Wisdom

Wisdom

To the man who pleases him, God gives wisdom, knowledge and happiness, but to the sinner he gives the task of gathering and storing up wealth to hand it over to the one who pleases God. This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind. (Ecclesiastes 2:26)

Let me ask you something. Would you buy a house if you were allowed to see only one of its rooms? Or, would you purchase a car if you were permitted to see only its tires and a taillight? Would you pass judgment on a book after reading only one paragraph? Right. Neither would I.

Good judgment requires a broad picture. Not only is that true in purchasing houses, or cars, or books, it’s true in evaluating life. For instance, one failure doesn’t make a person a failure any more than one achievement makes a person a success. “The end of the matter is better than its beginning,” wrote the sage. (Ecclesiastes 7:8) “Be … patient in affliction,” echoed the apostle Paul. (Romans 12:12) “Don’t judge a phrase by one word,” said the woodcutter. The woodcutter? Sorry; here’s the story.

Once upon a time, there was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although extremely poor, he was the envy of every villager because he owned a beautiful white horse. Even the king coveted his treasure because a horse like this had never been seen before — such was its splendor; its majesty; its strength. People offered unbelievable prices for the horse, but the old man always refused to sell. “This horse is not a horse to me,” he would tell them. “It’s a person. How could you sell a person? He’s a friend, not a possession. How could you sell a friend?” Granted, the man was very poor and the temptation to sell the horse was enormous. But he never sold the horse.

One morning the horse was found missing from the stable. All the villagers came out to see the old man. “You old fool,” they mocked, “we told you that someone would steal your horse. We warned you that you’d be robbed. You’re dirt poor. How could you have ever hoped to protect such an incredibly valuable animal? It would have been better if you’d sold him. You could’ve gotten whatever price you asked. No amount of money would have been too high. Now, the horse is gone and you’ve been cursed with misfortune.”

The old man responded, “Don’t speak too quickly. Say only that the horse is not in the stable. That’s all we know; the rest is judgment. If I’ve been cursed or not, how can you know? How can you judge?” The people rebuked the old man. “Don’t make us out to be fools, old man! We may not be philosophers, but great philosophy isn’t needed here. The simple fact that your horse is gone is a curse.”

The old man spoke again. “All I know is that the stable’s empty, and the horse is gone. The rest I don’t know. Whether it’s a curse or a blessing, I can’t say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say what will come next?” But the people of the village ridiculed him. They thought the old guy was crazy. They’d always thought he was a fool. I mean, if he wasn’t, he would’ve sold the horse and lived off the money, right? But instead, he was a poor woodcutter – an old man still cutting firewood and dragging it out of the forest to sell to the villagers. He lived hand to mouth in the grip of miserable poverty. Now he’d proven that he was, in fact, a fool.

But after a few days, the horse returned. He hadn’t been stolen after all. He’d simply run away into the forest. And not only had he returned, but he’d brought a dozen wild horses with him. Once again the village people went out to the woodcutter’s place and spoke with the old man. “Old man, you were right and we were wrong. What we thought was a curse was a blessing. Please forgive us.”

The man responded, “Once again, you’ve gone too far. Say only that the horse is back. Say only that a dozen horses returned with him, but don’t judge. How do you know if this is a blessing or not? You see only a fragment. Unless you know the whole story, how can you judge? You read only one page of a book. Can you judge the whole book? You read only one word of a phrase. Can you understand the entire phrase? Life is so vast, yet you judge all of life with one page or one word. All you have is a fragment! Don’t say that this is a blessing. No one knows. I’m content with what I know, and I’m not perturbed by what I don’t.”

“Maybe the old man’s right,” they said to each other. So, they said little. But deep down inside, they knew he was wrong. They knew it was a blessing – twelve wild horses had returned with one horse! With a little bit of work, the animals could be broken and trained and sold for a lot of money.

It just so happens that the old man had a son, an only son, and the young man began to break the wild horses. After a few days’ work, however, he fell off one of the horses and broke both of his legs. Once again the villagers gathered ‘round the old man and cast their judgment. “You were right,” they said. “You proved you were right. The dozen horses weren’t a blessing; they were a curse. Your only son has broken his legs, and now, old man, you have no one to help you. You’re poorer now than before.”

The old man spoke again. “You people are obsessed with judging. You can’t go that far. Say only that my son broke his legs. Who knows if it’s a blessing or a curse? No one knows. We only have a fragment. Life comes in fragments.” It just so happened that a few weeks later the country had become engaged in war against a neighboring country, and all of the young men of the village were required to join the army. Only the son of the old man was excluded, because he was injured.

Once again the people spoke with the old man, this time crying and screaming because their sons had been taken, and there was little chance that they’d return because the enemy was strong and the war would be a losing battle. They’d never see their sons again. “You were right, old man,” they wept. “God knows you were right. This proves it. Your son’s accident was a blessing. His legs may be broken, but at least he’s with you. Our sons are gone forever.”

The old man spoke again. “It’s impossible to talk with you. You always draw conclusions. No one knows. Say only this: Your sons had to go to war, and mine did not. No one knows if it’s a blessing or a curse. No one is wise enough to know. Only God knows.” And the old man was right. Only God knows.

We only have a fragment. Life’s mishaps and horrors are only a page out of a life-sized book. We should be slow about drawing conclusions. We should reserve judgment on life’s storms until we know the whole story. I don’t know where the woodcutter learned his patience. It was just a fable, wasn’t it? Or was it. Maybe he learned it from another woodcutter in Galilee. Because it was the Carpenter who said it best: “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” (Matthew 6:34)

But that doesn’t stop us, does it? We worry. So we make lists. Lists are reassuring. They comfort us. They suggest that the crazy, zooming, blooming chaos of the universe can be mastered and tamed (and maybe even understood) within the confines of a tidy little column. To list is to understand, to solve, and even to control. For that reason, we simply can’t resist the urge, particularly at the end of the year, to spew out lists like Washington, D.C. spews out legislation.

We list the best movies; the best books; the worst dressed; the most used; the least popular; the most mysterious; the highest paid. We salute the good. We satire the bad. And we sum up the year on lists. And although New Year’s Day probably ranks at the top of the list of list-producing days, including those notorious New Year’s Resolutions, the rest of the year is by no means “list-less.”

For instance, your grocery list makes a trip to the market manageable. Your calendar probably has a “To Do” space, where you organize and number things you’d like to do but probably won’t. Your syllabus tells you which books to buy. Your itinerary tells you which plane to take. And your cell phone tells you which numbers to dial.

If it’s any consolation, the Bible has its share of lists, too. Moses brought one down from the mountain. Noah might have used one as he loaded the ark. Jesus gave a list of principles in the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew and Luke listed the genealogies of Jesus. John listed the splendors of heaven. There are lists of the gifts of the Spirit. Lists of good fruit and bad. Lists of salutations and greetings.

So, if you’re going to make a list, make it like a lighthouse: immutable; immovable. And candidates for this list only qualify if they have characteristics like a lighthouse: they warn you of potential danger; they signal safe harbor; they’re stronger than the storm; and they shine brightest in the fog.

These kinds of lists contain more than just good ideas, personal preferences or honest opinions. They’re God-given, time-tested truths that define the way we should navigate our lives. Observe them and enjoy safe passage. Ignore them and you’ll crash into the ragged rocks of reality. In U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, the magazine of the Naval Institute, Frank Koch illustrated the importance of obeying these lighthouse lists.

Two battleships assigned to the training squadron had been at sea on maneuvers in heavy weather for several days. I was serving on the lead battleship and was on watch on the bridge as night fell. The visibility was poor with patchy fog, so the captain remained on the bridge keeping an eye on all activities.

Shortly after dark, the lookout on the wing reported, “Light, bearing on the starboard bow.” “Is it steady or moving astern?” the captain called out. The lookout replied, “Steady, Captain,” which meant we were on a dangerous collision course with that ship. The captain then called to the signalman, “Signal that ship: ‘We are on a collision course, advise you change course twenty degrees.’” Back came the signal, “Advisable for you to change course twenty degrees.” The captain said, “Send: ‘I’m a captain, change course twenty degrees.’” “I’m a seaman second-class,” came the reply. “You had better change course twenty degrees.”

By that time the captain was furious. He spat out, “Send: ‘I’m a battleship. Change course twenty degrees.’” Back came the flashing light, “I’m a lighthouse.” We changed course.

Smart move. The wise captain shifts the direction of his craft according to the signal of the lighthouse. And a wise person does the same. So, here’s a few of the lights we should look for, and the signals we should heed:

·         Love God more than you fear hell;

·         When no one is watching, live as if someone is;

·         Succeed at home first;

·         Don’t spend tomorrow’s money today;

·         Pray twice as much as you fret;

·         Listen twice as much as you speak;

·         Only harbor a grudge when God does;

·         It’s wiser to err on the side of generosity than on the side of scrutiny;

·         God has forgiven you – you’d be wise to do the same;

·         When you can’t trace God’s hand, trust his heart.

Here’s a few more:

 ·         Toot your own horn and the notes will be flat;

·         Don’t feel guilty for God’s goodness;

·         The book of life is lived in chapters, so know your page number;

·         Never let the important be the victim of the trivial; and last but not least,

·         Live your liturgy.

 Approach life like the woodcutter, or like a voyage on a ship. Be wise and don’t draw hasty conclusions based upon a fragment. Enjoy the view. Explore the vessel. Make friends with the captain. Even fish a little. And then get off when you get home.

Grace,

Randy