Sacred Mundane: The Blog

There was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although poor, he was envied by all for the beautiful white horse he owned. Even the king coveted his treasure. People offered fabulous prices for the steed, but the old man always refused. “This horse is not a horse to me,” he would tell them. “It is a person. HOw could you sell a person? He is a friend, not a possession. How could you sell a friend?” The man was poor and the temptation was great, but he never sold the horse.

One morning the horse was missing from the stable. All the village came to see the old man. “You old fool,” the scoffed. “We told you that someone would steal your horse. You are so poor, how could you ever hope to porotect such a valuable animal? It would have been better to have sold him. You could havew gotten watever price you wanted. Now the horse is gone, and you’ve been cursed with misfortune.”

The old man responded, “Don’t speak too quickly. Say only that the horse is not in the stable. That is all we know, the rest is judgment. How can you know if I’ve been cursed or not? How can you judge?”

The people contested, “Don’t make us out to be fools! We may not be philosophers, but great philosophy is not needed to know what’s happened here. The fact that your horse is gone is a curse.”

The old man spoke again, “All I know is that the stable is empty and the horse is gone. The rest I don’t know. Whether it be a curse or a blessing, I can’t say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say what will come next?”

The people of the village laughed. They had always thought the man to be a fool; if he wasn’t, he would have sold the horse and lived off the money. Instead, he was a poor woodcutter, living hand to mouth in the misery of poverty. Now he had proven that he was, indeed, a fool.

After fifteen days, the horse returned. He hadn’t been stolen, he had run away into the forest. Not only had he returned, He had brought a dozen wild hroses with him. Once again the village people gathered around the woodcutter and spoke, “old man, you were right and we were wrong. What we thought was a curse was a blessing. Please forgive us.”

The man responded, “Again, you go too far. Say only that the horse is back. State only that a dozen horses returned with him, but don’t judge. How do you know if this is a blessing or not? You see only a fragment. Unless you know the whole story, how can you judge? If you read only one page, how can you judge the whole book? All you have is a fragment! No one knows. I am content with what I know. I am not perturbed by what I don’t know.”

“Maybe the old man is right,” they said. But down deep they believed he was wrong. They knew it was a blessing. Twelve wild horses returned with one horse. With a little bit of work, the animals could be broken and trained and sold for much money.

The old man had a son, an only son. The young man began to break the wild horses. After a few days, he fell from one of the horses and broke both legs. ONlce again the villagers gathered around the old man and cast their judgments.

“You were right,” they said. “The dozen horses were not a blessing. They were a curse. Your only son has broken his legs, and now in your old age you have no one to help you. Now you are poorer than ever.”

The old man spoke again, “Don’t go so far in your judgements. Say only that my son broke his legs. Who knows if it is a blessing or a curse? No one knows. We only have a fragment of the whole.”

A few weeks later the country engaged in war against a neighboring country. All the young ment of the village were required to join the army. Only the son of the old man was excluded because he was injured. The enemy was strong and the people feared they would never see their sons again. Once again, they gathered around the old man, crying and screaming because their sons had been taken. “You were right, old man,” they wept. “God knows you were right. This proves it. Your son’s accident was a blessing. His legs may be broken, but at least he is with you. Our sons are gone forever.”

The old man spoke again, “why do you always draw conclusions? No one knows. Say only this: You sons went to war, and mine did not. No one is wise enought to know if it is a blessing or a curse. Only God knows.”

The old woodcutter was content with what he knew and not disturbed by what he couldn’t understand. Epictetus said, “I am always content with that which happens, for I think that which God chooses is better than what I choose.”

Linda Dillow, Calm My Anxious Heart 163-164

{Praying Epictetus’ heart for us today … thanks for reading.}

Imagine you went to a marriage conference. The conference speaker stood and up and said, “Here’s how to have a successful date-night experience with your spouse:

“You need to go out every Friday night at 7:15pm. You should wear black slacks and a tie, and your wife needs to wear a purple dress (preferably sleeveless). Make sure she has on earrings and you wear cologne. Drive about 20 minutes, and go to Stanfords. Be sure to have waitress Ann. Sit in the corner booth at the Northwest corner of the restaurant. Hold hands across the table and then order the buffalo wings and have your wife order a Caesar salad. Tell the waitress a joke about the crab that walked into a bar, and then wink at your wife and squeeze her hand. Finish the night by at home with a glass of wine, then …”

You can see where this is headed. It’s ridiculous. Obviously that man had had a fabulous experience taking his wife to Stanfords some Friday night and thought her purple dress was smokin’ hot. But that’s for them. Your successful date night might look just like or it might look completely different. There are surely some components that will successfully transfer (men, smelling good is always a good idea), but the speaker has taken something that should be descriptive and he’s made it prescriptive.

We sometimes slip into this, don’t we? (raising my hand)

I wholeheartedly believe that sharing our stories is one of the most powerful ways that God communicates His work, truth, love, power, with the world around us. We were meant to share our stories. God has often spoken to me through the stories of others. But sometimes we can slip from simply describing an encounter with God and begin prescribing an encounter with God. (Or prescribing any number of things!)

One option — that many take — is just to not share personal stories at all. I know our college pastor never felt comfortable sharing personal stories because he didn’t want college students to feel like that had to be their story. A good caution, to be sure. But perhaps he erred too far in the other direction? I for one wanted to hear his stories. I love hearing others’ stories. In fact, I often think of some friends of ours who don’t have children, and wish they had kids  just so I could hear the hilarious and insightful stories they would undoubtedly have.

So how do we share our stories without doing what the speaker did above? We do just that, right? We share them. We describe a story, we don’t prescribe a regimen. Do lessons usually surface? Yes! I believe the story from yesterday that I described does have a lesson — listen to God! 🙂 But the lesson is NOT that you need to get up at 4am, run a 10k, or write a book.

Isn’t it freeing to describe instead of prescribe?

(BTW, I know that I am the one most guilty of this. And I can’t promise I’ll never slip into it or do it again. Grace, ok? I’m learning, along with you …)

{Thanks for letting me learn, grow, and continue to share my stories … and thanks for so patiently and faithfully reading them.}