Sorry I missed last week. We had that whole natural disaster, no power, no internet, middle ages pastiche going on. It was actually probably a good thing, because I’ve been struggling with this one and thinking about it for awhile.

Back to the Question:

A. Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.

But what could be so hard about, “enjoying him (God), forever”? Why struggle with this? Isn’t this the fun part? I don’t know, maybe I don’t understand “joy” or maybe I don’t understand “God” or maybe I just need the practice.

I know, I know, The Book says, “The Joy of the Lord is [my] strength,” (Nehemiah 8:10) and “rejoice in the Lord always, and again, I say, rejoice.” (Philippians 4:4) And I try, or at least I think I do. But pretty much every time God made his presence known to a human being in the bible, there wasn’t joy; there was terror. The first words out of God's mouth, or that of his angels is always, "fear not." So, I don’t think I’m the only one that has trouble equating God with “fun” or joy, as opposed to seriousness and awe and holiness and fear. After all, The Book also says, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom,” (Psalm 111:10) and even “Serve the Lord with fear and rejoice with trembling.” (Psalms 2:11). Rejoice with trembling?? What IS that?

And what about joy? In the way The Book uses the term it has to be something more than joy in the sense of “wow, that was fun,” or “boy, that food was good,” or “I loved those praise songs we sang this morning.” James, the brother of Jesus, says, for example, “consider it pure joy . . . whenever you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your fatih develops perseverance.” James 1:2-3. And “Blessed [or happy] is the man who perseveres under trial . . .” James 1:12. Joy? Trials? And the Psalmist talks about “desir[ing] nothing on earth” when he is with God. Psalm 73:5. That’s a whole different kind of joy or happiness than watching a good movie or a fun evening out. This is not an undemanding joy or cheap grace.

So, with God, I have this problem. The Book tells me that “love,” is his very essence. The Book tells me that he is longsuffering and slow to anger, infinite in mercy. But The Book also tells me he is all powerful, holy and perfect. I know very well that I am week, unholy and imperfect. How does a sullied and limited creature like me have any “joy” and fellowship with an unsullied and limitless God? How do we even understand each other?

About the last time a human being is recorded as having hand-in-hand fellowship with God was Adam before the fall of man. After the fall, which is my current condition, Adam didn’t enjoy God. Adam hid from God. Look around and you see mankind at war with God, not enjoying him. As a Christian, I know that Christ is supposed to be the bridge that reconciles me to God, so why is it so hard? And not just for me. It was hard for Superstars like the Apostle Paul. Even Paul begged to be set free from his struggle. (See Romans 7:14-25)

I was thinking about it this morning, and wondered that maybe what’s going on here is somewhat the same thing as when sedentary folks having no idea how endurance athletes can take pleasure in their effort. Or maybe like when mid-packers like me watch an elite athlete. Look for example at Kara Goucher pictured above. I can only dimly imagine the amount of pain and effort behind an elite 10k like she is just completing, but surely there is joy in her face. Indeed, I can only dimly imagine the amount of joy she's experiencing.

Similarly, to a sedentary person, how could I possibly “enjoy” training. What joy is there in a 3 hour long run or a century ride? How many times have you been called “crazy” for suffering like that? And was any of this fun or “joyful" when you first began it. Maybe it was always fun and easy for you, but I remember quite well the first training runs--the pain, the discouragement, the struggle. This was not fun. Now, however, after a little practice, and a little success, the training sessions are play, they are joy. In fact, they are usually (though not always) the best part of my day. But it still doesn’t look like fun to the sedentary crowd who call us “crazy” while they eat, drink or smoke themselves into sickness and death. And yet we’re crazy.

So, maybe my lack of Christian joy is partly a lack of practice. Maybe I’m a sedentary Christ follower. Do I need to work out more and improve my spiritual diet? More fruit of the spirit, maybe? Do I need more practice with God? If I do, will the pain and discomfort lessen? Will this feel less like work? More like play? How do I find the joy?

Now, go run. See you next week.

Last week, I rambled on about the origins of the Westminster standards. The Parliament may have been concerned with questions such as “Who is in charge, episcopacy, local congregation, church, king or pope?” One of the revolutionary aspects of the Westminster Assembly was to answer, in large part, “none of the above.”

I had a few more thoughts this week about what that means: glorifying God.

There is a real sense in which you can see God’s power and glory all around you, so long as you permit yourself to see it. Like the Book says:

Psalm 19:1-2

If you’ve ever been somewhere that the air is clear and there is no light pollution, maybe you have experienced what this ancient desert dweller is describing—wide horizons of inky blackness awash with seas of stars beyond number, all tracing the path laid out for them, all bespeaking a beauty and organization and distant power. I have a couple places like that, and it reminds me of how non-big I actually am.

And as I write this, there is a gigantic hurricane a couple hundred miles away with huge amounts of kinetic energy, organized by the laws of physics, which I believe God wrote upon the universe. Even with all its might, however, the storm is not even a teacup full in an ocean compared with the power of the one who formulated the laws that govern it.

But there has to be some difference between the way a mountain or a storm or a night sky glorifies God, and how a human being does it. Sure, if you look at the body you were given, its design and its complexity, it can impress you in the same fashion as any other natural phenomenon.


Psalm 139:14

But if that’s it, then we’re not much different from an inanimate piece of beautiful rock. I think there is more to it.

When a mountain or a night sky bespeaks the glory of God, it is doing what it was created to do. In that sense, it is no different from you or me. When we bespeak the glory of God, we’re doing what we were created to do too—fulfilling our “chief end.” The mountain and the night sky, however, have no choice in the matter. They are signposts, simply stating whatever the sign writer wrote upon them. We, on the other hand, have an election to make. We are singers, choosing which song to sing, not signposts.

Fe-Lady can choose or not choose to be a vessel of God’s caring and love by connecting with an autistic child. Iron Jenny could bike through each race without any awareness of her maker, or she could (as she does) pray and sing and (as a consequence) become a magnetic love-fest for 140.6 miles. Sometimes the choice doesn’t necessarily change what we do, only the reason we do it and the qualities we get from it. I can focus all this training solely on myself and a vain search for “abs of steel” and the like, or I can live and breathe and move with the motivation of being a good steward of the healthy body I was given.

I guess what I’m saying is that part of the life that God sparked into us was the choice to fulfill or to fail in fulfilling our “chief end.” We can’t just stand here and look pretty, and by so doing, just “be” and fulfill our “chief end.” That makes us different and unique among all the things that God created. Maybe it is this kind of choice to worship, so to speak, that the apostle encourages his readers to make when he writes:

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship.

Romans 12:1.

Anyway, some things to think about while you’re out running. What kind of a singer are you called to be? What choices are there for you, right now, or down the road.

Now, go run. See you next week.

Believe it or not, this question is the product of a government committee. True Story.

As I understand the history, Parliament convened the group of lay persons and clergy, known as the Westminster Assembly, to hash through the important issues of the day. Many were concerned with such things as who was boss--King or Archibishop . . . or pope, or whether anyone could boss around the local church, what prayers would be said, what hymns sung, and whether Papists floated like a witch and should therefore be burned

OK, that was a gratuitous Monty Python reference. But suffice it to say that the assembly, like England itself, trying to figure out what or who had "authority" in a time of social upheaval. Everything was subject to question. England eventually descended into Civil War and regicide with the beheading of Charles I. In the midst of it all, the assembly suffered "Mission Creep." In response to Parliament's request, the assembly created the Westminster Confession of Faith, the Westminster Shorter Catechism and the Westminster Larger Catechism. The title of this post is the first question in that mini-catechim.

Gee. Thanks, Westminster. We're leaping off into the abyss, everything seems in turmoil, and you couldn't have given us something easy? You couldn't give us five steps to our "Best Life Now," or a rhyming "to do" list of how to improve our marriages or make our kids behave or get wealthier because "God Rocks" and wants us to be healthy and wealthy? Modern churchy life is way more practical.

Nooooooooooo. You have to start with, "What's the meaning of life, the universe and everything? Why are we here?"

Wait a minute. Maybe they had something there. Maybe this is the place to start.

Q. 1. What is the chief end of man?
A. Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.

**blink**

Isn't this always where we lose our way? Isn't this one thing, trying to replace God, the root of all the times I fall on my face? Every time I do the wrong thing? Even every time I do the right thing for the wrong reason? All those things I do that I should not have done and those things I omit to do that I should have done? What was it the serpent said in tempting mankind to do the one thing God said not to do? "You shall be like gods."

By putting this question first, it is as if the old timers know I need a daily reminder:


Indeed, I am not him.

Pick up "The Book" and read the beginning. There is a description of God speaking light and energy and everything that is or ever will be into existence by breathing a word, "Let there be light." Gen. 1:3. Skip to the end and you see the implications of that power: "You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being." Rev. 4:11. Whether you consider this a "big bang" or a literal seven day creation account, does not really matter to me. There is one thing I know: I couldn't manage to create something from nothing in either way. The one who can create something from nothing is boss. I'm not.

So, what does it mean if I'm willing to accept that I'm not the boss, in any given moment? Hard to say, but I think when I'm willing to get out of the boss' chair, I am able to make my actions an offering of thanks to the one who breathed it all into being. The race and the training or the job and the family, anything and everything can become an act of worship.

In one of my favorite lines from Chariots of Fire, Eric Liddell tells his sister, Jenny, "I believe God made me for a purpose, for China. But he also made me fast. And when I run I feel his pleasure. . . . To win is to honor Him." I have only rarely made my life an act of worship like that. If I do so, it is only because I am jolted into it.

For example, the first time I did the Wildflower Long Course triathlon, I was with a large group of friends with whom I had never raced. I was worried about how I'd do, how I would look, and what they would think of me. Notice how many times "I" and "me" appear in that sentence. The result was predictable. I had a horrible swim and was struggling through the bike--until my focus came off of myself. While I was in the aero bars, I looked down at my wrist and saw the red "band of hope," the emblem of the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. In an instant, "woe is me," vanished, and I realized how thankful I should be. I am physically able to ride a bike. I was healthy enough to be outdoors in the sunshine. The pedaling did not get easier, and I did not win the race, but I felt "his pleasure," if only briefly.

Like The Book says, "[W]hether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." 1 Cor. 10:31. What is your act of thanksgiving and worship? Do you experience that searing in your lungs or the pain in your legs only so you can get higher, faster and stronger. Or is it an offering to the one who stitched you together, a sacrifice of praise for health and power? Of the 38,000 steps in the marathon, how many belong to you? Who are you running for?

More on this next week. Now, go run.