The Advent of Emptiness – December 4, 2013

Suggested Reading: Philippians 2:1-11

I travel a fair bit with my job. I can't begin to count the times I've emptied my pockets before being allowed through security. It's a ritual of air travel now. Perhaps that's why I was so taken aback by a picture suddenly appearing to my mind's eye as I reflected on the miracle of Christmas.

In my imagination, I saw the eternal Son of God, the Christ, emptying His pockets. As I continued to ponder the image, I let myself imagine the conversation in heaven between the Father and the Son, just prior to the incarnation, and I watched as the scene unfolded in my mind.

The Father tenderly says, "It's time son."

The Son looks deep into the soul of the Father and says, "I know...I am ready to go. This is a good plan, and yet...I am afraid of what will happen on this trip."

“I understand my son. We have always been together, but for a little while it will be different. For a little while you must lay aside what you have known and truly be one of them.”

“Can I take my power? The power I used when we made the universe together.”

“No my son, you must leave that here.”

“Can I take my wisdom? The wisdom I have gained in our eternal relationship, the wisdom I have gained in the years I have watched our children upon the earth.”

“No, you must leave that here. You will grow again in wisdom while you are there.”

“Can I take my knowledge, the knowledge of all things from before the beginning of time?”

“No, you must learn. You must learn how to walk and how to speak.”

“Can I take my glory, the radiant glory that shines like the sun?”

“No, that too you must leave here.”

“Can I take my all-sufficiency, my independence?”

“No. You will be entirely helpless. You will not even be able to feed or clothe yourself. You will drink your first meal from a human breast and be utterly dependent upon your earthly parents. You must leave all these things behind.”

“But how will I protect myself? We know how violent and unpredictable they can be! What if they try to kill me before our plan is complete?”

“You won't protect yourself. You will be utterly vulnerable. You will have to trust me. I will watch over you and no evil will harm you until the proper time.”

“So, what do I take with me then? Can I take nothing from heaven to earth?”

“Just yourself. Only you, your essence, your spirit poured into a frail human embryo in the womb of a teenage girl. You will start from there and show Us through one of them. You will show them Us, our Spirit, our Character, by living just as they do. You will be Emmanuel. You will be Us with them.”

“Okay Father. I have emptied myself; I am ready to go....”

I don't pretend to know what happened in heaven, but I can only imagine.

Imagine what it must have been like for the perfect Son to contemplate leaving heaven. Imagine what it must have been like to empty Himself as He prepared to humble Himself and live in a human body. Imagine the miracle of the incarnation again this Christmas!

Can you imagine!?

.....................

Questions:

Are there things ‘in your pocket’ that you are clinging to?

What would you be willing to give up to help others? 

Skylarks and Writing

Yesterday I took a long walk through the fields. I spent some of the time praying for people I love and some of it laughing at my dog and her ridiculous enjoyment of her romp.

It was a gusty blustery day. The wind came howling off the water, up and over the cliffs. Sea spray was whisked off the waves and strewn across the meadows near the edge. It was a wild and wonderful day to be out in nature. I was even more alone than usual as most people had sense enough to stay indoors, but I loved it. Drinking in the wildness and the power, I was reminded that this is but a pale reminder of the power of God.

I rarely pause and sit on days like this, but as I came to a place that was partially sheltered from the wind, I decided to sit and take it all in. I found a springy bit of turf and long grass and settled into a little hollow. As I did, I noticed bird song wafting through the air. Over the din of wind and waves, a beautiful song sailing along. A single song from the throat of a creature I couldn't see. I could tell is was coming from far above me. I strained my eyes to find the source.

It took me a bit of searching to locate the tiny bird high in the sky. A single tiny bird struggling to gain altitude and singing his heart out. It was a skylark. He had ventured up into the sky on a violently windy day to sing his song in the hope that a female might be wooed by the beauty of his song and join him in the nest he had made in the meadow below. I watched for nearly 10 minutes as his song varied and changed, repeating themes. All the while his little body was being battered and flung about by the wind; his wings beating furiously, his song unwavering.

Then, suddenly, he dropped from the sky as if he had been shot. He dropped straight down probably 100 meters. Just above the ground his free fall morphed into an elegant swoop and with a flutter, he was gone; back into the nest he had created. His song stilled, his exhaustion complete.

I sat silently marvelling at the scene I hat witnessed. Wondering... Was I the only one who heard his song?  It seemed like a lot of fruitless effort. Such hard work, for what return? He utterly spent himself flinging his song into the universe, pouring all his effort into its creation, only to drop exhausted to the earth.

As I lay there in the grass pondering this, I felt the gentle call to self-reflection and conversation with the Father. I realized that my writing is much like the skylark. I have laboured long and hard to create, to express the song within me. I have striven to put my heart on a page and have flung it into the world, inviting others to learn from my lessons to profit from my pain. I am hopeful that it is not in vain, but in the end, I drop exhausted from the effort and wondering if any have heard my song.

What makes the skylark sing? What makes me write? He is compelled by instinct; an instinct placed within him by the all loving Father. I am compelled by the love of God and something in me cries out to be expressed in words. I believe that this too has been placed there by the Father. And so, he sings and I write all to the glory of God; not knowing what comes next, only playing our role as best we know how.

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?

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.

Getting Ahead

I hesitate to write this blog because it is yet another blog about a dog.  Although I am reading scripture, praying, journaling, involved in community, and have weekly accountability meetings with a couple of men, the Lord seems to be speaking to me most clearly, at this time, during my walks across the countryside with my dog.  I am not sure why that's the case, or how long it will continue, but I am afraid that my blog may have a few more "dog entries" before long.

The dog, Oreo, is growing so fast these days and is now able to climb over most of the stiles herself.  It has been fun to watch her grow in size and in confidence.  She is no longer completely terrified when we meet a larger dog and approaches the horses and cows we meet on her own.  She even went so far as to chase a flock of sheep the other day, which she thought was great fun. 

A couple of days ago I was out again with Oreo.  As we walked the now familiar paths she ranged farther afield.  At times she was 50-100 feet ahead of me.  I smiled at her confidence, and watched as she climbed up and over a stile at the far side of the field.  She looked back at me just before she dissappeared over the other side, as if to say, "Are you coming!?"  When I came to the stile and looked over, she had wandered on ahead even further down the path we often take.  What she didn't know is that I was going a different direction that day. 

I had a different destination in mind.  The beginning stages of our path were the same, but I decided to take a different path through some fields that we had never walked before.  Oreo was running ahead.  I enjoyed her exuberance and laughed to myself as I watched her explore.  I was less amused when I was calling her to follow me but she kept to her own path. 

Later on the way home, I was reminded of the danger of getting ahead of God.  How often do I run on ahead assuming that the path today is the same as yesterdays?  How many times to I get confused when He turns left when I thought we were going right?  How many times am I impatiently looking back at Him asking, "Are you coming with me or what?!"  I need to learn to fix my eyes on Him.  I need to wait upon the Lord instead of assuming that the natural or familiar path is the one that He has marked for me.

As I approach the new year I am wondering about the future and what it will hold.  I am hoping that this year I will not get ahead of God. 

Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

I love to walk across the countryside.  I enjoy being out in nature with just my thoughts and my God.  As I walk, I pray, and my prayers are sometimes shaped and triggered by the things that strike me as I walk.  It could be a flower, the weather, something in the sky, or some kind of animal behavior.  The countryside is mostly rolling farmland that gently slopes down toward the cliffs at the sea.  There are well worn paths cutting through the fields and across the hedgerows.  In order to cross the boundaries you have to climb over stiles.  Most are made of stone and are quiet old.  It has been fun to explore the various paths through the fields and along the coast.

Lately, I have had additional company in the form of our new puppy.  She minds pretty well these days and has been an interesting addition.  I have been training her to go over the stiles.  Over the last week or so she has really be catching on.  It's been amusing to have her clamor up to the top only to be stymied by the last big step.  She has to wait for me to help her over the last bit.  This is all well and good for now, but she will soon be too heavy for me to do this easily over the tallest stiles.  However, there is a solution near at hand. There are conveniently located gates through which the livestock can be driven near these tall stiles.  So, today I decided to have her go under the gates and wait for me on the otherside while I went over the stile.  She already knows how to sit and to stay so I led her under the gate and told her to sit and stay while I backtracked and made my way over the stile.

Before I had made my way down the stile, there was a little face peering over the top of the stile inquisitively from the field I had just left.  Instead of trusting that I was not going to leave her, she had quickly and quietly followed me back to the stile to cross over the way we always had.  She repeated this behavior at the next stile as well.  It seems it was just too much for her to believe that I really meant the instructions I had given her, that I wanted her to do something different than she had done before.  Shea already "knew" what I wanted her to do from previous experience.

As I laughingly reflected on this talking about it alternatively with my dog and with my God, I was suddenly struck by the lesson.  How often do I assume what God wants me to do instead of fixing my eyes on Him and waiting for His direction?  How often do I assume that the way I have always done it is the right way, even when He seems to be directing me to do something different?  Going over the stiles was the best way for the puppy when we started our walks together, but it is time for her to start learning how to do it differently.  She is growing, and is ready for a new way.  It will take time for her to unlearn the old way and for the new way to feel right, to become the new normal.  It should be relatively easy as she is a young dog who is full of trust and a desire to please.

I wonder how easy it will be for this old dog to be trained by my Master.  May I be filled with trust and a desire to please Him.  May I learn to listen and not just to assume because I have "been down this path before".   May I surrender my pride and self-reliance, my feeling that I know the right way.  May I be willing and able to receive His direction and to follow His instructions even when they don't "feel right" as He leads me in paths of righteousness for His Name's sake.

Another fine mess...

How did I get into this mess?!  I have chosen a profession that requires me to engage wholeheartedly in striving to accomplish something that is ultimately beyond my ability to do.  I have chosen to spend my life reaching for goals that are impossible.  I am a minister.

My job is work for His Kingdom to come and His will to be done on earth as it is in heaven.  My tasks are people.  My vocation is to seek the transformation of souls.  No one can accomplish this except God Himself.  So, every day I pray and I work, I talk and I preach, I write and create, I strategize and struggle for revival and renewal.  I can write a sermon or organize a meeting, but that is nothing.  The real purpose for the sermon or the meeting are beyond me.  There's the rub.  I cannot revive a single soul.  It is not up to me to change a life.  I can feed a man, house a child, love a woman, but I cannot touch their hearts.  Only God can do that.  What kind of fool am I to struggle and agonize to accomplish something I know is impossible.

I wrestled with this as I stood on the cliffs near my home yesterday.  As the wind howled, the ocean roared, and the clouds skidded across the sky I was simultaneously filled with faith and frustration.  I know that God is Almighty.  He can do anything that He wills.  He can change lives.  He can transform churches.  He can save nations.  He can fall upon a person, a church, a town, a city, a nation, and make Himself known.  He has done it before.  So, I stood there on the cliff telling Him about what is wrong with me and the world and begging Him to pour out His Spirit.  I looked at the sky filled with dark clouds and I wondered why He wouldn't break through.  Why doesn't He do what only He can do and burn through the clouds of darkness that engulf our world!?

Then I saw something I have never seen before.  I noticed another thing happening in the sky.  I saw another layer of clouds beyond the dark storm clouds above me.  The storm was rushing toward me and over me, but all the while there were bright white wispy clouds moving the opposite direction above and beyond the darkness.  In that moment I wondered.  I remembered.  God too is always moving, always working.  His work is often shrouded and is more subtle than the darkness.  It can go without notice and get lost in the noisy evil of our world.  It doesn't make the news, but it is there.  It is ever flowing, ever moving, inexorably proceeding forward.

So, I choose to attempt the impossible.  I preach and I pray knowing that if God doesn't "show up" then it is all in vain.  I launch myself into the abyss of failure and shame knowing that if He doesn't catch me I am lost, a fool indeed.  I have no hope in life or death apart from Jesus Christ.  I expect to swing out into eternity on that.

God is with us

I have been reading Genesis lately, trying to keep up with my son.  We decided to read the New Testament this year, and when we got through Revelation, my son just flipped back to the beginning and started in on Genesis.  So, I decided to read along with him, but that boy is a voracious reader and it's been a challenge to keep up with him.  Today, I covered a bunch of ground in the middle of Genesis to catch up with him as He's almost done with Joseph's story.  (By the way, I have to wonder what a 7 year old boy does with the story of Dinah and Shechem, or Lot and his daughters!?)

I love reading larger sections of scripture at once.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy focusing in on a word or a verse as well, but there is something about taking in the whole scope of a story or a series of stories that illuminates the broader themes.  I was struck by the phrase "God was with him" and how many times in occurs.  It is a theme in each of the patriarchs lives and is also clearly a theme with Joseph.  God was with them.  This is usually either preceeded or followed by a list of the blessings they received, the wealth they accumulated, or the sons that were born.  Clearly God being with them is a tremendous source of blessing.  So much so that even their neighbors and erstwhile enemies could recognize it as the hand of God and sought treaties with them.

As I read the story of Joseph in particular I found myself pondering the blessing of God being with Joseph.  It is clear that He was with Joseph, but that God being with him did not prevent him from being abused and almost killed by his brothers, being sold into slavery, being accosted and falsely accused by his bosses wife, being imprisoned, or being forgotten by those he helped.  God was with him and was blessing him in the midst of these difficulties and injustices.  God's presence did not prevent them or allow Joseph to circumvent them. 

God did not rescue Joseph from the harsh realities of a radically dysfunctional family, work place discrimination, or the miscarriage of justice when falsely imprisoned.  God was with Joseph in the middle of these things.  Oh! How Joseph must have wondered where God was in the middle of his sufferings!?  I can only imagine how he might have felt as others were released from prison while he remained.  The one chosen and blessed by God seemed to be the only one who was not being blessed.  There was simply no way for Joseph to know what God was up to and God never told him.  God was with him the whole time, blessing him, but not releasing Him.

Emmanuel, God is with us.

The Battle

I believe that God has created me to be a warrior.  I feel most engaged, most alive, when I am conquering something.  I love a challenge.  I have often struggled to understand this part of myself, or to tame this part of myself, but I believe that the Lord has created me this way.  I believe that He is pleased with this part of me.  He calls me to follow Him, and then leads me into battle.

The problem is that the battlefields He leads me to these days are internal and spiritual.  He leads me to battle my flesh and Satan, the enemy of our souls.  He leads me to battle in prayer.  But, these battles are not easily won.  They are never really over.  No sooner do I see a victory in one area, then He calls me to march on.  I want to stand astride the battlefield as the conqueror savoring the victory, but instead I find that the fiendish enemy is not vanquished, but rather has retreated to another field of battle.  So, I march on, but I don't find the sense of conquest or closure that I seek.

Yes, there are moments of victory.  There are quiet celebrations as strongholds fall, but these are tempered by the realization that the grim foe remains and the fight is not over.  I see glimmers of light and shimmering victory against the backdrop of the darkness.  I see how far I have come, and yet more clearly how far I have yet to travel.  My struggle for holiness continues.  This is true in the battle for my own sanctification as well as the battles I fight in prayer for others. 

My struggle in prayer is also clouded by my inability to quantify the victories.  I can see lives change, people come to faith, relationships reconciled, churches planted, strongholds fall, but it is hard for me to see these as a result of my prayers.  I sit in a room thousands of miles removed from those who are in the thick of the fight and wonder if what I am doing is of any real value.  They are the ones on the front lines, perhaps I should be out there with them, where the "real" work is done.  Or, perhaps the real work is prayer.

I was puzzling over this today and was drawn to Exodus 17.  Moses tells Joshua to get ready for battle and to go fight the Amalekites, while Moses heads up on a hill to pray.  Joshua goes out to battle and Moses holds up his arms and prays.  Whenever Moses' arms are up, Joshua and the army of Israel are winning, whenever Moses drops his arms they are losing.  So, who really wins the battle for the Lord that day?

I am tempted to say that Moses did, but verse 13 says that "Joshua overcame the Amalekite army with the sword."  The victory was Joshua's.  Moses had a role to play, a key role, a pivotal role, but the victory was Joshua's.  Or was it?  Perhaps the victory was really the Lord's and Joshua and Moses both played their role.  It was the Lord who brought the victory and both Joshua and Moses fought the "real" battle, but fought in different ways, on different planes.

I'm not really sure how it works.  Some tell us that the "real" battle is spiritual, others that the "real" world is the one we perceive with our senses.  I think that both are equally real, both were created by God.  I find battle in the physical world so much easier to engage in and to understand.  It is hard for me to stay motivated to battle in the spiritual realm.  I have so much to learn.  But, this I know: prayer is important.  God invites us to pray.  He urges us to pray.  He teaches us to pray.  He commands us to pray.  He tells us that our prayers can be powerful and effective.  He gives us examples of prayers that make a real difference through the lives of Moses, Elijah, Jesus, Peter, Paul, and so many others.  Clearly prayer is important.  Clearly we have been given divine weapons to demolish strongholds.

So, today, I wade into the battle again.  I little know or understand the significance or effectiveness of my attempts, but I believe He has called me to this.  Perhaps my childish attempts at battle make Him smile and He empowers them to demolish the unseen enemy.  I hope so.

The Invitation

The invitation is to follow Christ.  He makes no promises about the destination or even what will happen on the journey.  Sure, there is the promise of the ultimate destination when the journey is all over, and there is the promise that He will always be with us on the journey.  Not to minimize these, but what about the everyday promises? What about food on the table and a roof over your head?  What about healthy kids and good friends?  What about the respect of those you admire or those you lead?  What about all the things that we have been led to expect from life, from God?  Does He promise these?

If I believe what the Christian bookstores sell, then yes, He does, but I don't believe them.  I don't believe that "every day with Jesus is sweeter than the one before."  I don't believe that He promises that we will be healthy, wealthy, and wise.  I don't believe that following Him will always lead to light and bliss.  I don't believe that we'll always come out on top (in this world) or that we will be rewarded for doing the right thing.  Sometimes doing the right thing means being executed, or slowly being starved to death.  Sometimes following Jesus leads us into trouble not away from it.  A quick examination of the lives of the prophets, or the lives of the vast majority of Christians in our time and the ages before us, shows us that it is an anomaly to have a nice life and also follow Christ.

So, I reject the "face value wisdom and happy lies" that promise something that Jesus never actually promised.  He did promise that He would be with us.  He promised that He would send us the Spirit to comfort us and to lead us.  He promised that He would complete the good work that He began in us.  Ah, there's the rub.  To complete the good work of redeeming my soul and making me more like Himself, He has to lance the painful, infected, places in my soul.  He has to take me to face the hurt, the darkness, the pain in my own soul.  It's not just that there is sin "out there", that the world is sick and infected and therefore not as it should be and so we suffer in this world.  It's that I am sick and infected and not as I should be. 

So, I choose again today to follow Him.  Not because it will be easy, or will lead to all the worldly happiness that I crave, but because He is God and He is good.  He is good even when He takes me by the hand and leads me down in to valley of the shadow of death.  For dying to myself is a real death with real suffering.  I believe that He inflicts this pain because it is the only way for me to be healed.  I hate the pain, but I love the soul surgeon who inflicts it. 

Walking Through the Corn

I took a walk recently with my children through the countryside near our house. We were trying a new path that a friend told us about. About an hour into our walk we found ourselves on the edge of a corn field. We could see the woods on the far side of the corn so we knew we were heading in the right direction. We could also see the path leading into the corn and towards the woods. So, we set off. It wasn't long before the path intersected others and branched off in myriad directions, it even became difficult to tell the difference between the path and the spaces between the corn rows. We were in the middle of the field with the corn stalks high over our heads when my kids asked me to stop. That was the easy question, the next one was harder, "Daddy, are you sure we are heading the right direction?"

I had to admit that I really wasn't sure, but that I felt pretty confident that if we kept moving in the direction we were heading that we would come out roughly where we wanted to be, if not exactly on the edge of the woods. So, we plunged ahead, careful to stick to what we thought was the path and avoiding damage to the ripening crop. Before long we suddenly stepped out of the field and found ourselves near the wood. There was a collective sigh of relief and we continued on our walk. On the way back, we avoided the cornfield altogether.

In my life I find that the long-term objectives are clear, but in the doing of the tasks and the living of life I feel like I'm in over my head. I know where I want to get to ultimately, but the goal that seemed so within reach is now out of sight. Am I heading in the right direction? Am I lost? My general response is to plunge ahead hoping that I'm on the right track. How often do I lower my head and keep walking rather than stopping to ask my Father if I am on the right path? I love that my kids asked me. I didn't know the answer, but Our Father who art in heaven always knows the path. He is never lost. I don't have to plunge on in ignorance hoping that my foolish confidence will take me the right way. I can ask my Father for help. I can walk with Him throughout the day. So, today I choose to place my hand in His and let Him lead me in the right path for me...even through the corn field.

Choices

Everyday we make choices. When to get up? What to eat for breakfast? How many cups of coffee to drink? How to spend our time? How to spend our money? We make all kinds of choices everyday.

Today I am struck by the choices that I make and how most of life is made up of seemingly trivial choices. While it is true that many of our choices are indeed trivial, there are other choices that may be life changing. The hard part is that there is no way of knowing which choices will be life changing before you make them. I saw a report this morning that a girl was swept off a rock by an unexpectedly enormous wave and died. The news is filled with stories of people who are "in the wrong place at the wrong time" and their lives are ended or forever changed. Mundane choices sometimes lead us to unexpected places.

I can't worry about the seemingly random events like freak waves. I have to trust that if I am making reasonable decisions that God will take care of the "random" stuff. That is His purview. On the other hand, I also saw a friends facebook page today that clearly demonstrated that my friend, who once walked with Jesus is doing so no longer. We journeyed together for a time, but now the path that I walk and that of his have now widly diverted. How did that happen? I find myself reflecting on this as I consider how I spend my time, and wondering where the general trajectory of my choices is taking me. At some point my friend started to make choices that eventually led him away from the Lord. Perhaps is it was lies that he chose to believe. Perhaps it was a temptation he chose to indulge. I don't know where it started, but I can clearly see where it has led.

So, what are the choices that I am making. Am I choosing to draw near to God? I know that He will draw near to me if I draw near to Him. He is faithful to keep His promises. I know that if I hear His knock and open the door, He will come in and dine with me. I know that I often ignore the knock or the invitation to intimacy, choosing to delay or defer my response, in essence to deny his request to rest with the Redeemer. All too often this is because I am driven by my own internal drives to produce and to accomplish things for Him. I call these things good, but to the extent that they keep me from "the one needful thing" they are not at all good. I must choose each day to sit at his feet and to draw near. I must choose to quiet my self like a weaned child with his mother and not to concern myself with things that are too great for me. Then, I can live and choose from a place of peace and trust.

The Nature of Faith

This morning I read Romans 14 and was struck by the last line of the last verse: 'Whatever is not from faith is sin." As I meditated on this verse trying to grasp the practical implications of this for my life, I was drawn back to reflecting on the nature of faith. If faith is a set of doctrines that I believe or my belief in itself, then I'm not sure what to do with this verse. How do I interpret and "Whatever is not flowing from my belief is sin" or perhaps "Whatever is not in accordance with the doctrines of the church or biblical principles is sin"?

I remember earlier in my journeyt falling into a paralysis of analysis as I constantly checked and double checked my motives to see that they were from faith. As if I could even rightly discern my heart motivations or could seperate the various mixed motives and eliminate the less noble ones through some sort of mental exercise! I remember also a time in my journey when I thought of my "faith" primarily in terms of biblical principles and ideas to be understood and applied. If only I could read, grasp, understand, and apply all the biblical mandates and principles then everything would be "from faith". This too is an impossible task in daily life, and would create an unbearable burden of analysis of every situation to determine which principle(s) apply and how to apply them before doing anything.

But, what if faith is not primarily about content or about the quality or quantity of my trust or belief? What if faith is primarily relational? In Hebrews we are told that "without faith it is impossible to please Him for he who comes to God must believe that He is and that He is the rewarder of those who diligently seek Him. In John 5 we are warned that there are those who diligently seek the scriptures because they believe that by them they will have eternal life, but they refused to come to Jesus who was life. In John 17 we are told that eternal life is to know God and to know Jesus whom He sent. It is all about relationship.

So, that means that whatever is not done in relationship with God is sin. This makes more sense to me, and I believe fits better with the rest of Scripture. There are so many decisions I make that do not include Christ. There are so many unexamined parts of my life. Clearly God has made known to us the broader parameters, the fences beyond which we dare not tread; The Ten Commandments are a good summary of those, and the Sermon on the Mount provides greater clarity on how to interpret those, but the key is not to memorize and analyze. That is not the eternal kind of life.

Eternal life is to walk and talk with God. To involve Him in every aspect of our lives. To not just begin by the Spirit, but to walk with the Spirit day by day. (Gal. 5) As I go through my life, I can dialogue with my ever present God about my circumstances, relationships, ideas, emotions, and decisions. Whatever is not done in communion or in communication with the Spirit of God is sin. This is not undoable, or overburdensom; it's not easy either. I will have to adjust my mindset and to learn new disciplines, but perhaps this is what Paul meant by praying without ceasing 1 Thes. 5:17). I may be wrong and foolish about some of this, but I am still thirsty and this leads me to Jesus, the fountain of living water.

Bent

In Paralandra, C. S. Lewis uses fiction to explore the nature of man. He creates a cavalcade of characters that embody various perspectives and ways of living. I think one of the marks of good literature is that it makes you think. A good book will continue to bounce around in my head for weeks after reading, or at least the ideas will resurface and become a part of my mental landscape.

Just this morning I found myself reflecting on my own nature and gravitating back to Lewis' description of one particular character. He describes the character as bent. As I reflect on my soul, my good intentions, my choices, my desires, I find that this word, "bent", is an apt descriptor. I am not shattered or broken, not irredeemable or un-fixable. But I am deeply bent.

As I ruminated on this it suddenly occurred to me that the way a blacksmith straightens something that is bent is by heating and hammering. This thought rose in my mind as I was asking the Lord to straighten my bent soul. I believe that He has me in the fire right now and that the hammer is falling even as I write this. He is not doing this to be cruel. He is doing this in answer to my prayers, and for my own good. The heat and the pressure are indespensible parts of my re-formation. He is working on my bent soul. I want to be re-formed in the image of Christ, but I can't say that I always enjoy the process. So, I choose to trust and wait for the next straightening blow to fall.

The One Fixed Point

I have never had any desire to be a nomad. Nomads have no fixed home, instead they move from place to place taking whatever they can carry with them as they travel. Most nomads are pastoralists, driving their herds to the places where they can be find food and water and shelter from whatever weather is threatening them. My family and I are nomads, but we're not the ones doing the driving or choosing the next location, or even the time to move. We are nomads being driven along by God.

During the exodus, the Israelites left their homes and the only life they had ever known to follow God out of slavery and into the Promised Land. But, before He took them to the promised land, He trained them to follow Him and to trust Him. He appeared to them in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Whenever the pillar would move on, they would follow. Whenever the pillar would stop, they would stop. This has been something like my experience. Sometimes we have lived someplace for years, the longest has been 6 years, and sometimes for just days.

For the last 10 months we have been particularly nomadic. It is really wearing on us. Even after more than 10 years of a generally nomadic existence we still long for stability. We long for a little patch of earth with some kind of structure on it to be "our home". When we don't have this we feel unstable in our souls. I wasn't raised to be a nomad. It just doesn't feel right to me. I want a stable place that belongs to me; my own personal castle and private domain. Ah, there's the rub! God wants all of me, and He wants to be the Lord of every part of me, which leaves me know personal domain, no private fiefdom.

In the second book of C. S. Lewis' Space Trilogy, Paralandra, the one command that God gives to the perfect couple is that they live on the ever moving islands of paradise and never spend the night on the fixed land. As the protagonist struggles to understand the command he realizes that it is because God wants to remain their one fixed point. As long as they are on the moving islands they have to totally trust in Him. Their obedience demonstrates their trust in Him.

God is training me like the Israelites of old to trust in Him, to follow Him, o rely on Him. And like the Israelites of old I resist the training. I fail to trust, I fail to rely, but I can not fail to follow.

What does it all mean?

Today, as I was reading in Luke, I was struck by a passage that my eyes have glazed over countless times. You may not believe it, but I was arrested by the genealogy of Jesus. Not by the names that we know like David, Jessie, Abraham, or Adam, but by all the other names. Names of men that we know nothing else about.

As I sat reflecting on the passage I was struck by the fact that these men lived entire lives about which we know absolutely nothing. They were born into families that we know nothing about. They went through formative experiences as they were growing up that we know nothing about. They fell in love with women that we know nothing about. They had weddings that we know nothing about. They had children that we know nothing about. They suffered diseases and hardships that we know nothing about, and they died in ways that we know nothing about. Their entire lives are lost to us, but we do know that they were an indispensable link in the chain of life that produced the Savior of the world.

These men had no idea about the real significance of their lives. They lived and died without an inkling of how their lives fit into the grand narrative of history. We too have no real idea of why we are here and what our lives mean. We seldom understand the past, only occasionally grasp the significance of the present, and have no capacity to predict, let alone understand, the future. We live all our lives like men shooting in the dark, barely comprehending what we are shooting at and rarely knowing if we even hit it.

The beauty of knowing God is that He knows the future. He knows why we are here, each of us individually. He knows the work that He has prepared for us to do. He knows the gifts He has given us. He knows what it all means, and He promises to be with us in the midst of it and work it all together for good. All this is just to rephrase something my father used to say: "I don't know the future, but I know the one who knows the future."