The Corner
06/08/11 16:30
The northwest corner of Marsh and Forest seems to be a place that collects characters.
I have seen couples, dressed in white head to toe, holding white plastic buckets out to passersby expecting, I assume, that someone will drop in some change or a dollar bill. I am always a little amazed that some people do.
I have seen more than my share of panhandlers working the corner, accosting not only drivers in the street but also patrons of the gas station, asking them for “a little help.” Most of the time they are shrugged off or ignored by folks who are just trying to get away as fast as they can.
The most interesting, until recently, is the woman who has a cart of some sort that is piled high with what my mother would have called “I-don’t-know-what-all.” An antenna sticks up from the handle of the cart which is covered all around with aluminum foil. The sign attached to the front says that she is the victim of spying by the U.S. Government. I haven’t seen her in awhile. I hope that she is just staying out of the heat.
The cart lady was my favorite until a couple of weeks ago. Stopped at the light, I spied an average-sized bearded man, dressed in jeans and a shirt that had seen better days, pacing up and down the grass along the road, waving his hands in the air and talking. Since the light was red, I had time to watch for awhile and I could see that no one else was there to pick up the conversation. I suspected that he was one of those more and more common street people who suffer from delusions.
I was wrong about his lack of conversation partners. As the light turned green and the traffic moved, he switched his pacing, waving, and talking from north-south to east-west. He was talking to the drivers who passed him as he paced in the grass.
He wasn’t yelling; he wasn’t wandering; he wasn’t waving aimlessly. As I rolled slowly by, I saw a man with a big grin on his face, a twinkle in his eye, the palms of his hands turned toward me, saying words that I could only hear with my heart. As I passed him, I realized, “He just blessed me.” This stranger, one whom I was willing to write off as another odd occupant of one of the crossroads of life, was willing to withstand the heat of day to do good for anyone who was willing to see and hear.
I haven’t seen him on the corner since then, but it’s not for lack of looking. There’s something about being blessed that draws you back to the source. That must have been one of the things that attracted so many people to Jesus. They saw something others didn’t see, heard words that fell on otherwise deaf ears. When so many just chalked him up as odd, the ones who heard with their hearts knew he was from God. In a world that is full of so many odd characters, when we run into one that blesses us, we’ll keep coming back for more.
I have seen couples, dressed in white head to toe, holding white plastic buckets out to passersby expecting, I assume, that someone will drop in some change or a dollar bill. I am always a little amazed that some people do.
I have seen more than my share of panhandlers working the corner, accosting not only drivers in the street but also patrons of the gas station, asking them for “a little help.” Most of the time they are shrugged off or ignored by folks who are just trying to get away as fast as they can.
The most interesting, until recently, is the woman who has a cart of some sort that is piled high with what my mother would have called “I-don’t-know-what-all.” An antenna sticks up from the handle of the cart which is covered all around with aluminum foil. The sign attached to the front says that she is the victim of spying by the U.S. Government. I haven’t seen her in awhile. I hope that she is just staying out of the heat.
The cart lady was my favorite until a couple of weeks ago. Stopped at the light, I spied an average-sized bearded man, dressed in jeans and a shirt that had seen better days, pacing up and down the grass along the road, waving his hands in the air and talking. Since the light was red, I had time to watch for awhile and I could see that no one else was there to pick up the conversation. I suspected that he was one of those more and more common street people who suffer from delusions.
I was wrong about his lack of conversation partners. As the light turned green and the traffic moved, he switched his pacing, waving, and talking from north-south to east-west. He was talking to the drivers who passed him as he paced in the grass.
He wasn’t yelling; he wasn’t wandering; he wasn’t waving aimlessly. As I rolled slowly by, I saw a man with a big grin on his face, a twinkle in his eye, the palms of his hands turned toward me, saying words that I could only hear with my heart. As I passed him, I realized, “He just blessed me.” This stranger, one whom I was willing to write off as another odd occupant of one of the crossroads of life, was willing to withstand the heat of day to do good for anyone who was willing to see and hear.
I haven’t seen him on the corner since then, but it’s not for lack of looking. There’s something about being blessed that draws you back to the source. That must have been one of the things that attracted so many people to Jesus. They saw something others didn’t see, heard words that fell on otherwise deaf ears. When so many just chalked him up as odd, the ones who heard with their hearts knew he was from God. In a world that is full of so many odd characters, when we run into one that blesses us, we’ll keep coming back for more.
Memory
23/05/11 15:37
I’ve always thought of memory as something of a mixed bag, some things pulled out of it unpleasant, some things joyful. I’ve also thought of it as somewhat uncontrollable, popping up at the most inopportune time.
These conclusions have been based upon the idea that memory has to do with the past, with “what happened,” a reasonable conclusion since a memory is built upon an event, something already experienced. Reasonable, but inadequate. Memory is more about the future than the past because memory is what helps us as we face future events.
Consider those “bad” memories, the ones everyone says that they would just as soon forget. When they appear, it’s as though we have been transported back in time to the place and the pain. But, if we take a deep breath, we realize that is not what is happening at all. We’ve not gotten into a time machine and returned to last week or last year. What if, instead of a threat, those memories were a warning, a reminder of what we don’t want to do, be, or experience? What if those memories shaped our behavior for the good? As odd as it may sound, those memories are not threats, they’re blessings. They have the power to change how we live today and tomorrow.
What is true of those moments is even truer of “good” memories, those whose visit we enjoy. They carry within them the promise of even more happiness. One of my favorite preachers, Fred Craddock, is fond of saying, “We look forward in memory.” Memory shapes our expectations. We would be different people if we lived in the confidence that past joy is simply prelude to a wonderful future.
Jesus said as much when he told his disciples “to remember.” In I Corinthians 11, the Apostle Paul quotes Jesus as telling his disciples to observe the Supper in memory of him. “For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you do remember the Lord’s death until he comes.” Did you notice? The death is not a pleasant memory, but it is a good one. It shapes us, but not only us; it also shapes the future. That’s what memory can do. And that’s a blessing.
These conclusions have been based upon the idea that memory has to do with the past, with “what happened,” a reasonable conclusion since a memory is built upon an event, something already experienced. Reasonable, but inadequate. Memory is more about the future than the past because memory is what helps us as we face future events.
Consider those “bad” memories, the ones everyone says that they would just as soon forget. When they appear, it’s as though we have been transported back in time to the place and the pain. But, if we take a deep breath, we realize that is not what is happening at all. We’ve not gotten into a time machine and returned to last week or last year. What if, instead of a threat, those memories were a warning, a reminder of what we don’t want to do, be, or experience? What if those memories shaped our behavior for the good? As odd as it may sound, those memories are not threats, they’re blessings. They have the power to change how we live today and tomorrow.
What is true of those moments is even truer of “good” memories, those whose visit we enjoy. They carry within them the promise of even more happiness. One of my favorite preachers, Fred Craddock, is fond of saying, “We look forward in memory.” Memory shapes our expectations. We would be different people if we lived in the confidence that past joy is simply prelude to a wonderful future.
Jesus said as much when he told his disciples “to remember.” In I Corinthians 11, the Apostle Paul quotes Jesus as telling his disciples to observe the Supper in memory of him. “For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you do remember the Lord’s death until he comes.” Did you notice? The death is not a pleasant memory, but it is a good one. It shapes us, but not only us; it also shapes the future. That’s what memory can do. And that’s a blessing.
Mirror
05/05/11 16:30
I fixed my wife’s lighted make-up mirror the other day. The mirror, which had been an important part of her Christmas list a few years ago, had been without a light for quite some time.
While I don’t remember the date, I do remember the day clearly. Ellen off-handedly mentioned that the light was no longer working, and I responded with the boast of an acknowledged know-it-all, “I bet I can fix that.” I’ve never met an appliance that I wasn’t willing to take apart.
I first assumed that the bulb was out, and that the fix was simply to open the cover and replace it. I looked high and low, turning the mirror upside down, over, and under, looking for a little latch, or even a slot for a screwdriver or a dime. Nothing. No latch. No slot. In my infinite wisdom, I concluded that there was no bulb.
Then, I decided that it was the dial. This particular mirror works on something of a dimmer switch system in which twisting the dial causes the light to increase or decrease in brightness. Turning it left and right, I could get nothing out of it. “There’s the problem,” I announced. “It’s the switch. Probably needs a new one.” Ellen, who had been watching this display of technological prowess, said, “I’ll just use it without the light.”
And so it has been for well over a year. Then the other day, I fixed it. It happened in this way. I was walking from the bedroom into the bathroom when I tripped over a pair of shoes that I had left laying in the floor. On the way down, I reached out to grab hold of something to steady myself. As I did, I knocked her mirror into the lavatory. After I had righted myself, I picked up the mirror only to realize, “Hey, the light’s on!” I turned it upside down, over, and under. I twisted the dial, left and right. It all worked. When I saw Ellen that night, my first words to her were, “Honey, I fixed your mirror.”
She could have responded in so many ways. She could have said, “Thank you!,” or, “I am so glad!,” or, “That’s nice.” But instead, she said, “How did you do it?” So, I had to admit to her that I hadn’t really fixed it, that my laziness in leaving my shoes on the floor had caused an avalanche of circumstances that almost resulted not in fixing but in breaking something that was a gift. I had to confess that my part was the mess; someone else did the fixing.
No reprimand, no eye-rolling. She just laughed and graciously said, “I’m glad it’s fixed.” Funny how life works, isn’t it? So often, we are supremely confident that we can meet every challenge, pry loose every lid, twist every dial, fix it. When we can’t, we live with the brokenness, making do with less, stepping over the mess we make. Then, one day, reaching out as we’re headed for another fall, we discover that we are rescued, redeemed, fixed. In that moment, if we listen closely, we can hear laughter, the laughter of one who loves us, the laughter of grace.
While I don’t remember the date, I do remember the day clearly. Ellen off-handedly mentioned that the light was no longer working, and I responded with the boast of an acknowledged know-it-all, “I bet I can fix that.” I’ve never met an appliance that I wasn’t willing to take apart.
I first assumed that the bulb was out, and that the fix was simply to open the cover and replace it. I looked high and low, turning the mirror upside down, over, and under, looking for a little latch, or even a slot for a screwdriver or a dime. Nothing. No latch. No slot. In my infinite wisdom, I concluded that there was no bulb.
Then, I decided that it was the dial. This particular mirror works on something of a dimmer switch system in which twisting the dial causes the light to increase or decrease in brightness. Turning it left and right, I could get nothing out of it. “There’s the problem,” I announced. “It’s the switch. Probably needs a new one.” Ellen, who had been watching this display of technological prowess, said, “I’ll just use it without the light.”
And so it has been for well over a year. Then the other day, I fixed it. It happened in this way. I was walking from the bedroom into the bathroom when I tripped over a pair of shoes that I had left laying in the floor. On the way down, I reached out to grab hold of something to steady myself. As I did, I knocked her mirror into the lavatory. After I had righted myself, I picked up the mirror only to realize, “Hey, the light’s on!” I turned it upside down, over, and under. I twisted the dial, left and right. It all worked. When I saw Ellen that night, my first words to her were, “Honey, I fixed your mirror.”
She could have responded in so many ways. She could have said, “Thank you!,” or, “I am so glad!,” or, “That’s nice.” But instead, she said, “How did you do it?” So, I had to admit to her that I hadn’t really fixed it, that my laziness in leaving my shoes on the floor had caused an avalanche of circumstances that almost resulted not in fixing but in breaking something that was a gift. I had to confess that my part was the mess; someone else did the fixing.
No reprimand, no eye-rolling. She just laughed and graciously said, “I’m glad it’s fixed.” Funny how life works, isn’t it? So often, we are supremely confident that we can meet every challenge, pry loose every lid, twist every dial, fix it. When we can’t, we live with the brokenness, making do with less, stepping over the mess we make. Then, one day, reaching out as we’re headed for another fall, we discover that we are rescued, redeemed, fixed. In that moment, if we listen closely, we can hear laughter, the laughter of one who loves us, the laughter of grace.
Genius
13/04/11 14:10
Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid. Albert Einstein, a widely-recognized genius, said these words, and they have refused to let me go.
I suppose that he could have simply been expressing some humility, wanting to deflect some of the adulation that was coming his way because of his achievements and insight. He could have been trying to encourage someone who was struggling in his attempts to succeed in some endeavor. Whatever he was trying to say, I heard him saying that we are each uniquely gifted to accomplish the tasks that God has given us.
Some might argue that this strains the definition of genius. The prevailing sense is that it is someone who seems to do all things well, that the answers to problems come quickly, that she see things that the rest of us common folk don’t. I once had a professor who was a genius. I know because he told me that he was, and who am I to argue? I also know that I wouldn’t call him to fix my plumbing or a broken light. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t a genius. It simply means that he really didn’t do all things well.
As I have thought about all this, I have begun to look at others differently. Rather than become frustrated by what they can’t do, I have begun to ask, “What are they geniuses at? What has God equipped them to do?” I’ve even begun to be a little easier on myself. Rather than dwelling on perceived imperfections, I have begun to ask, “So, what is it that God has equipped me to do?”
Someone might say, “But isn’t this what the Bible says about spiritual gifts and each one being uniquely equipped to bless God’s church? Didn’t you know this already?” Yes, I’ve read the text. I know what it says. But I also know that we spend more time talking about what someone can’t do than what they can do. In other words, we’ve criticized fish for not being able to climb a tree.
All this reminds me of something that we all would do well to remember. Speaking for himself and us as well, the psalmist (Psalm 139:14) says that we “are fearfully and wonderfully made.” To paraphrase, we’re all geniuses. In other words, we may not be able to climb a tree, but boy, you ought to see us swim.
I suppose that he could have simply been expressing some humility, wanting to deflect some of the adulation that was coming his way because of his achievements and insight. He could have been trying to encourage someone who was struggling in his attempts to succeed in some endeavor. Whatever he was trying to say, I heard him saying that we are each uniquely gifted to accomplish the tasks that God has given us.
Some might argue that this strains the definition of genius. The prevailing sense is that it is someone who seems to do all things well, that the answers to problems come quickly, that she see things that the rest of us common folk don’t. I once had a professor who was a genius. I know because he told me that he was, and who am I to argue? I also know that I wouldn’t call him to fix my plumbing or a broken light. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t a genius. It simply means that he really didn’t do all things well.
As I have thought about all this, I have begun to look at others differently. Rather than become frustrated by what they can’t do, I have begun to ask, “What are they geniuses at? What has God equipped them to do?” I’ve even begun to be a little easier on myself. Rather than dwelling on perceived imperfections, I have begun to ask, “So, what is it that God has equipped me to do?”
Someone might say, “But isn’t this what the Bible says about spiritual gifts and each one being uniquely equipped to bless God’s church? Didn’t you know this already?” Yes, I’ve read the text. I know what it says. But I also know that we spend more time talking about what someone can’t do than what they can do. In other words, we’ve criticized fish for not being able to climb a tree.
All this reminds me of something that we all would do well to remember. Speaking for himself and us as well, the psalmist (Psalm 139:14) says that we “are fearfully and wonderfully made.” To paraphrase, we’re all geniuses. In other words, we may not be able to climb a tree, but boy, you ought to see us swim.
Time
17/03/11 22:03
The annual time change a recent Sunday morning reminded me of the folly of our ways. Somehow, it seems that we think we are in control of something when we move those hands or change those numbers on our timepieces. Someone at some point convinced us that by the mere moving of the clock, we have actually added more light to our day. As I said to some folks recently, I can't even get the three clocks in the kitchen to match. If I can't make the microwave, coffeemaker, and oven straighten up and fly right, how dare I think that I can add a second, much less an hour, to my day?
Besides all that, time is so flexible that to try to measure it by the clock is almost impossible. If my week has been extra busy and I haven't been able to spend as much time as I would like on a sermon, Sunday morning at 10:45 always seems to get here a little faster. Ask someone how long the day of a funeral felt. I suspect some will tell you that it was the longest day of their lives. Think about those folks who are trapped in the disaster in Japan. The unexpected rupture of an earthquake happened suddenly, but the days since have dragged. I don't know how to say “it seems like an eternity,” in Japanese, but I bet they do.
Consider how arrogant such an act of time manipulation is. I have always been a little amused by the folks who go through all kinds of gymnastics to prove that the creation week of Genesis was a literal seven days of twenty-four hours each. Now, before anyone begins to question my orthodoxy, it is my firm conviction that God can do whatever God wants to do whenever and however God wants to do it. But, it is a little problematic for our calendars that, according to Genesis 1, the sun and moon were not created until the fourth day. In other words, the Book tells us that there is a time that is beyond our control and our understanding.
But, we already know that. We have already experienced it in those moments of time crawling and time flying by. It is out of our hands, and whether we are willing to admit or not, that is wonderful news. It means that we are not the Creator, but the created. It means that we are not in control, but another is. It means that the events of time are watched over by one who is “the same yesterday, today, and forever.” It means that the one for whom a thousand years is as a day and a day as a thousand years is also the one who has said that neither the present nor the future (nor earthquakes or nuclear disasters) can separate us from his love in Christ Jesus. Think about it - what's an hour we can't control compared to an eternity controlled by someone who loves us? I'll trade an extra hour of sunlight any day of the week for a God like that.
Blessings, Sam
Besides all that, time is so flexible that to try to measure it by the clock is almost impossible. If my week has been extra busy and I haven't been able to spend as much time as I would like on a sermon, Sunday morning at 10:45 always seems to get here a little faster. Ask someone how long the day of a funeral felt. I suspect some will tell you that it was the longest day of their lives. Think about those folks who are trapped in the disaster in Japan. The unexpected rupture of an earthquake happened suddenly, but the days since have dragged. I don't know how to say “it seems like an eternity,” in Japanese, but I bet they do.
Consider how arrogant such an act of time manipulation is. I have always been a little amused by the folks who go through all kinds of gymnastics to prove that the creation week of Genesis was a literal seven days of twenty-four hours each. Now, before anyone begins to question my orthodoxy, it is my firm conviction that God can do whatever God wants to do whenever and however God wants to do it. But, it is a little problematic for our calendars that, according to Genesis 1, the sun and moon were not created until the fourth day. In other words, the Book tells us that there is a time that is beyond our control and our understanding.
But, we already know that. We have already experienced it in those moments of time crawling and time flying by. It is out of our hands, and whether we are willing to admit or not, that is wonderful news. It means that we are not the Creator, but the created. It means that we are not in control, but another is. It means that the events of time are watched over by one who is “the same yesterday, today, and forever.” It means that the one for whom a thousand years is as a day and a day as a thousand years is also the one who has said that neither the present nor the future (nor earthquakes or nuclear disasters) can separate us from his love in Christ Jesus. Think about it - what's an hour we can't control compared to an eternity controlled by someone who loves us? I'll trade an extra hour of sunlight any day of the week for a God like that.
Blessings, Sam