Monthly Archives: May 2014

For my Class 8 Graduates

2 Replies

The Real Work

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have begun our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

 — Wendell Berry

Graduates, as you prepare to venture out into an unknown land, where there will be many paths to choose from, you will certainly find yourself in places where you don’t know what to do or which way to go.  I pray that you will seek your Lord God’s guidance and remain in Him during these times.  Remember our classroom credo: Quae nocent docent.  In your weakness, Christ’s power within you is made perfect.  And like that singing stream, you know your source and you know your ultimate destiny.

The rocks are coming, graduates.  May your song be a blessing to the Lord.

Crossing the Finish Line: Two Ways (Part 2)

Leave a reply

livingwater1

I didn’t intend on making this a two-part post, but by God’s providence our sermon in church this morning picked up right where I left off in the last post and has added even more clarity to my perspective on finishing well.

One of our teaching pastors, Ashley Matthews, preached on a daunting lectionary passage from the book of Acts: the stoning of Stephen.  I think I’ll include the text here in its entirety:

“When the members of the Sanhedrin heard this, they were furious and gnashed their teeth at him.  But Stephen, full of the Holy Spirit, looked up to heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God.   ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.’  At this they covered their ears and, yelling at the top of their voices, they all rushed at him, dragged him out of the city and began to stone him.  Meanwhile, the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul.  While they were stoning him, Stephen prayed, ‘Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.’  Then he fell on his knees and cried out, ‘Lord, do not hold this sin against them.’  When he had said this, he fell asleep.”    Acts 7:54-60

Prior to this scene, Stephen had just ticked off the members of the Sanhedrin, comparing their current disobedience and betrayal/murder of Jesus to that of their ancestors who, despite being delivered out of slavery, yearned for Egypt, turned away from God, and worshipped a golden calf.  With gnashing teeth, plugged ears, and yelling voices they stoned Stephen to death.  They even took their coats off so they could throw that much harder.

But Stephen blessed them, even as he breathed his last breath.

The immediate application, I admit, I found a bit elusive.  “Where is Ashley going to take this?” I thought.  After all, we don’t get stoned to death these days for standing up for our beliefs (at least in the U.S.), and surely–no matter how tough life gets–I can’t compare any trial to the experience of being gradually and painfully murdered.  Is this where I feel guilty for ever whining or complaining about my life?  I mean, it’s not like people are ever trying to kill me by hurling rocks at my face.

No one who needs encouragement ever wants to be told, “Listen, it could be much worse!  Suck it up!”

However Ashley didn’t focus on the stoning of Stephen.  Rather, she focused on Stephen himself.

But Stephen blessed them, even as he breathed his last breath.

How in the world was this possible?  We are told how.  Stephen was “full of the Holy Spirit,” and in the previous chapter, described as “a man full of God’s grace and power.”  Like that tomato plant that turns its face to the sun because it knows of no other way to be, Stephen blessed his murderers because that is the nature of a man who is filled by God.  Said another way, if God is what fills you, then God is what comes out when you are squeezed.

How does this connect to finishing well?  Ashley quoted from an author whose name currently escapes me, but, to paraphrase, she said:

“Our culture lives in a reverie of lack.  As soon as our feet hit the floor, we think, ‘I didn’t get enough sleep.’  As soon as we step out of the shower, we think, ‘I don’t have enough time.’  As soon as we get into our car, we think, ‘I don’t have enough gas.’  We start and live every day in a deficit.”

I don’t know about the reader, but Ashley described exactly how I feel this time of year.

And why is this?  Jeremiah and C.S. Lewis would say because we are desperately trying to fill those broken cisterns; we are refusing that vacation by the sea and instead are complacent to wallow in the mud.  We desire too little.  Our expectations of Jesus are anemic.  We want control of the wheel even though we’re careening off a cliff.  And thus we find ourselves in a perpetual deficit, simply because we do not ask expectantly for something completely different.  Living water is available to us; we choose to stare into a dark well.

Lord, change my expectations, transform my desires.  Help me to ask boldly for the fullness of your Holy Spirit and, out of an unexpected abundance, may I bless those around me.

Crossing the Finish Line: Two Ways (Part 1)

1 Reply

finishline

For teachers and students alike, the month of May is often approached with a “just try to get through it” mentality.  (If you’re an 8th grader about to graduate middle school, perhaps you’re just on autopilot trying to coast in for a landing.)  We are all tired, and for good reason.  Hopefully we have “run the race so as to win,” which necessarily means we’re going to be nearly out of breath as we cross the finish line.

But there is a “good tired” and a “bad tired.”  In an actual race, I have experienced that “bad tired” when, after crossing the finish line, I literally thought I was going to die AND not because I had just run the race of my life.  In fact, those types of finishes are often preceded by a painful several miles that either proved to me that I had not properly prepared or that my heart wasn’t really in it.  The collapse across the finish line is just the nail in the coffin.

Then there have been those “good tired” finishes: my body still cries out in pain as I sprint past the time clock, but I am immediately invigorated by a sense of accomplishment and healthy pride because I have indeed run a good race.  Somehow my legs don’t feel like jelly and there is still a bounce in my step.

I also feel “good tired” after a long Saturday of hard manual labor out in the yard.  Every muscle in my body aches, but the pain is almost satisfying–a “good pain,” we might say.  Those are the nights that I sleep more soundly than ever.

But I can feel “bad tired” after a long day at school during which I have been impatient with students, uninspiring in my teaching, and uncharitable with my coworkers.  I come home and the loud voices of my two little girls immediately annoy me.  I want to go stare at a wall or fall asleep at 7 p.m.  But those nights of sleep are not characterized by peace.

You see, good work–work that is pleasing to and dependent upon the Lord, work that is excellent–is tiring, but it leads to a state of restfulness.  Perhaps that is what God was trying to show us in the Genesis story.  God worked.  He said, “It’s good.”  Then He rested.

But work not done well–work that is done not as unto the Lord, work that relies on our own strength–is both tiring and leaves us feeling restless.  I think of Solomon’s words in Ecclesiastes:

“Then I looked on all the works my hands had done, and on the labor in which I had toiled, and indeed all was vanity . . . There was no profit under the sun.”

So how do we finish well?  The words of Jeremiah, quoted in a recent sermon, have been resonating in my bones for the past couple of weeks:

“My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and they have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.”

Does the prophet not sum up the essence of all sin–all bad finishes–in this one sentence?  Not only is the cistern a less preferred source from which to retrieve drinking water (standing water versus flowing water), we can’t even make cisterns that hold water.  As our bishop said to our congregation at a recent church retreat, “We are all leaky buckets.”

When these last few weeks of school get tough for me, my tendency is not necessarily to neglect God altogether.  On the contrary, I often find myself crying out to Him.  But what I have come to realize is this: I’m just crying out for Him to pour water into my broken cistern.

If we are going to finish well, we have to dive into that spring of living water.  We have to expect more from God than water in a leaky bucket.  As C.S. Lewis says, “Our Lord finds our desires not too strong but too weak . . . [We are] like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.”

For me this means I can’t just ask God to pass me a cup of water as I run frenetically towards the finish line.  (Have you ever tried to drink from those little plastic cups as you’re stumbling dizzyingly through that last mile of a poorly run race?)  Also, I can’t go do work “just to get it done,” with the promise of summer vacation my reward.

Rather, I have to begin–each day–by going to where God is, sitting down, and letting Him fill me.  I have to ask boldly and expectantly.  I have to desire His will for that day.  Then I must get up, go do good work, and expect to be simultaneously exhausted and at peace at the end of the day.

May it be so.  Lord, help me.