Sep 2010
Some Sheep are Stupid
Tue 28 Sep 2010 Filed in: Reflections
I’ve heard some interesting stories in the last few weeks. One of the enjoyable aspects of being a retired pastor is getting to listen to some of my not-yet-retired brothers. Their stories are unfailingly interesting and occasionally painful - and no, I’m not going to share them here.
It strikes me that the challenging privilege of a shepherd is to love some truly stupid sheep. I used to believe the lie that when an unwise and intellectually challenged pagan became a Christian, somehow God made them smarter. Usually it is not so. When a stupid pagan becomes a Christian, it is a wonderful thing, but the result most often is a stupid Christian with an acute but sometimes unrecognized need to rely on the Holy Spirit. And those who shepherd such sheep get to love them through all of their messy stupidity.
Sometimes it is a challenge. I never cease to be amazed at how blissfully unaware some folk can be of the damage they stupidly leave in their wake. I was reminded of that again recently in talking to a man who remains clueless about his own self-created chaos. It seems to me that the Christian life lived in a sinful world can be messy enough without other Christians making it messier.
Pastors, of course, are not perfect. I remember several years ago being part of a group that invited our district superintendent to speak to district pastors and wives on the topic, “Don’t Be Stupid.” It was a tongue-in-cheek suggestion, but he took it seriously, and I suppose it is a message all of us need to hear.
The hope in this picture is that stupidity carries with it the potential to understand and experience grace. And I suppose that the stupider we are, the deeper the grace. To be stupid and miss grace is tragic indeed!
It occurs to me that some who read this will wonder if it was prompted by a conversation with their pastor. Don’t go there. Some sheep are, at least occasionally, stupid, and you might be one of them. So might I. If you feel the need to ask, then do something to correct the stupidity and bask in the grace of your Shepherd and your shepherd.
It strikes me that the challenging privilege of a shepherd is to love some truly stupid sheep. I used to believe the lie that when an unwise and intellectually challenged pagan became a Christian, somehow God made them smarter. Usually it is not so. When a stupid pagan becomes a Christian, it is a wonderful thing, but the result most often is a stupid Christian with an acute but sometimes unrecognized need to rely on the Holy Spirit. And those who shepherd such sheep get to love them through all of their messy stupidity.
Sometimes it is a challenge. I never cease to be amazed at how blissfully unaware some folk can be of the damage they stupidly leave in their wake. I was reminded of that again recently in talking to a man who remains clueless about his own self-created chaos. It seems to me that the Christian life lived in a sinful world can be messy enough without other Christians making it messier.
Pastors, of course, are not perfect. I remember several years ago being part of a group that invited our district superintendent to speak to district pastors and wives on the topic, “Don’t Be Stupid.” It was a tongue-in-cheek suggestion, but he took it seriously, and I suppose it is a message all of us need to hear.
The hope in this picture is that stupidity carries with it the potential to understand and experience grace. And I suppose that the stupider we are, the deeper the grace. To be stupid and miss grace is tragic indeed!
It occurs to me that some who read this will wonder if it was prompted by a conversation with their pastor. Don’t go there. Some sheep are, at least occasionally, stupid, and you might be one of them. So might I. If you feel the need to ask, then do something to correct the stupidity and bask in the grace of your Shepherd and your shepherd.
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Red Carpet Delivery
The adventure started with Suzanne’s desire for something larger than her day bed. She is, after all not a twin; she is a princess worthy of a queen bed. So she went looking, the price ended up being right, and I decided it was time to trade in my 20+ year old sagging set as well. So there would be two beds delivered today, and we were ready - especially Suzanne whose old bed had been sold the previous day.
We’re probably going to have to do this tomorrow, Sven told me. The truck is jam packed, and we can’t get another bed on it. It seemed to me that the math was not difficult: Two beds off the truck; one bed on the truck. Presto - the truck is less full. But he wasn’t buying it. If you call your salesperson, they can set it up for tomorrow. I wondered aloud if they would also like to set up a hotel room for tonight. At that, he rejoined his young buddy Ole at the truck who was hoping to start his weekend early, and they began rearranging mattresses, but not happily so.
Sometimes we are constrained by love (that’s the way it’s supposed to work), sometimes by necessity, and occasionally we resist being constrained at all. I am thankful that Sven and Ole chose to be constrained by necessity - I’m pretty sure it wasn’t love - and started their weekend a half hour later than they had hoped. When they left, Sven asked me to sign the red carpet delivery sheet. It didn’t mention love. I signed, thanked him for making it work, and sent them on their way to their weekend.
And so to bed . . . .
The Chaos of In Between
It turns out that it is impossible to replace carpeting that has stuff on it. We have much stuff, and since the law of gravity has not been repealed, a lot of the stuff is on the carpet. Or was. And it had to be moved; at least that’s what Rob the carpet-layer said. I take him at his word since he and his son moved most of the heavy stuff. But it’s the little stuff that makes me wonder. What is this? Why did I keep this? Remember when...?
I have a fearsome tendency to packrat-ism, and I am not alone. Getting rid of stuff is time-consuming work, and I have better things to do. Besides the disease has almost no symptoms - until it comes time to replace the carpets. Lumpy rugs are no good; the stuff needs to be moved.
I live in between, and stuff is a link to what was, but it crowds the corners of my life that could be occupied with better things. Stuff is for in between, and in between is not forever. Most stuff eventually becomes burdensome; Thoreau (great writer, lousy theologian) rightly observed that men have become the tools of their tools, an observation that is even more true in the 21st century than it was in the 19th. In between living carries with it the promise of a destination, and I will make it to heaven without my stuff and without missing it. Neither Joan nor Matt miss the stuff I hang on to. But I still live in the midst of this in between stuff, some of which, at least while I’m in between, is good. It takes wisdom to know what to release, and when. For better or worse, when Rob and his son are done later today, most of my stuff will still be here.
I live in the chaos of in between. But only for a while.
Grief vs Grief
Fri 10 Sep 2010 Filed in: Grief Notes | Reflections
I was asked an interesting question yesterday that continues to tickle my brain. The essence of the question focused on the differences between experiencing a sudden and unexpected loss of a loved one (Matt) as opposed to the loss of a loved one for whom I had cared and for whom there was the opportunity to anticipate the possibility of death (Joan). It is an interesting question, but for me it is a difficult one to answer.
There are, I suppose, some evident generic differences between those two kinds of loss. When one deals with the visible decline in the health of a loved one, grief begins before death because loss begins before death. However, stretching grief beyond the boundaries of death doesn’t necessarily make it shorter or shallower. On the other hand, the added element of shock when the death of a loved one is completely unexpected can be both a blessing of sorts and a curse as it provides both a degree of temporary anesthesia as well as an additional source of pain. But the reality of the loss and the challenge of adjustment remain. And when it is a son or daughter that has died, the loss is particularly painful.
For a couple of reasons I have difficulty answering the question. While generalizations are possible, it seems to me that grief is an intensely individual experience. Because of that, my grief journey and that of someone else who is experiencing almost identical circumstances may be markedly different. And those individual differences can be greater than the generic differences that could be noted between different kinds of loss. Those who do not recognize this truth are prone to place expectations on those who grieve and then wonder why those expectations are not met. (S)he should get over it or (s)he is handling that well can be equally inaccurate assumptions.
Additionally, I recognize that I am in the midst of processing these losses. I cannot be wholly objective in describing the journey; I can only be honest. Were objectivity possible, I’m not sure it would be either interesting or helpful. To describe the journey while one is in the maze of grief may be interesting to those outside the maze, but their own experience may be quite different. And so I am less concerned with telling others exactly where to turn left or right than with suggesting who it is they need to follow. The constant that makes joy possible in either kind of grief is knowing the unchanging, loving God of the maze. I cannot fathom how painful it must be for those who try to navigate grief, whatever kind it is, alone.
There are, I suppose, some evident generic differences between those two kinds of loss. When one deals with the visible decline in the health of a loved one, grief begins before death because loss begins before death. However, stretching grief beyond the boundaries of death doesn’t necessarily make it shorter or shallower. On the other hand, the added element of shock when the death of a loved one is completely unexpected can be both a blessing of sorts and a curse as it provides both a degree of temporary anesthesia as well as an additional source of pain. But the reality of the loss and the challenge of adjustment remain. And when it is a son or daughter that has died, the loss is particularly painful.
For a couple of reasons I have difficulty answering the question. While generalizations are possible, it seems to me that grief is an intensely individual experience. Because of that, my grief journey and that of someone else who is experiencing almost identical circumstances may be markedly different. And those individual differences can be greater than the generic differences that could be noted between different kinds of loss. Those who do not recognize this truth are prone to place expectations on those who grieve and then wonder why those expectations are not met. (S)he should get over it or (s)he is handling that well can be equally inaccurate assumptions.
Additionally, I recognize that I am in the midst of processing these losses. I cannot be wholly objective in describing the journey; I can only be honest. Were objectivity possible, I’m not sure it would be either interesting or helpful. To describe the journey while one is in the maze of grief may be interesting to those outside the maze, but their own experience may be quite different. And so I am less concerned with telling others exactly where to turn left or right than with suggesting who it is they need to follow. The constant that makes joy possible in either kind of grief is knowing the unchanging, loving God of the maze. I cannot fathom how painful it must be for those who try to navigate grief, whatever kind it is, alone.
My Kind of Labor Day
Mon 06 Sep 2010 Filed in: My Life
A little rain, a good book, and a barbecue rescued by Matt’s George Foreman grill - all in all my kind of day.
Magic Carpet Choices
Thu 02 Sep 2010 Filed in: My Life
I’ve been told that people who move here from third world countries experience the same kind of bewilderment on their first trip to a supermarket. We are used to living in a world where countless choices give us the opportunity to tailor our lives to our individual preferences, and sometimes that is a good thing. The carpet store had something for everyone; all we had to do was figure out who we were.
The creative variety demonstrated by carpet manufacturers pales in comparison to that demonstrated by the Almighty. He is not a cookie-cutter God who mass-produces blessing for his people; he keeps each individual in mind. God knows me better than I know I myself and, miracle of grace that it is, takes delight in me anyway. He knows me; he loves me. And he’d have done just fine in the carpet store.