HOPELESS MAN
“THOUGHTS OF PEACE”Having Written Well
“PRIDE IS SO anchored in the human heart that everyone, high or low, brags and looks for admirers. Even philosophers look for them. Those who write against it want to have the glory of having written well; and those who read it want the glory of having read it. I who write this have perhaps this desire, and perhaps so do those who will read it.” — Blaise Pascal
Give Me A Sign
WE ARE COMFORTABLE with the idea that man often looks for a sign from God. “God, if you want me to do ‘x’, do ‘y’.” But we don’t realize that it works the other way.
I was reading the book of Joshua and found the story of Rahab and the scarlet cord. It reminded me of the Passover and the scarlet markings on the doorposts. I now realize that oftentimes, God is looking for a sign–not because He needs it, but because we need it. “Show me that you belong to me, and I will save you,” He says. “Make an attempt, however feeble, and I will do the rest.” But it still seems a bit unclear–why would God look for a sign, when He already knows? After all, He did not need a sign to know the Egyptians from the Israelites.
The best explanation I have found is in The Problem of Pain . Lewis writes, “‘If God is omniscient He must have known what Abraham would do, without any experiment; why, then, this needless torture?’ But as St. Augustine points out, whatever God knew, Abraham at any rate did not know that this obedience would endure such a command until the event taught him; and the obedience which he did not know that he would choose, he cannot be said to have chosen. The reality of Abraham’s obedience was the act itself; and what God knew in knowing that Abraham ‘would obey’ was Abraham’s actual obedience on that mountain top at that moment. To say that God ‘need not have tried the experiment’ is to say that because God knows, the thing known by God need not exist.”
We need to give God a sign not only so that we can appreciate and comprehend our own worship, but because without giving such a sign, our worship is not validated. It simply does not exist. And doesn’t this truly strike at the heart of the faith and works argument? “Show me your faith without your works, and I will show you my faith by my works.” Give God a sign.
In Retrospect
PERHAPS LIFE WAS meant to be lived in retrospect. Not the retrospect of uncertainty and remorse, but that of a renewed thinking. And not only a renewed thinking, but a complete renewing of the mind.
Christ says, “You have heard that it was said to those of old…But I say to you.” In a world where we constantly fashion new words because the old ones have gotten tired and meaningless, only Christ can give new life to old words. He resurrected the commandments before He Himself was resurrected.
The facts may not change. And when the facts get old, so do we. The universe retains its general overall makeup from day to day. The task is to look at the same facts, a few days later and to approach the problem anew. In some instances, the conclusion will be an entirely different one. In others, the conclusion will be the same, but the reasoning will be different. Oftentimes, the conclusion will be the same and the reasoning similar. But to look at the world, day after day, year after year with a fresh set of eyes–that is what’s needed. To pray and think, and conclude and review and pray again and think again and conclude the same–does that not provide the type of certainty and peace that we desperately desire?
Christ says, “Unless you become as little children you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.” Perhaps the reason is that children naturally live their life in retrospect. They are not motivated by experience or regrets. Children don’t hold grudges or get stuck in the past. Every day is a new day. That is the ultimate challenge–to review our lives and renew our vows. The facts get old. We become new.
A Good Night’s Sleep
PASCAL ONCE WROTE, “There is a certain pleasure in being in a ship beaten about by a storm, when we are sure that it will not founder.” “The persecutions which harass the Church,” he says, “are of this nature.”
In the book of Matthew there is one account of Christ sleeping through the storm. It is unclear whether Pascal was referencing this story as he scribbled this thought down in his notebook, but the sentiment applies just the same.
I am certain that Christ not only slept, but that He slept well. The waves beat, the sea churned and the winds lashed. He kept His head on a pillow. There must be pleasure in knowing that “even the winds and the sea obey” Him. To Him the rocking of the boat was as pleasant as the rocking of a crib. He got a good night’s sleep.
Saint Augustine writes, “Christ slept, and because of the danger the disciples were confused. Why? Because Christ slept. In like manner thy heart becomes confused,thy ship unquiet, when the waves of temptation break over it. Why? Because thy faith sleeps. Then thou shouldst awaken Christ in thy heart; then thy faith should be awakened, thy conscience quieted, thy ship calmed.”
When faith awakens–when Christ awakens–we can finally go to sleep. And it will be a good night’s sleep. Even if the hours are scarce.
Will What You Will
SOMETIMES THINGS ARE so easy that we think “this must be God’s will.” Sometimes things are so difficult that we think “this can’t be God’s will.” We are often wrong on both counts.
God’s will is whatever draws us near to Him. God’s will is not conditioned upon, and is not necessitated by, any other occurrence. It is sovereign. God’s will is independent of the level of difficulty.
As the Psalmist says, “we went through fire and water, but you brought us out to rich fulfillment.” If you ask me to ascend to the heavens to find You, I will do so. If you tell me to make my bed in Sheol to find You, I will do so. It matters not where, as long as You are there.
Good In Evil
“IN THIS LINEAGE there are murders, adulterers, and incestuous persons. If Jesus is born in my soul, He is born there in spite of and through the accumulation of my sins. Jesus pierces, finds His way through my faults, climbing over them one after the other. It is His genealogy in me. In His breakthrough shines His mercy, His condescension, also His strength.”
Lev Gillet writes this in reference to Matthew 1. The first passage in Matthew is not subtle–”David the king begot Solomon by her who had been the wife of Uriah.” The Bible makes no excuses for the lineage of Christ. It does not try to cover up the wickedness or glance over it. No, the listing is both accurate and complete.
I am reminded of the words of Joseph, “you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good.” Could these not have been the words of Christ Himself? Does this not occur with eerie regularity in my own life as well as yours? Is it possible that the inconveniences, the unintended consequences, the multitude of failures, and the cruelty and oppression of others–is it possible that all of these “work together for good to those who love God”? All things–not only angels and victories, but prisons, shipwrecks, dens of lions and flaming furnaces–work together. To know that injustice begets grace and that blessings proceed from a curse, that out of weakness strength is realized and that life comes from death–that is the meaning of Christ’s genealogy. “By His stripes, we are healed.” Yes, even His stripes were for our good.
Four Generations Down
“THEN AGRIPPA SAID to Paul, ‘You almost persuade me to become a Christian.’”
It seems insignificant. At this point in his ministry, Paul had already converted countless souls. Almost persuading Agrippa is nothing to write home about. In fact, it seems like a failure–or is it?
History teaches that Agrippa’s great-grandfather was Herod the Great, the man responsible for the Massacre of the Innocents. Among Herod the Great’s sons was Herod Antipas–the Herod that sentenced John to death, the same Herod that mocked Christ during His trial. The third generation of Herods was not much better. Herod Agrippa I martyred James. He also seized Peter and imprisoned him. And now, at the fourth generation, Agrippa II comes face to face with Paul. Herod Agrippa II–the byproduct of three generations of evil, filth and murder, the result of the darkest, ugliest, cruelest lineage–faces Paul. And Paul almost converts him. We shortchange God’s mercy, often doubting that He gives everyone a chance. But what greater proof of God’s mercy than this encounter? He gave this man a chance?
The more sobering thought is this: if, after four generations, a man like Agrippa can have such a close encounter with faith, can the converse really be so far-fetched? Is it not possible, and does it not happen, that after four generations of saints, a son or daughter becomes lost and never returns? Our objective is not to merely sneak into heaven, but to instill our faith in the next generation at such a highly concentrated dose that they are able to relay it to the next. The command is clear–”Take heed…lest you forget the things your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. And teach them to your children and your children’s children,” If we sense that we ourselves have become diluted, then our children don’t stand a chance.
Answer Me Speedily
“IF YOU THEN, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!”
The truth is that oftentimes we do ask Him, and what we receive in return is silence–or worse more questions. In fact, if anyone deserved answers, it was Job and he did not get many. But we are not entitled to answers. The sovereignty of God is not limited by our needs. It is by grace that we are answered. And because He does not owe us an answer, it follows that if He does answer, it will always be on His terms.
Chesterton said that “Job found more comfort in the puzzles of God than the answers of men.” The key is to identify the promise given, and the effect that it has. Saint Paul writes, “Let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” I have always read this to mean that the peace of God cannot be fully comprehended because of its greatness. Lost on me was the simple comparison, that the peace of God is greater than knowledge. That is the promise. It is not one of understanding or knowledge, but of peace. The difference is not insignificant. In this case, God does not give us the means to the gift, but the gift itself.
Suppose that a man is dying in the Sahara. If he asks, “Dear Lord, show me where I can find water and bread,” and the Lord replies, not by giving him directions but by giving him water and bread, will that man be disappointed? A lot of times, we say, “give us knowledge; trust that we will find our own peace,” while He says, “You do not know what you ask, I will not give you knowledge, but trust that I will give you peace.” Just as knowledge and peace can co-exist, more often it is the case that one precludes the other. Peace without knowledge is possible–it is the work of faith. Knowledge without peace is also possible–it is the work of pride and arrogance. In the end, peace endures when we seek not the means to the gift, not the gift, but the Giver Himself.
Moving Mountains
IT IS MORE difficult to move a person than a mountain. Mountains require the faith of a mustard seed. God only knows what it takes to move a person in this age of cynicism. It is not often that we are grabbed by the shoulders and shaken to the core.
After much thought, I now accept it as fact that we are to become as the Father. I still wonder whether our hands are capable of healing, and if not, what it is that we are lacking. If nothing else, this Lenten season has been an affirmation that there is always more. The parables, for example, are truly an inexhaustible treasure. The more you seek, the more you find. The longer you commit to them, the sweeter they taste. We are left thinking, “You have kept the good wine until now!” And so I find the answer to my question in another parable.
Thirty-eight years with an infirmity. We quickly gravitate to this man. He is a model of all that is hopeless. He reminds us of our own seemingly endless distress. Like him, we sometimes ask, “why is my pain perpetual and my wound incurable?” But is that all we are in this parable? Are we called to linger and delay until Christ raises us up? Are we called to indulge in self-pity?
Repentance is part of it, but God does not want us to stop there. No, we are called to a higher purpose. Just as we are called to be the father, we must also be called to become Bethesda–the house of mercy, the flowing waters of regeneration. If only God would send His angel to stir up our souls, what wondrous healing would we bring? And if He would stir up our souls daily, how many would we affect?
If only You would move me. If only You would stir up something great within my soul. Move me and I shall declare Your mercy. Move me and I shall provide Your healing.
Becoming The Father
I FEEL DRAINED. It’s not easy to sit and listen to a friend, when your own mind is riddled with questions. It’s not easy to be entirely and perpetually selfless. All the more reason to appreciate Christ when you consider His life–the twelve, the seventy, Mary His mother, Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman, the nobleman at Capernum, the demon-possessed, Peter’s mother-in-law, the leper, the paralytic, the man with the withered hand, the centurion, the widow of Nain, Mary Magdalene, Simon the Pharisee, Joanna, Susanna, the blind and mute, the Garderene demoniacs, Jairus, the two blind men, the man blind from birth, the demoniac boy, the woman taken in adultery, the two young lawyers, Herod, Martha, Mary, Lazarus, the mother of James and John, Zacchaeus, Caiaphus, Pilate, the thief on the cross, and countless others, walking, crawling, being brought down from roofs, each with their own story, and each looking for compassion. “There’s nothing here to run from…everybody here has got somebody to lean on.” That is, everyone but Him.
I am reminded of “The Return of the Prodigal Son” by Henri Nouwen. In it, Nouwen examines Rembrandt’s painting by the same title:
The book is divided into three parts, dedicated to the three central figures of the parable. He rightfully notes that most of us easily relate to the prodigal son. Some go one step farther and attempt to relate to the older brother. Nouwen’s thesis, and it was one that I had not heard before, is that we are called to be the Father. We are not called to run away, squander all and return with tears. We are not called to embitterment and jealousy. We are called to have compassion.
So many times have I returned and found comforting embrace. So many times has the Father’s hand rested on my shoulder with kindness and healing. In Nouwen’s words “This hand does not hold or grasp….It lies gently upon the son’s shoulder. It wants to caress, to stroke, and to offer consolation and comfort.” And it makes you wonder–what is the difference between the Father’s hands and my own? I supposed that the difference is not in the wrinkles of experience, or the callouses of toil and age but in the willingness and commitment of the heart. Your hands are able to heal. Your hands must be the hands that heal.
“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” We carry each other, not out of the goodness of our hearts, but out of the goodness of His. We carry each other to fulfill His law.
