I may say something radical here. So stop reading.
-----------------------------------------
Redemption misses nothing. He leaves no stone unturned, no portrait unpainted, no soil barren.
He is the Shepherd who lays down His life for His stupid, rebellious sheep.
He is the Potter who intimately fashions His clay, sometimes with gentle--sometimes with pounding--strokes.
He is the Lion, roaring in wild abandon and fierce desire.
He is the Lamb, silent, stinking and humiliated.
Redemption--He is the exclamation point at the end of death's sentence.
See? He makes all things new.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Christmas, Part Two
This Christmas season has been a mixed bag for me. I've been excited to spend Christmas with my better half (it will be the first we've celebrated together in three years); I've been very sad that the Christmas traditions I grew up knowing and loving no longer wrap me in the securities of time and care; I've felt out of place because I normally feel very intensely the depths of anticipation for what--and Who--is to come, but this year the unknowns of a different family celebration have depleted my hopeful expectations. I've also been increasingly disgusted with the consumerism of Christmas this year; the other day while exercising, Oprah's "Favorite Things" show came on and all of the women went into orgasmic ecstasy over...stuff. Disgusting.
Sometimes, I wish I didn't feel things so deeply and thus experience the pull of a thousand different directions.
---------------------
Sunday past, the kids were up front singing songs they've been preparing for months. Some of them knew all the words completely by heart and were singing at the top of their lungs. Some of them knew absolutely zero words and spent time making faces at the audience. Some knew the words, but got stage fright and stood there alternately mouthing the words and staring blankly.
One kid, well...he had Down's Syndrome. He didn't really sing, but it didn't matter. He just stood in the middle of the stage and worshiped God with the simplicity of a pure heart and mind. He raised his hands in simple adoration because that is what you do when you know Him as He is. He danced around in circles because His Savior dances over him. And He clapped his hands because the King of the Universes became a Babe born into poverty to make him new.
That is it. That is all of Christmas. Worship, stripped of complexity and sin.
Jesus, help us to adore You, open our eyes to know You, lead us in the dance and give us the humility of unbroken praise.
Sometimes, I wish I didn't feel things so deeply and thus experience the pull of a thousand different directions.
---------------------
Sunday past, the kids were up front singing songs they've been preparing for months. Some of them knew all the words completely by heart and were singing at the top of their lungs. Some of them knew absolutely zero words and spent time making faces at the audience. Some knew the words, but got stage fright and stood there alternately mouthing the words and staring blankly.
One kid, well...he had Down's Syndrome. He didn't really sing, but it didn't matter. He just stood in the middle of the stage and worshiped God with the simplicity of a pure heart and mind. He raised his hands in simple adoration because that is what you do when you know Him as He is. He danced around in circles because His Savior dances over him. And He clapped his hands because the King of the Universes became a Babe born into poverty to make him new.
That is it. That is all of Christmas. Worship, stripped of complexity and sin.
Jesus, help us to adore You, open our eyes to know You, lead us in the dance and give us the humility of unbroken praise.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
A Year Later, or Life After Chicago
A year ago yesterday, I left Chicago in a trail of tears that was perhaps even more violent than that of the goodbyes said to Mongolia.
I hated myself for choosing to leave. I got to Laura's house at 4am and did not wake up until long after she had gone to work. My outlook was bleak and my hope had run dry. I had not anticipated feeling so completely the depths of despair.
When I left Columbus to finish the drive home, the weather matched my mood. Grey, impassable skies in Ohio gave way to a mighty blizzard in the mountains of West Virginia and Virginia. I almost died that night, I'm sure of it. Almost out of gas, I would sleep for an hour, wake up, turn the car on for two minutes to thaw out, then fall back asleep. Traffic was stopped for miles and miles even after I was towed out of a snow drift while coming down the highest mountain pass from Virginia into North Carolina. My cell phone battery had died after a few frantic phone calls to my family.
Finally, around 2-3am, traffic started moving and I slipped and slid my way to the next exit with gas eight miles down the road. Once there, the gracious clerk allowed me to plug in my cell phone. I called my mom and she said that my dad and brother had set out to rescue me. They would be at the gas station soon.
They came. We arrived home at 7am after I had been driving/freezing for 22 hours.
That night, I was so angry with God--angry for making me leave Chicago, angry for getting me stuck in the stupid blizzard, angry for making me pee in an empty peanut container because I didn't have access to a restroom for 15 hours, angry for ruining my plans. But even in my anger, that night I realized that He wants me to LIVE.
----------------
So, here I am a year later. Yesterday I went to the old warehouse that my Houston church recently purchased to help with demolition/reconstruction clean-up. I met my new friend Carly and we hauled wheelbarrows of sheet-rock. We helped clean away what was broken so that the beautiful, old brick walls hidden behind could shine through with grace and dignity.
The past year has not been easy. I still cannot think of leaving Chicago without pain. But it was necessary.
Lots of tearing down of old personal sheet-rock, unprecedented opportunities for service in the Kingdom, new relationships, writing, deeper trust in Jesus and His plan for my life--these mean that the Father knows what He was asking me to do and that if I obeyed Him I would Live.
I hated myself for choosing to leave. I got to Laura's house at 4am and did not wake up until long after she had gone to work. My outlook was bleak and my hope had run dry. I had not anticipated feeling so completely the depths of despair.
When I left Columbus to finish the drive home, the weather matched my mood. Grey, impassable skies in Ohio gave way to a mighty blizzard in the mountains of West Virginia and Virginia. I almost died that night, I'm sure of it. Almost out of gas, I would sleep for an hour, wake up, turn the car on for two minutes to thaw out, then fall back asleep. Traffic was stopped for miles and miles even after I was towed out of a snow drift while coming down the highest mountain pass from Virginia into North Carolina. My cell phone battery had died after a few frantic phone calls to my family.
Finally, around 2-3am, traffic started moving and I slipped and slid my way to the next exit with gas eight miles down the road. Once there, the gracious clerk allowed me to plug in my cell phone. I called my mom and she said that my dad and brother had set out to rescue me. They would be at the gas station soon.
They came. We arrived home at 7am after I had been driving/freezing for 22 hours.
That night, I was so angry with God--angry for making me leave Chicago, angry for getting me stuck in the stupid blizzard, angry for making me pee in an empty peanut container because I didn't have access to a restroom for 15 hours, angry for ruining my plans. But even in my anger, that night I realized that He wants me to LIVE.
----------------
So, here I am a year later. Yesterday I went to the old warehouse that my Houston church recently purchased to help with demolition/reconstruction clean-up. I met my new friend Carly and we hauled wheelbarrows of sheet-rock. We helped clean away what was broken so that the beautiful, old brick walls hidden behind could shine through with grace and dignity.
The past year has not been easy. I still cannot think of leaving Chicago without pain. But it was necessary.
Lots of tearing down of old personal sheet-rock, unprecedented opportunities for service in the Kingdom, new relationships, writing, deeper trust in Jesus and His plan for my life--these mean that the Father knows what He was asking me to do and that if I obeyed Him I would Live.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
ESL: A Day in the Life
*Note: To my regular readers--
I promised my students that I would write a blog for them; so, here it is: a day in the life of our ESL (English as a Second Language) class.
------------------
The classroom we meet in for three hours a day is pretty boring--white walls, a whiteboard, white floors, a snack machine and a few nondescript desks--but once we start, our space is full of life, laughter and (hopefully) learning.
We always start by greeting each other and giving a daily update of what happened the night before. Sometimes the students are tired because they did not sleep enough; sometimes the teacher is tired because she did not sleep enough; sometimes everyone is tired because it is Thursday and it has been a long week of cramming language structures and vocabulary into our relatively small heads. Usually the students tell me they are doing well, and usually I ask them why they are doing well. Thankfully, they are not timid and I get plenty of feedback.
Every day, we start our class with a "Buzzword of the Day." Sometimes the word is slang, sometimes it is a word they hear frequently but is not generally included in ESL curricula and sometimes it is a word that I see on Twitter when I check updates right before class.
Our books include grammar, listening, vocabulary, reading selections, comprehension questions and exercises. The books cover topics like environmentalism, education for girls, crossing cultures and scientific discoveries. And guess what? My students, well, they take those topics and they own them.
We do not shy away from controversy; one of my three class rules is "Respect each other and respect your teacher." So, our conversations can be spicy without becoming vindictive. We've talked about women driving (believe it or not, it is controversial!), whether or not fast food is what defines American food, what "strategy" is and in what contexts it can be used, religious beliefs and appreciating people we don't necessarily understand.
Usually, the hours go faster than I anticipate and our conversations must come to an end. We talk about homework, upcoming quizzes and/or tests and general life happenings.
Then, I release my students to the wild, er, lunch and afternoon classes, and prepare for meeting them the following morning. We share cheerful goodbyes and see you laters and make our way down the hallways of our beloved school.
------------------------------------------
It is an understatement to say that I love my job.
I promised my students that I would write a blog for them; so, here it is: a day in the life of our ESL (English as a Second Language) class.
------------------
The classroom we meet in for three hours a day is pretty boring--white walls, a whiteboard, white floors, a snack machine and a few nondescript desks--but once we start, our space is full of life, laughter and (hopefully) learning.
We always start by greeting each other and giving a daily update of what happened the night before. Sometimes the students are tired because they did not sleep enough; sometimes the teacher is tired because she did not sleep enough; sometimes everyone is tired because it is Thursday and it has been a long week of cramming language structures and vocabulary into our relatively small heads. Usually the students tell me they are doing well, and usually I ask them why they are doing well. Thankfully, they are not timid and I get plenty of feedback.
Every day, we start our class with a "Buzzword of the Day." Sometimes the word is slang, sometimes it is a word they hear frequently but is not generally included in ESL curricula and sometimes it is a word that I see on Twitter when I check updates right before class.
Our books include grammar, listening, vocabulary, reading selections, comprehension questions and exercises. The books cover topics like environmentalism, education for girls, crossing cultures and scientific discoveries. And guess what? My students, well, they take those topics and they own them.
We do not shy away from controversy; one of my three class rules is "Respect each other and respect your teacher." So, our conversations can be spicy without becoming vindictive. We've talked about women driving (believe it or not, it is controversial!), whether or not fast food is what defines American food, what "strategy" is and in what contexts it can be used, religious beliefs and appreciating people we don't necessarily understand.
Usually, the hours go faster than I anticipate and our conversations must come to an end. We talk about homework, upcoming quizzes and/or tests and general life happenings.
Then, I release my students to the wild, er, lunch and afternoon classes, and prepare for meeting them the following morning. We share cheerful goodbyes and see you laters and make our way down the hallways of our beloved school.
------------------------------------------
It is an understatement to say that I love my job.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Christmas, Part One
I don't normally put whole chunks of Scripture in my blog, but I think seeing these two Advent passages side by side in a format different from the Bibles we use will be helpful in grasping more fully who Jesus is, and why reminding ourselves of the true definition of Christmas is essential to Life.
Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the LORD his God, the Maker of heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them--
the LORD, who remains faithful forever.
He upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry.
The LORD sets prisoners free,
the LORD gives sight to the blind,
the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down,
the LORD loves the righteous.
The LORD watches over the alien and sustains the fatherless and the widow,
but He frustrates the ways of the wicked.
The LORD reigns forever, your God, O Zion, for all generations.
(Psalm 146:5-10)
--------------------
When John heard in prison what Christ was doing, he sent his disciples to ask him, 'Are you the one who was to come, or should we expect someone else?'
Jesus replied, 'Go back and report to John what you hear and see: the blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor. Blessed is the man who does not fall away on account of me.'
(Matthew 11:2-6)
--------------------
Jesus--He is the LORD.
This is Christmas: falling on our faces in awe of the Maker of all things, Forever-Sovereign, perfect justice-dispensing God who submitted to the confinements of skin, blood and bones in order to pursue with everlasting love the hearts of all people.
Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the LORD his God, the Maker of heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them--
the LORD, who remains faithful forever.
He upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry.
The LORD sets prisoners free,
the LORD gives sight to the blind,
the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down,
the LORD loves the righteous.
The LORD watches over the alien and sustains the fatherless and the widow,
but He frustrates the ways of the wicked.
The LORD reigns forever, your God, O Zion, for all generations.
(Psalm 146:5-10)
--------------------
When John heard in prison what Christ was doing, he sent his disciples to ask him, 'Are you the one who was to come, or should we expect someone else?'
Jesus replied, 'Go back and report to John what you hear and see: the blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor. Blessed is the man who does not fall away on account of me.'
(Matthew 11:2-6)
--------------------
Jesus--He is the LORD.
This is Christmas: falling on our faces in awe of the Maker of all things, Forever-Sovereign, perfect justice-dispensing God who submitted to the confinements of skin, blood and bones in order to pursue with everlasting love the hearts of all people.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
[healed]
People just want to be healed.
They are crying out.
Come, O Healer, and make all things new.
-----------------
I needed the Church today.
I need the Church.
Without her, I am lost in my own thoughts and the lies of Satan.
The Church gives dimension to the words of Scripture.
Words spoken by the Church, Truth lived, Prayers offered, Love received and poured out--
Alone-ness is poison to the soul.
Imperfect unity under the Shepherd is sunshine and rain.
They are crying out.
Come, O Healer, and make all things new.
-----------------
I needed the Church today.
I need the Church.
Without her, I am lost in my own thoughts and the lies of Satan.
The Church gives dimension to the words of Scripture.
Words spoken by the Church, Truth lived, Prayers offered, Love received and poured out--
Alone-ness is poison to the soul.
Imperfect unity under the Shepherd is sunshine and rain.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Symbol Power
Sometimes, people need symbols to help them understand a concept or take something seriously. The prophets used symbols regularly. Hosea actually married a whore; God told him that she was a symbol of Israel's adultery. Jeremiah used a linen belt and a yoke to convey the messages of discipline God wanted communicated to His children. The temple, as God designed it, included hundred of symbols of his power, majesty, love and work for His beloved.
Symbols remain emblazoned on our memories. We only need to see a swastika to recall the unspeakable horrors of the Holocaust and the ease at which people can treat other people like sewage. We only need to hear "9/11" and instantly we see planes crashing into buildings, thousands of people dying, crashing to the ground.
But the thing with symbols is that they can't do their work of abrupt confrontation if people aren't present to them. Busy-ness, distraction, work, commitments--they all subtract from the power of the symbol.
----------------
One symbol that Christians have used for hundreds of years is the cross. There are millions of cross-symbols in use every day around the world in the 21st century. And truly, it is a powerful picture: God-in-flesh humility, abject poverty, unconditional love, infinite justice and excruciating death, all wrapped up into two pieces of wood slapped together like words in a forgettable sonnet.
But how often do I let myself intentionally dwell on what the cross-symbol confronts me with?
My own internal silence is deafening.
Symbols remain emblazoned on our memories. We only need to see a swastika to recall the unspeakable horrors of the Holocaust and the ease at which people can treat other people like sewage. We only need to hear "9/11" and instantly we see planes crashing into buildings, thousands of people dying, crashing to the ground.
But the thing with symbols is that they can't do their work of abrupt confrontation if people aren't present to them. Busy-ness, distraction, work, commitments--they all subtract from the power of the symbol.
----------------
One symbol that Christians have used for hundreds of years is the cross. There are millions of cross-symbols in use every day around the world in the 21st century. And truly, it is a powerful picture: God-in-flesh humility, abject poverty, unconditional love, infinite justice and excruciating death, all wrapped up into two pieces of wood slapped together like words in a forgettable sonnet.
But how often do I let myself intentionally dwell on what the cross-symbol confronts me with?
My own internal silence is deafening.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
desert.
"Give thanks...to Him
who led His people
through the desert,
His love endures forever."
(Ps. 136:16)
They were still His people, even in the desert.
And even in the desert, His love endures forever.
who led His people
through the desert,
His love endures forever."
(Ps. 136:16)
They were still His people, even in the desert.
And even in the desert, His love endures forever.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Notions of Poverty
So much of my consciousness remains unaffected and unmoved by the plight of the poor in my community and in the world. I think a lot of it comes from the fact that I have this *wrong* view that the poor are poor because they...deserve to be so. They don't work or study hard enough; they made poor/bad decisions with their finances; they are reaping the consequences of an unsustainable lifestyle.
But as I read Jeremiah I stumbled across a couple of verses that alter my particular landscape-view of poverty. God is speaking to King Josiah's son, Shallum. He essentially condemns Shallum for oppressing his countrymen and exploiting them in the pursuit of his own glory and fame. I think, 'Yeah, he should be condemned for his unjust tyranny,' and keep reading. God goes from rebuking Shallum to holding his father Josiah up as an example:
'Did not your father [Josiah] have food and drink? He did what was right and just, so all went well with him. He defended the cause of the poor and needy, and so all went well. Is that not what it means to know me?' declares the LORD. (Jeremiah 22:15-16)
It does not matter if I avoid direct oppression and exploitation of the poor. God boils knowing Him down to this: defending the cause of the poor and needy. And guess what? He does not qualify "poor" or "needy." Poor through laziness? Needy because of past mistakes? Dwelling in squalor through ignorance and illiteracy? Not mentioned here. Just "poor." Just "needy."
Of course, there are other places in Scripture that caution us to be wise, discerning and even clever. These cautions will obviously temper indiscriminate, blind dealings for and with anyone. But the unqualified statement from God--that to defend the cause of the cause of the poor and needy without added notions of 'deservedness' (!) is what it means to know Him--at the very least directs me to err on the side of extravagant, nonsensical generosity and advocacy. Otherwise, knowing Him remains an illusive, distant and unattainable dream.
But as I read Jeremiah I stumbled across a couple of verses that alter my particular landscape-view of poverty. God is speaking to King Josiah's son, Shallum. He essentially condemns Shallum for oppressing his countrymen and exploiting them in the pursuit of his own glory and fame. I think, 'Yeah, he should be condemned for his unjust tyranny,' and keep reading. God goes from rebuking Shallum to holding his father Josiah up as an example:
'Did not your father [Josiah] have food and drink? He did what was right and just, so all went well with him. He defended the cause of the poor and needy, and so all went well. Is that not what it means to know me?' declares the LORD. (Jeremiah 22:15-16)
It does not matter if I avoid direct oppression and exploitation of the poor. God boils knowing Him down to this: defending the cause of the poor and needy. And guess what? He does not qualify "poor" or "needy." Poor through laziness? Needy because of past mistakes? Dwelling in squalor through ignorance and illiteracy? Not mentioned here. Just "poor." Just "needy."
Of course, there are other places in Scripture that caution us to be wise, discerning and even clever. These cautions will obviously temper indiscriminate, blind dealings for and with anyone. But the unqualified statement from God--that to defend the cause of the cause of the poor and needy without added notions of 'deservedness' (!) is what it means to know Him--at the very least directs me to err on the side of extravagant, nonsensical generosity and advocacy. Otherwise, knowing Him remains an illusive, distant and unattainable dream.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Advent Conspiracy vs. Black Friday
Could they be any different?
Advent Conspiracy:
share, give
time, resources
Scandalous embrace of
Christ's humanity
Black Friday:
consume, devour
time, resources
Generous rejection of
Christ's humility
Advent Conspiracy:
share, give
time, resources
Scandalous embrace of
Christ's humanity
Black Friday:
consume, devour
time, resources
Generous rejection of
Christ's humility
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Heaven's Silence
I have always been fascinated by the book Revelation.
Partly, perhaps, because it seems almost impenetrable to the modern consciousness at first (or second, or third) glance(s) and I love a good challenge.
Certainly because I have always been strongly attracted to the person of Jesus and here--He is crucified Triumph and Justice. Who can resist the "eyes of blazing fire," the "voice like the sound of rushing waters," the sword-speaking mouth and the "face like the sun shining in all its brilliance"? (cf. Revelation 1:15-16) His shocking beauty overwhelms and mystifies my very being.
And undoubtedly I find my way back to Revelation because here we are promised that He is making all things new.
Most recently, I continue to return to one small, almost unnoticeable verse:
When [the Lamb] opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour. (8:1)
The 59 verses prior to this moment are stuffed with movement, noise, explanations, signs, wonders, devastations, songs, weeping and trumpets. Then, suddenly, silence. I have racked my brain and searched the text and I can find no definite answer for why the silence suddenly happens. The only viable explanation that I've come up with so far is that the silence serves as a foil to the sounding of the seven trumpets that follow it (which does not satisfy my intellectual curiosity).
How did all of heaven--all of the angels, creatures, and multitudes of worshippers-- know that exact moment demanded absolute silence? Why was it absolutely silent? What could have possibly motivated such an orchestrated, sudden and deafening silence?
Then, I remember the fact that they are silent together, every single one of them. Together, myriads and myriads of people, angels and creatures are silent when the Lamb opens a sealed scroll. In unison, every being recognizes instantly the demand of quiet watchfulness.
So it's okay that I don't know how or why. It is good enough to look forward even more to the day when the Lamb does not have to speak. I will just look at Him and I will know. And all of heaven will know with me.
Partly, perhaps, because it seems almost impenetrable to the modern consciousness at first (or second, or third) glance(s) and I love a good challenge.
Certainly because I have always been strongly attracted to the person of Jesus and here--He is crucified Triumph and Justice. Who can resist the "eyes of blazing fire," the "voice like the sound of rushing waters," the sword-speaking mouth and the "face like the sun shining in all its brilliance"? (cf. Revelation 1:15-16) His shocking beauty overwhelms and mystifies my very being.
And undoubtedly I find my way back to Revelation because here we are promised that He is making all things new.
Most recently, I continue to return to one small, almost unnoticeable verse:
When [the Lamb] opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour. (8:1)
The 59 verses prior to this moment are stuffed with movement, noise, explanations, signs, wonders, devastations, songs, weeping and trumpets. Then, suddenly, silence. I have racked my brain and searched the text and I can find no definite answer for why the silence suddenly happens. The only viable explanation that I've come up with so far is that the silence serves as a foil to the sounding of the seven trumpets that follow it (which does not satisfy my intellectual curiosity).
How did all of heaven--all of the angels, creatures, and multitudes of worshippers-- know that exact moment demanded absolute silence? Why was it absolutely silent? What could have possibly motivated such an orchestrated, sudden and deafening silence?
Then, I remember the fact that they are silent together, every single one of them. Together, myriads and myriads of people, angels and creatures are silent when the Lamb opens a sealed scroll. In unison, every being recognizes instantly the demand of quiet watchfulness.
So it's okay that I don't know how or why. It is good enough to look forward even more to the day when the Lamb does not have to speak. I will just look at Him and I will know. And all of heaven will know with me.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Redemption: A Response
I recently joined the society of Twitter. I honestly didn't know what to expect, but I have to say--I am really enjoying it. It is a great tool that allows me to keep up with a wide variety of people, organizations, news topics and even special interest groups without spending hours and hours on the internet browsing websites ad nauseum.
One of the organizations I follow on Twitter is Sojourners. Yesterday, I saw a tweet from Sojo that intrigued me: "Harry Potter and Social Justice" by Julie Clawson. As a fan of Harry Potter I dutifully followed the link; here is what I found: Clawson's description of the Harry Potter Alliance (HPA), their desire to end injustice(s) in the world and her thoughts about the HPA's work. Her basic conclusion?
"Justice is justice, and good is good wherever it may be found. The more people that can use love to seek a better world the better. Call ourselves the DA (Dumbledore’s Army) or the citizens of the kingdom; we are working for the same goal."
On one level I agree with Ms. Clawson; justice is recognizable to just about everyone on our planet--injustice even more so (see my previous post, "Musings: Justice"). But I believe that she is mistaken in her conclusion that "we" (citizens of the kingdom and Dumbledore's Army) are "working for the same goal."
The HPA's mission is "...to empower our members to act like the heroes that they love by acting for a better world. By bringing together fans of blockbuster books, TV shows, movies, and YouTube celebrities we are harnessing the power of popular culture toward making our world a better place. Our goal is to make civic engagement exciting by channeling the entertainment-saturated facets of our culture toward mobilization for deep and lasting social change." (see http://thehpalliance.org/what-we-do/) I applaud the HPA in their efforts to use popular culture for significant social change; the idea really is brilliant.
But the HPA's mission is not the same as the kingdom mission. In the kingdom mission, God is the only One who knows all circumstances intimately and He is the only One who can be fully just. Human attempts at justice are great and all--but they remain imperfect apart from Him.
The kingdom mission recognizes that Christ's death on the cross and our redemption was the infinite, perfect satisfaction of God's justice. Thus the justice authored by Christ is eternal life and that is what citizens of the kingdom work towards; human efforts to accomplish justice in the world are necessarily temporal unless His redemption sculpts them.
"Deep and lasting social change" cannot be eternal; "Eternal life" cannot be contained.
One of the organizations I follow on Twitter is Sojourners. Yesterday, I saw a tweet from Sojo that intrigued me: "Harry Potter and Social Justice" by Julie Clawson. As a fan of Harry Potter I dutifully followed the link; here is what I found: Clawson's description of the Harry Potter Alliance (HPA), their desire to end injustice(s) in the world and her thoughts about the HPA's work. Her basic conclusion?
"Justice is justice, and good is good wherever it may be found. The more people that can use love to seek a better world the better. Call ourselves the DA (Dumbledore’s Army) or the citizens of the kingdom; we are working for the same goal."
On one level I agree with Ms. Clawson; justice is recognizable to just about everyone on our planet--injustice even more so (see my previous post, "Musings: Justice"). But I believe that she is mistaken in her conclusion that "we" (citizens of the kingdom and Dumbledore's Army) are "working for the same goal."
The HPA's mission is "...to empower our members to act like the heroes that they love by acting for a better world. By bringing together fans of blockbuster books, TV shows, movies, and YouTube celebrities we are harnessing the power of popular culture toward making our world a better place. Our goal is to make civic engagement exciting by channeling the entertainment-saturated facets of our culture toward mobilization for deep and lasting social change." (see http://thehpalliance.org/what-we-do/) I applaud the HPA in their efforts to use popular culture for significant social change; the idea really is brilliant.
But the HPA's mission is not the same as the kingdom mission. In the kingdom mission, God is the only One who knows all circumstances intimately and He is the only One who can be fully just. Human attempts at justice are great and all--but they remain imperfect apart from Him.
The kingdom mission recognizes that Christ's death on the cross and our redemption was the infinite, perfect satisfaction of God's justice. Thus the justice authored by Christ is eternal life and that is what citizens of the kingdom work towards; human efforts to accomplish justice in the world are necessarily temporal unless His redemption sculpts them.
"Deep and lasting social change" cannot be eternal; "Eternal life" cannot be contained.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Musings: Justice
A desire for justice--where does it come from? Is it one of those universal traits that is more alive in some people and more dead in others? People who know Yahweh (God) intimately often have a heightened awareness of justice and injustice; but even they question God's justice at times:
"You are always righteous, O LORD, when I bring a case before You. Yet I would speak with You about Your justice: Why does the way of the wicked prosper? Why do all the faithless live at ease?" (Jeremiah 12:1)
Those who know Yahweh aren't the only ones who are concerned with the issue(s) of (in)justice. Many who don't know Him speak very loudly about justice and do something about it.
----------------
A few thoughts:
If the only rule of our planet is the 'survival of the fittest' then justice should not matter. Indeed, justice is outside of science because it makes value judgments about what is right and wrong--that wrongs should be righted and rights should be rewarded. So if the appeal to 'pure science' wins the day (as it often does), justice has no voice.
But many of our fellow humans both in the U.S. and in other parts of the world who do not have the luxury of sitting around and thinking things to death would rise up against such a suggestion. Refugees cry out for relief from disaster and oppression. Victims of abuse have personally experienced brutal injustices and raise their voices in protest. How do they know that they have not received justice?
My own thought, which I believe can be seen throughout the Bible and in everyday life, is that all people have at least some idea that the way we live is not quite right, that our lives here are somehow are supposed to be better. When that idea becomes strong enough, we begin to make noise and to demand for circumstances that are aligned with the way things are supposed to be.
As the followers of Him who created the "supposed to be," we have unique and unprecedented opportunities to be a part of the process of justice. The first step in that process is receiving the justice that cost Jesus everything so that we can live as we were supposed to--intimately with Him.
"All this is from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them. And He has committed to us the message of reconciliation." (2 Corinthians 5:18-19)
In Christ, we are as we were supposed to be: reconciled. And we have the privilege of acting out that very justice so that others may become so, too.
"You are always righteous, O LORD, when I bring a case before You. Yet I would speak with You about Your justice: Why does the way of the wicked prosper? Why do all the faithless live at ease?" (Jeremiah 12:1)
Those who know Yahweh aren't the only ones who are concerned with the issue(s) of (in)justice. Many who don't know Him speak very loudly about justice and do something about it.
----------------
A few thoughts:
If the only rule of our planet is the 'survival of the fittest' then justice should not matter. Indeed, justice is outside of science because it makes value judgments about what is right and wrong--that wrongs should be righted and rights should be rewarded. So if the appeal to 'pure science' wins the day (as it often does), justice has no voice.
But many of our fellow humans both in the U.S. and in other parts of the world who do not have the luxury of sitting around and thinking things to death would rise up against such a suggestion. Refugees cry out for relief from disaster and oppression. Victims of abuse have personally experienced brutal injustices and raise their voices in protest. How do they know that they have not received justice?
My own thought, which I believe can be seen throughout the Bible and in everyday life, is that all people have at least some idea that the way we live is not quite right, that our lives here are somehow are supposed to be better. When that idea becomes strong enough, we begin to make noise and to demand for circumstances that are aligned with the way things are supposed to be.
As the followers of Him who created the "supposed to be," we have unique and unprecedented opportunities to be a part of the process of justice. The first step in that process is receiving the justice that cost Jesus everything so that we can live as we were supposed to--intimately with Him.
"All this is from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them. And He has committed to us the message of reconciliation." (2 Corinthians 5:18-19)
In Christ, we are as we were supposed to be: reconciled. And we have the privilege of acting out that very justice so that others may become so, too.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
To Create
So much of the biblical literature focuses on God as Creator.
The prophets, song-writers and wise ones of the Old Testament repeatedly come back to the acknowledgment and praise that the LORD is the creator and maker of everything in heaven and on earth. Then, in the New Testament, Paul makes the connection that Jesus is Lord and that the world was made by Him and for Him. John's apocalyptic vision confirms this as he sees Jesus seated on the throne of heaven with throngs of creatures praising Him as the Holy Maker:
"They lay their crowns before the throne and say: 'You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for You created all things, and by Your will they were created and have their being.'" (Revelation 4:10-11)
Why is the Creator theme so predominant?
The 'usual' evangelical responses would include things like a) it ensures that humans know they are accountable to their Maker or b) that He has absolute authority over the creation because He made it.
While I think both of those conclusions are true, I can't help but wonder if there is something else at stake. To create, to fashion, to make, to sculpt--these are all words used of the LORD in describing His handiwork; these are also the words of beauty, creativity and art. The word "handiwork" itself indicates God's hands made all things; He was and is intimately involved in creating and sustaining beauty.
God did not manufacture the universe.
Even humanity's rebellion against Him did not get in the way of that persistent way He hand-crafts creation-art with loving eyes and generous brushstrokes of grace. And now we, His masterpieces, can reflect that by doing the beauty He's made us for:
"For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do." (Ephesians 2:10)
The prophets, song-writers and wise ones of the Old Testament repeatedly come back to the acknowledgment and praise that the LORD is the creator and maker of everything in heaven and on earth. Then, in the New Testament, Paul makes the connection that Jesus is Lord and that the world was made by Him and for Him. John's apocalyptic vision confirms this as he sees Jesus seated on the throne of heaven with throngs of creatures praising Him as the Holy Maker:
"They lay their crowns before the throne and say: 'You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for You created all things, and by Your will they were created and have their being.'" (Revelation 4:10-11)
Why is the Creator theme so predominant?
The 'usual' evangelical responses would include things like a) it ensures that humans know they are accountable to their Maker or b) that He has absolute authority over the creation because He made it.
While I think both of those conclusions are true, I can't help but wonder if there is something else at stake. To create, to fashion, to make, to sculpt--these are all words used of the LORD in describing His handiwork; these are also the words of beauty, creativity and art. The word "handiwork" itself indicates God's hands made all things; He was and is intimately involved in creating and sustaining beauty.
God did not manufacture the universe.
Even humanity's rebellion against Him did not get in the way of that persistent way He hand-crafts creation-art with loving eyes and generous brushstrokes of grace. And now we, His masterpieces, can reflect that by doing the beauty He's made us for:
"For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do." (Ephesians 2:10)
Sunday, November 14, 2010
What is Home?
Several months ago, a dear friend of mine asked me to describe my conception of 'home'--what I think of when I hear the word 'home,' how I would define it, how 'home' makes me feel.
Since I had a priceless, carefree childhood, I often associate 'home' with words like safe, comfort, love, roots and family. On the other hand, because I have moved around quite a bit already in my young life home is somewhat of an allusive concept because I never truly feel 'at home' anywhere anymore; therefore I tend to identify 'home' with the future consummation of God's renewal of all things.
But recently, I've come to terms with a description of Home that effortlessly embraces my memories of home, my longing for home, my inability to feel completely at home and the home of rest that God promises for His children.
-------------------------------
This morning was a wonderful demonstration of Home: there were many people of all shapes and sizes--old/young, wealthy/homeless, professional/grungy, loud/quiet--and they were all gathered in one place. Some people sang, some people fixed exquisite café beverages while other people consumed those beverages; some people prayed, one person painted, some played instruments, some people talked and some read poetry. But despite the endless diversity of backgrounds, families and stories, most (maybe even all!) of those people understood that they were part of something Bigger, that something Bigger was created by God, He calls it His kingdom and that living for Him and bringing others into His kingdom is all that matters.
His kingdom is priceless and safe; it is also dangerous and in constant movement. And in "that day," as the prophets speak of it, the King will display fully the beauty of Himself and His people when the Kingdom is finally revealed.
Home is:
"Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need."
-Matthew 6:33
Since I had a priceless, carefree childhood, I often associate 'home' with words like safe, comfort, love, roots and family. On the other hand, because I have moved around quite a bit already in my young life home is somewhat of an allusive concept because I never truly feel 'at home' anywhere anymore; therefore I tend to identify 'home' with the future consummation of God's renewal of all things.
But recently, I've come to terms with a description of Home that effortlessly embraces my memories of home, my longing for home, my inability to feel completely at home and the home of rest that God promises for His children.
-------------------------------
This morning was a wonderful demonstration of Home: there were many people of all shapes and sizes--old/young, wealthy/homeless, professional/grungy, loud/quiet--and they were all gathered in one place. Some people sang, some people fixed exquisite café beverages while other people consumed those beverages; some people prayed, one person painted, some played instruments, some people talked and some read poetry. But despite the endless diversity of backgrounds, families and stories, most (maybe even all!) of those people understood that they were part of something Bigger, that something Bigger was created by God, He calls it His kingdom and that living for Him and bringing others into His kingdom is all that matters.
His kingdom is priceless and safe; it is also dangerous and in constant movement. And in "that day," as the prophets speak of it, the King will display fully the beauty of Himself and His people when the Kingdom is finally revealed.
Home is:
"Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need."
-Matthew 6:33
Friday, November 12, 2010
A Star
I love Jesus.
He is the only Person who "searches hearts and minds" and promises rewards for faithfulness--not performance, fame, popularity or success.
Mostly, today, I love Him because he said--almost as an afterthought!--"I will also give [the one who overcomes] the morning star." (Revelation 2:28)
Who is He that gives stars to His beloved? The untameable, fiercely burning lights of the universe are hand-crafted presents from the Groom to His Bride.
And the Bride will give it back to Him because she knows that it is too good and that He is too Great.
His eyes burn brighter than the morning star, anyways.
He is the only Person who "searches hearts and minds" and promises rewards for faithfulness--not performance, fame, popularity or success.
Mostly, today, I love Him because he said--almost as an afterthought!--"I will also give [the one who overcomes] the morning star." (Revelation 2:28)
Who is He that gives stars to His beloved? The untameable, fiercely burning lights of the universe are hand-crafted presents from the Groom to His Bride.
And the Bride will give it back to Him because she knows that it is too good and that He is too Great.
His eyes burn brighter than the morning star, anyways.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Marie: A Sketch
Petite Marie.
Her small frame betrays her contagious strength.
She disarms guards and breaks down walls with shining hazel eyes and laughter that carries anyone who hears it one step closer to heaven.
Her auburn-red, wavy hair immediately gives away Irish heritage and unchained passion.
That passion? It comes from fire deep inside; she burns on unceasingly and lights everyone she touches on fire.
Even in the desert--especially in the desert--Marie shines. She is always looking for the Spring of Life. And He is always looking for her.
I miss you.
Her small frame betrays her contagious strength.
She disarms guards and breaks down walls with shining hazel eyes and laughter that carries anyone who hears it one step closer to heaven.
Her auburn-red, wavy hair immediately gives away Irish heritage and unchained passion.
That passion? It comes from fire deep inside; she burns on unceasingly and lights everyone she touches on fire.
Even in the desert--especially in the desert--Marie shines. She is always looking for the Spring of Life. And He is always looking for her.
I miss you.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Remembering is Being
A couple of days ago, I went to the Holocaust Museum (of Houston). Spending time in a place that has as its sole purpose the remembrance of horror and large-scale embodiment of evil is a singular and sobering experience. But what is the purpose of the remembrance itself?
While at the museum, a quote from Elie Wiesel caught my eye; while I can't remember it exactly and am not having success in finding it right now, the essence of the quote was this:
Remembering is being.
If the Holocaust and its unfathomable, infinite consequences are not remembered, then it becomes even easier for twisted humans to repeat the whole affair again in perhaps even more destructive ways. Of course, there have been (and there are currently) other genocides since World War II. In fact, we all know and will sometimes admit that we all participate in twisted selfishness on a daily basis--the kind that, if combined with the ugliness of other humans, can easily lead to ravenous hatred and incurable passivity.
But the act of remembering teaches us to be more willing to admit personal responsibility for evil and act to stop it even if our own individual activity seems not to affect evil on a global scale. Remembering helps to stop the cycle of sin on a personal level, thereby allowing us to Be more in the essence of how God created us.
There is another aspect to remembering, one that repeatedly pops up in Scripture and which also helps us to Be, and that is this: remembering what God has done in the past reminds us of Who He Is. He is Power. He is Faithful. He is Love and Lover. He is Creator. He is Wise. He is Gentle. He is Passion and He is Shepherd.
And what is it to be His follower if not a daily reflection on His grace as displayed in His humble, forever-sacrifice on the Cross?
Remembering Him is how we know Him more intimately and trust Him unswervingly.
Being--alive, free and whole--truly is remembering our own sickness and His incomprehensible, eternal healing of that sickness.
While at the museum, a quote from Elie Wiesel caught my eye; while I can't remember it exactly and am not having success in finding it right now, the essence of the quote was this:
Remembering is being.
If the Holocaust and its unfathomable, infinite consequences are not remembered, then it becomes even easier for twisted humans to repeat the whole affair again in perhaps even more destructive ways. Of course, there have been (and there are currently) other genocides since World War II. In fact, we all know and will sometimes admit that we all participate in twisted selfishness on a daily basis--the kind that, if combined with the ugliness of other humans, can easily lead to ravenous hatred and incurable passivity.
But the act of remembering teaches us to be more willing to admit personal responsibility for evil and act to stop it even if our own individual activity seems not to affect evil on a global scale. Remembering helps to stop the cycle of sin on a personal level, thereby allowing us to Be more in the essence of how God created us.
There is another aspect to remembering, one that repeatedly pops up in Scripture and which also helps us to Be, and that is this: remembering what God has done in the past reminds us of Who He Is. He is Power. He is Faithful. He is Love and Lover. He is Creator. He is Wise. He is Gentle. He is Passion and He is Shepherd.
And what is it to be His follower if not a daily reflection on His grace as displayed in His humble, forever-sacrifice on the Cross?
Remembering Him is how we know Him more intimately and trust Him unswervingly.
Being--alive, free and whole--truly is remembering our own sickness and His incomprehensible, eternal healing of that sickness.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Life as Grass
In Psalm 103, the contrast between the fragility of man and the eternality of God is palpable. Without the immortal and unchanging compassion of God, humans would be destined to life as grass....
But God, "abounding in love," has broken through humanity's (weak) rebellious defenses and touched us with forgiveness and undeserved kindness. And that one touch is enough to draw us out of the dusty temporal into the glorious Forever.
"Praise the LORD, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise His holy name."
(Ps. 103:1)
But God, "abounding in love," has broken through humanity's (weak) rebellious defenses and touched us with forgiveness and undeserved kindness. And that one touch is enough to draw us out of the dusty temporal into the glorious Forever.
"Praise the LORD, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise His holy name."
(Ps. 103:1)
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
The Birthday Post
"Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to Me, and eat what is good, and your soul will delight in the richest of fare. Give ear and come to me; hear me, that your soul may live." (Is. 55:2-3)
26 years. How quickly they have gone; and yet I haven't begun to taste eternity. Everything I've experienced, everything I have, everything that happens today, tomorrow or ten years from now is a result of God's grace and intentional intervention in my life.
And still the invitation to come closer, to breathe more deeply the fragrance of Christ is extended. The Father, who may be angry for a moment, offers the rich banquet feast of compassion, justice, forgiveness, mercy and grace forever. That which is given is good because He is Goodness and uses even evil and sin for His good purposes.
Nothing ever has--and nothing ever will--halt the plans and works of God to bring me on the Journey to Home. Oh, I know that my passions may rage or my faith may falter, but the reasons I rage or doubt are never divorced from Really Knowing Him. In fact, every time I send myself or am sent into the 'depths of despair' or the heights of ecstasy, I know it is just a quest to try and figure Him out.
Without Him, there is no life.
With Him, there is life: full, wild, terrifying, excruciating, abundant, immeasurable.
These 26 years, they are for You because You wrote them.
26 years. How quickly they have gone; and yet I haven't begun to taste eternity. Everything I've experienced, everything I have, everything that happens today, tomorrow or ten years from now is a result of God's grace and intentional intervention in my life.
And still the invitation to come closer, to breathe more deeply the fragrance of Christ is extended. The Father, who may be angry for a moment, offers the rich banquet feast of compassion, justice, forgiveness, mercy and grace forever. That which is given is good because He is Goodness and uses even evil and sin for His good purposes.
Nothing ever has--and nothing ever will--halt the plans and works of God to bring me on the Journey to Home. Oh, I know that my passions may rage or my faith may falter, but the reasons I rage or doubt are never divorced from Really Knowing Him. In fact, every time I send myself or am sent into the 'depths of despair' or the heights of ecstasy, I know it is just a quest to try and figure Him out.
Without Him, there is no life.
With Him, there is life: full, wild, terrifying, excruciating, abundant, immeasurable.
These 26 years, they are for You because You wrote them.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Sketch: The Medina
Old. So old that a single human's existence is paltry in comparison.
Older than my grandparents. Older than country music. Older than America.
Everything is old in the medina. The buildings, the streets, the mosques, the minarets; the gates, the fountains, the plazas; the traditions, sounds and recipes.
Just. Plain. Old.
Here, old is valued. Walls are so old that wooden beams criss-cross the ancient streets just overhead, holding them precariously in position. But they are not torn down.
The old isn't disposed of, like the little bags of trash placed on the street every morning to be collected by faithful garbagemen. Old is kept, held and even hidden in the medina.
Old, narrow and winding streets are solid underfoot and always lead the same direction they have led for hundreds of years. A dozen old minarets house the same call to prayer that has been heard in the medina for centures. Old recipes mark the creation of the same food at the same time every year, to commemorate the breaking of the same fast observed by practically everyone.
Satellite television, music videos and skinny jeans are new.
Can they become old?
Older than my grandparents. Older than country music. Older than America.
Everything is old in the medina. The buildings, the streets, the mosques, the minarets; the gates, the fountains, the plazas; the traditions, sounds and recipes.
Just. Plain. Old.
Here, old is valued. Walls are so old that wooden beams criss-cross the ancient streets just overhead, holding them precariously in position. But they are not torn down.
The old isn't disposed of, like the little bags of trash placed on the street every morning to be collected by faithful garbagemen. Old is kept, held and even hidden in the medina.
Old, narrow and winding streets are solid underfoot and always lead the same direction they have led for hundreds of years. A dozen old minarets house the same call to prayer that has been heard in the medina for centures. Old recipes mark the creation of the same food at the same time every year, to commemorate the breaking of the same fast observed by practically everyone.
Satellite television, music videos and skinny jeans are new.
Can they become old?
Thursday, July 1, 2010
A Series of Sketches: The Haja
Dear Readers:
I am truly sorry for my incredibly abrupt departure from regular blogging. It was completely unplanned and unexpected, and also totally unavoidable. My apologies.
Yet, I'm back. Now, more than ever, with a need and desire to write; lacking the time with which to do so (thoughtfully and intentionally), I nevertheless dive in once again--this time, into a series of sketches that I hope will prove to be thought-provoking and heart-moving. After all, what's the use of a heart that's just been 'warmed'?
The Haja.
An older woman, somewhat heavy-set, beams with tanned complexion and wrinkles that betray not only age but depth. Her head and neck are wrapped in a pale gray patterned scarf; her body is cloaked in a shapeless gray tunic. Fitting, as the day is also patterned with gray clouds and gray drizzle.
We are told: "You will stay with this woman. You will call her 'Haja' because she has made the 'Haj.'"
Unfazed by the dreary conditions, the Haja begins making her way through the narrow, stone-paved walkways of the old city. [We follow, fighting with our bags the whole way.] Her gait is not quite a limp and more closely resembles a waddle. Her feet fight to stay within the confines of the cheap sandals that just barely protect from the grime and slime covering the long-dry paths winding ever more deeply into the heart of the medina.
Finally, she turns into a barely visible doorway, slowly and painfully climbs the steep and uneven stairs and unlocks the door to her home. We continue climbing stairs, following her all the way to the top floor where at last we find our place of rest.
All that we know is that she is the Haja; that she has made the Haj. She is one of the devout, who has gone to Mecca and back. Often, devout Muslims don't like to have their picture taken (or so we've been told, haven't we?).
The Haja has a picture of herself in Mecca hanging above the HDTV downstairs. Perhaps its physical placement is symbolic of its importance relative to the tv? Perhaps.
She prepares mint tea for us, and gives us bread, butter and olives to consume. Conversation is virtually impossible because of the language barrier. Body language conveys the most basic and necessary of meanings. Eventually the silence loses to HDTV and the Haja's favorite (Turkish?) soap opera, dubbed into Arabic.
Off come the sandals. Off come the gray head scarf and shapeless tunic. Haja reclines on the narrow couch, resting her elbow on a thick pillow and her head on her hand. She is quickly engrossed in the ongoing saga of lovers and thieves, families and vagabonds.
The women on HDTV soap operas by and large do not wear head scarves or tunics.
I am truly sorry for my incredibly abrupt departure from regular blogging. It was completely unplanned and unexpected, and also totally unavoidable. My apologies.
Yet, I'm back. Now, more than ever, with a need and desire to write; lacking the time with which to do so (thoughtfully and intentionally), I nevertheless dive in once again--this time, into a series of sketches that I hope will prove to be thought-provoking and heart-moving. After all, what's the use of a heart that's just been 'warmed'?
The Haja.
An older woman, somewhat heavy-set, beams with tanned complexion and wrinkles that betray not only age but depth. Her head and neck are wrapped in a pale gray patterned scarf; her body is cloaked in a shapeless gray tunic. Fitting, as the day is also patterned with gray clouds and gray drizzle.
We are told: "You will stay with this woman. You will call her 'Haja' because she has made the 'Haj.'"
Unfazed by the dreary conditions, the Haja begins making her way through the narrow, stone-paved walkways of the old city. [We follow, fighting with our bags the whole way.] Her gait is not quite a limp and more closely resembles a waddle. Her feet fight to stay within the confines of the cheap sandals that just barely protect from the grime and slime covering the long-dry paths winding ever more deeply into the heart of the medina.
Finally, she turns into a barely visible doorway, slowly and painfully climbs the steep and uneven stairs and unlocks the door to her home. We continue climbing stairs, following her all the way to the top floor where at last we find our place of rest.
All that we know is that she is the Haja; that she has made the Haj. She is one of the devout, who has gone to Mecca and back. Often, devout Muslims don't like to have their picture taken (or so we've been told, haven't we?).
The Haja has a picture of herself in Mecca hanging above the HDTV downstairs. Perhaps its physical placement is symbolic of its importance relative to the tv? Perhaps.
She prepares mint tea for us, and gives us bread, butter and olives to consume. Conversation is virtually impossible because of the language barrier. Body language conveys the most basic and necessary of meanings. Eventually the silence loses to HDTV and the Haja's favorite (Turkish?) soap opera, dubbed into Arabic.
Off come the sandals. Off come the gray head scarf and shapeless tunic. Haja reclines on the narrow couch, resting her elbow on a thick pillow and her head on her hand. She is quickly engrossed in the ongoing saga of lovers and thieves, families and vagabonds.
The women on HDTV soap operas by and large do not wear head scarves or tunics.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
How NOT to Get People Involved
Internships are great. They teach you a lot about...well, a lot.
One of the challenges facing me throughout the duration of my internship has been (and is) lassoing student volunteers to help with basic building maintenance, because my workplace is a non-profit that doesn't make enough non-profit to pay a maid service. This challenge is also part of my job description.
My first reaction to the challenge was ignorance. I truly did not know that I was in charge of 'student volunteers,' and that it was my responsibility to recruit them. That problem was solved one day when I was revising a document and realized, while looking at the company's organizational chart, that I am over a nebulous cloud of student volunteers; as in, I am kind of like their boss and they are supposed to report to me.
Ignorance turned into mini-brainstorm; I can motivate people!!! (*eyes light up with possibility)
Four months later, I still only have one student volunteer who regularly helps with various maintenance chores. Let me share my observations with you so that you too can unsuccessfully get people involved in your projects, regardless of the setting.
a) Be nice, and send thoughtful emails encouraging people to think about the opportunities for 'service' that lie before them.
b) Emphasize the word 'commitment' in all of your correspondence and conversations with people who 'volunteer.'
c)Hang the 'volunteer' sign-up list, with the signatures of people who have 'committed,' in a common area with lots of foot traffic so that they will have an obvious reminder of their duties.
d)Post the location(s) of necessary supplies using brightly colored paper.
e) Replace the completely impotent sign-up list with a bigger, brighter duty list in a more prominent location.
f) Post the location(s) of necessary supplies using brightly colored paper, again.
and, most importantly,
g) Write a letter to all potential 'volunteers,' copy it, and physically place a copy in their mailboxes. This letter should direct 'volunteers' to the prominently-placed duty-list and should also include humor.
If you follow this advice, you will most likely NOT get people involved, just like me! Congratulations!
I am currently in the middle of attempting to use guilt as a manipulative technique; if it works I will let you know.
One of the challenges facing me throughout the duration of my internship has been (and is) lassoing student volunteers to help with basic building maintenance, because my workplace is a non-profit that doesn't make enough non-profit to pay a maid service. This challenge is also part of my job description.
My first reaction to the challenge was ignorance. I truly did not know that I was in charge of 'student volunteers,' and that it was my responsibility to recruit them. That problem was solved one day when I was revising a document and realized, while looking at the company's organizational chart, that I am over a nebulous cloud of student volunteers; as in, I am kind of like their boss and they are supposed to report to me.
Ignorance turned into mini-brainstorm; I can motivate people!!! (*eyes light up with possibility)
Four months later, I still only have one student volunteer who regularly helps with various maintenance chores. Let me share my observations with you so that you too can unsuccessfully get people involved in your projects, regardless of the setting.
a) Be nice, and send thoughtful emails encouraging people to think about the opportunities for 'service' that lie before them.
b) Emphasize the word 'commitment' in all of your correspondence and conversations with people who 'volunteer.'
c)Hang the 'volunteer' sign-up list, with the signatures of people who have 'committed,' in a common area with lots of foot traffic so that they will have an obvious reminder of their duties.
d)Post the location(s) of necessary supplies using brightly colored paper.
e) Replace the completely impotent sign-up list with a bigger, brighter duty list in a more prominent location.
f) Post the location(s) of necessary supplies using brightly colored paper, again.
and, most importantly,
g) Write a letter to all potential 'volunteers,' copy it, and physically place a copy in their mailboxes. This letter should direct 'volunteers' to the prominently-placed duty-list and should also include humor.
If you follow this advice, you will most likely NOT get people involved, just like me! Congratulations!
I am currently in the middle of attempting to use guilt as a manipulative technique; if it works I will let you know.
Monday, May 10, 2010
How to Offend a Lot of People at Once:
Make fun of and/or criticize something that a lot of people do, say and/or think.
For example, because of my age and stage of life, I know or know of many newlywed couples. {Newlywed being defined as married less than two years.} I am so happy for these couples! They are to be celebrated and they are to celebrate as they being this part of their earth-journey together. What a great opportunity to show what an equal partnership (with Jesus as its Leader) can look like!
But I have to be honest. I have been increasingly assaulted by thoughts of canceling my facebook account because what are most likely repeated attempts to encourage a spouse come across as:
a) Nauseatingly ridiculous ("My husband just made macaroni and cheese!! He is soooo incredible!!! God is so good!!")
b) Insensitive to single people who want to be married ("God has given me the greatest gift in life: my wife. God is so good!!")
c) Untrue ("My hubby is the best husband in the whole world!!")
d) Pathetic ("My wife can't find her keys; I feel so powerless to help cuz I'm at work and can't do anything about it!! Please pray.")
I could go on. But I won't because I've probably done most of the offending necessary to prove my point.
P.S. The word "hubby" is about the most annoying word in the history of the world. Ever.
For example, because of my age and stage of life, I know or know of many newlywed couples. {Newlywed being defined as married less than two years.} I am so happy for these couples! They are to be celebrated and they are to celebrate as they being this part of their earth-journey together. What a great opportunity to show what an equal partnership (with Jesus as its Leader) can look like!
But I have to be honest. I have been increasingly assaulted by thoughts of canceling my facebook account because what are most likely repeated attempts to encourage a spouse come across as:
a) Nauseatingly ridiculous ("My husband just made macaroni and cheese!! He is soooo incredible!!! God is so good!!")
b) Insensitive to single people who want to be married ("God has given me the greatest gift in life: my wife. God is so good!!")
c) Untrue ("My hubby is the best husband in the whole world!!")
d) Pathetic ("My wife can't find her keys; I feel so powerless to help cuz I'm at work and can't do anything about it!! Please pray.")
I could go on. But I won't because I've probably done most of the offending necessary to prove my point.
P.S. The word "hubby" is about the most annoying word in the history of the world. Ever.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
How to Be Comfortable in Your Skin
I've mentioned in a previous post that I enjoy people-watching. It's rewarding not just because it provides comic relief on a regular basis. Yes, my friends, even people-watching teaches us something deep and life-changing. People-watching teaches us how to be comfortable in our skin--how to be present to who we are as God's creation.
I have to be honest. I have not been truly comfortable in my skin for any significant period of time; and actually, there are still many days that I am very uncomfortable in my skin. I chalk most of this up to the fact that I care too much about what people think about me; and so I often look at myself through my perceptions of how other people look at me. (I know, even reading that is exhausting--try living it!) This is perhaps why people-watching has been the key to change.
Human beings often categorize themselves based on looks, money, education, history, property, caste, guanxi and many other quantitative measures. We rate each other according to clothes, speech, social connections, houses and vehicles. It's kind of nauseating how much value we place on external categories when we measure the value of a person. All of this measuring feeds the vicious cycle of inability to be comfortable in our own skin.
But if we actually spend time with humans, observe them in various environments, watch their coming and going, their conversations and habits and their interactions with others, we learn that behind the external categories is a person who stains their perfect clothes, yells at their children, betrays friends, berates customer service representatives and doesn't keep their impeccable house that clean. It is impossible for people to live up to external standards, regardless of what initial appearances may be. Why, then, would we continue to feed the cycle?
Humans, without exception, are imperfect. We are not valuable as we measure up to externally pressured categories. We are valuable as who we are -- beings created in the very image of God Himself! Sure, the image is marred. But the skin we live in does not derive its worth from our efforts to fix what's broken. My worth--and yours--is squarely founded on our status as lovingly created, fiercely pursued...people.
I have to be honest. I have not been truly comfortable in my skin for any significant period of time; and actually, there are still many days that I am very uncomfortable in my skin. I chalk most of this up to the fact that I care too much about what people think about me; and so I often look at myself through my perceptions of how other people look at me. (I know, even reading that is exhausting--try living it!) This is perhaps why people-watching has been the key to change.
Human beings often categorize themselves based on looks, money, education, history, property, caste, guanxi and many other quantitative measures. We rate each other according to clothes, speech, social connections, houses and vehicles. It's kind of nauseating how much value we place on external categories when we measure the value of a person. All of this measuring feeds the vicious cycle of inability to be comfortable in our own skin.
But if we actually spend time with humans, observe them in various environments, watch their coming and going, their conversations and habits and their interactions with others, we learn that behind the external categories is a person who stains their perfect clothes, yells at their children, betrays friends, berates customer service representatives and doesn't keep their impeccable house that clean. It is impossible for people to live up to external standards, regardless of what initial appearances may be. Why, then, would we continue to feed the cycle?
Humans, without exception, are imperfect. We are not valuable as we measure up to externally pressured categories. We are valuable as who we are -- beings created in the very image of God Himself! Sure, the image is marred. But the skin we live in does not derive its worth from our efforts to fix what's broken. My worth--and yours--is squarely founded on our status as lovingly created, fiercely pursued...people.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
A New Series of Blogs: How to...
I'm not sure where the idea came from, and it probably isn't all that original, but I've decided to do a series of blogs that all begin with the prompt "How to...." If you have any suggestions for the series, by all means let me know! For now, I will start off the series with:
"How to Become an Adult (Because I Have Arrived)"
Adulthood is not all it is cracked up to be.
I remember thinking when I was little that when I grew up I would be able to drive the kind of car I wanted, go wherever I wanted whenever I wanted, eat what I wanted, play as much as I wanted, watch t.v. as much as I wanted and say the things that popped into my mind as often as I wanted to open my mouth. Granted, it is probably true that children who grow up with very few boundaries, with the weight of family responsibility on their shoulders or without God giving them things like acutely sensitive consciences might not dream of adulthood as I did. But I was not one of those children. I was a child with what seemed like 10 bajillion boundaries, very little responsibility and a very, very sensitive/over-reactive (God-given?) conscience.
Suddenly, that child was in university, driving, without immediate parental supervision or consequences to broken parental boundaries but--dadgummit!--with a still-burdensome sense of being watched by Someone. Constantly.
After university, that child went halfway around the world and back; and even though she wasn't driving, she most certainly exercised more of her right to be an adult, to be herself, to do whatever she wanted to do. At this point, however, there was also an increasing sense of doing what others and Someone Else wanted her to do. Going, for example, to places she didn't want to go. Eating lots and lots of things she didn't want to eat. Staying with people she didn't want to stay with. Writing things she didn't want to write and working places she didn't want to work.
There is a rebellious part of me (perhaps it is the still-child in me) that wants to cling to my youth and to the simplicity of my childhood; Jesus Himself commended children on numerous occasions for their extraordinary faith. But the child in me that demanded an autonomous adulthood has died. To become an adult, I must deny myself, take up my cross and follow Him. That is not the adulthood I once craved; but the point is that my craving is no longer the point.
"How to Become an Adult (Because I Have Arrived)"
Adulthood is not all it is cracked up to be.
I remember thinking when I was little that when I grew up I would be able to drive the kind of car I wanted, go wherever I wanted whenever I wanted, eat what I wanted, play as much as I wanted, watch t.v. as much as I wanted and say the things that popped into my mind as often as I wanted to open my mouth. Granted, it is probably true that children who grow up with very few boundaries, with the weight of family responsibility on their shoulders or without God giving them things like acutely sensitive consciences might not dream of adulthood as I did. But I was not one of those children. I was a child with what seemed like 10 bajillion boundaries, very little responsibility and a very, very sensitive/over-reactive (God-given?) conscience.
Suddenly, that child was in university, driving, without immediate parental supervision or consequences to broken parental boundaries but--dadgummit!--with a still-burdensome sense of being watched by Someone. Constantly.
After university, that child went halfway around the world and back; and even though she wasn't driving, she most certainly exercised more of her right to be an adult, to be herself, to do whatever she wanted to do. At this point, however, there was also an increasing sense of doing what others and Someone Else wanted her to do. Going, for example, to places she didn't want to go. Eating lots and lots of things she didn't want to eat. Staying with people she didn't want to stay with. Writing things she didn't want to write and working places she didn't want to work.
There is a rebellious part of me (perhaps it is the still-child in me) that wants to cling to my youth and to the simplicity of my childhood; Jesus Himself commended children on numerous occasions for their extraordinary faith. But the child in me that demanded an autonomous adulthood has died. To become an adult, I must deny myself, take up my cross and follow Him. That is not the adulthood I once craved; but the point is that my craving is no longer the point.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Mongolia: Its Future?
After reading through this article, posted Wednesday April 7 to the BBC News website, I couldn't help but be sad for my other homeland.
Mongolia does indeed boast a glorious hoard of natural resources, including exactly what the article says: gold, uranium, copper, iron ore, oil and more.
But the predicted boom over the next several years will, I fear, completely and perhaps irrevocably alter the cultural and natural landscapes of the Land of the Blue Sky.
Even though Mongolia's government has been democratic in form for about 20 years now, it has been and is perennially plagued with corruption at every level of government--and that with only about $5 billion in national revenue per year. A sudden and hugely dramatic increase in government monies will not magically solve the serious problems of crime, homelessness, substance abuse, disease and human trafficking that regular Mongolians deal with on a daily basis. These exciting new mining developments will only lead to a greater divide between the rich and poor and perhaps almost entirely obliterate the emerging middle class.
Not only that, but as one who has traveled across the country multiple times I can say that it is without a doubt the most naturally beautiful place I have ever seen. Once outside the capital's sprawling ger districts, pollution, jumbled power lines and power plants and the perpetual honk of frustrated drivers, it is as if one has stepped back to a time when fences, electricity, motors, gas, roads and bright lights had not yet replaced nature. Grass, rolling hills, majestic mountains, dirt, sky, flowers, streams and wild horses all survive essentially unspoiled by man-made intrusions.
This Mongolia--the harsh, extreme, beautiful habitat of generations of nomadic herders--will be replaced by a corporate Mongolia that knows nothing of true Tsagaan Sar (White Month) traditions, the vast unbridled plains, countryside hospitality or even the Blue Sky.
This I fear; but this I trust: "All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the LORD, and all the families of the nations will bow down before Him...."
Mongolia does indeed boast a glorious hoard of natural resources, including exactly what the article says: gold, uranium, copper, iron ore, oil and more.
But the predicted boom over the next several years will, I fear, completely and perhaps irrevocably alter the cultural and natural landscapes of the Land of the Blue Sky.
Even though Mongolia's government has been democratic in form for about 20 years now, it has been and is perennially plagued with corruption at every level of government--and that with only about $5 billion in national revenue per year. A sudden and hugely dramatic increase in government monies will not magically solve the serious problems of crime, homelessness, substance abuse, disease and human trafficking that regular Mongolians deal with on a daily basis. These exciting new mining developments will only lead to a greater divide between the rich and poor and perhaps almost entirely obliterate the emerging middle class.
Not only that, but as one who has traveled across the country multiple times I can say that it is without a doubt the most naturally beautiful place I have ever seen. Once outside the capital's sprawling ger districts, pollution, jumbled power lines and power plants and the perpetual honk of frustrated drivers, it is as if one has stepped back to a time when fences, electricity, motors, gas, roads and bright lights had not yet replaced nature. Grass, rolling hills, majestic mountains, dirt, sky, flowers, streams and wild horses all survive essentially unspoiled by man-made intrusions.
This Mongolia--the harsh, extreme, beautiful habitat of generations of nomadic herders--will be replaced by a corporate Mongolia that knows nothing of true Tsagaan Sar (White Month) traditions, the vast unbridled plains, countryside hospitality or even the Blue Sky.
This I fear; but this I trust: "All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the LORD, and all the families of the nations will bow down before Him...."
Friday, March 26, 2010
The fine line
Every Spring, I revel in the new life that blooms into existence. Even when I lived in Mongolia, where grass and green things and flowers were in extremely short supply, there was new breath in the wind, there was renewed warmth in the sun and new blades of grass that forced their way through the harsh ground. But as I thought about blogging my Spring revel-ations, I realized that, ironically, they are nothing new. Poets have been lauding Spring's arrival for time immemorial and those less verbally inclined have done the same in their own unique ways. Anyone who has experienced the coming of Spring has felt the relief of rebirth.
So, what do I have to offer? Nothing, perhaps. Except the observation that Spring and new and rebirth lose their meaning apart from the Winter and old and death that come before them.
Psalm 77 is a subtle yet powerful picture of the glorious contrast. At the very beginning of his song, Asaph says "I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me." In and of itself, this declaration stands firmly in the realm of the miraculous--a human being can actually cry to God?? And God might hear that human's cries and help?? God has no obligation to do either of those things, particularly since humanity has turned its back on Him in ways infinitely destructive and proud.
But Asaph's statements become all the more triumphant when viewed against the backdrop of his past:
"I thought about the former days, the years of long ago; I remembered my songs in the night. My heart mused and my spirit inquired: 'Will the Lord reject forever? Will he never show his favor again? Has his unfailing love vanished forever? Has his promise failed for all time? Has God forgotten to be merciful? Has he in anger withheld his compassion?' Selah."
Asaph has reached down into the abyss of his own musings to recall the despair and anguish of feeling rejected and discarded by God; he questions the mercy of God, the promises of God, the compassion and unfailing love of God. In short, Asaph walked through a haunting shadowland of doubt in his Maker. Yet that darkness makes his Spring-like confidence shine with untold brilliance.
Indeed, the cold death of my--our--arrogance, bitterness and hurt only highlights the warm Life of our selfless, Good and healing God.
Your ways, O God, are holy. What god is so great as our God?
So, what do I have to offer? Nothing, perhaps. Except the observation that Spring and new and rebirth lose their meaning apart from the Winter and old and death that come before them.
Psalm 77 is a subtle yet powerful picture of the glorious contrast. At the very beginning of his song, Asaph says "I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me." In and of itself, this declaration stands firmly in the realm of the miraculous--a human being can actually cry to God?? And God might hear that human's cries and help?? God has no obligation to do either of those things, particularly since humanity has turned its back on Him in ways infinitely destructive and proud.
But Asaph's statements become all the more triumphant when viewed against the backdrop of his past:
"I thought about the former days, the years of long ago; I remembered my songs in the night. My heart mused and my spirit inquired: 'Will the Lord reject forever? Will he never show his favor again? Has his unfailing love vanished forever? Has his promise failed for all time? Has God forgotten to be merciful? Has he in anger withheld his compassion?' Selah."
Asaph has reached down into the abyss of his own musings to recall the despair and anguish of feeling rejected and discarded by God; he questions the mercy of God, the promises of God, the compassion and unfailing love of God. In short, Asaph walked through a haunting shadowland of doubt in his Maker. Yet that darkness makes his Spring-like confidence shine with untold brilliance.
Indeed, the cold death of my--our--arrogance, bitterness and hurt only highlights the warm Life of our selfless, Good and healing God.
Your ways, O God, are holy. What god is so great as our God?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
People
I admit it: I am an unabashed watcher of people. And I watch some people more than others, although I'm not sure why.
For example, people at the gym. Every day, I watch people at the gym. Who needs an iPod or cable t.v. with dozens of real people around? People are strange, fascinating, entertaining and surprising. I watch one man with tattoos on his arms a lot. He used to wear a do-rag on his head but he hasn't been this week. I realized that I watched him when I actually privately wondered why he stopped wearing a do-rag. I watch one woman, who is almost always on the stair-master with the channel turned to TBN. She wears blue spandex and her hair is usually in braids. She wasn't there today, so another woman got to use the stair-master. Then, there is the guy who lifts weights occasionally and most likely takes steroids frequently in addition to his trips to the tanning bed (I know about the tanning because he actually told me). He and his sidekicks like to egg each other on to see who can lift the most extraordinary amount of weight at one time. I did not actually see him lift any weights today; he was just talking when I saw him.
Scripture makes us watch people, too. Today, the spotlight was on Stephen in Acts. There is all this activity in the first six chapters--Jesus ascending, the Spirit descending, thousands of people saved, Peter preaching, Ananias and Sapphira lying and dying, the Pharisees seething--and then: pause. Stephen.
"All who were sitting in the Sanhedrin looked intently at Stephen, and they saw that his face was like the face of an angel." (6:15)
All eyes were on Stephen. Then, the high priest demands an answer for Stephen's supposed blasphemy. Stephen's 'speech,' if it can be called such, at first seems like an eloquent summary of Old Testament history in support of New Testament revelation; indeed, it is that, and more. Stephen's brilliant use of the Old Testament was actually a breathtaking, unapologetic description of Jesus. Though Stephen does not use Jesus' name, he builds his case towards the climax of verses 51-53 where Jesus is undeniably the promised Righteous One, the One who called and equipped the great savior Moses, the One who brought the Israelites out of Egypt. In words that resound with harsh finality, Stephen accuses:
"And now you have betrayed and murdered him--you who have received the law that was put into effect through angels but have not obeyed it." (v. 53)
After the text makes our gaze linger on Stephen, we are ushered at breakneck speed into Stephen's final seconds. The leaders are furious, cut to the quick; they gnash their teeth in what was surely an almost uncontrolled expression of rage and anguish. Stephen beholds Jesus at God's right hand and the leaders cover their ears; Stephen is dragged outside the city and the leaders begin to stone him; Stephen asks Jesus to receive his spirit and prays forgiveness upon the leaders.
And then, Stephen falls asleep.
It's as if we are allowed to watch him intently for a while and then told to wait; don't those who fall asleep eventually wake up? In the meantime, someone else was watching Stephen. His name was Saul, and although he vehemently fought against Stephen and other Jesus-believers like him, he became one of the most unapologetic, breathtakingly brilliant Christians of all time.
Huh. I guess that means who (and Who) I watch has the potential to rock my world! Imagine that....
For example, people at the gym. Every day, I watch people at the gym. Who needs an iPod or cable t.v. with dozens of real people around? People are strange, fascinating, entertaining and surprising. I watch one man with tattoos on his arms a lot. He used to wear a do-rag on his head but he hasn't been this week. I realized that I watched him when I actually privately wondered why he stopped wearing a do-rag. I watch one woman, who is almost always on the stair-master with the channel turned to TBN. She wears blue spandex and her hair is usually in braids. She wasn't there today, so another woman got to use the stair-master. Then, there is the guy who lifts weights occasionally and most likely takes steroids frequently in addition to his trips to the tanning bed (I know about the tanning because he actually told me). He and his sidekicks like to egg each other on to see who can lift the most extraordinary amount of weight at one time. I did not actually see him lift any weights today; he was just talking when I saw him.
Scripture makes us watch people, too. Today, the spotlight was on Stephen in Acts. There is all this activity in the first six chapters--Jesus ascending, the Spirit descending, thousands of people saved, Peter preaching, Ananias and Sapphira lying and dying, the Pharisees seething--and then: pause. Stephen.
"All who were sitting in the Sanhedrin looked intently at Stephen, and they saw that his face was like the face of an angel." (6:15)
All eyes were on Stephen. Then, the high priest demands an answer for Stephen's supposed blasphemy. Stephen's 'speech,' if it can be called such, at first seems like an eloquent summary of Old Testament history in support of New Testament revelation; indeed, it is that, and more. Stephen's brilliant use of the Old Testament was actually a breathtaking, unapologetic description of Jesus. Though Stephen does not use Jesus' name, he builds his case towards the climax of verses 51-53 where Jesus is undeniably the promised Righteous One, the One who called and equipped the great savior Moses, the One who brought the Israelites out of Egypt. In words that resound with harsh finality, Stephen accuses:
"And now you have betrayed and murdered him--you who have received the law that was put into effect through angels but have not obeyed it." (v. 53)
After the text makes our gaze linger on Stephen, we are ushered at breakneck speed into Stephen's final seconds. The leaders are furious, cut to the quick; they gnash their teeth in what was surely an almost uncontrolled expression of rage and anguish. Stephen beholds Jesus at God's right hand and the leaders cover their ears; Stephen is dragged outside the city and the leaders begin to stone him; Stephen asks Jesus to receive his spirit and prays forgiveness upon the leaders.
And then, Stephen falls asleep.
It's as if we are allowed to watch him intently for a while and then told to wait; don't those who fall asleep eventually wake up? In the meantime, someone else was watching Stephen. His name was Saul, and although he vehemently fought against Stephen and other Jesus-believers like him, he became one of the most unapologetic, breathtakingly brilliant Christians of all time.
Huh. I guess that means who (and Who) I watch has the potential to rock my world! Imagine that....
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Ushered in: Coming of age as a Christian
I wonder if I can make it through this post? We shall see presently, I suppose.
Twenty-one years ago tonight, Jesus' overpowering grace lifted me out the mire of sin and despair that overshadowed my existence. I know you're thinking, Wow, do you really remember that? You were only four years old. I mean, how much can a four year old really understand about religion and God and Jesus' death and resurrection? You are probably just remembering what people have told you about it.
My friend, this is what I remember with blinding clarity, and this is what I know more certainly than the chair I am sitting on: that I was lost, with no hope in the world and no confidence in my own ability to do anything about it. But now, I am found by the Great Lover and Pursuer of souls. Now, I am His and He is mine and His grace ensures that my identity will never change.
What does it mean to come of age as a Christian? I'm not sure I have the answer for that, even though I have been in this Family of faith for twenty-one years. But with each passing day, week, month and year, my heart's desire is that I am more like Him tomorrow than yesterday. And ultimately, every person, every circumstance, every dream and every prayer should be seen through the lens of Jesus' cross, because it was there that the weight of sin, the horror of the Curse and the perversity of human brokenness were picked up, carried and put to death in the offering of our Savior: Himself.
O Sinner, don't you know?
Your doubts, failure, shame and fear
Jesus took them from you
Carried them
Killed them
Triumphed over them
O Sinner, don't you know?
You are His, far and near
Jesus invites you
To come and drink
Drink deeply
And rest forever with Him
O Sinner, don't you know?
You are a saint forever!
His right-ness made
Your wrongness disappear
You are clean, you are whole
The forever-loved soul
Twenty-one years ago tonight, Jesus' overpowering grace lifted me out the mire of sin and despair that overshadowed my existence. I know you're thinking, Wow, do you really remember that? You were only four years old. I mean, how much can a four year old really understand about religion and God and Jesus' death and resurrection? You are probably just remembering what people have told you about it.
My friend, this is what I remember with blinding clarity, and this is what I know more certainly than the chair I am sitting on: that I was lost, with no hope in the world and no confidence in my own ability to do anything about it. But now, I am found by the Great Lover and Pursuer of souls. Now, I am His and He is mine and His grace ensures that my identity will never change.
What does it mean to come of age as a Christian? I'm not sure I have the answer for that, even though I have been in this Family of faith for twenty-one years. But with each passing day, week, month and year, my heart's desire is that I am more like Him tomorrow than yesterday. And ultimately, every person, every circumstance, every dream and every prayer should be seen through the lens of Jesus' cross, because it was there that the weight of sin, the horror of the Curse and the perversity of human brokenness were picked up, carried and put to death in the offering of our Savior: Himself.
O Sinner, don't you know?
Your doubts, failure, shame and fear
Jesus took them from you
Carried them
Killed them
Triumphed over them
O Sinner, don't you know?
You are His, far and near
Jesus invites you
To come and drink
Drink deeply
And rest forever with Him
O Sinner, don't you know?
You are a saint forever!
His right-ness made
Your wrongness disappear
You are clean, you are whole
The forever-loved soul
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Desperation, enacted
My soul is satisfied as with marrow and fatness,
And my mouth offers praises with joyful lips.
When I remember You on my bed,
I meditate on You in the night watches,
For You have been my help,
And in the shadow of Your wings I sing for joy.
My soul clings to You;
Your right hand upholds me.
(Psalm 63:5-8)
Yesterday, during my Word reading a blinking light caught my attention in Psalm 63: "My soul clings to you." I immediately thought of the passage in Ruth that speaks of Ruth clinging to Naomi and wondered if the Hebrew verb 'cling' was the same. Pause. Continue.
I flipped to Luke, where I have been reading Jesus. I had just finished the capital-T Triumphal Entry when suddenly Jesus weeps over Jerusalem, warning of impending destruction, and then:
Jesus entered the temple and began to drive out those who were selling, saying to them, "It is written, 'AND MY HOUSE SHALL BE A HOUSE OF PRAYER,' but you have made it a ROBBERS' DEN." And He was teaching daily in the temple; but the chief priests and the scribes and the leading men among the people were trying to destroy Him,and they could not find anything that they might do, for all the people were hanging on to every word He said.
(Luke 19:45-48)
The connection was at least topically made: knowing God, and following Him, results in increasing levels of desperation for Him. King David said that his soul clung to God in that dry and weary land; those following Jesus--despite the best efforts of their religious leaders to kill Christ--were hanging on to His every word. Then, the idea: what if it is not just topically connected in my brain? What if the language of Scripture itself communicates the intersection of desperation for God and utter dependence on Jesus and His words?
Full speed. Yes, the verb used in Psalm 63 of David's soul clinging to God (דבק) is the same verb used of Ruth clinging to Naomi in Ruth 1 and the same verb used in Genesis 2:24 of the husband clinging to his wife. Not only that, but the Hebrew translation of Luke 19:48 actually uses the same verb to describe the crowd of people hanging on to every word Jesus said! These first-century AD followers were literally clinging to all of Jesus' words.
As someone who has followed Him for many years now, it can be easy for my familiarity with His words to replace desperation for His words--and for Him. But this familiarity is no excuse. My status as a human guarantees continual dependence on Him; and the language of Scripture makes clear what I instinctively know in the dry and weary times: my existence should personify a desperation satisfied by Him and Him alone.
And my mouth offers praises with joyful lips.
When I remember You on my bed,
I meditate on You in the night watches,
For You have been my help,
And in the shadow of Your wings I sing for joy.
My soul clings to You;
Your right hand upholds me.
(Psalm 63:5-8)
Yesterday, during my Word reading a blinking light caught my attention in Psalm 63: "My soul clings to you." I immediately thought of the passage in Ruth that speaks of Ruth clinging to Naomi and wondered if the Hebrew verb 'cling' was the same. Pause. Continue.
I flipped to Luke, where I have been reading Jesus. I had just finished the capital-T Triumphal Entry when suddenly Jesus weeps over Jerusalem, warning of impending destruction, and then:
Jesus entered the temple and began to drive out those who were selling, saying to them, "It is written, 'AND MY HOUSE SHALL BE A HOUSE OF PRAYER,' but you have made it a ROBBERS' DEN." And He was teaching daily in the temple; but the chief priests and the scribes and the leading men among the people were trying to destroy Him,and they could not find anything that they might do, for all the people were hanging on to every word He said.
(Luke 19:45-48)
The connection was at least topically made: knowing God, and following Him, results in increasing levels of desperation for Him. King David said that his soul clung to God in that dry and weary land; those following Jesus--despite the best efforts of their religious leaders to kill Christ--were hanging on to His every word. Then, the idea: what if it is not just topically connected in my brain? What if the language of Scripture itself communicates the intersection of desperation for God and utter dependence on Jesus and His words?
Full speed. Yes, the verb used in Psalm 63 of David's soul clinging to God (דבק) is the same verb used of Ruth clinging to Naomi in Ruth 1 and the same verb used in Genesis 2:24 of the husband clinging to his wife. Not only that, but the Hebrew translation of Luke 19:48 actually uses the same verb to describe the crowd of people hanging on to every word Jesus said! These first-century AD followers were literally clinging to all of Jesus' words.
As someone who has followed Him for many years now, it can be easy for my familiarity with His words to replace desperation for His words--and for Him. But this familiarity is no excuse. My status as a human guarantees continual dependence on Him; and the language of Scripture makes clear what I instinctively know in the dry and weary times: my existence should personify a desperation satisfied by Him and Him alone.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Yet Again The Unexpected
Well.
I mean this in the least sacrilegious way possible: God is crazy. And you know what? I love that about Him.
For the past five years, I have been dreaming of going to seminary, getting the M.Div. degree and devoting my life to making disciples in the 'ends of the earth.' For many years before that, I dreamed: international. And sure enough--I have done 'international'--South Africa, Spain, Mongolia, Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia--I have gone to seminary and God is constantly dropping disciplees in my lap.
But don't get me wrong: God has definitely NOT played according to my rules or within my boxed-in paradigms. Doing 'international' has royally screwed up any chance I have of feeling completely at home anywhere; and it makes me long for the eternal Home He is preparing. Going to seminary has reminded me (perhaps ironically) of my pride and utter inability to do anything apart from Him--and at least for now, I am in the M.A.-Christian Studies program. Making disciples has brought me to the middle of Military Town, U.S.A. where I realize my own need for guidance and help on the Great Journey.
Now, He's done it again. Perhaps in one of the coolest twists of my life thus far, He has dropped an opportunity in my lap that is nothing but crazy. You see, about a year ago, God (with the help of my best friend) gave me a dream of somehow uniting the Gospel content with methodologies sensitive to particular cultural settings. I was thinking mostly immigrant-rich settings. Then He kept bringing people who not only affirmed the dream--they wanted to participate in it. Then He set up this awesome meeting with a brother working for an agency active in Europe. His agency, he explained, is beginning an initiative so closely aligned with 'the dream' that the timing (of me working with them) seemed undeniably providential.
After that meeting and a few more curve balls, I stopped dreaming (it's a long story). But this week, it seems that my lack of faith is no stumbling block for the All-Powerful God.
Yes, my friends--He has opened the door for me to begin a possible career with this agency in Europe, doing far beyond what I dreamed a year ago. The beginning of this possible career comes in the form of a trip to North Africa and France for two weeks in June. For whatever reason, at this point I have a hesitancy about writing/sending a support letter for this trip and so right now I am asking you, my brothers and sisters, to pray. Please just pray for His will to be done and for me to trust completely in His guidance and provision. The deadline of decision (for whether or not to go on the trip) is March 12.
So, please: pray.
We'll be on this Journey together, then. And other than being with Him, there is nothing I'd rather do than be with you.
I mean this in the least sacrilegious way possible: God is crazy. And you know what? I love that about Him.
For the past five years, I have been dreaming of going to seminary, getting the M.Div. degree and devoting my life to making disciples in the 'ends of the earth.' For many years before that, I dreamed: international. And sure enough--I have done 'international'--South Africa, Spain, Mongolia, Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia--I have gone to seminary and God is constantly dropping disciplees in my lap.
But don't get me wrong: God has definitely NOT played according to my rules or within my boxed-in paradigms. Doing 'international' has royally screwed up any chance I have of feeling completely at home anywhere; and it makes me long for the eternal Home He is preparing. Going to seminary has reminded me (perhaps ironically) of my pride and utter inability to do anything apart from Him--and at least for now, I am in the M.A.-Christian Studies program. Making disciples has brought me to the middle of Military Town, U.S.A. where I realize my own need for guidance and help on the Great Journey.
Now, He's done it again. Perhaps in one of the coolest twists of my life thus far, He has dropped an opportunity in my lap that is nothing but crazy. You see, about a year ago, God (with the help of my best friend) gave me a dream of somehow uniting the Gospel content with methodologies sensitive to particular cultural settings. I was thinking mostly immigrant-rich settings. Then He kept bringing people who not only affirmed the dream--they wanted to participate in it. Then He set up this awesome meeting with a brother working for an agency active in Europe. His agency, he explained, is beginning an initiative so closely aligned with 'the dream' that the timing (of me working with them) seemed undeniably providential.
After that meeting and a few more curve balls, I stopped dreaming (it's a long story). But this week, it seems that my lack of faith is no stumbling block for the All-Powerful God.
Yes, my friends--He has opened the door for me to begin a possible career with this agency in Europe, doing far beyond what I dreamed a year ago. The beginning of this possible career comes in the form of a trip to North Africa and France for two weeks in June. For whatever reason, at this point I have a hesitancy about writing/sending a support letter for this trip and so right now I am asking you, my brothers and sisters, to pray. Please just pray for His will to be done and for me to trust completely in His guidance and provision. The deadline of decision (for whether or not to go on the trip) is March 12.
So, please: pray.
We'll be on this Journey together, then. And other than being with Him, there is nothing I'd rather do than be with you.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Children. Adopted.
I got to their house yesterday, and was welcomed with shouts of "Miss Elizabeth! You're here! I drew a picture for you! It's in your bedroom!" After lots of carrying on, running around, pats on the head and laughter, we made it to 'my bedroom,' which is actually The Spare Room. I know it is the Anne in me, but I have always loved staying in Spare Rooms.
And there, on the bed, was the picture he drew for me: Me, with my name carefully and (mostly) legibly written underneath Me, and his signature below that (which is, of course, the mark of any great artiste). I admired the picture appropriately, and then observing the unique shape of 'my' arms, I asked if they were arms or wings--
"They're wings! Because you're an angel."
Thus began the most worshipful Sabbath experience of my time here yet. Those little boys (and their momma) loved on me, they invited me to play games with them, eat with them, go outside with them, mark things off their chore list with them, help them get dressed, watch God Rocks with them and more.
Children, with all of their stubborn and wily ways, are a glorious picture of the generosity of Jesus and His kingdom.
Then, this morning, I sat behind a couple in church who just adopted a newborn baby girl a couple of weeks ago. The whole time that the pastor was speaking about worshipful experiences (yes, he did), I was mesmerized by watching that couple with their baby girl. Pastor said that worshipful experiences teach us about who God is; I sat there and watched that mom and dad hold that baby, eyes filled with love, as she blinked up at them in the typical newborn shell-shocked kind of way. God, who has adopted each one of His children, holds us with hands that will not falter and gazes lovingly at us through the midst of our shell shock and fussiness. It's a rough ride, being transferred from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light.
Pastor said that worshipful experiences remind us of our sinfulness in God's presence. I sat there and wondered: that baby did nothing to deserve the love of those parents. That baby girl was most likely born in adversity and adopted only through the persistence of two visionary parents. And, friend, who are we? That we should be called sons and daughters of God? Truly, our sin makes His adoption of us--His rescue of us from eternal adversity--that much more remarkable.
By this point, tears are pouring down my face. Children--who love so big and imagine so raw--invite us into the generosity of the God who is our Adoptive Father.
I knew I had to tell that couple how observing them during church had been a worshipful experience; but I almost couldn't get out the words because my spirit was (and is) so deeply moved by the fact that I am His. And He has made me His own.
What about you?
And there, on the bed, was the picture he drew for me: Me, with my name carefully and (mostly) legibly written underneath Me, and his signature below that (which is, of course, the mark of any great artiste). I admired the picture appropriately, and then observing the unique shape of 'my' arms, I asked if they were arms or wings--
"They're wings! Because you're an angel."
Thus began the most worshipful Sabbath experience of my time here yet. Those little boys (and their momma) loved on me, they invited me to play games with them, eat with them, go outside with them, mark things off their chore list with them, help them get dressed, watch God Rocks with them and more.
Children, with all of their stubborn and wily ways, are a glorious picture of the generosity of Jesus and His kingdom.
Then, this morning, I sat behind a couple in church who just adopted a newborn baby girl a couple of weeks ago. The whole time that the pastor was speaking about worshipful experiences (yes, he did), I was mesmerized by watching that couple with their baby girl. Pastor said that worshipful experiences teach us about who God is; I sat there and watched that mom and dad hold that baby, eyes filled with love, as she blinked up at them in the typical newborn shell-shocked kind of way. God, who has adopted each one of His children, holds us with hands that will not falter and gazes lovingly at us through the midst of our shell shock and fussiness. It's a rough ride, being transferred from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light.
Pastor said that worshipful experiences remind us of our sinfulness in God's presence. I sat there and wondered: that baby did nothing to deserve the love of those parents. That baby girl was most likely born in adversity and adopted only through the persistence of two visionary parents. And, friend, who are we? That we should be called sons and daughters of God? Truly, our sin makes His adoption of us--His rescue of us from eternal adversity--that much more remarkable.
By this point, tears are pouring down my face. Children--who love so big and imagine so raw--invite us into the generosity of the God who is our Adoptive Father.
I knew I had to tell that couple how observing them during church had been a worshipful experience; but I almost couldn't get out the words because my spirit was (and is) so deeply moved by the fact that I am His. And He has made me His own.
What about you?
Monday, February 22, 2010
The Soloist
Last night, I watched 'The Soloist' with Roberty Downey, Jr. and Jamie Foxx. I know this movie has been out for a while, but give me a break; I am not only making up for a year and a half of seminary madness--remember I was in the middle of literal nowhere Mongolia for a couple of years before that. So, The Soloist.
The Soloist is a homeless man: Nathaniel Anthony Ayres, Jr. (Foxx). Steve Lopez (Downey) first stumbles across him near downtown Los Angeles in a plaza containing a statue of Beethoven. Nathaniel is playing a violin with only two strings; but Lopez is intrigued because Nathaniel is creating beautiful music even without the other two strings. Lopez, a columnist for the L.A. Times, starts investigating the mysterious Ayres in what becomes a search not only for Ayres' history but a painfully personal and transformative quest for Lopez.
Nathaniel Anthony Ayres, Jr., you see, went to Julliard. But he is also mentally ill; the same voices that drove him away from Julliard are the same ones that drive him away from trust, away from human companionship, away from 'stability.' Lopez realizes that his desire to 'help' Nathaniel is both noble and selfish--Nathaniel has become one of the most popular subjects of his column, after all. At one point, Nathaniel even calls Lopez his 'god' and tells Lopez that he loves him. But Lopez quickly realizes that he does not want to be the one loved; because he knows that his own imperfections will eventually let Nathaniel down. He does not want to bear the responsibility of it all.
Eventually, that very thing does happen. Lopez, in trying to 'help' Nathaniel's medical condition, enrages him so much that he threatens to kill Lopez if he ever sees him again.
But Lopez cannot forget Nathaniel; he cannot forget the way that music makes him come alive; he cannot forget the beauty that Nathaniel is capable of creating. So, in a step of extraordinary kindness, Lopez flies Nathaniel's sister to L.A., where she sees Nathaniel for the first time in many years. At their meeting, Nathaniel sees Lopez and apologizes for the ugly things he had said at their previous encounter.
Lopez insists that he wants to be Mr. Ayres' friend; "You don't have to call me that," says Ayres.
"I should have called you that all along."
Then Lopez, in a dramatic picture of transformed and transformative grace, sticks out his hand: "Mr. Ayres, I am honored to be your friend."
Grace. It's not just a one-time, all-or-nothing deal. Grace is persistent. It hounds us, surrounds us, pursues us. And it is true that grace shines more brilliantly in the midst of failure--but it is equally true that a daily recognition and grasping of the grace offered to us in every situation will bind the cords of our personhood to the heart of the One full of grace and truth: Jesus.
The Soloist is a homeless man: Nathaniel Anthony Ayres, Jr. (Foxx). Steve Lopez (Downey) first stumbles across him near downtown Los Angeles in a plaza containing a statue of Beethoven. Nathaniel is playing a violin with only two strings; but Lopez is intrigued because Nathaniel is creating beautiful music even without the other two strings. Lopez, a columnist for the L.A. Times, starts investigating the mysterious Ayres in what becomes a search not only for Ayres' history but a painfully personal and transformative quest for Lopez.
Nathaniel Anthony Ayres, Jr., you see, went to Julliard. But he is also mentally ill; the same voices that drove him away from Julliard are the same ones that drive him away from trust, away from human companionship, away from 'stability.' Lopez realizes that his desire to 'help' Nathaniel is both noble and selfish--Nathaniel has become one of the most popular subjects of his column, after all. At one point, Nathaniel even calls Lopez his 'god' and tells Lopez that he loves him. But Lopez quickly realizes that he does not want to be the one loved; because he knows that his own imperfections will eventually let Nathaniel down. He does not want to bear the responsibility of it all.
Eventually, that very thing does happen. Lopez, in trying to 'help' Nathaniel's medical condition, enrages him so much that he threatens to kill Lopez if he ever sees him again.
But Lopez cannot forget Nathaniel; he cannot forget the way that music makes him come alive; he cannot forget the beauty that Nathaniel is capable of creating. So, in a step of extraordinary kindness, Lopez flies Nathaniel's sister to L.A., where she sees Nathaniel for the first time in many years. At their meeting, Nathaniel sees Lopez and apologizes for the ugly things he had said at their previous encounter.
Lopez insists that he wants to be Mr. Ayres' friend; "You don't have to call me that," says Ayres.
"I should have called you that all along."
Then Lopez, in a dramatic picture of transformed and transformative grace, sticks out his hand: "Mr. Ayres, I am honored to be your friend."
Grace. It's not just a one-time, all-or-nothing deal. Grace is persistent. It hounds us, surrounds us, pursues us. And it is true that grace shines more brilliantly in the midst of failure--but it is equally true that a daily recognition and grasping of the grace offered to us in every situation will bind the cords of our personhood to the heart of the One full of grace and truth: Jesus.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
So, I stand.
This past week I have been substitute teaching my dad's classes at the college. It has been draining, but also very fun and encouraging. Tuesday morning, I taught the class "Spiritual Life." Topics? Spiritual Life and the Mind and Spiritual Warfare (I find this somewhat ironic given my own journey recently, but that's a story for another time).
By the time we had break, the class was pretty fired up--and we hadn't even gotten to spiritual warfare yet. When we came back from break, we started discussing the reality of spiritual warfare and looked at Paul's matter-of-fact description of it as well as the 'armor' that God has provided for us. Our discussion/my teaching quickly became one of the more humbling experiences of my week (month... year).
I drew a stick figure person on the chalkboard and dressed him with the armor: helmet, breastplate, belt, shoes, shield and sword. I labeled each item with its association: salvation, righteousness, truth, preparation of the gospel of peace, faith and the Spirit (which is the word of God). So there was Soldier; dressed and ready to go. But then, as we continued looking at the passage they realized that all of the 'armor' was defensive in nature except the Sword (the Spirit, which is the word of God).
It was like I saw it through their eyes for the first time: the Spirit fights the battles. We are told to stand, to stand firm. We are not told to win, to fight, to be offensive or anything like it. The Spirit fights and we are protected by the armor that has been provided and given by God Himself. There is literally nothing I can do to protect myself, to have victory, to fight any battles. Period.
Even the armor that I wear is given to me; there is no room for shared triumph.
So, I stand: I stand clothed with Grace draped over me with the hands of the victory King Himself.
Sweet.
By the time we had break, the class was pretty fired up--and we hadn't even gotten to spiritual warfare yet. When we came back from break, we started discussing the reality of spiritual warfare and looked at Paul's matter-of-fact description of it as well as the 'armor' that God has provided for us. Our discussion/my teaching quickly became one of the more humbling experiences of my week (month... year).
I drew a stick figure person on the chalkboard and dressed him with the armor: helmet, breastplate, belt, shoes, shield and sword. I labeled each item with its association: salvation, righteousness, truth, preparation of the gospel of peace, faith and the Spirit (which is the word of God). So there was Soldier; dressed and ready to go. But then, as we continued looking at the passage they realized that all of the 'armor' was defensive in nature except the Sword (the Spirit, which is the word of God).
It was like I saw it through their eyes for the first time: the Spirit fights the battles. We are told to stand, to stand firm. We are not told to win, to fight, to be offensive or anything like it. The Spirit fights and we are protected by the armor that has been provided and given by God Himself. There is literally nothing I can do to protect myself, to have victory, to fight any battles. Period.
Even the armor that I wear is given to me; there is no room for shared triumph.
So, I stand: I stand clothed with Grace draped over me with the hands of the victory King Himself.
Sweet.
Monday, February 8, 2010
I am: hayil.
So it's no secret that the past couple of months have been rocky--not just for me, but (especially) for brothers and sisters of mine around the globe. I think of my dear sister, whose father passed away suddenly about a month ago. I think of my dear friends in Ohio, whose first year of marriage and first pregnancy has become one of the most dark "death valleys" imaginable. I think of Haiti: the suffering, devastation, hopelessness and confusion. I think of my fiancé, who is confronting a terrible economy head-on as he seeks to follow God's leading for both of us.
And I think of Naomi, and Ruth. I think of their bitter losses and their inability to protect any sort of stable future; the apparent mockery of the God who would take away their hopes for food, provision and future. But, as I've been reminded recently through Carolyn Custis James' book, "The Gospel of Ruth," these two women were also hayil.
Translated at times as "excellent" (cf. the "excellent" woman of Proverbs 31:10, ESV), in Ruth it is translated as "worthy" (ESV) or "noble" (NIV) when used in reference to Ruth in chapter 3. Boaz, however, is also described with this Hebrew adjective; and actually, this adjective has very determined overtones of strength, valor, capability and even military service. It is used regularly to describe men and yet it is not exclusive to men as is obvious by a closer inspection of Ruth and Proverbs. Woman can be--and should be--courageous: full of valor and zeal for the One who made her and the ones He has placed in her path.
Anyways, all of this reflection and all of these hard things show me that there is no time to waste in moping and pity parties; tears will come, but they should not interfere. I am not the defenseless, needy, sex object damsel-in-distress that both popular culture and yes, even Christian subculture, paint me as.
God has given me the ability to trust Him; and if I do, my 'self' will become a conduit for His strength, given to others.
God help me not to forget who You are; and who I am in You.
On a side note, all of this has rekindled my passion for writing; indeed I have an idea for a book that was actually planted last Fall by my Hebrew professor. Possible title: "The Woman of Proverbs 31, Revisited." Intrigued? I am. :)
And I think of Naomi, and Ruth. I think of their bitter losses and their inability to protect any sort of stable future; the apparent mockery of the God who would take away their hopes for food, provision and future. But, as I've been reminded recently through Carolyn Custis James' book, "The Gospel of Ruth," these two women were also hayil.
Translated at times as "excellent" (cf. the "excellent" woman of Proverbs 31:10, ESV), in Ruth it is translated as "worthy" (ESV) or "noble" (NIV) when used in reference to Ruth in chapter 3. Boaz, however, is also described with this Hebrew adjective; and actually, this adjective has very determined overtones of strength, valor, capability and even military service. It is used regularly to describe men and yet it is not exclusive to men as is obvious by a closer inspection of Ruth and Proverbs. Woman can be--and should be--courageous: full of valor and zeal for the One who made her and the ones He has placed in her path.
Anyways, all of this reflection and all of these hard things show me that there is no time to waste in moping and pity parties; tears will come, but they should not interfere. I am not the defenseless, needy, sex object damsel-in-distress that both popular culture and yes, even Christian subculture, paint me as.
God has given me the ability to trust Him; and if I do, my 'self' will become a conduit for His strength, given to others.
God help me not to forget who You are; and who I am in You.
On a side note, all of this has rekindled my passion for writing; indeed I have an idea for a book that was actually planted last Fall by my Hebrew professor. Possible title: "The Woman of Proverbs 31, Revisited." Intrigued? I am. :)
Monday, January 25, 2010
A Zinger
In reply to my musings (bear with its length)--a zinger of a reminder yesterday that Truth is eternally unchanged today:
35 But someone may ask, "How will the dead be raised? What kind of bodies will they have?"36 What a foolish question! When you put a seed into the ground, it doesn't grow into a plant unless it dies first.37 And what you put in the ground is not the plant that will grow, but only a bare seed of wheat or whatever you are planting.38 Then God gives it the new body he wants it to have. A different plant grows from each kind of seed.39 Similarly there are different kinds of flesh—one kind for humans, another for animals, another for birds, and another for fish.
40 There are also bodies in the heavens and bodies on the earth. The glory of the heavenly bodies is different from the glory of the earthly bodies.41 The sun has one kind of glory, while the moon and stars each have another kind. And even the stars differ from each other in their glory.
42 It is the same way with the resurrection of the dead. Our earthly bodies are planted in the ground when we die, but they will be raised to live forever.43 Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory. They are buried in weakness, but they will be raised in strength.44 They are buried as natural human bodies, but they will be raised as spiritual bodies. For just as there are natural bodies, there are also spiritual bodies.
45 The Scriptures tell us, "The first man, Adam, became a living person."* But the last Adam—that is, Christ—is a life-giving Spirit.46 What comes first is the natural body, then the spiritual body comes later.47 Adam, the first man, was made from the dust of the earth, while Christ, the second man, came from heaven.48 Earthly people are like the earthly man, and heavenly people are like the heavenly man.49 Just as we are now like the earthly man, we will someday be like the heavenly man.
50 What I am saying, dear brothers and sisters, is that our physical bodies cannot inherit the Kingdom of God. These dying bodies cannot inherit what will last forever.
51 But let me reveal to you a wonderful secret. We will not all die, but we will all be transformed!52 It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed.53 For our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be transformed into immortal bodies.
54 Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled:
"Death is swallowed up in victory.
55 O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?"
56 For sin is the sting that results in death, and the law gives sin its power.57 But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.
58 So, my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and immovable. Always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless.
This passage, from 1 Corinthians 15 (NLT), is the vision that effectively silences my aimless wanderings and compels me to spread the fragrance of Life.
Thank You, Great Counselor.
35 But someone may ask, "How will the dead be raised? What kind of bodies will they have?"36 What a foolish question! When you put a seed into the ground, it doesn't grow into a plant unless it dies first.37 And what you put in the ground is not the plant that will grow, but only a bare seed of wheat or whatever you are planting.38 Then God gives it the new body he wants it to have. A different plant grows from each kind of seed.39 Similarly there are different kinds of flesh—one kind for humans, another for animals, another for birds, and another for fish.
40 There are also bodies in the heavens and bodies on the earth. The glory of the heavenly bodies is different from the glory of the earthly bodies.41 The sun has one kind of glory, while the moon and stars each have another kind. And even the stars differ from each other in their glory.
42 It is the same way with the resurrection of the dead. Our earthly bodies are planted in the ground when we die, but they will be raised to live forever.43 Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory. They are buried in weakness, but they will be raised in strength.44 They are buried as natural human bodies, but they will be raised as spiritual bodies. For just as there are natural bodies, there are also spiritual bodies.
45 The Scriptures tell us, "The first man, Adam, became a living person."* But the last Adam—that is, Christ—is a life-giving Spirit.46 What comes first is the natural body, then the spiritual body comes later.47 Adam, the first man, was made from the dust of the earth, while Christ, the second man, came from heaven.48 Earthly people are like the earthly man, and heavenly people are like the heavenly man.49 Just as we are now like the earthly man, we will someday be like the heavenly man.
50 What I am saying, dear brothers and sisters, is that our physical bodies cannot inherit the Kingdom of God. These dying bodies cannot inherit what will last forever.
51 But let me reveal to you a wonderful secret. We will not all die, but we will all be transformed!52 It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed.53 For our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be transformed into immortal bodies.
54 Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled:
"Death is swallowed up in victory.
55 O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?"
56 For sin is the sting that results in death, and the law gives sin its power.57 But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.
58 So, my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and immovable. Always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless.
This passage, from 1 Corinthians 15 (NLT), is the vision that effectively silences my aimless wanderings and compels me to spread the fragrance of Life.
Thank You, Great Counselor.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Death, and musings
Last week, a 7.0-strength earthquake hit Haiti. The images of death, destruction and chaos overwhelmed me. As I saw bodies being bulldozed and dumped into 'dump' trucks, I imagined the stench not only of decay but of what seemed to me a horribly anonymous, tragically practical end to thousands upon thousands of people. Living, breathing, soul-body-spirit people.
One day, I watched the news on Haiti while I was working out at the gym. I started crying and I had to turn the channel to give my heart and brain a break. The people in Haiti don't have the luxury of turning the channel.
Then I got an email from a dear friend, who had written to tell me and a few others that her father had passed away suddenly while their family was on a ski trip. A healthy, middle-aged man, a devoted husband and father, collapsed at the top of a ski hill and was instantly gone. His youngest two children are 15 and 11. I cried for my friend, for her family and for the injustice of it all. She has a deep peace which she doesn't understand; she wrote: "It is well with my soul."
Two nights ago, my little (er, younger) sister attempted to make popcorn on the stove. It turned into a very scary, fiery situation in which she should have been terribly burned (as well as the entire house), or worse. Miraculously, she was fine (and so was the house).
All of this got me thinking, "Death is crouching at the door." Wait, that is not the right quote; it's actually "Sin is crouching at the door." Next thought: "Are death and sin so very different?" In some ways they are so intertwined it seems impossible to unwind them; you cannot have sin without death--and there is no death where there is no sin. But they are distinct (more on that at another time), very distinct.
Now, since I've given the title disclaimer of 'musings,' I will continue on that stream and not try to resolve the tensions inherent in said musings. Why are believers given a new spirit but not a new body at the same time? Why, if we have been saved from sin and eternal death, are we not saved from its consequence(s), namely, physical death? What is the point of doing everything in our power to stave off death, when it is far better to go and be with the Lord? (Just think of all we do to prevent it--and the millions of dollars we spend in our 'prevention'! As if we have control.) What if nothing eternal ever comes of my life? What if my physical life ends today and nothing came of it? I know there are problems in these questions, but they are the ones that have come up over the past week and a half.
The results of my musings? Not much except some fear and apathy.
Thankfully, I had an intervention, courtesy of a new (and already cherished) friend last night. She asked me things like, "Elizabeth, what is your greatest fear?" And "How are you going to be stretched through this?" And "Have you ever had a friendship drought before?" Ouch.
But it snapped me out of it. Fear and apathy? What?? This too have I been saved from, eternally and right now. Anytime my musings take me down those two parallel roads, I deny the living power of the only One who can defeat (and has defeated!) Death. I have no answers for the survivors of Haiti's earthquake. I have no answers for my friend about her father. I have no ability to communicate 'answers' to anyone personally touched by Death. But now, perhaps instead of answers, I can give hope and with hope, immense compassion.
Perhaps, instead of anger, blame, and fear, I can be like a Haitian woman who survived the quake. When her orphaned toddler nephew was rescued from the rubble, she said "It must have been God who did this." Indeed, sister. Indeed.
One day, I watched the news on Haiti while I was working out at the gym. I started crying and I had to turn the channel to give my heart and brain a break. The people in Haiti don't have the luxury of turning the channel.
Then I got an email from a dear friend, who had written to tell me and a few others that her father had passed away suddenly while their family was on a ski trip. A healthy, middle-aged man, a devoted husband and father, collapsed at the top of a ski hill and was instantly gone. His youngest two children are 15 and 11. I cried for my friend, for her family and for the injustice of it all. She has a deep peace which she doesn't understand; she wrote: "It is well with my soul."
Two nights ago, my little (er, younger) sister attempted to make popcorn on the stove. It turned into a very scary, fiery situation in which she should have been terribly burned (as well as the entire house), or worse. Miraculously, she was fine (and so was the house).
All of this got me thinking, "Death is crouching at the door." Wait, that is not the right quote; it's actually "Sin is crouching at the door." Next thought: "Are death and sin so very different?" In some ways they are so intertwined it seems impossible to unwind them; you cannot have sin without death--and there is no death where there is no sin. But they are distinct (more on that at another time), very distinct.
Now, since I've given the title disclaimer of 'musings,' I will continue on that stream and not try to resolve the tensions inherent in said musings. Why are believers given a new spirit but not a new body at the same time? Why, if we have been saved from sin and eternal death, are we not saved from its consequence(s), namely, physical death? What is the point of doing everything in our power to stave off death, when it is far better to go and be with the Lord? (Just think of all we do to prevent it--and the millions of dollars we spend in our 'prevention'! As if we have control.) What if nothing eternal ever comes of my life? What if my physical life ends today and nothing came of it? I know there are problems in these questions, but they are the ones that have come up over the past week and a half.
The results of my musings? Not much except some fear and apathy.
Thankfully, I had an intervention, courtesy of a new (and already cherished) friend last night. She asked me things like, "Elizabeth, what is your greatest fear?" And "How are you going to be stretched through this?" And "Have you ever had a friendship drought before?" Ouch.
But it snapped me out of it. Fear and apathy? What?? This too have I been saved from, eternally and right now. Anytime my musings take me down those two parallel roads, I deny the living power of the only One who can defeat (and has defeated!) Death. I have no answers for the survivors of Haiti's earthquake. I have no answers for my friend about her father. I have no ability to communicate 'answers' to anyone personally touched by Death. But now, perhaps instead of answers, I can give hope and with hope, immense compassion.
Perhaps, instead of anger, blame, and fear, I can be like a Haitian woman who survived the quake. When her orphaned toddler nephew was rescued from the rubble, she said "It must have been God who did this." Indeed, sister. Indeed.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
He is jealous for me
Well. I have no excuses for myself, other than I have been rebelling against internet communication for the past month. Trying to reverse it is harder than I thought.
But, I'm back. Maybe not quite as peppy, and maybe with a few more jagged edges but maybe also with a softer heart. Nevertheless, here I am.
A lot of my struggle over the past month--the struggle of leaving Chicago, leaving independence, leaving familiarity, leaving community--can be boiled down into the following paragraph:
My (adult) life has been a string of good-byes. I'm not sure why it took me this long to realize it, but it's true. I said goodbye to my family, church family and high school friends to go to college. I said goodbye to college friends, college church family and family to go to Mongolia (after a short stint in Spain, after which I had to say goodbye to my host family and Spain friends). I had to say goodbye to my friends in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. I had to say goodbye to friends, team and church in Hovd, Mongolia and then Mongolia in general. And just last month, I had to say goodbye to Chicago: studies, community, church, work, independence, city.
On the way to my parents' house from Chicago, I got caught in a blizzard in the mountains. The very least you could do, God, I thought, is get me to the destination You called me to. I was angry. And I became even more upset when I got there and I had time to think about my life, and the fact that it has been a string of goodbyes. I'm still not too sure how I feel or what I should think about it. It's kind of a sensitive topic between me and God right now. But I do know that He is in the business of creating beauty from ashes, and the Potter never asks the clay how it should be formed.
That's all, for now. The silence is over for awhile, my friends!
But, I'm back. Maybe not quite as peppy, and maybe with a few more jagged edges but maybe also with a softer heart. Nevertheless, here I am.
A lot of my struggle over the past month--the struggle of leaving Chicago, leaving independence, leaving familiarity, leaving community--can be boiled down into the following paragraph:
My (adult) life has been a string of good-byes. I'm not sure why it took me this long to realize it, but it's true. I said goodbye to my family, church family and high school friends to go to college. I said goodbye to college friends, college church family and family to go to Mongolia (after a short stint in Spain, after which I had to say goodbye to my host family and Spain friends). I had to say goodbye to my friends in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. I had to say goodbye to friends, team and church in Hovd, Mongolia and then Mongolia in general. And just last month, I had to say goodbye to Chicago: studies, community, church, work, independence, city.
On the way to my parents' house from Chicago, I got caught in a blizzard in the mountains. The very least you could do, God, I thought, is get me to the destination You called me to. I was angry. And I became even more upset when I got there and I had time to think about my life, and the fact that it has been a string of goodbyes. I'm still not too sure how I feel or what I should think about it. It's kind of a sensitive topic between me and God right now. But I do know that He is in the business of creating beauty from ashes, and the Potter never asks the clay how it should be formed.
That's all, for now. The silence is over for awhile, my friends!
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