A major part of our lives consists of making a pretty simple decision: "Me or them?" We live in a constantly shifting world of "me or them" issues. We are told, by both the world and far too many Christian teachers, that we must "be real" by "not repressing our feelings" and "be honest" by "telling people how we feel." We are urged to believe that "how I feel" is the most important thing going. If we feel sad, we are told that it is "unhealthy" not to let that show. If we are angry, we must "let it out." Preachers tell us to "be honest," by which they mean to act out whatever we are feeling. Not all preachers, thankfully, but far too many. The answer we are urged to accept is "me." We are even told that "loving ourselves" is "the greatest love of all." 

What does God say? He says "them." When? Always. No, seriously. Them. Always.

Love your neighbor, we are told. Lev. 19:18. Matt. 5:43-44, 19:19, 22:39; Mark 12:31; Luke 10:27; Rom. 13:9; Gal. 5:14; James 2:8. That is nine times. How often are we told to worry about ourselves? Zero.

Paul could not be more clear. He says: "Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep." Rom. 12:15. It does not say "rejoice when you feel like rejoicing, weep when you feel like weeping." No, the tone is set by your neighbor, not by you. 


If you feel like weeping, and your neighbor feels like rejoicing, then your duty is to rejoice. If you feel like rejoicing and your neighbor feels like weeping, then you weep with him. At no point is self-indulgence permitted in this view of the Christian life. And weeping when you want to before others is self-indulgence. Rejoicing before others when you want to is self-indulgence.  


You see, if I love my neighbor, it means that everyday, in every conversation, in every interaction, my first thought must be for them, for their good, for their edification. I must not think of nor focus on (much less indulge) what I want. 


You may say (you should say): but when do I weep? When do I let out all the suffering I go through? When is my moment to be comforted? 


Paul tells us that as well. In 2 Corinthians 1, he reveals the source of his comfort: God. "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God." 


It is astonishing how quickly we turn to others rather than to the God of all comfort. How quickly we impose our misery on others, rather than turn to the One who will bear any burden and for whom our little problems are as no weight at all. 


Paul's view of Christianity is quite different from our view. Paul sees the Christian as a minister in the world, ministering to others rather than seeking others to minister to him. Would that we could see as clearly as Paul saw. 

When I was young, I somehow got the impression that my parents had a easy time of things. I have good parents and, as good parents, they did not share their problems or challenges with me. I was a child. 

Somehow, as a result of this, I grew up with the impression that there would, someday, be a time where I did not have things to worry about or take care of or balance out. I never knew what they were doing, so I never knew it was being done. They just lived their lives. 

Now, I am an old man with grown children and, you know what, no such life ever developed for me. It also did not develop for anyone I know. Everyone has things to worry about. Everyone has memories that are painful and hopes that were dashed and dreams they will never realize. Everyone with children worries about their children. Everyone with parents worries about their parents. 

We are all paying bills. We are all making plans and responding to events and coping with emergencies. 

There is almost never a day without its own challenges. As we have been told, sufficient for the day is its own trouble. Matthew 6:34. Yet, I never knew this when I was young. 

I appreciate my parents more every year that passes. 

And, also, I am much more patient with people. Everyone you meet on every single day of your life has troubles. Everyone has concerns. Everyone has something, a wild child, a painful back, a bad job, a mean neighbor, something causes him or her difficulty in their lives. If they are short with me, well, maybe they have a good reason for being that way. I cannot know, as C.S. Lewis taught long ago. So, my duty is to love my neighbor, not to be angry at him for how he acts toward me. 

Westey (not John, but the Princess Bride Westley) had it right: Life is pain, Highness! Anyone who says differently is selling something." And everyone you know is living a life. With pain.


So, let's be a little more patient out there. 

Over the years, one of the basic truths that has been made clear to me is that I do not really "know" anyone. Scripture warned me, of course, that "no one knows the thoughts of a man except with spirit within the man," but I do not really even know the basics of most people's lives. In particular, this is true of older people.

Once upon a time, I knew a man, an older man, who was nearing 80 when I met him. He was not in bad shape "for someone nearing 80," but was not an impressive man. He was unable to read, because of a stroke suffered just a few years earlier. He was not a real "go-getter" in our terminology. He was quiet, embarrassed about being unable to read, passive in our church group.

To put it simply, he was "a nice old man." I am sure that is how the young people saw him. He was never funny and did not tell jokes or cut up. He was just a nice, quiet, old man. He often fell asleep during sermons.

And he was one of the smartest, most successful men I have ever met.

When he was younger, you see, he had been an engineer. He had been in charge of a large portion of the underwater warfare research work at Keyport, Washington, in his young days. He had planned and helped to plan US submarine warfare tactics in the Cold War. He had traveled often to the Pentagon for seminars on such war issues.

He was also an educator. He was head of the local school board for many years (people would show me his signature on their diplomas). He worked hard in local politics and was instrumental in building up and protecting his community.

He was a faithful husband to a godly wife, hosting youth gatherings and taking young people to events over the years, even though he was not a Christian at the time. But his wife was and he loved her so much that he joined in all that she did.

Even when I met him, his life was filled with work. He had a pit in his garage so he could bring in cars and work on them, taking care of the cars of multiple widows in our area so they would not have to worry about them. He took his riding lawn mower around every week to mow their lawns, so they would not have to pay anyone to do it.

But, when I met him, he was a quiet, kindly, old man who fell asleep in sermons. He could not read. He was converted savingly after the death of his wife and, at his funeral, I met dozens of people whose lives he had touched over the years. He was a good man, a far better man than I would ever have expected just meeting him at church.

It helps to be reminded that the people we meet are not, ever, what we think they are when we meet them. They have lives and hopes and fears and struggles and triumphs we cannot know, until they (or others) tell us. Now, every time I meet an older person, I have to wonder who they were, in their youths. I am almost always surprised when I find out.

 
Parents say many humorous things.  One of the most common
is to refer to having their young child “help” them do something. “Mary helped
me bake today,” a young mom will post on Facebook. But we all know better. Small
children can be cute, they can be nice, they can be fun to be around, but they
do not really “help.” They try hard, they mean well, and it is good for them to
be involved, but whatever they are “helping” with could be done more efficiently
without them. We “let them help” because we love them and we want them to learn
and be happy.



The same thing is true in the church. All of us are “born again”
when we become Christians, we begin as “new creatures in Christ.” We have
learned one thing (“Jesus saves”) and that is all that a young Christian (in
years of experience as a Christian) really knows.  A young Christian really
cannot do much in the way of “helping” the church with its mission. We sometimes
ignore this to our peril, sending very  young Christians out to “witness to
their new faith.” This is a mistake. Rather, we ought to teach young Christians
so they grow, so they learn, so they mature in Christ. Let them learn while they
“help” us. They will benefit and we will benefit. And Christ will be
glorified.



“Him we proclaim, warning everyone and teaching everyone with
all wisdom, that we may present everyone mature in Christ.” Col.
1:28.

There is a fundamental problem faced by all of us who are trying to live godly lives. The problem is not that the world hates godliness (it does, but it always has). The problem is not that God's word is too complex (it's not). It is not that those around us create problems (they do, of course, but they always have).

The problem is that people (good, well-meaning people) keep piling more requirements on top of us.

The Bible sets out a pretty simple set of guidelines. I am to love God, to love my neighbor, to love my wife (and care for her), and to love my children (and not provoke them). Pretty straightforward. Not easy to do all the time, but not really very complicated. I am also to serve my church through the use of the gifts God gives me. That doesn't sound very hard either. When I started out as a Christian, those were the rules.

Now, however, I am bombarded with new rules all the time. I am told (or have been told) that I must be "the prophet, priest, and king of my household." What? The Bible says Christ the our prophet, Christ is our priest, and Christ is our King. I thought that was enough. Now, however, I am told that I have to not only love my wife and children, but put on all these other hats as well. The Bible never says that, but lots of Christians say it.

Then, having got that idea in my head, I am told that I must also be a "Mighty Man." What? The Bible tells me to be humble, to be gentle, to be kind, to not seek my own, to esteem others as better than myself. But, I also have to be a "Mighty Man." The Bible never says that. I guess it goes with being "A Real Man" who is "Raising Real Men" so we can get "The Real Win."

I am also, apparently, supposed to learn the "Secrets to the Marriage You Want." What? Why is it a secret? Didn't God already tell me what he wants me to know? I am supposed to learn "The Five Love Languages" (but I only speak English, which seems sufficient since my wife only knows English). Then, someone publishes a book called "Real Marriage," which seems odd to me because i do not know of any "Fake Marriages" in which I am involved. I am supposed to take "The Love Dare" and "The Respect Dare" and read about "Sacred Marriage" in hopes of finding "The Marriage You've Always Dreamed Of" somewhere down the road. I am to "Turn Up The Heat" while reading "The Love and Respect Workbook." Everyone, it seems, has a different hat to hand me. 

I cannot help but think of "The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins." You should remember the book. The hero did not start with that many hats, he started with one. He was better off with one.

As for me, I am through collecting hats. Love God. Love my neighbor. Love my wife. Love my children. Serve my church. That is enough for me. 

For husbands, Valentine's Day is a no-win proposition. You are supposed to "get your wife something to prove your love," but the only things available are essentially meaningless: candy, jewelry, clothes, flowers, cards, etc. Those things cannot prove love. They can only prove that you have cash (or credit) and 15 minutes to go shopping.

Everything you buy her is, after all, precisely like everything else of that type in the world. There are no "special candies" that only you can purchase. There are no "special flowers" just for you to purchase (you buy a pre-designed set). Everything you buy ultimately comes down to "Valentine's Day Special No. 10," or whatever it is called at the shop where they make it. They even have special Valentine's Day lingerie sales, at which you can purchase a "special" lingerie set just precisely like 100,000 other sets being sold today.

It is frustrating to be told, on the one hand, that you must "do something,": but, on the other hand, to know there is nothing that can be done that is really meaningful.

I have been married 31 years. How can I sum up 31 years in a single gift? I remember the girl I married and the woman she has grown to be and there is no box of candy that can cover 31 years of sharing our lives. Will a flower mean as much as the times she has nursed me when I've been ill? Will a bracelet make her understand how precious she has been all these years?

I remember tears and fears and great disappointments we have shared. I remember a lost child. I remember days of joy and days of unhappiness. We have disagreed and we have agreed and we have prepared lunches for thousands of days of school for our children, but there is no card that can cover all those things.

We have packed and moved and settled and then packed and moved and settled again. We have lived in Georgia, in Connecticut, in Rhode Island, in Georgia again, in Connecticut again, in Rhode Island again. We have moved from Rhode Island to Washington State, and from Washington State to Georgia and back again and back yet again. What diamond can cover all those miles?

We have raised four children together, with all that is entailed in that work. We have lived together and shared our bed for 31 years. What gift of lingerie would be sufficient to cover that faithfulness and love?

The trouble with Valentine's Day isn't the idea, that is, to do something to remind wives that they are loved. The problem with Valentine's Day is that there is nothing we can do that comes close to what we already do every day and have done every day. Anything we give, and we almost always give something, is meaningless compared to what it is supposed to represent.

Marketers stand ready to reduce 31 years of my life to chocolate-covered cherries or a necklace or a nightgown. But they are wrong. Nothing can represent my life with my wife except that life itself. And noone can reduce my love to a box of chocolates. 

So, whatever it is I may get, my wife and I will know that it is not really important. It is not a gift to "represent my love," but just a gift to get a smile from the woman I love. And, after all, a smile is a nice thing to see after 31 years together.

Many of our churches still have choirs. They are interesting tools, choirs, filled with good people who just want to help lead singing. There are very few really good singers, but a lot of people who care enough and who sound good together. 

We tend to dress them in robes, so they all look kind of alike, and that can make them appear to be rather homogenous. But, when you sit up closer to the front, you can see their faces. They are not only different in how they look but, well, in how they look. 

Watching the faces in a choir is always a challenge. 

You have, of course, the joyous faces. Almost every choir has a fair number of people who are thoroughly enjoying the service and the singing and their role in worship. They manifest joy by every move they make. They are the ones most people gravitate toward in watching a choir. They "look like choir members." I can remember a choir director telling us once that we "should all" look like that. 

Then, there are some who seem happy, but are not really joyous. You can see their happiness and, you know what, that's okay. The director was wrong, after all. Trying to "look joyous" when you are not joyous is just another way of lying to people. We should not try to look joyous when we are just happy. Happy choir members are pleasant to watch.

There are also some very serious faces in the choir, usually. These are often the men, for example, but you see it among women as well. They are there, singing, doing their duty, but they are not "lost in the moment," but are still fully there. They are either thinking deeply about the songs (unusual in the kind of songs generally sung, where it would be hard to get lost), or they are thinking about something else. These faces bother me because I wonder what is happening in their life. Did they just lose their job? Were they just informed of a friend with cancer or, perhaps, of a disease they have? Maybe their finances are difficult and they just got yet another call from a creditor. Perhaps their children are not there that Sunday because of a fight. Who knows what may be on their hearts? But they are there as they promised to be. I like the serious faces, because they remind me that worship is not a game, it is a duty. A pleasurable duty, but a duty nonetheless. 

Finally, there are the sad, troubled faces in the choir. You see them, now and again, someone who is not really involved in the choir's work. They sing along, miss a line here and there, look down frequently. Perhaps they are unsettled or nervous. They have other things on their mind. I worry about them and pray for them. 

They sit at the front of the service (in most churches) and, other than being watched, no one talks to them. Among the 10 or 20 or 200 members of a choir, there are as many stories as among any 10 or 20 or 200 other church goers. There are stories of courage and fear and there are worries and concerns. There are illnesses and burdens. 

Watch your choir, next time you sit in a church. Sit close enough to see them so you can know what is happening in that choir loft. You might find that there is a lot more to a choir than you something think. 

Here in Augusta, we have two streets that are very important. The first is Broad Street and the second, two blocks away, is Greene Street. The roads run parallel to the Savannah River, so they run from Northwest to Southeast. Between them is a single street, Ellis Street.

Broad Street is a divided, highly commercialized street. It has gone down significantly in recent years, but you can still see how it once was, with theaters and department stores. A walk along Broad is a pleasant walk, past restaurants and cafes and galleries and shops. There are large trees for shade and plenty of fancy and expensive garden work to admire. 

Greene Street was (and still is) a professional street, filled with nice buildings, lawyer offices, beautiful churches. A walk along Greene Street is a wooded, shady, comfortable walk.

And between them is Ellis Street. 

I walked along Ellis Street several times this week. A walk along Ellis Street is a walk without any shade, because there are no trees on Ellis Street. You cannot stop and look in at store windows, because there are no stores fronting on Ellis Street. It is not a fancy divided highway, but a two-lane road. The walk takes you past dumpsters and trash bins. You see, all the fancy big buildings on Broad and Greene have their back to Ellis, and no one spends money on the back of their building. There are many broken windows and boarded up doors on Ellis Street. 

It is a lonely walk on Ellis Street, because no one walks there. Broad is crowded and Greene is peaceful, but Ellis is just lonely. No one wants to go there. You don't see many cars on Ellis Street, either. 

But there is always an Ellis Street, isn't there? We put up large buildings on Broad for everyone to see. We put up big churches and homes on Greene, for everyone to see. But no one wants to see Eliis. No one wants to see the backs of those buildings. The boarded up entrances to the showplaces were originally for servants, and now they are for no one. 

There is always an Ellis Street. In every church you visit, there are lovely services and smiling people, but there is an Ellis Street there are well. There are people in pain and families in turmoil, they just don't want us to know about it. In every club, there is someplace that people actually work. There is a kitchen ("off limits to members") in every fancy restaurant. There is always an Ellis Street where the trash goes and the workers catch a smoke break. 

Amongst the barbed wire along Ellis Street, I wonder about the people with whom I work, the people among whom I minister, the people among whom I live. I know that every man has something behind what he shows. There is a dark place in most of us, an Ellis Street of the things that are true behind our images. 

So, I think I will walk on Ellis Street now and again, if only to be reminded. As a man, as a Christian, my duty is not to just admire the clean images of the people I know. My duty is to help them cope with Ellis Street. And, perhaps, to have them help me cope with mine.

Today has been another one of those "weather warning" days, in which we are warned exhaustively about a great storm that is coming our way. Schools close, businesses send people home, evening activities are cancelled throughout the area. Over the years, I have seen many of these. Almost all of them have turned out to be much ado about nothing, but what can one do? Even with radio and early television, we did not have such warnings many years ago. Weather was always a surprise to us. You knew the weather when you awoke in the morning, not the night before. We lived much more in "today" and much less in "tomorrow," even in such little things.  

In fact, of course, we now live much of our life in "tomorrow." We must plan for our retirements and for future college costs. We must make plans to have our money in the "right places" so we can maximize our health options when we are old. As an attorney, I spend a lot of time helping people prepare for things that may or may not happen. It is just part of our life. 

When we move to our spiritual lives, are we not often the same? We plan youth outings, for example, and, each year, we try to make them more exciting for people to anticipate. We do everything we can to create anticipation for these future events. Often, we advertise them as if they will be "storms" in people's lives, changing them forever. Then, next year, we do the same, planning something bigger, advertising something bigger, promising a lifetime change.

Yet, nothing really changes. We keep waiting for the storm to hit. We keep planning retreats and seminars and conferences and "revivals" and all manner of events. We keep sending youth to these things, and attending them ourselves, at great expense, spending more for retreats than we do for mission work. But the storm does not come. 

I think, sometimes, we would be better off to give up waiting for storms and begin, instead, to live for today. To stop planning for next year's conference and, instead, to make this week's Sunday School class meaningful. To stop working so hard to advertise next month's retreat and spend more time proclaiming the eternal truth, which is ready to be heard today, no matter what day it is. The future, after all, is something no man can see. As Ecclesiastes tells us, in chapter 8, verse 17, "However much man may toil in seeking, he will not find it out. Even though a wise man claims to know, he cannot find it out."


Are you ready for your youth (or yourself) to do something "great" next month? Why not today, instead? 

Sunday morning brings very different feelings to different people. Over the years, I have spent a lot of time (1) corresponding with preachers and (2) talking to Christians. Sunday morning is the measure of how greatly they differ. 

Preachers not only look forward to Sunday morning, they also think everyone else should look forward to "church," also. You even hear sermons telling us how much we "ought to" look forward to church. (As for me, I have never found sermons about how I "ought to" feel to be very effective. Feelings are just feelings and telling me to change my feelings is like telling me to change my height.)