I used to believe only youth were anxious for change. But after seeing my father talk about the Spirit, pastors crying over their ministries, listening to questions from leaders all over the state, I am forced to change my thoughts there. Adults are merely more patient, as I hope to learn to be.
It seems that all who journey with the Lord do so by the pressure of two contradictory forces, as the ship is propelled by wind and sea. Without both present, at one time or another, one's relationship with the Lord, or at least it's health, is suspect to me. This state of pressure, of counteracting forces, is what I call tension, and drives much, if not all, of what I write and pray.
The first and primary force: the love of God. A knowledge of the grace and calling of our Lord. An awareness of the present kingdom, in force and motion, changing our hearts, and the world at large. The nearness of the presence of the Spirit.
But second: the brokenness of the world. The gap between what is healed and what is not. The darkness of those outside of the church. The greater darkness we see within our very flesh. The distance between reality and perfection. The presence, tangible, of evil.
If either of these forces are missing, I strongly challenge your participation in the kingdom, and for this reason- Jesus ministered exclusively within their conflict. Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how I've longed to gather you as a hen gathers her chicks, but you would have none of it. He weeps over stubborness. He is moved to heal, as reality is found to be less than the very compassion of God.
In Christ, the love of God meets the pride of man, man who now claims the authority to judge between right and wrong. The end result is a tearing, of relationship within the trinity and the veil within the temple, and the veil within our hearts.
Remarkably, the veil that was torn for us was placed between God and Himself, between Father and Son, in the moment of the crucifixion. Though we do not understand, we do believe that He became sin, actively became separation from God, that we might know intimacy as in the garden, in the cool of the day.
And this mystery, the greatest of all mysteries, covers over all other wrestlings, all other frustration. While we must remain in some tension, I believe, as Christ followers, it is a tension overshadowed by the peace of a loving Father, a mysterious salvation, a present Spirit and a returning King. Without this assurance, mystery becomes quagmire, and blindness becomes fear. With it, mystery becomes worship, and blindness only fuels the prayer of faith.
Thus we must be frustrated and satisfied, angsty and worshipful. We must write, and pray, and work, and rest. For here we are made like our Lord, and here we meet with His Spirit. As we walk in tension unresolved, we proclaim His kingdom, and extend His love.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
After Beholding God
Sorry about the silence. My computer finally kicked the bucket. Two weeks and a new computer later, we're ready to go.
---
Based primarily in Exodus 24:9-11
God has brought his people out of Egypt and lead them through the wilderness to His holy mountain, where he promises to give them his law, to set them apart and to guide their steps, like an old rutted driveway guides a driver in the dark.
YHWH calls Moses, with the priests and elders of Israel, up onto the mountain to meet with Him. And there, in cloud and fire and darkness, they see God. He stands on a floor of translucent sapphire, as the sky. Scripture comments on the importance that God does not touch them. They should be dead already, by simple exposure to His glory- any further contact would be disastrous.
This is the pinnacle of Israel as a nation. Really, its birth, or its moment of adoption. Father reveals Himself to His children, standing on beauty, in power and mystery, and all His people respond.
How?
They eat and drink.
I've been marveling at this passage for days now, and have marveled at it before in years past (judging by the dark underlining and marginal stars). It's always sat as a beautiful thing to me, charming in an I-don't-get-it-but-I-like-it kind of way. Last night, wrapped in a blanket in my great-grandmother's rocking chair in my attic, I realized what was so good, deeply good, about this passage.
So often I require my spirituality to be lived out in an extreme way. I do not go half-way once my mind is set, and therefore, as a Christian with authority, I wrestle with the times I DON'T pray for healing, the times I DON'T engage with the schitzophrenic, ready to pray into whatever God brings, the times I DON'T share the gospel explicitly, in power and meekness.
Yet often this leaves me more frustrated than joyful. I fail to live up to my own expectations in deed, and even when I act I don't always produce the fruit I desire. I seldom do, really.
And I do not mean that the Christian should not pursue the miraculous- the Bible is full of commands towards just that: we are called to anoint and pray for the sick, to act boldly because the days are evil, to seek times of refreshing in the Spirit, pursue our giftings, and above all to love and seek first the kingdom. These are fighting words, charging words. They don't speak of resignation but of pushing the limits, something we all must do, and something from which the church so often retreats.
Yet here, in the greatest moment (thus far) of God's revelation to His collective people, Israel does nothing amazing. They do not collapse in tears (at least, not for long), and there is no recorded resolutions or strivings to live into their new-found relationship with the God of the universe. They behold YHWH in glory, and then they eat and drink.
A similar meal occurs in much of the old sacrificial system, beginning even with Passover- families brought animals and grains and fruit to be sacrificed, and then feast upon their gifts (sharing with the priests). The eating completed, consummated the sacrifice, celebrating the reception of that which saves us. From thence comes the Last Supper, and then Communion, the eucharistic meal. Eating/drinking, then, can hold immense spiritual significance.
But on the mountain with the leaders of Israel, God had yet to create the sacrificial system. Passover had happened once, but had been linked to no greater celebration, little longitudinal ingraining. I don't think the elders had anything in mind, except perhaps some combination of worship and hunger.
Interestingly, Israel met with God on the mountain while wandering in the desert- thus, the only food they ate was manna and quail, as given by God every morning. Their eating and drinking only emphasized their insignificance, and yet their unexplainable importance before God. Because while they were small, and should already be dead, they had been invited up into His presence, and given food.
The take away. First, we underestimate the gift we have been given. The presence of God, since the fall, has been fatal to man except when He makes a way. So-and-so died trying to catch the ark, for goodness' sakes. Yet we have been given access to the mountain. When we rightly view the blessing we hold, the magnitude of this grace before us, we can offer no response of appropriate magnitude. I think of honor-giving, like when Jeremiah Johnson gives horses to the chief who must then give something greater or else be shamed (Jeremiah ends up with a wife, and discovers love in the end). When pride meets with a gift, it must earn, match, make itself worthy. Israel, before the shining floors of God, cannot even try.
Instead, they enjoy that which God has given them. They live, as they were created to live, before God, as they were meant to live. Eating and drinking was not below the presence of God (though our pride would call it such, and strive to do something greater). Indeed, the incarnation made our secular-spiritual division moot (did not Jesus eat fish before and after his resurrection?).
Instead, Israel acted 'human'ly (not fleshly, but 'human'ly), in the way God had created them, and by the means that He had provided. They gathered, they saw Him, and they ate. We might strive less, and worship more, if we followed their lead.
May we do the same, over pork tonight, donated to the cause.
---
Based primarily in Exodus 24:9-11
God has brought his people out of Egypt and lead them through the wilderness to His holy mountain, where he promises to give them his law, to set them apart and to guide their steps, like an old rutted driveway guides a driver in the dark.
YHWH calls Moses, with the priests and elders of Israel, up onto the mountain to meet with Him. And there, in cloud and fire and darkness, they see God. He stands on a floor of translucent sapphire, as the sky. Scripture comments on the importance that God does not touch them. They should be dead already, by simple exposure to His glory- any further contact would be disastrous.
This is the pinnacle of Israel as a nation. Really, its birth, or its moment of adoption. Father reveals Himself to His children, standing on beauty, in power and mystery, and all His people respond.
How?
They eat and drink.
I've been marveling at this passage for days now, and have marveled at it before in years past (judging by the dark underlining and marginal stars). It's always sat as a beautiful thing to me, charming in an I-don't-get-it-but-I-like-it kind of way. Last night, wrapped in a blanket in my great-grandmother's rocking chair in my attic, I realized what was so good, deeply good, about this passage.
So often I require my spirituality to be lived out in an extreme way. I do not go half-way once my mind is set, and therefore, as a Christian with authority, I wrestle with the times I DON'T pray for healing, the times I DON'T engage with the schitzophrenic, ready to pray into whatever God brings, the times I DON'T share the gospel explicitly, in power and meekness.
Yet often this leaves me more frustrated than joyful. I fail to live up to my own expectations in deed, and even when I act I don't always produce the fruit I desire. I seldom do, really.
And I do not mean that the Christian should not pursue the miraculous- the Bible is full of commands towards just that: we are called to anoint and pray for the sick, to act boldly because the days are evil, to seek times of refreshing in the Spirit, pursue our giftings, and above all to love and seek first the kingdom. These are fighting words, charging words. They don't speak of resignation but of pushing the limits, something we all must do, and something from which the church so often retreats.
Yet here, in the greatest moment (thus far) of God's revelation to His collective people, Israel does nothing amazing. They do not collapse in tears (at least, not for long), and there is no recorded resolutions or strivings to live into their new-found relationship with the God of the universe. They behold YHWH in glory, and then they eat and drink.
A similar meal occurs in much of the old sacrificial system, beginning even with Passover- families brought animals and grains and fruit to be sacrificed, and then feast upon their gifts (sharing with the priests). The eating completed, consummated the sacrifice, celebrating the reception of that which saves us. From thence comes the Last Supper, and then Communion, the eucharistic meal. Eating/drinking, then, can hold immense spiritual significance.
But on the mountain with the leaders of Israel, God had yet to create the sacrificial system. Passover had happened once, but had been linked to no greater celebration, little longitudinal ingraining. I don't think the elders had anything in mind, except perhaps some combination of worship and hunger.
Interestingly, Israel met with God on the mountain while wandering in the desert- thus, the only food they ate was manna and quail, as given by God every morning. Their eating and drinking only emphasized their insignificance, and yet their unexplainable importance before God. Because while they were small, and should already be dead, they had been invited up into His presence, and given food.
The take away. First, we underestimate the gift we have been given. The presence of God, since the fall, has been fatal to man except when He makes a way. So-and-so died trying to catch the ark, for goodness' sakes. Yet we have been given access to the mountain. When we rightly view the blessing we hold, the magnitude of this grace before us, we can offer no response of appropriate magnitude. I think of honor-giving, like when Jeremiah Johnson gives horses to the chief who must then give something greater or else be shamed (Jeremiah ends up with a wife, and discovers love in the end). When pride meets with a gift, it must earn, match, make itself worthy. Israel, before the shining floors of God, cannot even try.
Instead, they enjoy that which God has given them. They live, as they were created to live, before God, as they were meant to live. Eating and drinking was not below the presence of God (though our pride would call it such, and strive to do something greater). Indeed, the incarnation made our secular-spiritual division moot (did not Jesus eat fish before and after his resurrection?).
Instead, Israel acted 'human'ly (not fleshly, but 'human'ly), in the way God had created them, and by the means that He had provided. They gathered, they saw Him, and they ate. We might strive less, and worship more, if we followed their lead.
May we do the same, over pork tonight, donated to the cause.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Distinction
No nobility
of bone nor of word,
nor language, nor heart
nor simple accord.
No thing sets apart
that we might afford.
But once heard His voice,
we now love the Lord.
No righteousness from
our tallying board,
no pilgrimate cross
of emotion's ford;
No reason's restraint
nor sin grown abhorred.
We've but heard His voice
and we love the Lord.
No justified rage
nor 'injustice' roar'd,
no repentant change
nor fruiting reward-
What distinction can
the Christian record?
Only that His voice
birth'd love for our Lord.
-------
And a prayer from last year, that I stumbled across in my writings as I cleared off my desktop:
I beg that this be your hand-
of bone nor of word,
nor language, nor heart
nor simple accord.
No thing sets apart
that we might afford.
But once heard His voice,
we now love the Lord.
No righteousness from
our tallying board,
no pilgrimate cross
of emotion's ford;
No reason's restraint
nor sin grown abhorred.
We've but heard His voice
and we love the Lord.
No justified rage
nor 'injustice' roar'd,
no repentant change
nor fruiting reward-
What distinction can
the Christian record?
Only that His voice
birth'd love for our Lord.
-------
And a prayer from last year, that I stumbled across in my writings as I cleared off my desktop:
I beg that this be your hand-
removing all my peace, that you might be found the only
maker thereof
removing all my joy, that you might be found it’s creator
removing all my faith, that you might be it’s author.
removing all my confidence, that you might be found my
source and strength, amidst my weakness.
This heart is yours, o my Father. I beg thee to love it well. Where else can I go?
Sunday, October 7, 2012
To Pierce My Ear
if there was a revival- would I be pleased
even if I had nothing to do with it?
Would I be satisfied to see churches grow
worship nights expand, spread, deepen,
even If I did not lead them on?
If I was not chosen to lead the charge
would I run behind the horses
and fight for the order, the cosmos in chaos?
Will I celebrate the kingdom
if I am not the king?
I am a leader, and have been blessed to lead.
The times I have walked closest with You,
the times I have seen fruit most clearly,
are those when I listen and speak, when I am charged to
lead,
when my friends look to me for help,
when I with tasseled mantle beckon, and grin, and pray.
And I enjoy it.
And I am affirmed in it.
Yet, where I am, I stand as a mute prophet among the
peoples,
and a heart in the wilderness.
Or, perhaps I desire to be a voice,
and yet only see wilderness.
Let me cry out, then.
Let me worship, then,
lead the angels, if they would follow.
Let me write for the readers I will never know;
let me write to You, my Master, whom I will.
I will pierce my ear myself, as You were pierced.
I will no longer claim Your inheritance.
I would not kill Your Son again, or beat His body here.
I will offer You my harvest freely, in Your time;
In the season of fruit that You have ordained,
I will return Your investments.
I will give all that You allow me to gain,
the firstfruits,
And I will let You keep the rest
because it was never mine to let.
And I will enjoy the wine that You offer,
the bread of Your table,
for truly it is more filling
and more sating
than the vinegar of power,
and the crusts of position.
And because You are the Celebrant of the feast,
the High Host, in robes of white,
and I would that my robes be of Your linens,
a fairer cloth than that which I weave
with needles, meant only to be flagposts
on which to hoist Your glory.
-
To be frank, this morning I realized that I am jealous of others' advancement, particularly in a season in which I desire to do more and yet am aware of little progress. The parable of the tenants who kill the heir for his inheritance has been heavy on me the last few days, and this became the lens through which I viewed my jealousy. The scripture from Matthew, in which the wedding feast is offered to the outcasts, one of whom is cast out because of his improper attire, forms another dimension of prayer and analysis here. Lastly, the way in which a slave's ear is pierced, in Exodus, when he loves his master enough to stay past the maximum six years of service. And, yes, I am considering it (the earring); though if I ever will do it, I'm not sure. I'm up for suggestions.
How's the new format? Felt easier to read, for me.
How's the new format? Felt easier to read, for me.
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