Hindsight

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Ten years ago yesterday (Nov 10, 2003), I wrote this in one of my journals:

So often I’ve told people that since studying Job, I no longer ask God what He’s trying to teach me in various circumstances – I simply trust that He knows what He’s doing and that the outcome will be to His glory. But I am starting to wonder if He’s telling us something now and we’re just not getting it yet. Is God prodding us toward a certain decision? Is He telling us to do something way outside our comfort zone? Or is He just moving us toward a fuller, deeper reliance on Him to meet our needs – spiritual, emotional physical…?

The life context during which I wrote that included major struggles in three areas and an increasing sense of failure at work. Struggles and failure aren’t necessarily good indicators of God’s leading, though they can open our senses to him; for it is when we are struggling that we are more likely to seek and accept help.

One year after writing those words, I left behind the security and benefits of a well-paying (albeit unsatisfying) job and embarked on a new adventure. In hindsight it is easy to see that the struggles we had been experiencing were just the edge of a wilderness in which we would sojourn five more years. As a Christian, I look to the Bible for guidance, and so I have often wondered what similarities there may have been between our figurative journey in the wilderness and the literal journey the people of Israel took between Egypt and the promised land. The main thing I wonder is whether it was my own sins that led my family to wander—as it was for Israel—or was it merely the result of decisions I made along the way? Or was God specifically leading, as he so often led the apostle Paul and others throughout the book of Acts?

I don’t want to over-spiritualize our journey. I have never talked to a burning bush or wrestled with an angel. I can’t say that I have ever heard the audible voice of God telling me to go to Ninevah or don’t go to Macedonia. What I do know is this: I have a very strong sense that God has been with us on this journey, that we are where he wants us today, and that he will lead us as we seek to life faithfully for him. It’s been quite a decade!

Isolationism Revisited

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I had a very interesting experience a couple weeks ago. In desperate need of a haircut, I decided to try out a new barber in town. I’d seen his business card and website and his tagline had intrigued me: “Changing the world one haircut at a time.” I was curious what that meant, and how haircuts might be able to change the world. I got my answer!

During the course of my hour in the barber’s chair, I got an earful as “Bowtie” passionately talked about all that was wrong with our nation, its politics, its direction, its finances. Three other customers came in and sat down during that hour, readily engaging in a loud and sometimes contentious discussion. It was humorous, intriguing, and at times even educational – and not at all for the faint of heart or delicate of disposition! I left with conflicting feelings: that I needed to wash out my ears, and that Jesus – or at least Paul – would probably get their haircuts there just for the conversation!

What I learned was that Bowtie had two underlying philosophies that would “change the world”: first, get money out of politics; the president, congresspersons, and even local politicians ought to serve out of the goodness of their hearts, not for pay. Second, the US should get out of every other country and focus instead on our own interests.

I’ve heard the arguments before. The first fails to recognize that all humans are “desperately sick” (according to Jeremiah 17:9). The second is, frankly, naïve. From the very beginning, humankind was made for community, and I believe Scripture shows that that extends to the community of nations. Isolationism has never been good politics.

Calls for an American isolationism may have had their impact in the past, but they have been effectively silenced by the unavoidable fact of a world community that is linked by intricate economic ties, instant communication, complex and speedy transportation systems and the fear of nuclear destruction. (Reid, Daniel G. et al. Dictionary of Christianity in America 1990)

Isolationism has never been good discipleship, either. Yet I often hear calls for what amounts to a Christian isolationism. I hear questions like, “why are we going to Ethiopia or Mexico or India when there are so many needs here at home?” They’re not bad questions; they deserve thoughtful consideration. The simplest answer is this: “We go because we are called – to make disciples of all peoples, to be witnesses of Jesus Christ here, near, and far.”

So now I have a question for you: As you are going – to work, to school, to the gym, on vacation – how are you “making disciples” of the people you come into contact with?

The Continuing Adventure

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You sit down and turn on the TV, ready to watch your show. Amidst the plethora of true junk that’s out there, this is one of the good ones, with believable characters, compelling plots, life-like stories. As you watch, you’re pulled into the action and the drama; you feel the hurt and the joy, cringe when the music suddenly changes to a foreboding theme. The story unfolds and you’re no longer aware that you’re not part of it yourself. The suspense grips you and then…

To Be Continued….

Don’t you hate that? Right at the best part, the screen goes black and those three dreaded words appear, begging you to wait another week before finding resolution.

That’s how the gospels end, too. The first four books of the New Testament—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—tell the story of Jesus’ life on earth. They build to a climax with his arrest and crucifixion, reach a dramatic resolution in his resurrection, and end with, “Now, go…” (Matthew 28:16-20). And we’re left wondering, “what happens next?” To Be Continued….

The book of Acts continues the story but that, too, ends with To Be Continued…. And that’s where we come in, where you come in. We are the continuation of the story. We are the next episode.

In The Hobbit, the introduction to J.R.R. Tolkien’s classic Lord of the Rings trilogy, the great grey wizard Gandalf invites the very comfortable and predictable hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, to join an adventure:

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it’s very difficult to find anyone.”

“I should think so—in these parts!” said our Mr. Baggins. “We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can’t think what anybody sees in them.”

But the whole book “is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected.”

Jesus invites us to join him on an adventure; indeed, to write—and participate in—the next episode. What will your adventure look like?

Bad Stories

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Some stories are meant to be written by others and then read, not lived for real. Like the ones involving tumors, cancer, and other such evils. They’re meant to be written in books that you can just put back on the shelf whenever you want – whenever the chapter is too depressing or there’s too much pain. They should be written by bad people who are getting the just desserts for their wicked ways. These stories should never be written by good people, at least not if the stories are true and autobiographical. Because good people shouldn’t ever have to live with such evils.

I’m angry. And hurt. And sad. And a bit fearful. All because a good person I know and love has just started living one of these stories. Been there, done that. I’ve already lived one of these stories; lived it, wrote it, read it. I really don’t want another – not in my life, not in a friend’s life, not in a sister-in-law’s life. Even if it ends well and happily ever after and all that rot. In the midst of the living—in the midst of the writing—it stinks. Not very poetic, that, but I really don’t care. Cancer sucks. Tumors suck. Evil sucks.

But somehow, in the midst of all the rotten, stinking, unpoetic suckiness, I don’t feel anger or hurt or sadness or fear directed toward God. Somehow I know that even when it doesn’t feel like it, he’s still got the whole world in his hands. It’s still his show, his story. And whatever is going on in this chapter…well, it’s only a short chapter in a long, long story.

An old acquaintance recently wrote, “I want my kids to win so that every outcome is for their benefit.” I responded that there’s tremendous benefit in losing, too. Sometimes losing is just a moment in time, soon to be forgotten: a single goal in soccer, one point below an A (or below a D–), taking second in a two-person race. Sometimes it’s much bigger: losing an arm or a kidney or a breast…or a mom or dad or brother or wife. Somehow, in losing, we have a unique chance to gain something, too. Often – even usually, perhaps – we don’t get it or realize we did until much later; but I think it’s always there. It’s what Job said at the end: “My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you.” He gained a new vision of God, a new understanding of the Divine. Hmmm…. Just thought of something: I’ve often sung songs that say, “open my eyes, Lord,” but I just realized that’s exactly what God did with Job. Do I really want God to open my eyes, if a Job-like experience might be the means he uses to do that?  I don’t know. Maybe not.

Tomorrow ends the introduction to a new story my sister-in-law is writing. The first chapter is just beginning. I’m praying it’ll be a short story, not a novel. I’m praying for a miracle. I’m praying for healing. But I’m also settling in for the long haul.

Open our eyes, Lord, and show us yourself.

Dare to Praise

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“Dare to praise [God] for being good….” – Becky Harling, in The 30 Day Praise Challenge

There’s more to that sentence, but these seven words stopped me short. Do I really need to be dared to praise God? Shouldn’t praise flow naturally and easily? Actually, yes – to both. Because in difficult circumstances (read: “when things don’t go the way I want them to”), it’s difficult to praise God. And it’s especially difficult to praise him for being good in those times. As if he’s sometimes good and sometimes…well, not so much.

But no, really: God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. So praise him for being good. Go ahead, I dare you! (Thanks for the reminder and the challenge, Becky!)