Jesus lay in a manger, totally dependent on human beings to provide his basic human needs. The Author of the Universe had a bed of straw, was a blanket’s protection away from dying of cold exposure in the chill Middle Eastern night, had a common laborer to lead and protect his family, to guide his upbringing, to be the husband to the mother of God.
Jesus, for the moment, was out of control, totally dependent upon God the Father providing for His needs. When Herod was a threat, God used Joseph and Mary to carry Him to safety in Egypt. When that threat passed, God used them to teach Jesus the fundamentals of growing in wisdom in the culture of the Chosen people. When Jesus stayed behind in the Temple while His family traveled back home to Nazareth God used the experience to open the eyes and hearts of Jesus’ earthly family to His eventual mission, and perhaps, to educate the young Jesus in being responsible to His earthly family.
But it all began with the helpless babe. God incarnate did not descend in adult form, ready to take on the evil of the world as an omniscient and omnipotent King. He came as a babe, and God ordained that coming.
If God trusted His Son to an earthly entry of the most poor and tenuous sort, trusted His upbringing to imperfect humans, trusted that He would recognize His identity and submit Himself to the Father, trusted that He would be obedient and die the death so that God could raise Him from the grave…..
Why do I doubt that my circumstances are beyond God’s control? Why do I become anxious over the routine daily roadblocks that happen in my life and in the life of every human being with the capacity to know they exist? Why do I fear the outcome of things over which I have no control, things over which the God Who oversaw the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, is in total control?
Did He not see you and me as babes? Did He not provide for our sustenance through the humans that cared for us? Did He not give us minds to learn, emotions to love and be loved, spirits to seek, and souls to be saved by His grace? Can we not look back and see our “escapes to Egypt”, our moments of learning from irresponsible behavior, our epiphanies, our fulfilled prophecies, our realizations of the promises He has kept?
Do I really want to persist in trying to control the uncontrollable, to anticipate the unknowable, to prevent the inevitable, to deny that apparent mortality followed by an inescapable immortality is the fate of all, that God’s grace, once received is not revocable but a seal of life, that God’s grace persistently rejected is not recoverable, but a seal of eternal separation from all that is love?
Crumble my pride, break my rebellious spirit, bring me back to the attitude of the babe in arms: dependence, humility, openly loving and desiring to be loved, needing relationship, first with the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and then with all who will be in relationship with me. Abba, Father, let it be so. Amen.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
His Love
There are days full of blue sky, bathed in sunshine and covered in the coolness of fall or early spring. In those days one can be appreciative, can see the beauty without strain, and can trust in the creative Spirit that produced such a colorful and tranquil surrounding. On those days, life can be just as tranquil when I trust Him Who created the day; it is as if He is shouting to me, “See I love you, and this is the day I have made just for you.”
There are other days, rainy days, full of squalls--blustery, cold days in which the sun is obviously somewhere, for there is light, but what my eye sees is the storm illuminated by the light. In those days, too, there is beauty, though with some storms the beauty is tempered by the fear of the power behind the storm. It is as if He is saying, “See, I love you, and my grace is sufficient to protect you from the turbulence of all life's storms."
There are nights, nights of incredible clearness, nights with the reflected light of the moon, and, in the dark countryside, the individual lights of the millions of suns that cover the sky, pinpoints of creation; lights that give me a perspective of the vastness of creation that cannot be known by sight in the day. It is as if He is saying, “In the darkness is my light most visible, and the extent of creation most apparent; see the vastness of my love just for you.”
There are other nights, nights shrouded by heavy clouds, nights in which the lights of the moon and stars are not to be seen, in which the darkness is something I can feel as palpable around me; darkness in which I only know of my existence and the existence of my surroundings by senses other than sight. In those nights, when I cannot see, it is as if He is saying, “This night is for your faith; only in these nights can you know me most intimately; only in these surroundings, forgetting the past, not knowing the future, living only in this moment and then the next, can you know me most completely. Only in this night is my love unattended by a vision of the creation, and therefore most fully to be known. See this as my complete love for you, and that you need nothing else.”
There are other days, rainy days, full of squalls--blustery, cold days in which the sun is obviously somewhere, for there is light, but what my eye sees is the storm illuminated by the light. In those days, too, there is beauty, though with some storms the beauty is tempered by the fear of the power behind the storm. It is as if He is saying, “See, I love you, and my grace is sufficient to protect you from the turbulence of all life's storms."
There are nights, nights of incredible clearness, nights with the reflected light of the moon, and, in the dark countryside, the individual lights of the millions of suns that cover the sky, pinpoints of creation; lights that give me a perspective of the vastness of creation that cannot be known by sight in the day. It is as if He is saying, “In the darkness is my light most visible, and the extent of creation most apparent; see the vastness of my love just for you.”
There are other nights, nights shrouded by heavy clouds, nights in which the lights of the moon and stars are not to be seen, in which the darkness is something I can feel as palpable around me; darkness in which I only know of my existence and the existence of my surroundings by senses other than sight. In those nights, when I cannot see, it is as if He is saying, “This night is for your faith; only in these nights can you know me most intimately; only in these surroundings, forgetting the past, not knowing the future, living only in this moment and then the next, can you know me most completely. Only in this night is my love unattended by a vision of the creation, and therefore most fully to be known. See this as my complete love for you, and that you need nothing else.”
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The Ties that Bind
This week L.S.U. plays the University of Florida in what is billed as a pivotal game in the national college football scene. It is important in that perspective, but the time and circumstances bring to mind things much more compelling in the eternal perspective.
Twelve years ago this week was memorable for me and for my family. We gathered together in Baton Rouge to celebrate my mother's 83rd birthday, knowing it would be her last with us--she was rapidly succumbing to metastatic gallbladder cancer.
It so happened that the same weekend saw L.S.U., the alma mater of my Dad and Mother, my brother, me, and several of my nieces nephews and in-laws, play No. 1 University of Florida on Saturday night in Tiger Stadium. We gathered around the television in Mother's den, and she and the rest of us watched as L.S.U. upset the favored gators. It was a special night for L.S.U. football--it was a much more special night for our family.
Mom and Dad met at L.S.U., two students from rather poor backgrounds who came together as employees in one of the L.S.U. cafeterias, fell in love, and created the family that sat there on October 11, 1997. Dad, who had gone on to become a Ph.D. and teach at L.S.U. for over 30 years, and had been named the L.S.U. Alumni Professor of the year in 1975, had passed away in 1990, dying from leukemia. We worried that mother would not be far behind him, that she would not do well after his death, but she proved us wrong. Her faith in God, and the toughness she gained as the fourth child and only sister in a fatherless home (her father died when she was 5), scratching out a subsistence on a small farm 20 miles outside of Baton Rouge, had prepared her for almost anything, including his untimely passing, her active life thereafter, and her rapidly approaching death.
You might think that someone with less than 4 weeks to live would not have much interest in football or anything else with so little significance beyond the moment of its occurrence. But she sat there, alertly watching, occassionally wringing her hands in anxiety with the rest of us as the game ebbed and flowed toward the unexpected L.S.U. win. Prior to that time, even when alone, she would always know when L.S.U. was playing, football or basketball in particular. But her deep-seated love for L.S.U. was such that she confided she would often turn the radio or television off and on periodically to see what was happening because listening or watching nonstop made her too anxious!!
Ten years later, the family gathered at our house in Mobile to celebrate my brother's 70th birthday. That night we sat in our den and watched as L.S.U. (last second university) played a great game against UF, a game that was the spring board to the ultimate national championship.
It was a great time, full of memories of the '97 gathering, and unbeknownst to us, the last time we would gather as four siblings--my sister, Carmen, died suddenly two months later.
As this week's game approaches, I do not focus on football, but on the unique way that God has used a love for a school and the love of family to create memories. The relationships that have existed over these many years, the gatherings in one place or another to enjoy the common emotion and excitement, the warm but sad memories of last times together, make me wish we were all going to be together again this week to watch the game--not because winning is so important, but because its about love and family and shared histories and experiences--and of course, about winning, too!!
Geaux Tigers!!
Twelve years ago this week was memorable for me and for my family. We gathered together in Baton Rouge to celebrate my mother's 83rd birthday, knowing it would be her last with us--she was rapidly succumbing to metastatic gallbladder cancer.
It so happened that the same weekend saw L.S.U., the alma mater of my Dad and Mother, my brother, me, and several of my nieces nephews and in-laws, play No. 1 University of Florida on Saturday night in Tiger Stadium. We gathered around the television in Mother's den, and she and the rest of us watched as L.S.U. upset the favored gators. It was a special night for L.S.U. football--it was a much more special night for our family.
Mom and Dad met at L.S.U., two students from rather poor backgrounds who came together as employees in one of the L.S.U. cafeterias, fell in love, and created the family that sat there on October 11, 1997. Dad, who had gone on to become a Ph.D. and teach at L.S.U. for over 30 years, and had been named the L.S.U. Alumni Professor of the year in 1975, had passed away in 1990, dying from leukemia. We worried that mother would not be far behind him, that she would not do well after his death, but she proved us wrong. Her faith in God, and the toughness she gained as the fourth child and only sister in a fatherless home (her father died when she was 5), scratching out a subsistence on a small farm 20 miles outside of Baton Rouge, had prepared her for almost anything, including his untimely passing, her active life thereafter, and her rapidly approaching death.
You might think that someone with less than 4 weeks to live would not have much interest in football or anything else with so little significance beyond the moment of its occurrence. But she sat there, alertly watching, occassionally wringing her hands in anxiety with the rest of us as the game ebbed and flowed toward the unexpected L.S.U. win. Prior to that time, even when alone, she would always know when L.S.U. was playing, football or basketball in particular. But her deep-seated love for L.S.U. was such that she confided she would often turn the radio or television off and on periodically to see what was happening because listening or watching nonstop made her too anxious!!
Ten years later, the family gathered at our house in Mobile to celebrate my brother's 70th birthday. That night we sat in our den and watched as L.S.U. (last second university) played a great game against UF, a game that was the spring board to the ultimate national championship.
It was a great time, full of memories of the '97 gathering, and unbeknownst to us, the last time we would gather as four siblings--my sister, Carmen, died suddenly two months later.
As this week's game approaches, I do not focus on football, but on the unique way that God has used a love for a school and the love of family to create memories. The relationships that have existed over these many years, the gatherings in one place or another to enjoy the common emotion and excitement, the warm but sad memories of last times together, make me wish we were all going to be together again this week to watch the game--not because winning is so important, but because its about love and family and shared histories and experiences--and of course, about winning, too!!
Geaux Tigers!!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Thoughts About Weaving
Several years ago my sister, who had become quite accomplished in the skill of weaving, gifted me with a blanket made by her on her loom. At the time I appreciated the gift, and for years we kept it around our home, using it on cool evenings as a comforter while we sat near the fire place in our den. But it did not hold any great significance to me because I knew she could always make me another one should anything happen to that blanket.
In December 2007 my sister developed a severe stroke and was gone from this life in less than 3 days. My “big” sister (9 years separated us) was no longer physically present to be my friend, my sometimes surrogate mother, my geographically distant go to person. I missed her greatly and still think of her almost daily, wistfully, as I do my parents who passed away before her.
Now the blanket is more important to me. It is irreplaceable. The love and effort placed into its tightly woven, intricate design is unique and can never be replicated, for the love that is woven into that fabric cannot be replaced, even if the fabric could be reproduced by another weaver. Each morning as I drink my coffee and have my time of Bible reading and prayer, I sit with that blanket in my favorite chair, sometimes using it for warmth, sometimes draping it over my white dress shirt so that it shields me from the coffee I am prone to spill—the blanket has a few stains from coffee, but they are hardly noticeable because of its muted brown and beige colors.
When she first died I would not have thought about using it for such a purpose, to risk staining it; but after a while, I realized she gave it to me to as a comforter and to be used in our daily life, not to be an idol. She gave it as a gift to be used, and each morning it serves as a memorial to her life as I prepare for the day.
You and I may never learn to weave, at least not blankets; but we will weave things of significance into the lives of those around us, those who love us, who depend upon us—those to whom we represent the “go to” person. Every time we invest the love of God in one of those people, we are weaving our lives into theirs, imprinting a memory of caring, leaving a legacy of commitment to their well-being, an inheritance that cannot be replaced by anyone else.
Whether our gift to them is encouragement or physical support, discipline or life coaching, the friendship of walking along side, or whatever the Great Weaver has given us as the gift to invest in that person, it is as unique as the weave of my sister’s blanket, and irreplaceable as the love that was threaded into that work of art she gave me.
Find joy and fulfillment in providing for those in whom you have weaved God’s love. Know that those relationships are not accidents, but a sovereignly ordained gift from above. The gift of being a servant and the gift of being served are irrevocably connected by the Master, woven together by His loving hand. Also, find freedom in allowing that person to whom you have given your gift to use the gift as they see fit, even it sometimes gets stained, or seems to be unappreciated—there were years between the gifting of the blanket from my sister and the full appreciation of the love that was invested in its creation. Such may be the case in the love we give freely to others, and surely is the case in the love that God has given to us—we all are slow to recognize what gifts have been given to us, and often only in retrospect do we, or will we fully understand. (1 Cor. 13:12).
In December 2007 my sister developed a severe stroke and was gone from this life in less than 3 days. My “big” sister (9 years separated us) was no longer physically present to be my friend, my sometimes surrogate mother, my geographically distant go to person. I missed her greatly and still think of her almost daily, wistfully, as I do my parents who passed away before her.
Now the blanket is more important to me. It is irreplaceable. The love and effort placed into its tightly woven, intricate design is unique and can never be replicated, for the love that is woven into that fabric cannot be replaced, even if the fabric could be reproduced by another weaver. Each morning as I drink my coffee and have my time of Bible reading and prayer, I sit with that blanket in my favorite chair, sometimes using it for warmth, sometimes draping it over my white dress shirt so that it shields me from the coffee I am prone to spill—the blanket has a few stains from coffee, but they are hardly noticeable because of its muted brown and beige colors.
When she first died I would not have thought about using it for such a purpose, to risk staining it; but after a while, I realized she gave it to me to as a comforter and to be used in our daily life, not to be an idol. She gave it as a gift to be used, and each morning it serves as a memorial to her life as I prepare for the day.
You and I may never learn to weave, at least not blankets; but we will weave things of significance into the lives of those around us, those who love us, who depend upon us—those to whom we represent the “go to” person. Every time we invest the love of God in one of those people, we are weaving our lives into theirs, imprinting a memory of caring, leaving a legacy of commitment to their well-being, an inheritance that cannot be replaced by anyone else.
Whether our gift to them is encouragement or physical support, discipline or life coaching, the friendship of walking along side, or whatever the Great Weaver has given us as the gift to invest in that person, it is as unique as the weave of my sister’s blanket, and irreplaceable as the love that was threaded into that work of art she gave me.
Find joy and fulfillment in providing for those in whom you have weaved God’s love. Know that those relationships are not accidents, but a sovereignly ordained gift from above. The gift of being a servant and the gift of being served are irrevocably connected by the Master, woven together by His loving hand. Also, find freedom in allowing that person to whom you have given your gift to use the gift as they see fit, even it sometimes gets stained, or seems to be unappreciated—there were years between the gifting of the blanket from my sister and the full appreciation of the love that was invested in its creation. Such may be the case in the love we give freely to others, and surely is the case in the love that God has given to us—we all are slow to recognize what gifts have been given to us, and often only in retrospect do we, or will we fully understand. (1 Cor. 13:12).
Friday, July 3, 2009
Things I Learned from Trees: Preemptive Action
For years after we moved into our present home I debated about the fate of two trees that sit at the rear of our home. Both were large in diameter. One towered over the pool and frequently dropped leaves and seed-bearing debris in the water. The other leaned at such an angle that it rose over our house in such a manner that, although the base was at the rear of the house, the top extended beyond the front of the house.
I hate to cut down trees. They have intrinsic beauty and they provide shade which is pleasing in the summer and reduces the need for air conditioning in the hotter months. But during Hurricane Ivan, we lived with the fear that one or both of these trees might fall and do damage to our home (or us).
Thus, after much discussion, we decided on about August 18th of 2005 to have both of them removed. That was 11 days before Hurricane Katrina devastated the Gulf Coast and did considerable damage in Mobile to trees. The winds of Ivan had blown mostly north to south and the trees, had they fallen would probably have gone away from our home. Katrina’s winds were consistently from the south, whether due south, southeast, or southwest, and the trees would have presented a real threat to our home, to the point that the one which towered over our home would have divided the house into a duplex with a breeze-way had it fallen.
Though the removal was expensive financially and the loss of their beauty and cooling shade was a bit painful, I sat and watched as the winds howled on August 29th without the fear that at any moment my house could be devastated. We had to give up something we really liked, something we received pleasure from on a daily basis, in order to protect something more important—our lives and our home.
Sometimes in my personal spiritual life I have to take preemptive steps, also. There are many pleasurable things that God has given us to enjoy in this world. Especially in this country we are blessed with the choice of pleasures to the point that they can become a distraction, or worse, a false god.
On occasion I consume in excess whatever the good food is that I love, and soon find that I am tired of it altogether. I realize, as a mentor has told me in the past, that what was meant to delight was not meant to truly satisfy. I don’t eliminate that item from my diet but I learn to discipline my appetite.
There are other pleasures which are more sacred and less freely accessed and around which God has placed very real and definite restrictions—the gift of sex, how we use our financial resources, how we treat our loved ones. In the case of the more sacred gifts, there are times when I need to preemptively discipline aspects of my life in order to avoid violating the sacred nature of the gift.
In the sexual arena, I avoid pornography in any of the forms made so accessible by the media avenues of today. I refrain from harmful use of our financial resources or from placing wants above needs or perceived needs above tithing. I try to prioritize my time such that family and friends come before idle hobbies that deprive me of their company.
Life is a series of choices. We could have left our trees standing; perhaps they would still be standing—perhaps our house would have been destroyed and our lives put in jeapordy. I can choose to obey God or I can choose to violate the law that the Holy Spirit has written on my heart and suffer the destructive results, things often not so dramatic as a house being crushed, but more eternally significant.
Each day the choices are new or similar ones re-present themselves. Before facing them, I find my “quiet place”, read the Word and other writings that draw me to the Father through the leading of the Holy Spirit. Then I go out into the world with the goal to be in it, but not of it.
Lord, thank You for the gift of faith that allows us to submit to You. Strengthen us to be obedient and to make the right choices, honoring the Cross and Your love. Amen.
I hate to cut down trees. They have intrinsic beauty and they provide shade which is pleasing in the summer and reduces the need for air conditioning in the hotter months. But during Hurricane Ivan, we lived with the fear that one or both of these trees might fall and do damage to our home (or us).
Thus, after much discussion, we decided on about August 18th of 2005 to have both of them removed. That was 11 days before Hurricane Katrina devastated the Gulf Coast and did considerable damage in Mobile to trees. The winds of Ivan had blown mostly north to south and the trees, had they fallen would probably have gone away from our home. Katrina’s winds were consistently from the south, whether due south, southeast, or southwest, and the trees would have presented a real threat to our home, to the point that the one which towered over our home would have divided the house into a duplex with a breeze-way had it fallen.
Though the removal was expensive financially and the loss of their beauty and cooling shade was a bit painful, I sat and watched as the winds howled on August 29th without the fear that at any moment my house could be devastated. We had to give up something we really liked, something we received pleasure from on a daily basis, in order to protect something more important—our lives and our home.
Sometimes in my personal spiritual life I have to take preemptive steps, also. There are many pleasurable things that God has given us to enjoy in this world. Especially in this country we are blessed with the choice of pleasures to the point that they can become a distraction, or worse, a false god.
On occasion I consume in excess whatever the good food is that I love, and soon find that I am tired of it altogether. I realize, as a mentor has told me in the past, that what was meant to delight was not meant to truly satisfy. I don’t eliminate that item from my diet but I learn to discipline my appetite.
There are other pleasures which are more sacred and less freely accessed and around which God has placed very real and definite restrictions—the gift of sex, how we use our financial resources, how we treat our loved ones. In the case of the more sacred gifts, there are times when I need to preemptively discipline aspects of my life in order to avoid violating the sacred nature of the gift.
In the sexual arena, I avoid pornography in any of the forms made so accessible by the media avenues of today. I refrain from harmful use of our financial resources or from placing wants above needs or perceived needs above tithing. I try to prioritize my time such that family and friends come before idle hobbies that deprive me of their company.
Life is a series of choices. We could have left our trees standing; perhaps they would still be standing—perhaps our house would have been destroyed and our lives put in jeapordy. I can choose to obey God or I can choose to violate the law that the Holy Spirit has written on my heart and suffer the destructive results, things often not so dramatic as a house being crushed, but more eternally significant.
Each day the choices are new or similar ones re-present themselves. Before facing them, I find my “quiet place”, read the Word and other writings that draw me to the Father through the leading of the Holy Spirit. Then I go out into the world with the goal to be in it, but not of it.
Lord, thank You for the gift of faith that allows us to submit to You. Strengthen us to be obedient and to make the right choices, honoring the Cross and Your love. Amen.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Dry Times and Manna
As I go through dry times in my spiritual life, I am tempted to do several things:
I am tempted to think that God has abandoned me; I am tempted to seek distractions that occupy my mind so that I don’t have to think about the angst that exists within my heart; I am tempted to live in the past, remembering mountain tops in my spiritual life; I am tempted to sin or to take shortcuts to pleasure that do not include God’s commands; I am tempted to place such pressure on relationships with others that they cannot possibly meet my expectations.
When I am in these situations, it helps me to remember the Israelites and manna. God gave them manna as a food, but it was also a physical demonstration of His love and provision. He instructed them very specifically on how it was to be used…they were only to gather enough for the particular day, except the day before the Sabbath when they were to gather enough for two days. If they gathered more than they needed it spoiled, turning His good provision into something rotten.
So, how do I make this connection of my daily life to manna for the Israelites? Well, God provides each of us with daily life—with food and clothing, with shelter and relationships, with exposure to the beauty of the creation, with opportunities to commune with Him. These are our daily manna. They are always there, in varying quantities and varying qualities, no matter how many other things might negatively impact our lives. (The Israelites had manna, but they had plenty of problems, too).
When I think God has abandoned me, I remember the roof over my head, the food in my pantry (or my stomach), the cold glass of water I can drink whenever I want, the love of my family, the beauty of the sky and the creativity of the vegetation around my home.
When I am tempted to seek distractions in place of Him, I remember the instruction to seek Him first; when I take time to do this, He reorders my priorities, making the distractions less attractive and less imperative, and then, allows me greater enjoyment of them simply because they no longer carry the weight of needing to satisfy my deepest longings.
When I am tempted to live in the past, to try to resurrect past memorable spiritual experiences, I instead give thanks for those experiences without allowing them to become idols that corrupt the very love they were intended to convey.
When I am tempted to sin and take short cuts, I am reminded of the rotten quality of pleasure gathered outside of His will and the regret that follows, just as manna gathered in excess was no longer fit for its original purpose and brought sorrow to the Israelites.
When I am tempted to expect fellow humans to be God, I remember to forgive them their trespasses, and to set the bar of my expectations on the ground—not easy, but a concept upon which I work daily—God demands nothing of me except my faith; how can I justify my expectations of performance when He has none of me?
Arising each day when the prospect that this day is to be lived separately and without baggage from the day preceding, and without the after-load of the day to follow, is freeing. Just as the Israelites had only the manna of the day to gather, I have only to gather the moments of the day into communing with Him, living His will, and allowing His sovereignty to order my day, whatever may come.
Certainly life is not always or even frequently easy. But when my heart approaches life from this perspective, when the disruptions of the day are viewed within His sovereignty, when the tragedies that flash across the news are known to be known from all time by Him, when the fun of the day is seen as His provision for my sake, when the dry times are known to be His way of giving me discipline, of sharpening my will to be compliant with His, then my anxieties wither, my joy blossoms amongst the debris of whatever destructive events the day may bring.
Thanks be to God for His immeasurable Grace and Mercy, that gives me Hope in all these things.
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