OF REEDS & WICKS

This isn't wheat (it's lavender) but just imagine
it to be wheat, for the sake of this blog!

 As the political scene starts heating up with Presidential hopefuls, we're apt to witness a lot of shaming and bravado. “My opponent is a loser.” “Here's some dirt I dug up on him/her.” “I'm better qualified because of this-and-that.” “I can be trusted.” Such propaganda (practiced in everyday situations besides the political arena) prompts me to remember a little passage in Isaiah's prophecy that's easy to skip over.

Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight. I will put my Spirit on him and he will bring justice to the nations.(Isaiah 42:2)

Unlike most rulers of that era, who wanted thrones, opulent living quarters, adoration, and the best horse in the stable to ride, Isaiah looked to a Messiah like this:

He will not shout or cry out, or raise his voice in the streets. A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. (v.3)

Isaiah's ancient, agrarian audience understood these analogies. The spiritually broken and bruised were like a storm- or human-damaged crop stalk. The spiritually “burned out” could relate to a primitive oil lamp with its nearly spent oil basin and sputtering wick. In contrast to their era's proud and position-grabbing rulers, the future Messiah would teach of God's justice and reach the needs of the poor and suffering.

The phrase “a bruised reed” always fascinated me. Sometimes it brought to mind a mid-1950s family trip to my mother's aunt and uncle's farm in Eastern Montana. Think: windmill pump for water, an outhouse, and wood-stove/kerosene lanterns if a wild storm knocked out electricity. Big changes for a little kid from Los Angeles!

During the trip, my mother wanted to photograph her uncle in his prize wheat field. Although a bit reluctant—perhaps not wanting to waste some beaded wheat stalks by walking over them--he obliged her. I was reminded of this incident in reading Judith Couchman's One Holy Passion (Waterbrook, 1998, p. 84). Of the same Isaiah passage she wrote:

To be spiritually useful to God we must periodically travel the wasteland of brokenness. In this desert God tenderly picks up our shattered pieces and remolds them into the image of His Son. During the redesign He promises, “A bruised reed [I] will not snuff out”....No matter how broken we feel, God won't allow the pain to destroy us.

Jesus takes special note of bruised and sputtering lives. When I feel broken or burned out in my spiritual life, He is able to gently pick me up and help me get going again. When I languish, He waits in love for me to reach out or turn around and see Him, Ready, waiting, loving.

Does that encourage you in your hard times? It does, me.

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GRATITUDE ATTITUDE

Maybe it was their childhood of growing up in the Depression, when you learned to be thankful for everything, but gratitude was one character quality my parents tried to instill in me and my sister. We hadn't experienced the death of a parent nor extreme economic deprivations, as they had. But we were taught to be appreciative. One discipline connected to that was saying “thank you” and writing “thank-you notes.”

I tried to instill that in my kids, especially at gift-time. Even when they were too young to write, I encouraged them to draw a picture of the item and coached them on signing their names. With maturity came an expansion of what to be thankful for. Not just material gifts, but also the intangibles like the love, family connections, and hope that we have in Jesus Christ. Whenever I encounter a bitter person, I wonder, what would happen if they sat down and starting writing a thankful list. Would it open their eyes to the poverty of their life outlook?

G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936), an English apologist, literary/art critic, and author (also known for influencing fantasy writers C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien), toward the end of his life tried to express his most important life lesson. He decided it was this: whether we take things for granted or take them with gratitude.

Of that, Christian pastor and author Gary Inrig, in his study of Jesus' parables, remarked that when people live with a sense of entitlement instead of gratitude, such attitudes grow thin with those around them. In contrast, living out overflowing thankfulness is a prime clue to one's relationship with God. He explained: "When gratitude is lacking, grace has either not been received or not been understood. The state of our relationship with God is revealed clearly by our gratitude towards him."(1)

Not surprising, the etymology (word derivation) of “gratitude” is the Latin gratus, meaning “thankful, pleasing, agreeable.”

Every year I try to choose a focus word for the year. I post it at the bottom of my computer screen as a daily reminder of that quality. This year's word may be a repeat, but it's “gratitude.” Last year was tough with my husband's final illness and death. But even through that journey and its aftermath, the support of friends and loved ones has reminded me: be grateful in words, actions, and prayer. Quietly, through these choices, we'll sense the hug of God.

(1) Gary Inrig, The Parables: Understanding What Jesus Meant (Discovery House, 1991), pp. 45-46.

ROBED

I'm not one to wave a wish-list at Christmastime, but when my daughter-in-law asked what I might like, I thought of my, uh, very pilled, tired plush bathrobe. About thirty years ago, it was a soft and quite cozy. But now it was, well, ratty instead of royal, the “plush” spiked and thin.

I'm not fussy about robes; probably that old one came form a clearance rack. But its “aging” condition got me thinking about the history of robes and their spiritual connections. In reading the book of Isaiah, I always pause at the beginning of chapter 6. The prophet Isaiah wrote: “In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord seated on a throne, high and exalted, and the train of his robe filled the temple” (Isaiah 6:1). Isaiah goes on to describe heavenly beings (seraphs with six wings) whose praise of God was so great that the temple's doorposts and thresholds shook, and the temple was filled with smoke.

Shaken greatly by this vision, Isaiah exclaimed, “Woe is me!” Then God commissioned him to prophesy to his wayward nation. That included advising King Uzziah, who would die of leprosy as a divine punishment for burning incense in the temple—a rite strictly belonging to the priests. So yes, pride led to the king's fall.

That whole thing of “pride” figures in other parts of robe history. Think of the Genesis account of teenage Joseph strutting about in his daddy's gift of a richly ornamented robe, to the disgust of his older half-brothers. That story didn't end happily for many years.

As history continued, the length and “drag” of a robe came to represent wealth and status. Robes of expensive material with lots of “drag” denoted that the wearer was either wealthy, distinguished in some way, or royalty. When King Charles was crowned last year, he entered Westminster Abby wearing the historic 14-foot-long “Coronation” robe which his mother had worn in 1953. He exited wearing the 21-foot “Imperial State Robe,” fifteen pounds dragging from his shoulders.

Not something you'd wear to wash the dishes or change the oil in the car....

Back to Isaiah's vision of Heaven and the enormous train from the throne of God. Remember, it was a vision, a way that God communicated concepts too great and wonderful for our human language. That's also true of how the apostle John, in an incredible vision he had of heaven (now our Biblical book of “Revelation”), described celestial garments of martyrs. They were white, “washed...in the blood of the Lamb” (Rev. 7:14).

I can't wrap my mind around that. But I gladly wrap my (new) robe around me these cold nights. At times I still pull on my late husband's old robe, generous and warm. It's all that's left of his once-full closet, the rest of his clothes now given to people in need. I miss his hugs, but the robe reminds me that now I am wrapped in “the hug of God.” And knowing that brings great comfort.

WELCOME?

My home's welcome mat: traditional!

Ruth Bell Graham, the late wife of evangelist Billy Graham, was, well, “a kick.” Her serious side chose for a family home a location that was hard to get to—away from prying eyes and looky-loos—to help preserve some sort of privacy for the five children she often raised alone while Billy traveled. But you only had to step on the porch to realize she was no marble statue but a fun-loving lady. The front doormat read, “Oh, no, not you again.” You can actually buy those mats today—they're available at least online. Inside the home, in her kitchen, she hung this sign: “Divine service will be conducted here three times daily.” She wasn't talking about some high church liturgy, just the nitty-gritty of caring for a large family. Her sense of humor went all the way to the grave. One day while traveling, she took note of a road improvement sign that said, “End of construction. Thanks for your patience.” She said, “I'd like that on my gravestone.” And yes, it's engraved there on her slab next to Billy's grave.*

Back to that welcome mat...I have a traditional “welcome mat” on my porch. My son bought it for me to replace an aging one that was quite worn. He also also pulled up the porch's threadbare outdoor carpet and replaced it with new.

Porches can say a lot about your home. My 1950s-era childhood home in a Los Angeles suburb had a covered porch draped with a red climbing clematis—quite a romantic setting except on Halloween. Our mail was pushed down a chute on the porch that emptied into the dining room. My dad would shove our vacuum cleaner hose up that chute to vocalize a real scary “ooOOOOOooo” to arriving trick-or-treaters. That scared some off the porch!

Okay, fun aside, our entryways often do reflect who we are. If they're dirty or neglected, that's one message. If there's a sign that says, “No solicitors,” that's another. If crowded with plants, another subliminal message. But, mats like Mrs. Graham's teasing "Oh, no, not you again"?

When I knock at heaven's door through prayer, I'm glad I don't sense God saying, “Oh, no, not you again.” I'm glad He doesn't yell, “No trespassing.” Or that He doesn't peer through the peep-hole to see if He wants to open the door. Or, to turn the main analogy inside out--with Jesus knocking at the door of my heart--I'm taken to Revelation 3:20: “I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.”

That's a verse that many (including Billy Graham) have quoted to invite people to come to faith in Jesus. To begin a time of “spiritual reconstruction” to become who God always intended them to be. To be able to say, as does Ruth's tombstone, “End of construction. Thanks for your patience.”

*Zoom in on this link to read the humorous saying she wanted: Headstoneof Ruth Bell Graham, wife of Billy Graham, at her burial site in theMemorial Prayer Garden on the grounds of the Billy Graham Library inCharlotte, North Carolina, that tells the story of the life and"journey of faith" of the famed evangelist - originaldigital file | Library of Congress (loc.gov)