Words We Live By

There are, for all of us, words that have been spoken to us that have been captured in our memories: gentle or timely words that have either sustained us, challenged us, or validated who we are as human beings. Often they feel like the gentle breath of God, a warm and inviting scent that washes over us like the whisper of warmth coming from the vents on a cold and rainy morning.

They live in our memory, these words, because there are time when we must draw them out and examine them again. When we doubt ourselves, or when we have failed to live up to the expectations we have for ourselves (or that others have for us). Like a warn scrapbook, we rub our hands over the dusty memory and feel the exaltation all over again, and in our hearts we resolve to live up to that which was once said about us, or to us. They are verbal caresses; gentle nudges to get up, stretch our legs, and begin the race again.

On his blog 'BitterSweet Life', Ariel talks about his recent birthday, and the traditional family celebration that accompanies it. As the celebrant sits, the rest of the family, one at a time, tells what they most love and appreciate about them. While there are good natured jests, subtle (but fun) insults, and moments made for laughter, it is also a chance for the family to whisper as one
'You are valued.' You are important. What you bring to the world is unique: there can be no duplicate of you.

He describes this as 'a cocktail for the soul', and I'm at a loss to come up with a simile that can rival that.

Years ago, when I was taking a class on the Old Testament, taught by a wildly irreverent Rabbi Blum, he told us that in Jewish philosophy, the taking of another life is the greatest crime of all, for when you 'kill a person, you are killing an entire universe'.

Think about that for a moment. I know I did.
And I felt really guilty about killing that guy back in Des Moines. But really, one must wonder, what the hell was he doing in my closet?
But that's another blog.

The point, of course, is the uniqueness of all of us. There are no two of us who perceive things the exact same way. Tastes and preferences differ. Perceptions and opinions swing in wildly opposite directions even among people who are similar in a thousand other ways. I regard the world from a jaundiced evangelical worldview, while my friend Dan views the world from a decidedly Calvinist reservoir. Which is why he is destined for hell. The point is, we may agree and see things exactly the same on 1000 different things, but it is the 1001st that separates you from me, and makes our respective lives universes unto themselves (Just for the record, I'm right on that 1001st thing).

I bring all this up as a means of celebration for the individual- the belief that God does not want us to surrender ourselves to Him so that we lose our precious identity, but rather that He wants us to become more ourselves than we ever could be without Him (unabashedly pilfering from The Screwtape Letters).

So Ariel's post left me thinking about praise: what it does for us, but also, what it means.

I have the sentences in my head; those beautiful things whispered about me, said to me, given to me. When I resigned from pastoring in 2003, my congregation threw a party (they were that glad to be rid of me), and in the course of it, when comments were brought from around the room, I learned how I had been a part of people's lives when I felt I was making no difference at all. I cherish those words and that moment until this very day, and have no doubts that I will ever stop.

But praise: is there a difference between our praise for others, and praise for God? I think so, but not in the usual, pedantically Christian party line of 'because we're not perfect but He is.' True, that's right, and that will make for a very good Sunday school class, but I think there's more to it: something in our very language.

When my wife tells me that she loves me, I am filled with gratitude (and an almost irrepressible urge to question her taste). When she tells me the things she loves about me or admires about me, it is embarrassingly good- that cocktail for the soul. But I also sense that somewhere, somehow, there's an imperative in there. Or if not an order, then a plea. Implicit within those words is the hope that those things which she loves me for are not things that I will cease to do or be.

To praise someone for their generosity is to silently importune them that they remain generous.
Praise the laughter they bring is a hope that the laughs will continue to come.
To praise them for 'always being there' has an implied parenthetical tag that says 'and I hope you always will be.'

We do praise others for their attributes, and I pray that we all do so lavishly to those who are important in our life.

But these attributes may change: the generous may not always be generous. Those who share laughter may one day rain insults down on us, and the steadfast ones in our lives may one day be incapacitated. Our praise is not only an expression of gratitude, it is a fervent wish that they remain the same.

So what, then, is the good of praising the immutable?

To say that 'God is good' is not an utterance of praise, but a self-description. It is as intrinsic to Him as my brown eyes are to me: I cannot change them, and neither can He change His goodness. Our language to Him differs greatly than our language to each other: we praise others so that they may remain as they are. We praise God because... because... why?

And this stumps me. I cannot praise Him in hopes that He will remain as He is. He will, regardless. There is no imperative underlying my words, no subtly voiced hope that His goodness will remain. That's the problem with immutability. It never changes. On the other hand, it's always a safe thing to place a $10 spot on.

I think the purpose of praise- one of the purposes of praise- is so that our constantly changing selves has something fixed to dwell upon. We need to meditate on the goodness of God, so that we will know what goodness is. We have to praise Him for his forgiveness, because in doing so, we learn the deeper meaning of forgiveness. As a child, 'goodness' and 'kindness' meant something far different to me than they do today. It is in the course of discovering grace and goodness in my life on a daily basis that I begin to see the glorious complexity of this single syllable word. It is through the greater wrongs that are done me (or that I do) that I have come to understand how difficult forgiveness really is.

We praise people because we love them, and we do not want them to change. Perhaps we praise God, because we love Him, and desperately know we need to change.