I want to make my life into a music video.
Then, I can finally have images for the thoughts and feelings floating around me every day.
Swimming without surfacing. Running as pictures of important people, places, and events fly silently by while some dramatic music plays in the background giving a beautiful tone to a lack of control. The breaking of strongholds met with a deep melody. Rich piano sounds giving meaning to an average task. A deep cello noise convincing me that there is much meaning to practicing my purpose every day.
It seems nice to listlessly stare out the window of a bus traveling from nowhere important to somewhere else of equal or possibly lesser relevance while a great instrumental runs carelessly in the background.
The music makes wasted time seem important and meaningful. It makes waiting seem beautiful. And it makes a struggle seem more like a story than a feeling.
At a Christmas gathering over the weekend, a question was posed to the group: Looking back to this time last year how has your life, your faith walk changed?
Pause. The music has gone quiet.
The last year was a strange one. I confess I may have meandered through it without as much intentionality or purpose as I would have liked. For it struck me seconds after that question that I am not sure a whole lot has changed. For days, I’ve pondered quietly what that could mean in terms of my faith and relationship with Jesus trying to convince myself that this was not a lost year.
I read somewhere in the bible that if we worship worthless things we will also become worthless.
I’ve decided that comfort is worthless. Pride is worthless. And all the goods I have attained are worthless too.
In my mental music video, this is the climax of the song. I am putting these things into a large black garbage bag and throwing that bag over my shoulder. See me walking out the door and walking past the people I know and love too busy to stop because I am laboring with my bag. Struggling, I continue on. It’s windy. It’s uphill. It’s probably raining.
The bag makes me a cynic. I wonder why I have to carry this when I look around and everyone else seems bag free. My pace is slow and my gait far from straight. I walk with a divided purpose and pray half prayers as I fight with the will I have retained versus the will I have finally given over.
If I consider hanging on to the bag, I will possess more. If I leave it, then I will control less. It’s a bittersweet conviction.
Perhaps this is why A.W. Tozer said that there is a blessedness in possessing nothing? Or maybe, this is what the author is getting at in Hebrews 12:1 when he pleads with us to throw off everything that hinders us?
Carrying this bag is exhausting. And, carrying this bag is not my
job. I think I’ll leave it at the cross.
I am undecided about resolutions in 2011. Except I resolve to let Jesus do His job and try my best to respond with expediency, joy, and an attitude of thankfulness.
As the days close quickly on the end of this year, I hear this comment meander through my head with a great deal of frequency: “You don’t need __________. God has got a plan for your life.” It’s not always easy to resolve that at the end of a year like this. But, as a wise friend once said, “Thank God for new days, new weeks, and now new years.”
I’m looking forward to leaving this bag in 2010 and cashing in on new mercies every morning. I’m looking forward to a new song and not meandering through the year to come. I am grateful to this God I serve. I am thankful that my soul delights because I am his and that my strength in life is that I am his.
May this year’s bags be filled with hope, with truth, and the knowledge that God can make a garment of praise for a spirit of heaviness (Isaiah 61:3).
Merry Christmas, everyone. And, even more, a happy NEW year.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Fellows Reflection: December 2010
After a month of studying humility, I have yet to resolve whether it is valuable to have goals in this area or not. See humility, to steal a common analogy from a good friend, is sort of like driving a building. And goals for humility are kind of like the toll booths along the road. It’s not realistic or practical to think that I can fully stop the moving building before barreling through the gates. My intention: to pay the toll. My goal: to navigate a vehicle that I am incapable of stopping on my own. I’m sure that sounds odd, but through the readings this month this was the theme that seemed so prevalent – that humility is not about being occupied with controlling the tempest within the machine, but rather to take the focus off of the machine completely. To quote CS Lewis, “To love and admire anything outside yourself is to take one step away from utter spiritual ruin; though we shall not be well so long as we love and admire anything more than we love and admire God.” In that, I have come to a better understanding that humility is less about me and more about God. Throughout the month, I was inculcated by the notion of self-forgetfulness though I found this to be quite hard as it seemed wholly contradictory. The more I tried to forget myself, the more I considered myself. Although, in putting the curriculum of the institute together holistically, I did recognize it that this is an appropriate topic in response to the memory verse of last month from Matthew 22. First commandment: Love the Lord… Second commandment: Love neighbor… The two commandments being inherently self-forgetful if acted out both swiftly and sincerely.
We see this further communicated through the development of understanding that humility has its only advantage in an empty vessel – Not in a self-loathing one. As such, humility is, at its root, the very recognition that we are at our very best when we are completely bare, suggesting that the baggage and burden of titles, expectations, barriers, etc. are the very things that “make” us in this world, but also the things that prevent us from being completely available to godly conformity. Pride renders us as God in parts, which was never the way it was intended to be. Truly, it is pride that keeps us from who God wants us to be.
Andrew Murray says it like this: “And every, even the most secret, breathing of pride in self-seeking, self-will, self-confidence, or self-exaltation is the strengthening of that self which cannot enter the kingdom or possess the things of the kingdom, because it refuses to allow God to be what he is and must be there: the All in All. “ We spend so much time in puffed up posturing without realizing it will never have its way in the end anyhow. These are not the things or qualities that we’ll be showcasing in the heavenly realms and it is with much certainty that I conclude there will be no benefit of displaying them during our time in the world either. We must embrace an attitude of yieldedness to humility in order to encounter it with any intentionality at all. Murray continues by imploring us to “use every opportunity of humbling yourself before your fellow men as a help to abide humble before God. God will accept such humbling of yourself as the proof that your whole heart desires it.” Thus, it is important we seek out opportunities to be humbled and to know Christ through this blessed medium. For as we read in Philippians 2, it was through this vehicle that we ever came to know Christ anyhow. Though we may find ourselves on the doorstep of the humble more frequently than feels comfortable, we continue to knock there in anticipation that a lower and lesser self will rend a more glorified God and conformed likeness through this difficult pursuit.
We see this further communicated through the development of understanding that humility has its only advantage in an empty vessel – Not in a self-loathing one. As such, humility is, at its root, the very recognition that we are at our very best when we are completely bare, suggesting that the baggage and burden of titles, expectations, barriers, etc. are the very things that “make” us in this world, but also the things that prevent us from being completely available to godly conformity. Pride renders us as God in parts, which was never the way it was intended to be. Truly, it is pride that keeps us from who God wants us to be.
Andrew Murray says it like this: “And every, even the most secret, breathing of pride in self-seeking, self-will, self-confidence, or self-exaltation is the strengthening of that self which cannot enter the kingdom or possess the things of the kingdom, because it refuses to allow God to be what he is and must be there: the All in All. “ We spend so much time in puffed up posturing without realizing it will never have its way in the end anyhow. These are not the things or qualities that we’ll be showcasing in the heavenly realms and it is with much certainty that I conclude there will be no benefit of displaying them during our time in the world either. We must embrace an attitude of yieldedness to humility in order to encounter it with any intentionality at all. Murray continues by imploring us to “use every opportunity of humbling yourself before your fellow men as a help to abide humble before God. God will accept such humbling of yourself as the proof that your whole heart desires it.” Thus, it is important we seek out opportunities to be humbled and to know Christ through this blessed medium. For as we read in Philippians 2, it was through this vehicle that we ever came to know Christ anyhow. Though we may find ourselves on the doorstep of the humble more frequently than feels comfortable, we continue to knock there in anticipation that a lower and lesser self will rend a more glorified God and conformed likeness through this difficult pursuit.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Godly Wisdom From Ordinary Tasks...
A funny thing happened on the way to feeding the cat this morning…
See, after years of feeding my beloved Bean in a spot beside the living room end table it was noticeable that he was no longer comfortable eating there. Despite his social shortcomings, Bean tends to be a fairly hungry cat and can be quite demonstrative about his food. He will meow, he will rub his furry little self against my clean black pants, he will scratch at my door, and even pounce on my head in the middle of a REM cycle all to tell me he is finally ready to eat. So, it was odd when he became a little disinterested in his food. After much contemplation, it was decided that Bean’s food needed a simple change of location. As such, he has quietly munched on meal after meal of Friskies in his new corner nestled between the buffet and the wall.
Bean eats twice a day. Bean eats the same amount of food every day. And, he eats in the exact same spot every day. It’s predictable, it’s consistent, it’s not too hard to figure out. So, I found it quite odd that after months of Bean training me where to put his food, I wandered off the path of normalcy and strayed back to the old location. Thankfully, I caught myself before kitty chaos ensued, but I instantly thought – “How weird… Why, after months of doing the new routine over and over again, would I suddenly go back to what I used to do?”
I think it happens a lot. We resolve and even become habitual in a new way, a better way and suddenly, and sometimes mindlessly, we drift back into an old path. I think both the conscious and the unconscious need to be tended. It might seem silly to wax poetic about revelations initiated by cat food, but this one resonated. Every step, no matter how easy or small, is to be made intentionally. We may craft a life full of healthy and habitual spiritual disciplines… But habits and obedience are not always the same.
Where has routine overgrown a passion to obey? How do we push ourselves in the midst of our long obedience in the same direction? How can we refrain from sliding back into an old and familiar comfort?
These are the questions I wonder about after a small step in the wrong direction this morning. Needless to say, my steps will be more cautious and intentional when I wake up tomorrow.
See, after years of feeding my beloved Bean in a spot beside the living room end table it was noticeable that he was no longer comfortable eating there. Despite his social shortcomings, Bean tends to be a fairly hungry cat and can be quite demonstrative about his food. He will meow, he will rub his furry little self against my clean black pants, he will scratch at my door, and even pounce on my head in the middle of a REM cycle all to tell me he is finally ready to eat. So, it was odd when he became a little disinterested in his food. After much contemplation, it was decided that Bean’s food needed a simple change of location. As such, he has quietly munched on meal after meal of Friskies in his new corner nestled between the buffet and the wall.
Bean eats twice a day. Bean eats the same amount of food every day. And, he eats in the exact same spot every day. It’s predictable, it’s consistent, it’s not too hard to figure out. So, I found it quite odd that after months of Bean training me where to put his food, I wandered off the path of normalcy and strayed back to the old location. Thankfully, I caught myself before kitty chaos ensued, but I instantly thought – “How weird… Why, after months of doing the new routine over and over again, would I suddenly go back to what I used to do?”
I think it happens a lot. We resolve and even become habitual in a new way, a better way and suddenly, and sometimes mindlessly, we drift back into an old path. I think both the conscious and the unconscious need to be tended. It might seem silly to wax poetic about revelations initiated by cat food, but this one resonated. Every step, no matter how easy or small, is to be made intentionally. We may craft a life full of healthy and habitual spiritual disciplines… But habits and obedience are not always the same.
Where has routine overgrown a passion to obey? How do we push ourselves in the midst of our long obedience in the same direction? How can we refrain from sliding back into an old and familiar comfort?
These are the questions I wonder about after a small step in the wrong direction this morning. Needless to say, my steps will be more cautious and intentional when I wake up tomorrow.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Fellows Reflection: November 2010
During my short time with the CS Lewis Institute, I have heard rumors and collected a healthy respect for what those who have gone before call the “hardest” month: next month, or the month of humility. In doing so, I hardly walked into October expecting to be confronted by a constant barrage of questions, doubts, and convictions. The month of love seemed easy. It seemed like a nice topic just before the painstaking examination necessary for a life of humility. What I found, however, was that first things needed to come first and love must precede humility though the two often go hand in hand.
I’m often guilty of wanting things – well, everything – to come in nicely wrapped packages: ones that can be easily transported, nicely delivered, and, if necessary, cleaned up and removed quickly. But, love doesn’t follow these rules. Godly loves means surrendering to the greatest of contradictions. It means being empty to be filled. It means loving others as you love yourself. It means messy is beautiful and brokenness leads to wholeness. From an earthly perspective, this really makes no sense. But then again, the earthly tend to put second things first and forego that which is eternal for that which is temporal all the time.
I read this CS Lewis quote over the summer: "Every preference of a small good to a great, or a partial good to a total good, almost always ends with the loss of the small or partial good for which the sacrifice was made. Apparently the world is made that way. If Esau really got his pottage in return for his birthright, then Esau was a lucky exception. You can't get second things by putting them first; you can get second things only by putting first things first."
This is a thought I come back to regularly because I am immaturely putting second things first all the time. But, in the pattern of doing so, I have noticed the same sins, weaknesses, and insecurities coming back to haunt me time and time again. See, there is this “at least” mentality to my faith and as my human heart fills in the blank of the “at least I __________” statement, I slowly identify what replaces God in my life and what keeps me from fulfilling the greatest commandment of them all.
In Matthew 22, we learn that the greatest commandment is to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, and mind. This is a first thing. The next and similar commandment is to love our neighbor as our self. This is a second thing. We can’t very well go on loving our neighbor as our self with any measure of hope or success without first loving God fully. For if we do, it is merely a human and; thus, empty love void of infinitude or selflessness.
Getting back to first and second things, I am surprised at how often the world and the flesh rival God for primary position in my own life. Even more, I am also “surprised” by the difficulty that ensues, attributing it to my own faults and failures, and not necessarily looking at is as a good measure by which the Lord invokes my discomfort in this world to ignite the memory of the world I actually belong to. Peter Kreeft, in his book, The God Who Loves You, puts it nicely saying, “The thorns and thistles that spring up after the fall prevent us from contentedly sleeping in our exile and mistaking it for home.” Agreed. Suffering, a medium through which God expresses his love for us or as the author defines it “God’s love getting its way”, is also the avenue by which we look temptation in the eye and remind it that is not the landlord of our soul… God is. That our feelings are not governing our thoughts and actions, but rather God, being primary, who determines the direction and duration of our suffering in order to rend for himself a heart ready to love him fully and completely. We idolize God because he is worthy. We deny the idolatry of all else because we understand the failure in making anything tantamount to God. Again, Kreeft notes that, “we must always think of first things first. Then second things will fall into place. We will see the temptation to idolize those second things for what it is: sheer folly.”
Recognizing that folly and, subsequently, the priority of God’s love, is so important when fostering relationships of love with other people. D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones writes, “The knowledge of God humbles us to the dust; and in that position you do not think about your rights and your dignity. You have no need any longer to protect yourselves, because you feel you are unworthy of everything.” This loss of protection is part humility and part trusting God. As we remove the temporary fences we have guarded our heart with for so long, we are sensitive to the elements of community and the weather of God’s love. We are exposed, but our exposure now means, as CS Lewis says, “(that) when we are such that He can love without impediment, we shall in fact be happy.”
In love we find happiness. In happiness, we find something far different from that pedestrian definition that we’re given in grade school. We find that the glory of God is man fully alive. We find God’s love not by hiding who it is we truly are, as if we could actually be misunderstood by God, but by being fully known… For love and vulnerability are often synonymous in the kingdom of God. Such as love and suffering often find the same end. Lewis perpetuates this notion by affirming that “It is natural for us to wish that God had designed for us a less glorious and less arduous destiny; but then we are wishing not for more love, but for less.” I may “want” less love in my mind, but I certainly do not wish for it in my heart.
More love may resemble more pain while we dwell here on earth. Love is not easy though I mistakenly entered into this month thinking that. We are only loved as we are fully known and we only love as we fully know both God and others. We are not called to a life of neatly wrapped packages and easy escapes. Love encompasses less of what we want, yet more of what we need. To do it well, it requires that we put first things first and be completely sold out to the master plan of both blessing and suffering that God has designed for us.
I’m often guilty of wanting things – well, everything – to come in nicely wrapped packages: ones that can be easily transported, nicely delivered, and, if necessary, cleaned up and removed quickly. But, love doesn’t follow these rules. Godly loves means surrendering to the greatest of contradictions. It means being empty to be filled. It means loving others as you love yourself. It means messy is beautiful and brokenness leads to wholeness. From an earthly perspective, this really makes no sense. But then again, the earthly tend to put second things first and forego that which is eternal for that which is temporal all the time.
I read this CS Lewis quote over the summer: "Every preference of a small good to a great, or a partial good to a total good, almost always ends with the loss of the small or partial good for which the sacrifice was made. Apparently the world is made that way. If Esau really got his pottage in return for his birthright, then Esau was a lucky exception. You can't get second things by putting them first; you can get second things only by putting first things first."
This is a thought I come back to regularly because I am immaturely putting second things first all the time. But, in the pattern of doing so, I have noticed the same sins, weaknesses, and insecurities coming back to haunt me time and time again. See, there is this “at least” mentality to my faith and as my human heart fills in the blank of the “at least I __________” statement, I slowly identify what replaces God in my life and what keeps me from fulfilling the greatest commandment of them all.
In Matthew 22, we learn that the greatest commandment is to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, and mind. This is a first thing. The next and similar commandment is to love our neighbor as our self. This is a second thing. We can’t very well go on loving our neighbor as our self with any measure of hope or success without first loving God fully. For if we do, it is merely a human and; thus, empty love void of infinitude or selflessness.
Getting back to first and second things, I am surprised at how often the world and the flesh rival God for primary position in my own life. Even more, I am also “surprised” by the difficulty that ensues, attributing it to my own faults and failures, and not necessarily looking at is as a good measure by which the Lord invokes my discomfort in this world to ignite the memory of the world I actually belong to. Peter Kreeft, in his book, The God Who Loves You, puts it nicely saying, “The thorns and thistles that spring up after the fall prevent us from contentedly sleeping in our exile and mistaking it for home.” Agreed. Suffering, a medium through which God expresses his love for us or as the author defines it “God’s love getting its way”, is also the avenue by which we look temptation in the eye and remind it that is not the landlord of our soul… God is. That our feelings are not governing our thoughts and actions, but rather God, being primary, who determines the direction and duration of our suffering in order to rend for himself a heart ready to love him fully and completely. We idolize God because he is worthy. We deny the idolatry of all else because we understand the failure in making anything tantamount to God. Again, Kreeft notes that, “we must always think of first things first. Then second things will fall into place. We will see the temptation to idolize those second things for what it is: sheer folly.”
Recognizing that folly and, subsequently, the priority of God’s love, is so important when fostering relationships of love with other people. D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones writes, “The knowledge of God humbles us to the dust; and in that position you do not think about your rights and your dignity. You have no need any longer to protect yourselves, because you feel you are unworthy of everything.” This loss of protection is part humility and part trusting God. As we remove the temporary fences we have guarded our heart with for so long, we are sensitive to the elements of community and the weather of God’s love. We are exposed, but our exposure now means, as CS Lewis says, “(that) when we are such that He can love without impediment, we shall in fact be happy.”
In love we find happiness. In happiness, we find something far different from that pedestrian definition that we’re given in grade school. We find that the glory of God is man fully alive. We find God’s love not by hiding who it is we truly are, as if we could actually be misunderstood by God, but by being fully known… For love and vulnerability are often synonymous in the kingdom of God. Such as love and suffering often find the same end. Lewis perpetuates this notion by affirming that “It is natural for us to wish that God had designed for us a less glorious and less arduous destiny; but then we are wishing not for more love, but for less.” I may “want” less love in my mind, but I certainly do not wish for it in my heart.
More love may resemble more pain while we dwell here on earth. Love is not easy though I mistakenly entered into this month thinking that. We are only loved as we are fully known and we only love as we fully know both God and others. We are not called to a life of neatly wrapped packages and easy escapes. Love encompasses less of what we want, yet more of what we need. To do it well, it requires that we put first things first and be completely sold out to the master plan of both blessing and suffering that God has designed for us.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
A Managed Soul
The slow and innocent hum of pursuing the mundane softly plays in the background of everyone’s head. Love less. Pray less. Give less. Serve less. Whatever it is, do it less. And instead, consider what we like and follow aimlessly after it as if it were the means to our end. These are not the times the try men’s souls, for if they were, we might recognize them. These are, however, the days that wear men’s souls… Quietly antiquating godly pursuits while bartering for the world in the marketplace of good and evil. On the trading grounds where the spiritual has less street value than the temporal, how can we distinguish the true value of anything and then determine our hearts to pursue it? These are the days of vapid existence and false reality. These are the times when the term “God is love” seems trite and though many may acknowledge that it is still universally applicable, they would also contest that it’s not for them and you can believe what you want. Meandering without intention through life has quenched our thirst for God… We may have drifted to a quiet tune… But the music took us far off the shoreline of remembering the reckless love of God and brought us into the waters of the managed soul. Richard Kreeft in his book, The God Who Loves You, wrote that “a managed soul is a frozen soul.” To be frozen is to be immovable, cold to the touch, and, in this case, in a state not fit for change. As we seek to micro manage our feelings, our reactions, and our behaviors all for a good impression towards the world we see our souls slowly dying… Not because life is not available, but because atrophy has set in and the soul lost its power to be used, guided, and shaped as God had intended. It can be hard as the world tends to be both ruthless and relentless, suffering and challenge abounds, and managing our soul seems to be the only way to navigate forward with any hope of survival. And, it’s not that we couldn’t use God’s help in the matter it’s just that we’re not always sold on the fact that it necessarily makes any difference. If God allows these hard things to happen, then tell me, what is the necessity in inclining my soul towards his? It’s a fair question. Later on in his book, Kreeft puts into words exactly what my mind must know to become like Paul, content in suffering, and carry on… cross on back, self behind, and God as the finish line… He says, “I need to know that my very sufferings and failures are the caress of His personal, individual love-plan for me, not the inevitable result of his impersonal justice.” I agree. Though the latter is fair, to thaw my soul I must understand that my suffering, my struggle, my cross is part of my personal plan of love from God for my life. For as long as I distinguish God as distant, my heart can never truly consider that it might brush against Him and forever change the way I live.
Friday, October 22, 2010
A Short Blurb For A Long Month
Here is a list: photocopied souls, standardized selves, mass conformity, the lonely crowd.
The words? Seemingly distant, yet achingly familiar. In a time when loving the world, entertaining temptation, and climbing every possible ladder seems both popular and easy, I find it incredibly difficult to walk God’s terrain denying myself and carrying my cross.
Our wills of conformity to the savior and unwillingness to compromise have been weakened. Not because we have gone into the battle and come out wounded, but because have yet to train and build endurance for self-denial and cross carrying. If I cease my training when it becomes hard or at the point of muscle fatigue, how can I grow? How can I ever deny myself further than my wanton desires or carry my cross farther than my capricious needs?
I cannot. I am human. And alone – I am incapable.
Enter Savior…
The words? Seemingly distant, yet achingly familiar. In a time when loving the world, entertaining temptation, and climbing every possible ladder seems both popular and easy, I find it incredibly difficult to walk God’s terrain denying myself and carrying my cross.
Our wills of conformity to the savior and unwillingness to compromise have been weakened. Not because we have gone into the battle and come out wounded, but because have yet to train and build endurance for self-denial and cross carrying. If I cease my training when it becomes hard or at the point of muscle fatigue, how can I grow? How can I ever deny myself further than my wanton desires or carry my cross farther than my capricious needs?
I cannot. I am human. And alone – I am incapable.
Enter Savior…
Friday, October 1, 2010
Fellows Reflection: October 2010
To be honest, this month was brutal. The texts we so incredibly convicting and it was easy to recognize how far short I fall from the foot of the cross on a regular basis. Perhaps one of the most compelling parts of the month came in the action assignment, where we were given a set of scripture points to read through and reflect on as we carved out several hours with God. As I began to read through the verse from Mark 8, I recognized both stirrings and questions. I was called to take up my cross, but wondered, frankly, what is my cross? And, even more, as the verse continued I questioned my own life in light of the gospel and wondered if I was truly “all in.” Each person is responsible for the negotiating the world/soul exchange question… For no decision is actually a decision in and of itself. Furthermore, when we look at the paradox of losing our life to save it or saving our life only to lose it, I was struck by this statement: “Our unbelief about these truths is at the root of all sin.” True… Maybe too true. I guess that I recognized that that statement is so all or nothing. I can’t have both. I either lose to save or save to lose. I see in this my desire to quench two thirsts: my thirst for God and my thirst for the world. I fear giving up the world because this world is all I know.
Conviction was furthered by recognizing several times over what the reality of following Christ really looks like. The article, Others May, You Cannot, most succinctly described by conflict between flesh and following Christ… That there may be things that others may do, see, or experience… But there are things that I will not. I may be called to a life of smallness, poverty, or obscurity. Or as the articles states, I will definitely be called “to a life of crucifixion and humility.” This is helpful in aligning my purpose for every day and seems to parallel the first condition of coming after Jesus as described in Mark 8:34, which is to deny myself. I do not choose the ways and the whys of God’s rebuke, guidance, or shepherding… But, merely attempt to practice the art of joyfully and sincerely following, conditions set aside, in an attempt to become more and more like him each day. This is the “necessity of forming a firm intention to please God” and striving not for worldly gains, but for growth in purity and honoring the Lord with my life. We’ve come to accept failure and falling short as part of being broken people in a broken world. We acknowledge that grace covers us, but find ourselves conflicted as to why we do not see God or experience holiness in the ways of past generations. William Law says it nicely by expressing, “And if you will stop here and ask yourselves why you are not as pious as the primitive Christians were, your own heart will tell you that it is neither through ignorance or inability, but purely because you never thoroughly intended it…” That truth stings a little because I pause and ask myself if I intended on trying to follow God 100% or merely balance the great juxtaposition of a life with Christ and a life in the world? Through our time dedicated to recommitment this month, I recognized that I want the former and to follow hard after him.
So when he calls to us, we are not simply called to walk behind him, but to be trained in a new way. We can only see his kingdom as he leads us through it and, when it comes to following Jesus, there is no looking back. We see this in the case of Lot’s wife when she looked back and turned into the pillar of salt. Looking back is paralysis in faith and could possibly be a permanent condition which renders us apart from faith when we don’t willingly turn against it. We see this even more through the passage from Luke 9:57 – 62 when people are informed of the true cost of follow-ship. Many days we walk through life noticing that being a disciple costs more, is more difficult, and much more inconvenient than we expected when we began the journey. “But first” is the statement, being a reflection of the heart, that prevents us from really knowing the Lord. We sign on for conditional discipleship, which is really no discipleship at all. Making conditions reveals our true sincerity… or lack of it when it comes to following Christ. In the process of encountering Christ, there comes a point when the recognition of “no other way” is a reality. The father has bid us come, not the other way around… However, we accept this invitation and the journey begins. As grace covers sin along the holy landscape, we take advantage of the fact that it is this covering that grants us eternity. This is the beauty of the cross and it is this that I want to come back to in times of distance and difficulty in my walk with the Lord. There is relief in knowing that surely grace covers all these things.
Conviction was furthered by recognizing several times over what the reality of following Christ really looks like. The article, Others May, You Cannot, most succinctly described by conflict between flesh and following Christ… That there may be things that others may do, see, or experience… But there are things that I will not. I may be called to a life of smallness, poverty, or obscurity. Or as the articles states, I will definitely be called “to a life of crucifixion and humility.” This is helpful in aligning my purpose for every day and seems to parallel the first condition of coming after Jesus as described in Mark 8:34, which is to deny myself. I do not choose the ways and the whys of God’s rebuke, guidance, or shepherding… But, merely attempt to practice the art of joyfully and sincerely following, conditions set aside, in an attempt to become more and more like him each day. This is the “necessity of forming a firm intention to please God” and striving not for worldly gains, but for growth in purity and honoring the Lord with my life. We’ve come to accept failure and falling short as part of being broken people in a broken world. We acknowledge that grace covers us, but find ourselves conflicted as to why we do not see God or experience holiness in the ways of past generations. William Law says it nicely by expressing, “And if you will stop here and ask yourselves why you are not as pious as the primitive Christians were, your own heart will tell you that it is neither through ignorance or inability, but purely because you never thoroughly intended it…” That truth stings a little because I pause and ask myself if I intended on trying to follow God 100% or merely balance the great juxtaposition of a life with Christ and a life in the world? Through our time dedicated to recommitment this month, I recognized that I want the former and to follow hard after him.
So when he calls to us, we are not simply called to walk behind him, but to be trained in a new way. We can only see his kingdom as he leads us through it and, when it comes to following Jesus, there is no looking back. We see this in the case of Lot’s wife when she looked back and turned into the pillar of salt. Looking back is paralysis in faith and could possibly be a permanent condition which renders us apart from faith when we don’t willingly turn against it. We see this even more through the passage from Luke 9:57 – 62 when people are informed of the true cost of follow-ship. Many days we walk through life noticing that being a disciple costs more, is more difficult, and much more inconvenient than we expected when we began the journey. “But first” is the statement, being a reflection of the heart, that prevents us from really knowing the Lord. We sign on for conditional discipleship, which is really no discipleship at all. Making conditions reveals our true sincerity… or lack of it when it comes to following Christ. In the process of encountering Christ, there comes a point when the recognition of “no other way” is a reality. The father has bid us come, not the other way around… However, we accept this invitation and the journey begins. As grace covers sin along the holy landscape, we take advantage of the fact that it is this covering that grants us eternity. This is the beauty of the cross and it is this that I want to come back to in times of distance and difficulty in my walk with the Lord. There is relief in knowing that surely grace covers all these things.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
The Buoy and the Bookshelf
A good friend recently asked me this question: Which inanimate object best describes your faith right now?
Interesting question, right? I have to say though – It was the one in a litany of rather unusual questions that I insisted on answering to myself.
In response to a recent sermon and subsequent staff blogs on biblical womanhood, I’ve frequently wondered about my stance… err, position in the matter. Not necessarily my opinions on what was said, but rather where I fell on the spectrum between what God desires and well, to be frank, what’s easiest for me. Spiritual disciplines, active prayer life, authentic and deep community… These are all good things. But when it comes down to contentment and control, where do I stand?
I think Jennifer made some great points when alluding to the mums in her garden. (See her blog here: http://frontlinetysons.com/2010/08/biblical-womanhood-digging-past-the-numbness/) There are things we can dig at and think we’ve uprooted, only to later see that we’ve merely scratched the surface. And, there are times we face numbness as a personal necessity for carrying on, only to realize we’ve anesthetized ourselves far longer than we ever intended. The way I see it, is it’s kind of like a buoy. When pain, discomfort, loneliness, etc. head our way, we grab onto the life preserver of ignorance and numbness, hoping the wave will roll over us and a “mercy will be new in the morning.” Let’s be honest though, sometimes it seems like many mornings before we really feel like mercy is new, right? The problem with the buoy is that the longer we cling to it, the less it really serves its purpose. What was once the thing that sustained us, will be the very place of our demise if we’re there too long. For a life preserver is exactly that… A preserver… It’s not a sustainer, and when we cling to the comfort of not feeling, we experience deadness and, naturally, distance. I’m merely repeating many before me when I note that the places of our numbness are not just places that don’t feel pain, but also places that don’t access joy. Numbness is not a fruit of the spirit, but joy is… So, what does that tell me about the pursuit of pain?
Pain is an indication that something’s not quite right. Locate its source and you can begin to deal with the problem. I guess my problem is that I treat my sources of pain like books on a shelf… Things that can be picked up and studied for a time, but can easily be put back on the shelf when time, other interests, or something better, maybe even less painful, comes along. The problem with pain is not that exists, but that it persists. In humanness, we are powerless to fight it. Things die at the cross, but if we won’t make the pilgrimage to get them there then they live in the village of our heart long after they should. For too long, we’ve shelved our pains and run after something prettier, even something “godlier.” No one stops us because what is godly is good and begs no questioning to those on the periphery. I’d be the first to agree that we shouldn’t dwell in the pain, but we also shouldn’t leave before we’re called. Pain grows its roots strong and deep… And, for certain situations, it even takes the liberty of wrapping its torturous tendrils around our hearts. Cutting down the tree doesn’t rid us of the remnants. It merely gives us a stump that tempts us to believe we’re not the new creation God promised us we were in 2 Corinthians.
In Psalm 84:6 it says, “When they walk through the Valley of Tears, it will become a place of refreshing springs.” See, here we’re shown that the very place of our longsuffering, can be the source of our renewal as well. I type with agreement in my head, though my heart understands, as it has witnessed in previous trials, that this might be a thousand times harder than it sounds. Regardless of its difficulty, we know that pain and suffering are seeds of transformation. Transformation is what God desires. I have to wonder if he sees our tears and knows that if we’re willing to stand in them, then we’ll be that promised new creation. I have to think that transformation is a foundation of biblical womanhood, which therefore means that pain and trial must be preludes to the finished product. Can I find contentment in the process of transformation and can I relinquish control in order that God can complete his good works in me? The verse prior to Psalm 84:6 says, “What joy for those whose strength comes from the Lord, who have set their minds on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.” As biblical people, we are in the midst of our travels to Jerusalem… Where will we find our strength? Where will our minds be set? Will we continue to the cross with joy in hearts, knowing that we are being transformed and, simultaneously upheld, by the steady pounding of our feet upon the dirt path of a worthwhile journey?
Interesting question, right? I have to say though – It was the one in a litany of rather unusual questions that I insisted on answering to myself.
In response to a recent sermon and subsequent staff blogs on biblical womanhood, I’ve frequently wondered about my stance… err, position in the matter. Not necessarily my opinions on what was said, but rather where I fell on the spectrum between what God desires and well, to be frank, what’s easiest for me. Spiritual disciplines, active prayer life, authentic and deep community… These are all good things. But when it comes down to contentment and control, where do I stand?
I think Jennifer made some great points when alluding to the mums in her garden. (See her blog here: http://frontlinetysons.com/2010/08/biblical-womanhood-digging-past-the-numbness/) There are things we can dig at and think we’ve uprooted, only to later see that we’ve merely scratched the surface. And, there are times we face numbness as a personal necessity for carrying on, only to realize we’ve anesthetized ourselves far longer than we ever intended. The way I see it, is it’s kind of like a buoy. When pain, discomfort, loneliness, etc. head our way, we grab onto the life preserver of ignorance and numbness, hoping the wave will roll over us and a “mercy will be new in the morning.” Let’s be honest though, sometimes it seems like many mornings before we really feel like mercy is new, right? The problem with the buoy is that the longer we cling to it, the less it really serves its purpose. What was once the thing that sustained us, will be the very place of our demise if we’re there too long. For a life preserver is exactly that… A preserver… It’s not a sustainer, and when we cling to the comfort of not feeling, we experience deadness and, naturally, distance. I’m merely repeating many before me when I note that the places of our numbness are not just places that don’t feel pain, but also places that don’t access joy. Numbness is not a fruit of the spirit, but joy is… So, what does that tell me about the pursuit of pain?
Pain is an indication that something’s not quite right. Locate its source and you can begin to deal with the problem. I guess my problem is that I treat my sources of pain like books on a shelf… Things that can be picked up and studied for a time, but can easily be put back on the shelf when time, other interests, or something better, maybe even less painful, comes along. The problem with pain is not that exists, but that it persists. In humanness, we are powerless to fight it. Things die at the cross, but if we won’t make the pilgrimage to get them there then they live in the village of our heart long after they should. For too long, we’ve shelved our pains and run after something prettier, even something “godlier.” No one stops us because what is godly is good and begs no questioning to those on the periphery. I’d be the first to agree that we shouldn’t dwell in the pain, but we also shouldn’t leave before we’re called. Pain grows its roots strong and deep… And, for certain situations, it even takes the liberty of wrapping its torturous tendrils around our hearts. Cutting down the tree doesn’t rid us of the remnants. It merely gives us a stump that tempts us to believe we’re not the new creation God promised us we were in 2 Corinthians.
In Psalm 84:6 it says, “When they walk through the Valley of Tears, it will become a place of refreshing springs.” See, here we’re shown that the very place of our longsuffering, can be the source of our renewal as well. I type with agreement in my head, though my heart understands, as it has witnessed in previous trials, that this might be a thousand times harder than it sounds. Regardless of its difficulty, we know that pain and suffering are seeds of transformation. Transformation is what God desires. I have to wonder if he sees our tears and knows that if we’re willing to stand in them, then we’ll be that promised new creation. I have to think that transformation is a foundation of biblical womanhood, which therefore means that pain and trial must be preludes to the finished product. Can I find contentment in the process of transformation and can I relinquish control in order that God can complete his good works in me? The verse prior to Psalm 84:6 says, “What joy for those whose strength comes from the Lord, who have set their minds on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.” As biblical people, we are in the midst of our travels to Jerusalem… Where will we find our strength? Where will our minds be set? Will we continue to the cross with joy in hearts, knowing that we are being transformed and, simultaneously upheld, by the steady pounding of our feet upon the dirt path of a worthwhile journey?
Thursday, August 5, 2010
My Ephraim, My Double Fruit
Sometimes, I’m frustrated when I miss seeing an easy and obvious parallel. I value being able to see what’s before me very quickly and; thus, coming to an understanding of what I think God might be up to as a result. Inasmuch as Russia was a rich experience filled with opportunities to be challenged by God in ways unexpected and, frankly, undesired, I confess that I nearly missed the comprehension of blessing, of fruit in the midst of surviving the struggle. I grew satisfied with enduring and forgot that fruit was often rendered from this blessed endurance. I saw the forest and the mountain and all the while blessing laid quietly on the ground below.
The interesting thing about my time in the Russian wilderness is that it made me so uncomfortable. In the metro DC area, I don’t often dabble in the neighborhood of being unprepared, unequipped, or in need. I am more comfortable with dispensing than receiving, with knowing than asking, with making a way than being shown a way. Throughout the week or so spent in the wild about six hours outside of Saint Petersburg, I spent much time running through the forest, wandering its paths and navigating its steep and overgrown terrain. Every night we would convene around the campfire for dinner and eventually for club and every night I would see several of the kids with these cups full of fresh strawberries and blueberries. Curious as to their origin (and admittedly in need of something to eat that wasn’t buckwheat), I finally asked where everyone was getting the berries from. And gently I was told that they were all around, I just had to pick them. All around? I had traversed nearly every stretch of this terrain and had never seen the first berry. I saw trees, I saw grass, and I saw weeds. But, the next day, as I slowed down and finally ceased my rushing through this wilderness place, I saw that they were exactly right. Covering the forest floor, in what I perceived were weeds, were tiny little plants with harvests of strawberries and blueberries… I had been running by and through this fruit all week… I had been so engaged in quickly trying to exit the wilderness that I almost missed the fruit the whole time.
It reminds me of a story I’ve read several times and then came across again shortly after returning. The story of Joseph being sold into slavery, only to eventually be placed in a position of power in Egypt, is one of the great redemptive tales told in the bible. There are many layers to the story, but the one that applies here comes from the birthing and naming of his two sons: Manasseh and Ephraim. Manasseh meaning “God has made me forget entirely all my suffering and family” and Ephraim meaning “God has blessed me in the land of my affliction” or, as Strong’s concordance specifies, “Double Fruit”. Joseph recognized that despite his position in the land of his personal suffering, that God had given him fruit, double fruit, as a blessing in the midst of his wilderness experience. We may tarry in our compliance to enter our wilderness place, but we should not fail to understand that blessing always follows obedience.
It’s really no surprise to me that I might rush through a wilderness if at all possible. I mean, there are mountaintops to get to and, seriously, who wants trial when summit is the destiny? But, what I witnessed was evidence of so much… that there is still fruit in the wilderness, that rushing through a struggle may bear no fruit at all, and that, in the spirit of Calvin, it’s not just about going promptly, it’s also about going sincerely. Brevity in the midst of trials should not be our end goal. Though quickly exiting the tolls of discomfort is quite appealing, we cannot neglect that there is gain for us in the wilderness just as there is blessing for us in the times of triumph. What I see in the story of Joseph is a heightened recognition of blessed reception and glorious redemption because of his coordinates in the land of his affliction. We may often fail to recognize God’s provision in the day to day, but we surely do not fail to bear witness when provision occurs in our moments of lack. As such, I may have had difficulty understanding that there was fruit, true fruit in the wild landscape I was attempting to endure, but through the process of becoming slow and deliberate in the land of challenge and difficulty my cup was filled and double fruit rendered as a result.
The interesting thing about my time in the Russian wilderness is that it made me so uncomfortable. In the metro DC area, I don’t often dabble in the neighborhood of being unprepared, unequipped, or in need. I am more comfortable with dispensing than receiving, with knowing than asking, with making a way than being shown a way. Throughout the week or so spent in the wild about six hours outside of Saint Petersburg, I spent much time running through the forest, wandering its paths and navigating its steep and overgrown terrain. Every night we would convene around the campfire for dinner and eventually for club and every night I would see several of the kids with these cups full of fresh strawberries and blueberries. Curious as to their origin (and admittedly in need of something to eat that wasn’t buckwheat), I finally asked where everyone was getting the berries from. And gently I was told that they were all around, I just had to pick them. All around? I had traversed nearly every stretch of this terrain and had never seen the first berry. I saw trees, I saw grass, and I saw weeds. But, the next day, as I slowed down and finally ceased my rushing through this wilderness place, I saw that they were exactly right. Covering the forest floor, in what I perceived were weeds, were tiny little plants with harvests of strawberries and blueberries… I had been running by and through this fruit all week… I had been so engaged in quickly trying to exit the wilderness that I almost missed the fruit the whole time.
It reminds me of a story I’ve read several times and then came across again shortly after returning. The story of Joseph being sold into slavery, only to eventually be placed in a position of power in Egypt, is one of the great redemptive tales told in the bible. There are many layers to the story, but the one that applies here comes from the birthing and naming of his two sons: Manasseh and Ephraim. Manasseh meaning “God has made me forget entirely all my suffering and family” and Ephraim meaning “God has blessed me in the land of my affliction” or, as Strong’s concordance specifies, “Double Fruit”. Joseph recognized that despite his position in the land of his personal suffering, that God had given him fruit, double fruit, as a blessing in the midst of his wilderness experience. We may tarry in our compliance to enter our wilderness place, but we should not fail to understand that blessing always follows obedience.
It’s really no surprise to me that I might rush through a wilderness if at all possible. I mean, there are mountaintops to get to and, seriously, who wants trial when summit is the destiny? But, what I witnessed was evidence of so much… that there is still fruit in the wilderness, that rushing through a struggle may bear no fruit at all, and that, in the spirit of Calvin, it’s not just about going promptly, it’s also about going sincerely. Brevity in the midst of trials should not be our end goal. Though quickly exiting the tolls of discomfort is quite appealing, we cannot neglect that there is gain for us in the wilderness just as there is blessing for us in the times of triumph. What I see in the story of Joseph is a heightened recognition of blessed reception and glorious redemption because of his coordinates in the land of his affliction. We may often fail to recognize God’s provision in the day to day, but we surely do not fail to bear witness when provision occurs in our moments of lack. As such, I may have had difficulty understanding that there was fruit, true fruit in the wild landscape I was attempting to endure, but through the process of becoming slow and deliberate in the land of challenge and difficulty my cup was filled and double fruit rendered as a result.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Dear Russia - Thanks for the memories... (Part One)
To most it probably seems so soon, but to me it seems too long to have waited before writing much, if anything, about my recent trip. My proximity to my Russian experience dwindles with each day. Try as I may to keep each memory and lesson solidly with me, I struggle to balance what I now know with the life I continue to live. Fear and doubt consumed much of my thinking prior to departure… After all, it was different than I thought it was going to be. I’ve so safely assumed different to always be worse, without acknowledging the truth that different is often better… And even more than that, different is what I need. In the book, Spiritual Birthline, Robert Dolibois makes this comment, “Interventions in my own plans are initially disappointing, but in hindsight prove unquestionably to have been right for me.” And I guess, upon glancing in my rear view mirror, this is most definitely a large lesson gained through this recent experience.
Though I have spent several summers traveling to different missions, I am still absolutely struck at the way God works in the midst of my isolation. To be honest, my surprise speaks more to my immaturity than to anything else. After all, traveling into the wilderness seems to align nicely with the lessons the Lord has been showing me throughout this year. The Lord is not haphazard or inconsistent in seeing a lesson all the way through. I guess my hope for providence usurped my desire for growth temporarily and, subsequently, I resented my certain place hoping only for my sacred place at the time. Community is good, but being romanced by the King on an adventure alone is something of unspeakable value. To cleave to the things that don’t come naturally fosters a new trust, a heightened intimacy, and, frankly, and understanding of the intricate architecture of my personal faith.
If asked today “How was your trip?” I would undoubtedly say it was good and that the Lord taught me much. And while both are entirely true, the walk from beginning to end was painful, incredible, and oddly safe despite the apparent danger around many corners. Typical mission or not, there is something about leaving the country that brings me closer to the Lord. Perhaps it is dependence or, in some way, independence from the daily drudgery that plagues my mind. A step away from the typical allows access to regions not quickly accessed in the day to day of surface conversations and obligatory meetings. So often we hear the term “wherever the Lord leads” only to concede that we had really mapped out and decided upon our own direction with hopeful aspirations that the Lord would not act against it. But when His force does in fact act upon our decision we are given a new choice: we can choose his perfect plan or we can choose to act as if we know best the where, when and how of coming to meet his divine presence. The quicker we concede to the former, the faster the holy spirit can shape us into our new creation. For it is not me who chooses my path to God’s connection, but rather God who grants it and waits for compliance. I have come to see that my frustration is most heightened by what I deem as God’s failure to use the map I so kindly drew for him. But let’s be realistic here… My map had a destination… A confession of my limit. It is impossible for me to sketch a set of directions towards infinitude. For it is a place I am not to know, but accept as a gift with grace.
Ministry in Russia moves forward with a confidence preceding assurance. Nothing is guaranteed… The clubhouse in jeopardy… The campsite unseen… The campers mostly unknown. When I asked about a budget they said there was none. And yet, movement commences without the necessity of promise. There they move without knowing because waiting for knowledge almost always secures missed opportunity. I think America has both blessed and destroyed me. It has caused me to always want a plan and yield until one exists. In other places that luxury just does not occur. It’s why my spirit hesitated to surrender quickly to the new plan of traveling alone… And, essentially, it’s why I struggle to obey with expediency more often than not. To me, the new plan made very little sense… but now I see that God rarely dwells in “sense.” Sense is something bred by humans. The illogical and improbable however… Well, that is of a godly substance. The further I progress in the dwelling of His kingdom the more I recognize that “impossible” is a mortal term and not at all restricting of our creator. In the end, it’s merely a matter of willingness to know this triune God through means of ruthless trust and obedience. To live in the deepest parts of God’s heart, one must dig to get there. We cannot presume that depth comes from easy and unchallenged living… It comes not from symphony, but from cacophony… A disruption from the harmony of everyday living to take up our cross and intentionally follow the Lord. It’s a scary thought to petition the Lord to wreck this life I’ve come to know… But surely He will and it’s only here where healing truly begins.
Though I have spent several summers traveling to different missions, I am still absolutely struck at the way God works in the midst of my isolation. To be honest, my surprise speaks more to my immaturity than to anything else. After all, traveling into the wilderness seems to align nicely with the lessons the Lord has been showing me throughout this year. The Lord is not haphazard or inconsistent in seeing a lesson all the way through. I guess my hope for providence usurped my desire for growth temporarily and, subsequently, I resented my certain place hoping only for my sacred place at the time. Community is good, but being romanced by the King on an adventure alone is something of unspeakable value. To cleave to the things that don’t come naturally fosters a new trust, a heightened intimacy, and, frankly, and understanding of the intricate architecture of my personal faith.
If asked today “How was your trip?” I would undoubtedly say it was good and that the Lord taught me much. And while both are entirely true, the walk from beginning to end was painful, incredible, and oddly safe despite the apparent danger around many corners. Typical mission or not, there is something about leaving the country that brings me closer to the Lord. Perhaps it is dependence or, in some way, independence from the daily drudgery that plagues my mind. A step away from the typical allows access to regions not quickly accessed in the day to day of surface conversations and obligatory meetings. So often we hear the term “wherever the Lord leads” only to concede that we had really mapped out and decided upon our own direction with hopeful aspirations that the Lord would not act against it. But when His force does in fact act upon our decision we are given a new choice: we can choose his perfect plan or we can choose to act as if we know best the where, when and how of coming to meet his divine presence. The quicker we concede to the former, the faster the holy spirit can shape us into our new creation. For it is not me who chooses my path to God’s connection, but rather God who grants it and waits for compliance. I have come to see that my frustration is most heightened by what I deem as God’s failure to use the map I so kindly drew for him. But let’s be realistic here… My map had a destination… A confession of my limit. It is impossible for me to sketch a set of directions towards infinitude. For it is a place I am not to know, but accept as a gift with grace.
Ministry in Russia moves forward with a confidence preceding assurance. Nothing is guaranteed… The clubhouse in jeopardy… The campsite unseen… The campers mostly unknown. When I asked about a budget they said there was none. And yet, movement commences without the necessity of promise. There they move without knowing because waiting for knowledge almost always secures missed opportunity. I think America has both blessed and destroyed me. It has caused me to always want a plan and yield until one exists. In other places that luxury just does not occur. It’s why my spirit hesitated to surrender quickly to the new plan of traveling alone… And, essentially, it’s why I struggle to obey with expediency more often than not. To me, the new plan made very little sense… but now I see that God rarely dwells in “sense.” Sense is something bred by humans. The illogical and improbable however… Well, that is of a godly substance. The further I progress in the dwelling of His kingdom the more I recognize that “impossible” is a mortal term and not at all restricting of our creator. In the end, it’s merely a matter of willingness to know this triune God through means of ruthless trust and obedience. To live in the deepest parts of God’s heart, one must dig to get there. We cannot presume that depth comes from easy and unchallenged living… It comes not from symphony, but from cacophony… A disruption from the harmony of everyday living to take up our cross and intentionally follow the Lord. It’s a scary thought to petition the Lord to wreck this life I’ve come to know… But surely He will and it’s only here where healing truly begins.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Obedience Calls
It yields no easy answer… Some journeys must be taken alone. A truth I’ve come to recognize and do not enjoy. In a world full of people, it’s hard to imagine why the necessity for aloneness exists… But it does. Perhaps the greatest fear of being alone is not simply the lack of company, but the reason God thinks that for a time, for this time, it must only be me. An adventure I anticipated and played out in my head so many times will now bear a different landscape, a new story. Things that may have seemed ridiculous or funny in the company of two, now churn the stomach of one. But, as with most things in this Christian life, we do not move forward because it is fun or easy. We move forward because we’ve obediently placed one foot in front of the other… though we fear flying solo… we fear much more being out of the loop on what God has in store for us. And, when His intention seems so abundantly clear, we are nothing, if not curious, of why He chose this way to be the one for now.
Though generally quite good at masking my emotive state, the simplest of tasks has caught me choking back tears. Frustratingly complex, it is hard to reduce the last month of highs and lows into a conclusion. All I can say is that I realize today, more than ever, that I really have no idea what the Lord has ever intended through all of this. Leading, failing, flying, falling, doubting, pushing, realizing… Those things led me here. Peaceably I speak that I trust in Him and still my innermost being ceases to be unafraid. I am assured as Spurgeon once said that, “Ignorance of the future is guaranteed.” And I presume that’s what frightens me most. Though that truth has been ever present, I feel most assured that it knocks more heavily upon my door these days. It beckons me to pack my bags for an adventure unknown, it prompts me to continue packing though my heart and mind would rather not, it tells me to face this new thing with confidence in His plan without my own plan firmly set as once before. My feelings do not change the truth… My feelings simply interfere with my willingness to comply.
I recall the speaker from this year’s graduation ceremony making reference to seeing a fork in the road and his advice: “take it.” Not thinking much of it at the time, I never recognized that though this path had steadily walked us each to a certain point, at the fork we would need to go our separate directions… For a small time, after choosing the fork, each could see the other on their other path thinking the possibility of these roads converging once again might be imminent… And now, the days have passed and we see that our new courses, courses of willful obedience and also, to be honest, courses of obedience as a last resort, are not meant to converge at all right now. It makes me sad. I miss the old road… I miss the path I planned in my head. I mourn the death of expectation and drudge on trying to muster courage without a whole lot of anticipation.
My flesh feels strong and it won’t seem to back down. It prompts me to act and though I want to, I tarry and hope for the Lord to act on my behalf. My “perfect plan” is full of holes that I don’t see. My flesh insists that upon myself I believe. I do not respond for fear of my will acting on its own volition. I pack and prepare not knowing the new plan, simply armed with a basic itinerary for the days ahead. I anticipate the lessons to be full and bearing fruit, but the process of coming to learn these lessons just doesn’t seem inviting and it certainly doesn’t seem pleasurable. Three weeks from now, I wonder what my thoughts will be having gone and returned from this unforeseen solo journey. I leave soon knowing it is God’s will for this time to be walked alone. I pray for the new reality and hope to work myself out of the old one for I expect the longer it takes me to surrender it, the harder it will be. This way is not my choice, but God’s new thing awaits. Though I have much difficulty seeing it, I must believe that if it is His thing then it must be better than my “perfect” plan anyhow. So goodbye expectation. Obedience calls.
Though generally quite good at masking my emotive state, the simplest of tasks has caught me choking back tears. Frustratingly complex, it is hard to reduce the last month of highs and lows into a conclusion. All I can say is that I realize today, more than ever, that I really have no idea what the Lord has ever intended through all of this. Leading, failing, flying, falling, doubting, pushing, realizing… Those things led me here. Peaceably I speak that I trust in Him and still my innermost being ceases to be unafraid. I am assured as Spurgeon once said that, “Ignorance of the future is guaranteed.” And I presume that’s what frightens me most. Though that truth has been ever present, I feel most assured that it knocks more heavily upon my door these days. It beckons me to pack my bags for an adventure unknown, it prompts me to continue packing though my heart and mind would rather not, it tells me to face this new thing with confidence in His plan without my own plan firmly set as once before. My feelings do not change the truth… My feelings simply interfere with my willingness to comply.
I recall the speaker from this year’s graduation ceremony making reference to seeing a fork in the road and his advice: “take it.” Not thinking much of it at the time, I never recognized that though this path had steadily walked us each to a certain point, at the fork we would need to go our separate directions… For a small time, after choosing the fork, each could see the other on their other path thinking the possibility of these roads converging once again might be imminent… And now, the days have passed and we see that our new courses, courses of willful obedience and also, to be honest, courses of obedience as a last resort, are not meant to converge at all right now. It makes me sad. I miss the old road… I miss the path I planned in my head. I mourn the death of expectation and drudge on trying to muster courage without a whole lot of anticipation.
My flesh feels strong and it won’t seem to back down. It prompts me to act and though I want to, I tarry and hope for the Lord to act on my behalf. My “perfect plan” is full of holes that I don’t see. My flesh insists that upon myself I believe. I do not respond for fear of my will acting on its own volition. I pack and prepare not knowing the new plan, simply armed with a basic itinerary for the days ahead. I anticipate the lessons to be full and bearing fruit, but the process of coming to learn these lessons just doesn’t seem inviting and it certainly doesn’t seem pleasurable. Three weeks from now, I wonder what my thoughts will be having gone and returned from this unforeseen solo journey. I leave soon knowing it is God’s will for this time to be walked alone. I pray for the new reality and hope to work myself out of the old one for I expect the longer it takes me to surrender it, the harder it will be. This way is not my choice, but God’s new thing awaits. Though I have much difficulty seeing it, I must believe that if it is His thing then it must be better than my “perfect” plan anyhow. So goodbye expectation. Obedience calls.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Accountability In Your Private World
As many of you know, I recently began the Fellows Program through the CS Lewis Institute. In my efforts to keep the copious amounts of reading organized and relevant in my mind, I have decided to blog pieces of my reflections that I find personally noteworthy or helpful. The last entry came from Margins by RIchard Swenson and today's entry is a set of personal accountability questions I have adapted from Gordon McDonald's book, Ordering Your Private World.
1. Have I been afraid or hesitant to be alone and quiet before Jesus? Or, have I lacked consistency in doing so? Why?
2. Have I given up my inner-most self to Jesus this week? Where am I lacking in self-surrender?
3. Have I been attentive to my personal/private spiritual needs and not just to external demands?
4. Have I committed daily to ensuring that my private world has order?
5. Have I confronted areas of personal and/or spiritual messiness? Have I pursued discipline in those areas?
6. Have I examined where I am driven (pursuing what I/the world says is important) versus where I am called (what God says is important)?
7. Have I formed my purposes, roles, and identity around Christ? Or have I been governed by other motives or pressures?
8. Where am I investing my time? What things threaten my time the most?
9. Do I approach each day trying to grow in knowledge and wisdom? What have I learned this week?
10. How have I applied what I learned in service to others?
11. How have I enlarged the holy spirit's ability to work in my life? Has sin or indifference quenched the spirit at all?
1. Have I been afraid or hesitant to be alone and quiet before Jesus? Or, have I lacked consistency in doing so? Why?
2. Have I given up my inner-most self to Jesus this week? Where am I lacking in self-surrender?
3. Have I been attentive to my personal/private spiritual needs and not just to external demands?
4. Have I committed daily to ensuring that my private world has order?
5. Have I confronted areas of personal and/or spiritual messiness? Have I pursued discipline in those areas?
6. Have I examined where I am driven (pursuing what I/the world says is important) versus where I am called (what God says is important)?
7. Have I formed my purposes, roles, and identity around Christ? Or have I been governed by other motives or pressures?
8. Where am I investing my time? What things threaten my time the most?
9. Do I approach each day trying to grow in knowledge and wisdom? What have I learned this week?
10. How have I applied what I learned in service to others?
11. How have I enlarged the holy spirit's ability to work in my life? Has sin or indifference quenched the spirit at all?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
The Process - Part One
The process. It all starts with a few innocuous and seemingly unrelated items. Then, one day, these items are bound together in the synergy of thought and you recognize that these events were not singular, not coincidental, but the collection of ingredients for some divine recipe crafted to give light to a topic or area not yet realized.
This time, it started a few months back during our small group study of James. In James 1 there is a verse that says that “he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.” Now humorously, this verse has been somehow remembered as doubt being related to a basket being tossed about on the sea… But the meaning is preserved even still that it is doubt which creates a tumultuous weather pattern in our emotions swaying us with every day’s circumstance, every friend’s closing statement, and so on. Doubt is the father of insecurity for it is doubt which convinces us that our eternal position is neither assured nor real and its product is earthly seeking and earthly found. This is not truth. Doubt makes us feel like a lost scout searching for the breadcrumbs he most definitely left out on his journey to wherever he was going. Doubt tells us our time and hearts must be constantly filled in order to be relevant to our world.
And then there is margin. Margin is a concept that speaks against doubt and fosters focus so that which is eternal can be recognized, taken hold of, and pursued without fear. In my steps from this last season of wilderness to this new season of training, I have recognized that margin is doubt’s rival because to step away and carve out time for our Christ means to shut the door on the world and all the competition it wants me to enter. This is not easy as intentionally stepping into training with the Lord often means stepping out of some of the social offerings that fellowship and community has to offer. In an area where calendar filling trumps character-building, these denials are as hard as any. But, in the book Margins, author Richard Swenson says this, “We need to find maturing, caring people who will love our boundaries as much as they love our attachment… Ask yourself, ‘Do the people closest to me love my no as much as they love my yes?’” That’s a hard one to examine because I’m not always certain that I’m the friend that loves someone else’s “no”… However, I have slowly started to see that stepping away from a clock-induced and socially-influenced society has been the most impactful for me releasing control over my life, my time, and my relationships. When called to something specific, we know the action plan we must follow. Our obedience is aided by our excitement to pursue. Our vision is clear. My margin has given way to a freedom to spend my time running towards the Lord and freedom from my calendar and the pressure to fill open moments with some type of activity. As Margins comments, “The clock and the Christ are not close friends.” Our struggles to relinquish our time are often more difficult than our struggle to relinquish our finances. Why? Because I know I can always make more money, but I can never make more time. Margin frees me to pursue the Christ who has reminded my heart that there is much comfort in not chasing the world.
I am comforted most by this statement by Swenson, “All the while off to one side, courses a narrow uphill road, unadorned and unpopular. It is dusty from sparse use and lonely from lack of travelers. The sole treasure at its end is an elusive commodity called ‘godliness with contentment.’”
Our treasure is surely not found or defined by the world… And each time we dip our bucket back in that well, we find ourselves prone to being tossed about by a place we were never built for. On the first night of the CS Lewis Insitute, president, Tom Tarrants, said this, “We love the world too much to really love God. And, we love God too much to ever be happy in the world.”
The words both ring and sting true…
Here’s to the new journey… As unpopulated and arduous as it may be…
This time, it started a few months back during our small group study of James. In James 1 there is a verse that says that “he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.” Now humorously, this verse has been somehow remembered as doubt being related to a basket being tossed about on the sea… But the meaning is preserved even still that it is doubt which creates a tumultuous weather pattern in our emotions swaying us with every day’s circumstance, every friend’s closing statement, and so on. Doubt is the father of insecurity for it is doubt which convinces us that our eternal position is neither assured nor real and its product is earthly seeking and earthly found. This is not truth. Doubt makes us feel like a lost scout searching for the breadcrumbs he most definitely left out on his journey to wherever he was going. Doubt tells us our time and hearts must be constantly filled in order to be relevant to our world.
And then there is margin. Margin is a concept that speaks against doubt and fosters focus so that which is eternal can be recognized, taken hold of, and pursued without fear. In my steps from this last season of wilderness to this new season of training, I have recognized that margin is doubt’s rival because to step away and carve out time for our Christ means to shut the door on the world and all the competition it wants me to enter. This is not easy as intentionally stepping into training with the Lord often means stepping out of some of the social offerings that fellowship and community has to offer. In an area where calendar filling trumps character-building, these denials are as hard as any. But, in the book Margins, author Richard Swenson says this, “We need to find maturing, caring people who will love our boundaries as much as they love our attachment… Ask yourself, ‘Do the people closest to me love my no as much as they love my yes?’” That’s a hard one to examine because I’m not always certain that I’m the friend that loves someone else’s “no”… However, I have slowly started to see that stepping away from a clock-induced and socially-influenced society has been the most impactful for me releasing control over my life, my time, and my relationships. When called to something specific, we know the action plan we must follow. Our obedience is aided by our excitement to pursue. Our vision is clear. My margin has given way to a freedom to spend my time running towards the Lord and freedom from my calendar and the pressure to fill open moments with some type of activity. As Margins comments, “The clock and the Christ are not close friends.” Our struggles to relinquish our time are often more difficult than our struggle to relinquish our finances. Why? Because I know I can always make more money, but I can never make more time. Margin frees me to pursue the Christ who has reminded my heart that there is much comfort in not chasing the world.
I am comforted most by this statement by Swenson, “All the while off to one side, courses a narrow uphill road, unadorned and unpopular. It is dusty from sparse use and lonely from lack of travelers. The sole treasure at its end is an elusive commodity called ‘godliness with contentment.’”
Our treasure is surely not found or defined by the world… And each time we dip our bucket back in that well, we find ourselves prone to being tossed about by a place we were never built for. On the first night of the CS Lewis Insitute, president, Tom Tarrants, said this, “We love the world too much to really love God. And, we love God too much to ever be happy in the world.”
The words both ring and sting true…
Here’s to the new journey… As unpopulated and arduous as it may be…
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Lobby of Redemption
Few things are as moving as seeing redemption fleshed out before you. In the midst of a seemingly ordinary worship service this weekend, redemption’s vitality rose up and proclaimed that victory is sweeter than sin’s bitterness and that power does not come from the world, but through God’s judgment alone. We sang a set of well-known worship songs. We clapped our hands. We swayed with the music. We did all the things we’d normally do…. And yet, on this day, worship was about something entirely different. It’s not often that we get to witness a brother or sister having once been entangled by sin come to restoration in their former position. When we see it we love it.
And yet, even as believers, we cast the first stones all the time. We justify the throwing of these of these stones by saying that we do so in truth and in love, but Jesus did not ask us to merely throw them a little softer… He commanded us not to throw at all if sin was in us… And it is. It is so in each of us. My stones, though not literal, are carried in a sack. Each has a name: judgment, self-righteousness, pride, jealousy, and so many more. But on this Sunday, I left my stones in the car and walked into worship weapon free.
The back story of the people on the stage this week is far too long to recant, but know that the story is a thing of beauty… It’s the story of brokenness, a story of healing, and now it rests in a chapter on redemption. This story reminds us that our lives, anyone’s lives, are not elusive to sin… And even still, it is not sin we should fear though it possesses the ability to wreak havoc and destruction in our lives, but rather our fear should come from our distance from Christ and our subsequent transformation into the person we never thought we’d be.
Entropy. That’s the best way to describe it. From order to chaos… That’s the nature of unattended faith. When evil is allowed access into our dwelling, even if only momentarily, difficulty and sin come to keep us company. Architecturally speaking, our vestibule is the place where much of this is hashed out. In the lobby of our minds, we decide what is permitted entrance to our hearts. The longer we allow something to linger the more difficult we face in attempting to turn it away. So much sin prevention is done on the doorstep that we would be wise to keep watch of the things that come knocking. As Kay Arthur says, “Sin will take you farther than you ever thought you would go.”
When here, in the midst of sin, exposure is the last thing we want, but something we very much need. Spending days and months with minds swollen from our defeat and finding no relief, we suddenly know that redemption comes only after our sacrifice is sitting at the base of the altar and we have had enough courage to look at it for the last time and finally turn our backs and walk away.
Psalm 62: 7 – 8 says the following:
“My salvation and glory depend on God; my strong rock, my refuge, is in God. Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts before Him…”
In this pouring, we find pain, but further we find harbor… We find safe waters… We find a place where we can stay until the flood of guilt, the wave of judgment, and the tide of shame all go back out to sea and redemption lay solidly on the shore waiting for us to spot it and take note that it is finally ours.
And yet, even as believers, we cast the first stones all the time. We justify the throwing of these of these stones by saying that we do so in truth and in love, but Jesus did not ask us to merely throw them a little softer… He commanded us not to throw at all if sin was in us… And it is. It is so in each of us. My stones, though not literal, are carried in a sack. Each has a name: judgment, self-righteousness, pride, jealousy, and so many more. But on this Sunday, I left my stones in the car and walked into worship weapon free.
The back story of the people on the stage this week is far too long to recant, but know that the story is a thing of beauty… It’s the story of brokenness, a story of healing, and now it rests in a chapter on redemption. This story reminds us that our lives, anyone’s lives, are not elusive to sin… And even still, it is not sin we should fear though it possesses the ability to wreak havoc and destruction in our lives, but rather our fear should come from our distance from Christ and our subsequent transformation into the person we never thought we’d be.
Entropy. That’s the best way to describe it. From order to chaos… That’s the nature of unattended faith. When evil is allowed access into our dwelling, even if only momentarily, difficulty and sin come to keep us company. Architecturally speaking, our vestibule is the place where much of this is hashed out. In the lobby of our minds, we decide what is permitted entrance to our hearts. The longer we allow something to linger the more difficult we face in attempting to turn it away. So much sin prevention is done on the doorstep that we would be wise to keep watch of the things that come knocking. As Kay Arthur says, “Sin will take you farther than you ever thought you would go.”
When here, in the midst of sin, exposure is the last thing we want, but something we very much need. Spending days and months with minds swollen from our defeat and finding no relief, we suddenly know that redemption comes only after our sacrifice is sitting at the base of the altar and we have had enough courage to look at it for the last time and finally turn our backs and walk away.
Psalm 62: 7 – 8 says the following:
“My salvation and glory depend on God; my strong rock, my refuge, is in God. Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts before Him…”
In this pouring, we find pain, but further we find harbor… We find safe waters… We find a place where we can stay until the flood of guilt, the wave of judgment, and the tide of shame all go back out to sea and redemption lay solidly on the shore waiting for us to spot it and take note that it is finally ours.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Suffering: A Letter To My Co-Laborers in the Trenches…
Not long ago, I spent a weekend away at a Leaders Retreat on Discipleship. A friend asked that I write on what I learned and although it has taken some time for my thoughts to coalesce from mind to paper, I now write from the other side of persistent pressing, pensive silence, and a deluge of tears that speak less to discipleship and more to earnest suffering in God’s presence.
1 Peter 4 begins with a topical heading of something like this: Living for God. It subsequently follows with a chapter mostly on suffering. Why is it then that we are so shocked by our personal encounters with the miserable beast we call suffering? I mean the bible itself indicates that living for God and suffering go hand in hand.
As believers, we tend to take suffering personally as if consequences and circumstances were the same thing. We perceive that suffering endured on our behalf is due to some personality flaw or passive aggressive act from God. We attribute our being drafted into this battle to something we’ve done wrong, some way we don’t measure up, or something of the sort. Hear me though – suffering is not that. When we think like that, we rarely arrive at the place of knowing that suffering, true godly suffering, is an expression of love and a deliberate endurance towards refinement and a heart that longs to know God more and more. Suffering is a kind thief that mugs us in a dark alley stripping away our haughty and needless worldly accumulations and pawning them for a faith refined and a love proven.
1 Peter 4:2 says, “As a result (of suffering), he does not live the rest of his earthly life for evil human desires, but rather for the will of God.” Here we see that suffering allows us to move away from our own pursuits and into godly ones. Basically, suffering allows us to be transformed. In the preceding verse, we are enlightened that suffering allows us to be finished with sin and in the following verse we take note that we have already spent too much time as sinners.
So, this begs the question: How can we better embrace suffering since we know it’s the process through which we are transformed? And, the logical question to follow (for me at least) is… Is this the only way?
Before we can fully navigate the rocky pathway of these questions, it’s important to know what suffering is, as God defines it. The bible indicates that suffering means to endure hardship or experience loss. And God’s view on suffering continuously and relentlessly asks us the question: Do we trust God for who he is or for what He does? Since we believe that suffering is the means by which God transforms us to be true, we can now assume that through our struggles that God would merely like for us to know more about Him. As we grow in our knowledge of Him, we trade in our glory for His and we are now satiated by pursuing the promises of our king through surrendering our hope of the world.
Not often do we find ourselves honored by the invitation to suffer. Let’s just say, it’s not exactly the event we get excited about RSVP-ing to. Only once can I recall another believer being elated in sharing in the sufferings of Christ (And, if she’s reading this, I want her to know that that memory lingers and encourages me through my hikes in the wilderness. And for that, I am ever grateful.) Our truth, however, is this – That sufferings are manifestations of God’s love, a testing of our faithfulness to Him, and a triumph of His faithfulness to us. Rejoicing in our suffering means that comfort ceases to be our finish line and truth rests as our only trophy. CS Lewis says this, “In religion, as in war and everything else, comfort is the one this you cannot get by looking for it. If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end: if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth – only soft soap and wishful thinking to be with and, in the end, despair.”
As growing believers we cannot rest on the tree stump of comfort when God has asked us to hike a mountain towards truth. Holding loosely to comfort we are encouraged by our suffering because we recognize that its very presence in our lives is evidence of God’s love for us. Transformation allows access to glorification. 1 Peter 4 ends with a note of encouragement to us by saying this, “So, if you are suffering in a manner that pleases God, keep on doing what is right, and trust your lives to the God who created you, for he will never fail you.”
Keep the faith my fellow climbers. If you want prayer in the midst of your sufferings, let me know. I’d be honored to care for you in this way.
In it with you…
1 Peter 4 begins with a topical heading of something like this: Living for God. It subsequently follows with a chapter mostly on suffering. Why is it then that we are so shocked by our personal encounters with the miserable beast we call suffering? I mean the bible itself indicates that living for God and suffering go hand in hand.
As believers, we tend to take suffering personally as if consequences and circumstances were the same thing. We perceive that suffering endured on our behalf is due to some personality flaw or passive aggressive act from God. We attribute our being drafted into this battle to something we’ve done wrong, some way we don’t measure up, or something of the sort. Hear me though – suffering is not that. When we think like that, we rarely arrive at the place of knowing that suffering, true godly suffering, is an expression of love and a deliberate endurance towards refinement and a heart that longs to know God more and more. Suffering is a kind thief that mugs us in a dark alley stripping away our haughty and needless worldly accumulations and pawning them for a faith refined and a love proven.
1 Peter 4:2 says, “As a result (of suffering), he does not live the rest of his earthly life for evil human desires, but rather for the will of God.” Here we see that suffering allows us to move away from our own pursuits and into godly ones. Basically, suffering allows us to be transformed. In the preceding verse, we are enlightened that suffering allows us to be finished with sin and in the following verse we take note that we have already spent too much time as sinners.
So, this begs the question: How can we better embrace suffering since we know it’s the process through which we are transformed? And, the logical question to follow (for me at least) is… Is this the only way?
Before we can fully navigate the rocky pathway of these questions, it’s important to know what suffering is, as God defines it. The bible indicates that suffering means to endure hardship or experience loss. And God’s view on suffering continuously and relentlessly asks us the question: Do we trust God for who he is or for what He does? Since we believe that suffering is the means by which God transforms us to be true, we can now assume that through our struggles that God would merely like for us to know more about Him. As we grow in our knowledge of Him, we trade in our glory for His and we are now satiated by pursuing the promises of our king through surrendering our hope of the world.
Not often do we find ourselves honored by the invitation to suffer. Let’s just say, it’s not exactly the event we get excited about RSVP-ing to. Only once can I recall another believer being elated in sharing in the sufferings of Christ (And, if she’s reading this, I want her to know that that memory lingers and encourages me through my hikes in the wilderness. And for that, I am ever grateful.) Our truth, however, is this – That sufferings are manifestations of God’s love, a testing of our faithfulness to Him, and a triumph of His faithfulness to us. Rejoicing in our suffering means that comfort ceases to be our finish line and truth rests as our only trophy. CS Lewis says this, “In religion, as in war and everything else, comfort is the one this you cannot get by looking for it. If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end: if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth – only soft soap and wishful thinking to be with and, in the end, despair.”
As growing believers we cannot rest on the tree stump of comfort when God has asked us to hike a mountain towards truth. Holding loosely to comfort we are encouraged by our suffering because we recognize that its very presence in our lives is evidence of God’s love for us. Transformation allows access to glorification. 1 Peter 4 ends with a note of encouragement to us by saying this, “So, if you are suffering in a manner that pleases God, keep on doing what is right, and trust your lives to the God who created you, for he will never fail you.”
Keep the faith my fellow climbers. If you want prayer in the midst of your sufferings, let me know. I’d be honored to care for you in this way.
In it with you…
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Surrendering "Better"
Better. I dislike that word.
For the longest time, I’ve been sold out to the idea of surrendering perfection. Since Christ is the only element of true perfection, the title of perfect is taken. I know I can be made perfect in Christ, but perfection is a portion of heavenly inheritance and not so much of earthly possibility. In laying down perfection, we are called to lay down all sorts of things: striving, distance, attainment, achievement, etc. But, in the journey to put down perfect, I’ve seen a new finish line appear and that’s the one called better. In this day and age it is so incredibly difficult to not get caught at some time or another in the swirl of power and position inherent to an achievement based society. And there are plenty of sources where this “truth” drips freely, but this truth is not truth. For as long as “better” exists in my vocabulary, I don’t need perfection because I simply need to rank above. What’s hard about this is that it doesn’t seem inherently bad. And, one might even believe that it aligns with scripture to be better. For when we come to know Christ, better is what is supposed to come, right? It’s why we’re willing to endure a bit of the hardship, partner in the struggle, and even give up some of the things we like… Because it makes us better.
Better seems to me to be the opposite of Christ. Better is the thing that makes my right things, my ultimate things. It makes my surrenders trophies by which I measure my success. Better is why it’s hard to be vulnerable past a certain point, better is why it’s hard to taste true community, and better makes us believe that our identity comes from “who” and not from Him. It is the bitter recognition that in spite of every pious act, that there is always one eye cautiously open wondering if somehow the risks we’ve taken or the acts of sacrifice we have brought forth were only to gain ground in our standing with God. Better is a dangerous road. And, if lucky, God will stop us on this road to better and detour us to a different path. The path of wilderness living – where survival skills seem paramount, but the longer we cling to these skills the harder the journey. I’ve tried using my tools here and they’re only good for temporary sustenance. For, if I desire to eat forever from the tree of life, I must know that my interest lies not in how quickly I come to Canaan, but rather how quickly I come to my face and recognize that identity does not come from better, it comes from a source. When that source is in Christ, we have recognized our goal… Which is not to say that we have reached it.
On our face, we’re still planted in the wilderness. But, here is where it is fair to be greedy. Here is where I feel comfort in saying that I will be ravenous in the consumption of the lessons, the ingestion of the spirit, and drinking in copious amounts of the water that brings life. It is an ache, it is a pause from what my human spirit so desires, and it watches the lives of others and wonders “Why me?” The wilderness does not make us any less human. No, but if we’re lucky it makes this human crave Christ all the more. Oh what a shame to endure a wilderness season only walk out of it and think “I’m tired.” Tiredness is how I got here. Sleepily allowing the world to take residence in my mind and allowing it to play its dirty tricks in making me want it. I know that I don’t, but some days I am just too lazy to fight it. The hike into the wilderness has not cut me off from my lifeline, but rather helped me to notice my reality. The reality of love and it is so very close to me. I’m not stranded here. I’m not helpless here. The wilderness is my offering with the promise of a full reward.
In 1 Chronicles 21:24 we come across David, having ordered a census without godly instruction, needing to construct an altar on which to lay burnt offerings unto the Lord. His sin has brought three days of the Lord’s plague upon the Israelites. The Lord had given him an option of three years of famine, three months of devastation by his foes, or three days of famine of the sword of the Lord. David chooses the third option because he most desires to be at the hand of the Lord than to be destined or controlled by anything else. As the plague is ravaging through his people, David cries out begging that the Lord cease the destruction of the Israelites because it was David’s sin that brought it on. We resume the story of this offering as a man, Ornan, has just told David that he may have the offering place for free. In his position, David could have accepted. But, David refuses, saying this, “I will not take for the Lord what belongs to you or offer burnt offerings that cost me nothing.”
The last part of David’s comment is what distances us from better. I cannot offer things that cost me nothing. As mentioned above, giving perfection away is not that hard. Giving better away, well that one is much more difficult. Offering up the fact that I do not have to be perfect is the essence of salvation. Offering the need to be better is the essence of mercy given through Christ’s humble death and the extension of grace in the midst of a world which tells me that better is the only stick I am measured by. I am not defined by my “do.” And in the wilderness, I am called to pull weeds rather than plant flags on the summit. It is most assuredly a detour, but worthy nevertheless. And here again, I find myself reflecting on the story of David again because he was given three options and he wisely chose the one that the Lord had his hand over. And this is how I view the wilderness, in choosing not to go, I expose myself to the relentless penetration of something other than what the Lord desires for my life. In being wilderness bound, I have chosen a road grooved by the floodwaters of tears and yet I know that on this path He keeps me. Crestfallen as I may feel some days, defeat is not here… Defeat is in choosing something different.
C.S Lewis once said, ““We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be” And, in the midst of this time, I’d have to agree. The quest for perfection has ceased. The quest for better is slowly dying in the wilderness. And the search for God’s best has begun, painful as it might be. Let us walk courageously to and through the hard places knowing that these are the meadows, valleys, and forests through which He guides all the great people of our faith.
For the longest time, I’ve been sold out to the idea of surrendering perfection. Since Christ is the only element of true perfection, the title of perfect is taken. I know I can be made perfect in Christ, but perfection is a portion of heavenly inheritance and not so much of earthly possibility. In laying down perfection, we are called to lay down all sorts of things: striving, distance, attainment, achievement, etc. But, in the journey to put down perfect, I’ve seen a new finish line appear and that’s the one called better. In this day and age it is so incredibly difficult to not get caught at some time or another in the swirl of power and position inherent to an achievement based society. And there are plenty of sources where this “truth” drips freely, but this truth is not truth. For as long as “better” exists in my vocabulary, I don’t need perfection because I simply need to rank above. What’s hard about this is that it doesn’t seem inherently bad. And, one might even believe that it aligns with scripture to be better. For when we come to know Christ, better is what is supposed to come, right? It’s why we’re willing to endure a bit of the hardship, partner in the struggle, and even give up some of the things we like… Because it makes us better.
Better seems to me to be the opposite of Christ. Better is the thing that makes my right things, my ultimate things. It makes my surrenders trophies by which I measure my success. Better is why it’s hard to be vulnerable past a certain point, better is why it’s hard to taste true community, and better makes us believe that our identity comes from “who” and not from Him. It is the bitter recognition that in spite of every pious act, that there is always one eye cautiously open wondering if somehow the risks we’ve taken or the acts of sacrifice we have brought forth were only to gain ground in our standing with God. Better is a dangerous road. And, if lucky, God will stop us on this road to better and detour us to a different path. The path of wilderness living – where survival skills seem paramount, but the longer we cling to these skills the harder the journey. I’ve tried using my tools here and they’re only good for temporary sustenance. For, if I desire to eat forever from the tree of life, I must know that my interest lies not in how quickly I come to Canaan, but rather how quickly I come to my face and recognize that identity does not come from better, it comes from a source. When that source is in Christ, we have recognized our goal… Which is not to say that we have reached it.
On our face, we’re still planted in the wilderness. But, here is where it is fair to be greedy. Here is where I feel comfort in saying that I will be ravenous in the consumption of the lessons, the ingestion of the spirit, and drinking in copious amounts of the water that brings life. It is an ache, it is a pause from what my human spirit so desires, and it watches the lives of others and wonders “Why me?” The wilderness does not make us any less human. No, but if we’re lucky it makes this human crave Christ all the more. Oh what a shame to endure a wilderness season only walk out of it and think “I’m tired.” Tiredness is how I got here. Sleepily allowing the world to take residence in my mind and allowing it to play its dirty tricks in making me want it. I know that I don’t, but some days I am just too lazy to fight it. The hike into the wilderness has not cut me off from my lifeline, but rather helped me to notice my reality. The reality of love and it is so very close to me. I’m not stranded here. I’m not helpless here. The wilderness is my offering with the promise of a full reward.
In 1 Chronicles 21:24 we come across David, having ordered a census without godly instruction, needing to construct an altar on which to lay burnt offerings unto the Lord. His sin has brought three days of the Lord’s plague upon the Israelites. The Lord had given him an option of three years of famine, three months of devastation by his foes, or three days of famine of the sword of the Lord. David chooses the third option because he most desires to be at the hand of the Lord than to be destined or controlled by anything else. As the plague is ravaging through his people, David cries out begging that the Lord cease the destruction of the Israelites because it was David’s sin that brought it on. We resume the story of this offering as a man, Ornan, has just told David that he may have the offering place for free. In his position, David could have accepted. But, David refuses, saying this, “I will not take for the Lord what belongs to you or offer burnt offerings that cost me nothing.”
The last part of David’s comment is what distances us from better. I cannot offer things that cost me nothing. As mentioned above, giving perfection away is not that hard. Giving better away, well that one is much more difficult. Offering up the fact that I do not have to be perfect is the essence of salvation. Offering the need to be better is the essence of mercy given through Christ’s humble death and the extension of grace in the midst of a world which tells me that better is the only stick I am measured by. I am not defined by my “do.” And in the wilderness, I am called to pull weeds rather than plant flags on the summit. It is most assuredly a detour, but worthy nevertheless. And here again, I find myself reflecting on the story of David again because he was given three options and he wisely chose the one that the Lord had his hand over. And this is how I view the wilderness, in choosing not to go, I expose myself to the relentless penetration of something other than what the Lord desires for my life. In being wilderness bound, I have chosen a road grooved by the floodwaters of tears and yet I know that on this path He keeps me. Crestfallen as I may feel some days, defeat is not here… Defeat is in choosing something different.
C.S Lewis once said, ““We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be” And, in the midst of this time, I’d have to agree. The quest for perfection has ceased. The quest for better is slowly dying in the wilderness. And the search for God’s best has begun, painful as it might be. Let us walk courageously to and through the hard places knowing that these are the meadows, valleys, and forests through which He guides all the great people of our faith.
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