As Light as a Feather
From there to here,
from here to there,
funny things are everywhere.
If you never did
You should.
These things are fun.
These things are good.
—Dr. Seuss (One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish)
“What do you do for fun?” is a question I like to ask pastors. The answer, quite often, is, “Nothing.” “Nothing!” I exclaim, “What for, when there’s so much fun to be had in this world? Fun is good and good is fun; a merry heart is like medicine!
We Christians can be a dour, joyless lot, preoccupied with maintaining our sobriety and dignity. That’s an odd attitude since we’re joined to a God who has given us the gift of laughter.
Some households, I know, are more reserved and restrained, but our home has always been a house of laughter. We like nonsense. Water-fights, good–natured (albeit stiff) competition, gentle ribbing, high jinks and hilarity came easily to us. Laughter has been a gift of God’s goodness that has carried us through some of life’s darkest days. The joy of the Lord has been our refuge.[1]
I read the other day of David’s efforts to bring the ark to Jerusalem from the house of Obed-Edom and that he “danced” before the Lord along the way.[2] The Hebrew word, translated “dance” in most versions, has the idea of joyful exuberance and is akin to our expression “kick up your heels.” Michal, David’s wife, felt his antics were unbecoming the dignity of a king and reacted with stern severity. David’s response was to announce that he would become even more “undignified,” a word that actually means, “to be light,” as in “as light as a feather.”
So we must lighten up, I say. There is, as Solomon declared, “a time to laugh.”[3]
DHR
[1] Nehemiah 8:10. The word often translated “strength,” actually means “a place of safety.”
[2] 2 Samuel 6:21,22
[3] Ecclesiastes 3:4
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
WHO GOES THERE?Last fall Carolyn and I were driving up a winding mountain road into the Sawtooths when we came across a large band of sheep moving down the road toward us. A lone shepherd with his dogs was in the vanguard, leading his flock out of summer pasture into the lowlands and winter quarters.
We pulled to the side of the road and waited while the flock swirled around us—and watched them until they were out of sight.
I wondered: Sheep are the embodiment of all that is feeble and helpless. Do they fear moveßment and new places?”
Like most old folks I like the “fold”—the old, familiar regimens (Like Bilbo, the aging hobbit, “I miss my meal at noon.”) But all is shifting and changing these days; I’m being led out—away from familiar surroundings and into a vast unknown. I wonder: What new limits will overtake me this year, now that I’m older than old? What nameless fears will awaken? Jesus’ words come to mind: “When I lead my sheep out, I go before them (John 10:4).
I may well be dismayed at what life holds in store for me this year and next, but my shepherd knows the way I’m taking—He goes before. He will not lead me down paths too dangerous, too arduous for me; He knows my limits and will strike a leisurely pace. He knows the way to green pasture and good water; all I have to do is follow.
Thus I need not fear tomorrow, or take on its obligations, for tomorrow will take care of itself: Tomorrow “must pass through Him before it gets to me”
Doubt has cast its weird, unwelcome shadows o’er me
Thoughts that life’s best and choisest things are o’er.
What but His word can strengthen and restore me.
And this blest fact: that still He goes before.
—J. Danson Smith
DHR
Saturday, November 8, 2008
DINGO DOG
“Goodness is something so simple: always to live for others, never to seek one’s own advantage.”
—Dag Hammerskjold
Harry Tupper is a fishing legend here in Idaho. In fact there's a place on Henry's Lake near Staley Springs that’s named for him: Tupper's Hole it's called.
I fished alongside Harry a time or two several years ago, but I never lingered long. He tended to be a little cranky and would shoo you away if you got too close.
The thing I remember most about Harry, aside from his rare ability to hook those huge Henry’s Lake hybrids, was his dog, Dingo. Now there was a dog!
Dingo used to sit alongside Harry in his boat and watch him intently while he fished. When the old fisherman hooked a trout, Dingo would bark furiously until the fish was netted and released.
As Dingo got older he spent a good portion of each day sleeping in the bottom of Harry’s boat. He would snooze until Harry hooked a trout, and then rouse himself out of slumber, shake himself, and bark to show his approval. Then he would lie down and go back to sleep. (I once saw Harry hook a fish and nudge the slumbering dog gently with his toe so Dingo could wake up and bark his applause.)
Harry and Dingo are gone now, more is the pity, but their “dance of two” often comes to mind. Dingo had it right: it’s better to get more excited about what others are doing than what we’re doing ourselves.
Paul put it this way: “Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but in humility of mind let each one of you regard one another as more important than himself; do not look out for your own personal interests, but also look out for the interests of others”—a concept so staggering that Paul has to validate it by the example of Jesus, “who was in very nature God,” but who emptied himself of self–interest, and became a servant to all—who gave his entire life to further others’ interests and ultimately to secure their eternal salvation (2:3-8).
This was the “attitude” of Jesus, or, as we would say, his “mind–set” and the attitude we’re to adopt as well. For in self–giving, if anywhere, we manifest the essence of God’s character, for it has always been God’s nature to think more of others than he thinks of himself. Why else would he humble himself, “and became obedient to death — even death on a cross” (2:8).
God knows we regard ourselves too highly. Our natural response to every issue is to consider our own interests first, to look at everything from the perspective of our own needs and wants. The call here is to unlearn that natural proclivity. What are others’ best interests? What do they want? What concerns do they have; what needs do they feel?
And so, I ask myself, do I deem others’ interests more important than my own? Do I get as excited about what God is doing in and through them as I do about what he is doing in and through me? Do I long to see others grow in grace and gain recognition though it may have been my efforts that made them successful? Do I find satisfaction in seeing my spiritual children outstrip me in the spiritual work they are called to do?
Do you? If so, this is the measure of our greatness, for we are most like God when our thoughts for ourselves are lost in our thoughts for others. Such simplicity; no greater love (John 15:13).
DHR
“Goodness is something so simple: always to live for others, never to seek one’s own advantage.”
—Dag Hammerskjold
Harry Tupper is a fishing legend here in Idaho. In fact there's a place on Henry's Lake near Staley Springs that’s named for him: Tupper's Hole it's called.
I fished alongside Harry a time or two several years ago, but I never lingered long. He tended to be a little cranky and would shoo you away if you got too close.
The thing I remember most about Harry, aside from his rare ability to hook those huge Henry’s Lake hybrids, was his dog, Dingo. Now there was a dog!
Dingo used to sit alongside Harry in his boat and watch him intently while he fished. When the old fisherman hooked a trout, Dingo would bark furiously until the fish was netted and released.
As Dingo got older he spent a good portion of each day sleeping in the bottom of Harry’s boat. He would snooze until Harry hooked a trout, and then rouse himself out of slumber, shake himself, and bark to show his approval. Then he would lie down and go back to sleep. (I once saw Harry hook a fish and nudge the slumbering dog gently with his toe so Dingo could wake up and bark his applause.)
Harry and Dingo are gone now, more is the pity, but their “dance of two” often comes to mind. Dingo had it right: it’s better to get more excited about what others are doing than what we’re doing ourselves.
Paul put it this way: “Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but in humility of mind let each one of you regard one another as more important than himself; do not look out for your own personal interests, but also look out for the interests of others”—a concept so staggering that Paul has to validate it by the example of Jesus, “who was in very nature God,” but who emptied himself of self–interest, and became a servant to all—who gave his entire life to further others’ interests and ultimately to secure their eternal salvation (2:3-8).
This was the “attitude” of Jesus, or, as we would say, his “mind–set” and the attitude we’re to adopt as well. For in self–giving, if anywhere, we manifest the essence of God’s character, for it has always been God’s nature to think more of others than he thinks of himself. Why else would he humble himself, “and became obedient to death — even death on a cross” (2:8).
God knows we regard ourselves too highly. Our natural response to every issue is to consider our own interests first, to look at everything from the perspective of our own needs and wants. The call here is to unlearn that natural proclivity. What are others’ best interests? What do they want? What concerns do they have; what needs do they feel?
And so, I ask myself, do I deem others’ interests more important than my own? Do I get as excited about what God is doing in and through them as I do about what he is doing in and through me? Do I long to see others grow in grace and gain recognition though it may have been my efforts that made them successful? Do I find satisfaction in seeing my spiritual children outstrip me in the spiritual work they are called to do?
Do you? If so, this is the measure of our greatness, for we are most like God when our thoughts for ourselves are lost in our thoughts for others. Such simplicity; no greater love (John 15:13).
DHR
Thursday, November 6, 2008
ROSESI was walking through a garden last summer and this rose-bud caught my eye. Its beauty was breathtaking. I could only stop and stare.
Have you ever really looked at a rose—looked at it for its own beauty, for “itself?” Some may tear it apart to analyze it, see all its elements and name them, but it would kill the rose. Wordsworth said, “Our meddling intellect mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—We murder to dissect.”
People are like roses, only more beautiful. Don’t pick them apart. Don’t try to classify, compare, analyze or catalogue them. Just enjoy them. Take the time to sit down and listen to them. Love them for “themselves.” That’s the only way to know them.
Oh, I should warn you, roses, like people, have thorns, but don’t let that stop you from loving them.
DHR
Sunday, November 2, 2008
BEHOLD! THE LAMB…
Pablo Neruda, the Peruvian poet, was a solitary, isolated child, with no brothers or sisters, playmates or friends; no one to play with. He was very lonely and unhappy.
One day he was investigating the backyard of his home when he came across a hole in the high fence that surrounded the yard. He looked through the hole into a new world, a wild, unexplored landscape that he had never seen before.
Suddenly, a small hand reach out. Then just as suddenly the hand was withdrawn and in its place was a little sheep, a small toy sheep that had wheels and you pulled with a string.
Neruda ran back inside the house and brought the best toy he had—a pinecone “full of odor and resin.” He set it down in the same spot and ran off with the sheep. The little sheep became his most cherished possession.
Later the sheep was destroyed in a fire, but Neruda said that for years after he could not pass a toy store without looking inside to find another one like it. He never found one. “They don't make sheep like that any more,” he concluded.
The exchange brought home to the poet a profound yet simple fact: Life’s greatest gift is “to feel an affection that comes from Someone we do not know… Someone who is watching over us in our solitude.”
I read the story and I thought of God’s “little sheep”—the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world (John 1:29). His hand is reaching out, forever—holding out that gift. Someone loves you and is watching over you in your solitude. They don’t make sheep like that anymore.
DHR
Pablo Neruda, the Peruvian poet, was a solitary, isolated child, with no brothers or sisters, playmates or friends; no one to play with. He was very lonely and unhappy.
One day he was investigating the backyard of his home when he came across a hole in the high fence that surrounded the yard. He looked through the hole into a new world, a wild, unexplored landscape that he had never seen before.
Suddenly, a small hand reach out. Then just as suddenly the hand was withdrawn and in its place was a little sheep, a small toy sheep that had wheels and you pulled with a string.
Neruda ran back inside the house and brought the best toy he had—a pinecone “full of odor and resin.” He set it down in the same spot and ran off with the sheep. The little sheep became his most cherished possession.
Later the sheep was destroyed in a fire, but Neruda said that for years after he could not pass a toy store without looking inside to find another one like it. He never found one. “They don't make sheep like that any more,” he concluded.
The exchange brought home to the poet a profound yet simple fact: Life’s greatest gift is “to feel an affection that comes from Someone we do not know… Someone who is watching over us in our solitude.”
I read the story and I thought of God’s “little sheep”—the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world (John 1:29). His hand is reaching out, forever—holding out that gift. Someone loves you and is watching over you in your solitude. They don’t make sheep like that anymore.
DHR
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
More Thoughts on "Crafty Means"
"The best thing you can do for your fellow is not to tell him, but to wake things up that are already in him." -George MacDonald
I wrote in my last e-musing that Jesus was master of subtle indirection. There are numerous examples of this subtlety, but one that comes to mind is his use of the non sequitur: an answer that doesn't follow-at least until you’ve thought about it for awhile.
For example, a man once queried Jesus: "Are only a few people going to be saved?" Jesus' teaching, in an earlier gathering-in which he compared the Kingdom of God to a mustard seed-probably triggered the question. It was natural, therefore, for this man to assume that Jesus believed that the number of subjects in the Kingdom would very small. That question-the number of the elect-was an academic theological issue the rabbis often debated.
Jesus went straight to the heart: "You," he said, "must make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able to" (Luke 13:24).
By his unexpected response Jesus turned the theoretical, "How few?" into the personal, "How about you?"
It occurs to me that the man's question is analogous to the "What about people who've never heard?" rejoinder from those who are trying to stave off the gospel. Rather than trying to explain the enigma, perhaps our response might be: "Good question. I don't know about those who've never heard the gospel, though I do believe God will do what's right. But you’ve heard. How about you?”
And then, there was an occasion on which someone in a crowd said to Jesus, "Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me" (Luke 12:13). Jesus answer was a terse, "Beware of greed," speaking to the selfish motives underlying this man's demand for fairness, exposing our own hypocrisy, for many of our demands for legal redress are driven by personal greed and self-interest. It’s not injustice but greed that destroys our souls. "Why not rather be defrauded?" Paul would say. That's what Love would do.
Luke mentions another situation in which some people reported to Jesus the tragic news about certain Galileans "whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices" (Luke 13:1). Apparently Pilate's troops had surrounded and slaughtered a group of Jews while they were worshipping in the temple. We don't know anything more about the massacre, but it's in keeping with what we do know about Pilate's character.
Once again Jesus' answer was unexpected: "Do you think these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them-do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish" (Luke 13:2-5).
Jesus' answer laid bare the hearts of those who reported this event. Apparently, their take on this slaughter was that these "Galileans" were worse sinners than they and deserved the punishment they received. Pilate's cruelty was surely God's wrath turned on these wicked folks. "No," Jesus replied, "Unless you repent you too will perish in your sin."
All of which reminds me of a severe, self-righteous man who sat across from me at lunch one day and growled, "9/11 is the wrath of God against gays!" I was stunned into silence. Looking back, I should have said, "Unless we repent, we too will perish in our sin."
DHR
"The best thing you can do for your fellow is not to tell him, but to wake things up that are already in him." -George MacDonald
I wrote in my last e-musing that Jesus was master of subtle indirection. There are numerous examples of this subtlety, but one that comes to mind is his use of the non sequitur: an answer that doesn't follow-at least until you’ve thought about it for awhile.
For example, a man once queried Jesus: "Are only a few people going to be saved?" Jesus' teaching, in an earlier gathering-in which he compared the Kingdom of God to a mustard seed-probably triggered the question. It was natural, therefore, for this man to assume that Jesus believed that the number of subjects in the Kingdom would very small. That question-the number of the elect-was an academic theological issue the rabbis often debated.
Jesus went straight to the heart: "You," he said, "must make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able to" (Luke 13:24).
By his unexpected response Jesus turned the theoretical, "How few?" into the personal, "How about you?"
It occurs to me that the man's question is analogous to the "What about people who've never heard?" rejoinder from those who are trying to stave off the gospel. Rather than trying to explain the enigma, perhaps our response might be: "Good question. I don't know about those who've never heard the gospel, though I do believe God will do what's right. But you’ve heard. How about you?”
And then, there was an occasion on which someone in a crowd said to Jesus, "Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me" (Luke 12:13). Jesus answer was a terse, "Beware of greed," speaking to the selfish motives underlying this man's demand for fairness, exposing our own hypocrisy, for many of our demands for legal redress are driven by personal greed and self-interest. It’s not injustice but greed that destroys our souls. "Why not rather be defrauded?" Paul would say. That's what Love would do.
Luke mentions another situation in which some people reported to Jesus the tragic news about certain Galileans "whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices" (Luke 13:1). Apparently Pilate's troops had surrounded and slaughtered a group of Jews while they were worshipping in the temple. We don't know anything more about the massacre, but it's in keeping with what we do know about Pilate's character.
Once again Jesus' answer was unexpected: "Do you think these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them-do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish" (Luke 13:2-5).
Jesus' answer laid bare the hearts of those who reported this event. Apparently, their take on this slaughter was that these "Galileans" were worse sinners than they and deserved the punishment they received. Pilate's cruelty was surely God's wrath turned on these wicked folks. "No," Jesus replied, "Unless you repent you too will perish in your sin."
All of which reminds me of a severe, self-righteous man who sat across from me at lunch one day and growled, "9/11 is the wrath of God against gays!" I was stunned into silence. Looking back, I should have said, "Unless we repent, we too will perish in our sin."
DHR
Monday, October 13, 2008
TELL ALL THE TRUTH BUT TELL IT SLANT
—By Emily Dickinson
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---
One of the first books on fly fishing I know anything about appeared in the late fifteenth century. It was written by Dame Juliana Berners, an English nun, of all things, and entitled A Treatyse of Fysshyng Wyth an Angle.
Dame Berners’ book covered all aspects of fly-fishing from the crafting of equipment to fly-tying. One of her flies, the “stone flye,” remains a popular pattern on Idaho streams to this day.
“It is a very great pleasure,” she wrote, addressing the reader in a true angler’s spirit, “to see the fair, bright, shiney–scaled fishes deceived by your crafty means and drawn to land.”
It is a great pleasure to put it all together: to read the water and see the seams and other places where fish are likely to hold; to select the right pattern; to make a well–placed and delicate presentation; to time the strike; to play a large trout that “bores and sulks” (her words), that “springs from the deep and tries aërial ways”; and then to bring it to net. To fool a wild and wary trout “and draw it to land.” “Crafty means” is the name of the game.
When it comes to our presentations of the gospel, however, we’re often anything but crafty. Bumper stickers, turn-or-burn tee shirts and other in–your–face techniques are largely ignored and serve only to depersonalize and trivialize the gospel, or so it seems to me. “The best thing you can do for your fellow,” George MacDonald said, “is not to tell him, but to wake things up that are in him; or to make him think things for himself.”
It impresses me that Jesus was so oblique in his witness in contrast to our directness. He often used indirection, plying his listeners with puckish, unexpected comments that surprised them, subverted their minds with the unexpected and unaccustomed and went straight to their hearts. To use Kierkegaard’s marvelous word, He “smuggled” the gospel into their hearts.
I have a friend. Matt Prince, who got himself invited to a dinner party in which he discovered he had been set up: brought in to witness to a belligerent unbeliever who loved to bait Christians.
Throughout the evening the man hassled Matt mercilessly about the evils of Christendom, citing the Crusades, pogroms against the Jews, Apartheid, colonialism, the Ku Klux Klan, the Inquisition, the Aryan Nation, churchmen burning one another at the stake, and all the other atrocious and ungodly things so-called Christians have done throughout history to the greater glory of God. In each case Matt calmly replied, “That’s an interesting point of view. Tell me what do you do in your spare time?” or some such thing, showing genuine interest in the man and deflecting the discussion away from each dividing issue.
As the two men were walking out the door at the end of the evening the non–Christian fired his final salvo, at which point Matt put his arm around the other man’s shoulders and replied. “My friend,” he said with a chuckle, “all night long, you’ve been trying to talk to me about religion. Tell me. Are you some kind of religious nut?”
The man’s animosity dissolved in a burst of laughter. Matt made a friend that day and had other opportunities to show him the love of Christ, I’m told. I don’t know the end of the story, but then we rarely do. God only knows each finale.
Evangelism is not mugging people, but befriending them, loving them and telling the truth “slant.” I’m reminded here of Jesus’ words: “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.”
DHR
—By Emily Dickinson
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---
One of the first books on fly fishing I know anything about appeared in the late fifteenth century. It was written by Dame Juliana Berners, an English nun, of all things, and entitled A Treatyse of Fysshyng Wyth an Angle.
Dame Berners’ book covered all aspects of fly-fishing from the crafting of equipment to fly-tying. One of her flies, the “stone flye,” remains a popular pattern on Idaho streams to this day.
“It is a very great pleasure,” she wrote, addressing the reader in a true angler’s spirit, “to see the fair, bright, shiney–scaled fishes deceived by your crafty means and drawn to land.”
It is a great pleasure to put it all together: to read the water and see the seams and other places where fish are likely to hold; to select the right pattern; to make a well–placed and delicate presentation; to time the strike; to play a large trout that “bores and sulks” (her words), that “springs from the deep and tries aërial ways”; and then to bring it to net. To fool a wild and wary trout “and draw it to land.” “Crafty means” is the name of the game.
When it comes to our presentations of the gospel, however, we’re often anything but crafty. Bumper stickers, turn-or-burn tee shirts and other in–your–face techniques are largely ignored and serve only to depersonalize and trivialize the gospel, or so it seems to me. “The best thing you can do for your fellow,” George MacDonald said, “is not to tell him, but to wake things up that are in him; or to make him think things for himself.”
It impresses me that Jesus was so oblique in his witness in contrast to our directness. He often used indirection, plying his listeners with puckish, unexpected comments that surprised them, subverted their minds with the unexpected and unaccustomed and went straight to their hearts. To use Kierkegaard’s marvelous word, He “smuggled” the gospel into their hearts.
I have a friend. Matt Prince, who got himself invited to a dinner party in which he discovered he had been set up: brought in to witness to a belligerent unbeliever who loved to bait Christians.
Throughout the evening the man hassled Matt mercilessly about the evils of Christendom, citing the Crusades, pogroms against the Jews, Apartheid, colonialism, the Ku Klux Klan, the Inquisition, the Aryan Nation, churchmen burning one another at the stake, and all the other atrocious and ungodly things so-called Christians have done throughout history to the greater glory of God. In each case Matt calmly replied, “That’s an interesting point of view. Tell me what do you do in your spare time?” or some such thing, showing genuine interest in the man and deflecting the discussion away from each dividing issue.
As the two men were walking out the door at the end of the evening the non–Christian fired his final salvo, at which point Matt put his arm around the other man’s shoulders and replied. “My friend,” he said with a chuckle, “all night long, you’ve been trying to talk to me about religion. Tell me. Are you some kind of religious nut?”
The man’s animosity dissolved in a burst of laughter. Matt made a friend that day and had other opportunities to show him the love of Christ, I’m told. I don’t know the end of the story, but then we rarely do. God only knows each finale.
Evangelism is not mugging people, but befriending them, loving them and telling the truth “slant.” I’m reminded here of Jesus’ words: “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.”
DHR
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