First few paragraphs are personal blurbs about "where I am with God/faith/life" right now, but it's disjointed and confused. Kinda like me right now, haha. If you don't wanna bother with that part, please skip to after the blocked off area.
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I recently discovered that I get to know God in the context of my problems. I have a very deep, solid relationship with God. But I don't relate to him on the basis of his love. I still fight against this belief that God loves me inasmuch as I am useful to his ultimate purposes. That I would be better to him as an empty, personality-less shell that could be moved and operated fully by him. read previous blogs on this topic. Cool insights in past entries.
Knowing now that this isn't true, I still find it easiest to relate to God by bringing him problems and/or by asking him to guide me into specific works for him. I don't know how to relate to him by just enjoying him and letting him delight in me. I have a close friend who really grasps God's love. If she doesn't understand his love or see his love on a given day, it shows. She really needs it to survive and to thrive. She knows what it is to know God's intimate love for her. So when she doesn't know/believe/trust it, she feels deprived and her day isn't "right". She knows something is off.
God is teaching me about his love for me. That he doesn't want me to come to him just for "marching orders" for how to deal with this or that. That he wants me to accept his love. I read a commentary on the Gospel of John and it spoke of how Judas was served by Jesus just as the other disciples were. Jesus washed his feet but he remained unclean. Jesus fed him the bread, but when he took it "Satan entered him". This commentator (Koester) said that Judas's issue lied in not accepting Jesus' love. Wow. That's a sobering thought.
God is teaching me how to accept his love. How to trust it, really. I have a deep love for God. But I often struggle to believe that He cares for me. So long as I "press right through", "tough it out", and take "marching orders", I can continue to serve and demonstrate my love for God without truly accepting or understanding his love for me. So God has not given me anything I can run forward with. In this season right now he is not telling me what I want to hear. He's not telling me how to serve, how to do this, how to deal with that. He's not letting me aggressively root up all these struggles I have.
He's been calling me to rest. He's given me images and words for what this season in my life is about right now. And it's about "playing" with God, resting with him, and coming away with him. This is all the intro to my actual blog.
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I was watching a movie the other day. It's winter break and I finally get to see movies I've been meaning to see since the summer. So I rented Super 8. I love the movie Stand By Me and I heard this one was similar. I still prefer Stand By Me, but Super 8 was pretty good.
I have been having a hard time hearing God lately. But out of the blue the main character Joe said a line that resounded. I knew God was speaking to me, reminding me of how he sees me. Any other time, the line would have been really amazing, but only within the context of the movie, not at all in relation to me. When I heard it, I almost began to cry. Not because of what was happening to Joe. But because of what Joe's words revealed to me about how God and I relate. Now that I've built sufficient suspense, here's the line:
She used to look at me... this way, like really look... and I just knew I was there... that I existed.
God reminded me that when he looks at me, he really looks. He sees me. His eyes level all the barriers I've put up. His eyes see past all the crap that the world heaps onto me. His eyes shine through the lies I've believed to reveal what is true about me. In that moment, when I see him seeing me... I know. I know that I am here. That I exist. Not I as I perceive myself to be. But the I I am in God's eyes, which is the truest me there is. I exist because he sees me, and because I know he sees me, I can exist as I truly am.
Is that too philosophical? Is it just making sense to me because it's what I needed to hear? Let me put it another way.
Last year I was praying, asking God which people of the Bible I am like. I believe it was that very night that God gave me a dream. In my dream, someone told me that I am like Hagar and that there are five other people in the Bible who share my way of faith (I didn't find out who yet).
Excited that God answered my prayer, I turned to Genesis to read about Hagar. And I was deeply offended. Here's the basic premise. Hagar was Abram and Sarai's slave. She was an Egyptian. She didn't share their ethnicity and almost definitely did not share their monotheistic beliefs in the True God.
Abram and Sarai had been promised by God that they would have many descendants (even though they were well past child-bearing ages). They started to doubt, and Sarai urged Abram, "Look, just have a baby with Hagar." She didn't have to tell him twice! So Hagar became pregnant. Now Sarai got jealous and felt like Hagar was being cruel to her since she had become pregnant. She freaked out and talked to Abe. He just said, "Deal with her how you will." And Sarai treated her so badly that Hagar ran away.
Hagar got to a spring in the desert and an "Angel of the Lord" (which in the Old Testament means God's very presence) came to her and spoke to her, telling her to go back to Sarai and Abram. He gave her a blessing and also made a blessing/promise/covenant with the unborn child. He even said, "You shall name him Ishmael, for the Lord has heard of your misery."
She then names God as a result of her encounter with him. Genesis 16:13 says, "She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me."
I thought to myself, "It's a cool story, God. But I'm still kinda offended. I mean, Hagar? What did she ever do that got you to see her?" With a patient response, he responded, "Nothing." I stopped short and asked, "What?!" He replied, "She didn't do anything to make me see her. I just saw her."
In an unexpected way, God overturned my entire way of thinking. I get caught up in the idea that I do things to make God see me. Some people think God turns away when they do things that aren't so good, since he supposedly can't bear to look on sin (which is untrue, by the way; it's a powerful lie the enemy uses against us, though). I tend to fall more on the side of the other false belief that God doesn't really see me unless I'm fighting for his attention. That he doesn't see me unless I'm willing to do the list of tasks he gives me. And all-too-often I think that once he "gives me a task", that I'm on my own and that I can only meet back up with him once it's completed.
In this comparison, God reminded me, No. No. He doesn't see me because of anything I do or don't do. Hagar didn't know God! She probably worshiped other gods! But God saw her and cared for her. In Genesis 21, another incident happens with Sarai and Hagar, and again Hagar ends up in a desert, but not near a spring this time. She was convinced that she and her little boy (who is a child at this point) would die. Ishmael cried and God heard him. He spoke to Hagar and formed a well of water for them to drink. He proved to be the One That Sees yet again.
Just like Joe in Super 8... It takes Hagar knowing that God is looking at her, that he really sees her, to know that she exists. For me, to know that I exist as God looks at me is to exist wholly within his love. Existence without God's love is empty. Sure, other people looked at Joe. But only his mom could really see him in a way that affirmed the truth about the essence of who he was. Other things and other people may see me and make me feel understood. But existing in God's love, knowing his eyes and his gaze... That affirms the truth about the essence of me as I learn the truth and essence about God. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing.
I'm glad God spoke to me through that movie. He's been surprising me by sneak-attacking me with little spurts of understanding of his love when I'm not looking for it. I love my God so much.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
"The man who told me everything I ever did".
Anytime I used to read or hear the story of the Samaritan woman in John 4 I was always disturbed. Jesus seemed either cool and removed, or cruel and haughty, in my reading of it. There's a *lot* going on in this narrative that I would love to talk about, but in this blog I want to focus on one narrow aspect. Or two and how they relate. Cool?
Ok. So basically Jesus talks to a Samaritan woman at the well and mysteriously talks about Living Water. She doesn't really understand what he's saying but asks him for some anyways. He talks it up pretty good; it must be worth a shot. He tells her to summon her husband, to which she replies that she has none. He replies back, "No. You're right. You've had five husbands and the guy you are with now isn't your husband."
She affirms that he is right and that he must be a prophet. Then they go into a tangetial conversation about religion and whether the Jews and right or the Samaritans are right. Cool, cool stuff going on here, but not what this blog is about. Maybe another one. Eventually Jesus admits he's the Messiah and she goes off into the village telling everyone, "Come see the man who told me everything I ever did! Could he be the Messiah?"
The story disturbed me on many levels. It was always weird to me that Jesus called her out like that. She tried to dodge an awkward situation of explaining about the man she is living with by telling him, "Oh, I don't have a husband." And he calls her out. Straight up. No, Missy, you ain't dodging that bullet! Does it sting?
As a kid/teen/young adult, I always read that and felt that it was so unnecessary the way he did that. If that was me, I'd have been all kinds of defensive. Or offended. Or legitimately just freaked out. But she responds, "Oh. You must be a prophet." Knowing that he has special insight from God, she seeks his wisdom on the topic of worship. Astounding. And later she uses the story of him knowing all about her as a reason why he could be the Messiah. She doesn't keep it quiet (though her own story is involved and could be at stake), but tells the whole village! How unexpected!
Detour: Most people who grew up in the church have a serious problem understanding God/Jesus. They see God as the "bad cop" and Jesus as the "good cop". I always had the opposite problem. A real love for God and a real fear of Jesus. He was so unpredictable and so harsh in his judgments and words. Or that's how I'd always thought of him. That's the lens through which I always read this narrative.
But I had a crazy realization today in a very profound way. It unfolds like this: Jesus wasn't speaking to the woman to convict her. Unlike with other people he encounters (even in this gospel), he does not say to her, "Go and sin no more!" He doesn't address the issue more than just showing her that God revealed her situation to him. A prophet, as she called him, does not speak on his own, but speaks the words of God and the insights of God. The fact that he spoke of her story indicates that God himself saw and knew her intimately. The wonder she must have felt at knowing that she had captured the attention of the Almighty!
She was spoken to in a way that elicited trust and belief, not condemnation, defensiveness or fear. She responds not by explaining her situation, nor by ending the conversation and walking away. Knowing that she is known by God, she asks this wise prophet how to worship God truly. She opened herself to a vulnerable position knowing that he could, and probably would, say that her worship was false. As a Jew, of course she expected him to say that Jews were right, the end.
But he turns everything on its head. Jesus does not say that her worship is untrue. Only that she worships who she doesn't know. Ironically, God knows her, but she does not truly know him. The Jews, on the other hand, know God. But soon, he claims that the specifics of where to worship will no longer matter, because God will make it so that people could worship all over "in Spirit and in Truth". In a sense, that the Jews knew God more than the Samaritans did, but that both still had a lot more to learn as Christ himself was revealed (and God revealed through him).
She says that she knows of the Messiah and he tells her that he himself is the Messiah. At this the woman leaves her jar at the well and runs off to the town to talk about him and invite others to see him.
I had always read Jesus as brash and cruel, calling her out as a sinner/liar and telling her that her religion is wrong. I had always misread Jesus. This new insight makes this whole narrative make more sense. Pushing it even further, the understanding of this second half of her encounter even makes the first half make more sense.
This is a woman who has faced hardships. She was either involved in a life of sin or had many husbands pass away. Or both. She was hardened towards the very idea of a Jew talking to her, unwilling to interact with Jesus until she got the record straight about why he would even want to talk to her. But he saw her need for Living Water. He saw the thirst in her that could not be quenched. At first glance it seems like this conversation is never resolved. But we find that it is resolved throughout the text when Jesus talks about worshiping "in Spirit and Truth" (God doing a new thing in worship which, we readers find out, is actually through Christ), and when he reveals that he is the Messiah. He is the Living Water.
This is the God who sees us and knows "everything we've ever done" and tells us where we've been, who we are in Truth, and how to worship in Truth that we too would truly know God and worship who we know.
How amazing that God knows us but just wants us to know him. Ultimately, Jesus came to reveal to the world who God is. Later in the same gospel (John 14), Jesus and one of his disciples have this exchange:
Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.” Jesus answered: “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you are not just my own. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work.
This is the God who desires to be known so fully that he came in flesh to a world that did not know him, though he created it, so that it could know him and his immense love and so it could have life. That is what Jesus was showing the woman at the well in Samaria. That what Jesus shows and offers us today. The reality of knowing God.
Ok. So basically Jesus talks to a Samaritan woman at the well and mysteriously talks about Living Water. She doesn't really understand what he's saying but asks him for some anyways. He talks it up pretty good; it must be worth a shot. He tells her to summon her husband, to which she replies that she has none. He replies back, "No. You're right. You've had five husbands and the guy you are with now isn't your husband."
She affirms that he is right and that he must be a prophet. Then they go into a tangetial conversation about religion and whether the Jews and right or the Samaritans are right. Cool, cool stuff going on here, but not what this blog is about. Maybe another one. Eventually Jesus admits he's the Messiah and she goes off into the village telling everyone, "Come see the man who told me everything I ever did! Could he be the Messiah?"
The story disturbed me on many levels. It was always weird to me that Jesus called her out like that. She tried to dodge an awkward situation of explaining about the man she is living with by telling him, "Oh, I don't have a husband." And he calls her out. Straight up. No, Missy, you ain't dodging that bullet! Does it sting?
As a kid/teen/young adult, I always read that and felt that it was so unnecessary the way he did that. If that was me, I'd have been all kinds of defensive. Or offended. Or legitimately just freaked out. But she responds, "Oh. You must be a prophet." Knowing that he has special insight from God, she seeks his wisdom on the topic of worship. Astounding. And later she uses the story of him knowing all about her as a reason why he could be the Messiah. She doesn't keep it quiet (though her own story is involved and could be at stake), but tells the whole village! How unexpected!
Detour: Most people who grew up in the church have a serious problem understanding God/Jesus. They see God as the "bad cop" and Jesus as the "good cop". I always had the opposite problem. A real love for God and a real fear of Jesus. He was so unpredictable and so harsh in his judgments and words. Or that's how I'd always thought of him. That's the lens through which I always read this narrative.
But I had a crazy realization today in a very profound way. It unfolds like this: Jesus wasn't speaking to the woman to convict her. Unlike with other people he encounters (even in this gospel), he does not say to her, "Go and sin no more!" He doesn't address the issue more than just showing her that God revealed her situation to him. A prophet, as she called him, does not speak on his own, but speaks the words of God and the insights of God. The fact that he spoke of her story indicates that God himself saw and knew her intimately. The wonder she must have felt at knowing that she had captured the attention of the Almighty!
She was spoken to in a way that elicited trust and belief, not condemnation, defensiveness or fear. She responds not by explaining her situation, nor by ending the conversation and walking away. Knowing that she is known by God, she asks this wise prophet how to worship God truly. She opened herself to a vulnerable position knowing that he could, and probably would, say that her worship was false. As a Jew, of course she expected him to say that Jews were right, the end.
But he turns everything on its head. Jesus does not say that her worship is untrue. Only that she worships who she doesn't know. Ironically, God knows her, but she does not truly know him. The Jews, on the other hand, know God. But soon, he claims that the specifics of where to worship will no longer matter, because God will make it so that people could worship all over "in Spirit and in Truth". In a sense, that the Jews knew God more than the Samaritans did, but that both still had a lot more to learn as Christ himself was revealed (and God revealed through him).
She says that she knows of the Messiah and he tells her that he himself is the Messiah. At this the woman leaves her jar at the well and runs off to the town to talk about him and invite others to see him.
I had always read Jesus as brash and cruel, calling her out as a sinner/liar and telling her that her religion is wrong. I had always misread Jesus. This new insight makes this whole narrative make more sense. Pushing it even further, the understanding of this second half of her encounter even makes the first half make more sense.
This is a woman who has faced hardships. She was either involved in a life of sin or had many husbands pass away. Or both. She was hardened towards the very idea of a Jew talking to her, unwilling to interact with Jesus until she got the record straight about why he would even want to talk to her. But he saw her need for Living Water. He saw the thirst in her that could not be quenched. At first glance it seems like this conversation is never resolved. But we find that it is resolved throughout the text when Jesus talks about worshiping "in Spirit and Truth" (God doing a new thing in worship which, we readers find out, is actually through Christ), and when he reveals that he is the Messiah. He is the Living Water.
This is the God who sees us and knows "everything we've ever done" and tells us where we've been, who we are in Truth, and how to worship in Truth that we too would truly know God and worship who we know.
How amazing that God knows us but just wants us to know him. Ultimately, Jesus came to reveal to the world who God is. Later in the same gospel (John 14), Jesus and one of his disciples have this exchange:
Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.” Jesus answered: “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you are not just my own. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work.
This is the God who desires to be known so fully that he came in flesh to a world that did not know him, though he created it, so that it could know him and his immense love and so it could have life. That is what Jesus was showing the woman at the well in Samaria. That what Jesus shows and offers us today. The reality of knowing God.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Leave the Outer Courts!
God has been talking to me a lot about forgiveness and what it truly means to accept Jesus. To accept Jesus and His life is to accept his death, his forgiveness, his resurrection and his call to us to live, dying daily, recognizing the resurrection as our hope and knowing the depth of his love and forgiveness.
This past week I was hit hardcore with guilt about things in my past. At prayer on Thursday, some of those things came to mind and I was overwhelmed with guilt. And confusion. I thought, "Why is this coming to mind? Didn't God and I already deal with this?"
God said to me, "Emily, I don't condemn you for these things."
I replied, "Yeah, I know."
He said, "No, Emily, listen... I didn't condemn you then either."
That stopped me in my tracks. First, it's offensive. How could God not condemn me at the time when I was claiming to be a leader in his name doing things that were contrary to his nature and leading others astray? How could he not condemn me for that?
I realized in that moment that I only believe that God doesn't condemn me for it now because of who I am now. Because I am no longer that person and because I am so much further from where I was. God addressed that in two ways:
1) Sure, it's not who I am now. But it wasn't WHO I was then. I am never to identify myself by my sins as though they are essential to my identity. The sins I did were lies. The fact that I believed it was my identity and that I still thought that it is who I was... Lies! Jesus knew THEN that it was not who I am and he was justifying me.
2) If that's what I believe, I believe that I am justified by myself and my good works, my progress. In such a case, it's not Jesus who justifies me but myself. That's works-based religion. That is not the message of Jesus.
That night I realized I haven't accepted God's forgiveness. But I still wouldn't. It was too good to believe and I didn't deserve it.
The next day I went on a women's retreat with folks from my school. One girl shared her testimony and talked specifically about God's forgiveness for her past and how she realized that God justified her even then, though her actions were wrong, God justified her. I thought, "Wow, that's the exact language God used when He spoke to me the night before." But I wrote it off anyways as something to think about later.
The following day at the retreat, one of the leaders spoke on Luke 7. This is the story when the sinful woman came to Jesus when he was having dinner with the Pharisees. She came and cried, anointing his feet with expensive perfume and her own tears. The Pharisees were disgusted, but Jesus said to them (my paraphrase):
Okay. Story-time. There are two guys who owed a man a debt. One owed a smidgen. One owed a whole lot. This man cancelled both of their debts. Who loved this man more?
They replied, "Well, I suppose the one who had a larger debt to begin with."
"Right-o," Jesus says, "This woman loves much because she is forgiven much."
We are only freed to love and accept God's love when we recognize the extensive forgiveness he gives to us.
The leader who spoke on this passage brought attention to the woman's tears. She said that she believed the woman wasn't crying tears of pleading or guilt or shame, but tears of thankfulness and recognition of what Jesus was offering. Likewise, the anointing of the feet was a gift of thankfulness.
That transformed my mind. I always saw this woman's entrance as her begging, pleading, and maybe even bribing Jesus to forgive her. And his acceptance of her plea and her bribe to me were indicative of how God wants us to approach him. With guilt, proving to him that we know how unworthy we are. I know that's wrong thought. I have known that for a couple years, but it's deeply entrenched in my mind.
But it wasn't until this weekend that I chose to truly accept the depth of God's forgiveness. As I prayed on it, I envisioned forgiveness as a gift that was just past arms-length away, meaning that I had to stretch and reach and experience some degree of pain to obtain it.
God corrected me, "No, Emily (he says my name a lot... I like that)... I'm telling you about this so much right now because it is so close to you and you are in a place where you can accept it if you choose." My image was amended: There was the gift of forgiveness. Three inches from my chest. So dang close. And there was me: head turned away, nose wrinkled in disgust, hands up, unwilling to accept it.
Then Jesus said, "If you focus on the gift, rather than on the space between you and the gift, you won't be able to resist accepting it."
AKA: I was focused on the distance between me and forgiveness. The reasons why I can't accept it, the very fact that there was something standing in the way of me and the gift. Jesus basically said, "No, Emily, there's nothing between you and this gift. It's empty space and it holds no power! But if you focus on the beauty and goodness of what I'm offering you, you won't be able to turn it down!"
So I prayed more and searched it out more, focusing on forgiveness. God showed me EVEN MORE (he does so much for me to teach me. His patience is incredible). Okay, for those who don't know, in Judaism (Jesus was a Jew) there's the temple. There are different "courts" that different people had access to. The very inner court, called the "Holy of Holies" was only accessible by the high priest and it held the Ark of the Covenant, which before Jesus' death was the very presence of God. There were various courts leading up to it where those who were considered in Jewish law to be "more pure" could enter.
The furthest court from the Holy of Holies was "the outer courts", or "the court of the Gentiles" (Gentiles = non-Jew/unclean).
As I prayed, God gave me this image (and I will close here - please read this not through just my eyes and what it says to me, but what God is saying is true for all those who follow Christ):
I was standing in the court of the Gentiles. There were hundreds of people there with me. Jesus walked up to me, took hold of my sleeve and gently pulled. He was leading me to cross into the next court. The wall that separated me from the next court in that had always looked so foreboding was so easy to cross. It literally took me just taking a step to cross the threshold. In that next court I looked back, uncertain. I asked Jesus, "Wait, but no one else is crossing it. Why am I able to come in further and all those people can't?" (I didn't ask because of them really, I asked because I felt like if none of them could, I must not be allowed either).
Jesus replied, "All those people are allowed in. They just don't know. But I am telling you now, you are able to come in." I was able to come in because I was willing to accept what Jesus said. That I had access. But by Jesus all could have access if they chose to accept it.
He led me in and in through all the successive courts until finally we reached the Holy of Holies. It was a small room. As I looked in, along the East wall was a bed. Jesus had made up a bed for me. He said, "This is your dwelling place."
I am to make my home in the Holy of Holies. I have always felt like I could enter into the most intimate places of God with a limited-access, temporary pass. So I enter in for a brief moment and then return to where I feel like my home is: in the outer courts. But there's no bed there. When I claim to be a Christ-follower and don't accept his forgiveness, I am living as though I am homeless, because my home is in the Holy of Holies. And God has said this is not a temporary thing for when I feel clean. If I truly accept Christ, I truly accept his forgiveness, and I truly make my home in the deepest inner courts with full intimacy with God. I can only enter by Christ. But I don't ever have to leave the Holy of Holies.
I share this because this is my journey right now. I accept forgiveness through Christ and there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ. I also share this to tell the masses gathered in the outer courts that they all can have access to the Holy of Holies through Christ. Don't be content to settle for the outer courts. Don't be like the Pharisees in Luke 6, accepting small amounts of forgiveness. Accept the whole of it and by Christ, make your home in the inner courts.
John 14:1-4
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”
This past week I was hit hardcore with guilt about things in my past. At prayer on Thursday, some of those things came to mind and I was overwhelmed with guilt. And confusion. I thought, "Why is this coming to mind? Didn't God and I already deal with this?"
God said to me, "Emily, I don't condemn you for these things."
I replied, "Yeah, I know."
He said, "No, Emily, listen... I didn't condemn you then either."
That stopped me in my tracks. First, it's offensive. How could God not condemn me at the time when I was claiming to be a leader in his name doing things that were contrary to his nature and leading others astray? How could he not condemn me for that?
I realized in that moment that I only believe that God doesn't condemn me for it now because of who I am now. Because I am no longer that person and because I am so much further from where I was. God addressed that in two ways:
1) Sure, it's not who I am now. But it wasn't WHO I was then. I am never to identify myself by my sins as though they are essential to my identity. The sins I did were lies. The fact that I believed it was my identity and that I still thought that it is who I was... Lies! Jesus knew THEN that it was not who I am and he was justifying me.
2) If that's what I believe, I believe that I am justified by myself and my good works, my progress. In such a case, it's not Jesus who justifies me but myself. That's works-based religion. That is not the message of Jesus.
That night I realized I haven't accepted God's forgiveness. But I still wouldn't. It was too good to believe and I didn't deserve it.
The next day I went on a women's retreat with folks from my school. One girl shared her testimony and talked specifically about God's forgiveness for her past and how she realized that God justified her even then, though her actions were wrong, God justified her. I thought, "Wow, that's the exact language God used when He spoke to me the night before." But I wrote it off anyways as something to think about later.
The following day at the retreat, one of the leaders spoke on Luke 7. This is the story when the sinful woman came to Jesus when he was having dinner with the Pharisees. She came and cried, anointing his feet with expensive perfume and her own tears. The Pharisees were disgusted, but Jesus said to them (my paraphrase):
Okay. Story-time. There are two guys who owed a man a debt. One owed a smidgen. One owed a whole lot. This man cancelled both of their debts. Who loved this man more?
They replied, "Well, I suppose the one who had a larger debt to begin with."
"Right-o," Jesus says, "This woman loves much because she is forgiven much."
We are only freed to love and accept God's love when we recognize the extensive forgiveness he gives to us.
The leader who spoke on this passage brought attention to the woman's tears. She said that she believed the woman wasn't crying tears of pleading or guilt or shame, but tears of thankfulness and recognition of what Jesus was offering. Likewise, the anointing of the feet was a gift of thankfulness.
That transformed my mind. I always saw this woman's entrance as her begging, pleading, and maybe even bribing Jesus to forgive her. And his acceptance of her plea and her bribe to me were indicative of how God wants us to approach him. With guilt, proving to him that we know how unworthy we are. I know that's wrong thought. I have known that for a couple years, but it's deeply entrenched in my mind.
But it wasn't until this weekend that I chose to truly accept the depth of God's forgiveness. As I prayed on it, I envisioned forgiveness as a gift that was just past arms-length away, meaning that I had to stretch and reach and experience some degree of pain to obtain it.
God corrected me, "No, Emily (he says my name a lot... I like that)... I'm telling you about this so much right now because it is so close to you and you are in a place where you can accept it if you choose." My image was amended: There was the gift of forgiveness. Three inches from my chest. So dang close. And there was me: head turned away, nose wrinkled in disgust, hands up, unwilling to accept it.
Then Jesus said, "If you focus on the gift, rather than on the space between you and the gift, you won't be able to resist accepting it."
AKA: I was focused on the distance between me and forgiveness. The reasons why I can't accept it, the very fact that there was something standing in the way of me and the gift. Jesus basically said, "No, Emily, there's nothing between you and this gift. It's empty space and it holds no power! But if you focus on the beauty and goodness of what I'm offering you, you won't be able to turn it down!"
So I prayed more and searched it out more, focusing on forgiveness. God showed me EVEN MORE (he does so much for me to teach me. His patience is incredible). Okay, for those who don't know, in Judaism (Jesus was a Jew) there's the temple. There are different "courts" that different people had access to. The very inner court, called the "Holy of Holies" was only accessible by the high priest and it held the Ark of the Covenant, which before Jesus' death was the very presence of God. There were various courts leading up to it where those who were considered in Jewish law to be "more pure" could enter.
The furthest court from the Holy of Holies was "the outer courts", or "the court of the Gentiles" (Gentiles = non-Jew/unclean).
As I prayed, God gave me this image (and I will close here - please read this not through just my eyes and what it says to me, but what God is saying is true for all those who follow Christ):
I was standing in the court of the Gentiles. There were hundreds of people there with me. Jesus walked up to me, took hold of my sleeve and gently pulled. He was leading me to cross into the next court. The wall that separated me from the next court in that had always looked so foreboding was so easy to cross. It literally took me just taking a step to cross the threshold. In that next court I looked back, uncertain. I asked Jesus, "Wait, but no one else is crossing it. Why am I able to come in further and all those people can't?" (I didn't ask because of them really, I asked because I felt like if none of them could, I must not be allowed either).
Jesus replied, "All those people are allowed in. They just don't know. But I am telling you now, you are able to come in." I was able to come in because I was willing to accept what Jesus said. That I had access. But by Jesus all could have access if they chose to accept it.
He led me in and in through all the successive courts until finally we reached the Holy of Holies. It was a small room. As I looked in, along the East wall was a bed. Jesus had made up a bed for me. He said, "This is your dwelling place."
I am to make my home in the Holy of Holies. I have always felt like I could enter into the most intimate places of God with a limited-access, temporary pass. So I enter in for a brief moment and then return to where I feel like my home is: in the outer courts. But there's no bed there. When I claim to be a Christ-follower and don't accept his forgiveness, I am living as though I am homeless, because my home is in the Holy of Holies. And God has said this is not a temporary thing for when I feel clean. If I truly accept Christ, I truly accept his forgiveness, and I truly make my home in the deepest inner courts with full intimacy with God. I can only enter by Christ. But I don't ever have to leave the Holy of Holies.
I share this because this is my journey right now. I accept forgiveness through Christ and there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ. I also share this to tell the masses gathered in the outer courts that they all can have access to the Holy of Holies through Christ. Don't be content to settle for the outer courts. Don't be like the Pharisees in Luke 6, accepting small amounts of forgiveness. Accept the whole of it and by Christ, make your home in the inner courts.
John 14:1-4
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Finding Freedom In Christ
This summer has been a time of discovery in my faith. I'm realizing how much of my faith has been so determined by the way we've learned to conceptualize it within the context of Western (or more specifically American) Christianity. More specifically, this summer I have been learning a lot about freedom in Christ.
I think our systemized theology and the way its been taught in the church as far as free will is concerned has done quite a disservice to Christ-followers. We talk about free will in the context of original sin. Free will is what caused sin. Whatever causes sin must not be good, therefore, we accept free will as the one flaw that god created us with.
We've dealt with this by saying that free will is not a flaw. It is the little thing that God begrudgingly created us with so that we could choose to love Him. If He didn't create us with free will, we would essentially be robots. No better than a little girl's play doll that says, "I love you Mama!" when its button is pushed. I think this is a shallow understanding of the cause for free will and though it attempts to cast a positive light on free will it only does so after first affirming our fear of free will.
Our understanding of free will is crucial to the way that we view ourselves and the way that we live our lives for God. In the past I have prayed fervently that my will would be broken and that it would be replaced by God's will. I felt that I could only do the will of God by my will being totally obliterated. Essentially I felt that the only way to please God was for me to know His will in every choice I made, in every word I spoke, and in every thought I had and to carry it out perfectly. We say that God gave us free will so that we would not be little robots, but for so much of my life I tried to make myself into a robot.
In church we speak of being empty vessels. We sing "I want more of you and less of of me. Empty me. Fill me with You." I saw myself as a Christian as literally being a body that God would move exactly as He would. Just an empty shell of a person, no desires of my own, no interests of my own, nothing that would define me as anything other than a vessel for Christ.
We have a few downfalls with these perceptions:
1. Free will is seen as a flaw.
We have been created in God's image. If I could have a baby and choose for it to always love me, I would. That would not make my baby a robot. It just means that they would not deviate from that principle love. Instead, free will is given to us because God Himself has free will. God has free will and does not sin. Free will is not sinful. We do not need to forfeit free will to serve God.
2. We identify our "selves" as our "flesh".
Paul spoke of sin as being fleshly desires. We are instructed to put off our flesh, which is being corrupted. Flesh does not mean humanity. Living a godly life does not mean living above our humanity. Flesh does not mean our personalities. To seek to live a life empty of ourselves is to seek a life of slavery and domination. This mindset is a dressed up version of gnosticism, which was declared as heresy in church councils at least as early as 325 AD.
3. We tend to assume that free will does not exist within the will of God.
We tend to assume that God's will is very specific in every instance. By we, I mean me. This is my major pitfall. You know those game shows where there are three doors and the best prize is behind one door, a decent prize is behind another, and a bogus prize is behind another? For every choice I make I see a line of doors (usually many more than 3). One door is God's perfect will. Some are very clearly not within God's will. And the others... Hope for the best. Unfortunately, I never know which door is *the right* door, because clearly there is only one. I now believe that is untrue.
With these three main pitfalls (there are probably more, but these jump to mind), we can essentially live what we call a "Christian" life by living as though we have to fight the odds to be acceptable to God. Or we live out of our own efforts to perfect ourselves. Or we live lives devoid of the beautiful things God individually created us with because we see our uniqueness as a thing to be emptied out of us. Or we live in perpetual guilt that we are living outside of God's will 97% of the time because we make choices that are slightly less than His best. Then we face a paralyzing fear for any decision we have to make in the future.
I'm beginning to believe that God's will is far more general and broad in nature and that so long as we are living within that grand narrative of love, ushering towards the Kingdom, that God leaves a lot of the details of how that happens to us. That said, our wills can be at odds with that narrative, and in those cases or wills must be submitted. Not broken. But submitted.
Okay, I'm about to get into some theologically sketchy terrain, but bear with me. Those who are familiar with theology will recognize hints at the idea of two separate hypostases in Christ that was deemed heretical in a church council. But again, bear with me.
When I was a young teen I read this book by Max Lucado called "He Chose the Nails". In this book, Lucado makes a statement that he believed that if the soldiers hesitated in nailing Jesus to the cross that because of His overwhelming love for us, Jesus would have snatched the hammer right out of their hands and began nailing Himself to the cross. It's a nice sentiment, but I think it's unbiblical and misdirecting.
Matthew 26:39 says, "Going a little farther, [Jesus] fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”"
Indicating there were two wills. He did not want to die. He would not have hammered Himself to the cross. When Jesus walked back from praying he found the disciples asleep and He says to them, "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." He said this to them, supposedly for not staying awake and keeping watch with Him. I think He said it just as much to reflect the conflict of wills He was experiencing Himself.
He prayed again, "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done."
Max Lucado, Jesus did not choose the nails. He chose His Father's will, submitting to it and to the nails. The thing is not to demolish our wills. They are not always opposed to the will of God. God gives us freedom within His will. There are times when He wills something specific for us (I think these things are blatantly obvious and difficult to miss; we don't have to be petrified that with every decision we might miss His perfect will). There are times when are wills are at conflict with what God wills.
Even then, we aren't to obliterate our wills, but to submit them to God.
Romans 8:7,9,15
The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so....You, however, are not in the realm of the flesh but are in the realm of the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God lives in you. And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, they do not belong to Christ...The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”
I think our systemized theology and the way its been taught in the church as far as free will is concerned has done quite a disservice to Christ-followers. We talk about free will in the context of original sin. Free will is what caused sin. Whatever causes sin must not be good, therefore, we accept free will as the one flaw that god created us with.
We've dealt with this by saying that free will is not a flaw. It is the little thing that God begrudgingly created us with so that we could choose to love Him. If He didn't create us with free will, we would essentially be robots. No better than a little girl's play doll that says, "I love you Mama!" when its button is pushed. I think this is a shallow understanding of the cause for free will and though it attempts to cast a positive light on free will it only does so after first affirming our fear of free will.
Our understanding of free will is crucial to the way that we view ourselves and the way that we live our lives for God. In the past I have prayed fervently that my will would be broken and that it would be replaced by God's will. I felt that I could only do the will of God by my will being totally obliterated. Essentially I felt that the only way to please God was for me to know His will in every choice I made, in every word I spoke, and in every thought I had and to carry it out perfectly. We say that God gave us free will so that we would not be little robots, but for so much of my life I tried to make myself into a robot.
In church we speak of being empty vessels. We sing "I want more of you and less of of me. Empty me. Fill me with You." I saw myself as a Christian as literally being a body that God would move exactly as He would. Just an empty shell of a person, no desires of my own, no interests of my own, nothing that would define me as anything other than a vessel for Christ.
We have a few downfalls with these perceptions:
1. Free will is seen as a flaw.
We have been created in God's image. If I could have a baby and choose for it to always love me, I would. That would not make my baby a robot. It just means that they would not deviate from that principle love. Instead, free will is given to us because God Himself has free will. God has free will and does not sin. Free will is not sinful. We do not need to forfeit free will to serve God.
2. We identify our "selves" as our "flesh".
Paul spoke of sin as being fleshly desires. We are instructed to put off our flesh, which is being corrupted. Flesh does not mean humanity. Living a godly life does not mean living above our humanity. Flesh does not mean our personalities. To seek to live a life empty of ourselves is to seek a life of slavery and domination. This mindset is a dressed up version of gnosticism, which was declared as heresy in church councils at least as early as 325 AD.
3. We tend to assume that free will does not exist within the will of God.
We tend to assume that God's will is very specific in every instance. By we, I mean me. This is my major pitfall. You know those game shows where there are three doors and the best prize is behind one door, a decent prize is behind another, and a bogus prize is behind another? For every choice I make I see a line of doors (usually many more than 3). One door is God's perfect will. Some are very clearly not within God's will. And the others... Hope for the best. Unfortunately, I never know which door is *the right* door, because clearly there is only one. I now believe that is untrue.
With these three main pitfalls (there are probably more, but these jump to mind), we can essentially live what we call a "Christian" life by living as though we have to fight the odds to be acceptable to God. Or we live out of our own efforts to perfect ourselves. Or we live lives devoid of the beautiful things God individually created us with because we see our uniqueness as a thing to be emptied out of us. Or we live in perpetual guilt that we are living outside of God's will 97% of the time because we make choices that are slightly less than His best. Then we face a paralyzing fear for any decision we have to make in the future.
I'm beginning to believe that God's will is far more general and broad in nature and that so long as we are living within that grand narrative of love, ushering towards the Kingdom, that God leaves a lot of the details of how that happens to us. That said, our wills can be at odds with that narrative, and in those cases or wills must be submitted. Not broken. But submitted.
Okay, I'm about to get into some theologically sketchy terrain, but bear with me. Those who are familiar with theology will recognize hints at the idea of two separate hypostases in Christ that was deemed heretical in a church council. But again, bear with me.
When I was a young teen I read this book by Max Lucado called "He Chose the Nails". In this book, Lucado makes a statement that he believed that if the soldiers hesitated in nailing Jesus to the cross that because of His overwhelming love for us, Jesus would have snatched the hammer right out of their hands and began nailing Himself to the cross. It's a nice sentiment, but I think it's unbiblical and misdirecting.
Matthew 26:39 says, "Going a little farther, [Jesus] fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”"
Indicating there were two wills. He did not want to die. He would not have hammered Himself to the cross. When Jesus walked back from praying he found the disciples asleep and He says to them, "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." He said this to them, supposedly for not staying awake and keeping watch with Him. I think He said it just as much to reflect the conflict of wills He was experiencing Himself.
He prayed again, "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done."
Max Lucado, Jesus did not choose the nails. He chose His Father's will, submitting to it and to the nails. The thing is not to demolish our wills. They are not always opposed to the will of God. God gives us freedom within His will. There are times when He wills something specific for us (I think these things are blatantly obvious and difficult to miss; we don't have to be petrified that with every decision we might miss His perfect will). There are times when are wills are at conflict with what God wills.
Even then, we aren't to obliterate our wills, but to submit them to God.
Romans 8:7,9,15
The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so....You, however, are not in the realm of the flesh but are in the realm of the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God lives in you. And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, they do not belong to Christ...The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Even as I am fully known.
For those who don't know, I am on summer break. It's my last official summer break before graduating college and entering the "real world" (Didn't people say that began after high school? Or is it marriage? Or parenthood?). This being the case I decided not to work this summer. For the most part I've been enjoying it. But there are those days that move a little too slowly.
I almost did one of those surveys in a note on facebook. You guys remember those from myspace days, right? Instead of doing one of those surveys I pondered why they are so addictive. In all practical terms, there should be nothing entertaining about them. It's not like a puzzle or a mind-challenge. We already know all the answers because it's about us.
Sure it could be "just passing time", but we could be facebook stalking any number of fascinating friends we've forgotten about, or chatting on facebook chat, or even hitting refresh over and over to see new statuses to comment on. On my boredest days, I'll admit to having done all three.
But the surveys hold their own particular allure. I think we like the surveys not because the questions will surprise us, but because we hope our answers will surprise and intrigue someone else. Anyone else. Or if you happen to have a crush on someone, perhaps a specific someone else.
It's the idea of being known fully. In social psychology we talked about how we make judgements of others and briefly talked about our awareness of others judging us in the same ways. We know that the majority of people around us have a one-dimensional understanding of who we are. I think we disclose things about ourselves in attempt to break that one-dimensional image.
I was homeschooled up until high school. That first year and a half was spent relearning the art of conversation. I didn't know how to have a casual conversation, so I avoided conversation altogether. But I also had so many thoughts and ideas that I didn't have the words to express or that weren't appropriate for casual high school conversation. When I decided to get my nose pierced, there were two reasons. One: I loved the way they looked. Two: To show people they don't know me. To do something that their one-dimensional representations of me were incapable of doing in hopes that they would want to deepen their understanding of me by getting to know me.
It's ironic really, because as much as we want to be known, we cling to anonymity. Even now the idea of sharing this blog with people I know is causing some hesitancy. But ultimately what I think drives a lot of our minds as social entities is the idea of being known fully and knowing someone else fully.
In the life of faith we learn to share this sort of existence with God. At times I'm really bitter about that. God already knows me fully and I won't be able to fully know Him in this lifetime. Sometimes that's exciting. Sometimes it's scary. Other times it's just annoying.
I found wisdom in a quote somewhere that said "Know God, know yourself". I don't know the intent of the original speaker and what he/she was trying to imply. But when I read it, I fell in love with this idea: We cannot know ourselves fully until we know who God is in Himself, in this world and in us. I think there's a vice versa dynamic there, but that's another topic for another time.
In 1 Corinthians 13, Paul talks about spiritual gifts. Spiritual gifts are given individually and specifically to each one of us. To deny the reality of a gift one has been given is to deny an essential part of the whole self. But these gifts are here to know God as fully as we can know Him on this earth. Paul says, "For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."
James backs this up by saying, "Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like."
The word (in both the sense of scripture and of the wholeness of Jesus) shows us ourselves. When we know the word, when we know Jesus, we learn how to see ourselves accurately. To act in a way that denies God and denies us of our true selves is to forget what we look like, to forget our identity.
My mind is constantly blown by the fact that Jesus is God. Not just God's son, but God. It blows me away. So many times have I been like Philip in John 14 and prayed, "Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us." And Jesus' answer still holds shock value for me. He replied, "Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you I do not speak on my own authority. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work."
I love that knowing Jesus means knowing God and knowing myself, because "On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you. Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them."
In the time I have now, in the present, I desire to know God as fully as I can and to know myself as fully as I can. The more those things are happening, I think the more we'll desire to know others as fully as we can too. That's when the Body works as a whole. Lord, hasten that day!
Then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
I almost did one of those surveys in a note on facebook. You guys remember those from myspace days, right? Instead of doing one of those surveys I pondered why they are so addictive. In all practical terms, there should be nothing entertaining about them. It's not like a puzzle or a mind-challenge. We already know all the answers because it's about us.
Sure it could be "just passing time", but we could be facebook stalking any number of fascinating friends we've forgotten about, or chatting on facebook chat, or even hitting refresh over and over to see new statuses to comment on. On my boredest days, I'll admit to having done all three.
But the surveys hold their own particular allure. I think we like the surveys not because the questions will surprise us, but because we hope our answers will surprise and intrigue someone else. Anyone else. Or if you happen to have a crush on someone, perhaps a specific someone else.
It's the idea of being known fully. In social psychology we talked about how we make judgements of others and briefly talked about our awareness of others judging us in the same ways. We know that the majority of people around us have a one-dimensional understanding of who we are. I think we disclose things about ourselves in attempt to break that one-dimensional image.
I was homeschooled up until high school. That first year and a half was spent relearning the art of conversation. I didn't know how to have a casual conversation, so I avoided conversation altogether. But I also had so many thoughts and ideas that I didn't have the words to express or that weren't appropriate for casual high school conversation. When I decided to get my nose pierced, there were two reasons. One: I loved the way they looked. Two: To show people they don't know me. To do something that their one-dimensional representations of me were incapable of doing in hopes that they would want to deepen their understanding of me by getting to know me.
It's ironic really, because as much as we want to be known, we cling to anonymity. Even now the idea of sharing this blog with people I know is causing some hesitancy. But ultimately what I think drives a lot of our minds as social entities is the idea of being known fully and knowing someone else fully.
In the life of faith we learn to share this sort of existence with God. At times I'm really bitter about that. God already knows me fully and I won't be able to fully know Him in this lifetime. Sometimes that's exciting. Sometimes it's scary. Other times it's just annoying.
I found wisdom in a quote somewhere that said "Know God, know yourself". I don't know the intent of the original speaker and what he/she was trying to imply. But when I read it, I fell in love with this idea: We cannot know ourselves fully until we know who God is in Himself, in this world and in us. I think there's a vice versa dynamic there, but that's another topic for another time.
In 1 Corinthians 13, Paul talks about spiritual gifts. Spiritual gifts are given individually and specifically to each one of us. To deny the reality of a gift one has been given is to deny an essential part of the whole self. But these gifts are here to know God as fully as we can know Him on this earth. Paul says, "For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."
James backs this up by saying, "Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like."
The word (in both the sense of scripture and of the wholeness of Jesus) shows us ourselves. When we know the word, when we know Jesus, we learn how to see ourselves accurately. To act in a way that denies God and denies us of our true selves is to forget what we look like, to forget our identity.
My mind is constantly blown by the fact that Jesus is God. Not just God's son, but God. It blows me away. So many times have I been like Philip in John 14 and prayed, "Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us." And Jesus' answer still holds shock value for me. He replied, "Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you I do not speak on my own authority. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work."
I love that knowing Jesus means knowing God and knowing myself, because "On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you. Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them."
In the time I have now, in the present, I desire to know God as fully as I can and to know myself as fully as I can. The more those things are happening, I think the more we'll desire to know others as fully as we can too. That's when the Body works as a whole. Lord, hasten that day!
Then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Man vs. Wild (the philosophical question)
For the past three years I have made my home in Chicago. It started with an inner-city mission program (www.missionyear.org) and it has continued with school. I have learned so many things about God's heart for the oppressed and I have gained a passion for social justice. I have learned many lessons that I honestly don't yet know how to integrate into my life and faith. But after three years in Chicago and with one year remaining before I graduate, man... I can't wait to get out of the city.
I like Chicago mostly because of its people. I don't like it because of the stereotypical Chicago-y things. I detest downtown because of everything it stands for in the face of poverty and suffering. It reminds me of many flaws that our country has in terms of our lust for wealth and independence rather than our passion for justice and interdependence. It sickens me. I like going downtown because I can be anonymous. But anonymity is nothing worth striving for since it doesn't exist in the Kingdom of God.
Several months ago I realized how much I had been daydreaming about leaving the Chi. I don't believe God expressly desires me to stay, so I took gladly took that as permission to fantasize about doing some neo-monastic trek in the wilderness as I silently seek God through viewing His creation and dwelling on His heart. This idea has always appealed to me. Simplicity, quiet, nature, and separation from the worldly ways that ensnare me.
One day I was griping to God about my itch to leave. Not in [much] frustration, but more in a broken, I-feel-like-my-organs-are-all-compressed-together-as-I-fervently-pray sorta way. I told Him something to this effect, "Jesus, you know how I connect to you through nature. You yourself gave lessons from nature. I want to look at the birds of the air and the flowers of the field and learn from them!"
I felt oh-so-Biblical using Matthew 6 against Jesus. How could He deny me that? That was dang good! Until He reminded me of this: "Are you [plural/humankind] not much more valuable than they?" I was so convicted. Even moreso when He probed with the following question, "Why do you not see me in and among the people I've created in my image?"
All of the ideal naturey images I pictured had this feature in common: solitude. Yes, I believe there are seasons for solitude, but that is as God determines, and that night I felt so clearly that my place for this season is in Chicago and that when I feel drained and when I feel like I'm in a "concrete prison" (as I so emphatically described Chicago to my class one day), I need to not wistfully think of where I would choose to be placed, like among nature. I need to realize that people are made in God's image and that being in a city is the ideal place to learn the weight of that, especially since God has deemed it good for me to be there right now. So convicting, but it gives me the push I need to continue through this last year in Chicago.
Just a few weeks ago now I had another, seemingly contradictory revelation. I was driving to my grandparents' house (4 hour drive) and talking to God. I love long drives and I love praying aloud. As I did, I was again dwelling on this drive towards nature that I feel so very often. Why do I feel God so strongly in nature and why does my faith and desire for God feel so draining and cloudy in humanity?
I thought about the verse in Romans that talks about how all of creation groans expectantly awaiting the return of Christ, the fulfillment of all things (my paraphrase). It hit me so hard. I feel God in nature more because the yearning for the return of God, for the fulfillment of the Kingdom, a new heavens and a new earth, is unrestrained, unhindered, and unapologetic.
Humankind does groan. We see etchings of it on the faces of those around us. Creases in the forehead that ask, "When?" in quiet exasperation. Increasing murder and crime rates reflect the restlessness in humanity. We can see evidences. But they are hidden. They are restrained, hindered, and apologetic. I feel at home in nature because among nature I can cry out for God, and I can tangibly feel, not necessarily His presence always, but invariably I can feel the depth of my yearning and need for Him.
Nature doesn't try to silence it. Humanity covers it up with noise and busyness. Why do people care about advancing the social ladder and collecting wealth? We all know these things don't follow us in the grave. Why do we strive so hard? Because it distracts us from the yearning we feel. It creates noise that disguises our groans. We are so afraid of it.
If we embraced that yearning as though everything depending on our recognition of our need for God, I am certain this world would be different. At least the Church would be. Maybe we'd face more persecution, maybe our Church membership would dwindle, maybe it would skyrocket. All I know is that the Church, we as individuals and as a Body need to have a mindset that recognizes the absolute, unshakeable truth of the future fulfillment of all things and the dependency that creates in us on earth (in terms of dependency on God and interdependency with one another).
I'm going to end this by quoting some scripture that focuses on how our anticipation of the fulfillment of the promises is supposed to affect our lives. I'm tempted to write what implications I believe they hold for us. But I encourage you guys to pray over these scriptures and ask God not just for the general implications (which is what I would write about), but also about the implications they hold for your specific life.
Hebrews 13:14 "For here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come."
Hebrews 11:16 "Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them."
Hebrews 9:28 "So Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many; and he will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting for him" (Question: is "waiting" in this sense active or passive and how so?)
Titus 2:11-14 "For the grace of God has appeared that offers salvation to all people. It teaches us to say “No” to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age, while we wait for the blessed hope—the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all wickedness and to purify for himself a people that are his very own, eager to do what is good."
2 Corinthians 5:1-10 (look it up yourselves - it's longer)
Philippians 3:20 "But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ"
Galatians 5:5 "For through the Spirit we eagerly await by faith the righteousness for which we hope."
1 Corinthians 1:7 "Therefore you do not lack any spiritual gift as you eagerly wait for our Lord Jesus Christ to be revealed."
I like Chicago mostly because of its people. I don't like it because of the stereotypical Chicago-y things. I detest downtown because of everything it stands for in the face of poverty and suffering. It reminds me of many flaws that our country has in terms of our lust for wealth and independence rather than our passion for justice and interdependence. It sickens me. I like going downtown because I can be anonymous. But anonymity is nothing worth striving for since it doesn't exist in the Kingdom of God.
Several months ago I realized how much I had been daydreaming about leaving the Chi. I don't believe God expressly desires me to stay, so I took gladly took that as permission to fantasize about doing some neo-monastic trek in the wilderness as I silently seek God through viewing His creation and dwelling on His heart. This idea has always appealed to me. Simplicity, quiet, nature, and separation from the worldly ways that ensnare me.
One day I was griping to God about my itch to leave. Not in [much] frustration, but more in a broken, I-feel-like-my-organs-are-all-compressed-together-as-I-fervently-pray sorta way. I told Him something to this effect, "Jesus, you know how I connect to you through nature. You yourself gave lessons from nature. I want to look at the birds of the air and the flowers of the field and learn from them!"
I felt oh-so-Biblical using Matthew 6 against Jesus. How could He deny me that? That was dang good! Until He reminded me of this: "Are you [plural/humankind] not much more valuable than they?" I was so convicted. Even moreso when He probed with the following question, "Why do you not see me in and among the people I've created in my image?"
All of the ideal naturey images I pictured had this feature in common: solitude. Yes, I believe there are seasons for solitude, but that is as God determines, and that night I felt so clearly that my place for this season is in Chicago and that when I feel drained and when I feel like I'm in a "concrete prison" (as I so emphatically described Chicago to my class one day), I need to not wistfully think of where I would choose to be placed, like among nature. I need to realize that people are made in God's image and that being in a city is the ideal place to learn the weight of that, especially since God has deemed it good for me to be there right now. So convicting, but it gives me the push I need to continue through this last year in Chicago.
Just a few weeks ago now I had another, seemingly contradictory revelation. I was driving to my grandparents' house (4 hour drive) and talking to God. I love long drives and I love praying aloud. As I did, I was again dwelling on this drive towards nature that I feel so very often. Why do I feel God so strongly in nature and why does my faith and desire for God feel so draining and cloudy in humanity?
I thought about the verse in Romans that talks about how all of creation groans expectantly awaiting the return of Christ, the fulfillment of all things (my paraphrase). It hit me so hard. I feel God in nature more because the yearning for the return of God, for the fulfillment of the Kingdom, a new heavens and a new earth, is unrestrained, unhindered, and unapologetic.
Humankind does groan. We see etchings of it on the faces of those around us. Creases in the forehead that ask, "When?" in quiet exasperation. Increasing murder and crime rates reflect the restlessness in humanity. We can see evidences. But they are hidden. They are restrained, hindered, and apologetic. I feel at home in nature because among nature I can cry out for God, and I can tangibly feel, not necessarily His presence always, but invariably I can feel the depth of my yearning and need for Him.
Nature doesn't try to silence it. Humanity covers it up with noise and busyness. Why do people care about advancing the social ladder and collecting wealth? We all know these things don't follow us in the grave. Why do we strive so hard? Because it distracts us from the yearning we feel. It creates noise that disguises our groans. We are so afraid of it.
If we embraced that yearning as though everything depending on our recognition of our need for God, I am certain this world would be different. At least the Church would be. Maybe we'd face more persecution, maybe our Church membership would dwindle, maybe it would skyrocket. All I know is that the Church, we as individuals and as a Body need to have a mindset that recognizes the absolute, unshakeable truth of the future fulfillment of all things and the dependency that creates in us on earth (in terms of dependency on God and interdependency with one another).
I'm going to end this by quoting some scripture that focuses on how our anticipation of the fulfillment of the promises is supposed to affect our lives. I'm tempted to write what implications I believe they hold for us. But I encourage you guys to pray over these scriptures and ask God not just for the general implications (which is what I would write about), but also about the implications they hold for your specific life.
Hebrews 13:14 "For here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come."
Hebrews 11:16 "Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them."
Hebrews 9:28 "So Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many; and he will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting for him" (Question: is "waiting" in this sense active or passive and how so?)
Titus 2:11-14 "For the grace of God has appeared that offers salvation to all people. It teaches us to say “No” to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age, while we wait for the blessed hope—the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all wickedness and to purify for himself a people that are his very own, eager to do what is good."
2 Corinthians 5:1-10 (look it up yourselves - it's longer)
Philippians 3:20 "But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ"
Galatians 5:5 "For through the Spirit we eagerly await by faith the righteousness for which we hope."
1 Corinthians 1:7 "Therefore you do not lack any spiritual gift as you eagerly wait for our Lord Jesus Christ to be revealed."
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Nothing Left to Lose.
Note: I wrote this two and a half months ago and never published it. Now it's time.
In efforts to avoid all the autotuned, techno-beat pop/hip-hop/rock (when has it ever been okay for all three genres to sound so much alike?!) music that's playing these days, I've set my car radio to Wave 102.1. It's been nice to hear songs that remind me of Saturday mornings as a kid, or of the Sundays after church when I'd come home to find Dad out in the garage working with the table saw and his latest piece of woodwork while listening to classic rock.
Usually as soon as a song plays on a radio station that I'm unfamiliar with, I immediately skim the stations until I find a song I know. Autotune has killed that for me. I've given up. Quick aside: I have been disappointed and sometimes pleasantly surprised by how many of my generation's songs have point-blank copied or overwritten music that existed decades earlier.
On this one particular day though, I was listening to the radio and was struck by the depth of a line in a song I'd never heard before. It said, "Freedom's another word for 'nothing left to lose'." Wow. This rang so true to me.
I think as Americans we have a tendency to equate freedom with the pursuit of happiness. We are free to have, free to do. This usually means we actually have a lot to lose. Freedom occurs when we are firmly established, when we have the means to choose our own courses. The people with the most freedom are thought of as those who are rich. Who wants to be a millionaire? That "freedom" we pursue is one where we have everything to lose and we put everything on the line.
Freedom in the Bible seems to be depicted in similar manner to the way it was described in the song. When we have nothing left to lose.
In Matthew 8 we find a man who desired to follow Jesus but first wanted to bury his dad who had died. Jesus responded by saying, "Follow me and let the dead bury their own dead." Earlier in the chapter he speaks of how he has no place to lay his head. In Luke 10, he sends out disciples telling them not to bring a bag or even sandals.
Just when you think the weight of this can't increase, Jesus does it again in Luke 14, "Those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples."
I have heard many lessons on the rich, young ruler who asks Jesus what he must do to gain eternal life. For those who know the story, you know that Jesus tells him to sell all he has and give his money to the poor. You also know that after the saddened man leaves Jesus says, "Truly I tell you, it is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God."
I have heard some say that we really should sell the things we have or give it away. Often these voices are guilt-ridden, as if they feel they must earn God's favor. I have heard some say that really we can have whatever material things we desire, we just have to be willing to give them up if God asks us to. Often these are the ones who have so many goods that they don't have the time or ability to hear God.
What if it's not about that? What if the question isn't about what we do or don't own? What if it is really about freedom? Freedom defined in a countercultural way.
When we lose all we have to God, we gain a freedom that transforms us. When we lose things to God, we learn Jesus' love and that it frees us from the guilt and the burden of trying to appease an angry God and from the burden of attempting to earn his favor. When we lose things to God, we learn more about what things actually matter and we learn how our materials own us and we desire to be freed more from them to learn more of God and to bring about His way of life here on Earth.
In Philippians 3:7 Paul says, "I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things."
In efforts to avoid all the autotuned, techno-beat pop/hip-hop/rock (when has it ever been okay for all three genres to sound so much alike?!) music that's playing these days, I've set my car radio to Wave 102.1. It's been nice to hear songs that remind me of Saturday mornings as a kid, or of the Sundays after church when I'd come home to find Dad out in the garage working with the table saw and his latest piece of woodwork while listening to classic rock.
Usually as soon as a song plays on a radio station that I'm unfamiliar with, I immediately skim the stations until I find a song I know. Autotune has killed that for me. I've given up. Quick aside: I have been disappointed and sometimes pleasantly surprised by how many of my generation's songs have point-blank copied or overwritten music that existed decades earlier.
On this one particular day though, I was listening to the radio and was struck by the depth of a line in a song I'd never heard before. It said, "Freedom's another word for 'nothing left to lose'." Wow. This rang so true to me.
I think as Americans we have a tendency to equate freedom with the pursuit of happiness. We are free to have, free to do. This usually means we actually have a lot to lose. Freedom occurs when we are firmly established, when we have the means to choose our own courses. The people with the most freedom are thought of as those who are rich. Who wants to be a millionaire? That "freedom" we pursue is one where we have everything to lose and we put everything on the line.
Freedom in the Bible seems to be depicted in similar manner to the way it was described in the song. When we have nothing left to lose.
In Matthew 8 we find a man who desired to follow Jesus but first wanted to bury his dad who had died. Jesus responded by saying, "Follow me and let the dead bury their own dead." Earlier in the chapter he speaks of how he has no place to lay his head. In Luke 10, he sends out disciples telling them not to bring a bag or even sandals.
Just when you think the weight of this can't increase, Jesus does it again in Luke 14, "Those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples."
I have heard many lessons on the rich, young ruler who asks Jesus what he must do to gain eternal life. For those who know the story, you know that Jesus tells him to sell all he has and give his money to the poor. You also know that after the saddened man leaves Jesus says, "Truly I tell you, it is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God."
I have heard some say that we really should sell the things we have or give it away. Often these voices are guilt-ridden, as if they feel they must earn God's favor. I have heard some say that really we can have whatever material things we desire, we just have to be willing to give them up if God asks us to. Often these are the ones who have so many goods that they don't have the time or ability to hear God.
What if it's not about that? What if the question isn't about what we do or don't own? What if it is really about freedom? Freedom defined in a countercultural way.
When we lose all we have to God, we gain a freedom that transforms us. When we lose things to God, we learn Jesus' love and that it frees us from the guilt and the burden of trying to appease an angry God and from the burden of attempting to earn his favor. When we lose things to God, we learn more about what things actually matter and we learn how our materials own us and we desire to be freed more from them to learn more of God and to bring about His way of life here on Earth.
In Philippians 3:7 Paul says, "I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things."
Friday, July 8, 2011
Being Drawn into God's Will (pun intended)
In high school I took an art class. I've always wanted to draw people. Capture the essence of who a person is with just the right countours and just the right shading. Unfortunately, drawing people is not my strong suit. At least not people that actually exist yet. I tried to draw a replica of my favorite picture of me and my dad, and, well... I looked like a gnome and he resembled a mutant biological child of Jack Nicholson and Frank Sutton. Oops.
I have, however, found my place in drawing landscapes. A year ago I drew a picture of one of my two favorite places in the whole world. I was so amazed at my abilities to draw. It's not stunning or anything, but it's pretty dang good, especially given that I hadn't drawn anything since Freshman year of high school.
This summer I began another drawing project. Same place, entirely different perspective. This perspective is so difficult for me. I can't quite understand the angles and the way they connect. You never know how complicated these things are until you are challenged to represent them on paper. Sometimes I just stare at the landscape, confused at how what I am seeing is possible in reality.
I sat for two hours today trying to capture the wooden boardwalk. The angles on my paper are all wrong. The gazebo also made quite an optical illusion. On one side it looks correct, as if it could really exist. On the other side, it collapses into itself making a sort of optical illusion.
Sometimes as I've worked on this (and other pieces of artwork or crafts) I've been tempted to scrap it. It won't look the way it's supposed to look, so why keep going?
You know what I realized today? If people wanted artwork to look just like the thing it's representing, they would take a photograph. The appeal of a drawing is the fact that it's made by a creator's hands and that it has it's very real, very human flaws.
Man, this has been a really freeing thought for me with my mind as of late. I'm so confused with life. I keep looking towards these different versions of what my life could be and I don't know which one is right or if God has a "best life" for me that I shouldn't deviate from or if I have freedom to choose, or if certain lives would bring more glory to God than others (given that the constant is that I love God and love people among all circumstances).
I've forgotten that there is freedom in Christ and truly I've felt like I'm in a prison and that all these questions are leading me from a crappy prison to an unbearable solitary confinement. But today as I spent two hours adding finer details to a picture that kinda sorta represents the real thing, I had a bit of rest.
My life is a representation of Christ's. I am not Jesus and I was not created for my uniqueness and individuality to be stripped away so that Jesus could be superimposed onto a blank slate. I've been created with my peculiarities (and plenty of them, trust me) for the purpose of being *like* Jesus so that my life may point to Jesus.
The fact is, when I look at reality I can't see it all at once. I see sharp angles and smooth curves and sometimes I am baffled by the heck the two come together to form a structure. I don't see the way the pieces of my life fit together. Maybe in my life as I move forward I put a line where it doesn't exist, or I confuse the lines so that part of a building collapses inward on itself. But truly, if I am supposed to be Jesus Himself, God would have gone about this creative process differently.
In making me unique and allowing me to have (often conflicting) passions, and allowing me to take my own steps and make my own choices, my life won't be identical. But whatever shape my life takes, it will bring glory to God.
Man, this picture is rough. In terms of what it's supposed to look like, I mean, I can basically see it. Especially looking at them juxtaposed. But it's taken its own shape and it is beautiful. And it still points to me, its creator. Just as my life, whatever shape it takes, points to my Creator in a beautiful way.
God, thank you for the freedom we take for granted. Help us not to be so afraid that we're going to mess up what is supposed to be. So long as we are the paper under your hands, we'll be fine. Help us not to freeze in fear and trade freedom for a prison that we falsely believe is glorifying to you. Thank you for crafting our lives so beautifully and using the smears, smudges, and jutting angles to make a whole that is beautiful and pleasing to you and is what the world needs to see. In Jesus' name, Amen.
I have, however, found my place in drawing landscapes. A year ago I drew a picture of one of my two favorite places in the whole world. I was so amazed at my abilities to draw. It's not stunning or anything, but it's pretty dang good, especially given that I hadn't drawn anything since Freshman year of high school.
This summer I began another drawing project. Same place, entirely different perspective. This perspective is so difficult for me. I can't quite understand the angles and the way they connect. You never know how complicated these things are until you are challenged to represent them on paper. Sometimes I just stare at the landscape, confused at how what I am seeing is possible in reality.
I sat for two hours today trying to capture the wooden boardwalk. The angles on my paper are all wrong. The gazebo also made quite an optical illusion. On one side it looks correct, as if it could really exist. On the other side, it collapses into itself making a sort of optical illusion.
Sometimes as I've worked on this (and other pieces of artwork or crafts) I've been tempted to scrap it. It won't look the way it's supposed to look, so why keep going?
You know what I realized today? If people wanted artwork to look just like the thing it's representing, they would take a photograph. The appeal of a drawing is the fact that it's made by a creator's hands and that it has it's very real, very human flaws.
Man, this has been a really freeing thought for me with my mind as of late. I'm so confused with life. I keep looking towards these different versions of what my life could be and I don't know which one is right or if God has a "best life" for me that I shouldn't deviate from or if I have freedom to choose, or if certain lives would bring more glory to God than others (given that the constant is that I love God and love people among all circumstances).
I've forgotten that there is freedom in Christ and truly I've felt like I'm in a prison and that all these questions are leading me from a crappy prison to an unbearable solitary confinement. But today as I spent two hours adding finer details to a picture that kinda sorta represents the real thing, I had a bit of rest.
My life is a representation of Christ's. I am not Jesus and I was not created for my uniqueness and individuality to be stripped away so that Jesus could be superimposed onto a blank slate. I've been created with my peculiarities (and plenty of them, trust me) for the purpose of being *like* Jesus so that my life may point to Jesus.
The fact is, when I look at reality I can't see it all at once. I see sharp angles and smooth curves and sometimes I am baffled by the heck the two come together to form a structure. I don't see the way the pieces of my life fit together. Maybe in my life as I move forward I put a line where it doesn't exist, or I confuse the lines so that part of a building collapses inward on itself. But truly, if I am supposed to be Jesus Himself, God would have gone about this creative process differently.
In making me unique and allowing me to have (often conflicting) passions, and allowing me to take my own steps and make my own choices, my life won't be identical. But whatever shape my life takes, it will bring glory to God.
Man, this picture is rough. In terms of what it's supposed to look like, I mean, I can basically see it. Especially looking at them juxtaposed. But it's taken its own shape and it is beautiful. And it still points to me, its creator. Just as my life, whatever shape it takes, points to my Creator in a beautiful way.
God, thank you for the freedom we take for granted. Help us not to be so afraid that we're going to mess up what is supposed to be. So long as we are the paper under your hands, we'll be fine. Help us not to freeze in fear and trade freedom for a prison that we falsely believe is glorifying to you. Thank you for crafting our lives so beautifully and using the smears, smudges, and jutting angles to make a whole that is beautiful and pleasing to you and is what the world needs to see. In Jesus' name, Amen.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Darkness and Disorientation
I've been having trouble sleeping in my smallish town here in Florida. I'm on summer break and I'm so unused to the quiet and the darkness. For the past few years I've been at school in Chicago. This past year I lived down a main road that constantly ushered along blaring-sirened emergency vehicles, city buses that shook my bedroom as they thundered by, and a good deal of cars with obnoxiously loud bass systems. Even with the blinds closed, city lights streamed in through the window so that I could read a book with my lights off at 3 AM.
In Smallish-town, Florida I've been leaving the muted TV on so that I can have a light to fall asleep to again. The darkness has begun to really freak me out. This past winter break, a good friend of mine decided to monopolize on that and pull a prank. I have a bathroom connected to my room. This one particular night I was getting ready for bed: brushing teeth, washing face, the usual. So as not to disturb my other friend who was sleeping in my room, I turned out the bathroom light before opening the door. Going immediately from such light to such darkness, I couldn't see a thing.
My prankster friend was standing in front of me making a horrendous, terrifying face and I didn't see her at all. I took a few steps forward before realizing I needed to turn the light back on. When I did I was in for quite a shock! I'll never live that one down!
Even more recently I had a bizarre experience with darkness. I was staying at a hotel this summer. It was the blackest and darkest I had ever seen a room before. At some point in the night I woke up in a crazy state of disorientation. I had no idea where I was. I delusionally thought that I was at the edge of a cliff that dropped off into spikes (like in the Mario videogames) and that if I moved I would fall off into some abyss. It was the weirdest/creepiest feeling I think I have ever had.
Darkness itself is so strange. It's near, yet far and tangible, yet empty. It settles on you, settles around you. In a dark room, you can hold your hand right in front of your face but the darkness is closer. It envelopes you. Paradoxically, darkness gives the illusion of being endless and far-off. In that hotel room, I would not have been able to guess where the room started or stopped. Shoot, if you asked me I would have fumbled around with my words muttering something about an abyss!
When we are surrounded by darkness, we are blind not only to the good (think: the lack of spikes and abysses), but also to the bad (the spikes and abysses). In my room in FL with all the lights off, I can't find my way to my bed, my haven. On the same token, I would not recognize a dear prank-pulling friend or even a murderer lurking just before me.
In my journey of faith I've experienced similar feelings. It's clear that in places of spiritual darkness it is difficult and sometimes seemingly impossible to see God. But what I realize now is that it also becomes more difficult to see darkness itself. When in a place of darkness we often become blind to the things that are not of God. In the darkness, dark things don't stand out as being particularly dark. Temptation, misery, complacency, and discontent could be right in front of our faces and we could easily walk right into them, especially if we choose to walk by sight rather than by faith. Why is it easier for us to walk by sight when we can't see and easier to walk by faith when we can? If that's the case, I think we are walking by sight in the light and by foolish "trial and error" in the darkness (neither faith nor sight).
This has also reminded me how deceptive the darkness is. Sometimes it feels closer to me than I feel to me. Sometimes it seems less tangible, as if it were a void that has always secretly been there. It can look endless, just as my hotel room did, though in fact the room itself was no different at 3 AM as it would have been at 3 PM. It distorts our vision but doesn't change the physical essence of what's around us, the truth. Praise God that even being in darkness doesn't change the reality or the truth.
What orients us in darkness is faith. This is not to say that faith will always lift the darkness or make it easier for us to see. Usually it means that we become aware of the fact that it's okay that we don't see. Faith is not a tool to make our lives easier. Faith is an often difficult choice in the face of what we do (or do not) see.
God, thank you for teaching us faith. Help us to know what it means to have faith in places of darkness and light. Help us not to see faith as our tool in times of need, but as the very mode we operate in and under through all aspects of our daily lives. Our own sight is short, be it in darkness or in light. Help us to each truly recognize that and the depth of the implications that has for each of us in our lives. Thank you for your patience with us. God, we want to know the depth of our need for total dependency on you. Make that real to us. Amen.
In Smallish-town, Florida I've been leaving the muted TV on so that I can have a light to fall asleep to again. The darkness has begun to really freak me out. This past winter break, a good friend of mine decided to monopolize on that and pull a prank. I have a bathroom connected to my room. This one particular night I was getting ready for bed: brushing teeth, washing face, the usual. So as not to disturb my other friend who was sleeping in my room, I turned out the bathroom light before opening the door. Going immediately from such light to such darkness, I couldn't see a thing.
My prankster friend was standing in front of me making a horrendous, terrifying face and I didn't see her at all. I took a few steps forward before realizing I needed to turn the light back on. When I did I was in for quite a shock! I'll never live that one down!
Even more recently I had a bizarre experience with darkness. I was staying at a hotel this summer. It was the blackest and darkest I had ever seen a room before. At some point in the night I woke up in a crazy state of disorientation. I had no idea where I was. I delusionally thought that I was at the edge of a cliff that dropped off into spikes (like in the Mario videogames) and that if I moved I would fall off into some abyss. It was the weirdest/creepiest feeling I think I have ever had.
Darkness itself is so strange. It's near, yet far and tangible, yet empty. It settles on you, settles around you. In a dark room, you can hold your hand right in front of your face but the darkness is closer. It envelopes you. Paradoxically, darkness gives the illusion of being endless and far-off. In that hotel room, I would not have been able to guess where the room started or stopped. Shoot, if you asked me I would have fumbled around with my words muttering something about an abyss!
When we are surrounded by darkness, we are blind not only to the good (think: the lack of spikes and abysses), but also to the bad (the spikes and abysses). In my room in FL with all the lights off, I can't find my way to my bed, my haven. On the same token, I would not recognize a dear prank-pulling friend or even a murderer lurking just before me.
In my journey of faith I've experienced similar feelings. It's clear that in places of spiritual darkness it is difficult and sometimes seemingly impossible to see God. But what I realize now is that it also becomes more difficult to see darkness itself. When in a place of darkness we often become blind to the things that are not of God. In the darkness, dark things don't stand out as being particularly dark. Temptation, misery, complacency, and discontent could be right in front of our faces and we could easily walk right into them, especially if we choose to walk by sight rather than by faith. Why is it easier for us to walk by sight when we can't see and easier to walk by faith when we can? If that's the case, I think we are walking by sight in the light and by foolish "trial and error" in the darkness (neither faith nor sight).
This has also reminded me how deceptive the darkness is. Sometimes it feels closer to me than I feel to me. Sometimes it seems less tangible, as if it were a void that has always secretly been there. It can look endless, just as my hotel room did, though in fact the room itself was no different at 3 AM as it would have been at 3 PM. It distorts our vision but doesn't change the physical essence of what's around us, the truth. Praise God that even being in darkness doesn't change the reality or the truth.
What orients us in darkness is faith. This is not to say that faith will always lift the darkness or make it easier for us to see. Usually it means that we become aware of the fact that it's okay that we don't see. Faith is not a tool to make our lives easier. Faith is an often difficult choice in the face of what we do (or do not) see.
God, thank you for teaching us faith. Help us to know what it means to have faith in places of darkness and light. Help us not to see faith as our tool in times of need, but as the very mode we operate in and under through all aspects of our daily lives. Our own sight is short, be it in darkness or in light. Help us to each truly recognize that and the depth of the implications that has for each of us in our lives. Thank you for your patience with us. God, we want to know the depth of our need for total dependency on you. Make that real to us. Amen.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Sin and the Power of Christ.
I have some catching up to do. I intended to blog quite regularly, but school got crazy and I went crazy. I'm on summer break now and intend to write something everyday. Some of these are old thoughts by now, but none the less pertinent to life and the walk of faith.
Back in February (yeah, wayyy behind) I had this wild understanding of sin and victory over sin. In my life, it has been fairly common for God to speak to me through dreams. This particular dream came in response to an unspoken prayer about sin. The dream went as follows:
I was in bed one morning. I had just woken up. As I rolled down the covers, I saw that my arms were covered with well over forty spider bites. My house had been infested with spiders for a while and these attacks had become more and more regular. The bites were painful and each one took a week or two to heal entirely. I was in pain, I was afraid, and I had no idea what to do about the infestation. These spiders were all over the walls, climbing in the Christmas tree in my living room and covering the end tables on the other side of the room.
In my distress, I looked up and saw a crack in my wall. To my horror it spilled forth another infestation of a type of creature I'd never seen before. Multitudes and multitudes. I was petrified at first. But somehow I was filled with peace and the understanding that these things would consume the spiders.
That's when I woke up. I immediately prayed about the dream and went back to sleep once I felt God had given me understanding. The house is my life and the infestation of spiders was the prevalence of sin in my life. The spiders attack me in my sleep, when I'm the most vulnerable, and the effects of their bites last longer than it takes for them to bite me. It disfigures me.
Likewise, we are most prone to sin in the places that we are most vulnerable. Mental states, physical places, etc. The effects of sin last longer than it takes for us to participate in the act of sinning. It disfigures us. It fills us with fear and despair when we realize that our house is more the possession of these spiders than our own.
We may try to kill each spider, each sin, each temptation individually but the infestation is too great. I couldn't even find the source of the infestation so I couldn't even block the point of entry and kill them at the source. Perhaps there were too many sources. Point is, I did not have the power within myself to kill the spiders and to destroy sin. What a lie we believe when we think defeating sin takes sheer will-power. What pride we claim when for a while this tactic seems to have proven effective.
The only way that the infestation can be fought is with a greater infestation of the goodness of God. Each spider, each sin, each temptation must be dealt with individually with a power that is greater than our own and which consumes sin completely. It is not in our power, but in Jesus' power. Our responsibility, friends, is not to be afraid of the second infestation and the battles going on around us.
Our job is not to kill the goodness of God which multiplies naturally in those who open their homes, their lives (and ALL facets of their lives) to Him. When we actively pursue God, we let the battle take its course because "in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us" (Romans 8:37).
God, help us to pursue you entirely, that our houses and our lives would be open to the infestation of your love and that our very beings may be healed and lives be transformed. Amen.
**Special note: Awesomely, I was reading C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity and about a week later I read a chapter called "The Good Infection" that was basically exactly this idea. It was not the same In-word (infestation/infection), but I was blown away. God is cool like that.
Back in February (yeah, wayyy behind) I had this wild understanding of sin and victory over sin. In my life, it has been fairly common for God to speak to me through dreams. This particular dream came in response to an unspoken prayer about sin. The dream went as follows:
I was in bed one morning. I had just woken up. As I rolled down the covers, I saw that my arms were covered with well over forty spider bites. My house had been infested with spiders for a while and these attacks had become more and more regular. The bites were painful and each one took a week or two to heal entirely. I was in pain, I was afraid, and I had no idea what to do about the infestation. These spiders were all over the walls, climbing in the Christmas tree in my living room and covering the end tables on the other side of the room.
In my distress, I looked up and saw a crack in my wall. To my horror it spilled forth another infestation of a type of creature I'd never seen before. Multitudes and multitudes. I was petrified at first. But somehow I was filled with peace and the understanding that these things would consume the spiders.
That's when I woke up. I immediately prayed about the dream and went back to sleep once I felt God had given me understanding. The house is my life and the infestation of spiders was the prevalence of sin in my life. The spiders attack me in my sleep, when I'm the most vulnerable, and the effects of their bites last longer than it takes for them to bite me. It disfigures me.
Likewise, we are most prone to sin in the places that we are most vulnerable. Mental states, physical places, etc. The effects of sin last longer than it takes for us to participate in the act of sinning. It disfigures us. It fills us with fear and despair when we realize that our house is more the possession of these spiders than our own.
We may try to kill each spider, each sin, each temptation individually but the infestation is too great. I couldn't even find the source of the infestation so I couldn't even block the point of entry and kill them at the source. Perhaps there were too many sources. Point is, I did not have the power within myself to kill the spiders and to destroy sin. What a lie we believe when we think defeating sin takes sheer will-power. What pride we claim when for a while this tactic seems to have proven effective.
The only way that the infestation can be fought is with a greater infestation of the goodness of God. Each spider, each sin, each temptation must be dealt with individually with a power that is greater than our own and which consumes sin completely. It is not in our power, but in Jesus' power. Our responsibility, friends, is not to be afraid of the second infestation and the battles going on around us.
Our job is not to kill the goodness of God which multiplies naturally in those who open their homes, their lives (and ALL facets of their lives) to Him. When we actively pursue God, we let the battle take its course because "in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us" (Romans 8:37).
God, help us to pursue you entirely, that our houses and our lives would be open to the infestation of your love and that our very beings may be healed and lives be transformed. Amen.
**Special note: Awesomely, I was reading C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity and about a week later I read a chapter called "The Good Infection" that was basically exactly this idea. It was not the same In-word (infestation/infection), but I was blown away. God is cool like that.
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