C. S. Lewis observed that almost all crimes of Christian history have come about when religion is confused with politics. Politics, which always runs by the rules of ungrace, allures us to trade away grace for power, a temptation the church has often been unable to resist.
– Philip Yancey
For a few hours, before the snow cover blanketed them, ice crystals adorned the periwinkle along the edge of the garden path. They caught my eye. I stopped to admire the sparkling jewels, all the more precious for their temporary existence. I needed to get on with my day so I walked on as the snow fell. By the time I passed that way again they had vanished.
I read a scripture verse today about gems. As precious and beautiful as real gems are, King Solomon wrote about something of even greater value, and that is wisdom.
I used to read a chapter of the book of Proverbs every day. 31 chapters made it convenient to find my place. It’s been a while and since I have been praying for wisdom a lot lately (because I really need some) I thought I should go back and review. Yesterday I read the eighth chapter for the eighth day of the month – the chapter about Wisdom calling out, begging to be noticed. I was reminded that Wisdom existed before time. Wisdom is part of the very creation of the earth. Wisdom is foundational and unlike my ice diamonds, not a temporary, relative thing. It’s been there all the time.
The more I experience of the grace and goodness of God the more I begin to hate evil both in myself and in the world around me. Evil is anything that is out of line with God’s perfect nature and design.
I write a lot about grace and the freedom it brings, but grace does not over-ride wisdom nor, as some people fear, give license to sin. Wisdom is woven into grace and, like love and mercy and kindness, is part of the character of God. Sin is ultimately disrespect for God. Disrespect for the Creator is the opposite of the goal of grace.
Grace does not ignore evil or dismiss the consequences of evil as being no big deal. Quite the opposite. Grace points to the sinless nature of the One who loves us perfectly and empowers us to come into alignment with his heart and avoid the consequences of idiotic choices that can start a chain of events that roll out like a Rube Goldberg device. God’s heart makes evil look unbearably sick in comparison.
God has provided a way for us to be forgiven, to be drawn back into a right relationship with him, to know how much he loves us. Wisdom rejoices in the nobility of this truth and shows us that knowing God means hating anything that puts up road blocks for others or keeps us from being aware of his desire for a closer relationship. Whether it is arrogant pride that doesn’t value others highly enough, evil conduct that soothes our pain with false comfort, or perverse speech that spouts lies about who God is and who he created us to be, the closer we get to him the uglier sin is revealed to be in comparison.
Wisdom allows us to see the gap between the way things work in a fallen world and the way things work in a restored world where God’s will is done on earth as it is in heaven. Wisdom doesn’t make us choose between truth and real love, or justice and mercy. Wisdom comes from God’s perspective. Wisdom shows us how to listen and how to walk in his ways.
Isn’t Lady Wisdom calling?
Listen; don’t you hear the voice of understanding crying out?
She’s taken her stand at the highest place in the city,
at the crossroads where everyone can see her.
There, and at the gates, at the entrance to the city,
right in front of the city doors she cries out:
Lady Wisdom: O people! I am calling to you;
I have a message for all humanity.
You gullible people, acquire insight.
You naive ones, cultivate a heart that truly understands.
Listen, for I am about to tell you of unparalleled excellence and beauty;
what I am about to say will set things right.
I will only speak the truth;
I despise evil, so it will not pass through my lips.
Everything I say promotes justice;
not one word is crooked, and nothing is distorted.
Each and every word is straight talk to perceptive people,
upright and honest to knowledge-seekers.
Accept my correction as being more valuable than your prized possession,
authentic knowledge more valuable than pure gold.
You see, no gem is more precious than Lady Wisdom—
your most extravagant desire doesn’t come close to her.
Lady Wisdom: I make my home with prudence;
I obtain knowledge and sound judgment.
If you respect the Eternal, you will grow to despise evil.
I despise wretched, vile talk
and ways of pride and arrogance.
Good counsel is mine, and also true wisdom.
I am understanding, and strength belongs to me.
It’s because of me that kings wield power
and authorities decree what is right.
It’s because of me that leaders and their agents govern
and all judge according to what is right.
I love those who love me;
those who search hard for me will find me.
Riches and honor are the benefit of following me;
so are lasting wealth and justice.
My reward is better than gold, even the purest gold;
and my profit is greater than the highest quality silver.
I follow the way of right living.
Follow me along the path to find justice;
I’m ready to meet those who love me, bestow true riches upon them,
and fill up their lives until their treasuries overflow.
The Eternal created me; it happened when His work was beginning,
one of His first acts long ago.
Before time He established me,
before the earth saw its first sunrise.
I was born before the deep existed,
before any springs poured out their water,
Before the mountains were placed on their foundations,
before the hills rolled across the land—
yes, before all this, I was brought forth.
When the earth was yet unformed and the fields were not yet nestled beneath the wind—
even before the first dust of the earth—
When He created the heavens, I was there.
When He drew a circle in the deep, dividing the oceans and the sky, I was there.
I was there when He established the sky.
I was there when the springs in the deep were fortified;
I witnessed Him lay down the shore as a boundary
and put limits on the water
And determine the foundations of the earth.
All this time I was close beside Him, a master craftsman.
Every day I was His delightful companion,
celebrating every minute in His presence,
Elated by the world He was making and all its fine creatures;
I was especially pleased with humanity.
So now listen to me, my children:
those who live by my ways will find true happiness.
Pay attention to my guidance, dare to be wise,
and don’t disregard my teachings.
The one who listens to me,
who carefully seeks me in everyday things
and delays action until my way is apparent, that one will find true happiness.
For when he recognizes and follows me, he finds a peaceful and satisfying life
and receives favor from the Eternal.
But heed my warning: the one who goes against me will only hurt himself,
for all who despise me are playing with fire and courting death.
(Proverbs 8 The Voice)
I hate feeling incompetent. I enjoy being asked questions when I know the answer. Memories of first-day on-the-job-stress when I knew less than the customers or the students still get shoved back in the closet as soon as they make a peep.
As much as I enjoy new things and find routine stifling, there are times when I enjoy feeling like I know what I’m doing. I can coast. I can offer free advice. Dare I say it? Sometimes, in my Walter Mitty-type imagination, I picture the networks calling to ask me to come into the studio as their talking head expert of the day.
Mid-dream sequence the music screeches to a stop. God asks me to follow him.
“Where?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
“But I finally know what I’m doing here. I have a system.”
“I know. Let’s do something else now.”
I wish I was faster at saying yes. I’m learning that growth only comes as I depend on God and quit relying on what worked before. I have a bad habit of not noticing that change lies ahead until I run into a dead-end or get kicked out of the nest. Sometimes asking God for guidance, and yet not moving until the yank of a bridle twists my neck or a stick pokes my butt, and the guidance is no longer subtle, is not the most comfortable way.
Part of the problem is still my fear of making a mistake, of being wrong, of having to backtrack, or worse, make an apology. But grace gives us latitude to learn. Somewhere deep down I am still fighting the notion that I have to earn this grace with a perfect performance. That’s when failure becomes freedom. His love is not conditional. I never knew how much God loved me until I offered him my incompetence as an ego-sacrificing form of praise.
He says his eyes will be our guide. We can respond more quickly when our eyes are focused on his face. If we are more focused on our work and personal improvement projects than on where he is looking we will miss it.
Stay close. Listen. Watch. Trust.
This is going to be good.
I hear the Lord saying, “I will stay close to you,
Instructing and guiding you
Along the pathway for your life.
I will advise you along the way,
And lead you forth with my eyes as your guide.
So don’t make it difficult, don’t be stubborn
When I take you where you’ve not been before.
Don’t make me tug you and pull you along.
Just come with me!”
(Psalm 32:8 – 9 TPT)
Abounding sin is the terror of the world, but abounding grace is the hope of mankind.
– A.W.Tozer
I bobbed around changing position, but the light kept getting in my eyes. I have a thing about natural light and my desk is near the window. I’ve set up the computer screen in front so it faces away from the light and remains readable. But for a brief time during the shortest days of the year the low sun will shine in my eyes in the afternoon. Then I have to lower the shade.
Yesterday the light was almost blinding. I got up to see what was causing it when I saw the sun shining through an icicle on the corner of the porch roof. I grabbed my camera, of course.
It’s not a talent I asked for, but I can tell the difference between a depression-induced hallucination, a vision, and the sun behind frozen water that had dripped from an eaves trough that is probably blocked again. This sight still caught my attention.
The icicle, which I barely noticed before, was, in a way, a reminder of failure (we really should have cleaned out those eaves before the snow fell) and the cold cruel world out there that took away all my colourful flowers and froze the water pipes this week (another pain to fix).
Then light shone through failure and coldness and turned it into a glowing sword.
Sometimes I feel like a failure, done in by procrastination yet again. Sometimes my heart is cold in response to a hard season and I think all I can do is hang in there until circumstances change. I don’t feel particularly effective in making a difference in this world.
But this is what I saw. When I am subject to the light shining through unguarded transparency, without any reliance on my own brilliance, I am transformed. That’s grace.
Graham Cooke says grace empowers us to become what God sees when he looks at us. His grace shining through and entering our very being transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary.
This is amazing grace. Christ in us, the hope of glory.
“You’re not doing it right.”
Okay, those are not the exact words. Most controlling people are slightly less direct, but that is the essence of the message they feel compelled to convey.
“There is a right way and a wrong way to do Christianity and you, my dear, are doing it the wrong way. I will tell you how to do it right.”
This was the theme of the class of religious leaders who opposed Jesus Christ. In those days they were called Pharisees. Today they have many names, but mostly they like to call themselves “right.” They have the scriptures, they have the rules, but somehow they have lost sight of the point of grace and end up putting barricades in place that block people from having a closer relationship with God. Instead of building highways and bridges they build giant speed bumps.
Years ago I broke my leg. (That’s a strange expression right there because it was not my intention, I assure you.) More accurately, in the process of rescuing two little boys whose mittens tangled in barbed wire held them captive to a fence, I fell on the ice. I heard the bones in my leg snap. That’s not a sound I wish to hear again.
The news of my mishap was not something the director of the opera, in which I had a lead role, and which was due to open in less than two weeks, wanted to hear either. I had no understudy. She had to figure out how to re-block the entire production for a Countess who couldn’t walk. Amazingly with one or two creatively re-written lines, she changed the Countess into an invalid (another strange expression) thus giving the philandering Count more motive, means and opportunity to follow up on his temptations (not an unrealistic scenario.) It worked.
I chose roles with care. I wouldn’t be in a play or opera that promoted evil. This opera had an adult theme but there was a clear difference between right and wrong, and right won. It was based on a morality story that criticized the accepted practice of not holding the noble class to account for sexual abuse of servants and other vulnerable commoners. It was about the misuse of power.
I was resting, leg propped on cushions while I memorized recitatives, when an “expert” in the ways to appease God paid a visit. This person told me God was punishing me for singing secular music. He broke my leg to teach me a lesson. He made me a temporary cripple so I would learn to praise him properly with church music, and not that show-off worldly stuff.
Now God moves in mysterious ways, but I have since learned that breaking people’s legs to get them to give him what he wants is more of a Mafia don’s technique than the ways of the one who sent his only son, Jesus, who was willing to lay down his life for me in a demonstration of love.
These harsh words could have been water off a duck’s back. They weren’t. I was stricken with guilt and shame and questioned my square peggish-ness yet again. Until that point I had known a lifetime of being told “There is a right way and a wrong way to appease God, who is currently deeply disappointed with you. And you, my dear, are doing it wrong – again.”
It took a while to realize that the scenario in my living room that day was another version of the misuse of power story. Like the Pharisees of Jesus’ time on earth, and the privileged nobles of Mozart’s time, some of the “experts in the ways of God” in my own time have tried to manipulate others to meet their own need to be in control. (Not all, of course. Not even most. Don’t hear what I am not saying.)
I had never learned to listen to God for myself. After years of being manipulated by guilt and shame because not only did I feel I had done something wrong, but that fundamentally I was something wrong, I abdicated the authority Christ had given me as a daughter in his royal household. I allowed people who handled their own anxiety with a desire to feel in control speak for him and tell me how to respond. It became a fictitious conversation I didn’t even need to attend. Gradually I stopped showing up.
They didn’t invite me into a closer relationship with Christ, who made a way for me to experience God’s love and affection. Instead the accumulated experiences of years of being told I wasn’t doing it right led to feeling I needed, like Adam and Eve, to cover my shame and hide myself in the trees. When God called me to come and talk with him, I hid.
I didn’t find God. I knew where he was. I was avoiding him.
Then he found me.
I was told God could not look upon sin and it was my sin that separated us. I was taught to be ever mindful of being a sinner prone to wandering and that I was a continuing source of grief to him.
But in my less-than-perfect state he pursued me, he allured me, he loved me unconditionally. In his kindness he drew me into the desert, away from the control of religiosity. When I gave up trying to be good enough he taught me that his grace is enough. He is the saviour and sanctifier. When I allow him to come close enough he writes his thoughts on my heart.
He is still demonstrating how he sees me as a unique delight and that living in his presence is not only for the experts who seem to do religion right. It’s about having an ongoing vibrant relationship with a Person. It’s his goodness and kindness that allows me to respond to him with love and not fear. He is teaching me to see myself and others with his eyes.
The one thing I ask of the LORD—
the thing I seek most—
is to live in the house of the LORD all the days of my life,
delighting in the LORD’s perfections
and meditating in his Temple.
For he will conceal me there when troubles come;
he will hide me in his sanctuary.
He will place me out of reach on a high rock.
Then I will hold my head high
above my enemies who surround me.
At his sanctuary I will offer sacrifices with shouts of joy,
singing and praising the LORD with music.
Hear me as I pray, O LORD.
Be merciful and answer me!
My heart has heard you say, “Come and talk with me.”
And my heart responds, “LORD, I am coming.”
(Psalm 27:4-8 NLT)
Is he calling you to come talk with him? What is holding you back? The reward Jesus died to give to the Father is you. You are his delight.
The older I get the faster it seems the seasons change. Perhaps this is what is meant by acceleration. Time doesn’t slow down as you age. It speeds up.
Didn’t I just put those Christmas decorations in storage?
What do you mean the stove is ten years old? That’s our new stove.
My baby granddaughter has a learner’s driving license? How did that happen?
So many hours have slipped by in the dailiness of life. For years on end tedious routines filled in the moments that gave us freedom to make changes. I thought I would never finish school and be out on my own.
Then I was responsible for paying my own bills and making my own decisions.
I thought the diaper-changing, toddler-chasing years were my whole world.
And then they weren’t.
I thought I would never see the end of practically living in the car, driving the kids to school and games and music lessons and church functions.
And then they got in their own cars and drove away.
I thought I would never hear the end of students singing scales as they stood beside my piano.
Now my studio piano is silent as my computer keyboard clacks away.
I thought our parents would always be around to talk to, even if they needed more help.
Now there is only one left and communication is difficult.
It’s snowing today, and even though it feels as though it has arrived too soon it is late November. It’s time for the valley to turn white. The season changes once again. At a time of life when one expects to feel more settled changes seem to happen more rapidly than ever. It’s strange, this sense of time thing.
While it seems the only consistent thing in life is change, yet I am more aware that the most consistent thing in life is the love of God, which never changes.
The words of a song came to mind this morning.
In every season, in every change
You are near
In every sorrow,
You are my strength
You are near
A peace in the storm
Your voice I will follow
In weakness I rise
Remembering You hold my world
I’m holding on to hope
I’m holding on to grace
I’m fully letting go
I’m surrendered to Your ways
The anchor for my soul
Father You will never change
I love You, I love You
(From Anchor by Kari Jobe, Brian Johnson and Cody Carnes)
Anyway, the snow reminds me that it’s time to quit procrastinating. It’s a new season. I have a new assignment. I mourn the loss of colour and the ease of walking in the forest, but winter is a time when writers and artists are less distracted and can get down to work.
It’s time.
When I was a kid we looked forward to seeing cheesy old black and white movies about saints and Bible characters or missionaries and martyrs. They were the only non-TV movies we were allowed to go to because they were shown at a church and not in a theater. Sometimes the sound of the film projector was louder than the incredibly wordy dialogue, but still I was impressed. I wanted to be a martyr for God like that.
I remember the otherworldly holy gaze upward nearly all the actors displayed when faced with a call to lay down their lives to the glory of God. I practised it in front of a mirror.
Clutching my little red Gideon New Testament plus the Psalms to my chest I tilted my head slightly to the left and looked up at the desk lamp now shining down spotlight fashion from the top of a pile of books on Dad’s dresser. Moving only my eyeballs I checked my image in the long mirror on the back of the door to see if I had it right.
Maybe, someday, if I worked hard enough and pleased God enough He would use me in some dramatic spotlit way. I needed to get the holy look down.
The truth is half a century later I’ve never managed to look like the holy guys in the movies. Neither do any of the humbly honest people I know dedicated to keeping it real while placing high priority on getting to know God’s reality. They are just folks who know they are loved. All of them are still works in progress (although some seem to need less work than others.)
Even though I don’t always say it out loud, when the phone rings lately my reaction is more likely to be a full eye roll and a “Now what?” than the sacred upward half eye roll. (which is an improvement over total panic, but not where I would like to be as far as joyful response goes.)
So much news of major disruptions in the lives of family and friends has arrived by text message or phone in the last few months that I’m tempted not to pick it up when it rings. Marriage problems, health crises, business fiascos, loss of property, the sudden death of loved ones, unjust treatment, the revelation of corruption in unexpected places, misunderstandings bound in red tape, and dreams deflated like a flat tire… It seems I’ve mourned with a lot of people lately.
I know that in every situation there is a provision for more grace and that God is never stymied by human foibles or unseasonable weather or budget restraints or talking head prognosticators. I know Jesus is victor and the enemy is defeated. I know he has brought us through thus far and he promises to never leave. I know the outcome of walking through the storm is finding the gold on the other side.
But sometimes there’s a lot of upheaval in the process.
While I was praying about this (and confessing my lousy attitude) I remembered a dream I had a while ago. In the dream I was walking outside a schoolyard beside a chain link fence. Suddenly the ground began to shake. On either side of the path a wall of moving earth and rocks and boulders rose up. It looked like an animated scene from an old church basement movie depicting the crossing of the Red Sea – only the water was not parted. The ground was.
Boulders flew around pulverizing each other to dust and dirt flowed in massive waves. But all of it regarded the boundaries on either side of the path and never crossed the line, like the wall of water in the movies.
“What the…?” I asked, in my less than church movie-worthy holy stance.
“Don’t look to the right or to the left. Keep your eyes on the path,” I heard.
“What’s happening?” I asked, trying hard to ignore hurtling objects in my peripheral vision that made me want to duck – fast.
“I’m moving heaven and earth for you.” (I wish English had a plural for you. It felt plural.)
There are some things you can’t learn in school. There are some lessons about the character of God and Christ’s unrelenting love for us that can only be demonstrated in the midst of boulders shattering on either side of our heads and the ground trembling beneath our feet, when the things we relied upon to be stable are suddenly anything but.
Sometimes change involves the kind of upheaval that exposes things you would rather not know. Sometimes change creates such a dust-up you have to concentrate on where to place your next step because that’s as far as you can see.
Sometimes, when God is answering our prayers, he does it in ways we don’t expect. We think, “This can’t be from God. My Jesus is sweet and gentle and meek and mild, like a rose trampled on the ground. He wouldn’t be behind a messy upheaval of all the things we’ve worked so hard to build.”
I’ve learned that expecting the Creator of the Universe to squeeze himself into the limitations of what makes me feel good is a kind of idolatry. When the shaking starts he’s about to show himself a whole lot bigger than we ever imagined. Our concept is not majestic enough. We’re about to get an upgrade.
For some of us the scenery on this part of the journey is not exactly tidy or decent or in order right now. All I know is that Himself is right here walking it with us. Just like He did last time, and the time before that, and the time before that…
He’s just that good.
I have encountered enough narcissistic and sociopathic personalities in my lifetime that if a charming new acquaintance says, “Trust me,” I’m pretty sure I should do just the opposite.
In this time in history the Lord seems to be exposing hidden corruption in formerly trusted institutions. Whether revelations involve government, media, medicine, education, religion, or even dark family secrets mouldering away in too many basements, it is easy to become jaded.
When the foundations are crumbling, what can we do?
We are facing a national and international crisis of trust. Who do we believe? Who is not secretly self-serving? This is not limited to individuals who lack empathy. Special interest groups and even entire countries seem to be following a me-first narcissistic agenda.
Many people are shouting, “You’ve got to do something!” Few people have helpful suggestions.
As I face situations all around me which I cannot possibly fix and am tempted to go into over-responsible eldest child overdrive I hear my heavenly Father’s voice.
Trust Me.
I do, Lord. Mostly. I wish I could trust you more. I just don’t know how.
Grace.
Grace?
Grace not only allows you to see who I am, it reveals who I am not. My Grace trumps the world’s expectations.
I pondered this. My past experience taught me to expect punishment, criticism, disapproval, disappointment, nasty surprises, betrayal.
Then I watch the little grandchildren I have been caring for. They are so sweet. I don’t have to be fashionably attractive, or legally vetted, or financially well-endowed, or Good Housekeeping-approved to earn a genuine spontaneous hug. They trust me.
I make mistakes, and accidentally step on toes or forget which coloured bowl they prefer, but I adore them and would never intentionally do anything to harm them. They know that. They trust me to protect them, nurture them and have their best interests at heart. They take me at my word and don’t question my motives.
Jesus said, “If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” (Luke 11:13)
Our Father in heaven is not like the authority figures who have let us down. Not even close. A lot of the process of learning to regain child-like trust involves letting go of lies we have been believed about God.
A song from my childhood has been playing in my head this week.
“‘Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus
Just to take Him at His word;
Just to rest upon His promise,
Just to know, “Thus saith the Lord.”
Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er!
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!
O for grace to trust Him more!”
-Louisa M. R. Stead
Here’s the thing. Babies don’t trust parents because they have read a resume or done a performance evaluation or run a background check. Babies trust because they have no options. Becoming like a child is simply resting and letting God be who he is – someone who knows and loves every hair, every cell, every heartbeat.
Unlike our own parents he will never drop us on our heads or use us to serve his unmet needs. He will not place responsibilities upon us that are too heavy for our level of maturity, nor will he enable learned helplessness by restricting our freedom to grow.
I hear him say, “So you’re out of options. I’m not. Trust me.”
“But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” (Luke 18: 16,17 NIV)
On his lap. It’s the best place to be.
Charis: Subject to Change 