The Cure for Insomnia

 

The Cure for Insomnia

The Cure for Insomnia - Audio/Visual (@21:40) 

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul. (Psalm 23:1-3)

It afflicts 70 million Americans for which 38,000 deaths are attributed each year. The condition costs the U.S. $70 billion in productivity, annually. Teenagers suffer from it – 64% of them blame it for their poor grades. The middle-aged face it – researchers say the most severe cases occur between ages 30 and 40. Even senior citizens are not immune – it impacts 50% of the 65-and-over population. Treatments for the condition include everything from rubbing a dog’s earwax onto your teeth, to drinking various herbal teas, or even slathering the fat of a mouse on the soles of your feet. It’s a modern epidemic, but it’s far from a new problem. It’s insomnia. We just can't seem to get to sleep.

For most of my life I laughed at the thought of having sleep difficulties. Not anymore. Nor do I question the inclusion of the verse about rest contained in the 23^rd Psalm – “He makes me to lie down in green pastures.” (Ps. 23:2) People with too much work and too little sleep stumble over to the baggage carousel of life and grab the suitcase of exhaustion. But it’s not the kind of suitcase you can carry. You can’t even roll it to your ride. You drag it around like a lazy Lab because weariness wearies. But why are we so tired? We long for the life of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer on the Mississippi but look at us – we’re riding the white waters of the Colorado with forks in the river and rocks in the water threatening us with heart attacks, betrayal, credit card debt and custody battles. Huck and Tom didn't have to face those challenges, but we do. And they keep us awake at night.

Making matters worse, there’s a second problem. If 70 million Americans aren't sleeping enough, what does that mean? It means that almost one in four of us are either dozing off at work, napping through class, or sleeping at the wheel. Thirty tons of aspirin, sleeping pills and tranquilizers are consumed every day to treat the condition. It’s as if the gas gauge on the dashboard of our lives says empty. And were we to invite someone to solve our problem they’d likely suggest that we simply get some more sleep. But then we'd laugh because, clearly, he or she doesn't understand the way we work. We work hard. There’s money to be made; degrees to be earned; ladders to be climbed. In our way of thinking, busyness is next to godliness. We idolize someone like Thomas Edison, who claimed to live on 15-minute naps, and give short shrift to someone like Albert Einstein who averaged 11 hours of sleep a night. Back in 1910, Americans slept nine hours a night; today we sleep seven and we’re proud of it. But pride has its price. Our minds are tired. Our bodies are tired. And more to the point, our souls are tired.

We are eternal creatures, and we ask eternal questions: Where did I come from? Where am I going? What is the meaning of life? What is right? What is wrong? Is there life after death? These are the primal questions of the soul. And left unanswered, these questions steal our rest. Only one other living creature has as much trouble resting as we do, and it’s not a dog because they doze. It’s not a bear either – bears hibernate. Cats invented the catnap, and sloths slumber 20 hours a day. Most animals know how to rest. There is one exception, however, and these creatures are woolly, simpleminded and slow – and no, it’s not your husband. They’re sheep, and sheep can't sleep.

For sheep to sleep, everything has to be just right. No predators. No tension in the flock. No bugs in the air. No hunger in the stomach. Everything has to be just so. Unfortunately, sheep can’t find safe pasture, nor can they spray insecticide, deal with sheep skirmishes or even find food for themselves. They need help. They need a shepherd to lead them and help them to "lie down in green pastures." Without a shepherd, they just can't rest. And without a shepherd, neither can we. So, in the second verse of the 23^rd Psalm, David-the-poet becomes David-the-artist. His pen becomes a brush, and his words paint a picture of a flock of sheep on folded legs, encircling a shepherd with full bellies nestled deep in the long, cool, green grass. A still pond on one side, the watching shepherd on the other. "He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters." (Psalm 23:2)

Note the two pronouns preceding the two verbs, i.e., He makes me, and He leads me. Did you notice who the active one is here? It’s the shepherd. The shepherd selects the trail and prepares the pasture. The sheep's job is to focus on the shepherd. And with our eyes on our Shepherd, we'll be able to get some sleep. "You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on you." (Isa. 26:3) Interestingly, of the 10 declarations carved into the stone tablets, which one occupies the most space? Murder? Adultery? Stealing? You'd think so since each is certainly worthy of ample coverage. Curiously, however, these commands are tributes to brevity; God needed only 5 English words to condemn adultery, and 4 to denounce thievery and murder. But when he came to the topic of rest, not even a sentence was good enough.

“Remember to observe the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. You have six days each week for your ordinary work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath day of rest dedicated to the LORD your God. On that day no one in your household may do any work. This includes you, your sons and daughters, your male and female servants, your livestock, and any foreigners living among you. For in six days the LORD made the heavens, the earth, the sea, and everything in them; but on the seventh day he rested. That is why the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and set it apart as holy.” (Exodus 20:8-11)

God knows us so well because he can just see the business owner reading these verses and musing, "But somebody needs to work that day. If I can't, then my son will." So, God says no, not your son. "Then my daughter will." No, not your daughter, either. "Then maybe an employee." Nope, not an employee. “My therapy dog?” No. "A stranger, then?” Again, no. One day of the week you will say no to work and yes to worship. You will slow down, sit down, lie down and rest. Still, we object. "But ... but ... but ... who’s going to run the business?" "What about my grades?" "What about my sales quota?" We offer up one excuse after another, but God silences them all with a poignant reminder: "In six days the LORD made the heavens, the earth, the sea, and everything in them; but on the seventh day he rested." God's message is plain: if creation didn't crash when God rested, it won't crash when you do, either.

But then again, maybe we work so hard and rest so little because we feel like we’re invisible. You know, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while you’re on the phone and ask what’s for dinner. And in your head, you’re thinking, “Can't you see that I'm on the phone?” Obviously not; no one can see if you’re on the phone, cooking a meal, mowing the lawn or even standing on your head in the corner for that matter, because no one can see you at all. It’s as if you’re invisible.

In the book, Great Cathedrals, by Bernhard Schutz, he describes, in remarkable detail, the great cathedrals of Europe. His hardcover book covers the major Romanesque and Gothic cathedrals in France, England, Germany, Italy and Spain. In it, there are over 300 color photographs showing the cathedrals both inside and out, including close-up architectural and sculptural details that, when combined with the author’s text, give you a “virtual” tour of these magnificent buildings. And although you may not have the time to read this 8 lb., 472-page tome, even a brief skimming of its pages will reveal the cathedrals’ beauty in the simplicity of what they represent.

For instance, no one can say who actually built the great cathedrals because there’s no record of the general contractor who was responsible for their construction. Nevertheless, the builder gave his or her whole life to a work they would never see finished, and made unbelievable sacrifices without ever expecting to receive the credit. The passion of their construction was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A story of legend in Great Cathedrals tells of a rich man who came to visit a cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny, little bird on the inside of a beam. The rich man was puzzled and asked the artist, “Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it!” Looking down from his scaffold, and with the utmost faith and sincerity, the workman humbly replied, “Because God sees.”

God sees. And God sees you. He sees the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no tire you’ve ever changed, no Girl Scout meeting or last-minute errand is too small for God not to notice. You’re building a great cathedral – you just can’t see right now what it will eventually become. Rather than feeling invisible, exhausting yourself in an attempt to be seen, you are, instead, a great builder. You’re the one who shows up at the job you’ll never see finished, to work on something that your name will never be on. Imagine being a 14^th century bricklayer. You work your entire life adding a few more feet to a wall of a building that you’ll never see completed. “What does it matter?” you say. Well, if you’ve ever seen the Cathedral of Notre Dame, which took nearly 200 years to finish, you know why it matters. The truth is that cathedrals could never have been built in a single person’s lifetime largely because there were so few people willing to sacrifice to the same degree as the builder.

We’re building great cathedrals with God’s help. The thing is that you can’t always be seen doing it, especially if you’re doing it right. But one day, the world may marvel at not only what you’ve built with God’s help, but at the beauty that’s been added to the world because of the sacrifices of “invisible” servants like you. And even if you’re not the 8^th wonder of the modern world, God knows because “… we are co-workers in God’s service; you are God’s field, God’s building.” (1 Cor. 3:9) So, build God’s house and rest in the fact that “… the things we see now will soon be gone, but the invisible will last forever.” (2 Cor. 4:18)  And then try to get some sleep.

Grace,

Randy

Seeing the Unseen

 

Seeing the Unseen

Seeing the Unseen - Audio/Visual (@28:28) 

When Jesus went in the boat back to the other side of the lake, a large crowd gathered around him there. A leader of the synagogue, named Jairus, came there, saw Jesus, and fell at his feet. He begged Jesus, saying again and again, “My daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so she will be healed and will live.” So, Jesus went with him….

While Jesus was still speaking, some people came from the house of the synagogue leader. They said, “Your daughter is dead. There is no need to bother the teacher anymore.” But Jesus paid no attention to what they said. He told the synagogue leader, “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” When they came to the house of the synagogue leader, Jesus found many people there making lots of noise and crying loudly. Jesus entered the house and said to them, “Why are you crying and making so much noise? The child is not dead, only asleep.” But they laughed at him.

So, after throwing them out of the house, Jesus took the child’s father and mother and his three followers into the room where the child was. Taking hold of the girl’s hand, he said to her “Talitha, koum!” (This means, “Little girl, get up!”) At once the girl stood right up and began walking. (She was twelve years old) Everyone was completely amazed. (Mark 5:21-24, 35-43)

There I stood on one side of the living room while a friend of mine stood on the other. My job was to close my eyes and walk; his job was to be my eyes and talk me safely across the room. With phrases like, “Take two baby steps to the left,” and “Take four giant steps straight ahead,” my friend successfully navigated me through a treacherous maze of chairs, a vacuum cleaner and a dog. Did you ever do that when you were a kid? Better yet, do you do it now as an adult? We don’t like the dark, but we walk in it. We walk where we can’t see so we take timid steps, so we won’t fall. And we’ve good reason to be cautious because we’re blind. We can’t see the future. We have absolutely no vision beyond the present. It’s one limitation that we all share. The wealthy are just as blind as the poor. The educated are just as sightless as the unschooled. And the famous know as little about the future as the not-so-famous.

None of us know how our children will turn out. None of us know the day we’ll die. No one knows whom he or she will marry, or if marriage is even in the cards. We are universally, absolutely, unalterably blind. We’re groping through a dark room, listening for a familiar voice but with one difference: while my childhood surroundings were familiar and friendly, ours as adults can be hostile, even fatal. My worst fear then was stubbing my toe; our worst fear now is a lot more threatening like cancer, divorce, loneliness, even death. And try as we might to walk as straight as we can, chances are a toe is going to get stubbed and we’re going to get hurt. Just ask Jairus. He’s a man who had tried to walk as straight as he could, but whose path had taken a sudden turn toward a dark cave that he didn’t want to enter alone.

Jairus is the leader of the synagogue, and the synagogue was the center of religion, education, leadership and social activity. He was the senior religious leader, the mayor, and the best-known citizen all in one. He had it all – job security, a guaranteed welcome at the coffee shop, a pension plan and golf every Friday. Who could ask for more? Yet Jairus does. He has to ask for more. In fact, he would trade his entire package of perks and privileges for just one thing — to know that his daughter would live.

The Jairus we see in this story is not the clear-sighted, black-frocked, nicely groomed civic leader. He is, instead, a blind man begging for a gift. He fell at Jesus’ feet, “… saying again and again, ‘My daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so she will be healed and will live.’” (Mk 5:23) He doesn’t barter, negotiate or make excuses; he just pleads. And, like Jairus, there are times in life when everything we have to offer is nothing compared to what we are asking to receive. Jairus was at that point because what could he offer in exchange for his child’s life? So, there were no games; no haggling; no masquerades. The situation was starkly simple: Jairus was blind to the future and Jesus knew what the future held. So Jairus asks for his help and Jesus, who loves an honest heart, gave it. And God, who knows what it’s like to lose a child, empowers his son to do so.

But before Jesus and Jairus get very far, they’re interrupted by emissaries from Jairus’ home. “Your daughter is dead.” (v. 35) How’s that for being blunt? Life can be that way at times but, in response, Jesus goes from being led to leading; from being convinced by Jairus to convincing Jairus; from being admired to being laughed at; from helping out the people to casting out the people. “Jesus paid no attention to what they said ….” (v. 36)

I love that line. It describes the critical principle for seeing the unseen: ignore what people say. Block them out. Turn them off. Close your ears. And, if you have to, walk away. Ignore the ones who say it’s too late to start over. Disregard those who say you’ll never amount to anything. Turn a deaf ear to those who say that you aren’t smart enough, fast enough, tall enough or big enough — ignore them. Faith sometimes begins by putting cotton in our ears.

Knowing Jairus’ broken heart, Jesus turns immediately to Jairus and says: “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” (v. 36) Jesus is asking Jairus to see the unseen. And when Jesus says, “Just believe …,” he’s imploring him. “Don’t limit your possibilities to only what you can see. Don’t listen only for the audible. Don’t be controlled by the logical. Believe there is more to life than meets the eye!” “Trust me,” Jesus is pleading. “Don’t be afraid; just trust.”

That kind of trust was found on a cellar wall in Cologne, Germany where Jews had hidden during World War II. “I believe in the sun, even though it doesn’t shine; I believe in love, even when it isn’t shown; I believe in God, even when he doesn’t speak.” What eyes could have seen the good in such horror? There’s only one answer: eyes that chose to see the unseen. Paul wrote: “We set our eyes not on what we see but on what we cannot see. What we see will last only a short time, but what we cannot see will last forever.” (2 Cor. 4:18) Jesus is asking Jairus to see the unseen; to make a choice. To either live by the facts, or to see by his faith. When tragedy strikes, we, too, are left to choose what we see. We can either see the hurt or see the Healer. The choice is ours.

At the house, Jesus and Jairus run into a group of mourners and Jesus asks them why they’re wailing. It bothers him that they’re so anxious over death. “Why are you crying and making so much noise? The child is not dead, only asleep.” (v. 39) And that’s not a rhetorical question. It’s an honest one. From Jesus’ perspective, the girl is not dead — she’s only asleep. From God’s viewpoint, death is not permanent – it’s a necessary step for passing from this world into the next. It’s not an end; it’s a beginning. “Flesh and blood cannot have a part in the kingdom of God …. This body that can be destroyed must clothe itself with something that can never be destroyed. And this body that dies must clothe itself with something that can never die.” (1 Cor. 15:50, 53)

From God’s viewpoint, death is not to be dreaded; it is to be welcomed. And when he sees people crying and mourning over death, he wants to know, “Why are you crying?” When we see death, we see disaster; when Jesus sees death, he sees deliverance. But that’s too much for the people to take so, “They laughed at him.” (Mk 5:40) And Jesus’ response? He threw them out of the house. He doesn’t just ask them to leave – he throws them out. Jesus’ response was decisive and strong. In fact, in the original text, the word used here is the same word used to describe what Jesus did to the moneychangers in the temple – I think a whip and tossing tables was involved. It’s the same verb used thirty-eight times to describe what Jesus did to the demons. But why such force? Why such intolerance?

The answer can be found by going back to my living room experience. After my friend had successfully guided me through the living room, another friend thought he’d be a comedian. So, on my last trip across the living room he snuck up from behind me and began whispering, “Don’t listen to him. Listen to me. I’ll take care of you.” Hearing him, I stopped, analyzed the situation and made my choice between the two voices. “Be quiet,” I said, and then continued on in my other friend’s direction. Undeterred, my diabolical friend then grabbed the lid of a pan, held it next to my ear and smacked it with a spoon. Startled, I jumped to a stop. Seeing that I was in shock, and maybe deaf, my friend from the other side of the room immediately ran in my direction, threw his arms around me and said, “Don’t worry. I’m right here.” He wasn’t about to let the noise distract me from the journey.

And God isn’t going to let the noise distract you from yours, either. He’s still busy casting out the critics and silencing the voices that could deter you. Some of his work you’ve probably seen; most of it you haven’t. Only when you get home will you know how many times he has protected you from luring voices. God knows that you and I are blind. He knows that living by faith and not by sight doesn’t come naturally. And I think that’s one reason he raised Jairus’ daughter from the dead – it wasn’t for her sake, but for Jairus’, and ours. To teach us that heaven sees when we trust, and that we can trust even when we cannot see.

Grace,

Randy

Breaking the Cycle

 

Breaking the Cycle

Breaking the Cycle - Audio/Visual (@24:35) 

Under the old covenant, the priest stands and ministers before the altar day after day, offering the same sacrifices again and again, which can never take away sins. But our High Priest offered himself to God as a single sacrifice for sins, good for all time. Then he sat down in the place of honor at God’s right hand. There he waits until his enemies are humbled and made a footstool under his feet. For by that one offering he forever made perfect those who are being made holy …. And when sins have been forgiven, there is no need to offer any more sacrifices. (Hebrews 10:11-14; 18)

The letter to the Hebrews can be a puzzling book. Even its author is a mystery. Some say it’s Paul, others say it’s Peter. Some even suggest it’s Dr. Luke’s transcript of one of Paul’s sermons. Regardless, Hebrews is the language of the temple, the priest, the altar and atoning blood – Old Testament terms that we thought we’d left behind in the New Testament. But the book of Hebrews also centers on a word with which we’re all familiar: sacrifice.

Barely a month before his death, Abraham Lincoln took to the rostrum on the steps of the Capitol and gave one of his greatest speeches – his Second Inaugural Address. The Great Emancipator ended his short speech with the following words: "With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan – to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations."

“Sacrifice” is a word people generally use when they find themselves indebted to someone, or to some group, for things that sustain life or, perhaps, for even saving life. For instance, we speak of our parents as having made sacrifices, and we honor people who speak the truth and suffered the consequences for it like Gandhi, Mandela or Martin Luther King. We describe the loss of life in war as a sacrifice made to defend a nation or given for a cause like freedom. The word “sacrifice” refers to something done for us without concern for the giver’s self. And when the sacrifice involves the shedding of blood, it conjures up a power that exceeds our ability to estimate in words. The word itself comes from two separate words, Sacer meaning “holy,” and facere meaning “to make.” Of course, that doesn’t really define the many ways in which the word “sacrifice” is used since there are many ways of “making holy” that are not a sacrifice, and there are other sacrifices that make nothing holy at all.

On September 12, 1861, a 25-year-old farmer from southern Lancaster County left his farm and family and marched off to war against the Confederacy with the 79th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry Regiment – the Lancaster Rifles. In late 1863, some two (2) years later, the entire regiment re-enlisted, earning the right to proudly display the word “Veteran” on their battle colors – the 79th Pennsylvania Veteran Volunteer Infantry Regiment.

Then, nearly four years after his enlistment, Sergeant William T. Clark returned to his farm, older – and made older – by his years spent soldiering and nursing the wounds of war that would eventually take his life. Sgt. Clark would later serve as the Judge of Elections in November 1864, when members of his regiment proudly voted for Abraham Lincoln’s re-election. But Sergeant Clark’s blank check offered in battle had cost him the partial use of one arm, intestinal issues due to multiple combat wounds, and a lifetime battling malaria from his time spent in the Deep South. During his nearly four years in the 79th Pennsylvania, Sgt. Clark and his regiment spent less than 60 nights under a roof, or about one night a month. Some would call that a “sacrifice.”

The book of Hebrews takes the Old Testament notion of sacrifice and castes it in New Testament terms. In the old system, the priests went daily to the temple, and the high priest went annually into the Holy of Holies on the Day of Atonement. Sacrifices were made as part of these rituals. In the “old” system of sacrifice, the people were rescued from sin by the life of a sacrificial animal. Their sins were symbolically placed on the animal as a substitute so that the people could begin their spiritual life anew.

But Hebrews points to an inherent flaw in that old system of sacrifice. Let’s say my car is not running properly. So, I take it to the mechanic to have the problem diagnosed and repaired. But what if I had to take my car back to the mechanic week after week to fix the same problem? Obviously, I’d need to change mechanics, or maybe get a new car, because the problem wasn’t fixed – ever. Like my car, the Jewish sacrifices that were being offered over and over again were indicative of the fact that the root problem for which the sacrifice was being made had not been repaired or fixed.

The book of Hebrews explains that the temple and its sacrifices had always been intended as only a temporary substitute for something brand new that was being worked out by God. The new sacrificial system spoken of in Hebrews was not the continual shedding of the blood of bulls and goats, but the shedding of the blood of the Messiah – once and for all. It’s the sacrifice of Jesus that reaches deep inside of us, transforming us at the core of our being. We’re not just washed clean (a temporary fix), we’re made brand new (a complete makeover). The priests went daily to perform their sacrificial duties, but Jesus didn’t have to. His sacrifice was once and for all. Complete – “ because … when sins have been forgiven, there is no need to offer sacrifices anymore.” (Heb. 10:18)

When Jesus submitted to those who killed him, rather than exercising violence against them, the temple veil was torn in half and something brand new happened that day. An event that first seemed to be so terrible and so final was transformed by Christ into a brand-new way of existence. We worship a God who chose to suffer violence rather than meet it in kind. God entered into humankind’s cycle of violence and broke that cycle – forever.

Jesus said, “…Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)  In other words, Jesus defined sacrifice as an act of love. Not an act of hate, or an act of war, but an act of love. Any Veteran will tell you that the bond between those who serve together in theater creates a “band of brothers;" some prefer to call it a brotherhood. But no matter how characterized, it’s love; that’s what Jesus both taught and showed.

Christ laid down his life for all of us. He chose to allow others to lead him to the cross, knowing full well what was in store. And he did it without remorse, without so much as a second thought. And that love extends to each of us because he went in our stead. It’s love that causes men like William Clark to leave a verdant farm and loving family to march off to war, stand shoulder to shoulder with his friends, neighbors and fellow soldiers, and brave the heat and ferocity of battle even though wounded. Those blank checks are too often cashed in blood and breath; in tears and trauma. Nevertheless, the checks were written and then tendered with love.

So, how do we compare those kinds of sacrifices with the ultimate sacrifice made on our behalf by Jesus on the cross? Both are costly and precious; both are made in love. But only the sacrifice of Jesus shows us the way out of the cycle of violence in which we have been bound for millennia. Jesus lived a non-violent life, and through his life he teaches us, and encourages us to do the same.

Unfortunately, we are still locked into a cycle of violence that sends out substitutionary sacrifices (military men and women), because we are unable to live the way that Jesus taught in the Sermon on the Mount. We have not yet learned the new way of being that Jesus demonstrated for us in his sacrifice. In Christ, God created a new way of being; a new community of reconciliation by resisting and overcoming the power of the world with God’s saving power.

Jesus’ resistance to violence broke the cycle of bloodshed. “It is possible!” proclaims the cross. “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34) With those words, Jesus inaugurated a new age. We have only to embrace this wondrous love, and then show and demonstrate it in our own lives and actions to help usher in the same toward others. That’s breaking the cycle, and heaven knows we need to break the cycle. He made perfect those who are being made holy. Will your sacrifice help others to do the same? Breaking the cycle. Now that’s a sacrifice. Or love.

Grace,

Randy