Breaking Inertia

The hardest part is just getting started. Today was back to school day. The kids are all extra tired, overwhelmed, convinced that their subjects are too hard and their days are too long, at least one of their teachers is too strict, and sure that something like a 5-paragraph essay looms in the near future. "Yes, that may be true" begins the Dad reply, "but you have just done the hardest part--you have broken inertia." [Disregard the "what's inertia?" whine.]


Supertechnically, there must be more inertia in late August facing a return to *school* than there is keeping the space shuttle on its launch pad. Gravity must have greater influence in the matters of transitioning a child's orientation from Summer to Fall. But the hardest part is over. To fully break free from the gravitational pull of summer will take a full month, true. But the hardest part of the hardest part is over.


So it is with all of us, whether we return to school or to the post-summertime routine. Ah, yes, but the hardest part is almost over now that we have crossed through that eventless/eventful "first day" threshold. Perhaps there will be a groove we can all find. Perhaps there will be an updraft we can all navigate. Perhaps there will be a little more confidence, a little more determination, a little more delight in "day two." Perhaps we will find that grace is already in place. Well ... you know ... the hardest part of the hardest part is just getting started. Lord, help us.

Can't Be Polite About This

To tell you the truth, I am so completely fed up … sick and tired … downright spitting angry at my pesky, tricky, uninvited, unrelenting tendency toward sin (e.g. my “flesh”). Grrr. No matter if I fill my mind with the higher virtues of grace and mercy, practice love and generosity, or meditate on patience and contentment—my “flesh” is there the whole time, as able to poison the work of God in me after a breakthrough in spiritual development as it is able to calcify the work of God in me after a breakdown in spiritual discipline. Double Grrr.

In our Christian subculture we often talk in such ways to suggest that one of our core values is politeness; that impoliteness is a chief sin. But I can't be polite about this—I hate sin. More specifically and because I have a front row seat, I hate my sin. I hate my expertise in sinning. I hate my self-justification before, during, and after sinning. I hate that my sins are thematic; that they are often the same core issues reemerging over and over again. I hate that my sin never remains just my sin; it eeks out to harm those whom I love dearly, whether directly or indirectly (there are no victimless sins). I hate, Hate, HATE this.

Sure, the Lord has caused me to be faithful with regard to those sins that are culturally unacceptable: stealing, murdering, speaking against University of Arkansas sports teams. But I hate my sin with regard to those culturally acceptable vices: self-righteousness, self-ambition, self-exaltation. True, these so-called “minor” sins rarely see the “light of day,” but they run like mice in the walls of my heart. “Don’t appear weak.” “Make sure he knows it was you who did that kind deed.” “Don’t be the first one to apologize.” “If you can’t win, don’t play at all.” “Keep some leverage for the future.” Triple Grrr.

But the piece that infuriates me most; I can’t overcome my “flesh” with my “flesh.” In other words, I am powerless to correct, not to mention cure, my internal bend toward self, which operates in league with the world system and the enemy (1 John 2:15-18). I cannot strengthen my resolve to stand against my pride, for instance, or else my resolve becomes self-righteousness because it does not spring from faith in Christ. I cannot strengthen my humility enough to undo my tendency to put my wants/needs ahead of those wants/needs of others or else my humility becomes a dead work. I cannot successfully tell myself, “Don’t think of revenge, don’t think of revenge, don’t think of revenge” without … you guessed it … thinking of revenge more than ever. In the end I am doubly wrong—for the sin and for the attempt at self-redemption to fix myself. I cannot overcome my “flesh” with my “flesh.” Hallelujah, we are forgiven for even these sins through the perfect propitiation of Christ’s sacrifice—nevertheless, I hate that I am powerless in my own strength to escape sin’s gravitation pull on me.

But there is hope. Although we cannot overcome our “flesh” with our “flesh,” we were never meant to be our own messiah. The one Messiah is Messiah enough for the universe and for all time. Stop trying to overcome and start trusting that Christ has already overcome the world, the devil, and yes … even the principle of sin housed in what we call “the flesh.” This is the life of faith—“put on the Lord Jesus Christ and make no provision for the flesh in regard to its lusts” (Romans 13:14). Grrreat is our God!

A Better Country

John Adams on the thrilling occasion of the successful vote to make a formal Declaration of Independence wrote to his wife Abigail back at the farm in Massachusetts, “I am apt to believe that [this day] will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the Day of Deliverance by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty” (David McCullough, John Adams, 2001, p. 130).

Language was drafted. A document was written. And on July 4, the Declaration of Independence was ratified, authenticated, and printed thus formally and publicly severing America’s allegiance with Great Britain. All of this, of course, was high treason; punishable by death—but the chance to create a better country from scratch was worth it.

It is a great page out of the history books; one that fills me with pride and gratitude. I wave the red, white, and blue with my chest out and my chin up. For many Americans this event is so sacred an event that even to suggest that it is eclipsed by a greater, a better, a higher idea sounds like betrayal.

Yet, there is something that eclipses even this euphoric nostalgia and reverie; as great and as proper as it is. Adams alluded to it himself in a letter written on the eve of the historic vote, “there is nothing on this side of Jerusalem of equal importance to mankind” (p. 126). America pales in comparison to the New Jerusalem.

Ours is a great history; but there is a better Story. Ours is a marvelous citizenship; but it is secondary at best to our true citizenship to the kingdom of Christ—just as real and true as our precious republic, and even more so, though it is temporarily invisible. Our ideal civil government with its genius balance of power, “of the people, by the people, and for the people” is gloriously eclipsed by “the Son given to us upon whose shoulders the government will be, whose name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6).

Ours is a good country; but there is an even better country still…infinitely so. Come, Lord Jesus.

“All these died in faith, without receiving the promises, but having seen them and having welcomed them from a distance, and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a country of their own. And indeed if they had been thinking of that country from which they went out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for He has prepared a city for them” (Hebrews 11:13-16).

Soul Addition

Soul addition, what a concept. I am sure that I am not alone in my ability to mindlessly rattle off several of the usual culprits and conditions that famously subtract from the soul. [Deleted is my quick list that offers nothing constructive--ugh!] But to list ingredients that actually add to the soul ... now that is tough. And if I have difficulty in thinking of soul-health-additives, then how precarious is my soul at the edge of malnutrition.

With the season of summer, the *sigh* in the middle of the year, and the blessing of vacation, I want to be about soul addition. Brainstorm with me--what adds to the soul? And more specifically, what adds to your soul? My list is just an impetus. Add your own edits.

*Silence adds to my soul (in limited doses)

*Natural beauty and grand, non-industrialized landscapes add to my soul

*Laughter, music, coffee, and art add to my soul

*Tears for someone other than myself (admittedly rare) add to my soul

*Companionship can add to my soul, but not to the exclusion of solitude

*Realizing my incredible smallness in comparison to the current in which I swim surprisingly adds to my soul

*Fresh-fruit smoothies and the Sunday comics must make this list of soul addition

*A sharp pencil with a good eraser and a blank sheet of paper adds to my soul

*Deliberate "pausing"--being intentionally unproductive--adds to my soul (but I cringe each time)

*Exercise adds to my soul, especially hiking on new-to-me trails

*Fireflies at dusk and dragonflies at noon add to my soul (not mosquitoes, however)

*Experiencing the bliss of my wife and children when they are finding soul addition adds to my soul

*Crumbling up this and all lists adds to my soul...

Birthday Contemplation

"Happy Birthday, Daddy!" the kids told me this morning as if they didn't remember accusing, umm I mean wrongly concluding, that I turn 45 instead of 35 today. After all, what is one digit in the tens column? It is just a number, right? It is just being born in 1964 instead of 1974. It is just a decade. [On the subject of feeling 45 years old instead of the 35 years that I actually am, I will not comment here (smirk!)]

As is common, my birthday used to be the most important day of the year for me--or at least tied with Christmas, which was a "me" day all the same. Birthdays are not such a big deal anymore. By comparison, my anniversary is far more significant a milestone each year. For that matter, my wife's birthday is a far more brilliant day in the cosmic scene of things. And for that matter, my kids' birthdays are more highly decorated than my birthday as well. My birthday might rank somewhere near Groundhog Day (February 2) or Flag Day (June 14)!

"What do you want for your birthday?" went the conversation this birthday-eve. Sure, I want a pair of channel-lock pliers large enough to fix that PVC pipe fitting on the garden pond waterfall. Sure, I want a steak and potato on the grill. Sure, I want a camera that can actually do a decent job with depth-of-field aperture shots. But I would far rather save up any blessing that might come to me on "my" day and pass it along to my wife and kids. I can honestly say that I don't need anything more or want anything different for my brithday--I already have it in spades.

Anyway, such is my birthday contemplation. But, as it seems in my head as I write these sentiments, any contemplation about important days during my humble trips around the sun must esteem one day above the others; my death and re-birth day, when by faith I died with the Lord Jesus and in faith rose again in His resurrection ... the day God caused me to connect all these dots, confessing with my mouth that Jesus is Lord and believing in my heart that God raised Him from the dead resulting in salvation (Romans 10:9-10) ... the first Sunday in January 1991.

Pesky Patterns

Why does it have to be this way? Act I. In order to clean up the bedroom--I mean really clean it--we first have to make it messier. Out come the boxes and clutter from under the bed. The dust bunnies have to be herded into open before the vacuum can pull them into the corral. The winter clothes have to relinquish their hangers before the spring clothes have a spot in the closet. Two hours into the project, the bedroom is most definitely messier than it started. Granted two more hours later the bedroom looked and smelled great! But the pattern is a kick in the ribs--messier before cleaner.

Why does it cost money to save money? Act II. As a family, we decided to trim back on our utilities bill. The home phone is hardly used as our cell phones are always on, so off with that feature. The extra cable stations show nothing but infomercials, Texas Hold 'Em games (is that even a sport?!), and reruns of Hannah Montana, so off with that feature. The high-speed broadband Internet signal ... well ... two out of three is a good start, let's just leave that feature alone. [Anyway, the chances for family mutiny greatly increase with threats to tamper with the Internet connection.] But in chopping off those two features, we no longer qualify to get the "bundle" rate on Internet and basic cable so the savings per month were not nearly as deep as we hoped. And, on top of that, we also had to return the equipment the cable company was "loaning" us as a perk with the larger service package. So in the end, we had to pay $50 to save $60. The pesky pattern holds.

Why does spiritual growth require pain? Act III. We all want to grow in our spiritual maturity, but there is always destruction before there is construction. It is never just starting afresh and anew; there must be excavation of the heart and the mind, plumbing the depths of personal motives, confessing sin, and initiating conversations that have been long avoided. Two steps into the process and we are far more broken than we bargained. Faith says two steps more before we see any progress, but the pattern is easily disheartening; disheartening, that is, unless we doggedly keep the end result in sight.

Lord, answer me, demanded Job. But God's answer was too much for Job to stomach. Lord, show me Your glory, Moses prayed. But the glimpse unglued him. Lord, allow that my sons, James and John, sit at Your right and Your left. But the request was far too bitter for them to endure. Lord, please take this thorn in my flesh away, pleaded Paul in triplicate. But the removal of this pain would unravel so much that the Lord had already cultivated in Paul's heart and mind.

Were it not for the promise of the Lord's presence, none of us could bear this pesky pattern--brokenness yielding restoration, mourning yielding dancing, weeping yielding rejoicing. But we have a High Priest who not only knows this pattern theoretically from a distance. Our High Priest knows this pesky pattern experientially and so empathizes with all who follow Him through pain to paradise. Lord, please take this cup from Me ... not My will, but Yours be done.

Working Your Part

Good job, good job … in a close game an R.B.I. is just as good as a hit—applauded my daughter’s softball coach. Her teammates cheered in agreement, “Yeay, Emma!” Though narrowly thrown out at first base, she drove in a lead-changing runner from third base. It was marked down as a fielder’s choice in the box score, but Emma showed a question mark on her face. “Dad, what’s an R.B.I.?” she asked me through the chain link fence as I sat in the drizzle in a faded blue fold-out chair. This was her first at-bat in her first game in her first season of softball. “An R.B.I. is a run-batted-in … you forced the other team to make a throw to first base to get you out so that your teammate could score. In a close game, an R.B.I. is as good as a hit. You worked your part so the team could succeed.” “Oh.” The significance still hadn’t dawned on the rookie.

“Oh!” Working your part so the team could succeed—the significance still hasn’t fully dawned on the veteran either. The month of May brings many things—flowers, pollen, end-of-the-year testing, graduation, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day—but it also brings analogies for life from the ball field. Though most of us do not wear team jerseys anymore, we are still players on many teams: family, work, community, church, etc. Yet, do we often realize that our individual contribution plays a larger role in the team’s success? Our participation sets into motion, creates the space, offers the time, holds back the opposition so that success, growth, advancement, progress, unity can mark a run scored in the cosmic box score. It is never just a random at-bat that leaves no mark in the overall team experience—it is one of relatively few at-bats that causes the other team to expend the energy to pitch and catch, that elevates the pitch count, that weakens the pitcher’s arm for later innings, that could allow her fastball to lose some steam, that could allow another player make contact with a pitch she could not turn on in earlier innings, that requires the shortstop to have to run deep into the gap to field the groundball, that leaves her off balance so that her throw to first base is off-target, that allows the game winning runner to reach third, so that when a rookie approaches the plate for the first time her humble contribution scores the lead-changing run. There is great significance in working your part so the team can succeed.

Paul said it this way, “the whole body [think: ‘team!’], being fitted and held together by what every joint supplies, according to the proper working of each individual part, causes the growth of the body for the building up of itself in love” (Ephesians 4:16). “Oh.”

What is your part? What is your role? What is your contribution? What is your piece? Yours is not a random at-bat; it is one of relatively few that counts within the entire flow of the team and the conclusion of the game. Work your part so that the team can succeed. Individual stats are meaningless when compared to the end result of the team. “Wow!” May the significance fully dawn on all of us.

Kevin Rees, May 1, 2009