I remember being disappointed when I heard about Bing Crosby’s troubled relationships with his children. In 1983 his son Gary published a book “Going My Own Way” with shocking disclosures about Bing’s abusive forms of discipline.
I dropped my pants, pulled down my undershorts and bent over. Then he went at it with the belt dotted with metal studs he kept reserved for the occasion. Quite dispassionately, without the least display of emotion or loss of self-control, he whacked away until he drew the first drop of blood, and then he stopped. It normally took between twelve and fifteen strokes. I counted them off one by one and hoped I would bleed early. To keep my mind off the hurt, I would conjure up different schemes to get back at him, ways to murder him.
Apparently Bing was not the expressive, warm person he appeared to be in the movies. He was loathe to express affection or compliment. One time he credited his child-rearing methods to an Italian proverb: "Never kiss a baby unless he's asleep."
Bing Crosby represents a problem that plagues all human beings: The way we appear to others, even when we are being nice or doing significant things, may not reflect what’s going on in private.
When that happens we know it. Others might not. But we do. That leads to a deep sense of frustration within ourselves.
We don’t like that. We like to see ourselves as right, as good, as significant. There’s nothing wrong with this; indeed we were created to be right, good and significant. But when we aren’t, when bad things are going on inside of us, we don’t feel good about ourselves. So we try to make up for it with rationalization, or we unconsciously expect other people to make us feel better about ourselves.
But let me show you what that is like. Let me show you what happens when you try to make yourself feel better about yourself. This is a smoke detector. [Show detector.] What happens when it detects smoke? [Demonstrate.] It makes one of the most annoying sounds imaginable!
Did you know that you have something like a smoke detector inside of you that tells you any time you are “blowing smoke.” That’s a modern colloquialism for trying to fool someone.
Try as you might, our God-given conscience simply won’t tolerate any attempt to see ourselves as better than we are without squelching deep inside us. Oh, you won’t hear it with your physical ears. But it is a psychological squelch, a spiritually disturbing noise that never let’s you rest.
Even when you have people around you trying to tell you how wonderful you are, their voices cannot overcome the sound of this internal detector, because you know what their saying about you just isn’t true.
Years ago, famous child psychologist Dr. Haim Ginott wrote an essay called “The Case of the Flying Ashtray.” In it he told the story of a young five-year-old boy sitting by himself in the back seat of his of the family’s car. His mommy and daddy were in the front seat with his baby brother snuggled between them.
The trip was long, but the young boy had been impressively quiet and well-behaved the whole time. Periodically the mom would turn around and compliment him enthusiastically, “Johnny, you are such a good boy! Mommy and Daddy are so proud of you!”
They were nearing the end of their journey and entering the dark Lincoln Tunnel, where little Johnny was fascinated by the sudden bright lights of the oncoming traffic. Mom had just complimented him again when all of the sudden he pulled out the ashtray in the arm rest and hurled it against the windshield, filling the car with a choking cloud of ashes, and two very confused parents.
That prompted them to bring Johnny to the eminent psychologist to ask him to diagnose Johnny’s behavior. Did he have some kind of behavioral disorder? They were very worried.
After spending just a little time with Johnny privately, Dr. Ginott got to the root of the issue. It seems little Johnny was very jealous of his baby brother’s new position as the apparent favorite child.
He was stewing over that issue when his mommy was complimenting him. She had just finished another round of compliments—You’re such a good boy—when they headed into the tunnel, and Johnny’s little mind imagined the oncoming traffic crashing into their car right in the center, doing away with baby brother but leaving mommy and daddy alive and him the only child again.
Dr. Ginott explained to the parents, “Human beings seem to be hardwired to be able to accept praise only if they perceive it to be true. If they know something about themselves that makes the praise impossible to accept, they will often act out in such a way as to disprove the praise.”
The bottom line: Try as we might, we will never feel good about ourselves, no matter how we appear to others, when something is not good inside ourselves.
Our conscience makes us feel bad, and blowing smoke of rationalization only makes matters worse—nothing quiets the smoke detector.
So we need to turn to one of the most beautiful chapters in all of the Bible, the apostle Paul’s famous love chapter, 1 Corinthians 13. As lovely as this chapter is to read, do you realize it’s actually horribly disappointing to anyone who really hears what it’s saying. Why? Far from offering a fix, it actually makes matters worse. Let me explain.
In verses 1-3 Paul simply creates a list of lofty human abilities and moral actions:
• Charismatic abilities:
o Speaking the language of angels,
o Speaking prophetic words
o Having all revelation knowledge, including spiritual mysteries
o Having the most potent form of faith that can move mountains
• Lofty moral actions
o Parceling out one’s entire resources to the poor
o Extreme forms of ultimate self-sacrifice
Paul chose the items on this list carefully, because these were the very things the Corinthians regarded as marks of superior spirituality and morality. They aspired to these goals. So it would have shocked them when Paul claimed that a person could achieve these goals and perform these lofty actions but still amount to nothing. Let’s read his words:
1 If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
The Corinthians assumed that anyone achieving those goals had arrived at the pinnacle of moral and spiritual goodness. But Paul’s whole point is that you can be at that pinnacle and still be nothing and gain nothing, because you can actually, incredibly do all those things without love, and that renders them empty.
Then—and here comes the really discouraging part—Paul is going to show the Corinthians the only way these lofty actions will ever amount to something worthwhile: only if they are done by people of true love. So he proceeds to describe what real love is like.
It takes him only 41 Greek words to do it. Here they are. 41 words.
Love patient kind; love not envy, not boast, not arrogant, not rude, not seek self, not irritable, not records evil, not glad at wrongdoing, but glad with truth, all things bears, all things believes, all things hopes, all things endures.
The translators fortunately add in some connecting words to smooth the flow so that is sounds like this: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self- seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
We could take the rest of our time looking at each of the words. For example, the word the NIV translates “patient” is really better translated in the King James as “suffereth long” because it’s made up of the root word “thymei” and the prefix “macro.” Macrothymei conveys the idea of extreme patience, where a person is dealing with a very difficult and unpleasant situation for a long, long time.
Each one of these words takes us to the extreme level. And then if that is not enough Paul literally hammers home the word always four times to convey the idea that true love suffers no let up at all, ever. Listen to the pounding sound of the Greek word for always: panta.
Panta stegee, panta pisteuee, panta elpidzee, panta hypomenee.
Always, always, always, always! Protects, believes, hopes, perseveres.
If we really allow ourselves to be confronted by the full meaning of love, we should be left with the question: Who can measure up to this? If this is the standard required for any of our moral actions, good though they may be in the eyes of others and ourselves, what hope do we have? We can’t love like this!
So here’s the major dilemma, and the reason I say that 1 Corinthians 13 is actually a horribly disappointing chapter: we each want to feel good about ourselves. However, these 41 words are written on the conscience of every human being.
The Bible tells us that all people are created in the image of God who is love. Therefore, our God-given moral conscience is pre-programmed to be satisfied only when out outer and inner world align themselves with this quality of godly love.
Even though our outer actions may be lofty and appear loving, when our inner world does not align with this standard of love, we are going to feel bad about ourselves.
We can keep trying to blow smoke, to rationalize, to point out that we are much better than most people, that we had good intentions even if we had a few lapses, but that won’t work.
The conscience created by an all-loving God will signal anything less than an all-loving heart. And if we try to silence that signal, it will just keep squelching and we will have no rest from its troubling noise. So what’s the solution?
As wonderful as this chapter is, we tend to overlook the fact that it offers no solution. It only presents the standard. But fortunately Paul writes of the solution elsewhere in His letters. Actually the answer shows up in many places, and it boils down to this: The love of God can fill your heart.
In Romans 5:5 Paul writes: And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.
God’s love in us can overpower and transform us. And this is not just Paul’s idea. It’s found in the apostle Peter’s teaching who tells us we have become partakers of God’s divine nature.
2 Peter 1:3-4 His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness… so that you may participate in the divine nature…
It’s in the apostle John’s writing who tells us that we can be born again, this time with the DNA of the God’s love moving every cell in our body.
1 John 4:7, 12…love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God… God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.
All of the major biblical writers, even back into the Old Testament, tell us that this is one important way of looking at salvation: it’s about God entering you, changing your heart…
Ezekiel 36:26-27 I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws.
And what is the greatest command? Love God and love people. Salvation is God entering you to reclaim your heart, so you can regain the capacity to love like God.
Nothing can make a person feel better about himself or herself than discovering a spirit of love springing up from deep inside. But until that happens nothing can make a person feel good about himself at all. There’s not enough we could ever do that will silence the smoke detector.
But here’s the good, good news. All you have to do is ask the God of love to come inside to save you. You can do that this morning. But I know that I am talking mostly to people who have already asked the God of love to save you, but still you live with deep sensations of personal frustration. You still find yourself seriously lacking in love as described in Paul’s letter. Why? May I point you in the direction of an answer?
You must start increasing your practice of confession. Nothing stops the flow of God’s love more than sin and dishonesty. You may feel like you are confessing all the time. But if you’re anything like me, the hardest thing to confess is the lack of love.
Usually when we sense this lack of love, we have a good reason for it. Rather than confession, there is rationalization.
You’ve got to quit rationalizing and excusing yourself and become very good at confessing, particularly, especially regarding your lapses of love like Paul describes. Every time you fall short of the 1 Corinthians standard.
Every time you are impatient, unkind, irritable, resentful, ungracious, etc, you simply must confess, not excuse. Your conscience will prick your heart. You simply must stop telling yourself things like:
• Look at how often he does x to me…
• Look how often I do x for him…
• Look how much worse he is (they are, she is) than me…
• I don’t need to worry about x, because I am doing all this other stuff all the time…
• That standard certainly doesn’t apply when I’m going through what I’m going through…
And here is perhaps the worst one:
• Look how much God loves and forgives me…
Yes, but you still have to ask. To just expect and not ask by-passes the very element of a relationship. If the son of rich man trusts his father’s goodness and just expects the ATM to be full of money whenever he wants it without asking, he never has to live in the relationship, while wanting the benefits of it. Only by going through the step of coming to dad and asking, “Can you give me more money?” does he honor the relationship.
* * * * * *
This is the good news, if you confess, your heart remains open to the flow of God’s amazing love in and through your life. This is what salvation is about. God has made it possible to silence the deep frustration in your heart.
I just wish someone had told Gary Crosby, because yes, this divine love could drive the bitterness out of his heart and fill him with compassion and understanding for his troubled father. And that’s not blowing smoke.
