Posts Tagged ‘compassionate

04
Nov
20

Listening to the Dogs, Part II: Paying Attention

This is our dog, Patrick.

Patrick is a four-and-a-half-year-old Soft-Coated Wheaten Terrier. He is the father of our other Wheaten, Rosie girl. 

Our nickname for Patrick is “Ever Vigilant.” We gave him that name because nothing… NOTHING… escapes Patrick’s notice. Here you see Patrick making a close inspection of a sewer we have walked by at least a hundred times… checking to make sure there are no threats or critters to be tended to.

Joan and I learned long ago not to expect brisk, breezy walks with Patrick. That’s because everything Patrick passes has to be carefully sniffed, inspected, and checked out. 

You know… just in case. 

Of course, Patrick’s vigilance can sometimes be taken a bit too far. His inability to let his guard down – even for a moment – must get a little wearying. He often jumps at the slightest noise or visual distraction.

But you know what? Sometimes I wish I were a little more like Patrick.

I wish I noticed more of what is happening in the world around me. 

Sometimes I catch myself wondering if I have lost that child-like ability to gaze in wonder at the seemingly mundane pieces of God’s astonishing creation that surround me every day.  

Even though I’ve seen them a zillion times, I feel as if I should still possess the capacity to be fascinated by the green of the grass, the puffiness of the clouds, the sound of the breeze blowing past me, and the smell of an approaching thunderstorm. 

Too often, I am sad to confess, I go through the world with my head down, ears closed, mind absorbed with something or someone that waits for me somewhere down the road… ignoring the splendor of the path I walk. 

Sometimes – in those distracted moments – I am jarred awake. And when that happens… when I find myself with eyes and ears suddenly wide open, I remember. 

I remember that I am blessed (we ALL are blessed) to live in a world that is DRENCHED in wonder… dripping with miraculousness… alive with mystery and splendor.

In that moment, if I tune in very carefully, I also remember that the God who created every one of us is also paying exquisite attention. 

I remember that nothing escapes God’s notice. As vigilant as Patrick is, God is a thousand times more vigilant. As the old church hymn says, “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.” 

But then sometimes, in the midst of a personal struggle, or when confronting any kind of widespread social injustice, I catch myself saying, “Well, God must be asleep at the switch. Surely, if God had been aware of that, it wouldn’t have happened.” 

But then I remember the words of the Psalmist who said, “He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber. He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep,” (Psalm 121:3-4, NRSV) and I am humbled.

God sees.

God knows.

Nothing is insignificant in God’s eyes. Jesus reminded us of that when he said, “Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” (Matthew 6:26, NRSV). 

God also cares more about the fine details of our daily lives than you and I can possibly imagine.

So today, be at peace. Notice the glory of the world right in front of you. [Actually, these words are much more intended to be spoken into the bathroom mirror to myself than to you. But if they speak to you too, please feel free to use them.]

Take comfort from the fact that you live under the eye of the “Ever Vigilant” Creator of the Universe. 

Abundant blessings;

13
Jun
20

To Callous, or Not to Callous

My guitarsBlogosphere, meet my guitars. The Martin Dreadnought acoustic is the one on the left and the Fender American Stratocaster (with double humbucker pickup) is the one on the right.

Guitars, meet the blogosphere.

I love these instruments and miss them fiercely whenever Joan and I travel.

Lately I have found that coming up here in the evening and playing them is a great tonic for my soul.

I have been playing for a few years now, but don’t really consider myself a guitarist. I’m just a guy who fools around on the guitar now and then. In case you are curious, there are two foolproof ways you can tell that that I am not a real guitarist:

  • First, I have not named my guitars.
  • Second, I only have two of them.

(It suddenly occurs to me there is a third, foolproof way to verify my “non-guitarist” status: listen to me play.)

Most of the time, I play in order to calm and entertain myself. Sometimes I sit down and try to learn a new song to add to my repertoire. Sometimes I just come to work on simple scales and finger exercises.

Since I am no longer taking weekly lessons or playing in a jam band or the church’s praise band, there is not a regular, external motivation to keep at it.

No motivation, that is, except for the maintenance of my callouses.

Anyone who plays guitar with regularity will attest to the importance of healthy callouses on the fingertips of the fretting hand. Callouses are the toughened areas of skin that keep the steel wires of the guitar string from cutting into you and making you bleed all over the lovely woodwork. If you don’t play with some level of frequency, your callouses will get soft. Playing will become painful.

In that sense, you could say that playing the guitar is the exact opposite of engaging in the disciplines of the Christian spiritual life.

In the world of the guitar, the discipline and regularity of practice helps BUILD UP and harden your fingertips. It prevents your playing and practice from being painful.

The aim of the spiritual disciplines, on the other hand, is to SOFTEN us… to make us more OPEN and VULNERABLiE to the world around us… to EXPOSE us to the “still, small voice” of God that Elijah heard, or to make us more susceptible to the pain and heartbreak of a neighbor who isn’t necessarily part of our “tribe.”

The goal, in other words, of all the Christian study and prayer and fasting and worship we do should be to heighten our compassion (from the Latin, com passio, “to feel with.”).

When Jesus blessed the “poor in spirit” (Matthew 5:3) during his Sermon on the Mount, he was talking about exactly these people: the people for whom the callouses around their hearts have worn away and softened.

The culture instructs us to “toughen up” and blast our way through the pain and tragedy and heartbreak of the world around us. “Take charge!” is the battle cry. “Grow thick callouses!”

But a mere two verses later (in Matt. 5:5) Jesus tells us who will REALLY inherit the earth.

Maybe we should listen to him!

08
Jun
20

A Cracked Shell

Cracked egg shellSomething seems to be leaking… and I can’t help but believe that’s a good thing.

In fact, I hope you are starting to leak a little, too.

When you and I first come into the world as babies, we have a soft spot on top of our heads. This spot is also known by its formal name, fontanelle, from a French word meaning “small fountain.”

The fontanelle is only one of many things that makes babies weak and vulnerable. They can’t walk. They can’t talk. They can’t feed themselves. They can’t clean themselves. Every sight amazes them, every sound startles them, every nerve ending in a baby’s body seems to be exquisitely on edge.

Babies lack any kind of filter to help them stem the onslaught of sensation.

They are utterly defenseless and exposed.

But then, time passes. Then they (we) get older. Then they (we) grow filters. Then they (we) develop coping mechanisms. Then, slowly and steadily, we start to grow exoskeletons that shield us from the white-hot intensity of the world around us.

As we age, we become less soft… less vulnerable… harder.

And sometimes those exoskeletons fit so well and feel so comfy-cozy that we curl up inside them. We close our eyes and go to sleep in our shells while outside us the storms swirl and rage.

And sometimes we forget to wake up… until it is too late.

I can’t help but notice… something has been happening to my shell over the past couple of weeks.

My shell has been cracked. Hammer blows named Breonna Taylor and Amahd Arbery and George Floyd, and Just Mercy, and #blacklivesmatter, and “Am I Next?”, and systemic racism, and Unequal Justice have been raining down on it.

My shell is cracking, and the world is leaking in on me… startling me and arousing me from my nap.

It feels somehow cold and unsafe…

… and yet also somehow exactly right.

I discover that I am slowly awakening. For one thing, I am awakening to the hard, cold implications of what it means to stand on the side of Jesus.

It is becoming abundantly clear to me that if I stand up and tell the world I am on the side of Jesus; I am, in effect, abandoning my shell altogether.

If I dare to tell the world that I stand on the side of Jesus, I understand that I am obliged to join him in saying, “Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens. Come to me, all you who are systematically denied justice. Come to me, all you who have seen hope snuffed out like a candle wick. Come to me all you that are hungry, and tired, and poor, and addicted. Come to me, all of you, and I will give you the rest you so richly deserve and which you have been so steadfastly denied.” (Matthew 11:28, with a few editorial additions).

In some ways, my shattered-open shell feels a little like a death.

In other ways, it feels like a rebirth… like becoming as helpless as a baby all over again.

May we each today be blessed with leaking margins and an uneasy soul. May we each be aroused and unsettled and hear the call of our brothers and sisters in pain. May we stand defiantly on the side of Jesus and choose to love those that he loved.

 

Abundant blessings;




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