Why I’m Ungrateful

This is from Russell Moore who is Dean of the School of Theology at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.

 

“If I hear the word ‘Daddy’ again, I’m going to scream!”

I heard myself saying those words. And, in my defense, it was loud around here. I was trying to work on something, and all I could hear were feet pounding down the stairs with four boys competing with one another to tell me one thing after another. I just wanted five minutes of silence.

My vocal chords were still vibrating when an image hit my brain. It was the picture of me, on my face, praying for children. The house was certainly quiet then. And in those years of infertility and miscarriage and seemingly unanswered prayers, I would have given anything to hear steps on that staircase. I feared I would never hear the word “Daddy,” ever, directed to me. Come to think of it, I even wrote a book about the Christian cry of “Abba, Father.”

And now I was annoyed. Why? It wasn’t that I’d changed my mind about the blessing of children. It was that my family had become “normal” to me. In the absence of children, the blessing was forefront on my mind. But in their presence, they’d become expected, part of what I expected from my day-to-day existence. And that’s what’s so dangerous.

Gratitude is spiritual warfare. I’m convinced my turn of imagination that day was conviction of sin, a personal uprooting of my own idolatry by the Spirit of Christ. What I need to fear most is what seems normal to me.

We’re all, in some way or other, in the same place the people of Israel were in in Joshua 23 and 24. Joshua, their warrior-leader, stands before them and recounts all the blessings God has given, reminding them that “not one word has failed of all the good things that the Lord God promised concerning you” (Josh. 23:14a). Joshua said, “All have come to pass for you; not one of them has failed” (Josh. 23:14b).

And yet, as Joshua foretold (and Moses before him), the people would soon be in the land of olive trees and wine presses. These things, what they’d cried for in the wilderness, would soon seem “normal” to them. And, soon enough, they’d crave more and more, so much so that they’d chase after Canaanite idols to get what they wanted.

This is what some philosophers call “hedonic adaptation.” We tend to adjust to the level of happiness or prosperity we have. We grow to expect it, to not even notice it. And then we want more. That’s why it’s so hard for people to come down in standard of living. It’s easy to move from a studio apartment to a two-story house, but it’s awful to do the reverse. Few people have a problem going from a 1985 Ford Fairmont to a brand new BMW, but it’s incomprehensible to go the other direction.

This is the way of all flesh, as it is pulled toward the abyss by the satanic powers. It is always so. The garden of Eden becomes mere vegetation for blinded humans in the beginning. The mountains and caves become mere covering for blinded humans in the end.

The Spirit of Christ draws us toward gratitude because the Spirit convicts us of our creatureliness. We’re dependent on breath, on bread, on love, and these things come, personally, as gifts from a Father (Jas. 1:17).

Is there anything in your life that you’ve grown accustomed to? Is there something you prayed for, fervently, in pleading in its absence that you haven’t prayed for, fervently, in thanksgiving in its presence? There’s several such things in my life, and, I fear, many more that I don’t even think about.

I’m typing this at the kitchen table. I was just interrupted by Moore boys wrestling for the last Little Debbie Cake in the pantry. As soon as I heard “Daddy,” I looked up, even in writing this article, in frustration. But the Spirit still crucifies, still resurrects.

Thank You.

Bearing the Cross During Advent

I found this by way of Sister Lynn McKenzie.  Sister Lynn is my favorite lawyer who is also a nun.  (I hope I am using the right terminology.  She is member of Sacred Heart Monastery, a community of Benedictine Sisters in Cullman).  This post was beautifully written by a younger sister named Sister Elisabeth Meadows.  ENJOY!!   Her blog is http://livingthetradition.blogspot.com/

 

This morning we had one of those Masses that leaves the sacristan feeling like she barely escaped with her life. The cross-bearer forgot to bear the cross. The organist couldn’t find the music for the final hymn. And there were a couple of other heart-stopping moments.

Heart-stopping if you’re a sacristan, that is. Hopefully no one else was aware that the cross was carried by someone who, as Mass was about to begin, realized that the cross-bearer was contemplatively settled in a pew far, far away. Hopefully no one else noticed that the flautist suddenly stopped 'flauting' and began searching for missing music amongst the stacks at the organ. And hopefully no one else noticed the couple of other sacristan-heart-stopping moments.

Yet from my perspective as sacristan and flautist, it was, strangely enough, the perfect opening for Advent, this season of preparing for the coming of the Lord. No matter how well we prepare, we are human. Things go awry. We lose the music amongst the music. We lose ourselves in contemplation. We prepare and prepare, yet when the lights are turned on and the candles are lit, we still need each other to help us carry the cross and sing the song.

As we prepare our hearts for the coming of the Lord, it's good to be reminded of our emptiness. It's good to be reminded of just how much we need our Lord, and need each other. And it's good to be reminded of the many ways in which the Lord comes to us. Sometimes it's in the guise of the one who helps another to bear her cross and sing her song.

Postscript: Today during lunch someone said "That was a beautiful Mass." Inwardly, the sacristan smiled. She had escaped with her life.

Where are the Nine?

From Kevin DeYoung 

Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising god with a loud voice; and he fell on his face at Jesus’ feet, giving him thanks. Now he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus answered, “Were not ten cleansed? Where are the nine?” (Luke 17:15-17)

Everyone reading this blog has reason to give praise to God. The question is whether we will go on our thankless way like the rest of the former lepers, or turn around and fall at Jesus’ feet like the Samaritan. 

Are you part of the one or one of the nine?

I find it easy to ask God for things.  I find it relatively easy to confess sin, perhaps because I have so much of it and feel guilty for it.  It is harder for me to give thanks, not because I think I’m too proud to say thank you, but because I don’t have my eyes open to see all that God has done and is doing.

All of us, I imagine, got sick in the past year.  And almost all of us got better.  Have we given thanks?  If we are getting sicker, maybe even approaching death, have we given thanks for the grace to make it this far and for the grace that will lead us home?

There is so much God has done for us: jobs, paid our bills, paying our bills at church, safe travel, safe surgeries, miraculous provision for little babies over the past year.  We’ve had good test results, open doors, and unexpected blessings.  Have we thanked God?

Did you sleep last night?  Did your kids?  Will you eat tomorrow?  Have you seen people recently converted?  Are their relationships in the process of being healed?  Did you sell your house or get married or finish school?  Have you enjoyed the encouragement and support of the church?  Have you enjoyed laughter and sympathy with friends?  We’ve known guilt. We’ve received grace. Will we live out gratitude?

We aren’t all blessed in the same ways. But we all have been blessed in innumerable ways. Some return to Jesus with praise. Others do not. Which prompts Jesus to say two things: “Your faith has made you well” and “Where are the nine?”

Plotting the Resurrection

From Steve West at Out Walking Blog:

 As the years went by and age overtook her, there was something comical yet touching in her bedraggled appearance on this awesome occasion --- the small, hunched-over figure, her studied absorption in the implausible notion that there would be yet another spring, oblivious to the ending of her own days, which she knew perfectly well was near at hand, sitting there with her detailed chart under those dark skies in the dying October, calmly plotting the resurrection.

(E.B. White, from the Introduction to Onward and Upward In the Garden, by Katharine S. White)

E.B. White, author of Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little, and countless columns for The New Yorker, wrote this essay about his wife's annual late October planting of bulbs in her garden in what was, at this point, perhaps her last such planting.  I love that phrase, "plotting the resurrection," as it suggests the posture believers are encouraged to have in life: faithful, continued perseverance in our usual work, unto God, with hope for its ultimate meaning.

I work each day in a rather nondescript 1960s era building, fashionable perhaps in that time but uninteresting now.  I walk up two flights to my office.  I turn on the light. I hang up my coat. I sit down and sign into my computer. I listen to messages.  I read emails. I make phone calls.  I answer emails.  I write.  I read.  I move paper and files from one box to another.  I discuss.  Sometimes, I disagree.  I wait.  I make more phone calls.  At 5:30, I log out of the computer, rise, put on my coat, turn off the light, close the door, walk down the two flights of steps, and wave at the guard as I walk out the door.

Tomorrow, I'll do it all again.

This is the quotidian, that which occurs everyday.  The ordinary.  Viewed apart from the resurrection, the drudgery of it, the ceaseless repetition, would weigh heavy on me, a sense of uselessness and meaninglessness rising up in me, creating cynicism, a lackadaisical attitude, and even despair.  And yet for the Christian, the most mundane of work is offered up to God and will be taken up by God and transformed in some as yet unknown way.  A continuity exists between the work we do here and the work we do in Heaven.  What we do now really means something, tainted though it may be by sin, weighed down by the travail of Creation.

In 1 Corinthians 3:13 Paul looks ahead to Heaven and sees that on that Day "each one's work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it. . . ."  The Colossians are told "[w]hatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men. . . ."  Work, no matter how mundane, is what we do, what we are made to do, and God uniquely equipped us for certain work or works that we do.  And, ultimately, he will sanctify that work, carrying forward all that is good in it to a recreated heavens and earth, to a New Creation.

That's why an old lady plants bulbs in the cold soil of October, just like she always has, year after year, believing that there will be a Spring of new life.  That's why I've engaged in a 26-year routine of faithfulness to a work that will go on in all that is good.  I'm not just plotting the resurrection --- I'm betting on it.

Jesus blessed the poor, not poverty

By James Evans-

It is not my usual practice to take issue with something Jesus said, but I have struggled for years to understand what he meant with “Blessed are the poor.” I did not grow up poor, but it was always just one missed paycheck away.
 

And while my immediate family managed to avoid the more extreme experiences of poverty, I have relatives who were not so fortunate.
 

My work as a minister deepened my dilemma. My first three pastorates were all in rural farming areas. Working with migrants, tenant farmers and their families, I have witnessed up close the effects of economic deprivation. Living so close, and seeing so much, I cannot help but wonder how poverty, in any sense, is a blessed state of being?

There is another version of the saying. Matthew’s gospel records Jesus’ words as, “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” The addition of “in spirit” makes it possible for some to dismiss the economic implications of the saying and focus strictly on the spiritual meaning.

But even if Jesus was using the image of poverty to illustrate something about spirituality, what aspect of poverty was he thinking about? I have yet to see anything about poverty that is blessed.

And that may be the point. Sociologists report what they call “middle class resentment” toward the poor. There is a line of popular thinking that believes the needs of the poor are draining away our meager resources. There is simply not enough to go around. If we are not careful, their poverty will make us poor.
 

Coupled with this fear is the widespread belief that people are poor because of bad choices or sinful lives. Why should we care and risk our own fragile economic status when their poverty is their own fault?
 

But then Jesus steps up and throws a wrench into our carefully crafted rationalization for ignoring the poor. Jesus tells us the poor are blessed. He spends time with the poor, heals them, eats with them, shows them love.
 

He tells a rich young ruler, “Sell what you have and give it to the poor.” Just before he dies Jesus offers a picture of the final judgment in which he says he is the poor, and by showing love to them, we show love to him.
 

Jesus did not bless poverty. In fact, it appears he was trying to undo its malignant effects. No, Jesus did not bless poverty, he blessed the poor. This is nothing less than prophetic genius.
 

By declaring the poor blessed, Jesus elevated them out of the shadowy basement of social neglect into the bright light of God’s special esteem. By declaring the poor blessed, Jesus made it impossible for us to ignore or despise them — at least with a clear conscience.
 

We have a long way to go with this issue, especially these days. With charges of “socialism” clouding every effort to help anyone, any proactive effort to help the needy in our midst is going to be an uphill battle.
 

Learning to view the poor, not as a threat to our way of life but rather as special people blessed by God, at least gets us moving in the right direction.
 

It might even help us craft our own blessing: Blessed are they who love the poor. For that is who Jesus loved, and who Jesus was.

James L. Evans is pastor of Auburn First Baptist Church. He can be reached at faithmatters@mindspring.com.

Packing

Great Post by by Jon Acuff at Stuff Christians Like Blog. If you haven't visited his site, go now. Hilarious and inspired. 

My friend used to deal drugs.

I tell you this, not to add an element of excitement to his testimony, as we are prone to do when we encounter someone who has a really crazy, Jason Bourne like testimony.

I tell you this, because two weeks ago he taught me an important lesson about faith.

We were talking about a famous singer who recently got arrested for having a bag of cocaine on him in a bathroom. The singer told the police that this was the first time he’s ever tried cocaine. When I told my friend that, he said it wasn’t true. He said it was virtually impossible for that to have been his first time. Knowing that my friend didn’t follow this musician or really have any knowledge of him, I asked him why he could be so sure of that.

Here is what he told me:

“No one carries drugs with them the first time they use. No one has the lack of fear it takes to carry a few grams of coke the very first time you try it. No one is alone in a bathroom, carrying a controlled substance the first time they have it. It starts slowly. You’re at a party where it is present. There are a few lines at a friend’s house. Somewhere you bump into it casually. You try it that way long before you decide you’ll be out at a nightclub with a bag of it in your pocket.”

That makes sense to me and more than that, it feels a lot like every other sin in my life.

Nothing I’ve ever done, whether lying or drugs, pornography or gossip, started out with a bag in a bathroom. As I’ve said before, no one wakes up on a Tuesday morning and says, “Today, I’m going to embezzle!” No one says, “At lunch, I’m going to get 10 DUIs and go to jail!” The path to completely destruction never starts out that way.

And neither did the Prodigal Son story. I can’t write about that story enough. It’s the perfect example of small steps to big stupid. In that story, we often like to think that the son got his inheritance from his father and then took a G6 jet straight to hookertown.

But that’s not what Luke 15 says. In fact, this is what we see in Luke 15:13

"And not many days after the younger son gathered all together and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living."

Did you see that? The Prodigal Son packed. For days, he packed his bags before he left the father’s side. He took small steps. He made small mistakes and then he left.

So my question to you today, my question to me is pretty simple:

Are you packing?

Right now, today, are you packing your things to leave the safety of the father? Are you getting your things together for a disastrous trip to somewhere you’ve been before, down a path that will leave you wounded and beaten? Is your luggage laid open on your bed and you can’t get things together fast enough?

Are you packing?

If you are, tell a friend. Tell someone who knows you. Did you ever notice that about the Prodigal Son story? He had no friends. Other than the father and the older brother, no one cared that he was gone. His was a friendless existence. He packed alone.

Let’s put the luggage down. Let’s release the baggage. It’s time to stop leaving and instead start living.

Are you packing?

A Prayer About God’s Longing to Be Gracious

This is what the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says: “In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength, but you would have none of it. You said, ‘No, we will flee on horses.’ Therefore you will flee! You said, ‘We will ride off on swift horses.’ Therefore your pursuers will be swift! A thousand will flee at the threat of one; at the threat of five you will all flee away, till you are left like a flagstaff on a mountaintop, like a banner on a hill.” Yet the LORD longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion. For the LORD is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him!    Isaiah 30:15-18     

Heavenly Father, your Word arrives at the portal of my heart perfectly chosen and timed. What more could I possibly need, in any season of life, than to remember you are the Sovereign LORD… and to realize you long to be gracious to me? How could I possibly resist such an offer? I praise you… I bless you… I worship you for being much more engaged and caring than I can even imagine.

     

Today, the call to repentance and rest, and quietness and trust is very convicting and liberating. Convicting, because riding off somewhere on “swift horses” seems like a very attractive option to me. Liberating, because I’m tired of the noise, busy, and clamor of the past several weeks. O, for the centering power of a quiet spirit before you. O, for the great strength of a heart at rest in you.

     

I’m not being pursued by enemies from without. The Assyrian and Babylonian armies aren’t on the horizon, coming at me at breakneck speed. I’m simply in need, once again, of learning my limits… of saying “Yes” to the right things and “No” to the unnecessary things… of living the rhythms of a gospel-driven life.

     

I repent of letting the tail wag the dog. I repent of letting needs dictate my pace. I repent of grabbing four more plates to spin than you intend. I repent of not honoring Sabbath rest. I repent of trying to be my own savior, again. I repent of thinking too much and praying too little. I repent of listening to the squawking voices of human parakeets more than the comforting voice of the Paraklete—God the Holy Spirit. I repent doing more things for you than spending unrushed time with you.

     

Father, right now, I choose to wait for you. I make no bones about it, I want the blessing that comes to those who wait for you. Enough of this frantic pace… on with fresh grace. As you rise to be compassionate to me in Jesus, I will sit down, shut up, be still and let you. Gladly will I comply with your longing to be gracious. So very Amen, I pray, in Jesus’ merciful and mighty name.

A Prayer About God’s Longing to Be Gracious is by Scotty Smith

Love Beyond Comprehension on Earth

“We often feel as if grace had done its utmost when it has carried us safely through the desert, and set us down at the gate of the kingdom. We feel as if, when grace has landed us there, it has done all for us that we are to expect.

But God’s thoughts are not our thoughts. He does exceeding abundantly above all we ask or think. It is just when we reach the threshold of the prepared heavenly city, that grace meets us in new and more abundant measures, presenting us with the recompense of the reward.

The love that shall meet us then to bid us welcome to the many mansions, shall be love beyond what we were here able to comprehend; for then shall we fully realize, as if for the first time, the meaning of these words, ‘The love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord;’ and then shall we have that prayer of Christ fulfilled in us, ‘That the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.’

It was grace which on earth said to us, ‘Come unto Me, and I will give you rest;’ and it will be grace, in all its exceeding riches, that will hereafter say to us, ‘Come, you who are blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.’”

                              —Horatius Bonar, “The God of Grace”


HT: Of First Importance Blog

The Furious Longing of God

photo © 2007 Rachel Ramos | more info (via: Wylio)

"Justification by grace through faith" is the theologian's learned phrase for what Chesterton once called "the furious longing of God." He is not moody or capricious; He knows no seasons of change. He has a single relentless stance toward us: He loves us. He is the only God man has ever heard of who loves sinners. False gods--the gods of human manufacturing--despise sinners, but the Father of Jesus loves all, no matter what they do. But of course this is almost too incredible for us to accept. Nevertheless, the central affirmation of the Reformation stands: through no merit of ours, but by His mercy, we have been restored to a right relationship with God through the life, death, and resurrection of His beloved Son. This is the Good News, the gospel of grace.

                   Brennan Manning's The Ragamuffin Gospel

Are You Asking for Great Things?

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all we ask . . . . Ephesians 3:20

“He is like an eternal, unfailing fountain.  The more it pours forth and overflows, the more it continues to give.  God desires nothing more seriously from us than that we ask Him for much and great things.”

                      Martin Luther, quoted in The Lutheran Study Bible, at Ephesians 3:20.

HT:  Ray Ortlund