Psalm 23: Rx for Spiritual Sanity

It’s right about now that I’m tempted to go spiritually insane.

Tomorrow, two turkeys go into the oven (that’s right; one for Thanksgiving, the other to slice into take-home packets for those who love turkey sandwiches and more turkey sandwiches). Tomorrow also signals the beginning of the long downhill slide into hunting season, deer processing (a family activity), college breaks, decorating, shopping, Christmas, and New Year. As it all whizzes past with increasing speed, bodies will congregate and voices will multiply and…

And I am tempted to lose touch with Reality. To see only a world of my own making, in which I drive myself to do the impossible until pushed beyond exhaustion (it takes only a little push!). In which I threaten to harm myself with anxiety and unrealistic expectations...

As if there is no Shepherd, or, at best, He is a theoretical figure who came down at that first Christmas, but certainly won’t for this two-thousand-and-tenth-one.

Now, maybe the mayhem of the holidays is no big deal for you. Maybe your spouse handles that, or maybe you genuinely thrive on it. For you, perhaps something different triggers unReality – a stock market plunge, a job market plunge, poor health, poor choices (yours or those around you). Most of us have circumstances in which we allow ourselves moments, even seasons, of spiritual insanity… because they are so logical. So excusable. Who wouldn’t fall apart after hearing my prognosis, seeing my portfolio, opening today’s mail, getting that phone call? Even a saint falls apart every now and then…

Certainly the basis for anxiety and depression and loss of touch with reality sometimes lies outside the spiritual dimension. Medical or psychological problems, may require assistance and prescriptions of a far different sort. Much of the time, however, we've chosen (without realizing it) spiritual insanity: Loss of touch with spiritual reality, denial of the Shepherd, repression of past His faithfulness, suspicion of His intentions… and we experience the painful results.

Well, I can approach the poultry tomorrow morning with dread and loathing… or I can give myself a reality check. There is a Savior. And in the 23rd Psalm he has written us a prescription for spiritual sanity and delivered it to us this past Sunday. The ingredients are serenity (vv. 1-3), sight (v. 3), safety (v.4), significance (v.5), security (vv.5-6), and (Him)self (v.6). The side effects are faith in the shadowed times, fearlessness in the scary ones, and an ability to laugh at the days to come.

Wow. Dare I take these meds? Or will I drag my feet: I don’t need them, they won’t work, they don’t have my name on them...

Some rather important outcomes are at stake here. People are watching. They need to know whether Psalm 23 is just a beautiful recitation for the dying, or a potent prescription for the living.

By God’s grace, let’s show them which it is. Let’s confront our turkeys, or our job applications, or our test results – whatever - with spiritual sanity… because of the Shepherd of Psalm 23.

Choose to Remember

In The Face by Angela Hunt, main character Sarah Sims has a choice to make. She was born with severe facial defects, raised in seclusion as an orphan, and now has opportunity to receive a face transplant and return to “real world.” In addition, she’s offered a drug that would “cut the cord between memory and emotion.” In other words, although she could recall her past, it wouldn’t be traumatic any more; the pain would be erased from it.

But her aunt/psychologist protests such action. “I would give anything to prevent my child from suffering… but who’s to say that a painful experience won’t serve a purpose in my daughter’s life?” she theorizes. “If we could resurrect Anne Frank, would you advocate giving her a drug so she could forget all about the unpleasantness of the Holocaust? All the people whose lives have been changed because of her story – can you honestly believe mankind would be better off if we’d eradicated Anne’s trauma?”

We Christians face Sarah’s choice. In Christ, we’ve been given a new face – made, in fact, into new creatures. Old things have passed away. Everything is new. And so we make haste to eradicate the past. We give up old, harmful habits and lifestyles. We learn to look at life through eyes of faith. We frequent counselors and devour self-help books in attempts to finally rid ourselves of the baggage carried over into our new lives. The goal? Eradicate the pain.

This is good… but maybe, in some ways, we’re too successful at it. We turn our backs on our personal Holocausts and fixate on the present presence of God and assurance of salvation and hope of heaven, and life becomes very, very tolerable… But is it possible to forget too much? To deaden the pain and despair of separation from God until they are just a vaguely unpleasant memory?

Sounds harmless, until we hear a sermon about those who are still lost and headed to an eternity of separation from God. Until we hear about those who have no access to the good news of the gospel. For how will we care, pray, give resources, even set our own “beautiful feet” on those darkened mountains, if we never remember what it was like without Christ? How will we empathize with their pain? How will we love our neighbor as ourselves, if we never again put ourselves in their shoes? If we spend all our time trying to forget the darkness in which they still live?

In The Face, Sarah Sims finally makes her choice. “If I cut the cord between the memory and this pain, will I not lose the warmth that comes from the feeling of being loved? The pain, the love, the loss are all braided together, and I don’t think I will ever be able to separate them.”

If we cut the cord between the memory of our lostness and the rescuing love of Christ, between our helpless despair and His dogged pursuit, will we care as much about those who have no access to Him? Will we long for them to know the joy of redemption? Will we spend ourselves for their sakes? If that’s what Christ is calling us to do, some of us had better choose to remember.

Wrecked by Pride

There are wrecks, and then there are wrecks. There are autos flipped onto their roofs in the median strip, cars jammed under semis, ten-car pileups on icy winter roads.

But probably more often there are the fender-benders, the rear-enders, the side-swiping the guard rail, the taking out of a mailbox, or the loss of control that lands us in the ditch. Nobody’s hurt, we insist, as we climb from the vehicle. Just shook up, but we’ll be fine. No need to be checked over, we’ll just shake it off and send the car to the garage to be fixed by somebody skilled in collision repair. Maybe take a bit of a hit on our insurance premium, but it couldn’t be avoided.

Pride is always involving us in minor accidents, it seems. Like a set of bad brakes, it sends us into the person in front of us. Like a bald tire, it looses our grip on the narrow road as we take life’s curve too wide, too fast. Like a stuck gas pedal, it propels us forward when everything in us warns, Watch out! You need to slow down! Pride is the accident waiting to happen. It’s an often-undetected, even pre-inspected and stickered reason for the pile of minor wrecks we’ve left in the rearview mirror.

It takes many subtle forms: We’ve been defending our rights. We’ve been overworking to achieve (even in the church). We’ve been building an image that people keep scuffing. We’ve been holding out for our own clearly superior ideas, and on and on... And we haven’t stopped to realize that God never even authorized the use of His vehicle for this sort of thing.

“Come to me,” Jesus invited, “all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke fits perfectly, and the burden I give you is light” (Mt. 11:28-30 NLT).

Let me teach you, because I am humble… The heavier we load our frames and the faster we push the limits, the greater the wreck will be. But Jesus offers a perfectly-fitting yoke and a light burden… if we learn humility.

The humility that says I can’t do everything, and I’m not even supposed to. I don’t need to prove anything. I am more concerned about elevating those around me than promoting myself. I’m going to cultivate a thicker skin instead of taking offense at every slight. I’m not going to lobby for all that’s coming to me - I don’t deserve even as much as God’s given me. And I’m not going to ride His bumper; I’m just going to follow Him at His pace.

Pride is tricky. It pushes us into all sorts of bad driving habits, justified as “common practice,” and sets us on a collision course. So the next time you or I feel the yoke of service chafing or the burden of life weighing us down… it might be good to check for pride. A little humility often goes a long way toward lifting the heaviness from our hearts, and realigning the perfectly-crafted yoke we share with Jesus.

On Death and Dismemberment

Every once in a while Jesus comes out with a pronouncement that just tilts your mind up on end, doesn’t He? We heard one of them Sunday: “If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell” (Mt. 5:29-30 NIV).

Yikes. I picture large garbage cans at the doors of the sanctuary, quickly filling with offending body parts as the congregation files out. (Elders wielding long knives? This is a good blog for Halloween weekend). For who of us hasn’t sinned with our eyes or hands or tongue? Who of us would be able to keep from whittling away at our bodies, lopping off first this and then that disobedient part, until we were finally the death of ourselves?

Still, Jesus said it. So partway through Keith’s excellent sermon, I reached over to snag Dave’s Life Application Bible. Their commentary on the gouging/cutting-off verses did not, unsurprisingly, advocate literal mutilation of the body. Because, they point out, even a blind man can lust. Even an armless man can sin. For sin goes deeper than flesh and blood.

Lust – overpowering desire for any object – is a product of our inner man, not our physical body. Therefore, it’s the inner senses that lead us astray , and the inner person who needs dealt with. Scripture calls that inner person “the old man.” Yes, as believers we are new creatures in Christ, that old man has been crucified with Him… but we know that crucifixion is a slow and painful death. That old man hangs on the cross and begs for mercy and just a little more time. And Jesus is saying, “Don’t give him any. Cut off every supply of life. End it with a swift stoke of the sword. Don’t coddle what can send you to hell.”

How can we hasten the death of that old self within? Ultimately, there is only one Executioner able to deal the fatal blow and free us from the bondage of lust… the Holy Spirit. “If by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live” (Rm. 8:13 NIV). But He won’t do it without our cooperation. So we’ve got to show the Spirit that we mean business about this death of self. Here are some practical ways:

1. In our minds: Proclaim a “fast” from that forbidden thought pattern, from thinking about a person you shouldn’t be thinking about, from starting down a mental path that always drags you down. Every time your mind goes that direction, grab it by the neck and turn it elsewhere. Just do it, and do it for three weeks. That kind of starvation has an amazing power to clear the mind and open it to the Spirit’s perspective and help.

2. In our actions: Cut off the “blood supply” to that which is dragging you down. Pull the plug on the computer. Block the caller. Drive a different route to work. Plan new weekend activities to replace the harmful ones. Be as radical as you must, using every physical means available to strangle the temptation, and do it mercilessly, for three weeks. You'll be creating an opening for the Spirit to gain a foothold, and ultimately defeat a stronghold in your life.

3. In our hearts: Take an honest look at your heartstrings. What are they connected to? What is your “treasure”? If you aren’t sure, answer this question: Where does my mind go when it’s free to think about anything it wants to? That’s likely your treasure. If it’s not God-honoring, cut the strings. If you are unwilling, are you willing to be made willing? Tell the Spirit so, and whatever He says to you, do it.

Cut. Starve. Strangle. Desperate words for people who mean business. Who mean to do their part, and finally be the death of themselves. Who mean to cooperate with the Holy Spirit, experience the gift of His power and love and self-discipline (2 Tim. 1:7), and freely walk in newness of life.

It’s Time to Pray

In Jan Karon’s delightful series The Mitford Years, pastor Timothy Kavanaugh and his fiancé-eventually-wife Cynthia have a unique way of dealing with challenges. In times of crisis, they pray "the prayer that never fails."

But what that prayer is, the reader is not immediately told, and we grow increasingly curious. Karon is not a writer of fluff, offering pat answers that don’t really stand up to reality. But how can there be a prayer that never fails? What is it? Finally the reader is enlightened. We listen in as they carry yet another desperate need to the Father, and we learn… the prayer that never fails is this:

“Thy will be done.”

Four words! Four words that, sincerely prayed, never fail to help us see the situation through God’s eyes. Never fail to challenge our selfish preferences and foolish fears and stubborn agendas. Never fail to gently pry the need from our grip and hand the reins of authority over to Him. Never fail to give the Spirit permission to work in the crisis and in us, and freedom to move outside the lines we have drawn. Never fail to stretch our faith in His goodness and expand our confidence that He only seeks the best for everyone involved.

We at FAC are at a crucial point. According to our Search Committee chairman, within the next month we will likely know the name of our new senior pastor. So while we’ve certainly been praying all along, now is the time to pray as we have not prayed before. I don’t mean length or intensity of prayers, necessarily, but the kind of prayer we pray.

“Thy will be done” fits the bill. It puts us all on the same page, preserves the unity of the Body, seeks the highest possible good for all, pleases the Father, and aligns us to hear and cooperate with whatever He does. And it governs our response to God’s answer.

But it’s not for wimpy pray-ers, or those with their own agenda. It’s not for those who trust their own wisdom or pretend to see into the future. It’s not for the fainthearted or the hidebound (great word, google it). It’s a gutsy prayer, and only the gutsy intercessor can pray it and mean it.

A simple prayer but not always an easy one. Yet those four words can often accomplish what hours of intercession cannot. And it’s time to pray.

Building Up or Tearing Down?

TEARING DOWN OR BUILDING?

I watched them tearing a building down,
A gang of men in a busy town;
With a heave-ho and a lusty yell
They swung a beam and a building fell.

I asked the foremen, “Are these men skilled,
And the men you’d hire if you had to build?”
He gave a laugh and said, “No, indeed,
Just common labor is all I need;
I can easily wreck in a day or two
What builders have taken a year to do.”

And I thought to myself as I went my way,
Which of these roles have I tried to play?
Am I a builder who works with care,
Measuring life by the rule and square?

Am I shaping my deeds to a well-made plan,
Patiently doing the best I can?
Or am I a wrecker who walks the town,
Content with the labor of tearing down?

This little poem by Roe Fulkerson (Church Bulletin Bits) may sound outdated and trite, but it carries a valuable message. The apostle Paul wrote it this way: “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen” (Eph. 5:29 NIV).

I am thinking here of how we talk about fellow Christians. I am also thinking of how we discuss family members, neighbors, co-workers, bosses, church leaders, and, yes, government officials. Not that most of us intentionally spread false rumors or accusations. It is easy to use the truth like a wrecking ball – to swing it in a way that benefits no one and builds nothing; instead it lowers others and (we think) elevates us and serves no God-ordained purpose.

Do we think God doesn’t care about the other person (even if He is displeased with them)? And if He does care, what does He think of our insensitivity to His feelings? Of our destructive attitude and damaging words? How does He feel when we eagerly tell what we know, when we enjoy the power of the wrecking ball, when we thoughtlessly shatter someone else’s image? What does God think of us then?

Agape love does not delight in evil (1 Cor. 13:6). It doesn’t enjoy dismantling reputations. But love is not the natural way, or the quick way or the easy way. The discipline of building up everyone we meet and casting the best possible light on those we talk about is hard-learned and often a slow process – just as the builder requires longer training than the wrecker.

But it’s the assignment we’ve been given. The design for Christ’s members. The way of love.

We Can Wait

When I was in high school, I read The Status Seekers by popular social critic, Vance Packard. In it I learned something that still comes back to me from time to time.

Packard wrote of a study that had been conducted, involving children from both rich and poor environments. As I remember it, all the children were offered the choice of a small amount of candy or coins that they could have immediately, or a significantly larger gift if they would be willing to wait three days to get it.

What Packard found was that the poorer children tended to choose the gift they could see and hold and enjoy right then. The fear of hunger and deprivation, the uncertainty of tomorrow, and the lack of faith in the promises of others made the lure of instant gratification impossible to resist.

The wealthier children, however, were more inclined to recognize the benefit of waiting for the more valuable gift. They were much more likely to turn down the proffered candy. They could postpone gratification. They could wait.

Whatever that means for society in general, I’m thinking of it in spiritual terms. We are children of the King! God has promised to “graciously give us all things” (Rom. 8:32 NIV). Jesus has lavished the riches of God’s grace upon us (Eph. 1:7-8), and promised to take responsibility for our earthly needs if we seek first His Kingdom and His righteousness. We who believe in Jesus Christ for salvation are the “rich kids.” We were reborn with a silver spoon in our mouth. We are loaded daily with benefits (Ps. 68:19 NKJV). We are set for life… and beyond.

But we still struggle with this instant gratification things. Everybody around us, it seems, is biting into their handful of chocolate candy and smacking their lips with pleasure, while we back away, shaking our heads. No, we will sit out that choice of entertainment. No, we will wait til we can afford it to buy this or that, to go here or there. No, we will forego that recreation because we’ve committed those funds to advancing the Kingdom.

We don’t feel rich sometimes. And we certainly don’t look rich to those watching. But this week’s sermon reminded us that we are rich, nonetheless. We are heirs to all that is Christ’s. God is making us rich in faith (James 2:5), rich in good deeds (1 Tim 6:18), rich toward Him (Lk. 12:21). We are storing up treasures in heaven. They can’t be seen right now. They can’t be held in the hand or displayed in showcases. But they’re real, and they’re eternal, and they’re waiting for us.

So we can say no to things that would gobble up the financial margin in our lives – because we have already said yes to eternal treasure. We can delay gratification because we trust the One who is keeping that treasure. We have confidence in His promises; we have no fear of lack (Ps. 23:1). And we have been given a Spirit, not of weakness and selfishness and lack of self-discipline, but of power and of love and of self-control. We’ve been given margin! We can wait!