Tag Archives: no

Burning the Candle at Both Ends

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Birthdays are something, aren’t they? Some have gravity that others do not. Our daughter, Evelyn, turned thirteen at the beginning of October. Going from twelve to thirteen is a big deal for a young person. The teenage years have a prospective orbit that the previous years did not. I turned fifty last Wednesday. That felt a little like making a jump into lightspeed and arriving at a completely different solar system altogether. I still feel like I’m in my twenties. Jennifer tells me I sometimes act like it.

Well, whatever. Sometimes a guy just has to dress like a stormtrooper before going to Walmart. It’s the way of things for someone who, for a good part of his life, has been unwilling to let the world around him do the steering—a guy who has an inkling of how bright-eyed an exhausted mom and her two kids can become after crossing paths with a Star Wars character in the cereal aisle.

I like that. And while they can’t see my face, they know I’m smiling, too.

I suppose any birthday brings an opportunity for introspection. Certainly, the older I get, the more I reflect. I’m guessing you do, too. I had one online friend, someone who cares, reminding me to slow down—to make the most of the days, reminding me not to burn the candle at both ends. He knows me well.

Interestingly, he used the phrase, “burn the candle at both ends.”

Do you know where that saying comes from? It’s from a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay. How do I know this? Because she died on my birthday. At some point, I remember learning she died back in 1950 on October 19. I don’t recall how I became aware of it; probably one of those radio segments talking about events in history. One of Millay’s claims to poetry fame was the lyric entitled “First Fig.” In it, she wrote:

My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—It gives a lovely light!

Millay had a Dickinson way about her—crisp and melodic with her words, all arranged in the best order and bearing something profound. Even this little verse speaks volumes.

For one, it reminds the reader of life’s transience. No matter the pace at which one’s candle wax is consumed, each day will end, as will the candle keeping the evening vigil. Interestingly, while her words are typically used to describe being overworked, that’s not necessarily her intention. In a simple sense, she means to say that she has a life and intends to do the most she can with it. She already knows she won’t live forever. Still, she plans for her light to burn as brightly as possible, producing a lovely light before both friend and foe.

I suppose birthdays are fertile moments to ask pragmatically, “Will any among us last the entirety of life’s night?” If the one asking the question is honest, his or her answer will be no. As the day ends, so will the night. And so, the lesson here? Give your utmost diligence to each of the clock’s ticks. Life is progressing. Its wax is being consumed. Live accordingly before your candle’s flame goes out.

This reminds me of something the Lord said to His onlooking disciples in John 9. It’s not exactly the same image, but it is somewhat similar. Before stopping and healing a blind beggar, the Lord said to His disciples, “We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming, when no one can work.” (v. 4).

Firstly, I think it’s interesting that Jesus used the word “we” instead of “I” when describing who would be involved in accomplishing the works of the Father in this world. It’s not as though God can’t do these things Himself—as if He actually needs any help. The Lord is also not saying that anyone will have any active part in the work required for salvation. Jesus will accomplish all of that. He will live perfectly under the Law. He will suffer and die for the sins of the world. He will rise again as Victor over sin, death, and Satan. On the other side of these things, He uses “we” to show He is including His disciples in the efforts of faithfulness born from His work. His disciples are believers, people recreated by the Lord’s sacrifice. Believers produce the fruits of faith, often taking the form of both witness and service. They are vessels—carriages—sent out to extend the message of what Jesus has done. They do this by both word and deed. In short, they live out the Gospel in the world around them in recognizable ways.

Admittedly, the Christian life is often passively unaware. In other words, faith so often creates fruits in us we don’t even realize are being produced (Matthew 25:37-40). On the other hand, the Christian life is actively aware, too (Matthew 24:45-46; 25:29; Luke 10:25-37; 1 Peter 3:15; James 2:18-19, 26). It stands at attention. It’s ready and willing to engage in service when required. Jesus demonstrates this by stopping and taking time to heal the blind man. He could have passed by. He certainly had other cosmic-scale things to do. Still, He stopped. He helped. Sometimes, Christianity requires that we stop and help.

I suppose, secondly, the fact that Jesus crams this Christological point into the image of a single day implies not only the urgency and determination He has for situating His Christians in the world in this way but also the divine stamina He knows we’ll need for suiting up and doing what needs to be done. Life is busy. It’s often experienced in a flurry. I can confirm this, and it’s likely you can, too. Therefore, the Lord reminds His listeners in the very next verse that so long as He is present—and He has promised He will be—we’ll have access to a light that empowers our labors (John 9:5). Even when darkness falls, He will be the fuel that keeps the flame burning at both ends, giving a lovely light through us to both friend and foe.

Knowing these things changes the trajectory of our earthly orbits in some pretty incredible ways. We know we can’t earn our way to heaven, but we also know we can’t sit idly by when a blind man needs our help, or a wearied mother in the cereal aisle could benefit from some cheer, or an unborn child needs an advocate for life. If we are not burning the candle at both ends—ever vigilant in our awareness and willingness to embrace each moment for faithfulness to Christ—we’re living a dimly lit life.

Lots of folks around the world receive this eNews each Sunday morning. The ones in Michigan know where I must go next.

Proposal 3, a ballot proposition that will enshrine abortion (and other atrocities) in the Michigan Constitution, is on the verge of passing. Barbara Listing, the president of Right to Life of Michigan, mentioned a few nights ago that other executive leaders for Right to Life in surrounding states are saying Proposal 3 can’t be defeated. They’re urging that Right to Life of Michigan change course, that we give up on fighting the proposal and begin putting all the coffer’s coins toward the campaign needs of pro-life candidates. In other words, the onlookers have already consigned Michigan to the title “Unrestricted Abortion Capital of the World.” But Barbara told her wobbly counterparts she wasn’t going to give up. She’s going to continue leaning into the fight, giving it everything she’s got. She’s going to burn her candle at both ends. I’m with her. I’m going to burn my candle this way, too. I will continue to do everything I can to see Proposal 3 defeated. I have a life, and here at this particular moment on the timeline, an opportunity to live that life to its brightest has appeared. Regardless of the outcome, I will light both wicks and burn my candle. I’m not going to live forever. And so, I will do everything I can with every breath I’m given to act—to stop and help the unborn who cannot help themselves. I’m going to fight for the preservation of parental consent laws, for religious objection laws, and for all the other Godly things Proposal 3 is designed to erase with a single solitary dot on a ballot’s page.

You need to be engaged against this devilry, too. You must vote “no” on Proposal 3, and on the same ballot, you should choose candidates who are committed to doing the same. To do otherwise is to be in contradiction with one’s own Christian identity, thereby living a dimly lit life. Now is not the time to be dimly lit. Let friends and foes alike see your flame of faith. It will be harder for some than others. Still, as a Christian, it’s a must. Let the flame of your faith beam brightly, burning at both ends, and with an unapproachable heat. Let it be a beacon in the darkness to those who would find it, and I dare say, let it be a forewarning of your resolve to those in opposition who’d dare try snuffing it out.

Saying No

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The previous Sunday’s Bible study here at Our Savior got a little tense near the end. The uneasiness was clearly painted on the faces of most of the participants. And why? Because during the discussion, somehow we steered into the topic of excommunication, and as we did, I offered the observation that for the most part, the Church has become weak in this department. One participant agreed, putting forth as eligible examples both pro-choice Christians and people who vote for pro-choice candidates.

“You said it, not me,” I think I said, snarkily—which meant I completely agreed. From there, I suggested that perhaps it’s time for churches and their pastors to start muscling up in an effort to tell those in their midst who would support the killing of the unborn—and vote for candidates who do—that in truth, they’ve fallen from fellowship with the Lord and can no longer commune at His table.

In other words, perhaps it’s time to tell them “no.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” someone called out, honestly. Indeed, pastors, God be with you on such a noble quest. Although, before you go, be sure your estate is in order. Or at a minimum, have another job lined up, because unless you have broad sweeping support from the rest of the congregation, you’ll likely need a moving van.

Well, whatever. The moment stirred good conversation. In addition to carrying us a little deeper into the text of 1 John 1:5-10, it also provided a brief opportunity to better understand the Johnson Amendment, which I took a quick moment to examine relatively.

The Johnson Amendment, for as scary as most think it is, really doesn’t prohibit churches all that much. We can pretty much do what we want. Although, as it meets with the topic above, there is one particular sticking point that bothers me, and not because it’s necessarily bad, but because it would likely be misinterpreted, and as a result, misapplied.

In short, the Johnson Amendment expressly forbids a congregation from punishing one of its own for his or her individual political positions and/or voting practices. This means that if a pastor or congregation ever moved to excommunicate someone because that person was immovable in his or her support of the murder of the unborn—even after the Church has made clear the doctrines of Christ while at the same time making every effort to reconcile with the person as prescribed in Matthew 18—still, it’s possible the individual coming under the ban might consider the congregation’s action “punitive” and seek solace beneath the umbrella of the Johnson Amendment. But as I said, this would be a misapplication, and for multiple reasons, the first of which is that excommunication isn’t punitive. Its goal is restoration. It’s meant to preserve someone from continuing to willfully offend God while at the same time laboring to lead the person toward repentance and full restoration of fellowship. But odds are the courts wouldn’t be able to distinguish these things, and personally, I’m hard-pressed to find too many human beings in this post-modern century who would either. More and more people are reactively put off by someone telling them no. I say this with all seriousness because I’ve been in the situation more times than I’d prefer. Not necessarily in a formal court—although I’ve come close—but certainly in the court of public opinion here in our own midst. As a pastor, nearly every single time I’ve had to tell someone “no more,” my effort was received negatively, as something unjustly punitive, and in the end, the longtime relationship crumbled.

In our world, telling someone no is getting much harder to do. Our society has become so radically individualized that saying no is more so portrayed as cruel, as coming from an intolerance intent on smothering someone’s personal preferences. In one sense, we all know the sting of hearing someone say no. We heard it when we were young and we’ve heard it as adults, too. I heard my parents tell me that I couldn’t have a cookie just as my wife has told me more than once as an adult that I can’t just up and move to Florida. But when it cuts to the core of someone’s deeply held beliefs, especially the ones that play a part in his or her identity, we often find ourselves in much more dangerous waters. These particular waves on the undulating sea of personal relationships aren’t just making a ruckus on the surface. They’re also moving way down in the deep. Saying no in these situations can be a hard thing to do because we know they can end catastrophically.

In short, there’s always the chance that our efforts toward faithfulness will come with a price we may not want to pay.

This tension didn’t exist in the beginning. In our sinless origin, Adam and Eve knew God perfectly, as God would have us know Him. In this, whether God said yes or no, newborn humanity never questioned whether or not the answer He gave was emerging from His immeasurable love. And He actually did say no right there in the beginning. Could we eat from this and that tree in the garden? Yes. How about the tree in the middle of the garden? No. Why not? Because if you do, you’ll die.

“Okay,” we said, and off we went with a “Dum-de-dum-de-dum” to enjoy the rest of God’s wonderful creation.

But then the devil came along and convinced our first parents that God’s “no” was deceptive and cruel, that He was holding us back from a much fuller potential.

And then Mankind fell.

Fully aware of the effects of the fall into Sin, Jesus not only knew it would be tough for us to be told no, but He also knew it would be hard for His followers to tell others no, especially when it means dealing in the life-or-death, heaven-or-hell scenarios. He knows the significance of Sin’s grip. He knows that the unbelieving world will often choke on truth’s no like an addict coughing up the anti-drug, and so He speaks so plainly:

“Everyone who acknowledges me before men, I also will acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven, but whoever denies me before men, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven. Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a person’s enemies will be those of his own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10:32-38).

These words are both terrifying and comforting all at the same time, and the longer I serve as a pastor, the more I learn that divine truths can sometimes be that way.

But an even deeper digging into the Lord’s words will reveal that He didn’t say any of this until He first preached:

“When they deliver you over, do not be anxious how you are to speak or what you are to say, for what you are to say will be given to you in that hour. For it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you” (vv.19-20).

You know what this means, right? It means that Christ is true to His promise that we will never be left to fend for ourselves in the tough situations. The Holy Spirit will be working in and through us. In fact, as the Holy Spirit moves us to seek faithfulness to the Savior, even our words will be captured by His power and used to His glory and the good of those who hear them. We don’t necessarily know how each situation will turn out, and we may even walk away from the conversation feeling as though we put our own foot in our mouths, but we can know by faith the source of the truest courage for faithfulness to Christ and love for the neighbor. We can say the hard things and know that even if we feel alone, we aren’t. The One who spoke the powerful words noted above is the same One who capped Saint Mathew’s Gospel with the words: “And behold, I am with you always, even until the end of the age” (28:20).

I know that a good number of you are swimming in such situations, whether it be with family, friends, or co-workers. And I suppose if you aren’t experiencing such situations, well, then you’re weird, because the rest of us are. With that, trust me. The day is coming when you won’t be weird for long. Of course, I’ll keep you in my prayers, trusting that God will preserve and protect you in those moments requiring the courage of a love that says no. I know He’ll guide your words. He will shine His love through you to others, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Most importantly, I’m certain He will keep His promise that whoever loses his life for His sake, will find it—which is to say the ultimate discovery of eternal life is ours to claim through faith.