Are We Men or Mules?

8 I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you and watch over you.

9 Do not be like the horse or the mule, which have no understanding but must be controlled by bit and bridle or they will not come to you. -- Psalm 32:8-9

What a picture our Loving Father paints. He has invested His own Holy Spirit to live in us, to be our built-in Counselor, Comforter, and source of all wisdom. Yet, too often, we do not take the time required to quiet our spirits and commune with the Holy Spirit each day. We do not put on the blood covering and enter beyond the veil into the Holiest place in our temple: within our spirit, where He abides.

Instead, we sally forth into the day half cocked, not spiritually dressed in His armor or prepared for what awaits us, not awaiting first His words of direction and wisdom for the day. We move so fast that we don't even notice the next cliff over which we are about to careen, the next enemy ambush into which we are about to blunder. At day's end, we lie crumpled, nursing our wounds and wondering what went wrong--and why God did not prevent what just happened.

The Spirit speaks to us so tenderly in this Psalm. "I will instruct you...direct you...counsel you." He is saying, "Why will you not listen, when I have so much to tell you, which would spare you so much grief?"

When we don't listen, it is as if we are horses or mules without understanding. In fact, we are without excuse, because we do have God-given understanding, but we wilfully ignore what He's saying by not making time to listen. That is when He must arrest us using the bridle and bit--through the hard knocks of life's circumstances. The painful zap of the cattle prod applied to our posterior parts reminds us that we are--once again--running ahead of God.

Let us return to Him now. Notice that the Spirit does not say, in verse 9, that He uses the bridle and bit to lead us--as we might expect. That is not His way. Rather, He uses these things to steer us back to Him!

Next time we feel the sting of the whip, the jolt of the prod, the cut of the bit, let us stop and think: Where did I get ahead of God? How can I hightail it back to Him, and redeem this wasted day, this year, this lifetime?

Thank you, Father, for your patience. Let us find your loving arms and be led by Your voice again, beside the still waters.

---
Originally published in King's Courier, a bimonthly magazine, 2/10/2006. 

Copyright © Brad Fenichel 2006 All Rights Reserved

The End of the Book

6 Many are asking, "Who can show us anything good?" Lord, let us see your face smiling on us with favor. 7 You have filled my heart with great joy. It is greater than the joy of people who have lots of grain and fresh wine. 8 I will lie down and sleep in peace. Lord, you alone keep me safe. -- Psalm 4:6-8 (NIRV)

We live in a very negative world. People tune into the news daily, hungry to know what is wrong in their world--and they are seldom disappointed. Although there is plenty of encouraging news to be had every day, it's just "not newsworthy." Our culture is like the stock market, a self-fulfilling prophecy; as "consumer confidence" drops, so does the stock market; as the stock market drops, so does "consumer confidence." Dow Jones is a fool's prophet; but many in our culture still swear by him. And, if our hearts rise and fall by economic indicators, then who rules our hearts--who is our god--but the Dollar?

Our culture soaks up negativity like a sponge, until we are too saturated to pick up on what is positive. As the Psalmist puts it, "Many are asking, 'Who can show us anything good?'" We are jaded, going through life in silent despair.

But, what about the people of God? As in every dimension of our lives, we often absorb the culture that washes over us, rather than impacting that culture with God's truth. We are so saturated with the spirit of negativity that it cripples our effectiveness as ambassadors of the God of Life.

Let us quiet our hearts, let us pull down the shades on the windows of our spirit and shut out the lethal rays of negativity a while, as we spend time alone with God at the opening of the day. Suddenly, His face takes shape in our vision, and we can see Him smiling on us with favor. Imagine that! God Himself is smiling on us; there is nothing negative about Him! We begin to realize that we just lay down and slept in peace, and we awoke alive and healthy. No enemy bombs rained on our home overnight, no sudden ruptured aneurysm, stroke, or heart failure snatched us away from our loved ones unexpectedly. The Lord alone kept us safe.

Let our hearts be filled with great joy, greater than the joy of people who have lots of grain and fresh wine. This the key that shuts off the destructive engine of negativity: spending time in God's presence, meditating on all that is right in this world He created. Wherever His Kingdom is embraced, He is at work, and we can see Him smiling there.

We Christians have read the end of the Book, and there is nothing depressing about it. Let us be encouraged and go forth to a new day full of hope, as the Psalmist says, with God's smile giving us strength to overcome every challenge. This is true joy, greater than the joy of people who have lots of grain and fresh wine, i.e., greater than the rich and famous can ever hope to find in their empty existence.

O Lord, You're beautiful, Your face is all I see, For when Your eyes are on this child, Your grace abounds to me. -- Keith Green

Turn your eyes upon Jesus; look full in His wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace. --Helen H. Lemmel (1922)

 

Copyright © Brad Fenichel 2006 All Rights Reserved

Make Foundations While the Sun Shines

Let's think about Jesus' sermon on the Two Builders, in Matthew 7:

(24)"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. (25)The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. (26)But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. (27)The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash."

What caught my attention is something implied in the sermon, albeit ridiculously obvious to anyone who knows about building. Although it does not tell us when each man built his house, it was definitely not while the rain, floods, and wind were present.

Ignoring, for this discussion, the idiot who built on sand, let us think about our own goals of building on the Solid Rock. When do we lay such a firm foundation in our lives, on the Rock Who we know is Jesus, and on His Word? Certainly not during life's storms! The key truth is that we need to have laid our foundations while the sun was still shining. We need to have taken time to build our relationship with God through spending time in His presence, to build our faith and hear His voice through meditation on His Word, during those periods of life when "all was well in our world."

The sad truth is that we have no problem finding time to howl to God when our house is collapsing about our ears. When all our work lies in a wreck, we have no trouble weeping and praying for help to rebuild. But the strength to endure life's storms--the foundation laid on Solid Rock, would have served us far better; it would have prevented the loss of our efforts, of years of our lives. Why did we not build such a foundation "while the sun was shining?" It's the same stupidity we see in all walks of life: "There's never enough time to do it right, but there is always time to do it over again."

In conclusion, let's think about the words of a popular Newsboys worship song. The songwriter understood this principle. Spend time in God's presence while the sun shines, and you will have the foundational strength to stand before Him and continue to "bless His name" through any storm--pain, suffering, sorrow--fill in the blank--that life throws at you.

Blessed be Your name In the land that is plentiful Where Your streams of abundance flow Blessed be Your name And blessed be Your name When I'm found in the desert place Though I walk through the wilderness Blessed be your name

Every blessing You pour out I'll Turn back to praise And when the darkness closes in, Lord Still I will say Blessed be the name of the Lord Blessed be Your name Blessed be the name of the Lord Blessed be Your glorious name

Blessed be Your name When the sun's shining down on me When the world's "all as it should be" Blessed be You name And blessed be Your name On the road marked with suffering Though there's pain in the offering Blessed be Your name 

 

Copyright © Brad Fenichel 2005 All Rights Reserved

"Can deaf people think?” “Hmmm … being as I’m not deaf, I haven’t paid it much thought.” “Just consider, though …” Iñigo continued, then stopped and regarded me pigeon-like. “Aquila , you rascal! Mystery ought to be handled with reverence, not kicked about like a football.” “Ah, but you’re wrong! Life is an ocean teeming with mysteries. Think, now.… do you toss in a hook, draw one up on the shore, and dissect it? No, quite the contrary! You dive deep. Probe their hidden caverns. Frolic among them, and learn their lyric. When, at last, the fish eats out of your hand, it’s a stranger no longer. But, by then … ah, well, that’s when you notice how the hand is furrowed with age. While the ocean goes on forever.” We resumed our stroll along the weed-choked trail that had once been the main thoroughfare of Sion. After a bit, Iñigo ventured again to break the hush that these forsaken buildings compelled. “You’ve grown, Aquila. When last I saw you, in 1916, you were the cocky young pulpitarian. But look at you now—lecturing me on mystery … and the enigma of time itself.” “Time … yes. Alas, it’s time what transforms the bumptious firebrand into a middle-aged hermit who begins, at last, to understand just how much he doesn’t. “But as for your question,” I continued. “It’s natural for all human creatures to think—so long as the brain continues to function normally, as it were. Mental impairment, certainly, might lead to a loss of hearing, but I see no reason it should work in the other direction.” I could tell by Iñigo's expression that I’d struck wide of the target. “But, there now—I should have guessed it was a trick question, such as which side of the dog harbors the most fleas, eh?” “No trick, my friend. But I fear you've not got your arms around it yet. Think of a true deaf-mute, one who’s never heard a sound since he stepped out of the womb. Then suppose he’s shipwrecked and orphaned—washed up on a desert island at just three years’ age and fated thereafter to perdure his earthly career alone and lost. What language do you suppose he thinks in? Or, does he think at all? Has he a name for himself? How does he lay up memories—and recall them?” “Well, now! This fish is a stranger indeed. You know, I haven’t a crumb of a solution to your riddle. (Do you?) But I get the hunch it’s somehow twisted up with whatever it is you’ve been moiling at all these years.” We had reached the Sentinel Fig, which shadowed the great iron gateway to the common-house grounds. That derelict structure was now a windowless ruin, with a grove of pine and encino oaks jutting at weird angles through its crumbling roof. Warm draughts off the sierra sang through broken glass, while a red-tailed hawk orbited high above on a midsummer thermal. Here the road deposited us, and no further. “Shall we sit beneath the fig for a spell, as in the old days?” I said. A bilious moss thrived in the tree’s dewy shadow, flouting the dusty purview beyond. Iñigo scowled. “Actually … I’m not altogether out of steam yet. If it’s all the same to you, let’s walk the mountain trail. This ghost resort gives me … you know … ants up the spine.” As the path ascended, beneath the lacy coolness of hemlocks, Iñigo began his tale. But not from our parting twenty-three years earlier, right here in the La Silla mountains overlooking the valley of Monterrey, Mexico. We were both nineteen at the time, and full of ginger, albeit from two different worlds. Iñigo Durán, the well-educated immigrant from Munich, off to the posh pockets of Mexico City where he hoped to find hardy patronage for the produce of his violinmaking skills. And I, Aquila Navarro, the mascot of Sion at its apogee—before … But that tale is rightly told elsewhere, in the chronicle of Sion’s fall. Iñigo led the way, unwinding, as he went, a yarn that drew us five hundred miles south, and a hundred years into the past, where we stumbled into a small mountain village in the year 1839. It was a settlement of Otomí Indians—Hñahñu , they call themselves—that lay within the old boundaries of México State, but would later—after the Partitioning of 1869—join the modern state of Hidalgo, jewel of the Mexican highlands. And now is the time for me to take a bow and let Iñigo continue in his own words. For, after all, this was the fish that ate out of his hand.