://the open hand of God

I've been struck recently with the extent of need in the world--and not only with that, but also with the gravity and purport of Christ's command to meet it.

The idea of generosity (or "openhandedness", as I've caught myself calling it) has been kept before my eyes in a rather large measure as of late. It was missions week at Calvary this past week, and so I have been given the privilege to play a part in that through giving; but more than that, I just returned home from attending another youth group, and the pastor had (and has had) it on his heart to teach about giving--to share about sharing, if you will.

I have always wanted to develop a reflex of generosity and sacrifice, but sometimes we just need a swift kick in the rear to get on our knees and begin to pray about it (you know how it is). I think that today (as well as last night, at the missions prayer rally), I got that swift kick. 

Jesus teaches us that the tighter we squeeze and try to hold on to what we have, the more it will slip from our grasp--a sort of spiritual Jell-O. "For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it." So then why are we so stingy with our gifts? We like to think of such sacrifice as a good spiritual principle, but many of us doubt its practicality. God has gifted us with so much, so why aren't we commensurately wildly generous with it? Are we afraid that God won't meet our needs? Here's what Jesus has to say on the matter: "Jesus said, 'Truly I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or farms, for My sake and for the gospel's sake, but that he will receive a hundred times as much now in the present age, houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and farms, along with persecutions; and in the age to come, eternal life'" (Mark 10:29-30). God is eager and able to respond to our sacrifice with His openhandedness. 

But I don't mean to boil this down to a system of deeds and rewards. Western culture is motivated by incentives--God's people are motivated by the Holy Spirit. We can be blessed with the material gifts, but if we are not imbued with the Spiritual (big "S") generosity necessary for sharing those gifts with a glad heart, then we have gained no ground. And not having Spiritual generosity is no excuse not to give; it's a perfect excuse to come before God and ask for the gift of giving.

There's one more thing that I'd like to add. Giving is an individual responsibility, not a corporate one. When the opportunity to give arises--whether it be in tithing, doing the dishes, or praying for a brother--we are tempted to say to ourselves, "Someone will take care of that." But when that notion is predominant, needs everywhere are liable to go unmet. We need to develop a reflex. Instead of saying to ourselves, "Someone has to", we need to say, "I have to."

Peace and grace,

Stephen

Alive

How wonderful is life's first breath, as consciousness floods the mind with its first waking thought, a divine union of Spirit and flesh; a life being born.

A cry, a wail! The unfamiliarity overwhelms the newborn babe, as wonder and elation contrast with fear and confusion; such a rush of emotion, too overwhelming to be contained.

How delicately stimulating is the mother's touch, as she caresses her child, closely to her warmed chest.  The infant naps; peacefully dreaming, heart thumping, lungs filled with air.  The innocence; so pure and vibrant as to create an atmosphere of transcendence.

Oh! How beautifully mysterious, how undeniably purposed; the Breath of Life granting sentience, as a gift ever-giving.  A life being born, this divine union of Spirit and flesh; this new life being born.


Andrew

://answering the call

I don't know whence comes this common notion that being a Senior in high school is something enviable. It's a dreadful amount of work, coupled with an overwhelming lethargy and the responsibility that comes with being an autonomous adult. Add to that the burden of fleshing out your future--and if you have a relationship with Jesus Christ, fleshing out your calling--and it is, generally speaking, a very frustrating epoch.

For me, there is always a very legitimate fear of letting my own desires interfere with my calling. There is always a possibility of my own caprice sending its impish signals into the airwaves to scramble my legitimate calling (which I should hope is scheduled to broadcast rather soon).

I can't imagine that I'm alone in this fear. Anyone reasonably mature in Christ should want to answer their calling instead of fabricating their own. It's a tough balance to strike, but I think the more sensible of us know that there are much greater benefits, fruits, and blessings to going where the Spirit is already than contriving to go some place and expecting the Spirit to catch up. I regard such judgment as prudent, but we can lead ourselves into a pernicious trap, if we are not mindful.

There is always a danger of becoming paralyzed waiting for a calling. We let opportunities pass us by, and justify our passivity by saying to ourselves, "Well, that's not my calling". We sit and wait to hear the call that God has for the greater scheme of our lives--and attentively we wait, perhaps--but in becoming so focused on the big picture, many of us miss the day-to-day calling to serve and to give and to be humble.

I consider the recent calamity in Japan, and all of sacrificial people that are aiding in the recovery come immediately to my prayers. This is a category of people--not all of them Christians, I'm sure, but nevertheless--who are answering the day-to-day call to love and to bear another's burden. Could I even imagine myself going into a country where there is death and ruin and radiation all around me? I am ashamed to say that my own selfish sense of self-preservation compels me to say no, even though "there is no greater love than this: that a man lay his life down for his friend". In any event, I would likely try to excuse myself by saying, "I don't feel called there".

And yet I am! We all are! We are, to a man, called to love, to sacrifice, to pray, to suffer ourselves when even one member of Christ's body suffers. I'm not proposing that we all make a quick hop across the Pacific to aid in the Japanese relief effort--though what a great display of Christian generosity and openhandedness that would be--but I am exhorting my readers not to miss the opportunities that are presented to them day by day.

Don't shrink back from the calling that lives and breathes from moment to moment. Cultivate willingness and a reflex to say "yes" to God. "Prepare your mind for action", as Peter writes (and that phrase has an interesting Greek idiom that would be a rich topic for another time). Be ready, so that when the time comes, you will not be of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved.

Stephen

Vanity

In case you were wondering, I strongly recommend never working in the fast-food industry.  My recent employment with McDonald’s has done very little good at all, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to share a brief list of my complaints (to be taken light-heartedly, of course):

1. While working with fast-food, you do the same thing everyday:  Take an order, prepare the order, present the order, fake a smile, clean up the order. Repeat.
2. You serve the same people everyday. (No joke; there is a family that literally eats dinner at McDonald’s every night...I role my eyes the minute I see them walk through the doors).
3. It’s never not busy.
4. Between school and work, I’m left with hardly any time to do things I enjoy doing (McDonald’s has consumed my social life!).

Now before this turns into a rant on my dislike for McDonald’s, there is a principle about work in general that I am moving towards.  The book of Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament captures the idea perfectly.  It says “when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.”  

The book of Ecclesiastes is one of my favorite books.  It is alarmingly truthful and insightful, and if any of you have ever read it, you know what I’m talking about.  If I had to summarize the book of Ecclesiastes in one word, it would be “vanity”.  Dictionary.com defines the word “vanity” as “a lack of real value; hollowness; worthlessness”.  Solomon uses this word in his description of human work, asserting that “all work done under the sun is vanity”.  That means that school is vanity.  Sports are vanity.  Our careers are vanity.  We will all depart from this life someday, and only the memory of our work will be left behind. 

I am afraid that some of us might misunderstand Solomon, so I must point out that laboring for the Kingdom of Heaven is not vain at all.  Just because the things of this earth are fleeting, doesn’t mean they are good-for-nothing.  God has created this world and everything in it; this world is good.  Our work becomes vain when we take what God intended for good, and use it for our own agendas.    

When we boil life down to what truly matters, two things remain: God and His creation.  God sent Jesus to die so that we may have eternal life through Him.  I believe that our work (when applied rightly) can be an investment into this eternity. We can lead others to Jesus, we can worship God and delight in Him, we can live using our gifts as an eternal investment.  When our lives are focused on God (through worship and devotion) and His creation (by love and ministry) our work becomes life-giving.  And that, my friends, is a job worth doing.

Andrew 

Ecclesiastes 12:13-14 “Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter:  Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is man’s all.  For God will bring every work into judgment, including every secret thing, whether good or evil.”

Getting serious.

I am convinced that we are in constant danger of taking ourselves way too seriously, while not taking others seriously enough.

~Stephen

://depth

I find, in my prayers and in my life, that I have these seasons where I tend to hover around certain words and concepts. I'm not sure which is the fountainhead and which is the effluence--whether the words precipitate the ideas or vice-versa--but whatever the case may be, I can more or less tell when I've been in contiguity with something profound for an extended period of time. I have noticed words like "purpose", "relationship", "vitality", and "vision" (to name but a few) all pass through my vernacular with ebbing frequency, and there is a marked effect on me produced by each.


Lately, that word has been "depth".

Now, "depth" can mean a great many things, but as far as I use it now, I mean it in the sense of "profundity", or having incredible relevance to humanity and our relationship with God. The best example that I can presently think of would be Paul's doxology in his epistle to the Romans: "Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!" These things are massive, and must be encountered face-to-face before we can truly appreciate them.


Love, for instance, has such depth. We hunt for someone to fill the God-given gap in our hearts, but we often have little--if any--idea of what we will find when we reach our end. Parenthood is deep as well; for those of us who look forward to having a child (or four) when we grow older and get married, there is an inexorable hope and expectation, but one that pales in comparison with the experience of at last beholding your first-born, holding them in your arms, and moving on to cultivating your own flesh and blood.


Those are probably two of the more positive things of which we can say as having depth, but sorrow has depth as well as joy. Death cannot be prepared for. When we lose someone very dear to us (if we haven't already), there is an overwhelmingly acute and poignant pain that can only be understood by those who have also reckoned with such loss. Depression is just as incomprehensible; there exists despair that runs so deep that it would welcome death, if only to end the suffering.


My bottom line is this: we so are bound by our naivete and impoverishment of life-experience as to be ignorant of the true meaning--indeed, the true depth--of a whole host of experience. We cannot hope to gain the lovely things prematurely, nor can we hope to immunize ourselves against the dreadful things.


I can say with the utmost confidence that everyone has deep wounds, incomprehensible to the outside world. But as confident as I am of that, I am even more confident that Christ is deeper than our wounds. God is never daunted by our frailty--He sent His Son to confront it. "Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth does not become weary or tired. His understanding is inscrutable. He gives strength to the weary, and to him who lacks might He increases power." God runs a course so deep in our hearts, compared to which our deepest scars are but surface scratches, shallow troughs over which God's sea of abundant grace and provision may overflow. We cannot comprehend the depths of God's riches until we come face-to-face and toe-to-toe with Him ourselves, and we will find there the most unsearchable depths, and the most divine healing.


Peace and grace
Stephen

://climax

I'm currently exhausted. Today, I've lost an hour of sleep, traveled from one state to the next, and have subsisted on little more than Sonic, gelatinized candy, and sketchy camp food.

Being the type of person I am, I can hardly ever come out of weekends like this with less than copious introspection. I suppose I should rewind; when I say, "like this", I say that having spent this weekend at a winter retreat for a youth group in Wisconsin playing for the worship team with Dunker, Andrew, Caleb, Kelli, Dana, and Darien. It was adventurous, but only insofar as it's not every weekend that you get to drive 6 hours out-of-state to bless another ministry with your gifts.

Otherwise, I suppose, the weekend was kind of anti-climactic.

That statement should come with some qualification. I by no means mean to say that the weekend was boring, or banal, or mundane, or that the weekend wasn't worth my trouble. Quite the contrary; I have the fullest confidence that what the team and I have done this weekend will have a lasting impact on the lives of the students and Pastor Jeff's ministry.

So when I call the weekend "anti-climactic", I mean it in a twofold fashion: for me spiritually, and for me exclusively. I spent the entire weekend listening intently for God's voice, listening for the encouragement or challenge or pivotal moment that seem to be so prevalent in winter retreats. To my consternation, such never came.

It was during my obligatory introspection that I realize that perhaps I have some wrong impressions about spiritual growth. I guess I oftentimes hope that my spiritual walk will consist of an emotionally charged sojourn intermittently interrupted--but never stifled--by climactic embraces by which we mark off our lives. Not only is that not how walking with Christ works, I have to imagine that if it were, it would be exhausting. For myself, constantly trying to maintain some sort of contrived spiritual level would mean a lot of frivolous, taxing, and artificial striving, and I think that anyone who sees what I'm saying would agree.

I have been walking with Christ for the last two and a half years, and if there's one thing that I've learned during that time, it's that the calling of God is not one of great leaps and bounds, but of quiet steps, one after the other. We may find, from time to time, that the consistency and obeisance with which we have followed these steps brings us to soaring heights, menacing depths, and the dullest doldrums--all in their turn--but these are not the things by which we measure our spiritual growth. None of us wants to feel led along by forces that seem so out of our control--namely, design--but by taking such assiduous and decided steps, where we are, we will be by the Providence of God, and we find in those places incredible depth of meaning and purpose.

So now here I sit, not discouraged in the slightest by the sense of banality with which I view my weekend, but contented with the faintest sense of a job well done. I will close my weekend out with a time of prayer, and in all likelihood, it will be one, not of incredible portent, but of quietly sitting before God, and basking in His peaceful presence.

Peace and grace,

Stephen