What is Our Problem With Silence? | |
Thursday, October 24, 2024 | |
America might be the land of the free. But it is also the land of the loud. Research shows that 37% of rock musicians have experienced measurable hearing loss. While hearing damage begins at about 100 decibels, rock concerts routinely clock in between 110 and 120 decibels. And many of our churches are not much better in the volume department. My beef, though, is not so much with how loud we get but how silent we don't get. I submit that most evangelical churches (and those of us who attend them) are somehow uncomfortable with silence. Fast and loud is fun. It feels good. Slow and silent? Not so good. So, almost all of our worship music is geared toward fast and loud. But what does this say about us and our walk with God? It says our worship is more about our likes than God's character. The same Bible that commands, "Shout for joy to the Lord all the earth," also commands, "Be still and know that I am God." Who could argue that we do a lot more loudness than stillness? Tozer was ahead of his time when he wrote, "Religion has accepted the monstrous heresy that noise, size, activity, and bluster make a man dear to God. But we may take heart. To a people caught in the tempest of the last great conflict, God says, 'Be still, and know that I am God' (Psalm 46:10), and still, He says it as if He means to tell us that our strength and safety lie not in noise but in silence." There’s a lot to be said for silence. It helps us unwind and creates the stage on which introspection can perform its good work. Silence is calming, slowing—an acoustic cousin to meditation. William Penn, founder of the state of Pennsylvania, advised, "In the rush and noise of life, as you have intervals, stop home within yourself and be still. Wait upon God—and feel His good presence. This will carry you through your day's business." I dare you to "stop home" at some point today. You won't have to tell God that you've come to Him. He'll know it—by your silence.
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Remarkable Reunions | |
Thursday, October 17, 2024 | |
In the last month, I've been privileged to participate in two remarkable reunions. The first was with my Junior High band director, now in his upper 80s. Then came an invitation to participate in a “Marching Mustangs” high school band event. Our high school band director, also in his late 80s, flew in from Arizona, and we had dinner together. Then, we alumni rehearsed with the current band, marched out onto the field, and played the school fight song for the homecoming game. Under the bright lights, it felt like a time warp—like I was back decades ago. What a blast sharing the evening with my brother, Tom—who played trumpet—and sister, Susan—who played flute and was the drum major in her senior year. The thing that shocked me was…. Okay, I’ll just say it. Everybody looked old. Really old. Granted, I hadn’t seen most of these people since Ronald Reagan was president, but still, I was caught off guard. (And just think, they all said the same thing about me!). My state of melancholy morphed into full-blown sadness when I pondered the cause of all this—the lingering effects of sin. Not one hunky football player, not one cute cheerleader, not one homecoming queen escapes the reach of its wrinkle-making, hair-thinning, life-choking grasp. And then we die! Ah, but for the believer, there's more to the story. There's a better reunion coming. In heaven, our lives will be restored, our bodies will be new, and—best of all—"so shall we ever be with the Lord." Will you be at that reunion?
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Your Life is a Book | |
Thursday, October 10, 2024 | |
I suffer from an addiction. Books. I love the way they look, the way they feel—even the way they smell. I cannot pass up a bookstore, book stall, or library without perusing. And my biggest distraction at any airport is the spinning rack or sprawling stack of books. Don't get me wrong. A Kindle is fun—and mighty handy. But there's something profound about cradling a beautifully crafted volume. Likely, that's why Psalm 139:16 arrested my attention. David writes, "Your eyes have seen my formless substance; and in Your book were written all the days that were ordained for me when as yet there was not one of them." Consider: your days are all ordained. Which means there's a plan for your life, a story arc. And if our days are ordained, it means Someone is doing the ordaining—God. When you write a book, the publisher assigns you an editor who has the last word on everything: content, style, deadline, and even the cover. David reminds us that not only is God our Maker, but He's also our Editor. Regarding the number of our days, there was a time when “there was not one of them.” Likewise, there will be a time when our days are no longer. I have yet to read a book that doesn't have a front cover—and a back, a beginning—and an end. Likewise, in the plot line of your life, God will, at some point, say, "This is the end." And it will be. Yet, in another sense, that moment will only be the beginning of eternity. For believers, eternity is our “story after the story.” But we have only a relatively few chapters here on earth to make a difference in that unending adventure. I don't know how many pages remain in your narrative—or mine. But shouldn't those pages—every single one of them—be inked, underlined, and highlighted with stories of our courage, compassion, and Christ-exalting service?
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Part-Time Sin-Haters | |
Thursday, October 03, 2024 | |
Do you merely dislike sin—or do you hate sin? The question is about much more than semantics. In Psalm 101:3, David pledges, “I will set no worthless thing before my eyes; I hate the work of those who fall away; It shall not cling to me.” Notice that David didn’t say he “disliked” sin. The word here is hate. And God uses that same word—hate—to describe a long list of sins He despises. The big deal? When we simply “dislike” sin, we inevitably tolerate it—and even toy with it. It gains a toehold, if not a foothold, in our lives. I dislike my messy office desk, but apparently, I don’t hate it because I tolerate piles on my desk and even piles on the floor. If I truly hated it, I would get rid of the mess. This is nothing less than the sin of laziness or lack of self-discipline. Spurgeon says, “What fascinates the eye is very apt to gain admission into the heart.” Many are driven by lust—which certainly fascinates the eye—and so, at some level, we engage it. Others of us toy with greed, laziness, or extreme ambition. On good days, we avoid these sins (we dislike them). But at other times, we engage them (down deep, we like them). So, we feed them and give them lodging in our hearts. In other words, we are part-time sin-haters. Which is another way of saying we are part-time sin lovers. But John Owen's warning still shouts about the fray: “Be killing sin, or sin will be killing you!” I say again, a part-time sin hater is also a part-time sin lover. Then what’s the way out? How do we learn the art of “killing sin?” Matthew Henry advises, "In all our worldly business, we must see that what we set our eyes upon be right and good and not any forbidden fruit, and that we never seek that which we cannot have without sin. It is the character of a good man that he shuts his eyes from seeing evil." All of this sounds remarkably similar to Philippians 4:8: "...whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, think about these things." But I leave the final word with Spurgeon, who offers this succinct advice: “Hatred of sin is a good sentinel for the door of virtue.”
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Looking Party | |
Thursday, September 26, 2024 | |
The immersive green textures drenched us in beauty as the tractor hauled us deeper into the woods. I suggested to five-year-old Emma that we have a “looking party,” pausing to notice and thank God for all His creation. We did. But why isn’t this a way of life for us grownups? I’m convinced there’s a price we pay for not really looking. First, we cease to be thankful. Second, we cease even to notice the magic. Doubt my claim? When was the last time you looked up at the sliver-cratered moon of ours and whispered, “Praise God!” Do we see those geese honking overhead during their formation flights? Even if they’re not honking, the sound of their wind-whipped wings is awesome. When did we last inhale the fragrance that only autumn unbottles? And how does God paint such bombastic shades of red on the tree leaves? When was the last time you stood reverently in a field of corn and enjoyed the symphony of an early morning breeze making music in the drying stalks? God's creation offers a staggering amount of beauty—yet much of it passes by daily without our thanks. Worse, we fail even to notice it. But what if we chose differently? What if we scheduled a daily "looking party" —a moment when we chose to notice—and thank God—for His creative touches? Our cloud-crafting, moon-making, sky-painting, God generates an original never-to-be-repeated show every single day. And night. A “looking party” might be just what you need to notice—and thank Him for it!
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