The sounds of silence in the middle of the night. The clock ticking. The house creaking. The wind whistling. The shadows coming to life. A mind racing. A brain active. A guilty conscience screaming. 

Something about the middle of the night arouses our minds as we either replay events which unraveled during the day or anticipate events about to unfold in the morning. I’ve been there too many times to count. So have you. Schulz drew from that well, which never seemed to run dry, and I can imagine he wrote many of those strips in the middle of the night. 

Charlie Brown lies awake to ponder life’s greatest questions, and “Life” always had an answer for him, though the answer was never quite the answer he was seeking or expecting. 

● “Sometimes I lay awake at night and ask, ‘Is life a multiple choice test or is it a true or false test’?’ Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, ‘We hate to tell you this, but life is a thousand word essay.’” 

● “Sometimes I lay awake at night and ask, ‘Why me’?’ Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, ‘Nothing personal. Your name just happened to come up.’” 

● “Sometimes I lay awake at night and ask, ‘Where have I gone wrong’?’ Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, ‘This is going to take more than one night.’” 

The night is prime for our minds to rest, or to arouse our restlessness. The curtain of the night closes in on the day-time drama. With its darkness comes the quiet. It’s peaceful. The crickets in the background are almost the perfect white noise. After a long day of rushing, and meeting scheduled appointments, and dealing with all the headaches of life, we’re given the night for rest. Yet too many of us on too many occasions are unable to embrace the night’s rest. If we can’t sleep because of our biological clocks, I’m not sure what can be done. If we can’t sleep because our mind is still running, maybe there is something we can do. 

The Psalmist tells us, “Be still and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10). For most of us, our days are filled with too much noise. The children are screaming. The TV is active all day. The radio or iPod is constantly playing. No time exists for the quiet, to listen to the “gentle whisper” of God (1 King. 19:12), until our heads finally hit our pillows. By then, we’ve probably shocked our bodies into the moment of silent quietness. 

Martin Luther King, Jr. knew something about restless nights. As catalogued in multiple sources, during the height of the Civil Rights Movement, people made death threats. Phone calls in the night warned him to leave Atlanta. The phone rings and as he picks up, the caller hangs up on him. And more than one time he woke up to a cross burning in his front yard. While he did pack up his family and move them out of town, he stayed behind until the threats dissipated. Shaken to the core, he felt like leaving as well. He felt the struggle to hold onto his conviction or to give it all up. But something within him wouldn’t stop. He chose instead to spend many, many hours on his knees in prayer. No, he didn’t get his sleep back, but his worries evaporated and his courage was restored. He was able to move forward with bringing justice and equality to the American system. 

When I was a little boy, and was often overcome by sleepless nights, I asked my mom what she did to get to sleep. She told me she talks God. I probed further, “But what if you’ve prayed and still can’t get to sleep?” She smiled and said, “That gives me that much more time to talk to God.”

As an adult, I’ve had more restless nights than I care to admit. Sometimes they arise because with age comes a change in sleep patterns. I don’t sleep like I used to, so I find myself awake when I’d rather be asleep. Sometimes they come because I’m worried far too much about church and family crisis. My family, either by water or by blood, is making life decisions or is rejecting the help I’ve provided in leadership, so I find myself awake when I’d rather be asleep. Sometimes I’m filled with regret, because I’ve chosen words that were cruel or thoughtless or lacked compassion, so I find myself awake reliving that moment the words exited my mouth, when I’d rather be asleep. I either lie awake, and either emotionally beat myself up or try to take my mind off what is worrying me. I get up and read a book, or watch a late night movie on TV. 

I need to recall and embrace my mother’s words. When you’ve tried praying, but you’re still wide awake, trying praying some more. And if you’re still awake after you’ve prayed, try praying some more. So in the stillness of those late nights, when you’re overcome by guilt and worry, or just wired and cannot unwind, and you’re asking questions about life and life events, why not just cast your cares on God, because he really does care for you (1 Pet. 5:7).                   

bonum dolar!
(i.e., Good Grief!)

“I found it!” Like the shepherd who found the lost sheep, or the widow who found the lost coin, I had found it. 

I had been visiting my parents in their new home, shortly after they moved in, and was going through boxes and boxes of “treasures” when I found two precious items. The first was my dad’s antique Lionel Train set he had as a little boy. Dad thought the movers had “sticky” fingers and knew the set was gone forever. He was relieved to know I had “found it.” 

However, the big find wasn’t the antique train set, but my childhood stuffed Snoopy plush doll. True, Linus had his famous security blanket to comfort him when he felt lonely, anxious, fearful, or vulnerable. I had Snoopy. Linus’ blanket was versatile. He had 101 things he could do with it: it was a Shepherd’s scarf, an ascot, a sport coat, felt for his new pool table, a kite, and to protect himself, a whip. I had a Snoopy doll I got for Christmas when I was 3, and I slept with him every night. He brought enough comfort to me that when I entered the hospital for an ulcer (I was 10 years old) I wanted him with me. (He was so worn and dirty with love, that mom was ashamed to bring him to the hospital, so she bought me a new “knock-off” Snoopy instead). 

Except for Franklin, Linus may have been the most adjusted child among the Peanuts Gang, despite his constant need for his security blanket. He always went into withdrawals when it was wash day, or when grandma threatened to take the blanket away from him. When Charlie Brown chastised Linus about his need for the blanket, Linus quickly responded, pointing out, that while he needed a blanket, Charlie Brown needed a “psychiatrist” for his insecurities.

The older I get, the more brilliant I find Schulz. His assessment of humanity, combined with his own projected feelings, were spot on. In a world filled with danger and uncertainty, both from within and from without, we long for comfort and security. We fear ourselves and our own inadequacies. We fear that our nation is tearing itself apart. We fear that since our world is smaller, the terrorist attacks feel like they’re now in our own neighborhoods. 

Certainly, the anxieties and insecurities of life carry over into our relationship with God. Our view of God, and our understanding of doctrine, either heightens our anxiety or calms it. If we believe that God is looking to condemn us, we probably need a blanket, or at least a stuff plush doll. If we believe that God is gracious and compassionate and forgiving, then we simply rest in his assurance of his love for us. 

The Fellowship of believers I’m associated with has struggled in the security section of Scripture. Since we believe that salvation can be lost (an Armenian view of 1 Cor. 10:18-22; Heb. 2:1-4), we tend to believe that salvation cannot be assured either. We cannot find the middle road between the extremes. Since we’ve focused so much on establishing the “right doctrine,” many feel they cannot trust their baptism was done correctly; hindsight tells them they didn’t get it right the first time.

I once re-baptized a friend who was in her late thirties. We met and talk at length about baptism and God’s grace. She was smart, capable and insightful. She told me about how much more she understood Scripture and God’s will today versus when she was a teenager, and this time she was getting baptized for the “right reason.” I tried convincing her she didn’t need baptism, for she was growing in the grace of God (2 Pet. 3:18). However, when push came to shove, I relented and I baptized her. It was her third baptism. I wondered, at the time and even today, how many more baptisms will she need before she will finally get it right, and that God will forgive her?

Thus, enough of us doubt we’re saved, and have convinced ourselves that God’s looking for any reason to condemn us. Where can we find security without running for a blue blanket, or a stuff plush doll? 

John 3:16-17 has God looking for every reason to save us, not to condemn us. Jesus’ cry is for “All to come to him who are heavy burdened and he will give you rest” (Mt. 11:28). John reassured his readers when he wrote, “I write this things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God that you may know that you have eternal life” (1 Jn. 5:13); he didn’t write, “. . . you might have eternal life.” And if our weekly partaking of the Lord’s Supper says anything, it should answer the question, “how much does God love us;” this much, as Jesus stretches out his hands. 

I may not need my Snoopy doll today as a point of security, and you may not need a blue blanket either. I do find that the above Scriptures help in my security, and it doesn’t hurt to sing songs like Blessed Assurance either.

By the way, the original Snoopy doll I found in a box, covered with thirty years of age and love, was used by my mom and her sister as a pattern to clone an identical Snoopy. In fact, they made one for me and for each of my three children. I’m glad I found it. More importantly, I’m just glad Jesus found me. 

bonum dolar!
(e.g., Good Grief!)

No one was able to do more with less, than Schroeder. He sat down at his toy piano and provided masterpiece renditions of Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach, but mostly Beethoven because Ludwig van Beethoven was Schroeder’s hero. He kept a closet-full of Beethoven’s busts to display (he always wanted a spare because Lucy might break one in her own frustration). His house number was 1770, which was easy to remember since it was Beethoven’s birth year. He once enlisted a sponsorship for his baseball shirt from Beeth-Ovens. And every year he picketed his neighborhood carrying a sign to count down to Beethoven’s birthday. 

One day while he was playing, Charlie Brown noticed something about Schroeder’s toy piano; the black (i.e. ebony) keys were painted on the white plastic (i.e. ivory) keys. When he questioned how Schroeder could play such beautiful music with the painted keys, Schroeder’ response was simple, “Practice.” I guess if Charles Schulz is drawing pictures of Beethoven’s sheet music or Vince Guaraldi is providing the piano sound for the TV/movies, then you can play almost anything on a toy piano. 

My own musical journey was more akin to the plunking sound Schroeder did at the Christmas program when he played Jingle Bells, than when he played the now famous Linus and Lucy theme song. My guitar attempts were short-lived as I couldn’t get my left and right hands to come together in tandem (I could say the same about my attempts at the piano). I spent eight years trying to play a French Horn, which they say is one of the hardest instruments to master (small mouth piece and very long horn wrapped in a coil). In the right hands the French Horn sound is the most beautiful of the brass instruments, but it wasn’t in my hands.  Most of the time I was more concerned with hitting the right notes, than I was with making music. 

My eight years of band experience was overall positive. Both of my directors were meticulous instructors, particularly my middle-school/high school director. She demanded our best, and we respected her enough to give her our best. The results spoke for themselves. We got the notes right by winning sight reading competitions, propelling us to win the equivalent of the State Competition for stage bands my junior and senior years in high school. 

I still feel the residual effects of getting the notes right when I listen to music. My ears cringed when my children were learning to play their respective instruments. Sometimes American Idol tryouts are too painful to watch; I’m thankful that The Voice weeds out the singers/performers from the pretenders. And while I’m supposed be “lost in wonder, love and praise,” I easily get distracted when the hymns veer far off from the written score. 

Getting the notes right not only resonates with my musical background, but also with my theological background as well. I’m part of a historical Movement focused on getting doctrine right. Certainly, I admire and applaud such a history. Who wants to admit they belong to a group who perpetuates a lie? I don’t. We long for harmony with God, not dissonance. We pursue getting the doctrines right: resurrection, baptism, Lord’s Supper, worship, Incarnation, Church, et. al. But in our pursuit of getting these right, two problems have emerged. 

One, we’ve tended to settle for a select few doctrines (i.e. baptism, church structure, worship, etc.), while forgetting how much the Bible speaks about forgiveness, taming the tongue, social justice and equality, and how lives touched by Jesus means being transformed into looking like Jesus. Even Jesus preached that there were “more important matters of the law, like justice, mercy and faithfulness” (Mt. 23:23). He also reminded us that God “desired mercy, not sacrifice” (Hos. 6:6; Mt. 9:13). 

Secondly, in our pursuit of the right note of doctrine, we’ve often failed to humbly and compassionately pursue harmony with each other; we’re far too comfortable living in dissonance with those we disagree with. Dissonance may be of value in certain musical contexts, but harmony is the norm. Jesus’ prayer was for the church to be one (Jn. 17:21), not to just talk about unity, but to mirror the unity of the Triune God. Or, as Paul McCartney once prayed, “Ebony and Ivory lived to together in perfect harmony; side by side on my piano keyboard, O Lord, why don’t we?” 

So let’s get the notes right, or in this case, let’s get the doctrine right. But let’s expand our play beyond treble and bass cleft, or the white ivory and the black ebony keys, and embrace the “whole counsel of God” (Act. 20:27). Let’s be all encompassing, for only then will we play the beautiful music of Christ. More importantly, maybe then, God will use us in a way where people will ask, “How’d you get that sound out of that toy piano?” Besides, no one has been able to do more with less, than God.

bonum dolar!
(i.e., Good Grief!)