says: The Lord is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance (2 Peter 3:9).
God was and is using this period of time before Jesus returns to draw people to Him. With the promise of Christ’s second coming, God extends an incentive to join His fellowship. It is His greatest desire that no one would be left out, that no one would be lost on that last day. The message of Christmas is a message of hope: God first sent His Son to save the world. Despite the dire messages of the world (where is the hope? Things will never change), we take hope in the continual work of God. We find hope in believing His Son will return. As Longfellow said, The Right will prevail.
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