On the Anvil - Max Lucado [22]
E. H. Hutten tells a beautiful story about Albert Einstein. It’s a good example of how the expert who knows his “stuff” has no need or desire to impress others. While at Princeton, Einstein would occasionally attend lectures by scientists who often were somewhat obscure and technical in their expression and presentation. As Hutten relates it,
Einstein would rise after the lecture and ask whether he might put a question. He would then go to the blackboard and begin to explain in simple terms what the lecturer had been talking about. “I wasn’t quite sure I understood you correctly,” he would say with great gentleness, and then would make clear what the lecturer had been unable to convey.
This is what effective communication is all about. Jesus was a master at never assuming that something was communicated just because it was spoken. He employed endless creativity: illustrations, parables, quizzes, questions, case studies, and so on. Aquinas said long ago, “The poor teacher stands where he is and beckons the pupil come to him. The good teacher goes to where the pupil is, takes him, and leads him to where he ought to go.”
Is it more important to you to be right—or to communicate?
As a Christian, what do you hope to communicate to those in your world?
How do you approach the Great Commission of Jesus: Are you waiting for the pupil to come to you? Is there someone to whom you ought to go?
39: Nonnegotiable Love
It was a long summer. I was thirteen, a left fielder on the local Pony League team. I held the record for the most strikeouts . . . as a batter, not as a pitcher. I went the entire season and got only two hits. Over sixty times at bat and only two hits.
Two hits! That’s not even good enough to be called a slump! That’s a lot of long walks from the plate to the dugout. It got to the point where my team moaned when my time at bat was called. (The other team cheered.) Pretty tough on the self-image of a thirteen-year-old who had dreams of playing for the Dodgers.
The only thing right that summer was my parents’ attitude toward my “slump.” They never missed a game. Never. Not once did I look up and see their bleacher seats unoccupied. I was still their boy even if I led the league in strikeouts. Their commitment ran deeper than my performance. They showed me the importance of an unwavering commitment.
The Old Testament contains the beautiful story of Naomi and Ruth, a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law who both lost their husbands. Naomi, a foreigner in Ruth’s homeland, yearns to return to her own country. Ruth, still young and marriageable, displays her loyalty to her mother-in-law by going with her and providing for her well-being. The determination and commitment of Ruth are evident in her words: “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried” (Ruth 1:16-17).
One relationship of this caliber can buoy us through the fiercest storms. It was the Beatles who sang, “Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?” Oh, the agony of being sixty-four (or any age, for that matter) and having no one to care for you or need you. Happy are those who have one companion, one relationship that is not based on looks or performance. Every person is in dire need of at least one faithful friend or a mate who will look them in the eye and say, “I will never leave you. You may grow old and gray, but I’ll never leave you. Your face may wrinkle and your body may ruin, but I’ll never leave you. The years may be cruel and the times may be hard, but I’ll be here. I will never leave you.”
Think for a minute about