You? A Genius?

March 31, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I didn’t laugh. I’m sure I didn’t. Still, I must have looked a little incredulously at him, because he repeated the word.

Genius.

A genius. Really?

The fellow in front of me, a rather normal looking fellow sixty-some years of age had just let me in on a secret he hadn’t told many people. When he was younger, he informed me quietly, his school counselor had administered an IQ test.

His voice got even quieter, almost a whisper, as he nodded sagely. “It was right up there at genius level.”

We didn’t speak about that again in our conversation. I was happy to leave the subject alone. As we talked though, I observed some things that continue to give me pause tonight.

He told me he didn’t read books—in fact, he hates reading. I also noted his lack of grammatical accuracy as we spoke together. It is not something I normally take note of, such inaccuracies being the rule rather than the exception for many people I talk with.

Still, I expected more—of a genius.

Well, you would—wouldn’t you?

The gift (or curse) of genius brings with it the weight of responsibility. It is true of all gifts. Not to say that they must be repaid, but that there is a respect due the gift itself—the respect of using it well and to its fullest capability.

I’m not a genius. I think no one would attempt to foist that improbability off as truth. I have muddled through life with my average intelligence. I’m rather proud of it.

But, even as the words appear on the page, I have a sinking feeling they may come around to trip me (and perhaps you) up. Let’s see if we can still avoid that, shall we?

The genius who refuses to play the part of one—that’s who we’re speaking of here, isn’t it? Perhaps, we can just cast our judgments about him and be done with it.

He’s been given so much, so very much, and yet he goes about his average life, working his average job, doing the same things any of us average folk do. Doesn’t he know he owes the world more?

Oh, I can’t do this!

You knew I couldn’t.

This isn’t about my genius friend who won’t play the part of a genius. It’s about me. It might even be about you.

I hear the words of the Teacher, as he spoke of those who had been given magnificent gifts and understanding of how to use those gifts. To whom much has been given, much will be required. And, those who have received an even greater portion will be asked for that much more. (Luke 12:48)

Somehow, I get the idea He wasn’t talking about financial wealth. I’m not even sure He was speaking of physical abilities.

The extraordinary splendor of knowing and walking with God is a gift of astounding value. The gift of God’s grace is unsurpassed in human history in it’s importance to mankind.

He gives us this gift to hold ourselves. In our bodies made from dirt, which will return to dirt, He stores all of eternity. All of it.

The responsibility that accompanies the giving of this extraordinary, astounding gift is just as extraordinary and astounding as is the gift itself.

And yet, we disregard the gift—disregard it as if it were as ordinary as a Sunday morning. And, in disregarding the gift, we disregard the Giver.

In spite of our disregard, and only because of our Creator’s unfailing mercy, we yet retain the gift. His faithfulness toward us is immeasurable. (Lamentations 3:22)

And I—I have the arrogance to point a finger at the man who was given nothing more than a minor upgrade in intellect. The lack of scale here is ludicrous. There can be no comparison. None at all.

What an astonishing gift we’ve been given!

Perhaps, it’s time we lived up to it.

Time to toss off this bushel basket.

It’s time for us to shine!

Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those timid spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.
(from a speech by Theodore Roosevelt ~ 26th U.S. President ~ 1858-1919)

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.
(2 Corinthians 4:7 ~ NIV)

No Accidents

December 24, 2015December 24, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

Exhausted. Physically worn out.

In a minute, I’ll turn off the coffee pot and the lights. As I check the door though, I see the glow of the candles in the windows next door and my mind wanders.

Candlelight . . .

Earlier on this long Eve of Christmas day, we sat in a dimly lit church auditorium. It’s not a beautiful sanctuary, just an old Quonset hut gymnasium finished out to seat a couple hundred people, but it’s warm.

Comfortably we sat, and then stood to sing as the familiar carols began.

It was no accident that he picked our building to wander into. That homeless man could not have known who would be there; he could not have predicted his reception. But in he walked.

There are no accidents.

We stood and sang. He trudged right up the middle aisle. You know, usually folks in his condition take a seat near the back, awaiting the chance to ask for help quietly. This fellow? Right up front.

No. This was no accident.

The man set his plastic Walmart sack on the communion table. In Remembrance of Me, the words cut into the wood declare to the onlookers. Somehow, I think that’s no accident either.

There are not many items in our church building that we would call sacred. It’s just not how we worship. Altars, fonts, icons–those are not really part of our experience. We believe that true worship is from our hearts, disregarding the physical trappings, almost to a fault.

The Communion table though–that’s the Lord’s table. If not sacred, it is at least worthy of respect.

Dirty Walmart bags don’t scream out respect.

Sinking to his knees, the unhappy fellow bent himself down to the bare concrete floor and began to speak quietly. I couldn’t hear the words and I still don’t know what he prayed, but soon, others would kneel beside him and pray as well. They were still ministering to him as the rest of us left, nearly forty-five minutes later.

I need to say the words.

It was no accident that the man set his dirty Walmart bag on our Communion table.

I wonder. How many of us who were there left unchanged tonight?

I’ve written on numerous occasions of homeless folks and our responsibility to them. Their stories always pull at my heart, and I’ve attempted to communicate that same sense to the reader in my writing.

Tonight though, on the eve of our observance of the birth of Christ, a dirty man set his dirty sack right down in the middle of my worship.

Right down in the middle of it.

But, as I stare over at the candles in the house’s windows, I begin to understand.

You see, it was no accident that the Baby was born to an unmarried young lady and laid in a feeding trough.

It was no accident that His companions throughout His life on earth were outcasts, and drunks, and the poor.

It was no accident that this Holy, perfect God-man was hung on a cursed, profane tree.

His intent was to show us that often what we define as profane is what He calls sacred. For all of His time here, He made clear as well, that much of what the religious folk of that day called sacred was actually profane.

I wonder if there are similar words He would say to His Church today.

The Baby in the barn calls us to care about the sacred instead of focusing on the profane.

He calls us to speak grace instead of declaring law. He calls us to offer mercy instead of dispensing justice.

He calls us to let the dirty Walmart bag sit atop the Lord’s Table.

In some ways, the bag is more sacred. It is if it allows a seeker to find once more the Baby who came to be Savior.

Sacred.

The Savior came to offer grace. More than that, He came to change who we are.

I know. He’s still changing me.

And that’s no accident either.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.
(Isaiah 9:2 ~ NIV)

Anything that happens to you, good or bad, must pass through His fingers first. There are no accidents with God.
(Tony Evans ~ American pastor/author)

The Whole World Smells Clean

April 14, 2015April 14, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

You make the whole world smell clean.

I smiled at the Lovely Lady as I entered the room, amused at my own wit, and tickled at the confused look she gave me as she raised her eyes from the needlework in her hands. The clothes dryer rumbling monotonously back in the laundry room should have given her a clue to my puzzle, but she didn’t have the patience (or inclination) to work it out for herself.

Almost exasperated, she shot the question at me. “Whatever are you talking about?”

I laughed and explained.

Just moments before, as I walked along the sidewalk behind the house, my senses had detected the aroma, a combination of laundry soap and scented dryer sheets. It reminded me, not unpleasantly, of clean things—hands freshly washed, babies after a bath, clean towels after a hot shower.

The world doesn’t always remind me of such wholesome things.

Frequently, I run on the jogging path beside the local sewer treatment plant. It’s not at all the same.

The highway alongside the livestock sale barn on sale day? Yeah. Not the same either.

Sometimes, the world around us stinks to high heaven.

But, on wash day?

On wash day the back yard at my house is, literally, a breath of fresh air. The dryer vent on the back wall of the house fills the atmosphere in the vicinity with the smell of freshly cleaned clothes being tumbled dry.

What’s that?

It’s just hot air that’s been blown over the clothes to dry them? It’s merely what happens on any ordinary wash day?

Sure it is. I never said it wasn’t.

I just said she makes the whole world smell clean.

As I write, my thoughts are transported back over many miles and more than a few years. I’m still in a back yard and that clean smell is in the air. But this time, I’m surrounded on all sides by sheets and shirts, along with various other articles of clothing.

As I wander down one row and up another of the freshly laundered fabrics hanging on the clothes line, I marvel at the difference, not only in the air, but also the clothes themselves.

Moments ago the shirts were filthy, stinking rags. The fishing trip the other day was just the start. Hours of playing in the sun—riding bikes, chasing lizards, even climbing trees—had all taken their toll on the material. Dirt, fish debris, sweat, and perhaps even a little blood were all hopelessly embedded in the garments.

Now? Even the air around them smells clean.

This—this is a mystery.

Things that once were dirty and smelly now perfume the air around them.

How is that possible? If I found a piece of clothing in that condition by the side of the road, I would either pass it by or throw it away.

Useless trash!

But someone, realizing the value (probably because they were the ones who had paid the price) of that garment, made the effort and spent the time to bring it back to pristine condition. The aroma emanating from the freshly laundered clothes was simply a by-product of the process.

It has, by now, become obvious that we’re not just talking about clothes anymore, hasn’t it?

Mercy picks the filthy rags up out of the gutter, while Grace washes them clean. The just washed aroma of joy makes the whole world around smell clean.

Once it did, anyway.

I stop and think about that for a moment.

I want to go on and speak of responsibilities and activities. I want to shake a finger under noses and wonder where others went wrong. I have blame to place and shame to impart.

Perhaps, I should pass.

Somehow, the air in my vicinity isn’t as fresh as I remember it.

It seems that it may be time for another visit to the laundry room.

As I recall, King David had to make that trip more than once. He asked for a clean heart and for a right spirit to be renewed inside of him. Knowing the result would be the joy that spread to others, he begged to be washed again. It’s all there in Psalm 51, if you don’t believe it.

I’d like to influence the world around me like that, too. Every day.

I have no question about my salvation. The grace of God ensures that. My problem is I don’t always act out that grace in my life. Forgetting who He has made me, I stink up the place—just like filthy rags.

I like wash days.

He makes the whole world smell clean.

Clean.

Behave so the aroma of your actions may enhance the general sweetness of the atmosphere.
(Henry David Thoreau ~ American essayist ~ 1817-1862)

He saved us, not because of the righteous things we had done, but because of His mercy. He washed away our sins, giving us a new birth and new life through the Holy Spirit.
(Titus 3:5 ~ NLT)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

mercy

You? A Genius?

No Accidents

The Whole World Smells Clean