Category: Kindness

Small Great God

‘Oh Great God, are you small enough for me?’ – Nicole Nordeman, from her song, Small Enough

Those connected with First Baptist Church of Collingswood, where I serve as pastor, know what I just finished a sermon series on the Book of Ruth.  It’s the Tuesday after the final installment, which normally means I’m itching to move on to the next sermon series.  As someone once commented, preaching is like giving birth on Sunday morning and waking up pregnant again on Monday.  But this week, before I tend to the next pregnancy, I want to linger with a lesson from Ruth that I must keep in mind.  Perhaps you do too. 

The story of Ruth takes place in the time of the Judges.  This was before Israel had a king, a time when, as the book of Judges tells us twice, ‘everyone did what was right in their own eyes’ (Judges 17:6 and 21:25).  It was a tumultuous time in which the strongest arms strutted across the stage of history afflicting regular folks with the consequences of their selfish choices.  Those consequences included, as they do at any stage of history wherein the powerful throw their weight around: tribalism, civil war, foreign invasion, famine, displacement of peoples, and, at the center of it all, indeed the cause of it all, a shift of allegiance from God to lesser things (aka idolatry). 

Sounds a lot like our world, doesn’t it? 

If there had been newspapers in the time of the judges, or 24-hour news networks, or, worse still, social media, I am quite certain that the news of the day (or whatever it is you call the dubious nonsense in our newsfeeds) would have had us all in about the same tizzy we find ourselves in when we consume the news today  Learning about the breakdown of civility and respect between the tribes of Israel, the fights that threatened their unity, the latest foreign threat, or the displacement of true faith by false religion would have had the same effect on us then as does now the daily onslaught of extremist rhetoric, the prospect of civil war, the invasion of nations, or, for Christians like myself, the coopting of historic Christianity by a particularly venomous form of Christian Nationalism.[1]  We would have been, as many of us often are now, consumed by the big picture of a world going to hell in a handbasket. 

But then, in the midst of those days, comes a little story about ordinary people and their ordinary problems as they navigate their world.  I’ll refrain from telling the whole story here (you can read it yourself), but basically, while the world rages, they have to live and cope with problems much closer to home.  Death in the family.  The consequent financially instability and justifiable concern for the future.  Having to move (twice) as a result of circumstances beyond their control.  And hovering over the story of such ordinary, close to home trials and fears, a question: does the great God of the universe pay attention to ordinary people and their problems?  Is he even able to notice them in a time when the big picture world seems to be burning to the ground? 

Turns out he can and does.  The story of Ruth tells of a great God who is small enough for ordinary folks.  A God who is involved in the ordinary, intimate, day to day events of people’s lives.  A God who works in such events and lives to bring about the most beautiful ends.  A God who, believe it or not, uses this kind of work to save, not only the people immediately concerned, but the entire world, and in ways no one would ever imagine.[2]

As I walk away from the story of Ruth and move to the next thing, I don’t want to forget this.  I don’t want to forget that in a world gone mad, where more and more people seem intent on doing only what is right in their own eyes, where moral compasses seem irretrievably broken, where mad leaders strive for complete control, where civil war and dictatorship are more than just fantastic possibilities, where we literally face the prospect of a world on fire, and where many of those leading us toward the precipice abuse my faith to claim divine sanction for their actions, I need to remember that I cannot be so overwhelmed by the big picture that I miss what God is doing closer to home.  I need to remember that God is at work: in my family, in my church, and in the small circles of relationships I have in the community.  I need to remember that it is there that God is working out the most beautiful things, the things that will not only save the ones I most especially love, but through them, the world. 

If you haven’t lately, pick up a Bible and read the story of Ruth.  There you will meet a God who moves in the midst of a tumultuous world, not just in the big things, but in the small things. 

There you will meet a great God who is small enough for you and me. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] All Christian Nationalism is venomous.  What we are seeing today is especially so. 

[2] Again, I’ll let you read the story for yourself.  But when you do, note the genealogy at the end, and note especially where that genealogy ultimately leads. 

Bee Sense

‘Don’t just look to your own interests.  Consider the interests of others’ – Philippians 2:4

I recently spent some time in a community garden watching bees and butterflies.  Pollinators are amazing to observe, and I filmed several video clips and took even more pictures as they drank nectar from flowers.  One thing the pandemic era has taught me is to appreciate the simple things.  Enjoying God, the company of family and friends, and the beauty of the earth are pretty much all I need these days to be content, so spending an hour or so with my daughter and mother-in-law in the garden watching bees and butterflies was a kind of bliss. 

It wasn’t long after this experience that I serendipitously read an entry concerning bees in Peter Wohlleben’s, The Inner Life of Animals.  Bees are fascinating creatures, necessary for the health of our planet, but also capable of teaching lessons.  One such lessons struck me as I read Wohlleben’s discussion of how bees stay cool in the summer and warm in the winter.  In the summer months, the intense activity among bees can raise hive temperatures considerably, which could prove fatal to the colony, but bees have found ways to stay cool.  Worker bees bring water into the hive to cool things down, and the fluttering of wings produces breezes.  In such ways, the hive is climate controlled, and the bees don’t overcook. 

In the winter, warming measures are undertaken.  If it gets cold enough, the bees of a colony will huddle together in ball.  The queen, who must be protected at all costs, is of course placed in the center of the ball where it is warmest.  Moving out from the center, the temperature of course drops, placing the bees at the outer rim in peril of freezing to death, except for one thing: the bees take turns.  They take shifts on the ball’s surface, allowing each crew to take a turn closer to the center and warm up before returning to duty on the outer edge.  In this way, the colony, and each bee within it, has a chance to survive the winter. 

One wonders what motivates bees to look out for one another in this fashion.  Perhaps it is too much to suggest they care for one another (then again, perhaps they do).  It seems more likely that they simply understand that the success of the hive depends on the success of each bee.  If they lose even a single member of the colony, the ability to stay warm collectively is diminished.  Essentially, bees know that they need each other.  Each individual bee therefore considers the interests of the others along with their own.  Each bee knows that unless they look out for the other members of the colony, no one will make it. It is of course natural for bees to feel this way; they are inherently collectivists, not individualists.  They don’t live their lives in terms of ‘me’ and ‘I’ but ‘we’ and ‘us.’  They value one another’s contributions to the collective, and are willing to sacrifice, in this case, a little bit of warmth, for the sake of saving the whole. 

I could run in a thousand directions on this, most of which would produce controversy.  This would only prove the point of this post, but honestly, I’m just too tired to deal with it at the moment (I’m on vacation).  Suffice it to say that we humans could learn from bees.  It breaks my heart, and makes me more than a little frustrated, that some people (I won’t say most, although I confess, I’m tempted these days) can’t seem to understand that we need to look out for each other.  They can’t seem to understand that each one of us has value, and that we need to look, not just to our own interests but to the interests of others.  They can’t seem to understand that if we don’t look out for one another, say, by taking a shot in the arm or wearing a mask (okay, I just went in one of those potentially controversial directions), we will all be impacted detrimentally.  They can’t seem to understand that we should be willing to make sacrifices, for the sake of saving both the vulnerable among us and our society as a whole. 

Perhaps bees are just programmed to act the way they do.  Perhaps they don’t think nearly as much about their behavior as I have suggested.  But to my way of thinking, that only makes things worse.  We human beings have been gifted with the ultimate grace: we have been made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27).  We have the ability to reason, to think things through, to feel compassion for others, to experience community, to love.  Those of us who claim to be Christian claim not only these extraordinary graces, but the power of God to activate them fully.  How sad then, when we neglect our birthright and ignore the gifts we have been given, when we, instead of considering the needs of others, choose to only, and shortsightedly, consider our own. 

I leave it to you, reader, to consider the myriad of circumstances to which this lesson may apply.  Like I said, I could take this in a thousand directions.  All I choose to say in closing is this: its time we started acting a little more like the bees.

It’s time we all got a little bee sense. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Loss

‘Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle’ – attributed, variously, to Socrates or Plato

‘When Jesus saw the crowd, he was filled with compassion’ – Matthew 14:14

All week long I felt it coming.  I had no idea what ‘it’ was.  Not because I had no way of knowing, but because my mind blocked it.  But I felt it: a dark, looming remembrance waiting to catch me unawares and take me down.  I went to bed last night in one of those funks that you can’t explain but makes the world feel like a hopeless, compassionless place.  Somehow, I fell asleep, and this morning, I woke to the realization of what ‘it’ was. 

Today is Friday.  One year ago, four months after losing my Mom to cancer, my family and I learned that my Dad had tested positive for Covid.  Less than three days later, in the early hours of Monday morning, he was gone too. 

I wrote a tribute to my Dad that week.  It was the only way to process the loss.  We could not have a funeral.  A short time later, in the midst of hissy fits over mask-wearing, the insanity of a ‘plandemic’ conspiracy theory, and comments about how Covid was no big deal because old people died all the time anyway, I penned and posted The Great Divide, wherein I noted that the pandemic was bound to produce two different groups of people in our society: those who lost loved ones to Covid and those who did not.  The latter group, I feared, would simply never understand what the former was going through. 

A year later, with nearly 570,000 deaths in the United States alone that former group is millions strong.  I am thankful for the emergence of a third group, people who have not lost loved ones, but whose compassionate hearts have responded with sensitivity, grace, and a willingness to sacrifice for the sake of the vulnerable.  If you belong to that group, I thank you. 

But I have to be honest.  Most days, I don’t feel thankful.  Most days, and maybe especially this week, as I wrestle with my loss and watch a world that is mostly just excited to move on, I feel only sadness and pain.  Most days, I feel as if most people don’t and never will understand.  If I am really being honest, most days, I feel as if most people don’t and never will care. 

The fact that some will be mad at me for being honest about my feelings only proves my point.  Am I not allowed to grieve?  Must those of us who have lost loved ones keep to ourselves and remain quiet?  Must we suffer silently so as not to ruin anyone else’s good time? 

A couple of weeks ago, I urged the people in the church I serve to be kind to one another as we (hopefully) emerge from the pandemic.  Many are struggling, for all sorts of reasons, not just the loss of loved ones.  Many have suffered loss.  And for many, those losses have been far greater than the ‘loss of freedom’ due to the restrictions designed to save lives, or the inability to get their hair done at the salon, or having to forego a weekly gathering at the local watering hole.  Many are emerging with emotional, psychological, and spiritual scars.  And many have had to endure the loss of people they love, whether to Covid or something else, while the world around them hasn’t seemed to care one bit. 

So today, I urge again that people be kind.  As you make decisions and interact with people in the coming weeks and months, let mercy lead you.  Be sensitive and compassionate in your encounters with others, especially with those who have suffered loss.  Kindness is what the folks on the dark side of the Great Divide need right now. 

One more thing.  If you haven’t done so already, please, get vaccinated.  Maybe you think it won’t make much difference for you, but for the vulnerable, like my Dad was in late April of 2020, it could mean the difference between life and death. 

And for those of us who grieve, your demonstration of compassion will mean the world. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Photo from a memorial to Covid victims in Belmar, NJ, taken by my sister Kate MacDonald.