My dad posts again to round out the series of the past week. His thoughts here relate to the Legends post from earlier in the week, so we’ll call it Part 1.5. If you missed Dad’s earlier guest spot, you can pick it up here.
Meanwhile, Delilah is just dying to cut Samson’s hair, so I’ll be back in Judges 16 this week if you care to join me.
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by Paul Willingham
Rambo and Homer. Hmmmm! Superman and Casper Milquetoast. Babe Ruth and Casey (at the Bat). Sgt. York and Sgt. Bilko. The James Gang and the Apple Dumpling Gang. Rambo I know, having watched “First Blood” several times. Rambo II and Rambo III fell sort of flat, as most sequels do. I know who Homer Simpson is but have never watched even 5 minutes of “The Simpsons”. But I digress. My TV/movie viewing preferences are not germane here. What you were really saying as one wag put it long ago, we want to be legends but we only end up being “legends in our own mind”.
When I was in college, an annual event was the “Speech Banquet”. After the meal, the program consisted of speeches by several students. The speakers (mostly male students as they were pursuing careers as preachers) on the program were selected by the Speech Professor. I agreed to serve as toastmaster for the event and thus escaped preparing and delivering a speech. Following years of tradition established by those who had gone before me, plus my own idea of what an emcee does, I introduced the various speakers with a short and what I hoped was a good joke (a good joke being defined as one that folks actually laugh at).
I introduced one of the students (We’ll call him Bob) as follows: Bob had a date with his long-time girl friend. When he arrived at the door and rang her bell, she appeared at the door and greeted him with the question that every male dreads. “Bob, do you notice any thing different about me?”
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2009/10/04 | Categories: Blogging, Guest Posts, Posts from My Dad | Tags: authenticity, guest post, masks, pharisee | 2 Comments »
If you were a young child living in a cardboard shack in the interior of a South American country, it’s likely you’d heard of a North American movie legend or two.
But never venturing beyond the confines of your dusty shanty town, you probably wouldn’t know Rambo from a redheaded Swede.
So in the early 1990s when Lane and I traveled to just such an Argentine barrio to show the Jesus film, it came as no surprise that many of the children mistook the first big Yankee they’d ever seen for their hero, Rambo.
The kids spoke no English. Lane spoke limited Spanish.
Their interactions, when he wasn’t showing off his proficiency at asking about a bathroom, usually amounted to kids squealing Rambo! and throwing their arms around his neck every time they saw him, and Lane returning their hugs and flashing his trademark grin, two international signs for friendly.
All in all, everybody was happy. The kids had a real live action hero. Lane had an instant fan club.
And Sylvester Stallone was none the wiser.
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2009/09/26 | Categories: Blogging | Tags: authenticity, Blogging, filthy rags | 10 Comments »
That’s when Thomas, the one called the Twin, said to his companions, “Come along. We might as well die with him.” (John 11:16 MSG)
Thomas gets a bad rap, you know? He’s the one who’s tagged as “Doubting Thomas” because after the brothers told him that Jesus had risen from the dead, he doubted. He needed proof. He needed to be able to see Him, see His wounds, touch Him in the flesh.
Being so superior to the likes of Thomas, we chide him. “Doubting Thomas” indeed. Naturally, if we had been there when the Marys and Peter and John came back from the tomb wild eyed and insistent that Jesus was alive, I’m sure we’d have been first in line announcing our stupendous faith. Of course, we’d have understood every cryptic remark Jesus made before His death that alluded to imminent events. We’d have been able to push through the crowd of clamoring disciples at that time and said, “Fellows, fellows, please settle down. Do you not remember when He said that He would rebuild the temple in three days after it had been torn down? Certainly you understood He referred to Himself. Surely you knew this was to happen just this way! I cannot see how you do not believe instantly and without question.”
I doubt it. I think we’d have been huddled in that upper room wondering what was going to happen and why Jesus had abandoned us just like the rest of them. And we would have dismissed the claims of our friends that He was alive. It had to be their overwhelming grief talking. At least I know I would. I somehow doubt I’d have understood so many of the important things that Jesus had said and done before His death that would have helped prepare me for the very scary days to come and would have helped me to know that He would be back, and back with His resurrection power.
See, I figure that Thomas was really no different than the other guys, and perhaps us, except for one important quality that Thomas had that we overlook in favor of our microscope on his tendency toward disbelief. Because we focus the lens on what we see as his huge flaw, we miss something so important.
Thomas was authentic.
Thomas was honest and up front about his doubt. Not unlike David, Thomas had that willingness to say out loud what was going on in his heart and his head. Thomas would admit to feeling what most of the others were likely feeling but not saying.
With this look at Thomas, my wanderings in John 10-12 come to an end. Before Jesus even went to see Lazarus, we have a brief but meaningful encounter with Thomas that in many ways set the stage for the doubting reputation he acquired at the time of the resurrection. We get a glimpse of Thomas’ authenticity that perhaps makes us feel more uncomfortable with him than willing to admire him (though perhaps still privately thinking, “he’s a lot like me”).
You might remember that in John 10, before Jesus went to Bethany to be with His friends in their crisis, He’d had a bit of an altercation with the Pharisees. They’d accused Him of blasphemy and nearly stoned Him then and there. He slipped away and had been keeping something of a low profile since then. But when He heard of Lazarus’ illness, after the initial delay He told His disciples that He wanted to go to them. He wanted to return to Judea.
The disciples, in a word, freaked. In verse 11:8, they said, “Rabbi, you can’t do that. The Jews are out to kill you, and you’re going back?” He was always doing things that they didn’t understand. And they were always coming undone. So here they went again. And of course, Jesus went into another explanation of His plan that just made no sense to them. But one thing was clear: He would go to Lazarus and his sisters.
At this point, Thomas resigned himself to the will of his Master. He recognized that Jesus was going to do what He wanted, whether the disciples thought it wise or not. Whether it ended in His death or not. And being a total Eeyore, he was pretty confident that they would all die. He said to his friends, “Come along. We might as well die with Him.” Can you hear the voice of Eeyore? Listen…
(click to play)
Think of Eeyore saying, “Come along. We might as well die with Him.” He sounds just like Thomas.
But you know, Eeyore has an authenticity to him too. He is willing to say what is going on in his head even when others don’t really want to hear it.
The difference is Thomas was not glued to one spot with his gloom. Thomas, despite his pessimism and his doubt, actually led the way. While all the others were holding Jesus back and telling Him He should not go, Thomas stepped out and expressed his fear (they would all die), then walked straight through it to stand with Jesus and go where He wanted to go (they would all die with Him). Even if it meant dying, Thomas saw the importance of being with Jesus.
He had his doubt, and he had his fears. But in the midst of it, he stood with Jesus and he led his brothers to do the same.
Thomas’ doubt did not disqualify him for service to his Master. Thomas’ willingness to admit his doubt allowed others to believe. When Jesus showed His wounds to Thomas, don’t think for a second that others weren’t craning their necks, hoping to see something that would help them believe. And when Thomas called his brothers to go with Jesus despite what he thought was certain death, his willingness to press on, despite his obvious fear, no doubt strengthened them to go along as well.
Jesus doesn’t want us to doubt. He wants us to trust. But He never asks us to pretend. He asks us to be honest with Him about our doubts and our fears. And then He asks us to trust Him despite them and move on forward.
We might as well die with Him.That’s when Thomas, the one called the Twin, said to his companions, “Come along. We might as well die with him.” (John 11:16 MSG)
Thomas gets a bad rap, you know? He’s the one who’s tagged as “Doubting Thomas” because after the brothers told him that Jesus had risen from the dead, he doubted. He needed proof. He needed to be able to see Him, see His wounds, touch Him in the flesh.
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2008/11/22 | Categories: Belief & Doubt | Tags: authenticity, doubt, Lazarus, Thomas | Leave A Comment »
1 As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.
2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?
3 My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
4 These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go with the multitude, leading the procession to the house of God, with shouts of joy and thanksgiving among the festive throng.
5 Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and 6 my God. My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon —- from Mount Mizar.
7 Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.
8 By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me — a prayer to the God of my life.
9 I say to God my Rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?”
10 My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
11 Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.
(Psalm 42, NIV)
I think that if King David hung out with us today, we’d want to make sure he was on medication. Near Psalm 42, I have scribbled down some notes to the effect that “David is manic.” There’s a sense when you read this Psalm of David, and so many others, that he experienced wide emotional variances, such that “mood swings” hardly seems sufficient to describe them. He so often would go through wild changes, seemingly from one moment to the next. And I believe that Psalm 42 embodies that more than any other.
He begins by describing his yearning for God. Like a deer panting, thirsting after God, anxious for the time he can go meet with Him. He goes on to lament his lament. Tears are his food, he is tormented by those who mock his faith in God, and he mourns the loss of the days when he used to lead the throngs in jubilant worship.
But then he suddenly changes gears. He challenges himself. “Why are you downcast, O my soul?” The Message puts it like this, “Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues?” He takes this sudden turn and reminds himself that he need not despair. No, he can put his hope in God. He can praise God. He continues in The Message to say, “Fix my eyes on God — soon I’ll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He’s my God.” And he remembers all those things about God that give him strength to go on.
Five verses ago, his tears were his food, “day and night.” But now? Now he says that “by day the Lord directs His love, at night His song is with me.”
No sooner does he replace his nightly tears with God’s very song than he about-faces again, demanding of God, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning?” In the very same sentence that he calls God his Rock, or in the Message, “my rock-solid God,” he accuses God of having forgotten him. His bones suffer “mortal agony.”
And then he immediately jumps back to “What are you thinking, Soul? Why are you downcast? Why so disturbed?”
Put your hope in God.
So maybe David did have a little emotional instability. I read David, and sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to hang out with him. Would his constant emotional turmoil followed by rejoicing and then more turmoil completely wear me out? I like even-keel. I like stable. I like constant. I like predictable. David would drive me absolutely nuts.
But then again, maybe David wasn’t that unstable at all. Relatively speaking anyway. Maybe he was just like the rest of us, but just really bad at wearing a mask. Maybe he was just terrible at hiding what was going on inside him. Maybe he just didn’t have a clue about burying his pain and pretending all was well.
David was willing to turn himself inside out. He was willing to put words on what he was feeling. He was willing to get everything out in the open. He wasn’t afraid to admit his bones were burning up, that food tasted like sand, that his soul was parched, that he was overwhelmed by horror, that he felt pursued to death and in the most anguished need of his God. He never pretended that it wasn’t true. He was more interested in just putting his hope in God.
He was quick to remember God’s unfailing love, His new-every-morning mercy, His unending faithfulness, His limitless justice.
For David, the eloquent and authentic psalmist, was still as much the shepherd boy as he would also be the king. The giant slayer was also the young and naive keeper of the flocks. The mighty warrior could sit quietly and play the harp.
He knew the despair of being separated from God, and the safety of being intimately connected to Him. He fully experienced both, and never masked over either one.
David might make me uncomfortable. I know he would. But if I look at myself honestly I have to admit I have the same kinds of wild emotional twists and turns that he did.
I despair. I rejoice. I lose it sometimes. And other times I find it. I just like to make it look like I cut it right through the middle.
And still, God stands there with me, on either side of that line, just like He did with David.
::
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?
My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go with the multitude, leading the procession to the house of God, with shouts of joy and thanksgiving among the festive throng.
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon —- from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.
By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me — a prayer to the God of my life.
I say to God my Rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?”
My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. (Psalm 42, NIV)
I think that if King David hung out with us today, we’d want to make sure he was on medication. Near Psalm 42, I have scribbled down some notes to the effect that “David is manic.” There’s a sense when you read this Psalm of David, and so many others, that he experienced wide emotional variances, such that “mood swings” hardly seems sufficient to describe them. He so often would go through wild changes, seemingly from one moment to the next. And I believe that Psalm 42 embodies that more than any other.
He begins by describing his yearning for God. Like a deer panting, thirsting after God, anxious for the time he can go meet with Him. He goes on to lament his lament. Tears are his food, he is tormented by those who mock his faith in God, and he mourns the loss of the days when he used to lead the throngs in jubilant worship.
But then he suddenly changes gears. He challenges himself. “Why are you downcast, O my soul?” The Message puts it like this, “Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues?” He takes this sudden turn and reminds himself that he need not despair. No, he can put his hope in God. He can praise God. He continues in The Message to say, “Fix my eyes on God — soon I’ll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He’s my God.” And he remembers all those things about God that give him strength to go on.
Five verses ago, his tears were his food, “day and night.” But now? Now he says that “by day the Lord directs His love, at night His song is with me.”
No sooner does he replace his nightly tears with God’s very song than he about-faces again, demanding of God, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning?” In the very same sentence that he calls God his Rock, or in the Message, “my rock-solid God,” he accuses God of having forgotten him. His bones suffer “mortal agony.”
And then he immediately jumps back to “What are you thinking, Soul? Why are you downcast? Why so disturbed?”
Put your hope in God.
So maybe David did have a little emotional instability. I read David, and sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to hang out with him. Would his constant emotional turmoil followed by rejoicing and then more turmoil completely wear me out? I like even-keel. I like stable. I like constant. I like predictable. David would drive me absolutely nuts.
But then again, maybe David wasn’t that unstable at all. Relatively speaking anyway. Maybe he was just like the rest of us, but just really bad at wearing a mask. Maybe he was just terrible at hiding what was going on inside him. Maybe he just didn’t have a clue about burying his pain and pretending all was well.
David was willing to turn himself inside out. He was willing to put words on what he was feeling. He was willing to get everything out in the open. He wasn’t afraid to admit his bones were burning up, that food tasted like sand, that his soul was parched, that he was overwhelmed by horror, that he felt pursued to death and in the most anguished need of his God. He never pretended that it wasn’t true. He was more interested in just putting his hope in God.
He was quick to remember God’s unfailing love, His new-every-morning mercy, His unending faithfulness, His limitless justice.
For David, the eloquent and authentic psalmist, was still as much the shepherd boy as he would also be the king. The giant slayer was also the young and naive keeper of the flocks. The mighty warrior could sit quietly and play the harp.
He knew the despair of being separated from God, and the safety of being intimately connected to Him. He fully experienced both, and never masked over either one.
David might make me uncomfortable. I know he would. But if I look at myself honestly I have to admit I have the same kinds of wild emotional twists and turns that he did.
I despair. I rejoice. I lose it sometimes. And other times I find it. I just like to make it look like I cut it right through the middle.
And still, God stands there with me, on either side of that line, just like He did with David.
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2008/11/03 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: authenticity, David, despair, Hope | 1 Comment »
When I was in college, an annual event was the “Speech Banquet”. After the meal, the program consisted of speeches by several students. The speakers (mostly male students as they were pursuing careers as preachers) on the program were selected by the Speech Professor. I agreed to serve as toastmaster for the event and thus escaped preparing and delivering a speech. Following years of tradition established by those who had gone before me, plus my own idea of what an emcee does, I introduced the various speakers with a short and what I hoped was a good joke (a good joke being defined as one that folks actually laugh at).
The Conversation