“There is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.” - John Ruskin
Its Wednesday, it must be raining.
The garbage has to be at the curb by 7:00. AM. But its raining. And I've already showered. But the garbage has to be at the curb by 7:00. Maybe I can miss it this week? But we'll be overrun with garbage by next. But its raining. And its Wednesday.
It must be raining.
Late night last night. Bills to send, letters to write. Still not finished. Wished the weekend was longer. Wish the weekend was here. Drop kids off at school. Drenched. Drive to work. Drenched. I look at the sky.
Its Wednesday, it must be raining.
Still drenched from pushing the garbage to the curb. Clients calling to push theirs on me. Late night last night. Clients calling. Clients to call on. Wished the weekend was longer. Wish the weekend was here.
Its Wednesday, it must be raining.
Lunch time. Finally dry. Not hungry. Clients calling. Clients to call on. Lunch meeting, work to be done. Couldn't they come here? Its Wednesday, don't they know? Mad dash to the car. Wished the weekend was longer. Wish the weekend was here.
Its Wednesday, it must be raining.
Drenched as I drive. No parking place close! The handicap don't go out on Wednesday, do they? Its Wednesday, you know. Surely they don't. Better not risk it. The cops know. They look at the sky.
Its Wednesday, it must be raining.
Drenched as we talk. I force a smile. Wonder if I got the garbage to the curb on time? I look out the window as we talk. Wonder why the sun never shines on Wednesday. Or does it, and I just can't see? I look a the sky.
Its Wednesday, it must be raining.
Clients talk. Sometimes too much. Lunch is too long. Don't they know its Wednesday? Wished the weekend was longer. Wish the weekend was here. I'm sure clients are calling. So many clients to call. Finally dry. Parked so far away. Mad dash to the car. I look up.
Its Wednesday, it must be raining.
Drenched as I drive. No parking place close! Late for the next appointment. Don't they know its Wednesday? Mad dash to the office. I'm drenched. Clients calling. Clients called. Clients to call on. I'm drenched. But force the smile. I look out the window as I talk. It looks like Wednesday.
It must be raining.
Its late. Its night. Again. Finally dry. Where has the time gone? Wished the weekend was longer. So much to do. Wish the weekend was further away. I look out the window and see that its Wednesday. Time to go home.
Its Wednesday, it must be raining.
Mad dash to the car. Drive home. Drenched. Its late. Its Wednesday. Did they pick up the garbage? Yep, left the lid open too. Again. Don't they know its Wednesday? Dump water from garbage can. In the rain. I'm drenched. Again.
Its Wednesday, it must be raining.
Look out from the garage. At the rain. Its Wednesday. Head inside to see the mail. More calls to make. Issues. Wished the weekend was longer. Wish the weekend was here. Wish the weekend was further away. Not enough time tomorrow. Clients calling. Clients to call on.
Its Wednesday, it must be raining.
Forgot to read this morning. Understandable. Its Wednesday. And its raining. Again. Find my Bible.
Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." (Matt. 11:28-29 "the Message").
He doesn't know my schedule. He doesn't know who I have to call. He doesn't know that the garbage has to get to the curb. He doesn't know the clients calling. Or the ones I must call on. He doesn't know the unbearable lunches. The weekends aren't long enough. The weekend is too close. Why would He dare say such to me. Doesn't he know its Wednesday? Doesn't He know its raining?
Yes. He does.
Look at my calendar before bed. What's tomorrow?
4theluv
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
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
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
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
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
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
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Riding The Bus
“Falseness often lurks beneath fair hair.” - Danish Proverb
Almost 53 years ago, on December 1, 1955, a young woman's bus ride began that would land the first black man on the steps of the White House on Pennsylvania Ave, not as a servant, but as President of the United States. Though not the first person, Rosa Parks refused the command of a Montgomery bus driver to give up her seat for a white person, and thus was born the civil rights movement in this country.
Black churches around the country soon galvanized and began to launch staging points for protests, and rallies, and voter turn out, generating both support, but more likely hatred, from the white community. None of us should forget the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church, the water hoses and police dogs, Bull Conner and the beating of the Freedom Riders right here in our fair city.
Nonetheless, the black church now had a mission: To point out and rectify the social, economic, and legal injustice that plagued the country from its founding: slavery and inequality was wrong for all but blacks. Black pastors decried the unjust system from their pulpits, organized marches, and thought through strategies on ways to change the system, sometimes through legal means, and other times through violence.
These pastors adopted many of the thoughts, theology, and actions of Liberation Theology, a movement originating in the Roman Catholic Church in South America in the 60's and 70's. This movement, a hybrid of Christian Theology and Marxism, held to the tenet that Jesus came to "free the prisoners and release the oppressed." It is the job of the people, and the church, they say, to force its government to recognize and deliver rights to the oppressed, and bring about the equality that Jesus came to give. From MLK's nonviolent marches to the Black Panthers and Weather Underground's violent protests and acts, change was going to be forced on the American people. The revolution was here.
Thus was born the liberal social movement, or revolution, in our country.
This Christian "revolution" would shortly transform the American political landscape, giving us the Rainbow/Push Coalition, the NAACP, Rev. Jesse Jackson, Rev. Al. Sharpton and most recently Rev. Jeremiah Wright and host of other less well known preachers. Race and equality would be subsumed in the larger context of ever broadening "rights" together with correspondingly decreased personal responsibility. The movement ultimately left even its loose theological roots to become nothing more than community organizing for every cause that could bring them to power.
But never fear, for while all this was going on, real Christian Americans, a/k/a white, middle class Christian Americans, moved by the spirit, organized and would not be outdone politically. Strangely silent during the equal rights marches of the 50s and 60s, they were content to maintain the most segregated hour in America, 11:00 AM on Sunday morning. But this liberal social agenda was more than they could bear.
In the late 70s and early 80s, such stalwart and fundamentally godly men like the late Rev Jerry Falwell, TV evangelist Pat Robertson, and men like W.A. Criswell, Adrien Rogers, and others within the Southern Baptist Convention formulated the Moral Majority and Christian Coalition. The marches of the 50s and 60s, and the riot at the '68 Democratic Convention weren't enough to dislodge them from their complacency, but the loss of political power and the rise of threats to the conservative white church made them realize they had to be organized as well.
And so it would be theirs to let America know, through the ballot box, what Christians are against.
Credited with Ronald Reagan's big victory over Jimmy Carter in 1980, the sheer numbers of God's people on the right made a formidable political ally, and opponent, for some twenty five years, culminating with the re-election of George W. Bush in 2004. The work of God through the evangelical right (as opposed to the evangelical left, which is primarily black churches) is to paint the opposing party (ie Democratic) candidate, position, initiative or plan as un-Christian, Marxist, and or satanic. The woes of America, they would proclaim, exist because of godless morality, none more godless than the current political opponent (ie Mondale, Dukakis, Clinton, Kerry, and Obama). Christians had to stand up and tell godlessness to go away, or this sacred country would fall.
They stirred white Christians with the promise that "if my people will humble themselves and pray, then God will hear from heaven and heal their land." Obviously, the United States of America is God's gift to the world, and as Christians it is the Church's job to protect God's gifts. Wrap God in the American flag, and the true American candidate in God, and you have a winning formula. Who would dare vote against God?
Politically savvy, this "Moral Majority" would energize their own base to go vote with a host of initiatives that Christians are against. Christians gave little thought to why ballot initiatives such as gay marriage amendments and readily accessible abortions initiatives appeared on the ballot in swing states at the same time as a presidential election. All they know is they needed to be there to make sure they voted God's way. Oh, and while there, they should also pull the lever for God's man to be in office.
Apparently, God needed a little help to get His man elected, because the power of the heathen left is too much for God to handle by His lonesome.
And in the midst of all this, Satan laughed. The fog of god-talk on both sides left the church in the lurch. So caught up in the politics of the moment the two groups forgot that they each proclaim a common tie: an abiding faith in Jesus Christ. Their political agendas of social liberalism and conservative Christianity had overwhelmed their doctrine.
The right called into question the faith of the left by asking, "how can any Christian be for equality and social justice for people like that?" and the left responds, appropriately, "how could any Christian be against equality and social justice for anyone, regardless of who they are and what they have done?"
The right wanted to turn the church into the country, and the left wanted to turn the country into the church.
But if Christ died to give the world the United States of America, then for over 1700 years, He failed. But perhaps democracy was not what he had in mind after all, but rather a church rooted in Him and built up. Perhaps it was the church He died for that was to be the the place the world should look when oppression and injustice become too much to bear?
Paul said in Colossians 3:11-17, in speak of our duty as Christians:
Here there is no Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all. Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
The church has flourished in times of governmental adversity, and decayed in times of governmental consent. One need only look at the church during the reign of the wrathful Roman emperors and in modern day China and compare it to the Church during the inquisition, the reformation, and World War II. We have reached the day where being a good American and a good Christian are synonymous.
The church, whether on the right or the left, should remember that a resort to politics to bring about the Kingdom of God is a damning statement that the church has failed. It is a damnable statement to say that there is no hope in Christ, only in governments led by failed and corrupt people.
In the violence of the world, the hurricanes of injustice and inequality will ebb and flow. But among God's people, the church, there is to be haven and safety, acceptance and peace. Not to change the world, but rather because of changed hearts that provide shelter.
While the government is important to all of our lives, it is the church, not the United States of America, where one should look to find equality, hope, love, support and wisdom. Our hope is in Christ, and not the constitution.
Regardless of the government, the church should be the one place where something is done because it is the right thing to do.
On Tuesday, November 4, 2008, we have the government-created right to elect a leader of this country, and one which we as God's people should exercise. No matter who it is you vote for, that choice will be a selfish one in which you will decide who will make you most comfortable with the future unknowns.
But in the end, Christ's kingdom is not on the line, and we wield no power over God's sovereign plan for His people. A vote for Obama is not a vote against God, nor is a vote for McCain a vote for God. Our witness to the truths of Christ is not found in our political record, but how we love one another.
Its His bus, and like Rosa Parks, we are just along for the ride.
Perhaps Rosa would have done more for our country by sitting on the front pew of the First Baptist Church of Montgomery.
But then again, perhaps it is easier to find justice and equality in courts and governments than in the church.
4theluv
Almost 53 years ago, on December 1, 1955, a young woman's bus ride began that would land the first black man on the steps of the White House on Pennsylvania Ave, not as a servant, but as President of the United States. Though not the first person, Rosa Parks refused the command of a Montgomery bus driver to give up her seat for a white person, and thus was born the civil rights movement in this country.
Black churches around the country soon galvanized and began to launch staging points for protests, and rallies, and voter turn out, generating both support, but more likely hatred, from the white community. None of us should forget the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church, the water hoses and police dogs, Bull Conner and the beating of the Freedom Riders right here in our fair city.
Nonetheless, the black church now had a mission: To point out and rectify the social, economic, and legal injustice that plagued the country from its founding: slavery and inequality was wrong for all but blacks. Black pastors decried the unjust system from their pulpits, organized marches, and thought through strategies on ways to change the system, sometimes through legal means, and other times through violence.
These pastors adopted many of the thoughts, theology, and actions of Liberation Theology, a movement originating in the Roman Catholic Church in South America in the 60's and 70's. This movement, a hybrid of Christian Theology and Marxism, held to the tenet that Jesus came to "free the prisoners and release the oppressed." It is the job of the people, and the church, they say, to force its government to recognize and deliver rights to the oppressed, and bring about the equality that Jesus came to give. From MLK's nonviolent marches to the Black Panthers and Weather Underground's violent protests and acts, change was going to be forced on the American people. The revolution was here.
Thus was born the liberal social movement, or revolution, in our country.
This Christian "revolution" would shortly transform the American political landscape, giving us the Rainbow/Push Coalition, the NAACP, Rev. Jesse Jackson, Rev. Al. Sharpton and most recently Rev. Jeremiah Wright and host of other less well known preachers. Race and equality would be subsumed in the larger context of ever broadening "rights" together with correspondingly decreased personal responsibility. The movement ultimately left even its loose theological roots to become nothing more than community organizing for every cause that could bring them to power.
But never fear, for while all this was going on, real Christian Americans, a/k/a white, middle class Christian Americans, moved by the spirit, organized and would not be outdone politically. Strangely silent during the equal rights marches of the 50s and 60s, they were content to maintain the most segregated hour in America, 11:00 AM on Sunday morning. But this liberal social agenda was more than they could bear.
In the late 70s and early 80s, such stalwart and fundamentally godly men like the late Rev Jerry Falwell, TV evangelist Pat Robertson, and men like W.A. Criswell, Adrien Rogers, and others within the Southern Baptist Convention formulated the Moral Majority and Christian Coalition. The marches of the 50s and 60s, and the riot at the '68 Democratic Convention weren't enough to dislodge them from their complacency, but the loss of political power and the rise of threats to the conservative white church made them realize they had to be organized as well.
And so it would be theirs to let America know, through the ballot box, what Christians are against.
Credited with Ronald Reagan's big victory over Jimmy Carter in 1980, the sheer numbers of God's people on the right made a formidable political ally, and opponent, for some twenty five years, culminating with the re-election of George W. Bush in 2004. The work of God through the evangelical right (as opposed to the evangelical left, which is primarily black churches) is to paint the opposing party (ie Democratic) candidate, position, initiative or plan as un-Christian, Marxist, and or satanic. The woes of America, they would proclaim, exist because of godless morality, none more godless than the current political opponent (ie Mondale, Dukakis, Clinton, Kerry, and Obama). Christians had to stand up and tell godlessness to go away, or this sacred country would fall.
They stirred white Christians with the promise that "if my people will humble themselves and pray, then God will hear from heaven and heal their land." Obviously, the United States of America is God's gift to the world, and as Christians it is the Church's job to protect God's gifts. Wrap God in the American flag, and the true American candidate in God, and you have a winning formula. Who would dare vote against God?
Politically savvy, this "Moral Majority" would energize their own base to go vote with a host of initiatives that Christians are against. Christians gave little thought to why ballot initiatives such as gay marriage amendments and readily accessible abortions initiatives appeared on the ballot in swing states at the same time as a presidential election. All they know is they needed to be there to make sure they voted God's way. Oh, and while there, they should also pull the lever for God's man to be in office.
Apparently, God needed a little help to get His man elected, because the power of the heathen left is too much for God to handle by His lonesome.
And in the midst of all this, Satan laughed. The fog of god-talk on both sides left the church in the lurch. So caught up in the politics of the moment the two groups forgot that they each proclaim a common tie: an abiding faith in Jesus Christ. Their political agendas of social liberalism and conservative Christianity had overwhelmed their doctrine.
The right called into question the faith of the left by asking, "how can any Christian be for equality and social justice for people like that?" and the left responds, appropriately, "how could any Christian be against equality and social justice for anyone, regardless of who they are and what they have done?"
The right wanted to turn the church into the country, and the left wanted to turn the country into the church.
But if Christ died to give the world the United States of America, then for over 1700 years, He failed. But perhaps democracy was not what he had in mind after all, but rather a church rooted in Him and built up. Perhaps it was the church He died for that was to be the the place the world should look when oppression and injustice become too much to bear?
Paul said in Colossians 3:11-17, in speak of our duty as Christians:
Here there is no Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all. Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
The church has flourished in times of governmental adversity, and decayed in times of governmental consent. One need only look at the church during the reign of the wrathful Roman emperors and in modern day China and compare it to the Church during the inquisition, the reformation, and World War II. We have reached the day where being a good American and a good Christian are synonymous.
The church, whether on the right or the left, should remember that a resort to politics to bring about the Kingdom of God is a damning statement that the church has failed. It is a damnable statement to say that there is no hope in Christ, only in governments led by failed and corrupt people.
In the violence of the world, the hurricanes of injustice and inequality will ebb and flow. But among God's people, the church, there is to be haven and safety, acceptance and peace. Not to change the world, but rather because of changed hearts that provide shelter.
While the government is important to all of our lives, it is the church, not the United States of America, where one should look to find equality, hope, love, support and wisdom. Our hope is in Christ, and not the constitution.
Regardless of the government, the church should be the one place where something is done because it is the right thing to do.
On Tuesday, November 4, 2008, we have the government-created right to elect a leader of this country, and one which we as God's people should exercise. No matter who it is you vote for, that choice will be a selfish one in which you will decide who will make you most comfortable with the future unknowns.
But in the end, Christ's kingdom is not on the line, and we wield no power over God's sovereign plan for His people. A vote for Obama is not a vote against God, nor is a vote for McCain a vote for God. Our witness to the truths of Christ is not found in our political record, but how we love one another.
Its His bus, and like Rosa Parks, we are just along for the ride.
Perhaps Rosa would have done more for our country by sitting on the front pew of the First Baptist Church of Montgomery.
But then again, perhaps it is easier to find justice and equality in courts and governments than in the church.
4theluv
Sunday, June 1, 2008
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
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
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
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
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
Thursday, May 1, 2008
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
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
Monday, March 24, 2008
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:
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
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
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
Thursday, March 20, 2008
The View from Below
"Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world." - John the Baptist
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.
| 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.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Foundations
Many try to stop me, shake me up in my mind / Say, "Prove to me that He is Lord, show me a sign." / What kind of sign they need when it all come from within, / When what's lost has been found, what's to come has already been? - Bob Dylan, Pressing On
Keith Green, was an early contemporary Christian artist of the 1970's and early 80's. A fallen teen heart throb and proficient pre-teen song writer, Green had searched through such things as Buddhism, drugs, and agnosticism before His love broke through. Green influenced, some would say paved, a whole genre of contemporary Christian music. While he and his "Last Days Ministry" was strongly influenced by the Vineyard Christian Movement in Southern California, and his theology was not always "spot on", he wrote and sang from his personal experience, and the change he experienced when he met the living Christ.
Keith Green died with three of his children in a 1983 private airplane crash while circling his Last Days Ministry property.
In 1978, singer / song writer / poet / philosopher and guru of all things hip, Bob Dylan experienced a personal and musical transformation which he attributed to coming to a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. There is no doubt that Dylan was the voice of the 60s and 70s for a world of musicians and people, and the firestorm surrounding his conversation was both huge and expected. And there is no doubt that God gifted Bob Dylan to be one of the greatest and most talented men to ever write and perform music.
As a result of this transformation, Dylan recorded and released two exclusive gospel albums, Slow Train Coming and Saved. His song, You Gotta Serve Somebody made it into the rock and pop charts in 1981 in both the United States and the United Kingdom. "Slow Train Coming" was classic Dylan with a Christian twist, but his best song, in my estimation, was "I Believe in You."
But when both Green and Dylan moved toward Christian music, they each turned to one man who had long traveled the worlds of Christian rock music and rejection from both the church and the world - Larry Norman. Known for such Christian hit songs as "I Wish We Had All Been Ready" and "Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music?" (If you watch no other video but this last one, watch it.), Norman was never fully accepted by anyone, sacred or secular, outside of the musical world. But inside that world, some of the greatest names in music recognized his talent and genius and sought it out. Eric Clapton, Paul McCartney, Brian Wilson, Glen Frye, and yes, Bob Dylan.
For his part, Norman kept a certain amount of distance between himself and his Christian followers. In speaking of being Christian before it was popular, Norman told Contemporary Magazine, "I did not particularly feel comfortable with the Jesus Movement. I was not one of the kids who had recently become a Christian. I did not have any scintillating 'testimony' of getting high on Jesus and then giving up drugs, girls and the pursuit of material possessions.... In fact, I felt that I was neither part of the 'establishment' [n]or part of the alternative lifestyle enclave which felt itself so superior to their parents and our civic leaders."
Norman was just an ordinary guy who loved rock music and loved Jesus. He sought to be known as an entertainer and artist who was a Christian, and not a "Christian entertainer" or a "Christian artist". He didn't really care if people liked his music or not. Preferring not to sell the truth, he often gave his music away for free. He didn't pay much attention to trying to be somebody. He never proclaimed himself a "super-Christian", a superior theologian, nor the voice for God. And he would be the first to tell you he was none of those things. He only sought to help other's see his spiritual journey through his music. His life was spent wanting to make music to the God of creation, in the genre of his generation. Norman's God given musical talents used for God's glory, through Norman's personality. And in the process, he incidentally shaped an entire musical generation, including a kid from a small farming town known as 4theluv.
Goodbye, Larry. You impacted people you never even knew, in ways you never dreamed you would.
And perhaps, that is the point.
4theluv
Keith Green, was an early contemporary Christian artist of the 1970's and early 80's. A fallen teen heart throb and proficient pre-teen song writer, Green had searched through such things as Buddhism, drugs, and agnosticism before His love broke through. Green influenced, some would say paved, a whole genre of contemporary Christian music. While he and his "Last Days Ministry" was strongly influenced by the Vineyard Christian Movement in Southern California, and his theology was not always "spot on", he wrote and sang from his personal experience, and the change he experienced when he met the living Christ.
Keith Green died with three of his children in a 1983 private airplane crash while circling his Last Days Ministry property.
In 1978, singer / song writer / poet / philosopher and guru of all things hip, Bob Dylan experienced a personal and musical transformation which he attributed to coming to a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. There is no doubt that Dylan was the voice of the 60s and 70s for a world of musicians and people, and the firestorm surrounding his conversation was both huge and expected. And there is no doubt that God gifted Bob Dylan to be one of the greatest and most talented men to ever write and perform music.
As a result of this transformation, Dylan recorded and released two exclusive gospel albums, Slow Train Coming and Saved. His song, You Gotta Serve Somebody made it into the rock and pop charts in 1981 in both the United States and the United Kingdom. "Slow Train Coming" was classic Dylan with a Christian twist, but his best song, in my estimation, was "I Believe in You."
But when both Green and Dylan moved toward Christian music, they each turned to one man who had long traveled the worlds of Christian rock music and rejection from both the church and the world - Larry Norman. Known for such Christian hit songs as "I Wish We Had All Been Ready" and "Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music?" (If you watch no other video but this last one, watch it.), Norman was never fully accepted by anyone, sacred or secular, outside of the musical world. But inside that world, some of the greatest names in music recognized his talent and genius and sought it out. Eric Clapton, Paul McCartney, Brian Wilson, Glen Frye, and yes, Bob Dylan.
For his part, Norman kept a certain amount of distance between himself and his Christian followers. In speaking of being Christian before it was popular, Norman told Contemporary Magazine, "I did not particularly feel comfortable with the Jesus Movement. I was not one of the kids who had recently become a Christian. I did not have any scintillating 'testimony' of getting high on Jesus and then giving up drugs, girls and the pursuit of material possessions.... In fact, I felt that I was neither part of the 'establishment' [n]or part of the alternative lifestyle enclave which felt itself so superior to their parents and our civic leaders."
Norman was just an ordinary guy who loved rock music and loved Jesus. He sought to be known as an entertainer and artist who was a Christian, and not a "Christian entertainer" or a "Christian artist". He didn't really care if people liked his music or not. Preferring not to sell the truth, he often gave his music away for free. He didn't pay much attention to trying to be somebody. He never proclaimed himself a "super-Christian", a superior theologian, nor the voice for God. And he would be the first to tell you he was none of those things. He only sought to help other's see his spiritual journey through his music. His life was spent wanting to make music to the God of creation, in the genre of his generation. Norman's God given musical talents used for God's glory, through Norman's personality. And in the process, he incidentally shaped an entire musical generation, including a kid from a small farming town known as 4theluv.
Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth,
burst into jubilant song with music;
burst into jubilant song with music;
make music to the LORD with the harp,
with the harp and the sound of singing,
with trumpets and the blast of the ram's horn—
shout for joy before the LORD, the King.
Let the sea resound, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it.
Let the rivers clap their hands,
Let the mountains sing together for joy; let them sing before the LORD,
for he comes to judge the earth.
He will judge the world in righteousness
and the peoples with equity. (Psalm 98: 4-9)
Because of my love of great (and perhaps not so great) music, I frequently talk with people in their 20's and 30's who never listen to or know they GREAT music of the 60's and 70's. Late Generation "X"ers don't really know the great music I had growing up. The secular philosophical lyrics of the music of the 60's and 70's is rivaled in Western culture only by the sacred hymnology born from the Reformation in the 16th and 17th centuries. And of these "kids" I talk to, I dare say none of them heard of Larry Norman.
For me, a kid growing up in the 70's and 80s, hooked on English bands like Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, and the Beatles, Bob Dylan was one of the few true American talents I owned. When I first heard Slow Train Coming, the Christian wheels began to turn. Dylan led to Green, whose musical style was very much in the early 70's vein but message was decidedly different. Green led to Petra, an 80's Christian rock band. But all of them pointed back to Norman, the pioneer in Christian Rock.
Paul said it well. "Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God's people and members of God's household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit." (Eph. 2: 19-22).
Larry Norman passed away recently after a lengthy illness, but his legacy will remain for quite some time. Norman lived his life with personal integrity and incredible musical talent. Norman properly viewed his life as an alien. While here, we are only visitors to this dying planet, witnesses to its greatness, and it baseness. We are in it, but not of it. And that greatness (and baseness) can be seen in the sacred, and the secular. Norman could see the brilliance of great secular musicians, and combine it with the truths he found in Christ.
It amazes me how some Christians discount brilliance and talent because the one possessing those gifts is not "Christian", or even not Christian enough. As Christians, we are too quick to discount the sparks of truth that radiate from believers and non believers alike like a July 4th sparkler. While our theology should never be based on music, we can see the majesty of God in musical expression. We can express our own journey in music like in no other medium. We can learn something of the God who gave mankind eyes to see the world around him, and express what he sees through song, as we experience that world through the eyes of believers and unbelievers alike in song.
And people like Norman are a unique reminder of God's providence in so many ways around us. Larry Norman's last word, written the day before he died, say it so well:
Goodbye, farewell, we'll meet again
Somewhere beyond the sky.
I pray that you will stay with God
Goodbye, my friends, goodbye.
Somewhere beyond the sky.
I pray that you will stay with God
Goodbye, my friends, goodbye.
Goodbye, Larry. You impacted people you never even knew, in ways you never dreamed you would.
And perhaps, that is the point.
4theluv
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Blinded with Science
"If a dishonest creep wants to tap dance, give him the spotlight ---- and a mirror." - Vonna Bonta
The past few weeks I have been chugging through the first half of Dawkin's The God Delusion. Chugging is the appropriate word. It is a heavy word, pregnant with all the intensity this haughty book deserves. But, four weeks after purchasing it, I'm only half way through it even though I have sat down for countless hours to chug through it.
The past few weeks I have been chugging through the first half of Dawkin's The God Delusion. Chugging is the appropriate word. It is a heavy word, pregnant with all the intensity this haughty book deserves. But, four weeks after purchasing it, I'm only half way through it even though I have sat down for countless hours to chug through it.
His book is condescending, calling atheists "smart people" and religious people "lower educated people." He even quotes the statistics to back it up. His reported stats show that the average intellectual and academic degrees of proclaimed atheists is higher than those who identify themselves as believers in any form of god. This, he concludes, is proof that high intelligence breeds atheism and, apparently, is superior to religious believers who have lower intelligence. (I think to be fair to Dawkins, "intelligence" is best understood as mental acumen coupled with rigorous training and thought, and expounded systematically, consistently and rationally resulting at a minimum in agnosticism but inevitably atheism.)
In response to great scientists of the past like Newton, Pascal, Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo and Mendel, who were trained theologians and expressed personal faith in Christ, Dawkins dismisses them as men of their times for whom, without the lip service to the church, would not be able to ply their trade and indulge their intellect. If they were avowed atheists, they would lose their funding.
Earlier academics and scientists were overwhelmingly professed Christian but that was because they had to be in order to do their science? But, modern academic studies show overwhelmingly that scientists are either atheists or agnostics?
Really, Mr. Dawkins? Let's be consistent.
Your positions suggests only that "intelligent" people of the past were mere con men, but "intelligent" people of the present are now honest and free and have integrity. (Let's forget for a second what religious cost Galileo paid for his scientific endeavors.) Could it be that modern "intellectuals" cannot show faith because to do so would sound the death knell of their careers? Would they lose their academic funding in a society of academics which disdains faith? Would they face the scorn of men like you who would view their achievements as suspect for nothing more than that they are people of faith? Or, perhaps, is it because the intellectuals of today are much smarter than the intellectuals of yesterday? At the same age you were learning to drive a car and hit on girls, Pascal was completing his treatise on theoretical geometry.
It is mighty cavalier to dismiss the beliefs of an entire class of learned men by excusing their "ignorance" as "men of their times." Your statistics only suggest that modern scientists are "men of their times" and to extrapolate further is inconsistent. Excuse me, but your snobbery is showing.
Pascal, one of my favorite 17th century scholars, was known as the father of modern economics and of geometry, the later of which he had written his foremost treatise by the ripe old age of 16. Pascal was a man whose intellect Dawkins (and I) only wish he had. Nutshelled, Pascal's "Wager" placed probabilities on the existence of God being low, but the consequences of betting against his existence were exceedingly more dreadful (eternal damnation) than the consequences of betting he does exist. Therefore, Pascal would say that even though the probabilities are low of God's existence, a person should still believe because the trouble of living as though you do believe and being wrong is less than the trouble of not believing and being wrong.
Dawkins asks a correct question about the Wager, which god should you believe in if you take the bet? What if he bet on the wrong God and it is actually Baal, or Vishnu, or Krishna by a nose and he (or she) is pissed? Wouldn't he be better off not believing in any god than believing in the wrong one?
Really, Mr. Dawkins? Let's be consistent.
We shall grant you the latitude to not believe in the god you choose not to believe in, even a god who probably doesn't exist and probably doesn't send people to hell. But be consistent. Probability must be based on some known variable, and while the probability of God's existence you concede is based on known unknowns, the probability of his attitude toward nonbelievers in him is an unknown unknown and thus not subject to probability. You cannot know the nature of a god you claim you cannot know.
Dawkins finds many supporter for this view in theological circles. It is not an uncommon theological trend in this day is to say, "I don't believe in a God who would send people to hell." Now, certainly, it is not fair to discredit those who hold this view by lumping them with Dawkins. But certainly they share the sentiment of Dawkins' attack on Pascal, and fall into the same predicament. Each makes god into the image they want him to be.
Perhaps much to Dawkin's consternation, so far the book leaves me not doubting my faith, as both the proponents and opponents of the book have suggested as a probable outcome of reading the book. Rather, it leaves me doubting Dawkin's snide apologetical outline of the religion of Reason, one that is passing away even as we speak. Perhaps, in the second half of the book, Dawkins drops his bombshell. Somehow, I doubt it.
Here's your mirror, Mr. Dawkins.
4theluv
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The Sound of Silence
“Quietude, which some men cannot abide because it reveals their inward poverty, is as a palace of cedar to the wise, for along its hallowed courts the King in his beauty deigns to walk.” - Charles H. Spurgeon
One of Mrs. 4thluv's favorite places to visit is New York City. The Big Apple. Broadway and Times Square. The Empire State Building. People. The hustle and bustle of millions of people going about their daily tasks in close proximity to one another is exhilarating to her.
I don't really like New York City. I have been there for both business and leisure. The people are kind enough. Even going to a Braves game at Shea stadium wearing a Braves jersey didn't upset them too much. New Yorker's probably get a bad rap for their manners.
Now to be fair, I have only been to Manhattan and Queens, two of the nicer boroughs of the city. (I was warned to stay out of the Bronx when I wanted to go visit Yankee Stadium). But I still don't like New York City. To me the city smells of Bourbon Street on a hot summer day. The traffic is like 285 in Atlanta at 3:00PM. The buildings so large that often you can't see the sky. And when you do, it is gray and smoggy.
Those things aside, it is the noise that really gets to me. Cars honking, workers shouting, subway trains going by, jack hammers rattling, cranes lifting, ferry whistles, sirens blaring, planes flying over. (Some find these sounds "thrilling" - you can have them.) To tune out the noise you would have to tune out life. The noise goes on 24/7. New York is not my kind of town.
But you don't need to travel to New York City to be filled with noise. New York City comes to us. Today's society is filled with way too many noises. TV's have to be left on, music playing, cell phones ringing. The noise gives to us a "sense" of being connected to others, so we do not feel alone.
One thing you don't hear a lot of is quiet. This society finds "quiet" disturbing. Perhaps it is because of the the fear of being alone with ourselves.
I can recall growing up in the 1970s and early 1980s that quiet was easier to come by. In those days, there were no 24 hour news channels, in fact, until I was in high school, there were no 24 hour television stations. Daytime afternoon TV was all local programing, usually kid's shows poorly produced. Prime time shows were limited to 3, whatever was on ABC, NBC or CBS.
Until I was 11, our family had only one TV in the house, and it was in the living room. As a result, TV shows were decided by popularity (i.e., what the parents wanted to watch), and the loser (ie., those who didn't like that show and me). Being the youngest of three children, I either had to learn to like what someone else liked to watch, or I would have to go find something else to do, like read. And I read a lot.
I spent hours as a kid reading things that boys normally read - the Hardy Boys series, Boy's Life, Mad Magazine (what a great magazine), Sport's Illustrated, and the Sunday funny papers. And it was easy. I could go into my room, open the window and listen to the quiet sounds of the night, and read. I solved the all the mysteries with Frank and Joe, wished I was Fran Tarkington, Bob Griese, Ken Stabler or Wilt Chamberlain (glad the last one never came true), laughed time and again at Spy vs. Spy and Alfred E. Newman, and couldn't wait until Sunday to see what Beetle Bailey, Snuffy Smith, and Marmaduke were going to get into. (I know, you are not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition. My apologies to Mrs. Lykins.)
I don't read those types of books and magazines much anymore. (Though Sports Illustrated is till a part of our yearly subscriptions.) But I still like that quiet, the solitude those memories bring back. That "not-having-to-be-around-people-and-deal-with-more-problems" space. I'm not a real emotional type person, anyway, and for me quiet time reading or studying is relaxing and introspective. (Some, like Mrs. 4theluv, prefer the term "moody" which is probably as good a term as any to describe me). But I do like my quiet - my alone time.
Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody. (I. Thes. 4:11-12)
I used a quote by Henry David Thoreau a few weeks ago as a comment on Scott H.'s blog. “Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing it is not fish they are after.” That quote made me think of Scott and his fishing trips, and his reflections on situations he has been involved with in the church. But it is also true of us all - we need time to reflect on our relationships, particularly with Christ. It is not the fish, the books, the magazines that we need, it is the time to touch base with ourselves and our God.
Sometimes, after we have tended to our business, worked with our hands, and won the respect of others, we need some time to reflect on ourselves. To think. In quiet. And reflect. To learn to be ok with ourselves, and to like the person that Christ is teaching us to be.
I think that is why I won't fair well in New York City. I can't get alone, away, and I can't catch my breath.
In the quiet, away from everyone else, I know its ok to be ordinary. It is away from the TV, the cell phones, the cars, the sirens, the music, that I find myself. And it is there that I understand my relationship with Him. Quietude, as Spurgeon calls it, reveals our inner poverty - but also allows the King to walk its hallowed corridors.
And, to quote Robert Frost, that has made all the difference.
4theluv
One of Mrs. 4thluv's favorite places to visit is New York City. The Big Apple. Broadway and Times Square. The Empire State Building. People. The hustle and bustle of millions of people going about their daily tasks in close proximity to one another is exhilarating to her.
I don't really like New York City. I have been there for both business and leisure. The people are kind enough. Even going to a Braves game at Shea stadium wearing a Braves jersey didn't upset them too much. New Yorker's probably get a bad rap for their manners.
Now to be fair, I have only been to Manhattan and Queens, two of the nicer boroughs of the city. (I was warned to stay out of the Bronx when I wanted to go visit Yankee Stadium). But I still don't like New York City. To me the city smells of Bourbon Street on a hot summer day. The traffic is like 285 in Atlanta at 3:00PM. The buildings so large that often you can't see the sky. And when you do, it is gray and smoggy.
Those things aside, it is the noise that really gets to me. Cars honking, workers shouting, subway trains going by, jack hammers rattling, cranes lifting, ferry whistles, sirens blaring, planes flying over. (Some find these sounds "thrilling" - you can have them.) To tune out the noise you would have to tune out life. The noise goes on 24/7. New York is not my kind of town.
But you don't need to travel to New York City to be filled with noise. New York City comes to us. Today's society is filled with way too many noises. TV's have to be left on, music playing, cell phones ringing. The noise gives to us a "sense" of being connected to others, so we do not feel alone.
One thing you don't hear a lot of is quiet. This society finds "quiet" disturbing. Perhaps it is because of the the fear of being alone with ourselves.
I can recall growing up in the 1970s and early 1980s that quiet was easier to come by. In those days, there were no 24 hour news channels, in fact, until I was in high school, there were no 24 hour television stations. Daytime afternoon TV was all local programing, usually kid's shows poorly produced. Prime time shows were limited to 3, whatever was on ABC, NBC or CBS.
Until I was 11, our family had only one TV in the house, and it was in the living room. As a result, TV shows were decided by popularity (i.e., what the parents wanted to watch), and the loser (ie., those who didn't like that show and me). Being the youngest of three children, I either had to learn to like what someone else liked to watch, or I would have to go find something else to do, like read. And I read a lot.
I spent hours as a kid reading things that boys normally read - the Hardy Boys series, Boy's Life, Mad Magazine (what a great magazine), Sport's Illustrated, and the Sunday funny papers. And it was easy. I could go into my room, open the window and listen to the quiet sounds of the night, and read. I solved the all the mysteries with Frank and Joe, wished I was Fran Tarkington, Bob Griese, Ken Stabler or Wilt Chamberlain (glad the last one never came true), laughed time and again at Spy vs. Spy and Alfred E. Newman, and couldn't wait until Sunday to see what Beetle Bailey, Snuffy Smith, and Marmaduke were going to get into. (I know, you are not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition. My apologies to Mrs. Lykins.)
I don't read those types of books and magazines much anymore. (Though Sports Illustrated is till a part of our yearly subscriptions.) But I still like that quiet, the solitude those memories bring back. That "not-having-to-be-around-people-and-deal-with-more-problems" space. I'm not a real emotional type person, anyway, and for me quiet time reading or studying is relaxing and introspective. (Some, like Mrs. 4theluv, prefer the term "moody" which is probably as good a term as any to describe me). But I do like my quiet - my alone time.
Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody. (I. Thes. 4:11-12)
I used a quote by Henry David Thoreau a few weeks ago as a comment on Scott H.'s blog. “Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing it is not fish they are after.” That quote made me think of Scott and his fishing trips, and his reflections on situations he has been involved with in the church. But it is also true of us all - we need time to reflect on our relationships, particularly with Christ. It is not the fish, the books, the magazines that we need, it is the time to touch base with ourselves and our God.
Sometimes, after we have tended to our business, worked with our hands, and won the respect of others, we need some time to reflect on ourselves. To think. In quiet. And reflect. To learn to be ok with ourselves, and to like the person that Christ is teaching us to be.
I think that is why I won't fair well in New York City. I can't get alone, away, and I can't catch my breath.
In the quiet, away from everyone else, I know its ok to be ordinary. It is away from the TV, the cell phones, the cars, the sirens, the music, that I find myself. And it is there that I understand my relationship with Him. Quietude, as Spurgeon calls it, reveals our inner poverty - but also allows the King to walk its hallowed corridors.
And, to quote Robert Frost, that has made all the difference.
4theluv
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Lines of Silver
“Much that we call evil is really good in disguises; and we should not quarrel rashly with adversities not yet understood, nor overlook the mercies often bound up in them." - Horace Mann
It was Sunday morning. The clouds in the sky gathered with the coming violence predicted by so many meteorologists. The local guru dus wetters was in suspenders, showing the oncoming and impending doom one viewing area to the south, that, within a scant few hours, would crash its way through the Birmingham, Alabama area. The skies themselves acted as if they would spill their contents at any moment, pregnant with the rain so disparately needed in the area.
Inside the 10:45am worship service was beginning on time, in spite of, or perhaps in defiance of the dire predictions and prognostications of the weather. The weather, together with the fact of it being President's Day weekend, gave all the signs that the only people in attendance would be the "hell or high water" gang. Those, who like the prophetess Anna, are in the sanctuary day and night. The dependable faces who sit in the same places week after week. But given the weather and the holiday, even some of the high water gang would be missing, and no one would blame them.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about worship time that day. No children's presentations, no ordinations, no combined worship service, no special concerts or guest speakers. No drama presentations, or fancy dancing. Nothing to bring in doting grandparents, proud families, or hoodwinked worshipers. Except for the pending violence outside, it was just an average Sunday at Community Presbyterian Church. And despite the bad weather, and threat of it being even worse, the Sanctuary was full. And it was pretty full. Even regular attenders of the late service would have a hard time sorting the regulars from the visitors. And this day the deacons had to put out extra sets of chairs.
It was a scant short 6 weeks ago that the elders made the disturbing announcement to the congregation that one of our own had abused the trust placed in her and taken sums of money from the church's accounts. A hurt and stunned congregation watched as the elders gathered around the sinner, and prayed - offering the forgiveness that Christ has given them, and extending the love of the gospel to all in attendance. Publicly airing the ragged clothes of sin not for the benefit of those who were hurt, though they had the right to know, but for the benefit of the sinner whose sin had affected the relationships with the whole church. And to publicly say, so the world can hear, and see, that more grace abounds greater than any sin.
To say that the event was earth shaking is quite an overstatement. For a church that preaches both the total inability of man to please God, and the unconditional love of God in Christ toward His people, it should be no surprise that when real sin happens in their midst that those who believe the Gospel will respond with the same grace that God has given them in Christ.
But deep in the heart of hearts, and if you are true to the suspicions and doubts of your heart, you *are surprised* when the Gospel claimed to be believed is actually lived out in your midst toward people whose sin is real, and whose relationships are tattered.
Perhaps you are even surprised by your own reaction to it.
When sinners publicly can find acceptance, love and hope, it is antithetical to everything known to fallen humans - to love those who hurt you, to love them even through the hurt and despite the sin. You expect disillusionment. You expect disappointment. You expect shouts of hypocrisy. You expect anger. You expect striking back and striking out. Real sin demands real punishment. And, even if not from you, you expect a rejection of the sinner. That is the lesson the world beats into all of us - you deserve what you get, and get what you deserve.
But this Sunday morning, six weeks later, with so much against it, saw the worship service full. Far from the disillusionment so many churches have experienced in similar situations, this church has seen no falling away, and indeed have seen more people come to the congregation looking for and knowing that they too can find the love of Christ.
That day six weeks ago taught this church something about itself. That hope abounds there, even while the storm outside rages. That love abounds there, even in a world of selfish self-promotion at the expense of other. That where one sins so personally against so many can find hope, love and forgiveness, so can those whose sin maybe impacted fewer people and less deeply, or more people and more deeply.
To paraphrase the church's pastor, like moths to flame, the Gospel preached and lived out draws His people to it. Christ draws his people.
Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. (Col. 3:12-14)
The raging storms gathering outside are not the lightning and thunder and winds of a Spring time weather shift. They are not the floods of torrential rains. That day was but a microcosm of the truth we find in Christ. The real storm from which we seek shelter is the rejection and hopelessness of this world, and a sense that everywhere else we turn we will get what we deserve. The storm of unrealistic expectation, that, for those in the church, sin is no more.
And the real shelter is that found in Christ, demonstrated through His people, where we can be accepted and loved despite our sin, and despite our damnable good works. If not in His church, where can any find His shelter?
In those clouds, we find the lines of silver. We find safety in Him.
4theluv
It was Sunday morning. The clouds in the sky gathered with the coming violence predicted by so many meteorologists. The local guru dus wetters was in suspenders, showing the oncoming and impending doom one viewing area to the south, that, within a scant few hours, would crash its way through the Birmingham, Alabama area. The skies themselves acted as if they would spill their contents at any moment, pregnant with the rain so disparately needed in the area.
Inside the 10:45am worship service was beginning on time, in spite of, or perhaps in defiance of the dire predictions and prognostications of the weather. The weather, together with the fact of it being President's Day weekend, gave all the signs that the only people in attendance would be the "hell or high water" gang. Those, who like the prophetess Anna, are in the sanctuary day and night. The dependable faces who sit in the same places week after week. But given the weather and the holiday, even some of the high water gang would be missing, and no one would blame them.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about worship time that day. No children's presentations, no ordinations, no combined worship service, no special concerts or guest speakers. No drama presentations, or fancy dancing. Nothing to bring in doting grandparents, proud families, or hoodwinked worshipers. Except for the pending violence outside, it was just an average Sunday at Community Presbyterian Church. And despite the bad weather, and threat of it being even worse, the Sanctuary was full. And it was pretty full. Even regular attenders of the late service would have a hard time sorting the regulars from the visitors. And this day the deacons had to put out extra sets of chairs.
It was a scant short 6 weeks ago that the elders made the disturbing announcement to the congregation that one of our own had abused the trust placed in her and taken sums of money from the church's accounts. A hurt and stunned congregation watched as the elders gathered around the sinner, and prayed - offering the forgiveness that Christ has given them, and extending the love of the gospel to all in attendance. Publicly airing the ragged clothes of sin not for the benefit of those who were hurt, though they had the right to know, but for the benefit of the sinner whose sin had affected the relationships with the whole church. And to publicly say, so the world can hear, and see, that more grace abounds greater than any sin.
To say that the event was earth shaking is quite an overstatement. For a church that preaches both the total inability of man to please God, and the unconditional love of God in Christ toward His people, it should be no surprise that when real sin happens in their midst that those who believe the Gospel will respond with the same grace that God has given them in Christ.
But deep in the heart of hearts, and if you are true to the suspicions and doubts of your heart, you *are surprised* when the Gospel claimed to be believed is actually lived out in your midst toward people whose sin is real, and whose relationships are tattered.
Perhaps you are even surprised by your own reaction to it.
When sinners publicly can find acceptance, love and hope, it is antithetical to everything known to fallen humans - to love those who hurt you, to love them even through the hurt and despite the sin. You expect disillusionment. You expect disappointment. You expect shouts of hypocrisy. You expect anger. You expect striking back and striking out. Real sin demands real punishment. And, even if not from you, you expect a rejection of the sinner. That is the lesson the world beats into all of us - you deserve what you get, and get what you deserve.
But this Sunday morning, six weeks later, with so much against it, saw the worship service full. Far from the disillusionment so many churches have experienced in similar situations, this church has seen no falling away, and indeed have seen more people come to the congregation looking for and knowing that they too can find the love of Christ.
That day six weeks ago taught this church something about itself. That hope abounds there, even while the storm outside rages. That love abounds there, even in a world of selfish self-promotion at the expense of other. That where one sins so personally against so many can find hope, love and forgiveness, so can those whose sin maybe impacted fewer people and less deeply, or more people and more deeply.
To paraphrase the church's pastor, like moths to flame, the Gospel preached and lived out draws His people to it. Christ draws his people.
Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. (Col. 3:12-14)
The raging storms gathering outside are not the lightning and thunder and winds of a Spring time weather shift. They are not the floods of torrential rains. That day was but a microcosm of the truth we find in Christ. The real storm from which we seek shelter is the rejection and hopelessness of this world, and a sense that everywhere else we turn we will get what we deserve. The storm of unrealistic expectation, that, for those in the church, sin is no more.
And the real shelter is that found in Christ, demonstrated through His people, where we can be accepted and loved despite our sin, and despite our damnable good works. If not in His church, where can any find His shelter?
In those clouds, we find the lines of silver. We find safety in Him.
4theluv
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