Saying Goodbye

“Goodbye, a 16^th century contraction of “God be with you,” is spoken as a concluding remark or gesture when someone takes leave of someone else.  But that’s where simple stops and complicated begins!

Goodbye, like ice cream, comes in so many flavors. We have a parting word for about every taste. There is a flavor whose message is:

—good riddance, and don’t come back, as in Covid, a case of shingles, or Cousin Eddie

—letting go, by finding the courage to turn loose of what you cannot change.  This may

test one’s strength to the limit.

—goodbye, so I may forget, with grace and generosity, those who choose not to love me,

who reject my friendship with dismissiveness and treat me with contempt.

—the crippling wounds (seldom mortal, always painful) that come with

the loss of someone incalculably precious.

—the cost of obedience to a higher calling, which frequently is the most

difficult of all goodbyes due to the commitment required.

There are times when we can’t wait to say goodbye to something distasteful, like an illness, a long-standing debt, or Cousin Eddie showing up on Christmas Eve in his Winnebago, uninvited and unwanted.  But sometimes saying it keeps us from ruining the fine day ahead of us and not wasting a perfectly good fret over a really bad yesterday.

At other times we can’t bear saying goodbye. We postpone it, we try pushback, or we ignore it as long as possible.  What anxious parent can forget the near panic when the bus hauls off her first grader to that first day of class, when that final hug, or four, made the driver honk?  What adoring dad can forget the joyful-mournful strains of Mendelssohn’s’ Wedding March as he gives his priceless daughter away to a worthless bum, who later produces the finest grandchildren on the planet; that handing her hand over to the waiting hand of another and the sad-glad goodbye that change things, and us, forever.

Whether you spell it goodby, good-by, or goodbye, as I do, it’s the final thing one says after he says “hello” and conversation runs aground, or one wishes to part company.

In 1976 the Beatles released a popular tune about opposites, Hello, Goodbye, to poke playful fun at duality, one of the themes of our universe.  They sang, “you say goodbye; I say hello.” Consider how many other opposites there are:  high and low, everything and nothing, stop and go. . . .and yes, “hello” and “goodbye.”

Goodbye is simply hello with no place left to go, as when the whistle blows and there is no time left on the clock.  Grief resembles goodbye in so many ways; what is grief if not love that has no place to go? The word takes us places we would never go in a million years, nor would we wish to.

We are all of us like Alice in Lewis Carroll’s immortal tale in which she falls down a rabbit hole that takes her into a world we can scarcely imagine, one in which she bumps into surprising, often delightful, creatures.  We know we’re eventually going to bump into goodbye and its requisite pain, which never leaves us unaffected and changes us forever.

In our Wonderland we will bump into things in the aftermath of saying goodbye, like the sensations which wash over us when we feel the aftershocks of an earthquake. Sometimes the creature we bump into is sorrow, or an empty feeling of loneliness; sometimes, not irreverently, we bump into an amazing sense of relief when we are freed from exhausting caregiving.

What an exhilarating word “hello” can be. It kicks down the door to an unimaginable, uncharted world of adventure and possibility: new love, new relationships, new journeys, new places to explore, new thrills of discovery. . .like falling down our own rabbit hole.  Consider how many words describe it: joyous, arousing, gladdening, intoxicating, energizing, and alluring.

What an exasperating word “goodbye” can be.  It slams shut every door that “hello” opens, and often marks the chilling end to relationships, to love, and sometimes to life itself.  It has the explosive power to blast our surpassingly happy world to kingdom come.  Consider how many words describe it: vexing, maddening, irksome, disturbing, tormenting, and frustrating.

So, why do we have such a difficult time saying such a simple word? Let me suggest four likely reasons.

Goodbye seems almost invariably to have pain attached to it, a searing awareness of the loss of someone precious.  It’s the acute sense that ‘I’m losing someone who cannot come back and can never be replaced.’ Their loss leaves a gaping hole, an empty place in our heart that cannot be filled.  No substitute ever made satisfies the longing, the unending, unstoppable ache, left by such a loss.  Who has not seen the photo of a dove standing helplessly over the body of his lost mate?  Or the shepherd dog who sleeps on the grave of his missing master and refuses to leave?

Second, goodbye rudely confronts us with our mortality, our frailty, our vulnerability; it whispers in our ear the words of John Donne we may wish not to hear, “The bell tolls for thee.”  We’re faced with the harsh reality that we’re not going to live forever, that a day most certainly will come when the valediction we hear will be said to us.  Those fresh footprints “on the sands of time” are ours.

In a single breath, one final heartbeat, the one we love steps right into eternity, leaving us, like a man standing on the tarmac as the plane leaves, with an unwelcome truth:  we are stuck here on the planet with relationships that will forever remain unfinished.  We can angrily protest: “Not yet! We weren’t done!”  We feel our lives have been burglarized, our pockets picked. What we could have said and should have said, and did not say, what we could have done and should have done, and did not do, comes back to haunt us.

Hours, days, years. . .moments of sublime happiness, magnificent achievement, indescribable glory. . .all slip through our fingers.   Trying to hold onto them is as futile as tightly gripping a handful of fine sand on a seashore.

In the movie Patton, George C. Scott concludes the story with a sobering reflection:

For over 1,000 years Roman conquerors returning from the wars

            enjoyed the honor of triumph, a tumultuous parade.  In the parade came

            trumpeters, and musicians and strange animals from the conquered

            territories, together with carts laden with treasures and captured

            armaments.  The conqueror rode in a triumphant chariot, the dazed

              prisoners walking in chains before him.  Sometimes his children

robed in white stood with him in the chariot or rode trace horses.

            A slave stood behind the conqueror holding a golden crown, and

            whispering in his ear a solemn warning. . .that all glory is fleeting.

Third, “goodbye” is hard to say because it carries the image of death, of the loss of someone.  It means the revisiting of earlier goodbyes that are forever indelible in our memories, said to other people whom we have loved more than life itself.  We never say it to just one person, but rather to layer upon layer of farewells said to others important to us.  It’s those other farewells that act on the stage of our memory. . .face after face of those we have loved and lost, names we cannot summon without emotion.  Saying goodbye has a way of tormenting us by reopening wounds which never quite healed, so that at any given moment we can re-live those happy-turned-sad memories of others we still cherish.

And finally, a meaningful goodbye needs to be personalized and customized, but the words don’t seem to form when we most need them.  Attempts to lighten the intensity of the moment run the high risk of being cheesy, tasteless, or downright awful, as in: “See you later, alligator,” or, “Catch you on the flip side.”

If the reader doubts saying goodbye is difficult, then why does one find dozens of synonyms for it and in many languages?  Why is it so hard to find the perfect word that has the right meaning and sets the right tone?  We want our final word to be like an after-dinner mint that leaves the right aftertaste. But how does one say goodbye when goodbye isn’t enough?

Our euphemisms to avoid saying farewell can be as inane as they are endless: “Hang in there.”  “More power to you.”  How we love to tiptoe around the awkward moment when it’s time to say farewell!  Sometimes we combine hello and goodbye when we pass a person, as in, “Have a good one!”.  The truth is there’s no one-size-fits-all, foolproof way to say it.

Goodbye is the price we pay when we say that first hello that leads to a relationship, because in every promising greeting the seeds of an inevitable farewell are already planted. These mostly wonderful things we call life and love will bring with them the sweet and bitter, the loving and losing, the hellos and goodbyes.

Tennyson, the most famous poet of England’s Victorian era, probably said it best in his In Memorium:

“. . .’tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

Would we tamper with our choice to love deeply despite the unavoidable risks?  Probably not, not if we are wise.  Not if we are fortunate enough to have tasted that depth of affection.

In the wonderful movie Shadowlands, C. S. Lewis is walking on a snow-packed path with his brother Warnie shortly after the death of his wife, Joy. Warnie asks Lewis about his decision to marry Joy: “Do you wish you’d chosen differently?”.  Lewis cryptically responds, “No.”

The point seems clear:  as heart-breaking as saying goodbye is, to have never said the hello that opened the door to an endearing relationship is infinitely worse.

Maybe “hello” and “goodbye” are meant to be the bookends of our lives. . .of relationships, of everything and everyone we value, of who we are and whose we are.

They certainly represent the bookends of the author’s life—the “hello” and “goodbye” that opened and closed the relationship with the love of his life.

“Hello” happened that fine spring day in 1962 in the hallway of Travis Avenue Baptist Church, Fort Worth.

I cannot imagine the tragedy of not saying “hello” to that classy, feisty, brown-eyed beauty named Helen who attended TCU. . .wearing that stunning form-fitting white dress that fit her form in a way I should not speak of. . .the short-sleeved one, the one with pretty polka dots of gentle colors: lavender, pink, yellow.  But who pays attention to silly details like those, or to expressive eyes and an effortless smile in which I could lose myself—the math major who could slam-dunk abstract algebra but couldn’t balance a checkbook—the one whose elegant hand slipped so perfectly into mine?

Love came softly and quietly for us, a gentle Camelot-thing, without pyrotechnics and loud noises. But it came quickly and effortlessly and gained the force of a locomotive in an idyllic dream that overnight became 56 years.

“Goodbye” came as dawn broke that crisp Sunday morning just before Christmas 2019, in a room at Brookhaven in Norman, Oklahoma.  Cancer had gotten a head start on us five months earlier, and we never had a chance to catch up; we were beaten before we started. The battle we waged was fast and fierce and deadly, and we lost. In our joy-filled years together H and I never found the bottom to our love, just as I have not found the bottom to my sorrow.  I had no idea grief could dive so deeply.

Maybe we who want to be wholly devoted followers of Christ should imitate the woman who insisted she be buried with a fork in her hand.  Asked why, she replied with a twinkle in her eye: ‘Because we haven’t had dessert yet!’

Life has sent me on this unwanted journey to figure out how to do life without Helen, to breathe without oxygen, to engage the pain and at the same time seize the joy and hope of Jesus’ solemn promise that some glad day there will be a blissful reunion.  Dessert, if you will. . .

So, why this article?

It’s the author’s attempt, as a Christ-follower, to do battle with the pain of some of the goodbyes he, like everyone on our tiny planet, has had to say, to sort out the clashing emotions that accompany crippling loss.

For the Christian the word goodbye can be as full of life-giving hope as it is of unbearable pain, in the same strange way we laugh and cry at the same time. We can shed bitter tears and yet be filled with hope and promise. . .just like goodbye and hello.

Goodbye carries its own meaning because of what Christ said: “I will come again. . .I will see you again.” (I Thess. 4:13-18) For the Christian, goodbye is seen in the light of Christ’s resurrection, and the promised, soon-coming resurrection of all believers. . .so that it means parting only for a little while.  We will soon meet again.

Goodbye. . .God be with you because I can’t be.

Goodbye. . .until I see you once more.

Goodbye. . .but only for a little while.

For many, including new or immature Christians, the separation from a loved one brings great difficulty.   We are left with our heart in our hands, asking:  what do I do now?  How do I come to terms with my loss?  Our heart and head can offer very different, sometimes confusing, and often contradictory answers. To what do I turn for help that helps?

Some men turn to reason, to try and figure it all out, to get a sensible answer to the staggering question: “Why?”.  We all of us share a desperate need for things to just make sense, but often that question swallows us whole.  Human reason is vital for our survival, serves us wonderfully, and does enormous good; but it always disappoints us in the end because it makes promises it cannot keep.  No reason, no rational explanation ever offered, can slake the thirst of the human heart.

Some men erupt in rage. . .at God, at life, at others, at the innocent, and at self.  Some lash out, “I will not speak to a God who allows such tragedies to happen!” Anger has many close relatives who gladly consume every ounce of our emotional energy: bitterness, cynicism, pessimism, withdrawal, denial, sarcasm, hostility, and sometimes cruelty.  All these shrivel the soul, drive away the people who reach out to us, and alienate those whom we most need. When our fury is spent, we sadly self-destruct.

Where then can we turn? Is there a way out of the dark place I’m in?

The writer did not discover the way; the way discovered him.  It is the way of the grateful heart, the thankful one.  It is the discovery that gratitude, more than any one other thing, drives away anxiety, sorrow, confusion, and doubt. It is the thankful heart that is the happy heart; and happy hearts heal.  Thankful for what?

• for our families, for children and grands, for good friends and even Cousin Eddie
• for the sheer joy of tasting love and friendship
• that life is pure gift.
• for hope, the one thing every Christian has that sadly no unbeliever has.
• for God’s unconditional love, and that happy day we became a believer.
• for God’s Word, the bottomless aquifer of truth and comfort from which we drink.
• for Christian friends, those little colonies of heaven scattered all over the place.
• for the privilege of growing old
• . .. (supply your own)

On what is this “grateful heart” based if not an unshakeable belief in a sovereign God who is surpassingly gracious and compassionate, supremely good, kind, forgiving, and just.

We all of us are going to be saying “goodbye” to something or someone as long as we live. . .be it pets, homes, friends, dreams, and relationships no longer possible. But for the believer, goodbye is simply the prelude to the best hello we can ever imagine.

Thank you, Henry VanDyke, for uplifting us:

“I am standing upon the seashore.  A ship, at my side, spreads her

            white sails to the moving breeze and starts for the blue ocean.  She

            is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until, at

            length, she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and

            sky come to mingle with each other.

            Then, someone at my side says, “There, she is gone.”  Gone where?

            Gone from my sight.  That is all.  She is just as large in mast, hull

            and spar as she was when she left my side.  And, she is just as able

            to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.  Her diminished

            size is in me—not in her.

            And, just at the moment when someone says, ‘There, she is gone,’

            there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to

            take up the glad shout, ‘Here she comes!’

And that is death. . . . .”

What sounds like goodbye can be a hello about to dock.                  Don M. Hull   © 2024

Christian Discipleship:

Connecting “Here & Now” with “There & Then”

          The spiritually healthy Christian is one whose life in the present is loaded with the future, and whose future is loaded with the present.

But many believers live as though their present efforts toward maturing as a Christ-follower are disconnected from their future life in heaven, that one has no particular bearing on the other.  That’s understandable when we consider how radically different they are.  Our present life is “here and now,” physical and visible, and intensely practical. Our future life in heaven is “there and then,” spiritual and unseen, certain and secure, but somewhat fanciful and speculative.

Discipleship isn’t just about becoming a better follower of Christ in this life, worthy as that is.  It is infinitely more important for the life to come.   Here’s why.

The Race Marked Out for Us

            It is misleading to speak of a present life and a future life as though they were separate realities.  If it is true that eternal life begins the moment of our Christian conversion, then the more accurate view is that we have one continuous life which is lived in stages.   The author of Hebrews suggests we think of the Christian life as a race to be run:

“. . .since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw

            off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run

            with perseverance the race marked out for us.”  Hebrews 12:1,2 NIV

We can expect this journey to include three stages common to all believers.

The Stage of Spiritual Growth

As a believer cooperates with the Holy Spirit in his transforming work, he gradually becomes like Christ in character, thought, and deed.  He embraces virtues such as love, forbearance, grace, and kindness, and he becomes even more useful and effective.

The Stage of Transition

The rite of passage we call death merely describes our transfer from our present earthly existence to the future spiritual realm.  We undergo glorious change, including the elimination of our sinful nature, and become equipped to live in a resurrected spiritual body.  Our personality, skills, spiritual gifts, and experience gained in life—everything about us—remain intact as we morph from mortal into immortal.

The Endless Stage of Reigning With Christ

It is almost impossible to think about this stage without becoming choked with emotion.  This is our unimaginable future life with Christ for which we are being prepared, and it for us.

Heaven will be teeming with life and brimming over with endless creative activity in a community of oneness with God and countless other believers.  We will each of us have enlarged, ennobling responsibilities as we learn to serve Him who is rightly called The King of Kings:

“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has

            prepared for those who love him.”  Isaiah 64:4; I Cor. 2:9, NIV

Herein lies a subtle and serious problem.  Unless the connection is made between discipleship in this life and full participation in the next, there will be multiple consequences.

First, we rob the present.   Take away his hope in the future and most of what enables the Christian to function is removed.  Hope empowers the believer to live in the present.  It defines and sustains us as nothing else can.  The glory of the life to come makes the worst trials of this life seem like a trifle.  Paul said,

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that

            will be revealed in us.”   Romans 8:18, NIV

The future, understood and embraced, makes the present make sense.  Dallas Willard observed,

“We are greatly strengthened for life in the kingdom now by an understanding

            of what our future holds, and especially of how that future relates to our present

            experience.  For only then do we really understand what our current life is and

            are able to make choices that agree with reality.”

Second, we shortchange the future.  If Christian discipleship is about the perfecting of character, then it is the most serious business we undertake.  In heaven we will not sit and stare at each other, or at God, watching for what happens next, or waiting for someone to make a move.  We are created to take an active role as we join the Father in his never-ending creative work.  Jesus made it clear that the development of our character and faithfulness in handling responsibility sets the level of our participation:

“Well done, good and faithful servant!  You have been faithful with a few things,

            I will put you in charge of many things.”  Matthew 25:23, NIV

Being entrusted with many things speaks of the excellence of our character and our trustworthiness which permit God to grant us unprecedented freedom and empowerment in the life to come.

Our Astonishing Service in Heaven

The author, John, speaks of man’s role in the new heaven and earth God will create:

“The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his

            servants will serve him.”  Revelation 22:3, NIV

Think of a new and perfect universe filled with people who are perfectly right with God and right with each other, who are in perfect harmony with His will, and who have a heart to serve!  In our known universe there are millions of unoccupied galaxies available for growth and expansion, providing unlimited space for creative things to be done that will boggle our minds.

As I visualize what our service in heaven might be like, it helps to remember the role originally given Adam and Eve, as well as all mankind.  Adam was told to “work it (the earth) and take care of it.”  He was placed in a position of oversight and stewardship.

All through his long and storied history, imperfect man has been doing imperfect work imperfectly in a imperfect world.   We cannot fully grasp or understand the terrible extent to which sin crippled God’s plan and wrecked man’s ability to glorify Him.

Perhaps man will once again be liberated and empowered to do God’s will, not in the Garden of Eden, but in a new order and on a glorious scale that is unimaginable.  Redeemed men will have undergone a spiritual makeover that eliminates forever the devastating, scarring effects of sin and rebellion.

I cannot wrap my mind around how it will feel to be exactly like our Lord, to experience what it means to be a son of God and joint heir with Christ, and not feel the downward pull of a sinful nature.  What will it feel like to effortlessly love God with a sterling heart?

Equipped with a new heart, a renewed mind, and a transformed body—capable of only noble thoughts, gracious words, and worthy deeds—we will be productive at a level that staggers the mind.  How little we grasp the implication of the phrase, “his servants will serve him.” (Revelation 22:3, NIV) Jesus did not say specifically how he would reward his followers for their good works, but the suggestion is strong it will include greatly enlarged opportunities to serve.

I believe there will be mind-numbing challenges to solve and causes to champion in heaven that will stimulate our minds and require our leadership abilities as never before.  In the boundless expanse of eternity there will be great good to be done and indescribable service to perform that requires the utmost bravery from the stoutest heart.

Preparing To Serve in Heaven

            For the believer, our present stage—what we called “The Stage of Spiritual Growth” —is a critically important time of preparation.

The Scriptures repeatedly use the analogy that, at conversion, we are born spiritually much like a human baby. (II Peter 2:2) With our obedience, and the patient work of the indwelling Holy Spirit, we can and should grow into mature, fully devoted followers of Christ. (Colossians 1:28) In that spiritual journey, we begin as immature disciples who need training and empowering, and grow to assume a greatly enlarged role as servants, as joint heirs with Christ (Romans 8:14, 16 NIV), and as his co-regents to reign over the new order:

“. . .his servants will worship him. . .and they will reign forever and ever.”

                                                                                                Revelation 22:3-5 NIV

We enter heaven as the same absolutely unique person we were on earth.  Nothing about us is diminished or lost.  We will be who we have always been, except we are retrofitted with a supernatural body like that of Jesus.   We happily discard our sinful nature, and our character becomes morally flawless.  The rich experiences we gain while on earth through diligent labor, practice, testing, and adversity—plus our spiritual gifts and skills honed to perfection—are all requisite to our future heavenly service.

The Bible does not provide clear answers to countless questions that tug at our minds.  How will God be fair to believers whose lives were cut short, who did not have the privilege others had to grow and serve? We have so many questions about children and the kingdom.  In heaven, how is God going to make the playing field level?  We simply do not know.  Regardless how He chooses to do it, we can be sure He will do the right and just thing with all His children.  There will be no need to make comparisons, no “have’s and have-not’s,” and no inequities.

What is startlingly clear is the grave responsibility that rests upon those who know the joys of extended life and have many more opportunities to demonstrate their trustworthiness:

“From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded, and from

            The one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.”

Luke 12:48 NIV

“What did you do with what you were given?” will be the penetrating question that searches the soul of every Christ-follower.

The thought that we are to join Christ in ruling and reigning over the heavenly order stretches my understanding.  How can we, even though we are related to God and allied to heaven like no other part of creation? —“in our image, after our likeness.”  What abilities do we possess that make us like Him, in form and semblance?  At least four come to mind:  the ability to think, speak, choose, and act.  But how do we prepare?

Man is capable of action to effect change, the power to make things happen.  To guide him in the use of that power he has been given the faculties of reason and volition.  Reason informs our will, and our will directs our actions.  So that right thinking leads to right choices which, in turn, lead to right behavior and deeds.  Speech provides interaction with the world of others.

As one lives his life, can he become more like God in character and become better equipped to reign with Him?  Yes.  But never in the sense of getting where one can handle things on his own and outgrowing, as it were, our need of Him.  Jesus showed us how.

With Jesus as our example, we are to be “like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose.” Philippians 2:2 NIV   We should lay aside selfish ambition, vain conceit, and in a spirit of humility look to the interests of others more than our own: “Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus.” 2:3-5 NIV

Jesus demonstrated through his life how it’s done: right thinking, which leads to right choices, which, in turn, leads to right actions.  Philippians 2:2-11 NIV expresses it this way:

• Right Thinking “in humility” and “consider others better than yourselves” (vs. 3); “look to the interests of others” (vs. 4)
• Right Choosing “he made himself nothing” and “he took the very nature of a

nature of a servant” (vs. 7)

• Right Acting “he humbled himself” and “became obedient unto death” (v. 8)

And what was the result of all this?  “God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name . . .” (vs. 9)   Jesus’ example of thinking, choosing, and acting shows us how to please God.  This is man acting like the man God created him to be, in His “image and likeness.”

Can you and I as Christ-followers grow in our ability to think the thoughts of God?  Yes.  Can we make better choices like those He makes?  Yes.  Can we behave in ways that reflect His character and bring honor to Him?  Yes.   And we must.

The Wise Use Of “Here & Now”    

            What do you and I need to be doing if the following precepts really are true?

1. What we acquire in this life (character, personality, knowledge, experience,

spiritual development, giftedness, skills, etc.) is fully retained when we die and is absolutely vital in the life to come, our “There & Then.”

2. The level of our opportunities to serve in heaven—our sharing with Christ in the rule and reign he promised—is directly dependent on our diligence, faithfulness, and

trustworthiness in our present life and work, our “Here & Now.”

We ought to be devoting every moment we have, and every ounce of energy we have, to proactively engaging in extreme living—embracing virtues like grace, humility, love, compassion, and goodness until they become our true character.   We ought to proactively seize every opportunity to learn, grow, and develop as much as we possibly can.  And, finally, we must understand, as Dallas Willard said, it is God’s intention that all believers become spiritually transformed to the point He can empower and set them free in the heavenly order to do that toward which they are drawn.   For this to happen, the character of the Christian is not just important, it is everything!

In the “Here & Now” of our lives we can grow steadily forward—thought by thought, word by word, choice by choice, deed by deed—and become more like Jesus, thus taking on a strong resemblance to the royal, reigning family of which we are a part.

Despite all his sin, false starts, mistakes, and failure—despite the agonizing slowness with which growth and character development come—the Christian is still part of heaven’s nobility who will someday join the Great King and share the blessings of His reign.

Don M. Hull ©2021

Blessed Are the Unsuspecting

The Awkward Subject of Spiritual Rewards

I do not remember asking my father for very much.  I never needed to, for he always stayed one step ahead of me in asking and giving and was, I suppose, the most generous man I have ever known.  He anticipated my thoughts; before I could ask, I received.  What he gave seemed to always be more than what I was going to ask.  That was my dad, and his giving was about grace.  And relationship: I was his son!

What comes to mind as I think about rewards is not so much the worthiness of Christians to receive them as God’s outrageous generosity, as our Heavenly Father, in giving them.  I have not thought this way most of my Christian experience which now exceeds 60 years.

A reward is simply God’s gracious repayment to the Christian for good things done which the believer would have done anyway had there been no thought of reward.

Rewards are defined in terms of grace, which is God’s unsolicited, unearned favor.  Grace unlocks the door to understanding rewards from God’s point of view.

In the same way grace is extended to a repentant sinner to receive the forgiveness he could never earn, God likewise gives grace to His faithful servants in the form of rewards they could never earn. Rewards reveal the great heart of God; they are about his mercy and grace; they are about relationships.

Perplexity

The subject of rewards is unusually, perhaps unnecessarily, troublesome for growing Christians as we try to reconcile our seemingly contradictory thoughts about them.  Why have we made it so difficult to talk about the coming rewards for faithful service that Jesus spoke about so often?  One who raises the topic runs the risk of being looked at as someone who must not be very “spiritual”, or he would know better.

Can we discover truth that will help lighten up a subject that can give us spine-tingling joy?  My godly mother suffered from none of these inhibitions.  She was often heard to boldly, but not irreverently, exclaim about the bliss of future rewards, “I want some!”

The widespread expectation is that Christians ought to spend their entire lives in service to God and others, selflessly and with a glad heart, and with no thought of personal gain.  This ideal obviously runs cross-grain with the values of our culture, and this conflict seeps over into our thinking about rewards.  The world’s reward system requires something in return for something else; or, tit-for-tat, quid-pro-quo, “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”  God’s reward system is radically different.

Grace, Tough Times, and Rewards

We intuitively know what the Scriptures make clear, that God’s grace is free and can never be earned, and that our lives are to express humility.  We are to put the interests of others ahead of our own.  Talking about rewards quickly becomes awkward because we don’t want to seem selfish or prideful, and we are certainly not supposed to think in terms of entitlement.

We live in a culture whose underpinning is: What’s in it for me?  “What do I get out of the deal?” is the crass expression that drives much of the way business is handled, and the way life is lived for many.  Not, “What can I do that will benefit others”?  Or “What’s best for everybody”?  Our most innocent questions about rewards seem to quickly get knotted up with suspicions about pride and humility, about works and grace.  Are we working to earn God’s favor and rewards, or serving Him in response to His generous gift of grace through Christ?

We live in a broken world, one filled with broken people corrupted by sin, in which Satan is permitted to exercise limited rule.  The ungodly really do prosper, while God’s people seem to be getting the worst of it.  The wicked appear to be having a lot more fun than believers.  Bad things do happen to good people who are doing good.

In the tough times, what Christian has not fretted, “It looks like we are losing this thing”?  Or has not asked the question born out of grief and pain, “Does it really pay to serve the Lord?  Is all this worth it?”

Matthews Henry astutely pointed out that we struggle the whole of our lives with two great anomalies: Suffering Goodness and Triumphant Wickedness.

Paradox

The thinking Christian wanting to learn about spiritual rewards immediately bumps into several paradoxes. For example, anyone who tries to serve God with any expectation of getting something in return, who reminds Him how deserving he is, will receive no reward at all.  He need never ask, “What’s in it for me?”  The answer will be as simple as it is terse: Nothing.

By contrast, anyone who works selflessly, whose only motive is love and gratitude for the grace he has received, will enjoy a reward from God all out of proportion to his capacity to receive it.

Two precepts about rewards come from this: (1) Scheming and expecting to earn rewards only reveals your greed, and you will surely disappoint the heart of God; and (2) Serving gladly with no thought of personal gain, with no other motive than love for God and others, brings great reward.

Why Bother Talking About Rewards?

            So, why bother thinking about rewards if we cannot work for them and should never expect to receive them?  Is it legitimate, or even wise, to write about them?  Yes.

The Bible offers reasons why properly understanding rewards is a “must” for the Christian:

1. Motives (Are ours right or wrong from God’s point of view?)

Jesus never hesitated to talk about rewards.  He taught that the wrong way to serve God (based on law) leads to nothing more than the hollow applause of men, while the right way of serving Him (based on love) leads to His highest favor.  He said, “Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men to be seen by them.  If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. . . .do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret.”  (Mt. 6:1-4, NIV)

A legendary French nurse who died during World War I perhaps said it best when she wrote in her diary, “Do good, and disappear.”  Maybe it was her way of saying, “Don’t stand around waiting for someone to pat you on the back for having done something good.”

The apostle Paul taught that our good deeds only retain their value after they have been severely tested by “fire”; that is, they are scrutinized to see what our motivation was in doing them.  Only what is done with the proper motive will survive incineration: “If any man builds on this foundation (Jesus Christ) using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay, or straw, his will be shown for what it is. . .it will be revealed with fire. . .if what he has built survives, he will receive his reward.  If it is burned up, he will suffer loss. . .” (I Cor. 3:11-15, NIV)

2. Comfort and Encouragement (Rewards can provide both!)

The ultimate reward for the Christian is to forever live in the presence of Christ.  A day is coming when that will be living reality: “. . .and so shall we ever be with the Lord forever.” (I Thess. 4:17-18, NIV) Paul adds: “. . .encourage each other with these words.”

But until then, we live in a broken world filled with exploitation, greed, and indulgence.  As a Christ-follower, I need to be told in clear terms that it pays to serve Him.  I need the encouragement that comes from knowing God honors a life well-lived, and that He chooses to reward the Christian who pays the price of obedience and whose life is filled with acts of kindness done in His name.

Tell me again it is worthwhile to live virtuously, to give myself freely to those in need, to refuse to adopt the world’s mantra: What’s in it for me?

Tell me again and again about God’s plans to reward the faithful who slug it out day-by-day, resolved to live singleheartedly for Christ, and to honor Him with every thought, decision, and deed.  I want to taste some of the “joy of the Lord” every Christ-follower is invited to share. (Mt. 25:22, NIV)

I need to know that, at the end of my life’s work, it is possible to hear Christ say: “Well done, good and faithful servant!” (Mt. 25:21, NIV)

3. Relationship (The possibility of rewards challenges us to higher levels of relationship and faith with God.)

The favor of my own father has been a powerful motivator all my life.  As a Christ-follower, it has been easy to grasp the significance of the favor of a Heavenly Father.  No story Jesus told describes the great heart of God better than the “Prodigal Son.” (Luke 15, NIV) The much-loved story illustrates rewards are about grace (receiving) and not about entitlement (earning).

Upon returning home, the Prodigal thinks himself unworthy of his former father-son relationship and arrives with nothing except ragged clothes, misery, and the wreckage of a wasted life.  Yet the glad father showers him with privileges, not for any favor earned, but in celebration and restoration of a ruined life.  The rewards the son receives are based on relationship and grace.

4. Greater Opportunities to Serve (Not only now, but in God’s eternal kingdom.)

Jesus said, “Behold, I am coming soon!  My reward is with me, and I will give to everyone according to what he has done.” ( . 22:12, NIV)

We determine the reward God will give us, much or little, by our service and diligence, and by what we faithfully did with what we were given.  God does not reward us arbitrarily or capriciously, but in proportion to the initiative we show.  We, not God, set the limits on what we receive.

We are not told what form rewards will take or specifically when they will be received.  Jesus’ teachings make it clear they are of a spiritual nature, not material.  There is in his teachings the strong suggestion they will include enlarged, ennobling opportunities to serve on a scale we can scarcely imagine.  How we develop the talents and gifts we are given to work with in this life could not be of more critical importance.  Jesus taught that our faithfulness over a “few things” will explode into being trusted with “many things.”  Dallas Willard observes,

“. . .the intention of God is that we should each become the kind of person whom

he can set free in his universe, empowered to do what we want to do.  Just as we

desire and intend this, so far as possible, for our children and others we love, so

God desires and intends it for his children.  But character, the inner directedness

of the self, must develop to the point that is possible.” (The Divine Conspiracy, p. 379)

When Christians die, we don’t abruptly cease to be who we are.  Our personality and rich experience aren’t left behind, and our Holy Spirit-implanted gifts and perfected skills aren’t disregarded or discarded.  They all go with us as an essential part of our transformation and glorious future.  Christ said, “I am preparing a place for you.”  And piled on top all that will be God’s rewards.

Perhaps our rewards will include a kind of commissioning by God to join Him in endless creative work to be done around our universe.  Empowered by God, and with His limitless resources at our disposal, we may ask the simplest question, “What would you like me to do”?  only to find ourselves completely unprepared for His answer: “What would you like to do”?  How we answer that question may set into motion things to be done and services to perform at a level that will numb our mind.  Will there be difficult, complex problems to solve?  Adventure?  Challenges that will challenge our abilities to the limit?  Unbelievable opportunities that will stretch our minds, challenge our courage, and test our ability to create and lead?  No question about it!

Blessed Are the Unsuspecting

The best gift is the one that catches us unsuspecting.  What excitement we feel when we receive something wholly unexpected!  The rewards of heaven will be like that.  Our heart will beat faster, and our breath will grow shorter when we hear the Lord call our name and say, “I have a surprise for you.”

Maybe one of the reasons we aren’t told what rewards will be is that God doesn’t want to be denied the fun of surprising us.  Only one with the gift of giving understands the sheer delight of that.

There is so much we don’t know about the day when works will be judged, and rewards rendered.  But we do know it will be a day of stunning, unexpected discoveries.

There will be tragic, shattering disappointments as many who thought themselves worthy of great position and reward protest to Christ that some terrible mistake has been made: “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name. . .perform many miracles”? (Mt. 7:22, NIV) In utter disbelief, they will hear Him disown their claims to a heavenly windfall: “Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you.  Away from me. . .!” (Mt. 7:23, NIV)

There will also be gleeful, unsuspected ecstasy and unspeakable sweetness as Christ heaps rewards on startled disciples who ask, “Lord, when did we see you hungry. . .thirsty. . .a stranger. . .sick or in prison. . .?”  (Mt. 7:37-39, NIV) It never occurred to them their work was being observed and would be further rewarded.  They had already discovered surpassing happiness in loving and caring for the people Jesus loved: “The King will reply, ‘. . .whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for me’.” (Mt. 7:40, NIV)

The bonus blessings continue in a torrent:  the small will be great, the unknown cheered, the forgotten remembered, the unnoticed crowned, the faithful honored, the mourning comforted, the hungry and thirsty filled, the pure in heart see God, and the poor in spirit inherit a kingdom!

Because we understand the greatness and goodness of God, we gladly do His will and work with no thought of “What’s in it for me?”  We do what we do because of who God is and out of gratitude for His indescribable grace, goodness, and greatness.

Blessed are the unsuspecting, for they shall be greatly rewarded.

Don M. Hull

©  2021

Benediction

          The day before she died, my 90 year-old mother confronted me with a question that startled me.

She asked, “Have you become the person in life you wanted to become?”

We had been carrying on lighthearted conversation in the lobby of her assisted living center and exchanging good-natured barbs.  Then, out of the blue, she fired at point blank range this probing question at me.

As I now reflect back on that moment, her question seems to relate more to her life than to mine, as if she was asking the question of herself.  It is evident she was thinking back over her life in sweet reflection.  She was pondering her own long journey, how fulfilling it had been.  And how fortunate she had been to reach so many goals in life which, to her, were sure evidence of how good and faithful God had been through the changing seasons of her life.

There were the stressful college years in the late 1930s when she worked as a café waitress, scrimping and saving every penny, hoping to eke out enough to go just one more semester.  Then she married my father, and together they shared three decades of teaching in public schools, side by side.  My dad’s early death placed my mother in a 32-year widowhood in which she served as an elected county school official, a community volunteer and church worker, and many years as a first-rate grandmother.

She had a huge inventory of cherished memories spanning 45 years that impacted thousands of Oklahoma youngsters going to school.  She could recall those special kids she taught and helped along the way to become in life what they wanted to become.

Now my mother was asking herself the question:  “Have I become the person in life I wanted to become?”  “Am I there?”

The roots of that question can be traced back more than 60 years to a vow she made to God in a very dark hour.

I contracted a life-threatening case of pneumonia in the fall of 1940 when I was less than a month old.  I had great difficulty breathing and the doctors told my mother is was “touch and go” whether I would survive.  Three weeks passed before the crisis subsided and I was finally allowed to go home.

My mother told me several times—always in carefully-guarded, calculated language so as not to put any expectation on me—about her spiritual struggle with God during those desperate hours.  How she pleaded with God to intervene, to spare my life which had barely begun.  How she promised God that, if she could keep me, she would faithfully raise me for His glory.

Through all my growing-up years she was cautious never to communicate any sense of my being obligated to God, or implying any sense of debt I had to pay for my life being spared.  But she did about everything else to raise me in the best possible spiritual environment.  As an irresponsible teenager, there were countless times I was escorted to church under protest.  But, despite all my growling, my mother did her job, and kept that commitment as well as anyone could.

All through college and doctoral studies. . .into marriage. . .through the years of raising my children who now have their own families. . .and  finally as I engage the senior years. . .I have felt her gentle hand of influence.  She never stopped encouraging and exhorting me toward faithfulness in prayer, excellence in Christian service (which was my choice), and trying to raise her grandchildren in the fear of the Lord.  In a soft, relentless, positive kind of way, she set through her personal influence the bar very high to live right and do right.

I think her question to me about whether I had “become the person I wanted to become” was really her way of asking if I thought I could now make it on my own without her help.  This is a 90 year-old asking a 60+ year-old if he still needs help!   She seemed to ask:  “Is my vow fulfilled?  Do I have permission to lay the burden down?  Can I put you down now?”

I paused a moment to think, then answered with confidence, “I have.  I’m not completely there yet, but I’m close.  Just need a little more time.”  And then I had the presence of mind to turn the question on her:  “What about you?”   With no hesitation she replied, “Oh, yes.”

I pursued:  “What does that mean?”

She replied simply, “Well, I wanted to marry Hull (my dad), and I got to do that.  I wanted to have a child, and I got to do that.”   I waited for more.  There was no more.

All the troubles of this life. . .45 years of teaching countless kids. . .loss of friends and independent living and her own vitality. . .all dropped away as effortlessly as a tree sheds its leaves.  She distilled a storied lifetime spanning nine decades down to two people, my father and me.

I kissed her and left.  Our conversation had come to an end.

The next day her life came to an end.

She just slipped away, as quietly and gently as a snowflake falls.  She died in her sleep, with no evidence of struggle, and with the slightest smile left on her lips.  In sublime peace.

Mission accomplished.  Vow fulfilled.  Promise kept.

I think she found in my answer the release and freedom she sought to her question.  Though I had no way of knowing it at the moment, my answer represented closure on a vow she had made a lifetime earlier.  In surpassing beauty, I now see a picture of a tired, worn-out, but victorious old saint gently laying down the task she had carried more than six decades.

When God steps in to lift the weight of the last care and the last burden off the human spirit, what is left for it to do but stretch its wings and fly?

Home.

In some mysterious and precious way I wonder if my mother did not have some premonition about how eminent was her spiritual graduation day.  There had been no hint of foreboding, no dread, no melancholy.  She seemed to sense the final sentences of her storied life were being written.

There were no “loose ends” to tie up.  No fractured relationships to repair.  No longings of any kind to be fulfilled.  No last-minute moralizing, teaching, or exhortation.  No final rush to do or say anything at all.  When it came time to die, all she had to do was die.

The pull of heaven overcame the pull of earth and her spirit took its flight.

My mother’s question now seems like a benediction on her life:  “Have you become the person in life you wanted to become?”  And without actually saying the words, her life message was like a prayer of blessing that concluded with, “I have.”

All we need to do now is say, “Amen.”

Don M. Hull     © 2016

God: The 24/7 Caregiver

The neurologist broke the unexpected news to me as compassionately as anyone could, but his brutal honesty hit me hard.

“Your mother has Alzheimer’s disease, with advancing dementia.”  I sat thunderstruck as I listened to the diagnosis.

Some of the tests she had been asked to perform were embarrassingly simple.  I gasped in disbelief when I saw her inability to handle basic short-term memory tests, like being told the words cat, door, moon and asked a few moments later to recount them in that order.  But if asked about something that happened 50 to 60 years ago, she could give you a stunningly accurate account.

I cried later when I was alone because I knew that Alzheimer’s means the agonizingly slow death, not of the body, but of the mind.  I felt heartbreak as I knew it would be my task, as her only child, to preside over her descent into oblivion should the disease follow its normal course.

To provide for her needs, we immediately moved her into an apartment in my city, 100 miles from her friends and home.  In a matter of days, another health crisis occurred; and we tried unsuccessfully to have her live in our home.  As her needs increased, we eventually moved her to a nearby assisted-living center.  Three relocations in three months—packing and unpacking, loading and unloading—were like a recurring bad dream.

I Can’t Believe This!

I allowed my heart to believe my mother was untouchable by something like Alzheimer’s.  I never doubted should would die; I just reasoned that life would never treat her this way.  After all, she was a fun-loving, godly woman who had taught thousands of Oklahoma kids over a 45-year period and had taught Sunday school to age 87.  Until he died, she was my dad’s lifelong sweetheart.  Behind the naïve notion that God owes a Christian a better deal was my error of belief we can obligate God by earning his favor. (Ephesians 2:8-9, NIV)

In my head I knew better.  We are all fallen people in a fallen world, trying to live in a broken system in which evil and the wrong choices of men seem to have the upper hand much of the time (Romans 3:23; 6:23).

Looking at life through the eyes of faith, I see that bad things happen to believers and unbelievers alike.  They just do, and God isn’t to blame.  A harsh dose of reality is all that is needed to blow away unrealistic and unbiblical expectations like mine.

Do I Own This?

I was startled by how quickly caregiving was thrust upon me by family necessity.  The “day” that I thought was years away came.  And stayed.  I became one of more than 50 million Americans, many between ages 30 and 50, who provide some level of care for a family member or friend.  Not that statistics matter.   You are the caregiver.  Almost 45 percent of us are men.

After the initial crisis subsides, and you settle into your new role, you begin to take over bits and pieces of the person’s life, and lose a corresponding amount of control over your own life.  It starts in a deceptively simple way:  paying bills, trips to the doctor, and so forth.  But it continues until you are virtually responsible for your loved one’s life.  You weren’t aware you signed on for all this.  And there is no place to resign, not that you would.  But the thought crosses your mind because you didn’t ask for any of this.  Tragically, some shirk the role.

A provider’s role takes many shapes, depending on your relationship to the needy person for whom you assume responsibility.  You may find yourself occupying the parent role with your own parent, as I have, while she becomes increasingly childlike.  Or, you may face a different situation.

I’ll Do It but Not Own It

The caregiving role bullied its way into my already over-committed life.  It’s normal to feel resentment toward such intrusions.  I did, and then felt surprise and guilt that, as a Christian, I was capable of such feelings.   Exhausting, prolonged caregiving has proved an embarrassing way of bring out the worst in me.

I first attempted to provide care by multi-tasking it along with everything else.  It was with a glad heart and no resentment because I loved my mother, honored my father, and wanted to obey the commandment about parents (Exodus 20:12).  But I carefully refused to “own” it.  I would let this new role run parallel with my “real” life but hold it at bay.  I foolishly reasoned that someday the role would end, and I could get back to my so-called “real” life in which I am a serious disciple and want very much to grow and please God.

I’ll Own It and Do It Myself

Because I refused to embrace caregiving, I slipped into handling it myself as a necessary duty.  I acted as if I believe God and discipleship weren’t involved, as if this new role was unrelated to spiritual transformation.

Caregiving made such stressful demands on my time, emotional energy, and state of mind that I felt completely overwhelmed, as if being drowned by the person I was attempting to rescue.  Emotions ricocheted off the walls of my heart like a bullet.

One week I jotted down every erratic emotion I felt as I drove away from each visit with my mother.  I was startled by the crazy moods—almost twenty of them—I was trying to manage:

Grief. . .ongoing sorrow that Alzheimer’s was insidiously stealing her memories one by one, those wonderful souvenirs of yesterday.

Gratitude. . .to be the son of this incredibly gifted woman whose life has meant so much to so many.

Helplessness. . .that, as a lifelong “fixer” of things, I found myself facing something I couldn’t fix.

Anger. . .that there are cruel things like birth defects, cancer, and Alzheimer’s that destroy the people I love.

Intense love. . .resolve. . .depression. . .soaring hope. . .despair. . .loneliness. . .Attempting to provide care in my own strength just about sank me after a few months.  You can already guess this drove me to cry out to God for help.

Okay, God.  I’ll Do It if you’ll Help

Frederick Buechner wrote, “There is no event so commonplace but that God is present within it, always hiddenly, always leaving you room to recognize him or not to recognize him. . .”

The Holy Spirit brought to my mind Scriptures to help me see that refusing to “own” caregiving was also denying God opportunity to be involved.  In my prideful thinking, I was as shortsighted as Peter when he refused having his feet washed by Jesus.  Peter protested, “No.  You shall never wash my feet.” Jesus replied, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”  Peter repented, “Then, Lord, not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!” (John 13:8-9, NIV)

I began to see caregiving, not as an unwanted part of life, but as my life . . . as “real” as every other part, and of as much concern to God.  Where did I get the idea God wouldn’t care about this part?  Like Peter, I repented.

But God wasn’t content to merely “help” me.  I’ve never heard God’s voice, but it was as if he was saying through the Scriptures:  “I don’t want you to own this burden.  I want to own it.  Will you release it and let me be God?  Will you exchange your failing strength for my unfailing strength? (Isaiah 40:31)

Okay, God.  You Own It

Gary Thomas writes, “Life can call us into places where we feel as though we’re being poured out on behalf of others.  If we don’t build a spirit of surrender and sacrifice, we’re liable to grow resentful and bitter during such seasons.”

To receive all the grace God wants to give us, we must surrender to him the “ownership” of burdens we become aware of.  This does not mean we become passive, shirk responsibility, or fail those who depend on us.  It does mean we let God rule and reign over our lives, and we draw the strength we need from him.  Peter advised, “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (I Peter 5:7, NIV).

As I care for my mother, one of the most delightful experiences of serendipity is happening.  I am discovering God as my caregiver. . .the 24/7 kind. . .twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.  I sleep with a cell phone near my pillow, on call 24/7.  I do not face this task alone—God is listening for my call, 24/7.

Providing care is becoming more strenuous as the months pass. But every part of this ordeal is an opportunity, a door, through which I can receive massive doses of grace.  The endless trips to the doctor and the twice-daily trips to the care facility are just more ways God demonstrates his wonderful care of me.

Am I grieving?  God has Psalm 23 for my weary heart.

Am I despairing?  He uses my Christian brothers, Jim and John, to encourage me when we meet each week (2 Corinthians 1:4).

The past months have brought two precious truths into my life:

First, with the possible exception of parenting, caregiving is the most spiritually formative experience in my Christian journey thus far.  Character and virtue are not best formed in the calm and ease of life, but rather in life’s great difficulties and struggles in which we must contend.  I have found no better verse to describe this principle than Romans 5:3 (NIV):  “We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”

Caregiving became a sacred experience when I realized I needed care from God as much as my mother needed my care.  I finally “got it” that God wants to transform me as I face these difficulties.  If we will cooperate with him, God will use any new role or difficult life situation we face to bring about our spiritual transformation.

The second insight comes from watching my mother become more innocent, childlike, and dependent on me with advancing age.  It’s as if God is whispering in my ear, “Don’t you get it, Don?  That’s exactly how I want you to relate to me.”

“Let the little children come to me. . .the kingdom of God belongs to such as thee” (Luke 18:16, NIV).

Don M. Hull   © 2004, 2015

The Good Samaritan Revisited

Jesus on Compassion:  Still, “Just Do It!”

Twenty-one centuries after telling the greatly loved story of The Good Samaritan, Jesus’ final word to his followers about showing compassion is still, Just do it! Or, in his words, “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:30-37, NIV)

You know the story. The Good Samaritan (hereafter referred to as “Sam”) chooses to stop, show compassion, and rescue a dying traveler after two others have refused.

Would you have stopped? Really?

Some may think the point of the story is no more significant than the simple question, “If I see a woman with children stranded in a disabled car on the Interstate, should I stop and help?”

The story goes much further. It’s about what you do with your feelings when confronted by human need.

Jesus never said Sam was merely a character in a parable. I think somewhere in Jesus’ rich background there really was an incident involving Sam that resurfaces in his teaching. What story ever told surpasses it in warmth and tenderness?

The narrow fifteen mile road from Jerusalem to Jericho was a perfect place for thieves to ambush a traveler in a lightning fast attack, then escape undetected. The unescorted could be easy prey, so many traveled in convoys or alongside a caravan.

Falling behind to help someone could be dangerous. The thieves might reappear or might use the wounded man as a decoy to lure others.

Could the injured man even be saved?   It’s doubtful Sam was carrying the needed tools or medicines, or even possessed the training to give aid. The thought today of a liability suit for negligence still sends chills down your spine, despite our so-called “Good Samaritan” laws.

If the man died and Sam was caught with the body, he could be implicated.

It’s easy for a potential caregiver to get “trapped” in his service. In our present culture, there are many people who can contrive a need for whatever you’re willing to give. Many are perfectly willing for you and me to assume responsibility for them by taking charge of their lives. They want us to eliminate all their exposure and danger, feed, house, and transport them, and make their decisions for them.

There are so many reasons not to help that sound so right. So we leave kindness for others to do.

The officious Levite did just that. After moving in for a closer look, he deserts the gravely wounded man and leaves him to die. This passing worship leader of Israel would be like someone going home after church. He had heard the sermon, sung the songs, and prayed his prayers—yet his heart remained a stone.

The reluctant Priest, who was around God all the time, handled holy things all day long, spoke for men to God, and for God to men. But what this man was inside was very different from what he was outside. If he touched this perishing man it would restrict his duty in the temple for seven days, so he puts ceremonial service above love and concern for a man in pain.

It’s amazing that a pitiful and dying man did not soften the hearts of these two. No level of pain or tragedy can pry compassion out of their hearts.

It took a plain, ordinary man with character to make any difference.

How Did ‘Sam’ Get That Way?

Duty calls and character answers.

Sam did what he did because of who he was, and not for any other reason. What others do or refuse to do is irrelevant. Sam chooses to act in a way consistent with his character. The Scriptures simply don’t provide answers to a hundred questions that tug at our minds about what Sam was like. But it’s my personal feeling there were three elements of Sam’s character tragically missing in the Levite and Priest.

Compassion. The word means to “suffer with. Sam possessed that God-like quality that enables one to empathize with another, to enter into their pain. He didn’t merely observe the man, he identified with him, became part of him.

Sam asked nothing and expected nothing, most of all recognition, thanks, or repayment. There was no hesitation on his part. Nothing to debate or deliberate. There was no attempt to seek counsel or refer the need to someone else passing by. Here was a gravely injured man who doubtless would die if not helped. That was all there was to it.

Courage. Lots of it! There was danger in what Sam chose to do. But he disdained it when another human life was on the line. It took courage to care, and more to act. The others were afraid of anything strange or challenging, fearful of getting involved, and horrified the robbers might come back. Sam pushed those anxieties back and helped a complete stranger, a broken one at that, who would never be able to repay.

There is something strong, noble, and wonderfully uncomplicated about Sam. What a tenderness and gentleness there is in the care he gives, the fruit of great personal strength and depth of character.

Habit. This is no isolated incident in the life of Sam. It is just one more out of many times he had helped. There would be others in the future. Sam didn’t become like that overnight. Over the years, the habit of responding bravely to the needs of others became deeply ingrained. And always at personal cost: money, time, energy. But with great reward.

It’s difficult to conclude who benefits the most: the one helped, or the helper. Some feel compassion is the most healing of all emotions, capable of transforming an entire world.

Compassion, pity, mercy—in the Bible the words are virtually interchangeable and describe the essence of God. Sam has, by choice, taken upon himself the very character of God.

How Do We Get That Way?

If we take Christ seriously, it is through obedience to his words, “Go and do likewise.”

Becoming compassionate will not come through drastic self-discipline, heroic sacrifice, or other well-meaning shortcuts. We should not expect to change quickly. Sam probably didn’t. It will become part of our character through the endless repetition of small efforts as we feel the inward prompting of God’s Holy Spirit and obediently respond when he has providentially placed us in a situation where we can do great good. It is giving a person in trouble a helping hand when it is within our power. Going the “second mile” when there is opportunity. Getting involved in our community and church to make a difference.

What is excellence if not habit? And what is excellence of character if not the predictable habit of behaving every time in a splendid way and expressing the noblest virtues?

Day by day. . .deed by deed. . .the Godly trait of compassion is layered into our lives, and we find our arrogant selfish nature pushed off the throne. We discover new liberty to effortlessly respond to the needs of others. And we become in character, in a larger measure, like the great God we worship.

But, as with Sam, compassion will require of us empathy to feel, courage to care, and a developed habit of responding.

“Just Do It!”

It costs to care, to be compassionate. And it may put us at risk and make us vulnerable as we choose to intervene in the lives of others. Saving the souls of sinful men and women cost God the death of His Son. Compassion always places the highest possible value on the life of another. To be a Good Samaritan is to care as God cares, to be like Him in thought and action.

Feeling sorry for another is not enough. No doubt the Priest and Levite felt a stab of pity as they looked at the man, but they saw him as a nuisance to be avoided. Sam saw him as a neighbor to love, and undertook his care.

Following this incident, Sam probably resumes his life, and never told anyone what he did. But his story is immortal. In every century, think how many across our wide world have been inspired by him to offer a cup of cold water in Christ’s name.

What a high compliment it would be to have the Lord say to others about you and me: “Go, and be just like him.”

Don M. Hull      (©2015)

Forks in the Road

• The Value of Spending a Day With God

Becoming spiritually skilled at making decisions is crucial to every growth-minded Christ-follower. Making right choices is the essence of becoming a mature disciple. Every decision, great or routine, has the potential of moving us toward or away from Christ-likeness.   One can’t simply follow the immortal wisdom of Yogi Berra: “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”

We call them “forks in the road”—those all too familiar experiences when the path along which we are moving diverges into right and left. These choices impose themselves on every believer, often unanticipated, unwanted, and unwelcomed.

Could you use a little help and encouragement today as you face a troublesome decision?

What’s the dilemma you now face?   A new job or career change? Beginning or ending a relationship. Moving your family? Going back to school?

These aren’t the countless decisions we casually make every day—where to have lunch, what to wear, etc. Rather, they are weighty decisions that may define us, or set new directions and have far-reaching consequences.

We can improve our decision-making by learning from one of the most admired people in the Bible: Paul. Here’s my “take” on a page from his life and how he faced a critically important “fork” in his road.

Try putting yourself into his sandals for a few moments as you read in your Bible the 20^th chapter of Acts.

Imagine it is late March, and you have spent the cold winter of 56-57 A.D. in Corinth where you have penned a monumental letter of the New Testament, the one we call Romans. You arrived at Corinth having spent the previous year trying to evangelize the large area north of Greece known to us today as war-shattered Bosnia, Croatia, and Sarajevo.

You are age 57. Twenty years have passed since you became a Christian. Behind are years of arduous labor and hardship, founding and nurturing churches, and missionary treks covering thousands of miles. You’ve had immense evangelistic success in places like Asia and Macedonia, and so little among your own Jewish people. The vast West awaits you: Spain, Europe, and Britain.

When the sailing season of the spring of 56 A.D. opens, your plans to sail to Syria are interrupted by the discovery of a plot to assassinate you on the ship. You decide to travel overland and send your companions on to Troas by ship to wait for you there as you make your journey on foot.

As you travel from city to city—Thessalonica, Phillipi, and Troas—believers with the prophetic gift in every church have sounded warnings about Jerusalem. No one has expressly said, “Don’t go!”, but each has sensed in his spirit a foreboding of great danger and possible harm awaiting you there.

The masterpiece you’ve crafted to the Christians at Rome reveals that your heart aches for your Jewish countrymen who, as a whole, have rejected Christ and the gospel of salvation:

“. . .my heart’s desire and prayer to God for the Israelites is

that they might be saved.”       Romans 10:1, NIV

But you have another heartache, one for the lands where the gospel of Christ has not been taken. You are resolved to go west, to Spain, Europe, and perhaps Britain:

“It has always been my ambition to preach the gospel where Christ

was not known, so that I would not be building on someone else’s

foundation.”                               Romans 15:20, NIV

You arrive at Troas and rejoin your travelling companions—Timothy and Gaius from Galatia; from Thessalonica, Aristarchus and Secundus; from Berea, Sopater; and from Asia, Trophimus and Tychicus. And, of course, Dr. Luke.

A crisis has surfaced in your life, and the time for decision has come. The choice is agonizingly simple. Should you complete your mission to Jerusalem despite repeated warnings from trustworthy people if you do? Or, should you book passage on the next ship headed for Rome, and send your trusted associates to Jerusalem with the offering, a mission they are perfectly capable of competing with no help from you?

On the one hand, there is the strong pull, the challenge and adventure, to take the message of Christ to people who have never heard. On the other, maybe this time, despite all the disasters of the past, you will be heard in Jerusalem and win large numbers of your countrymen to Christ. Maybe.

Both are worthy choices, reasonable and right. It seems plausible God would be pleased with either. Both involve risk and danger. There have been only warnings about going to Jerusalem, not prohibitions.

Luke records in one terse statement Paul’s next movements from which we can gain much insight:

“We went on ahead to the ship and sailed for Assos, where we were

going to take Paul aboard. He had made this arrangement because he

was going there on foot.”             Acts 20:13, NIV

A ship bound for Syria had been secured. In an unusual move, Paul urged his companions to board it for a one-day voyage around the cape to Assos, a town approximately thirty miles south of Troas, where he would rejoin them toward nightfall. Paul proceeded alone, on foot, for this one-day walk, probably overriding the protests of his well-meaning friends.

No doubt his mind was overwhelmed with conflicting information and feelings about what he should do. He had heeded the warnings about going to Jerusalem, yet he was strangely drawn there. The West and its un-evangelized hordes beckoned to him.

What to do? Simple. Take a step back to gain perspective. Get alone with God and sort things out. And he did.

As Paul faced the future, what he needed more than anything else was time to get focused and understand the mind of God if he could.

At this personal crisis point—at this “fork” in his road—Paul checked in with his Master for the direction he must have. What Paul needed, God had. So there were no “opinion polls” taken among his friends. No counsel sought. No urgent meeting at the church. No all-night prayer vigil or period of fasting. Just a simple one-day walk through the countryside, alone and undisturbed, where he could position himself to be wholly at God’s disposal.

He chose to slow the pace, disconnect from the pressure of busyness, allow his heart to cool down, and his mind to sort out the future. He gave God an unhurried opportunity to speak. He got his heart quiet so God’s whispers to his soul could be heard above the clamor of daily life. If this were me, a major disconnect would be needed. I would need to turn off my cell phone, stop all the incoming inane text messages, and intentionally decide not to be available 24/7 to everyone who wants me.

It was probably a glorious spring day. The road was his, with nothing to distract except maybe a passing caravan, or the bleating of nearby sheep accompanied by the hauntingly beautiful tinkling of their bells. The heavens hailed his heart. The earth was alive with flowers watered by the gentle spring showers. The birds offered their song. He was alone with his thoughts as he walked. His companionable companion was solitude. And God.

Was there a dream? A vision? A personal appearance by the risen Christ? We are told of none. Luke tells us nothing of what Paul said when he rejoined the group, what his decision was, or how he was feeling about things.

In the quietness of this day—as Paul thought, weighed matters, prayed, meditated on the Scriptures, considered God’s leading in the past and His promises for the future, and sang praise songs—God spoke to his heart in an unmistakable way. There was likely no audible voice, but only the calm, unshakeable confidence that sweeps over a person when God presses the rightness of a matter on his heart. A smile breaks across Paul’s face, because now he knows. His pace quickens and he briskly walks down to the bay to the waiting ship where his uneasy companions are anxious to get him on board. The course is set for Jerusalem.

“And now, compelled by the Spirit, I am going to Jerusalem, not

knowing what will happen to me there.”   Romans 20:22, NIV

In this simple story are the elements for spiritually facing a significant decision. It’s about spending a day with God to get His mind, and the direction you need to move ahead.

There is nothing mystical, magical, or obtruse about the story. There is no guarantee God will necessarily do again for you what He did for Paul if you duplicate his actions. God is under no obligation to anything we expect or think. But we can take the vital steps to place ourselves under the guiding hand of God exactly as Paul

Here is what Paul did—what you and I can do—to humbly spend time in God’s presence, and see if it is the time when He will graciously reveal His will:

• Get focused. Pick a specific time, a full day if possible, to intentionally and singularly engage the fellowship and companionship of God
• Get alone. Separate yourself from normal routines. Get away from work, cell phones and text messaging, family and friends. Take the obvious: water, light food, your Bible, pen and paper.
• Get quiet. This day is about solitude, reflection, reading your Bible, praying often, and maybe singing. Most of all, it is about listening. To God. And getting in touch with your deepest thoughts and desires.
• Get a word. Humbly leave it to God how, when, or even if He will speak. Contrive nothing. God’s leading may be the strong impression of a thought. Or a compelling verse from the Bible. Maybe something you’ve heard or read will be quickened by the Holy Spirit. You seek a word from Him.
• Get going.   Act immediately on what you sense is His way. Pursue it single-mindedly until you are led differently. Frequently our problem is not that we don’t know what to do, but doing what we already know to do.

No wonder so many of us are filled with anxiety when we face a “fork in the road,” especially if we are fearful and face undetermined risks or consequences. Maybe we lack information, have had poor role models from whom to learn in the past, or bear past scars from decisions poorly made.

Next time you face a difficult question and feel intense pressure to make a decision, try following Paul’s practice of spending a day with God and see how He will direct you.

I have done so. Many times, and always with great profit.

Once, as a college senior about one hundred years ago, I faced in very late spring a tough decision that had far-reaching implications. So I set aside a day (one I really didn’t have, or so I thought) to genuinely seek God’s will in the matter.

Now, a lifetime later, I am still following the trajectory set for my life on that day now almost 55 years ago. Wrapped up in that one decision was a vocation, a calling to which I responded. With God’s guidance I happily took the right fork, and never looked back. Half a century later I can give you the report: God’s promise is true, the one found in Psalm 32:8 (KJV):

”I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go. I will guide thee with my eye.”

Don M. Hull (© 2015)

“If you are going to achieve excellence in big things, you develop the habit in little matters.  Excellence is not an exception, it is a prevailing attitude.”

Colin Powell,  American Statesman and Retired Four-Star General

“Sometimes it’s the very people who no one imagines anything of, who do the things no one can imagine.”                                          (From the 2015 movie, The Imitation Game)