OUR BACKS TO THE WALL (Or Why Does Tragedy Strike or Problems Come to Call?)

(These thoughts are added to three times each week)

When tragedy strikes, there are two responses that are quite common in their repetition. “I deserved it. Let me tell you what I did” or the opposite, “Why did this happen to me? I don’t deserve this!”

And why does tragedy or unexpected problem or pain come to call? Did God one day kneel down and draw a line in the sand of life and then dare you to step across that line? And if you did, did He then say, “The back of my heavenly hand to you. You had your chance, you didn’t take it. Go now, you deserve the punishment you are receiving.”

I doubt it. God’s bigger than that.

There is no doubt that much pain and suffering, though certainly not all, really comes from our abuse of freedom; moral anarchy, really bad choices, a philosophy of life that says, If it feels good, it’s okay, even when it’s not okay. You see, though we human beings really are just a little lower than the angels, if we choose to sin, and then do not even feel badly about the sinning, we court chaos.

Basic truth: you pays your money - you takes your choice.

“Turn left,” says God, and we turn right for the simple reason we don’t want to turn left. “Give me guidance,” we pray, when sometimes we don’t really want guidance, what we want is clearance.

I remember when I was a little boy I would ask my parents for permission to do something. And they, seeing a bigger picture than I, would sometimes say no. At that moment I wasn’t interested in a bigger picture, only in what I wanted. And so, sometimes I would ignore their advice and follow my own foolishness, and then get in trouble. We do that don’t we; with our parents, with common sense, with God.

Ask the average person whether they would prefer to live in a jail or a mansion and they would certainly reply. “I believe I would be happier in a mansion, thank you.” And then, some of them go out and break the law and end up living in a jail. Or court pain and problems, and end up in another kind of jail. Indeed, if you could have asked my next door neighbor when he was young, which would he prefer to have, two healthy lungs or the emphysema that daily choked off his breathing? I am positive he would have readily replied, “I would prefer not to have emphysema.” But for years he smoked heavily and a few years ago he prematurely died.
But what about suffering that one does not pursue, you ask. Nature on a rampage. Floods and famine and earthquakes and hurricanes. Though I realize that insurance companies call these catastrophes acts of God, I would prefer to call the kindness of the people who at such times come out the woodwork to help people they don’t even know, acts of God. The worst of times often does bring out the best in people.

What about wars? Is God responsible for them? No. The ambitions of one man or a few men, or their anger, or their greed does not have God’s blessing. And, of course, once a war is started all the meanness in man is multiplied. And yes, in some wars, there are those who are trying to right some wrongs, rightly or wrongly in their conclusions…it is their aim.

And I know that when on television we see thousands starving to death, God did not create the famine. The needless deaths of so many, are often caused by greedy men who instead of giving out the food sent to their countries, sell it at a profit. And those who have taken freedom; the Hitler’s, the Ayatollahs, the Castro’s. When men do not practice brotherhood they worship at an altar of brutality that leads to earthly hell.

And yes, there are ignorant men around the world who will not let modern agricultural methods be practiced, or allow enough wells to be dug. Or people, who in stupidity or laziness, chop down all the trees until mud slides reap destruction or allow deserts take over where before fertile lands existed. And technology is there to stop the crisis but politics plays the heavier hand and technological help dies an early death.

But what about depression or the death of a wife or husband in a car accident? The list is long and the questions are not new ones. Go back several thousand years, and Job in the Bible asked them.

A quick overview of that Biblical story: Why did tempest destroy both his house and his children? Why did fire burn up his servants and sheep? Why miserable and painful sores from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes? Why all this to a man whom the Bible calls, “…blameless and upright, one who feared God, and turned away from evil”?

And move from the Old Testament to the New – the questions do not go away. A man is born blind, though neither he nor his parents were first class sinners.

Who and why? It is the ultimate question to which we seek an ultimate answer. Nature gone awry. Accidents without rhyme or reason.

Jesus says, “If you then who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him?”

And you in all honesty reply, “Tell me about it. Explain to me why I have asked for bread and have sometimes been given a stone. Explain to me why I have asked for health and been given sickness. Yeah…tell me about it.” And God does.

Through Jesus who begins to give an answer with definitions and deeds: on top of a mountain where He is tempted by the devil, when he cast out demons, when He calls him the source of all evil, “..a liar and a father of lies.” And if you let theological common sense speak to you, you begin to get a message that God allows pain and problems, but does not inflict them.

God is not a demon, nor a devil, nor schizophrenic.

If you have a problem with this answer, look at the cross. It shouts mortality…and immortality; pain…and salvation; death…and resurrection. It shouts that the power of the devil is transient power. Momentary victories, but not ultimately, triumphant.

Does God use evil to bring about good? Suffering to bring about salvation? The answer is yes. Does this mean He sends evil and suffering? The answer is no. Does than mean bad come from an evil devil and good from a good and caring God? I’m comfortable with that.

Why doesn’t God just rewrite the script of life? Edit out all pain and problems? Create paradise as a present reality rather than something to which we go? I don’t know completely why. But by study, prayer and insight, I know enough to be able to live with what I don’t know and understand.

I know that God has given us a precise and orderly world. That heavy objects don’t float and super light objects do. I know that the bodies we all inhabit are miracles that defy description. That because our digestive systems and circulation systems are at the moment working reasonably well, we are alive. That I can see you and you can see me because the pupils of our eyes are contracting and expanding. And the miracles go on and on.

God has given our bodies remarkable recuperative power: broken bones heal, most heart attacks are not fatal, and our bodies adapt and continue to function at pretty good levels.

However, He did not create us to last on this earth forever.

In Jonathon Swift’s book, Gulliver’s Travels, he tells of a land where once or twice in a generation a child is born with a circular red spot on its forehead which signifies that it will never die. Gulliver imagines these children to be the most fortunate of all people, “born exempt from the universal calamity of human nature – death.” But as he comes to know them, he realizes that they are in fact the most miserable. They grow old and feeble. Their friends and contemporaries die off. At the age of one hundred, their property is taken away and given to their children who would otherwise never inherit from them. Their bodies contract various ailments. They accumulate grudges and grievances, they grow weary of the struggles of living, and they can never look forward to being released from the pain of everlasting earthly life.
Imagine how terribly over-crowded this world would become if people lived forever. And the public outcry every time a birth took place. What a loss, if there were, in fact, no new population. No fresh starts. No new beginnings.

There are many things I do not know or comprehend , but one I can grasp is that while death at first may seem frightening and tragic, to know I would never die would be unbearable. Hey, I’m promised heaven and that’s one serious first class upgrade.

I also know that if a bullet is fired at us and the aim is good, one of us will be seriously wounded or die. And that if we go where disease is rampant, we may well walk away with that disease. If we jump out of a five story building, though someone may shout at us as we go by the third floor, so far so good, we will indeed in a very short time go splat. In God’s orderly world the law of gravity has not been repealed.

There are two types of pain – creative pain and pointless pain. Having a baby is creative pain. However, the pain endured when passing a kidney stone seems to me to be pointless, unless by driving a man to his knees he stays there long enough to pray. All kinds of pain make some people bitter, and others empathetic and compassionate. Pain, any kind of pain, is the price we pay for being alive.

And we have only two choices when there are too many problems and too much pain. One is to rebel, to complain why me? And the other is to attempt to relate, how can I make these times of pain and problem meaningful?

Poets, philosophers, theologians and the Apostle Paul have mightily sought to give satisfactory answers to these mighty questions. Paul said that the thorn in his side, which is never really identified, perfected his weaknesses.
Or, as an unknown poet wrote from his collection of pain;
I walked a mile with Pleasure,
She chattered all the way,
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne’er a word said she;
But, oh, the things I learned from her
When Sorrow walked with me!

TEN EASY WAYS TO DRIVE FOLKS FROM CHURCH

(These thoughts are added to three times each wee)

I long ago concluded that driving people away from church is much easier than leading them to it. I therefore, with tongue in cheek, suggest the following as sure fire techniques for accomplishing such an outcome. I realize that an article like this is a dangerous thing for some folk do not understand satire nor do they have a sense of humor.

Obviously, if you are in regular attendance these suggestions will accomplish a great deal more than if your attendance is an occasional. After all, if you practice them on a regular basis the negative results will be nothing short of phenomenal.

NEVER ASK THEM TO COME IN THE FIRST PLACE. This is rule number one and it is literally worth its weight in gold. If the rule seems too severe in its initial application, procrastination may be practiced by simply stating, “I must ask them to come to church with me sometime, just not right now.” This will salve a conscience and allow sleep to knit the raveled sleeve of caring.

IF THEY COME IGNORE THEM. Sit by them but do not speak. Sing by them but do not offer them a hymn book. When the service is over, turn your back on them and engage in a lively conversation with a church member of long standing. If they are in line waiting to meet the minister, take a particularly long time in conversing with your pastor. They may quite probably grow weary of waiting and leave by the side door.

IF YOU DO SPEAK, COMPLAIN. If you are by nature a gregarious individual and must speak do not speak kindly of the church or anyone in it. Complain of the minister’s vices and speak not at all of his virtues. Tell of the trouble in the choir. Be sure and mention the women’s group is a clique (unless of course, you are a member of said group) and that you wouldn’t go if they paid you. The list of things easy to complain about in all churches is long, so just pick and choose. You will be gratified beyond words with the fallout.

ACT AS IF YOU NEVER GO TO CHURCH. Be unkind, rude and course, be filled with malicious gossip and be ready at a moment to share it, etc. There is nothing quite so powerful in building up the non-church-attending forces of our land as Christians who don’t act like it. Be sure you elicit spontaneous comment from someone each day to the effect, “If he’s a Christian, I’m not interested.”

NEVER PRAY. Believe that man can achieve the church’s success by his own hands and needs no help from God. Follow the philosophy, “Heaven for heaven, earth for earth, you know” or “I am the captain of my soul. I am the master of my fate.”

REFUSE TO WORK IN THE CHURCH. Every church needs workers and if enough members refuse to participate the inefficiency of the church program is assured. There will, of course, be certain things which cannot be done for lack of cooperation, and some other things which will not be done very well or if enough people refuse to help, not at all. This rule will also assure a good bit of doubling-up and even double tripleing-up on jobs. This latter effect gives an excellent opportunity to complain that the church is run by a few people.

LEARN THE CLASSIC CLICHES AND SPREAD THEM FAR AND WIDE. The few samples below should stimulate any reader of these thoughts to find or invent others.

God doesn’t expect you to be in church every time the door opens.”
“You can’t love everyone; God certainly understands that…”
“It’s the preacher’s job to go out and get new members. That’s what we pay him for.
There are others but these should do well for a starter.

BE NARROW MINDED. Gasp audibly when someone new at acquiring faith asks what seems a strange questions. Have no patience with anyone’s ideas concerning the church, it policies or programs if they do not agree with you 100%.

GIVE LITTLE. Do not be taken in by all the talk about giving. Excuse yourself and ease your conscience by such statements as “I have my family to think of” or “There are others who give more and some day I may give more too, just not now.” These and any other such excuses, reasons, etc. followed to the letter by enough of any congregation can guarantee a poor program, an ill-paid preacher, a building in need of repair, a lack of necessary supplies, etc. There is no end to the destructive results of a philosophy dedicated to holding back on giving to one’s church.

FIND FAULT WITH THE PREACHER. This is a drastic but it produces such excellent results that it cannot go unmentioned. In every church there are those who love their preachers, others who are lukewarm, and others who need but a spark to spring them into a fire of righteous indignation. A little black book or an excellent memory or even better, an overactive imagination can in a very short time produce a list of charges and complaints that corrupt and disrupt. Since the preacher is human it may easily be remembered that once he lost his temper with Mr. Brown, that once he failed to call on Mrs. Jones, that once he…oh well, the skies the limit. This rule will divide the congregation into units of “pro” and “con.” It will disgust new and old Christians alike. It will slow any plans for progress and send a spirit of unease throughout all the church.

The sad thing is that all of these attitudes and actions continue to be perpetuated by basically good people who give into bad moments. Unfortunately, in some cases, these kind of attitudes and actions become life long habits.

Neil Wyrick is the author of THE SPIRITUAL ABRAHAM LINCOLN, RUST ON MY SOUL & POOR RICHARD’S ALMANACK FOR THE 20TH CENTURY (all available on amazon.com) Some other book sites have even more of his out of print books still available..

IT'S RELIGION COME TO CALL

(NEW THOUGHTS ARE ADDED THREE TIMES A WEEK)

One day, in the slums of a great city, a solitary figure moved toward a termite-eaten door and gently knocked. A raucous voice on the other side screamed out a reply, “Go away, we don’t want any.” The man knocked again, softly but persistently. Finally the door opened ever so slightly and then swung wide as the little girl, instantly recognizing who it was, called back to her mother, “It’s religion come to call.”

It was, of course, Brother Bryan of Birmingham, who was said to be the only man in that southern city who could enter a bar and lead the inhabitants in prayer with no one snickering or making fun.

At first he was called Reverend, then he acquired the honorary title of Doctor. Finally, because of whom he was, he became known to everyone as “Brother Bryan.” Why? Because he called everyone he met “brother.” Rich or poor, black or white. He loved his Lord. He loved his people. He was the epitome of love.

Early in his ministry, because he worked so hard, he became seriously ill. The doctor told him that he needed to take six months off to rest or he would die. His response? “Well, if I am that sick I had better get to work because I obviously haven’t got much time left.” From that time on he never spent as much as a week sick in bed.

Once while conducting an evangelistic service in the Cumberland Mountains, two feuding families sat on either side of the church aisle. Everyone carried guns and were ready, at the drop of a hat, to begin killing each other. Brother Bryan, never one to skirt an issue, began to preach on love. When he had finished he asked the leader of each clan to come forward and place their pistols and rifles on the altar. The two men, for the first time in their lives, took Christ fully into their hearts and on that that day gave forgiveness and understanding a chance to come alive. Left anger and foolishness n the sidelines and took the commandments of the Lord into their lives. And on that day, made holy not because of the calendar but because of what happened, the feud came to an end.

Toward the end of his days, when time had finally caught up with him, someone once asked how many people he thought he had helped. "I don't have any idea," he replied. "I have always been too busy to keep records. I leave that to the angels.

Hee may not have known, but it is a fact that during his ministry he held over 8,000 funerals, married some 5,000 couples, preached at least 50,000 times and led over 8,000 people to a profession of faith.

CHRIST IN THE MARKETPLACE

(THESE THOUGHTS ARE CHANGED THREE TIMES A WEEK)

It is scary how often government fights religion in so many places in America. Such as the Christian Light House Youth Center in York, Pennsylvania. They were told that they had to be licensed to stay open, and that they could not be licensed until their Center had a kitchen that was completely outfitted with commercial equipment. This was interesting since they only served juice and cookies. And this idiocy is not an isolated case. Others, in different cities, have been told the same thing.

In California the minister of a homeless shelter was told by officials to simply lie and say they were not requiring attendance at Christian gospel services. They would then receive government funds. The minister said he couldn’t do that. He no longer receives government help.

A reason for Christ in the marketplace?

The very freedoms we enjoy and the style of living we have previously been blessed by come as a gift from Christianity. Over 2000 years ago, before Christ walked this earth and set up a new standard of humanity, life in the Greco-Roman world was cheap and expendable. Killing of infants was readily accepted. Child abandonment was commonplace behavior. Abortion and suicide were widespread and fully legal.

Would you make the application more current? Look at those Middle East countries, in a part of the world where Christianity has had no say, and look at the lack of freedom among its women. Where thieves still have their hands cut off. Where public beheadings are not uncommon.

Then, there is the question I hate to ask because we both know the answer. The question? What do you think would happen if a Virginia politician today wanted references about God inserted in an important piece of legislation, or urged that the Fourth of July be made into a quasi-religious holiday? The answer is obvious. “Separation of church and State!” would be shouted from a million rooftops. The ACLU would have an attack of apoplexy.
Of course, it has already happened. It was over 200 years ago, but it happened. Thomas Jefferson wanted God stuck into the Declaration of Independence and his request was unanimously accepted on July 4, 1776. And it was Jefferson’s eventual good friend, John Adams, who thought the Fourth of July should be an occasion of joy… and worship.

Indeed, George Washington once wrote, “It is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implore His protection and favor.”

Nor should it be forgotten that John Adams wrote, “Statesmen may plan and speculate for liberty, but it is religion and morality alone which can establish the principles upon which freedom can securely stand.”

(CLICK ON THIS PAGE WHERE IT SAYS "NEIL AS FRANKLIN" AND SEE HIS PORTRAYAL OF BEN FRANLIN COME BACK TO LIFE IN OUR CENTURY)(AN AWARD WINNING FILM)

WHAT IS SUCCESS?

(These thoughts are changed three times weekly)

Too many people let their goals ebb and flow. They go from high tide to mud flats. With no persistent consistency they may sparkle in the sun but too often they also stink in the dark. It happens. Therefore, if you want success…don’t be a tide.

Don't believe in the count of ten. Everyone gets knocked down but everyone doesn't lie there and allow themselves to be counted out. Don't settle for stagnation. Refuse to have a love affair with the status quo. Creativity can be dangerous. Indeed it makes some people nervous. But if you settle for worshiping at the altar of Sag you will only reap the rewards of hopelessness and helplessness.

Don't become a futurist until you conquer the present. Plan for tomorrow, but not if in the process you ignore today. To lavish all your attention, enthusiasm and knowledge on what is to come is the stuff New Year's resolutions are made of. And we know what happens to most of them.

If you can't build a castle shine up your cottage. Building the Empire State Building required engineering skills and building materials that just a century earlier didn't exist. It would have been foolish for even that grand old man of inventiveness, Ben Franklin, to have attempted such a project.

So dream your dreams bigger. Think them through and beyond. But don't build dream castles so unrealistic it is a guarantee they will collapse. When I ran track I competed against myself. I could not beat one of my teammates who broke records that had stood for years, but I could beat what I did yesterday.

Read the right books and in the process remember that the best way to tune out trash is to tune in something better. Make the Bible something you read and remember rather than something you allow to become dead and forgotten.

Touch other human beings with acts of kindness and patience so many times it becomes a habit.

What is success? The definition for you and me should always be changing because with time you gain not just more knowledge but more wisdom, and wisdom is, after all where the best answer will always be found.

When I think on success I often bring up the following definition. It has served and serves me well. “He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who has left the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who has never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty or failed to express it; who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had; whose life was inspiration; whose memory was a benediction. (Bessie Stanley)(1905)

NO!

(New thoughts are added three times a week)

Rejection is no fun. Losing a job, a mate or a dream is just plain down and dirty. Right now, millions of people are waking up in the morning with no job to go to and millions more are worried tomorrow may bring the same for them. And many others have watched their dreams shattered at their feet and are no mood to take them and try to make a mosaic.

Are there ways to handle rejection that are better than just plain survival? Are there attitudes that can make things better if not solve the actual problem itself?

Well, to start with …remember when you were a baby trying to learn how to walk and your body rejected the idea. Time after time you fell and you got tired of it. But each time you made what can be called a monumental decision. You didn’t give up. You got up. Eventually, bad became better and you achieved. Before success you literally fell on your face on a regular basis but things did get better didn't they?

Remember the opening days of trying to learn the alphabet and those chicken tracks called numbers. Perhaps you have always been a whiz with words or great with numbers. Or maybe neither was true and you just hung in there. If you hadn’t you wouldn’t be able to read the exit signs or figure out a bargain at the grocery store so you failed your way toward success. Persistence gives great payoffs.

The secret to success is remembering you may be a terrible shot with a twenty two but that you can be a whiz with a shot gun. Even a blind man can hit a baseball if he swings often enough. When things go wrong, increase your attempts because you accept the truth that the power of addition is with you. Every strikeout is a teacher whether it is a relationship or seeking another job or mate or whatever is your goal.

One actress fired after a host of insults by her director refused to wallow in self pity.. Instead she wrote a One Woman Drama called “Fired” and turned a terrible failure into a wonderful success.

Of my ten books, nine are non fiction. It is why my editors wouldn’t publish my one attempt at writing a novel. They said, “You are a non fiction writer. You are not a novelist.” I replied, “I must be a novelist because I just wrote one.” Twenty years and 78 rejections later my one novel, Rust On My Soul, was published by an International publisher and ended up being sold for pounds as well as dollars. What if I had quit after the seventy seventh try?

I was badly injured in a hang gliding accident in 1982. My arm was paralyzed and while I regained most of my mobility there are still lingering problems from that monumental day. But what counts are not the few remaining physical limitations but the so much positive recovery that did take place. Lets just call it a "No" in lower case.

In short, expect rejection, it is a part of life. Prepare for failure. No one always succeeds. Any successful executive will tell you he is ecstatic if he can be right 40% of the time.

You feel people don’t like you? Have you stopped to think it may be they don’t like your ideas? Stop and decide if your ideas are worth holding on to or if they can be changed. If they mean a lot to you, hold on to them and accept the rejection. It is a price all leaders have to pay.

Romantic rejection? One thing that is definitely a no-no in handling this problem is going out immediately and trying to find someone else to fill the gap. It isn’t fair to you because you are not really in the mood for a relationship and it isn’t fair to the other person because they are already on the wrong end of a very negative time in your life.

Hey. Clouds come. Rain rains. Don't curse the sky. Improve your skill with an umbrella.

There is a magic word that will help you to handle rejection in a new and positive way. The word is “NEXT!” When you have been given the “thumbs down” or “royal brush off” or “cold shoulder” meet the moment with the magic word “NEXT!”

It works like a miracle drug because when you articulate the word you put away the past and aim toward the future. There is room only for hope in the word. There is the persuasion of believing that a ton of new dawns are just over the horizon. It is the positive thinker’s mantra. It is a truth looking for its chance to come alive in your head and heart. Try it…you’ll like it.

WHAT'S IT LIKE TO BE A CHILD? WHAT'S IT LIKE TO BE A PARENT?

(These thoughts are added to three times each week)

Too many parents forget what it was like when they were a child. Children, of course, have no history of being a parent. It is still a role to be opened up to them in some distant future.

How then to bridge the gap? How then to heal the too often breaches made? What can and should be done so child and parent can better understand each other even if they will never completely agree?

Role playing! It may produce laughter, but it may well also produce some of that elusive necessity for better living; understanding.

Therefore, sooner than later, look at your child and say “Let’s play a game. For a little while I’m going to be you and you’re going to be me.” They will, of course, look at you as if you have gone mad or sincerely wonder where this conversation is going.

Spell it out! “I can remember when you acted out the part of a policeman or nurse. I can remember your playacting a lot of roles so today we’re both going to do it in a different way. I am going to act as if I am your age, a child, and you are going to act as if you are my age, a parent.” When they get through laughing or maybe even looking a little scared at the idea…continue.

“It will be fun and it will help both of us understand each other better. First, to give me a better idea of how you are feeling when I fuss at you for not doing something; I am going to pretend to be you. And to give you better idea of how I am feeling when you drag your feet I want you to try to be me. I know your excuses. You know my responses. It’s just that we both will be hearing the words from a different point of view.”

“Now, I am not going to get mad at you so I do want you act and sound like I do when I ask you to do something. How I sound? What do I say?” And, yes, no fair getting your feelings hurt if your child really gets into it. “And you aren’t supposed to get mad at me. Want to give it a try?”

Both of you may have a little trouble getting into the spirit of the game. You may want to work out your own way of explaining what it is you want to do. Your imagination may require some mental massaging but don’t give up on the idea. Most problems arise because we really don’t get in the other person’s frame of mind.

(Neil Wyrick has written nine books, The Spiritual Abraham Lincoln, Rust on My Soul and Poor Richard’s Almanack for the 20^th Century are still available on amazon.com and many other outlets)

ADAPTATION, ONE OF THE SECRETS FOR IMPROVED LIVING

(These thoughts are added to three times each week)

I still remember the first time I drove a car with a smaller steering wheel than the one my 1963 Chevrolet Impala had. I didn’t like it. The reason? It was a change and we human beings don’t like change. Sterring wheels were supposed to be large. Steering wheels had always been large since I had first learned how to drive. So what was with this so called enhancement?

Then one day I came to the conclusion that the smaller steering wheel was a wonderful improvement. It took time but I adapted and then didn’t just adapt but shouted, “Whoopee.”
What I guess I am saying is that we all need to adapt and make the most of such adaptation. Otherwise, life passes us by while we are still doing nothing but complaining.

One wise old philosopher sums it up well, “Adaptation is learning to itch where one can scratch.”

HE SAYS HE WAS GOING TO JOURNEY WHERE?

(These posts are added two three times each week)

Dear Abraham,

Today in Jerusalem they crucified the man named Jesus. The one you heard preach that afternoon on the side of a mountain. Pilate said, “I see no wrong in this just man,” but the crowd seemed intent on only one decision. It was obvious some had been paid to shout, “Let him be crucified!” but we both know how this is. Life is cheap in our day and love a commodity not easily come upon.

You said you had never met anyone like this man and I agree. He had more dignity carrying the cross down the Via Dolorosa than some men can muster sitting on a throne. I do not make a habit of attending crucifixions and surely one day they will be outlawed. I have certainly never before stayed to the bitter painful end, but as he hung on the cross he proved his mettle. It is not that he spoke often but what he had to say. I have forgotten some of his words, but others I will never forget.

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” How he could say this at such a time escapes me. That love he has been preaching for three years, he meant it.

When I heard him say, “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit,” his father was not the same as if I had said it. And I heard his last words; “It is finished.” He was calm when he spoke. There was almost a smile on his face like someone anticipating going back home. One of the soldiers cried out, “Surely this man was the Son of God.”

Son of God…the phrase seems to echo over and over in my mind. Why should the Son of God come to live among men only to die on a cross? I think and ponder and have more questions than answers. I dare not share them with many, but my friend of so many years, allow me to share them with you. I wonder if God wanted us to know he cares? Perhaps there was a special meaning to this death and the world has not heard the last of it. Caiphas walked away in triumph. Could it be his victory will be brief?

I am no prophet. For all my schooling I am not that wise. You were always the better student. But I know what I feel and what I feel is God.

I shall be leaving here in the next several days and traveling on the road to Emmaus. God’s blessings on you.

Your friend,

David

THE JOB

(These thoughts are added to three times each week)

There are nights when the stars seem not so bright as on other nights. It was like that just before the arrest in the garden place. It had been a day that had fed on itself, and it was coming up full, or empty, depending upon whose side you were on.

For political stability, the Judge in the second of two courts had allowed the jury to make the final decision. The emotional instability of the times made the outcome inevitable. It was the repetition of an age-old theme – if you do not like what is being said, silence the culprit. And since rehabilitation was not an option, everyone knew that Jesus was going to die.

It was the Jerusalem of King Herod and Pontius Pilate; a city that the Assyrians had fought over, the Egyptians had occupied, the Babylonians had restrained and the Romans had brutalized. But Jerusalem had never been conquered emotionally. Jerusalem was a city of monumental moments. No one realized that what was happening had the force of eternity about it.

It had begun with an invitation to love one’s enemies. But since interpretation is, at best, a shaky art, many regarded it as a revolution. At the end of two years and three months, everyone thought it was all over. Actually, it was not an end but a beginning.

He was an instrument maker - an instrument of death. Not that he actually used it. He would never do that. He only provided the means. The woodworker desperately needed the money these jobs provided. Taxes were high and always getting higher. Sometimes his conscience bothered him, but not enough to make him change this part of his trade.

He reached for his tools and bent to the task at hand. The soldier who always placed the orders had made it unmistakably clear that he must work faster. If he could not produce more quickly and efficiently, his name would be taken off the list.

The weather was, as usual, unbearably hot and he sweated as his hands properly shaped the beam. He had long since learned how to erase from his mind the cruelty of which he was a part. After all, a man must live.

The old carpenter had never been able to settle down. Perhaps the restlessness was part of his nomadic heritage. He had scorned Bethlehem as a half-dead and dusty little town, so he drifted on. Nor was Nazareth to his liking. It is not that he had failed to acquire a reputation for excellence. Whether building a stable, an inn, a private dwelling or simply shaping a yoke, his work was always appreciated. But there was another carpenter whose reputation outdid even his, so again he moved. Finally, he came to Jerusalem, a city of 55,000. In a matter of months he had settled in and established a small shop near the Western Wall of the Temple Mount.

The maze of tiny streets was nothing like the life of his youth. He, born of the Ta’amreh Bedouin tribe, was raised in those barren areas surrounding the stagnant, bitter waters of the Dead Sea. Yet he enjoyed the crowded marketplaces where merchants loudly haggled over the price of pickled cucumbers, honey-sweetened pastries, and chickens and lambs from their open stalls. He was fascinated by the narrow alleyways that forced one shoulder-to-shoulder with the hustling crowds.

His rustic appearance and accent, coupled with his unusual skill in his trade, made him an anomaly to those who came to his shop. He was an anomaly in his own eyes. Why was he here? There were other big cities, why had he felt drawn to Jerusalem?

What was so special about this city that even King David had declared, “If I forget Jerusalem, let my right hand lose its strength!” The Talmud claimed that God, Himself, had named it, and part of the word Jerusalem meant peace. But the Romans had come, and they tolerated neither God nor the Talmud. And there was certainly no peace. But here he was. He had a shop, and he felt at home in this large, ancient city.

The day was dry and clear with no hint of a storm. Outside, scavenger dogs mingled their barking with the bleating from pens of sheep waiting to be sacrificed, the ceaseless slapping of sandals against the cobble stones seemed to have the same cadence as the blacksmith forging iron and the cacophony of voices were like ageless echoes.

His once-straight spine seemed now caught in a perpetual tilt. Long years of heavy labor had taken a toll. Bending to this hateful, but well paid, task he wielded his bronze hatchet with unaccustomed force. The wood chips behind his ears that designated him a carpenter, almost loosened and fell.

It happened in a moment. He was rushing, as he had been told he had better do, and the sharp axe slipped. In all these years he had never cut himself, and in his trade that was a small miracle. He wrapped his leg tightly in an old rag but the bleeding would not stop. He wrapped the rag tighter and increased the pace of his efforts. He was filled with a kind of dread he had never experienced before. If someone had asked him to describe it he would have had to mutter, “I can’t.”

As he watched his blood drip onto the piece of wood he shaped, he could not help but wonder about the man whose blood would also stain it at the crucifixion.
It was not that he had not made such crosses before, or that he would not make them again, but sleep would not come easily this night nor for many nights to follow.
He thought longingly of a public garden, Gethsemane, not far from his shop. He went there whenever he needed the peaceful beauty of its stately palms and silver-leafed olive trees. Yet this very morning, a customer had told him of how darkness and disorder had visited even its quiet stillness. A dangerous zealot, by name of Jesus, had been arrested. He sighed…why must violence threaten such tranquility and beauty. Somehow he knew that this man would be hanging from one of the crosses he was making.
When one built chairs, they were for rest and fellowship. A bed offered a place to resurrect ones self from weariness. The stables he had constructed became places of birth and life. But crosses were cruel instruments of death. His sense of helplessness and guilt deepened.

There was famine in his eyes because he was not a man of violence and because crucifixion had not yet outlived its time. What is it like to die nailed to a cross? he wondered. How will I die? Surely not upon a cross. The old man shivered but he could not lift his eyes from the trinities of death now finished and placed against a wall.

He heard a gasp and saw a young boy outside turn his head away, savaged by what he saw. Was that the cry of a child he heard or the sound of his own soul weeping?

He heard the jangling of armor. The sound was full of menace. He rarely hated anyone, but then there is no rule that requires the conquered love the conqueror. As he watched them carry their heavy load away, he thought, one thing is for sure, this troublemaker Jesus will never be remembered like Spartacus.

AS IT NEVER COULD HAVE BEEN (This story isn't going where you think it will)

(These thoughts are added to three times each week)

The time was the fourteenth Nisan in the year 3790.

It was a dark spring evening in the seven hundred and eighty –third year of Rome. It was the twenty sixth year of the reign of the Emperor Tiberius. We would say it was the seventh day of April in the year of our Lord 30.

Three hundred thousand pilgrims moved within and without the stronghold of Jewish faith and Roman occupation. There was noise enough already, but then over the hill came charging one in a seamless garment. He stood straight and tall and his chariot was pulled by six white horses. His lieutenants, or disciples as they were called, each mounted on their black Arabian steeds, rode by his side. Jesus of Nazareth, for this was what he was called, wheeled up before the Fountain Gate, and watched the crowds surge forward and round about him and listened to them call out, “Hail, Jesus King of the Jews.” He stretched out his hands and arrogantly acknowledged their praise.

After awhile Jesus grew tired of their shouts. It had been a long trip from Bethany. Every few miles people asking for a few words of wisdom and the sick, everywhere you looked. Jesus thought to himself, “I must have healed five thousand if I healed one.” He gave a wave of his hand; his lieutenants forced their horse through the surging crowd. And they all moved in the direction of the Upper Room.

Once they reached these thinly lit upper chambers, where they would celebrate Pasch or Passover. Judas found a seat near the end of the table and close to the door. As the food was passed Jesus began to outline his plans for taking the city. Half way through the meal Judas edged toward the door. “Now!” With these words Jesus motioned to Peter and Peter followed Judas out into the night.

By Wednesday Jesus had the city of Jerusalem well in hand. The Roman Legions were caught off guard. Three hundred thousand Jews with the taste of freedom in their souls was too much. The crown sat easily on the head of this leader from Nazareth, a garland of golden leaves with berries made of rubies. Above his head laced on satin were the words, “Jesu Nazarenus, Rex Judaeori” (King of the Jews)

He granted two hours every morning and two hours every afternoon to the healing of the sick. They stretched from the Palace beyond the Gennath Gate and the length of the Via Delarosa to within sight of the temple, where Caiphas rubbed his hands in glee and planned a coalition with this new King Jesus.

The coronation ceremonies had been hasty but pontifically correct. James and John had received appointments making them co-chiefs of administration, and Peter had been put at the head of the Army to fight off the Roman legions who would certainly attack as soon as reinforcements arrived.

One of the first duties of Thomas, now police inspection, was to place Pilate in the very dirtiest of cells and deny him any water for bathing. Thomas was not quite sure what made him treat Pilate in this particular way but it was an obsession with him that this sentence should be carried out in this manner.

By Thursday, Peter had appointed Bartholomew head of propaganda and began to equip a growing people’s army with Roman swords and weapons of war. They looked uncomfortable in their shield, and some with long robes combined with Roman belts seemed awkward warriors at the best.

On Friday the Roman legions began their siege. They entered the city through the Mount of Olives, pouring over Gethsemane in the direction of the Golden Gate. A smaller diverting force moved down from the higher hills surrounding Golgotha. Within a few hours the streets of Jerusalem were covered with the dead and dying. And Jesus of Nazareth lay at the foot of the throne with a spear thrust deep into his side. His last gasping words were made as he looked up toward the heavens and said “Father, forgive me…for I knew not what I did.”

A GIFT SUPREME

(These thoughts are added to three times each week)

The hand of some philosopher shook when he wrote the following words for in them was an earthquake of emotion and a map aimed at eternity.

God gives a son.
Man gives a mushroom cloud.
God gives a child.
Man gives a cross.
And yet a few
Echo the Son,
Reflect the Light,
Take up the Cross that takes them up
And give themselves to God.

At the beginning of the week, when palm fronds were laid before Jesus, He knew there would come a place called Gethsemane, a place marked by a traitor’s kiss. He knew that from a triumphal entry would soon come a time when He would be roughly shoved and dragged back down toward the same city. But He also knew there would be a Resurrection. And that it would make the entire week a triumph.

And that Resurrection? It is what can make your life a triumph. That which can keep your soul from shriveling. That which can lead you to make a triumphant entry into a new way of life.
Indeed, save yourself from being like the famous 19th century English poet, Lord Byron, who having wasted his life to such a degree wrote in his final days, “I am fit only for the worm, the canker and grief.”

Save yourself from being like Lord Beaconfield, who is better known as Disraeli and had enough fame for a dozen men, but who one day realized it was not enough and wrote, “…youth is a mistake, manhood a struggle and old age a regret.”

Save yourself from being like Jay Gould, a multi-millionaire in 19th century America. In our time that would make him a billionaire. But though he had wealth in abundance he still said not long before he died, “I suppose I am the most miserable devil on earth.”

Save yourself from being like Alexander the Great, who when he found he had no more worlds to conquer, sat down and wept.

Save yourself from wasting yourself…for I tell you this, those who take Jesus at His word always have a vision. Those who foolishly forget or ignore Him just wear glasses.

THE FRIENDSHIP OF FAILURE AND ADVERSITY

(these thoughts are added to three times each week)

Abraham Lincoln failed the first time he ran for public office. He failed when he opened a grocery store. He failed and failed and kept on failing until one day, because he did not quit, he became President of the United States.

In 1735, John and Charles Wesley sailed from England to Georgia. As missionaries they failed miserably in their efforts to convert the Indians, but then returned to England and ended up founding the Methodist Church.

James Whistler, one of America’s finest painters and graphic artists, often joked about flunking a chemistry exam at West Point that kept him from getting a commission in the Army. “Well, now,” he would say, “if silicon had been a gas, I would have been a Major General.”

The times of challenge never end. The times of choices never end. We all choose whether to be molded by self pity or strong faith. Face life looking down at the ground or raise our head to the stars. The stars? Of course, remember that though all around them is darkness they never notice…they are too busy making light.

And beyond the shadow of a doubt, one of the best ways to handle adversity if it isn’t yours but the adversity of a friend is to follow the actions of some of the friends of Job. He had a problem. They cared. So for seven days, seven friends or more sat around and were just there for him. They didn’t offer great words of wisdom. They didn’t give out massive quotes of scripture - that wasn’t who they were, they didn’t feel qualified. So they just showed up and let him know they cared.

You want to help someone through misery, through abject pain, through problems large, medium or small. Just let them know you care. With a word. With a note. With a presence. You need not try to carry a large package of wisdom. It may not at the moment be yours to care…but compassion it is a miracle medicine to someone weary and worn. Be that medicine. Court that kind of success.

And, oh, what a great teacher adversity can be if we will but pay attention to its teachings. If we but let it, it can make us wise. If we do not let it teach us something, it can make us fools. Yes, the secret to success is learning how to fail.

Have you ever stopped to think that sometimes bad really is good and sometimes good really is bad? Let’s put it this way. Is there a danger in having too much good and never any bad? You may automatically think, “I can live with that. Where do I sign up?” But think about it. A little good and a little bad make a balance we can live with. Too much of either can create problems; too much good can spawn arrogance and complacency, and too much bad can produce despair. Too much good and people begin to think they don’t need God and heaven. They feel they must be handling everything quite well all by themselves, thank you. Therefore, creating heaven here on earth they put theological truths on the back burner. Too much bad and some people begin to doubt there is a god. Which is why, of course, it is wise, in this thing called life, to set up a permanent God-plan as early in our beginnings as possible. God - #1, before He keeps getting downgraded on a priority list. An all out faith-factor that begins with “Here am I, Lord, take me,” and never lets up on the idea.

The Apostle Paul when he was prison-bound shook hands with adversity and easily wrote “I have learned to be content, content with whatever I have. I know what it is to have plenty. I know what it is to have nothing.” He wrote these words from a jail cell rather than a patio. He wrote them because he knew that true contentment is who one is rather than where one is or what one has.

When we are between the proverbial rock and the hard place, we often find out who we really are. So in a sense, adversity introduces us to ourselves. We don’t find ourselves at a carnival or on a carousel. We find ourselves when we may have fallen off the carousel and broken something. Pain and problems do that, invite God into our lives in a way pleasure never can.

The various times in my life that I’ve had more than a passing acquaintanceship with surgeons, (21 major surgeries and accidents to be exact) it has simply reminded me what I need to be strongly reminded of, “Neil, don’t you ever get any fool idea that you can go it alone.”

One day a man threw a stone at another man. It hit him in the head, almost knocked him out and caused great pain. The man who had been hit, promptly rushed across the street embraced the man who had thrown the stone and thanked him profusely. You see, the man hit by the stone had been only one step away from stepping on a live electric wire lying on the ground. And the man who threw the stone? It was the only way he could get his attention for he was too far away to be heard if he merely called out a warning.

Oh, adversity hurts as it gets our attention, no doubt about it, but in the process it can awaken the soul. Adversity drives some folk to their knees that otherwise would never consider it. Should you embrace adversity as a friend? That may be a stretch, but then again maybe not, because like the ole mule, the only way to get our attention sometimes is to be hit on the nose by a two by four.

Neil Wyrick is the author of The Spiritual Abraham Lincoln and his 10th book coming out in 2009 Letters to 21st Century America from Charles Wesley, Hymn Writer Supreme.