image by Philippe Toupet from Unsplash It's been a long silence, I know. But I'm alive and well! and ready to start writing again (perhaps not as regularly still, but at least enough to start the ball rolling again.) I've tried to maintain this blog regularly on a weekly basis since I first started it, taking it as a challenge to help myself grow, spiritually as well as in discipline for writing. However, as I've grown and struggled, I've realized that sometimes, in certain seasons of life the specific way to grow that I determined for myself may not always be the one I need right now. The desire and goal remains the same, to grow; but, I'm realizing, perhaps not always in the way I had envisioned or planned for myself. This is something I've been forced to see, not just in this particular area of my life, but in almost everything else. By God's providence, these 2 pandemic years have been significant and full of challenges for me. I think these 2 years have changed me in many ways, humbling ones for sure, ones which actually leave me feeling less strong, less confident, less sure of myself--yet, if they ultimately make me more Christ-like, can only be for the better. Uncertainty. Self-doubt. Fear of the future, of what it will bring, and of future regret/guilt over decisions I make now. Realizing how much I lack wisdom and how much I need guidance, even though I thought I already knew that. I remember being so depressed last year when the pandemic first hit and I was struggling with fears about my work, future, relationships (or the lack thereof,) and establishing/proving myself in my writing; issues of identity, achievement, and fulfilment. Times like those are when we need to journal our thoughts and emotions, try to process and understand ourselves; and I did a lot of that, but it also sucked a lot of my energy and confidence to write for this platform. Acknowledging and dealing with my own messiness and confusion was as much as I could handle. However, the pressure of feeling like I had a backlog of self-imposed writing assignments only added to the crisis of internalized definitions of success/benchmarks of achievement that I was wrestling with. I realized that if I was to deal with this at all, and learn to stop seeking my fulfilment/identity in meeting all these standards, as God was showing me with increasing clarity and urgency, I would have to change my mindset on this as well. So I took a purposeful break from blogging and firmly told myself that page views, or the satisfying posting "streak" I had maintained so doggedly and determinedly, should not be something I cling to in order to pat myself on the back. I would take a break and come back when I was ready. It hasn't been a fun experience, to say the least, but it has also been one of thanksgiving, and for that I am grateful and soberly amazed. That, even when I'm still very much bogged down in this phase, I can still honestly say that. I wouldn't have expected that of myself. I have learnt a lot about myself (mostly bad things) and God (all good things.) At the very least, I can acknowledge the goodness of that. My church Bible study program has gone on to the Minor Prophets, and we're currently on Habakkuk. Minor Prophets are tough. I used to wince at the depressing, dark visions of judgment, lamentation, and destruction. What a painful and heavy message to bear. Habakkuk especially--the prophet himself is torn, pleading with God, dismayed by the visions of war and judgment. There seems nothing to be thankful for, and everything to mourn for. In the early chapters, there is much to learn about the historical context, of sin and idolatry and judgment and God's mercy as well as God's holiness and justice. But the ending of Habakkuk was a beautiful note of transcendent hope amidst the chaos and darkness of the previous chapters. 16 I heard and my heart pounded, my lips quivered at the sound; decay crept into my bones, and my legs trembled. Yet I will wait patiently for the day of calamity to come on the nation invading us. 17 Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, 18 yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. 19 The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights. My heart echoed these verses almost painfully. A world stricken with disease, fear, conflict, suffering, and war. We see that today, everyday, in the news from different countries, in the headlines reporting suspicion, hate, and disunity, in the death tolls and the accounts of desperate needs, physical and financial and spiritual. I see that in my own life, when I'm tempted to fear the future and wonder what is going to become of me, what opportunities or hope there is for me, how I might be ruining my life and setting myself up for future regret. It seems so impossible once you consider how little you can control or know--how can one look forward to happiness and fulfilment? (yes, I probably have some anxiety issues.) Habakkuk's joy was in a Person, not a situation. Therefore, it was constant and resilient, because God is unchanging. Like Habakkuk, I hope to cultivate this kind of attitude of humble faith and peace. Regardless of my situation--which I can't control--I have joy and strength, not in myself or others, but in Who He is, and what He has done for me/how He stands in relation to me, as my Saviour. (v 18) Verse 19 especially seemed so unreal--could I somehow have this strength, this sureness and confidence of a deer scaling dizzyingly high mountain tracks, to navigate my own murky and confusing path right now? I feel much more like a stranded hiker with a fear of heights, clinging desperately onto the scrubby bushes by the narrow track, and feeling like any one false step would plunge me irrevocably down. And, this surreal joy and strength that Habakkuk describes isn't some flimsy, blind emotional high. It is a conscious choice that he makes even when fully acknowledging the bleakness of the circumstances and his own fears (v 16)--even in the midst of what sounds to me like a panic attack (pounding heart! quivering lips! trembling legs and weakened bones!) as he waits--"patiently"!!-- for the coming judgment. Wow. For the rest of 2021, and whatever unknown lies ahead--may we cling to this hope, and find the joy and strength we need.
0 Comments
image by Ergita Sela from Unsplash Recently I've been reading The Trellis and the Vine, an old classic by Colin Marshall and Tony Payne. It may be old, but for me, reading it for the first time, it was a breath of fresh air in the clarity with which it expressed many of the experiences and observations I had from my personal experience of serving in a church for many years. Many of us start our Christian life with a Biblical, but admittedly vague, desire to "serve in church". Despite the good desires and motivations we have, we tend to oversimplify it into the concrete actions of helping to move chairs, turning up at events, tithing, and volunteering. But to take these actions as the sum-all of our duties, as an end in itself, is inadequate. All too often it fizzles away into burn-out, discouragement, or a dangerous complacency that hides a deep lack of spiritual growth in our part, which the hum of activity and the feel-good satisfaction of being useful lulls us into not recognizing. I've had my own fair share of all these, and yet I never really could articulate why, or what was wrong. It was with great thankfulness that I read the exact same description of what I'd experienced, with an explanation! Feeling like a patient who had finally gotten diagnosed, I pulled out my posted notes (to this day I still can't bring myself to write on books; maybe those awful Hawpar Villa scenes warning about the fate of those who deface books had some subconscious imprint on my pysche) and knew that there would be gems to collect from this book. The book begins with an introduction of its central analogy: the vine--the actual work of the Gospel growing and changing people; and the trellis--the structures and activities that support it--which are present in a church. "We will be arguing that structures don't grow ministry any more than trellises grow vines, and that most churches need to make a conscious shift--away from erecting and maintaining structures, and towards growing people who are disciple-making disciples of Christ." As such, a church's primary focus is always its people. Its ministries should be built around them--to meet their needs and utilize their strengths. This thought, simple and obvious though it may be, should immediately make us re-examine our motivations and reasons for running each of the programs in our church. Are we having them simply because it feels right, because we have a hazy idea that the more "happening" and lively our church bulletin is, the more fruitful and impressive it seems? "The growth of the gospel happens in the lives of people, not in the structures of my church." This sentence stated it very clearly. For me, it was a huge encouragement, because we tend to measure growth and success by concrete, external improvement in our structures--more programs, more people turning up, a big congregation, a church building etc. Coming from a small church that has struggled with ups and downs, fluctuating congregation size, the only constant being the same persistent problems of manpower shortage, it's easy to compare ourselves to where we were five years ago and feel as if we haven't made any "real" progress. Yet that's not true. There is quiet proof all around me of the lives that have been changed, the individuals that have grown spiritually, the people whose hearts have been transformed. Even in myself, having been nurtured and shepherded in this church all these years. And that is the important part, the real progress, the vine work. As such, our attitude to people should be "not as cogs in our wheels, resources for our projects, but as individuals each at their own stage of spiritual growth." The church's role, then, is to be the trellis supporting their spiritual growth, training them to become stronger, more fruitful, to branch out. What does training mean? In contrast to the Bible-college-seminary academic connotations we have of that word, training is something that every Christian needs. Not just the pastor. Not just the elders and deacons and Bible study group teachers and youth leaders. Every Christian needs training; to produce a "quality of character and behaviour based on the sound doctrine of the Scriptures." This is a brief explanation of what Jesus meant when He called us the 'salt of the world,' the 'light.' Salt and light, by their very essence, by their very presence. Who we are, and how that influences how we live our everyday. Not just the few hours we spend in church on Sunday; in contrast, those few hours are supposed to help guide and teach us how to live our lives the rest of the week. This kind of training, though it certainly requires focused study of the Word, is also "inescapably relational." We can take all the Bible study courses and programs, but never apply the head knowledge to our lives, if we don't have it modelled for us, if we don't see and struggle through the messy process of applying it. Just these two foundational concepts already put into motion a whole train of thought on my part. Reexamining how I see my own service in church. My goals for my spiritual life. My purpose for being in church, "participating." The mindset with which I approach ministry, especially to others. When I'm tempted to complain, get discouraged, or get frustrated with others. What really should be happening in me, and to those around me? And how am I contributing consciously to that growth? image by Annie Spratt from Unsplash Recently I attended the annual combined youth camp that my church participates in with other Reformed churches from different countries. It is always a good chance to step outside of your comfort zone, broaden your horizons, be encouraged when sharing and hearing about the wider work of God across various churches, countries, and cultures. This year, one of the speakers did a short series on Elijah--which just happened to be the same passage I had chosen to do with my Sunday School kids. Ah, I thought. I'm very familiar with this. However, as we studied the passages in 1 Kings chp 17-19, I felt for the first time a personal connection with Elijah and what he went through. Elijah has one of the most exciting narratives in the Bible. It's the stuff of any epic action movie. A national crisis. An evil king egged on by a bloodthirsty evil queen. The one man fighting for what is right despite being the underdog, being hunted for his life. Multiple life-and-death situations. Incredible supernatural miracles in every chapter, and equally incredible courage that enabled Elijah to defy the king and queen, the entire idolatrous nation, and basically everything against him. Heck, Netflix be calling to make a series of this soon. Naturally, though it made for a cool story, I never really connected with Elijah's character. His bravery-to-the-point-of-recklessness, incredible faith in God, macho toughness in the face of impossible odds, and general badassery (is that even a term?) made him seem like some swashbuckling superhero who had very little in common with someone ordinary like me. Come on, I struggled to have faith for my exam grades. Elijah had faith that God would rescue him from Jezebel when he was standing before her and surrounded by her guards. So studying this passage again made me suddenly sensitive to the chronology of events, and the peculiar insight into Elijah's character which transformed him, hero though he be in so many aspects, into a human no different from us, who struggled with fears, lack of faith, and self-pity. At the dramatic contest of Mt Carmel, Elijah was at his peak. God used him in the most fantastic and epic way imaginable, with all the spotlight on him, to prove that the God of Israel was real. He was outnumbered by the prophets of Baal, his life was in danger at every moment, and yet God's power coursed through him, in the miracle that he performed, and the fearlessness he displayed. This is the Elijah we remember, the tough guy who sneers at the prophets of Baal, the guy who isn't scared of Jezebel, the guy who calls down fire from Heaven. One would have thought that after this amazing display of God's power over Baal, over man, Elijah's faith would be even stronger than before. However, after the contest at Mt Carmel concludes, we see Elijah fold to pieces almost instantly, after receiving Jezebel's death threat in chp 19. Like any of us, despite the obvious proof of God's power which he had just witnessed--just conducted--he fell to the fear of man. Terror gripped him. All of a sudden, he did not believe that God could protect him now, when God had protected him all along. He turned to his own devices and fled, following what his scared human reasoning told him was the smart thing to do: "Elijah was afraid and ran for his life." He ran from his fears, trying to deal with them as he thought best, overwhelmed by the humanly impossible odds against him. So often we too, after God answers our prayers, or demonstrates His power in our lives, fail to grow in faith, and instead fall again so easily into the pit of our fears--fear of what we can't control; fear of man; but ultimately, fear that God is not good, that we cannot rely on God to protect and provide for us. He was clearly disappointed that even after the miracle they had witnessed at Carmel, the Israelites were still too cowardly to come to his support, and that the victory God had given him at Carmel was not going to work out as he had expected, the turning point for Israel to recognize their sin and repent immediately. Elijah had put his hope in man instead of God. Now he was overwhelmed--with fear of Jezebel, and disappointment in the Israelites. A crushing sense of failure and disillusionment, probably bitterness as well, added to the fear of being killed. It seems so obvious in Elijah's case, that the God Who sent ravens to feed him, Who raised the widow's son from the dead, Who kept him safe from Jezebel all these years, Who sent blazing fire down from heaven, would definitely be able to protect him. But it doesn't seem so obvious to us, blinded by our fears, in our own situations we face today. When Elijah collapsed in the wilderness, unable to go any further on his own, at his wit's end, at the limit of his own human devices, he fell into despair and depression. Wallowing in self-pity and hopelessness, he turned suicidal, questioned the meaning of his life, and told God he couldn't take any more. "He came to a broom tree, sat down under it, and prayed that he might die. 'I have had enough, Lord,' he said, 'Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.' " When was the last time we felt this way? Suddenly I saw myself in Elijah. What I love most is how God responded at this point. God had let him try his own solutions, God had waited till Elijah realized it was no use, and when Elijah gave up in despair and wished to die, God stepped in. Without rebuking him for his lack of faith. Without scolding him for his ungratefulness or short-sightedness. "I just used you so powerfully at Mt Carmel, did you get amnesia already? Do you think, if I sent fire down from heaven at your request, I can't rescue you from Jezebel? As ifffffff" God knew Elijah's fears and struggles, and He had compassion on him. He first of all cared for his physical needs, letting him sleep soundly, sending him food and water, all of which Elijah had neglected in his fear-crazed escape plan (and which clearly also contributed to his emotional and psychological collapse.) After Elijah had rested, been fed, hydrated, God spoke to him. Gently. God asked him simply, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" One question, to make him stop in his tracks, to think and examine his motivations. Elijah hadn't gotten over his self-pity yet. He ranted to God about his loneliness and suffering and generally had a good bawl that also managed to be as paegro as he dared. And still, God didn't scold him, God didn't tell him off for being needy or weak or faithless. God simply told him, feel My presence. After the dramatic demonstrations of power and strength, Elijah was shaken, yet reminded that God, Who could do all this, was nevertheless was not just the fire on Mt Carmel, some impersonal supernatural power like The Force. God was in the gentle whisper after all that, the still small voice. Personal. Compassionate. And once again, without telling him off, God asked him again to examine himself. "What are you dong here, Elijah?" Still clinging defensively to his rant, Elijah delivered it again, weakly. And God's response was to give him clear directions which reinforced the meaning for his life which he had been looking for. You are important to Me. I have important work for you to do, which will affect not only the nation of Israel but even the neighbouring pagan nations as well. You will anoint kings, directly subverting the power of Ahab and Jezebel from within and without. In addition to that, God acknowledged his weariness, and comforted him--God told him He had already chosen and prepared a successor. Retirement was in sight, when Elijah had thought that it would never end. And finally, God reminded him-so gently!--that he was not alone. He might have suffered, but all God's true people were making the same, often difficult decisions, to stay faithful in each day when surrounded by an ungodly and idolatrous culture. In Elijah's (very) limited perspective, everything seemed hopeless, his efforts seemed pointless, and his life meaningless. But in God's plan, as we can clearly see when we read these chapters, it was anything but so. In fact, at the point when Elijah felt he couldn't go on anymore, God had already prepared his "exit strategy." God knew him, on a deeply personal, deeply compassionate and loving way. God knew his fears and weariness and struggles, and God did not resent him for them or punish him for them, even when he behaved foolishly or weakly. God was not a relentless taskmaster who didn't care what the emotional state of this tool was as long as it got His job done. Far from it. God was gentle with Elijah at his lowest, most broken point--a great man, but still a man like us. to be continued image by Tribesh Kayastha from Unsplash Right now, what seems like the most impossible thing that you've been requesting from God? There are so many things which seem impossible to us. They discourage us, making us doubt God's goodness, God's providence, God's power. They affect our prayer--we pray passionately, fervently, then desperately, despairingly, and finally half-heartedly because we are secretly convinced that God is not going to answer us. They make us unable to give thanks, unable to enjoy and appreciate what God has already given us, because the big unanswered desire is still hovering over our hearts, a ghost of IF ONLY. We feel inadequate. We feel weak. Limited. Unable. Small. Whether fighting against temptation, dealing with a besetting sin that we keep falling into, our hopes and desires for the future, facing an impossible task, our most pressing emotional and physical needs, or our own sense of limitation and inability. God promises us grace. Grace through the Holy Spirit. Like He did for Zerubbabel. I have an unexplicable fondness for this guy, maybe because he comes across as such an ordinary guy who was so bountifully blessed by God (can I be him already?) God was so gracious to him. So heartwarmingly, wonderfully gracious and affirming. When faced with what seemed like a truly impossible task--rebuilding the Temple (and symbolically, the society) of the Jews returned from exile, and dealing with the nationwide struggles of discouragement, self-pity, sin, fear, God reminded Zerubbabel of Who he should be looking to. For power. For encouragement. For help. Zerubbabel's name meant "God's Servant," a fitting title for a man who did his best to serve God and serve God's people, rising to meet the needs and challenges of his time. God did not tell him that "to help you accomplish My work, here are otherworldly smarts, incredible energy and stamina, overflowing charisma and insight in dealing with difficult people, and an extra five hours to your day. And duct tape for troublesome uncooperative people." Though admittedly sometimes we're tempted to feel that that might just be the solution we need. God didn't tell him that "this task you have set your mind on is too ambitious for someone of your caliber, you should settle for just contributing a little to the first stage, and leave the completion to someone more qualified." God simply told him that His Spirit would enable him. Not by might. Not by power. (v 6) The impossible would be accomplished, by the Holy Spirit. God gave him a vision of hope, of fruitfulness and assurance of His blessing. (v 7) God would bless his labours, not just the beginning, but allow him to see its completion. And though it might not seem promising now, the "day of small things" was not to be despised. Though there were many reasons to be discouraged, though it might seem like it would never end. Zechariah 4:6-10 So he said to me, “This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: ‘Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the Lord Almighty. 7 “What are you, mighty mountain? Before Zerubbabel you will become level ground. Then he will bring out the capstone to shouts of ‘God bless it! God bless it!’” 8 Then the word of the Lord came to me: 9 “The hands of Zerubbabel have laid the foundation of this temple; his hands will also complete it. Then you will know that the Lord Almighty has sent me to you. 10 “Who dares despise the day of small things, since the seven eyes of the Lord that range throughout the earth will rejoice when they see the chosen capstone in the hand of Zerubbabel?” |
a small voiceWe write to know ourselves. categories
All
Click to set custom HTML
archives
September 2021
|