Category: Thursday Thought

Anticipation gushed like an oil well–and this crowd was fuel hungry.  They came from Tanzania, Ghana, Uganda, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Eritrea—and Kenya.  Nearly 160 in number, these Christian media professionals assembled in Nairobi for intense learning and spiritual encouragement.  Moody Radio calls it a Global Partners Training, where every evening session kicks off with praise music.

Until you have experienced African worship, I would politely suggest your definition of blessing is undersized.  This we were reminded of in surround sound as worship leader Gloria Muliro took to the stage.  Every person in the room seemed engaged, if not electrified.

That's when the power went out.  If you have never been there, night time in Africa brings shades of black darker than what you have previously known as dark.   But as power outages are common, no one panicked.  No one even commented.  Cell phones lit up and the music continued—never skipping so much as a beat—literally.

The singing actually intensified as darkness swallowed up scenery.   Frankly, it seemed to almost magnify the sense of worship.  No keyboard, no amplifiers—no barriers. It was just our voices and our God.  But I should hardly have been surprised by the scene.  

Singing in the dark is what Christ followers have always done.  When the lights have dimmed and hope is gone, Christians sing in the dark.  They sang in the Coliseum.  They sang in the catacombs.  They sang in the Gulag.  Christians sing in the dark because we are people of the Light.  We sing in the dark, because as 1 Timothy 6:16 reminds, we worship Him “who alone is immortal and who lives in unapproachable light.”

Psalms 139:12, “Even the darkness is not dark to thee, and the night is as bright as the day.”

So don't be afraid to sing.

Especially in the dark.

They look soft.  Cute.  Cuddly.  In photos and on television, monkeys are portrayed as adorable critters, albeit with a streak of benign Curious George mischief.  My moments with monkeys suggest otherwise.

In South Africa, a monkey dove through the open door of our resort room, stole the bread off our counter and scampered up a tree with it (glaring at my wife as he stuffed it into his mouth).

In Kenya's Nairobi National Park, small monkeys stretched wildly from branch to branch then skittered down trunks.  All this effort because some from our group were offering the diminutive primates potato chips.  They were clearly accustomed to such exchanges, obviously comfortable snatching the chips from human hands. 

The monkeys were willing to engage us as long as the treats kept coming.  But there was never the slightest hint of gratitude or even simple satisfaction expressed on their furry faces.  No cuddling.  No friendly chatter.  Just a beady-eyed stare in search of more.

As our open-top van trekked through the Nairobi National Park, uncomfortable truth settled on my soul.  You and I—respectable born again folk—are often more like monkeys than men and women in awe of Christ's generosity.

We hungrily snatch every morsel of good that comes our way from the hand of our merciful Savior.  Having consumed one “meal of grace,” we look for another and another and another.  There is scarce thought toward any show of gratitude, humility, and loving dependence.

Like monkeys, we gather around God as long as His hand extends toward us with blessing and provision.  But where is our thanks?  After all, as James 1:17 reminds us, “Every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow."

It’s time to stop acting like monkeys!

It's supposed to feel sacred, to evoke awe.  Yet somehow, I allowed wonder to pass me by.

Any trip to the Holy Land is punctuated with moments of spiritual consequence.  Like sailing on the Sea of Galilee: you peer out into hills that once hosted a dinner for five thousand.  

Meandering through the streets of Jerusalem's old city is akin to time travel.

But for Holy Land travelers weary of shrines, icons and incense, the Garden Tomb is an oasis.  Stone is possessed of a rare eloquence having echoed the words, “He is risen.”

This seventh trip to Israel, I did what I always do.  I snapped pictures outside what may have been Christ's resting place.  Then I assisted one of our tour guests in and out of the stone vault, clicking the shutter of my Nikon all the way.  And then we were outside again, walking toward the communion chapel.

Only then did I mourn the loss.  I had walked inside the tomb where the Son of God may have lain.  Yet I failed to truly ponder it.  There were cursory thoughts, certainly.  But where was the deep pondering over my own sin whose payment bought this room?

Understand, I do not venerate the tomb itself, which likely may not be the actual location. Even if it is, the Bible forbids us from worshipping a place. But why my personal distraction? Had I become callous?  Or “merely” careless?  Truthfully, I was tired on the last day of a full tour.  But alas, the Judge of my soul knows better.  I went into the tomb, but did not experience the tomb.  I captured its image in pixels, but failed to be captured by its essence.  

God forgive me for having eyes—but not seeing, for collecting spiritual souvenirs—but not really bowing my soul.  May God deliver every one of us from “trafficking in holy things.”

A 4am wake up alarm is not my idea of a fun time.  But some destinations are worth it.  Masada is one of them.

On the eastern edge of the Judean Wilderness, an isolated mountain dominates the skyline.  At the top is a plateau upon which Herod the Great built the fortress known as Masada.  Here, 900 Jews once holed up and defied the Roman army until a siege ramp spelled their defeat.  Rather than become slaves to Rome, all 900 took their own lives hours before the Romans finally breached the top. The edifice stands defiant against time and weather, as it has for millennia.  

Two years ago, my friend Dan Anderson, co-producer of Moody Radio's “The Land and the Book” challenged me to join him in a sunrise hike up Masada's “snake path,” which we did with great satisfaction.  This year, he invited me (along with a few others) to repeat the feat. 

Strapping on LED head lights, we worked our way up, awed by the climbers who left before us.  They snaked back and forth above, their tiny lights piercing the mountain blackness.

A climb up Masada's “Snake Path,” will cost you 700 steps and purchase a view 980 feet above the desert floor.  Trip Advisor and Wikipedia suggest the hike should take between 40 minutes and two hours. I clocked in at about 45 minutes—several minutes slower than my time two years ago—and was mildly discouraged. Marathon runner that he is, Dan easily beat me to the top, by at least five minutes. 

But the thing I will always remember about this climb is what happened near the top.  Climbing those stone steps (many of which are not only uneven, but almost cruel in the agony they exact) I began beating myself up over my poor physical conditioning, wondering if I would even finish.

That's when I started to hear the sounds.  Voices.  There was laughter and encouragement and celebration.   It grew louder. As I climbed the final step I at last saw the hikers who had gone on before. 

What a stunning illustration of Hebrews 12:1, “Therefore, surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”

Hey don’t give up!  The climb may be steep but the destination is worth it!  Besides—there’s a celebration coming!

There's the disaster you see—and the disaster you don't see.  I'll let you decide which is worse. 

Walk with me down the cardo (main north-south street) of Beit She‘an, an ancient town at the intersection of the Jordan River and the Jezreel Valley.  As the paver blocks are angled (not to mention ancient) do watch your step. 

Notice the fluted stone columns and cornices.  Clearly this place was at one-time a classy neighborhood.   Then an earthquake in 679 AD all but leveled the town.   Talk about disaster!  But this city is also the site of another epic event, one that goes all the way back to the biblical era of King Saul. 

Saul was a good guy. 

• He dressed right.
• He talked right.
• He could sing the praise and worship choruses of his day with as much fervor as the next guy.
• He seemed like the real deal.

Yet time after time, he cut corners, spiritually.  He failed to wait for a sacrifice.  Failed to execute a king.  Took spoils he had been forbidden.  He murdered 85 priests!   When faced with the ultimate Philistine invasion, rather than consulting God, King Saul consulted a medium—a witch.

The very next day, on Mount Gilboa, King Saul lost his life (along with his sons).  The Philistines cut off his head and fastened his body to the walls of the city of Beit She'an.  What a gruesome ending for someone who seemed to be God's man.

Standing at that ancient site, just yards away from where Saul's body would have been spiked gave me pause.

You and I attend church Sunday after Sunday with folks who look right, dress right and talk right.  They sing all the worship choruses with gusto.   Perhaps most of them are as they profess to be—truly born again.  But some are not (the Bible tells us so).

What a horrible thing to reach the end of this life and the beginning of eternity—only to hear Jesus say, “Depart from me.  I never knew you.”

That would be the ultimate disaster. 

In the sixties and seventies they called it “white noise”–the background blanket of sound that relaxes some—and makes others more productive.  Then, The Sharper Image made it personal with their Sleep Sound Machine.

 

From Time.com comes a review of three background noise websites.  For starters, there's Coffitivity.com.  This site recreates the pleasant background sounds of a coffee shop.  Perfect for anyone who finds that atmosphere more conducive for work.  Coffitivity lets you dial in how much activity you want.  Choose from Morning Murmur, Lunchtime Lounge, or the more restful, University Undertones.

 

Noisli.com offers a huge array of background sounds you blend together for the perfect combination of relaxation or focus—depending on your mood: rustling wind, a crackling fire or passing train.  A user-selectable screen visual allows you to match what you hear with what you “see” emotionally.

 

MyNoise.net bases its sound palette on actual research and offers soundscapes specifically designed for health recovery, meditation, or just plain sound blocking.  The website automatically calibrates for your system's speakers and your personal hearing. 

 

Who knew there were so many toys for noise?

 

But in a sound-soaked society like ours, I'm wondering if more noise is what we really need.

 

Ecclesiastes 3:7 reminds us there's “a time to be silent.”  In Psalms 46:10 we're told, “Be still and know that I am God.” 

 

I submit that some of the world's most effective soundscapes are found in the 23^rd Psalm– He makes me lie down in green pastures.  Can you hear the birds?  He leads me beside the still waters. Hear that peaceful trickle?

 

What you and I need is not more sound for the sake of noise…but peace for the sake of our souls.

 

You won’t get that online.  Only in God and His Word.

1.5 billion.  Dollars.

That's how much money is owed to the city of Chicago in unpaid parking and traffic tickets. Imagine one and half BILLION dollars!

A recent article in Chicago Magazine spelled out exactly what that kind of cash will buy. A creative number crunch suggests that 1.5 billion dollars is enough to buy 545.5 million Chicago style hotdogs (nearly two for every American). 

Those unpaid tickets could purchase 5,117 years' worth of school supplies for Chicago's kids.  Sick of potholes?  That money could also resurface 2,497 miles of Chicago's streets—about two thirds of all its streets!  Or if you'd rather, you could reconstruct 3.5 CTA rail lines.

But if you prefer to think big—really big—1.5 billion dollars would also buy you the 110 story Willis Tower–plus a 590,000 square-foot addition. 

All of this because people refuse to pay their tickets. The Pharisee-in-me is inclined to simultaneously label and lambaste these scofflaws.  How dare they cheat the government? But in pointing at others, we must beware the proverbial four fingers pointing back at ourselves:

• Do you and I pay our parking tickets?
• What about filing permits for home improvements?
• Do we get creative with numbers when filing our income tax?
• Do we dabble in deceit of any kind?

Amazing how comfortable I am pondering the scofflaws “out there” that owe a billion and a half, while overlooking my own moral debts.  I wonder if God were to actually show me the ledger how horrified I would be.

Romans 14:12, “Each one of us will give account of himself to God.”

 

In a recent CNN commentary, Fareed Zakaria (by his own admission not a Christian) made this assessment of Christianity: “its central message is simple and powerful: Be nice to the poor.”  Fareed ends with, “if you have a problem with this message…you have a problem with Jesus Christ.” The commentary makes a number of worthwhile observations.  Clearly, followers of Christ are called to care for “the least of these.”

However, to say that the message of Christ was mostly about loving and caring for the poor is to suggest that a visit to a steakhouse is mostly about the salad. Loving poor people and alleviating suffering of all kinds was certainly on the menu, but this was hardly the main course for Jesus. 

No question Jesus encouraged loving the poor and advocating their cause. To ignore them or exploit them is sin.  But as for the central message of Christianity, that is something much larger.  Jesus revealed it in Luke 19:10, “The Son of man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.”

In telling the world that He was fully God, fully able to seek and save, Jesus greatly offended the crowds (then and now).  Jesus said “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father but by me” (John 14:6).  He called Himself the exclusive way to heaven!

If the central message of Jesus was about being nice to the poor, he would surely not have ended up crucified with spikes driven through his hands and feet, his head bloodied and his body spat upon.   Clearly, His contemporaries understood His central message: “I am God.  You are all sinners in need of a Savior.  I am that Savior.  And by the way—there is no other.”  They did not crucify him for a central message of being nice to the poor!

I agree with Fareed that we have a moral obligation to be kind and generous to the disadvantaged.  Being nice to poor people is certainly a reflection of the character of the Christ.   But to reduce the central message of Christianity to “being nice to the poor” is not being nice to Jesus.  Or the truth.

If you have a problem with that, with due respect, you have a problem with Jesus Christ. 

If it's true that Chicago is the “city with big shoulders,” those shoulders get quite a work out.  Walking 1.5 miles each way to work, I'm continually amazed at the construction projects I encounter. 

There is no end to the pounding, grinding, bashing, welding, clanking—building.  On Wacker Drive, I see a major project underway that has most of the heavy equipment staged on the Chicago River.   

Worth noting: a huge red crane (the boom must be 50 feet tall or more) whose treads rest on massive timbers laid out on a barge.  Because I often take the same train, I witness the same early morning scenarios: workers grabbing their last few puffs on cigarettes before clocking in, heavy equipment dragged out of locked storage containers, and a symphony of swearing from red-scarfed heads. 

What has lately grabbed my attention is the daily ritual of the aforementioned crane's operator.   Day after day I find him climbing outside his cab with a jug of glass cleaner in one hand and a rag in the other.  Every morning, he faithfully spritzes the glass and wipes away the dust and grime that come with big noise and big toys. 

Apparently, it's “all that important” to him.  In a given day, he will hook, hoist, and haul hundreds of tons of materials—any of which could crush a site or kill a man, given the slightest imprecision on his part.  It's not that he “wants” to see clearly around him.  He must see.  So he cleans. Every morning.

And so must we. 

The windows of our souls are ever caked with dust and grime that come from a noisy life—sin. We little understand the loads we swing about us daily, the potential we face for immediate destruction.

How good to know that upon our confession, the Savior with big shoulders—Jesus—is ready and willing to forgive our sins and “cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

How is it with the windows of your soul?

Now that television is clogged with large men lunging at an oblong ball, I reluctantly cede summer's end. Though I love football, I shall miss summer. Most of all, I will miss Saturday mornings in a wooded field. Seated in a comfortable chair I am alone with my Bible, my Creator and His creation. 

The birds are loud there, with many different sounds.  I often close my eyes and count the number of different calls.

One bird sounds like a Chevy engine that won't quite start—really!
Another's contribution is nothing but a single syllable chirp. 
Others, by comparison, offer highly ornate phrases using many notes on the musical scale.

The best way to enjoy, though, is not to over analyze, but to let the layered harmonies of these winged creatures work their melodies into your soul.  The birds, I'm convinced, have a few lessons in their twitter (pun likely intended).

Lesson One:  Your voice—your solo–is unique.  Your appearance, your personality, your spiritual gifting—they're not just okay, they're great!  So “sing” boldly.   As Oscar Wilde put it, “Be yourself.  Everyone else is already taken.”

Lesson Two: Learn to be silent. 
All birds don't sing all the time.  They take turns, sit out awhile, then chirp when the time is right.  There's a place for letting others solo.  Learn to be silent. 

Lesson Three:  Learn to celebrate the symphony.   You can only sing one part—not an entire score!  As Paul observed, “we have many members in one body and all the members do not have the same function” (Rom. 12:4).It's great to be multi-talented.  But it's wrong to attempt to be the whole show. 

Most people go bird watching.
Me?  I go bird-listening.
That's what I've been hearing lately.

Now if you’ll please excuse me–I have a tweet to send off.