Our Shepherd

 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. (Psalm 23:1)

 

        My knowledge of shepherding is almost nothing. I’ve watched a sheep-shearing exhibition at the state fair and once helped a friend feed a handful of sheep at his hobby farm in North Carolina. But that’s about it. I’m one of that large group of people who, not being part of a rural-based society, know little about tending sheep and for whom it’s hard to connect much meaning to the image of God as Shepherd.

         For us the Shepherd has slipped into the background.  I heard someone describe this disconnect in terms of a stained glass window portraying the Good Shepherd in his home church—not front and center but “in the back, under the balcony, behind the stairs.” That’s in fact where we’re likely to remember him today, not at the center of our faith and proclamation but at the fringes, in the margins—hospital bedsides, emergency rooms, deathbeds, funerals.

         When we talk to the Shepherd, we usually ask him for miracles, for healing or escape or power to overcome. I’ve found, however, that most of the miracles that sustain us there, walking through our valley of shadows, turn out to be less grand than those prayed for. They’re no less profound, just less dramatic. She wasn’t fully healed, but she found the true affection of a friend. The relationship wasn’t totally restored, but he received heartfelt forgiveness from one he had wronged. The pain was still there, but we found assurance that we were loved in the smiles of those dearest to us. These are shepherding miracles, filling us with hope, giving us confidence that we are not alone.

         Alvin was a middle-aged man of limited mental capacity who attended my first church as a young pastor. His father had cared for him all his life, and when the father was forced to enter a nursing home because of the frailties of old age, he insisted that Alvin should remain in the house they had shared. “He can do it alone,” he said.

         And it seemed to be true. Alvin showed up at church nearly every week. He certainly was getting enough to eat and was dressed well enough. I mentioned to one of the church’s deacons one day how well Alvin seemed to be doing on his own. He smiled and told me what was going on. A neighbor took Alvin grocery shopping twice a week. A teller at the bank helped him pay his bills and keep his checkbook straight. Men from the church kept up Alvin’s yard, and one of the women in the church did his laundry every week. Alvin was content, well-fed, healthy enough—and blissfully unaware that a whole village was bolstering up his illusion of being independent.

         Remembering Alvin reminds me how God’s love is holding and watching and following me, guiding me gently, even allowing me to believe at times that I’m self-sufficient. Remembering Alvin reminds me that a Shepherd tends to my needs in ways of which I’m entirely unaware. Remembering Alvin reminds me that there is a force of love following me—following us—along this pathway of life, and that is good comfort for me.

        We know that the Shepherd does not protect us from all harm. But I believe that at the heart of the universe is a force—we call it God—that loves us and will see us through all manner of difficulties with tenderness and hope. The unseen Shepherd, our Shepherd—the Lord God himself—attends us with goodness and mercy all the days of our lives.

 

 

 

Copies of Mike’s book You Are Rich: Finding Faith in Everyday Moments, a collection of 60 faith-related reflections, can be ordered from Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

 

On Weddings: The Minister

 

…Set them an example by doing what is good…Show integrity, seriousness and soundness of speech that cannot be condemned…. (Titus 2:7-8)

    

           I attended a formal wedding not long ago in which the minister, obviously treading on the close familiarity he had with them, referred to the bride and groom as “you knuckleheads.” It was tacky at best, inappropriate for sure and far from the Apostle’s counsel about soundness of speech. But it got me thinking.

 It’s certainly true that what’s considered acceptable in weddings has changed in recent years. The informality of our times (ministers in shorts and flip-flops, grooms with shirts open halfway to the waist, brides dancing down the aisle, etc.) has opened us to new definitions of wedding decorum. So anything I—or anyone—may suggest about “appropriate” runs the risk of being immediately out of date.

 But that “knuckleheads” comment encourages me to take that risk. Here are some suggestions for a minister (or anyone) officiating at a wedding that I think many couples and guests will appreciate being followed.

·        Be thoughtful about what you say.

Do not under any circumstance talk about divorce during the homily or at any other time. Quoting the awful statistics of marriage break-ups these days adds nothing to—but detracts badly from—the joy of the occasion.

·        Be modest about your role.

No one comes to a wedding to hear a preacher preach. So keep the homily positive, friendly and—above all—brief. Have no expectation that the couple or people in the audience will remember what you say. And this is most assuredly not an opportunity to win converts to the faith.

·        Fit in with the tone of the event.

If the men are wearing tuxedos, the minister ought to wear a robe. The person officiating should not be dressed less formally than the bridal party. (I loved George Gobel’s question: “Have you ever felt like the whole world’s a tuxedo and you’re a pair of brown shoes?”)

·        Be the leader.

Quietly provide directions to the wedding couple throughout the service—where to stand, when to face one another, etc.—even though it’s been rehearsed. A bride and groom can’t be expected to remember little details of choreography in the tension of those moments. Everyone appreciates it when there’s a leader in charge who knows what’s next.

·        Save teaching moments for another occasion.

Allow the words of the service to stand on their own and to flow naturally. Avoid editorial comments (”Now this is very important”…“Think carefully about these vows before you say them”). The words always say more than we can fulfill, even with our best intentions.

       More to come, perhaps, in later posts—for grooms, brides, attendants, ushers—even guests.

       But for now, what counsel would you give to those officiating at weddings?

 

Copies of Mike’s book You Are Rich: Finding Faith in Everyday Moments, a collection of sixty faith-related reflections, can be ordered from Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

Bridges

  

Love the Lord your God with all your heart…; and, Love your neighbor as yourself….Do this and you will live. (Luke 10:27, 28)

 

        The Washington Avenue bridge is long gone. It once spanned the Mississippi River, connecting the University of Minnesota’s main campus with the edge of downtown Minneapolis. For four years (well, nearly five) I parked daily on the west bank and walked across that bridge to and from my classes. The sidewalks on each side of the roadway were wooden planks bolted to a frame. I counted those planks many times, as I did the steel rods that made up the railing.

         Occasionally I would stop in the middle of the bridge just to look at the river, busy with barge traffic or filled with ice, each in its season. Often the howling winds, however, kept me moving, neither counting nor gazing but wanting only to get out of the cold. It was a good old bridge, leading me to a place of discovery and growth and later affording me access to the comforts of home.

        Bridges make it possible for me to get where I want—or need—to be. A plane is a bridge that gets me to Chicago in one hour or to Moscow in twelve. My car is the bridge that gets me to my daughter’s home in twenty minutes or to the grocery store in three. And my phone is a bridge to almost anywhere in the world in a few seconds. Discovery is a bridge to knowledge, language to communication, insight to understanding, and experience (hopefully) to wisdom.

        So bridges are great things…when they work. Just a half-mile north of where the old Washington Avenue bridge once stood, an eight-lane Interstate highway bridge fell into the river several years ago. Thirteen people died. We need our bridges to be strong enough to bear the burden we place upon them.

        The Norwegian Vikings understood the rainbow to be a bridge by which people could pass over to the land of the gods and talk to them. It was a risky passage, however; if an unworthy person tried to cross, they believed, the bridge would give way and that soul be lost forever. No, we need our bridges to be made of sterner stuff. We expect them to carry us safely and without risk.

Jesus taught that love for God and love for neighbor is the bridge to a satisfying life of faith. Love for God is a matter of humble obedience to God’s will, unrelated to our feelings. Likewise, love for neighbors is seen in our actions toward them. To love is to be kind and truthful toward those who come within the circle of our experience; it has nothing to do with whether or not we like them. Love is a strong bridge and a dependable one. It leads even us, unworthy people though we be, home.

        We’re not guaranteed comfort in the crossing, to be sure. Winds of criticism and the chill of rejection may cause us to wish for an easier way. But our passage is safe, our destination sure.

        Love God, love neighbor; take this bridge, Jesus said, and you will live.


Copies of Mike's book, You Are Rich: Finding Faith in Everyday Moments, a collection of 60 similar reflections, can be ordered from Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

The Wedge

 

"Then the peoples around them set out to discourage the people of Judah and make them afraid to go on building." (Ezra 4:4)

(Mikey’s Funnies recently reprinted this article of mine that I published several years ago, and I thought, Hey, that’s pretty good. Let’s blog it.)

         An old story says that the Devil once held a sale of all the tools of his trade. Everything was displayed—keen-edged daggers of jealousy, sledge-hammers of anger, manacles of greed, arrows of covetousness and spears of deception—all available at bargain prices. Nearby was a table holding the more subtle weapons of vanity, fear, envy and pride.

But in a place of honor, framed and set apart from all the others, was a small wedge, marked and dented from frequent use. The name on this wedge was Discouragement, and its price was higher by far than any other tool being sold. Asked the reason for this surprising difference, the Devil explained, "It's because this is the tool I use when all the others fail. Let me get that little wedge into a person's consciousness and it opens the way for everything else! It's provided more opportunities for me than any other!"

The people of Judah, freed from exile in Babylon late in the 6th Century B.C., returned to their land to rebuild the city of Jerusalem and its great Temple. But those who had been living in the land during the interim were not happy with the new arrangement and did whatever they could to discourage the rebuilding. Official letters of accusation, appeals, threats, intimidation, sabotage of the work in progress—and more—all served to slow down the work and even brought it to a complete halt for some sixteen years.

The wedge of discouragement is still as effective a weapon as any the Enemy has in his arsenal. There are shields, however, that offer protection:

~ Patience. God's delays are not necessarily God's denials.
~ Responsibility. Don't blame your lack of progress on others. We are where we are through our choices alone.
~ Courage. Be willing to do what you fear.
~ Wisdom. Be open to reconsidering your goals and revising your plans.
~ A quiet heart. Be at peace. Put the burden down and rest until your heart is still.
~ Faithfulness. Look up. Hold simply to God and to the journey God has set you on.

For the people of Judah 26 centuries ago, the shields held. Work resumed, and the city and its Temple were rebuilt. Strong leadership prevailed. Persistence won the day. Goals were reached, victories won. The wedge of discouragement can slow — but need not stop — the progress of the people of God.

Which shield would help you the most right now?

 

 

Copies of Mike's book You Are Rich: Finding Faith in Everyday Moments, a collection of 60 brief faith-related reflections, can be ordered through Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

Adam’s Other Son

 

Adam lay with his wife again, and she gave birth to a son and named him Seth… (Genesis 4:25)

 

        Why is it that our stars fade so quickly? Political and business leaders disappoint us not just with failed promises but with failed integrity. Heroes of sport lose their luster and move from champion to bum in a moment. Celebrities we idolize are taken down by drugs or scandal. Disgrace claims them long before the grave.

Many years ago I heard Ernest Campbell, then just retired from the pastorate of New York City’s Riverside Church, preach a sermon entitled “Adam’s Other Son.” Its focus was on Seth, third son of Adam and Eve. Abel was dead, slain by his jealous brother. Cain, the murderer, had been banished and was wandering east of Eden. Their parents, Adam and Eve, according to the ancient story, had no one remaining. The human family and the well-laid plan of creation were in jeopardy…until there was born this third child—Adam and Eve’s other son.

        It’s a good bet that not one person in five that you might ask could give you this other son’s name. They might know Cain, might even be fascinated by him—the nomad, the fugitive, free of restraints, wandering the earth. Abel also is known and admired—the patron saint of victims, the good brother who did it right, a decent soul who paid a terrible price for his innocence.

        But they won’t know Seth. And there’s not much to know. All that is said of him is that he married, fathered children and died. Still, the story of faith, of humanity itself, continued because of him. The plan, that grand design that was to follow the road through Ur and Egypt and Sinai and Jordan and Babylon and Bethlehem, was still workable because of him. Seth, the almost anonymous one, became the carrier of the promise, the link to the future.

        Perhaps our stars twinkle only briefly because ultimately every age, every era, belongs to Seth. Perhaps it’s always to be this way, that we depend on the Seths of this world to carry on. Our hope and our future are in the hands of the ordinary person, the obscure, the unknown—and they are the right hands.

        So who are the Seths today?

·         Seth is the one who reads the news but never makes it.

·         Seth struggles with budgets and bills but always finds a way when someone asks for help.

·         Seth is usually home in the evenings, except when volunteering in the community or attending a committee meeting at church.

·         Seth is unfashionably loyal to his wife.

·         Seth is the neighbor who minds her own business but is always willing to lend a hand.

·         Seth seldom rides in limousines.

·         Seth is lost in a gourmet restaurant but gets excited about a fried chicken picnic with the grandkids.

·         Seth’s clothes are undistinguished and his travels are limited, but when they pass the hat for a sick employee or retiring colleague, he always has a twenty to spare.

When Seth passes from the scene, few will notice. A name may be written down, a memory shared, but in a hundred years no one other than God will know. And yet—as Ernest Campbell noted at the conclusion of his sermon—when he enters on the other side, it will be to the sound of trumpets and the shouts of the angels. For it is through Seth—Adam’s other son—that God holds this world together.

Who are the Seths you know? What do they look like to you?

Copies of Mike's book You Are Rich: Finding Faith in Everyday Moments, a collection of 60 similar reflections, can be ordered through Amazon or Barnes and Noble.