“Save me, O LORD, from lying lips and from deceitful tongues.” Psalm 120:2
‘That’s a lie!’
I don’t usually confront people with this accusation, but there are times I would do well to confront myself with it.
This prayer for salvation from ‘lying lips and deceitful tongues’ was what I meditated upon this morning. I was challenged by Selwyn Hugues, the writer of a devotional I’m using these days, to recognize and renounce lies spoken into us by our culture. Such lies include us being masters of our own fate, of luxuries being necessities and of many of our perceived ‘rights’. There are other lies I believe too, if only I stop and think about it rationally and prayerfully.
These ponderings brought to mind another great Bible teacher who challenged me, not once but twice, about a particular lie I believe too readily. Rev. David Cook was the principal of SMBC when I studied there. At our final chapel service in 1993, as we were on the brink of launching into the interesting lives for which our training had prepared us, our principal challenged us to think of ourselves with sober judgement – not more highly than we ought but neither paralyzed by a sense of inadequacy (Romans 12:1-8). That’s how I remember the sermon, anyhow.
Sometimes I am quick to believe that I am incapable of taking on significant roles in life and ministry. My so-called ‘humility’ gets in the way of exuberantly living the life to which God has called me. Yes, we are all generally inadequate in our own strength, but we serve a powerful God who has saved us through the cross, is transforming us, and uses us, even now, in his kingdom work.
That was the first time I remember David challenging me about this lie of inadequacy. The second time came a few years after I had moved to China. I used to get cassette tapes – yes, I’m showing my age! – of the sermons from Principal’s Hour at SMBC. (Now I subscribe to them as podcasts.) One day, I was listening to such a sermon as I cleaned my sixth-floor unit. At the time, I was exceptionally frustrated by my lack of fluency in Chinese and feeling more than a little inadequate for the tasks ahead having recently finished full-time language study. David was preaching about Satan’s role as ‘the accuser of the brethren’ (Revelation 12:10). He challenged us to avoid assisting the enemy by accusing one another in inappropriate ways, or even accusing ourselves in ways that paralyze us with a sense of inadequacy. He reminded us that we are ‘marked with the cross of Christ’, and not with the mark of the beast. As I mopped my tiled floor, I confessed that I had once again fallen into the trap of believing a lie. And yet at the same time, in the spirit of that lie, I prayed that God would “drum this truth into my thick skull.” I remember those words distinctly because of what happened later that evening.
Having finished the cleaning, I then took my brand-new Walkman and that cassette (nowadays I listen on my phone), and headed to the hairdresser. After getting a good trim, I plugged in my earphones and purposefully strode out to get some exercise while listening to that sermon again. It was almost dark, although there was plenty of artificial light about, and lots of people were outside enjoying the coolness of the early evening. I passed a building site – one of many in that bustling Asian city – where a thick drainage hose took wastewater from the construction to a drain by the side of the road. I didn’t see the hose, but I sure felt it. As I tripped, I instinctively clutched my new Walkman to my chest so as to protect it, and let my head take the brunt of the fall.
Dazed, I clambered to my feet, amidst the concerned gasps of onlookers. “Mei shi, mei shi” (‘No problem’), I assured them. I headed home, head pounding. There really wasn’t a problem – my Walkman had sustained a scratch but was still working. Fancy valuing a piece of equipment more than my head! After climbing the 96 steps to my apartment, I went straight to the mirror to inspect the damage. A graze in the shape of a cross on my forehead startled me. Hadn’t I asked God to “drum the truth of being marked with the cross into my thick skull”? The next morning, the mark was even more pronounced, as it was mounted on a shiny red bump. With a fresh haircut, there was no hiding it.
Fast forward twenty years. Today I mopped and vacuumed the floor of my little haven here in Australia while meditating on my reading earlier this morning. “Save me, O LORD, from lying lips and from deceitful tongues” (Psalm 120:2). What are the lies I believe today?
It is the beginning of the year and so I am currently working on my personal ministry plan, as required by my agency. A sense of inadequacy looms over me as I prayerfully consider what should fill my days in 2018. Who am I, to think that I can achieve anything of significance? In this context, I was reminded of a powerful lesson learned in the past and which I am reviewing right now, in part by writing this blog post. I breathe a prayer of thanks for the reminder that I am a child of God, marked with the cross.
“I am inadequate – I can’t do it,” is a lie. Like most effective lies, it contains an element of truth, for in my own strength, I am inadequate. However, I am not living in my own strength. I have been marked with the cross, sealed by God’s Spirit, and am in the midst of a process of divine transformation and reformation. As I contemplate the year ahead, with God’s help, I will not think of myself more highly than I ought, but will think of myself with sober judgement. With this in mind, I can confidently get on with the business of fulfilling my role within the body of Christ (see Romans 12:1-8).
“Save me, O LORD, from lying lips and from deceitful tongues.” (Psalm 120:2)
It isn’t an online photo album. Taking photographs and sharing them brings me a great deal of pleasure. Naturally, I will enjoy posting photographs on this blog that relate to the topic I’m writing about, but this blog isn’t primarily a place to showcase and store favourite photos. If it were, it would be over-filled with pictures of one cute cat who lives at my place.