Photo: Lundbreck FallsI stopped at the Falls today.
Yup. It’s cold.
Change is upon us.
Month: November 2012
Water to ice
On the road to the Falls
Cattle Country
Photo: Near High River, Alberta
He gives to the beasts their food,
and to the young ravens that cry.
His delight is not in the strength of the horse,
nor his pleasure in the legs of a man,
but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him,
in those who hope in his steadfast love.
Psalm 147
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Hard hearted at Meribah
Photo: locked up
It’s so easy for tender-hearted people to become the most hard-hearted people around. (Sermon to self alert.)
I have a confession (and this relates to the (B)log in My Eye Blog). One of the things that fires up my ire to bonfire level is when other people turn away from suffering and overlook the needs of the oppressed. I call them hard-hearted (and a lot of other not nice words.) It is totally beyond my comprehension how any civilized society can withhold affordable healthcare from those who would like to be hard-working folk, or turn away genuine refugees, or feast in the presence of the starving, or provide drugs and facilities for terminating the most vulnerable among us. When I hear of anyone being sexually abused or exploited I could march my 5 foot 2 and ¾ inch granny self right in that place and bless the perpetrator with a brick to the gonads –and if anyone gets in my way, they can expect a few bricks to the face themselves. I am outraged that….that…that…ooooh…don’t get me started. I want to yell, “Don’t just sit there. DO SOMETHING!!!”
This week I kept running into the phrase “Do not harden your heart” too many times to ignore, so I asked God, “What you talkin’ about? Me? I don’t think so, cuz I’m the one who gets into trouble for shooting off my mouth and meddling when it comes to standing up for the underdog.”
The other words that keep showing up are “Meribah” and “Pisgah” Now that’s just weird. Who wakes up in the middle of the night muttering, “Pisgah!” before they even slam a toe into a chair leg?
So I’ve been meditating on the verses about hardening the heart and what happened at Meribah and Pisgah. I believe this is what Abba wanted me to grasp. (Meditating is a bit like worrying -but with useful subject matter.) Hardening my heart is not about turning a blind eye to suffering. Hardening my heart is about not having the faith to believe that God has a better solution than I do.
Is the Lord among us or not?
And he called the name of the place Massah [testing] and Meribah [quarrelling], because of the quarrelling of the people of Israel, and because they tested the Lord by saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?” (Exodus 17:7)
Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts as at Meribah, as on the day at Massah in the wilderness when your fathers put me to the test and put me to the proof, though they had seen my work. (Psalm 95:8)
This story is referred to again in the third and fourth chapters of Hebrews which talk about entering into his rest.
Take care, lest there be in any of you an evil unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God. But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called “today” that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin. (3:12,13)
The test at Meribah was a big one. It was about unbelief. (Quarrelling can be a symptom of unbelief.) Even the great leader, Moses, was caught up in unbelief and felt he had to go beyond God’s instructions and do something more attention-grabbing on his own. He didn’t simply speak to the rock like God said. (I picture Scottie in that Star Trek movie saying “Computer? Computer!’” as Moe says, “Rock? Rock! ”) Obeying only what Yhwh said to do was such a big deal, that failing the test at Meribah kept Moses out of the Promised Land. He only got to see it from Pisgah, where he summed up his final warnings to the people not to forget what the Lord had done.
The other time the term “hard hearted” comes up is when Jesus is with the disciples. They had just come back all high from a short-term missions trip where they cast out demons and healed the sick. They amazed themselves. They were actually seeing and doing the stuff! It hit the media. Even Herod heard about it. Jesus advised them to come away by themselves for a while. (Oh boy. How many people who have seen God work through them would be wise to take this advice and get away from the spotlight for a while before it all goes to their heads or they start doing or saying stupid things from fatigue?)
When the crowds followed them and ran ahead Jesus was moved with compassion. The disciples were moved with logistics and problem-solving issues and pseudo-compassion combined with a little ego. Their solution was to send the folks to the villages (and foist the problem onto local officials. Can you see the mayor of Punkiedoodle Corners panicking as 5000+ people bear down on Faye’s Diner and Donairs and the Esso station’s one septic tank?)
Jesus told his guys, “You feed them.”
My honest response to a situation like that probably would have been, “Whaaaat ??????”
I think Jesus knew they didn’t have a clue, so he did the logistics thing for them and set up the people in groups which could be easily counted . He even divided the lunch into bits for each of them to serve to the people. But here’s the cool part. Jesus did not multiply the food. He gave each of them something like 2/5th of a bun and 1/6th of a fish, and sent them off to their assigned mob with a grin on his face, I’m sure. The miracle happened as the guys acted in faith –in their own baskets, or whatever they used to pass the food around in.
So they were all fed and had leftovers –but you know the story.
In the next scene the guys are out in a boat in a wind that is blowing the wrong way, getting nowhere fast. Jesus strolls by on the water, tells them to take heart, gets in the boat and the wind stops. (My granddaughter has great insight into another telling of the story , which I blogged about in Red Button, Yellow Button.)
This is what the scripture says: And they were utterly astounded for they did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts were hardened.
In Chapter 8 of Mark the lesson on how to feed lots of company is repeated for the remedial miracles class. A little later they are on about lack of bread again. (It is so comforting to me to know that even the people who were with Jesus day and night could be as dense as I am sometimes.) He said to them, “Do you not perceive or understand? Are your hearts hardened? Having eyes do you not see, and having ears do you not hear? And do you not remember? Do you not yet understand?”
OK. So hardening of the heart is about forgetting the things that God has done in our lives. Hardening of the heart is about thinking we have to come up with our own solutions sans the power of God. Hardening our hearts is acting like ungrateful victims who do not realize the authority which Christ has given us to work with him and do the stuff. In this same conversation Jesus tells the guys, “Beware the leaven of the Pharisees and beware the leaven of Herod.”
Pharisees tried to solve societal problems with their limited understanding of earning God’s favour through their own strict adherence to rules and regulations. Herod relied on political solutions by winning the approval of the people around him.
Note well, oh my soul.
Why now? Why is God talking to me about hardening the heart?
Have you ever noticed that when God teaches you something he follows up the lesson with a homework assignment? Have you noticed when you have a promise from God that the opposite circumstances show up?
My friends and I have been praying about unity in the church for a while. When we talk about unity, people often come up with ideas for inter-church music celebrations or rallies and picnics in the park. When we pray about it, it seems like all hell breaks loose. Our town is a mess of schisms and division and dwindling church attendance right now. Why should this be a surprise?
One night we were praying about an important board meeting for an organization. I was praying that things would go smoothly when my friend said, “Stop. I think we are to pray simply that God has his way.” So we did. Afterward we heard from a board member that it was the worst, most upsetting, unloving, unchristian meeting he had ever attended. Unforgiveness and wounds which had been festering for years under superficial healing of polite niceness split open and all manner of ugliness spilled out. The moderator was in tears at his lack of control over the meeting.
The intercessors were shocked, but knew that God answered the prayers for unity. It has taken months, but now the group is working on some root problems, forgiving, and dealing with real issues.
We’ve seen this pattern over and over.
In the past couple of days I have read some very discouraging posts on social media about the American election. I have die-hard friends with strong political ideals on both sides (I wonder if I ever combined them in one room if we could replace a few nuclear power stations). Politics a source of quarrelling? Duh.
I’ve seen many, even some with high-profile ministries, bewailing the fact that their country is now officially doomed (in their eyes). It’s like they are grumbling, “There is no water in Meribah!! All hope is gone. We will die in this moral wilderness! This country has sinned too much! (leaven of Pharisees) What if we elect the wrong leader?! (leaven of Herod) God is going to abandon us! Aaaaaaaargh!” (The fact that a lot of us don’t live there or even had a vote seems to be lost in the ash-flinging. We get caught up in it too.)
But wait. I think get it, Lord! I hear you!
People, we are at Meribah in our history in the western Church. He has brought us here for a reason.
Seriously, is the Lord among us, or not? Are we dependent on religious “righter-than-thou” solutions and forcing people who have no comprehension of a loving heavenly Father into religious rule-minding to try to alleviate suffering? Do we really think that by voting the “right “politician in place (or let’s be honest –for some voting the “wrong” one out) that we will again be prosperous and highly favoured?
Is God’s hand so wimpy that he cannot save us when we call out to him?
We need to drop the grumbling and complaining and the slick showmanship, and simply do what he asks whether it is talking to a rock or daring to feed a crowd of hungry people with a tiny piece of bun and a bit of fish. We need to exhort each other daily (including overseers in the church) not to be taken in by deceitfulness and the sin of unbelief.
God is God, and I’m not.
He will provide. We have a promise. In God we trust.
When we remember our past with God, we remember our future.
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Remembering the Future II
And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight
The sky be rolled back like a scroll
(From “It is Well with My Soul”)
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Remembering the Future
I was looking forward to this journey to my Father’s house on the Alberta side of the Rockies. Usually the mountain views are stunning, but instead I drove through fog for nearly four hours. I could see very little beyond the verge by the highway most of the time. Sometimes the fog would lift for a moment only to re-form and descend again. I stopped near some cabins, closed for the season, to take a break from the tension of driving in poor visibility and found a beautiful stream. When I descended the Kootenay Parkway the clouds vanished.
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Rock of Ages
Photo: Sinclair Canyon, Radium. B.C.
On the way to my father’s house this week I needed to pass through this cleft in the rock at Radium, B.C. The gap is barely wide enough for a two lane road and a stream. The stream pours through and falls dramatically into the valley below.
It reminds me of God’s provision in the wilderness when rocks were split and water poured out for the children of Israel. This is a symbol of Christ, the Rock, who was struck and wounded for us. As the old hymn says:
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure;
Save from wrath and make me pure.
Not the labor of my hands
Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.
Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to the cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the fountain fly;
Wash me, Savior, or I die.
While I draw this fleeting breath,
When mine eyes shall close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee
This cleft rock in the pass also reminds me of that time at Meribah when the people were again grumbling. God told Moses not to hit the rock again , but to speak to it. Moses, for some reason -perhaps in anger and frustration with those who questioned his leadership- decided to go for the drama and smacked it with his rod.
That moment cost Moses dearly. Later we read about him on Mount Pisgah (which coincidentally means cleft or split, in case Moses forgot). God took him up there so he could see the promised land, but he himself could not enter it. As great a hero as Moses was, God would not be upstaged.
No matter how great a ministry someone may have, whether it involves signs and wonders and miracles and fireworks or even flying mountains and chariots of fire racing around the Daytona track, if the person through whom God chooses to work steps into the spotlight him or herself they will only see the fulfillment of promises from a distance -alone.
Seriously.
Don’t be under any illusion: you cannot make a fool of God! A man’s harvest in life will depend entirely on what he sows. If he sows for his own lower nature his harvest will be the decay and death of his own nature. But if he sows for the Spirit he will reap the harvest of everlasting life by that Spirit. Let us not grow tired of doing good, for, unless we throw in our hand, the ultimate harvest is assured. Let us then do good to all men as opportunity offers, especially to those who belong to the Christian household. (Galatians 6:7-10)
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Higher Ground
Please, please! I appeal to you people who call yourselves Christians! Neither Obama, Romney, nor Harper nor any other public service candidate’s names for that matter, are cuss words! They are names of people we are called to respect and pray for. Please treat others with the respect you yourself would appreciate. “So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets.” -Jesus.
This is so basic!!!
Whatever the outcome in the election to the south I beg you to take the higher ground and bless, not curse.
We reap what we sow people. We reap what we sow.
Photo: Higher ground
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Chasing the clouds away
Photo: The storm from Haha Creek road
Photo: storm clouds leavingI just needed to quickly run an errand, but I saw the light and had to follow it. I was on the edge of the clouds as they kept moving eastward. Two hours later…
I love that the name of the road is Haha Creek Road. Laughter chasing the dark blue storm clouds away.
He who sits in the heavens laughs; the Lord holds them in derision. (Psalm 2:4)
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Thanks. I needed that.
Confession time. Lately I’ve realized there are a number of things in my life that really aren’t up to me. I may have a role to play in them or I may wish I had more influence over them, but the end result is actually out of my hands. Frankly, if I’m to be truthful, this is kind of a relief.
Here are ten, in no particular order.
It’s not my job:
1.To bring others around to my way of thinking – I am entitled to my opinion and have a responsibility to form these opinions based on truth and prayerful consideration. But ultimately it’s not up to me to decide for someone else or attempt to convince them of a different point of view, however well-intentioned I may think I am.
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Drab (aka Greige)
Photo: November mud puddlesThis is stupid. So some designer somewhere paints a house a colour I don’t care for. It shouldn’t upset me. But it does. This is stupid.
My husband tossed the mail on my computer keyboard. He leaves it there knowing I will at least have to move it to another pile before I venture into the creative zone where I lose all track of time. A flyer for a charity lottery dangled a two million dollar house in front of my eyes.
I like this house. I really like this house.
Tucked into a Douglas fir-covered hillside it gathers the bits of twine and twig that attract my nesting instincts. Some people call it West Coast mountain style. I like the warm cedar wood facing the gables, the stone work edging a long porch, the glass stretching from vista to vista. The photo must have been shot at twilight; a warm amber light calls from behind those huge windows, beckoning the weary traveller home, almost like one of those kitschy “Christian” paintings which I will never publicly admit to liking.
I was actually tempted to buy a ticket.
My husband says lotteries are a tax on the mathematically challenged. The chance of winning a West Coast mansion is only marginally enhanced by purchasing a ticket. I can’t believe I am thinking about enhancing and chancing on a cold dull morning. The fantasy machine starts whirring in my mind.
Overlooking the inlet, you say. Sunsets on the Pacific. A little 4000 square foot getaway for shopping weekends in the big city (accessed by my private jet, of course). A surprising little retreat for entertaining film crews when they come to interview me. I wonder if there is adequate space for overnight guests. Doesn’t say. I’ll have to look it up on the internet.
I do. There’s the view. Niiiice. There’s outdoor living space perched over the worm-grubbers below in the valley. There’s the dining room.
Ew.
They painted the walls that trendy brownish gray that leaks out like dirt under the front porch. High ceilings though. I suppose I could paint it. The furniture follows a predictable “variations on a brown rectangle” theme, the same supposedly stylish stuff that seems to be the only offering that shows up in furniture galleries lately. A couple of good antiques could change that. I move on, kitchen, living room, master bedroom –no, no, no!
Every room is painted that horrible, horrible, dreadful, awful, disgusting colour. 4000 square feet of potentially beautiful space painted the colour of a World War II bunker.
Every room has the dark fog of a diesel smoke-filled November service road coating each wall. Why? Why would anyone ruin my house this way? They painted it the colour of a dead shrub, of a mud puddle, of a back alley trench coat. It is going to take so much work to fix it.
Drab. That’s the name of the colour –at least it used to be in the Sears catalogue when I was a kid. Now it’s labelled “greige”.
Aaaargh! I hit the red X and stomp away.
OK, this reaction is out of proportion, I admit, but the emergence of the colour drab on the thick end of the trendy scale symbolizes something more to me. Why do certain colours become fashionable at certain times in our history? What does this say about us now?
I heard someone say that to some dreamers and artists, colour and the symbolism and emotion associated with colour is all-important. They are all about colour. They see everything in colour –- except life.
Guilty as charged.
I know other people see “greige” differently (maybe a drab wall does make a red pillow “pop”) but to me drab is the colour of compromise. This is the hue that results from throwing every committee member’s idea, sans discernment or direction, into the same mixer, then lightening it up slightly with a bit of off-white politeness. This is the hue my art teacher warned me would be the result of indecision when mixing blobs of paint on my palette without a sense of direction.
“Mud, dear,” she would say, “Beware the artist who thinks he can create beauty with twelve shades of mud.”
When playing with light and photographs on a computer, drab is the colour of timidity. It is what happens when you slide the saturate scale button too far to the left and suck all the life out of a photo just before heading into the world of black and white. Designers say drab is neutral. To me, drab is no more a neutral colour than suicidal depression is a neutral emotion.
And there you have it. To me, “greige” symbolizes depression, a nice smiling-on-the-outside, don’t-rock-the-boat, suck-the-life-out-of-you depression. That’s why I hate it.
Someone asked me the other day why lol laughing while reading a joke on a bus, or skipping in the mall, or dancing in the aisles of a church is considered to be an unacceptable display of emotionalism, when white-knuckling a steering wheel, scrunching a face in disgust at the weather, shouting the equivalent of “death to the infidels” at a hockey game, or dragging the corners of one’s hopelessness into a pew are perfectly acceptable displays of emotionalism.
An internet article on the psychology of colours suggests that grey-brown as a decorating colour subdues emotion, creating a calm, non-evocative atmosphere. Wow. A whole house that says, “Don’t feel. Don’t get your hopes up. Prepare for disappointment.”
Show me a house that says hope lives here. Send me a pamphlet for a lottery house that says, “Come here and let me hug you. Let’s sing, let’s dance, let’s rejoice.” I might buy a ticket.
Photo: a house in the ‘hood
Charis: Subject to Change 
