An irresistible contrast

I'm so taken aback, I don't know what to say. Maybe I should keep my mouth shut (or my keyboard silent). After all, who am I to judge? I have my own excesses (to a degree). For instance, I buy a smoothie about once every six months. But when a friend of mine came back from a trip talking about a store he couldn't believe existed, I was -- well, taken aback. And however generous the people are who might frequent this store, I still can't manage to accept its appropriateness. As far as I'm concerned, it's a symbol of why some people in this world suffer without adequate food and water while others party. It's a picture of the excesses of western materialism while western newspapers tabulate how many children are dying in the horn of Africa.

I'm speaking of doll spas. American Girl doll spas. Where parents can take their little girls to have their $100 doll's hair done, or their doll's nails done, or their doll's ears pierced. Here's what else is available: "Our stylists will give her doll a thorough facial scrub to get her clean. And to keep her feeling relaxed, we'll send her home with a pampering set featuring cucumber stickers for her eyes, nail decals, flip-flops, a salon cape, and a faux face mask." And that's not all. There are photo sessions for dolls. And you can take your child and her dolly out for a dining experience as well.

So while bony little black children line up for a pot of porridgy food in some arid refugee camp, we use the extra dollars in our wallets to take our child's toy doll to the spa.

No, I'm under no naive illusion that all the world's poverty problems will simply go away if we send all our discretionary income to relief organizations. Corruption, power struggles and vested interests often get in the way. But I also know that the more we spend on ourselves and our toys, and the less we share with others, the less people will be helped as well.

© 2011 by Ken Peters

Honest words in difficult days...

I recently discovered some dusty old journals in my crawlspace. They're from 24 years ago, from when I lived in a remote desert village in northern Sudan, doing community development work. Curious, I began to read them, and before I knew it, I was hooked. I read them all, and what I found surprised me. I have long spoken of my year in Sudan in very positive terms, but what I found in these journals didn't match up with the residual memories I had of that time. The journals were full of appalling reminders of long forgotten challenges and failures -- in my circumstances, but more so in my heart-responses to them. And then I found an old prayer letter that I had sent to my prayer supporters that was so honest that (as I recall) my prayer letter coordinator almost didn't send it out. But it needed to go out. And it still seems a helpful reminder for me. Here it is, if you'd care to read it...

July 22, 1987

My dear supporters,
How shall I begin? I sit here writing on the edge of a cliff. An emotional precipice. Shall I conceal from you the danger I'm in? Shall I write only to leave vaguely pleasing images in your minds of my disconcerting circumstances so as not to upset your respective days? Or shall I write with honesty, revealing the darkness of the mood I find myself in? Forget the half-truths; I need to share my real feelings. Devotions aren't always good and poor circumstances can become extremely weighty when God's not considered as a part of them. I'm tired. Emotionally, spiritually and socially. I'm tired of team life and the constant effort and super-sensitivity it requires. I'm tired of the expectations placed on me to visit by the people in this community when I have nothing of any fibre to say in conversation in their language. I'm tired of waiting for a drilling rig that I'm responsible to oversee when I know nothing of what its fully experienced crew can obviously do without me. I'm tired of keeping busy with whatever needs doing until communities I'm involved with are able to do what is expected of them so that I can then offer our resultant help. The other projects progress while my projects are delayed. I'm tired folks. I wanna come home. Enough Lord. The furnace is hot enough.

THUS SAITH THE LORD...
"My child! What causes this turmoil in your heart? You have asked me to break you of pride; to soften your heart; to help you to grow mature. Surely you didn't expect such things to be painless, easy, or even fully enjoyable. Ken, I love you. I know that this hurts. But Ken, I have heard your prayers -- your pleading for maturity; your hunger for humility -- and I am only now seeking to answer them. Don't allow the troubles which are now in your life to cause you to despair. I am the God of Abraham, of Moses, of David, and I am your God also. Trust in Me. The troubles are to stretch you and strengthen you. They must not come between us, for I want to be with you to help you with these troubles. You must learn to rest in Me amidst the troubles that life in this troubled world always seems to contain, rather than to try to gain control of the problems by your own power. This is humility -- to admit full reliance on Me because of a recognition of your own inadequacy. You must learn to see Me amidst life's many troubles rather than ignoring My omnipotent sovereignty when life's difficulties begin to hurt. This is maturity -- to abandon earthly shortsightedness in order to realize an invisible and infinitely wise and powerful God's presence with you at all times. Be still, and know that I am God. I love you, and am with you now, as always."

I covet your prayers.
Love Ken  (Psalm 66)

© 2011 by Ken Peters

"The Long Silence"

I just finished reading The Cross of Christ, by John Stott. It was quite impacting. Though it sometimes felt like pretty hard slogging due to its very thorough content, it was immensely encouraging as Stott put the spotlight on Christ crucified and explained so encouragingly what was accomplished and completed on that historic day so long ago.

What excited me most as I read this book was that John Stott does far more than simply explain doctrine. As Stott unpacked what was accomplished by Christ's death on the cross, he emphasized "the heart of the cross" and all it achieved, and what all that can and should mean, right now, in my heart and in my everyday Christian life.

As I drew near to the end of this rich reading experience, Stott quoted the following story, which I found quite moving, and I leave it with you to ponder...

The Long Silence

At the end of time, billions of people were seated on a great plain before God's throne. Most shrank back from the brilliant light before them. But some groups near the front talked heatedly, not cringing with cringing shame - but with belligerence.

"Can God judge us? How can He know about suffering?", snapped a pert young brunette. She ripped open a sleeve to reveal a tattooed number from a Nazi concentration camp. "We endured terror ... beatings ... torture ... death!"

In another group a Negro boy lowered his collar. "What about this?" he demanded, showing an ugly rope burn. "Lynched, for no crime but being black !"

In another crowd there was a pregnant schoolgirl with sullen eyes: "Why should I suffer?" she murmured. "It wasn't my fault." Far out across the plain were hundreds of such groups. Each had a complaint against God for the evil and suffering He had permitted in His world.

How lucky God was to live in Heaven, where all was sweetness and light. Where there was no weeping or fear, no hunger or hatred. What did God know of all that man had been forced to endure in this world? For God leads a pretty sheltered life, they said.

So each of these groups sent forth their leader, chosen because he had suffered the most. A Jew, a negro, a person from Hiroshima, a horribly deformed arthritic, a thalidomide child. In the centre of the vast plain, they consulted with each other. At last they were ready to present their case. It was rather clever.

Before God could be qualified to be their judge, He must endure what they had endured. Their decision was that God should be sentenced to live on earth as a man.

Let him be born a Jew. Let the legitimacy of his birth be doubted. Give him a work so difficult that even his family will think him out of his mind.

Let him be betrayed by his closest friends. Let him face false charges, be tried by a prejudiced jury and convicted by a cowardly judge. Let him be tortured.

At the last, let him see what it means to be terribly alone. Then let him die so there can be no doubt he died. Let there be a great host of witnesses to verify it.

As each leader announced his portion of the sentence, loud murmurs of approval went up from the throng of people assembled. When the last had finished pronouncing sentence, there was a long silence. No one uttered a word. No one moved.

For suddenly, all knew that God had already served His sentence.

Anonymous

© 2011 by Ken Peters

Careful now...

If I'm not careful, I can end up saying some fairly negative things when circumstances unexpectedly go sour on me. It's not even just the big problems that can lead to this, but even the little things that go wrong at the wrong time that can really get me murmuring. Contexts in which I'm particularly vulnerable are when I'm already under pressure, or when many things go wrong in quick succession, or when things break that I don't have the cash or the capability to fix. And the more serious the issue, the more tempted I feel in allowing myself to go down the tubes.

So it strikes me as appropriate that after King Ahaz of Judah had been made aware that Israel and Syria were teaming up to attack him, Isaiah's first words to Ahaz were, "Be careful, be quiet, do not fear..." (Isaiah 7:4). When things go wrong -- even dreadfully wrong -- I truly want those words to immediately run through my mind:  Be careful -- be quiet -- do not fear.

I need to be careful about where I allow my thoughts to wander; about not creating my own little atmosphere of negativity by the thoughts I allow myself to entertain; about where I see God in it all; about not seeing my problems as greater than God.

I need to be quiet lest I speak out of unbelief, and simply discourage myself; lest I give voice to thoughts I'd be wiser to repent of; lest I speak like a fool who refuses to see God in my circumstances; lest I babble on about my fears, thereby increasing them, when I have no need to fear at all!

Isaiah's command to not fear is such a familiar one that we read so often throughout the Bible, but it seems to me that Isaiah's first words, to "Be careful, be quiet" were just as important for someone facing what feels like an overwhelming trial. If we take care regarding how we respond to life's troubles, they will be much less likely to get under our skin and irritate our soul, and we will find ourselves much more often able to face life's difficulties with faith rather than with fear.

© 2011 by Ken Peters

Having eyes to see God in it all

It's true that bad things happen to good people, and so often that leaves us with unanswered questions and a struggle to find God in it all. But I'm struck with how often the Bible says that the adversity or affliction that God's people experience is actually from God. Isaiah 30:20 says, "And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide Himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher." James 1:2-3 says, "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness." Though it doesn't explicitly say there in James that the various trials are from God, it's certainly implied by the fact that those trials are described as tests intended to help us to grow. Growth is from God, and so are the tests that produce growth.

It's so valuable for me to recognize this on a daily basis. If I can see life's trials -- big or small -- as something that are often from the Lord for His good purposes, I won't be so vulnerable to offense with God if they persist. Yet so often, I find it hard to see God in the midst of trials. All I can see are the troubles. But God is there, ever wanting to teach us and ever eager to see us grow, and will always eventually reveal Himself amidst our circumstances so that we can see Him as our Teacher in it all.

I really need God's help to see Him at such times, but even if He chooses to hide Himself for a time (see Isaiah 8:17), I want to learn to approach life's difficulties with faith that God really does want to use life's troubles to help me grow increasingly steadfast as I walk in this uneven world. Only then will every problem truly be an opportunity -- for my good and God's glory!

© 2011 by Ken Peters

He moves in inscrutable ways

I often find myself trying to figure God out. Why'd He do that? Why didn't He do that? Why is He taking so long? So many "why" questions can be asked in such a tumultuous world. And so many more such questions can be aroused as we read about how God hardened some to reject the Gospel and softened others to accept it (Romans 10:20-21; 11:25; see also 11:26-27). But then I feel stopped in my tracks by the apostle Paul's response in Romans 11:33 (ESV)... "Oh, the depths of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and how inscrutable His ways!"


I don't think I have ever used the word "inscrutable" in a conversation. It means mysterious or beyond comprehension. In other words, God's ways won't always make sense to us. He has mercy on some and hardens others (Romans 9:18). He creates some for destruction and others for glory (Romans 9:23). And as Christians, the Bible tells us that God ordains that we should suffer in afflictions (1 Thess. 3:3) as well as succeed in good works (Ephesians 2:10). What a mishmash! It's tempting to want to argue with God about such ways, but then I wonder who am I as such a small and limited created being to argue with such a great and infinite Creator (Romans 9:20)?


On the days when I get really frustrated with God's ways or God's timing or God's choices, I think it's really important for me to remember that I'm not God and can't possibly expect to fully grasp his ways. Like Job, I sometimes need to cover my mouth before answering God rashly (Job 40:4). Yes, God has revealed a great deal about Himself to us in His Word, but that can tempt us to think that we should always have enough data to be able to figure God out. And yet, however much God has revealed to us about Himself, we need to remember that His thoughts and ways will still always be higher than ours (Isaiah 55:8-9), and that He will continue to move in inscrutable ways. So on those days when I'm frustrated with God, it's far better for me to simply yield to His ways and trust "the depths of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God" than to get offended because I can't figure Him out.

© 2011 by Ken Peters

Inspired to say...

The writer of Psalm 91 boldly declares, "I will say to the Lord, 'My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust'" (Psalm 91:2). In light of such a verse, it sounds quite certain that he really did say that, and that he truly believed what he said.  He said, "I will say to the Lord...", and then he spoke of his trust in God and of his intention to find his security in Him -- all in the shadow of some very serious troubles that he then goes on to mention in verses 3-8: a fowler's snare, deadly pestilence, night terrors, arrows and destruction!

And yet in my much smaller struggles and challenges, I can find myself wondering if I'm prepared to say the same thing. When I'm facing the fowler in my life, can I always say to the Lord what the writer of Psalm 91 said? Can I always say, "I will say to the Lord..."? When things are going wrong all around me, will I say with confidence that I consider God a safe refuge and a secure fortress? In other words, do I really trust God?

To make this question more real, imagine that I just received a large unexpected bill, and just noticed an unwelcome noise under my van, and also just got saddled with a truckload of work with an imminent deadline. Will I then say to the Lord, "My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust"? "I will say" sounds so certain, so declarative, so confident, even though troubling circumstances can so easily create doubts in us. But "I will say to the Lord" sounds like all that confidence is in God because of who He is and what He promises to those who love Him: "I [God] will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him." (Psalm 91:15). Such confidence in God doesn't need to be worked up by struggling people. It's a confidence that's inspired by who we know God to be and by what we know He's capable of doing!

So whatever I may feel like, and whatever my circumstances may feel like, I'd be wise to look to the God "who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all" (Romans 8:32) and to join the psalmist in wholeheartedly declaring: "I will say to the Lord, my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust!"

© 2011 by Ken Peters

The path of a cloud

Today marks my blog's third birthday. After three years of blogging, it's obvious that I'm beginning to change the pace at which I add new posts. After initially averaging 7+ posts a month for the first 20 months, I tapered off to four or five a month in 2010, and now only find myself writing about three posts per month thus far this year. I alluded to the reason for this dramatic drop in production in a post I wrote in February, which essentially said that I suddenly began feeling the need to slow down my writing in order to better keep up with living what I write. That feeling hasn't changed, and occasionally leaves me wondering about discontinuing this blog altogether. But however much I may be tempted to quit, I still have my moments when I suddenly feel a strong desire -- nay, even a compulsion -- to write about something particularly meaningful to me at the time. And if someone out there in blogland ends up encouraged or stirred by such posts, so much the better.

So in lieu of this momentous occasion, and just to see how it would turn out, I created a wordcloud of the past six months of posts on The View from Here (which you can click on to see it enlarged on Wordle).










© 2011 by Ken Peters

Holy Saturday

I never pay attention to the Saturday between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. It's like the oft-ignored middle child of the Easter weekend. After all, it's nothing but an in-between time -- dead space between two major events. Right?

Upon reflection, I'm not so sure. In some circles, this day is called Holy Saturday. It's the day Jesus was in the ground. A precious seed buried. The disciples struggling with uncertainty. A time of unresolved tension and unanswered questions. Yet even though it was a day of discouragement for all those who mourned Jesus' death, it was also a day not far from breakthrough -- a day of then unknown possibilities.

Does that sound like it could be relevant for anyone dealing with disappointment and confusion in their walk with God? It does to me. It's a beautiful picture of the fact that, with God, there can be hope in the darkness; expectation amidst apparent defeat. A seed may be buried, but there's something going on just beneath the surface. And it's about to sprout forth! This helps me to see that I needn't be so fearful of the unresolved things in my life.

Life is so full of untidy outcomes and unexplainable circumstances, that it's helpful to reflect on a Holy Saturday when God waited...  He chose to let the followers of His Son live in the empty, worrisome space called uncertainty before He moved that stone. In God's wisdom, there needed to be a Saturday, when the minutes may have felt like hours, before the events of that glorious Sunday unfolded!

There's something holy about waiting when God is the One who's in charge. And there's something good about feeling the tension of an uncertain outcome that provides us with the thrilling opportunity to trust God in the dark rather than only when it's obvious how God plans to see us through. I think I need to develop a greater appreciation of the Saturday before Resurrection Sunday.

© 2011 by Ken Peters

The appeal of heroes

Rotten Tomatoes has a list of the most anticipated movies for 2011. What a list. What is it that attracts us to all these movies with such highly unrealistic, larger-than-life characters who save the world from all those wantonly evil villains out there?

I know I might see a few of those movies, and yet I feel a little guilty about it. I think that the reason I'm interested in some of them is because of the thrill ride they can be. And when done well, they can also provide such a sense of satisfaction in how they show an underdog-turned-superhero pulverizing an horrifically evil and egotistical bad guy (even if -- or maybe especially if -- the hero is a little bit flawed himself).

But I think the reason I feel a bit guilty about liking such films is because I wonder how much there's some kind of replacement-theology going on out there? What I mean is, I wonder if -- in the absence of people's convictions regarding a God who wants to save them amidst the obvious troubles of this world -- people feel the need to invent their own saviours to quell the need we feel for them. And then I go to be entertained by them. Is it wrong for me to find some sense of satisfaction in such flawed saviours?

Possibly, but what I'm more inclined to think is that the true Gospel story of a humble Saviour rescuing hell-bound sinners is such a compelling one, that story writers who don't even know the Gospel story aren't able to avoid re-writing it again and again and again. It's ingrained in us. People love the story of a saviour when all hope is lost, and God has provided such a Saviour! And there's nothing wrong with revelling in such a theme on a big screen. I simply hope that more and more people will recognize who the real Saviour is -- this Jesus who has offered Himself up for us -- and that more and more people in this volatile world will begin to find Him even more compelling than the Hollywood heroes ever could be.

But will they recognize a hero who humbly rides into town on a donkey, only to be crucified among criminals?

© 2011 by Ken Peters