Refined

Refined

God blesses those who are poor and realize their need for him for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs. God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted. God blesses those who are humble, for they will inherit the whole earth. God blesses those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they will be satisfied. God blesses those who are merciful, for they will be shown mercy. God blesses those whose hearts are pure, for they will see God. (Matt. 5:3-8)

I can still remember the first time I saw one. The day started with a family drive to Signal Hill in Long Beach, California. The “hill” the city is named after sits 365 feet above the surrounding town of Long Beach, just a few miles from where I grew up. Because of its height, the hill – centuries ago – had been used by the Puva Indians to signal other native tribes on Santa Catalina Island, some 26 miles off-shore. Because of its use as a signaling point, subsequent Spanish settlers called the hill, "Loma Sental," which translated means, "Signal Hill." But that all changed on June 23, 1921.

You see, Signal Hill would soon become part of the Long Beach Oil Field, one of the most productive oil fields in the world, when – on June 23 – Shell Oil Company’s Alamitos #1 well erupted. The pressure in the well was so great that a gusher some 114 feet high split the air. Soon, Signal Hill was covered with 100’s of oil derricks, whose prickly appearance at a distance was affectionately known by the locals as “Porcupine Hill.” Ultimately one of the richest oil fields in the world, it produced over 1 billion barrels of oil by 1984, and is still active today.

So there I was, sitting in the car as tall as I could, stretching to see the endless towers and nodding donkey pumps. I guess that’s why the thing seemed so colossal to me at the time, because it stood out on the horizon like a science-fiction city. “What’s that?” “Oil wells,” Mom and Dad answered. “And do you see that, off in the distance? That’s where all the oil goes; it’s called a refinery,” Dad continued.

A refinery. A jungle of pipes and tanks and tubes and generators – heaters, pumps, pipes, filters, valves, hoses, conduits, switches and circuits. It looked like a giant Tinker-Toy set. And the function of that maze of machinery is defined by its name: it “refines.” Gasoline, oil, chemicals — the refinery takes whatever comes in and purifies it so that it’s ready to go out. In that same sense, the refinery does for petroleum and other products what your “heart” should do for you. It takes out the bad and utilizes the good. And we tend to think of the heart as the seat of emotion. For instance, we speak of “heartthrobs,” “heartaches,” and “broken hearts.”

But when Jesus said, “God blesses those whose hearts are pure,” he was speaking in a different context. To Jesus’ listeners, the heart was the totality of the inner person — the control tower at the airport, or the cockpit of a plane. The heart was considered the seat of the character — the origin of desires, affections, perceptions, thoughts, reasoning, imagination, conscience, intentions, purpose, will and faith. Thus, the writer of the Proverbs admonished, “Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life.” (Prov. 4:23)

To the Hebrew mind, the heart was like a freeway cloverleaf where your emotions and prejudices and wisdom converge: kind of like a switch house that receives freight cars loaded with moods, ideas, emotions and convictions, and then puts them each on the right track.

And just as a low-grade oil, or alloyed gasoline would cause you to question the performance of a refinery, evil acts and impure thoughts cause us to question the condition of our hearts. “But the words you speak come from the heart — that’s what defiles you. For from the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, all sexual immorality, theft, lying, and slander. These are what defile you.” (Matt. 15:18-20) And, “A good person produces good things from the treasury of a good heart, and an evil person produces evil things from the treasury of an evil heart. What you say flows from what is in your heart.” (Luke 6:45)

These verses hammer home the same truth: the heart is at the center of our spiritual life. For instance, if the fruit of a tree is bad, you don’t try and fix the fruit – you treat the roots. And if a person’s actions are evil, it’s not enough to change habits – you have to go deeper. You have to go to the heart of the problem, which is the problem of the heart. That’s why the state of the heart is so critical.

So, what’s the state of yours?

When someone barks at you, do you bark back, or bite your tongue? That depends on the state of your heart. When your schedule is too tight, or your to-do list is too long, do you lose your cool, or keep it? That depends on the state of your heart. When you’re offered a morsel of gossip marinated in some slander, do you turn it down, or do you pass it on? That depends on the state of your heart. And if you see a homeless person on the street or in the park, do you see them as a burden on society, or as an opportunity for God? That, too, depends on the state of your heart.

The state of your heart dictates whether you harbor a grudge, or give grace; seek self-pity, or seek Christ; drink human misery, or taste God’s mercy. No wonder, then, the wise man begs, “Guard your heart above all else.” And maybe David’s prayer should be our own: “Create in me a clean heart, 0 God.” (Psalm 51:10)

So, Jesus’ statement rings true: “God blesses those whose hearts are pure, for they will see God.” But note the order of this beatitude: first, purify your heart, then you will see God. In other words, clean the refinery and the result will be a pure product. Unfortunately, we usually reverse the order – we try to change the inside by altering the outside. But the message of the beatitude is a clear one: You change your life by changing your heart.

So, how do you change your heart? Well, Jesus gave that plan on the mountain. And for just a minute, take a step back from the beatitudes and see them in sequence, as a whole.

The first step is an admission of poverty: “God blesses those who are poor and realize their need for him ….” God’s gladness is not received by those who earn it, but by those who admit they don’t deserve it. The joy of Sarah, Peter and Paul came when they surrendered, when they pleaded for a lifeguard instead of a swimming lesson; when they sought a savior instead of a system.

The second step is sorrow: “God blesses those who mourn ….” Stated differently, joy comes to those who are sincerely sorry for their sin. We discover gladness when we leave the prison of pride and repent of our rebellion.

Sorrow is then followed by meekness, or humility. The humble are those who are willing to be used by God. Amazed that God would save them, they are just as surprised that God could use them. They are like a junior-high-school clarinet section playing with the Boston Pops. They don’t tell the maestro how to conduct; they’re just thrilled to be part of the concert.

The result of these first three steps? Hunger. Never have you seen anything like what’s happening to you. You admit sin — you get saved. You confess weakness — you receive strength. You say you’re sorry — you find forgiveness. It’s a zany, unpredictable path full of pleasant encounters. But for once in your life, you’re addicted to something positive — something that gives life instead of draining it. And you want more.

So then comes mercy. The more you receive, the more you give. You find it easier to give grace because you realize you’ve been given so much. What has been done to you is nothing compared to what you did to God. And for the first time in your life, you’ve found a permanent joy, a joy that’s not dependent upon your whims or actions. It’s a joy from God, a joy no one can take away from you.

A sacred delight is placed in your heart. It’s sacred because only God can grant it, and it’s a delight because you would never expect it. It’s God doing what gods would be doing only in your wildest dreams — wearing diapers, riding donkeys, washing filthy feet and dozing in storms. Delight is the day they accused God of having too much fun, attending too many parties, and spending too much time with the Happy Hour crowd.

Delight is the day’s wage paid to workers who had worked only one hour . . . the father scrubbing the pig smell off his son’s back . . . the shepherd throwing a party because the sheep was found. Delight is a discovered pearl, a multiplied talent, a heaven-bound beggar, a criminal in the kingdom. Delight is the surprise on the faces of street folks who’ve been invited to a king’s banquet. Delight is the Samaritan woman big-eyed and speechless, or the adulteress walking out of the stone-cluttered courtyard, or a skivvy-clad Peter plunging into cold waters to get close to the one he’d cursed just a few days before.

Sacred delight is good news coming through the back door of your heart. It’s what you’d always dreamed, but never expected. It’s the too-good-to-be-true coming true. It’s having God as your pinch-hitter, your lawyer, your dad, your biggest fan and your best friend. God on your side, in your heart, out in front, and protecting your back. It’s hope where you’d least expect it – like a flower in a sidewalk crack.

It’s sacred because only God can grant it, and it’s a delight because it thrills. And since it’s sacred, it can’t be stolen; since it’s delightful, it can’t be predicted. And it’s this sacred delight that Jesus promises in the Sermon on the Mount.

In fact, he promises it nine times to a very unlikely crowd, i.e., beggars in God’s soup kitchen (the poor in spirit); Sinners Anonymous bound together by the truth of their introduction: “Hi, I’m _________. I’m a sinner (the mourners); pawnshop pianos played by Van Cliburn – who’s so good no one notices that some of the keys are missing (the meek); famished orphans who know the difference between a TV dinner and a Thanksgiving feast (the hungry and thirsty); winners of the million-dollar lottery who share the prize with their enemies (the merciful); physicians who love lepers and escape infection (the pure in heart); architects who build bridges with wood from a Roman cross (the peacemakers); and those who manage to keep an eye on heaven while walking through hell on earth (the persecuted).

Though your heart isn’t perfect, it isn’t rotten. And although you’re not invincible, at least you’re plugged in. And you can bet that the One who made you knows just how to purify and refine you — from the inside out.

Grace,

 Randy