Tuesday, April 17, 2012

A Mile High and an Inch Deep


I love the beach. That seems like an odd proclamation coming from a kid who grew up spending every summer in the foothills of North Carolina, as well as just about every other weekend on the Appalachian Trail and in the Great Smokey Mountains National Park, yet it’s true. I never told my dad that, it probably would’ve broken his heart...or at least made him frown a little, but it’s true, I love the beach. It seems like there are object lessons and metaphors for life around every turn. The changing of the tides reminds us that every day, like the tides, can bring us something new. The unseen dangers of the beautiful ocean remind us of the unseen dangers of life, and so-on, and so-on. I’m sure that you could find metaphors and object lessons in the mountains, but the truth is after a while you just begin to take for granted as common place and mundane things that you see every day...see there’s a life lesson in the mountains. Maybe that’s where my infatuation with the beach lays; it’s in the excitement of the new and the different. Maybe people at the beach feel the same way about the mountains as I do about their home? Whatever the reason, I still love the beach...just don’t tell my dad.

This year’s “great epiphany” came from my seven year old (7 ¾ if you ask her) daughter, Grace. Grace decided this year she wanted to build a deep pool that she could play in. In her typical fashion, this soon became a contest...she wanted to see who could make the deepest pool. We both started working and about half way through our individual endeavors she advised me of her strategy, which was pretty ingenious to be honest with you. “Dad”, she said. “I’ve got it figured out, you don’t have to dig too deep, you can just build up high walls and it makes your pool look deeper!” Eureka! What a novel approach and you know what it really does work. By building up the sides of the pool we were able to make our pool appear deeper with much less effort and the time required in building a “truly” deep pool. Now I’m sure this approach may seem elementary to you, but for us it was revolutionary, but as the day went on and I surveyed our work as the tide came in I noticed a tragic flaw in our plan. You see from the outside looking in the pool looked deep. The high walls had created the illusion of depth. However, as the tide came in and the ocean washed over the wall it was very evident that the “pool” was not as deep as it appeared—it was in fact just a few short inches below the “sea-level”. The pool was easily filled with the sand of the walls and our grand tidal pool was now nothing more than a small dip in the sandy beach.

As I watched our work being destroyed my mind wondered on “spiritual” things. I couldn’t help but to compare Grace’s strategy with the strategy of so many Christians and churches today. We have forgone a true deeper knowledge and relationship with God and created an illusion of depth by building up “walls” of religious works and tradition. Too often we measure our relationship with God by the yard-stick of our works, the things that we do. “Look how close my relationship with God is—see all of the things that I do.” We serve on every committee imaginable and make sure there’s not an event on the church calendar that we miss—sometimes to the detriment of ourselves and our family. We measure ourselves by our “tradition” and the things that we “do”. We must have a certain type of service, in a certain type of way. We build up on the same things year after year, never questioning their value or their purpose. We never stop to see how what we are doing fits into God’s purposes; we just keep on stacking them one on top of the other, keeping the illusion alive that we are getting deeper and deeper in our relationship with God...when the opposite is the true.

We’re not alone in this thinking. The Israelites spent a lot of time building up walls of tradition and works trying to bring depth to their relationship. In the book of Isaiah we see God’s answer to works and tradition without true depth—without a true relationship with God. 

“What are your multiplied sacrifices to Me?” says the Lord. “I have had enough of burnt offerings...bring your worthless offerings no longer...I hate your new moon festivals and your appointed feasts, they have become a burden to Me (Isaiah 1:11-14).”

God wasn’t condemning the sacrificial system which He Himself had established; He was condemning the religious pretense that had come to be so prevalent in all that the Israelites did. The depth of their sacrifices was lacking—they did the acts out of religious duty and not from a contrite heart. Religion is man’s attempt to reach up to God, to try and impress Him with what we can do, so maybe He will pay attention to us. The Gospel teaches us that God came down to man, because there was no other way to establish a relationship with us.

It’s not that all traditions and works are evil and without weight. James reminds us that our faith is evidenced by our works (James 2:17), but these works are not done to obtain faith or grace, but because of our faith and God’s grace. As we leave the pretense of religion and embrace the truth of the gospel we begin to add depth to our lives and our relationship with our Creator. It’s through the depth of our relationship with Him and the working out of His grace in our lives that we are able to complete good works as evidence to our faith. The depths that we reach in our relationship of God will not be easily washed away by the waves of tragedy and circumstances in our lives. The waves and trials of life will simply reveal to us, and others, the true depth of our love for God and our understanding of His grace.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Just a Little Further

This is a copy of a note that I posted on my Facebook page two years ago. As the "note" says, it is a direct copy from my journal the day I found out his cancer was terminal. Sunday, March 25th will be the three year anniversary of my dad's passing-I still miss him.


This was taken from my Journal dated 2-2-09 the day that we found out my dad’s cancer was terminal.

When I was younger I spent a great deal more time with my dad than I do now, and although we do not spend as much time together as we did in those days when I was younger, I like to think our visits now are of greater quality. Every moment we have together now is spent talking of the Lord, the work He is doing in our lives, and how He uses each of us to reach others. There are not many other people who have fanned so vigorously the flames of the Holy Spirit in my life than my dad. Our discussions over the past several years have helped shape my pastoral and teaching styles as well as lead to my own personal growth.

When I look back on our time together and all of our many adventures (and sometimes misadventures) the greatest memories are always of camping and hiking. Anyone who has ever back-packed with my dad knows that he is notorious for stretching the truth when it comes to distance. The man, it always seemed, had no concept of distance or sometimes time. If you were to ever ask him—after what seemed like hours of walking—‘how much further?’, he would always respond with one of several answers: ‘Just over this hill’, ‘one more turn’, the always popular and vague ‘maybe another ½ mile or so’, or my personal catch all favorite ‘just a little further.’ ‘How much further?’ I would ask. ‘Just a little further son, just a little further.’

As I look back on our hiking adventures—through the lens of time—and the understanding that only comes from being a parent, I think maybe he wasn’t stretching the truth. To him the end of our time together was always too close—always just around the turn or just over the next hill, the truth was he never wanted our time to end. Maybe neither of us were every ready for our hikes to be over. An awkward ‘man-hug’ the quick ‘love you’ and the separation for another week or two—or maybe three. You see I think when we were apart—when I wasn’t there, that was the longest trip for him. At those times the distance seemed unbearable—days felt like weeks and hours felt like days; until once again we found ourselves on a familiar trail—and me asking ‘How much further dad?’ From up ahead the answer would come back ‘Just a little further son—just a little further.’

I miss the walks with my dad—but I will always treasure the lessons that I learned from him: that time with your children and those you love is precious. I also take comfort in our recent talks—of my spiritual growth and his role in my discipleship. I know that it is just a little further now, maybe around this hill—or the next and we will be together again and this time our walk will never end.