Author: firstdelray

Captivity for Israel has ended. God has defeated the powers of Babylon and has authorized Israel to depart and head for home to Jerusalem. A new day, with a strong future, now rises for God’s people. “Awake, awake!” is God’s double imperative to Israel. “Put on your strength, Zion!” The call sounds strangely familiar. “Up and Adam! Let’s get going!” is the more common usage today. These, or similar, words have been uttered by most parents summoning their children awake from their sleep. The image of sleepy children, resisting the call to leave the comfort of a warm bed, is sharp and crisp. The parent can wake the child with a shout, can summon the child from the bed, but it must be the child’s own strength that moves them from slumber to a fresh engagement with a new day.

God’s present difficulty is that Israel doesn’t want to get out of bed. During their captivity in Babylon, Israel has become dulled, inattentive, hopeless, and grief-stricken.ⁱ Israel has been humiliated by Babylon and has spiraled into such despair and self-pity that they no longer want to live. No longer did life offer a driving purpose, only a memory of brighter days. Absent was a radiant hope, only a fading dream. A captivating vision has fled from their sight. What remained was a history. “Awake, awake!” is God’s response to Israel’s self-pity. “Put on your strength, Zion!” God is reminding Israel that there is still strength in the people and is here urging them to summon that strength and toss-off that negative attitude that has consumed them.

Psychotherapist and author, Amy Morin writes that feeling sorry for yourself is self-destructive.ⁱⁱ Though we all experience pain and sorrow in life, dwelling on your sorrow and misfortune can consume you until it eventually changes your thoughts and behaviors. Morin contends that any of us can choose to take control. “Even when you can’t alter your circumstances, you can alter your attitude.”ⁱⁱⁱ This is the clear declaration of God to Israel; the clear call to shake off their indulgence in self-pity, claim the strength that remains in them, and move positively forward toward the future God has prepared for them. God’s strength comes alongside our own. It does not do for us what we can do for ourselves.

After Victor Hugo was exiled from his beloved France, he spent 18 years in the Channel Islands. Hugo once described this exile from the nation he loved as worse than death. Each afternoon, at sunset, Victor Hugo would climb to a cliff overlooking a small harbor and look longingly out over the water toward France. Legend tells us that each day, following his meditations, Hugo would pick up a pebble and throw it into the sea. One day the children who developed an affection for him asked why he threw a stone in the sea each day. “Not stones, children, not stones. I am throwing my self-pity into the sea.” Little wonder that during those 18 years of struggle, Victor Hugo gave the world his best and most profound work of literature.

Joy,

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ⁱ Walter Brueggemann, Isaiah 40-66. (Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998) 136.

ⁱⁱ Amy Morin, 13 Things Mentally Strong People Don’t Do. (New York: William Morrow, 2014) 20.

Few things are as unfortunate as to see a woman or man losing heart and all sense of hope, drifting into apathy, and finally despair. When a sense of defeat is permitted to take residence in a life, frustration and inaction are too frequently the result. The face becomes sullen, the head is held low, and the shoulders sag. Bitterness grows, the result of an erroneous belief that life has dealt a raw deal or that others have received better opportunities. Left unchecked, the self-pity sentences them to low levels of achievement. A strange comfort is found in simply giving-up – experiencing a certain allure of being defeated.

History is replete with men and women who have experienced hardship, anguished over setbacks, and struggled with handicaps – physical, mental and emotional. Anyone of them may have been resentful and rebellious – and many have – with bad behavior the consequence. Yet, there are others who rise above the circumstances of their lives, press forward with unbelievable determination and consecrate their lives to the service of others. The apostle Paul stands among them. Paul moved through life hindered by “a thorn in the body” but produced nearly two-thirds of our New Testament.

Rather than giving-up and accepting defeat, Paul labored under his handicap. Naturally, Paul – like any of us – preferred that the handicap be corrected, the difficulty removed. On three occasions Paul asked the Lord for this. But the handicap remained; the thorn wasn’t removed. But Paul’s prayers were answered. “My grace is enough for you,” answered God. With God’s answer, Paul committed himself to do the very best he could do with what he had. His life and ministry was a vessel of hope for everyone he encountered. To his children, Theodore Roosevelt continually cultivated a hopeful disposition – and in doing so charged the atmosphere of his home with hope.

Paul sought to demonstrate in his life that there is no limitation, no misfortune, no burden of sorrow, suffering or loss that the human spirit cannot rise above. He endured much of each. But Paul went deeper than self-discipline and self-determination. Paul triumphed over it all because he sought God. Perhaps this was the finest message that Paul left the church – that when the allure of defeat tempts the heart Paul calls us to that deeper place where our life is open to the grace and power of Almighty God.

Joy,

During a semester of study in Coventry, England, I was told that a prominent cathedral hosted a guest pastor one particular Sunday. Anticipation of this guest was created by his reputation as a preacher of considerable excellence. The cathedral that morning was packed with worshipers, all eager to hear from a preacher of an unusual caliber. At the beginning of the service, he stepped into the pulpit, looked confidently at the congregation, and spoke the familiar words of the liturgy, “The Lord be with you.” The usual response that followed would be, “And also with you.” However, there seemed to be a glitch with the sound system. No one worshiping could hear the pastor. He grabbed the microphone and adjusted it upward—closer to his voice—and repeated the liturgy. Again, the sound system failed to capture his words. With that second failure, the pastor looked back to the sound technicians, slammed his hand down on the pulpit, and shouted, “There is a problem with the sound system!” The glitch was now corrected, and everyone heard the pastor. They responded, “And also with you!”

In this passage of scripture, Peter turns his attention to the relationship between wife and husband. It is unfortunate that some interpreters of the Bible reflect more on the misogyny of ancient times than the primary thrust of these words. The primary argument here is that one’s conduct must be informed by a new life in Christ for a vital experience of prayer. Peter uses marriage as an interpretive tool. In the ancient time of Peter’s writing, only the husband had privileges. Women had few. William Barclay writes, “If you were to catch your wife in the act of infidelity, you could kill her with impunity without a trial; but, if she were to catch you, she would not venture to touch you with her finger and, indeed, she has no right.”[i] The operative moral code of that day placed all responsibility on the wife and all the privilege on the husband. Peter objects to this view and provides a new relationship dynamic shaped by the Gospel of Jesus. Prayers, therefore, must be made from one no longer captive to the old world order. Unless we approach prayer with a Gospel-shaped life, we experience a hindrance in our communion with God.

The privilege of prayer always demands a corresponding obligation. Anyone who prays for recovery from illness must match that prayer with a responsible diet, exercise, and rest. An actor or actress who prays for an opportunity to perform on a Broadway stage must match that prayer with hard work in acting lessons and rehearsal for auditions. Anyone who aspires to publish begins by writing the first sentence. Ernest Hemingway once commented, “All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.”[ii] Effort must accompany prayer. Prayer without personal effort is merely wishful thinking or a belief in magic. That person remains captive to a sense of privilege without responsibility. It is a mindset that limits their access to God. Christian growth involves, among other things, getting rid of those attitudes, ways of speaking, and behavior patterns that elevate self above concern for others. Forbid yourself from indulging in thoughts that you deserve better. Those thoughts are self-destructive. Exchange such thoughts with gratitude and begin to affirm that God is active in your life, seeking to bless you.

The Gospel of Jesus has changed the moral code of relationships; the relationship of men to slaves and wives. For wives, this submission is one where men are to live with their wives “in ways that honor her.” More, the wife is now “a coheir of the gracious care of life.” The marriage is now hallowed and enriched, an equality of both the husband and wife established as sons and daughters of God. No longer are women inferior to men. This new relationship dynamic will be lived in a world that holds a very different view of the matter. This mutual relationship of honor creates a channel for God’s blessing to flow. Living as God intends, clothing one’s behavior in conduct that is in concert with God’s desire for us reshapes prayers that are made. Alignment of conduct with God’s values results in higher aspirations which experience fulfillment. If there is little room in one’s life for attention to Jesus, there is little room for the participation of God in such a life. If we feel that our prayers are hindered—are ineffective—the trouble may be that there is something wrong with us.

Joy,

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[i] William Barclay, The Daily Study Bible Series: The Letters of James and Peter (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1976) 223.

[ii] Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition (New York, London, Toronto, & Sydney: Scribner, 1964) 12.

The garden center of Home Depot features a selection of plants ideal for home or office called, “Plants of Steel.” They are plants that seem to thrive in apparent adversity. Where other plants would wilt for lack of water and sunshine these plants enjoy optimal vitality from neglect. I have purchased several of these plants and it is fascinating to watch them flourish in spite of – or because of – my inattention to their care. They seem to have a preference for hardship.

These plants offer encouragement for spiritual life.  Difficult circumstances, though never sought, can provide growth. Such growth is clear in the lived experience of the apostle Paul. In this letter to the Church of Philippi, Paul is in captivity in Rome. His supreme mission of preaching the Gospel of Christ appears to be at an end. No longer does Paul have the stimulus of travel, the joy of enriching itineraries, or the delight of preaching the good news over the broad landscape of Asia and Greece. That open road has been narrowed to the walls of a prison cell. Yet, there is an absence of gloom in Paul’s writing. Throughout this letter of Philippians there is present incomparable strength and beauty.

Paul’s imprisonment does not usher in a season of gloom. Rather, what Paul experiences is a time of spiritual graces.  He writes of losing everything for Christ only to realize that what he lost has no value compared to what he has gained in a relationship with Jesus. Within prison walls, Paul realizes the broad range and wealth of his spiritual inheritance.  While some of his friends referred to his misery, Paul writes of his joy. Though some regretted his poverty, Paul boasts of possessing all that he needs. What appears to be a season of winter for Paul is transformed into an opportunity to be clothed in a fleece robe of strength and hopefulness.

Some today become very poor in difficulty and adversity. When in the natural rhythm of life they reach desert places or what may feel like an endless winter of the soul, they live without any cheer. Sourness and fretfulness encompass them as the prison walls surrounded Paul.  All of life becomes a menagerie of unpleasant things. Worse, they feel left alone. Paul’s incredible witness is that this doesn’t have to be their story. Paul writes letters from prison not to share his misery with a sympathetic ear.  He writes to invest in others. Investments in other people, in the ministry of our Lord, scatter the gloom, brighten the place of our dwelling and preserve the leaf of our soul from withering. We become plants of steel! More, we will know such joy that the desert of the soul shall rejoice and blossom like a rose.

Joy,

I know someone who, after misfortune, comments, “Why does everything always happen to me?” Once, that comment was made following an unusual hailstorm that destroyed her roof. The roof had to be replaced. Her comment failed to include that nearly every roof in a half-mile radius was also destroyed. The storm was not located only over her home as a popular cartoon depicts a storm cloud only over a single person. The unfortunate loss of a roof did not, in fact, only affect her. The difficulty was less the hailstorm and more a view of life that was narrowly focused on her. Many today suffer from defeatism—the quality of their response to life. Most people will experience an occasional defeat. It is the quality of our response to defeat that determines whether we live victoriously or fail to live.

These few words from Isaiah speak of the anguish of the cross that Jesus will experience some time out in the future—a time beyond the period of Isaiah’s day. The cross will appear to be a defeat for Jesus. Following three years of ministry, a ministry of teaching, healing, the inclusion of those once excluded, and extravagant love, Jesus’ work will culminate on a cross. For those who are unable to see beyond the length of their arm, it’s all over. Nailed to a cross, Jesus draws his last breath and dies. Jesus is defeated. Yet, beyond the length of an arm, the narrative continues. Jesus is buried in a tomb that is sealed with a large stone. Night comes, followed by morning, followed once more by night. Then morning returns again. Except this morning is different. The defeat three days earlier is transformed into victory.

Here, Isaiah declares that after Jesus’ deep anguish, he will see the light of Easter morning, realize that the power of God has destroyed death, and will be satisfied that his purpose has been completed—the purpose of destroying the power of sin that separates us from God. In a single moment of time, the cross may appear to be a defeat. But single moments are not left scattered across time as unstrung pearls. God, a master jeweler, strings all successes and failures, victories and defeats together into a life that finally satisfies. Sooner or later, loss causes a win, and the defeated shall triumph and prevail. History is one grand demonstration of men and women who simply refused to permit defeat to speak the final word. What is required is that we rid ourselves of a defeated spirit and wait upon God.

In the last analysis, there are no defeats. The world may postpone or put off for a time what we strive for. There will be disappointments, letdowns, and failures sprinkled through our lives. We may feel battered in some moments, but there remains a voice of our common faith that God intends that we prevail. In those moments that feel like a crushing defeat, pay fresh attention to Isaiah’s words, “After his deep anguish.” From the anguish of what feels like a defeat, something of value is realized, something of life’s values is deepened or enhanced, and we take from the experience something of worth. It was when Victor Hugo was exiled from his beloved France that he created his greatest work. It makes all the difference in how we respond to life’s misfortunes that mark us as defeated or people who strive forward. 

Joy,

One of the most moving—and inspiring—moments in any athletic completion is that one where an athlete stumbles and another competitor goes back to offer help. The tone of the moment is transformed from a test of strength and speed to one of mutual humanity, sharing in one another’s frailties. Such moments remind us of something nobler than defeating another in a game of skill, strength, and speed. Competition may push each of us to realize our best potential—and that is good. But more extraordinary are moments that reveal our common infirmities; moments where we strengthen one another in the storms of life.

This is not so with God; it must not be so. Unfailing strength is the very nature of God. Yet, here Isaiah fashions for us a sharp contrast between gods that are carried and a God that carries us or, as Henry Sloane Coffin once observed, “Between religion as a load and religion as a lift.”[1] In another of Isaiah’s tirades against idols, against imaginary gods, he provides the reader with graphic clarity of the gods of Babylon bobbing and swaying in an absurdly undignified fashion on the backs of animals. Weary from the weight of these gods, the animals strain to move forward as the frightened devotees lead the animals to a place of safety away from the invading armies. What a picture; ordinary, mortal human beings struggling to secure the safety of gods! Isaiah intends for this to strike us as absurd.

Isaiah then contrasts this ridiculous image with the living God, the God who bore Israel in his arms from its birth and has carried it ever since. The prophet would have us understand that a burdensome religion is a false religion; that a god which must be taken care of is not a faith that can sustain us. Israel needs, as do we, a faith that takes care of us. Communion with the God of Israel is a faith that always shifts the weight of life to God, not the other way around. And Isaiah wants us to know that if we ever feel that we are carrying our religion, that if faith has become burdensome, then our gaze has moved from the one, true living God.

The wonderful teacher of the Christian faith, Paul Tillich, once commented that we are not asked to grasp the faith of the Old and New Testament but, rather, are called to be grasped by it.[2] A Christian’s beliefs are not a set of propositions that we are compelled to accept. That would be a burdensome religion. The Christian faith is an invitation from a living God to come and be held in God’s grasp, to be lifted and carried along through the difficulties of life we must all face. We may struggle at times to free ourselves from God’s embrace, to go through life alone, in our own strength. But sooner or later, we will become as weary as the animals carrying the idols of Bel and Nebo. And when we are depleted, God will be there.

Joy,

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[1] Henry Sloane Coffin, “Religion That Lifts,” Joy in Believing (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1956) 8.

[2] Captured from lecture given by Thomas G. Long in summer of 1992, Princeton Theological Seminary.

Faith As A Personal Adventure

Fosdick wrote of a letter he received from a man who never united with a church. The author of the letter shared with Fosdick that there is a teaching of the church, a church doctrine, which he simply cannot embrace. Fosdick identified the man as one who is reverent, spiritually-minded, and essentially religious but thinks he must stay outside of the church. That conviction was inextricably bound to his understanding that the church demanded belief in this one teaching where he was unable to believe. Fosdick continues that Jesus never mentions the one teaching that presented such difficulties for the man—that the teaching developed in the church centuries after Jesus lived. This is the peril, argues Fosdick, with which the church must now wrestle.

My ministry once presented a similar difficulty—a difficulty that a church member had with a particular teaching of the apostle Paul. That teaching, “At the present moment, your surplus can fill their deficit so that in the future their surplus can fill your deficit. In this way, there is equality. As it is written, ‘The one who gathered more didn’t have too much, and the one who gathered less didn’t have too little'” (2 Corinthians 8:14, 15). In my office, the man instructed me that this particular teaching was socialism and shouldn’t be read again. Taking a leadership lesson from William Willimon, I told him that my baptismal burden, as his pastor, is to teach the Bible – the whole Bible. His baptismal burden was to work out with God what he would do with the Bible’s claim upon him.

From my perspective, neither the man who wrote Fosdick nor the man who spoke to me in my office has paid much attention to Jesus. Perhaps Fosdick and I are to blame. Perhaps preaching, in general, has veered off from teaching as Jesus taught. Jesus neither espoused religious doctrine or political ideology. Jesus simply asked that we love one another. Perhaps the fault is much larger. Our nation has become snared in debate, politically and doctrinally, over what an American and a Christian look like. There is little humility and less civility. Returning to Willimon, our baptismal burden is freeing ourselves from political and doctrinal entanglements to really listen to Jesus and seek the wisdom to live as Jesus lived. The great adventure of the Christian faith has been reduced to unpleasant rhetoric.

Fosdick argues that “faith” has acquired a meaning far removed from the day of Jesus. It has ceased being primarily a daring thing—a mountain-mover, as Jesus understood faith, or a victory that overcomes the world, as John called it. Increasingly, in Fosdick’s day, and continuing in the present day, “faith” is stereotyped and organized until it means acceptance of creedal and political positions. What remains is unquestioned acceptance from the faithful. Sadly, it seems, the climate has changed from the day of the New Testament. Who would imagine Jesus facing such rhetoric and debate? Except, a closer examination of the New Testament discloses that, in fact, Jesus faced the same each day. Jesus’ response was to demonstrate what love looked like. Perhaps, that is where we need to return.

Joy,

[i] Fosdick, Harry Emerson, Adventurous Religion and Other Essays. New York: Blue Ribbon, 1926, 1, 2.

I never knew my maternal grandfather, George Alexander. He died from a brain tumor before I was born. In his last days, a patient in the hospital, he tossed back and forth in pain and discomfort. The end of life was near. He knew it. His family knew it. The physicians and staff who cared for him knew it. The day before he died, he asked for the doctor. His wife, my grandmother, gently took his hand and told him that there was nothing more the doctor could do. His eyes growing wide, he looked intently at his wife and offered this clarity, “Not that doctor. The doctor with the Book!” My grandfather was asking for his pastor, the Dr. Vernon S. Broyles. In his own feeble manner, what he was saying is that he wanted God.

A Pharisee by the name of Nicodemus, a Jewish leader, comes to Jesus at night. This observation is nuanced intentionally to stir curiosity. First, the Pharisees were a lay party of Jewish leaders many of whom were aligned against Jesus. Second, Nicodemus’ identification as a “Jewish leader” is not a redundant observation given that he was already identified as a Pharisee. No, Nicodemus is a Pharisee of considerable standing among the Jewish people, an “E. F. Hutton” of his generation. His words, his behavior, and his actions were closely observed. Nicodemus’ identity is wrapped up in his position. Finally, that he approached Jesus “at night” demonstrates caution – Nicodemus fears that he will be seen.

Nicodemus is here seeking God, giving himself the opportunity to hear the voice of God. Many of his Pharisee colleagues were confident that they occupied the corner of all truth, all wisdom. They had God all figured out. Pharisees were driven by one impulse, to demonstrate and teach the truth about God to everyone else. They had nothing more to learn. Such a position results in the easy judgment of any position that lay outside their understanding. Personal inquiry to a deeper knowledge of God is suffocated by self-assurance. Yet, Nicodemus’ heart has been taken possession by a haunting sense that there is more to know of God, a yearning for a richer experience of God. Nicodemus came to Jesus – though “at night.”

It matters little whether we seek God as my grandfather did, by asking a loved one for the pastor or, as Nicodemus did, quietly and out of notice of watchful eyes. In the last analysis, what matters is that we pay attention to the timeless urge that tugs at the human heart – the longing to know God. We think we need many things. We work hard and strive to check off one more item on that list. But, in moments of stillness, silence, and honesty, we are aware that the heart seeks one thing – a deep and increasing desire to know God. Many have pursued costly pleasures, but few have arrived at contentment. The radiant life begins when the one thing neglected is neglected no longer – the hunger for God.

Joy,

 

Many of us have a bucket list – a list of experiences we would cherish before death. They require no explanation to others, no defense. They are deeply personal. Further, an explanation may reduce the depth, color, and richness of personal meaning. Most people recognize that what is experienced deeply can rarely be expressed with words. Words are useful for the communication of thought. They are less useful for conveying deeply held emotions, feelings, and convictions. A strong writer can approach this depth of meaning better than most. But always, words have a reducing effect. Permit me to simply state that high on my bucket list are three experiences I would value: a cameo appearance in a stage production of the musical RENT, a balloon handler in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and sharing a cappuccino with David Hyde Pierce.

Some will remember that David Hyde Pierce played the character of Niles Crane on the popular television series, Frasier.  On three occasions I have enjoyed David Hyde Pierce on a Broadway stage: Spamalot, Curtains, and Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike. If I were to have an occasion to have a private conversation with Pierce over coffee my first question to him would be, “What makes you cry?” An answer to that question often points to deeply held convictions; points to those values, and struggles, and principles that grip our hearts. Again, words are limiting. But they can point another in the right direction. An answer to the question, “What makes you cry?” provides a window into the depths of another’s soul.

There is an ancient Jewish practice that provides care in times of misery and grief. A small bottle is provided to collect the tears of anguish and loss. The top of the bottle has a small hole in it that would allow those tears to evaporate over time. When the bottle is completely dry, the time for grieving is over. The Psalmist wants us to know that God has a bottle with our name on it. When tears of grief flow, God collects them in that bottle. This is how seriously God takes our grief; how God honors and shares in our loss. But there is a small hole in the top of that bottle. Over time the tears will evaporate. When the bottle is dry, and our eyes are clear, we see that God remains. And God redirects our eyes to tomorrow.