Experiencing All of God

Psalm 8; Romans 5:1-5

One of the greatest challenges I have encountered again and again in the 25 years I’ve ministered is making the promises found in Psalm 8 something we actually experience in our very real lives.

The promises are astounding—the Psalmist asks the obvious question, “Who are we that God would pay attention to us?” Then he gives the answer, “God made them a little less than angels”—humble enough to know we are not on par with angels, but we are right there. Unfortunately, life itself gets in the way of our getting to enjoy being made a little less than angels. Instead, we end up feeling a distance between ourselves and God. We begin to fear that God really does not pay attention to us—that we really are too small for God to see. 

A short while ago, I got lost in downtown Sacramento. I had a lunch meeting at a place I had not been before. It was in a converted warehouse and parking was a challenge since it was all on the street, first come, first serve. Being lunch hour, every spot was taken. So, I circled the block, getting on a one-way street, that, unbeknownst to me, ended with no turnaround. There I was at a 12 foot fence with no options except to turn back, praying I met no one. 

Ever been there with me?

A friend of mine went to work one morning and immediately knew something was wrong. A security guard met him at the car, walked him into the building to his cubicle, said, “Take what is yours, and I am here to be sure you don’t take what isn’t.” He filled a thoughtfully provided box with his stuff and marched back out to his car with the security guard. End of job, end of story. He met the 12 foot fence.

As a parent, I know what it is to watch a child about to make a decision that everybody knows is wrong, but who will not listen to any counsel, and you have to watch them make the mistake and plow right into the consequences. You can’t do anything to stop it, only be there to pick up the pieces. There’s that 12 foot fence. 

Some of us know that fence from what we thought would be a routine medical exam, but shortly into it, the doctor becomes deathly serious, and she is suddenly coldly efficient and professional as she intones words no one wants to hear, and you are left facing that fence again.

In each encounter with life as it is, we are left wondering. We are a long way from feeling like angels. We are more and more certain God could care less.

Yet, our faith tells us that the promises are sure and real. They really are there for us. So, how do we get over the fence to feeling the joy of the promises?

The Apostle Paul helps. It is right there in this section of Romans 5—the part that is a progression—suffering begets endurance; endurance begets character; and character begets hope. Most folks I know don’t do well with that starting point—suffering—who wants to hurt? 

Paul is using an athletic analogy, though. The suffering he is speaking of is the suffering of working a body into shape. It is the suffering that comes as we train, strengthening muscles, and developing skills. Watch someone starting an exercise regime after that trip to the doctor. That first run after a period of inactivity is going to hurt. The body the day after the first weightlifting session is going to feel like God laid a refrigerator, topped with a gorilla, carrying a boulder the next morning. Every muscle is going to complain. But you have to get through the pain to get to the result wanted. 

When I ran track at Davidson College, my coach used a proverb that stuck with us, “The more it hurts, the faster it’s over!” Of course, one of the jesters on the team retorted, “Nope, I run because in this sport, the worse you are, the longer you get to play!” But the coach was right—the effort to do the work got us where we wanted to be, but there were no shortcuts. 

The same is true with faith. It takes discipline and work to get where we want to be. Faith is not something to be taken lightly or shortchanged. You may hear someone make the promise that once we are with Jesus, then all becomes easy and happy. I wish it were so, but we remain every bit as human after awakening to faith as before. Let me put it this way—I saw a gorgeous triple rainbow over Folsom Lake Friday evening, but that rainbow came after a storm—you don’t get the rainbow without the storm. Being faithful means taking seriously the call to prayer, the study of scripture, time with God, and doing the work of faith. It is the only way to realize the gifts of faith.

Consider this—to feel the power of mercy, be merciful; to feel the transformation of compassion, be compassionate; to feel the freedom of grace, be gracious. What that looks like is something like this—Atlanta traffic truly is mythical. The engineers designing freeways somehow thought it brilliant to run I-75 into I-85, then cross I-20, all right in the center of downtown. What this means is that no one goes much of anywhere during the commute beginning or ending the day. You can sit for so long, that I have been sorely tempted to exit my car, run up the exit ramp to the Varsity—the place in Atlanta for burgers and fries—get burgers for everybody in traffic, run back, feed the people, and still not move four inches from where I was. Now, we all have a choice for how we respond in such a moment. We can allow frustration to run amok. Suddenly, the car horn becomes a tuneless musical instrument. Fingers and arms become gesticulating weapons of insult. Blood pressure soars. And we still get nowhere. 

…or…

We can see that everybody else is in the same predicament. These are all other human beings whose days are not going according to plan. These are also frustrated children of God. They are not problems; they are objects of compassion. So, offer a smile, maybe a wave, and become patient. 

That is faithful practice.

Can something like that really be transformative? I believe so. If we are to know that we are a little lower than the angels, someone needs to treat us so. It has never ceased to amaze me how compassion breeds compassion. You arrive at a door the same time someone else does overburdened with packages. A simple act of holding the door while they get in is compassion. That can plant a seed. The next time they see someone else needing help, they may well remember being helped, and offer compassion. The more we begin to think like this, the more transformation can occur. Acts of kindness make a difference as they are shared.

Which circles us back to the beginning. Life is life. It comes with its hurts, failures, hurdles, and 12 foot high fences. It is hard, if not impossible, to convince ourselves that God is present, concerned, and listening. So, we need to be that presence for one another. Others need to be that presence for us. Listen to someone hurting. Comfort someone bereaved. Walk with someone who just needs someone to walk next to them. The more we practice, the more love rules everyday occurrences.

Then comes a miracle—ever watched a child move from practicing the piano to playing the piano? There comes a moment when she no longer watches each finger to be sure it hits the right key; it just happens. Her fingers know where they’re going. The music becomes joy. 

That sort of awareness and work takes effort. But it is oh, so worth it. It can change life itself, for it brings hope, comfort, peace, and even joy into it. We truly can soar like the angels.