Quote of the Day

"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

“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…

Be

From Psalm 46

Help us, Isaiah....

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....

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!

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?

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

"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.