“But Samuel said, "What then is this bleating of the sheep in my ears, and the lowing of the oxen which I hear?"-I Sam. 15:14
Biology 101. Sophomore year of high school. I found myself in a class of middle to low achievers. By comparison, I was enough of a trustworthy student to have earned a seat next to the one cute girl in a room full of boys, some of whom were jail material. We sat at two-person lab tables on stools. My partner was a cheerleader, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but perky and excitable. The class was predictably slow and unchallenging; the teacher struggling against the stream. One day mid-year, I somehow found myself in the possession of a small, plastic crawdad in my pocket. Amid the drone of another dull class, I pulled it out and craftily placed it next to my partner’s elbow resting on the table; then feigned total indifference. Moments later, a shriek rang out across the classroom as my partner fell to the floor in complete alarm. The critter instantly disappeared as my prank had escalated beyond my dreams. Wrongfully assuming my innocence (only “A” in the room), the teacher just warned everyone that those stools could be tricky.
I was enough of a rule keeper in my adolescent years to avoid serious trouble. No charges of petty theft, no cursing or fighting, no truancy, or even a duck-tail haircut. I have never smoked a cigarette to this day. Yet there was a latent edge of rebellion that became a part of my life during that time. It was subtle and manifested itself in curious ways. The teen years are a time of self discovery, and I was no exception. We all wanted to be unique and affirmed; at the same time. I started picking the rules I would obey and the ones I would not. The big ones were “no brainers”, but the small ones became a matter of my prerogative. I resisted and dodged certain chores at home that were abhorrent to me. I started to pick what classes at school I would work hard at and which ones I would skate. I hung with some kids who would steal bowling balls as trophies. I would take a salt shaker from the school cafeteria as a souvenir. Nothing outrageous, mind you, but always a bit of the rebel.
Rebelliousness is in every human heart ever since the garden. “Hath God said…?” was the whisper that led us all astray and continues to echo down through time. Mine was never a threat to society yet it was there, nevertheless. At times, I papered it over as a creative spirit that was not suited to following the herd. “Why should I memorize a senseless list that was in the back of every textbook?” At times my independent streak served me well. One night I was with some friends when they partook of their parents’ liquor cabinet. I, alone, abstained and discovered I had no trouble doing so. But other things I could rationalize with the best.
In retrospect, I can see where this has hurt me over the years. I was a terrible student at language for I would chafe at the drills and any rote work. I forfeited a chance to go into chemical research because I found the discipline too confining. I opened myself up to embarrassment at times for my susceptibility to compromise. My military career was doomed from the start because of my tendency towards “inventiveness.” Yes, it helped me stand alone as a beginning teacher when all the rest went out on an illegal strike. But it was much too late in life that I came face to face with the story of Saul’s selective obedience in I Sam. 15. “… rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry.” It took those words to shake me out of my comfortable delusion. I was not being unique, creative, or expressing my personality. I was rebellious.
How life turns. Now I am the gatekeeper of rules; the enforcer, no less. It is only by the grace of God that I now, too, can say, “To obey is better than sacrifice.” With respect to the authority figures that God places in our lives, my advice now is to listen and follow. If it is not illegal, immoral, or fattening, just do it. We will be the better persons for it. Standing alone for righteousness sake was relatively easy for me. Submitting to authority, convention, or any form of discipline was my moral challenge. Beware the bleating of sheep.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
The "B" Word
“O Lord, how many and varied are Your works! In wisdom have You made them all;” -Ps. 104:24
There were any number of forbidden words in our household when our children were growing up. Most of them, of course, were of the four letter variety. But one word was five letters long and was known as “the B word.” It is one which we can print here and one which some of you might not even find that objectionable. Quite simply, it was any usage of the word, bored. It just seemed to us to be a crime against humanity for any of our children to proclaim themselves bored in a home located in the heart of the United States of America where toys, puzzles, pens, pencils, and paints abound; to say nothing of books by the boxfuls. If that would not suit their fancy, there was always the resident cat and dog accompanied by periodic episodes of hamsters, rabbits, and chickens. Plus, if push came to shove, there were two other siblings present at all times to either join with in cooperative fun or to torment in some fashion or another. In good weather, there was a full acre of grounds to roam, trees to climb, flush with abundant material for fashioning forts, kitchens, or club houses. To claim boredom was to bring the wrath of Khan down upon their heads.
I must confess to having experienced brief times of boredom. Usually it was at the hands of some speaker droning on and on about a topic of no import (“The History of Hats in Medieval Italy”) in a manner that resembled someone reciting all 415 colors in a paint catalog. Yes, the state of boredom is not just an affliction confined to the young. Adults find themselves sometimes trapped in boring jobs, coming home to boring marriages, and even attending boring churches. How much of this is a prison built of drab, colorless walls wherein they are truly trapped, and how much of it is self-inflicted blindness due to their own inability to see the fascinating that lurks within the mundane? That is a complex question with serious spiritual dimensions.
I suspect that the answer lies more with what is going on within us than with what is going on around us. We have been placed in an incredibly fascinating world. Life abounds around us in astonishing variety, both great and small, and in full living color. This is no black and white world (which, in retrospect, would have worked just fine, I suspect). I am continually amazed how life pervades every conceivable corner of our world in the most hostile of environments. I have seen spiders crawling out of holes in snowfields. Miraculously, some forms of algae and bacteria flourish in the Dead Sea. Even in the deepest depths of the ocean, life has been discovered.
The Psalmist exclaims, “O Lord, how many and varied are Your works! …the earth is full of Your riches and Your creatures.” These are the words of someone who has come face to face with the wonder of wonders, an infinite God who sets the universe as His table and yet numbers the hairs on our head and calls us by name. Made in His image, we were meant to live in full appreciation of the vast panoply of wonders imbedded in creation. He calls to us through it, and we are audience to the beauty and complexity of it all. The work of the Holy Spirit surely amplifies God’s voice to us in creation and stirs in us the ability to praise Him “…majestic in holiness, awesome in glory, working wonders” (Ex. 15:12). To be obsessed with ourselves is the fountainhead of boredom. To look heavenward is to discover not only who we are but the magnificent stage we stand upon. In the midst of our mindless hours, the key to victory over boredom is to break free of our self pity and look out upon the miraculous that surrounds our every step.
Children, go out and play! Look under rocks, scan the skies, smell the leaves, observe the ants, dig in the earth, unlock the secrets of a seed, and marvel! And in becoming as little children ourselves, we, too, can enter the kingdom where we discover God’s most remarkable world and raise our voice in praise.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
There were any number of forbidden words in our household when our children were growing up. Most of them, of course, were of the four letter variety. But one word was five letters long and was known as “the B word.” It is one which we can print here and one which some of you might not even find that objectionable. Quite simply, it was any usage of the word, bored. It just seemed to us to be a crime against humanity for any of our children to proclaim themselves bored in a home located in the heart of the United States of America where toys, puzzles, pens, pencils, and paints abound; to say nothing of books by the boxfuls. If that would not suit their fancy, there was always the resident cat and dog accompanied by periodic episodes of hamsters, rabbits, and chickens. Plus, if push came to shove, there were two other siblings present at all times to either join with in cooperative fun or to torment in some fashion or another. In good weather, there was a full acre of grounds to roam, trees to climb, flush with abundant material for fashioning forts, kitchens, or club houses. To claim boredom was to bring the wrath of Khan down upon their heads.
I must confess to having experienced brief times of boredom. Usually it was at the hands of some speaker droning on and on about a topic of no import (“The History of Hats in Medieval Italy”) in a manner that resembled someone reciting all 415 colors in a paint catalog. Yes, the state of boredom is not just an affliction confined to the young. Adults find themselves sometimes trapped in boring jobs, coming home to boring marriages, and even attending boring churches. How much of this is a prison built of drab, colorless walls wherein they are truly trapped, and how much of it is self-inflicted blindness due to their own inability to see the fascinating that lurks within the mundane? That is a complex question with serious spiritual dimensions.
I suspect that the answer lies more with what is going on within us than with what is going on around us. We have been placed in an incredibly fascinating world. Life abounds around us in astonishing variety, both great and small, and in full living color. This is no black and white world (which, in retrospect, would have worked just fine, I suspect). I am continually amazed how life pervades every conceivable corner of our world in the most hostile of environments. I have seen spiders crawling out of holes in snowfields. Miraculously, some forms of algae and bacteria flourish in the Dead Sea. Even in the deepest depths of the ocean, life has been discovered.
The Psalmist exclaims, “O Lord, how many and varied are Your works! …the earth is full of Your riches and Your creatures.” These are the words of someone who has come face to face with the wonder of wonders, an infinite God who sets the universe as His table and yet numbers the hairs on our head and calls us by name. Made in His image, we were meant to live in full appreciation of the vast panoply of wonders imbedded in creation. He calls to us through it, and we are audience to the beauty and complexity of it all. The work of the Holy Spirit surely amplifies God’s voice to us in creation and stirs in us the ability to praise Him “…majestic in holiness, awesome in glory, working wonders” (Ex. 15:12). To be obsessed with ourselves is the fountainhead of boredom. To look heavenward is to discover not only who we are but the magnificent stage we stand upon. In the midst of our mindless hours, the key to victory over boredom is to break free of our self pity and look out upon the miraculous that surrounds our every step.
Children, go out and play! Look under rocks, scan the skies, smell the leaves, observe the ants, dig in the earth, unlock the secrets of a seed, and marvel! And in becoming as little children ourselves, we, too, can enter the kingdom where we discover God’s most remarkable world and raise our voice in praise.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Parenting
“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
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
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
Thursday, September 16, 2010
grandparents
“… I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith …which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois….” -2Tim1:5
My wife and I have totally different perspectives on grandparents. My experience was threadbare at the best, disappointing at the worst. By the time I was of age to take in and remember, only two grandparents were left; a grandfather on my mom’s side and a grandmother on my dad’s side. Grandpa was a rather reclusive figure who loved to fish but never took us fishing, who retired to a little farm I never remember visiting, and who was an artist and musician who never shared his gifts with us. My grandmother came to live with us not long after I started school. She was cold and distant, a bit grumpy, and soon beset by delusions of a relived childhood. We knew her presence only from the weight of her restrictive presence upon the family as mom labored hard to care for her and retain a victorious spirit in doing so. I did not realize, at the time, that anything was amiss in all this family dynamic. My brother and I simply did not know anything else. But there was an elderly couple that are favorably remembered. Thea and Jake were childless and quite old but were still fun to visit. There were treats such as milk and cookies, some stray candy, robust jokes, and even doting comments now and then. Somehow it was not robbery to have to steal moments from our play time to visit them. Their home was a warm and inviting place, and we did not resent being dropped off there for a few hours when mom and dad were out of pocket. Today, I have no idea who they were or how they entered our lives, but their names still evoke good memories as my brother and I had come to know that we were the gleam in someone else’s eyes.
My wife, on the other hand, knew her grandparents well for they were all the home she knew for the first 4 years of her life. That home became her emotional and spiritual anchor as they were her refuge amidst a storm of dysfunctional parenting. She learned a love for fresh cornbread, wilted (or “kill’t”) lettuce, the smell of fresh, plucked feathers off a chicken that grandma had just killed with a deft twist of the neck, knitting on the backyard swing, ever fascinating stories of deeds and kin long past, sitting together on the front porch rocking chair during a rainstorm, plucking and eating raw green beans out of the garden, and a hundred other endearing facets of simple, southern living. But most of all, she remembers being the apple of their eye; simply adored and treasured. Whether it was the words they spoke to her or the proud bearing in front of others, she knew the love that was there, that it was strong and real. She is still a sucker for a gentle rubbing of her hands, just like grandma used to do. Those grandparents were simple country folk but possessed a fountain of folklore, colorful expressions, and were lovers of Jesus that left behind a rich, rich tapestry of memories; enough to fill a book. They left such an indelible mark on her that she credits them with actually saving her from a life of bad choices.
Being a grandparent now gives me the opportunity to leave behind a treasury of memories. I have a unique role to play in this pageantry of life, and I hope I can do the part justice. I have opportunities to enrich the lives of my little ones in a way that only I can do. Moms and dads do their part, but who but I can play the special games the kids have never seen before, who can make the bottom of their piggy bank ring with unexpected and unmerited favor, and who but I can share a ride down the hill in the Nordmobile? It is that little bit of frosting on top of their cake which makes life sweet and memorable. Grandmas and grandpas can be such a blessing. If you have them, encourage them, treasure them. If you don’t, go adopt some. There are still plenty of Thea and Jakes out there for the taking.
Thursday, September 09, 2010
media
“So then, brethren, we are not children of the bondwoman, but of the free.” KJV Galatians 4:31
I am old enough to remember living through the 1960’s when revolutionary changes were rocking our cultural world. We didn’t realize it at the time, but “free speech” agitation on college campuses opened the gateway for all forms of profanity in the public forum and the right to protest, nay, denigrate all cultural norms and icons. Black Power salutes on Olympic platforms and the burning of the American flag as protected rights were some of the inevitable results. In the midst of the storm, it was hard to assess the damage or long term effects.
We are going through a wind storm of change at the present, and it is hard to see just where it will land us. One thing is for sure, we are definitely not in Kansas anymore. Our children are not just using technology at a pace undreamed of ever before, they are becoming obsessive and compulsive in their use of it. The Kaiser Family Foundation reported the results of a study in January saying that daily media use among young people had risen to 7 hours and 38 minutes per day, 7 days per week. When you separate combined use such as listening to an ipod while texting, the number rises to 10 hours 45 minutes per day. Either easily eclipses any full-time job.
That is not all bad news in the eyes of many. Our young are developing multi-tasking skills and honing them to a degree unparalleled in previous generations, a very positive outcome in an increasingly competitive world where efficiency is paramount. Young people are also totally fearless when it comes to new technology and embrace it eagerly with a thirst that is unnerving to their parents. There is also a familiarity with accessing untold numbers of sources and prodigious amounts of information that continues to amaze their teachers. Powerful graphics and visual effects are as much a part of their daily repertoire of available tricks as riding a bicycle or bobbing a yo-yo was to my teen-age peers.
The concerns are piling up as well. Tom Kersting, a student assistance coordinator as well as a psychotherapist, worries that the new media is creating “digital zombies” whose addiction to this flood of instant entertainment and communication is having a negative effect upon the way in which youth think, process information, and relate to one another.* Because they communicate in short, quick bursts of information, they are having a difficult time developing critical-thinking and problem-solving skills. Kersting is concerned that students are losing the ability to communicate in person with one another, a definite skill that is necessary to navigate complex social situations. Teen-agers now are confessing that they would rather text than actually talk on a phone. Another psychologist, Andy Yeager, questions its effect upon the development of the teen-age brain in its ability to plan ahead, foresee consequences, set long-term goals, and work through them. English teachers are horrified at the mutilation of our language and all constraints of grammar that are now passing for common, everyday, acceptable usage. Taken together, we easily share a “collective shiver” at future prospects.
My simple and unlicensed lament is the loss of basic manipulative skills I see in the rising generations. I look to them to untangle my drivers and internet options, but they look to me for help in hanging a picture. Studs? What are those? Sheet rock? You mean it’s hollow? Painting a wall is like learning a foreign language. Cooking is something the Colonel does. Sewing is an ancient art. And a dripping toilet is something only a plumber could possibly understand. Perhaps I exaggerate. Yet I feel the corrosive effects in my own life as one who was raised to “do it yourself.” My fingers spend more time at a keyboard than manipulating the strings on my acoustic guitar. I have to pry myself away from email to work in my shop. I do not want to become a one-dimensional person, bond-servant to an electronic mistress whose siren call has already enslaved so many. May we be wise enough to recognize the obsessions and compulsions of our age and keep a healthy distance.
*Knoxville News-Sentinel, 8-10-2010, p. D2, “Hours spent plugged in change kids thinking”
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
conflicts and fears
“…Conflicts without, fears within.” -2 Cor. 7:5 NASV
How do you know if you are alive? Besides the obvious, Paul gives a succinct and honest clue as he opened his heart wide to the Corinthians in a very transparent moment. He summed up his present existence with four words, “Conflicts without, fears within.” That little phrase captures so much of human reality. Sounds like life to me. Hopefully your conflicts don’t assume the proportions that Paul experienced as he was chased around the Mediterranean by stone throwing mobs and other unhappy customers. Yet, who among us does not feel the daily tension of conflicting priorities, the demands of our many jobs, and the feedback of differing opinions? And fears? My anxiety closet is never empty. There lurks a thousand assorted beasts of every sort that love to go bump in the night and rattle their chains to let me know they are still there.
If there is some bliss in early childhood, it is the minimal presence of either of these two commodities to any intense degree. There are many childhood tears, but they fade fast and memories heal with amazing speed. Yet, all so soon, children, too, will feel the pinch of daily tensions as they begin to experience life that doesn’t always agree with their preconceptions and self-centered wishes. And fears start to grow like June weeds in the fertile plots of young imaginations.
School presents a liberal dose of both conflicts and fears. Students are roused from their summer doldrums and challenged to do battle with multiplication and algebraic functions, gerunds and participial phrases, Napoleon and the dissolution of European kingdoms, phylums and taxonomic ranks, and all that good stuff. Some take the conflict in stride. Others get snowed under. For all of them, it is work, nevertheless. And then there is that class/peer thing. Others are watching, listening, and always eager to pounce on any excuse for a good laugh. Laughter is so delicious, so wonderful, except when it comes at our expense. Life would be so much simpler if it were not for those “others” who include or exclude, applaud or jeer, appreciate or diminish, love or ignore. Adding to any child’s list of fears are those overheard conversations that echo up hallways in the most sacrosanct refuge for a child, the home. Children can sense when adults are worried, have their moods, or are wrapped up in fears of their own which spill out at times like a glass of overturned milk.
I guess what I am trying to say is that kids are human, too, experiencing conflicts and fears in full measure. Paul rejoices that God comforted him by the coming of Titus who was himself encouraged by the Corinthians. We, as parents, are Titus to our children bringing good news with a personal touch that gladdens the heart. If the Apostle Paul needed a piece of good news and a friendly face in order to bear his trials, how much more our children need this as well. And as the Corinthians encouraged Titus, so we grandparents need to encourage our grown children laboring through the child rearing years. Letters are great and Paul used them to maximum advantage, but the personal presence of Titus did something for Paul that nothing else could match.
In looking back, I ask myself now, “Did I hug my kids enough, or extend a gentle touch (that powerful but under-rated human connection that says so much yet is totally wordless)? Did I pull apart from my own worries and preoccupations enough and invite myself into the quiet rooms of their inner worlds; and once there, offer a listening ear interspersed with words of truth and encouragement?” Paul did not shrink from using emotive words like “beloved” in addressing the Corinthians. Did I tell my kids that they were my beloved and precious ones? Paul corrected his children but then rejoiced when they corrected their course. “Great is my boasting on your behalf” and words to that effect. Did I boast enough of their good choices and let them know it? I wish I could remember more clearly doing so. May you remember unmistakably and have no doubts or regrets.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
margins
"Go ahead of me, and keep some space between the herds." -NIV Genesis 32:16
I have just come through what was, I believe, the most crammed full, jam packed, strenuous, stress filled week of my year. I am not complaining, really. I just hope that was it and that it is over. And I imagine it was near-so for many of you as well. Getting summer wrapped up and gearing up for another school year is always stressful for families. Our staff has had a double portion getting ready for your families as well as preparing their own for the first day of school. We are constantly trying to streamline our prep week to take as much stress out of it as possible, but in spite of our best efforts, it is what it is: a runway strewn with sharp objects, substantial litter, some stray goats, a few serious potholes, and some occasional landmines. But we got off the ground somehow in spite of them.
Now I am in the business of searching about for some routine in my life whereby I can find and set a pace that I can afford to maintain over the long haul. Another week like the last one would push me dangerously close to taking up coffee drinking or other some-such risky behavior. And it was not all the school’s fault. I was contracting the dropping of trees, finishing a leftover kitchen rehab job, visiting with family passing through, orchestrating a men’s breakfast, overseeing a new roof installation on our back porch, attending a sing-fest, teaching Sunday school, and entertaining church dinner guests on Sunday. I did skip the Deacon’s meeting that week but only because my children from Texas were in for less than 24 hours.
That I survived the week was admirable. That I would consent to such a crazy schedule, questionable. That I would allow this to continue, sheer madness. The word that has come into my vocabulary this week is margin. I am realizing the value and need to build some margins into my life. Margins give hope to any printed page. A page printed from edge to edge is perceived as tedious, tiresome, overly busy, and fills one with dread at the thought. So, we too, need to frame our lives with some margins of peace so that we will not become drained of all life and substance. Americans, by nature, live very full lives. We love to run, build, play, work, and live life filled to the brim. But if we leave no margin for error, no margin of time to refresh and rebuild, we run the risk of a serious crash landing.
I took some serious time off this summer in a deliberate attempt to get ready for the madness that began last week. It helped get me through, I am sure. We know full well the wisdom of saving money for a rainy day so when lean times come, there is something to fall back on. In the area of relationships, Scripture tells us that mercy shown to others creates a well of reserve for us when we need it. Forgive and you will be forgiven. From the beginning of time, God made provision for man to rest one day out of seven. He knew we needed that. But even that is not always restful for us Christians who love to fill that day with church busyness.
I couldn’t help but notice that Jacob sent his flocks ahead in coming to meet Esau for the first time in years and carefully spaced them out to give Esau time to reflect upon his brother’s desire for reconciliation. Our minds need time to process things, to turn them over in our hearts. Quiet reflection is the greatest scarcity of our age.
Margins. Sitting quietly on a front porch is not necessarily wasting time especially if it allows us to be fully ready to respond in full measure when hard duty calls at an unexpected moment. Spending a quiet evening home is not always a wasteful thing if it enables us to face the next day refreshed and ready for battle. May the Shepherd of your soul lead you beside some quiet waters, and may you keep some space between your herds.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
ambassadors
“...he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ's ambassadors,
as though God were making his appeal through us.”
2 Cor. 5:19-20 NIV
as though God were making his appeal through us.”
2 Cor. 5:19-20 NIV
I can’t help it. I watch people at Kroger’s and Lowe’s and at times it fills me with a curious sadness tinged with despair. So many people pass by looking so ordinary and even their demeanor communicates “ordinariness.” And many are obviously submerged in despair and unhappiness or are burdened down with afflictions of multiple kinds. To travel down past the homeless shelters and missions in town these days brings a definite sadness as I see figures in doorways or sitting on street corners waiting, forever waiting but never seeking. The sadness creeps into my bones until I cannot think about it, and I must simply pass on. My theory is that 95% of us are so terribly ordinary, totally undistinguished in any way, and would probably never qualify as one of “the beautiful people.” Every morning my mirror reinforces this theory with alarming force. Our talents, intelligence, and charm are usually quite ordinary, as well, leading many of us to come to the frightful conclusion in our more daring moments that we, indeed, are quite average. This combination of the commonness of the common man coupled with the overwhelming spiritual lost-ness of so many people in general can be depressing if it were not for the promises of Scripture.
First of all, I must constantly remind myself that we are created in the image of God. It is a concept that will change any life if properly and fully understood. A friend in ministry to inner city children writes, “Ronnie is an example of how God is freeing some of our teens from ( those) labels. He has been bitter towards his dad (and let me say he has reasons) but the bitterness has made him angry at everyone. At camp a counselor spoke into his life, “Your dad gave you his name, but God gave you His image. You don’t have to be like your dad.” Those words set Ronnie free. He’s not angry any longer. His summer has been amazing! He even felt the need to apologize to his dad for the way he felt. That action was a “God” thing—I know many adults who would not do that. Ronnie is allowing God to mold him into His image.” It also changes the way I look at people, even that balding man shuffling his way across Lowe’s in his ugly shorts with the protruding waistline and the aimless look on his unshaven face. There is something God-like there if I will but look closely.
Secondly, there is available to all who would choose to walk in it, a high and holy calling as ambassadors for God and given the ultimate mission of helping reconcile the world unto Himself. Look up any ambassador on-line and you will see a polished person of impeccable credentials who epitomizes the best of the best. They are addressed as “His (or her) Excellency,” “Mr. (or Ms.) Ambassador,” to recognize their position of prestige and power as representatives of a whole nation. It is an exciting job with much honor. So, we too, are called to be ambassadors of Christ to a lost world. There is no more awesome calling or mission in life than this. Christ wants to operate through us as his vessels to accomplish his continuing work on earth. Whether it be from a polished pulpit or through a cup of cold water given in His name, the work of Christ is world changing, and we get to be a part of it!
The good news is that there are no mean or obscure lives. Or at least, need not be. “Average” need not describe our lives nor those of our children. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, all can achieve the rank of ambassadorship fueled with a life mission that will propel us throughout our years with a sense of purpose and excitement. And credentials? We have them in spades. We are seated with Christ in heavenly places (Eph. 2:6). We are completely new creatures in Christ (2 Cor. 5:17). We are the children of God, joint-heirs with Christ, whereby we cry, Abba, Father (Rom. 8:15-17). Talk about connections.
There is no reason for anyone to live a common, non-descript, obscure life if they walk in the power of the Holy Spirit. In this sense, there are no average students at River’s Edge nor should you have any in your household. They are all bound for the rank and office of ambassadors for the King. I pray we awake in them this year their destiny in Christ and fire them with a vision for what they can be through Him who strengthens us for all things.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
suicide
“Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart.” 2 Cor. 4:1
Summer is all about fun in the sun and all that good stuff. I hate to spoil the mood, but I come to you with some good but somber reflections regarding suicide. It is the 11th most common cause of death in the U.S. and takes the life of an American on average every 17 minutes. The highest toll is among the elderly over the age of 60 who account for 40% of the statistics. Being in that age group, I speak to myself first of all. But the most disturbing trend is among our youth. It is the 2nd most common cause of death among teens.
I have been studying 2 Corinthians, chapters 3 &4, and I think I see an antidote and a way to suicide-proof our children and grandchildren. Paul writes at length about the indwelling power of the Spirit of God to transform a life and to empower it for the work of the ministry. Moses had a ministry that was glorious in his day yet it faded and only worked death through the Law. We have a much superior ministry of the Spirit that produces righteousness (3:9) and liberty (3:17). It is the same ministry of the Spirit that empowered our Lord to “…preach good tidings unto the meek; … to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn; to appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.” (Isa. 61:1-3). Paul makes it quite clear that we are not adequate in ourselves for such things (2:16, 3:5) but that this is the work of the Lord; that our adequacy comes from God.
“THEREFORE, since through God’s mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart.” (4:1) Suicide claims as its victims those who have totally lost heart. They have lost sight of any purpose for living and certainly of any role in God’s kingdom as His royal agents and ambassadors of Christ. We have this treasure, the ministry of the Spirit of the living God, in earthen vessels that brings purpose to life and hope to every circumstance. Those who have a clear understanding of the ministry and mission that they have been given by God may be afflicted but will not be crushed, may become perplexed but will not despair, may be persecuted but will not feel forsaken, and may even be struck down but cannot be destroyed (4:8-9). They are immune to the despair that breeds thoughts of self-destruction.
I am picturing three little boats in History that were built with very humble purposes in mind but ended up shaking the world. One was a small and simple sailboat that sat neglected for years in an old cabin in Russia. A young prince named Peter discovered it one day, retrieved it, and learned a love for sailing. His dreams escalated from there as Czar of all the Russias to seek for his country a warm-water port on the ocean that would bring Russia into the modern age and make her a world power. Another simple fishing boat sat on the shores of the island of Elba in the Mediterranean where it served no major purpose until Napoleon Bonaparte appropriated it one night and escaped his exile to return to the mainland where he went on to force the world to a bloody showdown at Waterloo. Another simple rowboat here in America went on to great fame as the boat that carried General George Washington across the Delaware, a critical and victorious turning point in the American Revolution. In each case, the boat was nothing, but the personage it carried was everything.
If we can instill in our children (as well as the aged) a sense of destiny as to the personage of the Holy Spirit they carry within them and the grand purposes He is about, we will not have to worry about them becoming another grim statistic. They will not lose heart. Nor will we.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
play
“I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.” John 10:10
The resurrection and play: two disparate terms but beautifully joined together in C.S. Lewis’s classic, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Susan and Lucy witness the resurrection of Aslan who recovers his strength only to indulge in a purely, playful romp with the two girls. “Catch me if you can!” he cries as he leaps across the great stone table. “A mad chase began. Round and round the hilltop he led them, now hopelessly out of their reach, now letting them almost catch his tail, now diving between them, now tossing them in the air with his huge and beautifully velveted paws and catching them again, and now stopping unexpectedly so that all three of them rolled over together in a happy laughing heap of fur and arms and legs.” It is a wonderful portrayal of joy unspeakable and full of glory, wholly suited to the occasion of occasions.
I was challenged by Mark Buchanan’s book, The Rest of God, this weekend. In exploring the proper dimensions of the Sabbath rest, he poses the question, “Do you play enough? Do you risk enough and bask in God’s creation enough and do some things for no reason other than that you’ll be dead soon enough anyhow, so why not live a little now?” As Americans, we are very much driven by the twin taskmasters of time and utilitarianism. Play does not come easy. There is always way too much work to do. Play seems wasteful and uncomfortably close to slothfulness.
Buchanan argues that there are many things that cannot be proven to be of any utilitarian usefulness but that life deprived of these things becomes dull, drab, and lifeless. Imagine a world without ice cream cones, spring picnics, slow hot showers, fireplaces, and front porch swings. None of these things will add to the gross national product, enhance our intellect, hone our skills, or make us better neighbors. “But they just might make us feel more alive, more ourselves, and that’s use enough.”
At 5:00 AM this very Tuesday morning, I stepped out of a simple and rugged shelter on top of Mt. LeConte in preparation for an early start home. I looked up and was immediately arrested by the drama of that opening prequel to the day. The half-moon was still proud in the clearest of skies making my steps quite known but yet not so bright as to mask a thousand stars sprinkled across the velvet heavens. A trace of a left over vaporous cloud stretched across the lower third of my field of view highlighted by the moon’s deft rays. And uppermost in the unfolding drama was the perfectly straight and brilliant white contrail of a high flying jet who winked his little red light at me while heading for the moon. As far as I know, no one saw it but me, and I caught it at its zenith form of perfect composition. A matter of minutes and the picture was ruined. It was at that moment I felt very much alive. The whole business of climbing 5 miles up some 3,000 feet just to stare at the world below doesn’t make a lot of sense. But it afforded a wonderful taste of that Sabbath rest that restores the soul.
I have to agree that play can be subversive. “It hints at a world beyond us. It carries a rumor of eternity, news from a kingdom where Chronos [time] and utility are no more welcome than death and Hades and the ancient serpent. When we play, we nudge the border of forever.” I trust that your totally useless Spring Break was full of the joy of the resurrection of the One who came that we might have life, and have it more abundantly; a life which includes some time “…producing nothing but adrenaline, laughter, and memories.”
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