He went on a little farther and bowed with his face to the ground, praying, “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” [Matthew 26:39 (NLT)]
Sometime near the end of the 3rd century, the Bishop of Myra died and a conclave was held to elect his replacement. Legend has it that the bishops kept praying and voting but could not come to an agreement. In a stalemate, they prayed all night for God’s guidance. That night, one bishop heard a voice telling him that, at the hour of matins, the man who walked into the church was the one God wanted to shepherd His flock.
A young man was the first to come in the door and, when asked his name, it is said he replied, “Nicholas, the sinner.” The man was brought into the sanctuary, placed on the bishop’s seat, and consecrated as the new Bishop of Myra. In spite of the odd manner of Nicholas’ selection, from what we know of the man—his good deeds, wisdom, generosity, and deep faith are legendary—God knew what He was doing.
When those bishops first got together to select the new bishop, I suspect each man had his favorite candidate and his prayers probably were that the other bishops would see the light and vote for his man. Busy telling God the outcome they desired rather than asking Him to reveal who He wanted, it’s no surprise the bishops came to an impasse. Once they agreed to ask God for His divine wisdom, their prayers were answered.
There’s no point asking God for His guidance, however, if we’re unwilling to accept His answer. Granted, selecting the first man into church seems rather strange but God knew who that would be. While there are variations in the story’s details, most agree that Nicholas was no more than thirty. While he was devout and well-versed in Scripture and even may have been a monk, the man was a complete stranger and not even a priest. Could some of the bishops have had second thoughts at that point? Here was an unknown entity: someone who’d never been deacon or priest, inexperienced in the church and its politics, who would now be on an equal footing with the other bishops and in charge of the deacons and priests of Myra. And what of young Nicholas? Many stories mention his hesitation at taking on such an undeserved honor. Nevertheless, both the young man and the bishops were obedient to God’s plan; Nicholas became the Bishop of Myra and history tells us he was the right man for the job.
Do we really think God needs our advice in running the world and our lives? When we pray, do we tell Him what we want Him to do and the outcome we desire or are our prayers open-ended, leaving the end result up to God’s will? God is not a cosmic vending machine and even He can’t please all the people all of the time. If I get every green light, then someone else is getting all the reds! We all can’t get what we want but we all can get what God wants for us! In Gethsemane, Jesus asked for release but He finished His prayer with acquiescence to God’s will. We must do the same in our prayers. When we say, “Thy will be done,” however, we can’t have the unspoken proviso of, “as long as I like Your answer.”
For me, the story of his ordination is the best part of the St. Nicholas legend and yet the saint plays a minor role in it. It’s both a story of faith—faith in a loving and wise God, a God who answers the right prayers—as well as a story of submission—submission to God’s will and the immediate acceptance of His answer, strange as that answer seemed.
According to the Greek myth, when Zeus presented a beautiful jar to Pandora as part of her dowry, he forbade her to open it. Curiosity, however, got the best of her. When she lifted its lid to peek into the jar, all the malevolence and afflictions Zeus hid inside were released. As evils like sickness, chaos, death, conflict, hatred, jealousy, sorrow, envy, lust, famine, and violence came rushing out , the terrified woman quickly replaced its lid. All that remained in the jar was hope—the only consolation humans have for the trouble and suffering Pandora let loose upon the world.
In Psalm 23, the King James version translates the original Hebrew “gay tsalmaveth” as “valley of the shadow of death.” A more accurate translation, however, would be a dark valley or a valley of death-like darkness. While people often associate this psalm with death, it uses the metaphor of sheep and their shepherd and sheep have no concept of death. But, because of their near-sightedness and poor depth perception, they are reluctant to move into dark places. Nevertheless, whether referring to the unknown, danger, or even death, David’s words are ones of comfort and hope to all who read them—we are not alone as we travel through the dark valleys of life.
The above words are from Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. For Lewis, those first moments of wakefulness were the most important ones of the day because they set one’s frame of mind. When God is our first thought of the day, we begin the morning with a sense of peace and power – peace because we know the day is in His hands and power because we know that through Him we can get through anything it throws at us. It’s as if an invisible barrier has been set up between us and the desires, troubles, and cares of the world in which we live.
Several years ago, I purchased a beautifully drawn coloring book featuring scenes from the Colorado mountain town that had been part of our lives for thirty-five years. Since it was a gift for one of my grands, I asked the artist to sign the book. She added these words to her signature: “Don’t be afraid to color outside the lines!” Was the artist’s advice limited to her book or was it about something more?
Because the pastor’s sermon was about being thankful, she’d selected “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come” as the evening’s opening hymn. Henry Alford wrote this hymn in 1844 for village harvest festivals in England called Harvest Home. Rural churches would celebrate the harvest by decorating with pumpkins and autumn leaves, collecting the harvest bounty, and then distributing it to the needy. Because of its seasonal harvest imagery, we usually sing this hymn in November at Thanksgiving but this was mid-July! Reading the hymn’s words out of their traditional Thanksgiving context, I understood their meaning in an entirely different way.
