I used to assume that gratitude came bubbling to the surface when I was overwhelmed with wonderful things. However, since that hasn’t happened since I was five years old at Christmas, I’ve come to understand that giving thanks requires discipline on my part. I have to set aside my gloomy, grumpy thoughts, and deliberately list my blessings, and then maybe I’ll feel the gratitude.
Thanksgiving is also an expression of faith. The Bible instructs us to give thanks even while we express our concerns because we know that God will bring us through our struggles.
The hardest thing for me is giving thanks specifically FOR my hardships. I understand saying thank you for my blessings. I even understand expressing hope that I’ll be delivered from my struggles. But being thankful for illness, unemployment, the loss of a child, or a divorce? How do I say thank you to God for those things?
It helps when I look back on past issues with grief and sadness. I can see how the hardest, most humiliating moments actually defined me and made me a better man. But saying thank you while I’m crying is not something I’ve been able to do, so I guess that’s my growing edge.
Thanksgiving Day will be much easier. I’ll sit at a table full of good food and look around at my beautiful wife and handsome sons and maybe it will feel like Christmas when I was five and was so delighted with all I had gotten.
I wish the same for you this holiday.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
The End is Near... Again
I just saw a brochure for a seminar on Revelation. It had lots of ominous quotes and promises of insight as to the end of the world, so we’ll be ready.
It gave me the same feeling as when an accountant offers to show how to prepare for a tax audit.
I have some respectful disagreement with many people’s understanding of apocalyptic literature. And I’m annoyed with books, seminars, and TV shows that ramp up our anxiety with their sensational but poor interpretations.
You can’t say that monsters described in Revelation are going to be tanks and helicopters. The antichrist is not going to be one specific person. And no one, not even Jesus, can pull out the calendar and point out the date when the end of the world will occur.
Look, bad things are going to happen. They’re happening now: wars, rumors of war, persecution, false teachers, etc. There’s nothing unusual or unexpected about that. But Jesus says that on the other side of our tribulations there will be a new heaven and a new earth. Things will glisten with newness and the glory of God will ring out through the cosmos.
There are many ways of looking at last things. But we can agree on some basic thoughts. Everything that went wrong will be made right. The wicked will have been defeated. The righteous will be vindicated. A shout of victory will sound.
How we get there, when we get there, it will be worth it. We will have won. It’s something we look forward to, not worry about.
It gave me the same feeling as when an accountant offers to show how to prepare for a tax audit.
I have some respectful disagreement with many people’s understanding of apocalyptic literature. And I’m annoyed with books, seminars, and TV shows that ramp up our anxiety with their sensational but poor interpretations.
You can’t say that monsters described in Revelation are going to be tanks and helicopters. The antichrist is not going to be one specific person. And no one, not even Jesus, can pull out the calendar and point out the date when the end of the world will occur.
Look, bad things are going to happen. They’re happening now: wars, rumors of war, persecution, false teachers, etc. There’s nothing unusual or unexpected about that. But Jesus says that on the other side of our tribulations there will be a new heaven and a new earth. Things will glisten with newness and the glory of God will ring out through the cosmos.
There are many ways of looking at last things. But we can agree on some basic thoughts. Everything that went wrong will be made right. The wicked will have been defeated. The righteous will be vindicated. A shout of victory will sound.
How we get there, when we get there, it will be worth it. We will have won. It’s something we look forward to, not worry about.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Moving Mountains
You can read about the following event in Mark 11.
The day before had been big. I mean BIG.
First, Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey and was greeted by thousands of people, who waved their palm branches, laid down their cloaks in a kind of red carpet treatment, and shouted their allegiance to their next king.
Then Jesus entered the temple courtyard and chased the liars and cheats who swindled people in the name of God. The people cheered again that their champion overturned the tables of the moneychangers and drove out the overpriced livestock.
Could the disciples even sleep that night? If they did, what might they have dreamed about? The magnitude of possibilities must have been almost frightening.
And maybe that was a problem.
You know what they talked about the next morning? A fig tree.
Jesus had cursed it the day before for not having produced its fruit and by the next morning it had shriveled and died. “Wow,” they marveled. “Look at what you did, Jesus.”
That’s what they wanted to talk about? A dying fig tree?
Not the crowds. Not the showdown with the temple officials. A tree.
Jesus said, “THAT what impresses you? You’re going to see and do much bigger things. One day you’ll be able to level mountains if you have enough faith.”
I think the problem most of us have with such a sweeping promise is that we don’t actually want to move mountains. Doing the big things requires commitment on our part (that’s part of the faith).
We’d rather focus on fig trees. Little stuff. Things that we can fit in our budget and spare time (whenever that is).
Faith to move mountains requires a shift in commitment and the calendar. It requires thought and imagination. It requires people to work together (that’s why in the next sentence Jesus talked about forgiveness.).
But moving mountains does something for us. It keeps us from being bored. It gives us a purpose. And perhaps we get satisfaction in knowing that we’re participating in something bigger than ourselves.
What would you rather do? Move a mountain or curse a dying fig tree?
The day before had been big. I mean BIG.
First, Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey and was greeted by thousands of people, who waved their palm branches, laid down their cloaks in a kind of red carpet treatment, and shouted their allegiance to their next king.
Then Jesus entered the temple courtyard and chased the liars and cheats who swindled people in the name of God. The people cheered again that their champion overturned the tables of the moneychangers and drove out the overpriced livestock.
Could the disciples even sleep that night? If they did, what might they have dreamed about? The magnitude of possibilities must have been almost frightening.
And maybe that was a problem.
You know what they talked about the next morning? A fig tree.
Jesus had cursed it the day before for not having produced its fruit and by the next morning it had shriveled and died. “Wow,” they marveled. “Look at what you did, Jesus.”
That’s what they wanted to talk about? A dying fig tree?
Not the crowds. Not the showdown with the temple officials. A tree.
Jesus said, “THAT what impresses you? You’re going to see and do much bigger things. One day you’ll be able to level mountains if you have enough faith.”
I think the problem most of us have with such a sweeping promise is that we don’t actually want to move mountains. Doing the big things requires commitment on our part (that’s part of the faith).
We’d rather focus on fig trees. Little stuff. Things that we can fit in our budget and spare time (whenever that is).
Faith to move mountains requires a shift in commitment and the calendar. It requires thought and imagination. It requires people to work together (that’s why in the next sentence Jesus talked about forgiveness.).
But moving mountains does something for us. It keeps us from being bored. It gives us a purpose. And perhaps we get satisfaction in knowing that we’re participating in something bigger than ourselves.
What would you rather do? Move a mountain or curse a dying fig tree?
Monday, October 18, 2010
Room to Grow
"What must I do to inherit the kingdom of God?”
The rich young man thought he was almost there. If the Rabbi would give him the rest of the requirements, he’d be done.
He’d been a good boy all his life. He was clean and well dressed. Any mother would have been proud for her daughter to bring him home and announce they were engaged.
Jesus looked at the boy’s innocent face and loved him immediately. Who wouldn’t?
I’m sure he made quite a contrast to the grubby disciples who had been following Jesus from town to town. They were older, less refined, even crude. They didn’t look as nice but they had come much further than the boy in their spiritual journeys.
They had left everything to follow the Rabbi. But even they weren’t near the finish line. They still had much further to go.
This boy thought he was nearly done when he really hadn’t even started. He didn’t know any better. It’s the confident naiveté of youth.
We older folks smile at the optimism of the young ones. We know what will happen to them soon enough and we also know that men like this one can usually pull themselves together to face unexpected challenges.
Jesus must have decided the young man was ready to grow up a little. “There’s only one more thing to add to your list. Sell everything you have, give the money to the poor, and follow me.”
Scripture says the young man walked away sad. I’m sure he was. His world just got a lot more complicated. This disciple stuff was going to be hard. A lifetime journey.
This is not necessarily a story about materialism or money management. It’s about how far along we are in our discipleship.
How dedicated am I really? What have I been holding back? How much more of myself could I be giving to Jesus?
Turns out I’m like the young man, only I’m not young and handsome. I’ve got a few years (and pounds) on him. But I still have room to grow.
The rich young man thought he was almost there. If the Rabbi would give him the rest of the requirements, he’d be done.
He’d been a good boy all his life. He was clean and well dressed. Any mother would have been proud for her daughter to bring him home and announce they were engaged.
Jesus looked at the boy’s innocent face and loved him immediately. Who wouldn’t?
I’m sure he made quite a contrast to the grubby disciples who had been following Jesus from town to town. They were older, less refined, even crude. They didn’t look as nice but they had come much further than the boy in their spiritual journeys.
They had left everything to follow the Rabbi. But even they weren’t near the finish line. They still had much further to go.
This boy thought he was nearly done when he really hadn’t even started. He didn’t know any better. It’s the confident naiveté of youth.
We older folks smile at the optimism of the young ones. We know what will happen to them soon enough and we also know that men like this one can usually pull themselves together to face unexpected challenges.
Jesus must have decided the young man was ready to grow up a little. “There’s only one more thing to add to your list. Sell everything you have, give the money to the poor, and follow me.”
Scripture says the young man walked away sad. I’m sure he was. His world just got a lot more complicated. This disciple stuff was going to be hard. A lifetime journey.
This is not necessarily a story about materialism or money management. It’s about how far along we are in our discipleship.
How dedicated am I really? What have I been holding back? How much more of myself could I be giving to Jesus?
Turns out I’m like the young man, only I’m not young and handsome. I’ve got a few years (and pounds) on him. But I still have room to grow.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Is It Worth It?
Jesus was clear that the gospel is not for wimps. “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it.” (Mark 8:34-35).
If following Christ is costly, then why do it? Why not go for the comforts and luxuries in this world? Why not live selfishly for our own pleasure?
I’m reminded of a choir teacher that felt a lot of frustration in her job. She would sing, yell, and work so much that she’d lose her own voice before every concert (she would resort to banging the furniture to get our attention). Her frustration stemmed from knowing how good the music could be versus how we sounded at the moment.
Why put herself through the angst? Because the performances were good and we won most of the contests we entered. And that was satisfying.
I think most of us feel the need for purpose more than we want pleasure. We want our lives to count for something important. We quickly see the emptiness of a comfortable life and we’d rather have the challenge and the fulfillment of doing things that make the world better.
Living for Jesus can be frustrating, even heartbreaking. We do it because we see how things are versus how they could be. We work toward a goal that ultimately glorifies God and saves the souls he created.
We believe the end will be worth the working and the waiting and the sacrificing.
It is not easy. But it’s good.
If following Christ is costly, then why do it? Why not go for the comforts and luxuries in this world? Why not live selfishly for our own pleasure?
I’m reminded of a choir teacher that felt a lot of frustration in her job. She would sing, yell, and work so much that she’d lose her own voice before every concert (she would resort to banging the furniture to get our attention). Her frustration stemmed from knowing how good the music could be versus how we sounded at the moment.
Why put herself through the angst? Because the performances were good and we won most of the contests we entered. And that was satisfying.
I think most of us feel the need for purpose more than we want pleasure. We want our lives to count for something important. We quickly see the emptiness of a comfortable life and we’d rather have the challenge and the fulfillment of doing things that make the world better.
Living for Jesus can be frustrating, even heartbreaking. We do it because we see how things are versus how they could be. We work toward a goal that ultimately glorifies God and saves the souls he created.
We believe the end will be worth the working and the waiting and the sacrificing.
It is not easy. But it’s good.
Monday, September 27, 2010
"Be Opened"
Jesus battled a lot of stubborn ignorance from religious leaders who should have been the most willing to see the possibilities of God in his work.
Other people said, “Wow, did you see how Jesus healed the blind man, the lame woman, that deaf guy, and the demon possessed child? How wonderful! How amazing! Praise God!” However, the religious leaders complained that he didn’t wash his hands correctly, didn’t fast like the others, and did his healing on the wrong day of the week.
Instead of opening their minds to new possibilities, they tried to shut him down.
We’re not so different today. Most of us want to keep things the same--the way we’ve always understood them to be. I’m fine as long as no one makes me change or consider that God is different than I was taught as a child.
Those kinds of limitations make me irrelevant to society, out of tune with God, and just plain boring.
It also frustrates Jesus.
When Jesus healed the deaf and mute man, he placed his fingers in the man’s ears and mouth and said with a deep sigh, “Ephphatha,” which means “Be opened.” (Mark 7:34). I think he was speaking to more people than just that man. He was speaking to everyone around him and to those of us who read his words now.
Faith requires a certain amount of openness in order to consider things that aren’t normally considered. It’s interesting that so many of us have gotten it backwards. Our religious convictions can lead us to shut down our thinking to where we never entertain new ideas.
Perhaps Christ’s greatest blessings are waiting for us to become open enough to receive them.
Other people said, “Wow, did you see how Jesus healed the blind man, the lame woman, that deaf guy, and the demon possessed child? How wonderful! How amazing! Praise God!” However, the religious leaders complained that he didn’t wash his hands correctly, didn’t fast like the others, and did his healing on the wrong day of the week.
Instead of opening their minds to new possibilities, they tried to shut him down.
We’re not so different today. Most of us want to keep things the same--the way we’ve always understood them to be. I’m fine as long as no one makes me change or consider that God is different than I was taught as a child.
Those kinds of limitations make me irrelevant to society, out of tune with God, and just plain boring.
It also frustrates Jesus.
When Jesus healed the deaf and mute man, he placed his fingers in the man’s ears and mouth and said with a deep sigh, “Ephphatha,” which means “Be opened.” (Mark 7:34). I think he was speaking to more people than just that man. He was speaking to everyone around him and to those of us who read his words now.
Faith requires a certain amount of openness in order to consider things that aren’t normally considered. It’s interesting that so many of us have gotten it backwards. Our religious convictions can lead us to shut down our thinking to where we never entertain new ideas.
Perhaps Christ’s greatest blessings are waiting for us to become open enough to receive them.
Monday, September 6, 2010
The Possible Dream
To dream ... the impossible dream ...
To fight ... the unbeatable foe ...
To bear ... with unbearable sorrow ...
To run ... where the brave dare not go ...
To right ... the unrightable wrong ...
To love ... pure and chaste from afar ...
To try ... when your arms are too weary ...
To reach ... the unreachable star ...
--lyrics by Joe Darion
I have loved this song all my life. I saw a scene from “Man of La Mancha” on the TV the other day and I started singing with the music. I will always love it, but I no longer quite believe in the words. I started writing some of my own thoughts which will never be set to music, but they are mine and I share them with you:
I don’t believe in the impossible dream.
I believe in doing things that people say are impossible;
In trying things that appear impossible.
I believe in dreaming audacious, ambitious,
outrageous dreams
But I do not wish to glorify magnificent failure.
I aim for unbelievable triumph.
I still believe in being daring, taking risks, and being bold.
I still believe in nobility, idealism, generosity,
courage, and higher purpose.
I believe in dying for love ones and noble causes.
I believe in trying again
When you don’t think you have anything left.
I believe there’s a time for going for broke,
for risking it all,
for laying it all on the line.
And I believe one can come back from utter loss and devastation.
Scientists and philosophers have regularly
been proven wrong about the limitations
They place on the universe.
I believe in possibilities.
I believe there are more things in heaven and earth
Than are dreamt of in human philosophy.
I reach for things beyond my grasp
Because I don’t believe they're unreachable.
I dream the possible dream.
"I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.
--Mark 11:22-24
To fight ... the unbeatable foe ...
To bear ... with unbearable sorrow ...
To run ... where the brave dare not go ...
To right ... the unrightable wrong ...
To love ... pure and chaste from afar ...
To try ... when your arms are too weary ...
To reach ... the unreachable star ...
--lyrics by Joe Darion
I have loved this song all my life. I saw a scene from “Man of La Mancha” on the TV the other day and I started singing with the music. I will always love it, but I no longer quite believe in the words. I started writing some of my own thoughts which will never be set to music, but they are mine and I share them with you:
I don’t believe in the impossible dream.
I believe in doing things that people say are impossible;
In trying things that appear impossible.
I believe in dreaming audacious, ambitious,
outrageous dreams
But I do not wish to glorify magnificent failure.
I aim for unbelievable triumph.
I still believe in being daring, taking risks, and being bold.
I still believe in nobility, idealism, generosity,
courage, and higher purpose.
I believe in dying for love ones and noble causes.
I believe in trying again
When you don’t think you have anything left.
I believe there’s a time for going for broke,
for risking it all,
for laying it all on the line.
And I believe one can come back from utter loss and devastation.
Scientists and philosophers have regularly
been proven wrong about the limitations
They place on the universe.
I believe in possibilities.
I believe there are more things in heaven and earth
Than are dreamt of in human philosophy.
I reach for things beyond my grasp
Because I don’t believe they're unreachable.
I dream the possible dream.
"I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.
--Mark 11:22-24
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