There’s a wonderful picture book called Home (Jeanne Baker, New York: Harper Collins Publishers, 2004). Its pages are all about one particular view: Tracy’s second floor window, looking onto her back yard and the neighborhood beyond. It begins with Tracy’s birth, showing a small section of her room and the world outside the window. Every year, the same view and a glimpse into the changes in Tracy’s life and world. A few crafts, cards, and toys on the inside, the evolving yard and neighborhood on the outside. The last picture shows Tracy and her parents sitting in their back yard – with her husband and baby. All of it seen from a single perspective: time moves forward, location stays the same. Neighborhood renewal, changing neighbors, growing children and aging parents – so much revealed through a single window.

That’s my life. It’s not the full story of humanity or the full view of creation. It’s a glimpse at it through a single perspective. Not the complete story, but a real story. Limited, but true. Part of the great, eternal, infinite, whole. And I love my glimpse, my limited part of an ongoing, eternal reality. Holy and limited until the walls dissolve into the eternal embrace of God.

For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end.

I Cor. 13:9-10

As for tongues, they will cease

I Cor 13:8

Speaking in tongues isn’t lost to the world yet, but it’s endangered. Not many Christians have witnessed someone speaking in tongues, even fewer have seen the message interpreted. Is this because most congregations don’t have anyone who speaks in tongues, so it isn’t valued? Or the inverse: where speaking in tongues isn’t valued, it rarely happens. What’s the point of a spiritual gift if it doesn’t enrich communal and individual faith?

Paul is trying to say something vital in these six words: Gifts aren’t permanent. They are holy and valuable because they point to us to God – and through them we can be drawn into God’s love. God doesn’t seem particularly picky about the methods and means for reaching us, surrounding us and filling us with love. When tongues cease, it won’t be because God isn’t with us: tongues cease when we finally realize that God’s love dwells in us with or without them.

Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude

I Cor. 13:4-5

I learned how to tend bar at twenty, mixing drinks at Dockside in Alton Bay when the owners weren’t around to do it. Most people ordered the typical: martini, sombrero, something-and-soda. It wasn’t until I worked at Cranberries in Dover that the drinks got complicated. Fortunately, the bartender who continued my training was a kind man and skilled teacher.

“If you don’t know how to make a drink, ask me. If I’m not here, ask the customer who ordered it. No one knows everything. Only a bad bartender is afraid to learn from others.”

I think the same is true about life in general, bad meaning insecure or unsure rather than a moral deficiency. Not knowing something isn’t shameful, it’s an opportunity to learn. Needing to acquire a particular skill isn’t a failure, just an inevitable part of being human. A willingness to ask questions, to learn from the wisdom and mistakes of others, and to be open to the complexity of the world are honorable qualities that enhance life. Learning and teaching, giving and receiving, are acts of love.

Envy and boasting, arrogance and rude behavior are the burden of the fearful. Feeling inadequate, they romanticize the lives of others (envy); feeling small, they make a shield from inflated accomplishments (boasting); feeling worthless, they project their inadequacy on others (arrogance); feeling insubstantial, they chip away at others by word and deed (rudeness). Giving and receiving love is what’s most needed and what’s constantly rejected. If perfect love casts out fear, fear throws love away with both hands.

Tending bar or living life, offer what you have and ask for help when you need it. God knows, no one is perfect and everyone is loved. Cheers.

Love is patient, love is kind; one follows the other. Love that is patient chooses a world governed by compassion and care rather than convenience or expedience. Love that is kind honors the dignity of others, not because it’s the “right” response but because it’s the only response. Everything else is a refusal to respond, or a serious misunderstanding of the nature of self, life, and the universe. The kind look at others and see God. If they happen to be wise, they see God and others in the mirror as well…

Love is Kind

I Cor. 13:4

If I give away all my possessions,

and if I hand over my body so that I may boast,

but do not have love, 

I gain nothing.

(I Corinthians 13:3, NRSV)

What is this love that Paul is writing about? He’ll list its characteristics in the nine verses following this one – something to go through adjective by adjective. But here are a couple of thoughts for starters:

Love is meaning good things for another and sacrificing to bring those things into reality; it’s not an emotion (like and love are not the same) but a choice to act willingly for the good of another. It’s why loving neighbor and enemy is possible, even when liking them is not.

Love recognizes that people are not means to other ends – this includes ourselves. Jesus said that the scriptures boiled down to two commandments: 1) Love God, and 2) Love Neighbor as Self. Loving our neighbor is recognizing and honoring the sanctity of his or her life. Without this love, we may reduce our neighbor to a tool that helps us or a hindrance that frustrates us. Loving ourself is recognizing and taking responsibility for the sanctity of our own life. Without this love, sacrifice for others reduces us to mere tools for the benefit of others and we gain nothing.

Why would some choose not to love neighbor? Fear of sacrifice: not having enough left for self, losing equality with another.

Why would some choose not to love self? Fear of integrity: having more than enough for self and neighbor – claiming equality with another.

Deeper than consciousness is the longing to give love and a willingness to give it sacrificially. (James Loder, The Transforming Moment, Colorado Springs: Helmers & Howard, 1989, p.177)

My neighbor had some tree limbs removed this morning. Family Tree Service did a fantastic job – branches came down with little fuss and no damage to people, plants, or property. When all the cut branches were gathered in the driveway, the chipper pulled up. For the next forty-five minutes, I heard nothing but the grinding of limbs into mulch. I ran the vacuum and couldn’t hear it; I moved boxes and my portable dishwasher without the usual creaks and rolls. My tea kettle at a boil couldn’t be heard. My two cats headed for the room farthest from the noise – they are wise about such things. When all the branches were gone, blessed quiet returned. Bird song, the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the gurgle of water filtering in the fish tank all returned. Not silence, but a sufficient and interesting quiet.

It’s not just wood chippers that bring unconquerable noise; schedules crowded beyond reason, cut-throat competitive practices at work or home, inordinate preoccupation with material or career success – all these things can unite to push life to decibels capable of drowning out the sufficient and interesting quiet required to hear God and neighbor. Granted, it’s usually noise I’ve created out of societal expectations, personal doubt, and selfishness. The big question: how do I turn down the volume of life noise?

August will be about just that – turning down the volume that drowns out peace and quiet. Scripture, prayer, faith practices, and trust can help turn the knob. I’ll start with I Corinthians 13…