Color me the New Year’s Grinch. Or maybe just a nod to the cynical side momentarily rearing its head.

Now, I’m not bemoaning celebrations of the New Year or the festivities that abound on New Year’a Eve (tonight). Lord, no. Although everyone who knows me knows I haven’t actually rung in the flip of the calendar for years (decades?). Early to bed, early to rise is pretty much a 365 day practice, with a few exceptions, none of which are associated with Dec 31. No, I think celebrations are a good thing, especially when the thing being celebrated is worthy. What is being celebrated tonight? Well, to be blunt, it’s hope, of which I’m an incredibly big fan. More on this in a moment.

As I mentioned recently in a post, I tend to be a creature of rhythms and patterns. Most people are, of course, as many sometimes refer to them as routines … the things, both small and large, that help us govern our lives and protect us against unwelcome uncertainty or, even, chaos.

Perhaps the most established point of reference in all of this is the arrival of a new year on our annual calendars. Of course, there is nothing distinctive, really, between December 31 and January 1 but the fact that we flip a digit as we will tonight from an 8 to a 9. A year from now we will even get to flip two digits. 🙂

We all know that this is also the time to take stock of what happened during this last year and to maybe think about what lies ahead. These aren’t just days flowing into other days but, instead, a special break in the action, allowing for a pause and reflection.

This is also the time when, typically, people think about New Year’s resolutions, those promises, whether they are in secret or open to the public, whereby some of us dedicate or rededicate to do something differently. I was thinking about this early the other morning as I have a different perspective.

While thinking about it, a phrase came to mind: Hope springs eternal.

I take this to mean that everyone hopes and everyone hopes all of the time. Yes, some have given up on hope which is just another way of saying they have given into despair.  Please don’t take that as being without empathy. I hope (yes, hope) that I never have to experience pure despair going forward. To me, it’s the antithesis of being alive and fully human.

Setting aside a thing like despair, we are always on the lookout for something better. Perhaps momentary bliss or joy at something truly beautiful that has invaded our regular lives, then fades quickly from its lofty perch. Then, we return to earth with a fondness of the memory but on the lookout for a repeat performance, some thing that will make our lives just a little bit better than they are right now.

Enter New Year’s resolutions. As we all know, good things often come to those who work hard. Not always but often. And, sometimes we need a kick start … a push to rev up the engine so as to help bring about those good things.

I may be in a minority but I need to admit that I’ve never been a fan of making these annual resolutions (or promises or fiats). Honestly, I’ve tried once or twice but they don’t work for me. I suspect they don’t work for me because they don’t motivate me and I suspect they don’t motivate me because they don’t make sense. Maybe it’s just me.

So, these resolutions are all about motivation. And, I guess, the flipping of the calendar and some kind of tradition offers enough motivation for many to seek change now and to be “resolved” to make it happen. All power to them! I’m a big fan of motivation, because I’m a big fan of transformation, seeing it as an expression of our creative nature coupled with the “hope springs eternal” element.

But, once that moment of the flipping of the calendar passes, the effect of that singular point begins to lose its significance. There have to be other factors that allow the motivation to be sustainable. The factors that make for a darn good reason to change our behavior or attitude, regardless of the initial push.

In other words, what really changes anyway? We need to institute practices that are, in fact, disciplines that end up reorienting our lives in deep ways.

Cue in diets and exercise, two of the biggies that are used to bring about weight loss and general good health. Most people don’t like diets and exercise (of any substantial nature) because they’re hard and our lives are already hard enough. How many of us have resolved to lose 10, 20, 30 pounds or more and have even busted our behinds to do it, only to see those pounds return with grim fervency? All of that motivation, all of that hard work, gone. Poof! Talk about a demotivation.

Or, maybe it’s about having a better attitude at work or at home with loved ones. Maybe spend less time doing one thing and more time doing another.

All of these attempts and resolutions spring from hope … a hope that good effort will bring about the desired results. Question: How many of us can recall a New Year’s resolution, either our own or of someone we know, that truly succeeded. In other words, just before the flip to another new year, it was said, “Wow. I truly succeeded. My hard work, begun last January 1st produced all of the intended results!” Or, “you know that resolution I set three years ago? Delivered. In spades. It’s the new normal.”

Well, maybe we know of certain examples but here’s where we get to the nitty gritty of my thoughts on the matter.

Are we regularly surrounding ourselves with the kinds of influences that foster positive change? Are we allowing our challenges the kind of transparency that invites close friends and family in so they can be our support network? Transformation is the real goal and it’s also a powerful (if often hidden) desire for most of us.

I know a person who says he can’t change. I suspect this bothers him on many levels for many reasons. I believe he believes things would be better for him and the people he comes into contact with if he could change but he’s so used to the way things are right now that he really can’t imagine being different.

I know a number of people who have changed dramatically and in very good ways. They have substantially changed their attitudes and behaviors. In many ways, they are new persons, although it could really be said that the innate goodness in them was freed up for full expression and the darker parts (inherent in all of us) lost their grip. These are amazing stories. The cause? Motivation. The starting point? A pure act of almost superhuman will.

Neither of these are tied to a new year.

But, many of us aren’t motivated to do a 180. A full makeover. What we want is to tweak the system, hoping that the tweaking will bring hope forward into reality. Such as “I resolve to be nicer this year.”

Regardless of the reason for the desired change or transformation, I think it’s pretty arbitrary to wait until Dec 31 for a launch point. If the thing is a real thing (not just an off-the-cuff thing conjured up to say “I found a New Year’s resolution”), then it hardly makes sense to delegate to Dec 31 the motivation to dive in. If it’s at all meaningful, why not just do it whenever? As I’ve been trying to say, why not let the problem, coupled with the hope for change, be its own motivation?

There are some things in me that are very hard to change. And there are some things in me that I would have thought were very hard to change but it turns out they weren’t as hard as I’d originally thought. And, there are things in me that I thought were very hard to change and it turns out they were hard to change but change they did. In this sense, I can identify at least somewhat with the challenge facing the person I described earlier.

I am a lifelong educator. As such, I’ve placed my focus, always, on how change in the right direction is a good thing (we can debate what a “right” direction is). Life is a series of adaptations to changing circumstances which are, of course, a fundamental aspect of reality. All living things change to meet those circumstances or else they wither. Withering is in the despair category.

My favorite formula for all change is incredibly simple. I didn’t invent it but have found it, without fail, to be spot on in its accuracy. As easy as 1+1=2. It is that three factors need to exist in balance in order for change to occur. They are Vision, Intention (Will) and Means. For our purposes here, Vision can also be referred to as Hope. Intention/Will can be referred to as Motivation and the Means is the stuff we include to assist us, once our hope is matched with our motivation. Shortchanging any one of these can throw the thing out of whack. This is why New Year’s resolutions (and many hoped for changes) fail. We can be strong on hope but lack the will or the means to bring that hope to reality.

One last emphasis. I think a lot of failures occur when we just don’t develop the means. We don’t expand our tool box to include a lot of features to help us. We aren’t in active support networks, which is a huge means thing, that increases motivation when things are tough. In other words, we can think we can pull ourselves up by our own boot straps but when push comes to shove, it’s not enough and the motivation begins to slip and the hope begins to fade.

Oh, one final thought in what has been a stream of consciousness that has so far not touched on issues of faith. And that is, the example and promises of Jesus can offer a vision that is so powerful and alluring that motivation is enhanced immeasurably.  He also offers many of the resources so, in effect, each of the three factors listed above that are required for change are laid out in a supernatural blueprint. You are welcome to agree or disagree!

With all of that being said, I wish each of you who are reading this a new year filled with hope and promise, a new year that will see changes in you that you’ll reflect back upon and say, “it was good!”

Blessings,

Brad

Dear Friends,

I want to wish you all a merry Christmas and thank you for the time you take to read my lengthy reflections. In keeping with the theme of today, whatever your beliefs, I pray that rays of hope and joy grace your lives and that your hearts may be filled with love.

Brad

Our little Friday morning band gathered ten days ago at 7:30am as we do almost every week. Because dear Susan, in whose name and case we began over five years ago, was traveling, Diane and I happily opened our home. There were eight of us as six or so of the other regulars were either also out of town or unable to attend. Regardless of the number, it was a mighty collection of people, most of whom are either facing none-too-small challenges or who are closely connected to others who do. Yet, as always, our gathering was punctuated by laughter and love, appropriate to the counterpoint of the occasional tears which rightfully fall in our midst.

Our leader, Kiki, suggested that Diane and I pick the song which always acts as a connecting bridge between the early fellowship and updates and the core prayer segment to follow. We chose one of our favorite songs of this season and it is to that I turn now.

No one knows the exact date of Jesus’ birth. While there is substantial record of circumstances leading up to and surrounding his birth (and, of course, of his ministry some thirty years later), long tradition has settled on December 25. (Interestingly, Easter has a more concrete place in the annual calendar due to the events of Jesus’ arrest, crucifixion and resurrection being intertwined with the Jewish Passover. In fact, the Last Supper was the Passover meal.) There are all sorts of reasons why we can’t pinpoint the date of his birth but that doesn’t mean a fixed date now is of less relevance. For centuries, we’ve observed December 25 and it still works.

For the public at large, Christmas Day is a holiday in this country and a chance to be with family and friends. It’s normal for children of all ages to open gifts in the morning although some families choose to do that the previous evening. Christmas has become as much a secular experience as one with the obvious Christian overtones. I have some mixed feelings about that but my feelings aren’t all that strong. I’m a fan of celebrating the finer things about what it means to be human, whatever the guise.

Having said that, I do have strong feelings about why I celebrate Christmas, which won’t be a surprise to anyone reading this. Fundamentally, it calls me into a degree of focus perhaps a bit more purposeful than at many other times during the year. I’m a practitioner of rhythms. Rhythms of the day and rhythms of the seasons. Some would say I’m borderline OCD because of how I like patterns. Perhaps patterns are a way of making sense of the chaos of life (certainly my last profession was about thriving amidst potential chaos). 🙂  Anyway, the weeks leading up to Christmas are especially profound in that they bring to the forefront the concept that God chose to invade human space so specially.

I may have mentioned before that, since 2005, I have set aside a three hour timeframe where I can sequester myself, don headphones and listen to the entire rendition of Handel’s Messiah, the masterpiece of putting scripture to music. For me, it is an extended prayer and now a fundamental piece of my patterned Christmas preparation.

I am reminded of this because today is Christmas Eve and the song we sang ten days ago in our little group is best recalled tonight. It is well known and performed in many different ways by countless artists. I have my favorites but it is the lyrics that require me to let all else go for the mighty truths they express. It is, of course, O Holy Night.

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine! 

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

Now, these words will justifiably raise all sorts of questions. Obviously, the promise of a breaking new and glorious morn or a world governed by love and peace can ring flat. Our world is hardly ruled by love and peace and many mornings break seemingly without hope. The world still lies in sin and error pining. (Pining is synonymous with brokenheartedness.)

But, in the fourth line, Jesus appeared and the Spirit felt its worth. In other words, the Spirit of God in the hearts of men were like turbocharged, bringing that thrill of hope.

For that’s what Christmas morning is about. The thrill of hope. The thrill that the one whose law is love and whose gospel (good news) is peace shall triumph. And, in that triumph the chains will break and the slave (of course, we are all enslaved to one degree or another … the topic of a future reflection) will be our brother. Oppression, in this reality, is replaced with compassion and a servant’s heart.

No, the final chapter has yet to be written but the story is being written daily on our hearts with the promise of Christmas morning alive. I see it everywhere. To me, it is inescapable and I have no alternative but to rejoice and join in the grateful chorus.

Count me strange, but I take the resounding “Fall on your knees!” phrase literally as well as figuratively. I have no other posture by which I can face this God who loves me so. But, the cool thing is that from those knees, we rise up in praise and sing with abandon of his power and glory.

Many things distinguish Christmas Eve. We will be going to church later this afternoon, then gathering with some twenty-two family and close friends to feast and celebrate community. Our home is packed with people and dogs; Christmas music and decorations punctuating our spaces. We are most fortunate and it is time to set aside our cares and anxieties, if just briefly, in honor of the one who gives us so much.

If interested, you can find many different versions of this song on Spotify or YouTube. I’m holding out hope we sing it later today.

O Holy Night, thank you. Amen.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Love,

Brad

Yes. Of all the things that made me hang on by a thread at times to the belief that there really is a supernatural and that that supernatural intersects with our world and does so with intention and purpose, it was a singular experience on an early December evening in 1975. An experience that proved the existence of a Supernatural that/who knew who I was and cared for me. Yes. Proof.

Say what? Proof of a miracle? Yes. No other possible explanation.

Oh, you can chalk up this or that occurrence to a miracle (and I do) but so many of those are wide open to skepticism for good reason.

Not this one.

Sorry, skeptics. This one is ironclad. Absurd? Yes. But, I’ll get to that.

I have told this story many times and, now, consistently for over forty years. I’ve told other stories of my powerful interactions with a supernatural reality but, honestly, none hold up to the most careful scrutiny as this one when it comes to evidence of a personal Supernatural.

You see, I had a problem. Not a huge problem, mind you. In fact, in the scheme of things, it has to rank as near the bottom of problematical problems. I mean, against all of the things that are wrong with the world, from illness to wars to natural disasters to you name it, this problem doesn’t warrant a blip on the radar. In fact, when set against all of the problems in my life, neither would it register there. Which makes this particular problem and the experience even more worthy of consideration.

Ok, here was the deal. This was my senior year in college and I’d overcome my first year’s fairly sloppy start to turn into a very good student. I was conscientious and hard working. Living off of an academic scholarship, holding down a job and determined to do well in my classes. So, there was this final exam the next week in a course and the professor was holding an evening review session at 7pm. I lived maybe ten miles from campus and usually got there by hitchhiking during the day. However, one of my roommates, Jack, had this car that was not the most reliable but it beat hitchhiking in the dark. In fact, his car had been struggling with fits and starts recently but we were optimistic it would get us there.

Unfortunately, when Jack tried to start the car, it spit and sputtered but didn’t actually start.

(I need to say something extremely relevant here. I basically did not know how cars worked. Yes, I could change a tire and put oil in when it needed it. But, I grew up with zero experience with the inner workings of automobiles. I knew there were batteries and that a mixture of air and gas would cause small explosions to drive pistons that would make the tires go round. But, how that actually happened held little interest with me.)

At which point, Jack got out, opened the hood and took off the large round air filter that resided atop the carburetor. I stood by him, passively observing. He then got back in the car to try again as I held my position adjacent to the engine compartment. Rrrrrrrrrrrr. Rrrrrrrrrrrrr. Rrrrrrrrrrrrr. Engine sort of bucking and struggling but it did not start.

Things were looking pretty bleak about getting to the review session, which was scheduled to begin in something like 15-20 minutes. I was frustrated and felt defeated. At which point, I prayed.

Honestly, I had come to believe by that point in a supernatural reality, which in my mind was probably manifested in various enlightened beings, some of whom would actually know who I was. The jury was out on a unifying being like a God. Nevertheless, I sought the assistance of this other realm in the manner of a regular prayer. I remember looking upwards into the night sky and praying, “Please. We need to get to that review session.”

Now, this is almost humorous. In the history of prayers, this has to register as one of the weakest and stupidest. Of how much consequence is a review session for an exam? In fact, I’d been a good student and would probably get along pretty darn well without the extra help. But, curiously, that’s not the point, which makes this whole thing even more incredible!

For, as soon as I said my prayer, the most amazing thing happened. A thing that is as vivid now as it was back then. A thing so remarkable on so many levels that I still find myself unpacking it.

Picture Jack with his driver’s door opened, left hand on the steering wheel and the right on his key in the ignition. Picture me, easily able to see Jack and vice versa, standing a few feet away, arms at my side with only one real care at the moment and that was that the engine would start.

When all of a sudden, to my complete surprise, my right arm swept up and across my body, not under my control, and my right hand landed flat on top of the engine mechanism called a carburetor which had laid underneath the air filter but was now fully open and exposed, the engine trying to turn over, making noises and shuddering.

And my palm stuck there. On the open carburetor. I was frozen, unable to move it.

Picture Jack’s face as he witnessed this. See his eyes open wide as he tried to process the fact that his good friend had done something really crazy, his eyes also recognizing the shock on my face. For a brief moment, time seemed to stop.

And, then, the car started. The engine turned over and the car started.

Followed immediately by my right arm sweeping back across my body and returning to my side. I had not intended any movement and was purely a witness to this bizarre situation.

Followed by Jack leaping out of his driver’s seat and yelling at me, “What the &%$* did you just do?! What happened?” (Granted, I don’t remember his exact words or mine that followed but I guarantee I have the gist of it.)

We both stood there in silence until I finally replied and said, still stunned, “I don’t know. All of a sudden my arm just rose up and my hand slammed down on the engine and it scared the &^$* out of me. Then the car started and it flew back.”

Jack thought for a moment and then concluded, “Your hand must have created a seal over the carburetor, cutting off its air supply and forcing a vacuum. There must have been a block in the fuel line and the vacuum created a suction and removed the block. This is crazy.”

“But Jack,” I replied, “I wouldn’t in a million years know how to remove a blockage in the fuel line, and I would certainly not slam my hand down on an engine that’s making sounds and bucking around!” I didn’t do this. All I did was pray.”

So, why am I telling this story? Two reasons.

The first is that, I have never found an alternative explanation for how this happened. This wasn’t a case of spontaneous healing where a valid skeptical response could run something like this: “Well, sometimes the body just heals on its own.” No, this was a highly visible and observable physical phenomenon. And there was a witness. I’ll repeat that there was a witness. That negates any objection that I dreamt it up or was/am lying. Jack saw exactly the same thing I did and was equally astonished. We both related the story immediately afterwards and for years later without change. (He’s a believer to this day.) Another legitimate objection would be that I somehow, subconsciously, knew what to do. As that line of thinking would go, I, knowing how a carburetor was all about mixing air and fuel and thinking that there was a clog, determined that I needed to create a vacuum and the best way to do that was to seal off the top of the machine with my open hand. This falls apart on so many levels as to be ridiculous. I knew none of this and was not in control of my arm and hand, pretty much horrified at what was happening.

The fact is that I was frustrated and resorted to a simple prayer in a kind of desperation. And, immediately afterwards was a witness as my arm and hand did their thing and then flew back to my side, right after the engine turned over and was running fine. Jack’s car never had a problem like that again. I am willing to listen to anyone’s take on the event that does not include supernatural intervention. I’ve never heard any indication that there is one.

So, the first reason for telling this story is that I witnessed and participated in a miracle.

My second reason for telling this story is that in the many years afterwards, when I was largely adrift spiritually, this singular event stuck with me as proof that there is a reality beyond what can be scientifically proven and had solely natural causes. And that there was and is an intelligence behind it all and that this intelligence knows who I am, cares about me and even responds to me. This caused me more than my share of consternation.

As I alluded towards the beginning, this whole episode didn’t measure up to the kind of thing that a Supernatural (I’ll call it God) would pay attention to if you know what I mean. Lord knows I prayed for a lot of things after that and didn’t get anything close to that kind of response. More importantly, I constantly heard the cry of the Jews in their European ghettos as they were dragged into cattle cars, sent to the camps, gassed and incinerated. I saw poverty and illness and discord everywhere. I knew that millions suffered, despite prayers. Where was God? What kind of being was God, anyway?

Why would he show up so vividly for something so trite in my life and be absent or seemingly care-less in the midst of so much that was more important? I just couldn’t resolve the dichotomy.

I have said that I fought God for thirty years. It is told that the ancient Hebrew Jacob (son of Isaac, grandson of Abraham) wrestled with God all night, for which he was renamed Israel, which means something like “he who struggles with God.” I can relate.

That the holy man Jesus, great moral teacher, could actually be God just didn’t make complete sense to me. What was with all of the selective healing, yet allowing evil to run rampant? Prayers? Miracles? It just didn’t compute.

But, throughout, I never forgot that December night. Just because I couldn’t resolve that with all of the rest, didn’t mean God was at fault.

Until I finally made sense of it. At least in my simple mind. It became clear as a bell almost exactly thirty years later at (come to think of it) the same time … about a quarter of 7pm.

In another miracle, I heard his voice and he let me know that he had been with me since the very beginning. He was always there, beckoning, but allowing me to choose my own path.

You see, he had given this very rational and skeptical person proof that there was a supernatural reality where I was cared for. Perhaps the absurdity of the whole thing was a major reason it stuck with me so strongly for so long.

It’s now been almost fourteen years and I have seen and experienced a great deal since then. The fact is that I see God’s active hand constantly. I have spoken to extremely trustworthy and intelligent people who have been party to physical miracles that are beyond comprehension. Yes, I believe that God chose to intervene and cure my very dangerous condition three years ago. Why me, yet allow Shannon to die? I can only conjecture but I won’t go there now.

Do I believe in miracles? You bet. Do I believe God knows me and loves me without condition? Without a doubt. Do I believe that God so intervened in his world that he became man, about which we celebrate in a few days? Yes, I do.

Do I believe God answered a young man’s prayer to help get to a review session by commanding a hand to seal the airflow into a carburetor? Yep. Believed it then and believe it today. I’m pretty sure that Jesus still laughs about that one and that the angels still dance with delight.

And, I join them with laughter and delight that God so loved the world (and me) that he was born in the City of David so long ago. Amen.

I’m here to tell a story. A true story.

But first ….

Do you believe in miracles?

Interesting question. The percentage of Americans who believe in miracles is declining, with the faith increasing that science holds all of the answers. Depending upon the poll, how the question is phrased and the demographic breakdown, still a whole lot of people believe in miracles.

Now, when most people think of miracles, they quickly go to physical healing. For some inexplicable reason, a terrible thing just vanishes, sometimes virtually overnight. Even jaded doctors are left with just a good-natured shrug and, perhaps, a statement somewhat like, “Well, sometimes we just don’t know. The body is a complicated thing!”

But, let’s get back to the question.

I’ve written about this before but had another conversation about it the other day. And, of course, this is the time of year when the better part of over 2 billion people around the world (to some degree) profess belief in a miracle.

Without putting too fine a point on it, let’s just agree that a miracle is an event that cannot be linked to any possible natural explanation. It is outside of all laws of science and nature. By definition, then, a miracle is a supernatural event.

Here, perhaps, is where miracle-believing or God-believing people sort of go, “So what? Of course.” Non miracle-believing and non God-believing people respond with some variation of “There are other explanations and just because we can’t figure it out, that doesn’t mean there aren’t perfectly valid natural solutions. Heck, look how science continues to take the mystery out of stuff! People ascribed all sorts of supernatural causes to things that we’ve long since discovered have very reasonable natural solutions.”

As someone who considers myself quite rational and inquisitive, I don’t submit lightly to claims of miraculous events. I’m a big fan of science and the skepticism that undergirds all real scientific processes. Scientists are rightfully driven to break things down and examine them in the most minute detail, searching for clues that maybe others have missed. They have every right to be extremely suspicious, if not downright put off by quick claims like, “You know, God did that.”

Now, I started this whole reflection and blog process almost three years ago when diagnosed with what I was told was an inoperable condition at the base of my brain that was extremely serious and potentially quite deadly. Top neurologists and neurosurgeons could not explain whey this condition popped up but they agreed that I had a time bomb quietly ticking away smack in the middle of the most complex part of the most complex organ in the human body. Of course, within days or weeks, probably over a hundred people started praying fervently for healing … for a miracle, given that the scientists (gifted neurosurgeons) didn’t have a reasonable solution. As readers of these pages are aware, during that time, I was also close to others who suffered extreme physical challenges, the most tragic of which was when our prayer group leader who fell ill at the same time as I did, died within weeks, despite the prayers of hundreds of people. When my situation was resolved some months later without any reasonable explanation, I know that many people claimed (and still claim) that it was a miracle. That God had cured me. This rankles others for two main reasons. (1) If there truly is a loving God, why did he cure me and allow Shannon (and countless millions of other people over whom hundreds prayed) to die? etc…. And (2) just because doctors couldn’t figure out why it spontaneously healed, that doesn’t mean there was not a natural explanation … see above.

Full Disclosure: I do believe that God’s hand was in my healing (and very possibly in the hand of a woman I know who prayed over me and who said she immediately felt heat leaving my head). But, I also agree that my situation is not “proof” that miracles are real. No.

All of this brings me to a very fine point. As I like to do, I try to whittle away at a question to bring it into focus and to allay any ambiguity. In other words, pick your poison. Choose the most likely explanation.

The primary question, of course, is there such a thing as supernatural? I mean a state of reality that is fully outside of nature, whether that nature is currently observable or not? People who can collectively be termed Naturists or Atheists say no. There are many bright and good people who line up this way. I have respect for their thinking. If we accept my simple definition of a miracle, they would have to conclude that there is no such thing.

The following question, for those who believe in some supernatural reality is, does that reality have intention. In other words, can and does that reality intersect with our own, despite being outside of our own? Furthermore, does that reality intersect with purpose and cause things to occur that would otherwise be completely impossible? Most people line up here to some degree but that doesn’t inherently make them right.

Most people who know me, know that I was long a seeker, a searcher, trying to discover what is really true about the whole shebang. I questioned most things, both consciously and subconsciously. I was always about trying to learn more, see what I was missing, finding holes in popular truths. This obviously made me a “doubting Thomas” as one of Jesus’ disciples is remembered. “No way! Show me the proof!”

After all, I was a son of the Enlightenment, a world-shaping movement that was all about freeing the human mind from the shackles of myth. But, hey, I also had some concept of God, which is why I battled so hard for so many years. To me, the two worlds just didn’t line up. Far more often than not, God was on the losing end.

And, he might have lost if not for one thing.

That thing was the carburetor in the engine of my college friend Jack’s somewhat decrepit old Datsun car.

To be continued.

Well, there are probably many ways to figure this thing out but the fact of the matter is …

I had a large lump that didn’t go away. When it was finally biopsied, there was a mass that I could see on the screen and the doctor could both see and feel. She said it was not a cyst but definitely tissue. She took a sample and the cells were abnormal, the particular characteristics of which would definitely present as possible malignancy. Hence the specialist referral and the MRI, which occurred yesterday.

The online report came in a couple of hours ago and the doctor’s analysis followed an hour or so later. There was nothing there. No mass. No abnormality. No sign of anything amiss. Anywhere. It was just gone.

I don’t pretend to understand all of this. This is the second time something like this has happened to me. I know many people who suffer terribly, despite fervent prayers. I am humbled by the fact that this has occurred again. There was something with the potential to be dangerous and now it’s gone.

Go figure.

I know there will be discussion about exactly what happened. My doctor recommended I have a follow up with the specialist in a month. No problem.

But, for now, I will thank Jesus, who I know to be real, for intervening. I don’t know exactly why. And I will thank the many, many dozens of people who have taken the time to pray for me amidst everything else that goes on in their lives. What a blessing.

I went to lunch at Panera with my friend, Paul, yesterday. The young lady pleasantly took our order. As she was processing it, I asked her name and she replied, “Sarah.” Then, with a smile, I asked her what she liked most about her job. She barely hesitated and then said, “the people.” To which I asked, “and how do the customers treat you?” Surprisingly, she said, “not well.”

I said I was sorry and then asked her how we were doing? Her eyes lit up and a big smile came across her face and she said we were great.

Paul and I ended up talking for a few minutes about how some people suffer terribly but that many of us in our relatively safe and protected culture don’t consider that much beyond the typical challenges faced by close friends and family.

In Sarah’s case, she felt it was ok to admit something to a stranger who, strangely, asked her a point blank question that she’d probably never been asked before. And, then, for at least a few minutes, she felt something opposite, maybe a touch of joy from the personal touch of a stranger.

Lord, help us, once again, to connect with invisible people and show them that they are cared for. After all, that’s a reflection of you, when all is said and done. Amen.

This reflection doesn’t line up naturally with others of the season, although I’ll hazard to say it’s not that far off course. After all, one of the themes of all of these essays is the human spirit and what it means to live lives of significance.

Ostensibly, I want to focus for a bit on Alexandr Solzhenitsyn, one of the giants of the 20th century. Although he died a decade or so ago, he is being memorialized in some quarters this week on the 100th anniversary of his birth for good reason, some of which I’ll get to and try to tie into the general themes of these pages.

Everyone who knows me, knows that I am a reader. Always have been. I guess by this time, I’ve read in the thousands of books, many of which are not particularly memorable while many others are. I would enjoy the exercise of trying to come up with a Top 10, although with a particular slant. I’ve read plenty of just plain great books, many of which are novels, some written by people with the most amazing literary gifts. I don’t consider myself a literary snob, finding some of the fawning done by arrogant reviewers to be pretty worthless. I can be immersed in a captivating story, transported by language and imagery as authors weave their magic, much as I am by music of a certain style and taste. But, I can separate really, really good books from a select few that have actually changed my life. It is to these that I owe special consideration. Not only can I pinpoint  what it was that struck me so deeply at the time, I can trace how that experience was subsequently woven into my consciousness and shaped how I perceive so much about the human condition … politically, socially, culturally, economically, philosophically, spiritually.

The first was Les Miserables, written by Victor Hugo and published in 1862. Its unabridged version which I read in full in the eighth grade and that came to over 1000 pages, spoke deeply into my heart and mind in ways that helped me understand so much of what it means to be human, to struggle, to persevere, to live within a reality of both good and evil, and to know that there is so much more to being human that often meets the eye. Almost coincidentally, that year was 1968 and most of us of a certain age will remember how significant that year was in our history.

The second was John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, published in 1939, receiving both the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize (one of his other great books that still sits on my shelf is East of Eden, for which he won the Nobel Prize in 1962). In Grapes of Wrath, which I read in the tenth grade, I lived the story of the plight of the poor in our country and came to know a degree of suffering that I was not currently enduring, thereby training my heart for deep compassion and my mind for purpose.

The third was Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, published in 1866 and read during my senior year in high school. I grew up in a household devoid of religious practice and any discussion about God. We were largely political but not philosophical. Dostoyevsky opened up a window into the human soul for me, a window which later only expanded (albeit in a circuitous way at times) as I struggled alongside his protagonist, Raskolnikov, in a battle between Good and Evil, the nature of Free Will and the things that both restrict and liberate the human heart.

Each of these three stand out on their own but, collectively, helped mold me as a teen and pave the way into maturity. All dealt with conflict and mirrored the world that I was studying and actively engaged in as a young and idealistic man. They were also expressions of history, aligning with so many other books and sources I was consuming, setting a bedrock of values that meant I could not be a bystander in life. Such would not be an option.

Enter Solzhenitsyn, the famous Russian dissident, whose works exploded on the international scene in the 1960s and 1970s, rocking the world and further exposing the depths to which human beings could go to commit evil. But, they were not just about exposing the evils of totalitarianism. They were also about the nature of the human spirit, where that comes from, and its place is in this life.

I cannot pick a single book out as head and shoulders above the rest but group them together as the fourth major literary influence in my young life. Both novels and documentary, I can easily remember their titles: One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, The First Circle, August 1914, Cancer Ward and, most importantly, The Gulag Archipelago (three volumes for which he won the Nobel Prize in Literature).

The 20th century was witness to the most monstrous evil ever unleashed in the history of humanity. The scale of human destruction defies our sensibilities. We are well aware that violence has always been present in nearly every historical culture, sometimes in the most vicious of ways. What is truly worth noting, however, is that the violence of the last century was a direct byproduct of the quest of powerful societies to achieve utopian ideals. It was the most blatant example of how mankind can rationalize the most contemptible means in order to achieve a given end. And do so without blinking an eye.

Many tens of millions of innocent men, women and children were slaughtered, tortured, starved and forsaken to die early deaths in detention and “re-education” camps in order to feed the tyrannical natures of obsessed leaders. Entranced with the ideas that mankind could make perfect societies, men such as Josef Stalin, Adolph Hitler, Mao Zedung, Pol Pot and others whose names are both familiar and unfamiliar, set about the task of dehumanizing humans in order to create perfectible humanity.

Solzhenitsyn had a front row seat to much of this and his experience and commentary make him to be one of the greatest figures of the 20th century. I feel both blessed and cursed by my exposure to him. Reading Solzhenitsyn, there can be no innocence. There is no escape from the truths of his message. It condemns me to live in a world that is eternally broken, for, just because those men just mentioned are now dead and the horrors of those years are drifting into the pat, the exact same motivations and processes are fully alive today.

Which finally brings me to my point. I knew that Solzhenitsyn (like the formerly imprisoned Dostoyevsky before him) was a Christian, a faithful Russian Orthodox believer. I knew that it was his faith that provided him both the means to weather his years of Siberian imprisonment (the Gulag) in the most bitter of circumstances and the lens through which he made sense of it. But, I had either not known or forgotten the single reason he cited as the cause of these massive tragedies.

He said it was because man had forgotten God.

That’s it.

Oh, in his speeches and letters while in exile and later, after returning to Russia, he gave tremendous support for how and why mankind had forgotten God and what that meant, his conviction was rather simple, while also deeply profound.

Solzhenitsyn was a complicated man and not without his flaws. But, I am extremely grateful that I was exposed to his genius and his voice, crying in the wilderness that this is not what we were designed for.

For, indeed, just as a flower can bloom in the aftermath of devastation and we see the most remarkable examples of what is good about being human amidst unbelievable suffering, hope can flourish in unexpected places. For Solzhenitsyn to survive how he did and go on to electrify the world with his works, is a testimony to hope and how it can and should shape all aspects of our lives, regardless of what we face.

Oh sure, the counterargument will go, man has used God to rationalize enormous evil. Yes but what vision of God are we talking about?

For, the child who was born two millennia ago in a forsaken backwater region and who went on to become the most significant force in human history, is a God of both Love and Justice and is eternal, as are we. Everyone has a right to disbelieve that and there are many reasons why that can make sense.

In this time and place, I do not forget God and am grateful for that gift. I’m thankful for the influences in my life that have led me to this point. For Hugo’s depiction of the nature of Grace and Forgiveness. For Steinbeck’s depiction of what it means to be a human outcast. For Dostoyevsky’s depiction of the internal struggle inside each human being between good and evil. For Solzhenitsyn’s  portrayal of the reality of human degradation in the cause of idealism and how hope can spring eternal.

And for Jesus who continues to reach out to our hearts and minds so that we can best navigate this life in a way that exemplifies what is best about being a human being.

Thank God.

I was listening to a song this morning as I drove to a meeting. It’s entitled Reckless Love. I’ve heard it before, although from different artists.

Growing up, I’d have to say that my musical tastes were at least a little eclectic. My parents weren’t into show tunes or the popular music of the day. Both were raised with an appreciation for classical music which probably led me to take up the violin. Just about the time I learned how to make the thing work like it was designed to do, I discovered pop or rock music. In the many decades that followed, I had my favorites in both genres. I bring this up because, honestly, I didn’t pay that much attention to the lyrics in most rock songs. I liked the music but more often than not, the words made little if any sense. Oh, some made political statements, with which I could identify from time to time. But, for the most part, I just listened passively, enjoying the sounds that I liked and not paying attention to the sounds I didn’t like. I’ll defy most people of my generation to find deep meaning in more than a handful of the anthems from the 60s or 70s (other than a celebration of the drug culture, anti-war activism and the anti-authoritarian bent that is ever present in younger generations).

Of course, I had no idea (or if I had, no interest) in popular Christian music until, all of a sudden, I was a Christian and the words actually made sense. From some aged hymns to contemporary songs, I soon discovered that they were a version of prayer, that had clear themes and messages. One of my delights was/is when the lyrics describe a characteristic of God that I had come to believe through my own experience. When those lyrics were coupled with tunes, voices, instruments, and melodies that I enjoyed, I found that my habits of how and why I listened to music changed.

I may have mentioned that, in a conversation maybe a year or so ago, I was asked why I thought I knew the character of God. When I asked why that would be curious, the response was that God was so vast as to be incomprehensible and that made it impossible to know his character. My reply at the time was something like, “Well, of course, I can’t fully know God but I can certainly know his character just as we can never fully know anyone else (and they’re just people, not God) but we can know their character because the signs are there everywhere.” To me, if you’re in relationship with someone, you get at least some window into their character. With God, to me, the evidence is monumental.

In the late 19th century, a poet by the name of Francis Thompson published a poem with the title of “Hound of Heaven.” (Full disclosure: I had to look this up when I searched for the origin of the term, which I’ve heard many times in the past.) Two giants of British letters in the period afterwards had this exchange about the poem:

G.K. Chesterton: “It is the most magnificent poem ever written in English.” To which J.R.R. Tolkien responded that Chesterton was not giving the poem the credit it deserved. (I love this!)

In his study on the poem, John O’Conor says

“The name is strange. It startles one at first. It is so bold, so new, so fearless. It does not attract, rather the reverse. But when one reads the poem this strangeness disappears. The meaning is understood. As the hound follows the hare, never ceasing in its running, ever drawing nearer in the chase, with unhurrying and imperturbed pace, so does God follow the fleeing soul by His Divine grace. And though in sin or in human love, away from God it seeks to hide itself, Divine grace follows after, unwearyingly follows ever after, till the soul feels its pressure forcing it to turn to Him alone in that never-ending pursuit.”

There are three connected parables that Jesus told aloud to a gathering of self-righteous religious leaders and the castoffs (sinners) of the day. They are recounted in the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 15, and their connection is that each is about “lostness” and foundness.” Of course, they are fundamentally about the character of God. My personal story aligns with the third and best known, the one about the lost (prodigal) younger son but the preceding ones on the lost sheep and the lost coin basically say the same thing.

If you’ll stick by a while longer, you’ll see where all of this is going. 🙂

In the first parable, Jesus says,

“Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

Now, this seems completely counterintuitive. What responsible shepherd would leave 99 sheep unprotected to go and find a single one who was lost? Who forsakes the 99 for the 1?

But, this parable was not designed to stand on its own but to be part of an extended message about God’s relationship with us. If taken to its final conclusion with the father talking to the obstinate elder son, the full picture becomes clear.

God’s love is reckless.

Grace is reckless.

When I heard God’s clear voice in March 2005, I’d never thought to any degree about the message contained in Luke 15. Yes, I’d read it at some point but, just as those songs of my youth really didn’t touch me in any meaningful way, the depth of Jesus’ teaching was lost on me. For good reason.

But, that changed in an instant when I surrendered. Suddenly, in the most vivid way imaginable, God showed/told me that he was always in my life from the moment of conception and that he would not let me go. And, in that moment, the heavens opened up and I experienced the rejoicing that, long pursued and desired, I had finally come home and I was loved beyond compare. Later, after reading the parables and hearing of a description of the Hound of Heaven, I could only say, “exactly. That’s what happened. That’s who God is. Period and end of report.”

I know that there are some people who have known me for a very long time that are puzzled and even turned off when I talk like this. But, it’s impossible for me not to. When you run and avoid like I did, seeking every excuse to hide and somehow always sensing (perhaps just underneath my consciousness) that there was a pursuit going on … but when, at last, I had nothing left and sat down to say I was done, it turned out that the pursuer wasn’t really a hound or even a shepherd but the God of all things who invited me to just look into his face. What indescribable joy!

Here are the lyrics to Reckless Love

Before I spoke a word, You were singing over me

You have been so, so good to me

Before I took a breath, You breathed Your life in me

You have been so, so kind to me

 

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God

Oh, it chases me down, fights ’til I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine

I couldn’t earn it, and I don’t deserve it, still, You give Yourself away

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God, yeah

 

When I was Your foe, still Your love fought for me

You have been so, so good to me

When I felt no worth, You paid it all for me

You have been so, so kind to me

 

And oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God

Oh, it chases me down, fights ’til I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine

And I couldn’t earn it, and I don’t deserve it, still, You give Yourself away

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God, yeah

 

There’s no shadow You won’t light up

Mountain You won’t climb up

Coming after me

There’s no wall You won’t kick down

Lie You won’t tear down

Coming after me

 

There’s no shadow You won’t light up

Mountain You won’t climb up

Coming after me

There’s no wall You won’t kick down

Lie You won’t tear down

Coming after me

 

There’s no shadow You won’t light up

Mountain You won’t climb up

Coming after me

There’s no wall You won’t kick down

Lie You won’t tear down

Coming after me

 

There’s no shadow You won’t light up

Mountain You won’t climb up

Coming after me

There’s no wall You won’t kick down

Lie You won’t tear down

Coming after me

 

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God

Oh, it chases me down, fights ’til I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine

And I couldn’t earn it, I don’t deserve it, still, You give Yourself away

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God, yeah

 

At the end, I’m going to link to a YouTube live rendition of the song, by its writer and chief performer. I just found it today, although I saw them live at a concert earlier this year. It includes a brief interlude whereby he explains the lyrics. If you’re not used to pretty loud and exclamatory Christian music, this may seem quite different and maybe oft-putting. But (and here’s a window into my life now), I’m perfectly at home here. These are no haphazard lyrics. God is real and he loves each of us so much that he will never cease tracking us down and inviting us in. And, perhaps, the harder we resist, the harder we fall. Regardless, to have eyes open to this reality of God’s character is nothing less than completely life changing.

Or, as former slave ship captain John Newton wrote in 1779:

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound … I once was lost but now am found, twas blind but now I see. …

How precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed. …

Twas grace that brought us safe thus far and grace will lead us home.

In conclusion, there’s no better time to consider who God is than this season when we celebrate his arrival here on Earth.

Amen.

Each of us plays many roles. Another way of putting this is that we have multiple jobs. I don’t mean jobs necessarily as our daily efforts to generate income. I mean the things we do that we believe are important and bring value to our lives and the lives of others.

I’m not sure how many of us sort of rank these things in matters of importance. Normally, I don’t. I just go about doing the things (or at least trying to do the things) that reflect my basic principles for living. But, from time to time, I’m reminded that I do have one preeminent job.

Disclaimer: I’m not especially good at this job a lot of the time. Such is the life of a somewhat bumbling apprentice!

For whatever reason, the nature of this job becomes more clear in times of challenge, when the world just doesn’t seem to operate like we’d wish … if we were in control.

In some ways, this reflection is an extension from yesterday’s posting on worry and how we handle it.

The naming of this job may rankle some people and it could puzzle others. I suspect that still others, who share my viewpoints, will agree with me that the performing of it can at times be difficult and, always, requires assistance.

My number one job is to point to God in all things.

So, just saying that in this culture and age can get one pegged as some kind of religious fanatic. Images of an old bearded guy on the street corner, yelling “Repent!” easily come to mind. Our modern sensibilities can be repelled by someone literally saying that God is more important than anything else and that we need to actually behave that way all of the time.

One of the reasons for this reaction is that many devout believers think that putting God above all other things is an exclusionary deal … when it is anything but. This is also one reason that belief (especially belief in the Christian God) is viewed with such suspicion or even derision, and rightfully so.

In my book, just pointing to God, as in the fact of his existence, is not really all that helpful. God is a curious being as he is not easily perceived, especially when the clues are not necessarily all of that in-your-face obvious. More importantly, it’s pointing to who God really is, in essence his character.

And God is a God of Truth and Love. Despite our cultural urges towards relativism, some things are just true and others false. Everyone actually believes this even if they believe they don’t. The key is to sift through all of the stuff and to figure out what truth is worth planting one’s flag in. God is good at helping us do that if we’re willing to listen and learn. And, despite our cultural urge to shape the concept of Love into something of our own making (including, for instance, happiness as the companion to love), this aspect of God’s character is mind-boggling in its enormous implications.

So, our job … my job … is to point to these aspects of God’s character through the ways we live our lives and interact with this world. Of course, this is where I’m sadly just a bumbling, albeit committed, apprentice.

One of the byproducts, however, in focusing on this number one job is that, increasingly and bit by bit, I feel worry dissolving into contentment. Anxiety re-channelled as hope. Fear morphing into trust. Distance replaced by familiarity.

Of course, if you were to graph this, it might look a lot like the stock market. Hey, progress for a time and then a backwards slide. But, here’s the thing about the stock market and a close relationship with God: The trajectory over time is always upwards.

Did I mention I need help with this?

The first line in one of the most famous prayers of all time, the Prayer of St. Francis, is

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

The following lines of that prayer detail how to do that but the point is that it begins with a request for assistance. This is because the doing of it can be a very hard thing.

Now, if someone were to ask me to cut to the chase and say exactly how I should perform Job 1, I would say it would be to try to be a blessing to others, to especially (but not exclusively) those who are broken or suffering. Just as importantly, it is to treat people in ways that are surprising to them. In ways that are kind, compassionate and considerate … out of the ordinary. And, one of the most surprising things to people is when they see someone handle true adversity with calmness and hope, not fear or worry.

I know people like this. Yes, they struggle as we all do but there’s something about them that is radiant in the middle of adversity. This is how I would define faith. It is not a blind belief in an unproved and unseen thing. It is a quiet yet firm resolve that there are greater forces at play than the thing that is being so disruptive at the moment. This faith is based on fact, not conjecture.

I can only hope that when my greatest challenges arrive, that I can respond in ways that others will pause and wonder where that comes from. And that my actions are truly reflective of a heart and countenance that come from God.

I believe that we are all eternal beings and that, when we understand what that actually means, the doors of heaven can open up to us right now in this life, in this place. I’ve seen it with great clarity, which to be honest, is a very big help in doing my job.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Help me to focus on what is really important which is who you actually are and what that means for all of us, whatever our beliefs. As great a leap as it is, help me to have, in some measure, the heart and hands of Jesus, he who best pointed to you and sowed blessings wherever he went. Giving thanks in all things.

Amen.