“And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” -Gal. 6:9
Another milestone in our year has come. Registration for next year’s classes is upon us. For me, it is that bend in the road where I mark another year of dreaming for the future of RECA while realizing that one more year of sharing life together with you is winding down. For you, it is that time of committing your students to another year of school with River’s Edge. I am well aware as I have walked this road with many of you that this means a choice of continued sacrifice and dedication to a hard and narrow path. In choosing River’s Edge, you are not taking the path of least resistance. If we were to practice truth in advertising, I would find myself marketing RECA in the words of Churchill, “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.” Not a very great advertising slogan indeed.
What can I say to encourage you in this good work? Good parenting is nothing less than “blood, toil, tears, and sweat.” Did we expect any less? In truth, I had little idea of what I was getting myself into in bringing home that first baby from the hospital. No, I did not know all the labor involved in raising a child into adult hood. Perhaps that was a good thing else we might not have gone there. God, in His wisdom, introduces children to us when they are small, cute, and cuddly. By the time we realize they can become sassy, feisty adolescents, it is too late. We have already committed ourselves, heart and soul.
Whatever state of blissful ignorance that may have surrounded bringing children into the world, it soon dissipates. We realize we have a job on our hands. In God’s wisdom, He continues to draw us into deeper waters where we must lose any focus we might have had on ourselves as being the center of the universe. Marriage starts it. Children cement the deal. Parenting will take us farther than we had ever planned and cost us more that we had ever bargained. But also in God’s wisdom, the more we die to self, the more we gain.
Parenting is tough if we do it right. If we shun the work, however, and try to do it on the cheap, it can come back to haunt us as a nightmare that never goes away. My heart bleeds for those I know who have reaped that whirlwind. Our experience in parenting was much as yours is now. A lot of work, work, and more work. A lot of tears along with the laughter, and a lot of self-doubts as to how it would work out. But let me point out some joys at the end of the rainbows (following the storms) that I remember so clearly. One day you too may get a phone call from your son or daughter who tells you that they are graduating from college … with honors. It was the one you worried most about. Then there is the day when you will stand before a solemn assembly and give them away in marriage to a godly mate, knowing full well they have come to that point, fully chaste, and still walking with the Lord. It hardly gets any better than that. But yes, it does. There is that day where you will put your feet under their kitchen table for the first time as they serve you a home cooked meal and feel the earth move beneath you. And after they move away, there is that heart that overflows with gratitude when they come to visit, genuinely glad to see you and you them. They share family reunions as adults on equal terms where the jokes flow and new memories are made on a level we never knew possible. Then there are the quiet Sunday mornings where we rise, just the two of us, and head for church knowing that all three children are doing the same thing, miles and miles away, without being told. How blessed we are. It was all worth it. Of course, then there are the six grandchildren that are thrown in for good measure and now we share in the pain and pleasure of supporting that great work except we get most of the fun while mom and dad get most of the work.
Whatever it takes, in terms of love, discipline, time, and effort, even another year at River’s Edge perhaps, it is well worth it in the end. You, too, will reap in good season if you faint not.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Sheltering
For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. –Eph. 6:13
For those who don’t know or recognize it, “sheltering” has become a dirty word. It has been accused of keeping company with words like censorship, intolerance, narrow thinking, bigotry, suppression, and fanaticism. “Sheltering” to most of us, however, is synonymous with protecting, caring, shielding, and defending. King David was a “shelterer” over 2000 years before internet filtering as he wrote, “I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes: I hate the work of them that turn aside; it shall not cleave to me.” (Psalm 101:3) But somehow our culture has taken the basically Christian idea of forbearance and twisted it beyond recognition so that intellectual maturity is measured by what we allow and entertain and not by what we forswear.
I am still of that old school that judges a beautiful house by the good things it contains and not by its non-discriminating tolerance for junk, animals of every sort, and filth beyond measure. Sure, a clean, well-kept house makes me feel uncomfortable if I were to think of entering while in my garden boots and dirty work clothes while a mud hut would not make me feel in the least bit hesitant. Keeping intellectual house in today’s world, however, seems to put a value upon making the bats, roaches, snakes, and pigs all feel welcome.
I just reviewed the website of the American Library Association and went to their section celebrating banned books. After perusing the list of challenged or banned books which they champion as a defense of our 1st amendment rights, I felt strangely dirty. The last time I felt that way was after entering some squalid refugee huts in the Dominican Republic where dirt and disease were everywhere around me. I yearned for a shower and some soapy disinfectant. Paul says we are to destroy speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, and to take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ (2 Cor. 10:5). Paul’s desire is simply to be clean. We mark our humanity by what we do not allow as well as the things we tolerate; perhaps more so. We have forgotten that being a person of “discriminating tastes” is a compliment.
Ed Dunlop, who writes for The Old Schoolhouse, has an interesting article out entitled “Homeschool Dads; Guarding the Castle.” He draws a strong parallel between the protective features and functions of the medieval castle and the task of guarding our hearts in today’s dark and hostile world. “Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life” (Pro. 4:23) is his key verse. I would urge you to link on to the article at www.crosswalk.com/homeschool/11604986/ to read in full. Protection of hearth and home in medieval Europe was the name of the game in self-preservation. So it is today if we are to protect our hearts from being destroyed by a thousand and one evil values that come to us wrapped in the comic strains of a hilarious TV show or blatantly fed to us by a smooth tongued panelist putting a slick spin on sin.
The arena of battle today is our minds which are so accessible to the powerful and ever-present media that surround us. I feel it pressing in on me. It is where I live or die spiritually. J. M. Njoroge, an apologist for Ravi Zacharias ministries writes, “… the power of ideas is most clearly demonstrated in the absolute effectiveness of the Tempter’s strategy in the Garden of Eden. How did Satan succeed in driving Adam and Eve away from God? Not through demon possession or illness, and not by overpowering their will: he succeeded by planting an idea in their mind. Ever since the human race bought the lie that we can actually become gods ourselves in place of God, we have been willing—even resolved—to do our enemy’s bidding. The key arena for this spiritual battle has been our minds.” May we all, parent and child together, find shelter for our minds in the cleft of the Rock that shadows a dry thirsty land.
Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe
For those who don’t know or recognize it, “sheltering” has become a dirty word. It has been accused of keeping company with words like censorship, intolerance, narrow thinking, bigotry, suppression, and fanaticism. “Sheltering” to most of us, however, is synonymous with protecting, caring, shielding, and defending. King David was a “shelterer” over 2000 years before internet filtering as he wrote, “I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes: I hate the work of them that turn aside; it shall not cleave to me.” (Psalm 101:3) But somehow our culture has taken the basically Christian idea of forbearance and twisted it beyond recognition so that intellectual maturity is measured by what we allow and entertain and not by what we forswear.
I am still of that old school that judges a beautiful house by the good things it contains and not by its non-discriminating tolerance for junk, animals of every sort, and filth beyond measure. Sure, a clean, well-kept house makes me feel uncomfortable if I were to think of entering while in my garden boots and dirty work clothes while a mud hut would not make me feel in the least bit hesitant. Keeping intellectual house in today’s world, however, seems to put a value upon making the bats, roaches, snakes, and pigs all feel welcome.
I just reviewed the website of the American Library Association and went to their section celebrating banned books. After perusing the list of challenged or banned books which they champion as a defense of our 1st amendment rights, I felt strangely dirty. The last time I felt that way was after entering some squalid refugee huts in the Dominican Republic where dirt and disease were everywhere around me. I yearned for a shower and some soapy disinfectant. Paul says we are to destroy speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, and to take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ (2 Cor. 10:5). Paul’s desire is simply to be clean. We mark our humanity by what we do not allow as well as the things we tolerate; perhaps more so. We have forgotten that being a person of “discriminating tastes” is a compliment.
Ed Dunlop, who writes for The Old Schoolhouse, has an interesting article out entitled “Homeschool Dads; Guarding the Castle.” He draws a strong parallel between the protective features and functions of the medieval castle and the task of guarding our hearts in today’s dark and hostile world. “Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life” (Pro. 4:23) is his key verse. I would urge you to link on to the article at www.crosswalk.com/homeschool/11604986/ to read in full. Protection of hearth and home in medieval Europe was the name of the game in self-preservation. So it is today if we are to protect our hearts from being destroyed by a thousand and one evil values that come to us wrapped in the comic strains of a hilarious TV show or blatantly fed to us by a smooth tongued panelist putting a slick spin on sin.
The arena of battle today is our minds which are so accessible to the powerful and ever-present media that surround us. I feel it pressing in on me. It is where I live or die spiritually. J. M. Njoroge, an apologist for Ravi Zacharias ministries writes, “… the power of ideas is most clearly demonstrated in the absolute effectiveness of the Tempter’s strategy in the Garden of Eden. How did Satan succeed in driving Adam and Eve away from God? Not through demon possession or illness, and not by overpowering their will: he succeeded by planting an idea in their mind. Ever since the human race bought the lie that we can actually become gods ourselves in place of God, we have been willing—even resolved—to do our enemy’s bidding. The key arena for this spiritual battle has been our minds.” May we all, parent and child together, find shelter for our minds in the cleft of the Rock that shadows a dry thirsty land.
Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe
Thursday, June 16, 2011
A Single Eye
“The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness. If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!” -Matt. 6:22-23
I can think of no more sensitive part of the body than the eye. I can cut, stab, tear, or bruise any part of me and endure, but a small grain of sand in my eye leaves me groveling and helpless. My one yucky memory of army bayonet training is to feint a stab at my enemy’s eyes. He will instinctively protect. Eye surgery is the stuff nightmares are made of, and most of us retain memories of some sort of procedure we hope never to repeat. Yet we all desperately need eye surgery of the most radical kind; to have our eye rendered “single.”
I borrow liberally today from a sermon John Wesley preached in his waning days when he labored under an acute concern for his followers as they were steadily emerging into new found prosperity and respectability. The sermon was a solemn and stern warning to his flock. “What the eye is to the body, intention is to the soul.” What has captured the intention of the human heart? What does it aim at? Where is it looking for fulfillment and purpose? Wesley hammered and hammered this theme with a desperate sense of urgency that seems so needful today. ‘If thine eye be single,’ singly fixed upon God, ‘thy whole body,’ that is, all thy soul, ‘shall be full of light,’ shall be filled with holiness and happiness. And again: If thine eye be single; if God be in all thy thoughts; if thou are constantly aiming at Him who is invisible; if it be in thy intention, in all things small and great, in all thy conversation to please God, to do not thy own will, but the will of him who sent thee into the world; if thou canst not say to … him who made thee for thyself, “I view thee, Lord, and end of my desires;” –then the promise will certainly take place: “Thy whole body shall be full of light:” thy whole soul shall be filled with the light of heaven; with the glory of the Lord resting upon thee. It is only then that we should be able to “pray without ceasing” and “in everything give thanks.”
We live, breathe, and swim in a world filled with distractions. The media is everywhere blaring at us, assaulting our senses with a Madison Avenue finesse that has perfected seduction to a high art form and science. Our wheels easily take us places wherever our heart desires and wherever our instincts for entertainment lead us. Our prosperity enables us to consume at a level never before known in the history of the world. Our driven culture plies us with activity upon activity consuming our time with amazing efficiency. It is also an increasingly visual world we live in where old timey circus freak shows, gaudy and cheap in their obvious trickery, are now replaced by digital special effects that are all but impossible to discern from real life. We now live with one foot in the Star Trek “hollow deck,” a roomful of space-age illusion. No wonder we struggle with having a “single eye” fixed on God. No wonder I do.
A distracted and dissatisfied soul is not a modern invention by any means. Wesley lamented in his day, the hungry soul, like the busy bee, wanders from flower to flower; but it goes off from each, with an abortive hope, and a deluded expectation. But nothing in this world has the capacity to satisfy the human soul no matter what great labors of pain or skill are taken to extract it. “A fool may find a kind of paradise upon earth, (although it is a grand mistake), but the wise man can find none.” Nothing in the realm of the senses or fame or riches or knowledge can replace the peace of home that is found only in God. Love the Lord with all thy heart, mind, soul, and strength. If this guiding principle be left to rust or disuse, to decay in the warm compost of our mall culture, then what is left to direct our understandings, passions, affections, tempers, all our thoughts, words, and actions? How great our darkness will be.
Those of us who cherish old British literature know well the recurring theme of parents who wished their children to “marry well.” Wesley fought tooth and nail against the very thought of it. Dare you sell your child to the devil? You undoubtedly do this… when you marry a son or daughter to a child of the devil; though it be one who wallows in gold and silver. Beware of the gilded bait! Death and hell are hid beneath! This was plain talk of the creeping darkness that comes when first principles are lost. Sobering words but somehow needful in the summer of our distractions.
Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe
I can think of no more sensitive part of the body than the eye. I can cut, stab, tear, or bruise any part of me and endure, but a small grain of sand in my eye leaves me groveling and helpless. My one yucky memory of army bayonet training is to feint a stab at my enemy’s eyes. He will instinctively protect. Eye surgery is the stuff nightmares are made of, and most of us retain memories of some sort of procedure we hope never to repeat. Yet we all desperately need eye surgery of the most radical kind; to have our eye rendered “single.”
I borrow liberally today from a sermon John Wesley preached in his waning days when he labored under an acute concern for his followers as they were steadily emerging into new found prosperity and respectability. The sermon was a solemn and stern warning to his flock. “What the eye is to the body, intention is to the soul.” What has captured the intention of the human heart? What does it aim at? Where is it looking for fulfillment and purpose? Wesley hammered and hammered this theme with a desperate sense of urgency that seems so needful today. ‘If thine eye be single,’ singly fixed upon God, ‘thy whole body,’ that is, all thy soul, ‘shall be full of light,’ shall be filled with holiness and happiness. And again: If thine eye be single; if God be in all thy thoughts; if thou are constantly aiming at Him who is invisible; if it be in thy intention, in all things small and great, in all thy conversation to please God, to do not thy own will, but the will of him who sent thee into the world; if thou canst not say to … him who made thee for thyself, “I view thee, Lord, and end of my desires;” –then the promise will certainly take place: “Thy whole body shall be full of light:” thy whole soul shall be filled with the light of heaven; with the glory of the Lord resting upon thee. It is only then that we should be able to “pray without ceasing” and “in everything give thanks.”
We live, breathe, and swim in a world filled with distractions. The media is everywhere blaring at us, assaulting our senses with a Madison Avenue finesse that has perfected seduction to a high art form and science. Our wheels easily take us places wherever our heart desires and wherever our instincts for entertainment lead us. Our prosperity enables us to consume at a level never before known in the history of the world. Our driven culture plies us with activity upon activity consuming our time with amazing efficiency. It is also an increasingly visual world we live in where old timey circus freak shows, gaudy and cheap in their obvious trickery, are now replaced by digital special effects that are all but impossible to discern from real life. We now live with one foot in the Star Trek “hollow deck,” a roomful of space-age illusion. No wonder we struggle with having a “single eye” fixed on God. No wonder I do.
A distracted and dissatisfied soul is not a modern invention by any means. Wesley lamented in his day, the hungry soul, like the busy bee, wanders from flower to flower; but it goes off from each, with an abortive hope, and a deluded expectation. But nothing in this world has the capacity to satisfy the human soul no matter what great labors of pain or skill are taken to extract it. “A fool may find a kind of paradise upon earth, (although it is a grand mistake), but the wise man can find none.” Nothing in the realm of the senses or fame or riches or knowledge can replace the peace of home that is found only in God. Love the Lord with all thy heart, mind, soul, and strength. If this guiding principle be left to rust or disuse, to decay in the warm compost of our mall culture, then what is left to direct our understandings, passions, affections, tempers, all our thoughts, words, and actions? How great our darkness will be.
Those of us who cherish old British literature know well the recurring theme of parents who wished their children to “marry well.” Wesley fought tooth and nail against the very thought of it. Dare you sell your child to the devil? You undoubtedly do this… when you marry a son or daughter to a child of the devil; though it be one who wallows in gold and silver. Beware of the gilded bait! Death and hell are hid beneath! This was plain talk of the creeping darkness that comes when first principles are lost. Sobering words but somehow needful in the summer of our distractions.
Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe
Thursday, June 09, 2011
Introverts
“In the secret place of His tent He will hide me…” -Ps. 27:5
We introverts have to contend with a bad rap. How often have you heard a neighbor or fellow worker interviewed after some mad man has run amok and you hear, “He was always quiet and kept to himself.” A certain sinister reputation attends those who can be characterized thusly. There is a good deal of misunderstanding regarding introverted personalities, and it affects quite a few of us. Modern studies show that up to 50% of our American population may be considered “introverts.” I confess I am exhibit “A.” As far as I can remember, I was quite content to play by myself be it a sandbox or with blocks as a child or picking up my .22 cal. squirrel rifle and heading into the fields with my dog as a teen. It was not until much later that I began to wonder if something was wrong with me.
Adam McHugh has written a book entitled, Introverts in the Church: Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture. A major premise is the acknowledgement of a present day environment that prizes extroverted personalities that corresponds to the rise of our modern media. The heroes of our culture are the gregarious, hard-charging social leaders who can light up a room or electrify an audience be it on TV or in the church. Introverts readily acknowledge that they are not so gifted or even interested in attempting such a role. As a result, feelings of inferiority often develop as they see themselves not measuring up to our cultural models held in such high esteem. Introverts are often criticized for appearing stand-offish or even arrogant. This further tends to isolate them and deepen their insecurity.
In actuality, McHugh argues that introverts are neither anti-social or shy. He associates shyness with an unhealthy fear of social situations. Introverts are not shy but simply do not feel a pressing need for the company of a group. He cites brain research as showing that introverts have a physically demonstrable more active brain revealed by larger blood flow to differing parts of the brain. When an introverted child was queried by a parent why she didn’t play more with others, her innocent response was that she had plenty of activity going on in her own head. It appears that introverts have a great need to spend more time processing what is going on inside and do not need the external stimulation coming from voices around them as much as their extroverted cousins. When put into situations that demand a high level of social interaction in a compressed period of time, they can demonstrate actual physical symptoms of acute exhaustion because of the overload of such mental activity. Introverts prefer the company of one or two friends to the company of a group. They tend to think deeply and be very loyal to the friendships they do make.
As a parent, one always tends to worry about the child who is quite content to entertain themselves. They are quite easy to raise, but secretly we wonder if they are alright and if they will be as successful as their extroverted brothers or sisters. After all, we want our children all to be leaders, quarterbacks, captains, and class presidents. Adam McHugh challenges us, and rightly so, to look for the gifts that introverts bring to the table whether in the church or in life. In my mind, King David appears to me to have been a raging introvert. Content to spend his youth in the pasture tending sheep, he burst upon the Hebrew stage as a result of an intensely strong inner spiritual life cultivated in private. He took the reins of government reluctantly rather than through personal ambition. Throughout his life, the Psalms reveal a deep thoughtfulness and delight in a personal relationship with God alone and not in crowds of adoring subjects. History is replete with examples of introverts making tremendous contributions to progress in all the arts and sciences. Introverts make great mates, fathers, and mothers. Do you have one in your family? Worry not. Learn to prize them, encourage them, and cherish their unique giftedness. They may one day be the rock you need to lean upon.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
We introverts have to contend with a bad rap. How often have you heard a neighbor or fellow worker interviewed after some mad man has run amok and you hear, “He was always quiet and kept to himself.” A certain sinister reputation attends those who can be characterized thusly. There is a good deal of misunderstanding regarding introverted personalities, and it affects quite a few of us. Modern studies show that up to 50% of our American population may be considered “introverts.” I confess I am exhibit “A.” As far as I can remember, I was quite content to play by myself be it a sandbox or with blocks as a child or picking up my .22 cal. squirrel rifle and heading into the fields with my dog as a teen. It was not until much later that I began to wonder if something was wrong with me.
Adam McHugh has written a book entitled, Introverts in the Church: Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture. A major premise is the acknowledgement of a present day environment that prizes extroverted personalities that corresponds to the rise of our modern media. The heroes of our culture are the gregarious, hard-charging social leaders who can light up a room or electrify an audience be it on TV or in the church. Introverts readily acknowledge that they are not so gifted or even interested in attempting such a role. As a result, feelings of inferiority often develop as they see themselves not measuring up to our cultural models held in such high esteem. Introverts are often criticized for appearing stand-offish or even arrogant. This further tends to isolate them and deepen their insecurity.
In actuality, McHugh argues that introverts are neither anti-social or shy. He associates shyness with an unhealthy fear of social situations. Introverts are not shy but simply do not feel a pressing need for the company of a group. He cites brain research as showing that introverts have a physically demonstrable more active brain revealed by larger blood flow to differing parts of the brain. When an introverted child was queried by a parent why she didn’t play more with others, her innocent response was that she had plenty of activity going on in her own head. It appears that introverts have a great need to spend more time processing what is going on inside and do not need the external stimulation coming from voices around them as much as their extroverted cousins. When put into situations that demand a high level of social interaction in a compressed period of time, they can demonstrate actual physical symptoms of acute exhaustion because of the overload of such mental activity. Introverts prefer the company of one or two friends to the company of a group. They tend to think deeply and be very loyal to the friendships they do make.
As a parent, one always tends to worry about the child who is quite content to entertain themselves. They are quite easy to raise, but secretly we wonder if they are alright and if they will be as successful as their extroverted brothers or sisters. After all, we want our children all to be leaders, quarterbacks, captains, and class presidents. Adam McHugh challenges us, and rightly so, to look for the gifts that introverts bring to the table whether in the church or in life. In my mind, King David appears to me to have been a raging introvert. Content to spend his youth in the pasture tending sheep, he burst upon the Hebrew stage as a result of an intensely strong inner spiritual life cultivated in private. He took the reins of government reluctantly rather than through personal ambition. Throughout his life, the Psalms reveal a deep thoughtfulness and delight in a personal relationship with God alone and not in crowds of adoring subjects. History is replete with examples of introverts making tremendous contributions to progress in all the arts and sciences. Introverts make great mates, fathers, and mothers. Do you have one in your family? Worry not. Learn to prize them, encourage them, and cherish their unique giftedness. They may one day be the rock you need to lean upon.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
Purpose
“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” Rom. 8:28
All the lonely people, where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
Paul McCartney and John Lennon looked down from their little hill of fame and fortune and wrote a song of despair and fruitlessness attempting to characterize all the little people around them who seemed to live pointless and anonymous lives. Poor Eleanor Rigby. She lived “in a dream waiting at the window, wearing a face she keeps in a jar by the door. Who is it for?” Equally pointless was the poor priest, Father McKenzie, “writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear. No one comes near.” Poor Eleanor Rigby. She “died in the church and was buried along with her name. Nobody came.”
Through the pure thoughtlessness of a mortuary worker, a room full of us sat quietly a few weeks ago as we waited for the funeral service to start, and we were treated to a clanging incongruencey. The receiving line had ended, the family had taken their seats, the podium was still vacant, and the only sound in this perfectly quiet room was the canned music coming from the speakers while the beloved lay in peaceful repose before us. In soft, tinkly tones, Eleanor Rigby played out as the last song before the service began.
All the lonely people, where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
Fred Chamberlain was anything but an Eleanor Rigby or a Father McKenzie. Most folks who die at age 103 have outlived all their friends. Yet the room was full of people who had come to pay tribute. The photographs and memorabilia placed about showed a life rich in meaning and productivity. The pastors who spoke (he had lived through several) told story after story of someone who had lived a life of service and had made everyone Fred touched the richer for it. His love for the Lord was beyond question. His church was his second home.
I doubt he had ever received any slick advertising telling him that for $29.95 he could have a copy of a “Who’s Who” with his name in it. The world has never seen Fred’s name in lights. His highest position of leadership in this world was probably the role of deacon at a little no-name Baptist Church. Yet I count him among the ranks of some of the most fortunate of men for he typified for me someone who truly lived a fulfilled life. He had found not only had known who he was and had discovered the rich sense of mission that comes in knowing Christ, Fred had a deep sense of purpose for his own gifts and abilities. He was a worker. I think he found great satisfaction in laboring with his hands. He was a commercial baker for much of his life but came home and baked up countless more loaves of bread to give away. He took delight in fixing things, even things that weren’t his. He served for awhile as a deputy helping where he could. And his service as deacon was an embodiment of everything that word could mean. Retirement? Who can say when he ever quit working. He fashioned windjammers from pop cans, Christmas orbs from hundreds of transparent solo cups, and for his 100th birthday celebration, he fashioned homemade ornaments from thousands of beads tied on ribbons. His smile and cheerful disposition made him welcome everywhere. His loyalty and service to family, a model. Yet he felt himself unworthy of any mansion or crown on the other side. A simple place of service would do.
The hollow sounds of Eleanor Rigby could not mock this man. His life was above it all. No contest. May we all do as well in finding and living out God’s purposes for our lives without complaint, be they humble or profound.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
All the lonely people, where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
Paul McCartney and John Lennon looked down from their little hill of fame and fortune and wrote a song of despair and fruitlessness attempting to characterize all the little people around them who seemed to live pointless and anonymous lives. Poor Eleanor Rigby. She lived “in a dream waiting at the window, wearing a face she keeps in a jar by the door. Who is it for?” Equally pointless was the poor priest, Father McKenzie, “writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear. No one comes near.” Poor Eleanor Rigby. She “died in the church and was buried along with her name. Nobody came.”
Through the pure thoughtlessness of a mortuary worker, a room full of us sat quietly a few weeks ago as we waited for the funeral service to start, and we were treated to a clanging incongruencey. The receiving line had ended, the family had taken their seats, the podium was still vacant, and the only sound in this perfectly quiet room was the canned music coming from the speakers while the beloved lay in peaceful repose before us. In soft, tinkly tones, Eleanor Rigby played out as the last song before the service began.
All the lonely people, where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
Fred Chamberlain was anything but an Eleanor Rigby or a Father McKenzie. Most folks who die at age 103 have outlived all their friends. Yet the room was full of people who had come to pay tribute. The photographs and memorabilia placed about showed a life rich in meaning and productivity. The pastors who spoke (he had lived through several) told story after story of someone who had lived a life of service and had made everyone Fred touched the richer for it. His love for the Lord was beyond question. His church was his second home.
I doubt he had ever received any slick advertising telling him that for $29.95 he could have a copy of a “Who’s Who” with his name in it. The world has never seen Fred’s name in lights. His highest position of leadership in this world was probably the role of deacon at a little no-name Baptist Church. Yet I count him among the ranks of some of the most fortunate of men for he typified for me someone who truly lived a fulfilled life. He had found not only had known who he was and had discovered the rich sense of mission that comes in knowing Christ, Fred had a deep sense of purpose for his own gifts and abilities. He was a worker. I think he found great satisfaction in laboring with his hands. He was a commercial baker for much of his life but came home and baked up countless more loaves of bread to give away. He took delight in fixing things, even things that weren’t his. He served for awhile as a deputy helping where he could. And his service as deacon was an embodiment of everything that word could mean. Retirement? Who can say when he ever quit working. He fashioned windjammers from pop cans, Christmas orbs from hundreds of transparent solo cups, and for his 100th birthday celebration, he fashioned homemade ornaments from thousands of beads tied on ribbons. His smile and cheerful disposition made him welcome everywhere. His loyalty and service to family, a model. Yet he felt himself unworthy of any mansion or crown on the other side. A simple place of service would do.
The hollow sounds of Eleanor Rigby could not mock this man. His life was above it all. No contest. May we all do as well in finding and living out God’s purposes for our lives without complaint, be they humble or profound.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Sunday, June 05, 2011
Mission
I will redeem you with a stretched out arm, and with great judgments:” -Ex. 6:6
I have always been a junk collector. I still have an old plastic tire gauge vaguely in the shape of a pistol the size of which would fit in a child’s hand. It doesn’t work. It never did. I found it in the dirt walking to school one day when I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. Something drew me to it. My imagination enhanced its form and function into any number of uses: a secret tool, a mini-gun, a spy gadget. What one person had carelessly discarded, I had picked up and redeemed as a treasured collectible, a toy, a real find.
I still have a hard time passing up someone else’s throwaways. I can see uses for just about anything. Some are genuine treasures others have just overlooked and left to rust in neglect. I found a hand plane in a junk store in my early days of discovering the joys of such tools. It was covered in rust and dull as a brick. $8.00 redeemed it from the shelf and a life of benign neglect. A number of painstaking hours in the shop brought it back to life. The rust gone, the wood refurbished, and the blade brought to a razor’s sharpness, this tool now sits in a place of honor in my wood shop and is one of the sweetest cutting of all my planes. I can take off paper thin slices of wood with an effortless push while it makes this little “swwizz” sound that is music to the ears.
Redemption, as I see it, is God-work. It is the central, over-arching theme of history since the fall. God seeks to redeem man from the effects of that infernal disaster in the garden and convert his rebellious creatures into sons and daughters that will reign with Him in heaven once again. He promises not only to raise us up as new creatures in Christ and give us one day a heavenly body, He also promises a new heaven and a new earth. At best, all our environmental efforts will only slow down the steady decay of our planet. God is coming again to restore creation to its original intended form: lions lying down with lambs, children playing near the adder’s hole.
There is no greater mission in life than to participate in God’s mission. Only He can fully bring this work to completion, but it is given into our hand to play a significant part in this supreme work. There is no greater task, no greater challenge, but to join in this business of redeeming a fallen world wherever we touch it. Immediately, Christians think of redeeming lost souls, and that is undoubtedly the most exciting work of all. “He that winneth souls is wise,” we read in Proverbs. Yet we need also to see the bigger picture for it gives meaning and direction to even the most common of labors or the most exotic of the arts and sciences.
I cannot look at an overgrown lot or a patch of wild woodlands but see all the possibilities of quiet walkways, gardens, scenic overlooks, cleared picnic spots, and young trees that would produce lumber of value someday if only they were thinned, pruned, and given a modicum of tender care. Nature by itself is wasteful, producing both weeds and fruit. When we tend nature, we redeem it to stem its self destructive tendencies and greatly improve its productivity. When the scientist looks at a crippling disease, he sees nature gone awry and begins a search for a cure to end the reign of sin that would disfigure and destroy. The policeman seeks to restore order to a world that would end in chaos if left to its own devices. The housewife seeks to redeem each day’s confusion resulting from just meeting our daily needs. Dirt and dust spring up everywhere and the stains of daily living must be resisted at every turn. Parents train up children by spending much time and care in redeeming a future citizen and honored saint from the rough, self-centered lump of clay given into their midst.
The second secret of living a fulfilled life is getting a sense of mission, a vision of what we are to be about. There is no greater work than joining with God in the work of redemption. Enlist your children, now.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
I have always been a junk collector. I still have an old plastic tire gauge vaguely in the shape of a pistol the size of which would fit in a child’s hand. It doesn’t work. It never did. I found it in the dirt walking to school one day when I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. Something drew me to it. My imagination enhanced its form and function into any number of uses: a secret tool, a mini-gun, a spy gadget. What one person had carelessly discarded, I had picked up and redeemed as a treasured collectible, a toy, a real find.
I still have a hard time passing up someone else’s throwaways. I can see uses for just about anything. Some are genuine treasures others have just overlooked and left to rust in neglect. I found a hand plane in a junk store in my early days of discovering the joys of such tools. It was covered in rust and dull as a brick. $8.00 redeemed it from the shelf and a life of benign neglect. A number of painstaking hours in the shop brought it back to life. The rust gone, the wood refurbished, and the blade brought to a razor’s sharpness, this tool now sits in a place of honor in my wood shop and is one of the sweetest cutting of all my planes. I can take off paper thin slices of wood with an effortless push while it makes this little “swwizz” sound that is music to the ears.
Redemption, as I see it, is God-work. It is the central, over-arching theme of history since the fall. God seeks to redeem man from the effects of that infernal disaster in the garden and convert his rebellious creatures into sons and daughters that will reign with Him in heaven once again. He promises not only to raise us up as new creatures in Christ and give us one day a heavenly body, He also promises a new heaven and a new earth. At best, all our environmental efforts will only slow down the steady decay of our planet. God is coming again to restore creation to its original intended form: lions lying down with lambs, children playing near the adder’s hole.
There is no greater mission in life than to participate in God’s mission. Only He can fully bring this work to completion, but it is given into our hand to play a significant part in this supreme work. There is no greater task, no greater challenge, but to join in this business of redeeming a fallen world wherever we touch it. Immediately, Christians think of redeeming lost souls, and that is undoubtedly the most exciting work of all. “He that winneth souls is wise,” we read in Proverbs. Yet we need also to see the bigger picture for it gives meaning and direction to even the most common of labors or the most exotic of the arts and sciences.
I cannot look at an overgrown lot or a patch of wild woodlands but see all the possibilities of quiet walkways, gardens, scenic overlooks, cleared picnic spots, and young trees that would produce lumber of value someday if only they were thinned, pruned, and given a modicum of tender care. Nature by itself is wasteful, producing both weeds and fruit. When we tend nature, we redeem it to stem its self destructive tendencies and greatly improve its productivity. When the scientist looks at a crippling disease, he sees nature gone awry and begins a search for a cure to end the reign of sin that would disfigure and destroy. The policeman seeks to restore order to a world that would end in chaos if left to its own devices. The housewife seeks to redeem each day’s confusion resulting from just meeting our daily needs. Dirt and dust spring up everywhere and the stains of daily living must be resisted at every turn. Parents train up children by spending much time and care in redeeming a future citizen and honored saint from the rough, self-centered lump of clay given into their midst.
The second secret of living a fulfilled life is getting a sense of mission, a vision of what we are to be about. There is no greater work than joining with God in the work of redemption. Enlist your children, now.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
I am what I am
“But by the grace of God I am what I am” -I Cor. 15:10
Who am I? I admit I still couldn’t give you a complete and definitive answer to that question even after living with myself for these 66 years. We see through a glass darkly, but there is coming a day in which we shall know even as we are known. Until that day comes, I must dwell content with knowing only an outline of the shadows of who I am. I can tell you a lot about myself now, but when I was 12 and 13 years old, I had hardly a clue as to who I was. The only true ground of being in my life at that time was a distinct experience of God’s love for me for which I was very grateful. I had come to know that I was a child of his and precious in his sight. That was a huge help. Other than that, I could not begin to grasp just what kind of person I was and what gifts or abilities lay within. It was as though I walked the ground of my being, to which I held clear title, but had no way of telling what lay beneath my feet be it hard clay, fertile loam, rich in mineral wealth, or barren dirt.
It was told me the other day that this is the first of three things necessary to living a fulfilled life: to know who we are. That question has sharp and definite spiritual dimensions with tremendous doctrinal overtones. Yes, we need to know who we are in Christ for that is our true destiny. It is cause for Biblical study, teaching, and meditation for our enemy is out to steal, kill, and destroy the image of God in which we were made. He can do that through poisoning our minds with a thousand negative thoughts.
Yet there still remains a huge area of existence which we naturally question on this earthly plane. Who am I? Am I super intelligent or just average? Am I gifted at anything in particular, or am I totally talentless? Am I a people person or is a life of humble service in the shadows my lot? Am I a verbal person able to bend ears to my voice or do I make a fool of myself when speaking openly? Am I an independent person who needs no friends, or am I desperately lonely without others? Am I creative or better off following directions? Am I blessed by heredity to position, power, and great expectations, or am I doomed to anonymity?
The Apostle Paul had an acute identity crisis first priding himself as a persecutor of the church and then discovering a totally new self after being thrown down in the dust of the Damascus road. From a Pharisee of the Pharisees, he became a believer and eventually described himself as “the least” of the Apostles. With time, he came to accept this tortured progression, and he made a short but classic acknowledgement of the peace that he had made with himself. “I am what I am.” In that simple phrase, he declared that he had looked within and was no longer wishing he were something else other than what God had created and placed within him.
Our children are desperately plagued by questions of who they are. These questions reach their tortuous peak in the transition years between elementary and high school. Eventually they will come to know who they are as human beings, complicated yet gifted, creative yet flawed, unique but yet so familiar. In the meantime, we can help them by affirming the gifts and propensities we see emerging in them. We can build a wall of protective and assuring love around them that will withstand the doubts sown by the enemy. We can help them understand who they are in Christ as children of the Heavenly Father with all the rights and privileges therewith.
One day, we pray, they will be able to say with a sense of acceptance and contentment, “I am what I am”: not as a resignation of slothful indifference, but as a prayer of gratefulness for the uniqueness by which they have been created. And from there they go on to find a sense of mission and purpose for that uniqueness. May we be instruments of His grace in opening young eyes to the treasures beneath their feet.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Who am I? I admit I still couldn’t give you a complete and definitive answer to that question even after living with myself for these 66 years. We see through a glass darkly, but there is coming a day in which we shall know even as we are known. Until that day comes, I must dwell content with knowing only an outline of the shadows of who I am. I can tell you a lot about myself now, but when I was 12 and 13 years old, I had hardly a clue as to who I was. The only true ground of being in my life at that time was a distinct experience of God’s love for me for which I was very grateful. I had come to know that I was a child of his and precious in his sight. That was a huge help. Other than that, I could not begin to grasp just what kind of person I was and what gifts or abilities lay within. It was as though I walked the ground of my being, to which I held clear title, but had no way of telling what lay beneath my feet be it hard clay, fertile loam, rich in mineral wealth, or barren dirt.
It was told me the other day that this is the first of three things necessary to living a fulfilled life: to know who we are. That question has sharp and definite spiritual dimensions with tremendous doctrinal overtones. Yes, we need to know who we are in Christ for that is our true destiny. It is cause for Biblical study, teaching, and meditation for our enemy is out to steal, kill, and destroy the image of God in which we were made. He can do that through poisoning our minds with a thousand negative thoughts.
Yet there still remains a huge area of existence which we naturally question on this earthly plane. Who am I? Am I super intelligent or just average? Am I gifted at anything in particular, or am I totally talentless? Am I a people person or is a life of humble service in the shadows my lot? Am I a verbal person able to bend ears to my voice or do I make a fool of myself when speaking openly? Am I an independent person who needs no friends, or am I desperately lonely without others? Am I creative or better off following directions? Am I blessed by heredity to position, power, and great expectations, or am I doomed to anonymity?
The Apostle Paul had an acute identity crisis first priding himself as a persecutor of the church and then discovering a totally new self after being thrown down in the dust of the Damascus road. From a Pharisee of the Pharisees, he became a believer and eventually described himself as “the least” of the Apostles. With time, he came to accept this tortured progression, and he made a short but classic acknowledgement of the peace that he had made with himself. “I am what I am.” In that simple phrase, he declared that he had looked within and was no longer wishing he were something else other than what God had created and placed within him.
Our children are desperately plagued by questions of who they are. These questions reach their tortuous peak in the transition years between elementary and high school. Eventually they will come to know who they are as human beings, complicated yet gifted, creative yet flawed, unique but yet so familiar. In the meantime, we can help them by affirming the gifts and propensities we see emerging in them. We can build a wall of protective and assuring love around them that will withstand the doubts sown by the enemy. We can help them understand who they are in Christ as children of the Heavenly Father with all the rights and privileges therewith.
One day, we pray, they will be able to say with a sense of acceptance and contentment, “I am what I am”: not as a resignation of slothful indifference, but as a prayer of gratefulness for the uniqueness by which they have been created. And from there they go on to find a sense of mission and purpose for that uniqueness. May we be instruments of His grace in opening young eyes to the treasures beneath their feet.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
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