Monthly Archives: August 2017

The tree is dead.

It was a pine tree that grew more than twelve feet before it succumbed.

It was planted in Los Angeles to honor the late Beatle George Harrison.

What killed the tree?

Beetles.

A bark beetle infestation, actually.

That’s ironic.

Irony. Life is filled with it. The dictionary defines irony as “a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result”. Irony is the most surprising outcome. It’s the unlikeliest choice or circumstance and the least expected result.

The Bible is saturated with irony.

It’s almost as if this is God’s modus operandi. He delights in it. The Creator revels in the surprise ending. If not for its amazing, come-from-behind irony, the Bible might be a rather dull book.

God chooses the tiniest, most inconspicuous nation to be his own and preserves it for centuries through suffering and exile, bringing it back to its ancient homeland where today it triumphs against all odds.

Through deeply flawed yet courageous men – and some noble and brave women – God delivers and leads his people. Who on earth would have chosen the likes of Abraham, Jacob, Moses or Gideon?

How colorless the biblical account would be without them.

How did a young Jewish boy named Joseph, sold into slavery by jealous brothers, rise to become the prince of Egypt who rescued that land from starvation? Who would have picked a lad tending sheep to be the mightiest king Israel ever had? And how could this ruler later lie and commit adultery and murder and still be a man after God’s own heart?

How ironic. How strange.

A mighty general is told to wash in the dirty Jordan River to find his cure for leprosy.

Five smooth stones and a slingshot slay a heavily-armored giant. Actually it only took one – and a brave young man who had come in from the fields with a lunch for his fear-struck older siblings. Now we see why none of them got the royal nod.

In human form God visits the world he made. He comes through a young virgin and her poor carpenter husband and is born in a stable in a little town called Bethlehem.

The Ruler of the universe is surrounded by animal dung. The hotels were all filled up. There was no room anywhere else.

Ordinary working stiffs – unknown and uneducated fishermen – become the disciples of Jesus and the first leaders of his church.

Five loaves of bread and two fish – a boy’s lunch – feed more than five thousand.

The fiercest persecutor of the church – a proud and stubborn Hebrew intent on strangling Christianity in its crib – becomes its most gifted and eloquent defender and spreads its message throughout much of the known world. He plants vibrant churches, writes nearly one third of the New Testament and becomes Christendom’s greatest theologian. He dies a martyr to the cause he once despised.

How ironic. How strange.

Over and over again God performs not only the miraculous – he does the improbable, the incredible, the shocking.

If humans did it, they’d be called foolish. But God has done it – and does it still – in the Bible, in the history of nations and in the history of the world.

He does it in our own lives. You know he does – you’ve seen him at work.

God is ironic for a reason.

Paul tells the Corinthians to remember that “few of you were wise in the world’s eyes, or powerful or wealthy when God called you” (I Corinthians 1: 26, NLT).

God makes unlikely choices.

“But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things that are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are.” (I Corinthians 1: 27-28, KJV, emphasis added).

Don’t you just love that? The God of the eleventh inning – and the eleventh hour.

Foolish, weak, base and despised things – “things counted as nothing at all” (NLT).

These are so often the instruments – the ways and the means – God chooses and uses.

Why? To what end; to what purpose?

“That no flesh should glory in his presence” (I Corinthians 1:29, KJV).

He does it to keep us humble. With his irony God punctures the smugness of man.

God’s irony is wrapped up in his sovereignty, reflects his majesty and displays his grace and glory.

If it were any other way, we’d be tempted to take the credit instead of praising him for his miracle.

William Cowper said it well in 1773:

“God moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform. He plants His footsteps in the sea and rides upon the storm”.

Paul – who must have marveled at his own improbable spiritual journey – exults in joyful wonder at the inscrutability of God:

“O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!” (Romans 11:33, KJV).

Yes, God often chooses “nothings” and uses them “to bring to nothing what the world considers important” (NLT).

Strange, isn’t it?

And so very comforting.

There once was a little girl sent to stay with her great aunt in the country for the summer.

While the home was beautiful and pristine, the great aunt was a staunch Presbyterian of an unusually staid and humorless variety.

The aunt never laughed. Nor did she smile – at any time or anything. She did go to church – religiously. Her niece went with her. They sat in dignity on a long wooden pew and listened to long wooden sermons preached by the dull and joyless black-robed minister.

The little girl grew bored and despondent with all the strict rules of her aunt’s immaculate house.

One day, out for a walk and some fresh air to escape the indoor stuffiness, the girl came across a pasture. Standing with its head hanging over the old wooden fence, a mule stared forlornly at the girl.

She went up to him, gently patted his nose and looked into his sad eyes.

“Don’t feel so bad Mr. Mule,” she said softly. “My aunt’s got religion too”.

Author, critic and biting atheist H.L. Mencken once defined Puritanism as “the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy”.

Christianity has been perceived as a joyless enterprise by non-believers for centuries. The biggest part of this is due to conscientious Christian crusaders intent on ridding the world of all that the world finds pleasurable – and faithful activists find morally repugnant.

To paraphrase the apostle Peter, Christians are usually better prepared to give an answer for the despair that is within them than the hope.

Christian activism – and it’s had a profound and busy role in shaping American culture throughout history – is too often defined by what we are against than what we are for.

Hating the sin – that’s the easy part. Loving the sinner? Ah, there’s the rub!

There’s plenty to criticize and condemn in a world headed for hell. We find ourselves living as aliens in a foreign land that used to be our home.

That’s how it feels sometimes.

It’s harder to find the joy that creates a bit of heaven for the weary fellow-traveler. The great irony is that joy ought to be a high note in every Christian’s experience. We ought to find something to laugh about. Our joy ought to be a blessing to share with others.

Find a Christian who never laughs and never smiles and you’ve discovered a walking contradiction.

Humor is one of God’s exquisite gifts.

Leaders have found it of value and comfort.

Abraham Lincoln sat in a solemn cabinet meeting reading stories from a book. He’d read one out loud and then he’d laugh. None of his cabinet officers joined him. They knew of his reputation for telling funny stories; to many it was an undignified annoyance.

How could the president laugh amidst a nation drenched in the blood of a horrendous civil war?

Finally Lincoln paused and looked at the serious faces seated in dignity around the great oak table. His eyes glistened.

“Gentlemen, why don’t you laugh? With the fearful strain that is upon me night and day, if I did not laugh I should die. You need this medicine as much as I do”.

Ronald Reagan is beloved by many not only for his courage and convictions but also for his great sense of humor and perfectly-timed stories.

Humor is a powerful tool – and an even more powerful antidote.

The Bible tells us that a happy, joy-filled heart is good medicine. A broken spirit dries up the bones (Proverbs 17:22).

Jesus must have laughed often. We know he loved to tell stories. What else would explain how the publicans and sinners gravitated to him like a magnate. Jesus was criticized by the stuffy Pharisees for partying with the lower-class.

Children loved Jesus too and followed him everywhere. It wasn’t because he was a joyless, austere stick – in – the – mud. It’s because he was fun to be around.

Jesus understood joy.

On the night of his betrayal, he told his disciples:

“Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy” (John 16:22, NLT).

There, on the eve of their greatest failure and most devastating sorrow, their Friend was reassuring them of their coming joy.

Christians, of all people, should have the most joy and happiness in their hearts, and in their lives. Nothing in this world can give us true and lasting joy – and nothing in this world can ever rob us of it.

Not really.

We don’t have joy because we are without problems – heartaches or perplexities or loss. We face those along with everyone else. We are not immune to suffering or exempt from it.

We rejoice because we know that suffering and sadness do not have the final word.

We may weep for a night, perhaps for a season, but the promise of God is unfailing: “Joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5,KJV).

Let’s thank God for Joy. It’s a fruit of the Spirit, right up there with Love and Faith and Peace.

“Don’t cry because it’s over,” said that wise sage, Dr. Seuss, “smile because it happened.”

Peter asked God to fill us “with an inexpressible and glorious joy” because, in the end, faith would save our souls (I Peter 1:8-9).

That’s something to be happy about.

“The most wasted of all days is the one without laughter.”

So go ahead.

LOL.