Years ago on a trip to Wyoming, our family camped at Dinosaur National Monument. We had a camp site on the edge of the Green River. It was across from a sheer cliff that rose out of the water. The geology was dramatic and unique and resulted in a near perfect echo. Our boys who were something less than ten at the time were consumed by their new toy. I remember them shouting at the wall and then waiting to hear their own voice returned to them in a way that technology can't hope to match.
When I was small, my mother took me hiking all over the Sierras and later in the Pacific Northwest as well as in Arizona and the Rockies. Vacation was pretty much an excuse to live outdoors someplace beautiful. From one of those early trips, I vaguely remember my first encounter with an echo. It wasn't much as echoes go. It was just a little rattle after a loud shout that didn't fit my expectation of how my shout should sound. It gave me an excuse to make noise though and my mom used it to teach me about sound waves traveling though air.
Wilderness is very good at teaching us how loud the quiet can be and how easy it is to ignore the noise. Eventually, you start to recognize the sounds of where you are and to reflexively sort the unique from the background.
Listening and hearing are much harder to do in the day to day of going back and forth to work, maintaining social relationships and delivering children to the their destinations. Often or even usually, some kind of audio media player is on, blaring noise that was designed to entertain us. Kids in the car usually up the volume a little so the radio or whatever has to be dialed up some...or a lot. And then of course, some one calls on your hands free phone. At this point, if you are able to remember where you are, where you're going, who you're talking to and which of the miscreants in the back seat is responsible for the crying erupting from that vicinity, you may congratulate yourself on having successfully navigated the important skill of multitasking, crucial to existence in post modern society. If you're familiar with this scenario you probably should make a note to add your mental health professional to your hands free speed dialing appliance. Little details like that are what makes post modern life worthwhile.
This is all quite unwilderness like. It isn't necessarily clear who to listen to or who to listen to most when everything makes claim to being our top priority.
If though, as we move through Advent our goal is to slow down and listen for the presence of God in our lives, we can look to someone who lived in the wilderness to accomplish the same. In this way we can pick out a bit more of the small voice that whispers, "The King is Coming."
John the Baptist was born a few months before Jesus. When he began his ministry, he moved out of town to live under the stars, telling people about the coming of Christ. Several New Testament books mention him and the historian Josephus mentions him as well. He was pretty popular in his own right and time. For Advent, there are some things worth noting about John the Baptist and his wilderness ministry.
John didn't really have a message of his own. His function was simple. It was to announce that the world we live in and even our very lives if we would allow it, were about to change drastically for the better. It is a "better" that transcends circumstance, even to the point of bodily existence. It is so extreme that the only idea that can capture it is the concept of rebirth. The day we are anticipating is the day of the beginning of the human manifestation of God that John was born to proclaim.
John was outside the ebb and flow of society. People had to go out of town and presumably out of their way to hear him. To move toward understanding this season and the coming Epiphany, we're probably going to have to pull ourselves some distance from the river of activity that carries us through the Christmas season. It's possible we might even get tired or a little sore from the trip. Merry Christmas. That particular soreness is part of the original message.
John had a pretty different diet. He ate locust and honey. ("Would you like locust with your honey or honey with your locust?") One of our children was in the military and at one point learned to eat bugs, including grass hoppers (locust wannabe). There's a specific instruction or two that helps get them down, or at least helps them stay down. Even so, it's worth nothing the dearth of locust based cuisine currently available. John denied himself "real" food in order to focus himself and to bring focus to the imminent ministry of Christ. Likely, this was a combination of aspiration and obedience rather than one or the other. It might be worth messing with our diet here and there during Advent. A walk along the beach with a growling stomach isn't living in the wilderness but if we let it, it can point us in that direction. If we let it, it can whisper to us of the voice in the wilderness.
John's message included a heavy dose of repentance; that is of desiring to change and of actually changing the direction of one's life. This isn't a bad idea for any season but as we move through Advent to Epiphany it's worth remembering both what has been given and what we're asked to give. I heard a Catholic priest a couple days ago saying that for 2000 years the only season more penitential than Advent is Lent. As of yet, I haven't heard that repeated in any department store music tracks. Since that's part of the season, we're going to have to spend some time in the wilderness of repentance to fully embrace Christmas.
If this doesn't sound like the usual dose of "God bless us everyone," well good. There's plenty of that already and just maybe even that message would benefit all the more from a little wilderness. Let's leave the furious activity behind for just a moment, step into the wilderness and listen to voice there, calling us to love, repentance and the coming King.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Fasting Slowly
Modern Christmas has been modern for a while now.
The big lament in modern Christmas as evidenced by Christmas movies is usually that it's is too commercial, too fast paced and just too out of control to capture the "true meaning" it holds. If we throw in newspaper articles and editorials, we have a history of at least a hundred of years of contrasting what Christmas has become as opposed to what it's supposed to be. We love the idea; we just don't like living it out. And yet year in and year out, we continue to celebrate it in the same way anyway. I think this century old conundrum points to one of the "true meanings" of Christmas, namely hope.
Generally, we don't like denying ourselves much of anything. (I suppose I didn't have to say "generally.") At Christmas time, that affection for indulgence is elevated to religious importance. I include in this definition of self indulgence, our seasonal generosity to our kids. After all they're our kids and they need all the stuff, experiences and "joy of the season" we can inflict on them...probably. As a result, we wind up doing all the really important seasonal things until we're exhausted and broke. We mean well, nothing bu the best really. Hiding under this all too often failing is another "true meaning" of Christmas. This true meaning is about generosity of heart and spirit. It is giving to the point of sacrifice.
We will also likely bend, break borrow and steal everything necessary to be with some component of our extended family. I love my family and I love spending time with them. I can't remember a Christmas season in which we didn't travel somewhere to be with someone; in some cases we have even traveled good distances on Christmas day. I can honestly say that in every case this was, at least on balance, wonderful. Never the less, it is tiring, can be expensive and can lead to the occasional uncomfortable moments that only those truly close to us can provide. And here we run full into what is certainly the greatest of the "true meanings" of Christmas. Love.
At Christmas time, we're carried away from the hope, generosity and love of the reality of God and his love incarnate in the person of Christ, on a raging river of seasonal activity and expectation. We can't change the fact of this unpleasant circumstance by riding the current. We're going to have to do something about it...on purpose.
We can and probably should commit to slowing down some, paring back the activities and commitments. However, just about any change in behavior can't be limited to subtraction. Something has to be added back in place of the original offense. We not only need to prepare for the stuff of Christmas, we need to prepare for what we are remembering. And most of all, we need to prepare ourselves.
Redeemer Anglican church is intentionally preparing for Christmas in what might seem to be a counter intuitive way. They offer a day a week fast, concluding by receiving the Eucharist. The middle of the week (fasting day is Wednesday) becomes a speed bump, slowing us down and hopefully jarring us a little, returning us to the reason we're celebrating. One day of the week, meals are left behind (yea verily, even very excellent Christmas candy) allowing the rumbling stomach to pull us back to the place where Christ lives as the center of our thought and prayer. The place where unless all movies and articles do lie, we've always wanted to be. While it might be counter intuitive, it never the less makes sense doesn't it? After all, it's chasing after the Christmas for which we were created.
We're preparing one more time, to experience the hope, generosity, joy and love of the greatest gift ever given. Praise God, Merry Christmas and "may God bless us, every one."
The big lament in modern Christmas as evidenced by Christmas movies is usually that it's is too commercial, too fast paced and just too out of control to capture the "true meaning" it holds. If we throw in newspaper articles and editorials, we have a history of at least a hundred of years of contrasting what Christmas has become as opposed to what it's supposed to be. We love the idea; we just don't like living it out. And yet year in and year out, we continue to celebrate it in the same way anyway. I think this century old conundrum points to one of the "true meanings" of Christmas, namely hope.
Generally, we don't like denying ourselves much of anything. (I suppose I didn't have to say "generally.") At Christmas time, that affection for indulgence is elevated to religious importance. I include in this definition of self indulgence, our seasonal generosity to our kids. After all they're our kids and they need all the stuff, experiences and "joy of the season" we can inflict on them...probably. As a result, we wind up doing all the really important seasonal things until we're exhausted and broke. We mean well, nothing bu the best really. Hiding under this all too often failing is another "true meaning" of Christmas. This true meaning is about generosity of heart and spirit. It is giving to the point of sacrifice.
We will also likely bend, break borrow and steal everything necessary to be with some component of our extended family. I love my family and I love spending time with them. I can't remember a Christmas season in which we didn't travel somewhere to be with someone; in some cases we have even traveled good distances on Christmas day. I can honestly say that in every case this was, at least on balance, wonderful. Never the less, it is tiring, can be expensive and can lead to the occasional uncomfortable moments that only those truly close to us can provide. And here we run full into what is certainly the greatest of the "true meanings" of Christmas. Love.
At Christmas time, we're carried away from the hope, generosity and love of the reality of God and his love incarnate in the person of Christ, on a raging river of seasonal activity and expectation. We can't change the fact of this unpleasant circumstance by riding the current. We're going to have to do something about it...on purpose.
We can and probably should commit to slowing down some, paring back the activities and commitments. However, just about any change in behavior can't be limited to subtraction. Something has to be added back in place of the original offense. We not only need to prepare for the stuff of Christmas, we need to prepare for what we are remembering. And most of all, we need to prepare ourselves.
Redeemer Anglican church is intentionally preparing for Christmas in what might seem to be a counter intuitive way. They offer a day a week fast, concluding by receiving the Eucharist. The middle of the week (fasting day is Wednesday) becomes a speed bump, slowing us down and hopefully jarring us a little, returning us to the reason we're celebrating. One day of the week, meals are left behind (yea verily, even very excellent Christmas candy) allowing the rumbling stomach to pull us back to the place where Christ lives as the center of our thought and prayer. The place where unless all movies and articles do lie, we've always wanted to be. While it might be counter intuitive, it never the less makes sense doesn't it? After all, it's chasing after the Christmas for which we were created.
We're preparing one more time, to experience the hope, generosity, joy and love of the greatest gift ever given. Praise God, Merry Christmas and "may God bless us, every one."
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Things that go Bump in the Night
We all have things we worry about. If we don't, we worry about not having things to worry about. Sometimes we worry about things that no one else would understand or believe. It's probably easier though if we actually have universally accepted things about which we can worry. Then we can just pony up and worry about them and no one questions our furrowed brows and raised shoulders.
A lot of times our worry will send us off to the web or even a bookstore to research worry, hoping to find help, self help. We might pick up books on peace and contentment, we might pick up books on worry or we might even pick up both. If we do pick up both, we worry about which one we should read first. At some point in our self-help reading, we're likely to stumble over the pronouncement that worry is bad for us. Then of course, we start worrying about worrying about worry.
The universally recognized worst time (or best if you're a fan of worry) for worry is the middle of the night. Something brings you awake and suddenly, almost reflexively the pressing problem du jour is the only and biggest thing in the world. This might be the result of hormones or dreams or even a spiritual attack. It really doesn't matter because regardless of how big or real or small or irrelevant the issue might actually be, the worry is very real, heart attack real.
Over the years I've tried all manner of responses to this sort of worry. I've had varying degrees of succes, well actually failure I guess, with everything from watching TV, reading, praying and thinking about fun things. What's interesting is that for all that might be wrong with worry it has one huge characteristic that makes it unique in it's strength and purity. Namely, it's as persistent as hell, literally.
Lately I've added a Catholic radio station to my car radio buttons. In the mornings they play a segment in which the Lord's Prayer (the Our Father in Catholic parlance) and the Hail Mary are recited over and over. I've heard this practice demeaned a good bit over the years by well meaning people who imagine that because something is repeated that it's necessarily done mindlessly or even soullessly. That's probably not true. For myself, I've decided that it's probably a bad idea to criticize people for praying scripture, even if they repeat themselves in profound violation of our tastes.
I've spent the last year adding a substantial component of rhytmic practice to my life with Christ. This centers around the church calendar and the Anglican Liturgy. (Liturgy used to be something I'd worry about. To wit: Is it right? Is it boring? Is it hip(ster) enough? When I realized it's about 85% scripture, I stopped worrying. I wouldn't apply those standards to scripture, so why worry about it?)
Some place in all this, I was reminded of something I was taught decades ago but had long forgotten. Namely, the Psalms aren't just another book of the bible. The Psalms are a book of prayers. They were the prayers of an ancient people. A people who loved God. These are prayers born from the total spectrum of human emotion including joy, desperation and even loathing. They were written to be repeated. They are passionate, beautiful, fierce and frightening. I heard Dallas Willard make an off hand statement once to effect that if you want to understand the heart of God, pray and meditate on the Psalms. Yes; I do think so.
These days when I wake up in the middle of the night and the real or imagined crisis of the day threatens to rob me of sleep, one thing comes to mind. "The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want..." It seems that the 23rd Psalm is where worry goes to die. "...He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters..." And many nights I can't even remember the entire Psalm or get the order right. But I don't worry about it. "...He restoreth my soul:..." The night noises both outside and inside my head might seem more real for the deep dark of the late night but so does the peace and completion of salvation. "he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake..." And if you aren't yet asleep, here's the rest of it:
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
thou anointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
Good night. Sleep well.
A lot of times our worry will send us off to the web or even a bookstore to research worry, hoping to find help, self help. We might pick up books on peace and contentment, we might pick up books on worry or we might even pick up both. If we do pick up both, we worry about which one we should read first. At some point in our self-help reading, we're likely to stumble over the pronouncement that worry is bad for us. Then of course, we start worrying about worrying about worry.
The universally recognized worst time (or best if you're a fan of worry) for worry is the middle of the night. Something brings you awake and suddenly, almost reflexively the pressing problem du jour is the only and biggest thing in the world. This might be the result of hormones or dreams or even a spiritual attack. It really doesn't matter because regardless of how big or real or small or irrelevant the issue might actually be, the worry is very real, heart attack real.
Over the years I've tried all manner of responses to this sort of worry. I've had varying degrees of succes, well actually failure I guess, with everything from watching TV, reading, praying and thinking about fun things. What's interesting is that for all that might be wrong with worry it has one huge characteristic that makes it unique in it's strength and purity. Namely, it's as persistent as hell, literally.
Lately I've added a Catholic radio station to my car radio buttons. In the mornings they play a segment in which the Lord's Prayer (the Our Father in Catholic parlance) and the Hail Mary are recited over and over. I've heard this practice demeaned a good bit over the years by well meaning people who imagine that because something is repeated that it's necessarily done mindlessly or even soullessly. That's probably not true. For myself, I've decided that it's probably a bad idea to criticize people for praying scripture, even if they repeat themselves in profound violation of our tastes.
I've spent the last year adding a substantial component of rhytmic practice to my life with Christ. This centers around the church calendar and the Anglican Liturgy. (Liturgy used to be something I'd worry about. To wit: Is it right? Is it boring? Is it hip(ster) enough? When I realized it's about 85% scripture, I stopped worrying. I wouldn't apply those standards to scripture, so why worry about it?)
Some place in all this, I was reminded of something I was taught decades ago but had long forgotten. Namely, the Psalms aren't just another book of the bible. The Psalms are a book of prayers. They were the prayers of an ancient people. A people who loved God. These are prayers born from the total spectrum of human emotion including joy, desperation and even loathing. They were written to be repeated. They are passionate, beautiful, fierce and frightening. I heard Dallas Willard make an off hand statement once to effect that if you want to understand the heart of God, pray and meditate on the Psalms. Yes; I do think so.
These days when I wake up in the middle of the night and the real or imagined crisis of the day threatens to rob me of sleep, one thing comes to mind. "The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want..." It seems that the 23rd Psalm is where worry goes to die. "...He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters..." And many nights I can't even remember the entire Psalm or get the order right. But I don't worry about it. "...He restoreth my soul:..." The night noises both outside and inside my head might seem more real for the deep dark of the late night but so does the peace and completion of salvation. "he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake..." And if you aren't yet asleep, here's the rest of it:
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
thou anointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
Good night. Sleep well.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Of Roller Coasters and Have You Seen My Keys?
Wouldn't you think you'd get better at most everything over the course of your life?
After living a half century I think by now I should be over losing things. Whether it's socks, shoes, keys or whatever the critical component of getting out the door is, it seems like I ought to have mastered it by now. However, while I have generally gotten better at putting things where they go and reaping all the benefits that implies, somehow life always seems to object to my organizational aspirations.
When something new gets added to my schedule, particularly something that requires me to carry a new piece of hardware out the door in the morning, the apples all seem to spill from the organization cart. When I focus intently on the new thing, then my old routine suffers.
About a month ago, I locked myself out of the house. I had a new thing to take with me that day. I had the thing in my hand but as a result had forgotten to check my pockets to make sure I had my keys. We have a contingency at our house for this sort of error. Since I hadn't used it for years (the good news), I wasn't altogether clear on where all the parts were. Eventually I found them. Of course I was late to my appointment...revealing my disorganization.
I'm finding it clearer than ever that time doesn't offer any guarantee of improvement. If you're like me, you're probably thinking something profound right now, like "DUH." However, consider how you think about the future. You assume your kids will get older, better, nicer. You assume your financial situation will improve. You assume your health will either remain as it is or you'll get everything fixed in short order. This is a very short list when compared against the real possibilities and yet look at all the potential for derailment.
Here are some contrary and ugly realities to consider. Over the next few years, you and people you love are going to experience varying degrees of sickness. Over the same period, you or your spouse will likely incur a financial set back. Then there's the kids... The possibilities here are almost endless. However, since I don't want you to think I'm trying to get even with you because you dismissively said "DUH" earlier, I'll stop. You can fill in your own gaps if you like. Just be advised though, the word for that is called "worry" and it is seldom helpful.
When we think positive thoughts about the future, we usually refer to those kind of thoughts as hopeful or optimistic. Hope and optimism are good and helpful. However, they can quite often fall prey to the bad things that eventually come to all flesh. Then of course, we resort to worry. Over time, if we're really dedicated to "doing better," we wrap ourselves around optimism and hope. Eventually, something or even a few somethings positive happen. Then we go back to assuming that good things will always follow. Wash, rinse, repeat.
This idea is not new. The earliest developed version I know of is found in the biblical book, Ecclesiastes. In fact, entire systems of thought and value have been built on this conundrum. I would add that so has much of Western Civilization. We assume that more information has made us smarter and better able to handle life. While I do think information and learning has improved our physical lot considerably, I think we might actually handle the business of living not quite as well as we have in times past.
I think the fallacies in this construct are found in focusing on the wrong things and looking too far ahead; all this driven by the vain imagining that all those "things" are out there (i.e. separated from us). The truth is this, while you might make small and/or temporary differences in what's going to happen next through carefully made plans, tomorrow is going to take care of itself with or without you, one way or another.
The worst part is that the pessimistic/optimistic construct hides the beautiful truth at the center of it all. You. You're not detached from the roller coaster. You're on it. You're not the tracks, the wheels or the cart but you are definitely riding, hanging on and leaning into every turn. And even more, you're the reason the ride is there at all. You can't hide from it, control more than your own place or jump off. As long as your alive, you ride. And by the way, we are only given as much control of the ride in any moment as God allows.
Sometimes I ask for changes in the ride. Sometimes they are granted. However, even then it's not my will being done. It's someone else adjusting there's to mine even as I work to adjust mine to theirs.
I am slowly learning to go with the ride God gave me and to see his reality in all of the roller coaster. It goes up and down and makes stupid, wild turns. It goes really fast sometimes and sometimes it's just the clunk clunk clunk up the long grade. The g-force, turn angle and even the speed don't matter. Still, how I engage it all counts for everything.
Now you'll have to excuse me. I have to go find my keys.
After living a half century I think by now I should be over losing things. Whether it's socks, shoes, keys or whatever the critical component of getting out the door is, it seems like I ought to have mastered it by now. However, while I have generally gotten better at putting things where they go and reaping all the benefits that implies, somehow life always seems to object to my organizational aspirations.
When something new gets added to my schedule, particularly something that requires me to carry a new piece of hardware out the door in the morning, the apples all seem to spill from the organization cart. When I focus intently on the new thing, then my old routine suffers.
About a month ago, I locked myself out of the house. I had a new thing to take with me that day. I had the thing in my hand but as a result had forgotten to check my pockets to make sure I had my keys. We have a contingency at our house for this sort of error. Since I hadn't used it for years (the good news), I wasn't altogether clear on where all the parts were. Eventually I found them. Of course I was late to my appointment...revealing my disorganization.
I'm finding it clearer than ever that time doesn't offer any guarantee of improvement. If you're like me, you're probably thinking something profound right now, like "DUH." However, consider how you think about the future. You assume your kids will get older, better, nicer. You assume your financial situation will improve. You assume your health will either remain as it is or you'll get everything fixed in short order. This is a very short list when compared against the real possibilities and yet look at all the potential for derailment.
Here are some contrary and ugly realities to consider. Over the next few years, you and people you love are going to experience varying degrees of sickness. Over the same period, you or your spouse will likely incur a financial set back. Then there's the kids... The possibilities here are almost endless. However, since I don't want you to think I'm trying to get even with you because you dismissively said "DUH" earlier, I'll stop. You can fill in your own gaps if you like. Just be advised though, the word for that is called "worry" and it is seldom helpful.
When we think positive thoughts about the future, we usually refer to those kind of thoughts as hopeful or optimistic. Hope and optimism are good and helpful. However, they can quite often fall prey to the bad things that eventually come to all flesh. Then of course, we resort to worry. Over time, if we're really dedicated to "doing better," we wrap ourselves around optimism and hope. Eventually, something or even a few somethings positive happen. Then we go back to assuming that good things will always follow. Wash, rinse, repeat.
This idea is not new. The earliest developed version I know of is found in the biblical book, Ecclesiastes. In fact, entire systems of thought and value have been built on this conundrum. I would add that so has much of Western Civilization. We assume that more information has made us smarter and better able to handle life. While I do think information and learning has improved our physical lot considerably, I think we might actually handle the business of living not quite as well as we have in times past.
I think the fallacies in this construct are found in focusing on the wrong things and looking too far ahead; all this driven by the vain imagining that all those "things" are out there (i.e. separated from us). The truth is this, while you might make small and/or temporary differences in what's going to happen next through carefully made plans, tomorrow is going to take care of itself with or without you, one way or another.
The worst part is that the pessimistic/optimistic construct hides the beautiful truth at the center of it all. You. You're not detached from the roller coaster. You're on it. You're not the tracks, the wheels or the cart but you are definitely riding, hanging on and leaning into every turn. And even more, you're the reason the ride is there at all. You can't hide from it, control more than your own place or jump off. As long as your alive, you ride. And by the way, we are only given as much control of the ride in any moment as God allows.
Sometimes I ask for changes in the ride. Sometimes they are granted. However, even then it's not my will being done. It's someone else adjusting there's to mine even as I work to adjust mine to theirs.
I am slowly learning to go with the ride God gave me and to see his reality in all of the roller coaster. It goes up and down and makes stupid, wild turns. It goes really fast sometimes and sometimes it's just the clunk clunk clunk up the long grade. The g-force, turn angle and even the speed don't matter. Still, how I engage it all counts for everything.
Now you'll have to excuse me. I have to go find my keys.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
The Space Between
O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of life; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
This day 1980 years ago (i.e. 2013 - 33) was a quiet day in Jerusalem. After three years of challenge, change and upset most all believed the matter settled. Jesus had been put to death.
It had been an exciting week. The preceding Sunday, crowds in town for the Passover celebration had been treated to huge demonstrations of support and love for the teacher called Jesus. The intervening week had been punctuated with a near riot at the temple, plotting in the councils of the leaders, the usual controversial teaching, manifestations of the supernatural reported both by Jesus' followers as well as more that were reported in at least one contemporary history of the day. You didn't need network news to get you worked up about all that was going on.
All that had ended suddenly yesterday with the whisper, "It is finished." In that moment, things had for a bit, taken a bad turn. The sky turned black and there was extreme thunder and lightning. Some people (possibly shaken by the severe weather) reported people long dead showing up and talking about the death that had just happened on Golgotha. Even in the context of all that had happened the previous week, that had to be weird. Someone had even vandalized the temple, tearing a particularly heavy temple curtain multiple stories high in half.
Today was a pretty quiet day. There were a few followers of Jesus here and there, obviously shaken, running from their own shadows and rethinking their career choices. Most people concerned themselves with their usual Passover Sabbath observations. Jesus' followers would not even go to his tomb out of respect for the Sabbath. In any case, the body would keep until Sunday.
In what would later come to be seen as perhaps the single greatest miscalculation in the history of mankind, the current Roman Governor Pilate, ordered the tomb sealed with an official seal and a platoon of troops guard the body. This was a response to rumors that Jesus' followers would try to steal his body and make people think he'd risen from the dead. Of course later the guards went running around telling everyone that they fell asleep and when they work up the body was gone. Odd that was the best they could come up with since that particular story carried the death penalty.
I think there were other guards there too by the way. They however were actually in the tomb, with the body. There's a kind of picture of the guards I'm talking about. It looks like this:
In this picture, the guards are waiting to do the job of guarding Jesus' body. This is an approximation of the Ark of the Covenant. Inside is a sort of scrap book of the intersection between God and his nation Israel. For one thousand years, most people who knew about this box thought the angels were representations of guards guarding the stuff in the box. Actually, they were a picture of waiting. They were waiting for the completion, the filling of the space between. Notice, they wait on the outside where we all live...but their mission is somehow accomplished on the inside of the tomb, away from all eyes. Inside...outside...interesting.
Technically, these aren't angels at all. Whatever the resemblance, these aren't anything like TV angels. These are terrible and terrifying creatures, here rendered beautifully and simply. Suffice to say, you don't want to be on the wrong side of whatever they've been sent to do.
At some point in time before time, I think there was a combination of great sadness, wild anger and infinite determination on the face of God when he commanded these beings, explaining their mission. In that thoroughly intimidating conversation there was something like this: "And no one...no one...no one touches or even approaches my son's body. No one but me."
On the next day of course, everything would change. The resurrected Jesus would start appearing to a few people, then a few more and eventually to thousands. His followers who had scattered like a flock of birds from a pack of running dogs stopped running away. Instead, they followed him to messy deaths, forever putting to death the lie that they carried on as they did for wealth and power. As a result they spread the life of his truth in a way that changed eternity. (They were always part of the design exactly like the cherubim...but that's another story.)
Tomorrow's coming but on this day we remember the moment between then and now. On this day we remember the day the cherubim had been waiting for; the moment the space between was finally, forever and completely closed. This day is the day of the Father with his Son.
Each of us will watch and live out our own space between. This is completely true whether we follow Christ diligently, hold him at arm's length or are utterly oblivious to him. For those that follow Christ, we will slowly and surely come to see the space between filled with something quite complete, beautiful and resurrected that is completely us, completely other and completely new. Hallelujah. Tomorrow is almost here.
Monday, March 11, 2013
You Might Have Invented Your Own God If...
I heard a quote yesterday. I view it as a theological type of "You're probably a Redneck if."
“You can safely assume that you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” (from Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott; on page 22 of Bird by Bird she attributes this quote to “my priest friend Tom”)
I think this is a wonderful idea...as far as it goes. However, since there's an underlying thread in my life that pulsates with the idea that "nothing exceeds like excess," I think this idea can be taken in a whole bunch of other directions with equal or even greater relevance.
Here are some candidates:
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if you imagine that your aspirations for yourself are the same as His aspirations for you. The corollary: He's got a lot more in mind for you than your imagination will entertain, or even allow.
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if you imagine that everything that feels right (and maybe confortableto you is actually right. The corollary: Everyone is welcome as they are but everyone will be invited and even mightily challenged to change. You shouldn't look for core theology to change so that you will feel more comfortable.
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if your righteous indignation carries with it an unnatural degree of logical justification. The corollary: The core concepts of Christianity are the core concepts of Christianity and neither benefit nor mutate based on new translation or interpretation.
Honestly, the potential in this construct is probably endless. The thing I find sad in this is that all such attempts to cast God into something he isn't will be limited by our respective, individual brokenness...and we have enough of that without playing it back to ourselves dressed in a warped image of God.
I think the confusion often surfaces here that God's peace is not at all the same thing as peaceful circumstance. In this life there's no guarantee of "And they all lived happily ever after." Instead, the promise is more along the lines of "And they all lived abundantly, lovingly and eternally."
I hope this makes you uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable. But that's OK because the invitation in discomfort is the realization that peace isn't a function of circumstance. It's a function of Christ's redemption and the unique and beautiful wonder you were spoken to be.
“You can safely assume that you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” (from Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott; on page 22 of Bird by Bird she attributes this quote to “my priest friend Tom”)
I think this is a wonderful idea...as far as it goes. However, since there's an underlying thread in my life that pulsates with the idea that "nothing exceeds like excess," I think this idea can be taken in a whole bunch of other directions with equal or even greater relevance.
Here are some candidates:
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if you imagine that your aspirations for yourself are the same as His aspirations for you. The corollary: He's got a lot more in mind for you than your imagination will entertain, or even allow.
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if you imagine that everything that feels right (and maybe confortableto you is actually right. The corollary: Everyone is welcome as they are but everyone will be invited and even mightily challenged to change. You shouldn't look for core theology to change so that you will feel more comfortable.
You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image if your righteous indignation carries with it an unnatural degree of logical justification. The corollary: The core concepts of Christianity are the core concepts of Christianity and neither benefit nor mutate based on new translation or interpretation.
Honestly, the potential in this construct is probably endless. The thing I find sad in this is that all such attempts to cast God into something he isn't will be limited by our respective, individual brokenness...and we have enough of that without playing it back to ourselves dressed in a warped image of God.
I think the confusion often surfaces here that God's peace is not at all the same thing as peaceful circumstance. In this life there's no guarantee of "And they all lived happily ever after." Instead, the promise is more along the lines of "And they all lived abundantly, lovingly and eternally."
I hope this makes you uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable. But that's OK because the invitation in discomfort is the realization that peace isn't a function of circumstance. It's a function of Christ's redemption and the unique and beautiful wonder you were spoken to be.
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