Wohoo!

I've been published!  Sorta. Check it out  http://anglicanyouthministry.com/weekly-meetings/2012/discipleship-and-the-yoke-of-christ/

Because

One night after closing the shop, I took the invitation of the band and an acquaintance to join them for drinks at CFB. The acquaintance had that aura of friendship about her; I've heard of similar folks being called 'persons of peace', and I hoped for a conversation about God.  I grabbed a beer and tipped the server. My house had raised money for a non-profit the acquaintance favored, and after talk of the halloween party and her travels she asked if everyone in the house was 'very religious'. I grinned internally, and tried to reframe the conversation. “I wouldn't say religious,” I said, “but maybe spiritual*.”

      “But, you're all about one spirituality right? Like, 'everything is spiritual' spiritual, or specific, one-way kind of spiritual?”

      “Well, I believe everything is spiritual. Everyone tunes in to it, takes part in spirituality. But, I'm a Christian. I believe it's true.”

      She interrupted me. “But, why are you a Christian?”

Boom.

First thought to run through my mind: 'Oh man. Best question ever.'

Second thought to run through my mind: 'And...I have no clue how to answer that.' Immediately followed, of course, by the memory of Peter writing, 'Always be prepared to answer for the hope that you have.' And here we go.

I tried to build a theological proof. “See, we all know there is something greater than ourselves, and joy points to it, but we also know that we can never possibly attain to it. We know that we are never as good as we should be. We know we are trapped in selfishness and pride and ignorance. And yet we know that we should be more. We have a moral conscience, and fail before it. But in Christianity we draw near to that beauty and glory that is greater than ourselves by reason of something totally external- we are brought into glory by grace, and by love. And that rings true.”

She was not phased. She nodded it off. Maybe she'd heard it before, or maybe it just didn't stick.

And honestly, I wasn't convincing myself. I believed all that, sure, and even felt most of it deeply. But... that wasn't why I followed Jesus. That wasn't why I believed. I was not convinced by a theologically sound argument for the existence of a tripartite God and a salvation by grace. I used to think I had believed by reason, by some secret understanding. But, that was never convincing to my friends, and eventually it lost it's appeal to me as well. Foolishness to the Jews and folly to the Gentiles- my heart and my mind are very much like theirs.

I sighed, and God spoke. I said, “Well, really, I believe because God has spoken to me.”

She focused. “Like, culturally, or you read the Bible or what?”

“Well, yes,” I said, excitement growing. I could see where we were heading. “But more than that. Like experiences.”

“Like what?” And now she was truly curious.

“Well...”

And I told her about healings, and prophecies, and about people getting words for eachother, ridiculous words for complete strangers, about treasure hunting and scripture bringing me to tears and prayers being answered and love and doubt and fear and how all was consumed in the love of God.  And she listened, as did her friends.

Thinking about that conversation, I realized the amazing irony that the thing which I most doubt and analyze, the voice of God, is the very thing which has drawn me to Him. By means of the Holy Spirit, by way of Jesus's substitutionary atonement. It was the presence of God, intervening in my day-to-day, that has made me a Christian. And from Adam to Moses to the disciples, the voice of God, in their native tongue, is the only thing that has ever drawn God's people to Himself.

In fact, His voice began it all. Creation by speaking. And then His Logos Word redeemed that which we lost. And as I think about God, speaking outside of time into it, I think that somehow His words must be ringing out still, resonating and echoing through the cosmos. String theory, in light of a speaking God, is ever more elegant.

We talked for a long time afterwards, until the band left and we were the only ones still at the table. She said she wanted to believe, wanted hope, but didn't know if she still could. She said that it was good to find someone who believed in something. It gave her hope. I walked her to her car, and told her, if she ever needed anything, to let me or my roommates know. She hasn't yet, but no matter. God does not need me or my friends for His kingdom to grow. Somehow, though, He still finds ways to use us. Like late at night, after work, over craft beer.

At Christmas, sometimes, I'm so overwhelmed by the improbability of it all that I almost want to walk away. I simply cannot wrap my imagination, much less my reason, around an omnipotent infinite Lord in a manger. Neither could the masses, then, nor now. It's a great story and all, with hope and joy. But really?  I cannot grasp it.

Yet, I look back, at the many times the improbable has occurred, the times the voice of God has gone out over chaos and brought order to my affections and fears, the times when His presence has changed me and my friends, physically, spiritually, emotionally- and I believe. Not because it makes sense, necessarily. Because it doesn't align with my reason, or my opinions. And yet. And yet He has spoken. And that's all there is to it.

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*an attempt at linguistic relevance

Frustration, Silence, and the Coming

I've never had someone reject words from the Lord before. Now, I've had folks explain them away, ignore them, challenge them, and hate them. But I've never had someone stop me, mid-sentence, to say, 'Frankly, I don't care. God is either real and will talk to me about it, or He's not and He won't.'

He walked out of the room to brush his teeth, and I was left startled, and my heart recoiled. It hurt deeply to have my thoughts rejected, since my intent was to encourage and love a friend. I set up several scenarios, running through how he would respond to different movements on my part. I could attack the theological inaccuracies of his frustrated monologue, of which there were many. I could slam his looming arrogance, for in conversation it had stepped way out into the open. I could cut down much of his personality, blasting his flaws in rapid succession. Perhaps all three.

I wanted him to collapse in repentance. He would be found sorry, and weep, and return humbly to the Lord. And, if I got a little retributive jab in there, no real foul. It was well earned.

But nothing seemed right to say. I knew I wanted to lash back, even as in his frustration he had wanted someone to feel the pain he did. But, bearing my pride rarely softens another's. And in my reaction my pride surged as well. And, something hurt me more than his rejection. It was the deep, deep reminder that I carry the same fears. I am scared of working food and bev all my life. I'm scared of not moving forward. I'm scared of relationships failing. I'm scared of God not coming through on my hopes and dreams and visions. I wrestle with anxiety daily. By grace alone I cling to grace, and wait. As does my friend. And when we get tired, we'll over-react, and we'll yell at God. And He'll welcome us back, theological inaccuracies and little faith and all. Because, it's the only way we ever come.

So I laid on his bed, in silence, until he kicked me out. He apologized, in the end, but he didn't seem particularly sorry. Just angry. That's ok. He was out on a narrow branch, and the wind seemed a far greater constant than the trunk.

But, still he remained, and so I waited with him. In truth, if God does not 'come through' (meaning, do what we think He should), on any or all of the many things we are frustrated with/desparing in, still God would be God, and God would be good. My friend and I have both experienced too much to turn from that. We, like Peter, ask, 'Where else can we go?' Because we've looked, and there is no other explanation so beautiful, so good, so elegantly complete. And yet there is nothing so mysterious, confusing, and wondrous. God is, as He has named Himself.

Further, God owes us nothing. No matter how hard we try we have earned no piece of our reward. All has come from the reconciliation of Christ and the indwelling of the Spirit, and thus, should all be taken away and all fall to dust, still His love would be true and still His presence would remain. Our circumstances clearly are not evidence of the love and presence of God. Read Job. Read of the sufferings of the early church. Read of the sufferings of Jesus. Was he outside of the love of God when everything was stripped from Him, as He was beaten and tortured and killed? Nope. Only once was He separated from the love and presence of God, only as He took our sins upon himself, in a final breath, and died prematurely of the bitter separation from His father. He became sin, separation and death, that we might become righteousness. In the greatest evil and brokenness and circumstantial despair in history, our position was made secure. How much more secure it remains, even if all around us collapses?

God's purposes are greater than our reaching the middle class. Frankly, I think we've taken Jeremiah frightfully out of context. Plans to prosper you and not harm you? Tell that to the 10 martyred apostles. Yell that over Steven as the stones are thrown. Whisper it to Jesus as he carries His cross through suburbia to the hill of the skull.

Some in the kingdom will make gobs of money. Some will never have more than is necessary. But manna comes, day by day, in many, many ways, until He takes us to be with Him, the true bread of life. We cannot judge His nature by our happiness, for they are spuriously correlated at best. We judge Him by His own decrees, His own actions, and submit to Him as we seek to respond, in whatever ways we can, to His continued revelation to us.

I may speak grace to my friend, at some point, but for now, silence seems the better comforter (Job again). He's wise enough to know his inconsistencies, as I know my own. He's experienced enough to know that it will work out, one way or another. He has heard enough of God to believe, even when it falls apart. But he is really tired, and really angry, and doesn't want to hear it, as so often I have been. So I'll wait with him a while. Because sometimes faith is best realized in waiting. Not meaning that when He comes it will be as we expect (think 'God as a baby', and let your mind explode). But He will come, and there we hope. Here's to advent.

So you, by the help of your God, return,

hold fast to love and justice,

and wait continually for your God.

Hosea 12:6

An Early Prayer

 A prayer from a few weeks ago.
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Lord God of heaven,
make earth heaven now.
Bring your Spirit with conviction
and renewed vision of redemption,
that we would repent and rejoice together.

Lord, I cannot heal the wounds of my house.  I cannot lead myself to you, much less my friends.  We are convinced of our righteousness, and conversely of our unrighteousness.  We are ignorant, and so we have sinned.

Open our eyes to see You and Your holiness more clearly.
Make us yearn for true righteousness, and make us restless and dissatisfied in our wanderings
even when we don't realize we're wandering.
Turn us home as the cattle are pulled by bit and bridle
if nothing else will do.

Return me, O Lord, to confidence in You,
to change my friends
to grow your church
to lead me well.

I have so little trust, but I stand on it, on You,
the foundation deeply laid before the foundations of the earth-
I wait for you.  Give ear to my struggles, so insignificant in the world and yet so pressing to me, give ear.
Let me share You with those who need You more,
let me speak Your love to those who know it and those who don't,
that we all may be made new and whole again.

I remember what you have done.  I recall your calling.  I wait for you to bring me in to the land flowing with milk and honey.  Even if it's not with who I thought it'd be with.  Even if it's not where I thought it'd be.

And even if I'm to die in the wilderness, Lord, let me as Moses see, and rejoice
in the fulfillment of Your promises.


I give you my roommates and their problems.  I can't carry them alone.

I give you my community and it's problems.  I can't heal them, or lead it alone.

I give you my future, and my job.  I can't determine it, and I can't rejoice in it alone.

I bless you for who you are and what you've done.  Meet with me in comfort, and wisdom, and discernment.  Give me words to speak when I need to.  Bring people to you!  Especially my customers.  And the staff.  Bring repentance swiftly.

Hearing Ears

I have mentioned tension before, I think.  It's where I live, the truest experience of faith that I know.  Tension, being pressed or pulled between two seemingly opposed forces, and finding identity in the mystery of remaining in between.  Tension.

One of the primary tensions of my walk with God is that of obedience and trust.  I've written of this before, in different terms, and will undoubtedly write of it again, simply because I walk to its cadence most of the time.

I'm reading through Deuteronomy.  The twenties are miserable reading for me, because they outline some of the harshest portions of God's law (which I struggle to swallow), followed by repeated curses that are to follow if the law is not followed perfectly.  Miserable, and if it not for chapter 30 I might just skip the book and try something more palatable.

After reminding Israel of what the Lord did in rescuing them from Egypt, in Deuteronomy 29:4-6 Moses says this bit:

But to this day the Lord has not given you a heart to understand or eyes to see or ears to hear.  I have led you forty years in the wilderness.  Your clothes have not worn out on you, and your sandals have not worn off your feet.  You have not eaten bread, and you have not drunk wine or strong drink, that you may know that I am the Lord your God.

So often I find solace in the truth that God's people can be His even without the fulfillment of their hearts, eyes, ears.  I am so often blind, so often discouraged by my lack of affections for my God, despairing for my regular inability to hear His voice.  I live there, so often.

But Moses continues, and reminds God's hardened people of what the Lord has done.  His word has protected you.  He has fed you with food, physical and spiritual.  After the cross, we would add that He has dwelt among us, died for us, risen in hope and life and victory.  And that will carry me through.

I wrote a song once that had the stanza, "My boots still squeak like the day they came/In the mail with a guarantee/That they'd carry me where I've been/And they'd take me where I need to be."  That's so often my understanding of faith.  I have received it, but not arrived.  I have been carried by grace before I knew I had it, and must trust that it will continue to carry me even after I've grown concerned about my squeaking step.

My prayer is often this:

Lord, give me eyes to see and ears to hear
and a heart to know You, to really know You.  More and more.

But, I don't stay there.   I mean, I don't meditate on my lackings.  Because, if I believe I can pray that prayer, I must trust that He has already brought me into relationship with Him.  Which He has.  I could tell you stories on stories of His involvement in my life.  And so to those stories of His faithfulness I cling, as the Israelites clung to their stories of redemption and freedom.  I tell them to myself.  I write them down.  I talk about them.  I read over my flashcards, as I did this week.  Because, even when I feel far, and blind, and deaf, I have known intimacy, seen the hand of God, heard His voice, sweeter than music.  And that helps me trust that He remains, that His love abides, in the wilderness.  Thus my identity is formed on Him, and my dependence maintained.