Future Ambiguity

“Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring.” – Proverbs 27:1

This verse has acquired a whole new meaning these days, as we face navigating nearly every event in our future—schools, career, exercise, trips, ministry—with uncertainty. Will this open? If it does, what will it look like? What are my and others’ level of risk tolerance? Will it all change again in a few weeks? 

In a way, this time has brought into clearer focus the spiritual reality that we always have controlled far less of our future than we perhaps think we do. We tend to function with a degree of self-reliance that manifests as either over-confidence about the future, or anxiety over the future, and the Bible warns against both. James 4 says, “Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go… and make a profit’—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring… you boast in your arrogance.” Matthew 6 says, “Do not be anxious about your life… Look at the birds… your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” Both tendencies stem from the same problem: making more of ourselves than we ought.

Proverbs says, wisdom is to accept a certain degree of ambiguity about your future. It is to realize how much we tend to be a victim of our circumstances, a victim of our perception of our future circumstances. It is to recognize how much the future controls how we feel in the present, and to be able to let go of some of that. Wisdom is to be honest about what our heart trusts and hopes in.

The Room Of Pictures

“Son of man, have you seen what the elders of the house of Israel are doing in the dark, each in his room of pictures?” – Ezekiel 8:12

Ezekiel records a disturbing vision of the idolatry of his people in this passage. His vision takes him to the temple of Jerusalem, where he sees sitting at the entrance an “image of jealousy,” an aggregate symbol of all idolatries. Then in the temple are three groups representing idolaters of different lands: the elders in the dark like the Egyptians, the weeping women like the Syrians, and the sun-worshippers like the Eastern religions.

The description of the elders is particularly chilling. Their room is entirely hidden. Ezekiel has to dig into the wall to find the entrance, which leads to a hidden bedchamber. There, engraved into the walls, are “every form of creeping things and loathsome beasts” (8:10). Seventy elders are there, burning incense in worship of these images—strikingly, the same number of elders that Moses leads up to Mt. Sinai in Numbers 11:16. 

On one level, this is a picture of people who’ve decided God has not given them what they want, and turned to the gods of their neighbors. The Egyptians painted their gods on the walls. They were known for religious mystery-rites, to which none were admitted without initiation, and these extended to the Grecians and Romans as well. It is only too easy to be self-seeking in our motivations or functionally worship what others around us are.

But on another level, this is a picture of our hearts, of the secret places in the dark where we nurture idols we think no one else sees. One commentator wrote, “By our memory, and by that marvelous faculty that people call the imagination, and by our desires, we are forever painting the walls of the inmost chambers of our hearts with such pictures.” True worship is what we worship in the dark, in the private chapels where no one goes into but ourselves. What do you think upon, imagine, or desire that you would not want to bring into the light? What is in your room of pictures?

The irony is that one of the elders is named Jaazaniah, which means “the Lord hears.” Jeremiah 17:10 says, “I the Lord search the heart and test the mind.” The image at the front of it all is an image of jealousy—the anger, hurt, and disappointment not just of a bad choice, but of a broken relationship. That is what our sins in the dark mean, to the God who sees everything, even the places in ourselves that no one else does.

Blind Spots

“But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called ‘today,’ that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin.” – Hebrews 3:13

There’s a communication tool called the Johari Window. It consists of four quadrants: the top is labeled “self” with the left-hand column labeled “known to self” and the right-hand column “not known to self.” The left side is labeled “others” with the top column labeled “known to others” and the bottom column “not known to others.” 

The upper left quadrant is the “Open Area”: this is behavior known by you and acknowledged by others. Most communication occurs here. The lower left quadrant is the “Hidden Area”: things you know but keep secret from others. The lower right quadrant is labeled “Unknown”: the part of yourself that both you and others are unaware of—we could perhaps call this quadrant “known only by God.” This is the you that only God knows and sees. Finally, the upper right quadrant is the “Blind Spot”: what you are unaware of but others can see.

It’s interesting to note that, no matter how enlightened about yourself you think you are, there is a whole side of you that you are unaware of. There are things about your character, your personality, your behavior that only others, or only God, perceive and understand. Much of our ability to grow, individually and in relationships, is dependent upon our willingness to recognize this and be open to receiving feedback. Dave and I particularly feel this when it comes to parenting: as adults, we see blind spots in how our well-meaning parents may have raised us, and we figure we are inevitably doing the same, so we try to invite feedback from those closest to us about our parenting when we can.

This verse points out another element at work in our ability to perceive ourselves: the deceitfulness of sin. Sin works to blind us more and more to its true nature. It blunts not only our ability to perceive the truth, but to feel any desire to change. The word for “hardened” here is the same one used to describe the heart of Pharoah; it means “to render obstinate or stubborn.” This is not an overnight process; it happens gradually. Our daily choices matter. How long we wait to perceive the hardening work of sin matters. These are particularly difficult blind spots for us to see. And so the author of Hebrews says, exhort one another today, now; don’t wait. Be willing to probe the blind spots of others and to receive feedback in those areas yourself.

New Every Morning

“But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” – Lamentations 3:21-24

I am not a morning person. I don’t wake up feeling happy, or hopeful. Dave has learned to not attempt much conversation before 10 A.M. Mornings these days, as I wake to the sounds of the kids stirring outside, tend to be when I feel the weight of all I’m called to do press down upon me. I often don’t feel up to the task of loving the people around me, cooking and cleaning, doing it all at home on and on for as far as the eye can see. Things sometimes look up from there, but mornings are the bleakest.

These verses really mean something, occurring where they do. They are the only hopeful words in the entire book of Lamentations. This is perhaps one of the most significant but’s in the Bible. This is a person in sorrow intentionally recalling hope to mind. Hope is not just something we feel. It’s something that results from what we intentionally think on. And what he recalls to mind is a God whose love and mercies are new every morning.

There is something in that, isn’t there? The sun rises every morning, without fail (I once read a fascinating science-fiction novel called The Three Body Problem which made me realize I shouldn’t take that for granted). There has never been a morning in my entire life when the sun has not risen. That is what God’s love and mercy are like. They never fail. They arrive anew each day. And through his mercy, we can “allow God to love our people through us.” As Nouwen writes:

“I remember how Thomas Merton once wrote: ‘God is mercy in mercy in mercy.’ This means that the more we come to know ourselves, the more we come to know God’s mercy, which is beyond the mercy we know. Letting go of the desire to be perfect lovers, and allowing God to love our people through us, that is the great spiritual call that is given to you and to me. There in the pure heart of God, embraced by his unconditional love, you will find the true joy and peace your heart is longing for.”

Escalators and Fires

“For lack of wood the fire goes out, and where there is no whisperer, quarreling ceases.” – Proverbs 26:20

Part of the art of fighting well is refraining from escalating arguments. Fighting is part of a healthy relationship and can be helpful in bringing to light issues that need more work or communication. A relationship without any disagreements probably means it hasn’t gone deep enough yet, or, even worse, has gone to the other extreme and both parties have become disengaged. 

But, of course, fighting can become incredibly destructive. The tongue is like a fire, James writes, difficult to control. It takes an incredible amount of intention and practice to learn how to let fights illuminate important issues and spark important conversations, while not allowing them to become hurtful or destructive. Early on in our relationship, Dave and I agreed on a list of rules for fights, which included general things like “never use the word divorce” and “never bring up things about the person that they can’t change,” as well as items specific to our fighting styles, like “it’s okay to leave to cool down, but give a general window of return.”

What we’ve learned over time, though, is that it’s much easier and more strategic to control fights before they escalate to the point where you need lists like those. Fights are like fires: they’re harder to start than to keep going. They’re easier to quench early on. Fights don’t bloom on their own: they require kindling. Whether you are conscious of it or not, you have to feed fights for them to come to life. And it always takes two. Even one of us choosing not to escalate can change the course of the entire argument.

One of the challenges during the first few weeks of sheltering in place were the fights that would pop up between the kids like little fires throughout the day. Some would get worse than others, and one day we sat down and had a talk about it means to escalate and de-escalate fights. Fights, I told them, are like a tall building you walk into. There are different stories in this building. It’s easier to go up a story than to come down a story, and the higher you go up, the harder it becomes to go down. The higher you go up, the more damage you do to the relationship, and some arguments go so high that there’s permanent hurt that takes a lot of work to heal from. You can choose whether or not to take the escalator to the next floor. Escalators are any thoughts or actions that rile you up. We brainstormed what these could be: thinking “he always does this” or “I deserve this.” Physical aggression, rolling of the eyes, using words like “always” or “never.” Raising the volume of our voices. All these things take us up to the next story of the building. There are also escalators going down, like leaving the room to calm down, going to find mommy for help. Using statements that start with “I” instead of “you.” Getting something to eat if hunger is playing a role. Simply not saying anything for the moment. 

What are your escalators and de-escalators? What are the whispers, the small thoughts and actions, that feed the fires of your arguments? There’s probably no better time than now to work on how to fight well.

Lament

“How lonely was the city that was full of people!” – Lamentations 1:1

Living as close to the church building as we do, we often pass by it during our walks, standing empty. I know there are good things happening right now as we connect in other ways. I firmly believe in God’s sovereignty. But there is still something in me that, staring at that empty building, feels the wrongness and sadness of it all. 

The opening words of Lamentations say it all. Yes, how lonely is the place that was full of people. Right here, in the Bible, sit five chapters of nothing but lament. Lament is when we bring our sorrow to God. Lament is when we pray our pain. Lament is a form of protest. It is a way to process emotion. It is a place to voice confusion. It gives dignity to suffering. We are not to suffer in silence. It is okay to acknowledge our emotions.

And yet, the book of Lamentations is not mere emotional outburst. Most of it is an acrostic poem, each verse or verses beginning with the next letter of the Hebrew alphabet. Perhaps this is a spelling out of the full expression of the author’s sorrow, going from A to Z. Perhaps it is to provide an ordered, linear structure that contrasts with the disordered chaos of pain and grief. Despite the structure, emotion is there. The author moves rapidly between topics, as if in active turmoil. The last chapter is not acrostic at all.

We all need to read Lamentations because we all need to learn to lament. We too easily either deny and suppress our emotions, or spiral with them into bitterness, complaints, and anger against God. Lament is something different. It is a language we need to learn, a space we need to be familiar with, personally and corporately. If we’re in grief, we need examples of how to be heartfelt and honest with God about it. If we’re not, we need to learn how to see and be present in the suffering of others. Lamentations 1:12 says, “Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow.” Look, and listen, and see.

Newton on Grace

from John Newton, The Utterance of the Heart:

“Sensible comforts are desirable, and we must be sadly declined when they do not appear to us; but I believe there may be a real exercise of faith and growth in grace when our sensible feelings are faint and low. A soul may be in as thriving a state when thirsting, seeking, and mourning after the Lord, as when actually rejoicing in Him; as much in earnest when fighting in the valley, as when singing upon the mount; nay, dark seasons afford the surest and strongest manifestations of the power of faith. To hold fast the word of promise, to maintain a hatred of sin, to go on steadfastly in the path of duty, in defiance both of the frowns and the smiles of the world, when we have but little comfort, is a more certain evidence of grace, than a thousand things which we may do or forbear when our spirits are warm and lively.” 

Kindness

“But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit.” – Titus 3:4-5

When my children do something that annoys me, my first impulse is to lecture their behavior. Why can’t you be less prone to disproportionate emotional reactions, or more eager to share, or more willing to clean up or do lessons? In other words, why can’t you be more righteous? But the practical lesson I’m learning these days is that kindness always goes farther. Kindness means I begin by thinking about the situation from their perspective, not mine. It means I approach them with compassion and am willing to withhold some measure of judgment. It means I respond to them instead of react to the situation.

What I’ve learned to do is simply leave the room when I’m becoming annoyed, going somewhere where I can calm down, and sort through my own emotions before I begin to deal with theirs. It’s a bit like how the emergency oxygen bags work on airplanes. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t leave my child gasping for air longer than I have to, but neither am I going to be of any good helping them if I haven’t applied my own mask first. 

These moments—when I’m fuming in my head about how frustrated I am, yet knowing I’ve got to go back out there and do the right thing—are the real struggles of my day. But these moments are when the gospel most plays out in our home lives. These moments are opportunities for me to make the gospel most real to them. What is the gospel, but that we cannot be saved through our attempts to be righteous, that Jesus has saved us through his loving kindness and now is renewing us through the Holy Spirit? If I lecture in anger, I have lost the opportunity. I have hit them over the heads with the law but not extended grace. Yes, the law must be understood, but it is kindness that brings us to repentance. The more I understand God’s kindness to me, the more I let go of my own agenda and inconveniences, the more I can extend that kindness to my children.

Last Words

“The Lord stood by me and strengthened me… The Lord will rescue me from every evil deed and bring me safely into his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever. Amen.” – 2 Timothy 4:17-18

Paul wrote his second letter to Timothy in very different conditions than his previous letters. We don’t know for sure, but this was likely a different imprisonment altogether. His earlier imprisonment in Rome, five or six years ago, was a much milder house imprisonment. He could see some friends and was able to write Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, and Philemon. Once released, he went to Ephesus, met Timothy and left him in charge of the church there, then went on a missionary tour during which he wrote his first letter to Timothy with specific instructions for the church. But at some point during his newfound freedom, he is arrested, under the fresh wave of animosity against Christians that came under Nero’s reign.

This time, Paul was taken back to Rome and put into Mamertine Prison. Prisoners sentenced to execution there were placed in a circular pit in the ground about 30 feet in diameter, with only a hole at the top for light and air. One section of the pit contained a door that connected with the sewage system. It was common to drop up to 35 prisoners at a time in one pit, and when room had to be made for the next group of prisoners, the door would be pulled open. Sewage would enter and drown all the prisoners, washing them back out. Paul was removed for public execution before he could be so killed, but this was where he endured the last imprisonment of his life, a place without much light or sanitation. This is likely where he writes what will be his last letter, his swan song.

Imagining Paul in that place casts a new light on his words. You can read the suffering between the lines: he is physically uncomfortable, in chains (1:16, 2:9) and wishing he had a warm cloak (4:13). He is emotionally dealing with hurts and betrayals that still feel fresh (4:14-16). He misses his personal belongings (4:13) and is lonely (4:9-13). He knows he will die soon (4:6-8). And yet, he opens the letter with as sure a statement of his identity, purpose, and promise as any ever made: “Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God according to the promise of the life that is in Christ Jesus.” Jesus at the start, Jesus at the end. In that place, God stood by him and strengthened him, and God will bring him home. May we know that too, wherever we are, and whatever our own sufferings and struggles.

Self-Control

“A man without self-control is like a city broken into and left without walls.” – Proverbs 25:28

“The enemy who wars against our souls is a consummate master in his way, fertile in stratagems, and equally skillful in carrying on his assaults by sap or by storm. He studies us, if I may so say, all around, to discover our weak sides… Satan will, doubtless, watch you, and examine every corner of the hedge around you, to see if he can find a gap by which to enter.” – John Newton, The Utterance of the Heart, pp 176, 180

The phrase for “self-control” here is literally “rule his spirit”—himself, his inner self. Most temptations do start within. I picture within myself a morass of thoughts, imaginations, compulsions, and desires. If I do not familiarize myself with my inner workings, if I do not study them and learn how to rule them, if I do not restrain them, then I am like a city without walls. 

Perhaps a good modern-day equivalent would be to say that I would be like a house with the front door swinging wide open. Anyone could come in. I would be vulnerable to attacks. I would be devaluing what I possess within. I would simply be foolish. No one would live like that. No one would want to live in a house like that. 

Yet I would not say that self-control is a culturally-esteemed value. We tout unrestrained self-expression. We promote the satiation of desires as long as no one is obviously hurt. We encourage the proliferation of our desires. We tend to be blind to the slippery slopes of temptation. We don’t necessarily learn how to study and restrain our desires until we’ve already gone too far. And this could be the desire for many things: recognition and reputation, food, sex, control, angry outbursts, sloth, revenge, escape. But the fact is, we’re in a spiritual war. We have an Enemy who looks for the gaps. He doesn’t need to break into the city: we break into it ourselves when we fail to learn how to control ourselves. We need to learn and practice the ruling of our inner selves lest we be like a city left without walls.

Contentment

“But godliness with contentment is great gain, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world.” – 1 Timothy 6:6-7

“I am content; that is a blessing greater than riches; and he to whom that is given need ask no more.” – Henry Fielding

There is a kind of forced simplicity about our lives right now. A while back, I went through a decluttering phase. I realized that owning something also means storing it, tidying it, cleaning it, thinking about it, caring for it—and that there can be freedom in owning less, in not owning something you don’t necessarily need or use. Sheltering in place has done that with the commodity of time. Our time was consumed with more activities before—and those activities involved not just the event itself, but the commuting time, preparation time, cognitive load surrounding it. Now that we’ve been forced to give most of that up, I’m discovering a simplicity and freedom to our pace of life. We’re able to give what we still do more of our attention, enjoyment and care. We’re able to be present to the unbidden and let slower things flourish.

One of our mentors in Virginia used to say, “if you aren’t content, you can either gain more, or learn to be content with less.” Our desires are not fixed. Our consumeristic, advertising-dominated culture tells us our desires as they are must be met, but that is not true. The truth is, we can change the degree and aim of our desires for food, sex, material things—this is not to say all desires are bad or ought not be attended, of course—but they are more malleable than I think we like to admit. The less we feed our desires, through what we think about or look at or do, the weaker they become. The less we allow ourselves to cope through consumerism, the weaker its grip becomes.

The simplicity of this time, the dream or desire deferred, can in some ways teach us to be content with less. Paul says that when it comes to this material life, we ought to fan our desires for godliness, but be content with simple material things (food and clothing, verse 8). One of them we can take out of this world with us; the other we cannot. Godliness with contentment is great gain.