A Lesson in Gratitude

My family always exchanged Christmas gifts with my aunt and her family. I clearly remember the year that we gave my cousin, young Nathan, some model train tracks.

It was a great gift - an accessory to the train set his parents had bought him for Christmas. This extension set would enlarge the track and make it lots more fun to play. The only problem was, my aunt’s family hadn’t opened their gifts yet.

I don’t think anyone had thought about this at the time… until Nathan unwrapped his present. He looked at the track extensions - lonely, useless little pieces - and smiled and politely thanked us for the gift. He didn’t appear to have any idea what they were for, and even if he had, he couldn’t have done anything with them at all! I just wonder if he didn’t wish (until Christmas at least) that we’d asked him what he’d like, or at least come up with something a little more brilliant… But I have to give him credit – he didn’t turn up his nose or turn down the gift. He didn’t look around and whine for his brother’s gift instead. He accepted the puzzling, perhaps disappointing present he’d been given.

If only we could always do so well. Pastor Ben reminded us that the Holy Spirit has given gifts to each believer. But isn’t it often a lot like Nathan’s predicament? We struggle to identify the gift God has given us – What is it? And then we struggle to figure out what to do with it! Where does this fit in? Is something missing? Isn’t it all a mistake? Couldn’t God have come up with something more fun, more useful, more exciting…

I think from Nathan we can learn that God’s gifts are really great – we just need to be grateful even when we don’t see their purpose or yet understand just what we’re supposed to do with them. We need to accept them and hang on to them (even work to develop them while we’re waiting), watching for the opportunity to pull them out and put them in use.

Because they’ll snap into place as surely as Nathan’s train tracks did, a few days later. And the Body of Christ around us will be enlarged and encouraged when that happens.

Holy Mysterion

Here at FAC, the first Sunday of every month is an invitation to mystery. The mystery of Holy Communion.

For nearly two thousand years, theologians have tried to solve it. Some insist the bread and cup become the actual body and blood of Christ. Others term it a “spiritual feeding” on Christ. Still others say He is simply present in an unusual way as we remember His death for us. The church has been trying to lay it all out in black and white for nearly two thousand years, but the case remains unsolved.

No wonder. The Greek word used in the early church for sacrament is mysterion, usually translated mystery. It indicates that through sacraments, God discloses things that are beyond human capacity to know through reason alone (gbod.org). In a way we can’t fully understand, He uses communion as a “means of grace” to help open us up to Himself and His work.

So as for what exactly happens at Holy Communion…it seems we ought to let it be a mystery. God’s ways can be hard to define. Sometimes only a mind as large as His can fully understand what He’s doing.

Instead, the next time the plate of bread is coming our way and the tray of juice is passed… we might do better to shiver at the inexplicable: Someone is present; Something is happening. Christ is attending by His Spirit, grace is flowing, the ancient sacrifice is still pleading for us. And then we should take up the broken bread and the wine-red juice and, as the old Methodists said, “feed on Him in our hearts by faith.”

For it’s a mystery… a mystery that should keep us on the edge of our seats the first Sunday of every month at FAC.

Because He Stooped So Low

“It takes more grace than I can tell to play the second fiddle well.”

So goes the saying, referring to the difficulty of being subordinate to someone else – second in command, inferior in perceived status, weaker in power. No one can argue that the role does indeed require grace…

“But,” my adopted dad used to say, “the second fiddle plays the harmony.” And harmony is a beautiful thing. It takes the melody and makes a masterpiece of it. It takes the message and carries it to the heart. It embellishes and completes the efforts of the solitary first violinist.

It’s the beauty of subordination. But in our culture we’re more familiar with its opposite – insubordination. The refusal to take orders, the inability to walk in the shadow of others, the insistence on equal billing. It’s the independent/equality streak in our American mentality, gone awol. And it’s everywhere – in the schools, in the workplace, sometimes in the church (sadly), and often in the home.

Are you in a position that calls for subordination? I think, in some area or another, we all are. So where can we second fiddles find a role model? Who has done it right? Who has sung the harmony perfectly and gladly and without apology?

Jesus Christ, who, “did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing… [and] humbled himself and became obedient to death” (Phil. 2:6-8 NIV). And “[because He stooped so low] God has exalted Him” (2:9 AMP). In fact, God has given Jesus a name to which every knee will one day bow and every tongue will proclaim as Lord.

Jesus made Himself nothing intentionally, premeditatedly, and without begrudging or complaining. Gethsemane tells us it wasn’t automatic or pretty or pleasant - quite the opposite. But it was worth it, for Him and for us.

As Bill Hybels wrote in Descending Into Greatness (highly recommended reading, by the way), “If we want to follow in the footsteps of the Son of God, we have to consciously move down.”

Consciously, on purpose, imitating the One Who stooped so low for us. I’m becoming more and more convinced that I don’t have to be afraid to do the same. How about you?

Living on the Fringes

While watching a documentary on emperor penguins recently, I was amused by the tall tuxedoed mass huddled together for protection from the Antarctic cold. I laughed as they shuffled awkwardly, inching their way from one position to another. But I did feel sorry for the ones on the fringes, their backsides blasted with icy winds as they pressed close to the heat of the pack. It did not look like a fun place to be, even for a penguin.

The Bible draws its lessons from a much warmer climate and talks considerably more of sheep than penguins, but the principle is the same. The edge of a flock is not always a fun place to be. Those rams and lambs and ewes are in a more vulnerable position. They’re easier prey for the wolf pack. They more easily succumb to distraction and end up wandering off. They’re more likely to nibble that trail of deceptively green grass that leads away from the safety of the shepherd and the flock. And for them, the shepherd’s warning call is more distant than the rebellious suggestions of a nearby flockmate.

Similarly, when we live on the fringes of the Christian life, what blessings we miss out on. We’re so much less likely to sense the Shepherd’s nearness, enjoy His companionship, receive His affectionate caress, benefit from His rod of correction, or hear Him tenderly whisper our name (although we may hear Him shout it in warning!).

I guess in the case of penguins, somebody has got to mill about the edges, sacrificially taking the icy blast for the sake of the pack. And as for sheep, it’s physically impossible for them all to be in the inner circle. But when it comes to following Christ, the opposite is true: we can all press just as close as we want to the warmth of His love, without ever crowding anyone else out.

We can all say with the Psalmist: “But as for me, it is good to be near God” (Ps. 73:28 NIV). As far away from the fringes as possible!

My Day to Watch Him

“Am I my brother’s keeper?”

We’ve heard the story dozens of times, each time recoiling at Cain’s hardhearted, self-justifying reply when asked by God, “Where is Abel your brother?”

Cain knew exactly where Abel lay lifeless, and he knew why. And the best defense he could muster was, “Is he my responsibility? Is it my day to watch him? He’s his own person; he’s got to watch out for himself.”

That attitude didn’t even get a response from God. God skipped right to the heart of the matter, “What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground…” (Gen. 4:10 Amp).

Aren’t we tempted to offer the same irrelevant excuse to God (on a more spiritual level, of course)? “Am I my brother’s keeper? Surely You can’t mean that I must refrain from doing what I feel free to do, just because it confuses and harms him? Is it up to me to shore up his shaky faith? Must I always play by his over-sensitive conscience? Does he get to set the parameters of my conduct? “

It’s really about self-indulgence, I think, most of the time. We say it’s about maintaining Christian freedom and resisting legalism, but isn’t it usually annoyance at being denied our pleasures? Isn’t it more like, “I give up enough for you, Lord… must I also give this up just for a fellow human being?”

“Whatever you do for one of the least, you do for Me.” So maybe if we recognized our “weaker” brother (and who of us is not the weaker brother in some area?) as Christ Himself, we would find it easier to say,

“My brother [or sister] is my responsibility. Today is my day to watch him. He’s part of my very own Body, the Body of Christ. And if this will offend him, it will offend Christ.

“I am my brother’s keeper. “

Giving My Life to Christ

“I am all things to all men that I may win some.”

I was struck Sunday by how very intentional Paul was… how completely he sacrificed his own way of doing things, day after day after day, in order to connect with those around him.

The whole idea of sacrificing our way of living is one we have difficulty grasping. We tend, I think, to understand that we are sinners in need of a Savior. We get the concept of confessing sin and receiving forgiveness, of needing to make a clean break with wrongdoing, of committing to going to church and praying and reading the Word, etc.

But the idea of literally “giving our life to Christ” – have we thought that through? Do we realize that it means (or should mean) more than giving him our past to forgive, and our future to secure… it means giving the here and now, the rest of our days on earth. It means that when I wake up in the morning the day is not mine to plan and the agenda is not mine to set. It’s not my life anymore – it’s His. I’ve exchanged what was mine for eternal life with Him (a pretty good deal on my part!)

If I have truly given my life to Christ, then today is his day to do with as He wishes. And so is tomorrow and the next day; so is next year, and the next, because I’ve given my life to Him – it is not my own any more.

If we could get our minds around that, and commit our wills to that, how different daily life would be! How much more easily and willingly we could adjust ourselves, as Christ would, to those around us. How much more freely we could embrace change; how much more courageously we could face down our fears in the power of the Spirit.

I don’t think we can expect any kudos from the world for living this way, but it gets rave reviews from Christ. Because finally He gets our hands and our feet and our minds and our hearts and our days… as instruments through which He can work to win lost men and women to Himself.

All things to all people… nothing in ourselves. It sounds like foolishness to the world, like we’re throwing away our only chance to make something of ourselves. But to God it sounds like the wisest choice we can make, and He’ll make sure it’s worth our while.

Be All There

The gloriosa daisies growing beside my front porch some years ago were stunning – tall, with large multi-colored daisy-faces of orange, brown and yellow. Visitors commented on them and relatives carted some of the perennials home to their own gardens.

But there was a problem with those flowers - we never knew exactly where they were going to come up! By the next year they had jumped a little to the left of where they had been planted, or even invaded the middle of a nearby flower grouping.

It didn’t matter so much to me that the daisies couldn’t be counted on to reappear in the same spot as before, but someone who was looking for true order and harmony in their landscaping design would find their plans continually rearranged!

I once heard Twila Paris, contemporary Christian singer/songwriter, emphasize a familiar piece of advice: “Bloom exactly where you are planted.”

Sometimes it’s so hard to do, isn’t it? It’s exciting and showy to jump around and invade others’ turf and send shoots out toward greener grass… in occupations and relationships and interests and, yes, sometimes even in marriage and singleness. Sunday’s sermon addressed 1 Cor. 7: 8-16, and I’d like to add verse 17:

“And don’t be wishing you were someplace else or with someone else. Where you are right now is God’s place for you. Live and obey and love and believe right there. God, not your marital status, defines your life” (The Message).

As missionary martyr Jim Elliot once said, "Wherever you are, be all there." God is not looking for restless roots and wandering thought-tendrils and feelings that are blown off-course by the slightest breeze. He’s looking for us in exactly the place He planted us, today, and the next season, and the next.

Can we trust Him to design the landscape of our lives, to do any transplanting that needs done, and to tend to every detail of our situation? Can we hold our position without whining or pining, convinced that He’s put us exactly where our bloom matters most?

I think a little more faith in the Gardener would make us more contented plants, settle us more firmly into the soil, and help us to “live and obey and love and believe” exactly where He’s planted us.