More About Serenity

A follow-up to the Serenity Prayer.  I like bite-size bits that I can chew on.  This line in the complete Serenity Prayer, caught my eye.....

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace

Accept

No whining or belly-aching. Take your medicine like a man, stiff upper lip and all that stuff. Accept - period.

Hardships

What else do you do with them? I guess you can just say no. Maybe like Job you can sit down, tear your clothes, pour ashes over your head, and scrape your scabs with a potshard. I have done that figuratively on several occasions. But then I got up, washed my face, changed my clothes, dabbed my sores with some antibiotic ointment and faced and/or dealt with them head on. The alternative is to lay down and let them roll you over.

As the pathway to Peace

Had to think about that one. For those visual folks, I pictured a guy toting a small designer backpack, tripping down Peace's path, sidestepping the ugly, painful, and tragic. Finally he arrives at Peace's front door, ready to enter the blessed rest.

But that is not how my life has worked - don't know about yours. If Mr. Niebuhr lived in this day, what other words might he use.   Wilderness trail, forging forward.  Maybe a tunnel. Hacking your way through the stone of indifference and heartache reaching finally to the spot where you see that small glimmer of gold. Knowing it is gold only by the difference of it and the surroundings.

A spotlight in the dark of night or maybe a cool drink to a thirsting man. Is it not so much a pathway as a before and after picture. I will never fully appreciate that cool drink like that parched man, because I have never in my life been that thirsty. How can I fully appreciate that gold if I have not spent years and years, panning and tunneling through the rock and shale. The ink of total darkness allows us the thrill at seeing that shaft of white light.

Peace cannot exist without hardship. Peace is the absence of......

Serenity

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
As it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
If I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
And supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

Caught you, didn't I? How many of you started to read this and pulled out the hand to catch the yawn that would come from hearing this old but true prayer yet one more time? But, you were surprised when it continued, weren't you perhaps even amazed at the words that followed.

This prayer was written by Reinhold Niebuhr, theologian and political activist, in 1937. It was a preface to a sermon he preached and eventually was picked up by a few newsletters, some even to servicemen in World War II. Of course, most of us know the first few lines. They became the byword or by-prayer for the group Alcoholics Anonymous.

I have a friend that is going through professional and financial upheaval during a downsizing of his industry. To top it off, his 17 year old daughter is having serious health issues. In my prayers for the family, the serenity prayer came to mind and I searched the internet to double-check the words I remembered. I was jaw-dropped amazed to read this original and complete version. I decided to bring it before the class I teach on Sunday's and some interesting comments and discussion followed.

I don't want to make this too long, so I will feed it to you in little bites - one or more over the next few days. Open wide!

Lost Prayers

Lost: Prayer -

If found, please return to me.....

This has been my motto for the past few years. The first thing you do when you lose something is to re-trace your steps. So that is what I did. I re-visited my favorite places to pray. Then I dug up old prayer formulas I had used:

A Adoration
C Confession
T Thanksgiving
S Supplication

Still not finding the key, I re-read books that had been like small doors that opened to my original search for this furtive concept of prayer. Nouwen, Yancey, Swindoll, C.S. Lewis, Tozer, Brother Lawrence, Bounds, Murray, St. Augustine, St. John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila. I was no respector of century or gender - I pursued the Desert Father and Desert Mothers. I sought the prayer disciplines in other faiths - Jewish, Hindu, Moslem, Buddhist. Throughout, I read and read the words of scripture concerning prayer, diving deeply into the Greek and Hebrew.

But I am sad to report, I came out empty. I don't even think empty is the proper word for it. I came out unfulfilled.

I was not so much put off by prayer itself, but of my part in it. I am in a point in my life where I am fully OK with what God has planned for me. I trust Him implicitly. I find that sharing my concern, care, and presence with loved ones in times of trial and tribulation are the best things I can offer. God will lead me into offering more if and when needed.

But somewhere deep inside me I know there is more. I know there is more for me to experience and I have, at times in my life, passed into that realm. But this too seems half empty - as if there is a "thing" I must join God in doing. Part of my mind says He is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent so of what use am I. But my heart tells me that God chose to come to this earth and through His actual death and resurrection, vanquishing sin and death, came to dwell within me in my human form. I think as Christians we have become so self-centered. What we feel in worship, what music speaks to me, what sermon benefits me - those are our main concerns. God does not dwell within my heart to give me warm fuzzies. There is some purpose in our symbiotic relationship and as exemplified in the example of the selfless life of Jesus Christ, it should be not be at all about me. If Satan is truly the Prince of this Earth, might I not be the living, breathing, praying, human vessel of God's spirit at work. Is my prayer, joined with my His Holy Spirit, a blazing sword against the injustice, illness, and evils of this world. As I pray for others am I clothing them in the armour my my intercession and standing before them with a shield against the Fiendish Foe of this earth. A foe that seeks out weakness and distress so easily, that only my diligence and His protection can save those from the Evil One.

The more I think and, you could say intercede, I realize that prayer is not a "nice" or "proper" thing to do. It is not about "me" but "God in me" and that is exactly what I have been searching for.

The more I seek what I lost, the more I realize it can never be found. Because it does not exist any longer. It is as if I was looking for something that was so important to me when I was a child and finding it, I realize it longer has the draw or function it once had.

It will always be precious, but there is so much more to see and do.

Prayer

Lost: Prayer -

If found, please return to me.....

This has been my motto for the past few years.
 The first thing you do when you lose something is to re-trace your steps.
 So that is what I did. I re-visited my favorite places to pray.
 Then I dug up old prayer formulas I had used:

A Adoration
C Confession
T Thanksgiving
S Supplication

Still not finding the key, I re-read books that had been like small doors that opened to my original search for this furtive concept of prayer. Nouwen, Yancey, Swindoll, C.S. Lewis, Tozer, Brother Lawrence, Bounds, Murray, St. Augustine, St. John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila. I was no respector of century or gender - I pursued the Desert Father and Desert Mothers. I sought the prayer disciplines in other faiths - Jewish, Hindu, Moslem, Buddhist. Throughout, I read and read the words of scripture concerning prayer, diving deeply into the Greek and Hebrew.

But I am sad to report, I came out empty. I don't even think empty is the proper word for it. I came out unfulfilled.

I was not so much put off by prayer itself, but of my part in it. I am in a point in my life where I am fully OK with what God has planned for me. I trust Him implicitly. I find that sharing my concern, care, and presence with loved ones in times of trial and tribulation are the best things I can offer. God will lead me into offering more if and when needed.

But somewhere deep inside me I know there is more. I know there is more for me to experience and I have, at times in my life, passed into that realm. But this too seems half empty - as if there is a "thing" I must join God in doing. Part of my mind says He is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent so of what use am I. But my heart tells me that God chose to come to this earth and through His actual death and resurrection, vanquishing sin and death, came to dwell within me in my human form. I think as Christians we have become so self-centered. What we feel in worship, what music speaks to me, what sermon benefits me - those are our main concerns. God does not dwell within my heart to give me warm fuzzies. There is some purpose in our symbiotic relationship and as exemplified in the example of the selfless life of Jesus Christ, it should be not be at all about me. If Satan is truly the Prince of this Earth, might I not be the living, breathing, praying, human vessel of God's spirit at work. Is my prayer, joined with my His Holy Spirit, a blazing sword against the injustice, illness, and evils of this world. As I pray for others am I clothing them in the armour my my intercession and standing before them with a shield against the Fiendish Foe of this earth. A foe that seeks out weakness and distress so easily, that only my diligence and His protection can save those from the Evil One.

The more I think and, you could say intercede, I realize that prayer is not a "nice" or "proper" thing to do. It is not about "me" but "God in me" and that is exactly what I have been searching for.

The more I seek what I lost, the more I realize it can never be found. Because it does not exist any longer. It is as if I was looking for something that was so important to me when I was a child and finding it, I realize it longer has the draw or function it once had.

It will always be precious, but there is so much more to see and do.

Standing on the Promises

In the Bible, is there any more "human" human than Jacob. In fact many of us would think we come out smelling like a rose in comparison. Grabber, thief, trickster are just a few of his names. Yet in the 32nd chapter of Genesis, starting at verse 9, there is a prayer that is the essence of what our soul should and would if it could cry out for....

"O God of my father Abraham and God of my father Isaac, the Lord Who said to me, Return to your country and to your people and I will do you good, I am not worthy of the least of all the mercy and loving-kindness and all the faithfulness which You have shown to Your servant, for with [only] my staff I passed over this Jordan [long ago], and now I have become two companies. Deliver me, I pray You, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau; for I fear him, lest he come and smite [us all], the mothers with the children. And You said, I will surely do you good and make your descendants as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude"

First, Jacob starts out naming God by His name. Second, he reminds God of His promise. In other words, "I am just doing what You told me to do". Then Jacob's soul literally gets on its knees and lays out the unabashed truth. Just how undeserving he really is. Next he goes into gratitude for all he has been blessed with. He starts with remembering his meager beginnings and speaks of an awareness of how much he has now in comparison, thanks be to God. Then he states his request,what he needs from God. Lays it all out on the line. After this Jacob prostrates himself on the proverbial ground and says "I am afraid" He names the fear - his brother Esau - and I can imagine the anxiety is heightened because he more or less deserves what he is about to receive.

Then he he throws in the mothers and children, which many readers see as a bargaining tool or manipulation. Good old Jacob - back to his old tricks! Perhaps, but maybe it was one of the first times Jacob saw beyond himself.

And then the grand finale. God, you take away my children, and where does that leave your Promise. The nation to be fashioned through and by You. You ordained it would go from Abraham, through my dad Isaac and then through me, flawed and undeserving as I am. What happens to that if I die this day? What happens if my kids go with me?

That to me is amazing. I think we jump right over this prayer in our rush to get to the wrestling match Jacob had with the Angel (Lord), and we disregard this passage. His words, to me, prove that Jacob had already wrestled with himself and "cried Uncle". He was no match for Esau physically. Esau was coming with an army of 400 men. Jacob definitely could not stand on his stellar character. But in this prayer, he becomes the man God wants - no needs, him to be.

For folks that have made a mess of their lives, it is difficult to come up against a wall of your bad decisions, missed opportunities, and just plain screw-ups. For those folks who have tried their best, more or less, they come against their walls, as well. Talk about disheartening. But the key in both cases is to name the wall and admit your inability to scale it.

How very hard is that to do, especially for the good guys. Decisions with the best of intentions, circumstances totally out of your control, life sucking events - all make up the mortar and stone of that wall. It is so easy to sit at the base of the wall and just give up and have a pity party of one. But there is a way over that wall and it is a really fairly simple. Name it (the wall) and claim it (your weakness) and rely on Him.

In this case, Jacob slept. No better advice can be given to any of us. Wait on the Lord and He will provide not only the wisdom but the means to deal with the situation. In this case, Jacob drew from the resources God had provided him. He took his blessings and offered them to Essau. Only in praying did Jacob put himself in a place where he could not only see his illness but the remedy thereof.

In my life right now, I am being faced with what seems insurmountable obstacles. Most, not of my doing. A few born of my apathy and/or neglect. And then of course a few bad decisions scattered in for good measure.

I have only one thing to say. Thanks be to God, His help is not based on my worthiness.

Tag You're It

1 Peter 2:5, 9-10
9-10But you are the ones chosen by God, chosen for the high calling of priestly work, chosen to be a holy people, God's instruments to do his work and speak out for him, to tell others of the night-and-day difference he made for you—from nothing to something, from rejected to accepted.

Choseness has been a prevalent thread through my reading lately. It is a hard word for the me to assimilate. I don’t know if it stems from my feelings of “unworthiness” or that most of my life is based on my “choices”. My spouse, my vocation, my education. Even my family size – all more or less choices made on my part. Even my church “work” involves things I choose to do. I sing in the choir and teach a class. My choices, hopefully, based on my talents or gifts, as I see God has equipped me.

But God has “chosen” me. No matter how much I think it – I did not choose God, He chose me. What stands between me and that realization? For one, getting my mind around it. That definitely comes from my basic feelings of unworthiness. A lifelong need to be accepted and always feeling I fall short. I have recently been jarred into coming to grips with exploring the expanse and depth of God’s love for me. Scary and intimidating endeavor for someone whose specialty is humble pie, of the more or less artificial variety.

I think the other problem I have with this choosing thing is that I did not apply for it. Now I don’t mean that I don’t love God and have not accepted Christ’s gift of His life, but there again, I still more or less feel I am in the drivers’s seat. In this scripture, my choseness and special-ness are out of my hands. He has chosen me and given me my title. I am a holy priest and part of a holy nation. A lay minister among many others. Now the stretch might not be so far for me, as I have had a teaching role in the church most of my life. But everyone is in this role, no matter what you do or don’t do in the Body. The name plate is there, your choice is to be in the office or out to lunch, indefinitely.

I am His instrument to do 2 things – work for him and speak out for him. Now, it is clear he needs you and me to do this. He has no voice but ours. He has no body but mine. But what to do and what to tell. He has that covered as well.
Our work and our voices should be a living example, a story of the day and night difference He made in and for for me. He surely did that. From heaven to earth via a manger in a stable. From earth to heaven via a cross. He went from something to nothing, from accepted to rejected.

All this so I could do the opposite. This nothing could be something. Something only because He sought me and bought me, as the old hymn says. His night and day, death and resurrection was for me. So this rejected mound of clay could be molded in the purity and righteousness of His life and death, placing me squarely in the hands of the Potter. To be molded and made into His likeness, giving me His voice and His life. So that I might share it with others.

Rock On!

This Easter season, something jumped out at me. Rocks. You may say it is a reach, but I noticed the word throughout the traditional scriptures of the Easter story. The rocks that would rejoice if his disciples did not, along that palm-strewn entrance to Jerusalem. The rocks that split in pieces when Jesus breathed his last. I could go on, but I want to visit about those first.

Rocks singing hallelujah! Can you imagine. Once I had a close friend that was seriously ill, close to the end of his life. He suffered Alzheimers and I had said my good-byes some time back. However, I had a trip planned out of town to the beautiful hill country of Texas and I hated to leave him and his family at such a difficult time. They urged me to go and I did. My prayer along the way was for God to "nudge" me regularly to pray for my friend and those he loved. I just knew I would get caught up in the beauty of the landscape and forget these folks. But it was just the opposite. Everytime I saw a sunset, viewed a valley, a craggy rock formation, or sat amidst a field of wildflowers, they just screamed at me. I am not exaggerating. They literally praised God and I could not help but join in, lifting the name of my friend and family to Him in the chorus. It was an incredible experience. So I can imagine singing rocks!

The rocks in pieces, I can see that too. If rocks could sing, why wouldn't they be able to grieve. To mourn and wail in the sounds of an earthquake, fracturing and flinging their stony arms abroad, bemoaning the pain of His death. An earth that so celebrated His coming, now so distressed by our ignorance and neglect of its Prince of Peace. Yes, I can see rocks grieving.

Rocks - who'd have thought it. Maybe pet rocks were not such a stupid idea after all.