The Big Linger

                Its seems as if whenever my family is about to embark from our house—whether to the supermarket for an hour or to the beach for a week—my children find a way to delay the departure.  They linger.  Somehow they manage to lose the shoes they just tied.  They go back upstairs to comb their hair one last time.  They suddenly realize they are too hungry to start the journey without  a snack, even though it is to a restaurant that we are headed.  Then, when they have run out of delaying tactics, they finally trudge to the car, only to remember something they have to bring with them and race back in . . . where they lose their shoes again.

                Why do my children linger?  Why would they not want to immediately start a journey for a place they know will be good for them?  Why would they keep  going back for things they know they will not need there?  Is it just children that do that?

                This morning I read of the escape of Lot’s family from Sodom.  (Genesis: 19).  Surrounded by wickedness, threatened with violence by the Sodomites and convinced of the city’s imminent destruction, Lot knows he must leave Sodom, and yet he . . . lingers.  In fact, he never actually stops lingering—finally, angels drag the Lot Family outside the city to safety.  But even there, Ms. Lot is turned into an eternal salt lick because she cannot help but cast back a lingering look.  She lingered with her eyes.  Of that Christ said this:  “(r)emember what happened to Lot’s wife!  If you grasp and cling to life on your terms, you’ll lose it, but if you let that life go, you’ll get life on God’s terms.”  (Luke 17:32-33, The Message). 

                So why the Big Linger?  When God offers us life on His terms why do we find a way to lose our shoes?

Bootstrap Joe

     We all know Bootstrap Joe.  The dude has energy to burn.  He more than just believes in doing things right (we all believe in it, don't we), helives it.  Aye, Bootstrap Joe builds his life around the doing of things right.  It's his temple.  The Temple of the Doing.  

     Bootstrap Joe can spin on a dime.  When confronted with a thing he's never before thought of doing Bootstrap Joe will say, "nah, that's crazy, that won't work."  Three days later, you find Bootstrap Joe going gangbusters doing that very thing like his hair was on fire.  What happened?  Well, Joe thought about it a bit and realized that the new thing was the right thing after all and needed doing right, and well, when there is a right thing that needs doing right there you will find Bootstrap Joe doing it like crazy.    

     Bootstrap Joe has to do the doing himself.  You can't help Bootstrap Joe do the doing.  If you try to let Bootstrap Joe precede you from the elevator, he will insist that you go first.  You might as well give in because the doors will close and you'll be stuck in there with Joe riding to the top floor if you don't.  And he'll be mad.  That's Joe.  He's here to serve, not to be served.  Don't forget it.  

     For Bootstrap Joe, the most sublime scripture is a Bible verse that Is Not:  God helps those who help themselves.  This little piece of Emotional Apocrypha keeps Bootstrap Joe separated from Christ.  When Jesus slid his bowl of soapy water before Peter and reached out for that first filthy foot, Peter pulled it back--"no, you shall never wash my feet."  (John 13:8).  Nope, not Peter, the Bootstrap Joe of The Twelve.  If his feet need washing, he'll do it himself.  The Lord's response:  "unless I wash you, you have no part with me."  (id).  

     I think it one of the Devil's great tricks to turn vice to virtue in the mind of a sinner and then get him to preach it.  To serve may be virtue, but what then is one's refusal to be served?  If Joe is right, that God will only help him who helps himself, what logic is there in serving another if his very acceptance of that service would be sin?  

     So then, when Bootstrap Joe sincerely acknowledges the Lord, how does He cure Joe's heart?  Perhaps by demonstrating to Joe the futility of his self-reliance.  After Peter disowned Christ, just as He had predicted, Peter "went outside and wept bitterly."  (Luke 22:62).  

     Like everything else Bootstrap Joe finally embraces, the crying jag is something to behold.  Not a manly kind of crying (single tear leaving track through prairie dust on face).  No, this would be the snot-bubbling and lip-quivering kind of crying jag that befits a man who believes in doing things right.  Let go of those Bootstraps, Joe.  In fact, take the Boots completely off so those dirty feet of yours can be washed.  Time to come back home.

DogLife

                We came up with the idea that man would be far happier if he could just act more like a dog.   To do so would remove the two major illnesses of want that afflict the human condition—those gnawing needs for Security and Significance. 

What beast has more easily conquered the need for  Security than the dog?  When he’s hungry, he goes to his bowl and wham, his master fills it.  He doesn’t complain about the quality of his meal or worry about whether he’ll be fed tomorrow.  In fact, he doesn’t even think about the next meal until he’s hungry again.  The dog’s house?  Wherever his master designs for him to lay  his head—whether that is a doghouse in the back yard or the foot of his bed—our  friend the dog is happy to have the roof over his head and never thinks to complain.  Even if dogs could talk, would “renovation” and “bonus-room” be part of their vocabulary?  How about retirement?  Well, the dog doesn’t really work does he, so how can he retire?  Even those dogs who man puts to work hunting, herding and leading the blind don’t think about retirement because for them, it’s NOT work to serve their masters doing what they were created to do.   Even if a dog had hands  to hold golf clubs, would he want to stop leading his master safely across the street so that he could spend his  last few years in Florida with other dogs?

OK,  what about the other illness of human want—Significance.  We spend our lives “chasing our dreams”, “yearning to make a difference” and “raising awareness” trying to avoid the great secular sin of having led a life wasted in quiet desperation.  We are told that there are no dumb questions, so ask away.  We believe that every voice must be heard, so speak up.  We rush madly to the defense of anonymous victims whose self-esteem is threatened by  shadowy emotional bullies.  We’ve flat run out of colors with which we can festoon our tunics with ribbons and our wrists with rubber to manifest our concern about every possible illness and need, even if they are logically incompatible—we can’t possibly be simultaneously beset by epidemics of obesity AND hunger, can we? The human quest for Significance seems to have no end, like a grail always just an inch past our exhausted grasp.  And the dog?  He’s been there beside us the whole way, satisfying his need for Significance simply by his mere proximity to his master.  Have you ever seen a beast less anxious and needful than a dog curled up at the feet of his master? 

Wait a second now Dredd.  You’re overlooking the compact between man and dog.  Man provides the dog’s room, board and significance, solely in exchange for his loyalty and obedience—that’s all the dog has to do to get everything he needs.  To whom can man look for a such a great deal?  Huh?  Who?