Lighters and Cell Phones

Hallelujah . . . (Psalm 150:1).

It used to be cigarette lighters. Back when “The Omni” was still the primary concert venue in Atlanta that’s how people called for an encore. Little flames appeared all over the auditorium and the crowd would be going nuts, and once enough little flames popped up and the volume was sustained long enough, the band would come back for an encore.

I always felt left out of that moment. I never had a cigarette lighter. My personal habits were such that a lighter was not something I just happened to have in my pocket. Stopping to get one just for a concert never occurred to me, so I just stood there and made noise while others speckled the blackness with their little lights.

But today things are a little different. The light of choice at the end of a concert is a cell phone, and that I have. While the source of light has changed the experience is still the same. Lots of noise, a galaxy of cellular light spread across the darkness – and then the encore.

The final five Psalms are an on-your-feet celebration. The entire Psalter ends with succession of five exuberant “Hallelujah” Psalms, five different ways of saying “Praise the Lord.” When we pray these Psalms we’re standing up, holding our cell phones high, voicing light that shatters darkness with the Praise of God. We’re calling for an encore; we’re yearning for more of the music of heaven and the works that God accomplishes day after day.

Praise is not only the end of the Psalms. Praise is the end of all things. This is where everything is headed. And that includes you and me. We see a picture of it whenever we sing the old hymn “Amazing Grace.” The hymn ends with a picture of eternal praise, as fresh after ten thousand years as if it had just begun five minutes ago. All things end in praise. This is what we were made to do; it what “everything that has breath” was made to do.

Borrowing words from a familiar friend, we are helped by this explanation:

This crafted conclusion for the Psalms tells us that our prayers are going to end in praise, but that it is also going to take a while. Don’t rush it. It may take years, decades even, before certain prayers arrive at the “hallelujahs” . . . Not every prayer is capped off with praise. In fact most prayers, if the Psalter is true guide, are not. But prayer, a praying life, finally becomes praise. Prayer is always reaching toward praise and will finally arrive there. If we persist in prayer, laugh and cry, doubt and believe, struggle and dance and then struggle again, we will surely end up at Psalm 150, on our feet, applauding “Encore! Encore!” (Eugene H. Peterson, Answering God, p. 127).

This Sunday the Tour de France ends in Paris. The final stage is an exuberant triumphant ride into the city, crowds lining the streets. If the number one spot is not being contested, you’ll see some of the riders sipping champagne as they pedal the closing kilometers. It’s a party on the streets. It’s even a party on wheels.

It is fitting that today we conclude the Tour de Psalms. We come to the final reflection and give our attention to a single word: “Hallelujah.” The very last Psalm, Psalm 150, begins and ends with this word. And this word is where our lives are headed. This is the trajectory, the destination, of the ride of your life.

It may take a while to reach that destination. This ride is a long one. But there’s no doubt as to where we’re headed. You can begin today. Even in a dark place you can raise your cell phone. Break open the champagne if you wish. But get on your feet and find a way to give God praise.

“Hallelujah.”

Prayer: Psalm 150
Praise the LORD.
Praise God in his sanctuary;
praise him in his mighty heavens.
2 Praise him for his acts of power;
praise him for his surpassing greatness.
3 Praise him with the sounding of the trumpet,
praise him with the harp and lyre,
4 praise him with tambourine and dancing,
praise him with the strings and flute,
5 praise him with the clash of cymbals,
praise him with resounding cymbals.
6 Let everything that has breath praise the LORD.
Praise the LORD.

One Way or the Other

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord (Psalm 150:6).

Something odd happened in one of our church services this past Sunday. Nothing weird or offensive, just odd: as in peculiar and unfamiliar, slightly out of place but by no means inappropriate.

We had sung three verses of the opening hymn, a glorious text that extols God as “Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise.” This hymn text, composed in 1876, is based on 1 Timothy 1:17. “Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.”

I love this hymn. It’s a standard piece of our worship repertoire. The tune is familiar. The words are familiar. What was less familiar this past Sunday is what happened on the front pew as we started singing that last verse.

Someone raised their hand.

That’s right. They lifted their hand straight up in the air like they had a question. They extended the arm heavenward as if reaching for a jar on a high shelf, as if beaming their words to the Almighty with what some have referred to as the “Holy Spirit antennae.”

There are many churches where this kind of thing is as common as passing the offering plate. Ours is not one of them. Presbyterians in general are not given to bodily expressions of praise. We stand and sit, and occasionally push the envelope with measured applause, but hands being raised to organ music? As I said, that’s a little odd.

When that hand went up in the air, a couple of thoughts went through my mind.

The first was simply “Yes . . . that’s right . . . that’s fitting for what we are doing in this moment. It is so right for what we are saying with our mouths: ‘Great Father of glory, pure Father of light, thine angels adore thee all veiling their sight.’ Mere singing hardly seems to do this justice. Our hearts will not be lifted by singing only. Raise the hand with the voice. It is right.”

And then came the questions: “If it seems right, why do I not do that myself? Is it fear? Is it my upbringing? How is God to be praised?”

When Jesus made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, exuberant disciples greeted him with words of praise. Apparently the celebration bordered on raucous. Some of the more dignified religious leaders tried to maintain order. They urged Jesus, “Teacher rebuke your disciples.” Jesus basically told them that containment of praise was a waste of time and effort. “If they keep quiet the stones will cry out.” (Luke 19:39-40).

I have long resisted the notion that those who truly know how to praise God in fullness and freedom will do so with physical acts of worship. God is certainly praised in that way – but that’s not the only way. Episcopalians are just as capable of praise as the “holy rollers.” The restrained are to praise God as well as the expressive.

But whether restrained or expressive, what we all need to know is that God will be praised one way or the other. Praise isn’t optional. Jesus had it right. Either we’ll do it, or the rocks will take up the song. But God will be praised. Presbyterians are not exempt from praise. And the Pentecostals are not the only ones who know how it’s done. God will be praised and that praise is to come from everything that has breath. That includes you.

How do you praise God?

Prayer:
“Praise Ye the Lord! O let all that is in me adore Him! All that hath life and breath, come now with praises before Him! Let the Amen sound from His people again: Gladly for aye we adore him” (Praise Ye the Lord, the Almighty, The Hymnbook, 1).

Seeking Stability

I will praise you, O Lord, with all my heart (Psalm 138:1)

I’m not stable.

That’s not a psychological assessment or medical diagnosis, it’s a biblical truth. The Bible is quite clear that a double-minded man is unstable in all that he does (James 1:8). I’m afraid that’s me: Double-minded and thus unstable, at least for this week.

This week I’m trying to live with the story of Job, mining the opening chapter of that perplexing story for a singular clear message to speak on Sunday. The story of Job is unnerving and dark. This man is plunged into the deepest kind of suffering: the loss of his family, financial ruin and the loss of his business, and eventually the loss of his health. He ends up sitting in the dirt, scraping his flesh with a shard of pottery. That’s too much for us and we don’t know what to do with it. We turn our faces.

At the same time, every morning this week I have the opportunity to rummage the book of Psalms and pull together a few words about praise. The Psalms end with a crescendo of praise, reveling in God’s creative power and redemptive love. Since the Psalms end with praise it seems only right that a series of reflections on the Psalms end the same way. So praise it is for the remainder of the week.

It should be fairly obvious why my mind is divided, pulled one way by the words of praise and then another by pictures of suffering. It’s hard to get our minds around the praise of God and the anguish of people. Majestic chords reverberate above while melancholy strains echo here below. The dissonance is unbearable.

The bible, especially the Psalms, don’t merely encourage us to praise God. Praise is commanded. Do it. Praise the Lord. We’re willing, but pain makes it hard. We see the story of Job lived out again and again in so many ways. There’s a good chance you’ve lived that story yourself. How do we hold praise and suffering together – not simply in our thinking, but in our living? How do we live honestly in this world and still respond to God with praises?

The answer – or at least an important clue - to that question is found not in philosophical speculation, but in the text of the book of Psalms itself. As we spend time with these prayers we begin to notice that praise is possible in the midst of suffering.

It’s not unusual for a Psalm to give voice to deep distress and disturbing questions in one moment and then blurt out a word of praise to God in the next. It’s sounds a little strange to us, but it’s common in the Psalms. Psalm 13 is an example: five blunt questions are followed by three calls for help – and then a final sentence of praise. Where did that come from?

Dr. Steve Hayner, the newly appointed President of Columbia Theological Seminary, maintains that the essence of praise in the Psalms is found in the way those who suffer keep moving toward God, taking steps toward God in every circumstance. The Psalmists insist on dealing with God in all things, even their suffering. That’s why all of the Psalms, even the complaints, are called “Praises.”

This is a powerful and important insight. Praise is not an emotion. Praise is not even a type of happy language or God-talk. Praise is about the direction of your life, even in experiences of great affliction. To praise is to keep dealing with God, living life God-ward in all things.

How have suffering and praise mingled in your life experience?

Prayer:
I want to praise you with my whole heart and my whole life, O Lord. I want to move toward you with all that I am and all that I experience: when my cup is filled to overflowing and when it’s empty, when I’m at my best and when I’m at my worst, in the pleasures you give to me and in the pains as well. I will praise you with my whole heart, stable and steadfast by the help of your Spirit. Amen.

Learning Our Lines

. . . a song of praise is fitting (Psalm 147:1)

During the summer months it seems like a new movies hit the theaters every week. In recent days I’ve seen two of them: Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince followed a couple of days later by Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.

In most ways, these two movies couldn’t be more different.

Though not requiring it, the Harry Potter movie assumes a literate audience in that the movie is based on a series of novels. There is an implied history to the movie and one’s capacity to follow and enjoy the drama is enhanced by knowing about the earlier books and / or films.

Transformers, by contrast, merely requires that the audience have a pulse. Yes, this recent installment is a sequel, but plot takes a back seat to stunning high-tech special effects and frequent explosions. One’s capacity to enjoy the drama is predetermined to some extent by the amount of testosterone coursing through one’s body. Watching a tractor trailer truck “unfold” into an enormous robot is great fun, especially when you’re at the movies with your son who thinks you’re just as cool as Optimus Prime for taking him to the show, leaving the women in the family to find some other form of entertainment.

As different as these two movies were, there is one thing they share in common. Both of these movies are about a very ordinary person caught up in an epic story of conflict between the forces of good and the forces of evil, between light and dark, between life and death, between blessing and curse. Harry moves closer to an inevitable confrontation with the Dark Lord. Sam is once again the human ally of Optimus and the hunted foe of Megatron and his ilk.

These huge sweeping stories are what draw us to the movies to begin with. And while it may be a stretch, that kind of thing may be what draws us to the Psalms. The Psalms give us language for entering into the epic drama of what God is doing in the world. Beneath the specific petitions and laments and praises of each individual Psalm there is one abiding conviction that undergirds every one of these 150 poems. God is present and active in the world and we are involved in what God is doing.

When it comes to perceiving the drama of God’s work around us, we are too often crusty-eyed and thick-lidded. Failing to see the action, we live from day without the slightest sense of our role in what’s taking place. We feel plain. Our days are defined by expectations and obligations. We may not dislike the story we’re living, but it hardly seems epic and large; nothing of great significance hangs in the balance. And it hardly qualifies as sacred.

Perhaps one of the most basic ways we find our place in the large story of God’s activity in our world is by learning our lines. This makes sense for those who have a role in a drama. The lines we speak are what the Psalms call “praise.” As we enter into this final week of the Tour de Psalms, praise will be our focus. We’re going to work on learning our lines.

Praise is what we do when we become aware of God around us. It’s what we speak and sing and tell as we get a feel for the divine drama unfolding around us. More than that, it’s how we live into that story. We see that we are in fact caught up in something huge, something far more than obligations and habits. To praise God is to play our part, to speak our lines, to take our place in the epic story.

What do you think it means to “praise God?”

Prayer:
I want to find my place in your story, O God. As the drama unfolds around me today, help me to see it – and help me to answer you, to speak back as you do your work in this world. Teach me how to praise you with my life today. Amen.

Even in Our Wandering

He guided them with the cloud by day and with light from the fire all night (Psalm 78:14).

It seems crazy, but it happens all the time.

We pray for guidance. We ask God to show us the way, to lead us in his truth, to direct our steps according to his will. And then we decline to accept it. Thanks, but no thanks.

Sometimes this is a failure of discernment. We simply get it wrong. We choose a way that seems blessed, marked with all the characteristics of divine approval. But having set out on that way our certainty begins to evaporate. Questions take root in the mind, eventually growing like kudzu. Maybe God had something else in mind for us?

But sometimes we are hindered by a lack of will. We sense God’s leading. What we sense is confirmed by others that we trust. But it’s a hard way. We had rather move in a different direction. So we refuse the guidance given to us. We’re good at spiritualizing such choices, sparing ourselves the discomfort of outright disobedience.

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That’s what God’s people did at a place called Kadesh Barnea. God had delivered the Israelites from slavery in Egypt and promised to take them to a good land. Poised on the threshold of the land God had promised, a twelve member scouting party was sent out to explore the terrain. When they returned, ten of the spies gave a report that discouraged and frightened the people. “We cannot take the land.” Only two chose to believe what God had promised. The majority won – and 40 years of wandering followed (Numbers 13:26-33).

God had made a promise and then guided them to that promised place. They refused to enter. That promise was placed on hold until a generation passed away. Until then, Israel’s story would be a story of wandering, learning to trust, learning to worship, learning to obey.

And even in their wandering, God would guide them. Psalm 78:14 reminds us of the story. A cloud guided them by day, a pillar of fire by night.

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God is faithful in guiding us. God is far more faithful in guiding than we are in following. That means that the guidance you chose to ignore yesterday will never keep you from finding the guidance you seek today. You do not need to live your life looking back, wondering “what if” and “if only.”

So much of modern life is characterized by wandering. Some wander from job to job, never making the connection between daily work and divine purpose. Some wander from marriage to marriage, convinced that the next person will be the one they’ve sought all along. Others wander through a wasteland of credit cards and debt, intent on buying joy and peace. And some even wander from church to church, never quite satisfied that what they’ve found is “spiritual” enough.

In all our wandering, God still manages to guide us. The harsh elements of our modern deserts are blunted by the daytime cloud and the nighttime fire. God still guides us, even in our wandering.

What kinds of deserts have you wandered through? How did God lead you?

Prayer:
“Guide me, O thou great Jehovah, pilgrim through this barren land. I am weak, but thou art mighty; hold me with thy powerful hand. Bread of Heaven, Bread of Heaven, feed me till I want no more; feed me till I want no more” (Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah, The Hymnbook, 339).

A Dangerous Prayer

He guides the humble in what is right and teaches them his way (Psalm 25:9).

To any and all who, like me, often pray for guidance, a word of caution is in order. Let the pray-er beware: Prayers for guidance are dangerous prayers. The writer to the Hebrews assures us that we can approach the “throne of grace” with confidence. But when it comes to your quest for guidance, don’t let your confidence make you careless. Tread lightly before God when you seek God’s guidance.

The reason: God will likely answer your prayer.

As I’ve thought about this I’ve had to admit that my prayers for guidance are often no more than a series of multiple choice questions that I’ve placed before the Almighty. In other words, I’ve identified the acceptable options and what I’m really seeking is the divine cheat-sheet, thus insuring the right answer among the various options I’ve already envisioned for my life.

Without editing for pastoral correctness, my prayer goes something like this:

Lord . . . I don’t know what to do here . . . I could do this, and then that will happen . . . I could do that and then live with the implications for thus and such. But surely, you will guide me to this or that. Please let me know which. Amen.

Of course, there may be more than two options on the table. The point is, we often pray for guidance having already determined the acceptable destinations. The reason prayers for guidance are dangerous is that God is perfectly free to answer in ways we never imagined. We offer such prayers cautiously because to ask for God’s guidance also means that we’re ready to follow it, wherever it might lead us.

There’s Peter, going to the rooftop to pray, observing the liturgical prayer hours like a good and faithful Jew. As Peter prays (surprise, surprise) God answers. God asks Peter to eat forbidden slimy things. God tells Peter to go with strangers to the home of a Gentile soldier. Was this the kind of guidance Peter sought as he faithfully observed the afternoon hour of prayer? (See Acts 10:9-48).

There’s Paul, packing his duffle bag and setting off to check up on all those little congregations he had helped to start years earlier. When he tries get back to the province of Asia the Spirit stops him. Paul then tries to enter Bithynia only to be stonewalled yet again by the Spirit of Jesus. And then, trying to grab some sleep in the midst of this frustrating journey, Paul dreams a dream in which he is being summoned to Macedonia. Macedonia was not on the itinerary. But guidance doesn’t always show up on the AAA trip-tic (Acts 16:6-10).

God wants to answer your prayers for guidance, but be ready. God may take you to a place you never would have chosen to go. God may lead you to do something you never thought you’d do. God may have someone in mind that, as of today, you’ve never laid eyes upon. Be ready and be warned. God answers prayers for guidance.

Psalm 25 provides the language we need when asking for guidance. Verses 4-5 ask God to “show me your ways” and “teach me your paths.” The request is repeated as the Psalmist says, “Guide me in your truth and teach me.” A key to how God answers that request is found a few verses later. “He guides the humble in what is right and teaches them his way.”

God guides the humble – those who don’t know the destination and know they don’t know, those who are most willing to go wherever God leads, those who have given up trying to determine the best possible outcomes and options. As we pray we will think through our options. We are free to ask for what we want. But true guidance comes to those who are humble, open to wherever God may lead. These are dangerous prayers – but worth the risk.

Are you really ready for God to guide you today?

Prayer:
Our prayers for guidance often limit you, O God. We confess to setting agendas and laying out the best options – then looking to you for help. Grant to us a humility that is willing to go wherever you lead and do whatever you ask, to the glory of your name above all else. Amen.

Directionally Challenged

He leadeth me beside the still waters (Psalm 23:2).

I love Microsoft Outlook. Maybe it’s because it fosters the illusion that I really can manage my own life. Maybe it’s because of the rectangular boxes that neatly contain each hour of the day. Perhaps it’s the fact that I can click on a button near the top of my screen and Outlook will show me my entire work week at a glance.

Take today for example: an 8:30 a.m. meeting followed by an open morning that will (hopefully) allow me to write Tuesday’s devotional reflection. Then a lunch appointment and an afternoon meeting to review and proof-read an early draft of the Sunday worship bulletin. Assuming I made some decent progress on the devotional earlier in the day, I’d like to get to the gym late in the afternoon.

Yes, I do love Microsoft Outlook. It’s all right there: God’s will for my life arranged vertically.

There is one thing, however, that Outlook does not do for me and never has been able to do. It does not stop me from praying for guidance. The crisp neat boxes for every hour and the easy access to a week of plans and appointments do not relieve me of the sense that I need some kind of direction from beyond myself. I pray for guidance all the time. Maybe you do too.

We carefully schedule the meetings that we must attend in order to do our jobs well. But perhaps deep down we’re sensing the need for some guidance when it comes to the direction of our vocation. “Is this what I’m supposed to be doing?”

We make plans to go out on the weekend, but we crave guidance when it comes to the relationships we’re forming. Maybe one particular relationship requires so much energy. “Is this what it takes to be close to someone? Am I investing too much energy in something that isn’t right?”

Whether you use Outlook or a plain old-fashioned monthly calendar that hangs on your kitchen wall, you can have plenty of plans but still feel the need for guidance. Sometimes guidance has to do with the daily decisions we make. Just as often, guidance has to do with the direction of our life.

Guidance is what we pray for when we’re trying to see the connections between what we do with our days and what our days are doing with us. We may be good with plans, but directionally challenged. The good news: God is patient and merciful to the directionally challenged.

The Psalms remind us repeatedly that God loves to give guidance. God leads us beside still waters (Psalm 23). God guides us with his counsel (Psalm 73:24). God’s word is a lamp to our feet and a light to our path (Psalm 119:105). God will be our guide to the end (Psalm 48:14).

This week we’ll spend a few days thinking and praying about God’s guidance. Even if you’re at a place in life where you’ve got your bearings and you know where you’re headed, God’s guidance is something we need constantly. Maybe you need to be reminded to seek it. Maybe you’ve been seeking it desperately for some time. Either way, these prayers can be prayed with confidence. God is a faithful guide.

Where do you need guidance today?

Prayer:
“He leadeth me: O blessed thought! O words with heavenly comfort fraught! What e’re I do, where e’re I be, still ‘tis God’s hand that leadeth me. He leadeth me, he leadeth, by his own hand he leadeth me. His faithful follower I would be, for by his hand he leadeth me” (He Leadeth Me, The Hymnal, 338).

"One Thing I Ask"

One thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple (Psalm 27: 4).

You will fill me with joy in your presence (Psalm 16: 11).

If you were to ask one thing of God, what would it be?

Take your time. You’ve got one shot. We’ve all played some version of the three wishes game, but the stakes are much higher here. With God we don’t make wishes, we make petitions. And following the example of the Psalmist, we’re tying to determine the one thing we’re seeking most from God.

“One thing I ask . . . this is what I seek.”

Are you aching for answers to things you simply can’t understand? Would faith come easier if you could just get some kind of explanation for the tragedy that took someone you loved . . . a short list of reasons why some people are starving while others are glutted on affluence . . . some sliver of insight into God’s will and purposes and why the life you have looks nothing like the one you used to dream of?

We’ve observed this week that the Psalms are full of questions. Hard questions. Sometimes a few answers would be nice. But is that really what we seek above all else?

Maybe you don’t want to ask about something, you want to ask God for something. Not something silly like a new car – but something that could profoundly change your life. Maybe you would ask God for a mate. You might ask God to stop the pain in your body that persists day after day and keeps you awake most nights. In these days, it might be a job – not for the money, but for the sense of waking up and having something to do that makes a difference in the world.

All of these could easily be the “one thing” we ask of the Lord. But none of those things are what we hear in Psalm 27:4. The Psalmist isn’t looking for answers and explanations and insights. The Psalmist isn’t asking for some thing that life is lacking.

The one thing that places at the top of the list, above anything and everything else, is more of God: Dwelling in God’s presence, beholding God’s beauty. The Psalmist’s greatest desire is nothing less than God’s presence.

Psalm 16:11 helps us understand that request. In God’s presence is fullness of joy and eternal pleasures. In other words, when you have God, you’ve got it all.

To seek God more than anything else doesn’t do away with our hard questions. But in our struggles to understand how life works we will be satisfied in the holy presence.

To seek God above all else doesn’t mean we no longer think about having meaningful work or getting married or being free of illness – but we know that those things can never really satisfy our souls like God can. There’s no substitute for God.

Now back to where we started. Back to the most important question we’ve considered all week long. What one thing are you asking of God today?

Prayer:
The Psalmist prayed, “Whom have I in heaven but you, and earth has nothing I desire besides you” (Psalm 73:25). I struggle to pray those words, O Lord. My desires are pulled in so many directions and I am too often dissatisfied when I get what I think I want. Heal the desires of my heart so that my one great desire is to know you better and live fully in your presence. Amen.

"Whom Shall I Fear?"

The Lord is my light and my salvation – whom shall I fear? (Psalm 27:1)

Now it was their turn. What they had seen Jesus do, they were being told to do.

Jesus’ instructions must have been daunting to those disciples; they would heal all kinds of sickness; they would preach the good news of the kingdom; they would cast out demons; they would restore leprous skin to wholeness.

Along with the instructions, Jesus gave authority. He didn’t tell them to do something they couldn’t possibly do. He told them what to do and promised them the power to do it.

Their effectiveness would be closely connected to their faith, their willingness to trust and to risk. They were not to pack a bag or take money with them. No last minute ATM withdrawals. No backpacks with peanut butter and saltines and Vienna sausages. They would live in complete dependence, claiming nothing for themselves but the grace of God.

Authority to make a difference in the world thrives in a trusting heart.

And, according to Jesus, that same authority becomes a shriveled empty husk when fear is present. Jesus made this plain to those whom he called to whom he gave authority. Be on your guard. You will meet resistance. But don’t be afraid. Don’t fear those who can do nothing more than kill the body. They have no real power.

Fear will quench your power. Trust will feed it. (See Matthew 10:5-30).

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Ours is a fearful age. We are eaten up with anxieties. In recent months our fears have been rooted in the economic crisis. These fears are not entirely unsubstantiated. People are really losing jobs and homes, and when this happens some measure of concern is perfectly understandable.

Nevertheless, the pervasive dis-ease in our land is hard to deny. We’re afraid for our children and the would be abductors and abusers that lurk in the most benign places.
We’re afraid of illnesses and words like “pandemic.” We know all too well now that we’re not immune from terrorists.

Psalm 27 asks a question that’s critical for our time. “Whom shall I fear?” The answer is implied: “I will fear no one.” Psalm 56 asks the same question with different words. “What can mortal man do to me?” Again: the answer is “nothing.”

Questions like these are intended to help us re-vision the realities around us. It’s not that the Psalmists never felt fear or anxiety, and is certainly not true that the Psalmists had no reason to be afraid. They felt fear and they had good reasons for being fearful.

But fear did not define reality for them. These words of prayer are a way of claiming that God stands at the center of all things, every threatening circumstance, every unnerving piece of news.

We need to pray these words because now it is our turn. Jesus sends us into this anxious world to do what he did and live as he lived. Don’t be afraid to love people. Don’t be afraid to offer blessing. Don’t be afraid to help. Don’t be afraid to speak of your faith. Fearful, anxious people are too busy stockpiling resources and building bomb-shelters to go into the world and change it.

What do you fear today? How does it hinder your walk with Jesus?

Prayer:
“Lo! The hosts of evil round us scorn thy Christ, assail his ways! From the fears that long have bound us, free our hearts to faith and praise. Grant us wisdom, grant us courage for the living of these days, for the living of these days.” (God of Grace and God of Glory, The Hymnbook, 358).

"How Long?"

Lord . . . if you had been here my brother would not have died (John 11:21).

How long, O Lord? (Psalm 13:1)

People of faith are not people who have stopped asking questions, sleeping soundly at night with every riddle answered, every doubt removed, every tension eased. If deep faith means the end of hard questions, then faithful people are hard to find, even in the Bible.

The Psalms are full of questions. “No questions asked” may reflect something of the way God’s mercies are offered to us. But questions frequently characterize the way our prayers are offered to God.

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Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days. When Jesus finally arrived in Bethany his presence seemed an empty gesture to those who grieved, especially Lazarus’ sisters. Martha, not one to mince words, spoke what everyone else was probably thinking. “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.”

Her words sound partly like a rebuke, partly like a statement of faith. But beneath the words there’s a question: Where were you when we needed you?

It’s a fair question. Earlier in the story John tells us that when Jesus had learned of Lazarus’ illness “he stayed where he was two more days” (John 11:6). That’s troubling to us. We’d like to see some urgency. We’d like to see some miracle working power being released on behalf of Jesus’ dying friend. Apparently Jesus healed someone he didn’t know from a distance by simply speaking a word. And yet, upon learning of his friend’s illness, Jesus lingers.

Why did Jesus linger? Where was the power, the life giving word? When Jesus finally shows up, four days of rot have been at work in the tomb’s darkness. “Where were you?” Martha’s asking what we all want to know. She’s asking what many of us have asked at some point in our lives.

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A repeated question on the lips of the Psalmist is “how long?” That’s a familiar question to many people of faith because those who take God seriously often struggle to understand God’s timing. In Psalm 13 the question is asked four times in a psalm that is only six verses long.

The question reflects faith in that it assumes that God is present and doing something. The question eats at faith because it wonders exactly what God is doing and when it will make a difference. How long will it take me to find a job? How long will it take us to get pregnant? How long will I need chemo treatments? How long will this war last?

It seems to us that God lingers, and in some cases lingers long. And the lingering raises questions for us. But hard questions do not mean lack of faith. As Peter reminds us, God’s timing isn’t like ours. With God a day is a thousand years and a thousand years are a day. To ask “how long?” isn’t sin. In the Psalms, it’s prayer.

Is there something in your life that has caused you to pray “How long?”

Prayer:
Remind us today, O God, that what feels like neglect and delay is actually a divine plan. This is hard for us to understand – and so we are bold to offer our prayers and bring our questions before you. As we pray “how long?” make us strong in faith and grant us patient endurance until you arrive and bring new life, through Christ our Lord. Amen.

No Questions Asked

As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him, for he knows how we are formed . . . (Psalm 103:13).

Last week I took my kids and two of their friends northward to experience the seething energies of the town of Cherry Log Georgia. Actually we were just north of Ellijay, not quite to Cherry Log. “What,” you might ask, “is in Cherry Log Georgia?” Not much. But there is a treasure up there, known to a few.

For years Fred Craddock taught preaching at the Candler School of Theology at Emory University. When he retired he went north and began a ministry that does many different things under the umbrella of “The Craddock Center,” now headquartered in the booming metropolis of Cherry Log.

One of those things is the Story Express, a van full of books that makes forays into the mountain counties and gives books to children. That’s why I took my own kids, plus two, to Cherry Log. We had books for the Story Express. We also had the chance to receive visitors to the Express at the Gilmer County Food Bank. Kids could browse for books while their parents received groceries.

On the door of the Gilmer County Food bank I saw a small poster advertising free lunches during the week at a place called “Bread and Bowl.” The language of the poster caught my attention and evoked some thinking. It read something like this.

Lost your Job? Can’t pay bills? Worried about keeping your home?

We want to help during these difficult times.

We will be serving a FREE LUNCH every day from 12:00 noon to 1:30 pm

NO QUESTIONS ASKED

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Psalm 103 rehearses the many ways that God is merciful to us. Those mercies come to us because of God’s compassion. The word compassion shows up three times in the NIV Bible, anchoring the center of the Psalm at verses 8 and 13.

The very word compassion carries the meaning of “suffering with” someone else, knowing what they are going through, entering into their experience and being moved to mercy.

I heard compassion in the words of the poster: “no questions asked.” When the Psalmist says that God forgives our sins and puts them as far from us as east is from west, I can almost see the words “no questions asked.” Of course, those words don’t appear in the Psalm, but they wouldn’t be out of place if they did.

There is an invitation in the words of Psalm. Our compassionate God receives us in our imperfect, flawed state. No questions asked; no need to offer explanations, no need to come up with excuses, no defense necessary.

This is strange to us. Silently, we do raise questions of others. Our own compassions fall far short of God’s. What’s more, many of us spend plenty of time explaining ourselves, making excuses, defending our actions or ideas. We expect to be grilled and questioned. But God doesn’t deal with us in that way.

God says, “No questions asked.” How does that impact how you will live today? And how would you be different if you were to say the same thing to others around you?

Prayer:
We give you thanks today, O God, for your great compassion; for the way you put our sins far from us. You know exactly what we are like and the weaknesses to which we are prone. Put them away from us, we pray, and make us bold to come to you freely, trusting in your great mercy. Amen.

A Meditation on Psalm 19 and Jennifer Aniston

The precepts of the Lord are right, giving joy to the heart (Psalm 19:8).

Lately she has smiled at me nearly every Sunday morning as I ride the Peachtree express from the Cates parking lot to the church welcome center.

She’s not actually smiling at me – but she’s definitely smiling in my direction and it sure looks like she’s smiling at me. Jennifer Aniston’s face is magnified and majestic on a billboard on Roswell Road just south of East Andrews. Every Sunday morning our bus sits for few moments at the red light where Roswell and East Andrews meet. Look to the right, and there’s Jennifer.

The actual message of the billboard is very short and somewhat vague. The product is some kind of bottled water. The water part of the billboard is eclipsed by Jennifer’s hard to ignore face. Maybe that’s the intent. Create a connection in the mind between the compelling image and the product.

The thing about a billboard is that it’s out there for everyone to see. The billboard is aimed at the entire city of Atlanta, or at least that significant part of the population that drives south on Roswell Road. To see the billboard and enjoy the face of Jennifer, all you have to do is look up. If you’re driving you may need to look quickly and perhaps several times – but it’s there for free. Just glance up and there it is.

As is obvious by now, my attention is often drawn to the billboard while sitting at the red light. And while it’s nice to see Jennifer smiling in my general direction I have no expectation that I will ever have a conversation with Jennifer Aniston. I’m not hoping that someday she’ll actually talk to me about bottled water or anything else.

On the billboard there’s a message for me and anyone who will pay attention. But a message is not a conversation. The conversation will never happen. I can live with that.

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The first six verses of Psalm 19 are like a billboard that God has placed in the heavens. The skies are proclaiming a message that goes out to the ends of the world, day and night. This message is for everyone. All we have to do is look up, pay attention, take it in.

But Psalm 19 does not end at verse six. The Psalm continues and makes a dramatic shift. The same God of whom the heavens speak also wants to speak personally to you. That kind of speaking comes to us through a different medium. God’s ways and will are revealed most clearly in the written text of God’s word. The Psalmist speaks of God’s law, statutes and precepts.

Plenty of people enjoy Jennifer Aniston on a billboard but never plan to actually hear her voice or speak directly to her. Sadly, plenty of people deal with God in the same way. They enjoy the heavens, especially when they see those heavens spanning the ocean’s horizon or forming mist over mountain peaks. It’s not hard to stand and gaze at the skies and be moved in some kid of vague way that feels good. Some describe this as a “spiritual” experience.

But the God revealed in the heavens and skies very much wants to say something to you. God has a message for your life, a word of hope for your struggles, a word of forgiveness for your failures, a word of acceptance for the person you are right now. To hear this message will require something more than a walk on the beach. These words are in God’s book. When you pick up a bible, do so with the expectation that God has a word for you. That’s a conversation we can’t live without.

Have you heard God speak personally to you through the written words of the Bible?

Prayer:
It staggers our minds, O God, that you wish to speak with us in ways that are personal and direct, not vague and abstract. Forgive our neglect of your written words. Give us an appetite for your scripture. May the words written on the page become for us a living voice, we pray. Amen.

Good Heavens

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands (Psalm 19:1).

My wife occasionally accuses me of selective hearing, screening out messages that might be inconvenient or unpleasant or otherwise disrupt important endeavors like reading and napping. She may be right, but I maintain that most men are thus afflicted. This isn’t a deliberate inattentiveness. I never consciously choose to ignore my wife. But I’ll admit that there are times when I’m just not dialed in.

What is true of my domestic life seems to be equally true spiritually. The heavens are declaring the glory of God. The skies are making proclamation, pouring forth speech. This happens every day, all day long. And too often I’m not dialed in. As best I can tell I don’t deliberately ignore God or God’s voice. But for whatever reasons, I too easily miss what the heavens are declaring.

This wasn’t true two weeks ago. There’s a beach on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica called “Playa Bonita.” There I found it very easy to pay attention that what the heavens are always declaring. In Costa Rica this time of year the sun goes down between 6:00 and 6:30 p.m. Sunsets at Playa Bonita are astonishing. Large outcroppings of rock in the ocean collide with breaking waves and send curtains of sea spray into the air against the canvass of a distant sky that mingles hues of orange and blue.

The skies proclaim the work of his hands. No doubt about it. And at Playa Bonita I can actually hear what they are saying. The skies make proclamation, and we speak back in prayer. The conversation comes naturally at places like that.

But this week I’m back in Marietta, Georgia. The heavens are still declaring and the skies are on broadcast as well, but my selective hearing issues are showing up again. Why is that?

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Psalm 19 says that the heavens are like a tent for the sun, a massive canopy in which the sun makes a daily course from one end of the earth to the other. I think we all recognize that the Psalmist didn’t write these words as an essay in astronomy. What we’re reading is more poetry than lecture. But it seems plain enough that the skies that cover the Pacific Ocean at Playa Bonita and the skies that hover over Marietta are part of something singular and whole.

Every day the heavens make their declaration, and far too often I move through my days deaf to their words. I heard them loud and clear a couple of weeks ago on a beach far away – but most of my days are lived here, bordered by Roswell Road and the 120 loop. Why is it harder to listen to God in this place?

The heavens declare and the skies proclaim. But the skies around us here are cluttered, interrupted by massive towers that speak to the glory of corporate America. Added to that, the skies around this place are so familiar. What they proclaim starts sound like blah blah blah. And maybe we need to admit that we rarely look at these skies anyway. Our gaze is held by computer screens, the traffic bearing down on us in the rear view mirror, the pile of post-camp laundry or the grass that needs mowing.

For the rest of this week we’ll spend some time with Psalm 19 and let it tutor us in effective listening skills. God is never at a loss for words; every day “pours forth speech.” Don’t miss a word.

Where are you best able to hear what the heavens declare and the skies proclaim?

Prayer:
Gracious God, we want to be attentive to your voice in all places. We want to see your glory in the skies over beaches and mountains and distant places, as well as in the heavens that cover our own backyards. Teach us to listen. Help us to pay attention to the message being proclaimed all around us every day, we pray. Amen.

Numbering our Days

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom (Psalm 90: 12).

I’ve been numbering my days lately. Maybe you have too. I’m not talking about something morbid or morose. The kind of numbering I’ve been doing, the kind that the Psalmist speaks of, isn’t done with a calendar. It has little to do with measuring time and more to do with entering into it, sensing how it moves and pondering what it means. That’s what I’ve been doing, especially since Thursday.

On Thursday I did some day numbering as I called my parents to wish them a happy 49th anniversary. My Mom and Dad both expressed the kind of disbelief you feel when a number that sounds so long feels so short. I’m beginning to know what they mean.

On Thursday I did some day numbering as I drove with Marnie to North Carolina to retrieve our children from three weeks of camp. When we had dropped them off twenty days earlier I was apprehensive about a three week camp experience. It sounded like a very long time for my kids to be away. It wasn’t. Just as you begin to really adapt to a child-free home, it’s time for the camp counselors to give them back to you. “Didn’t we just drive up here?”

On Thursday, making our way up I-85, we listened to constant news reports about Farrah Fawcett. I did a little day numbering, remembering the year when “Charlie’s Angels” was the big new show of the fall television season. I was 14 years old. The home of a Baptist pastor didn’t allow wall space for the iconic poster – but I knew exactly what it looked like. News of her death prompted some day numbering for much of the nation.

And then at dinner on Thursday, dining on southwestern cuisine in Black Mountain, I saw the caption at the bottom of the flat screen TV on the restaurant wall. Michael Jackson had died. Enough is being said about that, and will be for weeks to come. But I can’t hear anything from the Thriller album without being taken back to college. And long before college, there was a Saturday morning cartoon called the “Jackson 5.” More day numbering.

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The Psalmist speaks of numbering our days within the context of prayer, a petition spoken to God. The request asks God to “teach us” to number our days. We don’t do this naturally. We need help. Day numbering is a learned behavior.

Usually the help we get comes to us as some kind of reminder that days have a limit. The reminder need not be a tragedy, but somehow we need to be faced with the truth that our days do not stretch our before us in infinite supply. It doesn’t matter how well you eat and how often you work out. There’s a limit to our days. The hard part is facing the limit with honesty and courage. This is how we number our days. It’s has little to do with counting.

Some refuse to number their days because it makes them fearful and anxious. Others refuse to number their days because they regard that kind of thing as depressing or sad. According to the Psalm, both of those reactions are mistaken. In the Psalm, numbering our days makes us neither anxious nor depressed. It makes us wise.

Those who “gain a heart of wisdom” are those who have also gained clarity about what life is for. Every single day comes to us as a gift, and what we do with every day is determined by the giver. To number our days doesn’t diminish life, it enhances it.

What life events have taught you how to number your days? How will you live this one?

Prayer:
Teach us to number our days, O Lord, and make us wise in the learning. Guard us from the fear and sadness that grasps at time but fails to live. Make us bold and glad in our living, trusting you for every day, honoring you in the way we live. Grant us a heart of wisdom we pray, Amen.

Deep Clean

[This post originally appeared in slightly different form in October 2005]

Wash me, and I will be whiter than snow (Psalm 51:7).

5:40 a.m. No lights on upstairs. Cup of coffee in one hand, computer tucked under my other arm. Conditions ripe for some kind of disaster.

I should have never tried to walk back to my study without a free hand to grope for the wall and a light switch. I make this walk every morning at roughly the same time. The cup of coffee is a constant too – but not the computer. The trek to the study leads through the guest bedroom, the very room my wife had diligently prepared for friends who would soon arrive for a weekend visit. Everything in the room was ready, including the white bed cover, now freed of the laundry stack that typically concealed (and protected) it.

The darkness was too black to navigate without some help, whether from light or from the slight sweeping motion of my outstretched arm. My plan was simple. I would place my computer on the bed and turn on a light. I moved over toward the bed to put my computer down. At this point I’m not sure where the plan went wrong, simple as it was. As I placed my computer on the bed I heard in the darkness the sound of coffee dribbling on the laundry free white bed cover.

Any early sluggishness of the blood flow in my veins disappeared with the help of a sudden adrenaline surge. The fact that my wife would not be up for nearly an hour gave me plenty of time to do some crisis management. I really have no idea what to do to a coffee stain on a white bedspread. I got a wet towel and did the best I could – which actually turned out to be a decent dissipation, if not removal, of the stain.

In fact, our guests might have never noticed the stain on the bedspread. My efforts at getting rid of it had not been entirely successful, but you wouldn’t see it unless you knew where to look. But I can see it. I know where to look.

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I grew up singing gospel hymns that pictured sin as a stain and the blood of Jesus as the cleansing agent. One of the more rousing hymns asked “what can wash away my sin?” Answer: “Nothing but the blood of Jesus” (with gusto!). The blood hymns seem to have fallen out of favor these days. Our loss.

It may seem silly or even banal, my early morning coffee-spill crisis. But I came away from that little crisis with a fresh sense of what those hymn writers were talking about and what preachers of a bygone era so eloquently and passionately conveyed from their pulpits.

I recognized that the real stain of sin isn’t visible. The real ugliness of what sin leaves behind is something inward. I further recognized that the physical stain can be disguised and hidden – and so can the internal turmoil. The visible mess is nicely doctored up, and the internal is simply out of view. No one would know anything about it unless they knew exactly where to look.

But I know exactly where to look, and that’s the problem.

Here’s where the good news comes. This is what made hymn writers sing and caused preachers to raise their voices. The blood of Jesus purifies us from all sin (1 John 1:7). Psalm 51 beautifully anticipates what Jesus did on the cross.

I know that there will be other spills, missteps, faulty moves, careless acts. But a spill can always be trumped by a flood. As one old hymn says, “sinners plunged beneath that flood loose all their guilty stains.” Thanks be to God.

Prayer:
Lord Jesus, today we would be done with guilt and all the baggage we carry around because of it. We let it go, not because we know better or because we’ve determined to do better – but because in your death you did everything that needed to be done to make clean, white as snow. Amen.

The Imperatives

Cleanse me with hyssop and I will be clean; wash me and I will be whiter than snow (Psalm 51: 7).

If you’re a parent or if you work with children in any way, you are familiar with a form of speech known as the imperative verb. Used in a variety of contexts, imperatives crop up with notable regularity when children are around.

You may have never actually heard the phrase “imperative verb” and you certainly don’t use the phrase itself when speaking. As for me, I use imperatives all the time but I never say to my kids “Ok . . . I’m about to start using imperatives” or “don’t make pull out the imperative verbs.” That kind of advertising has a way of dulling the impact of your words.

Imperatives are usually rapid-fire words: go to bed, eat your broccoli, stop whining, clean your room, get out of the pool, keep your hands to yourself. The possibilities are endless. I’m not aware of any linguistic research on the topic, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find that imperatives constitute an overwhelming majority of the words spoken by people over the age of 30 to people under the age of 12.

As you can tell, imperatives have the force of a command. The gist of any imperative verb is “do this, do that, don’t do this, don’t do that.” For that reason, it is remarkable that in the Psalms the imperative is used when people speak to God.

Time and time again in the Psalms words that have the feel of a command are offered as prayer. But in the Psalms the imperative takes on a different meaning, a slightly different feel. The Psalmists aren’t issuing orders to God, they are making a request. The imperative, when spoken as prayer, becomes an urgent desperate plea for help.

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The heart of Psalm 51 is made up of a series of imperative verbs addressed to God.[1] This isn’t what we might expect. We can understand it if those who are weighed down with a sense of their guilt hide from God or speak to God tentatively. But here the guilty one speaks to God boldly and directly. No hiding. No holding back.

What we need in our guilt is stated bluntly, over and over: blot out, wash, cleanse, hide, create, renew, restore, save me. All imperatives – but not spoken as orders to the almighty. The words are spoken as cries for help.

When we make confession we are not simply talking about ourselves. While we tell the truth about who we are, we are not focused on our own failures and shortcomings. In confession we also make requests of God. That’s a part of what it means to recognize our need of forgiveness. The imperative acknowledges that we need God to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves, and often our need is expressed with urgency: forgive me, help me, make me right, restore me, cleanse me.

How do we deal with our guilt and our guilt feelings? How do we move beyond it, keep it from suffocating our spirit and numbing the conscience? The short answer is we don’t. We can’t. What we need must be done for us, given to us from some source outside of ourselves and our good intentions. The good news is that God listens to imperatives; God is always ready to hear our requests and give us what we need.

What are the imperatives that you’re speaking to God today?

Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for the way you hear our most urgent pleas for help. We’re thankful that we can come before you boldly and speak to you honestly. Above all we are thankful that you willingly do for us what we cannot do for ourselves. You alone are our hope and help when guilt distances us from you. Draw us near in these moments of prayer, through Christ our Lord. Amen.

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[1] For this helpful insight I am indebted to Walter Brueggemann’s exposition in The Message of the Psalms: A Theological Commentary (Augsburg Publishing House, 1984).

The Truth about Us

For I know my transgressions . . . (Psalm 51:3)

Some said he had married her to make an honest woman of her. A decent and honest gesture in the wake of so much that was indecent and dishonest: the affair, the pregnancy, the attempted cover-up, the conveniently timed death of her husband in battle.

David loved Bathsheba. Loved her from the moment he saw her, even if that moment was one in which he should have never been looking to begin with. Drunk with his own power David determined to do more than look. He “sent messengers to get her” (2 Samuel 11:4). This act wreaked havoc with the life of a woman and eventually destroyed the life of her husband.

David knew this. Though he loved Bathsheba, he lived every day with the reality of what he had done. The life he had made for himself and the life he had taken from another. His marriage had nothing to do with making an honest woman of Bathsheba. What David yearned to do was make an honest man of himself. For this he needed help.

Enter Nathan the prophet. Nathan created a parable and told it to the King. A very wealthy man had thrown a dinner party for his rich friends by stealing a cherished lamb from a poor neighbor. David was outraged. “The man who did this deserves to die” (2 Samuel 12:5). Nathan made his point with a simple reply. “You are the man.”

At this David finally told the truth about himself. Broken by the prophet’s words, David unburdened his soul with words of confession that continue to be used by people of faith nearly every week.

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Psalm 51 is one of the psalms that have been connected to a specific story. In the history of our own nation, the “Star Spangled Banner” is a song that we connect directly to Francis Scott Key’s observations of the bombardment of Fort McHenry in 1814. The story is foundational to the song and the song gives a deeper meaning to the story.

In the life of Israel, the story of David and Bathsheba gave texture to the prayer-poetry of Psalm 51. And today, the Holy Spirit uses the prayer-poetry of Psalm 51 to shed light on the details of our own stories. The Psalm helps us tell the truth about ourselves. That’s what confession is all about.

This week we will spend some time pondering some things that we typically work hard to avoid. We’ll meditate on Psalm 51 and think about the nature of guilt, the power of confession and the reality of grace. Our aim is to understand how these things work in our own varied stories.

The point of all of this is not dwell on what we euphemistically call “our mistakes.” The focus of Psalm 51 is actually not on a particular act or behavior or bad choice. The focus of the Psalm is not on something we’ve done but on who we are. To pray Psalm 51 is to recognize that sin is real and that is goes deep. It’s a condition, not a mistake.

Most of what we hear in our culture today runs directly counter to the message of Psalm 51. This Psalm is not for the faint of heart. We’ll be learning to tell the truth about ourselves this week, gradually making our way to the good news of grace and forgiveness. That’s where confession always takes us.

When you talk to God is confession regularly a part of that conversation?

Prayer:
Merciful God, be our help and guide in these days as we seek to deal honestly with you about who we are. Make us deeply aware of your holiness and not just our sin. Lead us closer each day to the joy that comes in knowing the power of your grace in our lives, we pray. Amen.

A Chosen Wait

“I wait for you, O Lord” (Psalm 38:15).

Sometimes we wait because we don’t have a choice.

A flight is cancelled. The Doctor can’t see you until late next week. The person who put you on hold has apparently forgotten that you exist. All lanes are closed and you just missed your last chance to exit. Sometimes the waiting we do is entirely out of our hands.

But there are times when we wait because we choose to wait. This is a different kind of waiting. Sometimes we look to God in our waiting because there’s nothing else for us to do. And then there are times when we wait because we have looked to God and sense that this is exactly what God would have us do.

Consider John Bunyan. There was a period in the history of the English church that outlawed preaching by anyone not properly ordained by the Anglican Church. Bunyan was a non-conformist (think Baptist) preacher. For this he was placed in prison in 1660. He was the father of four young children, one of whom had been born blind.

Bunyan could have easily secured his own release from prison and retuned to his family. All he needed to do was sign a sworn statement that he would no longer preach. Bunyan refused, and for his refusal he remained in prison for twelve years. In other words, he chose waiting. Eventually in 1672 the laws in England were changed by the Declaration of Religious Indulgence and Bunyan was released from prison. He was soon made pastor of the church in Bedford.

What if John Bunyan had refused to wait? What if he had jumped at the first chance to get out of jail and get home to his children? It is hard to imagine what sustained him for those twelve years, but this much seems clear. If Bunyan had renounced his calling in order to secure his freedom, something would have been lost. Is it possible that the man who later penned Pilgrim’s Progress was who he was because he chose to wait it out for twelve years? It has been said that Pilgrim’s Progress has about it “the fragrance of affliction.” Such cannot be true when affliction and waiting are carefully avoided.

Waiting can be hard on us. Choosing to wait can be even harder.

It is hard to wait when you are out of work and a job is offered that doesn’t seem like it will bring out your professional best. It’s hard to wait when a relationship comes along that seems good in so many ways and yet not quite right. It’s hard to wait when prices have never been so low.

But if we refuse to wait we just might end up doing work we hate. We might end up giving ourselves to someone who doesn’t truly love us. We might end up with more debt, incurred by a low price that we still couldn’t afford.

“I wait for you, O Lord” is not a statement of resignation. The words carry intent. The waiting is embraced, chosen. Sometimes we wait not because we have to but because we choose to. Waiting might not be the only thing we can do. It just might be the best thing we can do.

Will this day offer you a chance to wait because you’ve chosen to?

Prayer:
I wait for you, O Lord. Not because I can do nothing else, but because I trust you to do what is necessary in all that concerns me. Guard me from rushing ahead of you today. Keep me from choosing what feels easy and convenient. Give me strength to embrace waiting and allow me to see the wonder of your works, works that only you can do in my life and in this world. Amen

Holding On 'til Morning

My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning (Psalm 130:6).

I’ve never been a night watchman, but I have worked the midnight shift. Somehow Baylor Hospital in Dallas felt like a different place between 11 p.m. and 7 a.m. I was no stranger to those halls, usually doing my work there during normal business hours. But from time to time I was given the midnight shift. A hospital can be a very lonely place in the deep darkness of night and in the hours of early morning before dawn. I was always ready for the midnight shift to end.

It’s a peculiar time to work because the work doesn’t feel like work. Patients usually don’t want the Chaplain to drop by for a little sit-down at 2:30 a.m. There isn’t actually much to do. At Baylor the Chaplains had a room to use during the midnight shift. It had a bed and a TV – but you could never truly rest.

There wasn’t much to do, but you were never truly at rest. That’s the nature of night-time waiting. The waiting seasons of life are usually not busy seasons. Sometimes we busy ourselves in order to forget that we are in fact waiting, but it’s a fabricated busy-ness. And at the same time, waiting seasons are rarely peaceful. We may be still, but not at peace. We’re on edge, anticipating something, even if we’re not sure what it is.

Psalm 130 gives us the picture of a watchman, standing his post, waiting for daylight. This is how we wait on God. Our soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning.

The watchman has been at work standing and pacing. There isn’t much to do – but the act of keeping watch will not allow a moment of rest or inattention. Watchmen listen and peer into darkness, every sound a potential threat. Waiting. Tense.

And then morning comes. Things look differently in the light of day.

Maybe one of the most difficult aspects of this night-time waiting is the loneliness and the isolation. In most places where people work the midnight shift, they work in buildings that are largely empty. Then morning comes and life returns.

It may be that the morning for which we wait will not come when the sun rises. But just as the earth moves and daylight eventually penetrates darkness, the morning that ends our waiting will come. Our God acts on behalf of those who wait for him (Isaiah 64:4).

Can you recall a difficult night that made you glad to see the light of morning?

Prayer:
Let your light break into my life today, O God. Sometimes in my night-time waiting I imagine threats that don’t exist. Grant me light to see things as they truly are. Strengthen my faith, knowing that you will act on behalf of those who wait on you. Amen.

Waiting

Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord (Psalm 27:14).

I’ve been waiting on my car for an hour. Getting tires put on your car shouldn’t take too long once the job actually begins. The man behind the desk, speaking like we’d been friends forever, assured me that they’d have me ready to go in no time. Great. I can wait.

I’ve been trying to get some work done, a task made nearly impossible by the background bickering coming from the courtroom reality shows. Judge Wopner and “The People’s Court” used to be the only act in town. Now those shows are a dime a dozen during daytime TV and most of them have very little to do with the law.

Now, having waited for an hour, the friendly man behind the desk has just explained that two of the tires are en route from the warehouse. I wish they’d told me that an hour ago. Now I’m here for another hour at least. I’m writing a devotional, but I’m not feeling too devotional myself.

A while ago I was willing to wait. The waiting didn’t seem like such a big deal. I’m aware of the fact that I was at peace with the whole waiting thing when two things were true. First, I felt like something productive was being done. Second, I had a general idea of when my waiting would end. Now it seems like nothing is being done, and I’m not sure when I’ll get out of here. This kind of waiting is hard to take.

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Throughout the Psalms we find words of prayer uttered by people who knew what it was like to wait. Very often their waiting is more than mere inconvenience. It is anguish and confusion. This kind of waiting isn’t measured by the clock or the calendar as if simply marking time. The Psalms speak of waiting on the Lord.

Waiting can raise troubling questions about the presence and purposes of God. We can tolerate waiting when we know that something is happening and that at some point our waiting will come to an end. But we don’t always have these assurances.

There are sick people who are waiting on a cure. There are single people who are waiting and looking for love. There are foster children waiting to be adopted. There are would-be parents waiting to adopt. There are unemployed people waiting for a job offer. All of these experiences of waiting touch us at a level deeper than the passing of time. We begin to wonder what God is doing and why God doesn’t seem to be doing it with more urgency.

Even our minor inconveniences, like waiting on a car or sitting in traffic, can be spiritually instructive. To wait means to be taken out of the action, not in charge of the day’s agenda. Waiting shows us what’s true all the time. We’re not at the center of the universe.

This week we’ll spend a few days thinking and praying about our waiting. The prayers of a waiting people have much to tell us about what it means to wait well.

What are you waiting on today?

Prayer:
In our waiting, O Lord, we are often slow to pray. We complain, we worry, we doubt. Use the ordinary delays of this day as a way to teach us what it means to wait. Turn our attention to you as we turn loose of our tendency to manage every moment. We thank you for the gift of this day and place back in your hands. Amen.