O, To Grace, How Great a Debtor

In 1758, Robert Robinson, a one-time barber’s apprentice turned preacher, wrote the words to a hymn that set me on the brink of tears almost every time I sing it.  His immortal hymn, “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” is steeped in personal reflection, from the torment of battling sin to the exultation at the thought of grace; from the sacrifice for atonement, to the need for constant guidance.  There are only a few, perhaps no more than two other hymns that affect me in such a way, because these songs sing my life, my struggles, my hopes and my soul’s deepest desires.

The hymnal I use has only three highly edited verses to this wonderful meditation.  I was surprised to find that Robinson’s original had five verses that focused as much on his own foibles as on the immense goodness of a forgiving God, the counterweight to the burden each must bear.      

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,

Sung by flaming tongues above.

Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,

Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Sorrowing I shall be in spirit,

Till released from flesh and sin,

Yet from what I do inherit,

Here Thy praises I’ll begin;

Here I raise my Ebenezer;

Here by Thy great help I’ve come;

And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,

Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,

Wandering from the fold of God;

He, to rescue me from danger,

Interposed His precious blood;

How His kindness yet pursues me

Mortal tongue can never tell,

Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me

I cannot proclaim it well.

O to grace how great a debtor

Daily I’m constrained to be!

Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,

Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,

Prone to leave the God I love;

Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,

Seal it for Thy courts above.

O that day when freed from sinning,

I shall see Thy lovely face;

Clothed then in blood washed linen

How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;

Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,

Take my ransomed soul away;

Send thine angels now to carry

Me to realms of endless day.

What have we missed by allowing such great thoughts to be edited, maybe for nothing more than to fit the space in a hymn book?  In the third stanza of the hymn book used for the past two or three generations by many of the congregations of my tribe, the words have always rung hollow to me, and now I know why:  where the version in Sacred Selections reads, “Never let me wander from thee, Never leave the God I Iove,” Robinson actually wrote of his own weakness.  He wrote, “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, Prone to leave the God I love; Here’s my heart, O take and seal it, Seal it for Thy courts above.”  Rather than place the responsibility on God for maintaining the relationship, Robinson recognized he was imperfect, prone to wander.  By freely giving his heart, he would be bound to his God. 

Second, Robinson wrote of his inability to adequately express his wonder and gratitude for the grace he had accepted: “How His kindness yet pursues me, Mortal tongue can never tell. Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me, I cannot proclaim it well.”  He realized after a brief career of what was once called “dissipation” that God had not given up on him, that his kindness pursued him.  The overwhelming realization of that kindness, that wonderful grace, was more than he could truly explain, at least while trapped within the fleshly bonds of mortality.

Finally, perhaps outside of John Newton’s “Amazing Grace,” Robinson penned the greatest hymn focused on God’s great gift.  From the opening lines, he implores God to give him the ability to sing of his grace.  He says he is daily constrained to be in the debt of grace, and then in the closing stanza, he looks forward to being freed from the constant threat of sinning, to shed his weak flesh and be in God’s presence.  There, he says, “How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace.”  The grace that he praised from the first verse, to which he was indebted each and every day, would be the subject of his eternal gratitude and praise.

It is that understanding and elemental appreciation of grace that is so lacking in so many today.  For too many among those with whom I have been associated, grace has become little more than a greeting and benediction in Paul’s letters or smugly considered a byword used by those in other denominations to evade the five steps in the plan of salvation.  And yet, it is so important of a concept that Paul spent a large portion of his letter to the Ephesians explaining just how important grace is to salvation, and that a salvation by works would only lead to boasting.      

Eph 2:1  And you were dead in the trespasses and sins 2  in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience—3  among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind.

4  But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, 5  even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—6  and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, 7  so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. 8  For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, 9  not a result of works, so that no one may boast. 10  For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

By grace you have been saved.  For by grace you have been saved through faith.  It is the gift of God.  A gift is no gift if it must be earned or bought.  But a gift does require an expression of gratitude, which we can provide in pledging our lives to God’s good purpose: good works.  To helping others.  To righting wrongs. To seeking justice.  To becoming true stewards of a very good creation in need of restoration to its intended state of beauty and equity and perfection.

His children by petition and adoption are allied to that purpose.  We cannot bring back Eden.  But we can model Heaven until all is made new.  That should be worth a few songs of loudest praise.

Refurbs

I am an electronics addict. Well, “addict” may be too strong of a term.  Maybe “avid enthusiast” would be better, less of a negative connotation.  Anyway, I love to tinker with electronic devices, learn about new products with enhanced capabilities, play with productivity packages…. In short, I am a middle-aged geek.  At one point, the term “geek” was considered to be somewhat derogatory.  However, with the dawn of the realization that tech is cool, being a geek became cool as well.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Electronics can be expensive, and if I paid full price on some items, I would feel a little—well, a lot—guilty.  It turns out that few of these things are actually essential.  Most are luxuries that 99+% of the world can and does do without.  But I tell myself that many of these things will make me more productive.  I’ll get more done by keeping track of things on the go.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

In order to curb my expenditures on my purchases, I often buy refurbished products when they are available.  Some people would have none of this, thinking that a factory refreshed item is really poor quality, or is damaged, or is not up to original equipment standards.  I’m sure that can be the case sometimes.  But with good companies, the factory refurbished products are returned to perfect working order.  In some cases, they get a new shell, repaired internal parts, and are restored to brand new condition, matching the specifications of the items rolling off the assembly line.

In a sense, when we are born, we are in perfect working order, spiritually speaking.  We have no flaws.  But as time goes on, we may start to demonstrate behavior that is different from the original specifications.  It may be that some of our parts have become corrupted, and we are in need of repairs.  What if after some experience of living, we become broken in some way.  What if we begin functioning differently from how we should.  We are no longer operating at peak efficiency, and we are no longer functioning as intended.

But we can be refurbished.  Like the wayward son in Jesus’ story, we may leave the family and seek fulfillment elsewhere.  Like that erring son, we may think that there is a good life to be lived in the wilds of looser society.  In the end, we may find that where we were originally is better than where we may have wandered off to.  Like with that loving father who patiently waited for his son’s return, we can be welcomed back into relationship with our Heavenly Father.  We can be restored to our original specifications.

I like refurbished products.  And I’m certainly glad God is okay with them, too.  He said so in the closing thoughts of the Revelation, when he declared, “Behold, I am making all things new.”  A heaven and earth that are new again, populated by remade people, free from incidental flaws and accidental imperfections.  What was broken will be made whole. What was empty will be filled to overflowing.

Being refurbished is not a bad thing.  I’m glad it was always part of the plan.

Racism

Every church has a history, and the churches of Christ are no different.  Anyone who has even passing acquaintance with this wing of the Stone-Campbell Restoration Movement has heard of many of the names of the great leaders of the past, including the father/son Campbell duo, Barton Stone, Walter Scott, Moses Lard, David Lipscomb…the list could go on for quite a few lines.  In the 20^th century, there were other famous personalities that were part of a definitive period of doctrinal debate and fellowship lines drawn in the sand.  Names like N.B. Hardeman, B.C. Goodpasture, Fanning Yater Tant, Roy Cogdill and Foy Wallace come to mind.  While these men wound up on different ideological sides of the institutional schism that would forever split the churches of Christ after World War II, through their voluminous writings, their voices still ring with fervor and more often than not, some variation on the theme of righteous indignation and/or condemnation for all who differed with them.

I recently came across a reprint of an article in the Bible Banner by Foy E. Wallace, Jr., dated March, 1941, in which the great warrior for the non-institutional faction poured out his venom on the horrible, soul-damning mixing of the races.

“The manner in which the brethren in some quarters are going in for the negro meetings leads one to wonder whether they are trying to make white folks out of the negroes or negroes out of the white folks. The trend of the general mix-up seems to be toward the latter. Reliable reports have come to me of white women, members of the church, becoming so animated over a certain colored preacher as to go up to him after a sermon and shake hands with him holding his hand in both of theirs. That kind of thing will turn the head of most white preachers, and sometimes affect their conduct, and anybody ought to know that it will make fools out of the negroes. For any woman in the church to so far forget her dignity, and lower herself so, just because a negro has learned enough about the gospel to preach it to his race, is pitiable indeed. Her husband should take her in charge unless he has gone crazy, too. In that case somebody ought to take both of them in charge.”

He went on later in the article to relate an incident experienced by the great N.B. Hardeman:

“When N. B. Hardeman held the valley-wide meeting at Harlingen, Texas, some misguided brethren brought a group of negroes up to the front to be introduced to and shake hands with him. Brother Hardeman told them publicly that he could see all of the colored brethren he cared to see on the outside after services, and that he could say everything to them that he wanted to say without the formality of shaking hands. I think he was right. He told of a prominent brother in the church who went wild over the negroes and showed them such social courtesies that one day one of the negroes asked him if he might marry his daughter. That gave the brother a jolt and he changed his attitude!”

In another memorable illustration, Wallace drew from his own experience at a gospel meeting:

“In one of my own meetings a young negro preacher was engaged by the church as a janitor. He made it a point to stand out in the vestibule of the church-building to shake hands with the white people. When I insisted that it be discontinued some of the white brethren were offended. Such as this proves that the white brethren are ruining the negroes and defeating the very work that they should be sent to do, that is, preach the gospel to the negroes, their own people.”

Now before you go off on the “It was a different time” speech, I’ve already thought of that.  And there is still no excuse for any of that sort of thought in any Christian, of any tribe or splinter group.  But I’m pretty sure that some of it is still there.

I am shocked at the apparent disgust that these preachers held for even shaking hands with a black man.  Were they so worried that the black would rub off?  Did they see dark skin pigment as a kind of inverse leprosy that required one not to touch?

I remember standing at the doorway of a church building one evening while two elderly white gentlemen were talking about the old days, and liberally using the “N” word.  I was shocked.  I was disgusted.  But I held my peace, to my own shame.  Both of those men are dead now, and I never rebuked their racism.

But I will not hold my peace any longer.

Wallace was wrong.  Hardeman was wrong.  Every person who listened to their racist diatribes and agreed with them was wrong.

Why would I say that?  It’s that pesky little old book called the Bible.

Maybe Wallace and Hardeman and every other racist church member had read the account in Acts where Peter was having his moment of doubt about delivering the gospel message to the Gentile.  In Acts 10, Peter’s vision culminates with the pronouncement from on-high: “15 And the voice came to him again a second time, “What God has made clean, do not call common.”  (emphasis dlr)  Peter was perplexed by the vision, but the meaning finally dawned even on an uneducated Jewish fisherman.  “And he said to them, “28 You yourselves know how unlawful it is for a Jew to associate with or to visit anyone of another nation, but God has shown me that I should not call any person common or unclean.” When Cornelius relates his story of answered prayer, Peter says, “34 So Peter opened his mouth and said: “Truly I understand that God shows no partiality, 35  but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” (emphasis dlr)

Yes, they had read it.  And they had read into it, too.  They had read “separate but equal.”  But that is not what God had said.

In Galatians 3, Paul—whose Jewish pedigree and training were second to none, who should have known that associating with another race was wrong if indeed it was wrong—wrote,

“23  Now before faith came, we were held captive under the law, imprisoned until the coming faith would be revealed.  24  So then, the law was our guardian until Christ came, in order that we might be justified by faith. 25  But now that faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian, 26  for in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith.  27  For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.  28  There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.  29  And if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise.”     

If we indeed believe the words of the Bible, we must not be so selective in our readings as to allow institutionalized racism to continue in our churches.  The bile that Wallace spewed was truly disgusting.  The attitude of Hardeman in not shaking hands with an African-American was loathsome to the point of contemptible.  That Wallace would hide behind the Jim Crow laws in another part of the same article was despicable, and placed him on the wrong side of Peter’s declaration in Acts 5.29, “We ought to obey God rather than men.”

There is no way around it: racism is sin.  But as I think about it, while it may have been danced around in a discussion of James 2, I’m not sure I can recall if I have ever heard it specifically called such from a pulpit.  I do not know if Wallace or Hardeman ever repented of their overt racism.  I can only hope they did.  I know their influence likely had far reaching and very negative impacts on the African-Americans who were by choice, by faith and by the acceptance of a color-blind God their brothers and sisters.

In the tiny congregation where I maintain my membership, I have seen good and Godly African-American brothers come to be a part of our family—come to be accepted, loved, respected and honored as any brother should be.  One of those men was paralyzed, but not in his heart and mind.  One wanted more than anything to preach the Gospel and serve his God in the best way he knew how.  Both of those men died well before their times.  I cried many tears when they passed away.  I would love to hear their strong voices again, shake their hands, and worship together with those gentle souls with no regard for color or disability.  We were brothers.  I loved them.  I miss them.  And I look forward to a time when we shall all be together again, though not in imperfect bodies in this fallen and decaying world.

I hate the thought of racism anywhere.  But in the church, it must not, it cannot be tolerated.  There is no “separate but equal” in the body of Christ.  There is only equal and precious.  Let there be no whispered epithets.  Let there be no “us” and “them.”  In God’s eyes, we are one.

Jesus said to his disciples, “You are the light of the world.”  Physics tells us that visible, “pure” white light is actually composed of all the colors of the spectrum.  Without all of them shining together, the world could never look quite right.  As I see it more and more every day, this tired old world needs pure, bright, unified light, maybe more than ever.  Maybe we should really listen to Jesus, take our place in that great spectrum of light and shine on.   

A Brief Meditation on the Tragic Fall and Triumphant Rise of Humanity

From ancient times, the human condition was degrading.  We were created in innocence and ensconced in a realm of perfection, never having been polluted by sin or evil.  But humanity was not content with perfection.  There must be more.  That one prohibition given to those innocents in the Garden was too restrictive, that forbidden fruit too tempting, that soothingly nagging voice too convincing to let the line go uncrossed. 

But perhaps the far-reaching effects of that one fateful decision were too cosmically cataclysmic for two innocent hearts, too inexperienced minds to fully contemplate or comprehend.  How do you know evil unless you have seen it face to face, heard its voice, felt the intensity of its burning cold emptiness?  How do you know loneliness without separation?  How do you know safety without danger? How do you know peace without conflict?

With that one decision, a curtain fell.  With one thought that traveled through still learning synapses, guiding a hand upward, reaching for something that should never have been considered; with one touch of something as apparently innocuous as a fruit, this universe was destroyed.  Not all at once.  But even as entropy patiently, inexorably claims order, the rift between eternal and mortal, soul and body, God and man had begun.

Through countless years of calls to order, pleas to return, invitations to reason, the rift continued to fray until perhaps this failing, corrupted creation reached a tipping point beyond which there could be no hope of redemption.  Whether that was the case, only God knows.  But it was then that God lit a candle in the darkness to guide us home should we choose to see it.  He opened the realm of the divine and let slip the hope of a restored creation.

He sent us Jesus.

Jesus’ earthly ancestry was a jumble of rogues and royalty, like most of us.  His birth was into humble circumstances, like most of us.  That birth was a miracle of life, as any birth is, but was even more miraculous through its circumstance.  His life was unremarkable in terms of worldly accumulation of wealth, like most of us, but the riches he imparted through his teaching were far from ordinary.  He was challenged with every temptation that humanity can face, like every one of us, but stood firm in his resistance, to show us it can be done.   

His message was one of hope.  It was the echo of the creation call to perfection.  It was the challenge to rise above the gathering corruption of a fallen humanity bent on self-destruction and breathe the clean air of a restored Eden, now in heart, but one day in reality. 

His life was one brief but eloquent demonstration of what humanity can and should be: thankful, gracious, appreciative, selfless, loving, caring, passionate, compassionate, giving, forgiving, strong, courageous…in a word, perfect.

When the darkness claimed Jesus’ earthly life through his own willingness to lay it down, its victory was short-lived.  He arose from a borrowed tomb to unsurpassed glory: he was re-created, now more in God’s image than any before him.  He was the new Adam, rising above the bonds of mortality to show us the way to what was always planned for us.  The candle in the window now blazes as a watch-fire, a beacon on the hill of Heaven, a lighthouse to guide us safely through the straits of this fallen creation and on to perfection.  Through his life and example we have the pattern of what humanity was meant to be, what we can be if we choose.

Whether you call him Jesus, Yeshua, Immanuel, the Lamb of God or the Lion of Judah, there is no mistaking who it is you are talking about.  He is the central figure in the Christian scriptures, and some would say all of history.  His life changed the course of history, the echoes of his teaching ringing still through 20 centuries.  His message, though twisted by some and denied by others, will never be extinguished.  He continues to change hearts.  He is the son of God.  He was.  He is.  He ever shall be.

…and another thing: further thoughts on the dangers of extreme conservatism

As I was thinking about my recent posts on conservatism, I remembered I had written a few short pieces as Facebook notes during the 2012 election cycle, and I dug one out that seemed particularly relevant.  It may become more so as Wisconsin Congressman Paul Ryan is likely weighing a run for the White House in 2016.  Only time will tell if his twisted philosophy will play well with what I hope will become a more enlightened and compassionate public.  What can I say? On the other hand, this is a lightly edited but shameless attempt to create blog content in my race to 100 posts.  

The following are two quotes from Ayn Rand, whom the 2012 GOP vice-presidential nominee has credited with being instrumental in the formation of his beliefs.  Mr. Ryan even helped organize the 2005 “Celebration of Ayn Rand” in honor of her 100th birthday, by securing the room for the Atlas Society gathering.  As late as 2009, he made video clips praising her work and for what he called the best case for the morality of laissez-faire capitalism.  In 2012, he began distancing himself from his ideological mentor when he began to be considered as running mate to wealthy business man and former Massachusetts governor, Mitt Romney.   

 “If I were asked to serve the interests of society apart from, above and against my own—I would refuse, I would reject it as the most contemptible evil.”  

 “I swear by my life, and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.” –Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged

The book is chock full of other vicious, spiteful, hate-inspired, self-centered comments that are being hailed by some conservatives–especially of the Tea Party persuasion–as great virtues.  However, for those who are adherents of the Christian faith, so much of the Randian philosophy that has recently invaded the conservative leadership and trickled down to the rank and file is completely and utterly opposite to Christian teaching.  In fact, this may be the only part of trickle-down theory that actually works. 

Perhaps the most directly practical book of the New Testament is the Letter of James.  He put a fine point on what it takes to actually live by a Christian standard.  The following excerpt from James 1:27 – 2:17, I believe, is in direct opposition to Rand’s Virtue of Selfishness.  The emphases are all mine, and serve as an outline of the central arguments of the text.

27 Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this:  to visit  orphans and widows in their affliction, and  to keep oneself  unstained from the world.

2 My brothers, show no partiality as you hold the faith in our Lord Jesus Christ,  the Lord of glory. 2 For if a man wearing a gold ring and fine clothing comes into your assembly, and a poor man in shabby clothing also comes in, 3 and if you pay attention to the one who wears the fine clothing and say, “You sit here in a good place,”  while you say to the poor man, “You stand over there,” or, “Sit down at my feet,” 4 have you not then made distinctions among yourselves and become  judges with evil thoughts? 5 Listen, my beloved brothers,  has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be  rich in faith and heirs of  the kingdom,  which he has promised to those who love him? 6 But you  have dishonored the poor man. Are not the rich the ones who oppress you, and the ones who  drag you  into court? 7 Are they not the ones who blaspheme the honorable  name by which you were called?

8 If you really fulfill the royal law according to the Scripture,  “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” you are doing well. 9 But if you  show partiality, you are committing sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors. 10 For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point  has become accountable for all of it. 11 For he who said,  “Do not commit adultery,” also said,  “Do not murder.” If you do not commit adultery but do murder, you have become a transgressor of the law. 12 So speak and so act as those who are to be judged under  the law of liberty. 13 For  judgment is without mercy to one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment.

14 What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith  but does not have works? Can that faith save him? 15 If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, 16 and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? 17 So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.

We each have responsibilities to help others as we can.  However, the first of Rand’s quotes above is a complete rejection of loving one’s neighbor (what Jesus referred to as the second great commandment behind loving God) and seeing to his or her physical needs.  Government, in a time of tremendous economic upheavel, stepped in to help support the elderly and the poor.  Many see these as good things, others as contemptible.  Are there abuses of the system?  Of course.  Does it need review and revision?  Constantly.

But back to the clash of philosophies and to draw one more conclusion: You cannot accept the selfishness of Randian Individualist/Objectivist position and still hold to the teachings of Jesus Christ.  Remember the story of Satan’s temptation of Eve?  He simply said, “You will NOT surely die.”  A simple negation to supplant authority and plant doubt.  Rand does the same thing: “Money is the root of all good.”  Rand says, “You have no duty to anyone but yourself.” (vs. Ecc 12:13, “Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.” ) You could go on for pages finding the contradictions to Christianity, but they’re apparently OK, since this is economics and culture, we’re talking about and not religion. 

Well, I cannot separate my faith from my life.  It informs me.  If I now embrace the objectivist teaching in whole or in part, I have achieved nothing but dissonance with the principles of my faith.  And Jesus said, no one can serve two masters. 

Many people will try to cast this individualism as the ultimate expression of American patriotism.  They will say that we are taking back our country if we follow the Rand-inspired Pathway to Prosperity.  They will turn every bit of vice in the Randian “scriptures” into virtues.  In the Old Testament, Isaiah 5.20,21 raised an alarm that is as true today as when it was penned:    

 20 Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness,who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter! 21 Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes, and shrewd in their own sight!

I have spent many hours reading, connecting, trying to make a case that this form of self-centered philosophy is far from the character of a Christian.  I have found numerous links that demonstrate the diametric opposition of these opposing worldviews.  I have shown how some of these things are being played out.  I don’t want to live in Ayn Rand’s laissez-faire dystopia.  I would rather live in a world where I could depend on my neighbor, and he can depend on me. 

And contrary to what some people think, money isn’t everything. 

Speaking for Those Who Have No Voice

 “Do not give your strength to women, your ways to those who destroy kings. It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine, or for rulers to take strong drink, lest they drink and forget what has been decreed and pervert the rights of all the afflicted. Give strong drink to the one who is perishing, and wine to those in bitter distress; let them drink and forget their poverty and remember their misery no more. Open your mouth for the mute, for the rights of all who are destitute. Open your mouth, judge righteously, defend the rights of the poor and needy.” Proverbs 31:3-10

Advice is a good thing.  And when the advice comes from your mother, it’s usually worth listening to.  This passage from Proverbs is reportedly an oracle from the mother of King Lemuel.  Some think that Lemuel was one and the same with Solomon.  At any rate, the advice was sound and the thoughts worthy of consideration.

In this teaching, the wise man relates to his listeners and readers that anything that might cause a distraction or detract from sound judgment must be avoided.  The wise woman tells her son that women can be a problem if he pays them too much, ahem, “attention.”  If Lemuel were indeed Solomon, he should have listened to his mother—as numerous modern day leaders should have, as well.

She continues on to say that alcohol can muddy the mind and should be reserved for those with woes to forget.  Seems reasonable.  However, this has been used to exclude any and all use of alcohol outside such “therapeutic” uses.  That is not what the rest of the Bible says.  As we have observed before, drunkenness is condemned, not all use of wine.  Use is one thing; abuse is another altogether.

As I have often reflected on many passages, the first part of this teaching is remembered frequently and given general observance as it specifically warns against some things that we wish to warn against: ill-advised sexual relationships and alcohol.  The latter part of the passage is too often forgotten, and yet it is as applicable if not more so to general teaching and the general public.

Lemuel’s mother tells him to speak for those who have no voice: the destitute, the poor and the needy.  Then as now there are those who would seek to forget the poor and those who have needs of various kinds, not only those lacking in wealth and goods, but those with conditions that limit their abilities.  Too often, those who are most guilty of doing these things are the ones who wrap themselves in a shroud of religion, touting family values and traditional morality.  I have nothing against family values and morality.  I would only hope that anyone who holds to these ideals would not just cling to those that are politically or socially expedient at any given moment and forget the rest of the package.

In past essays, I have explored the commands to see to the needs of those in distress and those less fortunate.  It is inescapable, although many religious people have done a pretty fair job of ignoring the issues.  If we are to live our faith, we must not neglect even those teachings that make us uncomfortable.

So here goes another attempt to speak for those without a voice.

It’s time to change our attitudes about people with mental illness, developmental disorders, and intellectual disabilities.  Maybe I’m more sensitive these days than I used to be, and for good reason.  I have a son with autism.  It is hard going some days just getting him ready for school and getting him on the bus.

That would be the “short bus” that so many people joke about.

It’s time for that to stop. 

To use that expression is to demean the people who ride that “short bus” with the “SE” number on the side.  The intent is to say that a person on the short bus is sub-standard, is not as valuable, or is less important than anyone else not riding that particular bus.

But when I step aboard that bus in the morning to get my son strapped in his seat, I am greeted by beautiful children with smiling faces.  Some are tired and catch up on some sleep as they make their early morning journey to school.  Each and every one is like every one of the rest of us in a very important way: we are all God’s handiwork, and we were meant to look out for each other.

I have been impressed with businesses and institutions who hire people with developmental or intellectual disabilities to perform specific tasks.  These are not glamorous jobs.  But they give these wonderful people a sense of worth.  I remember a young woman with Down Syndrome on the serving line at the local primary school.  She seemed to take pride in her work.  At the university cafeteria, there are people who appear to be autistic or may have other intellectual disabilities who work at cleaning the tables and other things that many people would not want to do.  I applaud these places for taking the chance and letting these people contribute in whatever way to their organizations.

So, plus one for the employers, but minus a big one for some people I have heard who have made remarks about these workers.  That’s right, I have heard several disparaging comments about these very individuals.  And it breaks my heart to hear it.  Mocking the speech of a disabled person is not funny.  It is demeaning.  Making fun of their performance is not funny.  It is petty and small-minded, even if the person making the remarks is highly intelligent.  And what is so sad is that–like every one of us–the person who makes that sort of comment may be only a head injury away from a similar condition.  There but for the grace of God….

I remember a sketch on Saturday Night Live years ago when someone was giving directions, and one of the landmarks was to turn left at the “retarded kid selling fireworks.”  I hear people lightly use words like “retarded” to describe a thoughtless act or remark that they themselves may have made.  They may easily joke with friends, calling each other retarded, or simply “retard.”  I know people do these things because I did those very things in my younger and far more foolish days.  Are such comments really that different from the recent report of a bunch of young punks who doused a stripped down autistic teen with a vile concoction of human waste and cigarette butts in a mockery of the “ice bucket challenge”?

There is no humor in making fun of someone who cannot defend himself, whether by some premeditated cruel and heartless prank or by a derisive remark in passing.  There is certainly no humor in belittling an entire segment of the population.  Or in running down someone that I love.

Several years ago, country music singer Mark Wills recorded a song by Steve Seskin and Allen Shamblin titled, “Don’t Laugh at Me.”  The lyrics are worth exploring.  They touch on many different human conditions, from physical differences to unfortunate circumstances that lead to depression.  The bridge challenges, “I’m fat, I’m thin, I’m short, I’m tall / I’m deaf, I’m blind, hey, aren’t we all?”

The chorus admonishes,

Don’t laugh at me, don’t call me names

Don’t get your pleasure from my pain

In God’s eyes we’re all the same

Someday we’ll all have perfect wings

Don’t laugh at me

 We have a responsibility to speak for those who cannot, who have no voice at the table of society.  In Isaiah, the Lord asked what almost seemed like a pair of rhetorical questions, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?”  Isaiah spoke up, and said, “Here am I.  Send me!”  When the moment arises that someone disparages the intellectually disabled or a person with autism or a person with a mental illness, remember Isaiah.  Stand up and speak out.  Ignorance is only forgivable when there has been no chance for enlightenment.  Beyond that, such behavior is merely rude and boorish.

There may be no direct profit in shutting that sort of juvenile bad-mouthing down.  It may lose you a friend or two.  But you will have done the right thing.  Ask Lemuel’s mother.

The Great Deficiency of The Bible

I’ve been thinking about why so many people have trouble with getting past things like pattern and organization when it comes to religion, when Jesus stressed changes in heart and life and action. As I thought about this earlier, I was reminded of something a dear friend once said to me. It went something like this, “You people in the church of Christ only pay attention to the letters of Paul. You should be called the church of Paul.”

In a sense, he’s right. We spend more time dealing with the details of Paul’s interactions with and instructions for the early churches who were experiencing specific issues from growing pains, to poverty, to inertia, to misconduct the likes of which was not even tolerated by the pagans of that day.

When we were children, we heard the stories of the great heroes of the Old Testament. Every child in Sunday school knows about Adam and Eve, Noah, Moses, Joseph, Jacob and Esau, Elijah, David, Solomon, Samson, Daniel and the other exciting stories. In the New Testament, children hear about Jesus and the apostles. And this is well and good. But somewhere along the way, we read about needing strong meat, and not milk and we get the idea that the gospel story of Jesus is just milk, maybe because we tell the stories mostly in Sunday school. Paul serves up the meat in the New Testament. All the other stuff is just background. That seems to be the perception, at least. And I was told by a wise dean once that perception becomes reality.

I believe with all my heart that we have gotten things turned around.  The gospel message of Jesus is as strong a meat as any in our practice of religion.  We need to tear apart every story about Jesus in the gospels, every teaching he presented, and get every bit of truth and meaning from each and every one of them. Jesus is the focus of the gospel message. His life is the one Paul said he was emulating.

So what is the deficiency I am talking about? First off, that was just one of those “made you look” phrases. Writers call them hooks. If you’re reading this far, the hook has been set, and I hope you will continue through the conclusion of the essay.

The deficiency is not so much with the Bible itself, but in our understanding of it. The Christian life, or the Way as it was called in those days after the Crucifixion and that first Pentecost after it is not an organization. It is indeed a Way of Life. It is Jesus, translated into the life-language of every follower.

What did Paul say in Philippians 1.21? “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” Contrary to what some seem to think, Paul never said, “To live is church….” So what did he mean? I think he was saying that it was needful for his friends that he not die at that juncture, but carry on and teach and serve and encourage them. To live is to act.

Paul’s writings are rich with truth. Make no mistake. But many of his letters were addressing specific issues experienced by the groups to which he was writing. Personally, I have never been tempted to eat meat sacrificed to idols. I don’t think I would be offended by it if anyone did. I have never known of a case of step-mother/step-son incest in any church with which I have been associated–not that there cannot be such. Certainly, principles applied in dealing with those situations have value and merit and are instructive to us.

But the letters are not histories, either. They tell us precious little about how people lived and what they did. Paul alluded to some of these things throughout his letters, and a rich cache of comments praising the actions of many of Paul’s friends and associates is found at the close of Romans and in other letters.

While there are those who would squeeze the scriptures to find commands and patterns to follow and bind them on all, there is a wealth of examples that we have rarely ever considered, at least not in the light of “living Christ.” So who did “live Christ” in the New Testament? In Acts 9, there is the story of Dorcas, or Tabitha of whom it was said, “…she was always doing good and helping the poor.” Sounds like Jesus to me. In Romans 16, Phoebe is commended as a servant of the church at Cenchreae. Later in the same chapter, Tryphena and Tryphosa and Persis, all were praised as women who had worked or were working hard in the Lord. Rufus’ mother had been a mother to Paul–that takes action, not words. Urbanus was a dear co-worker. Mary worked very hard for the Christians in Rome. Sounds like Jesus to me.  What about Paul’s description of Timothy as showing genuine concern for the Philippians’ welfare like no other: it was not just spiritual welfare.  It was  their physical, temporal well-being, as well.  Epaphroditus was commended as one who saw to Paul’s needs, and was distressed for his friends at their concern over him in his recent, near-fatal illness. Sounds like Jesus to me.

In these examples and in many others, the emphasis is on action, not perfect, lock-step conformity.  In Matthew 25, at the scene of the great Judgment, the separation of sheep from goats was based on acts of service and mercy, not doctrinal purity and organizational correctness.  I am in no wise saying that those things are not important.  They are.  But they must not be pursued to the exclusion of justice and mercy. 

 Jesus addressed such issues throughout his ministry.  Work on the Sabbath was forbidden by Jewish law, but Jesus and his disciples plucked heads of grain and winnowed the kernels in their hands, working for a bite of sustenance. Jesus gave relief to the suffering on the Sabbath in direct violation of the Law, and made the point that the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. In each of these examples, an action was taken to address a physical need. He reminded the Pharisees of the prophecy, “I desire mercy and not sacrifice.” His brother James reiterates that “mercy triumphs over judgment.” Mercy, in any time and in any culture, carries the connotation of action in service to another.

So to set the record straight, The Bible is not deficient. We are. When we fail to see the shadow of Christ in the merciful actions and service of every disciple mentioned even in passing, we are deficient. When we plow the field searching for shards of buried commands and cover over the precious jewels that are the wonderful characters who lived Christ, we are deficient.

We should always remember Paul’s comment, “To live is Christ.” We should internalize it, and live Christ, too. He is the Way. He is the Truth. He is the Life that leads to a better and unending life. Let the world see Jesus in us, not just Peter, or Paul, or Martin Luther, or Alexander Campbell or any other reformer who tried to light the way back to Jesus.

To live is Christ.

That should certainly give us a lot to think about.

And much more to do.

Of Broken Lives and Broken Dreams

NOTE: This post is not a cry for sympathy, or just random, self-absorbed, self-pitying or venting.  This is real.  This is what it’s like to deal with a never-ending stress every day of your life.  Many people have no idea how much baggage we carry around as parents of a special needs child.  We don’t have extra skills or abilities to deal with it.  What we have is simply stretched to the limit and beyond.  And our situation is far less severe than that of some.  But I wanted to give you a small glimpse of how life looks from the inside of this particular fishbowl.  It’s not always pretty.

Life happens.

No matter what the best-laid plans may be, there will always be something that will come along to upset the apple cart, and all the polished produce goes flying beyond your reach, becoming bruised and maybe even damaged beyond use.

When I was a young man, like so many other young men throughout history, I dreamed of finding a wife, starting a family, having a quiet but successful career, growing old, retiring, enjoying life, reflecting…. I dreamed of normalcy.

Long story short, the first part happened, and so did the second, but after that….oy.

My wife and I had both spent years in college and grad school and beyond, preparing for a career in higher education. We met soon after we both were hired into the same department at a middle sized, student oriented school. We became friends. And good marriages are made with good friends.

After our first child was born, we discussed whether or not our family was complete. Ever the pragmatist, I suggested that two children would be a good number, so that when we get old, the burden for decisions about our care would not fall on one. So we had a second child.

Then, the world caved in. That quiet life to which I aspired became a life of not-so-quiet desperation in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

Our son was slow to reach the early benchmarks of development. His mother saw it, I refused. He continued to experience developmental delays. His mother saw it, I refused. With each new problem that cropped up, it became more and more difficult for me to keep my eyes closed.

And then one day, we were faced with the diagnosis of an autism spectrum disorder.

The last several years have been filled with medical appointments, therapies, meltdowns, school suspensions, school conferences, more medical appointments, showdowns with disrespectful people in public, the odd police report…. In short, a nightmare of sub-epic proportions.

The epic part may yet arise.

We have experienced more lows than highs through the years. More than once I have nearly reached the end of my rope. And more than once, the stress on our marriage has been so severe that I have wondered if staying together was worth it. Of course, the realization that one of us would then be even more responsible for the daily care and upkeep of a child with autism was more than I could take. I couldn’t do it alone. And I know that she couldn’t either, nor should she. He is our responsibility. We must both share in it.

I have seen figures that the divorce rate among parents of children with autism is in the vicinity of 80%. Recent studies have disproven that figure, and the actual numbers may be lower than the national average. One writer speculated that it may be because of the support the couple provides for each other. But if I were a betting man, the scenario I just described is more likely the reason why. The marriage may be in shambles, but the shame of running away and the sense of responsibility are so great that a person of integrity will carry on despite the pain and agony every day may bring. As trite as it sounds, it feels like you stay together for the sake of the children. You hope for the best. You hope to rekindle civility if not passion; friendly tolerance, if not sustaining love.

The deeper pain there is not the loss of romance, although that’s stressful in and of itself. It’s in the terrible feeling I get sometimes that I may have lost my best friend, and I hate autism for having come between us. Make no mistake: I love my wife. But after the third argument or sternly serious (and usually well-deserved) “discussion” of the day regarding my inadequate actions and poor displays of parenting, I sometimes wonder if she still loves or even likes me anymore. I can’t blame her. She is the mother lion defending her cub.

The stress of trying to physically manage a boy who is big for his age, his weight disproportionately so because of the vicious side effects of medications, is getting more difficult with every day. He has outgrown my wife’s abilities, so the physical redirection tasks have fallen to me almost exclusively. Outbursts and meltdowns in public are harder to contain. Physical interventions are misinterpreted by well meaning people who think the child is being abused or abducted. The indignity of having the police called is one of the worst things I have experienced, but then it is not out of the ordinary for parents of children with autism in today’s society. Recently, I have started developing a lot more pains from overstressed muscles and tendons. I often reflect that this kind of parenting is a younger man’s game. And I’m never going to get any younger.

The stress of preparing for the future is daunting for anyone, but when autism is factored in, it goes off-scale. How will we provide for our child after we are gone? For typical children, there is hope and expectation that they will grow up, get the training they need to get a job, find a job they love and become successful, even more so than we have been. But the future for a child with autism is not as bright, no matter what rosy pictures are painted in the movie of the week.

Through it all, we are expected to be happy and involved and engaged with society. The reality is that we are prisoners of autism. Sometimes, it seems that for every step we make in progress, we lose two in other things. Trying to make sure a sibling gets enough care and attention is hard, and there is always the nagging question as to whether we have done enough for either of them.

When your life feels like it is in a downward spiral, faith should be a refuge. I have no complaints about my fellow church members at the tiny congregation where I worship. They have shown nothing but love and concern as we have gone through this crucible of a trial, and I love them dearly for it. My concern is with the specific emphasis of the teaching that goes on in so many churches. Sometimes I come away wondering why I bother anymore. The teaching focuses more on frequently ineffective evangelism and first principles and minutiae of doctrinal differences among denominations and less on things that I, for one, so desperately need. The emphasis is on getting people in, but when they get there, they are supposed to be fully self-sufficient and functional to make the rest of the trip on their own. Too often, the teaching they get deals more with the “correct” organization of the church than dealing with real-world trials and problems.

There are so many things I need to hear from a pulpit, and so many things I either don’t hear or don’t need to hear. I need practical things that help me get through the next hard day and the next endless week, or even the next public meltdown. I need to be encouraged to keep going even when it feels like I can’t go on at all. I don’t need to be told that many of the painful thoughts and feelings I have revealed in this very essay could get me eternally damned. I need to know I am not alone, that God really does care about me, and about my suffering family, and that things can get better. I don’t need to be told to buck up and pull my weight. I need to hear ideas and suggestions for dealing with this difficult, soul-quenching life, not a constant barrage of dogmas and damnation.

When you get right down to it, life is more than church membership. It extends beyond the doorway of the so-called “sanctuary.” It’s out there in the streets and in the home and in the workplace and in the marketplace where people interact, maybe in tense conflict. What spiritual armor will protect me from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune?  How do I cope with all I have to deal with, day in and day out?  Why is there so little emphasis—especially in the conservative churches—on helping people in the here and now? Why did Jesus heal the sick, and relieve people who were oppressed and afflicted with many other things, from accusations of sin to evil spirits? It was not only to show his power and divine nature. It was to show his compassion. I need that compassion and understanding and deep comforting help.

I don’t think I’m alone in this. I think many other people are feeling the same thing.   I need help with this life. If I can’t fix my life here, I’ll never make it to the next one. And just focusing on the sweet by and by only means admitting defeat in the not so sweet here and now. It means we give up on trying to make things better here, because all of our suffering will just make that ethereal bliss of heaven sweeter.

I can’t buy it. I can’t give up, and I won’t. But there are things I have come to know as I have floundered about these last years in a seemingly losing attempt to find my way. In order to get to where I need to be, I need more action and less axiom. More faith and less formula. More compassion and less condemnation. More Savior and less system. More love and less law. More emphasis on the church family and less emphasis on the church organization. More Christ and less conflict.

“Pray about it.” I have. “Work on it.” Always. But sometimes, I just need to shout down the pain and stress and turmoil.

We will continue to provide everything in our power to help our son. But we need to remember to save something for ourselves and for each other, too. I know Jesus never promised perfect comfort in this life. He told his friends to expect hardship. But he also told them to love each other and bear each others’ burdens, no matter how heavy.

Right now, I’m about as broken as I’ve ever been. My hopes and dreams lie scattered, shattered and fading. I could use some mending.

Oh God, I could use some mending.

Suicide

I have learned a lot of things over the years.  Much of it useless bits of facts and trivia.  Some of it useful in my daily work.  But the things I think I value the most are things I learn that I can use to help people.  That’s one of the reasons that I value my involvement in the Students of Concern Team at the college where I work. 

College is a difficult time for many.  I know starting college was hard for me.  I had led a very sheltered life and I was not ready for the sub-culture shock of raucous dorm life.  My dad talked me into staying a semester to give it a chance, and I reluctantly did.  That was the beginning of a long journey into education and finding my calling as a teacher.

The pressures of college life were real.  I guess I probably bordered on depression a few times.  I had friends, though, and I did have times I still remember fondly.  I fell in love for the first time there, and even though it ended badly, I eventually soldiered on, sadder but wiser.  I used the pain to write a lot of (probably very bad) poetry.    

But unlike numerous cases with which I have become acquainted, I never reached a point where I became so depressed, so desperate for relief from mental and emotional anguish that I contemplated ending my life.

When I answered a call for a faculty volunteer for this university assignment, I had no idea what I was getting into.  I went to a meeting and was encouraged to take part in the QPR suicide prevention gatekeeper training program.  I learned more about suicide in the intense week I studied for my QPR certificate than I had ever imagined before.  Since then, I have tried to expand my knowledge of suicide with an eye toward helping people to understand it, bring it out of the shadows and give people the tools they can use to help a friend or loved one choose life.

One of the things that has bothered me about suicide is the attitude that many religious people have toward it.  It’s mentioned in hushed tones, as if speaking that devil’s name will summon it.  I have heard different people including preachers pronounce a victim of suicide to be in hell, because they committed murder, and thereby committed a sin of which they could never repent. 

I have taken a stand against that sort of narrow-minded prejudice, and will continue to do so in defense of the victims.  For those that take their lives or attempt to do so because of mental illness are no less victims than the person who dies of cancer or heart disease.  If an irrational suicide is a sin, then death by colon cancer initiated by a poor diet and lack of exercise is also a sin.  (I know, there are hereditary links to various cancers.)  A person who dies of heart disease brought on by smoking and a poor diet has also sinned.  Rarely if ever is the finger pointed at such a person.  But choices are choices.  Using that reasoning, there is no difference.

But I know that suicide is often linked to mental illness, and quite often a major depressive disorder.  Contrary to what some armchair psychologists may bandy about on blogs, depression is an organic disorder that involves what is probably the most complex organ in the human organism, the brain.  A person who is depressed or has some personality disorder or has suffered a tragic loss experiences serious and measurable changes in brain function. 

I have been told by people who have been to that dark, dark place that the pain is so intense, they would do anything to make it stop.  And being told to snap out of it is pointless and counterproductive—if they could snap out of it, they would.  But they don’t know how.

I have never been there.  And I pray I may never even approach the vicinity of it.  But I am not immune.  I may only be one traumatic life event away from slipping over the edge.  I hope that if I ever lose my way, someone will care enough about me to reach out his or her hand to bring me back to the world of the living.

I’ve been thinking about this because of all the recent talk about suicide after the death of Robin Williams.  I heard someone say the other evening that one of his friends said that he had known Robin for years, but never really knew him, because he was always in character. 

That suggests to me that his mind was constantly in motion, and that the characters were a mask for a great internal turmoil.  Maybe he even had difficulty facing himself, and the ever-changing personas shielded a very private man from a very prying public.

I never met the man, so I could never know anything about him with certainty.  Nor can anyone else in my place:  I’m talking about the self-righteous people that condemned him, called him names like “coward.”  I’m talking about people who aren’t willing to learn about this very real enemy because they already know everything, and have the audacity if not authority to sit in judgment over someone.

I remember a story about a primitive culture where people were given an everyday name, but they were also given a secret name, as well.  Few if any would know the secret name, since wielding it would give another person power over the one bearing that name.  Shamanistic, at best, but a good model for what I have decided I would do to try and face my own demons.  If I can recognize my weaknesses and struggles for what they really are and call them by name, I will have power over them.  Conquering them may require help from someone else, but if I refuse to acknowledge these problems, I will never overcome them.

I return to Cain’s question in his feeble attempt at a defense against God’s scrutiny in the aftermath of his murderous act against his brother. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” he asked.  As I have written before, my resounding answer is, “YES!”  We have the responsibility to care for the weak, strengthen the feeble, help the hurting and bear their burdens.  As children of God, we are to seek out those in need, and bring relief, whatever relief that may entail, to the best of our abilities.  We must not bury the talent of kindness, but rather invest it and watch it increase.  We must not store the treasures of mercy and compassion in ever bigger barns, but tear them down for the purpose of distributing their bounty.  We must not quench the flickering candle of grace that freely dispels the darkness and gladdens our souls.  We must light our lamps from that candle, and shine together  as one great light.     

My experience is extremely limited with respect to dealing with people who are so damaged and hurt that they entertain the idea of suicide as a last resort.  My heart tells me that kindness, compassion and mercy are needed.  I hope I have the presence of mind and strength of resolve to share them if I am ever called upon to throw out a lifeline.

I recommend an article by Patrick Mead appearing in the online Christian community magazine, Wineskins.  (http://wineskins.org/2014/08/19/the-christian-robin-and-suicide/#more-1917) Currently a minister, Patrick was a professional in the field of psychology in an earlier chapter of his life.  His observations about suicide are focused, to the point, and tempered with those rare gifts of mercy and compassion.

It is not our place to judge the hurting.  It is our place to help them.  Jesus pronounced judgments on the self-righteous, not on the suffering.  We would do well to follow his lead.

Rest Easy

I was introduced to the work of Christian singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson a couple of years ago when Lipscomb theology professor and writer, John Mark Hicks quoted a few lines from Peterson’s album, Light for the Lost Boy, in his blog.  On his recommendation, I gave the album a listen, and I was immediately impressed.  Peterson’s lyrics are literate and thought-provoking without venturing down the “Jesus is my girlfriend” path of what sounds virtually like romantic love songs for God.

The song from that album that probably resonates most with me is his “Rest Easy.”  The lyrics are so reassuring and comforting, especially when the world seems to be crumbling all around you.  Take a look at the lyrics, or better yet, listen to the song for yourself.  (YouTube is a great place to experience music you want to try.  Give it a search.)  

You are not alone
I will always be with you
Even to the end

 

You don’t have to work so hard
You can rest easy
You don’t have to prove yourself
You’re already mine
You don’t have to hide your heart
I already love you
I hold it in mine
So you can rest easy

 

Do not be afraid
Nothing, nothing in the world
Can come between us now

You don’t have to work so hard
You can rest easy
You don’t have to prove yourself
You’re already mine
You don’t have to hide your heart
I already love you
I hold it in mine
So you can rest easy

You work so hard to wear yourself down
And you’re running like a rodeo clown
You’re smiling like you’re scared to death
You’re out of faith and all out of breath
You’re so afraid you’ve got nowhere left to go

Well, you are not alone
I will always be with you

You don’t have to work so hard
You can rest easy
You don’t have to prove yourself
You’re already mine
You don’t have to hide your heart
I already love you
I hold it in mine
You can rest easy

Peterson writes as if Jesus were directly talking to the listener, the concepts and comments garnered and gleaned from throughout the gospels and apostolic letters.  The application is so real and true on so many levels.  The song will resonate with anyone who has struggled with pretty much any of life’s challenges.

I can admit it: I struggle each and every day.  I am frequently discouraged and angry and disappointed with myself when that discouragement and anger spill out and affect others.  My faith falters and I lose sight of the higher calling.  I blame others for my own poor state of affairs, when I am responsible for making the best of what comes my way.

What kind of struggles do I face?  There have been times when I have been so discouraged with my job that I just hated even thinking about going to work in the morning.  I attended faculty meetings and experienced chest pains born of anxiety and dread.  Another struggle I face is in marriage: probably every married man in America, if not the world, has had moments of doubt as to whether that relationship would be strong enough to weather the storms that life sends.

One of the biggest challenges I face on a daily basis is dealing with a son on the autism spectrum.  Autism is a constant challenge, not only from the behavioral issues and developmental delays, but also in trying to make sure that my son receives the services that he needs to give him the best chance of success later in life.  I get discouraged when all of the appointments and therapies seem to be having little effect.  My plate is so full at times that I don’t have as much time to devote to my work as I would like.  The stress of dealing with autism makes trying to maintain a working marriage far more difficult than a “normal” life would—if indeed that normalcy does exist for anyone.

I struggle with matters of faith, too.  I have been on an extended journey of spiritual discovery that began when I came to realize that God is more about love and grace and less about retribution and punishment.  That journey has led me to question many of the tenets of my faith tradition, and through that lens of love and grace, the legalism I was raised in becomes less appealing and more difficult to defend and maintain.  I have been unhappy with my church situation for a long time, but I remain, because of a perception of duty to, as well as love for my dear friends who make up that tiny congregation.  Such a conflict of spirit wears a man down, and brings him to some of the deepest lows of life.  In my experience, to be soul-sad and soul-weary shakes me to the very foundation.

And then I hear Andrew Peterson, and through his words and organizing thoughts, I remember the great invitation that Jesus gave to all who were soul-weary and heavy-laden.  In Matthew 11.28, Jesus offers, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Jesus was likely talking to people who were tired of the Pharisaical burden of law.  I can’t help but believe that the offer stands for all time and for all who labor under any circumstance that would break a person’s spirit and drive him to despair.   

In light of my own experience, I hear Peterson’s words decry the burden of legalism when he relates that, “You don’t have to work so hard…You’re already mine.”  Jesus paid the price, took the burden on himself, and made the gift of soul-redeeming grace possible through his life and example of selflessness. 

Sometimes, I think we make things too difficult.  Life gets harder as we pursue ridiculous things that have little in the way of lasting–let alone eternal–value.  Religion gets difficult when form and pattern distort and obscure the most important pattern and example for our lives, that being none other than the one we say we revere and worship and hold with gracious esteem, that earthly son of a carpenter, that spiritual guide of common fishermen, that friend of tax-collectors and sinners. Jesus.  The journey home gets so much longer when we get sidetracked chasing elusive and often inferred rabbits.  We look for more religious tasks to do to the exclusion of becoming what we are called to be: people defined by the love and mercy and kindness that are not just actions, but qualities that become our very essence and suffuse every aspect, every facet of our lives.

In matters of faith and in the mundane exercise of daily life, the bridge rings so amazingly true:

You work so hard to wear yourself down
And you’re running like a rodeo clown
You’re smiling like you’re scared to death
You’re out of faith and all out of breath
You’re so afraid you’ve got nowhere left to go

I’ve been there.  Out of faith, out of breath.  Running on a hamster wheel with no relief and no end in sight.  I’ve been there.  I’m weak, but by faith, I know a fountainhead of strength is only a heartbeat away.  I’m so very tired, but Jesus invites me to rest easy.

I need to listen.  Oh, how I need to listen.