Dear one,
“What’s new?” was a common greeting of my childhood—but is that no longer, at least in my little world. Of course “newness” still holds a very powerful position within our collective heart: “brand new,” “all new,” and “just like new” still resonate deeply within us. Likewise, for decades if not centuries, we have religiously followed “newspapers,” believing that they, or now, “news outlets,” accurately reflected “what’s new.”
Without question, my thoughts here regarding “new” stem from our most recent celebration: New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day—neither of which, for us, differed significantly from the preceding two or three days. And yet, that this was so begs these questions: Is anything new? Or, is our “new year” simply a means of marking the passage of time?
Now I do not intend to be cynical, but what’s new? For instance: In the past seven days, has the circus in Washington D.C. become new? Has North Korea set upon a new trajectory? Have we Americans willingly established new environmental and/or consumer patterns? Or more personally, are my relational and emotional behaviors new—or is it the same old same old?
With these thoughts and questions, my mind turned to Paul’s words in 2Corinthians 5:17:
“[If] someone is in Christ, a new creation; old things passed away, behold new things have come.”
This verse is neither easily translated nor understood, and yet in context Paul had just argued that Christ died on behalf of all, in order that we the living might live for Him and not for ourselves. Thus, our living and dying for Him— given that He lived, died, and reigns for us—is, I think, truly “new.” And this truly “new” is predicated upon a “new covenant,” which is fulfilled, not by what we achieve through sacrifice, but by what God has accomplished through the sacrifice of His Son.
In my mind, this new covenant, still exhibiting marks of the old (Mosaic) covenant, establishes a direction, which posits a decidedly new orientation: from God to us, not from us to God. If I am in Christ, and I believe I am, then the new year before me will be new, as He works within me, so that I will live and die for Him and therefore will live and die for those He loves. With love, to live and die for others ... in our world, this is new.
May you and I become new creations doing what’s new: living and dying for Him; loving as He loves.
Stan
Mystery ...
Dear one,
Sacred Mystery … Sacred Theology: according to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “The task of theology [is] solely to preserve God’s wonder as wonder, to understand, to defend, to glorify God’s mystery as mystery.” Once again, as in days past, this sentence arrested my thinking. Of course, the broader context of his thought are these words: “No priest, no theologian stood at the cradle in Bethlehem. And yet all Christian theology has its origin in the wonder of all wonders, that God became human.”
When I pause to consider Bonhoeffer’s words, and because of his words, when I truly pause to gaze upon that cradle, I find that I am at a loss … dumbfounded … unable to proceed further, except to offer as did the hymn writer: “Let all mortal flesh keep silence”.
My intent here is not to bash Santa Claus—neither the original Santa nor his many iterations, but with thought I am aware that, if we focus upon Santa, then mystery is eclipsed. There is no mystery about Santa: he is fully predictable, and he exemplifies good, moral principles easily codified. Oh, I know the lore: a flying sledge and reindeer; a one-evening-delivery system worldwide; whisking up and down chimneys; and knowledge of who’s been naughty and nice. But somewhere in all of this there is a wink and a nod; the hope of good, playful fun, but the certainty, with adult-like maturity, that Santa and his elves are the figment of the imagination: neither truly historic nor real.
Of course, using a very similar lens, some view Jesus’ nativity likewise; and yet, throughout the centuries and to the present, not a few like Bonhoeffer have spoken and written with utter seriousness regarding that birth. Moreover, they have done so in part, because those primary accounts depict a world of taxation and terror, doubt and death, toil and trouble—so very much our human experience, including mystery. And mystery bespeaks a world beyond our knowledge and control.
Santa’s world is really very safe; Jesus’ world is not. Santa’s world we control; Jesus’ world we do not. Rather, His birth is the startling realization that another world has broken into our world—or is it the realization that our world is not ours, but part of something far greater, far grander, and well beyond our knowing? Mysterious.
Santa’s world promises momentary flights; Jesus’ world portends an abiding goodness and love, addressing our most fundamental human need and longing—a world replete with wonder and mystery.
In awe of His mystery,
Stan
A Faux Pas ...?
Dear one,
Like a potpourri so my thoughts—although hopefully other than the original meaning of that word: “a rotten pot.”
At any rate, this morning I find Paul’s words wafting through my mind: “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do” (Roman 7:19). The immediate occasion for this reminder was a recent social encounter, during which I did not respond as I would want; rather, I stood as adamant, perhaps a living reproach, awkward and silent. Admittedly, this my faux pas was not an egregious failure—in the annals of human history, it will not warrant a footnote of a footnote of a footnote, etc.—but it was a pin-prick reminder that I don’t always do, in fact, I often do not do what I want or think I want.
The further context of this pin-prick are my recent reflections vis-a-vis eminent, Western leaders. Whether I think of our founding forebearers: Adams, Hamilton, Jefferson, and Washington, or their 20th century, English counterparts, the House of Winsor for instance, the view is much the same: in no way diminishing their great, good accomplishments, their lives reveal many faux pas or “false steps,” some of which caused untold grievous pain, others of which were self-destructive.
Our good intentions—irrespective their being grand and noble, or not—often follow a deep-rutted, well-trod path: they begin well but invariably end badly, spawning unforeseen consequences. I don’t mean to be defeatist or pessimistic, or simply melancholy, but our human story is replete with luxuriant gardens going to pot—and if this is touted as natural, something within us protests: “It’s not natural. It should not be this way …”
In these days, some remind us: “Jesus is the reason for the season,” which I do not doubt; and yet, this shorthand tends to mask the reason of His coming: a potpourri of faux pas. That is, our need for Someone from the outside to engender a good which will beget only good. Or, as our friend Scrooge eventually realized—but only because he was visited from the outside—Christmas is not intended to be seasonal:
“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year,” he said. “I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me.”
As the Spirits came for Scrooge’s well-being and reclamation, so too Jesus came for ours.
Seeking to live Christmas,
Stan
A Procedure ...
Dear one,
Remarkable … truly remarkable! This morning, as I experienced an outpatient procedure, I found myself marveling: all about me were bright, well-educated, caring individuals working together, using their skills and expertise, in order that my needs might be well-met. Likewise, all about me were clean, tile floors; curtains for privacy and a just-heated blanket; and of course, the monitors, the drip IVs, and the lines of fluid coupled together, each with its shut-off valve. And I marveled: Who thought to put these together? Whence the resources, and what the transport?
Would that I could describe for you the room in which my particular procedure occurred, but I cannot. After no more than two minutes in that room—I heard that a nearby lake is being stocked with trout—I was gone … somewhere … and returned to a room very like Room #6, my preop room.
Now, you might wonder: Stan, what did you expect? and so you might rightly ask, for in truth, what I experienced this morning is normative for most if not not all Americans. Ah, but what I experienced is not normative for many billions who live upon planet earth. Without question, I know that the two shelves in our home, upon which rest our medicines, contain more palliatives and/or remedies than the various, well-stocked medical clinics I have observed in Bangladesh, Malawi, and Uganda.
For those of us, who have been privileged to travel to regions south of us: Haiti, Honduras, or Brazil; or to realms southeast of us: Cameroon, Sri Lanka, or Borneo, we often return more keenly aware of what we have and of what they have not. However, hopefully that awareness moves us to pray and act and act and pray, knowing that whatever we do will not solve all of the world’s problems, or even those few of which we are aware, and yet, knowing that the good we encourage will undo the evils that exist. Hopefully we do not return assured of our benefits, but rather better enabled to care for the least of our Lord’s brothers and sisters.
Moreover, as I think of the least, and as I think of the present season, surely Mary and Joseph numbered among the least—even as the pastors I have met in Uganda care for the weary couples, the ostracized mothers, the Joseph and Marys of their villages. If I can encourage and equip those pastors, then thankfully they in their turn can encourage those I cannot—and far better than I could.
Blessed,
Stan
Our 2020 Budget
Dear one,
As I anticipate 2020, and with the hope that once again you might help financially and/or in prayer, I would have you know that we are planning three international trips:
· January 14 – February 1: Uganda: 2 pastoral conferences at the Otino Waa orphanage;
· April 29 – May 15: Romania: 1 pastoral conference, and regional teaching;
· July 22 – August 8, Uganda: 2 more pastoral conference also at Otino Waa.
· A total of 51 days of ministry and travel.
Here are our 2020 budgeted costs for Shepherd to Shepherds. If you can help us in underwriting these costs, we will be truly grateful. Below you can find the contribution form.
Airfare for the 3 trips: $4300
Food & Lodging for the 3 trips: $2300
Conference Costs: $3400
Books: $3650
(published, translated, and transported)
Total: $13,650.
A further thought or two:
For the July conferences in Uganda, we desire to help underwrite their cost. That cost is the above stated $3400. We are grateful that Shepherd to Shepherds has already given $3300 toward the January conferences. The Romanian conference is funded fully by Zionsville Presbyterian Church.
If you would like to help financially, the form below should make the process easy. However, please feel free to connect with me via phone or email concerning any questions you might have about Shepherd to Shepherds and the year before us.
Always with a thankful heart,
Stan
Gifts
Preference for the Ministry of ZPC Missions and/or Programs
Please mail this form with your check to:
Zionsville Presbyterian Church Attn: Finance Office
4775 W 116th Street Zionsville, IN 46077
Donor Name(s) ______________________________________________________________________ I / We want to support the ZPC mission/program _____________________________________ We are sending our gift of $_____________________
I/We agree to the following conditions:
Donor shall be entitled to recommend to Zionsville Presbyterian Church what mission fund /program these proceeds are in preference for. Donor understands that any recommendation shall be advisory only, will not be binding upon Zionsville Presbyterian Church, and will not be the sole criteria used by Zionsville Presbyterian Church in determining amounts to be funded for this mission fund / program.
We understand that gifts to the church, with an expression of preference for the above mission fund / program are tax deductible to the extent allowed by law.
We understand that there will not be any refunds.
We understand that the use of the gift is subject to the sole discretion and
control of Zionsville Presbyterian Church.
Donor Signature _________________________________________________________ Donor Signature _________________________________________________________
Knowing ...
Dear One,
On the occasion of my 70th birthday, I was asked:
“Do you have any words of wisdom?”
Pausing, I then offered, “No, I don’t think so.”
As a rejoinder, I then heard, “That’s a true sign of wisdom.”
Whether a sign of wisdom, I’ll let you decide, but that brief exchange prompted me to reflect further:
Nearly fifty years ago, the first Greek sentence I learned was that attributed to Aeschylus :“Know yourself” ( γνῶθι σεαυτόν), advice which I then found sound. However, what appeared first as sound has proven difficult to achieve. That is, the beguiling simplicity of this imperative does not address the equally simple question: How? How are we to gain this knowledge? Is it acquired only through experience, as the Greek verb in this instance implies?
Similarly, in his Institutes John Calvin addressed this same issue:
“Nearly all the wisdom we possess … consists of two parts: the knowledge of God and of ourselves. But, while joined by many bonds, which one precedes and brings forth the other is not easy to discern … Yet, however the knowledge of God and of ourselves may be mutually connected, the order of right teaching requires that we discuss the former first, then proceed afterward to treat the latter.”
Over the years, as I have observed myself and others, when once we first seek self-knowledge, we soon discover that this course becomes a self-centered highway terminating in a narcissistic bog. As Calvin acknowledged, it’s not that we should eschew self-knowledge, not at all; rather, there is a knowing which precedes our self-knowledge and is external to ourselves, whereby we gain a reflective perspective. Or, if you will allow, only when we become selfless—given to something or someone beyond ourselves—do we gain a true self-knowledge.
If you will further allow, Jesus spoke of “self-knowledge,” but in terms of love:
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength … and you shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:30-31).
Here too, as with Calvin, an inter-connection between God and self exists; here too the priority begins with God only to lead to others, including the self; but here, given the first step, an unending triangulation of love follows.
Perhaps, with my 80th birthday, if asked for a word of wisdom, I might reply:
“Love God, love your neighbor, and love yourself—this is the knowledge that lasts.”
I wonder: Where are you in knowing and loving yourself?
Still learning,
Stan
What Child ...?
Dear one,
“What Child is this?” is the opening line to a carol perhaps very familiar to you; a line we regularly hear and sometimes sing at this season. No doubt for reasons nostalgic, I delight in this simple question, but also because the carol appropriately answers: this Child is King, to whom we are to bring laud and honor—and so He is.
Nonetheless, however delightful, this question has been niggling at the back of my mind: What child, if indeed any child, are we celebrating? But if we are celebrating the child born in Bethlehem, do we acknowledge that He became other than a babe? Or, in accord with another delightful Christmas carol, does He remain forever “Infant holy/ Infant lowly”?
Most likely these questions reflect the labyrinth of my own heart and mind, and a longing for something more. It’s not that I do not experience great wonder in the presence of newborn babes, or receive great delight from infants, toddlers, and children; rather, it’s that this Child and His birth are other than the celebration of life or its potential. No, this birth, Jesus’ birth, conveys a message of promise and hope upon a trajectory other than what we perceive as normative.
Perhaps this other trajectory is captured by the wizened Simeon, who, upon taking the eight-day-old Babe into his arms, surely astounded Joseph and Mary as he blessed Him and them:
“This child lies for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed, so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword [Mary] will pierce your own soul” (Luke 2:29-30, 34-35).
Conceivably, while in his arms, Simeon beheld life and potential—this Child was certainly that, but this Child would be one who would become the basis of division and exposé: because of Him, some would rise and others would fall; because of Him, the thoughts and schemes of many would be manifest; and throughout, He would be opposed. Moreover, His mother would experience pain, because of Him. This is what Simeon saw in “this Child,” and his words have rung true throughout the centuries.
The Child Simeon beheld was a real Child, who came because of the dire realities of our world: the rising and falling, the opposition and pain, and the unveiling of the human heart and mind. What Child is this—if not the Child we need?
In awe of this Child,
Stan
Ps. My 2020 plans: Uganda in January; Romania in May; and Uganda in July.
Thanks-giving
Dear one,
You might recall that two portly men addressed Scrooge:
“At this festive season of the year … it is more than usually desirable that …”
Likewise, at this season of the year: Thanksgiving, I find it more than usually desirable to ponder and then act in accord with the meaning and nature of “thanksgiving.” As you also might recall, I am one who delights in words and their morphology. This delight is particularly true vis-à-vis the Greek language, for the Greeks regularly built word upon word, thus providing nuance or meaning not otherwise derived. Such is evident in the word “thanksgiving.”
The Greek word meaning “thanksgiving,” εὐχαριστία (eu-charis-tia), consists of two words: εὐ, which means “well” or “good” (as in “eulogy” or “good word”), and χάρις, which means “grace” or “favor” (as in “charisma”). Thus “thanksgiving” suggests being “well-favored,” with this further understanding: “thanksgiving” has grace at its center, and “grace” is “a benefit conferred freely as an expression of good will” (cf. William Danker), or more commonly, an unmerited or undeserved gift.
For me, “thanksgiving” is my response to what has been freely given without an expected return; or, it is my thankful response in recognition of what I have been given beyond any just desert. But more than a mere response, I find, when I am thoughtful, that thanksgiving is really to be a way of life—a way of living, breathing, speaking, and acting. With thought I confront the question: What do I have, what I have I gained or achieved, apart from what has been given to me? My accomplishments, however great or small, presuppose gifts given—physical, emotional, spiritual, educational, financial, cultural, relational, etc. This is not the question: Have I rightly used what has been given to me?; but rather, the honest admission that first I was gifted, first I was favored, before I could act and achieve.
Some years ago, as based upon Romans 1:21, I concluded that the origin of “sin” is “thanklessness,” that is, my/our unwillingness to give honor and thanks to God. Moreover, I discovered that my heart and mind descend upon a path of darkness, of pride and recrimination, when I cease giving thanks; however, I also discovered that that darkness lifted when I asked: “When, Stan, did you last give thanks?” This, I believe, is more than a psychological technique; no, I believe we were created for both giving and receiving “thanksgiving,” and that the giving of thanks is a gift.
I wonder: Are you thankful?
Thankfully,
Stan
Seeing ...
Dear one,
“A picture is worth a thousand words” … or so we are encouraged to believe. This noted, my intent here is not to debunk this aphorism, but rather to share with you my thoughts regarding the picture above: a young Malawian mother and her child.
Ever since my brief encounter with her, and then her subsequent picture, I have been captured by what I see—or is it that I have been captured by what I think I see? For me, in many ways this young mother reflects so much of what I appreciate about Africans in general. Her eyes and smile evoke life and joy; a simple earnest delight in being alive; an open humility, exhibiting a thankful heart. And of course, the babe at her back, seemingly warm and secure, rests peacefully, accustomed to mama’s movements, comforted by the lilt of her voice.
Moreover, this picture radiates color: the richness of her skin tones; the vibrancy and variety of the green plants and trees; the gnarled bark and the draped, purple and black sun filters; and the various pots: blue, turquois, and broken terracotta. And there she stands, amid a Malawian “greenhouse,” fully natural.
And yet, I must confess, my eye does not readily note the broom in her hand: she had been sweeping the hard-beaten pathway upon which she stood. What other tasks were part of her labors for that day, I do not know; but stooping over, brushing the earth with a three-foot length of bundled thatch was one of them. Nor does this picture show her feet: no doubt she was barefoot, her feet hard and dry from the many kilometers she had already coursed in her young life—and I have no idea her age. Was she eighteen or nineteen, and was this her first and only child? So much I do not know; so much I do not see.
This picture was taken in 2013, and so I now wonder: What has become of her life—more children? Has she lost any of them, or even the one pictured at her back? How has she lived the recurring floods and droughts and malaria outbreaks—and governmental indifference and corruption? I wonder.
About this I do not wonder: no doubt she and I, although very different in so many tangibles, share a kindred spirit: the desire to know and to be known by the One who created us, the desire to love, because He first loved us.
Hoping to see,
Stan
Which path ...?
Dear one,
Which path …?
Last week I wrote of Psalm 23:1-2–and the encouragement I received not many years ago: “The Lord is my Shepherd” may rightly be translated: “The Lord shepherds me.” Therefore, given that He actively shepherds, for the past several days Psalm 23:3 has been rumbling within me: “He leads me in paths of righteousness for His Name’s sake.”
For decades I have viewed this verse and the word “righteousness” through a “legal” lens: such paths would allow me to be right or righteous. However, most recently I’ve returned to a childhood conundrum: “How can a path be ‘righteous’? Aren’t they rocky or hard-beaten, often frequented by deer?” Of course they are, and in certain regards, my child’s question was that of a Hebrew worldview: concrete and practical. Thus a “righteous path” might also be a “good” path: one that is safe and secure, or even straight and serene—a nuance embedded within the Hebrew word “righteousness.” A “righteous” path, then, might truly be “legal,” but at moments more importantly, it might be sure.
Moreover, this practical view of “righteousness” accords well with the Hebrew word for “path,” which depicts an “entrenchment” or a well-used and -rutted trail.[1] Figuratively, such a trail might have the markers or signs of previous generations, but only posted through hard-gained wisdom: “Turn”; “Rock Slide”; “Blind Curve”; “Slow.” Such a path might truly be a good and right path, a path of righteousness.
In our American world, with its legitimate concerns for rights and justice, characteristically we have a multitude of paths proclaimed as “good” and “right”—but how can we know, particularly if they diverge in a darkened wood? For me Psalm 23:3 speaks hopefully to this issue, for it reminds me that our Shepherd leads me “for His Name’s sake.” He is the One who leads me, and He does so fully consistent with His Name—i.e. with His character—which in the Old Testament is the One who proclaimed:
I am “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,” (Exodus 34:6-7); and in the New Testament He is the One who “lays down His life for the sheep,” promising them great abundance (John 10:10-11).
Are you presently seeking the “right path”? If so, trust the Shepherd, who will place your feet upon a firm foundation, safe and secure—a good and righteous path.
In the Way,
Stan
[1] ְמַעְגְּלֵי־צֶ֗֜דֶק Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press), p.722
Rest ...
Dear one,
Only but six years ago did I truly ponder Psalm 23:1-2a: “The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures.” Oh, without question, as a child I memorized these ancient words, but because of their familiarity, I had not approached them as I might other, less familiar texts. However, when I did so, I made a discovery, which has been of great encouragement to me:
Although the King James Version, and most every other English translation since, rendersverse 1 as: “The LORD is my shepherd”, both the Hebrew and the Greek texts read: “The LORD shepherds me.” Admittedly, if someone “shepherds me,” then most certainly that person is my shepherd; nonetheless, a nuanced distinction exists between the two. The prevailing translation: “The LORD is my shepherd” implies a static, almost formal position: this is who He is; whereas, “The LORD shepherds me” depicts one who acts: this is what He does. The stress here is not upon His essential position, but rather upon His actions: He acts on my behalf and does so as a shepherd.
From of this distinction: that He deliberately acts on my behalf, that He guides and directs me, I receive great comfort. Moreover, when I truly give pause for thought and reflection, I know that, because of His Presence, I have never truly lacked—never truly experienced dire destitution. Too true: I have known great physical and emotional pain; at moments I have felt abandoned; and at other moments my desires and wants and needs have become an overwhelming mass of confusion; but even in those moments, somewhere and somehow in the midst, He has comforted, encouraged, and exhorted, all for my wellbeing.
Nowhere in my experience is this more evident than in His, literally, “making me lie down in a habitation of grass.” Presumably “a habitation of grass” is not unlike “green pastures”; but that literalism to the side, of greater import is this: shepherds need to rest their sheep, or more likely, sheep do not recognize their need for rest. Whether their lack stems from stupidity and/or hyper-stimulation, I do not know; but this I know: two days ago I had a twenty-four-hour flu, in part because I eshew rest. Over the past fifty years I have observed: I rest when I become sick. It’s as though our Good Shepherd says: “Okay, Stan, if you refuse to rest, I’ll make you rest …”
I wonder: Are you resting?
Needing the Shepherd’s touch,
Stan
Not yet ... Not now ...
Dear one,
Since last week, “not yet … not now” has been echoing within me—a phrase with a very specific focus: Malawi. As I have thought of Malawi, both in terms of this past summer’s need to postpone and then cancel our planned conferences, I have wondered: When might I return to that beleaguered nation? For the moment I do not know the answer to this question, but when I ask, I simply receive: “Not yet … not now.”
This response I do not find unsettling or frustrating; instead I am saddened: my present cannot be understood apart from Malawi. Because of Malawi, a decades-long desire was rekindled; because of Malawi I began writing “working resources”; because of Malawi, the opportunities to encourage pastors in Romania and Uganda emerged. My present cannot be rightly viewed apart from Malawi; and yet, because of political unrest and the proper aligning of my gifts with their needs, I live with “not yet … not now.”
As a consequence, this uncertainly has led me to ponder afresh Paul’s experience in his relating to those first followers in Rome. At the outset of his letter to them, he noted:
“I remember you always in my prayers, asking that by God's will I may somehow at last succeed in coming to you. For I am longing to see you” (Romans 1:9-13).
Admittedly, his introduction sounds a note of apology: I’m sorry I’ve yet to visit you; but this note is clearly not evident in his final words to them:
“[Since] I have longed for many years to come to you, I hope to see you in passing as I go to Spain, and to be helped by you on my journey there” (Romans 15:23-29).
Without question, Paul’s desire to minister among the Romans was in fact realized—but not as he anticipated. Upon writing to the Romans, he returned to Jerusalem, where he was imprisoned for two years in Caesarea; whereupon he appealed to Caesar; whereupon he was “escorted” to Rome and lived under house arrest. Yes, his longing, his “not yet … not now” was fulfilled, but not as he expected: meaningful difficulties greeted him.
I trust that my “not yet … not now” will not mean shackled imprisonment; but whatever the “meaningful difficulties,” I believe Paul’s affirmation rings true: “I know whom I have believed, and I am confident that he is able to guard until that day what has been entrusted to me”—including my desires (2 Timothy. 1:12).
Not yet,
Stan
Focused?
Romania Ramblings: Mutually Encouraged ...
Dear one,
“Privilege” and “pleasure,” these are the two words I use to describe my recent Romanian experience. As I implied in my previous blog, great was my privilege to relate to twenty-three Romanian pastors. Even now, as I think of them, yet another of these comes to mind: he has chosen to live among children in a destitute setting, most unappealing to many of us, including Romanians, and yet because of his love “for the least of these,” he is willing to live a very “inconvenient” life. Because of his love for Jesus, he loves those discarded by others.
Equally, I was greatly privileged and pleased to relate to and instruct some—rich in heart, mind, and talent—who in years to come will provide timely leadership for the church, and thereby Romanian culture in general. One of these, while working on a Masters degree, teaches flute thirty-five hours a week at a music academy for high school students:
“How long have you been playing?” I asked her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “ten years or so. For a while I wondered: Why did God give me this gift? But now I know—through playing I draw closer to Him.”
“Ah,” I said, “a gift to you has become a gift to many others.”
In response, her eyes and smile beamed a sincere but shy affirmation.
Another of these students, an IT programmer and entrepreneur, noted:
“It seems to me that trends in the US eventually reach Romania.”
“I’ve observed much the same regarding Indiana,” I said, smiling. “Trends begun either on the West or the East Coast are soon woven into the Indiana fabric.”
“Well that I don’t know,” he continued, “but I wish that we Romanians could better anticipate, rather than simply being swept along.”
“Somehow,” I said, “we’re knit together—influencing and influenced by one another— and so my presence among you. Who influences whom? I’ll let you decide.”
He looked at me quizzically.
Because I have been pleased and privileged to share in the lives of gifted and dedicated Romanians, I am reminded of Paul’s words to those first, Roman believers:
“For I am longing to see you so that I may share with you some spiritual gift to strengthen you—or rather so that we may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith, both yours and mine” (Romans 1:11-12).
Who strengthens whom? Who is privileged? I think I know.
Faithfully,
Stan
2019 Romania Ramblings: By the Measure
Dear one,
The day has been relatively uneventful—although I know that it has not been so for some dear to me. I am presently seated at Gate H41: those flying to Sibiu, Romania have just boarded, as have those flying to Dublin, Ireland. In two hours I will fly from Munich to Cluj, Romania, thus completing nearly 24 hours of travel—approximately 20 hours shy of the time required to reach Lira, Uganda.
Truly, my travel here has been uneventful: family members drove me to Cook International (Indianapolis); from there I flew to Chicago O’Hare, and from O’Hare to Munich, approximately 7.5 hours wheels up to wheels down. Moreover, each airport has afforded me the opportunity to read and write in comfort—including Internet and FaceTime access. And of course, the flight from the one continent to the other also afforded a relatively good dinner and the viewing of a favorite movie on my iPad.
Although I’m not deliberately seeking to understate my present experience, I know that my description is lackluster—in truth, rather mundane. However, that this is so has given me pause for thought: How is it that many of us might tend to view my present experience as commonplace—nothing exceptional? What do I now take for granted, which a hundred years ago would have been viewed as a Jules Verne pipe dream?
Yes, you and I have been gifted with many advances and therefore opportunities that are remarkable, but these are not what garnered my attention as we jetted thousands of feet above the Atlantic; instead, Paul’s words gave me pause:
“[Everyone] among you, do not think more highly of yourself than you ought to think, but think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has given” (Romans 12:3).
That is, many have enthused: “What you’re doing, Stan, encouraging pastors, is wonderful—an act of faith.” Whether or not wonderful, or an act of faith, I’ll let others determine, but this I know: just as I have been the beneficiary of many remarkable advances, so too I have been gifted by the faith of so many others—including yours. If advances beget advances, even more so, faith begets faith.
In 30 minutes we will board for Cluj, but I go not alone; for by faith, by yours and that of the many who have preceded us, I will seek to encourage Romanian pastors, theological students, and church leaders with the measure I’ve been given.
Faithfully,
Stan
Romania Ramblings: Hospitality
Sorrow and Joy ...
Dear one,
Almost daily I read these words: “PRAY for Yahweh’s/ Yeshua’s heart.” Apart from being idiosyncratic, this reminder is my paraphrase of Robert Pierce’s prayer:
“Let my heart be broken with the things that break God's heart.”
In part, my modification of his words is an admission that I earnestly struggle to pray as he, the founder of World Vision, encouraged. Mostly I don’t want my heart broken; and yet, as I read and ponder the Scriptures, I am routinely reminded: our Creator’s heart has been and is regularly broken. Moreover, if I truly desire to know that Heart more intimately, as I am wont to think, then brokenness seems the clear option.
However, recently, and not to dull the stringency of that world-vision prayer, it occurred to me: our Lord’s heart is not only filled with sorrow but equally with joy; that these two are not antithetical, but rather are like the confluence of waters. Surely our lives exhibit such: What parent does not know the joyous sorrow/ the sorrow-filled joy of loving a child? What child does not know the breaking heart, either with delight or despair, found in the look or word of a parent? And of course, what we know to be true of the parent-child relationship, we experience almost daily in virtually every other relationship: in friendships and marriages, among neighbors and colleagues.
As I imagined the confluence of sorrow and joy, Mark 6:33ff. and the feeding of the five thousand came to mind: in seeking respite, Jesus and His disciples came upon a further, harried and forsaken crowd. As He looked upon them, He had compassion—His heart broke—“because they were like sheep without a shepherd.” Thus He cared for them both by teaching them—no doubt words of comfort—and then by providing a joyous feast for them: the Greek of 6:39-40 greatly suggests such festivities, and is fully consistent with those who maligned Him as “a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners” (Luke 7:34).
Sorrow and joy flowing together, perhaps not unlike the Psalmist’s view: “Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning” (Psalm 30:5).
If I may, let me encourage you to pray with me, that our hearts may know His Heart, breaking-forth with sorrow and joy, and perhaps both at once.
Praying,
Stan
Ps. In two weeks I will witness again lingering Romanian joy and sorrow: thirty years ago they were freed from decades of communist rule.
After His Heart ...
"Burdens"
Dear one,
“Bear one another’s burdens and thus fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2): in the past several days I have been reminded of these simple words.
Although it might not be readily apparent—and I’m not seeking to insult your intelligence—I am now communicating to you with a greater sense of ease and freedom. That this is so arises from the patience, skill, and knowledge of a dear pastor-friend: he knows vastly more than I do about blogging, emails, Facebook, and the world of the Internet. Most likely he would demur, suggesting that his knowledge and skill vis-à-vis the Internet and social media tools are only the surface of an iceberg; whereas I’m more likely to exclaim: “Iceberg? What iceberg?!”
It’s not that I find communicating with you a “burden,” I don’t; but how to navigate this Internet world—and no doubt you are much more adept within it than I am—has been like an ill-fitting, weighted backpack: I have consistently attempted to adjust or reposition the pack, but with little success. However, my friend has come alongside me, listened to and directed me on numerous occasions, whereupon he finally offered:
“Tell you what. Give me administrative permission, and I’ll come up with a template.”
“Administrative permission”? I thought. How do I do that?
“Go to ‘settings’,” he continued, “ and click on …”
As I have thought about his help, what has been un-easy for me has been easy for him: not a burden. I can hear him say, “Really: not a problem. I’ll get back to you.” And so he did, and so my mind turned to Paul’s admonition: “Bear one another’s burden”; and as it turned, I realized: a burden for one is not necessarily a burden for another. Over the years I’ve had others come to me with difficult requests—difficult for them but not difficult for me. Often their requests have drawn upon my strengths, and as a consequence I’ve happily helped. In this regard, then, their request is not unrelated to Fredrick Buechner’s affirming insight: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet.”
At moments, I gladly help, because I’ve been able to recognize the gifts I’ve been given—and by our Lord’s grace, I am able to bear my sister or brother’s burden. I am glad, but I dare not become proud—I did not choose the gifts I bear.
Gladly bearing,
Stan
August 2019: Shepherd-Thoughts
Dear one,
“The power of a secret is not the secret itself; rather, how the secret alters relational behavior.”
This observation, first gleaned from Edwin Freidman’s, Generation to Generation, I still find helpful even if passé. The larger context of his observation was that of “family systems” and how secrets operate within alcoholic families; but its broader application can center upon any “unseemly secret” held inviolable within the family’s skeletal closet. Perceived as shameful, typically that secret is a sexual or financial indiscretion. The good news: most families, when the secret comes to light, can absorb the impact of the feared shame; the bad news: most families choose secrecy, which leads to patterns of compounded deceit—and the tragedy of the deceiver being greatly deceived.
In my recent reading of an historical novel, I was reminded of this chosen path, the path of secrecy: the protagonist chose not to share a secret with her husband, fearing his response. As a consequence, she withdrew from him, ever so slightly at first, which he interpreted as the cooling of her love for him; he then reacted in kind, and eventually theirs became a very chilled and distant functionality.
Now admittedly, when I began to read of the wife’s chosen path (a path men frequent), I groaned: “I know where this secret is leading and I’d rather not expend the emotional energy as secrecy leads unto secrecy leads unto further secrecy.” But I also knew that the author, as a credible writer, must follow the “natural” course of the secret seed once planted: wild oats and bitter grapes.
Nonetheless, with further reflection, I wondered: How frequently has the God of Heaven and earth groaned, when I have chosen to keep secret a particular thought or action? How many of my relationships have become cancerous or gangrene, because I have chosen to secret or even cherish a little “white lie”? Oh, by these questions I’m not seeking to be naïve, simplistic, or insensitive: dumping my truckload upon every unsuspecting bystander; but I am reminded of John’s word: “[The] light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light” (John 3:19), in combination with Paul’s admonition: “[Speaking] the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ” (Ephesians 4:15).
Increasingly, may you and I chose the light, whom I believe is Jesus, and may He grant us the wherewithal to speak in love as He did and does.
Faithfully,
Stan