“Waiting in Hope and Paying Attention to Our Surroundings”
“21 Eight days later, when the baby was circumcised, he was named Jesus, the name given him by the angel even before he was conceived.
22 Then it was time for their purification offering, as required by the law of Moses after the birth of a child; so his parents took him to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord.
23 The law of the Lord says, “If a woman’s first child is a boy, he must be dedicated to the LORD.”
24 So they offered the sacrifice required in the law of the Lord– “either a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons.”
25 At that time there was a man in Jerusalem named Simeon. He was righteous and devout and was eagerly waiting for the Messiah to come and rescue Israel. The Holy Spirit was upon him
26 and had revealed to him that he would not die until he had seen the Lord’s Messiah.
27 That day the Spirit led him to the Temple. So when Mary and Joseph came to present the baby Jesus to the Lord as the law required,
28 Simeon was there. He took the child in his arms and praised God, saying,
29 “Sovereign Lord, now let your servant die in peace, as you have promised.
30 I have seen your salvation,
31 which you have prepared for all people.
32 He is a light to reveal God to the nations, and he is the glory of your people Israel!”
33 Jesus’ parents were amazed at what was being said about him.
34 Then Simeon blessed them, and he said to Mary, the baby’s mother, “This child is destined to cause many in Israel to fall, but he will be a joy to many others. He has been sent as a sign from God, but many will oppose him.
35 As a result, the deepest thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your very soul.”
36 Anna, a prophet, was also there in the Temple. She was the daughter of Phanuel from the tribe of Asher, and she was very old. Her husband died when they had been married only seven years.
37 Then she lived as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the Temple but stayed there day and night, worshiping God with fasting and prayer.
38 She came along just as Simeon was talking with Mary and Joseph, and she began praising God. She talked about the child to everyone who had been waiting expectantly for God to rescue Jerusalem.” (Luke 2:21-38, italics mine)
“Like Anna and Simeon, when we wait in hope and pay attention to our surroundings, we too will see God revealed before our very eyes.” (3-Minute Retreat, December 28, 2017, italics mine.)
Today, my 3-Minute Retreat from Loyola Press concerned Simon and Anna recognizing that Jesus was the Messiah. It was about waiting and recognizing.
I’m not good at waiting. I don’t like long lines at checkout counters, traffic jams, or any other form of waiting. This may be exacerbated by my attention deficit disorder, but I suspect that is an inherent human struggle. One of my least favorite proverbs is “Good things come to those who wait.”
But perhaps waiting is a prelude to recognizing crucial stuff. Perhaps others in the temple were simply too busy to wait. They were in a hurry to sacrifice, to worship, to get on with their lives. How many important things do I not recognize because I refuse to wait?
My 3-minute retreat concluded with the following prayer:
“(Speak to God, using these words or a prayer of your own.)
God of life, I wait in joyful hope for your kingdom to be revealed in its fullness. Open my eyes to recognize your Son in everyone I meet today.”
It was very early this morning when I was doing this brief devotional/retreat. I was working at my desk. The first person I saw after reading this prayer when I looked up from my desk was my own reflection in the window. Is Christ in me, I asked myself.
Yes, Christ is in there! I may not always act as if He is, but He is! Perhaps I should be more patient, waiting in hope. Perhaps if I practiced such hopeful waiting, I would come to recognize Christ—even in myself.
“BARN BABY!”
I was about eleven years old, and it was Christmas morning. I woke up ready to inhale breakfast and open presents.
Unfortunately, there was a very large glitch in my plan—my dad.
Like many young children, I had always believed that parents never got sick. My mom disabused me of this childish fantasy in a hurry. “Your dad has come down with some kind of virus. Could you do the feeding of the cattle this morning?”
I don’t remember saying anything to my mom. Maybe I did. If so, Mom, even though you’re long gone, could you please forgive me?
Whether I said anything to Mom or not, I had plenty to say on the hundred-or-so yards between the house and the barn. They may have been questions in form, but in content, they were accusations. “How could Dad get sick on Christmas Day! I think it was deliberate! And why did cows have to eat and drink on Christmas Day? Let them wait ‘til tomorrow!” I seem to remember even calling God to account for this tragic matter of me having to do the feeding on this particular morning. I was determined to do the feeding, and draw water from the well for the cattle in record time.
Our barn was a ramshackle affair with a small door which was opened and closed with a two-by-four dropped into a notch on the door. I lay my hand on the latch to the door, still fuming, and had an immediate encounter with The Divine Mystery of the Incarnation. I had never been spoken to by God before, and have only rarely been spoken to so directly since. (Or, perhaps, I just don’t listen very well.) Certainly, I was in no particularly spiritual frame of mind.
But as I grabbed that latch, I heard—as clearly as I have ever heard anything—God saying, “It was in a place like this that My Son was born.”
That, and nothing more.
My hand was frozen to the latch, but not from the cold. I couldn’t move for what seemed a very long time.
Finally, I slowly lifted the latch, as if I were lifting a chalice. I reverently opened the door, and eased the latch down beside it. I slowly scooped the cattle’s feed out of the barrels and into their mangers. I gave each of them some extra feed. I patted them on their muzzles as they ate. I very slowly broke apart several bales of hay, carefully spreading it in another part of the manger.
I went outside and drew water from the well. Cattle can drink a lot of water, especially right after they’ve eaten. I made trip after trip from the well to their water tank, and considered it an honor to do so. Before I left the barn, I wished the cows a Merry Christmas.
My heart and mind and behavior are often more like our ramshackle barn, than they are like a Currier and Ives print, or a Hallmark Christmas special. Barns are not sanitary places.
And yet . . .
And yet . . .
And yet, it was a stable in which Jesus was born. Perhaps that wasn’t an accident. Perhaps God was making a point. No one, no one, is too unsanitary to be saved. No one is too messed up for God.
No one!
“MY MOST MEMORABLE CHRISTMAS EVE”
My most memorable Christmas Eve was spent in a ditch beside Ohio State Route 125 in the Shawnee Forest. The time was in the late 1970’s or perhaps 1980. I was on my way with my wife and three small children to a Christmas celebration on Christmas Eve. The weather had been very warm earlier in the day, but by the time we got on the road, the temperatures had plummeted, and the roads were icing over.
125 through the Shawnee Forest was our shortest route—our shortest route to a ditch! There was one place in particular that involved a slight curve and a small hill. That was sufficient! We were going so slowly that neither we nor the car were hurt. However, there was no way I could push our car out of the ditch. We (along with lots of other people) weren’t going to be going anywhere for a while. All we could do was wait for a tow truck to come and pull us out.
After a bit, a man came back from walking about a mile to the Shawnee State Park lodge to call for a tow truck. His news was not good. “It will be at least three hours before anyone can get to us,” he informed us.
Three hours! Our extended family was opening our gifts on Christmas Eve, and we weren’t going to make it.
We sat in our car, running the engine to keep warm. Eventually, several people began getting out of the cars and chatting with other folks. “Where were you headed for?” was the most common question. A fairly large group gathered.
Eventually, someone had an interesting idea. I would like to take credit, but if my memory serves me correctly, it was someone else.
“Hey!” somebody said. “If we all pushed, we could probably get everyone back on the road again! Once we’ve gotten someone up on the level spot at the top of this little hill, they can come back and help push others out of the ditch and up the hill.”
I was initially skeptical, but I thought, why not try?
And it ended up being easier than I had thought. There were a lot of us out pushing. Despite the slippery conditions, I think we had enough people to have picked up the vehicles and to have lifted them onto the road. Before many minutes had passed, we were past this tricky spot, and on our way.
I believe (at least, in my better moments) that God came to earth in His Son, Jesus Christ, about two-thousand years ago. I believe that he came to push us (or lift us?) out of the ditch we had gotten ourselves. It’s so much easier to get into a ditch, than it is to get out of it, isn’t it?
But I also believe that God has called us in Christ to help one another to get out of our ditches.
As an addict, I have had a lot of friends who have helped me to get back on the road. Twelve-step friends, pastors, other believers, family members, and above all my wife, have come back to where I was stuck. They refused to leave me in the ditch.
And now, God has called me to believe in God’s rescue mission in Christ, and to participate in it, as much as I can.
The illusion is that the Christmas Season is “. . . the most wonderful time of the year.” The reality is rather different. Some of you may feel very much ditched. Perhaps this blog may give you the courage to believe that Someone and some ones have your back and your bumper, and that there is a road forward for you after all.
“HANDLING DISAPPOINTMENTS”
I don’t handle disappointments very well. That means that I don’t handle life very well.
Life, at least as I live it, is inherently disappointing. (I’m told that death is rather disappointing as well, but that is a subject for another blog post.)
“Life, at least as I live it . . . .” I suspect that the words in italics are what fuels most, if not all, of my disappointments. The problem is not life; the problem is me.
Disappointments flow from two sources, which are not two, but one. One source of disappointments is my expectations of myself. The other source is my expectations of others. Did you notice that in both cases, there is the little phrase “my expectations”?
I expect too much of myself and I am disappointed. I expect too much of others and I am disappointed.
Years ago, I took a course in basic fire safety. One of the first lessons we learned is that, if you want to put out a fire, you don’t aim at the tip of the flame; you aim at the base of the flame. If I simply mull over my disappointments, I’m wasting my time. It is the expectations that feed the flame of disappointment, and need to be doused.
“But don’t we have the right to have some expectations?” I hear someone ask.
My answer would be this: “Yes, we have the right to have some expectations—as long as we are willing to be disappointed.”
There is an old saying that comes to mind. “Always expect the unexpected.” That is one of those proverbs that sounds like a contradiction in terms. Perhaps it is a contradiction in terms. However, it also encapsulates an important truth: The unexpected (a.k.a. disappointment) is so common that it might as well be expected. In fact, expecting the unexpected may be the only expectation that is helpful.
Hopes and goals and plans are another matter. They are important. However, expectations are a drag. When I am marinating in my own disappointments, I am not hoping, setting goals, or making plans. I am just stuck in my disappointments.
And, of course, my disappointments can easily deepen into resentments. And resentments are real killers.
“Character Defects and Trusting God: #Iamtheproblem”
What is my central problem? My character defects! My central problem isn’t society. It isn’t women. It isn’t political persons or affairs. It isn’t my past or my future. My central problems is the fault lines in my own heart and soul.
#IamtheProblem!
And what are my character defects? They are many!
But is there a character defect that feeds all the others?
I don’t know, and maybe it isn’t important that I know. However, I do have a suspicion. I suspect that I don’t trust God. That, I think, is the central problem.
If I really trusted God, I would trust that he has given me enough, that I therefore have enough, do enough, and am enough.
Even if I am empty—as I am a good deal of the time—I would see that emptiness as a God-given emptiness.
Today, moment by moment, I will choose to trust God. I will trust and see what happens. There don’t have to be any signs or miracles. I will simply choose to trust that there is a God and that God is a rewarder of those who diligently seek God (Hebrews 11:6).
I will begin by trusting God to give me the strength to trust God.
“My Career as an Astronomer”
I have decided to reactivate my dream of being an astronomer.
When we were vacationing in Arizona, my wife and I toured the Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff. We toured the facility during the morning, and came back that night to gaze through telescopes.
My mind went back to the sixth grade. I tried to found an astronomy club at my school. I had done some reading in a very old partial set of encyclopedias that my parents had been given. Fortunately, the “S” volume (as in “Solar System”) and the “A” volume (“A” is for “Astronomy”) were more or less intact. I will freely confess that I did not really understand everything I read. In fact, I mostly looked at the pictures. However, it was enough. I was going to be an astronomer, so I decided to start an astronomy club at school.
I got several people to sign up for my club. However, one of the members (whom I will call Donny Jones) was one of those people who rains on every parade. He was very smart, but his kindness was exceedingly underdeveloped. He pointed out that I was not very good at mathematics (which was true), and that astronomy required people who are good at math (which may or may not be entirely true).
The astronomy club dissolved like snow on a day in mid-April. So did my dream of being an astronomer. I hadn’t thought about this for many years (decades?) until I visited the observatory.
But the deeper problem wasn’t Donny Jones or even my math skills. The problem was that I allowed a few unkind words to derail me. Of course, now that I am all grown up, and indeed old, that is no longer a problem.
Right!
Well, it shouldn’t be a problem. However, I still allow it to be a problem. And the truth is that the discouragement doesn’t always come from outside. The problem is that I am frequently my own “Donny Jones.”
Step 1: I want to learn or do something.
Sep 2: I think of all the reasons I can’t learn or do that particular thing.
Step 3: I get frustrated.
Step 4: I give up.
What I really need is an exorcism. I need a demon named “My Personal Donny Jones” to be cast out.
Of course, we don’t generally call people who are called exorcists, do we? Instead, we make an appointment with a modern-day exorcist, but we call them “psychiatrists” or “psychologists.” And they really can and do help. I have gone through extensive counseling through the years, and have found that such counseling can be very helpful.
But the problem is this: No matter how much counseling I have received, Donny Jones keeps showing up in my mind. Sometimes, I invite him in. At other times, he sneaks in a window or door that I forgot to lock. I sometimes don’t even recognize him. He is a master of disguise.
For example, I was planning to write for at least an-hour-and-fifteen minutes today. However, a voice whispered to me, “That is a long time. Perhaps the goal is unrealistic. After all, you did post a blog today that you wrote a couple of days ago.”
Shut up, Donny Jones! And get out of my head, durn your miserable hide!
So, today, I am going to look at some pictures of Saturn on line. I’m going to think about astronomy. Who knows? I may even learn something about math.
“CULTIVATING MY INNER OBSERVER”
“For his Spirit joins with our spirit to affirm that we are God’s children. (Romans 8:16 NLT)”
“I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit.” (Ephesians 3:16 NTL)
At our twelve-step meeting the other day, we read a brief section from a recovery book that dealt with creating an “inner observer” that is “discerning, honest, and wise.”
I was somewhat familiar with this concept. Some of my familiarity came from reading good books and listening to wise people. However, another source of my familiarity came from a dream that I had.
Sometimes, I have very vivid dreams. At the end of one of these vivid dreams, just before I awoke, I noticed that there was someone standing in the shadows observing everything that was going on. I walked up to him, unable to see his face, and asked, “Who are you?”
He replied, “Who is it who asks?”
And with that, I awoke. I cannot remember the dream at all, but I have been haunted ever since by this mystery man’s question.
I have encountered the idea of a neutral “inner observer” before. In fact, I may have encountered this idea before my dream. That prior encounter may have provided the raw material for that aspect of my dream. That would go far toward explaining the question and the questioner. However, explaining something and understanding something are not the same thing.
My current (and very preliminary) way of understanding my inner observer may be described as follows.
I have several voices in my head. (I realize that talking about “hearing voices” may raise serious issues about my mental health. However, I suspect that it is a well-nigh universal phenomenon among humans.)
One voice I call “The Judge.” He criticizes everything I do. Even when I do well, it is never enough.
Another voice is “The Justifier.” He excuses everything I do. There are always extenuating circumstances in the mind of the justifier.
Then there is my “Inner Observer.” He is the one without a face, the one who tends to answer a question with a question. He is easily ignored. His voice is hard to hear in the midst of the noise I create. He usually tells me the truth, but I don’t always (often?) like the truth.
When I do listen to him, my life goes better. I practiced listening to him on Saturday, and at the end of the day, my wife said, out of the clear blue sky, “I like the way you’ve treated me today.”
This inner voice’s strength and clarity can be nourished from outside by God, by meditation, by good reading, by wise counsel from others. But I have to choose to slow down and listen.
And then there is the little matter of doing what The Voice says!
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