A Life-Changing Gift



Wearing a dress I made for
her 50th high school reunion

 Her name was “Halcyon,” not one you find in today’s baby-name books. It meant “calm, peaceful,” referring to the legendary halcyon bird which reputedly nested at sea about the time of the winter solstice, to calm the waves. Except she found her “calmness” in a solid relationship with Jesus Christ, which she generously shared with someone nearly fifty years her junior—me.

The other day I stopped by the cemetery a mile from our home where she is buried. Less than three months before her death, I was able to lay my firstborn baby in her arms, honoring her grandmotherly role in my life. By then strokes had already begun their swift erosion of earthly life. Within a few weeks, she was bedbound and speechless in a nursing home. I’d come visit with the baby, propping him against her bedrail so she could touch him. I could sense behind her clouded eyes that she felt her role in my life was done—and well done.

I am a richer, fuller person because I invested in a friendship with a godly older woman.

We met after the morning service of her church the first time I visited it. Her son, who worked at my company and brought her to church, had alerted his widowed mother that I’d be coming. She invited me home for lunch. She had no car, so I drove us to her old, worn, but welcoming little home.

That invitation, and more, eventually morphed into standing Friday night commitments to potluck our leftovers. When she learned I was using a somewhat unsavory public laundry facility, she invited me to use her washer and dryer. Not wanting to take advantage of a widow on Social Security, I bought a fun child’s bank for her laundry corner and left there money to help with utilities.

While my two weekly loads of laundry chugged, and we ate and talked, I was drawn into a spiritual banquet of instruction and counsel. Although I had grown up going to church, I had not fully connected the dots that Jesus died for me. One night, alone in my apartment, I finally personalized it, asking Him into my life. I soon realized how impoverished I was in my understanding of the Bible. She was a seasoned student of scriptures, her Bible limp from use and filled with underlined passages and notes. She patiently answered my questions and we always parted with prayer.

When I moved away to another job, her letters followed me, typed on an old manual typewriter with a shredded ribbon. After seven years away, during which my parents died, I returned to her hometown to be married. Now, the one who had helped me so much in my emotional and spiritual growing places, was needing my practical help.

I had started calling her “Grandma G” (her last name started with “G”), for even though we were not related, she fulfilled that mature and caring role in my life. My paternal grandmother had died before my birth. I rarely saw my maternal grandmother, widowed before she’d finished raising nine children and living several states away.

I could have kept my distance from Grandma G, categorizing her as “old and not friendship material.” Yes, we had followed different occupations: she was a retired nurse, I was a reporter. But we came together at the feet of Jesus, our hearts connected with prayer and caring. She encouraged my baby-steps of faith, even listening to me recite Bible verses I was memorizing in a Bible correspondence course. She just loved me where I was at, and probably prayed bold prayers for me when I was absent.

Her life wasn’t easy. Her sons didn’t follow her example of steadfast faith in Christ. She was poor by the world’s standards, but her true wealth was in Heaven, and she was looking forward to going there. I will never forget the hope in her moistening eyes as she recited to me her favorite verse, from the end of Jude: “Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion, and power, both now and forevermore. Amen.”

Calm, peaceful—because her faith was firmly staked on the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Just before taking the photo of her grave marker,  I dropped a few tears and then thanked God for our life-changing gift of friendship. How grateful I am for her investment in my life. I’m confident we’ll meet again in Heaven.

By the way, if Heaven has board games, I'll stand in line to play her. Sometimes while my clothes dried, she'd challenge me to Scrabble (R). She was a true competitor with the tiles, especially Q and Z!

Goats and God's "go-getters"

This one came close to the fence, probably hoping for a snack.

Just a block from my home, goats munch in the fenced pasture of an “urban farm.” On a walk the other day, as I paused at the fence to watch them interact, I thought of their use in an end-times prophecy. With tomorrow (December 21) the ancient Mayan supposed calculation of the “end of the world,” it’s appropriate to see just what the Bible has to say.

First, a little background about Bible-time goats. We’re probably more familiar with biblical sheep, such as Psalm 23’s “the Lord is my shepherd,” and John 10’s “I am the good shepherd.” At one time in ancient Israel, goats probably outnumbered sheep. They provided meat, milk, and milk byproducts, like butter and semn used for cooking. Goat hair was woven into fabric. Goatskins became bottles. Goats were even used for sacrifices (Lev. 4:23) and accepted as a “clean” animal. Some goat breeds were white and hornless, making them blend in with sheep in grazing lands. That challenged the shepherd when time came to separate them.

But in Matt. 25:31-46, a prophecy about Jesus’ second coming, He gives goats another role: of representing people bound for eternal punishment. In Matthew 24 Jesus tells of signs of the end: deceivers, wars, famines, earthquakes, persecution, the preaching of the Gospel throughout the world, desecration of the holy place, false Christs, signs in celestial bodies—and then the unmistakable seen-by-all return of Jesus. When? “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son” (Matt. 24:36). I’d say that includes the ancient Mayans.

Then Jesus taught some parables about being ready: the faithful and wise servant (24:43-51), the Ten Virgins with ready lamps (25:1-13), and the investment of “talents” or money (25:30). We’re not to fritter our time and resources away in selfish, empty pursuits, but actively invest the abilities and resources the Lord has entrusted to us.

Following these parables, sheep and goats come on the final stage. Theologians have had hearty interpretive conversations over this passage, but most agree these animals represent the peoples of God-fearing and God-scoffing nations. The Lord separates sheep (true followers of Christ) to His right, the place of honor, eventually to enter His glorious kingdom. That’s because their kind actions toward “the least of the brethren” were done as unto Him. The goats go to the left, then to eternal punishment, for in neglecting others' basic needs, they neglected Him.

Though you don’t find it quoted in Christmas cards or hear it in new holiday choruses, this is really a great passage for Christmas time. That’s when organizations that minister to the poor and disenfranchised do their greatest fund-raising push. Think: Salvation Army red kettle, for one. Or Christian and humanitarian organizations that advocate for the homeless, children and orphans, clean water, victims of sex trafficking, the persecuted, and others. And what do they do? Exactly what the “sheep” are commended for doing: “for I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me” (25:35-36).

In his book The Practice of Godliness (NavPress, 1983, p. 241), Jerry Bridges remarks: "Jesus is teaching in that passage not that doing good deeds earns our admittance to heaven, but that they are necessary and vital evidences that we are bound for heaven."

If your holiday preparations so far have been about what friends and family expect or want, might this passage suggest a change in focus? It’s not too late for the "sheep" tasks done out of love for the Lord Jesus, through personal involvement and financial investment. And don’t worry about a December 21 "deadline." The world will end when God decides.
Consider this prayer by William Stoddard in his devotional First Light (Multnomah, 1990, p. 93). It’s a reflection on Psalm 90, but it’s just as apropos for thinking about end times: “I cannot count the days that remain, but I can make the days that remain count. Let them count under the light of eternity. Let them count as vessels to be filled with grace and emptied in love. Let them count with things that can never be counted or priced or bought or sold. Let them count in loving surrender, obedient service, and cheerful faith. Let them count for You!”

Slaughter of the innocents

Our flag, like others, is at half-mast to honor the students and teachers killed last Friday in Connecticut. Droopy in a snowstorm, it reflects how many of us feel: emotionally low and limp. When I first saw the news alert about the slayings on my internet home page, I pushed back my office chair, wept and prayed aloud, “Lord, show your mercy to those who hurt. This is so awful.”

As the news stations recounted emerging details, a common remark was how terrible that this happened before Christmas. It reminded me how our culture has stamped Christmas with a happy image of pleasure and gift-giving. Excessive merchandizing and “political correctness” have diminished the celebration of a holy Birth.

Yet even His birth brought murder to innocents through the decree of a very spiritually sick person. His name was Herod the Great, and he was a greedy, suspicious, ostentatious, sensual, ruthless man who didn’t want anything or anyone to threaten his claim to power. When “wise men” from a far-away eastern land came to Jerusalem to seek a new king heralded by a strange star, he was more than disturbed. Behind a fake grin, he told them to report back about this king so he could come and worship him, too. When they didn’t return with information, he was beside himself. He ordered his soldiers to rampage Bethlehem, killing all little boys two years and under. That, he figured, would eliminate any competition.

Take a deep breath and imagine the wails of mothers and fathers, clutching their murdered babies. One Bible commentary suggests about 26 baby boys were slaughtered in the little hamlet. (Twenty-six were killed in Connecticut: 20 children, six adults.) With this desperately sad, ruthless act, the prophecy of Jeremiah came true. Ramah, near Bethlehem, was the burial place of Jacob’s wife Rachel, who represents the nation Israel:

A voice was heard in Ramah, Lamentation and bitter weeping,

Rachel weeping for her children, Refusing to be comforted for her children,

Because they are no more.” --Jeremiah 31:15

Herod, who intended to enhance his rule through this act, today is remembered only in annals of infamy for the slaughter of the innocents. Sadly, the deeds of the troubled young shooter in Newtown will stain his extended family. They, too, are grieving as we all weep and ask questions.

But it has to come back to this: Christmas is about a baby born to die. Herod’s decree was not Jesus’ time to die, so God had warned Joseph to flee with his family to hide in Egypt until Herod died. Three decades later, at the appointed time, Jesus did die, but as a Savior. As Savior, He understands our deepest grief: “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). He was there as each child and teacher died in Newtown.

Can there be “Christmas” this year? Maybe not as people traditionally think of it. But there will be Christ in the midst of this, offering comfort in the unspeakable circumstances that happen because we live in a sin-dominated world. Someday, though, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:4).

Even as I share a tiny corner of national pain, that gives me hope.

Gold, frankincense, and more



A friend brought me this carved wooden
box from Uzbekistan. Could a "wise man"
 have come from that part of central Asia?

 Have you ever thought about, “why” myrrh? Yes, at Jesus’ birth, wise men from the East brought him royal gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh (Matt. 2:11). No doubt Joseph later sold those gifts so he and Mary had something to live on when they fled to Egypt with the infant Jesus. Two millennia later, we hear sermons on the gifts’ symbolism: gold to befit a king, frankincense for a priest, and myrrh, for the One to die.

Hold those thoughts and consider this from Puritan preacher Thomas Watson (c. 1620-1686). In discussing Matt. 5:6 and one who hungers and thirsts after righteousness, Watson said, “He can feed upon the myrrh of the gospel as well as the honey.”

The “honey” part makes sense. Passages like Psalm 19:10 say God’s Word is sweeter than “honey from the comb.” Indeed, we all cherish scripture passages of comfort and hope, our “spiritual honey.”

But what’s the “myrrh of the gospel”?

First, myrrh was a pricey aromatic, extracted by scoring a small tree to tap its resin, similar to rubber. Its smell has been described as a warm, comforting resin, deeper in aroma than frankincense’s more pungent balsamic odor.

Most are familiar with how myrrh was used to mask the death odor as a body was prepared for burial. Nicodemus lugged 75 pounds of a myrrh-aloes mixture to a freshly-hewn cave tomb to help wrap up Jesus’ corpse (John 19:39).

But myrrh was also a perfume for the living. In a rather steamy portion of the Song of Solomon, myrrh graced a cleavage (1:13). Psalm 45:8, a king’s wedding song, extols the royal’s garb as fragrant with myrrh, aloes and cassia. No doubt that’s what Henry Barraclough had in mind in 1915 as he penned the lyrics to “Ivory Palaces.” That old hymn speaks of Christ in garments scented with myrrh and other fragrances welcoming the believer to Heaven.

In Bible times, mixed into wine, myrrh was used to dull the senses. The soldiers crucifying Jesus offered Him the concoction before they nailed Him on the cross, but He refused it (Mark 15:23). He experienced the full horror of the dying process.

So how can the gospel be “myrrh”? Perhaps these point to the answer:

*The gospel is Christ coming to earth, but more than sweet babies in fresh hay cooing, angels singing, shepherds awing, and foreigners of high birth gifting.

*The gospel is the gift of eternal life through God’s Son, refusing a primitive sedative, groaning on a splintered cross groaning, beseeching, dying, buried with spices to cover the stench.

*The gospel is also that provocative little verse in Song of Solomon 1:13, Christ as the myrrh over one’s heart spreading its precious perfume obtained through a pierced tree.

Charles Spurgeon (1834-1892) said of this: “Myrrh may well be chosen as the type of Jesus on account of his preciousness, its perfume, its pleasantness, its healing, preserving, disinfecting qualities, and its connection with sacrifice.”

And what of those whom Watson said would seek the myrrh of the gospel? Bible teacher William MacDonald (1917-2007), in his commentary on the Beatitudes of Matthew 5, said such people have a passion for personal righteousness that seeks honesty, integrity, and justice in society and practical holiness in the church.

Thus, the “myrrh” of the gospel is dying to self so that the lovely righteousness of Christ—our King, Priest and Redeemer—spreads through us to a world suffocating in sin’s death stench.

Yes: gold, frankincense, and more--lots more.

A layer at a time

When I was a youngster, my mother was still carrying on a Depression-era habit of making her own soap. For months she’d save grease from cooking until she had enough to mix with lye according to her family’s passed-on recipe. I remember little of the process except it was hard work and dangerous. After cooking in a huge enamel pan on the stove, the concoction was poured into newspaper-lined boxes in the garage to cure. Later, she’d shred it into the washing machine.
I was so glad when she gave it up and just bought detergent! I also remember the worries about kids being around lye, which had a distinct skull-and-crossbones sign on it for “poison.”

I was reminded of its power as I recently re-read a classic missionary biography by Isobel Kuhn titled Green Leaf in Drought. The book recounted the suffering experienced by the last China Inland Missionaries trapped deep inside China in 1951, when all others were evacuated due to political turmoil. Despite severe hardship under ruthless local rulers, who brought them to the edge of starvation, Wilda and Arthur Mathews trusted God for the impossible. It would be two years before they were able to leave, first Wilda and their small daughter, and a few months later, Arthur.

Throughout their years of unjust and unfair treatment, the couple sought solace and hope in prayer, scriptures and devotional books. One poignant quote, from English preacher Alexander MacLaren (1826-1910), was this: “The meaning of all that God does with us—joys and sorrows, light and darkness…is that our wills may be made plastic and flexible.”

Wilda would look back on this excruciating time as her spiritual “lye bath,” remembering her job in a fruit canning factory when she was a girl. Peaches were plunged into a lye bath, then rinsed, to hasten the skinning step, then sent on conveyor belts to workers to put into tins for caning. For months after that job, the damage lye caused to her hands resulted in successive layers of skin coming off. “And so with this crucible experience,” the author wrote. “The layer of looking at other causes had to come off; then the layer of quickness to anger in the heart; the layer of longing for pretty things; the layer of over-sensitiveness; the layer of impatience (can’t we go now?), the layer of mere submission, and so on” (p. 45, 1981 OMF reprint).

I photographed an onion with lights to show its layers as another symbol of this “peeling away” the Spirit does to bring us closer to the Father’s heart. Whenever I peel onions for chopping, they bring on copious tears. And whenever God is doing some serious work in peeling away my sins of “looking at other causes,” there are going to be tears.

The process isn’t fun. But the end result, of growth in spiritual steadfastness and trust, is worth it.

Making it straight

If you’ve listened to Handel’s The Messiah a few times, you can almost hear in your memory the tenor’s solo from Isaiah 40:3: “Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” As the orchestra comes in, the tenor continues with verse 4: “Every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill shall be made low: the crooked straight, and rough places plain.”

I’ve long associated these words with the return of our Heavenly King, the Lord Jesus. To the Jewish exiles in Babylon, however, this prophecy stoked their fervent hope to return to Jerusalem, with God leading them back in victory.

But there’s more behind those words. In his Tyndale commentary on Isaiah, J. Alec Motyer pointed out that the exiles may have been aware of a pagan Babylonian hymn that said, “Make [Nabu’s] way good, renew his road. Make straight his path.” This referred to how special processional routes were created for carrying idols during festivals.

These had to be the very best and kept work crews busy for some time. “Exalting” the valleys and “making low” the hills and mountains probably meant a lot of earth moving long before big diesel machines. Straightening crooked places and smoothing rough places again were huge efforts done mostly by manpower.

I think about how much human sweat went into those ceremonial roads whenever we encounter road construction or even go by a train crossing. Especially in railroad construction, there’s little margin for error. The tracks need a strong gravel bed, evenly spaced tracks, gentle curves and easy grades. If something is off, a whole train will derail.

But the message here is more than road construction. It’s about anticipating the glory of the return of Jesus Christ. Again, words from scripture used in Handel’s work: “And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together; for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it” (v.5).

I hadn’t realized, until reading William Coleman’s Today’s Handbook of Bible Times and Customs, that one group’s interpretation of the Isaiah passage resulted in one of the most amazing discoveries of the 20th century: the Dead Sea Scrolls in a remote cave at Qumran where the Essenes had once lived. This group had decided to retreat to the desert to escape worldly contamination, and hoped to prepare a society ready to welcome the Messiah, in fulfillment of Isaiah 40:3-5. The community existed about 200 years, from 200 B.C. through the time of Christ. Their plan didn’t work out, but their library stash, preserved in the desert, was an incredible boon to Bible scholars.

So much for history! But what does that passage mean for us today?

William MacDonald, a Bible teacher whose commentary has a strong devotional slant, says the preparation for our Messiah is not topographical, but moral and spiritual. He said the mountains and hills represent proud, arrogant people. The valleys are people “of low degree” (those suffering hopelessness and self-pity). All uneven and rough character must be smoothed out in preparing for the Messiah’s coming. This was the message of John the Baptist, who was connected with Isaiah’s prophecy as he called people to repent because the kingdom of God was near (Matt. 3:3). Indeed it was. Jesus soon stepped into the river before his baptizing cousin.

You may be quite aware of the rocks and holes in your life’s road that need repair. Maybe there’s hidden sin, pride, addiction, hypocrisy, laziness or greed. Continuing along those “roads” only keeps you from being ready to welcome the Messiah. Don’t forget: He is coming again.

So this Christmas, with fresh bomb rubble in the Holy Land, don’t forget Isaiah’s refrain of hope: “The glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together!” As someone who grew up hearing and playing classical music, I never weary of hearing The Messiah—for its Biblical text shouts glory and hope, no matter what time of year it’s presented.

Castaways

We had chopped down a messy evergreen adjacent to the house that was a fire hazard because of dry needles trapped inside. Afterwards, it seemed we’d never quit filling garbage bags of the debris. On our trash pickup day, as I came out to help the truck driver cast the bags into his dump bin, I thought of several ways garbage bags can symbolize aspects of the spiritual life.

Salvation. Some people say they can’t come to God because they have too much “garbage” in their lives. They think they need to clean up their acts before they make the decision to be a Christian. Yet, as one person quipped, “You don’t clean up the house before the cleaning lady comes.” Jesus died for sinners, not perfect people: “While we were yet sinners [surrounded by sin-garbage], Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8, comment added).

John Bunyan’s classic allegory Pilgrim’s Progress pictured that as the main character, Christian, carries a heavy back pack representing the burden of the knowledge of his sin. He comes to a place with a cross and empty tomb. There, the straps that bound his burden to him are broken, and the burden rolls into the empty sepulcher. But Christian isn’t suddenly catapulted to the Celestial City upon being relieved of his sin burden. He’s free of its penalizing weight, but he has a long way to go before reaching his destination. All sorts of tests come his way as his character is prepared for the beauty and holiness of that city where God lives.

Spiritual growth. Years ago I wrote a children’s story titled, “The Great Garbage Bag Lesson.” The fiction concerned two grade-school kids, who knew only kid-gossip about the other, being assigned partners for a science project on recycling. They decided to give each classmate a bag to collect personal throwaway garbage for a week. In the process of learning about recyclable waste, the two learned how their misconceptions about the other person being “unfriendly” were all wrong. The story inferred how pride, fear, anxiety, and other relationship-killers are spiritual “garbage” that keep us from enjoying the full life that God has planned for us.

The apostle Peter put it this way: “Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). The word for “cast” in the original Greek is epirrhipto and it literally means “to hurl upon.” Its only other use in the New Testament is in Luke 19:35, in describing the disciples hurling garments on a donkey for Jesus to sit on as He entered Jerusalem. Peter’s saying we can hurl onto Jesus our black bags of fears and anxieties. He’s strong enough to take care of them.

Selfish refusal. In my town there’s now a homeless woman in a long black hooded coat, who keeps a handkerchief pressed to her nose. As she wanders from place to place, she carries four plastic grocery sacks stuffed with more sacks. One day, concerned about her, I approached her with a clear zipped bag of purchased, wrapped snack items. “I thought you might be hungry,” I said as I got within about ten feet. She glared and waved me away. “All these are packaged,” I added, hoping to allay her fears poison or germs. She kept shooing me, insisting she didn’t want them and claiming she was okay.

Obviously, she isn’t okay. I’m not going to get into a discussion of mental illness here. But other days, as I have watched her trudge down the street, I have thought about how God must feel when we refuse His help and clasp ever tighter to our bags of problems. How much more would He’d rather hear this, as Charles Wesley expressed it his hymn “And Can It Be?”: “My chains fell off”—and I’d paraphrase, I gave up my black bags—“my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed Thee!”