The Art of Wonder and Awe

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical ENCORE” (G K Chesterton).

I love watching my niece play. She can get endless delight out of the simplest things and when she finds something she likes, she wants to see it over and over and never tires of it.

I wish I were like that. Sometimes, my sin is that I am too sophisticated and expect to much. I take for granted the sun coming up every morning and going down every night. I expect new flowers to grow and bud each new spring. So little amazed me any more because I take it all for granted and expect it to happen.

But maybe I need the eternal appetite of infancy. To be astounded and amazed at little things like flowers budding or rain falling or the sun breaking through the clouds. To see my life not as a right but as a gift that I receive every single day.

The Bible says that God’s steadfast love and mercies are new every morning. Not because of necessity or duty, but because he never gets tired of showing them. For God, loving me and being merciful to me never gets old. His delight over me is renewed every single day.

I hope that in turn being loved by God and receiving those mercies doesn’t get old. I hope I am always amazed that God should love me and take care of me and give me the chance to know him and make him known. Or as a pastor put it, to be a thimble trying to hold the ocean of God’s love, which can’t help but overflow onto everyone and everything around me.

Maybe what you and I need is a little less grown-up sophistication and self-importance and a little more  childish wonder and awe. Maybe it’s time to be growing young again.

 

 

 

A Thought or Two from Mr. Chesterton

I’ve been staring at my laptop screen for 45 minutes and I have come to one very astute conclusion: I got nothin’. I can’t think of anything to write about that would interest me, much less you.

The writer’s mental blank happens to me every so often, because thinking of something new to write about every single day is harder than it seems. At least for me.

So I’m borrowing some thoughts from a dead guy named G. K. Chesterton who wrote some pretty good books back in his day which you should check out if you have some free time to read and want something more to feast on than sparkly vampires in angst. These are his actual words that I’m borrowing, by the way.

“Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity.”

“I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.”

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”

“The Bible tells us to love our neighbors, and also to love our enemies; probably because generally they are the same people.”

These go to show you that there is very little to say that hasn’t already been said at least once during the history of the written word. My job (or the job of anyone who communicates through writing) isn’t to reinvent the wheel– or in this case, the ink pen– but to more often than not remind you of what you already knew but forgot that you knew.

Not We, But I

I was listening to a conversation today about how “we need to do this” or “the Church needs to do that.” That’s all well and good, I suppose. But it got me thinking. Maybe I need to stop saying “we,” and start saying “I.”

If I’m asking the church to do something that I’m not doing and I’m not willing to do, what good is that? If I want the church to go evangelize and serve the poor, I should be the one going and serving and evangelizing. If I want the church to be more welcoming and loving to strangers, then I should be the first one to go up to someone I don’t know and make him or her feel at home.

It’s easy to hide behind the “we.” It’s easy to say what everyone else should be doing, but quite another thing for me to take my own advice and practice what I preach.

I know I’ve said the church needs to be better at showing grace to people while I’m harboring judgmental thoughts about people. If the church is to transform, I have to be one of the ones willing to change.

I can’t speak for other people. I can’t control how other people respond (or don’t respond). I can only live out my own faith, not someone else’s. I can only be a friend and supporter and do my part, regardless of whether the other person appreciates what I do or totally ignores it.

If I look at what’s wrong with the world, instead of pointing fingers and assigning blame, I only need to look in the mirror.

I love the story about G. K. Chesterton. A leading newspaper queried the leading men of the day and asked them for essays on what was wrong with the world. Chesterton’s response was the shortest and (I think) most astute. He replied, “Dear sirs, I am.”

I have been silent when I should have spoken out and spoken out when I should have been silent. I have done a poor job representing the Christ I love at times. I have to own that. But I also know that if the world is put right again, I have to be the one who will stand up and step out. I can’t expect others to do what I’m not willing to do.

May you and I stop going to church and talking about the church and start being the church today.