The First Shall Be Last, and the Last, First

In the middle of the northern Baja peninsula of Mexico is a high mountain range. It is rugged and unique. It’s a National Park, Sierra de San Pedro Martir. One centerpiece of the park is an incredibly rugged mountain peak, Picacho Del Diablo. That mountain is an attraction for the most avid and hardened of hikers. In fact, only weeks before our visit, some American hikers had gotten lost there, but were rescued. The other centerpiece of the park is National Astronomical Observatory, the second most important observatory in all of Latin America.

Our son and daughter-in-law, Sam and Maddie, were missionary interns at Welcome Home, in Vicente Guerrero, for the summer of 2017. Their one desire for a day trip was to drive up to the national park.  We got to tag along, hardly knowing what was the draw.

We drove for hours, from the west coast of Baja, through desert, farmlands, and finally winding mountain roads, arriving at the gate to the observatory. The sign on the gate said that visitors would be escorted to the observatory at 11:00, and that would be the only visitation time for the day. We had made it in time, and had but a little while to wait.  Once we got to the observatory we were disappointed to discover that it was closed to visitors going inside, due to renovation.  But we had a super informative talk from a curator, and we enjoyed incredible views. We were told that on a clear day you could see all the way to the coastline of the Gulf of California, over fifty miles away. And there, right across a steep valley, standing tall and jagged, was Picacho Del Diablo.

A funny thing happened that morning, though, that made quite an impression on me. When we arrived at the observatory gate we were the second car to arrive.  We pulled over into a makeshift parking area for waiting. As the hour passed, more and more cars arrived, some maneuvering into the awkward, hilly, waiting area. Finally, the last cars arriving began to park in the road, jockeying for position to be first in line, or near first. As the line began to form people began running to their cars to get out on the road and get in line. We were boxed in and had to just sit and wait. As it turned out, we ended up being the last in line, some twenty or thirty cars rushing to get ahead of us.

As we began our caravan up to the top of the mountain I thought to myself how funny it would be if somehow the line were to be reversed when we arrived at the observatory. I don’t know what made me think that, but what is really funny is that it actually happened. The Park ranger leading the line of cars led the caravan to the top of the long parking lot, then turned around and led the line of cars downhill to the bottom of the parking lot, parking the cars in one long line. The first car was at the bottom of the hill, and we, who had been last in line, were parked at the top of the hill, only 50 meters from the observatory. Now it makes no difference, really, where the cars were parked, because everyone was going to get their turn going into the observatory to see the huge telescopes. Or so we thought. But that fact was not the mindset of everyone down at the gate, as they jockeyed to be first in line with their car. I guess they thought that if they were first in line with their car then they would be first to get in line to enter the observatory.

Jesus said on several occasions, “Many who are first shall be last, and many who are last shall be first.” That jockeying for position at the gate to the observatory was a great reminder to me that pride, privilege, or position mean nothing to God. He has a way of turning things right side up. His measure is mercy, justice, and humility. We do not impress him with our own self-effort and self-worth. Rather, He draws close to those who surrender to His great love and transforming grace, who serve selflessly in the strength of the Holy Spirit. God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble. My dear friend, you who are last in line, He will lift you up in due time (I Pet 5:6-8).

Band of Brothers. Not!

The whole purpose of a Band of Brothers, they say, is to trust a few guys with my real self. To quit trying to do life on my own -- hiding my struggles, my doubts, my shame -- and take off the mask of pretending to always be on top of my game. Being real, vulnerable, loving, trusting, and healing, they say, makes it far more difficult for the enemy to get in and destroy. Experiencing true love and trust, they say, forms strong strands, like a rope, that will help to protect me and my family.

  

“Band of Brothers” purports the merits of teamwork. Every member of the team looks out for the others, so that the strength of the whole is far greater than the sum of the parts. That’s great talk, and it’s probably true of sports and the military. But it doesn’t work in real life.

Being authentic, real, and vulnerable with anyone, let alone with a small group of men, is downright foolish. I have come to the conclusion that the risk is greater than the reward.  After all, it’s a dog eat dog world out there. I have to look tough. I have to carry an air of confidence and dominance.  I can’t let anyone see a crack in my armor if I hope to come out on top. I can size them up – let the weak stumble, I’ll be the last man standing. I can take care of myself, thank you. Humility is for the weak. If I were to ever share my failure, my shame, or my needs, it would only come back to bite me. Guaranteed.

I mean, why would I ever trust another man with me? Do you think that I can’t see myself accurately, that I might actually deceive myself? Get real -- man is master of his own soul. Your insight and assessment is certainly no better than my own. I can spot lies and false beliefs a mile away… I don’t need your help.

And why would I ever think that I need love from another man? I think I can be a pretty good lover of mankind, even if I don’t allow others to love me. It’s a lot easier just to give love than to receive it, it’s not so messy, and it’s on my terms.

And that fluff-stuff from Solomon is sheer tom-foolery -- that thing about a man falling and needing someone to help him up, or a man who gets cold and needs another to warm him. Oh my, let’s not even go there. If I fall down I certainly am not going to let anyone know about it. Oh, you think I may not even know it when I fall? I’ll figure it out on my own, thank you. And if I do fall, I’ll get up on my own, even if I have to crawl up the wall by my fingernails. I’ll let you know when I have problems with my prostate, my back, my heart, or when I get cancer. But don’t expect me to tell you about my hurt, my pain, my failure, or my confusion.

Cold – what’s cold?  Don’t expect me to cuddle up to some guy to get warm. If I get cold I’ll just hide it and protect myself. If I withdraw from God I suppose that’s just where I want to be for a while. When I want to get warm I’ll do it on my own, thank you.

Besides, even if I wanted such a thing, a Band of Brothers, where would I even start to find a friend or two who truly have a similar heart for God. Okay, I admit it, sometimes I have this deep desire to have a really close friend, someone who shares the yoke of Christ with me. But it takes too much courage and commitment. Far easier, I think, to just have fishing buddies. You know what I mean. It’s hard to want something you’re not sure even exists.

Don’t get me wrong, now. I’ll still go to church regular. I’ll even be a part of a Bible study group. Might even help with the kids’ ministry or serve on a committee. Busy, busy, busy! You can count on me for all of that. Just don’t ask me to get emotional, any of that sort of stuff, or open up and be real and trust someone else with anything more than what I am comfortable with. No one goes looking to be embarrassed. Keep things on the surface. That’s what’s safe, in my book. That’s the way I was brought up, that’s the way I am, so don’t expect me to change.

I used to teach the importance of an environment of grace. A band of brothers. But I think I’ll put all that stuff on the bottom of the stack, now. I’m going with a new motto from here on out.  God helps those who help themselves. If that ain’t in the Bible, it should be. It’s gospel truth.

Brokenness, the Catalyst For Change

The headlights were bearing down on me at sixty miles an hour, ready to smash into my car, broadside.  My life was about to end, so I looked away and waited, wondering how quick it would be, and how much it would hurt. I had become disoriented in a heavy rainstorm, after dark, and had come to a stop, not at the stop sign, but in the middle of the northbound lane of state highway 224. Fortunately, the other driver was able to swerve, and I was able to accelerate just enough that the crash did not kill or maim either of us.

It has been nearly two years since that horrific incident and I have not driven my car through that intersection a single time since that night. I changed my route permanently. It was easy to change.

Whenever I have the opportunity to teach about living by grace rather than living by self-effort I am eventually asked the question, “So what is the catalyst to change?” You see, grace is inviting, whereas trying to please God by getting my act together on my own is futile and tiring. So, what is the gimmick? What is the secret? Where is the switch to turn it on, they ask. I give them my answer, what I learned from my own experience, and from an abundance of Biblical stories. I preface it by saying that it is probably not the answer they want to hear. The catalyst for change, my friend, is brokenness, I tell them. Apart from a crisis of brokenness no one has much of any incentive to change. Brokenness is the doorway in to living by grace and walking in step with the spirit. And on the doorknob you will find inscribed the word humility.

Change is difficult. It is nigh unto impossible. That’s why we use the word “addiction”. How many times have you tried to change a bad habit and failed. The chains of that bad habit were so light at first that you did not even feel them, but by the time you wanted to change the chains were so heavy that you could not break free. You discover that will power is no power at all. The only thing that will initiate change is not resolve, but crisis. Welcome the brokenness. Don’t curse the bad luck, don’t waste the moment. Submit to the love of God and the love of close friends. Cherish the gift of forgiveness. And surrender to the work of repentance that the spirit of God is doing. When the prodigal son came to the point of brokenness and returned to the love of his father, the story ends by saying that the angels in heaven rejoice whenever one person repents, when someone is transformed and changed.

No one knows the Healer until they need healing. No one trusts the Provider until they are penniless. No one surrenders to the Prince of Peace until all hell breaks loose. And I am afraid that very few comprehend or trust grace until the weight of bitterness or shame becomes unbearable.

God cannot use you until first you are broken. My daughter, Erika, got a small Shetland pony for her young daughter to ride. Rocky was green, never ridden, even though he was ten years old. Erika patiently tried to break the horse, to get his will surrendered to the idea of having a rider on his back. But he was stubborn, self-willed, and was never broken. He even cornered a larger horse in a stall and kicked it to death. Rocky ended up being good for nothing but a pasture ornament. He looked good, but he was useless.

God is not sitting on his hands up in heaven waiting till we give up so he can rescue us. No, He works hard to bring us to brokenness, to a place of humility and surrender. God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble. He is in the business of transforming lives, freeing us from every bit of self-obsession. He desperately wants to help us learn to live in his love, dependently trusting His powerful grace.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (II Cor 12: 7-10)