Know Excuses

Therefore, everyone who hears these word of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock (Matthew 7:24).

The city of Atlanta is ringed by a massive interstate highway known in these parts as ‘the perimeter’ – I-285. This highway was supposedly completed in 1969. As best I can tell, they’ve never stopped working on it.

These days along the part of I-285 that is closest to my house mobile electronic signs are constantly flashing a familiar warning: some variation of “Weekend Road Work. 3 Lanes closed.” Interpreted, the sign says “Do not dare come this way between Friday night and Monday morning.” At the very least, the flashing sign is an invitation to do some creative driving. What route will I choose to avoid that stretch of highway? Sadly, the alternative routes I choose are often no better than the highway, but that doesn’t keep me from trying.

In his highly regarded book on the Sermon on the Mount, The Divine Conspiracy, the late Dallas Willard states that “Jesus seemed to understand that we would do almost anything to avoid simply doing what he said” (p. 274). The words of Jesus are widely admired. To a lesser extent, perhaps, they are believed. But the degree to which they are practiced is another matter. Indeed, the believers are often most adept at avoidance strategies.

This isn’t surprising. Before concluding his ‘sermon’ Jesus acknowledged that the way of life he was describing was a “narrow way.” When it comes to the weekend road work near my house, I would do almost anything to avoid the narrow way. That’s why Dallas Willard’s statement gets my attention.

Believing what Jesus says isn’t the problem. Practicing what Jesus says is where we run into trouble. Willard is calling us out, naming our tendency to look for alternative routes. We are good and finding reasons why we cannot do what Jesus has said.

The life to which Jesus calls us is a narrow way – but ‘narrow’ does not mean ‘blocked.’ We are prone to admire the Sermon on the Mount while at the same time dismissing it as unreasonable; rather than discipleship, we practice ‘dismissal-ship.’ Admiration without application.

Here on the threshold of the Sermon on the Mount we would do well to know our excuses. Let’s name them for what they are. Don’t forfeit the game before stepping on the field. Take a step on this narrow way and ask for grace to walk it. That’s the only way this way can be traveled.

Next Step:
As you read through Matthew 5-7, are there specific teachings that seem beyond your capacity to follow or practice? Why do you think so? Be honest about where you’ve come up with avoidance strategies.

Prayer:
How easy it is, O God, to admire the things you say without believing that we can actually live according to your word. Forgive us for our excuses, our quest for alternatives to your narrow way. Help us to obey, living in your power, doing what we could never do on our own. Live your life through us today, we ask in Jesus’s name. Amen.

Where Did He Go?

After leaving them he went up on a mountainside to pray (Mark 6:45).


Jesus told us to seek and we shall find, but there are days when it doesn’t work that way.

Our failure to find God in the rhythms of the everyday isn’t for lack of trying. The seeking doesn’t lead to finding, or perhaps the seeking and finding are separated by long waiting.

Belief is not the problem. We readily affirm that God is at work every day in the everyday. We acknowledge that God is present with us. But in the contour of our everyday living there are barren stretches where God is not found. We conclude that God has left us.

We wouldn’t be the first to come to such a conclusion. Many centuries ago this same kind of experience led the Psalmist to ask “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1). In his dying anguish Jesus picked up the line and prayed it from the cross.

Mark’s gospel provides us with story after story that show us the different ways that Jesus shows up, making appearances here and there, revealing God in the everyday. There are however at least two instances when Jesus absents himself from the scene of what is happening.

He isn’t showing up. He’s taking off.

In one instance, Jesus gets up early and leaves the house where he and the disciples are staying and goes away to a solitary place to pray. Mark uses the same verb twice in the sentence. He tells us that Jesus “went out” and “went away” (Mark 1:35).

The second instance followed the feeding of the five thousand when the disciples were getting in a boat to head to Bethsaida. Jesus didn’t join them. Mark tells us that “after leaving them he went up on a mountain to pray” (Mark 6:45).

Both instances result in anxiety and fear for Jesus’ followers. In the first instance they are searching for Jesus because so many people have needs and want his attention. In the second instance they are caught in a storm and fighting the elements of nature.

And in both instances, while the disciples are in angst, Jesus is at prayer.

To the followers of Jesus it seemed that Jesus had left them to themselves; he isn’t where he’s supposed to be; he isn’t there when they need him. But in both times Jesus is exactly where is supposed to be. He is praying. He was praying then – and he prays even now.

When it’s hard to find God in the everyday these stories are God’s gift to encourage us. Jesus has not abandoned us, even when it seems that he has. The writer to the Hebrews reminds us that even now Jesus prays for us. “He always lives to intercede for them.” That includes us and all who come to God through him. (Hebrews 7:25).

Our efforts to find God in the everyday sometimes leave us perplexed. “Where did he go?” He goes to God for you, intercedes for you. Jesus is praying for you right now – and that knowledge can change the everyday of any day.

Prayer:
Lord Jesus, we give you thanks that when we don’t know how to pray for ourselves you pray for us. You have promised never to leave us or forsake us, and we claim that promise today. When we struggle to find you in the midst of our days, strengthen us with the knowledge of your eternal intercession on our behalf. Amen.

Rest . . . A Learned Behavior

Take my yoke upon you . . . and you will find rest for your souls (Matt. 11:28-29)


Jesus told us that his yoke was easy and his burden light.

Perhaps at some point in your life you believed him. You looked to his grace. You took his yoke upon you just as he said to do. But having taken his yoke you find you’re still plowing your own row. You feel the tension when Jesus moves in a direction you’d rather not go, when he plods along at a pace that feels far too slow.

You’ve taken his yoke, but it hasn’t been easy.

When we were children summer was naturally a time for play. Then we grew up and the play became far less natural. Adults have a way of turning their play into work. Our summer pace is often as relentless as it is at any other time of year. To rest takes effort; we have to re-learn what we once knew instinctively.

In our spiritual life we are frequently dismayed when we discover that the rest to which Jesus calls us has to be learned. We are not naturally inclined to move with him as we walk in his power. Taking the yoke is followed by learning the way; rest is found in both the taking and the learning.

In Matthew 11:28-29 Jesus possibly borrowed language from rabbinic and wisdom sayings in Judaism. He knew about the “yoke of wisdom” and the “yoke of the law.” His words bear some similarity to these words of Jeremiah.

This is what the Lord says: “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls (Jeremiah 6:16).

Jeremiah seems to be telling us that the paths that lead to rest are not obvious. These ancient paths need to be sought out. We have to ask about where they are and how to find them. In other words, we have to learn to walk in this good and ancient way. The learning leads to the walking and the walking leads us to rest for the soul.

When it comes to the Jesus way, we are always learners. Jesus uses the raw material of your life to teach you the ancient paths and led you to rest. That includes every detail of this day that has yet to unfold.

Enter the day with an eagerness to learn. Be patient with yourself. Risk making a mistake, and lean hard on God’s mercy and grace. Don’t dismiss anything you have planned or anything that comes up today that didn’t fit into your plans. God is using it all to form the likeness of Jesus in you.

Do just what Jeremiah said: ask for the ancient and good paths that lead to rest. And do just what Jesus said: learn from him. In the asking and learning you will find rest for your soul.

Prayer:
Lord Jesus, my prayer today is a quest for the ancient paths. I’m asking you to show me the way that is right and good. By the presence of your Holy Spirit, be my teacher today. Help me to learn your ways as I take your yoke and walk with you. Lead me to the rest you so freely offer. Amen

Not So Great Expectations

So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them (Acts 3:5).


I am married to an optimist. After seventeen years you might think that some of that optimism would have rubbed off on me. It hasn’t happened, much to the chagrin of my dear wife.

My problem doesn’t merit a diagnosis. As far as I know I’m not depressed. But there’s something in the wiring of my brain that predisposes me to see what won’t work, what might go wrong, what won’t happen according to plan.

On most days this sour inclination is simply annoying, to both me and my wife. But there are times when the knee-jerk woes are more than irritating. They are an affront to God. Pessimism is a nest that allows faithlessness to hatch into other things like anxiety and bitterness and lack of trust. None of these make for a life of robust faith.

In Acts 3 we’re told about a man who took a beggar’s post every day near the gate called Beautiful. The story says nothing abut his internal world – hopeful or desperate, optimistic or pessimistic. All we know is that he can’t walk. Never has walked. He lives by the pity and generosity of others. Carried by others, he is placed near the gate and waits for those moving about on two good legs to notice him and be moved to part with their spare change.

His expectations don’t appear to be high. As Peter and John make their way to the temple to pray, the beggar asks for money, but he doesn’t ask with real anticipation. He mouths his request but doesn’t really take notice of Peter and John. Peter has to get his attention. “Look at us,” Peter says.

The beggar looks, and here we get a glimpse into his expectations. He turns to Peter expecting to get alms. He hears Peter’s summons as a call to extend the hand and receive the only income he can manage to collect. The beggar expected a few more coins, but he received so much more than he expected. Peter has no coins to give, no silver, no gold. But what he does have is power, and he gladly gives it. With authority, in the name of Jesus, Peter tells the beggar to walk.

Our expectations, it seems, are often defined by our experience. Faith is not. Faith has veto power over repeated experiences that breed low expectations.

Jesus confronts our low expectations and invites us to live by faith. Perhaps we live far too many of our days like the beggar, content to get what we need to survive, but never dreaming that anything more than mere survival might be possible. Our expectations get conditioned by a handful of coins, but God in his power makes us stand up and leap about and worship. Is this day already defined for you by all your yesterdays? What would it mean to live this day by faith?

Prayer:
Lord Jesus, any and every day can bring the unexpected. Give me the kind of faith that is ready and attentive for whatever you might be doing around me. Raise my sights above the routine and familiar. Let the miracles that unfold in ordinary things move me to worship and praise you. Amen.

The Cost of Hurry

The fruit of the Spirit is . . . patience (Gal. 5:22)


Mark Buchanan’s fine book The Rest of God relates a story handed down through several generations of his wife’s family. This piece of lore tells about his wife’s grandmother Alice, who lived in a part of the Yukon known for luring gold-hunters willing to take great risks for the sake of great riches.

Grandma Alice had a garden in which there sat a massive stone. In as much as the stone would never be moved, Alice worked hard to beautify it and make it the natural centerpiece of the garden. She regularly polished the stone, rubbing it down to a smooth shine.

On one such occasion, as she polished the stone, she noted a fine caking of gold colored flakes. Pressing her moist finger to the stone she discovered a powdery gold-dust. Whatever it was that seized men and threw them into the raw elements to strike gold seized grandma Alice that day. She began to rub the stone feverishly, “like it was a bloodstain,” seeing the powdery gold accumulate with every stroke.

As weariness caught up with her she paused to wipe her brow, and then noticed with horror her left hand. Her wedding band was nearly as thin as a wire on the underside of her finger, thick and normal up top. In her eagerness, she had been grinding away her wedding band, chasing a treasure which wasn’t there at the expense of a treasure that was.

Buchanan reflects on the episode this way:

I’ve squandered treasures in pursuit of dust. I’ve eroded precious, irreplaceable things in my efforts to extract something that’s not actually there . . . Here are a few: all the times I never swam in a cool lake with my children, made a snowman or baked sugar cookies with them, lingered in bed with my wife on a Saturday morning, or helped a friend in need all because I was in a hurry to – well, that’s just it. I don’t remember. I was just in a hurry . . . I cannot think of a single advantage I’ve ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things lie in the wake of all that rushing. Through all that haste, I thought I was making up time. Turns out I was throwing it away. Sanding away my wedding ring. (The Rest of God, 43-45).

To live with patience means to live at a pace that allows us to truly experience life. A hurried life, a life lived anxiously, frenetic and impatient, has a price tag. We grind away our treasures as we chase what we think we must have, only to find we haven’t truly lived.

How does Buchanan’s story speak to your life? What treasures are you sacrificing because of hurry? What would it take to break that pattern?

Prayer:
Lord Jesus, I am too often in a hurry. I feel the push of expectations and demands, of schedules tightly packed. Grant me the kind of patience that resists hurry, and teach me to live the abundant life that you came to give, threough Christ our Lord. Amen.

Help Wanted

From where does my help come? (Psalm 121:1)


Sooner or later we all need help.

All of us know this is true. Some of us are slow to admit it. And when it comes to actually asking for help, that’s a different matter entirely. I have known good people who would do anything thing for me. If their presence was needed, they’d be right there. If something else was needed, they’d give it if they had it.

But the last thing in the world they would ever do is ask for help. To do so would be a violation of some unspoken code of honor. It would be an imposition on others and an embarrassment to themselves. They will give you the shirt off their back, as the saying goes. But they’ll freeze to death before asking for the same.

Very often we gage the largeness of a soul by its capacity to give help. We recognize depth of heart by its willingness to feel compassion and be present to someone who is in need. But perhaps this isn’t an entirely accurate way to assess the health of the human soul. A willingness to receive help may reveal just as much about a person as their willingness to give it.

Here’s the danger: Just as a willingness to give help speaks to our benevolence, the refusal to accept help from others may point to a subtle pride. We love to play the hero, though never overtly seeking applause. But we dread being seen as needy and insufficient. Thus, we gladly go to the rescue. We never call for help.

Psalm 121 begins with the assumption that we need help. The Psalm opens with the Psalmist looking for help – looking around at the hills. Eugene Peterson argues that this ‘looking to the hills’ actually refers to places of idol worship, the site of shrines and Ashera poles that tempted God’s people to faithless disobedience. The sight of these false places of worship gave rise to a question: “Where does my help come from?”

That we need help is never questioned. The only question has to so with where we will find it. The answer is given immediately. “My help comes from the Lord.” This kind of help is constant, faithful, never failing, life-long. This isn’t simply help that we need. This help we want. We seek it every day because we need it every day.

What do you need help with today: A decision, a relationship, a circumstance in your life that will not change, or a change in your life you didn’t want? There is no simpler prayer than “help me.” And the God to whom we pray is an “ever present help in trouble.”

Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for your faithful help. Grant us grace that we might humbly seek it, knowing that your sufficiency is demonstrated in our need. Help us today, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Shade

The Lord is your shade on your right hand (Psalm 121:5)


During August in Southern Oklahoma a light breeze is an epiphany, evidence that there is a God in heaven and that this God is good. Add some shade from a decent sized tree, and you’ve got something akin to the parting of the Red Sea and water from the rock.

On more than one occasion I’ve mentioned the congregation I served in Oklahoma during my seminary days. In this church a “building program” meant more than raising money. It meant that we actually built the building, as in hammering things together. We started our “building program” in August, a time of year in Oklahoma in which the sun can work on your flesh like a convection oven.

Thankfully, the front part of our property was graced by the presence of a rather large tree. That may not sound like such a big deal, but trees of respectable size in southern Oklahoma are a treasure. A small rise in the ground served as a kind of pedestal for the tree, and this is where we would sit when it was time to stop work and enjoy the sandwiches and fried chicken that had been brought to us for lunch. And occasionally, just every now and then, that rise in the ground would catch a breeze, a gift of grace. Whenever I think of the way God guards us and the grace that sustains us I remember that tree. Never in my life have I been so thankful for shade.

However, the presence of that tree and the shade it gave us did not change the reality in which we lived and worked. The tree gave us shade but it did not drive away the heat or diminish the intensity of the sun. The shade gave us a refuge in the middle of the day, but it did not exempt us from the conditions of late summer in Oklahoma.

Psalm 121 says that “the Lord is your shade at your right hand.” Connected to this image is the promise that the sun will not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. But these dangers and the threats they represent are still very real. In his commentary on Psalm 121, John Calvin takes pains to explain that the Psalmist does not “promise the faithful a condition of such felicity and comfort as implies an exemption from all trouble.” We are not exempt, but we are covered.

On those blistering days of work in the flat wide-open spaces of Oklahoma, all it took was one tree. That one tree gave us refuge. Whatever conditions you’re living in today, remember that there is always shade to be found. There is a place to rest and regroup. “The Lord is your shade at your right hand.”

Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for the shade you provide when conditions are too much for us. You do not always spare us the pain of what they bring – but you cover us with grace to endure. You are indeed a refuge for us, and we find our strength in the shadow of your wings. Cover us with your grace in all that this day may bring, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Your Next Move

He will not let your foot slip . . . (Psalm 121:3).


Some people are always looking for the next thing. You may be one of those people. You may be pondering the next trip, the next deal, the next semester, the next date. You may see exactly where you’re headed and you’ve got a pretty good idea of how to get there. Or maybe not.

You may have no idea what’s next. A lack of clarity may have you stuck. Maybe even a lack of courage. Maybe your next move is confronting you with some equally attractive or equally dreadful options. Which one to take?

The movie Searching for Bobby Fischer is the story of a young chess prodigy, Josh Waitzkin. The film follows Josh’s rise to national prominence, culminating in the match for the national title – a match played against another young genius who, in a previous match, had caused Josh to doubt himself and his abilities.

At one point in this national title match Josh loses a key piece, the queen, to his opponent. Josh is clearly rattled. He turns his gaze intently to the board, imagining in his mind a blank playing surface. Everything around him seems to vanish as he calculates his next move and the likely responses from the player seated opposite him.

With each move captured on a TV monitor, Josh’s coach and parents watch nervously from another room. At this critical moment in the match, the coach sees the path to victory. He whispers to monitor: “It’s there Josh. It’s only twelve moves away. Don’t move until you see it.” Josh gazes at the board until those twelve moves unfold in his mind, and then he sees it. You can probably guess how the story ends.

At times, I’ve tried to look at my life the way Josh Waitzkin looked at that chess board. I’ve wanted to see the next twelve moves unfold, a clear path to the win or at least the best outcome. God does grant to some a visionary gift, but most of us cannot see the next twelve moves. Typically life is lived one move at a time. The chess coach urged Josh not to move until he could see the win. By contrast, God asks us not to stand still. We make the next move and trust God for the one after that.

Psalm 121 gives us words to pray when we’re pondering the next move. We are reminded over and over that God will “keep” us. The Psalm makes no promises as to what will come our way as we move ahead. Threats and risks are real. We don’t get twelve moves to the win in Psalm 121.

Take time to look carefully at the blank board. See as deeply as you can into what lies in front of you. But do not expect to see every move. At some point simply make the next move. Step into this day trusting God to do what he has promised to do. He will not let your foot slip.

What next move are you pondering and praying about today?

Prayer:
Guide us, O God, to whatever comes next. Give us grace for the next move, knowing that you make our steps firm. We ask you to confirm the right direction and correct what is misguided. We trust you to do this work in us as we seek to follow you and serve you with our lives. Let our next move – and every move – bring us more in line with your will, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

He neither Slumbers nor Sleeps

He who keeps you will not slumber . . . (Psalm 121:3).


The things that matter most to you matter to Jesus.

Let that sink in for a moment as you begin this day. Remind yourself of this as the day unfolds. What you care about, Jesus cares about. Every concern is noted, every restless thought registered. There is not a detail of your life today that escapes the notice of the living Christ.

And yet, while Jesus stands with us in our storms, but he doesn’t share our fear. Whatever it is that keeps us up at night doesn’t have God pacing the heavens, wringing hands that formed the earth and sky and sea.

Psalm 121 tells us that “the God who watches over Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps” (Psalm 121:4). The same can be said of your life. In this Psalm of eight verses, God is spoken of eight times as a guardian or one who guards. God watches over your life with a constant vigilance. This confident Psalm will be the focus of our attention this week.

God may never slumber or sleep, but sometimes we wonder. There is a story in Mark 4 where Jesus – the word-made-flesh – took a nap. He dozed off just as the threat of a storm was approaching. The disciples couldn’t understand this. How can he be sleeping? Doesn’t he care?

We don’t understand it either. Their questions are our questions. Jesus may be present, but that doesn’t mean much if he isn’t paying attention to what’s happening.

If every good story has some element of tension, Mark creates this by highlighting the contrast between the fearful disciples and the sleeping Jesus. Waves are slapping the boat, pounding with a spray that stings; curling up high and spilling into the craft.

So many details are left out. What did they do to help themselves? No doubt, they did what they could to manage the situation. Maybe they bailed water or pulled at the riggings. We do this kind of thing in our storms. “Why bother Jesus with this?” But as our anxieties escalate the sleeping figure of the Christ eventually begins to bother us, even anger us. We reach a point of exasperation where we cry out, “do you not care that we are perishing?” Ever prayed a prayer like that?

But here’s the gospel – good news! Jesus does now what he did then. Just as he spoke peace to the elements of nature, he can speak peace today to broken hearts and fractured homes and war-torn nations. We are sometimes tempted to despair because it seems that Jesus is sleeping, out of touch. He isn’t. We see and feel a threat. Jesus does not. We see catastrophe. Jesus speaks command. We’re eaten up with anxieties. Jesus exudes peace. And he brings that peace to bear on the storm itself.

Our reflections this week will be aimed at putting some steel in your faith. Our God is ever vigilant. He will not let your foot slip. So what is it that robs you of peace today? Whatever it is, Jesus has it firmly in hand. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he who watches over you “neither slumbers nor sleeps.”

Prayer:
Merciful God, at times the storms overwhelm me. The storms seem powerful and active, while you seem distant and sleepy. Remind me today that you command the elements of every storm. Give me a fresh vision of your power, and with it grant peace through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Summer Book Club: John Ortberg's "Who is this Man?"

WHEN: Thursdays at 12:00 noon (ending by 1:00)  beginning this week, June 6th.

WHERE: At "The Lodge" - directly across from the sanctuary of Peachtree Presbyterian Church. Come upstairs to the Appalachian Room. the address of the building is 3417 Roswell Road NW, ATL 30305.

WHAT: We will be reading through John Ortberg's book Who is the Man: The Unpredictable Impact of the Inescapable Jesus.

The Work of our Hands

Establish the work of our hands for us – yes, establish the work of our hands (Psalm 90:17).


The work of their hands is usually done with plastic shovels and buckets.

Just beyond the encroaching line of water that creeps over the sand after the wave’s crescendo, they labor. The work of their hands may be nothing more than a large mound of grainy mud. Sometimes their work has made something elaborate, an architectural wonder. The sand has been sculpted to make a mansion or a true castle. Quite often the work of their hands includes a moat that circles the structure.

The following morning vacationers will be up early to walk or jog on the beach. They will walk past the work sites from the day before and see how the tide came in overnight and eroded the work of those hands, those bucket-built worlds. The moats will be full of water. The mounds may still be noticeable but nearly worn away by the beating of waves. The mansions will be in utter disrepair, if left standing at all.

But the builders will return. Their moms and dads will stretch out on chairs and watch as young imaginations strike back at the tides and go to work again. The beach will be a canvas for their visions, an exhibit hall for the work of their hands.

We see this every summer. Sometimes what we see is a picture of what we live all year long.

The work of our hands may be done joyfully and well. But to what end? What becomes of the work we do? What kind of impact does it have? Psalm 90 ends with a peculiar prayer: “Establish the work of our hands for us – yes, establish the work of our hands.”

In his grace, God gives us work to do. All of us – whether or not we know it and believe it – have a vocation, a calling. God’s gift of work is his invitation to join what he is doing in this world, and no field of endeavor is omitted. God calls us to do the work – but Psalm 90 reminds us that it God who establishes it. To ignore this or to deny it is to live every day building sand castles, laboring to create things that are easily eroded and eventually undone.

As you go through this day, pray Psalm 90:17. Ask God to establish the work of your hands. The work, of course, is still yours to do. This prayer will not relieve you of the responsibility of giving your best effort to your work.

But the impact of what you do – the way you touch other lives and the way God uses the work that you do to bring about his own purposes – this is God’s alone to do. He will establish the work of your hands. He will make it matter in ways that you may never see and cannot begin to imagine.

The work you do today, you do with God. So take up your bucket and shovel knowing that he will establish what he has called you to do.

Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for the gift of work and for your call to live this day as co-laborers with you. Help us to do our work well. We give it to you, asking you to “establish the work of our hands for us – yes, establish the work of our hands.” Amen.

Numbering . . . not Counting

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 Psalm 90 speaks of, isn’t done with a calendar. It has little to do with counting or 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.

The school year ended last week. When it begins again both of my kids will be in high school. I can’t help but utter that familiar and clichéd question: “When did that happen?” I know very well when it happened. It happened while Marnie and I were just holding on through the demands of their infancy. It happened while we were being so intentional about getting them ready for their future.

With our gaze firmly fixed in one direction we easily miss all the things that are accumulating behind us. By the time we really notice them, they’re gone. We wonder how it happened and sense the inexorable movement of the years.

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 our days have a limit. The reminder may be as simple as a graduation or New Year’s Eve. Sometimes a tragedy forces us to number our days. Regardless of how or why, we need to be faced with the truth that our days do not stretch out 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 courage and gratitude. This is how we number our days. It 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. To number our days is to recognize that 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.

A Way to Wake Up

Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love . . . (Psalm 90:14).

A question: How did you wake up this morning?


The question can be answered in a couple of different ways. You may describe how you felt when you woke up. You may have been well rested or sluggish. You could have woken up sore from a previous day’s exercise. You could have woken up dreading the day or eager for what you have planned.

You could also answer the question by describing the means by which you woke up. You could have been brought to consciousness by someone gently shaking your shoulder or by the cry of a baby. You might have heard a neighbor’s dog barking. The sound of your phone or a text message might have abruptly ended your slumber. There are many different ways to wake up in the morning.

Perhaps the most common is the use of an alarm clock. They may be old fashioned clangers with big hand and little hand that tell the time; they may display bright digital numbers and wake you to traffic and weather reports or your favorite music. Upon reflection, what is most striking about alarm clocks is the very name of the device.

Webster’s New World Dictionary provides six definitions of the word “alarm.” Of the six, only one refers in a neutral way to the mechanical function of a clock, using words like “bell” or “buzzer.” The remaining five definitions are all variations of the word “fear.” To be alarmed is to be threatened. Alarm is the “fear caused by the sudden realization of danger.”

So many of us wake up alarmed . . . and we live that way through the entire day.

Even though not threatened by imminent trouble or harm, we often feel the weight of the day from our first conscious moments. Our minds race with uncertainties that have not been resolved. We anticipate interactions with difficult people. We feel ordinary and relentless pressures about money and parenting and not exercising enough. We wake up alarmed – or just as likely our inner alarm kept us from sleeping in the first place.

There is a line in Psalm 90 that is worth memorizing. It is a short prayer, a simple petition to be uttered at the beginning of the day, just as you wake up. “Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love that we may rejoice and be glad all our days” (Psalm 90:14).

This brief prayer reflects God’s will for you today. Wake up satisfied with his love. Even when the days holds difficult things for you, know that his love is steadfast and not fickle. God’s love is sufficient and will sustain you through whatever this day brings to you. Knowing this, you can live the day with joy and gladness.

As you go to bed tonight, go ahead and set your clock. But before you fall asleep pray Psalm 90:14. And when the clock goes off, do not be alarmed. Be satisfied with his steadfast love.

So back to the question: How did you wake up this morning?

Prayer:
“Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.” Grant it even now, in this day, through Christ our Lord we pray. Amen.

Hands in the Dirt

Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you (1 Peter 4:12).


Eustace Conway lives on 1000 acres of Appalachian wilderness in western North Carolina. He grows or hunts for his food and wears animal skin clothes. This isn’t the lore of history. This is all present tense. I discovered his story in Elizabeth Gilbert’s The Last American Man. One passage in particular caught my attention. Gilbert writes this about Conway:

It is his belief that we Americans, through our constant striving for convenience, are eradicating the raucous and edifying beauty of our true environment and replacing it with a safe but completely “faux” environment. . . We Americans have, in two short centuries, created a world of push-button, round-the-clock comfort for ourselves . . . but in replacing every challenge with a shortcut, we seem to have lost something, and Eustace isn’t the only person feeling that loss. We are an increasingly depressed and anxious people (The Last American Man, 14).

Conway is identifying what shapes the standard response of western Christians to suffering. In a world where comfort is the norm and goal of life, suffering means that something has gone terribly wrong. Suffering is to be avoided at all costs.

Unlike Eustace Conway, most of us do not live off the land. We do not hunt. We do not support our families with what we can grow and harvest. We do not get our hands in the dirt. Instead, we go to Costco or Kroger.

In the same way that we are removed from the land, our convenient push-button world also distances us from much of the world’s suffering population. The subtext of these daily reflections has been our mission in the world. We labor to plant the seeds of God’s kingdom, trusting God for growth, joining him in the harvest. But how are we to do this if we never get our hands dirty?

Here’s the great irony: in our pursuit of comfort, we actually lose what we most desperately need. We need to know the presence and power and trustworthiness of the God who created us. What we get instead is a world where we can manage for ourselves with enough technology, a well-balanced diet and regular exercise.

How can we begin to get inside the experience of those who know suffering, those for whom suffering is a daily reality? Maybe a step in the right direction would be to begin praying the Psalms of lament. These are well-established prayers of God’s suffering people. Find a Bible and spend some time this week reading Psalm 10, 12, 13, 20, 22, 27, 31.

As you do this, you will hear words that might not describe what you’re experiencing today. But you can be assured that there are others around the world speaking words like this every day. The prayers of lament allow us to be with them. Today you can step out of the safe reality you’re immersed in and enter the reality of those who suffer. Consider it a way to get your hands in the dirt.

Prayer:
Lord Jesus, I find it easy to pray for other Christians who suffer. I struggle to know how to pray with them. My world is so different from theirs in many ways. Teach me to pray with my suffering brothers and sisters, and lead me into a reality that transcends the comforts with which I am surrounded. Amen.

A Matter of Timing

“He who observes the wind will not sow, and he who regards the clouds will not reap.” (Ecc. 11:4)


Our problem is not that we are not willing to do the work of sowing. Nor are we unwilling to put our hand to the harvest. What often keeps us from both is our desire for optimal conditions. It is, as we like to say, a matter of timing.

We wait for the right time to speak. We wait for the right time to apply and enroll. We wait for the right time to sell or buy. We wait for the right time to propose. We wait for the right time to start a family.

The writer of Ecclesiastes rightly observed that for everything there is a time and season. Timing cannot be ignored and we need to exercise discernment in the rhythms of life. But sometimes our concern with timing keeps us from doing anything at all.

We look at the wind and watch the clouds. You may be doing that today.

There are times when even our most confident actions are taken without the benefit of iron-clad certainty. If we’re waiting on perfect conditions, waiting until we have flawless knowledge of God’s will, we’ll never act. That’s what the writer of Ecclesiastes is telling us. If you watch the wind too closely you’ll never throw seed because you’re not sure where it might get blown. If you watch the clouds too closely you’ll never reap a harvest. Waiting on perfect conditions means you’ll be waiting . . . and waiting . . . and waiting.

When Jesus gave us words to pray he taught us to pray “thy will be done.” He did not teach us to pray “thy will be known.” Still, whenever we find ourselves seeking the will of God, we go about it as if the aim is knowledge. We focus more on our knowing than upon God’s doing.

We’re better off to simply pray as Jesus taught us to pray. Yes, we exercise careful discernment, we seek godly counsel, we patiently wrestle with the matter in prayer – but then we act; we take a step, choose a direction, all the while praying “thy will be done.”

If you’ve sensed a desire to do good in this world, perhaps it’s time to go ahead and do it. “In the morning sow your seed, and at evening withhold not your hand, for you do not which will prosper, this or that or whether both alike will be good” (Ecc. 11:6).

Prayer:
Father, grant me wisdom of good discernment and the willingness to go ahead and act. Do in my life today what you will to do, and use my life as a means of blessing where you’ve placed me. I offer my plans and decisions to you, trusting you to accomplish your purposes in me and through me. Amen.

The Closet Door

Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows though he does not know how” (Mark 4:27).


We probably should have painted the wooden frame around my son’s closet door.

Our house was on the market and the best wisdom about ‘staging’ said that personal items needed to be out of sight so that potential buyers could envision the home as their own. That was all well and good when it came to pictures on the refrigerator. But there was no way I was painting the door frame of John’s closet.

We had moved into the house in 2002. My son had just turned four and my daughter was few months shy of her third birthday. Not long after moving in we had started marking their height on the inside of the closet door. Over the years the right side of the door frame had become a kind of journal, recording the passing of time and the growth of my two children.

Each time we made a new entry on our door frame journal we would celebrate the growth, making comparisons to the last entry. We treated every inch like a personal achievement, shamelessly bragging on the kids for something over which they had no control. And while I celebrated and bragged on the outside I was often surprised and even a little sobered by what I saw. We would make a new mark on the door and I would silently wonder, “When did that happen?”

Growth is peculiar in that way. Even when expect it and know it’s happening, we don’t actually see it. We marvel as if it happened overnight. We know better. It was and is happening all the time, but it eludes our gaze. We live day to day unaware.

We eventually sold the house. I’m assuming the new owner painted the frame around that closet door. My son is now 15 and my daughter turns 14 this week. Marking their height inside the frame of a closet door stopped being fun a long time ago. But the growth hasn’t stopped, although now we see it in different ways. Growth these days can’t always be marked with a pencil.

In Jesus’ short parable about the growing seed, the earth produces growth, night and day, whether the farmer is wide awake or sound asleep. The seed sprouts and grows, the farmer “knows not how.” The growth of God’s kingdom, like the growth of a child or the emergence of a crop, is imperceptible. We know it’s happening, but knowledge is not awareness. We don’t see it. We can’t pull up a chair and watch it. God does this work in our sleeping and waking. We know not how.

Nevertheless, from time to time it’s good to put a mark on the door frame and see what God has done. In the image of the parable, we need to celebrate “the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head.” The sprout reminds us that growth may be imperceptible but it is not invisible.

How do you mark the work of the Spirit in your own life?

Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for the unseen ways you are at work around us and within us. Help us to be patient as you do your work in this world. Make us confident in the promise of a coming harvest. And as you will, grant us grace that we might see a sign of your faithfulness, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Planting Season

“Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed” (Mark 4:3).


Two weekends ago was ‘planting season’ around our house.

We made our way to our local do-it-yourself mega store where everything we needed was arranged under a large greenhouse type attachment at one end of the building. It’s all right there: gloves and garden tools alongside bags of mulch, fertilizer, and even soil. Yes, sometimes urbanites who yearn to get their hands in the dirt have to go to a store and purchase the dirt.

And then, of course, there are plants. Rows and rows of cinderblock and ply-wood tables full of plants. My job was to navigate the flatbed cart while my wife selected what would go in the ground. Our planting season seems a little bit like cheating. What we ‘plant’ is already visible and growing. We brought home various flowers housed in small plastic cubes as well a few other large plants in plastic buckets. I would dig a hole and Marnie would pull the plant from its plastic home, roots and all. After a short while the yard looked different.

There is something immediately gratifying about placing a small plant in the ground. Of course, there is no guarantee that the plant itself will thrive, but for a short while the labor of planting is rewarded. You can see difference your work makes.

Not so with seed. A seed is buried in the earth. Something is anticipated but not seen. With seeds, those who plant must labor and wait. After the work and the waiting there emerges the slightest sign of life, a sprig of something green. A sprout.

When Jesus wanted to explain to people how God’s active presence in the world works, he often used the image of seed. “Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed.” This was a word picture that everyone could understand. While most of us don’t farm, we can understand it too. Seeds do now just what they did back then – and they provided Jesus a favorite image for describing the Kingdom of God, or the work of God in the world.

For the next couple of weeks we’ll be thinking about seed. Our daily reflections will aimed at training us to see God’s work in the world around us. More than that, we’ll be looking for ways to sow the seeds of God’s presence in the very places where we live and work.

What is true of God’s work in the world is true of your own life. Like seed pressed into the hiddenness of the earth, God is at work in ways that you cannot see right now. The Spirit’s work is unseen, but steady. Growth is not usually something you can feel. You won’t find evidence of life by constantly checking on the seed. Instead you engage in the repeated daily labors of tending to what has been planted. Soon the sprout of life appears.

These daily reflections are simply a tool for the work of cultivating what God wants to do in and around you. It’s planting season. Be diligent and patient – and look for the sprout.

Prayer:
Gracious God, we sometimes live through seasons in which our souls seem dormant and lifeless. Help us in the coming days to cultivate the soil of our heart so that we might be your people in the world, sowing seeds of your grace wherever we might be. Remind us that you are at work in unseen but steady ways, even as we go through this day, we pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.

A Doubting Heart

A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped (Mark 4:37).


“Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”

This question is perhaps the most common expression of doubt among people of faith. The question was directed at Jesus. There is within it a thinly veiled rebuke. One translator rendered the words in such a way that they imply accusation: “Are we to drown for all you care?” This is the question that will hold our attention for a few days.

The story that provides context to the question is from Mark 4. For many of you the story is familiar. Since it is brief, take a moment to re-read it.

That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, "Let us go over to the other side." 36 Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. 37 A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. 38 Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, "Teacher, don't you care if we drown?" 39 He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, "Quiet! Be still!" Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. 40 He said to his disciples, "Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?" 41 They were terrified and asked each other, "Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!" (Mark 4:35-41).

In her memoir, Booked: Literature in the Soul of Me, Karen Swallow Prior recalls her own struggles with doubt. She acknowledges that her struggles had nothing to do with God’s existence. “I wonder more that an airplane can fly than that the God of the universe exists,” she writes. Nevertheless, “I struggled against God . . . I didn’t doubt his being. I doubted his ways” (Booked, 190).

Her doubts are widely shared. Of course, there are plenty of doubts that are expressed as intellectual objections to the truth claims of the Christian faith. But just as often, doubt comes to us from a deeper place. We don’t question God’s existence. We do, however, question whether God cares. We are anxious disciples, doing the best we can to keep our heads above water. Jesus, it seems, is not dialed in to what’s happening.

Maybe you’ve been through a “furious squall” that caused you to question God’s ways. You didn’t abandon your faith, but your grip on God was severely tested. You may be in the middle of such an experience right now. This week we’ll ask the hard question about God’s ways with us and his care for us - and we’ll let God’s word remind us of how Jesus brings peace to our doubting hearts.

Prayer:
Gracious God, we need to hear your word of peace in the midst of our troubled lives and this chaotic world. Speak your peace to us in these coming days, reminding us of your faithful care in the midst of things we cannot control. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Mindful of You

When I look at your heavens . . . what is man that you are mindful of him (Psalm 8:3-4).


God is mindful of you. After the events of this week, you may have your doubts about that.

In the language of Psalm 8 the reality of God’s awareness of us is stated as a question rather than a declaration. The Psalmist looks at the vastness of the heavens, the myriad heavenly bodies, and wonders how it is possible. How is it possible that the God who made all of this takes notice of us? Can we truly believe that in the expanse and complexity of this universe God takes note of every sparrow that falls to the ground and numbers every hair on your head (Matt. 10:29-30)?

The Psalmist writes from a worldview that is increasingly challenged. Plenty of people have abandoned it all together. When the Psalmist asked how it was possible for God to be mindful of us, the question was actually a conviction. The question was grounded in the certainty that God knows and cares for us as beings made in God’s image.

But when we raise the same question, our question sometimes masks an accusation. To ask how God could be mindful of us is to say that God isn’t mindful of us at all.

And then there’s Boston. Thick plumes of smoke from Boston darken the skies above us rendering the heavens irrelevant and making it nearly impossible to contemplate the majesty of God’s name. We have questions. Hard questions. How is it possible that God is mindful of us? Moreover, how is it possible for any of us here on the ground to actually believe that God is mindful of us?

At this point we’ll need to look further than Psalm 8. We need more than an awe-struck gazing into starry skies. Psalm 8 belongs to a collection of 150 other prayers, some of which give voice to joy and gladness, some of which express deep gratitude – but not all. Not by a long shot. In fact the most common type of Psalm is a prayer of lament. The Psalms show us how to pray in the midst of suffering and loss and disillusionment. People who pray are not naïve.

We have been urged this week to “pray for Boston.” We should do so, and fervently. But how can we move beyond generic prayers for God to bless or help? How can we pray in such a way that our prayers are more than a technique for managing our own anxieties? We can do this by opening our Bibles and reading and praying the Psalms of lament. The Psalms will allow us to speak hard questions while keeping those questions grounded in conviction.

Whether your questions come from the mysteries of science or the miseries of the world, bring them to your prayers. Give honest expression to the questions without abandoning the convictions that make prayer possible to begin with.

To pray – especially when the prayers voice questions and pain – is to be mindful of God. And every prayer can be offered in confidence knowing that God is indeed mindful of us.

Prayer:
Teach us to pray, O God – often and honestly. Make us willing to voice lament as well as joy. Help us with what we cannot understand. Grant us grace that keeps our questions grounded in conviction, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Explanations and Songs

Therefore, since I myself have carefully investigated everything from the beginning, it seemed good also to me to write an orderly account . . . (Luke 1:3)


“No explanations in the Basilica.”

These words were posted near the entrance to the Church of Saint Anne in Jerusalem. Our group was walking the city and had been taken to what is believed to be the “pool of Bethesda,” the site of a healing miracle recorded in John 5. Not far from the pool sits St. Anne’s church.

The sign was aimed at tour groups like ours and the guides that lead them. Guides are constantly speaking to their groups, giving background and explanation relative to the various sites, often answering questions. Because of the remarkable acoustics in Saint Anne’s, guides are prohibited from speaking or explaining. The competing chatter would create a cacophony of sound unbefitting a place of worship. Singing, however, is permitted.

The sign was striking to me in the way it was worded. It seems that far too many people enter every place of worship as if these words have been posted at the door. And for this reason, some people have decided not to enter a place of worship at all.

Explanation is the language of reason and intellect. Explanations are arrived at by people who think critically and ask questions. Explanations require analysis and reflection. By contrast, the basilica is the place where the soul expresses love for God. The language most fitting for the basilica is singing and prayer. The basilica appears to be a place of quiet rather than questioning, a place where God is exalted and not explained.

For practical reasons the sign in front of St. Anne’s church made good sense. The intent was to safeguard the experience of all the visitors who entered the building by limiting the disruptive sound of competing voices.

However, as a general rule, “no explanations in the basilica” is the exact opposite of the message the church wants to send to the world. We do not wish to separate the life of the mind from the zeal of the heart. We do not regard the language of praise as incompatible with the language of explanation. We do not silence questions in an anxious attempt to preserve reverence.

The third book of the New Testament is attributed to Luke. Colossians 4:14 tells us that Luke was a doctor – perhaps the only biblical figure whom we may rightly regard as a ‘scientist.’ As Luke opens his account of the life of Jesus he discloses to his readers the methodological basis of his work. He investigated and researched all that had been told about Jesus. He asked good questions. He employed the energies of his mind in giving an “orderly” account of what he learned. But make no mistake about it – Luke is a believer.

Which comes most naturally to you – explanations or song? In your own life of faith strive to keep the life of the mind connected to the devotion of the heart. Let one feed and fuel the other. Let study lead to prayer. Let prayer bring honest questions before God.

Never be afraid of seeking explanations in the basilica.

Prayer:
In our questions, O God, make us willing to wait on you. In our singing, make us ready to seek more of you. Give us hearts restless for truth, yet always filled with worship and thanksgiving. Guide us in both our singing and thinking, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

For Your Consideration

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him . . . (Psalm 8:3-4)


Louis Agassiz was a Harvard professor and founder of the Harvard Museum of Comparative Zoology, serving as its Director from 1859 until his death in 1873.

A story was recorded by one of Agassiz’s students, Samuel Scudder, which has taken on a life of its own over the years, often told now as a kind of parable with wide ranging applications to life. Scudder’s story tells about his first encounter with Professor Agassiz in which the venerable scholar presented his student with a fish taken from a jar of alcohol. Placing the fish on a dissecting try, Agassiz instructed Scudder to observe the fish and report his findings.

After ten minutes Scudder was convinced he had seen everything there was to be seen about the fish. When he made his report to Agassiz, the professor ordered him to return to the fish and resume the task. This went on for three days – the student observing the fish, reporting his observations, only to be sent back in order to see yet more. Scudder recalls “Look, look, look was his repeated injunction.”

When once asked, “What was your greatest contribution, scientifically?” Agassiz answered, “I have taught men and women to observe.”

One of the most beautiful lines in the Psalms in found in Psalm 8. Here the Psalmist marvels at the created order and states “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him?” The Hebrew verb for “consider” has many shades of meaning. The ESV Bible simply translates the word as “look.” The primary uses of the word are typically in the context of what we do with our eyes – seeing, looking, examining.

There is, however, something more in the act of “considering” than mere sight or observation. This same Hebrew word is used in 1 Samuel 12:24 when the prophet Samuel urges God’s people to “consider what great things he has done for you.” When we consider we do more than see. We see into. We look inquisitively. We want to know more than what something looks like, we want to know what it means.

The discipline of observing and examining carefully and repeatedly is at the heart of the scientific method. But the same disciplines are at the heart of faith. It is significant to note (read: observe) that the Psalmist considers the heavens but then moves from those considerations to ask questions of God. God is not threatened or offended by these questions. Closely connected to the act of ‘considering’ is what we call meditation. As we ponder and query, we meditate.

It is far too easy to go through our days looking but not considering. We see things without truly observing them. We talk to people without truly listening to them. We walk the same halls and travel the same roads, glazed over with familiarity, preoccupied and distracted to the point of never truly seeing what’s around us.

Take time today to consider: consider the weather, consider your children, consider your co-workers, consider your customers. Do more than see. As Agassiz taught, “look, look, look.” And having looked closely, talk to God.

Prayer:
Grant, O God, that we might live this day doing more than simply seeing or looking at what surrounds us. Help us to consider it – to see in creation and in other people evidences of your grace and glory. Open our eyes to truly see, and in the seeing lead us to worship, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

The "Omnipotent Craftsman"

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place . . . (Psalm 8:3).


This past Friday marked the anniversary of the day Galileo stood before the Roman Inquisition. His story reminds us that faith and science dwell in the same neighborhood but they have had a long squabble over property lines. At times a thick wall has been erected to keep each in a clearly marked and separate sphere of influence. At other times the wall has been dismantled in an effort to facilitate easy movement between the two.

Faith and Science remain uneasy neighbors to this very day.

On April 12, 1633, the guardians of religious authority called upon Galileo Galilei to defend the publication of his work, Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems. The two world systems in question were the Ptolemaic and the Copernican. Galileo had run afoul of the Inquisition crowd by advocating a Copernican view of the world – the idea that the earth moved around the sun rather than being the unmovable center of the universe.

Galileo may have been sorting out the Ptolemaic and Copernican world views but the legacy of his work for most of us is framed as a contest between religion and science. We see Galileo as the voice of reason and logic, a man led to conclusions by investigation and evidence. Opposing him stands the monolithic church with its head buried in the sands of tradition, hissing at anything that threatens long held beliefs.

This is, of course, a caricature. There are complexities involved which won’t allow us to posit a brave and intelligent thinker against an angry and ignorant church. But the tension between science and faith was real and the impact is felt even now. In our time this tension has superficially resolved by relegating faith to the realm of subjective inner experience while ceding observable and empirical realities to science.

The Bible won’t allow such a dichotomy – and, interestingly, neither would Galileo.

In the dedication written to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Galileo argues that it is the calling of the philosopher to “turn over the grand book of nature.” He goes on to add that “whatever we read in that book is the creation of the omnipotent Craftsman.” Galileo regarded what we call a "scientific discovery" as an act of "divine revelation." To investigate or research was a form of worship.

For the next few days we will be thinking about the kinds of doubt that arise from science. We won’t be trying to offer rebuttals or arguments. Rather we will be turning over the grand book of nature in order to see the omnipotent Craftsman. We will respond to doubt with worship and we will look for help in the Psalms.

For today – how do you currently think about the relationship between faith and science?

Prayer:
“O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth.” All that we see points us to you. The creation is your gift to us, a wordless witness to your glory. Use the mysteries around us to draw us to worship, even as we go through this day, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Leaving a Question Blank

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you . . .” (2 Corinthians 12:9).


“I’m a good student but a lousy tester.” Ever heard that? I’ve not only heard it, I’m pretty sure that somewhere along the way I’ve said it.

I never liked standardized tests. My dislike, however, never exempted me from taking them. Since these tests were never my best opportunity to display my potential as a student, I did what I could to pick up helpful strategies for surviving the experience. One such strategy had to do with running out of time on a test section – a recurring issue for me. The strategy was simple. Work as long as you can and when you know you’ve only got a few minutes left, quickly fill in a bubble for every question.

To be clear: I do not recommend this to any student. The assumption was that it is important to attempt an answer with every question. Better to guess blindly than leave a question blank.

Mercifully, the days of sharpening my #2 pencil and filling in the bubble sheet are long behind me. But the formal education I pursued and the vocation to which God has led me puts me in a place where people have plenty of questions, and sometimes they verbalize those questions to me. I find myself wanting to give answers. However, when it comes to people’s souls and the life of faith, guessing blindly and answering in a hurry won’t do. Over the years I’ve gotten more comfortable with admitting that I don’t have all the answers.

As we think about exploring and embracing our doubts we would do well to be clear about exactly what we’re after. We are not after answers or explanations. We do not work through doubts in order to come to certainty. To be sure, there are answers to be offered and at times we may find ourselves firmly anchored in conviction rather than confusion. But our interest in doubt is not an effort to answer every question. Sometimes, with some questions, we leave a blank.

In exploring our doubts what we are truly seeking is grace.

This was the answer Paul received after his three-fold pleading with God to remove the thorn in the flesh. There was no simple yes or no. Rather, there was a promise. “My grace is sufficient for you.” Paul seems to have begun by searching for an answer. What he found on the other side of his struggle was grace. He found an invitation to trust God with his struggle. And God wants to be trusted more than understood or explained.

The grace that was sufficient for Paul is sufficient for you as well. There may be things you don’t understand. You may be pleading with God about a torment that will not cease or a perplexity that will not be resolved. Someday you may arrive at an answer. At time may come when you understand what now seems incomprehensible. But until then, there is God’s grace. This grace is sufficient for you.

Our time is up. So put down your pencil and don’t worry about the blanks.

Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for the sufficiency of your grace and for the way it sustains and guides us in what we cannot understand. Grant the grace we need for this day as we rely on your strength in our weakness. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Are We Ever Done with Doubt?

. . . I will go on to visions and revelations of the Lord (2 Corinthians 12:1).


Most of us have heard that time heals all wounds. And most of us know that it isn’t true.

Some wounds, maybe, but not all. Time is an effective healer of our cuts and scrapes and bruises. Over time these may disappear. But the deeper pains, the broken hearts and lost dreams, are usually not remedied by time alone. Time by itself may help, but it cannot heal

Nor does time provide a buffer against all doubts. We might expect that those who have long walked with God would do so with firm steps. We might expect that their prayers will flow freely, their worship will be deeper, their understanding of God’s ways will be wiser. Those who manage to hold on to faith over time seem to have a grip that can’t be broken.

Seventy years ago this month, April 1943, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was arrested at his home in Berlin. He was taken to Tegel prison where he was held for eighteen months before being moved and eventually executed at a camp in Flossenberg on April 9, 1945.

In prison Bonhoeffer was known as a man of courageous and benevolent spirit. His guards treated him with respect. He acted as a pastor to other prisoners. He had gained recognition in both Germany and the United States as a formidable theologian. He was a writer, a teacher, a leader. But a prison poem titled “Who Am I” provides a glimpse into Bonhoeffer’s own questions about himself, the tension between the public man people could see and the man he truly was.

The poem never really answers the title’s question. The matter is left in the hands of God. But the poem will not allow us to believe that the bold and respected theologian endured his imprisonment without the slightest inward wrestling. “They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.”

Likewise, Paul was allowed to see stunning visions and revelations of the Lord. He knew God in a way that was not true of most people. Paul knew that this could have easily been a reason to boast. This same Paul pleaded for relief from his ‘thorn in the flesh’ – a torment he saw as a gift that kept him from boasting.

To know God well and to love God deeply does not mean immunity from struggles, from questions, or from doubts. A lifetime of church or advanced degrees in theology will not exempt you from these things either. Our doubts are not usually resolved or eradicated by time alone.

The most pressing question we can ask is not “How can I be done with my doubts,” but rather, “What will I do with my doubts?” Paul’s struggle took him to a profound grasp of the sufficiency of God’s grace.

Maybe we are never done with doubt because God is never done with us. Doubts and questions and struggles sometimes pull us away from God. But every question or struggle can also be used to lead us to grace.

Where will your own struggles and doubts take you?

Prayer:
Merciful God, hold on to us when our questions and struggles are making it hard for us to hold on to you. Use our doubts to draw us near, showing us more of your grace and power in our lives, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Waiting and Wondering

Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it from me (2 Corinthians 12:8)


There are a couple of paths that lead us to our doubts. Sometimes we come to doubt by decision. At other times we come to doubt by degree.

The path of doubt by decision usually runs its course in the mind. It is a grappling with one of life’s mysteries, a struggle to make sense of what seems senseless. But doubt by degree is different. It is a quiet and gradual dawning of uncertainty, a growing discomfort in which sense precedes thinking.

Our weedy doubts grow in the soil of silence. For those who claim to be people of faith, the path of doubt by degree often leads to and through the silence of heaven.

Maybe you’ve been on the waiting side of a missed appointment. We usually call this being ‘stood up.’ You arrive at an agreed upon place and await the arrival of the other party. You may go ahead and secure a table, positioning yourself strategically so you can see who comes through the door. Time passes. Initially you glance at your watch and make a simple observation of fact: someone is running late. But the longer you wait the fact becomes a question. With each glance at your watch the questions multiply: Are they late or did they forget? Did you come to the right place? Did you get the wrong day or time?

The longer we wait, the more we wonder.

The apostle Paul was patient in suffering, but he was not passive. As to the nature of his suffering – his ‘thorn in the flesh’ – we are entirely ignorant. What we do know is that it was to him a source of ‘torment.’ He pleaded that God would take it away, make it right, ease the burden. His three-fold pleading most likely means three extended seasons of prayer: a persistent and prolonged wrestling with God followed by a faithful waiting. Heaven was silent. The thorn remained.

You may find yourself in a season of pleading right now. Maybe a second or even a third season. You have prayed and prayed again. You have opened your hands and surrendered your thorn to God in patient trust. And yet the thorn remains and heaven seems silent. Slowly the doubts take shape. With the passing of time and the unbroken silence the doubts grow.

To be fair, Paul never speaks of his own ‘doubts.’ Later this week we’ll see where his prayers took him. For now, what we can observe is that the letter in which he speaks of his thorn ends with his affirmation of the grace of Jesus, the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit (2 cor. 13:14).

Doubt does not inevitably lead to despair. What we experience as the silence of heaven is not the absence of God. In your waiting and wondering don’t stop praying. Acknowledge you doubt, but do not yield to despair.

Go through this day knowing that “the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit” is yours, even in your waiting.

Prayer:
Through this day, O God, and the waiting and wondering it may bring, sustain us by your grace. Comfort us with your love. Encourage us by the presence of your Spirit, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Uprooting Our Doubts

Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? How then does it have weeds? (Matt. 13:27).


Last week my wife asked me to mow the weeds in our front yard. That’s right. The weeds, not the grass.

Right now our grass hardly needs mowing. The brownish tint of winter doesn’t show signs of going away any time soon. If things will ever warm up around here (which as of this writing seems questionable) that will change. Before long the green will emerge and the grass will grow.

Strangely enough, winter seems to have had little impact on the weeds. While the grass is dormant and colorless, the weeds are undaunted, boasting a stubborn and healthy green that manages to migrate in splotches throughout the yard. The man who came to ‘treat’ our weeds suggested that at a certain time we mow them. As he put it, the weeds needed to be ‘agitated.’ On the day my wife asked me to mow the weeds I’m pretty sure the agitation was all mine.

I’m well aware that weeds and gardening and pruning are often used as word pictures for things spiritual. It is striking that soil and soul are so much alike. I’m reminded of Jesus’ parable about the wheat and the tares. I might paraphrase, “grass and weeds.”

In Jesus’ story an enemy sowed weeds among a healthy crop of wheat. The first response of those who tended the field was to get busy and rip out the weeds. But the Farmer and owner of the field stopped them. In Jesus’ story the wheat and the weeds grow up together. God sorts it all out at harvest time.

I return to a tried and true word picture to speak about our doubts. The weeds in my yard provide some basic convictions that will give shape to what follows in the days ahead.

First of all, there is more yard than weed. Of course, if ignored or neglected this can change. The weeds can grow to the point of taking over. Our doubts can do that as well. That’s why it’s a good thing to pay attention to doubts, to give voice to questions. The spotty presence of weeds here and there doesn’t mean the entire yard needs to be plowed up. The doubts that emerge from time to time don’t mean your faith is a sham.

Second, the weeds can be persistent. When it comes to weeds – and doubts – diligence is required. What was eradicated in one place may later crop up somewhere else. Questions may be settled only to emerge later in a different form. In the life of faith we need to be always ready to think and ever prayerful.

Finally, there is a difference between nurturing a doubt and ‘agitating’ it. The sight of someone mowing weeds looks like a superficial treatment at best. But we were told to ‘agitate’ the weeds in order to impact them on a deeper level, to get at the roots. Likewise, we ‘agitate’ our doubts when we try to get to the root of what they are and where they come from.

Don’t be alarmed at doubt. Be patient and prayerful. Get to the root of the questions. Tomorrow we’ll agitate our doubts by looking at unanswered prayer.

Prayer:
Gracious God, we give you thanks for your great patience with us. You allow room for our doubts even when we seem eager to eradicate them in pursuit of a perfect and pristine faith. Be our teacher as we look closely at our doubts. Take us to the roots of our questions and make us patient as we seek to grow in the likeness of your son, in whose name we pray. Amen.

The Shadow of a Doubt

When John heard in prison what Christ was doing, he sent his disciples to ask him, “Are you the one who was to come or should we expect someone else?” (Matt. 11:2-3).

Perhaps he had been wrong. In his solitude he was starting to wonder.


Things had seemed so much clearer on the banks of the Jordan River. John had drawn large crowds with his fiery talk about repentance. Standing waist deep in the water he would alternate between prophetic talk and priestly baptism, warning of judgment and washing away sins. He had said all along that someone greater was yet to come. When Jesus quietly showed up at the river one day, John recognized that this ‘greater one’ had arrived. “Behold, the Lamb of God.” John said this without the slightest hesitation.

Knowing who Jesus was, John resisted when Jesus waded into the river to be baptized. It didn’t seem right. Any misgivings John might have had about that act were forgotten the moment Jesus came out of the water. The presence of the Spirit of God in that moment was so real – like a dove descending and a voice confirming. This indeed was the beloved son of God. No doubt about it.

But now, sitting in Herod’s prison, John was beginning to wonder. In his isolation he was feeling less certain. There were some things that the long-awaited Messiah would surely do. Jesus wasn’t doing them. The questions wormed their way into John’s thinking until finally he sent some of his own followers to ask Jesus, “Are you really the one? Should we expect someone else?” What had seemed so clear by the river was far less so in the prison cell. He was beginning to have his doubts.

Doubts cast shadows. They are the realm of the murky where things are harder to see. The shadow of doubt makes us tentative. We second-guess. Very often, doubts cast their shadow when trouble is close at hand – or when it surrounds us on every side.

For a few weeks we’re going to think about our doubts. Our interest is not in disproving or dismissing whatever contradicts faith. Rather, we’re trying to embrace doubt as a means of building and deepening faith.

Doubts may cast shadows, but this is the good news: Shadows are only possible where there is light. Maybe that’s why Jesus answered John’s question the way he did. “Tell John what you see: the blind receive sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and good news is preached to the poor.” The light of God’s presence is bright in the world.

A shadow is not utter darkness. Doubts are neither the loss nor the abandonment of faith. To ask a question is not to renounce. The shadow of a doubt means light is close at hand, and as light grows the shadows shrink. It is good to know something ‘beyond the shadow of a doubt.’ But there is also something to be learned in the shadow itself. That’s what we’ll be trying to do in the days ahead.

Prayer:
Merciful God, it is not an easy thing to honestly face our doubts. Rarely do we work through them as a way to find you. In these days guide us as we examine our doubts, knowing that your light is close at hand. Grant the courage we need to be both honest and faithful, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

An Alternative to Anger

But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment (Matt. 5:22).


For the rest of his life he would remember that moment; he would play it in his mind again and again hoping that at the critical juncture something else might happen and the story would unfold differently. It never did. No matter how deeply we reach into our memory we can never grasp a moment and change it.

Were Moses here to tell us the story he might explain to us that he simply ‘lost it.’ The quarreling and complaining had become too much. This time it was the lack of water that provoked grumbling and accusation from among the people. Moses handled the situation wisely. He laid the matter before God, and there at the tent of meeting God assured Moses and Aaron that he would provide water for the people, and he told them what to do.

But even after his prayer session, Moses was wound tight, edgy and seething. God had told Moses to speak to the rock and the water would flow. But Moses gave vent to his anger. He raised his staff and swung it twice against the rock with a sharp slap. And from the rock grace flowed, gushing wet and abundant for the people to drink.

As the water made mud on the dry earth and people cupped their hands beneath the impossible fountain, something inside Moses dried up, shriveled and twisted. That’s what anger does to us. What should have been an act of obedience had become a loss of self-control.

All of us have had moments when we lost it. We’ve done or said something we wish we’d thought about before we did it or said it. This story tells us that venting our anger can have destructive consequences. Sometimes the one my anger kills is me.

Jesus drew a straight line from the angry heart to the murderous hand. In both, the self has become so inflated that there is no room for God. This helps us understand God’s instruction not to take revenge on someone else. God says that “vengeance is mine. I will repay” (Romans 12:19). When we strike out in revenge, venting our anger or taking a life, we have usurped God’s rightful place.

The story of what happened to Moses is not simply a story about punishment. This story is a story about trust. What God says to Moses is “you did not trust in me enough to honor me as holy in the sight of the Israelites” (Nu. 20:12). At root, the alternative to venting our anger is trusting God. Self –control asks “Can I stay out of the way long enough for God to act in this situation . . . Can I hold my tongue, can I get a grip on my anger?” When we say “yes” in that moment we honor God as holy.

In what area of your life are you most often tempted to ‘lose it’? Is it at home with the kids, at work with your colleagues? What will it mean for you to trust God with that part of your life today?

Prayer:
Gracious God, I want my life to show that you are worthy of trust; I want to live every detail of this day knowing that you really have everything under your control. Knowing that your control is sure, my self-control is then possible. Help me to live this way today, I ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

The Soul's Doppler Radar

But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment (Matt. 5:22).


Saturday here in the Atlanta area was a taunt. More cold air rolled in last night.

Those of us who live here are craving spring. The same is probably true of much of the country. The good people of Minneapolis feel no sorrow for us, laughing at our impatience with morning lows in the 30s or 40s. But this is Georgia, after all, and some kind of internal barometer tells us that frosty mornings should be a thing of the past.

The harbingers of springtime in Atlanta are beautiful: mild warm days, blooming azaleas, the gentle music that plays in the background of those commercials for the Master’s Tournament in Augusta.

And then there are the storms. The beauty around here is often coupled with a beast, and this beast made its presence felt last night as the cold air changed its mind about making an exit.

I had managed to get home before things got too intense. Local news stations were all over it. I marvel at the technology that allows us to track storms, to identify where lightning is striking, to discern rotating wind patterns that suggest the formation of a tornado, to predict when the heaviest rains and winds will be arriving in specific communities that are in the path of a storm.

It seems fitting that the most intense areas of the storm are shaded red – the color of rage and anger. In the relatively safe confines of my home I watched a red slice of turbulence move in from the west. I could tell how close it was likely to be to where I live. Radar allowed me to see it coming. Radar told me it would soon pass.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could track the rage within ourselves as effectively as we do the storms that rumble in the air above us?

Jesus said that our anger is one of the most common ways that we violate God’s command not to murder. This troubles us. Most of us can easily congratulate ourselves at having never broken this commandment. If a job application asks “Have you murdered anyone?” we can check the ‘no’ box with a clean conscience.

But Jesus won’t let us bow to our own applause without looking deeper: The anger that explodes, the rage that builds and erupts, the outburst that shouts ‘raca’ or ‘fool’ at someone else – these are the means by which we kill.

Is it possible to see these storms coming? Is there something in us that tells us that a deep red wedge of anger is moving in on the soul?

One such source of ‘radar’ for the soul might be the simple act of coming into God’s presence. Jesus suggests that it is there that we become aware that something isn’t right.

Where do you sense a storm brewing within yourself today? What do you need to do to take precautions?

Prayer:
Merciful God, guard me from the sudden storms of anger that often are unleashed at others around me. Help me to see these storms as they approach. Make me honest about my anger. Don’t let it wreak havoc in my heart or my home. Cover me with your grace, I ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Concealed Weapon

With it we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people who are made in the likeness of God (James 3:9).


Recently the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) announced that small knives will be allowed on airplanes beginning April 25th.

There are some specific criteria as to what constitutes a ‘small’ knife. Acceptable knives will have a blade no longer than 2.36 inches and less than 1 inch wide. The blade must be retractable and cannot lock into place. Razorblades and box cutters are still banned.

The announcement has not been celebrated by many insiders in the airline industry. Notably, Delta CEO Richard Anderson has criticized the decision, observing that the changed rule will present added risks while doing little to impact customer experience at airport security check points. The Flight Attendants Union Coalition is actively working to reverse the TSA’s decision.

When does a small knife become a weapon? Is it possible to regard a sharp blade as harmless or conclude that it presents no appreciable risk to staff and passengers? These are some questions behind the debate. The TSA seems willing to recognize that a person may have a blade, but the blade itself is not a threat. Given certain parameters, it will not be regarded as a weapon.

As we think about God’s prohibition against bearing false witness, some similar questions can be asked of the human tongue and the words it forms. The human tongue is about 4 inches long. The average weight is somewhere between 60-70 grams. It is not a big muscle, but it is very strong – and capable of doing great harm. As the apostle James wrote, “How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire” (James 3:5).

Of course – like a small knife – the tongue need not always be regarded as dangerous. James acknowledges that with our tongue we bless our Lord and Father. The tongue makes it possible for us to give praise to God. And yet, with that same tongue we can curse another person made in God’s image. When does the tongue become a weapon? How is it that we bless with one sentence and then curse someone else in the next?

In our reflections on the commandment against bearing false witness we have included a broad variety of falsehoods. There are plenty of ways that we use words and language to cloud the truth. But let’s remember that the commandment speaks specifically of what we do with words that are aimed at another person. The act of false witness that God addresses is a false witness “against a neighbor” - words used as weapons to harm someone else.

When does the tongue become a weapon? That depends on what you do with it and how you use it.

James reminds us that we have the capacity to bless and to curse. Perhaps the prohibition against bearing false witness needs to be balanced with a word of positive instruction. Use your tongue to bless others. Let your words and your speech be a means by which God’s grace is poured into someone’s life. When you bless the person made in God’s image, God is glorified as well.

Be specific and intentional about doing this today. Whom will you bless with your words and how will you do so?

Prayer:
Gracious God, use my words today as a means of blessing someone around me. Move my heart and mouth to praise you and let every word I speak be an expression of that praise. I ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Our Fears and Falsehoods

Sarah was afraid, so she lied and said, “I did not laugh” (Genesis 18:15).


Why do people lie?

Of the many things that God could have spoken in giving guidance and instruction to his people, why did God choose to tell the Hebrews (and us) not to bear false witness against a neighbor?

We rarely ask this question. Perhaps we live in such a deceit-ridden culture that we simply assume that people lie and thus the need for God’s command is obvious. But what motives lurk behind the lies? What gives rise to rumors and gossip, to misrepresentations and accusations?

Maybe our falsehoods are driven by ambition. We distort the truth to get ahead, to close the deal, to make ourselves look better than we are. Sometimes we have to admit that our falsehoods are driven by animosity to another person. We simply don’t like someone or some group of people; we relish hearing their faults and feigning concern as we turn around and repeat them to others.

But if we’ll peel back the thick rind of both our ambitions and our animosities what we will likely find at the core is fear. At some level all of our falsehoods are rooted in the shared soil of fear.

The biblical stories around Abraham and Sarah give us a picture of two people who sought to follow God, and yet were deeply flawed. Thankfully, these stories teach us that the following and the flaws are not mutually exclusive. One glaring flaw that both of them shared was their willingness to play fast and loose with the truth.

When famine forced Abraham (Abram) to live in Egypt, he feared that the Egyptians would be so taken by Sarai’s (Sarah’s) beauty that they would kill him in order to have her. In his fear he planned a deception. “Say that you are my sister . . . so that my life will be spared because of you.” Later on he repeated the same lie to Abimelech. Both times, fear is behind the falsehood.

When Sarah overhears from visiting strangers that God will give her a baby within the year, she laughs at this word of promise. The Lord responds: “Why did Sarah laugh?” And then we are told, “Sarah was afraid, so she lied and said, ‘I did not laugh’.” Again, a fear-driven lie.

And what about us? What fears drive our deceptions?

When our false witness is a misrepresentation of who we are, we may be driven by a fear of not measuring up. We may fear that the truth of who we are is not enough to win respect or acceptance or approval of others. When our false witness is aimed at someone else we may feel threatened – perhaps fearful that someone else will receive the approval we yearn for.

What’s the strategy to counter this? Many of us tend to fear the wrong things. We fear other people. We fear events that are beyond our control. The Bible, however, urges us to fear the Lord. It has been said that those who fear the Lord won’t need to fear anything else. Those who do not fear the Lord will fear everything else.

What other connections do you see between fear and falsehood?

Prayer:
Grant us grace, O God, that is greater than all our fears. Cause our hearts to so reverence you that we are free to live truthfully. Make us truthful about and with ourselves; make us truthful about and with others. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

The Things We Want (and what we'll do to get them)

You shall not steal . . . you shall not covet (Exodus 20: 15, 17)

In 2001 actress Winona Ryder was arrested for shoplifting in a Beverly Hills Saks Fifth Avenue. Some crimes garner public attention because they are unusually bold or cruel. This act of theft, amounting to about $5,000 in swanky clothes, was simply baffling. Why would a Hollywood actress steal clothes?


Ryder hardly needed what she took. Given the nature of her profession and the success she had enjoyed at that time, she either owned or had access to plenty of clothes. Need won’t explain the deed. And Ryder was perfectly capable of paying for what she took – or at least most of it. If she truly wanted those items her desires could have been satisfied the old fashioned way: buy them.

When Ryder was convicted in 2002, Time did an article to explore what might have been behind this act of thievery. The article provided a helpful statistical summary of the economic impact that shoplifting has on retailers. It also asked questions about Ryder’s state of mind when she committed the crime, trying to identify the characteristic behaviors and thought patterns that are associated with kleptomania.

The article was helpful and informative, but not adequate. What the article failed to address is the fundamental reality of human sin. Something in us is broken. Our deepest problems are not economic or psychological. At our core we are alienated from our creator. Sometimes in our efforts to repair what we sense is broken, we accumulate stiff. For some, accumulation means taking.

This week we will turn our attention to two commandments that deal with the ‘stuff’ we own or wish we owned. One commandment addresses the means by which we acquire things. As we walk God’s path we are told not to steal. The other commandment looks beneath the act of acquiring to the heart that craves. Not only are we not to steal, we are not to covet what see others have.

Let’s begin with some definitions. First, stealing. God’s intent at creation was that people would work and thus benefit from the fruit of their labor. Theft is a refusal to accept this; theft diminishes the humanity of both the thief and the victim. The thief refuses to work. The victim is deprived of the fruit of his or her work.

Coveting: Eugene Peterson rightly observes that “to covet is to fantasize a life other than what is given to me.” Will Willimon and Stanley Hauerwas add this insight: “Our problem as humans is not that we are full of desire, aflame with unfulfillment. Our problem is that we long for that which is unfulfilling. We attempt to be content with that which can never satisfy.”

We are baffled by Winona Ryder’s failed heist. But let’s not flatter ourselves too easily; we are like her. We have a love affair with ‘stuff’ in this culture. It shows itself in different ways and in the days ahead we will try to understand our shared condition.

Prayer:
By your grace, O God, work deep in our heart and change us. Grant to us the gift of a contented heart, free of a gnawing desire for things that cannot make us whole or fix our lives. Teach us to rest in your care and provision, this day and always, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.