The Souls That Fail

“And when you have turned again, strengthen your brothers” (Luke 22:29)

History is unrepeatable, historians say, but it can be re-lived many times in one's memory. Our successes we like to savor; our failures we'd rather forget. I'm learning, however, to cherish the days that I fail.

I'm learning that blunders, mistakes and missed opportunities are means of grace and great blessing if I accept them as part of my call. "It came as a revelation. It was worth the price of the gale: To know that the souls that conquer must at first be the souls that fail” (George Matheson).

Through humiliation our strength is baffled, we're disabused of our illusions of grandeur and brought low. There, we learn to meet with the lowly. We’re able to get in touch with other people’s feelings. We can empathize with those that have fallen; we can accept and love them as no other can. 

But we must let go of regret. Brooding over past failure intimidates us and turns us away from love; feelings of inadequacy overwhelm and isolate us. We're afraid to venture ourselves again. But when we accept our failures as simple proof that we're utterly inadequate, God's strength is made perfect in our weakness. We have grace to turn outward to others and to do so with greater compassion, wisdom and sensitivity. Thus our mistakes are turned into good.  

Failure is not ruinous; we are called to failure and owe much to each day that we fail. The lessons that we learn there "are worth the price of the gale."

David Roper

A Friend of Man

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

—Sam Walter Foss

Warm-Up: Genesis 14:17-24

Melchizedek is clearly a type of Jesus. The book of Hebrews leaves no doubt (Hebrews 7:1-28).

But, he was also a man, and as such is an example of the kind of man I want to be.

I want to be a friend of souls. I want to stand by the way as Melchizedek did, waiting for weary travelers, “laying low, in the places where the ragged people go.”

I want to look for those who have been battered and wronged by others, who carry the dreary burden of a wounded and disillusioned heart. I want to nourish and refresh them with bread and wine and send them on their way with a benediction.

I cannot “fix” those who pass by, but I can love them and listen to their hearts. I can pray with them. I can share a word of scripture when it’s appropriate. I can sing “sustaining songs,” as good Poohphiles know to do. And I can leave them with a blessing.

A “blessing” is more than a parting shibboleth, or a polite response to a sneeze. We bless others when we bring them to the One who is the source of blessing. Melchizedek blessed Abram, saying, “Blessed be Abram by God Most High…” As Billy Graham would say, he blessed him real good.

I cannot strengthen feeble hands, nor can I fortify knees that have given away, but I can bring weary travelers to the one who can. His bread gives endurance, strength and eternal consolation. His wine gladdens the heart and sustains it.

I cannot undo the cruel or dreary circumstances of anyone’s journey, nor can I take away its travail, but I can remind those who trudge by that there is one who walks with them, who holds them with his right hand, who guides them with his counsel, and afterward will take them into glory.

I cannot help the helpless, but I can pray with them; I can take them with me to the throne of grace to find help in time of need.  I cannot show them the way, but I can “show them God,” as John Piper says.

This is my blessing.

David Roper

On Caring For Your Horse

“And so in gymnastics, if a man takes violent exercise and is a great feeder, at first the high condition of his body fills him with confidence and spirit, and he becomes twice the man that he was.” —Plato, The Republic

I was a physical education major in college and have always had an interest in personal fitness. When I was a young man I took a lot of "violent exercise,” and tried to be a "great feeder." I’m a bit stove–in now, but I still manage a little dog–walking, light lifting and Carolyn manages my diet. I find these efforts "beneficial" to use Paul's modest word (1 Timothy 4:8). 

I don’t exercise to extend my life span, for such things are determined in the counsels of heaven, nor am I concerned so much with quality of life issues, though exercise does reduce stress and can produce a happier frame of mind. I exercise to take care of my “horse.” 

I'm thinking here of a remark David Brainerd made to a friend. Brainerd, as you may know, devoted himself to missionary work among Native Americans and drove himself relentlessly and without thought for his health. He died at age 29, having worn out his body. "I have killed my horse," he said "and cannot continue my journey." 

I wouldn't disparage Brainerd's zeal for a moment, for his efforts and diary have turned many to serve God here and abroad. Furthermore, he was driven by the love of Christ and there can be no higher motivation.  But I can't help but wonder what he might have done if he had taken better care of his horse. 

The Wise Man provides some balance: "The horse is made ready for the day of battle, but victory is from the Lord" (Proverbs 21:31). There’s no spiritual power in physical exercise; it’s just a practical consideration.

I think Paul would agree and would recommend walking. He did a lot of it in his time. 

DHR

Mirrors

“The wearer of Grandmother’s (Lady Wisdom’s) clothes never thinks about how he or she looks, but thinks how handsome other people are” (George MacDonald, The Golden Key. p. 16).

I read today that “(Barzalel) made the basin of bronze and its stand of bronze, from the mirrors of the ministering women…” (Exodus 38:8).

Bezalel was the artisan that made the articles of the tabernacle in the wilderness. Here we’re told that certain “ministering women” gave up their precious copper mirrors to form the material for the bronze basin he was constructing.

“Giving up” our mirrors can be equally costly, but it can be a very good thing—for men as well as women. To be sure, we have to see that our faces are in place each morning, but too much scrutiny and self–examination can be disconcerting, especially as we age. Furthermore, it can be disorienting: It can make us think too much about ourselves, and not enough about others.

We should forget about our own faces just as soon as we can, remembering that God loves us as we are—in all our imperfection—and bring other’s faces to mind, thinking more about them than we do about ourselves (Philippians 2:4).

Augustine said that we get lost in loving ourselves, but found in loving others (Sermon 96:1). Put another way, the secret of happiness is not getting our face right but giving our hearts away, giving our lives away, giving our selves away, in love.

DHR 

One Day Nearer Home!

“Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.”

― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

It was more than fifty years ago: A friend and I set out to climb Mount Whitney, the tallest mountain in the lower forty-eight. We arrived at Whitney Portal late one evening, rolled out our sleeping bags at base camp and tried to get some sleep before we began our ascent at first light. [As those of you who’ve climbed Mt. Whitney know, it’s not a technical climb but rather a long, weary walk—11 hard miles to the summit.] 

The ascent was exhilarating, with stunning vistas, cerulean lakes and lush meadows along the way, but the trail was long and wearisome, a test for legs and lungs. I thought of turning back as the shadows grew long and the trail seemed to stretch endlessly before me.

Occasionally, however, I caught a glimpse of the summit and I realized that each step was bringing me one step closer. If I just kept walking, one foot up and one foot down, I would get there. That was the thought that kept me going.   

Paul assures us: “(Our ultimate) salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed” (Romans 13:11). Every day brings us one day closer to that great day when we shall “summit” and see our Savior’s face.

It’s not long now. If I keep walking with Jesus, one foot up and one foot down, I shall get there someday. That’s the thought that keeps me going.

DHR 

Just one day nearer Home as shadows of the night descend;
Just one day less to roam as fading twilight colors blend.
Beneath the starry dome I’ll rest beside my Guide and Friend;
With each day’s tramping, nightly camping, one day nearer Home!

—Author unknown

Even to Old Age

”Even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you.

I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save" (Isaiah. 46:4).

Some of my younger-older friends lament the fact that they're over the hill. "Believe me,” I say, “it only gets worse,” for in my experience, going "over the hill" is not steady, slow descent; it's more like falling off a cliff:  “One woe doth tread upon another’s heel so fast they follow," Hamlet said. Dealing with those cascading woes is the spiritual challenge for us in our latter years, I believe. 

Philosopher Emanuel Kant somewhere said that age wants to be looked upon as meritorious and stand as a good example. It strikes me that one ministry of the aged is simply that: to be a good example and show younger Christians how to age, for barring an early demise, every young person will someday be old.

Charles Spurgeon wrote, “Do not let the young people catch you indulging in melancholy, sitting in your chimney–corner, grumbling and growling, but go about cheerful and happy, and they will think how blessed it is to be a Christian. If you are surly and fretful, they will think the Lord has forsaken you; but keep a smiling countenance, and they will think the promise is fulfilled, "Even to old age I will carry you; I will carry and will save." Children run away from a surly old man, but there is not a child in the world but loves his grandpapa if he is cheerful and happy. You can lead us to heaven if you have got heaven’s sunlight on your face…for so will you prove to us that even to old age God is with you, and that when your strength fails, he is still your salvation.“

The strength of grace does not fail with the passage of time. Our last days can be our best days and our last work our best work if we rest each day on the One who is our righteousness. If we ask Him, He will carry us and He will save.

So, we pray “Even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake (us) until (we) proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come" (Psalm 71:18).

David Roper

3/10/14

Fresh Starts

I like things like mornings and Mondays and September, times of new beginnings and fresh starts. I like times like that—usually!

Lately, though, I've been thinking about those other times. Times when I don't want to jump in and have another go at things. And I've been considering what makes the difference. Why is it that sometimes I'd rather "get on the bus, go to another state and live in the woods and eat berries,"as school-bound Lucy puts it in one "Peanuts"episode? (Charlie Brown gets to the core of the matter by asking, "Having trouble with fractions again, huh?")

What are the "fractions"in my life that take the fizz out, that get me trapped in malaise and wanting to say, "I think I'll pass on that opportunity"? What makes me not want to serve another, work on a relationship, chair a committee, parent a child, lead a study or get involved at any level?
In taking an informal survey of some people I know and looking way down deep in my own heart, l've identified several reasons I might want to opt out - or to not opt in.

The first reason I might not want to start again is the vacation syndrome. A five week vacation in the woods this summer was like Turkish Delight to me. I developed a taste for it and wanted more. Coming back was hard to do. It involved a choice to believe Jesus was right when He said, "The one who loses his life shall find it."As I believed His word I could then choose to accept the responsibilities that He'd given me, knowing that in doing so I'd find life-more than on the open road.

Another reason I've identified for wanting to pull back is an awareness of inadequacy. Looking at the task and thinking "I can't do that!"or "I can't do that as well as she/he can."l empathize with Moses: "Here am l. Send Aaron!"But the Creator says to me as He did to Moses "I called you. I want you. I'll be with you. Because you are weak, the glory will go to Me in the end."Again the choice is mine. Will I take Him at His word?

Not being noticed or taken seriously seems one more reason to fold up my tent and back away. But Jesus said, "Take the lower seat."So why should I mind when someone gives it to me? Instead, I can ignore secondary causes, and inwardly say, "Thank you, Jesus, for giving me this chance to follow You, this chance to take the lower seat. I know You don't give stones when I need bread."I then can get on with what He's called me to do.

These things-–a vacation mentality, an awareness of inadequacy, and a sense of not being noticed are all things that can (and do at times) make it hard for me to step into the realities of my responsibilities. But as hard as these make it, there is one thing that for me makes it even harder. Failure. Not the inability to get the job done, but rather the failure to do it His way. Sin and it's inevitable harvest of guilt and shame can more than anything discredit me in my own eyes to the extent that checking out seems the only option open. I once put it this way:

The feeling's back.
It hurts a lot.
And this is what it says,
"You've done that thing,
The very thing,
You said
You'd never do again.
Shame, shame.
Shame all over you."

The "thing" can be being out of control with my kids or in a meeting. Or one-on-one saying hurtful things, rather than speaking words that heal. Maybe I've had a failure in courage or in courtesy. Maybe I've been flirting with the world and made some bad moves. Any of these, sneaking up on me for the umpteenth time, can make me say with David, "My vitality was drained away as with the fever-heat of summer"(Psalm 32:4). I mean, it's bad enough to realize I had it in me in the first place, but to see it come out again can be overwhelming. Humbling even.

Over the years the Lord has been teaching me a few principles about my failures—my sin.

1. I need to take a good, hard look at these death spots in my life and acknowledge them . Even though it's humbling and it hurts, I can look without fear because God only reveals these to me so that He can heal me. He's not playing "Gotcha!"

2. 1 am learning to let my failures lead me to say, "Amazing grace, that saved a wretch like me."And to mean it! As I then confess my sin and turn from it toward God, I can worship Him more genuinely. I know I'm forgiven much, and so I love Him much.

3. Too, by disclosing to me the bond I have with each other sinning person, Jesus is increasingly tenderizing me. I see how I thrive under His forgiveness and understanding and I want to pass it on.

4. A while back, though, I was stumped. I couldn't figure out how a sinless God could understand the shame and guilt that issued from my failure. Even the great passage in Hebrews four that assures me Jesus understands my struggles, says He is without sin. "So how can You understand?"I asked Him. With a bold stroke He reminded me of His cross. His word came quietly to my thoughts: "He who knew no sin became sin for you that you might become the righteousness of God"(2 Cor. 5:21). He had felt sin's burden of guilt and shame. He does understand. He is a merciful high priest who can offer both help and sympathy in even this.

Because I'm learning to look at my failure the way God does, I'm energized to welcome the opportunities that come with September and Mondays and mornings. It's becoming freshly real that "His mercies are new every morning."And I can start again. So can you!

Carolyn Roper