DANE FOWLKES

“So teach us to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12)

As I race toward still another birthday, I’m forcefully struck that on average, only thirteen years remain for me to invest or endure before exiting this life and entering the mystery of glory. The National Center for Health Statistics reports the average life expectancy in America has risen slightly to 79. Is that good news or bad? It’s good news,” says Robert Anderson, chief of the statistical analysis in the division of vital statistics for the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. “We should celebrate. It’s very encouraging to see that mortality is declining and life expectancy is increasing in the United States,” says Ali Mokdad, an epidemiologist at the University of Washington. It is really up to me to decide.

Scripture emphasizes life’s brevity by comparing it to fleeting things like a mist (James 4:14), a shadow (Job 8:9), a breath (Psalm 144:4), or a swift bird (Job 9:25). Anticipating thirteen more travels around the sun is good news if I carefully invest what remains in that which will endure. But what is it that endures? A Google search of “The most important question in the world” provides 630 million responses. No help there. Fortunately for me and you, we are not left to speculate what is most important in the world and how to expend what remains in relation to it. “So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16). In immediate and imminently practical terms, this means I am to carefully invest each day in light of eternity. Decisions and actions, and even quiet reflection, should sharply focus on what honors Christ most and furthers His mission in this world. That leaves room for family to love, hobbies to pursue, as well as work and ministry to accomplish, but for it all to matter in the end, everything I do and all I think and say must reflect Him in some way. “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31, NIV).

“But when he was alone with his own disciples, he explained everything.” Mark 4:34

If I complain that God is silent, I actually confess I refuse to listen. More than that, I expose a deep seated flaw that I remain immature and ignorant of my own choosing. God speaks constantly and not merely in a general but a particular sense. “Jesus does not take us alone and expound things to us all the time; He expounds things to us as we can understand them” (O. Chambers). Pause and pray with no agenda in mind other than to see yourself as God sees you. The response will be immediate and likely painful, but He will become more real to you than in any mountain top experience of elation.

Our hometown team, for which my grandson plays, competed in a particularly heated contest last night against our cross town rivals. The basketball game was close, decided in the final fourteen seconds by one point. I held myself in check for the most part, but admit to erupting a few times during the game in verbal angst against a perceived wrong call by a referee or irritating demeanor of an opposing player or coach. I believe I largely behaved congruent with my faith, but any slippage along the way disturbs me more than just a little. In those moments of unsettled reflection, I remind myself that we hold this treasure in earthen pots that all too easily crack and leak.

Perhaps an honest assessment by a son of his father may be helpful at this point:

“I’m so very grateful to have grown up with a man whose life was so well integrated and congruent, such that a dad who served up mashed potatoes on Saturday night was the very same pastor who served up the word of God on Sunday morning. He was someone who embodied the message he proclaimed. His body was a sacred temple. A habitation for the holy. A container of the Spirit of God.

I know this to be true because the evidence is irrefutable, in as much as he manifested the fruits of the Spirit. He was a container for love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. He was a flawed and cracked container of these gifts, never hoarding, always leaking. What a holy vessel he was. Praise God from whom all blessings flow” (Eric Peterson, “A Homily for the Celebration of the Resurrection of Eugene Peterson”).

I have allowed cracks to form through these years of pilgrimage, some forced upon me and others I chiseled out myself, but my prayer to the end will be to finish well and allow the glory of God to shine forth when this clay pot finally crumbles to the earth and gives way to eternity.

“The life of faith isn’t meant for tourists. It’s meant for pilgrims.” (Eugene Peterson)

I find myself increasingly uneasy. Uneasy with aging, spiritual progress or the lack therefore, politics, the future—the list goes on, ad nauseum. More often than I care to admit, I plunge back into confession and repentance, embarrassed by the familiarity of sin. After six decades of triumphing and failing, disappointment and delight, exulting in the glory of the ordinary, I have concluded that restlessness with myself and life itself goes hand in glove with pilgrimage. We are not here to passively observe our surroundings; we are created and recreated to learn as much in this life about ourselves and our God as possible. Rightly responded, all of this (fill in the blank) serves to better fit me for my true destination.

I recall childhood Sunday mornings at Trinity Baptist Church and particularly what we referred to as “the invitation” at the conclusion of every sermon. We closed each service by singing the same few hymns and I learned them each by heart. The most frequent was “Just as I Am”, made popular by Billy Graham. The message was clear – come as you are to Christ and he will receive you and make you his own. Nearly as common was “I Surrender All”, written by Judson W. Van DeVenter way back in 1896. I still recall the private childhood battles waged in heart and mind. I couldn’t sing the simple tune without being convicted by its compelling confession. Was I willing to surrender everything? Would I agree to divine domain over all I commonly call “mine”?

That remains the most pressing decision of every day. What do I refuse to relinquish? What areas are privately scuttled off limits to the Savior? What pet sins have I squirreled away, only to recover from hiding when I choose to humor them? Freedom comes when we choose defeat. Will I raise the white flag, bow head and heart, and experience overflowing love and power in the wake of confession, repentance and obedience?

All to Jesus I surrender,
All to Him I freely give;
I will ever love and trust Him,
In His presence daily live.

Refrain:
I surrender all, I surrender all;
All to Thee, my blessed Savior,
I surrender all.

All to Jesus I surrender,
Make me, Savior, wholly Thine;
Let me feel Thy Holy Spirit,
Truly know that Thou art mine. [Refrain]

All to Jesus I surrender,
Lord, I give myself to Thee;
Fill me with Thy love and power,
Let Thy blessing fall on me.

“Who shall ascend the hill of the LORD? And who shall stand in his holy place? He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who does not lift up his soul to what is false and does not swear deceitfully. He will receive blessing from the LORD and righteousness from the God of his salvation. Such is the generation of those who seek him, who seek the face of the God of Jacob.” (Psalm 24:3-6, ESV)

I would like to think my spiritual journey could accurately be depicted as a steady climb—pilgrim’s progress, pressing on, ever upward. Sadly, mine could more honestly be depicted as tempestuous noir sky disrupted by disparate sporadic flashes of light against the auditory backdrop of distant thunder, threatening to overpower everything within earshot. Chalk it up to poor choices or weak will, but my own timeline is less a straight line slanted upward and more like an EKG with high peaks and low valleys, with zig zags in between. Longingly, I have read accounts of individuals who climbed a mountain in their dreams, and that the dream represented confronting the challenges and obstacles that life presents. Each step symbolized a journey toward resilience building, teaching the importance of challenge acceptance.

While I admit to struggling with and often failing to gain such self-awareness and spiritual enlightenment during most of my ill-fated plummets, I have learned that overcoming obstacles isn’t primarily about reaching the summit; it’s about embracing and growing from the struggle along the way. Facing head-on our respective trials, you and I discover strength and adaptability we didn’t know was ours, realizing that every setback can be a stepping stone to strength and resilience. Self-discovery should lead to divine dependence. The best possible news is that we need not face our troubles alone; our Creator never intended victory to be won by pulling ourselves up by proverbial bootstraps, manning up, so-to-speak. We overcome by acknowledging inadequacy and crying out in desperate need for divine guidance and fortitude. We were designed for dependence—we need Him every moment of every day, and life surges forward when we discover and delight in His desire to sustain and empower us so that we never lose sight that we are His and He is everything to us.

My wife and I were both born in New Orleans and we grieve over the atrocity inflicted on innocent victims there. Our prayer is that in the midst of unspeakable sorrow, the God of all comfort will draw all to Himself.

I experienced a tantalizing taste of autumn this weekend, all the more surprising since we are barely into summer. I enjoyed the unexpected respite while vacationing on the Atlantic seaboard. A cool coastal front initiated dipping temperatures and relief from a steady sequence back home in central Texas of near 100-degree readings and high humidity is palpable. The contrast was refreshing. Already I’m daydreaming of sweaters on the golf course, cuddling on the back porch with a lap blanket, and the scent of burning wood from warming fires in nearby chimneys.

Contrast is a good way of understanding Christ’s command to be light. Webster’s defines dark as “having little or no light.” Light illuminates quite simply because it is the opposite of dark; luminescence is not a little different, it is antithetical to shadows. I cannot help but ask if I am a cool front to anyone’s emotional and spiritual drought. Do I leave a pleasant vestige that lingers when people brush up against me? Am I an obvious contrast to the shadowy nature of contemporary culture and that which masquerades in our postmodern world as acceptable? “We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light” (Plato). 

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that[a] they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 5:14-16, ESV)

What some might miss in the familiarity of it all is that Christ’s statement about being light is an imperative. The Greek word lampsato. Illumination for believers is never optional; according to Jesus, our light must shine. In light of this (pun intended) I question myself—does my participation in the human race brighten any corner of the marathon?

Are you warrior or spectator? That may strike as an odd question since you may or may not have served in the military, but effective engagement is a matter of the heart. Consider this quote from the chaplains of the U. S. Army’s 82nd Airborne Division:

“When Spiritual Readiness meets adversity, Spiritual Resiliency sees you through.”

Spiritual resiliency is the heart of the warrior. Warriors cannot be restrained from the battlefield. They push through fear and danger, rushing forward into the fray while spectators shrink from battle and every difficulty, resigning themselves to mediocrity—content to watch the sacrifice of others from a safe distance. Warriors are resilient and resilience is the practical and enduring posture of strength.

Jesus of Nazareth employed the fullest meaning of “strength” when he said:

“Keep alert at all times. And pray that you might be strong enough to escape these coming horrors and stand before the Son of Man” (Luke 21:36 NLT).

This is no casual strength Jesus offers; no mere guarded optimism nor temporary adrenaline rush. As John Eldridge reminds us: “Hard times require something more than willpower. Jesus warns us, practically commands us to ask for strength.” The word Jesus uses for strength in Luke 21 means “to be strong to another’s detriment; to prevail against; to overcome; to prevail.” It implies a struggle against an adversary we can and will prevail over. The strength God offers and urges us to ask for and display is combative strength, a strength to fight, to overcome. A strength that prevails. The warrior heart embraces adversity and challenge while advancing to attain the higher good.

I have great news for all of us—resilience is something God desires to give.

“My strength is gone,” (Daniel said) “and I can hardly breathe.” Again the one who looked like a man touched me and gave me strength. “Do not be afraid, you who are highly esteemed,” he said. “Peace! Be strong now; be strong.” When he spoke to me, I was strengthened. (Daniel 10:17-19)

Resilience is something imparted by God into our frail humanity. I cannot think of better news: This strength that prevails—this mighty, combative warrior strength—is available to all who request it. Our Creator offers courage to stand against all odds. What will we choose?