The Only Thing We Have

“Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.” - Angela Monet

I love my deck.

Its not much, really. Some comfortable chairs, some floral arrangements and greenery. Surrounded by woods.

Its quiet. Occasioned by the sounds of the distant neighbors dogs barking at imaginary bogey men. My iPod plays out my favorite songs du jour. I can drink my favorite adult beverage. My wonderful wife usually joins me for a while and we talk. Sometimes its just me, or just me and the dogs.

From my deck you can see nothing. But from my deck you can see everything.

Good weeks and bad weeks both find their homes on my deck. Sometimes its triumphal relaxation. Oftentimes its reflection and planning. Sometimes, its nothing more than relaxing and de-stressing.

This past week could fairly well be said to be one of those "what-just-happened-to-me?" weeks. The week started with an unplanned trip to the dentist (which can never be good) and was finished with the yearly physical with my family doctor (something every middle age man dreads). These wonderful events sandwiched two fifteen hour days and a third trying to get caught up. Nothing, but nothing, went as expected. Especially the visit with my family doctor.

I like my doctor. He reminds me of "House", except his humor isn't quite as sharp.

I'm not the type to worry too much about my health (a fact you can probably tell) but his congratulations to me for beating out 25% of my compatriots made me stop and think. Typically, that would be a good thing. But he was referencing the fact that the first symptom 25% of people with heart disease have is sudden death.

Come again, doc? Hmm.

That will wake you up some. My ticker, he says, is making a sound that it shouldn't. Instead of "tic-toc" its saying "tic-ta-toc." Think that clicking sound under the hood when your teenage daughter thinks driving the car with the oil light on is a good idea. Its one of them things that make you go, hmmm....

The good news, he said, is that its still making a sound. So I win something, just not quite sure what. He says its some new doctors in my not too distant future. Won't Blue Cross / Blue shield love that?

I'm sure I will tell them they same thing I tell my family doctor: I'm the best patient you will ever have; I know I am going to die, your job is to keep it at bay so I can live.

So back to my deck. What does this have to do with my deck?

"What does the worker gain from his toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him." Ecc. 3:9-14

The Teacher caps off his famous "for everything there is a time, and season for everything under heaven" passage with this simple observation. Clearly, the Teacher had a back deck. And clearly, he sat in the stillness to appreciate all that God had done already. He knew the rest that the writer of Hebrews spoke: a rest that says we may approach our God in the quietness of the deck and find mercy and grace in our time of need. (Heb. 4:16)

From my deck I can see into the master bedroom and my wife working hard at her job. I can see into the living room as the kids watch TV and dogs play. I can hear the sounds of the trees, and look into the sky. I can try to fathom the things of God, and laugh at my failure. And I can relax in the moment. And think of nothing. And everything.

In those moments the world is right.

Perhaps blogging about it shows that the doctor's news bothers me. But I really don't think it does.

As I sit here on the deck I can see the most important people in my life, that which I toil for, and I feel the presence of God. From the deck I can see how He has provided for me while I have been living my life. And I have no doubt that will continue.

If anything, my deck reminds me that no matter the outcome of any medical exam or work experience, I can refocuses my mind on the things and places and people that are really important.

These are the things I frequently lose sight of. And something God quickly brings back to my attention.

For when I lose sight of that which is ultimately important I cease to live anyway, and merely begin to exist.

And that would be something to really fear.

4theluv

Fads, Fictions and Faith

"A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it." - Oscar Wilde

Are you willing to die for what you believe?

That was the bold statement of a Christian of his personal committment to Christ in a local community forum while discussing Christianity with a professed forum atheist. It was a typical amateur religious debate. But the thread caught my attention. It dealt with how persecuted Christians are (or at least believe themselves to be) in the current liberal media culture, and how being a Christian is such a challenge with the current shift in world views in our society.

Now, religious debates can often be quite amusing, mostly because of the seriousness that each side takes in their positions, and the fun to be had in attacking the other's position. Local community forums are often the hot bed of such amateur joustings and forays into expressing beliefs and opinions on all things godly (and ungodly). But they usually devolve into parrroting the latest dispensational sermon they heard, of the most recent airing of Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity.

I must admit that in my younger days I relished such experiences, and felt as if I was defending not only the one and true faith, but also the one and true God. Such is the naivete of youth. Little did I realize that the true and living God got along quite nicely without my aid for many an eternity.

And, unlike the professional debates, like the recent one at Samford between John Lennox and Christopher Hitchens, the amateur debates tend to ultimately devolve into "God said. I believe. And that settles it." A kind of Madalyn Murray O'Hare vs. Bob "Chaplain of Bourbon Street" Harrington, round 34. Usually the Christians involved begin to talk about how they would willingly die for the cause of Christ, and strangely how they fear that America is turning so godless that martyrdom will be a real issue facing Christians in this country in the not too distant future if Christians don't act now.

Now mind you, I am all for hyperbole, and don't mind using it myself to make a point, but the analysis of current American culture, godless and liberal, does not even begin to suggest to me that Christians in the country will face a persecution that will end in death on any kind of noticeable scale. And, ultimately, would it be such a bad thing that our society would so despise Christians that death would be quick and sure for those who follow Christ?

But really, is dying for Christ really the test of one's Christian beliefs? And by making such grandiose claims do Christians really believe they will win the world for Christ?

I don't think so. Shall we ever forget that in the early morning hours of September 11, 2001, 19 men, armed only with their religious convictions and box cutters, hijacked four airplanes, killing 3,000 people and themselves? These men, like so many of their brethren, were willing not only to die for their convictions, but kill for them as well. Christian, Muslim, Hindu (!) and other world religions have all had their share of dying and killing for their convictions.

Ultimately, as a test of truth, death tells very little of the veracity of one's convictions. And how absurd it is to use it as a test in a society where the chance of martyrdom is so remote as to be nonexistent.

The other answer often promoted in such debates is a willingness to live for Christ. The "WWJD" mentality. That is most often translated into some moral life lessons on what a Christian should "look like". What positions Christians (or at least, white middle class Christians) should take on godless issues confronting society, how they should confront ungodliness and godless people, make daily devotions and prayer, and register church attendance and giving. It means learning the appropriate head wag at the sins of others, while whitewashing our own sins. It means Peter Pan outfits and plastic smiles. And "purposefully" learning this year's "Prayer of Jabez", whatever that might be, in the Basement.

It is attaining the a form of godliness, but denying its power.

But then, if martyrdom is not in my future, what is the test of my Christian faith? Is it defending God in the forums? Fighting for the political cause du jour? Learning the latest Christian fad? Gaining positions of power to make the face of Christianity less absurd and more accepted? Is it living, and dying, for Christ?

I think Christ had the answer to that question. In his parable of the sheep and the goats, Christ made clear at least a part of His answer to the question.

Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.' "Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you? The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me. Matthew 25:34-40.

Of note in the parable is the nonchalance of the sheep. They did their acts of charity not for the rewards of heaven, and not in their search for deeper Christian meaning, but because of who they were, where they found themselves, with whomever they came into contact, and because of who He had transformed them into.

So casual and unassuming were their loving deeds, that they did not even notice they were doing them, and thought nothing of doing them because they were simply the right thing to do, the loving thing to do. There were no "purposeful acts" or ulterior motives, nor seeking of enlarged borders. They were simply being sheep. His sheep.

Paul, I think, said it well. "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." (I Cor 13:13).

The older I grow, the more I truly realize there is nothing I can add to an already perfect God, or the work completed by His perfect Son, Christ. He needs no defense. And my death will complete none of His work. That doctrine becomes real, that head knowledge becomes real, and more and more becomes heart knowledge. I can add nothing to what He is doing in my life I must simply trust that He is, and He will do with me His purpose.

The older I grow, the more I realize that the real question, at least for me in this society, is not "Am I willing to live, and die, for Christ." It is, "Am I willing to love because of Christ?"

And that is a much harder question.

Happy Easter.

4theluv

A Shot to the Nose

"Erected to the memory of John Phillips. Accidently shot - as a mark of affection - by his brother." - Gravemarker in New England.

In the early 70s my family lived in Aurora, Colorado in a quiet little neighborhood much like many of the older towns here in Alabama. I came across it the other day looking up old places I lived on Google Earth. (The address is 986 Dearborn Street, Aurora, Co if you want to see it yourself.) The center of the neighborhood was Ford Elementary School, which, from our little home on Dearborn Street, was literally over our back yard fence. During second and third grade I walked to school, and went home everyday for lunch.

Next door to us, on the corner, lived the Crofts. Mrs. Croft was a folk guitarist, and, looking back, probably had much more of a sixties mindset than my family had. In my mind I can still hear her playing her guitar and singing "Blowin' in the Wind", and, while at the time I didn't know who wrote the song, stands as my first ever memory of any Bob Dylan song. Her son, Taylor, and I are the same age and played together regularly in those days. Those were the days when G.I. Joes were full size dolls, and, with their great king fu grip, Taylor and I played G.I. Joes for hours like most 6 and 7 year old boys of our time.

However, this quiet neighborhood was broken up occaisionally by the neighborhood bully. I am sure that every neighborhood has them, and this quiet little neighborhood was no different. Unfortunately for us, ours lived in the corner house directly across the street from Taylor. His name was Jeff, and though only a year older, was much, much bigger than either Taylor or me.

I don't know that Jeff was your typical bully. I don't recall him ever beating me or anyone else up. I don't recall him yelling or taunting us. All I remember was being intimidated by him and his size and if he wanted to come and play with our G.I. Joes he did - and we didn't question or fight back. We viewed ourselves as powerless, helpless and weak to his greater power and authority. And I have never forgotten that feeling of intimidation and weakness that Jeff caused just by his presence. Bullies take because they can and hurt because they will. While justifications for their harm may be offered, justifications are not necessary.

Fast forward a few years to another quiet neighborhood in another town. At the end of Hahn Ave, the street where we lived at the time, moved a new family, the Coles. They have one son, Marc, who is approximately the same age as most of the other boys that live in our little section of the neighborhood. Marc wore thick glasses, and was fairly skinny and lanky.

By the time they moved in, the boys in the late pre-teen early teen years were already friends in the neighborhood. There was me, Eric, Van, Chris, Greg, Michael, Rob and Mark, all of us within a year or two of each other's age. For some reason, when the Coles moved in there was some collective consciousness among us that we would not accept Marc into our "group" and would treat him with contempt. And pour it on we did. For absolutely no reason, as certainly Marc had never done anything to any of us other than to look weaker than us, he was chosen during those years to be the outcast, the focal point and butt of our jokes, the target for snow balls in the winter, and verbal assaults in the summer. And, like the immature children we were, we could justify our actions toward Marc if they were ever questioned.

In truth, Marc was a decent guy just trying to get along, and we, me included, were nothing more than bullies, making his like miserable for our own pleasure. In later years, toward the end of high school, Marc, the Van Halen devote', was finally accepted in our "group" of Pink Floyd and psychedelic rock listeners and would hang out and listen to music with the rest of us on Van's killer HiFi. But those early years were clearly hell for Marc, and they were that way because of me.

As I look back on those two times in my life, it is scary for me to see how quickly I went from bullied to bully, not learning the lessons of my earlier days, and forgetting the empathy that adversity and trial should inevitably bring, but for some reason doesn't deliver. But I look back and see, that is how the world works - the strong, by force of might or deceit of mind, prey on the weak as if they are not persons, or at least persons worthy of their presence and friendship. The strong justify their own actions as either being entitled to behave in such a manner, or that the weak deserve such treatment. The weak are something to be used for the amusement of the strong. That is the way of the world. It is the way to hide their other weaknesses and insecurities.

John tells us "But whoever hates his brother is in the darkness and walks around in the darkness; he does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded him." (1 John 2:9).

Like a shot to the nose, those words ring out against me. They convict me. They condemn me. They beat me up and bully me, calling me to examine my own heart and attitude and actions, even as I witness the heart and attitudes and actions of others. How quick I am to judge others in relation to myself, all the while over looking my own weakness, failings, and faults. And how blinded by the darkness I am when I fail to love my brothers and sisters in all their weaknesses. When I sit by quietly and permit the strong to prey on the weak.

Often I see, even within the church, the sense of entitlement that strength and power bring. I witness, among my brothers and sisters, and even within myself, an attitude of contempt and derision of those who are weaker in the faith, weaker in the body, and weaker in the soul. I witness the weak bullied by the strong, I know God is not in those actions, and Christ is not honored therein. I see the fragile souls entrusted to our care, and the wreckless and careless manner in which they are treated. And how, like poor John Phillips, they get caught in the cross fire of their brother's "affections". I see how we often suffer it to be so by inaction and inattention.

And I witness how quickly we forget that it is not our strength which unites us, but rather our weakness. How we are each sinners struggling through this world, completely and totally relying on the power of Christ to save us, and not our own. And how we forget how desperately we need the love of each other, as brothers, as sisters, just to find our way.

I am glad to be a part of Community Prebyterian Church, a place where the Marcs and the Jeffs can commingle, and each recieve the care and love of Christian brothers. And hopefully find the peace and acceptance and respect each deserves. A place where we want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead. (Phil 3:10-11). And while we are by no means perfect, we are a place where we try not to shoot our brothers, not even by accident.

To the Marcs in my past, my present and in our church, I seek your forgiveness. Both for my actions, and for suffering the actions of others.

To Jeff's of my past, my present and in our church, I offer mine.

And to each know that we have tried to put away our childish behavior and cannot and shall not withdraw our love.

God, help us to continue to learn what it means to love one another.

4theluv

Look What's Missing

"Many of us believe that wrongs aren't wrong if it's done by nice people like ourselves." ~Author Unknown

Over the Christimas break the 4theluv household received one of the worst domestic cleaning tools ever produced - the Bissell Spotbot. This little "jewel" boasts that even the toughest carpet stain is no match for its specialty formula cleaning solutions and its whirling brushes and water suctioning.

While they still look pretty good, as with every American family that has children and pets, the carpets at the 4theluv house show their wear. Through the years, things get spilled, pets have accidents, kids have accidents, parents have accidents and things get tracked through. While looking skepticly at the Bissell Spotbot and all its boasted claims, the 4thluvs decided that the worst of the stains had to go. After all, it couldn't make it look worse.

So what the heck, we thought. Let's give it a try. We filled the little machine with its "magic" formula, some recommended oxy-clean formula, set the machine over the stain we wanted gone, "set it and forget it". The whiring sounds set in motion, the high pitched whining, the back and forth of the brushes in its six inch circumfrence was a sight to behold. And ten minutes later this mechanical demon beeps its maniacal, almost satanic beep that it is finished.

Moved off the spot, the remaining carpet was still a bit damp and circularly brushed, but you really coudn't tell much. So you do what every self-respecting Bissell Spotbot owner does - you move it to the next spot and repeat. And of course, you repeat this action four times on four different stains, as that is about how many you can do on one tank.

The problem only appears after the spots dry. The problem, of course, is that all the hype and claims of the Spotbot are true. Absolutely true. 100% true. Way too true. The thing works better than it claims. There is no longer stains where the Spotbot was at work. The carpet looks brand new - fresh from the carpet mill. So soft and fluffy and fresh you wold lay your newborn baby on it, as long as your baby is smaller than six inches.

Now the 4theluvs consider themselves educated people. We tend to think through issues both theoretically and pragmatically. But the theoretical and pragmatic problems of the Spotbot escaped us both - perhaps because we didn't expect the claims to be true. The clean circles on our carpet now ridicule the dirt and grime on the rest of the carpet - carpet that didn't look too bad before we began. Now it looks like it should have been replaced years ago.

To say the least, Mrs. 4theluv was not happy. She wanted to know what we were now supposed to do with the crop circles in our carpet - the clean spaces. Those little round wonders of soft downy carpet pure as the driven snow. My only suggested was that we could show off our holes when people came to visit. (The couch was comfortable that night.)

And that's when it hit me - how many Christians live their lives showing off their holes? The things that they don't do. Those grand statements of how hole-y they are. Jesus had something to say about that:

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt: "Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed thus: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.' But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, 'God, be merciful to me, a sinner!' I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted. - Luke 18:9-14.

I have no doubt the Pharisee was not those things he said. He was defining righteousness by what he was not, and what he was. He was the display of perfection, a legend in his own mind. His holes were brilliant - he had hole-iness he could spout off and proudly display. And all of us repulse at that notion because we know that self-righteous arrogant jerk found sadistic pleasure in putting other people down.

It is so easy to condemn the Pharisee. But stop and think for a moment: don't each of us define "righteous" as those things we personally don't do, and those things we personally do or want to do better? And don't we gage the spiritual health of others by the standards we created for own righteousness? Isn't church about comparing our clean spots and learning how to accentuate them - all the while trying to cover up how dirty we are in other places?

Like my carpet, our "clean" spots only serve to highlight how desparately hopeless our situation is without Christ. But it also serves to showcase the promise and glory of the gospel - that our sins, though like scarlet, will be washed whiter than snow, and though crimson, will be as wool. (Isa. 1:18) Without Christ, there is no hope for any of us, no matter what we don't do.

I am glad, and hope it will always be so, that Community Presbyterian Church is a place that honors people not for the holes in their lives, but the Christ within them, our only hope. And perhaps all of us, the next time we are tempted to point out those sins we don't commit but others do will remember the lesson of the Spotbot.

Happy New Year.

4theluv

PS - at the next yard sale for the church, there may magicly appear a Bissell Spotbot for sale. Feel free to buy it at your own risk. Just remember - it works. You have been forewarned.

A Matter of the Heart

“I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses.” - Taylor Caldwell

STABAT Mater speciosa iuxta faenum gaudiosa, dum iacebat parvulus.	BY, the crib wherein reposing, with His eyes in slumber closing, lay serene her Infant-boy,
Cuius animam gaudentem laetabundam et ferventem pertransivit iubilus.	Stood the beauteous Mother feeling bliss that could not bear concealing, so her face o'erflowed with joy.
O quam laeta et beata fuit illa immaculata, mater Unigeniti!	Oh, the rapture naught could smother of that most Immaculate Mother of the sole-begotten One;
Quae gaudebat et ridebat, exultabat, cum videbat nati partum inclyti.	When with laughing heart exulting, she beheld her hopes resulting In the great birth of her Son.
Quisquam est, qui non gauderet, Christi matrem si videret in tanto solatio?	Who would not with gratulation see the happy consolation of Christ's Mother undefiled?
Quis non posset collaetari, Christi Matrem contemplari ludentem cum Filio?	Who would not be glad surveying Christ's dear Mother bending, praying, playing with her heavenly Child
Pro peccatis suae gentis Christum vidit cum iumentis et algori subditum.	For a sinful world's salvation, Christ her Son's humiliation She beheld and brooded o'er;
Vidit suum dulcem Natum vagientem, adoratum, vili deversorio.	Saw Him weak, a child, a stranger, yet before Him in the manger kings lie prostrate and adore.
Nato, Christo in praesepe caeli cives canunt laete cum immenso gaudio.	O'er that lowly manger winging, joyful hosts from heaven were singing canticles of holy praise;
Stabat, senex cum puella non cum verbo nec loquela stupescentes cordibus.	While the old man and the maiden, speaking naught, with hearts o'erladen, pondered on God's wondrous ways.
Eia, Mater, fons amoris me sentire vim ardoris fac, ut tecum sentiam.	Fount of love, forever flowing, with a burning ardor glowing, make me, Mother, feel like thee;
Fac, ut ardeat cor meum in amatum Christum Deum ut sibi complaceam.	Let my heart, with graces gifted all on fire, to Christ be lifted, and by Him accepted be.
Sancta Mater, istud agas, prone introducas plagas cordi fixas valide.	Holy Mother, deign to bless me, with His sacred Wounds impress me, let them in my heart abide;
Tui Nati caelo lapsi, iam dignati faeno nasci, poenas mecum divide.	Since He came, thy Son, the Holy, to a birth-place, ah, so lowly, all His pains with me divide.
Fac me vere congaudere, Iesulino cohaerere, donec ego vixero.	Make me with true joy delighted, to Child-Jesus be united while my days of life endure;
In me sistat ardor tui, puerino fac me frui dum sum in exilio.	While an exile here sojourning, make my heart like thine be burning with a love divine and pure.
*	*
Fac, ut pulchrum infantem portem, qui nascendo vicit mortem, volens vitam tradere.	Let me bear Him in my bosom, Lord of life, and never lose Him, since His birth doth death subdue.
Fac me tecum satiari, Nato me inebriari, stantem in tripudio.	Let me show forth how immense is the effect on all my senses of an union so divine. All who in the crib revere Him, like the shepherds watching near Him, will attend Him through the night,
*	*
Fac, me Nato custodiri, verbo Dei praemuniri conservari gratia.	Make me by His birth be guarded, by God's holy word be warded, by His grace till all is done;
Quando corpus morietur, fac, ut animae donetur tui nati gloria. Amen.	When my body lies obstructed, make my soul to be conducted, to the vision of thy Son. Amen.

*Removed by 4theluv for doctrinal reasons.

For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel. Luke 2:30-32

Christmas was both the fulfillment of God's promise to send a Savior, and the beginning of the fulfillment of His promise to save us through the death of His Son on the cross.

Merry Christmas to all.

4theluv and family.

iTuning My Heart

And it's whispered that soon if we all call a tune, then the Piper will lead us to reason. And a new day will dawn for those who stand long, and the forests will echo with laughter. - Robert Plant, Stairway to Heaven

Like most everyone else in the known and civilized world, I have iTunes on my computer and an iPod which carries my music on the road. My iTunes contains 1,246 songs, totaling some 5.2 gigabytes of data. If I set my iTunes to simply play it would take, according to iTunes, 36.9 days to play everything on my iTunes one time.

Burt has always said that you can tell where your heart is by looking at your checkbook. I wonder if the same applies to iTunes? So I decided to look and see what my top played/rated songs are, and what it might reveal about me. Below is my top played songs in order of most played.

1. You Ain't Goin' Nowhere (Bob Dylan)
2. Every Grain of Sand (Bob Dylan)
3. When We're Through (Act of Congress)
4. Red River Shore (Bob Dylan)
5. Love Comes for Free (Act of Congress)
6. The Well (Act of Congress)
7. I Disagree (Act of Congress)
8. Wedding Dress (Derek Webb)
9. The Pilgrim: Chapter 33 (Kris Kristopherson)
10. Paint It Black (Rolling Stones)
11. The Battle of Evermore (Led Zepplin)
12. Stairway to Heaven (Led Zepplin)
13. Motorcycle Drive By (Third Eye Blind)
14. Brain Damage (Pink Floyd)
15. Wish You Were Here (Pink Floyd)
16. Bohemian Rhapsody (Queen)
17. Whiskey Lullaby (Brad Paisley/Alison Krauss)
18. This Too Shall Be Made Right (Derek Webb)
19. We Shall Be Free (Garth Brooks)
20. Misery & Gin (Merle Haggard)

Pragmatically, I don't know what my musical tastes say about me. Perhaps it simply reflects my moods at certain times, or a particular style I favor over others, or even a sense of personal musical snobbery. Or perhaps it speaks of something that I want to express myself but lack the talent to express it in such ways.

In looking at the list, I know there is very little "Contemporary Christian Music" (as in none) which I care to listen to on any kind of basis, which some would say is attributable to my poor spiritual condition. (While I am sure my musical tastes is on that list of my spiritual deficiencies, it probably does not rank in the top 5.) I am just not content to listen to the flood of mediocrity and doctrinal error which supposedly passes these days for "Christian" music.

I tend to lean toward music that makes me think, or in some way expresses the fallen human condition. (Though I must admit "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere" is just a fun song.) But most of my musical tastes lean toward the contemplative and the descriptive. Take, for instance, Dylan's "Every Grain of Sand" - written toward the end of his fundamentalist faith conversion. How much truth is there to the lyrics which express, for every believer, periods of doubt and isolation. Says Dylan, "I hear the ancient footsteps, like the motion of the sea. Sometimes I turn there's someone there, other times its only me."

Or consider the Stones "Paint It Black." "I look inside myself and see my heart is black /I see my red door and it has been painted black /Maybe then Ill fade away and not have to face the facts/ Its not easy facin up when your whole world is black." Now Jagger is singing about lost love, and how his world is torn apart, but you can hear the the tale of a lost soul in that song.

As I observed these things about myself, I had to wonder what songs will appear on my iTunes once God has completed His work in me, and Christ reigns supreme. In a very real sense, the gratitude I have in the completed work of Christ frees my heart to sing the songs of salvation. The Apostle John gives us a bit of a hint:

"And I heard a sound from heaven like the roar of rushing waters and like a loud peal of thunder. The sound I heard was like that of harpists playing their harps. And they sang a new song before the throne and before the four living creatures and the elders. No one could learn the song except the 144,000 who had been redeemed from the earth." Rev. 14: 2-3

The day is coming that our hearts will be iTuned to the redemption songs of Christ's completed work. What a song we have to sing to Christ. The black hearts, the bottom of the glass, and the doubts will all disappear. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

I don't really know what my iTunes says about me. Perhaps it says I am a deep thinker deeply in tune with the power of Christ and the truths of the world.

Or perhaps, it just says, I'm weird.

4theluv

The Gamble

"Now evr'y gambler knows / that the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away and knowing what to keep.
cause evr'y hand's a winner / and evr'y hands a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep." - Don Schlitz "The Gambler"

One of the interesting parts of my job is the number of people I come into contact with on a regular basis. I have mentioned it before, but I often come into contact with the "Great Unwashed" - a vast collection of those people in our society who have minor problems that need resolution. When you have been doing this as long as I have, you get to know the both the people, that is, the regulars, and the type, that is the regular types of people that come in.

There's the soccer mom, who rarely has problems and is clearly embarrassed by her presence. There's the business man, whose visit is a waste of his valuable time and hates being near the other unwashed - people who are clearly beneath him. There's the high school and college student, kids (yes, kids) whose life experiences lack an appreciation of the repercussions of their actions - both short term and long term. There's the unprivileged, those for whom violence, arguments, fights, drinking and drugs are an every day way of life - and have been their entire lives - and their problems are not their fault but others. And there's the privileged, those whose money and wealth can't buy them happiness, but can certainly stave off their own loneliness - if only temporarily.

Of late, two particular people stand out. I will call them Audrey and Michael (not their real names).

Audrey's story is really not unique. Audrey is a middle aged woman with teenage children. A single mother, Audrey traded on her looks long past the time she should, but still believes her gregarious nature and the wiles can make others overlook a multitude of problems. About 8 months ago, Audrey joined the ranks of the few and the proud i.e., the crowd that I work with a few times a month. Audrey's problem was alcohol. Nothing in her record would indicate that she has an ongoing problem with alcohol, and so a standard course of treatment was prescribed. Six or seven months of working with her, monitoring her and making sure she was following the prescribed plan was all that she needed. And so for six months she did everything according to plan. She was a shining example of complete rehabilitation and the success of the therapy.

And so her final visit was scheduled and it was anticipated that it would be routine. When she called to say that she would be a little late because she was caught in traffic, no one really thought much of it. Her traffic delay was a little longer than she anticipated. She finally made it a little after lunch time but because her appointment was in the morning she stood in front of me demanding to complete her appointment before the afternoon crowd.

Big mistake, as my patience tends to have some limits.

While she was standing there demanding of me, I noticed she wobbled just a bit. Now I've been doing this long enough to know what that means, and you have probably already guessed it - she was drunk.

I don't just mean drunk, I mean tanked. Wasted. Knee-walking. Hammered. Way over the top.

Based on her test given at the time, this woman, who drove herself to the appointment, was two and one half times the legal limit. (For the math challenged like me, that is .20, the legal limit being .o8). This woman had put countless people in danger to come to her appointment, late, to convince us that her alcohol therapy had worked. And that tends to make me angry.

She gambled that we wouldn't discover the extent of her problem. She lost.

Because of our own liability, our protocol said we could not allow her to leave. (Imagine how little faith we have in people to come to their appointments sober that we have an established protocol for a someone who doesn't. Let that sink in.) So we had to sit her down until such time as she was sober enough to leave, but we would not allow her to drive under any circumstances. So we reset her final appointment for two weeks later, and sent her to sober up.

Then this middle aged mother of teenagers had to do something unthinkable - once she had sobered up enough to leave, she had to call her 16 year old son to come and pick her up. How humiliating that must have been for her. How life-changing that event must have been not only for her, but for her child as well. I cannot even begin to imagine the emotions of that moment fo her but more importantly for him.

This woman had no hint of problems. Not one. No inkling of a problem. Nothing in her history to even suggest it. So when she showed up two weeks later for her final visit I knew we would have to discuss the events of the last one.

Unfortunately, that was not possible, for on her next "final visit", just last week, she showed up smelling of alcohol. This time, though, her test only showed .09, but still over the legal limit. And yes, she drove herself again. Once again, we had to invoke our protocol. And once again, she had to call her son to come get her.

Running through my mind were the words of Proverbs 26:11 - "Like a dog to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly." Working in this environment one can certainly see the truth of the total depravity of man. And it would be very easy, and at times is very easy for me, to fall into the despair. Our lives are set and we can only change ourselves so much, and no more.

Then there is the story of Michael.

I wish I could say that Michael's story is better, and in some ways I guess it is. Michael is 20 years old, lives in an adjoining state, about a three hour drive, works at a Burger King, and is the type of kid that has probably been picked on regularly since middle school, and bullied all through his life. A bit socially awkward, perhaps caused by a slight stutter, but still always made his appointments pleasant and was nice to talk to. Michael and I talked for about 10 minutes about his problem, and he seemed like he was happy to talk with someone about the problem. No sense of anger, or lack of personal responsibility, Michael approached his appointment and our discussion with a sense of relief and joy.

Like Audrey, Michael's problem was also alcohol, though no where near the extent of Audrey's problem. Just simply being 20 years old and drinking alcohol is a problem. And of course, my goal is to see that his problem never gets to the extent of Audrey's. And again, we have our protocols, and our treatments, and Michael's treatment was fairly simple and could be accomplished long distance in the state where he currently lives, with treatment compliance being monitored and concluded without the need for him to return.

As a part of our protocol, we set Michael for a final visit really just to check to make sure we had received everything, but not expecting Michael to show up. But at the appointed time, Michael showed up for his appointment without any evidence of compliance with the treatment plan. Again, we talked for about 10 minutes. He explained that his work and schedule had precluded him from completing his program in the alotted time, and promised that if given another chance he would get it done and send us everything.

Hoping against hope, we set his final appointment again with enough time for him to complete it, and with the hope that he would not have to make the journey again. But, as you guessed, the appointed day arrived and there was Michael, sitting patiently in the crowd, having made the 3 hour trek just to make his appointment. And again, you guessed it, he had done nothing. Again we talked for about 10 minutes about the issues, but coming up with an alternate plan for completing his program, as it was clear that he could not do it from where he was living. He looked a little sad as he left, though. And then it hit me.

As he walked away I realized something about him that he had in common with Audrey, and perhaps most of the other people I see in that place - he was lonely. I always try to treat people decently, even when they screw up completely. And one place he felt safe and respected and treated with some modicum of dignity was at those appointments. Audrey sought solace from her loneliness in a bottle, having found no comfort in her relationships, even with her own children. Many of the people I see in that place truly live what I, in my exalted view of myself, think of as sad lives, seeking solace from sources and places from which they can never find true relationship and peace. Lulled to sleep by things that provide only a temporary feelings of being alive, only to be realize the isolation it actually brings.

We are taught, at least in modern philosophy, that our lives are dealt to us and certain things we cannot change. Our lives are what we make of them. "Every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser" and you have to know what parts of our lives to throw away and what to keep. But ultimately all we can hope for is to die with little or no pain in our sleep, as if we had never lived. And Audrey's story, repeated far too often, convince me that there is some truth to that. We just need someone to show us the way.

St. Augustine, in his Confessions, made an interesting observation, often repeated: "You have made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they find rest in You." I see, on a constant basis, restless people - lonely people. People who long for something they know not what and asleep to the truths of the gospel. People, whose only hope is to die in their sleep, numbed to the pain that the loneliness of isolation from Christ brings.

Now I am not naive enough to think that the pat answer of "they need Jesus" is in any way sufficient. Rather, I know that even though I am just like them, I have a hope that there is something better than the hand I have been dealt. And a hope that I pray is displayed in the graciousness and respect of others, and a confidence of contentment with myself.

Peter said, "But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect..." I Peter 3:15.

The verse is often used as a pretext for "apologetics", i.e, arguing people into the Kingdom of God. But a true understanding of the depravity of man, the loneliness of man, the restlessness of depravity, helps us understand that we can not argue anyone into the Kingdom of God. Rather, I think verse teaches us to live life in such a way, that hope, the very power of Christ to bring life, is evident from who we are, our very being. And it anticipates that when people see that hope in us, they will ask the reason why we have such hope.

And it is that verse, that understanding that through Christ loneliness is vanquished, that keeps me going back. I see people who have been rejected in so many places, and so many ways. But I know there is hope, even for them. The hope that if Christ can change me, make me a person who in some way shows that there is hope, and a reason to be alive, to make others feel accepted even when they disappoint, that just maybe I can give them a glimpse of this Christ I know.

Springing up within us is the Hope of the World - hope for the soccer moms, the businessmen, the kids who can't see the future, the unprivileged and the privileged, the Audreys and the Michaels. I have come to realize that God has given to each of us a ministry, a place of service, if for no other reason than to proclaim His hope.

At least, that's the real gamble, the risk I am called to take. That God has put me in this position to display His grace in Christ and that my "ministry" is perhaps exactly the ministry God calls us all to- to show His hope to the world in which we live in.

And that these people, the "unwashed" need the hope of Christ as much as any other person in my part of the world.

And that each of us travel different paths in a world filled with people whose only hope is that they die in their sleep. Indeed. How sad.

4theluv

What It Doesn't Take

Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how it's done, they've seen it done every day, but they're unable to do it themselves. -Brendan Behan

As a long time Christian, I have sat through many a "concert" designed to build the self esteem of someone in the church. It is important for us to encourage and support our young people at church. ("Young people" is a much broader term now than it used to be.) However, most such concerts and performances leave you thanking God, either that it is over, or that Tylenol can be bought in bulk at Sam's. But you do it because it is the right thing to do.

With that in mind, and after much ado, I purchased the new CD on iTunes from Act of Congress entitled Declaration. Of course, being the great church member that I am, I did so as a sign of support for one of our own, Adam Wright. I've heard Adam sing at church with Stokes and Connie, and seen him lead us in worship while Stoke has been gone. All-in-all, he's got a good voice and a great attitude. So, I thought, what's ten bucks to show the guy some love?

All I can say is, wow, was I wrong. Ten bucks doesn't begin to reward the talent shown by these musicians and vocalists.

As a church, we are blessed with so much musical talent, which starts with Stokes and Connie. And I knew Adam was good, but before this album, I never fully realized the depth of his talent. As a church, we are fortunate to have him with us.

Now, admittedly, I have an affinity for the more philosophical music of Bob Dylan, Roger Waters, John Lennon, Bono and (more recently) Derek Webb, and the pop music of groups like the Eagles, Rolling Stones, and the song writing of artists like Dylan, Kris Kristofferson, Neil Young and Sam Cooke. But if this first album is any indication, that list appears to have grown by one: Adam Wright.

While not perfect, the freshman CD from Act of Congress is better, deeper, and more aesthetically pleasing than 98% of the drivel that passes for music from many more accomplished and acclaimed bands and song writers.

The band as a whole performs the harmonies and melodies on the album with a tightness that showcase their vocal and instrumental talents. The band, an ostensibly acoustical blue grass / rock sound, is at its best when it sticks to its distinctive sound and stays away from the over produced sounds of "Not Crazy" and "In the Middle (Remix)". These songs are catchy, and likable, but the style and sound is overdone by every upstart band that wants to sound "big time." The rest of the album proves AOC can sound "big time" without changing their musical sound so dramatically. These folks are truly talented.

But what really sets this album apart is the song writing talent of Adam Wright. Adam's lyrical and musical writing reveal a musical maturity and Christian doctrinal understanding well beyond his young years. Adam brings a distinctly Christian message without being preachy, and without targeting the WDJC "God squad" audience base.

This is a young man going places. Like the true artist he is, Adam has the ability to paint deep doctrinal truths in pithy lyrics.

Starting with "In the Middle", Adam sets the stage for much of the rest of the album. In it, Adam conveys the idea that when we take an honest look at our own hearts, we really are unlovable .. at least in our own minds. And letting someone in, even Christ, leaves us vulnerable. "What kind of person do you see / when peeking into this heart that is brutally / Beaten down with failures, taunts and insecurities / I'm cynical it seems these days. .. Hearts of stone will never get it / Love will find us if we let it .."

It is the human condition to search for ultimate meaning while pursuing the mundane things of life, or, as Adam says, "I just want peace of mind / and coffee with my cream." (A line, I am sure, that will make Starbucks happy and is somewhat reminiscent of the way Mrs. 4theluv drinks her morning java.)

In "Love Comes for Free," Adam throws you back to the simple sounds of 60s folk music while retaining a distinctly Christian and gospel oriented message. Without a doubt, everyone knows both the "Used car salesman who works around the clock / Selling lies and cashing checks of the people on the block" and the "Wealthy preacher who knows just what to say / and if you give him cash and coin he'll help you find your way". Their "crooked grins" and "hearts of stone" belie their selfish motives. Adam juxtaposes this greed with the selflessness of the man named Jesus "who loved until he died / And after doing nothing wrong took a bullet for his bride."

Ultimately, Adam accurately points out that love is not the response to what others can give you, rather, selfless giving is the response to those you love.

By far, though, the showpiece of Adam's clearly God-given talent is his song "The Well." It is the song of Christ, lovingly calling us to himself. However, it does not typecast Christ in the role of sickeningly sweet but ultimately impotent beggar just hoping we will come to him to solve our problems and make life rosy, but rather as a Parent/Savior to walk with us through the terrors of this world, warning us of its dangers but loving us in our sin. Sung as a ballad, the song tells the story of the fall in the garden, and Christ's redemptive call to his people.

Its richness is evidenced throughout. Consider these words: "I've loved you as long as I've known you / and I've known you as only my own / But you traded my love for watered down wine / And a burden to sleep with alone." Those phrases are so tightly packed with truths that when you contemplate exactly what is being said, you understand the self-imposed isolation of your own sin -- and you can't help but cringe at the truthfulness and isolation it causes.

But Adam doesn't let you off the hook, as he proves he has mastered the one-two punch. He follows those lines, in haunting a cappella, with, "Do not be afraid, your fragile and trembling hand is no burden to hold / For your sins as red as a sea of scarlet, I'll wash 'em whiter than snow." The mental image of holding the hand of my own children as they were scared, crying, and alone, for me was no burden, and for them, a lifeline of safety and comfort. How Adam, a young married man with no children of his own yet, can capture such imagery is beyond me.

From there, Adam moves right into "The Nature of Things." At first blush, the song is about seeking forgiveness for harsh words to his wife, but Adam adeptly understands and conveys that our broken relationships are due to our fallen nature, and they can't be fixed by firm resolve to do better. "Pride has scarred these lips ever since they touched that damned fruit on the tree / and blinded me / Wrong is how my life began / and right is something I have never been".

But once again, Adam does not simply spell out the problem, but leads the listener to the solution, a cry to Christ: "You're telling me that this is normal now / You're silencing fear with your voice in my ear / How can dead men live again? Save me I am yours."

AOC finishes the album with "I Disagree." Though not explicitly Christian, it is a tribute to the value of relationships that are built solely on love. Harkening back to the isolation themes of "In the Middle" and "The Well," Adam writes of longing to let someone in, and the comfort that comes with that action. "Love is something I believe in / 'Cause it makes lonely disappear" is a great statement of what true love does for us.

Now all the accolades on Adam Wright might lead one to believe that the writing of Chris Griffin on the album is somehow deficient. This would not be the case. "Not Crazy" and "When We're Through" are in the pop mindset, and their genre a bit out of step with the rest of the album, but the songs are memorable, well written, well sung, entertaining and fun to sing. Further, "When We're Through" accentuates the bands harmonies and musical abilities, and from a purely audience delight standard, has the "pop" that makes it one of the best songs on the album.

All is not serious on the album. AOC does prove their lighter side with "Five Minutes of Fame", a light hearted look at the popular phenomenon of "American Idol" type shows.

Self-indulgent? Yes.

Fun to listen to? Absolutely.

As I said, these people are talented. The only thing that would have made this album any better would have been to end it with AOC covering Dylan's "I Believe in You" or "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere." They would rock those songs.

Paul said, "Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given us." Rom. 12:4-6.

In many ways, AOC has pulled off the improbable: blending good music with a good message as freshman band mates. They are nearly everything I am not: talented, smart, and gifted. They are a part of the body I wish I was. And, in the end, AOC took my feeble nod of support and countered it with great music, with a great message.

Take my recommendation (for what its worth): this album is worth owning, and even more than that, worth listening to on a regular basis. It is in now on one of my regular playlists.

Its an easy album to like. And $9.99 on iTunes is all it takes to own such a great album.

But what it doesn't take to like this album is an Act of Congress. And for that, you can thank Adam.

4theluv

P.S. - Adam, the "good, bad and gross things" is just a little too pithy.

One Day at a Time

You run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking / Racing around to come up behind you again - Roger Waters

There is something about summer that annually reminds me of one of the finest books written in the last century - The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway. Each summer I try to read the book as a part of vacation time, and each time I read it, I find myself in its pages.

Though many interpretors of the book have tried to turn it into an allegory for Hemingway's own wrestling with the Catholic faith, I must agree with Hemingway's own words that the book stands on its own without having to read more into it than really exists.

The story revolves around an old fisherman in a Cuban village named Santiago, and a young boy who takes to his dreams and hopes named Manolin. There is nothing spectacular about Santiago. He lived his life chasing the sun. He wakes in the morning. Sleeps at night. Fishes by the day. Only to start it all again.

The book is set at a particularly hard time for the old man, when his routine is interrupted. For 84 days, he has gone through the drudgery of his daily ritual (sleep, wake, fish, sleep) with no results - no fish. And no fish means certain death. The villagers call him unlucky, and young Manolin is forbidden from working any longer with him. The old man tells Manolin that his luck is going to change as he plans to take his small fishing boat further out into the Gulf Stream than ever before and bring back fish.

True to form, the old man, traveling far out in the Gulf Stream, hooks a huge marlin. The ensuing battle between old man and fish goes on for two days, with the third day the old man finally able to spear the marlin. Exhausted from the fight, the old man is both happy and sad in that he finally landed the catch of his life, but the respect the old man has for the fish is like that of a brother.

Finally, though, the old man can return to his village, his bad luck gone, with the largest marlin ever caught. He can almost hear the accolades of the crowds as he heads toward home. His only problem: the fish is too big to fit in his boat, so he straps it to the side and makes for land. Anyone who knows anything about Hemingway knows that happy endings are not the stuff of which he is made. The fish blood trail created by the marlin attracts the sharks, and though the old man battles the sharks, they eventually strip the marlin's carcass to nothing but bones before he can return home.

The old man is, in many ways, allegorical. He happens to be old and poor, but his dissatisfaction with his life is true of people from all walks of life, rich and poor, young and old. Because hs toil has yielded him nothing, he accepts the judgment of his village that he is a failure, and that acceptance forces him to launch into unchartered waters to change his position.

I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him. Ecc 3:12-14

In many ways, I am the old man, seeking not just the fish of the day, but the big one that will set me apart. I often feel as if I am spinning my wheels - just chasing the sun. Never satisfied with the daily toil, always looking for that which will improve the position that I am in. And while seeking to do my best is not in and of itself wrong, I often confuse the satisfaction with my work that God has given me with satisfaction with the results of my work, the fruit of my labors. In the security of my occupation, I often forget the providence of God in my daily life.

May Christ grant me the privilege of resting in the satisfaction of my toil, to be happy and do good while I live, and to take each day as a new gift from Him to complete that day's task.

And when He calls me to, may I launch the boat a bit further out.

4thluv

My Friends All Wear Bunny Suits

"Great indebtedness does not make men grateful, but vengeful; and if a little charity is not forgotten, it turns into a gnawing worm. " - Friedrich Nietzsche

I am one of the world's worst at giving gifts. I forget birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, special occasions even for those closest to me. Without a calendar keeping up with it, (and the pesky people around me who insist on reminding me I am another year older) I would forget my own birthday.

"A Christmas Story" is one of my favorite Christmas classic movies, and regular around my house between Thanksgiving and New Years. From the flag pole "triple dog dare", to the back alley bully with yellow eyes and the father whose artistic medium is swear words and "fa ra ra ra ra" are classic. The movie is filled with so many classic scenes of childhood trauma that each of us can identify with on some level, yet still find comfort in the knowledge that a now grown-up Ralphie is the narrator, and turned out quite normal. (No mention is made of the need for huge doses of therapy). For those who know (and like) the movie, even mentioning it brings a smile to your face.

One scene stands out as a universal experience to me: Ralphie's aunt sends 10 year old Ralphie a pink bunny suit for Christmas because she thinks he is a 4 year old girl. It is clear both Ralphie and his dad are both perplexed and disturbed with the gift. How should you respond to such a gift? Well, mom, of course, has the answer: the same way you respond to any gift. Ralphie owes it to his aunt to put on the suit out of gratitude for the gift. The sight of a 10 year old boy looking totally embarrassed in a pink bunny suit is classic.

The scene is classic because it touches on an aspect of society that hits us all. All of us have been given gifts at Christmas, or birthdays, or other special occasions that are as useless as pink bunny suit. Sometimes they are from the crazy aunt or neighbor, sometimes our parents or kids, and, worse case, from our in-laws. But polite society demands a gracious acceptance of the gift and a faux display of appreciation. But if the gift is especially nice, something highly useful or thoughtful or expensive, we immediately begin to finds ways to repay the gift, feeling indebted to the gifter as and feeling guilty that our own gift to them does not measure up to what they have given us.

I often have lunches with friends in my profession. It is quite common that, when out at some lunch, one of us will pick up the tab for us both. Mentally, we keep tabs: he bought this time, I'll buy next time. But this is not true gift giving, it is gift trading. Gift giving is a virtue, no doubt, but it is not truly a gift when it becomes the currency of friendship, to be swapped and traded on a like kind basis.

As a Christian, I am often called upon to be motivated in my Christian life out of gratitude for the gift of what Christ has done for me. In a very real sense, I feel guilt that my sin required Christ to die for me so that I could know and live with God. I cannot understand the truth of God's gift to me without the sense of indebtedness to Him for it. But I constantly have to ask myself the question, "Is either guilt or gratitude a basis for living the Christian life?" Should we really live the Christian life from an "attitude of gratitude at the magnitude" of what Christ did for us? (Lest there were any doubts, now you know for sure I am a former Baptist with phrases like that.)

The story of the exile from Egypt gives me pause in reviewing my motivation. It is clearly written with the intent to evoke the drama of the situation. The tribe of Israel, once free, now lives as slaves in Egypt. And God gives them the great gift of liberation.

God raises up a leader from the very household of Pharaoh, to lead the people out of Egypt and into the Promised Land. The ten plagues, the crossing of the Red Sea, manna from heaven, and water from a rock. The foes of bondage, attack, hunger and thirst had been met with the calm hand and displayed power of God. The spies go out into Canaan and find that there are giants living in the land, with swords and armies, and its Moses plan to attack. The people rebel, saying things like "it would have been better to die in Egypt or the desert than to die at the hands of these swords." God has clearly had enough of these people. But he does not indict them for their lack of gratitude or their refusal to repay His deliverance of them from their bondage with their very lives if necessary. Instead, it is their lack of faith, their lack of trust.

The LORD said to Moses, "How long will these people treat me with contempt? How long will they refuse to believe in me, in spite of all the miraculous signs I have performed among them? Num. 14:11.

Suddenly the motivation, the umph, in the Christian life for me begins to make sense: the response to the gift of God in Christ is not indebtedness, it is trust and assurance that if even sin could not separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus, then neither can any battle I might face, including death. God does the deliverance of his people so that they may trust He will do the same deliverance in the future. He does them not to be repaid, a debt we couldn't repay anyway, but to call us to trust in His care for us despite the circumstances.

Please, don't get me wrong, gratitude is an appropriate response to any undeserved gift. But I am learning that a gift is not really a gift if something is expected in return, be it a thank you, a return gift, a free lunch, or a life of dedication. Such quid pro quo robs both the giver and the gift of its true grace. Perhaps Nietzsche is correct when he says that a great indebtedness makes us vengeful, makes us feel enslaved to our creditor. And though we often sing that message in song, and hear it preached, that is clearly not the message of the Gospel.

Perhaps gifts should be given just to let us know we are friends and the giver will be there with us until the end. Perhaps the gift is evidence of the relationship we have, and its value is in the relationship it represents. And when given freely, it conveys the message that the future is will hold the same relationship.

Thanks for the maroon on green sweater, mom. I'm sure it goes with something I own. Even more, thanks for telling me you will be there with me through the years.

Where did I put that bunny suit?

4theluv

God on the Mountain

It is not because the truth is too difficult to see that we make mistakes... we make mistakes because the easiest and most comfortable course for us is to seek insight where it accords with our emotions - especially selfish ones. - Alexander Solzhenitsyn

Some days I don't feel like a Christian.

Reading this week's Newsbits concerning upcoming youth functions brought me back to the joyous days (ancient days, according to my kids) when youth retreats were annual events. The trips always included a long bus ride somewhere where us teens, completely hip with our cassette players and headphones (usually playing "contraband" music) would act completely bored, but were secretly excited about the independence a week away from our parents would afford. There was the usual awkward teen interplay between the sexes, closely monitored of course, the camp atmosphere, usually decent food (we all ate more on retreat than we ever did at home), and some sort of day outings to places like putt putt golf, a water theme park, or some similar out of the ordinary experience for most teens.

The retreats were always centered around bible studies and songs, and talks that built a sense of community and fellowship among the participants and evoked the strong emotions of knowing God. These events were intended to bring about more mature thinking about who we are and knowing God's love for us in Christ. They were designed for us to experience God, to know and feel His presence, and His will for our lives. Events like candle-light services, nailing our sins to a cross while singing choruses of "Jesus Paid It All, All to Him I Owe" which, in retrospect seem trivial, but in that moment, at that time, made the presence of God very real and concentrated every emotion we had on dedication to Him.

The retreats would always end with a "Youth Night" at the church, a Sunday night service where we "youth" would lead the church and show forth the community and fellowship and dedication that we had built during the week away. The service would range from anecdotes of the funny experiences of the week, to testimonies of the changes we intended to make with our lives. It would end with a call to the church to be as dedicated to the cause of Christ that we now had.

Even in those days, I recall thinking that the "experience" of the retreat was just that, an experience with God. Emotional, fulfilling, and desired. And absolutely unavailable to anyone who was not a part of it. You simply had to be there. They were, as Oswald Chambers calls them, "exceptional moments." The only thing the church would see was the immediate impact on us, and they could pray for the long term impact on us all.

The response to those exceptional moments was both positive and negative. Positive in the sense that we built community, understood the God of love presented in Christ, and sought meaningful change in our decisions and directions. But negative in that the immediacy of God's presence on those trips led us to believe we were more in tune with God than others, and also led us to believe that the Christian life should be one long "exceptional moment" and euphoric experience.

For many years, my Christian life was spent feeling unfulfilled because I did not feel the immediacy of God's presence and did not live in a constant "retreat high". I had to pay bills, work with people, deal with traffic, including some guy who cuts me off in the middle of my prayer time on the interstate. (A good place to pray, I might add.) Life impeded on my mountain top. And it took me years to reconcile within myself that it was ok to be normal, and real, and to live my Christian life in the ordinary surroundings of modern society.

Paul deals with much of the same issues when he talks about his longing for heaven.

Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come. Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. We live by faith, not by sight. We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord. (2. Cor. 5:1-8).

Paul expresses all of our desires to experience the immediacy of God's presence.In such powerful language, Paul declares that while on this earth "we groan and are burdened". But tucked away in Paul's passage concerning longing to be with God, is a little phrase: We live by faith, not by sight. (2 Cor. 5:7). What Paul is conveying to me is that our present existence and experience are not indicators of God's presence, or lack thereof. We cannot look at what we have, the trials we experience, or the way we feel to determine whether God is present in our lives. We must simply live by faith that He is there.

What I learned from those years of longing for the immediacy and presence of God, the "retreat highs", is that I was not looking for God's presence, I was looking for the "feeling" of God's presence. It was only in those "feelings" that I could feel secure in Him. But the truth is, it was nothing more than my selfish desire to demand Christ reveal Himself intimately to me. Emotional confirmation that He "is", and I am His. It was me demanding of Christ that He conform to the way I want to experience Him. How selfish we are when God's unconditional love for us is arbitrated by our feelings.

Each of these are distractions from the truth that Christ is there, even when I'm cut off in traffic and I don't feel like a Christian. I've learned there is nothing wrong with those moments, when Christ reveals His presence in a unique and fresh way, but there is something in demanding He prove himself repeatedly by inspiration to me in the ways I demand. That is not walking by faith, it is living completely by sight.

Some days I don't feel like a Christian. But that doesn't change the truth that I am. I am learning to appreciate the retreat highs, but find my security solely in the truths of Christ.

Solo fides.

4theluv

Failing Up

“Marriage is three parts love and seven parts forgiveness of sins.” - Lao Tzu

Wednesdays are garbage days around the Luv house. That is a special day in our lives, as it is the day that Mrs. 4theluv and I get to review the evidence of our passive aggressive natures. You see, to ask Mrs. 4theluv, it is a constant and continual failing of mine that I don't take the garbage out of the house near as much as needed, nor near as much as Mrs. 4theluv desires.

Now understand, the right time to take the garbage out is the source of debate in many households, not just ours. I am sure many husbands face similar failures in their own lives. But that is only the beginning. See, I am a morally conscious individual. I believe that taking out the trash is not just the man's job, that just about anyone is capable of doing it. The skill set required to take out the garbage is fairly limited, and definitely not gender specific. And, being the politically correct and socially conscious individual that I am, I graciously allow Mrs. 4theluv ample opportunity to prove the equality of the sexes by taking out the trash. Its technically not rocket science. If you see it needs to be taken out, you pull the strings on the bag, and walk it the 40 or so feet to the big garbage can outside.

But Mrs. 4theluv takes an opposite position, at least when it comes to regularly taking out the trash. Now she will take it out on the days that she cleans the refrigerator, particularly if broccoli or some similar odoriferous content needs disposing. Then she will bag it, but set it just outside the door in the garage so that as I pass by it in the morning on my way to work I will carry it the other 30 feet and put in the can which is outside.

Normally, though, she just ignores the need to take out the trash (a trait which I allow to take place)and instead just keeps throwing things away in the garbage by balancing various rubbish on top of other rubbish, creating an almost Dada"esque" creation worthy of Kurt Schwitters. The balancing act is always very delicate, intentionally so, I think. She knows eventually I will take out the trash, and that trash sculpture will crumble like a house of cards.

So, come Wednesday morning, as I am trying to get out the door for work, I will always remember the trash has to go out. I will turn to our leaning tower of refuse that is our main garbage area and try to bag it. Of course, looking around, Mrs. 4theluv is nowhere to be found, but as things scatter on the floor I am certain a smirk crosses her face, as she has once again shown her superiority in this game of oneupmanship (oneupwomanship? oneuppersonship?).

So I get the garbage out, saying a few words I probably shouldn't, and spend the rest of the day feeling like the loser that I am. And, like Lucy pulling the football from Charlie Brown, Mrs. 4theluv gets to enjoy the rest of the day knowing she got me one more time. I wish I would at least get a "thank you" but I am sure that would spoil the fun.

As I reflected on the battle this morning, I began to sense the frustration that Christ must feel with me, with the sin that so easily entangles me, and my refusal AND inability to take it out. And I began to sense that Christ does what he does with me, not for the "thank you", and not out of a sense of waiting to see if I will do it myself, but rather because he loves me, and gave himself for me.

Paul reminded us well. Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. [ ... ]Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, (Eph. 5:1-2; 25-26)

I can't get out of mind today how it is that Christ puts up with and carries out my garbage that I pile up for Him. He taught us so many lessons about true love. Forgiveness is an act of love. Service is an act of love. He does it simply because He loves me, and for no other reason. And it is that same love that he calls me to love my wife.

Like many men in our church, I married waaay up. And in that relationship, like every other relationship I am in, like parent, son, sibling, friend, co-worker, I fail consistently. But with relationships built on love, forgiveness is a routine part. And for that, I am the luckiest man alive.

I have received that forgiveness from so many in my life, perhaps I should return that same love. Perhaps I can learn something from the battle of the garbage.

4theluv

Twilight Sunrise

"In the bonds of Death He lay Who for our offence was slain; But the Lord is risen to-day, Christ hath brought us life again, Wherefore let us all rejoice, Singing loud, with cheerful voice, Hallelujah!" - Martin Luther

As a fifth grader my class took a trip to Mammoth caves in Kentucky. At one point in the tour, the tour guide had us all in one particular part of the cave and turned out the lights to show us what true darkness really looked like. If you have ever been in a similar situation, you know that real darkness, the true absence of light, is pretty scary, and the hope and knowledge that the lights will come back on takes the edge off of the fear, the darkness just an experiment. But in those moments of darkness is the helplessness and fear of a life dependent on someone else for the light of safety and rescue.

Darkness is one of those things which is experienced in isolation. But real darkness is not relegated to the caverns of Kentucky. Light and life seem to go hand in hand in the metaphysic of human existence and experience.

The poet Dylan Thomas wrote his famous poem about the death of his father, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Goodnight, with those same allusions of light vs. death:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

It is no doubt that the death of those close to us leaves a black hole of darkness from which it is difficult to rise. It is little wonder that at the moment Jesus died there was complete darkness for 3 hours. That darkness must have given temporary pause to the priests, scribes, and Romans who had sentenced Jesus to death, making them question what they had done. But then came the ninth hour, and the lights came on, and all seemed basically right with the world. The sun would rise tomorrow, just like it had every other day.

But not so with the disciples. The black hole created by the death of Christ was huge, and lingered way beyond the temporary darkness witnessed by all. While others went about their passover feasts and festivities, mocking this man that had thought he was the Son of God. Like the rest, the death of Christ had caused those who had believed in Christ to wonder why they had followed such an obviously deluded man. They hunkered down in fear, expecting any moment that those who had killed Jesus were coming for them. In those days, death was their constant companion, and their fear of reprisal for following Jesus was real.

The black hole was particularly tough for the remaining eleven. These disciples were personally as crushed as the dreams of their glory of being the advisors to the new king of Israel. You will recall earlier the Bar Zebedee boys had asked to be on Christ's right and left side when he came into his kingdom. Yet on the day He died, to his right and left were two criminals receiving the penalty of their government for their crimes. Nowhere to be found were the Zebedee boys, having saved their own necks and left Jesus to die.

Little did these disciples know in those two dark days that death would stalk them the rest of their lives, but the fear of it would be a thing of the past. They would meet the resurrected Christ, and know that death is not the end, but only the beginning. So shattering was their meeting with the resurrected Lord, that they went forth, hoping to die for his name. No longer would they hide in fear, for there was nothing the priests, the scribes, the Romans could do to them to hurt them.

Only through the resurrection, the sure knowledge that death has no power to kill, is there true freedom to live. And only when you know the resurrected Christ, can you face the darkness with certainty.

"Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (I Cor 15:55-57).

Death is no longer the journey into the night. And Easter is the reminder to us that death is as momentary and essential as birth, but is no longer something to be feared. For Christ Himself is our life. The dark caves of Kentucky reveal nothing of the truth of Christ, but the inability to find Him on our own. Thanks be to God, He has gone there before us.

4theluv

The View from Below

"Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world." - John the Baptist

STABAT Mater dolorosa iuxta Crucem lacrimosa, dum pendebat Filius.	AT the Cross her station keeping, stood the mournful Mother weeping, close to Jesus to the last.
Cuius animam gementem, contristatam et dolentem pertransivit gladius.	Through her heart, His sorrow sharing, all His bitter anguish bearing, now at length the sword has passed.
O quam tristis et afflicta fuit illa benedicta, mater Unigeniti!	O how sad and sore distressed was that Mother, highly blest, of the sole-begotten One.
Quae maerebat et dolebat, pia Mater, dum videbat nati poenas inclyti.	Christ above in torment hangs, she beneath beholds the pangs of her dying glorious Son.
Quis est homo qui non fleret, matrem Christi si videret in tanto supplicio?	Is there one who would not weep, whelmed in miseries so deep, Christ's dear Mother to behold?
Quis non posset contristari Christi Matrem contemplari dolentem cum Filio?	Can the human heart refrain from partaking in her pain, in that Mother's pain untold?
Pro peccatis suae gentis vidit Iesum in tormentis, et flagellis subditum.	Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled, she beheld her tender Child All with scourges rent:
Vidit suum dulcem Natum moriendo desolatum, dum emisit spiritum.	For the sins of His own nation, saw Him hang in desolation, Till His spirit forth He sent.
Eia, Mater, fons amoris me sentire vim doloris fac, ut tecum lugeam.	O thou Mother! fount of love! Touch my spirit from above, make my heart with thine accord:
Fac, ut ardeat cor meum in amando Christum Deum ut sibi complaceam.	Make me feel as thou hast felt; make my soul to glow and melt with the love of Christ my Lord.
Sancta Mater, istud agas, crucifixi fige plagas cordi meo valide.	Holy Mother! pierce me through, in my heart each wound renew of my Savior crucified:
Tui Nati vulnerati, tam dignati pro me pati, poenas mecum divide.	Let me share with thee His pain, who for all my sins was slain, who for me in torments died.
Fac me tecum pie flere, crucifixo condolere, donec ego vixero.	Let me mingle tears with thee, mourning Him who mourned for me, all the days that I may live:
Iuxta Crucem tecum stare, et me tibi sociare in planctu desidero.	By the Cross with thee to stay, there with thee to weep and pray, is all I ask of thee to give.
Virgo virginum praeclara, mihi iam non sis amara, fac me tecum plangere.	Virgin of all virgins blest!, Listen to my fond request: let me share thy grief divine;
Fac, ut portem Christi mortem, passionis fac consortem, et plagas recolere.	Let me, to my latest breath, in my body bear the death of that dying Son of thine.
Fac me plagis vulnerari, fac me Cruce inebriari, et cruore Filii.	Wounded with His every wound, steep my soul till it hath swooned, in His very Blood away;
	*
Christe, cum sit hinc exire, da per Matrem me venire ad palmam victoriae.	Christ, when Thou shalt call me hence, by Thy Mother my defense, by Thy Cross my victory;
Quando corpus morietur, fac, ut animae donetur paradisi gloria. Amen.	While my body here decays, may my soul Thy goodness praise, Safe in paradise with Thee. Amen.

When he had received the drink, Jesus said, "It is finished." With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. (John 19:30)

Would it be that we not forget, the sin that cost us God, nor the God who bought us back, nor the price - His Son, our Lord. Amen.

4theluv

* Stanzas removed by 4theluv for doctrinal reasons.