Thoughts

There's a poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson, written in memory of a friend who had just died. In it he says these words: I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel; For words, like Nature, half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and brain, A use in measured language lies; The sad mechanic exercise, Like dull narcotics, numbing pain. In words like weeds I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold: But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. Although Tennyson's goal was to express how inadequate words can be when we're grieving, he relates something that is simple on the surface, but profound when you think about it: words reveal a part of what's going on inside us. I bring this up because I think we can do so much good just by stopping to listen to others' words in our interactions with them. With that in mind, try to make a conscious effort this week to listen, genuin...

If there's one thing I've found in the last week, it's that my world is smaller than I thought it was. Sickness will do that to you, you know. I've had a cold for the past week, a cold that's halted my normal routine and forced me to understand myself in a different light, if only for the duration of a week's time. Having your ability to work taken from you, or at least hindered, and being compelled to rest, has forced me to stop and think about why I do the things I do. I've found that my very identity comes in large part from what I do, and losing the ability to continue in that mode has ushered inside me a sense of confusion and disillusionment. Some would shrug with a deprecating gesture and wonder why I even bring up the point. "Aren't all males like that?" they might respond. Many are, I'm sure, but not all; and even among those for whom it is true, it doesn't have to be that way. Many men find that their value isn't defin...

One of the most challenging disciplines in all of Christendom is, when practiced, perhaps also the discipline that offers the deepest change: confession. Unfortunately, there is a tragedy about this aspect of our faith; that although it is a practice so freely open to us, there’s something about it that leads us to destroy, not build, intimacy with God. Admitting you’re wrong is probably the hardest thing in the world to do, but it’s something that furnishes real change in our lives, if it’s sincere. Just as importantly, confession is an invitation of truth to inform your life. Over and over in the Bible you see the knowledge and life of God in our lives compared to light and darkness. John says that “Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed” (John 3:19); Jesus calls himself the “light of the world” and promises that those who follow him will “never walk in darkness” (John 8:12); Paul laments to the Corinthians t...

Most of us at one point or another have heard that love is not as much a feeling as it is an action or a choice. Although this must be true for anyone to possibly love those different from us, it doesn’t really reveal how we are supposed to make that choice. What I’m learning is that loving others means learning God’s perspective of ourselves and of others. I say learning, instead of, say, adopting, because ultimately we aren’t the ones in control of that perspective. It’s not our own perspective, it’s God’s. He has to teach it to us. Our role is to be willing to learn it. I think it’s very natural for us to be protective about our ideological space, to cut ourselves off from certain types of people because they threaten our beliefs or morals. When our perspectives shift, though, from one that sees people as a threat or a bother, to one that sees them as people with real fears and needs, our treatment of them begins to change. We become willing to drop our guards, to listen. There’s a ...

I’m going to make a confession. My hope is that you will not see this confession as a sign of weakness, but instead as something that opens up an opportunity for change, like God helps us to see it. Before I make the confession, though, I want to tell a brief story. My friend and I were driving home one day, when I asked him what he thought was the worse type of pain: physical pain or emotional pain. Without hesitating, he answered that it was emotional pain. I think I agree with him. I’ve hurt myself pretty badly before, but there have been few times in my life that I have felt more helpless than when I have felt alone. I’m not alone in this. Some of the most brilliant minds in history have despaired at the deep isolation they have felt. Vincent Van Gogh observed that “One may have a blazing hearth in one’s soul, and yet no one ever comes to sit by it;” Thomas Wolfe lamented that “the whole conviction of my life now rests upon the belief that loneliness...is the central and inevitable...

His name is William, a former soldier purposely withdrawn from civilization. He lives– very simply– on an isolated and forested mountain in the lower Himalayas. It is cold, but the elevation is low enough that there is very little snow. The cabin is small but comfortable, with a generator for electricity and a well for water. He fishes in the calm and shallow river nearby each morning, trying to forget his past, but nagged doggedly by the memories of who he once was. That past presses upon him vivid images, slowly and consistently etching in his mind memories he labors to forget. It has taken from him a dignity for himself he once took for granted. Dignity, however, was not all that was taken. Once married, his past seized that from him, too. It swallowed his whole life, in fact, exacting a toll on him that shone on his very face: though only thirty-five years old, his appearance mirrored that of a man much older. All this was ultimately a result of his need for control. Indeed, contro...

One of my favorite verses comes from James 1:5: “If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault.” I liked it because it seemed like a free wisdom boost, kind of like you get in a Jamba Juice. I doesn’t really cost anything extra, God’s just kind of giving it to you in addition to your salvation. I never really made the connection, though, between that verse and what comes a few chapters later. James goes on to define wisdom in 3:17: “But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere.” When you’re asking for wisdom, then, what you’re really asking for is for spiritual purity and these other godly qualities; so now you come to understand that the wisdom you’re asking for is no mere boost to your faith. Becoming pure, like everything else in God’s economy, costs something. It means letting go of impurity, it means sacrifice. Th...