The Hard Truth About WoodPecker Lips

“This is the bread that came down from heaven. Your forefathers ate manna and died, but he who feeds on this bread will live forever."  He said this while teaching in the synagogue in Capernaum.  On hearing it, many of his disciples said, "This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?" (John 6:58-60)

            I had a sergeant in the Army who was always pushing us to do 10 more pushups, run another mile—anything to make us what he called: “harder than WoodPecker Lips.”  One day, figuring (accurately) that as a Yankee, I had trouble with nature analogies, he asked me, “Cap’n, you know why God made WoodPecker Lips so darned hard?”

            “Not a clue.”  I replied.  Actually, I was an atheist at the time, and I guess I believed that they had “evolved” that way or something.  But I did not really want to get into a eschatological debate with that sergeant, because I was pretty sure I would lose and end up looking silly in the process.  As usual, he went ahead and got me squared away anyway. 

            “Well, you see Cap’n, God may be a hard God, but he is loving God—to both man and beast.  He wouldn’t ask a little bird like that to smash a hole in a tree with his head without giving him something really hard to do it with.  So God attached the hardest thing he could find to that little bird’s face:  WoodPecker Lips.  Get it?” 

I did get it.  At least in the sense that I understood what he meant, even if I did not think that his “god” had anything to do with the design of birds’ beaks, or anything else.  But many years later, by the grace of that sergeant’s God, I came to agree that God had in fact carefully, intimately and perfectly designed WoodPecker Lips to equip little birds to punch holes in big trees just by banging their heads against them.  Hallelujah. 

Now, I know non-believers and believes alike who think the word of God to be too hard.  I can see why they think that.  God’s word just does not seem to leave enough exceptions for the nice people we know who do not want to stop doing certain things the Lord told us pretty clearly not to do.  And He sets this impossibly high standard of conduct, which (as if this helps) He points out to us that Jesus always met.  Hello?!  Jesus was God.  We’re just . . . well, nice people.  Jesus didn’t need any exceptions, but we do.  Come on, You cannot possibly mean this to apply to us.  A loving God would not ask us to accept a truth this hard.

But let’s look at it the other way for a second.  Let’s assume God’s word is not hard, but soft.  In fact, let’s assume that it is just as soft as we flesh-bags think we want it to be.  Would that really be helpful to us?  There are some pretty big trees down here in which the Lord seems to want us to punch holes.  What good to us would it be if He equipped us with nothing but a mushy and earth-conforming truth with which to do it?  Wouldn’t that be a bit like trying to punch a hole in a tree with nothing but human lips?  That could get pretty messy—with not much progress to show for the effort.  Is that how a loving God would equip his little birds?

Speed Trumps Line

The wicked man flees though no one pursues, but the righteous are as bold as a lion.  (Proverbs 28:1-6)

            I fell.  For perhaps the twentieth time that day, I fell.  I was riding through a field of rocks and hit one that stopped my momentum cold—and down I went.  After my first nineteen falls that day I had scrambled right back up, spitting and swearing, jamming my feet back into the toe clips on my pedals, embarrassed and not wanting to fall too far behind my riding buddy who had cruised ahead of me over and through the same obstacles that had ensnared me. 

But now, after fall twenty, I just lay there a bit.  Maybe riding a mountain bike was something I simply was not born to do.  Maybe there was something wrong with my bike.  Maybe there was something wrong with me.  I was still lying there when my riding buddy circled back. 

“Are you hurt?”  He asked.

“Nope.”

“Why are you just lying there?”  He asked.

“I’m not just lying here jackass.  I’m also thinking.  I’m thinking about killing you because you talked me into buying this crappy mountain bike.”  I said.

“Look Dredd, I know you don’t take advice about . . . well, anything, but I think I know why you keep falling in the obstacles.” 

My riding buddy was right.  I did not take criticism very well at that point in my life—criticism being what I heard when someone gave me advice.  But, I must have been really tired of falling over rocks and stumps that day because I said, “go ahead, tell me the Zen of Rock Hopping.” 

“OK, but first you tell me what you are thinking about when you ride up on an obstacle.” 

“I guess I’m thinking about the best way to get through it—the Line I should follow.”  I said.

“OK,” he said, “anything else?  I mean, what’s your very last thought right before you hit the rocks?”

“To stay on the Line.  Be careful to stay on the Line.”  I said.  That was true.  That was what I thought. 

“That’s what’s making you fall.  Picking a line is fine.  You need to that.  You need to have a general plan about how to get through the obstacles.  But then you need to stop thinking about the plan and start putting everything you have into seeing it through.  A bad plan violently executed beats a good plan with timid follow through every time.  You shouldn’t be thinking about staying on the Line when you hit the rocks.  That makes you decelerate just slightly.  And you need to accelerate into an obstacle.  That is what carries you through.  Speed trumps Line.”  He explained. 

And I knew he was right. I wasn’t committed to the Line I was choosing, I was committed to trying not to fall.  In truth, I was already resigned to the fact that I probably was going to fall.  In a sense, although I acted like I was going to make it over an obstacle, I had actually surrendered to it before I even started—as if failure was inevitable and I just needed to make a good show going down.  Why did I do that?  Why was I so timid?

“So what’s your last thought?”  I asked my riding buddy.

‘Banzai you bastards!”  The darn nut shouted. “Lookout obstacles, Righteous Rider coming through!” 

BackBlast--MudX.2-25-11

Aye, The Bell Rang in The Gloom and The Faithful gathered:  Apostle GX, Tango-Delta, Six Mike, Rock, Voice of Harold, TankMurdoch and Silence

The Thang:  Forty-five minutes of MudX—training for the Marine Corps Mud Run.  TankMurdoch forgot to start his watch so we cannot provide the hard time or the kCals.  Good work Brother.  Seriously, thanks.

NakedMan Moleskin:

1.       Kotters:  This was the Apostle’s first MudX of the Spring Season.  Welcome Back Brother.

2.       Not Really Brother:  Silence, in a well-intentioned but poorly planned effort to cheer-up the winded Apostle started with:  “hey GX, you know who has it worse than you?”  That’s never a good start.  But then, Silence went on to describe the most sorrowful tale of betrayal and frustration TankMurdoch has ever heard on the Campos or the AG.  Just really pitiful.  GX, always graceful, just sat down and cried.  Not just for himself, but for betrayed Qrusaders everywhere.    

3.       Call to Stuartship:  The Apostle pointed out that somebody (Silence I guess) needs to come behind the MudX with a Sham-Wow and clean the mud prints off the bleachers.  TripleClaps for community.

4.       FNG:  This was the Rock’s first time on the MudX.  Except for his look of pained confusion when TankMurdoch advised creeping through the Apocolypto Greg Allman style (“there’s a man down there . . .”) to keep from tripping on the roots, the Rock rolled.  Aye. 

5.       Wisconsin Teachers:  Lots of excused absences out there this AM Brothers, including OBT who face-planted yesterday during the SweetSix, having tripped over the middle toe of his Five-Finger Vibrams.  Monkey-footed in the Gloom he was.  Aye.

Just saying  . . . 

Mongo The Horse Puncher

For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. (Hebrews 4:12)

                One of my favorite movie characters from childhood was Alex Karras as “Mongo” the dimwit in Blazing Saddles.  Mongo didn’t say much, but he rode a bull instead of a horse, so I guess he didn’t have to.  At one point in the movie, the mayor rides up and tells Mongo that he can’t park his bull on the street.  Without a word, Mongo stalks over to the officious meddler and . . . punches his horse out from underneath him.  And that was that.  I have always loved the way Mongo handled that.  You know, you’re trying to park your bull outside the saloon and some Yankee with a top hat tries to tell you what to do.  If you hit him, you’ll be arrested.  So, what the heck?  Wham--punch his horse instead.  No PETA back in the old west I guess.

                Since I have started to read the Bible seriously, I have had a lot of Mongo moments.  There I would be, mumbling up some rambling worldly legalism to myself—usually to rationalize holding onto to something the Lord was trying to pry out of my greasy hand, and Wham—He’d use the Word to punch that dirty horse right out from underneath me.  Mongo, right to the heart.  

Riding Clean

“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”  (Matthew 6:33—NIV)

                I understand why Thomas Jefferson took an X-acto blade to his Bible—not all of it suits ME either.  There is much of the unholy trinity of Lust, Anger and Pride to which I still wish to bend my knobby knee.  And what of it?  Am I not free to do so?  Yes, I am.  He gives me my free will.  And, can I not atone for these insignificant crumbs of disobedience through great and wonderful works?  No, I cannot.  I cannot both meanly disobey and greatly serve Him.  It is one or the other.  My choice.  No matter how deftly I can make my sword sing, I cannot ride into battle with Him upon a dirty horse.  First His righteousness, then all else.  

Sweet Music

“How wonderful, how beautiful, when brothers and sisters get along!”  (Psalm 133—Message)

                My little daughters are yet of an age that they cannot see the mutual advantage of a common front.  Thinking it will gain favor with me, they tattle—as if my fatherly heart is a finite pie of love, preserved only by denying their sister a piece.  Of course, it only wearies me to have them strive so for what is both infinite and beyond my control—my love for them is a boundless gusher without a cut-off valve of which I am aware.  But sometimes, caught up in a childish pleasure of theirs, they forget about my presence completely.  In those times, I creep to the edge of the stairs and listen to  them laugh and care for each other.  I cannot really describe the feeling I have when I hear that Sweet Music.  Does God feel this way when he sees his children put themselves aside to embrace each other?  If I knew that  to be true, I think I would abandon all my works and try to make Sweet Music until my last breath.

Sifter

“Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat.  But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.” (Luke 22: 31-32).  The idea of being sifted by the Evil One scares me.    

Here’s something else that scares me—make a list of every man you hope would at least consider eulogizing you at your funeral.  Now sift out:

1.       Each man to whom you are related by blood or marriage;

2.       Each man you met prior to the first day after you graduated from college/business/law or medical school;

3.       Each man who, when you met him, was the husband of your wife’s girlfriend; and

4.       Each man to whom you are primarily connected by or through your current or former job.          

Do you have any left, or did you sift them all out?  If you have some left, I contend that you are blessed.  If you know a man who you suspect would have none left, he may be the brother the Lord would have you strengthen—now that you have turned back.  

Book, Crook or Hook

     Those in authority generally speak of “leadership” in their exhortations to their constituents.  Whether their authority derives from the sphere of family, politics, church or business, they usually cite leadership in justification for the exercise of their authority.  I contend that we, the led, should be more discerning when confronted with leaders who bid us to adjust our will to theirs.  We should listen carefully to ensure we recognize their voice. 

     What some call leadership is actually management.  Although related, they are not the same thing.  Management is the harboring and application of limited resources to best achieve an agreed-upon end.  “Good” management, is simply doing it efficiently.  Not much else is required.  There are many books written about management, and many schools that teach it.  Which is fine.  One can learn management from a book, in a classroom.  But leadership can neither be learned nor applied from a book.  It is different. 

     First, leadership requires vision.  Leaders visualize outcomes or destinations for their people that they cannot or will not determine for themselves.  Generally, the leader’s visualized destination will not be agreed-upon by the led (at least not initially).  In fact, the majority may resist it—which leads to step two:  the leader must persuade the led toward his visualized destination without compulsion of violence to person or pocketbook.  The led must follow willingly, because they know their shepherd’s voice.  It is a voice of love.  The leader’s crook is carved from trust, not hickory;  he uses it, not for his own ends, but so that none is lost on the journey.  Like management, there are books and schools that teach leadership—but they only go so far.  To fully learn leadership, one must first follow a loving leader and then try lead by his example—and fail, and try again—and fail, and try again.  Likely, the school of leadership has no graduation ceremony in this realm.

     Finally, there is tyranny.  The tyrant’s ends are self-advancement.  At best, they derive from misguided utopian notions that man can be perfected without reconciliation with his maker.  The tyrant’s tools are neither the book of management nor the crook of love (although he will speak of these), for the tyrant neither manages nor leads—he compels.  Like the Assyrian king, the tyrant drags his sheep to his personal Babylon by way of a hook through the nose.  Although he cloaks his lupine nature, we children of God should not be fooled by the tyrant, for we know our Shepherd’s voice.

Street Strippers

     There were no street people or beggars in the small town in which I was raised.  Maybe they avoid all small towns as a rule, but certainly they avoided mine.  Not surprisingly, when I got to college in Boston, I lacked the Beggar Auto-response a city-raised kid would presumably learn from his parents.  It bugged me for awhile.  Was I supposed to give them money?  Was I supposed to say anything to them?  Eventually, like I did with most problems that did not seem to have a solution, I just stopped thinking about it.  I gradually stopped seeing the beggars as people.  I thought of them as potholes—something to avoid until the city got around to fixing. 

     Many years later, in the first euphoria of my late-life salvation, I was like Mr. Scrooge yelling out the window on Christmas morning “It’s not too late, it’s not too late!”  Beloved, that was sublime.  But like the first blush of romance, it had to subside or I would not have been able to work, raise my family do or any of the other things the Lord  would have me do until Kingdome come.  Dickens did not tell us what life was like for the New Scrooge on the day after Christmas but, if he was like the New Me, he said, “now what the heck do I do?”  My Worldview had changed radically, but the world I viewed had not.  There were still potholes begging for money, but now I saw them as men, and I felt ashamed and guilty. 

     But, at least now I had an answer to the question that had nagged me in college:  do I give them money?   Yes, of course I give them money.  They are people, not potholes.  Christ said that all men are my neighbors.  My church taught me that eradicating poverty is a millennium goal.  So I gave them money—whenever they asked.  In fact, to be more efficient about it, I went to the bank and got a stack of one-dollar bills to keep in my right hand pocket, just for them.  When they accosted me with their tale of woe, I would hold up my left hand piously to stop them, “no need Brother, I understand,” and slip them a dollar with my right hand.  They would say “thank you” and  move on.  Sweet Jesus—problem solved.

     One day, having no cash in my wallet, I pulled out my beggar-roll to pay for my client’s lunch and he said, “you planning on hitting the strip club after this Dredd?”  Beloved, I wish I could tell you I was confused, but I knew what he meant.  My beggar-roll looked no different than the wad a man takes to a strip club so he can slide dollar bills into young girls’ garters. No different.  And that made me realize something.  What I was doing with my beggar-role was really no different from what a man does with a stripper-roll.  Like a man in a strip club seeking short-term sexual gratification, I was seeking short-term alleviation of my guilt.  I could tell myself it was charity, but that was a lie.  Charity is a giving without a receiving, and what I was doing was transactional.  With my beggar-roll, I was buying absolution on the cheap and the beggars were selling another day of self-degradation.  They were Street Strippers willing to expose their brokenness to me for cash, and I was the jack-ass paying them to keep dancing.