Selected for Courage

 

This past fall, my brother, like so many in this season, got a puppy. Nala is smarter than any dog has a right to be, and is already unfailingly devoted to him. The breeder, who supplies dogs for the K9 unit of police services, explained that she selects for courage in her breeding program; running a series of behavioural tests upon each new puppy; looking to continue the next generation of dogs with the most fearless individuals. While a family pet might be able to cower under the dining room table during a thunderstorm, a working police dog can’t shrink back at a critical moment.

Selecting for courage is an interesting idea, especially since it seems to be a forgotten virtue these days after endless months of “Stay home. Stay safe.” Nothing wrong with home—I’m quite partial to it myself—but there is something disquieting about the constant public messaging that personal safety is the highest ideal. If that were so, we wouldn’t lionize the likes of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, or Joan of Arc, who stood up to terrifying foes and paid for their courageous convictions with their lives. Rather, we would instead congratulate the nameless multitude who did nothing to counteract the evil of their day. Likewise, our culture wouldn’t tell the tales of the personal courage it takes to overcome overwhelming odds. Frodo would have stayed comfortable at Bag End. Aslan wouldn’t have sacrificed himself upon the stone table. Bonhoeffer wouldn’t have tried to kill Hitler. Joan of Arc wouldn’t have carried her banner into battle. And, most critically, Jesus wouldn’t have set His face like flint to go to Jerusalem to endure the cross, either. 

The personal temptation toward comfort and safety is always singing its siren song—and unless we stop up our ears like the sailors in Homer’s Odyssey—we risk being broken on the rocks of cowardice and consumed by unholy monsters. But what engenders courage? It’s a question we’d do well to ask ourselves since we aren’t running newborn babies through behavioural tests to demonstrate which one will cower at home and which will rush a bad guy with a gun.

“Courage is not just one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at its testing point.”  

C.S Lewis

Fear--and its attendant uncertainty--is a litmus test revealing where we have placed our faith. It is in the storm of known and unknown dangers where we face threats to our safety and comfort; that we instinctively reach out to that in which we have placed our trust. 

I think we hope that it will be God, but it isn’t until we are tested that we find out for sure. In His mercy, He allows this testing to reveal that we have turned to other gods—which are not gods at all—because they are solutions that we can see and touch and make with our own hands. A test reveals deficiencies for the sake of remedy,--not condemnation. Even when we are faithless, He is faithful. 

Time and again throughout Scripture He reveals His character of faithfulness; urging us to rely on Him. Faith in God will always require that we trust Him unseen against the mounting odds of what we can see. He hasn’t allowed us another option, reminding us in Hebrews that “without faith it is impossible to please God.” Faith is an attribute of God’s own character gifted to us—and it takes courage to wield it.

This past summer Nala amazed everyone with her constant displays of courageous devotion to my brother. She rode confidently on a jet ski with her head rested on his shoulder because she wouldn’t bear to be parted from him; persistently swimming after him if he tried to leave without her. There is something of Moses in that dog. “If your Presence does not go with me, bring us not up from this place.” (Ex. 33:15) Trusting God in the midst of a storm takes courageous faith that is renewed moment by moment as the wind howls and the waves mount. But courage isn’t as hard to find when we truly trust the One to whom we’re devoted. We can rest our chin on His shoulder and enjoy the ride. After all, He selected us for this courageous faith before the foundation of the world.

A version of this article was published in the Sept/Oct issue of live magazine. Check them out at: www.baptistwomen.com

Irritable for a Reason

“…you told me never to use words like that except in ex—extreme provocation, and Francis provocated me enough to knock his block off!”  

(To Kill a Mockingbird)

Back in my high school days, I wrote a series of short articles that I titled “The Irritants of Morg.” It began as an email to a friend about something that I found provoking and snowballed into a semi-regular exercise of opining sardonically about my daily life. If I’d been more of a go-getter, I might have posted my witty teen narratives on a blog, but I wasn’t; and so only a few people were readers of my brief series. I had copious material to artistically mine. Being a teenager is a provoking time without many compass reference points to keep one steady as she goes. Emotions slosh around like water in a bathtub, ready to overwhelm the margins without much warning. Sarcasm seemed an innocuous coping mechanism in comparison to some of the other options the culture had on offer; and so I wrote out my irritants with what I fondly recall was humour and gusto while trying to develop some self-control.

Recently, I’ve been thinking of reviving the old series since being provoked is a regular feeling most days. But provoked to what? Is irritation, dislike, and dark humour enough of a response;—or are these circumstances meant to draw forth something of the Kingdom of Heaven from me and drag it into the earth?

"…Since the days of John the Baptist until now the Kingdom of Heaven suffers violence and the violent take it by force.”  

(Matthew 11:12)

Such a curious verse that doesn’t sit well with our 21st century sanitized Christianity that exults niceness. We Canadian Christians are even more flummoxed by the idea. After all, being nice is a point of national pride. Yet as a result, we are in danger of being misled by our cultural expectations of what it looks like to demonstrate love; or what exactly constitutes the sort of good works that our faith enjoins us to undertake. As much as the circumstances of the last year or so have brought us all to the point of extreme irritation; what are we actually being provoked to? Is it just to be nicer and maybe more calm? No one argues with a nice, calm person. But the Kingdom of Heaven isn’t a yoga class. That ‘peace that passes understanding' can only surpass our understanding when the circumstances are anything but tranquil;—otherwise we’re just having a nice day.

Jesus was provoked and threw over the tables of the moneychangers and made a whip to drive out those who were using the temple for their own ends. Elisha was moved to prophesy a son for the Shunammite woman who was hospitable to him. David danced with abandon before the Lord when the presence of God returned to Jerusalem. Lot was grieved daily by the sin of his culture and was rescued by angels from destruction. Paul was so irritated by a spirit of divination in a slave girl that he cast out the demon and was imprisoned and whipped for his trouble. All of them—and more—were provoked to action by their response to the circumstances at hand.

These are provoking times for a reason. None of us can afford to avoid asking God the question of what exactly we are being provoked to do. Is it going out alone to kill the giant who mocks God? Is it blessing someone in their barrenness? Is it delivering those bound in spiritual darkness? Is it preaching to those who don’t want to hear? Because it just might be that these irritants that provoke us to action are divinely orchestrated inciting incidents meant to usher in the kingdom of Heaven.

(A version of this article was published in the July/Aug issue of live magazine. Check them out at www.baptistwomen.com )

Bloghost Strikes Again

 A notice to all my email subscribers:

For some opaque technical reason, my bloghost (sounds like a dreadful sinus problem) is no longer willing or able to manage the email subscription service for this blog. I apologize for the inconvenience. If I had anything beyond rudimentary technical skills, I would seek to remedy this for you. However, in the words of Jane Austen, "It is my unhappy fate to seldom treat people so well as they deserve."

So, dear subscriber, if you find yourself cut off and languishing in the absence of my profound musings, fear not! If you happen to check back here every three to six months, you'll probably be relatively up to date. 

If, by some uncanny chance, I manage to find another so-called "email widget", I'll do my best to remedy the situation for you.

The Six Hour War

 

"Besides we are men, and after all it is our business to risk our lives."

(Alexander Dumas, The Three Musketeers)

I don't know how your morning looked today, but I couldn't help thinking of another April 9th eighty-one years ago. Those who know a little of my writing history will be aware that deep in the vault of my files, there is a graphic novel which tells the story of Danish heroism throughout the Second World War through the lens of a superhero. As a result, April 9th doesn't pass without my awareness of this anniversary of the Six Hour War when Nazi Germany invaded Denmark on April 9th, 1940.

Despite being ridiculously outmatched, the Danes scrambled to defend their country against an attack that began at four o'clock in the morning. Their airfields were bombed. Their cities were littered with occupation pamphlets and sporadic skirmishes took place as the Germans sought to take control of the small maritime nation.  The Royal Guard at Amalienborg Palace fought bravely to protect King Christian X but within hours, the government capitulated in the face of overwhelming power, hoping to spare their cities from the bombing that had afflicted other targets of German interest. From that day forward Denmark was occupied by the Third Reich until its defeat at the hands of the Allies five years later.

It is a strange thing to contemplate that nearly four million Danes went to bed as citizens of a sovereign nation, but awakened the following morning to find their country already overrun. Before the church bells tolled noon, they were all the imprisoned supplicants of a powerful enemy. No more defence would be mounted in any official capacity from the Danish government. 

But, as is so often the case, it is not the actions of the government that shapes the outcomes of the future, but rather the beliefs and subsequent actions of individuals that determine the type of world that we live in. Of course, Denmark had its share of quislings and collaborators hidden amongst the populace of the unwillingly occupied--those who make us despair for the fallen nature of humanity--but its people also exhibited a far greater share of heroism than one might expect from a country without the military might, resources or influence of many of its more powerful neighbours. And surely, the social fabric of Danish society was torn between those who felt a resigning ambivalence about the occupation and those who sought to resist it. Five years is a long time to live under siege. Of course, that wasn't how the German occupiers framed it. They were there to 'help'. To 'protect'. To keep the Danes 'safe' from the predations of the British. Funny how that kind of help always comes at a steep, steep cost. The Danes lost their sovereignty and freedoms, their food was rationed, their government neutered, and they lived under ever watchful eyes.

Nevertheless, shining brightly like a jewel in the midst of the ashes is the story of the Danish Resistance and its crowning achievement of facilitating the rescue of Denmark's Jews in 1943. Tipped off to an impending Nazi crackdown roundup of Danish Jewry, ordinary Danes sought to protect their Jewish neighbours. Within a week, nearly 7200 Danish Jews were being smuggled to neutral Sweden on fishing boats after being hidden in homes and churches. The vast majority of Denmark's Jews escaped the Holocaust and survived the war because the Danes refused to turn them in, or turn them away in their hour of need. 

I've been thinking about this story a lot of late. It seems relevant these days when we hear of yet more lockdowns and restrictions; of a pastor thrown in jail and his church property seized for refusing to enforce the policies of unaccountable bureaucrats that claim to 'protect', 'help' and keep us all 'safe'. Danish Jews survived the Holocaust because individual Danes refused to snitch on them and turn them over to a hostile government intent on harm while calling it something else. Instead, they hid them and helped them escape to a safe haven. 

It isn't the actions of our governments that will determine what kind of people we are, but rather the individual actions we all choose to make. 

Just something to think about as you go about your day.

A Pebble in my Shoe

My pen hovered over the blank page in trepidation for a moment before I wrote the words in the scrawl of an inconsistent ballpoint pen.

    “Lord, is there anything You want to say to me?”

The question stared back at me blankly. I tapped the end of the pen on the miles of empty page and waited. A seemingly random word or two came to my mind;—the beginning of a sentence—not even a complete thought. I hesitated; unsure if I should write it down. Was that  God? It seemed so incredibly presumptuous to assume. What if I was wrong? What if I wasn’t?

The words come piecemeal. As though the Holy Spirit were giving dictation to a slow typer; or perhaps just a slow listener. He waits for me to write down what He’s given, before He says anything more.

I used to be jealous of Christians who had a clear sense of what God was saying to them personally. Not just a timely Bible verse that came to mind,—nothing against that, of course—but some people really seemed to talk with God instead of at Him, as I did. They would say confidently, “The Lord showed me…” “The Lord said—not audibly—,” they’d carefully caveat, before sharing a testimony of their personal relationship with Jesus. It made me jealous. After all, I was a Christian, too.  I prayed. I talked to God. Why did they have such a clear sense of Him while I usually felt like I was leaving a voicemail?

Little did I know that this niggling dissatisfaction with the status quo of my prayer life—and my hunger to have what others did—was God speaking to me already, though I couldn’t discern it. The unresolved disquiet wasn’t my soul crying out; but rather the Spirit speaking to one who wasn’t used to listening, and couldn’t discern the language. 

My hearing has gotten a little better over time, and I’ve come to recognize that God’s voice is like a pebble in my shoe. A tiny distracting thought that looms larger and larger until I fully consider it. Sometimes it is a pebble of conviction that cuts; or a warning to pause and examine. Other times it is a comforting reminder to take off my shoes because the ground I’ve wandered onto is holy.

This type of listening is unfamiliar territory. Particularly for those of us in the evangelical tradition. We want clear direction, well-enunciated, (preferably with a Scripture reference), so that we won’t make a mistake. We don’t want to have to guess. We don’t want to have to practice discerning the voice of the Holy Spirit; if practicing involves the risk of getting it wrong. We don’t want others to think we’ve wandered off into questionable realms. We want everything we hear from God to be obvious to all and approved by the majority. 

But, the thing of it is, no one else can feel a pebble in your shoe. No one else can feel the unyielding sharp stone of conviction that brings about repentance. No one else can have your personal relationship with Jesus for you.

God is like an untameable continent upon Who’s shores we arrive after passing from death to life. Certainly, one could stay on the soft sand looking backwards over the uncrossable distance by which she has come rather than venturing into the undiscovered country. And yet, some irresistible magnetism beckons in a language we’ve yet to learn to adventure into the Unknown. The Deep calls out to the deep places within us until we resolve to become pilgrims in the Wilderness of God; discerning the language of heaven.

And so, I scrawl the words of the question day after day. 

    “Lord, is there anything that you want to say to me?” 

A version of this article was published in the March/April edition of live magazine. Check them out at www.baptistwomen.com

The Antidote to Fear

One summer when I was fifteen or so, I asked my grandmother what it was like to live through World War II. We were seated in lawn chairs with our feet held aloft over sun burned sand; listening the the lapping of the waves as they spent themselves on the shore of Mara Lake.

“Were you ever afraid of what would happen if you lost?”

The question of losing is on my mind a lot these days, for it feels like we are all in a losing game. “Social distance” is no longer giving people air hugs from a six foot distance, but rather the contempt we have for those who have different opinions about how to handle the times. And then there are all the fears. Fear of getting sick. Fear of getting someone else sick. Fear of breaking the law. Fear of the law being obeyed. Fear of the government not doing enough. Fear of the government doing too much. Fear that people will think badly of us. Fear that we might never be able to think well of each other again.

For indeed, when we came to Macedonia, our bodies had no rest, but we were troubled on every side. Outside were conflicts, inside were fears. (2 Corinthians 7:5)

Conflicts on the outside. Fears within. Troubled on every side. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

Fear is a kind of idolatry. It overruns our minds with its vain imaginations and seeks information that reinforces its position of authority. Catering to its demands is the claiming a new god to whom cowering obedience is always due. We obey it or else—as one obeys a hostage-taker—always hoping that this last concession will end of its reign of terror.

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. (1 John 4:18)

But what is perfect love? The question has to be asked, so abused is the word within our context. I’ve gone to enough weddings to know the answer lies in 1 Corinthians 13. Pachelbel’s Canon in D is playing while someone is intoning seriously that, “Love is patient and kind; it does not envy or boast. It isn’t proud or rude or self-seeking. It isn’t easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. It rejoices in the truth and has no pleasure in evil. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things…” 

Love sounds an awful lot like a person;—and an unbelievably wonderful One at that. Love is neither action, nor feeling—but rather a being with a will and emotions of His own. When Fear has taken hold, it can only be cast out by One who is greater than every terrorizing circumstance and imagined scenario. And, it must be cast out, or we doom ourselves to ever-cower, courage-impoverished and perform the rites of its idolatry. Honouring fear is an affront to God’s nature for it denies His character as all-capable, all loving, all knowing, all perfect.

The antidote to our troubled times is less related to the question of how to manage fear and navigate our conflicts, but rather who casts out fear and resolves our conflicts. God has deposited His Spirit within each believer and it is only in our complete dependence upon Him that the fruit of His Spirit—His own nature of love—is empowered to change the parameters of our lives.

And, it isn’t the first time that a monumental war of fear has raged and people have been caught in the jaws of the unknown as powers clash against powers.

“Were you ever afraid of what would happen if you lost?”

My grandmother paused a few moments before she spoke. Perhaps she was remembering how she felt when her brothers enlisted, or the correspondence she shared with my grandfather before they were married while he was training to be an airforce pilot. She squinted against the over bright sun and looked at one of the grandchildren she prays for every day and said,

“It never entered into our minds that we would lose."

Love bears all things. Believes all things. Hopes all things. Endures all things. Love never fails. (1 Corinthians 13:7-8)