Drafts on Balsamic Reduction: How to thicken Your Faith
If you know me at all, you know that I’m no cook. I do not come by this naturally. I actually come from a line of women who are remembered for their dishes. My great-grandma’s homemade bread is only spoken of with awe to this day. Shortbread cookies, pies and soups still show up on my family’s tables with a dignified nod to their maker and perfecter, with a whisper, “this is Grandma’s recipe.” My own mother is famous (among my friends, that is) for her scones which are regularly requested among them because they are amazing (as is she).
This brings us back to me, the “non-cook.” Can I keep people alive? Yes. Is anyone going to bake a cake and whisper my name someday. No! If anything, I will be known for my charcuterie boards. But I do love to eat and I do really love sauces. I’m far more interested in the sauce than anything else. I always, always ask for extra. So when my family introduced me to balsamic reduction glaze, I was smitten.
I love a flavored vinegar. When the main thing you make is a “mean” salad, a flavored balsamic vinegar is like the piéce de résistance. I’ve tried some with notes of fig, chocolate and cherry, but my absolute favorite is a reduction glaze. All the luscious flavors are boiled down to this thick gloss that is just bursting with flavor. I put it on everything: salad, pizza, bread.
Has your faith gotten watery?
Why is reduction sauce so good? Because it’s been reduced down to its pure goodness. This makes me think of my faith. Sometimes my faith gets watery. It slides around and I can’t quite gather it up in my mind. My feelings dilute it and stretch it out to something tasteless. I’m unsatisfied by this weak faith. Where are the notes of peace and joy? Nobody would ask for extra of this concoction. My weakened faith is full of lies and misconceptions—that I’ve added.
The world and our culture have watered down my doctrine into something that sounds nice on a menu, but there is no substance. When I really need something to grab onto, this watered down version runs through my fingers. It has lost its color and is clear and just shows whatever thing is popular or easy.
A pure faith—a reduction, if you will—is boiled down to its finest form; what is true about God, about His Word, about me (and you). It doesn’t change. It is rich in color and flavor. It satisfies all my longings. I want an extra helping of this sauce. I want to put it on everything. My pain, my hurt, my losses. It makes everything better.
I’m trying to figure out how to make a reduction sauce faith. One that is sticky and tacky and stays where I put it.
I love to introduce people to the wonder that is balsamic reduction, therefore, it is often my contribution to a dinner party. I recently toted it along to a friend’s house, where we preceded to put it on salad, swirl it in our butternut squash soup and over homemade sourdough bread. She told me later that she tried to recreate the meal, but didn’t realize my sauce was a glaze and not just regular vinegar. It shocked her when she dumped some balsamic over a slice of bread, thinking it would be a lovely dark drizzle, but instead was a watery mess.
How often is my faith a watery version of what God is actually saying in His Word? The deep jewel-toned truths are what I need when things get difficult. I need something that will stick when I’m hurting, doubting and struggling to find God in a challenging season. It’s easy to trust Him when things are going our way. When we feel the Lord’s blessings, we can point upward and say, look how good God is . . . He has given me what I prayed for; what I longed for has come to pass. And while all good things come from God (James 1:17), what do we do in the times of hardship? When we are facing sickness, yet again? When we have gone to all the doctors and can’t get answers? When the bills are sitting dusty and unpaid on our desk? When that relationship we have worked so hard on is still in pieces on the floor?
Is God still good?
Do we point upward and say, this is really hard right now, but I know God hears my prayers?
Do we have a sticky faith that knows, though the night is long and dark, God is at work, even when we can’t see His hands?
I’m not good in this area. I’m much quicker to sing His praises when I’m “feeling” loved, when I see things lining up the way I hoped they would. When prayers are answered in my favor. Yet, I long for a faith of more depth, more substance, more staying power. I wondered how I could boil down my faith to the pure ingredients that are full of flavor, making even the driest of seasons, rich in faithfulness.
These last few months have been a time of learning hard things in many ways. When I look at the fruit of the Spirit, I’m most interested in the love, joy and peace slices and less inclined towards the patience, self-control and long-suffering cuts. Have you ever dipped a large spoon into a fruit bowl, hoping for some strawberries and blueberries and come up with a mound of melon. Sure, melon is fine; I want to be patient with the chatty lady checking me out (when I’m in a hurry) or with my dog when he pukes on the carpet (again). But where are the raspberries of joy?
There is something fundamentally off about a fair-weather faith. It’s easy to work hard at a job you love or put time into a relationship you enjoy. Yet, we are so often called to places that we don’t enjoy or feel well-equipped to handle. This is a time of simmering down our beliefs to basics. Does God always love us and want what’s best (best for our character and walk), not necessarily what is easiest? Does God want us to stretch and grow in our reliance upon Him? A time of learning these, shall we say, “less” fun characteristics, will give us staying power when things get hard.
When we are walking through a time of difficulty, learning to lean not unto thy own understanding (Pro. 3:5), but allowing God to do a work in us, we have so much more depth to offer those who cross our paths. When a friend calls and says she doesn’t know how to carry on or how God can possibly be in her illness, her marriage, her finances or her parenting that has gone sideways. . . we have something to offer. We sat down with that spoonful of melon we were served and learned new levels of knowing God.
So, how do we achieve a reduction sauce faith? How do we depend on the Holy Spirit to produce more fruit in our life?
First, and most importantly, we must know what God teaches us in His word. The reading of the Bible chases out any watery beliefs we have picked up from social media or our pseudo-religious co-worker. We learn what God really teaches. Not that it will always be easy, not that we won’t suffer, but that our Saviour also suffered (Eph 5:2) and that we can go to Him with all our fears, worries and tears because He understands (Heb 4:15). We learn that God will never leave us and He is always working on our behalf for our good even when we can’t see or feel it (Rom 8:32).
For we have not a high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities;
but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin.
Hebrews 4:15 kjv
Secondly, spending time in prayer gently simmers biblical principals into our minds and hearts. I asked the Lord to help me understand the hard truths and to give me a peace in my spirit that transcends my circumstances. A joy that can’t be taken from me when the berries are out of season, when the garden is ugly and bare. We know spring will come again, there will be new life and new hope. Through the leading of the Holy Spirit, I am learning to store up fruit and preserve it in my heart—to get me through the winters of life.
And thirdly, a Bible study or prayer group where we can gather with God’s followers, carries us along as our faith is stirred and encouraged. We can season each others’ walks with lessons we have learned along the way. We can teach and learn, adding nuances to our faith that cannot be gathered in one life time. Like a dinner party where everyone brings something to share; a time in community and ministering to others which adds richness to our lives.
As we work on this boiled down faith, wherever we are in our walk (brand new or decades old), we have something to share with the body of Christ, the church and our communities.
I love to share the goodness of God, the long-suffering of Christ and the peace of the Holy Spirit. Suddenly, joy has more meaning and the blessings are sweeter, set against the lessons of the other fruits. They all work together to point us towards the glory of God. He is a God for all seasons—the winters and summers, the sour and sweet, in times of joy and in times of mourning. A full-bodied essence, a well-rounded reduction sauce that we carry with us to all situations.
