Sunday, December 30, 2007

Catching Up: The Christmas Edition

This Christmas has been really hectic, and there hasn't been much time to write lately. On the one hand, I always hate having less time to write, and I always regret not getting more reading done. On the other hand, I'm always glad to have time to see friends and family. I have to admit that I know there will be more time to read and to write and that I'd really rather take advantage of being home and being able to see all these people.

Plus, though I live in a cornfield, I never, ever have the opportunity to ride a tractor, and I've gotten to do that while I've been here. I've also gotten pretty good at driving a four-wheeler and pretty accustomed to stomping through mud in a pair of rubber boots while on the farm.

And, while out at the farm, I got to have two Christmas dinners. That's right. I feel pretty ridiculously stuffed, and the fact that I decided to learn how to make bread isn't helping that at all! So far, I've made a few loaves of challah, and now I want to branch out into the world of wheat breads...and then I can drop out of grad school and start my own bakery! ;) Okay, I'm pretty much joking about that.

Other than time on the farm, I got some big-city time in with a trip to Dallas. I visited some friends there and celebrated my friend Joanna's birthday with a yummy brunch and a nice, relaxing pedicure--definitely a change from the farm!

I also got to see how much Joanna's baby has grown. The funny thing is, I was (for one, brief moment) the baby's godfather. It's totally true. I stood in for the real godfather at the baptism because the real godfather had to stay home with his own babies! And so, I can say I was once a godfather.

I plan to write some more about the coming of the new year and all, but I have to say that that weird moment of being a godfather is one of the funniest moments of my life, but it was also a very happy one. To stand there and see this little baby and to think about the hopes that we all have for him, all the possibilities his life holds, it truly was one of the most special moments I've been a part of.

So, it is true that I haven't had time to read or write, but those things happen. There will be time to read and to write. I'm pretty sure neither reading or writing makes it into that passage from Ecclesiastes, but there truly is a time for every purpose under heaven, even those things we never thought we'd do!

Monday, December 24, 2007

A Post for Christmas

One of my favorite Christmas carols is "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day." It goes like this:

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Till ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men.”

I love it because it's sort of melancholy and sad. It doesn't seem like most Christmas carols, and, according to my uncle, part of the reason for that is that it was written during the Civil War, a time when peace seemed so far from us all, a time when fear must have been the most prevalent feeling.

I know we don't often think of it this way, but fear is really a big part of Christmas. The fear of the shepherds, the wisemen, Mary and Joseph. Our own fear in confronting the thought of God taking on human form, the Word made flesh. That thought, that thought alone is enough to cause fear.

Though there is great strength in the coming of the Savior and the possibility of forgiveness, there is also fear. The shepherds knew about that kind of fear. As I learned in church yesterday, the Greek translation says they were "afraid with a great fear."

How fearful is that? Afraid with a great fear. Just to say it makes me feel for them, how scared they must have been. Afraid while standing in the presence of angels who were surrounded by the glory of God.

And yet, that is not the whole story. The whole story is that the angels brought glad tidings of joy. The whole story is that the shepherds, though fearful, were about to encounter the only thing that would bring them true and lasting peace, as they chose to venture away from their fields to seek Jesus.

I understand their fear and often have it myself. And yet, I know that there is peace, everlasting peace, peace that passes all understanding.

And it is that peace I pray for this Christmas Eve.

Merry Christmas.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Wisdom and Love

One of my favorite Christmas stories is O. Henry's "The Gift of the Magi." In it, he tells the story of a poor young married couple, trying to buy each other gifts for Christmas though they can't really afford them. The basic story is that the woman had sold her hair to buy a watch chain for the man, and the man had sold his watch to buy beautiful combs for the woman.

I think we can read it and think of how silly these two are, but I really think it speaks to the deep love they have for one another. O. Henry concludes the story by writing:

"The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi."

You see, though their actions were unwise, they were the actions of love. It was love that caused both to give their greatest treasures. It was love that made them think first of the other and put themselves second. And, really, can't we say that it is the seeming foolishness of their actions that speaks the most to their love for one another? When we think about a self-sacrificing sort of love, it often seems quite foolish; it often seems unwise. Think of the father of the Prodigal Son. That sort of love, love for the errant child, often strikes us as foolish. And yet, it is love.

The other day, my friend Alanna wrote a blog, and she talked about the first Christmas. What surprises her, what makes her think that there's something special about that story, is the fact that shepherds came to the stable. That men actually left the fields and went looking for a baby. There must be something to that.

You know, we've heard that story so many times that we forget how amazing the various parts of it are. We know there are shepherds. We know they left their flocks. But, it fails to surprise us because representations of shepherds at Christmastime are about as common as wreaths or trees or any of the trappings of the season. Anywhere you go, you're bound to see a manger scene, and, in it, there will be a couple of guys with staffs standing to the side. No big deal.

But it is a big deal. Because, when we think about it, really think about it, we have to wonder what made them go to the manger. Why did they feel compelled to go? Who compelled them to act?

I agree with Alanna that the fact that shepherds showed up is pretty impressive. But, I suppose what surprises me even more is that a group of wise men followed a star. And, I guess what surprises me is that they were wise men.

These were men who should have known better. They should have known better than to believe that a star was guiding them to the Messiah. They should have known better than to even believe in a Messiah. They should have known better than to take a different route home to avoid the location of Jesus' family becoming known. In short, they should have been wiser men. But they were not. They saw a star. They followed it. And they believed. They believed in it so much that they risked their lives to protect this child.

This doesn't make sense, really. And, I wonder if there were times when they looked at each other and asked themselves why they were doing this, why they believed, why they followed. Did they ever fear looking foolish in front of the other learned men in their community? Did they ever worry that they would no longer be taken seriously because they had some ridiculous belief about a child being the Messiah? Did they ever think about how scary it is to have a belief, a deep belief, that would change their lives and run counter to the current beliefs of their community? I'm sure they did because those are the sort of questions I ask myself. I feel like I should know better.

When is comes down to it, this belief of mine seems pretty silly. It seems pretty silly to think that, though I can't see Him, there is a God. It seems silly to think that this God is a God in three parts--Father, Son, Holy Spirit. It seems silly to think that, many years ago, the Son of God came to earth as a baby so that He could grow to be a man who would be sacrificed, would take the weight of the world's sin on Himself, only to rise again so that we might have eternal life by trusting in this redeeming grace of the crucifixion. If I look, really look, at the Apostle's Creed, I have to admit that most of it seems pretty silly too, because, what is it if not a narrative of my silly beliefs?

But, something makes me believe. Something makes me set aside my own logic and reason to believe this story which, by my own human standards is anything but logical or reasonable. I guess the wise men had to do the same, and I wonder if for them, as for me, they felt in some way a sort of love that compelled them to their belief in this child? A sort of love which gave them hope for the future, a hope in the power of the resurrection? Wittgenstein writes of this sort of love:

"What inclines even me to believe in Christ's Resurrection? It is as though I play with the thought. --If he did not rise from the dead, then he decomposed in the grave like any other man. He is dead and decomposed. In that case he is a teacher like any other and can no longer help; and once more we are orphaned and alone. So we have to content ourselves with wisdom and speculation. We are in a sort of hell where we can do nothing but dream, roofed in, as it were, and cut off from heaven. But if I am to be REALLY saved, --what I need is certainty--not wisdom, dreams or speculation--and this certainty is faith. And faith is faith in what is needed by my heart, my soul, not my speculative intelligence. For it is my soul with its passions, as it were with its flesh and blood, that has to be saved, not my abstract mind. Perhaps we can say: Only love can believe the Resurrection. Or: It is love that believes the Resurrection" (33).

Perhaps that's just it. This love prompts us to believe, not because our minds tell us that it all makes sense, but because God, speaking to our hearts and souls, lets us know that salvation comes only through this faith. It is this faith that fills the hole in our hearts, that satisfies the needs of our souls, that adopts our sad selves out of this orphaned state and gives us the hope and blessed assurance of salvation.

Perhaps this redeeming love is what allows us to see that it really is not our speculative intelligence which needs to be saved but our flesh and blood. And, perhaps, these ideas which seem so foolish will become altogether wise to the heart full of redeeming love.

Road Trip!

Dear Friends or whoever else is reading this,

Well, I finally finished grading, packing, and some (not enough) cleaning. What to do after accomplishing all of that?

Drive 956 miles. With a small dog. Who insists on sitting in my lap. The whole time.

That's right. I just made the long haul to Texas, and Greta and I are still on speaking terms. However, I did realize that my dog needs a serious bath, and I do feel bad about giving Greta the silent treatment during the Arkansas leg of the trip.

Okay, I'm totally joking about that. Too much time in the car leads to really bad jokes.

The trip took about 16 hours, and I only stopped twice along the way--once in Missouri and once in Arkansas. Both stops are worthy of a short story, particularly the Arkansas stop. But, that's pretty much it. I'm back in Texas, and I've already been listening to country music.

Again, I'm not really full of surprises...Like, tomorrow, I'm sure I'll go get Mexican food. Shocking, right? :)

Anyways, here's hoping for safe journeys to anyone else who's traveling.

Love,

Me

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Confession: It's the Same Old Song...

Once again, it's confession time. I suppose I could do this properly at church, but I thought I'd just do it right here on my blog. It's just more interesting to use my blog as my own not-so-private confessional, right? Right.

Not that this is going to be too interesting. At all. You see, I'm here to confess the same thing I always do:

I have trouble loving people. I have trouble loving God.

But, isn't that how it goes with confession? You confess the same thing again and again, not because you're an idiot who can't seem to get her act together, but because what you're confessing--what I'm confessing--is a struggle. It's not just something that goes away overnight, though that idea does have a certain charm. No, it's something that's a real struggle, and it takes real work.

In order to better understand love, I decided to head to the source, to understand what God says about it. I think 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7 could be turned into a checklist for determining whether or not we love as God loves. It goes like this:

"4
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

Now, another confession. I couldn't check off much of anything there. I got two checks, and that's only if you count verse six as two different things. I do not delight in evil, and I do rejoice in the truth. Check and check. The rest of that stuff? I got nothing. Wherever it says what love is or does, I am or do the opposite. And verse seven? Nope. Nothing there either.

Even more baffling to me, is the fact that God just loves us. As in, He just loves us no matter what. I mean, we can turn away from God, live our lives in complete opposition to God, but He still loves us. There is nothing we can do to make God love us more than He does right this second.

Now, certainly there are repercussions for our actions; our turning away from God doesn't go unpunished. And, if you want to know about all of those repercussions, I can tell you a lot about them. Suffice it to say, they're not at all fun. In fact, they are the total opposite of fun. However, that punishment does not mean we are unloved; it actually means that God, like a heavenly Father, is looking out for us, directing our paths, using the still, soft voice of the Holy Spirit to guide us. Though, if you're like me, you'll totally ignore the gentle prodding, and then it'll be time for the rod and the staff. And, no matter what twenty-third Psalm says, I do not find those at all comforting, at least not right there in the moment.

But, He does all of that because He loves us. He always loves us.

I'll be honest. This makes no sense to me--none at all. You see, I love pretty selfishly. I don't love like God loves. I love people when they are as much like me as possible--when we have a similar sense of humor, when we read the same kind of books, when we have lots of interests in common. But, that's not love as God loves. If it was, He wouldn't love any of us, because we spend most of our time acting as little like Him as possible. And yet, He still loves us.

Maybe that's why I have a hard time loving God sometimes. I just don't get it. You see, for a while, I thought it would be a lot easier to love God if He was more like me. I mean, I wouldn't have said it that way or even really been aware of the fact that that's what I was doing. But, I really did want to love a God who was just like me.

I wanted a God who wouldn't think it was wrong for me to spend a lot of money on clothes or to be obsessed with shopping or to be completely irresponsible. I wanted a God who loved all the same books I did and wouldn't find anything amiss in any of them, a God who would share my taste in music and magazines and TV shows and movies. I wanted a God who, much like me, needed a lot of alone time so that we wouldn't have to communicate too often and that, when we did communicate, it would maninly be me asking for things, as I wanted a God who existed to fulfill my needs without holding me to any standards. I wanted a God whose laws were like my laws, but, now I realize that if God's laws were like my laws, my God wouldn't really take a stance on much of anything because I didn't take a stance on much of anything.

Anne Lamott--whose writing I like, but who I disagree with on a lot of things--calls what I was doing "making God in our image." Well, that's what I was doing, though I didn't know it and certainly wouldn't have confessed it. But, here I am confessing it now!

You see, the real problem with making God in my image was that I wasn't really loving God. I wasn't loving God as God loves me. God loves me just as I am. Though He tries to direct me, He doesn't just reach down from heaven and zap me into submission, however much it might feel like that sometimes. He doesn't do that because that's not real love.

My friend Alanna says that to truly love people, you have to love them for who they are, not for what you want them to be. Sometimes I'm not sure what she's talking about. If people actually were what I want them to be, they'd be even better than they are right now. And then they'd be a whole lot easier for me to love. See? Everyone wins.

Except that nobody but me really wins, and when I apply that sort of love to God, not even I win. When I chose to love my version of God, the one created in my image, I failed to truly love God as He is. I loved a God who fit my values, morals, ideas of right and wrong. However, the God I'd created wasn't actually God as He shows Himself to us in the Bible; in short, my version of God wasn't God. So again I failed to love God as He is, choosing to love only what I wanted Him to be. But, if God is the source of all good, how do I create an understanding of good that falls outside of the parameters He's created? Where does my authority to do that come from? If I do not look to God as the measure of good and of value, then to whom or to what do I look? How do I say to God, "I'd love to have a relationship with You, but I only want You on my terms?"

I guess I have the free will to do as I choose, and yet, by forcing God to fit my mold of what I think He should be, I'm failing to love God just as He is. When I fail to love God or anyone as they are, I fail to love them at all. I'm merely loving myself because I'm creating a relationship on my terms without considering who the other person, even if that's God, is. Again, I'm failing to truly love God. And, when I fail to love God, I miss out on the possibility of a real relationship with Him, and outside of that relationship, I have no way to understand love as God has created love.

Perhaps the only way to understand love as God loves is to understand that who He is, is a God who always loves. But, having a relationship with God, like having a friendship or a marriage, requires a certain amount of fidelity; it requires understanding who the other person is and loving the other person as is, without trying to change them to fit my image of what they should be.

In the case of loving God, I guess I had to understand that God was very different from my version of Him. He had standards and laws and values that I didn't always understand or even want to follow, and yet, fidelity to Him means submitting to those things, because that is the nature of a relationship to God. It's a realization that I can protest all I want, but that God, because of who He is not because of who I want Him to be, is always the One who is full of truth. And, in admitting that, I go a long way in understanding how to love Him, how to begin to have a real relationship with Him. And, in turn, I begin to learn to love as God loves, because, in loving God, I'm loving One who cannot be changed, One who will be the same today as He was yesterday. I am changeable; I change often. But, to love God, I have to keep loving Him, knowing that I can never escape Him, that He will not change to suit me, but that I must change in order to love Him truly.

So, that's my confession. I'm unloving, selfish, perhaps even idolatrous. All manner of terrible things. Yet, I'm still loved by God. Try to explain that kind of love. Better yet, maybe we should try to have that kind of love.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

The Law and The Light

Well, things have really slowed down here in the cornfields. Students have turned in their final papers, and they've headed home, leaving behind only us sad folks who have to grade those final papers. Having always lived in college towns, though, I have to admit that there's something nice about this time of year when nobody is left but locals and some grad students. It's this time of year that gives a little more space for reflecting on the semester that just came to an end.

There is one class that keeps coming up in my thoughts. In this class, we were studying language, something that I'm totally interested in. Specifically, we were discussing the relationship among language, philosophy, and education. I know, it's a pretty big thing to look at with a lot of different angles to be explored.

Well, toward the end of the class, we started discussing different ideas that the class readings had brought up for us, and, in the course of discussion, the topic of hate speech came up. It's a really interesting thing to think about in relation to this class because, when we hear people saying hateful things based on race or ethnicity about other people, we want to make them stop, and we want to think of a way to teach them to not do such things anymore. And it makes us wonder if there's any way that we can stop such thoughtless, mean-spirited language from happening. Of course, we turn to the law as a means of stopping hate speech. That's something that came up in class discussion, as we sort of wondered if there was a way to legislate against hate speech.

But, we were left with a real problem. You can legislate what people say, but you can't change their hearts, what makes them say those things.

Now, I'm usually non-political, but, when it comes to seeing people hurt or suffering injustices, I would love to make rules that make all of that disappear. I don't want to see people suffer the cruelties of racism. I don't want to think about children going to unsafe schools just because there is no other option in their area of town. I don't want to think of how many people live in domestic situations in which one or both partners are physically or emotionally abusive. If I could, I would change all of that. I would create laws that got rid of all of those things, because I know that the fact that these injustices and cruelties exist make all of our lives sadder, even if they aren't things that we personally face.

The problem is that, even if I created a law that spoke to all of these problems, even if I attached to that law the stiffest penalties I could, I wouldn't change the the hearts of people. I wouldn't change the fact that people would still do those things, not because they don't understand the law or the possibility of facing penalties if they break the law, but because their hearts have not been changed.

Because all I've done is give them a new law without addressing the real problem, which is that they have not been transformed by the renewing of their minds, that this change, according to the Bible, is possible only through the transformative work of the Holy Spirit. And, that is not something that can be written into the law because the Holy Spirit, being perfect in nature, is not subject to the law. Things like love and patience, the fruits of the Spirit, have no laws against them because they are, by their very nature, good. And, this goodness brings us light by which we can understand the darkness of our hearts and finally allow the Holy Spirit to bring light to the darkest parts of our being.

Without this light, we truly are in total darkness. As is written in 1 John 2:11, "But the one who hates his brother is in the darkness and walks in the darkness, and does not know where he is going because the darkness has blinded his eyes." This darkness stands in complete contrast to the light which Jesus spoke of when He said,

"When a man believes in me, he does not believe in me only, but in the one who sent me. When he looks at me, he sees the one who sent me. I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness" (John 12:44-46).

And this is why we have the Holy Spirit. As Jesus warned in John 12:35, "You are going to have the light just a little while longer. Walk while you have the light, before darkness overtakes you. The man who walks in the dark does not know where he is going." But, if our only hope of light was Jesus, we would have no hope of light without His presence in the world; we needed something to guide us in His absence, and that something is the Holy Spirit. It is the light of the Holy Spirit that brings us out of darkness, allows us to see the darkness of our hearts, and brings us into the light of God.

And, it is this light which gives us the ability to love, to love as God loves. To love with a love that is not self-seeking, quick to anger, or rude. And, doesn't that sort of love sound like the only kind of love that would keep us from speaking hatefully of one another? I think this kind of love is the kind of love we need, as we cannot legislate against the darkness of our hearts but can only hope to be redeemed by the One who created love as pure and holy. It is what Wittgenstein refers to as "redeeming love," a love which believes in the power of the resurrection. He writes of the transformative power of this love:

"So this can come about only if you no longer rest your weight on the earth but suspend yourself from heaven. Then everything will be different and it will be 'no wonder' of you can do things you cannot do now. (A man who is suspended looks the same as one who is standing, but the interplay of forces within him is nevertheless quite different, so that he can act quite differently than can a standing man)" (33).

Perhaps it is time to take our weight off the world, to let ourselves be suspended by heaven. Perhaps it is time to let ourselves be transformed so that we truly can be the salt of the earth, the light of the world. Perhaps it's time to truly allow God to work through us so that we really can "love one another," so that His love can be made complete in us (1 John 3:12).

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Mealtime Prayers

Whenever I'm home, I head over to Katy and Joe's house for dinner quite a lot. Katy's a good cook, and they keep more food in their house than what my parents do. So, it's a pretty good deal all the way around.

Before dinner, we always pray, and because they're Catholic, we always say the same prayer. It goes like this:

"B
less us, Oh Lord,
and these thy gifts which
we are about to receive from thy bounty,
through Christ, Our Lord.
Amen."

I really like this prayer a lot because it reminds me that the food we are about to eat is a gift from God, that we must give thanks for this gift, as our having food to eat is only through the goodness of Christ, Our Lord. It's a lesson in humility and gratitude, as we must remember that our having food on the table is not due to anything we have done apart from God.

I think it's easy to forget that. It's easy to say, "But, I was the one who worked to earn the money to buy the food that sits on the table for me to eat." (Suddenly, I'm reminded of "There was and Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly," but I digress.) Anyways, sure. I did do the work; I did earn the money; I did buy the food. I even cooked it.

But where did my ability to do all of those things come from? I certainly, apart from God, have no ability to go to work, to earn a living, to buy my food, to cook the food, to then eat the food. Because, without God, I don't exist.

So that prayer before meals is an affirmation of how much we need God each day, at each meal. How God truly is our daily bread, both metaphorically and literally. It's that literal part that's hard to remember. I think it's hard to remember, in no small part, because it's humbling. It's humbling to admit that, without God, we have nothing, can do nothing. It's humbling to admit that, without God, we would go hungry.

My friend Alanna likes to remind me that none of us has ever truly lived without God. That, even when we turn from God or ignore Him, we have never actually lived without God because He's always there, even when we forget about Him. That even when we feel that all of our successes are of our own making, even then, they are not. They cannot be.

When Alanna first told me that, I didn't quite understand what she meant. I guess I felt that surely she was reading too much into God's role in our lives, but, when I thought more about it, I had to realize that she was right because, after all, where would I be if there were no God? When I thought more about what she said and talked more about it with another friend, I had to realize that God is, in fact, the author of my life, and that without an author, I have no story. No setting, no character development, no foreshadowing, no rising action, no plot twists. No symbolism, no local color, no metaphor. And, possibly saddest of all, no resolution.

No, as Alanna saw God, and as I came to see God, I had to realize that He was more than just a benevolent father-figure, looking out for us. He was, in reality, the One who started it all. And, because of this, I had to realize that it is only through Him that I live and move and have my being, and that through Him--and only Him--are all things possible.

Perhaps that's why I sometimes find myself randomly saying that mealtime prayer. At the oddest times, I'll start praying:

"Bless us, Oh Lord,
and these thy gifts which
we are about to receive from thy bounty,
through Christ, Our Lord.
Amen."

And, it's never before a meal or any time that would really make sense. I'll be heading out the door in the morning, standing in the grocery store, taking my dog outside. Then, I'll find myself praying that prayer. And, then it makes sense to me why I would say it. I guess I'm just remembering that it's not just before my meals that I'm receiving blessings from God.

It's all the time. It's when I see how beautiful the ground looks covered with snow, when I finish a paper I've been worried about, when I realize what a good conversation I've been having. And, even in those times that don't feel like blessings at all, even in those times when I'm sure God is further from me than He's ever been. Even then, I remember, as it says in Romans 8:28, "that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." And then I have to stand assured that someday a blessing will come from a time that seems anything but blessed.

Those are the hardest times to feel like blessings will ever come, and yet, I do believe that they come. I do believe that all things, even the really horrible things, even the really tough and painful things, will someday be used for the good of those who love Him. And, it is then that I have to remember the words of the prayer and know that these gifts truly do come from Christ, Our Lord. Amen.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Driving Through the Snow

The other day it started snowing, and it just kept snowing and snowing. It's really beautiful outside, and I've even been brave enough to venture out in the snow several times, including once to look at Christmas lights, which were incredibly pretty against the snow. Once you get used to driving in the snow, it's not so bad, and, for whatever reason, I have a lot of fun digging my car out of the snow in the morning, watching the ice melt off it while it defrosts.

Yesterday, my trip to and from church was pretty slow and steady, but I was glad to see that other people were venturing out in the snow, enjoying this beautiful time of year. While I was driving home, I sat behind a car that had a few bumper stickers. One of the bumper stickers said:

"Regime Change Begins at Home"

You know, I'm not really sure what kind of change the person driving the car wants. Maybe he and I would agree on a lot of things or disagree on a lot of things. Personally, I'm not really political, so, even if we disagreed, I wouldn't raise too much of a fuss. Of course, that could also be due to the fact that I avoid conflict like the plague.

But, I had to think that, even if we disagreed on everything else, I'd have to agree with him that any sort of real change begins at home, among family and those you're close to. You see, I've been giving a lot of thought to change and to ideals lately. I guess it's that we're in the Advent season, and this is a season that's all about change.

A change in the world, as Christ came in fulfillment of prophecy. A change to a new way of understanding the commandments. A change for all of us after the birth of Christ, as there would now be new hope for the atonement of our sins, a possibility of redemption.

The really strange thing, though, is that all of these changes rested on the birth of a baby, the entrance of a new life into a family. How simple is that? Babies are born everyday. And yet, that is how God chose to come to earth, in the form of a baby.

You see, what intrigues me about that bumper sticker is the same thing that intrigues me about how God chose to come to earth. In a real sense, Christ's coming to earth was the greatest regime change the world would ever know. He was God on earth, and yet, He didn't choose to come to earth in a form that anyone would expect. He didn't come as a king in the traditional sense. He didn't appear to people in a form that they would unthinkingly respect or venerate, like we might with royalty or the very wealthy. We have to remember that part of that was fulfillment of prophecy. As Isaiah 53:2-3 tells us:

"2 He grew up before him like a tender shoot,
and like a root out of dry ground.
He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.

3 He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.
Like one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not."

But, I have to wonder why? I mean, this was God. God on earth. If He really chose to come to earth as a human, why would He not choose to make Himself the most powerful human on earth? Someone who could reach everyone? Someone who could force the allegiance of everyone? Someone who could establish a law and enforce it? And, I especially wonder, why make Himself someone like the person described in verse three--despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and familiar with suffering? Again, He is God. He can do as He chooses. Why choose to enter the world as a child, as a part of a family?

I guess I have to go back to the bumper sticker because, really, where do the changes that affect our lives actually happen? I mean, surely our lives are affected by large governmental changes, but it seems that they're even more affected by the relationships we have, and, in turn, God is able to use us as agents of change when we are in relationships with both Him and others, when we are in a state of being real with people and showing them God's love through ourselves. Perhaps I mean to say that who we are is more affected by those around us than it is by the changing shifts in laws and regulations.

And Jesus came to change not just the law but how we interact with the law, to affect how our hearts and minds upheld the law, rather than just how our bodies were able to fulfill certain obligations or avoid certain things which were forbidden. You see, God gives us a standard of right and wrong. It's a standard that is absolute, and we are expected to follow it. But, Jesus didn't call for simple avoidance of the bad; He called for a complete change of heart. As the Apostle Paul would later write:

"Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will" (Romans 12:2).

But the renewal of the mind is not something that happens because I happen to read something that tells me one thing is right and another thing is wrong, or tells me to do the good one while avoiding the bad one. Knowing the rules only changes what I do, not what I feel or believe to be right or wrong. So, while I might be doing the right thing, it wouldn't be because my mind was renewed. It would be because I'm good at following directions.

So, I guess I'm back to thinking about why Jesus would appear to us in a form to which we could relate personally. Had he come as a ruler, we would have followed His commands out of obligation. Had he appeared as one who was charming or attractive, we would have followed His commands out of blind adoration. But, He came to us as a baby who would grow up to be a man "with no beauty or majesty to attract us to him." So, we follow His commands because He--in relation to us as a brother, friend, teacher--showed us that His commands are very good.

And, these commands are something that really seem to necessitate a family or a community of friends to help them to make sense. It's that sort of community that allows us to come together in love, in an understanding that even when we do have differences, we must turn to God to give us an answer to the dispute, to show us that it really might be that neither of us is right, but that He is always right. That's a hard thing to do.

We want so badly for our ideals to became reality, but we have to remember that it is only through family and community, a real not imagined ideal reality, that we can begin to let God change our lives and the lives of those around us into the ideal we long for. It is not through our own intellect or reason or arguments that change can occur; it is only through the love of God. It is only through the miracles and redeeming grace of God that we humans begin to recognize the importance of those around us, to see our relationships with friends and family as God's means of affecting change in all of our lives.

Regime change really does begin at home, in the relationships that help shape us into who we are and hopefully into who we were created to be. God grant us the humility to allow such change to take place through our lives, as we turn in constant reverence to His will.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Learning Lessons

A few weeks ago, I had dinner with a group of ladies. It was really nice to get away from school, from papers, from grading. One of the ladies had made homemade Chicken Tikka Masala, and, if there is anything that will lure me out of the house, it's Chicken Tikka Masala. In fact, if I ever seem hesistant about going out, you might just tell me that we're going to have Indian food, and that will turn my mood right around.

Anyways, the food was so incredibly good, and the ladies were, as always, great to talk to. In the course of our conversation, we started talking about prayer. Namely, we started talking about how we learn things through prayer that we never thought we could learn. And, in some cases, we learn things that we never thought we needed to learn. I'm not saying which of us learns lessons she never thought she needed to learn, but I will say that she's a PhD student, studying Philosophy of Education, and she may or may not make the best oatmeal raisin cookies in the whole world.

Okay. I confess. It's me. You who know me know that I hate, hate, hate admitting I don't know something. I will actually lie and pretend like I know what I'm talking about. Conversely, whenever people admit to me that they don't know something, I wonder how they get through life not knowing everything. You would think that as an educator, I'd be more open to being educated, but it just doesn't work like that for me.

But, I do need to learn things, and as the ladies were saying, sometimes the best way to learn things is to pray for God to teach you about them. However, the overwhelming consensus was:

Be careful what you pray for.

Sounds familiar, right? We so often say, "Be careful what you wish for." The difference is, our wishes usually just end where they started, in our own minds. However, when we pray--for guidance, for assurance, for help--we are actually praying to God, and He really does answer those prayers. And, sometimes, He may make us wonder why on earth we ever, ever wanted to learn the lesson we asked Him to teach us.

I'm just saying, when we pray for patience, we can expect that we'll soon find ourselves needing patience more than we ever have before. We may find ourselves waiting on things for longer than we've ever waited, standing in more lines than we ever thought possible, caught in traffic for what seems like hours. Will we learn the lesson of patience? Oh yes. But it won't be in the way we expected God to teach it to us. We expect that, like taking a pill or getting a shot, God will instantly change us. Or that He'll fill us with whatever virtue we feel like we're lacking.

You know, like when your car needs gas, you fill it up, and then it runs just fine. That's what we want. The problem is, learning lessons like patience shouldn't be like filling up the car. The car will eventually run out of gas and need to be filled again, but when we're asking God to teach us a virtue, we're asking for a complete life change, something that will alter the way we think and interact with those around us. And, that's just not something that can be done like a quick fill-up. We have to undergo times which require patience in order to develop patience, and that's how He teaches us.

And, that's why we ladies (half-jokingly) thought we should be careful about what we pray for. I've been thinking about it though, and I realized that part of the problem is that sometimes we don't even know what we're asking for. For example, I pray that I'll be more loving. Feel free to smile, laugh, roll your eyes. I do. Seriously. But, I do have an awful time loving people, and, quite honestly, I often have an awful time loving God, so that's what I pray to learn.

I think it's a good thing to pray about--not just to love, but to love as God loves. I mean, loving seems simple enough, really. Romantically, it's all about poems and candy and cards and stuff. Or, with friendships, it's about finding people who have the same interests and desires that you do and creating some little world based on those things, where you all get along because you share so much in common. Unfortunately, that's not love as God loves. And, when I think of how so many of us cling to those concepts of love, I imagine God looking down at us all, with our very shallow definitions of love and saying,

"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

Yes, in this image of God, He quotes from T.S. Eliot's poetry, but I can't think of anything better to capture what God must think when He looks at how we treat love, how we fail so miserably at times to be truly loving to those around us, because love, as God created it, is something quite different. And, when we turn to God for an understanding of what love is, I think we'd be surprised at how much it has to do with self-sacrifice. That definition of love is tough. It requires commitment and a total lack of self-interest.

The other day, I was reading something about God's love, and the author was saying that a true image of God's love could be seen in the way Jesus chose His disciples, specifically Judas Iscariot. Think about this situation. Jesus was God on earth. As such, He was omniscient, all-knowing. So, when He chose Judas as his disciple, He did so knowing that He would be betrayed by Judas. Now, we can easily say that Jesus necessarily had to choose Judas, as Judas played an integral part in turning Jesus over to the authorities and, thereby, leading to the crucifixion. That makes plenty of sense.

What doesn't make sense to me is that God would choose to fulfill the prophesy of the crucifixion in such a way that would necessitate Jesus having Judas as a disciple, someone who Jesus would interact with for the three years of His ministry, someone with whom He would speak and eat and just be friends. Only to be betrayed.

But, I think it almost had to be like that so that we could understand Jesus' love. Jesus' love is such that, even knowing the betrayal that would come, He chose Judas. He chose not to exclude Judas. He chose Judas to be one of His disciples and one of His friends.

And, again, I have to ask, "What am I getting myself into, asking to love as God loves?"

Because praying to love as God loves means asking for your heart to be opened in ways you never knew it could. It means feeling more than you ever knew you could. It means looking at people you never would have noticed before and wondering what their stories are, wondering what their hurts are. And, sometimes, you'd just rather watch TV or play Dolphin Olympics on your computer than interact with people. Because people are annoying and needy and sometimes, quite frankly, incredibly boring. But, then again, sometimes I'm all of those things too, and God still loves me.

So, it's true that you must be careful what you pray for God to teach you because He really will teach you the lessons you long to learn. And it won't be a short lesson, and it might not even be that pleasant. However, when I find that I just don't understand something, like patience or love or peace, I feel like there must be a need for me to learn that thing. And, in that case, perhaps I should be just as mindful of those things I avoid praying about. They may be the lessons I most need to learn.


Saturday, December 15, 2007

Redemption

I really get into books, and sometimes I find myself connecting to characters and finding a bit of myself in them. Like, the first time I read The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, all I could think was, "Man, that Esther Greenwood is just like me. Except I'm not in a mental institution."

Another character I really relate to is the Prodigal Son. He has to be my favorite character from Jesus' parables. I guess I like him because I so often feel like him. He was so incredibly full of himself, cared nothing for anyone else, and ended up going in completely the wrong direction until he finally got over his foolish pride, humbled himself, and went home to ask forgiveness from his father. I suppose I'm not the only one who relates to the Prodigal Son. Really, aren't we all a bit like him?

The other day I was reading something, and the author was talking about how odd it is that Jesus chose to use parables to teach. Really, when you think about it, it is a little odd. As the author was pointing out, if you wanted to tell someone something very important, you would probably give it to them in a very plain form. That way, the listener would undertand you clearly.

That's a pretty simple trick from technical communication, like if you're writing a how-to manual. Consider the audience and their needs. What do they need to know to accomplish the task you're asking them to do? In what format will your directions make the most sense so that the audience can actually accomplish this task?

But, when you look at the parables, they're not clear cut. They don't give clear instructions so that an audience can clearly follow the rules and accomplish the task. In other words, if Jesus really wanted to give us a moral code that would take us even further beyond the previous law--a new law that would consider the state of our hearts, not just the ability of our bodies to perform certain tasks--certainly He would have just given us the rules straight up and plain. No messing around, no room to wonder what exactly Jesus might have meant.

But, that's not what He did. And, I have to think that He didn't do that precisely because this new law looked to the intent of the heart, precisely because Jesus wanted us to understand that sin is not just outwardly visible in the actions that we take, but that those actions we take speak to an inner state of the heart. He wanted us to see that sin affects not just our bodies but is far more pervasive, affecting our bodies, our hearts, and our souls. Because of the pervasiveness of sin, the way it works its way into all the spaces of our being, it seems the only way to truly convey that would be through stories.

Like in the parable of the Prodigal Son, the obvious story is of a young man who wants his inheritance early, asks for it, gets it, squanders it in riotous living, finds himself destitute and surviving on pig slop, wises up, heads home, and is greeted by a loving father who sticks a ring on the Prodigal Son's finger and has the fatted calf killed for a celebratory dinner. But, there's a lot more going on there. It's a story about repentance, forgiveness, redemption. It really is the story of a loving God forgiving the sins of a wandering child who finally woke up to the depths of his sins and decided to turn from them and go back to God.

But, I really have to wonder at how skilled a storyteller Jesus was when I think about this parable, because it's that image of the Prodigal Son--completely destitute, far from home, standing in this pig pen, eating pig slop--that keeps coming back to me. Really, it's the most powerful image I can think of to show what sin is really like and to tell us why we should never want to return to it, why we should distance ourselves from it and turn from it forever.

Seriously, I get this image in my head when I think about sin. This image of pig slop. You see, it's pretty tempting to return to our sins sometimes. If we're honest, we have to admit that they're sometimes fun and that they don't seem to pose much of a threat to our lives. But, if we think about sin in the way that Jesus talked about sin, we see that it's not just something that is visible in what we do; sin is an indication of the state of our heart and minds, an indication of our separation from God and our inner disregard for His commands. In this way, our sin speaks to what we are. And, what Jesus is telling us in this parable is that we have to see sin for what it is, to see that it is nothing more than a pig pen, and that, when we are in a state of sin, we are so far from all that is available to us at our Father's house, all of the wonderful foods, that all we can eat is pig slop.

That's right. Pig slop. Because there was nothing else to eat, the Prodigal Son ate pig slop. That is, he ate pig slop until he came to his senses and realized that not even the servants in his father's house ate pig slop. In fact, the servants ate very well. So, the Prodigal Son headed back to where the food was good.

So, in thinking about the lure of returning to sin, I have to think about the Prodigal Son setting down his dinner of pig slop and deciding to humble himself, admit the wrongness of his choices, and head home to beg his father's forgiveness. And, the thing I wonder is, did he decided to pack up some pig slop to take with him? Did he perhaps fill up a bucket with pig slop and take it along on his trip back home? You know, he obviosuly knew that eating pig slop was far beneath him, but what if he missed it someday? Would it be so wrong to take some for the road?

Of course he wouldn't take it with him. Why would he go on carrying a bucket of pig slop when he knew there was better food waiting if he just asked forgiveness from his father? He wouldn't.

But, isn't that just what we so often do? We may realize a greater need for God in our lives, but we still cling sins that keep us far from God. We rationalize our actions on our own terms, try to find loopholes, look for reasons the Bible is wrong. We refuse to admit the wrongness of our sins, to see how they have adversely affected our lives and the lives of those around us, how we are not greater than God and, therefore, incapable of knowing just how far-reaching and destructive the effects of our sins will be. We do all of these things, and, in so doing, we hold on as tightly as we can to a big bucket of pig slop.

Really, I know it sounds silly, but that's just what it is. We take it with us wherever we go--moving it from city to city, job to job, friendship to friendship. And, though we might be able to ignore it for a while, sooner or later we will catch a whiff of the bucket of pig slop because that pig slop has become a part of who we are. We can do plenty of things that make it seem like the pig slop isn't there--buy a nice car, move into a big house, drink a lot, dress well.

But, the thing is, the bucket of pig slop will always be there, until we finally let go. We really must set it down, turn away from it and toward God. We have to ask for forgiveness and for redemption. Without this admission and belief in our guilt, there is no real chance of turning from sin. And turning from sin is our only way to work toward a life in which we've surrendered all to God, a life in which we feel near to God. A life in which we return to our Father, after admitting all the wrongs we've committed, only to be met with love and true forgiveness. It seems well worth surrendering the bucket of pig slop to receive all of those blessings.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

On Love

Sometimes people argue that we wouldn't know what joy is if we didn't know sorrow. Usually, I think those people are idiots. Well, maybe "idiots" is the wrong word. Perhaps they're more like masochists. Maybe they actually like pain, and, for them, pleasure is all about pain.

Whatever the case, I usually don't put a lot of stock in whatever those people say because, well, I don't like pain. Not one bit. I mean, on a much lighter note, there are people who wonder if Christmas feels less like Christmas for me because, where I'm from, there's no snow at Christmas. I always say, "Of course it feels like Christmas. I don't even know what a white Christmas is like because I've never really had one." In truth, there's no real comparison between these things. I just want to seem like a reasonable person, like I'm actually trying to understand the other side.

But, back to pain and suffering. The thing is, I don't agree with people who say that without sorrow we wouldn't really know joy because, when I'm feeling joy, I very rarely contemplate the immense sorrow that would be its opposite. I mean, I really don't sit there, in the midst of a joyful moment, and think about something really sad. I just enjoy the moment. That's all. In truth, I'm overjustifying because I feel like I'm completely wrong.

Maybe it's that I can't really speak to the difference between joy and sorrow. I guess I can really speak to the difference between anxiousness and calm. I'm normally a very anxious person. This shouldn't be a surprise if you know me, really. But, there are times when I feel completely at ease, completely calm. And, the thing is that in the midst of those calm times, I feel and really know that what I'm feeling is something quite different. I guess I can't answer if I would know what calm is if I didn't know anxiousness because there's never been a time when I didn't know what both of those feelings felt like. But, I can tell you that I know how good calm feels and appreciate it more than I would if I didn't know the feeling of anxiousness.

You know, it's that feeling of being completely aware of how peaceful you are at one moment and catching yourself in the middle of that feeling of peace. If you've known anxiousness as something that can consume you, you will never again take peacefulness for granted. You will seek it out. You will want to have peacefulness as much as possible because the alternative is, well, quite terrible and quite painful, causes much sorrow. Now we're back to the opposites of joy and happiness.

So, if I know how good it is to live without pain and anxiousness and sorrow, you'd think I'd try to maintain the good feelings and minimize the bad. You'd be right. Don't we all do that? I mean, save the bravado of youth that lets us feel as if we can plunge head-strong into situations that will surely lead to heartbreak, don't we all seek to minimize our pain, limit our suffering, keep ourselves safe? That seems a good enough plan. Why diverge from it? Why not keep ourselves as safe as possible; why not guard our hearts so that they will not be broken?

I guess the answer to that is that we just can't. And, in some ways, I'm not sure that we should. You see, it is when we are most vulnerable, most unguarded that we learn the most about ourselves and about others and, often, about God. It's only when we open ourselves up to the possibility of a little pain, a little lack of comfort that we really become able to love. In his book, The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis puts it quite beautifully:

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."

And, it's true. When we shut ourselves off from people, we may be safer, but we fall victim to ourselves. Over time, our lives become focused on one. Our thoughts become focused on one. Our everything becomes focused on one. It may be that our hearts will not be broken; it may be that we are safe from the changeable moods of another person, but we do not have the possibility to love. We do not have the possibility to care, to interact, to see joy and growth in another person's life. And, lacking these interactions, we become devoted to one. Devoted to ourselves.

It seems that Lewis is calling us to understand love as selfless. And, knowing a bit about Lewis, I'm guessing his model of love is based largely on his belief in God and his belief in the redemption offered through Christ's sacrifice. If we think of love in relation to Christianity, it becomes something which requires sacrifice. Because if we think of the ultimate expression of love in Christianity, I think we always have to return to the image of the cross.

And, in turning there, we see that love really is a death of the self; it really is something that's represented in the ultimate gift of life; it is something that is open to pain and even welcomes it because it is through pain that there is the possibility for hope, for rebirth, for new beginnings.

So, I guess we can protect ourselves. Lock ourselves away and remain safely in some hermetically sealed and unreachable realm of the heart and mind, but I think we should not. After all, if we didn't know the pain of love, the ultimate heartbreaking sadness it can bring, would we really appreciate its joys? Would we really understand the redemptive love of Jesus if He hadn't died on the cross? I don't think we would. And, thank God, we'll never have to know what life would be like without that gift, without that love.

Loving Jesus

Here is another poem by Jude Simpson:



Okay, so now you've seen it. May I just say that this poem makes me really, really uncomfortable? It probably makes me more uncomfortable than it should, but it does, nevertheless, make me uncomfortable.

You see, I think love is just about the most difficult thing in the world. I have a hard time loving people, and, truth be told, I rarely even like people most of the time. People are annoying. They get in the way of my doing whatever it is I want to do, and sometimes, I even have to plan my life around their lives. And, I've even heard that sometimes, to truly be loving to people, you have to do things that they want to do, even if you don't want to do them. To me, that sounds insane. Why would I do something I didn't want to do? More importantly, why would I love someone who didn't just want to do what I want to do when I want to do it?

I never promised I was a good person, people. I only promise to be honest. And, honestly, I like people pretty much until they get annoying, invade my space, let me know that they haven't a clue about anything, or otherwise prove themselves inept. Yes, I told you I'm not all that nice. But I am honest.

So, what is an unloving person to do? I suppose that when we look for answers, we try to go to the source whenever possible. I'm writing a paper on Wittgenstein right now, so, if I want to know what he has to say, I go to my book and read it because he is the source of those words. But, what if I want to learn about love? How do I learn about that? I guess the best thing to do is go to the source.

If I believe that God is love, which I do, then I guess the only way to learn about love is to consult the One who created it. And, the Bible has a lot to say about love. I can learn that love is patient, kind, all of those good things. But I am none of those things. So, if I know what love is but possess none of those traits, how can I learn to really love?

I guess the answer is that I cannot. After all, love is one of the fruits of the Spirit, and it is only through the Holy Spirit that I can really learn what love is. Remember the fruit of the Spirit?

"The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law" (Galatians 5:19-23).

Isn't it interesting that the other fruits of the Spirit can all be seen as things which could describe what we would consider to be true and pure love? How do we learn those things if not through the Spirit? Personally, I'm not good with any of those things on my own. Perhaps other people are better than I am, but I just can't do it. I'm far too focused on myself to worry about being patient and kind, let alone exerting anything resembling self-control.

So, I understand that love comes from the Spirit, but where do I gain access to the Spirit? I guess this is where 1 John 4: 7-19 comes in:

"7Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. 8Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. 9This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. 10This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. 11Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. 12No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.

13
We know that we live in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. 14And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. 15If anyone acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God, God lives in him and he in God. 16And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.

17
In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him. 18There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. 19We love because he first loved us."

We love because He first loved us. Our only way to love is through Him. Because of Him. And, without Him, there is no love. Without Him, there is no way for me to love, to even comprehend what love is. And, so, I need God in order to truly love, but I can't learn it on my own. I have to accept His gift of love. That's the only way, really--to accept the gift of God's love, made possible through the Holy Spirit and the atoning sacrifice of Christ.

I have to admit, I'm still not anymore comfortable with the poem. In truth, I think it's wonderful--so full of understanding about Christ's love for us and His deep desire that we will love Him, come to Him in good times and in bad, pray to Him. But, what it comes down to is He wants us to let Him love us.

And, that's the hard part. Just letting Jesus love me. I'm not sure why. But it is. I guess I don't get it. I want to do something. Prove myself in some way. Go through a lot of motions. Spend a lot of time talking about God. But never really say the name Jesus. Why is that the hard part?

I guess because that's when it gets personal. That's when it means something. That's when I really have to relate. It's a hard thing, but maybe it's worth it. After all, there are worse things than being loved.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Life in the Wilderness

I sometimes can't help but wonder why on earth I even went to church over the last few years. I had no idea what I was doing there, and I didn't go very much. I had no idea why a person would go to church, really. So, I might as well have hit the two major Christian holidays, Christmas and Easter, and been done with it. Maybe I could have even just thrown in a Maundy Thursday service for a good dose of Methodism, but I really needn't have gone to much more than that. So, why drag it out? Why not just have an understanding with myself (and maybe God too) that my Sundays, save for Christmas and Easter, were for brunch? That enjoying a nice plate of quiche and salad was really my true spiritual gift.

I guess it's because, though I actually love going to church during those seasons, there's just something about church as it is the rest of the year that's so different from its holiday self.

I guess I don't really relate to those two days all that much. Maybe they're far too miraculous for my tiny brain to comprehend; I'm guessing that's the case. When I think about Jesus, those are, of course, some of the first things that come to mind.

The birth. The crucifixion. The resurrection.

The great possibility for redemption of sins that is possible because of that life. Those are the cornerstones of Christian faith. And yet, that is not the Jesus I can relate to.

A friend asked me, not too long ago, if there was any part of Jesus' life I could witness, what would it be. I'm not sure why I answered what I did. Certainly there are many things one would want to see. Any of the miracles should make the top of any list of what someone would want to see. Those are good choices. But not mine. I said I'd want to see the experience in the wilderness.

I guess I said the wilderness experience because, in some ways, that's all I feel I can relate to at times. It was in the wilderness that Jesus lived alone and fasted for forty days, was tempted by Satan, and withstood temptation. And that's the Jesus I can relate to.

Sure, I'm melancholy at times, and I always, always love sad songs. But why the wilderness? Well, I guess it's because there is some sort of hunger in all of us, some sense of being alone, some knowledge that there could be a sense of fullness in our lives, but the constant worry about when that fullness might come. And, in this state of hunger, we are constantly tempted, constantly moving away from a search for holiness, constantly wishing this feeling of emptiness would go away, and always reminded that true fullness comes only with the life led in constant reverence for the Word of God. And yet, this knowledge feels like not enough to sustain us at times, no matter how deeply we believe those words, how strong a faith we have.

And yet, there is faith. No matter how small it is, it is there. Moving us along when we least expect it. Reminding us of Christ's love and sacrifice for us. Reminding us that we are not alone in the wilderness, that God is there with us. And, if we dare to look beyond ourselves, we see that there are other people here with us, all struggling in the wilderness as we struggle.

So, perhaps that's what I am, just a wilderness Christian. I guess that's what we all are or what we're all meant to be, to let God use us as lights in the wilderness so that we can show love to those around us.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Magnificat

Lately, I've been listening to a lot of Christmas music. The radio station I usually listen to has switched to an all Christmas music format during this season, so that's pretty much all I've heard for the past couple of weeks. After a while, listening to Christmas carols over and over gets a little old because there are a lot of repeats.

A friend of mine said that listening to carols so much must be like working in a grocery store during the holidays. I had to say that, in fact, it is not so much like working in a grocery store as it is like living in a grocery store. At least when you work at the store you get to go home.

And yet, something keeps me listening to the Christmas carols even though they do get a little old.

I suppose that part of it is that, though a bit grating after a while, the carols really do make this time of year feel more festive, more like there is something special going on. I don't really decorate my apartment because I spend most of the holiday away from the cornfields, so having the carols playing makes my apartment feel a little more like a home.

But, I have to admit that there are some songs I really like to hear over and over. "O Holy Night" is one of them, as is "Silent Night." But, this year, I've really loved the song "Breath of Heaven," also known as "Mary's Song." It's not the same song of Mary found in the Bible, but it is a song that's sung from the point of view of Mary, and, as my friend Alanna pointed out not so long ago, it feels like we often don't think enough about Mary at this time of year. She is always shown in manger scenes and on Christmas cards, yet what do we know of her?

Honestly, we get very little of Mary in the Bible, save for Mary's Song, the Magnificat. It's a beautiful passage in which Mary praises God for giving the gift of the Messiah to one so lowly, for allowing her the privilege of bringing this life into the world. It's a beautiful prayer, a beautiful song. Yet, I can't help but wonder, like Alanna did, what other thoughts might have filled Mary's mind, what other fears were heavy on her heart.

I can't help but wonder how difficult it must have been to explain a true encounter with the Holy Spirit. How could Mary explain that she was to carry Christ, to give birth to the Savior? How could she explain that an angel had appeared to her? How did she feel, knowing that this angelic encounter, this conception by the Holy Spirit, would forever change her life? That she had no choice but to do the will of God?

In the song, "Breath of Heaven," Mary asks the following of God:

"Do you wonder as you watch my face,
If a wiser one should have had my place,
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of your plan.
Help me be strong.
Help me be.
Help me."

I can't help but think that those must have been the kind of thoughts Mary had. That she must have wondered why God had chosen her and not someone else. I know that none of us will experience the kind of encounter with God that Mary did, but I think we can really relate, in some small way, to these kinds of questions.

Because, though none of us will be called to give birth to the Savior, we are called to carry Christ, to be the means for those around us to see His love, know His truth, experience the healing that only He can give. And, don't we often wonder why God didn't choose someone better suited for the job?

I know that I often do. There are many people better suited than I am. I'm stubborn, selfish, prideful. In short, I'm a terrible Christian. Or have, at least, been a terrible one for most of my life. And yet, I now cannot imagine being anything but a Christian.

And, yes, it is hard to explain. How to explain a profound change in one's life? How to explain a spiritual change? How to fight the urge to try to provide strong arguments and actual physical proof when explaining something that cannot be explained in those ways? I'm not sure. I've tried, but I have failed because it is impossible to do those things. It's impossible to make human sense of things of the Spirit. Those things are beyond our comprehension, beyond our ability to explain, try as we might.

I guess the only way to begin to explain this change is to turn to Mary as an example of a woman who had to explain the most inexplicable mystery of all. To explain things of the Spirit, we cannot give tangible evidence or physical proof for something that is entirely spiritual. The only option is to give thanks to God for choosing to change our lives, for choosing to take one who is lowly and give her the greatest gift, which is the gift of Christ. When we have such an experience, our only option is to give thanks, to turn to the only One who truly knows how and why this change has occured. We must give thanks to the One who called us to this change. So, I'll leave you with Mary's song of thanks from Luke 1:46-55:

46
And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord,

47And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.

48For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.

49For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name.

50And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation.

51He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

52He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree.

53He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away.

54He hath helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy;

55As he spake to our fathers, to Abraham, and to his seed for ever.


Sunday, December 09, 2007

The Snow

Since moving to a place that has winter, I've had to learn to adjust. I've had to learn to plan to a little extra time into my days so that my car has time to warm up and so that I have time to drive safely. I've had to become well acquainted with walking on ice. I've had to finally, finally come to terms with the fact that, sometimes, fashion has to take a backseat to function, and, just this week, I bought my first pair of snowboots--a sure sign that I've accepted that fact.

But all of that (save the snowboots, which I love) sound like negatives. What I'm really coming to learn is the excitement that comes with anticipating how pretty things will look in the morning, all covered under snow.

You see, last week I was getting really excited about the coming snow. I remembered my first year here when I hadn't anticipated the snow. I walked out of my house one morning, and everything was covered in snow. I just started laughing because it seemed funny for some reason. Maybe it just seemed unreal, like some big practical joke, but, when I looked around the neighborhood, all the houses were similarly covered.

Now I know to expect snow. I watch the weather online so that I know when it's coming, and I hope that, when snow is predicted, that it will be the kind of snow that covers, really covers everything. I hope for that because that's the really pretty snow. It's the kind of snow that makes even the ugly things--the bare trees, the garbage cans, the lonely parks where few people go--seem actually beautiful and transformed by the snow.

Well, I got to see that sort of snow the other day. I actually had to wake up very early to finish grading some papers, so I made it outside before any of my neighbors. And, it had happened. The kind of snow that covers up all the grass so that all you can see is a blanket of snow. None of my neighbors had started shoveling their walks; nobody had made footprints in the snow; no cars had driven down the street. And, in the glow of the streetlight, I could see snowflakes still softly falling down.

And, I was the only person awake to see untouched blanket of snow.

I looked around at a neighborhood that seemed completely different from the neighborhood it had been the day before. During the winters here, it's easy to see the un-beautiful, as the days are short with gray skies and naked trees, but, with the snow, all that's visible is what's beautiful.

I thought of this transformation later that day as I drove home from school, noticing how different everything looked, how the drabness and grayness had been changed overnight. And, when I thought about that change, I couldn't help but think about the meaning of the season we're in, moving towards Christmas.

Listening to the radio, I hear a lot of songs about Jesus, specifically about Baby Jesus, as this is the season we celebrate His birth. Honestly though, I rarely think about Jesus as a baby. I think about Jesus as an adult--performing miracles, suffering through His time in the wilderness, giving His greatest gift to us by His death on the cross. Those are the stories of Jesus that really stand out to me.

But to think of Jesus as a baby, that just seems, well, a little too human. To think of God in the form of a little baby just doesn't make sense to me. But isn't that what the whole story of Jesus is all about? Isn't it about the fact that Jesus had to come into this world, had to take on human form, had to be born just as we all must in order that He might die to give us hope, to give us the chance of being absolved, truly forgiven of our sins? It was only through this humanness that Jesus could do His transformative work on the cross, and it was only through coming to earth as a baby that any of that work could happen.

And it is that transformative work on the cross that gives us hope. I think of that as I look around at my snow-covered neighborhood and see the beauty of the snow that covers the ugliness of the bare trees. And, I have think that I, too, am somehow covered because of Christ's death on the cross. That even the ugliness of my sin, even the empty places of my heart, even the stubbornness of my soul--that all of these things are made beautiful, filled, soothed--by the transformative work of Christ's death on the cross, without which we would all stand bare like trees in winter, eternally longing for something to fill our branches.

When I think about it like this, it's all very simple. In this season of Advent, we simply await the birth of our Messiah, simply hold onto the hope of atonement which is already ours. Looking at the snow, it really is no mystery that all can be covered, that all can be made beautiful.

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Not Cut out for Religion

I found this a while ago, and it's really good! It's a poem by Jude Simpson, and it's called "Not Cut out for Religion." For me, the title alone is enough to make it a must-watch! I hope you all enjoy!



And, in case parts of it were hard to hear or you just want to enjoy it through reading rather than listening, here are the words:

"Not cut out for religion"

I ask you, what’s the answer, and you just ask me questions,
and I’m like, “hello, I thought you were God?”
Can’t I just download you, pay-as-I-go to decode you -
a quick fix listen on my i-pod?

I ask you, what’s the answer, and you say, “where does the wind blow?”
Well, if Dylan couldn’t find it, then I won’t get too far.
What’s with all this mystery? How can you say, “follow me”
when I don’t even know where you are?

Your religion needs a makeover, you’ve got to de-clutter.
Make it softer, gooier and spreadable like butter.
I need a faith I can talk about and not sound like a nutter.
You ought to be easy to follow.

Like, a hop-on-and-off open-top bus ride,
a manual with A to Z tabs down the side,
I want a sat-nav path to heaven, not a Lonely Planet guide.
I wish you were easy to follow.

I want a Roman road map to instant glory
a happy-ending-ever-after chick lit story
and you just tell me another foggy allegory
featuring corn and sheep and wine and clay pots.
What are you like? Do you want followers or not?
Far be it from me to tell you what’s what,
but if you did make it easier I’m sure you’d get a lot
more believers, Jesus.

Give me bite-sized thoughts in a faith shape sorter,
No more spilt blood or living water,
just a pint-sized god who’s a straight talker.
Make it easy to follow.

I want fruit-flavoured shots of the Holy Spirit,
bite-sized, trite truths in Boyband lyrics
“love” and “above” – yeah, that should fill it.
Make it easy to follow.

I want facts on a plate - don’t want to have to question any,
artificial roses every 14th of February.
I want simple faith – blind if necessary.
Why aren’t you easy to follow?

You say, “you are not my servant, now you are my friend”.
You say, “I will be with you until the bitter end”.
And I’m like, “why bitter? – I wanted happiness on prescription.
Isn’t that the whole point of getting religion?
And besides, friendship’s harder – can’t I just buy the subscription?”
Can’t you be easy to follow?

Give me a clear-cut structure, not a friendship’s fragilities,
favourable rights with few responsibilities.
I could follow that plan – yeah – religiously.
That would be easy to follow.

I want three steps to beauty from a teenage advice mag;
Ben and Jerry’s Triple chocolate straight of the ice bag;
ethically traded but with a Primark price-tag -
I could say Amen to those.

I want box-up beliefs wrapped in tissue-paper
presented by Fearne Cotton, and voiced by Tom Baker,
with a hands-free contract to contact the Maker
available from Tesco’s.

I want Quicktime cut-price broadband access.
Simple principles, easily practiced.
Directly transactional prayers - the fact is,
my time is precious, so why should I work?
Why should treasure always require a search?

I want a message that’s acceptable without having to plead it,
that’ll make people instantly realise they need it.
Yeah, thanks for the Bible – but have you tried to read it?
You need to be easy to follow.

I want all the answers set out in a paperback
of less than fifty pages, in the buy-now-read-it-later rack
I’ll skim it on the train down to visit Auntie Kate and back -
nice and easy to follow.

Everyone will warm to its convenient slimness.
It’ll be easily digestible and provoke a certain tingliness,
and every answer will be one sentence long, universally applicable, and in English.
That would be easy to follow.

You see, I think you need to focus and refine your vision,
if you want to market the brand they call “Christian”.
I say, “give me clarity”, you say, “will you marry me?”
With all due respect, Jesus, I don’t think you were cut out for religion.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

My Favorite Sport

I really love swimming, even though I don't get to do it too often anymore. It's one of my favorite things to do, and it's the only form of exercise that has never felt like exercise to me. There's just something that feels good about being out in the water, swimming back and forth in the pool.

When you've been swimming for a while, you start to think more about technique. Usually, this idea of technique doesn't come naturally; someone has to tell you about it so that you get an idea of how to incorporate a certain technique into your stroke or kick.

There's a science behind it all, and I suppose that there are formulas that could explain to me why I swim freestyle faster when I bend my elbow slightly as opposed to keeping it straight. And, I suppose that if someone was patient enough, he or she could explain it all to me. But, I'm not sure that, even with a good deal of explanation, I'd understand it any better than I do right now. The explanation would be a waste of time because:

1. I've never taken a course in physics, so there would be a lot of ground to cover.

2. Even after we'd covered all that ground, even after I had some basic understanding of the science behind the perfect freestyle stroke, I wouldn't be any more interested in how or why my stroke is faster.

Of those two reasons, Number 2 is probably the more important. I don't care how or why I swim faster because of a slightly bent elbow. I just want to swim faster. So, all I really need to know is that bending my elbow will help me accomplish that.

I know that that probably makes me sound like the least curious person ever. Unfortunately, that's not true. I'm plenty (even much too) curious at times. I want to know, not just that I feel a certain way, but why I feel that certain way. I want to know why you, Dear Reader, feel like you do too. However, try as I might, I'm only sometimes capable of figuring out why I feel like I do. I'm even less successful at figuring out other people because I can only go on what they tell me about themselves and how they feel or why they do what they do.

Unlike explaining the speed of a swim stroke, explaining why people act like they act isn't something that can be easily or neatly worked out. Sure, we can make some reasonable speculations, but it's usually anyone's guess what the next thing out of another person's mouth is. I can't figure that out ahead of time, and, really, why would I want to? If I knew with exact precision what someone would say to me, I would have no reason to engage that person in conversation, no reason to question, no reason at all to take time getting to know someone.

Lately, I've been thinking that getting to know God is a lot more like getting to know my neighbor or someone who sits next to me in class than it is like figuring out how to swim faster. Don't get me wrong. I think theology's a pretty nifty thing. It's great to learn more about God because, in many ways, that helps us get to know God. Because, unlike my neighbor or the person sitting next to me in class, I can't look God right in the eye when I talk to Him. There aren't the same kind of context clues I get with a relationship in which I can physically see the other person.

So, learning about God and about Christianity helps with this. Reading my Bible teaches me to learn what I should and should not do. It helps me to see how other people have listened to God's Word and then been blessed. It helps me to see that some people, like Job, followed God's Word but then were cursed...only to have everything restored several times over.

But, that's just it. I always want to get to the blessing part while I'm in the middle of the cursing part. I want to skip to the end of the book (which I honestly never do in real life) and find out how my life will turn out, how my bad days will turn into good days. I want to see, not just in a few years or even by tomorrow but right this very second, how "in all things God works for the good of those who love him" (Romans 8:28). I love God, so I want to see how all these things will be worked for good. And, in my selfishness, I can't help but wonder, "Where's all this good I'm supposed to be seeing? How good is it? Good enough to wait?"

And, to me, that's the trouble with trying to attach a formula to how God does things. We seem often to forget that God tells us,

"'My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways,' says the Lord. 'For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways, And My thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:8-9).

I believe that we can learn a lot about God and that we should. Reading the Bible helps to explain so much. But, we can't skip to the end of our lives and figure everything out, just as we can't decide to make God more like us by picking and choosing what to agree with. His ways are not our ways, and, though we can give reasoned and logical arguments for and against many parts of the Bible, it does not change the fact that His ways are higher and, therefore, beyond our means of fully comprehending. Try as we might, there are just some things we will never fully comprehend, and attempting to trump the Word of God with our own understanding of the world and what is right or wrong within it, well, just doesn't work. No matter how reasoned or logical the argument, our simple assertions do nothing to make God's Word more true and certainly nothing to make it false. His ways truly are not our ways, and we cannot begin to guess the plans He has in store for us.

In some ways, I think that knowing all the good stuff would really help, but if we lived our lives looking only to the good, why would we take the time to develop a relationship with God? If we didn't feel hurt or scared or sad, why would we need a God who will comfort us? Having a relationship with God just isn't the same as figuring out how to swim fast. We cannot predict what will happen if we take a particular course of action. We cannot foresee the future by trying to put a formula to God. He just doesn't work like that. However, we can know what action to take by seeking Him through prayer and by reading His Word. Without those, we have no way of even comprehending what we are to do, what choices we are to make.

But I think that we must remember that God is a God of the everyday, that this seeking His Word isn't a one-time only occasion but is something we must be constantly doing. Just as with swimming, we have to keep making strokes through the water so that we stay afloat; swimming, like a relationship with God, is a constant motion--a verb, not a noun.

With swimming, it doesn't much matter why a certain change of the stroke makes me swim faster; adjusting my stroke transforms the act of swimming. And, in listening to God, knowing why He asks me to do something is not so important as following His commands and listening to hear His voice. Doing that transforms my life. And, in many ways, it is the only change that keeps me afloat.