Oct 17, 2006 |
by Annette Bridges. © 2006. All rights reserved.
Criticism. Is there a day that goes by in which any of us doesn’t feel its sting or dish it out — or witness another either being hurt or abusing others with this purposeless weapon?
The irony about criticism is that by definition it has the potential to be a healing and positive force for growth and progress. Instead, it is often misused and so never reaches its potential.
Criticism is supposed to be an offering of a valid and well-reasoned opinion or a new and fresh perspective, with the intention of helping and correcting. As such, an individual who is critical in this way actually takes a peaceful and benevolent approach and is non-authoritarian and diplomatic. But all too often, people criticize with hostility and insult, then demand and oppose without sound judgment or analysis — and usually with an uninformed interpretation of the facts.
I’ve given out my fair share of this kind of criticism and no doubt have been as guilty as another of being rash and unreasonable. But lately I’ve been challenging myself to consider my words and actions more wisely. This is mostly because I’ve been thinking about the man who many refer to as the best man who ever walked this earth and who is also the most criticized man to have ever lived — Christ Jesus.
I often wonder how Jesus would be received if he arrived on the human scene today, and I can’t help but conclude that his treatment would be no different than if it was 2,000 years ago. Would he really be any more understood? He most certainly would break down so-called holy traditions, ignore societal codes and offer ideas that are “out of the box,” compared to accepted and long-believed norms and opinions. No, I fear he would still be criticized, maligned and persecuted.
What do we hope to accomplish by our criticism? Can we learn to turn criticism into a force that heals rather than one that hurts? How do we do that?
Jesus gives us instruction when he once rebuked his disciples who were angered because a village they had entered wasn’t welcoming them, and they wanted to “command fire to come down from heaven, and consume them.” Jesus told his brethren, “Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of.” And he also reminded them, “The Son of man is not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them” (Luke 9:51-56).
Surely this means that we, too, must examine our hearts and be sure our words and actions have the same purpose as that of our Master — to save and not destroy.
And there’s no time like the present. One of Britain’s most notable physical scientists, Martin Rees, in his book “Our Final Hour,” states that the very survival of the human race is dependent on actions we take in the current century. Somehow I can’t help but think we must change the manner of our criticizing ways if humanity is to reach its potential of harmonious coexistence.
We can do this. Having the same loving Father, we can insist on seeing each other the way God sees each of us — gentle, selfless, patient, teachable, fair-minded — never hard, harsh, self-willed, unreasonable, stubborn. We should contend that we are created in God’s image and likeness, imbibe all those qualities of goodness and then act accordingly. We must affirm that humanity will ultimately yield to its spiritual nature. Certainly, conflict, divisiveness and opposition are not part of God’s plan for His creation!
We can turn our discussions and viewpoints from blame and finger-pointing to prayerful and hopeful ideas and suggestions. The world needs the constructive force of the spiritually, discerning critic. I suspect that to be spiritually discerning, we must pause and seek holy wisdom before we speak and act. We must always ask ourselves, “Will our words and actions help, save and heal?” As we quiet weary, disappointed, disturbed or frightened thoughts and listen for God’s angel messages, we will receive the divine inspiration we seek and hope for and most assuredly will receive good advice.
Abraham Lincoln once said, “He has a right to criticize, who has a heart to heal.”
May we all have a heart to heal ourselves of our destructive, criticizing ways and bring to an angry and troubled world the peace and hope that saves and heals.
Oct 17, 2006 |
by Annette Bridges. © 2006. All rights reserved.
Maybe you know the fellow. The one for whom nothing is ever right. It’s too hot, it’s too cold, his boss is a jerk, the food is lousy … he has a gripe for every situation. He’s never happy, content or satisfied. He looks for fault and finds it. He points fingers and blames everyone and everything — except himself, of course. He offers no solutions because he can’t see any. He’s the friend or family member you would most like to avoid because his ill temper can quickly turn a joy-filled room into a negative and pessimistic atmosphere.
If you’re on the receiving end of his many complaints, consider this: The complainer in your life really doesn’t want to argue. However, ignoring him will only make him grumble and growl louder and longer. Your complainer actually yearns to be understood. He has a need to have his concerns and frustrations acknowledged. And there’s only one thing that may begin to quiet his clamoring — an empathetic response.
Empathy is not the same as sympathy that is sorrowful for the complainer. And empathy is not apathy that doesn’t care how the grumbler feels. Empathy is also not agreeing with the complainer’s outcries. Empathy is putting yourself in the grumbler’s shoes and understanding his feelings.
How in the world, you might ask, is it possible to put yourself in his shoes when you’re struggling to understand his point of view and why he feels the way he does?
In order to do this, I think we must look beyond or beneath our complainer’s complaints. I suspect we will find a boatload of worry, fear, depression, discouragement. And these emotions frequently result in a barrage of grievances that actually mask the basis for his woes. Perhaps the protests are an unconscious way of getting our attention. Or perhaps it’s the complainer’s attempt to do something — anything — because he doesn’t know what else to do to improve his situation, since he is so consumed with his worries and discouragement.
I’m reminded of a story that I’ve read and heard in various forms many times. But certain elements are consistently told. Whether titled “The Devil’s Auction” or “The Devil’s Yard Sale” or “The Devil Is Going Out of Business,” apparently the Devil had an array of tools attractively displayed and priced — envy, jealousy, hatred and pride, among many others. Then, off in a corner by itself was a harmless-looking, wedge-shaped, well-worn tool that had a higher price than any of the others.
Someone asked the Devil what this tool was, and he answered, “That’s discouragement.” When he was asked why it cost more than all the others, he boasted, “With this tool I can get into a man’s heart and mind and do just about anything I want.”
The Devil knew that nothing could paralyze, stop or control us more than discouragement. Discouragement can keep the unemployed unemployed; the homeless homeless; the sick sick; and the complainer complaining. Discouragement drains us of courage, vision, faith and expectation.
In one version of this story that I heard, someone asked the Devil if the tool worked on everyone. And the Devil quietly and reluctantly answered, “No, it doesn’t work on a person with a grateful heart.”
I first heard this version at a time in my own experience when I found myself complaining about this and then that. The idea of feeling grateful was difficult when it seemed that nothing was going my way. It eventually became clear to me that no end was in sight for my bitterness and discontentment, and my discouragement was more than I could bear. Still, I longed for solutions.
How could I cultivate a grateful heart?
One day during my Bible study time, I came across three verses in the first epistle of Paul to the Thessalonians that appeared to hold the secret to cultivating a grateful heart: “Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances”
(1 Thessalonians 5:16-18).
I began thanking God with all my heart for any and all good in my life, whether seen in small or big ways. Moment by moment prayer was indeed required, but my prayers were not petitions to God. Instead, they were affirmations of His presence and power. These affirmations also became declarations and promises to not allow any circumstance to take my joy from me. My discouraged heart was soon replaced with a grateful heart filled with encouragement. And my reasons for complaining diminished till they disappeared.
As we acknowledge God’s goodness in our lives, we begin to believe He has a perfect plan and purpose for us. Our eyes are opened to the good that is always at hand, and gratitude keeps us expectant of more good.
So, for the complainer in your life, try a little empathy. And if you’re feeling overwhelmed with complaints to voice, take it from an experienced complainer — cultivating a grateful heart is your best bet for an improved outlook and better future.
Oct 17, 2006 |
by Annette Bridges. © 2006. All rights reserved.
Watching movies about Christ Jesus has long been one of my traditions at Easter time. These viewings fuel my own passion for examining what Jesus’ sacrifice and triumph meant to humanity, then and now. Recently the season sparked my interest in watching again “The Passion of the Christ.”
I have friends who have never watched Mel Gibson’s movie. Although I was not the first in line, I knew I had to watch this film. The only reason I hesitated initially was my squeamishness when confronted with graphic violence onscreen. But after reading an editorial’s question, “[Can I not watch 126 minutes with him?” — I went.
Our expectation has a direct effect on results in any situation, including watching a movie. My view of Jesus as Master, Way-shower, Teacher and Exemplar is uppermost in my thought when I watch any movie on his life. So, my expectations for watching “The Passion of the Christ” were from the perspective of a student. Open and eager for learning, I anticipated lessons and expected to be taught — and was.
For me, the part of Jesus’ story known as the Passion is as much a classroom as is the entire life and ministry of Jesus. And, of course, class doesn’t end with the crucifixion. It continues with lessons learned from the resurrection and 40 days later with the ascension. While Gibson’s movie didn’t tell Jesus’ whole life story — I’m not sure any movie does — there was never a moment when Jesus appeared to be a helpless victim. To the contrary, there was never a moment when Jesus wasn’t continuing to teach and heal, even during what must have been the most difficult hours of his life. A life lesson in itself!
The Passion illustrates his most profound lesson to be teachings on love.
A love that could forgive those who falsely accused and tortured him, even as he hung on the cross. How many times have I felt defeated or thought about revenge when a friend or foe did something to deliberately hurt me?
A love that could express compassion toward his grieving mother while he himself was suffering. How many times have I been too self-absorbed to help another in need?
A love that could offer comfort and heal others, not only while suffering himself, but also in the midst of his enemies. How many times has a sense of inadequacy stopped me from sharing a hopeful message or fear kept me from saying what I know is true, because criticism or laughter might follow?
As I watch the various replications of Jesus’ life story, I’m reminded I still have much to learn about what it truly means to “drink of his cup” and “partake of his bread.” But more and more, I’m realizing that these metaphors speak of striving to follow his example and understand the truth he taught and practiced.
And so I continue to ponder his instructions, such as:
“Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you” (Matthew 5:44) … “Judge not, that ye be not judged” (Matthew 7:1) … “Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein” (Luke 18:17) … “All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them” (Matthew 7:12) … “He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also” (John 14:12).
I’m beginning to understand divine service to mean following, in earnest measure, the example of our Master. Clearly, Jesus illustrated the meaning of his transforming words with healing and regenerative works. We can do no less in our discipleship.
At this holy season, I’m once again humbled by Christ Jesus’ life example, and I’m rededicating my life to being a better steward of my faith, knowing, as James reminds us, “Faith without works is dead” (James 2:26). It seems the least I can do to show my love and gratitude to the Master is to do my best to be a faithful student of good works as much as good words.
Mary Baker Eddy perfectly expressed what’s in my heart this glorious Easter and always with this statement: “For the body of Christ, for the life that we commemorate and would emulate, for the bread of heaven whereof if a man eat ‘he shall live forever,’ for the cup red with loving restitution, redemption, and inspiration, we give thanks.”
Oct 17, 2006 |
by Annette Bridges. © 2006. All rights reserved.
Every Easter Sunday, I’m reminded of a lesson I learned well over 20 years ago. This was a lesson that taught me how to forgive and, in the many years since, showed me the power of forgiveness to transform a relationship completely and permanently.
My neighbor had an “I know best” attitude on everything, and frequently shared his unwanted viewpoints with me. I found him opinionated and arrogant. You might be wondering why I couldn’t just ignore him or not associate with him. Well, he was a relative, and avoiding him was impossible.
One warm and sunny spring Saturday — the day before Easter Sunday — he finally overstepped his bounds one too many times, and I accused him of such. He staunchly defended his behavior with his own angry outpouring of accusations. The scene ended with hurt feelings on both sides. I walked away in tears, ready to pack up and move far away, much to my husband’s dismay. I felt he had spoken to me in such a way that was unforgivable and irreconcilable, and I could see no other alternative.
As I said, it was the day before Easter Sunday. When Sunday morning arrived, I welcomed the opportunity to get away from the ranch (and my neighbor) for a few hours.
Have you ever attended church and felt like the sermon was directed right at you?
The sermon, of course, was all about Christ Jesus — his enemies crucifying him, his friends deserting him. The fact that he never stopped loving — friend or foe— astounded me. I sat awestruck and humbled. Jesus made forgiveness look natural and easy. In fact, he instructed, “If ye love them which love you, what thank have ye? For sinners also love those that love them” (Luke 6:32).
Clearly, Jesus intimately knew divine Love — and this knowledge healed and transformed the lives of multitudes. His life proved love’s power over hate, violence, apathy and fear. And Jesus’ love enabled him to conquer death and the grave. His unconditional love enabled him to forgive all those who directed evil at him.
Love for my neighbor was most definitely missing from my heart. I was full of self-righteousness as I justified my actions and feelings toward him. Now, sitting there listening to how Jesus loved even his enemies, I asked myself: Where was my love? I suddenly had a deep desire to love as Jesus loved. So, I prayed to stop judging and critiquing this man’s every action and word. And I forgave him.
Here’s the thing. As I forgave, I felt free from the effects of another’s wrong intentions. Forgiving wasn’t erasing history or exonerating. But forgiving was relinquishing the destructive power of anger that would have continued to imprison me and determine my actions, thoughts and words. I wasn’t putting the heavy baggage of another’s bad behavior on my back. Forgiveness dared me to imagine a better future with my neighbor — one that was based on the blessed possibility that my hurt would not be the final word on the matter.
Yes, by the end of that Sunday service, I was feeling nothing but compassion and love for him. The power of Christly love and forgiveness filled my heart and replaced my hurt. I felt resurrected from anger and self-justification that had prevented me from seeing a solution. I knew I could choose a new basis for my relationship with my neighbor grounded in unconditional love, understanding and gentle communication.
I wanted to learn more about love, the unconditional love God gives all His children. I felt like I had gained a glimpse of what Christ Jesus referred to as the second great commandment, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself” (Mark 12:31).
I returned home from that Easter church service transformed and later that day received an apology from my neighbor. I apologized, too. We made a mutual commitment to promote harmony. And, you know, I can’t recall harsh words between us in the 25 years we’ve been neighbors since.
Forgiveness may be the most powerful step that people, and even nations, can take to bring about transformation, progress and growth. Forgiveness can change our world.
Oct 17, 2006 |
by Annette Bridges. © 2006. All rights reserved.
We seem size-obsessed in America. Sometimes we say bigger is better, while other times we argue slim is best. We long for big paychecks and houses, but we love slim waistlines and cell phones. When we want new and fresh ideas, we encourage big thinking. But I suspect many women would agree that when it comes to gifts, “Good things come in small packages!”
Perhaps size does indeed matter.
However, when one considers the Scriptural story of the shepherd boy David in his battle against the Philistine warrior Goliath, bodily size was of no consequence to the outcome. In fact, one could say David’s victory over Goliath was in spite of Goliath’s enormous physical proportions (1 Samuel 17:23-50).
Then in another biblical setting, when tax collector Zacchaeus, a “wee little man,” according to the children’s rhyme, was trying to get a glimpse of Jesus, his small stature didn’t stop him. He simply climbed up into a sycamore tree to get a better point of view (Luke 19:2-9).
Both examples teach me valuable lessons about size. In the David and Goliath story, it wasn’t physical size that mattered but rather the size of David’s faith and courage. And Zacchaeus didn’t use his shortness as an excuse when he had trouble seeing over the heads and shoulders of the crowd before him. Although his physical size was small, his determination and creativity were huge. These stories teach me that no matter how big the problem I face, I must not be too quick to give up — that the size of my hope and persistence must be big to win the day.
Yes, these stories assure me that there are no obstacles too great to overcome. The Apostle Paul offers this same assurance. He asks: “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?” Then he answers: “Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, or angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:35-39).
I find much comfort and promise in these words of Paul. Whenever I’ve felt challenged to the point of almost giving up, I’ve reminded myself of the expanse of God’s love for me as his beloved child. This fact brings the reassurance that God’s love is vast, immeasurable and without limits. Knowledge of God’s infinite love transforms and heals — removing and destroying fear. I have found it impossible to feel completely and totally loved by God and afraid at the same time. And many times in my life, when fears were no longer consuming my outlook, healing answers came into view and changed the course of my life.
So I venture to say to anyone, that with an understanding of God’s infinite love embracing and shepherding your every thought and action, there is no hill too steep, no ditch too deep, no distance too far, no trail too long, no river too wide, no hurdle too high, no wave too big, no job too tough, and no problem too difficult. As children of God, we are each equal recipients of a treasure trove of spiritual skills and abilities that equip us to meet and master any “Goliath” and enable us to find the “sycamore tree” that lifts our spirits to a new and higher perception.
What matters most about size is where we place our confidence — the material, transient and changeable or the spiritual, eternal and dependable. Although there may be many theological points to explore and understand, I don’t think any is greater than the breadth, depth and scope of God’s love for each one of us. You can believe in it, trust it and count on it. The size of God’s love is what matters most!
