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.
Friday, January 21, 2011
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.
Friday, July 16, 2010
The Crystal Spectre Finds His Place to Be--part II
"He needs a place to go to rest. A place to be safe," I heard the Voice in my heart saying. Immediately, I thought of my "spare" room. Those who would attack him, and they would be fierce--would find their way barred should they attempt to follow him there. On the other hand, if I opened the door to him, I opened it on my own safe place--and maybe that of others. From the streets, other voices cried reminders of John's warning:
For many deceivers are entered into the world, who confess not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. This is a deceiver and an antichrist.
Look to yourselves, that we lose not those things which we have wrought, but that we receive a full reward.
Whosoever transgresseth, and abideth not in the doctrine of Christ, hath not God. He that abideth in the doctrine of Christ, he hath both the Father and the Son.
If there come any unto you, and bring not this doctrine, receive him not into [your] house, neither bid him God speed:
For he that biddeth him God speed is partaker of his evil deeds.
No mansion of his own would he have, but a room in mine nevertheless seemed a divinely decreed permission--but under certain, strict circumstances. So I spoke it.
"As long as you bow to the gift of grace extended unto thee by God the Father and none other, as long as you commune and do not fight against the power of the Holy One, that One wed to the Bride in the life of the Son, then you may rest in the presence of that in this place. You are welcome in this room God calls a Spare Room." And he entered that room and stood in it, that Crystal Spectre now more like a tall, majestic, introspective man than a broken, foreign lifeless star. I still do not quite know who or what he is. But of this I'm certain: God knows who he is, and God has given me an assignment that has to do with him.
He was looking out a window as Christ brushed past me then, quietly entering the room. I left the two of them together, there by the hearth, the very same hearth where I'd baked the bread that fed me from my Lord's very body. For many deceivers are entered into the world, who confess not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. This is a deceiver and an antichrist. This was the measure of the one to be barred, yet in this place, this particular room above all rooms, no such entrance could be made without acknowledging that flesh...this room where that flesh had become a part of my own life. The very aroma of its baking was still in the air. And my leap of faith--not in this mysterious one, but in the God who seemed to arrange the entire matter--was confirmed.
I left them to talk of matters more for them than for me. I closed the door and returned to the parts of the house that were kept for me.
For many deceivers are entered into the world, who confess not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. This is a deceiver and an antichrist.
Look to yourselves, that we lose not those things which we have wrought, but that we receive a full reward.
Whosoever transgresseth, and abideth not in the doctrine of Christ, hath not God. He that abideth in the doctrine of Christ, he hath both the Father and the Son.
If there come any unto you, and bring not this doctrine, receive him not into [your] house, neither bid him God speed:
For he that biddeth him God speed is partaker of his evil deeds.
No mansion of his own would he have, but a room in mine nevertheless seemed a divinely decreed permission--but under certain, strict circumstances. So I spoke it.
"As long as you bow to the gift of grace extended unto thee by God the Father and none other, as long as you commune and do not fight against the power of the Holy One, that One wed to the Bride in the life of the Son, then you may rest in the presence of that in this place. You are welcome in this room God calls a Spare Room." And he entered that room and stood in it, that Crystal Spectre now more like a tall, majestic, introspective man than a broken, foreign lifeless star. I still do not quite know who or what he is. But of this I'm certain: God knows who he is, and God has given me an assignment that has to do with him.
He was looking out a window as Christ brushed past me then, quietly entering the room. I left the two of them together, there by the hearth, the very same hearth where I'd baked the bread that fed me from my Lord's very body. For many deceivers are entered into the world, who confess not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. This is a deceiver and an antichrist. This was the measure of the one to be barred, yet in this place, this particular room above all rooms, no such entrance could be made without acknowledging that flesh...this room where that flesh had become a part of my own life. The very aroma of its baking was still in the air. And my leap of faith--not in this mysterious one, but in the God who seemed to arrange the entire matter--was confirmed.
I left them to talk of matters more for them than for me. I closed the door and returned to the parts of the house that were kept for me.
The Spare Room...a Flashback Interlude
"Pray Once Again"
It was stamped in block print letters against the sky. A strange flashing vision. "Pray for what?" I whispered. Then the image of my apartment in heaven and the sweetness of the air in it came to me. The place is a wonder--while I know it is mine, it is nevertheless new by my measure and in many ways yet unfamiliar. Thus it felt like a divine revelation that I came across a door that I should already perceive hid a "spare room" behind it. I knew it to be a room empty, as yet unused, unfurnished and unoccupied. I opened the door to further explore this new space, and immediately upon entering, I sensed that I'd spent the last little while of my conscious life changing it from a junky storage room into this spacious, open spare room. Now that it was clean and ready, I wondered what I was supposed to do in here.
In time, I sensed Christ's with me there. He presented me with a strange bone at first. Then I realized what He handed me: a rib. His own rib. A re-creation of woman out of man, designed for this place. I took the rib and looked at Him, asking, "But how do I make this a part of me?"
Suddenly, I remembered one the earliest dreams of covenant we'd ever shared, my Lord and I. In it, I saw a loaf of bread, already sliced once, but on a cutting board. Somehow I was both the bread and the hand that held a knife to slice it. As I reached out to slice the bread, a Voice said, "This is my body, broken for you..." When my hand had finished cutting a new slice of that bread, and my pinky finger touched the cutting board, a jolt of electric power ran up my arm from that finger so strong that it caused me immediately to wake, gasping. That was the dream that returned to my memory as I held the rib. I also remembered my first dream of the Crystal Spectre (http://sdmen.blogspot.com/2006/04/visions-of-power-danced-in-their-heads.html) and how I joined a circle of prophets praying for power in that dream, only the power was woefully inadequate to match with that Spectre's power. I realized now how slicing this bread was all about releasing power. What's more, I realized how I could be both the bread and something else--like the hand with the knife. Finally, I realized another mystery solved, how could the bread be sliced once before I sliced it for power's sake? So many things I hadn't understood that suddenly now made sense. I realized what I was supposed to do.
And there before me was a mortar and pestle of dark and heavy stoneware. The most painful part of the whole process for me was taking that beautifully perfect rib and beginning to crush it. Accepting that I would be the first to break what had never been broken for the reasons I thought He'd given, a weaker faith would have faltered as I felt practically gnostic. But He has brought me this far, and so I took it and crushed it to powder, chalky dusty bone flour, completely unrecognizable from what it once was, though in essence still the same.
Quickly, I took that flour to a stone altar where I would mix it to batter; but without water, how was I to do this? There was no water in the room. I prayed again, and remembered more yet again--it's all in the remembering, for very little here is utterly new. He reminded me how He had planted water within me. Now in other dreams, that water was a wild spray and out of control. It could strike the stone and blast the bone powder into the very air. But this was another thing, like the room itself, that He had been revising in me: a new level of control. So, in faith, I dangled my hand over the mound of flour, and clear beautiful liquid trickled from my palm. It fairly danced its way to the flour dust, as if it knew it was always meant to make such a paste as this batter would be. Then I did mix the batter and put it on a baking paddle and took it to the grand fireplace at the far end of the long room. I baked that little loaf, and waited with great anticipation for my chance to consume it. (Three measures of yeast were sufficient) I took the little loaf and began to break it, but a hand stayed me. The bread was first cut, not broken in my particular story. So I found I had a knife in hand--how it got there only God knows--and I cut a slice and ate it--consuming and becoming one with the loaf as it began to nourish me, moving into my very cells with its sweetness. And then to seal the dreams together, I saw myself cut the second slice, heard Your voice yet again, felt the power in my arm once more. And then I wept for emotions overpowered me at the promise of Oneness, and I wept for the honor of representing Your Bride in things prophetic--for the two dreams that became as one.
"God hath spoken once, twice have I heard this: that power belongeth unto God." Psalm 62:11
It was stamped in block print letters against the sky. A strange flashing vision. "Pray for what?" I whispered. Then the image of my apartment in heaven and the sweetness of the air in it came to me. The place is a wonder--while I know it is mine, it is nevertheless new by my measure and in many ways yet unfamiliar. Thus it felt like a divine revelation that I came across a door that I should already perceive hid a "spare room" behind it. I knew it to be a room empty, as yet unused, unfurnished and unoccupied. I opened the door to further explore this new space, and immediately upon entering, I sensed that I'd spent the last little while of my conscious life changing it from a junky storage room into this spacious, open spare room. Now that it was clean and ready, I wondered what I was supposed to do in here.
In time, I sensed Christ's with me there. He presented me with a strange bone at first. Then I realized what He handed me: a rib. His own rib. A re-creation of woman out of man, designed for this place. I took the rib and looked at Him, asking, "But how do I make this a part of me?"
Suddenly, I remembered one the earliest dreams of covenant we'd ever shared, my Lord and I. In it, I saw a loaf of bread, already sliced once, but on a cutting board. Somehow I was both the bread and the hand that held a knife to slice it. As I reached out to slice the bread, a Voice said, "This is my body, broken for you..." When my hand had finished cutting a new slice of that bread, and my pinky finger touched the cutting board, a jolt of electric power ran up my arm from that finger so strong that it caused me immediately to wake, gasping. That was the dream that returned to my memory as I held the rib. I also remembered my first dream of the Crystal Spectre (http://sdmen.blogspot.com/2006/04/visions-of-power-danced-in-their-heads.html) and how I joined a circle of prophets praying for power in that dream, only the power was woefully inadequate to match with that Spectre's power. I realized now how slicing this bread was all about releasing power. What's more, I realized how I could be both the bread and something else--like the hand with the knife. Finally, I realized another mystery solved, how could the bread be sliced once before I sliced it for power's sake? So many things I hadn't understood that suddenly now made sense. I realized what I was supposed to do.
And there before me was a mortar and pestle of dark and heavy stoneware. The most painful part of the whole process for me was taking that beautifully perfect rib and beginning to crush it. Accepting that I would be the first to break what had never been broken for the reasons I thought He'd given, a weaker faith would have faltered as I felt practically gnostic. But He has brought me this far, and so I took it and crushed it to powder, chalky dusty bone flour, completely unrecognizable from what it once was, though in essence still the same.
Quickly, I took that flour to a stone altar where I would mix it to batter; but without water, how was I to do this? There was no water in the room. I prayed again, and remembered more yet again--it's all in the remembering, for very little here is utterly new. He reminded me how He had planted water within me. Now in other dreams, that water was a wild spray and out of control. It could strike the stone and blast the bone powder into the very air. But this was another thing, like the room itself, that He had been revising in me: a new level of control. So, in faith, I dangled my hand over the mound of flour, and clear beautiful liquid trickled from my palm. It fairly danced its way to the flour dust, as if it knew it was always meant to make such a paste as this batter would be. Then I did mix the batter and put it on a baking paddle and took it to the grand fireplace at the far end of the long room. I baked that little loaf, and waited with great anticipation for my chance to consume it. (Three measures of yeast were sufficient) I took the little loaf and began to break it, but a hand stayed me. The bread was first cut, not broken in my particular story. So I found I had a knife in hand--how it got there only God knows--and I cut a slice and ate it--consuming and becoming one with the loaf as it began to nourish me, moving into my very cells with its sweetness. And then to seal the dreams together, I saw myself cut the second slice, heard Your voice yet again, felt the power in my arm once more. And then I wept for emotions overpowered me at the promise of Oneness, and I wept for the honor of representing Your Bride in things prophetic--for the two dreams that became as one.
"God hath spoken once, twice have I heard this: that power belongeth unto God." Psalm 62:11
The Crystal Spectre Finds His Place to Be--Part I
"...begins dismally. I'm either climbing up through a false ceiling in a dark, cramped, rodent-infested closet or I am ascending a gloomy staircase into something like a turret, with tiny windows along the way giving a view that triggers vertigo. Chipped paint and cobwebs show that this route has not been recently taken, let alone maintained. In that respect, it is much like the condition of the closet. Both variations of the dream's introduction have me going through a tiny trap-door opening at the top of the closet/turret. I climb into what I presume will be an even grimmer attic. Every time, to my surprise, this "attic" is ridiculously more spacious than the underlying structure warrants. Also, it is lavish and beautifully prepared for occupancy: heavy and rich wood doors and floors, huge vaulting ceilings, Persian rugs and elegant furnishings. A strange but somehow natural light suffuses through the closed, frothy curtains covering rank after rank of tall windows. As I explore, I find that each room is more breath-taking than the last. I feel like a child who stumbled onto a fairy castle, a castle kept long, but spotlessly ready, waiting for its inhabitants. I am thrilled to have "discovered" the place, thrilled to have it all to myself.
In times past, I had this dream frequently...at least 3-4 times a year. After each occurrence, I'd feel light-hearted and unusually joyful the whole next day. One time about a year ago, I had this same dream, but this time other people found their way into the attic behind me. My initial reaction was disappointment. Having these people come to me and want me to help them find their own "places" in the castle took away the magic and made my own place there that of a servant. It was the last time I had the dream."
I wrote that entry 4 years and 4 months ago. But today, I'd have to finish the last sentence with the words "...until now."
Though he has drifted away, as spectres will do, I could still perceive within me how his soul newborn soul continued to stretch as moved outside that womb I'd made for it. I could tell when passed the first blush of renewed joy, to worship God freely again, back from that dark place of isolation. I could tell the struggle between newly remembered ancient joys and a long accepted dissolution, tell the enmity between the newly perceived divine purpose and the epoch of adamant futility. I could tell when the moment came that he seriously considered pulling away again--intentionally forgetting this new place he had found. He was the first of his kind. Healing but still grotesquely scarred, did he have the courage to be the first to go into that house of mirrors to the past, breaking all the glass before others passed that way?
I took him to the edge of dawn--just one dawn. "See--" I said, pointing to the first burst of light. "That which He made to shine through you He also made to be a sign of new beginnings. New not just once, not just now and then, but every day. This then is your second gift of faith to receive." He put an enigmatic countenance at the sun. "I will rename you," I said. "For I have never known your name. To me you have been Dark Crystal and Crystal Spectre. But henceforth I shall call you Joseph, for I believe you shall say what he says. I believe." And I took his hand and thought about what I knew:
And Joseph called the name of the firstborn Manasseh: For God, [said he], hath made me forget all my toil, and all my father's house.
Gen 41:52 And the name of the second called he Ephraim: For God hath caused me to be fruitful in the land of my affliction.
"By the grace of God you will forget and not by the power of your own will," I said. It was then I remembered my dream-- that I'd found a spare room in the long-elusive mansion of my dream. And, that something special had happened there...
In times past, I had this dream frequently...at least 3-4 times a year. After each occurrence, I'd feel light-hearted and unusually joyful the whole next day. One time about a year ago, I had this same dream, but this time other people found their way into the attic behind me. My initial reaction was disappointment. Having these people come to me and want me to help them find their own "places" in the castle took away the magic and made my own place there that of a servant. It was the last time I had the dream."
I wrote that entry 4 years and 4 months ago. But today, I'd have to finish the last sentence with the words "...until now."
Though he has drifted away, as spectres will do, I could still perceive within me how his soul newborn soul continued to stretch as moved outside that womb I'd made for it. I could tell when passed the first blush of renewed joy, to worship God freely again, back from that dark place of isolation. I could tell the struggle between newly remembered ancient joys and a long accepted dissolution, tell the enmity between the newly perceived divine purpose and the epoch of adamant futility. I could tell when the moment came that he seriously considered pulling away again--intentionally forgetting this new place he had found. He was the first of his kind. Healing but still grotesquely scarred, did he have the courage to be the first to go into that house of mirrors to the past, breaking all the glass before others passed that way?
I took him to the edge of dawn--just one dawn. "See--" I said, pointing to the first burst of light. "That which He made to shine through you He also made to be a sign of new beginnings. New not just once, not just now and then, but every day. This then is your second gift of faith to receive." He put an enigmatic countenance at the sun. "I will rename you," I said. "For I have never known your name. To me you have been Dark Crystal and Crystal Spectre. But henceforth I shall call you Joseph, for I believe you shall say what he says. I believe." And I took his hand and thought about what I knew:
And Joseph called the name of the firstborn Manasseh: For God, [said he], hath made me forget all my toil, and all my father's house.
Gen 41:52 And the name of the second called he Ephraim: For God hath caused me to be fruitful in the land of my affliction.
"By the grace of God you will forget and not by the power of your own will," I said. It was then I remembered my dream-- that I'd found a spare room in the long-elusive mansion of my dream. And, that something special had happened there...
Monday, July 12, 2010
Third Time's a Charm; on What Do You Call Giving?
In the end, this is the crossroads where I stand: and ironically, I've found my way to it thanks to the caring input of some pastors' wives. ;)
I'm excited to have a new way to look at "marrying" a church--it may mean that we stay where we are or that we leave--but this is it: if you can't trust a church with 10% of what you make, then you need to find a different church. We've never allowed money to be a factor in church selection. Now it looks like we're being told to make it a leading factor. Interesting.
As I reflect on that idea, I know that I have tithed consistently when I have been in churches where I've personally known leadership and pastors, in those cases giving while knowing that in part my gift pays to keep them leading me, has been an honor.
I've tithed where I've deeply known the people, where I know my giving supports their ministry passions as well as my own.
I've tithed where I've had the invite to hear the hearts of the finance committees as they hash out their budgets, for I can believe they want to be responsible with my gift seeing I am allowed to watch as they handle it.
But I've only been to a couple of churches where that scenario was the case, and it's been quite a while. These are the churches where giving 10% might have been challenging, but not because I worried I was being irresponsible as I gave my tithe. In those places, I wasn't ignorant of how it was being used. Those places weren't such large-scale business operations that money moved like a monsoon rather than a gentle rain. Maybe I'm not built for mega-church life. Maybe my past hurts go deep enough that I need to be more than just one of thousands of bricks in the financial wall of my local church. Maybe one of the reasons God led me to this place was to reveal where I'm needy in this way. At least for a season, I'm needy. So now my prayer is God help us find a place where we can really trust those around us (which implies really knowing them.)...trust that even if people really "see" us they'll stay in relationship with us and will continue to trust us, as well! I know it is in my heart to support the ministry passion of someone whose heart I deeply know, I'm just not mature enough to "cheerfully" support one that offers me no more access to its reality than just one block in a brochure and an envelope for my gift.
I'm realizing that as we went close to a year searching for a church home, we experienced a season in which we had the freedom to do our giving wherever the Spirit led for we had no real home to be called to support, and this has revealed another area where I need to do some poking. You see, I find I like gift-giving, but I hate just giving a gift card. And now that we're looking at seriously building an attachment with a church again, Idiscover that my attitude toward the rule of giving is selfish. The "rule" is you have to give a "10% giftcard" first--needed, but highly impersonal. Then with any extra money you have you can consider the kind of gift-shopping that has a personal touch. For me, the "sacrificial giving" part of starting to tithe to a specific church again will be sacrificing that joy I find in shopping, wrapping and presenting. May God find another source for any giving I've been doing that will now have to be abandoned as this era of free-giving comes to a close. (Or at least goes on hiatus until He multiplies my opportunities after I prove myself faithful, eh?)
I know when I was in church leadership, it never occurred to me that members were making this type of "sacrifice" when they filled out their envelopes, week after week, but I'm starting to see it now. I wish I could go back and thank them from that direction specifically. I know we could do this sort of giving, though. It's just a matter of rebuilding trust. I shared with Scott the story of the open air church that built its facilities with its priorities set on giving 50% of what came in to missions. I agree with my husband when he immediately and whole-heartedly said, "I could give 10% to that church!"
At least I know God is using "time and chance" (as Solomon put it) toreveal something wonderful and new to us. I'm reading Swindoll's words on being a servant (got from a garage sale) and two books on relationships with the homeless (on loan from a friend.) I'm attending a volunteer orientation at the end of the month about helping the teen homeless population downtown (learned of the group from the church newsletter) and to my wonder I'm serving on a Discipleship Walk in the fall alongside someone who moved downtown to start a church and do work with the homeless and impoverished. I don't know her yet, but I can't wait to be introduced! It's all starting to come into focus.
As we stand at this Crorssroads, may the wind of Your Spirit drive us in Your chosen direction; and if its not too much to ask, may that route lead us to a church of worthwhile industry where we might do more than just sojourn for a while. More interesting time and chance stuff: the service in which my husband played drums last week is designated as the Sojourn service at our current church. Sojourn by definition means, "a temporary stay." Indeed, I do feel a breeze kicking up. ;)
Commentary on this one was all my own, although some comments had moved to the private message domain. Certainly a topic people don't hesitate to discuss "outside" the church anyway.
Deborah Way: as I told a friend, "when I left my ranting and went to my servanthood Bible study, today's chapter had verses that seemed hand-picked by God for me today." Here's a sample:
10 By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should be careful how he builds. 11 For no one ... See Morecan lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. 12 If any man builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, 13 his work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each man's work. 14 If what he has built survives, he will receive his reward. 15 If it is burned up, he will suffer loss; he himself will be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames. I Cor 3. (Swindoll points out that "We humans are impressed with size and volume and noise and numbers...God's eye is always on motive, authenticity, the real truth beneath the surface." This seems to be a sharpening lens on the question of is bigger [mega-church] always better, or rather is it always more deserving?)
"...these may forget, but I [God] will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands; Your walls are continually before Me..." Isa 49:15-16. (I think of the walls He's pointing out in me.)
And finally, if all else fails and we can't find that place where the "giving is good," I have this to consider: For God is not unjust so as to forget your hard work for him, or forget the way you used to show your love for him--and still do--by helping his children. (Hebrews 6:10)
SO, if we remain locked to churches where tithing feels sadly like little more than a form of enslavement, then God says, Take heart!
(Eph 6:7) Work with enthusiasm, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people. 8 Remember that the Lord will reward each one of us for the good we do, whether we are slaves or free.
9 And in the same way, you masters must treat your slaves right. Don't threaten them; remember, you both have the same Master in heaven, and he has no favorites. 10 A final word: Be strong with the Lord's mighty power.
"A final word," eh? I guess we're done here. ;)
I'm excited to have a new way to look at "marrying" a church--it may mean that we stay where we are or that we leave--but this is it: if you can't trust a church with 10% of what you make, then you need to find a different church. We've never allowed money to be a factor in church selection. Now it looks like we're being told to make it a leading factor. Interesting.
As I reflect on that idea, I know that I have tithed consistently when I have been in churches where I've personally known leadership and pastors, in those cases giving while knowing that in part my gift pays to keep them leading me, has been an honor.
I've tithed where I've deeply known the people, where I know my giving supports their ministry passions as well as my own.
I've tithed where I've had the invite to hear the hearts of the finance committees as they hash out their budgets, for I can believe they want to be responsible with my gift seeing I am allowed to watch as they handle it.
But I've only been to a couple of churches where that scenario was the case, and it's been quite a while. These are the churches where giving 10% might have been challenging, but not because I worried I was being irresponsible as I gave my tithe. In those places, I wasn't ignorant of how it was being used. Those places weren't such large-scale business operations that money moved like a monsoon rather than a gentle rain. Maybe I'm not built for mega-church life. Maybe my past hurts go deep enough that I need to be more than just one of thousands of bricks in the financial wall of my local church. Maybe one of the reasons God led me to this place was to reveal where I'm needy in this way. At least for a season, I'm needy. So now my prayer is God help us find a place where we can really trust those around us (which implies really knowing them.)...trust that even if people really "see" us they'll stay in relationship with us and will continue to trust us, as well! I know it is in my heart to support the ministry passion of someone whose heart I deeply know, I'm just not mature enough to "cheerfully" support one that offers me no more access to its reality than just one block in a brochure and an envelope for my gift.
I'm realizing that as we went close to a year searching for a church home, we experienced a season in which we had the freedom to do our giving wherever the Spirit led for we had no real home to be called to support, and this has revealed another area where I need to do some poking. You see, I find I like gift-giving, but I hate just giving a gift card. And now that we're looking at seriously building an attachment with a church again, Idiscover that my attitude toward the rule of giving is selfish. The "rule" is you have to give a "10% giftcard" first--needed, but highly impersonal. Then with any extra money you have you can consider the kind of gift-shopping that has a personal touch. For me, the "sacrificial giving" part of starting to tithe to a specific church again will be sacrificing that joy I find in shopping, wrapping and presenting. May God find another source for any giving I've been doing that will now have to be abandoned as this era of free-giving comes to a close. (Or at least goes on hiatus until He multiplies my opportunities after I prove myself faithful, eh?)
I know when I was in church leadership, it never occurred to me that members were making this type of "sacrifice" when they filled out their envelopes, week after week, but I'm starting to see it now. I wish I could go back and thank them from that direction specifically. I know we could do this sort of giving, though. It's just a matter of rebuilding trust. I shared with Scott the story of the open air church that built its facilities with its priorities set on giving 50% of what came in to missions. I agree with my husband when he immediately and whole-heartedly said, "I could give 10% to that church!"
At least I know God is using "time and chance" (as Solomon put it) toreveal something wonderful and new to us. I'm reading Swindoll's words on being a servant (got from a garage sale) and two books on relationships with the homeless (on loan from a friend.) I'm attending a volunteer orientation at the end of the month about helping the teen homeless population downtown (learned of the group from the church newsletter) and to my wonder I'm serving on a Discipleship Walk in the fall alongside someone who moved downtown to start a church and do work with the homeless and impoverished. I don't know her yet, but I can't wait to be introduced! It's all starting to come into focus.
As we stand at this Crorssroads, may the wind of Your Spirit drive us in Your chosen direction; and if its not too much to ask, may that route lead us to a church of worthwhile industry where we might do more than just sojourn for a while. More interesting time and chance stuff: the service in which my husband played drums last week is designated as the Sojourn service at our current church. Sojourn by definition means, "a temporary stay." Indeed, I do feel a breeze kicking up. ;)
Commentary on this one was all my own, although some comments had moved to the private message domain. Certainly a topic people don't hesitate to discuss "outside" the church anyway.
Deborah Way: as I told a friend, "when I left my ranting and went to my servanthood Bible study, today's chapter had verses that seemed hand-picked by God for me today." Here's a sample:
10 By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should be careful how he builds. 11 For no one ... See Morecan lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. 12 If any man builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, 13 his work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each man's work. 14 If what he has built survives, he will receive his reward. 15 If it is burned up, he will suffer loss; he himself will be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames. I Cor 3. (Swindoll points out that "We humans are impressed with size and volume and noise and numbers...God's eye is always on motive, authenticity, the real truth beneath the surface." This seems to be a sharpening lens on the question of is bigger [mega-church] always better, or rather is it always more deserving?)
"...these may forget, but I [God] will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands; Your walls are continually before Me..." Isa 49:15-16. (I think of the walls He's pointing out in me.)
And finally, if all else fails and we can't find that place where the "giving is good," I have this to consider: For God is not unjust so as to forget your hard work for him, or forget the way you used to show your love for him--and still do--by helping his children. (Hebrews 6:10)
SO, if we remain locked to churches where tithing feels sadly like little more than a form of enslavement, then God says, Take heart!
(Eph 6:7) Work with enthusiasm, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people. 8 Remember that the Lord will reward each one of us for the good we do, whether we are slaves or free.
9 And in the same way, you masters must treat your slaves right. Don't threaten them; remember, you both have the same Master in heaven, and he has no favorites. 10 A final word: Be strong with the Lord's mighty power.
"A final word," eh? I guess we're done here. ;)
Take Two on What Do You Call Giving?
I'm still burdened for the one I called the "wounded giver". But I see I need to define him a little more clearly. He is not grossly selfish, nor is he mistrustful of God, but he is an enigma. Many people have been richly blessed as a result of their giving, so they often don't notice him; or if they do, they don't really understand him. He is the church pew equivalent of a homeless man. Often, people figure he must be "doing something wrong" in his giving. Nevertheless, he exists, often continuing to try to give. But he is the one for whom giving is like being told to put his hand on a hot stove...again and again. For some, the stove eventually proves too great a deterrent. I agree that giving is obedience and worship, so help me understand these two more wounded giver stories?
1) A pastor uses profanity with the receptionist at the BMW dealership where his car is being repaired. Is it obedience to promote his employment as God's representative if this is the norm of his "outside the pulpit" lifestyle? (Shall we make allowances that it was a bad day? That even those who choose to be held to the exemplary standard of the life of the cloth have bad days? Shall we also make allowance for the fact that, when confronted with his profanity as he picked up his car he most likely lied when he said it was actually his brother who was cursing on the phone, not him.)
2) Finally, after all these second-hand stories, I'll speak for myself. Some years ago, I had my tithe automatically deducted from my paycheck once by the church-school where I worked. I missed three Sundays straight when my eldest son was a toddler because he was in Ft. Worth Children's Hospital during that time. I didn't know about the deduction until I saw my depleted check and inquired. "We knew it was what you would want to do," was the answer I got. They were right, but they destroyed my opportunity for obedience, for how is it obedience if you don't have a choice? And is it worship if you only come aware of it after its done for you? (I was too young and naive to know that what they did was illegal. And, that they would shamelessly do something financially illegal doesn't speak too well of their sense of responsibility toward being trustworthy either.)
Trust lost, honor misplaced. What to do about it?
Indeed, I haven't heard it preached on in this setting, so I'm going out on a limb here. I have no theology to base this upon, just an instinct. Hopefully a spiritual one. For a person to share what God has entrusted to his or her care, this is a condition of relationship; and whether the church accepts this or not, it is thereby in a damageable relationship with a tither. The more the tither's income hovers near bare sustenance levels, the greater the potential for that damage.
Any therapist can tell you the steps for rebuilding trust in a damaged relationship. Here are the first few that I know:
1) Admit that the wounded party has a valid reason for mistrust. Don't be defensive, don't project and don't turn the tables on the tither in a passive-aggressive fashion.
2) Quit using "It all belongs to God" to minimize or even discount entirely the fact that the giver had a choice. In a "human" relationship such marginalization would be considered emotionally abusive.
3) Be financially transparent during the rebuilding stage if such a stage can occur and legitimately receptive to observations made by the wounded party during that stage.
4) Allow that it might take some time to get to that place where you both want to be.
Wishful thinking...but at least maybe I'll sleep now..
Commentary for this one read:
Deborah Way: a friend sent me this in a msg. Sharing it because it is a better conclusion than I have been drawing, but allowing her to remain anonymous:
"I fully agree with your premise. There ARE pastors who abuse their responsible position. I have definitely witnessed it here at a large church in FW. However God has intervened and the church is basically ... See Moregone now.. It is too complicated to go into all the details but God will NOT be mocked and people cannot continue to use God's children, I just want the decisions about whether to stay or go to be based on Truth and God's specific leading rather than on appearances. I trust you. I was just making a point. Thanks for listening and God bless you as you decide."
Sadly, when the "church" gets the blame for abuses, you can't sift out the good pastors and pastors' wives and set them aside so they don't have to hear something you've repressed over the years and need to get out. Only by a sad warping of the Gospel are people taught to share the pains affecting their personality...except wherer those pains relate to the church, then they are still taught to be ashamed to speak of them. Thanks to my friends who have walked this path of self-discovery with me--listening deeply, but telling me where they think I'm wandering off into the brush. Writing a last note on this...what good is Armageddon without a New Jerusalem?
Steven M Grochowsky: I like what you're writing and am interested in seeing where it goes further... for the nonce, I think I'll withhold any comment out of personal experience, but I will pass along a wonderful lyric from Mary-Chapin Carpenter that seems relevant:
I sat alone in the dark one night, tuning in by remote
I found a preacher who spoke of the light but there was brimstone in his throat
He'd show me the way according to him in return for my personal check... See More
I flipped my channel back to CNN and I lit another cigarette
I take my chances, forgiveness doesn't come with a debt...
Deborah Way: Yo, Steve. I put a last note of "where it goes further" on this morning. Dare I say, that lyric is the song of exactly the people for whom I'm feeling the burden to speak.
Steven M Grochowsky: "The church is still a sinful institution," a Benedictine monk wrote to me when I was struggling over whether or not to join a church. "How could it be otherwise?" he asked, and I was startled into a recognition of simple truth. The church is like the Incarnation itself, a shaky proposition. It is a human institution, full of ordinary people, ... See Moresinners like me, who do and say cruel, stupid things. But it is also a divinely inspired institution, full of good purpose, which partakes of a unity far greater than the sum of its parts. That is why it is called the Body of Christ.
Kathleen Norris, "Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith."
1) A pastor uses profanity with the receptionist at the BMW dealership where his car is being repaired. Is it obedience to promote his employment as God's representative if this is the norm of his "outside the pulpit" lifestyle? (Shall we make allowances that it was a bad day? That even those who choose to be held to the exemplary standard of the life of the cloth have bad days? Shall we also make allowance for the fact that, when confronted with his profanity as he picked up his car he most likely lied when he said it was actually his brother who was cursing on the phone, not him.)
2) Finally, after all these second-hand stories, I'll speak for myself. Some years ago, I had my tithe automatically deducted from my paycheck once by the church-school where I worked. I missed three Sundays straight when my eldest son was a toddler because he was in Ft. Worth Children's Hospital during that time. I didn't know about the deduction until I saw my depleted check and inquired. "We knew it was what you would want to do," was the answer I got. They were right, but they destroyed my opportunity for obedience, for how is it obedience if you don't have a choice? And is it worship if you only come aware of it after its done for you? (I was too young and naive to know that what they did was illegal. And, that they would shamelessly do something financially illegal doesn't speak too well of their sense of responsibility toward being trustworthy either.)
Trust lost, honor misplaced. What to do about it?
Indeed, I haven't heard it preached on in this setting, so I'm going out on a limb here. I have no theology to base this upon, just an instinct. Hopefully a spiritual one. For a person to share what God has entrusted to his or her care, this is a condition of relationship; and whether the church accepts this or not, it is thereby in a damageable relationship with a tither. The more the tither's income hovers near bare sustenance levels, the greater the potential for that damage.
Any therapist can tell you the steps for rebuilding trust in a damaged relationship. Here are the first few that I know:
1) Admit that the wounded party has a valid reason for mistrust. Don't be defensive, don't project and don't turn the tables on the tither in a passive-aggressive fashion.
2) Quit using "It all belongs to God" to minimize or even discount entirely the fact that the giver had a choice. In a "human" relationship such marginalization would be considered emotionally abusive.
3) Be financially transparent during the rebuilding stage if such a stage can occur and legitimately receptive to observations made by the wounded party during that stage.
4) Allow that it might take some time to get to that place where you both want to be.
Wishful thinking...but at least maybe I'll sleep now..
Commentary for this one read:
Deborah Way: a friend sent me this in a msg. Sharing it because it is a better conclusion than I have been drawing, but allowing her to remain anonymous:
"I fully agree with your premise. There ARE pastors who abuse their responsible position. I have definitely witnessed it here at a large church in FW. However God has intervened and the church is basically ... See Moregone now.. It is too complicated to go into all the details but God will NOT be mocked and people cannot continue to use God's children, I just want the decisions about whether to stay or go to be based on Truth and God's specific leading rather than on appearances. I trust you. I was just making a point. Thanks for listening and God bless you as you decide."
Sadly, when the "church" gets the blame for abuses, you can't sift out the good pastors and pastors' wives and set them aside so they don't have to hear something you've repressed over the years and need to get out. Only by a sad warping of the Gospel are people taught to share the pains affecting their personality...except wherer those pains relate to the church, then they are still taught to be ashamed to speak of them. Thanks to my friends who have walked this path of self-discovery with me--listening deeply, but telling me where they think I'm wandering off into the brush. Writing a last note on this...what good is Armageddon without a New Jerusalem?
Steven M Grochowsky: I like what you're writing and am interested in seeing where it goes further... for the nonce, I think I'll withhold any comment out of personal experience, but I will pass along a wonderful lyric from Mary-Chapin Carpenter that seems relevant:
I sat alone in the dark one night, tuning in by remote
I found a preacher who spoke of the light but there was brimstone in his throat
He'd show me the way according to him in return for my personal check... See More
I flipped my channel back to CNN and I lit another cigarette
I take my chances, forgiveness doesn't come with a debt...
Deborah Way: Yo, Steve. I put a last note of "where it goes further" on this morning. Dare I say, that lyric is the song of exactly the people for whom I'm feeling the burden to speak.
Steven M Grochowsky: "The church is still a sinful institution," a Benedictine monk wrote to me when I was struggling over whether or not to join a church. "How could it be otherwise?" he asked, and I was startled into a recognition of simple truth. The church is like the Incarnation itself, a shaky proposition. It is a human institution, full of ordinary people, ... See Moresinners like me, who do and say cruel, stupid things. But it is also a divinely inspired institution, full of good purpose, which partakes of a unity far greater than the sum of its parts. That is why it is called the Body of Christ.
Kathleen Norris, "Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith."
What Do You Call Giving? (part 1)
Last Sunday we heard the following preached: Americans only give 2% to their local churches, and God says it all belongs to Him, so since He said we should be giving 10%, then we should be giving 10%. Everyone oohed and aahed about what amazing things the church was doing with that 2% and just imagine what it could do with 10? All that is true. But the service felt like it presented a fine piece of unfinished furniture for display. So here's my letter about that to the pastor:
Dear Pastor,
I really appreciated the sermon on generously giving, cheerfully giving. I appreciated the inserts from the financial planner who helps us to feel empowered to do that cheerful, generous giving; but there are a couple of points that I don't think made it into the 4-week series, and I would love to see them addressed.
1. "Americans don't give" is an assumption that can not be made based simply by considering the stat that only 2% of earnings are going to the local church. As of January, American's had, in fact, given $3 million via text messaging to the Red Cross for Haiti relief.
( http://www.dailyfinance.com/story/americans-give-record-3-million-via-text-messages-for-haiti-rel/19316813/ )
The point to dwell on is not "why don't Americans give" because they do; the point to labor over is "why don't Americans trust the church to be the clearing house for their giving the same way they trust the Red Cross?" But that smacks of self-examination on the part of the church, a stance rarely taken during stewardship drives. ;)
2. You outlined traits of various non-givers. Many fail to give, you said, either because they weren't sure how to start charitable giving and/or they lacked the faith to give sacrificially. Then, of course, there are those who simply don't believe it really IS all God's, who worked hard for what they have and are justified in being selfish with it. But I believe you missed a large demographic group. If I were to give them a label, I'd call them the "wounded givers". They've given sacrificially, consistently, even cheerfully, and been horrifically burned. Here are some shapshots of their lives:
In things natural, it wounds people to learn that, while they're eating balogna sandwiches in order to write checks to the church, the money they put in the offering goes to pay for the twin Jaguars that Pastor and Mrs. Pastor use to toodle around town. (Pastor and Mrs. Pastor won't touch balogna.) These Givers hear a sermon about "It's all God's," and the first thing to hit the poor schmucks is guilt for having enabled such irresponsible usage of their offering. Even that response depends on their getting past wearing the blinders they've been commanded to wear as their spiritual leaders claim, "My wealth IS my witness. People see how well God is taking care of me, and they want to know more about Him." There are more laymen out there in churches like these than you'd ever imagine! But if they poke their heads out of that rabbit-hole, they're quickly trounced for being irreverent.
In things supernatural, it wounds people to hear "Test God. See if He doesn't give back into your coffers, heaping them up to overflowing!" So these tentative, hopeful givers give all they have. We don't like to follow their story beyond the offering bucket, buit if we do, we might easily see that within 3 days they are mysteriously robbed, the victims of burglars for the first time in their lives. What's more, several things they can't afford to fix or replace break in that same week, expensive things, necessary things. If you take the time to ask them, and if they trust you enough to give you a straight answer, they'd probably tell you that in the end, you were right. He did give back an abundant blessing. But the frontload of testing God looks deeply dangerous, and the backload of blessing--why it might not be monetary at all, although the blessing and riches were worth more than money. Most of us don't hear this part of the story because by the time these wounded givers realize the way God works, they've likely moved on from talking to the one making tunnel-vision promises anyway. Their way of giving fought and defeated its enemy alone--by human measure, and on a supernatural plane. Now their giving activity--while quite real--could hardly be classified on a spread sheet or even perceived by many. Nevertheless, when they were land-locked and still learning, why didn't anyone tell them the real parameters of "giving and receiving" in the first place?
So, when the concluding question of the sermon series came up, "Do you trust God enough to give? It's His money anyway." it just felt like the wrong question. Here's the question I want to hear sermonized and then left for me to ponder: "Do you trust people enough to give them the part of God's money that's been entrusted to you?" To simply think people don't give is naive and self-deluding.
I genuinely believe and have full confidence that if you took the time to meditate and seek God's mind on this topic, this question; we'd hear something deeply powerful from you!
Sincerely yours,
...from one who direct-gives to charities and as the wind of the Spirit leads and sometimes to church, but mostly anonymously with cash.
Commentary ran as follows:
Kari Hallett Miller: I'm pretty hardcore about this. I believe that scripture is pretty clear that the tithe belongs to the church, and above and beyond offerings can go anywhere you want.
I also don't belive we give to God to get financial awards. We give because it is an act of obedience and worship.
I would also posit that perhaps people are not in the right body if they cannot trust the leadership to deal well with their money.
2 people liked this response
Me: Kari...I agree. As pastors, you and Paul are the saving grace that counter balances these churches of excess I describe. And they aren't a fabrication. I have personally attended a few of them! And I agree that a tithe is a tithe, it's just sometimes you wonder whether you're really pouring it into a "church" or into something else. I wish that question and what to do about it got talked about more often than it does! Then maybe people would start giving their "millions" back to the church to distribute.
Deborah Way ...but you give me something to think about. Is it time to look at the trust factor we have for our church. To be really bare naked about it, I have a difficult time hearing someone tell me to give them money and quit being so consumption-minded when he just hopped out of a Lexus. I need to pray about whether that's something that's wrong with my attitude or something wrong with where we're attending. Keep me honest, Kari! I love you...
Kari Hallett Miller: Keep thinking! When I worked at CPC we had a program where people donated cars. Our two top executives drove Lexus' that had been donated...why? Because, when dealing with multi-millionaire donors they wouldn't even be heard without a status car...pretty sad, but true. I guess with the pastor I would ask, was the car a gift, a dream he has been... See More saving for for years and paid cash, is it used and he got a fantastic deal, or is it an outlandish expenditure? Ask to take a look at the church financials. How much are they giving to missions? How much is being given to run ministries in the church? How much to salaries? All are part of spreading the gospel, but it should give you some idea of a balance.
That being said, one of the reasons I love the head guy of the Indiana Assemblies of God is that even though he is the "top of the foodchain" so to speak, he still drives his Chevy Malibu. That makes me trust him a little more.
I know the excesses exist. I see them. I know churches that embody them. However, don't let that stop you from obeying God. Even if you have to examine they whys and wheres of how you can do that.
Me: Thanks, Kari...I think I'm getting a little closer to what I was actually wanting my words to say. I'm doing a part 2 on that note. I still feel a burden for those "wounded givers" I mentioned. Sharing what God gave to you is very much like a personal relationship--and that's the real place that I need to examine.
Dear Pastor,
I really appreciated the sermon on generously giving, cheerfully giving. I appreciated the inserts from the financial planner who helps us to feel empowered to do that cheerful, generous giving; but there are a couple of points that I don't think made it into the 4-week series, and I would love to see them addressed.
1. "Americans don't give" is an assumption that can not be made based simply by considering the stat that only 2% of earnings are going to the local church. As of January, American's had, in fact, given $3 million via text messaging to the Red Cross for Haiti relief.
( http://www.dailyfinance.com/story/americans-give-record-3-million-via-text-messages-for-haiti-rel/19316813/ )
The point to dwell on is not "why don't Americans give" because they do; the point to labor over is "why don't Americans trust the church to be the clearing house for their giving the same way they trust the Red Cross?" But that smacks of self-examination on the part of the church, a stance rarely taken during stewardship drives. ;)
2. You outlined traits of various non-givers. Many fail to give, you said, either because they weren't sure how to start charitable giving and/or they lacked the faith to give sacrificially. Then, of course, there are those who simply don't believe it really IS all God's, who worked hard for what they have and are justified in being selfish with it. But I believe you missed a large demographic group. If I were to give them a label, I'd call them the "wounded givers". They've given sacrificially, consistently, even cheerfully, and been horrifically burned. Here are some shapshots of their lives:
In things natural, it wounds people to learn that, while they're eating balogna sandwiches in order to write checks to the church, the money they put in the offering goes to pay for the twin Jaguars that Pastor and Mrs. Pastor use to toodle around town. (Pastor and Mrs. Pastor won't touch balogna.) These Givers hear a sermon about "It's all God's," and the first thing to hit the poor schmucks is guilt for having enabled such irresponsible usage of their offering. Even that response depends on their getting past wearing the blinders they've been commanded to wear as their spiritual leaders claim, "My wealth IS my witness. People see how well God is taking care of me, and they want to know more about Him." There are more laymen out there in churches like these than you'd ever imagine! But if they poke their heads out of that rabbit-hole, they're quickly trounced for being irreverent.
In things supernatural, it wounds people to hear "Test God. See if He doesn't give back into your coffers, heaping them up to overflowing!" So these tentative, hopeful givers give all they have. We don't like to follow their story beyond the offering bucket, buit if we do, we might easily see that within 3 days they are mysteriously robbed, the victims of burglars for the first time in their lives. What's more, several things they can't afford to fix or replace break in that same week, expensive things, necessary things. If you take the time to ask them, and if they trust you enough to give you a straight answer, they'd probably tell you that in the end, you were right. He did give back an abundant blessing. But the frontload of testing God looks deeply dangerous, and the backload of blessing--why it might not be monetary at all, although the blessing and riches were worth more than money. Most of us don't hear this part of the story because by the time these wounded givers realize the way God works, they've likely moved on from talking to the one making tunnel-vision promises anyway. Their way of giving fought and defeated its enemy alone--by human measure, and on a supernatural plane. Now their giving activity--while quite real--could hardly be classified on a spread sheet or even perceived by many. Nevertheless, when they were land-locked and still learning, why didn't anyone tell them the real parameters of "giving and receiving" in the first place?
So, when the concluding question of the sermon series came up, "Do you trust God enough to give? It's His money anyway." it just felt like the wrong question. Here's the question I want to hear sermonized and then left for me to ponder: "Do you trust people enough to give them the part of God's money that's been entrusted to you?" To simply think people don't give is naive and self-deluding.
I genuinely believe and have full confidence that if you took the time to meditate and seek God's mind on this topic, this question; we'd hear something deeply powerful from you!
Sincerely yours,
...from one who direct-gives to charities and as the wind of the Spirit leads and sometimes to church, but mostly anonymously with cash.
Commentary ran as follows:
Kari Hallett Miller: I'm pretty hardcore about this. I believe that scripture is pretty clear that the tithe belongs to the church, and above and beyond offerings can go anywhere you want.
I also don't belive we give to God to get financial awards. We give because it is an act of obedience and worship.
I would also posit that perhaps people are not in the right body if they cannot trust the leadership to deal well with their money.
2 people liked this response
Me: Kari...I agree. As pastors, you and Paul are the saving grace that counter balances these churches of excess I describe. And they aren't a fabrication. I have personally attended a few of them! And I agree that a tithe is a tithe, it's just sometimes you wonder whether you're really pouring it into a "church" or into something else. I wish that question and what to do about it got talked about more often than it does! Then maybe people would start giving their "millions" back to the church to distribute.
Deborah Way ...but you give me something to think about. Is it time to look at the trust factor we have for our church. To be really bare naked about it, I have a difficult time hearing someone tell me to give them money and quit being so consumption-minded when he just hopped out of a Lexus. I need to pray about whether that's something that's wrong with my attitude or something wrong with where we're attending. Keep me honest, Kari! I love you...
Kari Hallett Miller: Keep thinking! When I worked at CPC we had a program where people donated cars. Our two top executives drove Lexus' that had been donated...why? Because, when dealing with multi-millionaire donors they wouldn't even be heard without a status car...pretty sad, but true. I guess with the pastor I would ask, was the car a gift, a dream he has been... See More saving for for years and paid cash, is it used and he got a fantastic deal, or is it an outlandish expenditure? Ask to take a look at the church financials. How much are they giving to missions? How much is being given to run ministries in the church? How much to salaries? All are part of spreading the gospel, but it should give you some idea of a balance.
That being said, one of the reasons I love the head guy of the Indiana Assemblies of God is that even though he is the "top of the foodchain" so to speak, he still drives his Chevy Malibu. That makes me trust him a little more.
I know the excesses exist. I see them. I know churches that embody them. However, don't let that stop you from obeying God. Even if you have to examine they whys and wheres of how you can do that.
Me: Thanks, Kari...I think I'm getting a little closer to what I was actually wanting my words to say. I'm doing a part 2 on that note. I still feel a burden for those "wounded givers" I mentioned. Sharing what God gave to you is very much like a personal relationship--and that's the real place that I need to examine.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
What Do You Call Transformation?
In the last week or so, I've come across the song, Ring of Fire, at least 3 times. It was quoted in a book, Elijah asked something about it, and they played it at the ballpark between innings.
Today in my Bible-reading, the theme of fire and brimstone raining on those who would gather against the Lord in the latter days showed up in several different places. SO even though this morning I type to the sound of the first good soaking rain of the summer season, a nourishing rain--still, I know the word of the day belongs to Johnny Cash:
Love is a burning thing
and it makes a firery ring
bound by wild desire
I fell into a ring of fire
I fell into a burning ring of fire
I went down, down, down
and the flames went higher
and it burns, burns, burns the ring of fire
the ring of fire
the taste of love is sweet
when hearts like ours meet
I fell for you like a child
oh, but the fire went wild
I fell into a burning ring of fire
I went down, down, down
and the flames went higher
and it burns, burns, burns the ring of fire
the ring of fire
Johnny Cash's daughter, Roseanne, says her mother wrote it as she was falling in love with Johnny, but was burdened by his drug and alcohol addictions. Of the song's legacy, she claims: "The song is about the transformative power of love and that's what it has always meant to me and that's what it will always mean to the Cash children."
Today in my Bible-reading, the theme of fire and brimstone raining on those who would gather against the Lord in the latter days showed up in several different places. SO even though this morning I type to the sound of the first good soaking rain of the summer season, a nourishing rain--still, I know the word of the day belongs to Johnny Cash:
Love is a burning thing
and it makes a firery ring
bound by wild desire
I fell into a ring of fire
I fell into a burning ring of fire
I went down, down, down
and the flames went higher
and it burns, burns, burns the ring of fire
the ring of fire
the taste of love is sweet
when hearts like ours meet
I fell for you like a child
oh, but the fire went wild
I fell into a burning ring of fire
I went down, down, down
and the flames went higher
and it burns, burns, burns the ring of fire
the ring of fire
Johnny Cash's daughter, Roseanne, says her mother wrote it as she was falling in love with Johnny, but was burdened by his drug and alcohol addictions. Of the song's legacy, she claims: "The song is about the transformative power of love and that's what it has always meant to me and that's what it will always mean to the Cash children."
Saturday, June 05, 2010
The Trail of Tears
"In my Father's house there are many mansions...I go to prepare a place for you."
I remember in the time of my half-life, the time before the first-death, I spent many hours envisioning how those mansions might appear. I even remember using faith-substance pictures of them to bring the more mystically bent to desiring such a place for themselves; but even my grandest predictions couldn't touch the reality. My conceptions in the days of half-life couldn't do justice to the nuances of this place.
What do I mean? Well...for instance, when I was initially brought into my own mansion, the first thing that struck me was a large window that dominated the entry hall. All the light in the place came through that window, and through what was in that window. You see, the window had many cubicles, and in each cubicle was a bottle, and in every bottle a clear liquid. I stood fascinated at that window, staring at the many little vials. Different shapes--some simple and elegant, some like fine cut crystal--and within every one of them: that gleaming, glittering liquid. It seemed to bring the light into the room not so much as a dusty beam, more as a thing alive, a thing that wanted to dance.
"What are these?" I whispered breathlessly to my Companion. He came to stand shoulder to shoulder alongside me, studying the display.
"King David perceived these before he came here, but many fail to appreciate their permanence while still living the half-life," he said. Then he quoted scripture to me. " 'Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: [are they] not in thy book?' What you see here are all the tears that have to do with you, those kept safe in His own bottle, awaiting your arrival; those written even now in His book."
I reached out to touch a bottle. "It is uniquely yours, you know," he continued. "No two mansions have even similar windows. Every one's tear display is a distinguishing feature. They personalize the way the light enters. So all humans are one in Him, and yet also individual. Quite an apt architectural feature, wouldn't you say?"
"Why is the fluid moving in some bottles, but sits still in others?" I took a bottle down that had swirling tears. They did not change their motion even in response to my jostling.
"Mmm...," the Companion gazed at the bottle with me. "Those would be bottles containing tears of others, mixed with your own. Those are tears shed for you swirling with the ones shed by you." I looked up at him quizzically, and he smiled slowly. "Yes, you have tears dacing in other windows as well. You are represented in the windows of all whose 'wanderings' have led you to tears on their behalf. A beautiful thing, no?"
I put that bottle back in its niche and reached for the one most central to the display and the brightest of all, but the Companion's hand stopped me. "That is the most sacred bottle." Not surprising, for its waters looked the most pure and sparkling. Just to look at the gleaming felt good, like a deep breath of clean air.
"What makes it so special?" I asked.
"That bottle is the only one that contains no tears cried by you. They are the tears of the Christ, cried through the eyes of His saints on your behalf. They are the ones you should have cried, but were as yet too lost to know it." This revelation pressed me back a step away from the window.
The Companion turned, ready to show me other wonders in this mansion of mine, but glancing over his shoulder he said one other thing about that feature. "The time will come when all things are made new. Then you will forget what is in the bottles. You will remember only that the window boxes are yours, created by you in concert with those who love you."
I objected. "I don't want to forget what this represents!"
He shook his head. "To remember they are tears is to remember why you cried them. You'll understand when you experience the Newness why such remembrances can not exist."
And, that story is just one example of how subtle, how personal is the breath-taking beauty here. Oh, I know, you can hardly imagine it, so you'll simply have to trust me. As they say in the half-life where you are: you're going to love what He's done to the place!"
I remember in the time of my half-life, the time before the first-death, I spent many hours envisioning how those mansions might appear. I even remember using faith-substance pictures of them to bring the more mystically bent to desiring such a place for themselves; but even my grandest predictions couldn't touch the reality. My conceptions in the days of half-life couldn't do justice to the nuances of this place.
What do I mean? Well...for instance, when I was initially brought into my own mansion, the first thing that struck me was a large window that dominated the entry hall. All the light in the place came through that window, and through what was in that window. You see, the window had many cubicles, and in each cubicle was a bottle, and in every bottle a clear liquid. I stood fascinated at that window, staring at the many little vials. Different shapes--some simple and elegant, some like fine cut crystal--and within every one of them: that gleaming, glittering liquid. It seemed to bring the light into the room not so much as a dusty beam, more as a thing alive, a thing that wanted to dance.
"What are these?" I whispered breathlessly to my Companion. He came to stand shoulder to shoulder alongside me, studying the display.
"King David perceived these before he came here, but many fail to appreciate their permanence while still living the half-life," he said. Then he quoted scripture to me. " 'Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: [are they] not in thy book?' What you see here are all the tears that have to do with you, those kept safe in His own bottle, awaiting your arrival; those written even now in His book."
I reached out to touch a bottle. "It is uniquely yours, you know," he continued. "No two mansions have even similar windows. Every one's tear display is a distinguishing feature. They personalize the way the light enters. So all humans are one in Him, and yet also individual. Quite an apt architectural feature, wouldn't you say?"
"Why is the fluid moving in some bottles, but sits still in others?" I took a bottle down that had swirling tears. They did not change their motion even in response to my jostling.
"Mmm...," the Companion gazed at the bottle with me. "Those would be bottles containing tears of others, mixed with your own. Those are tears shed for you swirling with the ones shed by you." I looked up at him quizzically, and he smiled slowly. "Yes, you have tears dacing in other windows as well. You are represented in the windows of all whose 'wanderings' have led you to tears on their behalf. A beautiful thing, no?"
I put that bottle back in its niche and reached for the one most central to the display and the brightest of all, but the Companion's hand stopped me. "That is the most sacred bottle." Not surprising, for its waters looked the most pure and sparkling. Just to look at the gleaming felt good, like a deep breath of clean air.
"What makes it so special?" I asked.
"That bottle is the only one that contains no tears cried by you. They are the tears of the Christ, cried through the eyes of His saints on your behalf. They are the ones you should have cried, but were as yet too lost to know it." This revelation pressed me back a step away from the window.
The Companion turned, ready to show me other wonders in this mansion of mine, but glancing over his shoulder he said one other thing about that feature. "The time will come when all things are made new. Then you will forget what is in the bottles. You will remember only that the window boxes are yours, created by you in concert with those who love you."
I objected. "I don't want to forget what this represents!"
He shook his head. "To remember they are tears is to remember why you cried them. You'll understand when you experience the Newness why such remembrances can not exist."
And, that story is just one example of how subtle, how personal is the breath-taking beauty here. Oh, I know, you can hardly imagine it, so you'll simply have to trust me. As they say in the half-life where you are: you're going to love what He's done to the place!"
Monday, May 31, 2010
"He Walks with Me, and He Talks with Me, and He Tells Me..."
And the word of the LORD was precious in those days; [there was] no open vision...I Samuel 3:1
Sounds like now, and like it has been for many years in this world, I'd say. So, when clarity of vision begins to return, how do we know we're not just dancing with lunacy? "Be my witness, not my attorney," Rick Warren reminds...so I'd answer that question as a witness...as someone coming with a story rather than a dogma.
Several years ago, when I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, I went through a period of time where pain and weakness ruled my life, dictating nearly every choice I made. It was a time of profoundly sad list-making: lists of all the things I'd "likely never do again." One particularly gloomy day (another symptom of fibro is depression) as spring approached, it hit me I would surely never garden again. I began to literally weep as I considered that even if we ever moved someplace where a backyard garden was an option, I'd never have the strength to maintain that level of physical labor again. Based on my stature right then, it was a realistic expectation. But even as I cried, I "sensed" laughter around me. Giggles, like ones restrained by those who know of a fabulous suprise awaiting a dear friend, but must keep it a secret. That was what I sensed bubbling in the unseen realm nearest me.
"What are you spooks laughing about?" I finally said aloud, and a spiritual dam broke. The giggles burst into outright guffaws, all around me. It was so contagious, and I was so mystified by it, that I left off my crying and grinned through my tears. I was much like a little child drawn away from grief into a reluctant smile. I went quiet inside about gardening, about a lot of things that were on that "expected losses" list. Maybe something different was in store for me. I began to hope.
I went outside to water my garden this morning...it is in its third year of productivity; and church bells rang as I stood spraying the glittering arcs that refresh the dry ground. I was reminded that many places are holy places. My garden is one of them.
Did I expect such a wall-less sanctuary to ever be mine again? No. Was I told to expect something more, that a higher consciousness saw more for me than I saw for myself? Yes.
If it is lunacy, then sun and water and a morning wind sent to carry a sacred song are all celebrating.
Sounds like now, and like it has been for many years in this world, I'd say. So, when clarity of vision begins to return, how do we know we're not just dancing with lunacy? "Be my witness, not my attorney," Rick Warren reminds...so I'd answer that question as a witness...as someone coming with a story rather than a dogma.
Several years ago, when I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, I went through a period of time where pain and weakness ruled my life, dictating nearly every choice I made. It was a time of profoundly sad list-making: lists of all the things I'd "likely never do again." One particularly gloomy day (another symptom of fibro is depression) as spring approached, it hit me I would surely never garden again. I began to literally weep as I considered that even if we ever moved someplace where a backyard garden was an option, I'd never have the strength to maintain that level of physical labor again. Based on my stature right then, it was a realistic expectation. But even as I cried, I "sensed" laughter around me. Giggles, like ones restrained by those who know of a fabulous suprise awaiting a dear friend, but must keep it a secret. That was what I sensed bubbling in the unseen realm nearest me.
"What are you spooks laughing about?" I finally said aloud, and a spiritual dam broke. The giggles burst into outright guffaws, all around me. It was so contagious, and I was so mystified by it, that I left off my crying and grinned through my tears. I was much like a little child drawn away from grief into a reluctant smile. I went quiet inside about gardening, about a lot of things that were on that "expected losses" list. Maybe something different was in store for me. I began to hope.
I went outside to water my garden this morning...it is in its third year of productivity; and church bells rang as I stood spraying the glittering arcs that refresh the dry ground. I was reminded that many places are holy places. My garden is one of them.
Did I expect such a wall-less sanctuary to ever be mine again? No. Was I told to expect something more, that a higher consciousness saw more for me than I saw for myself? Yes.
If it is lunacy, then sun and water and a morning wind sent to carry a sacred song are all celebrating.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
What Do You Call Prayer?
...and more pointedly does prayer "work" in the context of this world?
I've thought on this a lot lately. A postulate I should present a integral to my own evaluation, if you will, of prayer is that I tend to pull away when I look at this question...viewing prayer as a composite tapestry rather than as a collection of individual stitches. You can certainly point to this particular stitch or that one to evaluate the whole, but I think that is a disastrous method to decide prayer's effectiveness and thereby one's participation in it. So how does one rise up and see the whole scene? How does one pray, as Nouwen puts it, within a balance where prayer is personal enough to risk one's faith but broad enough to allow God room to move and create as He so pleases?
I look to one anecdote from my own experiences that defines for me the meaning of God "changing His mind" even within the context of His having perfect omniscience--for this is the rub for many thinking people. The example has to do with bubbles.
I've dreamed bubbles several times. Once I dreamed of a woman in a magnificent gown of bubbles, another time of churches filled with bubbles I was sent to observe (in this case it was more a foaming than a bubbling up) wherein I was pleased to announce to God that this foaming action was dissipating. And I dreamed of sleeping pigs locked in an almost solid foam that absolutely had to go away. What am I to make of all this bubbling imagery sent from God? Why is some good and some bad, almost in equal proportion?
Here is the crux of the matter. The bubbles are the omniscience; but their meaning and their playing out in my life, my actions and reactions are where changes and decisions--even on God's part--can occur. It all has to do with what the bubbles can mean based on the "word" God has given for the sake of interpretation.
Jude 1:13 addresses false teachers, those whose lives are self-centered, as being"Raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever." The foam is bad. On the other hand, Psalm 145:7 says "They shall abundantly utter the memory of thy great goodness, and shall sing of thy righteousness." Here, the word for 'abundantly utter' is more literally translated as 'bubble forth' so the image is good. Bubbles are the constant, but the interpretation is open to interpretation. Some would call this a dog chasing its tail, but I think it exemplifies the most primitive beauty of man, the most elemental elegance of the dance God makes with him.
As Neo in the Matrix so aptly puts it when his adversary finally raises the ultimate question: why do you keep fighting when you know it ends with your death? Neo says, "Because I choose to." Or as happened in another of my crazy dreams, one in which I was a chicken, of all things, in a crate on a truck. The devil asked me, "Why are you so happy? You know you're just headed to the slaughterhouse?" And I answered as I gazed out the airholes on the side, gazed at the fields passing by, "Because the view is so beautiful on the way."
Of all creation, we are the ones gifted with the largest access to the concept of choice, therefore we are the ones most susceptible to deception on that front. We've been given a broad umbrella under the rain of God's omniscience in the context of time and chance, but many choose to perceive themselves as clowns on bicycles, running around under mini-umbrellas. But then, this, too, just proves my point: the choice is ours.
I've thought on this a lot lately. A postulate I should present a integral to my own evaluation, if you will, of prayer is that I tend to pull away when I look at this question...viewing prayer as a composite tapestry rather than as a collection of individual stitches. You can certainly point to this particular stitch or that one to evaluate the whole, but I think that is a disastrous method to decide prayer's effectiveness and thereby one's participation in it. So how does one rise up and see the whole scene? How does one pray, as Nouwen puts it, within a balance where prayer is personal enough to risk one's faith but broad enough to allow God room to move and create as He so pleases?
I look to one anecdote from my own experiences that defines for me the meaning of God "changing His mind" even within the context of His having perfect omniscience--for this is the rub for many thinking people. The example has to do with bubbles.
I've dreamed bubbles several times. Once I dreamed of a woman in a magnificent gown of bubbles, another time of churches filled with bubbles I was sent to observe (in this case it was more a foaming than a bubbling up) wherein I was pleased to announce to God that this foaming action was dissipating. And I dreamed of sleeping pigs locked in an almost solid foam that absolutely had to go away. What am I to make of all this bubbling imagery sent from God? Why is some good and some bad, almost in equal proportion?
Here is the crux of the matter. The bubbles are the omniscience; but their meaning and their playing out in my life, my actions and reactions are where changes and decisions--even on God's part--can occur. It all has to do with what the bubbles can mean based on the "word" God has given for the sake of interpretation.
Jude 1:13 addresses false teachers, those whose lives are self-centered, as being"Raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever." The foam is bad. On the other hand, Psalm 145:7 says "They shall abundantly utter the memory of thy great goodness, and shall sing of thy righteousness." Here, the word for 'abundantly utter' is more literally translated as 'bubble forth' so the image is good. Bubbles are the constant, but the interpretation is open to interpretation. Some would call this a dog chasing its tail, but I think it exemplifies the most primitive beauty of man, the most elemental elegance of the dance God makes with him.
As Neo in the Matrix so aptly puts it when his adversary finally raises the ultimate question: why do you keep fighting when you know it ends with your death? Neo says, "Because I choose to." Or as happened in another of my crazy dreams, one in which I was a chicken, of all things, in a crate on a truck. The devil asked me, "Why are you so happy? You know you're just headed to the slaughterhouse?" And I answered as I gazed out the airholes on the side, gazed at the fields passing by, "Because the view is so beautiful on the way."
Of all creation, we are the ones gifted with the largest access to the concept of choice, therefore we are the ones most susceptible to deception on that front. We've been given a broad umbrella under the rain of God's omniscience in the context of time and chance, but many choose to perceive themselves as clowns on bicycles, running around under mini-umbrellas. But then, this, too, just proves my point: the choice is ours.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Life Is Like a Box of Baseball Cards
Often when my husband and sons peruse old boxes of baseball cards in the storage nooks of our house, a conversation evolves about their value. Invariably, my husband makes the comment, "They're only worth what someone will pay for them." This morning in my prayer time, I enlarged that idea to encompass a box of faith, a box of sacrifice, a box of redemption. What will one person pay for it?
The price is self-awareness in its meanest state. Be a "beneficiary of God's grace" I read recently. A beneficiary generally receives something good; but a beneficiary also often pays a price...a cost, like an insurance premium over time or the loss of the loved one who left an inheritance. Rarely but in old fiction is someone the completely oblivious beneficiary to a secret fortune.
What is God's box of baseball cards worth? The stone on the balance weighs our courage, our courage to face ourselves in all our raw beauty and treachery. It's why, I think, the first thing on the laundry-list of sins that lead to the "second death" of Revelation 21 is cowardliness, followed closely by unbelief. It's why the deepest love is closer to death than it is to affection, as my pastor stated last Sunday. The deepest love costs you yourself. Jesus said, before you take up your own cross, count the cost.
God has a box of cards, with a cross on every one. Each of us offers what we can in terms of that courage of self-awareness, that is if we seek a card at all. My hope, my prayer is that through this life I've been given, I'll up the value of those cards again where it has fallen.
Saturday, May 01, 2010
Defining Your Mission
Shame on the minister last Sunday for preaching a sermon about extending your family's sense of corporate purpose, becoming missional in a larger way than just the idolization of the family unit. How dare he preach this during little league! (chuckle)
But he struck a chord with me, and on the drive home, I broached the subject with the family. We're not as missional as we've been in the past: singing in church choirs, serving on committees, doing youth group events, attending retreats, etc. The only retreating we've done is into our family shell, I admonished. We should get more missional. More outward focused.
Husband's response, "I'm just not feeling it."
Kids' response. "What? Hey, can we go to the batting cages this afternoon if it stops raining?"
Sigh.
But in time, I began to consider broadening my definition of being missional. Another significant point in our family's corporate life lately has been exploring this concept of our response to big-business as it relates to providing our food. We've decided we want to commit ourselves to supporting the part of the food industry that offers healthy meats and vegetables. The part that is still free, though small. The part that strives nobly to stay in business despite big business trying to put them out of business! Suddenly I realized, this could be our mission-call!
Now missional is defined (by Wikipedia anyway) as follows:
"...a local church is missional when it intentionally pursues God’s mission for His glory among all peoples by following His patterns and His ways of expanding His kingdom."
So I'm thinking if we are counted as Christ's friends when we give meat to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, etc. then we're sort of being missional with this thing . If we're told to be stewards of the earth, we're sort of being missional. (I know it's a stretch, but I'm consoling myself that this at least starts our family toward some purpose beyond its own bloating!)
The next step, however, is twofold. The first part involves consistency. I admonished on this point, too, as my husband and I drove home from the grocery store, plastic bags of quickly-purchased sale steaks in the back seat as we raced to do some impromptu barbecuing.
"We've got to get more consistent with this goal of only purchasing local, healthy-grown meat!" said I.
"If you looked up consistent in one dictionary, and then looked it up in another one. Do you think the definitions would be basically the same?" he responded.
I decided a matriarch can't afford a sense of humor. It is her Achilles' heel.
And of course there's step two: look for the good in the "failures" of life. For instance, I read all the time how crucial it is for a family to sit down at the table and eat dinner together. It is about the only insurance that children will grow up sane and well-adjusted. It's also the only insurance that your children will even remember they have families and come back as adults to occasionally visit.
Our family only does this on major holidays. Instead, we watch the news--or maybe Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader--every single night as we eat. Sometimes, I try to move us all to the table, but mostly some of us eat at the table and others on the couch nearby for a better view of the TV. One thing, though, I can say. Our children know our opinion (and we know theirs) on just about every current event. Our mouths stuffed with food, we comment and they question on everything from foreign affairs to the weather. Our way wouldn't make a cover-story headline in Redbook magazine, but I take comfort in this final analysis of our dinner hour habits.
As I pick muddy radishes from our backyard garden while my youngest walks the "balance beam" of timbers surrounding it, I remind myself small steps are still steps. And, big steps take planning. Much failure to accomplish goals spring from lack of patience through the small steps. And, maybe from forgetfulness.
I hope we remember that we're planning to split a grass-fed cow with the neighbors this summer.
But he struck a chord with me, and on the drive home, I broached the subject with the family. We're not as missional as we've been in the past: singing in church choirs, serving on committees, doing youth group events, attending retreats, etc. The only retreating we've done is into our family shell, I admonished. We should get more missional. More outward focused.
Husband's response, "I'm just not feeling it."
Kids' response. "What? Hey, can we go to the batting cages this afternoon if it stops raining?"
Sigh.
But in time, I began to consider broadening my definition of being missional. Another significant point in our family's corporate life lately has been exploring this concept of our response to big-business as it relates to providing our food. We've decided we want to commit ourselves to supporting the part of the food industry that offers healthy meats and vegetables. The part that is still free, though small. The part that strives nobly to stay in business despite big business trying to put them out of business! Suddenly I realized, this could be our mission-call!
Now missional is defined (by Wikipedia anyway) as follows:
"...a local church is missional when it intentionally pursues God’s mission for His glory among all peoples by following His patterns and His ways of expanding His kingdom."
So I'm thinking if we are counted as Christ's friends when we give meat to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, etc. then we're sort of being missional with this thing . If we're told to be stewards of the earth, we're sort of being missional. (I know it's a stretch, but I'm consoling myself that this at least starts our family toward some purpose beyond its own bloating!)
The next step, however, is twofold. The first part involves consistency. I admonished on this point, too, as my husband and I drove home from the grocery store, plastic bags of quickly-purchased sale steaks in the back seat as we raced to do some impromptu barbecuing.
"We've got to get more consistent with this goal of only purchasing local, healthy-grown meat!" said I.
"If you looked up consistent in one dictionary, and then looked it up in another one. Do you think the definitions would be basically the same?" he responded.
I decided a matriarch can't afford a sense of humor. It is her Achilles' heel.
And of course there's step two: look for the good in the "failures" of life. For instance, I read all the time how crucial it is for a family to sit down at the table and eat dinner together. It is about the only insurance that children will grow up sane and well-adjusted. It's also the only insurance that your children will even remember they have families and come back as adults to occasionally visit.
Our family only does this on major holidays. Instead, we watch the news--or maybe Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader--every single night as we eat. Sometimes, I try to move us all to the table, but mostly some of us eat at the table and others on the couch nearby for a better view of the TV. One thing, though, I can say. Our children know our opinion (and we know theirs) on just about every current event. Our mouths stuffed with food, we comment and they question on everything from foreign affairs to the weather. Our way wouldn't make a cover-story headline in Redbook magazine, but I take comfort in this final analysis of our dinner hour habits.
As I pick muddy radishes from our backyard garden while my youngest walks the "balance beam" of timbers surrounding it, I remind myself small steps are still steps. And, big steps take planning. Much failure to accomplish goals spring from lack of patience through the small steps. And, maybe from forgetfulness.
I hope we remember that we're planning to split a grass-fed cow with the neighbors this summer.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
What Do You Call Judgment?
"Born around 251, Anthony was the son of Egyptian peasants" says Henri Nouwen in his book, The Way of the Heart. Saint Anthony became the first monk of a group called the Desert Fathers. Anthony was called a hermit as he spent years in the desert alone with God and the demons who preyed upon him. (As protrayed by Grunewald on the Isenheim Altarpiece.) But, after he emerged from that time of solitude in the desert, Saint Anthony became someone people flocked to "for healing, comfort, and direction" until in his old age he chose to return to the desert to experience his last earthly days "absorbed in direct communion with God" alone.
Thomas Merton, in Wisdom of the Desert, says "Society...was regarded [by the Desert Fathers] as a shipwreck from which each single individual man had to swim for his life...These were men who believed that to let oneself drift along, passively accepting the tenets and values of what they knew as society, was purely and simply a disaster."
Though monkish living is considered eccentric at best, and is often deemed psychologically unhealthy and even down-right unChristian by the more socially-shaped of our kin, still I find much wisdom in their assessment of society, though we live in a Society almost 1800 years their junior. One difference I notice, though. Those who recognize a shipwreck underway are exercising their right to free speech. They are commenting loudly on the shipwreck of society. Maybe pre-Dark Age society didn't have permission or opportunity to such prophecies to be heard. Maybe they were further along in the act of sinking and had traded talking for diving in and swimming for shore. But for right now in THIS society, the doom seems to be centered in the fact that many are flocking to opposite ends of the boat, finding gaping holes in both places, but only "believing" in the potential harm of the hole they can see. And, they only shout all the louder as voices at the opposite end of the boat become more compelling about the disasters found there. As action is taken to "fix" the boat on the opposite end, these ones scream, "No, the problem is here!" Soon everyone begins to believe the problem is with the people at the other end of the boat drawing attention away from this hole, the one they can see in their own end.
When we reach that place, I believe we are at the moment when judgment becomes our enemy instead of our guide.
What did these desert fathers learn about judgment from their own leap to survival, taking their chances in the icy waters when their sinking ship proved hopeless? They apparently attributed to Solitude with God two profoundly wise lessons.
The first is this: Solitude gives birth to compassion. "If you would ask the Desert Fathers why solitude gives birth to compassion, they would say, 'Because it makes us die to our neighbor.' " Henri Nouwen explains this enigmatic answer: "At first this answer seems quite disturbing to a modern mind. But when we give it a closer look we can see that in order to be of service to others we have to die to them; that is, we have to give up measuring our meaning and value with the yardstick of others. To die to our neighbors means to stop judging them, to stop evaluating them, and thus to become free to be compassionate."
The second is this: Solitude gives birth to the humble self-awareness that is necessary for our forgiveness to be effective in the lives of those we forgive. Nouwen again comments: "The following desert story offers a good illustration: 'A brother...committed a fault. A council was called to which Abba Moses [a Desert Father] was invited, but he refused to go to it. Then the priest sent someone to say to him "Come, for everyone is waiting for you." So he got up and went. He took a leaking jug, filled it with water, and carried it with him. The others came out to meet him and said to him, "What is this, Father?" The old man said to them, "My sins run out behind me, and I do not see them, and today I am coming to judge the error of another." When they heard that they said no more to the brother but forgave him." Nouwen took this quote from a book called The Sayings of the Desert Fathers. I see in it a person walking as nearly as one can to the story of Christ and the adulteress while yet remaining appropriately distinct from Christ.
So this is my prayer:
Dear God,
May I carry that jug, and may I feel that water sloshing down the back of my leg any time I step out to pass judgment passionately but unwisely. Otherwise, my words are at best brass and cymbals making annoying and distracting noise; my words are at best an aid to deciding which end of the boat will bottom up first while doing nothing to help the boat as a whole.
May it be the mud between my toes that helps me know to stoop and wash my brother's feet...
Amen.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The Agnostic's First Prayer
How nice
that blades of grass
push through the cover
of dead oak leaves;
and all that's needed
is a bit
of Spring.
(This came to me while I sat recuperating
from yesterday's frailty.
Sitting and hearing birds and frogs,
bike tires coasting,
balls smacking leather
--all while I hid behind the sun-drenched wall of my eyelids.
How do I know You approve where I extend this scepter?
When I rose from my chair all to stroll
a woodland creek-bed,
You flanked my path with blue and white violets,
for the first time of the season.
How do You know I saw Your part
in the interplay?
I tucked the flowers
in my hair.)
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