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Ben Palpant

Make 2014 The Best Year Yet: Practice Doxology

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We live in The Therapeutic Age, an era marked by a fixation on social, emotional, and psychic well-adjustment, often in that order. Self-improvement is the special-of-the-day. We worship a therapeutic God, reformed into an image of ourselves, and we lap up “tips to a better you” like a deer pants in the desert. The consequences for this fixation are myriad and I suppose I’ll try to thumb-war this therapeutic age at some point, but today’s post is unashamedly therapeutic. Today, I join all those millions of others who offer “tips to making 2014 your best year EVER!” I gladly stole this little gem from J.I. Packer.

Tip: practice doxology.

A “doxology” is a short song of praise.
And “practice” means intentional repetition.

The most common doxology is, of course, The Doxology, but don’t limit your imagination to The Doxology when practicing. Any short and direct song of praise to God is a doxology. The church has a rich storehouse of these, if you’re stumped, but you can make it up as well.

Sound childish? It is. One of the best traits children have is the desire to sing…all of the time. Have you heard a child singing a made up song to God lately? Imitate him. He’s practicing doxology.

God doesn’t need our praise, but he asks us to praise him because he knows that practicing doxology is important for us.

It does three important things:

  • Practicing doxology cleanses us from the black bile called pride. It forces us out of the prison of our tiny little selves and into the open sunshine of God’s face.

  • Practicing doxology shapes us into the likeness of Christ. We become more and more like little Christs, whose life was and still is a praise to God, the Father.

  • Practicing doxology not only shapes us, but it also has a shaping affect on others. Our practice draws others out of themselves.

And that, in short, is one of the best tips to a better you. Want “your best year ever”?
Be intentional. Practice.
Praise God more.
After all, we’re practicing for eternity where doxology will be the air we breath.
Can’t wait.

One Of My Biggest Life Misconceptions

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I have periodically given authority figures in my life reason to say, “Ben, do your duty.” We’ve all heard similar exhortations before. I certainly heard it more as a young man than I hear it now, thankfully, but I heard it enough that it became something like a mantra of nobility. Subtly and over a lengthy period of time, I imagined life as a series of duties to be accomplished well or poorly, as if doing one’s duty was the aim in life. In so doing, I made a serious mistake and bumbled into one of my biggest life misconceptions.

God did not give us a life full of duties to perform, but a life full of loves to choose.

The point of this post is not to discuss which loves we should choose. That’s a different topic for a different day. The point of this post is to help us prioritize love over duty. If we focus on our duties, we aim short and we will most certainly fall short of joy as a result. I think it’s one of the easiest errors in life to make because our loves are so shallow. We so often require something besides love to compel us to do what’s right.

As C.S. Lewis once said, “A perfect man would never act from a sense of duty; he’d always want the right thing more than the wrong one. Duty is only a substitute for love (of God and of other people) like a crutch which is a substitute for a leg. Most of us need the crutch at times; but of course it is idiotic to use the crutch when our own legs (our own loves, tastes, habits etc.) can do the journey on their own.”

How many of us have become so sustained by duty that we have forgotten how to aim higher?

How many of us have forgotten to strengthen our loves, tastes, and habits? The only way to develop Christian loves is by practicing those loves?

Maybe we recognize that our loves are emaciated and require a crutch, like duty, to keep us moving. Maybe we’d like to gain the strength to throw off the crutch, but just aren’t sure how. Well here is my list, and certainly not an exhaustive one, to help strengthen my loves. Maybe we could do this together.

  • Pray for more love: James tells us that if we lack wisdom, then we should ask for it and God is faithful to give: “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind” (James 1:5-6). How much more so with love? If you don’t love what you should love, then ask for more love and then be patient. Love, especially lasting love, is rarely born overnight.

  • Be intentionally thankful: seems obvious, but unless we’re consciously finding things to be thankful for and expressing that thanks, then we’ll soon stop being thankful. We will always slip to the lowest common denominator, namely ungratefulness, unless we’re intentional.

  • Hunt duty down: look for two areas in your life where duty has substituted love. Got them? Now look at those areas from God’s perspective. Why does he have you there? Is it possible that what you have grown to tolerate is actually something he loves? I don’t think we can love as deeply or as much as God does, but I think we can certainly ask for more and try more.

If we practice these things intentionally, then we will find, given time, that we don’t need a crutch anymore; in fact, we’ll probably realize we haven’t been using a crutch for awhile now.

A New Year’s Prayer

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Give us, O God, a living faith in a living God. Encounter us vibrantly, vigorously, valiantly, and face to face.

Even in our varied sufferings, in our griefs and infirmities, give us a living faith in a living God.
As we look for work, wait for weddings, and anticipate the arrival of our newborns, give us a living faith in a living God.
As we learn to invite ourselves, our children, friends, and strangers into the rich life of faith in Jesus Christ, give us, O God, a living faith in a living God.
As we boldly brandish our slings and stones against all false gods, give us a living faith in a living God.

Leap like a bandit into our dreary, drifting, day to day and rob us of our self-satisfaction and our childish fears.
Storm our petty princedoms and unravel our tiresome grooves.
Send your Spirit to breath afresh on us.

Jump us on this, our dull Damascus road, and awaken us from our dispassionate slumber.

A lifeless religion is the enemy to true faith, so we ask for a living faith in a living God. Flaunt your stuff and drop a miracle in our laps.

We love you dearly and we’re waiting patiently.

Amen

painting by Caravaggio, Conversion on the way to Damascus

Why You Should Laugh At My Funeral

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I attended a funeral a few years ago for a dear old lady who was rather like a grandmother to me. Something stopped me in my tracks when I entered the sanctuary. I heard laughter. Not just one or two laughs, but scattered laughter throughout the room that rang up to the lofty ceiling. I buckled up for what I knew was going to be a rare funeral indeed. Sure enough, despite the tears (and lots of those), the hour was filled with smiles and laughter and boisterous stories and vigorous song.

That funeral came to mind again this week, when my pastor told me that my nativity scene was broken. He said everything was in its place–the wise men, the shepherds, the angels, the animals and hay, Mary, Joseph, and Jesus–but it was missing a key character. You can imagine my surprise when he said it needed a dragon perched on top of the barn.

My nativity scene is fixed now. The kids found the gnarliest dragon we have in the house and placed it where it belongs. It’s peering down on the infant Jesus who came to go Mano y Mano with that dragon.

This picture is true to Scripture: “And the dragon stood before the woman who was ready to give birth, to devour her Child as soon as it was born. She bore a male Child who was to rule all nations with a rod of iron. And her Child was caught up to God and His throne”(Revelations 12:4-5).

And that’s what reminded me of the laughing funeral. The reason all those folks were laughing was because they knew the dragon’s been defeated. The dragon’s best weapon, Death, has no sting. That’s why you should laugh at my funeral. Just think, the conquering started in a manger.

Whenever I pass the nativity scene in our house, I want to laugh. Not just because the dragon is rubberized and fluorescent orange, but because he doesn’t even realize that he’s staring his own defeat right in the eyes. That’s the best reason I can think of to say “Merry Christmas!”

Bring it! We shall laugh our way into eternity with God as our song.

And here’s a Christmas verse for you, dear friends: “For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that He might destroy the works of the devil” (I John 3:8).

Fear not.

Rest.

Laugh.

Merry Christmas and to all a Good night!

[In case you wanted to know: I’m taking next week off to celebrate Christmas properly, by resting, but I’ve got a lot of great stuff primed and ready for the new year. Can’t wait to share it with you. Thanks for joining me on the journey.]

Growing Down: Reclaiming a Childlike Imagination

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Brian Aldiss suggests that children remind us of our decay. There was once a time when we dreamed long dreams and hoped large hopes, imagining remarkable possibilities for our life stories. We used to dream of walking with kings until our sin, failure, and cowardice pressed us down into the cellar of our own hopelessness.

Sometimes, sometimes we dream those dreams again. Sometimes we hope those hopes. It is in this way, that the imagination tries to break out of that cellar before the realist inside beats those dreams down, reminding us why we are in that cellar in the first place. It recalls to us the myriad dangers lurking in those open spaces. Why? Because the power of sin, failure, and cowardice does more than alienate us from God, it erodes our dreams and decays our joy.

What’s the solution?

Ephesians 3:20 is a much needed jetpack:

“Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or imagine, according to the power that worketh in us.”

If we wake up every morning with this verse strapped to our backs, then we can power out of the cellar and live the day more hopeful, more optimistic, and pursue bigger, more generous dreams. We could never out-dream God and that’s a child-like vision for life.

Christ’s death restored that child-like thinking to us.

Heraclitus once said, “Man is most nearly himself when he achieves the seriousness of a child at play.”

We’ve assumed that a child’s imagination is limited to childhood, but that assumption is unbiblical and sad. A “realistic” adult is one who has consigned his vision to the narrow confines of a cellar. His hopes, if he has any, are small and they stink like sniveling wishes. He demands we forget that Christ is loose and at large. He sneers at miracles or explains them away. And I don’t mean that he sneers only at miracles in Scripture, he does so even with the small and large miracles of our day to day.

How many of us have become this man? How many of us avoid eye-contact with failure or refuse to confront our cowardice. How many of us give our sin to Christ with one hand while snatching it back with the other?

We smell the cellar and feel its cold pressure. We want out, but we’re too afraid of the possibilities of living under an open sky. We’ve grown comfortable with our familiar confines. Maybe it’s time we nurtured a childlike imagination.

As the man once said, “You will find more happiness growing down than up.”
Amen to that.

Loose And At Large

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December in my neck of the woods is the time for hot chocolate, fires in the hearth, snow hats, and Christmas lights. It is the month during which we all pray for snow which, when it arrives, usually comes softly. Nothing raucous, nothing fierce. We sleep soundly under the quilts and wake come morning to a world piled with white. This winter season is rife with theological metaphors, but all the soft snow, crackling fires, and Christmas lights might lull my imagination to sleep. I might forget the reality of my situation in light of my much desired comforts.

The reality of the situation is that Christ entered this drama as a baby a very long time ago. He’s a baby no longer.

Yes, there was quiet suckling once. Yes, Mary sang him to sleep. Yes, his first night as a person was probably a noisy and smelly affair, what with all the barn animals now made skittish by the baby’s wail. But all that happened long ago and we do ourselves harm by leaving Christ in the manger.

The Scriptures remind us that “God has raised this Jesus to life, and we are all witnesses of it. Exalted to the right hand of God, he has received from the Father the promised Holy Spirit and has poured out what you now see and hear. For David did not ascend to heaven, and yet he said,

‘The Lord said to my Lord:
Sit at my right hand
until I make your enemies
a footstool for your feet.'”

C.S. Lewis put it this way in Mere Christianity: “Christianity is the story of how the rightful king has landed, you might say landed in disguise…”

J.I. Packer reinforced this fact in his book Knowing God: “Christ is loose and at large.”

Many of us forget the fact that we live in a world in which Christ is “loose and at large” and over which he has authority. Thankfully, even our Christmas Carols preach this reality. Unbelievers spread the good news with us when we sing together these great words from Joy to the World:

“Joy to the world! The Lord is come. Let earth receive her King…”

And later, “He rules the world with truth and grace and makes the nations prove the glories of His righteousness and wonders of his love.”

Yes, indeed! He rules the world.

So here’s a reality check for your imagination. It might not look like it, but In reality, Christ is loose and at large, binding the strong man and butting his bruisers out. This place is under new management.

Throw open the windows.

Let in the light and some fresh air.

Live.

benpalpant.com – life re-imagined