Brain-Damaged Believer (October 17, 2004)
Sam Kinison may have helped me solve a problem I've always had with Phineas Gage.
Kinison was a preacher-turned-comedian who flourished in the 1980s and was killed in a car accident in 1991. If you ever heard one of his stand-up routines, you would not believe that he had once been a minister. He was the most profane, vulgar, blasphemous comic of his (or maybe any) generation. He also drank, did drugs and cheated on his wife - deeds which all became grist for his comedy.
Until last week that was all I knew about Kinison. He was a creep (though a funny one) who fled the Lord and did ungodly things with manic energy. But then I saw a documentary which brought out some facts that made his life story very interesting. In the year before he died, Kinison started cleaning up his life, quitting the drugs and drinking and carrying on. A week before he died, he said to his best friend, Carl LaBove, "I don't know why I'm supposed to tell you this, but I feel I should tell you - get things right with God." LaBove answered, "Sam, if anybody needs to get it right with God, you do!" He agreed.
LaBove and Kinison's brother Bill were following Sam's car a few days later when it was involved in the head-on collision that took his life. When they raced to where Sam lay they heard him saying, "I don't want to die! Why now? Why? Why?" And he kept repeating, "Why? Why now?" Then, as Labove held him in his arms, Sam looked up and spoke as though to someone unseen. He said, "Oh. O.K...O.K...O.K," and, appearing to accept his fate peacefully, passed away. His brother said, "I don't think anybody could be there and not believe in an afterlife - not believe that he wasn't communicating with somebody." LaBove said, "Somebody said the right thing, and Sam heard it, and he left with them."
One more detail: when he was three years old Kinison had nearly been killed in another accident. A truck hit him, causing severe head trauma. He went into a coma and experienced grand mal seizures. His brother said that when they brought Sam home from the hospital, his personality had changed so much that he thought it was a different kid. Quiet, peaceful Sam suddenly became aggressive, impulsive and uncontrollable. He pretty much stayed that way for 35 years.
Why do I connect Kinison with Phineas Gage? Because Gage is the world's best known head-injury case. He was working as a railroad foreman in 1848 when a tamping iron, nearly 4 feet long and over an inch in diameter, shot right through his head. It entered below his left cheekbone, came out the top of his skull and landed 25 yards away, having blasted out a chunk of his brain. Amazingly, he remained conscious and alert. He rested a few weeks and went back to work.
But, in the words of his coworkers, he was "no longer Gage." Though still strong and intelligent, his personality degraded. His doctor wrote, "He is fitful, irreverent, indulging in the grossest profanity (which was not previously his custom), manifesting but little deference for his fellows, impatient of restraint or advice when it conflicts with his desires."
So - a good man lost a piece of his brain and turned bad. What does my Christian faith have to say about that? I'll admit that this problem has long nagged at me. I'd prefer to think that any man's kind and steady disposition is due to the moral choices he makes, or, if he is a Christian, to the presence of the Holy Spirit within him. But doesn't Phineas Gage (and others like him) give the lie to spiritual explanations of goodness? Do responsible behavior and calm temper turn out to be nothing more than the products of a well-ordered brain? I myself do not cuss, cheat, make lewd comments or rage out of control. But hit me hard enough in the head and it looks like I might do just that for the rest of my life. I cannot deny that the thought unsettles me.
But Sam Kinison's story may shed a little light. Because I'd like to think that, for all Sam's iniquities, and whatever their source, God had mercy on his soul. God knew more precisely than we ever could what percentage of Sam's immoral behavior came from his choices and what came from a truck-battered cerebrum. I think God kept working with Sam. His brother said that even through all the years of careening profanely through life, Sam still considered himself a Christian. If God abandoned Sam, then why toward the end of his life did Sam come stumbling back to God as well as his warped and impulsive nature would permit him? And if Sam were irredeemably reprobate, why would the Lord comfort him during his final breaths? (Assuming we accept his friend's and brother's interpretation of what happened in those final moments. I do.)
The Bible says that God "knows how we are formed. He remembers that we are dust."(Psalm 103:14). I'm thankful for that. I will assume that God's perfect justice takes into account all the blows that pound and buffet the dust we are made of. At the same time, I'll not forget that some us are made of perfectly serviceable dust, and suffer no great hindrance to choosing good. In my case, I can't say that I'm aware of any bone chip pressing against my brain that inclines me toward evil. It would be nice to have that excuse, but I don't. So I would do well to remember that the same Bible that assures us of God's understanding and mercy also warns, "To whom much is given, much will be required." (Luke 12:48).
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Humility And Success (October 10, 2004)
To fulfill a noble purpose you must first kill pride.
As I read Shelby Foote's classic history of the Civil War, I am amazed at how often grown men squabbled over petty differences as their nation teetered on the brink of ruin. With thousands of lives at stake, generals and statesmen (on the same side!) snapped at each other over insults and snubs and the issue of who would get glory or whose career would be advanced.
Much of Abraham Lincoln's greatness can be found in his ability to keep above that fray. One November night in 1861 he went to visit General George McClellan at his home in Washington. Informed by a servant that McClellan was at a wedding, Lincoln, along with Secretary of State William Seward and undersecretary John Hay, waited for him to get back. When the general returned, the servant told him that Lincoln was there to see him. McClellan walked right past the room where Lincoln and his associates sat. A half hour later, wondering about the delay, they sent the servant to fetch him and were told that he had gone to bed!
As the three trudged back to the White House, Hay angrily denounced McClellan's rudeness. But Lincoln, Foote writes, "quietly remarked that this was no time for concern over points of etiquette and personal dignity. 'I will hold McClellan's horse if he will only bring us success,' he said soon afterward."
You could almost say that Lincoln won the war right there. Lincoln had his priorities right. What mattered was winning, not worrying about little things like whether people treated him with respect. In
wartime, a leader must dismiss insults like an athlete dismissing minor injuries during a game. Stuff your ego. Take the pain. Play on.
(As it turns out, Lincoln was dead wrong about McClellan, whose ineptitude soon revealed him as maybe the worst general in the history of the United States. The vain fool couldn't win a game of tiddlywinks against children, much less secure victory for the Union. But no one knew that in 1861.)
In today's Chicago Tribune, I read that Joe Tinker and Johnny Evers, famed double-play infielders for the World Champion 1908 Chicago Cubs, hated each other. They had some falling out and didn't even speak to each other until the 1930s. But, as baseball historian Gabriel Schechter writes, "Their overriding desire to win overcame any personal problems." That “overriding desire to win” is exactly what basketball teammates Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant did not have this past season. The two best players in the game went down to defeat because neither could squelch personal pride for the sake of a higher purpose: another NBA championship.
Pastor Rick Warren has been reminding us all in recent years of the need to lead "purpose-driven" lives. Grab hold of a good purpose, like the glory of God, the evangelization of the lost, the edification of the church, or the pursuit of holiness - and don't let pride screw up your attainment of it. Be prepared, like Lincoln, to march right through the slings and arrows of outrageous offenses to your dignity. Don't let such piddly things deter you. You're big enough (that is, humble enough) to take it.
To fulfill a noble purpose you must first kill pride.
As I read Shelby Foote's classic history of the Civil War, I am amazed at how often grown men squabbled over petty differences as their nation teetered on the brink of ruin. With thousands of lives at stake, generals and statesmen (on the same side!) snapped at each other over insults and snubs and the issue of who would get glory or whose career would be advanced.
Much of Abraham Lincoln's greatness can be found in his ability to keep above that fray. One November night in 1861 he went to visit General George McClellan at his home in Washington. Informed by a servant that McClellan was at a wedding, Lincoln, along with Secretary of State William Seward and undersecretary John Hay, waited for him to get back. When the general returned, the servant told him that Lincoln was there to see him. McClellan walked right past the room where Lincoln and his associates sat. A half hour later, wondering about the delay, they sent the servant to fetch him and were told that he had gone to bed!
As the three trudged back to the White House, Hay angrily denounced McClellan's rudeness. But Lincoln, Foote writes, "quietly remarked that this was no time for concern over points of etiquette and personal dignity. 'I will hold McClellan's horse if he will only bring us success,' he said soon afterward."
You could almost say that Lincoln won the war right there. Lincoln had his priorities right. What mattered was winning, not worrying about little things like whether people treated him with respect. In
wartime, a leader must dismiss insults like an athlete dismissing minor injuries during a game. Stuff your ego. Take the pain. Play on.
(As it turns out, Lincoln was dead wrong about McClellan, whose ineptitude soon revealed him as maybe the worst general in the history of the United States. The vain fool couldn't win a game of tiddlywinks against children, much less secure victory for the Union. But no one knew that in 1861.)
In today's Chicago Tribune, I read that Joe Tinker and Johnny Evers, famed double-play infielders for the World Champion 1908 Chicago Cubs, hated each other. They had some falling out and didn't even speak to each other until the 1930s. But, as baseball historian Gabriel Schechter writes, "Their overriding desire to win overcame any personal problems." That “overriding desire to win” is exactly what basketball teammates Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant did not have this past season. The two best players in the game went down to defeat because neither could squelch personal pride for the sake of a higher purpose: another NBA championship.
Pastor Rick Warren has been reminding us all in recent years of the need to lead "purpose-driven" lives. Grab hold of a good purpose, like the glory of God, the evangelization of the lost, the edification of the church, or the pursuit of holiness - and don't let pride screw up your attainment of it. Be prepared, like Lincoln, to march right through the slings and arrows of outrageous offenses to your dignity. Don't let such piddly things deter you. You're big enough (that is, humble enough) to take it.
Sunday, October 3, 2004
Heaven’s Citizen On Earth (October 3, 2004)
My sons' high school is in mourning today. A student, Roosevelt (Rosie) Jones, collapsed and died while playing a pickup basketball game Sunday evening.
I knew Rosie. Not well, but I had met him and talked with him a number of times while playing ball at the YMCA. I have been favorably impressed with all the Neuqua High players I've met over the past couple years - they’re really good kids - but none was more courteous,pleasant or joyful than Rosie. He was a 6'5" skinny black kid, simple-natured, with a huge smile and a high-five for everybody, even for a fat, 40-plus white guy like me who didn't belong on the same court. I remember his eyes widening with eagerness when he asked me, "You a coach?" No, just a fan - but, hey, thanks for thinking I might be a coach.
After talking basketball with him one time I came home and told my son Ben that Rosie was one of nicest kids I ever met. Ben confirmed that he was just the same way at school. I later found out that Rosie was so popular that, in blowout games where Neuqua's subs got to play, students in the stands would chant, "RoSIE, RoSIE" till the coach put him in.
What I didn't know was that Rosie was a Christian. This morning's Chicago Tribune says that Rosie's "passion for basketball was exceeded only by his Christian faith." He led the team prayers, was active in his church, and planned to go to a Christian college in order to be an evangelist some day. I'm not surprised.
May God grant that his example continue to speak to those who remember him. Rosie not only articulated his faith, he lived it. By age 17 he achieved what I have always longed for but stumbled short of attaining - the grace to project Christ through transcendent personality. The Apostle Paul calls it being the "fragrance of Christ" (2 Corinthians 2:15). An aroma like that can live in the memory, and I pray it will do just that for those who knew Rosie. May many of them be drawn to the Source of Rosie’s joy.
My sons' high school is in mourning today. A student, Roosevelt (Rosie) Jones, collapsed and died while playing a pickup basketball game Sunday evening.
I knew Rosie. Not well, but I had met him and talked with him a number of times while playing ball at the YMCA. I have been favorably impressed with all the Neuqua High players I've met over the past couple years - they’re really good kids - but none was more courteous,pleasant or joyful than Rosie. He was a 6'5" skinny black kid, simple-natured, with a huge smile and a high-five for everybody, even for a fat, 40-plus white guy like me who didn't belong on the same court. I remember his eyes widening with eagerness when he asked me, "You a coach?" No, just a fan - but, hey, thanks for thinking I might be a coach.
After talking basketball with him one time I came home and told my son Ben that Rosie was one of nicest kids I ever met. Ben confirmed that he was just the same way at school. I later found out that Rosie was so popular that, in blowout games where Neuqua's subs got to play, students in the stands would chant, "RoSIE, RoSIE" till the coach put him in.
What I didn't know was that Rosie was a Christian. This morning's Chicago Tribune says that Rosie's "passion for basketball was exceeded only by his Christian faith." He led the team prayers, was active in his church, and planned to go to a Christian college in order to be an evangelist some day. I'm not surprised.
May God grant that his example continue to speak to those who remember him. Rosie not only articulated his faith, he lived it. By age 17 he achieved what I have always longed for but stumbled short of attaining - the grace to project Christ through transcendent personality. The Apostle Paul calls it being the "fragrance of Christ" (2 Corinthians 2:15). An aroma like that can live in the memory, and I pray it will do just that for those who knew Rosie. May many of them be drawn to the Source of Rosie’s joy.
Sunday, September 26, 2004
No Lies For Good Causes (September 26, 2004)
Value the truth. Cling to it more dearly than life itself.
A friend sent me a quote from 19th century Scottish novelist George MacDonald which read, "I would not favor a fiction to keep a whole world out of hell. The hell that a lie would keep a man out of is doubtless the very best place for him to go to. It is truth, yes, The Truth, that saves the world."
I researched that quote and found it came from a story where a minister meets a reclusive parishioner whose house is filled with books. The parishioner says that he has bound some of the books himself, and has done it so well that the minister would not be able to distinguish his bookbinding from that of a professional. He says, "I'll give you a guinea for the poor-box if you pick out three of my binding consecutively."
The minister goes to the shelves and actually does pick out three of the self-bound books. But when the bookworm, embarrassed, hands him the guinea, he refuses to take it on the grounds that his last selection was a random guess. Amazed and amused, the man rebukes his pastor: "Couldn't you swallow a small scruple like that for the sake
of the poor even?...You're not fit for your profession. You won't even tell a lie for God's sake...You won't even cheat a little for the sake of the poor!" That is when the minister responds by saying that he would not advocate a lie even to keep people out of hell.
Good for him. Once you compromise truth, you undermine all the good things (like helping poor people, or keeping sinners out of hell) that spring from truth. No good thing depends on a lie for its support, and no lie upholds some goodness that wouldn't be better off without it.
About the time I read that MacDonald quote, I came across a statement by Feodor Dostoevsky, author of The Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment, that staked out an opposite claim. Philip Yancey writes that after 10 years in a Siberian gulag, Dostoevsky "emerged from prison with unshakable Christian convictions, as expressed in one famous passage, 'If anyone proved to me that Christ was outside the truth...then I would prefer to remain with Christ than with the truth.'"
Amazing - Dostoevsky would willingly build his faith on that which he knew to be a lie! I cannot agree with Yancey that this expresses "unshakable Christian conviction." All that it expresses is mind rot.
When you say that you would follow Christ even if he weren't true, you are saying that your faith is built on sand. Perhaps it is the sand of feeling, or expediency, or inner warmth, or social reform or who knows what else. Those things are all shifty, wind-blown mineral chaff. The only worthy anchor for conviction is truth. If you explicitly deny that your foundation needs to be true, then why should we believe anything you say?
A few years ago my niece went looking for a place to live and came across an older couple with an upstairs room to rent. While talking to them, she made a connection and realized that the man would know her grandfather (my father), who died in 1980. He said to her, "You're Lowell Lundquist's granddaughter?" He sat down in a chair and his eyes filled with tears. He said, "Lowell Lundquist was the most honest man I ever knew."
I cannot tell you how much it means to me, how privileged I feel, to have been raised by a man no less honest than the minister in George MacDonald's story. Be like that. For God's sake, never lie. Never cling to a known falsehood, no matter how much good you think might come from it.
Value the truth. Cling to it more dearly than life itself.
A friend sent me a quote from 19th century Scottish novelist George MacDonald which read, "I would not favor a fiction to keep a whole world out of hell. The hell that a lie would keep a man out of is doubtless the very best place for him to go to. It is truth, yes, The Truth, that saves the world."
I researched that quote and found it came from a story where a minister meets a reclusive parishioner whose house is filled with books. The parishioner says that he has bound some of the books himself, and has done it so well that the minister would not be able to distinguish his bookbinding from that of a professional. He says, "I'll give you a guinea for the poor-box if you pick out three of my binding consecutively."
The minister goes to the shelves and actually does pick out three of the self-bound books. But when the bookworm, embarrassed, hands him the guinea, he refuses to take it on the grounds that his last selection was a random guess. Amazed and amused, the man rebukes his pastor: "Couldn't you swallow a small scruple like that for the sake
of the poor even?...You're not fit for your profession. You won't even tell a lie for God's sake...You won't even cheat a little for the sake of the poor!" That is when the minister responds by saying that he would not advocate a lie even to keep people out of hell.
Good for him. Once you compromise truth, you undermine all the good things (like helping poor people, or keeping sinners out of hell) that spring from truth. No good thing depends on a lie for its support, and no lie upholds some goodness that wouldn't be better off without it.
About the time I read that MacDonald quote, I came across a statement by Feodor Dostoevsky, author of The Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment, that staked out an opposite claim. Philip Yancey writes that after 10 years in a Siberian gulag, Dostoevsky "emerged from prison with unshakable Christian convictions, as expressed in one famous passage, 'If anyone proved to me that Christ was outside the truth...then I would prefer to remain with Christ than with the truth.'"
Amazing - Dostoevsky would willingly build his faith on that which he knew to be a lie! I cannot agree with Yancey that this expresses "unshakable Christian conviction." All that it expresses is mind rot.
When you say that you would follow Christ even if he weren't true, you are saying that your faith is built on sand. Perhaps it is the sand of feeling, or expediency, or inner warmth, or social reform or who knows what else. Those things are all shifty, wind-blown mineral chaff. The only worthy anchor for conviction is truth. If you explicitly deny that your foundation needs to be true, then why should we believe anything you say?
A few years ago my niece went looking for a place to live and came across an older couple with an upstairs room to rent. While talking to them, she made a connection and realized that the man would know her grandfather (my father), who died in 1980. He said to her, "You're Lowell Lundquist's granddaughter?" He sat down in a chair and his eyes filled with tears. He said, "Lowell Lundquist was the most honest man I ever knew."
I cannot tell you how much it means to me, how privileged I feel, to have been raised by a man no less honest than the minister in George MacDonald's story. Be like that. For God's sake, never lie. Never cling to a known falsehood, no matter how much good you think might come from it.
Sunday, September 19, 2004
The Misunderstood Hero (September 19, 2004)
One of the more compelling themes in literature is that of the misunderstood hero. In Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, for example, the slandered Darcy is despised by the woman he loves, yet his integrity and good will force him to conceal from her his integrity and good will. You can find another long-suffering hero in the film The Terminal, where Tom Hanks' character is loudly and publicly berated by a janitor friend - yet he cannot tell the janitor how, at terrible cost to himself, he has just saved him from prison.
When the "misunderstood hero" theme is told well in a good story, it creates in the reader or viewer a desire for the rest of the characters to know the truth. You want to jump in and tell them, "No! He's a good man! You don't know what really happened!" You hope that the author will treat you (and the characters) kindly by making everything plain in due time. The hero must be vindicated before things get tragic. It is not enough for him to be good - he must be known to be good. The saddest thing is to come to the end of the story and the truth remains unknown: the good man is still hated and the people are still deceived. That is how the film Arlington Road ends, with worthy victim Jeff Bridges branded falsely, and forever, as a
mass-murdering terrorist.
I have always loved C. S. Lewis' idea in Myth Become Fact that story themes planted deep within our cultures are preludes to great truths. I believe that the "misunderstood hero" theme is one such myth-become-fact. In our story - reality - God is the misunderstood hero. People think miserably wrong things about him - that he does not exist, or that he is capricious, uncaring, impossible to please, indulgent of evil, or some other such falsehood. And given our world's fallenness, and our own, it is not surprising that these slanders against God are propagated and believed. But we who know the truth want to shout to a deceived world, "No! You don't understand! He is good! He is filled to overflowing with more goodness than you can possibly imagine. You must learn to know him as the God who is good, and you must love him as such."
Though we must believe the truth about God for truth's own sake, and love him simply because it is wrong not to, it cannot be denied that in so doing we will also reap a benefit of joy. It is not only just and right that Elizabeth should come to understand Darcy's true character - there is also delight for her when she does so, and joy unspeakable when she accepts a marriage proposal from this, the worthiest man in England. When the misunderstood hero is at last comprehended - his goodness valued and his grace received - pleasures multiply for the one who is blessed to know the truth about him.
One of the more compelling themes in literature is that of the misunderstood hero. In Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, for example, the slandered Darcy is despised by the woman he loves, yet his integrity and good will force him to conceal from her his integrity and good will. You can find another long-suffering hero in the film The Terminal, where Tom Hanks' character is loudly and publicly berated by a janitor friend - yet he cannot tell the janitor how, at terrible cost to himself, he has just saved him from prison.
When the "misunderstood hero" theme is told well in a good story, it creates in the reader or viewer a desire for the rest of the characters to know the truth. You want to jump in and tell them, "No! He's a good man! You don't know what really happened!" You hope that the author will treat you (and the characters) kindly by making everything plain in due time. The hero must be vindicated before things get tragic. It is not enough for him to be good - he must be known to be good. The saddest thing is to come to the end of the story and the truth remains unknown: the good man is still hated and the people are still deceived. That is how the film Arlington Road ends, with worthy victim Jeff Bridges branded falsely, and forever, as a
mass-murdering terrorist.
I have always loved C. S. Lewis' idea in Myth Become Fact that story themes planted deep within our cultures are preludes to great truths. I believe that the "misunderstood hero" theme is one such myth-become-fact. In our story - reality - God is the misunderstood hero. People think miserably wrong things about him - that he does not exist, or that he is capricious, uncaring, impossible to please, indulgent of evil, or some other such falsehood. And given our world's fallenness, and our own, it is not surprising that these slanders against God are propagated and believed. But we who know the truth want to shout to a deceived world, "No! You don't understand! He is good! He is filled to overflowing with more goodness than you can possibly imagine. You must learn to know him as the God who is good, and you must love him as such."
Though we must believe the truth about God for truth's own sake, and love him simply because it is wrong not to, it cannot be denied that in so doing we will also reap a benefit of joy. It is not only just and right that Elizabeth should come to understand Darcy's true character - there is also delight for her when she does so, and joy unspeakable when she accepts a marriage proposal from this, the worthiest man in England. When the misunderstood hero is at last comprehended - his goodness valued and his grace received - pleasures multiply for the one who is blessed to know the truth about him.
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Maybe Your Influence Will Take A While (September 12, 2004)
Last night I received a pleasant surprise.
I checked back with a friend who had called me a week ago about a conflict he was stuck arbitrating. Two women at his church (I'll call them "Euodia" and "Synteche" - Philippians 4:2) were in a disagreement that threatened to engulf the congregation. I talked to Euodia, who I felt was mostly in the right but who nevertheless needed to let the matter go and not seek confrontation. I told her my reasons for that, and she listened politely and told me thank you but she would still proceed with the disciplinary protocol of Matthew 18. I felt that was a big mistake, but what could I do? I had made the best case I could. She just didn't want to follow my advice.
But when I called my friend last night to find out how badly things had blown up, he said that Euodia had decided not to press the matter, and that she and Synteche had apologized to one another and were even praying for each other! Glory to God. I cannot say that I influenced Euodia (it sure did not seem like it when I talked to her), but at least I will allow myself to be glad that what I counseled and what she did happened to coincide.
For those of you who try to teach or persuade or counsel - and yet meet with discouraging resistance - be aware that sometimes your words just need to stew for a while (and mix with other influences) before they yield a result. A young couple with Wycliffe Bible Translators once told me about their discouragement when they presented the work of Wycliffe at Christian campuses and got no response from the students. I told them, "But I was one of those who never responded!" A visiting missionary would present his work, and I wouldn't stay or ask questions or sign interest cards. I'd file out quietly - but go back to my room and wonder whether the Lord was calling me to be a missionary. My "yes" to mission service was preceded by a thousand blank-faced "no's." Nobody knew they were influencing me.
Years ago my mother tried to influence my interpretation of a set of Bible passages. She was not successful - we just disagreed. I wonder if that discouraged her. Her son was going to be a pastor and he had the wrong view about something! But in later years I came to see that she was absolutely, 100 percent right. It still amazes me that I now echo a line of hers that I once so hotly debated.
In Matthew 21:28-31, Jesus told the parable of a father who tells his two sons to go work in the vineyard. One says no and the other says yes. But the one who said yes didn't go, and the one who said no changed his mind and went. Jesus asked, "Which of the two did what his father wanted?" Clearly the one who initially said no.
Don't get too discouraged over a “no.” Sometimes there is a quiet “yes” lurking beneath the surface that persistent good influence will some day push to the top.
Last night I received a pleasant surprise.
I checked back with a friend who had called me a week ago about a conflict he was stuck arbitrating. Two women at his church (I'll call them "Euodia" and "Synteche" - Philippians 4:2) were in a disagreement that threatened to engulf the congregation. I talked to Euodia, who I felt was mostly in the right but who nevertheless needed to let the matter go and not seek confrontation. I told her my reasons for that, and she listened politely and told me thank you but she would still proceed with the disciplinary protocol of Matthew 18. I felt that was a big mistake, but what could I do? I had made the best case I could. She just didn't want to follow my advice.
But when I called my friend last night to find out how badly things had blown up, he said that Euodia had decided not to press the matter, and that she and Synteche had apologized to one another and were even praying for each other! Glory to God. I cannot say that I influenced Euodia (it sure did not seem like it when I talked to her), but at least I will allow myself to be glad that what I counseled and what she did happened to coincide.
For those of you who try to teach or persuade or counsel - and yet meet with discouraging resistance - be aware that sometimes your words just need to stew for a while (and mix with other influences) before they yield a result. A young couple with Wycliffe Bible Translators once told me about their discouragement when they presented the work of Wycliffe at Christian campuses and got no response from the students. I told them, "But I was one of those who never responded!" A visiting missionary would present his work, and I wouldn't stay or ask questions or sign interest cards. I'd file out quietly - but go back to my room and wonder whether the Lord was calling me to be a missionary. My "yes" to mission service was preceded by a thousand blank-faced "no's." Nobody knew they were influencing me.
Years ago my mother tried to influence my interpretation of a set of Bible passages. She was not successful - we just disagreed. I wonder if that discouraged her. Her son was going to be a pastor and he had the wrong view about something! But in later years I came to see that she was absolutely, 100 percent right. It still amazes me that I now echo a line of hers that I once so hotly debated.
In Matthew 21:28-31, Jesus told the parable of a father who tells his two sons to go work in the vineyard. One says no and the other says yes. But the one who said yes didn't go, and the one who said no changed his mind and went. Jesus asked, "Which of the two did what his father wanted?" Clearly the one who initially said no.
Don't get too discouraged over a “no.” Sometimes there is a quiet “yes” lurking beneath the surface that persistent good influence will some day push to the top.
Sunday, September 5, 2004
Be Fruitful And Multiply (September 5, 2004)
Christians should have more children.
A couple days ago I was pleased to meet the Cassidys, who have 14 children, 90 grandchildren and 75 great-grandchildren. I told them they were blessed by God, quoting from Psalm 127:3-5: "Children are a heritage from the Lord...and blessed is the man who has his quiver full of them." Not surprisingly, they both knew the passage well.
Many years ago, inspired by that verse, my father made a plaque with the word "QUIVER" and attached it to the tent-trailer that we used to haul on our summer vacations. It still amazes me that that we could jam our large family into those tiny sleeping quarters. But we managed. With ingenuity a small quiver can hold many arrows.
There can be good reasons for limiting family size, but the older I get the more I think that selfishness and materialism are the real reasons that we don’t want to admit. I don't accept the excuse many couples give that they "can't afford" children. What they can't afford is a lifestyle more opulent than they need. When Linda was pregnant with our firstborn, a couple told us that they were delaying starting a family until they were financially ready - though their income was at least triple ours. To them, "ready' was a house with a yard and who knows what else. Well, Linda and I went ahead recklessly and had Ben and he did not starve. Neither did Peter, though I never grossed more than $20,000 a year until he was well into grade school. Are my kids malnourished? Have they had to scrounge for scraps in a homeless shelter? Nah. They're fine.
I never felt deprived growing up, though I shared a 10- by 12-foot bedroom with two brothers and slept in a triple bunk bed with coffin-like head clearance. And even if I had felt deprived and crowded - so what? That is no price to pay for the joy of having two brothers whom I love like, well, brothers.
Children aren't a burden. They're a blessing. As God grants you the opportunity, be fruitful and multiply.
Christians should have more children.
A couple days ago I was pleased to meet the Cassidys, who have 14 children, 90 grandchildren and 75 great-grandchildren. I told them they were blessed by God, quoting from Psalm 127:3-5: "Children are a heritage from the Lord...and blessed is the man who has his quiver full of them." Not surprisingly, they both knew the passage well.
Many years ago, inspired by that verse, my father made a plaque with the word "QUIVER" and attached it to the tent-trailer that we used to haul on our summer vacations. It still amazes me that that we could jam our large family into those tiny sleeping quarters. But we managed. With ingenuity a small quiver can hold many arrows.
There can be good reasons for limiting family size, but the older I get the more I think that selfishness and materialism are the real reasons that we don’t want to admit. I don't accept the excuse many couples give that they "can't afford" children. What they can't afford is a lifestyle more opulent than they need. When Linda was pregnant with our firstborn, a couple told us that they were delaying starting a family until they were financially ready - though their income was at least triple ours. To them, "ready' was a house with a yard and who knows what else. Well, Linda and I went ahead recklessly and had Ben and he did not starve. Neither did Peter, though I never grossed more than $20,000 a year until he was well into grade school. Are my kids malnourished? Have they had to scrounge for scraps in a homeless shelter? Nah. They're fine.
I never felt deprived growing up, though I shared a 10- by 12-foot bedroom with two brothers and slept in a triple bunk bed with coffin-like head clearance. And even if I had felt deprived and crowded - so what? That is no price to pay for the joy of having two brothers whom I love like, well, brothers.
Children aren't a burden. They're a blessing. As God grants you the opportunity, be fruitful and multiply.
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