Visions
Commentary
Object:
Giuseppe Tartini's Devil's Trill Sonata is a spectacular piece of music. Few violin compositions work the fingers and bow as quickly. One night, said Tartini, he had a vision so vivid that he wasn't sure whether it had been a trance or something more tangible. He dreamed that while he was practicing his violin, the devil appeared. After a time, Tartini handed his violin to the devil, asking him to play. The devil played a solo so powerful, so magnificent, that Tartini was overwhelmed.
Just as the devil finished, the sleeping Tartini awoke. While the dream still echoed in his mind, he grabbed his violin, in hopes of remembering what he had heard. He named the resulting piece of music for the one who had inspired it.
Some dreams are like that -- so real and gripping that we are left wondering whether the dream world is actually reality. The ancient Chinese philosopher Chuang Tzu once dreamed he was a butterfly. When he awoke to see his human form, he was curious: Was he perhaps truly a butterfly dreaming he was a man, or was he a man who sometimes dreamed he was a butterfly? Could one reality be proved over against the other?
The poet Stephen Vincent Benet wrote that "dreaming men are haunted men." So it would seem throughout the scriptures: Jacob was so haunted by his dream at Bethel that his whole outlook on life was changed.
Nebuchadnezzar may have been able to conquer the world, but the dreams that robbed him of sleep in Babylon's palace also robbed him of his kingdom. Or think of Paul in the New Testament. His dreamlike vision of the Macedonian man launched the mission of the early church into the far reaches of Europe.
Some dreams -- like the one Tartini had, like Jacob had, like Paul had, like John had on the island of Patmos -- can change our lives. They can give us new perspectives and help us better understand our purpose on earth. Our dream world may be our closest link with the spiritual world. If we listen closely at night we might hear, with Tartini, the devil's trill; but we might also find, with Jacob, that we're tenting on holy ground.
Today we step into the visions of Paul and John, and grow mesmerized with the dreamy encounter between the disciples and Jesus. If these moments of translucent transcendence do anything for us, they ought to stimulate our own desires to see Jesus anew in this Easter season.
Acts 9:1-6 (7-20)
Often we refer to Paul's encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus as a dramatic turnaround, a complete conversion from one identity to another. While it is true that there was a decided shift in his actions toward Christians from this point forward, Paul himself would be the first to say that he had not significantly changed his religious outlook. It was precisely because he was sold out to God that he had cringed at the thought of someone like Jesus stepping into the limelight that only the creator deserved. But once he gained an appreciation for Jesus' divinity, the pieces fell into place, and his strength of religious character was merely enlightened rather than completely retooled.
In a sense, Paul's conversion was like waking up from a dream and realizing for the first time what his life, beliefs, and value systems really meant. He had held them as a culture prior to encountering Jesus, but now he owned them as loving friends. "Conversion," for him, was not so much a revolution or a renewal as it was a remembrance. He remembered who he was, for the first time.
Frederick Buechner once dreamed that he was staying at a hotel with hundreds of rooms. When he checked in, the desk clerk gave him the key to a delightful room. It made him feel warm, comfortable, and cared for. Although later Buechner couldn't remember exactly what the room looked like, he shivered with pleasure whenever he thought about it.
In his dream, he stayed in the room for a short time before setting off on a number of adventures. Later, however, his dream brought him back to the same hotel.
This time the clerk gave Buechner the key to a different room. When he opened the door, he immediately sensed the difference: it felt cold and clammy; it was cramped and dark; it made him shudder with fear.
In his dream, he went to the front desk and asked the clerk to move him to his first room -- the bright and cozy one. But Buechner couldn't remember where it was.
The clerk smiled and said he knew exactly which room it was. He told Buechner he could have the room any time he wanted it -- if he asked for it by name. The name of the room, said the clerk, was "Remember." A room called "Remember."
That's when Buechner woke up, and he has been haunted by it ever since. A room called "Remember!" A room of peace. A room that made him feel loved and at home.
What was it all about? Buechner knew. We all have memories, he said -- bits and pieces of things that have happened to us in the past; scraps of stories and songs we've learned; photo albums of our younger years. We all remember.
But, said Buechner, we don't always use our memories. Sometimes we let them go to waste. Sometimes we shut them out of our consciousness. Sometimes we're too busy to visit with them. And when we stop using our memories, we lose an important part of our lives.
Throughout the scriptures we hear God calling us to remember. Remember what life is about. Remember who I am. Remember what you've gone through. Remember who you are.
One of the most powerful scenes in the Bible pictures Jesus calling us to remember. On the night of his death, Jesus sits quietly with the twelve, raises the cup in blessing, and says, "Whenever you come together, do this and remember me."
A father watched proudly as his radiant daughter stood waiting to go on her first date. She was excited and nervous, and so was he. What advice could he give her without being overprotective? He put his arm around her shoulder and looked her lovingly in the eye. "Remember who you are," he said. And that was enough.
Paul's vision of Jesus on the road to Damascus might well be summed up in that way. Rather than leaving himself behind, Paul was instead encouraged to truly remember who he was. That's what changed his life.
Revelation 5:11-14
This passage from the book of Revelation comes at the close of one of the most spectacular scenes of worship ever recorded in any literature on earth. It draws us up into a world of meaning and purpose, passion and delight, and allows us to hear songs we know but don't yet have the voice to sing.
But remember this: One of the reasons we are so captivated by this vision of glory is that most of us have never had it ourselves! We live in a humdrum world, where gray is the natural color, and noise is more prevalent than music. We see through eyes dimmed by religious cataracts, and need pacemakers installed by others to keep some lease on meaningful life. In other words, the only way we can own worship like these scenes is vicariously, through the transcendent visions of others, such as John.
Those who see further and hear higher and emote deeper become our heroes. They teach us something of a world we haven't been able to experience ourselves, and become the mentors of our lives as we stretch for a horizon that seems too far away.
When Abraham Kuyper served as prime minister of the Netherlands, he brought Christianity into the full spectrum of the social and political realms in a powerful and transforming way. Faith wasn't always so important to him. At the start of his career, Kuyper was a young preacher in a rural village. He had been schooled in the best of modern theology, and his sermons were well-polished masterpieces.
Not all in his congregation were impressed, though. Pietronella Baltus didn't care for his preaching, and she spoke her mind to him more than once. Certainly his sermons were intelligent and well delivered, she said, but they did not declare the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Kuyper was intrigued. Who was this woman to serve as his critic? He began to visit her, and, over tea, she explained Jesus to him. She told him about faith and God and things outside of his experience. With her simple wisdom and vision, Pietronella Baltus silenced the knowledge of the great preacher. He knew his theology, but he didn't know her God. He knew his dogmatics, but he didn't know her Christ. He knew his church's history, but he didn't know her Lord.
After sitting at her feet, Kuyper rose up a different man. For the rest of his life, he spoke of the woman who had changed his heart, opened his eyes, and swept the cobwebs out of his soul. She was his teacher, his friend, his miracle of faith. She had been to heaven while he was stuck on earth. She taught him the language of eternity when he was still stumbling over the vocabulary of time. She saw John's vision and communicated it to him until he sat spellbound by her siren song. For the rest of his years, she lived on in his heart and mind, ever bracketed by quotation marks.
If we were to rewrite Revelation 5:11-14 based on our own experiences, what names would we give to the "many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand" who circle God's throne with their praise? What faces and personalities pop up when we note how "every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea" had picked up the chorus? How rich is your heritage of heroes who sustained you along the way? Which mentors, teachers, and friends are bracketed between the quotation marks of your soul?
John 21:1-19
The gospel of John is actually quite complete at the end of chapter 20. Although no manuscripts exist of the book without chapter 21, it is often viewed as a later appendage. Still, even if it was written later by the evangelist or one of his disciples, the story told in today's lectionary passage brings further completeness to the rest of the gospel.
For one thing, it sets the story of the church in motion. John 20 tells of Jesus breathing the Holy Spirit (like the divine creative story in Genesis 2) into this new body of his that will recreate the human race, but they do not set out on the campaign of life before the chapter closes. Also, Thomas' great testimony is seen as a prelude to all the other testimonies of faith that will be given, but it does not lead naturally directly into them. Here in John 21 the story of the church begins to roll forward. The disciples need to make choices about their futures, Jesus restores Peter to his leadership role in the enterprise, and Jesus gives them a vision about the future that will lead them on.
Second, the failures of Peter, so pronounced in the Passion story, are rectified. Peter is resurrected by the resurrected Jesus, and re-empowered to take initiative again, rather than just tossing nets into a dubious sea.
Third, the missionary character of John's gospel is re-invigorated. The Prologue to the gospel makes the whole story of Jesus a divine missionary enterprise. But that urgency is veiled for a time as those around Jesus wrestle with his identity. Then the miracle of Easter happened, and the disciples wrestled with Jesus' identity. Now, finally, questions of Jesus' identity can be set aside, and the return to mission is recovered.
Fourth, the future of the agents of renewal are commissioned and sent into an unknown future. John's gospel is all about "light" and "darkness." Here they are enlightened (after the darkness of night, around a glowing campfire, in the presence of the risen and glorious Jesus) and sent back into the darkness (Who knows what will become of them? We are not enabled to see that far into the shadows!) to become beacons of the light as creation is reborn around Jesus.
In this context Jesus casts a vision, and also becomes their vision. Many centuries ago, the great theologian Cyprian said that a person who has God as his father, has the church as his mother. Why? Because the church is the means by which God strengthens and deepens and restores our faith. We learn of God from the psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs of the church. We see God in the testimonies of the saints. When we've lost our way, the church whispers to us of the one who lives within her and draws us back to him. Of course, at the heart of the church is Jesus, head of the body.
Syndicated columnist Robert Fulghum says that long ago he gave up any significant relationship with God. He didn't really want God, the church, or religion to cramp his style.
Then he met someone who prevented him from banishing God from his life. He was so amazed that he put her picture on the mirror above the sink where he washed each morning. Every time he cleaned his hands, she was there to cleanse his heart. Whenever he scrubbed his face, she was there to wash his soul.
He met her a few years ago in Oslo, Norway, during the Nobel prize ceremonies. He was standing among the crowd of guests that filled the doors and hallways of the auditorium. Then she passed by. She stopped for a moment and smiled at him. For a brief moment, it seemed as if she reached into his heart and understood him. There was no condemnation in her look, only genuine care. Then she went to the front of the auditorium to receive the Nobel Peace Prize from the hand of the king of Norway. It was Mother Teresa of Calcutta.
Somehow, said Fulghum, she reminded him of the things that were missing in his life. "We can do no great things," she said, "only small things with great love." With that, says Fulghum, "she upsets me, disturbs me, shames me. What does she have that I do not?"
But deep inside, he knows. That's why he keeps her picture on his mirror, and looks into her eyes again and again. That's why he writes about her. He knows that she has God. That's the source of her strength, her energy, her inner beauty.
Mother Teresa was herself only a reflection of the one who first gave her a vision as well. Like the disciples at the seashore, in the initial encounter, we all need to see Jesus.
Application
Dreams are a common and mostly forgettable experience. Visions, on the other hand, are more rare and more meaningful. Sometimes we are led by visions that God implants in us as signposts and enigmatic directions. More often we gain insight, perspective, and transcendence from the visions of others whom we call prophets, modern or ancient. In this season of Easter we need at least to be captured by the visions of those in our religious heritage who have helped us see God and God's ways more clearly. Then we might begin dreaming great dreams of our own, once again.
Alternative Application
Revelation 5:11-14. The songs and worship scenes in the book of Revelation are wonderfully engaging. This may be a Sunday just to tell stories of depth and transformation and insight and encouragement, and then to sing a bunch of great hymns of faith. Think of Horatio Spafford, a lawyer in Chicago in the latter half of the nineteenth century. When Mrs. O'Leary's cow overturned the lantern the night of October 8, 1871, the great fire that resulted destroyed Spafford's home and business. Worse yet, the Spaffords' only son, a six-year-old, was killed.
These disasters put a heavy strain on the family. Mrs. Spafford became so nervous and run-down that her doctor recommended a vacation, so the family laid plans to sail for Europe in November of 1873.
As the date approached, Horatio realized he was too busy to leave with his family. He sent his wife and four daughters on ahead, planning to catch up with them later.
On November 22, the ship carrying the five Spafford women sank beneath the waves of the north Atlantic. Nearly everyone on board died. On December 1, Mrs. Spafford sent a telegram to Horatio from Cardiff, Wales. It said, "Saved alone!"
How much more would one couple have to suffer? Where was God in all of this?
Horatio left immediately to join his wife. As he crossed the Atlantic, he asked the captain to show him where the other ship had gone down. When they came to the spot, Horatio stood at the rail, looking out at the cruel gray sea. Did he cry out to God in pain? Probably so. Did he feel cheated by life? Undoubtedly. Did he turn away from God, saying God had let him down?
He could have. But he didn't, because in those moments he wrote these words:
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say,
"It is well, it is well with my soul."
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
let this blest assurance control;
that Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
and has shed his own blood for my soul.
O Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend;
even so, it is well with my soul.
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 30
Perspective is everything. The young child who has been sent to sit in the corner really has no idea how long he or she will be in that chair facing the wall. It seems like forever. It feels like forever. In fact, for the youngster in question, it may as well be forever. But the parent knows that a few moments apart from the action can often take a child out of a cycle of behavior or out of a bad mood. The parent has perspective.
It's a relatively easy thing to do this kind of thinking when it comes to children, but how do we maintain perspective as adults? How do we step back to see that "weeping may linger for a night, but joy comes with the morning"? Too often we are so close, so engaged that perspective is difficult, if not impossible. Caught in the passion of an argument or the power of an idea, it's not always easy to stop and think about the larger ramifications. Invested, as many of us are, in the way things go in a church or a school, it's seldom if ever easy to step back and gain some critical distance that my let us invite needed change.
Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning. The difficulty of change may cramp our style. The inconvenience of changing the way we do things might be uncomfortable. But joy, as the psalmist says, comes in the morning. The benefit of perspective can allow us to walk through a lot of difficulties because with that perspective comes the vision of what is over the horizon.
Where, in the life of our church communities, do we need perspective? In what ways can we step back to see what needs to take place so that we might build God's kingdom? Can we discern that there may be weeping as we push forward, but that indeed joy will come in the morning? Is it feasible to endure the tears as we wait for morning's light? How does this call to perspective touch us? What does it call us to do? How does it call us forth into ministry and discipleship?
Tough questions, perhaps. Yet if we know that joy comes in the morning, maybe they aren't so difficult after all.
Just as the devil finished, the sleeping Tartini awoke. While the dream still echoed in his mind, he grabbed his violin, in hopes of remembering what he had heard. He named the resulting piece of music for the one who had inspired it.
Some dreams are like that -- so real and gripping that we are left wondering whether the dream world is actually reality. The ancient Chinese philosopher Chuang Tzu once dreamed he was a butterfly. When he awoke to see his human form, he was curious: Was he perhaps truly a butterfly dreaming he was a man, or was he a man who sometimes dreamed he was a butterfly? Could one reality be proved over against the other?
The poet Stephen Vincent Benet wrote that "dreaming men are haunted men." So it would seem throughout the scriptures: Jacob was so haunted by his dream at Bethel that his whole outlook on life was changed.
Nebuchadnezzar may have been able to conquer the world, but the dreams that robbed him of sleep in Babylon's palace also robbed him of his kingdom. Or think of Paul in the New Testament. His dreamlike vision of the Macedonian man launched the mission of the early church into the far reaches of Europe.
Some dreams -- like the one Tartini had, like Jacob had, like Paul had, like John had on the island of Patmos -- can change our lives. They can give us new perspectives and help us better understand our purpose on earth. Our dream world may be our closest link with the spiritual world. If we listen closely at night we might hear, with Tartini, the devil's trill; but we might also find, with Jacob, that we're tenting on holy ground.
Today we step into the visions of Paul and John, and grow mesmerized with the dreamy encounter between the disciples and Jesus. If these moments of translucent transcendence do anything for us, they ought to stimulate our own desires to see Jesus anew in this Easter season.
Acts 9:1-6 (7-20)
Often we refer to Paul's encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus as a dramatic turnaround, a complete conversion from one identity to another. While it is true that there was a decided shift in his actions toward Christians from this point forward, Paul himself would be the first to say that he had not significantly changed his religious outlook. It was precisely because he was sold out to God that he had cringed at the thought of someone like Jesus stepping into the limelight that only the creator deserved. But once he gained an appreciation for Jesus' divinity, the pieces fell into place, and his strength of religious character was merely enlightened rather than completely retooled.
In a sense, Paul's conversion was like waking up from a dream and realizing for the first time what his life, beliefs, and value systems really meant. He had held them as a culture prior to encountering Jesus, but now he owned them as loving friends. "Conversion," for him, was not so much a revolution or a renewal as it was a remembrance. He remembered who he was, for the first time.
Frederick Buechner once dreamed that he was staying at a hotel with hundreds of rooms. When he checked in, the desk clerk gave him the key to a delightful room. It made him feel warm, comfortable, and cared for. Although later Buechner couldn't remember exactly what the room looked like, he shivered with pleasure whenever he thought about it.
In his dream, he stayed in the room for a short time before setting off on a number of adventures. Later, however, his dream brought him back to the same hotel.
This time the clerk gave Buechner the key to a different room. When he opened the door, he immediately sensed the difference: it felt cold and clammy; it was cramped and dark; it made him shudder with fear.
In his dream, he went to the front desk and asked the clerk to move him to his first room -- the bright and cozy one. But Buechner couldn't remember where it was.
The clerk smiled and said he knew exactly which room it was. He told Buechner he could have the room any time he wanted it -- if he asked for it by name. The name of the room, said the clerk, was "Remember." A room called "Remember."
That's when Buechner woke up, and he has been haunted by it ever since. A room called "Remember!" A room of peace. A room that made him feel loved and at home.
What was it all about? Buechner knew. We all have memories, he said -- bits and pieces of things that have happened to us in the past; scraps of stories and songs we've learned; photo albums of our younger years. We all remember.
But, said Buechner, we don't always use our memories. Sometimes we let them go to waste. Sometimes we shut them out of our consciousness. Sometimes we're too busy to visit with them. And when we stop using our memories, we lose an important part of our lives.
Throughout the scriptures we hear God calling us to remember. Remember what life is about. Remember who I am. Remember what you've gone through. Remember who you are.
One of the most powerful scenes in the Bible pictures Jesus calling us to remember. On the night of his death, Jesus sits quietly with the twelve, raises the cup in blessing, and says, "Whenever you come together, do this and remember me."
A father watched proudly as his radiant daughter stood waiting to go on her first date. She was excited and nervous, and so was he. What advice could he give her without being overprotective? He put his arm around her shoulder and looked her lovingly in the eye. "Remember who you are," he said. And that was enough.
Paul's vision of Jesus on the road to Damascus might well be summed up in that way. Rather than leaving himself behind, Paul was instead encouraged to truly remember who he was. That's what changed his life.
Revelation 5:11-14
This passage from the book of Revelation comes at the close of one of the most spectacular scenes of worship ever recorded in any literature on earth. It draws us up into a world of meaning and purpose, passion and delight, and allows us to hear songs we know but don't yet have the voice to sing.
But remember this: One of the reasons we are so captivated by this vision of glory is that most of us have never had it ourselves! We live in a humdrum world, where gray is the natural color, and noise is more prevalent than music. We see through eyes dimmed by religious cataracts, and need pacemakers installed by others to keep some lease on meaningful life. In other words, the only way we can own worship like these scenes is vicariously, through the transcendent visions of others, such as John.
Those who see further and hear higher and emote deeper become our heroes. They teach us something of a world we haven't been able to experience ourselves, and become the mentors of our lives as we stretch for a horizon that seems too far away.
When Abraham Kuyper served as prime minister of the Netherlands, he brought Christianity into the full spectrum of the social and political realms in a powerful and transforming way. Faith wasn't always so important to him. At the start of his career, Kuyper was a young preacher in a rural village. He had been schooled in the best of modern theology, and his sermons were well-polished masterpieces.
Not all in his congregation were impressed, though. Pietronella Baltus didn't care for his preaching, and she spoke her mind to him more than once. Certainly his sermons were intelligent and well delivered, she said, but they did not declare the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Kuyper was intrigued. Who was this woman to serve as his critic? He began to visit her, and, over tea, she explained Jesus to him. She told him about faith and God and things outside of his experience. With her simple wisdom and vision, Pietronella Baltus silenced the knowledge of the great preacher. He knew his theology, but he didn't know her God. He knew his dogmatics, but he didn't know her Christ. He knew his church's history, but he didn't know her Lord.
After sitting at her feet, Kuyper rose up a different man. For the rest of his life, he spoke of the woman who had changed his heart, opened his eyes, and swept the cobwebs out of his soul. She was his teacher, his friend, his miracle of faith. She had been to heaven while he was stuck on earth. She taught him the language of eternity when he was still stumbling over the vocabulary of time. She saw John's vision and communicated it to him until he sat spellbound by her siren song. For the rest of his years, she lived on in his heart and mind, ever bracketed by quotation marks.
If we were to rewrite Revelation 5:11-14 based on our own experiences, what names would we give to the "many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand" who circle God's throne with their praise? What faces and personalities pop up when we note how "every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea" had picked up the chorus? How rich is your heritage of heroes who sustained you along the way? Which mentors, teachers, and friends are bracketed between the quotation marks of your soul?
John 21:1-19
The gospel of John is actually quite complete at the end of chapter 20. Although no manuscripts exist of the book without chapter 21, it is often viewed as a later appendage. Still, even if it was written later by the evangelist or one of his disciples, the story told in today's lectionary passage brings further completeness to the rest of the gospel.
For one thing, it sets the story of the church in motion. John 20 tells of Jesus breathing the Holy Spirit (like the divine creative story in Genesis 2) into this new body of his that will recreate the human race, but they do not set out on the campaign of life before the chapter closes. Also, Thomas' great testimony is seen as a prelude to all the other testimonies of faith that will be given, but it does not lead naturally directly into them. Here in John 21 the story of the church begins to roll forward. The disciples need to make choices about their futures, Jesus restores Peter to his leadership role in the enterprise, and Jesus gives them a vision about the future that will lead them on.
Second, the failures of Peter, so pronounced in the Passion story, are rectified. Peter is resurrected by the resurrected Jesus, and re-empowered to take initiative again, rather than just tossing nets into a dubious sea.
Third, the missionary character of John's gospel is re-invigorated. The Prologue to the gospel makes the whole story of Jesus a divine missionary enterprise. But that urgency is veiled for a time as those around Jesus wrestle with his identity. Then the miracle of Easter happened, and the disciples wrestled with Jesus' identity. Now, finally, questions of Jesus' identity can be set aside, and the return to mission is recovered.
Fourth, the future of the agents of renewal are commissioned and sent into an unknown future. John's gospel is all about "light" and "darkness." Here they are enlightened (after the darkness of night, around a glowing campfire, in the presence of the risen and glorious Jesus) and sent back into the darkness (Who knows what will become of them? We are not enabled to see that far into the shadows!) to become beacons of the light as creation is reborn around Jesus.
In this context Jesus casts a vision, and also becomes their vision. Many centuries ago, the great theologian Cyprian said that a person who has God as his father, has the church as his mother. Why? Because the church is the means by which God strengthens and deepens and restores our faith. We learn of God from the psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs of the church. We see God in the testimonies of the saints. When we've lost our way, the church whispers to us of the one who lives within her and draws us back to him. Of course, at the heart of the church is Jesus, head of the body.
Syndicated columnist Robert Fulghum says that long ago he gave up any significant relationship with God. He didn't really want God, the church, or religion to cramp his style.
Then he met someone who prevented him from banishing God from his life. He was so amazed that he put her picture on the mirror above the sink where he washed each morning. Every time he cleaned his hands, she was there to cleanse his heart. Whenever he scrubbed his face, she was there to wash his soul.
He met her a few years ago in Oslo, Norway, during the Nobel prize ceremonies. He was standing among the crowd of guests that filled the doors and hallways of the auditorium. Then she passed by. She stopped for a moment and smiled at him. For a brief moment, it seemed as if she reached into his heart and understood him. There was no condemnation in her look, only genuine care. Then she went to the front of the auditorium to receive the Nobel Peace Prize from the hand of the king of Norway. It was Mother Teresa of Calcutta.
Somehow, said Fulghum, she reminded him of the things that were missing in his life. "We can do no great things," she said, "only small things with great love." With that, says Fulghum, "she upsets me, disturbs me, shames me. What does she have that I do not?"
But deep inside, he knows. That's why he keeps her picture on his mirror, and looks into her eyes again and again. That's why he writes about her. He knows that she has God. That's the source of her strength, her energy, her inner beauty.
Mother Teresa was herself only a reflection of the one who first gave her a vision as well. Like the disciples at the seashore, in the initial encounter, we all need to see Jesus.
Application
Dreams are a common and mostly forgettable experience. Visions, on the other hand, are more rare and more meaningful. Sometimes we are led by visions that God implants in us as signposts and enigmatic directions. More often we gain insight, perspective, and transcendence from the visions of others whom we call prophets, modern or ancient. In this season of Easter we need at least to be captured by the visions of those in our religious heritage who have helped us see God and God's ways more clearly. Then we might begin dreaming great dreams of our own, once again.
Alternative Application
Revelation 5:11-14. The songs and worship scenes in the book of Revelation are wonderfully engaging. This may be a Sunday just to tell stories of depth and transformation and insight and encouragement, and then to sing a bunch of great hymns of faith. Think of Horatio Spafford, a lawyer in Chicago in the latter half of the nineteenth century. When Mrs. O'Leary's cow overturned the lantern the night of October 8, 1871, the great fire that resulted destroyed Spafford's home and business. Worse yet, the Spaffords' only son, a six-year-old, was killed.
These disasters put a heavy strain on the family. Mrs. Spafford became so nervous and run-down that her doctor recommended a vacation, so the family laid plans to sail for Europe in November of 1873.
As the date approached, Horatio realized he was too busy to leave with his family. He sent his wife and four daughters on ahead, planning to catch up with them later.
On November 22, the ship carrying the five Spafford women sank beneath the waves of the north Atlantic. Nearly everyone on board died. On December 1, Mrs. Spafford sent a telegram to Horatio from Cardiff, Wales. It said, "Saved alone!"
How much more would one couple have to suffer? Where was God in all of this?
Horatio left immediately to join his wife. As he crossed the Atlantic, he asked the captain to show him where the other ship had gone down. When they came to the spot, Horatio stood at the rail, looking out at the cruel gray sea. Did he cry out to God in pain? Probably so. Did he feel cheated by life? Undoubtedly. Did he turn away from God, saying God had let him down?
He could have. But he didn't, because in those moments he wrote these words:
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say,
"It is well, it is well with my soul."
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
let this blest assurance control;
that Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
and has shed his own blood for my soul.
O Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend;
even so, it is well with my soul.
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 30
Perspective is everything. The young child who has been sent to sit in the corner really has no idea how long he or she will be in that chair facing the wall. It seems like forever. It feels like forever. In fact, for the youngster in question, it may as well be forever. But the parent knows that a few moments apart from the action can often take a child out of a cycle of behavior or out of a bad mood. The parent has perspective.
It's a relatively easy thing to do this kind of thinking when it comes to children, but how do we maintain perspective as adults? How do we step back to see that "weeping may linger for a night, but joy comes with the morning"? Too often we are so close, so engaged that perspective is difficult, if not impossible. Caught in the passion of an argument or the power of an idea, it's not always easy to stop and think about the larger ramifications. Invested, as many of us are, in the way things go in a church or a school, it's seldom if ever easy to step back and gain some critical distance that my let us invite needed change.
Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning. The difficulty of change may cramp our style. The inconvenience of changing the way we do things might be uncomfortable. But joy, as the psalmist says, comes in the morning. The benefit of perspective can allow us to walk through a lot of difficulties because with that perspective comes the vision of what is over the horizon.
Where, in the life of our church communities, do we need perspective? In what ways can we step back to see what needs to take place so that we might build God's kingdom? Can we discern that there may be weeping as we push forward, but that indeed joy will come in the morning? Is it feasible to endure the tears as we wait for morning's light? How does this call to perspective touch us? What does it call us to do? How does it call us forth into ministry and discipleship?
Tough questions, perhaps. Yet if we know that joy comes in the morning, maybe they aren't so difficult after all.
