Olympic Training for Listening?

The Bible is such an interesting book. No matter how many times I read it, there will always be something new waiting to jump off the page. The Spirit draws my attention, or I suddenly feel the distance between my mindset and what I am reading.

This happened to me the other day as I was reading Hebrews chapter five. At the end of the chapter we find a description of those who are mature and immature. The recipients of the letter are mildly rebuked for being immature and not being able to understand. It seems a bit harsh to reprimand them in this way. Why would God rebuke someone for failing to understand?

In the final verse of the chapter, we find the reason for the rebuke. We read that the mature have become so through practicing. They have learned to discern by exercising their senses. The word used for exercise is an active word. It carries the sense of training for the Olympic Games.
 
They are rebuked not because they don't understand but because they had failed to train themselves. Their lack of discernment, their immaturity was a result of their choice. They chose not to train like an athlete preparing for the Olympics, and therefore lacked discernment. They had not learned to listen.

More times than I care to remember, I have griped about the silence of God. Why doesn't God tell me this or that? I wonder how many times I have not discerned God's voice because I have not seriously trained. Like athletes with various levels of natural skill, discernment may come easier for some, but we can all grow in it through intentional training.

I do not mean to say that God will always answer. There are times of silence, even in the most intimate relationships. But, I wonder if we don't often mistake our inability to listen with His unwillingness to speak.

Wandering

As I was out walking today, my dog kept wandering off the path. That wouldn't normally be a problem, but we were walking alongside a freshly planted field. The crop was just sprouting. I want to be a blessing to our community, and damaging a farmer's crop wouldn't be a blessing.

So, I called the dog. She quickly turned around, came out of the field, and returned to me. I praised her and patted her for returning to me so quickly. Then I pointed toward the path ahead and released her to run. She went about ten feet down the path and then veered into the crop again. I called her and she turned and cocked her head as if to say, "Now, what's the problem!?"

As she returned to me, I fought back frustration. I gave her a treat and again pointed down the path. She ran off, and after fifteen feet or so was headed back into the field. That's when it occurred to me that she couldn't tell the difference between the muddy path and the muddy field.

There are times when she intentionally does the opposite of what I want her to do. I have written about that before. This was different. It wasn't rebellion. She wanted to please me. She just didn't understand when she was on the path, and when she was not. She lacked discernment.

Then it hit me. How many times do I simply wander off the path. I am walking with God. I am enjoying the walk. I am enjoying the freedom that He gives me. We're having a ball together. When, unbeknownst to me, I start trampling on something. I have wandered off the path without intending to. I think the key is being in tune enough to hear his voice and get back on track in those moments.

How many times each day do I get distracted? How many times do I start chasing down some piece of trivia on the internet? How many times do I let my thoughts wander? It's not intentional disobedience, it may not be inherently wrong, but I start to wander. I can't necessarily tell when I'm starting to drift off track, but I suddenly find myself standing in the middle of a field with only a ague recollection of how I got there.

I don't think that this means that I need to worry about wandering. God has given us tremendous freedom to explore and enjoy the world. I don't feel like I need to second guess every step I take. Rather, I need to tune my heart to His voice. I need to learn to listen for Him as I run and play in the world He has created. If I learn to hear discern His voice, I have more freedom, not less! I can run and play in the fields knowing that He is close and that He will call me if I'm wandering.

The key is the relationship. The key is learning to hearken to His voice.

A Poem

I can't remember the last time I wrote a poem, but I think it has to be more than a decade ago. The first few lines spontaneously sprang to mind on a wild and wet coastal walk. So, without further ado...

I Worship You

Wind whipped white caps on a sea of muddy slate
Sideways rain sweeps over the land, stinging my face
All this power is nothing at all compared to you
I’m in awe of all that you are, I worship you
As I stand in this place, I am awed by your grace
I throw open my arm, I’m enthralled by your charms
And I worship you

We visit the doctor searching for reasons for the pain
He says it’s cancer and that’s not the answer we hoped he’d explain
My child is sick and I can’t make sense of the suffering
I know you’re here but I can’t help wondering what to think
As I take it in, my head starts to spin
In this desperate hour, I’m in need of your power
And I worship you

Hate filled cries ring overhead screaming “God is great”
Rocks are thrown and bullets reply there is no restraint
Peace refuses to break out and calm declines to reign
As the blood flows, the guilt grows there’s no end of pain
In times like this, there’s an absence of bliss
Your voice seems so distant; I want you in this instant
And I worship you

Picking blackberries

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pick blackberries."
— Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I was out walking through the hedgerows and over the fields today. As I walked I was lost in thought and in prayer.  I was hardly aware of my surroundings. Then, I spotted a thorny blackberry branch sticking out into my path. It was covered with ripening blackberries. I thanked God for this small gift and decided to have a little snack.

I did not grow up in a berry picking area. Last year my children and I took small buckets and went berry picking, sharing this first with one another. It was really fun! Very few of the berries found there way to the buckets as our purple fingers and tongues testified to our indulgence. As we picked, we discovered that a truly ripe blackberry needs only a slight tug to come off. If it doesn't come of easily in your hand, you leave it, knowing that it is not ripe yet.

Today, I walked along, spotting and enjoying the blackberries springing out of the hedgerows and lining my path. I tried to select just the right berries. I thought about the fun that the kids and I will have as the berry bonanza continues over the next few weeks. As I walked, I spotted a particularly delicious looking berry. It was full and dark. It looked perfect.

As I reached for it, I was careful to spot the thorns around it and to thread my hand through to it safely. I gently grasped it between my fingers and gave it a little tug. It did not come off as I expected. I looked at it again, convinced that it was right for the picking. I pulled a little harder. Nothing happened. A little frustrated, I gave it a firm jerk. As I did so, the branch bent and the surrounding thorns found my hand and arm.

I retrieved my wounded arm, examining the scratches as well as the berry I was now holding. It looked great! My mouth was watering as I popped it in. My taste buds were in for a rude shock, as the berry was sour and woody rather than tender and sweet. It looked so good, but it was not ripe. I shook my head at my folly. 

As I spat the sour fruit of my impatience out on the ground, I found myself wondering what that was all about. I realized that this small incident was an illustration of my approach to life and ministry. I survey the world around me, see opportunities, analyze the cost benefit ratio, and grab for what seems best to me. It all happens so fast that I find myself scratched and frustrated before I know what has happened.

I wonder what it would be like...If I would only slow down. If I would be more patient. If I would reach out a bit more tentatively and less grasping. If I would be less insistent and more responsive. If I would trust God to produce the ripeness and allow the unripe fruit to remain unpicked until He has made it ready. What would my ministry look like? What sourness and scratches might I avoid?

Ministering to the Lord

As I read this morning, I was struck by this phrase, "bless the Lord". It sounds strange in my ears. "The Lord is the source of blessing," I thought. "He does not need to be blessed."  Then I remembered the phrase "ministering to the Lord." I looked it up and found that it occurs several places in the Scriptures. 

As I pondered this, I wondered why it sounds strange to me. ministering to the Lord and blessing the Lord were important, even central, aspects of the life of faith in the Old and New Testament periods. Why do they sound so strange to me?

Then I realized that we have exchanged "ministering to the Lord" with "ministry for the Lord." We have subtly moved God out of the center and moved the focus of our lives onto the work. This new perspective puts us at the center. It is a way of subtly exalting ourselves and what we can do for Him. It puts the focus on us, or perhaps on "the lost". We wrap our idolatry up in spiritual sounding language.

He invites us to minister to Him, to bless Him, to enter into real relationship with Him. Then, He does the work. He does the saving. He does the ministering. From that place of humility and dependence He sets us aside for the work that He has for us (Acts 13). We tend to identify what we think we should be done and to ask Him to empower our plans, our methodologies, and our efforts. Then, as our plans succeed, we praise the Lord while siphoning of some of the glory for ourselves because we were the ones doing the ministering.

We need to recover the centrality of God. We need to place Him at the center. We need to focus our lives on ministering to Him rather than for Him. I choose this again today. I choose to wait on the Lord. I choose to bless the Lord. I choose to minister to the Lord.

Another Dog Blog

My dog just ate more of her bed.

I knew that something was wrong because she looked guilty and pseudo repentant as soon as she saw me. I went toward her and she immediately threw herself on the ground and turned over. As I approached I could see the fluff all over the floor and knew what had happened.

The irony of this is that scattered all around her bed are a dizzying array of chew toys: rope ones, plastic ones, bone ones, wooden ones. She enjoys those toys. They all show signs of her oral affection, but now they are neglected as she grovels before me. She is repenting for chewing the only thing in the room that she knows is off limits.Why does she do this?

Why does she choose the forbidden thing when perfectly legitimate things are all around her? She obviously understands that there will be negative consequences for her choice. That doesn't prevent her from doing it though. She chooses the thing that she knows is bad rather than the any of the many things that are good.

Why do we do this?

My Brother

I have a brother.  I've never seen him face to face, but I know him. He died many years before I was born. I have read the story of his life. I have read his words and have grown to love him. I knew him first by reputation. I heard people talking about him. Then, one day, I met him.

I just talked with him again this morning. We talk frequently these days.  I have gotten to know him pretty well through the years, but as we plumb the depths of our relationship I realize that I am nowhere near the bottom.

Today I am wondering about what it was for him when he was growing up. I know that he had a mom and dad as well as brothers and sisters. He was the first born and the circumstances around his birth were somewhat scandalous. There were questions about his legitimacy, his mother's honor and fidelity, his real parentage.

What was it like for him to learn to walk? What was it like for him to learn to speak? How did he learn to obey? I know that he had a body and a brain very much like mine. He was filled with sweat, spit, and blood. He was full of curiosity and questions. He felt sadness, frustration, and anger as well as happiness and joy. He had a great since of humor as well.

He lived a real human life with all of the temptations and trials that we all experience. He lived and learned, making mistakes along the way, but he did it all without sinning. He did it all without breaking fellowship with his Heavenly Father. He showed us that it could be done. He showed us how it could be done.

I have long known that Jesus was God, that Jesus was my King. Now, I long to know him as a man, as my brother.

Stones in the Rain

We have had a lot of pain lately. It has fallen from the sky in great quantities. Sometimes you see it coming. The distant clouds on the horizon warn of the coming storm. But lately it has come as a sudden gale. Striking without warning and drenching to the bone.

I looked at the news and found a picture of a friend smiling back from me the CNN home page. Confusion gave way to disbelief as I realized that she had been murdered.

I answered the phone and heard the voice of a friend on the other end. Joy gave way to despair as she told me of the abuse of a child.

I checked email and found out that the child of a friend has leukemia.

I sit here weeping as I write this. The tears don't come often, but they are there. They lurk beneath the surface of my smile.

As I look out the window I see the gravel. I have walked across the gravel parking area several times. It is a grey non-descript amalgamation of stones. But not today.

The rain has been falling for hours. As I look out now, my casual glance is arrested. The gravel has turned black from the rain. There among the darkness there are bright white stones. They are stand out in dazzling contrast to the slick blackness around them. They were invisible before. They blended in too well with their surroundings.

Today they shine bright in the rain.

Awakening to an Invitation

I woke up early this morning.  As I lay there in bed trying to get back to sleep, I felt something.  At first it was just a sort of vague curiosity.  A sort of wondering feeling.  It was so subtle that I only became aware of it as it begin to coalesce into a longing, a longing still quite vague.  There was no distinct object of my longing, my desire.  Then it morphed again from a longing to an invitation.  That was when I began to awake to the source of the longing and the invitation.  God was at it again.

I got up and headed downstairs with my journal and Bible in hand.  I knew that I was hungry for God, that the hunger was from God.  I knew that I wanted to meet with Him.  As I opened my journal I saw that it had been many days since my last entry.  I silently repented of my neglect of this, my most important relationship.  It's not that I had not been praying, or even experiencing God in worship, contemplation, nature, or His children, but it had been weeks since I had taken the time to sit quietly with Him. 

In that moment I realized that I was in danger of talking more about God than with Him.  I was subtly sliding into a life about God but not with God.  As I sat on the couch I was desperate for His presence.  I sat quietly for a time and then began to write and pray.  I wrote about my heart and shared with Him my thoughts and invited His input.  I didn't feel anything except alone.  The quietness of the sleeping house broken only by the ticking of the clock. 

Gradually I began to be filled with memories and with gratitude.  I remembered how far He had carried me.  A growing wonder dawned on me as I realized anew the miracle of knowing Him.  I tried to remember why the sins of my youth had seemed like a good idea.  I praised Him for rescuing me and for healing the pain in my soul.  I needlessly apologized yet again for spending so many years fleeing from Him, the Lover of my Soul. 

Then I was filled by a desire to love.  I felt a deep desire to be an agent of His love, for others to be healed, for others to experience the fullness of joy, the abundance of life, that I have found.  I prayed for and wondered about those in my life.  How could I love them better?  How could I help them to find the blissful surrender to the Lover whose unrequited love for them never diminishes or fades.  Then I was moved again to wonder and to praise at the fact of His presence in my life and the love that He has lavished on me.

As I closed my journal and reached for my Bible, I wondered where to read.  I did not want to study the scriptures, I wanted to meet with my lover, the one who speaks through them.  As the Book fell open on my lap my eyes fell upon Isaiah 35.  From the first verse I knew that this too was a gift from my Lover, my Father, my Brother.  He spoke to me through the passage about redemption and healing. 

He met with me.  He loves me still.  He speaks to me still in the silence and in the scriptures.  He awakens me.  He woos me.  He draws me to Him again and again.

Everyone wants to go to heaven...

The gospel of Jesus Christ is a gospel that endures the cross for the joy that is hidden on the other side.  The cross precedes the resurrection.  There is a death between old life and new life.  I am reminded of a song by David Crowder, The chorus says, "Everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die. "How can we invite people to believe in a gospel that we don't believe in ourselves?

Every Christian I know wants the joy of the Lord, the fruit of the Spirit, the power of the resurrection in their lives.  The irony is that as we long for these realities to manifest in our lives we do our best to avoid the pain, the suffering, the cross.  The problem is that suffering is an unavoidable part of the journey. So, we veer off the path that would bring us to our desired destination.  Death is interwoven with life and process of growth.  

This was brought to my attention recently through my garden.  I have never been a gardener.  I mowed the lawn when I was a kid, but that's about as close as I have ever come to tending a garden.  When we moved into our current house, we inherited a wonderful garden.  It had been thoughtfully planted and arranged so that in every season there is something new blooming and sprouting throughout.  It has been a wonder for me to observe, and a steep curve for me to learn how to care for it.

It is a very low maintenance garden, but still it requires some work from time to time.  The most nerve wracking part for me is the transition between seasons.  That is when the cutting happens.  I am a far cry from a horticulturalist and have a hard time telling flowers and weeds apart.  I can pick out the familiar ones but do get confused.  Some of the weeds here actually have pretty flowers, and some of the flowering plants look suspiciously uninviting until they bloom. Then there is the real danger that I will kill a bush or plant when I am trying to help it. I might prune too much or too little and actually cause more harm then good.

We have now been here a year and I am please to see the results of the pruning that I did a year ago.  It appears that I have only significantly damaged one bush, the rest of the garden is really healthy.  Last summer when I was brutally hacking away at the garden I was pretty sure that I was doing irreparable damage, despite the guidance and advice of my expert gardening neighbors.  When I finished with some of the bushes they were all knobs and bare branches.  They continued to look ugly and bare for most of the year, but in the last month they exploded with life and are now full and beautiful.  The new growth more covers for the old wounds and would never have happened without the cutting.  The new blossoms push the cutting and death of the pruning to the distant recesses of my memory.

There was real cutting.  There was real death.  There were wounds and barrenness for a season.  These painful realities where not only unavoidable, they were preferable.  So it is with us.  It is not by accident that scripture is full of agricultural metaphors.  The life of the Spirit, in the Spirit, is organic.  We must choose to enter into and endure the pruning, the suffering, the seasons of death in order to experience the joy that comes only on the other side.  This requires an unnatural and patient faith.  A faith that trusts the gardener and that looks beyond the season of ugliness, trusting that there is a purpose to the pruning and that beauty will follow brutality.

Gifts and Brussel Sprouts

One of the interesting things about serving the Lord is the seeming delight He takes in surprising us.  Sometimes these are sweet surprises, unexpected blessings or gifts that we are eager to unwrap.  However, there are times when these “gifts” don’t feel quite as much like presents, but more like someone stuck some brussel sprouts onto our plate when we weren’t looking.  I remember as a kid sometimes reaching over and skewering an olive or other attractive morsel from my brother’s plate when he was distracted, but I’m certain I never swiped a brussel sprout.

It is interesting how quick we are to name gifts and trials, blessings and curses.  I know that I label them based on my most immediate experience of them.  If the thing feels good or I experience it as fun then it must be a gift, a blessing, God is smiling down on me.  If the thing is painful or I feel anxious or afraid then it is a trial or even a curse, God is distant or frowning at me.   Of course, hindsight often changes our perspective on things.  After the immediate has passed, we can view the results with more objectivity.  Sometimes in those moments we have a sort of epiphany and realize that the thing we called as curse was really a blessing in disguise.  A gift wrapped in pain or frustration.

I wonder what my experience of life would be if I really believed that everything, absolutely everything, was really under the control, the absolute control, of a being that loves me and cares for me even more and better than I love and care for my kids?  I am not saying that pain and suffering would cease.  These things will be with us until the end of the world.  But if I really believed that God was in charge of pain and suffering, perhaps I could endure them as a necessary part of my training.  I remember a coach in high school who pushed us to run until it hurt and then to run some more.  He knew that we were capable of more than we thought we were able to do.  He pushed us past the end of ourselves and we discovered something beyond the last frontier of endurance.

If everything really comes from my loving Father God, then perhaps the suffering is not simply meaningless pain, but is redemptive.  Perhaps there is a redeeming value, a redeeming purpose in it.  Perhaps God, like the coach, knows something that I don't know.  One of the miracles of the incarnation is that God actually knows our pain.  He learned through His own suffering.  So, when He sovereignly surprises us with suffering He knows what it means; He has been there and done that.  Somehow viewing it from this perspective makes it more bearable even if it is still unpalatable. I won't be looking for pain any more than I'll be surreptitiously skewering brussel sprouts, but perhaps I can stop muttering against the chef.

What's up with Saul!?

Today, as I was reading, I found myself asking this question.  "What is up with Saul!?"  Don't you find yourself asking that sort of question of biblical characters from time to time?  "What could have been going through his head when he did some of the things that he did!?!"  Today, for me, it was Saul.  But then I went back and re-read the story.  I put myself in Saul's place.  As I did that, I found myself giving him a much more sympathetic reading.

Saul faced real problems.  Things often didn't go the way that he planned.  God repeatedly spoke to him and worked in and around him, but he was often in way over his head.  He was thrust forward into an incredibly challenging leadership situation that he neither desired nor sought.  He actually started out pretty well.  He led with humility and obeyed the Lord.  He felt God's anointing on Him and was empowered by God.  He refused to avenge himself unrighteously on those who mocked his leadership.  Not a bad start.

Then, Samuel was late.  Samuel had promised to show up and didn't.  The enemy, however, did show up on time.  Saul's men were deserting him, the enemy host was swelling, and Samuel was nowhere to be seen.  Saul waited as long as he dared.  He knew that the battle would be starting soon, with or without Samuel.  He knew that he dare not go into battle without seeking the Lord's blessing.  So, he looked as his situation, planned a strategy, and executed a perfectly reasonable leadership decision.  He was compelled to do something!  Just then, Samuel arrived and brought a stinging rebuke with him. 

It is easy for me to sit comfortably in my office and render judgment on an Iron Age king.  I am so far removed from armies and battles, the pressures and daily realities of Saul's life.  I also have the benefit of supernatural hindsight.  I can see Saul's whole life neatly summed up in a few chapters f divinely inspired text.  Saul had none of my distant objectivity.  Saul was living the life that God had given him as best as he knew how.  His life was made up of one natural and reasonable decision after another.He started out well, but ended badly.  The real problem with Saul was that he made each decision without calculating God into the equation.  He was a real man, but a man who failed to involve God in the details of his life.  He relied on common sense but failed to heed the uncommon graces and revelations of God. 

Now that is something I can understand.  How often do I fail to view my life through heaven's eyes?  How often do I examine situations and analyze solutions without taking the wisdom and power of God into account?  How often do I feel compelled to do something, the thing that comes most naturally perhaps, when God's will is clearly something else?  Or how often do I find myself sailing through a whole day as a practical atheist, simply failing to invite His input?  I can't be too hard on Saul because Saul looks an awful lot like the man in the mirror.  On the other hand, I can choose to learn the lessons the Saul had to learn the hard way.  May God have mercy and draw me near to Himself!

Digital vs. Analog

In the digital world every thing is pixels.  The pictures on the screen are composed of tiny dots.  When you zoom in far enough everything is just dots.  In the real world, the analog world, things are solid, tangible, and connected.  The real things are much more complicated and connected than the simplified and imperfect digital representation.

I find myself reflecting on other differences between the real world and the digital one.  Electronic technology is integrated into virtually every aspect of our lives.  This brings myriad advantages, but perhaps there are some drawbacks as well.  For example, I enjoy playing FIFA on my Playstation, but when comparing playing soccer alone in a room with a console and a controller to getting together with a group of friends to kick the ball around, the inadequacies of the digital version become readily apparent.

Much has been made of the ability of digital technologies to keep us connected.  But I wonder if perhaps the digital world doesn't bring us together as much as it claims to.  I don't deny that in the context of a real relationship digital tools can help.  For example, my kids can talk with my grandparents for free using video and audio like something out of the Jetsons.  I admit that technologies like twitter, blogs, and facebook make us feel more connected, but are we really?  These tools create pixilated relationships rather than real relationships.  On facebook you see certain image of my life, but you are only getting the pixels that I choose to reveal.  You're not seeing the whole picture, just the disconnected dots that I choose to post.  We get the digital version of the person, not the real thing, a digital version of relationship, not the real thing.

In a real, analog, relationship, there is no photoshop.  There is no airbrushing or retouching, no perfecting the image before you post it.  We are who we are, warts and all.  We are much more complicated than the digital versions of ourselves.  In a face to face conversation the words only make up 7% of the communication that is happening.  The other 93% of communication is non-verbal everything from tone and volume to facial expressions and posture.  Obviously, real communication can take place through writing, but real relationships take more than the communication of information.  I wonder if we settle for digital communication because it allows for the illusion of relationship while allowing us to keep a safe distance to create feelings of connectedness while remaining isolated. 

We were designed by our creator for real relationship; specifically for a real relationship with Him.  I wonder if we settle for a digital relationship with God rather than a real one?  God desires a real relationship.  He did not just give us a book about Himself.  He wanted to give us more than mere information.  The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.  He dwells among us still.  He stands at the door and knocks.  If anyone will open the door He will come in and eat with us.  He is inviting Himself to dinner at your place.  He wants to interact with us in more analog ways, solid, tangible, and even complicated ways.

Of Sheep and Obedience

Yesterday I was out with the dog, crossing a field filled with sheep.  As it is Spring, there were many bleating lambs in the field with the flock.  As we entered the field I could see the dog's muscles grow taut beneath her shiny coat.  She was excited and ready for the chase.  But these are not my sheep, not my lambs.  I cannot let her run wild, as fun as it might be for her or for me to watch.  She could well injure one of them, or worse yet, develop a taste for them. I have heard more than once of a domestic dog in the area chasing down and killing sheep or even injuring cattle.  

So, I need for the dog to obey me.  I have been training her to obey my voice.  I have been giving her treats and rewarding her for choosing to obey rather than just running off and doing whatever she feels like doing at any given moment.  It is clear that obedience doesn't come naturally.  She is pretty sure that she understands what would be best for her, or most fun for her, in any given moment.  Only she really is a dumb animal.  She doesn't recognize the subtle threats of disease or long term consequences for disobedience; heck, she doesn't even see an approaching car as dangerous.  She just doesn't get it.  So, I need her to obey for her own good.

As we enter the field I debate whether to put her on a lead.  I reflect on how well she has been obeying on the walk thus far.  I wonder if she can handle the freedom of being off lead, or if she would be best served by having the experience of freedom and the rewards I will lavish on her when she obeys.  I decide to give her a chance to choose obedience.  I pull the lead out of my pocket to provide a visual reminder of consequences for disobedience.  I can see from her submissive posture that she recognizes the possibility of consequence.  Ten, I give her a treat to remind her that I am the giver of all good things.  We start across the field as I call her to heel.

I can see the tension within her as she starts to quicken her pace and move toward the sheep.  I call her back.  She looks back over her shoulder...and returns to me.  I give her a treat.  As we start walking on, I can see that she has her eyes fixed on a little lamb nearby.  She is watching it move and drifting towards it.  I call her.  She does not look back.  I call her again, but it is as if she doesn't even hear me.  Then, quick as a flash, she is racing across the grass toward her prey.  Now I am shouting her name and running after her.  I can imagine the consequences that have never entered her mind.  The lamb hears the commotion and turns to flee, but this only encourages the dog to pursue.  Instinct has taken over now, like something out of "The Call of the Wild" she is a primeval hunter returning to her roots.

I keep calling to her and, just as she is about to close on her quarry, she looks back.  I am shouting, gesticulating wildly, and fervently insisting that she return.  After her quick glance back she continues on, careening into the flock.  The lamb disappears into the mass of hooves and wool and so she takes one of the sheep down.  She stands over her prize, unsure what to do with it now that she has knocked it over.  Then, she looks up at me rapidly approaching and slowly starts to return.  Moments later I am relieved to see that the sheep is back on it's feet and rejoining the skittish flock.  No harm done.

She comes back, groveling all the way.  She knows she has disobeyed and she sees the lead in my hand.  She knows she deserves the lash.  She is right.  I give her one swat across the bottom with the leather lead and give her a tongue lashing that I only wish she could understand.  She makes a big show of submission and obedience, but I can see that even then, in her moment of punishment, her attention was divided between me, her master, and the tempting flock still close at hand.   Even in the midst of the consequence she was thinking about how she might be able to slip away again.

Lord have mercy!

Chasing Bubbles

Today was a wild day at the beach.  The wind was howling and  I was able to walk along the sandy expanse of the ocean floor exposed by the retreating tide.  The sun was still low in the sky and cast a shimmering glow over everything.  The water was choppy and the waves rough as they pounded the beach with foamy repetition.  The bubbly foam pushed up and down the beach by the waves.  As the waves retreated bits of foam and some bubbles were stranded on the wet strand.  These were blown sideways across the beach. 

As I enjoyed the wild expanse and watched the oncoming rush of clouds my dog, Oreo, ran wild.  We had the beach to ourselves and she ran here and there snapping at the wind and rushing at the waves.  But today her favorite game was chasing bubbles.  As she ran along, she would catch the movement of a bubble running across the top of the wet sand and would immediately change directions and attempt to grab the bubble.  As she pounced on or closed her jaws over the bubble, it would immediately burst and disappear.  She would pause for just a moment as if puzzled.  Then another bubble would catch her eye and she was off again.

As I watched this I began to wonder how much of our lives we spend chasing bubbles.  How many times does something catch our eye and we are off in a flash to get it?  We chase down our quarry and just as we close our fists on the object of our desire we find that it is not as substantial as we imagined.  We lay hold of it only to find that it does not deliver what we anticipated.  But, rather than learn the lesson we are almost immediately distracted by another opportunity, another thing that we can pursue.  Surely this one will be different!  Surely this time it will be the thing that makes us happy, eases our pain, gives us enduring pleasure, or fills our soul!  But again we find that it fails to satisfy.  Rather than stopping to wonder about the futility of the game, we frenetic pursue the empty spheres. 

We find that all around us others play the same game with subtle variations.  We have different preferences in our pursuits.  The bubbles we chase may be slightly different in size or color, but our perpetual idolatry is continually encouraged by our hungry flesh, the world around us, and the enemy of our souls.  God calls us to something different.  He calls us to walk with Him.  He calls us to rest in Him, to trust in Him.  He calls us to engage with Him.  He will fill our souls and leave us strangely longing for more at the same time.  He will give us substantial pleasures to enjoy as we walk with Him.  He is a wild and free Father and loves to give good gifts to His children.  Real gifts that we can sink our teeth into, the most important of which is God Himself.

Where do I get my magic sword?

A battle of epic proportions is raging around us.  A life or death struggle.  People have left their families behind, have suffered privation as they dedicate themselves to the fight. Every day people are paying the ultimate price in the struggle for victory against an ancient foe, laying down their very lives.  We listen for the orders from our commanders to plug this hole in the line, free those prisoners, or to take that distant hill.  We throw ourselves into the fight.  Some are the commandos dropped in behind enemy lines.  Some are the infantry slogging it out in the trenches.  Some are the stretcher bearers and healers.  Some provide air support or strategic planning.  But, all of us have a role in the battle.

My role these days is mostly air support or, more clearly, prayer support.  I believe that God has called me to devote myself to intercession.  It is difficult for me to watch the battle raging and to see the enemy taking shots at our people.  I once was down in the trenches and I miss the gritty day to day fighting.  These days I fight differently, in the quietness of my secret place of prayer.  Even so, I am filled with emotions: anger, distress, sadness, and rage as I see the enemy of our souls fighting against my compatriots.  I see his lies.  I see the way he tricks us into friendly fire, or ambushes us with the sins that so easily entangle.  I wish that I could grab him by the throat and throttle him.  I find the intangible nature of this warfare terribly frustrating.

In the stories, when a huge and nefarious beast appears on the battlefield, the hero reaches for his magic sword, strides forward into battle and slays the hell spawned creature.  I desperately wish that the spiritual battle was that easily won.  I want my magic sword.  I want to destroy the schemes of the enemy, to free the prisoners, to heal the sick, to raise the dead.  I want to see the banner of the Lord lifted high over the battlefield and to hear the righteous battle throng sing the victory hymn to Our Father, Our King.  Paul says that we do not fight as the world fights, but that we have been given divine weapons that demolish strongholds.  The problem is that I don't know how to wield these divine weapons.  I believe that I am learning, but oh how I want to learn more quickly and to wield the weapons more effectively!  I need the King, the Captain of the Host to train my hands for battle!

What to do

I find myself wondering what to do.  I have been burdened, terribly burdened lately.  Most of the burdens I have been bearing are not my own, but those of people that I love.  As a minister, I am involved in the lives of people, and most people, myself included, are broken.  Most of us are not tremendously broken, we manage to go on day to day just fine, we're just a little cracked.  But a few situations lately have led me into the valley of suffering with some friends.  They have been mourning and I have been mourning with them.  I also have tremendous opportunities to rejoice with those who rejoice, but recently there has been more mourning.

But lately I have been bearing another burden, a burden with not one name but with many names.  A burden about organizational sin rather than individual sin.  I have seen a creeping evil, an insidious foe arise.  It looks good, it feels familiar, and yet it is wrong.  I struggle how to name the it...institutionalism, deception, selfish ambition, quenching the spirit?  I'm not sure exactly how to name it, but it is clear as day when you see it.   It is like eating horse meat.  It looks pretty similar to beef.  I can't really describe the difference between beef and horse, but you know the difference when it's in front of you.  It is so similar, but it looks a little different, it smells a little different, it tastes a little different.

So here is my dillema...what do I do about what I see.  I have asked God to do something about it.  I asked Him to have others speak up.  They have...but it continues.  I asked Him to expose it, to let others see it.  They have...but it continues.  I asked Him to put a stop to it.  He did not...and so it continues.  Now I am wondering what I am supposed to do.  I know I am supposed to pray, and I am doing that.  I am wondering if I am to do something else, something more active.  Is there not a time to stand up and do something?  Is this such a time for me?  Would it matter if I did?  It's not that I have much to lose, but I don't see much point in investing myself in this fight if it won't do any good.  It is so draining to invest so much energy in intercession, only to see the cogs of soul numbing, God diminishing, machinery continue to chug along.  But how does the machine get stopped if no one stops it?  Is this my fight?

The more I pray about this, the more I feel like my role is more Moses than Joshua.  When the Israelites fought the Amalekites Joshua went into the valley while Moses went up on a hill overlooking the valley.  While Joshua unsheathed his sword and went into battle, Moses stood on the hill interceding for the armies of the Lord.  As much as I want to be down in the valley in the thick of the fight I feel like His call for me is stay up on the hill with my arms lifted in prayer.  So, here I stand, even as my arms grow tired. 

Emotions and prayer

In the last few months I have felt particularly burdened.  I am involved in the lives several people, and it seems that recently there has a been a lot of crisis lately.  I have found myself really heavy as I pray for my friends and for the situations.  At times, more often than I would like to admit, I have been moved to tears.  Not just the gentle tears rolling down my cheeks, but real weeping, wracked with sobs.  This is definitely not normal for me.

At first I was concerned, but as I have processed this and talked with good friends, I am beginning to wonder if I am not moving toward the heart of intercession.  My wife read me a quote that said something like, "real prayer starts when words stop."  In Romans 8, Paul tells us, "We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express."  I am not sure that my weeping is exactly that, but I am starting to think that it is related.  I wonder if God is letting me feel a little of His heart for those I am praying for, or letting me bear some of their burdens.

There is a troubling aspect to this, because it seems to go against the peaceful feeling that prayer is "supposed" to produce.  I have often been encouraged to tone down my emotions, my passion.  I have been encouraged to be more like the meek and mild Christ, but now I am starting to reevaluate and to rediscover the emotional range available to us in scripture.  And let me tell you, when you start to read scripture with an eye for the emotions, there is a lot in there. 

The circles I run in seem to be concerned about your mental stability if you cry in church, or if you express anything beyond mild frustration at any time.  I wonder what they would make of Moses, Samuel, Elijah, David, Jeremiah, Hosea, or Paul, not to mention Jesus.  Jesus was sad.  Jesus wept.  Jesus was angry.   Jesus was so mad that he resorted to violence in the temple.  Yes, Jesus was also peaceful, joyful, and meek, but he experienced and expressed the whole range of emotions.  These were men following hard after God who also expressed a lot of emotion. 

I spent a lot of time praying through the Psalms today and I was amazed at the whole range of emotions contained and expressed as prayer.  It was wonderful to be able to pray the emotionally charged words of scripture back to God.  I just prayed my heart out today.  I am no longer going to try to censor my prayers to make sure that they fit into my, or anyone elses, preconceived notions of propriety.  Today I prayed with reckless abandon.  Interestingly enough, there was plenty of burden but no tears today.  Go figure.

Production and Patience

I find myself torn between two poles.  On the one hand I feel strongly that we are engaged in a battle and that we must be zealous and active in the fight.  On the other hand, I know that God is sovereign and is in control of all things. I was thinking and praying about this as I walked on the beach the morning.  I was feeling SO burdened by some specific situations.  I was moved by the immediacy of the problems and was interceding.  I was begging God to bare His arm and win the victory.  I was on the verge of despair that He could do anything, or would do anything, when I noticed the action of the waves.  The tide was going out, so the waves were not crashing, but instead gently rolling up and down between the rocks and over the sand.  I noticed that the rocks were well worn; some had taken on impossible shapes beneath the steady motion of the waves.  I saw the sand being pushed up and down the beach by the surf.  I saw small pebbles rolling around beneath the water, on their way to becoming sand themselves. It was then I was reminded of the inexorable coming of the Kingdom of God.

God is moving and His Kingdom is coming, but all in His own mysterious time and paradoxical ways.  I feel such an urgency an impatience for God to move!  I want His Kingdom to come and His will to be done NOW!  I don't think this is all bad, but I see that our sense of urgency and activity often leads us to make subtle choices that lead us away from dependence on God.  It seems that what we want is results, people saved, children fed, schools built, churches planted, families transformed, or cultures redeemed.  Being heirs to the industrial and information revolutions, we then set out to design and build systems that will efficiently and effectively produce the results that we need, that we believe God wants to see happen.

Unfortunately, our reliance on these systems and our efforts to perfect them often causes us to lose our way.  Ultimately our goal is not the production of particular results, good though they may be, but rather, as Jesus taught, God's Kingdom to come and His will to be done on earth as it is in heaven.   The reign of God is massive!  It is much bigger and more complex than we can imagine.  We understand very little about the universe we live in, and even less about the God who created it all.  His Kingdom is mysterious and even paradoxical.  It has so many aspects, contains so many interactions, and has so many simultaneously moving parts!  It is organic and dynamic, it cannot be placed under a microscope and dissected to unlock the secrets.  When we attempt to do this, we reduce the movement of the Spirit to the distillation and application of principles.  We lose the life of the Spirit, but we gain the illusion of control and efficiency.

Oh, but we are an impatient people!  The movement of God sometimes takes much longer than we would expect.  The waves are an ineffecient way to shape stones and to make sand.  So, we devise machines.  We research, discover, and apply the laws of physics and harness what powers we can to accomplish our goals.  We are efficient and effective as we improve upon God's methods.  We never equal His grace and beauty, but no matter because we can do it faster.  Unfortunately, there is more to what God is doing with the waves than just making sand, more than we can possibly understand.

When we skip the process to achieve the end we end up missing both.  We can produce sand and gravel from stones, but that is only a small part of what God is doing; one small part of His grand design.  The marvelous interactions of all that is happening on the beach are part of an intricate dance that we can pick apart but never duplicate.  Behind it all is the hidden hand of God.  He calls us to enter in with Him and to take an active role, but also not to overestimate our own prowess or importance.  We are each like one wave on the beach.  We matter, we have a role, but it is all so much bigger than us.  So, we must take our part in the line of waves accomplishing the will of God by measures and asking Him to give us both the patience and the endurance to keep going.

Praying and cycling

I am starting to realize just how little I know about prayer.  It's not that I haven't read about prayer, or study the topic in the scriptures.  I admit that I have a lot left to learn cognitively about prayer, and even more left to understand.  But my need for knowledge goes beyond the cognitive.  What I am realizing is that I am only now beginning my journey in the area of prayer.

I feel like a man who years ago became interested in cycling.  I read books about the history of cycling.  I go to bike shops and talk to cyclists.  I read about the lives and experiences of great cyclists.  I even attend the odd cycling event from time to time.  But until very recently I never really got on to a bike, or at least never rode much.  I occasionally rode my bike down the street or around town, but never really trained, never devoted myself to it.  So, despite years of learning I am still a novice.

The real knowledge comes in the doing.  Years ago I had a mentor tell me that you learn about praying by praying.  I nodded sagely and asked him if he could recommend a book about that.  Recently I have redoubled my efforts at serious prayer.  I find that it is tremendously hard work.  It really is true that the learning is in the doing.  I devote myself to prayer and am left tired and drained, not unlike a novice bicycler who has not built up his stamina.  I am amazed at how exhausted I am after a time of intercession.  I feel like I have been carrying real physical burdens, a deep bone tiredness.  It is hard to push myself to continue to pray when I feel like I have "hit the wall".I have to remind myself that I have much to learn.  I want to keep learning and to find what is beyond the wall. 

This is war

I stand on a battlefield.  Around me I see my friends, my brothers, my comrades-in-arms.  We stand together against a foe that we can't quite see.  An enemy that seems to materialize where we least expect him and then fade back into the darkness, lurking always lurking, looking for a weakness, probing for an opportunity to strike.

I see the wounded bodies of my comrades.  Bloodied and broken in the fight they pile up around me.  As I move among them, some wounds seem self-inflicted but others bear the cruel markings of the enemy.  Vicious attacks that tore them from their places in the firing line.  Unprovoked, unjust, and unrelenting assaults against those who would dare to stand against the encroaching evil and even to throw it back.  To bring light into the darkness, to bring hope to the hopeless, to set the prisoners free.

This is a rescue mission.  We have joined up to free the captives.  But the captives have been captive so long that they can no longer imagine real freedom.  Instead, they often willingly, even gladly, join in resisting "the invaders" who would set them free.  They view their liberators as the enemy while their true enemy eggs them on from within and smiles at their tortuous acts of self-destruction.  All the while creeping among our ranks to find a weakness in one of more of us to exploit.

My role is primarily to encourage the troops.  I move among them whispering words of hope and exhortation.  I administer first aid to those who have been wounded and sometimes aid in getting them more help.  I counsel with the leaders, and seek counsel from the Leader.  Sometimes I take an active role in the battle calling in air support or slogging through the trenches, but most days I find myself among the wounded.  I offer them compassion and pray for healing.  I understand their plight because I have been wounded to.

I hate our enemy.  I love our Lord.  I often puzzle as to why He doesn't simply end this war once and for all.  It seems sometimes that the darkness is gaining ground, but I trust our Commander.  I know that He has things well in hand through all appearances to the contrary.  I have seen Him turn the tide in battle before.  I have seen prisoners set free against all odds.  I have been on successful rescue missions.  I remember being rescued myself.

And so, I stand on the battlefield still.