Dealing with Dis-appointment

 

Dealing with Dis-appointment

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

Dis changes everything. With dis, "obey" becomes "disobey,” and “respect" is changed to "disrespect." What was an "ability" becomes a "disability," and "grace" is transformed into "disgrace." All because of dis. You'd be hard-pressed to find a more potent trio of letters and pressed harder still to find a better example of their power than the word “appointment.” Most of us like appointments. Even the organizationally challenged like appointments. Appointments create a sense of predictability in an unpredictable world. We know we don’t actually control our future, but our calendars give us the illusion that we do. A disappointment, on the other hand, reminds us that we don't.

A disappointment is a missed appointment. What we hoped would happen, didn't. We wanted health; we got disease. We wanted retirement; we got reassignment. Dismissal instead of promotion. So, what do we do with our disappointments? We could do what Miss Haversham did. Remember her in Charles Dickens's Great Expectations? Jilted by her fiancé just prior to the wedding, her appointment became a missed appointment and a disappointment. She didn’t respond well. She closed all the blinds in the house, stopped every clock, left the wedding cake on the table to gather cobwebs, and continued to wear her wedding dress until it hung in yellow decay around her shrunken form. Her wounded heart consumed her life. We can follow the same course. Or we can follow the example of the apostle Paul.

His goal was to be a missionary in Spain. But rather than send Paul to Spain, God sent him to prison, instead. Sitting in a Roman jail, Paul could have made the same choice as Miss Haversham, but he didn't. Instead, he said, "As long as I'm here, I might as well write a few letters." Hence our Bible has the letters to Philemon, the Philippians, the Colossians and the Ephesians. No doubt Paul would have done a great work in Spain, but would it have compared with the work of those four letters?

You've sat where Paul sat. You were hotter than a firecracker on the trail to Spain, or college, or marriage, or independence. But then came the layoff, or the pregnancy, or the sick parent, sick child or sick spouse. And you ended up in prison. So long, Spain. Hello, Rome. So long, appointment. Hello, disappointment. Hello, pain. And how did you handle it? Better yet how are you handling it? Could you use some help? Six words in the fifth verse of the Twenty-third Psalm may help: "You anoint my head with oil." Now what does a verse about oil have to do with the hurts that come from the disappointments of life? A little primer on animal husbandry might help. Call it a sheep study.

In ancient Israel shepherds used oil for three purposes: to repel insects and snakes, to prevent conflicts and to heal wounds. Bugs bug people, but they can kill sheep. Flies, mosquitoes and gnats can turn the summer into a time of torture for the livestock. Consider nose flies, for example. If they succeed in depositing their eggs into the soft membrane of the sheep's nose, the eggs become wormlike larvae, which drive the sheep insane. One shepherd explained: "For relief from this agonizing annoyance sheep will deliberately beat their heads against trees, rocks, posts, or brush. . . . In extreme cases of intense infestation, a sheep may even kill itself in a frenzied endeavor to get relief from the aggravation."

In other words, when a swarm of nose flies appears, sheep panic. They run. They hide. They toss their heads up and down for hours. They forget to eat. They aren't able to sleep. Ewes stop milking, and lambs stop growing. The entire flock can be disrupted, even destroyed by the presence of a few flies. For this reason, then, the shepherd anoints the sheep. He covers their heads with an oil-like repellent. The fragrance keeps the insects at bay and the flock at peace. At peace, that is, until mating season.

Most of the year, sheep are calm, passive animals. But during mating season, everything changes. The rams put the "ram" in rambunctious. They strut around the pasture and flex their necks, trying to win the attention of the new gal on the block. When a ram catches her eye, he tosses his head back and says, "I want ewe, baby" and about that time her boyfriend shows up and tells her to go someplace safe. "Ewe better move, baby. This could get ugly." The two rams then lower their heads and POW! – an old-fashioned head butt breaks out. To prevent injury in these circumstances, the shepherd anoints the rams. He smears a slippery, greasy substance over their nose and head. This lubricant causes them to glance off rather than crash directly into one another, but they still tend to get hurt, even with the added protection. And these wounds are the third reason the shepherd anoints the sheep.

Most of the wounds the shepherd treats are the result of simply living in a pasture. Thorns prick, or rocks cut, or a sheep rubs its head too hard against a tree. Sheep get hurt. As a result, the shepherd regularly, often daily, inspects the sheep, searching for cuts and abrasions because he doesn't want the cut to worsen. He doesn't want today's wound to become tomorrow's infection. And neither does God.

Just like sheep, we have wounds, too, but ours are wounds of the heart that come from disappointment after disappointment. If we're not careful, these wounds lead to bitterness and jealousy. “Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, being jealous of one another.” (Gal. 5:26) And so just like sheep, we need to be treated. "He made us, and we belong to him; we are his people, the sheep he tends." (Ps. 100:3) You see, sheep aren't the only ones who need preventive care, and sheep aren't the only ones who need a healing touch.

We also get irritated with each other, butt heads, and then get wounded. Many of our disappointments in life begin as relatively simple irritations. Generally speaking, our problems are not lion-sized attacks, but rather the day-to-day swarm of frustrations, mishaps, and heartaches. You don't get invited to the dinner party; you don't make the team; you don't get the scholarship; your boss doesn't notice your hard work; your husband doesn’t notice your new dress; your neighbor doesn’t notice the mess in his yard. You find yourself more irritable, more gloomy, more … well, hurt. Like the sheep, you don’t sleep well. You don’t eat well. You may even hit your head against the wall a few times. Or you may hit your head against a person. It's amazing how hardheaded we can be to one another.

Some of our deepest hurts come from butting heads with people. Like the sheep, the rest of our wounds come from just simply living in the pasture of our world. The sheep have to face wounds from thorns and thistles. We have to face aging, loss and illness. Some of us face betrayal and injustice. Live long enough in this world and most of us will face deep, deep hurts of one kind or another. So, we, like the sheep, get wounded. And we, like the sheep, have a shepherd. Remember the words of the Psalm? "We belong to him; we are his people, the sheep he tends." (Ps. 100:3)

He will do for you what the shepherd does for the sheep. He will tend to you. If the Gospels teach us anything, they teach us that Jesus is a Good Shepherd. "I am the good shepherd," Jesus announces. "The good shepherd gives his life for the sheep." (John 10:11) Didn't Jesus spread the oil of prevention on his disciples? He prayed for them. He equipped them before he sent them out. He revealed to them the secrets of the parables. He interrupted their arguments and calmed their fears. Because he was a good shepherd, he protected them against disappointments. But not only did Jesus prevent wounds, he healed them. He touched the eyes of the blind man. He touched the disease of the leper. He touched the body of the dead girl. He touched the searching heart of Nicodemus. He touched the open heart of Zacchaeus. He touched the broken heart of Mary Magdalene. He touched the confused heart of Cleopas. He touched the stubborn heart of Paul, and the repentant heart of Peter. Jesus tends to his sheep. And he will tend to you if you let him. But how?

First, go to him. David would trust his wounds to no other person than God. He said, "You anoint my head with oil." Not, "your prophets," "your teachers," or "your counselors." Others may guide us to God. Others may help us understand God. But no one does the work of God, for only God can heal. God "heals the brokenhearted." (Ps. 147:3) You've likely shared your disappointments with your neighbor, your relatives or your friends, but have you taken them to God? James says, "Anyone who is having troubles should pray." (James 5:13) Before you go anywhere else with your disappointments, go to God.

But maybe you don't want to trouble God with your hurts. After all, he's got famines, pestilence, and wars; he won't care about my little problems, you think. Why don't you let him decide that? He cared enough about a wedding to provide the wine. He cared enough about Peter's tax obligation to give him a coin. He cared enough about the woman at the well to give her answers. "He cares about you." (1 Pet. 5:7) Your first step is to go to the right person. Go to God.

Your second step is to assume the right posture. Bow before God. In order to be anointed, the sheep must stand still, lower their heads and let the shepherd do his work. Peter urges us to "be humble under God's powerful hand so he will lift you up when the right time comes." (1 Pet. 5:6) When we come to God, we make requests; we don't make demands. We come with high hopes and a humble heart. We state what we want, but we pray for what’s right. And if God gives us the prison of Rome instead of the mission of Spain, we accept it because we know "God will always give what is right to his people who cry to him night and day, and he will not be slow to answer them." (Luke 18:7)

We go to him. We bow before him, and we trust him. A sheep doesn't understand why the oil repels the flies. A sheep doesn't understand how the oil heals the wounds. In fact, all the sheep know is that something happens in the presence of the shepherd. And that's all we need to know, too. "LORD, I give myself to you; my God, I trust you." (Ps. 25:1-2). Go to the Shepherd. He knows how to treat dis-appointment. “You have an anointing from the Holy One, and all of you know the truth.” (1 John 2:20)

Grace,

Randy

All Petered Out

 

All Petered Out

All Petered Out - Audio/Visual 

Arresting Jesus, they marched him off and took him into the house of the Chief Priest. Peter followed, but at a safe distance. In the middle of the courtyard some people had started a fire and were sitting around it, trying to keep warm. One of the serving maids sitting at the fire noticed him, then took a second look and said, “This man was with him!” He denied it, “Woman, I don’t even know him.” A short time later, someone else noticed him and said, “You’re one of them.” But Peter denied it: “Man, I am not.” About an hour later, someone else spoke up, really adamant: “He’s got to have been with him! He’s got ‘Galilean’ written all over him.” Peter said, “Man, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” At that very moment, the last word hardly off his lips, a rooster crowed. Just then, the Master turned and looked at Peter. Peter remembered what the Master had said to him: “Before the rooster crows, you will deny me three times.” He went out and cried and cried and cried. (Luke 22:54-62)

See the man in the shadows? That's Peter. Peter the apostle. Peter the impetuous. Peter the passionate. Peter with a foot-shaped mouth. He once walked on water – stepped right out of a boat and onto a lake. He'll soon preach to thousands – fearless before friends and foes alike. But tonight? The one who stepped on the water has hurried into hiding. The one who will speak with power is weeping in pain. Not sniffling or whimpering, mind you, but weeping. Bawling. Bearded face buried in thick hands, his howl echoing in the Jerusalem night. And what hurts more? The fact that he did it? Or the fact that he swore he never would? "Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and even to die with you!" he pledged only hours earlier. "But Jesus said, 'Peter, before the rooster crows this day, you will say three times that you don't know me.'" (Luke 22:33-34)

Denying Christ on the night of his betrayal was bad enough, but did he really have to boast that he wouldn't? And one denial was bad enough, but three? Three denials were horrific, but did he really have to curse? "Peter began to curse and swear, 'I don't even know the man.'" (Matt. 26:74) And now, awash in a whirlpool of sorrow, Peter’s hiding. Peter’s weeping. And soon Peter will be fishing. Fishing? Really? Why’d he go fishing?

We know why he goes to Galilee – he’d been told that the risen Christ would meet the disciples there. The arranged meeting place was not the sea, however, but a mountain. (Matt. 28:16) If the followers were to meet Jesus on a mountain, why are they in a boat? No one told them to fish, but that's what they did. "Simon Peter said, 'I’m going fishing.' The others said, 'We’ll go with you.'" (John 21:3)

Furthermore, I thought Peter quit fishing. Remember? Two years earlier, when Jesus called him to fish for men, didn't Peter drop his net and follow? We haven't seen him fish since. We never see him fish again. So why is he fishing now? Especially now. Jesus has risen from the dead, and Peter has seen the empty tomb. Who could fish at a time like this?

Were Peter and his fishing buddies hungry? Broke? Maybe. Maybe the expedition was born out of growling stomachs, or a sea of red ink. Or, then again, maybe it was born out of a broken heart. You see, Peter couldn’t deny his denial. The empty tomb didn’t erase the crowing rooster. Christ had returned, but Peter wondered, he must have wondered, "After what I did, would he return for someone like me?" And haven’t we all wondered the same?

Is Peter the only person to do the very thing he swore he'd never do? "Cheating’s behind me!" Or, "From now on, I'm going to watch what I say." Maybe, "No more shady deals. I've learned my lesson." Oh, the volume of our boasting. And, oh, the heartbreak of our shame. Rather than resist the flirting, we return it. Rather than ignore the gossip, we share it. Rather than sticking to the truth, we shade it. And then the rooster crows, conviction pierces our souls, and Peter has a partner in the shadows. We weep as Peter wept, and we do what Peter did. We go fishing. We go back to our old lives. We return to our pre-Jesus practices. We do what comes naturally, rather than what comes spiritually. And we question whether Jesus has a place for people like us. Fortunately, Jesus answers that question.

He answers it for you and me and all who tend to "Peter out" on Christ. His answer came on the shore of the sea in a gift to Peter. Do you remember what Jesus did? Split the waters? No. Turn the boat to gold and the nets to silver? Not exactly. Jesus did something much more meaningful. He invited Peter to breakfast. Jesus prepared a meal. Of course, breakfast was just one special moment among several that morning. There was the great catch of fish and the recognition of Jesus. The plunge of Peter and the paddling of the disciples. And there was the moment they reached the shore and found Jesus next to a fire of coals. The fish were sizzling, the bread was waiting, and the defeater of hell and the ruler of heaven invited his friends to sit down and have a bite to eat.

No one could have been more grateful than Peter. The one Satan had sifted like wheat (Luke 22:31) was eating bread at the hand of God. Peter was welcomed to the meal of Christ. Right there for the devil and his tempters to see, Jesus "prepared a table in the presence of his enemies." Now, maybe Peter didn't say it that way, but David did. "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." (Ps. 23:5) What the shepherd did for the sheep sounds a lot like what Jesus did for Peter.

At this point in David’s 23^rd psalm, his mind seems to be lingering in the high country with the sheep. Having guided the flock through the valley to the alp lands for greener grass, he remembers the shepherd's added responsibility. He must prepare the pasture. This is new land, so the shepherd must be careful. Ideally, the grazing area will be flat, like a mesa or tableland. The shepherd searches for poisonous plants and ample water. He looks for signs of wolves, coyotes and bears. Of special concern to the shepherd was the adder, a small brown snake that lives underground. Adders are known to pop out of their holes and nip the sheep on the nose as they graze. The bite often infects the sheep and can even kill. So, as a defense against the snake, the shepherd would pour a circle of oil at the top of each adder hole. He also applied the oil to the noses of the animals. The oil on the snake's hole lubricated the exit, preventing the snake from slithering out. The smell of the oil on the sheep's nose would drive the serpent away. The shepherd, in a very real sense, had prepared the table.

What if your Shepherd did for you what the shepherd did for his flock? Suppose he dealt with your enemy, the devil, and prepared for you a safe place to receive nourishment? What if Jesus did for you what he did for Peter? Suppose he, during the hour of your failure, invited you to a meal? What would you say if I told you he has done exactly that?

On the night before his death, Jesus prepared a table for his followers. On the first day of the Festival of Unleavened Bread, the day the lambs for the Passover meal were killed, Jesus' disciples asked him, "Where do you want us to go and get the Passover meal ready for you?" Then Jesus sent two of them with these instructions: "Go into the city, and a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him to the house he enters, and say to the owner of the house: 'The Teacher says, Where is the room where my disciples and I will eat the Passover meal?' Then he will show you a large, upstairs room, fixed up and furnished, where you will get everything ready for us." (Mark 14:12-15) Look who did the "preparing" here. Jesus reserved a large room and arranged for the guide to lead the disciples. Jesus made certain the room was furnished and the food set out. What did the disciples do? They faithfully showed up and were fed. The Shepherd prepared the table. Not only that, he dealt with the snakes.

You'll remember that only one of the disciples didn't finish his dinner that night. "The devil had already persuaded Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon, to turn against Jesus." (John 13:2) Judas started to eat, but Jesus didn't let him finish. On the command of Jesus, Judas left the room. "'The thing that you will do – do it quickly.' . . . Judas took the bread Jesus gave him and immediately went out. It was night." (John 13:27, 30) There’s something dynamic in this dismissal. Jesus prepared a table in the presence of the enemy. Judas was allowed to see the supper, but he wasn't allowed to stay. You are not welcome here. This table is for my children. You may tempt them. You may trip them. But you will never sit with them. This is how much Jesus loves us. And if any doubt remains, lest there be any "Peters" who wonder if there’s a place at the table for them, Jesus issues a tender reminder as he passes the cup. "Every one of you drink this. This is my blood which is the new agreement that God makes with his people. This blood is poured out for many to forgive their sins." (Matt. 26:27-28)

"Every one of you drink this." Those who feel unworthy, drink this. Those who feel ashamed, drink this. Those who feel embarrassed, drink this. The answer to shame is in the Supper. The Lord's Supper. The same Jesus who'd prepared a meal for Peter has prepared one for you and me. The same Shepherd who had trumped the devil trumps him again. The same Savior who had built a fire on the shore can stir a few embers in our hearts. "Every one of you drink this." And so we do because it feels good to be back at the table again, even if we’re just a little Petered out.

Grace,

Randy