I’m Not Talking About It

Personally, I would rather do almost anything than talk about it.  Come to think about it, it’s clear no one actually wants to discuss it anyway.

Oh, that doesn’t mean no one has anything to say about it.  Just the opposite is true.  Almost everyone has an opinion.  Many are ready to tell me what that opinion is.

But, if we’re going to talk about it anyway, shouldn’t that mean we could listen to each other?  Just a little?  A discussion involves give and take—statement and argument—with all involved parties listening and contributing.

We seem to have forgotten that.

Perhaps, as I do, you believe that everything you have always known to be true was written from the foundation of the earth.  After all, it was taught you by people you love—people you trust.

We are, each of us, the product of our environment.  Our life experiences to this point have shaped our thought processes.  Our education plays a part; our upbringing does, as well.

Many who read my words have a worldview shaped by God’s Word and a relationship with a Savior God.  Therefore, much of what we believe and teach comes directly from the pages of the Bible.  The words do, anyway.

I wonder though, how often we mess up the application.

We study.  We read.  We buy books to explain what we’ve studied and read.  

And then, we take a passage like this one and misuse it:

Stop and think! Do the innocent die?
    When have the upright been destroyed?
My experience shows that those who plant trouble
    and cultivate evil will harvest the same. *

I’ve seen the ideas in print and heard them voiced.  Something similar has come from my lips.  They weren’t direct quotes from this scripture, but the meaning was very close to it. 

Do you know who actually said the words?  

They came from one of Job’s accusers—a friend, if you will—as he sat and comforted Job with half-truths.  The words were true from his perspective, but were not even close to the truth from Job’s.

And God’s.

It strikes me that those words could even have been spoken by someone as they watched Jesus die on the cross.  There is little doubt people nearby would have nodded their heads in agreement.

If I had been alive, I might have been one of them.  

No.  Would have.  

I would have been one of them.
                                        

The boy came in with his grandmother a couple of weeks ago, toting a wooden box with steel strings stretched across it.  He had a smile pasted on his young face, as if in anticipation of the realization of a dream.

melodyharpWe did our best to help the dream along.  The Lovely Lady aided the young man in selecting some instructional materials, while I promised to have the little melody harp in tune when next he and his grandma came to see us.

The music for this little instrument is not written in notation form.  It is simply a printed diagram which lies under the strings of the harp indicating, by location and progression, the strings to be plucked.  The marks are just little dots which are positioned directly underneath the string to be sounded at any given time.

I noticed something odd about the set-up as the Lovely Lady played the tune to Three Blind Mice, on the day we received the music the boy had selected.

If you are the person making the music, standing over the harp and looking down at it from the front, the diagram makes perfect sense.  The notes, if they are in tune, sound clearly and accurately.  Music flows from the little rudimentary instrument, with no question as to the melody.

Yet, from the top of the tiny harp, the dots line up with the strings not at all.  The lines leading from one dot to the next are upside down and backwards, confusing the pattern.  

There is no way the person on the other side of the harp could use the printed music to follow the tune.  The result would be a halting and mistake-ridden rendition, unrecognizable as the song written by the composer.

Sometimes, we have to move to where a fellow traveler is to be able to see his or her perspective on the journey.

Neither the ministry nor the method of another pilgrim is mine to call into question, simply because my ministry and methods differ. 

Perhaps, it is time for us to talk about it—whatever it is.

Perhaps, as we talk, we need to move to a different vantage point to be able to see the view our brothers and sisters see every day.

Perhaps, instead of listening to our own voices filling the air with what we think we know, we could listen to the voice of our God.

He has seen the journey from the other vantage point.

He even walked it Himself.

 

 

This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he did not sin. So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.
(Hebrews 4:15-16 ~ NLT)

 

“Child,” said the Lion, “I am telling you your story, not hers.  No one is told any story but their own.”
(from The Horse and His Boy ~ C.S. Lewis ~ British novelist ~ 1898-1963)

 

*Job 4:7-8 ~ NLT

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Noonday Bright

The birthplace of Christianity was the tomb.  The birthplace of splendor is desolation.  Spring is conceived in the dark womb of Winter.  And light is inevitably the offspring of darkness.  All this present heaviness of night is surely but the prelude to a better dawn.  The voice of God and the voice of Nature proclaim that the best is yet to be—always, the best is yet to be.
(Robert Cromie)

There is an unseen current of distress which I sense in much of my interaction with folks these days.  From my friends who use their understanding of the Bible to prop up their dim view of the future of civilization, to those who see the changing political landscape in our country—indeed, in the world—as proof of our impending calamity, there is an air of certainty and of finality.

I myself, and no time more than when I sit down to write, have of late been overcome by the melancholy sense of things which have passed beyond recall.  Friends are missing from my life—friends who were here just moments ago.  Family members have disappeared—people I loved and who loved me—never to be encountered again while I breathe this air.

All is dark.  The end will soon be upon us all.

But, is it?  Will it?

I cannot begin to count the number of times in my lifetime I have heard folks predict the ending of this world.  From the same Bible I read and believe, they have found proof of days and seasons, and some, even times.  But, again and again, the day, the season, and yes, even the time has passed and life continues here on this spinning ball.

I do not wish to discount the prophecies cited, but I am skeptical of the ability of any living man to  successfully render an accurate reading of passing events with hopes of naming the day or even the season in which the end will come.

It seems to me that it is not our purpose in this life to look to the ending of time, but to work while we still have it on our side.

springsongBut, I have a different purpose here, a purpose not tied up in prophecy or politics.  The writer of Hebrews suggests we have a responsibility to encourage each other.  He says it is even more imperative as we see the end approaching.  Even more.

Encourage, verb:  Give support, confidence, or hope, to (someone).

I’m ready to be done with the doom and gloom, to move out from under the cloud of defeat and into the light of victory.  That said, it seems we start from a position of disadvantage.  It is dark and cold here in the real world.

In this dark world, where is the light of day to be found?

If you noticed the painting above, you may have had the passing thought: how sweet—a little girl looking at a songbird.

You would be partially right.  There is a little girl.  There is even a songbird.  You would also be partially wrong.

She is not looking at the bird.  The artist’s daughter, the subject of this touching tableau, is completely blind.

The world in which the little girl grew up and lived was permanently dark.  It didn’t stop her from hearing the song of the robin and knowing winter could not last forever.  The barren ground would explode with grasses and flowers; the trees would burst forth into bloom, filling the air with the aroma of their buds.  In the heart of that little girl, who would never see Spring, the glory of that blessed season was already bursting forth.

Spring is conceived in the dark womb of Winter.

I refuse to live in the dark of  night, when all about me is the orange of the sunrise.  I cannot remain in the black grip of sadness, when the joy promised in the morning is already at hand.

Do you hear the robin’s song too?  Are you ready to head out in the early blush of dawn on a road that leads to a noonday bright?

It is not so dark here.  Maybe we could travel together a while.

The voice of God and the voice of Nature proclaim that the best is yet to be—always, the best is yet to be.

 

 

 

For the darkness shall turn to dawning,
And the dawning to noonday bright.
And Christ’s great kingdom shall come on earth,
The kingdom of love and light.
(from We’ve a Story to Tell to the Nations ~ H Ernest Nichol ~1862-1928)

 

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
(John 14:27 ~ NIV)

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved.