ministry

The Marketplace

~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

I wonder if it’s time to shut down my social network page.

You know the one I mean.  New stories are added every few moments.  Anniversaries are noted, birthdays announced.  

One friend is angry at the news media.  Another is fed up with evil doctors and wants to be sure I understand the value of something called essential oils.  Photos of cute kitties magically appear.  There are also awful images of abused dogs, or horses, or turtles.

And constantly, along the side of the computer display, a feed runs down the page, with little bits of information appearing magically, one right after the other.  So-and-so likes this; he posted this; she commented about this.

TMI!  I’ve learned the acronym, in days long past now.

Too Much Information!

My brain screams the words, even as I devour said information.  Without intent, I now know that my old friend’s son believes drug use to be acceptable and even desirable.  Another acquaintance vilifies followers of Christ and ridicules the very idea of a God, any God. It’s time to party-hearty with old school classmates.  Jokes abound, both in print and picture form.  I may or may not have contributed some of these.

And the language!  Used-to-be children that I bounced on my knee use words we once would have expected to make a sailor blush.  Now, no one blushes.

At times, my soul actually feels soiled, as if a good cleansing with Ivory soap and clean water might make it better.

I should turn it off.

Shouldn’t I?

I sit and think.  Another acronym comes to mind.  It is an old, tired set of letters, once found on bumper stickers, mugs, and bracelets.  Unlike the acronym above, it is not followed by an exclamation point, but a question mark.  So overused, it has become a joke to many; still it bears another look.

It requires some contemplation.

WWJD?

What Would Jesus Do?

We know the answer already, don’t we?  He spent His days and nights in the center of the population, participating in the discourse of the day.  He didn’t waste a lot of time with the nodding, gesturing clergy, but He interacted with the cursing, drinking, perverse people.  (Matthew 11:19)

Every day.

I wonder–Did His soul feel dirty from the filth and stench, too?

Did His soul feel dirty from the filth and stench, too? Share on X

In the center of the Agora, the marketplace, the plan to change the world was implemented.  

One-by-one, ten-by-ten, thousands-by-thousands, He intersected their daily lives with the truth, with love, with companionship.

The world would never be the same.

Still, I’m not excited about the route this marketplace living takes sometimes.

I’m not comfortable.

Funny.  We really like comfortable, don’t we?  

The couch is comfortable.  Bed is comfortable.  The back deck is comfortable.  Your house shoes and pajamas are comfortable.  

You just can’t accomplish anything in them.

In my mind’s eye, I look back over the path I’ve walked.  I think I’ve walked it asking to know WWJD.  A long look back focuses on the direction the steps have taken.

Did I take a sharp turn from the lane somewhere?  How did I get here, in the marketplace, virtually and actually?  

The social network I want to switch off is not so far removed from the retail space in which I labor five days a week.  Oh, folks try to control their language, knowing who I claim to be, but what is hidden inside always comes out eventually.  The language, the ideas, the lifestyles can’t be disguised behind the facades forever.  

Am I supposed to be here?

seattle-839652_640Again, I glance back.  No.  My footsteps have led, one weary stride after another, in the same direction.  I could not have found another route that would lead to my goal.

I walk in the marketplace.  You probably do too.

How do we act while here?  

Do we hurry through, as if afraid that we’ll get dirty too?  

Do we loiter in the dark corners, participating in the filth and immorality?

Would we rather avoid it altogether?

All of the sudden, I find myself wondering about comfort again.  The realization hits about my comments above.  

The day I get comfortable is the day I lose sight of who I am and why I’m here in the marketplace.  The minute I think I’m home and kick my shoes off to put on my slippers is the instant I’ve stopped walking the path set out for me.

If the marketplace doesn’t make us uncomfortable, perhaps we need to lace up our walking shoes again and look ahead of us.

There is more.  People need us up and doing.   Where they are.

I’m ready.  You?

Just so you know, though, I’m not looking at your selfies of your latest visit to the dentist.  Some things really are too much information.

 

 

I simply argue that the cross should be raised at the center of the marketplace as well as on the steeple of the church.  I am recovering the claim that Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral between two candles, but on a cross between two thieves; on the town’s garbage heap; at a crossroad so cosmopolitan they had to write His title in Hebrew and Latin and Greek…at the kind of a place where cynics talk smut, and thieves curse, and soldiers gamble.  Because that is where He died.  And that is what He died for.  And that is what He died about.  That is where church-men ought to be and what church-men ought to be about.
(George McLeod ~ Scottish pastor ~ 1895-1991)

 

Do not be deceived: Bad company corrupts good morals. Become sober-minded as you ought, and stop sinning, for some have no knowledge of God.
(1 Corinthians 15:33,34 ~ NASB)

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Away From the Light

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The choral professor sat on the stool in the music store, one afternoon decades ago, choosing his words with care.

“I teach on a campus filled with light.  Where is the darkness into which I’m to shine?”

I didn’t know the answer.  I did know one thing:

I didn’t like where the conversation was headed.

I like the light.  It’s where I’m most comfortable.  I can rest easy; cares and worries don’t touch me there.

Dark is dismal.  It’s frightening.  There are unknown creatures in the dark—terrors I can feel, but cannot see.

And yet, the dark is where we’re called to minister.

The music professor didn’t stop with asking the question.  I was sure he wouldn’t.

He packed up his family and found a dark place in which to shine his light many miles away from the comfort and clarity of his former life.  Instead of the city of light at which he had served, he was forced to shine his lonely light on the pathway in a place where almost no one carried any light at all.

It has been many years since the conversation.  The professor has long since passed over into that place where light is ever shining.

Can you imagine how brightly his light shined in that dark place?  Think how dramatic the distinction must have been!  A match lit in pitch-black darkness can seem almost blinding.

His words still haunt my thoughts.

No great quest is ever played out in the light of day.  Darkness—that’s where fierce battles are waged.

The blackest holes imaginable are the delivery rooms for the most brilliant of all victories.

And yet, we don’t begin our journey from those black pits.  No.  From homes blazing in light and meeting places shining with the brilliance of the sun at its apex, we must set out.

lanternWith conscious forethought we turn our backs on the light places and stride into the darkness, carrying only the light we’ve been given.

It’s a frightening journey—no part more terrifying than the first step we take.

And yet, the path through the darkness is of utmost importance.

Our destination has never been on this side of the darkness, but always on the other.  We are bound for a better place, but there is ground to be covered before we arrive there.

The inhabitants of this dark world will never know the meaning of God’s light if not for us in their presence.  Those who stumble through the darkness will never see light if we never walk beside them.

We are the lamps set on the lamp stand, not under the basket.  (Matthew 5:15)

We are the stars that shine in the universe.  (Philippians 2:15)

We know that darkness and evil are the hallmarks of existence in a fallen world.  Yet somehow, our spirits quell at the prospect of leaving these places of light our Creator has privileged us to experience.

In a sense, you might say light is dangerous.  We humans are gluttons, never satisfied with what we need, but demanding what we want.  

We would stay in the light, soaking it all up ourselves for a lifetime, if we could.  Indeed, some of us never set foot outside our fortresses of illumination.

The day will come—it will—when all is light.  Until that day, we shine as His lights in the blackness of an ever-darkening world.

If we don’t, who will?

Backs to the light, we carry the light into a world that cries out without any clue of what it needs.  In desperation—and darkness—they seek first one way, then another, for that which we hold in our hands.

It’s not our light.  There is enough of it to illuminate the pathway ahead, but it shines to draw those around us.

To Him.  The light draws them to Him.

A borrowed light. And yet, it shines through us.

We, who have been brought into the light of day, are sent back into the darkest, deepest night.

Dare the quest!  

Take the leap!  

By far, more is lost in basking comfortably in the sanctuary of light and warmth than by venturing forth into the dark unknown.

The world around us is getting darker.  We can see it happening.

The light will be the brighter for it.

It’s time to turn our backs to the light.

It’s time for us to journey toward the light.

And, yet for all the leaving from and journeying toward, we walk in the light.

Still.

 

 

 

…if we walk in the Light as He Himself is in the Light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin.
(1 John 1:7 ~ NASB)

 

Torment in the dark was the danger that I feared, and it did not hold me back. But I would have never come, had I known the danger of light and joy.
(The Fellowship of the Ring ~ J.R.R. Tolkien ~ English novelist ~ 1892-1973)

 

So carry your candle, run to the darkness
Seek out the helpless, confused and torn
Hold out your candle for all to see it
Take your candle, and go light your world.
Take your candle, and go light your world.
(Go Light Your World ~ Chris Rice ~ American singer/songwriter)

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Why Would God Let This Happen To Me?

~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

angryfistI said the words today. I’ve never said them before.

Never.

I’m mad at God.

Not what you expected, is it? Me either.

The preacher and I sat today—not my preacher, just a preacher—and we talked about things we don’t understand. Yes, the preacher has things he doesn’t understand, too. It is a difficult thing to remember sometimes, but they are on the same road as we—still stumbling, often taking wrong turns, and at times, falling into the very ditches from which we are attempting to climb out.

I told him about my troubled young friend who believed that he had run out of options, save one. My young friend took that option, the final act he would perform in this world. The alcohol to numb the fear and the pistol to end the pain were the only tools he needed to do the deed.

I have mourned the loss of my friend. The tears have flowed and been wiped away again and again. As I considered how to express my thoughts tonight, they came again. But, in a strange way, his death is not the reason for my anger.

I am still learning how to be a friend. I am still learning how to reach out to people who are unlovely and unloving—folks who are outcast and lonely.

I have written of my first meeting with the tormented young man. I was afraid to touch him, worried that he was a lost cause from the start. There seemed a good chance that my first encounter with him would also be my last. I thought he was a heartbeat away from doing what he took the next two years to work himself up to.

Two years.

Two years, during which he stopped by with some frequency. Two years, I picked up the phone any number of times to hear his voice. I thought he was doing much better.

He was better!

I said that, in a strange way, his death was not my reason for being angry. It actually was about his death, but I finally came to realize today that I am angry because I was dragged into a relationship that was always going to end the way it did.

God knew it. He knew it and yet, He brought the man into my life. For two years, I would believe the situation was getting better, and then, one day a simple phone call would tell me that it had been for nothing.

And today—today—as I talked with the preacher, I finally said the words right out loud. 

No. I didn’t, did I?

I whispered them.

I’m mad at God.

The whispered words sounded like a shout in my ears. They still do, even as I sit in the quiet of my office and listen to peaceful music tonight.

The preacher knows better than to hand out pat answers to the big questions.  He listened. I talked, spilling my disappointment with God out in plain sight.

And as I talked, what I had known all along became clear. That’s the way it often is, isn’t it? The truth lies mingled in among the lies. We just have to peel the lies—our lies—away and God’s truth remains. 

Right there where it was all along.

The truth is that He faces the same disappointments with man’s failure, and has faced it from eternity past. He knows rejection of His love is right around the next bend and yet He reaches out His hand again and again.

The pain must be excruciating.

How should we expect any other result if we do His will? What He asks of us is not that we continue in obedience to Him as long as success is guaranteed.  He wants us to walk in obedience. Period.

It seems an ugly truth.

I’m still a little mad. Better men than I have been in the same boat. Job, for instance. And, Jonah. Even Elijah had his moment of sulking.

But, here is what I know. God loves me. Even when I’m angry. Even when I’m wrong. He understands my pain because He has felt the same pain.

We’re talking about it, He and I.

I’ve got an idea that I’ll keep heading along the same road I’ve been on for more than a few years now. There is more work to be done; there are more people to be ministered to.

I wonder who will shove open my door tomorrow?

 

 

There was a man here last night—you needn’t be afraid that I shall mention his name—who said that his will was given up to God, and who got mad because the omnibus was full, and he had to walk a mile to his lodgings.
(Dwight L Moody ~ American evangelist ~ 1837-1899)

 

The Lord said, “Do you have good reason to be angry?”
(Jonah 4:4 ~ NASB)

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved.