The True Purpose of Waiting

My sister recently sent me a poem by John Milton entitled, On His Blindness. I’m normally not a big fan of 17th century poetry so as I was reading it nothing much was really sinking in. I was having a hard time getting past the archaic phrasing and odd use of certain words. English has evolved to be so much more understandable in our day (please see the humor here). I struggled through the poem until I came to the last line. The last line forced me to go back and re-read and re-think each word and phrase that Milton was using. Before telling what that last line was let me try and summarize what my sadly underdeveloped poetic mind thinks he is saying.

Milton was a gifted poet. He had written the classic Paradise Lost. He was a deeply devout Christian who believed that his poetry was a gift from God and he had a responsibility to use this gift for Him. But in the prime of his life Milton became blind. This poem speaks of his struggle in feeling like he was no longer able to use his gift as God had intended (“And that one talent which is death to hide, lodged with me useless”). He asks God why He would give him a gift and expect him to use it but then withhold the means to do so (“Doth God exact day labor, light denied?”). He comes to the conclusion that ultimately “God doth not need either mans work or his own gifts”. He says that there are several ways to serve the Lord. Some serve Him by crossing “land and ocean without rest”. They are seemingly tireless in their work for Him. But this is not the only way to serve the Lord. In his last line Milton says, “THEY ALSO SERVE WHO ONLY STAND AND WAIT.”

Wow! That totally alters my perspective on waiting. Normally we wait for something or someone and we are finished waiting when that something happens or that someone comes. The only purpose in our waiting is for the fulfillment of something. Have you ever said, “I waited all that time for nothing”, meaning the thing that you were waiting for did not happen so there was no purpose in the waiting. It was a waste of time.

In this season of my life I am in a time of waiting. I am waiting for health to be restored. I am waiting for the next season of ministry to be revealed. I am waiting for a renewed sense of purpose. I am waiting for another opportunity to serve the Lord using the gifts and talents He has given to me. In my mind I am thinking, “My waiting will be worthwhile when all of these things have happened”. I am waiting for something. Milton has shown me that this is a faulty way to view my time of waiting. Not everyone can serve the Lord tirelessly across land and oceans. Sometimes, “they also serve who only stand and wait”.

There is a purpose in the waiting, and the purpose is not the fulfillment of that which we are waiting for, something out there, in the future. We can serve Him even while we stand and wait. Even while our hearts are breaking at not being able to do what we used to, or what we want to; even when confusion and fear consume our soul and distort our vision; even when our desires for personal fulfillment are frustrated; even then, “they also serve who only stand and wait.” It's not just that we can serve Him while we stand and wait. In other words, we may not be able to do everything but we can at least do something. It's not that at all. It's that our standing and waiting IS a way of serving Him.

Isaiah 30:18 says, “Blessed are all who wait for the Lord”. Waiting for the Lord (not waiting for something to happen but waiting for Him) is really the highest form of service to the Lord. So for all who, along with me, occasionally find themselves standing and waiting, take heart. Your opportunity for serving the Lord has never been closer.

Link to full text of John Milton’s poem
http://www.bartleby.com/101/318.html

Extraordinarily Ordinary

I have had a book on my shelf forever (I inherited it from my father) called, Extraordinary Living for Ordinary Men, by Samuel Shoemaker. It’s a book about Christian living but it’s the title that has always intrigued me. When I think of the word extraordinary I think of a great adventure, an heroic act, or some amazing talent. The word sounds to me like it should be reserved for people like Teddy Roosevelt or Alexander the Great or Mother Teresa. My life doesn’t feel extraordinary. Most of the time it just feels, well normal, swinging back and forth between boring and dull.

But I do have to admit that periodically it has been punctuated with some things that I guess could be described as extraordinary. Standing at the altar with the most beautiful woman in the world; holding my daughters seconds after they were born; performing a wedding in a hot air balloon; pastoring a church that ended up pastoring me; feeling the strength and power of God when I had neither. These have been pretty extraordinary experiences that have marked my ordinary life.

I think that life shouldn't be looked at as extraordinary or ordinary as if it can be one or the other. I think that life is a combination of both of these. We need each one to define the other. We know when something is extraordinary because we know what ordinary feels like. And things often seem ordinary only when compared to some extraordinary event or ideal.

When I think of Christmas I think of both of these words together. It certainly was extraordinary. Angels singing in the sky, a teenage virgin giving birth, wise men finding a little obscure home in Bethlehem simply by following a star (have you ever tried to follow a star?). But it was also profoundly ordinary. A stable, a donkey, a poor young couple, taxes. The town of Bethlehem didn’t even know what was happening. It was ordinary. But the miracle of Christmas, the miracle of the Incarnation (God with us), is what happened when the truly extraordinary comes into contact with the truly ordinary. When heaven touches earth. When angels sing to humans. When God becomes a man. When thousands of years of prophecy are fulfilled in one single, ordinary night.

What happens when the ordinary comes into contact with the extraordinary? Life! Our life. And when the extraordinary mixes in with the ordinary it’s sometimes hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. Ordinary things begin to take on extraordinary qualities. We begin to see that our sometimes dull and boring lives are really just a reflection of something much greater. In the ordinariness of human life God sent an extraordinary gift. Jesus was born into the mundane, business as usual, life of a small insignificant village. Most of them never realized that in the midst of their ordinary lives something truly extraordinary was happening.

God help us not to make the same mistake.

A Harvest Worth Waiting For

OK, today I was just reading through part of the book of Hebrews, minding my own business, when out of nowhere this passage hits me in the face. “Endure hardship as discipline” (Hebrews 12:7). I’ve seen that verse before and it left me alone but today, for some reason, I get slapped in the face. I probably should have seen it coming. The whole hardship thing has been a very present reality for me lately. “Endure hardship as discipline”.

Well first of all, it rubs me the wrong way that I have to “endure” hardship. “Endure” sounds to me like it’s going to last for awhile and be rather unpleasant. I can “put up with” something but to “endure” sounds like I better hunker down ‘cause it’s going to be a long and bumpy ride. I would much rather put up with hardship than endure it.

Secondly, why do I have to endure it as discipline? Discipline sounds like either punishment or a really painful exercise routine. Neither of which I am very fond of. But there it is: “Endure hardship as discipline.” It does offer some comfort to read on (it’s usually dangerous not to). “God is treating you as sons.” Knowing that God is responding to me as a dearly loved child helps me understand that He is not random or haphazard in how He treats me. He is not treating me as a stranger. He loves me as a son. Discipline then is not some kind of punishment or painful exercise, it is a form of guidance. It is a way that God takes us from one place to a better place. “God disciplines us for our good that we may share in His holiness” (v. 10). And this process of discipline produces in us “a harvest of righteousness and peace” (v.11).

Now, harvest is a word I can enjoy. Unlike 'endure' and 'hardship' and 'discipline' the word 'harvest' sets well with me. It is full of hope and fulfillment and satisfaction. Harvest is often used in Scripture to speak of joy. But harvest comes as the result of a lot of hard work, sometimes even pain and heartache. When I pick up an ear of corn and eat it I just think about how good it tastes. When a farmer picks up an ear of corn his thoughts go back, sometimes years, to the process of preparing the land, planting the seed, watering the field, picking the ears, getting them to market. I don’t think of those things because I haven’t participated in the whole ‘discipline’ process of getting to harvest.

I wonder if a farmer enjoys eating corn more than I do. I’ll have to ask one someday. I do know that when my harvest of righteousness and peace comes there is no one who is going to enjoy it more than me. In the meantime, I guess I’ll just have to learn how to enjoy words like ‘endure’ and ‘hardship’ and ‘discipline’, because that’s the only way to get to the good stuff!

Morning Symphony

This morning I am sitting at a table outside of a cabin in the foothills of the Chilean Andes Mountains. We have come here for a little rest and fun before I leave Chile to return home. From where I sit I can look out over a deep valley and up to the tall hills on the other side. I can hear the river roar far below carrying tons of water – spring run-off from the mountains. The trees around me are Eucalyptus and give off a very distinct aroma. There are crickets everywhere, birds chirping, and roosters crowing. There is a slight breeze blowing which rattles the brittle Eucalyptus leaves and brings a little relief to the already 85 degree day. I can hear people playing in the distance. There is the cackle of some kind of turkey-looking bird that I’ve never seen before. A minute ago a gecko ran across my table and was not at all interested in my attempts to befriend him (the one in the commercial is much more sociable).

Everything is alive. Everything seems to have this perfect rhythm to it. It’s all doing what it’s supposed to be doing. There is a strange kind symphonic beauty to it all lead by a conductor who cannot be seen but whose presence is clearly obvious.

But I feel out of place here. There is a disconnect for me. Everything seems to be alive and have their specific function (except for the flies. I’ve yet to figure out their function or beauty). And yet sitting here in the middle of life and beauty I feel like I am the one thing that is out of place. I’m not sure what part to play in this symphony. I feel like I’ve been given an instrument but have no idea how to play it. Life seems to come naturally to the things around me but I don’t feel that same life inside of me. It’s not that death lives in me (if it’s even possible for death to live), it’s more an awareness of the absence of life.

I would love to enter into the symphony of life that fills this valley. But until the music overwhelms me once again and magically draws me into participation with it I am left to making a willful, conscious choice to join in. Psalm 63 begins with the present, unshakable reality that the psalmist is experiencing. “My soul thirsts for you in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” That is his current reality. But he doesn’t allow himself to stay there. He reflects back on his past experience with God. “I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory.” Present reality leads to past reflection which then opens the way to a conscious choice for the future. “Because you are my help, I WILL sing in the shadow of your wings.”

The present reality of the psalmist hasn’t changed. He is still in, “a dry and weary land where there is no water.” What has changed is his decision to enter into life anyway. So I guess I will try and open my mouth and sing. It’s hard to compete with crickets and birds and wind and rivers, but I will try. Maybe the conductor won’t notice my feeble attempts to blend in. But then again, maybe he is the one who is inviting me to join them.

Pits and Rocks

I wish that life was such that we never had to go through difficult times more than once. I think that everyone should have to go through hard times once in their life. It creates strength of character and substance of soul. But I wish that we all only had to go through one of these per lifetime. That doesn’t seem unreasonable to me. Learn your lessons, grab some maturity, and move on. Unfortunately for most of us it seems like life is a series of hard times. Once we go through one and are ready to get back into life as it should be we find ourselves dealing with something else.

There is a psalm that I have kept coming back to for many years.

“I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.” (Psalm 40)

Over the years this psalm has spoken to me in one of two ways. Sometimes it is literally my testimony. God has taken me through a rough time and now I see it behind me. He has lifted me out of the pit and now I stand firmly on solid ground singing my heart out in praise to Him. But there are other times when this psalm becomes more a cry of desperate hope. It becomes an intense plea that one day (and it better be soon) I will find myself rising out of the pit and watching all of the mud and mire disappear while I am placed on strong, solid ground. Then I will be able to sing a new song and move on in obedience to Him.

If you read this entire psalm carefully it is really a story of both places. Being in the pit and being on the rock. The psalmist is not saying, “You know, once I was in a pit and now I am out. Maybe you too will someday be out of your pit.” After verses 1-3 give testimony to being lifted out of the slimy pit he goes on in the psalm to say,

• “Do not withhold your mercy from me, O Lord” (v. 11)
• “Troubles without number surround me; my sins have overtaken me and I cannot see” (v. 12)
• “Be pleased to save me, O Lord, come quickly to help me (v. 13)
• “Yet I am poor and needy” (v. 17)

So which is it for this psalm writer? It is both. Life often takes us back and forth between spending time in the mud and mire, and spending time on a rock. It sometimes feels like just when we have learned the 4th verse to that new song while standing on the rock our feet begin to slip and we find ourselves standing in mud looking up at the slimy sides of the pit once again. This back and forth journey of pit to rock, rock to pit is an unsettling way to live and we sometimes go from sighs of relief to sighs of desperation.

This psalm, however, is not just a way of saying, “Sometimes life is great, and sometimes life stinks!” It goes much deeper than this. The point of this psalm is not the rescue from the pit to the rock, or slipping from the rock back into a pit. The point is found in verse 4, “Blessed is the man who makes the Lord His trust.” And the song that we sing, whether from the pit or from the rock, has only one verse and it says, “I desire to do your will, O my God; your law is within my heart.” (v. 8) It’s a song of surrender and submission.

So even though the song may be new when you are standing on the rock, the words are still the same. That’s what ties the pit and the rock together. They are not 2 distinct places from each other. They are simply 2 different places from where we can sing the same song.

Hidden Mountains

The city of Santiago, Chile sits at the base of the Andes Mountains. These mountains loom over the city and appear almost as a kind of guardian or protector. Normally the house where I stay when I come here has a great view of the Andes. In the past I have been able to sit and look up at these magnificent examples of God’s power in creation. But this time it’s a little different. One of the first things I noticed when I arrived here was that a new apartment building has been built exactly where I used to be able to see the Andes. Now, instead of majestic, snow peaked mountains, you look up at a 15 story high rise. It’s an attractive building, but come on, no matter how creative man is he really can’t compete with the Andes Mountains.

Psalm 121 says, “I lift my eyes to the mountains. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.” Mountains don’t offer us safety and security but they remind us of what does. Our help and hope and strength don’t come from the hills or the ocean or anything in nature. It doesn’t come from the relationships that, in desperation, we sometimes think will save us. It doesn’t come from our jobs or being in touch with our inner whatever. Our help comes from the Lord who made all of these things and can use them to create His masterpiece within us.

The problem is that sometimes we can’t see this. Sometimes the things we so desperately long for (like hope and wisdom and encouragement) seem to be hidden from our view. Obstacles come. We get sick. Someone breaks our heart. A loved one dies. The economy falls apart. But, the thing that I can keep coming back to is that I have seen the mountains before. I’ve seen and experienced God’s grace and mercy many times and just because they may be hidden right now doesn’t mean that they aren’t there. When I got to the house here and looked up and couldn’t see the mountains I didn’t think, “Wow, someone moved the mountains.” I realized that the mountains were still there, but I just couldn’t see them right now.

I also know they are there because when I drive around the city, or even when I walk just a few blocks to the north or south of where I am, I can still see them. They’re still there. Which tells me that sometimes we just need a change of perspective to be reminded once again of the help that God offers to us. Sometimes moving, even just a little bit, from where we are is enough to show us once again the eternal, unchanging, magnificent strength of God.

A Springtime Reminder

As I write this entry I am in Chile. After 16 hours of travel I arrived in Santiago to the welcome embrace of close friends AND, sunshine. Since Santiago is almost as far south as we are north their seasons are reversed (they don't think so but they are. Who ever heard of 90 degree weather at Christmas time?). So I left the rainy, dark, cold fall of the Pacific Northwest and flew into springtime. It's easy to understand why the so-called snow birds fly south to Arizona and California in the winter time.

What a treat it was to sit out in the warm sunshine today and read and pray and think. As I sat there I tried to somehow will the sunshine into my soul and spirit because that is where I really need it. So with the sun above and the warm air all around me I picked up the book I am currently reading, Abba's Child, by Brennan Manning. I read a few pages and then I stopped cold (but not quite as cold as I would have a few days ago). These words jumped out at me, "The meaning of our lives emerges in the surrender of ourselves to an adventure of becoming who we are not yet." I thought for a few minutes about the trip I had just made from the dark and cold into the warm sunshine of Chile in the springtime. We often go through periods of having to wait for things to change, usually we are waiting for them to get better. Late fall and winter are like that. Things begin to hunker down. They go dormant. They lie in wait of another time when the warm sunshine will prompt within them the joy of new life.

"Who we are not yet" is the thing that gives us a reason to wait. It's what I am waiting for with great anticipation. I am tired of the hunkering down and dormancy of life right now. I am looking forward to the "not yet" that God has in store for me in His time and in His way. I hope that it is soon. Things seldom happen that quickly but I can still hope. But for now it was encouraging to hear these words that the meaning of my life emerges in the surrender of my life to the adventure of becoming. Sometimes I think I'd like to just skip the adventure and get right to the thing that I have been waiting to become. But the end result is not where "meaning" emerges. It comes out of surrender to the process of becoming that toward which God is drawing me. I deeply want to arrive at what God wants me to be. But I also deeply want my life to have meaning.

And so I yield once again to the process of getting there and am very grateful for a few minutes of springtime sun and warmth to remind me that though right now I am "not yet", I am on my way.

The Fourth Watch

"Immediately Jesus made his disciples get into the boat and
go on ahead of him to Bethsaida, while He dismissed the crowd. After leaving them, he went up on a mountain to pray. When
evening came, the boat was in the middle of the lake, and He was alone on land. He saw the disciples straining at the oars, because the wind was against them. About the fourth watch of the night He went out to them, walking on the lake. He was about to pass by them, but when they saw Him walking on the lake, they thought He was a ghost. They cried out, because they all saw Him and were terrified. Immediately He spoke to
them and said: ' Take courage! It is I! Don't be afraid!' Then He climbed into the boat with them and the wind died down."

Mark 6:45-51

Normally I don't really like anyone calling me between 3:00 and 6:00 in the morning (the fourth watch of the night). Usually that means trouble. If the phone rings during that time I instantly get a pit in my stomach because that is just not the normal time you call someone, therefore, something must be wrong. One exception to this is when you are worried about one of your children and you get a call telling you that everything is OK. That is a welcome call. That's the kind of call you want to get in the middle of the night.

When Jesus came to His disciples during the fourth watch of the night they had been straining and fighting against the storm for some time. They were tired. They were afraid. They needed something from Jesus to help them and He gave it to them. They didn't need the assurance that the storm would be over soon. They didn't need a little humor to lighten the intensity of the situation. They didn't need a special word of prophecy or knowledge or wisdom that would help them put everything into perspective. What they needed was 3 simple phrases from their Lord: "Take courage! It is I! Don't be afraid!" When there is trouble in the middle of the night the only thing you really want and need is reassurance. That reassurance comes to us in the form of the presence of Jesus.

There are many times when I am straining like crazy at the oars of my boat, desperately trying to steer and control what is going on. I sometimes feel lost and lonely and confused. I feel like it I give up my straining I will give in to the storm and will be destoyed by it. I can sometimes get worried, fearful, and doubtful pretty easy these days. And no amount of straining at the oars seems to help. In fact, sometimes it takes away all my energy and strength which could be better placed in learning how to trust and listen to the voice of the One who comes to me in the fourth watch of the night and simply says, "Take courage! It is I! Don't be afraid!" In the end that is all I really need. The assurance of the presence of the Lord in the midst of my storm. I don't really need to know when the storm will end, or how we are going to get to the other shore (or IF we are going to get to the other shore). The most important thing I need in those moments is to hear the voice of Jesus assuring me that He is right there.

When our girls were little and were afraid or sick or unable to sleep we would rock them and sing softly to them. Eventually they would relax in our arms, not because all of their fears or illness or worries were gone, but simply because they knew someone was holding them who loved them and would never leave them in their distress.

So I for one would like more calls in the middle of the night. I would like more "fourth watch" experiences where I can simply hear the gentle, loving, reassuring voice of Jesus come to me when I am most afraid and most weary from my straining, and simply say, "Take courage! It is I! Don't be afraid!" Sometimes that's all I really need.

The Trust Factor

Honestly? Where would you rather live? I mean really. If you had your choice as to which place to build your perfect home is it going to be in the wasteland where your only view is a small, dried up bush, or by a beautiful mountain river with lush vegetation all around?

The Israelites were presented with just such a choice in Jeremiah 17:5-8:

"Cursed is the one who trusts in man,

who depends upon flesh for his strength

and whose heart turns away from the Lord.

He will be like a bush in the wastelands;

he will not see prosperity when it comes.

He will dwell in the parched places of the desert,

in a salt land where no one lives.

"BUT, blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord,

whose confidence is in him.

He will be like a tree planted by the water

that sends out its roots by the stream.

It does not fear when the heat comes;

it's leaves are always green.

It has not worries in a year of drought

and never fails to bear fruit."

The key to whether we live in the desert or along a stream is found in the word 'trust'. Trust is very different from belief. We can believe in the existence of God, we can believe in the truth of His word, but that doesn't necessarily mean that you trust Him. Belief is an acknowledgement of truth. Trust is a complete dependence upon that truth. Belief puts you in the vicinity of the stream, trust firmly plants you next to it with roots that are sent out to draw in it's fresh, pure, life giving water.

Trust is the proof of our faith. It is what we desperately need in these days of worry, doubt, and fear. In days of economic distress, political uncertainty, and moral confusion we don't need a better belief system, we need to learn to trust in a God who is above all of this.

We often seek deeper and clearer levels of understanding in our faith but usually what is most needed is to simply trust in the One who knows. Trust allows us to go beyond ourselves and the uncertainty that plagues our lives and to live in the quiet confidence of God's love for us. He is in control and since He is, we don't have to be. Worry is a kind of feeble attempt at control. Things seem to be confusing or slipping away from our ability to control them and so we begin to worry which at least convinces us that we are still deeply concerned. We fear that if we let go of worry and just trust in God it will mean losing our ability to control the situation, which is exactly what is necessary if we are going to survive.

A man was spending several months working at Mother Teresa's 'House of the dying' work in Calcutta, India. He had gone there to try and clear up some of the confusion in his life and to seek out a new sense of purpose and direction. After a few months he finally had the opportunity to talk for a few minutes with Mother Teresa herself. She asked him, "What can I do for you?" The man said, "You can pray for me." "And what would you like for me to pray for?" The man said, "Please pray for clarity in my life." Mother Teresa said to him, "No, I won't pray for that. Clarity is the last thing that you are clinging to and must let of. I will pray that you will be able to trust God."

As we let go of our need to understand everything we are letting go of our dependence upon ourselves. Only then can we truly begin to depend upon Him and trust Him as we should. There is no doubt in my mind where I would rather be living. And so in these days of fearand uncertainty the cry of my heart is simply, "Lord, take me to the river!"

Open Doors

I love this picture that I took while taking my daughter Brianne to school in England last fall. It is the front doors of the castle where she lived. It reminds me that we never really know the beauty that awaits us when we are willing to open the doors that God places before us. As long as the doors remain closed we too remain closed. Closed to the joy and beauty of stepping into God's great gift. Closed to new opportunities and relationships. And closed to the wonderful feeling of stepping from darkness into the sunshine.

God uses doors as access points to His plan and purpose for us. Sometimes He opens the doors for us, other times he asks us to open them. But it's up to us to walk through them. And why wouldn't we? It is as if God is opening the door for us to enter into His heart. Why would we not want to enter into this kind of intimacy with God? We may not always know what lies on the other side of the open door, but one thing is certain: That's where God is. And He stands there at the entrance to His will and purpose and simply says, "Come on in!"

Ruthless Trust

The surrendered life is a life of ruthless trust in God. Brennan Manning in his great book, Ruthless Trust, says that being ruthless refers to action that is taken "without pity". Ruthless trust, then, is a trust in God without self-pity. It is a trust in God that refuses to cave into the modern push for self-absorption and the elevation of personal interest as the highest good. Ruthless trust believes in the grace and mercy and love of God no matter what else may try and distract us from it.

Manning says that childlike surrender in trust is the defining spirit of authentic discipleship. Fear then (the opposite of trust) must be the defining spirit of in-authentic discipleship. "Fear of the unknown path stretching ahead of us destroys childlike trust in the Father's active goodness and unrestricted love."

My favorite quote from Manning's book is this:

"The Way of trust is a movement into obscurity, into the undefined, into ambiguity, not into some predetermined, clearly delineated plan for the future. The next step discloses itself only out of a discernment of God acting in the desert of the present moment. The reality of naked trust is the life of a pilgrim who leaves what is nailed down, obvious, and secure, and walks into the unknown without any rational explanation to justify the decision or guarantee the future. Why? Because God has signaled the movement and offered it his presence and his promise."

Trust is not something that we merely talk about. Trust must be lived daily which means that it is going to be tested a hundred times each day. And each time we must simply respond in faith (not by sight) saying, "When I am afraid, I WILL TRUST IN YOU." (Psalm 56:3)