“And she called the name of the LORD that spake unto her, “Thou God seest me” For she said, Have I also here looked after him that seeth me?” - Genesis 16:13

Hagar isn’t the most sympathetic of Bible characters. Handmaid to Abraham’s barren wife Sarah, she had become pregnant by Abraham at Sarah’s insistence. (Genesis 16:1-2) You’ll remember that God had promised them a son, but Sarah, like so many of us, liked God’s promise, but not His timing. In her impatience she basically said, “Let’s help God along. He said we’d have a son but I’m still not pregnant. So instead of waiting for God to do what He said He’d do, you lie with Hagar, she’ll have the child, and we’ll make him our own.”

Abraham complied, and Hagar became full of both child and attitude, evidently showing contempt to her mistress since she, rather than Sarah, was carrying Abraham’s baby. (Genesis 16:4) By now none of them are looking too good, as Sarah begins mistreating Hagar, and Hagar flees in fear. (Genesis 16:6) And in her helplessness, brought on by a difficult situation she’d helped to create, God meets her.

Pause. He met her.

OK, I fully understand God meeting a martyr who’s suffering because of persecution or injustice; that makes sense because, after all, such a person suffers wrongfully. But here He’s intervening in the life of someone who is at least partly to blame for her circumstance. He not only meets her, but He meets her with a plan, and a promise, and in grateful response she rightly calls Him “The One Who Sees.”

That alone blows me away. He is the One Who Sees, seeing us both in the pain we’re allowed to suffer, and the pain we’ve created by our own sin, or stupidity, or both. Maybe Hagar felt compelled as a servant to go along with the surrogate pregnancy plan, but her open contempt for Sarah was inexcusable. Even then, He saw, pitied, intervened. Just as He has seen me, pitied me and intervened countless times when I’ve cried out to Him in the middle of stress that I brought onto myself. Like when I found out 29 years ago that several partners I’d been with were now infected with HIV and I, strangely enough, was spared. Or 33 years ago when I got hopelessly drunk one New Year’s Eve and had no ride home, so in my insanity I got behind the wheel of my own car and prayed the classic prayer of the backslider, “Get me out of this mess!” Or way too many other times when my sins were lessor or greater, but still amounted to hard times I had brought on myself, only to be encountered with mercy by The One Who Sees.

This cannot, of course, suggest there’ll be no consequences for sinful, ridiculous decisions and actions. Often we pay a huge price, and a necessary one, for our wrongdoing. But I’ve found so often we also find merciful help when we least deserve it, gently administered from the loving Father who pities those who fear Him, remembering our frame and knowing that we’re still, after all, just dust. (Psalms 103:13-14)

Far from encouraging me to just relax and let things slide ‘cause He’ll forgive and restore, this actually spurs me on to be that much more diligent to do what’s right, resist what’s wrong, love freely, forgive fully, and run the race like a zealot who’s striving to please the One who sent him. When The One Who Sees shows such kindness, it inspires holiness, not sloppiness, so Paul nailed it when he told the Romans “The goodness of God leads to repentance.” (Romans 2:4)

We are seen today, and what’s seen by Him who sees isn’t always so good. But what amazing comfort we can draw from the fact that He Who Sees is anything but a disinterested onlooker. He is, in fact, a tender Shepherd (Psalms 23:1) who knows our steps (Psalms 37:23) commits Himself to us unreservedly (Hebrews 13:5) and will finish the good work He began in us. (Philippians 1:6)

He sees. And loves, forgives, provides and never gives up on His own. Under that infinite and grace filled gaze, we of all people can rightfully say, “Have a Good Day.”

So have one.

“Men do not differ much about what things they call evils; they differ enormously about what evils they will call excusable.”  - G. K. Chesterton

Over the years I’ve seen too many Christian husbands in my office who’ve perfected the art of minimizing. I’ll begin by asking, “OK, what brought you here?” Some actual responses I’ve gotten:

     “I sometimes find myself using porn.”

     “I’ve made some mistakes in my marriage.”

Let’s do a little translating.

“I sometimes find myself using porn” first minimizes the sin by qualifying it with the word “sometimes” – as though  occasional lust is OK – and anytime you say “I found myself” you’re denying responsibility for what you decided to do, by describing it as something you suddenly “found yourself” doing, as though it mugged you while you were innocently walking down the street.

Your wife “thinks” you have a problem usually means she caught you in the act, she’s upset, you’re here to appease her, but she’s making more out of your sin than she should.

“I’ve made some mistakes” is something you say when you miscalculated your tax returns.  When you view porn, commit adultery, or visit a strip club, you’re not making a mistake, because you know exactly what you’re doing. You’re committing a sin, not a mistake, and the difference between the two isn’t minor.

The Christian husband who’s gotten involved in sexual sin, then had his sin found out, is a man who’s got his work cut out for him. His wife is deeply wounded, enraged, frightened, and mistrustful all at once. He now has a credit problem, and it’ll take him some time to re-establish his credibility with her. And that’s where things get dicey, especially when he minimizes.

I think I understand why he does it. First, if he’s become accustomed to the sin, then it’s lost its shock value to him, so even though he knows it’s wrong, he doesn’t see it as seriously, even outrageously wrong. Second, he knows how much he loves his wife and wouldn’t deliberately hurt her, so he assumes she’ll take that into consideration and not make too big a deal out of his transgression.  Finally, since so many men use porn, patronize sleazy businesses, and commit adultery, he may have even kidded himself into thinking those behaviors are inevitable to all men, and since all men do them, is it really such a big deal?

So in that frame of mind he minimizes both the seriousness of the sin, and its impact on her.

Memo to husband: She’d rather believe you than not, but so long as you simply admit the sin without recognizing how destructive it really is both to her and your marriage, she’ll have a hard time (or an impossible one) trusting you again.

Think of when someone has wronged you, seriously and in ways that left you hurt and furious. If the person who’d done that said to you, “Hey, my bad, sorry!”, you’d know he didn’t get it. He didn’t get how wrong he was, how much damage his actions did, and how important it was for those actions to never be repeated.

Multiply that by a few hundred and you get the picture. The secret sin you grew accustomed to was, in fact, a felony that shocked, bruised, insulted and demeaned her. Anything you say to diminish the seriousness of that will, no doubt, convince her that you still don’t “get it.”

I find there are three things a wife needs to know when her husband has sinned in such a critical way: She needs to know he understands how serious the sin was, how hurtful it was, and how mandatory it is that it never be repeated.

Communicate to her a clear understanding of those three needs, and you’ll go far towards rebuilding the trust in her heart, and the bond in your home.

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. – Philippians 4:8

We’re largely where we are today because of the decisions we’ve made. Not completely, I know, because plenty of things happen to us that are beyond our control. But so much of our current status – our finances, our physical health, the state of our relationships, our spiritual life – is (again, largely) what it is because of our decisions. I doubt we could overemphasize this. We decide to do or not do certain things; to speak up or shut up; to invest in something, or neglect it. Those three points alone have a lot to do with the way our lives look.

And right now we’re largely feeling what we feel emotionally because of what we’ve decided to think about. Granted, disturbing things happen without our say so, but more often than not it’s our thoughts, not uncontrollable circumstance, that decide our emotional health. Ditto for how diligently we’ve performed on the job today, and double-ditto for our purity. Holiness is, among other things, a discipline of the mind, and there’s an axiom any of us striving for sexual purity oughta get tattooed onto our foreheads. What we decide to think about will hugely determine whether we walk in the light or in the dark. It begins, more often than not, with our thoughts.

I know there are visuals involved, too. Like you, I heave to tear my eyes away, any number of times during the day, from something coming into my field of vision which I know will trip me up. But largely it’s all in our minds, don’t you think? Old memories, sexual fantasies, unclean imaginations — they’re stored in our brains and they pop up, just like those (very un-Christian expletive deleted) ads that pop up on your screen when you’re trying to read something important, the ones without obvious “exit” buttons to click on. You know what I mean. They seemingly come out of nowhere, interrupting and distracting you. And whenever a pop up shows itself, whether a real one on my computer or one popping out of my brain, I make a decision: I will or will not continue to think about this image, this thought, this pop-up.

And I have options. There’s not only one channel my mind can tune into; there’s an impressive array of choices. I can switch channels and think of my lovely wife, my sons, my work, the friends I cherish, and countless scripture verses I’ve stored up over the decades. Crazy, isn’t it, how the same mind capable of spitting out smut can also retain God’s words? After all, you wouldn’t expect to find holy things on a shelf next to porn, yet beauty and filth really can be neighbors in the human brain. But only one of them has to be paid attention to.

For some reason the Twenty Third Psalm has been especially helpful to me lately. Whether I’m being tempted or attacked or just stressing out, simply switching channels to the phrase “The Lord is my Shepherd” has really been doing it for me. Often I get no further than those first five words, words getting more profound for me with age. Almighty God condescends to shepherd me, stooping to pick me up when it gets too rough, prodding and swatting me with his rod or staff as needed, making me rest, leading me in righteousness, then blowing me away with a banquet laid out right there in the presence of my enemies. I grin, embarrassed, while I dine unharmed, surrounded by people or principalities who’d rather see me starve than feast, then I leave the table hounded by goodness and mercy. I am one fat spoiled sheep, and I can only hope He really likes my fleece and that it’s all worth it to Him.

There. Those are the lovely sort of thoughts Paul said to focus on. They help, and I’m emotionally and spiritually quickened by them, making it easier for that reason alone to keep it clean, from the mind to the heart to the body.

God grant we all be good stewards of our minds today. The benefits will be immediate; the rewards yet to come. And those are two very good reasons to think on these things.

It draws on history folks my age remember all too well: the radical elements of the 60’s anti-war movement, best exemplified by the Weather Underground arguably the most violent and extreme group in the anti-Vietnam bunch. They were responsible for bombings, shootings and general domestic terrorism, all in the name of anti-war efforts. (Violence for the sake of peace; a brilliant concept)

Redford focuses the story on a small group of former Weatherman, now in their 60’s and up, one of whom has turned herself in after decades of guilt; the others being impacted, directly or indirectly, by her confession. I was intrigued and sometimes irritated by the film’s refusal to take a clear stand, which I suspect is what Redford had in mind. As director, he avoids condemning the Weathermen’s activities as clearly as I wish it he had and, in fact, “Company” offers a few scenes in which characters, Susan Sarandon’s in particular, cogently defend their excesses. Still, most of the former radicals regret their extremes, and have spent a lifetime trying to cope with their pasts while building on more lasting, workable principles.

Of course, if you want fun, skip this one and go for “Iron Man III.” It’s got more than enough explosions and rapid fire battles to gratify your inner teen, greater than ever chemistry between Robert Downey Jr. and Gwyneth Paltrow, and Ben Kingsley steals the show in a role that’s sometimes terrifying; sometimes hilarious. It’s awfully good.

So is “The Place Beyond the Pines” but pass on this unless you’re up for strong, tragic drama. I was especially moved by the film’s clear statement on the impact of fathers on their sons, and the immeasurable (and irrevocable) memories we carve into our son’s psyches. Gutter language abounds, so beware of flying F-bombs. Still, I think this one has good, if difficult, things to say.

I write all of this while taking a break from working with my son on his assignment to read and analyze Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar.” Back to our homework now. From “Et tu, Brute?” to F-bombs. And people say we’ve evolved?

Hope your weekend is blessed and enjoyable. Thanks for being here.

Love,

Joe

Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep. - Romans 12:15

One of my worst memories ever is of a funeral service I conducted as a young minister. A twenty-something mother contacted our church asking if someone would do a eulogy for her baby, who’d just been violently killed by her boyfriend. The offender was in prison; she had no family, only a few friends, so would we help?

I was assigned, clueless and helpless. Clueless as to what could possibly be said that would be of any comfort during such a horrendous time, and helpless knowing that what I wanted more than anything – the ability to ease this woman’s pain – was beyond me. Never had I felt so useless.

The mother sat in the front row of the funeral home’s chapel, a phantom drowning in misery. Her friends surrounded her, glaring at me. I shuffled over to the woman, pressed her hand and told her we’d begin. The child’s casket was in front of the podium, horribly small. I tore my eyes away, opened my Bible, read a Psalm, said words, read more verses, then prayed. It felt like we were underwater, every movement slow, every word garbled, everything unreal.

Except for the glares. They were real, strong as iron. And somehow, they seemed right. While the mother was so decimated she couldn’t register emotion, her friends registered plenty, most of it rage. Towards me. I was representing, as a minister, the One who could have prevented this, but didn’t. The One who supposedly loved mother and child, yet allowed this horror. The One who’s supposed to work all things together for good.

“So tell me, Mr. Minister, what good is going to come of this?”

I could see the question in the glares, contemptuous, accusing glares.

“You’ve got the answers, Buddy? Well, come on, we’d love to hear ‘em!”

I kept it short, ended in prayer, told the mother I’d be there anytime she wanted me. I think she heard; she muttered something and turned away, ushered off by her glaring friends.

There were truths to be told, but right now they didn’t seem to be enough. Yes, God loved her and her son, but what God allows is often unfathomable to us, and we’re not given answers as to why. God surely was not guilty of the evil that ended her infant’s life, but why didn’t He intervene? Why did He allow such an animal to come into this woman’s life in the first place? Why does He stay silent in the face of a monster’s cruelty?

To answer questions like that I could have talked to her about Job, who had similar questions and complaints, and about how God  reminded Job that He was God, Job was not, and God is by no means obligated to explain or defend Himself to man. We see through a glass darkly; in the end we’ll see the whole picture and be at peace. That’s all true, but it wouldn’t have helped. It probably, in fact, would have sounded arrogant and calloused.  And somehow, looking back, I feel there’s an answer in there; an important aspect of service often overlooked:

She needed my helplessness.

She needed to see a man so undone by this tragedy that he was virtually speechless, crushed in his heart, and willing to do his best knowing that his best was, at such a time, little more than a joke. She needed to know I was perplexed as she was, and that being God’s steward didn’t mean I had all the answers and that I was in fact saying, right along with her, Why, Lord?

None of which changes the truth. It only communicates human connection, that vital element by which we say “I’m hurting with you” rather than relying on pat answers. Because there’s a time for speaking clear, unvarnished absolutes – when someone’s in rebellion, for example, or clinging stubbornly to error – and there’s a time for weeping with those who weep rather than imposing homilies on them.

Five years later she called me, God bless her, to let me know she was doing well, had remarried, was walking with the Lord, and thriving. She thanked me for what I‘d done, and even then I knew she was thanking me for doing nothing other than keeping my stupid mouth shut, keeping it brief, and grieving with her. She grew in the truth. But initially, it was the heart, silent and broken but available, that she needed.

I hope I learned from that. With so much deception and confusion in both the Church and the world, clearly spoken truth is more needed than ever. And with so much evil brutality on display, the compassion of one human saying to another “I’m clueless, but I’m here” is also a modern mandate.

He was full of grace and truth. (John 1:14) God grant we grow in both, never settling for an imbalance between the two, always striving to, as John said, “Walk as He walked.” (I John 2:6)