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Musings

Broken

It seems a little anticlimactic for me to write this now, when so much has happened in my life since I thought these thoughts. But I think it is important to reflect on where I was a month ago, to better understand where I am now and where I will be heading in the future.

Our family traveled to Michigan to attend the 25th anniversary celebration of Trinity Evangelical Presbyterian Church, pastored by my father-in-law. We stayed there for 18 days, and I encountered between 30 and 40 old friends who had been praying for me regarding my search for a job. As I related the same story to each successive person, I found myself becoming strangely prone to tears, as the frustration and pain of 17 months of unemployment was thus verbally exposed.

I am a sentimental person; I regularly tear-up during annual viewings of “It’s a Wonderful Life” or any movie that displays deep loyalty or selflessness. But I am not given (my parents’ memories/opinion to the contrary) to excessive self-pity. It was very strange for me to lack control over my emotional equilibrium. I felt baffled and frustrated by God’s handling of my life. It seemed to me that I was being broken by God.

Intellectually, I know that God’s love for me burns so brightly, extends so deeply, that He wants me to enjoy an intimate relationship with Him, exclusive of other loves. I began to consider the other ‘loves’ of my life, the things that I hold to tightly, that God might be asking (or even requiring) me to relinquish.

Apart from God Himself, the greatest love of my life is my wife, closely followed by the love I have for my five children. Jesus said that we must ‘hate’ our earthly family in comparison to our relationship with Him. At this point, I don’t sense a requirement from God that I relinquish my grip on those loves. More perhaps on that later.

Imagine a bunch of helium balloons, each one labeled, for example:

Right to experience justice
Right to withhold forgiveness
Right to work, to earn, to provide for my family
Right to enjoy my work
Right for vengeance
Right to be vindicated when I am right
Right to comfort, luxury, to enjoy the fruits of my labor
Right to use my gifts and talents according to my direction
Right to feel secure
Right to spend time with my family
Right to count on God’s faithfulness, justice, goodness, truth
Right to spend time in relaxation

These are some of the values that I hold most dearly. Some of them are ‘good’ things, some of them are not; still, these are a few of my favorite things. Note the absence of raindrops that fall on my nose and eyelashes, and warm, wooly mittens. I use the word ‘Right’ to deliberately convey the sense of entitlement and personal ownership, as distinguished from things received as a gift.

I felt that God was calling on me to let go of these balloons. Some of them (like the right to withhold forgiveness) are unlikely to be returned to me — the scriptures speak pretty clearly and harshly about those who fail to forgive their fellow men. Others, like the right to count on God’s faithfulness, justice, goodness and truth, are guaranteed by God Himself (albeit as a gift, not as a ‘right’, although this may be symantic hair-splitting). Most of the others are counterfeit values; that is, they can only truly be enjoyed as a gift from God; they become worthless or even harmful when selfishly taken.

I am reminded of C.S. Lewis’ story The Magician’s Nephew, in which Digory is sent by Aslan to pick an apple from a magical tree in the center of a magical garden. The apple has the power to grant immortality, as demonstrated by the evil witch who climbs over the garden wall and steals an apple for herself. Digory is strongly tempted to take an apple for himself, especially when he considers the effect it might have on his terminally-ill mother. Conscious of his responsibility to obey Aslan, he completes the mission and (reluctantly) hands over the apple. As a consequence, the entire country of Narnia is protected for hundreds of years, and Digory receives (as a gift from Aslan) a second, lesser apple which ultimately results in the healing of his mother.

Digory questions Aslan about possible outcomes, should he have succumbed to the temptation of taking the apple for his own uses, to give to his mother. Aslan tells him:

“Understand, then, that it would have healed her, but not to your joy or hers. The day would have come when both you and she would have looked back and said it would have been better to die in that illness.”

There seems to be a dramatic difference between something that is selfishly grasped and something God-given, even when it is the same object.

Am I willing to let go of those “rights”? Some of them may not be returned to me; indeed, I am not permitted to ‘own’ them in any case, if I propose to make God my one true love.

What are my other alternatives? Many Christians live their days by apparently relegating God to the level of a side interest, or a hobby. God seems to permit this — the Church does not lack for marginal Christians. Do I really have to die to myself?

Is it even possible? Even if God persuades me at this time to relinquish my grip on these balloons, what will stop me from grabbing them back, or finding new balloons to hold on to in the future? Does exclusive love for God require a daily ‘taking up of my cross’ that includes frequent self-examination and repeated efforts to relinquish these shadow values?

How do I go about letting go of even one of these balloons? What would it look like, if I (even temporarily) relinquished one of these?

Holding on to a right includes:
Feeling resentment when someone infringes on it
Taking protective measures to avoid encroachment against it
Worrying about it
Requiring compensation or reparation when it is violated

I have come to the conclusion that for me, at this time, it is necessary that I seek God for Himself; that I not lay claim to anything beyond an intimate relationship with my Lord and Master. Everything else I should lay at His feet, for His good pleasure, to do as He sees best. I ought to make no demands, retain no rights, but simply make myself available for His work in accordance with His will.

How does this translate to day-to-day living? It would seem this is not a time to be making a lot of long-term plans. I have no idea where God will take me, so I’ll just put one foot in front of the next, continuing on in my current situation, waiting on God to direct my path.

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Parenting

Xylophone of Doom

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On the way home from Pokagon (a State Park just across the border in Indiana) we visited the Outlet Mall. Making a beeline for the Book Warehouse, several of my children admired a book with a built-in xylophone. No lover of noise-making toys, I gruffly assured them that I would NOT be purchasing the book for them, especially considering a long van-ride home.

Then I made a big mistake: I left Grand-Dad alone in the store with three of my kids while I took the other two to the bathroom. When I returned, the deed was done — he had purchased the book and given it to my children to share amongst themselves.

The book seemed innocent enough, and I’m sure that my father-in-law meant well. Who could be opposed to such wholesome songs as “Jesus Loves Me” or everyone’s favorite, “Ho-Ho-Ho-Hosanna!”, even when inexpertly rendered on a xylophone? Yet it is with such an exterior that Satan often disguises his most evil instruments of sin and temptation.

No sooner was the book out of the bag than my angelic offspring began to bicker among themselves for exclusive use. Years of parental instruction on the proper sharing of toys was thrown recklessly to the winds, as each child usurped their turn to pound out “This Is My Father’s World”. Even Sarah was able to quickly articulate (at shrieks exceeding 90 decibels) her outrage when Joshua sneakily made off with the book in the midst of the melee.

Admittedly, the book has a certain charm. Each of the 12 songs are laid out with colored numbers indicating which of the bars to strike with the little plastic hammer. With only a small amount of training, it is possible to generate a song that is actually recognizable (unlike similar efforts on a recorder, which generally produces a series of undistinguishable and off-key tweets).

My children do not lack for toys. Yet at 9:15 that evening, two of them were reduced to shouting recriminations and crying tears of frustration over the possession of this same xylophone. As I reflect, I have serious doubts that man can ever learn to live in peace with his fellow, if we cannot even gracefully share something as trivial as a xylophone.

Ooops — I better conclude this blog entry — Kathy just went downstairs and she left the xylophone on the bed — if I hurry, I might be able to sneak in an extra turn.

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Events

Honoring an Expert Builder

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I recently had the delightful privilege of attending the 25th anniversary celebration of Trinity Evangelical Presbyterian Church in Canton, Michigan. Pastored from its inception by my father-in-law, Reverend Bill Moore, the church was founded in 1979 and has enjoyed tremendous blessings from God of growth and ministry throughout the past quarter-century.

As a special treat for my wife’s parents, the celebration committee flew my entire family in from Washington (all seven of us), housed us lavishly at a nearby hotel, and whisked us out from a storage closet at the proper moment in the program. It was a glorious surprise, especially considering how many people were “in the know” — Kathy’s parents were overjoyed.

The congregation was unstinting in their enthusiastic desire to heap honors on Pastor Moore and Cindy — indeed, they presented them with a series of gifts and accolades that awoke a deep sense of “holy envy” in my heart. As I considered the ministry of that church over the past 25 years and all the spiritual “bricks” that built it, I was filled with a yearning that my life would be shown to have produced this kind of eternal fruit.

What are the bricks that make up a church? I’m not talking about the physical building, or even the individual members that exercise their spiritual gifts during a particular time slice in the life of a church. I’m referring to an N-dimensional church — one that occupies the usual three physical dimensions to be sure, but that extends across time and a number of spiritual dimensions as well.

Imagine a church that is measured in “length” in Biblical teaching, perhaps in “width” in fellowship; “tall” in terms of evangelical outreach. Viewing the slideshow of pictures assembled from the last 25 years, I was struck, even stunned, by the large number of lives that have been dramatically changed by the ministry of this church. Marriages saved, relationships restored, griefs comforted, families bound together. Men and women, boys and girls have found meaning, freedom and purpose in an intimate relationship with their Creator.

I think that a church, at least a thriving church, has a distinct vision or driving purpose specific to that particular body of Christ. It will possess a continuous history and often a connection to a larger organization. It may have scars and blemishes. Some churches acquire a disfiguring handicap that can transcend a particular time or membership and stunts growth for generations. Others develop policy and procedural “muscles” that help it to remain vital and to avoid falling into error or apathy.

One of the tributes for Pastor Moore involved a skit along the lines of “what if Bill Moore had not been our pastor?” The parodied Pastor Howitzer and his “my-way-or-the-highway” organizational philosophy threw Bill’s gentle style into sharp relief. Here Howitzer displays the organizational chart for his “Church of the Army of God”:

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A few minutes later, the spoof pastor has his secretary do pushups for failing to remember creamer in a cup of coffee — it really helped me to reflect (by dramatic contrast) on the type of influence that this particular pastor has had on this particular church, through patience, peace and kindness.

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I fear that if I were a pastor, I would tend toward the Howitzer model, particularly the camouflage vestments. This could be one among many reasons why God has not called me to be a pastor. :)

In his letter to the Corinthians, the apostle Paul writes:

“For we are God’s fellow workers; you are God’s field, God’s building. By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should be careful how he builds. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. If any man builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, his work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each man’s work.”

In my mind’s eye, I can picture Pastor Moore walking around the construction site with a set of plans, correcting a crooked wall here, arguing about windows with a foreman there, bringing cold soda-pop to a group of roofers in the hot sun, talking on the phone with material suppliers and generally overseeing the construction of God’s church over the years.

I think of my own life, and the things that I have built and am building that have eternal value. How much hay and straw and wood am I using in my day-to-day activities, as I serve my church, raise my children, build my business? And where can I lay my hands on some gold, silver, or costly stones?

It seems evident that my father-in-law, along with many others, has built with gold, silver and costly stones. Trinity EPC is a vibrant church with a large number of members actively using their spiritual gifts in the ministry of the church. Truly it is an honor and a privilege to be a part of God’s work and to see the result of our labors become so much larger than the sum of individual contributions.

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Silliness

Desperate Measures

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It is a sad thing to see a man brought to his knees by the trials and vicissitudes of life. In cases of extreme physical discomfort, even the most rational of men may set aside his education and experience, engaging in the most superstitious of rituals, hoping for some relief. I am ashamed to admit that I have fallen prey to such unscientific methodology, in the midst of allergy season.

I live in a forest, and I seem to be allergic to tree pollen. Rudely, the trees around here continue to pollinate each Spring, year after year, with no apparent concern for my troubles. A kindly neighbor has given me Green Magma Organic Dietary Supplement with Essential Nutrients, Active Enzymes, Antioxidants and Chlorophyll (ground hay), which I consume daily, much to the amusement of my children. As it is entirely unpalatable, I mix it with tomato juice:

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Mixed, it closely resembles tar, or at least it no longer looks like tomato juice. Nevertheless, I drink it down faithfully, hoping against hope that my allergic reaction to tree pollen will somehow be diminished by um, er, consuming minced barley grass.

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I suppose, even if eating hay does not help at all, it does not seem to do me any harm; I do try to resist the impulse to trot around the house neighing like a horse. Nobody seems to mind — during allergy season my family has come to expect a lot of weird noises and even weirder behavior from me.

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Musings

Spring!

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While I hear of snow flurries in other parts of the world, we enjoyed sunshine and temperatures in the upper 60′s (I even used the seventy word in one phone call boast). I happened to be out on the road on Saturday, and saw many trees just bursting forth in bloom, several captured here. God sure did a nice job creating this earth, didn’t He?

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