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
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