the third captain

I can remember a handful of occasions in my military days when I was given orders I didn’t want to carry out, but I don’t think I’ve ever gotten orders as bad as the ones I read about this morning, in 2 Kings 1:13-14: “So the king sent a third captain with his fifty men. This third captain went up and fell on his knees before Elijah. ‘Man of God,’ he begged, ‘please have respect for my life and the lives of these fifty men, your servants! See, fire has fallen from heaven and consumed the first two captains and all their men. But now have respect for my life!’”

It’s hard to imagine that feeling when your commander says, “Captain, take a reinforced platoon and go get Elijah. But be advised, he doesn’t want to come and God is backing him up. The last two patrols I sent got burned to a crisp. But I need to to try anyway.”

The third captain used the only tactic that would work; he pleaded with Elijah. He recognized that this prophet of God, alone as he was, was the one dealing from a position of strength. Two captains tried to exert power and force; the third entreated Elijah and, through him, God.

It’s a reminder to me that God cannot be forced or commanded or coerced; he can only be asked. Anyone who thinks otherwise is in for a rude awakening at some point.

It’s interesting that, like so much of the world today, the king recognized that God had power over his future, and knew what would happen. But the king thought God would recognize and be impressed by his worldly position; Elijah taught him otherwise.

I think sometimes I want God to see what I’ve done, how I’ve contributed, what I’ve accomplished, and maybe treat me a little better. When I think that way, I forget that God is already giving me exactly what I would want if I knew everything he knows. That’s why the third captain got it right; the only thing I can do before God is kneel and ask.

counting the days

I wonder if, like the grasshopper in Aesop’s famous fable, I live too thoughtlessly.

This morning, reading in the Psalms, I again encountered this verse, fromPsalm 90:12:
“Teach us to number our days,
    that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

As always, it makes me think of our dislike of numbering our days. Who wants to think about how long or short we’ll live? Who wants to consider mortality, or the fact that, in my case, life is more than half done?

The Psalmist thinks that if I could learn to do this, I’d gain wisdom. Is that true?

Maybe numbering my days will prompt me to be more deliberate and less carefree, like the ant in the above-mentioned fable. Maybe I’ll work diligently, save what I earn, and be prepared for whatever might come my way. There seems to be some wisdom in that.

As I think about it, though, I think that’s still too shallow. I think I’m supposed to realize that my time here is short, but eternity is very long. As I consider what comes next, I may be moved to more meaningful and less frivolous choices about how I live. I may, as I ponder why God would organize things this way, realize that what I though was the purpose of my life really is a diversion from the real reason I’m here.

True wisdom, it seems, could spring from putting these few days on earth in the context of the eternity that I will spend with God. Or elsewhere, as the case may be.

duty

The book of Ecclesiastes paints a grim picture of life, and the end doesn’t really change that. After all his studying and seeking and experimenting, here’s what the author concludes, in Ecclesiastes 12:13-14: “Now all has been heard;
    here is the conclusion of the matter:
Fear God and keep his commandments,
    for this is the duty of all mankind.
14 For God will bring every deed into judgment,
    including every hidden thing,
    whether it is good or evil.”

I don’t think Americans like the idea of duty – it’s a have-to imposition, not a want-to choice. Duty is seen as onerous. To see our Christian walk as duty seems to separate it completely from joy.

But I was a soldier for a while, and soldiers know about duty. Soldiers swear a vow; officers live by the motto “Duty, honor, country.” Soldiers willingly embrace the concept of duty because it’s the thing that’s bigger than they are. A life of duty is a life of discipline, a life given to the greater good, a life that puts self last. Duty is that thing that enables soldiers to sweat in training, to bleed in war, to die if necessary. Duty steels them to stay at their posts, or to move forward into danger. It’s this idea that there is a thing out there worth more than your own life. Duty gives meaning to service.

Certainly a duty toward God is the highest possible calling. He has a claim on us, there’s no doubt of that. This call to fear him and keep his commandments is no more than he deserves for saving my soul.

There is, however, a down side to duty. There are serious penalties for failure to carry it out; dereliction of duty carries severe punishment. God, these verses say, will bring every deed into judgment; the good will be rewarded and the bad will stand against me until Jesus steps up and says, “Those sins are atoned for, remember? This man is one of mine.” So . . . no penalty at all. Just the privilege of service, the joy of a life filled with meaning.

Duty is a fine thing after all.

schemes

Sometimes I have trouble going to sleep at night. Usually it’s because I can’t stop my brain; my mind can buzz with thoughts and ideas and things I need to do.

I used to think that was a sign of high productivity, but this morning, as I continue my read through Ecclesiastes, I wonder. I was especially brought up short by Ecclesiastes 7:29:
“This only have I found:
    God created mankind upright,
    but they have gone in search of many schemes.”

Isn’t that true? We all have our big plans for success, our ideas of how to get ahead. We’re going to go to school and work in this career field making that much money. Someday, we’ll live in that dream house in that special place. In our retirement, we intend to buy vineyards or travel overseas or live half the year down south. So we figure out how to make money, and how to stay young and beautiful, and how to get all the things we want to live that life we collect on Pinterest.

So what makes a plan different that a scheme? I think for the author of Ecclesiastes, it has a lot to do with who’s leading. My scheming to0 often puts me in the lead, and trusts me to work things out. A scheme is an attempt to get around the way things are supposed to be, and in my life that’s the way laid out by God and modeled for me by Jesus.

The opposite of scheming is reliance on God’s providence. The opposite of scheming is planning just how I can identify God’s will and do it. I think that kind of planning has a lot less to do with my job and my home and money and my leisure, and a lot more to do with my heart and my service.

I’ve gone in search of many schemes in my life, but sometimes (and more often lately) I’ve instead just tried to follow God. I’ve tried to look at each day as a thing he has made, and just tried to experience it and enjoy it rather than control it. When I do that, I find the opposite of what Ecclesiastes describes: I find a lot of meaning in my life.

alone

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12: “Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.
Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?
Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

This is one of my favorite passages in the wisdom literature of the Bible. It captures the truth that life with others is better all around than life alone.

The military and first responders have strict policies that no one goes alone, that everyone has at least a partner and usually several people with them on the same mission. Medical care is usually provided in teams. When it’s really important, we know that groups of people perform better and are safer than loners. One of the stupidest lines in fiction, one that’s repeated way too often, is “No, I have to do this alone.”

The author of Ecclesiastes sees the futility of toiling alone. We should too – we shouldn’t go it alone, or leave anyone else alone. That’s especially true of church.

pleasure and toil

Solomon was supposed to be the wisest man on earth. If indeed he wrote Ecclesiastes, then he certainly had keen insight into the human condition.

He wrote one of the best descriptions of the spirit of this age in Ecclesiastes 2:10-11:
“I denied myself nothing my eyes desired;
I refused my heart no pleasure.
My heart took delight in all my labor,
and this was the reward for all my toil.
Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done
and what I had toiled to achieve,
everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind;
nothing was gained under the sun.”

A decade or more ago, Chuck Colson in his book “How Now Shall We Live” documented in case after case the unhappiness and hopelessness that was prevalent among celebrities and superstar athletes. He cites case after famous case of how pleasure, wealth and accomplishment produced despair and depression.

It becomes harder and harder to deny ourselves the things we want, and we continue to take pride in our promotions and big offices. In the end, though, we’re always left wondering, along with the author of Ecclesiastes, what’s the point? Is this all there is?

There’s one project that never fails to produce joy and satisfaction, that never feels meaningless. That’s my work on my own sanctification, my struggle to be more like Jesus. It’s not as self-centered as it sounds. In fact, it’s the only thing that pushes me to think of others, to love them like I love myself, and to serve them.

There are a lot of miserable people right now, and they seem always to spit and hiss like angry cats. When I’m tempted to join them, or to fight them, I try to remember this lesson from Ecclesiastes, that they’re trying all the things the Father of Lies tells them will make them happy. And they’re finding them all meaningless. Who can find joy that way?

temptations

Just as there are wonderful benefits to following God, there are consequences for disobedience. The story of King Solomon tells me that.

This morning I read this, from 1 Kings 11:1-5: “King Solomon, however, loved many foreign women besides Pharaoh’s daughter—Moabites, Ammonites, Edomites, Sidonians and Hittites. They were from nations about which the Lord had told the Israelites, ‘You must not intermarry with them, because they will surely turn your hearts after their gods.’ Nevertheless, Solomon held fast to them in love. He had seven hundred wives of royal birth and three hundred concubines, and his wives led him astray. As Solomon grew old, his wives turned his heart after other gods, and his heart was not fully devoted to the Lord his God, as the heart of David his father had been. He followed Ashtoreth the goddess of the Sidonians, and Molek the detestable god of the Ammonites.”

Solomon’s gluttonous appetite for women led him to disregard God’s will. As a result, God determined to end David’s dynasty after Solomon; no son of Solomon would sit on the throne.

God also raised up adversaries against Solomon. Hadad and Jeroboam, both with ties to and support from Egypt, attracted a following and contested with Solomon for leadership (isn’t it ironic that one of Solomon’s earliest mistakes was making a treaty with Egypt?)

Even wise Solomon, with his intimate relationship with God, was not immune to the temptations of this world. And even beloved Solomon, who please God with his desire to rule wisely, was not exempt from God’s requirements.

It’s a needed reminder to me that nothing that attracts me in this life is worth taking a single step away from God. The benefits of being faithful to God are so wonderful I can’t even understand them. As C.S. Lewis famously said, when I cling to my worldly pleasures I’m like a little boy who insists on making mud pies in the slum because I can’t fathom the wonders of a holiday by the sea.