Grieve Not The Holy Spirit

Ephesians 4 : 1-16

In the name of The Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen

I understand there is an organization in Hollywood, CA called The Holy Ghost Repair Service, Incorporated. And no, they aren't in the business of repairing shoes, watches, or automobiles. On their stationary they state as their purpose "repairing broken lives for Jesus . . . in the power of his Spirit." We may express it a little less colorfully, but that is our church's purpose as well"” "repairing broken lives for Jesus in the power of his Spirit."

Some of us know what it is to have broken lives. There is an old western legend about a rancher who was out riding and came upon an Native American friend lying flat on the ground with his ear pressed against the earth. Without looking up the Indian said in broken English: "Wagon . . . wagon pulled by horses . . . two horses . . . man driving wagon . . . long beard . . . wearing buckskin . . . woman in wagon . . . dressed in calico . . . "

The rancher was amazed. "You can tell all of that just by pressing your ear to the ground?" he asked.

"No," grunted his friend. "The wagon ran over me 30 minutes ago."

Some of us have had those times in life when we've felt like a wagon has run over us, when we were in need of the Holy Ghost Repair Service. We give thanks that we have a comforter, a counselor, an unseen presence to see us through these times.

But our text is not about those times when we feel like we've been run over by a wagon. It is about the other times, the times when we're tempted to run over others. St. Paul wrote:

"And grieve not the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption. Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice. And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you." (KJV)

I hope St. Paul isn't describing somebody you know--bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, evil speaking, malice. Why are some people so hard to live with?

David Augsburger tells a revealing little parable of three little turtles. They were going out one summer afternoon for a country picnic. One carried a basket with the sandwiches, relishes, and desserts. The second carried the jug with the turtle-ade. The third carried nothing. Just then they felt the first splat of raindrops on their shells.

"We can't have a picnic without an umbrella," said the first. "Who will go back for one?" They quickly odd-manned, and the empty-handed one was chosen.

"I won't go," he said, "As soon as I leave, you'll eat all the food, drink all the turtle-ade, and cut me out of everything."

"Wrong," they said, "We'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes!"

"No matter how long?"

"No matter how long!"

At last he turned back and they sat waiting . . . an hour, two, four, a day, two days, a week. Two weeks went by when one turtle turned to the other to say: "Maybe we should go ahead with the picnic."

Just then the voice of the third little turtle came from the bushes behind them.

"If you do," he said, "I won't go."

Why is it, just like the third little turtle, some people are so sensitive, so suspicious, and so senseless in their relationships with other people?

Is it because of a lifetime of unhappy experiences? Has adversity made them bitter? Perhaps, but there are numerous ways to respond to difficult circumstances.

Somewhere I read a story about a medical student who was seriously disabled and was forced to walk with crutches. It was painful even to watch his awkward and hesitating progress. Yet through it all he remained optimistic, friendly, and amazingly cheerful. One day a friend asked him about his affliction. "I was stricken with infantile paralysis as a small child," quickly came the matter of fact reply.

"Then tell me," said the admiring friend, "with such misfortune, how can you face the world so confidently and without bitterness?"

A warm smile appeared on the young man's face as he replied, "You see, the paralysis never touched my heart."

How can we explain the contrast in attitude among people from sometimes very difficult backgrounds?

I love the story about an impoverished but stouthearted mother. She was unable to afford a blanket to shelter her son from the extreme cold and the snow that drifted in through the cracks of her hut. So she covered him with boards and driftwood. One night the boy wrapped his arms around her and exclaimed contentedly, "Mom, what do poor people do on cold nights like this, who have no boards or driftwood to put over their children?"

Such an attitude toward life will embarrass you if you think about it for a few moments. Some people respond to life with anguish, others with anger and still others with joyful anticipation. What is the difference?

The great maestro Toscanini was as well known for his ferocious temper as he was for his outstanding musicianship. When members of his orchestra played badly, he would pick up anything in sight and hurl it to the floor. During one rehearsal a flat note caused the genius to grab his valuable watch and smash it. Shortly afterward, his devoted musicians gave him a luxurious, velvet-line box containing two watches, one a beautiful gold timepiece, the other a cheap one with the inscription, "For rehearsals only."

We all know people with tempers like Toscanini. Some of them are very successful in their chose professions. Indeed, if your job is motivating people sometimes a temper is a real asset, at least in the short run. In the long run, we are better off delivered from bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, evil speaking and malice. But how?

One of the most interesting developments of modern psychology is the growing popularity of the idea that we choose our emotions. There is a story about writer John Powell who went to a newsstand with Sydney Harris to buy a paper one spring day. Powell greeted the newsman very courteously, but Harris' surprise, the man behind the magazines grunted in a gruff way, shoved a paper at Harris and then very discourteously slapped his change down onto the counter.

Powell accepted the paper with a smile; almost as if he were unaware of the man's contemptuous response. He smiled at him and wished him a nice weekend. The newsman didn't so much as acknowledge Powell or his comment.

As they headed back to Powell's office, the columnist asked, "What was wrong with him? Does he always treat you so rudely?"

"Yes, I'm afraid he does," replied Powell.

"And are you always so polite and friendly to him?" asked Harris.

"Well, yes, I certainly try to be," Powell responded.

"But why keep trying to be polite and pleasant to him when he keeps treating you like that? He obviously doesn't want your friendliness. How can you be so unaffected by his attitude?" Harris wanted to know.

"Because," Powell said, "I don't want him to decide what kind of a day I'm going to have or how I'm going to respond."

Someone once said, "He who angers you conquers you." You do have the power to choose. You can learn to control your tongue, your temper, and your tantrums. We hear people say, "I just lost my temper," as if they had nothing to do with it. Consider how much easier it is to lose your temper with you own children than with a friend's offspring. What's the difference? Isn't it because you consider it acceptable to tell your child to shut his mouth, but not to say that same thing to your friend's child? Each time you are angered, you exercise"”perhaps subconsciously"”a choice. You either lose your temper or you don't.

The husband who comes home from the office and unleashes a whole day's frustrations on his family should try to take up jogging or handball or some other means of letting off steam. You can choose. Infantile behavior is not acceptable or inevitable in anyone older than an infant. Even the youngster going through the terrible two's is able to limit his expressions of emotion to a degree. Even the two-year-old learns that he can manipulate and intimidate others with his expressions of anger and frustration. The point is that we can choose.

The second point is that we can change. We can choose and we can change. You probably have never heard of Billy Bray. He was a Cornish cold miner in the 19th century. As a young man he was a drunkard well known for his lack of manners and morals. But something happened in Billy Bray's life, something real and lasting. He became the holiest and happiest man around. On one occasion he attended a church where the people told of their many trials and difficulties. Billy jumped up, smiled, clapped his hands, and testified that he too had experienced trials since becoming a Christian, but that he had known far more joys. He had taken both vinegar and honey, he told them. But the vinegar had come to him only by the spoonful while the honey had come by the ladle.

What had changed in Billy Bray's life was his attitude. The same thing can happen in our lives. It can happen here today. We can choose and we can change. "Grieve not the Holy Spirit . . ." We don't have to settle for a life filled with bitterness, anger, and all the rest. We can choose, and by His grace, we can change.  Amen

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.  Amen