Page 6 – Richard S. Hipps

The Power of a Word Well Spoken

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In an article by Jim McGuiggan entitled “Elephant Men,” we see once again the power of a word well spoken:

“There was a man named Joseph Merrick. He lived from 1862 to 1890 (28 years). He was known as ‘The Elephant Man’ because of the profound deformities that misshaped much of his body including his head and face. Most people treated him as a freak. They used him and abused him. Many people were frightened of him simply because of the way he looked.

In a movie made about his life, there is a scene in which a mob is chasing Merrick through a train station. They finally corner him in a public toilet. Some simply gawk at him; others laugh at him; some yell insults at him. All the while, Merrick is crying out: ‘I am not an animal! I am not an animal! I am a human being! I am a man!’

In time, a doctor named Frederick Treves meets Merrick and begins to treat him as a human being and Merrick begins to live again.

And then one day, Merrick receives a visit from a beautiful and acclaimed actress named Mrs. Kendall. She used exceptional gentleness and sensitivity with him. She exchanges some lines with him from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. When they’re done, Mrs. Kendall says to Merrick: ‘Oh, Mr. Merrick, you’re not an elephant man at all.’

‘Oh no?’ Merrick replies.

She whispers to him, ‘You’re Romeo!’ And then she kisses him gently on the cheek of his grossly deformed face.”

Do you smell grace? If so, go find the Joseph Merricks in your story, give them a kiss and remind them how beautiful they are. Remind them that they are the beloved of God.

Richard Hipps

‘I can’t unlock the door!’ I yelled. ‘Get me out of here!’

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I value a letter I received from author and psychologist Larry Crabb a few years ago. He even quoted me in one of his books, THE PRESSURE’S OFF. In that same book, he tells a wonderful story from his childhood to illustrate our need to delight in God through adversity. He writes:

“One Saturday afternoon, I decided I was a big boy and could use the bathroom without anyone’s help. So I climbed the stairs, closed and locked the door behind me, and for the next few minutes felt very self-sufficient.

Then it was time to leave. I couldn’t unlock the door. I tried every ounce of my three-year-old strength, but I couldn’t do it. I panicked. I felt again like a very little boy as the thought went through my head, ‘I might spend the rest of my life in this bathroom.’

My parents, and likely the neighbors, heard my desperate scream.

‘Are you okay?’ Mother shouted through the door she couldn’t open from the outside. ‘Did you fall? Have you hit your head?’

‘I can’t unlock the door!’ I yelled. ‘Get me out of here!’

I wasn’t aware of it right then, but Dad raced down the stairs, ran to the garage to find the ladder, hauled it off the hooks, and leaned it against the side of the house just beneath the bathroom window. With adult strength, he pried the bathroom window open and climbed into my prison, walked past me, and, with that same strength, turned the lock and opened the door.

‘Thank you Daddy,’ I said, and ran out to play.

That’s how I thought the Christian life was supposed to work. When I get stuck in a tight place, I should do all I can to free myself. When I can’t, I should pray. Then God shows up. He hears my cry–‘Get me out of here! I want to play!’–and unlocks the door to the blessings I desire.

Sometimes he does. But now, no longer three years old and approaching sixty, I’m realizing the Christian life doesn’t work that way. And I wonder, are any of us content with God? Do we even like him when he does’t open the door we most wanted opened–when a marriage doesn’t heal, when rebellious kids still rebel, when friends betray, when financial reverses threaten our comfortable way of life, when the prospect of terrorism looms, when health worsens despite much prayer, when loneliness intensifies and depression deepens, when ministries die?

God has climbed through the small window into my dark room. But he doesn’t walk by me to turn the lock that I couldn’t budge. Instead, he sits down on the bathroom floor and says, ‘Come sit with me.’ He seems to think that climbing into the room to be with me matters more than letting me out to play.

I don’t always see it that way. ‘Get me out of here if you love me.’ I scream.”

Friends, as Larry Crabb implies, the choice is ours. Either we can keep asking God to give us what we think will make us happy, to escape our locked room and run to the playground of blessings, or we can accept God’s invitation to sit with him, for now, and seize the opportunity to know him better and represent him well in the power of that encounter.

May you think of this each and every time you lock the bathroom door from now on.

In Whose Eyes?

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Mike Lewis - "Christ Eyes" — Mike Lewis – “Christ Eyes”

I love the music of Peter Gabriel and was so happy to celebrate with millions of others his induction into the Rock and roll Hall of Fame. His song “In Your Eyes” has this wonderful chorus:

In your eyes

the light the heat

In your eyes

I am complete

In your eyes

I see the doorway to a thousand churches

In your eyes

the resolution of all the fruitless searches

In your eyes

I see the light and the heat

In your eyes

Oh, I want to be that complete

I want to touch the light

the heat I see in your eyes

I have always thought of this as a prayer to Jesus. At least that’s what I am thinking when I’m listening to the song. It also reminds me of an old story I heard years ago about a primitive culture where brides were purchased from their parents using cattle as an exchange medium. An average looking woman might merit the bride-price of two cows, an exceptionally beautiful woman might bring three; while a less desirable woman’s family would receive one.

One time, the story goes, a rich and attractive gentleman came looking for a wife. All the families paraded their eligible daughters before him. Everyone was stunned when he announced his intention to negotiate with the family of a young woman who was both unattractive and undesirable.

“Perhaps it’s a bargain he’s after,” the townspeople thought. They wondered if he would offer chickens instead of cows. To everyone’s amazement, the gentleman offered the girl’s family six cows for their daughter and quickly whisked her away for a long honeymoon.

When they returned months later, no one recognized the new bride. Gone were the slumping shoulders and dull eyes. It was as if she were a new person altogether, radiating beauty and confidence.

No, her husband had not bought her beauty treatments or paid for plastic surgery. He had begun their relationship by showing her in a tangible way that he considered her very valuable and important. And, she had begun to act the part, to see herself as he saw her. Throughout the remainder of her life she was viewed with awe by all her relatives and friends–a six-cow woman.

Through whose eyes do you see yourself? Many years ago, as a young man of twenty, I began to see myself through the eyes of the one who loved me and gave himself for me. It has made all the difference in the world. The price he paid for me changed the way I view myself. It should change the way you view yourself as well. The truth is, in Christ, we are all six-cow brides.

He Chose Me!

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Some stories stay with you for years. This one I will never forget. In his book, LETTERS TO MY CHILDREN, Dan Taylor writes:

“When I was in the sixth grade I was an all-American. I was smart, athletic, witty, handsome–especially with my Vaselined hair wave sweeping back from my forehead. And I was incredibly nice. Things went downhill fast later, but for this one year I had everything. Unfortunately, I also had Miss Owens for an assistant teacher. Miss Owens was a college girl who was practicing on us. She helped Mr. Jenkins, our teacher. Miss Owens also went to my church. She knew that even though I was smart and incredibly nice there was a thing or two I could still work on.

One of the things you were expected to do in grade school was to learn how to dance. My parents had some reservations about it, but since I was only twelve years old that was OK. Every time we went to work on our dancing we did this terrible thing–and I mean it was terrible. I hope this kind of thing isn’t done any more. The boys would all line up at the door of our classroom, then, one at a time, each boy would pick a girl to be his partner. The girls all sat at their desks. As they were chosen they left their desks and joined the kid who honored them with his favour.

Believe me, the boys didn’t like doing this–at least I didn’t, but think about being one of those girls. Think about waiting to get picked. Think about seeing who was going to get picked before you. Think about worrying that you’d get picked by someone you couldn’t stand. Think about worrying that you weren’t even going to get picked at all. And think about it if you were Mary. Mary’s a girl who sat up near the front on the right-hand side. She wasn’t pretty, she wasn’t smart, she wasn’t witty, she was nice–but that wasn’t enough in those days–and she certainly wasn’t athletic. In fact, she had polio or something when she was small. One of her arms was drawn up, she had a bad leg and, to finish it off, she was fat.

Here’s where Miss Owens comes in. Miss Owens took me aside one day and said: ‘Dan, next time we have dancing I want you to choose Mary.’ She might as well have told me to fly to Mars. It was an idea that was so new and inconceivable I could hardly believe it. You mean pick somebody other than the best, the prettiest, the most popular? You mean pick somebody other than Linda, Shelley or even Doreen? And then Miss Owens did a rotten thing. She told me it was the Christian thing to do.

I knew immediately I was doomed. I was doomed because I knew she was right. It was exactly the kind of thing Jesus would have done. In fact, I was surprised that I’d never seen a Sunday School flannel board that had ever said: ‘Jesus choosing the lame girl for the receiver dance.’ It was bound to be somewhere in the Bible. I agonized. Choosing Mary would go against all the coolness I had accumulated. It wasn’t smart, it wasn’t witty, maybe it was nice, but even I didn’t want to be that nice.

The day came when we had to square dance, and I prayed secretly that God would work it out so that I would be last. Then, I could pick Mary because she’d be the only one left. No one would know, I would have honored Miss Owen’s request, I would have done the Christian thing to do and I would have gotten away with it.

You can guess where I was instead. For whatever reason, I was first in line. The faces of all the girls turned towards me, smiling. I looked at Mary and saw that she was only half-turned to the back of the room, her face staring down at her desk. Mr. Jenkins said, ‘OK, Dan, choose your partner.’ I remember feeling very far away. I heard my voice say: ‘I choose Mary.’

Never has virtue been rewarded so fast. I can still see her face undimmed in my memory. She lifted her head, and on her face reddened with pleasure and surprise and embarrassment all at once was the most genuine look of delight and even pride that I’d ever seen before or since. It was so pure that I had to look away because I knew I didn’t deserve it. Mary came up and took my arm, just like we’d been instructed, and she walked beside me, bad leg and all, just like a princess.

Mary is my age now. I never saw her after that year. I don’t know what her life’s been like or what she’s doing, but I’d like to think she has a fond memory of at least one day in sixth grade. I know I do.”

The greatest day of my life was when Jesus spoke very loudly and clearly the words, “I choose Richard Hipps.” Flawed, lame, and surprised I limped forward to begin the dance.

Weathered Faces…

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Last year Patricia and I got the opportunity to hear in concert the singer Don McLean.

His song “Vincent” has always been one of my favorites. McLean, painting with words, captures the essence of Van Gogh’s genius:

Colors changing hue

Morning fields of amber grain

Weathered faces lined in pain

Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand

That beautiful image, “Weathered faces lined in pain, are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand,” reminds me of my high calling as a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I too am called to “sooth the weathered faces.”

My prayer this morning is:

Lord, please help me see my hurting world as deeply as Vincent Van Gogh saw his.

‘The Potato Eaters’ (1885) by Vincent Van Gogh, via the New York Times

Accidental Encounters

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This lady, Joan Bennett, is a personal friend and has played an important role in our family’s life. In 1993, when our little Alexandra died at the age of 4, she blessed us with a poem called “Alexandra’s Song.” It is framed and hangs behind me as I write these words. I find it amazing the people God writes into our little story to help us on our journey. These “accidental encounters” remind us that there is a Bigger Story that will someday overwhelm both our sorrows and joy.

Joan encounters “THE Tyler Perry…”

Tyler Perry: “I was running today and I said, “good afternoon” to this lady. She was out on the trail walking. She said, “not bad for 79.” So, I decided to stop and talk to her. She had no idea who I was, but she was so sweet. She said, “Young man, I’ve been through a lot. Lots of people give up, but trust in The Lord. He won’t let you down.” I told her I do trust Him. Then I told her my name, not expecting her to know who I was, but she said “THE Tyler Perry? You just made my day!” I said to her “no ma’am, you just made mine.” Out here walking miles at 79 and spreading the love of God. Her name is Joan Bennett. Here’s to you Ms. Bennett. May God bless you as much as you blessed me today.”

So far, 5,256,911 people ‘liked this.’ and ‘207,957‘ have commented on Tyler Perry’s Facebook page regarding his chance encounter with Joan Bennett (he shared the image below with his followers).

“A Life-Changing Challenge: Add One Compliment.” via Becoming Minimalist

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Patricia and I have converted to minimalism. We have come to believe less is more. Like some of you we have spent decades storing, saving and accumulating stuff we never use and certainly don’t need. Our goal is to reach retirement with half of what we own now. Or, does it own us?

To help us stay on course, we have subscribed to a great site called “Becoming Minimalist.” I highly recommend the site because it will help change the way you live your life and view your world.

Check out their latest article, “A Life-Changing Challenge: Add One Compliment.”

By the way, you look good. Are you losing weight?

Richard Hipps

ARE YOU A GOOD CHRISTIAN?

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One of my favorite members, Betty Langford, gave me an editorial by David Waters, a local writer, that asks, “What Makes A Good Christian?” Is it what you think? What you say? What you do? How you vote?

An academic researcher has narrowed it down to 59 choices. He calls his study The Religiosity Scales Project and it is supported by Boston University.

If you want to know if you are a “good” Christian you can go to www.religiosityscalesproject.com and answer 59 questions and rate them on a scale of one to six.

Here are some of the things you’ll find listed on the survey that suggest that ‘perhaps’ you are a good Christian:

3. You do not drink
8. You do not gossip
24. You participate regularly in a church or other religious community
30. You avoid worldly vices
46. You do not judge others
57. You watch or listen to religious broadcasting

After making his readers aware of this Religiosity Scales Project to measure who is a “good” Christian, David Waters concludes his editorial this way:

“You can take the survey yourself. Just go to religiosityscalesprojects.com.

If nothing else, the 59 measurements on the survey show that there is a wide range of possibilities for what makes a Good Christian. Everyone should be able to find at least one that’s ‘absolutely essential.’ I found nearly a dozen.

I was struck more by what I didn’t find.

Not one single measurement includes the word ‘love,’ which Jesus used 66 times, according to one concordance.

‘Love God with all your heart, mind and soul.’ ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ ‘Love you enemies.’ ‘Love one another.’

Maybe they’re saving those measurements for the next survey: WHAT MAKES A BETTER CHRISTIAN?”

More than what you believe, I prefer to know who do you love? Good Christians are those who love. Period. Richard Hipps

Nora Gallagher

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Nora Gallhager — “It’s as if each of us has another, deeper life than the one being lived. It lies underneath our ordinary days, our errands, the doing of dishes, the writing of letters, the making of money, like something moving, lobsterlike, under water. This only partially understood life (refused often, banished easily, ignored) might be what we call the soul. The desire to know about it causes us to pray. But all the while, it’s moving toward something, as surely as we are advancing in our lives, through careers, marriage, children. Every now and then this hidden life surfaces…like a glimpse of things in that peculiar, vivid light after a rain.” –Nora Gallagher