I am a wizard....I must be. When I awake in the morning, I call forth light to illuminate my surroundings. I summon forth water to bathe my body. I create, with the touch of my finger, the wonderful morning elixir which has the magical effect upon my body of arousing my senses. I command the very air in my home to bend to my will, to heat itself until I am sufficiently warmed. I sit before the mystical box and call forth disembodied images to entertain me. With the simple tapping of my finger, I am able to communicate with anyone I desire wherever they may reside. I sit within my magical chariot and float along the surface of the world to whatever destination I choose...I must be a wizard!
I am a King...I must be. I walk into a room and people I do not know rush to serve me. They are careful to choose pleasing tones lest I become agitated. They offer to serve me whatever delicacy I desire and prepare it to my preferences. They stand at a distance, eyes focused upon me, and move quickly to attend to my needs before they even arise. Within my estate I have many rooms, each with their own specific purpose. I have a sleeping quarters designed to provide the optimum environment conducive to my slumber. I have a room designed for the storage and preparation of my meals. I have a dining room that stands empty, but which can entertain my royal guests when I so desire. I have an opulently furnished room specifically for lounging, with plush seating made of fine animal skins. My royal offspring each have their own living quarters designed to their particular preference. I have a room within my quarters for the storage of my royal garments, the number of which cannot be estimated. Even my chariot has its own room within my palace...I must be a king!
While this may sound far fetched, upon closer examination most of us would agree that such statements ring true. But within such a world, when does our need for God surface? As we rush to and fro, convinced of our own importance and self sufficiency, when do we recognize that we are small and helpless? When the truth cannot be ignored. Last week we had a sudden snow storm in the middle of march. 7 inches in one day hit a region that is ill-prepared for such an event. We were left without power, sitting in the dark, shivering, without warm water. All the white noise of our lives went suddenly silent and we were left alone with the realization that long before the electricity went out, we were already powerless. Despite all of our attempts to keep the wolves at bay, we are not in control. This is a truth that every heartbroken parent can attest to. The despondent spouse, the suddenly homeless, the unemployed, all have had to confront the truth that, ultimately, we are neither wizard nor king. Instead, we are weak, vulnerable and needy. But is that bad news?
Jesus said "... it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”Matt. 19:24. But why is that? It is not the riches that are the obstacle, it is the need they hide. Our need for God. When our lives are going well, we seldom feel the pull of the broken, the needy, the sick. Sadly, it is only when our lives have been turned upside down, when the truth of our dire predicament cannot be ignored, that many of us turn to God. However, it is in just such situations that Christ is closer than ever. Stripped of our comforts, the ever present hum of our daily lives receding in the distance, we are able to hear the voice of God...Yet..
The power is back on, the storm has left. I am again tempted to trust in myself. Will I so quickly forget how I sat in the dark, shivering and praying for the light? Or will I strive to listen beyond the noise, the whine and the hum? To listen for the voice that commanded the waters to be still, that called forth Lazarus from the tomb, that spoke the words of truth and light. My hearts desire is to look beyond the blessings in my life and focus on the One who provided them, because another storm is always on its way.
“Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our
pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his
megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
- C.S. Lewis
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Outraged or Engaged?..
My day today has been like almost every other day. I woke up on my couch ( OK, not like every day. Trying not to infect my wife with my cold). I took a shower, got dressed and came to work. I made a coffee, talked with my co-workers and sat down in front of my computer to check my e-mail. I went home for lunch and said hello to my kids who were enjoying a snow day off from school. Tonight I will return home and enjoy a meal with my family, sit down in the living room, watch my favorite shows and then head off to bed. All in all, a pretty good life. But what did I miss today?
How many children were disappointed today that there was no school because school is the one place where they feel safe, are fed and kept warm? While my children fight over who gets the laptop next, how many families are unsure as to where they will sleep next week? While I drink my coffee in my warmly decorated office, how many parents have just walked from their childs bedside down the hospital corridor to pour coffee from the pot at the nurses station?
Last night, I rushed downtown to get toilet paper, left my car running, and headed into the store where I grabbed what I needed, paid quickly and rushed home. But who did I miss? I cannot tell you who was in that store. I didn't make eye contact if possible and nodded my hellos to those who looked familiar. I may have been in that store, but I was not present. Did I miss an opportunity to offer a smile, a word of encouragement to someone who desperately needed it? Did someone see the pastor and look for an opportunity to speak with me only to be greeted by my back as I rushed out into the darkness? I look at people all the time without ever truly seeing them.
In Jesus' day, they had a litany of rules regarding the washing of your hands and avoiding defilement. Known sinners, menstruating women, the physically deformed or impaired; all were forbidden to enter the temple. The Levitical system prescribed a day of purification after simply touching a sick person. The law decreed that a person suffering from leprosy live outside of town and keep a 6 ft distance from everyone. They were forced to wear the rag clothes of a mourner who was going to a funeral. Women were rarely allowed to speak to men outside of their family and a woman was to touch no man but her husband. Into this scene stepped Jesus...Who turned the religious world upside down....In one instance, as all were watching, a leper approached Jesus.." and He touched him..." Matt. 8:3. In that short passage, the radical message of Christ can be seen. Can you imagine the shock on the faces of those in the crowd as Jesus did not flinch or move away from the "unclean" man but instead reached toward the leper?!
Matt. 20:29 tells the story of two blind men crying out to Christ. Jesus heard them over the protests of the crowd and was "moved with compassion". The word used is the same word used to describe what a mother feels for her child in the womb. Time and time again, we see Jesus, moved with compassion, witnessing to those people who crossed His path. Whether He was tired, or busy, or hungry..He never failed to see those people who were hurting. ......And those He saw, He touched.
I see the people as I pass them, many of them dirty and unkempt. I hear the stories of the families tore apart by the foolish decisions of a parent. And I am angered by their sin and selfishness. I watch as coaches and teachers act out in a manner that hurts children and I speak of it indignantly within the confines of my car. I am outraged by their actions.
But is it enough to be outraged? Should I not be engaged?... In the lives of those hurting individuals whose lives intersect mine? It is easy for me to point out how wrong they are, but do I want to make a point or make a difference? Jesus provided the example...To open my eyes, to slow down and look around, to prayerfully consider what my role is in a community that is hurting and needs healing. To touch the lives of people.
I have been blessed. My life is comfortable. But I pray that my comfort does not lead to complacency, and my complacency to arrogance. Instead, give me eyes for the hurting. give me a heart for the wounded. Give me lips that speak words of life and affirmation....Amen
How many children were disappointed today that there was no school because school is the one place where they feel safe, are fed and kept warm? While my children fight over who gets the laptop next, how many families are unsure as to where they will sleep next week? While I drink my coffee in my warmly decorated office, how many parents have just walked from their childs bedside down the hospital corridor to pour coffee from the pot at the nurses station?
Last night, I rushed downtown to get toilet paper, left my car running, and headed into the store where I grabbed what I needed, paid quickly and rushed home. But who did I miss? I cannot tell you who was in that store. I didn't make eye contact if possible and nodded my hellos to those who looked familiar. I may have been in that store, but I was not present. Did I miss an opportunity to offer a smile, a word of encouragement to someone who desperately needed it? Did someone see the pastor and look for an opportunity to speak with me only to be greeted by my back as I rushed out into the darkness? I look at people all the time without ever truly seeing them.
In Jesus' day, they had a litany of rules regarding the washing of your hands and avoiding defilement. Known sinners, menstruating women, the physically deformed or impaired; all were forbidden to enter the temple. The Levitical system prescribed a day of purification after simply touching a sick person. The law decreed that a person suffering from leprosy live outside of town and keep a 6 ft distance from everyone. They were forced to wear the rag clothes of a mourner who was going to a funeral. Women were rarely allowed to speak to men outside of their family and a woman was to touch no man but her husband. Into this scene stepped Jesus...Who turned the religious world upside down....In one instance, as all were watching, a leper approached Jesus.." and He touched him..." Matt. 8:3. In that short passage, the radical message of Christ can be seen. Can you imagine the shock on the faces of those in the crowd as Jesus did not flinch or move away from the "unclean" man but instead reached toward the leper?!
Matt. 20:29 tells the story of two blind men crying out to Christ. Jesus heard them over the protests of the crowd and was "moved with compassion". The word used is the same word used to describe what a mother feels for her child in the womb. Time and time again, we see Jesus, moved with compassion, witnessing to those people who crossed His path. Whether He was tired, or busy, or hungry..He never failed to see those people who were hurting. ......And those He saw, He touched.
I see the people as I pass them, many of them dirty and unkempt. I hear the stories of the families tore apart by the foolish decisions of a parent. And I am angered by their sin and selfishness. I watch as coaches and teachers act out in a manner that hurts children and I speak of it indignantly within the confines of my car. I am outraged by their actions.
But is it enough to be outraged? Should I not be engaged?... In the lives of those hurting individuals whose lives intersect mine? It is easy for me to point out how wrong they are, but do I want to make a point or make a difference? Jesus provided the example...To open my eyes, to slow down and look around, to prayerfully consider what my role is in a community that is hurting and needs healing. To touch the lives of people.
I have been blessed. My life is comfortable. But I pray that my comfort does not lead to complacency, and my complacency to arrogance. Instead, give me eyes for the hurting. give me a heart for the wounded. Give me lips that speak words of life and affirmation....Amen
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Caden and The Cross
Twelve years ago next month my youngest child Caden was born. He weighed in at a bit over seven pounds, normal for most families, but much smaller than our first two children...Within four days we were back at the hospital watching in shock as our doctor was barking out orders in a frantic attempt to save our baby. As the nurses scrambled, we prayed desperately and then watched as Caden was taken away in a specially equipped ambulance to the neo-natal unit in Eugene. We followed behind and thanked God when we discovered that, while he was now stable, Caden had been hours away from death. We went to bed that night not knowing what the future might hold for our little guy.
Michelle and I both stayed at the hospital for the first few nights, but then decided we would pull shifts in order that one of us would be with our other children at home. I would make the trip down I-5 to Eugene, stay with Caden, and then make the return trip home and relieve Michelle who would then head down to the hospital. During this time, Caden was full of tubes and the medical staff was running tests daily in an effort to diagnose his issue. Every day and night, Michelle and I would rotate being at the hospital, every day and night making the trip down I-5.
I do not recall how many trips I had made, deep in prayer, before I saw it. But there it was, a cross, brightly lit, shining through the darkness high up on a hill on the East side of the freeway. I'm sure that I had seen it before, I have traveled that same road too many times to count during my life. But as I saw it that night, I pulled over on the edge of the freeway and sobbed. Through my tears, I pleaded for my son and vented my anger at God. We were good people who didn't deserve this for our son.. We had done things right! As my tears ran dry, I pulled back on the freeway and completed the trip to the hospital.
Something happened that night. I began to look for the cross every time I would make that trip. I focused my confusion, my anger, my hopes and my fears on that cross. During the two weeks that Caden was in the hospital, every trip by that cross made me aware of my overwhelming need for Christ. I approached that cross broken and hurting, needing to be assured, needing to be comforted. And during those trips on I-5, I was.
After two weeks and the first of two surgeries, Caden came home. He still had a journey before him but our son was going to live. Over time, we settled into a new routine and life moved on. But a part of me stayed at that cross. Since that time, people have occasionally commented about how I have grown slower to criticize, slower to speak. I don't rush to share my opinion like I did in my younger days. I have found that not every hill is worth dying on. I have more compassion for people who are hurting. You see, during those long drives, alone in that car with God, I begged for him to change my circumstances, to heal my son. But while He saved Cadens life, He did not completely heal him. That part of my prayer was not granted. Instead, something unexpected happened as I approached the cross broken and transparent...He changed me.
C.S. Lewis stated that God whispers in our pleasures but shouts in our pains. I can attest to that truth. Occasionally, when I look at Caden and see that he still has a road to travel, I hear the echoes of that pain. But my mind wanders back to that darkened car interior, alone on the roadside, my eyes focused through my tears on that cross and I am reminded again of how much He has given me. And I am thankful.
Caden: Derived from military term Cadence; meaning: Spirit Of Battle
Michelle and I both stayed at the hospital for the first few nights, but then decided we would pull shifts in order that one of us would be with our other children at home. I would make the trip down I-5 to Eugene, stay with Caden, and then make the return trip home and relieve Michelle who would then head down to the hospital. During this time, Caden was full of tubes and the medical staff was running tests daily in an effort to diagnose his issue. Every day and night, Michelle and I would rotate being at the hospital, every day and night making the trip down I-5.
I do not recall how many trips I had made, deep in prayer, before I saw it. But there it was, a cross, brightly lit, shining through the darkness high up on a hill on the East side of the freeway. I'm sure that I had seen it before, I have traveled that same road too many times to count during my life. But as I saw it that night, I pulled over on the edge of the freeway and sobbed. Through my tears, I pleaded for my son and vented my anger at God. We were good people who didn't deserve this for our son.. We had done things right! As my tears ran dry, I pulled back on the freeway and completed the trip to the hospital.
Something happened that night. I began to look for the cross every time I would make that trip. I focused my confusion, my anger, my hopes and my fears on that cross. During the two weeks that Caden was in the hospital, every trip by that cross made me aware of my overwhelming need for Christ. I approached that cross broken and hurting, needing to be assured, needing to be comforted. And during those trips on I-5, I was.
After two weeks and the first of two surgeries, Caden came home. He still had a journey before him but our son was going to live. Over time, we settled into a new routine and life moved on. But a part of me stayed at that cross. Since that time, people have occasionally commented about how I have grown slower to criticize, slower to speak. I don't rush to share my opinion like I did in my younger days. I have found that not every hill is worth dying on. I have more compassion for people who are hurting. You see, during those long drives, alone in that car with God, I begged for him to change my circumstances, to heal my son. But while He saved Cadens life, He did not completely heal him. That part of my prayer was not granted. Instead, something unexpected happened as I approached the cross broken and transparent...He changed me.
C.S. Lewis stated that God whispers in our pleasures but shouts in our pains. I can attest to that truth. Occasionally, when I look at Caden and see that he still has a road to travel, I hear the echoes of that pain. But my mind wanders back to that darkened car interior, alone on the roadside, my eyes focused through my tears on that cross and I am reminded again of how much He has given me. And I am thankful.
Caden: Derived from military term Cadence; meaning: Spirit Of Battle
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