Is That All There Is?

"'Meaningless! Meaningless!' says the Teacher. 'Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless." (Ecclesiastes 1:2)

I was reminded of an old Peggy Lee song as I was reading the above scripture: Is That All There Is?

Chorus: "Is that all there is? Is that all there is?

If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing. 

Let's break out the booze and have a ball. 

If that's all there is."

Last verse:  "I know what you must be saying to yourselves

If that's the way she feels about it why doesn't she just end it all?

Oh no, not me. I'm not ready for that final disappointment.

Because I know just as sure as I'm standing here talking to you

That when that final moment comes and 

I'm breathing my last breath, 

I'll be saying to myself, 'Is that all there is?'"

It's a great song. But it is a very sad song, a hopeless song. And it reflects the universal sentiment of meaningless and a sense of the absurdity of life that many have at present. 

We exist. And then we don't. The product of the evolutionary teaching of man. We are stuff, a product, material in a consumeristic world, a pawn in whatever political games that are being played. Heroes one day; villains the next. Essential one day; expendable the next. Who can make sense of it all?

 It's why the suicide rate over the last year and half has been exponentially higher. It's why spousal and child abuse is at an all time high. Alcohol. Drugs. Gun violence. Why not just be done with it all?  

I would like to say, "No, Peggy. That's not all there is." But...perhaps for the type of person the song is singing about...it is. Life lived without purpose. Life not lived for the greater eternal good. Not realizing that there is an eternity. Sad. But an opportunity. 

The opportunity is to teach people to live with life's paradoxes. In the midst of the upheaval of life we can still find things to enjoy, to give thanks for, to celebrate. Joy is often found in the simple and the taken for granted. 

In the mist of the temporary, we need to remind each other of the present value of people we love and who love us. In this temporary world, we need to point people to Jesus, to the Way, to the Truth, to the...Life...abundant here and eternal there. 

If we live like this, our last breath won't be a disappointment, Peggy. 

Forget the booze but I'm gonna dance with the wife, love on my kids and grandkids, love and serve my Lord and church family, enjoy the cardinals on my back deck, visit with my neighbor, Ron (who knows all things neighbory), take a walk down by the river, and have a ball.

What a great life...if that's all there is. 

Afghanistan

 "Do not oppress a foreigner; you yourselves know what it is like to be foreigners, because you were foreigners in Egypt." (Exodus 23:9)

It was a long, hot, autobus ride down to a small village in southern Lebanon - a known Hezbollah area (terrorists). We arrived at the American pastor's home who was endeared by all and called, "Papa" by the locals (6 foot 6 inches tall with a full and neatly trimmed all white beard; more fluent in Arabic than the locals). We split up into two vans. I went with the pastor. We were going to visit a man and his family to share the gospel. It was not a good day. 

We arrived to this house made of leftover 8 inch cinder blocks with a metal roof and tiled floors - no bigger than my living room but housing at least ten people. Simple fabric separating living and sleeping quarters. Cooking was done outside. There was yelling and screaming in Arabic. The father had basically sold his oldest daughter into marriage to a Hezbollah officer who was three times her age. She refused and said she would commit suicide rather than to be a slave. All her hopes and dreams shattered in one decision by her father. It was no idle threat. My heart broke. What could I do?

Others in the small community that were even of different Muslim faiths, e.g. Shia or Sufi, were denied jobs or given jobs no one would want to do. So sorry to inform the reader but most of the world does not have antidiscrimination laws. And the Christians...we toured a very scary re-education center (nice words for prison where they torture or kill you and your family). I couldn't wait to get out of there. What could I do?

All of these memories came flooding back this week as my eyes were on Afghanistan. Already the systematic killings/beheadings are taking place. I thought about my Christian brothers and sisters. Trapped. Terrified. Caught. Concerned. 

This was all brought home when I received an email from one of my co-laborers from the International Student, Inc., ministry that I was involved with at George Fox University in Newberg, Oregon. She sent out a note a few months ago from one of her students who I had met and then remembered who was from Afghanistan. Two months ago...she asked for financial help to get her family out of the country. Two months ago word was already out the the U.S. was pulling out of the country. Two months ago she was already in fear for her families' lives. What could I do? 

Men heading for execution. Wives raped and indentured or killed. Girls as young as 9 and 10 (prepubescent) being "married" off to men as old as 50 or sold into the sex slave trade, boys being sold into hard labor slavery or forced to be a soldier. What can I do?

I was convicted this morning as I was reading through some of the "exilic" writings (those written during the exile to Assyria and Babylon). God has a huge heart for those that are refugees - foreigners pushed out of home and life because of external conflict. They aren't seeking a better life. They are seeking to live. 

My passion for mission has inflamed. My hunger to go has resurfaced. My spirit aches. What can I do? Holy Spirit lead. 

Me.

Us.

Pray.

Dust to Dust

 "For dust you are and to dust you will return." (Genesis 3:10b). 

I've been thinking about death lately. Not my own but the recent homegoing of family members - two cousins in the same family and an aunt on my side of the family and on Deb's. Brother and sister were cremated and lie in separate decorative boxes next to each other. 

I was asked to officiate for the sister. What an honor. But I haven't seen her in almost 40 years. I just remember that she was quiet, seldom smiled, and had really long hair. It's the distinguishing phrase, "I knew of her" rather than "I knew her." Hard words to say about one's own extended family but...such is the transitional life we all lead willingly or unwillingly. 

I haven't been home in twenty years so those words would apply to me as well. They all knew of "Danny" but very few know the Reverend Doctor Daniel Lute. Seeds scatter and new lives grow in other gardens. 

I recently read an article of a woman whose husband was a potter. All his life he would talk about the work that fire does in bringing to "life" the dull and vulnerable clay. Fire hardens and beautifies. 

She thought about that as she held her husband's decorative box of ashes. It was all of him -ashes and bits of bones - even the wedding ring on his left had was reduced to its basic components. It was all of him but yet, none of him. His laugh wasn't in this box. His frustrations or joys or celebrations or defeats were not in this box. His love was not in this box. Somehow it was all of him but none of him. Where was the beauty in this?

I thought about this with cousin Pam and cousin Tom and soon to be Aunt Suzanne and Aunt Cheryl. Somehow it is all of Pam, but really none of her. Somehow it was Tom but really none of him. Somehow the body laying before us is Aunt Suzanne or Cheryl, but really none of her - just the shell that housed who she really was. 

I'm not saying that the body is not important. I have a graveside service for a reason. It was the body that we hugged, that we kissed, the hand that we held, the eyes that we peered into, the vessel we recognized in the restaurant or walking through the county fair midway. The body is important and so much so that God will raise it up at the end of days. But it is the soul, the spirit, that brings flesh and bones to life. 

Where is the beauty in this? 

Perhaps it is in the sense that you can bury the body but you'll never be able to separate the memories of the immaterial. I find this in celebration of life moments when family members laugh at something the person would always say or do. Old Christmas or vacation memories. Moments in the relational library that can be pulled up when prompted. The tangible, yellow Polaroids, where everyone wore the same sweater vests with striped 1960's pants, and white belts. Maybe memories are not so great. 

As I put my reading glasses on to see those old photos, to read the dated articles, I was reminded that the most important element of the day was not that which was housed in the box but in my memories. Perhaps this is the beauty that was intended. 

"Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We commit this body to the grave and the spirit to God from which it came." 

 

Stressed

 "We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to this present time." Romans 8:22

Beside the Wabash River, in Logansport, Indiana, lies the Little Turtle Waterway Trail. A beautiful, scenic, paved trail that hugs the river and gives breathtaking views of the state's proclaimed waterway and exposed bank areas. (I am finding myself humming with the Mills Brothers version - On the Banks of the Wabash Far Away; On The Banks Of The Wabash, Far Away (1943) - The Mills Brothers - Bing video). 

The trail was named after a Miami Indian chief by the same name (Little Turtle) who was an advocate for peace with the many European settlers making their way to the expansive west. It's hard to believe that Indiana was once thought to be the untamed frontier but as I said in a past blog...give it a few years without tending and "Mother Nature" will reclaim what has been tamed. 

Deb and I were walking this trail Sunday afternoon - glad for the respite of high humidity days that consumed us for the last week or so. We came to a particular clearing and we noticed all the dead leaves on the trail. It took us a bit by surprise since Fall is technically a few months away. Perhaps it is coming early this year. I've noticed the subtle color change and dropping of leaves from my Red River Birches in the backyard as well. 

No worries. It's just stress. When trees are exposed to such hot days without rain they begin to get rid of things, like leaves, for self-preservation - anything to save the tree itself. Stressed trees. Who would have thought.  

Nature is a great teacher if only we would be good students. As long as we live in this broken world their will be stress. Jesus said, "In this world you will have tribulation" and with that tribulation comes inevitable stress. 

The tree is smart enough to shed that which it can survive without. If only we had such wisdom. Instead, we cling to the thing that brings about the agony not realizing that it is not essential. We cling in order to retain that which we think we need, but in the end puts greater stress on the trunk. In many cases we know its not even a need but a want that makes life a bit more enjoyable. And yet we cling. 

Like the earth in general we groan, realizing in the depths of our being that something is not right -externally or internally. The earth is waiting for us to be what we have been created to be - fully redeemed by the coming of our Lord. Only then will she rejoice. Only then will she de-stress as well as us. 

Until then...look for more dead leaves and bewildered walkers.