…OuR gReAtEsT pRoViDeR…

My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed.  At least that’s what I heard him say one night.  He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped outside his closed door to listen.  "Are you there, God?" he said.  "Where are you?  Oh, I see.  Under the bed."  I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room.

Kevin’s unique perspectives are often a source of amusement.  But that night something else lingered long after the humor.  I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.  He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor.  Apart from his size (he’s 6′2"), there are few ways in which he is an adult.  He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7 year old, and he always will.  He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas, and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different.  Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?  Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, returning to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.  The only variation in the entire scheme are laundry days, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.

He does not seem dissatisfied.  He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05 eager for a day of simple work.  He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day’s laundry chores.  And Saturdays — oh, the bliss of Saturdays!  That’s the day my dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside.  "That one’s goin’ to Chi-car-go!" Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.  His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

I don’t think Kevin knows anything exists outside his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.  He doesn’t know what it means to be discontent.  His life is simple.  He will never know the entanglements of wealth or power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats.  He recognizes no differences in people, treating each person as an equal and a friend.  His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.

His hands are diligent.  Kevin is never so happy as when he is working.  When he  unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it.  He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished.  But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.  He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others.

His heart is pure.  He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.  Free from pride and  unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry.  He is always transparent, always sincere.

And he trusts God.  Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child.  Kevin seems to know God — to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an "educated" person to grasp.  God seems like his closest companion.

In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity, I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.  It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions.  It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap — I am.  My obligations, my fears, my pride, my circumstances — they all become disabilities when I do not submit them to Christ.

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn?  After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of the Lord.  And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I’ll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.

Kevin won’t be surprised at all. 

- AUTHOR UNKNOWN -

Read on Air by Phil Foley, Host of Tabernacle Presbyterian Church’s Good News From Tab Program on 12/6/00

After a few of the usual Sunday evening hymns, the church’s pastor slowly stood up, walked over to the pulpit and, before he gave his sermon for the evening, briefly introduced a guest minister who was in the service that evening.  In the introduction, the pastor told the congregation that the guest minister was one of his dearest childhood friends and that he wanted him to have a few moments to greet the church and share whatever he felt would be appropriate for the service.
 
With that, an elderly man stepped up to the pulpit and began to speak.  "A father, his son, and a friend of his son were sailing off the Pacific Coast," he began, "when a fast approaching storm blocked any attempt to get back to shore.  The waves were so high that, even though the father was an experienced sailor, he could not keep the boat upright, and the three were swept into the ocean as the boat capsized."

- AUTHOR UNKNOWN -

An article in National Geographic several years ago provided a penetrating picture of God’s wings.

After a forest fire in Yellowstone National Park, forest rangers began their trek up a mountain to assess the inferno’s damage.  One ranger found a bird literally petrified in ashes, perched statuesquely on the ground at the base of a tree.  Somewhat sickened by the eerie sight, he knocked over the bird with a stick.  When he struck it, three tiny chicks scurried from under their dead mother’s wings.

The loving mother, keenly aware of impending disaster, had carried her offspring to the base of the tree and had gathered them under her wings, instinctively knowing that the toxic smoke would rise. 

She could have flown to safety but had refused to abandon her babies.  When the blaze had arrived and the heat had singed her small body, the mother remained steadfast.  She  had been willing to die so those under the cover of her wings would live.

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. 
Psalm 91:4 (NIV)

Wishing to encourage her young son’s progress on the piano, a mother took the small boy to a Paderewski concert.  After they were seated, the mother spotted a friend in the audience and walked down the aisle to greet her.  Seizing the opportunity to explore the wonders of the concert hall, the little boy rose and eventually explored his way through a door marked "NO ADMITTANCE."

When the house lights dimmed and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her seat and discovered that her son was missing.  Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights focused on the impressive Steinway on stage.  In horror, the mother saw her little boy sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."  At that moment, the great piano master made his entrance, quickly moved to the piano, and whispered in the boy’s ear, "Don’t quit, keep playing." 

Then leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part.  Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child and he added a running obligatio.  Together, the old master and the young novice transformed a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience.  The audience was mesmerized.

That’s the way it is with God.   What we can accomplish on our own is hardly noteworthy.  We try our best, but the results aren’t exactly graceful flowing music.  But with the hand of the Master, our life’s work truly can be beautiful.  Next time you set out to accomplish great feats, listen carefully.  You can hear the voice of the Master, whispering in your ear, "Don’t quit, keep playing."  Feel His loving arms around you.  Know that His strong hands are playing the concerto of your life.  Remember, God doesn’t call the equipped, He equips the called. 

- AUTHOR UNKNOWN -

when you are tired and discouraged from fruitless efforts…

God knows how hard you have tried.

when you’ve cried so long and your heart is in anguish…

God has counted your tears.

if you feel that your life is in hold and time has passed you by…

God is waiting with you.

when you’re lonely and your friends are too busy even for a phone call…

God is by your side.

when you think you’ve tried everything and don’t know where to turn…

God has a solution.

when nothing makes sense and you are confused or frustrated…

God has the answer.

if suddenly your outlook is brighter and you find traces of hope…

God has whispered to you.

when things are going well and you have much to be thankful for…

God has blessed you.

when something joyful happens and you are filled with awe…

God has smiles upon you.

when you have a purpose to fulfill and a dream to follow…

God has opened your eyes and called you by name.

remember that wherever you are and whatever you are facing…

GOD KNOWS.

im so damn bored!!! dont know what to do anymore!! cant life be more colorful, more exciting, more adventures? isnt it the problems that makes it all? i have few, but my life still dull, why??? (sigh..)

buhay mga naman, parang bolang umiikot! pero ung akin, napakabagal! ang sarap sipain! minsan naman parang pelikula, may ibat ibang genre; may comedy, drama, action, romance, horror, suspense, thriller. ung akin, naku! di ko alam ang genre, tapos naka slow motion pa yata! ang sarap i fast forward!

hay! God help me!!!

By VALSON THAMPU

Where is your brother, God asked, at the beginning of Biblical history. The original context was that of bloodshed: Brother killing brother, which is what every murder really is. Within the vision of vasudaiva kutumbakam , can anyone, even the most abhorred enemy, be less than a brother?

The Cain-Abel story provides deep insight into religion-related tensions: First, it is in the context of religion that brother kills brother. The very purpose of religion is being largely misunderstood. The purpose of religion is to enable us to be keepers rather than killers of each other, protectors rather than predators of life and nature. The ascendancy of vested interests in religion, however, degrades it into a licence for murder and mayhem, as has happened in the history of all religions.

All through history, the most sanctified form of murder has been the killing of the ‘enemies’ of one’s God. Yet, God is the giver and defender of life, whose Commandment, ‘ You shall not kill ’, does not entertain any excuse or extenuating circumstance. It is an absolute imperative, not only to desist from murder but also to protect life. We are not to kill under any circumstance, for no twist or turn of events can nullify the truth that God alone has authority over life.

What has degraded religion into a theatre of cruelty and barbarity is the ownership mentality of the devotees vis-a-vis their respective gods. Yet, the truth is that a god owned exclusively by a segment of the human species is no God. Hence it is that we have two contrary images of God in almost all religious traditions: The first image is that of a tribal God whose affinities and concerns are limited to a designated group. The alternate image is that of a transcendental God who has no favourites and whose concerns are non-partisan. This God insists on an absolute adherence to universal values, especially the value of cherishing and defending human life and the integrity of creation.

There is a remarkable instance in the Bible when the tension between these two views on God come face-to-face dramatically. It happens in the Garden of Gethsemene in the course of Jesus’s arrest. Jesus inquires of Peter how many swords he has. Peter replies that he has two, to which Jesus says, ”They will do’’. At Jesus’s arrest, Peter strikes with his sword at a member of the hostile crowd and slashes off his ear. Jesus reprimands him with the words, ”Put down the sword. He who takes the sword shall fall by it’’. If it were not to use against ‘enemies’, why did Jesus want Peter to take the swords with him to Gethsemene in the first place?

The Gethsemene drama engages the seminal temptation in religion: To turn the sword into the foremost expression of one’s zeal for God. Both in Gethsemene and on the Cross, Jesus unequivocally rejects the option of the sword as a symbol of religious loyalty.

But, for the most part, the message has been lost on Christendom. Crusades and inquisitions, the bloody ritual of devotion-through-sword continued for centuries thereafter, corrupting the Christian witness to a bruised world.

At Gethsemene, Jesus instructs Peter on how to use the sword and, even more importantly, how not to use it. He leaves Peter in no doubt that loyalty expressed through the sword is utterly unacceptable to God. Peter that day understood that sword number one must be used against himself: Especially when tempted to use the sword against ‘others’ expressing their religious zeal. So the first spiritual use of the sword is against oneself. It is the sword of self-denial, which is a pre-condition for discipleship.

Religion degenerates into a blood bath only when those who lack the spiritual strength of self-denial wield the sword. The sword can be an instrument of justice or injustice, compassion or cruelty, depending on who wields it. The tragedy is that swords and trishools fall into the hands of those who lack self-control. The only mission of those who have no control over themselves is to control and terrorise others.

The second spiritual use of the sword, is against one’s own religious community, to cleanse and purify it. First, one should be vigilant against one’s own impure motives.

Second, one should be vigilant against the ego and aggression of one’s own religious community. Religion, like politics, is a domain of power and power turns into corruption unless it is cleansed of all vested interests.

Let no one who cares for his religion ignore the witness of history. It was the blatant indulgence in cruelty and bloodshed in the name of Christ that spread cynicism about Christianity in the West and heralded the post-Christian culture. Today, Hinduism may seem the goose that lays the golden egg into the political basket of some. But, in the cruel ironies germane to such situations, the goose in question faces the prospect of losing its life to the rapacity of its keepers and profiteers.