Do you want to be counted wise, to build a reputation
for wisdom Here’s what you do: Live well, live wisely, live humbly. It’s the way
you live, not the way you talk, that counts. Mean-spirited ambition isn’t wisdom.
Boasting that you are wise isn’t wisdom. Twisting the truth to make yourselves sound
wise isn’t wisdom. It’s the furthest thing from wisdom – it’s animal cunning, devilish
conniving. Whenever you’re trying to look better than others or get the better of
others, things fall apart and everyone ends up at the others’ throats. (James 3:14-16)
This time of year reminds me of my grandmother’s
pomegranate jam. Few delicacies in life compared with her jam. Each
spoonful was a celestial experience. The only problem with her gift was that it
didn't last. The bottom of my jar was in sight long ago, but I remember
dreading the moment. I remember sticking my finger in the jam jar to scoop out
the last remaining taste, and stain, of that blissful elixir.
If I had been my
grandpa, however, I wouldn't have had such a problem. He got all the pomegranate
jam he ever wanted. Did the clinking of the spoon at the bottom of the jar
trigger tears for Papa? Hardly. He had an unlimited supply. Maybe even more
than he deserved. So why did he have so much and I had so little? Why was his
pantry full and all I got was a jar? Who gave him the key to the jam-and-jelly
castle? Who crowned Papa the prince of pomegranates? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t
right. In fact, the more I think about it, even now, . . . .
Which is exactly
what I shouldn't do. I shouldn't think about it. For resting at the end of this
trail of thought is the deadly briefcase of envy. If you haven't seen one in
real life, you've probably seen one in the spy movies. The assassin carries it
up the back stairs into the vacant room at the top of the building. When he’s sure
no one can see him, he opens the case. The disassembled rifle sits in cushioned
slots. The scope, the barrel, the stock – all of it awaits the hand of the
marksman. The marksman awaits the arrival of his victim. And who’s his victim?
Anyone who has more than he has. More karats, more horsepower, more office
space, more money. Envy sets its cross hairs on the one who has more. "You
want something you don't have, and you will do anything to get it. You will
even kill." (James 4:2)
That’s awfully
strong language coming from James. And although we wouldn’t kill with a rifle
like the assassin, can’t we do the same with our
tongue? With our glare? Our gossip? "Jealousy," informs Proverbs
6:34, "enrages a man." Are your sights set on someone? If so, be
careful – “jealousy will rot your bones." (Prov. 14:30) So do you need a
deterrent for envy? An antidote for jealousy? Rather than bemoan the pomegranate
jam you don't have, rejoice in the abundant cup that you do. "My cup
overflows with blessings." (Ps. 23:5)
Is an overflowing cup full? Absolutely. The wine reaches
the rim and then tumbles over the edge. The goblet is not large enough to
contain the quantity. According to David, our hearts are not large enough to
contain the blessings that God wants to give. He pours and pours until they
literally flow over the edge and down on the table. F. B. Meyer put it this way:
“Whatever the blessing is in our cup, it is sure to run over. With him the calf
is always the fatted calf; the robe is always the best robe; the joy is
unspeakable; the peace passes all understanding. . . . There is no grudging in
God's benevolence; He does not measure out his goodness as an apothecary counts
his drops and measures his drams, slowly and exactly, drop by drop. God's way
is always characterized by multitudinous and overflowing bounty.”
The last thing
we need to worry about is not having enough. Our cup overflows with blessings. So,
if focusing on our diminishing items leads to envy, what would happen if we
focused on the unending items? If awareness of what we don't have creates
jealousy and envy, is it possible that an awareness of our abundance would lead
to contentment? Here are a couple of blessings that, according to the Bible, overflow
in our lives.
Abounding grace.
"The more we see our sinfulness, the more we see God's abounding grace forgiving
us." (Rom. 5:20) To abound is to have a surplus, an abundance, an
extravagant portion. Should the fish in the Pacific worry that they’ll run out
of ocean? No. Why? The ocean abounds with water. Does the hawk have to be
anxious about finding room in the sky to fly? No. The sky abounds with space.
Should the Christian worry that the cup of mercy will run empty? He may; he may
not be aware of God's abounding grace. So are you? Are you aware that the cup
God gives you is a cup that overflows with his mercy? Or are you afraid your
cup will run dry, or your warranty will expire? Are you afraid your mistakes
are too great for God's grace? We can't help but wonder if the apostle Paul had
the same fear.
Before he was
Paul the apostle, he was Saul the murderer. Before he encouraged Christians, he
murdered them. What would it be like to live with that kind of past? Did he
ever meet children whom he had made orphans? Did their faces haunt his sleep?
Did Paul ever ask, "Can God forgive a man like me?" The answer to his
and, perhaps, our questions is found in a letter he wrote to Timothy: "The
grace of our Lord was poured out on me abundantly, along with the faith and
love that are in Christ Jesus." (1 Tim. 1:14) God is not a miser with his
grace. Your cup may be low on cash or even on clout, but it’s overflowing with
mercy. You may not have the prime parking place, but you have sufficient
pardon. "He will abundantly pardon." (Isa. 55:7) Your cup overflows
with grace.
And how about
hope? Because your cup overflows with grace, your cup also overflows with hope.
"God will help you overflow with hope in him through the Holy Spirit's
power within you." (Rom. 15:13) Heaven's hope
does for your world what the sunlight did for my grandmother's cellar. I owe my
love of pomegranate jam to Nana. She canned her own and stored the jars in an
underground cellar. It was a deep hole with wooden steps, plywood walls, and a
musty smell. As a youngster I used to climb in, close the door, and see how
long I could last in the darkness. Not even a slit of light entered that
underground hole. I would sit silently and listen to my breath and heartbeats
until I couldn't take it anymore. Then, I would race up the stairs and throw
open the door. Light would avalanche into the cellar. What a change. Moments
before I couldn't see anything – all of a sudden I could see everything.
Just as light poured into the cellar, God's hope pours into
your world. Upon the sick, he shines the ray of healing. To the bereaved, he
gives the promise of reunion. For the dying, he lit the flame of resurrection.
To the confused, he offers the light of Scripture. God gives hope. So what if
someone was born thinner or stronger, lighter or darker than you? Why count
diplomas or compare résumés?
What does it matter if they have a place at the head table? You have a place at
God's table. And he’s filling your cup to overflowing.
Hosts in the ancient East used the overflowing cup to send
a message to the guest. As long as the cup was kept full, the guest knew he was
welcome. But when the cup sat empty, the host was hinting that the hour was
late. On those occasions, however, when the host really enjoyed the company of
the person, he filled the cup to overflowing. He didn't stop when the wine
reached the rim; he kept pouring until the liquid ran over the edge of the cup
and down on the table. Have you noticed how wet your table is? God wants
you to stay. Your cup overflows with joy. Overflows with grace. So, shouldn't
your heart overflow with gratitude? The heart of the boy did. At least eventually.
But not at first.
According to the
fable, he lived with his father in a valley at the base of a large dam. Every
day the father would go to work on the mountain behind their house and return
home with a wheelbarrow full of dirt. "Pour the dirt into the sacks, son,"
the father would say. "And stack them in front of the house." And
though the boy would obey, he also complained. He was tired of dirt. He was
weary of bags. Why didn't his father give him what other fathers gave their
sons? They had toys and games; he had dirt. When he saw what the others had, he
grew mad at them. "It's not fair," he said to himself. And when he
saw his father, he objected. "They have fun. I have dirt." The father
would smile and place his arm on the boy's shoulders and say, "Trust me, son.
I'm doing what is best."
But it was so
hard for the boy to trust. Every day the father would bring the load. Every day
the boy would fill bags. "Stack them as high as you can," the father
would say as he went for more. And so the boy filled the bags and piled them
high. So high he couldn't see over them. "Work hard, son," the father
said one day. "We're running out of time." As the father spoke, he
looked at the darkening sky. The boy stared at the clouds and turned to ask
about them, but just then the thunder cracked and the sky opened. The rain
poured so hard he could scarcely see his father through the water. "Keep
stacking, son!" And as he did, the boy heard a mighty crash. The water of
the river poured through the dam and toward the little village. In a moment the
tide swept away everything in its path, but the dike of dirt gave the boy and
the father the time they needed. "Hurry, son. Follow me."
They ran to the
side of the mountain behind their house and into a tunnel. In a matter of
moments they exited the other side and scampered up the hill and came upon a
new cottage. “We'll be safe here," the father
said to the boy. Only then did the son realize what the father had done. He had
burrowed an exit. Rather than give him what he wanted, the father gave his boy
what he needed. He gave him a safe passage, and a safe place.
Hasn't God done the same? A strong wall of grace to protect
us? A sure exit to deliver us? Of whom can we be envious? Who has more than we
do? Rather than want what others have, shouldn't we wonder if they have what we
do? Instead of being jealous of them, how about zealous for them? There’s enough
to go around, and one thing is certain: when the final storm comes and you’re safe
in your Father's house, you won't regret what he didn't give you. You'll be
stunned at what he did.
Grace,
Randy
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