Untangling Life's Knots

 

Untangling Life’s Knots

Untangling Life's Knots - Audio/Visual 

There was a wedding in the village of Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there. Jesus and his disciples were guests also. When they started running low on wine at the wedding banquet, Jesus’ mother told him, “They’re just about out of wine.” Jesus said, “Is that any of our business, Mother — yours or mine? This isn’t my time.” She went ahead anyway, telling the servants, “Whatever he tells you, do it.” Six stoneware water pots were there, used by the Jews for ritual washings. Each held twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus ordered the servants, “Fill the pots with water.” And they filled them to the brim. “Now fill your pitchers and take them to the host,” Jesus said, and they did. When the host tasted the water that had become wine (he didn’t know what had just happened but the servants, of course, knew), he called out to the bridegroom, “Everybody I know begins with their finest wines and after the guests have had their fill brings in the cheap stuff. But you’ve saved the best till now!” (John 2:1-10)

Imagine yourself in a dark room with the windows closed, the curtains drawn, and the blinds blocked. It’s hard to believe in the darkness that there’s daylight outside those drapes. So, you grope around, trying to feel your way across the floor. You take a step – disoriented and unsure of where you’re headed. Progress is slow and the journey’s painful: stubbed toes and bruised shins. It’s hard to walk around in a dark place. It’s harder still to walk around in a dark world. But we try, don’t we? And we get wounded in the process – tripping over problems, bumping into each other in the shadows, and ramming into walls.

But occasionally one of us makes a discovery. Reaching through the blackness, a hand finds the curtains and then the window latch. “Hey, the walls have windows!” And then the drapes are pulled back, the window’s opened and sunlight floods the room. What was dark is now bright. What was opaque is now clear. What was stale is now fresh. With the light comes a peace, a power, a desire to move closer to the light, and a confidence to step forward. Our timid steps are replaced by a certainty to our walk; a certainty in moving through the corridors of life, opening one window after another to illuminate the darkness. And all it took was opening the curtains and raising the window.

Prayer does the same thing. Prayer is the window that God has placed in the walls of our world. If we leave it shut, the world becomes a cold, dark place. But throw back the curtains and we see God’s light. Open the window and we hear God’s voice. Open the window of prayer and we invoke the presence of God in our world. Here’s what I mean.

Imagine that you’re at your best friend’s wedding reception. The two of you have talked about this day since you were kids, and now it’s finally here. The ceremony was great, and the wedding was beautiful; the minister was flawless, and the vows were honest. What a day! “I’ll take care of the reception,” you had volunteered long ago. So, you planned the best party possible. You hired the band, rented the hall, catered the meal, decorated the room, and asked Aunt Tessie to bake the cake. (Yes, I had an Aunt Tessie)

Now the band is playing, and the guests are milling about, but Aunt Tessie’s nowhere to be seen. Everything’s here but the cake. So, you ring her up. She’s been napping. She thought the wedding was next week. Great. Now what do you do? Talk about a problem. Everything’s here but the cake. Sound familiar? Well, it might. It’s exactly the dilemma that Jesus’ mother, Mary, was facing – sort of. The wedding was moving, the guests were celebrating, but the wine was gone. Back then, wine was to a wedding like cake is to one today. Can you imagine a wedding without a cake? Well, they couldn’t imagine a wedding without wine. To offer wine was to show respect to your guests. Not to offer wine at a wedding was … well … an insult.

Mary faced a social problem. You know. A foul-up; a snafu; a calamity on a somewhat common scale. No need to call 911, but you can’t sweep the embarrassment under the rug, either. And when you think about it, most of the problems we face are similar in scope. Seldom do we have to deal with dilemmas of a national scale or have world import. Seldom do our crises rock the Richter scale. Usually, the waves we ride are made by pebbles, not oceans. We’re late for a meeting; we leave something at the office; a co-worker forgets a report; mail gets lost; traffic gets snarled. Generally speaking, the waves rocking our lives are not life-threatening. But then again, they can be because a poor response to a simple problem can light a fuse. What begins as a snowflake can snowball into an avalanche unless proper care is taken.

For that reason, please note how Mary reacted to the situation. Her solution is a practical plan for untangling life’s knots. “They’re just about out of wine,” she told Jesus. (John 2:3) That’s it. That’s all she said. She didn’t go crazy. She simply assessed the problem and gave it to Christ. Charles Kettering, the famed inventor and head of research for GM said, “A problem well-stated is half-solved.” Mary would have liked that because that’s what she did – she defined the problem. Now, granted, she could have exploded: “Why didn’t you plan better? There’s not enough wine! Whose fault is this anyway? You guys never do anything right. If anything is to be done right around here, I have to do it myself!” Or she could have imploded: “This is my fault, I’ve failed. I’m to blame. I deserve it. If only I’d majored in the culinary arts. I’m a failure in life.”

It’s so easy to focus on everything but the solution, isn’t it? But Mary didn’t do that. She simply looked at the knot, assessed it, and took it to the right person. “I’ve got one here I can’t untie, Jesus.” When they started running low on wine …, Jesus’ mother told him, “They’re just about out of wine.” (Id.) Please note that she took the problem to Jesus before she took it to anyone else. An acquaintance of mine told me about a tense deacons’ meeting he once attended. Apparently, there was more agitation than agreement, and after a lengthy discussion someone suggested, “Why don’t we pray about it?” to which another questioned, “Has it come to that?” What causes us to think of prayer as the last option rather than the first? I think there’s at least two reasons: feelings of independence and feelings of insignificance.

Sometimes we’re independent. We begin to think we’re big enough to solve our own problems. For instance, at our house we’ve had a banner year. Our youngest daughter just finished college; another daughter got a promotion resulting in more pay and benefits; and another is a mother of two and taking steps toward a career change – other than being a mother.

Our youngest son and his wife are doing well in the entertainment industry; another son is to the HVAC industry what MacGyver was to tinker toys; and another son’s an attorney and the office/youth minister at church. My wife and I have applauded and celebrated each accomplishment our children have made. Their maturity and mobility are good and necessary, but I hope they never get to the point where they’re too grown up to call their mom and dad. God feels the same way about us.

Other times we don’t feel so independent; we feel insignificant, instead. We think, “Sure, Mary can take her problems to Jesus. She’s his mother. But God doesn’t want to hear my problems. He’s got famines and earthquakes to deal with. I don’t want to trouble him with my messes.” If that’s your thought, consider this: “Because he delights in me, he saved me.” (Ps. 18:19) And you probably thought he saved you because of your decency. You thought he saved you because of your good works or good attitude or good looks. Sorry. If that were the case, your salvation would have been lost when your language went south, or your works got weak. There are many reasons God saves you: to bring glory to himself, to appease his justice, to demonstrate his sovereignty. But one of the sweetest reasons God saved you is because he’s fond of you. He likes having you around. He thinks you’re the best thing to come down the pike in quite a while. “As a man rejoices over his new wife, so your God will rejoice over you.” (Isa. 62:5)

Note the sequence of events in those three verses about the wineless wedding: Jesus ordered the servants, “Fill the pots with water.” So, they filled the jars to the top. Then he said to them, “Now fill your pitchers and take them to the host.” So, they took the water to the host. And during the journey from spigot to sommelier the water had become wine. (John 2:7-9) See the sequence? First the jars were filled with water. Then Jesus instructed the servants to take the water (not the wine) to the master. Now, if I’m a servant, I’m thinking I’m not too crazy about that idea. I mean, how is that going to solve the problem? And what is the master going to say when I give him a cup of water? But these servants were either naïve enough, or trusting enough, to do what Jesus said. And so, the problem was solved. Note that the water became wine after they had obeyed, not before.

What if the servants had refused? What if they’d said, “No way”? Or, to bring the point closer to home, what if you refuse? What if you identify the problem, take it to Jesus, and then refuse to do what he says? That’s possible, right? After all, God is asking you to take some pretty gutsy steps. For instance, money is tight, but he still asks you to give. You’ve been offended, but he still asks you to forgive. Someone else blew the assignment, but he still asks you to be patient. You can’t see God’s face, but he still asks you to pray. These are not commands for the faint of faith. But then again, he wouldn’t ask you to do it if he thought you couldn’t. So go ahead. Next time you need to untangle life’s knots, follow Mary’s example: Identify the problem. (You’ll half-solve it) Present it to Jesus. (He’s happy to help) Do what he says. (No matter how crazy) And then get Aunt Tessie a new calendar.

Grace,

Randy

Fix Your Wick

 

Fix Your Wick

Fix Your Wick - Audio/Visual

You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead, they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. (Matt. 5:13-16)

A peculiar thing happened to me during the evening of September 8, 2011. That was the Great Blackout – a widespread power outage that affected large swaths of Southern California, as well as western Arizona, northern Baja California and Sonora. It was the largest power failure in California’s history. That evening, power had yet to be restored so I had to feel my way through the darkness into the utility room where we keep the candles for nights like this. Through the glow of a lit match, I looked in the drawer where the candles were stored and there they were – melted to various degrees by previous missions. I took my match and lit four of them, then placed them on some candlesticks.

What had been a veil of blackness suddenly radiated with a soft, golden light. I could see the washing machine I had just run into with my toe. “It’s great to have some light!” I said aloud, and then spoke to the candles. “If you do a good job here in the laundry room, just wait till I get you out where you’re really needed. I’ll put one of you on the table so we can eat, and another on the desk so I can read. I’ll give another to Sandy, and I’ll set you,” as I grabbed the largest one, “in the family room where you can light up the whole area.” I felt a little foolish talking to candles, but what do you do when the lights go out?

I was turning to leave with the large candle in my hand when I heard a voice, “Now, hold it right there.” I stopped. Somebody’s in here, I thought. Then I relaxed. It’s probably just Sandy, teasing me for talking to the candles. “Ok, Baby, cut the kidding,” I said in the semi-darkness. No answer. Hmm, maybe it was the wind. I took another step. “Hold it, I said!” There was that voice, again. My hands began to sweat. “Who said that?” I demanded. “I did.” The voice was near my hand. “Who are you? What are you?” “I’m the candle.” I looked at the candle I was holding. It was burning a strong, golden flame. It was red and sat on a heavy wooden candle holder that had a firm handle. I looked around once more to see if the voice could be coming from another source. “There’s no one here but you, me, and the rest of us candles,” the voice informed me. I lifted up the candle to take a closer look and there was this tiny face in the wax. Not just a wax face that someone had carved, but a moving, functioning face full of expression and life. “Don’t take me outta here!” “What?” I asked incredulously. “I said, don’t take me out of this room.” “What do you mean, ‘Don’t take (you) out of this room?’ I have to take you out. You’re a candle. Your job is to give light. It’s dark out there. People are stubbing their toes and walking into walls. You have to come out and light up the place!”

“But you can’t take me out. I’m not ready,” the candle explained with pleading eyes. “I need more preparation.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “More preparation?” “Yeah, I’ve decided I need to research this job of light-giving so I won’t go out and make a bunch of mistakes. You’d be surprised how distorted the glow of an untrained candle can be. So, I’m doing some studying. I just finished a book on wind resistance. I’m in the middle of a great series of YouTubes on wick build-up and conservation – and I’m reading the new bestseller on flame display. Have you heard of it?” “No,” I answered. “You might like it. It’s called Waxing Eloquently.” “That really sounds inter —,” I caught myself. What am I doing? I’m in here talking with a candle while my wife and daughters are out there in the darkness! “All right then,” I said. “You’re not the only candle in here. I’ll blow you out and take the others!” But just as I got ready to blow, I heard other voices. “We aren’t going either!” It was a conspiracy. I turned around and looked at the other three candles, each with flames dancing above a miniature face. I was beyond feeling awkward about talking to candles. I was getting mad now.

“You are candles, and your job is to light dark places!” “Well, that may be what you think,” said the candle on the far left – a long, thin fellow with an accent – “but I’m busy.” “Busy?” “Yes, I’m meditating.” “What? A candle that meditates?” “Yes. I’m meditating on the importance of light. It’s very enlightening.” I decided to reason with them. “Listen, I appreciate what you all are doing. I’m all for meditation time. And everyone needs to study and research; but you have been in here for weeks! Haven’t you had enough time to get your wicks ready?” “And you other two,” I asked, “are you going to stay in here as well?” A short, squatty, purple candle spoke up. “I’m waiting to get my life together. I’m not stable enough. I lose my temper easily. I guess you could say that I’m sort of a hot head.” All this was sounding too familiar.

And then the last candle spoke up. “I’m just not gifted in this area.” “Not gifted? What do you mean? You’re a candle!” I said. “Well, I’m really a singer. I sing to the other candles to encourage them to burn more brightly.” And without asking my permission, she began a rendition of “This Little Light of Mine.” The other three joined in at that point, filling the laundry room with singing. “Come on, you guys. There’s plenty of time for this later. We’ve got a crisis on our hands.” But they wouldn’t stop. I put the big candle on the washing machine and took a step back and considered the absurdity of it all. Four perfectly healthy candles singing to each other about light but refusing to leave the comfort of the utility room. I had all I could take. So, one by one, I blew them out. They kept singing to the very end.

I stuck my hands in my pocket and walked back out into the darkness when I stubbed my toe again. Then I bumped into my wife. “Where are the candles?” she asked. “They don’t … uh … they won’t work,” I said. “Where did you buy those candles anyway?” “Oh, they’re church candles. Remember the church that closed down on the other side of town? I bought them there.”

In Jesus’ day, salt was a precious commodity – which is a little hard for us to grasp today when you can buy a 26 oz. container of Morton’s salt at Albertson’s for about 8¢ an ounce. But during Jesus’ time in the Roman Empire, slaves were traded for salt. In fact, Roman soldiers were often paid with salt. Ever hear the expression, “Worth his salt”? Even the Latin word for salt, sale, is the root for our word, salary.

But salt was not only precious, it was also useful. A Roman proverb, which may have been common during Jesus’ time was, “Nil utilius sole et sale.” I missed Latin in high school, but the phrase loosely translates: “Nothing is as useful as sun and salt.” So, is it just coincidence that Jesus used these two metaphors (salt and light) for his followers? And remember that salt adds flavor, too. Pure sodium chloride never loses its flavor. But some of the salt that was available in Palestine was mined from the salt flats surrounding the Dead Sea and there were a lot of other impurities mixed in with the salt. If this mixture were exposed to the elements, rain would leach the salt out leaving a pile of impurities that might look like salt, but it was a salt imposter. That pile of impurities was worthless and was used as a road agent on the pathways and trampled underfoot by passing travelers. Of course, salt also preserves. In a time when there was no refrigeration, salt was essential for the preservation of food.

But salt is essential for life, too. In fact, without an adequate amount of sodium, your body can go into shock. It’s called, hyponatremia – an abnormally low concentration of sodium in the body fluids outside the cells. Symptoms of hyponatremia include fatigue, lightheadedness, weakness, cramping, nausea, dizziness, confusion, disorientation, seizures, coma, and, in the most severe cases, death. And Jesus said that we are the salt of the earth. Precious; valuable; a seasoning influence in the world; a preserving agent in a modern-day Sodom or Gomorrah whose citizens have become fatigued, dizzy, confused and disoriented. But if we’ve allowed the elements to leach the salt from our lives, what’s left of our influence? What good is salt that refuses to be used?

Jesus said that we are the light of the world. And although we are surrounded by light during the day, very few things actually give out light. We see most things only because they reflect light. For instance, when light strikes a surface, some or all of it is reflected. Most surfaces scatter light in all directions, and all you see is the surface. But mirrors and other shiny surfaces reflect light in exactly the same pattern in which it arrived, so you see a mirror image. That’s why in John 8:12, Jesus said, “I am the Light of the World. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” Jesus is the Light of the world, and those who follow Jesus reflect its source.

Jesus wants his light to shine through us; to bless the world through us; to dispel the darkness through us. Jesus wants to use us to make a difference in the world. But note that Jesus doesn’t say, “Make your light shine.” He says, “Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” Our purpose is to shine so that others around us can see our good deeds – not for the deeds we’ve done but for their source of inspiration. We are like a city on a hill, or a light on a stand whose beacon draws a world of darkness into the world of Light. A city where the power outages of life cannot dim its influence, or whose light cannot be hidden. Our source is guaranteed and uninterruptable – all we have to do is flip the switch. So, let’s consider whether we’re a shining light in the inky, black sky of cultural darkness, or whether we’re simply shining in the safety of a laundry room, or maybe even a church.

Grace,

Randy