Tokens of New Life Beyond Death

In his book The Jesus Creed, Scot McKnight shares the moving story of Margaret Ault. When Margaret was just about to complete her Ph.D. at Duke, something unexpected—but quite welcomed—happened: she fell in love. She went on a date with a man named Hyung Goo Kim, and the proverbial sparks flew. But almost as quickly as the sparks became a fire, they were doused with water. Hyung Goo informed Margaret that he was HIV positive. Needless to say, Margaret was devastated. In her own words, "I'd just met someone I liked, and we were definitely not going to live happily ever after. I felt like I had been kicked in the gut by the biggest boot in the world."
Still, she and Hyung Goo were married. In his book McKnight asks the question many of us would ask: "Why would anyone invite into the core of their being so much pain?" He then goes on to share that the answer unfolds in the rest of Margaret and Hyung Goo's story. He writes:

When Margaret was in graduate school at Duke, she and Hyung Goo loved to walk in the Duke gardens, and so knowledgeable did they become of its plants that they "supervised construction" of a new project. They walked through each part of the garden routinely and had names for some of the ducks. In their last spring together, the garden seemed especially beautiful [to them].

Hyung Goo died in the fall and Margaret returned to the gardens in the spring where a memorial garden of roses was being constructed in his honour.

McKnight then points the reader to a series of quotations from Margaret's book Sing Me to Heaven, where she reflects on the days she returned to the gardens. She writes: 

Where peonies were promised, there were only the dead stumps of last year's stalks; where day lilies were promised, there were unprepossessing tufts of foliage; where hostas were promised, there was nothing at all. And yet I know what lushness lay below the surface; those beds that were so brown and empty and, to the unknowing eye, so umpromising, would be full to bursting in a matter of months.

Is the whole world like this? Is this what it might be like to live in expectation, real expectation, of the resurrection?

Was not Hyung Goo's and my life together like this? Empty and sere, and yet a seedbed of fullness and life for both of us. He died, and I was widowed; yet in his dying, we both were made alive.

After quoting Margaret's words, McKnight concludes:

Where does she find strength to grip such faith and such hope? It is found in [her question]: Is the whole world like this?

The answer, "Yes, the whole world is like this: the whole world offers us tokens of new life beyond death and disasters." It offers the promise of new life beyond the grave, a life of renewed love in the presence of God. Why? Because Jesus was raised from the dead.

Scot McKnight, The Jesus Creed (Paraclete Press, 2005), pp. 286-288

Aunt Forgiven for Death of Nephew

In his book Free of Charge, author Miroslav Volf shares a personal story about the power of grace and forgiveness:

I was one then, and my five-year-old brother, Daniel, had slipped through the large gate in the courtyard where we had an apartment. He went to the nearby small military base—just two blocks away—to play with "his" soldiers. On earlier walks through the neighbourhood, he had found some friends there—soldiers in training, bored and in need of diversion even if it came from an energetic five-year-old.

On that fateful day in 1957, one of them put him on a horse-drawn bread wagon. As they were passing through the gate on a bumpy cobblestone road, Daniel leaned sideways and his head got stuck between the post and the wagon. The horses kept going. He died on the way to hospital—a son lost to parents who adored him and an older brother that I would never know.

Aunt Milica should have watched him. But she didn't. She let him slip out, she didn't look for him, and he was killed. But my parents never told me that she was partly responsible. They forgave her ….

The pain of that terrible loss still lingers on, but bitterness and resentment against those responsible are gone. It was healed at the foot of the cross as my mother gazed on the Son who was killed and reflected about the God who forgave. Aunt Milica was forgiven, and there was no more talk of her guilt, not even talk of her having been guilty. As far as I was concerned, she was innocent.

Miroslav Volf, Free of Charge: Grace and Forgiveness in a Culture Stripped of Grace (Zondervan, 2005)

The Dangers of Peephole Driving

As the recent winter approached, USA Today writer Larry Copeland wrote a story about the danger of "peephole" driving. Anyone who lives in the frozen north has likely been a peephole driver at some point. You're in a hurry to get to work on time, and when you walk out into the cold you find that your car is encased in a layer of snow and ice from an overnight storm. You start the car and turn up the heater. You get out your scraper and battle to chip out a clear space on your windshield. After a few minutes you have cleared away an opening the size of a large pepperoni pizza. You are now shivering and miserable, and you realize this will take 10 more minutes. So you move to the rear window and scrape off a narrower opening the size of a small sausage pizza with extra olives and do the same with the side windows. You throw caution to the frigid winds and get in the car and drive away.
Then it hits you: you can hardly see. You drive really slow and lean up close to the windshield and peer out your peephole and hope against hope that you don't run into anyone before the heater and defrosters melt more of the ice away from your windows. Worse yet, as you peer out your peephole, you notice that other drivers are peering out their peepholes!
Copeland's article ends with this warning from the North Carolina Department of Motor Vehicles: "Peephole driving is an invitation to disaster."
Peephole driving is an apt picture of what it's like to go through life with the limited vision that comes from limited understanding and wisdom—the kind of limitations that come from not knowing the Scriptures.

source unknown

Show a Little Dignity

A clear and gentle answer turns aside testiness by Gordon MacDonald

Years ago I met a man who spoke of becoming enmeshed in a "multi-personed conflict" that spun out of control. An aggressive spirit of hate and vengeance saturated the attitudes and conduct of everyone involved.

When I asked how he resolved the mess, he mentioned a friend who confronted him and said, "Someone has to show a little dignity in this thing. It really should start with you." Apparently, it was the perfect rebuke, and it caused this man rethink his behavior and bring some sanity to the situation.

I've never forgotten that unusual phrase—to show a little dignity—and whenever I've faced testy situations where the next word or the next deed would either fan the flame of conflict or spread the oil of peace, the reminder that my dignity is in play has been helpful.

Testy situations? Here's a real-world example.

A few days ago, I was at Boston's Logan Airport to fly to Chicago. At the boarding-pass counter, I ran into a problem. When the boarding-pass lady looked up my reservation, she discovered that I was scheduled to fly, not out of Boston, but from Manchester, New Hampshire, which is 50 miles to the north. That's a long distance when a plane is supposed to leave in an hour.

"Do you think you could solve my problem?" I asked. I pointed out that the airline had a Boston-to-Chicago flight leaving Logan at the exact same time. It seemed a good idea to me, I said, if she could put me on that plane. I also added a word about how happy that would make me. Happy is how I usually feel when someone sees a problem my way and especially when my mistakes are covered with little or no consequence.

The boarding-pass lady said she could do that. But there was a consequence: an extra $360 added to the price of my ticket.

"$360?" I said, shocked and starting to think defensively. "I'm a 100k customer on your airline. I give you guys a lot of my business. Can't you just get me on the flight for free as a courtesy?"

Everything I said made perfect sense to me. But not to the boarding-pass-lady.

"I'm afraid I can't. Those are the rules," she said.

The testy situation had reached its decisive moment. Even though this problem had originated with my forgetfulness, a part of me, not made of God, felt depreciated, blown off, victimized by a big company that seemed to put a monetary value on every transaction. This part of me quickly began to see the problem as the company's fault, not mine. As a result, this ungodly part of me wanted to say something sarcastic (about friendly skies, for example) that would hurt the other person as I felt hurt. Hurting her would help me to feel that I'd hurt the rest of the company , , , all the way up to the CEO. Perhaps she'd call and tell him how I felt so that his day would be ruined like mine was about to be ruined.

But another part of me remembered—just in time—the story about acts and words that reveal dignity. For a second or two I sorted out which of these two parts of me would control this situation. And that made all the difference.

I said to boarding-pass lady, "Before I pay you the $360, let me say one more thing. Six weeks ago I came here to take a flight to the West Coast and discovered that the airline had cancelled the flight and hadn't told me. They said they were sorry, and I forgave them.

"Then two weeks later, on a flight to Europe, the airline lost my luggage (for two days). They said they were really, really sorry. And, again, I forgave them.

"Last week, on a third flight, they got me to my destination two hours late. Your people fell all over themselves saying how sorry they were about the delays. And you know what? I forgave them again. Now here I am—fourth time in six weeks—wanting to fly with you again. See how forgiving I am?

"But this morning the problem's mine. I forgot that I scheduled myself out of the other airport. And I am really, really sorry that I made this terrible mistake.

"You guys have said 'sorry' to me three times in the last six weeks, and, each time I have forgiven you. Now I would like to say 'sorry' to you and ask you to forgive me and put me on that flight without charging me the $360. You have three 'sorries,' and now I'm asking for one. Does that make any sense to you?"

The boarding-pass lady took her own time-out and considered my idea and then said, "It really does make sense to me. Let me see what I can do."

She typed and typed and typed into her computer—as if she was writing a novella—and then looked up with a smile. "We can do this," she said. Two minutes later I was off to the gate with my boarding pass.

That morning dignity won. The airline forgave me. The skies were indeed friendly. I didn't have to pay an extra $360.

This increasingly crowded, noisy world is generating more and more of these kinds of moments where no one is really doing something bad … just stupid (me, in this case). But because our human dignity is eroded by these constant clashes, even our innocent mistakes point to the possibility for hateful exchanges and vengeful acts. You have to keep alert lest you get sucked into saying and doing things that you'll regret an hour later.

Ignatius wrote to the Ephesians: "Allow (the pagans) to learn a lesson at least from your works. Be meek when they break out in anger, be humble against their arrogant words, set your prayers against their blasphemies; do not try to copy them in requital. Let us show ourselves their brethren by our forbearance and let us be zealous to be imitators of the Lord."

You know what? I think Ignatius would have chuckled at my story and my quest for dignity. Perhaps he might even have used it as a sermon illustration. I know I'm going to.

Avoidance

To avoid a man's society because he is poor or ugly or stupid may be bad; but to avoid it because he is wicked - with the all but inevitable implication that you are less wicked (at least in some respect) - is dangerous and disgusting

- C.S. Lewis -

What matters...

God knows our situation; He will not judge us as if we had no difficulties to overcome. What matters is the sincerity and perseverance of our will to overcome them.

- C. S. Lewis (Mere Christianity) -

Learning to Love

At the end of a long letter, C. S. Lewis wrote: "When I have learnt to love God better than my earthly dearest, I shall love my earthly dearest better than I do now. Insofar as I learn to love my earthly dearest at the expense of God and instead of God, I shall be moving toward the state in which I shall not love my earthly dearest at all. When first things are put first, second things are not suppressed but increased.

Believing...

I believe in Christianity as I believe that the Sun has risen, not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else

- C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory -

Freedom

The very idea of freedom presupposes some objective moral law which overarches rulers and ruled alike. Subjectivism about values is eternally incompatible with democracy. We and our rulers are of one kind only so long as we are subject to one law. But if there is no Law of Nature, the ethos of any society is the creation of its rulers, educators and conditioners; and every creator stands above and outside his own creation.
- C.S. Lewis -

Change

Mere change is not growth. Growth is the synthesis of change and continuity, and where there is not continuity there is not growth

- C. S. Lewis -

Identity

We are what we believe we are

- C.S. Lewis -

Change

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird; it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg

- C.S. Lewis -

Trade-offs

There neither is nor can be any simple increase of power on Man’s side. Each new power won by man is a power over man as well. Each advance leaves him weaker as well as stronger. In every victory, besides the general who triumphs, he is also the prisoner who follows the triumphal car

- C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man -

Never too old

You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream

- C.S. Lewis -
(Today marks 50 years since his death)

I'm convinced that we can write and live our own scripts more than most people will acknowledge. I also know the price that must be paid. It's a real struggle to do it. It requires visualisation and affirmation. It involves living a life of integrity, starting with making and keeping promises, until the whole human personality, the senses, the thinking, the feeling, and the intuition are ultimately integrated and harmonised

- Steven Covey -

Smarter...

Humans think they are smarter than dolphins because we build cars and buildings and start wars etc., and all that dolphins do is swim in the water, eat fish and play around. Dolphins believe that they are smarter for exactly the same reasons

- Douglas Adams -

Viewing a Friend - and Even God - As an Enemy

In an article for ChristianityToday.com entitled "Our Divine Distortion," Christian songwriter Carolyn Arends shared a personal story that shows how easy it is to view friends as enemies when we are racked by shame or guilt—a dangerous trait that can have an impact on how we view God. She writes:
When I found a brand new lap-top for half price on eBay, I told my friend and musical colleague Spencer about my bargain of a find. He was worried: "Usually when something's too good to be true …"
"I know," I replied impatiently, "but the seller has a 100 percent approval rating."
"Be careful," warned Spencer.
"Of course," I assured him, annoyed. I wasn't born yesterday.
I sent the seller $1,300 and discovered in very short, sickening order that I had fallen prey to a classic scam. A fraudster had hacked someone's eBay identity in order to relieve easy marks like me of our money.
I felt [like a] fool—and didn't want to tell Spencer. The next time I saw his number on my caller ID, I didn't answer. I could just imagine his "I told you so."
Soon, I was avoiding Spencer completely. And I started to resent him. Why did he have to be so judgmental? Why couldn't he be on my side? Why was I ever friends with that jerk?
Eventually, we had to fly together to perform at a concert. "Whatever happened with that computer thing?" he asked an hour into the flight. Cornered, I finally confessed my foolishness, dreading the inevitable response. But as soon as I told Spencer about my mistake, a strange thing happened. The enemy I had turned him into evaporated. Spencer turned into Spencer again, my teasing but deeply empathetic buddy.
As embarrassed as I was by my eBay error, I felt even dumber about the way I had allowed my shame to distort my perception of a best friend. If my hand had not been forced, I would have remained estranged from him indefinitely.
I've always considered myself perceptive, but the longer I live, the more I discover my susceptibility to misinterpretation. This is true of the way I view my friends, truer of the way I see my enemies, and perhaps truest of the way I perceive God.

Condensed from an on-line article by Christianity Today magazine, © 2009

Rejoicing in All Circumstances

Bob Reccord reflects:
As I write this book, I'm having to exercise the faith of dealing with the prison of pain. Unexpectedly, I suffered a severe cervical spinal injury. The pain was so excruciating, the hospital staff couldn't even get me into the MRI until they had significantly sedated me. The MRI showed significant damage at three major points in the cervical area. The orthopedic surgeon's assistant later told me, "Bob, your neck is a wreck." He said there was hardly any way I could avoid surgery.
Because of the swelling of injured nerve bundles, the only way I could relieve the pain was to use a strong, prescribed narcotic and to lie on bags of ice. Sleep, what little there was, came only by sitting in a reclining chair.
Approximately 48 hours from the onset of the injury, doctors estimated that I lost about 80 percent of the strength in my left arm. Three fingers on my left hand totally lost feeling. Even the slightest movements would send pain waves hurtling down my left side and shoulder. To add insult to injury, physicians said I had to step away completely from my work (which I love), and begin to wear a neck brace … 24 hours a day for five weeks.
About halfway through that experience, I found myself sitting on the screened-in porch behind our home. The day was cold and blustery, but I was committed to being outside, just for a change of scenery. Suddenly a bird landed on the railing and began to sing. On that cold, rainy day, I couldn't believe any creature had a reason to sing. I wanted to shoot that bird! But he continued to warble, and I had no choice but to listen.
The next day found me on the porch again, but this time the atmosphere was bright, sunny, and warm. As I sat, being tempted to feel sorry for myself, suddenly the bird (at least it looked like the same one) returned. And he was singing again! Where was that shotgun?
Then an amazing truth hit me head on: the bird sang in the cold rain as well as the sunny warmth. His song was not altered by outward circumstances, but it was held constant by an internal condition. It was as though God quietly said to me, "You've got the same choice, Bob. You will either let external circumstances mould your attitude, or your attitude will rise above the external circumstances. You choose!"

Bob Reccord, Forged by Fire: How God Shapes Those He Loves (Broadman & Holman, Nashville, TN, 2000), p. 112

Visit to Homeless Shelter Teaches Woman a Lesson in Thanks

Spending an evening at a shelter for homeless women was not my idea, but when a friend asked, I was perfectly willing to tag along.
Although the winter was still young, the cold was harsh. I nearly ran from the comfort of our car to the warmth of the church annex that had, for years, opened its doors as a refuge from the night.
The director, Christy, efficiently assigned tasks—to set the floor with foam mats and blankets as one would set a table, to lay out on a buffet table plastic forks, paper plates, and the donated leftovers that filled the refrigerator. When the women arrived, we would help serve the food.
Christy assured me that most of the women, the "regulars," had spent the day inside at one of several centers, but there were always the few who just appeared—seeming to have no history more concrete than their names.
My three hours at the shelter were not filled with dramatic scenes. From a corner of the large sleeping area, I helped serve dinner to 30 women who ate their substantial but bland meal, sitting cross-legged on their sleeping mats. Except for two boisterously irrational women, they talked little. By nine o'clock, many were bedding down for the night.
"Homeless." As I did the dishes, still within sight of the women, the word took on a personal meaning. These women slept here, but every morning when they left, they had to carry their possessions with them.
Suddenly I was overwhelmed with gratitude for my nightgowns, for my very own pillow, for my hand-picked dining room chairs. "Lord," I silently prayed as I walked to Christy's office to say good night, "thank you. Thank you—that I'm not one of them."
Christy met me in the hallway and interrupted my pharisaical thoughts with her own gratitude for my help. I asked her about certain women who had caught my attention.
Routy Rachel, Christy explained, had a Ph.D. in art history. Gradually her mind had slipped out of her own grasp. Ester, who had talked to herself all evening, was the mother of five children. She was a midwestern farmer's wife—until her life crumbled around her. Christy didn't know much about Carol, who had lain on her back for more than an hour, reading her King James Bible. Marla, who had seemed sullen, was a trained soprano who occasionally enjoyed serenading the rest of the group.
Only after I walked back out into the night air did the women's stories unsettle me. Their paths had too much in common with mine. In a sense, I was one of them: A mother's daughter. Vulnerable. A sinner in need of grace. …
Since then I have been more aware of the uprooted Vietnamese, Cambodian, and Latin American refugees who live in my neighborhood, who ride my bus. War, political change, economic collapse—conditions over which they had no control—destroyed their lifestyle and stole their ability to communicate easily and thus to work efficiently. My thoughts have frightened me. My comfortable world, my secure home, is not guaranteed.
At the sight of the outstretched hand of a city beggar, I have always grown uncomfortable. Until recently, I have thought it was because of Jesus' warning in Matthew 25:45: "Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these [the hungry, thirsty, unclothed, homeless], you did not do for me."
But since I spent an evening at the women's shelter, I see that Matthew 25 is only the partial cause of my discomfort. I am uncomfortable because I see the beggar as myself—or my very own brother or mother or father. And I cannot think of a homeless or hungry woman in such personal terms without a reversal in the way I give my thanks.
The difference between "Thank you that I'm not one of them" and "Thank you for the grace you have shown to me, and help me to mirror your grace to others" may, at first, seem slight. But the second is for me a wholly new mindset that makes me want to reach out, that reduces my discomfort around those who have less than I, and, surprisingly, that reduces my fear of a future that is unknown. Why? Because even though I know I have no insurance policy against war and famine or sickness, I know I have a God who does not forget his own. And for that I thank him also.

Evelyn Bence, "Two Kinds of Thanks," Christianity Today magazine (November, 1999)

Sins of Omission

The Sunday school teacher asked her class: "what are sins of omission?" After some thought one little fellow said: "They're the sins we should have committed but didn't get around to."