Midweek: Do You Love It Enough?

In thinking of the condition of our country and its citizens, in considering the upcoming election, I am reminded of G.K. Chesterton's words in his work, Orthodoxy. There are things for which I hope in the natural, but more than that, most of all, it is my prayer that God receive glory. In saying this, I share Chesterton's words with you today:

We say there must be a primal loyalty to life: the only question is, shall it be a natural or a supernatural loyalty? If you like to put it so, shall it be a reasonable or an unreasonable loyalty? Now, the extraordinary thing is that the bad optimism (the whitewashing, the weak defence of everything) comes in with the reasonable optimism. Rational optimism leads to stagnation: it is irrational optimism that leads to reform. Let me explain by using once more the parallel of patriotism. The man who is most likely to ruin the place he loves is exactly the man who loves it with a reason. The man who will improve the place is the man who loves it without a reason. ...I do not deny that reform may be excessive; I only say that it is the mystic patriot who reforms. ...The more transcendental is your patriotism, the more practical are your politics.

Perhaps the most everyday instance of this point is in the case of women; and their strange and strong loyalty. Some stupid people started the idea that because women obviously back up their own people through everything, therefore women are blind and do not see anything. They can hardly have known any women. The same women who are ready to defend their men through thick and thin are (in their personal intercourse with the man) almost morbidly lucid about the thinness of his excuses or the thickness of his head. A man's friend likes him but leaves him as he is: his wife loves him and is always trying to turn him into somebody else. ...The devotee is entirely free to criticise; the fanatic can safely be a sceptic. Love is not blind; that is the last thing that it is. Love is bound; and the more it is bound the less it is blind.

...Can he hate it enough to change it, and yet love it enough to think it worth changing? Can he look up at its colossal good without once feeling acquiescence? Can he look up at its colossal evil without once feeling despair? Can he, in short, be at once not only a pessimist and an optimist, but a fanatical pessimist and a fanatical optimist? Is he enough of a pagan to die for the world, and enough of a Christian to die to it? In this combination, I maintain, it is the rational optimist who fails, the irrational optimist who succeeds. He is ready to smash the whole universe for the sake of itself.

~ G. K. Chesterton

Orthodoxy

Forgiven and Full of Grace

Good morning. Your mother messed up. The reunion is at...

That was the text I sent out just hours before a family reunion. No big deal, right? We all mess up. Really nothing to forgive. But there are those times... You know the ones. We say something we can't take back or do something that will remain part of the annals of history forever. Sort of like Simon Peter. Have you ever noticed Peter's failures and foibles pepper the pages of the New Testament. Even after the sting of Jesus' rebuke had become a lesson learned, even after the serene and beautiful tableau of restoration in John's Gospel, Peter still can't catch a break. Peter's offenses become headline news again when, in his letter to Galatia, Paul says Peter "played the hypocrite" and Paul called him on it. (Galatians 2:11-20) We don't read anything of Peter's response, but he wrote extensively of grace in his letters. 

Grace and forgiveness are gifts I believe we radically undervalue and underestimate. I have just seriously begun plumbing the depths of both of these, but here are just a couple things I've discovered so far:

-- To allow oneself to be forgiven is to surrender to the power of the one who has been offended; it is to make oneself vulnerable, to ask for mercy or at least, to admit one is in need of it. It bears the responsibility of never committing the offense again, not necessarily because there will be punishment and not necessarily because of consequences, though those are persuasive elements; but because the one offended is even lovelier and more precious to the offender than before because of their mercy and forgiveness. There is an aspect of this person's character not necessarily seen or experienced before, and it is alluring and humbling to those who truly seek reconciliation. The alternative is to go off in anger and bitterness, dissolve the relationship, and discard anything of previous worth or potential worth. To not submit to forgiveness is the death of a dream.

-- Grace is not some sweet, gentle gift extended by a milquetoast God sitting in Heaven hoping someone will pay some attention to Him. Grace was diligently sought for by prophets of old, educated men who took seriously the promises of God. Why would they seek something of little significance or power? The grace that is to come is strong enough to do the heavy lifting of all my hopes, and yours, and the person sitting next to you, and your great-great grandchildren and their children who don't exist yet! Grace is limited only by the God who created the poodle moth and the goblin shark (look them up); as creative as our God, His grace is as multi-faceted. He will never run out of ways to show you His grace!

And whether your offenses are kept to something as commonplace as bad directions in a closed text or are spread across the internet like six-week old Tik-Toks, in Christ forgiveness and grace are yours. They are weapons of hope and healing and power. They give strength to relationships and deepen our connections. They achieve the impossible. They transformed the impulsive, sometimes brash Simon Peter into the apostle and saint who was fundamental in the establishment of the Church and zealous even in death. They can transform us as well.

Feeling Really Uncomfortable --Thank God!

The sense I should have said more --said something --gnaws at me. On Tuesday, I'd left the house to run some errands. Upon leaving, I realized I'd forgotten something and ran back inside. Upon making it halfway to the store, I realized I'd forgotten something else and had no choice but to turn around. When I finally made it all the way to the store, I entered and began to fill my list.

Excuse me, Miss. 

He called me Miss and not Ma'am --why wouldn't I answer? Turns out, he was looking for some advice on a product; would it help his cold. As he stood over me, telling me a strange story of how he caught this cold, I could feel the spray from his lips landing on my face. I politely attempted to distance myself. He continued telling me he was eager for the Kingdom of God to be established here on earth --this non sequitur occurred sometime after our second Have a good day; I hope it helps, and a Columbo-worthy Oh, just one more thing, Miss. I'm never not amazed at the rapid way the brain functions; thoughts raced through my mind. Is he mentally ill? He's really difficult to understand. I can not get sick! Is he just a lonely widower? He's neatly dressed. Does he have a shrine and newspaper cutouts posted in his house somewhere? There are too many witnesses for him to try anything. Now, you're being crazy, Judi. Poor guy. Oh, my goodness, I cannot get sick!! Then I caught, or thought I caught the words "JW-dot-org." Wait, is he Jehovah's Witness? Seconds later, Yep! There it is again. Now, what do I say? Mind you, all the while, the clock is ticking. I've been delayed twice just trying to get to this place; this little sidebar just seemed like divine appointment. But I wasn't having any of it. This is out of my wheelhouse, Jesus! At that point, I looked for any way I could to end the conversation and made a hasty exit. 

And now, today, the sense I should have said more --said something --gnaws at me.

It gnaws at me because I believe with surety it was divine appointment. Because I willfully chose not to obey. Because I placed the priority of my list over the eternal life of another and over God's command to Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you. (Matthew 28: 19, 20) Because I didn't know what to say, nor did I ask the Holy Spirit for the words. Because --and this is the wickedness of my old nature --I said to myself, "Well, maybe God didn't exactly expect me to talk to him about Jesus. Maybe He just put him there so I can pray for him." Ugh! Yes, I actually spoke that drivel in my heart. The man struck up a conversation with me! Of course I was supposed to talk to him about Jesus!

Have I asked Jesus to forgive me, to change me, to give me the grace to obey Him, to provide me with the words? Yes, and I am grateful for that. Have I pledged myself to repentance? Yes, I even asked Him for another shot --though reluctantly, I admit, because I figure it will come at a time when I am even more hurried and more distracted by the potential for getting sick. But if the second call to obey is not more uncomfortable for me to answer than it was the first time (see John 21:15-19), how will I know I have received the grace of the King of kings? How will I know it is in His strength and under His sovereignty I now live? What will I have learned from all of this gnawing?

He who disdains instruction despises his own soul,
But he who heeds rebuke gets understanding.
~ Proverbs 15:32

Midweek: Dragon Slayer

Once upon a time, there was a valiant knight. He was known throughout all the land as the Slayer of Serpents, the Deliverer of Damsels, and the Protector of All Things Pure. There was not a foe who could defeat him. That is, until a dragon came calling.

The knight was spending an afternoon sparring with some squires. Training was arduous work; his muscles ached, and his armor chafed his skin. Sweat flowed from his brow and burned his eyes. His sword seemed to grow heavier with each thrust. Suddenly, the sky grew dark, and the wind began to swirl. The squires fled, but the knight drew himself up and stood fearless, armed and ready to meet his foe should he dare to show himself. Dare, he did, and a dragon lunged forth out of the darkness and leaned slowly toward the valiant champion's ear. 

Lay down your weapons, O valiant one, the beast goaded. 

Do you think me a fool? I will not, was the knight's reply.

Pick up this razor wire instead, said the fiend. It is a much better tool against me in the hands of an adversary such as yourself. I need not tell you how to use it to slay me; you are able and mighty. Surely you know that by wrapping yourself and all of your world in it, you would be safe from harm. If I so much as dare to come near you or those you love, I would be sliced to ribbons and meet my fate. I would be gone, and you would be a greater victor than you are today.

The cavalier looked at the razor wire. I could wrap all I love in this. The enemy can hardly help himself; he will charge me and be decimated upon it. He will lie down in eternal sleep and torment no one again.

And with that, the fearless knight flung his shield, wrenched off his armor, threw his sword to the ground, and picked up the razor wire. It cut him mercilessly as he wrapped it around his arms, his legs, his torso. He set to work, binding the whole of the kingdom tightly within its grip. It dug into his flesh and the flesh of those he loved as he wrapped each one tightly again and again. He became more entangled as he toiled, and the razor wire slowly severed his limbs; the pain was excruciating, but he pressed on believing this vile bondage to be not only the better weapon, but now, the only weapon. There was no turning back: just a few more twists and all the kingdom, thoroughly swathed, would see the dragon meet his demise!

But the dragon simply leaned back and smiled. All the knight loved, every bit of himself was bound and bloody, slashed and torn within the razor-sharp mass. The kingdom and its inhabitants were broken and weak. The once courageous warrior was a shell of his former self, his blood running in streams to the feet of the hideous beast. And pleased with the offering, the dragon lapped it up as he stared straight into the fading eyes of the collapsed hero.

~~~~~~~~

For those caught in addiction, for those who have sought to mitigate their pain and trauma, their fear and angst through the abuse of substances, the story of the knight is no fable. His choices were foolish; he believed an obvious lie. But he had a voracious appetite for normalcy and a willingness to try anything at his disposal. He was tenacious, pushing on in the nonsensicality of the scheme, hoping things would, at some point be turned around, even though he'd chosen the worst path possible. The razor wire of addiction begins with a lie. This just might work. This is just for now. Those caught in addiction are some of the most hopeful people I know: their hope, however, is in the worst of solutions. What follows is a harsh dose of reality, as the first cuts are made.  And the lie no longer holds any enticement, no promise of victory. Only failure. You have failed your people, you have failed your kingdom, you have failed yourself. The bonds of shame are sure to hold them in the razor wire's grip. But a greater Hero, the One True King can set them free! 

The Lord gives freedom to the prisoners.

The Lord opens the eyes of the blind;

The Lord raises those who are bowed down;

The Lord loves the righteous.

The Lord watches over the strangers;

He relieves the fatherless and widow;

Psalm 146:7-9