This hymn is one of my favorites and is a follow-up to my previous post:

My Shepherd will supply my need:
Jehovah is His Name;
In pastures fresh He makes me feed,
Beside the living stream.
He brings my wandering spirit back
When I forsake His ways,
And leads me, for His mercy’s sake,
In paths of truth and grace.

When I walk through the shades of death
Thy presence is my stay;
One word of Thy supporting breath
Drives all my fears away.
Thy hand, in sight of all my foes,
Doth still my table spread;
My cup with blessings overflows,
Thine oil anoints my head.

The sure provisions of my God
Attend me all my days;
O may Thy house be my abode,
And all my work be praise.
There would I find a settled rest,
While others go and come;
No more a stranger, nor a guest,
But like a child at home.

– by Isaac Watts (1674-1748), with the tune “Resignation” (I like the tune a lot as well!)

The ending phrases of this song have long been dear to me. This week, they had new meaning to me since I just got back from a family reunion with lots of people I love. The whole family prepared for the wedding of a pure and joyful couple and rejoiced in the sacred wonder of their union. Then we cleaned up after and “all our work was praise.” In the love of my aunts, uncles, and cousins I felt at home, not striving after an identity based on occupation, intellect, or posessions, just loved and recognized as myself and secure to extend that love back to them. “No more a stranger, nor a guest, but like a child at home.”

At the same time, God has been working on me so that I am becoming aware of how I wander from his ways. This time also showed me how I lust after attention and food. It was a strange tension, this joy at being together, mixed with discomfort at my sinful tendencies, mixed with sadness that the time to  be together was so short. I look forward to the day when the limitations of time  and our sin natures have been wiped away and we can enjoy our family in the Lord. This family will be a family of myriads of people, yet we share intimate joy together, with Jesus forever.

 

Blue Ridge Mountains

At the end of May, I went on a trip to the East Coast. I won’t go into the details, but I felt an overabundance of blessing. Friends and family were generous hosts to me, music was part of each of my stops, and I was able to soak in the beauty of different parts of the country.   One particularly beautiful place was the Blue Ridge Mountains.  As we drove through the green rolling hills, Psalm 23 rolled constantly through my thoughts:

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his Name’s sake.

I did feel full, satisfied, and restored after a stressful semester. This desert-dweller had green pastures a plenty, and though the mountain streams were not still, they were refreshing to the soul. It was easy to be led in paths of righteousness, humbled and grateful that my Shepherd was blessing me so much.

Truly, my whole life has been a blessed one, which sometimes makes me question Why God? Why am I so blessed? Why do I have such a wonderful family and friends, beauty around me, the ability to use my mind to rejoice in creation, the ability to make music? And out of that, another question: Will I encounter a time when those blessings seem to be taken away, when the Shepherd seems distant? Will I suffer?

David the psalmist, whose life was not all daisies and daffodils, gives me reassurance:

Even though I  walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me…

Right now, the valley of the shadow of death is still a hypothetical, but I have little doubt it will come. The psalmist’s testimony is that even in that valley, the Shepherd is there. Our Shepherd Jesus passed through it ahead of us, and he asks us nothing less than to follow in his ways. David himself walked through many dark valleys and found God faithful.

Another question arises: What if I stray? What if I betray the Lord, falling away to earthly pride and comfort like King Solomon? What if I am governed by worldly priorities that tempt me to deny the Lord through silence and inaction, like the disciple Peter? 

I will fear no evil,
for you are with me:
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

The shepherd uses the rod and staff to guide and discipline. So do loving parents:

Whoever spares the rod hates his son,
but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him. (Proverbs 13:24)

And God is love, right?

The Lord disciplines the one he loves,
and chastises every son whom he receives.

It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons…. he disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness. For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it. (from Hebrews 12:3-11)

He is love indeed. Strange isn’t it, that the promise of discipline is a comfort? I have the Lord’s promise that though I stray, I can never cross the border out of the land of God’s faithfulness. He will be faithful to keep me in his paths.

You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.

Now the Psalm comes full circle. I can enjoy the Lord’s goodness, enjoy it even in the presence of enemies. Right now I am in Aspen Colorado, another place of green pastures but also a place that encourages covetousness.  The enemies I face are the subtle ones against which the Apostle John cautions 

Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world– the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world.  

And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever. (1 John 2:15-17)

John’s words echo the psalmist’s. Both end with the promise of “forever.”  No matter what the present and future hold, I can enjoy God’s blessings and feel the holy joy of being his child because I know he will keep me in his will and in his family. Forever.

I can do it    ~ versus ~   By Grace, I can do it

I can’t do it ~ ~ ~ I am weak. He is strong

I’m cool  ~ ~ ~ God has blessed me

I am smart ~ ~ ~ I have a lot to learn and God has protected me in my naivete

I am a good person ~ ~ ~ I deserve death and Jesus died in my stead.

I do good things ~ ~ ~ My Shepherd is leading and guiding me

I should protect myself ~ ~ ~ I should open my heart, even if it means vulnerability

I am gifted ~ ~ ~ God is the Creator of the heavens and the earth. I have miniscule gifts next to his, but I can praise Him with them.

I want to help this person ~ ~ ~ God help this person, and if I can help You help them, give me the wisdom to do so.

 

I can’t become humble by striving to become so. Only by watching Jesus. I trust that my Father’s rod and staff will discipline me, reveal arrogance more and more to me, and lead me on paths of righteousness. Thank God that Jesus fulfills perfect humilty on behalf of His children who trust in Him.

Do you have any contrasts of your own?

It was a May day like this one. The son was bright but gentle through the east window of my parent’s bedroom, just like today. There were four people in the room, my mother, father, the midwife, and me. Mama was on the bed, panting when the pains came. In the midst of a contraction, it was hard to see the intensity that filled all her body, but in between she was remarkably patient and unirritable. In a few hours labor got harder and she was more tired and cried out harder. Suddenly she gave a great desperate cry and the midwife’s arms swooped up and in her hands was a little blue creature with his arms and legs splayed out. He was blue because the umbilical cord was around his neck during labor, but thankfully the midwife kept it from strangling him. Our hearts leapt at the sight of him. Suddenly there was a face to the name, “Micah,” and I realized, wonderingly, that there had been five people in the room all along. My mother was quivering with exhaustion and joy, with eagerness to touch her child. I could hardly wait to hold him and could not take my eyes of him as he was cared for by the midwife, placed on Mama’s chest, and then in my father’s arms. Birth is a holy thing, because life is a holy thing, and that is why we celebrate birthdays! Today seven years ago, my dear brother Micah was born.

My lovely friend Laurel wrote this recently on her facebook page and I begged leave to post it here. It helped me meditate on the infinity of God’s goodness.

not enough

 

by Laurel Rogers

 

 

Good
is too little of a word.

It is truth
in Genesis,
Of all that You spoke
Into existence.

Yes, I think it must fit there
Perfectly.

And perhaps it works
For description of tasty delights,
a quick answer to a greeting
on the sidewalk.
Books worth reading,
And melodic life given
to black notes on a page.

But “good” is too small,
Too incomplete
To complete the exclamation
“God is .”

 

 

 

Philosophers have measured mountains,

Fathomed the depths of seas, of states, and kings,

Walked with a staff to heav’n, and traced fountains:

But there are two vast, spacious things,

The which to measure it doth more behove:

Yet few there are that sound them; Sin and Love.

 

Who would know Sin, let him repair

Unto Mount Olivet; there shall he see

A man so wrung with pains, that all his hair,

His skin, his garments bloody be.

Sin is that press and vice, which forceth pain

To hunt his cruel food through ev’ry vein.

 

Who knows not love, let him assay

And taste that juice, which on the cross a pike

Did set again abroach; then let him say

          If ever he did taste the like.

Love is that liquor sweet and most divine,

Which my God feels as blood; but I, as wine.

 

George Herbert (1593-1633)

 

“God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” — Romans 5:8

This song was written by Gilbert Keith Chesterton, one of the brightest minds of the last century. It was true then in 1906, and it was true during the Bush years when the phrase “from all that terror teaches” had a new meaning.  But now, with the exponential ballooning of governmental power under Obama, I’m holding on to this song.  I’m trying to trust God with my future in a nation weighted with debt — “the walls of gold entomb us.”  I’m trying to trust God with a nation open to the re-invention of morality — “from sale and profanation of honor, and the sword.” And I’m praying that all would turn to God and choose his “living tether.”

Even though he was a clear-sighted critic of the world around him, Chesterton recognized the sin in his own heart. When a newspaper asked several writers to answer the question “What is wrong with the world?” Chesterton answered:

Dear Sirs,
I am.
Sincerely yours,
G. K. Chesterton

So, following his example, I also realize I need to trust God with my own sinful tendencies, trust Him to keep me and help me follow in Jesus’ steps.  Only when individuals recognize their poverty before God, can their hearts change and their nation change.

(Oh, and another reason I like this song is that it has an English Traditional Melody, harmonized by Ralph Vaughan Williams. Bonus!)

O God of earth and altar,

Bow down and hear our cry,

Our earthly rulers falter,

Our people drift and die;

The walls of gold entomb us,

The swords of scorn divide,

Take not Thy thunder from us,

But take away our pride.

From all that terror teaches,

From lies of tongue and pen,

From all the easy speeches

That comfort cruel men,

From sale and profanation

Of honor, and the sword,

From sleep and from damnation,

Deliver us, good Lord!

Tie in a living tether

The prince and priest and thrall,

Bind all our lives together,

Smite us and save us all;

From ire and exultation

Aflame with faith, and free,

Lift up a living nation,

A single sword to Thee.

I finally got around to reading an article by a philosopher and teacher named Mortimer Adler.  He was a  born to lower-class parents, but driven by a love of learning became a great thinker and writer.  He attended Columbia university, read all the classics he could get his hands on, and soon after became an instructor there. Throughout his life he endeavored to help people read great books.  Adler was for many years a pagan, but late in life converted to Christianity.

I just learned all this from Wikipedia. I do not know anything about Adler, except this article, which is one of the most inspiring and convicting pieces of writing I have read in a long time.  Perhaps I will now do the hard work and check out one of his books.

In “Invitation to the Pain of Learning,  Adler debunks our desire for learning to be easy and fun, and rebukes our laziness.  This was convicting to me, because many times this semester I have wished my assignments were easier, blamed my professors for not spoon-feeding me information,  and resented having to work hard in service to others and myself.   Adler rebukes me, quite literally, for acting like a baby in kindergarten.  Learning is painful, girl!  Get over it and get going on it!

Why is learning hard? Surely we can “get an education” without stressing?   Adler points out that there are two possible views of an education:

In one view, education is something externally added to a person, as his clothing and other accoutrements. We cajole him into standing there willingly while we fit him; and in doing this we must be guided by his likes and dislikes, by his own notion of what enhances his appearance.

In the other view, education is an interior transformation of a person’s mind and character. He is plastic material to be improved not according to his inclinations, but according to what is good for him. But because he is a living thing, and not dead clay, the transformation can be effected only through his own activity. Teachers of every sort can help, but they can only help in the process of learning that must be dominated at every moment by the activity of the learner. And the fundamental activity that is involved in every kind of genuine learning is intellectual activity, the activity generally known as thinking.  (Emphasis mine.)

Education is not about learning things.  It is about learning how to think. It is not about faking through the next exam in that class unrelated to my major.  It is about going the extra mile and growing as a result.

And it is hard work.  Adler does not throw out inspirational messages about the delights of learning.  Learning is painful.  It entails striving for something that is “over my head,” when that is difficult and discouraging.  I need to believe it is really worth it.

Whoever passes by what is over his head condemns his head to its present low altitude; for nothing can elevate a mind except what is over its head; and that elevation is not accomplished by capillary attraction, but only by the hard work of climbing up the ropes, with sore hands and aching muscles.

I’m experiencing some of that soreness these days.  I have wept tears over my acoustical physics homework, resented my history paper, wished I hadn’t taken that challenging piano accompaniment job.  (And wished, ungraciously, that I was charging more money for it.)  I have complained and moaned about hard work.  Now spring break is coming and I plan to  seek some rest and refreshment, but I do not want to put learning on pause.  April is ahead of me and it is full of the hard work of learning.  I want to embrace it.

painting by Mandy Budan

Be to me as the sun, and not the moon, dear Lord.

I may gaze on the moon as I am, unmediated.
But it is cold and distant and small.

I need a God who blinds me, as Saul
Who parches and melts and purifies my human strength.

Then like Paul’s, perfect my eyes, Jesus Savior
To see your love and grace and glory, in Your strength.

Spirit, in all my actions I need your piercing fire
To penetrate, surround, and brighten me for yourself.

Never may I hide in my soul’s dark rooms
To think and move and feel by my own reason.

Be to me as the sun, your beauty to my face, my Father,
For from you come whiteness, greenness, and sunsets,

Glorious one.

Addictions are terrible things. When that word comes to mind, we think of alcohol, drugs, and illicit sexual things.  I heard recently about a guy addicted to internet games, another one addicted to online blitz chess.  It is easy even to hold myself superior to those people, but the truth is we all tend to addiction. How about these things for addicive substances:

• Self-pity – Stroking the little me inside, I make excuses for myself and blame others for my problems. What I feel is totally justifiable, right? Mama, how dare you keep making demands on me! I feel sooo overworked.
• Internet – Just one more link, just one more comment, one more check of the Facebook page! I’ll make it quick. I deserve it, right?
• Procrastination – I’ll do it later. Really, I need a break. I work better under pressure anyway. I’m relaxed; I’m not going to stress or worry; that’s obedience to God, right?

The sad thing is, these indulgences, compulsively obeyed, don’t satisfy. From Isaiah 55 and John 6:

Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
and your labor for that which does not satisfy?
Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good,
and delight yourselves in rich food.
Incline your ear, and come to me;
hear, that your soul may live…

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.

God give me your grace, to addict myself to what You give: yourself. Like the song says,

“Give me one pure and holy passion;

give me one magnificent obsession,

give me one glorious ambition for my life:

to know and follow hard after You.”