God! He Doesn't Speak for Me!

"And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others.... But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.... When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words.  Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him."  Matt. 6:5-8

I distinctly recall the first time I heard an offensive prayer.  I had returned to visit my college alma mater and was attending a church service there.  One of my former schoolmates was offering what we refer to as "the Pastoral Prayer," (hear that in sonorous tones) the one during which everyone kneels reverently while the designated person in front prays publicly on behalf of the congregation.  When I was a child, I was of the opinion that these prayers went on forever, perhaps hours and hours, the petitions taking their time to completely encircle the globe and all the needs it has for God's intervention.  Either I have gotten a better grasp on the passage of time, or those prayers have shortened up since I was a child.

In any case, the way in which my schoolmate addressed God left me angry.  His prayer can only be described with words such as "haughty," "flowery," "self-absorbed," and "pompous."  Oh, and did I mention "snotty?"  He was clearly impressed with himself, and was endeavoring to make sure we were all of similar mind.  There was not a wisp of humility, true confession, or a sincere recognition of our need to surrender all our "filthy rags" with gratefulness to the One who has offered to cover those with a His perfect goodness.  At the end of that insufferable prayer, I wanted to shout out, "God!  He doesn't speak for me!"

It was then that I first understood what Jesus was talking about when he referred to religious people who "get their kicks," so to speak, from praying in ways that bring attention to themselves, and actually say very little to God.

I have now lived long enough to find a few more memorable prayers to resent, a few more situations in which I inwardly shouted at the end, "God!  He doesn't speak for me!"  These are the flowery prayers, the goofy prayers, the rambling prayers that wander in search of a home, the wait-let-me-think-of-another-sentence-quick! prayers, the I'm-a-comedian prayers, and so on.  The point is, none of those prayers speak to God as Jesus told us to speak:  simple, direct, confessional, recognizing ourselves as flawed humans in need of redemption.

Some people might argue that there are cultural issues at work with some of these.  I would disagree.  The current culture with young people in my area is a somewhat rude, let-it-all-hang-out culture.  That doesn't mean we should have to put up with the "God!  Hey thanks Dude for the sunshine, and by the way I have to pee" prayers. Culture is not a sacred thing which should be immune from critique. I imagine God can take the let-it-all-hang-out prayers just fine from us in private, but it's unfair of us to represent a whole group in that way in public prayer.  In fact, God can endure the goofy, the flowery, the I'm-a-comedian, the rambly ... and all those kinds of prayers, I am certain. He is able to take a whole lot from us, and has done so over the centuries with grace. However, I don't think pray-ers should make a group endure such self-centeredness or insincerity when representing a group in public prayer.  People aren't stupid; they will recognize that it's all about the person doing the praying, and not about God.  And they will end up resentful.

So what should public prayer be like, if it's to faithfully represent a group of people coming before Almighty God?  Can we not be lighthearted together?  Can we not revel in the beauty and complexity of language?

While my message here might seem simplistic, I think it's on the right track if we remember that public prayer must represent and respect the human condition in all its complexity while also representing the lone human standing before God in his or her unique circumstance. In public, we must pray with a sense of gravity, aware of the thoughts and feelings of the man who is grieving the loss of his wife, the parent rejoicing in her child's behavioral victory, the leader who is discouraged, the single woman wondering how she will cover her bills, the man delighting in the briskness of the air and the glory of the sunshine as he walked to church, the lonely student wondering how to get through this day and the next, the hopeful graduate sending out resumes into a less-than-idea job market... and so on.

What an array!  How do we speak for them all?  I'd suggest, for starters, that we have a great (and beautiful) model to study:

"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name.  Your kingdom come.  Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread.  And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.  And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one."  Matt. 6:9-13  

God, He speaks for me!

The Dream Over Your Shoulder

Several of us with our teacher in the overseas mission school in which I grew up, back in the days when I first became interested in becoming a teacher.  That's me on the far left.  

This is going to seem like it's all about me, but I'm relating it here because it's all about you, too.

My college schoolmates Ron and Debbie are visiting us this weekend.  We chatted about those days back in the early 1980s when they were dating each other, and I was in a class with Ron and worked at summer camp with Debbie.  I don't remember those days very well anymore. Too much life experience to keep track of, I suppose.  And I wasn't into keeping track of friends back then.  I was single-minded about what I was doing, and it was this:  I was going to get my education and my elementary teaching credential and then leave the United States to teach in an overseas school somewhere.  I had grown up as a missionaries' kid and had a deep commitment to carrying on that mission in my own life.  Since I was just passing through, why make close friends to whom I would have to say goodbye again in four years or less?

As I recounted the story last night, I realized yet again how my dream has been hijacked.  The men working for the mission office of the church told me to get some teaching experience and a masters degree before they would send me out.  So I got my two years of teaching experience and my masters degree.  As I finished my degree, a principal I had interned with invited me to teach at his school.  I admired his style of leadership and wanted to learn from him, so I accepted the invitation, teaching and doing administration at that school for six years.  In the meantime, I did a short term mission stint the first summer, teaching in the Philippines.  To my dismay, I began to suspect during that time that I might not have the emotional strength to thrive as a young single woman in the mission field.  When the next call came to serve--this time as a teacher in Malawi--and a corresponding door opened for career advancement where I was, it seemed that an inner quiet urge was guiding me to walk through the career advancement door.  I cried, said "no" to the folk in Malawi, and took on the new administrative role.

Bit by bit, I saw my dream of returning to work overseas slipping away as I walked through the open doors that I believe God placed in front of me.  Getting a doctorate overqualified me for teaching in the small remote mission schools, and I wasn't sure if I was needed in any overseas college or university.  Those countries have educated people who can teach and lead within their own language and culture.

And then there are the increasingly complex family issues.  Getting married to Husband provided the life partner I'd hoped for in dreaming of working overseas--but he had teenaged and young adult children and we felt we needed to stay here for them.  As the grandkids have arrived and our commitment to being here for our parents has strengthened, my dream has seemed ever more faint, particularly as I've continued to say "no" to the occasional invitation from my native side of the globe.

As I talked about this with my college friends last night, I once again felt the grief at not following my dream.  "I still talk about it," I told Debbie and Ron.  "I even mentioned it to Husband again yesterday.  Maybe when we're old, we'll go."

"Or maybe your dream has been following you," Husband chimed in on the conversation.

I had a momentary vivid picture of looking over my shoulder and seeing the dream I was supposed to dream, stepping sprightly along behind me and wondering when I was going to notice it.  I have, after all, been living a fascinating life and learning many lessons for which I am [mostly] extremely grateful. I wouldn't trade it in, so far. Maybe, instead of following my dream, I should be checking over my shoulder to find out what dream has been following me.

Maybe.  I still love the idea of going overseas to serve somewhere.  I'll let you  know if that ever works out.  In the meantime, I'm intrigued and might get better acquainted with this other one I've noticed.  I suspect that one day we might be friends.

"God never leads his children otherwise than they would choose to be led, if they could see the end from the beginning and discern the glory of the purpose they are fulfilling as coworkers with Him."  --E. G. White

You Are the Salt

 

You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?  It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled underfoot.  Matt. 5:13

Salt isn't very elegant or glamorous.  There are a lot more beautiful, intricate crystals than salt for viewing under microscope lenses.  But salt is a lot more valuable than the more photogenic snowflake or quartz or gypsum crystals.  In fact, salt is so valuable that people have fought over it, as they did in the San Elizario Salt War of 1877 in west Texas, where the issue was who owned the salt lakes.  The Mexican peasants said it was God who had put the crystals there, and therefore they belonged freely to anyone who needed them.  The were Anglo Texans, however, who claimed ownership and tried to place a tax on the salt crystals.  And so a feud broke into a full-blown war.

Salt is valuable.  I happen to like it on my tomato sandwiches and on my spinach sandwiches (cooked spinach on bread with mayo and salt--yum!).  And it's a key ingredient as a preservative in those delicious olives and capers and pickles and feta cheese.

I found in my reading about salt that it actually doesn't lose its flavor.  Back in the time when Jesus commented on salt, less-than-honest merchants would mix salt in with other substances so that it wasn't salty when the customers went to use it.  They may as well throw it out and trample it, since the "salt" mixture didn't do the job that salt was expected to do.  

Salt, on the other hand, remains salt throughout its existence.  It functions as a preservative, but even more, it brings out the distinctive flavors in whatever it's added to.  My tomatoes taste better.  I almost can't stop eating that delicious spinach. The capers make the bland pasta with sundried tomatoes suddenly flavorful. And it cuts the acidic stuff in pineapple, keeping it from roughing up my tongue but still allowing the delicious pineapple juices to delight the palate.

You get the point.  "You are the salt of the earth."  As long as you remain yourself, unmixed with substances other than what God made you to be, as long as you remain "purely salt," you should be able to do your job of helping others in the world be what they were made to be.  We are to serve as a preservative for those around us, to bring out the distinctive flavors of people with whom we interact. What a delightful job description!

A Wisp of Fog

For weeks it's been grey and foggy in our part of the world.  This picture is the foggy view out our bedroom window--by my "worship chair"--a few mornings ago.  

And now I have a word for you who brashly announce, "Today—at the latest, tomorrow—we're off to such and such a city for the year. We're going to start a business and make a lot of money." You don't know the first thing about tomorrow. You're nothing but a wisp of fog, catching a brief bit of sun before disappearing. Instead, make it a habit to say, "If the Master wills it and we're still alive, we'll do this or that." --James 4:13, The Message paraphrase

I've been thinking lately about how fragile and transient life is.  Because I am healthy and energetic and have the ability to do most things I put my mind to, I tend to feel as though I'm in control of my life.  My schedule gets locked up from morning until night, usually a week or two in advance.  The problem is not an awareness of my mortality.  It's a sense that if there were twice as many hours in a day, I could take a step toward immortality, so to speak, by filling the extra hours up with all the things I'd want to do, all the things I have to do, and all the things I dream of someday doing.

There have been reminders in the past year of mortality, both mine and others.  One day a friend is here, and the next day she's gone.  One day I have all my organs, and the next day one of them has been excised.  (In this case I was fortunate that it was an organ I can live without.)  It has occurred to me that one day I could be here, and the next day I could be gone, and the world would go on just the same without me.  I don't even think I would leave a noticeable hole for long, in the grand scheme of things.  Sure, there are people who would miss me, and some would even miss what I've hoped to contribute to the world.  But soon they would be gone, too.

We're like a "wisp of fog," in the words of the Bible as paraphrased by Eugene Peterson.

These thoughts are not meant to be morbid. Just as people who face a terminal illness suddenly realize what's really important in life, the recognition of our own mortality and brief stay on this earth is probably a good consideration now and then to keep us focused on what's important. It's not my world, subject to my control over myself or my efforts to direct others.  We are a bit more healthy when we realize it's the Master's world, and we're just here for a little while, as He wills it.

Blessed are the Merciful

"Mercy" window at Central Christian Church, Orlando, Florida (found online)

 

"Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy."  Matthew 5:7

Often I find myself working my way backwards through verses in the Bible.  This blessing from Jesus is no exception.  I read it an immediately began mulling over the phrase, "for they will receive mercy."

I appreciate receiving mercy, having been blessed to be the recipient of undeserved mercy many times.  Husband has granted me mercy for all kinds of offenses both minor and serious, from popping his birthday balloon when I thought it had been hanging around the house for too many months, to doing nothing for his last birthday when I've made it very clear that I wish to be treated like a celebrity on my birthday.  Sometimes I just don't deserve love and kindness.  And my family of origin has granted me mercy over many many years for offenses from being a grump, to being bossy, to expressing my thoughts so directly as to be hurtful, to pure thoughtlessness in my pell-mell rush through life.  And then there are my students, who have had to grant me mercy from time to time for giving them more work than the class merits, and for not setting up assignments clearly enough so they understood exactly what I was expecting.

So, yeah, I appreciate mercy.  I hope to receive it and am fully grateful when I do, or else I wouldn't remember the occasions on which mercy was granted to me.

So, if I want to receive mercy, I must give mercy, right?  That's what the "Blessed" says:  Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.  

Isn't it a bit mercenary to grant mercy because you want to receive mercy?  It's like one of my colleagues said last week:  "You put money in the bank with your boss so that you can draw on it later when you need it."  Something about that made me squirm a bit, maybe because she's my direct report!  Sure, it's true in the human dynamic, but it just seems mercenary to work ahead so you are more likely to be let off the hook in times when you don't deserve to.

Speaking of "mercenary," I looked it up.  "Mercy" and "mercenary" are both related to the Latin word for "wages," merces. "Mercy" is also related to merci, the French word for "thank you," and to the Latin roots for "price paid, wages, merchandise."  So in the words at the end of the dictionary entry:

Mercy implies compassion that forbears punishing even when justice demands it.

Do you realize how shocking mercy is?  How radical?  There are things that happen to all of us in our lives, things that are unfair and demand punishment of the person who treated us badly. Jesus says, "Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy."  He doesn't say that we should be merciful only after the person stops treating us badly.  Even in the midst of mistreatment Jesus calls us to be merciful.

Yikes. If I choose not to punish, not to take revenge, not to wish ill will on those who have committed or are committing injustice against me, then I am promised that I also will receive mercy.  My spirit may rebel at that, and yet I am even in this very moment experiencing God's mercy toward me.  How can I not turn gratefully and grant mercy to others?  

These are easy words to write, immeasurably hard to put into action.  

Being in the research mode after my foray into the dictionary, I went on a search through the Bible to say what else is said about mercy, and here's what I found:

• Psalms is chock full of pleas from David to God, begging God to grant him mercy.  Hmmm.
• Proverbs characterizes the rich and the wicked as showing no mercy.
• Micah 6:8, that famous verse, commands just to love mercy.  Not just to practice mercy, but to love it.  (Have you loved granting mercy lately?)
• The gospels are strewn with accounts of people asking Jesus to have mercy on them.
• Jesus told stories depicting God as having mercy, and used stories of unmerciful people to show anti-examples of godly behavior.
• Paul, in his letter to the Romans, indicated that when you're showing mercy you should do it cheerfully.  That means you can't rub it in about how great you are because you're granting mercy to someone else.  Paul talked a lot about God's mercy, perhaps because he felt so grateful to be the recipient of it.
• Jude 22 says to "be merciful to those who show doubt."  Wow.  I think there are many doubters in and out of the Christian fellowship who are not shown mercy.  People are too afraid of someone who doubts.

Being merciful is all it's cracked up to be ... but it's awfully, awfully hard to do, especially if you have to do it cheerfully and love granting it.   Nevertheless, there is a blessing that comes with it, one that we all desperately need:  If you are merciful, you will receive mercy.

"Mercy implies compassion that forbears punishing, even when justice demands it."  --Merriam Webster dictionary online.

Blessed are Those Who are Persecuted for Music's Sake

My dear sweet Mama, I found out this evening, had to listen to seven straight hours of piano tuning today.  First the piano tuner took four hours getting her piano in tune, and then Mama accompanied him (pun intended) to my house and stayed by while he took three hours with my piano.  I can't imagine how she kept her sanity.  It's amazing, the things a mother will endure for her daughter's sake!

Thank you, Mama!

Things That Go Bump in the Night

 

Our relatives were here this past weekend.   We had some great chats and ate ice cream cake on Saturday night to celebrate our nephew's birthday.  Then we did our usual thing and went to bed when we got tired, leaving our guests to entertain themselves.  (In our defense, I think it was 10:30 or 11:00 when we hit the hay.)

Well, entertain themselves, they did!  I think their parents may have crashed as well, but the lads?  The teenage lads spent a good portion of their night up taking interesting photos all over our house, getting some cool photo effects.  I was surprised to browse Facebook the next morning and find that Things had been Happening; my nephew had posted his photos of their nocturnal shenanigans.  I was highly amused.  Amazing what can take place with two night-owl lads in the house after everyone else is asleep!