Runner

Two minutes. One-hundred and twenty seconds. I decided to show mercy for our dog who is now on a chain all the time because she will not stay in the yard. She was loose for just two minutes and then she sprinted--faster than I've ever seen her sprint--to the wide open spaces. I hollered at the top of my voice. She didn't even look back. Was I a fool to show mercy (again)?

Did I mention it was somewhere close to 18-degrees that morning? So what! Did I mention that there was a 4-foot tall fence that surrounds the backyard? No problem! Did I mention that I had installed a "Stubborn Dog Invisible Fence" with the corresponding "Stubborn Dog Collars" which produce noise, vibrations and shocks at 10, 5 and then 2 feet around the perimeter of the boundary? Not even a hesitation! Did I mention the constant provision of food, water, shelter, company, pillows to sleep on, children to play with, another dog to pal around with, toys to chew, moles to dig up, squirrels to chase, flowers to sit upon, and a 30-something human who dutifully goes around with a shovel and ... well, let's just leave that to the imagination--what more could a 3-year old golden retriever want in life? Honestly. I am seriously asking this question. What more could she want? Apparently more than our family has to offer.

Is there a cure for a runner? Is there some incentive I can add to her life that will erase her need to escape? If dogs can be fools; Misty is a fool. But I cannot communicate to her doggie-heart the insanity of her running. There are cars out there on those roads and you, Misty, don't have a lick of street smarts. There are neighbors out there with rifles and you, Misty, look like a deer at full speed. There are people with the number for Animal Control already programmed into their mobile phones. There are not bowls of beef-flavored kibbles that magically appear every morning next to a bucket of fresh water. Why run? Why leave behind all that this family is freely offering you, Misty, for danger, starvation, and possible euthanasia out there in the "great beyond"?

But then I remember what a wise man once said on a previous episode of canine-escapism. Kevin, God must have given that dog to you for a reason. You must have a lesson to learn from that dog who runs.

Alas, it is true. Misty is a mirror. I am a runner, too. But God did find a way to communicate to my running-heart. He sent Jesus to "put on skin" so to speak, to live in the neighborhood, to speak our very dialect, in order to explain to us the Father (John 1:18). While I hollered at the top of my voice for Misty to come back to no avail, Jesus spoke in such a way that set the captives free, brought the dead to life, and still--in the most intense hours--opened not his mouth as a sheep led to the slaughter. While I have to tie up Misty now, Jesus holds us in without chains--He holds us in by grace. Grace that changes the heart. Jesus, cure my runner-heart with your transforming grace. "Prone to wander, Lord I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love. Here's my heart, oh take and seal it. Seal it for Thine courts above."

Long Winter's Nap

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house / Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse / The stockings were hung by the chimney with care / In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there / The children were nestled all snug in their beds / While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads / And mamma in her ‘kerchief and I in my cap / Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap …

These famous American verses were originally published in 1823 anonymously as “A Visit from St. Nicholas” (later attributed to Clement Clarke Moore—friend of Washington Irving—also attributed by some to Henry Livingston, Jr.). The poem, now culturally known as “The Night Before Christmas,” is arguably the most well-known American verse of all. But my eyes … my brain … my shoulders … my back … my feet … my entire material and immaterial being gets to lines 7 & 8 and then stops! Mamma and I settling down “for a long winter’s nap.”

Oh yes, the December rush is fully upon us all and it is only the second weekend in the month. Egad! All I want for Christmas is that “long winter’s nap”; a nap which “that lively old elf” actually interrupted in the poem … thanks for nothing, you imp! J I distinctly remember hearing these lines as a child and somehow connecting a long winter’s nap with hibernation somewhat like a bear’s—wow, that’s a long sleep, I used to think. Three decades later I don’t think that “hibernation” seems long in the slightest. It sounds just about right for December.

Astride the profound fatigue that finds the children all “nestled all snug in the beds” in the other room while “mamma in her ‘kerchief and I in my cap” still shuffling around long after bedtime there is a genuine aching for the material and immaterial rest we have in Christ. While “visions of sugar-plums dance” in the children’s dreams, my vision scans the horizon for the Christ who said, “It is finished!”

How can it be finished when there is still so much left to do? Ah yes, that is the creaturely way of looking at it—but the rest of Christ remains accessible through faith all the while. It is an active rest; a mobile rest even a sweaty rest in the middle of laboring with Christ. It is a rest that believes all the work left to be done is being done by God who now moves through His spiritually enabled people—the church. It is already all done and somehow not yet all “tied off.” And so December finds us still cemented to time and space and linear chronology, but the rest of Christ is real and it is here and it is exactly what this “decembered” papa in his night-cap needs to remember.

Resurrection

Falling, falling falling; the leaves are dropping now like rain, like snow covering the grass and my pick-up and the driveway. The branches and boughs must be content somehow to release the weight, responsibility, burden of all of their hundreds of thousands of broad leaves in light of the upcoming “long winter’s nap.” I can almost hear the exhale of relief after 8 months of labor of photosynthesis and hydration and evaporation and oxygenization as the November wind blows more of these gray-brown leaves to their mulch-heaps. But it is not a fatalism that November brings; it is a hope of April … a hope of the resurrection. The trees are just making space for the resurgence of life—new leaves can’t bud unless the old leaves are gone. “That which you sow does not come to life unless it dies” (1 Corinthians 15:36). The trees are banking on resuscitation. They are keeping no leaves in reserve just in case springtime doesn’t show up [old leaves which wouldn’t work anyway in the flipside]. Their “today” is impacted by their tomorrow. Tomorrow’s resurrection directly touches today’s decisions, morality, priorities and endurance.

After a long, exquisite, reasonable and detailed lesson on the necessity of the resurrection in 1 Corinthians 15, Paul adds this encouragement to his readers: “Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your toil is not in vain in the Lord” (15:58). Steadfastness, immovability, endurance—these are a direct result of the firm belief in the resurrection in the Lord. Today’s toil is not what we have to muddle through just killing time until the resurrection. No! We toil today “knowing that [our] toil is not in vain in the Lord” … the same Lord who told Martha earlier in a similar context where the resurrection of the dead was kind of relegated to the hereafter and erroneously divorced from the toil and worry and pain of today. “Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies. And everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this?’” (John 11:25-26). Present tense—I am the resurrection and the life. Present tense—Martha, do you believe this, right now in mourning, right here in the graveyard? Tomorrow’s resurrection is arguably the most concrete and reliable piece of our today. The fact of Christ’s resurrection—foretold, accomplished, witnessed, recorded, passed on through preaching (1 Corinthians 15:1-11)—trumps all other “facts” that fill our days. And every day we have the question placed to us: “Do you believe this?”

Do we believe the resurrection in the hospital room, in the courtroom, in the living room, in the bedroom? Do we believe the resurrection in the quiet, in the noise, in the soft, in the hard? Do we believe the resurrection when all human hope is gone, when all bets are lost, when all dreams have become nightmares, when all delights have turned to ash in our experience? Today—especially a “today” that is painful—is exactly the moment where resurrection needs to be remembered. After all, resurrection is the signature miracle of our great God and Savior—bringing life out of death. Are we making space by faith for the resurgence of life?

To See or Be Seen

On a rare "date night" my wife and I headed toward the city to increase our restaurant options. We had a babysitter for the kids, a gift card for the meal, a couple of hours for each other, and about 100,000 motorcyclists with whom we shared the road. It was the annual "Bikes, Blues & BBQ" rally; the interstate was literally clogged to a stand-still. It is apparently one of the largest bike rallies in the country.

We saw Harleys and Hondas, trikes and choppers, ape-hangers and air-brushed flames, campers pulling trailers loaded with bikes and bikes pulling trailers loaded with camping gear. We even saw a couple of 14-year old boys pulling onto Highway 412 squeezing every ounce of power out of their 49cc engines achieving, maybe, 40 mph. Whether it was the various expressions of chrome and leather, red, white and blue wind-resistant accessories, Kevlar bodysuits and suede fringe, rebel and POW-MIA flags or the music exhibitions, the food presentations, the bike demonstrations, and the Miss BB&B beauty competition -- this rally was apparently the place to see and be seen on the first day of October.

It is no surprise that we promptly turned north while the line of traffic crawled southward. We had our hearts set on ... not on seeing and being seen by 100,000+ bikers and bike-admirers, but set on ... knowing and being known by each other after at least a month since our last time together without the children.

Seeing and being seen might entertain us for one weekend a year (but not for us; not this year!), but as humans we were designed by God to know and be known. We are relational beings. Knowing each other and God and being known by others and by God is exactly where the good and eternal life begins.

"And this is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent" (John 17:3).

Glorify

My father sent me a note and a verse along with a prayer. I was fresh out of the hospital and still involuntarily “bent over” from my recent abdominal surgery.

“And there was a woman who for eighteen years had had a sickness caused by a spirit; and she was bent double, and could not straighten up at all. When Jesus saw her, He called her over and said to her, "Woman, you are freed from your sickness." And He laid His hands on her; and immediately she was made erect again and began glorifying God” (Luke 13:11-13).

Everything was a chore while “bent over”—from laying back to sitting up to walking the steps. I guess I expected those, but I didn’t expect to have trouble sneezing and coughing, too. I can’t imagine carrying water or making supper or any of the slightest routines of life in the ancient world with which this real woman must have struggled for eighteen years. I was scantly bothered by eighteen days (and counting).

But my father in his note encouraged me to focus on the end result—“she was made erect again and began glorifying God” (vs. 13). No longer “bent over”—or at least 99% restored (my wife wonders if I have shrunk in stature!)—I am faced with the privilege of glorifying God. I am honored with putting my voice into the chorus of testimonies that calls the world to ascribe the weighty importance due God to God. This is glory. It is all God’s.

So whether it is eighteen years and then healed by one word from Jesus or eighteen (and counting) days and healed by Jesus slowly using doctors, antibiotics, pain medicine, the recuperative qualities of the human body and time—it is my turn and my distinct pleasure to glorify the mysterious God we serve.

I say “mysterious” because our God is also glorified a little later in the gospels by letting His friend Lazarus die in his sickness and begin rotting in the family crypt (John 11:4). And equally bizarre, our “mysterious” God tells Peter a small piece of “the kind of death [by which he] would glorify God” (John 21:19). Glory to God is not always obvious and it is not always unto life. Glory to God is often complex and invisible and impossible to comprehend without faith. Glory to God is deep and wide and even the culmination of our greatest fears and our slenderest prayers all converging in a single moment. Yet whatever the concoction of blood, sweat, tears giving glory to God is the whole-person bowing before the sovereignty of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit who not only is in control, but who is thoroughly good—saying along with Job, “Though He slay me, I trust in Him” (13:15).

I guess the real question as I stand more and more “upright” with each passing day, would I have given glory to God without the pain? Only God knows. All I know is that glory is His and I will not hesitate to ascribe to Him the glory due His name.

Goooooool

Goooooool. There is no other word necessary to understand this June. In some unexplained cosmic anomaly, American television won’t show 90% of the World Cup Soccer matches on any of its free stations. Ah, but hope is not completely gone because the all-Spanish-speaking programming of “Univision” has saved the month. The particulars of language become less important than the passion of the “beautiful game.” (For all non-soccer fans, I am sure that the American football season will start soon enough … hang in there!)

So here is the run-down: spanishspanishspanishspanish … ¡Sì! … spanishspanishspanish … ¡No! … spanishspanishspanish … ¡Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool! The encore “highlights” replayed on the Internet or the 10-second spot on the nightly news simply do not capture the magic of a “real time” goal scored in international play during the world’s most popular, most watched, most fanatical sports tournament on the planet. “¡Goooooool!” is the only word we need to know this summer.

How many hours do these players spend on the pitch (a.k.a. the soccer field) training, conditioning, strategizing, dreaming about making or defending against even one of these goals? How many dollars (or pounds or yen or euros or rubles) are spent in coaches, buses, airfare, or marketing—not to mention some of the highest paid athletes in the world?

Yet, when it really matters … far outside a sports tournament and deep inside the issues of humanity and eternity and spirit and truth … do we even a goal for life? Do we invest hours and dollars into an honest-to-God goal for godliness? Or do we merely burn them—hours and dollars both—without a serious thought toward the goal? What do hope to celebrate in those “rocking chair” years (Lord willing)? I can guarantee that if we aim at nothing, we are sure to hit it every time.

“So whether we are at home or away, we make it our ‘¡goooooool!’ to please him. For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil. Therefore, knowing the fear of the Lord, we persuade others. But what we are is known to God, and I hope it is known also to your conscience” (2Co 5:9-11).

The Elusive Side of Happiness

Sometimes I wonder if happiness is a form of denial. Now that I have your attention(!) let me explain that for a moment.

Since preaching on Psalm 1—“how blessed/happy is the person who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the path of sinners or sit in the seat of scoffers” (vs. 1)—I have been meditating on the part of happiness that seems particularly elusive, if not as downright slippery as a greased pig at the county fair. Sometimes I actually wonder if happiness is the coward’s way out; of chalking up the difficulties of life and the grievousness of sin by medicating myself into a false reality that “don’t worry; be happy” actually works. Biblical happiness is not this way, but I have caught myself thinking that happiness in [you fill in the blank] situation is inappropriate.

Happiness (wrongly) seems trite, like putting a Band-Aid® on the still-hemorrhaging tragedies of our experience. For instance, if I am happy now—just after I blew my top with [you fill in the blank] or just after [you fill the in the blank] really hurt me or just after watching footage of horrible carnage in the [you fill in the blank] part of the world—then I would be out of touch with reality, or treat sin lightly, or settle for far less than holiness in me and in others. Or to put it another way, it seems that somehow I do not deserve to be happy right now because, for instance, my [you fill in the blank] doesn’t want a relationship with me anymore or my dream of [you fill in the blank] must now be buried in the backyard next to last year’s pet gerbils. Happiness seems wrong because if I am happy now when [you fill in the blank] is still raging in the background, then I resign to this horrible heartbreak, capitulate and somehow convey that heartbreak doesn’t matter all that much.

But this is wrong reasoning, because God doesn’t endorse sin with His happiness. Even with the fatal sin of humans and the marring of humanity on a global scale God is still content in Himself; He is blessed/happy/fortunate. God is perfectly happy and His happiness is not a state of denial. He continues to be happy even when things are horribly wrong (humanly speaking). He continues to be happy even when the ones He created for relationship with Him and each other are twisted and mangled and neglected and abused.

While preaching Psalm 1 I wondered out loud and extemporaneously if there were any biblical references to the happiness of God—not thinking there were any. It turns out that there are at least two explicit references to the happiness of God. In the very sentence amid several examples of wrecked lives (1 Timothy 1:9-10) Paul praises God as “the blessed/happy God” (1:11). Again in chapter 6, God is given—as His very name—“the blessed/happy and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone possesses immortality and dwells in unapproachable light, whom no man has seen or can see. To Him be honor and eternal dominion! Amen” (1 Timothy 6:15-16).

So, being happy does not endorse, minimize, or excuse tragedy—it is a derivative of having a relationship with the God whose perfect, self-sufficient bliss is generously shared with us.