Say No More

He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear, he burns the shields with fire. “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” (Psalm 46.9-10)

Strange Tendencies

I have strange tendencies I imagine many of us share. When crises exhaust everything I know to say, I keep talking. I repeat the same statements over and over, as though my complaints and reasoning were magical incantations that, when recited in proper combination, will unlock the mystery of my dilemma. It’s a crazy take on tip-of-the-tongue syndrome—or better yet, something very close to the delirious scene in Being John Malkovich, in which John Cusack tries to discern Catherine Keener's name by sounding out random syllables. On an intellectual level I know if there’s nothing more to say, it’s time to say no more. But having nothing to say somehow fires my emotional synapses. Inability to explain what’s going on feels like the problem’s got the upper hand. And it does—for the moment. So, since I’m obviously on hold, I kill time talking.

The same goes when I’m out of options and don't know what to do. I get real busy. I run myself ragged trying to find a proper solution or, if the problem seems unsolvable, an exit strategy. If nothing feasible arises, I may even try kicking down a door or two. Eventually, of course, I wear myself out. I’m sick of hearing myself. I’m too tired to push. I shut up. I sit down. I become still. Without fail, once I’m still, I discover the real problem and its only real and reliable answer. I’m the problem; God is the answer. I knew that all along. But what stops me from knowing it while “all along” is underway?

The Trouble with Trouble

“Be still and know that I am God,” Psalm 46.10 tells us. It’s such obviously sound, concise advice most of us can quote it from memory. Yet when trouble comes and we most urgently need to remember this truth, it’s far from mind. Why is that? The trouble with trouble is it masquerades as our trouble. It challenges us. If it overtly challenged God’s wisdom and power, we’d immediately dismiss it as a situation He could easily handle. We’d take a seat to watch Him work. The more impossible the problem got, the more we’d smile, knowing nothing’s too hard for God. We’d relax, exchanging unbearable stress for pleasurable suspense, sitting on the edge of our seats like theatergoers spellbound by an incomparably masterful playwright. We’d savor every fresh impossibility as an exciting chance to be dazzled by the breathtaking dénouement.

But trouble never appears as what it finally turns out to be—an unexpected plot twist God deftly resolves. It thunders onto the stage as a full-blown drama that turns us into unwitting actors. We’re woefully unprepared for the role it forces on us. We don’t know our lines; so we keep talking. We don’t know how to act; so we keep doing things. We haven’t seen the script, because there isn’t one. Each new complication catches us by surprise and wrings us deeper into a drama that writes itself as it goes. Regardless how we heroically try to rise to the occasion, we’re flummoxed and humiliated. No matter how many times trouble thrusts us into this position, we can’t resist believing this time we’ll figure things out—when the whole while God waits in the wings, ready to take control of the role we’ve bungled so horribly. For some reason, trouble’s false threats to our pride disable our propensity to see—to know—God is there. It sometimes takes getting perilously close to the final curtain to realize this isn’t our challenge. We’re not meant to star in this drama. We’re not clever enough to pull the pieces together. But we know Who is. At last, we see Him poised to enter the scene, and we notice the front-row seat He’s reserved for us to be still and know.

Author and Star

Psalm 46 reads like the rave review of an epic masterpiece. It leads with plaudits for the unfailingly triumphant Author and Star: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.” (v1-3) In the midst of fearsome chaos, God is there, ever-present. Verse 8 serves as the review’s “Not to be missed!” quote: “Come and see the works of the LORD, the desolations he has brought on the earth.” And then verse 7 gives us a taste of the stunning reversals He stages: “He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear, he burns the shields with fire.” Where are we in this turmoil and tumult? We’re watching it unfold. It’s what we came to see! What should we say? What does God expect us to do? Nothing. “Be still and know that I am God,” He says, gently reminding us this is His show. He’s the Master. Imposing our ideas, opinions, and actions adds nothing to His performance.

There’s a great old gospel song that says, “He’s God all by Himself. He don’t need nobody else.” That checks out with what He tells us after showing us to our seats: “I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” (v9) God is the Author and Star here. Our drama may be overrun with trouble. It may surge with wave after wave of potential destruction. But He is ever-present. He has total command of the situation. That’s what we must remember as His epic masterpiece unfolds. Though the ground beneath us vanishes, mountains crumble, and tsunamis rear up with such force that entire ranges tremble, we will not fear. It is He Who defuses our conflicts. He disarms our adversaries. He destroys their defenses. Inviting God into our drama is how we escape it. When there’s nothing we can do, we do nothing. When there’s nothing more to say, we say no more.

Trouble creates drama and calls us to the stage. But our challenges are actually God’s opportunities. He takes center-stage, while we're in the front row, still and knowing He's in command.

Doxology: A Pride Reflection

Know that the LORD is God. It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture. (Psalm 100.3)

Rest

The past two weeks have brought a deluge of new work—always a good thing for freelancers like me, but in this economy, a virtual outpouring of God’s goodness. While Straight-Friendly and its family never left my thoughts and prayers, time to write and post new reflections hasn’t been there. This concerned me, particularly with the annual Pride celebrations looming closer. I somehow assumed the Holy Spirit would guide me to texts or thoughts lighted with urgency to explore. Yet every prayer for direction led me back to Psalm 100.3. Each time, I heard it as a song of praise—a doxology:

Know that the Lord is God.

It is He Who made us

And we are His.

We are His people—

The sheep of His pasture.

I rushed to explore what this praise says to all of us, gay and straight, female and male, younger and older, etc., etc., etc. We should embrace inner pride as sacred praise for our unique making. God’s acceptance releases us from shame and stigmatization. Knowing Him as our Maker and Shepherd protects us from predatory prejudice and condemnation. The words flowed like water springing from a well—up to a point. Then, like the “Amen” that ends liturgical doxologies and returns us to our seats, I repeatedly heard:

Rest.

The tone and comfort were indubitably those of our Creator and Keeper, the One Who crafts us by hand, Who places us where He wills, Who tirelessly watches over us, Who authors our circumstances, and, most important, Who knows us better than we know ourselves. “Rest.” Silly me, I took it mean, “This can wait. Go to bed. People will understand.” I knew that, of course, but it was a much-needed reminder. Then, this morning I awoke to a keener awareness of what it actually meant, what we should hear in the Psalm 100.3 doxology, and how that affects our understanding of Pride’s personal, cultural, and spiritual relevance.

Confidence

In this weekend’s cacophony of parades and parties, speeches and songs, God is speaking rest to His children everywhere—people of every race, gender, and orientation. He reminds us GLBT Pride, like any effort promoting equality and justice, will end in frustration if we listen only to what we say and think. Our vision will remain myopic and clarity won’t fully emerge until we hear our Creator and Shepherd speak rest to our spirits.

Does this suggest we cease our fight for freedom, equality, and justice for oppressed peoples everywhere? Emphatically not. God’s Word explicitly commands us to care for and defend the downtrodden, dispossessed, and abused among us. Abandoning them constitutes sin. Yet we can rest. As we go forth with passionate conviction, demanding the end of all social, legal, and religious strife, we carry in our hearts undying confidence they will end. Every step of progress brings us closer to our Creator and Shepherd’s intentions for His people, the sheep of His pasture.

Deliverance

The enormous strides made by the GLBT global community and its allies generate untold reasons to rejoice. We have every right to take pride in our progress to date. In many ways, the GLBT movement’s success stands as a case study in deliverance. It’s taken less than a half-century of unyielding effort to free multitudes, within and beyond our community, from shackles of fear, hatred, ignorance, and complacence. Thus, when gay people and their allies speak of “pride,” they—we—must acknowledge it long ago surpassed its original meaning: defiance of shame. Gay Pride now encompasses all oppressed peoples and shines a light on the promise of deliverance. More than that, it proves deliverance is a process, a steady evolution that overtakes hearts and minds, not overturns courts and institutions. Laws and restrictions change when the people who make them change.

There can be no doubt changes we’ve witnessed and those we hope to see exceed our capability to bring about. Daniel 2.21 says, “He changes times and seasons; he sets up kings and deposes them. He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning.” It’s foolish to allow pride to swell into hubris. Our deliverance thus far has not come about through persuasive powers or political savvy. It is the work of a Creator Who thrives on change—Who sacrificed His Son’s life to enable change—and a Shepherd Who delivers His people by changing hearts and minds that shape our seasons.

Though the task seems too great, we rest in knowing God’s purpose will be done. Though justice we seek appears too elusive to be grasped, we rest in belief He has it well in hand. Though hateful forces display their might to turn tides of opinion away from God, we rest in certainty they are no stronger than the weakest among those they oppress. Our Maker favors none of us above another. He is our God. We are His people. No matter where we side on any issue or cause, it is He Who has made us and we are His. He will do as He sees fit. We revel in deliverance we’ve experienced thus far as our guarantee full and final deliverance will come.

God Pride

Whether actively engaging in this weekend’s festivities or rejoicing with the GLBT community from afar, it’s incumbent on every believer to discern God Pride hidden at its core. This holds true for every event that exults in human diversity or promotes freedom from social oppression and inequality. Innate pride in who we are is founded on inherent awareness each of us has divinely sanctioned equal worth. From the greatest to least, the best to worst, we all reflect our Creator. Differences that challenge us are merely singular aspects of God’s self-image. By themselves, they’re inconsequential. Only when they're seen as pieces of a whole do they acquire importance. Pride in who we are ultimately reveals inescapable—in some cases, involuntary—God Pride. It confesses our God-given desire to identify with Something greater, richer, and far more beautiful than anything we can possibly be on our own. Know the Lord is God. Know He has made you. You belong to Him. You number among His people, the sheep of His pasture. Nothing can change this, or ever will. Rest.

At its core, Gay Pride, like any diversity celebration or effort aimed at social inclusion and equality, expresses God Pride—recognition He is our Maker and we are His people.

Personal Postscript: Two Years Down This Road

It was during Pride Weekend 2008, that Straight-Friendly launched. I can’t really recall what I expected, but I know it was nothing like what I found. The past two years have been the most precious and productive of my life.

I can’t allow this milestone to pass without expressing my profound gratitude to all of you who’ve traveled this road with me. You have been constant, lifting me, enlightening me, feeding my soul with your comments and emails, and welcoming me into your hearts. You have changed my life in extraordinary ways, always helping me grow stronger and wiser in this marvelous faith we share. My debts to you are more than I can possibly repay. Yet I know with complete assurance you will be rightfully rewarded and blessed beyond measure for all you’ve done. Thank you.

With all my love,

Tim

Prophets in the Camp

Two men, whose names were Eldad and Medad, had remained in the camp. They were listed among the elders, but did not go out to the Tent. Yet the Spirit also rested on them, and they prophesied in the camp. (Numbers 11.26)

Church Stuff

The World Cup is in full swing, and Walt and I are watching it from the States instead of Paris, where we’ve seen the past three tournaments unfold. Actually, not watching it is closer to the truth. In the US, the Cup is appointment TV. In virtually every other nation, it’s a 24/7 obsession that knows no bounds. It’s everywhere—blaring on every radio and television, projected on huge LED monitors in public squares, plastered across the headlines, and parading through the streets on the backs of people sporting their nations’ colors. It outranks any other human event in its capacity to arrest nearly universal attention. Being in Paris during the Cup means always knowing what match is underway and how its outcome affects your team’s chances. Ordinary boundaries and behaviors are set aside. Social propriety—normally a big deal to Parisians—is moot. It doesn’t matter where you are or who you are, if you’re walking down the street and the city suddenly erupts, you dash into the nearest café or shop to find out who scored. (During our first World Cup in Paris, we were literally terrified when an enormous roar sent people running as fast as they could toward City Hall. We thought a riot broke out or the Métro had been bombed. No. Everyone was rushing to catch the replay of the latest goal on the plaza’s massive screen.)

Watching the World Cup in Chicago not only reminds me how differently America views the event. It also reinforces how similar we all are. Other than the Cup, when we’re in Paris—or anywhere else, for that matter—the same boundaries and behavioral expectations apply. We assign certain activities to certain locations and keep them there. It disrupts our sense of order when people do something where it shouldn’t be done. We’re not supposed to cheer out our windows or dance in the street. It’s inappropriate to sing in the supermarket or discuss sex in mixed company. Nowhere are these boundaries and behaviors more firmly enforced than in matters of faith. The mention of God or prayer or the Bible is enough to clear a room. Bringing them up at coffee break can alienate colleagues. Sharing our beliefs with non-believing friends can turn us into social pariahs. That’s “church stuff,” and church is where it belongs. But how can that be? At its core, it declares a message no human tires of hearing: You are loved. So, if it's not the message that offends, what makes people uncomfortable? It's where the message is delivered. And this creates a dilemma for every believer, because places where the message of God's love and acceptance is least welcome are the very places where it's most needed.

No Place for Prophecy

Judging from Scripture, concerns about confining certain topics and behaviors to certain places have always been with us. In Numbers 11, we find Israel in another desert crisis. There’s not enough food, and people are complaining. God tells Moses to instruct them to get prepared to eat meat. He’s going to send such an outpouring of food He promises they’ll come to loathe it. (Evidently their crankiness has made Him a little cranky.) Then He tells Moses to gather 70 elders around the Tent, Israel’s consecrated place of worship. God’s Spirit descends on Moses and the elders, all of whom begin to prophesy. Two elders, Eldad and Medad, remain in the camp. When the Spirit falls on the elders at the Tent, It also falls on them and they likewise prophesy.

This upsets everyone. The camp is no place for prophecy! That sort of thing shouldn’t be practiced in an unconsecrated environment! What’s ironic here is the people who are so hungry they won’t stop grumbling aren’t too hungry to be outraged when two elders speak God’s word in an “inappropriate” place. They send a young man to alert Moses to this breach of protocol. The news is so shocking Joshua, Moses’s aide and Israel’s future leader, says, “My lord, stop them!” (Numbers 11.29) But Moses doesn’t stop Eldad and Medad. Instead, he puts a stop to the notion of prophetic impropriety. He says, “Are you jealous for my sake? I wish that all the LORD’s people were prophets and the LORD would put his Spirit on them!” (v30) He and the 70 elders return to the camp to find it no worse than when they left. Soon Eldad and Medad are forgot in a downpour of more quail than Israel can stomach.

Where, When, and Through Whom

Why is this episode worth mentioning? The provision isn’t unique; God has sent quail to feed Israel before. The descent of God’s Spirit isn’t unique; it regularly falls when Israel’s priests and prophets worship. The only irregular aspect of the story is God’s manifested presence on Eldad and Medad in the camp, away from the Tent. Numbers never explains why they don’t join the other elders at the Tent. Maybe they’re occupied with other things—caring for the hungry and destitute, perhaps—and miss the summons. Maybe they prefer to hang back with people who aren’t deemed righteous enough to worship at the Tent. Maybe they’re radicals who aren’t viewed favorably by their conservative peers. All we know is they’re nowhere near the Tent. Yet God’s Spirit finds them, falls on them, and speaks through them. That’s what makes the incident extraordinary. And it teaches us something very important.

God places prophets in the camp. He speaks where, when, and through whom He wills, often disregarding what we regard appropriate and acceptable. Because of this, each of us is as likely to be chosen to speak His Word as anyone else. We need not be at church or the altar. The company of fellow believers isn’t required, nor is approval of those around us. We may never be selected to join the elite at the Tent. Though we are all qualified, circumstances or instincts may cause us to stay behind in the camp. Yet being away from the Tent has no bearing on our ability to receive God’s Spirit and minister to His people.

When the Spirit breathes words of compassion and justice, wisdom and grace into our hearts, we speak where we are to those who will hear. His word is for them. It is they who are hungry and out of sorts and need the comfort of God’s promises. It’s foolish and selfish to withhold God’s blessings from those around us, waiting until we’re at the Tent to share them to others of like faith. They know whereof we speak. Besides, there are plenty of prophets there, some of whom, like Joshua, don’t understand God’s ways. We’re where we are and speak where we are because God longs to commune with His people in the camp. They may never reach, or have any desire to reach, the Tent. But they’re His children and His heart aches to reach them. That’s why He needs—and we need to be—His prophets in the camp.

God places many of us in the camp to speak His word to people who may never reach or believe it’s necessary to reach the Tent.

Stolen Legacies

Ahab said to Naboth, “Let me have your vineyard to use for a vegetable garden, since it is close to my palace. In exchange I will give you a better vineyard or, if you prefer, I will pay you whatever it is worth.” But Naboth replied, “The LORD forbid that I should give you the inheritance of my fathers.” (1 Kings 21.2-3)

Acquired Smooth Brain Syndrome

Smooth brain syndrome is a rare prenatal condition that wreaks havoc on newborns and their parents. During pregnancy, the infant’s brain never “folds” to expand its surface area, thereby significantly limiting the number of neurons in the brain and the speed and frequency of neural activity. Children suffering this tragic syndrome don’t learn to survive outside the womb. Most enter the world not knowing how to breathe, move, or interpret sensory stimuli. The vast majority will not reach their second birthday. Those who survive longer rarely exceed a six-month level of maturity.

While I cringe at comparing tiny innocents robbed of capacity to learn with adults who refuse to learn, there are compelling similarities and differences. We might diagnosis those unteachable by choice with acquired smooth brain syndrome (ASBS). They create chaos in their lives and those they touch. They’re forever dependent, relying on some for support and others as their raison d’être. Anyone who challenges them is a mortal threat. Anyone who hinders gratification is a hated rival. Unlike infants, though, ASBS victims succeed with acutely honed compensatory skills. They supplement moral and self-worth deficiencies with manipulation and arrogance. Since they resist independent thinking, they seek affirmation from others, forging bonds only with those who share their opinions and unwillingness to learn. That’s when ASBS sufferers become dangerous.

ASBS is highly contagious, leaving its victims susceptible to inflammatory rhetoric and ideologies. When ASBS victims join forces, little can be done to save them from themselves. Unteachable people are, by nature, unstoppable. The Bible provides a superb ASBS case study in Ahab and Jezebel. These two never learn. They rely on each other for validation, regard anyone who questions their beliefs and behavior as blood-sworn foes, and stop at nothing to succeed. They’re dangerous—not only to people in their way, but more so to themselves. And that’s the most tragic aspect of ASBS. People who won’t be taught don’t understand their condition can be fatal.

Tyrannical Excess

When we read the tragedy of King Ahab and Queen Jezebel, it’s important to note Israel isn’t a monarchy. It’s a theocracy, actively governed by God Himself. This means His prophet—in this case, Elijah—is the most powerful figure in the land. The king merely administers policy, rather than sets it. Israel’s neighbors are true monarchies, however, and with Jezebel being a pagan princess, she and Ahab refuse to learn they don’t have the final say. Their rule is pocked with tyrannical excess. In 1 Kings 21, we see how far they go and how they feed each other’s ignorance.

Their palace abuts a vineyard belonging to the family of Naboth for generations. In Israel’s agrarian society, land is a sacred inheritance—a gift to be treasured and tended in perpetuity. Ahab hasn’t learned this either. He approaches Naboth with an offer. If he deeds the vineyard to Ahab, the king will give him a better one or pay him full value for it. In Ahab’s smooth brain, Naboth must take the deal, because he’s the king and his welfare comes first. But Naboth isn’t afflicted with ASBS. He aware of the king’s limited authority and reveres his legacy as a priceless blessing. Very politely, he reminds Ahab of these principles: “The LORD forbid that I should give you the inheritance of my fathers.” (v3) Ahab doesn’t get it. He sulks and fumes until Jezebel asks what’s wrong. When he tells her, she devises a scheme to have Naboth killed so they can seize the vineyard, destroy it, and plant vegetables there per Ahab’s wishes. She convinces a few weak-minded people to join her conspiracy, which ultimately ends with religious authorities sanctioning Naboth’s death. He’s taken outside the city walls, stoned, and left for dogs to lap up his blood. Everything’s coming up onions. Then God sends word via Elijah. “You have sold yourself to do evil in the eyes of the LORD,” he says (v20), before pronouncing judgment. Ahab will suffer the fate of Naboth; dogs lick up Ahab’s blood also. Jezebel’s fate is worse. Dogs will devour her. They’ve put themselves in mortal danger.

Our Inheritance

As believers in Christ, we are heirs to the priceless inheritance of God’s grace. We must know this and remain ever mindful it. Paul couldn’t be more emphatic about this when he wrote, “I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.” (Ephesians 1.18-19) The hope we find in God’s forgiveness and acceptance is a legacy passed down to us over 100 generations. Like Naboth, we are more than beneficiaries. We hold the deed, guaranteeing future generations will grow and prosper from the wine that flows from our inheritance. No one has any right to demand we forfeit our legacy in Christ. No one can steal what God has given us. Paul goes on to say our inheritance was “exerted in Christ,” Whose power is “far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every title that can be given.” (v20-21) Anyone who claims authority to question or rescind our faith is clearly stricken with ASBS. Our legacy is documented in God’s Word and sealed by Christ’s death and resurrection. The only way a person couldn’t know that would be by refusing to learn it.

It’s true. Unteachable people are unstoppable. They’re crafty and convincing. They draw everyone who’s not immune to their affliction into their schemes. Ahab and Jezebel conspired to accuse Naboth of cursing God and the king; they framed him as a heretic and a threat to society, encouraging religious leaders to do their dirty work. ASBS sufferers who rise to power in our time do the same thing. They litter their palaces with stolen legacies of people they’ve unjustly accused, cast outside the walls, attacked, and left to die. They turn sweet, beautiful vineyards into onion fields. But we can escape Naboth’s fate. We can protect our inheritance by knowing Christ executed God’s will and testament. It’s written in eternal ink and signed with His blood. Forgiveness is ours. Acceptance is ours. Love, hope, faith, and everything they offer are ours. The danger we see in ASBS sufferers is no threat to us. It may be true that what you don’t know won’t hurt you. But Ahab and Jezebel prove refusing to learn can be fatal.

People who refuse to learn will strive to steal our inheritance in Christ. But they’re only a danger to themselves. We know our legacy is secure.

Impeded by Impulse

If you put away the sin that is in your hand and allow no evil to dwell in your tent, then you will lift up your face without shame; you will stand firm and without fear. (Job 11.14-15)

Shopping and Buying

I’m a terrible shopper. Actually, I’m not a shopper at all. I’m a buyer, which is why I keep out of stores as much as possible. If I go into a store, intent on buying a single item, I guarantee I’ll leave with two or three bags filled with impulse purchases. A couple days ago, I walked into a bed & bath store to get a new shower mat. I was delighted to find the perfect one reduced to half-price. But I also came home with: a new toothbrush holder, matching soap dish, liquid hand soap, two collapsible laundry hampers, eight vacuum clothes storage bags, and a set of hanging storage bags. Since I was already out and within walking distance of the local bookshop, a fancy hair salon, a pet supply store, and a Gap, I also returned with: three new books, pricey bottles of shampoo and conditioner I thought I’d try, a few things for our cat, and three pairs of short pants. I had no idea I needed these things until I entered the first store. Truthfully, I don’t need them. All I did was spend an afternoon burdening myself with impulse purchases. I turned a quick errand into a costly adventure.

Some will no doubt relate to my predicament. Others will pat themselves on the back for having built up immunity to the buy-bug. Yet after reading Job 11.14-15 in the wake of my little whirlwind, I suspect we all can apply the shopping and buying metaphors to areas in our lives. Somewhere, somehow our lack of self-discipline gets the better of us. We start out looking for one thing, but in the process, we can’t resist picking up extraneous items that also catch our eye. In no time, we’re burdened with superfluous nonsense, none of it cheap. A good example of what I mean would be relationship “shopping.” Many people discover it ends in reckless buying. They find what they're looking for, but they also bring home impulsively purchased opinions, habits, attitudes, and values that weigh them down, clutter their lives, and expend precious time and energy. If we’re fortunate enough not to do this literally or with relationships, we may fall into this rut with religious beliefs, political ideology, social issues, etc. I suspect each of us on some level is impeded by impulse—i.e., careless buying instead of careful shopping.

Extracting Wisdom

The story of Job challenges us to see the truth in what his friends say, while conceding their reason for saying it is unfounded. They’re positive Job’s trials are punishment for disobedience, when they’re really tests to prove his integrity. Yet if their misguided motives negated the wisdom of their words, why record them at all? It would be much simpler—and clearer—to condense their visit into a brief passage: “Job’s friends grieved with him, trying to persuade him he had sinned. But Job resisted their counsel and it was counted to him as righteousness.” Thus, reading Job is a tricky exercise in extracting wisdom from knee-jerk rationale.

Of the three friends, Zophar is the harshest. The other two, Eliphaz and Bildad, focus more on God, respectively emphasizing His mercy and justice. Zophar, however, couldn’t be surer that Job’s hanging on to impulsive purchases that litter his life and cause problems between him and His Maker. “If you put away the sin that is in your hand and allow no evil to dwell in your tent,” Zophar tells Job, “then you will lift up your face without shame; you will stand firm and without fear.” Although this couldn’t be further off the beam in Job’s situation, the principle still merits serious consideration. When we think about what brings us shame, contributes to our instability, and fosters fear in our lives, we’re bound to find, to a one, we’ve bought into them without thinking. The problems they cause—the space they require, the effort they exact, and the deficits they create—are reasons enough to get rid of them. Suppose Zophar were our friend and he adopted the shopping and buying metaphors. He’d tell us: “You don’t need that junk. Take it back where you got it and don’t ever buy it again. You don’t really want it. You can’t really use it. All it’s good for is tripping over.” In our case, he’d be spot-on.

Shopping Savvy

My best friend is the savviest shopper I know. He doesn’t buy anything he doesn’t need or won’t use. He has no issue with paying top price for something truly necessary. On the other hand, for things he’d like to have but could live without, he won’t part with a penny to get them until he researches them thoroughly and finds where he can buy them at the least expense. That’s par for smart shoppers. But Jerry goes one step further. If it’s an item he’s adding, he imposes a waiting period before opening his wallet—to be certain he really wants it. If he’s replacing an old item with a new one, he removes the old one from his house and waits to see if he genuinely misses it. So, while others moan about redundancies and clutter, Jerry’s life grows more streamlined and simple. His shopping list is as much about casting off useless things as acquiring useful ones.

That’s the sort of shopping savvy Zophar endorses—resisting the urge to accumulate thoughts and tendencies that bog us down and displease God. Before we reach for ideas and idols, we should impose a waiting period to determine if we really want them. Before we replace one thing for something better, we should see if we could live without it altogether. We may find not having it at all frees us from shame, instability, and fear. Resisting impulsive impediments is how we keep our hands free from sin and protect our dwellings from evil.

Impulsiveness causes us to purchase thoughts and tendencies we don’t need, can't use, and ultimately wind up tripping over. We should take them back where we got them and never buy them again.

Moving On

The people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven and destroy them?” But Jesus turned and rebuked them, and they went to another village. (Luke 9.53-56)

Transitional Passages

From time to time we come upon transitional passages in the Gospels—brief accounts of going from here to there, with something that seems relatively minor happening along the way. We tend to scoot by these to get to the good stuff, and some of them feel so incidental we may wonder why they’re included at all. Every now and then, though, what takes place borders on monumental, and if we glance over these quick bits we miss why the writers considered them essential. Luke 9.51-56 is an excellent case in point.

Peter, James and John have just witnessed Christ’s transfiguration, the event that initiates the Passover journey to Jerusalem, where Jesus will be tried, executed, and resurrected. The magnitude of the disciples’ experience instills in them a sense of authority unlike anything they’ve known. For Peter, it confirms his confession that Jesus is The Christ. For James and John, whom Jesus calls “the sons of thunder,” it dazzles them with power. They go overboard in holy swagger. First, John hastens to inform Jesus they found a man driving out demons in Christ’s name. “We tried to stop him,” he tells the Lord, “because he is not one of us.” (Luke 9.49) Jesus corrects John’s impetuosity. “Don’t stop him,” He says. “For whoever is not against you is for you.” (v50) It’s pretty much a “mind your own business” scolding. But the Thunder Boys can’t help themselves. Next, Jesus sends messengers ahead to a Samaritan village that He and the disciples will pass through en route to Jerusalem. He intends to rest there. But the Samaritans aren’t eager to accommodate a Jewish prophet and entourage—which makes sense, since they're not welcome in Jerusalem at Passover. So here come the Thunder Boys, feisty as ever, asking, “Should we call down fire from heaven and destroy them?” As if Jesus would countenance such a thing. As if they could actually do it. They’re in a transitional passage of a different kind without knowing it—the steep pass we all must climb to discover true power is evidenced by self-containment and tolerance.

Saving Lives

Once again, Jesus scolds them. Most manuscripts simply note, “Jesus turned and rebuked them.” But some texts also quote Christ directly, saying, “You do not know what kind of spirit you are of, for the Son of Man did not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them.” (v55) The expanded text stresses nothing—including religious rejection—entitles us to wish destruction on anyone. That’s an archaic mentality, based on Old Testament yarns about God wiping out Israel’s adversaries. It’s completely out of keeping with Christ’s spirit and message. And any time we sink to the level of even imagining vengeance, like James and John, we betray our ignorance. We are not born of a spirit of destruction, but one of life and love. The only fire we should be concerned with is the flame burning inside us, the fervor that burns up our impure desires and lights the way to mercy and acceptance. If we truly follow Christ, our main impetus is saving lives, not destroying them.

Punishment is none of our concern. Contemplating ill that might befall someone who harms or disrespects us isn’t worthy of us. Yet it’s also often the case that those who wish us no good will not receive us. How then do we go about “saving them?” This passage answers that question with such simplicity we may be dumbfounded. After Jesus rebukes the Sons of Thunder, the story ends: “And they went to another village.” (v56) This sheds enormous light on what Jesus means by “saving lives.” We tend to think of it in the most grandiose terms—i.e., changing lives. We fret about not being heard or welcomed into a place where we can show those who reject us a better way. We presume if we were there to lead them, they would change. This won’t always be so. Some people have no desire to change. What we tell or show them won’t be anything they’ve not heard or seen. In this context, saving lives means sparing them—praying for their good, their health, and their success despite the harm they intend to do to us. This aligns with Christ’s teaching in Luke 6.27-28: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” Often, saving lives is more about changing us than them.

The Journey’s Beauty

When Jesus realizes He isn’t welcome in the Samaritan village, He moves on. There’s no recrimination toward the villagers. In fact, there’s no mention of them at all. More important things lay ahead. James and John don’t know this is Christ’s last journey to Jerusalem. They want to show off their newfound sense of power and righteousness. Jesus realizes time is of the essence. There are villages ahead that want Him, people who need Him, and believers waiting to minister to Him. Fighting prejudicial resistance will mar the journey’s beauty.

Sometimes moving on is our only option. We have to accept that. We also have to realize others don’t define our value and worthiness. No one needs to be brought low so we can be lifted. Indeed, fantasies of vengeance and retribution reduce us. They pull us down to a level that’s beneath Christ. Instead, we lower ourselves by letting go and moving on. James 4.10 says, “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.” Earlier in Luke 9, Jesus teaches us, “If people do not welcome you, shake the dust off your feet when you leave their town, as a testimony against them.” (v5) Move on. The fact that we’re not around speaks for itself. We don’t have time to linger over destructive thoughts. There are places that want us, people who need us, and others waiting to minister to us. Our journey is too beautiful and sacred to be marred by rejection.

We don’t have time to stick around where we’re not wanted. There are better things ahead. Praying for adversaries’ destruction only mars the beauty of our journey.

Helping Helps Us

Elijah said to her, “Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small cake of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son.” (1 Kings17.13)

No Sense at All

I love the story of Elijah and widow because nothing in it makes sense. If you don’t know it, here’s a quick recap. After Elijah’s told a drought will strike Israel and passes the word to King Ahab, he’s instructed to wait out the drought beside a brook flowing through the Kerith Ravine, east of Jordan. He’s to drink from the brook, while ravens bring him food every day. This makes no sense at all. The drought is meant to draw Israel back to God, yet its prophet is sent away. The ravine sits in a desolate region, with nothing to sustain the prophet. Instead, he’s to rely on ravens—one of the most voracious bird species—to feed him. Elijah has no guarantee the brook won’t dry up, but he obeys anyway. As promised, ravens show up twice a day to drop off bread and meat, though where they steal them from is anybody’s guess. Then the brook runs dry.

So he’s sent further afield, to Sidon (Lebanon), also enduring famine, where God says a pagan widow will care for him. When he meets her, Elijah tells her to bring him some water and, while she’s at it, a piece of bread. The widow replies, “I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.” (1 Kings 17.12) Elijah says, “OK. Don’t be afraid. Go about your business. But make a small cake for me before you cook your last meal.” Why would a pagan woman take food out of her child’s mouth to feed a Jew? Why would a hungry man ask for a small cake? No sense at all.

But Elijah believes God, and the widow believes Elijah, who tells her: “The God of Israel, says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the LORD gives rain on the land.’” (v14) And it is so. She houses Elijah in her spare room. She, her son, and the prophet ride out the famine together—which surely must raise a few eyebrows and stir up some hostility among neighbors who are burying loved ones. Then, when the drought ends, her son suddenly turns ill and dies. The widow believes that’s really why Elijah’s there: to visit calamity on her for her sins. The insanity of the situation grieves the prophet. He takes the boy’s corpse into his room and questions God’s purpose in all of this. He lay against the lad’s body three times, pleading with God to restore his life. God answers Elijah’s prayer. The son revives and the widow says: “Now I know that you are a man of God and that the word of the LORD from your mouth is the truth.” (v24) Evidently, she was as confused as Elijah. Now it makes sense to her. But what sense are we to make of it?

Every Reason Not to Help

This story has enough messages on the loose to fill at least a half dozen posts. From Elijah’s perspective, there’s total faith, trust and obedience, daily provision, and compassion. From the widow’s side, there’s resistance to fear, availing ourselves to God’s purpose, welcoming the stranger, and struggling with doubt and disappointment. The son’s story is all about renewed life. As for God’s role, there’s unnatural providence, guidance through hardship, wisdom in apparent nonsense, reward for obedience, faithfulness, and mercy. Yet as I reread it, something I’d not noticed before struck me. The widow gets help she needs because she helps Elijah.

She has every reason not to help the prophet. Although it’s highly unlikely she’s aware of it, Elijah’s the agent of her suffering; it’s at his word that drought descends on the region to jeopardize her and her son’s lives. He’s also an enemy, a prophet who condemns people like her as sinners. She doesn’t have to help him. Why should she? Why isn’t he bothering a Jewish widow, taking food off her table? Not only is he arrogant. From the sound of things, he’s also intimidating, since Elijah tells her not to be afraid. Furthermore, his promise that her flour and oil will outlast the famine could be no more than a ruse to con food from her. Then, after she complies, that’s not enough. He wants to stay with her! Finally, adding insult to injury, once everything works out as Elijah predicted, relief that she and her son survive gets stolen from her. The prophet will move and she’ll be left with no son to help her survive. What kind of God is this?

An Interlaced Plan

With no logical excuse for the widow to obey Elijah, there’s only one explanation for why she comes to his aid. She’s moved to help him. When God sends the prophet to Sidon, He says, “I have commanded a widow in that place to supply you with food.” (v9) The widow acts on God’s urgency. She may not understand why she helps the prophet. She may not recognize where the prompt in her spirit comes from. But she heeds the command in defiance of everything that makes sense. It’s not until she encounters worse hardship and experiences God’s mercy that she knows what’s happened. She's played a key role in an intricately interlaced plan—a grand design that comes together to fix Israel’s problem, provides for its prophet, and places him with the widow to restore her son’s life. We don’t know the nature of his illness, only that it’s not famine-related. Had she extricated herself from God’s plan and not helped Elijah, when her son fell ill, she would have been left alone, without hope. The help she needed wouldn’t have been there.

So often in God’s mysterious ways, just as ravens bring food instead of devouring it, people who seek our help are actually sent to provide it. It makes no sense at all to help someone who causes problems for us, condemns us, and asks of us what they won’t ask of their own people. But we are commanded to help, and when we obey, we enter God’s interlaced plan. He often places us with people who, by all rights, we shouldn’t help so we can receive help for ourselves.

So often people who reach out for our help are actually sent to provide help for us. If we rationalize why we shouldn't or can't help them, we extricate ourselves from God's plan.