Just Another Window?

Dads Old Office WindowA window—that’s what you see, right? A nondescript pane of glass in the side of an old factory building. Passing by, you wouldn’t even notice it. It’s just another window.

Or is it?

Simple things become significant, even extraordinary, when you know their stories. I know the story of this window.

Behind it, a young man with a new family to support once served as his company’s first marketing manager. Rising from the status of draftsman, he convinced his boss that the company needed a marketing department; then, with no degree and little in the way of a college education, the man went on to create that department. On the other side of the glass, sitting at his desk, he developed award-winning advertising that gave soul and sentiment to a dry, technical business.

Sometimes the man would bring his little boy to work with him and take him through the factory. The boy loved those times with his daddy. The workers were friendly, and the boy was captivated by the massive industrial fans and blowers that were under constant manufacture. Sometimes he would reach into one of the smaller turbines sitting on the floor and give one of the blades a shove and watch the fan spin.

So you see, this is no ordinary window. It is a glimpse into the past of a life being lived, a family raised, and memories made. Fifty years ago, it was my dad’s office window at Garden City Fan in Niles, Michigan.

My father is long gone and the company has changed hands and location, but the window remains, as do the memories.

Nothing is “just” anything. A single blade of grass is an astonishing thing. It all depends on how you look at it. Do you have eyes to see?

Why Living from Your Heart Requires Using Your Head

In my circles, I hear a lot of talk about living from the heart, not the head. That message is nothing new; it has been around for decades, and I understand where it comes from. There’s certainly an underlying truth to it; unfortunately, though, the way it gets expressed often tends to imply a false polarity instead of a balance. The heart and intellect are not incompatible. Far from it! Living fully and wisely from the heart involves using our head, and problems arise when we emphasize either at the expense of the other. I know because I’ve lived on both ends of the spectrum. Here is what I’ve found:

  • The mind is not where life dwells, and to emphasize it at the expense of the heart is to experience less than the abundant life Jesus offers us.
  • However, to scorn the mind is to ignore a vital part of our being which God created with the intent that we might love him with it as surely as we do with our heart.

In some of the church cultures I once moved in, the intellect was distrusted to the extent that it was actually maligned. I didn’t fit in well, because I didn’t know how not to think, and to process, and to question, and even to disagree. I didn’t know how not to mentally engage with the Scriptures, and to ponder how they connected with life, and with how people, including me, are put together, and with what God himself is like. I just couldn’t seem to shut off my “thinker”–I didn’t know how.

It finally occurred to me that those who emphasized heart over head didn’t know how either. They just didn’t realize, or perhaps didn’t want to admit, that they thought a certain way about the mind, and had become so set in that way of thinking that they used their minds to reinforce their negative view of the mind without recognizing the irony involved.

Out of that, I came to this understanding: You had darn well better learn to think for yourself, because if you don’t, someone else–a person, a group of people, even a religious culture–is going to think for you. And when that happens, you can run into trouble. Because cloneliness is not next to godliness: the two are a world apart.

That said, if the mind is meant to inform the heart, the heart is meant to guide the mind. I don’t know how better to put it. The intellect is not the source of life, merely a gateway to it, and the mind apart from the heart is lifeless. It is as capable of self-deception and idolatry as it is of getting at truth; it takes the heart to ignite facts and make them explode into life inside us, resulting in a rich life that overflows with the Holy Spirit.

We are complex creatures who are to “love the Lord [our] God with all our heart, mind, and strength”–in other words, with all that we are, to the best that we are granted. The mix of that three-part combination is different for every person, but the point is that we cannot shut off any of those aspects of our being. It’s impossible. In this life, we simply are physical, mental, and spiritual. Even those of us who live their lives from a wheelchair have unique ways of loving God with their their physical nature; they just express that love differently from those who have no physical encumbrance.

As for those of us who are more intellectual by nature versus those of us who are more intuitive and passionate, we’ll do well to recognize that the mind and heart are intended to complement each other in a symbiotic relationship. Neither can be shut off, only stifled in a misguided attempt to be a “better Christian.” But only the grace of Jesus makes us any kind of Christian at all. If we attempt to improve on that grace by emphasizing one aspect of our humanity at the expense of another, we’ll only experience less than the full, free life that our Father intends for us: a life vitally connected to him that causes our thinking to align with his, and that shapes our heart according to his own.

Of Specks and Planks: Why True Discernment Starts with Self-Discernment

What’s this business about specks and planks in the eye that Jesus talks about in his Sermon on the Mount? I’ve long been struck by it. This morning, reading through Luke’s gospel over my first cup of coffee (I’m now on my second), I came across it again, and I thought, What planks do I have in my own eyes?

I long ago got tired of Christians who major on trying to “fix” other people. My feeling is, Clean up the mess in your own backyard and you’ll be amazed at how much better your neighbor’s looks when you’re finished. In other words, true discernment begins with self-discernment. This is what Jesus was getting at.

Does that mean I’m not to exercise my critical thinking faculties regarding people’s behavior, their attitudes, and even the way they think? Of course not. I can’t function in life that way, neither can you, and neither did the New Testament writers nor the Lord himself. In Matthew 7:3–6, Jesus follows his admonishment about specks and planks by telling his disciples, in the very next breath, not to cast their pearls before swine. Telling swine from non-swine clearly requires judgment, right?

Lest you wonder, Jesus didn’t tread lightly with the Pharisees of his day, nor did Paul mince words about the Judaizers, nor did John about the Gnostics.

So let’s get some balance: the thing Jesus did not say was that we should never help our brother or sister remove the speck from their eye. What he said was that in order to do so, we’ve got to first make sure we ourselves are seeing accurately, and that requires dealing with our own issues. Why? Because we’re prone to deflect them onto others. The speck I’m so cocksure I see in your eye might be nothing more than the reflection of a log that’s in my own. Once I remove my log, I might just discover that your speck has disappeared as well, because it never existed in the first place. Then again, maybe it really does exist, but now I see it with a new clarity that allows me to approach it–and you–in a humbler, more merciful, more respectful, and more helpful and life-giving way. Because I no longer see myself as your fixer but as just a fellow-traveller with his own junk to deal with.

The reality is this: We have got to practice discretion in our lives. We’ve got to discern between good and evil, tell godliness from ungodliness, and distinguish healthy influences in our lives from unhealthy ones. We’ve got to sort between truth and error in how others handle the Scriptures. We’ve got to be able to look at sin and call if sinful just as surely as a doctor has got to be able to look at cancer and call it cancer.

But the place where it all begins is with us. If we don’t start there, we’ll handle other people wrongly. We’ll see problems in them that are really problems with ourselves. And the problems they really do have, we’ll be apt to mishandle because we haven’t cleared our own vision and applied the salve of grace to our eyes.

Of course, the problem with getting the beams out of our own eyes is, we can’t see those beams. What may be apparent to others is invisible to us. And to complicate matters, our beams may seem to us like wisdom. Indeed, they may be intimately entwined with genuine wisdom because they flow from the same source. When we get wounded, we ought to learn from the experience, and that learning is valuable; but that same wounding can also teach us lies that we need to unlearn. Insight and distortion can come from the same experience. Beam removal involves removing the distortion so the wisdom that remains becomes that much clearer and wiser.

I’m sure I have beams in my eyes that I’m not aware of. This morning, my prayer has been, “Lord, please help me remove them. Gently, okay? Some things, I’ve lived with for a long time. But I want to see more clearly tomorrow than I do today. So I entrust the process to your hands.”