by David Tiesma on Thursday, October 4, 2012 at 12:34pm ·
Throughout my lifetime, I have had a somewhat voluminous amount of jobs. Certainly more than the average guy. Perhaps I have vocational ADD? Considering that I am still a fairly young 45. Here are a few of the jobs I have had over the years: Pest Control Technician, flower delivery guy, banker, bank manager, garbage man, sales rep over the phone, pastor (twice), home renovator, door installer, warehouse employee, truck driver, custom machine builder and rodeo clown.
Ok, so I was never a rodeo clown, but the rest are true.
Probably one of the most unpleasant jobs was when I was a garbage man. I was in my early 20's and was trying to support my young family. We had a baby on the way and life was exciting. I was young, idealistic and not sure of what I wanted to do with my life. However, I was very into my church and thought it a sin if someone: drank alcohol, swore, smoked and didn't attend church every time the blessed doors were open. And I was more than willing to argue these points, so passionately did I feel about them. It's hard not to be a little embarrassed by my naivete and stark view of the world. I had yet to discover what pain and disappointment really were. I thought I knew of course, but you can't really know them until you have swam in those waters. You can dip your toe in a pool to try and ascertain the temperature, but you don't' really know until you jump in.
We are all young once and there is no other way to go through life except one day at a time (unless you are The Doctor), there is no use apologizing for youth.
When I was a garbage man, or as we preferred to be known "sanitation engineers", I met some interesting, ah, shall we say politely, characters.
There was the one guy who came back to the shop every day with his truck full of stuff he had found in the garbage. Apparently his family had one of those "eternal garage sales" going. Every day he would find new stuff to sell and he would dutifully bring it home.
There was my friend Fred, who helped me get the job. I liked Fred and thought he was a good guy. However, since I knew him from church, I was disconcerted by the fact that he would use profanity sometimes. I knew he loved God, but apparently he hadn't achieved the level of holiness where such worldly habits die off.
And then there was Ken. Red haired, uber hunter, incredibly foul mouthed Ken. Of course I had heard people swear before. I didn't have virgin ears, but if you have read anything else I have written, you know I grew up in a very religious church. Such things were not practiced by "good" Christians and we were not to hang out with those who transgressed in these very important areas. We prayed for them. And witnessed to them.
Ken did not profess to be a Christian. At least not one like I understood and in that day the only people i thought were serious Christians believed like we did. Every morning we would arrive way too early in the morning at the "office". In reality it was a big garage with part of partitioned off for the one secretary we had.
I had started this job in the late fall so every morning we sat around a little space heater and waited for our trucks to warm up. Then we would venture out in to the world to rid it of it's unwanted refuse. You might be shocked to learn that I didn't exactly mesh with most of the guys in our little circle of sanitation experts. They liked to hunt. A lot. I have never hunted a day in my life. (except for the ladies...) Dear God, it's all they seemed to talk about. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have suggested we start a book club. And I know I shouldn't have suggested we all watch Star Trek together. Live and learn. It's not like I was used to being popular anyway.
For some reason I thought cursing was kind of like drinking alcohol. Most people didn't do it in the morning, you worked your way into it. Not Ken. he bathed in the f-bomb. If you peppered your food the way he peppered swear words into his EVERY conversation, pepper would double in price. He broke it open every the morning like a fresh package of Folgers. And of course most of them smoked as well. It was like my own little version of hell. And honestly, I figured that was most of their destinations anyway.
You would most likely be proud of how long I held my tongue. My ears were daily blistered by Ken's daily dose of verbal garbage. I usually stayed quiet and stared at the floor and tried to doze a bit. The way Ralphie describes his father in "A Christmas Story" works nicely: "He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium; a master." Ken and Ralphie's father would have gotten along famously. After a few months, I finally had to speak up. I could not tolerate this obvious sin any longer! It had to be addressed as I'm sure you understand.
"Ken, why do you swear so much?"
"What the *#(% do you mean?"
"Well you seem to paint the air blue more than Jesus would appreciate."
"They're just *^%& words"
Ok, so that's not verbatim, but it went something like that.
I know that I have painted my self to be a bit self righteous and I was. But even then I could not believe the stupidity of Ken's words. Just words. This conversation has stayed with me for a long time. I have thought about it a lot.
Just words. Hardly.
With words we commit ourselves to be bound to another for life. We swear oaths in court. Those we love know how we feel because we tell them. Novels have been written that have heavily impacted the world. Wars have been started and ended due to words.
Words are powerful.
Words are weighty.
Words matter.
We have all felt the sting of words directed at us. There are few things more painful than words. I would rather lose a finger than ever hear"I don't love you anymore" again. I don't like those words.
Or for a child to hear their parent berating them, criticizing them. With words that etch themselves into their subconscious for the rest of their lives.
Don't tell me words don't matter. Sorry Ken, but you were very wrong. It was a foolish thing to say.
Sadly, Ken died years ago. Apparently he was part of a drug deal gone sour. I was very sad and shocked to hear this story on TV years after I had left there.
Words have always been important to me. It is why I love sermons and good writing. Words move me in powerful ways, and I love to impact others with my own words. They can be woven together like a beautiful tapestry, or braided together like a whip.
God uses words. It is his primary way he has chosen to speak to us. But as I alluded to earlier, we often get His words a little twisted. It is much easier to try to trap God with his own words. We want a nice tidy little religion. If we do this- than God has to do that. It is wrong for me to do something, therefore it is wrong for everyone to do that.
Sorry- have to qualify. I am not saying that everything is relative, but I am saying that there is a lot more gray to the world than I had ever believed. Right and wrong are very real, I do not believe truth is relative. We once had an evangelist come through our church who hated TV. He preached a blistering message against the evil of TV. After the sermon, many repented and a surprising number of people literally threw out their TV's or turned them against the wall. I guess they were a little less convicted and wanted to give God time to change his mind if he wanted to. Almost every family that did this went back to watching TV within months, if not weeks. Perhaps God had told this man to stop watching TV- but he determined that the message was meant for everyone.
If we choose our words well, and sprinkle in some Scriptures, we can get people to do about anything.
Again, words are powerful. And anything that is powerful can be dangerous.
Last Sunday we had to say goodbye to one of our pastors. Brad Gray is leaving for a church in his community. he is one of the better speakers I have ever heard and I will miss him. He uses words very well, to instruct, to teach, to inspire. And as he left us with a few final words, I will end this with a thought from his sermon. All throughout the Bible, especially the Old Testament, it talks about the "law".
What do you think of when you hear the word "law"?
What do you do when you see a policeman while you are driving? I check my speed! Every time! Uh-oh, am I doing something wrong? Shoot! Am I going to get caught?
When I hear the word law, I think of rigidity. I think of punishment. I know it is there to protect me, but I know that sometimes I transgress the law. And I know if I get caught I will pay.
Who gave us the original law? Well, God did of course. And what does that tell us about Him? About his character? About what he expects from us? What does it say about how he feels about us? Why did he need to give us "law"? And then Jesus comes along and seems to be not very "law-ish" at all. In fact he seems to almost contradict some of the law. And yet he said he came to fulfill the law?? This confuses me, but I accept it as one of those things that are over my head, as many things are.
One word that has so many connotations. Law. A powerful word.
But...
What if it's the wrong word?
The actual word in the original language is "Torah". God gave us "Torah" which often is translated into "law".
But do you know what a much better translation of Torah is?
Instruction. Teaching.
Let that sink in.
Feel the difference in tone, inflection.
Consider what that word implies about God.
Not law. Instruction. Teaching.
How much warmer! How much more loving! Of COURSE God gives us teaching! It is still in our best interest to adhere to his teaching and instruction. There are still consequences when we don't.
But it is so much warmer and inviting to follow instruction rather than to "obey law".
To me, this speaks volumes about God.
Subtle but significant.
Sorry Ken, words DO matter.
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