I only want one thing

says my mind all the time, and it takes focus and memory for me to remember that isn't the one thing I wanted yesterday or  the day before. "I only want one thing," always comes out of a context where there are other things present that I take for granted, or am currently disenchanted with.

As I think further, that statement "I only want one thing" really says "I want what I have now, and one more thing." It never occurs to my mind to list oxygen as a thing I want, but I'd die without it. But since I've never lacked it, my mind assumes it will always be there.

Wonder recovered

I go for a walk looking for fall colors. The brilliant reds of really classic fall photos are absent here, we have yellows and browns. One small tree at least attains reddish brown, I stop to look. 

Then my attitude shifts. My longing for bright red fall colors is partly an illusion. If only I could see such a scene and walk around in it, then I’d be content. But yet God has as thoroughly and wondrously made these yellows and browns. They are not any less his handiwork for being more common. These too are precious creations from his hand.

I pause at a newly mowed lawn, where I can see the tracks of the mower back and forth, merging together at the edges. Another shift. I’ve always valued the wild, the complex non-linear patterns of nature. But what is this I see really? Not complex and awesome? A mind, a soul, an image of God, has chosen to impose flatness on this patch of grass, like God in creation — ordering, dividing, setting limits. And it is an intricate dance, the person who wants a flat lawn acquiring a machine; engineers, craftsmen, retail workers all played their part to make it real and available. 

Running to win is a good thing

God must like "it's not quite so simple" moments. He makes so many of them. I had another one today.

Saturday I quoted Ann Voskamp --

What you really wanted is to be extraordinarily, obviously, good at this. At this mothering thing. You wanted to be the best at this. You wanted to take the podium and gold medal in mothering — not take a million timeouts behind some locked bathroom door, turn on the water so no one hears you sobbing at what a mess this whole shebang is, and how you’d like to run away. 

This summed up what I feel so often -- I want to win the prize, to be the best, to be honored and acclaimed. Obviously pride -- I'm not the hero, God is. I should lay aside mydesire to be the center and graciously take my humble place wherever he puts me, acknowledging I need his help.

Then this morning I start thinking, "But wait. Doesn't Paul say we should run to win the prize?" I go looking and I find the reference, 1 Corinthians 9:24. What is he saying? In the beginning of the chapter he defends his rights as an apostle, and adds that even though he preaches the gospel without charge, he is not obligated to preach without charging. He is obligated to preach, but he supports himself preaching as a gift. Then he says although he is free, he makes himself a slave to many, to win as many as possible. He works hard at addressing different people in different ways to maximize his impact. This is when he says only one runner wins the prize, and we should be the one who runs to win.

"But wait, Paul," I want to say. "Haven't you read about the New Covenant, how our competency is not in ourselves but comes from God, how we have this treasure in earthen vessels, how our hope is not in ourselves but Christ in us?" Not only has Paul read that, he wrote that. So running to win the prize doesn't mean going back to us being the hero of our story. It has to mean training and working hard at recognizing God in us, highlighting the treasure, not the earthen vessel, reminding ourselves again and again we hope in him, not in ourselves.

So let us train and run in this course of honoring God in what he does in us and through us, celebrating what he has made of us and makes of us rather than who we are in ourselves.

The Gospel for Mother's Day

I do follow popular blogger Ann Voskamp, despite being well outside her target demographic. She wrote a good one this morning: What every mother can do for herself this Mother's Day. She exposes the dilemma of a mother afraid she hasn't been good enough:

What you really wanted is to be extraordinarily, obviously, good at this. At this mothering thing. You wanted to be the best at this. You wanted to take the podium and gold medal in mothering — not take a million timeouts behind some locked bathroom door, turn on the water so no one hears you sobbing at what a mess this whole shebang is, and how you’d like to run away.

Yes, that is what  I want, to take the podium and gold medal in what I do, to be the best and most famous. Why? Pride. I want to be the hero of my story. That's what led to Adam and Eve's fall.

But there is also brokenness -- because of Adam and Eve's fall, because we don't innately know God like we should, we miss knowing how much he is willing and able to be the hero of our story, so we think it is up to us. If I don't do it, who will. 

But the Gospel says we are not on our own. We have all fallen short, don't measure up, failed at being great and legendary and one of a kind. Like Paul wrote,

"all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God," (Rom 3:23)

But that's not all -- there's more to God's story: "all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus." (Rom 3:24). We are justified, made adequate, redeemed, invited into a life where God makes so much more of us than we can make of ourselves.

As Ann V says:

What every mother wants, her most unspoken need —  is a truckload of Grace.

Grace that buries her fears that her faith wasn’t enough, and that her faults were too many.

Grace that washes her dirty wounds and wounds the devil’s lies.

Grace that says she doesn’t have to try to measure up to anyone else because Jesus came down — and He measures her as good enough, as worthy enough, as loved more than enough.

Same for us, gentlemen: God offers grace to bury our fears that we aren't enough, can't be tough and strong enough, in control enough to make it all work. God offers capacity when we don't have capacity enough, God offers strength for our weakness.

God exists and cares for me, shouldn't that be enough?

O my soul, how quickly you lose sight that the Maker of all things has chosen you, has adopted you as his son, and plans to truly do you well.

Why then are you so eager to dream of earthly fame, why do you so crave recognition?

Oh Lord, thanks that you have mercy on my silly heart. Thanks for continuing to remind me that you are there and reward those who keep on seeking you.

This came from a quote from Thomas a Kempis' Imitation of Christ:

A man who loves You and recognizes Your benefits, therefore, should be gladdened by nothing so much as by Your will, by the good pleasure of Your eternal decree. With this he should be so contented and consoled that he would wish to be the least as others wish to be the greatest; that he would be as peaceful and satisfied in the last place as in the first, and as willing to be despised, unknown and forgotten, as to be honored by others and to have more fame than they. He should prefer Your will and the love of Your honor to all else, and it should comfort him more than all the benefits which have been, or will be, given him (3:22).

On contentment

The standard view of contentment is it comes from circumstances. If you have more good things in your life than bad things, you can be content. If you have more bad things in your life, you are not content.

But I think Scripture teaches something else entirely. Contentment comes when we put our trust in God's presence and his promises. Knowing that God is with us and is working for good in all circumstances gives us contentment even in the midst of really hard circumstances. Now I know I'm not really good at being content in hard circumstances yet, but the possibility does exist.

Earlier posts about contentment

Something new in Scripture

Scripture startles us when words we've read dozens of times before take on new meaning. Sometimes its "I never realized it said THAT before!". Other times it is "wait, THAT'S really what it says? I've misunderstood all these years."

I've had one of these experiences this week. It began on Saturday, when several different people wrote about the truism that God won't call us to something we cannot handle. The conclusion was this is wrong, God calls people to things they cannot handle all the time. He wants to show us he can handle things we cannot handle on our own. After all, doesn't Scripture say we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us?

But Monday morning, I thought again about that idea. Does that really mean I could become a missionary pilot or a brain surgeon because Christ empowers me? No, I thought, the scope of the promise probably is not that large. Yes God could supernaturally give me the ability of a pilot or a brain surgeon, but he probably won't, and it is not a lack of faith on my part to expect that he won't.

Then I thought of looking up that verse. Where does it say I can do all things through Christ? I found it in Philippians 4:13. But when I looked at the passage, I wondered if I'd been taking it out of context. In verse 11 and 12 Paul is talking about contentment. "I have learned the secret of being content in every and any situation."  I thought it would have been more coherent for Paul to have said in verse 13 "I can endure all things" rather than "I can do all things."  Then I noticed the Good News Translation says something like this: "I have the strength to face all conditions." This fits the context better.

Then I looked at the Greek. I am not much of a Greek scholar, but I have a Greek version on my computer that lets me look up words in a lexicon. It turns out that the Greek behind "I can do all things" has only one verb, and the lexicons define it mostly as "to be able." You cannot say in English, "I am able all things" but that seems like what Paul actually said in Greek. I also noticed this morning as I wrote this up that the latest NIV version (the 2011 revision) says "I can do all this," not "I can do everything." So I'm concluding the version I've known all these years, "I can do all things" is inaccurate. Paul actually means "whatever happens to me, I can be content."

Does this mean I should go back to believing God won't call me to something I cannot handle? I don't think so. There are lots of stories about God doing surprising things when people ask for help. Jesus fed multitudes from a few loaves and a few fishes. God gave a victory in battle to a king who sent the praise choir ahead of the army. But God also gives surprising contentment in hard circumstances that are not instantly removed. Joseph did not despair in the Egyptian prison, Jeremiah and Ezekiel faithfully proclaimed God's word, and never saw a significant response from most of their audience.

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!" -- a surprising blessing!

I've been meditating on Psalm 22 these last few days and have found encouragement in David's cry of desolation.

1) We worship a God who has endured far greater torment than anything we fret over.
2) We worship a God who promises to be with us in our distresses. The desolate feeling of verse 1 isn't the end of the story, read v 22, 24, 29-31.
3) we worship a God who receives and welcomes our honesty when we pour our distressed feelings out to him.

Do people still talk about the Four Spiritual Laws? I'm thinking Spiritual Law #1 could be reworded. Instead of "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life," I'd say "God loves you and has an astonishing ability to give contentment in distressful circumstances."