He is what we need more than anything else; there is nothing greater that he can do than to direct us towards himself.

This thread runs right through scripture: God revealing himself so that people might turn and look toward him. Were God to glorify something other than himself, he would be robbing us of our light and hope.

That our first need is for God should be apparent. What is the first and greatest commandment? The challenge, of course, is to understand this command not as the decree of a narcissist (he is not, after all, diminished by what we choose to do or to not do) but as the guide of a loving God who knows that the best thing we can do is to love him.

Why does God demand we have no other gods before him? For us to have anything else before Him is for us to starve and brutalize ourselves.

The idea of a preening, vain God is a human idea. If God were narcissistic, why would he spend any time looking at people?

You can sound formal. I count it an honour and a privilege…
You can sound sincere. It’s been fun! So long and thanks for all the fish!

Don’t try both. Because the last person did that and you will create a carbon copy of the previous note of professional courtesy.

Formal + sincere = Horrible Hackneyed Cliche
It has been an honour to work alongside so many wonderful people.

Gah! Even as I write it, it chafes me! It’s not bad, but… there’s nothing of me in that sentence, and, good intentions notwithstanding, there’s nothing of them there, either.

The worst is, “future endeavours.” Who says that? The only time people ever use that is when they want to sound professional. Don’t get me wrong; wanting to sound professional is a good thing! But “future endeavours” as a phrase is completely lifeless and I’m always tempted to replace it with something like, “Tear it up at your next gig!” which, while not professional, is at least something a living person would say.

On the whole, I hope I tip the balance towards sounding alive. I’d rather be a less impressive person than a marvelous form letter.

Measuring the audience is also tough. You can’t be formal to people with whom you’ve been cordial, because that is stiff and awkward. You can’t be breezy with those you don’t really know because you still want to impress them

On the other hand, you can trust those you know well to see through the cliched and the trite to what you are actually trying to say. At least… That’s my hope!

Joe is a lovely man and a joyful man. I know he touched a lot of people in the time he was given. He has a family; if you have a moment, please pray for them as the last few months have not been easy.

What does it mean to love someone or like something?

Jesus provides what is perhaps the strangest definition I’ve ever seen. He says that the difference between someone who loves him and someone who doesn’t is obedience to his commands.

It seems an odd definition, but as I thought on it, it began to make more sense. Take my own life.

There are things that I like on the basis of warm fuzzy feelings.
There are things that I like on the basis of the fact that I actually do them.

One of the hallmarks of passion is spending time and energy – thinking, wishing, doing. People who are nuts about something spend a lot of time dwelling on it. Thinking about Jesus’ words, I began to examine my own ‘likes’ and my own behaviors. They don’t always match up. Which is odd. (How much time do I spend dwelling on Jesus?)

Can I really claim to like something that I never ever do? Or, put another way… If I am free to do as I like, what does that say about the things I choose to do?

Maybe a picture of my likes looks something like this:

As I like things, I tend to do more of them. But there are some things which I just can’t honestly claim to like, because I never do them. It doesn’t matter how they make me feel. Winning the Nobel prize is a good example. It gives me tremendous warm fuzzies, but I can’t really claim to like it because, well, I never put any time towards it, do I?

This is the Threshold of Honesty. After a certain point, I just have to admit that as nice as some things are as fantasy, they’re not my passion and to say they are is a lie.

I can’t honestly look at a Nobel prize and say I want to embrace all the hard yards, the singularity of focus, and the real risk of failure that gunning for one entails. I don’t really like the world in which I receive the Nobel Prize… not really.

On the other axis, there are some things for which it doesn’t matter how much I do them, my heart is not in them and I can’t honestly say that I like them.

As much as love compels us to do things, it should be obvious that doing alone is not sufficient. Necessary… but not sufficient.

“Even now,” declares the Lord, “return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning. Rend your heart and not your garments.” — Joel 2:12-13

This is the Barrier of Genuine Dislike. Beyond this point, the fact that I do something is in no way evidence of any genuine affection. If I’m seeking to build genuine affection for these things, a change of heart is needed; doing more of them will only build resentment.

Both halves of love are important. If it doesn’t sacrifice when fuzzy feelings have ebbed away then it’s missing something, and if it’s an obligatory grind of a dead heart, then it’s missing something else.

God calls us to perfect love, and that means both halves.

Where the Wild Things Are is a beautiful film in its portrayal, but it’s a deeply upsetting film in what it raises – then sweeps under the carpet.

Our hero Max, fresh from a backdrop of domestic turmoil, arrives at an island of wildness and chaos, an island screaming out for order. It’s an island where sadness and loneliness go unchecked, where Things hurt and abuse each other, helpless to stop but desperate for the king who will make it all go away.

They can’t love one another for the pain they deal out. They are just Wild Things, after all, and for every word of comfort they give there are three more of tearing down.

It’s an island that is slowly dying, inexorably turning to dust.

And Max is king of this island, crowned on the promise that he will bring all the Wild Things together, and somehow rid them of loneliness and sadness.

Running under it all is a dark undercurrent, the knowledge that the Wildness in the Things is not just fun and games and that they will destroy Max in a moment, just as they might destroy each other. A very real savagery is at play; it is the knowledge that the wildness is dangerous and destructive.

It’s a poignant portrayal. In the jumble there is friendship and compassion, but it is constantly getting trampled down by the chaos and disorder.

Does the island find a king who is true, who has power and who keeps his word? Do the Wild things find a ruler who administers justice, who heals their wounds and brings them together in peace? Is their Wildness redeemed?

No. Max lies his way into the kingship, finds that he is absolutely unable to rule justly or fairly or even with compassion (he’s just a kid, after all), and leaves the island community as fractured and decaying as it was when he came. Having made friends with the Wild Things, he abandons them – they are too wild for him. The piece of wisdom he takes away is that, “Family is hard.”

As he sails away from the island, the upbeat music kicks in and he’s tremendously happy to be away from it. Fin.

Oh, but this is an unsatisfying film. Where is the king the monsters long for, the king who will speak truth? Where is the father (Max doesn’t have one at home, by the way) who can resolve disputes and bring warring Things back together? They long to sleep together in one big, happy pile, but Max abandons them to a future of discord on a bleak, dead island that is slowly turning to dust.

This film sweeps everything under the carpet. It goes so far as to point out that there is a badness and that it’s best to stay away from it. But while it might show a child, “I know how you feel inside.” it offers no hope of rescue, just a little bit of uplifting music at the end to tell us that, (for no reason whatsoever) we should be happy.

One friend, taking a first bite, remarked that he didn’t want to eat his slice as he didn’t want it to end. This led to a little discussion and he told the story of his friend who wished for a neverending six-pack, where, when one can was disposed of, another appeared straightaway.

The idea of never-ending food and drink is pretty old. It makes me think of the Horn of Plenty and magical artifacts (“Table, be full!”) from old fairy tales.

Another friend remarked that she wished the time she spent with her grandson was neverending.

The whole thing got me to thinking about what kinds of things that I wished would never end. Pretty much the first one for me is, “Peace of mind”.

What do you wish would last forever?

They form a remarkably practical, powerful presentation of the Christian Gospel which is gloriously free from Church language and culture. They are simple to understand, difficult to follow and they hold a massive treasure. The greatest testimony to their worth is that they have proven themselves in the lives of many.

In Step 3, we made a decision to give our wills and lives to God. In Steps 4 & 5, God took the wills and lives we had given him and told us that what he wanted us to do with them was to make a moral confession – to Him, to ourselves and to others.

The God described in the steps is truly remarkable. Step 6 fleshes out our interaction with him.

Step 6

Were entirely ready to have God remove these defects of character.

entirely ready

An interesting question this clause raises is, “Why does our readiness have anything to do with this?” Can’t God swoop in and rescue us regardless?

In my own experience, the answer is that God won’t swoop in and rescue someone regardless. As revealed previously in the steps, God cares. This step talks of removal; and this caring God will not tear away something. We must release it to him.

When someone takes something without permission, when it is not given or released, we call it stealing – a harmful, wounding activity. Theft destroys our trust in the other person – the robber! This is not God as described in the steps.

This clause emphasizes that the steps describe a process. In Step 3, we made a decision. In these subsequent steps, we must carry it out. This is a good distinction to make.

As an example, let’s say that one day, I decide I am going to eat out at a restaurant. I do not magically appear there because of my decision. I still must book a table, dress myself, get in the car, drive over to it, find a parking spot, etc. Having made the decision, I must actually go.

So although we have previously decided to give God our wills and lives, he does not actually have them unless we walk through the rest of the steps. And this walk is truly a process, hence we must become entirely ready.

to have God remove

The idea that God can change our selves and character is not a popular one in our secular culture. Perhaps disbelief is easy because God does not remove until we are entirely ready. He does not override our will; he waits until we actually surrender it to him.

Belief in this step requires belief in a God who engages and acts in the Real World. (But then again, this belief was implicit in steps 2 & 3 when we believed he could restore our sanity and receive our wills and lives)

all these defects of character

In step 5 we said we had done wrong. Step 6 goes further by labeling us defective. A defect of character is not just a poor choice or a moment of weakness. It is a part of us.

The devil did not make us do it.
Circumstances did not force us into it.
It wasn’t just the liquor talking.

Step 1 hinted at this by saying we were powerless – we were deficient. What we have done comes from who we are. Behavioural modification will not help us; coping mechanisms will not solve the problem. This is step 1 all over again – we are powerless. But Step 6 tells us why we are powerless, and the reason is simple.

Our character is wrong, and this is something we cannot change ourselves.

Summary

In short, we require a level of surgery we ourselves are not competent to perform. God, being as caring as he is, will not perform this surgery until we release ourselves entirely to His care.

What, then, did *he* do that was so fantastic?

Happy St. Patricks.

Dallas Willard writes,

“The Spirit, we are told, led him into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.
…
In that desert solitude, Jesus fasted for more than a month. Then, and not before, Satan was allowed to approach him with his glittering proposals of bread, notoriety, and power. Only then was Jesus at the height of his strength. The desert was his fortress, his place of power. Throughout his life he sought the solitary place as an indirect submission of his own physical body to righteousness (e.g. Mark 1:35, 3:13, 6:31, 46) That is, he sought it not as an activity done for its own sake, but one done to give him power for good.” [1]

By the time Satan came knocking, Jesus knew that man did not live by bread alone. He knew because he had gone hungry for more than a month.

He was not weaker for having gone without food for a month. He was stronger because he had gone to a place of desolation, of wanting and not having, of emptiness – and God was there.  He was not dead, he was alive. And if God had led him to a desert and carried him 37 days then God would carry him for 38, because each one of the 37 days was standing up and testifying to him, saying, “God was here in the wilderness with you. You are his son, with whom he is well pleased.”

The devil loves to play on our fears and keep us tied to “food” that we think we need.

“If you don’t have this, you will die.”
“What will you ever do without ___?”
“You can’t live without ___.”

We all have places we are terrified to walk, idols we are dare not abandon – areas of desolation and brokenness we are afraid to visit. But these things are our weakness and not our strength.

The Spirit knew this, and took Jesus through the ultimate, harrowing proof that man does *not* live by bread alone. And then Jesus knew this, and refuted Satan to his face.

Does this seem backwards, that food should weaken and hunger nourish? Surely it can only be the foolishness of God.

[1] Willard, Dallas. The Spirit of the Disciplines. HarperCollins 1991