“On Building a Life”
Psalm 46 and Matthew 7:21-29
Upon what is your life founded?
When the rain falls, the floods come, and the winds blow and beat on the house of your life, what is left?
The Psalmist says, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult” (Psalm 46:1-3).
Do you believe that?
“Be still and know that I am God,” the Psalmist goes on to say. When was the last time you did that?
The noise of our lives has a way of keeping us in the shallows, of keeping us tuned out of God’s deeper voice of deepened meaning, deepened sacrifice, deepened life. Then something trips us up, our shallow comfort is shaken, and we look for a place to stand, only to find ourselves in sinking sand.
It is the story of our lives. It is the story God came in Christ to do something about. But we keep settling for short-term comfort instead of investing in the Ground of our Being.
A colleague shared that a recent report of UNICEF ranking countries in terms of the best and worst places to grow up as a child found the U.S. next to last just above Great Britain. They used such measuring sticks as kids’ relationships with peers, time spent with parents, drinking and drug use, and the kids’ own assessment of their happiness.
Commenting on the report, William Falk says, “It would be comforting to shrug off the report as pure anti-American bunk. But as the parent of a teen and a tween, I cannot. I’ve seen firsthand the emptiness that haunts so many middle-class kids. From an early age they are taught that life is a pitiless pursuit of individual gratification and success, requiring above-average brains and above-average looks. There is no sense of context, or community, no higher purpose. It’s hardly surprising that so many of them…hide their sadness in eating disorders, drugs, or meaningless hookups. In our rush to give our children everything, I’m afraid, we have forgotten to help them answer a question that won’t be ignored: What is this all for?”
If it’s just for me, then it follows that I am left to myself. If life is all about my comfort, well then, my own two feet are the only legs I have to stand on. Which seems fine until “the earth changes, and the mountains shake in the heart of the sea”, and my legs go out from under me.
But if all of this is not just for me, but for our life lived together with God, if life is about transcending ourselves and caring for others, we become more aware of the foundations of life and their enduring importance; we know they must be strong enough to hold us all up. As the old man teaches Br’er Rabbit (children’s sermon), we do not look just to our own comfort but we tend the ground for the comfort and joy of others around us and down the road. We are part of more than our own little story. We are part of God’s larger universal story.
There is a little vignette in Chaim Potok’s story of The Chosen. The rabbi is trying to urge commitment to life upon his son who has lost the sight of one eye in an accident. “You are no longer a child, Reuven… It is almost impossible not to see the way your mind is growing and your heart, too. You do not see it, but I see it. And it is a beautiful thing to see. So listen to what I am going to tell you.”
He paused for a moment, as if considering his next words carefully, then continued. “Human beings do not live forever, Reuven. We live less than the time it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity. So it must be asked what value there is to human life. There is so much pain in the world. What does it mean to suffer so much if our lives are noting more than a blink of an eye?”
He paused again, his eyes misty now, then went on. “I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that a blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something. A span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that span with meaning. Do you understand what I am saying, Reuven? A man must fill his life with meaning. It is hard work to fill one’s life with meaning. A life filled with meaning is worthy of rest. I want to be worthy of rest when I am no longer here. Do you understand what I am saying?”
It is hard work to fill our life with meaning. Jesus never said it was a piece of cake. He, along with the Psalmist, assumes that winds blow, torrential rains fall, and storms rage. He never promises bliss, never makes our ease a destination or goal. Instead he says difficult things like:
- To find, you must lose (Matt. 10:39)
- To be rich, you must be poor (Matt. 5:3)
- To live, you must die (Luke 17:33)
- To be first, you must be last (Matt. 19:30)
- To be honored, you must be humbled (Matt. 3:12)
These are not the kind of sound bites that resonate with a culture that teaches that life is all about me. But these are the words, says Jesus, that resonate with God. These are the foundations upon which to build a life that resonates with eternity.
Years ago, my mom sent me a story that resonates with this point. A carpenter told his employer-contractor of his plans to retire. The contractor was sorry to see such a good and loyal worker leave and asked if he could build one more house.
The carpenter agreed, but his heart wasn’t in his work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an unfortunate way to end a dedicated career.
When the carpenter finished his work, the employer handed the front-door key to the carpenter, saying, “It’s my gift to you.”
The carpenter was shocked. If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it differently.
So it is with us.
Today, be still, know that God is God, and move out of the shallows. Let God deepen your purpose and help you build a life that is part of God’s larger story. Quiet your heart and mind and consider these questions (adapted from John Ortberg’s It All Goes Back in the Box, p. 72) in your days:
What will you feed your mind? On what thoughts will you dwell? With whom will you have conversation? Where will you direct your attention? How will you take care of your body? In what acts of service will you engage? When will you choose to be interrupted and when will you choose to stay on task? What will you eat? How will you spend your time? For whom will you live today?
All of these are calls, are choices, are decisions you will make, and when you add them up, they create the foundation, the building materials, the substance of your life. No one else can do this for you. Take care, each day, in how you build. Amen.
Melanie Hammond Clark
Covenant Presbyterian Church
Racine, WI
June 1, 2008