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On April 29, 2020 By In Counseling/Piety, Theology

A Song for the Day of Trouble (part 2)

The same Spirit hovering over the waters at creation breathing life into the world a is the same Spirit who will at times trouble the waters of our soul so that we continually seek the Living Water. “And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.” b  The same Spirit bringing the Word of Life into our hearts c is the same Spirit by which we can cry out, “Abba, Father!” in our hour of need. d As we move into the second part of the psalm, we are going to see what it is we really need when trouble comes and how the Lord provides.

Troubled times lead us to seek a particular salvation.

“In the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted. When I remember God, I moan; when I meditate, my spirit faints.”

Psalm 77:2-3

When we think of nighttime, the picture we often get is one of resting from the labors and activities of the day. We think of laying our head down on our soft pillow and slipping off into sleep like the sun slowly settling beneath the horizon. Night should be a time of peace and rest. But it is not so for Asaph.

In the midst of troubles, the night brings him neither rest nor comfort. You can lay down at night with a weary body but a soul at rest and enjoy good sleep. But to go to bed with a weary soul often results in a restlessness of body. Here, either the troubles Asaph is experiencing make it impossible to sleep or he will not allow his body rest until his soul is also at rest. His soul is weary and worn, so his hand stretches out in help to God and he will not let it fall until he finds it. His body will not be at peace until his soul is at peace. He is not concerned about having sleepless nights. If this was his problem, then any sleep trick will do. Anyone who has experienced those first few weeks or months with a newborn baby knows to what lengths one will go to get some sleep. Asaph is concerned with knowing real peace and his soul refuses to be satisfied with anything less. 

This is the deficiency of our therapeutic age. Even if we correctly diagnose the problem, we are far too easily satisfied with the cure. We settle for numbing the pain rather than healing the wound. We mask the symptoms so we can hide the disease. We trade a birthright tomorrow for a bowl of stew today. e  

But Asaph isn’t trying to escape the presence of trouble and all that comes with it; he is seeking to find comfort in the presence of the Almighty. He knows what St. Augustine would come to understand and pray centuries later, “Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.”

We often seek comfort by forgetting. We try to find peace by escaping reality, not contemplating it. Think of all the things we do to check out of life for a little while. Whether it’s alcohol or binge watching or working out, we can all very easily fall into the trap of self-medicating in order to forget the worries and cares. Asaph does not seek comfort in distraction but meditation. He intentionally directs his thoughts to God. But, surprisingly, when Asaph contemplates God, that meditation initially brings more sorrow and weakness to his heart and soul. 

Why would meditating on God cause his spirit to faint? Doesn’t Scripture promise that “they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint”? f He grieves in his spirit because the greatest delight and comfort of the Christian is to have the favor of God. For the child of God, the greatness of our salvation is not what we have been redeemed from but the Father we have been saved to. What sweeter blessing can we receive than that the Lord make His face to shine upon us, lift up His countenance to us, and give us peace? g

But days of trouble can set a cloud over that glory. We do not sense his favor. We do not feel the warmth of his presence. “Darkness hides his lovely face,” as the hymn puts it. h Remembering the goodness and favor and blessing of God in the past makes the present darkness all the more dark. Only those who have been to the summit of Everest can fully appreciate standing at the base of that mountain looking up into the clouds to a peak that cannot even be seen. But those are also the people who will not settle for anything less. Which means they must face the struggle; they must not shut their eyes, but look through the trouble until they see clearly once again.  

“You hold my eyelids open; I am so troubled that I cannot speak. I consider the days of old, the years long ago. I said, ‘Let me remember my song in the night; let me meditate in my heart.’ Then my spirit made a diligent search:”

Psalm 77:4-9

It is the Lord’s gracious hand that keeps Asaph’s eyes open and brings him to this point. The psalmist who cries out to the Lord in verse 1 now has no more words to speak. He moves from crying out in the day of trouble to now considering the days of old. His eyes gaze from the present to the past. First he looks up then he looks back. And in looking back he begins to rise above the waves that would threaten to drown him in despair.

Thus far in this song, Asaph has been the reference point. There are plenty of personal pronouns in the first two stanzas. Some commentators are critical of this. They see the psalmist self-absorbed in his trouble. That could be the case. If not true for Asaph, then at least true in my own experience. 

But I think Asaph starts where he does because this is a song for real people in the midst of real struggles learning to navigate real life.  The Apostle Paul exhorts us to be ready to give a reason for the hope that is within us. i That hope is not a gnostic experience. It is often forged in the fires of particular trouble and polished in the daily rub of relationships. Personal pronouns matter a great deal.

So, from crying out to the Lord to discouraged moans about the Lord to exhausted silence, Asaph finally speaks to himself. Refusing superficial sleep, he directs his mind and heart to remember his song. We will consider this song in the third and final part.

  1. Genesis 1:2  (back)
  2. Isaiah 58:11  (back)
  3. Deuteronomy 8:3; Hebrews 10:16  (back)
  4. Romans 8:15  (back)
  5. Genesis 25  (back)
  6. Isaiah 40:31  (back)
  7. Numbers 6:24-26  (back)
  8. Mote, Edward (1834). My Hope is Built on Nothing Less  (back)
  9. 1 Peter 3:15  (back)

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On April 27, 2020 By In Counseling/Piety, Theology, Wisdom

A Song for the Day of Trouble (part 1)

Troublesome times are a great constrictor of the soul. They squeeze with a kind of pressure that exposes what is within us. During a crisis of the magnitude and scope we are experiencing now, the responses of the people provide an honest look into the heart and soul of a culture.  Naturally, you will always have the deniers, the doomsayers, the opportunists, and a variety of other characters on the stage. But who will we be in the day of trouble?  

In Psalm 77, we find a genuine, honest dealing with life when the day of trouble comes. We find not only one man’s experience and expression, but a wonderful gift given by God to his people throughout all times and in all places about how to deal honestly with the realities of life when trials invade our lives, our families, our churches, or our communities. 

Many of us are familiar with what the worldly virtue of self-expression looks like. It is often raw and untamed. It flows like a water hose through social media, song lyrics, t-shirts, and even casual conversations. As the trouble increases so does the force and volume of its flow. 

In contrast, the Psalms are a mighty river channeled between the shores. Honest expression and real emotions are governed by the solid, immovable truths of glory and grace.  Whether rushing swiftly over jagged rocks or flowing as quiet waters, these divine songs always bring us to see life clearly…as it truly is, as it is meant to be, as it is going to be for the people of the cross. How we express ourselves in these troubled times will either muddy the waters of reality or it will bring clarity, both for us and the watching world. 

As we step inside Asaph’s world and walk with him in his day of trouble, we also are learning how to walk. As the Lord Himself invites his people to sing this song, we are learning how to dance when the music of life plays the minor key. 

Troubled times lead us to seek a particular Savior. 

“In the day of my trouble, I seek the Lord.” (v.2) 

When trouble comes, Asaph’s eyes look heavenward. This response seems so obvious to us, so much so that we probably don’t take the time to ask the question, “Why does he seek the Lord in the day of trouble?”  It’s a question that appears too simple to even warrant consideration, but consideration is exactly what’s needed. 

The psalmist recognizes that only the Lord can deliver him out of his troubles. So it’s to the Lord he runs. We don’t know what these troubles are or the context of the situation. It really doesn’t matter. It is enough to know that Asaph is a man in trouble. He is not simply troubled by things he sees or knows; he calls it “my trouble.”  And how he responds to those personal troubles reveals something about his own heart and the heart of the One to whom he seeks. Life squeezes, circumstances overwhelm, and the psalmist responds almost instinctively in a particular way.

Have you ever been in danger of drowning or seen someone else struggling to keep themselves afloat? I’ve never literally been in that situation, although years ago I did have to jump into a pool fully clothed to help one of my sons who had ventured too far into the deep end. It was a bit scary at the time and I ruined a good phone and my favorite pair of shoes. But I most certainly know the feeling of drowning under the pressures of life. I know that in those moments of physical or emotional drowning, the temptation is to look for anything that might hold out the slightest hope of rescue.

Asaph is not a drowning man thrashing and clawing for whatever he can find to hold on to. When trouble rushes in, his eyes are not frantically searching for relief and deliverance. The reason something like a microscopic parasite can throw the world into hysteria and confusion is because every individual and every nation responds according to how they answer two basic questions: What do they want? What is getting in the way of what they want? The ditches of history are strewn with a long line of saviors and scapegoats. 

Asaph’s eyes are drawn to a certain Deliverer and a particular salvation. He does not seek a convenient savior; he seeks the consummate Savior. There is a world of difference between the two. He resonates such glorious truths as Zephaniah 3:17, “The LORD is in your midst, a mighty one who will save;” and Psalm 121, “I lift up my eyes to the hills, from where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth.”

Troubled times lead us to a particular response.

I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, and he will hear me. (v.1)

How the psalmist seeks the Lord is also telling. He cries aloud to God. He gives voice to his troubles. He brings them out into the open. He does not keep them shut up, nor does he silently endure. He shapes these troubles into tangible, spoken words. Obviously, the all-knowing, all-wise God does not need such audible expressions. He is “a very present help in trouble.” a But Asaph’s cries remind us of some important things to keep in mind when our day of trouble comes. 

God does not need us to put words to our suffering, but neither does He discourage His children from doing so. We do not have to silently endure. We do not have to stoically wait upon Him. To cry out in pain and anguish and deep trouble is not a sign of weak faith. Jesus Himself gave voice to His anguish in the garden. Rather, our cries become a lament of the whole person. The soul is troubled and the body gives expression to it. Body and soul, Asaph seeks the Lord because body and soul the Lord created him.  

Not only does this expression show us something of the relationship between Asaph and the Lord, but it also indicates that this is not a private lament; it is not merely a personal trial. Giving voice to our need brings our burdens into the midst of the congregation. It brings our dependence upon God into the light of community. To be united together as the body of Christ means that there are no private troubles. b We sing these songs together as a vivid reminder of this reality. 

In the next part, we will look at the particular salvation Asaph seeks and how he finds comfort in the midst of trouble. Hopefully, we will gain some practical wisdom from the way he goes about moving from being restless to being at rest. For now, let us learn and imitate these songs so that when our waters are troubled, we can give honest expression to the depth and breadth of our suffering without violating the established boundaries of our relationship to Christ and His church.  The depth and breadth of His glory and grace is greater. While the world looks around pointing fingers and grasping for answers, the church should be singing. Not in obliviousness like Nero fiddling while Rome burns, but harmoniously and honestly lifting up our eyes and voices in hope for ourselves and the nations.

  1. Psalm 46:1  (back)
  2. 1 Corinthians 12:21-26  (back)

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On March 1, 2020 By In Counseling/Piety, Worship

The Lord’s Prayer: Our Father

This past Wednesday the church began the journey to Easter. From at least the second century, the church has prepared for Easter in various ways and for various periods of time. Within the first few centuries, the practice of making a prayerful journey through Lent took an almost universal form: forty days of focused prayer, usually involving some type of fasting. (These fast days didn’t include Sundays, which were always feast days.)

The focus of Lent is penitential, which is why fasting is a part of the journey. Fasting is an embodied or enacted prayer that cries out to God for mercy, confessing that we and those for whom we are praying deserve to be cut off from his blessings in death, but look with faith-filled hope for deliverance.

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On February 23, 2020 By In Counseling/Piety, Culture

Holy Rudeness

In what the Pharisees would have considered an amazing display of chutzpah, Jesus, after accepting an invitation to go to a Pharisee’s feast, didn’t ritually wash his hands before joining the meal. This ritual washing or baptizing of the hands was not required by the Law of God. It was a part of the oral law tradition that the Pharisees (and others) believed was handed down alongside the written Law and was the authoritative interpretation of the written Law. The Pharisees and their kind were the guardians of this oral law tradition. They believed that meticulously keeping these laws was necessary, not only for their own purity but for the purity of Israel in preparation for the coming kingdom of God.

Jesus claimed to be a kingdom prophet, proclaiming, “the kingdom of God has drawn near.” The Pharisees are, naturally, interested in him and his message. They have been preparing for this for ages. They will be the aristocrats of the kingdom.

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On January 19, 2020 By In Counseling/Piety, Theology

Everybody Wants To Go To Heaven, But Nobody Wants To Die

Loretta Lynn sang long ago, “Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.” People like the promises of the good life, but if there is pain or other difficult challenges involved, they quickly lose enthusiasm and slip right back into the life with which they are comfortable even when they know that the long-term consequences are bleak.

This is happening all of this country in the form of new year resolutions to lose weight and exercise. People start like a ball of fire … until they get hungry, have to make time to exercise, and experience the pain of exercise. Those who say, “In order to reach your goals, you will have to cut back on the calories and do X amount of exercise a day” are considered dream-killers, wet blankets, the cold-water bucket brigade. Reality is a difficult thing to face, but like gravity, even though you may not like it, it is there. Jump off a roof and reality will hit you hard.

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On January 12, 2020 By In Counseling/Piety, Wisdom

Dying Well

It is better to go to the house of mourning

than to go to the house of feasting,

for this is the end of all mankind,

and the living will lay it to heart.

The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning,

but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.

(Ecclesiastes 7.2, 4)

Through my fifty-one years, I have been in the house of mourning a number of times. As a grandson, I have experienced the death of grandparents. As a son, I walked through the sadness of losing my father and mother. As a pastor, I have officiated the memorial services of still-born children, adults who have lived well into their nineties, and everything in between. I have seen death surprise families, and I have watched as the coldness of death slowly crept over families. For many deaths, I have been able to stand by the bedside of the dying, talking, praying, weeping, and rejoicing with them. At other deaths, I have witnessed people hopelessly wail at the loss of a loved one. I am privileged to have visited the house of mourning quite a bit through my years to lay to heart what is the end of every man.

Recently, I had the privilege of visiting a dying lady who is prepared to meet her Lord and Maker. She lives with her daughter and son-in-law. She has lived a full life. Her children and grandchildren love Jesus. She is at peace. Her slow but sure passing from this life is a joyful time for her and her family. No, they are not dancing. They hurt. But there is something that runs deeper than the hurt: there is a joy that springs from the hope that they have in Christ Jesus. She will die soon, but she will die having been recently surrounded by all of her children and grandchildren who share her hope. She will die well. She will die with joy.

While I was standing by her bedside praying with her, I must admit that I was overwhelmed with the beauty of it all, and I laid to heart, once again, my own end. I want to die well. When the day of my death draws close, if God grants me and my family the grace to know that it is coming, I want the fruit of my faithfulness to Christ to surround me with that sorrowful joy; that sorrow that my family and friends will truly miss my being with them, but the joyful hope that I am with Christ and will be reunited with them in the future. I want to die well.

The only way to die well is to live faithfully in the present. To live faithfully in the present, you must keep the end in mind. That is why it is wise to spend time in the house of mourning.

This is your end. What are you doing today to die well?

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On December 18, 2019 By In Counseling/Piety

Why We Hate Advent

No one likes to long for things. No one likes to wait. We are consumerist beings expecting everything to be hand-delivered not one second too late; preferably, one second earlier. It’s for these and other reasons that we hate Advent! It’s perhaps for this reason also that we join together Advent and Christmas conceptually. We don’t grasp what Schmemann called the “bright sadness,” of this Season, so we rather incorporate it with a happier season.

But we usually don’t hate Advent intentionally; we hate it emotionally–almost like a visceral reaction. We hate it because words like longing, waiting, expecting, hoping don’t find a comfortable home in our hearts or vocabulary. So, I propose we begin the process of un-hating Advent. But we can’t simply un-hate something we have long hated. It takes time to undo our habits. We must try to see Advent for what it really is; a season of practice. It’s a season to warm up our vocal cords for the joys to the world, to strengthen our faith for the adoration of the Christ, the Son of the living God.

Few of us treasure the practice time, rehearsal, the conductor’s corrections to our singing, the coach’s repetitive exercises before the big game. So, there we have it. We hate Advent because we don’t like to practice. Sometimes, however, the solution to stop hating something is to reframe the way you think about that something. Imagine you sit under a tedious professor who reads from his notes with no modulation in his voice. To make matters worse, he rarely if ever looks up to engage your eyes, but buries himself in his manuscript. While the material is wonderful, you long for that intimate connection between the content and the character. The next class comes along and suddenly you have an engaging lecturer who is interested in connecting with you. He will add a couple of funny lines to ensure you are awake. Those professors almost always make a greater emotional impact than the tedious lecturer.

Advent is like longing with an engaging professor who not only enjoys teaching but looks up to you and seeks to connect with your eyes and heart. If adventing (waiting) was only a process of listening without engaging, it would be a duty without pleasure. But Advent is being guided by someone who looks into the eyes of affliction and who talks out of experience. So, yes, it’s about perspective. To Advent is to wait actively, to long hopefully and to engage the dynamic prophets who prophesy and proclaim Messiah Jesus.

If we begin to see Advent as an engaging practice for Christmas, suddenly our distaste for the season before Christmas will decrease and our longing will be more meaningful. Perhaps we won’t hate Advent after all. We will long together with the prophets and those first-century saints who practiced well and embraced Christmas with sounding joy.

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On December 8, 2019 By In Counseling/Piety, Theology, Worship

Glorifying God

At the top of the Mt of Transfiguration, Jesus is glorified. The Father and the Spirit transfigure him, altering his face and making his clothes brilliantly white. This glorification is a gift from the Father through the Spirit to the Son. This gift is a responsibility, a mission, that will entail Jesus taking up his cross and be raised so as to redeem the created order. Jesus will take this gift, make it more than it is in the present—glorify it—and then return it to the Father. This sequence is basically what Paul outlines in 1Corinthians 15.20-28.

What is happening between the members of the Trinity on the Mt of Transfiguration is a glimpse into the eternal life and family culture of the Trinity. This mutual glorification, this giving-glorifying-and-returning sequence, is not unusual or something specific only to the incarnational ministry of Jesus. What we see is the revelation of the character of the Trinity. In his words and works, God reveals his eternal, immutable character.

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On December 6, 2019 By In Counseling/Piety, Wisdom

The Mother of All Virtues

I have had the privilege over the years to teach literature to high school students. I particularly enjoy teaching medieval literature. I come away from those years far richer than I come into them. One of the works we always read is the Song of Roland, a French ballad of chivalry written probably around the First Crusade. It provides a wonderful gateway into discussing the ideal of chivalry, where it succeeded and failed during the Middle Ages, and why it matters today.

Chivalry at its basic level is simply a code of life that defines the proper actions and responsibilities toward friend and foe, man and woman, rich and poor. It includes areas such as society, manners, justice, war. The Medieval concept of chivalry, at least in its best moments, attempted to take those virtues that are objectively defined by the revealed character of God and apply them to the various circumstances and relationships of life. 

If you think back to the knightly code of medieval Europe, it would have been of the utmost importance not only for you to live by a certain code, but also to be able to rely upon those around you to live by the same code. Friendship was built upon a mutual understanding of loyalty and trust. Enemies knew the rules of engagement on the battlefield. Women knew what a gentleman looked like. Men knew what a lady looked like. Not that there weren’t imposters running about, but they were imposters because there was a standard to deceptively imitate. 

The cultural prophets of the past few generations have proclaimed that chivalry is dead. I don’t exactly know what form of chivalry has been killed, and I’m not interested in simply resurrecting some structure of the past. We do not necessarily need a well-developed chivalric code. But as Christians, we need to seriously consider again what a virtuous society looks like. 

While virtue may deal with personal character, it is expressed communally. Virtue creates the fabric of life together. Therefore, several early medieval writers, such as the venerable Bede, called discretion the “mother of all the virtues.” Such discretion involves judging the proper expression of the other virtues within a particular context that maintains the integrity of those other virtues. Let me explain.

For a person to act a certain way in one situation would be courageous. To act in a similar manner in another situation would be brash and impulsive. For a person to extend mercy in one case would be truly merciful. To extend what appears to be mercy in another case would be foolhardy, condoning, or even cowardly. It is discretion that enables us to know the difference.

Think of all the ways we are called to honor others. I honor my wife in a way that is unique to how I honor all other women. The way I honor my mother now at 46 looks different than how I was called to honor her when I was 5, 12, or even 18.  Discretion allows the virtue of honor to extend beyond good intentions to actually bestowing it tangibly upon another.  

What does it look like to love my enemies, not in the abstract, but on the various battlefields of life? There are battlefields of nations, battlefields of ideas, battlefields of truth, and battlefields of personal conflict. All require a particular response in order to express the virtue of love. When does patience become passivity? When does honest speech become a spark that sets forests ablaze?  

Because of the great rebellion of Adam and his descendents against God, we live in a world that by its very nature spoils virtue and subverts social norms. A world that was created for unity and harmony has the seeds of autonomy and discord permeating the soil of men’s hearts. The medievals understood the fallenness of man and felt the need for an explicit, societal code of honor. In contrast, many today are content to emphasize vague principles of love and respect. 

However, the moral foundations that support our current cultural building project are extremely unstable even on a calm day. Add to it the stormy winds of #MeToo, Black Lives Matter, LGBTQ, or Trumpism, and you quickly find Christians walking timidly through a field of landmines.  Love, respect, tolerance, empathy, mercy, justice, equality, etc. are all handled with uncertainty. When Jesus stated, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” the people responded, “Who is my neighbor?” Now they would ask, “What do you mean by love?” 

The answer to this is a return to our mother virtue. A virtuous life must become a robust, unapologetic, catholic way of life; a liturgical dance for the everyday moments.  These are not the days of standing by the punch bowl with our hands in our pockets looking unsure of what we’re supposed to be doing while the world dances on into oblivion. You fight a culture of death with a culture bursting at the seams with life. 

So we learn how to sing and dance together. We learn how to eat together. We learn how to be a good friend, how to marry and raise children. We learn how to respect the wisdom of the old and invest in the strength of the young. We learn how to bestow greater honor on the weak. We learn how to hate the sin and love the sinner. We learn how to live peaceably in an increasingly hostile world. “Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from what is dishonorable, he will be a vessel for honorable use, set apart as holy, useful to the master of the house, ready for every good work.” (2 Timothy 2:21)

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On November 30, 2019 By In Counseling/Piety, Theology

Forget Not All His Benefits

Remembering is an essential part of thanksgiving. A forgetful person is someone who most likely struggles with ingratitude as well. And while you cannot give thanks for what you do not remember, there is a deeper meaning to the act of remembering than simply storing and recalling bits of information. 

As we come through another Thanksgiving holiday, learning how to remember and forget rightly will cultivate the rich heart-soil where gratitude and the grace that accompanies it can grow in all the various weather conditions of life.

Remembering that Leads to Gratitude

In Psalm 25, we find King David asking Yahweh to remember, and what he asks him to remember first is striking. He asks God to remember Himself.

Remember your mercy, O YAHWEH, and your steadfast love, for they have been from of old.

Psalm 25:6

If we are to understand what it means for us to remember, we must first look at what it means for the Triune God Himself to remember. It is significant that David calls upon the name of Yahweh. This is God’s memorial name as revealed to Moses from the burning bush.

Thus you shall say to the sons of Israel, “Yahweh, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you.” This is My name forever, and this is My memorial-name to all generations.

Exodus 3:13-15

Therefore, to call upon the name of Yahweh is to call upon the God who is. His name perfectly encompasses and reflects His character. And His character is perfectly expressed in His acts. David understood this. David believed this with his whole heart. He knew that God’s remembering is a commitment to act.  Yahweh sets before Himself the reality of who He is and responds in a way consistent with that reality. His name is a memorial name.

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