If you want to understand me:
spend time with monks who live under a vow of silence;
watch a fistful of sand blow through your fingers on a craggy cliff;
listen to a single snowflake, and then to a chorus of them;
And finally, permit yourself to set aside
textbooks and treatises,
mirrors and tools.
Fill their place
WIth poetry.
And as you do, consider the possibility:
You ARE the poetry in the hidden places.
Do these, and I might begin to seem less ridiculous.
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
Monday, January 02, 2012
What Do You Call Forgiveness?
Today I read prayers, composed by the Kalahari Bushmen--written long before missionaries ever found their tribes.
(You are the master)
Lord, Lord, you are the Lord.
You created all things.
You are the master of the forest.
You are the master of the animals.
You are our master, and we are your servants.
You are the master of life and death.
You rule, we obey.
(For protection against snakes)
When the foot in the night stumbles,
Let the obstacle not rear up and bite.
There are many branches strewn across our path
Which threaten no harm to the clumsy foot,
Protect against those sharp-toothed branches
That spring to life and kill.
(On a journey)
Keep us safe from every ill,
Every mishap, every pain.
Let no men or animals attack us.
Lord, bring us safely home.
But my own prayer on reading these was not as confident as the prayers of these Bushmen, whose prayers I've been taught to disdain as the prayers of the unsaved.
Lord, I don't pretend to understand the full mystery of the way you as Son of God instate the conditions of forgiveness, but something feels shallow in my belief if I am to espouse the idea that You would look upon such a prayer and shrug and say, "Sorry. Too bad no one came along to tell you My story. I could have done something for you then, but as it stands I can do nothing with your request for a safe trip home, for safety from the snake, and I cannot esteem your obedience..."
We (those blessed to hear Your story from our cradles) can comfort ourselves by thinking, well such prayers brought missionaries...but what of the ones who prayed these before the missionaries ever arrived? It seems to me that to believe them collateral damage is to believe You a slave to time and chance, and that simply cannot be! You may allow that man's free will should limit Your power, but to allow time and chance to rule Your eternal availability is something else entirely, is it not? I would rather believe that I've walked under faulty teaching than to believe that You are so happily treacherous and cavalier with destiny. I know You are God and can do what You like, but doesn't that maybe mean that You could choose to do good though my eye might see evil?
And so, I wondered if I thus blasphemed myself right out of my own right-standing--ever to have a hip out of joint, at best.
But later, I read something else in a book called Christy. It's a semi-biographical novel about a young woman who, in 1912, left a cosmopolitan world to enter remote mountain life as a mission-school teacher. In the story, she is asked to prepare a newborn's corpse for burial as no other mission employee is available. She discovers that the mother unintentionally killed her child, never realizing her own hand dealt the death. The baby, according to the mother, was "liver-growed" which meant that while one infant hand could cross the body and touch the foot from one side, it could not from the other side. Even to the "modern mind" of 1912, this pointed to profound internal organ issues; but to the mountain woman it was something else entirely.
Don't be afraid to ask questions if they are soul questions and not just some argument springing from an idle mind or a secret lack of courage. Now, here is better question to ask yourself: is it likely that a 19-year-old girl completely out of her element in the throes of her first exposure to profound and permanent loss, loss due to ignorance--that even this young girl should have more compassionate wisdom at her disposal than I am able to generate?
"...Opal McHone had not known what she did. And I had to understand and forgive her on that basis, otherwise I could be no comfort to her at all..."
If it is all about happening by chance to know the the right things at the right time or else suffer eternal torment, then where in the world does charity find a resting place? It is a thing to think about...
SO here is my prayer, from Romans 2, help me to understand the mystery:
(You are the master)
Lord, Lord, you are the Lord.
You created all things.
You are the master of the forest.
You are the master of the animals.
You are our master, and we are your servants.
You are the master of life and death.
You rule, we obey.
(For protection against snakes)
When the foot in the night stumbles,
Let the obstacle not rear up and bite.
There are many branches strewn across our path
Which threaten no harm to the clumsy foot,
Protect against those sharp-toothed branches
That spring to life and kill.
(On a journey)
Keep us safe from every ill,
Every mishap, every pain.
Let no men or animals attack us.
Lord, bring us safely home.
But my own prayer on reading these was not as confident as the prayers of these Bushmen, whose prayers I've been taught to disdain as the prayers of the unsaved.
Lord, I don't pretend to understand the full mystery of the way you as Son of God instate the conditions of forgiveness, but something feels shallow in my belief if I am to espouse the idea that You would look upon such a prayer and shrug and say, "Sorry. Too bad no one came along to tell you My story. I could have done something for you then, but as it stands I can do nothing with your request for a safe trip home, for safety from the snake, and I cannot esteem your obedience..."
We (those blessed to hear Your story from our cradles) can comfort ourselves by thinking, well such prayers brought missionaries...but what of the ones who prayed these before the missionaries ever arrived? It seems to me that to believe them collateral damage is to believe You a slave to time and chance, and that simply cannot be! You may allow that man's free will should limit Your power, but to allow time and chance to rule Your eternal availability is something else entirely, is it not? I would rather believe that I've walked under faulty teaching than to believe that You are so happily treacherous and cavalier with destiny. I know You are God and can do what You like, but doesn't that maybe mean that You could choose to do good though my eye might see evil?
And so, I wondered if I thus blasphemed myself right out of my own right-standing--ever to have a hip out of joint, at best.
But later, I read something else in a book called Christy. It's a semi-biographical novel about a young woman who, in 1912, left a cosmopolitan world to enter remote mountain life as a mission-school teacher. In the story, she is asked to prepare a newborn's corpse for burial as no other mission employee is available. She discovers that the mother unintentionally killed her child, never realizing her own hand dealt the death. The baby, according to the mother, was "liver-growed" which meant that while one infant hand could cross the body and touch the foot from one side, it could not from the other side. Even to the "modern mind" of 1912, this pointed to profound internal organ issues; but to the mountain woman it was something else entirely.
"What do you do then?" I asked.I read the prayerbook intending to pray and found I couldn't; I read the novel just for fun and found myself praying for You linked them in my mind.
"You got to force the hand and heel to tech. When I pulled, the baby hollered and went as limp and white as a new-washed rag doll. Never could do nothin' with her after that. Give her tea all night long, but nothin' holped. Jest afore the sunball come up, we heerd the death tick in the wall. Jest quit breathin' then, she did."
The woman had started crying quietly, wiping her eyes with the edge of her apron. She led us inside the house and pointed to the little waxen body lying in the middle of a large bed, a white cloth over the tiny face.
The horror of this sickened me. The baby must have had cruel internal injuries. Yet Opal McHone had wanted this baby daughter. She was not a callous, indifferent mother but had acted out of love, love mired by her ignorance and by the superstition handed down to her.
At that time, for the first time in my life, I knew grief. I had had childish disappointments, yes. Hurt pride, often. A sense of loss, sometimes. But compared to what I was feeling now, these had been superficial emotions because they were so self-centered. On my tongue now was the first bitter taste of a grief not my own. My heart was mirroring back from the world's pain just one episode from all the endless woes and infamies caused by the not-knowing and the not-caring. Opal McHone had not known what she did. And I had to understand and to forgive her on that basis, otherwise I could be no comfort to her at all.
Don't be afraid to ask questions if they are soul questions and not just some argument springing from an idle mind or a secret lack of courage. Now, here is better question to ask yourself: is it likely that a 19-year-old girl completely out of her element in the throes of her first exposure to profound and permanent loss, loss due to ignorance--that even this young girl should have more compassionate wisdom at her disposal than I am able to generate?
"...Opal McHone had not known what she did. And I had to understand and forgive her on that basis, otherwise I could be no comfort to her at all..."
If it is all about happening by chance to know the the right things at the right time or else suffer eternal torment, then where in the world does charity find a resting place? It is a thing to think about...
SO here is my prayer, from Romans 2, help me to understand the mystery:
For it is not the hearers of the law who are righteous before
God, but the doers of the law who will be justified.
| |||||
| Your law, O God, is that I love You with all my heart and my soul and my mind, and love my neighbor as myself. Whatever You would have me know of the mysteries of our salvation, may I never be the cause for Your name to be blasphemed. Amen. |
|||||
Monday, August 08, 2011
What Do You Call Unique?
This morning, I've been inundated with this message from You, the One who pours scented oil on my soul: approval at a point of accomplishment in a time of testing.
Two cardinals danced in my garden as the sun rose. I tried to capture them with a photo, but neither the camera nor the birds would cooperate. Then it occurred to me that You didn't want their picture taken. What those birds did as heralds to my heart was for me and me alone. I allowed that it should be that.
Then later, thoughts of Our relationship in that private room of my soul--the journeys we've taken there, the hopes crystallized, the dreams defined...for the past few years, I've been "proving" I was ok with those things never being acknowledged outside that room, never being recognized in a larger context than what my own paltry human mind is able receive. That, despite the lie that they are too big to retain within one person, nevertheless it is enough that I and I alone pay homage to the wonder of the alchemy of my courage as it is incorporated into Your grace. This then was the test, and the definition of the accomplishment--for certain, a covered cup until the very moment I was to drink it. Until I was willing to allow all that loveliness to remain essentially private, "it" would always carry the patina of selfish honor desired honor, of settling for a recognition more immediate but from a less pure source.
So often, the idea that You are no "respecter of persons" becomes a theme used to discourage people from the inhabiting of such rooms in their hearts; but to my thinking, it is truer that if You made each of us unique in so many ways, then You must surely desire uniqueness in Your relationship with each and every one of us. It is in this way that You are no respecter of persons--that You have given every one of us such a place, a place of co-habitation between creator and created. But once therein, the relationship is allowed to become intensely personal.
Though a surface glance might call it paradoxical, sincere co-operative endeavors are only really possible--at least in the long run and in their most effective results--when they spring from who we learn we are in that place, and according to who You say we are when we commune with You there. This is the only way spiritual community works well and long-term.
My prayer: May we learn to uphold the sanctity of each other's private bell towers, each other's craggy nests, and rather than become envious should someone's joy overflow into pulic basking in the beauty of that spirit-home, may we instead be inspired to likewise open our own hearts to Your invitation. For I believe You ever whisper to Your creation: "Leave that common rookery and learn who you are in the place I designed uniquely for you. I promise nothing will delight you more than to go exploring what I have made for you here, all I humbly ask is that you explore it...with Me."
Two cardinals danced in my garden as the sun rose. I tried to capture them with a photo, but neither the camera nor the birds would cooperate. Then it occurred to me that You didn't want their picture taken. What those birds did as heralds to my heart was for me and me alone. I allowed that it should be that.
Then later, thoughts of Our relationship in that private room of my soul--the journeys we've taken there, the hopes crystallized, the dreams defined...for the past few years, I've been "proving" I was ok with those things never being acknowledged outside that room, never being recognized in a larger context than what my own paltry human mind is able receive. That, despite the lie that they are too big to retain within one person, nevertheless it is enough that I and I alone pay homage to the wonder of the alchemy of my courage as it is incorporated into Your grace. This then was the test, and the definition of the accomplishment--for certain, a covered cup until the very moment I was to drink it. Until I was willing to allow all that loveliness to remain essentially private, "it" would always carry the patina of selfish honor desired honor, of settling for a recognition more immediate but from a less pure source.
So often, the idea that You are no "respecter of persons" becomes a theme used to discourage people from the inhabiting of such rooms in their hearts; but to my thinking, it is truer that if You made each of us unique in so many ways, then You must surely desire uniqueness in Your relationship with each and every one of us. It is in this way that You are no respecter of persons--that You have given every one of us such a place, a place of co-habitation between creator and created. But once therein, the relationship is allowed to become intensely personal.
Though a surface glance might call it paradoxical, sincere co-operative endeavors are only really possible--at least in the long run and in their most effective results--when they spring from who we learn we are in that place, and according to who You say we are when we commune with You there. This is the only way spiritual community works well and long-term.
My prayer: May we learn to uphold the sanctity of each other's private bell towers, each other's craggy nests, and rather than become envious should someone's joy overflow into pulic basking in the beauty of that spirit-home, may we instead be inspired to likewise open our own hearts to Your invitation. For I believe You ever whisper to Your creation: "Leave that common rookery and learn who you are in the place I designed uniquely for you. I promise nothing will delight you more than to go exploring what I have made for you here, all I humbly ask is that you explore it...with Me."
Friday, July 01, 2011
Reality Check: Who Do You Worship?
Lately, a few in my prayer circle are being hurt by those closest to them. We are all "broken vessels" as the saying goes, but sometimes it is good to look at the vessel that was broken by forces without, not within...so as to renew our faith, hope and charity.
The Resurrection
1 Saturday evening, when the Sabbath ended, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome went out and purchased burial spices so they could anoint Jesus’ body. 2 Very early on Sunday morning, just at sunrise, they went to the tomb. 3 On the way they were asking each other, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” 4 But as they arrived, they looked up and saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled aside.
--Their greatest perceived problem was borne of weak faith melded to great devotion. They were loving their fallen prophet even to the end as they perceived it, even to the last rites of burial. Rather than simply appearing in the upper room and completely side-stepping their point of greatest concern (how do we get past this great stone to do him this service?), He used that distress as a gateway for the first miracle given for their loving discovery. This is the friend-respect in the heart of the One we worship.
5 When they entered the tomb, they saw a young man clothed in a white robe sitting on the right side. The women were shocked, 6 but the angel said, “Don’t be alarmed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead! Look, this is where they laid his body.
--a young man fled naked from the scene of Jesus' arrest, leaving behind the linen cloth he wore, fleeing his very garment as it was clutched in the grasping hands of those who sought to capture anyone who did not forsake Jesus quickly enough. (Mark 14:51-52) But in this place, a young man sits robed in white to profess the glorious state of things as they are now. These women who began their morning distressed over how to accomplish their God-given assignment to perform decent Hebrew burial now find shock and alarm layered over the already heaped-up gloom..and maybe guilt. (Could we have done more to convince Him not to enter Jerusalem this Passover?) Reassurance and detailed information come immediately at their moment of greatest need through this specifically-assigned messenger. This is the comforting hand of the One we worship.
7 Now go and tell his disciples, including Peter, that Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you before he died.”
8 The women fled from the tomb, trembling and bewildered, and they said nothing to anyone because they were too frightened.
--"...including Peter..." An assignment: to bring the most tender and intimate level of His forgiveness, to bring his invitation to follow where His Resurrected Self now goes. Meditating on the honor of such a task is breath-taking. The trust He has in our fulfilling it is mind-boggling. This is the priority of the One we worship. "You will see Him there, just as He told you before He died." This is the trustworthy transparency of the One we worship.
[Shorter Ending of Mark]
Then they briefly reported all this to Peter and his companions. Afterward Jesus himself sent them out from east to west with the sacred and unfailing message of salvation that gives eternal life. Amen.
(New Living Translation) Mark 16:1-8
--"Afterward Jesus Himself sent them out from east to west..." What we may expect from the on-going story of that state of worship: personal interaction with the One, and not just with His messengers. And, for our task: to take again that messenger bag, now no longer filled with letters of good news addressed merely to a specific few. Rather, the bag holds letters of invitation sent to so many that only cardinal directions can categorize the finding of them. This is the heart-longing of the One we worship. This is the kinship offered.
Holy Father, we wish to be strong as one clinging to a rock when the rushing flood waters buffet us, when time and chance and people who do us harm would utterly mar the "image of God" aspect of humanity around us; so grant us grace and revelation, Lord, that we may always love others according to the example of the Worthy One, and not simply to love this One according to the example of others...Amen.
The Resurrection
1 Saturday evening, when the Sabbath ended, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome went out and purchased burial spices so they could anoint Jesus’ body. 2 Very early on Sunday morning, just at sunrise, they went to the tomb. 3 On the way they were asking each other, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” 4 But as they arrived, they looked up and saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled aside.
--Their greatest perceived problem was borne of weak faith melded to great devotion. They were loving their fallen prophet even to the end as they perceived it, even to the last rites of burial. Rather than simply appearing in the upper room and completely side-stepping their point of greatest concern (how do we get past this great stone to do him this service?), He used that distress as a gateway for the first miracle given for their loving discovery. This is the friend-respect in the heart of the One we worship.
5 When they entered the tomb, they saw a young man clothed in a white robe sitting on the right side. The women were shocked, 6 but the angel said, “Don’t be alarmed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead! Look, this is where they laid his body.
--a young man fled naked from the scene of Jesus' arrest, leaving behind the linen cloth he wore, fleeing his very garment as it was clutched in the grasping hands of those who sought to capture anyone who did not forsake Jesus quickly enough. (Mark 14:51-52) But in this place, a young man sits robed in white to profess the glorious state of things as they are now. These women who began their morning distressed over how to accomplish their God-given assignment to perform decent Hebrew burial now find shock and alarm layered over the already heaped-up gloom..and maybe guilt. (Could we have done more to convince Him not to enter Jerusalem this Passover?) Reassurance and detailed information come immediately at their moment of greatest need through this specifically-assigned messenger. This is the comforting hand of the One we worship.
7 Now go and tell his disciples, including Peter, that Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you before he died.”
8 The women fled from the tomb, trembling and bewildered, and they said nothing to anyone because they were too frightened.
--"...including Peter..." An assignment: to bring the most tender and intimate level of His forgiveness, to bring his invitation to follow where His Resurrected Self now goes. Meditating on the honor of such a task is breath-taking. The trust He has in our fulfilling it is mind-boggling. This is the priority of the One we worship. "You will see Him there, just as He told you before He died." This is the trustworthy transparency of the One we worship.
[Shorter Ending of Mark]
Then they briefly reported all this to Peter and his companions. Afterward Jesus himself sent them out from east to west with the sacred and unfailing message of salvation that gives eternal life. Amen.
(New Living Translation) Mark 16:1-8
--"Afterward Jesus Himself sent them out from east to west..." What we may expect from the on-going story of that state of worship: personal interaction with the One, and not just with His messengers. And, for our task: to take again that messenger bag, now no longer filled with letters of good news addressed merely to a specific few. Rather, the bag holds letters of invitation sent to so many that only cardinal directions can categorize the finding of them. This is the heart-longing of the One we worship. This is the kinship offered.
Holy Father, we wish to be strong as one clinging to a rock when the rushing flood waters buffet us, when time and chance and people who do us harm would utterly mar the "image of God" aspect of humanity around us; so grant us grace and revelation, Lord, that we may always love others according to the example of the Worthy One, and not simply to love this One according to the example of others...Amen.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
The Spectre Explored and Returned
Time passed and that one I'd first known as a Spectre
that one who was now a dear brother-son
came back to visit me.
I'd had quite a revelation since our last communing.
For I'd learned
He was the fulfillment of an earlier dream-event.
I recorded it back in November of 2007 in a journal:
What happens after faith finds level ground? Naturally, faith faces its next challenge. For me, it came in the form of a dream again. In this one, I stood to the left of my Lord Jesus. One of His adversaries--I hesitate to ascribe it to Lucifer himself at this point--looked at Him and said, "I'll give You them for her."
I didn't know who "they" were, but hearing mention of them put me in mind of a dream Nolan had one time when he was very small. He doesn't even remember it now, but he told me then of a dream in which people were riding on a roller coaster through space on their way to heaven. But then he said, some people accidentally fell out, but they were ok because they were given some sort of pillow to land on so the fall wouldn't hurt them. Somehow this "they" reminded me of Nolan's dream.
I looked at my Lord then to see what He would say to His enemy, but He simply looked at me. Thunderstruck, I realized this was for me to decide. For several years now, I've had a deeply interactive relationship with Him. He speaks to me with "birds and lilies" with sunrises and sunsets so intimately I melt. I have been deeply joyful under His authority, secure despite all circumstances. Now as I considered this interchange, all I really understood about it was that I would be willingly stepping out under another authority--one whose benevolence was hardly certain.
I looked at my Lord and said, "I need to know Your heart in this." (I didn't realize I thus fulfilled prophecy insuring my future protection, as one who inquires of the Lord. The fingers of discernment reach deep into my inward places; may it ever be so. Amen.) Then He looked at me and planted more than my son's dream in my head. He reminded me that the "accidental falling" of my son's dream had an ancient-law reflection point: in Leviticus.
Lev 4:22
When a ruler hath sinned, and done [somewhat] through ignorance [against] any of the commandments of the LORD his God [concerning things] which should not be done, and is guilty;
Lev 4:23
Or if his sin, wherein he hath sinned, come to his knowledge; he shall bring his offering, a kid of the goats, a male without blemish:
Lev 4:24
And he shall lay his hand upon the head of the goat, and kill it in the place where they kill the burnt offering before the LORD: it [is] a sin offering.
Lev 4:25
And the priest shall take of the blood of the sin offering with his finger, and put [it] upon the horns of the altar of burnt offering, and shall pour out his blood at the bottom of the altar of burnt offering.
Lev 4:27
And if any one of the common people sin through ignorance, while he doeth [somewhat against] any of the commandments of the LORD [concerning things] which ought not to be done, and be guilty;
Lev 4:28
Or if his sin, which he hath sinned, come to his knowledge: then he shall bring his offering, a kid of the goats, a female without blemish, for his sin which he hath sinned.
Somehow, this distinction between ruler and common, between male and female offered--this figured into the moment, as well as the element of inadvertence--a sin that was not intentional rebellion toward God. Then I remembered two other interchanges with my Lord that sobered me about the prospect of going through with this offering: in one, my Lord looked at me, wistfully almost, and said, "One day, you will leave me." "Oh, no!" I cried. "Never voluntarily! I love you, and our relationship--well, surely nothing could lure me away from what I have with You now." But He pressed the point, "But you must. Because you love me--this is why I can come after you." This should bolster my courage, but also haunting me was the remembrance of the dream in which my Lord looked at me with almost anguished eyes, took hold of my shoulders and said, "I hope you can forgive me for this--" and I thought of how the Father and Son must have dealt with those moments in Gethsemane. The interim time--would my heart break beyond repair in that time? Would I be able to hang on to my desire to do His will at all costs? A cost to be counted indeed.
Weighing all these in the balance, and while my courage was as yet unchallenged, I stepped across the chasm to stand beside the Adversary. Suddenly, many tiny points of soft light flew around from behind us--dots of brightness that launched across to the other side. I perceived much rejoicing ensued over their arrival.
that one who was now a dear brother-son
came back to visit me.
I'd had quite a revelation since our last communing.
For I'd learned
He was the fulfillment of an earlier dream-event.
I recorded it back in November of 2007 in a journal:
What happens after faith finds level ground? Naturally, faith faces its next challenge. For me, it came in the form of a dream again. In this one, I stood to the left of my Lord Jesus. One of His adversaries--I hesitate to ascribe it to Lucifer himself at this point--looked at Him and said, "I'll give You them for her."
I didn't know who "they" were, but hearing mention of them put me in mind of a dream Nolan had one time when he was very small. He doesn't even remember it now, but he told me then of a dream in which people were riding on a roller coaster through space on their way to heaven. But then he said, some people accidentally fell out, but they were ok because they were given some sort of pillow to land on so the fall wouldn't hurt them. Somehow this "they" reminded me of Nolan's dream.
I looked at my Lord then to see what He would say to His enemy, but He simply looked at me. Thunderstruck, I realized this was for me to decide. For several years now, I've had a deeply interactive relationship with Him. He speaks to me with "birds and lilies" with sunrises and sunsets so intimately I melt. I have been deeply joyful under His authority, secure despite all circumstances. Now as I considered this interchange, all I really understood about it was that I would be willingly stepping out under another authority--one whose benevolence was hardly certain.
I looked at my Lord and said, "I need to know Your heart in this." (I didn't realize I thus fulfilled prophecy insuring my future protection, as one who inquires of the Lord. The fingers of discernment reach deep into my inward places; may it ever be so. Amen.) Then He looked at me and planted more than my son's dream in my head. He reminded me that the "accidental falling" of my son's dream had an ancient-law reflection point: in Leviticus.
Lev 4:22
When a ruler hath sinned, and done [somewhat] through ignorance [against] any of the commandments of the LORD his God [concerning things] which should not be done, and is guilty;
Lev 4:23
Or if his sin, wherein he hath sinned, come to his knowledge; he shall bring his offering, a kid of the goats, a male without blemish:
Lev 4:24
And he shall lay his hand upon the head of the goat, and kill it in the place where they kill the burnt offering before the LORD: it [is] a sin offering.
Lev 4:25
And the priest shall take of the blood of the sin offering with his finger, and put [it] upon the horns of the altar of burnt offering, and shall pour out his blood at the bottom of the altar of burnt offering.
Lev 4:27
And if any one of the common people sin through ignorance, while he doeth [somewhat against] any of the commandments of the LORD [concerning things] which ought not to be done, and be guilty;
Lev 4:28
Or if his sin, which he hath sinned, come to his knowledge: then he shall bring his offering, a kid of the goats, a female without blemish, for his sin which he hath sinned.
Somehow, this distinction between ruler and common, between male and female offered--this figured into the moment, as well as the element of inadvertence--a sin that was not intentional rebellion toward God. Then I remembered two other interchanges with my Lord that sobered me about the prospect of going through with this offering: in one, my Lord looked at me, wistfully almost, and said, "One day, you will leave me." "Oh, no!" I cried. "Never voluntarily! I love you, and our relationship--well, surely nothing could lure me away from what I have with You now." But He pressed the point, "But you must. Because you love me--this is why I can come after you." This should bolster my courage, but also haunting me was the remembrance of the dream in which my Lord looked at me with almost anguished eyes, took hold of my shoulders and said, "I hope you can forgive me for this--" and I thought of how the Father and Son must have dealt with those moments in Gethsemane. The interim time--would my heart break beyond repair in that time? Would I be able to hang on to my desire to do His will at all costs? A cost to be counted indeed.
Weighing all these in the balance, and while my courage was as yet unchallenged, I stepped across the chasm to stand beside the Adversary. Suddenly, many tiny points of soft light flew around from behind us--dots of brightness that launched across to the other side. I perceived much rejoicing ensued over their arrival.
So I experienced then, and for 4 years now, I've lived and breathed under that watch, with little but the quiet, symbolic voice of the Spirit to guide my inner movements...and also these interchanges with the Spectre under the watch, I'd presume, of the Adversary. At the moment, I do not perceive them to be one and the same...but I may learn differently.
But a sudden knowing told me this: the things foretold were coming to be reality. He was but a firstfruit flash of all those points of light that were to know a joyful homecoming. If one could leap the chasm, then surely all predestined could come along with him. I don't know whether the one who bargained for me really believed this part of the prophecy would ever be fulfilled--I expect he believed rather that I was surely too weak and ignorant to run this mysterious race its full course, but it now appears that I did complete my "mission" and so I am pleased that my sacrifice, if you will, was not in vain! This I'd learned from the Spirit while that first star in passing had been flying about evangelizing and renewing acquaintances.
Upon his return, another revelation came as well--the happy conclusion of a heavy-hearted beginning; once again, spawn of a dream given years ago. I remembered the dream that first introduced me to the Spectre. After I saw him approaching in that starless black sky, I saw a circle of creatures praying, and there was a gap in their circle. One of them invited me to join then, and the hum of their voices sounded good to me, so I stepped into their circle; and it was as if I completed an electrical current there. I learned much after that about the call of a prophet being symbolized as that of abeing gap-filler, but at that moment of vision my only thought was, "Why this is nowhere NEAR strong enough to counter that great hulk of death-power that approaches!" And my heart has ever since carried the nugget of expectation that somehow that power would be increased.
This day, the vision of that circle, rarely one in my conscious mind of late, nevertheless returned full strength. Only now, I saw the next part of the story: I turned to the Beautiful Spectre now who stood behind my right shoulder, and I broke the circle to reach a hand of invitation toward him. His step into the circle was miraculous! That he received the invitation of vulnerable trust offered by those who once were set to defend against him--this was wonder enough; but greater still was what came of this unforeseen union! Sudden power, crackling and popping, arcing out in its excess, flaring too bright for eyes to comprehend even across the circle! Power so electrifying we almost could not hang on as it coursed from one hand to another.
I sobbed at this vision...breathing like one who is deeply shocked or else who has run a great race. "Oh, God...I never could have imagined this was what was to come!" I cried.
Your smiling response, solemn even as it was tender: "But isn't that how My work always goes?"
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The Hike
(a fable for my husband...for Father's Day.)Once there was a man who went to a wooded park
to take a hike.
The park was large and filled with wonders
So much so that a map was drawn to guide
hikers in their rambles.
When the man arrived at the park
he received one of those maps,
and he took it to a little outdoor amphitheater
near the park's entrance.
Many people sat on wooden benches there
with all their maps spread out before them.
They discussed and debated their maps,
holding them all different directions.
They considered the best route to take.
They marveled at the nuances of the map's design
and anticipated how this would aid their hiking ventures.
The man listened for a while;
But then he grew restless,
Meanwhile the others began to argue over their maps.
They began to disagree strongly,
As some began to doubt the scale,
while others wondered
just how accurate the map could possibly be.
"Did any of you actually know the cartographer?"
Finally, some set the maps on the benches
and simply left the park entirely.
The man almost joined the arguers.Next he almost joined the leave-takers but then...
He saw a little boy,
A little boy just waiting.
"Has it always been like this?" the man asked the child.
The child looked around, assessing the atmosphere all around him.
"Pretty much," the child said, dropping his head back again
resting it on the wooden bench where he lay.
He went back to watching the clouds roll overhead.
"What do you see up there?"
the man asked, amused.
"The only thing that would look the same
if I were actually hiking," the child said.
The child's voice
--as much as his words--
gave the man thoughts of hope and sadness
Like two trees, appearing separate
but whose roots intertwine deep under the ground.
"Sometimes, I wonder how much good that map is really doing," the child observed dreamily.
"They're forgetting the point isn't the map. The map is a tool to point the way.
The point is the hike!"
The man grew adamant and became quite frustrated.
But just then, the child sat up eagerly.
"Are you going to actually...take the hike?" he asked.
"If you do, can I come along?"
And so they went.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
The Way of Treasure
Dear God...
I live in a world where people expect their pearls to float
their diamonds to be scattered across the surface of the mountain
and their gold to wash ashore on the waves.
Teach us to again the way of treasure.
I live in a world where people expect their pearls to float
their diamonds to be scattered across the surface of the mountain
and their gold to wash ashore on the waves.
Teach us to again the way of treasure.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Wonderful Mother's Day notes!
(letter from Kristin Kucholick)
"Thank you. It was amazing seeing you today. I just got done talking to Kelly about how amazing you and her and Julie McCool and Kevin and vickie hinkle are. I have appreciated everything you all have done for me and my brother. Of course m...en are not as emotional and outspoken as women, but we both love you all so much for your prayers and thoughts. Just remember, we are who we are because of parents like you. We lacked the stability we needed as high school students and you all reached out with open arms. It is because of people like you that people like Johnny and I have had the strength to get through it all. We both love and appreciate it all. Thank you. Happy mothers day to you all because that is what you were to the both of us. What we didn't have at the time. Thank you all."
(letter from my oldest son: Matt.)
Mom,
I'm about to eat lunch with you... you can remember this mothers day as the college card because I'm eating ramon, and have 45 cents left, which is sitting on my night stand ;). Thank you for all you do for the family. So many seeds you planted in me follow me now and help get me through my days. I'm about to be on my own, and watching the way you guys handled your problems is going to be my model for success once I finally get my start. God truly blessed me with having such great parents. Thanks for everything Mom.
Matt :)
"Thank you. It was amazing seeing you today. I just got done talking to Kelly about how amazing you and her and Julie McCool and Kevin and vickie hinkle are. I have appreciated everything you all have done for me and my brother. Of course m...en are not as emotional and outspoken as women, but we both love you all so much for your prayers and thoughts. Just remember, we are who we are because of parents like you. We lacked the stability we needed as high school students and you all reached out with open arms. It is because of people like you that people like Johnny and I have had the strength to get through it all. We both love and appreciate it all. Thank you. Happy mothers day to you all because that is what you were to the both of us. What we didn't have at the time. Thank you all."
(letter from my oldest son: Matt.)
Mom,
I'm about to eat lunch with you... you can remember this mothers day as the college card because I'm eating ramon, and have 45 cents left, which is sitting on my night stand ;). Thank you for all you do for the family. So many seeds you planted in me follow me now and help get me through my days. I'm about to be on my own, and watching the way you guys handled your problems is going to be my model for success once I finally get my start. God truly blessed me with having such great parents. Thanks for everything Mom.
Matt :)
Saturday, April 30, 2011
What Do You Call Inspiration?
I went and did it.
I bought and am reading Inspiration and Incarnation. The science-worshipping heretic's book.
Granted, I'm only 20% through the book (thank you, Kindle, for making my progress so easily-tracked mathematically,) but I'm having a difficult time finding where his words engender such a horrified reaction. After all, if he is "bad" enough that whole homeschool conventions hosting teems of presenters and mobs of attenders turn into war zones should both Peter Enns (the author) and the supporters of the Hamite School of Racial Origins, etc. be in the same breathing space to present their ideas. (Ken Ham is the founder of the Creation Museum.) With such a war zone swirling him, surely his book will spontaneously combust in my hands as I take it up to read.
But it doesn't.
In fact, despite my efforts to light a lamp and sweep my floor for that lost gold coin he thieves from Christianity, I fail to find this presumably lost treasure. Instead, I find what for many disillusioned Christians is an escape hatch in the steerage of a sinking ship.
In my reading, I find Enns doing for the word "myth" what C.S. Lewis did for the word "Christianity" in his groundbreaking book Mere Christianity. He (hopefully) awakens appropriate shame when he reminds that "It is wholly incomprehensible to think that thousands of years ago God would have felt constrained to speak in a way that would be meaningful only to Westerners several thousand years later. To do so borders on modern, Western arrogance." Well, maybe, we'll feel shame...only if we restrain ourselves from sticking our fingers in our ears and tunelessly singing "lalalalalalala..." with our eyes shut. And many of us do just that and call it God-pleasing faith. We fail to see that this response only proves our ultimate belief that our god can't handle the most intellectual of our questions, therefore we don't raise them. In this, are we not more favoring the likes of the gods of Olympus? Lalalalalala......
But, some of us will read on.
"To argue, as I am doing here, that such biblical stories as creation and the flood must be understood first and foremost in the ancient contexts, is nothing new. The point I would like to emphasize, however, is that such a firm grounding in ancient myth does not make Genesis less inspired; it is not a concession that we must put up with or an embarrassment to a sound doctrine of Scripture. Quite to the contrary, such rootedness in the culture of the time is precisely what it means for God to speak to his people. This is what it means for God to speak at a certain time and in a certain place--he enters their world...If God was willing and ready to adopt an ancient way of thinking, we truly hold a very low view of Scripture indeed if we make that into a point of embarrassment. We will not understand the Bible if we push aside or explain away its cultural setting, even if that setting disturbs us...We must resist the notion that for God to enculturate himself is somehow beneath him. This is precisely how he shows his love to the world he made."
Aaah, but isn't that the crux of the controversy? Most have fallen out of love, or as scripture puts it, their love "waxes cold." Without a love affair with the Creator, the words themselves become the god. The greatest coup an enemy could hope to flaunt: using the very love letter itself to distract attention from the current attentions of the lover. Enns calls us back to the lover. Reminds us that the lover touches each of us within the environment he uniquely created for us--as part of the love display.
The love letter is not a tool for manipulation to use in ignoring all other forms of revelation. Is this the message? Certainly the love letter is not meant as a tool for discouraging reason--quite a devilish feat in itself, incidentally. God makes the invitation in that very love letter "come, let us reason together..." So far, Peter Enns seems to be the only one stepping up to answer that particular call.
In the words of Charles Spurgeon, "Proxy religion involves too great a risk: you had better see to your soul's matters yourself, and leave them in no man's hands." That said, today my prayers thrust their arms deep into the past. If there be those who sit in purgatory--if such a place exist--all because they lost their faith on the day came they were required to choose: believe the sun circles the earth or be condemned. For these, I pray. Many years, I balked at a world where the doctrine of the atonement could be so easily usurped--figured the people surely backward or the historic records of such a time surely exaggerated. But now, as I look at people being given "the left hand of fellowship" as my grandparents called it, being invited to leave their congregations if they won't be silent--and all about whether the earth is 6000 years old or more, I go very still inside.
Why? I pray. Why is this bubbling up now? I pray. Should the humble, empirically-minded man be lost right alongside the devout homosexual? What's going on here?
And, God simply said: birth pangs.
Acts 2: "And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams: And on my servants and on my handmaidens I will pour out in those days of my Spirit; and they shall prophesy:"
He did not stop speaking when that last blessed scroll was rolled up and stuck in a jar. He did not remove his hand from the work alongside the council of Nicaea long ago. If anything, it is going to ramp up...profoundly. I say this, ironically, because it is written. (smile) But first, we must prepare ourselves to hear the spirit and to prophesy.
We must not only allow the earth herself to remember in our presence. We have a lot of our own larger remembering to do...
I bought and am reading Inspiration and Incarnation. The science-worshipping heretic's book.
Granted, I'm only 20% through the book (thank you, Kindle, for making my progress so easily-tracked mathematically,) but I'm having a difficult time finding where his words engender such a horrified reaction. After all, if he is "bad" enough that whole homeschool conventions hosting teems of presenters and mobs of attenders turn into war zones should both Peter Enns (the author) and the supporters of the Hamite School of Racial Origins, etc. be in the same breathing space to present their ideas. (Ken Ham is the founder of the Creation Museum.) With such a war zone swirling him, surely his book will spontaneously combust in my hands as I take it up to read.
But it doesn't.
In fact, despite my efforts to light a lamp and sweep my floor for that lost gold coin he thieves from Christianity, I fail to find this presumably lost treasure. Instead, I find what for many disillusioned Christians is an escape hatch in the steerage of a sinking ship.
In my reading, I find Enns doing for the word "myth" what C.S. Lewis did for the word "Christianity" in his groundbreaking book Mere Christianity. He (hopefully) awakens appropriate shame when he reminds that "It is wholly incomprehensible to think that thousands of years ago God would have felt constrained to speak in a way that would be meaningful only to Westerners several thousand years later. To do so borders on modern, Western arrogance." Well, maybe, we'll feel shame...only if we restrain ourselves from sticking our fingers in our ears and tunelessly singing "lalalalalalala..." with our eyes shut. And many of us do just that and call it God-pleasing faith. We fail to see that this response only proves our ultimate belief that our god can't handle the most intellectual of our questions, therefore we don't raise them. In this, are we not more favoring the likes of the gods of Olympus? Lalalalalala......
But, some of us will read on.
"To argue, as I am doing here, that such biblical stories as creation and the flood must be understood first and foremost in the ancient contexts, is nothing new. The point I would like to emphasize, however, is that such a firm grounding in ancient myth does not make Genesis less inspired; it is not a concession that we must put up with or an embarrassment to a sound doctrine of Scripture. Quite to the contrary, such rootedness in the culture of the time is precisely what it means for God to speak to his people. This is what it means for God to speak at a certain time and in a certain place--he enters their world...If God was willing and ready to adopt an ancient way of thinking, we truly hold a very low view of Scripture indeed if we make that into a point of embarrassment. We will not understand the Bible if we push aside or explain away its cultural setting, even if that setting disturbs us...We must resist the notion that for God to enculturate himself is somehow beneath him. This is precisely how he shows his love to the world he made."
Aaah, but isn't that the crux of the controversy? Most have fallen out of love, or as scripture puts it, their love "waxes cold." Without a love affair with the Creator, the words themselves become the god. The greatest coup an enemy could hope to flaunt: using the very love letter itself to distract attention from the current attentions of the lover. Enns calls us back to the lover. Reminds us that the lover touches each of us within the environment he uniquely created for us--as part of the love display.
The love letter is not a tool for manipulation to use in ignoring all other forms of revelation. Is this the message? Certainly the love letter is not meant as a tool for discouraging reason--quite a devilish feat in itself, incidentally. God makes the invitation in that very love letter "come, let us reason together..." So far, Peter Enns seems to be the only one stepping up to answer that particular call.
In the words of Charles Spurgeon, "Proxy religion involves too great a risk: you had better see to your soul's matters yourself, and leave them in no man's hands." That said, today my prayers thrust their arms deep into the past. If there be those who sit in purgatory--if such a place exist--all because they lost their faith on the day came they were required to choose: believe the sun circles the earth or be condemned. For these, I pray. Many years, I balked at a world where the doctrine of the atonement could be so easily usurped--figured the people surely backward or the historic records of such a time surely exaggerated. But now, as I look at people being given "the left hand of fellowship" as my grandparents called it, being invited to leave their congregations if they won't be silent--and all about whether the earth is 6000 years old or more, I go very still inside.
Why? I pray. Why is this bubbling up now? I pray. Should the humble, empirically-minded man be lost right alongside the devout homosexual? What's going on here?
And, God simply said: birth pangs.
Acts 2: "And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams: And on my servants and on my handmaidens I will pour out in those days of my Spirit; and they shall prophesy:"
He did not stop speaking when that last blessed scroll was rolled up and stuck in a jar. He did not remove his hand from the work alongside the council of Nicaea long ago. If anything, it is going to ramp up...profoundly. I say this, ironically, because it is written. (smile) But first, we must prepare ourselves to hear the spirit and to prophesy.
We must not only allow the earth herself to remember in our presence. We have a lot of our own larger remembering to do...
Sunday, April 24, 2011
A Poem-prayer for Easter
May the sparrow sprinkle cloud flowers
across your saintly pillow, silver stars
to keep you slumber sweet
till morning breaks eternal.
across your saintly pillow, silver stars
to keep you slumber sweet
till morning breaks eternal.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Lawnmowers and Mailboxes
Our mailbox fell down this winter--right over on its side. The box itself is fine, but the post that holds it rotted underground and broke off. As soon as the ground warms, we'll "replant" that mailbox with some type of permanent fixative. For now, it is simply propped in the hole, waiting.
It brings to mind one of those redundant images that I saw again and again last summer. I had no clue at the time what significance that image carried, but I saw it enough in a short span of days that it lodged in my memory as noteworthy. This was the image: a lawnmower parked beside a mailbox. To see it once is nothing. To see it multiple times in one week is something.
Often that is the way the Spirit speaks to me--with an oddity, or a symbol that would only mean something to me. Personal. Quirky, even. I noted it, filed it away, and haven't thought of it much since then. Suddenly this morning, I came across a verse that revived that image in my mind. I must admit, at the time I saw that "sign" I was quite curious why this was being highlighted. I could come up with no logical explanation. No poetic definition that crafted wisdom from the ridiculous. But, I also knew You are always faithful to do just that when the time was right and the need present. The sign is given early I think for a balance of reasons. On God's part, it is to reassure that He is aware of situations long before human need is present. On man's part, it is to demonstrate alertness, the fulfillment of the command to watch and pray--to make note and prepare for "interpretation" to follow. It is that span that gives man's faith the opportunity to please God.
Today was the day for gathering in--multiple images.
Today was the day for the WOW.
Today was the day for hearing love so broad as to make me tremble.
I read Psalm 37.
1 Do not fret because of evildoers,
Nor be envious of the workers of iniquity.
2 For they shall soon be cut down like the grass,
And wither as the green herb.
3 Trust in the LORD, and do good;
Dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness.
4 Delight yourself also in the LORD,
And He shall give you the desires of your heart.
5 Commit your way to the LORD,
Trust also in Him,
And He shall bring it to pass.
6 He shall bring forth your righteousness as the light,
And your justice as the noonday.
The grass is cut around the place where news is delivered. This reassures me now, as I read so much that confuses, distorts, even attempts to nullify what You speak as words of life. This shall not remain so. It is a good place to pray a tool be sent to cut down the evil represented by that grass. Now, the quirky image becomes a specific and serious call to prayer.
What's more--
this grace was given, that I should preach among the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ, 9 and to make all see what is the fellowship [stewardship] of the mystery, which from the beginning of the ages has been hidden in God who created all things through Jesus Christ;Ephesians 3:8-9
I know this grace, this mysterious stewardship, because above and beyond the image of good news delivered to all who have a mailbox out is the personal message of light given to me. In the "story" I've been given to write, my character as the human Bride most recently received a visionary anointing in light. And that dream image tags onto this passage as well.
Such loveliness is a rare find. It is easy to understand Saint John's words in Revelation when he writes that when the Lord speaks, who can help but prophesy?
Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out! Romans 11:33
It brings to mind one of those redundant images that I saw again and again last summer. I had no clue at the time what significance that image carried, but I saw it enough in a short span of days that it lodged in my memory as noteworthy. This was the image: a lawnmower parked beside a mailbox. To see it once is nothing. To see it multiple times in one week is something.
Often that is the way the Spirit speaks to me--with an oddity, or a symbol that would only mean something to me. Personal. Quirky, even. I noted it, filed it away, and haven't thought of it much since then. Suddenly this morning, I came across a verse that revived that image in my mind. I must admit, at the time I saw that "sign" I was quite curious why this was being highlighted. I could come up with no logical explanation. No poetic definition that crafted wisdom from the ridiculous. But, I also knew You are always faithful to do just that when the time was right and the need present. The sign is given early I think for a balance of reasons. On God's part, it is to reassure that He is aware of situations long before human need is present. On man's part, it is to demonstrate alertness, the fulfillment of the command to watch and pray--to make note and prepare for "interpretation" to follow. It is that span that gives man's faith the opportunity to please God.
Today was the day for gathering in--multiple images.
Today was the day for the WOW.
Today was the day for hearing love so broad as to make me tremble.
I read Psalm 37.
1 Do not fret because of evildoers,
Nor be envious of the workers of iniquity.
2 For they shall soon be cut down like the grass,
And wither as the green herb.
3 Trust in the LORD, and do good;
Dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness.
4 Delight yourself also in the LORD,
And He shall give you the desires of your heart.
5 Commit your way to the LORD,
Trust also in Him,
And He shall bring it to pass.
6 He shall bring forth your righteousness as the light,
And your justice as the noonday.
The grass is cut around the place where news is delivered. This reassures me now, as I read so much that confuses, distorts, even attempts to nullify what You speak as words of life. This shall not remain so. It is a good place to pray a tool be sent to cut down the evil represented by that grass. Now, the quirky image becomes a specific and serious call to prayer.
What's more--
this grace was given, that I should preach among the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ, 9 and to make all see what is the fellowship [stewardship] of the mystery, which from the beginning of the ages has been hidden in God who created all things through Jesus Christ;Ephesians 3:8-9
I know this grace, this mysterious stewardship, because above and beyond the image of good news delivered to all who have a mailbox out is the personal message of light given to me. In the "story" I've been given to write, my character as the human Bride most recently received a visionary anointing in light. And that dream image tags onto this passage as well.
Such loveliness is a rare find. It is easy to understand Saint John's words in Revelation when he writes that when the Lord speaks, who can help but prophesy?
Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out! Romans 11:33
Friday, March 11, 2011
Changeling for Good
I carried that Spectre just under my heart.
Often, I saw him
He who once roamed an empty universe
now barely existing,
shrunk down to sleep,
and wait for election's call
to be fulfilled.
Dark--but he was accustomed to that;
Cramped--he was not accustomed to that;
Confined--blissfully different from all confinements
ever known before this one.
He was safe in this place within me.
As safe as my own thoughts and dreams anyway.
A sobering reality in my heart.
And so he became one not just with the Christ
but also with the Spirit.
I will not lie,
I had my moments of doubt.
If I were wrong, this was exactly the point
at which deception might give birth
to the trap
and he might try to kill me simply to see
what happens to him at my death.
A secret passage into the halls of heaven again
through the heart of a foolish woman.
But mostly, I remembered
I had not initiated any of these circumstances.
Mostly I realized he had actually been helping me--protecting me,
against the more real danger:
other soul invaders--for he expected others would try--
upon seeing his trailblazing,
might try to follow suit.
As long as he remained within, he was anathema to them.
My inner shield
...not just a sleeping marble in my gullet.
Sometimes, I'd wake him.
I would reach out to him with my soul--the part that can extend outside
or deep within me.
I'd reach within and meet his soul
and we would talk of love.
I would tells him what I see he has done for me.
"When did we begin to love this new kind of love?" I wondered.
"One dark night in eternity," he answered.
He was right.
Christ taught me to first see him,
later to have compassion though laced with a strain of fear,
finally to love,
but all came first from Christ through me.
I raised then a remembrance
of his moment of salvation--when he first believed,
and though I had not been with him,
(I only saw a hint of the magnificence,
the glory of his Davidic dance
in God's holy city)
yet I HAD been with him nonetheless.
For the substance of my love
--intangible in my reality but very real in his--
was the primal substance of that thing he hoped for
in his fledgling moments of faith.
categorically ignored.
Ecstacy of innocence, long abandoned
but now replaced by ecstacy of purity, long impossible.
Often, I saw him
He who once roamed an empty universe
now barely existing,
shrunk down to sleep,
and wait for election's call
to be fulfilled.
Dark--but he was accustomed to that;
Cramped--he was not accustomed to that;
Confined--blissfully different from all confinements
ever known before this one.
He was safe in this place within me.
As safe as my own thoughts and dreams anyway.
A sobering reality in my heart.
And so he became one not just with the Christ
but also with the Spirit.
I will not lie,
I had my moments of doubt.
If I were wrong, this was exactly the point
at which deception might give birth
to the trap
and he might try to kill me simply to see
what happens to him at my death.
A secret passage into the halls of heaven again
through the heart of a foolish woman.
But mostly, I remembered
I had not initiated any of these circumstances.
Mostly I realized he had actually been helping me--protecting me,
against the more real danger:
other soul invaders--for he expected others would try--
upon seeing his trailblazing,
might try to follow suit.
As long as he remained within, he was anathema to them.
My inner shield
...not just a sleeping marble in my gullet.
Sometimes, I'd wake him.
I would reach out to him with my soul--the part that can extend outside
or deep within me.
I'd reach within and meet his soul
and we would talk of love.
I would tells him what I see he has done for me.
"When did we begin to love this new kind of love?" I wondered.
"One dark night in eternity," he answered.
He was right.
Christ taught me to first see him,
later to have compassion though laced with a strain of fear,
finally to love,
but all came first from Christ through me.
I raised then a remembrance
of his moment of salvation--when he first believed,
and though I had not been with him,
(I only saw a hint of the magnificence,
the glory of his Davidic dance
in God's holy city)
yet I HAD been with him nonetheless.
For the substance of my love
--intangible in my reality but very real in his--
was the primal substance of that thing he hoped for
in his fledgling moments of faith.
His belief that he was loved
made me the kindling to Christ's fire
that marked the birth of his salvation--
his first revisiting with rejoicing, so long latentcategorically ignored.
Ecstacy of innocence, long abandoned
but now replaced by ecstacy of purity, long impossible.
So his heart swelled to meet mine in this new stature,
and I--
I began to travail.
I sent him forth.
Your spirit can expand with love,
so you must leave this place inside me and love larger,
love others--even as you love yourself now.
You must learn more--more than you can learn from within me.
So he soared out of me and flew into the night like a holy bird of prey
seeking what he might love.
And I...
I entered the garden where my Beloved waited for me.
Spring was coming, and we rested in the hidden recesses of a willow tree.
A Woman Clothed with the Sun
From time to time,
I considered this one
lodged willingly within me
accepting whatever came to him
as a resident of me.
I wondered at the strangeness of it.
I hoped in the rightness of it.
Then on day, the Beloved took me
again
to the fountain filled with blood
where He so intimately imbued me.
Often I had shouted, "I love YOU!"
and spun in wild circles.
But this day, I walked up to Him.
I leaned into His pulsing throat,
"I love You, " I whispered.
"And I do not care who doesn't know it."
I said it for no one to hear
but Him.
Slowly He smiled,
And His hand waved over the ruby-sparkle
in the fountain,
up came clear water like a fountain,
water that took shape in the form of a woman,
water in my form.
"You may have gifts over the flow of water,
but this..." He smiled softly.
"This you must allow me to do for you."
I drew a breath and
turned my back,
allowing that the water-me it should rush to fill the conscious me.
When it did, the gestating mystery
secret within
nevertheless began to show.
For my body began to glow
soon bright like the sun.
And the Beloved stepped into the fountain behind me
enfolded me in His arms, and spoke in my ear.
"Love purely given
leads to this."
He whispered.
One more marker on the road
to being a Mother in Israel.
He spoke again:
"Do not be in such a rush,
dear one."
So I relaxed, my back leaning
against the strength of him.
Indeed.
I could stay in this moment
filled up with water
and with light
forever.
In the last day, that great [day] of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink. John 7:37
I considered this one
lodged willingly within me
accepting whatever came to him
as a resident of me.
I wondered at the strangeness of it.
I hoped in the rightness of it.
Then on day, the Beloved took me
again
to the fountain filled with blood
where He so intimately imbued me.
Often I had shouted, "I love YOU!"
and spun in wild circles.
But this day, I walked up to Him.
I leaned into His pulsing throat,
"I love You, " I whispered.
"And I do not care who doesn't know it."
I said it for no one to hear
but Him.
Slowly He smiled,
And His hand waved over the ruby-sparkle
in the fountain,
up came clear water like a fountain,
water that took shape in the form of a woman,
water in my form.
"You may have gifts over the flow of water,
but this..." He smiled softly.
"This you must allow me to do for you."
I drew a breath and
turned my back,
allowing that the water-me it should rush to fill the conscious me.
When it did, the gestating mystery
secret within
nevertheless began to show.
For my body began to glow
soon bright like the sun.
And the Beloved stepped into the fountain behind me
enfolded me in His arms, and spoke in my ear.
"Love purely given
leads to this."
He whispered.
One more marker on the road
to being a Mother in Israel.
He spoke again:
"Do not be in such a rush,
dear one."
So I relaxed, my back leaning
against the strength of him.
Indeed.
I could stay in this moment
filled up with water
and with light
forever.
In the last day, that great [day] of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink. John 7:37
The Crystal Spectre Finds a New Home
The time after the Baptism was an upper-room time in the city of eternity. What now?
And Christ came to that room with me (the bride) and the Baptized One. I welcomed him eagerly, as was my custom. But the Baptized Spectre kept his face turned aside, toward the fireplace.
"What now?" I asked. And a thought swelled in my head of my place in the Holy Writ.
My deep soul wondered: was the dark test passed?
My deep soul wondered: does life begin again within me now?
But Christ looked at the Baptized One, not at me. "He fears the truth of prophecy.
If you become the Mother,
what becomes he?"
I looked at my new deep-soul companion and saw
indeed what lodged in his spiritual eye.
He would somehow be the dragon
...and his faith buckled under the strain of such a profession
over his destiny.
My faith folded over, felt the hands of prophecy press down, and turn
and fold again.
"Maybe that is not who he is
in the story."
They both looked at me. Such different looks.
One an electric stare.
The other a flirt of a smile.
Then they looked at each other.
"It will be a large discipline," he forewarned.
"It is wisdom," I walked forward adamantly.
"It is a way to be a disciple,
such as no human can know.
What a wonder!"
And so the Spectre
became a novice
and my very body the monastery.
Curled up and small,
small and powerless,
powerless and devoid of influence
over any but...me.
Thus we continued life together.
And Christ came to that room with me (the bride) and the Baptized One. I welcomed him eagerly, as was my custom. But the Baptized Spectre kept his face turned aside, toward the fireplace.
"What now?" I asked. And a thought swelled in my head of my place in the Holy Writ.
My deep soul wondered: was the dark test passed?
My deep soul wondered: does life begin again within me now?
But Christ looked at the Baptized One, not at me. "He fears the truth of prophecy.
If you become the Mother,
what becomes he?"
I looked at my new deep-soul companion and saw
indeed what lodged in his spiritual eye.
He would somehow be the dragon
...and his faith buckled under the strain of such a profession
over his destiny.
My faith folded over, felt the hands of prophecy press down, and turn
and fold again.
"Maybe that is not who he is
in the story."
They both looked at me. Such different looks.
One an electric stare.
The other a flirt of a smile.
Then they looked at each other.
"It will be a large discipline," he forewarned.
"It is wisdom," I walked forward adamantly.
"It is a way to be a disciple,
such as no human can know.
What a wonder!"
And so the Spectre
became a novice
and my very body the monastery.
Curled up and small,
small and powerless,
powerless and devoid of influence
over any but...me.
Thus we continued life together.
Friday, January 21, 2011
When God Dreams...
As a dream when [one] awaketh; [so], O Lord, when thou awakest, thou shalt despise their image. Psalm 73:20.
This Psalm has swelled in significance for me as our era of feeling called to "measure" the church continues. It came to us in our own dreams, and fulfilled itself in the last couple of years. For years before that call, we were happily settled into a church home, and even if we moved we generally found a new one with relative ease. Not so the last couple of years. And while we are currently at a church that a good 10,000 feel drawn to attend, we still have a sense of unrest here. We also know You told us to sit in attendance here for a while, but I don't think it is for the same reason You sent us to our churches of old.
For instance, I read the following quote in the book, Crazy Love, "God's definition of what matters is pretty straightforward. He measures our lives by how we love. In our culture, even if a pastor doesn't actually love people, he still can be considered successful as long as he is a gifted speaker, makes his congregation laugh, or prays for 'all those poor, suffering people in the world' every Sunday."
It's not that I don't believe my pastor loves...it's that I have no clue about his love. I have his words, but no experience, no personal certainty as I watch his life. At best, I have only a hope that he loves in some way hidden to me. After all, what can I know about a man who speaks to me in the midst of a sea of 10,000 others? What does he know about me?
If one is to believe the modern church, a pastor and a congregant don't need that kind of one-to-one life visibility. There's an hierarchy in place. The pastor will demonstrate how he "loves" to those in his inner circle even as I will do with mine. But is this really Your preference for the Church? Or...could we be seeing the fruits of a subtle planting of nonspiritual ideology, a methodology that speaks a risky message into our subconscious. What message? Only this: the Church of God is so large after 2000 years of growing, and that added to the tens of thousands of angels gathered around the throne, that we would be foolish to expect You to take a "personal" interest in US as individuals or to reveal Yourself to us! If I am really good, maybe some heavenly version of mid-level management will take an interest in me, but to expect anything different is surely prideful.
When I pause to consider that message, I realize I profess to believe something very different. In fact, I do not believe my God is so small that He must operate under the same limits that govern a lead pastor in a church of thousands. But in practice, I live as if that distance is spiritual truth. Didn't Jesus pray, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven"? Does that go so far as to mean relationship with the shepherd on earth should reflect relationship with the shepherd in heaven? But because the opposing ideology is so backdoor in its presentation, how many of us stop to realize that IT is now sitting, drinking coffee at our kitchen table? And not only is IT sitting there, but IT brought along ITS companion ideology: Complacency.
For me, all this personal reflection brings Psalm 73 back in bold relief.
How easily I relate to the Psalmist as he says:
But as for me, I came so close to the edge of the cliff!
My feet were slipping, and I was almost gone.
Bitterness constitute the edge of that cliff for me. I look over it every time I acknowledge a truth like this one: I learn more through 15 minutes of conversation about the "love" of a young social worker at a Christian homeless shelter than I know about the "love" of the man I've called lead pastor for the last two years.
What happens when this situation persists? Because none of us really have a clue about each other's "love" meter, laziness tempts us. And, because all of us feel virtually invisible to the pastors "called" to speak into our lives weekly, self-protection tempts us. We are quickly positioned to be cast in the worst possible roles that appear in Psalm 73. These are the ones I mean:
They seem to live such a painless life;
their bodies are so healthy and strong.
They aren't troubled like other people
or plagued with problems like everyone else.
They wear pride like a jeweled necklace,
and their clothing is woven of cruelty.
These fat cats have everything
their hearts could ever wish for!
They boast against the very heavens,
and their words strut throughout the earth.
If we're honest, even if we don't live by these traits, don't we often see them as close to our real aspirations? Don't we calculate by them even in our very churches! How many invest the effort to be certain that their clothing isn't woven in the cruelty of a sweat shop? How many have everything we could ever wish for without even realizing it, simply because we aren't aware what classifies as "suffering" on the global median? How many of us use social media to make our words strut throughout the earth?
If God favors us, we are aware of a strata of human existence who "live" the verses that follow those listed above:
And so the people are dismayed and confused,
drinking in all their (the ones previously described) words.
If God favors us, we listen respectfully and hold up the praying-arms of the least of His brethren when they cry the next verse:
"Does God realize what is going on?" they ask.
"Is the Most High even aware of what is happening?"
And, most of all, if God favors us, we leave the ranks of that church in Revelation that doesn't even recognize its own poverty and makes the Son of God gag. We understand who wears this verse from our chosen Psalm:
Look at these arrogant people-
enjoying a life of ease while their riches multiply.
Conviction should strike our hearts when we realize how few are living favored lives by this measure. So how do we answer the problem? Again, those new-church concepts of mass and inertia plant subtle hopelessness patterns across our hearts. Do I stop attending church entirely? Do I realize You spoke strange things about this "modern problem" in ancient times? Do I realize even I might be called for a "sign and a wonder" in this world where You would love for ALL to be saved?
How do I respond when I see my own country's church sadly confirming Your words as they came through Hosea: "When I fed them, they were satisfied; when they were satisfied, they became proud; then they forgot me." Do I embrace that more-convenient posture of shame that my church and its leaders would have me to do, all for having had the audacity to pause and meditate on this prophecy? Or, do I move into it more deeply.
Do I move on to hear You speak yet again, now through Malachi, when You ask pointblank: would your governor/government be satisfied with the quality and quantity of what you offer Me?
And because the answer is obviously no, do I perceive You marking me with that strange call when You, again through Malachi, search for a strange apostle: "Oh, that there were one among you who would shut the gates, that you might not uselessly kindle fire on My altar! I am not pleased with you...nor will I accept an offering from you."
Is this lifeless sanctuary the place where we are left to sit guarding the locks?
Thankfully, no. Our Psalm reminds us to exit this place of difficult commissioning when the opportunity arises. We are not without hope. But "visioneering" must define church differently once our eyes are so opened. I see three things next in this Psalm that are like the compass, the map and the canteen graciously given in answer to our cry of: "Alright! I admit it. I'm totally lost in this forest, and I've been lost here for awhile!"
One grace in the church of my dreams is hidden in this verse:
Then one day I went into your sanctuary, O God,
and I thought about the destiny of the wicked.
I will search and I will build until this is true for me: entering Your sanctuary brings thoughts larger than helplessness and hopelessness, ones that inspire me to think with my own mind about the truths of destiny.
The second grace is hid in this verse:
Then I realized how bitter I had become,
how pained I had been by all I had seen.
I will search and build until time spent in Your sanctuary clarifies my perception of myself and my drifting away as measured by what matters to You.
And the third grace is found in this:
I was so foolish and ignorant-
I must have seemed like a senseless animal to you.
Yet I still belong to you;
you are holding my right hand.
I will search and build until I find a sanctuary where it is on earth as it is in heaven in all the ways that You make available: a place where I can be known for the senseless animal I am, nevertheless, my hand is faithfully held by one who teaches me to love by first loving me.
This Psalm has swelled in significance for me as our era of feeling called to "measure" the church continues. It came to us in our own dreams, and fulfilled itself in the last couple of years. For years before that call, we were happily settled into a church home, and even if we moved we generally found a new one with relative ease. Not so the last couple of years. And while we are currently at a church that a good 10,000 feel drawn to attend, we still have a sense of unrest here. We also know You told us to sit in attendance here for a while, but I don't think it is for the same reason You sent us to our churches of old.
For instance, I read the following quote in the book, Crazy Love, "God's definition of what matters is pretty straightforward. He measures our lives by how we love. In our culture, even if a pastor doesn't actually love people, he still can be considered successful as long as he is a gifted speaker, makes his congregation laugh, or prays for 'all those poor, suffering people in the world' every Sunday."
It's not that I don't believe my pastor loves...it's that I have no clue about his love. I have his words, but no experience, no personal certainty as I watch his life. At best, I have only a hope that he loves in some way hidden to me. After all, what can I know about a man who speaks to me in the midst of a sea of 10,000 others? What does he know about me?
If one is to believe the modern church, a pastor and a congregant don't need that kind of one-to-one life visibility. There's an hierarchy in place. The pastor will demonstrate how he "loves" to those in his inner circle even as I will do with mine. But is this really Your preference for the Church? Or...could we be seeing the fruits of a subtle planting of nonspiritual ideology, a methodology that speaks a risky message into our subconscious. What message? Only this: the Church of God is so large after 2000 years of growing, and that added to the tens of thousands of angels gathered around the throne, that we would be foolish to expect You to take a "personal" interest in US as individuals or to reveal Yourself to us! If I am really good, maybe some heavenly version of mid-level management will take an interest in me, but to expect anything different is surely prideful.
When I pause to consider that message, I realize I profess to believe something very different. In fact, I do not believe my God is so small that He must operate under the same limits that govern a lead pastor in a church of thousands. But in practice, I live as if that distance is spiritual truth. Didn't Jesus pray, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven"? Does that go so far as to mean relationship with the shepherd on earth should reflect relationship with the shepherd in heaven? But because the opposing ideology is so backdoor in its presentation, how many of us stop to realize that IT is now sitting, drinking coffee at our kitchen table? And not only is IT sitting there, but IT brought along ITS companion ideology: Complacency.
For me, all this personal reflection brings Psalm 73 back in bold relief.
How easily I relate to the Psalmist as he says:
But as for me, I came so close to the edge of the cliff!
My feet were slipping, and I was almost gone.
Bitterness constitute the edge of that cliff for me. I look over it every time I acknowledge a truth like this one: I learn more through 15 minutes of conversation about the "love" of a young social worker at a Christian homeless shelter than I know about the "love" of the man I've called lead pastor for the last two years.
What happens when this situation persists? Because none of us really have a clue about each other's "love" meter, laziness tempts us. And, because all of us feel virtually invisible to the pastors "called" to speak into our lives weekly, self-protection tempts us. We are quickly positioned to be cast in the worst possible roles that appear in Psalm 73. These are the ones I mean:
They seem to live such a painless life;
their bodies are so healthy and strong.
They aren't troubled like other people
or plagued with problems like everyone else.
They wear pride like a jeweled necklace,
and their clothing is woven of cruelty.
These fat cats have everything
their hearts could ever wish for!
They boast against the very heavens,
and their words strut throughout the earth.
If we're honest, even if we don't live by these traits, don't we often see them as close to our real aspirations? Don't we calculate by them even in our very churches! How many invest the effort to be certain that their clothing isn't woven in the cruelty of a sweat shop? How many have everything we could ever wish for without even realizing it, simply because we aren't aware what classifies as "suffering" on the global median? How many of us use social media to make our words strut throughout the earth?
If God favors us, we are aware of a strata of human existence who "live" the verses that follow those listed above:
And so the people are dismayed and confused,
drinking in all their (the ones previously described) words.
If God favors us, we listen respectfully and hold up the praying-arms of the least of His brethren when they cry the next verse:
"Does God realize what is going on?" they ask.
"Is the Most High even aware of what is happening?"
And, most of all, if God favors us, we leave the ranks of that church in Revelation that doesn't even recognize its own poverty and makes the Son of God gag. We understand who wears this verse from our chosen Psalm:
Look at these arrogant people-
enjoying a life of ease while their riches multiply.
Conviction should strike our hearts when we realize how few are living favored lives by this measure. So how do we answer the problem? Again, those new-church concepts of mass and inertia plant subtle hopelessness patterns across our hearts. Do I stop attending church entirely? Do I realize You spoke strange things about this "modern problem" in ancient times? Do I realize even I might be called for a "sign and a wonder" in this world where You would love for ALL to be saved?
How do I respond when I see my own country's church sadly confirming Your words as they came through Hosea: "When I fed them, they were satisfied; when they were satisfied, they became proud; then they forgot me." Do I embrace that more-convenient posture of shame that my church and its leaders would have me to do, all for having had the audacity to pause and meditate on this prophecy? Or, do I move into it more deeply.
Do I move on to hear You speak yet again, now through Malachi, when You ask pointblank: would your governor/government be satisfied with the quality and quantity of what you offer Me?
And because the answer is obviously no, do I perceive You marking me with that strange call when You, again through Malachi, search for a strange apostle: "Oh, that there were one among you who would shut the gates, that you might not uselessly kindle fire on My altar! I am not pleased with you...nor will I accept an offering from you."
Is this lifeless sanctuary the place where we are left to sit guarding the locks?
Thankfully, no. Our Psalm reminds us to exit this place of difficult commissioning when the opportunity arises. We are not without hope. But "visioneering" must define church differently once our eyes are so opened. I see three things next in this Psalm that are like the compass, the map and the canteen graciously given in answer to our cry of: "Alright! I admit it. I'm totally lost in this forest, and I've been lost here for awhile!"
One grace in the church of my dreams is hidden in this verse:
Then one day I went into your sanctuary, O God,
and I thought about the destiny of the wicked.
I will search and I will build until this is true for me: entering Your sanctuary brings thoughts larger than helplessness and hopelessness, ones that inspire me to think with my own mind about the truths of destiny.
The second grace is hid in this verse:
Then I realized how bitter I had become,
how pained I had been by all I had seen.
I will search and build until time spent in Your sanctuary clarifies my perception of myself and my drifting away as measured by what matters to You.
And the third grace is found in this:
I was so foolish and ignorant-
I must have seemed like a senseless animal to you.
Yet I still belong to you;
you are holding my right hand.
I will search and build until I find a sanctuary where it is on earth as it is in heaven in all the ways that You make available: a place where I can be known for the senseless animal I am, nevertheless, my hand is faithfully held by one who teaches me to love by first loving me.
Monday, December 20, 2010
On Dealing with a Demon Possessed House
Meanwhile, in my earthly home, this new relationship with the Crystal Hope, (as I now call the Crystal Specter) has led to a constant march of spiritual riff raff in and out of my material home. I'm not supposed to see them...not them nor their tireless holy counterparts sent to protect and preserve. But, sometimes I'll catch a sidelong awareness, more often all the time in fact, which makes me think my house is becoming something of a spiritual Grand Central Station. I anticipated this, counted the cost before I ever agreed to opening the door. What's more, I knew it was my responsibility to put the umbrella of prayer over the whole thing. I weighted with trepidation, being full-well familiar with Christ's warning:
43 "When an unclean spirit goes out of a man, he goes through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none. 44 Then he says, 'I will return to my house from which I came.' And when he comes, he finds it empty, swept, and put in order. 45 Then he goes and takes with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter and dwell there; and the last state of that man is worse than the first. So shall it also be with this wicked generation."
So I am diligent, but we're all in new territory here. For instance, the other day, I sensed a need to plaster a gap in the wall--a gap that allowed ones in who did not belong. They sat in my living room watching violent television programming that randomly played as my husband slept on the couch. I could turn off the television, removing their entertainment. I could get rid of the television (there's an excessive response.) But what felt right was to simply plaster the gap in the spiritual bubble that mounds over our home.
When the little devils watching the television turned an eye my direction, one of them said, "Are you sure you want to close our exit?" I knew he was referencing the verse I already had in mind.
Trowel in hand, I looked him back dead in the eye and said, "You know how I keep this place and who I actually invite inside it. Are you sure you want to be trapped in here?"
They considered, and then left...leaving it to the holy ones to take up an altogether different sort of party.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Where Are You 'Under the Sun'?
I'm posting a little puzzle here. I want you to read the following, and then I'll share some of the details that prompted my quoting it. Hopefully, it will be as much of a jaw-dropper to you as it was to me.
Prayer is attractive enough when it is considered in a context of...sunny, joyous country churches. And as a matter of fact, the Church means all this. It is a class religion, the cult of a special society and group, not even of a whole nation, but of the ruling minority in a nation. That is the principal basis for its rather strong coherence up to now. There is certainly not much doctrinal unity, much less a mystical bond between people many of whom have even ceased to believe in the Sacraments. The thing that holds them together is the powerful attraction of their social traditions, and the stubborn tenacity with which they cling to certain social standards and customs, more or less for their own sake. The Church depends, for its existence, almost entirely on the solidarity and conservatism of the ruling class. Its strength is not in anything supernatural, but in the strong social and racial instincts which bind the members of this caste together; and these cling to their Church the way they cling to...a big, vague, sweet complex of subjective dispositions regarding the countryside, baseball, apple-pie, 4th of July parades and fireworks...and all those other things the mere thought of which produces a kind of a warm and inexplicable ache in the national heart.
I got mixed up in all this...and it was strong enough in me to blur and naturalize all that might have been supernatural in my attraction to pray and to love God. And consequently the grace that was given me was stifled, not at once, but gradually. As long as I lived in this peaceful hothouse atmosphere...I was pious, perhaps sincerely. But as soon as the frail walls of this illusion broke down again--...and I saw that underneath their sentimentality, these were just as brutal as the others--I made no further effort to keep up what seemed to me to be a more or less manifest pretense...
...It is a terrible thing to think of the grace that is wasted in this world...
First, I should admit to modifying the foregoing quote in one part--the imagery series that spoke of apple pies and holiday parades. The original would have given away the fact that it was not written about our time or our people, even though I say it IS written for our time and for our people. No, the original spoke of castles and games of cricket and pipe-smoking. The Church mentioned was the Church of England and the text referred to the state of affairs as the author saw it in the 1920's--reaching back nearly 100 years ago. These are the reflections of Thomas Merton, a protestant turned Trappist monk, in his autobiography, The Seven Storey Mountain. I don't know about you, but I find it rather ironic that the very church from which our forefathers sought religious freedom, braving much hardship for that cause--this is the very church we today take for a model in so many ways, if Merton's observations be at all accurate.
Before we can even begin to hope to make beneficial choices about our faith-walk we must first throw off the lie that we are facing pertinent issues...the issues are not the issue. The issues change like a suit of clothing, but the body that gives them shape while being worn, that body must be recognized as ever the same old body. And the health of that body can not be changed by donning an ever more trendy and glamorous costume. Health is best assessed by standing naked before a mirror under a strong light and making careful examination of what we see.
Prayer is attractive enough when it is considered in a context of...sunny, joyous country churches. And as a matter of fact, the Church means all this. It is a class religion, the cult of a special society and group, not even of a whole nation, but of the ruling minority in a nation. That is the principal basis for its rather strong coherence up to now. There is certainly not much doctrinal unity, much less a mystical bond between people many of whom have even ceased to believe in the Sacraments. The thing that holds them together is the powerful attraction of their social traditions, and the stubborn tenacity with which they cling to certain social standards and customs, more or less for their own sake. The Church depends, for its existence, almost entirely on the solidarity and conservatism of the ruling class. Its strength is not in anything supernatural, but in the strong social and racial instincts which bind the members of this caste together; and these cling to their Church the way they cling to...a big, vague, sweet complex of subjective dispositions regarding the countryside, baseball, apple-pie, 4th of July parades and fireworks...and all those other things the mere thought of which produces a kind of a warm and inexplicable ache in the national heart.
I got mixed up in all this...and it was strong enough in me to blur and naturalize all that might have been supernatural in my attraction to pray and to love God. And consequently the grace that was given me was stifled, not at once, but gradually. As long as I lived in this peaceful hothouse atmosphere...I was pious, perhaps sincerely. But as soon as the frail walls of this illusion broke down again--...and I saw that underneath their sentimentality, these were just as brutal as the others--I made no further effort to keep up what seemed to me to be a more or less manifest pretense...
...It is a terrible thing to think of the grace that is wasted in this world...
First, I should admit to modifying the foregoing quote in one part--the imagery series that spoke of apple pies and holiday parades. The original would have given away the fact that it was not written about our time or our people, even though I say it IS written for our time and for our people. No, the original spoke of castles and games of cricket and pipe-smoking. The Church mentioned was the Church of England and the text referred to the state of affairs as the author saw it in the 1920's--reaching back nearly 100 years ago. These are the reflections of Thomas Merton, a protestant turned Trappist monk, in his autobiography, The Seven Storey Mountain. I don't know about you, but I find it rather ironic that the very church from which our forefathers sought religious freedom, braving much hardship for that cause--this is the very church we today take for a model in so many ways, if Merton's observations be at all accurate.
Before we can even begin to hope to make beneficial choices about our faith-walk we must first throw off the lie that we are facing pertinent issues...the issues are not the issue. The issues change like a suit of clothing, but the body that gives them shape while being worn, that body must be recognized as ever the same old body. And the health of that body can not be changed by donning an ever more trendy and glamorous costume. Health is best assessed by standing naked before a mirror under a strong light and making careful examination of what we see.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
What Do You Call Tradition?
Dear God...I miss really "belonging" to a church. When my son comes home from college, I wish he could happily anticipate a homecoming welcome he would invariably receive from a church family he knows, rather than only having the familiarity of the building and the assurance of a good sermon to look forward to. I know You called us to this massive church for a reason, but please help me understand why these disappointments blind-side me. Is it enough to know that this is still the cry of our hearts? Are we now strong enough to re-join such a church, even though our eyes are now wide open to how great is the potential to be wounded by embracing such a membership?
One friend says: hmmmm.... I don't have any answers.
Another: Amen, and Amen. Right there with ya.
Me again: So here is my prayer--lead us to a church, O God, where people don't get suspicious, but trust YOU when we tell them You're leading us to something they don't immediately understand. Take us someplace where the people don't bite at us out of their own shame when we happen to learn things about them they didn't really want us to know. And finally, help me to allow You to re-define my take on a "valuable church life" for my children if that is part of the point of this long time in the desert.
One friend again: I miss most the sense of community from our old church, and the traditions. Sometimes I missed it so much I found myself trying to reconnect, but having such a strong discernment that I was wrong when I tried. I know we are in the right place for my family... I think my work situation makes it so very hard for me to feel part of the community of our church... much less even try to penetrate and get involved. I was able to actually go today, and I was already grieving the fact that I can only go one more Sunday before fall back into my weekend routine again. My prayer is aligned with yours... with a request to find community within my own church throughout the week.
A third friend: I will pray with you. More than 10 years ago God led me to the congregation I am part of now. IT IS A BLESSING EVERY DAY TO BE A PART OF THEM. He will lead your family to the green pastures that will satisfy your needs and longings. Love you.
And a fourth: I am so with you! We still haven't found a place to call home. It makes me sad!
Me again: Years ago in my hometown, my testimony of church life was just like yours is now. I long for that again so much! Ans, Erin, my heart goes out to you. I know what you mean, wondering what God's after in the way church figures in the walk you and family make as you go about following Him. Sometimes it is so hard to be in that time when you know you're learning, you just don't know quite WHAT you're learning yet. For now, I have to be content to wait for the epiphany. :D
This was a Facebook conversation that basically reached into the heart of my pining for tradition and its blessings on myself and those others who respect it. I shared that pining with caring friends and with my Maker.
I've known something was afoot in this even before I had this conversation, and prayed to understand it. The first layer peeled on this spiritual onion, and the deadest layer, came in the form of a devotion I read. In that devotion, the author reflected on how great an impact it made on his young soul when he heard his WWII-era school teacher pray her Thanksgiving prayer despite having just lost her husband in the battles.
It occurred to me that my own elementary school days in the 60's were already beyond the era when teachers prayed public prayers in public schools. I did not have that "location" as a place for God to speak into my spirit in ways that would last a lifetime. I'm sure this devotion author could have constructed the same dirge I did, only about prayer in schools. I (having never experienced it) never fully understood all the "fuss" about the loss of prayer in schools other than as a territorial loss in the land of the spirit. I understand better now.
More importantly, I see that the Spirit of God simply found other venues to speak into my heart, venues to replace the one I never even suspected existed, let alone lost. Should my children lose what I once knew as the beauty of church-life, I can now rest assured that God is clever and resourceful enough to find another venue to permeate their souls with grace as well. Didn't I always know it? Yet, God sends gentle reminders when my misty eyes beg them.
Quoting the book of Job, I can now say with all the greater appreciation:
All the while my breath [is] in me, the spirit of God [is] in my nostrils; Psalm 27:3
The best "tradition" of all is simply the tradition of God finding an inroad to the human heart. This is a beginning of peace.
One friend says: hmmmm.... I don't have any answers.
Another: Amen, and Amen. Right there with ya.
Me again: So here is my prayer--lead us to a church, O God, where people don't get suspicious, but trust YOU when we tell them You're leading us to something they don't immediately understand. Take us someplace where the people don't bite at us out of their own shame when we happen to learn things about them they didn't really want us to know. And finally, help me to allow You to re-define my take on a "valuable church life" for my children if that is part of the point of this long time in the desert.
One friend again: I miss most the sense of community from our old church, and the traditions. Sometimes I missed it so much I found myself trying to reconnect, but having such a strong discernment that I was wrong when I tried. I know we are in the right place for my family... I think my work situation makes it so very hard for me to feel part of the community of our church... much less even try to penetrate and get involved. I was able to actually go today, and I was already grieving the fact that I can only go one more Sunday before fall back into my weekend routine again. My prayer is aligned with yours... with a request to find community within my own church throughout the week.
A third friend: I will pray with you. More than 10 years ago God led me to the congregation I am part of now. IT IS A BLESSING EVERY DAY TO BE A PART OF THEM. He will lead your family to the green pastures that will satisfy your needs and longings. Love you.
And a fourth: I am so with you! We still haven't found a place to call home. It makes me sad!
Me again: Years ago in my hometown, my testimony of church life was just like yours is now. I long for that again so much! Ans, Erin, my heart goes out to you. I know what you mean, wondering what God's after in the way church figures in the walk you and family make as you go about following Him. Sometimes it is so hard to be in that time when you know you're learning, you just don't know quite WHAT you're learning yet. For now, I have to be content to wait for the epiphany. :D
This was a Facebook conversation that basically reached into the heart of my pining for tradition and its blessings on myself and those others who respect it. I shared that pining with caring friends and with my Maker.
I've known something was afoot in this even before I had this conversation, and prayed to understand it. The first layer peeled on this spiritual onion, and the deadest layer, came in the form of a devotion I read. In that devotion, the author reflected on how great an impact it made on his young soul when he heard his WWII-era school teacher pray her Thanksgiving prayer despite having just lost her husband in the battles.
It occurred to me that my own elementary school days in the 60's were already beyond the era when teachers prayed public prayers in public schools. I did not have that "location" as a place for God to speak into my spirit in ways that would last a lifetime. I'm sure this devotion author could have constructed the same dirge I did, only about prayer in schools. I (having never experienced it) never fully understood all the "fuss" about the loss of prayer in schools other than as a territorial loss in the land of the spirit. I understand better now.
More importantly, I see that the Spirit of God simply found other venues to speak into my heart, venues to replace the one I never even suspected existed, let alone lost. Should my children lose what I once knew as the beauty of church-life, I can now rest assured that God is clever and resourceful enough to find another venue to permeate their souls with grace as well. Didn't I always know it? Yet, God sends gentle reminders when my misty eyes beg them.
Quoting the book of Job, I can now say with all the greater appreciation:
All the while my breath [is] in me, the spirit of God [is] in my nostrils; Psalm 27:3
The best "tradition" of all is simply the tradition of God finding an inroad to the human heart. This is a beginning of peace.
The Crystal Spectre Takes Mark 9 to Heart
He said to them, "Assuredly, I say to you that there are some standing here who will not taste death till they see the kingdom of God present with power."
I think of this verse differently as I stand just outside the door to that spare room--my hand still on its doorknob even. I saw that Power lonely in a dark lifeless expanse...I see it now, willingly shrunk down to the size of a human form--communing with the one who announces the Kingdom of God as a thing near to men. I see a miracle blooming--like a blossom forming on a plant that has never thrown a bud into being...such is this miracle.
And Jesus joined me just beyond that door and said, "I have reason for him to leave this room now."
And the Spirit swirls around Him, whispering, "It is a good day for a baptism."
"But where is he to be baptized?" I ask...and straightaway, I see.
And so I lead my guest to the place I was shown:
"And before the throne [there was] a sea of glass like unto crystal: and in the midst of the throne, and round about the throne, [were] four beasts full of eyes before and behind." Rev 4:6
I stop at the edge of this sea, but he moves on toward it. He takes a long glance back at me. I nod encouragingly and immediately feel foolish, so instead I encourage with solemnity. This is not like pressing a child to learn to swim--this breaks open dusky, cobweb-riddled places no human has ever explored. I simply hover in the background, as is appropriate in this venture, and he steps into the crystal sea.
The Baptism itself is engulfed in the cloud of the glory of God...so I have no words to describe it. But when the cloud lifts, I see the change it has made.
"And I saw as it were a sea of glass mingled with fire: and them that had gotten the victory over the beast, and over his image, and over his mark, [and] over the number of his name, stand on the sea of glass, having the harps of God." Rev. 15:2
And while I marveled at what I saw, others were not so sure. Fire is judgment. It has no place in the Crystal Sea. Others: The Crystal Sea has waited for the Crystal Spectre all this time. Who are we to say they should not meet again? The servant of the beast does not gain victory over the beast! Gain victory over the number of his name, which is the number of man...
...Round and round the debate turns.
And the Spirit of Christ begins to quote the One He always quotes:
"For everyone will be seasoned with fire, and every sacrifice will be seasoned with salt. Salt is good, but if the salt loses its flavor, how will you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and have peace with one another."
And the Alpha and Omega says:
"Do not forbid him, for no one who works a miracle in My name can soon afterward speak evil of Me. For he who is not against us is on our side. For whoever gives you a cup of water to drink in My name, because you belong to Christ, assuredly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward."
And the spirit and the bride say, "Even so, Lord Jesus, come!"
I think of this verse differently as I stand just outside the door to that spare room--my hand still on its doorknob even. I saw that Power lonely in a dark lifeless expanse...I see it now, willingly shrunk down to the size of a human form--communing with the one who announces the Kingdom of God as a thing near to men. I see a miracle blooming--like a blossom forming on a plant that has never thrown a bud into being...such is this miracle.
And Jesus joined me just beyond that door and said, "I have reason for him to leave this room now."
And the Spirit swirls around Him, whispering, "It is a good day for a baptism."
"But where is he to be baptized?" I ask...and straightaway, I see.
And so I lead my guest to the place I was shown:
"And before the throne [there was] a sea of glass like unto crystal: and in the midst of the throne, and round about the throne, [were] four beasts full of eyes before and behind." Rev 4:6
I stop at the edge of this sea, but he moves on toward it. He takes a long glance back at me. I nod encouragingly and immediately feel foolish, so instead I encourage with solemnity. This is not like pressing a child to learn to swim--this breaks open dusky, cobweb-riddled places no human has ever explored. I simply hover in the background, as is appropriate in this venture, and he steps into the crystal sea.
The Baptism itself is engulfed in the cloud of the glory of God...so I have no words to describe it. But when the cloud lifts, I see the change it has made.
"And I saw as it were a sea of glass mingled with fire: and them that had gotten the victory over the beast, and over his image, and over his mark, [and] over the number of his name, stand on the sea of glass, having the harps of God." Rev. 15:2
And while I marveled at what I saw, others were not so sure. Fire is judgment. It has no place in the Crystal Sea. Others: The Crystal Sea has waited for the Crystal Spectre all this time. Who are we to say they should not meet again? The servant of the beast does not gain victory over the beast! Gain victory over the number of his name, which is the number of man...
...Round and round the debate turns.
And the Spirit of Christ begins to quote the One He always quotes:
"For everyone will be seasoned with fire, and every sacrifice will be seasoned with salt. Salt is good, but if the salt loses its flavor, how will you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and have peace with one another."
And the Alpha and Omega says:
"Do not forbid him, for no one who works a miracle in My name can soon afterward speak evil of Me. For he who is not against us is on our side. For whoever gives you a cup of water to drink in My name, because you belong to Christ, assuredly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward."
And the spirit and the bride say, "Even so, Lord Jesus, come!"
Friday, November 12, 2010
The Girl Who Loved...
There was a girl who loved a flower...
and when it bloomed,
she threw her arms wide open
and knelt before it.
The girl continued to love,
and to learn.
Until one day, she loved enough
to love a pepper plant.
She threw her arms wide open and knelt before it.
And she shared its fruit with a friend nearby.
And the girl continued to love
and to learn.
Until one day, she loved enough
to love a towering evergreen tree.
She threw her arms wide open and knelt before it.
And she shared it's branches with their pungent scent
Hanging them over her lintel
blessing all who crossed her home's threshold.
Then girl continued to love and to learn.
Until one day, she loved enough
to love a sunrise sky.
She threw her arms wide open, spun in circles and knelt before it.
And her face shone so bright when she lifted it
reflecting those pinks, golds and lavenders
That all who saw her were blessed.
The Girl continued to love and to learn.
Until one day, she loved enough
to love a universe.
She threw her arms wide open, spun in circles and knelt before it.
And she drew that universe into her very womb
for safe-keeping.
But no one saw her do it.
At the last, there was a Girl who continued to love and to learn.
Until one day, she loved enough
to love the One large enough to roll that universe up like a scroll
and stick it in His pocket.
But few were blessed.
"You can not love something so abstract. So incomprehensible...
her sanity is gone, for she loves an illusion."
But the girl just smiled.
She knew they hadn't seen the way of it...
...that first, she'd loved a flower.
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