Bittersweet fun

A new person that came into the group, and she fit a certain stereotype to a T. Her clothing reflected a style that passed out of vogue about 20 years ago.

I was powerless. I knew a friend in that group would completely agree with my judgment and be equally amused. So after a tiny hesitation, I texted my friend. We exchanged a knowing smile.

“Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you,” Jesus said in Matthew 7:12. Though this is one of the most quoted verses in the Bible, I still seem to have a hard time applying that concept to my life.

A very simple way to stop myself from stepping across the line is to ask, “Could I say that directly to the person I am talking about?” If the answer is no, then I should not say it to anyone else.

It was such fun to share my judgment and laugh about that person – for a brief moment. Then I was overwhelmed with a wave of guilt.

The Fashion Violation Lady will never know about my little text. But God did. And that’s where forgiveness comes in. “Purify me from my sins, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow” (Psalm 51:7). Then, “He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west” (Psalm 103:12). So once I ask for forgiveness, it’s gone.

And I learned my lesson. Hopefully for at least a few days.

Things get really complicated when we say things we regret to a person face-to-face. Then the damage is harder to undo. It may take significant work to dig ourselves out of a hole. For the future, ask for protection ahead of time: “God, help me love others today!”

(Paul Merrill writes here every First Friday.)

I am restless in my complaint.

So I took my own advice yesterday morning. I read Psalm 55. I am familiar with the prayer, particularly the part in the middle where David talks about being betrayed by a close friend.

If an enemy were insulting me,
    I could endure it;
if a foe were rising against me,
    I could hide.
But it is you, a man like myself,
    my companion, my close friend,
with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship
    at the house of God,
as we walked about
    among the worshipers.

In our terms, David is talking about being attacked by someone from church. They had been in youth group together, they had worked together on construction projects. They had attended potlucks together, had complained about the same bad coffee. They were on the same committees.

And now, something changed.

My companion attacks his friends;
    he violates his covenant.
His talk is smooth as butter,
    yet war is in his heart;
his words are more soothing than oil,
    yet they are drawn swords.

I’ve noticed that before. I’ve offered it to others who were feeling that sense of betrayal, to show them that David would have understood, that his response can be our response. His fear, his frustration, his cry of despair, he plea for destruction, his trust.

But I never noticed the first part, where David is talking about his praying.

Give ear to my prayer, O God,
    and hide not yourself from my plea for mercy!
Attend to me, and answer me;
    I am restless in my complaint and I moan,
because of the noise of the enemy,
    because of the oppression of the wicked.

David couldn’t think straight, couldn’t pray right. He started to talk to God, and the voices in his head and in the hallway were pulling him away. He had fear-induced ADD.

I missed that. Until, I needed it today.

“God, I can’t concentrate, but would you sort through my thoughts and make the requests make sense? And then answer? Please?”

For another prayer, listen to Psalm 130 from the Bethel College Choir.

On the heavens and mosquitoes.

It was Monday, and my brain was moving very slowly. I turned to Psalm 19, as I’ve been trying to do all year.

“The heavens declare the glory of God,” I read. I started thinking about sitting on the deck to watch the heavens.

Early morning when the house gives us shade. It’s cool. The sky is clearly visible between the tops of the oak trees and the rooftop. There is enough space to see clouds, windshopped into interesting shapes. And blue. And the faint white moon.

Evening, after supper, after walking, after the coffee is brewed and the banana is sliced and mixed with shredded wheat, after the conversation quiets, both between birds and between us. The blue turns pink, the trees turn black.

And then I thought about the mosquitoes. Not deep-swamp, black clouds of mosquitoes. We have suburban mosquitoes. A slow buzzing, an occasional swelling on bare ankle or arm.

I scratched as I thought about the mosquitoes, and thought about all the times they bit and I left. Left the conversations between birds. Left the conversations between friends. Left the conversation between deep heaven and earth, the declarations of the glories of God, verse after verse, each shaded differently, notes changing nightly.

A few tiny buzzing bugs shut down life-changing conversations.

I could put something on my ankles. I could put candles on the corners of the deck, covers on the tops of my ears. If I really wanted to listen to the heavens and to the voices closer to earth and my heart, I could do many things to stop the distraction.

If I want to listen for God, there many small suburban distractions I could ignore and avoid.

But maybe avoiding the annoying itch is the most important evening task.

Pesky psalm. Stinging like that.

David found strength in the Lord his God.

“But David found strength in the Lord his God.”

It’s a simple sentence near the end of 1 Samuel. It’s easy to skip over because of what comes before it.

“David was greatly distressed because the men were talking of stoning him; each one was bitter in spirit because of his sons and daughters.”

This was one of the worst days of David’s life so far. Right now, on the day where the men are talking about stoning him, David and his small band of refugee soldiers have come home to find their city burned and all their families and possessions hauled away. They were hauled away by Amalekite raiders, in the same way that David had been raiding their cities for the past year. David was getting what he had given.

The city that was burned wasn’t in Israel. Though David had already been chosen as the successor to the current king, Saul, he had no authority yet. In fact, David was living among the Philistines, among people that he had spent his life fighting. He had formed a tenuous alliance with one of the Philistine tribal leaders, a treaty of convenience for both of them. But when the rest of the Philistine leaders were forming a plan to attack Israel, they understandably refused to allow David to be part of it.

So David, on this day, was standing outside of his homeland because he was hated, with alliances that were dissolving because of people who hated him, in a city that had just been burned by other people who hated him, and now his own soldiers are ready to stone him. And his family was in the hands of people who hated him.

It was a bad day.

Which makes Psalm 27, written by David, have some credibility for this Monday. 

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The whole story is in 1 Samuel 27-30. It reads, I confess, pretty rough for our Western tastes. I reads, I suggest, like parts of the rest of the world.

on conversation with God.

Our sense of how conversation should happen is that we say something and immediately the other person says something. When we are face-to-face it happens in seconds. Though often, we don’t hear words in seconds.  We walk a long distance without words with a friend, knowing that silence is part of the conversation as well. The closer the relationship, the longer the silence can linger.

With email, with tweets, with voicemail, it can take a day for a response. (Or longer for me. I’m sorry.) If it’s more than that, we often get frustrated at the delay. We start to fill in the gaps with our guesses. We are often, we discover when we finally hear from the person, really bad guessers.  In the old days, with ships carrying the mail, conversations could take weeks.  A letter smuggled from one hand to another, from prison cell to distant friends could take months and then was read and passed on, read and memorized.

God will converse with us, but it will happen in the longer time frame. Just because the response isn’t like texting doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. It may take weeks on some subjects, years on others. And it will happen across many media. Psalm 19 tells us that “the heavens declare the glory of God. In Acts,  a man in a vision interrupted Paul’s sleep and sent him to Macedonia.  And, as my friend Rich wrote recently, “when someone asks how you knew this was what God wanted you to do, you realize there’s no nice clean answer that’ll really make sense to anyone else.”

I wish, sometimes, the conversation moved more quickly, that God spoke faster. But then I tell myself what David didWait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.

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with thanks to my friend Jaala for asking.