UNFATHOMABLE ODDS

Some math people enjoying calculating odds, like the
chances of "fours" on a dice coming up in successive tosses.
Such games can't compare with the unbelievable odds of
 fulfilled Bible prophecies about God's greatest gift, Jesus.
.

Last year, Americans spent an estimated $1.1 trillion on Christmas shopping. That works out to about $942 per family unit. While I find that mind-boggling, I've come across some statistics that top that.

Since childhood I've known the phase in the Apostle's Creed that declares that Jesus was “born of the virgin Mary.” That's the fulfillment of a prophecy by Isaiah 7:14, some seven hundred years before the birth of Jesus in a filthy barn a long ways from His mother's hometown. What are the odds of that? Recently, going through papers on my desk, I ran across these sermon notes about prophecies Jesus fulfilled. They predicted the Messiah would:

*Come from the tribe of Judah (Genesis 49:10) 

*Come from the line of David (2 Samuel 7:16)

*Be born in Bethlehem (Micah 5:2) *Heal the blind, deaf and mute (Isaiah 35:1-6)

*Be rejected (Isaiah 53:3) *Be killed by piercing (Isaiah 53:5, Zachariah 21:10)

*Be executed with criminals (Isaiah 53:9) *Be buried with the wealthy (Isaiah 53:9)

*Die for our sins (Isaiah 53:4-6) *Rise from the dead (Isaiah 53:11, Mark 9:31)

Or how about Jesus' prediction that “The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men. They will kill him, and after three days, He will rise” (Mark 9:31).

My sermon notes said the odds of eight of these prophecies being fulfilled in one person were ONE IN A HUNDRED QUADRILLION (that's one followed by 17 zeroes).

The odds of all sixty major Old Testament prophecies being fulfilled in one person? One in ten to the 157^th power!

In 1957, J.B. Phillips, who prepared a Bible translation in modern language, wrote a little story titled “The Visited Planet.” In it, an imaginary seasoned angel is showing a new angel around the universe. He points out a dirty little tennis ball called “earth.” An intense light flashes at one point of “earth” and the seasoned angel explains that's God's Son visiting the tired, weary planet. When that one light ends, little lights begin to flicker across the surface of the globe. The newer angel asks about the Father's plan for this little globe floating in the universe, whether someday it will be all light, like Heaven. The seasoned angel replies: He has visited it; He is working out His Plan upon it." (1)

(1) The whole story is here: https://www.ccel.org/bible/phillips/NoteVisitedPlanet.htm 

THE RIGHTEOUS BRANCH

The impoverished Snoopy tree is also
a reminder of 2 Corinthians 8:9--that for
our sakes "He became poor."

December's hymn feature, “The Birthday of a King,” celebrates the lowly birth of the King of Kings. Thus, I chose to illustrate it with Charlie Brown’s definitely “lowly” Christmas tree. As you read its brief story, recall the prophecy of Jeremiah 23:5: “I will raise up to David a righteous Branch, a King who will reign wisely.”

The Christmas hymn featured in this blog last year celebrated Christ’s kingly role. But a secular mindset was behind the composition and first performance of “O Holy Night.” Its words were by a non-believing French poet, the music by a Jew, and the first performance by a trained soprano known to both men.  How different the story behind this year’s feature, “The Birthday of a King.” Its composer, William Harold Neidlinger, was an organist at the prominent St. Michael’s Church in New York City who is also remembered for his heart for children with disabilities.

Born in Brooklyn in the middle of the Civil War, in 1863, he studied under great composers of his day in New York and London. His career as a composer and singing teacher also took him to Paris. He taught music in a New York college and served as an organist and choral conductor for many groups. His output included comic operas, cantatas, church music, and secular songs. But his real passion was music for children. His book, “Small Songs for Small Singers,” was a standard text for kindergarten classes throughout America for decades.

The success of that book led Neidlinger to a new passion of helping children with disabilities, particularly those with speech and vocal challenges. He studied child psychology and established a school for such children in East Orange, N.J. He also wrote a book about human speech.

He died at age 62 after a long illness. His obituary in the New York Times mentioned his books, school, musical achievements and health, but not one word about the Christmas song that generations of children plus adults have sung: the joyful carol about the Birthday of a King. 

Sing along with this music video:

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=%22the+Birthday+of+a+King%22&docid=608038825080062817&mid=92D48F7B8B8F3322DA0192D48F7B8B8F3322DA01&view=detail&FORM=VIRE

PEACE

There are a few peaceful pools as the Wenatchee River winds its way from the mountains to its confluence with the Columbia River. This pool is near a locally famous candy (and more) store called “The Alps.” What a great place in summer to pause during a trip, sip something hot or cool, and nibble just-bought candy! Of course, it's also a drinking fountain for local wildlife that prefer calm waters to the boisterous rapids.

Such scenes bring to mind the imagery of Psalm 42, which begins:

As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.(42:1)

I'd like to end the psalm right there, but it goes on about missing the sweet fellowship of worship at the temple. Apparently the writer was at some distance from Jerusalem, and because it's inscribed “a maskil of the Sons of Korah” he may have been part of the temple worship team. He is, in fact, smitten with sorrow. “My tears have been my food day and night,” he goes on, “while men say to me all day long, 'Where is your God?'” (v. 3). He's not among people who share his spiritual outlook. Thus, the image of this graceful animal, so thirsty it is panting as it seeks out a source of water.

The restrictions placed on “worship gatherings” during our contemporary pandemic remind me of a deer seeking water. My husband and I are in the high risk, gettin'-old category. We've been “back to church” a few times, masked and seated apart from others. But we noticed many skipped the masks, thinking some “distancing” was enough. Not with singing! I'm grateful the services were videotaped for those whose health issues would make it better to stay home. But I still felt like that deer, panting for something to quench my unique spiritual thirst.

I'm probably not the first of “Covid Congregants” who have stopped at other shorelines for spiritual quenching via the internet. I am careful where I visit, but I know God sees into my heart and knows the messages I need for my particular circumstances and growth. At one “sermon-visiting” place, the pastor is going through Hebrews and the “heroes of the faith” list. How apropos, as Covid-19 stokes up the fear factor about disability and death from this phantom disease. These stalwarts of ancient times had their own “fear factors” of enemies and disasters. Many died without seeing wrongs made right. But, the writer of Hebrews says God commended their faith (Hebrews 11:39) even though they didn't receive on earth what they thought they should have.

That's the balance needed for the doleful tone of Psalm 42 and its companion, Psalm 43, which keeps lamenting,
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. (42:5, 11; 43:5)

“Feeling downcast” has been a theme of most of 2020. Besides COVID, there's been racial unrest, a tumultuous campaign season, and unprecedented weather and fire disasters. At times I feel parched and wonder, “When can I go and meet with God?” If anything, it has reminded us that “church” isn't the only way God reaches out to us. He can do so through the encouragement of other mature Christians and carefully selected Christian programing. But best of all, He speaks through His Word, through those quiet times of opening scriptures, and being quenched at His river of hope and truth.

This past year I've found it hard to sleep through the night. No problem: I go to my recliner, open my Bible, and drink it in like a parched deer. We have a Savior! We have a God who cares! And we have eternity ahead....

HEARTBEAT WATERS

Many miles upstream from its confluence with the mighty Columbia River, our local Wenatchee River crashes through what's called the “Tumwater Canyon,” so named from a Chinook term for “heartbeat water” or rapids. Mammoth rocks smoothed by centuries of flows, plus logjams, make this formidable for those who'd dare to conquer them by kayak or raft. Some have lost their lives there.

From safe viewpoints just off the road I admire the view and listen to the roar. And often I think of Isaiah 43:2:

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.

This verse is not intended as a weather report or safety evaluation. Instead, it's an expression of God's tender love to His chosen people even through the wars and deportation they would suffer for straying from Him. He would be with them. He would bring them through.

The person who wrote study notes for one of my Bibles applied it this way: “Going through rivers of difficulty will either cause you to drown or force you to grow stronger. If you go in your own strength, you are more likely to drown. If you invite the Lord to go with you, he will protect you.” (1)

From another study-notes Bible came this observation: “Just as the Lord brought the Hebrew slaves safely through the waters of the sea [Ex. 14:1-31], so He would continue to bring His people “through” when they encountered troubled times.” (2)

The river in this photo runs west of my hometown, emptying into the mighty Columbia River, which runs south before turning west to the Pacific Ocean. Once swift and energetic, it's now like a series of gently-flowing lakes, divided by hydroelectric dams. But it retains its centuries-old role as a water source for wildlife. All along the highways running north are signs saying “High Kill Area” with a silhouette of a deer. Indeed, sometimes when traveling that highway we see a deer carcass right after skid marks, a sad statement of bad timing for quenching thirst.

It's not lost on me that right now the world is going through a “high kill area” with the coronavirus pandemic. It's lethal, it's scary. You take the advised precautions of masking, isolating, and cleaning and hope it's enough to keep you on earth a little longer.

But we can't live in constant fear. We need to live with wisdom and precaution. But we also need to remember that none of this is a surprise to God. As we pass through these turbulent global health waters, some will die. Some will suffer greatly physically. But that does not change the nature of God. His plan doesn't end on earth or at a cemetery. His plan included stops at a stable-turned-delivery room, included three years of earth-jolting ministry, and paused at a cross before returning to Heaven. The pandemic isn't just about quarantines, masks, and vaccines; it's ALSO about being ready for the eternal journey to Him.

1. Life Application Study Bible—NLT (Wheaton: Tyndale, 1996), p, 1094.

2. The Woman's Study Bible—New KJV (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1995), p. 1194.

BREAD FOR THOUGHT

I love working with dough. Oh, the fragrance of bread or rolls while baking! When bread machines were popular, my husband bought me one, and the loaves of bread it produced were quickly consumed by my peanut-butter-and-jam crowd.

Usually around Christmas I would make a Swedish apple ring, spreading chopped apples, sugar, and cinnamon over a buttered dough circle, rolling it into a sausage shape, forming a ring, and then cutting slits on top. Every time I pulled one out of the oven, I remembered my late mother, who excelled in “rings.”

These days, I bake little, but appreciate the “dough” cycle on my machine as arthritis makes kneading dough painful. The other day, I rolled out the dough circle for crescent rolls to take to a meal with my grandboys' other grandparents, visiting from across the state. Fresh out of the oven, the rolls wafted a tempting smell even from the covered bun basket. Those little tigers ate several before we even sat down together for Sunday lunch!

Working with yeast after several months' hiatus got me thinking about yeast in ancient times. Bible women didn't have the convenience of granulated yeast from the grocery store. They kept a “live” lump from each baking. It was a valuable cooking product! I wrestled with the passages that weren't complimentary about yeast. In Matthew 16, Jesus warned His followers, “Be on your guard against the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees.” Because this teaching followed the miracle of feeding 4,000, the disciples had a “duh” reaction and thought Jesus was referring to their failure to bring enough food for the gathered crowd.

Then the lightbulb moment: Jesus was referring to the legalistic teaching of the traditional religious leaders.  His point was that you can't mix Jewish legalism in with freedom-in-Christ. Luke 12:1 called out the Pharisees' hypocrisy as “leaven.” They paraded their adherence to spiritual “rules” they made up to the tiniest details, like counting out seeds of spices for a precise tithe. But deep inside they were evil and corrupt. In Galatians 5:9, a passage about falling back into legalism, Paul remarked, “A little yeast works through the whole patch of dough.” Yeast “works” because of fermentation, a “dying” process.

Not to take away the romance of enjoying homemade bread and rolls, but could there be a rebuke for our times? Christ replaced thousands of pharisaic rules with the rule of love: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and soul, and your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27).

Actually, that's quite a “yeasty” life philosophy. Doing so permeates life in a positive way. Especially in this season, tainted by the fears and ills of the coronavirus, we need the positive “leavening” of practical love. Oh, and some homemade bread or rolls would be a nice gift, too!

THE GIFT AND THE GIVER

 “Preparing for communion” was one of our local church's ministries where my husband and I once served. It meant several hours of teamwork—usually with someone else—to fill the little “communion cups” in the slotted trays, then spreading plates with tiny crackers. All was refrigerated until needed the next day. Then before each service, the “communion table” was serviced with fresh juice and crackers.

This time-honored way of sharing what the Bible describes as “Christ's body and blood” was a sobering duty for me. Regularly it reminded me of the cost of having a restored relationship with God. The cross wasn't a pretty decoration. It was a place to die.

We've noticed a change in the “elements” used for communion services, driven probably by the pandemic-influenced need to minimize “germy” human touch. Now there are prepackaged “juice and crackers” opened by peeling off the foil top.

Earlier in my life I worshiped in a tradition that had a “common cup” that the pastor passed through the line of people at the altar rail. He wiped the cup after each “sip” with a cloth! Hello, my neighbor's cold! Yet, despite the concerns for germs, I think that “common cup” was the more Biblical symbol of what Christ actually did through the last Passover supper He ate with His disciples:

Take and eat; this is my body....Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. (Luke 25:26-28)

It's right there: the gift, and the Giver. As the hectic Christmas shopping season comes upon us (however that may turn out with all the coronavirus restrictions), this is the message that gets smothered. Christmas isn't about gifts and parties and concerts. And maybe the squashing of so much of the “festive” part of the season this year will have a purpose. Maybe it will take us back to the altar rail, or to the passed communion tray (even with its sanitary “cup” and wafer) to remember that a crudely constructed wooden animal feeder would ultimately lead to the crude and splintered executioner's cross.

There's a contemporary Christmas song that supposes to ask Mary if she knew in holding her firstborn child that she was looking into the face of God. For some reason, that grips me, and I keep thinking about it long after the song has progressed to the end. In the same vein, as the plate or basket is passed during communion, I ask myself, Do I sense God in this moment? Do I realize my impoverishment before a holy God? Do I express enough gratitude for the magnitude of what this symbolizes?

One day, Jesus told a parable to open the eyes of some religious leaders who thought they had their acts together. He told of a Pharisee and tax collector who went to the temple to pray. The Pharisee stood up and listed all the virtuous things he did. But a tax collector couldn't even come near the holiest part of the temple. He beat his chest and declared, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner” (Luke 18:14). He, not the Pharisee, was forgiven.

Thanksgiving is less than a week away. Many people use their celebration turkey dinner to pause and go around the table listing their blessings. Family and home are usually mentioned. But could the greatest blessing be symbolized in a prepackaged cup and wafer?

GUIDE ME!

Wales--the western side of Great Britain
and birthplace of this great hymn.

A monthly feature on a hymn of the faith. This one is reminiscent of Isaiah 54:3: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you.”

Some countries go crazy for soccer or football. Wales adds another passion: singing. Its big event in mid-July, which draws 4,000 participants and 50,000 visitors to Llangollen, usual population about 4,000, features singing and music! The Welsh have historically been a singing people, from the early years of coal mining when workers sang their way into the mines. They’ve had music festivals going back to the 12th century. Into this culture in the early 1700s rose a young man, Willliam Williams, son of a wealthy farmer, who graduated from the university as a physician. At this time in England, the Wesleys and Whitfield were evangelizing thousands in open-air meetings. But in the southwest corner of Britain, Wales, Howell Harris was the electrifying evangelist. One day Williams heard Harris preach from atop a gravestone in a church yard. That day he was converted, and his life focus changed from medicine to soul care.

After that, Williams pursued ordination in the established Church of England, but soon left that and in 1744 devoted himself to the Methodist teachings of the Wesleys. Soon after that he wrote the Welsh text to a hymn built on the Exodus accounts, which we know as “Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah.” Just as the Israelites wandered in the wilderness for forty years, Williams devoted more than forty years of his life to itinerant evangelism. He endured snow, rain, heat, beatings by mobs and more as he traveled by foot and by horseback, covering more than 95,000 miles as he preached and sang.  He sometimes drew huge crowds—10,000, and once an estimated 80,0000, noting in his journal that God helped him speak loud enough for all to hear.

One writer remarked, “He sang Wales into piety.” He was considered the poet laureate of the Welsh revival.  He wrote 800 hymns, most of them unknown because they were never translated from Welsh.  This one was. 

When it came over the Atlantic to the United States, it was among hymns learned by the wife of President James Garfield. As he lay dying of an assassin’s bullet, the President’s wife began singing this song. Garfield began to cry and turning to his doctor remarked, “Glorious, isn’t it?”

Its popularity continues in Wales, where it’s often sung at soccer matches. It also was chosen for more dignified British occasions, including the 1991 funeral of Princess Diana and the 2011 wedding of her son Prince William to Catherine Middleton. With its universal message of God’s help in struggle—the big lesson of the Exodus—it affirms that God is our provider and “Bread of Heaven” in our own barren lands.

Join a full church in singing this hymn! The final lyrics are in the Welsh language https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=%22guide+me+o+thou+great+jehovah%22%2byoutube&docid=607999375793913958&mid=E70189B64274AC8EA5ECE70189B64274AC8EA5EC&view=detail&FORM=

HOW LONG?

It wasn't COVID-19 that put the Bible's Job in the town dump, in utter physical and mental misery after losing his children, wealth and health. The Bible book bearing his name mentions painful sores from his feet to the top of his head. (Was it full-body shingles?) Devastated, miserable beyond words, he finally asks some friends a question of two penetrating words: How long.

Even common laborers, after working all day, get to sleep at night. But Job's pain keeps him awake. “The night drags on and I toss till dawn,” he says (Job 7:4), because of his unbearable suffering from this mystery disease. Then, in a more famous verse, he adds: “My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and they come to an end without hope” (v. 6).

How long? I've heard those same words behind the conversations about the coronavirus. How long before a vaccine attacks the beastly virus? How long before normalcy returns to life, without required masks, social distancing, and constant hand-washing? How long before the shadow of death from this virulent illness passes?

Maybe it's worth considering that Bildad the Shuhite, one of Job's so-called “comforters,” turned “how long” into a rebuke:

How long will you say such things? Your words are a blustering wind. (8:2)

And Job rejects their so-called advice with other “how-longs” or similar defenses:

How long will you torment me and crush me with words? (19:1)

When we're up against something that is too big, too awful, and too hard, it's always good to submit to an attitude check. We don't always find the healing perspective in commiserating with other complainers and sufferers.

I grew up going to church and Sunday school, plus completed two years of “confirmation class.” And while I had some head knowledge about my faith, I realized how little I embraced when I got to college and had to take a required class in great literature.

Guess what: Job was in there along with other secular books like “The Prince” by Machiavelli. The college bookstore even sold Bibles for that class because that's where students could find “Job” in those pre-internet days! Well, I'd brought my old childhood Bible to campus, but never had tackled Job. I had a lot of learn. I still do.

I know now that after all the blaming and accusing dialogue between Job and his “friends,” the truth emerges when the voice of God enters the conversation. Just how that happened, I'll find out in Heaven. But Job caught a glimmer of hope almost exactly halfway through this inspired book of ancient poetry. When I read this passage, I also remember how it glistened as a vocal solo in Handel's oratorio The Messiah:

I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth; And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. (Job 19:25-26)

The book of Job ends well: he's physically healed, his wealth restored, and more children born to him, including daughters who were the most beautiful of their times (42:15). I find that an interesting detail!

But I know I can't read Job as a prescription for my life. Suffering may come. I may even be a victim of this dreaded virus. I don't want to be, but I have to leave that to God. Because: I know my Redeemer lives—and someday I will see God.

In the meantime, I cherish scriptures like this one:

The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your love, O LORD, endures forever—do not abandon the works of your hands.(Psalm 138:8 NIV)

Such a perspective changes the whiny “why me?” and “how long?” into a trust that God knows—and that should be enough.

LAST WORDS

You can't forget it—the haunting public service television ad for COVID-19 precautions that starts with a grown man giving what's a difficult, heartfelt message to his mother. As he speaks, he soon becomes the image on a computer tablet, then we see the gloved hands holding the tablet amid the sounds of a ventilator and the surroundings of an intensive care unit. He chokes out his final love message to his mother—the one he can't give in person as her death comes.  Every day as I mask up, wash up, and all the rest, I realize anew that COVID-19 is lethal, and it could end my life in just days. But I cling to something else: God's promise to never leave me nor forsake me (Hebrews 13:5). He has told us that a place is prepared in Heaven for those who love and trust in Him. 

We also have the last words of people who gave their all for Jesus, and who left a witness to eternity in their final moments witnessed by friends, family or caregivers. Fifteenth century German reformer Martin Luther reportedly repeated three times: “Into Thy hands I commend my spirit! Thou hast redeemed me, O God of Truth.” 

John Wesley, great English preacher, founder of Methodism, just before dying in 1791: “The best of it is, God is with us.”

Evangelist Dwight Moody, at death in 1899 : “Earth is receding, heaven is opening, This is my coronation day. If this is death, it is sweet! There is no valley here. God is calling me and I must go.” 

More recently: Audrey Wetherall Johnson, founder of Bible Study Fellowship, last words in 1984, as reported by her attending nurse: “The Lord is coming for me today. He's at the foot of my bed right now.” Those with her saw a light on her face. She took her last breath soon after. 

Campus Crusade founder Bill Bright, dying of lung disease in 2003: “I am in the presence of the living God, satisfied at the deepest core of my being.” 

In stark contrast, consider the last words of Sir Julian Huxley, English evolutionist, biologist and staunch atheist: "So it is true after all, so it is true after all."

Someday, unless Christ's second coming precedes our own deaths, each of us will pause at the allegorical death's door. Of that moment, wrote Philip Keller in A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23, “For the child of God, death is not an end but merely the door into a higher and more exalted life of intimate contact with God” (Zondervan, 1970, p. 84). 

We know that Christ is coming again—in a twinkling of an eye—to call forth those who believed in Him—both the dead and the alive. What a prospect! What a hope. COVID-19 may kill the body, but it can't take away the promise of Heaven. 

Count on it, like Dwight Moody preached a few months before his body gave up and he died: “Some day you will read in the papers that D.L. Moody of East Northfield, Illinois, is dead. Don't you believe a word of it! At that moment I shall be more alive than I am now! I shall have gone up higher, that is all—out of this old clay tenement into a house that is immortal, a body death cannot touch, that sin cannot taint, a body fashioned like unto His glorious body.” (1)

(1) 1. J.C. Pollock, Moody (New York: The Macmillan Col 1961), p. 316).

EYE CHECK

Fear not, my glasses don't have the moustache...

There's nothing like going to the eye doctor for “seeing” life in a new way. Yep, I made my way-overdue pilgrimage to the great hall of sized alphabet lists and seats with all sorts of switcheroo gadgets that make you feel like your eyes are specimens brought home from a space mission to Neptune.

Wait!  This was a Covid-19-era appointment. My original appointment was canceled twice, including the original Covid scare six months ago.  Finally, at the first door of the clinic, I was met by the first masked interrogator. After passing the key questions except for the one on “shortness of breath” (asthma always makes me flunk that one) “Scotty” (my private nickname for him with his sci-fi thermometer) aimed at me with the magic thermometer and permitted me to enter the second set of doors. At the next desk, I gave all my vital information, then was told to return to door #1 as they wanted patients in this waiting room only 10 minutes ahead of time. Back to “Scotty,” a friendly guy probably in his fifties. Chatting with him during my five-minute “banishment,” I learned he came down with Covid two months earlier. He endured two weeks of utter misery, another two weeks of less misery, and was still feeling punk. I thought how surviving that misery especially qualified him for door duty.

“Scotty” had a chair and a book to while away his waiting time. Wise soul. A few minutes later, when I was granted permission to “check in,” I was taken to another “socially distanced” holding area. No magazines, no view except a construction wall, and the chairs spaced w-a-y apart.  With so few in this waiting room, I thought I'd be in and out. Forty-five minutes after my appointment time, I was ushered into the great skinny dim room with its weird exam chair for quizzes with the alphabet chart and drops that make your eyes yowl. Oh, the decor in such rooms.  Forget prints of Renaissance masters that please the eye. I studied a huge full-color chart describing macular degeneration.

Then came the eye doctor who got down to business with the “what's better, one or two?” lens contraption. The good news:  just a minor tweak so it's looking good for “looking good”' (the vision, that is, not the steady acquisition of gray hairs and wrinkles). Then came the bad news: they weren't doing the “un-dilate” eye drops any more. Did I have sunglasses? Good. In six hours my doe eyes should return to normal.

I had one errand at a drug store on the way home—an over-the-counter medicine. I wore sunglasses as I entered this store whose checkout clerk (a cheerful soul behind her plastic face shield) should have gone into stand-up comedy. When I went to pay, I told her that I was a movie star and was wearing sunglasses so that nobody would ask for my autograph. We had a good laugh. That was the medicine I needed that day, not the generic one in the little bottle I took home.

Yes, Covid has changed things. We're more suspicious and more impatient because things just aren't the way they used to be. I have to go back to “cool your jets” verses like these:

Our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. (2 Corinthians 4:17)

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. (James 1:2-3)

Yes, I had a few inconveniences in the once-simpler process of an eye exam. But I still have access to eye care. I am still here to tell about it. And a sense of humor always helps!

JUST COME

Part of a monthly series on the stories behind beloved hymns.

It's a sad cliche, but when some people get old and sick, they get cranky.  Such was the situation that eventually birthed one of the most beloved invitation hymns, "Just as I Am." No doubt you have watched Billy Graham crusades on television and heard this hymn featured as inquirers came forward. But there's a story behind the hymn. Its author, Charlotte Elliott, born in 1789, was enjoying a great life as a portrait artist and writer of humorous verse, living in Brighton, England. She was popular in social circles where religion was not mentioned. But in her early thirties she became very ill and depressed.

One of her visitors at this time of trial was a noted evangelist from Switzerland. Dr. Caesar Malan.  As he ate dinner with her and her family, Charlotte lost her temper, railing against God and family.  Embarrassed, her family quickly left, leaving Dr. Malan alone with Charlotte.  He didn't mince his words.  He remarked that she was holding onto hate and anger because she had nothing else in the world to cling to. That's why she was sour, bitter, and resentful.  She asked, "What's your cure?" He replied, "The faith you are trying to despise."

A few days later, she realized she needed to apologize to Dr. Malan. In doing so, she remarked that she needed to clean up some things in her life before becoming a Christian. The evangelist looked at her and said, “You must come just as you are, a sinner, to the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.” That day, May 9, 1822, she prayed to become a Christian. Her sister said for the rest of Charlotte’s life, she cherished that date as “the birthday of her soul to true spiritual life and peace.”

One day about a dozen years later, in 1836, she was alone in her brother’s home while the rest of the family was out preparing for a fund-raising bazaar. As an invalid, there wasn’t much she could do there. But she started thinking about the day she prayed to become a Christian, coming “just as I am” to the Lord. The lyrics came to her almost effortlessly. That year they’d be published in was called “The Invalid’s Hymn Book,” which included 115 of her original works. The book was sold to raise money for a project of her brother, a pastor.  He wanted to build a school for the children of poor pastors in Brighton, England.

Miss Elliott lived to be 82, writing about 160 hymns and marking her as one of England’s finest women hymn-writers. All that time, she endured sickness. One time she wrote (as you wade through it, remember it’s in the wordy prose of her era):

“He knows, and He alone, what it is, day after day, hour after hour, to fight against bodily feelings of almost overpowering weakness, languor and exhaustion, to resolve not to yield to slothfulness, depression and instability, such as the body causes me to long to indulge, but to rise every morning determined to take for my motto, ‘If a man will come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow Me.’” 

Another time she wrote, “God sees, God guides, God guards me.  His grace surrounds me, and His voice continually bids me to be happy and holy in His service just as I am.” It’s said that after her death, friends and family found in her personal papers more than a thousand letters from people around the world expressing how much “Just as I am” had meant to them. By the way, the tune that was eventually matched to Miss Elliot’s hymn-poem was composed by an American, William Bradbury, also known for composing the music for the lyrics of hymns like “He Leadeth Me,” “Jesus Loves Me,” “Sweet Hour of Prayer,” and “The Solid Rock.”

Who knows how many millions have responded to invitations to “come just as you are”?  Even if you’re depressed, cranky, out of sorts, doubting…. God has seen it all. He says, simply, come: “Whoever comes to Me, I will never drive away” (John 6:37).

Choir with scenic background and words for sing-along:

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=%22Just+as+I+am%22+you+tube&docid=608040418539604928&mid=3D87CCC9DAC50E009D1F3D87CCC9DAC50E009D1F&view=detail&FORM=VIRE

George Beverly Shea (of Billy Graham crusades) sings:

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=%22Just+as+I+am%22+you+tube&&view=detail&mid=855503426445B7905871855503426445B7905871&rvsmid=3D87CCC9DAC50E009D1F3D87CCC9DAC50E009D1F&FORM=VDQVAP

LEGACY

It’s ironic that even though my grandfather wasn’t born with the proverbial “silver spoon” in his mouth—meaning born into wealth—it’s a silver spoon that helps me remember him.  It was among family treasures that came to me after my parents died, and I’m grateful there was a note telling me of its significance.

Martinus (Martin) Berge was born in Norway in 1882. His family had a farm on the steep hillside above one of Norway’s famed fjords. However, because farmable land was so scarce, it would be inherited by the oldest son—and that wasn’t him. A kind person paid his way to carpentry school where he learned a valuable trade. He also served in Norway’s army, which had been ramped up for a possible conflict with Sweden. That didn’t happen, but his marksmanship skills earned him a special prize of that day: a silver spoon. I can’t verify it in my copies of family history, but I heard it was presented him by the king of Norway.

There was also a woman he loved...but her father didn’t think Martinus was wealthy enough to support her. Marriage hopes dashed, in 1906 he immigrated to America, hoping for a fresh start. His carpentry skills served him well as he eventually homesteaded in the drylands of Eastern Montana, where he met and married Ethel Corinne Norstad, a local woman with a bright smile and one leg shorter than the other from polio.  They would have ten children (including the last one, stillborn).  My mother was the firstborn in 1919, meaning she was a young teen when the Depression came upon their large, impoverished family and she pulled her share of the daily survival tasks.

I have no information about my grandfather’s spiritual walk, just that the local Lutheran church was the community’s social and spiritual center and his family was a part of that. He would die at 65 just two months after my birth two states away. He never saw me.

I have pictures and a silver spoon to remind me of that heritage. But I’ve been thinking lately of other parts of my heritage that came to me as a young adult. Caring pastors and their wives, and godly older people, all helped shape who I am in Christ today through their counsel and prayers.  I think of them whenever I come to 1 Peter 2:9: “But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.”

Today, when I think of my grandfather, I consider his heartbreak as a young man and the courageous decision to start all over in a foreign land. That’s what God wants to do: give us  fresh starts in our disappointments so that we can declare His praises in the light of His love.

CROWNED

A recent birthday tradition at our house is having the birthday person wear a crown. Ultra fancy—paper—free from a local burger drive-in. At one recent birthday, our youngest grandson decided he wanted to wear Papa’s honorary crown. Down it went to his shoulders. Yes, I could have adjusted it for him with the pre-cut notches, but we’d had our fun and he decided he’d rather eat cake than don crown.

Even though this country isn’t a monarchy, we seem to have a lingering fascination with royal things. Witness the number of young women who vie for the title of “Miss-Something” or some other honor with a tiara (like homecoming queen). Or the little girls for whom "pretend princess" is part of their imaginative play. 

Probably one of the most famous crowns of our times is the magnificent British Imperial State Crown, refashioned for Queen Elizabeth II in 1953. It’s heavy: more than two pounds of gold and studded with more than 3,000 diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, rubies, and pearls.

But the King of Kings had only a crude, piercing crown during His time on this planet. One of painful thorns, slammed down on His head hours before His crucifixion.

Here is the mystery: that God’s Son should endure thorns, while His followers can look forward to heaven’s “forever” crown. Scripture names four:

*The crown of righteousness—for believers looking forward to Christ’s return.  Like Paul, who said as he suspected a martyr’s death wasn’t too far ahead, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.  Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which 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 4:7-8).

*The crown of life—cast in the crucible of trials, for those who allow the love of God to reign in their hearts and sustain them, even to death (James 1:12, Revelation 2:10).

*The crown of rejoicing—for people won to the Lord (2 Thessalonians 2:19, Philippians 4:1).

*The crown of glory—for those faithful in the Lord’s work. Peter (a pastor himself) wrote: “And when the Chief Shepherd appears, you will receive the crown of glory that will never fade away” (1 Peter 5:4).

Crowns are not for the greedy. In John’s vision of Heaven in Revelation, we’re given a glimpse into heaven’s throne room. There, Almighty God is surrounded by twenty-four elders who remove their crowns and lay them before Him, declaring, “You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being” (Rev. 4:11).

“Crown Him with many crowns!” wrote hymnist Matthew Bridges. “Crown Him Lord of All,” declares the hymn by Edward Perronet and John Rippon. And these words from Isaac Newton: “Endless praises crown His head.”

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SQUEEZED

How many weeks had this tube of toothpaste provided what we needed? I couldn’t remember as I tried to squeeze out the last dab to brush my teeth. I knew we had a fresh tube ready to replace it. But as I pushed the dollop onto my toothbrush, I thought, this is how we’re living today—under great pressure, hoping we’ll have what it takes to get through this day, this week, this month, and more.

I was reminded of how Paul admitted to similar depletion in his exhausting missionary journeys.  He wrote the Corinthian church regarding ministry in “Asia” (today’s northern Turkey): “We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life” (2 Corinthians 1:8). This is the same man who mentioned times he had great need as well as “enough,” sometimes well-fed, but sometimes hungry, sometimes having enough to live, and sometimes living in want (Philippians 4:12).  But he’d learned “The Secret”—that he could be content in any and every situation because “I can do everything through Him who gives me strength” (v. 13).

Feeling the “squeeze” as a Christian in a non-Christian world was normal for early believers. Another church leader, Peter, had to remind people that enduring a “painful trial” didn’t mean they were following the wrong Leader.  If they were insulted for being Christians, he said, “you are blessed, for the spirit of glory and of God rests on you” (1 Peter 4:14). But make sure, he added, that you don’t have “murderer, thief or any other kind of criminal, or even a meddler” in your resume.  Such behavior, as unconfessed sin, did not belong in the Christian’s lifestyle.

Yes, life can be hard. Paul used strong words to describe feeling “squeezed out”:  hard-pressed, perplexed, persecuted, struck down (2 Corinthians 4:8). Yet it’s these very times and experiences that are building our faith:

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:17-18).

Those are worthy words to write out on a 3x5 card and post somewhere you can see and memorize it. Maybe even the bathroom mirror, right above that steadily depleting tube of toothpaste.

ABIDE WITH ME

Part of a monthly series on well-known hymns.

 “Abide with Me”—that’s the spiritual truth Henry Lyte had to learn through the challenges of his early life. He was born in Scotland 1793 to a devout mother and seafaring father, who soon moved the family to Ireland and then abandoned them.  His mother taught him about the Bible and prayer, but died when he was only nine. Left an orphan without any means of support, he was taken in by his school’s superintendent who raised him like another son, making sure he received a college education. In college in Dublin, Lyte was well-liked, well-known as a poet who received many awards, and had a reputation as a hard worker. It’s no surprise that he coined the phrase, “It’s better to wear out than to rust out.”

At 21 he was ordained to the ministry and took a small parish south of Dublin. He found a close friend in another minister who before long became critically ill. As they spent long hours together, they realized that despite being ministers they didn’t have a growing relationship with Christ. Searching the scriptures, they both came to a deeper faith. Out of this experience came his hymn, “Jesus, My Cross I Have Taken.” One source linked the composition of this hymn to the Wesleyan revival in England. Lyte’s wife, who had attended the Methodist church, told him about a devout woman named Mary Bosenquet, who disappointed her wealthy parents when she became a Christian through the meetings of early Methodists.  Her father disowned her, and after that she lived in poverty, enduring threats and harm from those who opposed Wesley and the Methodists. Lyte’s hymn lyrics speak of her earthly losses to the riches of knowing Christ.

Lyte later moved across the sea to England, working hard in ministry to the detriment of his health as he contracted tuberculosis. Hoping the fresh, salty air of the sea would help him, he moved to a church in Brixham, a seaport in southwest England. There he wrote “Praise My Soul the King of Heaven” for his little congregation to sing. (A century and a half later, on what would be the 150^th anniversary of Lyte’s death, the world heard this hymn played as part of the majestic  1947 wedding ceremony of the future Queen Elizabeth 2 to Prince Philip.)

Brixham was also a royal retreat for King William IV, who during his seven-year reign was known as England’s sailor king. He would die without heirs, and his niece, Victoria, became queen for the next 63 years. At his death he also gifted his estate to Pastor Lyte in return for the pastor’s kindnesses. Talk about a fancy parsonage! But Lyte would live there only ten years as his health worsened with TB.

In the summer of 1847 doctors urged him to get away from the damp winters in Brixham and try to reclaim his health in the warmer climates of Southern France or Italy. On September 4, 1847, only 54 years old, he came to his last Sunday in Brixham, so sick that he struggled to enter the pulpit and preach. “I must put everything in order before I leave,” he told his people, “because I have no idea how long I will be away.”

It was in this time frame of leaving for health that he wrote a poem that begins:

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide.

The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide.

When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

His text for this poem was the Gospel account of the resurrected Jesus appearing to two disciples on the way to Emmaus. As night came, the two told this man they didn’t recognize, “Abide with us: for it is toward evening and the day is far spent” (Luke 24:29).

He gave a copy of this hymn poem to his adopted daughter, taking along another copy which he revised during his trip. He posted the revision to his wife. Arriving at the French Riviera on his way to Rome, he checked into a hotel in Nice. He never went further on, and several weeks later, he died. At his bedside was another English clergyman who happened to be staying there the same time.  He reported that Lyte’s final words were “Peace! Joy!” Lyte was buried in Nice.

When news came back to Brixham of their pastor’s death, the fishermen of the village asked his son-in-law, also a minister, to hold a memorial service. On that occasion, Lyte’s hymn, “Abide with Me” was first sung.

The hymn was not widely sung until it came to the attention a decade later of William Monk, who edited the Anglican church hymnal. He wrote a new tune for it that he named “Eventide,” inspired by a beautiful sunset while Monk himself was experiencing a deep personal sorrow.

There are many "You Tube" videos featuring this hymn. This one uses footage from the British coastline, where Lyte had spent many years in ministry:
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=abide+with+me+youtube+with+lyrics&docid=608020738813854665&mid=81739B50B13D484BA86C81739B50B13D484BA86C&view=detail&FORM=VIRE

CHOSEN

I’m “choosy” when I pick blueberries. I can’t “milk” all the berries off one branch because they ripen at different times. So  I have to watch as I reach under the leaves and thumb off just the ones with a darker blue gleam, leaving the purple, yellow or green ones to ripen more.

The other day as I was doing this almost mindless task, a snippet of a Bible verse came to mind: “The Lord knows those who are his” (2 Timothy 2:12). It turns out to be a quote from Numbers 16:5, where God had to deal with some rebellious folks who disagreed with the way Moses was handling the Exodus wanderings.  It ends with the rebels getting swallowed up in a horrific earthquake. I wouldn’t call that a “Blueberry Acres” moment. But I think there’s a helpful analogy in this sight of blueberries ripening at their own rate. Christians “ripen” (to use that term for spiritual growth) at different rates, too.

This was Paul’s last preserved letter; not long after, he was led from his prison cell and killed by the Romans. No wonder he was thinking about eternal things and the need to give some final words of advice.  One of its best-known verses is 2 Timothy 2:15:

Do you best to present yourself to God as one approved,  a workman who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth.

That’s one of the verses that moved Jim Elliot, who called it the “A.U.G” degree—“approved unto God.” This single-minded man went to Ecuador in the 1950s to share the Gospel and was killed by the very people he hoped to tell about Jesus.  What Paul wrote after that verse reveals some of the steps toward the “A.U.G.”:

*Avoiding godless chatter (2:16).  (What would Paul think of the “talk shows”  and the flood of social media today?)

*Being concerned with personal spiritual cleansing (vv. 20-21). 

*Fleeing the culture’s entrapments (“the evil desires of youth,” v. 22) in favor of “righteousness, faith, love and peace.” (Can you see Paul playing today's video games? I can't--for many reasons!)

*Avoiding quarreling and arguing over things that really don’t matter, including misinterpreted issues that the devil can use to distract people from real spiritual truth (vv. 23-26)

Second Timothy is such a poignant letter. When I read it, I want to dwell over each paragraph, grateful that somehow Paul’s wisdom was preserved to encourage millions of Christians thousands of years later. Somehow, he knew things would get worse before they get better: “But mark this: there will be terrible times in the last days” (3:1).  Then he gives a lengthy list of negative behaviors which—sadly—read like a commentary on our times. They’re people who love pleasure rather than God (3:4). They may blend into their communities, but will they ripen for God’s harvest, even though given the chance? 

FRAGRANCE

Oh, the art of producing artificial flowers! My local craft store has row after row of fake flowers. So lovely to look at. But no fragrance, no life. Just looks. The landscaping at our home wouldn’t make it into a gardening magazine, but we do have a front yard rose area that showcases living color in spring through fall.  Sometimes when I’m outside doing yardwork, somebody walking by will pause and ask about the roses. Often they ask about fragrance, so I invite them to sniff certain ones. I know that those who write descriptions for garden catalogs have intriguing adjectives for a rose sniff-test-- words like “dark,” “sensuous,” or “fruity.” I’m not sure how I’d describe our roses; some bushes are decades old and maybe not as pungent as when new.

Yet, when I cut blooms for a bouquet, I find myself sniffing a rose “just because.” They remind me of how the apostle Paul used the sense of smell to describe a spiritual reality. He said that those who freely and authentically live for Christ spread everywhere “the fragrance of the knowledge of him”—a quality he called “the fragrance of life” (2 Corinthians 2:14, 16).

That phrase--“fragrance of life”—reminds me of analogies in the letter of James, who used many metaphors in his writing. He describes people plagued by doubt as ships tossed in a storm (1:6). Godless rich people, as blossoms that last a day and then are tossed (1:9-11). Spiritual pretenders, as looking mindlessly in a mirror (1:23-25). People with unruly tongues, as horses without bits, ships without rudders, and uncontrolled fires (3:3-6). There’s more: tongues that curse, while boasting to belong to God, as springs capable only of foul, undrinkable water (3:9-12).

I wonder what James would have said about fake flowers, which of course didn’t exist in his time. They’re pretty, but lack fragrance, the pollen bees love, and the ability to reproduce. They're lifeless.

I’m not against fake flowers. On one nightstand I have a bouquet of artificial hydrangeas (my favorite flower which simply doesn’t grow well in my yard). Once or twice a year I hold it under a faucet to wash off the dust. I give it a shake, pat it dry, and put it back in the vase. It’s pretty, but not real. Our broken world needs the fragrant hope of Christ, and we are the living blooms in which He infuses it.

EXCEPTION?

This décor saying I spotted at a local crafts store—“Be the exception”--reminded me of how word meanings can change in a generation. I grew up in times when “being the exception” usually meant flaunting school rules and social conventions. It described kids who got sent to the principal’s office for being negative or rebellious. But a similar word, exceptional, had a more positive spin. It described gifted or hard-working students. One year behind me in high school there was an exceptional teen who, every day after school, practiced the piano for several hours before doing her homework. She became a concert pianist and professor of piano at a large public university. Focused. A good steward of natural abilities she developed with hard work.

So here’s my dilemma. I want to be exceptional, in the sense of wisely developing and using the gifts and abilities God gave me. But I also want to be the exception that doesn’t practice my culture’s negative ways of dealing with discord and stress. Even though two millennia old, the advice that the apostle Peter gave about behavior is still a good measuring rod. He urged the early Christians to be the exception from the godless world around them, and to seek being positively “exceptional” in one’s daily words and actions: “Rid yourself of all malice and all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and slander of every kind” (1 Peter 2:1).

These aren’t new problems. Nor is the stain of rebellion. It was one of the things that seemed to most grieve the aging, battle-worn apostle Paul as he neared the end of this life. Knowing he’d probably be executed by the Romans, Paul wrote this warning to Timothy, then nurturing the church in Ephesus:

But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God—having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them. (2 Timothy 3:1-5)

What a discouraging list. More discouraging, it describes our times. I take note of these words at the beginning of that quote: “Terrible times in the last days.” And there hasn’t been much improvement over centuries. But Paul suggests a road through this mess, advising believers:

*To pursue purpose, faith, patience, love and endurance such as Paul showed in his sufferings and persecution (3:10-11).

*To expect persecution if you endeavor to live a godly life in Christ Jesus (3:12).

*To trust God to equip you, through His Word, for all life’s negative challenges (3:16-17)

*To endure hardship (4:5)

*To long for Christ’s coming again (4:8).

In other words, to be the exception, as God defines things. It’s the true way to go.