Monthly Archives: December 2016

Opening the Shutters Wide

A comrade in the struggle against addiction gave me a wonderful metaphor today for how to look at our life.  One of our topics was sharing our experience, hope, and strength concerning how to move beyond our own limited perceptions of our own selves.

One brother, Frank (not his real name) said, “Sometimes, I think I’m opening the shutters of my mind just a crack, and looking out on reality.  But the problem is that I am just seeing all the ways I’ve harmed myself and others.”

We all nodded.  Non-addicts sometimes fear that people acknowledge their “addiction” (if there is really even such a thing, according to the very skeptical), in order to excuse their own destructive choices.  I would not deny that there are those who use addiction language in that manner.  However, what I have experienced—as well as I’ve noticed about my fellow-addicts—is that twelve-step recovery programs generally tend to heighten the realization of the radical, multiple harms we’ve done.

So, our real problem is that we tend to think of ourselves as addicts and nothing else.

. . .  Well, back to the comments Frank was making.  He wasn’t quite finished.  His next contribution brought me up short.  Probably did the same for several others.  Our nodding heads suddenly became cocked heads as we listened to Frank say something many of us had not thought of.  Or perhaps, we had simply forgotten.

“But then, I open the shutters wider, and I see more of the landscape.  And what I see is still the evils I’ve done, but I also see a lot of good things I’ve done.”

Of course, my sweet wife has often reminded me of all the good things I’ve done over the years.  Some friends have tried to tell me as well.

However, for the past several weeks, I’ve been struggling with a depression deeper than any I’ve experienced for a long time.  So, perhaps I was just needier and open to hearing this truth this morning.  Suddenly, the shutters of my mind were thrown wide open!

Here is the truth: None of us is a bag of gold.  None of us is a total dirt bag.  What all of us are is a mixed bag.  Humility doesn’t mean opening the shutters only enough to hate ourselves for the very real wrongs we’ve done.  Humility is throwing open the shutters wide, and seeing what is really there—everything, the good bad, and the search-me-stuff.

And perhaps, running fast across the landscape, we may see a loving Father, running toward us to rescue all of his scared little adults and children, who are his prodigal children.

Live Like You’re Loved

 

Have you ever given up your place in a long line to someone else?  I have had some people do that for me.  Occasionally, I’ve done it for others.

When I am in line, I’ve gone through several stages in terms of my attitude toward my fellow-waiters.  My first stage was, “Hey!  We’re all in a hurry, and none of us likes waiting in this line!  You can wait your turn like the rest of us!”

Stage 2:  “Here, you can get behind me!”

Stage 3:  “Here, you can get in front of me!”

Finally, I realized the obvious truth that you, dear reader, probably have seen already—namely, that unless I was letting a person who was right behind me go in front of me, I was being courteous to one person, while being discourteous to all the others who were originally in front of that particular person.

So, I moved to stage 4:  “Here, you can take my place, and I’ll go back to your place in line.

Jon Steingard, lead singer of the group Hawk Nelson, said (concerning their song “Live Like You’re Loved”), “When Jesus died on the cross for our sins, he didn’t just take our place.  He gave us his place.”  I’ve often realized that Jesus died in our place.  It was a totally new thought to me that Jesus also gave us his place.

Well, perhaps it was not totally new.  I had encountered it before.  Perhaps the thought just sunk in more deeply than it had before.

Actually, this is precisely the thought Paul expresses in Ephesians 2:4-6.

“But God is so rich in mercy, and he loved us so much, that even though we were dead because of our sins, he gave us life when he raised Christ from the dead. (It is only by God’s grace that you have been saved!)  For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ Jesus.”

If Jesus gave me—and potentially, the whole world—his place, this would include some things I most definitely do not want: denying self for the sake of others, suffering, the cross.  The cross cannot be edited out of the Jesus story.  It can’t be edited out of the lives of Jesus-followers either.

Of course, suffering is inevitable in this world, whether we are Christ-followers or not.  However, those of us who are followers of the Crucified One believe that suffering can be redemptive.  Certainly, we believe that about Christ.  But we also believe that even our own suffering can be redemptive.

But there is another truth, beyond the suffering.  Christ died for us so that we might have his place.  And what is Christ’s place?  It is the place of the Son, beloved of his heavenly Father.  Hebrews 2:11 says that Christ is not ashamed to call his brothers and sisters.  Often, I am ashamed to call Christ my brother, but brotherhood goes both ways.  If he can and does call me his brother, then I can do the same with him.

So, we were in this long line.  It was not at the check-out counter.  It was the check-in counter.  We were in a long line stretching through time and space.  It included everyone in the world.  We were waiting to check into hell.

And then, Jesus comes along and says, “Here, I’ll take your place.”

So, Jesus took our sins (which may well be another name for “hell,” in my opinion), and gave us his own place in the Father’s loving heart.

I can indeed “live like I’m loved,” because I am loved.  And you can live that way too.

 

 

 

Laughter Clubs

 

Have you ever heard of “laughter clubs?”  I hadn’t until this morning.

It began with curiosity, as most wonderful things do.  “‘This is amazing,’ Moses said to himself. ‘Why isn’t that bush burning up? I must go see it.’”  The woman-who-was-no-longer-at-the-well said to her neighbors, “Come and see a man who told me everything I ever did! Could he possibly be the Messiah?”

I was curious as to what feelings or emotions really are.  This curiosity was not academic.  I’ve been struggling with all kinds of emotions here of late, especially feelings of depression.

Plus, last night at work, I had a bad spell physically.  For the first two hours, I was feeling fine.  We weren’t all that busy, but I had several customers.  But then, I suddenly got very short of breath and flushed, dizzy, and sick at my stomach.  I clocked out early, and drove home the back way so as not to encounter a lot of traffic.  I drove very slowly, and did not sideswipe anyone, though I’m sure I weaved a bit, and no doubt irritated a lot of drivers behind me.  (I pulled off whenever I could, in order to let them go around me.  Fortunately, it was too dark for me to detect any rude gestures.)

Feeling depressed is a serious matter.  Feeling bad physically isn’t exactly pleasant either.  A cocktail of the two is especially toxic.  I still felt bad this morning.  I say again that my curiosity was not academic.  It was intensely practical.

I ended up at the following web site: http://www.laughteronlineuniversity.com/feelings-vs-emotions/, accessed 12-16-2016.  Since the author of this site mentioned that fact that he had been interviewed on NPR, I then went there to read their summary of the interview with him.  (If you would like to do the same, go to: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6641178, accessed 12-16-2016.)

This is how I found out about laughter clubs—clubs where people get together to do laughing exercises.  Just thinking about this, I got to laughing so hard that I was afraid that I would awaken my wife.  The very idea!  Laughing clubs!  Really?!?

And, as inexplicably as it came, the depression was gone.

Anybody want to join my club?  There are no dues.  The only requirement is to be willing to laugh.  You don’t even have to mean it.

 

 

“Racism, Hate and Listening”

 

A friend of mine sent me the link to an op-ed his dad wrote.  Here is the link: http://www.cincinnati.com/story/opinion/contributors/2016/12/02/just-another-stupid-kid-letter-graffiti-artist/94822904/.

You probably need to read the op-ed at the link above.  Then, the rest of this blog will make more sense.

 

Here is the e mail I sent to my friend, Will.

Dear Will,

This is an incredibly powerful piece of writing.

My fear is that we have stopped listening to one another in this country.  Perhaps we never were listening.  Perhaps listening has always been just another word for “mentally rehearsing what we already know—or think we know—while the other person is still talking.”

Please forward this e mail to your dad.  Tell him that I am trying to not just become an angry liberal, and that I will pray for him and for your entire family.  Ask him to also pray for me, that I will not become just as hateful as the “artist” who drew these symbols of hatred.  Hatred, even toward those who hate, is still hatred.  If I indulge in hate, hate wins.  Your dad is right.

Warm (and, I hope, Loving) Regards,

Tomorrow: An ancient story about a modern problem: Wages!

DTEB

 

“THERE IS NO DESERVING”

 

Last night, I had a break through that I now get to live out.  While hanging up Sharon’s clothes in her closet, I was confessing to God and to myself—not for the first time—that I most certainly did not deserve such a wonderful woman.  Never did, never would.

And then, I thought of Jesus and of God’s grace, which I have not deserved either.  Never did, never would, never could.

I began to cry.  I had “believed” these things at some level for decades, but I hadn’t really believed them, hadn’t been grateful enough, hadn’t lived as a believer.

So, now I need to decide how to live and to live out this undeserved grace—the grace of God that includes both Jesus and Sharon, our children, our grandchildren, and everything in the universe.  And having decided, I need to continue to decide.  With mind, and will, and heart, and passion, and deeds, I will decide.

So, after about four hours of sleep, I awake.  Can’t get back to sleep.  I get up, make myself a cup of coffee, and begin listening to Bread on You Tube.

A phrase from an old poem comes to mind: Just a phrase and the general tenor of the poem.  The phrase “a guest worthy” was the phrase.  Undeserved grace and love was the theme.

So, while listening to Bread, I google those words, and discover that the poem is by George Herbert, and the poem is entitled, “Love, III.”

I look at a collection of poetry by Louis Untermeyer, trying to find the poem, which I am pretty sure is in the book.  I turned directly to page 410, which is the first page of the section on George Herbert and his poetry.  Life is full of coincidences that aren’t.

Here is the poem:

Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back

Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,

If I lacked any thing.

A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:

Love said, You shall be he.

I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,

I cannot look on thee.

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,

Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame

Go where it doth deserve.

And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?

My dear, then I will serve.

You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:

So I did sit and eat.

(https://www.poetryfoundation.org/resources/learning/core-poems/detail/44367, accessed 12-04-2016).

I am no George Herbert.  Not in holiness, not in my writing, not in any way that matters.  But I do think I understand his heart, at least a little.

 

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