The Extreme Limit

“That game was awesome!”  “The dinner was amazing!”  These may be words we often use to describe something we appreciate or enjoy.  However, through overuse of such words, when that which is truly awesome comes along, we run out of adjectives that capture the moment with sufficient potency. 

In his second letter to the Christians in Thessalonica, the Apostle Paul praised them saying, “We ought always to thank God for you, brothers and sisters, and rightly so, because your faith is growing more and more, and the love all of you have for one another is increasing” (2 Thessalonians 1:3, NIV).  In his expression of gratitude, Paul used a word containing such potency that it can be found only here in all of Scripture.  It is a word that leaves me challenged. 

What is translated concerning their faith as “growing more and more” may more literally be rendered hyper-growth.  The word describes a level of development that surpasses the typical and ordinary; it describes a growth that even moves beyond the perceived potential of an object.  In other words, Paul was affirming the Thessalonians as maintaining a faith that continually grew at immeasurable rates far beyond what seemed possible, reaching the extreme limits.

Faith is not a mere set of beliefs, nor a stagnant state of being or abstract way of looking at things.  Faith ought to exist as an ever-maturing, extreme trust in the person of Jesus Christ that compels us to action.  Such trust does not passively develop in isolation and inactivity, but with intentionality and in community.

The Perpetual Present

Time certainly does fly past us with immeasurable speed.  What once seemed like the distant future is now here and will soon fade into the past.  What now exists as our present setting will one day be but a memory.

Often, we carry yesterday's mistakes into today through the form of guilt and shame, while we worry and fret about what might happen tomorrow.  At other times, our minds wander back to the "good ole days," remembering the greener grass and simpler life of times long gone, all the while delaying positive life changing decisions and the embrace of virtue until tomorrow. 

The past and the future are abstract concepts created to describe the passing of time.  Yet that which is concrete and tangible can be found only in the continual present.  The past is gone, the future is allusive, while the present remains perpetually with us.  Our English language remains weak in capturing this reality.  In Greek, however, we find verb forms that speak to this never-ending present tense.  The pages of the New Testament are saturated with verbs that encourage us to remain continually in Jesus (John 15:5), to grow unceasingly in grace and knowledge (2 Peter 3:18), to love perpetually (1 John 4), to live continually in a state of not speaking evil against others (James 4:11), just to name a few.

In other words, our love for God, compassion for others, and kind deeds are not to be merely relegated to occasional events and moments in time; rather, we are called to live in a perpetual state of being where every present moment is an expression of love and grace, and every minute of every day to be enjoyed in the unceasing presence of the Divine.

In his Confessions, St. Augustine wrote, "How long shall I go on saying, 'Tomorrow, tomorrow'?  Why not now?"

The Familiar Stranger

           You drive hurriedly to work running five minutes behind schedule.  In one hand, you hold your favorite coffee.  Your other hand steers the car in and out of traffic, all the while nervously tapping your thumb on the wheel like a pressure valve slowly releasing the built up frustration inside.  You wish the traffic would just move faster!

On the side of the road, a man stands beside his car watching the traffic zoom past with a set of jumper-cables in his hands.  “Poor guy,” you think to yourself, “I wish I had time to help…Oh well, someone else will give him a hand.”  You drive on glancing in your rearview mirror.  The man catches your eye in the reflection.  Something about his posture looks strangely familiar; unable to put a finger on it, you drive on giving no further thought to the unfortunate stranger.

Arriving at work, a woman down on her luck asks for a handout.  Annoyed by the delay, you create a lie, “sorry, I don’t have anything to give you.”  As you walk inside, the wind catches the door; turning to pull it shut, you make eye contact with this woman in unfortunate circumstances.  Something in her eyes reminds you of someone you know.  You rush on, however, to reach the time-clock before it counts you late.

Along the way, you see a co-worker sitting alone with his face buried in his hands, clearly distraught.  “I wonder what’s wrong,” you think, wishing you could answer your own question, “maybe I will find out at the break.”  You walk on quickly opening the office door; the glass in the door reflects the image of your co-worker.  This time, something about his hands reminds you of the homeless woman and the stranded commuter.

Immobilized by this eerie feeling, you turn your head slowly hoping to remain unnoticed.  Upon closer inspection, you see the scars on his wrists; the same scars owned by the woman and the stranded motorist—puncture wounds, deep and round.  Suddenly, an intense flood of emotion rushes over you.  Uncertain of what to feel; you collapse into a nearby chair as you recognize these familiar strangers.  Each one is Jesus.

Jesus said, "whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me."  Today, look for Jesus in the people you encounter.  You never know where you may come across this familiar stranger.

Considering Lilies

It was a beautiful early Spring afternoon a number of years ago.  I thought it would be the perfect day to burn some paper trash in the barrel behind the house.  Having just come through some challenging life situations, this time served as a moment of deep reflection and prayer as I enjoyed the country surroundings.

After getting the fire going, I went inside to get some more paper.  A glimpse out the back window revealed the field ablaze and quickly spreading.  Urging my wife to call the fire department, I flew out the door.  Straight to the garden hose I ran, turned on the water, dragged it to the edge of the fire, and squeezed the nozzle only to find there was no water pressure.  Next came plan B: scurry to the shed for a shovel.  The shed was locked.  So, I turned to the house searching for the key, ran to the shed, unlocked the door, grabbed the shovel, ran to the fire, and started beating at the flames with all my might.

The pattern continued:  beat the flames, flee from the smoke to catch my breath, beat the flames, flee to catch my breath...  The flames continued spreading toward the barn.  I prayed, swung my shovel, and prayed some more.  Eventually, with much of the field consumed, the fire truck arrived, and the firefighters extinguished the remaining flames.

As the excitement waned, I walked around to inspect the damage.  The field remained completely charred and reduced to stubble (did I mention that this happened on Ash Wednesday?).  Thankfully, the barn was spared, but only by a margin of less than two feet surrounding three of its sides.

In a strange way, I found myself identifying with that field as I too was feeling burned out, burned up, and burned by some life circumstances from the preceding months.  As the Spring continued, the field began showing glimpses of life as tiny green nubs started pushing their way through the stubble.  At the same time, God's gentle presence continued healing and growing me.

As summer approached, my brief six month interim position was coming to a close.  Although I was experiencing a great healing within, the stress was increasing due to the uncertainty of the very near future.  The field continued to grow greener and taller.  Eventually, the plants revealed themselves as bright orange day lily blossoms covered the previously desolate backyard.

The unexpected Ash Wednesday observance served as the start to a beautiful parable of my then recent events.  Its meaning came as I reflected upon Jesus' words when He said, “Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin.  Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.  If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith!  And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it.  For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them.  But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well" (Luke 12:27-31).

God has a unique way of taking the damaged and desolate things of this life and making them into something beautiful as we experience God's loving care.

For more reflections on this theme, please click on "Destinatum -- Steve's Art Gallery" to the right.

A Place for Reason

In recent years, many children's movies declare one overt message, "follow your heart."  However, rarely is the question asked, "what if my heart is leading me down a hurtful path?"  For example, my heart may repeatedly urge me to eat that second piece of cake, or just one more drink, yet reason calls me to moderation.  I may desire to lay sedated on the sofa every evening flipping through the endless selection of channels on television, but logic calls me to exercise and expand my mind through reading.  My heart may prod me to betray a friend in order to save face, yet my mind recalls the value of loyalty and friendship.

Rene Descartes concluded that people have an existence beyond the mere physical body evidenced by the reality that we are thinking, rational beings.  He summarized this philosophy in his famous Latin phrase, "cogito ergo sum" ("I think, therefore, I am").  Descartes reflected, "What is it that I am?  A thinking thing.  What is a thinking thing?  It is a thing that doubts, understands, affirms, denies, wills, abstains from willing, that also can be aware of images and sensations."

To merely "follow your heart" is to deny one's existence as a rational, cognitive being and reduces oneself to a mere physical creature prone to whims of passion and actions devoid of sound judgment.  An ancient Hebrew proverb states, "the mind of one who has understanding seeks knowledge."

As Professor Digory in C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia put it, "Logic! Why don't they teach logic at these schools?"

Divine Appointments

            You drive hurriedly to an appointment.  The traffic light changes to yellow, the car positioned right on the brink—that place where you could go either way.  Speed up or stop?  You need to make a split second decision.  Your right foot rapidly moves to the break pedal, bringing the car to a sudden halt; the light remaining yellow for a moment longer.  “I could have made it!” you think to yourself as you hit the steering wheel in frustration.  Regaining composure, you observe the people around you.

            The man beside you adjusts his seat.  Across the intersection a woman uses her mirror to apply the final coats of makeup.  To the right, a nicely dressed young woman talks with intensity on her cell phone.  “Looks important; must be a high-powered business executive closing a deal or checking her stocks,” you think to yourself, “or maybe she is just ordering take-out.” 

            To the left, you hear something like the sound of repeated cannon fire.  Looking, you notice a teen bobbing his head to the rhythm of the bass echoing through the streets.  “Was I really that young when I started driving?”  You ponder in amazement, forgetting the amount of time passed since your sixteenth birthday.  “At least we had good music back then,” you conclude with a gleam of nostalgia in your eyes.  In your mirror you notice the frazzled woman behind you checking her hair, talking on the cell phone, writing vigorous notes, searching through her purse, and hushing the screaming children in the backseat; you offer a prayer, “Lord, help her.”

            The light shifts back to green.  You drive on, never giving another thought to the people you examined at the intersection.  I wonder what would have happened if you just drove through the light, never stopping to notice the people at the crossroads.  Is your life somehow different because of the encounter you experienced?  Did you learn something about yourself in what you observed in another?  Were the lives of the others impacted because you stopped? 

            I sometimes ask myself, how detailed is God?  Does He orchestrate the timing of those intersection encounters?  In a store, does God choose the checkout line for us, ordaining that our lives intersect with another’s in a significant way?  Did God choose our neighbors and co-workers; does He arrange who we pass by on the street?  Is my mail carrier or paper deliverer appointed by God to my house?

            I am not trying to solve the age-old debate of predestination vs. free will, but what if those moments in time where our lives intersect with others truly are prearranged by God?  I imagine our conversations would transform into something more meaningful, our attitudes would shift from impatience to serenity when the cashier orders a price check for the person in front of us, and criticism would give way to intercession.  Perhaps we would speak more boldly, or maybe serve more humbly.

            What if God is that detailed in His plan!  Perhaps life at the intersection can have significance.

Growing

Whenever I drive north of town, a certain field always catches my eye.  On the right side of the road, a couple rows of trees lean quite noticeably to the north, stretching their trunks more toward the big dipper than the noontime sun.  This natural quirk leaves me perplexed.  What caused these trees to grow in such an unusual way?

The question could also be applied to people in a spiritual sense.  What causes some people to grow straight and tall as if stretching toward the heavens, while others struggle to find their direction?  Can we determine the direction toward which our own lives grow?

For plants, the secret lies in growth hormones called auxins.  These hormones cause a plant to bend toward the light and away from gravity.  The word auxin comes from the same Greek word, meaning “to cause growth,” that Peter used in 2 Peter 3:18 where he wrote, “But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (NIV).  Peter’s careful word choice and the verb form he used teach us a great deal about our own spiritual growth:  (1) growth is not optional, it is imperative; (2) growth is not reserved for the future or stuck in the past, it is to occur right now; (3) growth ought to be continual and unceasing; (4) growth is not something that happens passively, we have an active part.

As the trees in that nearby field have grown in the same direction together, much of our spiritual growth takes place as we surround ourselves with others who seek to grow in the same direction.  It remains imperative that we actively place ourselves in environments that enable us to learn more about the Bible, discuss with others what it means to live as a follower of Jesus, gain support from one another in the midst of living life, be encouraged, and encourage others to “grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”  Let’s be people who grow straight and tall as stretching toward the heavens for the glory of God!

The Destination

It was my senior year in high school, the second to last track meet of the year. I had only run the hurdles once before and in fact I wasn’t very good. However, this day I knew would prove differently; it was my last chance before graduating. I wanted more than anything to finish my running career well. I worked harder than ever for this race.

 

Soon, a voice beckoned through the loud speakers, “last call for the 300 meter hurdles, last call for the 300 meter hurdles.” I approached the starting blocks. “Runners to your mark…” “Get set…” BANG! We were off.

 

I strode over the first hurdle without a problem, the same for the second and third. As I rounded the first turn I realized my position toward the front. I found myself a little too excited as I stumbled a little on the next hurdle, but I kept running.

 

Rounding the next turn a few more runners slowly dropped behind. As I approached the final straightaway, I saw the finish line. I took the lead and the gap widened. As I accelerated down the straightaway the fans rejoiced in a majestic crescendo, “steve! Steve!! STEVE!!!”

 

The finish line quickly drew near. As I arrived at the final hurdle, my mind recalled the previous stumble a few hurdles back. “Just don’t trip, whatever you do, don’t trip!” I thought to myself. I stepped to the hurdle, lifted my leg, and left the ground only to return to the track in a heap on the other side. Down I went shoulder first into the asphalt. A hush came over the crowd—the sort of silence which remains so quiet you could almost hear it. Then, in the unison of a well polished choir, the fans displayed their sympathy… “OHHHHH!” I stumbled across the finish line in fifth place, quickly retreating to my own corner of the field to nurse my wounds.

 

Only one thing prevented me from winning the race that day: simply stated, I took my eyes off of the goal. In the spiritual race of life it seems so easy to fall short of becoming the people whom God would intend us to be. Many distractions grab our eyes away from the Goal. Fixated on the obstacles, we stumble and fall, missing out on the victory awaiting us.

 

What is the Goal of the Christian life, this mark upon which we must fix our gaze? Perhaps this is in line with the philosophical inquiry, “what is the meaning of life?” This age-old question remains at the center of debate throughout the centuries with only a handful of philosophers offering answers with any substance.

 

Over the past nearly two-thousand years of church history, the measure of a true Christian has evolved based on geographic location, cultural perspectives, and historical influences. For example, during the age of Roman persecution, the defining mark of a true Christian included martyrdom. A saintly follower of Jesus would certainly stand strong under the most oppressive resistance. After Constantine signed the Edict of Milan in 313 A.D. bringing religious freedom throughout the empire, a new crisis emerged for the Christian. Without the hope of martyrdom, how does one demonstrate complete devotion to Christ? A new aspiration arose as many fled to the desert, giving up wealth, position, and comfort to display their love for Christ in solitude and a new form of sacrifice. As time unfolds, each era and culture brings a new perspective on the ultimate measure of devotion to Jesus. This spiritual evolution seems to be a reality. However, the questions need to be posed, does the true Goal of Christianity change based on one’s setting, or does there exist a universal spiritual climax toward which all must strive?

 

The Apostle Paul painted a picture of a universal aim; a Goal so lofty it seems to be propelled far out of reach, such that only a few saints can touch the fringes, yet it remains offered as something obtainable for anyone. If anyone ever plunged the depths of the spiritual life, thrusting his torso across the finish line while still on this earth, one would assume it to be the Apostle Paul. However, even after many of his great missionary efforts, imprisonments, and writing the majority of our New Testament, Paul in speaking of life’s goal claimed not to have obtained it (Philippians 3:12); yet he was resolved to press on toward this goal with all his might, so much so that he considered all things as dung (, Philippians 3:8) compared to the greatness of this Goal (, from which the English word scope derives). This Goal for Paul was “knowing Christ,” not merely knowing about Christ, nor praying a certain prayer and leaving it at that, but knowing Jesus so intimately that there exists a fellowship through shared suffering, a real experience of the power of his resurrection, and a becoming like Jesus Christ Himself.

 

So often, we tend to settle for a second place Christianity. We assume others will be more holy, achieve more for the Kingdom, serve greater masses of humanity, so we run a little more slowly, train a little less vigorously, and settle for a little more idleness. Yet in so doing, we might just be missing out on a spiritual depth beyond comprehension, a ministry impact that remains world reaching, or a humble service to others, perhaps even to the masses.

 

Maybe we have obtained some of the spiritual measures we or others have set. We might have prayed “the prayer”, or built big ministries, or adhered to what we perceive to be the “correct” political and cultural beliefs. However, when we strive toward the ultimate Goal of truly, deeply, passionately knowing the King of kings we can’t help but realize how far we have yet to run. However, with an end so incredible, there remains no room for settling on second place.