wisdom

There are a lot of definitions of wisdom floating around these days – you know, “Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; wisdom is knowing not to use it in a fruit salad.” Or “Wisdom is using knowledge to come to good conclusions.” All of the definitions I’ve seen, though, miss a key part: wisdom is given by God.

We think first of Solomon when we think of God-given wisdom, but today I’m reading in Daniel, and it’s right there in Daniel 1:17: “To these four young men God gave knowledge and understanding of all kinds of literature and learning. And Daniel could understand visions and dreams of all kinds.” Daniel and his friends were literally wise beyond their years, because God chose to make them that way. And they prospered in the courts of the Babylonian king.

Until the king had bad dreams, and no one could help him. In his fear and rage, he ordered the execution of all of his wise advisers, including the four young men from Israel. And here’s where we see wisdom in action, in Daniel 2:14-15:

“When Arioch, the commander of the king’s guard, had gone out to put to death the wise men of Babylon, Daniel spoke to him with wisdom and tact. He asked the king’s officer, ‘Why did the king issue such a harsh decree?’ Arioch then explained the matter to Daniel.”

Note that part of wisdom here is tact – that’s another thing not in high favor these days. What we consider wisdom is usually accompanied by arrogance. But Daniel’s tact won him an explanation, and then there was something he could do. Daniel had been blessed, remember, to understand dreams.

But here’s another glimpse of what wisdom looks like. Before he secured himself by interpreting the dream for the king, Daniel praised God for this gift of wisdom – here it is, in Daniel 2:20-23:

“Praise be to the name of God for ever and ever;
    wisdom and power are his.
He changes times and seasons;
    he deposes kings and raises up others.
He gives wisdom to the wise
    and knowledge to the discerning.
He reveals deep and hidden things;
    he knows what lies in darkness,
    and light dwells with him.

I thank and praise you, God of my ancestors:
    You have given me wisdom and power,
you have made known to me what we asked of you,
    you have made known to us the dream of the king.”

I think part of wisdom is acknowledging where your wisdom came from. And if you think it came from anywhere but God, then you aren’t really wise.

I don’t know that I’m a wise person, but I have prayed to God for wisdom and in those cases he granted it. That’s good enough, and it helps keep me close to God.

wrong

Boy, did an old familiar Bible story hit me between the eyes today. I was reading through Jonah, and got to the part where God shows mercy to Ninevah. Here’s how it goes, in Jonah 3:10-4:2:

“When God saw what they did and how they turned from their evil ways, he relented and did not bring on them the destruction he had threatened. But to Jonah this seemed very wrong, and he became angry. He prayed to the Lord, ‘Isn’t this what I said, Lord, when I was still at home? That is what I tried to forestall by fleeing to Tarshish. I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity.’”

For whatever reason, all my previous readings of this passage have been intellectual, but today the connection was visceral. God’s mercy seemed very wrong to Jonah, and he said, “I told you! This is exactly why I tried to run away.” It sounded a lot like me.

Now, I don’t know exactly who God has saved and who he hasn’t, but I have a really good idea of who he should or shouldn’t. I know the good people who give to the church and show up for service projects; in fact, I’m willing to overlook their DUIs and shady business reputation. On the other hand, I’m can be judgmental about a whole other group of folks who don’t seem quite as nice to me, or who seem to consistently make bad choices that end up costing the rest of us to bail them out again.

Jonah got mad at God for being “a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity.” It’s laughable, except I’m afraid it gets close to an ugly truth about me. When it comes to some of those “others,” I’d like to see a little more fire and brimstone.

This morning, my prayer is that any animosity I have toward any of God’s image-bearers will be drowned in a flood of gratitude for my own salvation.

fear

It’s interesting that the sailors on Jonah’s ship were so afraid of God.

Jonah 1 tells me that they all worshiped different gods, but they were afraid when they heard the Jonah followed the one true God, the one who made the land and the sea. When Jonah told them to throw him overboard, at first they wouldn’t. Then this, from Jonah 1:14-15:

“Then they cried out to the Lord, ‘Please, Lord, do not let us die for taking this man’s life. Do not hold us accountable for killing an innocent man, for you, Lord, have done as you pleased.’ Then they took Jonah and threw him overboard, and the raging sea grew calm. At this the men greatly feared the Lord, and they offered a sacrifice to the Lord and made vows to him.”

There’s no reason to think any of these men were converted; just as likely, they saw God’s power and sought to appease him. In the same way, there were probably a lot of prayers said by people in Houston and Florida during the hurricanes who hadn’t prayed in the months before that. We’re wired to turn to God when we’re afraid and uncertain.

How much better simply to live day to day in the safety of God’s shadow and the comfort of his promises.

forgotten

There are a lot of things in life I’d like to forget. There are all those times when I made a total fool of myself – even today I can think of moments from high school and want to crawl in a hole. There are words spoken in anger, or just ignorance. There are things I did in moments of pressure, far from home and feeling in danger, that I have better answers for now. Satan has a way of dragging those things back through my memory at moments when I start feeling at peace with myself.

That’s why a promise of God that I read this morning in Isaiah 65:17 has such resonance for me: 

“‘See, I will create
new heavens and a new earth.
The former things will not be remembered,
nor will they come to mind.’”

God promises that once this journey on earth is done, when his plan for redemption of his people has run its full course and all of the elect are gathered to him, all of my bad choices will be forgotten. All of the hard trials of life won’t even be a memory. The pain I earned for myself and the pain life used to season and shape me will not even cross my mind, ever again. More importantly, they won’t cross God’s either. It will literally be as if they never happened.

What a blessing! Along with everything else that will be wonderful about heaven, this is wonderful. I am immortal, but my mistakes and the abuses done to me are not.

justice

Isaiah 61:8: “‘For I, the Lord, love justice;
I hate robbery and wrongdoing.’”

One of the things that is very clear throughout scripture is where God stands when it comes to justice. The verse above is part of a passage where God lays out his plans for his people and explains why he visits judgment on some.

If I want to have the heart of God, I should love justice. Do I? Do I love it when everything is fair, or do I kind of prefer that me and my kind have an advantage? My Tac Officer at the Infantry Officer’s Advanced Course frequently said, “You should never get into a fair fight. You fight only when the odds are in your favor.” Is that how I feel about life? Do I want the deck stacked so that I have the best chance?

That’s not justice. Loving justice means I should be able to say, “That law would cost me money, but it would sure help people who need help, so I’m all for it.” Loving justice means I should be able to say, “I’ve had success, sure, but not because I’m a better person. I can see that I’ve had supporters and opportunities that other people haven’t. We should work to open those same doors to more people.” Loving justice means I should be able to see the needs of other people as having priority over my own needs.

And loving justice means I should hate injustice. I should hate it when clever people manage to take things from honest people – that’s robbery, and it happens far too often in ways that aren’t technically illegal. I should hate it when people hurt other people, or diminish the beauty God created – that’s wrongdoing, and it seems often to be applauded rather than condemned. 

Do I love justice and hate robbery and wrongdoing, like God tells me he does? I want to think so, but does my life show it? To paraphrase the old challenge, if I was on trial for this, would there be enough evidence to convict me? If I want to say yes, then I should be able to point to that evidence.

not too short

Sometimes I have to bite my tongue, because the situation isn’t right and all I’m going to do is start an argument. I especially have that when people are frustrated that God did something they didn’t like, or more often, didn’t do something they thought he should have. 

I had that recently. A person said, “I’m done with God because nothing happens when I pray.”

Partly I bite my tongue in those situations because I never really know what to say. This morning, though, after reading Isaiah 59, I have better answer if I ever need it. Verses 1 and 2 say: 

“Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save,
nor his ear too dull to hear.
But your iniquities have separated
you from your God;
your sins have hidden his face from you,
so that he will not hear.”

These verses communicate a hard truth: God is capable of anything, and willing to do anything that’s good for me, but that doesn’t mean he has to. He’s not an enormous cosmic vending machine that I plug prayers into and things I want come out of. 

If my admittedly limited understanding of God is correct, then he is an intimate God, desiring a relationship with me. I think he’s that way because he knows the only way I’ll truly flourish is in that relationship. But his nature and character don’t require him to listen to people who are trying to manipulate him.

And that’s what I’m doing when I only go to God in times of trouble. If that’s how I live, then I’m really saying, “Stay out of my life until I want something, but then you’d better be there.” 

What person would respond to that? What spouse would support a person who says, “Don’t judge me, and stop telling me what to do. Now go make me a sandwich.”

God’s arm is not to short to do any mighty work I can imagine, and his ear is so sharp he hears even the things I don’t want him to. But if I’m choosing sin over obedience, he may decide to ignore me. And why shouldn’t he?

The good news is that it doesn’t take much to fix a relationship with God. He readily forgives, and he loves like no other.

watchmen

I think my name means something like Watchman by the Brook. Various sources say that Gregory means watcher, watchful one, or watchman. I’m told that, when translating Dutch names, “da” means by. Further, stegger is supposed to be a small stream. I put it all together and get Watchman by the Brook, or maybe Watcher by the Brook.

That pleases me. I like to think I’m a student, or watcher, of life, and one of my favorite pastimes is watching birds. My parents did a good job naming me. 

This morning, though, as I read in Isaiah 56, I wasn’t feeling as good. Isaiah talks about Israel’s watchmen, and I think by that he means those who are supposed to be alert and attentive on behalf of his people. In modern terms, I would read this passage as one that applies to God’s faithful people who should be watching for his coming, maybe, or maybe the leaders of the church who should be helping the people see threats to the faith. 

Either way, it could apply to me, so I didn’t feel good when I read verses 9-12: 

“Come, all you beasts of the field,
come and devour, all you beasts of the forest!
Israel’s watchmen are blind,
they all lack knowledge;
they are all mute dogs,
they cannot bark;
they lie around and dream,
they love to sleep.
They are dogs with mighty appetites;
they never have enough.
They are shepherds who lack understanding;
they all turn to their own way,
they seek their own gain.
“Come,” each one cries, “let me get wine!
Let us drink our fill of beer!
And tomorrow will be like today,
or even far better.”

Is that a description of leaders in a church that has lost its way? Is this a warning to those who lead my church, including me, as to what bad leadership looks like? 

I can think of nationally known church leaders who seem to seek their own gain, to be focused on the good life more than a life of faith. They seem to have mighty appetites that are never satisfied, and as a result their flocks might be easy prey for the beasts of the field.

Anyone who leads (which is any mom, dad, big brother or sister, elder, deacon, pastor, teacher or friend who has one person looking at them to see how to behave) should take this passage to heart. Our responsibility to God’s people is to keep faithful watch, over them and for dangers to them. How can we do that if our daily call (figuratively or literally) is, “Let me get wine!”