“She’s a bad woman; give me the goat!”

learning hebrew
in kibbutz tzuba
near jerusalem
exhiliarating, exhausting, expensive
minimal vocabulary
barrage of verb forms...morphological confetti
truncated sentences
4 hrs a day
monolingual
homework too
very tired
neurons fired
neurons fried
reading jonah
← wrbh n ll ←
little by little
many questions

"אישה רעה; תן לי את העז"

Professionalism and shepherds

We study for years in expensive, prestigious educational institutions acquiring skills and knowledge focused on obtaining and enhancing our future careers. And once employment is secured, we typically seek higher standing in the corporate structure through a combination of improving old skills, gaining new ones and some well-calculated social shmoozing.

Well, what about shepherds? I’m no expert, but it doesn’t seem like it would take much skill to be a shepherd. I mean, after all, what do you have to do but sit around all day and watch the sheep? Oh, I suppose you have to protect them from harm, and lead them to food and water as well. But even so, shepherding certainly doesn’t seem to offer much in the way of upward professional mobility. All things considered, being a shepherd wouldn’t be too impressive on a job résumé.

The irony of ironies is that this is the picture the Lord God Most High, the Creator of heaven and earth, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, gives us of himself. “I am the good shepherd,” Jesus says (Jn 10.11). How odd. Why would he identify himself with an occupation that by most standards is nothing short of a professional black hole? Probably because it’s a clear reflection of his character: unlike the corporate climber, the young urban professional, the CEO of a multi-national conglomerate or the celebrity on a red carpet surrounded by papparazzi, the shepherd is focused not on himself, but on the well-being of weak, defenseless, fairly stupid creatures who get lost easily and do nothing all day but consume to fill their own stomachs. Creatures rather like us, as a matter of fact. Selfish, belly-centric, and prone to take the wrong path. Creatures who need protection and nourishment. Creatures who more often than not do not recognize the extent to which they benefit from the character of their caretaker. Creatures who find themselves in the center of the selfless, constant, loving and compassionate gaze of the Good Shepherd.

Fortresses

Things that are bigger than you will force you to either try harder in an effort to exert control and influence over them – or they will force you to yield. If you do the latter, it matters what you yield to. You can yield to despair – I've done so on occasion. The world will be cold and opaque. You can also yield to God. There is no despair for a beleaguered soul-jer finding protection behind the walls of a fortress. That's what fortresses are for…not some shameful, second-rate "plan B" for the warrior who discovers he is insufficient in and of himself to win the war alone. Come in. Close the door. Welcome to my world.

Holey His

I was thinking this week about failure – personal, professional, just pick a domain – and, in typically morose fashion, began to wallow in a view of myself as nothing but a collection of empty holes, a substance-less interstitial tissue. Hardly healthy.

Then I remembered thinking once long ago "I am NOT the sum of all my failures." Initially a comforting thought. But if holes is what I am NOT, what indeed AM I? Is this comfort in actuality some kind of psychological stowaway, hidden somewhere inside the vague hope that maybe there IS some redeeming element, something worthwhile, some measure of intrinsic value in me, even apart from God?

Thoughts of Grace's teaching on Romans flow thru my mind; if one thing is clear it's that there is no excuse, no cause for boasting, no justification whatsover before God – apart from Him and His intervention I am irrevocably unredeemable.

So the niggling suspicion that I am a collection of empty holes turns out to be, in fact, closer to the truth – except for one thing; it does not end there: the holes are voids, hollow places to be filled by the grace of God. Then let the holes be deep and cavernous and gaping – and let God pour into them, to outrageous overflowing, all the grace that He can muster. Then it will be true that I am not the sum of all my failures – for I am failure met by the unmerited favor of God, and He has made me a vessel of His relentless, unfathomable and incalculable grace that can fill all the holes in me. To Him be all glory and honor.

a thought on psalm 63.1

"...my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you in a dry and weary land where there is no water."

a desert wasteland. thirst, hunger pangs, weariness, intense physical longing… you are my "enemies"… bodily stuff to conquer, to avoid, to master in one way or another, and not just for me, but for the world as well. who would ever opt for you if the slightest alternative were offered? but blessed be you, who remind me that I am not perishable flesh and blood only, but also spirit, made in the Image of God. blessed be you, who day by day, hour by hour, second by merciless second, so relentlessly point me to Living Water, Bread of Life, a yoke made easy by my Yokefellow, and pleasures at His right hand forevermore.

what to pray?

ps 138.7 "tho i walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life."

even if there is difficulty, even if surrounded by enemies, God is there. who would know better than someone like David, whose whole life was filled with difficulties, yet thru those difficulties an awareness of the presence and provision of God the likes of which i can scarcely imagine.

so, what to pray? "O Lord, deliver me"? Maybe.
or "O Lord, let me see you even here"? Surely.

in memoriam

15 feb 08

Tombstones: what pitiful markers for those who have punctuated our lives with their presence. An inscription like "Kenneth Lysle Watters. June 22, 1917-January 12, 2008" will never do justice to the totality of a life, certainly not in this case.

I've just come back from a memorial service for Ken Watters, who died a month ago at the age of 90. He was one of the "old guys" who labored to make Wycliffe Bible Translators the organization that it is, whose name would often appear in publications and organizational newsletters, such that you were always left with the impression "he's a 'Somebody'". We went to the memorial, not because he was a Wycliffe 'Somebody' – we never even knew him – but we know his kids, our peers, and wanted to honor and support them.

I've been to funerals where there is no hope; where people struggle for words to say at the departure of a loved one…sometimes grievious, sometimes welcomed. There have been other memorials, however, whose textures have not been so dark and sombre. And I can scarcely imagine a more eloquent and joyful memorial than this one was, truly the celebration of a life of service, full of integrity and lived for the glory of God.

I'm left with numerous impressions.

Person after person stood up and lauded his life, and not merely with the perfunctory "he's in a better place"-type platitudes you might hear in similar circumstances. They shared about his contributions in so many areas: military service, his involvement with Navigators, his history with Wycliffe. Truly a remarkable man. Themes of honor, integrity, his kindness, his love for scripture, his love for God, how he sacrificially cared for his wife, what an example he was were voiced repeatedly, the sheer volume of which only confirmed their veracity and could not help but leave me with the impression "I wish I would have known him too." What an incomparably valuable legacy to leave behind.

But then Josiah, one of grandsons shared…"I never knew my grandfather as an important person; I never knew him as someone who accomplished great things in the navy, or in Bible translation. He was just my grandpa." A tender, yet haunting statement. It made me reflect on how often my life casually touches specific points along the trajectory of the lives of others. They have a history; they have a future ahead of their present. And yet so often I treat the contact in a cavalier fashion, sometimes even wanting to avoid them altogether. But i'm reminded by this statement that I don't know where God has brought them from nor what God has in store for them in days ahead. There is simply too much about them I don't know to exclude them from the category of "important people". As C.S. Lewis has said:

"…It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal…Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses." (from The Weight of Glory)

In light of all the post-mortem honor heaped upon this man I could not help but think "What will my children say about me?" Now THAT's something to ponder. I know that countless impressions I've made during the course of my life are already planted, rooted, grown, harvested and fully digested in their minds and souls. So i figure I should get the jump on things now and write out what I want them to say while it's still fresh in my mind!