Author: Elaine

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Idolatry and Eating Ashes

I tried over 40 shots, playing with lighting, settings, and angles, yet this is still a poor representation of what I wanted to capture. I’m an amateur, but I’m guessing even the best photographers will have a difficult time getting an appealing picture of a plate serving up a pile of ashes.

The sin I must confess daily is self-sufficiency. Making my own decisions. Chugging along on my own inspiration and strength. Relying on my own intellectual powers, my own resources, my own intuition, cleverness, and perception. Planning my future according to my own wants and wishes.

It’s idolatry. When I slip into this way of living, I am eating ashes.

Isaiah 44 exposes the foolishness of worshipping and praying to man-made idols. The prophet depicts someone taking a piece of wood, using part of it to cook a meal and a second part to heat his home. Then he carves the remainder into an idol and names it “god,” praying to it for help and rescue.

But even while I read about the foolishness of praying to carved wood, I am thinking how accurately this describes our idolatry today.

We look to those things of our own making for help and rescue. Where does the world say we can find hope, help, security, and stability? A political candidate. An economic system. Education. Financial institutions. Make it more personal: Where do we, even as children of the Lord of the universe, look for help and rescue? Our own intellectual or physical resources? Willpower and self-improvement? The nest egg we’ve put away? The network of people who support us? The philosophy we’ve hammered out? A career we have carefully built? A church we’re committed to?

Forgive our idolatry, Father.

Isaiah says of the one who carves an idol,

The poor, deluded fool feeds on ashes.
He trusts something that can’t help him at all.
Yet he cannot bring himself to ask,
“Is this idol that I’m holding in my hand a lie?”

I have to ask myself: What am I holding onto that is a lie? What have I made for myself and named a god, depending on it to give me a good life, to be my safety net, to rescue me from trouble, to be my guide in choices and priorities?

“Watch out, you who live in your own light and warm yourselves by your own fires,” cautions Isaiah. Only torment will result. I have lived some of that torment. I sometimes try to keep my light burning by drawing only on my own resources, trying to keep warm with only those flickering fires I built myself. Perhaps the taste of ashes then is from my own fire which is so insufficient and all too easily dies.

Those who deliberately choose their own ways will see only trouble, God says. “For when I called, they did not answer. When I spoke, they did not listen.” A good description of our world today, no?

Give me the courage, Spirit, to examine my life and see my idols for the lies they are, and then help me destroy them. I want to live in the light of the Almighty, warm myself at His fire, answer when He calls, and listen when He speaks.

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Scripture: Isaiah 44:20; 66:3-4 (NLT)

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This post was ready to publish yesterday; I just didn’t get it done then. Now I hestitate to add these last paragraphs, lest they be taken as comment on the outcome of yesterday’s elections. It is not.

The first thing I did this morning was turn on my computer and check the election results. On the local newspapers’ website was a photo of a woman standing before a voting machine, making her choices. The polling place was a large church, and the camera had also captured a bulletin board behind her, displaying in large letters: The Lord is my Shepherd. In fact, the letters were prominent enough that the statement looked like a headline for the photo.

I took it as a reminder to myself: no matter what results I was about to read, the Lord is indeed my Shepherd, my Lord, the One upon whom my life depends.

Then I headed out for my morning walk. Along the way, I passed newspaper boxes; and that photo was on the front page. But in the print edition, the wonderful reminder on the bulletin board had been cropped off. Now the photo shows only a woman voting.

Our country has been doggedly cropping God out of every picture and replacing Him with – what? What or who can equal Him? What are we left with if we ignore His calling and live with only our own idols and fires?

But for those He calls His children, He is our Shepherd. Always, constantly, forever.

Amen.

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Headed for Safe Harbor

I last saw the HMS Bounty docked in Eastport, Maine, her tall masts and elaborate rigging outlined against a gray sky.

 

The wood on her deck gleamed; and high above, dozens of colorful flags snapped and sang in the wind. Even a Midwestern landlubber could see that this historic ship was a beauty, a perfect addition to Eastport’s annual Pirate Festival. A sign at the end of the dock invited all pirates and wenches to a party on board that night. Standing on the dock by the ship, I imagined the life this crew must lead, sailing from port to port and event to event, bringing to life the legends of the tall ships.

 

Last night, one of the many headlines generated by the gigantic storm Sandy announced that the Bounty had sunk in wild seas off the North Carolina coast. Headed for St. Petersburg, Florida, they had charted a course that would hopefully skirt the worst of the storm, yet destruction still found them. Most members of the crew were rescued from the lifeboats, but the captain and one other person were washed away and are still missing (as of last night).

One crew member reportedly said, “The ship sank beneath us.” Photos from the rescue scene show only a few timbers tossed about in the waves. I can’t help but remember the proud and festive ship at the dock in Eastport.

Those two contrasting images of the Bounty remind me how quickly and unpredictably the seas of our lives change. Monster storms swamp our boats.  Even when we think we’ve charted a sound, safe course, we never know what hurricane may tomorrow blow into our lives, destroying what we thought was secure, solid, and dependable.

The wreckage of the HMS Bounty caused me to check my anchor, to set it even more firmly. Only one hope is sure. Only one Rock is solid and immovable. Through the hurricanes of this life, God’s promises and enduring love guide our frail ships safely to the one final safe harbor. (Ps 107:1).

So God has given both his promise and his oath… Therefore, we who have fled to him [God] for refuge can have great confidence as we hold to the hope that lies before us. This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary. Jesus has already gone in there for us.  (Hebrews 6:18-20)

Robin Mark sings a lovely version of the old hymn, “We Have an Anchor” in this video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrjKUII-V18

Here are the full lyrics of the song written by Priscilla Owens in 1882:

We Have an Anchor

Will your anchor hold in the storms of life,
When the clouds unfold their wings of strife?
When the strong tides lift and the cables strain,
Will your anchor drift, or firm remain?

Refrain:

We have an anchor that keeps the soul
Steadfast and sure while the billows roll,
Fastened to the Rock which cannot move,
Grounded firm and deep in the Savior’s love.

It is safely moored, ’twill the storm withstand,
For ’tis well secured by the Savior’s hand;
And the cables, passed from His heart to mine,
Can defy that blast, thro’ strength divine.

Refrain

It will surely hold in the Straits of Fear—
When the breakers have told that the reef is near;
Though the tempest rave and the wild winds blow,
Not an angry wave shall our bark o’erflow.

Refrain

It will firmly hold in the Floods of Death—-
When the waters cold chill our latest breath,
On the rising tide it can never fail,
While our hopes abide within the Veil.

Refrain

When our eyes behold through the gath’ring night
The city of gold, our harbor bright,
We shall anchor fast by the heav’nly shore,
With the storms all past forevermore.

Refrain

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Thanks to Lana Turner for her photos of the HMS Bounty in Eastport.

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Born with ears to hear

Ralph was driving fast. How fast that may have been, I’ll let you imagine. Just remember, as you fix this scene in your mind, that this early spring day is sometime around 1940 and the car is an old Model T and Ralph is hurtling (more or less) through the Maine woods on a road rutted, winding, and impassable in the winter.

Around a curve he barrels, and there in the middle of the road is a doe with a frail-looking little fawn, wobbling along on legs it has only been using for a few hours.

Ralph slammed on everything and skidded to a halt just as the doe, who stuck until the radiator was almost touching her, jumped clear. She had courage, poor thing. The fawn couldn’t jump. It was too little and weak and confused. It went down in the road. Ralph swarmed over the door, heart-broken. He’s often hard-boiled in his attitude toward his own kind, but when it comes to animals, he’s just a bowl of custard. Then he saw that he’d stopped well short of the fawn. It hadn’t been touched. It had simply obeyed a command from something that had been born within it—a command to play possum. It lay flat on its belly with its hind legs under its body in a crouch and its front legs stretched straight out, its head between them. The grass between the ruts [in the road] arched over it, and it lay perfectly supine, even when Ralph bent over it. Only its eyes moved, rolling back to follow his movements. Even when he ran his hand along its spine, to make sure it was all right, the only sign of life it gave was an uncontrollable shrugging of the loose skin on its back. It didn’t know what this was all about; after all, it had had only since about dawn to get used to this world; it had nothing to go by except that inner voice; but it was doing its poor little best to follow instructions.*

Jesus often said, “Those who have ears to hear, let them hear.” I’m guessing that was a puzzling comment to many in the crowd following Him, since most of them probably did have two ears stuck on the sides of their heads. I’ve puzzled about His meaning myself.

But now I think we are like that weak and confused fawn in the road with a Model T bearing down on it. At our Spirit-birth, we were given ears to hear the voice of God. When He gave us this new life, He equipped us to hear the voice of our Maker, the voice of the one who knows exactly how He created us to live.

We may think sadnesses will crush us, and there is no hope or help. Disaster bears down on us, or evil tears our lives. Can we lie quietly enough to hear the voice of the One who watches over His children with a tender love beyond any love we can imagine?

We may be drawn by alluring glitter and sparkle of cheap toys offered everywhere we turn; we sometimes even pay an exorbitant price to play with them. Should we not be straining to hear, instead, the Voice that protects and molds us?

We may think we are groping in the dark, lost and uncertain and afraid. But we have been given ears to hear the Voice that says, “I will always be holding you in my hands and guiding your steps.”

I want to lie quietly, trusting. The fawn “didn’t know what this was all about” and had “nothing to go by except that inner voice.” We’re assaulted by many voices whispering, screaming, lying, luring, promising, and promoting. But only one Voice leads us to life, and we were born with ears to hear the One who does know what this is all about. Oh! I want to learn to be as obedient as that fawn.

* from We Took to the Woods by Louise Dickinson Rich

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Entrusted

Jude wrote a little letter to all who have been called by God the Father, who loves you and keeps you safe in the care of Jesus Christ. (v. 1)

That would include you and me.

Jude had intended to write a joyous letter about salvation, but a more pressing issue came to the forefront–there were those in the church who had twisted the Gospel to suit their own immoral purposes–and so he dives right into the subject of false teachers and false doctrines. He urges those who have been called, to defend the faith that God has entrusted once for all time to his holy people.

I had intended to read his entire letter about standing firm in the faith, but I was stopped by that one word in verse 3: entrusted.

God entrusted us with this Gospel. Wow. It’s really quite staggering that God has chosen us—entrusted us—with the mission of spreading His good news.

Hello? Does He not know how far I am from being a perfect candidate for this job? Didn’t He see how unprepared I was to handle such responsibility? Has He not seen how I’ve screwed up? To borrow a line from one of my favorite movies: “What was God thinking?”

That’s my first reaction to this verse that tells me I’ve been entrusted with this defending of the faith. ME? I want to protest. Surely there are those far better equipped, more mature, more qualified, more—yes—Christ-like  ….

Yet Scriptures tell us this is now our mission, it’s what we’ve been called to do—to show others the goodness of God, for he called [us] out of the darkness into his wonderful light. That passage in 1 Peter 2 likens us to royal priests, a holy nation chosen by God and charged with ushering others into the presence of God!

“You will be my witnesses,” Christ said. I carry His name. My words and actions today will testify to something. What testimony will my life present?

We are not perfect … not now. But we are being changed every day to become that masterpiece God has in mind. We live by His mercy and grace and His Spirit; our lives are changed because we know Him. We are letters from Christ; He wrote that letter on our hearts and now sends it out to a world that does not know or acknowledge Him (2 Cor. 3:3).

Who better to recommend a surgeon than a patient who’s experienced his healing skills? Who better to recommend the power of the Healer than those who have been healed?

Who better to attest to forgiveness that blots out stains than those who need forgiveness and mercy?  

Who better to represent the transforming power at work in this world than those who are being transformed, day by day, becoming more like the One they follow as Lord?

A royal priesthood, a holy nation, Christ’s witnesses, God’s masterpiece, a letter from Christ to the world—we’ve been entrusted with the Gospel, the good news that Christ makes a difference in our lives.

May we live lives worthy of that message today.

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“Biking Through” GIVEAWAY

Disclaimer: This is a promotion … sort of … but also a free gift for you.

In 2006, life as Paul Stutzman had always known it came to an end. His wife, Mary, died of breast cancer in September of that year. A year later, driven by an almost desperate desire to make life “whole” again, he dismantled the one part of his life that was still familiar and resigned a long-term career to hike the Appalachian Trail from one end to another, all 2,176 miles of it. He took to the trail still carrying his grief and a ton of questions for God—burdens heavier than his backpack.

That hike and his new relationship with His Creator Father changed his life; or, rather, it became the foundation for building a new life. He recounted his pilgrimage in his book, Hiking Through: One man’s journey to peace and freedom on the Appalachian Trail.

Two years later, still the adventurer, Paul rode his bicycle from one end of the United States to the other, beginning on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State and ending in Key West, Florida. He wrote about that adventure in Biking Through: It’s about time.

Biking Through will be published in paperback in the spring of 2013 by Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, and Paul will have a few dozen books to give away at that time. He’s agreed to let me post this as an invitation to you—if you want a free copy of the book, it’s yours, no fine print or strings attached.

If you aren’t familiar with Paul and his work, check out his website at www.paulstutzman.com. You’ll see there that he has launched another adventure in the last year: his first work of fiction, The Wanderers, a novel set in Amish Country where Paul has lived all of his life.

And please, if you want a free copy of Biking Through, don’t hesitate! Send Paul your name and mailing address. You will not be added to any mailing list, you will not be asked for a review, you will not be asked to buy anything or be solicited in any way. Paul’s simply looking for people who might enjoy reading the story of his bike ride. Just let him know you would like a free copy. They’ll be sent out in the spring, when the publisher has them ready.

Send your name and mailing address to pstutzman@roadrunner.com and simply say, “I’d like a free copy of Biking Through.”

P.S. Do not use the contact form on the website. Send this request directly to Paul.

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