Tom Bombadil and Goldberry: A Single Dance

Few pictures of joy and marriage capture my heart as perfectly as J. R. R. Tolkien’s description of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry setting the table for Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and Sam:

Then Tom and Goldberry set the table; and the hobbits sat half in wonder and half in laughter: so fair was the grace of Goldberry and so merry and odd the caperings of Tom. Yet in some fashion they seemed to weave a single dance, neither hindering the other, in and out of the room, and round about the table; and with great speed food and vessels and lights were set in order.

As I look over my 35 years of marriage, I see that God has woven two lives into a single dance. Teckla and I have been woven together in way that has kept us from hindering the other. We complement and enrich one another. We are one.

Of course like Tom and Goldberry, Teckla and I are wildly in love with each other. But it is significant that the picture of grace and oneness Tolkien offers is in the context of Tom and Goldberry serving others. At our wedding, and again and again after it, Teckla and I committed ourselves to serving God and others. I think our commitment to serve is why our lives have become a single dance with Teckla providing the grace, and I the odd caperings.

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God’s Tumbler

G. K. Chesterton said, “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been tried and found difficult.” I think this is true of church too. Church is hard. The church is God’s tumbler where God throws together those he has gathered and lets them rub each other the wrong way until beautiful.

When I polish agates in my tumblers, I will run them for days on a coarse grit and then open up the cans and wash all the grit off, put a finer grit in and start them tumbling again. Often I feel this way about church. Just when I think this friction is over and I have matured enough to love unselfishly, the tumbling and grinding starts again.

After years in the church, seeing the good, bad, and ugly—I understand why Paul was always urging early Christians to be loving, forgiving, forbearing, and patient with one another. If we aren’t, we would jump out of the tumbler and back into the world.

Small churches are often the best tumblers because people can’t just hang-out with people who share their interests and lifestyle. In small churches the rich and poor, educated and uneducated, and Republicans and Democrats must rub shoulders. In our little church, young folks have to get along with old folks. It creates a good friction that tests our love and polishes our character.

When my agates have gone through  the final polish, I wash them and enjoy the smoothness of each stone. I hold each up to the light and marvel at the beauty as the sun shines through.

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A Conduit Attitude

Motivational speakers have always been popular in evangelical churches. The gospel of positive thinking blends easily with the American tradition of self-reliance, self-improvement, and rugged individualism. We see ourselves as a nation that has pulled itself up by its own boot-straps. Even from pulpits, we have been urged to have a can-do-it attitude.

Certainly Paul testified, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” To make this message more marketable we sometimes leave out the “through Christ” part and just focus on the importance of believing we can do all things.  It is true that a positive attitude can be a great help in achieving one’s goals. At games we see fans waving “We believe” signs.

But too often this kind of positive thinking leads to positive arrogance and self-congratulation. Like players winning championship games, we often take center court and raise our finger indicating we are number one.

Instead of a can-do-it attitude, I think we need a conduit attitude. I want to be conduit for God’s grace, love, and power. Being a conduit guards our hearts from pride and ego- centricity. A conduit attitude guarantees that it is God—not us—that touches the lives of the people around us. When grace flows freely through us, our life also becomes a conduit for praise flowing back to God.

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Doctor!

I’m looking for a new doctor—one less judgmental and more open-minded. My old doctor had too many rules about how high a person’s blood pressure and cholesterol should be. He’s always on my case about losing weight and eating better. Why can’t he just be positive? I don’t need all the rules and negativity.

His clinic wasn’t very inclusive and had really old-fashioned ideas about cancer. I can understand people personally not wanting to have cancer, but why shove your opinions down the throats of other people? It should be our choice. We all have a right to our own opinions about what is a disease and what isn’t. It’s relative.

Change is good—and we’ve had a negative view of disease far too long. We don’t need to be so narrow. What gives a doctor a right to call something a tumor? I need a doctor who accepts me as I am.

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A Steep Loving Curve

I suppose lots of fathers want their kids to follow in their footsteps and be interested in the stuff they like. I’m an English teacher and nature lover. Most my boys, however, haven’t shown must interest in literature or nature. I use to teach them the names of plants when we would hike, but stopped after a while. I read books to my kids, but most of them aren’t avid readers. Perhaps they don’t share my interests because they are adopted, but I know biological kids who don’t share their parents’ interests.

But this is not a lament. Instead of withdrawing into my own interests I have let love draw me into theirs. I am a slow middle-aged guy with a bad knee, but I know quite a bit about sprinting because Claude excelled at track. Teckla and I have a one-eyed mealy amazon parrot in our kitchen because Peter got interested in parrots and worked at a bird store. I don’t know much about rap music—Christian or secular, but I have come to appreciate Lecrae and can now recognize a good beat because Dylan has been making beats. My first impression of cage-fighting was that it was a barbaric spectacle, but as Dallas has trained to be an MMA fighter I have learned to recognize a gogoplata and flying back-heel kick.

I’m certainly not an expert in any of these areas, but by embracing the learning curve my life has been enriched. Even so, we learn for the sake of our boys. For Teckla and me it is a loving curve.

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I Hear You

 Recently two of my grown sons have been coming to church with me. These kids have grown up in church so they have worshipped beside me for years. But honestly for most of those years I couldn’t hear them singing. A couple of Sundays ago, however, I was bushwhacked by joy.

Teckla was leading worship, Dylan, Vanessa, and Khloe were a row in front of us, and Dallas was standing beside me. Because we are an older congregation that takes years to learn new songs, the singing wasn’t very loud, so it was easy for me to hear this strong male voice singing next to me. It was Dallas. It was my son. My son!

I tried focusing on worshipping but couldn’t help getting clobbered by joy. I had heard Dallas singing before, but that day I was struck by the absolute goodness of standing before God with my sons and worshipping Him.

I know sometimes sons want to achieve stuff to make their parents proud or happy. But hearing my sons worship was more than enough. Other parents might say their kid won an Olympic medal, was elected to Congress, runs a company, or has bought a huge home, maybe got an Oscar or a Grammy. That’s nothing—nothing! My sons worship the living the God. Nothing can make me richer. No Father’s or Mother’s Day gift is more precious than hearing their voices sing God’s praises.

On that Sunday eternity entered my heart for a moment. I imagined myself standing with my boys before God’s throne singing the Wedding Song of the Lamb.  I saw myself turn to each boy and say, “I hear you!”

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Athens or Israel?

When Paul goes to Athens, he ends up preaching at the Areopagus (the Hill of Mars), a place surrounded by idols and altars dedicated to various gods. Spotting an altar dedicated to the unknown god, Paul proceeds to tell them about the God who created all things.

What he didn’t do is instructive. He didn’t knock down the idols, or even spend a lot time railing against idol worship. He did argue that the Athenians “ought not to think that the Divine Nature is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and thought of man.” Some sneered, but others believed and joined with them. However, the Athenian’s last words were, “We shall hear you again concerning this.”

However, we do find many times in the Old Testament when God’s servants are cutting down the idols. After he was visited by God, Gideon and his men pulled down altars to Baal and Asherah, cut them up, and offered a burnt offering to God. All of this is done before the amazing battle of Gideon’s three hundred. In fact, it may have been a precondition of victory.

So should Christians be tearing down idols like Gideon or wading into the midst of idolatry and proclaiming the gospel like Paul? Are we living in Athens or Israel? Because Christians are confused about this, we make the mistake of engaging in cultural and political wars  against the American idolatry. We bemoan our nation’s drift from God as though we lived in theocratic Israel. We are ready to use Gideon’s axe against Athens’ idols. The result is that few unbelievers say to Christians what was said to Paul, “We shall hear you again concerning this.”

Despite the rich Christian heritage of the United States, we are not a Christian nation and never have been. We live in Athens, and go to church in Israel. And it is within the church that we need to be laying the axe to idols: pride, materialism, ethical relativism, selfishness, individualism, and even church tradition. Too often we get this backward and indignantly crusade against the idols of Americans—and they have many–while tolerating greed, sin, and personal ambition within the church.

And were the church more zealous about cleansing itself of idolatry, more of those in Athens might have ears to hear the good news.

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How I Know

One of the best things in my life is that my boys still talk to me. Some share more than others, but most share more than I ever shared with my parents. I always had a great relationship with my parents, but just didn’t communicate much. My boys call and share the stuff that has gone wrong or the things that are hard. But occasionally the news is good—a promotion or job well-done or hope peeking over the horizon.

And this how I know I love them: what makes them a little happy, makes me a lot happy. I enter into their joy. A couple years ago Dallas won a hard fought grappling match down in Redding. He had this huge and absolutely beautiful smile. That smile is pure gold in my memories. Once Claude won both the 100 and 200 at the county track meet and was named best runner of the meet. He jumped around like a little kid, but my heart jumped higher. Grandma is as bad as me about Dylan who she saw catch the winning touchdown pass in a game against North Bend. She tells the story to complete strangers. And with joy I remember Peter getting crazy on the piano at a recital where he performed his own jazz composition.

In the movie Hook, Peter Pan, played by Robin Williams, regains his ability to fly by finding his happy thought. He then realizes that his kids are his happy thought. For me too. It is not a case of me living vicariously through my children—I have a life and it is a good one. It’s just what love does. We weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those who rejoice.

The openness that allows our children to break our hearts is what allows their successes to bless our hearts. If we shut out the hurt, we shut out the joy.

Yes, I know the answer to every question in Sunday school is “Jesus”, so to be super-spiritual I should have said that Jesus is my happy thought. But I am keeping company with Paul who told believers in Thessalonica, “. . .in all our distress and affliction we were comforted about you, through your faith; for now we really live, if you stand firm in the Lord.” Like Paul, every move my kids make toward God breathes life into me and I really live when they stand firm.

And of course, this is how we know whether we love God: Do the things that make God happy, make us happy? Do we enter into His joy?

 

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Bliss

I’m an educator so I usually regard ignorance as the enemy. But about a year ago I embraced it as a friend: I dropped out of Facebook. I am now blissfully ignorant of what is going on in the lives of many relatives, friends, and acquaintances. I like it, but worry that I may like it too much. Teckla, who is consistently a better person than I, has remained on Facebook.

But let’s put this spin on it. I am simply humble enough to admit I can’t care deeply about a large number of people. I am even less capable of caring about what people ate for breakfast. I work hard just to pray for the people to whom I actually say, “I‘ll be praying for you.” And apart from prayer, I really can’t do much for most of those befriended on Facebook. I probably don’t even do enough for the friends that I see each week.

I suppose there is virtue in simply being informed about the lives of others. But I’m not sure what the virtue is. Perhaps I lack both compassion and curiosity. Or is the bliss of this ignorance wise?

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The Deep End: Swim at Your Own Risk

A few Sundays back our Sunday School class looked at the life of Joseph: sold into slavery by his brothers, accused by Potiphar’s wife, thrown into prison, forgotten in prison, released from prison, made the second in charge of all Egypt, and his reconciliation with his brothers. The lesson book said that from a human standpoint that prison seemed like the worst place for Joseph, but from a divine perspective Joseph was in the best place.

I suggested that we can’t know it was the best place for Joseph in any absolute sense. If we assume God’s absolute control of everything and everyone, then we can, indeed, say God always does what is best and whatever happens is always for the best. This places every human decision to sin under the control and providence of God. It’s all good.

This means that not only was Joseph always in the best place, but Reuben was in the best place when selling his brother and lying to his parents. Of course, this comes close to making God the author of evil or making the accomplishing of God’s perfect plan dependent upon the sins of Joseph’s brothers.

Could God have worked out his plan for Joseph without his brothers’ sinning? If we say no, we limit God. And God’s best for us should never depend on the sins of others. It seems safe to say sin is never God’s will.

What is true is that a loving and powerful God took the regrettable and sinful actions of Joseph’s brothers and turned them to good. Would God’s will have been thwarted if Reuben had acted righteously? No. God is powerful and resourceful enough to work his plan without the help of sin. Within the confines of human sin and decisions, God did what was best for Joseph. But it would have been better if no one had sinned. And I really doubt that anyone acting righteously ever thwarts God’s plans.

The sins of others are never good in some grand providential way—they are always evil and hurtful. Jacob mourned for Joseph for years and Rachel died believing her son had been torn apart by wild animals. This suffering was not a necessary part of God’s plan. What we see, however, is that God works his will despite our sin—never because of it.

Perhaps I am “splitting hairs” as someone is my Sunday school class insisted. From my perspective, I am defending the righteousness and resourcefulness of God. God is holy and never needs our sin to accomplish his will. God is resourceful enough to accomplish his will despite people sinning, but He is also resourceful enough to accomplish his will without us sinning.

I certainly admit that I may be in over my head in these deep theological waters. Or am just splitting hairs? What do you think?

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