What concerns me is that when you say that, when I say that, we just decided to be belligerent. We are ready to vent with whoever that is. We are ready to take all the tension of the last week, all the arguments from everyone, all the things that broke today, from fingernails to transmissions to hearts, and put it in bucket. We’re going to put that bucket above the door and tie a string to the doorknob. And if we forget to fasten the bucket firmly and it falls rather than dumps, well, sorry. Sometimes things like that happen. Like to our transmission.

In that time between placing the bucket and the next person coming in, we really don’t want to stop and read Paul’s caution: Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. 

This comes in the middle of several similarly painful comments that make you want to make Paul himself be the next guy through the door. What does he know about conflict, about transmissions, about people who seem to delight in making your life miserable? After all, he’s the great apostle.

But he also is the guy who ran into hecklers and false accusations and angry mobs everywhere he went. He’s the guy who weeps because he cares so much. That’s who says “wage peace.”

How’s he do it? God only knows.

Oh, wait.

Every year during spring break, we went on tour, visiting churches and schools and sunshine. We got to know people on the long bus rides to Florida. Those of us who were undisciplined musicians actually improved because we were practicing every day.

One tour, we studied a psalm as a group. Psalm 37. “Fret not on account of evildoers” it starts out. I remember it well for the feel of the first two words. “Fret not”.

In the worrying and the wondering and the processing and the tapes that play in our heads over and over at night as we wonder about the state of the world and fear for our children and watch ulcers develop from watching endless news, “Fret not” has the impact of a hand slapping the table, stopping our thoughts.

Worrying about, babbling about, fingerpointing about evil solves nothing. It’s just fretting.

But what should I do with all that time I spent fretting?

David lists many things. Here are four.

• Trust in the Lord.
• Do good.
• Dwell in the land.
• Cultivate faithfulness.

These are things that take time as well. Trust is a cumulative process, not an instant state. “Doing good” is intentionally weighing choices, picking right ones, and acting.  Dwelling is a settling down, claiming space, being a daily person. It’s baking bread, doing laundry, building cabinets, tending trees, putting your name on a cubicle and signing your work. And “cultivating faithfulness”? It’s doing these things over and over and over. Faithfully.

I never practiced the tuba much. I’m working more on cultivating faithfulness. And if you want a place to start, read Psalm 37.

–

For more on my band days, read On Reg the percussionist and making choices right

I’ve been mediocre in my work lately. I am not doing it on purpose but the passion is just not there anymore. Can you send me some advice or scriptures or whatever to encourage me on what may be the next step to take.

I understand the question completely. I realized last week that January always makes me feel that way, kind of confused, kind of trying to get new commitments in gear. I feel good for a couple days at the start, but then the energy of new starts runs out.

Here are some things to think about.

1. What is the measure of mediocre – the quality of your work or how you feel about it? Be objective. Your work might actually be better than you think.

2. Obedience is what you do when the emotional temperature drops and the adrenaline runs out and it’s just not fun any more. Babies are cute, diapers are not. The performance is fun, the scales are not. The affirmation for the great goals is wonderful, the self-discipline isn’t. But, as Paul wrote to some friends,

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.

3. That said,  focus less what you do and more on how you do.  I keep noticing how often we read about patience and compassion and forgiveness and perseverance and how little we read about quotas and grades and bonuses. In the same letter, Paul says

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

Anyone else have any suggestions?

my life as a roadie. A person from our church, this post was a great picture of the other side of the roadie life Andrew (son) lived for the last couple years. Because I know the family, a little, I’m learning more through these posts.

How to read a book. I just started following this seminary blog. I’m enjoying it. This post is particularly helpful. I’m a reader. This framework is a great one. And I agree that some books are worth not reading.

Should leaders have hobbies? I’m not great at hobbies. Terry is much better at this (and a variety of things).

29. Odysseus and I agree. Robby is a lit prof who hasn’t posted much until this year. This year, he’s writing almost daily and I’m getting to enjoy what Hope got to hear in class. (He’s one of her profs). This post is a fabulous defense of liberal arts degrees. I like it because that’s what my degree is.

Roller Coaster Weekend My sister created a blogging persona: Ernestine Edna. EE is an aunt, as is my sister.  But what is written at the blog isn’t fiction, isn’t hidden. It’s real-time memoir. And is a way for me to have glimpses between the statuses. My sister and Hope and Nancy all do this very well, using blogging as public journal, as hearting space. And I am very grateful they do. I remember the things in this post. I remember the rice pudding bowl, and the rice pudding.

David was relaxing when he should have been leading his nation. During a hazy warm afternoon after a nap, he saw a beautiful woman and had to have her. He killed her husband Uriah so that nothing would stand in the way of their relationship. (That wasn’t an easy task. Uriah was a very dedicated soldier and wanted to return immediately to the battlefield. David called in the commander of his army, Joab, to help him pull off the murder. I doubt if Joab was happy about that.)

The child resulting from David’s rendezvous with the beautiful woman died.

And yet, God said David was a man after His own heart.

God’s acceptance of David did not mean He gave him everything he wanted. In the 2 Samuel passage, you can see that David had to go through lots of horrible stuff before he reached a point of peaceful favor. And even then, the consequences of his destructive actions would remain with him for the rest of his life. God sometimes makes the consequences of our bad actions disappear, but that’s more the exception than the rule.

God’s complete acceptance of David meant letting him experience some really tough stuff. God then sent Nathan to tell David how wrong he was. David finally admitted his wrongs.

Luke 15:7 says “…there is more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents and returns to God than over ninety-nine others who are righteous and haven’t strayed away!” God loves it when we confess our wrongs to Him. What a beautiful thing!

So when we make mistakes, let’s bring them to God and say we are sorry. Things will get better from there.

(Paul Merrill writes here every First Friday.)

That was a question this week from a friend. She has a friend whose parents just divorced. It scared her friend. Her friend wants to start some kind of Bible study with her husband, to strengthen the marriage.

I never know how to answer those questions. I’m not good at “Here’s a book of devotionals for couples.” I’m also not good at “Here’s a book of devotionals.” I wouldn’t be writing them myself.

That said, here’s what I said.

1. Have them read a solid daily book like My Utmost for His Highest (and online). Read it separately. Then, when they are casting about for conversation about something other than the kids and teething and school and bills, talk about the crazy thing that Chambers wrote and how would you ever put that into practice.

2. Have them just read the Bible wherever they want individually in areas that fit their personalities. One might be more poetic, so read some of the psalms. The other might be more story-driven and read through 1 and 2 Samuel. Then spend 5 minutes a day listening to each other talk about what has been cool about what was read recently. Because the reading matches personality, the observations may give insights into the spouse.

3. Have them read the Bible texts that were part of the previous week’s sermon. Or the text for the week in the lectionary. And then try to remember what the pastor said.

4. Take turns learning parables and telling them to the kids. One per week.

5. Without even talking to each other, talk to God about each other. Say, “God, you know what’s going on that my spouse is afraid to tell even me. Give me words that will encourage. Help me read what will help.”

The creed is the black lines of a child’s coloring book, waiting for crayons to color in the spaces, to give life.

The creed is the “Lord I believe”, waiting desperately for the answer to “Help my unbelief.”

The creed is the recalibration of the navigation system to remember where north is.

The creed is the standard weight used to test other objects.

The creed is the tags, the seo keywords for the Christian faith.

The creed is the poem you recite when you cannot remember the essay

The creed is the mnemonic, doing for the basics of the Christian faith what “Every Good Boy Does Fine” does for those trying to remember the lines of the treble staff or “Mozart’s in the closet, let him out let him out let him out” does for remembering the beginning of Mozart’s 40th Symphony or Roy G. Biv is the colors of the rainbow.

Each clause of the creed is a thread, leading us through the Bible like the lines on the floor of a hospital take you to ER or the birthing center or outpatient surgery or a research opportunity tracing “forgiveness of sins” from David’s relief in forgiveness

How joyful is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered! How joyful is the man the LORD does not charge with sin and in whose spirit is no deceit!

To John’s baptism

John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness preaching a baptism of repentance for theforgiveness of sins.

To the offer of forgiveness from Jesus

And when He had taken a cup and given thanks, He gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is My blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for forgiveness of sins.

And so, once they knew what wrong was, they also knew what death was. Wrong-doing by an individual could not be inflicted forever. The eventual demise of villains gives hope in an odd way.

But all of us have villainy in our hearts. All of us have a desire to run things in our minds. All of us have “death” on our calendars.

Life matters, don’t get me wrong. God would not have put on human life if life did not matter. And three years with the disciples and the twelve, eating, drinking, laughing provides a seal of approval on the idea of living in conversation with God. It was a glimpse of the garden. There was table-talk of such delight that it created an appetite for a great feast someday.

The death and resurrection of Jesus, the one who lived in complete communion with the Father, suggests that there may be a different kind of actual body, a remarkable kind of living after death. No wings, no harps. Instead broiled fish and conversation and freedom. Maybe, just maybe, villainy can finally die and life as intended can happen. Forever.

And so, when at the last breath of the creed we say we believe in, “Life everlasting”, we are affirming a hope that goes back as far as people can remember. For bodies that don’t break. And for living that matters and can happen without villainy. And for conversation with God face-to-face. Freely. Fully.

Finally.

Ted was 93. People who knew him for 40 years, 60 years, 20 years, talked about him. About his compassion, his encouragement, his hospitality. His leadership, his diligence, his career. His faith. We gathered for an hour and more. There were two hundred and fifty of us.

Much of my professional life was in that room, a room where I worked for seven years, worshiped for several more. A man I met forty years ago. People I taught with 25 years ago. People I went to church with, people I cried with, 10 years ago. People I work with now. People from every place I’ve worked for the past 25 years.

The funeral was a resurrection of memories. People I helped. People who helped me. People whose opinions I feared and curried and respected and ignored. That husband has died, who hired me and was mad at me and forgave me, and I him. That husband has died, who annoyed me but also grew in my respect. Those people left, those didn’t and the relationships have never been the same.

If the resurrection of the body we affirm in the creed is like this resurrection of memories, I’m not sure I’m interested. I lived them once, I’ve relived some of them too often. As Ricky Nelson wrote, “if memories were all I sang, I’d rather drive a truck.”

But a resurrection of the body, that’s different. A real touchable body. A body without the Alzheimer’s and pneumonia and allergies and age. A body that is somehow us, and yet not us now. A body that is not part of some collective consciousness, but is individual. A body that exists on an earth that exists even if this body was burned to ash and spread.

But all those molecules mingled would take a miracle to individually resurrect.

Precisely.

Nancy talked about the presentation itself quite well. Hope talked about it in the context of her day and life. So what did I learn? Most of it I won’t list. You’ll hear it over the next decades. But I wanted to tell you a few things I learned, mostly about speaking.

1. I confess. I’m a Don Miller fan. (But he helped me write my dad’s eulogy). Before the event, I went for an autograph. There was an informal line. And when the people in front of us moved down the aisle, Don walked up, put out his hand, and said, “Hi. My name is Don.”

Lesson: Don’t hide, preparing for a performance. Walk around, preparing for a conversation. 

2. Jerry Root hosted the evening. After Jerry introduced Don to us, he introduced the college audience to Don. “This is the community where I live. These are the people that I love.” I quit taking notes then, overwhelmed by the idea of being rooted in community, of building a bridge that way.

Lesson: An audience is a family. Or can be. If you love them.  When you are introducing, make the speaker pay attention to the people. 

3. Don started with stories we already knew, Nancy and I, from A Million Miles. We were afraid that we’d come all this way for reruns. But the laughter said that many people hadn’t heard them Or loved to hear them again.

Lesson: Repeating stories is important. It orients the curious. It reaffirms the faithful. 

4. I probably never sat in Row E, Seat 2 before Sunday night. I did spend 30 minutes many weekday mornings for three years sitting in seats close to that seat. Unless I was late.

I’m a Wheaton grad (80). We had required chapel and we met in that room. On the drive home, it was easy to think, “Have I done anything of value in the last thirty years? Have I told the story that I could have told?” And then I laughed at the danger of the question.

In Row E, Seat 3 sat Nancy. We’ve been married for nearly 29 years. Three children, one buried. Job gains and loses, career changes, moves. Shared bed and board and many months of accumulated conversation. We have changed each other.

In Row E, Seat 1 sat Hope. I held her first almost 21 years ago, noticed her months before that. She has challenged us, blessed us, taught us how to be parents of a daughter.

And so, driving through the night to take my favorite two women home, I smiled, grateful for the story I’m in the middle of.

Lesson: when looking for new stories, don’t forget the one you are in the middle of. It may be the most important one you could find. 

–

My review of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.