I sent my friend a birthday greeting recently. It wasn’t anything special, just two sentences on a popular social media site. Still, he was kind enough to return a note of thanks, with a little something added.
I wasn’t sure I wanted the little something.
You see, some words are light and carefree. There is no expectation and little need to consider further action. Words like, “Thanks for thinking about me.” Or, “I had a great day, thanks!”
Unfortunately, he didn’t choose light and carefree.
These words were compelling. They not only made a statement; they left the reader—me—with an expectation of fulfillment.
These words had weight. Really. It was weight that I felt.
I still feel it today.
After his thanks, my friend added this,
“You have a gift of gentleness, and I am grateful for it. Thank you for being a great example to many men!”
I want to be happy—or proud—or even embarrassed.
What I am, is conflicted. And, challenged.
I don’t know if I can live up to my friend’s vision. The man I see every day in the mirror isn’t gentle. He’s not a great example to others. He isn’t even a so-so example to others.
Perhaps I should tell him he has me all wrong. Maybe my children could tell him. The Lovely Lady could give him a hint or two (could she ever!). The customer care supervisor at the phone company—the one I called a couple of weeks ago—could really give him an ear full.
Why, even the dogs in the backyard might (if they could talk) set him straight. I know the female, who’s been digging holes where I just planted grass seed last week, would disabuse him of any illusions that might linger.
Gentleness? Me?
Hardly!
But the words have weight. Gravitas, even. Serious weight.
My friend meant them. He has observed me living life among others and he has reason to believe there is gentleness in how I comport myself.
I suppose now I will need to make it so. After all, the apostle—my namesake—left instructions that all of us should make it our lifelong practice.
Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. (Philippians 4:5, NIV)
Wait. How did that second sentence get in there? This is between me and the people I meet every day. I’ll do my best to show gentleness. I’ll attempt to make it evident to them. That’s all.
Why does it matter that the Lord is near? Why can’t I just do my part and they do theirs?
I suppose part of the answer to that question lies with my responses up above. I have known all my days that I should treat others with gentle hands, and voice, and heart. And yet, on my own, I cannot fulfill my responsibility.
I blow up. I respond with sarcasm. I rip into them.
Oh, most of the time, I can feign gentleness. I can talk a good game, and act the part. But when I stand in front of the mirror at the end of the day and look into the face I see there, I know.
I know.
But God is near. He is. Jesus Himself said it would always be true.
You can see it for yourself. I am always going to be with you, wherever you go, however long you live, until time is no more. (Matthew 28:20, my paraphrase)
He is there to remind. To prick my spirit. To give strength.
There’s a reason gentleness and self-control are gifts of the Spirit. I’m expected to put them into practice in His presence. Again and again, until they are as much a part of my daily routine as breathing and eating.
And yet somehow society has come, over the eons, to believe that aggressiveness and demonstrations of power are signs of strength—of character.
Don’t believe me? Look around you today. Who are our idols, our heroes? Are they kind and caring? Or, are they argumentative and combative?
In all our media—in conversations overheard on the public transport—in public messages from pastors and politicians, activists and artists—all around us, we see little self-control and certainly few gentle spirits. And, we seem to revel in the lack of such things.
We—the ones who claim to be close to God—appear to have no interest in gentleness. None.
Recently, on a social media site I frequent, a Christian friend posted a picture of a man with a brightly dyed beard, wearing a woman’s swimsuit, walking along what appeared to be a fashion runway.
The question posed with the photo was, “Can someone tell me what this is?”
The vitriol and hate spattered the page below the photo. I didn’t know all of the folks who replied. I’m making an assumption when I say they probably all claim to be followers of Jesus Christ.
May I tell you one thing of which I’m certain? Positive, even.
God doesn’t hate the person in that photo. He doesn’t.
That person—and every other person who has ever drawn breath on this spinning ball of dirt—is so precious to our God that His Son gave up His body and breath for them.
Every one of them. Us.
We will never look in the eyes of a human who isn’t loved by God.
And yet we claim the right to treat these, whom our God loves beyond all reason, hatefully and without mercy.
While He is near, we do it.
A few years ago, a popular song suggested that God is watching us, a not unlikely concept, but the next phrase claimed His oversight was from a distance. And, sometimes it can feel like that.
But, feelings aren’t facts. It turns out God is watching us. While He walks beside us. While His Spirit lives in us.
How we treat folks around us matters. To Him, it matters. It matters to them.
And, in the end, it will matter to us. More than we know, I think.
It is. It’s high time I become what people believe me to be. Or, at least make a start.
The red-headed lady who raised me always told me I should be a gentleman. She wasn’t wrong. She rarely was.
A gentle man.
God is near.
Be kind to each other. It is better to commit faults with gentleness than to work miracles with unkindness. (Mother Teresa of Calcutta)
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. (Galatians 5:22-23, NIV)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2020. All Rights Reserved.