A Good News-Bad News Scenario

I have a good news-bad news scenario for you, and it comes complete with a few layers of each. 

It’s good news that the scenario I’ll mention is mostly hypothetical. But even better news is that what it illustrates is, I believe, deeply true.

It’s bad news, and it pains me to tell you this, that you’re on death row, convicted for murder. I hope you think it’s good news that I was quite surprised to hear it and have always thought very highly of you.

It’s good news, even though our friendship makes me reluctant to admit it, that the trial was fair, and the verdict was just. It’s bad news that, yes, you committed the crime. It’s also bad news, from your point of view, that your death sentence is scheduled to be carried out at 11:59 p.m., Thursday next.

I should give you a minute to process this news, good and bad, bad and good. It really is a lot to take in.

But don’t despair! I now have incredibly good news for you. (Note that this is not a deep dive into psychology. We’ll just assume that you would prefer to stay alive.) An amazingly selfless individual has appealed to the governor on your behalf and asked (and this really is incredible) to take your place on death row and be executed on your behalf. More incredible still, the governor has agreed. You’ll soon be free.

Of course, it’s hard to imagine that this would ever actually happen. The scenario is indeed hypothetical, but I thank you for indulging me in order for us to get to this question: If this could really happen and the innocent man was indeed executed in your stead, would his taking your punishment alter your actual guilt in the least? Surely, the answer is No.

Such an act, even if it was not committed by a crazy person (aided by an unhinged governor), and even if it was a completely unselfish act of sacrificial love… Such an act would not, could not, render the guilty truly innocent and the innocent truly guilty. Unless…

 Unless the man making the sacrifice was the fully human, fully divine Son of God. Fully human, he could actually die, executed on, say, a cross. Fully divine, he could literally take on himself and away from those he richly loves all of their sin and guilt. Yes, it would be a completely unselfish act of sacrificial love, but, as opposed to the former scenario, this one would be genuinely efficacious.

Wonder of wonders, the guilty would be completely free, no longer guilty, and alive because, as the Apostle Paul wrote, “God made him [Jesus Christ] who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:17). 

Why would someone so completely, mysteriously, and genuinely forgiven choose to live as a guilty person? Why would such a person not choose to live with genuine hope, joy, and gratitude?

If this latter scenario is not hypothetical at all but is wonderfully true, then it surely must be the best news of all.

Text Copyright 2024 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

God Has No Unwanted Children

Our parents were tired. That’s the most obvious explanation for, well, a lot.

I’m thankful that they had me, though a “planned” child, I obviously was not. If I’ve done the math correctly, Mom was 42 years old when I was born, and Dad was 44.

Since I am confident that I was no surprise to my Father, it’s never bothered me that I was completely unexpected by my parents—until the doctor confirmed that I was expected. I can only imagine how that news took their breath away. I wonder what they were thinking. My two-years-younger brother has a simple answer: “Oh, they weren’t thinking.”

Math again. If my former calculations are right, Mom was 44 and Dad was 46 when Jim came on the scene. Was he planned? Oh, I think so. I’ve told him many times that he was obviously brought on board to serve as a companion for little Curtis. It’s simple logic, I’ve assured him, and he should find a great deal of peace and satisfaction by facing reality and just accepting that a major part of his purpose in life has been to make my life better.

Our folks already had three children—two boys and a girl. My sister (my next oldest sibling) was 15 years older than me. My oldest brother and his wife could almost have been my parents. That fact, I’m told, added to the surprise and some confusion when the news of my impending arrival got out.

So, obviously, our folks already had one well-established family when Family Number Two took up residence. Mom would later do some math herself and report that she had at least one child in public school continuously for 40 years. Who does that on purpose?

Were they tired? Oh, yes. And that explains why, according to our older siblings, that our parents’ standards slipped a great deal with the second bunch, and pretty much all Jim and I had to do was to stay out of jail. I’m not saying that I completely admit the accuracy of that opinion, but neither would I say that they were utterly without evidence.

I give one example. I won’t go into the details, but Jim and I tried a brief flirtation with organized sports and soon discovered that we had a good deal more fun on our own. During our growing up years, fewer bad guys were blowing things up. Chemistry sets included a wider variety of useful chemicals, and we discovered that the neighborhood pharmacy could augment a toy chemistry set quite nicely.

A real breakthrough for us came when we learned in school how to make a paper mache volcano. The prescribed recipe would produce a little civilized “lava” rolling gently over the top and down the sides of the volcano. But using laudable initiative and employing some creative problem-solving skills, we found that a slightly altered mixture could produce a few seconds of real fire blowing out of the top. After the excitement, imagine a gratifying amount of ash settling gently down around the perimeter.

That led to further experimentation. I still maintain that it was not my idea at all to try the mixture on the top of a neighbor’s new fencepost. To any aspiring young chemists reading this, I simply say that I am in no way suggesting such “research.”

My parents were tired, for sure. I’m not sure if their second family kept them young in many ways or hastened their aging. But, seriously, though neither they nor any of their children were without human flaws, our parents trusted in God’s love and grace, and I will be forever thankful for that.

At best, life can be hard, and none of us gets it right—least of all, folks who think that they do. We are all broken in many ways, and we all do our share of breaking. But I believe this: We all have a Father whose love and grace is absolutely available, no matter how often we fall. Not one of God’s children need ever go to sleep wondering if he or she is wanted or loved.

Text copyright 2024 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

When Idols Rot and Topple Over

We can hardly be too careful when we’re choosing what we’ll worship.

Most folks don’t read the Old Testament prophets for comedy, but the prophet Isaiah made brutal fun of down-on-their-luck idol worshipers who couldn’t afford to commission a metalworker to cast a custom-made god and hire a goldsmith to overlay it. A high-quality idol can be pricey. Instead, the poorer folks were forced to go with cheaper gods by searching carefully for wood that wouldn’t rot and hiring a worker at least skilled enough to set up the cut-rate divinity so that it wouldn’t accidentally topple over. “You really think you can compare the God of the universe with those?” the prophet was asking (see Isaiah 40:18-20).  

Of course, it’s always tempting for humans to prefer gods we can manipulate with magic or smoke or potions or in a thousand ways. Our “god” becomes the god we own and trot out when convenient. Handiest of all is simply to make a god of ourselves. But what if our mirror-idol begins to reflect some serious soul-rot? What if we realize that self-worship isn’t working, and that “toppling over” is more than a theoretical danger?

Author Dorothy Sayers once wrote that many folks “get along surprisingly well” for long periods of time “without ever discovering what [their] faith really is.” And she listed some strategies people have used to busily shove unwelcome and hard questions about their real faith away. (She didn’t even know about earbuds.)

But then, she wrote, came wartime. Blackouts. Bomb cellars. Gas masks. The “threat of imminent death.” Life eventually pushes us into some sort of corner, and the long-avoided questions show up loudly, intrusively. The “fear” stronger than “distractions” demands, “What . . . do you make of all this? What do you believe?”

Wartime. Or the oncologist’s office. Or the cemetery. Suffering is a solvent that strips away easy answers and defies diversion.

We’ve just celebrated Easter and, I hope, felt its real joy. But it is worthwhile to remember that for the three days right after Jesus of Nazareth died, the disciples didn’t know what to believe. Their hopes and dreams had bled out on the cross with their Lord. The tomb seemed to have swallowed—and won. Most of the disciples had scattered like frightened quail.
When they’d finally coveyed up again, it was without room for any ideas of victory. They were in survival mode, jumping at the slightest sound. Their thoughts were racing in endless confusion, their grief rolling over them in nauseating waves. They didn’t look much like the apostles who would later carry the good news to the ends of the earth, the apostles Jesus said would one day sit on twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel. The mood behind those locked doors was as bleak as any the world has ever known.

And that’s exactly when, on “the evening of that first day of the week,” the Apostle John tells us that suddenly Jesus “came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you’” (John 20:19). Their Lord. Not a ghost. Not a dead man. More fully alive than anyone they had ever seen. And literally bringing peace.

Please, John, tell us more! In the moments between Christ’s appearance and his giving of peace, what looks flashed across the disciples’ faces? I wonder.

But that kind of power. That kind of peace. Oh, that kind of matchless Lord is worthy of all worship. 

What kind of God will we trust? A rotting god won’t do. A god who topples over when life tumbles in won’t do.

Those disciples put their faith in a living Lord: “Then the disciples were overjoyed . . .” (John 20:20).

I believe in him, too. And I rejoice.

Text copyright 2024 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

What “Stuff” Is Worth Storing?

Too much stuff. In our society, that seems to be the exact amount of stuff that most of us have. Not exactly a technical term, two words are nonetheless quite nicely descriptive: too much.

Stuff storage. It’s big business and growing all of the time because, well, see Paragraph One. People who have as much stuff as we do, and are continually adding more to their mounds of stuff, eventually run out of places to put it. Perhaps we don’t want to disappoint archaeologists who will come along mega-decades from now. They like to dig through mounds. So, we keep creating them. Mounds, that is. Of stuff.

But already, smart folks who are not archaeologists have taken wise action. They’ve seen their compadres covered up with stuff that they mostly don’t use and mostly don’t need, and these intelligent entrepreneurs can fill a real need. A need for storage space.

Notice some questions that ripple along the surface of this deep and turbulent subject of stuff.

At least theoretically, some of the stored stuff must be worth something. But my first question is, how much of it is truly of value? And my next is, to whom?

Whether the stuff being stacked in the rented space is worth storing is a question the stacker would have done well to ask earlier, but there seems to be a point where most of us stacking stuff have long ago left that question in the dust. Or there’s so much stuff stacked on top of it, that the question has simply vanished.

What’s the difference between high quality stuff and low quality junk? If you pronounce “garbage” in questionable French with the accent sweetly lifted up from the last syllable, is that vastly different from the one-syllable word “trash”?

We don’t seem to need much temptation to keep adding stuff to the stuff we already have, but isn’t “tempting folks to buy more stuff, a vast majority of which they probably won’t use for long and likely don’t really need anyway” part and parcel of something called advertising? Talk about a big industry!

And so, yes, we have too much stuff. We have vast industries to help us store stuff and to convince us that to be happy we really need more stuff. And, as the whole cycle spins on, we get pulled even farther in by a proliferation of experts who sell “systems,” conduct seminars, do on-site “interventions,” and write books about how to unclutter our lives.

You know where those books end up, don’t you? I’ll bet I have three of them stacked among other stacks in my closet right now as I’m sitting six feet away from its door and writing about not stacking up stuff. That closet is the one I’ve been meaning to unstack and clean up. Way too much stuff.

Jesus got right to the heart of the matter long ago as he pointed to our hearts and warned us (my very loose paraphrase, Matthew 6:19-20) that stacking up too much stuff here is fool’s work. We stack up “treasures” here, and what happens? Moths eat it. Rust corrodes it. Thieves steal it.

Christ’s answer? Well, it’s not “climate-controlled storage” or some sort of stuff-cellar installed under your casket vault. It’s to make sure that the “stuff” is truly treasure, the kind that will last past a grave and still be of priceless value—real treasures of love, mercy, grace, and hope that can only be stored in heaven.

Text Copyright 2024 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

When Time Chimes in the Universe

As I begin to write, I’m about ten minutes away from hearing a beautiful sound. In ten minutes, our chiming wall clock will ring out a quarter past the hour. You won’t notice, but I’m listening, and I’ll be pausing for a moment.

You see, our clock has been away, taking time for a bit of a sabbatical for its health. For decades, it has been hanging on our living room wall and, as long as I remember to wind it, it has quite precisely and faithfully fulfilled its sweetly-toned chronological duty.

Ah, but clocks, and clock owners, are ironically prey to the onslaught of time itself. Our clock recently began to chime out (or not) a few warning signs that it needed some cleaning and fine-tuning. So, we took it down and entrusted it to the daughter and son of the skilled clockmaker from whom we’d bought it long ago. (What a fine and vanishing craft it is to be able to build and/or repair such an instrument.)

While it was away, I missed that clock terribly. Perhaps I’d not realized how often each day I’d gazed at our well-trusted timepiece. I’d not realized how accustomed my ears were to hearing the “quarters” rung out in the familiar Westminster fashion or how often, even in the night, I’d counted as it chimed the hours. I’d rather count from my pillow than roll over to gaze at the alarm clock which will soon—too soon, whatever the time is—be shrieking through my head. I much prefer the gentle chimes.

So, for a time, all I could count were the number of times each day my eyes focused on a sadly blank wall. My ears were so hungry for clock music that they tricked me into hearing some “phantom chimes” once or twice. But the clock is now back in its place, and I smile to report that some order has been restored to our place.

Time itself is one of the deep mysteries of our existence. We live in it. [Wait! Here come the chimes.] But we never really feel at home with it. It seems to move too quickly or too slowly and always inexorably. I remember C.S. Lewis’ assertion that humanity’s discomfort with time is a clue that our Creator had something far better in mind than for us to be time-bound, time-chained.

I wonder, and I marvel, that the eternal God of the universe, so far above and beyond time itself, is so divinely “aware” of the “right” times. The Apostle Paul writes, for example, that God sent his Son into this world “when the time had fully come” (Galatians 4:4).

As I write, we’re just days away (hear the clock tick) from another Holy Week which will begin with Christ’s “triumphal entry” into Jerusalem. Throughout his earthly ministry, Jesus gives hints that he is completely aware of “the time.” He knows when it’s time for him to “be about his Father’s business.” Later, he’ll perform incredible miracles, but almost as surprising to us as the miracles themselves are the times when he warns (I’m paraphrasing), “Don’t be loud about what I’ve done.” The Son, it seems, was deeply aware of the Father’s “timetable” for the culmination of that ministry. It must not be rushed.

But then perhaps you could say again that it was precisely “when the time had fully come” that the Lord enters Jerusalem as a triumphant king in a way that no one could possibly miss. And he says that, if the cheering crowd was silent, even “the stones would cry out.”

It seems clear that the disciples were deeply confused about what was coming and the kind of King he would be. But it seems just as clear, though profoundly mysterious, that the Lord of the universe was divinely aware of “the time.”

Text Copyright 2024 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“I Had All the Answers”

“When I was twenty-four years old, I was pretty sure I had all the answers.”

So said one of my dearest and, I think, wisest friends. He’s the kind of guy I always enjoy talking to, not least because in the midst of our “shooting the breeze” laughter, he always gives me something to think about. He’s lived a lot of life and taken both its deepest joys and most difficult sorrows with the kind of faith in God that I aspire to have myself.

After making the statement, or confession, above, he chuckled, “It’s been pretty much downhill ever since.”

I laughed, too, because I knew what he meant. A mentor as well as a friend, he is a deep thinker who has learned the right questions to ask and has never been (well, at least, since he lived past year twenty-four or so) willing to settle for easy and trite answers. As he has sought real answers to real questions, he’s encouraged many others in the same endeavor. If he’s in an analytical mood, which is often, you’d better not say, “Good morning” without being willing to back up your assertion with facts. But laughter will probably follow.

“What does it mean to be a spiritual person?” he once asked. I’ve spent years trying to hone the answer to that question, and it’s been good for me. It’s kept me from buying our society’s general view that if you enjoy sunsets, birdies, and mountains, you are “spiritual.” That answer is too thin and wispy. Most easy answers are.

The big questions are the hardest; they are also the only ones that ultimately matter. Does God exist? Is God both loving and good? Can we have a real relationship with the God of the universe? Who is Jesus Christ and what is the meaning of the cross? How can a loving God allow pain in this world? Why do good people suffer? Does prayer really matter? And so on.

In our lives, the answers to such questions are far more practical than many people tend to think. They make a difference in how we face each day and meet joys and sorrows. They make a difference in how we do business, greet a newborn, face a funeral, listen to a diagnosis, make vows at a wedding. They color how we live, and they shape how we die.

Oh, once we’ve lived much past whatever “twenty-four” might be for each one of us, we usually are much more aware of not having “all the answers,” but we’ve learned a lot more about how important the big questions are and what big answers really matter. Being less “full of ourselves” means that we have a lot more room in our souls for some humility.

As blessed as I’ve undoubtedly been in my life, I’d tell a much younger me that life will be both a lot harder than you think—and a lot better. Both. The sorrows will be deeper than you can imagine, but so will the joys.

And I would tell that younger me not to dodge the big questions. I’d say, “You may not like to hear this, but when you’re older, you will have many more questions than you do now. The good news is that you’ll also believe you have good and tested reasons to trust in two big answers: God is good, and God is loving.”

And I’d say, “By the way, don’t buy the popular notion that faith is unreasoned or unreasonable. God is big enough to allow us to ask questions even about his goodness and his love—and his very existence. How very good and loving of him!”

Text copyright 2024 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

Thinking About Foolishness and Fools

Months ago, I jotted down a few words about, well, fools. It was probably a foolish thing to do, likely motivated by my foolishly reading too much news. But here’s what I wrote.

“We all at times play the fool. Only a fool will install each of the bars of his own soul-cell by flaunting freedom for license, trading love for lust, parodying self-less patriotism with mindless populism, mocking virtue’s civility with soul-rot’s untamed tongue, confusing strong opinion with eternal truth, assuming that ear-shredding volume is more consequential than quiet, soul-stirring integrity, replacing strong spines with plastic and expecting a proliferation of courage, bartering with fool’s gold for cheap and fleeting results and expecting pure gold’s priceless permanence. The bars we build for ourselves go up, one by one, and we don’t even hear the click of the cell door behind us when it shuts.”

Okay, I suppose. Foolishness certainly does carry some very real consequences, and it is never in short supply. But I found myself seeking some wisdom from some of the Bible’s wisest words warning us about fools and foolishness. And that quickly led me to the Bible book of Proverbs, the sweet spot, in so many ways, of the “wisdom literature” of the Old Testament. Let me paraphrase a few verses. The “real ones” are better, and I’ll list the references, but what follows is my take. (Thanks to the folks at dailyverses.net for a handy listing of verses; if you want a really great—and fun—paraphrase, check out these verses in Eugene Peterson’s The Message).

“Spend time with people who are wise, and you’ll become wise, but run with fools, and you’ll end up bruised and bleeding” (see Proverbs 13:20).

“Those who are wise are quick to recognize and apply wisdom, but a fool chatters on, listening to no one, and is always crashing into brick walls with his mouth running” (see Proverbs 10:8).

“A wise person avoids arguments, but people who would rather fuss than breathe are certified fools” (see Proverbs 20:3).

“A fool is easily and often ticked off, but the wise know when it’s best to be deaf to insults” (see Proverbs 12:16).

“Fools never experience the priceless joy of learning from others because they bask in the counterfeit pleasure of loudly proclaiming their own opinions” (see Proverbs 18:2).

“The flapping lips of fools propel them into continual trouble, and their mouths full of nonsense are tempting targets for a therapeutic slap” (see Proverbs 18:6). 

“Those who honor God and follow him are on the path to wisdom, but fools worship themselves and reject even their Creator’s instruction” (see Proverbs 1:7).

And I think my personal favorite is this one: “Even fools who keep their mouths shut and stay silent may be mistaken for people who are wise and prudent” (see Proverbs 17:28).

Some patterns worth noticing begin to show themselves here, and I know how badly I need to take them to heart. It seems clear that the foolishness of fools is most often proven by an inability to control their own mouths and a self-destructive love of their own voices. And I suspect that one of the most foolish mistakes that any of us might make is to think of ourselves as being wise.

A little humility is for us all a big step in the direction of wisdom. And some silence is certainly wise. I need to be quiet now.

Text copyright 2024 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

Flat Tires and Some Perspective

Flat tires. I don’t know anyone who enjoys them.

Does anyone enjoy the raucous rumble of tire rubber flapping against the road and your vehicle’s fender wells?

Do you relish the opportunity to make the suddenly crucial decision as to how long to glide your once-smooth-now-loudly-limping ride to a stop? You’re actually faced with more than a few decisions that could well be discussed a bit—but not when you have scant seconds to make them.

It’s clear that you’re stopping but how quickly and where? Safety needs to be paramount, so you want off the road far enough. Nobody enjoys the roar and rocking motion as other perfectly operating crafts fly by feet away in a blur of terrifying wake turbulence. But you don’t want off the road so far that you bury up to your bumpers in sand or mud or get lost in tumbleweeds. And you’d prefer not to destroy the tire or rim if such hasn’t already happened.

Some flat tire psychology, even PTSD, might be at work. Perhaps some of the multitude of feelings flowing along with your adrenaline-charged blood are due to previous experiences. Do you enjoy berating yourself, maybe yet again, for not conducting a serious inspection of your tire-changing equipment and its location and use? Didn’t you promise yourself last time… Maybe it really would have been a good idea some time ago to conduct a trial run in the relative comfort of your driveway, but who thinks that far ahead?

Maybe you now remember the specific gut-wrench that came from a long-ago flat tire experience when you finally had the spare tire on and, as you began lowering the vehicle while your stranded family watched, discovered that your fear was more than theoretical. The spare was headed to the ground. All the way. About as flat as the tire you’d taken off. Time for Plan B. And that was what exactly?

No, I can’t think of many lovely memories connected with flat tires and automotive marooning. But I do think of a lesson or two from it, and, not least, I find it pushing me toward some perspective.

Flat tires happen in this fallen world. Sometimes we drive in our lives into places and situations we surely would have been wiser to avoid. Sometimes we just pick up a nail. But living very long at all in this world should produce in anyone who has ever been stranded by trouble a tendency to be merciful toward others presently in trouble.

And perspective matters. Flat tire sorts of problems can be intensely frustrating, and yet most of us can quickly think of much more serious difficulties—even tragedies and suffering and trials so terrible and heartbreaking that we wonder how anyone could survive them.

Without making too much of life’s flat tire problems and much too little of life’s tragedies, it’s true to say that the Lord Jesus was being utterly realistic and covering an incredible range of “tribulation” when he warned his disciples, “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33). That simple statement squares with the reality we see around us in this fallen world—from its annoyances to its heartbreak. 

But I think Christ’s is the perfect perspective when, after warning us to expect trouble in the territory, he continues, “But be of good cheer. I have overcome the world.”

If we think the Lord is making light of pain, we certainly don’t know the suffering Savior. And we’ve forgotten some very important nails and a cross.

Text copyright 2024 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

Honoring Those Whose Work Honors Christ

I have often found myself in need of a clever quotation and am happy to report that the internet usually makes such a search relatively simple.

If one is looking for a pithy turn of phrase, a quick search for G.K. Chesterton quotes will dig up gold with very little difficult mining needed at all.

Want words wonderfully crafted to make us think about faith and promote digging more deeply into the foundational truths of the Christian faith and how to live it out in our lives? My own “go to” list of such authors is so lengthy that I hesitate even to begin to share it. I immediately think of names like C.S. Lewis and George MacDonald. Some of my favorite wordsmiths in this category are even still alive. Something good can always be found from the pen of Philip Yancey, Max Lucado, and many more.

But my most recent search was a completely new experience. I was looking for some words from practitioners of a very honorable and essential trade. If you need a brain surgeon, you probably need one very badly. But I suggest that in more usual and everyday situations, most of us might more likely find ourselves in urgent need of a plumber.

My search leads me to believe that most plumbers are far too busy with their very useful business to feel a need or have leisure to write much about it, though I bet most of them have some great stories to tell. From a financial standpoint, too, practicing such an essential trade is a more reasonable pursuit than lining up words. Very few folks dial the phone in a feverish rush: “Quick! I’ve got a problem at the house, and I need an English major to write a 1000-word essay to stuff into a leaking sink drain!”

All of this aside, I think you’ll likely search in vain for quotations from famous plumbers. Most are too wise to desire to be famous and too busy with their truly exhausting work and crazy calls-at-all-hours schedules to spend a lot of time on other pursuits.

So, I changed my search parameters a bit and quickly discovered—no surprise—that plumbing practitioners are by no means lacking in good-humored witticisms.

“A good flush beats a full house.”

“We’ll repair what your husband fixed.”

“Professional, affordable, and we always leave the seat down.”

“If it weren’t for us, you’d have no place to go.”

“Plumbers have pipe dreams.”

“We’re number one in the number two business.” (Sorry.)

What, you may ask, has sent you exploring the drains in this direction?

Well, if I were a pagan, though I’d not be at church, I’d say that at ours we’ve evidently offended the gods of plumbing. Not being a pagan, I simply believe that the warranty (if there ever was one) on our old plumbing in our old church building has evidently expired, and it’s time to pay the piper. (Note the subtle reference to pipes.) This or that little leak, a stoppage and over-flowage, a trap or two that have quit trapping water, and even the discovery of a mysterious drain all add up to be no fun. Could it be worse? Oh, yes, but let’s not talk about such.  

But the plumbing siege has brought up in my mind some realities that are always true but worth mentioning.

I’m reminded that in our communities, we are blessed when we have people whose very different talents and expertise we all need. 

I’m reminded of how much genuine respect I have for anyone who is a master of a trade and probably has forgotten more about it than I will ever know. I honor that.

And I’m particularly thankful to have friends in my community who capably ply all sorts of trades and professions but who do so with good will and integrity. I may not like the situation (leaky pipes are just one example), but I respect my friends whose genuine expertise is matched only by their character. I may not be happy about the situation that’s forced my call, but I know they’ll tell me the truth, be fair with me, and do very well the job I need done.

The Apostle Paul told us long ago, “Whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus” (Colossians 3:17). What a sweet blessing to know so many folks, many friends, who, whatever their job, do exactly that and honor their Lord. That makes me happy to honor them, and I do.

Text Copyright 2024 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“In the Bleak Mid-winter”

“In the bleak mid-winter / Frosty wind made moan,” writes the English poet Christina Rossetti in her 1872 poem.

The poem, which she called “A Christmas Carol,” is one we usually call by its first line, as we do the song(s) written upon which to hang her sweet lyrics. I love the lyrics and the melodies, particularly Gustav Holst’s tune that was paired with the words a few decades after Rossetti penned them. (It’s fun to check out various versions and recordings on the internet.)

The poet praises God for the Incarnation and goes on to paint word pictures that morph in my mind into images even better than those boasted by the most beautiful Christmas cards. Stables, complete with oxen and camels. A manger-crib with a blanket of hay. A sky filled with angels and archangels.

All of Heaven, including “cherubim and seraphim,” join amazed shepherds in adoration. Mary tenderly worships her Baby, her Lord, “with a kiss.” What a sweet gift!

Most of us have at times almost battered our brains trying to think of exactly the right gift for a family member or friend, and the speaker in this poem laments facing that difficulty in the extreme. She knows who this Baby is. She sees the worship and the worshipers. She wants to join them in giving. She longs to give exactly the right gift, but what, in her poor circumstances, does she have to give?

For shepherds, she says, a lamb would be most fitting. We know, of course, that such would be utterly appropriate and filled with meaning. “Behold,” John the Baptizer would later exclaim, “the Lamb of God!”

The speaker is certainly aware of the Wise Men who will come bringing precious gifts. They brought gold and frankincense and myrrh. Were she numbered with them, she opines, she would be more than willing to join them by “doing [her] part.”

But she’s not a shepherd. She’s wise, I think, but she is not an “official” Wise Man. So, what, given who she is and what she possesses, is her part, her gift? What from her could ever be a fitting gift for the Baby, God in the flesh?

Does she make a long search? Does she scribe a lengthy list of possible presents for the Christ child? Or does she just suddenly know exactly what the perfect gift, the most truly appropriate gift, the most precious gift must be?

What can she give him? She knows. And she pledges. She will give her heart.

The season of Christmas has passed. Even if you enjoy observing the whole twelve days, well, it’s over. One more year, as the decorations have come down and been relegated to boxes in the attic or under the stairs, I find myself bemoaning what, without sparkling lights and heartwarming songs and more-than-usual good-spirited cheer, is a post-Christmas mid-winter. I admit that “bleak,” to me, is not too strong a word.

The weather is working to do its part, as temperatures are dropping, wind is blowing (I find that part particularly bleak), and record-setting cold is testing our infrastructure and maybe even, to some extent, our spirits.

But again I turn to a precious thought embedded in Rosetti’s sweet poem portraying a “bleak mid-winter” complete with “frosty wind.” In this life, we understand more than we wish about “bleakness” and moaning. Of course, we’ve just celebrated Christ’s first coming. But part of the deep joy for people of faith is looking forward to the time when he comes again “to reign.”

The first coming. The second coming. Yes, thank you, Lord! But, for anyone at any time willing to give the most precious gift, their very heart, the Savior’s “reign” begins right now, right here. And what Christ gives his people makes all the difference in the “bleak mid-winter” and what can be a cold world.

What can I give him? I’m glad I know.  Copyright 2024 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.