There have always been thing that are hard to do. That is, at best, an obvious statement. Someone also once said, "anything worth doing is going to be hard". I suppose that difficult things always bring some sense of accomplishment when they are done. To cross a finish line, complete a project, strive over opposition, these are fullfilling hills to climb. There is even a theory called the Theory of Optitmum Experience that attempts to map out, methedologically, the dynamic relationship between skills and perceived challenge that brings the mind to a total focus and then results in a sense of optimum expereince or reward once the challenge has been completed successfuly (thank you Mike from Psyche). But methinks that perhapse, there are things that are so easy that they become unsurmountably difficult. For instance, I am a part time janitor at an office building. The job is not hard, infact it is mind numbingly easy. Yet with in that ease, there lays an odd difficulty. I cannot tell you how difficult it is to vacume when you are more than ready to do a million other things, and you are filled with the energy to do it. I do believe that this difficulty in ease, is a common experience and I need not try to justify or explain it any further. But something that might be explained further, is how this reality can affect the Christian walk to a degree that truly boggles the mind.
Let me use a most relevant example to my sex. Me being a male. For my sex, the male sex, lust is a thing of daily struggle. For most men, lust is a thing of the eyes. I dont mean to say that lust is more visual for men, for that would be an understatement. Men are keenly aware of the draw of the visual. We have affinity to images, not just becuase the image is of something else we want, but men do indeed enjoy the image itself for its own sake. When men struggle with lust, it is common among us, that the struggle is with the eyes. And even if the physical eye is averted, there is the mind's eye which is much harder to shut. When I think of sensuality, I do not think of expereinces. I do not imagine sensations, at least not at first. The trap begins with pictures. There is a whole catalog in my mind that has been collected and arranged over my hormonal youth, that I am free to pick from as I feel the urge. Where there are missing images to my encyclopedia of sexual imgaginations, it is not hard, with practice, to conjure up the picture and fill in the gap. If you were to ask most men if they would actually engage in most of the things they imagine in their minds, I would bet you that most of them would say no. Many of those images are in reality, rather nasty to enact and experience. We are dealing with human bodies after all, and there are smells and fluids, secretions and sensations, risks and deiseases that are a part of sexual realities. But I can assure you that those same men find great pleasure in thinking about those images none the less, and where there is opportunity, I am sure that most men would not deny a dark desire to watch those imginations on a sceen, and maybe, in real life.
The image itself is where the delight is found. Men see more than you might think we see, as we look around the office or classroom, or dare I say it, Sunday morning services. If there is a visual morsel to be found, either in a tight shirt or a particularly short skirt, or maybe even in a subtle accentuation of curves due to her posture or his point of view, you may be sure that men in the room have noticed and are either casting it out of their minds as best they can, or catagorizing it for later use......it is appalling.
This is the crux of the matter. How difficult is it for a man to avert his eyes and stare at his shoe laces instead of at the young woman accross the room? How hard is it for a man to train his mind upon another memory besides a sexualy explicit excerpt of his accumulated catalouge? How hard is it to change the chanel or click the X at the top right corner of the computer screen? How difficult is it for a man to stare at her eyes....no higher, I mean her actuall eyes, and give her the dignity of being a person not an object? How difficult is it for a man to make a simple turn of direction and walk with his toes pointing in the direction opposite of temptation? These things, these actions and redirections of the mind, are not in themselves difficult. We do them everyday within other contexts, without much thought or effort. We make turns, and think of lots of other things, and avert our eyes at other sights everyday, all without breaking a sweat. And yet because they are so easy to do, they are so easy not to do. It is so easy just to take one glimpse, one little bite for the mind, of the woman walking in front of you. It is so easy to type that search word into the computer that will lavish and lambast you with images. It is so easy to simply think of things that you would not dare say out loud. It is all so easy, and yet because of that, it is so monstruously difficult!
"but I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart" Mathew 5:28.
Perhapse it is a little too easy, and in that it is so unsermountably hard. Look away, and you have obeyed the law....no great epic sacrifice needed. Look and you have brokean the law and the penalty is death, that is all that is needed. In Christ we see the unique paradox of the difficulty in the easiness of simplicity. Yet because it is so easy, we more apt to make exuses for ourselves and promise to do better on our own next time. Yet in the Bible we find that God is not a harsh dictator demanding such strenuous things from us. He simply ask that we look away, easy, just look away. And yet we cannot even do that on our own. We find ourselves helpless in this paradox of difficult ease. And yet even as we truggle to do what is easy that we might have what is overwhelmingly good, God loves us, and sent His son to die for us, a people who cannnot even do what is easy.
Yes, there are other things that we face that are hard, and God has other demands that are difficult. He demands Holiness, and that is difficult beyond description. But we have not to reject God because His standards are so high and unfair. For He has shown us through His law, that we are not even able to do what is easy, what is laughably easy. That is enough to shame us and humble us, and it should be enough to show God's love for us. In that he did not just die for some great universal cause to defeat some grand evil that we were lost in, although that is true. But He was also willing to suffer and die because men do not look away. The omnipotent Lord of the comsos, infinite creator of time and space, the holy mystery of perfection, was willing to die, becuase I cannot do something as simple and easy as look away. What love is this, that would die for someone and something, so small?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Apple Trailers and the Human Heart
I suggest a social experiment. Go to apple.com/trailers and browse through the various movie trailers that are availiable there. I am sure that this is a common practice, at least it is for me. Once a week, at least, I stop by the apple website to see the upcoming movies and maybe get a glimpse at some of my highly anticipated films. Most of the time I skip over the previews of films that I have neither heard about nor have any interst in. The last time I was there however, I made a point of clicking on some films that I would usually ignore. After about an hour, I ended up viewing most of all the trailers availiable, even the foreign film ones.
As I watched and went from preview to preview, I must say that it was some what of an emotional rollercoaster. Going back and forth between high budget hollywood action flicks, and independent low budget, german, film festival type trailers. I was moved from the adrenaline of epic fights and jaw breaking booms, to the quiet and subtle flow of contemplation through personal narratives of brokean marrages and relational drama. After that, I was lightened by the antics of Jack Black and Owen Wilson in flagrant comedy. I must say that it was a confetti of pathos that really minced up my own thoughts and imagination. Every different scene brought with it music and changning paces that did what they were designed to do, pull us long.
But then it hit me, something common lay behind every story, every set of images, and every work of art. Every trailer, and indeed every one of the films, was an expression of something human. Each film hinted or painted a picture of reality, either as it truly is, or as it should be.
What it means to be human, what it means to love, what it means be family, what it means to conquer the bad, or what it means to be good, they were all there in the images, in the stories. What it means to be a man, to be a hero, to vanquish evil, was there in the action and in the epic. What it meant to be a woman, to be a mother and wife, was there in drama. The reality of our world, the vast depths of society, and progress were expressed in the sci-fi story.The kinds that pit humanity against an unknown foe from space, as humanity unite in their diversity to battle for their collective survival. In the romance and the romanitc comedy, there were explorations of sexuality and love, and what it meant to have our searching fullfilled by relationship. All of it, all of it, was a giant, diverse, artistic, expression of questions and answers that have never changed or lost their relevancy. All of it was an artisitc congealment of the human heart, with all its desires, miseries, memories, and hopes.
It was all so very human, and in many cases so very sincere. There was a clarity in each expression that did not come from words, but from the common human expereince that thrust itself upon the human heart. It seemed so real and yet at the same time elusive, as if the mere attempt to shackle it down to sentences, propositions and letters, would just muddle it all up and cause it to vanish before your very eyes. The questions and expression themselves were not words. It seemed as though doctrine and dogma, philosophy and analysis could not be of any use for answers, because these things need words to be expressed. How can one answer a wordless question, with a page of answers? It was this reality that finally brought to the surface an answer that would do.
"In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God and the word was God......and the word was made flesh and dwelt among us."
Jesus Christ is the singularly unique and appropriate answer to these wordless expressions and questions. In His life and person, and ultimatly, in His death, He was the very word of God to humanity. The sovereign Lord of all peoples heard the wordless questions of the human heart, and responded with His son, the answer made flesh. In the life and death of Jesus, God answered all of our wordless questions about life, manhood, womanhood, humanity, family, relationship, good, evil, and love, not through dictates of a divine explanation, but through the life of the divine God-man. God stepped into our common humanity, so that through it, He could speak to the common heart of humanity.
You see, God did not offer the world explanations and decrees, instead of art and heart, and He did not offer imgagination and artistic expression instead of answers and absolute truth. God offered all answers, truth, and explanations, through the imagination of His own mind in the beauty and artistry of the image of Himself, in face of Jesus Christ. He offered neither dogmatic dictation nor emotional relativity; He offered Himself.
As I watched and went from preview to preview, I must say that it was some what of an emotional rollercoaster. Going back and forth between high budget hollywood action flicks, and independent low budget, german, film festival type trailers. I was moved from the adrenaline of epic fights and jaw breaking booms, to the quiet and subtle flow of contemplation through personal narratives of brokean marrages and relational drama. After that, I was lightened by the antics of Jack Black and Owen Wilson in flagrant comedy. I must say that it was a confetti of pathos that really minced up my own thoughts and imagination. Every different scene brought with it music and changning paces that did what they were designed to do, pull us long.
But then it hit me, something common lay behind every story, every set of images, and every work of art. Every trailer, and indeed every one of the films, was an expression of something human. Each film hinted or painted a picture of reality, either as it truly is, or as it should be.
What it means to be human, what it means to love, what it means be family, what it means to conquer the bad, or what it means to be good, they were all there in the images, in the stories. What it means to be a man, to be a hero, to vanquish evil, was there in the action and in the epic. What it meant to be a woman, to be a mother and wife, was there in drama. The reality of our world, the vast depths of society, and progress were expressed in the sci-fi story.The kinds that pit humanity against an unknown foe from space, as humanity unite in their diversity to battle for their collective survival. In the romance and the romanitc comedy, there were explorations of sexuality and love, and what it meant to have our searching fullfilled by relationship. All of it, all of it, was a giant, diverse, artistic, expression of questions and answers that have never changed or lost their relevancy. All of it was an artisitc congealment of the human heart, with all its desires, miseries, memories, and hopes.
It was all so very human, and in many cases so very sincere. There was a clarity in each expression that did not come from words, but from the common human expereince that thrust itself upon the human heart. It seemed so real and yet at the same time elusive, as if the mere attempt to shackle it down to sentences, propositions and letters, would just muddle it all up and cause it to vanish before your very eyes. The questions and expression themselves were not words. It seemed as though doctrine and dogma, philosophy and analysis could not be of any use for answers, because these things need words to be expressed. How can one answer a wordless question, with a page of answers? It was this reality that finally brought to the surface an answer that would do.
"In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God and the word was God......and the word was made flesh and dwelt among us."
Jesus Christ is the singularly unique and appropriate answer to these wordless expressions and questions. In His life and person, and ultimatly, in His death, He was the very word of God to humanity. The sovereign Lord of all peoples heard the wordless questions of the human heart, and responded with His son, the answer made flesh. In the life and death of Jesus, God answered all of our wordless questions about life, manhood, womanhood, humanity, family, relationship, good, evil, and love, not through dictates of a divine explanation, but through the life of the divine God-man. God stepped into our common humanity, so that through it, He could speak to the common heart of humanity.
You see, God did not offer the world explanations and decrees, instead of art and heart, and He did not offer imgagination and artistic expression instead of answers and absolute truth. God offered all answers, truth, and explanations, through the imagination of His own mind in the beauty and artistry of the image of Himself, in face of Jesus Christ. He offered neither dogmatic dictation nor emotional relativity; He offered Himself.
Friday, November 12, 2010
In Memoriam: XCVI, Sir Alfred, Lord Tennyson
You say, but with no touch of scorn,
Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes
Are tender over drowning flies,
You tell me, doubt is Devil-born.
I know not: one indeed I knew
In many a subtle question versed,
Who touch’d a jarring lyre at first,
But ever strove to make it true:
Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,
At last he beat his music out.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.
He fought his doubts and gather’d strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And laid them: thus he came at length
To find a stronger faith his own;
And Power was with him in the night,
Which makes the darkness and the light,
And dwells not in the light alone,
But in the darkness and the cloud,
As over Sinaï’s peaks of old,
While Israel made their gods of gold,
Altho’ the trumpet blew so loud.
Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes
Are tender over drowning flies,
You tell me, doubt is Devil-born.
I know not: one indeed I knew
In many a subtle question versed,
Who touch’d a jarring lyre at first,
But ever strove to make it true:
Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,
At last he beat his music out.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.
He fought his doubts and gather’d strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And laid them: thus he came at length
To find a stronger faith his own;
And Power was with him in the night,
Which makes the darkness and the light,
And dwells not in the light alone,
But in the darkness and the cloud,
As over Sinaï’s peaks of old,
While Israel made their gods of gold,
Altho’ the trumpet blew so loud.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Blood Will Never Loose Its Power
I saw the wreckege of my dispair,
Cast upon the water.
and some how the world grew smaller there,
As I sat amidst the fodder.
The trickle down of blood,
and iron splintered wood in brightest day's darkest hour.
I wait and hope in the mud,
that these will never loose their power.
It is the Christian who has so much to loose.
To be called upon from eternity past to abandone all things, is the whisper of wonder that breaches all boundaries and bridges all gaps between the lips of Him, betrayed by a sinner's kiss, and the sinner's ear.
Yet after the knee is bent, and the head has bowed, what if nothing happens? What if change never comes? What if the world goes on as it always has and hearts are darkened still?
What if I am still left helpless to escape myself, and still no victory comes? What if my story ends and stone table doesnt crack, the ring is not destroyed, the third day never comes, and the tomb remains sealed and dark?
Then it is the Christian that is to be most pitied, it is the Christian that will taste a most bitter drink and drown slowly in the deepest, coldest water. For it is the Christian who has lost the most.
To have seen that bright goodness from afar, and know that he or she will never reach to touch and taste. To have, for a time, seen such beauty and light mixed with love and tender hope warmed by a promise of a happily ever after when all darkness would vanish, and all tears would be dried forever. Then to see it all vanish as it never was, and become again another blip in a meaningless wreck of void and vice, vacume and violence. To fall so deeply in love, only to find your lover has betrayed you and was never who you thought he or she was, to find that he or she never loved you and you have been played for a fool. To then for all times after, remember the wedding day as a lie.
To see what a holy God could of been, and fall in love knowing that it will never be.
Yes, the Christian has the most to loose. So do not judge us harshly, do not think of us as witless fools holding to our cosmic teddy bear in order to escape the truth, unable to cope with this scary world. We know what we believe and daily pay the cost of believing it. We see, more clearly than you think, the reality of this world and the granduer and unbeliveablitly of the world we claim lies beyond it. We feel the sting of doubt more then you ever will, and we lie in bed wondering more than you think. Yet we believe and we remain.
And you may ask why...
Because the blood has never lost its power.
Cast upon the water.
and some how the world grew smaller there,
As I sat amidst the fodder.
The trickle down of blood,
and iron splintered wood in brightest day's darkest hour.
I wait and hope in the mud,
that these will never loose their power.
It is the Christian who has so much to loose.
To be called upon from eternity past to abandone all things, is the whisper of wonder that breaches all boundaries and bridges all gaps between the lips of Him, betrayed by a sinner's kiss, and the sinner's ear.
Yet after the knee is bent, and the head has bowed, what if nothing happens? What if change never comes? What if the world goes on as it always has and hearts are darkened still?
What if I am still left helpless to escape myself, and still no victory comes? What if my story ends and stone table doesnt crack, the ring is not destroyed, the third day never comes, and the tomb remains sealed and dark?
Then it is the Christian that is to be most pitied, it is the Christian that will taste a most bitter drink and drown slowly in the deepest, coldest water. For it is the Christian who has lost the most.
To have seen that bright goodness from afar, and know that he or she will never reach to touch and taste. To have, for a time, seen such beauty and light mixed with love and tender hope warmed by a promise of a happily ever after when all darkness would vanish, and all tears would be dried forever. Then to see it all vanish as it never was, and become again another blip in a meaningless wreck of void and vice, vacume and violence. To fall so deeply in love, only to find your lover has betrayed you and was never who you thought he or she was, to find that he or she never loved you and you have been played for a fool. To then for all times after, remember the wedding day as a lie.
To see what a holy God could of been, and fall in love knowing that it will never be.
Yes, the Christian has the most to loose. So do not judge us harshly, do not think of us as witless fools holding to our cosmic teddy bear in order to escape the truth, unable to cope with this scary world. We know what we believe and daily pay the cost of believing it. We see, more clearly than you think, the reality of this world and the granduer and unbeliveablitly of the world we claim lies beyond it. We feel the sting of doubt more then you ever will, and we lie in bed wondering more than you think. Yet we believe and we remain.
And you may ask why...
Because the blood has never lost its power.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Beans, Rice, and a Styrofoam Tray
As an apologist (someone who defends Christianity) there are two things that people commonly do around me. One, is ask alot of questions. The second thing people do is bait the hook. A good illustration of this occured just the other night.
While participating in a conversation group, one young lady made a comment rather out of the blue. She said something along the lines of people believing in religion much like they sign wordy contracts: they dont actually read the contract or know about their faith, they just sign on the dotted line. What followed after her comment was a little awkward silence as the group waited to see if anyone would take the bait and engage. Tension hung in the air as metaphorical heads turned my way while the hook dangled in front of me. I did not bite.
However, the young lady did make her point in a way. Why do people believe what they do?
In my own mind it is difficult for me to deliniate why I am Christian, not that I do not have an answer, but because there is so much I could say. However I could not answer with complete certainty why others who have lived a life very similar to mine (in that they grew up in Christianity) yet have lost their faith, people who if anything, had even better odds then I did, as they grew up in Christian homes with Mom and Dad in a stable nuturing environment. While I on the other hand come from a broken family with a nerve wrecked mother and an unfaithful father. And have lived a life of unstable circumstances where the word "home" became a myth.
In response to this,
all I can offer is a story.
As I lived in Latin America as a missionary child, one day a man in rags came to the gates of our house. He was older and thin, and I remember white hair. I remember the distinct dullness of his worn out clothes and his scruffy unshaven face. I was maybe seven at the time and I aproached the metal porticum as I heard the diging of metal on metal as he knocked. When he saw me as I approached all he did was ask for something to eat, making a gesture towards his mouth. I asked him to wait and turned back into the house and told my mom. She looked at me as I pleaded the beggers case and she quickly pulled out a styrofoam tray and piled it high with rice and beans adding a couple tortillas and a cold glass of water. She handed it all to me, and I went out. I gave the man at the gate the food and he thanked me over and over again before he even touched the food. Feeling uncomfortable to just sit there and watch him eat, I went back inside. I came to mother again and reported, as she hugged me.
The whole situation was strange to me, and I felt even then oddly quiet about it. I left my mom to go and peek out the window to see how the man was doing, and I was suprised to find that he was gone. The only thing left was the cup sitting on a rock outside our gate. I looked up and down the street, but he was gone.
After that, my day went on as usual and I for the most part forgot about the beggar. The next day my family and I went to the beach and had a grand day of swimming and eating and sunburn. I remember watermelon and fish fried whole, head, scales, fins, and all, laid out on a plate with lemon and french fries. There was nothing unusual about that day for a child, it was just fun. The ride home was uneventful as we sat in the car enjoying the air conditioning. When we got home and the car was unpacked and the wet towels and salty bathing suits were hung up, I went over to the fridge and opened it. Then all at once, I began to cry. Not just moist eyes or childhood tears out of tiredness, as many children do when they need to head to bed. I cried and wept with the feeling of not even knowing exactly why.
My mom and dad came to me and held me as I cried and I told them that I did not know why I was crying. We talked about how I felt, they did not just pat me on the head and carry me to bed as a parent would do with that tired kind of crying. They talked to me about the day and I remarked at how I had been very happy all day and that there was nothing that made me feel sad. I was infact quite pleased and yet sad. Then my mother brough up the beggar who had come to our gate. It all came back to me then and I rememberd his face and the scruffy, gray. worn clothing, and the cracking of his voice as he asked for food. I remembered the beans and rice and styrofoam tray. And I realized that I was weeping for him. AsI look back on it now I realize that in my own little mind and heart, I could not reconcile the two realities of the beggar and the beach. There was not enough room for the empathy, sorrow, and pain I felt for that mans life and condition, and for all the joy and happiness I had experienced at the beach. Two realities collided and I could do nothing but weep at the twisted wreck of that collision.
Then my mother asked me if I wanted to pray. To pray for the beggar and to about how I felt. My parents sat me between them both on the couch and we prayed. I prayed for the man and asked the Lord to take care of him, I told God how I felt sad and did not know exactly why, I thanked God for the day at the beach and thanked Him for what I had. It was so simple and yet so big. In that moment I was recognizing through that prayer that the God who was the God over the beach and the water was also God over the beans and rice and beggar. The God who was Lord over my joy and happiness was still Lord in my sorrows and pain. The God who loved me was God over both of those realities that collided and even in the wreckege He was still God.
I did not see it all at that moment at the age of seven, but I did see it. And the Lion has grown bigger as I have grown older.
In those two days and in that prayer, God Himself stooped down to teach a child something so very imporatant, to understand the world of pleasure and pain we live in. I was not left as some have been, to crawl through the wreckege of reality on my own. I was not left to struggle in a confusion that many children and even adults go through, the attempt to live in such a terrifying world that can be so sweet to the taste as well, this such a bittersweet paradox. The God of all the Universe, took the time to teach a child something he would desperetly need later in life. To take a babe in His arms and prepare him and guide him in love.
I believe that God punctuates our lives in this way and those who do not harden their hearts come to know Him and believe in Him. My reasons for believing extend beyond just experiences and involve many a complex rational and evidence. But ultimatly I believe in Jesus not because I made a commitement once and signed on the dotted line and now I am sticking to my guns. I belive because He is faithful to bring me to Himself, because He has revealed Himself, and because He is true. I belive because God is who He is and who is brings me to my knees. But also because once upon a time the eternal creator of time, the Holy unfathomable King over all kings, the immutable all definer Logos, stooped down to come close to a child and taught him that all hope and security lies in God Himself through His love sovereignty. And did so with beans, rice, and a styrofoam tray.
And FYI, In my ten years spent as a missionary kid, as my family worked with the destitute and poor, there was no other time before that man that someone came to our gates begging for food and no one ever came to our gates begging for food after him. He was the only one ever.
While participating in a conversation group, one young lady made a comment rather out of the blue. She said something along the lines of people believing in religion much like they sign wordy contracts: they dont actually read the contract or know about their faith, they just sign on the dotted line. What followed after her comment was a little awkward silence as the group waited to see if anyone would take the bait and engage. Tension hung in the air as metaphorical heads turned my way while the hook dangled in front of me. I did not bite.
However, the young lady did make her point in a way. Why do people believe what they do?
In my own mind it is difficult for me to deliniate why I am Christian, not that I do not have an answer, but because there is so much I could say. However I could not answer with complete certainty why others who have lived a life very similar to mine (in that they grew up in Christianity) yet have lost their faith, people who if anything, had even better odds then I did, as they grew up in Christian homes with Mom and Dad in a stable nuturing environment. While I on the other hand come from a broken family with a nerve wrecked mother and an unfaithful father. And have lived a life of unstable circumstances where the word "home" became a myth.
In response to this,
all I can offer is a story.
As I lived in Latin America as a missionary child, one day a man in rags came to the gates of our house. He was older and thin, and I remember white hair. I remember the distinct dullness of his worn out clothes and his scruffy unshaven face. I was maybe seven at the time and I aproached the metal porticum as I heard the diging of metal on metal as he knocked. When he saw me as I approached all he did was ask for something to eat, making a gesture towards his mouth. I asked him to wait and turned back into the house and told my mom. She looked at me as I pleaded the beggers case and she quickly pulled out a styrofoam tray and piled it high with rice and beans adding a couple tortillas and a cold glass of water. She handed it all to me, and I went out. I gave the man at the gate the food and he thanked me over and over again before he even touched the food. Feeling uncomfortable to just sit there and watch him eat, I went back inside. I came to mother again and reported, as she hugged me.
The whole situation was strange to me, and I felt even then oddly quiet about it. I left my mom to go and peek out the window to see how the man was doing, and I was suprised to find that he was gone. The only thing left was the cup sitting on a rock outside our gate. I looked up and down the street, but he was gone.
After that, my day went on as usual and I for the most part forgot about the beggar. The next day my family and I went to the beach and had a grand day of swimming and eating and sunburn. I remember watermelon and fish fried whole, head, scales, fins, and all, laid out on a plate with lemon and french fries. There was nothing unusual about that day for a child, it was just fun. The ride home was uneventful as we sat in the car enjoying the air conditioning. When we got home and the car was unpacked and the wet towels and salty bathing suits were hung up, I went over to the fridge and opened it. Then all at once, I began to cry. Not just moist eyes or childhood tears out of tiredness, as many children do when they need to head to bed. I cried and wept with the feeling of not even knowing exactly why.
My mom and dad came to me and held me as I cried and I told them that I did not know why I was crying. We talked about how I felt, they did not just pat me on the head and carry me to bed as a parent would do with that tired kind of crying. They talked to me about the day and I remarked at how I had been very happy all day and that there was nothing that made me feel sad. I was infact quite pleased and yet sad. Then my mother brough up the beggar who had come to our gate. It all came back to me then and I rememberd his face and the scruffy, gray. worn clothing, and the cracking of his voice as he asked for food. I remembered the beans and rice and styrofoam tray. And I realized that I was weeping for him. AsI look back on it now I realize that in my own little mind and heart, I could not reconcile the two realities of the beggar and the beach. There was not enough room for the empathy, sorrow, and pain I felt for that mans life and condition, and for all the joy and happiness I had experienced at the beach. Two realities collided and I could do nothing but weep at the twisted wreck of that collision.
Then my mother asked me if I wanted to pray. To pray for the beggar and to about how I felt. My parents sat me between them both on the couch and we prayed. I prayed for the man and asked the Lord to take care of him, I told God how I felt sad and did not know exactly why, I thanked God for the day at the beach and thanked Him for what I had. It was so simple and yet so big. In that moment I was recognizing through that prayer that the God who was the God over the beach and the water was also God over the beans and rice and beggar. The God who was Lord over my joy and happiness was still Lord in my sorrows and pain. The God who loved me was God over both of those realities that collided and even in the wreckege He was still God.
I did not see it all at that moment at the age of seven, but I did see it. And the Lion has grown bigger as I have grown older.
In those two days and in that prayer, God Himself stooped down to teach a child something so very imporatant, to understand the world of pleasure and pain we live in. I was not left as some have been, to crawl through the wreckege of reality on my own. I was not left to struggle in a confusion that many children and even adults go through, the attempt to live in such a terrifying world that can be so sweet to the taste as well, this such a bittersweet paradox. The God of all the Universe, took the time to teach a child something he would desperetly need later in life. To take a babe in His arms and prepare him and guide him in love.
I believe that God punctuates our lives in this way and those who do not harden their hearts come to know Him and believe in Him. My reasons for believing extend beyond just experiences and involve many a complex rational and evidence. But ultimatly I believe in Jesus not because I made a commitement once and signed on the dotted line and now I am sticking to my guns. I belive because He is faithful to bring me to Himself, because He has revealed Himself, and because He is true. I belive because God is who He is and who is brings me to my knees. But also because once upon a time the eternal creator of time, the Holy unfathomable King over all kings, the immutable all definer Logos, stooped down to come close to a child and taught him that all hope and security lies in God Himself through His love sovereignty. And did so with beans, rice, and a styrofoam tray.
And FYI, In my ten years spent as a missionary kid, as my family worked with the destitute and poor, there was no other time before that man that someone came to our gates begging for food and no one ever came to our gates begging for food after him. He was the only one ever.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Today Just Today
I have no confidence in my ability to change the world. I dont even have any confidence in being able to change myself.
It is quite a paradox that humankind has come upon, and it is quite a burden we have lifted to our own shoulders. God is dead and we have killed him, the requiem rings. Man is now the definor of all things, what a priveledge and yet what terror. Humanism is at once the illusion of complete freedom and the pride of autonomy, and yet it holds within itself one fatal flaw.
I have not the stregth in my own character to live in humility. I have not the will to do what is right, for what I want to do, I do not do, and what I do not want to do, I do. I have not the determination within my own bones to break my addictions, and to silence the shout of ambition in my ear. I do not even have the strength and goodness to be consitently good to those who have been and still are so good to me. To to my teachers and mentors, to my family, and to my friends, I offer nothing more than failure. And to my wife, who is the warmth of my life, whose goodness toward me had been selfless and without end, I offer her nothing of what she diserves. I give her nothing but what I can spare, the scraps that are left after my own selfishness has had its fill. I have not the power to break my self and I have not the power to rebuild myself. It is though I am a spectator in my own flesh, and I watch as those same mistakes are made over and over again, and I watch and do verry little. From me to myself, there is no cord of power that binds me to the goodness I do not even desire whole heartedly. I am a miserable man, not in pity, but in the reality of helplesness.
We are all as I am, not as I am, but as I am. The riddle simply means that we are all in our own way spectators in our own flesh, we have all done and said things which at the very moment of saying or doing we come to know that we ought not to have done or said so. We all have dark corners which we seem to be incapable of illuminating, we all have that haunting sensation that we will be found out. We all know the weekness of our will. For some this is brought out with chocolate, others with heroin, others with sex, others with anger, and yet others with diets and deadlines.
This is the paradox of humanism, man is the all definer the savior of himself and the world, and yet man cannot save himself, if he cannot save himself how can he save the world? Even worse, if man is the all definer, that what is man and what does he need savinf from? What is the world and why does the world need saving? Define for me what is life and why life needs protecting.
Humanism not only fails because it contradicts the very core reality of our being in that we cannot even change ourselves much less the world, but it does not even give you what it is that needs to change. If man is the measure of all things than nothing has a measure, for man has never even been able to measure himself, define herself, change himself, or save herself. History is a symphony of familiar music from age to age, and all humanity has to offer are the same notes.
I am left to hope in the one who might give me the strenght to be different, to play a different note, and to throw off the spectators dispair and dirty my hands in work that has been prepared before hand for me. But I am given nothing but one moment at a time, handed down to me by the creator and the author of life, the all definer, the LOGOS. I am given nothing besides one day. Today He lives in me, today He is sanctifying that which is sinful, and today He prepares me for a place He has prepared for me. Today there will be change, today there will be hope today there will be strenth for me, today there will be grace for me. Today, all He gives me is today. And this day I choose, me and my house will serve the Lord.
For all my hope rests in that He will give me Himself today, and that day by day, He will prove that He is enough for every day.
It is quite a paradox that humankind has come upon, and it is quite a burden we have lifted to our own shoulders. God is dead and we have killed him, the requiem rings. Man is now the definor of all things, what a priveledge and yet what terror. Humanism is at once the illusion of complete freedom and the pride of autonomy, and yet it holds within itself one fatal flaw.
I have not the stregth in my own character to live in humility. I have not the will to do what is right, for what I want to do, I do not do, and what I do not want to do, I do. I have not the determination within my own bones to break my addictions, and to silence the shout of ambition in my ear. I do not even have the strength and goodness to be consitently good to those who have been and still are so good to me. To to my teachers and mentors, to my family, and to my friends, I offer nothing more than failure. And to my wife, who is the warmth of my life, whose goodness toward me had been selfless and without end, I offer her nothing of what she diserves. I give her nothing but what I can spare, the scraps that are left after my own selfishness has had its fill. I have not the power to break my self and I have not the power to rebuild myself. It is though I am a spectator in my own flesh, and I watch as those same mistakes are made over and over again, and I watch and do verry little. From me to myself, there is no cord of power that binds me to the goodness I do not even desire whole heartedly. I am a miserable man, not in pity, but in the reality of helplesness.
We are all as I am, not as I am, but as I am. The riddle simply means that we are all in our own way spectators in our own flesh, we have all done and said things which at the very moment of saying or doing we come to know that we ought not to have done or said so. We all have dark corners which we seem to be incapable of illuminating, we all have that haunting sensation that we will be found out. We all know the weekness of our will. For some this is brought out with chocolate, others with heroin, others with sex, others with anger, and yet others with diets and deadlines.
This is the paradox of humanism, man is the all definer the savior of himself and the world, and yet man cannot save himself, if he cannot save himself how can he save the world? Even worse, if man is the all definer, that what is man and what does he need savinf from? What is the world and why does the world need saving? Define for me what is life and why life needs protecting.
Humanism not only fails because it contradicts the very core reality of our being in that we cannot even change ourselves much less the world, but it does not even give you what it is that needs to change. If man is the measure of all things than nothing has a measure, for man has never even been able to measure himself, define herself, change himself, or save herself. History is a symphony of familiar music from age to age, and all humanity has to offer are the same notes.
I am left to hope in the one who might give me the strenght to be different, to play a different note, and to throw off the spectators dispair and dirty my hands in work that has been prepared before hand for me. But I am given nothing but one moment at a time, handed down to me by the creator and the author of life, the all definer, the LOGOS. I am given nothing besides one day. Today He lives in me, today He is sanctifying that which is sinful, and today He prepares me for a place He has prepared for me. Today there will be change, today there will be hope today there will be strenth for me, today there will be grace for me. Today, all He gives me is today. And this day I choose, me and my house will serve the Lord.
For all my hope rests in that He will give me Himself today, and that day by day, He will prove that He is enough for every day.
Friday, November 5, 2010
What it means to follow
It is a mystery to have been known all my life by someone else more than I know my self. To find the depths of my own heart after struggling to peel away my self deciet, only to find that some has been waiting for me there all along and loving me, is perhapse the baffling unearened priverledge of the Christian. To know that the one you follow has truly been following you all of your life is to see the hound of heaven. In this rabid pursuit, this unending chase, I am found in seeing lostness of my self. I am truly lost, and yet I am here in this place that I know so well. Failure, weakness, depravity, I drink this cup again. Here in this place I know so well, I find that i do not know who I am, and yet finding that I do not know who I am, who He is becomes so clear.
What does it mean to follow Him?
To be utterly lost with no escape, crying out with bitter violent silence, hoping that the blood will never loose its power.
What does it mean to follow Him?
To be utterly lost with no escape, crying out with bitter violent silence, hoping that the blood will never loose its power.
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