Holy tears

Oh, how the tears flowed! I was chopping up a large onion for future cooking projects. One of my cooking tricks is to divide the pieces into paper-lined muffin cups, freeze, then remove and toss the handy-sized portions into a freezer bag. That way, I only have to have a good cry from chemical irritation about one time out of five or six.

I’m not as clever in reducing the incidence of “spiritual tears.” I’m not talking about selfish, immature “I-didn’t-get-my-own-way” tears, but those poured out without shame before a holy God. There’s a reason a tissue box is next to the chair where I meet with God. It’s also why I can’t read the shortest verse in the Bible, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35) without pausing and tears welling up.

Bible teachers say Jesus wept because He knew the pain of His dear friends and how they were disappointed that He didn’t come earlier to heal Lazarus. He also wept because death, the result of Adam’s sin, had claimed Lazarus, as it had claimed millions before. He wept in full knowledge that He would soon face death. Already, the Jewish leaders were seeking His death. After the astonishing demonstration of His deity through Lazarus coming back to life, the pressure would increase. In fact, He had to essentially go undercover to a desert village (11:54) until just before Passover. That high Jewish celebration would be the week of His own death.

Fast-forward through the tears of His finals hours and death, the pained good-byes of those who loved Him. Come to the cave where friends put His body, where women have come to anoint His body according to customs. Mary Magdalene is highlighted in John’s account. She sees the stoned rolled back and can only think of body-snatching: “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” (20:2). She runs in panic to the disciples. They race to the tomb and confirm her report. They leave, she stays, crying and crying. She’s so blinded by her tears that she doesn’t realize angels are there to give her an incredible hope. Like a broken recorder, she replays her lament, “They have taken my Lord away, and I don’t know where they have put him.” Then Christ appears. Same basic reply. She can’t see through her tears or understand through her emotions that He’s right there in front of her! Then the Voice: “Mary.”

That, she knew.

Probably more than we care to admit, there is a sobbing Mary Magdalene in all of us. We think the Lord is no longer there for us. We worry or give up. We go through the motions of a religion without the heart-burning recognition of the risen Jesus. Patiently He waits for us to dry our selfish, blinding “it-didn’t-happen-like-I-wanted-it” tears. The plan He had all along is so much better—if we’d only take off the blinders of our own preconceived ideas of what life should be.

Mary Magdalene finally got it right. She rushed to find the disciples and declared, “I have seen the Lord!” (20:18). Actually, that’s what often brings tears when I pray. It’s for others who haven’t yet “seen the Lord” through the eyes of faith. They don’t get past the tears of Friday, or the numbness of Saturday to declare, with everything in them, “He is risen! He is risen indeed.”

And I have to admit: When I join my congregation in that Easter morning declaration of His resurrection--well, tears come. Happy tears!

Bugged

Talk about an end-of-season party! This was the gathering atop my stove in September. I had supplied the “refreshments” (a disk with ant-yummy poison), so had essentially invited this large number of “guests.” A few weeks later, the early winter frosts came, reducing the number of critters who paid social calls in my kitchen. One day, I told my husband, “I didn’t see a single ant today. Did you?” I’m glad for the winter reprieve, but I know when the weather warms, our uninvited guests (most likely their offspring) will return.

Isn’t that like life? We wonder if things can get any worse, and mercifully, a reprieve comes. Or, we’ll find the strength and grace to get through a difficult situation. That’s the point of one verse in Paul’s first letter to the church at Corinth. In my Bible it’s underlined and highlighted in yellow such that it almost glows in the dark. Are you getting the idea that I’ve needed its message more than once? Here it is:

No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it. (1 Corinthians 10:13 NIV)

For a long time I thought “temptation” implied being lured into the seven cardinal sins, like greed and lust. Then I looked up the Greek word that most Bibles translate “temptation.” It’s peirasmos and its primary meaning is “trials with a beneficial purpose and effect,” divinely permitted or sent. Or as Bible teacher Kay Arthur often says, nothing can come into our lives that is not filtered through the fingers of God’s love. It’s bigger than being faced with obvious sin choices. It’s choosing God’s way when our lives are touched by temptations, difficult circumstances or relationships.

I needed that reminder the other day when faced with a peirasmos in relationships calling for an extra dose of patience and grace. It crawled all over my emotions, like partying ants on a disk of poison. Then God, though my scripture reading and the counsel of friends, helped me through it. Will that difficulty revisit? In this case, probably--but only because God permits it. He knows that each time I get through a periasmos, my character is honed, preparing me for my eventual Home with Him.

“Go to the ant,” says Proverbs 6:6, as part of its warnings against idleness. But in this case, I “go to the ant” for a reminder that no matter the irritation or struggle, God is greater. Pardon the pun, but I don’t need to get “antsy,” knowing He’s in control.

Perennial cheer

In northern climates, where I live, sometimes you’re not too fussy about the first flowers of spring. These are my special ever-bloom, wood-and-paint tulips, which my husband brought home from a yard sale and “planted” by the sidewalk. They are poster children for this verse from Solomon’s lovers’ song: “See! The Winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come” (Song of Songs 2:11-12).

Admittedly, this was written by someone who knew what it was like to be madly in love. The sun shines brighter, the stars twinkle more, the flowers are brighter…. All I can say is that the little gal who inspired this ancient love-poem must have been something else!

As for my wooden tulips: yes, they’re fake. But in their own way they bring cheer to a time of year when we’ve had our fill of winter cold and gray. As I pulled dead leaves away from them the other day, I thought of someone else who provided desperately-needed cheer. His name was a tongue-twister, Onesiphorus [On-eh-SIF-o-rus], which meant “benefit-bringing” or “profit-bearing,” something he certainly lived up to.

His biography, about the size of a fingernail clipping, pops up in 2 Timothy 1:17-18, where Paul says, “May the Lord show mercy to the household of Onesiphorus, because he often refreshed me and was not ashamed of my chains. On the contrary, when he was in Rome, he searched hard for me until he found me.” Second Timothy was the last letter Paul wrote from a Roman prison, and it was posted to Ephesus (today’s Turkey) where his protégé Timothy pastored the church Onesiphorus’s family attended.

The virtue of compassion apparently ran strong in Onesiphorus’s character. Coming to Rome—whether for business or just to help Paul, we’re not told--he risked imprisonment himself in seeking out a well-known prisoner. The Bible is silent on what he did to “refresh” Paul. He likely encouraged Paul with good reports from the church and by bringing food, clothing and medicine. The last phrase, “He searched hard for me until he found me,” reveals his persistence. Rome was full of dirty holes to stash its “undesirables,” and the only way to research Paul’s whereabouts was by foot, prison to prison.

Even today, Onesiphorus provides us with a role model of caring for those in physical and emotional prisons. Sometimes, they’re appreciative (as Paul certainly was of Onesiphorus). Sometimes our tenure of helping individuals may seem like a winter that never ends. But God sees it all in His greater plan.

So, ready for spring? Hurting yourself? Seek out someone hurting more and be a bright tulip in their lives, a cheer in someone’s winter…an Onesiphorus.

The Power of Three

A shamrock plant that suffered death under my black thumb has come back to life, and is the guest of honor at our kitchen table for the month of March. Of course, it’s also there for St. Patrick’s Day, which celebrates a British-born missionary to Ireland who lived about 1,500 years ago.

Named “Sucat” at birth, he was born into a nominally Christian higher class family. At 16, he was captured by pirates and taken to Ireland, where he was sold into slavery. During that time he witnessed great ignorance and cruelty, including a captured prince roasted alive.

He escaped after six miserable years and went to France to become a monk. Renamed “Patricus” (Latin for “Patrick”), he had a vision at age 45 of Jesus calling him to preach in Ireland. Returning to work among his former tormenters, in three decades he reportedly founded more than 300 churches and baptized more than 120,000 people.

The shamrock? One story about his ministry concerned an Ulster king who couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the doctrine of the Trinity. Patrick plucked a three-leafed clover to show the king that the three leaves off one stem were like Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The king finally understood, believed, and was baptized.

Lessons from St. Patrick? Many! One, that God may call us away from our comfortable apathy to a place of aloneness and pain but also potential spiritual fruitfulness. We can be grumpy that our lives are hard, or go forward, trusting God to use us in places that are way out of our comfort zones. My writer/speaker friend Cindy Secrest McDowell wrote a great column about St. Patrick and places of stretch. Click here to read it.

St. Patrick’s three-in-one shamrock illustration led me to think about other “trios” of scripture that pack enormous truth. These came to mind (capital letters added):
“May the GRACE of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the LOVE of God, and the FELLOWSHIP of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” –2 Cor. 13:14
“We have heard of your FAITH in Christ Jesus and of the LOVE you have for all the saints—the faith and love that spring from the HOPE that is stored up for you in heaven.”—Col. 1:4
“We continually remember before our God and Father your work produced by FAITH, your labor prompted by LOVE, and your endurance inspired by HOPE in our Lord Jesus Christ.”—1 Thess. 1:3
“GRACE, MERCY and PEACE from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord.” –1 Tim. 1:2, also 2 Tim. 1:2b
“HOLY, HOLY, HOLY is the Lord Almighty, the whole earth is full of his glory.”—Isaiah 6:3. “HOLY, HOLY, HOLY is the Lord God Almighty, who WAS, and IS, and IS TO COME.” –Rev. 1:8.
And finally, the simple trio of truths that make up the Gospel message:
“For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance:
“That Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures,
“That he was buried,
“That he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures.”—1 Cor. 15:3.

Don’t forget that last one, for it’s THREE WEEKS until Easter!

Caregiver encouragement

I am among 101 authors included in the just-released “Chicken Soup for the Soul--Family Caregivers.” My chapter was titled,“What Would I Be Without You?” I tell how my time of care-giving for my mother-in-law (who died of Alzhiemer’s Disease) deepened my character.

This is my third “Chicken Soup” publication. The others were “New Mom’s Soul” (on showing appreciation), and “Christian Soul 2” (on desires of the heart).

Poetic license

Long ago, I heard someone ask, “What rhymes with ‘orange’?” I still haven’t discovered the magic word! Although I’ve spent all my working life writing, please, please, please don’t press me to write a poem. I could count on one hand the number of poems I’ve had published, and they squeezed out of me like toothpaste way past its expiration date. (Then there are folks like Greg, a prolific poet-pastor who grew up in my hometown, and whose nationally-read poetry blog about daily life and news morphed into a 268-page book.) I began my writing life with hope. As a college freshman I submitted a poem to the writing contest sponsored by the school’s literary magazine. Want to know its name? Hold on to your seats. It wasn’t “Western Student Literary Review” or “Scribes from our Tribe” or “Words from the Wiser” or anything somewhat sophomoric like that. It was called "Jeopardy." Yes, “Jeopardy,” and this long before millions watched a television show in which three mega-brains showed off their grasp of obscure facts.

I placed something like “honorable mention,” which was quite honorable for a lowly freshman. My poem took the idea of how Michelangelo sensed that “David” was waiting to be carved from that hunk of marble. Likewise, as a writer, I wished great literary effort could emerge from my blank paper. Yes, I know, way out there. Paper is unforgiving whiteness, like the blank computer screen I’m facing now. To be truthful, no greatness oozes from my fingers. It’s blood, sweat, and tears and sometimes a bit of carpel tunnel syndrome from too many revisions.

Anyway, one upper division literature class was going to critique the winning poems from that year’s Jeopardy writing contest. I decided to sit in. Sitting incognito in the back, I thought surely they would realize this generation’s answer to Emily Dickinson (although free verse, not rhymed) was upon the campus. So much for pride. When they started reading immoral analogies into the poem—none of which had ever entered my mind—I seriously wondered whether I was born into the wrong generation. I had written the poem thinking of a quote attributed to Michelangelo regarding “David,” “As the chips fall, the image emerges.” I probably should have chosen to write about a statue with some clothes on.

A few years later when the Bible came alive for me, I was excited to learn that I was a poem—God’s poem. When Paul wrote the Ephesians, “For you are God’s workmanship” (2:10), he used the Greek word poiema. It’s the same root from which we get our English word “poem.” It means “something made.” Just like a literary poem is “made” with meaningful word pictures and rhythm, we are uniquely created by God Himself. We’re signed originals, #1 of one produced. No clones!

But you can’t have the first phrase of Ephesians 2:10 by itself. The rest of that verse reveals our purpose: “created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” God intended, not that we fulfill selfish pleasures, but that we do the “good works” that He already had in mind. We’re get-your-hands-dirty poems. And that, I suppose, describes how Michelangelo finally found “David” in the slab of marble. Every work day he got caked with marble dust, but he knew eventually he would succeed. It took him more than two years.

“As the chips fall…” is just as true of the Christian life. The hammer of adversity only serves to bring out what God intended all along. “Tribulation brings about perseverance…character…hope” (Romans 5:3-5). Hardship isn’t the whole story. It’s part of God shaping our character for eternity. “When the chips fall, don’t bawl. God’s at work. Don’t shirk.” See, I told you I wasn’t much of a poet.

Oscarmania

I’m old enough to remember when Oscar Meyer wieners were synonymous with picnicking. In my child’s dresser-drawer pile of collectibles I once had a little brown wiener-shaped whistle with the company’s logo. Today, I supposed it might be worth something to a collector. Sorry, it went to the great cemetery of trinkets.

Then there’s the old-fashioned name of “Oscar.” I suppose somewhere in my Norwegian heritage there was an “Oscar.” It’s only two layers away in my husband’s Scotch-Irish lineage, with his maternal grandfather. I discouraged any thoughts of naming our firstborn “Oscar,” as his unfortunate initials would have been “OZ,” as in “Wizard of…” (I also joked about this for a name: Xerxes Yardley Zornes. Nobody else would have had luggage monogrammed “XYZ.”)

But the “Oscar” that amuses and perplexes me the most is the “Oscarmania” that surfaces in the doldrums of February. It’s one huge party that Hollywood puts on to pat itself on the back. It’s when the stars glitter in gowns styled for maximum exposure. And as is true in any contest, only one name is in the sealed envelope, but everybody has worked hard in his or her part of the profession.

The worldly values that Hollywood has espoused for years are not mine. I applaud, not the so-called “winners,” but those working inside the industry who are Christ-followers and seeking to honor Him. It’s not easy.

I was thinking about our Hollywood-flavored, pleasure-seeking culture when I ran across the word “pleasure” in scripture. We’re told that our adoption into God’s family came “in accordance with [God’s] pleasure and will” (Ephesians 1:5). As we seek to live according to God’s purposes for us, we’re to remember that “it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure” (Philippians 2:13 KJV). Our English word for “pleasure” usually connects to the idea of something that satisfies my human desires or is “fun.” But the Greek word used here, eudokia, denotes something that pleases because it is good and right. When God is pleased with something, it’s because it reflects His perfect, generous, gracious character. That lifts our whole purpose to high levels, of exalting and pleasing God.

Somehow, “Oscarmania” in Hollywood doesn’t measure up. There’s a critical emptiness beyond the trophies and toasts. The apostle Paul didn’t bring attention to his wealth, good looks or gowns. He lived on missionary support, was reputedly short and plagued with eye problems, and wore the same basic outfit every day. But as his career came to an end, this is what he anticipated as his eternal prize: “Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing” (2 Timothy 4:8). In my book, that beats any golden statue.