Reset
I’m running a bit behind, likely the result of two months of life sans structure.
Seems most folks have done their year-end reflection and year-start resolving, and I suppose I have too. I thought this would be the morning that I brought the pondering out into the light of day.
I would reflect on God’s faithfulness during an uncertain year past. I would detail how He has both led into a new business venture and provided unexpected work to fill the gap until that business can pay both the bills and some salaries. I would remind you of how He continues to work that certain uncertainty to draw me to love Him more, trust Him more and obey Him more.
And then I would spell out some expectations for the year to come: lofty goals, a grand vision, and some stuff I really just need to get done.
While I wrestled how to empty my head of all that onto paper this morning, I meditated over a few passages that speak to God’s renewal, His refreshing and restoring. I wanted to connect this desire to reset with the surety of how He desires to do that very thing in me.
Reset, I thought. A good word for the new year.
And as I listened to Him in Ezekiel 36, He did just that. Reset.
As in flipped my chair and reset me on my ear.
I don’t know so much about the newness of the year right now. I’m not sure it even matters to me that we’re four days into it anymore. What I know is that I need to rethink a few things.
I need to reset.
Let me tell you how it went down.
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God Still Calls at Home
I am, at least for a time, reordering my days.
This morning I slept in until 6:30. By the time noon rolled around, I’d checked in on the online world, been to the gym, sat still with the Father, read from A Praying Life, done dishes and laundry, vacuumed a day’s portion of mud from my living room carpet, attended a business meeting and talked to the outplacement folks.
I even saw my kids standing upright before they left for school instead of the hunched shapes that would grunt back from under blankets when I stepped into their darkened rooms to whisper, “Love you, Bud. Have a good day at school.”
From rising late to leisurely reading in the daytime, this takes some serious reordering. I didn’t even drink my coffee until nearly 9:30. This is not how I am accustomed to spending my days.
Not that I’m complaining.
With the exception of the housekeeping, I relished the morning.
But at 9:00 this morning, I jumped.
(Just a little.)
And then I remembered: God still calls at home.
This part of my day, while all else changes, this part remains the same.
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The Story of His Faithfulness
It’s a peculiar feeling, today.
I’ve deleted all my email, loaded my car, shipped my files and changed my voice mail to notify customers “I am no longer an active employee.”
I have nothing to do.
It’s 1:51 in the afternoon, only 13 percent power remains on my laptop battery, I have no unread items in my Google Reader and the meeting with HR is not until 2:30.
Again, I have nothing to do.
The thing about knowing for the better part of a year that today was coming is that the emotion has already been spent. The contemplation has already been done. I just need my paperwork and a place to turn in my key.
For, I have nothing to do.
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A Deal is a Deal
Simply let your “Yes” be “Yes,” and your “No,” “No.”
A command, yes.
Even a loud call to integrity.
But I find it also to be a word of caution.
When Jesus spoke on a hillside to thousands of rumbling stomachs but even hungrier ears, He urged caution with these oaths and vows and even bargains. Reaching beyond a simple “Yes” or “No,” simply put, “comes from the evil one.” (Matthew 5:37)
And if Jesus had delivered the inaugural address of His public ministry in the days of flannelgraphs or PowerPoint, I wonder if He would have trotted out some colorful pictures of Jephthah standing in the street outside his home celebrating his sweet victory against the Ammonites. With a click of the remote or a quick change-up of the cut-out 2D Jephthah on the flannel board, we would watch his cheering, jubilant expression turn to sheer horror as his daughter burst out the front door to join him in celebration.
I believe Jephthah could well have been on Jesus’ mind when He taught us about vows and bargains and just saying it straight.
To the masses hanging on His every word — freshly spoken for the very first time on that hillside — and also to me, He says the very same thing:
Don’t be like this guy.
Just say “Yes” or just say “No.”
And mean it.
And I wonder. Oh, I wonder.
At the end of the day, is making a deal with God any different than making a deal with the devil?
You read it right. I just went there. So lets get on with it. I have harder questions than that to ask.
(If you haven’t read Judges 11 lately, might take a deep breath right now and open it up. And if you’re just joining, it might help to read here and here to get a little background on all the fuss. Hang in here with me on a long post; I don’t know how to do it any shorter.)
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Manna Mania
The rabble with them began to crave other food, and again the Israelites started wailing and said, “If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we ate in Egypt at no cost—also the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions and garlic. But now we have lost our appetite; we never see anything but this manna!” (Numbers 11:4-6)
(I need to take a brief detour from the math series I’m working on. I still have a few mathematical functions to tackle, at least one of which is in this chapter, but that will make more sense after talking about the chapter. It’s a good thing I don’t write for somebody else. I can do what I want.)
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Unlike many who were alive in 1963, I can’t remember where I was when JFK was killed. It’s not that I don’t find it important. You’d expect that a political junkie like me would have been glued to the radio and the black and white tv. While I don’t specifically remember, it’s most likely I was asleep. Or crying. Or spitting up. My parents can probably tell you. I was only a few weeks old. Not even old enough for my siblings to start locking me in the closet yet. That would come later.
But I do remember many years later where I was when Keith Green died. I had just graduated from high school and was out with friends for the evening in July of 1982 when we heard the news report that he had been killed in a plane crash with his young children Josiah and Bethany.
Those were the days. Contemporary Christian music was just coming into its own. Larry Norman, The 2nd Chapter of Acts, Randy Stonehill, Keith Green. What pioneers. As it did with many others, Keith Green’s music and ministry would have a much more significant impact on me after his passing. When I slip away to practice my pitiful guitar playing, I often dig out some of his songs, and they still speak to me like they always did. Keith Green had a sharp boldness in preaching the Word, enough so that if often made the listener uncomfortable. But there was at the same time a playfulness in his approach that was disarming.
And so what does Keith Green have to do with Numbers 11 and the world’s longest introduction ever? I had a picture in my mind when I read this chapter, of a wild haired guy banging on a piano and singing, having the time of his life in that very disarming playfulness.
Keith Green.
So You Wanna Go Back to Egypt.
The whole manna-mania despondency of the Israelites made me think of that song. You can watch it on You Tube below (start around the 3-minute mark if you want to skip past the intro and right to the song).
It’s hard to read these verses with a straight face. Think about life in Egypt. The Israelites were slaves for crying out loud. They built pyramids all day, and not because they liked pyramids. They built them because somebody else owned them. Somebody else called all the shots. They were oppressed. They were impoverished. They were in anguish. They constantly cried out to God to rescue them.
But now, having been rescued, and provided for, they just keep crying. You’ll remember that when they had nothing to eat, God provided for them. He had manna come and form on the ground each day, and it provided all they needed for nourishment. But now God’s been providing manna for them for so long that they’ve forgotten why they have it in the first place. They can’t remember their delight in receiving it for the first time, when it completely met their needs.
Now, on their trip down Selective Memory Lane, they skip over the “God provided manna for us in our need” part and go straight back to Egypt. And while they are there, they totally forget the oppression part. All they can remember is the menu.
Oh, remember the meat? We had meat to eat! Remember the fish? The fish was fabulous! It didn’t cost us a thing. All you could eat meat and fish buffets. And oh, remember the cucumbers? And the leeks? Oh, and melons and onions and garlic! I can smell it all now. Just fabulous.
But now? Now we have manna. Just manna. And we have no appetite. All we ever get is manna. Manna in the morning. Manna at noon. Manna at night. Manna, manna, manna. Verse 8 says that the people ground it in a mill or crushed it in a mortar, and boiled it or made it into cakes. Keith Green says that they made manna waffles, manna burgers, manna bagels, filet of manna, mannacoti…and don’t forget the famous bamanna bread.
You see, the tragic thing is that the novelty had worn off. It was no longer amazing that God provided for them in this way. It no longer impressed them. The worst of it is that they went beyond being bored with His provision. They actually came to despise it.
Moses, we hate the manna. We’re sick of it.
We want meat.
We want leeks and onions.
They may as well have said we hate when God takes care of us.
That’s really what they were saying, wasn’t? God saw our need, God took care of it. But it’s not fun anymore. It’s not cool. It’s not amazing. We don’t like it any more. We hate how God takes care of us.
And we have a better idea.
We want meat.
We want to go back to Egypt.
God has His way. He has His plan. And it doesn’t matter if the shine wore off. If the novelty is gone. If it doesn’t seem quite exciting enough for me any more. It’s still His plan. It’s still His way.
In the end, it’s still His provision for me.
Will I, do I, do the same thing?
Will I tell Him to keep His bland old manna so I can just go back to my more exciting life of oppression and need?
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Where Old Vending Machines Go to Die
“His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’” (Matthew 25:21)
There’s an odd sight in the cafeteria at work right now. Right near the exit there is a growing lineup of disabled vending machines. Empty and abandoned. There’s a couple of Coke machines and this pitiful old coffee machine with a bum leg that looks like it’s going to tip over any time.
The old coffee machine has been replaced by a fancy new one with lattes and cappuccinos made to order. You can control how dark the coffee is, how sweet, and what size portion. And if you want to go green, you can even use your own mug. Who wouldn’t swap out the machine that was ready to fall over on its side for this shiny new one with all the cool buttons? But the Coke machines, now that’s a strange deal. The beverage vendor, a Pepsi distributor by all appearances, took all the Coke products out of the old Coke machines and put them in his Pepsi machines. I’m not completely clear on the real story here except that he apparently distributes both. But I don’t want the facts to mess up my version of the story anyway, so I’m not going to try hard to understand what’s going on there.
See, the way I like to look at it is this. The master of the beverage vendors came and took the Coke and coffee away from the lazy and broken down machines and gave it to the others as a reward for their faithful and productive service.
Aren’t you glad you don’t see the world through my lenses sometimes?
Here’s the thing. Another story you probably know pretty well. A story Jesus told in a series of parables to help people understand the Kingdom. How we need to be ready for it. How we need to be faithful to Him with the resources He has entrusted to us. How we are to invest in what matters and make the most of every opportunity.
In this story, Jesus tells of a man going on a journey who called his servants together and put them in charge of various portions of his property. He gave them authority over his stuff while he was away. He knew his servants well enough to know what he could entrust to them, and how much. He knew what they would do with it. And so he didn’t just divide it into equal shares. He didn’t distribute his wealth – or the responsibility – evenly. He gave to each according to his ability.
And then he left.
When he returned, he called them together to account for what they’d done with the resources he’d entrusted to them. He’d given one man five talents (a unit of money). We’re not told in the text exactly what he did, except that he put the money to work. And he doubled it. He came back to his master with not just the five he was given, but with ten. To another he gave two. And he doubled his as well. The master knew these two would do well. That they would immediately start using their resources and gain a significant return. These two guys brought back a one hundred percent return on the master’s investment. They put their resources to work. And it was fruitful. The master was delighted with the outcome. To both of them he said, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’
Then there was the third guy. The third guy. The master knew him. He knew what he would do, what he was capable of doing. So he gave him one talent. Only one. He didn’t give him nothing. He wanted to give him a chance to bring a return on his investment. But he didn’t give him so much. He didn’t tie up a lot of resources with this guy who might just not do a thing.
And that’s what this guy did. Nothing. He was afraid of what the master would do to him if he lost the money, and so he dug a hole and hid it away so he could give it all back, intact. He was paralyzed with fear and did nothing. And for this man, the master had no kind words. He did not tell him he was pleased that he took such good care of his money. He did not tell him it was a brilliant plan. He did not thank him for his efforts.
He told him he was wicked. And lazy. He chastised him for not at least going and putting it in the bank to earn interest. What a stupid thing to do, burying his master’s valuable resources in the back yard.
And he took away the one talent from the third servant, and gave it to the one who now already had ten. He had shown he was trustworthy and faithful and that he would use that additional talent just like the others and gain a great return. The third guy had shown he was not faithful, not to be trusted, and he was left with nothing. He was cast out in to the darkness.
It seems to me that if the third guy had gone out and used his one talent and lost it, returned to the master with nothing at all but a report of having tried to turn a profit, the master still would have been more pleased than with this idea of having done nothing.
The Coke machines weren’t performing. They weren’t producing a return. They weren’t using their resources to sell Coke. So they lost their Coke. Their Coke was taken and given to the machines that already had Pepsi. To the ones that would earn a greater return on the owner’s investment. And the Coke machines have been set aside, waiting to be taken away to wherever it is that old vending machines go to die.
God entrusts us with much. No matter who we are, or what we’re capable of, whatever God has given to us is of great value to Him. And He desires that we put it to use, that we see a return on the investment. He’s given us material resources, physical resources. He’s also given us spiritual resources.
Take a look around. No matter how you cut it, we have been given so much. When He calls for an accounting, I don’t want to be in the back yard with a shovel trying to remember where I buried all His stuff. Where I hid His treasure. I want to be able to show Him the return on His investment.
The most incredible words we could ever hope to hear the Father speak are contrasted here with the most devastating.
Well done, good and faithful servant. Come and share your Master’s happiness.
You wicked, lazy servant. Throw that servant outside, into the dark, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.
We can have the Pepsi and the Coke too.
Or we can be cast aside with the broken down coffee machine.
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Pushing the Promise
“Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, had borne him no children. But she had an Egyptian maidservant named Hagar; so she said to Abram, ‘The Lord has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my maidservant; perhaps then I can build a family through her.’ Abram agreed to what Sarai said.” (Genesis 16:1-2)
I really love the Old Testament. Would you permit to to take one more crack at Genesis 16?
Now, I’ve said a couple of times already that this whole mess started because Abram and Sarai decided not to trust God, not to wait on Him, not to take Him at His word. Instead, they took matters into their own hands. To recap very briefly (read the last two entries for more), God had previously promised to make Abram a great nation — descendants that would outnumber the stars. He’s an old man, and so far he and his wife remain childless.
The dream looks like it’s vanished.
At the end of their rope, they try to force the promise into being. They take control, they grit their teeth and they try to make it happen on their own.
So Sarai gives Abram her maidservant as his wife; he sleeps with her and she conceives a son. And from then on, it’s all about the train wreck.
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Three parts of these two short verses are most troubling:
The Lord has kept me from having children.
God made a promise to Abram — his descendants would be many. Had He yet failed Abram? Or Sarai for that matter? It’s not in the record. He has not failed them.
Not ever.
Yet Sarai’s impatience consumes her. And here she not only accuses God of not keeping His promise, but also of actively preventing the promise from becoming reality.
God, she says, You promised it, and then You prevented it.
Perhaps I can build a family through her.
Impatient with God, believing He promised and then reneged, she concludes it’s up to her to make this happen. If God is not to come through, then I’ll just take care of it.
I will fulfill God’s promise myself. I can build my family without God. I am in control.
I am on my own.
Abram agreed to what Sarai said.
Sarai suggests this monumentally foolish course of action, but Abram goes along with it. He agrees to what she said. This is the part where Abram is supposed to sit her down and set her straight.
He had every reason and every right to stop her.
But he did nothing.
Well, he did something. But this is a family friendly site.
The thing is, Abram knew God to be faithful. And if Sarai forgot, he had to remind her. He knew God, he’d left his home to follow Him. He talked with God. God showed him the very stars his legacy would rival.
God revealed His plan, His promise, His heart to Abram.
But instead of remembering that, he followed Sarai’s impatience and unbelief.
And that’s when that train wreck happened.
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Who’s the God you know?
The One I know doesn’t promise and then prevent it. He doesn’t ask us to force His promise to play out on our own. He doesn’t want us to forget His faithfulness and instead follow doubt straight off the edge of a cliff.
He asks me to put my faith in Him.
He asks me to leave Him in control.
And He asks me to resist efforts to be dragged into doubt.
Believe. Surrender. Stand up.
That’s what He’s asking of me.
He does the promising. He does the fulfilling.
He’ll do the heavy lifting.
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It Takes a Thief
“Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him. Who then is the faithful and wise servant, whom the master has put in charge of the servants in his household to give them their food at the proper time? It will be good for that servant whose master finds him doing so when he returns.” (Matthew 24:42-46)
The Discovery Channel runs an interesting little reality show called “It Takes a Thief” where a couple of experienced burglars (read: ex-cons) case out a house, break in, steal a bunch of stuff and record the whole thing. Then they meet up with the homeowners, walk them through their ransacked home, show them the video of the break-in and warn them of the dangers of not properly securing their house. (And eventually they give them their stuff back.)
The homeowners, predictably, are mortified.
They’re furious.
They feel violated.
The crazy thing is that the homeowners give them permission to break in.
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They prearrange this whole thing. They actually get signed waivers from the homeowners before anything bad ever happens. The folks who live there know it’s coming, they know what’s going to happen.
They just don’t know when.
And they do nothing to prepare.
Zilch.
Nada.
And still they are shocked and horrified when it actually comes to pass.
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Jesus talks to his disciples in Matthew 24 about His imminent return. He’s told them that He will come back, and they’ve just asked Him, “when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?”
When are You coming back?
What day?
What time?
And how will we know?
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He goes on to describe some genuinely distressing events that are coming, starting with “birth pains” and including the sun going dark and stars falling from the skies. He tells them how dreadful this time will be, such that it would be “unequaled from the beginning of the earth” and “never to be equaled again.” And after that, He’ll appear in all His glory and gather His own back to Himself.
But the big question was still When?
When are You coming, Jesus? We really need to know.
And He flatly says to them, I’m not telling you. But you should keep watch.
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And why won’t He tell? Because He knows how we are. If we knew when the thief was coming, we would have locked up the house. We would have made sure everything was secured. We would have called to make sure our insurance was paid. If we just knew when it was going to happen.
But being ready for that at any moment is a lot of work. That takes a lot of focus and energy. That’s tough to sustain over the long haul.
So then look at what He says. “Who then is the faithful and wise servant, whom the master has put in charge of the servants in his household to give them their food at the proper time? It will be good for that servant whose master finds him doing so when He returns.” It will be good for the servant to be carrying out his duties when the master comes back.
It makes me wonder sometimes, what will I be doing when the Master comes back? I’m convinced He’s coming. If that should occur during my life, will I still be shocked? What will I be doing? Do I spend my day engaged in activities I’d be quite comfortable doing if that were the moment? At the time He returns, will He find me in the middle of a sarcastic and snide remark to someone? Will He find me exasperating my children? Will He find me absolutely wasting time?
Or will He find me actively bringing good news to the poor? Will He find me showing my children and husband how much I love them? Will He find me serving His people? Will He find me in the middle of talking to Him? (Would that be cool? “Yeah, hang on a sec, I’ll be right there.”)
I want Jesus to find me doing what He called me to do when He returns. Walking in those good works He’s prepared for me. I don’t want to have to explain myself.
I don’t want to have to grab for the remote to turn off the tv. I don’t want to have to quickly Alt-Tab to change to a different screen on my computer. I don’t want to have to bite my tongue and not finish whatever unkind thing I was saying. I want to be able to say without hesitation, “I’m so glad You’re here.” I want what I’m doing to very naturally move to the immediate and overwhelming worship response that His presence would most certainly compel.
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If I knew what time He was coming, I’d live my faith even sloppier than I do now. I’d be just like those dim folks on tv who know that the break-in is coming and still just do business as usual.
If I knew, I’m afraid I’d be the one that would just quick tidy up in the nick of time, sound of the door opening in the background while I’m shoving the last rogue sock in the closet and forcing the door shut.
It takes a thief to give them their wake-up call on tv.
I want to be the faithful and wise servant.
Already awake, ready and waiting.
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The Conversation