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.