Forward thinking

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.