Father’s Day has been difficult for me for many years. I wanted to be a dad, and am glad that I had the privilege—four times, no less! I am glad that I was a dad, but I am not glad for the kind of dad I was a good bit of the time. I made lots of horrible mistakes, and made them repeatedly. I got some things right, but not a lot of them. I suspect that I am not alone in being glad to be a dad, but being very self-critical about the job I did.
However, I am determined that Father’s Day will not be as difficult today. Partly, that is because of one of the readings from Hazelden Publishing that I did this morning. It really spoke to me.
“Satisfaction Comes from Inside
Why do we continually expect to be satisfied by taking in and possessing things
from the outside? Amassing material goods and possessions more often than not
stimulates rather than satisfies our appetite. What we do and contribute
satisfies us more than what we have and consume.
When we are at peace within ourselves and in contact with our Higher Power, we
make fewer demands on the outside world. When we are able to use our abilities
in productive work and can give of our emotional and spiritual strength to
other people, we feel replete.
Nothing from the outside can bring us happiness if we are at war with
ourselves. Chronic dissatisfaction indicates that we have not turned our will
and our lives over to God’s care, but are still trying to run the show
egotistically. Complete surrender opens the way to satisfaction.
I want to surrender to the inner needs of my spirit.”
(From Food for Thought: Daily Meditations for Overeaters by Elisabeth L.)
I was especially struck by the sentence, “What we do and contribute satisfies us more than what we have and consume.”
The thing for me to do today (or any day), in order to have a good day is to focus on what I am doing and contributing today.
The past is the past. It isn’t going to change. But today lies open before me. I can either throw a poor-pitiful-me regret party, or I can be productive and contribute to the well-being of others. The choice is mine. It is also yours. Let’s choose wisely.
Jesus told some wonderful stories. One of the most familiar is the story that we call “The Good Samaritan.”
“25 And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 He said to him, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” 27 And he answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” 28 And he said to him, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.”
But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 30 Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. 34 He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. 35 And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’ 36 Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” 37 He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You go, and do likewise.” (Luke 10:25-37)
The lawyer knew the verse about loving his neighbor as himself. It was found in Leviticus 19:18. The lawyer also knew that this command was very important. So far, so good.
The lawyer’s problems started with doing love. That’s where the problem starts for all of us, isn’t it? When we hear, “Do this, love your neighbor as yourself, and you will live,” we immediately start fudging. Most of our “fudge factory” churns out excuses.
But we also use definitions as a substitute for obedience. “But who is my neighbor?” we ask. If we can define the word “neighbor” as narrowly as possible, we can make love more manageable.
The lawyer wanted a definition of the word “neighbor.” Sounds reasonable. After all, how can you do something, if you don’t have a definition of what you are doing?
However, Jesus wasn’t having any of it. Instead of a definition, Jesus provided a story. And the story involved a Samaritan.
Now, you need to know a bit about the attitude of many first-century A.D. Jews about Samaritans. Samaritans, who lived just the north of Judah, were regarded as half-breed nobodies by many folks in Judea. Prejudice is nothing new.
So, for Jesus to tell a story in which a Samaritan was the hero was a radical challenge to many Jews. It was especially offensive to a good, religious Jew of that time. Notice that the lawyer won’t even say the word “Samaritan” when Jesus asks the lawyer who showed mercy to the man in distress. Instead, the lawyer says, “I suppose the one who showed him mercy.”
Now, it is easy for us to get on our high horses about the lawyer, but I doubt that any of us is immune from prejudice. Those of us who think we are immune are simply in denial.
Fee and Stuart, in their excellent book, How to Read the Bible for All Its Worth, retell the parable of the good Samaritan with an atheist playing the part of the Samaritan. The authors of the book comment, “One of the authors presented this story once. The startled and angry response made it clear that his hearers had really ‘heard’ the parable for the first time in their lives.” When any of us “hears”—really hears—Jesus’ parables, we are likely to be startled and angry. Jesus is an E. O. E.: an Equal Offense Employer.
So, the lawyer tried to define his way out of obedience, but Jesus parabled him into a dilemma. And now, the lawyer had a choice. He could either keep on being startled and angry. He could continue to try to come up with a definition of “neighbor” that would support his prejudices and make obedience (or rather, partial obedience) possible.
Or the lawyer could take Jesus’ parable to heart, look for someone, anyone, in need, and seek to meet that need.
We are faced with the same choice. What will we, what will I, choose today?
EPILOGUE: One of my loyal and insightful readers made a wonderful suggestion: He suggested that I unpack the word “help” a bit. Good suggestion! Here is my reply. (And thanks to all you loyal readers, especially those who have suggestions or questions.)
“The Samaritan did first aid, took the injured man to an inn, paid up front for some care by the inn-keeper, and promised to pay more when he came back through.
Help, at least in this story, seems to be a very basic matter of doing what needs to be done.”
I have high standards—for other people.
When I drive, I expect everyone else on the road to drive carefully and appropriately. They should drive not more than five miles over the speed limit (unless, of course, I want to go faster, and there’s no state trouper around). They should not tailgate me. They must not text or talk on the phone. (Was that my phone ringing? I had better take that call. I’m expecting an important 12-step call, and I can drive pretty well with my knees on the steering wheel.)
Yes, I have very high standards for other people. Far too often, I have very high standards for myself as well.
Now, I know what some of you are thinking. Aren’t high standards a good thing?
My response to that question is terribly unsatisfying. “It depends.” Certainly, I want my doctor to have high standards for herself. And I think she does.
My pastor and my mechanics? Check! My students? Yes indeed! Myself? Yes again!
On the other hand, high standards can lead to serious problems. In fact, high standards can be a problem. Perhaps an illustration would help.
I am a teacher, and a good one, who wants to become even better. Nothing wrong with that.
Or is there? The answer is, “Sometimes, yes, there is something wrong with that.” There are times when I set such high standards for myself that I over-prepare, and then try to throw everything I have learned at my students. They get frustrated, I get frustrated, and real learning—and even the desire for real learning—goes out the window. A lot of what I call “laziness” or “procrastination” is actually a function of my impossibly high standards, that keeps me from finishing my preparation. I can never prepare enough to meet my standards, so I end up with half-finished lesson plans.
High standards for others can lead to unnecessary frustration, but high standards for myself can really tie me up in knots. In truth, excessively high standards can lead to lower performance.
So the antidote to impossibly high standards is to have no standards, right?
No.
The antidote to excess in one direction is not excess in the opposite direction. In driving a car, the best way to keep from going into the right-hand ditch is not oversteering and ending up in the left-hand ditch. It’s generally best to stay on the road.
But is there a road to avoid the dangers posed by both high standards and no standards? I believe there is. It is called “the golden mean.” It goes back at least to Aristotle’s work, Nicomachean Ethics. Many philosophies and religions have adopted and adapted it. (The most relevant name for Christians is Aquinas.)
The basic idea of the golden mean is simple: What we need to be practicing is not extremes, even in virtues. For example, if a person practices courage, that’s good. However, if a person goes too far in that direction, it becomes recklessness, which is not good.
So, having standards is good. But so are gentleness and humility—gentleness and humility with others and even with ourselves.
“When you’re broken, you let the light in.” (Jennifer Blasi)
I met a lady at the park the other day, while I was reading and waiting for a friend who has asked me to be a spiritual mentor to him. In the course of our conversation, I discovered that she wanted to be a counselor. However, life happens. Sometimes, our dreams get put on hold.
Nonetheless, I believe that she will one day be a counselor—and a very good one, at that. In fact, she is already a counselor, though not fully trained. In the course of our conversation, she made the comment that leads off this post. “When you’re broken, you let the light in.” When I asked her where she had heard or read that, she said, “I think I just thought it.”
Some sayings stay with you and nourish you. I found her aphorism very strengthening.
Sometimes, it’s the broken people who let the light in. Sometimes, they are broken from the outside, through no fault of their own. You would think that such brokenness would let into their lives a nightmare of darkness. Sometimes, it does.
But I can think of people who become so translucent—or even transparent—that they are flooded with light. I knew a man whose alcoholic father beat him and his mother mercilessly on a regular basis. Yet this man became one of the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever known. He made a huge contribution to my life, to the lives of many young people, and to his community.
But, of course, sometimes we break ourselves. And yet, even then, the light sometimes invades. I have friends who have done great harm to themselves and others. But they came to terms with their destructive patterns. In old-fashioned language, “they repented, and were changed.” They became better friends, better mothers and fathers, better employers and employees. They became better people. They were so full of light that, if I had not known them before the Change, I would never have believed that they were ever full of anything but light.
And the most wonderful thing about the light shining into broken things and people is that the light also shines through broken things and people.
Jesus said, “In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 5:16, English Standard Version)
Brokenness may seem the opposite of good deeds. But perhaps the best good deed of all is to allow God’s light to shine into our brokenness, and through us to others.
“Psa. 38:0 A PSALM OF DAVID, FOR THE MEMORIAL OFFERING.
Psa. 38:1 O LORD, rebuke me not in your anger,
nor discipline me in your wrath!
2 For your arrows have sunk into me,
and your hand has come down on me.
Psa. 38:3 There is no soundness in my flesh
because of your indignation;
there is no health in my bones
because of my sin.
4 For my iniquities have gone over my head;
like a heavy burden, they are too heavy for me.
Psa. 38:5 My wounds stink and fester
because of my foolishness,
6 I am utterly bowed down and prostrate;
all the day I go about mourning.
7 For my sides are filled with burning,
and there is no soundness in my flesh.
8 I am feeble and crushed;
I groan because of the tumult of my heart.
Psa. 38:9 O Lord, all my longing is before you;
my sighing is not hidden from you.
10 My heart throbs; my strength fails me,
and the light of my eyes—it also has gone from me.
11 My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague,
and my nearest kin stand far off.
Psa. 38:12 Those who seek my life lay their snares;
those who seek my hurt speak of ruin
and meditate treachery all day long.
Psa. 38:13 But I am like a deaf man; I do not hear,
like a mute man who does not open his mouth.
14 I have become like a man who does not hear,
and in whose mouth are no rebukes.
Psa. 38:15 But for you, O LORD, do I wait;
it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer.
16 For I said, “Only let them not rejoice over me,
who boast against me when my foot slips!”
Psa. 38:17 For I am ready to fall,
and my pain is ever before me.
18 I confess my iniquity;
I am sorry for my sin.
19 But my foes are vigorous, they are mighty,
and many are those who hate me wrongfully.
20 Those who render me evil for good
accuse me because I follow after good.
Psa. 38:21 Do not forsake me, O LORD!
O my God, be not far from me!
22 Make haste to help me,
O Lord, my salvation!” (English Standard Version)
Psalm 38 is a penitential psalm. That basically means that it is the prayer of a person who has messed up and is aware of it. Such a person is either feeling really messed up inside, or the person is experiencing the external consequences of his wrong-doing. Often, it is both.
Sin is not a popular word these days, but the consequences of it are very much still with us. You can put lipstick on the pig, you can even pretend the pig doesn’t exist, but you can’t get away from the stench. I grew up on a farm, and I can assure you that this is true.
And yet, toward the end of the psalm (verse 20), the psalmist makes the astonishing claim, “Those who render me evil for good accuse me because I follow after good.”
The other day, when I was listening to this psalm on my You Version app, I suddenly heard this strangely out-of-place part of the prayer. How on earth can the psalmist be confessing his sins, and yet claim to be pursuing what was good?!!
Apparently, my surprise (if not shock) was shared by Derek Kidner, who wrote the following:
“After the penitence of verse 18 (in which concern or anxiety is implied in the word for I am sorry; cf. NEB), the claim of wrongful attack in 19f. may seem surprising. But David’s sins, however serious, were those of a man whose fundamental choice was to follow after good, and it is this choice that always rankles with the unbeliever (cf. John 15:18f.).”[1]
Sometimes, those of us who are aware of our sins need to be reminded that we are pursuing good. The Hebrew word translated “pursue” or “follow after” (radaf in transliteration) is a word that often has a negative connotation. It is used of robbers stalking their victim. It always has the idea of single-minded pursuit.
But here, radaf is a positive word. The psalmist, despite his sins, claims to be suffering because he is pursuing what is good.
And sometimes it is that way. We not only suffer for our sins. Sometimes, we suffer for our pursuit of what is good.
Sin is bad—very bad. It severely damages us, other people, and even the world in which we live. We dare not try to minimize it by saying that we are “fundamentally” pursuing what is good.
However, just as we dare not
minimize our mess-ups, we dare not minimize our pursuit of goodness. To play down either one is refusing to play
according to the rules.
[1]Derek Kidner, Psalms 1–72: An Introduction and Commentary, TOTC 15; IVP/Accordance electronic ed. (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1973), 173.
Saturday, June 8, 2019
My friend, ___________, from Saturday morning group is dead.
I remember his kindness to me in picking up my tab at Frisch’s, and how much we enjoyed walking to Frisch’s, rather than driving. We would talk and look for coins to pick up. He was so good at that.
He was quiet: a doer, rather than a talker. I like people who are doers, rather than talkers. I am married to one. Opposites attract.
God, I trust that he is with you. If I loved my friend as best I could, how much more you! Tell him I said, “Hey!” Tell him also that I’m going to leave my car at the church this morning, and walk to Frisch’s and back. I’ll look for coins.
Sunday, June 2, 2019
My affirmation for today is as follows: “Today, by God’s grace, I am showing consistent interest and care for the lives, needs, thoughts, and stories of others. This interest and care enriches my own life, needs, thoughts, and story.”
For too much of my life, I have been the central character in my story. And that makes it a very thin plot. The characterization isn’t particularly compelling, either. It is time for God and other people to play bigger, more important roles. I would like to make more of a cameo appearance.
Jesus is the most important character. He has all the best lines, and most dramatic actions.
But many others have vital roles as well. Twelve-step friends, church friends, students and colleagues at the university where I teach, our neighbors, my sweet wife—all these and many more are vital to the story line.
I am a writer. But my magnum opus is not my blogs or the short stories and books I’m working on. It is not my scholarly articles or books that are in my mind and will one day (hopefully) be on paper. No, my great work is my life.
And the dedicatory page will say To Jesus and to Many Others.
And the subtitle of the dedication will read With Profound Gratitude for Letting me be Part of Your Story.
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