Category Archives: Biblical Reflection

Open and Shut

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Readings: Luke 1:68-79, Malachi 3:13-18, Philippians 1:18b-26

By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us,

to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Luke 1:78-79

In my teens, I lived in a house on a pond, surrounded by trees, five miles away from the town’s small center. There were few streetlights on my road, and none within eyesight of my house. Late one summer night, I set out on foot for home from my friend’s house. Turning a corner, I lost sight of her porch light. There was no moon or other light. I was walking in a darkness so deep that even my body disappeared into it. Since it was only a short distance, I decided to walk it blind. I could tell if I went off the pavement by the change in sound and feel – the sandy roadside felt soft under my shoes and made a raspy sound when I wandered into it. Frogs croaked, crickets fiddled, and the sound of wings seemed everywhere in the trees. With eyes closed, I made my way down the road. I kept them closed until I stepped on my own driveway. When I opened them, the light by the door was a dazzling welcome home.

I’ve wondered many times why I didn’t keep my eyes open that night. I’d have seen the light many steps before reaching my driveway. I think I was trying to pretend that the darkness wasn’t really out there, that the simple act of closing my eyes could reduce it to something within my power to change. In the end, I held onto the dark longer than it held onto me.

Zechariah’s son John knew about darkness, and he didn’t close his eyes. When the light appeared, he welcomed it with eyes and heart open. Perhaps that’s why he spent his life telling anyone who would listen, “Open your eyes!”

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

My #1 Son Plays Second Fiddle

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Readings: Luke 1:68-79, Malachi 3:5-12, Philippians 1:12-18a

“Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,

because he has come to his people and redeemed them.

He has raised up a horn of salvation for us in the house of his servant David

(as he said through his holy prophets long ago)

salvation from our enemies and from the had of all who hate us –

to show mercy to our ancestors

and to remember his holy covenant,

the oath he swore to our father Abraham:

to rescue us from the hand of our enemies,

and to enable us to serve him without fear

in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.

And you, my child, will be called to be a prophet of the Most High:

for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him,

to give his people the knowledge of salvation

through the forgiveness of their sins,

because of the tender mercy of our God,

by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven

to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the path of peace.” Luke 1:68-79, NIV

 

My four children are the brightest, best behaved, hardest working, most wonderful children ever born.  And I’m sure that if you were to meet them you’d agree. Well, maybe you wouldn’t, especially if you have children yourself. If you do, I’m sure you would nominate them for top honors, right? After all, fathers are supposed to feel this way about their children. Imagine a normal father not thinking that his son was the greatest, most important child ever born. I don’t think there’s ever been a dad that didn’t feel this way about his #1 son. Oops, maybe I’m wrong.  Zechariah may be the one exception. The is passage from Luke’s gospel is called “Zechariah’s Song”. In this rhapsody, Zechariah reflects on what God is going to do in the world through the soon-to-be-born Messiah (verses 68-75). Then he rejoices in the supportive role that his own son, known to us as John the Baptist, will have in preparing the way for Jesus (verses 76-79).  In other words, old Zechariah’s #1 son is going to play second fiddle to Mary’s little boy. Playing second fiddle isn’t something that many of us relish. By nature we crave attention and the limelight. We want our efforts and accomplishments to be noticed and rewarded. Humility and servanthood aren’t things that come naturally to us. Zechariah’s boy, John, would grow up to show us another way, though—the way of self-denial. He would be quick to recognize that God always deserves first place. Remember his famous admission that “[Jesus] must become greater; I must become less.” (John 3:30) Or, as the Apostle Paul, writing from his persecution jail cell, would say—

I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that what has happened to me has actually served to advance the gospel.  As a result, it has become clear throughout the whole palace guard and to everyone else that I am in chains for Christ.  And because of my chains, most of the brothers and sisters have become confident in the Lord and dare all the more to proclaim the gospel without fear.  (Philippians 1:12-14 NIV)

There’s nothing wrong with second fiddle. Especially when we realize that this is the role for which we were created: “…prophets of the Most High… prepare the way for the Lord… give his people the knowledge of salvation…”  We are Christ’s ambassadors; not representing our own interests, nor satisfying our own desires, but representing Christ and doing his will. To God be the Glory!

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Offered by David Shaw, Pastor, Emmanuel Church of the Nazarene, Wareham, MA, and child of God.

 

Dwelling Place

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Readings: Psalm 90, Isaiah 1:24-31, Luke 11:29-32

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

Before the mountains were brought forth,

or ever you had formed the earth and the world,

from everlasting to everlasting you are God. Psalm 90:1-2

The world didn’t begin at my birth, and it won’t end when I take my last breath. All generations find their home in God, not just the ones right before and right after mine. Wherever and whenever this human family lives, there and then is God.

God didn’t begin at the birth of my planet, and God will be present when the earth breathes its last. God was present at the birth of space/time. If this universe is unmade in some distant millennium, if all possible worlds come to an end, God will hold even that fast. All wherevers and whenevers dwell in God.

But this is the time for me to dwell in God and on this earth. Finding myself in God and finding my place in the world aren’t two separate adventures, just two perspectives on a single journey. I know it’s a sacred journey because God walked it from beginning to end, birth through death to resurrection.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

What is important

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Readings: Psalm 90; Numbers 17:1-11; 2 Peter 3:1-8a

So teach us to number our days that we get a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12

...with the Lord one day is like a thousand years… 2 Peter 3:8a

I often enjoyed Andy Rooney’s closing moments on 60 Minutes. There is wisdom in his few words. He wrote a piece entitled You are the Best in which he listed the things he had learned: “I’ve learned…that the less time I have to work with, the more things I get done.”

What is important for me to get done this Advent season? Some will recall how slowly time went by as a child in anticipation of Christmas day. How many shopping days until Christmas, being numbered daily in our local newspapers, simply crawled along as if each day were indeed a thousand years. Then we grow up and time starts marching, then galloping. There is never enough time, it seems; but unlike what Andy Rooney learned, we don’t seem to be getting more things done. We blink and it’s Christmas Eve – each day a thousand seconds. What’s going on here?

So I ponder again: what is important for me to get done this Advent? Not what is urgent, but what is important. It may be to hit the pause button on my chattering mind, with its unending to-do list, just long enough to breathe deeply and utter a prayer for guidance about what is really important. Maybe it is to pray personally with the psalmist: Teach me to number my days THAT I MAY GET A HEART OF WISDOM. After all, we don’t have much time – we only have all the time there is.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Offered by Bill Albritton, writer, teacher, child of God.

Prayers for the Beginning of Advent

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Readings: Jeremiah 33:14-16; Psalm 25:1-10; I Thessalonians 3:9-13; Luke 21: 25-36

The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days, and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.” Jeremiah 33:14-16

Lord, you are the flame coming into the world to usher in God’s

kingdom on earth. Please make us your sparks to bring your light

and love and peace and healing into the world,inflaming the entire

world with your Kingdom. Sparks that become a raging

conflagration of your goodness.

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To you, O Lord, I life up my soul. O my God, in you I trust…make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths…Psalm 25:1-10

Lord, let us become one with You by growing and learning with You.

May we accept your forgiveness so we can feel at one with

you. May we forgive ourselves so guilt doesn’t hinder us from

knowing that we are your eyes, ears and mouth in the world. May

we proclaim your goodness with every breath we take and every word

we utter. Let our hands and mouth be instruments of your healing,

and bring Your kingdom to this battered and broken world.

Prayers and art offered by Margaret Hill, child and seeker of God.

 

Not My Place (the sequel)

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“It’s not my place to say, but…”

I’m sure almost everyone has heard these words, or something along the same lines. Whenever I’ve heard them, and the times I have said them, two things come to mind:

1. The speaker really feels it is his or her place to say.

2. They are usually followed by a negative assessment of someone or something – and often the someone or something isn’t around to reply.

For some reason, casting aspersions on someone else’s character or actions sounds a little less petty when couched in humility, false or not. But gossip is gossip, and making negative comments about someone else often says as much about the speaker as it does the hapless subject.

As far as I know, Jesus didn’t begin many of his words with “it’s not my place to say.” He talked to those who disagreed with him far more often than he made comments about them to a third party. It’s a practice I hope to follow more closely – in thought, word, and deed. When I’m tempted to dress up gossip with these words, these two thought just might stop my tongue:

Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone. (John 8:7)

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. (I Cor. 13:1)

If I take them to heart, they have the power to do more than stop me from spreading gossip: they can keep my mind from even thinking about it.

A Place for Everything…

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…except in canning season. There are seven jars of green tomato relish, four more with pickled beans, and eleven filled with applesauce. There are three more in the fridge – one of each already opened and tasted. Next week a dozen cranberry sauces will join the heavenly tasting host. Most of these are only here for a couple of months; they will depart in Thanksgiving baskets and Christmas boxes to take up space in the cupboards and iceboxes of friends and family. But for now, they are guests in and on my shelves, tables, countertops, and bookcases. My canning equipment is on the dishwasher, adding to the overcrowding. This year’s hot peppers are in bowls with the few remaining green tomatoes. I’ve made a dining table centerpiece of squash because they are beautiful – and I have no room in the kitchen for them. Herbs in jars have broken out of the spice drawer, claiming space next to the drinking glasses. They, too, will be gone over the holidays as tandoori rubs and cajun spice mixes. My house runneth over with the bounty of garden, bog, and orchard.
My home is just the right size for me and my family to live interesting lives. There is enough room for guests to feel at home, but they sleep on a sofa bed. The kitchen is a good size for a 1950’s Cape, but there’s no walk-in pantry. I have enough shelf space for the canned goods we will keep, the dried herbs we will use, and the usual grocery items needed for two weeks of meals. I wouldn’t trade home for a bigger one, but it’s an adventure in inventive storage and display right now. It’s a good thing I like the look of squash and mason jars.
I don’t want a larger-than-life place or life. It’s too much work to go too big, and the world is better for me staying at my current size. The jars that I can’t fit in place are meant to go elsewhere; I’m meant to give them away. I trust in the bounty of next year’s harvest, and the steadfast presence of God that holds me in love. There is a place for everything in my house…and if it doesn’t fit, then it’s not my everything to keep.

Photo on 10-9-15 at 4.50 PM

To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven…a time to reap and a time to sow. (Ecclesiastes)

Displacement

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There were twenty three of us in Advanced Biology that afternoon for Mr. Chamberlain’s famous water displacement contest/experiment. A couple of hoses, graduated test tubes, and water were all set. The directions were simple: blow into the hose attached to the tube filled with water. Breath becomes air pressure, moving the water into the second tube – water displacement via lung power. The experiment part: measure how much water is displaced by each person and figure out the class average. The contest: try to displace more water than everyone else. The prize: bragging rights and a spot on Mr. Chamberlain’s ongoing chart of winners.

Before we began, Mr. Chamberlain had everyone guess who would displace the most water. To a person, we picked Andy. He was well over six feet tall, played football, and was on the cross country ski team. After that, we picked skiers, long distance runners, and tennis players. Following them, the rest of us. With our predictions set, each of us took our turn moving water with breath.

As predicted, Andy displaced more water than anyone else. The male skiers and runners displaced around the same amount on their tries, clumping around third place. Then came the female athletes. The remaining students were spread out below that. But second place, between Andy and the male athletes, was mine. Five foot two inches, one hundred and fifteen pounds, and able to displace more water than everyone but Andy. It was such a surprising result that Mr. Chamberlain had me do the experiment twice. When the result was the same, he added me to the chart of winners (small letters, with my height, weight, gender, and second place status noted).

I doubt I had a lot more lung capacity than my classmates, but I did spend a lot of time in Chalk Pond. Swimming underwater taught me how to control my breathing. I knew how much air was in my lungs and how far I could swim on a single breath. I was aware that I had reserves of oxygen I usually didn’t need or notice. Perhaps I displaced more water because I knew just how much air I had in reserve, and what I could do with it; perhaps my classmates didn’t.

I think the same is true with my spiritual life. There are reserves that I barely notice and rarely call upon. They are there, ready to displace sadness, grief, anger, and fear. Even better, these spiritual reserves don’t end with my own strength and stamina: they are renewed by the one who gives life and breath to the whole universe.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being… (John 1:1-3)

Out of Place

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There’s a single juice glass in my cupboard. I bought it with three others a decade ago, when larger glasses were too big for my four year old son’s grasp. It’s four and a half inches tall, with a seven-sided lower half and a circular top edge. There’s a fancy cursive “L” on the bottom. It’s sturdy, well balanced, and hard to knock over.

This leftover juice glass has no place among the glasses in current use. My son is well past needing miniature glasses, and it’s too breakable to use at the bathroom sink. It’s not worth any money and I have no important memories associated with it. Yet, it’s still here, out of place and alone.

Out of its original place and filled with modest chive flowers, it is a perfect centerpiece on the dinner table – too short to block anyone’s view or conversation, too narrow to be a hindrance when passing dishes, too solid to be knocked over by a careless hand. With a handful of daisies, it fits on the narrow shelves in my living room, and doesn’t tip when the cats pass by with flicking tails. It casts a rainbow when the sun hits it just right.

Out of place isn’t something I like be. It’s uncomfortable to be a loner among a group of like-minded and socially related people; it’s disconcerting when talents, appearance, and meaningful purpose are no longer useful or particularly appealing to the larger group. But being out of place, no longer in like company, may be the only way to grow past my past self. To every thing there is a season, and seasons change. Holding onto one particular season in my life, insisting that I am limited to one particular use or identity, won’t keep me from being out of place. What it will block is a future beyond it, where I hold beauty and find my place at the table and on the shelf. Sturdy and casting rainbows is a wonderful new reality, unseen when out of place but surely on the other side.Photo on 9-30-15 at 3.07 PM

In Place

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underleavesMy daily routine happens in particular locations and times of day/week/month/year (Everyone’s does; is there anyone whose routine just happens in random places and times? It wouldn’t be a routine without placement, just a collection of happenings strung together through time and space.), interwoven in the fabric of my life. They are the warp and woof that create the mutable and unfinished tapestry that is my very existence. They matter to me, these times and locations – these places I live in.

Today, my prayers were offered from my old blue sofa, looking out on the birds, plants, and chairs in my back yard. Brick steps heard my Jesus prayer, the Weber grill witnessed the prayer list. A couple days ago, it was the flip-out sofa just inches and a screen away from the lavender-bloomed butterfly bush. End of August, these same prayers visited my in-laws’ patio, with its bird bath and rose-chomping mule deer. The time of day stayed the same, the locations didn’t – maybe not a huge difference, but it changed the flavor of the words in my mouth and on my heart. How could it not when I could see, feel, hear, and smell a different part of God’s great world? Even a change of room and window makes a difference in who I am as I pray.

Prayer is a living dialogue as much as an ongoing soliloquy. Alone or in the company of others, prayer is never done in isolation. We are surrounded by all those who ever prayed the words we pray, who ever prayed where we pray; we stand and kneel with pray-ers through all time and in all places. All the spontaneous words ever said, felt, and thought; all the indescribable moments when the words couldn’t be found. It is in this place that I pray and you pray. It is in this place that God embraces us, sometimes seen and felt, sometimes unseen and elusive. If I really embraced the holiness of my places of prayer, I doubt would ever get off my knees. If you did the same, I doubt you would, either.

(For more on place, clickPlace above…)