Third: I know, through the principal of autosuggestion, that any desire I persistently hold in my mind will eventually seek expression through some practical means of obtaining the object back of it; therefore I will devote ten minutes daily to demanding of myself the development of self-confidence.(Napoleon Hill, Think and Grow Rich)
In his book The Dreamgiver, Bruce Wilkinson says God gives each of us a dream at birth, that the dream doesn't belong to me, it is God's, I am merely the steward of the dream; and that, if I don't follow my dream, others will suffer. I am now convinced this is true.
God put in each of us a unique combination of gifts and graces, and he placed each of us where he placed us, and exactly when, not for a reason, but for a host of reasons.
You are God's gift to the world.
Each one of us is.
When any of us fails to achieve our dreams, something God wants for the world doesn't come to fruition. If people don't suffer, they don't prosper as they should. And frequently, people suffer.
You are that important to the world. And your refusing to believe it isn't "humble". It's shirking your duty. It's abdicating your responsibility. And it's short-circuiting your own greatest happiness.
So self-confidence isn't optional. It's necessary. We will never be of any use to anyone before we believe in our abilities.
This is where I think Satan has his greatest triumph: in convincing us that we are no one of any significance, that nothing we ever do will make any difference, that the world would be no better off without us. I think this is behind teenage pregnancy, drug addiction, obesity, a host of evils. I think all of these things grow out of our failure to recognize ourselves for what we are: nascent Children of God, royalty beyond anything the House of Windsor will ever reach, greater than all the greatest kings, emperors, caesars, czars, presidents, prime ministers, popes, prefects, patriarchs, premieres combined will ever be.
I demand of myself the development of self-confidence.
I'm not 100% sure what that means. I don't really know how to do that. But I have learned, from the few times I have acted, that when you really get into a part, you can become that part.
I know what self-confidence looks like. Self-confidence looks others squarely and forthrightly in the eyes. Self confidence stands tall and erect. Self confidence moves deliberately, and not too fast. Self confidence speaks firmly, slowly enough to be understand, never shrilly. I can do that. I will do that. I must do that. The dream God has given me is so huge and so important and so necessary, the world suffers so without it, for the sake of the world, I demand of myself the development of self-confidence!
Monday, May 28, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
The Self-confidence Formula: Second
Second: I realize the dominating thoughts of my mind will eventually reproduce themselves in outward, physical action, and gradually transform themselves into physical reality; therefore, I will concentrate my thoughts for thirty minutes daily, upon the task of thinking of the person I intend to become, thereby creating, in my mind, a clear, mental picture. (Napoleon Hill, Think and Grow Rich, p. 46)
One of my favorite quotes is from the Prophet Muhammad: "The most excellent jihad is that for the conquest of self." I quote it because it's right, it's true, it's wise. There is no greater struggle, none more difficult, and none more necessary! The closer you come to that conquest, the easier EVERYTHING else is. If you go easy on yourself, everything else will beat you up and take your lunch money.
Let me state a powerful, powerful corollary of this truth: Self-indulgence is suicide.
When I was in seminary, it was a popular thing to ask stressed people, "What are you doing to take care of yourself?" I used to answer that question with fun things I would do, things I would do to give myself a break. And these are necessary, like salt. But, like salt, overdone, they are poison! Face it: anything in life too far out of balance is poison. And to live for self-indulgence is to take pleasure in your own slow dying.
But a few years later, I learned a powerful lesson. My wife was in her first years as Director of the Wesley Foundation at Georgia State University. They were building a new building and moving Student Services into it. One of the women there, who was greatly responsible for the move, and under a lot of stress, began to lose a lot of weight. Winnie was worried about her, afraid the strain was hurting her. The truth, however, was that this woman, under such a strain, chose to take control of one important area of her life: her weight. Her response to strain was to tighten up on her self-indulgence, and give herself the gift of a healthier body. Now, she knew how to take care of herself!
When you have mastered yourself, you can master virtually anything. When you have mastered yourself, then and only then can you really enjoy yourself. You'll never find real pleasure in self-indulgence. That is the artificial kind.
Real pleasure comes with excellence, with accomplishment, with achievement. And that comes with self-control, self-mastery.
God has given you the godlike power to create yourself, and to recreate yourself. You can make yourself into what you want to be. But it will only take place with great desire, great effort, and probably a great deal of time! It takes self-talk. Self-hypnosis. Saying it aloud, over and over and over again, until you convince yourself. It takes a "clear, concise mental picture", a picture you hold up before your own eyes until it sparks an intense flame of desire within you, a desire that overwhelms all opposition, almost all of which will come from within yourself!
Or you can be ordinary, just like everybody else.
Is that what you want?
One of my favorite quotes is from the Prophet Muhammad: "The most excellent jihad is that for the conquest of self." I quote it because it's right, it's true, it's wise. There is no greater struggle, none more difficult, and none more necessary! The closer you come to that conquest, the easier EVERYTHING else is. If you go easy on yourself, everything else will beat you up and take your lunch money.
Let me state a powerful, powerful corollary of this truth: Self-indulgence is suicide.
When I was in seminary, it was a popular thing to ask stressed people, "What are you doing to take care of yourself?" I used to answer that question with fun things I would do, things I would do to give myself a break. And these are necessary, like salt. But, like salt, overdone, they are poison! Face it: anything in life too far out of balance is poison. And to live for self-indulgence is to take pleasure in your own slow dying.
But a few years later, I learned a powerful lesson. My wife was in her first years as Director of the Wesley Foundation at Georgia State University. They were building a new building and moving Student Services into it. One of the women there, who was greatly responsible for the move, and under a lot of stress, began to lose a lot of weight. Winnie was worried about her, afraid the strain was hurting her. The truth, however, was that this woman, under such a strain, chose to take control of one important area of her life: her weight. Her response to strain was to tighten up on her self-indulgence, and give herself the gift of a healthier body. Now, she knew how to take care of herself!
When you have mastered yourself, you can master virtually anything. When you have mastered yourself, then and only then can you really enjoy yourself. You'll never find real pleasure in self-indulgence. That is the artificial kind.
Real pleasure comes with excellence, with accomplishment, with achievement. And that comes with self-control, self-mastery.
God has given you the godlike power to create yourself, and to recreate yourself. You can make yourself into what you want to be. But it will only take place with great desire, great effort, and probably a great deal of time! It takes self-talk. Self-hypnosis. Saying it aloud, over and over and over again, until you convince yourself. It takes a "clear, concise mental picture", a picture you hold up before your own eyes until it sparks an intense flame of desire within you, a desire that overwhelms all opposition, almost all of which will come from within yourself!
Or you can be ordinary, just like everybody else.
Is that what you want?
Sunday, February 26, 2012
To Unscrew the Inscrutable
IMPORTANT: Read Psalm 25:1-10; Genesis 9:8-17; I Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:9-15 before you read another word!
I call the Bible my first love. I loved the Bible before I loved the Lord. I went to seminary, not because I wanted to serve God or anyone else; I went to seminary because I wanted to learn the Bible! Now I consider myself somewhat expert in the subject.
But that passage in I Peter beats the living daylights out of me! I don't know what it's talking about! I've heard many, many interpretations. This transition from "suffered in the flesh" to "preached to spirits in prison" to "hence prefigures baptism" is something I've never been able to work through. But that's okay. I know God. I know his love. I know his power. I know how imcomprehensibly magnificent he is.
What do you suppose happens when an infinite God touches a finite world? Incomprehensibility, that's what! Logically indefensibile paradox! Theologians have wasted forests of paper and rivers of ink trying to define the indefinable, "unscrew the inscrutable". For instance, God. One God, three Persons. Hmm. Okay. Which is it? Is God one or is God three?
The answer is Yes.
Jesus. Is he human, or is he divine? Yes.
When we break the bread and serve the wine in the Lord's Supper, what really happens? Children receive and comprehend the truth. Theologians stutter and gasp.
The Flood Narrative begins with another of those mysteries I find inscrutable.
1When the human race began to multiply on the face of the ground, daughters were born to them. 2The sons of the gods [literal Hebrew] saw how lovely the daughters of humanity were, and they took all they desired for wives. 3Then the Lord said, "My Spirit will not put up with humanity forever..." (Genesis 6:1-3a, my translation)
Any of you who wish to explain this to me, please do. While you're about it, have a go at explaining why the angel of the Lord decided to kill Moses when he decided to accept the mission to free the people from Egypt. Miriam saw her husband lying on the floor of the tent, dying, so she reasonably circumcised their baby son, threw the bloody foreskin at Moses' feet, and the angel of the Lord quit killing him. "Truly you are a bridegroom of blood to me," she said. (Exodus 4:24-26. Look it up!) Then you can ease my mind on Jacob's wrestling match at Peniel (Penuel? Genesis 32:22-32). For that matter, Balaam begs God's permission to go see what King Balak, God finally says, "Okay, go ahead", then God changes his mind and decides to kill Balaam for going (Numbers 22:1-...Aaah, read the whole chapter! It'll be good for you. Read the next two chapters and get the whole story).
ANYWAY, the Flood. For centuries scholars have tried to debunk it. My favorite piece of evidence is that virtually ancient civilization has a narrative of a flood that wipes out the world, except for a few survivors. The multitude of legends proves it never really happened, right? (How's that again?)
One Hebraic conception of pre-Creation chaos is that the universe is water, endless water. God has in effect created a bubble (the firmament) in all that, with land and water at its bottom and the sky at its top. The Flood wasn't just a huge, heavy, too-long rainstorm. "In the 601st year of Noah's life, in the second month, on the seventeenth day of the month, on that very day the fountains of the great deep were cleft open, and the windows of heaven were opened" (Genesis 7:11). The water fell from the sky and erupted from the ground. It must have been terrifying to the people, a return to the chaos God found "in the beginning" (Genesis 1:1). It must have seemed as if God were uncreating everything, just erasing what he had done.
When I read this week's gospel lection, I asked my wife, "Why did Jesus have to be baptized?" Wisely, she said, "What are you talking about? Do you mean why did Jesus have to be baptized, or why do we have to be baptized?" Well, I meant Jesus, but I was open to going from there to us. The most frequent answer is he did it because we must, he took our sin on himself. He had his own personal flood experience, his annihilation with water, as it were (Not half bad as a Pauline definition of baptism, by the way--Romans 6:1-11).
Okay, but immediately after his baptism, the Spirit led him into the deadly Judean wilderness to fast for forty days. I'm a good Wesleyan, and, like John Wesley, I approve of fasting. I do it myself, on a small scale, regularly. But why 40 days? Doesn't that seem a bit extreme? And only after such a death-defying trial, and only after the news of the arrest of John the Baptist, does he begin to preach.
Mystery upon mystery. Unanswered question. What's going on here?
Maybe we may find a hint of the answer in one of those wonderful products of Hollywood that so subtly, so deftly, show us pieces of eternal truth? There is one that may suggest an answer, a grand epic, a classic, exalted and praised almost universally. Perhaps you've heard of it? "The Karate Kid"?
Daniel-san wants to learn karate, and Mr. Miyagi agrees to teach him. How do his lessons begin? "Sand-a porch!" "Wax on! Wax off!" "Paint-a fence!" Hour after hour, every weekend until, in disgust, Daniel angrily confronts Miyagi, feeling discouraged, exploited, maybe a little stupid.
Has your life left you feeling that, ever? Mine has. It does, once in a while.
But how did it end up? Miyagi showed Daniel that the motions he had had him repeat ad nauseam were the very moves he needed to master karate.
What if the inexplicables of our lives are the very things we need to become all God wants us to be? What if the things that make no sense, the things that hurt, the things that burden are the gateways to strength, to accomplishment, to freedom, to the Kingdom of God?
In the last couple of decades, I've become convinced we aren't going to spend eternity sitting on our angelic rear ends growing spiritually fat on spiritual food. Jesus said "My father works and I work." God's a working guy. Work isn't a curse. Futile toil is a curse. Work is a blessing. To have done something difficult, to have accomplished something that took everything we had to give, to stand back and see what you have done--THAT is joy! Self-indulgence is suicide, both here and in eternity. But hearty enjoyments of the fruit of what you have done, of what you have earned, of what you have built is perhaps the greatest human fulfillment there is. Why do you think God didn't give us a world with houses built and fields planted bulging with rich harvests? Why do you think God set it up so that we must sow first, work first, then eat? God wanted us to know the joy, HIS joy--the joy of being Creators.
So I am convinced that when we enter heaven, we will enter into our true work, the work for which God created us, the perfect work, the work that will suit us perfectly, in which we will find perfect fulfillment, perfect joy, perfect peace?
And this life here is practice. Here is where we learn to be the people God wants us to be, the people with whom he will rejoice to share eternity. Life here is to eternity what childhood is created to be to adulthood. Have you ever noticed that all the games children play, they are pretending to be adults? They naturally practice, prepare, strengthen their muscles, as it were, for adulthood. One of my seminary professors said children naturally learn, all the time; that the only way to make children stop learning is to put shoes on their feet and make them sit at desks.
Our life here is heaven practice, preparation to enter into the labor, the joyful work, ahead. Here we begin go grow into the "likeness and image" of God. Here the dream may start to come true.
About my second or third year of seminary, I went to visit my parents. After a good long sleep, after a long drive, I sat with my parents at the kitchen table for hours, talking. My mother made pot after pot of coffee and we visited. It was the first time in my life we talked like that--not parent to child, but adult to adult. And that was the relationship my dad and I enjoyed until he died. It was a joy I never could have expected.
Now my daughter is 21 and brilliant. I visit her at college, we go out and eat and talk. People around us listen in on our conversations, conversations like most people never get to enjoy; we talk as one adult to another, and this is a joy I hope you all may know. She is a remarkable woman. She is like me, she is like her mother, and she is totally her own woman, with her own magnificent mind.
What if I told you God wants something like that? What if I said God doesn't want sheep, and he doesn't want infants, and he doesn't want slaves? What if what God wants from us is the joy of companionship with people who have grown to be as much like him as possible?
He is the King of kings and the Lord of lords. Who are the kings he will be King over? You, that's who! I don't know a gender-neutral word that carries this freight, so I have to say it this way: Sisters and brothers, you were created to be kings. God is waiting now for you to build the kingdom over which you are to be king. He has made it every bit as easy as it can be, and every bit as hard as it has to be, for you, for your growth.
"God has done everything for us we could not do in order that we might be saved; God has done nothing for us we could do in order that we might be strong."
Floods and wilderness starvings, baptisms and proclaiming Gospel to the damned; inexplicable, inconceivable, incomprehensible. Infinity touches finitude. God becomes human and humanity now may become divine.
Who would have thought it? Who can explain it?
Thanks be to God!
I call the Bible my first love. I loved the Bible before I loved the Lord. I went to seminary, not because I wanted to serve God or anyone else; I went to seminary because I wanted to learn the Bible! Now I consider myself somewhat expert in the subject.
But that passage in I Peter beats the living daylights out of me! I don't know what it's talking about! I've heard many, many interpretations. This transition from "suffered in the flesh" to "preached to spirits in prison" to "hence prefigures baptism" is something I've never been able to work through. But that's okay. I know God. I know his love. I know his power. I know how imcomprehensibly magnificent he is.
What do you suppose happens when an infinite God touches a finite world? Incomprehensibility, that's what! Logically indefensibile paradox! Theologians have wasted forests of paper and rivers of ink trying to define the indefinable, "unscrew the inscrutable". For instance, God. One God, three Persons. Hmm. Okay. Which is it? Is God one or is God three?
The answer is Yes.
Jesus. Is he human, or is he divine? Yes.
When we break the bread and serve the wine in the Lord's Supper, what really happens? Children receive and comprehend the truth. Theologians stutter and gasp.
The Flood Narrative begins with another of those mysteries I find inscrutable.
1When the human race began to multiply on the face of the ground, daughters were born to them. 2The sons of the gods [literal Hebrew] saw how lovely the daughters of humanity were, and they took all they desired for wives. 3Then the Lord said, "My Spirit will not put up with humanity forever..." (Genesis 6:1-3a, my translation)
Any of you who wish to explain this to me, please do. While you're about it, have a go at explaining why the angel of the Lord decided to kill Moses when he decided to accept the mission to free the people from Egypt. Miriam saw her husband lying on the floor of the tent, dying, so she reasonably circumcised their baby son, threw the bloody foreskin at Moses' feet, and the angel of the Lord quit killing him. "Truly you are a bridegroom of blood to me," she said. (Exodus 4:24-26. Look it up!) Then you can ease my mind on Jacob's wrestling match at Peniel (Penuel? Genesis 32:22-32). For that matter, Balaam begs God's permission to go see what King Balak, God finally says, "Okay, go ahead", then God changes his mind and decides to kill Balaam for going (Numbers 22:1-...Aaah, read the whole chapter! It'll be good for you. Read the next two chapters and get the whole story).
ANYWAY, the Flood. For centuries scholars have tried to debunk it. My favorite piece of evidence is that virtually ancient civilization has a narrative of a flood that wipes out the world, except for a few survivors. The multitude of legends proves it never really happened, right? (How's that again?)
One Hebraic conception of pre-Creation chaos is that the universe is water, endless water. God has in effect created a bubble (the firmament) in all that, with land and water at its bottom and the sky at its top. The Flood wasn't just a huge, heavy, too-long rainstorm. "In the 601st year of Noah's life, in the second month, on the seventeenth day of the month, on that very day the fountains of the great deep were cleft open, and the windows of heaven were opened" (Genesis 7:11). The water fell from the sky and erupted from the ground. It must have been terrifying to the people, a return to the chaos God found "in the beginning" (Genesis 1:1). It must have seemed as if God were uncreating everything, just erasing what he had done.
When I read this week's gospel lection, I asked my wife, "Why did Jesus have to be baptized?" Wisely, she said, "What are you talking about? Do you mean why did Jesus have to be baptized, or why do we have to be baptized?" Well, I meant Jesus, but I was open to going from there to us. The most frequent answer is he did it because we must, he took our sin on himself. He had his own personal flood experience, his annihilation with water, as it were (Not half bad as a Pauline definition of baptism, by the way--Romans 6:1-11).
Okay, but immediately after his baptism, the Spirit led him into the deadly Judean wilderness to fast for forty days. I'm a good Wesleyan, and, like John Wesley, I approve of fasting. I do it myself, on a small scale, regularly. But why 40 days? Doesn't that seem a bit extreme? And only after such a death-defying trial, and only after the news of the arrest of John the Baptist, does he begin to preach.
Mystery upon mystery. Unanswered question. What's going on here?
Maybe we may find a hint of the answer in one of those wonderful products of Hollywood that so subtly, so deftly, show us pieces of eternal truth? There is one that may suggest an answer, a grand epic, a classic, exalted and praised almost universally. Perhaps you've heard of it? "The Karate Kid"?
Daniel-san wants to learn karate, and Mr. Miyagi agrees to teach him. How do his lessons begin? "Sand-a porch!" "Wax on! Wax off!" "Paint-a fence!" Hour after hour, every weekend until, in disgust, Daniel angrily confronts Miyagi, feeling discouraged, exploited, maybe a little stupid.
Has your life left you feeling that, ever? Mine has. It does, once in a while.
But how did it end up? Miyagi showed Daniel that the motions he had had him repeat ad nauseam were the very moves he needed to master karate.
What if the inexplicables of our lives are the very things we need to become all God wants us to be? What if the things that make no sense, the things that hurt, the things that burden are the gateways to strength, to accomplishment, to freedom, to the Kingdom of God?
In the last couple of decades, I've become convinced we aren't going to spend eternity sitting on our angelic rear ends growing spiritually fat on spiritual food. Jesus said "My father works and I work." God's a working guy. Work isn't a curse. Futile toil is a curse. Work is a blessing. To have done something difficult, to have accomplished something that took everything we had to give, to stand back and see what you have done--THAT is joy! Self-indulgence is suicide, both here and in eternity. But hearty enjoyments of the fruit of what you have done, of what you have earned, of what you have built is perhaps the greatest human fulfillment there is. Why do you think God didn't give us a world with houses built and fields planted bulging with rich harvests? Why do you think God set it up so that we must sow first, work first, then eat? God wanted us to know the joy, HIS joy--the joy of being Creators.
So I am convinced that when we enter heaven, we will enter into our true work, the work for which God created us, the perfect work, the work that will suit us perfectly, in which we will find perfect fulfillment, perfect joy, perfect peace?
And this life here is practice. Here is where we learn to be the people God wants us to be, the people with whom he will rejoice to share eternity. Life here is to eternity what childhood is created to be to adulthood. Have you ever noticed that all the games children play, they are pretending to be adults? They naturally practice, prepare, strengthen their muscles, as it were, for adulthood. One of my seminary professors said children naturally learn, all the time; that the only way to make children stop learning is to put shoes on their feet and make them sit at desks.
Our life here is heaven practice, preparation to enter into the labor, the joyful work, ahead. Here we begin go grow into the "likeness and image" of God. Here the dream may start to come true.
About my second or third year of seminary, I went to visit my parents. After a good long sleep, after a long drive, I sat with my parents at the kitchen table for hours, talking. My mother made pot after pot of coffee and we visited. It was the first time in my life we talked like that--not parent to child, but adult to adult. And that was the relationship my dad and I enjoyed until he died. It was a joy I never could have expected.
Now my daughter is 21 and brilliant. I visit her at college, we go out and eat and talk. People around us listen in on our conversations, conversations like most people never get to enjoy; we talk as one adult to another, and this is a joy I hope you all may know. She is a remarkable woman. She is like me, she is like her mother, and she is totally her own woman, with her own magnificent mind.
What if I told you God wants something like that? What if I said God doesn't want sheep, and he doesn't want infants, and he doesn't want slaves? What if what God wants from us is the joy of companionship with people who have grown to be as much like him as possible?
He is the King of kings and the Lord of lords. Who are the kings he will be King over? You, that's who! I don't know a gender-neutral word that carries this freight, so I have to say it this way: Sisters and brothers, you were created to be kings. God is waiting now for you to build the kingdom over which you are to be king. He has made it every bit as easy as it can be, and every bit as hard as it has to be, for you, for your growth.
"God has done everything for us we could not do in order that we might be saved; God has done nothing for us we could do in order that we might be strong."
Floods and wilderness starvings, baptisms and proclaiming Gospel to the damned; inexplicable, inconceivable, incomprehensible. Infinity touches finitude. God becomes human and humanity now may become divine.
Who would have thought it? Who can explain it?
Thanks be to God!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Tears for Whitney, Tears for Me
Okay, so Whitney's dead.
For the record, I was NOT her number one fan.
Okay, so she was both beautiful and almost heartbreakingly cute, with that supernova smile and that sweet little girl's nose that could crinkle and bring in the spring thaw all by itself.
Okay, so she had a three-octave range and was every bit as brilliant at the low end as she was at the high.
Okay, so she could sell a song like almost nobody else you ever saw.
I enjoyed her, when I happened upon her performing. I didn't go out of my way to see her, but I always enjoyed her when I did.
Scratch that--I wasn't going to watch that horrid reality show on a bet. I saw the commercials, and I did NOT want to see Whitney portrayed like that. Though I wasn't her number one fan.
I can't keep the tears out of my eyes today.
Because Whitney's dead.
And the world is just that much less beautiful today. There is not enough beauty, for the eyes or for the ears. Whitney looked as beautiful as she sounded. There aren't nearly enough beautiful singers. There's not nearly enough beautiful anything.
I don't know what the coroner's report will say. But, like everybody else who knows anything about her story, I expect it will say something about how drugs and alcohol had weakened something or other. If she hadn't done those things, she would still be with us. Unintentionally, but truly, she killed herself. She stole from us. She stole herself from us. Just like Elvis and Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin and Mama Cass and John Belushi, she robbed us.
There is not enough beauty in the world. And there is too much pain, and too much evil.
Whitney wasn't evil. She was beautiful. And she was in pain. Self-medicated.
Like me. Only I eat--my drug of choice. I've gotten so fat my chest tingles where the huge fat gut intersects my lower ribs. It will kill me as surely as that illustrious roll call above were killed. I don't know their pressures and their pains. But I know mine. And right now there is a jar of lightly-salted dry roasted peanuts I can't keep my hand out of. Because one handful of peanuts won't make that much of a difference, right?
Is that why I can't keep the tears out of my eyes? Because Whitney was a fellow addict?
Have I lost a sister?
Maybe we all have.
Recquiescat in pacem, Whitney Elizabeth. You made the world better.
For the record, I was NOT her number one fan.
Okay, so she was both beautiful and almost heartbreakingly cute, with that supernova smile and that sweet little girl's nose that could crinkle and bring in the spring thaw all by itself.
Okay, so she had a three-octave range and was every bit as brilliant at the low end as she was at the high.
Okay, so she could sell a song like almost nobody else you ever saw.
I enjoyed her, when I happened upon her performing. I didn't go out of my way to see her, but I always enjoyed her when I did.
Scratch that--I wasn't going to watch that horrid reality show on a bet. I saw the commercials, and I did NOT want to see Whitney portrayed like that. Though I wasn't her number one fan.
I can't keep the tears out of my eyes today.
Because Whitney's dead.
And the world is just that much less beautiful today. There is not enough beauty, for the eyes or for the ears. Whitney looked as beautiful as she sounded. There aren't nearly enough beautiful singers. There's not nearly enough beautiful anything.
I don't know what the coroner's report will say. But, like everybody else who knows anything about her story, I expect it will say something about how drugs and alcohol had weakened something or other. If she hadn't done those things, she would still be with us. Unintentionally, but truly, she killed herself. She stole from us. She stole herself from us. Just like Elvis and Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin and Mama Cass and John Belushi, she robbed us.
There is not enough beauty in the world. And there is too much pain, and too much evil.
Whitney wasn't evil. She was beautiful. And she was in pain. Self-medicated.
Like me. Only I eat--my drug of choice. I've gotten so fat my chest tingles where the huge fat gut intersects my lower ribs. It will kill me as surely as that illustrious roll call above were killed. I don't know their pressures and their pains. But I know mine. And right now there is a jar of lightly-salted dry roasted peanuts I can't keep my hand out of. Because one handful of peanuts won't make that much of a difference, right?
Is that why I can't keep the tears out of my eyes? Because Whitney was a fellow addict?
Have I lost a sister?
Maybe we all have.
Recquiescat in pacem, Whitney Elizabeth. You made the world better.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Advent Is...
Two weeks in, I want to talk about Advent, the four Sundays before Christmas. But first, a few words of explanation:
In the more liturgical traditions, like mine, we use the calendar to help us worship. The four Sundays before Christmas begin our Liturgical Year--that is Advent, the season of Coming. Then there's Christmas. Then the one or two Sundays before Epiphany, January 6 (We used to call them Christmastide). Then however many Sundays between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday, which is 40 days (not counting Sundays) before Easter. This is the season of Lent, the preparation to celebrate the Resurrection--the real birth of the Church. Seven Sundays (Eastertide, in the old parlance) later, Pentecost Sunday, followed by Trinity Sunday, and you have weeks and weeks and weeks before Advent again. November 1 is All Saints Day--when we Protestants celebrate the people who brought us to Jesus, who have gone to be with Him. The last Sunday before the next Advent is Christ the King Sunday.
We use a Lectionary. When I first heard of the Lectionary I was outraged. "They make the pastor use these readings?" Well, they don't MAKE pastors use the readings, not in United Methodism. But it turns out that pastors who pick their own texts will go through a whole career and preach maybe 80 verses out of the whole Bible.
Our Lectionary follows a three-year cycle. If you attend a church that has all four lections read every Sunday, over the course of three years, you will hear something read from every book in the Bible. When I was pastoring, it blessed me to realize Christians all over the world, of all traditions, in hundreds of languages, were sharing the very Scripture readings my people were hearing.
And, as one of my favorite seminary professors loved to remind us, "When the Scripture reading ends, the Word of God ends, and the interpretation begins."
The readings for the First Sunday of Advent this year are Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19; Isaiah 64:1-9; I Corinthians 1:3-9; Mark 13:24-37. You might take a few minutes and read them before you go on. I'm going to recount something of the sermon I preached that day, Sunday, November 27, 2011.
What I told that congregation that day was that, as your friend, I wish you a Merry Christmas the way most Americans mean "Merry Christmas". A "Chestnuts working on an open fire" kind of Christmas. All warm fuzzies and nostalgia, and presents and holly and all the lovely things that go with this largely secular holiday. And you need to realize, "secular" doesn't have to mean "evil". It's a good thing. But it's almost entirely non-Christian these days. Not anti-Christian. Non-Christian.
As your friend, I want you to have as lovely and sweet a Christian as possible. But as a pastor, I could care less.
Advent, in Jesus' Church, is NOT a time for psyching yourself up for warm fuzzies on December 25. It's not even entirely about remembering preparations for the Coming in that stable in Bethlehem.
It's also a recognition that he is coming again. In fact, one of the most fundamental cornerstone doctrines of our faith is that we be aware, constantly, that he is coming again.
Let me repeat the very best rendering of it I have ever heard. Are you ready? Seriously, you need to brace yourself.
Here goes:
Jesus is coming.
He is on his way.
He could be here any minute.
THAT also is the message of Advent. And THAT is one of the seven bedrock doctrines of Christianity. Though you almost never hear it in church anymore. It's not a doctrine that goes down all that well in times of prosperity. And these are not hard times. They are less prosperous than some. It's not hard times until the problem is starvation, not obesity. We could be headed that way. But we're still pretty far from that.
"Jesus is coming. He is on his way. He could be here any minute."
How does that make you feel? Afraid? Stressed?
Like December 25 is a couple of weeks away and you still don't have your cards mailed, or your decorations up, or your presents bought, or....
I love the old joke about the little boy, one December, was heard to pray, "Forgive us our Christmases, as we forgive those who Christmas against us."
Funny thing. That's not what the Scriptures say! They speak of an oppressed and hurting people who are looking forward to being saved! It's as if they had the bizarre idea that Jesus wasn't coming red-eyed with rage looking forward to seeing how many people he could throw in hell! It's as if they thought Jesus loved us, and wanted to help us, and take us away from our pain and our fear and into his eternal joy!
Go figure!
He's coming for you. He's on his way. He could be here for you any minute.
If I were you, I wouldn't lose your religion over what is actually pretty trivial.
Have a Merry Christmas. But don't miss Advent while you're doing it!
In the more liturgical traditions, like mine, we use the calendar to help us worship. The four Sundays before Christmas begin our Liturgical Year--that is Advent, the season of Coming. Then there's Christmas. Then the one or two Sundays before Epiphany, January 6 (We used to call them Christmastide). Then however many Sundays between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday, which is 40 days (not counting Sundays) before Easter. This is the season of Lent, the preparation to celebrate the Resurrection--the real birth of the Church. Seven Sundays (Eastertide, in the old parlance) later, Pentecost Sunday, followed by Trinity Sunday, and you have weeks and weeks and weeks before Advent again. November 1 is All Saints Day--when we Protestants celebrate the people who brought us to Jesus, who have gone to be with Him. The last Sunday before the next Advent is Christ the King Sunday.
We use a Lectionary. When I first heard of the Lectionary I was outraged. "They make the pastor use these readings?" Well, they don't MAKE pastors use the readings, not in United Methodism. But it turns out that pastors who pick their own texts will go through a whole career and preach maybe 80 verses out of the whole Bible.
Our Lectionary follows a three-year cycle. If you attend a church that has all four lections read every Sunday, over the course of three years, you will hear something read from every book in the Bible. When I was pastoring, it blessed me to realize Christians all over the world, of all traditions, in hundreds of languages, were sharing the very Scripture readings my people were hearing.
And, as one of my favorite seminary professors loved to remind us, "When the Scripture reading ends, the Word of God ends, and the interpretation begins."
The readings for the First Sunday of Advent this year are Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19; Isaiah 64:1-9; I Corinthians 1:3-9; Mark 13:24-37. You might take a few minutes and read them before you go on. I'm going to recount something of the sermon I preached that day, Sunday, November 27, 2011.
What I told that congregation that day was that, as your friend, I wish you a Merry Christmas the way most Americans mean "Merry Christmas". A "Chestnuts working on an open fire" kind of Christmas. All warm fuzzies and nostalgia, and presents and holly and all the lovely things that go with this largely secular holiday. And you need to realize, "secular" doesn't have to mean "evil". It's a good thing. But it's almost entirely non-Christian these days. Not anti-Christian. Non-Christian.
As your friend, I want you to have as lovely and sweet a Christian as possible. But as a pastor, I could care less.
Advent, in Jesus' Church, is NOT a time for psyching yourself up for warm fuzzies on December 25. It's not even entirely about remembering preparations for the Coming in that stable in Bethlehem.
It's also a recognition that he is coming again. In fact, one of the most fundamental cornerstone doctrines of our faith is that we be aware, constantly, that he is coming again.
Let me repeat the very best rendering of it I have ever heard. Are you ready? Seriously, you need to brace yourself.
Here goes:
Jesus is coming.
He is on his way.
He could be here any minute.
THAT also is the message of Advent. And THAT is one of the seven bedrock doctrines of Christianity. Though you almost never hear it in church anymore. It's not a doctrine that goes down all that well in times of prosperity. And these are not hard times. They are less prosperous than some. It's not hard times until the problem is starvation, not obesity. We could be headed that way. But we're still pretty far from that.
"Jesus is coming. He is on his way. He could be here any minute."
How does that make you feel? Afraid? Stressed?
Like December 25 is a couple of weeks away and you still don't have your cards mailed, or your decorations up, or your presents bought, or....
I love the old joke about the little boy, one December, was heard to pray, "Forgive us our Christmases, as we forgive those who Christmas against us."
Funny thing. That's not what the Scriptures say! They speak of an oppressed and hurting people who are looking forward to being saved! It's as if they had the bizarre idea that Jesus wasn't coming red-eyed with rage looking forward to seeing how many people he could throw in hell! It's as if they thought Jesus loved us, and wanted to help us, and take us away from our pain and our fear and into his eternal joy!
Go figure!
He's coming for you. He's on his way. He could be here for you any minute.
If I were you, I wouldn't lose your religion over what is actually pretty trivial.
Have a Merry Christmas. But don't miss Advent while you're doing it!
Friday, November 25, 2011
Happy Birthday, Still-Young Lady!
(NOTE: Some people think Christians should never think about sex, much less write about it. If you are one such person, I recommend you read your Bible a lot better. And I recommend you don't read this blog.)
I love being 55. My sixth decade on this planet has been fantastic, and I love almost everything to do with my advancing age. But I realize everybody doesn't feel this way, especially people a lot younger than I am.
There is a precious young woman, dear to Winnie and me, who turned 30 yesterday. She has spent some time recently dreading her thirtieth birthday. Many women do.
I was seven when my mother turned 30. I remember coming home from school, evaluating the situation quickly, then going into my bedroom, closing the door, and staying there. I could be very intelligent when I was a little boy!
I didn't know Winnie until after her thirtieth birthday. But she tells me she never said she was 29. She spent that last year in her 20's saying, "I'm going on 30," preparing herself for the disaster to come.
On that fateful day she stayed home from work, cleaned her apartment to within an inch of its life, preparatory to a party she gave herself, not a "birthday party", but an "anti-depression party". No cakes, only pies. No one who showed up with a cake or a present was admitted. And admitted, no one was permitted to go. "Don't leave me!" she begged, and did everything she could to keep them all there until the stroke of midnight turned March 21 to March 22.
Daddy told me his fortieth was devastating to him, though he never showed it. But I remember the year after my fortieth birthdy punctuated by an unbearable sense of "Is this all I've done with my life?"
For women, apparently, it is the 30th when the death knell begins to sound. Somehow, after that date, you're no longer a young woman. No longer the ingenue. No longer fertile, no longer desireable, the ticking of the biological clock begins increasingly to deafen, the sound of shovels digging your grave begins to sound faintly, and louder every day, in your ears. What is left after 30 for a woman but increasing age, increasing UNdesireability, and death?
There is a word for men who don't find 30+ women attractive: STUPID!
There is much I could say on the subject, but I can't say it better than Frank Kaiser did eleven years ago:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One of the perks of dufferdom is an increased capacity to appreciate people. Friends. Spouses. And, for me, women. All women.
When I was 20, I had eyes only for girls my age. Any woman over 30 was ancient, over 40 invisible. Today, now in my 70s, I still appreciate the 20-year-old for her youthful looks, vigor, and (occasional) sweet innocence. But I equally enjoy women of my own age and beyond, and every age in between. I've learned that each has its own special wonders, attractions, magic and beauty. As I grow in age, I value mature ladies most of all. Here are just a few of the reasons senior men sing the praises of older women:
An older woman knows how to smile with such brightness and truth, old men stagger.
An older woman will never ask out of the blue, "What are you thinking?" An older woman doesn't care what you think.
An older woman has been around long enough to know who she is, what she wants, and from whom. By the age of 50, few women are wishy-washy. About anything. Thank God!
And yes, once you get past a wrinkle or two, an older woman is far sexier than her younger counterpart! Her libido's stronger. Her fear of pregnancy's gone. Her appreciation of experienced lovemaking is honed and reciprocal. And she's lived long enough to know how to please a man in ways her daughter could never dream of. (Young men, you have something to look forward to!)
Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off that you are a jerk if you're acting like one. A young woman will say nothing, fearing that you might think worse of her. An older woman doesn't give a damn.
An older, single woman usually has had her fill of "meaningful relationships" and "long-term commitments." Can't relate? Can't commit? She could care less. The last thing she needs in her life is another whiny, dependent lover!
Older women are sublime. They seldom contemplate having a shouting match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive dinner. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you if they think they can get away with it.
Most older women cook well. They care about cleanliness. They're generous with praise, often undeserved.
An older woman has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends. A young woman often snarls with distrust when "her guy" is with other women. Older women couldn't care less.
Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to an older woman. Like your mother, they always know.
Yes, we geezers praise older women for a multitude of reasons. These are but a few. Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coifed babe of 75 there's a bald, paunchy relic with his yellow pants belted at his armpits making a fool of himself with some 22-year-old waitress.
Ladies, I apologize for my fellow geezers. That men are genetically inferior is no secret. Count your blessings that we die off at a far younger age, leaving you the best part of your lives to enjoy and appreciate the exquisite woman you've become. Without the distraction of some demanding old coot clinging and whining his way into your serenity. (http://www.suddenlysenior.com/praiseolderwomen.html)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks, Frank, I couldn't not have said it nearly so well!
Thank you, Lovely Wife, for teaching me so much!
Thank you, God, for letting me live long enough to learn this wonderful lesson!
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Preaching to Myself: I Never Hurt Anyone
My pastor preached a fine sermon this morning. That happens so often, I'm getting used to it. If he ever leaves, I fear for his predecessor! How will she/he compare?
ANYWAY, he preached from Jesus Parable of the Sheep and the Goats (Matthew 25:31-46). If you don't know it, stop now and read it. I'll wait. It won't take you five minutes
[Insert brief intermission music here]
Back? Okay.
I must have read that passage hundreds of times, and preached on it dozens of times. Just this morning, for the first time, I realized what the Goats will say on that day. Want to hear it? Here it is:
"Hell? Me? But, I never hurt anybody!"
In this, the most focused picture Jesus ever painted of Judgment, there is only one criterion for entry:
I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.
Interesting, he doesn't ask what kind of language you used when you hammered your thumb, or whether you ever had sex, or went out dancing, or any of the things people seem to think he cares for so much. Funny, it seems as if he cares most about how we treat other people.
But harmlessness isn't enough! It's helpfulness he's looking for. What do you DO for others?
Apparently my religion isn't private, just between me and God. Apparently how I life my life tells everybody what I really believe.
And if I expect to get in for just not hurting anybody, I'd better get ready to share my space with the fencepost next door.
ANYWAY, he preached from Jesus Parable of the Sheep and the Goats (Matthew 25:31-46). If you don't know it, stop now and read it. I'll wait. It won't take you five minutes
[Insert brief intermission music here]
Back? Okay.
I must have read that passage hundreds of times, and preached on it dozens of times. Just this morning, for the first time, I realized what the Goats will say on that day. Want to hear it? Here it is:
"Hell? Me? But, I never hurt anybody!"
In this, the most focused picture Jesus ever painted of Judgment, there is only one criterion for entry:
I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.
Interesting, he doesn't ask what kind of language you used when you hammered your thumb, or whether you ever had sex, or went out dancing, or any of the things people seem to think he cares for so much. Funny, it seems as if he cares most about how we treat other people.
But harmlessness isn't enough! It's helpfulness he's looking for. What do you DO for others?
Apparently my religion isn't private, just between me and God. Apparently how I life my life tells everybody what I really believe.
And if I expect to get in for just not hurting anybody, I'd better get ready to share my space with the fencepost next door.
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