'No man can by any means redeem his brother or give to God a ransom for him--for the redemption of his soul is costly, and he should cease trying forever--that he should live on eternally, that he should not undergo decay."
No man can redeem his brother; Christ redeemed His friends.
Showing posts with label reflection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reflection. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Deja Vu
Excerpt from a May 2008 journal entry:
"I went out from my native land with a searching heart, and I found God awaiting me there. He invited me to be released from gravity and dance among the stars, but I wanted to wrap Him up and take Him back home, where I was comfortable and the weights that held me down were all familiar."
Further up and further in!
"I went out from my native land with a searching heart, and I found God awaiting me there. He invited me to be released from gravity and dance among the stars, but I wanted to wrap Him up and take Him back home, where I was comfortable and the weights that held me down were all familiar."
Further up and further in!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tour ramblings
theFurnace just spent a week on the road doing nights of prayer and worship across the country. I went with a group of thirty college students to tour the west coast. We started in Roswell, NM, travelled through Arizona and California, and ended in my home church in Ogden, UT. It was an incredible experience, and we saw God move in magnificent ways. Once I write my ramble about our free day on the ocean, I may post it here. In the meantime, here are a few other rambles tapped out in a fifteen-passenger van on the freeway...
On the Desert
The road through New Mexico and Arizona is beautiful. It reminds me very much of the drive through certain parts of Utah. Especially as the sun drops in the sky and the shadows grow longer, the light casts a sparse, romantic beauty on the desert as it lies on either side of the highway.
This more than anything explains the unique charm of this country: the desert doesn't flow as the coast and its ocean; neither does it grow in the way of the plains. It simply lies with its dusty greens and dirty yellows, serene and a bit predictable surrounding four lanes of asphalt, without presumption or extraneous aspirations. Even the rocky growths that are repeated again and again in the view from the car windows seem to roll in and out of the ground in which they are planted, unlike the boldly stated mountains or the sheer and sudden precipices that can be seen elsewhere.
Our movements have fallen in with the rhythm of this land. They are paced and recurring. We listen to songs that flow in and out of each other. There seems to be something natural and familiar to this place.
Perhaps the desert is a faint echo of some plainer existence to which we feel an indefinite drawing. It evokes a memory of a life that is content with strength and tenacity, not caring for embellishments or handiwork to display. The desert is a life without trophies on its shelf, a life that is more interested in lying in quiet expanse than momentarily leaping from the earth: one that is deep and interior and silent, one whose power lies mostly in the unseen.
On Happy Jack
Making a drive across Wyoming is one of the less enjoyable experiences of my life, and one that I have undertaken many times. The landscape from I-80 is barren and notably indecisive. Even in colour, the topography refuses to commit to any shade or hue and instead muddles about in a dreary grey. After several hours of such a view, my eyes grow weary of constantly gazing on dustiness and endless horizontal lines.
Then comes the glorious moment of the trek shortly outside of the city of Laramie. One rounds yet another grey corner and is suddenly greeted by bright reds and greens shouting cheery platitudes from either side of the winding road. Pines are stacked up above the grooved face of the rock like an evergreen ensemble marching through a wilderness. The sign for the nearest exit reads “Happy Jack Road.”
Cheers, friends.
On the Desert
The road through New Mexico and Arizona is beautiful. It reminds me very much of the drive through certain parts of Utah. Especially as the sun drops in the sky and the shadows grow longer, the light casts a sparse, romantic beauty on the desert as it lies on either side of the highway.
This more than anything explains the unique charm of this country: the desert doesn't flow as the coast and its ocean; neither does it grow in the way of the plains. It simply lies with its dusty greens and dirty yellows, serene and a bit predictable surrounding four lanes of asphalt, without presumption or extraneous aspirations. Even the rocky growths that are repeated again and again in the view from the car windows seem to roll in and out of the ground in which they are planted, unlike the boldly stated mountains or the sheer and sudden precipices that can be seen elsewhere.
Our movements have fallen in with the rhythm of this land. They are paced and recurring. We listen to songs that flow in and out of each other. There seems to be something natural and familiar to this place.
Perhaps the desert is a faint echo of some plainer existence to which we feel an indefinite drawing. It evokes a memory of a life that is content with strength and tenacity, not caring for embellishments or handiwork to display. The desert is a life without trophies on its shelf, a life that is more interested in lying in quiet expanse than momentarily leaping from the earth: one that is deep and interior and silent, one whose power lies mostly in the unseen.
On Happy Jack
Making a drive across Wyoming is one of the less enjoyable experiences of my life, and one that I have undertaken many times. The landscape from I-80 is barren and notably indecisive. Even in colour, the topography refuses to commit to any shade or hue and instead muddles about in a dreary grey. After several hours of such a view, my eyes grow weary of constantly gazing on dustiness and endless horizontal lines.
Then comes the glorious moment of the trek shortly outside of the city of Laramie. One rounds yet another grey corner and is suddenly greeted by bright reds and greens shouting cheery platitudes from either side of the winding road. Pines are stacked up above the grooved face of the rock like an evergreen ensemble marching through a wilderness. The sign for the nearest exit reads “Happy Jack Road.”
Cheers, friends.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sophisticates
“Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of wickedness,
to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover him,
and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?
Then shall your light break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up speedily;
your righteousness shall go before you;
the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry, and he will say, ‘Here I am.’
If you take away the yoke from your midst,
the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness,
if you pour yourself out for the hungry
and satisfy the desire of the afflicted,
then shall your light rise in the darkness
and your gloom be as the noonday.
And the Lord will guide you continually
and satisfy your desire in scorched places
and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
like a spring of water,
whose waters do not fail.
And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to dwell in."
Isaiah 58:6-12
This morning, I drove to Panera Bread to meet an incredible woman of God for some coffee (or, to be true, tea) and conversation. I followed a steady line of cars into a shopping complex and watched people routinely pull into the parking lots of Panera and Starbucks, many of them inevitably here to order "their drinks" as they do every day before returning to their shiny cars and driving off to their careers.
I have a hard time with suburbia. There is such an air of presumed sophistication present here. And I am not referring to Briargate specifically. I am speaking more generally of an attitude that prevails in our society. Look at our nice vehicles: they are shiny and modern, and the payment we are obligated to make on it every month is well worth the status we associate with it. Look at our $4 coffees in recycled cardboard cups; our perfectly placed, chemically coloured hair; our laptops and SmartPhones. How sophisticated we are!
I am not condemning cars, coffee, or laptops (I am typing this on my year-old MacBook Pro). But I do feel that we tend to glorify and idolize our advancement, as if technology and the marketplace are the standards by which we measure the sophistication we value so highly. SUV+latte+iPhone=sophistication?
Hardly. What if we shifted our thinking to believe that the truly sophisticated thing is compassion? That our advancement is in the growth of our love? That the number of people we have genuinely helped is more important than the figure in our bank account?
Ultimately, who cares about the rest of the mess? Is eternity concerned with your social status or fashion or ability to acquire? There is nothing spectacular about buying and owning and storing. What is unique and beautiful is to give and aid and sacrifice. Eternity is looking for what Brennan Manning in the book The Furious Longing of God called "a community of prophets and professional lovers."
Please, be sophisticated. Be so advanced in love that it is a remarkable gift to a dying world. Cultivate such a rich compassion that souls are redeemed by the display of God's kindness you live before the hopeless. Develop a disregard for the trivialities and trappings.
to loose the bonds of wickedness,
to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover him,
and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?
Then shall your light break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up speedily;
your righteousness shall go before you;
the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry, and he will say, ‘Here I am.’
If you take away the yoke from your midst,
the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness,
if you pour yourself out for the hungry
and satisfy the desire of the afflicted,
then shall your light rise in the darkness
and your gloom be as the noonday.
And the Lord will guide you continually
and satisfy your desire in scorched places
and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
like a spring of water,
whose waters do not fail.
And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to dwell in."
Isaiah 58:6-12
This morning, I drove to Panera Bread to meet an incredible woman of God for some coffee (or, to be true, tea) and conversation. I followed a steady line of cars into a shopping complex and watched people routinely pull into the parking lots of Panera and Starbucks, many of them inevitably here to order "their drinks" as they do every day before returning to their shiny cars and driving off to their careers.
I have a hard time with suburbia. There is such an air of presumed sophistication present here. And I am not referring to Briargate specifically. I am speaking more generally of an attitude that prevails in our society. Look at our nice vehicles: they are shiny and modern, and the payment we are obligated to make on it every month is well worth the status we associate with it. Look at our $4 coffees in recycled cardboard cups; our perfectly placed, chemically coloured hair; our laptops and SmartPhones. How sophisticated we are!
I am not condemning cars, coffee, or laptops (I am typing this on my year-old MacBook Pro). But I do feel that we tend to glorify and idolize our advancement, as if technology and the marketplace are the standards by which we measure the sophistication we value so highly. SUV+latte+iPhone=sophistication?
Hardly. What if we shifted our thinking to believe that the truly sophisticated thing is compassion? That our advancement is in the growth of our love? That the number of people we have genuinely helped is more important than the figure in our bank account?
Ultimately, who cares about the rest of the mess? Is eternity concerned with your social status or fashion or ability to acquire? There is nothing spectacular about buying and owning and storing. What is unique and beautiful is to give and aid and sacrifice. Eternity is looking for what Brennan Manning in the book The Furious Longing of God called "a community of prophets and professional lovers."
Please, be sophisticated. Be so advanced in love that it is a remarkable gift to a dying world. Cultivate such a rich compassion that souls are redeemed by the display of God's kindness you live before the hopeless. Develop a disregard for the trivialities and trappings.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Stuff
I just watched "The Story of Stuff."
I think I need to rethink the way I consume.
I've grown up around arguments against any redefinition of consumption my whole life. Such changes have always been associated with a radical leftist view that, in the context of my developmental years, was necessarily anti-God. If you're challenging the economic system and pushing for "zero carbon footprint" and "sustainability," you are a Godless liberal. So, essentially, the thinking went.
I am beginning to think differently.
Slowly, it is becoming clear how deeply rooted our western preoccupation with materials is even in the people of the Church. It really is an addiction, and it is disgusting. It's poison.
For example, I was having a discussion recently with some friends about people who move to America and don't learn our language. These friends are amazing and have beautiful hearts for God. But as we discussed whether or not immigrants should be required to learn English upon their entry to America, the heart of the matter was exposed: unrecognized materialism.
The question I posed was this: "If we view ourselves primarily not as Americans trying to function in an American, English-speaking society, but as citizens of heaven with a message of hope for people of every tribe, nation, and tongue, should we not attempt to learn their language first?"
(We discussed this at length and unpacked arguments for both sides. If you wish to engage this topic with me, I would love to talk about it.)
The discussion carried on for a substantial amount of time, and when we reached the end, the final example given by my dear friend was this: "I agree we should be reaching out to these people with the gospel. But when I am working at a grocery store, and someone comes in speaking Spanish, and I can't understand them, it keeps me from doing my job."
That was when I realized, Oh, my goodness. That's it. The problem is consumerism. We want people to know our language so we can keep the flow of the economy.
And this isn't just my friend, one person, who has some shocking mindset. That is the mindset I have heard all my life. It's not that she is a bad person possessing an unusual degree of selfishness. This is the way most of us are.
How did this get into our hearts? my heart?
Now I am seeing this consumer mentality everywhere. And I am seeing that is not an issue of right or left. In fact, I am seeing that left and right may just be two different words for "wrong."
I am reading Dallas Willard's The Divine Conspiracy, in which the author unpacks a substantial explanation of the "gospels" of both the right and left as unsound gospels focused on sin-management. Of the right, he says, "Being let off the divine hook replaces possession of a divine life 'from above.'" Alternatively: "This is the gospel of the current Christian left: Love comes out on top."
(I don't have time to explain these in full, but I highly suggest you read the book if you are interested in understanding both fatal flaws.)
What I have begun to see in the general mindset of the people of God I have known is a certain measure of identity which is found in possessions.
"The system of production is flawed," one says. "People are losing resources and living in poverty and we are polluting our surroundings and ourselves."
"That's all social gospel" is the response. And so our right to continue buying more than we need and wasting perfectly functional, if aesthetically obsolete, resources is protected because we are unaffected by any state of well-being outside of our own.
But my primary concern here is not even whatever level of natural resources we may or may not have consumed, or the effect that is having on local economies where our production occurs, or how full national landfills are or are not (though I think that each of these issues possesses a level of importance). My first concern is that it appears we have God further from the throne of our hearts than we might admit or even perceive. The issue is that where our treasure is our heart is as well.
In other words, why don't we care?
Do we dismiss movements for green living, sustainability, and fair trade because we have a just argument against the way these causes are conducted? Or is it because we draw a certain amount of our identity from how much, how big, how often?
If we were free from materialism, as we so often pray and profess to be, would it not be of great importance to us that workers receive fair pay and that the production of American goods across the globe does not negatively impact the people and environments involved in that production? And from what I can see, these things largely do not concern us as we sit in our right-leaning, evangelistic perch.
I am not attacking the American church or the people that compose her. How could I claim to love the Man and not also love His Bride?
What I am asking, mostly of myself, is this:
Why is it so important to me to purchase new clothing?
Why don't I cultivate more of my own food? Because I am unable? If so, why am I not careful to ensure the food I buy is produced in a manner that is not harmful to those actually doing the work?
Why do I replace things that I already have?
Or, to put it succinctly, do I live like He is my portion?
Questions that need to be answered.
One thing I have asked from the LORD, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the LORD
And to meditate in His temple.
Ps. 27:4
Or have I?
I think I need to rethink the way I consume.
I've grown up around arguments against any redefinition of consumption my whole life. Such changes have always been associated with a radical leftist view that, in the context of my developmental years, was necessarily anti-God. If you're challenging the economic system and pushing for "zero carbon footprint" and "sustainability," you are a Godless liberal. So, essentially, the thinking went.
I am beginning to think differently.
Slowly, it is becoming clear how deeply rooted our western preoccupation with materials is even in the people of the Church. It really is an addiction, and it is disgusting. It's poison.
For example, I was having a discussion recently with some friends about people who move to America and don't learn our language. These friends are amazing and have beautiful hearts for God. But as we discussed whether or not immigrants should be required to learn English upon their entry to America, the heart of the matter was exposed: unrecognized materialism.
The question I posed was this: "If we view ourselves primarily not as Americans trying to function in an American, English-speaking society, but as citizens of heaven with a message of hope for people of every tribe, nation, and tongue, should we not attempt to learn their language first?"
(We discussed this at length and unpacked arguments for both sides. If you wish to engage this topic with me, I would love to talk about it.)
The discussion carried on for a substantial amount of time, and when we reached the end, the final example given by my dear friend was this: "I agree we should be reaching out to these people with the gospel. But when I am working at a grocery store, and someone comes in speaking Spanish, and I can't understand them, it keeps me from doing my job."
That was when I realized, Oh, my goodness. That's it. The problem is consumerism. We want people to know our language so we can keep the flow of the economy.
And this isn't just my friend, one person, who has some shocking mindset. That is the mindset I have heard all my life. It's not that she is a bad person possessing an unusual degree of selfishness. This is the way most of us are.
How did this get into our hearts? my heart?
Now I am seeing this consumer mentality everywhere. And I am seeing that is not an issue of right or left. In fact, I am seeing that left and right may just be two different words for "wrong."
I am reading Dallas Willard's The Divine Conspiracy, in which the author unpacks a substantial explanation of the "gospels" of both the right and left as unsound gospels focused on sin-management. Of the right, he says, "Being let off the divine hook replaces possession of a divine life 'from above.'" Alternatively: "This is the gospel of the current Christian left: Love comes out on top."
(I don't have time to explain these in full, but I highly suggest you read the book if you are interested in understanding both fatal flaws.)
What I have begun to see in the general mindset of the people of God I have known is a certain measure of identity which is found in possessions.
"The system of production is flawed," one says. "People are losing resources and living in poverty and we are polluting our surroundings and ourselves."
"That's all social gospel" is the response. And so our right to continue buying more than we need and wasting perfectly functional, if aesthetically obsolete, resources is protected because we are unaffected by any state of well-being outside of our own.
But my primary concern here is not even whatever level of natural resources we may or may not have consumed, or the effect that is having on local economies where our production occurs, or how full national landfills are or are not (though I think that each of these issues possesses a level of importance). My first concern is that it appears we have God further from the throne of our hearts than we might admit or even perceive. The issue is that where our treasure is our heart is as well.
In other words, why don't we care?
Do we dismiss movements for green living, sustainability, and fair trade because we have a just argument against the way these causes are conducted? Or is it because we draw a certain amount of our identity from how much, how big, how often?
If we were free from materialism, as we so often pray and profess to be, would it not be of great importance to us that workers receive fair pay and that the production of American goods across the globe does not negatively impact the people and environments involved in that production? And from what I can see, these things largely do not concern us as we sit in our right-leaning, evangelistic perch.
I am not attacking the American church or the people that compose her. How could I claim to love the Man and not also love His Bride?
What I am asking, mostly of myself, is this:
Why is it so important to me to purchase new clothing?
Why don't I cultivate more of my own food? Because I am unable? If so, why am I not careful to ensure the food I buy is produced in a manner that is not harmful to those actually doing the work?
Why do I replace things that I already have?
Or, to put it succinctly, do I live like He is my portion?
Questions that need to be answered.
One thing I have asked from the LORD, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the LORD
And to meditate in His temple.
Ps. 27:4
Or have I?
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
David
If we go to coffee anytime soon, be prepared for a lot of David. "David said..." "I love that David recognized this..." "Well, it's the same as what David saw..."
A few weeks ago, I looked at the Psalms and was struck by the preoccupation this man had with God. Shepherd or king, warrior or poet--in every stage of life, he maintained an utter fascination with the Almighty. He wrote things such as: "O sons of men...how long will you love what is worthless and aim at deception?" [Ps. 4:2] Such unprecedented questions and statements of devotion. I began to ask God, What was it about You that so captivated this man?
When David was out in the fields tending sheep, what revelation did he receive that birthed such obsession? What did he see? What did he hear? With what was he so engrossed?
To uncover the answer to these questions, I've begun a bit of a detective hunt through the Psalms. I printed out all David's Songs (as this hunt has been dubbed in my mind), hole-punched them, and put them into a big white binder. High liter in one hand, pen in the other, I'm reading through them all to find the clues to David's revelation.
I am only roughly twenty psalms into the study, and I am already ruined by what I am discovering. Among other things, I am learning to see David as a man. I see him as a teenager out in a field, thinking about the stories of his forefathers. Reliving the Genesis 15 promise to Abraham that God would be his shield and great reward. Pondering the Exodus 33 prayer of Moses: "Show me your glory!" And I see his heart coming alive to the invitation of God. Thinking, "If there have been those that have encountered God, then it may be that men may still know God in this way. If this is true, I will be among those who know Him."
David dared to be swept up in the revelation of a beckoning God. All his words about satisfaction and righteousness were born of a heart so intent on knowing the Almighty face-to-face that no cost was considered a sacrifice. God was literally David's reward.
There is so much to say about all of this, but I have already written more than I anticipated. More to come on David, holiness, obsession...
The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in the field, which a man found and hid again; and from joy over it he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.
Matthew 13:44
A few weeks ago, I looked at the Psalms and was struck by the preoccupation this man had with God. Shepherd or king, warrior or poet--in every stage of life, he maintained an utter fascination with the Almighty. He wrote things such as: "O sons of men...how long will you love what is worthless and aim at deception?" [Ps. 4:2] Such unprecedented questions and statements of devotion. I began to ask God, What was it about You that so captivated this man?
When David was out in the fields tending sheep, what revelation did he receive that birthed such obsession? What did he see? What did he hear? With what was he so engrossed?
To uncover the answer to these questions, I've begun a bit of a detective hunt through the Psalms. I printed out all David's Songs (as this hunt has been dubbed in my mind), hole-punched them, and put them into a big white binder. High liter in one hand, pen in the other, I'm reading through them all to find the clues to David's revelation.
I am only roughly twenty psalms into the study, and I am already ruined by what I am discovering. Among other things, I am learning to see David as a man. I see him as a teenager out in a field, thinking about the stories of his forefathers. Reliving the Genesis 15 promise to Abraham that God would be his shield and great reward. Pondering the Exodus 33 prayer of Moses: "Show me your glory!" And I see his heart coming alive to the invitation of God. Thinking, "If there have been those that have encountered God, then it may be that men may still know God in this way. If this is true, I will be among those who know Him."
David dared to be swept up in the revelation of a beckoning God. All his words about satisfaction and righteousness were born of a heart so intent on knowing the Almighty face-to-face that no cost was considered a sacrifice. God was literally David's reward.
There is so much to say about all of this, but I have already written more than I anticipated. More to come on David, holiness, obsession...
The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in the field, which a man found and hid again; and from joy over it he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.
Matthew 13:44
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Vision
"Where there is no vision, the people perish..."
Prov. 29:18
I hopped onto the BBC website this morning to see what the world is up to and came across this article.
I can't imagine the agony of Heaven at a woman so eager to end her life.
It is easy to delve into the politics of assisted suicide, but the fact is that the argument between sanctity of life and one's purported right to his own life is a messy one and one that is often too personal to be had objectively. I am not going to presume to defend one view or another. What I am wondering is, How heartbreaking must our hopelessness be to the Father?
How little revelation people must possess of God's unfailing, ravishing love to have so little hope for life. How muffled the message of grace and the call to discipleship must be that the ears of those who need to hear it most are deaf to it. How blind to the light of Christ the world is; without vision, the people are perishing. Death has so pervaded their souls that it is coming out from their inner man to destroy their very selves.
And I wonder if perhaps we as the Church are inclined to take the wrong action in response to such a culture of death. While we lobby in hearings and petition against the passing of laws--unquestionably with good intentions--are we failing to communicate the hope that might compel the individual to choose life for himself? It is undoubtedly valuable for us to fight for the principles we believe in, but are we so busy screeching over the principle that we neglect the person? Is our vocal opposition a convenient alternative to personal action?
I do not think for a second that any government ruling or law that allows for the destruction of precious life pleases God. But then again, I don't see Jesus overthrowing Rome to pass a law against adultery. I see Him stepping between the unfaithful woman and the self-righteous mob, empowering the one who is so lost with the grace and purpose to "go and sin no more."
Perhaps our responsibility is first to bring vision. Perhaps we are to walk alongside Jesus to the castaways and the uncertain and echo His call to "follow Me." Perhaps our primary concern is to be taking to the streets, walking into hospital rooms, and sitting down in shelters to speak weak words to frail people, desperate to see their hearts come alive. Perhaps I should be more concerned with carrying Christ than condemning sinners. No one without hope needs to be reminded of their hopelessness. They need to be given something for which they can hope.
But these are all thoughts and questions I ask of my own life. Where do I speak much and do little? Where do I hide (often self-righteously) behind principle and avoid the act of loving my neighbor? Where is the one whose behavior I easily condemn but whose heart I am reluctant to heal? God forgive me.
Prov. 29:18
I hopped onto the BBC website this morning to see what the world is up to and came across this article.
Keir Starmer QC, the director of public prosecutions, was forced to publish the guidance after a long-running legal fight by Debbie Purdy, a multiple sclerosis sufferer from Bradford.
In July, Law Lords ruled she had the right to know under what circumstances her husband would be prosecuted if he helped her travel abroad to die.
I can't imagine the agony of Heaven at a woman so eager to end her life.
It is easy to delve into the politics of assisted suicide, but the fact is that the argument between sanctity of life and one's purported right to his own life is a messy one and one that is often too personal to be had objectively. I am not going to presume to defend one view or another. What I am wondering is, How heartbreaking must our hopelessness be to the Father?
How little revelation people must possess of God's unfailing, ravishing love to have so little hope for life. How muffled the message of grace and the call to discipleship must be that the ears of those who need to hear it most are deaf to it. How blind to the light of Christ the world is; without vision, the people are perishing. Death has so pervaded their souls that it is coming out from their inner man to destroy their very selves.
And I wonder if perhaps we as the Church are inclined to take the wrong action in response to such a culture of death. While we lobby in hearings and petition against the passing of laws--unquestionably with good intentions--are we failing to communicate the hope that might compel the individual to choose life for himself? It is undoubtedly valuable for us to fight for the principles we believe in, but are we so busy screeching over the principle that we neglect the person? Is our vocal opposition a convenient alternative to personal action?
I do not think for a second that any government ruling or law that allows for the destruction of precious life pleases God. But then again, I don't see Jesus overthrowing Rome to pass a law against adultery. I see Him stepping between the unfaithful woman and the self-righteous mob, empowering the one who is so lost with the grace and purpose to "go and sin no more."
Perhaps our responsibility is first to bring vision. Perhaps we are to walk alongside Jesus to the castaways and the uncertain and echo His call to "follow Me." Perhaps our primary concern is to be taking to the streets, walking into hospital rooms, and sitting down in shelters to speak weak words to frail people, desperate to see their hearts come alive. Perhaps I should be more concerned with carrying Christ than condemning sinners. No one without hope needs to be reminded of their hopelessness. They need to be given something for which they can hope.
But these are all thoughts and questions I ask of my own life. Where do I speak much and do little? Where do I hide (often self-righteously) behind principle and avoid the act of loving my neighbor? Where is the one whose behavior I easily condemn but whose heart I am reluctant to heal? God forgive me.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Michelangelo
I've spent the better part of the last few days in the prayer closet/storage room across from our room in the WPC. I've been working off a table sandwiched between a mattress against one wall and a pile of to-be-sold-or-donated clothing against the other. The walls are slightly pink and the light is very yellow. But it's starting to grow on me.
God's been rearranging my understanding of pursuit lately. It's been subtle and in small increments, but I feel a shift in my spirit. Something is starting to realign that was disconnected before.
I can't recall how many times I've heard it said that "our life with God is a marathon, not a sprint," but I think it has been one of those statements I say "yeah" to out of habit--not unlike the automatic extension of my leg when the doctor hits my knee with his small triangular red hammer. I still get into achiever mode with God and try to perform every day. (Thanks, Daniel Webb, for helping me understand why I do this. Signature Themes explain so much.)
That's not to say I don't still wake up every morning to "aim for perfection" or "walk in a manner worthy of your calling." Rather, I think I'm gaining an awareness that I need to let the deep, inner things of reality in God be fleshed out without being concerned about external performance. I may be wired to start every day at zero, but God is telling a long, beautiful narrative. It's woven seamlessly and flows perfectly from day to night and back to day again. It's less a faucet I turn on in the morning and shut off in the evening, and more a thundering waterfall cascading endlessly onto my head.
I want to really understand God as a storyteller and an artist. A wise man I've known once told me the rather well-known story about Michelangelo. Reportedly, when asked how he made his statue of David, the sculptor is to have said, "It is easy. You just chip away the stone that doesn't look like David."
I see God that way. He labors so faithfully, chipping away at the block of marble day after day, knowing David is inside, patiently working to see him emerge. I come to him rough and unformed, and He sets right to removing every piece that is not me. To Him, I am at once a discovery and being discovered.
I have to laugh at how absurd it must be, then, for the block of marble to be proclaiming every morning, "I'm going to be a statue today!" No, silly. You're a masterpiece in the making. Let the making happen. Instead of striving to force the art out of yourself, strive to be completely submitted to the craftsman. That's your task.
I want to settle into the pages, embrace the part He's written for me, and live well from cover to cover. No page-jumping or chapter-hopping. Every character with purpose. Every word an encounter. True to every comma, pausing at every period, right in step with the rhythm of the prose.
I'm not a statement. I'm a story.
As I wait for You, maybe I'm made more faithful
-Brooke Fraser
God's been rearranging my understanding of pursuit lately. It's been subtle and in small increments, but I feel a shift in my spirit. Something is starting to realign that was disconnected before.
I can't recall how many times I've heard it said that "our life with God is a marathon, not a sprint," but I think it has been one of those statements I say "yeah" to out of habit--not unlike the automatic extension of my leg when the doctor hits my knee with his small triangular red hammer. I still get into achiever mode with God and try to perform every day. (Thanks, Daniel Webb, for helping me understand why I do this. Signature Themes explain so much.)
That's not to say I don't still wake up every morning to "aim for perfection" or "walk in a manner worthy of your calling." Rather, I think I'm gaining an awareness that I need to let the deep, inner things of reality in God be fleshed out without being concerned about external performance. I may be wired to start every day at zero, but God is telling a long, beautiful narrative. It's woven seamlessly and flows perfectly from day to night and back to day again. It's less a faucet I turn on in the morning and shut off in the evening, and more a thundering waterfall cascading endlessly onto my head.
I want to really understand God as a storyteller and an artist. A wise man I've known once told me the rather well-known story about Michelangelo. Reportedly, when asked how he made his statue of David, the sculptor is to have said, "It is easy. You just chip away the stone that doesn't look like David."
I see God that way. He labors so faithfully, chipping away at the block of marble day after day, knowing David is inside, patiently working to see him emerge. I come to him rough and unformed, and He sets right to removing every piece that is not me. To Him, I am at once a discovery and being discovered.
I have to laugh at how absurd it must be, then, for the block of marble to be proclaiming every morning, "I'm going to be a statue today!" No, silly. You're a masterpiece in the making. Let the making happen. Instead of striving to force the art out of yourself, strive to be completely submitted to the craftsman. That's your task.
I want to settle into the pages, embrace the part He's written for me, and live well from cover to cover. No page-jumping or chapter-hopping. Every character with purpose. Every word an encounter. True to every comma, pausing at every period, right in step with the rhythm of the prose.
I'm not a statement. I'm a story.
As I wait for You, maybe I'm made more faithful
-Brooke Fraser
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Today
Reflections on The Pursuit of Man by A.W. Tozer, chapter one.
The thing that is most necessary in the development of authentic pursuit is that a man actually be looking for God now. To attempt to satisfy the longing after God with recognition of Him in the past or an awareness of Him in the future leaves the soul withering under the reality of this moment. The seeker smiles weakly at professions of the God who has been and the God who is to come, but he cracks beneath the weight of his need for a God who is.
The man whose heart is alive embraces God in both the past and the future, all the while asking, "Ever-Present One, where are You today?" Each day, he seeks a discovery of Christ in the aspect of every hour. His is the spirit quickened to be familiar with his God.
I’m sailing on a ship that’s bound for life
I wrestle with the wind against the tide
I leave it all behind to reach for more
I’m sailing on to where the water’s running sweet and bright
The sun is rising in the eastern sky
I leave it all behind to reach for more
I’m sailing on to Your golden shore
- Sailing on a Ship, Phil Wickham
The thing that is most necessary in the development of authentic pursuit is that a man actually be looking for God now. To attempt to satisfy the longing after God with recognition of Him in the past or an awareness of Him in the future leaves the soul withering under the reality of this moment. The seeker smiles weakly at professions of the God who has been and the God who is to come, but he cracks beneath the weight of his need for a God who is.
The man whose heart is alive embraces God in both the past and the future, all the while asking, "Ever-Present One, where are You today?" Each day, he seeks a discovery of Christ in the aspect of every hour. His is the spirit quickened to be familiar with his God.
I’m sailing on a ship that’s bound for life
I wrestle with the wind against the tide
I leave it all behind to reach for more
I’m sailing on to where the water’s running sweet and bright
The sun is rising in the eastern sky
I leave it all behind to reach for more
I’m sailing on to Your golden shore
- Sailing on a Ship, Phil Wickham
Monday, August 31, 2009
Coffee Shop Thoughts...
[Live and Uncut]
“By dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit.”
Romans 7-8
That I might understand the tragedy of sin, the commandment was given to expose it, and my own sin put me to death. This is the master of my flesh, waging war against the righteous desires of my spirit and binding me up in depravity. There was no victory to be found in my being: it is rotten through and through.
My death could only be redeemed by the death of another. Christ took death upon Himself; He became my very sins and crucified them with His body. Now I am dead! I am the shell in which His Spirit dwells. I am the righteousness of Christ. This is my new master. I am one of those “who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit.” My mind and heart are set on the activity surrounding the throne of God. I desire what I find to be the desires of His heart.
Once, it was impossible for me to be found pleasing to God. When I died to the nature that bound me and took up the likeness of Christ, I was made alive to Him again. By Him I eliminate the activities of the flesh, and so I am found to be the beloved child of God.
No longer am I enslaved to sin and fear; I call to Him, “Daddy!” He says to me, “Dear one, I call you My own; you are among the chosen heirs to My kingdom . Persevere through the struggle of this world, and you will share in My glory.”
This is the internal war in which I wage battle. I groan, I ache for His return, for His right to be enacted on all the wrong of this age. I wake every morning longing for what I have never seen, and I fall asleep every night in tears, desperate for His appearing. When my words run dry, His Spirit inside me cries out, communicating on my behalf in my wordlessness.
Though I am broken and sorrowful, none can accuse me. No charge can be made against me, for He has ordained that I would be made like Him, chosen, made right, and endowed with His glory. And though I shoulder His cross every day—though I cry His tears and groan with His grief—I am secure in His love, and I can never be removed from Him. I wait and I ache, but I am not shaken. I am His.
“By dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit.”
Romans 7-8
That I might understand the tragedy of sin, the commandment was given to expose it, and my own sin put me to death. This is the master of my flesh, waging war against the righteous desires of my spirit and binding me up in depravity. There was no victory to be found in my being: it is rotten through and through.
My death could only be redeemed by the death of another. Christ took death upon Himself; He became my very sins and crucified them with His body. Now I am dead! I am the shell in which His Spirit dwells. I am the righteousness of Christ. This is my new master. I am one of those “who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit.” My mind and heart are set on the activity surrounding the throne of God. I desire what I find to be the desires of His heart.
Once, it was impossible for me to be found pleasing to God. When I died to the nature that bound me and took up the likeness of Christ, I was made alive to Him again. By Him I eliminate the activities of the flesh, and so I am found to be the beloved child of God.
No longer am I enslaved to sin and fear; I call to Him, “Daddy!” He says to me, “Dear one, I call you My own; you are among the chosen heirs to My kingdom . Persevere through the struggle of this world, and you will share in My glory.”
This is the internal war in which I wage battle. I groan, I ache for His return, for His right to be enacted on all the wrong of this age. I wake every morning longing for what I have never seen, and I fall asleep every night in tears, desperate for His appearing. When my words run dry, His Spirit inside me cries out, communicating on my behalf in my wordlessness.
Though I am broken and sorrowful, none can accuse me. No charge can be made against me, for He has ordained that I would be made like Him, chosen, made right, and endowed with His glory. And though I shoulder His cross every day—though I cry His tears and groan with His grief—I am secure in His love, and I can never be removed from Him. I wait and I ache, but I am not shaken. I am His.