Do not be afraid, some thoughts on the anxious days before Christmas

“Mary, do not be afraid…”

--Luke 1:30

 

For some reason this morning I woke at 5am, wide awake, thinking about baking and presents that need wrapping and even though I wanted to go back to sleep, instead I got up, fed the cats, mixed up dough for bread, and went for a walk, hoping to clear my head.  Outside the world was beautiful and dark, whispers of clouds gathered here and there in the sky and on the horizon. But mostly this beautiful vault of darkness hovered over me, pin-points of starlight here and there, and the bright moon dazzling in its slow descent before the dawn.  It was peaceful and quiet and calming to be out there in the midst of it.  As I walked at the park, I passed a neighbor who stopped to ask me about my upcoming surgery. (Could be that is what woke me...) She wanted to know if I was okay? Was I afraid?

 What a beautiful way to start the day. An angel of mercy come to me out of the darkness to offer a word of kindness and encouragement. And, at this time of year isn’t that just what we all need.   

In the Gospel of Luke there is that famous story of another angel who shows up unannounced with a message that begins in a similar way: Do not be afraid.

 Of course that is a little different from meeting someone in the park. If I was just sitting at the kitchen counter with my morning coffee and a bagel, reading the funny pages (as we used to call them), and an angel appeared next to the refrigerator telling me not to be afraid, I think my gut reaction would be to scream like a little girl. PLUS… that kind of talk doesn’t usually bode well. It’s kind of like when people say: This won’t hurt a bit. You won’t even feel it[1]. 

 And yet, an important part of the angel’s message is in those four words, “Do not be afraid…” and I think perhaps that part of the angel’s message has been missing in my Christmas. Despite all the joyous trappings: the lights, the trees, the decorations, so much of how we celebrate Christmas is wrapped up in fear. Instead of resting in the joy of the season, how often do I find myself anxious and worried; afraid that I’m not doing enough, that perhaps I forgot something, a present for someone, an ingredient in a recipe, the egg nog in the trunk of the car… There is even the overriding fear of not getting everything just right. Not having that “perfect Christmas.”

But the angel says, Do not be afraid. 

 And, this morning as I ponder that message I hear something else.  Something much more personal to each and every one of us, yet particular to the story of Mary. What is she being asked to do? On a very basic level, she is being asked to save the world.  But, how…  Does she need to raise an army? Gain political power? Get rich? Become a martyr? Start a charity? No… She is simply asked to yes to God and to be herself, live her normal daily life, the life of a simple ordinary woman in 1^st century Palestine. To be who she was made to be.  And through that ordinary everyday life, as a wife and mother, as a refugee and a widow, to bear God into the world.  Of course, Mary is asked this in a very specific way, for she will literally bear the child Jesus into the world—first in her womab and then on her hip, in her arms, and at her side.  Wherever she goes, whatever she does. If she goes to the market, she is bearing Him to the market with her.  When she goes to the well to draw water, Christ goes with her. He is present there at the well, in her, through her, with her.  When she sits in quiet contemplating the beauty of a sunset, Christ is there.  Whether lighting a candle, or humming a song, or going to visit a sick friend, Christ is present in her, with her, through her. 

 That is a message for us to remember this Christmas, that –like Mary-- we are all called to be bearers of Christ into the world. We are all called to be God’s hands and face in the world; we have been given that as a gift.  That is the real gift of Christmas—that God is with us… wherever we go, whatever we do, He is with us. So, if you don’t get those lights up, if you forget to buy presents, or if you happen to leave the egg nog in the trunk of the car (for a week), do not be afraid…

 In fact, that is what we were made for.  And so what do we have to be afraid of? In fact, here’s an idea for this Christmas, a gift that needs no wrapping, and no bows:  why don’t we let go of all those fears and worries and rest in the presence of the one who was born this day in a stable in Bethlehem, the one who is with us always—even unto the ends of the age-- and the one whose hands and feet and face and love we are called to be.  If we could do that, instead of being afraid, we might just relax and Rejoice.  

Merry Christmas, my dear friends.

 

 

 

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[1] If you’ve ever awakened during the middle of a colonoscopy, you’ll understand the importance of anesthesia…

The honor of humiliation--some thoughts on Acts 5:41 and the Lord's prayer

 “…glad to have had the honor of suffering

humiliation for the sake of the name…”

--Acts 5:41

 

 

How often do we (do I) offer myself to God, to submit to God’s will, to serve God, to bring God’s love and presence into the world, to reveal God’s glory through my life—how often have I made that offer, and yet always with some stipulation attached? Some small print, some terms & agreements! In the hope that –like the rest of us—God won’t read them.  But will be bound by them anyway.

 

Yes, Lord, I say loud and clear, and all the while I am whispering: but on my terms!  Yes, Lord, I will serve You, give my life to You, but –like Frank Sinatra said, You have to do it My way! You have to reveal Your glory through me, My way!

 

I will be Your servant, but serving You has to look like this:

1.      I give myself to God

2.      God glorifies my work (out of gratitude for my gift)

3.      All my friends and coworkers sees how humble and holy I am (and tell me)

4.      Everybody loves me and sings my praises for being so humble and holy

5.      I win the Nobel Prize for Humility and Holiness and give a big speech that gets on the front page of every newspaper in the world

6.      CBS offers me my own morning show with Hoda

 

It’s all there, Lord. In the small print. When you clicked “accept” You agreed to the Terms & Agreements. It’s not my fault You didn’t read them…! You’re the one who is supposed to be so high and mighty Mr. Omniscient!

 

But, of course, I have to wonder: is that really giving? Do we treat anyone else this way? 

 

Happy Birthday! Here’s your present. It’s a brand new Maya Angelou, Barbie! You can keep it as long as you agree to follow MY Terms of appropriate playing and enjoyment. Otherwise, you have to return it to me, in the original packaging with all shoes still in pairs.

 

No, of course not.  That’s not really giving.  But I know, deep in my heart, that sounds a lot like the way I treat my gifts to God.  If I am honest with myself, I may be saying: Thy will be done, but what I really mean is My will be done. Instead of giving myself to God, too often I’m really asking God to give Himself to me.   

 

Reading the book of Acts this morning, I came across this odd idea of being glad for the honor of suffering humiliation for God.  The disciples have been arrested and chastised, and flogged even and they leave with the bruises and welts still on their flesh, glad for the honor of suffering humiliation for God’s name.

 

And that made me begin to contemplate my own terms & agreements. Called to mind, my ever-present ego, always making demands and putting stipulations on my gifts to God. The disciples aren’t telling God how to run things, they aren’t telling God what glory looks like, they aren’t even demanding equitable or fair or just treatment. Instead, they give themselves wholly to God and whether that means hunger or plenty, heat or cold, suffering humiliation or being praised for healing a lame beggar, they praise God; they give all glory and honor to Him.  Even to the point of being “glad to have the honor of suffering humiliation for the sake of the name” of Jesus.

 

This is what it means to truly live out the prayer: Not my will, but Thy will be done. (cf Luke 22:42)

No small print. No stipulations. No secret Terms & Agreements.  Just: Yes.  In good or bad, honor or humiliation, silence and suffering, laughter and celebration… Always, yes.

Whether pandemic and poverty or prizes and Post Toasties! Always, Yes.

 

And in that yes, we will find true peace. Because it isn’t really about us, about our plans and priorities. It’s about becoming who we were truly made to be… children of light, children of hope, children of God. And all it takes is found in that one word… No small print, just one simple: Yes.

 

 

 

Something like a trap--A meditation on God's love

 “…like a trap.” (Luke 21:35) 

 

Reading the ending chapter of Luke’s Gospel, I have come to the passages that have always seemed so fearful and anxiety inducing to me.  Here in chapter 21 Jesus is about to enter into His passion and He is preparing the disciples for what is to come.  There have been questions about authority and about resurrection and now He warns them about the signs and the days to come.  He warns them of wars and earthquakes, of plagues and famines and the persecutions they will suffer.  The temples will fall and a captivity will come that will make Babylon seem like a summer vacation.  And through it all, throughout this almost chapter long warning, Jesus repeatedly reminds the disciples to hold on, to “persevere” and “stand erect” because their “liberation is near at hand.” (21:19 & 28)  

 

And then He adds this odd phrase:

            “…that day will come upon you unexpectedly, like a trap.” (34-35)

 

Reading that phrase I began to wonder—why would Jesus use that image? Where or how is the Love of God to be found in that image of a trap?  Normally when I come to these passages, I read them with a bit of trepidation.  I hear warnings and I hear challenges that seem beyond my mortal strength, and beyond my humble faith.  I read them with the fear that I will fall short, not be up to the challenge; when God’s test comes, I will be found wanting--lost.  That image of God feels not just confrontational, but prosecutorial—as if God had no interest in the outcome, in my salvation. As if my life were just one more show, among the billions and billions of others, He was streaming to kill time until the apocalypse.  It is not a vision of love…

 

But, this morning as I read those words I felt a sudden tinge of hope.  I heard in that phrase “like a trap” not capture and destruction, but the love of a parent.  I heard the cry of a father playing chase in the front yard with his children and seeing one rushing to close to the street, he swoops down and snatches her up and cries out, “I got you!”  

 

And I wondered—why? What would make me hear those words so differently today?  And then I noticed the message that comes right after that trap.

 

“Stay awake, praying at all times for the strength to survive
all that is going to happen, and to hold your
ground before the Son of man.”  (21:36)

 

And I heard for the first time, the reassurance of this image—not that God is setting a trap for us, to catch us in our sin and throw us into the fire, but that God is setting something “like a trap” for us, to protect us. To gather us into His love and hold us in a safe place—a place where we can find the strength to survive—and that place is prayer.  This thing “like a trap” is not a prison or a cell, but more like a chapel, a place of security, peace, renewal and love.  

 

And it is “like a trap” because God knows we are all afraid sometimes, and that if we are afraid enough, we will flee even from the grace and love of Christ.  So, to gather His flock, sometimes God must set a kind of trap—to protect us even from ourselves, to awaken us to the love, to the grace, of that is always waiting there, at our side, at your elbow, whispering in your ear—you are my beloved.  And hoping only that we will hear, and be stirred to prayer.

 

One last word about this chapter (Luke 21).  It is almost entirely a message about the coming trials, but it begins oddly enough with a brief little observation of a poor widow and her “mite” (21: 1-5). Sitting in the temple, watching the people with their offerings, Jesus points out an impoverished widow who puts two small coins into the treasury and uses her as the example of true giving.  And that is how he begins His lesson on the end-times here in Luke. Why?  Is it possibly because she is also our model of what God asks of us? Not for some heroic gesture or grand sacrifice that will land us on the front page of the New York Times or win the Nobel Prize, but only that –like this widow—we give what we have. Even if it is just two small coins… give it all.

 

The trap is not set against us.  The trap is set for us.  This is the whispering I hear in my ear:  Don’t be afraid… The trap is love.

 

 

Christmas... Again?

 ’What do you want me to do for you?’

‘Sir,’ he replied, ‘let me see again.’”

--Luke 18:41

 

 

Entering Jericho, approaching Jerusalem, near the end of His ministry, Jesus is stopped by a blind man begging beside the road. The crowd has told the blind man to leave Jesus alone, but he only cries out the louder. Hearing his cry, Jesus stops and asks him what he wants, and the man replies:

            “Let me see again.”

 

And Jesus restores his sight. 

 

Again.

 

Again.  That word is what stood out to me this morning as I did my reading.  How many times have I come to God asking to be forgiven “again.”  How many times have I come to God asking to be healed “again?”  How many times have I come asking for help “again?” Asking God to help me see His will, His love, His grace, His presence… Am I not constantly, in one way o another, asking God to let me see again?

 

In the stillness of this quiet morning, let me see Your grace.  In the weird way my daughter loves turtles, let me see Your love for all creation.  Even in my struggles and failings, Lord, let me see Your will.  In the flat tire or the broken alternator let me see Your hand.  In my loneliness and sorrow, let me see Your cross.  In the homeless man walking through traffic, begging for help, let me always see Your face.   

 

Let me see again.

 

Isn’t that the point of Christmas?  To open our eyes. To let us see again…  There had been a time when God walked with man in the shade of the garden.  There had been a time when He went before us –leading us-- as a pillar of cloud, and followed behind –protecting us—as a pillar of fire.  Or when God was seen face to face by Moses, or witnessed in a still small sound by Elijah… God’s glory had been seen or felt in so many ways… But time and again we are blinded by our own glory, by our own worries, our own jealous desires. 

 

And so, He came again. Not in the pillar of smoke or the pillar of flame, not in some mysterious symbolic action or strange radiance or shekinah glory. But in the flesh. As a tiny baby in a simple manger, humble, vulnerable, like one of us… like ALL of us.  And for all to see, again.

 

And again… This year, as you prepare for Christmas take a moment to pray the prayer of this blind man on the road to Jericho.  The crowds may be telling you not to bother with God. The crowds may be telling you to worry more about last minute shopping, and packages and Christmas cards and delivery dates and long lines at the UPS store.  But, don’t listen to the crowd.  For they too are blind.

 

Instead, take a moment to still your heart, pause all the preparations, and the gift-wrapping and cookie baking, and the Hallmark movie marathons, and just sit down for a moment, someplace quiet and still. Light a candle.  Take a moment away from all the busy-ness and close your eyes to all the distractions.  Take a breath and be still. And wait… He is coming. Truly.  In the stillness, can you hear Him?  He is on His way. Now, whisper the blind man’s simple prayer:  Lord, let me see again.

 

 

So Many Things --a Meditation on Advent, Busy-ness, and Luke 10

 

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “You worry
and fret about so many things and yet
few are needed, indeed only one…” 

--Luke 10:41-42

 

 

Martha and Mary—such a famous story; how often have we heard this tale of these two friends of our Lord?  How often have we listened to that famous plea from Martha:  Lord, do you not care that my sister is leaving me to do the serving all by myself? (cf 10:40) And how often have we felt a tinge of sympathy for her plea?  It is such a human cry for help, for recognition, for affirmation.

 

And I hear it echoing in my own heart here at the start of another Advent.  I hear myself crying out incessantly: I have so much to do. How can I get it all done? Work! Chores! Laundry, dishes… Christmas lights to put up! Decorations to dig out of the garage or the attic! Where did we put that wreath? How about the Christmas pug? Did anyone remember to order groceries this week? What’s on Hallmark tonight?  

 

There is so much that wants to get done, that I want to get done.  And the tension of it, the constant busy-ness of it, can lead me away from the one thing needed—to rest in the Lord. 

 

All my life, I have felt a strong sympathy for Martha.  I hear in her plea a cry that echoes in my own.  It is a cry for fairness, for justice!  And it is a cry for recognition. A desperate cry to be noticed—Lord, Lord! Look at me.  See everything I am doing!  See me.  And I know this plea to well.

 

How often have I bitterly cried out to God as I cleaned the cat litter, or fed the cats, or turned on the bathtub so one of them could drink from the spout, or… And how many times have I resentfully folded the laundry? Or bitterly washed a pile of dishes?  Standing there at the sink feeling unappreciated. Unnoticed. Taken for granted.  Feeling like Martha, my soul crying out:  Lord, Lord! Look at me. Don’t You care? I’m overwhelmed! I’m trying to do everything, and nobody seems to notice!

 

And yet, what does Jesus say to her. Not that her work is unappreciated, or unworthy, but…that she has lost he focus.  She is fretting and anxious over many things, but there is only one thing necessary. Only one thing, needed.  And, I am pretty sure, it isn’t the laundry, or the dishes, or the cats… 

 

Just before this story of Martha and Mary, there is another story about a man who is anxious over many things.  He is the lawyer who asks Jesus what he needs to do to inherit eternal life (10:25ff).  Even when Jesus tells him that he is headed in the right direction, the man can’t rest in peace. He presses the Lord with that famous question: “And who is my neighbor?” (10:29) which prompts the Lord to tell one of His most famous parables—the story of the Good Samaritan (10:30ff). As I was reading this story the other day, I had a strange sense of kinship with the Levite and the priest who simply pass by the Samaritan.  I began to suspect that they weren’t just being cruel and selfish, but that perhaps they were distracted. Maybe the Levite was on his way to HEB to pick up new fuses for the Christmas lights, or the priest was on his way to get cat litter and some worms for his daughter’s turtles!  Maybe they were afraid to stop because they had so many other things they were tying to do… And, perhaps one of the lessons Jesus is teaching us here is the same one He is teaching us in the Martha story.  Don’t get lost in all that busy-ness. Don’t let yourself lose focus.  There really is only thing that matters.  And that is Love.  Act out of love, not out of a desire to be seen, not out of a desire to be affirmed, or to be justified. Not out of guilt or out of bitterness and resentment.  Like St. Therese of Lisieux reminds us, let Love guide your every action, let Love be your focus, because Love is the one thing needed. Whatever you are doing, do it with Love and you will find yourself fulfilled. In fact, the beautiful truth of Jesus is, wherever you turn, whatever you do, you will find Him already there, waiting for you, searching for you, wanting only to let you know you are Loved.  Even in that basket of laundry. Even in that sink of dishes.  Don’t be blinded by the distractions of the many unnecessary things; open your eyes and see the truth of the one thing needed. It is Love, and as the Beatles once sang, All you need is Love.

The Law & the Good News--a meditation for the 3rd Sunday of Ordinary Time

 “He has anointed me to bring

good news to the afflicted...

to proclaim liberty to the captives,

sight to the blind... to proclaim

a year of favor...”

--Luke 4:18-19

In today’s first readings we hear that stirring passage from Nehemiah (cf.8:2-10) that tells of the unrolling of the scroll and the reading of the law before all the people and how the people began to weep when they heard the law.  But Nehemiah, Ezra and the Levites remind the people that this is a day not for weeping but for celebrating. The law is supposed to be a source of consolation and renewal and joy, not an oppressive burden.

And there is an echo of this story in the Gospel for today.  Jesus unrolls the scroll and reads from Isaiah the passage I quoted above. And when He finishes, says something so beautiful it astonishes His audience: Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing. (cf. 4:21)

Jesus is the Word of God, the Law come in person into their midst –and what does he bring? Fearful judgment and hard justice? That is not what He comes to proclaim.  He comes to proclaim liberty to captives, sight to the blind, and good news to the afflicted! Liberty, sight, and good news; a year of favor.  Quite a jubilee, I would say.  That is what Jesus brings, the same Jesus who tells us elsewhere that He has not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it.  He is the fulfillment of the law.  In the next several chapters of Luke we will see Jesus go about healing the blind, setting people free from illness and demons, feeding the hungry, cleansing the leper, and proclaiming a message of love and mercy.  This is the law in its fullness abiding among us; He is the law.

When I wrote about that passage from Nehemiah a few months back I focused on the weeping of the people. I was struck by their tears, because I had recently read Deuteronomy (and Leviticus and Numbers) and the echoing of all those laws, those restrictions, regulations was still reverberating in my head.  In a half ironic mode, I had to wonder if some of those tears weren’t tears of dread: Lord, what have we got ourselves into! Weren’t we better off not knowing? But, in all seriousness, we are never better off in ignorance. Because ignorance is captivity.  Ignorance is slavery; it is life in Plato’s cave; fearing shadows.  The law sets us free.  But how can that be?  If the law sets regulations on our behavior, then aren’t we simply trading one for of slavery for another?

And I guess that depends on how we look at the law.  Do we see “the law” (the Ten Commandments, the Deuteronomic code, etc) as a rule book meant to control our behavior, a way of keeping us in check?  Or do we see it as a guidebook, an instruction manual, that helps us live our lives more fully, more completely, more joyfully?

Do you hear the law as good news? Does it set you free? Or does it sound like the turning of a key in a lock, the clanking of shackles fastened to your ankles?

Does it open your eyes? Or does it feel like a darkness cast over them?

How do you see the law?

Recently someone at my house told me I was being passive aggressive. Their words hurt. It was like a stinging slap to my face (or my ego).  And my gut reaction was to lash back. To defend myself with excuses and reasons for why I had behaved and spoken the way I had.  But, whether my reasons were valid or not, what I was really saying is: I don’t want to see that truth.  I don’t want to know that truth.  I would rather be blind to it. I would rather be ignorant.

But –with time, and reflection—I realized there was truth in what they said. There was a truth that could only set me free if I accepted it and let it dwell in my heart.  There words opened my eyes to something I had not wanted to see, but something that was true and something that was becoming a bit of a habit.  And I could only be set free from the captivity of my own habits and ego if I listened and accepted and let myself hear them not as something to fear, but as “good news.” A chance to grow and change and become better. I had to adjust the way I received those words. I had to receive them not as a slap on the face, but as a kind of nudge –like bumping up against a guard rail that protects us from going over a dangerous cliff.  It is hard to accept sometimes, but occasionally we need to be corrected. That’s how we get better: whether it is at math or spelling, fixing a dryer, or just being a husband.

How do we hear the law? I think the good news is this: regardless of what we think, the sound of God’s law is always the sound of a door opening.   

Toiling in vain --just like John the Baptist?

“Though I thought I had toiled in vain

and for nothing, senselessly, spent

my strength, yet my reward is with

the Lord, my recompense with my God.”

--Isaiah 49: 4

 

Listen to this message.  One of our greatest voices, one of the most important prophetic figures in scripture; and he feared his work, his life, had been in vain.  Is this not the proper response to anyone who feels their life has gone unnoticed?  Most of us, I imagine, looking back on our lives see missed opportunities, unfulfilled promise; years of unrecognized effort, uncelebrated worth.  Who hasn’t felt the fear and the pain and the neglect envisioned in the first half of this verse? We had promise, we had opportunities, and amounted to nothing.  We toiled in vain, spent our strength uselessly and our lives have gone without note or success; our dreams and our promise unrealized.  Or we feel unseen; no one seems to care (or notice) that we exist.

Today we celebrate the nativity of John the Baptist, a man who on most any earthly scale would be deemed a failure; someone who “toiled in vain.” He goes out to the wilderness and lives like a homeless man, becomes something of a public spectacle with his ranting against sin, then goes too far and is arrested and put to death due to a party game gone awry.  And if it wasn’t for this other guy (his cousin) whose earthly ministry also ends kind of badly, we probably wouldn’t even remember John.  He would have faded into history; just another forgotten misfit with dreams and promise who lived and died without notice by the Caesars of the world. At best, an annoying mosquito to be swatted away and forgotten.

I know people who never seem to receive their moment of glory.  I’ve worked in universities and schools almost all of my adult life and witnessed time and again how some people repeatedly are singled out for praise (often very deserved) while others (also very deserving) year after year go unnoticed. I’m thinking of a particularly dedicated teacher I know who shows up every day, works long hours, loves and nurtures her students, yet when it comes time to single out people for hard work or extra praise, she is never mentioned; never singled out; apparently never noticed, while the same English teachers or Science teachers or Math teachers are honored and praised time and again.  Is it because the one teacher constantly goes beyond, exceeds expectations and the other simply doesn’t have that extra skill or talent or charm?  Possibly.  But that doesn’t change the fact that a capable and dedicated teacher might feel exactly as Isaiah does in this passage.  That she/he has toiled in vain, uselessly spent her life’s energy doing work that goes unnoticed and unappreciated.  Yet, what Isaiah is also saying is: Don’t look to earthly honors and awards as the measure of your real worth. 

Today, as we remember the nativity of John the Baptist, we are called to remember that our reward, our true worth isn’t found in the praise of Caesar or by the number of “likes” we get or the number of times we are singled out for praise, but in the Lord; our recompense is with God; our true worth is measured not in man’s eyes, but in God’s glory.  We are His servant, and we must remember we are working for His glory. Not our own.

A couple of weeks back we had the Gospel in which Jesus said that a house divided against itself cannot stand (Mk 3:25).  I hear reverberations of that great truth here as well. Perhaps that is why this reading from Isaiah spoke to me so profoundly.  What I hear in Isaiah is a message about division of the heart.  I hear an echo of a division that rears its ugly head inside me most every day.  When I am writing a poem or working on my novel –if I am in the zone, so to speak-- I write single mindedly. The words, the story, the image, the work itself is all I care about. But, when I am distracted, or things aren’t coming easily I will begin to doubt myself and question myself –I will second guess.  And often when I hear of some young author who just published a first book to great acclaim, I will grow a little sour with envy as I recall my drawer full of rejection slips.  I begin to doubt my worth, to suspect my efforts have been in vain, my strength senselessly spent, because instead of doing my work the best I can, for the glory of God, I’m doing it for myself; for my glory, my rewards, my recompense, and in my selfishness, I am becoming a house divided against itself.  I’m seeking not what is my true reward but something like a shadow of it. In fact, by seeking an earthly reward I am serving Caesar; but as the prophet tells us, we were made for God and our true glory comes from serving Him. 

If fact, whether we are called on stage to be honored or we toil in humble anonymity isn’t really our concern.  We are not servants of the Academy or of the Nobel Prize Committee or even of the NY Times (or the Whitehouse), we are servants of God. Our work is done not to bring us glory, but God.  There are teachers I know who become legends (at least for a time) and others who retire and are quickly forgotten, but the key to being a successful servant of God isn’t found in earthly acclaim.  In fact, the important work we do for God may be found as much in our anonymity as in our efforts. As Mother Teresa said, “We are not called to be successful, we are called to be faithful.” Or as John the Baptist said:

“What do you suppose that I am? I am not he.

No, but behold, after me one is coming, the sandals

of whose feet I am not worthy to untie.” (Acts 13:25)

The work we do isn’t about us; it’s about Him.  And the reward, the recompense, isn’t found in certificates or trophies or acclaim, it’s found in being a faithful servant.  Don't be divided; be true, faithful, united in purpose with the One who created you. Grow where you are planted, bear fruit where and when you can, and leave the rest to God.  Do your best, not for praise or honor or glory (or a raise) but because you are serving God. We must remember that any work done for God’s glory is never in vain. 

Plus, if you want to contemplate the value of earthly success, consider when was the last time you heard anyone talk about the movie: Cavalcade (1933).  Academy award for best picture and a money maker for Fox Studios.  But…