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Years ago, when I was in college, I participated in a Bible study group for college students. The object lesson I'm sharing here is not mine; I first heard it from Lenny, the leader of that Bible study group. I found it helpful, so I thought I'd share it here.
Imagine that you get a phone call from a friend who says he has a gift to give you. Curious, you ask him what it is. He tells you that he has received a van Gogh painting, and he would like to pass it on to you. You are stunned, knowing that any van Gogh painting is worth millions of dollars.
Your friend tells you that you need to make arrangements to come pick up the painting and bring it home. Imagine how you feel at this moment. How are you going to collect the painting? Will you drive your car there and pick it up yourself? Will you hire a moving van? Or maybe even an armored truck? And what about once you've received the painting? What will you do with it? What kinds of security systems will you have to install in your house? What about UV protection for the artwork?
As you pick up the painting, and as you install it in your home, you approach the entire process with "fear and trembling." Not because you are afraid that your friend will take back his gift, but because you understand how precious and valuable it is, and how easily damaged it is. It is a treasured possession, and you want to guard it and protect it.
In Philippians 2, Paul writes:
Paul is not telling us that our salvation is ours to earn. No, like that van Gogh painting, it is a gift beyond value or belief. But now that it is ours, we treat it with all the care and regard that a priceless gift deserves. We understand that the gift of God's grace is fully ours, but with that gift comes a grave responsibility.
And in the midst of this, Paul offers this reassurance -- you're not on your own. As he had already promised in Philippians 1:6, God is, and will be at work in you.
As an added note to Lenny's object lesson, it's interesting to note that the phrase "work out" in this verse comes from a compound Greek word: katergazomai. Kata has a variety of meanings, so any compound word built from it also may have many possible meanings. Kata has these likely meanings in this verse: "toward the completion of," "in the direction of," or "according to." Gazomai simply means "work." Thus, we could alternately translate that phrase as "work according to your salvation," "work toward the completion of your salvation," or "work in the direction of your salvation." That fits nicely with the next verse which assures us that God is working in the same direction!
Not work for it, but work according to it, and toward its fulfillment at the day of the Lord. My life now, in this world, should be aimed toward that future day of glory.
We have a field on our property that is too rough to be a nice lawn. It gets mowed twice a year with a cutter bar mower. About half of the field we'd like to smooth out and turn into a lawn; the other half is on a hillside, and we don't want to mess with it. For a couple years now we've been talking about simply not mowing that section, and letting it go to weed, knowing that there are stands of poplar trees all around, and it'll eventually become woods. Poplars aren't a great tree, but it's better than dealing with a tough-to-mow hillside.
This spring, my father had about thirty oak seedlings that shot up in his garden. I assumed he was going to till them under, but a few days ago I noticed they were still there, and asked him why he hadn't wiped them out. "I thought you might like to plant those in your field -- oak's a lot nicer than poplar."
That settled it. We're transplanting oak trees into our field, in hopes that it'll turn into something nicer than a poplar stand. It's possible that nothing will grow, but we're giving it a try.
So yesterday afternoon I went out into the field with a bucket full of stakes, a mallet, a spade, a tape measure, and a square (since I'm a geometry guy, my rows must be parallel). Oh, and one more thing. I took my five-year-old son.
His jobs were: hold the tape measure, bring me things I needed, and count off the spacing between trees on the tape measure.
The process of marking off and digging an array of thirty holes in the ground reaffirmed to me something every parent knows: sometimes getting "help" from your children results in a process much longer and more tedious than simply doing it by yourself.
For example, my son is just starting to get the hang of two-digit numbers, so the idea of starting at 15 feet and adding 10 feet to get 25 feet is still something he needs help with. And that slowly developing number-sense certainly does not facilitate the process of tracking down the number 25 on the tape measure. I would often end up standing around for a minute or more, waiting for him to find the number I wanted, when I could have found it for myself in about five seconds.
But here's the thing: I didn't bring my son out there because I thought it would make my job easier. I did it for the following reasons:
- The opportunity and joy of working with my son on a project.
- Giving him something that he could look back on and say, "I helped plant those trees."
- Helping him to grow in his skills (both in mathematics and in manual labor).
What was I really doing? I was making a disciple. I was training him in the things that I'm good at, that I hope someday he will be good at as well.
Jesus told us to make disciples. We often read Matthew 28:19 as a command for evangelism, and there's no denying that evangelism precedes making disciples, but making disciples is a much longer and more time-consuming process than simply sharing the gospel. Making disciples requires a great deal of effort beyond that initial sharing. And at times, it might make you feel like you're wasting your time.
Consider Jesus. For three years he went about doing the work of His Father, with a company of twelve men tagging along with him everywhere he went. In a lot of ways, those twelve men were like little children. They argued, they fought, they lacked understanding. Can you imagine how much more Jesus could have done if he hadn't been surrounded by these men who needed him to intervene in their arguments, and re-explain things over and over to them?
Yet Jesus saw these men as valuable. Valuable enough to spend his divine time on them. Correcting, rebuking, training, explaining. And the end result? In Matthew 10:5-8 we find Jesus able to send out these twelve men on their own to do the work He was doing.
The process of discipleship is the patient, time-consuming process of taking younger believers with you when you go out and do the work of the Father, in order to guide them in their faith and their service. In our efficiency-based culture, this process seems as counter-productive as having a five-year-old count off measurements when you could do it ten times faster by yourself.
But I didn't bring my son with me because I thought it would be more efficient; I brought him because of the tremendous value that I place on him -- because of my love for him. And really, when you think about it, this is what drove the Savior's earthly ministry. Not the desire for efficiency, but the love of people.
Tonight I'm cooking up a batch of rhubarb sauce. The obvious ingredients in rhubarb sauce are rhubarb and sugar (rhubarb is so tart most people consider it inedible without a lot of sugar!). Less obvious, but also important, are the spices. Cinnamon? Nutmeg? And maybe (if you want your rhubarb to have even more bite) a pinch of ginger.
But there's one more ingredient I always put in my rhubarb sauce. No one ever tastes it, but it's very important. Salt. No one ever tastes my rhubarb sauce and says, "This is too salty." In fact, no one says that it's salty at all!
One of the interesting properties of salt is that, if used in the proper quantities, instead of making food taste saltier, it simply enhances the flavors already in it. Putting salt in my rhubarb sauce doesn't make it saltier -- it makes it rhubarbier! Because of this, salt fits into virtually every recipe. I once scanned through a cook book looking for recipes that don't have salt in them. In the entire book, I found only one such recipe.
No wonder Paul wrote this in his letter to the Colossian church:
Paul here compares grace to salt -- just as salt fits into every recipe, grace fits into every conversation. And just as salt brings out the natural flavors of the recipe, grace brings out the very best in every conversation. Even when rebuking, grace must be present in your speech.
In our current society, gracious speech is hard to find -- not only does everyone have an opinion (which is fine) but few people want to express those opinions without putting down and belittling those who disagree with them. In such a society, Christians who are the recipients of the grace of Christ can surely stand out as extraordinarly different, simply through their gracious speech.
I'm in the process of launching a new Content Management System for some of my clients who own websites. The control panel for my clients' websites gives them fine-tuned control not just over the appearance of the site, but also over how it appears in different devices (desktops, phones, etc).
It's exciting for me to be launching this software, but it's even more exciting to hear the positive feedback from web masters who are enjoying creating content for their websites. "This is fun," I heard from a couple clients, and one client is creating beautiful pages filled with images and nicely formatted text that looks great not only on a desktop computer, but also on tablets and phones.
I sent that client an e-mail, saying, "By the way, your site looks great -- you're really doing a great job of building your pages!"
His response was interesting: "Regarding the site, I appreciate the compliment, but it would be like God telling me that I'm doing a good job with His word. Can't really take any credit for it. I'm just utilizing a good creation."
An interesting comparison. But it got me thinking...
There is really a very strong sense of satisfaction for me in watching people make use of the software I created to make something beautiful. I guess you could say that I "delight" in seeing what people are doing with what I built.
In the same way, don't you suppose God takes a great deal of delight in watching as we make use of His creations in good and beautiful ways? When I pick up my guitar and improvise something new, I'm really just building on something God created in the first place. And it honors him, as the Creator, when I do so.
So be beautiful. Improvise. Make beautiful music, carve beautiful sculptures. Photograph beautiful rivers, sunsets, flowers and oceans. Stand at the top of a mountain at sunrise and belt out a verse of "This Is My Father's World." It's all just stuff that God made in the first place, but don't you think he loves our improvisations on his handiwork?
I do.
One of the perks of living next to my parents is that when Dad gets out his snow blower to clear their driveway, he also brings it over our way and clears our yard as well. We had our first big snowstorm over the weekend, and we knew that our young son (who was too young to remember anything about winter last year) would be very interested to see the snow blower for the first time.
Sure enough, when we heard the snow blower coming our way, we directed him to the window, and he clung to the windowsill in excitement as he saw his grandfather on his little tractor, and watched a fountain of snow blow into the sky.
But our son doesn't have a very long attention span, and as soon as Dad finished one swath and disappeared from view, our son started to walk away from the window.
"Don't go," I said, "he's coming back!"
And then I thought -- isn't that how we are?
In John 14:3, Jesus tells His disciples that He's going away, but if He goes, He will return again. We know he's coming back, but like young children, we get easily distracted from that.
At Christmas, we celebrate Christ's first advent, but when December 26th arrives, we put away the manger scene, the Christmas tree, and all the other trappings of the holiday season, and move on with the everyday grind of life.
Not that we shouldn't get on with the grind of life, but we should do so with a powerful awareness -- the sense of anticipation and eagerness with which we looked forward to Christmas day is the same sense of anticipation and eagerness with which we should look forward to his return.
Just as I say to my son, "He's coming back," let's keep reminding one another, "He's coming back! Maranatha!"
When trying to teach our one-year-old about things he is (and is not) allowed to do, we run into a couple problems. One is that, since he can't communicate except in grunts, waves, and "diddle-diddle" baby-talk, it's hard to know how well he understands what we're telling him. If we tell him not to stand on the sofa, does he understand what a "sofa" is? And does he understand what it means to "stand"?
The second problem is that he has not yet developed much impulse control, so if we inundate him with rules to follow, we will be constantly correcting him. There are only so many hours in a day, and we don't want to spend them all saying to him, "We told you not to do that!"
So, as our son is developing understanding and impulse control, we are careful to keep our instructions to him at a simple and minimal level. Most of the "dos and don'ts" we give him divide into two primary categories:
1. Instructions that are for his own benefit/safety. For example, we are strict about not letting him stand on the sofa, or take things out of the trash can, because the first activity could easily result in injury, and the second activity -- well, let's face it -- the trash can is not the most sanitary object in any home!
2. Instructions for the benefit/safety of those around him. For example, we have a diabetic cat, and if he eats "people food," he gets sick. Thus, we are strict about our son not throwing his food on the floor.
There is a third category of "dos and don'ts" which we try not to delve into too deeply:
3. Instructions that are for our own convenience. For example, even though we don't let him get into the trash can, we have never told him that he's not allowed to unload the diaper bag all over the floor. There's nothing in there that's dangerous for him, and while it's a nuisance to repack the bag, we feel that there are more important "dos and don'ts" for him to learn first.
The goal in all of this is to have a set of rules that are not overwhelming for either our one-year-old or us. Are we succeeding? I don't know, and perhaps it'll be a very long time before I do know. But as I thought about all of this, it occurred to me that what we're trying to do is to emulate our Heavenly Father in the way He gives commands to us.
1 John 5:3 says that "His commandments are not burdensome." Doesn't God do for us (perfectly) what we are trying (imperfectly) to do for our son? God's commands are neither burdensome nor self-serving. His commandments to us fall -- for the most part -- into two basic categories: commands that are in our own best interest, and commands that are for the benefit of those around us.
If I can appreciate that my rules for my son are reasonable, wise (hopefully!), and beneficial to our household, can I not trust that God's rules for me are even more reasonable, wise, and beneficial?
Have you ever been to a concert of a symphony orchestra? There's something quite dramatic about watching a group of musicians working together under the conductor's leadership to produce beautiful music. If you go to a concert, there are certain members that will stand out to you, and attract your attention.
The conductor, obviously, captures our attention as they wave their hands and baton, and use even the slightest body motions to guide and direct the members of the orchestra.
Then there are the violinists, who often carry the melody, and do so with dramatic sweeps of their bows across the strings. Watching a section of violinists playing in unison and unity is an impressive and beautiful sight.
The timpanist, too, may capture our attention; their arms beat out a rhythm, or create a rumbling thunder sound, occasionally producing sounds that make us want to tap our feet, and occasionally sounds that make the music sound ominous.
There are other musicians who are less likely to capture our attention.
The clarinetist, for example, even if they have a solo (like in the haunting opening phrase of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue), you might not notice them, because their body and arms do not make any grand movements. There is no bow to draw across the strings, no mallet to bang against a tightened drum. Just fingers moving on the instrument -- and if you're far away from the stage, you won't see much movement at all!
And what about those poor bass viol players? Most of the time you could even forget that they're standing there. They don't get the fast, or the melodic, or the dramatic passages to play; most often they are simply plodding along with deep bass notes that you may not even consciously notice.
The church, the body of Christ, is an awful lot like that orchestra. Paul talks in 1 Corinthians 12:22 about parts of the body of Christ being like the violins, and parts like the bass viols.
Okay, those are not the words he uses, but he talks about members of the body that we deem as more honorable, more valuable, and the members we talk about as being less honorable.
The more honorable members are like the violinists. They are the ones who get all the attention, all the praise, all the respect. Everyone sees what they do, and they laud them for it.
But others are like those bass viols. Day after day no one notices what they do, no one says, "Wow! That was amazing what you did yesterday!"
"Great sermon," we tell the pastor.
"What a great job you did cleaning the toilet," we don't ever say to the person who volunteers their time to make sure the church's restrooms are sanitary.
But please allow me to let you in on a little secret. The bass viol is every bit as important as the violin. You might not consciously notice the bass player doing his thing in the background, but if he was gone, you would be very quick to say, "There's something wrong with this piece of music!"
Just as you would be very quick to say, "There's something wrong in this church" if people stopped cleaning toilets, or painting walls, or paying electric bills.
And finally, please let me tell you one last secret. Preacher, evangelist, miracles, helps, administration, they're all important. Paul says so. But he says not to bicker about which is greatest, because there's one thing that's more important than any of them.
Love. It's the more excellent way.
Meal times were much more simple before our son started eating "grown-up" foods. When we sat down to eat, Laura and I had our plates, and our son had his bowl. We ate from our food, and he ate from his, and I don't think it ever occurred to him to wonder what we were eating.
But that changed when we started feeding him food off our plates. Once we started that, from then on, he would always be curious about what was on our plates.
And that's fine, but sometimes it's a bit inconvenient. There are some foods that we don't feed our son yet (for example, his pediatrician has recommended that we not feed him peanut butter just yet, and if I'm eating eggs with yolks that are a bit runny, I won't feed them to him).
This morning our son had a bowl of cereal, but I had a breakfast sandwich made with bread, cheese and eggs (slightly runny). On a normal morning, he will go at his cereal with great gusto, and never stop until it's finished. But this morning, since I was eating a breakfast sandwich, he was extremely curious about that, and would not eat his own food, because he was determined to have some of mine.
The interesting thing was that as soon as my sandwich was gone, he went immediately to his cereal and gobbled it all down without hesitation.
He knows that his cereal is quite yummy, and under normal circumstances he doesn't hesitate to dive into it. But today his desire for something else kept him (temporarily) from enjoying his own food.
That made me think of a couple verses in scripture about the blessings God gives to us, and the way we respond to those blessings. Just as I don't give my son things that I don't think are good for him, God doesn't give us things that aren't good for us. James 1:17 says that all good and perfect gifts come down from the Father. And under normal circumstances, I would rejoice in those good and perfect gifts.
But sometimes something else comes along that God doesn't intend for me to have -- something that would be unhealthy for me. And what happens? Silly me, I stop focusing on the good things God has given me, and I start focusing on the things He hasn't given me. The result? I cease to enjoy the good things that God intended for me to have.
This is one of the great secrets of contentment -- to understand and have faith that what God has given me is far better than what He hasn't given me.
In Philippians 4:11, Paul says that he has learned to be content whatever his circumstances. What about you? Are you content? Or are you always distracted from what you do have by the things you don't have?
Last Thursday I did something I've wanted to do for a long time. I got up early in the morning and drove to New Hampshire to hike one of my favorite mountains -- Mount Chocorua. I say early, and I do mean early. Normally when I'm hiking, I hike with other people, and they never want to get started as early as I do. I left the house at 4:45 a.m.
Why did I want to get started so early? Because I wanted to be on the summit while the sun was still low on the horizon, on a cool fall morning. I had something particular in mind...the contrast of light and darkness.
The colors on the mountains are always interesting, but there's something special about the colors early in the morning and late in the afternoon. When the sun is low on the horizon, much of the land is in shadows, because it lies behind hills that block the sunlight. These areas of darkness make the light stand out as all the more beautiful.
As I stood on the summit looking out at the scenery around me, enjoying the fall colors, and appreciating that visual interplay of light and darkness, it occurred to me that in this simple scene, there was an important spiritual lesson for me.
"You are the light of the world," Jesus says. What Christ wants of me is that I be like an autumn leaf, ablaze with color, standing out brightly from the shadows of the dark world around me. Except, to be honest, I don't always feel all that bright. And suddenly it dawned on me (literally and figuratively!). The leaf, by itself, is not much to look at either; its true beauty comes from having the full glory of the sun shining upon it.
So it is with us. I, in myself, am just another dried up, dying fall leaf. But I'm not "just me" anymore; the full, glorious light of the Savior shines on me!
And if the world around me is in shadows and darkness, shouldn't I stand out all the more? 2 Corinthians puts it this way:
Like a fall leaf, I turn my face to the glorious Light of the World, and let his brightness transform me with ever-increasing glory!
As a math teacher, I love logic and logical puzzles. There is one kind of logical puzzle that I've always found particularly fascinating: logical paradoxes. Consider a piece of paper on which is written the following statement:
This statement contains threee mistaks.
What are the mistakes? "Three" is spelled incorrectly, and so is "mistakes." That's two mistakes. Oh! So the third mistake is that there are actually only two mistakes. But wait! That means there really are three mistakes. So that means it's not a mistake to say there are three mistakes. Which means there are only two mistakes, which means...
Okay, so consider this one:
This statement is false.
Clearly the statement can't be false, because if it is, that makes it true. But if it's true, that makes it false. Which makes it true, which makes it false, which makes it...
Or how about this one:
Is the answer to this question "No"?
I'll let you work out for yourself why this is paradoxical. :)
Do you know what all of these statements have in common? They are self-referencing. They are statements/answers that try to define themselves. In order to guarantee that paradoxes are avoided, nothing should be allowed to define or reference itself. It's a form of circular reasoning and circular defining that we do not allow in mathematics.
The concept of self-referencing paradoxes places a strict limitation on what is knowable by the human race. Science is the creation trying to understand itself. Psychology and sociology are examples of humanity trying to understand and define itself. The truth is, we are ill-equipped to understand ourselves or define ourselves. I'm not saying that science is bad -- merely that it is limited, and it is important for us to understand this limitation.
For a true understanding of our own nature, we would be wise to get an outside perspective rather than a self-referencing perspective.
Jeremiah 17:9 says exactly this. The word of the Lord says that the human heart is deceitful, and who can understand it? Then comes the answer from God himself: "I the Lord search the heart and test the mind."
This is no self-referencing analysis of humanity; this is the Creator Himself spelling out His own analysis of the thing He has created.
I don't know about you, but I'd rather take His view over anyone else's!