A choice to rejoice
In year six, I made it into the finals of the school speech competition. As sweetly smug as only a nine-year-old girl can be, I waltzed off the stage fully convinced I had wiped the floor. I sat at the edge of my seat waiting to be announced the victor.
They announced third place: my best friend. I was glad that she had done well; gladder still that first and second were up for grabs. Second prize was awarded to a tall boy who'd had the audience in stitches. Fair enough, I conceded, a worthy runner-up.
But then the worst happened: the final name called was not mine. I hadn't placed.
Sobbing into my teacher's arms later that afternoon, I denounced the judges, criticised the winners, and felt myself the most persecuted person alive. I could barely speak to my best friend, let alone congratulate her.
For the first time (but certainly not the last), I was tasting the conscience-destroying bitterness of inferiority, and everything within me wanted to spit it out.
The ugliest tears I've cried over the years - and the ugliest moments of my soul - have almost all flowed out of a situation of inferiority. The meanest words I've spoken, and the meanest actions I've effected were the aftershocks of a realisation that I had failed where another had succeeded.
Is it any wonder that Cain murdered Abel?
Cain had worked hard. He had tilled the ground, and was bringing to the Lord the fruits of his labours. He was expecting to succeed, especially when he saw God's favour for his younger brother's offering.
Surely, Cain thought, if my brother can succeed with those little lamb chops, then even greater glory and honour must await me.
"But for Cain and his offering the Lord had no regard. So Cain was very angry and his countenance fell."
Genesis 4:5
My countenance falls every time I end up in the shadows, missing out on the limelight awarded to another. There, embittered by self-pity, I let jealousy weave its way into the fibre of my relationships.
In International Relations, Realists describe the world's power politics as a 'zero-sum game': If x benefits, it is to y's detriment. There is no win-win situation.
Cain, ever the realist, saw that if Abel had potential for continued success he needed to be eliminated. Too often, I take stock of my acquaintances' strengths and successes, and wish they could disappear. Rather than rejoice in another's victory, I quietly undermine the legitimacy of their advantage by reasserting my own talents.
In those moments, God gently but firmly turns my chin away from the green-tinged mirror to look Him in the eyes.
You have a choice.
"...the Lord said to Cain: why are you angry? Why are you dejected? If you act rightly, you will be lifted up, but if not, sin lies in wait for you at the door: its urge is for you, yet you can rule over it..."
Genesis 4:6-7
He catches Cain at the moment of fallen countenance and reminds him of his power to react in a way that chooses life, rather than resentment and division.
You have a choice.
God tells Cain that if he acts rightly, he will be lifted up. If, instead of letting his anger fester in cyclical darkness, Cain had recognised his negativity and been totally open with God about how he was feeling, the Lord would have lifted him out of those emotions into new life.
But he didn't. He let everything lurk below the surface, rapidly evolving into the murderous rage that destroyed his brother.
He didn't turn to God in his anger because he didn't think God would care - after all, God had already shown his preference for Abel. But the more he closed himself off to God, the narrower his heart became.
I see it happen every day. When I fall short - or when another succeeds beyond my own capacity to do so - human instinct strikes fear into my heart.
When I bring it to Jesus, begging for the light of his wisdom and the boundless generosity of his love, He breaks the cycle that turns fear into jealousy and jealousy into rage.
When I don't - that's when the ugly tears and the ugly words happen.
You have a choice.
In prayer this morning, Jesus asked me: why are you angry? Why are you dejected? Of whom are you jealous?
In claiming, with brutal honesty, the envy lurking beneath the surface in so many of my relationships, I felt something remarkable happen. Where Cain's heart had grown narrower from dwelling on jealousy without inviting God in, I felt a broadening in my love for others - to the extent that I almost (almost) felt able to rejoice freely in their victories without desiring anything for myself.
Many, many generations down the track from Cain and Abel, someone else faced the challenge of a superior relative.
When Elizabeth heard Mary's greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb."
Luke 1:41b-43
Elizabeth forgot even her own victory (a lifetime curse of barrenness lifted) in order to rejoice with another. She might have used that moment to take stock of the situation and resent God's favour of Mary.
But instead she blessed her. She made it a win-win situation.
You have a choice.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to that day in year six and, instead of rushing to cry in my teacher's arms, run to embrace my best friend and congratulate her. I wish I could have been Elizabeth instead of Cain.
Of course, I can't - and perhaps I'm grateful that I can't; perhaps I'm grateful that I do confront jealousy and bitterness every day. Because in bringing my pettiness and darkness before the Lord, I give Him the power to give me new life.
Every time I recognise that I need His love to overpower my negativity, I remember that it's all a gift anyway. I'm able to join with Elizabeth in seeing the successes of the other not as a mark of their superiority, but as a sign of a God who lavishes love freely on those willing to bring His light into the world.
I have a choice to rejoice.
AMDG
They announced third place: my best friend. I was glad that she had done well; gladder still that first and second were up for grabs. Second prize was awarded to a tall boy who'd had the audience in stitches. Fair enough, I conceded, a worthy runner-up.
But then the worst happened: the final name called was not mine. I hadn't placed.
Sobbing into my teacher's arms later that afternoon, I denounced the judges, criticised the winners, and felt myself the most persecuted person alive. I could barely speak to my best friend, let alone congratulate her.
For the first time (but certainly not the last), I was tasting the conscience-destroying bitterness of inferiority, and everything within me wanted to spit it out.
The ugliest tears I've cried over the years - and the ugliest moments of my soul - have almost all flowed out of a situation of inferiority. The meanest words I've spoken, and the meanest actions I've effected were the aftershocks of a realisation that I had failed where another had succeeded.
Is it any wonder that Cain murdered Abel?
Cain had worked hard. He had tilled the ground, and was bringing to the Lord the fruits of his labours. He was expecting to succeed, especially when he saw God's favour for his younger brother's offering.
Surely, Cain thought, if my brother can succeed with those little lamb chops, then even greater glory and honour must await me.
"But for Cain and his offering the Lord had no regard. So Cain was very angry and his countenance fell."
Genesis 4:5
My countenance falls every time I end up in the shadows, missing out on the limelight awarded to another. There, embittered by self-pity, I let jealousy weave its way into the fibre of my relationships.
In International Relations, Realists describe the world's power politics as a 'zero-sum game': If x benefits, it is to y's detriment. There is no win-win situation.
Cain, ever the realist, saw that if Abel had potential for continued success he needed to be eliminated. Too often, I take stock of my acquaintances' strengths and successes, and wish they could disappear. Rather than rejoice in another's victory, I quietly undermine the legitimacy of their advantage by reasserting my own talents.
In those moments, God gently but firmly turns my chin away from the green-tinged mirror to look Him in the eyes.
You have a choice.
"...the Lord said to Cain: why are you angry? Why are you dejected? If you act rightly, you will be lifted up, but if not, sin lies in wait for you at the door: its urge is for you, yet you can rule over it..."
Genesis 4:6-7
He catches Cain at the moment of fallen countenance and reminds him of his power to react in a way that chooses life, rather than resentment and division.
You have a choice.
God tells Cain that if he acts rightly, he will be lifted up. If, instead of letting his anger fester in cyclical darkness, Cain had recognised his negativity and been totally open with God about how he was feeling, the Lord would have lifted him out of those emotions into new life.
But he didn't. He let everything lurk below the surface, rapidly evolving into the murderous rage that destroyed his brother.
He didn't turn to God in his anger because he didn't think God would care - after all, God had already shown his preference for Abel. But the more he closed himself off to God, the narrower his heart became.
I see it happen every day. When I fall short - or when another succeeds beyond my own capacity to do so - human instinct strikes fear into my heart.
When I bring it to Jesus, begging for the light of his wisdom and the boundless generosity of his love, He breaks the cycle that turns fear into jealousy and jealousy into rage.
When I don't - that's when the ugly tears and the ugly words happen.
You have a choice.
In prayer this morning, Jesus asked me: why are you angry? Why are you dejected? Of whom are you jealous?
In claiming, with brutal honesty, the envy lurking beneath the surface in so many of my relationships, I felt something remarkable happen. Where Cain's heart had grown narrower from dwelling on jealousy without inviting God in, I felt a broadening in my love for others - to the extent that I almost (almost) felt able to rejoice freely in their victories without desiring anything for myself.
Many, many generations down the track from Cain and Abel, someone else faced the challenge of a superior relative.
When Elizabeth heard Mary's greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb."
Luke 1:41b-43
Elizabeth forgot even her own victory (a lifetime curse of barrenness lifted) in order to rejoice with another. She might have used that moment to take stock of the situation and resent God's favour of Mary.
But instead she blessed her. She made it a win-win situation.
You have a choice.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to that day in year six and, instead of rushing to cry in my teacher's arms, run to embrace my best friend and congratulate her. I wish I could have been Elizabeth instead of Cain.
Of course, I can't - and perhaps I'm grateful that I can't; perhaps I'm grateful that I do confront jealousy and bitterness every day. Because in bringing my pettiness and darkness before the Lord, I give Him the power to give me new life.
Every time I recognise that I need His love to overpower my negativity, I remember that it's all a gift anyway. I'm able to join with Elizabeth in seeing the successes of the other not as a mark of their superiority, but as a sign of a God who lavishes love freely on those willing to bring His light into the world.
I have a choice to rejoice.
AMDG
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