Violin Mercenary

The Secret Plan

2010-12-21T15:42:00.000-05:00

Matthew 1:18-25

No matter how many times you hear this story, it is worth noting how utterly inconvenient Jesus’ arrival really is. When we set out our nativity sets, the scene looks so peaceful and serene. There’s Mary looking proudly and lovingly down at Jesus, Joseph supportively at her side. We set tentative shepherds off to the side (often with some unsuspecting sheep) with some other miniature animals. Then on the other side, three wise men (of varying skin tone and wearing very colorful Persian looking garb) holding bedecked chests or urns of precious spices. But all have come together in this seemingly perfect moment.
Except that it isn’t. Remember what Mary and Joseph had to do just to get room in a smelly, dirty, itchy barn. This was no surgically clean labor-and-delivery room either. This is after they had traveled many miles for the government’s silly census. (Ladies, you think it was tough riding in the car while eight-months pregnant, imagine being on the back of a donkey for over a hundred miles!) And this is just the logistical difficulty. Our passage this morning (which Katie and Justin have graciously and skillfully shared!) is not as serene and peaceful as it seems. It is utterly inconvenient.
For both Mary and Joseph, so very much was at stake. At this point, I’m not talking about the fact that Jesus was to become the Savior of all humanity (although we’ll get to that). You see, Joseph and Mary, while engaged, were not married yet. And here is Mary, perhaps not much older than her mid-teens, now betrothed to a respectable carpenter with her future shaping up nicely, is just beginning to show.
As a young woman in that day, until a woman was married, she was part of her father’s household. Your greatest hope was to be married (usually arranged) and bear children (sons hopefully at some point for they would carry on the family name and business). Marriage was not about “being in love” so the fact that Mary landed a “godly man” was a bonus! So in that day and age, finding a place to be a faithful wife was a much anticipated thing. This ancient arrangement was not an issue of oppression (although that certainly that took place) but for the sake of survival.
Which meant to be pregnant out of wedlock was disastrous. According to the laws of the day, the groom (in this case, Joseph) could drag the pregnant bride-to-be before the local council and press charges, tarring her and her family with great shame in the community. In extreme cases, the bride’s father could have refused to take the daughter back in. Certainly, it would be next to impossible to find another husband.
Not only would Mary’s life have been over, Joseph also could have been in trouble. His survival depended on his trade and this incident could lead people to boycott his business leaving him with no income or recourse but perhaps to leave home and move to another city and attempt to start all over, competing with other already-established carpenters. But Joseph, being a godly man, wants to do the honorable thing. So despite being the offended party to what looks on the outside to be Mary’s impropriety, he makes plans to end it quietly. That will be best for everyone.
So when the angel appears and says, “Don’t be afraid!”, it’s not hard to imagine Joseph perhaps feeling a little indignation mixed in with the awe and wonder of hosting an angel of the Almighty in his living room! But the angel says this is not as it seems. “There is a plan at work. A big one. The biggest. God is coming. He’s coming down from heaven to be one of us, labor, delivery and all. He’s coming into your life. He’s coming to save the world, so name him “I AM Saves”. And you and Mary are going to raise him.”
Does this really help Joseph or Mary out of their predicament? What if the Almighty came to your house for a visit to announce that some centuries old prophesies were about to be fulfilled in your living room? Now imagine telling your friends what you’d seen. Yeah, they would think you were crazy too. Which makes Joseph and Mary’s surrender to God’s covert operation to save the world all the more remarkable. For they had to give up every dream they ever had about their quiet, peaceful life together, face the potential whispers of gossip of Mary and Joseph’s crazy talk, all to be part of God’s great plan.
Think about it: An all-powerful Almighty God, who can do anything He wants, wants to rescue people from their incarceration to sin; of all the ways He could have done it, this is how He chooses to do it. Jesus isn’t born into a wealthy family, so He could have all the opportunities for success and exposure to the most powerful people of the day. Jesus isn’t born to affluent, big-city Jerusalem folk near the center of Jewish religion, learning, politics and culture. He’s not born to a great rabbi so He could be trained, or surrounded by any of the other symbols what we call “success.” Rather, God chooses to enter our world in a place not unlike Floyd; back water Galilee in a village of blue-collar folks trying to scrape out a living for their families. Of all the possibilities, God chose these humble, highly inconvenient beginnings to inaugurate the turning point of all human history.
For this is where God meets us: not in a picture-perfect story but in messy life, where we’re doing our best to make it. This is where God wants to bring life; right where it is confusing and uncertain and difficult. This is where God wants to dismantle our best laid plans so that we might be a part of His eternal plan to bring all people and all creation back to its good and benevolent intent.
Mary and Joseph are heroes. They are heroes because they were willing to say, “Okay, I surrender to your plan.” They didn’t charge into battle. They didn’t rush into a burning building. But they surrendered their blueprint for an peaceful, ordinary life, risk shame and terrific inconvenience, to allow God to use them for something greater; the greatest! To save the world. Because Jesus’ arrival into our lives is not convenient. Things will have to change. This is where great acts of faith happen: not from pulpits or classrooms but in terrifying moments of trust, where we don’t know what will happen when we let go. But we find that when we do, God can do great things through us and give birth to life right in our living room.

My New Chair

2010-08-31T15:26:00.009-04:00

It was an embarrassment, according to the session; my old chair. Even my mother conferred privately at the state of it. It sat here when I arrived seven years ago in all its black faux-leather glory. It was quite cozy. However, the armrest was tattered and spilling its spongy innards. Years of sitting compressed the stuffing so that it afforded an intimate connection with the metal strut supporting the seat. There was no question: lest I start buying stock in Preparation-H or driving my guests to squeaky insanity , it was time for the chair to go.

Excitedly, I strode through the front-door of "major office supply chain" and strode to the furniture section. I made a to-do of sitting in all kinds of chairs. I thought it would be something like dating: I would know which one was "the one" the moment our bodies were entwined. Unlike dating, however, I went from one to the next, all in the name of discovering my next ministry partner.

Memory-foam: check. Black leather: check. Lumbar support: check. Imposing visage that says "I'm god of the corporation": check. This was the one that came to the office with me. (see picture above)

Having unceremoniously shoved the old wreck out the door, I wrestled the large box into the study and set to work, like a kid at Christmas putting together the coolest toy he's ever seen. I even relished that "I'm a man and know how to put together complicated machinery" feeling (it required the twisting of 12 hex-screws!) and it was finished: my new chair was assembled, inviting me to enjoy.

But it wasn't the blissful derrière nirvana I had anticipated. But there was a sizable nick in one of the armrest supports. The black padding on another arm had a careless dab of silver paint. As I landed for the first time, it didn't feel quite like it did at the store; firmer and less welcoming. The seat didn't lower to accommodate my stubby legs as much as I thought nor did it seem as limber to my fidgeting. Sure, it's nice but it's covered in "different." To my surprise, I found myself missing the shabby familiarity of my old chair.

The tension between old and new is timeless. The old has a costly familiarity and the new, a foreign and irritating scratchiness (like falling in love with a pair of jeans in the store but then having them not fit the same at home). We know what to expect with the old and love knowing it, even if it's hemorrhoids. We don't like not knowing what's going to happen when faced with something new, especially if it promised to be so shiny and revolutionary at first. The questions that accompany the new are not comfortable, wondering whether it will ever get broken-in to our life, molding itself beneficially into place (like a new pair of boots), or whether it will be an irritating regret that we'll have to learn to live with.

And yet this is the place Christians are called to live: the tension between the comfortable old and the challenging new. Paul talks about removing our old ways and clothing ourselves in Christ. But it is a faithful place to be. We've been made to feel that faithfulness comes only with certainty. But it takes greater faith to trust in the midst of uncertainty and instability, believing that somehow all will come to its right conclusion.

The new chair is going to take some getting used to. But while the other chair might have been comfortably familiar, I know it is a healthier option to have a chair that will help me sit straighter and cushion the tush. And the adjustment will be worth it.

A prayer for you

2010-04-29T09:33:00.002-04:00

God of life,
there are days when the burdens we carry
are heavy on our shoulders and weigh us down,
when the road seems dreary and endless,
the skies gray and threatening,
when our lives have no music in them,
and our hearts are lonely,
and our souls have lost their courage.
Flood the path with light,
turn our eyes to where the skies are full of promise;
tune our hearts to brave music;
give us the sense of comradeship with heroes and saints of every age;
and so quicken our spirits
that we may be able to encourage
the souls of all who journey with us on the road of life,
to your honor and glory. Amen.

(Attributed to Augustine of Hippo)

...but I still haven't found what I'm lookin' for...

2010-04-20T16:36:00.004-04:00

I came to the "conservative versus liberal" contest late in the game. It was not until I was several years into seminary before I begun to truly understand the differences. In college, I remember a conversation over the lunch table where I confessed to a friend that I didn't know "what" I was. She asked me several "yes-or-no" questions about various hot button issues (i.e., "Are you pro-life or pro-choice? Do you believe in capital punishment?") and, as if I was filling out a teen magazine quiz, she informed me of my results. Even then, allegiance to once side or the other didn't seem all that important. I wanted to be on Jesus' side and I'm pretty sure he's not Democratic or Republican.

But today, you cannot identify yourself without the expectation of eventually being pigeonholed into one camp or the other. It's how we know how to deal with each other; how comfortable we'll be around you. It doesn't matter what sphere of life: political, theological, economic, you WILL be one or the other in their eyes. Otherwise, it is concluded you do not have the courage or backbone to have convictions.

Both sides seem to take delight in vilifying the other. Take healthcare, for example: Conservatives label liberals as touchy-feely sentimentalists who care nothing for God, right stewardship or historic liberty. Liberals label conservatives as simple-minded racist-bigots who care nothing for God, or the poor and are more interested in preserving their bank account than helping others. I've got friends on both "sides" and they seem to have the temerity not to fit into their respective caricatures; the caricatures media pundits keep insisting are true.

Having received the honor of being commissioner to General Assembly this July (meaning I will be one of six voting representatives from our area in the bi-annual national meeting of the highest governing body in the Presbyterian Church), I'm more than a little concerned about the partisanship. Church media is not much different than political: each camp lobbing theological bombs at faceless editorial writers.

Sometimes you hear pleasant accounts of folks reaching across the aisle to practice the godly principle of friendship and overcome differences. But these rare instances seem unlikely to happen elsewhere in a room crowded with champions for each cause, righteously fighting for the truth that the other side is so wildly obtuse to not see.

It's hard to know where to stand. I don't trust the rhetoric of "let's just all get along" or "celebrate diversity." I've heard it to much to think it does any good. I want to get along. I appreciate diversity. But I'm tired of the games, the parry and thrust of endless circular debate, the vilifying and the caricatures. I'm looking for some sincere unity, some sweaty, hard-fought prayers, and to-the-marrow salvation in Christ's Body that scripture has called us to all along. Not a contrived mission statement or empty handshakes and smiles.

But I'm pretty certain that requires relationship: the one thing the Lord persistently has been striving to get out his people from the beginning of time. And relationship is much harder; much more messy, much more sacrificial than self-righteous certainty. It sounds an awful lot like work. I'm too busy as it is. I can't even muster sincerity, prayer and redemption in my own life some days.

I'm still not that fussed about which side anyone thinks I'm on (on a good day, anyway). I'm most interested in being on Jesus' side. But I don't see him standing on either side of the aisle. And when he's turning over tables in the temple, or chewing out the Pharisees (conservatives of the day) or Sadducees (liberals of the day), I don't seem him in the middle either.

“Which Hill?” – 1st Corinthians 15:1-11

2010-02-07T09:48:00.002-05:00

“What is the hill that you are willing to die on?” This is a question leaders might ask themselves when facing a contentious issue or resistance to a new idea. It’s a question of perspective – is the issue at hand significant enough to stake everything on? Is the principle behind it all worth sacrificing my career, my reputation, my future? Or spin it another way: are there things upon which there can be no compromise? Politicians ask this when considering whether to tackle a hot-button issue. Managers and CEOs ask this when attempting to implement a new program. And pastors ask this when wanting to try something new: is this hill worth dying on? Think about: What hill, cause, or ideal would you die for? What, for you, is there simply no room for compromise?

Paul’s hill is the Gospel of Jesus, particularly the news of the cross and resurrection. Paul is writing to brand-new believers in a Greek city. The predominant Greek notion about human bodies and death was this: that the soul was a truest essence of a person and the body was merely a physical incarceration of the soul, inferior and corrupt. Everything physical was merely a crude veil to the true spirit of things. At death, the soul would be liberated from its prison, blissfully never to return. This was the prevailing notion of most Greeks of the day.
So when Paul comes to town and starts talking about a Messiah that comes back to life, in the flesh, it turns more than a couple of heads. When Paul preaches the resurrection from the dead in nearby Athens, Acts 17 reports: When they heard about the resurrection of the dead, some of them sneered, but others said, “We want to hear you again on this subject.” The sneering hasn’t stopped, even today, for those who find talk about resurrected bodies superstitious and highly unscientific.

Some have called 1st Corinthians 15 the most important passage in the entire Bible, for it encapsulates so succinctly the bedrock of Christian faith. While no bit of scripture is more holy than the other (don’t be fooled by the red ink!), there is something to this claim. Because Paul climbs the one hill upon which we, Christians, can have no compromise: the Gospel of Christ’s saving death on the cross that redeems us from sin and his defeat of death in the resurrection. All other opinions about the nature of the Christian life and faith orbits this central gravitational truth. Without this center, we cannot call ourselves “Christian”.

Why is this the hill we must die to defend? Because without the cross and resurrection, there’s nothing left but a really great guy and some morality tales. But Paul says without faith in Christ’s central deed, “you have believed in vain.” The Greek word for “vain” (eike) literally means “with no result” or “without reason”. That is, belief without the death and resurrection of Jesus has nothing to show for it. There is no ultimate good or happy conclusion to show from it. There is no reason to do it other than to amuse ourselves.

Instead, Paul reminds the young Corinthian believers, “What I received I passed on to you as of first importance” (vs. 3). Have you ever tried to share your hobby or passion of a particular subject with a child? Take something you love to do and imagine yourself teaching them about the basics. In the movie, “A River Runs Through It”, the father-figure is a Presbyterian pastor who teaches his kids how to fly fish. He starts them off by practicing the basics in the front yard, before he even gets them to the river. When learning an instrument, you have to get some basic rudiments of the instrument down (how to hold your hands properly, how to shape your lips just right, how to strum correctly). They are the “first things”. Until you do so, your fingers, lips and arms won’t be able to do the more complex things. You cannot knit a sweater until you’ve learned the basics of how to hold the needles or to do simple knots. These are the things of “first importance”.

So it is with the life of faith: unless one’s house isn’t built on the rock, it will only become so big. Paul tells us the thing of “first importance” is this core affirmation: “that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared…” Let’s break this down :

The first word is loaded: “Christ”. We say it so often, throw it at the end of prayers, we can just assume it was Jesus’ last name! It is actually a title. It is the Greek word for a more important Hebrew word, “messiah”, which means “Anointed One.” To anoint something is to set it aside for a special purpose. We anoint our elders with oil, recognizing that they are called by the Spirit to particular duties within the church. With Christ, he comes to enact a very particular task that no one else could do.

The task? “die for our sins.” We need to be careful here as this is a phrase that we’ve heard so much, that we might gloss over what is at stake. So often, we think of sins as bad behavior; lying or using foul language, cheating or stealing, murder or adultery. If sins were simply an issue of behavior, we wouldn’t really need someone else. It would be simply be a matter of self-discipline, conditioning our wills until we mastered good behavior. But sin is more like cancer, something that we cannot fix on our own. Our souls have a disease that keep us centered on ourselves. It doesn’t get better by itself. Jesus’s “anointed” task is to come and cure the disease.

But to kill off sin, it has to die. This is what makes Jesus’ dying so crucial. Without his death, sin cannot die. However, as someone who was not diseased with sin (unlike the rest of us), he was free to do something about it. Paul emphasizes this point by saying that not only did Jesus die, he was buried. Jesus was really dead. Not a coma or a deep sleep. It wasn’t some kind of heavenly hoax that looked, sounded and smelled like death. No, Jesus died. Really died. Like, what we face at the funeral home, died. We see that Jesus would go to ultimate lengths to free the world from the sin disease and restore it to full health, the way God wanted it to be from the beginning!

But that’s not all. Paul continues, “…that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures.” This is the other side of the same coin. The work of the cross is incomplete without the resurrection. So often we lift up the grizzly suffering and crucifixion of Jesus as central and the resurrection as the happy epilogue. But if Jesus had simply stayed in the grave, death would win. There would be no future. Jesus’ sacrifice would have also been in vain. The resurrection is not merely the defeat of sin but the defeat of death itself, the restoration of life and relationship with God and each other. It is one event in two-parts: crucifixion and resurrection. You cannot have one without the other. With resurrection, we have a future. We have a reason to believe.

Paul says not simply to take his word for it either. There are two things that corroborate this central claim to faith. One, that the Gospel (the saving hope of Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection) did not happen in a vacuum. The good news didn’t pop out of no-where. These things happened “according to Scripture.” Paul here is referring to the Old Testament (the New not having been compiled yet). For generations, people had been looking forward to this one that God would lift up to rescue his people. God has had a plan all along. As one author has said, “Jesus is God’s way of refusing to give up on his dream for the world.” Jesus is the culmination of God’s master-plan for human history.

But Paul not only points to Jesus’ place in the history of salvation, but also encourages them to take note of all the other accounts of his resurrection. Peter and the disciples, a gathering of 500 believers, James and all the apostles, even including Paul himself, who saw the Risen Jesus on the road to Damascus. It’s as if Paul says “If you don’t believe me, ask any of these other folks.” It is critical for Paul to hit this home because Jesus’ resurrection is historic fact. It wasn’t metaphorical or a well-orchestrated scam on the part of the disciples. Somewhere in the sequence of our space and time, Jesus entered reality, actually died and actually rose from the dead.

Paul talks about the Gospel as the place (the hill) that we take our stand. Many of the apostles (like many that Paul has listed here) were martyred for what they believed. Now, a group of people don’t get together, fabricate an extraordinary story around a wise teacher and his generally unpopular teaching and then be willing to hand-over their lives to preserve the lie. There was no fame or money in it. Some disciples (like Matthew the tax collector) left behind lucrative careers. The most reasonable explanation is that these people experienced something unlike anything else they’d ever heard or seen; something so fantastic that it changed their lives forever, giving them something that they would be willing to pay the ultimate price to defend. For Paul, there was no question: the foundation of the Gospel, the death and resurrection of Christ, was historic fact and in no way would he yield.
Sometimes, the idea of “taking a stand” can come off as arrogant or an “I’m better than you” attitude. We have good reason to be cautious for many well-meaning people (plenty of Christians!) having given the Gospel a bad name for “taking a stand” in the wrong spirit. But we must be equally cautious about the pendulum going too far the other way.

In our culture today, we are made to feel guilty about sharing our beliefs. Faith is a private matter. “What if I offend someone?” The problem here is that we are asked to become something less than ourselves as followers of Jesus in order to allow someone else to be who they are. Faith in Jesus isn’t about helping to prop up a religion. We believe in Jesus because in Him, we see the reality of the world around us and the activity of a loving God. We experienced the greatest hope and love of the world but we keep it to ourselves. Being a follower of Jesus isn’t about having something to do on Sunday morning but it is the way we see and interact with the people and the world around us. Our faith in Jesus speaks to the core of who we are. And to somehow diminish who we are in the name of “comfort” is not a holy endeavor.
It is the excuse we come up with to keep ourselves safe.

But let’s take Paul’s lead on this. Here is the most prolific author of the New Testament; a dedicated missionary who gave up his very successful, upwardly mobile career in the Temple in order to spread something the Good News of Jesus. Notice his attitude in the midst of it all: “But I am the least of the apostles and do not even deserve to be called an apostle for I persecuted the church of God.” Paul actively sought to crush the Christian movement, even sanctioning the wrongful execution of the earliest apostles. But now something is different. He says, “But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect. No, I worked harder than all of them – yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me.”
For Paul, he doesn’t stand up arrogantly and talk about how great he is or how he’s got his life together. He gives all credit to “the grace of God.” Grace is the packaging that the Gospel arrives in. Grace means “gift”. God gifts us his saving death and resurrection. There is no tab for us to pick up and we certainly haven’t earned it, no matter how good we think we’ve behaved.

So to “take a stand” out of the feeling like “I’m right, you’re wrong” is to miss the point. But if we receive the Gospel as the precious gift, our response can only be humble gratitude. This does not mean we don’t speak openly about our faith, but it definitely informs the attitude by which we do it. We too are called to be gracious and loving, just as Christ’s death and resurrection bring grace and love to us. We remain true to who God has made us to be while extending love and grace in our tone of voice and language.

Paul says that the grace affected him. His encounter with the Risen Christ and the Gospel that he brings changed him. Are you changed? Do you feel like things are different since you’ve heard the news of Jesus’ saving faith? Do you feel a sense of humble gratitude at the gift God wants to give you?

It’s important to note that Paul says in verse 2 that “By this gospel you are saved…” A more accurate translation is that “By this gospel, you are being saved…” emphasizing the ongoing nature of this Gospel. In other words, God’s grace is still working. We are still a work in progress, therefore we have no right to think we are better than anyone else, regardless of their ideas about life. The news of Jesus’ saving death and resurrection continues to shape and grow us more into His likeness. Are you still changing and growing?

There are a lot of opinions about what the Christian life looks like. But this is the one thing that we all must affirm without compromise: the saving death and victorious resurrection. And affirming these without compromise does not mean we demand something from others. It simply means with both the humility of a sick person made well and the resolve of someone, we are not afraid to be who God has created us to be. As Paul says, “By the grace of God, I am what I am.”

20 Random Thoughts for the Day

2010-01-08T09:59:00.001-05:00

1. I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

3. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

4. There is great need for a sarcasm font.

5. How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

6.. Was learning cursive really necessary?

7. Map Quest really needs to start their directions on #5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

8. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

9. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least KIND OF tired.

10. Bad decisions make good stories.

11. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.

12. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blue Ray? I don't want to have to restart my collection...again.

13. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

14. "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this -- ever.

15. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Damn it!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voice-mail. What did you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?

16. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste..

17. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

18. My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day "Mom what would happen if you ran over a ninja?" How the hell do I respond to that?

19. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

20. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lites than Kay.

Expecting

2009-12-20T08:29:00.008-05:00

December 20, 2009 - 4th Sunday in Advent

"Expecting" - Luke 1:39-45

Ginger and I sit and wonder sometimes at the bundle that we hold in our hands. We were saying just the other day that, a year ago, we weren’t even daring to imagine that the following Christmas would include this gift of life. I mean, weren’t we just on the couch, watching Ginger’s belly roll and move just the other day, watching and waiting for this?

And not just us, but our family and you, our church family, also waited in excitement and joy-filled anticipating the miracle that God was knitting together. For many, expecting a child is a beautiful, exciting, wonder-filled thing.

But it’s not so for everyone.

Having a healthy child makes one keenly aware of those who, for whatever reason, do not get the opportunity. For others, inconvenience or shame covers up the joy of expecting life. Tragically, others choose to rid themselves of it at all costs, like the woman in Campbell County last week.

Believe it or not, Mary was part of this latter category. We like to think that expecting a baby is always a beautiful thing, but sometimes, it’s the beginning of a difficult season. Essentially, Mary finds out that she, an unwed teenager, is pregnant.

Mary’s obedience to God’s plan (as laid out by the angel) is a tremendous demonstration of raw, unfettered faith and trust in the Lord, to be sure! She is an example of godly trust that we should all aspire to live up to.

But can you imagine going to your mother and telling her, “No really, Mom, it’s the Holy Spirit that got me pregnant!”? Who’s going to buy that? Mary’s faithfulness doesn’t change what other people are bound to think about "her and that Joseph boy". “She was always so sweet, that Mary. A shame she threw it away in a reckless moment of passion.” No one else saw or heard the angel! And they’re supposed to take the word of a young woman, whose gender wasn’t allowed to testify in a court hearing.

There was no joyful expectation here. No dreaming up names (esp. since the Holy Spirit already gave her one!) No playful wondering who he’ll look like more. She’s been faithful, yes! And we know she’ll be rewarded for it. But still, bewilderment, fear and a maelstrom of other emotions are sure to have been at work in this young woman. The only thing she could expect in her "expecting" was criticism, shame and disappointment from her community.

Today's Gospel story says she got her stuff together and “hurried” off to hide with her family out in the country-side of Judah. Indeed, she needed to get out of the way of prying eyes before the baby-bump becomes visible and the gossip chain gets going. Perhaps this is as much to protect Joseph’s reputation as anything.

And yet, something very UN-expected happens. Upon meeting Elizabeth (also pregnant in her advanced years by divine intervention) is flooded with the Holy Spirit. And John (who is to become the Baptist), jumps in recognition of the Savior of the World (just as he'll jump for joy when he sees Jesus while preaching in the wilderness).

In the last situation either would have expected, these two women share a moment of pure joy. It says:

“In a loud voice she exclaimed,
‘Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear!’”

This was no small “yippee”. This was an indecent, eye-turning overflow of celebration, with jumping and shouting and glee!

Elizabeth, overcome, is surprised herself at this amazing event:

“But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?”

In other words, “Why am I the lucky one?”

A season of uncertainty and fear are turned to joy and dancing. Mary did not get what she expected.

We should look to these women for an important lesson for joy in these holy days. For Advent and Christmas is meant to be a time of joyful expectation at the arrival of Life, Jesus our Savior.

But for many, we've come to expect something else: perhaps the same old family arguments, the same old stress and weariness at the holiday schedule of events and shopping. Some people (even folks who do not believe in God) expect Christmas to have a magical quality to transform hearts and minds. But maybe you've seen one too many Christmases come and go to believe that any real transformation could take place. You know better than to expect much at all.

An expectation is an expression of "how things are supposed to be." Disappointment comes when we expect something to happen but it doesn’t. Marriages are sabotaged because one person expects things from another (“You’re supposed to do this for me! You're supposed to make me happy!”). Christmases get ruined because it is "supposed to be family time" without open hostility. And when things are not "how they're supposed to be", we get hurt and disappointment. Mary, worried and uncertain, finds no joy in God's plan (although she makes faithfulness more important than her feelings, which is the crucial first step toward joy!)

The problem is, certain expectations can cut-off joy before it has a chance to bloom. However, joy is always found when we are part of God's plan for the world. But even when we act faithfully, we can cut ourselves off from the joy He has for us by our expectations about how He is supposed to act ("God, why didn't you do it more quickly!) or in what form that joy is supposed to come ("God, why didn't you give me with what I asked for!). But there is no ultimate joy apart from participating in God's plan and having the humility to receive the joy in whatever form it comes. For Mary and Elizabeth,being part of God's plan began with some uncertainty, but suddenly, the Holy Spirit explodes on the scene and transforms the situation into a moment of unrestrained joy. Mary even breaks into song upon hearing Elizabeth's cry of joy! For the community around Mary, there would certainly have been severe disapproval at her situation. However, we know that it was all a glorious and beautiful part of God’s plan to bring salvation to the world.

What if we let go of our expectations? Of how we think people need to treat us? Of what we think we're owed by others? Of the kind of gift we deserve? What if we let go of our idea of “how things are supposed to be”, in our relationship with God, in our marriages, in our Christmas season and simply strive to live as God has called us to live; to invite the Holy Spirit to guide us to the will of God and be surprised by joy when it comes? (Because it will come!)

In the search for joy, we can sabotage the joy God has for us by expecting something else. The believers of Jesus' day were expecting a glorious king to free them from Roman tyranny. What they got was a baby boy, born to back-woods Galileans; born to an unwed teenage mother; who is revealed to far-off Magi and smelly shepherds instead of the religious establishment; a humble carpenter who doesn't stir up a revolution but tells people to repent and dedicate themselves to serving the poor, naked, hungry and each other. And because Jesus wasn't what they expected, they killed him. And in so doing, they cut themselves off from God's plan and God's joy.

Friends, God wants joy for you. Real, explosive, unrestrained joy! And it comes when we align ourselves to God's plan in Jesus Christ. And it comes when we stop expecting it to look a certain way and let it come as it comes.

A Quick Fast

2009-02-27T11:17:00.000-05:00

“In a culture where the landscape is dotted with shrines to the Golden Arches and an assortment of Pizza Temples, fasting seems out of place, out of step with the times.”
- Richard Foster “The Celebration of Discipline”

Lent is historically a time for fasting. For some, it has become water-cooler conversation. “So, what are you giving up for Lent this year?” and then we come up with some little of inconvenience (like giving up dessert or soft drinks or TV, etc) so that we can say we are participating.

Truthfully, fasting is a forgotten art in Christ’s church. Perhaps we’re too busy to worry with it. Maybe it stirs up images of emaciated fanatics living the desert or that it just isn’t a very Presbyterian thing to do. Or maybe we’ve grown more attached to food (and the speed at which we get it) than any other culture in human history. As Foster notes, just look at how many restaurants you pass driving down a city road. Do you remember when going out to eat was a rare and special treat?

Of course, fasting is not primarily a test of our self-disciplined (for me, it is more often a painful reminder of how self-disciplined I’m not). Rather, fasting is a way to make space for God. By removing a meal or a distraction, time is made available that is given over to God. For example, if you choose to fast one lunch a week, the time normally spent at the lunch table is spent in prayer, scripture study, journal reflections about your walk with Christ or even devotional reading (i.e., C.S. Lewis).

Fasting is the way to clear some expectant room for God to land in our lives. Every time your stomach growls in hunger, you have an inescapable physical reminder of our hearts aching for God and you can take a quick moment to pray for faithfulness or to pray for others. The same applies when we fast something other than food: when we want the fasted thing, we allow that ache to turn us to God instead, who supplies all of our needs. And the more often we bump into God this way, the more we will find our lives oriented toward him. Because that is what Lent is really about: to turn away of old ways that keep us from following Christ and to fix our eyes on Jesus more than ever before. Fasting becomes that palpable reminder to do just that.

“Yet even now, says the LORD,
return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
rend your hearts and not your clothing.
Return to the LORD, your God,
for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love…” Joel 2:12-13

Lost and Found

2009-01-22T16:05:00.005-05:00

I've never really seen the show, except for that one time I caught a bit of it while channel surfing. I'm sure it's a very good show and that I would probably like it if I invested myself into it. It has happened with other well-written shows.

In the last two weeks, much has been lost in our church. Two dearly loved servants of the church; quiet servants making bold impacts in the lives around them, yet no longer in the kitchen to help pour tea at potlucks. Another dear woman lost her memory, confused and angry that her family would take her to receive the care she doesn't know she needs. Yet another losing her appetite due to cancer treatment. All of us, losing another moment... and another... and another... as time slowly plods (or races swiftly by).

The coin. The sheep. The son. Life is turned upside down to find that which is lost. But getting lost can be so much better. Getting lost in a television show, in one's own political opinions, in the heat of the moment, are all much better than being challenged to do what is right or be a good steward or serve someone other than ourselves.

But being found means someone bothered to do the looking. Being found means we're reinvested, part of the flock again, a restored child that has to go back to doing the chores. The object in question (time, coin, sheep, son, et al.) must have some value to the Finder.

What if we too become finders, recovering lost time, finding time to rescue dying relationships, finding a space to meet God daily, finding the courage to run out to greet grace, finding the resolve to restore a sense of purpose to waking-up every morning. Our lives can be spent either way: either in losing or in finding. And only one of them leads to rejoicing.

________________________________

So he told them this parable: "Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.

Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.' Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

Then Jesus said, "There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living.... But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands." ' So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him....."

Luke 15:3-21

Simple Gifts

2009-01-20T14:51:00.004-05:00

Bold voices sang the National Anthem to conclude the ceremonies. As they did so, the wind blew outside. The American flag which hung out of sight outside the window where I was, fluttered into view, as if those chest-fulls of air were blowing down the Blue Ridge Mountains and into Floyd. The winds of change indeed.

30 minutes before, tremendously talented musicians such as Itzhak Pearlman and Yo-yo Ma played John Williams' arrangement of the old hymn, "Simple Gifts." Watching their fingers defy the bone-numbing chill, I found it ironic that it would require more than simple skills to play the extremely difficult music well.

And yet that seemed to be the theme: simple gifts into grand designs. A black man with humble beginnings writes the pages of history that will never be forgotten. Those singers, musicians, pastors and poets, their pneuma-blown gifts faithfully to transform a wintery day into a historic moment. It all began somewhere for them. And it does for us.

"To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good." (1st Corinthians 12:7). History-changing days are born from simple beginnings. We might not make national news, but we could see the world around us transformed if we might take our simple gifts and use them well.

Working the Angles

2008-10-16T12:01:00.004-04:00

I'm not particularly passionate about politics. I don't trust them. However, I do believe in responsible citizenship as an important part of faith in Christ ("give to Caesar...") So with all the hubbub around the presidential election (which bubbled up over two years ago!), I decided to do some research and invited Facebook friends to offer some view points.

One friend pointed me to another discussion already shared. I found it some of the talk to be a wonderfully succinct distinction between Republican and Democratic motives. It helped me clarify some of the broad brushstrokes of the two primary parties. With permission, I've included it here:

"It’s ultimately a difference of world view. The reason Republicans and Democrats have such a hard time talking to each other is they have such different narratives about what’s important and how the world should work – and both world views are pretty self-consistent once you’re inside them. It’s just like a devout person and an atheist trying to have a conversation about religion – far from being able to convince the other of the truth of one’s viewpoint, they quickly find it almost impossible to even understand what each other are saying because their world views are just built on entirely different foundations.

The Republican narrative is of the independent and self-supporting individual with traditional old-fashioned values. If you buy into this narrative then you resist government regulation of industry because it restricts the entrepreneurs & markets which make our economy go and diminishes the freedom and ability of individuals to achieve that independent and self-supporting American dream. You’re not particularly worried about the effect of industry on the environment or society because mostly the free market will devise good solutions anyway before there’s too much of a problem, and you resist taxation – especially of businesses and their owners – because it fuels the government regulation (tampering with market forces) of which you disapprove because it slows our economy and job-creation and obstructs the free markets which could actually solve our problems better than big government, and tends to fund a culture of dependence which is at odds with your self-supporting values. You worry that the decay of traditional values as the basis for our society would in time erode and destroy it, and are therefore more than happy to turn to religious values as a blueprint for shoring up our civil society. Finally from the independent & self-supporting narrative comes your foreign policy of aggressively knocking down threats from the outside world – and resisting an unrestricted flow of immigrants who would in essence steal the advantages of our society from us without earning their place in it and by not sharing our traditional American values might undermine them.

The Democratic narrative is of members of the community supporting each other, and the idea that ultimately the community must come first before any particular individual. From this ultimate value springs your tolerance for government regulation because it prevents entrepreneurs and industries from getting out of hand, making profits for individuals at the community’s expense, especially by passing along hidden environmental or social costs to the community at large while pocketing a short term gain. You’re willing to be taxed because this is “paying your share” of the community upkeep, and think the wealthier and more successful members of the community (in particular rich business owners) should be paying a proportionately larger share – and the slower growth of business and markets which inevitably results you see as more than made up for by the social benefits. Out of your narrative of community also comes a sense of indignation when one segment of the community profits at the expense of another or sets itself up as dominant over another: this leads both to your championing of minority causes large and small and your resistance to one society group’s “traditional values” (even if it is the majority group) being elevated over another’s. Traditional values often sound arbitrary and non-rational, and should be allowed gradually to erode and be replaced by the wisdom of the community – through science and research when possible. Possibly you also perceive yourself as a member of one or more disadvantaged or minority groups, whether racial, religious, gender, or otherwise, which leads you both to be more willing to discard some or many traditional American values (since they aren’t yours), and to identify with the struggles of other similarly disadvantaged groups.

The narrative of the community also extends to foreign policy, where you see it as most important to make friends in the world community (even sometimes at the expense of our short term interests). And you see potential immigrants as fellow members of the world community who deserve a chance to succeed as much as we do and who would contribute productively to our society if only given that chance.

Try to put yourself inside of either world view and you’ll find it pretty self consistent. And both of the ultimate foundations (valuing the individual and valuing the community) are attractive ideals which have been with us for a long time. The rest of the political scene is just an ongoing power struggle between those two camps – in particular the propaganda battle to attract the “swing voters”, the ones who are either sufficiently torn between the two world views (e.g. the atheist wealthy business owner, the devout environmentalist) to be influenced or haven’t thought enough about their world views to have picked a side and can perhaps be swayed by slogans, feel-good appeals, etc." ~ Brian Reynolds of Baltimore

The Best Policy

2008-09-25T15:29:00.008-04:00

“Your second year is harder than your first.”

This is what a close friend said to my wife and I when he and his wife asked how married life was going. I was not at all irritated for what might seem like a harsh or jaded forecast. He did not say it as one who pretended to know everything about marriage. He simply spoke as one who had walked the trail a while and who loved us enough to speak the truth. In fact, I loved my friend more for saying it.

Honesty is a rare commodity. Or perhaps it is not so much rare as it is neglected. Unspoken truths can pile up like dusty boxes, cluttering our hearts.

Mostly, helpful honesty goes unspoken because “I don’t want to hurt their feelings.” It is very easy to confuse “I’m hurting them” with the more accurate notion, “The truth can hurt”. But that’s just the thing: the truth is true no matter how we feel telling it. The hurt of honesty can be the antiseptic sting of cleaning a wound. If you see your sister harming herself because she has not weighed the consequences of her actions or because she simply is unaware of how her actions are hurting others, shouldn’t something be said regardless of her reaction? If it were you, wouldn’t you want to know?

People are afraid of honesty’s sting, however, because it can most certainly become a weapon when not employed in a spirit of love or in concern for another’s welfare. I knew one person who refused to restrain his harmful opinions about others with the throw-away phrase, “Well, I’m just being honest.” Actually, he was being opinionated, unkind, and rude. It was not spoken to offer to help but harm. But at the same time, no one called him on it.

When one is on the receiving end of honesty (even the constructive kind), often one immediately feels attacked. A common, knee-jerk reaction to honesty is to defend oneself. Criticism threatens something important to us and we naturally rush to shield it from harm. Honesty moves directly toward our emotional treasures and we are left little time to react. Instinct usually takes over and we simply brace for impact. So again, we are afraid to deal in it.

And yet, honesty can be a tool of profound freedom. Honesty sheds light and opens the shutters into one's heart. It reveals things hidden from view. The absence of honesty is obscurity. Dishonesty breeds obscurity in that it blurs or distorts the truth. Our perception of a given subject is shaped by how honest or dishonest we are about the matter. Unhappiness in marriage persists because of a lack of honest communication that confesses hurt and a refusal to receive news of harm we have caused. Without that honesty, things fester, become infected until the sinew and tissue are damaged of one's marriage feels beyond repair. Nothing left to do but amputate. Honesty has the power to wipe away obscurity; to clean out the infection. And with that better information gained from improved vision, we are more prepared to weather the difficulties.

Of course, the effectiveness of honesty is directly proportionally to one’s willingness to receive it. As I said before, the instinctive reaction to honesty is defense. However, when we trust someone enough to know that their assessment is not meant in cruelty but shared in a spirit of love and concern, we can slow down enough to receive their thoughts as a gift. If you had something hanging from your nose or you were experiencing a revealing wardrobe malfunction that you had yet to notice, would you not want your friend to be direct enough to (privately) draw your attention to the oversight? Or would you get offended that they noticed what was glaringly obvious to everyone else in the room?

Perhaps the most difficult honesty to handle is being honest with oneself; to be willing to look in the mirror and accept what is there, both the well-groomed parts and the hidden warts and defects we hide from the world. As Christians, this is a fundamental practice (we call it "reflection"), not only for our brothers and sisters in the faith, but for our own spiritual well-being as well. We must be willing to be honest enough with our short-comings to acknowledge our deepest need for Jesus. Until we are, why bother with Jesus at all?

It is no throw-away title when Jesus calls himself “the Way, the Truth and the Life.” Jesus’ life is punctuated by moments of blunt, yet life giving honesty. He is not afraid to tell the Pharisees how their legalistic religiosity has imprisoned the lives of the people in spiritual check-lists and not freed them to live with God (Matthew 23:1-7). The admonition to “take the log out of your own eye” is done so that “you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.” (Matt. 7:3) We are Jesus to one another when we tell the truth in love.

Any life-giving freedom born from honesty is a testimony to Jesus, Himself, and the freedom He longs to give from all the forms of sin and death. Jesus defeats anything that imprisons. He removes any obscurity or dishonesty that seeks to undo. “For freedom Christ has set us free,” says Paul. Once we can become more comfortable with being honest with ourselves, we can accept Jesus’ honest criticism of the things we continue to do that keep us away from knowing Him more. Because Jesus wants to give us freedom, He points His finger at the things we need to change (not necessarily a change from bad to good, but also good to better!). Jesus’ brand of honesty is never about harming, but pruning the dead places to make room for more life and growth. And once we’ve learned how from Jesus’ gracious hand, we’ll find the courage and freedom to share the gift of constructive honesty with those around us.

I’m glad our friend loved us enough to speak the truth about marriage. And I know that, whatever trials may away us, we are more prepared for our second year of marriage because of it.

2008-08-28T11:59:00.024-04:00

I am often amused at the ways followers of Jesus try to “Christianize” some of the most absurd things. I once owned a small tin of “Testamints”: powerful tiny breath mints with a Bible verse on the wrapper. T-shirts and refrigerator magnets are popular places to present passages of Scripture. One of my favorites is the “Buddy Christ”: a Jesus action-figure who has a big smile on his face and is giving you the thumbs-up.

But what are we saying about the Gospel when we equate Jesus with toys? Can the story of God, Creator of the entire universe, manifest in Jesus Christ for the salvation of the world, be contained on the side of a box of breath mints or a fish on the back of a car? While such instances make me smile, it also makes me concerned to have the hope of the world reduced to bite-sized form.

I don’t think such things are necessarily evil (I own a t-shirt that says “Jesus is my Homeboy”!) The modern tendency in our busy lives is to rush through the Jesus-thing. The assumption is that slapping the name of Jesus on something, like a bumper sticker, automatically makes it something that is worth God’s time or gives Him glory. Busy-ness rears its ugly head, prayers get rushed, sick and lonely people go unvisited, all the while trusting He’ll be the kind of parent that will gush with pride no matter what shoddy work we thrust His way.

C.S. Lewis is attributed as once saying that the world doesn’t need more Christian writers, but more good writers that are Christian. I do believe Jesus gratefully receives any sincere offering we humbly lay before Him. There’s no chart that says your gift must be “this” good (which is good news since the world wants nothing more than to compare how “good” you are to others). But should His graciousness excuse us from giving Christ our absolute best? Shouldn’t Jesus be our first commitment instead of receiving only the leftovers of our time and energy? Doesn’t this mean that we can glorify God when we teach, repair, cook, farm, help customers, stock shelves, write sermons, drive trucks to the very best of your abilities?

I was in the marching band in high school. Whenever we performed our entire show from start to finish (at practice, a football game, competition, etc.), the director held a stopwatch. If he liked what he saw and heard, he’d run the stopwatch. As soon as something was done incorrectly, he would stop it, starting it again when the show was good. So at the end of the show, he would tell us how much time we had accumulated. We might win trophies in our competition or not, but the only score we really cared about was whether we’d all performed well enough to receive a higher time. We weren’t concerned with how we matched up to the other bands (at least, not much) but with beating ourselves. As Christian, shouldn’t we too be striving to present a better offering to our God; the very best we have?

The writer in Hebrews got this notion when he challenged his readers: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.” Jesus demonstrates a life in which He gave everything to do the will of His Father, the best he could. We certainly don’t have to be Jesus. But if he gave everything to love and save us, shouldn’t we try as hard we can too?

One Last Night

2008-07-23T10:52:00.002-04:00

Every Wednesday morning, about a dozen men gather around a table to eat a substantial breakfast and bow their heads together. Laughter and fellowship is had over the food. Then more serious conversations arises concerning names: the names of people suffering from stage 3 cancer, the debilitating effects of MS, or coping as best they can with the death of their mother. There's never a shortage of names. Usually there are more than the previous week. Every Wednesday, they talk about death and the people who daily stare it in the face. And together, they humbly listen for God in each other's prayers, for comfort, guidance and hope.

It's hard to stand up from such a table and not have some day-dream about your own untimely demise. You wonder how you would react if a lingering headache turned into the blindsiding pronouncement that you have a brain tumor. Or if an upset stomach turned into an unexpected heart attack. So many of the names we pray for are curled up in bed with time-bombs, waiting for the morning when their legs refuse to slide out of bed.

Mostly, we healthy folk take for granted the days we are able to grumble at the alarm clock, then bathe, feed and go to the bathroom without assistance from someone else. But I wonder what we would do if we knew death was around the corner, perhaps even tomorrow. What would we do with our last hours? Try to do dinner with those we love most and put into words years of unspoken affection and gratitude? Attempt to accomplish those goals we kept putting off because we were just "too busy"?

Jesus did what He always did: love and serve those around him.

"...Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. ... during supper Jesus...got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him..." (John 13:1-5, NRSV)

There Jesus sat with a dozen men around a table. I can't imagine there wasn't laughter and fellowship over dinner. But more serious matters rose when the doomed Son of God stands to take off his robe in order to clothe himself in humility.

I've heard it said that we should live each day as if it were our last. This isn't a proposal to daily think about death but instead, to think about life and how we live each day, quieting the conversation long enough to listen for God's voice.

I always stand from the table thinking of myself. Christ's stands thinking of the others. Would it take the threat of death before we began loving and serving those around us as we always meant to do?

Or are we just too busy?

Moving Day

2008-07-04T13:39:00.000-04:00

It was surreal watching the room dissolve around us. There we sat in my dear friend’s living room, casually chatting about ministry and the church, about our lives and relationships, as movers plucked vases from shelves and lamps from tables and walked out of the room. The careful arrangement of pictures and furniture that formed the fabric of what my friend and his wife called “home” unraveled, the movers gently pulling the dangling string. All the threads were being gathered that they would be woven into another home in another state.

Think of your own home and how it is decorated: shreds of memory behind glass frames, sofas and Laz-E-boys positioned just so, specific paint colors slapped here and curtains hung there, all to transform wood, walls and windows into something more than the timbers, metal and nails. It’s the moment that a house (a lifeless structure) turns into a home (a dwelling of living people). We carefully arrange all these things to optimize our comfort and security or rearrange them periodically to get a sense of newness. Then there are the piles of letters/laundry/tools/boxes that clutter countertops, floors and basements but we don’t mind too much because we’re used to it. It’s all part of the system. The end-result reflects our personalities and tastes: sloppy or tidy, bold solid colors or mismatched. But more importantly, it is a safe place; our place that we daydream about at work, where we feel at rest.

I think about those who are suffering from the floods in the Midwest, or wildfires in California, or the big quake in China, and wonder about their homes (or what’s left of them). I wonder what they call home now or if they have any place to retreat for safety.

“Security” has become the household catchphrase in the months since 9/11 (which left many houses emptier than before). If you’ve traveled by plane in the last several months, you’ve certainly endured the tedious delay of long lines and the time it takes to swab your luggage’s zippers and test it for explosive chemicals. While I can’t imagine it doesn’t do some good, are we really more “secure” from the dozens of other threats to our lives that (unlike the photo we want to hang in the living room) we have absolutely no control over?

One of the hard realities of life on this planet is that any of our carefully arranged bits of our lives that prop us up and protect us from sadness and grief can be yanked away at any moment. Our houses and expensive stuff. Our memory, health and hobbies. Or most scary, our loved ones.

How then can we do anything else but learn how to lean solely on Jesus, the Rock, which can never be taken? Doing so means we cannot put our faith in the lives we’ve made for ourselves but for the one that Christ alone can give us. We have but to lean on Him, like a child wailing into his mother’s lap, like a soldier with a wounded leg, like weeping in a friend’s solid hug. Then we’ll find that our home is not really in anything we can touch but woven entirely in the fabric of unmovable presence of God; a home build with the wood and nails of Christ’s tree and founded on the undefeatable power of the resurrection.

“The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer, my God, my rock in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” ~Psalm 18:2

Quote of the Day

2008-06-11T10:11:00.005-04:00

"Perhaps it is our nature to die, not our right. Maybe we have the ability, to kill, to make things dead, even ourselves, but we haven't the right. And when we exercise that ability, in the name of God (as we have done in war), or of Justice (as we have done with capital punishment), or of Choice (as we have done with abortion), we should have the good sense to recognize it for what it isn't: enlightenment, civilization, progress, mercy. Nor is it an inalienable right. It is, rather, a shame, a sadness, a peril from which no congress's legislation, no churchman's dispensation, no public opinion or conventional wisdom can ever deliver us. For if we live in a world where birth is suspect, where the value of life is relative, and death is welcomed and well-regarded, we live in a world vastly more shameful, abundantly sadder, and ever more perilous than all the primitive generations of our species before us who were sufficiently civilized to fill with wonder at the birth of new life, dance with the living, and weep for the dead."

~Thomas Lynch, "The Undertaking: Life Studies from the Dismal Trade"

Broken Mountains and Bows

2008-05-29T14:56:00.004-04:00

“Change is the one thing in life that is certain…” – Anonymous

Ask this of one of the dozens of families from the Midwest who’ve lost everything in one of the many tornadoes in the last weeks, or one of the 5 million Chinese people left homeless by the earthquake, whether or not this statement is true, and you will probably get a disillusioned nod.

There is real security in a predictable life. It’s never the things you plan for that shrinks your savings account but the water heater going out during your shower, the unavoidable car crash, the emergency surgery, that comes from left field and catches you and your wallet off-guard. Divorce would certainly happen less if people didn’t change as they grow up.

But it always happens: change. Reality on our globe never sits still. Things that were there one moment are gone the next; jobs, health, love and loved ones. The landscape is always…changing.

And yet our instinct clinches down on these fleeting anchors anyway, desperately looking for purchase and security. Because anchors can hold us fast in life-threatening storms. But then when the anchor breaks away, we flail in the tempest, on the verge of drowning. Certainties are ripped away, leaving us soaked and lost.

But our God doesn’t play by those rules.

“God is our refuge and strength,
an ever present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea…”

Unaffected by our storms, both great and small, our God is unchanging in His utter dependability.

“The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.”

The reality of God’s power and love (greater than our broken earthly one) always wins in the end. The Psalmists are so good at reminding us that we can face any tragedy of human life (full of the kinds of grief and loss that words cannot capture) only if we let God be the Stronghold that He is. If we would simply

“Be still and know that He is God…

“Be still and know that He is…

Be still and know…

Be still…

From Psalm 46

Help us, Isaiah....

2008-05-23T12:46:00.004-04:00

Hope is a frightening thing.

It opens the door to the things we want most. It pulls back the bits of carefully-placed armor that shields our deepest and most sacred longings and exposes them to injury.

Skepticism is a far more practical approach to life:
Fewer disappointments and shattered dreams to clean up. It keeps you in touch with the needs of survival and reality. It's an all-around safer way to live.

I know kung-fu....

2008-05-21T11:56:00.006-04:00

Not really. But as I watched the students under the jovial yet watchful eye of their Sifu (Master), I wanted to learn.

But the fact is, I know kung-fu about as well as I can identify the actual animal used in sweet-and-sour pork. However, I'm counting on the unique advantage that comes with ignorance: a blank slate. An empty cup.

"Hungry, I come to you for I know you satisfy
I am empty, but I know your love does not run dry.
So I wait for you. So I wait for you..."

... says the worship song. An honest psalm of despair and trust (interesting, how one often precedes the other).

Modern faith convinces on fixing ourselves. Who needs God when your hope is in human ability. Legend has it, that Ben Franklin, enlightened and lettered statesman/scientist of his Revolutionary day, attempted to mend his own character flaws by dedicating each week to repairing one of his broken virtues. He would perfect one and move on to another, only to find that after a short time, he needed to revisit the first one again. Certainly no surprise there for anyone who has sought to live a "good life".

And yet, God seems more interested in our availability than our abilities; a humble willingness as opposed to prideful prowess.

For you have no delight in sacrifice;
if I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased.
The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
~ Psalm 51:16-17

Vroom! Vroom!

2008-05-01T12:36:00.005-04:00

I don’t understand. People laugh when I tell them that motorcycling is a religious experience.

Spring brings with it an abundance of new life. From the view atop Bent Mountain, looking down into the Roanoke Valley, I’m filled with wonder watching fingers of lime green creep up the slopes day by day. Before you know it, they’ll be overrun. Flowers are already defying last week’s frost and the sunshine thaws the earth from its wintery freeze. And the motorcycles begin waking up from their long hibernation.

Many people do not understand why some of their fellow mortals would dare such a reckless hobby. One thing they teach you in the “New Rider Training” program is that there are two elements to riding that sets it apart from driving: balance and protection. In a car, the seat cradles your entire frame, like a giant’s hand, suspended between four wheels that keep you stable on terra firma. On the motorcycle, you are responsible for remaining oriented right-side up to gravity, whether in motion, braking or standing at a stop light. In a car, you are surrounded by layers of steel and metal. On the bike, you are entirely responsible for whatever flesh you choose to expose to the elements and (if the worse should happen), the pavement.

Needless to say, there’s extra work involved piloting a motorcycle. It requires at least five additional minutes of preparation to put on all the armor of leather gloves, reinforced jacket and donning the brain bucket (doubly so when you have glasses) and then to do a once over to make sure lights and brakes in working order. Then once you pull out, staying upright means vigilantly watching for gravel, oil slicks and road-kill to spring up around a corner, negotiating turns at the proper lean angle, and staying balanced as you stop. This is to say nothing about negotiating the other drivers who aren’t accustom to looking for you or the drivers that are practically sitting on the seat behind you that don’t realize a motorcycle requires about half the distances as a car to come to a halt. (Believe me: for those who laugh when someone says motorcycling is a religious experience, this can do wonders for your prayer life!) Why risk it? It never escapes me every time I saddle up, if things goes south, I’m going to be the one to pay for it, regardless of who is at fault.

Because there is nothing else like it in the world: that’s why. I’ve never considered myself a thrill-junky. But I have yet to experience anything remotely akin to the rush of scenery all-around, the “groove” of a sweeping mountain curve, the exhilaration of the metal hooves pounding you forward just beneath your seat. Roller-coasters and convertibles do all the work for you. But in the extreme concentration of it and exposure to the beauty of the natural elements, you are so deeply connected to the machine that’s launching you along that when you pull in to the safety of your driveway (having defied the statistics and conquered gravity), you do so with a gigantic grin on your face.

So you’ll probably laugh again when I say that the Christian faith is so very much like riding a motorcycle. It is a dangerous, misunderstood trust in Christ that leaves others scratching their heads as to why you bother with such archaic superstitions or unscientific beliefs.

“For the message about the cross
is foolishness to those who are perishing,
but to us who are being saved
it is the power of God.” ~ 1 Corinthians 1:18

It is a way of living life that requires different external apparel and a certain balance with the truth so as to negotiate dangers along the way.

“Therefore take up the whole armor of God,
so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day,
and having done everything, to stand firm.” ~ Ephesians 6:13

And there is no greater joy than joining with Christ in His glorious work of bringing us home.

“Though you have not seen him, you love him;
and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him
and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy,
for you are receiving the goal of your faith,
the salvation of your souls.” ~ 1 Peter 4:13

Religious experience, indeed!

Is it well with my soul?

2008-04-24T10:21:00.007-04:00

Lately, I've noticed more and more how often the word "well" gets used in daily conversations. It subconsciously affixes itself to the beginning of most of our sentences.

How was work today, dear?
Well, it was hectic..

Why is it that this word becomes the automatic prelude to any idea or response? If we replayed an audio recording of our day and tallied all the "wells" that sneaked past our teeth, my guess is that we'd be surprised. When you stop and think about the word (the times it is used consciously), it generally denotes a level of contentment or satisfaction with an event, project or one's state of being.

How did the business meeting go today, dear?
It went surprisingly well!

And yet, "well" can attach itself to the beginning of almost any variety of phrase, whether in answer to a question or to continue a conversation; whether it is good news or bad.

What is the prognosis, doctor?
Well, it doesn't look good...

I add it on all the time, whether I'm telling a funny story or talking about cancer. And I do it without thinking. Does tacking on the word give an additional second and a half to formulate what one is going to say next? That makes sense to me.

But why the word "well"? Why not "See" or "Lookie here" or just take a breath? This four-letter word can be a harbinger of dismal news as much as it can characterize peace, almost as if it is actually pointing toward the noun-ish definition instead:

-n.- a pit or hole sunk into the earth to reach a supply of water.

It's ironic that many people might be using this particular image to subconsiously characterize their own life or circumstances rather than convey a sense of peace. Or maybe we grasp at this word, because we'd like some well-ness to affix itself to our circumstances; to let the prelude to our day be to some peace to reach for out the bottom of the pit.

Then again, maybe it is in the darkest pit of death that the waters of baptism spring cool and deep.

Quote of the Day

2008-04-14T10:20:00.000-04:00

"I am concerned with a certain way of looking at life that was created in me by the fairy tales, but has since been ratified by the mere facts." G.K. Chesterton

Me too.

A Lonely Desk and Small Hopes

2008-04-09T13:01:00.008-04:00

The photo wasn't where I'd left it.

It was a picture of myself and two good friends that I do not get to see often enough. He, a professional, licensed, and rather skilled Christian psychologist. She, beautiful and extremely gifted with young children with a quick wit that lays quietly and then pounces out of the brush like a patient lioness springs after her prey. The psychologist and I are in ties and dress shirts; she in a stunning evening gown as we playfully hold her horizontal across our arms, all of us smiling for the camera. It's a fun memory of a friend's wedding. I'd left the photo in my desk drawer intentionally so I would bump into it often in my hunt for pencils or ibuprofen. But now, it was lying on top of the desk.

Someone else had moved it, just as they'd discarded the tall, slender lamp that usually stood sentry on the end of my desk onto the floor, oddly underneath it, looking like a wounded soldier lying on the field in too much pain to move. Those same hands that displaced these fixtures yanked the neatly tucked bottles of communion wine from cozy sleeves in their box, disemboweled several filing cabinets, helped themselves to some lemon pound cake in the refrigerator and whose sticky fingers are perhaps typing across my laptop keyboard as I peck away on this unfamiliar one.

"I'm sorry you had a rough day," several people shared. I was grateful for their loving and genuine concern. But "rough" wasn't the word I would have used. While certainly I wasn't happy that someone (or "ones") chose to take from me the peaceful morning routine of reading, communiques and sermon preparation I was looking forward to (to play CSI with police investigators, complete with dusting and pictures) or that they thoughtlessly imposed the inconvenience of calling repairmen to restore the broken window in the fellowship hall and filing insurance claims (ironically, the agent had just been robbed too), I wouldn't say I felt "rough" or harried or panicked. I didn't even feel stressed-out about it (although I was certainly tired at the end of the day). I was even a little curious why I didn't feel "violated" or "unsafe" as many testimonies after a theft confess.

As I sat in my chair, picturing some flannel-and-jean clad young men anxiously rifling through my space, heard their dull-witted delight at finding the stash of wine, mused on why they moved the baptismal font off the chancel to the front doors of the sanctuary, imagined them sprinting down the hall of the church with their loot, I found myself feeling sadness; sadness for the small hope that looks forward to nothing bigger than $30 in cash, a tablecloth full of wine bottles and a laptop after the prime of its life. If indeed, the glory of God is a life well-lived (as Irenaeus said), I grieve their loss that comes with such little gains.

I don't miss the laptop. But I do miss everything it represented: connectivity to friends and years of meaningful correspondence, its long memory of class notes and papers, sermons and Sunday school lessons; how it was a launch pad for new words and ideas and a vehicle for entertainment through games and movies. Of course pastors and friends have been functioning well for centuries without them. Nothing replaces face-to-face or even voice-to-voice, not even (most especially!) e-mail. But perhaps for my generation, there is some shadow of community; some small awareness that through these plastic boxes, at the other end of thousands of miles of fiber optic cable, are real breathing human beings that mean something to

Post-Script: I discovered a dear friend's church also fell prey to hungry hands. His reflection offers profound illumination into our church's activity. Check it out here.

Picture Albums and Home Videos: Anecdotes of a Forgotten Past

2008-04-04T09:40:00.007-04:00

I'm in a paradox about that oft-used/oft-abused instrument of preachers, the anecdote. I confess publicly now my own over-trained cynicism that comes second nature as I sit on the other side of someone else's pulpit some Sunday I'm out of my own. And I cannot help but start taking notes about how they do things, their method and technique (i.e., manuscript or free form, narrative or 3 point style, etc). And one thing I always seem sure to note is if they fall prey to the great cover-up: telling some story or anecdote or joke at the beginning in an effort to "break the ice" or "warm up the crowd". In other words, to entertain.

Sadly I fail to remember where I heard this (which is appropriate to where this blog seems to be taking me) but I've heard it said that often preachers look for a quip or clever yarn to open up sermons as a way to hide their own insecurity; to please the crowd before prophesying; to win them to your side before you bend them over and tell them what they don't want to hear. So in my over-educated, well-oiled superiority complex, I give the preacher a demerit and am then on the lookout for other indications of their short-comings (which, any good psychologist would probably tell you has far more to do with my own insecurities and short-comings than anything else). Nevertheless, the anecdote in this context becomes the sugar coating on a bad-tasting Gospel. It seems to me the Gospel deserves to be taken more seriously than a punchline or bad medicine; and is certain bigger than the kind of joke that is only laughed at to make the teller feel okay with themselves.

But this is a paradox because Jesus himself is an amazing Storyteller. He weaves images with words to give us a tapestry of the Kingdom. The most memorable, engaging sermons I've heard are often full of stories and personal testimony that reveal the Kingdom in the syntax of real-life. This accounts (sometimes humorous, sometimes grave) offer a tangible memory of the Gospel for a parishioner to take home and play with for a while.

I am rather humbled by all I've experienced by God's grace in my short life; travel, relationships, musical performances, unique experiences, etc. I love living this life God has so carefully set-up around us. And yet whenever I rummage through my memories for an illustration that I hope will not entertain or cover-up but give hand-holds to the Gospel, I have trouble making the connections. I've driven long miles, hiked through mountains and deserts and highlands, flown over oceans and timezones, but I cannot find an illustration to illuminate the journey of the friends to Emmaus (Luke 24).

My wife will grow frustrated with me from time to time (hehe, look at this, an anecdote) when she asks, "Don't you remember when ..." followed by a memory of something she or I said and despite my conscientious effort to [i]not[/i] be like those insensitive, dull-witted cavemen portrayed in TV sitcoms, I'll give her the stereotypical, "Um..." and wince. Recently, after repeating this scene, I realized that I don't remember conversations much, but impressions. In other words, I think I remember in photographs, not in video.

Perhaps a psychologist could better explain what that's about. Or maybe it is simply a sign that I'm not a very practiced observer of life but instead, I spend my energy thinking about how I feel about life (i.e., spend more time thinking about how [i]I[i/] look at life instead of just looking at life!). It's as if Monet paints my memories: as if the images are cast behind a sheet of water; a still picture that shimmers with movement. If my life were a book, it would probably be one of those coffee table books, and have more pictures than words. While I appreciate how God is created me, it would be nice to have eyes to view the world and not orbit around my own perspective; to start with the world and see where I fit, instead of starting with self and moving out.

Maybe to actually be less self-aware and just more aware is the faithful task for preachers.

Quote of the Day

2008-04-01T10:02:00.004-04:00

"The human mind is never more resourceful than when it is involved in self-justification," author Jean Garton has written.

I don't know who Jean Garton is, but they certainly have a point.

Casting Magic

2008-03-27T10:15:00.009-04:00

"For the sake, as he sees it, of the ones he preaches to, the preacher is apt to preach the Gospel with the high magic taken out, the deep mystery reduced to a manageable size...The wild and joyful promise of the Gospel is reduced to promises more easily kept. The peace that passeth all understanding is reduced to peace that anybody can understand. The faith that can move mountains and raise the dead becomes faith that can help make life bearable until death ends it. Eternal life becomes a metaphor for the way the good a man does lives after him. "Blessed is he who takes no offense at me" (Matt. 11:6), Jesus says, and the preacher is apt to seek to remove the offense by removing from the Gospel all that he believes we find offensive. You cannot blame him because up to a point, of course, he is right. With part of ourselves we are offended as he thinks by what is too much for us to believe. We weren't born yesterday. We are from Missouri.

"But we are also from somewhere else. We are from Oz, from Looking-Glass Land, from Narnia, and from Middle Earth. If with part of ourselves we are men and women of the world and share the sad unbeliefs of the world, with a deeper part still, the part where our best dreams come from, it is as if we were indeed born yesterday, or almost yesterday, because we are also all of us children still. No matter how forgotten and neglected, there is a child in all of us who is not just willing to believe in the possibility that maybe fairy tales are true after all but who is to some degree in touch with that truth."

~ from Frederick Buechner, "Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale"

Over lunch one day, a professor-pastor-friend in college told me that for him, whenever he would visit someone in the hospital, that he felt he should remove his shoes at the door because he was about to tread on holy ground.

Another professor, this one in seminary, once told my class that the most dangerous thing that any pastor can do is forget that they handle holy things.

And by holy, I mean magical. Call it an over-active imagination or a divorce from reality, I believe in magic. Not the cantrips we hear about in Harry Potter, that unlocks doors and makes things float. Not modern Wiccan rituals or decapatated chickens or devil worship. Real magic. What Aslan calls, after his miraculous resurrection, "The deeper magic."
What the church calls Easter.

I grew up losing myself in stories about fierce, awe-inspiring dragons, powerful and dangerous wizards and valiant, iron-clad knights. And I cannot help but believe that these journeys into another world were a vital part of the formation of my faith, perhaps as much as any other event that led me to Christ: the freedom to believe in magic; the ability to envision a world where extraordinary things can happen that make a lasting, life-giving difference for everyone. More importantly, the ability to see (on my good days) that world in this one.

I think Buechner is quite right to see the Gospel as a fairy tale. Not an entertaining story that's mostly for children and earns millions for movie-makers. The tales that actually talk back to our reality, peeling back the mundane to reveal the magic that's been there all along; the magic we're often too busy to notice.

The magic of the Gospel and its Easter-Christ, that proves He can bring resurrection to the most unlikely places and people.

But we're scientists and enlightened minds. We want hard proof before we give up our precious time and energy following leprechauns and Holy Grails. We'll take cold hard facts over warm bread and ruddy wine any day.

Because that's what we can control: our facts. Magic is beyond our control; of another world that we haven't spent enough time in to feel comfortable there. But that's just the point: faith in Christ is all about living into another world; or rather, the true world; where the grass is so real, it can cut your feet (as it does in C.S. Lewis' heaven in his account 'The Great Divorce.') .

"My kingdom is not of this world..." Jesus tells Pilate. The crowd chants for their agenda (the assassination of a God-Son they cannot contain). Weary Pilate just wants a little peace and quiet for a change, and a little truth. But even in Jesus' beaten body, magic is already at work that is going to mystically sweep away all of sin (the sin of the crowd that wants him dead, of the betrayer, of the denier, of the bystander-friend who wants to do something but is paralyzed by fear) and open the wardrobe to a magic kingdom, where peace is had, where companions and neighbors find endless joy in serving one another, where evil is easy to spot and where the King is trustworthy, compassionate and just and brings order.

And every Sunday, the preacher dances between lunacy and comfort; between the fairy tale that men and women (who "share the sad beliefs of this world") have forgotten but come every Sunday to hear and at the same time, speaking encouragement to those same tired souls. And all the while, this preacher himself fights to remember that he too is a child and that the bread and wine and Storybook and hospital rooms right there in his hands are magical; visible signs of the holy fairy tale that have punched through the veil; that has more to with the real way of things than reality itself.

The Pursuit

2008-03-19T11:47:00.006-04:00

Philip Yancy begins his book on prayer by comparing the frustratingly different experiences of prayer between our fore-bearers of faith and us today. He quotes several legends (Martin Luther, Jonathan Edwards, etc.) talking about their many hours spent each day in blissful communion with God. When interviewing people today, a vast majority of responses reflect a sadly familiar tune: that while prayer is regarded as vitally important, most people found they spent only 5-7 minutes a day at it, and that, most people did not feel closer to the living God by doing so.

Someone asked me a while back for advice for some scripture passages that they might read with their spouse at night in order to draw closer to God in their marriage and also to one another. This person confessed their previous efforts left them wanting for something more and frustratingly not closer to one another.

As a younger man, I would use quiet mornings to read Scripture and journal about what I would find there. For months, this was a rich exercise. I would rise from the table, feeling like my day had perspective; as if I'd oriented myself to the map and was now ready to begin exploring. Lately, having lost that particular discipline, I feel hungry inside.

Hunger is not a bad thing in itself, really (at least, living in a culture where food is not so difficult to come by). A stomach's growl is our body's very normal way of letting us know it needs more fuel. But certainly, hunger is meant to be paid attention to and reveals an immediate need that requires attention sooner rather than later.

What are we hungering for, then? When our attempts to approach God in prayer, or to know God more through studying Scripture, end with only more longing, what are we missing?

Have we become so existential that only what we experience in the here-and-now has value to us? Maybe we've lost our ability to look at the horizon, to see where our praying and Scripture reading playing into the larger picture of who God is and where our lives fit into the cosmos; the old forest vs. trees problem. Maybe we've lost appreciation for the things that only come with time and perseverance.

"And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces perseverance, and perseverance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us." ~ Romans 5:3-5

Or maybe we are too busy to think about "big things." It's become a litany of the modern day, when someone asks, "How's it going?" quite often, "busy" is one of the words that leaps to our tongues. And if we're not saying it, we're probably feeling it as this polite intrusion is keeping us from getting things done. Maybe we're just too distracted, our brains too cluttered with boxes of obligations to make space for big ideas or a bigger God. And if so, maybe we're so adept at squeezing God into our schedules that the moment we allow more space for it, we're scared at just how much space God can fill; so much bigger than any of the other boxes we shuffled around; definitely much bigger than we could lift or fit neatly into a space some where.

We can be such emotional pack-rats, grabbing hold to everything that seems to have meaning and cramming it into our attics, even though we'll forget it is there after a while, like dusty boxes full of things we'll never use but that takes up space nonetheless.

JP Moreland articulated once that although we have more stuff, more security, more food than any culture in existence has ever had, we are less happy than we've ever been. He argues that it is because in the last 3-4 decades, humanity (Western Civilization specifically) has sought to be happy instead of seeking "a life of virtue." The distinction is that we've equated virtues with ice cream: that we use the same word for foods we like and for what Christ did on the cross (i.e., "I love ice cream" and "God so loved the world...") He says that for centuries, through many cultures, people have pursued a life of virtue over one bent on being happy, and have found a level of contentment, even in the midst of adversity, that seems illusive to many today.

Is that the problem? Are we so bent on being happy, entertained and dazzled, in other words, self-absorbed, that we've forgotten what it is to be part of something bigger than ourselves? Is our stagnation with prayer and Scripture a result of trying to make our own universe, where we shuffle and arrange things around us, keeping the things that give us a moment of pleasure closer and pushing back the uncomfortable baggage we'd really rather not bring to the light of day. Doing that instead of finding the steady joy that comes when we live, not for ourselves, but for something bigger?

People are hungry for answers to questions about God, about why bad things happen, about why they are miserable, or at least, unaccountably discontent. And for some reason, we've all decided we won't be happy until there are answers that will attend to us, like butlers, and bring order to things for us. And until then, we all seem content with misery instead of the agonizing task of crucifying our self-orbiting universe and entrusting ourselves to something bigger; of surrendering our control (which is a pleasant-enough myth) to the One who is life and peace Himself.

It seems to me that seeking peace instead of happiness is more than just avoiding materialism. It's more than rearranging furniture but more like tearing out walls and remodeling altogether. Not just re-ordering but a complete reshaping. Of course, demolition is both messy and dangerous work.

In a recent Nooma video, Rob Bell talks about how often we think of God as being the One who sits way off in the distance up there, and every now and again drops down to visit, to help "blessed" people find parking spaces and bargains at the mall. In the quest to discover what God is like, he offers that perhaps God is more like a song that plays everywhere and in every person; that knowing God is not a matter of knowing the song but being in tune. I bit down on another hook when I listened to him talk about this, tears threatening to break over the wall of my eyelids. It seems to me that being in tune has less to do with understanding musical theory and more about having the courage to play.

Maybe if we all just played more, we wouldn't fret so much about "experiencing God" or finding answers.

Smoldering

2008-03-12T12:01:00.011-04:00

"So you open the Good Book
you thumb to the common lection
and you sit down to read
your expectations minimal - what with your busy week
a few half baked prayers for illumination
waft to heaven like smoke from a smoldered fire."

~ excerpt from a Sermon by the Rev. Ralph
"Preaching - Impossible, Indispensable"

The excerpt is from a sermon that had preachers lined up in its sights. But I found its words penetrated deeper than my own practice of sermon writing.

I can't get this image out of my head. And I'm learning to pay attention when that happens. Just like I'm learning to pay attention to unexpected tears. Frederick Buechner talked about those tears that ambush us, unbidden, entirely un-manufactured or conjured. The moments when a word or image snags us to a jarring halt, like how fish must feel when the irresistible morsel suddenly becomes a lethal hook, and life turns upside down as it's yanked out of the normal world and into something that steals its breath away.

The thing about the images that leap into our hands, flailing like a trout, or the tears that crash like waves upon our cheeks, is that they penetrate with surgical precision deep into our lives, to the stuff in our souls that lives underground; our secret-est hopes and most essential needs that we mostly don't have words to articulate or even know about ourselves. But suddenly, a word or a hope that is uttered by another becomes that shaft of light into the bottom of the well, our eyes (so accustom to darkness) stung and dazzled when our expectations are sliced cleanly in two.

"...everything exposed by the light becomes visible,
for everything that becomes visible is light.
Therefore it says,

"Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you."
~Ephesians 5:13-14

"Wake me up inside, Wake me up inside
Call my name and save me from the dark.
Bid my blood to run, before I come undone,
Save me from the nothing I've become."
~'Bring Me to Life' Evanescence

So what is smoldering deep down that such an image would tear me asunder? I don't despair becoming "nothing" (as the lyrics state). But the melodic rock music that cries out with such psalmic vigor stirs something deep in me as well; the longing for more; a faith deeply in tune with the fiercely joyful melody of the Spirit; a life electrified into action, playfully daring for the sake of the Song. So the fear is not in being "nothing", but "nothing much."

I've been told that Augustine says (somewhere) that hungering after God is itself a gift. Whoever might have said it, there is truth there that I feel in my bones. It's like the way that faith in Christ is also a gift, the way that Christ is both High Priest and Flawless Lamb.

"So, surrender the hunger to say you must know.
Have the courage to say, 'I believe.'
And the power of paradox opens your eye
and blinds those who say they can see."
~'God's Own Fool' Michael Card

I hope I'm aware enough of my generation's (and my personal) longing for existential truth: to actually experience the praise and joy of God as a thrilling rush of gratitude (did King David not dance like a wild man?). But where is the peace in pursuing it? Or more importantly, where does it become not about me? Is being known enough? Shouldn't it be? What is the place where the surreal shoulders-up against our "real"?

O God, you are my God, I seek you,
my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary,
beholding your power and glory.

Because your steadfast love is better than life,
my lips will praise you.
~Psalm 63:1-3

If the psalmists, both in Scripture and today, can long for this, can't we dare to engage the dangerous business of hope for it too?

Sky Fishing

2008-01-31T12:03:00.001-05:00

In a novel by the penetrating Christian author and Pulitzer Prize Runner-up, Frederick Buechner, a character is flying a kite. When asked what he was doing, he responded that he was fishing in the sky. The person pressed the issue by asking what he was fishing for. And the reply was that he supposed he was fishing for God.

Keeping relationship with the living Creator of the Universe can be an inconsistent enterprise at best. You go out some days and the effort is exciting as the wind pulls the lines taut and takes us for a thrilling ride. Other days, you stand in the still field, your kite grounded by the constant press of gravity. You can run as fast as you can, feet pounding the turf, trying hard to generate lift by your own steam. And the kite mimics signs of flight from the effort. But the moment you stop, flutters uselessly to the ground. And still other days, the pouring rain keeps you from going outside at all.

And my guess is that if we’re really honest about it, there are probably more windless and rainy days than days soaring in the sun that we long for. Days like today when the innocence of a quiet town is shattered by the swings of a brutal crime. Days when the pillar of a community or church suddenly falls to the ground, never to rise again. Days when children, who have no business dying, die anyway. And we’re left, holding our kite, wondering and waiting for something to lift us up; trying as hard as we can to make it fly or waiting for a breath of wind to remind that there actually were days of wind.

In both Greek and Hebrew (the original languages of the Bible), the word for spirit (pneuma and ru-ach) is literally defined “wind.” And it occurs to me that the truer faith is not one that has God or the Bible or life or pain or politics figured out (all of them impossibilities), but the one that stands patiently and faithfully in the field, waiting through the uncertainty and doubt for the wind, certain of only one thing: that one day, the wind will blow.

“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” ~Romans 8:26

The Climb

2008-01-10T10:14:00.001-05:00

"When the preacher climbs up into his pulpit, switches on the lectern light and spreads out his note cards like a poker hand, maybe even the vacationing sophomore who is there only because somebody dragged him there pricks up his ears for a second or two along with the rest of them because they believe that the man who is standing up there in a black gown with the smear of styptic pencil on his chin has something they do not have or at least not in the same way he has it because he is a professional. He professes and stands for in public what they with varying degrees of conviction or the lack of it subscribe to mainly in private. He has been to a seminary and studied all that one studies in a seminary. He has a degree to show for it, and beyond the degree he has his ordination and the extraordinary title of reverend, which no matter how well they know him on the golf course or the cocktail-party circuit sets him apart as one to be revered not because of anything he knows or anything he is in himself but because, as an ambassador is revered for the government he represents, he is to be revered for representing Christ."
~ Frederick Buechner "Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale"

I will be traveling on an airplane twice in the next month. That means I will be faced with the unavoidable dilemma that accompanies any such travel: the question about what I do for a living.

It's a mystifying experience. It seems my very countenance has this transformative effect on my fellow travelers, for the moment I share my profession, their demeanor, their posture, their very vocabulary becomes much tidier.

Of course, this isn't reserved to the airplane but also to family dinners, where all those loving eyes turn to "the professional" to give us a "real" prayer.

While my ego sits-up and wags its tail when such attention is lavished on me, honestly it can be a bit bewildering. Of course I'm happy to pray. I love talking to God. But I feel far more compelled, both in seat 13A and my place at the dinner table to say, "No, you don't understand, I'm really just like you. I am a believer on the same quest after God, some days headed in the right direction, some days too tired to move."

But being the medicine man does not afford such liberties. Your headdress and garb set you apart. Not your skin and bones. Not your searching mind or longing heart or little faith. The black fabric and slips of paper behind glass on the wall. They set you aside as "different."

Don't get me wrong: it is a tremendous and deeply humbling honor to be called to this occupation. It is the hardest job one could ever love. But it seems that such an "ambassadorship" can afford the minister certain privileges that he is certain is more due to the quiet yet faithful members who wait anxiously for a Word from God. But the greater worry is that the occupation, the black cloth and the slips of paper, afford freely available permission to "leave it to the professional" (because in our over-worked society, we do not have time but to leave it them).

"A professional Christian." Paul says, "Of this gospel I have become a servant according to the gift of God's grace that was given me by the working of his power. Although I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given to me... " (Eph. 3:7-8). He too was seminary trained and yet gives all credit, not to his grade-point average but to the gift of God's grace. A gift that is made available to all.

My itchiness about being asked "what do you do for a living?" or to pray at family meals is never about having to say the right words on the spot but that others would miss the opportunity to meet with God too; to practice what is more often "subscribed to in private" and left to the ones society calls "professionals." A title most ministers I know would never ascribe to themselves.

And yet, Sunday after Sunday, I take the three steps that places me within view of everyone, I open a Book with trembling fingers that everyone there owns, and attempt to speak the truth of a God who is bigger than any human language nor can be contained by a slip of paper behind glass. The pulpit at the Columbia Seminary chapel holds a placard which quotes the gospel of John, "Sir, we would see Jesus", an injunction to the preacher of the sheer magnitude of what most congregations want in no longer than 15 minutes.

The only thing left is to do what every other baptized believer can do: trust in the grace of God to use the gifts placed inside to open a window to true reality, not because of being a professional, but because God's grace is sufficient.

Forward thinking

2007-12-28T10:13:00.001-05:00

I'm not generally a fan of forwarded e-mails. They often hold the same sentimental platitudes and flimsy theology of a church marquis. But this one, while no weighty dissertation, was still a refreshing reminder of the immutability of God (in the spirit of Psalm 18:1-2) and His activity in an ever-changing global landscape. After a year of tremendous changes (albeit beauty-filled ones), one can be left feeling a little road-weary nonetheless. This forward was a breath of cool air on a warm face.

TOP TEN PREDICTIONS FOR 2008

1. The Bible will still have all the answers.

2. Prayer will still work.

3. The Holy Spirit will still move.

4. God will still inhabit the praises of His people.

5. There will still be God-anointed preaching.

6. There will still be singing of praise to God.

7. God will still pour out blessings upon His people.

8. There will still be room at the Cross

9. Jesus will still love you.

10. Jesus will still save the lost.

I love you, O LORD, my strength.
The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer,
my God, my rock in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
~Psalm 18:1-2

Blocked Out, Part 2

2007-12-19T10:07:00.001-05:00

I've had continued reflections on the way Tetris is a metaphor for "real life."

There is something oddly satisfying in watching the blocks fit into places. When you get the blocks you need to complete the line, you experience a sensation of success; of overcoming the challenges. You are victorious over the challenge presented to you. You are in control.

When you get blocks that don't fit neatly anywhere, you experience a sense of frustration. That ill-fitting shape is an obstacle to order; it is getting in the way of the plan. The screen becomes untidy as small gaps appear in the middle of the work, unaccessible until you clear the clutter above it. Until then, they keep vigil; visible reminders that we've made a mistake and are imperfect or the game has thrown us something that doesn't make sense, and juts out annoyingly, hindering our plan.

I know I want my life to be simple. And when all the blocks fit into the right place, I experience a sense of accomplishment that says "I have control of my life." Control matched with simplicity gives the illusion of power and safety. If I am in control, nothing can surprise me and I can protect myself from getting hurt.

But nothing prevents the ill-matching issues from coming. And eventually, whether I like it or not, I have to accept I have no control over what comes crashing down. Things don't fit in an orderly fashion and I have to learn to negotiate it; those blocks that jut annoyingly into life, in the walk way and sure to be tripped.

But whatever blocks come (the one's that fit neatly into our well-constructed lives or the ones that simply get in the way and nag) we are responsible with what we do with them. Control over life is a myth. Control over how we deal with it, however, has always been in our grasp, despite the temptation to "play the victim" (this is to distinguish from those who are true victims of violence or circumstance), and hand over the controls to someone or some thing else. Or even to a false ideal. Then there comes the temptation to set the game down, refusing the work to fit them at all, and excuse ourselves from confronting the challenge and the hurt doing so can bring. Of course, then life eventually becomes a wreck as the pieces stack themselves haphazardly, giving the illusion that we are more victim of cruel life than ever and granting permission to shut down and die.

Blocked Out

2007-12-11T16:02:00.002-05:00

I made a big mistake. Recently, I downloaded the highly addictive game, "Tetris", onto my cellphone. Seeing as I have never shown compulsive behavior with any other video game, I figured I would write about it now.

In my leg-numbing sessions of wasted time playing it, I've come to realize that life is very much like Tetris.

It is a game that you can never win. You begin with the shapes descending laughably slow, slotting the chunks neatly into form-fitted spaces. You feel a subtle sense of mastery in this small success. The pace picks up. You can still handle all the pieces and you feel good about how well you're doing but you develop a knot of tension between your shoulders. Now the blocks are sliding down like raindrops on a window and the intensity increases. You make a mistake here and there, causing some empty pockets that keep you from keeping up, but you manage to stay afloat despite the gnawing sense of inevitability. Now they're streaking down like comets and suddenly things are piling up haphazardly. The pieces shoot down faster still as you hopelessly watch the blocks fill up the screen until you fall apart altogether. The game wins again. As it always does.

And yet this "game" remains one of the most addictive and timeless diversions ever (and believe me, for a video game to have any notoriety that lasts more than several months, much less two decades, is an accomplishment). Despite inevitable defeat, you hit start and go again. And again. And again. Like the fly slinging his body into the screen, desperate for freedom.

With time as one of our most precious gifts to steward, why spend it practicing futility? When wanting a diversion from the pressure of "real life" (what an oxymoron: what most people call "real life" is neither real nor life), why do we hand over the 20-40 minutes to something that is not real? You might pat yourself on the back for getting farther. But then you drag your mind out of the game, lift up your eyes and look around the room at a world that cares nothing for the numbers on the screen. And it is definitely not changed or made beautiful, nor does it know God more because you managed to push certain buttons in a certain sequence into a certain end.

The game is the "world". We pick it up every morning to play by the game's rules: rules that favor the house and ensures that no matter what, we do not win, nor, in the end, do we matter. And as we lower our attention into the well to dangle in darkness, we are unable to notice the real world shining above us, seemingly far away: the reality of God and His Kingdom that does not keep score by the rules of the game or place value on how high our scores may seem.

At the helm

2007-12-07T09:25:00.001-05:00

The church is quiet this morning, as if I were the First Officer on a sailing ship in the middle of the night, manning the tiller while everyone else is asleep. This is accentuated by the fact that the town is also quiet due to the icy glaze on the pavement that keeps people safely on dry ground. It is something of a holy, pregnant moment, as if the building itself were waiting for something to happen. The phone will rip into the silence or the front door's distinct clack-hiss when the metal flap that keeps the wind from blowing through the crack between the double doors springs open and the weather-stripping slides over the tiled narthex.

But then the expectant waiting blankets this place again, as if the walls were bracing themselves for what is to come. Soon, the decks will be swarming with activity as sailors attend their specific duties to which they are trained. I can see each of them with my mind's eye, out of focus with the present. The words of a true smith come to mind:

There is the sudden silence of the crowd
above a motionless player on the field,
and the silence of the orchid.

The silence of the falling vase
before it strikes the floor,
the silence of the belt when it is not striking the child.

The stillness of the cup and the water in it,
the silence of the moon
and the quiet of the day far from the roar of the sun.

The silence when I hold you to my chest,
the silence of the window above us,
and the silence when you rise and turn away.

And there is the silence of this morning
which I have broken with my pen,
a silence that had piled up all night

like snow falling in the darkness of the house -
the silence before I wrote a word
and the poorer silence now.

"Silence" by Billy Collins

A thought that woke me up this morning:
Preaching: A moment of transformation, bound together by the Holy Spirit, around the study, reading and proclamation of Holy Scripture.

Draw Nigh, Emmanuel

2007-11-29T13:44:00.001-05:00

It seems to happen more quickly every year: the holiday season returns! If we’re going to be picky, however, we cannot actually call it “Christmas” just yet.

We’re already hearing the call to “get into the Christmas spirit.” But calling it “Christmas” is something of a misnomer. The word “Christmas” gets turned into an adjective, used to describe other words or events (i.e., “Christmas cheer”, “Christmas sales event”), instead of being the focus itself. “Christmas” isn’t shopping, present-wrapping or even movie reruns on TV, however deeply woven into the holiday as they may be. They are simply the tokens that surround this particular holiday. It can be all too natural to treat Christmas music on the radio and God’s less-than-glittery entrance onto Planet Earth as if they were equal parts of the greater Christmas puzzle. But I have yet to see mention of tinsel or stockings hanging in the barn (or anywhere in the Gospel account)!

Now don’t get me wrong: I love this season! I love the decorations and seeing the candle-lit windows as I drive down the road. I love the cold weather and the promise of snow on the wind. I love visiting with family and eating savory home cooking. I love the Poinsettias and the Chrismon tree gracing the sanctuary. And believe me, I love the presents! It is not a sin that Christmas is fun!

But we expend shopping bags of energy and fray quite a few nerves on the filler that surrounds Christmas, like negotiating mall traffic or clamoring after the highly sought-after toy. But we give precious little time preparing ourselves for Christmas. We fret over menus and tidying up guestrooms but do not spend the same energy in changing the sheets for the most important Guest of all. The church calls this season “Advent” (from the Latin for “arrival” or “coming”) for a good reason: because the arresting mystery that God would come and be a human with us is worth slowing down to get ready for. The carols, rolling off our lips as fluidly (dare I say, inattentively?) as the Lord’s Prayer, deserve a new hearing:

O Come, O Come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel

“Captive Israel”: that’s us. How captive we can become to our culture’s picture of the perfect White Christmas, and often we don’t even know it. We get wrapped up in celebration but also distracted from the truest joy: that God is not far-off but Emmanuel: “God-with-us.”

Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel has come to thee, O Israel!

Rejoice indeed! God is coming! Emmanuel ransoms us from the hostage crisis of sin and a culture that does not know Him. He refuses to abandon us to our own devices or leave us blissfully caged in unawareness. Advent is our season to get ready for Christ is coming!

Is this a guilt-trip against reveling in the holiday? Absolutely not! It is a call back to the source of peace on Earth: the Holy One, the Hero who rescues us from captivity. It is a challenge to not fixate on the things that surround Christmas, but to worship with joy and wonder, the One who is Christmas itself!

Stolen Property

2007-11-24T11:36:00.002-05:00

I made off with this powerful quote from a good friend's blog:

"The tragedy of life and of the world is not that men do not know God; the tragedy is that, knowing Him, they still insist on going their own way."

William Barclay (1907-1978)
The Revelation of John [1961] (Vol.II)

Incidentally, you should check it out: rentveil.blogspot.com

2007-11-13T12:05:00.001-05:00

Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen. ~Ephesians 3:20

God is good at "abundant." It seems whenever our Lord is present in something, abundance follows. The best laid plans of mice and ministers are nothing compared to the increase He so often provides. Granted, God is present whether we sense or experience abundance or not. For certainly there are many who call on God to come near and deal with a situation abundantly (either in mercy or justice). And many-a dark night has left people sensing anything but abundant emptiness. Or an over-abundance of questions.

But that does not diminish the joyful moments where God's gracing is so evident. Just like our wedding reception at home (our wedding was so far away from our church family, we wanted to have an alternative so as to share the celebration close to home). It was wonder-filled to see my brother talking to my friend's step-father, or discovering how church friends of mine were childhood friends with a close friend of hers and the joy of their rediscovery; a joy piled onto the celebration of the occasion. Or our college friends, having driven 4-8 hours, reuniting with other friends for the first time. Or our church family striking up conversations with our biological families. Such a collision of the spheres of our lives sent a pulse of curious wonder, with waves of laughter and friendly conversation lapping against the walls.

In other words, never had I glimpsed heaven so closely as I did that day. Indeed, God provided more than our imaginations could have ever captured.

You would have wept for joy too...

2007-10-30T16:01:00.001-04:00

"Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away;
for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come,
and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.

The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom;
they give forth fragrance.

Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

~ Song of Songs 2:10-13

New Creations

2007-10-30T12:08:00.000-04:00

The sting of cold metal and I have never been the same since.

"Therefore if any man is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come." 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NASB)

I appreciate the NASB's translation of this: a new creature. There is something primal about that which, to me, seems to reflect just how deep the change goes. I try to be wary of my sentimental tendencies but there was something tangible that took place when she slid the steel ring upon my barren yet anxious finger. And I have utter conviction that this was a moment "in Christ," there doing what the Christ does best.

While shadows of the old life flicker, there is still transformation breaking through, like the determined sapling cracking through the frosted ground. We both commented as we drove back through town for the first time, it is really a different town altogether now, even if the buildings and the faces all look the same. It is, indeed, something new. Newer than I could have dreamed.

Another line. I wonder what happened to this poor place.

Waves massaged the aching shore.
Clouds bruised the skies.
Rain wrinkled the surface of the water
while the city burned.

Tending the Garden

2007-10-16T10:13:00.001-04:00

The deeply insightful novel by Jamie Langston Turner entitled "A Garden to Keep" is the journalings of a woman who discovered that her husband has been unfaithful. The entire book is her working through the process of anger, grief and the discovery about who she really is. It has a very "stream-of-consciousness" feel but the threads weave together beautifully to create the tapestry of her journey.

The main character is deeply in love with poetry and often the side-trails of her journey took her into writing poems of her own. She would have a line of poetry capture her attention and she would write it down. Then she would begin writing a poem backwards, adding a line that would precede the original one and then add another line before that, careful chiseling the words and phrases until she had a completed picture. A handful of entries back, I wrote a line that captured my imagination and yesterday, I thought of a line to work into it. I also reworked the original to get away from the passive voice. As a friend from college once said, "Alliterated for your listening pleasure."

Clouds bruised the skies and
rain wrinkled the surface of the water
while the city burned.

Again, I have no idea why this is so grim! It is like the way I love symphonic works in minor keys. Maybe more will come to me on this poetic journey too.

At my bachelor party over a week ago, we sat around the campfire, each of the men offering a nugget of wisdom on married life. My uncle offered the analogy that a marriage is like a garden, always in need of tending, weeding, pruning, watering, etc. I've always felt the tug to start a literal garden. It is a metaphor that applies so deeply to ministry as well (as many astute scholars and Jesus have pointed out). And considering both marriage and ministry are matters deeply important to God, maybe I should start gardening just to learn more about both and the God who institutes them.

Small bites

2007-10-11T10:32:00.000-04:00

Another line for another unwritten book:

As the door opened, the chill autumn-wind crashed into him, causing the skin on his face to crawl for warmth.

And I realized last night that when I experience her respect, I am invincible.

Cleaning House

2007-10-10T09:24:00.000-04:00

"I sorta like how all of our stuff is becoming one..." she said as she combined the dregs of her bottle of Kikkoman's soy sauce with my own. Merging all of our stuff is tedious work, deciding which spatula stays and which one goes to charity. Especially when condensing two kitchens worth of rarely-used knick-knacks and single-purpose utensils into one kitchen with little cabinet space. But it is a good work.

Our pastor said that one of the convictions of Christian marriage was a matter of discovering a "new center of loyalty." That notion is intrinsically 'Gospel' as really the whole of the Christ-life is a de-centering from self and a reordering on the Creator. That makes sense to me since marriage is designed to be testimony before it is matrimony (and not the other way around).

It seems the word, 'mystery', can have the connotation both of a sense of bewilderment and a state of wonder. And it seems that the specific version of mystery that is marriage hugs both. And the work of combining the soy sauce and vinegar bottles demonstrates that.

He said it is very much like moving into a house: you carry the boxes of your life into the space that you live. Then you work together to decide which pictures/treasures/furniture becomes part of every day life and what goes into storage. But most importantly, the arranging doesn't end once you've 'settled in.' Rather you periodically bring down another box from the attic, open it up and together decide what becomes part of the home, what goes back into storage for a later time or what bits of our baggage that needs throwing out altogether.

Moving into a house is cluttering work. First you have boxes piled in major walking areas. Then as that box gets unpacked, contents spill into every last available space. It actually gets messier before things find their place in the order of daily house-life.

Letting go is also a Gospel work.

Campaigning for Justice

2007-10-03T14:09:00.000-04:00

Does no one else think there is something profoundly wrong that presidential candidates are already raising $20+ million for an election over a year away? We already know what they believe. So our "most capable" pundits are the ones who can swindle the most money? We are so willing to dump money into people who parrot our ideals and yet we pinch greedily the $20 that would feed a child for a month. What difference does money given to potential politicians do when the budget of just one such candidate could give clean water to an entire nation?

Book Opening

2007-10-03T08:58:00.001-04:00

Not that I'm writing one. I just thought it would be a "grab your attention" sort of beginning (even though it is rather dark):

The water was wrinkled with rain while the city burned.

Some other lines that have been sloshing around in my brain:

I live in my head
but it's more like house arrest.
Won't You evict me?

Hmm... it became a haiku...

E-mail Articulation

2007-10-02T16:20:00.001-04:00

Just e-mailed this to the officiating minister of our wedding, who was checking in. There, I found some words I needed to say.

We do have to remind ourselves often of what the running around is for so as not to be overcome by the details. But really, it is the issue of perspective, expectations and trust that continues to threaten our joy most. With moving boxes and setting up house, I’ve been reminded that we are much like college roommates, still discovering the boundaries and style of our shared and individual living space. And we bump corners there more often than we agree. For all the joy of such a union, there is still the inherent (not necessarily negative) culture shock of adjusting to new space (both literal and figurative). And when both of us come into it having spent a lot of emotional energy chiseling exactly what it is suppose to look and feel like, those bumps can start feeling bigger than they really are. Even when I know my expectations are out of whack, my heart (where I dwell most comfortably) cannot be bullied into awareness; it still wants to feel slighted and irritated. The prayers have been for perspective: to realize that which shelf we put the plates and cups really doesn’t matter at all. The reminder of healthier perspective comes when we’re with someone else and our attention is diverted from self-circumspection and other-suspicion. It’s like we’re sacramentally transformed into union when we stop thinking about it. Why can’t we just choose to not take it so seriously?? :)

Sayings Worth Remembering

2007-10-02T15:08:00.001-04:00

"An educated people are
... easy to lead
... difficult to enslave...
... and a joy to govern." ~ origin unknown

"A man may carry the whole scheme of Christian truth in his mind from boyhood to old age without the slightest effect upon his character and aims. It has had less influence than the multiplication table." ~ J. G. Holland (1819-1881)

"We spend our lives, not enjoying the things we've bought, but paying for them."
~ a colleague in ministry