“Be careful then, how you live – not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity . . .”  – Ephesians 5:15-16 

Mike and Kent were two brawny college boys who I would hire from time to time when I needed some work done requiring some muscle on the small ranch we owned for many years.  Both were strong, industrious, ambitious, and hard-working.  Mike, the more alpha of the two, never saw a job he wouldn’t tackle.  His standard response to anything I asked them to do was, “Yeah, we can do that.”  Kent, on the other hand, tended to be a bit more reserved and realistic.  Yet, even he could hardly resist his buddy’s can-do spirit.

The story was told that when these two were young teenagers barely old enough to drive they were offered a job hauling away an old upright piano from someone’s home.  As compensation the piano would be theirs to dispose of as they pleased.  The boys, of course, saw dollar signs expecting they could sell it for a couple hundred bucks.  So, they loaded the piano on a flatbed trailer hitched behind a pickup truck borrowed from one of their dads and off they went with Mike at the wheel.  All went well until Mike rounded a curve a little too fast, slinging the old upright off the trailer into the middle of the highway where it smashed into a million pieces.  Kent, staring at the wreckage, then looking despairingly toward his partner said, “What are we going to do Mike?”  Undaunted, Mike assured him, “Don’t worry, Kent.  We can fix it!”  Of course, they had about as much chance putting Humpty-Dumpty back together as that old piano.

Some people see problems while others see opportunities.  While some can only see the doom and gloom of a moment, there are those who look for ways to do good, to help others, and to create something new and better.  Mike may at times be a bit overly optimistic about his abilities, but you’ve got to give him credit for his attitude.  And as his side-kick Kent would likely attest, that can-do spirit can be infectious.  Every disruption, regardless how dark and severe, creates new opportunities.  And just as the COVID pandemic has placed a black cloud of historic magnitude over us all, isn’t it refreshing to know there are people like Mike out there who are constantly in search of opportunities in the midst of the storm?  “Be careful then, how you live – not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity . . .”

“. . . cling to what is good.”  – Romans 12:9 

During a visit to the NASA space center in 1962, President John F. Kennedy noticed a janitor sweeping the floor. He interrupted his tour and walked over to the man and asked what he was doing.  “Well, Mr. President, I’m helping put a man on the moon,” the janitor responded.  A similar story is the one of Christopher Wren, one of England’s greatest architects. One day he was walking anonymously among the men working on the construction of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, which he designed.  “What are you doing?” he asked one of the workmen. The man replied, “I’m cutting a piece of stone.” As he walked, he asked the same question to another man, and the man replied, “I’m earning five shillings two-pence a day.”  To a third man he addressed the same inquiry, and the man answered, “I am helping Sir Christopher Wren build a beautiful cathedral.”

“You’ve got to be for something,” Dwight D. Eisenhower would often say; this as opposed to being against – or worse, indifferent to – what already exists.  This past weekend I decided to boycott my college alma mater’s football game because I was so upset over their losses in the previous two games.  It was an act intended to express my indifference, if not opposition toward my favorite college team.  Eventually, though, I broke down and watched the last few minutes of the game.  How can I be against or indifferent to, I finally realized, something I am passionately for?

The janitor sweeping the NASA space center was for something, something meaningful and good, and sweeping the floors was his way to be part of it, and to contribute.  Likewise, the third stonecutter felt the same about his endeavors in the building of the beautiful and famous St. Paul’s Cathedral in London.  He was for something, and passionately so.  And although trivial in comparison, despite my frustration, I could not help but cheer on my alma mater because deep down I’ve got to be for something.

To “. . . cling to what is good”, as St. Paul urges, is to be for something, to embrace and support what is right and good with all our might.  Sometimes, as with our favorite sports teams, we may be heartbroken or disappointed in the process, but being for is far more positive and productive than just being against, or worse, indifferent.

“. . . like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough.”  – Matthew 13:33 

Of all the millions of food recipes there are in the world today from every ethnic origin imaginable, there are few as ancient as that of baked bread.  Today, bread in its many forms and flavors is so accessible from store shelves and bakeries we hardly give it much thought.  But to make it ourselves – from scratch – is an experience that brushes against some of the deepest roots of our humanity.

Once, many years ago, I became fascinated about bread and decided I would try my hand at making it.  It happened at a time when I was between jobs for a couple of weeks, and during dead of winter when our kids were in school all day, so I had plenty of time on my hands.  During those two weeks I baked bread almost every day.  While it was not so good for my waste line, it did wonders for my soul; for, as I learned, breadmaking is as much art as it is science.  And since art imitates life, as they say, I discovered some great life lessons through my breadmaking experience.

While the basic ingredients are pretty simple: flour, water, milk, shortening, butter, and a dash of salt, there remains this mysterious item called yeast, and it is in working with the yeast that breadmaking becomes art.  Or, as the old classic cookbook The Joy of Cooking describes it: “If you have never made real bread, behold one of the great dramas of the kitchen.  Every ingredient is a character.  As producer-director, assemble your cast.  Yeast is the prima donna.  Her volatile temperament is capable of fermentation only within limits of heat – and does she resent a drafty dressing room!”

Although yeast looks like a minor ingredient, yet it permeates the dough causing it to rise to become a scrumptious loaf of bread.  Just like us, there is that little temperamental ingredient that permeates our soul forming our values and character, without which we are unable to blossom as we were intended, into the image of God.  Jesus understood the value of small ingredients.  “The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed . . .” He said. “Though it is the smallest of all your seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree . . . [or] like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough.”

“That the generations to come might know, and the children yet unborn; that they in their turn might tell it to their children.”  Psalm 78:6 

As we were packing up our former residence several years ago to move to our current one, we discovered a few treasures that had long gone unnoticed.  One was an old King James Bible that had belonged to my great-grandfather.  At first I didn’t know what to do with it, but neither did I want to discard it.  Dusty from sitting on a high bookshelf, its old leather binding cracked from age, but examining it I noticed pages that were tattered and worn from usage more than age.  From a handwritten inscription I learned that it had been a Christmas gift to him from my grandmother and great-aunt in 1911.

My great-grandfather, Robert Boyle, died in 1924 long before I was born, so I never knew him nor a great deal about him.  What I do know is that he was an Irish immigrant, moving his young family to the U.S. in 1889 where he established a sheep ranch in northern Texas.  His grandchildren called him Grandpa, a touching coincidence since that is what my grandkids call me.  In his younger days he had studied theology at the University of Edinburgh in preparation for ministry in the Presbyterian Church, but never pursued that profession.  Yet, it does speak to his regular reading of scripture.

I do not know a lot of other details about his life other than these, except that I realized something I had never considered before when I discovered his old King James Bible.  What my great-grandfather had done, unknowingly perhaps, was to leave a great legacy to his successors; for in reading the notes he scribbled in the margins and the verses that were dog-eared it is obvious he was a man of great character, high moral values, a student of scripture and a man of God.  Now here it is a hundred years later, and he is still making a difference in people’s lives – namely mine.  What a legacy!

How much, I wonder, do we consider our own legacies, the ones that really matter?  Grandpa Boyle’s old Bible made me pause and give some thought to that.  Will I leave that kind of inspired legacy that will endure a hundred years or more?  I need to be thinking about that so “. . . the generations to come might know, and the children yet unborn . . .”  As a reminder we have given his old Bible a prominent place in our home today where it lays open to that very scripture, Psalm 78.

“If one falls down, his friend can help him up.”  – Ecclesiastes 4:10 

There is a great story describing the distinction between heaven and hell.  It begins with a scene from hell where its residents are gathered round a banquet table set with an abundant and scrumptious feast – not exactly what one would expect in hell – until a closer look reveals an atmosphere of bitter agony due to the fact those sitting at the table cannot feed themselves because their arms are stiffened at the elbow and will not bend.  Imagine sitting before all that fabulous food, and not being able to eat any of it.  Then there is a scene in heaven that is surprisingly identical to the one from hell, including the stiffened arms.  The difference is, there is an atmosphere of great joy and celebration as the inhabitants use their stiffened arms to feed each other across the table.

What strikes me about this story is not so much its depiction of the hereafter, but the here-and-now.  Our natural desire as human beings is to become independent, to be able to feed ourselves, and it begins at around age two, as I’ve watched my own grandchildren at about that age start to spew out those defiant words, “I do it myself!”  Yet, when we allow them to do so, they usual leave a big mess in their wake. . . . Hmm, don’t we all!

Life is designed for companionship and interdependence, not isolation and independence.  We are not here on earth to serve ourselves, but to serve others and to serve God.  For most of us, though, it’s not until we’ve left enough messes in our wake – like a two-year-old – that we realize we need help, the surprising result from which we grow to become helpers.  The classic example of this can be found in twelve-step programs through which one addict helps another find sobriety.  Or, as they say, one beggar shows another beggar where to find bread – the “helped” becomes the “helper.”

What beautiful imagery we see in the parable of the great banquet table in heaven, with companions sitting across from each other, simultaneously experiencing being the helped and the helper.   The fact is, we all have stiffened arms – disabilities, addictions, or limitations of some sort.  Yet, by being helped we grow to become helpers.  And in becoming both helped and helper, we experience the greatest joy in life – both here-and-now as well as the hereafter.  So then, “If one falls down, his friend can help him up.”