Pastors' Blog

I know it isn’t a church holiday, but when we were kids, giving each other those little red and pink cards on Valentine’s Day was a favorite pastime. I don’t suppose we ever really figured out the meaning of that innocuously short query that we scribbled in third grade penmanship on those floppy heart-shaped cut-outs. Nevertheless we handed it out to all our friends at school: “Will you be Mine?”

It’s the call of divine heart, is it not? “Will you be mine?” asks the God of the universe who for millennia now has been desperately trying to win back the hearts of a runaway and rebel race. “Will you be mine?” Why it’s as if all the children God already has around his dinner table in heaven aren’t enough—as if he’ll never be really, truly happy and contented until we say “yes” and come and join him, too. “Will you be Mine?”

When I fell in love with Karen, before I’d even gotten to know her, it was the utter preoccupation of my teenage heart to get her attention. I knew each day that as I headed for the cafeteria at SMC (“Southern Matrimonial College”), she’d be coming out of one of her nursing classes and I could pass her on the sidewalk. And so every day, in one of those foolish (but effective) teenage rituals, I’d drop my head when I spotted her and pretend to be deep in thought while staring at the sidewalk in front of me, but all the while maneuvering my steps so that I would practically run straight into her. Then there’d be the burst of laughter, the quick apology about “not” seeing her there, and with her face fresh in mind I’d be on my way. Who can know “the way of a man with a maiden” (Proverbs 30:19 NIV)?

But then, the ways of Love divine are as inexplicable at times, aren’t they? Explain to the rest of us, please, the compelling passion that drives a God from his great white throne to our dark, fallen earth, all for what? That we might be granted the chance to cry at the top of our lungs, “We have no king but Caesar”? And with that ugly refrain repeating inside of him, this rejected God stumbles on to the place of his execution. And as they stretch out his naked frame and pin him to that stake, with every thud of the mallet upon those nails, the question he came to earth to ask is hammered out: “Will you be Mine?”

“‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life’” (John 3:16). On Valentine’s Day it will be this story that I will be sharing. Join us in South Bend (7 p.m.). Pray for me and us right now, so that God’s “Will you be Mine?” will be an arrow through every listening heart.

Three people died this week: Don Kirshner, the veteran music mogul, hailed a “legend” for his creation and management of young rock groups in the 60s and 70s, including the Monkees; Sargent Shriver, described as the most influential non-elected politician in U.S. history, serving his brother-in-law John Kennedy’s administration as head of the Peace Corp and leading the War on Poverty for President Lyndon Johnson; and, an unnamed and unknown elderly man in Mongolia. The first two are being feted in the national press for their portfolios of achievement. The third is remembered only by the family he loved and the village he served throughout his unnoticed, publicly unremarkable life. Why consider the three? Because somewhere in our pantheon of cultural icons we as earth children have been fooled into the notion that the “legends” created by the press, the media and the public’s raucous clamor for the next “American Idol” are who matter most. But of course we know better . . . don’t we? It was Jesus who acclaimed the anonymous and unfeted of humanity by especially recognizing “whoever gives one of these little ones only a cup of cold water in the name of a disciple” (Matthew 10:42). No public office, no tabloid headline—just the anonymous gift of a cool drink of water to some stranger in need. And it is that one, Jesus declared, who “shall by no means lose his [eternal] reward.” No wonder these words a century ago: “Do not shut yourselves up to yourselves, satisfied to pour out all your affection upon each other. Seize every opportunity to contribute to the happiness of those around you, sharing with them your affection. Words of kindness, looks of sympathy, expressions of appreciation, would to many a struggling, lonely one be as a cup of cold water to a thirsty soul. A word of cheer, an act of kindness, would go far to lighten the burdens that are resting heavily upon weary shoulders. It is in unselfish ministry that true happiness is found. And every word and deed of such service is recorded in the books of heaven as done for Christ” (7T 50, emphasis supplied). Reminds me of the librarian poet Sam Walter Foss’s composition, “The House by the Side of the Road.” It’s a credo you and I can live by this year, can’t we? There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the place of their self-content; There are souls like stars, that dwell apart, In a fellowless firmament; There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths Where highways never ran— But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man. Let me live in a house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by— The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner's seat Nor hurl the cynic's ban— Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I see from my house by the side of the road By the side of the highway of life, The men who press with the ardor of hope, The men who are faint with the strife, But I turn not away from their smiles and tears, Both parts of an infinite plan— Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead, And mountains of wearisome height; That the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night. And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice And weep with the strangers that moan, Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone. Let me live in my house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by— They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish - so am I. Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban? Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.

Scientists think they’ve found the secret to our good and bad habits. It has to do with the pleasure-sensing chemical dopamine, coursing up and down our body’s internal highways. According to an AP report this week, dopamine “conditions the brain to want that reward again and again—reinforcing the connection each time—especially when it gets the right cue from your environment” (South Bend Tribune 1-4-11). For example, you enjoy munching on chips (no doubt a healthful kind). You usually do it before supper, while you’re watching the evening news. (I know the routine well!) Dopamine links your desire for those chips to the environmental stimulus of watching the evening news, and pretty soon your brain’s dopamine-rich striatum region links both activities to a desired reward—pleasurable taste and relaxation. Turn on the news, get hungry for chips—munch some chips, turn on the television. The more repetitions, the stronger the dopamine tie that binds.

“‘Why are bad habits stronger? You’re fighting against the power of an immediate reward,’ says Dr. Nora Volkow, director of the National Institute on Drug Abuse and an authority on the brain’s pleasure pathway. It’s the fudge vs. broccoli choice: Chocolate’s yum factor tends to beat out the knowledge that sticking with veggies brings an eventual reward of lost pounds. ‘We all as creatures are hard-wired that way, to give greater value to an immediate reward as opposed to something that’s delayed,’ Volkow says” (ibid).

And the problem is that we tend to overestimate our ability to resist temptations around us, “thus undermining attempts to shed bad habits, says experimental psychologist Loran Nordgren, an assistant professor at Northwestern University’s Kellogg School of Management. ‘People have this self-control hubris, this belief they can handle more than they can,’ says Nordgren, who studies the tug-of-war between willpower and temptation” (ibid).

All of which means that establishing good habits and ridding bad habits requires more than simply composing another list of New Year’s resolutions. “Been there—done that.” Based on this AP report of their studies, here are five new routines researchers recommend adding to your good-habits strategy:

“Repeat, repeat, repeat the new behavior—the same routine at the same time of day.” Pick a time of day, select an activity, and stick to it. Personal prayer and Bible study first thing the morning. Walking, jogging, working out at the same time each day. The striatum will eventually recognize the new habit and will “reward” you for faithfulness to the new routine, or “disturb” you when you neglect it.

“Exercise itself raises dopamine levels,” which means adding this good habit to your routine will raise your feel-good sense of vitality.

“Reward yourself with something you really desire.” A new book or a CD or an outfit you’ve been needing reinforces your own intentions to stick to good habit routine.

“Stress can reactivate the bad-habit circuitry.” So “chilling out” isn’t such a bad idea when your circuits are on overload.

“Cut out the rituals linked to your bad habits.” As the report puts it, “No eating in front of the TV, ever.”

But there’s one more strategy science can never measure. It’s your faith-factor. Repeat this dynamite promise from God daily and your striatum will quickly get the message:
“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). Too simple? Hardly! Begin each day in quiet conversation with Him through a story-a-day reading through the Gospels, and you will unite yourself with Christ himself, as you discover for yourself his omnipotent friendship—a power even stronger than dopamine.

Poor Europe—“white Christmas”—bad timing. The wintery blast that has piled a mound of snow across Europe the past few days might have started out a “Christmas winter wonderland.” But the only wonder left now is how to untangle this perfect storm of meteorological and technological gridlock that has turned the continent’s major airports into bed and breakfasts, minus the bed and the breakfast. Nobody’s humming “White Christmas” anymore (especially since that Irving Berlin composition is a distinctly American tradition). No wonder the mayor is so uptight! “Boris Johnson, the mayor of London, appeared frustrated that the winter weather could completely snarl air travel through Heathrow, where only a ‘handful’ of flights were landing and taking off on Monday, according to a spokeswoman. ‘It can’t be beyond the wit of man surely to find the shovels, the diggers, the snowplows or whatever it takes to clear the snow out from under the planes, to get the planes moving and to have more than one runway going,’ Mr. Johnson said, according to the Associated Press." From the New York Times.” 

“It can’t be beyond the wit of man.” Well put, Lord Mayor. But then again some Christmas realities are utterly beyond our human ken, are they not? There was no snowfall that autumn night over Bethlehem. Just an over-crowded inn, filled to its rafters with out-of-towners for the Roman tax census. Shepherds with their flocks and camp fires dotted the midnight hillsides surrounding the village (evidence enough that the Holy Night came in autumn, not in winter). Suddenly from out of nowhere in the darkness a celestial being materialized in an explosion of glory before the stricken shepherds. “ . . . and they were greatly afraid. Then the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying: ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men!’” (Luke 2:10-14)

Wide-eyed and dumb with fear, that band of watchers had gazed upon “the brightest picture ever beheld by human eyes” (The Desire of Ages 48). How long did it take to find voice and sight in the dark again? However long, they abandoned flocks, raced to the sleepy village, located the backyard cave-stable with the designated feeding trough, and out-of-breath stumbled into the presence of God in the still glistening Newborn.

“It can’t be beyond the wit of man.” But in this case it truly is. Far beyond our paltry finitude, no matter how long we brood over that manger scene.  “Wonder, O heavens! and be astonished, O earth!” (p 49)  No wonder the compelling human response to the God who tiptoed into town that night is to worship him.