More Than a Closing Thought

More Than a Closing Thought (1,150)

May 18th, 2011

I assume it’s human nature to desire to have the last word. I guess we consider every little piece of arrogance we posses to be human nature—so we can explain it away. But some of the greatest last words, in my opinion, are located in what we dub “The Lord’s Prayer.” It’s a pretty good prayer—a remarkable balance of appreciation, practical introspection, self-deprecation and encouragement.

Then we come to the closing—the last word, as it were: “. . . for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory.”

They are more than words, you know. It’s giving over to God what we desperately want to possess for ourselves, but when we try, we end up floundering around in inadequacy, grumpy because we have failed.

Human beings just want the kingdom. We call it turf. We don’t want anybody on ours, you know. It’s mine—evidence that I am here, I was here and I doggone better be considered to have possessed this portion of the universe. It is so arrogant. When you think of the billions of people who have walked over the same land, ideas and projects as me, long before I was here—it makes my little turf war seem ridiculous.

Can I say it aloud? I don’t need a kingdom. Just give me a space to be creative. You can even rent it to me. I don’t need you to get out of the way so I can have my way. I just wondered if you would give me the corner office in your metroplex. God can have the kingdom. I just need a space.

And of course, we all yearn to possess the power. Whether it’s sexual prowess or mental acuity, we must be deemed the One Supreme Specimen. Oh, we may deny that—until someone challenges our particular résumé. Then we become defensive and antagonistic. Folks, I don’t need power. All I would like you to do is grant me opportunity. Maybe it’s just a little window in the household of humanity, but please leave it unlocked, so I can crawl in and out.

And finally, human beings are notorious for demanding the glory. If our work is unnoticed, we are provoked to fits of wrath or comical pouting sessions. We need to be noticed. It isn’t enough for us to enjoy the work and perform it well. We need applause. And even that can be insufficient if it is not accompanied by a standing ovation. More relationships are broken over “he didn’t notice” and “she doesn’t care” than any other reason.

I decided a long time ago that I don’t need glory. Is it because I’m really noble and humble? No. It’s simply the fact that good labor bears fruit—and fruit is enough to reinforce my ego with the joy of a deed well done. Don’t give me glory. Just let me gather up my fruit to make my emotional salad.

So God can have the kingdom as far as I’m concerned. After all, He made it in the first place. It is only righteous for me to give Him the deed. All I require is a human space equivalent to my proportions so that I might perform my earthly duties in the pursuit of excellence.

And God can have the power. Since He’s omnipotent, it may already be a foregone conclusion. All I request is a bit of opportunity to use my talents in a way that might afford some multiplication.

And God can certainly have the glory since He seems to be able to handle the head trip better than me. I can survive on the fruit of my labor and use it to exhort my soul.

You see, “. . . for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory” is more than a closing thought—a tack-on to a really nice piece of literature. It is relinquishing to God what drives us crazy, and separates us off from our brothers and sisters in an unending skirmish for supremacy.

You may keep the kingdom, pocket the power and grab the glory, God. Because most certainly, I would squander it.

I will be happy to secure a space, open up opportunity and enjoy my field of fruit.